Disclaimer: Me no own.
Pairing: Usagi/Mamoru
Status: Complete
An: Uh. This is going to be long. Bear with me.
This is heavily inspired by the quoted song at the end of the story. There are many, many versions of this song, Yves Montand first sang it in French, Nat King Cole first sang it in English, but Edith Piaf sings it with such emotion it makes my heart break. I recommend downloading it, and specially the version where she's singing in this order: English-French-English.
This one (the premise of the story) is a bit complicated. I must admit I haven't seen Sailor Moon's First Season for a while here, but I'm taking a chance here. In a way – this is set somewhere between when Mamoru crosses/is brainwashed to cross over to the Dark Kingdom, but Usagi has all of their memories – even from before. So in one part she wishes he would kiss or touch her again – she is actually acting upon the very long ago past. I hope that clears it up a bit. And erm… - lots and lots of run-on sentences, I'm afraid I tried writing a string of consciousness here. Sorry. (sweatdrops)
Also – it seems to me I have run out of practice after not writing for so long, so this is not beta'd, and well – if anyone is willing to be my beta-reader I'd appreciate it much. Very, very much. If anyone is willing – contact me either through PM or e-mail. Thanks.
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„All human wisdom is summed up in two words - wait and hope."
Alexander Dumas
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One day you stop hoping.
Though it may sound a bit weird, it is the honest truth. The sun wakes you breaking through all the white, large clouds gathering in the vast blue sky, your pink curtains shimmer lightly in the air, and soft fingertips of the sun caress your face. For a moment you dismiss it for an annoying fly and pull you head lower. The fingertips settle on your eyelids and it gets to you.
You are not sleeping. This is not a dream.
Because you don't remember the last time you slept and dreamt like this, in this particular way. The fingertips disappear, slowly lifting up from your face as you lift yourself up in a sitting position.
You think about what to do today. There is a must-do list in your head: wake up Shingo, eat breakfast, go meet up with the girls – you must not forget to return those mangas to Rei, and you must, simply must give Minako that shirt she's been bugging you about for months now; Makoto.. well, to Makoto you must return that little book of receipts you borrowed before the summer but never really opened – you really ought to give it back, but maybe you could pull out of it saying you had to take the things for Rei and Minako and everybody knows how much of an airhead you can be, so it should actually be a miracle you remembered to even bring those two things, never mind the little book...
The truth here is – in that little book is hidden a receipt for a chocolate cake filled with walnuts and cream and that is – and that is; you breathed in here deeply, hold it in and realize, here he comes again – you exhale; that is his favorite cake.
Suddenly it seems as if it is a hilarious matter. Why do you remember these things? Why? And for who?
You don't understand.
The other part of the morning, at least what you call morning and other people way past noon; all of it goes by you in a blink of an eye and only the corners of your irises register your moving around the house. Kitchen – table, bathroom – shower, Shingo – you pull him out of the bed because during the summer he has become even worse then you when it comes to getting up, closet – what do you wear today, for heaven's sake? Maybe those very slim denims that fit you as if they were made for you, and that little shirt which could actually be a dress for how long it is... yes, you could wear that – the hair stays as it is – maybe just a little bit of make-up?
You hang your head down, not looking at your reflection anymore. Why? Because of who? Why do you do these things?
Walking into the arcade, you can clearly see that you are the last one to show up. Rei hovers over you like a hawk while you pull out her mangas and she takes each one of them into her hands, turning them over, opening them – checking if there are any scribbles, food stains or bent corners. She doesn't find a thing. There is nothing there for her to find. Rei, maybe, just maybe does not know you as well as she thinks she does. Minako almost strangles you with her bear hug when you pull out that fabulous blue shirt and give it to her – that does not seem strange to you – one moment you're sitting and the next you're on the floor with Minako who is screaming "Thank you, thank you, thank you", in yours by now bleeding ear.
Ami observes all of it with a smile on her face across the cover of her book about Human blood types, she smiles fondly until you pull the third object – the little receipt book from your bag. The table is at once covered in silence, Rei drops the books on the table, Minako calms down and Makoto cannot hide the sad look from her eyes as her fingers grasp the little book taking it away from your trembling fingers.
