lune
11.
So.
This is how it happens.
This is how they meet.
And she's fast asleep, unconsciously using him as her pillow. He's sitting beside her awkwardly, unsure whether to actually wake her up, or simply let her stay, resting on his shoulder. His fingers drum absentmindedly on his thighs while he debates this.
It's been one—two—five—ten minutes now.
And she stirs, eyes opening slowly, and it's strange – almost like watching chrysalis happening before him. Sleepy eyes glisten and become attentive, dark blue irises lightening into a pretty shade of cobalt—and then widening in… embarrassment? Her cheeks brighten, reminding him of roses and wine. Her lips move soundlessly, and he can only stare – unable to interpret it.
"… what?"
She looks out of the window, checking the stop they're at. Exhales, relieved that it isn't hers—or that she hasn't missed her station yet. Shoulders sink, and her movement flows like water, as she rifles through her rucksack to find something. Fishing pen and paper out with a slight tilt of her lips, she gives him a wider smile, half-apologetic, half-mysterious.
Sorry. Her handwriting says, ink on the paper, her nudge forcing him to read it, aware that her eyes rest on him. Didn't mean to sleep on you.
"…" If he's being honest, he's taken off guard for a brief second. "Um…" Toushirou shrugs, trying to act casual, and wondering what the Hell to say to her. "It's okay. It's late – it can happen."
It's just never happened to him before…
Do you normally take the train? Her pen hovers, and he's read the words before she's crossed it out, a squiggly straight line.
"I do actually, but not this carriage. But since I was in a rush, running a bit late, I just grabbed the first one I could get." He meets her eyes, and if he squints, there's still a bit of a blush on her face. "Didn't want to wait for the next train."
That's kind of strategic of you.
"Well, being co-ordinated is nothing to be ashamed of." He says it rather proudly, and for a brief second, when her lips compress, he wonders if he should say it in that tone.
No, I guess not. Her eyes say something a little different, but Toushirou cannot decipher it, gleaming in merriment. Well, in any case, here's to hoping to see you again.
"This is your stop?" Looking out the window, the cerulean eyed boy returns to gazing at her.
The dark haired girl shakes her head, jet black tresses curled around her shoulder in a messy ponytail. Not yet, but next. Anyway, this is Tokyo. There may be a chance that we'll meet again. If we do, I'd like it to be soon. You seem like a nice person.
"I'm a stranger." This is something Toushirou feels compelled to point out.
The girl shrugs. I know but… I like you. Gut instinct. I think you could be my muse. Let's take a risk, and leave it at that.
"I don't—" She takes his hand and shakes it, while she leans in and kisses his cheek. Rendering him silent, it's that moment in which the train slows down, and the stranger leaves him, ripped out piece of paper forgotten.
She twirls away, saying goodbye with a quick smile.
I like you. I think you could be my muse.
Hitsugaya Toushirou reads those two lines, over and over again until he reaches his stop.
Doesn't quite know what to make of it, and stuffs the paper in his pocket.
It's a coincidence—it's got to be.
Two days later, there's a ruckus that turns out beneficial to everyone.
Outside the café, a group of people busks – four guys and one girl dancing to a catchy melody that attracts customers and a crowd.
People clap and pay, and together, the music creates a good atmosphere.
It's catchy, the dancers are talented, uniformed and synchronised, and yen coins are being collected with every twist and lunge, head spin and clap.
Momo's dawdling—he couldn't care less, but Renji is snickering and that's usually a sign to get a move on, and so he approaches his friend to tell her to go back to work—ignoring the distraction.
But he notices in a blink of an eye.
The single girl surrounded by four boys.
And it's her.
The girl on the train who slept on him for ten minutes before waking up and starting a conversation with him—who wrote with a sweet smile that he could her muse—and acted afterwards as if it was nothing.
She's giggling and leaning into one of the boy's shoulders – who has an afro hairstyle – and his arm has slid around her waist.
She doesn't notice him, the waiter gawping like an idiot, and he doesn't notice that his best friend has been prodding for a few seconds.
"Work!" Momo says with determination, and Toushirou nods, mind still faraway.
"Only if you do." Quickly, he retorts.
And Momo is left to fume as Toushirou moves away to give a customer their ordered drinks.
He doesn't know her.
But he's heard how she laughs, and wonders why she doesn't talk except with a pad of pen and paper.
He thinks he'd like to hear the sound of her voice.