Disclaimer: I don't own and don't claim to own the legal rights, story and character of the anime and/or manga "Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon" ("Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon"). I'd have to be Japanese, a few years older, a talented artist and Naoko Takeuchi to do so and I am neither of those. So don't sue me – all I own is a list with over 80 fanfic titles anyways (and I'm planning to write all of them!). Thanks bunches.
Warnings: Mush. I'm serious. There's serious mush ahead. You know where the emergency exits are, don't you?
Rating: G. I was good today.
Type: One shot
Continuation: Highly unlikely...
The boy holding the umbrella
The bell shrilly announced the heavily anticipated end of yet another school day as students rushed to grab their things to hurry home and celebrate the little free time this day would bring them. A few of his classmates were staying behind to wait for him, as always the slowest of their little group. Like most students do at the end of their day, they were talking about school, the most annoying lessons and whatever else came to their minds. A few years ago she would have been there to wait for him, too.
"Quit dawdling, Shinozaki!" one of his friends called and he picked up his pace to join them at the school gate. "Aoyama-Sensei is just too cool and he really knows his sports," one of them was saying, but he didn't pay attention. "I've heard the new home ed teacher looks like a super model! You reckon she can cook a sensible meal?" another said. "If she looks like a super model, chances are she eats like one and in that case I'd say... nope," someone answered. "Too bad Mako's no longer with us. She would have told us all about it," the first one said and suddenly everyone went silent. Dark looks beat down onto the boy who so inconsiderately had mentioned the girl's name. "Yeah, she would have," he said quietly with a distant expression on his face. The tension flew away like a bird scared by a thrown stone and as sudden as they had quieted down, the boys broke into their usual chatter once again.
"You ok, Ken-kun?" one of his friends asked quietly and he nodded his head 'yes'. "Have you heard anything from her lately?" the boy interrogated, but Ken Shinozaki shook his head. Feeling several eyes on himself, he voiced an answer. "Last time we talked she was preparing for final exams. She was quite busy and I didn't want to keep her from studying too long so I kept it short. She's fine though," he said. "She is?" one of his friends asked and he nodded his head again. "Yeah, just peachy." "What's that school called again she's visiting now?" That was the inconsiderate chatterbox from before. "Juuban High," Ken replied, the tone of his voice indicating that he would say no more. His friends, even the inconsiderate chatterbox, left it at that.
When he had grown up, his best friend had been Makoto Kino, the girl that had lived right across the street in the house with the wonderful rose garden. Makoto had been slightly taller than most children their age, but it had never bothered him because he always used to have a few inches on her. Now, it was Makoto who was the taller one, but Ken still didn't mind. He did mind, however, that in the house across the street with the wonderful rose garden there no longer was a Makoto Kino.
He still remembered the day Mr. and Mrs. Kino had brought Makoto over for the weekend, thanking his mother for looking after her and promising them both souvenirs if they'd behave, although he had been only 6 and a half back then. A two-day business trip to Hawaii; who knew what wonderful gifts Makoto's parents would find there for them?
It was the last time, Ken saw and heard the Kinos and he never received any souvenirs from Hawaii, although he did behave extraordinarily well that weekend, because Makoto's parents never made it there. Shortly after taking off, their plane had an accident over the open ocean. There were no survivors and suddenly, his best friend had been without a family.
It had rained on the day when they had sent for Makoto to come and identify her parent's bodies. She had looked as if she were about to cry but shed no tear; he knew that she had none left. His mother had given her an umbrella, but Makoto had made no motions to use it and protect herself from the rain. So he had taken it from her shaking hands, opened it and held it for her while they both walked the short way to the taxi together and although his mother protested, Ken had somehow managed to convince her to let him go, despite the fact that whatever was left of the Kinos would most likely give him nightmares for years to come.
He had held Makoto close when they had found her parents' bodies among all the other ones, quieting her sobs with soothing words, wanting to be strong for her sake. In the end, they had both been kneeling next to the mortal remains of the Kinos, crying their eyes out. The memory still made his blood run cold.
Looking back now he found that in the weeks to follow, it had rained a lot, as if the skies themselves were feeling infinite grief over the passing of Makoto's parents. It had rained during their funeral; it had rained when Makoto's aunts and uncles had come to try and take her with them; it had rained when the Kinos' last will had been executed and it had rained on the day that Makoto had moved back into her home, claiming she could look after herself just fine.
And all this time, Ken had been holding the umbrella for his friend, walking by her side: he had walked her to ceremony at the Hikawa shrine to pray for a safe passing of her parents' souls into the after life and afterwards to the cemetery to pray with her at their grave; he had held the umbrella for her when she had told each and every family relative that had come to take her away over and over again that she would not leave the house of the Shinozakis until her parents' lawyer told her she'd have to; he had been by her side when her parents' last will was read out to the family and the day Makoto had moved out, he had been holding the umbrella for her, as well, while carrying two of her bags.
The next few years, Makoto lived in that large house on her own. She learned how to tend to her mother's roses, how to cook and keep a house clean. He had tried to be strong for her, but Makoto alone was so much stronger and Ken admired her for that. It took her a while to overcome her grief, but she was a happy person by nature and soon, much sooner than he thought anyway, she was her old self again, with only a slight trace of her sadness left that would go unseen by those that didn't know it was there.
Ken had decided then that he would make that slight trace of sadness go away as well, because he wanted Makoto to be genuinely happy. It had been him who had introduced Makoto to her senpai, the older student that became her first love, although that had actually been an accident. He had cherished every happy smile of hers, every melodious laugh and every silly giggle. And he had dried her tears when the boy Makoto loved so much left her heartbroken in the rain. He had been there, with his umbrella and he had opened it and held it over her head before she flung herself against him to cry her heart out, had been the boy with the umbrella for her.
Shortly after that, Makoto had moved and transferred to another school – Juuban Junior High. In the house across the street with the wonderful rose garden there now lived an old woman, who was somehow related to Makoto, but who didn't seem to care for her too much. She didn't even know Makoto was going to take her final exams soon when Ken's mother asked her about it.
He played with the umbrella in his hands. It was the umbrella his mother had given Makoto all those years ago. The umbrella he had held for her when walking her to the taxi on the day she was asked to identify her parents. It was also the same umbrella he had been holding for her when they had went to their funeral and when she had sent her relatives away, too. And it was the umbrella under which a heartbroken Makoto had lain in his arms, crying her eyes out.
It was the same umbrella he carried with him every day; waiting for the rain, waiting for it to once again lead him to Makoto because just then, she might need the boy holding the umbrella for her.
Aoyama– that's Gosho Aoyama here, who created the loveable Shinichi Kudo aka Conan Edogawa. If you love crime and suspense, go read that manga! I promise you'll love it!!
By the way, if you made it this far that must mean you've actually read this one shot alllll the way down to the end... this entitles you to leave a review. No please... I insist, do review. I need to know whether I'm writing bull or not. Thanks in advance.