Disclaimer: I own nothing.

First MOAG fanfiction! I'm excited. I hope you enjoy. Just finished both the movie and the book today, so here goes…

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She never could love me as I have loved her.

Normally I wouldn't bother with such thoughts. They waste my important time-I could be working, as dwelling on emotion is silly and leads to nothing.

But when I think of Sayuri, I must set down on my pen and stroke one side of my face with my good hand; the girl intoxicates me, as unfortunate as it is for me to admit.

I have always said I do not like geisha, and I have a fine reason for this. My reason is that I hate the way they look at me. Granted, nearly every individual on the streets of Gion looks at me in the same way. But the geisha are different. They are supposed to be such pleasant creatures, charming and kind and interesting. Their true feelings do not bypass me, however. Behind the rouge and stark white powder and kimonos, I know they are disgusted by my mere presence. They avoid looking at me directly- they think themselves clever, but it's obvious they are looking at a vase or a flower situated behind me.

I walk in, and the first thing they see is a bear- you see, I prefer to think of myself as a bear rather than a lizard- with his gruff expression entering a teahouse. Next, they observe the horrible burns, trying to hide their dropped jaws behind coughs and lame giggles at jokes. Of course I find this extremely unamusing- it's something I would expect of a young child to do, and here these "professional" geisha are giggling- at me, no less!

And the kicker for them is the arm. I can see in their arms they are repulsed for many reasons. The thought of me as someone's danna seems to be a running joke with Hatsumomo and her little ring of sheep. Their eyes flick nervously to it every now and then, imagining a stump covered in even more scales beneath the fine suits.

They lie through their teeth and try to entertain me. They pour me sake- as if I am a silly toddler and cannot do it myself!- and purse their lips at my harsh retorts.

That is why I hate geisha. I hate them all.

Except Sayuri. I cannot hate her. Yes, she disappoints me greatly, but this is expected.

I love her.

I have never admitted this to myself until now, as I sit here in my office. I will see her again tonight, and just the thought of that makes my stomach twist. When I am around her, I put on a mask just as how she applies her make-up. It is carefully placed. I am gruff and honest- too honest, Mameha tells me, but I refuse to hide behind petty lies-and speak to carefully selected individuals that I know will not affect this carefully built façade. There is no mystery to me, really. I just do not want a silly geisha bothering me.

Sayuri is one of those young women. She does not flinch; she drinks my words up rather than sipping demurely at her cold tea.

I have heard of a European story pertaining to an unfortunate young man turned into a beast who falls in love with a maiden from a nearby village. I suppose I could think of myself as this beast and Sayuri as the maiden- if I had use for fairy tales. In fairy tales, the beast is turned back into the handsome prince and everyone lives happily ever after. Children's fantasies, really! Even that is something too grand for me to dream of.

And here is where I set down my pen, because I remember the sneaking glances Sayuri steals at my good friend the Chairman, like a little girl trying not to get caught stealing sweets. I say nothing to her about it- even I, Mister Cannot-Keep-His-Mouth-Shut, does not have the heart to betray her.

I know that would mean betraying myself as well. I love Sayuri.

But she must never know.