Chapter One: Glimpses
One quick look around the table and I realize quickly just where I fall in the visitor's list. This would be the so-called non-descript table. Important enough to attend, not important enough to have great seats for the show. Not that I consider myself important enough. To be honest, my seat and I are perfect given the occasion, at least for my opinion.
The round oak table is the host of seven other people. I came to the quick conclusion that this is the 'not really important, but important enough' table because the guy to my right was Michiru's manager for the better part of a few years in the first portion of her violinist career and the woman to my left is another sort of coworker. Everyone else sitting there had something to do with the event, from planning to catering to whatever else, and they were given invitations for the sake of politeness.
I have a pretty decent seat. It's the farthest in the room, stuck in a cozy little corner, not far away enough from the exit if it called for an early departure. About the only thing bad about it is the fact that the food is all the way in the other side, as well as the open bar. The dance floor is situated there as well, so I put this in the list of "good things". I arrive later than everyone else so by that time the lights are semi-dimmed and a slide show is well on its way.
My eyes flitter through the crowd and wonder why so many are unfamiliar. Who are all the people on table eight? Who's the man with the clean, shaven, and hard face with pools of hauntingly familiar eyes? Who's the woman next to him, poised and elegant, as if she belonged perfectly right next to him? And the young boy sitting near them sloppily getting the appetizers all over his tuxedo?
Who are the people on table nine? People that are such strangers that I knew if I were to see them again elsewhere, I still wouldn't know them. Table five, table eleven, table seven, table two...
"Who are these people?" I whisper to myself and give a tired roll of the eye. Looking at the elegant woman on the head table, I grunt once more and take a drink of the champagne glass all of the sudden materializing near my hand. "Do you even know them?"
Or maybe...the annoying voice in my head state rather abruptly. You don't even know her. Cuz if you did, you would know all of these people.
Parched. Throat. Drink. All of it.
The bittersweet droplets splash on my tongue roughly, needing more but knowing that it's a bad idea.
I found table three to be my emotional refuge. There sat a flock of long, raven hair mingling with just as long, softly tended blondes. Near them, a bluenette, short, well-kempt turning to a taller figure of ponytailed brown strands. Lastly, a couple: short jet black hair and blonde meatballs.
I find myself wishing I was in that table because I could personally acknowledge that I do...know her. At the very least, that aspect of her very, very few know.
Polite laughter sifts through the crowd, blaring my senses to the slide show. I'm suddenly glad I hadn't eaten a thing. Bile is liable to go back up and defy gravity with what I'm seeing.
Sweet pictures. Holding. Touching. Hugging. Kissing.
I turn away and wish the champagne glass would magically refill itself. But alas, things in Tokyo are hardly that particular anymore. When was the last time anyone saw pretty soldiers fighting for justice under a spectacular moonlight with no reason to it but love?
Years. Years and years ago. But everyone is happy for this bit of silence. This...reprieve. Everyone, but possibly me.
The slide show converts to a movie. Of a few hours back when vows were being relinquished and promises given. I could look away. Truth is, I did. But it would be difficult to cover one's ears without getting weird looks across the table if I were to suddenly not want to hear it all either.
"Kaioh Michiru, do you take Abe Daiki to be your lawfully wedded husband? To care and..."
I push my chair back, disregarding the looks given to me by my table companions. The room was stifling, hot. Pushing a few buttons out of place and pulling the bow tie off a bit roughly, I make my way to the exit, fists deep into my pants pocket.
"Sir, would you like to sign the guestbook before leaving?"
I look at the happy face of the pretty girl behind the guestbook and mini podium, eyes flittering to the black pen waving in her hand.
Giving one small nod, I take it from her, flip to a random spot and write a few choice words. Then, ripping an edge off of another page and eliciting a small, surprised gasp from her, I write a phone number, hotel address, and room number.
"If you wanna have some fun tonight."
I push it to her direction, meeting surprised caramel eyes. I smirk before leaving the room.
O-O-O-O-O
Noise...is a funny thing. It's distracting, fun, wild, vicious, out of control, LOUD.
LIFE.
Silence on the other hand...
I pull the helmet off, my short strands sweaty and wet from under its vice. My ears are still ringing from the assault from earlier, but it seemed that for now, silence is even louder, pounding its way brutally in my head. My hands feel slick from the champagne throwing and I hope the smile was wide enough for the pictures to lie for me. I stretch my lips into a smile to see if I still can, and laugh at the irony of having to lie even to myself in the isolation of the lockers.
"Does it still surprise you that you can smile as if you're living the time of your life?"
My heart jump, but I hope it didn't show from my reaction. I've always wondered how she's able to go into a room completely undetected. I mean, to sneak up on a normal human is easy enough, but a trained soldier? Sure, it's been years, but you never really outgrow the feel of needing to be constantly on your toes.
I sigh loudly at the unexpected intrusion. "How's it going Setsuna?"
