Author Note: Got inspired to write this one-shot. I got stuck on the phrase "so close yet so far" and I couldn't help but think of a possible situation Rei and Minako would be in that predicament. Then this story took shape and it became so much more involved and detailed than I ever could imagine. Forgive me and my over-active thinking and imagination on this one. I hope you like it and I'm glad I finally got it out.

669.47 yen = 6 US dollars

Ai No Senshi = [Japanese] 'Soldiers of Love' or 'Warriors of Love'

I don't own Sailor Moon and have tried to the best of my ability to site my references.

Takeuchi, N. (1991). Sailor Moon. Bunkyo, Tokyo, Japan: Kodansha Ltd.

The band name 'Aino Senshi' that appears in this work is fictitious though the name itself is borrowed from the song of the same name (cited below). It is used in this piece as a pun for Minako's last name and as a nod to them being senshi. Any resemblance to real bands, existing or defunct, is purely coincidental.

Kashihara, N. and Serizawa, R. (n.d.). Ai no Senshi [Recorded by Ishida Yoko]. On Sailor Moon, Episode 102 [VHS], Tokyo, Japan.

"Drinking old cheap bottles of wine, sit talking up all night. Saying things we haven't for a while. A while, yeah.
We're smiling but we're close to tears. Even after all these years, we just now got the feeling
that we're meeting
for the first time."

- O'Donoghue, D. and Sheehan, M. (2010). For the First Time [Recorded by The Script]. On Science & Faith [CD], New York, New York: Epic Records and Phonogenic Records.

AinoSenshiSingerGirl102 (aka Minako) -

"669.47 yen," the young doorman said to me flatly as he stood at his post in front of the heavy-looking metal door. His voice echoed softly in the brick-lined alleyway I found myself in tonight. I noted the thick beard he sported on his baby-like face, how he must have grown it to give the illusion that he was older than he really was.

I looked around briefly for a sign of sorts to double-check that I was at the right place. Having none to reference, I settled for the street address number painted above the door that matched the one I had gotten from the invitation. Confirming at least that, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the exact change requested and deposited it into the doorman's awaiting hand. He nodded absently in acknowledgement before stuffing the currency into his pocket. He turned and opened the metal door for me, allowing me to enter. I nodded silently in thanks as I walked in.

Once inside, after the bouncer closed the door softly behind me, I had to blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting within. I stood at the bottom-right corner of what appeared to be nothing more than a cement rectangle that extended length-wise towards my left. As my eyes slowly began adjusting, I noted the full bar a yard or so in front of me lining the right wall. A few other patrons were already mingling there, their soft conversations echoing off the walls of the space, almost amplifying their words. About six of them, all seeming to be friends or at least acquaintances making small-talk. They turned briefly to look in my direction out of casual curiosity, but quickly paid me no mind and returned to their conversations once their curiosity had been satisfied.

I nervously adjusted the plain, black baseball cap I decided to hide my equally dark ponytail underneath as I continued to take in the space. I'd been in many a dive-bar in my youth, but none quite as stripped down as this one: standing room only with two cement pillars evenly spaced in the center of the room that conjured up images of two lonely taper candles on tablescapes I've seen before in home and lifestyle magazines.

I smirked to myself at the silly thought as I looked up and realize the space was mostly lit by dozens of white string lights hanging from the exposed, wooden rafters above. Two large skylights gave a picturesque view of the night sky above, dotted with their own celestial lights that seemed to mimic the soft, artificial ones in the space.

Enough dawdling. I needed something to do. Something to occupy myself in order to stave off the anxiety that was beginning to surface and flutter up my back. I was never really good at things like this, being in unfamiliar places or spaces amongst strangers with whom I would not have normally been around. It went against everything in my introverted nature. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my black leather jacket, if only to stop myself from wringing them visibly given the circumstances, and made my way to the bar to order a drink.

With newly acquired drink in hand, I leaned my back against the far pillar in an attempt to appear calm and casual while my mind imagined how nice it would be for the pillar to just swallow me whole so that I wouldn't feel as exposed or so out of place here as I currently did.

I sipped my drink sparingly, mostly using it as something to keep my anxious hands occupied rather than enjoying it for what it was. I couldn't afford to lose my wits in this space anyways. Not tonight. I needed to be conscious and have a clear mind…at least for the next couple hours while in this space.

