CHAPTER 1

It never takes too long for my teammates to refer to me as cold or heartless. Sure, they usually try to say it in a joking or teasing manner, but they can never quite erase or hide the undercurrent of tension in their words. They mean what they say, and when they finally do say it, I can hear it all: the accusation, the concern, the relief of finally saying something, and the hesitation and worry about how I will react.

I'm considering all of this as I watch a man walk into this café – this haven from the rest of my life. I watch this particular man because for the last month, he has come in nearly every day at this same ungodly hour. I had gotten used to the clientele before he became a regular visitor: mostly night students, the full variety of vagrants, and the occasional still-drunk or hung-over tourist. He naturally stood out, looking something like a combination of all 3 genres. I suppose I always have too, but perhaps just a tiny bit more resigned to my fate and thus, reserved. Regardless, he caught my eye immediately because I recognized the weight in his steps, and the haunted countenance he made no effort to control or hide.

It was the look of someone so haunted by the possible reality of their ridiculous dreams that to come to terms with such a reality would collapse their entire known world. To a perfectly self-confident person, it was a shocking fragility. So, I watched. Time and time again he would come in and order only a black coffee, much like myself, and simply bow his head and stare at that cup until the steam faded… much like myself. Having watched this no less than 20 times, I was certain – my practiced indifference should be dropped in the hopes of possible commiseration. Misery loves company, right? And so, I picked up my coffee cup and walked over to him. I sat my cup down in front of the seat next to him, and as I sat, I spoke with obvious sympathy for the first time in probably my entire adult life.

"Rough night?"

I saw a small jolt in his posture that I doubt would've been noticed by anyone else. It's something I've worked to hide myself, but sometimes, inborn instinct blows right past carefully constructed posturing.

"You could say that." He said guardedly, and I didn't miss the slight hesitation he had. My assumption was that he thought I came over to chat his ear off. I've seen it often enough in these wee morning hours that I would wager his next move would be to say something placating followed by a quick exit. So, I was rather surprised at his next spontaneous words.

"I'm feeling torn apart… in everything. " He said in what I thought sounded like a defeated tone. I knew that feeling. Inside and out, I knew that feeling. His forthrightness caught me off guard, and he must have noticed my pause because he turned to me with a rapidly developing mask of defensiveness. I made a quick decision to prove my teammates wrong and… defrost.

"I know what that's like. Even tonight, I know what that's like."

He met my gaze evenly. I stood stock-still and held his eyes with my own. I watched his irises shift as he searched mine. What felt like minutes passed, and then whatever he had seen made him cough out a short, sardonic laugh.

"You know, when you say it, I believe you." He said, returning his eyes to his coffee. I let out a combination of a sympathetic and burdened sigh while I sat beside him. Neither of us said anything for a long while. He broke the silence with a question that I could feel was laced with a developing empathy.

"So, girl troubles?

I couldn't stop the scoff-laugh as it erupted from my lungs. Well, he wasn't wrong.

"You could say that." I paused as I watched him nod to my answer. Well, time to commiserate.

"I'm Tenoh Haruka, by the way." I held out my hand and he took it with a firm grasp.

"Chiba Mamorou." He answered, shaking my hand with a firm grasp. The instant our palms connected, I felt something like an electric shock shoot through my hand and arm, directly to my mind, and I felt the sudden urge to bow to this man. I resisted this urge, and I noticed he must have felt something odd himself as he blinked rapidly and immediately withdrew his hand.

"Ah, um, nice to meet you." He stammered. My reaction wasn't any better as I let out a heavy breath I didn't know I had apparently been holding. We sat in silence for a long time after that, both sipping our cooling coffee and fidgeting with the napkins or straws. However, something about that previous spark loosened my tongue, and I suddenly felt I could dive into this issue with him.

"So, who is she?" I ventured, a light chill settling into my body as I realized he will undoubtedly ask me something similar. I turned my head to watch him as he took his time in answering.