"Typical Haruka to answer my question with her own question."
I raise what I hope looks like a condescending eyebrow. "Here I was thinking it was rhetorical." I blink almost childishly at her knowing it's one of my traits she absolute hates. I smile when I see her frown settle even deeper. "How can I help you Setsuna?" I try again.
She leans back against the wall, red orbs never leaving mine. "Did you, by any chance, count how long you stayed at the reception yesterday?"
I shrug, brushing drying, cold strands with just as cold fingers that completely bounced back in their disheveled place.
"Six minutes."
My eyes follow a crack on the floor.
"Six whole minutes Haruka."
"And so?"
"And so? Really?"
I lean back tiredly, head banging a bit roughly on the metal lockers behind me.
"And is there a reason why you chose table twelve to gallivant in?"
"That was my spot."
"Bullshit."
Oh, she is angry...
I cough and look away from the gash on the floor towards an empty office.
"That's bullshit Haruka and you know it."
I sigh again.
"Does it not concern you at all that your best friend just got married? That...she'd been working on it for the better part of a year to make it the perfect wedding she'd dreamt of all her life? Does it matter to you that she wanted to share that part of her life with not just you, but everyone she deems important to her? To be important enough to even share a moment with her...do you even care for that?"
I swallow the lump in my throat.
"No. No, you don't," she continues because she knows I wouldn't answer. "Do you know why you don't care Haruka? It's because you're selfish. If you're not happy, no one else deserves to be happy. If you don't care, why should anyone else care? It's only the most important day in Michiru's life right? Why should you care? She's only your best friend. You're only important enough to her that she'd not just bother sending you an invitation, but an inquiry to be a maid of honor to her.
"And to show your interest in the matter, you...you couldn't even answer. You couldn't even give a detailed answer as to why you couldn't take up the position. You couldn't even come up with a good enough excuse. It's as if you were telling her she wasn't even good enough for an excuse—
"What would you have me say Setsuna?"
My yell resounds through the empty room, only noticing after the action that I had gotten up as well, fists balled at my sides and my eardrums thrumming hotly. The jumpsuit was terribly hot and I claw at it desperately for some cool air to enter my heated system.
"What the hell could I possibly say to her? Congratulations? Fuck that! I'd rather slit my throat! I would...sooner point one of Eudial's little blaster guns to my head! I'm not happy! I won't act as if I am for her sake. I'm not a good enough liar for that."
We stand there, glaring at one another in what seemed like forever. I wouldn't yield and neither would she, the words selfish flashing through my eyelids every time I blink.
"Tenoh! Get out here! Interview, let's go!"
It only took a moment. For me to swing my head to the direction of the noise. To look back and see that Setsuna is no longer there.
O-O-O-O-O
Sterile environments aren't my thing.
The first would be the smell. I think it's what I usually notice first and foremost only because there is, or hardly is any smell at all. There's no sweetness, or bitterness, or even stench. It's just stale. Alcohol. Clean.
Artificial.
It passes through my nose and I have the faintest feeling of my throat constricting, mind numbing, at how fake everything in a hospital seemed.
Second to reach my mind: off-white.
It's as if the decorators gave up halfway through a muse, chose a gaudy wallpapery color for the bottom half of a hallway and shrugged the rest of the paint and decided off-white to be the most presentable given any kind of situation. A neutral color.
Oh, someone in your family's going to die? Well sorry for the bright cool yellow walls in the background. Here's an off-white one instead to merit and match the voided feeling you must be encountering at the present moment.
Oh, they're not going to die? Well we know you're happy, but just in case, here's the ever presentable off-white color. Great for any situation whether you feel like jumping to the sky, or jumping off a cliff.
The elevator gives off a noise before opening, the stale smell reaching my nostrils even further and the off-white walls greeting me amidst the darkness engulfing the windows. The watch in my hand reads four. In the morning. And I feel as if the only thing I can do well these days is run.
I've always been good at running...metaphorically...literally...
Lush carpet greets me, crunching a bit beneath my shoes. And I'm fully aware that its past visitor's hours, but could care less.
"Michiru just went into labor. Room 551."
Setsuna's message was clipped and short, and well over thirteen hours ago. I wondered what to do about it first. Was it really wise to just come back and act as if I hadn't been gone for the better part of two years?
What would they say? What would Michiru say? How would she act? How would she look?
All of these questions jumped around in my mind.
How would her baby look?
It really didn't take long to book a flight. If money isn't an issue, nothing really takes long...
LA would be where I left it when I'd get back. It's not as if anyone would miss me in my two days off. Just a day. And I'd head back to normalcy.
