AN: Haven't heard much from me in a really long time. Well, this story is written in the second-person POV, my first attempt at such a POV. I've been neglecting Lenz's Law but I won't leave it unfinished. I'm just trying out new things in the mean time. Oh, also, this isn't exactly a oneshot. I initially wanted it to be one but realised it would drag for far too long and ruin the impact. I'm splitting this up into two chapters because I think it unwise to lump both Minako's and Rei's POV in the same chapter. I took longer than expected for this because I couldn't think of a suitable title and summary for it till I listened to There She Goes by Sixpence None The Richer. Rather appropriate, I thought. XD That said, I hope you all will enjoy this little tidbit and review when you're done. :)

Rei

One would think that a face would freeze with its unsightly expression after having held said expression for longer than one ever thought possible, as though a face were made of wet clay and would permanently dry up given enough time. It could happen to anyone, you surmise. But it sure hasn't happened to you. No worries then, you shrug and turn your black face a few shades darker.

It's curious.

You don't like feeling stifled. You absolutely loathe the feeling of being restricted in your movements. You love large open spaces, and your patience always tends to run low when you are stuck in the same position for more than thirty seconds.

So why did you allow yourself to be coaxed into this like a hapless lamb by a blonde in wolf's clothing?

You don't know. Or at least you pretend to.

The sun's out, yet it seems chillier than before. Perhaps it has to do with her absence by your side. You glance warily at the blonde buying tickets for two at the quaint brick counter, and it is then that you feel strangely grateful that you aren't the one queuing. You probably would've incinerated everyone standing in your way with a Mars Fire Soul after failing to count to ten. That would certainly put a damper on things. Or kick it up a notch seeing as how you'd like to watch her expression.

It still scares you though, how she always knows when you're looking at her, and this time is no exception. With a slight turn of her head, she locks her cerulean eyes with your startled ones hidden behind your pair of shades and flashes that knee-buckling smile of hers. You try, but finally relinquish all effort in maintaining an impassive expression and free a crooked grin.

She does that to you - draw out reactions from you that naturally wouldn't see the light of day.

You have to give it to her though. How she is able to wield her weapons of mass persuasion tactfully and subtly goes beyond any form of reasoning known to you, if the fact that you are standing on Disneyland grounds isn't evident enough. You fold your arms in annoyance.

"My, my. Now isn't that a charming scowl you've been sporting since I met you at the station an hour ago?" She shakes her head in mock disappointment as she saunters up to you, tickets in hand. Standing in front of you with arms akimbo, she waits for you to wipe off the petulance written all over your face. "Well?"

You decide not to humor her.

"All right cut that out. We're going in whether you like it or not. I suggest that you fix that knot in your panties or I will do it for you."

She seems serious now. You quickly banish any lewd images that come to your mind and turn quickly to face the entrance in a bid to mask the heat rising up your face. She must have taken that as a sign of acquiescence as she links her arm with yours and gently tugs you toward the turnstiles. She lets out a good-natured laugh.

Halfway through, your cream Burberry trench coat gets caught in the rails. Cursing, you fumble around to free it, pausing briefly only to throw your chuckling companion a glare. She lends her aid and you stumble away from the damned contraption, embarrassed. Your shades do a good job at hiding it, yet you feel the familiar need to salvage your dignity anyway.

"At least I wore sufficient clothes." That was a blow below the belt and you know it. But it can't be helped, can it? When threatened, one does the impulsive. After all, it really isn't your fault for possessing such pride, you tell yourself. Nature over nurture.

You chance a glance at her. It's obvious she is amused by your snappy tone, as if she knows full well why you're being so waspish. And if she did know, she sure wasn't touching on it. You feel strangely thankful.

"Winter doesn't deter me from wearing a skirt, Rei. Besides, my stockings work just fine."

Subconsciously, your eyes wander appreciatively over her form but you immediately snap out of it. She mustn't know you…fancy her. You couldn't possibly ask for anything more than a friendship. At least you wouldn't dare to. You rake a hand through your hair irritably. "Come on Minako, stockings barely keep you warm. And it's simply not practical to wear three-inch-heeled boots to Disneyland!"

That was a half-lie and you cringe inwardly. You know those boots make her look sexy and you hate how it makes you feel. The amount of attention she's attracting unsettles you. For once you're honest with yourself, as much as it stings. And since when was practicality your specialty and not Ami's?

She waves her hand dismissively. "These are Marcs, and it's all about fashion, Ms Grinch. I'd rather get hypothermia and a shattered ankle than walk out of my house looking like a mangled marshmallow on a stick."

