It was funny really, how you could never know what was going on in side another's mind. Sure, you can ask, "what are you thinking of?" and they might answer. But you can't really understand. Not truly. Or at least, Tsukushi couldn't. Maybe it was just her. But to ask someone, "Why do you love me?" and to hear the answer, and make sense of it—well, she just couldn't. "Because of your smile, because of your laugh. The way your eyes sparkle in the sun. The stupid things you do." But Why? Just Because. She supposed this must be why people invented religion. She wished she were a believer. Sure, she went to all the festivals, lit incense for the ancestors, was influenced by silly superstitions. But that wasn't faith. Faith went much deeper. A belief that there was a reason for the way life was. "My family is poor because God said so. My heart keeps breaking as the will of heaven."

Well, shit. She hadn't been brought up to believe in any of that. She'd been taught that life is hard, and full of sacrifices and hard work. She'd been taught the hard way, that the only thing one can ever hope to understand, or even believe in, was herself.

She'd forgotten that for a while. She'd let herself fall under his spell—Doumyouji's spell. He'd told her to believe in him. To trust him. She could never hope to understand him, she knew that. He was too simple, too complex for her to express. She'd fought hard to retain herself, not to believe. But she'd lost, she'd fallen, she'd put her faith in him, only to have it swept away with his memories of her. That wasn't the first betrayal of course. No, no, that had come when he'd left her to go to New York, an ocean away, half the planet away, an eternity away from her heart. When he'd turned her away, alone in a cold city of strangers. It wasn't even the second betrayal of the faith she'd painstaking built in him. That came to her in softly murmured words, "You'd be better off with him, With Hanazawa Rui." That Doumyouji could have said such a thing, he, who'd once said that nothing could keep them apart, that had hurt. But not as much as that third thing, the way he'd selectively erased her from his memory.

So now she knew, knew what faith was for—It was for hurting. Only if you have faith can they tear your soul to shreds.

And still, she could never hope to understand what went on inside that thick head of his.

Those that forget the past are doomed to repeat it . . .

Words that never rang truer than now.

Tsukushi sat in a corner of the school rooftop, huddled against the brisk wind that blew scudding clouds across a bright blue sky. Intermittent rays of sunlight warmed her face. She was hiding. It was quiet here, where no one would think to look. Students weren't allowed on the roof, and she was known for her unwillingness to break the rules. School was important, and she was a nobody. A nobody with rich, powerful friends. They broke the rules for her on a regular basis, so just this once, she would break them for herself.

Sometimes, she thought she must be in hell. Perhaps she'd died, and hadn't realized it. When did her death occur? Was it when Tsukasa'd left her for New York? Had she died in New York, a victim of a street mugging? Or gang warfare? Maybe she'd drowned on Shigeru's yacht. Maybe she'd been knifed instead of Tsukasa.

She knew better, of course. Her life was too much of a farce to Not be real. No satanic power could have this much of a sick sense of twisted humor. The gods were laughing at her. They were. She could prove it.

"I wish someone would tell me just what I did to deserve this?" Tsukushi groaned to herself, pillowing her face against her knees.

"Deserve what?"

Bloody hell, she wasn't alone after all. Tsukushi sighed, but didn't bother raising her head to answer.

"Go away, Mimasaka, please."

"You're skipping class."

"I know."

"That's not like you."

"Maybe your bad influence is finally wearing off on me. And how the hell do you know when my classes are anyway? You never even go to yours. And will you stop standing there? Sit down before somebody sees you." she was babbling, she realized, and shut up.

"I haven't a clue, actually, when your classes are." Akira shrugged, and sat down across from her, "But plainly, neither do you. School's been out for an hour. Aren't you going to be late to your job?"

"Not working today." Tsukushi lied, trying to hide her embarrassment, "But thanks for the tip – I'd better get going. . . Everyone's gone home, right?" She tried to act casual, as if the answer didn't matter. Akira knew better.

She risked a look up at his face, at the expression on it, and sighed, "He's still here?"