After turning right and heading off to the wing of the maternity ward, I'm a bit surprised at the change in color. Guess I was a kind of wrong on the decorators and their abilities to paint walls. They half-ass the rest of the hospital, but not the baby section. Here I find painted safaris with lions and zebras and giraffes coexisting peacefully in a bright yellow savannah. In another wall is an ocean scene filled with sea creatures ranging from tropical clownfish to sharks and jellyfish. A little ways away is a solar system, complete with stars, planets, moons, and asteroids.
How fitting that the hallway for rooms 545 to 555 are the ones covered in ocean floors.
Said hallway is devoid of people. Passing by a nurse's station, I assume I'd come across a body or two for the midnight shift, but it looked as if they might've been patrolling. I shrug at their absence, glad that no questions would need answers.
All doors leading to the oceanic hallway are half closed with curtains drawn in each one to disable peeking. All is quiet, save for my small shuffles among the floors turned tiled and I could almost hear my heart beating. I could've sworn it wasn't this erratic just moments ago. As a kind of reflex I brush my strands back—still short, still unkempt, still unrelentingly messy, and then shove my hands deep in my pockets, avoiding the question of whether or not they're shaking just now.
547.
549.
551.
It suddenly dawns on me the what ifs as I stand there in front of her door.
What if she's awake?
I obviously didn't want that...else I wouldn't be coming at four o'clock in the damn morning.
What if she got moved to a different room?
What if she didn't want to see me?
What if...that guy is inside with her?
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and I could feel the muscles in my face constricting to a frown. A pained one.
This was a mistake... I should've known that or at least thought it during the ten and a half hour flight from LAX to Narita. And I feel like running. Cuz hell, I'm good at that. No one in this world could beat me at running. I feel like going back to the other side of the world to make sure I don't see her and everyone else here I've left behind. I don't want to see them and I know they don't want to see me. Because as much as I can't stand seeing them all happy without me, I also wouldn't be able to stand to see them all acknowledge the fact that I'm miserable without them.
But...
But it's been two years. Two years of being alone, living from hotel room to hotel room. Two years of silent communication between myself and my better halves. Two years of acting like I didn't care if there was anyone familiar in the stands when I race at Fuji Speedway, but feeling utter disappointment every time I end a race and not see a strand of aqua hair in sight and blaming no one but myself at this turn of events because it's not like I said I was in town anyway.
My heart settle deeply, feeling the familiar crack there that I've grown accustomed to for years.
What would she look like?
Beautiful, as always. I already knew the answer. But I want to see for myself...just how beautiful. Because I know, I've forgotten somewhat. And the last I laid eyes on her, my sight was so glossed over by bitterness that I couldn't see just how marvelous she looked in her wedding gown. How genuinely happy she seemed at that center table, surrounded by everyone important to her.
I step forward, and push the door softly away, glad that they maintain them enough to not even make the barest creak.
Beige curtains greet me as well as the strong stench of cleanliness only hospitals could give. But amidst that smell is a familiar one. Soft lilies. A hint of vanilla. Neither scent overbearing or powerful. Balanced. Like her. And I wonder, just how she could smell this way in this environment. How she could give such a lilting aroma, when she probably had to endure so much in just half a day.
I side step through the curtains, careful not to touch them and make a sound that might possibly wake her and finally, I'm at my goal.
Michiru.
My insides warm at the mere sight of her.
When was the last time I've seen her sleeping so peacefully?
I smile, mirroring her small one and feel relief flood me. Relief that there were no complications during her labor. Relief that she looks happy and content. And one last shallow relief that, that man isn't in the room with her momentarily.
I notice a small chair by her bedside, but remain standing, my eyes paying little mind to anything else, but her.
Was the almost eleven hour flight worth it?
Yeah. Definitely.
The two years haven't changed her much. Her hair is possibly a bit longer, but the same wavy tresses in the same lush and shiny color remained on top of a beautiful, creamy face. The same sculpted eyebrows, over fanning eyelashes. A small, but pointed nose, and only-in-dreams-that-I-can-even-imagine kissable lips.
I wish momentarily for her eyes to open. I miss locking eyes with her. To look into those soul searching sapphires and know that she can read me from top to bottom—I miss knowing that someone in this world knows me that much.
She shifts suddenly, and makes a small sound, and I know regardless of her waking up or not that it was time for me to go. I take a small card out of my blazer pocket that I managed to buy at LAX while waiting for my flight and place it among vases of flowers and congratulations balloons. It was nameless, and had one word in it that she'd be hearing for days on end, but that was fine. Just like everyone, I know she'd be better off not knowing I was here this too early morning.
I slip away, careful not to glance at the still sleeping figure again in case I change my mind and step back into the hallway, my eyes opening wide to a nurse there that seemed just as surprised to see me.
"Sir—
"I know it's passed visiting hours," I interrupt. "I just wanted to drop off something."
But she shook her head, her blue eyes warming. "Are you a relative of Abe-san?"
I swallow at the name and look away. "Yeah. Old friends."
