It's the day after. She just had breakfast with her mother. Talked to her, for the first time in a long time. Smiled at her, saw her smile back, and felt some of that cold guilt in her chest dissipate.
It's the day after. He just got off the phone with his mother. Talked to her, for the first time in a long time. Laughed with her, heard her laugh, too, and felt some of that cold guilt in his chest dissipate.
Sees him on the street, wonders if she should wave.
Sees her on the street, wonders if she'll wave.
She waves, trots over to meet him. She's happy to see him; she didn't think she would until school started. They were never friends before… all of this. They were in the same grade, but in different classes. She knew his name, his face and that he sometimes ducked behind the grand piano before class.
He smiles, holds open the door of a café for her. He's happy to see her; he wasn't sure he ever would again. They were never friends before… all of this. They went to the same school, but in different classes. He knew her name, her face and that she sometimes jogged around the tennis courts before class.
She knows what he likes, after all this time. A cold soda and a table by the window. She wants the same thing. There's one with a rosebud in a vase and a tablecloth like an oversized doily—she catches his eye. Definitely not.
He knows what she likes, after all this time. A patch of sun and a table with no frills. He wants the same thing. He steers her towards the far corner and a ray of sun blazes across one side—he catches her eye. She'll sit there.
Soda bubbles on her tongue, a weight off her chest and sunlight streaming in. It's a far cry from late last night, early this morning. A far cry from the darkness pulling her in, wanting her to surrender and being tempting enough to seduce her. He's got that same dark look in his eyes, and it makes her shiver—not because it's there, but because it's a mirror. If the darkness is in his eyes, it's in her eyes, too.
Cool drink in his hand, the world off his shoulders and sunlight trickling in. It's a far cry from hours ago, weeks ago. A far cry from feeling self-imposed isolation is his only resort, wanting to help unseen and to disappear and being tempted enough to go through with it. She's got the same lonely look in her eyes and it makes him wince—not because it's there, but because it's a mirror. If the loneliness is in her eyes, it's in his eyes, too.
She stirs her drink with the straw; he shifts his glass to the other side of the table. Sunlight makes her drink dazzling; his barely glints. But she talks for a minute, in relief about how she got through to her mother; her voice is soft and she's happy. He answers her likewise, in relief about how his mother got through to him; his voice is low and he's glad.
There's still something cold and hard on their chests—guilt, darkness, loneliness—but it's warmer now. It's time to leave, go home. Yamato smiles a bit wider, Sora links her arm with his and they're walking towards home. Not talking anymore, but that's okay. He knows what she thinks, and she knows what he thinks. More importantly, they understand, and that's all the difference they need.
…
Happy Odaiba Memorial Day! Because even after all these years, the original is still the best. XD