A/N: I love Lyon. And I love Juvia. But this isn't really a Lyvia fanfic...really. People who have read and reviewed, love you guys! But seriously, tell me what you think. It would be nice to get feedback that's not from my eighth grade English teacher (even though I adore her).

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Mirror Images

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—You asked me once why I didn't love you—

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It's because his mind is just a hint off-kilter. Tilted. Three spaces to the left of normal, six spaces above average, leagues behind wholly sane.

Outwardly, there is no sign of it. He's polite and charming and handsome and all those things that a good, healthy man is, but somewhere there is a screw loose in his mental faculties, a glitch, and something went terribly, terribly awry in the head of Lyon Vastia—something had to—

(—because he loves her. And she desperately, desperately needs to fix him.)

As much as Juvia lives for love, every time she sees a shooting star she wishes so, so hard for it to disappear.

She hates the sight of him standing there, holding out his roses (or chocolates, or jewelry, or coffee cups), and she hates that half-hopeful look in his eyes, the way he self-conciously smooths back his spiky white hair and fiddles with his jacket like she is the only thing in the world that can scare him. She hates the way he breathes her name, "Juvia," in that deep, sweet voice, and most of all she hates the way he sees her.

Juvia would like ever so much to say that he didn't really love her—not for who she is, anyway, that he put her on a pedestal an has never delved past the surface of the water to see the person beneath—but she knows it's a lie, because at the core they are the same shamble of fantasies and slap-in-the-face rejections and heartbreakingly impossible dreams.

Defying all reason, sanity, common sense, and laws of nature he loves her.

She blames the glitch.

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If she doesn't fix this, she's going to hell.

Grimly resigned, Juvia goes on a mission to taint a human emotion so pure, so sweet that it brands her as a sinner and silently, she burns.

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Lyon can't contain his shock when Juvia comes to Lamia Scale, asking to see him. To see him. Beautiful, sweet Juvia wants to see him. She's travelled ten miles from Magnolia to pay him a visit—

—and he has no idea why.

He's not sure he wants to know.

The morning is a foggy one when they step out of the guild together. The air outside mists around Juvia as if responding to her water form, moistening Lyon's face with droplets, and the sun shines through the fog like a hazy lighthouse beacon. She smells like river water. They walk on a street lined with small, triangular houses, sticking up in multicolored spikes as if they were prongs of a giant toasting fork, roasting the sky over the sun.

Ammaralys has always been an odd town.

They sneak into a cafe downtown that Lyon's never been to, but he hardly even notices that they're not outside anymore.

And then they stare at each other.

And stare at each other.

Because honestly, is there anything to say that they don't already know?

(Isn't it just like looking into a mirror, Juvia?)

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Lyon is hoping again. Just a little bit. It's like a blister, lodged somewhere he can't reach—whenever he thinks he can finally ignore the pain it digs even deeper into his skin and it hurts so badly but he can never manage to flick the thing away, no matter how much he wants to.

Ur used to tell him that love was like sunshine, warm and sustaining and beautiful. Maybe for her it was—he doesn't want to call her a liar.

But for him love feels like thorns.

He sneaks a peek at her then, apple-cheeked and shy and so, so beautiful—and he realizes with a sinking feeling that such a lady would not want anything to do with someone like him, who is odd and unsure and has nothing to offer that Gray cannot. The problem is...Gray will not.

She deserves better. He would never use her like that.

Juvia sighs and promises to herself that this is the last time she will have to break him.

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"Lyon...are you sure you are in love with Juvia?"

He's a smart man, and he knows that she's not really asking him for the sake of receiving an answer—no, she's familiar enough with his answer by now. Clever girl, she's offering him an out. A free pass out of here and an escape from anything she might say that will drive that blister so deep into his heart it would scar; all he has to do is say no.

He's a smart man, but for Juvia, he's always done the stupidest things.

Juvia frowns at his reply. It is not what she was hoping for.

"Yeah, I assumed that would be your reaction."

"Lyon," she begins, but the ice wizard cuts her off, so she sits back and listens because she owes it to him, at least, to hear what he has to say.

"Juvia, I…" He lets out a heavy breath. "Mavis, I've always been better with words than this. Listen, ever since I saw you in the guild, I felt something for you. Maybe it started out as physical attraction, because if I may be so bold, I have never met anyone quite so lovely as you—"

Juvia opens her mouth to protest.

"Wait! I'm not flirting! Just...let me finish, please. Anyway, I met you and you were beautiful, and strong and clever and every quality I admire—but your heart had already been stolen from you, by Gray, of all people, and there was nothing I could do to get it back. I tried to stop it, believe me, I tried, but by the Grand Magic Games I realized I was just as in love as you were—"

"So you are in love with Gray-sama!" the bluenette accuses.

Lyon rolls his eyes. "No, silly. The very thought turns my stomach. I realized how badly I had fallen for you. And then predictably I proceeded to make a complete ass of myself in front of you."

"Ass isn't the right word," she corrects mildly.

"Fine. I was trying to get you to love me back, whatever you want to call it—the fact remains the same that I obviously failed," he says, with an air of complete and utter misery. He stares at his napkin with laser-like focus, as if trying to burn a hole in the thing.

"Lyon, look at Juvia."

He grudgingly obliges.

She's watching him with blue, blue eyes full of sadness, but there is no pity in them, nothing that shakes her steely resolve. If she wavers, it's all over. She wouldn't be able to put either of them through this again.

She reaches across the table to take his hands and they are cold, but Juvia has always liked the cold.

"You're not an ass. Sometimes you are an arrogant buffoon, but it's all part of your charm!"

"Gee, thanks."