She nods, unable to see through my inner turmoil. "It's amazing how many friends she has. She's probably had more visitors this day alone than the entire wing combined! Of course that's a bit of a stretch, but it's wonderful to see someone loved dearly by so many people."
I nod again wanting to leave.
"Would you like to see the baby?"
It strikes me then that there wasn't a baby in the room.
She must've seen the question in my eyes because she continues, "She's in the nursery. We had to do further tests and Abe-san was in dire need of sleep so we decided to just keep her there until morning."
An unquestionable panic rises in my system. "Is she okay?"
The woman nods gravely. "Of course! Nothing to be worried about. We just like to run extra tests to be very sure."
I nod in understanding, following her as she leads the way to the nursery. She keeps talking albeit silently, but her words pass over me. The hallway turns from a deep ocean theme to a sky filled with storks and finally she leads me to the room.
The nursery is empty save for one baby bundled up in pink blankets.
"Most babies are kept with their mother, but as I mentioned earlier..."
I let her trail off to another explanation and step into the room, the pink bundle all that was in my line of vision. It seemed the woman knew well enough to leave me alone because she left as well, possibly to continue her nightly duties.
And for some reason, the smile on my face would not leave. I lean over the little contraption that they keep the baby in and carefully slide the top of the pink blanket away to see small, clutched hands. I rub the skin, loving the softness trailing along my fingertips and the small hand opens momentarily, long enough for me to put a finger in for her to enclose. I lean further forward to kiss the small hand, the smell of lilies and vanilla so overwhelming it completely freezes the smile in my face, but the fire relentlessly burned at the depths of my soul.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like crying. Ball myself up in a corner and curl up...possibly to die and wither in that fashion. And I could definitely feel it, the heavy sting in the corners of my eyes, the heaviness of my heart so deeply wounded, I knew I'd never fully recover. Because this bundle of joy grasping me is added to the long list. The list that states Michiru is and forever will be unreachable. That she remains in the dream all in her making, and left me alone when she promised she wouldn't.
I gently remove my finger from the baby's strong grasp and tuck the blanket back into her sleeping form. Remembering the still familiar days when I used to take care of Hotaru, I slide a hand underneath a covered head and one more at the bottom near the baby's small back and lift, cradling her in my arms and kissing an exposed cheek.
I'm not exactly sure how long I stood in that nursery and rocked the still sleeping baby. All that grabbed my attention were flushed, soft cheeks, smooth straight, soon-to-be aqua hair and deep sapphires that made me fall into surrender as soon as they opened, only to lock up with mine momentarily and fall into sleep once more.
I rocked her in my arms until I convinced myself that if I did so long enough I could be assimilated in her life.
O-O-O-O-O
April 7th became an important date. For an entire year I would look for the perfect gift for this one day and when I see it, I would still go through the entire year to look for another gift that could trump it. Racing around the world had its merits, only because the world's market was at my feet and I wasn't stuck in one choice shopping mall for too long.
The first birthday was a bit awkward seeing as I wanted to give something, but at a loss as to how without shattering my pride. In the end though, that's exactly what I did.
"Haruka?"
"Hey..."
"This is a bit random."
"I know. I just...I wanted to ask a favor actually."
"Then the answer is no."
"Setsuna, just listen first—
"And I should because?"
"Because..." I trail off, knowing I don't have an answer to that. "Look, I know I don't deserve it."
"I'm glad we can actually agree on something."
"But!" I cut off, before anymore thought is produced to those words. "It-it's...I just want to give a present. For...the baby."
A thickened silence follows my request.
"Shall I give you Michiru's address?"
I shake my head vehemently regardless of the fact that my old friend cannot see the action. "Just...I don't care if she knows I gave it or not. Put it under your name, or just...give her the item when you're giving your present. Something! Please...Setsuna..." I feel the desperation coat my voice, but can't for the life of me stop it. "Just this one time...every year. That's all I ask."
Another bout of silence. And then, "Fine. You know my address."
I swallow relief that had lumped in my throat. "Th-Thanks."
This year marks her tenth birthday and I'm in Italy for the Grand Prix. Instead of testing cars and training though, I'm at the ever busy shopping areas, torn between two I-was-told popular anime figurines. Yes, I know Japan has better selections, but that part of the championship won't come until further in the year and I am unfortunately pressed for time.
This year had been merciless. I've looked, turned over every shop in possibly every district in every city I was in and yet, nothing would suffice for the girl that I would give the present to. When I thought I had found something, a thought would irk me and sooner than later, I'd find myself looking again, chucking my last choice like yesterday's paper.
"It really is popular you know," the store clerk tells me in Italian, and I nod just to appease him.
And then, my eye catches something grey at the back of a shelf.
"What about that one?" I ask and place the two action figurines down.
"That? Old. Very old. Antique if you really ask me. From the eighties, but I think kids these days are lapping it up so the production for it went up."
