'Once Upon A Rainy Eve'
Disclaimer: I don't own GH... I'm glad I didn't, I would have made a muck of it anyway.
A/N: So I'm really nervous about this series - and really confident too, mainly because it's a completely new thing I'm trying. Yasu and Masako were never really seen as a couple and I have not found any stories centered solely on them, so I made one of my own ^-^" Hope you like it. Review, maybe? Ehehehe...
To Yukino Amai and Rebecca (Guest) - this story is dedicated to you.
And to anyone who knows what it's like when expectations run high.
'We cannot express how infinitely sad we were when Lord Davis broke his betrothal with Miss Masako Hara, last night. And here we were, rejoicing the match of two perfect people in a sensible contract – it's a pity don't you think? Ah, what a failure, the middle Miss Hara is to her family; and to think that she might not even make another match. 'Tis a real pity – she is pretty after all.
Though not as pretty as her elder sister. Did anybody notice the way Lord Yasu winked at Miss Emilie Hara over his dance with Miss Harper. Although the direction of his wink was clearly ambiguous, he couldn't have winked at Miss Masako could he have?
She is too flawless for men of his tastes. And too dull, of course.' – The Snitch. October 1810.
Overhead a clock chimed midnight…
And she started running…
Her breathing was uneven, a series of gasps and sobs that she had stifled inside the ballroom because nobody could see the chinks in her façade. Not when he steered her towards the stage, a hand on her waist as one last gesture of whatever remnants of affection he had for her, not when he raised the crystal glass towards her and broke their long-lasting engagement in twelve short words, not when a thousand people looked at her as if she'd turned into an invalid when she descended the stage after him, not when her mother sternly signalled for her to maintain the customary cheerful smile.
Not when she was breaking on the inside – like a china cup that shattered when flung to the floor.
Twelve words – she twisted the silk on her gown, fisting it in her hand, madly weaving her way through the labyrinth of darkened corridors – twelve words that obliterated the goal she'd been striving to achieve since infancy, twelve words that negated everything that made her like this, twelve counted words that made him seem like a fragment of imagination; faraway, out of reach…
Out of her reach.
She stopped suddenly, her breathing hitched as she spotted a dark alcove at the end of a deserted corridor.
She needed a place to hide herself, a place where she could cry as much as she want because at the end of the night she had to go back to the ballroom, smile plastered to her face, feet light as she danced. At the end of the night, she had to show that she was resilient, at the end of the night – nobody could see her grief. It was ironic really – a night ago she had the whole ton worshipping her, the future wife of Lord Davis, a striking bride for him and now – now, she was the girl who had been engaged to him. The night continued a floor below, the sound of the festivities nothing but a jumbled symphony of din to her ears; crystal tinkled together, laughs echoed in the grand hall, the orchestra clanged away at the instruments as if nothing note-worthy had happened to her.
As if she was a scene in the past – came and went away like an unknown moment.
Masako knew better than to hope for that.
She crouched herself into a ball under the alcove, hiding away in a corner, bathed in complete darkness – ladies didn't cry in broad daylight, they cried in corners and in the end, their tears were never visible, their grief was never public.
Tomorrow it would start, her personal hell to perfection; tomorrow her mother would mourn loudly at the breaking of the engagement, reminding her in every waking moment that she was responsible for this, that she'd failed somebody again, tomorrow The Snitch would write a scathingly sympathetic column dedicated to her, tomorrow her fake friends would coo at her loss, secretly pleased because after tonight, the perfect Lord Davis would be an eligible bachelor again, free to marry anyone…
Masako wanted to laugh scornfully – he wouldn't marry anybody else, he loved her, her, she was perfect for him and he needed her, he just needed some time to realize how much. After a few days he'd return to her, after a few days he'd realize that she was all that he could ever need, that she'd spent her entire life preparing just so she could be perfect for him.
He had to come back – there was no alternative to it – he had to return…
To her.
