A/N- Yeah...this was supposed to be a oneshot, but then Vampy suggested that I write a part from Kagemiya's perspective, and... Took me a while to get around to it, huh? It's always nice to get struck by inspiration at 3-o-clock in the morning, right in the middle of writing another fanfic for another fandom. Very weird. Anyway, hope you like Sen's part! Thanks Vampy! -OA
Disclaimer: Kekkaishi is still not mine. Wah.
Part Two: Sen
You sit there and watch him, chin resting in your hand, and you think to yourself for the thousandth time…
He is not pretty.
You're not exactly sure why this is. Perhaps it's the sturdiness of his frame, muscles hidden beneath that purple robe he's been wearing for kami-knows-how-many-years, protecting Karasumori through the stages of childhood and beyond.
Maybe it's the edge of his jaw, so firm and determined…though it can just as often look stubborn and sulky, especially when combined with both arms crossed over his chest.
Or…it could be that head of untamable black locks. They're prone to spiking out in all directions no matter what time of day it is: morning (he doesn't brush it), noon (he always runs his hands through it, which destroys it further), and night (windblown and ruffled from his nightly guard stint, during which he runs all over the place ketsu-ing and metsu-ing ayakashi).
Possibly it's his eyes, deep and dark and slightly tilted at the corners, their fathoms capable of so many emotions: joy, sadness, fear, amusement, anger…
And there's the too-strong, so-bold curve of his mouth, waiting to burst into that signature grin, full and smooth and tasting like-
You stop because you know you're turning the color of a lobster, and damn it, it's not funny. Then he turns and looks at you, head tilted to the side, and inquires- with the faintest smirk on that strong-bold-full-smooth mouth- if you're okay. You give him a sharp nod and look away quickly before your face can betray you any further. If he finds out that you were analyzing him like that, he'll never let you hear the end of it.
But you find that you can't stop watching him, engaged in his daily exercises. He's stripped to the waist and wearing a faint sheen of sweat, a smudge of dust resting on his nose as he tries to hoist that enormous boulder in the backyard with his kekkai.
You don't bother to tell him what you deduced a while ago: that the boulder actually has a core of iron or steel or something equally hard to lift.
After all, what he doesn't know can't hurt him, right?
You smirk at the thought and return to your previous reflection, studying him with narrowed eyes in a calculated way. This time you won't be distracted by the curve of that mouth or the faint ripple of muscle beneath scarred skin. You're going to puzzle this out one way or another.
Why, exactly, doesn't he qualify as pretty?
Surely all the reasons you've listed are valid, but none of them seem to ring true. Maybe you're searching for the deeper reason, something reaching beneath appearances to the core of the issues.
Ugh, you think. Philosophy.
Well, regardless of the reason, pretty just doesn't fit. There are a lot of other words that do, though: strong, cheerful, stubborn, uncontrollable, moody, friendly…
All these things and more are the tiny pieces that make up his being, make up who he is. The facets of his life are thrown into the mix: guarding Karasumori as a kekkaishi, going to school like a regular middle-school student (sort of), that bizarre cake-making obsession of his-
All of this, the essence of him, this is why you love-
For the second time today, you start and blush furiously. Good thing you're not trying to carry on a conversation with Shuji-san or someone else, because you would be stuttering through every word.
But, you finally admit to yourself, grumbling all the while, it is…true. It takes some effort to form the full thought, and much more on the rare occasions that you ever say it to his face (the number of which you can probably count on one hand), but you know better than to lie to yourself.
You love him.
And so you decide, on the heels of a sudden epiphany, that it doesn't matter if he's not pretty. It's not as if you've hinged your relationship on the issue (you're not that superficial), but this is hardly the first time you've thought about him and being pretty before.
He would say that being pretty is your job, incidentally.
But, you now know, he doesn't have to be pretty. He's so many other things, all wrapped up into one person that you can't imagine every growing tired of being with-
-He's Yoshimori.
And…you…love…
"Oi, Kagemiya!" he calls to you across the yard. "Come and spar with me!"
You rise to your feet, feeling oddly satisfied. You start toward him with a smirk, nails elongating into sharp, slender claws. You watch him grin in response, waiting for you.
He's not pretty.
He's yours.
A/N- And there you have it. I don't anticipate this getting any bigger...'cause where else could I possibly go with it? Anyway, hope it was good, review if you like! Thanks! -OA