"Ah, never mind Haruka-san." He said, politely, and I could actually see the pain he's causing himself. So, at that, I stopped myself from teasing him with a snarky response, which is my go-to tactic when I'm unsettled. I mean, he really did look like he'd been put through the ringer not only tonight, but every night I'd seen him so far. There had to be some way to get this poor guy to open up! I had put myself trough the doldrums for my own crazy matter, and I did it all alone, which I now realize was stupid and arrogant of me. I completely believe having someone to talk to earlier on might have made things easier. Now, having seen this guy drag himself in here, always alone, for almost a month, and knowing the exhaustion of such a solitary pursuit, I had to prod deeper, if only to lighten another's burden – after all, I'm not really all that heartless.

"Come on Mamoru-san, it can't be that bad." I say, getting the feeling he might have already told himself that a million times. However, he does seem to loosen up at my casual use of the friendly honorific. A tension that had taken over his shoulders vanishes while he blows on his already cooled coffee before taking a big gulp and then turning to me.

"You'll think I'm crazy." He says in a weird mix of shame and confidence.

"I somehow doubt it." The words tumble forth before I have time to think. He immediately locks eyes with me, and whatever he sees gives him the courage to continue.

"O…k. Well, Haruka-san," He smiles a little as I appear to be comfortable with our new-found familiarity.

"Here goes. In this last month or so, every single night, I dream of a girl who needs my help. "He pauses, gauging my reaction. I provide him an encouraging nod, which seems to satisfy him enough to continue.

"She's beautiful and imploring… My heart breaks for her tears…." He trails off for a moment, but picks up with conviction, "and I know it's my help that she needs. But she always fades away before I can find out how to help her. It seems like she can see me, but before I can move toward her, the world crumbles around us. That's when I wake up, without fail." He finishes as a tremor ripples through his body… but I'm already too frozen to react to that. I'm not even able to utter a single syllable, for he has just described the exact dream which has been torturing me for months. He notices my reaction and his eyes narrow.

"What about you?" He asks firmly, apparently expecting me to mock him or say something insincere. His stare is penetrating. Maybe he's allowing me the chance to acknowledge the weird feeling we had just shared moments ago, as his sapphire eyes have just gained an undeniable commanding shade. His piercing gaze shakes me to my core, and I find myself at a loss for words for the first time in years. This stranger, this man no more than a year or two older than myself, has been having the same dream as me? Has he also been dealing with it for the last several months, or only the amount of time he's been visiting this cafe? Does he also feel like two different people at times? Where do we go from here? Why did both of us have the same vision of the pleading apparition? Before I can help myself, my defenses flare and I too narrow my gaze to meet this peer.

"Mamoru-san, you might not believe it, but I can completely relate. Every night, I have that same dream – your dream. "I give him a moment to interrupt me if need be. He doesn't, and not even his gaze wavers as I decide to continue. "A beautiful woman needs my help, but I can never reach her before my dream ends." I state, purposely not mentioning any of the other details from my dream; - in particular, the shattering ending that always comes as I fail to answer the glowing goddess in my dream.

He accepts my response with a notable slump to his posture. He may not have intended it, but I can see the disappointment leaking through the relief that he's not the only one going mad over a dream princess. It takes him a few moments, but he eventually looks at me with a watery smile.

"I want to help her; to save her." He says quietly, but with such conviction than I can't help but smile in return. I know what he means too. I feel a tinge of jealousy at the fact that I'm not the only one the angel is reaching out to in the realm of dreams. On top of that, as much as every nerve in my body always screams to run from the chaos and destruction in those dreams, every fiber of my being wants to save the girl-angel from it too. No wonder Mamoru-san summarized it as feeling torn apart. With a huge sigh, I lazily flop my arm over his shoulders. With such a nightmare, it couldn't hurt either of us to be there for each other.

"Me too Mamoru-san, me too ."

He stares ahead for less than a minute before finally nodding with a sad smirk. He then pats my arm before standing to leave.

"I hope to see you again." He says before standing and bowing as my arm slips down to my side. I stand too and bow my head in agreement.

"Until next we meet." I say as he nods again before turning and leaving the café. I grab my cup and walk back to my normal booth. As I slouch into my seat, a wave of nausea hits me as my present-self and dream-self appear to collide, blurring my vision.

By the gods, what path is this?