"What are you hiding from?" Perhaps it was meant to be a rhetorical question. Tsukushi didn't take it as such.

. . .Those who do not remember the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them. . .

"He hates me. I know it. . . He as much as said so! So why do I see him everywhere I turn?

She'd been noticing a trend the past few days. Ever since Tsukasa had healed that wound in his side and come back to school. Whenever she turned around, there he was, always lurking. Always watching her. Tsukasa. Was he trying to drive her insane? Glaring at her, like she was some fascinatingly ugly insect to be squashed, or some piece of dirt to be trod on. She'd had experience with Doumyouji's obsession in the past, back before, but nothing like this, this constant harassment. If he didn't like her, then why couldn't he just leave her alone? It wasn't like he was talking to her. He just lurked, if such a presence as his could actually be said to lurk in plain sight. If she turned a corner, he was there, slouched against the wall, if she sat down, he was behind her. And always with an angry frown creasing his face, always with a crumpled note pad and pen in hand. Bizarre behavior for such a one as Doumyouji Tsukasa.

Rui didn't know what was going on either. Tsukushi had asked him, as soon as she'd noticed Tsukasa stalking her. He agreed that it wasn't like Doumyouji to wait around. If he had something to say, Tsukasa would say it. If he wanted something, he'd take it. Or, if he were sulking, he'd be avoiding people entirely, not moping around school. They agreed that that would be true of both the old Doumyouji and the new memory-impaired Doumyouji.

Akira and Soujiro might have explained what was going on, but they were too busy exchanging secretive glances and snickers with each other. Besides, it would have ruined the fun entirely. After all, this was entirely their (bad) idea. And they sure as hell didn't want Makino to know that.

She was going crazy. She knew she was, and it was all his fault. It felt like déjà vu.

So now, here she sat, on this rooftop, in this place and time, in close conversation with Akira, heads together like the old friends they were. A friend who had seen her through some of the worst moments of her life, much as Rui had once done. But this time, safer, a platonic friend she had no chance to ever fall for.

. . . Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. . .

Oh, she had learned all right. It was Tsukasa who had forgotten. As if the fact that one of them didn't remember was enough to force the crisis.

He appeared of course, at the top of the stairs, then. Looking for them? Looking for her? Doumyouji Tsukasa, quick to judge, quick to react. And what did he see, but Akira and Tsukushi, His Hand, on Her Knee, leaning forward, murmuring something Tsukasa could not hear. It looked like an intimate moment.

It wasn't. Not Akira, certainly not with Tsukushi. Words of reassurance, of friendship only. Wasted, as the subject of them appeared with the suddenness of a lightning strike, wrathful, full of insults and tirades. Anger at himself, as much as her. Tsukasa didn't know why he felt the way he did, and he thought that in the end it probably didn't matter much. He wanted her because he did. This waiting and watching, and itemizing had been Akira's Idea; his and Soujiro's. A delaying tactic perhaps? He'd seen the way they treated her, those traitorous friends of his. He'd seen their arms around her too many times to count these past few days. The way she smiled for them. A smile that fell from her lips the moment she noticed his eyes on her. The sparkle in her eye that faded as she turned away. He'd noted it down; that and all the rest, but in the end it didn't help. Didn't help to explain what he felt in his heart.

Tsukasa was jealous. And where he was jealous, he was suspicious. And because he felt so much for her, so much that he could not explain with his flawed memory, he attacked her. Verbally, with gibes, and taunts, about the way she flung herself at his friends, and what next, would he find her in bed with Soujiro next? Words, words, words, because he could not find the words to say what he really meant, or perhaps he was still afraid, to really try to live again. Live, and not just exist.

And there it was, the flash and fire in her eyes. The heat that he had longed to see. Something other than sorrow and shame directed at him. Though even he couldn't miss the hurt that festered beneath her words as she traded insults with him, holding herself back from a physical assault that she might regret. Attack, and parry, feint and duck. All with Words. Not a strong suit of either one. And then, all that was left was too Run away.