You laugh at the ridiculous image that pops up unbidden in your head and absently pull her closer, wanting to feel her warmth through her brown, faux-fur bomber jacket.

It was cold before, but it was decidedly better now.

She starts hopping up and down then, while pointing toward a statue of Mickey. You idly wonder how such a feat could have been managed in her boots. Then you roll your eyes, remembering that she wore five-inch stilettos to Makoto's wedding, the ones which left the carpet ridden with tiny puncture marks where ever she went. Her ankles are accustomed to the torture. You, however, are accustomed to her hauling you everywhere, something which she then proceeds to do towards the beckoning lights behind the arched entrance.

One step in and both of you stand stock still. She in awe, and you in horror.

It wasn't the humongous Christmas tree smack dab in the centre or the blinding lights that got to you.

It was the shops.

The years have taught you that shopping and a particular blonde go synonymously. The years have taught you that only one of you would survive this. The years have taught you to back away from the myriad of warning signs.

"Rei! What are you doing with the poor balloon man?"

Busted.

Wincing, you slowly straighten up from the awkward half crouch, half crawl position you were in behind the confused man. Your mask of false calm falters slightly when you step away from his cover and instead, you hope you're able to cover up your failed escape by purchasing an overly large Eeyore balloon, complete with floppy ears and all.

"For me?" Her eyes widen in disbelief, suspicion that was present before melted away into a glint of hope.

You give a hesitant nod.

She smiles radiantly then, and your heart stops for a while. When she skips on with light laughter, tugging you into the first shop by the hand, you find that you're more willing to face the chaos and pandemonium now.

You're more willing to face just about anything.

--

It's about an hour later that both of you step back out into the bustling bazaar packed with pastel-coloured 80's sort of shops. You stumble out with a couple of purchases in hand and your view of the kaleidoscopic lights partially obscured by fluffy material over an eye. Disorientated, you reach up to yank the offending object off your head – the ridiculously puffy, cotton candy-pink Minnie hat that she forced on you. Your hair's mussed up now. This is hardly any consolation, let alone a reward, for successfully withstanding the onslaught of vicious crowds. If you didn't know her better, you'd think it was all planned. But it was just her seizing the opportunity by it's scruffs to make you look like a fool. The impish grin she sends you says it all. Now you've got a bone to pick with her.

Before you can do anything though, she has squashed her cheek against yours and has snapped a picture with her digital camera, its ominous lens facing the both of you. You frown when she shows you the picture: your shades are askew and you look in the midst of managing a suitable expression which is, unfortunately, unsuitable. She however, looks great as usual. You smack her lightly on the head for only capturing the unflattering photos of you. She smiles softly then. You could be wrong, but you think you heard her mumble something about you always looking gorgeous. Nah…

"So where to now?"

The flippant manner in which the question was raised confused you for a moment. While you're well aware of her talent for revving from Zoned to Perky within seconds, you'd never been hit with Nonchalant after Possibly Flattering. You shrug it off as another new development and stuff the Minnie hat into your shoulder bag. "Any place else but here."

She seems to consider it for a moment, and then with a rustle of papers, she has the map of Disneyland opened up before her. Her mouth is now pressed into a thin line as she squints and scrutinizes the small print. You decide that it's quite adorable.

"How 'bout a rollercoaster? I'll dare you." She smirks, looking up from the map, mischief dancing in her cerulean eyes. She thinks she's got you cornered now, toying with your infamous pride, goading it out and dangling an opportunity at embarrassing her in front of you. And what a tempting opportunity that would be. Yet there runs the risk of losing. Your pride is endangered either way. Her Cheshire smile widens - she knows you'd bite. And you would have too, except that - by some odd twist of luck against the blonde - you realize you have the upper hand here.

She has the darned map held upside down, cluelessly. How typical.

You scoff at her cocky grin. "Find one then. I dare you."

She looks at you, puzzled. She's probably wondering what you were driving at. It is times like this that you realize you do, in fact, have the capacity for patience, much more than you credit yourself for. Oh, you'd gladly, willingly wait for her humiliation even if it meant standing amidst throngs of jostling festive visitors.

The seconds tick by and she's still looking at you, stumped. You pull off your shades deftly and tuck it into your coat. Seems like she needs a little nudge.

She frowns at your bizarre actions, brows furrowing cutely. The map seems to crinkle in anticipation.