More patrons began to trickle in, slowly filling the former quiet with the echoing hum of shuffling as they moved and their different conversations. I pretended to pick the imaginary lint off my jeans, trying to appear as if I were paying attention to nothing and no one in particular as I secretly took note of every detail of each individual and cluster in the space. Many of the conversations were inconsequential, but most solidified that perhaps I was the oldest person here by at least one and a half decades…

What am I doing here?

I pulled out my phone to check the time, 7:30pm. I pressed the home button and tapped on the app that had the invitation saved in it. Maybe I had misread it? No, it clearly says 7:00pm for this day and date.

Some shuffling catches my attention and I looked up to find a larger group of people filing into the space from the front door. Most of them were carrying stage and musical equipment and I followed them silently with my lavender eyes as they made their way with purpose towards the far wall where they set their things down and began busying themselves with organizing and setting up.

And that's when I heard it.

Your voice.

And my heart stops.

To everyone else, I'm sure it wasn't any more noticeable than the other sounds that were echoing in the space which now consisted of idle chatter, shuffling as folks moved about, and of the equipment being set up.

But it was noticeable to me.

Because I was only here for you.

I turned my attention quickly towards the familiar sound and I freeze as I see you for the first time ever in the flesh. You're laughing as you enter the space with other folks, probably in response to something someone must have said to you right before stepping through the door. The black tank top, jean shorts, checkered flannel jacket you had tied around your waist, and white sneakers you decided to wear for this warm night seemed fitting for your image and you wore them well. The backwards baseball cap you wore didn't stop your long, blonde hair from swaying playfully as you moved, nor did it prevent the string lights from accentuating your captivating eyes that, even from here, I could see were so piercingly blue.

I couldn't help but stare and take the moment in as I watched your attention quickly go to someone at the bar. A friend, no doubt, as your face lights up and you smile in that familiar way I've seen before, giving them a hug and chatting animatedly with them once the embrace ended.

It's much harder to hear distinct conversations now, given the sound pollution coming from the crew setting up your equipment and the number of patrons that had now begun to fill the space with their presence and various conversations. I smirked subtly and a silent chuckle escapes when the bartender sets a drink in front of you because I can immediately tell from even this distance that you've ordered your favorite vodka and energy drink cocktail, the one you mentioned just the other day in one of your letters I read recently.

A good-looking guy approaches you from behind and drapes his arm over your shoulder as you continue your conversation with your friend at the bar. I can't help the small, knowing smile as I see you subtly lean back into him without skipping a beat and I know instantly that he's your fiancé.

Yes, I know about him. I know about how you two met, how he proposed, his ambitions and goals, your future dreams together, the ways in which he drives you crazy sometimes, how you wish he'd complement your unique talents and beautifully complex mind rather than your looks as often as he does, and how much you love him…

Just as you know all of those things and more about me and the wife I have at home.

Usagi knows about you, too. How you and I met years ago by chance online and have since become very close through means of countless letters. And she's ok with it, trusts me whole-heartedly as I do her. She's happy for me that I have someone like you who I feel safe enough to share things with so intimately, given my propensity towards being so guarded all the time. In fact, it was she who insisted that I come here tonight, countering every excuse I had for not coming, going so far as to adjust her schedule for the day so that I'd be able to do so in order to meet you for the first time in person since we began conversing virtually with each other. I consider myself so lucky and so undeserving to have a best friend and lover who loves me so unconditionally. She really is the love of my life.

If she wasn't ok with this, I wouldn't have continued and would have ended this without a second thought. I wouldn't have poured so much of myself in such detail onto pages upon pages of text that fill your inbox on a nearly weekly basis, betraying the true self I hide behind this mask that I have perfected and hardened where not even those closest to me have been able to penetrate except for Usagi.

I wouldn't be here right now...standing just across the room from you.

I can feel my heart racing given the adrenaline now coursing through me that has nowhere to go, can hear it beating loudly in my ears as I simply watch you…being you. You're more beautiful than the picture you sent, that much is certain. It feels almost surreal how close you are from where I am…

And yet so far given our circumstances.

Your fiancé happens to look my way and catches my eye briefly. I notice how he holds you a bit closer now in response and I look down to the drink in my hand that I begin swirling casually as one does when they happen to lock eyes with a stranger and look away to break the awkward connection.

