Another late night/early morning candy!

This was previously called 'The Day After', fanfic dealing with Michael's perception of the break-up. Well, I left the door open for possible continuation, and I think I might just go ahead and write some more (clearly!).

I renamed it 'The Four Seasons of Michael' (hence connection with Mia's season fics). Basically, I decided to follow Michael's life over a period of several months - a few chapters depicting every month of Michael's life in Japan. Starting with September, clearly.

I hope you will like it! Feel free to follow, criticize, etc. If another two months pass without any sign of me being alive, feel free to nudge, it does help bringing me back into ficsville.

In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed for my own novel being picked up!

Love Love Love, w.

SEPTEMBER

(1)

As optimistic as I have felt on the plane, that how pessimistic I feel now.

Looks like she meant her words and that kiss, despite my trying to convince myself otherwise. And I want to believe her, still. I want to believe this is just a chaos and she doesn't really know what she's doing, but the evidence is making me think she is completely aware of her actions.

There was an email waiting on me when I turned on the phone after passing customs, and when I saw her name, that torn feeling was back – the love I feel for her, the anger, the fear and the urge to turn around and fly back, sort this thing out.

Michael, I am sorry, the words she has written echo in my mind as I get a taxi and drive to my place here in Tsukuba. I hear her voice in my head saying those words as I watch the streets, the people, the city that will be my home for the next year.

I might just buy it, I might just forgive her everything in a blink of an eye, if there wasn't something else waiting on me in my inbox.

Lilly had emailed me a link to an article in New York Post.

'Heartbroken Princess Finds New Love'. Splitsville no longer. Michael Moscovitz, the commoner. John Paul Reynolds-Abernathy IV. Son of a wealthy producer. Seemed cosy.

Sorry, right.

I turned the phone off immediately. I had no idea what good did Lilly think would seeing the photographs do me. Truthfully, I was too enraged to think about Lilly clearly. The words were echoing in my mind, the photograph seemed to be everywhere I looked, newsstands, display windows. The music coming from cars around the taxi somehow translated into the newspaper headlines. I was getting insane. I knew it was happening, but I could do nothing about it. I was mad, angrier than ever in my life. I never thought it was even possible to be this angry and still live. But then again, I had thought of many things as impossible.

It feels like I am driving in circles. I should be looking through the window, getting the first impression of a place I would call my home for a year. I should be happy, ecstatic. Just being here, having the opportunity to do what I was doing was a major, major thing, an amazing accomplishment. I had worked hard, extremely hard for it, and now here I was.

And I could not feel any excitement whatsoever. Everything I had so carefully been crafting in recent year, ever since learning of her royal status, everything I had thought would make me someone better than a random commoner, everything was now working against me, falling to pieces, burying me in debris.

We stopped at the traffic light and I stared at some billboards by the road. A woman was smiling, but I had no idea what. I didn't understand a thing it said. I used to think of Japanese as a challenge, now I wanted to smash something, my fist, preferably, though the billboard. What the fuck was I doing here? I didn't speak the language. I had no idea where I was. I had read books, cashed in some serious online hours, got maps, but as much as I had prepared, I knew nothing now. I wanted to get away.

But where? I couldn't go back to New York. What would I even do there? Track down the bastard, break every bone in his body? What for? It wasn't like it was solely his fault. Sure, like a vulture he had waited for me to leave, but she was the one giving him all-clear. As good as it would feel, flatten his face, it would do me no good. It wouldn't change the situation I was in, it would magically make everything better.

I could meet her. She would probably offer me a long, teary apology, another long speech in the line of many, many she had given me since we started dating. Every time I had forgiven her in a blink of an eye, but this time, this time I knew I wouldn't just swallow it down. I wouldn't trust myself not to scream at her, yell some terrible, hurtful things, some I didn't even truly mean, deep inside. As much as I wanted to yell at her, show her how much she had hurt me, I knew I couldn't.

I was stuck in Tsukuba for the time being. And a year now seemed longer than ever.

The taxi dropped me off in front of my apartment building. I recognized it from the pictures I had seen. At the time, it not having an elevator didn't seem like a big thing. Now, when I had to drag half a dozen bags up the stairs, it made me curse.

I unlocked my new apartment, went in, pulled all my baggage and, and let the door close behind me. I took a deep breath and looked around the place I would call home for a year – or more.

It was fully furnished. The walls were white. There was no personal touch anywhere. It was cold, dull, impersonal – it felt like prison. I looked at the clock – it was past ten, night time, but I knew I wouldn't sleep.

I turned to the boxes and bags around me. I should unpack. I should make my place my home. Maybe it would get my mind off her. It was worth the try.

I bent down to lift the first bag. I dropped it pretty much the same second. I was too upset to unpack. All I wanted was to kick something.