Catching her full attention finally with your eyes, you hold her gaze unwaveringly for build up. The twitch at the side of your mouth that threatens to ruin it all. "Or perhaps you would need help with that?"

It's comical the way her cerulean eyes widen to such large proportions at the traitorous map in her hands, scandalized by its inanimate betrayal. She sputters uselessly before clamming up and huffing like a child. Mirthful laughter bubbles forth from within you before you know it.

You win this time.

There's an odd sense of satisfaction that you get, the origin of which seems to be divided. Triumph pumps through you, yet there's something else. Contentment perhaps? Both of you don't have to admit it, but you do enjoy power challenges, the kind which normally tears relationships apart but only seems to bolster the one shared between you and her.

You don't understand the rationale behind all this, and it is then that a bolt of clarity strikes you.

There's no need for answers to everything for what you have with her, no need for deep analysis or evaluations. They just are what they are. The matters of the heart are such curious, inexplicable matters. They should be felt, experienced and explored, and not dug up for surgery and dissection. They should be lived.

All right, enough of this deep shit.

Hino Rei, the philosopher. How cute. Ah, all this philosophical malarkey isn't all that's cracked up to be. You think that perhaps Ami is truly starting to rub off you somewhat. The flustered woman in front of you would never let you live it down if she knew what a cheesy romantic you are. Which you aren't, you tell yourself quickly.

Well, you've had your share of fun now. She's still trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered ego, standing there sulking, looking at anything but you. You are well aware of how that feels like, perhaps even more so for you regard yourself higher than she does herself. A chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head lightly, almost dotingly.

And as expected, there really isn't an answer that you would willingly accept for the warmth that washes over you.

"Come on," you call to her gently, so uncharacteristic of you, and when she doesn't move, you reach out to wrap your hand around her chilled fingers.

"We'll find that rollercoaster."

--

You truly don't see the point in squealing over bulky, lumbering Disney characters, the concept of which you can't seem to grasp. Then again, the concept of a childhood wasn't something you'd known through and through either. Sometimes it seemed as though you had woken up one dismal, gloomy morn as a child and whoosh you were all grown up, looking to the world with eyes ten years too old and ten years too weary. You sigh heavily. So perhaps there's some form of bitterness that resides within you when you watch her prance around the parade square with her arm linked with one of the Seven Dwarves - Grumpy, you think that's its name, its grouchy countenance made it a safe guess.

You watch them for a while, the blonde's crystal laughter tinkling and delighting your ears. She's so easy to please, it bugs you sometimes. How can anyone be so easily contented? You don't know how she finds it in herself to be so carefree, (waltzing around the fountain now as Cinderella and her Fairy Godmother approach her to join in. Damn that charisma of hers.) when the both of you have bled in battle, seen innumerable horrors and watched one another coming to close shaves with death again and again and again. As though all of you senshi were gluttons for punishment, pounding on Death's door eagerly for a response.

You are eternally grateful that it never opened once.

Leaning against the decorated lamppost, you dwell on something you remember her saying once after you misunderstood her cheer for evading the responsibilities of a leader. You had confronted her then, accused her of wallowing in the depths of denial of a fear that was but your own - a fear that spoke of duty and of loss. She had said calmly, composedly, with a gentle and understanding smile.

"Even senshi need a break, Rei."

You vaguely remember being stunned into silence, her uttered words so soft, yet firm in stance. You'd known then that she was the stronger one between the both of you, your anchor and kite string when you were helpless, billowing in the wind, threatening to be torn away by gusts of irrationality. You had been humbled by her simple words, soothing words of assurance that everything was in control, that all of you could still find time for life, laughter, and love.

Life never ended the moment all of you swore to protect the Princess. What you had failed to realize then, was that it had only begun. Never mind that there were always battles to be fought. Because there was always stability in your leader and best friend.

You hold the Minnie hat in your hands now and play with the pink lint. It doesn't look as bad as it did before. You even consider pulling it on, a faint smile forming on your lips as you imagine the way her eyes would light up and twinkle in surprise. Without denying, you openly admit to yourself now that you do enjoy amusing her. And you would allow your best friend that amusement…

…if the best friend whom you inwardly admire isn't the same one who is currently heading towards you, Disney characters in tow.

There isn't so much stability promised now as there is chaos. Personally, you wouldn't mind if it were one sole dwarf. Perhaps you would even grant a plastic smile for a picture and come to regret it when it is enlarged, framed, and hung up in her room. But acting entertained by five or so fake characters surely wasn't on your agenda for the day, or for the rest of your life for that matter.

