Mnemosyne Chapter 4

By Raletha



He did come a third time—a last time—for lunch on Friday. My hands trembled as I spread mustard on the bread. I tried to get strawberries from the grocer's stall today, but the few punnets left had mould growing in them.

"Swiss or cheddar?" I asked.

"Swiss."

I made his sandwich, cut it diagonally, and put it on my favourite plate—white porcelain with tiny blue flowers, it reminded me of my grandmother, of home-like things. It didn't matter that it was crazed and chipped.

"Are you okay?" Trowa asked.

"I'm fine, why?"

"You usually..." He peered at me from behind his hair, wearing his small, lopsided smile. "...talk more."

"Sorry." I shrugged. "I guess I'm feeling weird about yesterday—and, you know, sad that you're leaving. I... I don't know if I'll see you again." The words came out quickly, and I surprised myself by saying them at all.

While I was speaking, Trowa circled the kitchen island and put a hand on my shoulder, gently turning me toward him. "I don't feel weird about yesterday. You shouldn't."

I stared hard at the bottom seam of his collar, irrationally timid about raising my eyes. "But I don't know if I'll see you again," I said. I could smell him, sharp, clean, and intoxicating. I wondered if the air on Earth smelled like him. It wouldn't surprise me if it did.

"Hilde..." he murmured, and it rang in my ears like an exhortation: carpe diem.

Closing my eyes, I tilted my head and kissed him blindly. It caught him by surprise, and I only managed to catch the corner of his closed lips. Cursing my clumsy audacity, I turned my face away to apologise, but his fingertips intercepted me, taking my chin and coaxing me forward for another kiss.

I expected him to taste like strawberries, like he did yesterday, but we didn't have strawberries today, so he tasted like coffee—and his mouth was at least as warm and as stimulating. When the kiss broke, I knew what I wanted.

"I've never been with anyone before," I began, enunciating the words carefully through the giddiness that seized me. I put my hand on his chest, exploring the relief of his muscles and finding his heartbeat. "I think I'd like to be with you—and since I don't know if I'll see you again—do you-?"

"Yes," he cut me off and sealed his affirmation with a deep kiss. I led him to my bed.

And I wished then that I had more experience. The burden of knowing I was making him another memory—one of those that can linger and influence a whole life—was a heavy one. I made the best use of the knowledge I had, and Trowa, though I didn't believe he had much more experience than I did, took similar care with me.

He climaxed first, embracing me tightly and gasping in harsh stutters against my neck. But before he withdrew, he loosened his hold, kissed and nuzzled my throat.

"Did you...?" he queried in a passion drowsy voice. "I couldn't tell."

"Mm, no," I murmured into his hair and felt the heat of my blush; I was glad of the dimness of the room. "At least... I don't think so."

So he made certain I did, in a way such that neither of us were unsure of it afterward.

In the succeeding silence we lay together in my single bed. Trowa drifted to sleep for a while. I touched his body lightly, not wanting to wake him, only wanting to remember him. He felt cold despite our exertions, and I held him close. Even if I only held a shadow of who he was, it was a shadow I would cherish. It was my memory too.

tbc.