I walk to the plush toy and squeeze it, feeling the softness of the fur around its tubby body. The tag attached to it is in Japanese and I actually remember it from my childhood. I grin toothily, mirroring the huge one given to me by the stuff toy.
"You got anything else like it?" I ask, making up my mind.
"An order came in last Tuesday," he murmurs, turning around and going into the storage room in the back. Coming out less than a minute later with a box, he opens it, and brings the items out. "Lots of t-shirts, more stuff toys, a little hat with ears, a stamp, the movie in its remastered edition, a little keychain..."
"I'll take one of each stuff you have...and the plushy," I decide and continue to look over him as he rifles through the contents of the box. "He's pretty cute," I add with a shrug.
"Kind of creepy...the smile."
"Nah, you just didn't grow up with it."
He shrugs this time. "Whatever you say. I'll ring you up."
So that night, I go back to my hotel room to box and wrap it all up to be sent the following day all the while listening to my manager at the Ferrari team scream at me via phone message about missing another test run. I turn it off right around the time he threatens to give my spot to a lesser teammate and settle in for the night soon after.
It's nights, much like this quiet one where I'm lying on another hotel bed that my mind wanders. It's been ten years...since I've gone home. Of course, I still went there every year. It wouldn't be very bright of me to miss my homeland's grand prix of all places, but much like everywhere else I go, there's no one of importance that I see at the end. I sometimes like to think it's because they want to give me room as I've asked years and years prior, but nowadays I've gone to the overly emotional conclusion that maybe they've just forgotten. Me. It's a gut wrenching thought, but the only valid one that reaches my mind these days.
Before, I had the notion that I could do this forever because it's one of my life's passions. To be one of the top drivers of the circuit, racing for the top team, and doing what I deemed to be my dream job, how is it that I could possibly want more? At thirty-five, I shouldn't. I should be aiming for something unattainable. Something that would set my name in stone. But everything these days is a bit hard to swallow, especially when the words, "I just don't feel like it anymore" keep grazing my head.
I feel it especially in the morning, when I've just woken up and look at my reflection in the mirror, and the same twenty-some year old girl is looking back at me. I look twenty-five, I really am thirty-five, but I feel like I'm ninety-five.
My life is so screwed up.
I know that they see it. My team. Discontent hangs onto me so well that the up and coming drivers are just waiting for me to say something so they can take my spot. It's not as if the owner will just let me go. Regardless of the amount of threats he and my manager can belt out one by one, firing me would just make the other teams jump up to get me. No, being the number one driver for years now gave me the advantage to say when I wanted to leave. And a part of me is sad and disappointed to feel that that time may be soon. Yet another part of me is rejoicing.
I turn, belly on the mattress and one nostril just barely flaring from above a goose down pillow to give me enough air to continue breathing.
"I miss Michiru."
If I were paying enough attention, I would probably notice that I said that out loud. But sleep begins clouding my vision, and alabaster arms embrace me in a feeling I had once upon a time. An American song filters through my open window, lulling me to sleep, saying everything I want to say all at once, but still leaving a lot out.
Another winter day has come and gone away in even Paris and Rome, and I wanna go home. Oh I miss you, you know.
O-O-O-O-O
It's a bit fitting that the last race of the season is held in Japan. After the end of a grueling test run, I find myself sitting in one side of a desk, Ferrari's owner in front of me and my manager to the side. They hear me out, and then take turns in explaining why me leaving would be a bad idea, mainly for me, but not for them. Somehow, I feel that, that's probably a lie. I shake my head. I stand my ground. I don't need to tell them that this isn't what I want to do with my life anymore. They could see it in my eyes.
After two hours of deliberations, they concede. They tell me to think about it though. Give it some thought. Wait until after the Japan Grand Prix to make up my mind. I agree to their demand already knowing it wouldn't matter.
November 15th came to be a cold, windy day. The stands are packed to the brim and electricity ran through the circuit like wildfire. According to the standings I was placed in third so far. The last two speedways were unrelenting and little to no points placed me in a win it all or lose it all ground. It would be the first time in a long time that another champion would be crowned, and I didn't really know how to feel about that.
In every race I've attended in my life, the start would always give me a nauseating feeling. It would start at the pulse point of my temples. Beat itself into a resounding headache. Next would be flashes of nausea, my stomach feeling like it's eating itself in nervousness. Hands clam up, sweaty and wet and I would have to repeatedly wipe them over my jumpsuit. Dry mouth, shaky countenance, even wilder than usual hair. I remember back in my heydays that I even threw up prior to the start of a race in too much anticipation once.
Today, I feel numb.
No unease. No pains in my stomach from a mere outlook. No nervousness.
Just...nothing.
And feeling that is the deciding factor for my earlier declaration.
The race starts.
The race ends.
Flashes. Microphones. Interviews.
"Tenoh-san, I know you're disappointed for your loss. We are as well seeing as you've been doing so well. It would be the first time in eight years that you're not in the top position at the end of the season. How do you feel?"
