I've Loved You For So Long

...by bugaboo107

xxx

He was the millionaire bestseller of romance novels. Those that featured handsome, reckless, bad-boy types "saved" by a sweet, innocent simple girl in some idyllic countryside. The girls went crazy for his books, and him. But none caught his attention the way she did. They liked his rich, noble-charitable-sexy image. But that was not him. He was an enigma - a trick box that could not be opened without the perfect key. In fact, the sweet, innocent simple girl, the key, didn't even know he liked her. She treated him as a friend, or worse, just a landlord. You wonder why this wealthy, loved-by-all-females bestseller did not approach her and tell her his best-kept secret.

He was not shy, but afraid. Afraid that if she rejected him, he would forever be shattered, hopeless. No thank you; he would rather life with fantasies (oh say, exploring every inch of her creamy skin in a secluded island cabana in the Pacific; he had thought about this during the long winter nights, alone in his bed), and be a coward. He didn't think she would ever respond to his pursuit. She was the quiet, calm type. She liked to read, cook, and garden. She was fantastic at everything she did. She liked to laugh at not-so-funny jokes, console friends, and stand up for her beliefs. She was pretty, soft-spoken, and stubborn.

And he thought he loved her.

And as long as she was by his side, he was alright.

But as the years went by (four to be exact), many boys pursued her. And that did not make him too happy. He always clenched his teeth (otherwise he might have said something not-too-nice) when they came to pick her up for dates. But each one, she rejected (terribly politely, of course, that was in her nature; saying that it was her fault and that she could not handle commitment, but that they remain friends) within a month. And each time, his heart fluttered to new heights. He was overjoyed. And in the dark part of his mind (which oversees approximately 64 percent of his thoughts), he thought, she's mine.

But there was also the angst.

He didn't have her love. Her heart.

One night, she was particularly distressed over the fact that she did not feel attracted to her date. He had been the "model" type, with pearly straight teeth (thereby a smile of high watt-age), bedroom eyes (they were innocent, mind you!), and perfect hair (which he ran his long fingers though occasionally to emphasize the volume). This time, Shigure thought he had finally lost. The guy was charming, smart, honest, modest (though the finger-running-through-hair thing begged to differ) and had no evil intentions of getting into her pants (at least on the second date).

But when she came home and ran to her room without a "Good night" or "Hello Shigure."

Shigure decided to sit down with her and calm the poor girl down. As he did many times before. But this time, it was on her bed. "You are fine. It's just that those guys -- (he wanted to say terrible things about them, but...), you are (-thump, thump- of the heart) something special. You deserve something more."

She looked up at him with big teary eyes. He almost lost it - so beautiful and honest. Surprised by his words. But she didn't say anything. Instead, she leaned in, but stopped. Another reason why it was so difficult for him to confess. He could never really hold her intimately, could not feel her warm skin against his. It would be awkward to go in for a kiss and not really touch anywhere else.

And while he was reminding himself all the reasons why they could never be, she kissed him on the cheek (very near his mouth).

"Thank you for always being there for me. Maybe I'm destined to be with you." She said; the last part, an afterthought. But before he (or she) could think about the extent of their strange "housemate" relationship, he kissed her. On her lips, softly. But when she parted her lips (just a little), he took the chance. Her tongue met his, and he grew bold. If she was going to be angry with him anyways, he was going to get as much out of it as he could. This would become a key component in his night fantasies. It would arouse him for the next month or so, before the memory became nothing but dust.

Out of breath, he finally pulled away. He was breathing fast. "I'm sorry," he blurted.

"I don't want you to be." She said quickly, not looking him in the eyes.

When she finally looked up, she said quietly, almost inaudibly, "I've loved you for so long."

He stared at her, his expression blank, trying to process her words. Before this surprising turn of events, he had hoped that he could build up the courage to date her, to get her to understand how deeply he cared for her, and that maybe she would come around to like him a little. But now: she loved him? He panicked. He told himself how stupid he was for not initiating.

Then he realized that she was still in front of him - small, questioning, and loving him.

"So have I."

And she kissed him again. This time, full on the lips, ardent, wanting. All the years of longing, finally dispelled.

xxx

A/N: Just some pointless fluff. I love the idea of two people living with each other, loving one another, but too afraid to confess. I'd love to hear your thoughts! Also Hatori's Remedy: Strawberries and Skinny-Dipping has been updated (finally); check it out! Happy holidays! Love you all! -hugs-