This is chapter 9. Before I begin, I'd like to say that "Chasing Stars" is very special among my works. Majority of the chapters here were taken from my personal insights and feelings- no wonder some of them were 'confusing' as some might say. I'm wearing a twisted halo, that's why. I'm glad to share these thoughts to you fellow readers and thanks for the reviews.

He woke up after sleeping for almost twelve hours… and dreaming about her for about two.

It's one o'clock in the afternoon. His eyes were still half-closed as he wanders around in search for his shirt and jeans.

It was the phone that he found, buried among the piles of the documents that remained from the tons that he got rid during the two-day clean-up.

He placed the phone on the bedside… went to the unattended papers to fix them.

As he began to sort, he found something that made him smile.

A piece of paper that he kept, half-a year ago, plus two others- all containing her stories.

Written on the first one, was their conversation…

He sat by the bed and read what it said. It's like eternity has passed since they've done this.

They could spend the day together, silent… but the distance was bearable…to near to understand even each other's breath.

That day, they decided to hold their conversation on a piece of paper.

They were in a coffee shop. He was working with his script and she with her patient analysis report.

The café was too quiet. Quite a few people came for an afternoon coffee. Some were lovers; others were complete strangers sharing some lonely seats, as they take a sip of their drink without talking- or caring for each other. He observes them as they move around. The smell of brewed coffee filled the place… It always has the same effect on him, as it does to her. Nostalgia.

He began to create a situation on his work- much like this- quiet- yet warm place.

The tip of her pen began rubbing his left hand. She wants to say something… but she doesn't want to speak out. Odd.

Maybe that's what draws the two of them together.

The oddness of their personalities… a lot of differences that seem to fit each other.

Cagalli reached out for a piece of paper under Athrun's palm.

"It's such a lazy day. Too quiet."

Athrun wrote his reply.

"Want to go somewhere?"

"No." She answered.

"What are you thinking?" Athrun asked.

"About…you."

That made him smile.

"Why?"

Cagalli gave him a knowing look.

"I've been observing you, as you observe the others around here."

"What did you find out?"

No response. He reached out for the paper and again, wrote.

"You aren't supposed to be pry…"

She read it and gave out a giggle. Then, with her long, slender fingers began writing her reply.

"I'm not as poetic as you…so all I have to say is… I've realized, upon seeing you…with your eyes watching the world- writing about it- that I was lucky."

He was amused by her words.

"Lucky?" He wanted her to continue.

"Don't push your luck… I'm not going to repeat that complement." She replied.

He took a sip of his coffee. Studied her as she once again diverts her attention to her work.

That lasted for minutes. Then she reached out for the piece of paper.

"Why are you staring?"

He didn't reply. She once again wrote.

"Prying?"

"There's some cream left on you lips." He wrote.

She immediately got her handkerchief to wipe it off, but before she does- he reached out and wiped it with his hand.

"Thank you," she wrote.

The music in the café was her favorite song- 'Little Wing.'

"Love the song," she wrote.

"It's the first time that I heard it. What does it say?" he asked.

She wrote the lyrics as they sound to her. It isn't accurate, but that's the way it reaches her ears.

" Now she's walking through the clouds

With a circus in mind- that's running wild

Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales

All she ever thinks about- is riding little wings."

He studied the lyrics as they appear to him.

"You want to have such wings right?"

She smiled at him and nodded.

"I already have one. All I need is another to make a pair," she replied.

"Such a child…"

She read what he had written. –Such- a- child

It took a while for her to reply. He thought she wouldn't, that the conversation about circus and wings was over. He began rewriting what's on his mind- regarding the scene he wanted to portray, like this one that they're having.

He felt the paper went under his left palm.

He read what it said- hesitant words.

"You have a beautiful wing- can I have it so I can complete mine?"

He replied.

"My wing isn't beautiful- it's broken and burned."

Her eyes were as true as the skies. She looked at him while writing her reply.

"My wing wasn't burned, nor broken- but it can't fly… yours do."

His eyes were fixed as he read the last line. After six months, it still had the same effect on him. He took a deep breath.

Looked at the window – then to the other piece of paper.

Written there was her self- confession.

"Sometimes I couldn't recognize my own self. My feet don't look like they're my own, and my face has too many lines I can't count them."

She wrote this, a week after learning about her father's sickness. She'd become depressed in those times.

And then- to another paper.

" When people die where do they go? I used to asked that when I was a kid."

"It doesn't matter. I have your wings, I know I'll always fly- and you'll see me wherever I go- right?"

Such thoughts.

He began to read the last paper that he's holding.

" Why do people try to run- as fast as they should? I don't want to run, because all I can see is distance. I've been running all my life- now; I want to be with you. I'm tired of running…"

The afternoon sun was a little bit dim- solar eclipse.

He looked out the window when darkness swallowed the place.

The sun was completely covered by the dark shadow.

People were scattered on the street, witnessing the phenomenon.

His phone rang. He picked it up.

"Hello?"

"The sky's dark…"

"Uhuh…"

"I'm on my way there, but the driver stopped as it became dark. What did you do all day?"

"Nothing. Slept…"

"And?" The voice on the phone once again asked.

"I've been reading some stories of a girl who lost a wing… and wanted to get mine."

She laughed.

"I thought yours was broken?"

"But it can fly…" he returned those words to her.