Disclaimers:
No ownership of characters claimed, they're all Naoko's. Based strictly on the Japanese version, but the only Japanese words you'll ever catch me using will be titles and forms of address.
This is my first effort with fanfiction, and I've had more fun than I can express trying to translate these flighty, fabulous, over-the-top personalities of the anime into a written format! I hope you enjoy. 3
- N
--------
Minako resisted visiting Makoto's apartment whenever possible, rearranging meet-ups or suggesting at the last minute that they rendezvous in public instead. Her skinny fingers could've held on one hand the number of times that she'd gone, without provocation, for anything that wasn't emergent.
No matter how well the independent brunette splashed new decorations across the walls or sent the thick, buttery aroma of baked goods dancing into the air, her lack of a family made an unfamiliar pain sound through Minako's ribs; she ached for the incomprehensible loneliness of her friend, but could never understand it, couldn't look it in the eye, and couldn't overcome it as a result.
This was a special case. She'd simply have to brace herself against the discomfort and assign it to the hand that kept those rare occasions. Makoto was preparing for a date - another date - and pleaded aggressively (as only Makoto could manage) for Minako to come assist her in selecting an outfit.
"This is what you -do,-" Mako accused through the telephone's receiver, its black plastic surface growing hot with her urgency. "You're into this crap, you need to help me."
Minako was not in the business of denying a friend in need, but she'd hesitated too bluntly and turned Makoto's persistence into defensiveness, making it harder to present a satisfactory alternative. And really, what was she to suggest? That her friend haul over every item from her wardrobe?
The walk to Makoto's complex was a slow crawl of apprehension. Even in her adolescent withdrawal from relying on her parents, she could recognize a fear of losing them, and after that, a complete nothing. A total lack of comprehension. She'd lost people only on a superficial level; moved away or discovered that they were no longer interested in her company. Death was an alien concept, and it troubled her profoundly to know that it was something Makoto knew intimately, something that'd left her living in a house with no one else's laughter but her own. That she never mentioned it was even worse.
Mako answered the door when Minako arrived in a flashy floral tunic - designer - and a pair of rough wool capris - casual. The distress on her face was unnecessary; her mismatched clothing said it all.
"Oh, surely you have better instincts than that!" Minako laughed, allowing herself into the tiny space and ignoring the lack of family photos.
"I told you I needed help," she snapped irritably. "I was in-between outfits." This was a lie. It wasn't until being criticized that she realized the drastic mismatching of styles.
"Alright, alright, I'm here. Let's see. . ." She stood with her arms folded behind her, surveying Makoto's closet with the criticizing eye of a drill sergeant. "What's the occasion?"
"He's taking me to a party. A friend of his is celebrating!" Her giddiness so sharply contrasted the common bite of her tongue that Minako could not help indulging it. "Celebrating what?"
"Oh. . . I don't know for sure. Probably some sports thing, or maybe his parents being out of town."
There was that unhappy word, already, the one she said with no inflection, as though it meant anything. Minako side-stepped the alien ache, focused on tugging soft tops and flirtatious dresses from their hangers to color the bed.
"Casual, then?"
"Should be." Makoto abandoned the task to dig through a black lacquered jewelry box, dumbly picking through each bangle and bead, paying them the same faulty attention as she'd given her clothes, discomfited by being so far, so very far from finished getting ready!
"Alright, alright, alri-i-ight," Mina sing-songed, tossing articles of clothing together, then tearing them apart again. With a flourish and an unnecessary straining of her voice to convey glamour, she insisted, "Then we need something that looks comfortable while still being sexy, but at the same time, like it wasn't even on purpose. 'I threw this on last-minute, but don't I look positively edible?' That's what we're after."
Makoto postured her face to appear irritated by the nonsense, but secretly, she memorized every word. Just in case she'd need to try it again by herself, someday.
"Here, start with this."
"A tank top? I could have come up with that on my own!"
Mina flapped the helpless garment in the air. "Oh, my God! It's just a first layer. Do you want my help or not?" Still, so much like her hot-tempered friend, the interaction delighted her even in its turbulence, and she could think of no better compliment to be paid than being relied upon for fashion advice.
Makoto wrestled free of the poorly coordinated top she'd begun with and discarded it with all the tenderness of a trash collector (sending it to a pile on the floor that Minako assumed were the day's earlier rejects), then stuck out her hand to begrudgingly accept the pale pink top.