You think that your face is now a portrait of apprehension, bordering on terror. She waves excitedly at you and you shove the hat back into your bag, instinctively tugging your coat tighter against yourself, as if it would make you magically vanish from this scene or shield you from their predatory advance. The joyous Christmas music broadcasted throughout the theme park mocks you. One would think the theme song from Jaws would be more appropriate.

"Rei! Rei! Come, let's take a picture!"

You find that you're frozen to the spot, unable to escape as Minion Grumpy latches onto your arm, and with a lurch, tugs you toward the ecstatic blonde. Honestly, what is it with people treating you like a rag doll?

There's a startling flash of electric blue.

You ruin yet another otherwise proper picture by flailing around, trying to disentangle your arm from the unknown person who is in indirect contact with you. Brilliant. By the end of the day, that scheming woman will have enough hideous pictures with which to blackmail you. It's a random thought, but you think that camera was bought purely for such a purpose. And you've done nothing but unknowingly adhere to all 12 mega pixels of said purpose. Oh joy.

Mind awhirl with images of being trounced upon by creepy Disney characters, you blindly reach out for the blonde – her hair, her arm, anything! – and retreat hastily from them with a forced smile.

"Aww Rei, the parade isn't even over yet!"

She protests against your hold, which is conveniently on her waist. Her body is so close to yours that fine strands of her hair tickles your neck. The feathery contact is enough for you to realize the intimate position the both of you are in and you snatch your arm back quickly, as if you've been burned, face tingling with the approaching blush as you settle for holding her arm instead. "This is Disneyland. The parades never end."

You feel her wanting to break away from your supervision as you lead her past Santa Mickey and you are almost forced to drag her away in a headlock hold when the both of you near a photo taking session with Pooh. You eye the queue (which bore a striking resemblance to the River Nile), that sprouted from within a hut, scornfully.

"You're such a killjoy. I should've left you with Grumpy," she huffs and fixes you with an exasperated look, voice getting muffled by the thick scarf she throws on hastily, the winter winds starting to sting. "The both of you would've gotten along like…like peas in a pod! Bonded peas!"

Since she has a height advantage thanks to those boots, you're forced to tilt your head up, face scrunched in incredulity. "Piss in a pot?"

You don't know what's more frightening – the bizarre image you got of both you and Grumpy splashing around in excretion, or the seizure-like vibrations you feel as she doubles over, clutching her belly as peals of laughter spill forth.

She's finally lost it, you conclude.

Stepping away with the intention of distancing yourself from her, you barely resist the urge to throw your hands in the air to declare that: "I don't know her! I swear!"

She eventually calms enough for the both of you to stumble on to find that rollercoaster. It isn't long before she starts tugging you on with renewed fervor. And you do what you do best in situations like these.

You follow.

--

You think that it's about two hours since the both of you entered the theme park.

The queue shuffles on slowly and you feel a mounting trepidation with each successive forward step you take. It won't be long now.

If only someone had told you earlier that this rollercoaster went about its course in pitch darkness, you would've made a detour from joining the queue. Well of course there aren't any Good Samaritans when you need them. In fact, Judas was right beside you in the form of a particular blonde. She had conveniently left out that important detail before. And as if to make you feel better, she adds in that there will be an endless smattering of stars, so it isn't total inky nothingness. The ride wasn't named Space Mountain for nothing.

To pass the time, she'd bought a couple of lemon churros to nibble on. Well actually, she only bought one. The other was given free, courtesy of the resplendent smile she had switched on at the cute counter boy. It was pretty much a rule for her now that 'With swooning comes freebies'. Then again, that behold-my-boobs manoeuvre she pulled was plain cheating.

Dirty tricks aside, you'd never really known how she did it. All she had to do was waltz into a room and the lights came on, spirits that have forgotten how to live were roused, and laughter coaxed from grim lips. When she smiled, you smiled along, albeit for all the wrong reasons. There wasn't one single emotion that did not register in yourself when with her, from fear, to embarrassment, and perhaps even to joy. The whole spectrum of emotions was a precarious rollercoaster you had to ride, simply by knowing her.

Sometimes she forgets to give you a breather.