I shrug, my trademark smile gone from my countenance. "I'm a bit disappointed that I couldn't win it here, but it is what it is."
"Second place is not a bad standing by any means though Tenoh-san. As they say, there's always next year."
My lips purse almost automatically. Sighing a bit, I reply, "I've actually come to a decision that this would be my last and final race."
I veer my sight away from her stumped features and a frown settles itself in my face from the amount of flashes going off in my direction.
"A-are you retiring?"
I nod, face leaning forward so that my answer is clear and loud in the microphone. "Yes, I'm retiring."
O-O-O-O-O
A door stands in front of me, golden letters glittering its front side reading 9A. I've been standing here for the better part of five minutes and I wonder what I should do. All of me wants to knock on the door for it to open and to see her in the other side. None of me wants to see her uncaring countenance when she does. But I'm afraid that, that will be what I'll see. Stoicism. Uncaring. Forgotten.
I swallow the pitiful feeling back down in my stomach where it settles uneasily and tell myself, convince myself that I'm already here, and that to leave now would be counterproductive. Never one to be much of a coward, I brace myself to see what I'll see and feel what she'll give me.
My knock is soft, and I wonder if I should redo it or turn away. And then I hear shuffles in the other side, and my heart feels suddenly light and fluttery.
I wonder briefly how much twelve years has done to her.
Graying teals, a glitter of emeralds widen at me. I look pass memorable, shocked eyes to unruly blonde strands, a bit longer than how I remember them, but noting the familiarity of them regardless because I have seen her recently. Chiseled visage, a perfect nose, sculpted eyebrows, full, lush lips.
I lick my dry ones in reflex of the thought.
"M-Michiru?"
Her husky voice sends a pleasant shiver down my spine, and I'm thankful that the years hasn't downgraded me to Kaioh-san, or even Michiru-san. I wouldn't know what to do if I hear her call me so unfamiliarly.
"Hi, Haruka."
I can see that she's unsure. She looks around a bit to check if I came alone. I did. Who else would be with me?
"H...how did you know where I was staying?"
I smile. "A phone call here. A favor there." A smirk. "Not gonna let me in?"
Gray teals widen again. She shakes her head. "No, no. Of course. Yeah, come in."
I pass her, seeing creamy flesh amidst her unbuttoned polo. A quiet sniff makes me feel relaxed for she smells just as I remember. No manufactured cologne or even a hint of lotion. Just Haruka. So indefinable, yet familiar to me that I miss it as soon as the hotel room's clean smell overtakes its presence.
"Make yourself comfortable. I'll make tea."
I make my way through the living area, noting one small luggage peeking out of what would be a bedroom. It looks to be the only thing in this entire suite that belongs to my partner.
I sit on one side of the loveseat, hands on my lap as I hear the tinkling sounds of china and a teakettle in the other room. Silence pervades us and I can only hope that it would not last. A minute more and she comes into view, two teacups in hand. She hands me one and I thank her with a smile. Turning away, she begins making her way to the other side of the coffee table and I couldn't help the sound of discontent coming from the recesses of my throat. She looks back at me, inquiring soft emeralds, and I smile and pat the other space on the loveseat wordlessly. She understands, and complies.
Sitting down, we pass over a bit of silence as we sip our separate cups, almost simultaneously putting them down.
Break it, my mind orders, to which I can only obey.
"Why?"
The handsome tomboy looks back at me, and I can tell from her eyes she knows what I'm inquiring about regardless of the many questions a simple why can concoct.
She shrugs, pearly whites clamping the bottom of her lip. Looking away, I hear a small sigh expel from her before she starts, "I'm not sure." Her eyes evade to inanimate decorations across the room. "It...doesn't feel the same, I guess. I wake up in the morning feeling tired instead of excited. I don't remember the standings and who is it I have to beat or who to remain on top of. I feel...discontent." Her emeralds give off a pained expression and I ball my hands into fists instead of reach out to console. "I sometimes go to sleep at night thinking I don't want to do it anymore, so..." She shrugs, trailing off, and I hear a hard swallow at her end.
My eyes greet the lush carpet on the floor. "I see."
She shrugs, a bit too casually. "It'll be there when I want to go back. If I want to go back. Just, right now...something feels...missing."
And I know she no longer wants to talk about it. Reaching out at our teacups in unison, we drink silently once more, her expression lightening to an almost easy smile.
She turns to me, eyes crinkled, lips turned a bit upward. "How're you?"
And I smile back with a small shrug of my own. "Good. Life's...fine."
"How's...your baby?"
I laugh a bit at the question. My daughter hasn't been called my baby in years. It strikes me then that Haruka doesn't know her name. It's not like she would. She's probably never asked, and even though she wanted to know, her pride couldn't afford the question.
"She's very well," I answer, my heart swelling at the thought of my baby girl. "Would you like to see pictures?"