Mina's attention was drawn as surely by the unconcerned way Mako carried herself when exposed as she was by her friend's unusual appearance; nothing like herself, nothing like the girls she'd glimpsed at the gym. Her stomach was stone straight, sloped in not even at the ribcage, as if the slender column of muscle there had frightened away its curves, and her arms reacted to even the slightest movement with a tightening that betrayed how often she used them. Certain it was only the striking contrast between their figures that arrested her interest, she watched with a helpless attention to detail as Makoto dressed.
Makoto, however, knew no such certainty. Suspicious and frustrated, she accused, "What? What?! It looks dumb, doesn't it?"
"No, shush, it looks fine."
"Fine?"
"Fantastic. Sublime. Alluring. Shoosh." Realigning herself with the closet, she selected a tiny black t-shirt plastered with symbols, then spread it out for display. "What's this?"
"It was from a concert I went to a couple of years ago. It doesn't come close to fitting me anymore, it's too short and too tight."
Ah! Inspiration. The match-making fashionista inside her flared to life. "Perfect!" With a jubilant cry, she clutched the shirt's shoulders in both hands and ripped them clean apart, expanding the neck hole in a bouqet of uneven seams and split ends.
Makoto whined with displeasure. "That didn't mean it had to die. . . "
"Put it on! It'll be cute. A little off-the-shoulder shredded 'T over a pink tank top. That's what you'll wear."
As Mako complained but complied, Mina clapped gleefully and announced, "See? It looks so cute! If only you could market this kind of talent!" Mako resigned herself to silence, not entirely trusting of the ensemble, but quietly appreciative of the tank top's gauzy, ribbed stomach staring out from under the too-short shirt's bottom hem. It was sexy. It was something she wouldn't have thought to do on her own.
Minako's qualms about coming were forgotten in a moment of self-indulgence - neither her first nor her last - and she surveyed the ruined closet for a skirt, high on pride. "Go through your shoes, find those boots you wore when we were out last week, with the buckle."
"Are you sure? Usagi called them clunky . . . "
Minako barked a sound of reprimand and struck her own head with a flat, slapping palm. "You're just fighting me every step of the way, today!"
"You're right, I'm sorry! I'm excited. Okay. Boots." Obediently and with great determination, Mako charged into the wreckage of a million disqualified outfits, digging out one boot at a time.
Minako kneeled nearby, sorting through formerly folded piles of linen for anything resembling a pencil skirt, something a tank could be pulled down over without creating stomach bulk (God forbid), but she was suddenly less interested in hurrying home, and less aware of her hands as a result. Tentatively, tenderly, holding onto her smile, she decided, "He must be something special." Because you're a nervous wreck.
With only one boot recovered from the pile, Makoto could not help but slump down against her skinny bed, worn down to the bone by a hot, fast flood of affection. "He's amazing!"
As if her love were a monster, something that could call down ruin if it weren't given an outlet, she selected a firm pillow and squeezed it between her fingers, trying to push out the overwhelming sensation. "It was one of those things, you know? We just saw each other for a second, just one accidental pass through the hallway, and I knew, eventually . . . mm."
Minako halted her charitable cause long enough to empathize, heart drunk on memories of flirtation and pursuit. "Is it the first date?"
"Kind of, not really. We ate together after school last week, but two of his friends were there. It kind of killed the mood."
"No, that's even better!," Mina objected, playing advisor on a subject even she had limited experience with. "Now he'll get to see you both ways; as one of the guys, someone he can be comfortable with, and this, someone sexy, who he can show off to his friends."
Tipping her head as if to let the information funnel in slowly, Mako decided that she agreed. "Makes sense. Do I have bottoms yet?"
"Oh, right. Okay, lessee. . . What about this?"
Makoto eyed the skirt, trying to recall when last she'd worn it. It looked form-fitting, which made her nervous, both because she couldn't remember buying it and because it might make her walk funny. "I don't know, it looks like it might squeeze me a little."
Minako giggled. "And, as a result, so will he."
------
When she'd been ushered out the door by a frantic friend whose attention was given over completely to the clock, Minako's misgivings about the visit were long forgotten. Swept into the relentless current of new love and all its aching intrigue, she could think only of what they would talk about, whether he'd kiss her, and what deciphering they would do tomorrow of absolutely every syllable he uttered. She grinned up at the apartment complex as she rounded the corner for home and wished out loud, "Good luck, Mako-chan."