You aren't really sure when it was that you fell for her, you can't seem to precisely place a finger on it. Perhaps it was when you watched her flitting from guest to guest at Makoto's wedding, pleasantly entertaining and charming in that stunning jade dress? Perhaps it was when she had murmured an endearing Rei-chan while asleep beside you the first time she crashed over at the temple? Perhaps it was when she had taken a blow in the chest that was meant for you from that powerful youma, the one that had left her hanging from her thread of life? Perhaps it was none of these moments, perhaps it was all of them.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Perhaps you are just exaggerating this all, likening her to this beacon of light for all mankind because you refuse to acknowledge that she is your beacon of light, because you refuse to admit that in your eyes, she's all that you'll never be. You'd rather remain in this limbo of acceptance and denial. There's no need to shake up your own life unnecessarily. Leave the earthquakes to that girl.

Well, as usual, you are interrupted in your musings, this time by the end of a churro stick tapping against your lips. She pins you with a motherly glare, persuading you to take a bite while sprinkling your front with a dusting of sugar. You have half a mind to bat the sugary stick away, but you don't. Instead, you give in and close your lips around the offered treat, taking a crunch out of it and tasting her lip-gloss briefly. You make a face at the explosive sweetness. Shouldn't she know by now that you don't share her sweet tooth?

She senses your question before you get a chance to state it and waggles a finger in your face. "You were looking a bit sickly. Oh, don't bother hiding it. I won't let you chicken out on me now, Rei."

"Hey, I eat danger for meals!" You swat her hand away and straighten up, fixing her with an indignant glare.

"And oddly enough you panic in the face of bento."

She dismisses your declaration with a roll of her eyes, mumbling something about you being the worst liar there is. You happen to think you do pretty well at lying; it's just that she is the only one capable of seeing through your many layers. Blast that woman for turning you transparent. Blast her for pulling that stupid hat on your head again. You refrain from an outburst and decide that you will toss that infernal thing into the Sacred Fire the moment you returned to the shrine.

If you return to the shrine.

The queue is progressing way too slowly for your liking. You feel like begging her to grab a bucket of iced water for the all too familiar warm tingling along your palms. As if she is aware of your distress, she places a comforting hand on the crook of your elbow and assures you that it will be over before you know it.

Those words could not hold any more truth, for you find yourself being ushered to your cramped seat before you know it, one that smelled thickly of that prominent amusement ride smell. Or perhaps quite like a coffin you think, and then tried not to think. The safety bar clicks into place. The sound echoes and resounds in your head with deadening finality. Like a death knell. You place both hands on it, feeling the secured padding that lies over your lap. You try to convince yourself that you are safely strapped down, that you won't be flung off into oblivion. It is certain that there is no way that you can back out now. Neither is there any way that you can quit halfway, short of breaking all the bones in your body. Your breathing slows, and everything else shifts into white noise.

For a brief, mindless moment, you feel safe.

Then you are lurched forward as it starts. The ride attendant shouts for you to remove your hat and you are barely able to pull it off before the first gust of wind attempts to steal it away. You hardly register the blonde's excited gasp to your right, too preoccupied with how the platform seemed to fade away rapidly, as though it was never there to start with.

You sit through cutting turns, stomach lurching plunges and heart-stopping twists. You are pulled along in its wild, erratic course, jerking and jolting you about in starry darkness where everything is uncertain, and nothing is remembered. More than once your heart jumps to your throat when a drop comes, unexpected, unforeseen.

There was nothing you could do but to surrender. Surrender to the wind in your face. Surrender to her joyous laughter. Surrender to your inner fears.

Because there was nothing tangible that you could fight.

The car slows to a stop too soon, and you feel the adrenaline still pumping through you, the exhilaration of it all. It leaves you breathless. It leaves you with only hazy memories of sharp turns and drops, but nothing of clarity. You flex your stiff fingers and realize that the furry hat is still clenched in your one of your fists, that you had never let it go not once throughout the insanity. It doesn't take long for you to realize your other hand was clasped tightly around hers. She smiles cheekily at you, and gives your hand a small, meaningful squeeze. Looking at her now, you realize the ride wasn't that much different from the ones she gives you, the ones which you can never be prepared for.

Perhaps something had possessed you, that or the coaster had jolted your brain a tad too roughly because you find yourself joining the queue again, this time of your own volition. Of course she's more than surprised, and you sense the teasing coming up.

The wind whips your hair about again –too soon- and you clutch on to the rail tightly. The ride is as unpredictable as before, yet you've learnt how to expect the unexpected and even relish in it, welcoming the danger with open arms. The same course, the same darkness, a different experience. Just when you think you've got it memorized, a dip comes when a rise is expected; a turn comes when a plunge is thought to be due.

It is rather frightening, though it isn't the journey that frightened you. It is the knowledge that you would gladly sit through it again and again, once, twice…

Because it was thrilling

Because it was Minako.