Title: Beauty

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Kurama/Botan

Summary: Kurama would always tell her that she was perfect, but Botan would always say that she was full of flaws and was the definition of imperfect.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho.

Botan doesn't like her hair. It's weird in color and it's dreadfully long and hard to take care of. It's lined with split ends and stands in directions she wished it didn't whenever she wakes up from a slumber.

Nor does she like her eyes. They are big and almost too bright and they keep all the pain and sadness she tries to hide behind a smile. They've seen too many horrible things for decades and have been dirtied and darkened for years.

She doesn't enjoy having her hands either. They're superficially pretty, flawless and white... but god knows, she knows they have taken far too many lives than she could count and have killed more than any demon ever could.

And she hates her smile. It'll appear in the most annoying way possible and the corners of her mouth would curl upwards almost painfully so. It's terribly fake and full of secrets she'll never revealed to anyone but herself.

Her body, she despises it to the deepest end of earth. It's pale and awfully flawed. It's full of scars and bruises from her previous battles and wounds that never disappeares or fades over time.

She is perfectly imperfect; and she loathes herself for it.

Kurama liked to laugh at Botan when she screamed at him that she wasn't perfect (playfully, that is), everytime he told her she was. He laughed and laughed and laughed even as she threw a pillow or tackled him to the ground, because he knew it was true.

It was true and it was what he loved the most about her.

Her hair, he says, is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and he loves the way the blue color fits perfectly with the blue of the sky and flies prettily with the bone-chilling wind. Her hair, he tells her, is the most smooth and silky thing to run his fingers through.

Her eyes, he says, he never gets tired of looking into them and he loves how they always reflect the feelings she harbors for him. They're pretty, he tells her, when they glint with mischief, brighten with joy and he loves how he can always see through her whenever he lays eyes on her pair of amethysts.

Her hands, he says, are pure and innocent and couldn't have taken more lives than he could. They are slender and gentle and has healed so many of their wounded friends. Besides, he tells her with a grin, he loves what she does with her hands as they make love.

Her smile, he says, is tender and full of kindness. It holds secret, yes, he tells her, but he loves how those pink lips smile the biggest and cutest smile he's ever seen everytime he showers her with praise and gifts.

Her body, he says, is the most flawless one he's ever come across. It's supple and has soft skin and has curves all at the right places. Her body, he continues to tell her, is the only one he's willing to run his hands and lips and tongue all over all night long and he loves the way it reacts against her whenever he pleasures her, arching up against his touch even when she tries not to give in.

"And those are just a few of the many reasons I love you," he tells her, places a soft kiss on her hand and smiles. "You may not be perfect," he says, "but you're perfect to me."

"Don't you dare change," he says to her when she's grinding at her bottom lip with a smirk. "Just do me a favor and don't."

She would never dream of such a sin.