"Usagi...", she says, quietly and painfully, and for the second time that day you hang your head. "It doesn't matter anymore", you say, but what you think is this: yes, yes it does, just not to the ones it should. Makoto nods and puts the book away in a hurry and for the next fifteen minutes her eyes avoid meeting yours.
Minutes pass. The conversation jumps from one theme onto the next: are we going to the main Avenue today, I heard they have the new make-up on display?, Minako asks, while Rei rolls her eyes waving a hand at her and crossing that out with: shrine today, because Grandfather is going over to some of his friends and we can have a pajama party – and then all of you are looking at her – my God, do we even have to answer to that ridiculous question?
Makoto announces with such joy that she has made another successful receipt for a new cake, second later biting her lip and waiting for your reaction, she is watching you under her eyebrows. You swallow hard, but it stops somewhere half way down – still you force that happy sound out of your mouth and through your lips: "I want to try it first!" and everything is all right at the table again.
Everything is all right until moments later when the hairs on your neck suddenly stand like pricks in the air, and cold fingers pass over your back – you don't even have to turn around to know who just came in.
The girls don't even realize what is happening until he is standing by your table – calm, so calm – and so gorgeous that it seems your lungs forgot how to breathe, actually you wouldn't be surprised it they ever knew how to at all. "Nothing new today, Odango, no accidents?", he wonders and your tongue sticks out on instinct alone.
"As if I would tell you if there were!", you spat with little strength behind the words, but your lungs still burn. Mamoru laughs shortly and turns away – slowly, oh so slowly walks to the counter. Something inside of you knots even tighter, but your lungs suddenly decide to function and you breathe in so hard and so deep that your fingers holding the table turn completely white.
Ami carefully closes her book, and sets it on the table. Her hand settles on your own. "Usagi, it's all right." When you raise your eyes, they are already blurry from the tears, but you're not quite sure if it's because you have your girls there with you or because he's standing so close yet he is so very, very far away from you. And no - it's not all right.
You feel abandoned and safe and loved at once, and as if you're losing your mind because you can't possibly feel such two opposing emotions at the same time. You turn your head toward the counter, Motoki waves at you but Mamoru doesn't even blink, doesn't even breathe, doesn't even shrug – doesn't even turn around. A piece of your heart shrivels up and turns into ashes.
You don't even hope anymore. That is – you do – of course you do, because that is what makes you simply you – the hope in a better tomorrow, hope that you will be given new chances and hope – all the hope you have in him. Hope that he will remember somehow. That the next time he will come to your table and you will have to scoot over a bit to make some room for him, he will hug you or kiss you – he will be in love with you again.
You dare to hope. Just not hope-hope, not anymore. It is not your very first thought of the morning or your last thought of the night. No.
Life moves on. Life goes on, whether you like it or not.
Doesn't it?
But...
Your eyes slid across the booth and to the table down the row from you and on the couple sitting there. The girl is holding a single red rose in her hand while the boy is kissing her cheek tenderly. Your eyes move from them on Makoto's bag and that little book inside of it and suddenly you can not hold it in anymore, the knot inside of you is too big and too strong and sometimes you are not so big and so strong as you may seem and the girls are watching you like four big mothers worried to death for their child and you just can not hold it in anymore..
He is not even aware of it. He doesn't know. He doesn't remember.
Your body curls inwards, closer to the table until your head rests on the clean surface and your shoulders start to shake. Tears start all by themselves, they flow down your cheeks sadly and you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from screaming – it hurts too much. It just hurts so much, and you wonder when will it all start turning for the better because you can't breathe and you must – you simply must be dreaming all this...
Four pairs of hands sneak their away around you somehow, forming a protective nest of safety, warmth and love. The sun is gone – long gone, the clouds outside are of darker color now and the rain is about to fall. Autumn is turning into winter, and it seems to you, you might just be mimicking it. The leaves are falling outside, constantly, constantly, and as your shoulders shake uncontrollably, the tears drip-drop on the table, and you can hear the wind howling outside now – it's so very strong and you are so very weak right now.
Still, it might sound weird, but it's the honest truth – you...
You hope.
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Since you went away But I miss you most of all, my darling
The days grow long
And soon I''ll hear
Old winter's song
When autumn leaves start to fall
Edith Piaf, „Les Feuilles Mortes" (Autumn Leaves)