Her quiet sobs echoed in the alcove and she wished there was some way she could alleviate the pain, when everything else around her was a blurred vision, the pain was acute, the pain anchored her to the dark recess.
"I hope you don't mind if I tell you something."
She gasped sharply, her eyes darting to locate the owner of the voice but her eyes knew nothing but the dark.
"If you're trying to cry away quietly, you're doing a lousy job of it."
Her heart beat increased as she tried to find a silhouette in the dark. All voices had an owner, did they not?
Unless they belonged to…
She gulped, searching her reticule for anything, a weapon, a lighter, a… a…
"Oh come now, you're not scared of me, are you?"
Unless they belonged to a… ghost…
She heard the faint sound of objects clanking together as the owner of the voice exhaled slowly as if shaking their head and started to rummage in their pockets for something.
For a moment there was a complete silence in the alcove, not even the sound of her breathing could be heard – it was almost as if… as if… there was nobody in the alcove except her.
Until she heard the ticking of a cigarette lighter, followed by a brief flash of light that died away as quickly as it came – only to let her see that she was talking to a man. She saw a glimpse of a diamond stickpin that was in his cravat but could see nothing else.
Masako allowed herself to breathe…
"You were scared, were you not?"
She turned her head towards the voice, her eyebrows raised.
What was this person doing here, in the alcove? At the same time as her?
"I wasn't scared." She replied flatly, congratulating herself when her voice came out just as she wanted, cool, calm, no hint of the tumultuous cries she'd been exuding earlier. "I was just – "
"You were scared." He said firmly, a hint of a laugh underlying the voice. "I didn't think you would be. You didn't bawl when you were on the stage. I was anticipating something more violent from you than a mere 'I-support-his-decision'"
"Who are you?"
He merely shrugged, or she thought he had. "That's immaterial." She heard the vague noise of the lighter at work and saw the flare of red flame again, this time falling on his neck, giving her a brief glimpse of it, nothing but splayed shadows on skin. "What's important is that you were scared and I succeeded in my mission."
She was about to say something when he interrupted her again.
"I will grant you this, you do run very fast." A pause followed the sentence before he spoke again, his voice wry. "Imagine the shock I was given when a damsel flung herself into the same space in which I was seated, quietly thinking about my dissolute life."
She merely stared at him, trying to determine whether he was in his cups or something along those lines.
Or whether she was an idiot for still being there.
"I'm surprised Noll called you staid. There's nothing even remotely boring about you."
It was strange how an inane conversation with a person she barely knew had made her forget the main reason she was hiding away in barely lit niches. It just took one mention of his name to make her mind whirr through the various memories of her misery and she sniffed, feeling the tears distorting her vision once more this evening.
"Here take this." She raised her head, eyes squinting, barely aware when he pressed something in her palm. A handkerchief. "- and don't cry. This occasion warrants celebration."
Celebration?
"Celebration." She croaked, humiliated at the retirement of her manners. "My fiancé decided that he didn't want to marry me and you're saying that– "
He merely chuckled.
"You escaped the clutches of evil perfection. You should be immensely happy – though I do wish you'd done something dramatic on the stage."
"Dramati-"
"I would be happy to provide ideas." He paused as if thinking deeply. "You could have swooned, or broken the wine glass over his head, you could have sworn at him or even better – "
"What do you know of him?" She retorted snidely, wishing he'd leave her alone whoever he was. "He is high above people like you, he's a lord, he's a… a…"
Masako found herself looking for words – eyes widening when he laughed in response to her statement, carefree, as if her words did not affect him one bit.
"He's a lord…" She repeated, struggling for more adjectives to attach with Lord Davis' name, appalled internally. "He's perfect, he's a – "
"He's an ass." The casual reply and the sound of the lighter at work again made her look up at the stranger who tugged at the cigarette as his mouth tipped up, his words jumbling up due to the cigarette in his mouth. "If you ask me – he did the right thing in the wrong manner tonight."
Was he insulting her? Did he mean that she was not good enough for Oliver?
