Once upon a dream
(that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam.)
While the mind forgets, the heart always remembers. Always.
It's strange, but whenever she is faced with the sight of a certain Akemi Homura, it strikes a deep chord within Madoka. It's a kind of resonance that pulses through her entire being, rattles up her bones and thrums through the very blood in her veins.
Because there's just something…
Something about the way her raven tresses swish about in the wind as she flicks it behind her ever so nonchalantly.
The way her brows would slant, pulling taut with rapidly dulling lilac pools lowered down onto an invisible speck on the ground as she adorns that ever so pensive expression of hers.
The way the pursed edges of her lips seem to soften, curling into that one particular wistful smile of hers that is reserved solely for her, and her only.
It's all so very familiar to Madoka and she's sure— positively confident— that she has seen these gestures play out before. It's right on the tip of her tongue. But for the life of her, she just can't remember where.
Where?
She thinks she may have seen her once in a dream before.
But it's all too distant and foggy for her to draw up any details.
So for now, she supposes she will have to simply make do with this chilling familiarity.
But it's not as easy as she thinks it would be.
Because each time Madoka is met with that startling shade of lavender peering down at her— ever so guarded and enshrouded in secrets, with the most imperceptible hint of bittersweet affection— it cuts her deep for the strangest of reason.
Like a knife, it plows right through her as she bleeds into a myriad of emotions.
And suddenly, she is overwhelmed with this feeling— this indescribable yearning— to reach in and hold this girl impossibly close— hold her tight against her beating heart— and never let go again.
It's odd.
It's all so very odd.
They have barely even been acquainted with each other for a week, but it feels like she has known the girl forever.
Every miniscule twitch in Homura's impassive expression, every slant and curve to her flawless features… She knows them all, almost instinctively.
But how?
How?
"Say Homura-chan…"
The words have long left her lips before Madoka can even catch herself, the call of the girl's name still hot on her tongue, sending an odd pleasant tingle down a spine, her cheeks dusted in a rosy pink.
But that is hardly the reason for her embarrassment.
Madoka swallows noticeably at the giant block of ice in her throat as she tries her subtle best to adjust the grip she has on Homura's fingers.
Fingers she had impulsively grabbed in a blind moment of panic when everyone— Homura included— began filing out of the classroom at the sound of the final bell of the day.
When the taller girl had stiffly turned to face her, surprise evident in those lavender orbs, Madoka knows that she is far beyond backtracking and taking everything back at this point.
So she braves on forward.
"Have we… Have we ever met before?"
Immediately, there's a clear shift in the air.
And it's like the whole world has decided to hold its breath.
There's a short lapse in silence, and she feels Homura's fingers— cold and clammy— wiggling against her, intertwining.
For a moment, Madoka allows herself to marvel at how her fingers seem to fit perfectly in the spaces of Homura's. Like two pieces of a puzzle coming together. A notion that is so natural.
So familiar.
Palm against palm. Warmth against warmth.
It sends a jolt of emotion through her; like a burning wildfire that stems right from her chest, it spreads and swells deeply within her.
Looking up, Madoka is once again greeted by lavender that gazes down upon her ever so softly— tenderly—, but if she looks hard enough, she could almost make out the faint hint of pain glinting in those beautiful glittering depths.
And there's that smile again.
That rueful smile of hers, tinged with much regret.
"No," breathes Homura, albeit shakily. She gives their linked fingers a gentle squeeze before drawing away gingerly, albeit with a near imperceptible hint of reluctancy. "We've not." She says, a little more resolutely this round as she takes a full step back away from Madoka, fists clenched and features hardening over into its usual blank mask.
And instinctively, Madoka knows it's a lie.
The characteristic dark orb of Homura's stylish ear-cuff glints under the light.
And for the briefest of seconds, Madoka is left entranced.
Suddenly, there's this strange tugging in her gut— an unmistakable draw towards that orb— and she is flooded by this urge to reach in close to inspect it better.
That is, until Homura shifts, raven locks falling over to shield it away from prying eyes.
"I hope you'll have a pleasant evening, Madoka."
With a curt dip of the head in goodbye, Homura makes for a hasty exit, footsteps echoing after her.
A sense of emptiness falls unto Madoka then, resting heavily against her chest as she watches the traces of her silhouette fade around a bend.
It feels wrong.
This hollowness.
Wrong.
And before Madoka even knows what she's doing, she is already long out of the empty classroom with her school bag in tow, spindly legs pumping at the tiles of the hallways of their school as she races to catch up with Homura.
Because she's not sure why…
Call it intuition, but something deeply innate of her tells her that she shouldn't leave Homura to go off by herself like this.
And so, she doesn't.
"Homura-chan!"
A/N: Basically a brainchild of mine that took place during a long 3 hour event that I was meant to be paying attention to no avail. But anyway, I hope you guys have enjoyed this particular short piece written in Madoka's perspective.