[Fic] Morning
Summary: Leaving Zoisite's room after the night.
When the woman awoke, Zoisite was already dressed in his crisp, white uniform. His pillow was not indented, the bed beside her did not look slept-in; he may as well never have been inside it with her. She almost doubted whether she truly remembered that he had been. The thought of his breath warm against her skin seemed an illusion; the sheets had cooled.
She spotted him quickly, his attention taken up by something or other that she couldn't begin to guess. Nothing of the view through the sheer curtains of the nearby windows should have been new to him. There was nothing he could have been looking for, she thought. Then she realized it was the opposite: it was disinterest towards his room.
Then why last night?
Zoisite seemed ambivalent to her presence, now, so she rose, luxuriously taking her time to dress, shirking the silken nightdress and staying nude beside the bed for several moments. A quick, sidelong look revealed that even this had failed to draw so much as a glance from the distant shitennou. She gathered her clothing, a lightweight summer dress, and covered herself.
She wasn't unsightly, she reassured herself as she brushed out her hair and applied just enough makeup to accentuate the right features. Smooth skin, a sensual frame, a certain experience in these matters all promised her that. She frowned at the mirror. A difficult degree and a reputation for wit made her unlikely to have been found dull, either. Her own successful career saved her from other grasping labels. No, she couldn't figure out what her flaw was.
Then she became angry and scowled beyond her reflection to the image of Zoisite's back. Had she thought she was lucky to be singled out by the aloof lord of Europe? Had she thought of him as desirable? It had been a mistake and worse, he should be ashamed to treat a woman this way.
"Don't trifle with me," she told him, emboldened by her anger. "I'm not some nobody you can play with!"
"No," Zoisite finally spoke, softly but as a man already decided. "But you are not the one I long for."
She left. Before many minutes were out, the woman could hear the sounds of Zoisite's piano. He had already forgotten her.
When the woman awoke, Zoisite was already dressed in his crisp, white uniform. His pillow was not indented, the bed beside her did not look slept-in; he may as well never have been inside it with her. She almost doubted whether she truly remembered that he had been. The thought of his breath warm against her skin seemed an illusion; the sheets had cooled.
She spotted him quickly, his attention taken up by something or other that she couldn't begin to guess. Nothing of the view through the sheer curtains of the nearby windows should have been new to him. There was nothing he could have been looking for, she thought. Then she realized it was the opposite: it was disinterest towards his room.
Then why last night?
Zoisite seemed ambivalent to her presence, now, so she rose, luxuriously taking her time to dress, shirking the silken nightdress and staying nude beside the bed for several moments. A quick, sidelong look revealed that even this had failed to draw so much as a glance from the distant shitennou. She gathered her clothing, a lightweight summer dress, and covered herself.
She wasn't unsightly, she reassured herself as she brushed out her hair and applied just enough makeup to accentuate the right features. Smooth skin, a sensual frame, a certain experience in these matters all promised her that. She frowned at the mirror. A difficult degree and a reputation for wit made her unlikely to have been found dull, either. Her own successful career saved her from other grasping labels. No, she couldn't figure out what her flaw was.
Then she became angry and scowled beyond her reflection to the image of Zoisite's back. Had she thought she was lucky to be singled out by the aloof lord of Europe? Had she thought of him as desirable? It had been a mistake and worse, he should be ashamed to treat a woman this way.
"Don't trifle with me," she told him, emboldened by her anger. "I'm not some nobody you can play with!"
"No," Zoisite finally spoke, softly but as a man already decided. "But you are not the one I long for."
She left. Before many minutes were out, the woman could hear the sounds of Zoisite's piano. He had already forgotten her.