Notes: I say this is AU because I've made one of the characters just a tad too screwed. My beta says that this doesn't make the story AU, just the character OOC. Like that's any better… Anyway: Not my first attempt at angst in fanfics, but my first published attempt. I hope the practice has given some result, since the first ones sucked… But you are my judges. *bow* And the title does not indicate any Buffy-relations, by the way...

Once More, With Feeling

I was waiting for the bus. That simple, that everyday-ish, that normal. Staring into the air and daydreaming, since the batteries in my Discman were flat and I didn't have anything to read. I jingled my keychain in my hand just to have something to do. My eyes were more or less aimed at the windows of the café across the street. Wandering along the curly letters of the name, 'Cecilia's', and making me think of another café, with the same sort of writing shaping the name 'Aurora's'. I hadn't talked to Aurie for weeks; she was probably still upset about me moving on such short notice. For the third time in two years. But this was the first time my family had actually helped me move. I think the thought comforted me a little. They started to believe that I really wouldn't go back to him, and that I wouldn't push them away anymore.

The window was blinded by the sun, and I squinted, not bothering to look away.

I thought of finding time to visit Aurie. I wanted to meet little Scott. He grows up so fast, and it had been almost a year since I last saw him. Five years old already? I realized that I was using him to count time. His age almost equaled… Yeah. Five years.

A cloud passed, shading the sun for a few moments, making the window see-through.

There was a rattle of keys against asphalt, and then the bus rushed in to fill the sudden gap in my chest. I blinked, staring at the bus side. Seconds passed – then it left again.

The window was blinded, a bright, white wall of light with curly letters on it. Nothing that hinted to what it had just revealed.

My body switched to automatic. I wasn't sure if that meant run away or go inside, and watched dazed as my own steps took me across the road.

I opened the door and walked straight to the counter, not looking towards the window. Was it him? Did I want to know? Did he see me?

… what was he doing here?

I had moved three times. First away from him, and in with my new lover. Then from him again – to a new place. And then from the city. To avoid both of them. Three months ago I tried to leave the last… shit, the last eight years of my life behind. Three years with one, three with another – and the last two…

I ordered at random, paid and turned around, scanning the room slowly. If I see a free table, I'll sit and not look at him, I'll sit until he leaves - until they close, so I won't have to look if he is there, if he is really there.

It was full. No free chairs. Except the one by his table.

It was him. I looked for a while, just to be sure, and I felt oddly calm. What had I expected? That I would have a public breakdown over someone I left with good reasons five years ago?

Slowly, very slowly, just in case such a reaction was on its way, I approached. Moved between the tables as if they didn't exist. Stopped by his table, cup in hand like a shield. He looked up from his paper. Eyes widening, brows furrowing. Eyes flaring up.

I winced inwardly. But what did I expect? He carried grudges against Tybalt even after he himself fell in love with me.

… in love with me. The thought felt so odd. He looked alien and familiar at the same time. Same face, same hair, same Mik. But different. Hint of lines already, he was only thirty… thirty-one, actually. And they weren't lines made from smiling too much.

"Hi, Mikhael."

"Hello, Harley."

I gestured to the chair. "Mind if I sit?"

He looked at me, eyes still dark, suspicious. Was I his Tybalt now? The one he expected to stab him in the back when he least expected it?

Finally, he nodded, and my shoulders sank a little as I sat. He took his time folding the paper, and I took it as encouraging. He could have kept reading and ignored me. I sipped my cocoa, drawing out the silence a little more, not knowing how to break it. Running out of options, I went for the standard.

"How have you been?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine. Great."

For some reason, I thought of an art show a million years ago, and an annoying, stubborn redhead. And the first meeting between Mik and Tybalt since they split up. I tried to recall the tone of his voice. Now it was politely chilled. Back then it was… cold. Resenting. It had had feeling.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was still polite, but those soulful eyes couldn't hide anything for me. Neither could mine for him, I suppose, and I didn't want them to.

"I moved here three months ago." I saw the question glint in there as clearly as if it was spoken, and added: "Alone."

His mouth suddenly crooked up to a half-smirk; it lasted only an instance, and then it was gone. "He dumped you, then?" Chill. Resentment. I was his Tybalt now, all right. He wished me all the pain fate would dump on me.

"No. I left him."

"And what did he do to make you leave him?"

"Mikhael…"

He shrugged, and returned his attention to the headlines.

"So you live here?" I asked.

"Yes."

"For how long?" I wondered what that question sounded like. I moved here to get away from him, from both of them, and instead I moved closer to him. Fate? Maybe not…

"A year."

"Oh…" He was still staring at the headline. He had probably memorized it now.

"So are you… seeing anyone?" It sounded like a crappy pickup-line, and I regretted asking it. But he just shrugged, half-shaking his head, not really answering. I clenched my teeth, suddenly remembering a few of the reasons why I left this asshole.

"He cheated on me." He looked up when I said it, and I scowled back. "A couple of B-cups and a barely legal age was all it took for him to find that old love had gone stale. I left him two years ago. Happy now? Or does it take more details of my misery to make you put down the fucking paper and stop pretending that you don't know me?"

"I don't know you," he stated calmly, but he put away the paper.

"What are you doing nowadays?"

"Same as always, with reasonable success."

I smiled at him, and I saw that it took him by surprise. But I was happy to hear that. I had been afraid he'd really lose it when I left him; it seemed that way for a while, until we completely lost touch. "That's great. You have any shows going now?"

"No. What are you doing? Still in the band?"

"No. It…" I hesitated. It still hurt. Why shouldn't it? We all hurt back then, and it never really stopped. How could it stop? "It just never worked out. Cyanide hated me after I… you know. We haven't spoken since. And… Skids quit playing. Got all caught up in his job and... Sheequa went to another school, got a scholarship."

"And now?" he asked, staring firmly at his empty cup of coffee. I swallowed, forcing back the sudden rush of emotions.

"I'm in college. About time, according to Ma."

We managed to keep the conversation polite for a while, asking about each other, never scratching the surface too much. An hour passed without notice, when I finally looked at my watch.

"Aw, shit, I have to go. Sandy'll kill me."

"Sandy?"

I grinned as I got up. "A friend, we share an apartment off campus. She is a lesbian, and we are the school's favorite joke."

He returned a cautious smile.

"Do you come here often?" I just had to ask, didn't I?

"Not really, no. But sometimes."

"Perhaps I'll see you around, then."

He nodded, and I ran out to catch the bus. As I dumped into a seat, I realized that I was… relaxed. Smiling. Feeling better than I had in months.

Perhaps I should have told him? No, there was no reason to… yet. He should know all about nasty breakups after all; he didn't need to hear about mine.

He could probably have related, though. I needed someone to do that. But he probably wouldn't be the one.