Sometimes he wished she'd just smile.
It was sort of hard to go about everyday, seeing a stoic expression – even during the cheery and joyous moments at Ashford. When Lelouch saw the two of them, he had to hold back a laugh at the boy's expression… His friend looked casually on, her usual camera in hand as she took a quick snapshot at the moment when the blond was invading Lelouch's personal space.
She still didn't smile though.
During the school festival, whenever everyone was hyped and chattering over their friend, The Knight of Seven, Suzaku Kururugi's, return to the school, he took most of his free time to explore the festivities with her, looking at the bizarre foods the people were making, getting into the program via driving hazard in that MR-1.
"Anya! Look!" The much taller, sapphire-eyed boy exclaimed to the girl at the metal mesh of boiling grease, watching the little puffs inflate in the liquid. She didn't give a real look, just a view through her diary.
"Recorded."
And he asked himself, deep inside, if that's all she saw the world in. Through the small screen of the portable diary, through the shifts of light and blurs of the focusing screen, constantly taking photos like it was going out of style.
What about a moment that you can only remember with your heart?
Whenever she fought, he had grown to notice when their first mission together came around, she was merciless, heartless, and cold. She saw it as her job, her duty. Almost her reason for existing.
He silently hoped to himself that his happy-go-lucky attitude about fighting, always grasping the challenge and giving it his all, even if his enemies were fighting for their lives, would rub off onto her.
His blue eyes shined and his game was up a bit more whenever she made a comment about one of the skirmishes they were in.
"Over?"
He told himself there was a disappointed sigh at the beginning.
"Game over?"
"Ah, game over, Anya." He replied, a little bit of mirth in his voice as he shifted one of the handles for the controls back into a resting position.
The Mordred landed with a heavy thud next to the Tristan.
"…No game."
"Too true, Anya." He didn't want to say anymore about the weakness of their opponents, it might ruin the fragile moment.
The blond never asked why she didn't smile, or why she took pictures all the time. It could hurt her feelings, or make her feel a bit vulnerable, or…
It just seemed like a bad idea.
He mused to himself once though, while listening to the radio play songs from long before he was born, that Anya must truly want to drown the world in her tears.
Or just hide her perfect face from it.
Either one worked.
Digging through another one of the moving boxes, he found some old portraits of a very young Anya, but none were new from the ones he had taken with his own camera, saved on his laptop.
"…I would really love her if she would smile." He mumbled, looking up to the open window to the chirping birds, singing about spring. His eyes were marked with a humorous longing.
Just smile, for once.
Once the rebellion was quelled, once Emperor Lelouch's reign was stopped, once… Once Anya said she was moving away to live with Jeremiah – unbeknownst to Gino, the man who had freed her from the prison of fabricated memories of moments she wished she could remember in her heart that was so detached from her mind…
He felt sad for once.
The letter in his hands, written in a scratched cursive that only Anya could write in, the pink paper rose-quartz just like her hair… The ink ruby like her eyes…
He was going to miss her.
It was raining whenever he dropped by to visit the former Knight of Six at the large orange orchard, sprinting to the porch; he was greeted by a warm smile, Sayoko Shinozaki patiently sweeping the dry porch. Jeremiah was bringing out a pitcher of orange juice – with pulp – and some cups for the two old friends to chat.
"…Oooh, what a lousy day for it rain, right, Anya?" He asked, looking over the bleach-white railing while his fingers drummed impatiently against the plain white table.
"…Mmn." She mumbled, holding the glass up to her lips to take a drink. Her hair was in two low pigtails. He supposed the humidity made her keep it down; it was foreign to see it like this.
There was little to talk about. The two just looked casually off to the side, the rain steadily dripping around them. The birds singing just a bit lazier than usual…
"We should go for a walk." The blue-eyed teen suddenly declared, snatching up the plaid umbrella – cherry like Anya's eyes, - and opening it. The girl raised a thin eyebrow and walked over, her muddy shoes scuffing against the wood.
For some reason, neither of them budged for a good moment. Just standing, an umbrella over them despite the over-hang shielding them from the rain… It became unbearable, and the blond had to say something.
He marched out into the now-letting up rain, Gino Weinburg in all of his bittersweet but wonderfully optimistic glory, spinning around to face Anya with a smile.
"Can I tell you a story?"
"Absolutely." The girl replied, the corners of her pale lips raised just a bit as she walked down the steps, boots making the wood creak, a new pair of white overalls were on her – worn just a bit differently than what she usually wore them, a pale green sweater under them to protect her skinny arms from the chilly winds of spring…
She was lovely when she smiled, looking just barely uncomfortable to the unused look on her face.
It was the story of his girl. His friend.
Anya Alstriem.