"It's a compliment!" she insists. "Listen, Lyon, you are charming, and sweet, and Juvia has never met a soul as kind to her as you. If Juvia's heart was still her own, you don't know how easy it would be to imagine giving it to you, but...things being as they are…"

"You love him. I know."

"Juvia is very sorry."

"It's okay," Lyon says softly. "Don't apologize for how you feel. We both know love is not a choice."

"Do you ever wonder why no one ever told us?" she sighs.

Lyon thinks back to Ur and her warm, sunshine love, and says thoughtfully, "I think they were trying to spare us the pain. Maybe the occasional child got lucky and never had to question it."

They lock eyes with each other (and think, Do they know how miserably they failed?).

They've never been the lucky types.

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We've reached an understanding, you and I.

The sunrays play peekaboo with the tendrils of fog, dodging them and dancing around them, always just out of sight. Occasionally the fog is quicker and traps the light within it's gauzy white walls and for a split second, it illuminates the mist into a shining halo before the sunlight escapes, slyly, and the game begins all over again.

The whole world is playing. Fish leaping after each other in rivers, the rivers chuckling back. Clumsy white clouds spinning themselves sideways. Birdsong.

It sees Lyon and Juvia, standing uncertainly outside a cafe, and invites them to join the game.

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Soon they find themselves in the park with mugs of steaming hot chocolate—Lyon's flavored with mint, Juvia's topped with marshmallow fluff—talking about the randomest things.

Sorciere Weekly gossip, fluffy animals, who would win in a one-on-one battle, death metal rock bands, popsicles—

And Gray, of course.

Lyon has, many, many stories about Gray.

(Once upon a time there was a moody little boy who could never keep his pants on, apprenticed to an evil ice witch who went by the name of Ur—)

Juvia knows it's betraying her beloved, but she can't help laughing, because this is some of the funniest shit she's ever heard.

"You're serious? Gray-sama actually...mooned a Vulcan?"

Lyon shrugs. "Yes. But it's not entirely his fault. I kind of stole all of his clothes and fed them to a winter boar. He never wore the damn things anyway, so why waste them?"

Juvia gives him a suspicious look, and says, very seriously, "Juvia thinks that Lyon-sama may enjoy seeing Gray-sama naked a little too much."

He...WHAT?!

He did not just insinuate that he was into seeing….

"NO! Hell no! Just...ick, Juvia! Ugh, you are so...absolutely no."

"Did Juvia say something wrong?" she asks, eyes all blue and dewy and innocent as a little lamb.

He's wholly unimpressed. "You know, you little demon."

"So you are not in love with Gray-sama?"

"Of course not! I'm in love with you!"

She nods. "Ah, and Juvia is in love with Gray-sama."

Lyon, perplexed, says, "I thought we already established this."

"Then the question is"—She pauses for dramatic effect "—who on Earthland is Gray-sama in love with?"

(Wouldn't we all like to know.)

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Lyon's thorns are aching again.

It's evening now, and the fog has dissipated, the sun has gone to sleep, the fish duck their head under a creek that murmurs sofly in the night instead of laughing. One by one, the birds fall silent. If the world is trying to tell him anything, it's the game is over.

The curtains have fallen. Now it's time to let her go.

And he's almost ready for it, truly. Very nearly prepared to bid her goodnight and walk home with the scent of river water still lingering in the air. He has keepsakes now, of her laughter, her bright, happy grin, the way her eyes cloud over with sadness, and it's almost enough to satisfy him, almost everything he needs to go to bed and dream of her one, final time.

But he wants just one more.

"Juvia," he says, hesitantly, "can I ask one thing of you before you leave?"

"Of course."

"Could I…" He flushes. "This is terribly forward of me, especially considering we just talked it all out, but...it would be nice to have one more….memory. Of, uh, of us."

"A memory?" she queries, head tilting to one side. "What kind?"

He cringes as if he half-hoped she wouldn't ask that.

Suddenly she gets it.

"Lyon," she implores. "Even if Juvia does, it won't change anything. She will still love him."

"It's not about that!" he says quickly. "I know things will never change. It's only a matter of...having something to hold on to. Three seconds, even. I mean, wouldn't you want to, if Gray…?"

And that, right there, is hitting her where she's most vulnerable, because if she was in his position she would no doubt ask the exact same thing.

"Won't it just make everything worse?"

"Can things get any worse?"

"Things can always get worse."

"Not for me. Just...don't say no?" he pleads softly. "This one time, don't say no to me. It's only a few seconds."

"A few seconds carry a lot of meaning," Juvia says, eyes dark and sad.

But she doesn't say no.

And then he pulls her closer, breathes in the scent of rain in her hair, and marvels at the way that even at night, she glows blue and white like the streak of a comet tail and that she's still here, eyes wide with apprehension but not pulling away…

He's kissing her.

Like he promised, it's only a few seconds, but Juvia feels the water in her body rising towards him, and reaches out to cradle his cold, cold face, touch his eyelids to make sure they are closed because she doesn't want him to see, for a split second, the longing that crosses her face, the flush of feeling his lips against her own. He can't know the way it affects her, or that she can't remember Gray's name—can't remember anything except Lyonlyonlyonlyon. He's the only one who exists for her in that instant. His skin is cold, but the blood pumping underneath is warm and alive and the sweetest music she has ever heard.

Lyon is pulling her. He's changing her. He's making her forget.

And for a few seconds she lets him.

Then he steps back with a smile, presses his lips to her palm, and turns and walks away. A whisper of goodnight Juvia carries on the breeze.

"Goodnight, Lyon."

The moment ends as suddenly as it began, but it feels complete somehow. Like a fitting end to a chapter or...the beginning of a new one. She doesn't know.

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Back to Fairy Tail now. Back to Gray. The game is over.

They step out on stage and take a bow.

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Curtains close.

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