MS

Summary: It was completely maddening, not knowing who she was. She appeared like the foam of the sea waves at a particular time every night and then disappeared like the mist before his eyes. It had taken seven days for his world to tether on an abyss as she ingrained herself into his mind and dare he say it heart. This is on Syaoran's POV but on the third person.

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Distracting Part 1

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It was seven days. Was he sure though? He had to ask himself as he reflected on it. It had been seven days since he had noticed her, he should be clear on that point. It was maddening.

Seven days. A week. Just a few hours of the night that would scantily cover the minutes she stayed in his mind. His eyes followed her as she moved through the shadows of the room, blending in and then not.

He shifted in his feet, nodding absently to the official speaking to him, to whom he should be paying attention to. It didn't serve to just nod to a man who could misinterpret his silence for acceptance. The man might take his silence for positive reinforcement and would probably be forced to rescue his family firm from disaster.

When had he become so dramatic? He tried to stop distracting himself. Was that even a word? How had he gotten involved in such a stupid conversation with himself? He extricated himself from the conversation, giving an excuse of one of his sisters calling forth for him. He could get away with it. This was a party for him after all.

And being the center of attention, although he could argue his sisters were the ones in the spotlight, aggravated him.

She never even looked his way. How had he known? He hadn't taken his eyes off her to not notice. He tried to blend into a shadowed pillar just as someone intruded into his study. She had been asked to dance. At least, that's what it looked like from the other side of the room.

In all seven days since he had noticed her errant wanderings around the ballrooms, he hadn't seen her respond to another person. He held his breath as she was swept into a dance. He wasn't close enough to see her reaction, but hoped that she wasn't glad.

This curiosity was interfering with his otherwise intelligence. He swore at himself for being so easily distracted. Could he even actually recognize her in another setting? He had the urge to walk to her and just stare. If he just confronted her, then he would stop weaving this imaginative spread which made her that much more fantastical than she should be.

He countered his own argument with reality. He was a grown man, he shouldn't be acting like a kid with questions that none will answer. What was so special about her that drew his gaze and attention? The first thing he did whenever he joined these affairs was look to see if she was there.

How pathetic am I? He asked himself over and over. On the part of the scale it shouldn't be, he replied to his thoughts as she resumed her usual skulking. Skulking, now that was a word, he let it roll off his tongue. It's these describing words for her actions that was actually keeping him interested.

Neither his mother nor his sisters had pointed her out to him, which made him think of what issue could there be for a seemingly unattached female to not be regaled with virtues or his attention. His family was trying to marry him off.

He slipped further back into a doorway as said mother was looking around the room with a very distinct light in her eyes, her face predatory. He knew without a doubt that she was looking for him and therefore preparing an ambush of eligible ladies to take his time for the remainder of the night.

He'd rather not. He took a second to locate himself in accordance to the room's specifications. He was suddenly very tired and irksome to play this game of cat and mouse in which he usually played the rodent who was being passed around the felines of the room. He was probably going to burn in hell for liking all of his female relatives to predatory cats who wanted to sink their claws into his hide so that he would bow to their whims.

"Definitely going to burn in hell," he murmured to himself when the image appeared too clearly in his mind. He rubbed his temples, slipping through the open door. It was his own house and he wanted some peace and quiet. The thought of going to bed and slipping into the dream world away from numbers and family.

He spared no thought to the slip of a woman that was forgotten on the other room.

It only lasted for five minutes before he realized that she was occupying his office. He almost threw away his tray of sandwiches as he'd planned to barricade himself in the office in which no sound would permeate through the very heavy oak doors.

Had she sought solitude or was there something more nefarious going on? Nefarious, another word that just popped into his head. His vocabulary was driving him crazy. He had planned to close the door as soon as he walked into the room, minimizing the chances of someone stumbling in there looking for him, namely his mother, but it seemed there was another higher power that would push him through.

What was she doing here? Was she also seeking solitude? Why had she chosen this particular room? She was facing the bookcases, which weren't extensibe as his library, but did contian a high number of tomes. Mainly they dealt with the usual philosophical and mathematical with industrious background.

She leaned into a particular volume, stroking the length of the exposed cover as her slender fingers reached for it and slid it away from its hold. Should he make a sound? He watched her flip through a particular part of the book, a whim in choosing to which page she wanted to navigate towards to. She simply smiled, her attention on the page while Syaoran struggled with whatever it was that he wanted to do.

His arms hurt, bringing his attention back to the tray full of food that he had swiped from the kitchen. There was a very large number of sandwiches which tipped the tea kettle on the other side. His arms were protesting the weight that he continuously kept with the tray.

He made up his mind to place it on the table, which meant moving and disrupting her. She was the intruder after all. She moved away, which made him stop, walking to one of the chairs, the one that looked most comfortable, and sat down. She tucked her feet on the side, her dress bouncing around her as she seemed to pet an undisclosed friend.

She bit her lip, closing her eyes and covering her face in a pained expression. It was only a few minutes, but it was enough for him to realize that she seemed to be mourning. She was now more than an image that had followed him through for the past week unknowingly.

He wasn't sure if she was crying, and just stood there, watching her. She startled as she felt a hand go forth with a handkerchief, her green eyes widening as she followed the hand to the one that offered it. He stopped his grimace from showing as she was uncertain whether to accept his handkerchief or not.

He moved away, leaving her to her choice, moving to his own chair behind the desk and in which he felt protected. The color of her eyes fresh in his mind as he busied himself with pouring tea on the cup he'd brought. He left it sitting there as he decided to leave the room in search of another cup. It was just an excuse.

Would she choose to flee the room, or stay? He would leave it in her hands. He could live with either scenario. But would his body survive the torment of his indecision?

He took more time than was necessary, gripping the cup and saucer as he pushed open the door he'd closed behind him. His mind was a jumble of thoughts that revolved on one thing, had she stayed?