I see her eyes brighten at the question, and she nods willingly. "Yeah."
I reach for my purse while continuing, "Every year on her birthday I take pictures. I choose one per year and keep it in a little wallet holder in my purse."
She chuckles at my words, and I know she can hear the pride borne deep into them.
I take the small three by two album out and flip it to the first page, leaning further towards the blonde while she bends over to me as well. Our faces inch closer, her eyes filled with curiosity and our fingers mingling at the base of the photo book.
"This is at the hospital," I say softly, eyes on her instead of the pictures. I feel our shoulders touch as well and I unconsciously lean into her as I continue explaining, "It's just a few minutes after I gave birth"
A soft look flickers through her eyes, her finger trailing over my baby's face and hovering over mine. "I bet it was taxing."
I nod, chuckling a bit at the flashback. "She was a troublemaker. She wouldn't rotate properly and I had to get a c-section."
Emeralds widen worriedly with the news, but I shake my head to expel any troubles. "I was fine. They're not an unusual procedure than most would think. And the doctors were a bit fascinated at how fast my healing was..."
She laughs now as well, stopping as soon as she turns to the next page. And I understand her bout of silence, far more than she knows I do.
I begin, "This was her first birthday. She was teething a lot so this small present and her teeth became very well acquainted."
It was a small stuffed turtle wrapped inside a nondescript box handed over by Setsuna. At the time she had her own present, wrapped and written with proper to's and from's, and I knew without her telling me that the other was not from her, but from another source. Every year she came with two presents, and every year I looked forward to opening that unnamed box.
We were nearing the end of the pictures when I state, "You really are a bad influence you know."
She looks up at me, a bit startled.
"The first time my daughter noticed your presents, she wondered out loud where they were from. She knew it wasn't from anyone of us and because of the mystery factor in them, she looked forward to it year after year." Her mouth widens from shock at my words, but I continue nonetheless, "That was when she was six. At seven, you gave her a hand painted car and she went off in a crazy phase in buying and reconstructing little cars. At eight, you probably got it when you were at the European Grand Prix, but that little hand painted egg you gave became her new obsession and she started collecting those. It became a bit of a problem when we realized just how expensive they really go for." I sigh at the recollection of my downtrodden daughter when I had to tell her we could not get one she had seen online. I flip the page to her ninth birthday. "She got a bike from her father at eight, but she didn't really care for it. But when she got the BMX you sent, for some reason, she was spurred to learn then, and asked Hotaru to teach her to the point where she could ride without further supervision. She came with some bruises and cuts, but she's never been one to complain much and even now she still rides the same bicycle whenever she has the time. It's elevated to motocross recently, but I'm still a bit iffy in letting her try it..."
Emeralds widen at my words and I look back at her with mirth. "You should see her room now," I smirk. "One half is filled with pictures of motor bikes and the other with Totoro plushies and shirts."
She looks at me with genuine mirth and shock, and I just laugh at how adorable her face looks.
"As you can tell she's become a bit of a tomboy," I point out, flipping to the last page of her tenth birthday and noting the small curious frown on Haruka's face as she studies her.
The pictures prior had a little girl with at least shoulder length aqua hair tied up in a ponytail or brushed down. The most recent one had a boyish cut, tufts of same aqua strands just inches long and wearing the gray Totoro shirt Haruka had given her for her birthday.
"W...why?"
And the blonde looks absolutely stunned at this turn of events. I merely smile as she locks eyes with me once more, my features forming amusement. "Did you have a reason?"
She looks away, a small blush painting high cheeks. "No," she grunts, sounding a bit as if she's just been reprimanded. "Just seems outta nowhere is all..."
"Daiki thinks it's just a phase." I note the flash going through her emeralds at the sound of the name. Not wanting to stay in that topic for too long I continue, "I think it's rather adorable. She reminds me of someone...familiar."
The tomboy's cheeks flush once more, giving me a sense of terrible high. I laugh at her unease and feel the years ebb away, and just as suddenly, I want the distance between us—what's left of it—to disappear. I close the photo book, feeling her fingers graze mine once more in the process. Setting it on the coffee table I turn to her, locking our eyes effectively. I lean forward, noting the movements her throat makes in a swallow. To think she could be nervous, makes me smile.
Emeralds look at me in a bout of confusion, but how I feel should be decipherable, especially to her.
"I miss you."
My voice is quiet, almost a whisper. Soft enough to hear her breath hitch at my declaration. And really, how could she think that I don't? What could she have possibly been thinking all these years to come to the conclusion that I could not miss her? It almost gets me to thinking it out loud. But the desire to hold her strikes me again, and I do not wait for her t o meet me halfway.
I stop caring if I somehow overstep a boundary we had agreed to not cross ages ago. I don't pay attention to the niggling in the back of my mind about personal space and keeping it. I can only think that this was—is my best friend. The amount of years apart doesn't change that. The amount of time when no communication was shared doesn't become a factor.