Tsukushi wished her legs would move, but she was caught. Here in this place and in this time. She could no more run away from Tsukasa than she could stand to watch him die. Even if all he did was hurt her.

"What the hell is it with you?" Tsukushi finally demanded. "I thought you wanted me to leave you alone. You're all healed up now, good for you! You got me out of your life, good for you! You forgot everything good we ever had! So why do you keep staring at me? Why do you follow me? If you've got something else hurtful to say, besides hurling utterly insane accusations at Mimasaka and me, just fucking say it already! I know I screwed up with Rui, how many times do I need to apologize before you stop holding that against me? And since you don't remember shit anyhow, how can it bother you so goddamned much!"

Tsukasa shut up, just for a moment, and stared at Makino. Really stared, at the tears streaming down her face, at her pale cheeks and windswept hair. She was beautiful to him, that strength and that fury. He wanted to possess it all. And she didn't know. She thought he hated her.

But the truth is, the past didn't matter. That's what he'd decided as he'd healed. The present and the future were enough. He loved her, even if he didn't know why. So as long as he could have her, he could forgive anything, as long as it was in the past. He could forgive her for her indiscretions with Rui.

But he wouldn't be able to forgive her if she were dating anyone else. Not now.

"I made a list." Doumyouji announced it in tones like the end of the world, staring down at her, she felt, as if she were some insect under the microscope.

"A list?" Tsukushi could only swallow hard, and stare dumbly up at him, confused by the drastic shift in the dialogue.

"Yes." Tsukasa reached into his back pocket to pull out a much-folded scrap of paper. Behind her, Tsukushi could hear Akira groaning, and the faint, distinctive sound of him rubbing his forehead in frustration. This was one of those moments, she could sense, that he thought his friend was about to do something monumentally stupid. It was one of those moments that called for an audience too, apparently.

Right on cue, there they were, The whole rest of the gang, peering out of the stairwell. How humiliating. Yet another episode of "Watch Tsukushi Suffer."

Tsukasa was blissfully oblivious. Or else, he just didn't care. He only had eyes for Tsukushi, and for that little scrap of paper, covered as it was, in his imprecise scrawl.

"Things I hate about Makino Tsukushi." He read the heading solemnly, as if reciting a lesson. Tsukushi was too paralyzed with hurt and embarrassment to interrupt, as he ran down the list, "I hate the way she can't afford to buy decent clothes; the way Soujiro puts his arm around her; the curve of her lips when she frowns; her indecision; the way she cries in her sleep. I hate the color of her tears; I hate that she has to support her family; I hate her ignorance; I hate the way she insults me; I hate the way she smiles at Akira; the way Rui defends her; I hate. . ."

"That's enough!" Tsukushi screamed, tearing the paper from his grasp. "I get it already! I already know you hate me. So why do you have to torture me so? In front of the only friends I have left? Isn't it enough to know how much it hurts me every day that no matter how hard I try, I can't stop loving you, despite all the shit you put me through, and that I can never have what I want? Isn't it enough that I have to live with the fact that you think I'm lower than dirt, without having to make a list of the one-thousand-and-one reasons why? Why would you do such a thing!"

"Idiot!" Tsukasa tried to grab his paper back, so he could finish what he'd had to say, but it was probably for the best that he failed, and only succeeded in ripping the page in half; chances are good that he would have been too embarrassed to read that half aloud, in public, in front of his friends, anyhow.

Tsukushi found herself backing away, slowly at first, then more rapidly, blundering through the mob in the stairwell, so blinded by the tears in her eyes, that it wasn't until she'd run down the stairs, and out of the school entirely, that she managed to focus, and read the heading on the piece of paper she'd seized so heedlessly.

"Things I love about Makino Tsukushi."

TBC

- - - Life is long, and wearisome, and full of drudgery. But at least my weight is now back in the triple digits where it belongs, and I can breath without coughing. Good thing too, as I think I would scare my patients if I were still a walking skeleton with a hacking cough. Not much time or energy or inspiration to write either. So sorry - - -