"If you mean to insult me, then I'll let you know that I was perfect for him." She hadn't talked like this with anybody, with this amount of emotion venting in her tone. "I was pretty, accomplished, polite. I was flawless. I was perfect."
"Which is where you go wrong about Noll." He pointed out. "What he needs is a good, healthy dose of imperfection, doused over his head like cold water on January."
She stared hard at the stranger, unable to decide his personality. What was he doing hiding away in corners – more importantly why was she still there, having a role in this stupid conversation.
Masako stood up… dusting her silk gown.
"I should be leaving." She said, more to herself than to him. "I've been warned of rakes that roam in these parts."
"Ah yes, of course." He seemed to be nodding in affected understanding. "And which rakes are these?"
She thought for a moment, searching for a name and it popped in her mind immediately.
The name of her arch-nemesis, the name of her unseen enemy, the name of the person who was about to ruin the future of her sister by marrying the silly girl.
"Lord Yasu for example." She said decisively.
The stranger stiffened for a moment before he took the cigarette and stubbed it as if musing in his own world
"Hmm… he's dangerous." He finally agreed. "But you have to agree that he is charming, never mind his old age."
"I hate him." Her reply was dry.
"And he's after your sister… maybe he'll marry her."
That made Masako remember her mission for the night. Today was the first time she would meet Lord Yasu and she had to make sure that he would not even look at her sister, rather than contemplating marriage with her. She picked up a handful of her skirts and turned to the stranger, his handkerchief in her outstretched palm.
The stranger looked up at her but she saw nothing but a glint of grey.
"No, you can keep it." He closed her hand over the handkerchief and she tried not to notice the tingles that erupted over the skin. "As a souvenir of our meeting."
She nodded at nothing in particular and turned to leave when his voice stopped her.
"And Masako." She wanted to tell him that he couldn't use her name, that she hadn't allowed him to but she stood there in the doorway, her back to him, hanging on to his words. "You deserve better. Better than him."
She ran away, again – a strange giddiness in her stomach which she dismissed as a result of the pudding that she had taken a bite of but the voice rang in her head, like a shadow following her, even as she danced at the ball, chatted as if her life was still normal, withstood the glances and the hushed gossips that rang in the ballroom about her
You deserve better.
Even as she sat with her elder sister, listening to her talk about Lord Yasu incessantly, she thought about the stranger, whoever he was, his words and found herself staring into space, like a confused little child.
Better than him.
She thought about the man in the dark even when her sister pointed a finger, squealing, towards the infamous rake Lord Yasu – she glanced at her unknown enemy.
She saw a familiar glint of grey.
In her mind she was ready to dismiss him, one look and she was ready to revert back to thinking about the words the stranger had said, dissecting them until they scattered in her mind.
But when she saw him, Lord Yasu, she froze.
In her seat.
Over the distance, their eyes met and he held her wide gaze for a moment, before he winked at her.
Winked at her.
She stood up, eyes wide, stance frozen and strode away from her seat, finding a little corner by the refreshment table, all the while feeling his gaze at her back.
Please don't let him be him.
Her hand searched for the stranger's handkerchief in her reticule and she held the soft fabric in her hand, her heart fervently praying that the grey eyes were a figment of her imagination. That the stranger was someone other than –
The initials on the handkerchief made her lips part.
Someone other than…
The initials were two neatly stitched alphabets.
'O. Y'
Osamu Yasuhara.
All along it had been –
Him.
The word rang in her head, everything around her vanishing as she stared at the handkerchief in complete incredulity.
It could not be...
He could not be -
Lord Yasu…
A/N: Review? Suggestions? Criticism? All are highly appreciated and taken into account. Hope you enjoyed this introductory chapter thing. I'm also working on ATCAD and I'm done with it's rough draft and a one-shot I'm musing about. My exams still go on =.='' I did well in the first round (scored awesome in English XD) except for the Biology exam, that sucked.
Cookies~
-borntoflyhigh