Despite all the time it's been since the two of them sat in the tall, pure white building nestled in the folds of Lillian that spoke of maidens and roses, it's as if nothing ever changed. Granted, the room they were sitting in currently was definitely not the same as the perfectly architectured one of their pasts, and as elegant and beautifully furnished as her apartment was, it barely held a flame to the calming air and aura that was so prominent in their school.
She smiles quaintly then at the thought of it, still able to envision the familiar statue of the Virgin Mary and the hallways where young women never ran, always walked as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips. Glancing upwards over the rim of the cup, she meets the eyes of her visitor.
She assesses her quietly and sees another thing yet to be touched by the hands of time. The blond across from her still wears a perpetual smile with a face that holds mischievous eyes and a posture ready and willing, a trait she herself had as well but executed in a completely different manner. She lets her gaze linger on the eyes of the other woman. Now how many times was it that those same eyes had narrowed so thinly at her, bridled with anger and otherwise frustration?
The two of them are older now though. The passage of time, four years in total, have both preserved and brought changes, tweaks in their personalities and faces. She remains as collected as ever, with her head still cool and her patience still thick. But there is now a maturity in her eyes, a small sign of age and a smaller speck of wisdom and they both make the line of her chin sharper, her lips a tiny bit thinner.
The other woman has her fair share of changes, too. The once short hair that tickled the back of her neck in her youth is a few inches longer, now obscuring half her neck with bangs that kiss the hood of her eyelids. She drinks the tea slowly, which to her dismay she thinks by now is probably lukewarm, and the air between them shifts and turns slowly subtly.
There's an orchestra of music in the room that accompanies this particular scene. A car pulling out of a driveway is heard as tires crunch over day old snow through the thin protection of her glass windows and there is a comfort (possible annoyance for the woman across her) in the sound of the grandfather clock that stands tall in the corner of the room. It counts the seconds that pass as the pair continues to look at each other, now dropping all pretense of being respectful or polite as they examine every little change in the other that the eye can see.
It's not as if the visit was unexpected since hardly anything in her life was unplanned or predetermined anymore. But it wasn't until she opened her door to find the sight of the tall, lanky, blond with her hair slightly tousled while donning a black peacoat with a sweater underneath, grinning at her through puffs of cold air did she realize just how quickly time has passed since their small reunion was arranged.
She wished she remembered. She could have used the time to prepare herself.
"I hope you've been well, Sei?"
She places the cup back on the saucer and waits for her response, already formulating an idea of how her life had been for the past few years.
"I've been doing pretty well. Better than I thought for a girl who went to college with no plans or sense of direction."
And just like that, something changes. It's unnoticeable to perhaps anyone beside the two of them but it's enough of a change for Sei to fit into a role where she's comfortable. She's done it before, the lines are well-practiced and it'll make do for the time being. Like this, the both of them can pretend that things aren't the way they are, that maybe they're back in highschool, still young and foolish, and she doesn't have to disillusion herself out of her regrets or wear the burden of I should have's or even the dreadful possibilities of a time long gone.
She smiles again, but with everything she does it has its own degree of moderation. She can't help but watch as the other woman breaks into a slow grin, her white teeth flashing momentarily before hiding back behind her lips. She makes it a point not to stare too long at them.
"And you've been living responsibly, I hope? Or is that too much to ask for?"
A few seconds still before the relative silence in the room is broken with a laugh, and she takes the lead for a conversation that explores the jobs they've taken, friends they've made, and anecdotes that may or may not be true. They speak about the feeling of leaving Lillian, a home to some and a cage to others, and she notes with a small amount of pleasure that Sei looks happy. She looks content, with a light in her eyes and color in her cheeks that speak of living, a type of living to the fullest.
She hopes it's not too obvious that she doesn't share that happiness for herself.
As she expected, the two of them lead completely different lives. Her own is as neatly organized as she could possibly make it with little room for abrupt change while Sei is flighty, like any young person should be, ready to drop all her things and run without a destination. Thinking on it now, she realizes with a bitter feeling that spontaneity to her appears in the form of taking a day off to read or perhaps rearranging a date with a client to stay in or go out, and even those are few and rare in between.
Somewhere along the line, she had forgotten what she preached so well to her protégée in Lillian.
The quality of life cannot be counted in accolades or enhanced by small activities plucked for the appearance of seeming well groomed, well off, and well spoken for. If she hadn't forgotten, it didn't seem to matter; she was too scared to change a thing.
Eventually the afternoon light began to dim as the sun made its trek across the sky. It was surprising how much time could fly with small talk, and even if Sei didn't seem to change much, there was a glow to her that she had been lacking. As to what the cause was, she was unsure, too unnerved and too nervous to ask. Disappointment wasn't something she had planned for the day after all, and she couldn't do with surprises in a time like this. The fact that such feeling was likely inevitable was something she pushed far into the crevices of her mind.
The stream of conversation trickles to its end and she stands, ready to lead the other woman out as she throws on her jacket. Every action she makes seems to strike a chord within her but if she acknowledges it, she says nothing to herself or to anyone else. They make their way to the doorway now, and Sei pauses as she steps into her shoes, offering the woman a final glance. Digging her hand in her pocket, she takes out a small rumpled sheet of paper. She doesn't say much but she stuffs it into her hand and smiles again, telling her to visit sometime next week. Before any words of protest can be said, she's already gone, taking the steps down two at a time until she reaches the bottom, pulling open the door to her car and driving away.
It's done so quickly that she can barely breathe and it is only when she hears the car screeching off, already reminding her of her particular shoddy driving skills that she glances down at the paper in her hand. There is a something scrawled inside, an address, and messy handwriting below it.
"It's funny how things ended up. I don't think anyone can be as meddlesome as you but I'll give it a try."
Youko folds the paper carefully and holds it close, the significance of it binding her to the spot and forcing an even stranger emotion to bubble from within her.
She allows a moment of selfishness to pass and she feels a different kind of control now, a stronger one, a better one. She knows what has to be done.
She stands there for only a minute longer before turning back to her room, flicking off the light in the doorway and heading for her planner to cancel a particular meeting with a client next Monday.
He can wait.
After all, how could she help someone if she couldn't even help herself? With a single phonecall and a dark, black line crossed through the previous writing for that date, it's settled. And now she can only wait for recovery from a friend who borrowed the same kind of help not so long ago.
For the first time in a long time, she lets herself accept help from someone else.
She dares to feel hopeful.