The moment is not what he thinks. He's moved on from it, not really taking stock in the brief encounter, while I silently pray that the bill of my cap both hides the blush I can feel beginning to flush my cheeks and hides my face. I hope he hasn't captured my image enough to commit it to memory in any way.

Because he doesn't know about this side of you. He doesn't know about this outlet you have where you share secret sides of yourself and deep thoughts you wouldn't otherwise share, fearing you'd be judged or criticized. He doesn't know about this escape of yours where you turn to when creativity strikes, or when things in the real-world are going to shit and you need to blow off steam. He doesn't know that you keep this part of yourself secret on purpose, to have something you can say is yours and not "ours". Where you can say "I" instead of "We". Something that is just for you and you alone.

Because of that, he doesn't know…

About me…

Or about the letters.

He doesn't know about the countless things you and I have in common, how we encourage each other's creativity, offer constructive criticism, how we support each other in hard times and allow the other to just be themselves, free of any expectations other than to be unabashedly open and honest about ourselves with each other.

He doesn't know that this has been going on for years.

He doesn't know for good reason. Because I also know about his insecurities, his jealousy, the unpredictable outbursts that tend to pair with those dark emotions that can cloud good judgment and lead to bad choices.

He knows that you are just as into guys as you are girls, but doesn't know what to do with that and it feeds into the blackness within him that whisper sinister possibilities of betrayal or abandonment that his fragile heart cannot handle.

Yes, I know more about all of that than even you have ever shared with me…

Because it took years for me to recognize and overcome that in myself.

He doesn't know that you have carved yourself a very specific place in my heart over the years that I didn't know could even exist. That you inhabit the space between like and love, where friends turn into sisters, and water is thicker than blood. I'm at a lost at times as to what to do and make of it, having never allowed anyone outside of Usagi to get as close to me as you have. He doesn't know that you've allowed me to open up in ways I never knew I could and helped me to care and love those in my life better than I could ever have before you showed me how through our exchanges. He doesn't know that I'm forever indebted to you for all of that and why I find myself here tonight to support you, even if only in a minor way in the shadows.

He doesn't know that there's really nothing between us beyond this closeness we've built for ourselves through our extensive letters. That there is no one in the world for me than Usagi as there is no one in the world for you other than him. I wonder if he would ever understand that fact, while the cynic in me can't help but doubt he ever would given where he is emotionally when it comes to you.

I know he doesn't know the depth of love you have for him, how much he means to you no matter the many ways you tell him or show him, how his demons have ways of suffocating you further into yourself and away from him and how you wish so badly that they didn't. He doesn't know you've told me all of that and more or that I've come to care for him just as well because of it. How I want the best for him as I do for you given what he means to you.

He doesn't know that I know all of this.

He only sees an ordinary woman with a raven-colored ponytail, black cap, black leather jacket, and jeans leaning against a pillar amongst the crowd who was, quite possibly, staring at his girl but no longer is.

A husky voice calls your name from the front and I sneak a peek from under the bill of my cap to watch you head quickly towards a tall, older, butch woman with short, blond hair in a sleeveless, white t-shirt, faded jeans, and black boots. She's waving you over, standing in front of a completed drum set while the crew continues to work around her as they set up amplifiers and microphones. I can't help but smile again to myself as I recognize the woman by the spot-on description you've provided in one of our many letters to each other. No doubt that's Haruka, the talented musician with a quick temper who's taken the roll of drummer in your small band. I can't hear the words being said, but I can tell she's barking frustrations of sorts to you, given her body language.

A stunning older woman with wavy, teal hair, cap-sleeved black t-shirt, faded jeans, and a black electric bass hanging around her neck approaches from the side and rests a hand on Haruka's shoulder, getting her attention. She says something inaudible in a calm manner and Haruka visibly relaxes from whatever annoyance has riled her up, simply running her hand through her hair in response as she huffs away to go around the drum set to sit and practice a few beats and fiddle with the adjustments. That woman must be Michiru, Haruka's wife and the talented bassist of your group. I observe as she says something that appears to be a sort of apology on Haruka's behalf to you and you nod and shrug casually before she steps away to continue tuning her instrument and adjusting the volume of the amplifier she's plugged into.

