Notes: I do not own the anime Black Cat. I only dream I do. Secret Garden is not mine either. Tis such a shame. Please enjoy this tale of two lovers and one's reminiscent memories on days gone by. Honestly, I've only seen two episodes of Black Cat and my friend ruined the parts of the plot for me so, I guess I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm pretty sure she doesn't die the way I say she does but please, just go along with it. Haha, that's all.
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Inscribed As: Moonlit Galavanting
Quotational Inspiration: Florence Nightingale
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I think one's feelings waste themselves in words; they ought all to be distilled into actions which bring results.
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And with her, the world began and ended.
Like an angle hung by feathery wings, she seemed to soar onto the cafe's roof, her hands clasped to her chest. Her entire being glowed with an aura he could not place. Her silhouette alone spoke volumes of unreachable wisdom and yet, as she sang to whom she thought was no one else save the moon and stars, her lilting voice echoing over the city's skyline, it seemed to him that she was an innocent; those eyes could not have seen what his had—it was just impossible.
Indiscernible. That was how he felt about her.
He stared at the way her ebony hair flitted about her face similar to the manner in which thousands of butterflies would glide through soft, spring breezes. She appeared so at peace with herself and her surroundings. It nearly took his breath away to watch her especially in the way she tilted her head to the luminescent moon was as if she was offering herself entirely. She radiated with delicate poise; her lithe figure so fragile he was positive he could snap her in two. So it was as much a shock to him as it would be to anyone in his position when she leapt from her perch to land nimbly next to him, her yukata fluttering behind her.
How did she do that?
It was the first memory he had of her, her kind, thoughtful smile, and her contagious laugh. He remembered her swift movements as she snatched his other bottle of milk and chugged it rather unceremoniously, literally gasping when the entirety of the liquid had been finished off. He remembered thinking to himself that this was the kind of woman that attracted him, though Train Heartnet and romance weren't exactly the closest of friends.
They spoke, or rather, she spoke and he listened, and then, when the moon began its journey westward, she was gone, the emptied bottle being the only evidence she had ever been there.
Night after night, he would sit on the rooftop, himself, his two bottles of milk, and his ever faithful cat. The two would share the first carafe of milk, he leaving the second in case she showed up which, as it turned out, happened many a time.
He had grown accustomed to her presence, it comforted him in ways he never thought imaginable. She allowed him to think outside of Chronos and its lifestyle. She let him be human around her; let him feel, let him speak his mind, let him be himself.
It was months later, as he sat on a roof far from their usual meeting spot that the sudden, overwhelming sensation hit him like a 9mm bullet.
I love her.
Maybe it was in the way she gently smiled to him, her navy eyes sparkling in the starlight. It could have been they way she spoke to him; she never talked at him, just to him. Whatever it was, it had the assassin wishing to be closer to her. She lightened every moment they shared, always letting him feel carefree.
I really do love her.
He promised himself that the next evening, he would share his newfound emotions with her. That night, as he gazed waywardly at the slowly passing sky, he thought of a million and one ways as to tell Saya that he deeply cared for her. Being the ever dutiful, organized killer that he was, he planned how he would approach her—not too forceful, yet not passive—and then, he would hand her the usual bottle of milk and, when she was done, he would tell her. He could imagine two scenarios; one where she smiled sweetly and spoke softly (she loved him too) or the one in which she laughed, told him to quit joking, and asked for more milk.
He feel asleep, his lips pulled into a slight grin as he dreamt, the girl in his fantasy laughing lightly as she wrapped her arms around him, her cheeks a rosy red.
Most unfortunately, this dream would never come about.
Train slept soundly, his mind wandering into reveries that would never take place in the actual, real world. As he closed his eyes to the ever-expanding sky, she was dying. He was lost to his own subconscious and she was painfully aware of everything conscious around her. He accepted his fate happily and she fought with every fiber in her being to avoid the certain future.
"We have so much in common."
It was true. Though they felt differently about different subjects, there was one underlying factor in both their lives: He loved her and she loved him. It was such a shame that they never got the chance to express such emotions.
We do, he thought. We have so much in common.
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