Beautiful

"Utsukushii."

I don't know which is more beautiful. The velvet liquid pouring into the glass in my hand, or the turbulent rain that attacks my window in sweet, soft strikes. Tiny explosions set upon the glass, and hydrogen bonds work their way into my view. The collision of purity against a shield is an ironic incidence.

I set the wine bottle down, allowing the base to thud gently on the crystal panes of our coffee table. The damned mahogany structure shakes with age, though we've only had it for about five years. It's been beaten past recognition, by the way we take advantage of it. I don't know why we bought it, or how it's even survived that long. Youth can be so fleeting.

Suddenly, the ferocity of the brewing storm outside roars, and sends a barrage of waves against the platform outside. It's taken me this long to realize that the complex has been overcast with a freezing blanket of forgotten AC fumes. I suppress a shiver, and grab onto the coffee table. Unconsciously, my fingers had been tracing patterns along the various scratches in the carved legs.

The garnet wine in my glass sloshes softly, and I give it a thrust, watching as the elegant liquid ribbons jump into the air. Squinting my eyes, I suspend them for a moment, turning them slowly, and inspecting them, the spectrum of reds and violets converging into patterns of clear and unclear waves. Imperfection caught in a moment of infinite beauty. Then the tainted scent reaches my nose, and my senses tingle with the covert hint of alcohol. With the distraction, my hold gives away, and the mellifluent ruby spills onto my hand.

It reminds me of blood. Cast in spiderwebs against my unbroken skin. Farfello would be none too happy.

"I didn't know you drink. Aren't you underage?" The nasal voice hinders my thoughts, collapsing the isolation I've been enjoying. It's his presence that brings to my attention the lurking silence from outside. The rainless skies, leaving trails of gray and slick sorrow along the horizon. I wish he couldn't read my thoughts. I know he's laughing at me inside. It makes me sick to think that he knows what I might not know. Even sicker to think that I can't know what he's thinking.

"No, I don't drink." Turning to leave, I stuff the glass into his hand, avoiding the sight of his face. That annoying smirk framed by wild, orange hair. How Crawford can stand it…

"He can't." Without warning, he pulls my arm, and brings my hand to his lips. His breath is surprisingly cold, and it sends a chill into my already freezing body.

"Yamete." My voice is always so disturbingly calm. I tug once as a warning. Twice means worse, and he knows it. Three times has never been enough for me. Three times is always too long.

Laughing emerald eyes look down at me, the smile in them is somewhat irked, devious. "Adults don't drink wine because of the alcohol, young one." He sniffs the sticky trails along my fingers. "We drink it for the pleasure." His tongue darts out, and I slam an invisible wall against him, instantly separating myself from his eager smirk by five feet of dehiscent space.

I watch for five seconds as he realizes what has occurred, wishing he would realize how lucky he is. Amazingly, none of the wine has spilled from it's protective glass, and he steps back, admiring my side of the room carefully.

Keeping my eyes on the window, I close the curtains. Rain has come and gone, with the fluency of a passing river. Definitely more beautiful. The rain always wins, and my distaste for alcohol remains consistent. With a puff of air, I leave the room, and plan to go online.

"Neither is beautiful, Naoe." Schuldich says it dauntingly, keeping his voice low.

Shut up Schuldich.

"Nothing is beautiful… "

Stop saying that word. It's mine. Shut up.

"Not like you."

*owari*

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