The random musical preludes catches the attention of the audience and a few hoots and shouts of encouragement manifests in place of idle chatter as they begin crowding closer towards the front in preparation for the show. I stay where I am, closer towards the back of the crowd, still able to see you as you slide the strap of your electric guitar over your head and begin strumming a few power chords to test the sound.

As the anticipation from the audience continues to develop, you lift your head to scan the audience and flash that genuine smile of yours in response to their encouraging sounds.

Then your eyes catch mine by chance.

And my breath hitches.

I don't know what else to do other than smile shyly in response. You continue to smile, holding my gaze for only a moment longer before returning those piercing blues back down to your guitar as you continue fine-tuning to get the exact sound you want.

It takes me a beat to realize that your look of polite unfamiliarity shouldn't come as a surprise to me and I immediately feel silly for my bashfulness at our brief connection.

Because even with all that we've exchanged...all those years of intimate details you know about me and me of you…

You still have no idea who I am.

It was one of those agreements we made at the onset of our exchanges: upholding anonymity. It was established on both sides, along with the agreement to be open and honest, in order to allow us the freedom to share with each other without the burdens of social contexts muddling our ability to say what we wanted without preconceived notions. It didn't matter who we were, where we were in the world, or what we did. All that mattered were the words shared between us that served to paint a portrait of who we thought we were and who we wanted to be. We were equals in that way and it was freeing having an anonymous pen-pal of sorts within those parameters.

Things started off light. Little messages that detailed interests and dreams and opinions on the world without any identifiable information. It was like a game in a way, figuring out how to write without giving away any specifics. As time went on, we became secret keepers for each other, confidently certain of their security given the slim likelihood that we would ever cross paths in real life where secrets could possibly be revealed unintentionally. I recall in one of my first letters to you that I wrote whimsically about a silly thought I had of whether a random stranger I happened to pass on the street earlier that day could have been you. You laughed in response, referring to the ridiculous odds of that ever being the case.

I did too.

I mean...what were the chances?

"Hey, guys! Sorry for being late," you say sweetly into the microphone with that melodic voice of yours, drawing me from my thoughts and causing the crowd to cheer in response, "We're Aino Senshi, and here are a few songs we wrote."

The crowd fades to silence as you and your band begin to play. I find myself smiling at the familiar song you decided to use to kick off your set, knowing the true meaning behind it and that you wrote it with the help of your bassist. You sent it to me once for my opinion, given my own musical background.

In the years that followed our initial letters, you began feeling confident in sharing more of yourself to me. So much so that I clearly remember the moment my eyes went wide with shock at the realization that you may not be as far across the globe from me as I thought you would be. In fact, it seemed you lived just on the opposite side of Tokyo: closer than we ever imagined, but far enough that our paths would never cross unless one of us went out of our way to make it so.

Like I was doing now.

We continued with our exchanges in this manner and you began revealing so much more of yourself…even going so far as to include a picture of yourself once, along with a few audio files of songs you were working on, which is how I unquestionably recognized your voice and image so instantaneously.

You've bent our original agreement in more ways than one…

But it was one that I've kept to this day.

Yes, there's no question as to how much you know about me in so many intimate details…

Yet I could never bring myself to cross that line.

This was done for many reasons. I didn't want to cause any problems for you or your fiancé, given all that he doesn't know. I fear that mercurial insecurity of his and its unpredictability, given I have someone at home I need to consider when it comes to safety. I also wanted to respect your privacy and honor this secret side of you without putting you in a position of needing to lie about it or possibly having to, or being forced to, reveal it, especially to him.

The vain side of me doesn't want to admit that I fear you would be disappointed in what you see if you met me, given your undeniable attractiveness compared to how plain I find myself to be.

The fragile side fears it would change this beautiful dynamic that we have already, as things like that tend to do. As I've said, I'm not who I am in person from who I am when I write to you. I'm who I want others to see when they meet me. But not with you. I never had the chance with you, really, given how we met. I wonder if you would even like me anymore if you ever met me and saw that side.

Which is why I decided on the outfit I wore to the show tonight, trying to be as incognito as possible so as not to stand out…so you wouldn't notice that I was hiding in plain sight.

You've finished two originals and one cover song already. The show isn't perfect by any means, with a few technical hiccups, but enjoyable nonetheless. Your lyrics seem to hit the mark with this crowd and they bob and move in time to the upbeat tunes and your melodic voice. I can't help but be proud of you for the hours of hard work I know you've put into this.