I forget momentarily of the nights I spent in confusion on why she left so abruptly. I forget that I cried endlessly when she asked forcibly to not watch her race—that she needed time and space and this one thing for only herself. I forget the letters, possibly hundreds written, little sent, none ever replied to. I forget that she's broken my heart, piece by piece.
I do remember the glimpses. I remember her walking in to my wedding reception, looking sharp and handsome, and really? Why did she pick table twelve to sit in of all places? I remember her sitting, back straight, looking at everywhere, but where I sat. I noted the confusion in her face from all the unfamiliar people as her eyes sweep across the room. How they softened when they fell on Usagi and her group. How they hardened eerily as soon as they landed on the slide show. I remember warning her under my breath to slow down on that one champagne glass. I remember wanting to get up from the table and asking her to stay, but finding no argument that I'd find she'd see worthy, so I could not.
My mind whisks me to another important day.
I remember my senses trying to wake me at an ungodly hour in the morning. I remember my tired body, still healing from the caesarian section and my mind in whirls, stuck in a fog. I remember her familiar footfalls—how quiet she wanted to be, but years of being with her had taught me exactly what she sounded like amidst everyone else's sound. I could feel her before me, standing, keeping her distance. And I wanted to open my eyes and tell her that it was okay. That I missed her and to please, stay, if only for a couple more hours. But my head stayed lost, in a maze of weariness and dreams I knew were not worth it. My body stayed unresponsive to my pleas of moving. And again, she leaves.
I remember a twice a month ritual. A television, sounds blared, specs heightened.
"And of course, the main attraction, Tenoh Haruka. Dan, the only female driver in today's circuit has won the last championships three years in a row. Do you think that'll change at all this year?"
And I remember scoffing all the while feeding my baby that has become the center of my universe. Such a silly question. And Haruka responded to it, time and time again, like I knew she would. Yet at the end of each trophy given, or points awarded, I see her smile, and it cracks my heart at how happy she tries to look, but fails; her eyes barely meet the action she's forcibly giving.
I haven't seen a real smile in ages...
Both palms reach out to her face, my fingers curling to her smooth jaw and short sideburns and the bottom of my palms brushing edges of soft lips. My thumbs rub high cheeks, confused emeralds still locking with my own, and I can feel me smiling, but I hope it's not a melancholic one. My hands progress to wild strands, and I feel I miss this the most: the touch of her short, silky smooth hair brushing through my fingers as if in a dance. And from there, I engulf her in my arms, our bodies inching closer until there really was no more distance and my cheeks rest on top of her unkempt blonde hair, loving the smell so inherently Haruka that I know my mind has manufactured it once before in the last ten years when I knew she wasn't there.
Strong arms curl around my waist, warm and comforting. Her nose and lips brush my neck, nuzzling me and I could feel me falling all over again.
I wonder momentarily if she minds that I'm literally sitting on her lap, but it seems that it may have gotten lost in her mind as well when a palm brushes over my legs that's been bending on the sofa and touching her sides. We both wordlessly explore, my hands rubbing and squeezing taut shoulders, a smooth back, places that I've missed and she does the same, her fingers crawling, stroking, caressing, and regardless of where or what she does I feel an incessant fire burn through me.
I inch away, still shamelessly on her lap and pull our hands together in a tight hold. Our eyes stay glued to one another and finally, she smiles...handsomely, genuinely, and I feel my heart finally ease.
"I miss you too," she whispers, as if saying it out loud would break the world we'd enclosed upon ourselves.
I merely smile and caress one side of her face with a free hand. "Okaeri."
She leans into my touch, closing her eyes in the process. "Tadaima."
AN: This is a planned three-shot, short story-ish. It follows canon, but not obviously since they're not together. I dunno. I like my AUs...it gives me the leeway I need. Disclaimers for: Sailor Moon belonging to Takeuchi-san, of course, Ferrari belonging to Ferrari, Home sang by numerous artists, but written by Michael Buble I think, Totoro is owned by Studio Gibli and Disney and really? Do I have to do all these? /shrug. Anyway this is a sort of prelude to a bigger story. Kind of the same premise, but at the same time different in plot and longer...cuz I like my novel sized fics and can't articulate a storyline in such small doses. I've never worked on first person POV before. It was a bit tricky at first. Kept writing her and she on that person's perspective and would then have to backtrack to change it to fit. I also suck at tenses...so I TRIED to put this in all present tense unless past tense called for it to be more grammatically correct, tried being the operative word. I know I've been gone. I know I said a half a year or so ago that I'd be coming out with stories and such and I don't know. Is time so much faster now or is it just me? I'll try to put up the next chapter as soon as I'm done writing and editing it and hopefully will be able to do so with my other works too, but we'll see. This is why I don't promise anything. I always break them somehow...