Coming here tonight, I didn't really have a plan outside of coming to support you and your dreams of creating a life for yourself built upon the songs you've written in your own hand. Would I make my presence known to you? Probably not given all my hesitations and the complexities of our relationship. But I would at least stay until your band's set was done, not intending to stay for the main act.

An unwelcome thought quickly formulates in my mind and I can't stop it from taking shape and running to the forefront of my consciousness, causing the blood to drain from my face at the revelation…

Am I a stalker?

I shuddered at the thought as I began to feel more uncomfortable than before. Sneaking in here, though by your invitation, knowing as much as I did about you with you not having as much information in return, skulking in the shadows dressed the way I was without telling you in advance that I would be here…

Would that qualify as stalker behavior?

Feelings of disgust began to crawl along the edges of my skin and I can't help but feel wrong for being here, like I was intruding somewhere I had no business being. I felt ashamed that perhaps I may have sullied this thing between us in a way and it compelled me to look towards the door and begin mapping my departure at that very moment.

As I begin to move in that direction, the crowd cheers loudly as the last song you and your band plays comes to an end. I stopped in my tracks as I register your voice quickly thanking the audience and I find myself turning my attention back to the front where I see you beginning to unplug your guitar from the amplifiers. Your bandmates are packing up as well to make room for the main act to set up.

It's a bizarre feeling. That moment when you can see yourself in a place where two options are presented to you and you are left to make a decision that could change the course of history. I'm vaguely reminded of a quote about red pills and blue pills from a movie I saw long ago…or of an indecisive song about staying or going.

I find myself moving towards you, my body quickly taking advantage of the chance that has presented itself, knowing before even my mind has been able to make a decision that I couldn't just leave without at least saying something to you. That if I had just left, had remained in the shadows, I would have indeed been a stalker.

I slow to a stop in front of you as you're carefully removing the guitar strap from over your head. You're looking down and ducking slightly in order to maneuver it more easily off of you. Once done, you look up and everything around us stops for the longest of seconds as those piercing blues nearly knock the wind out of me with their beauty. I find myself in shock and awe at this very moment, taking it in as best I can given the state of emotional and mental disarray I was feeling inside that this was really happening, knowing that we may very well never have a moment like this ever again. That it could just as easily be the first of its kind...and the last.

I register the friendly, welcoming smile that appears on your face as you look at me expectantly. I blush slightly as it dawns on me now that social customs and regulations for situations like this generally indicate that the approaching person has something to say to the approached, placing the burden squarely on me to say something first.

"You did a really good job," the casual words flow easily from me, as if I had already planned on saying them to you though that couldn't be any farther from the truth given my mind seemed to be having trouble functioning properly or even at what one would consider a reasonable pace at the moment.

"Aw, thank you so much!," you respond sweetly, a genuinely smile of gratitude and appreciation gracing those adorable lips.

"Minako!," a female voice calls excitedly from behind me to my left. Your attention quickly goes passed me to the person calling your name and the friend you were chatting with at the bar comes around me to hug and congratulate you on a great set. I slip away quietly as you are quickly pulled into that conversation and weave my way through the crowd, out of the bar, and back into the alleyway I was just standing in only a couple hours ago.

And here I sit in my car, my heart racing as I begin to comprehend that entire experience and my hands shaking as I try my best to type all of this out to you in an email from my phone, using the data plan I probably should not be using, in order to tell you one simple thing…

It was nice to finally meet you, Minako. I'm glad I took a chance and came out tonight.

I wonder what you'll think once you go home and check your emails to find this message waiting for you in your inbox. I'm nervous as to how you'd react and what you'll say once you read it.

Anyway, it's late and I need to drive home. As always, I can't wait to hear from you again soon.

Love,

FireSoulMiko333
(aka...Rei)

Author Note: The 'online handles/aliases' that Rei and Minako use for this story are completely made up and, as of the time of writing and publishing this story, do not appear in any online database searches. Any resemblance to real handles or individuals, existing or defunct, is purely coincidental.

If you can't already tell, I like word-play and when things aren't always as they seem. It's why I titled the story the way I did and allude to all the various 'chances' within.

Constructive feedback/reviews would be greatly appreciated.

(updated 09/2017)