And I kicked it. I kicked in the bag. And I did it again and again and again till I was out of breath. I had to stop. Only then I realized my foot was aching. I didn't care. I kicked some more, this time screaming, cursing, cursing him, her, myself, the world. How could every decision I made, every decision I had so thoroughly thought through land me in this fucking mess? How could I ever even try myself again, if the most delicate, the most crafted thing I had ever attempted kicked me in the teeth like this?

I fucking hated her. But I loved her. I hated myself. I didn't know for what, but I was.

I collapsed between the bags. I buried my face in my hands, rubbing my head as if trying to erase her from my mind. It made me think of her even more.

I sat there for hours. I was repeating the same thoughts, images, in my mind, driving myself crazy. Around two, my mind suddenly became completely blank. There really was only one thing I could do.

Call her. Break up with her.

There was nothing else to do, really. She as in New York, I was in Japan. We'd stay apart for more than a year. It was clear what the right thing was, even before I read Lilly's email. Now the question was just whether I could contain myself, refrain myself from calling her everything I wished I could yell at her. There was no need to bring that into the picture. Not if I wanted to leave the door open for the future. And no matter how much it hurt, I wanted her, I still wanted her, so crazily, so impulsively, so dysfunctionally.

And I pick up my hone again, turning it on. There are no new messages waiting on me, I don't dare to check my inbox. I click on her name, calling her. And I wish she didn't pick up, I don't want to do this. Just thinking of the words I would say breaks me inside. But I want to hear her voice. For those moments, those seconds before I say what I need to say, I want to pretend like everything is alright. Like this is a phone call I had dreamt of making, right after landing on the path to our future, back when my life seemed to be looking up.

My heart breaks and sings at the same time when she answers. Knowing what I am calling for, I mean to hang up the same second, her voice sounds so fragile, so broken, yet hurtful at the same time. It is killing me, but I know she knows it's me. She'd call back if I hung up. There is no way out of this. I have to go through with it, and her voice echoing in my mind makes me want to forgive her for everything and tell her how much I love her, over and over, till dawn.

"Hey, it's me," I start and my voice is vibrating, as if on the edge of breaking. "I'm in Japan."

"I am glad you got there ok," she replies and her voice is a mixture of happiness to hear me and fear of what is about to follow. The elephant is in the room and we are tiptoeing around it. She must know I saw the pictures. I think she is only waiting on me to tell her of for that.

But I could never do this, not like this, over the phone. Imagining her sitting in her bad, holding back tears, wondering if this is the call, my heart continues to break. I just want to wrap my arms around her, tell her everything would be ok, somehow. I want to say it out loud, maybe I would then believe it. Maybe then I would believe it, for her.

"I saw the paper. The picture, I mean," I stumble.

"Oh," is all I hear, but it says it all, really. I know she is on the verge of tears. I wait for her to start explaining, begging to listen and believe her words. And I close my eyes in fear, knowing it would enrage me, and I don't want to do this angry. And what makes me angrier, s that it might just work. I might feel strong, decided, certain, but when I hear her voice, everything just breaks away. She is my everything, after all. All I am doing, I am doing for her. She is the control I wish I had over myself.

I swallow hard, regaining composure.

She would never say it, and it needs to be said. I need to do this for her, instead of her. I owe it to her, to both of us. In some way, I was the one starting it.

Why the fuck didn't I tell her earlier? About Judith and about Japan? What the fuck was I thinking?

"It doesn't make any difference, though," I go on and every word is an obstacle I wish I could push away. "I am sorry, really sorry we have to do this over the phone, but there really is no other way."

And as I am saying it, I realize why I was postponing this call as long as I could. Now I realize why it is so hard.

I am admitting it to myself. She is not the only one hearing, I am saying it out loud, listening, realizing it is over.

"What do you mean by this?" she asks, but I can hear it in her voice that she knows. She is in denial, just like I was. Just like I wish I still was.

"I have been thinking about this the way to Japan and I really feel that … it would be better, for both of us, if we just went back to being what we used to be, before we started going out."

And that word is on the tip of my tongue, but I can't make myself say it.

But I have to say it.

And so I force myself and it takes all the strength I have. Even the strength I didn't even now I possessed.

"Friends," I finish, swallowing the sigh, the realization we are through, ignoring the stabbing in my heart.

She doesn't respond. All I hear is silence, both on the phone and in the apartment. I must be cursed, there is no sound from outside either, no car driving so late at night. And my heart too is as if it has stopped beating. Which, I guess, in a way it did.

All there is, is silence. The song in my life has come to an end. And I don't know what to say, do, sing next. I am empty, so fucking empty.

"I think we both probably have some growing up to do and maybe some time apart – and seeing other people – would do us good."

Growing up, yeah, right. Regrow the hole of my heart, sure.

See other people - just words make my stomach do a flip.

And I want her to oppose. I want her to say no, I want her to insist on fixing everything. I realize just how much more vulnerable her words would make me, but I still want to hear them.

"Okay," she mumbles. It is very silent, barely understandable, and as my heart sinks even longer, I am happy to hear it.

I wonder what to say next. Should I even say anything?

She rushes me to it.

"Goodbye," she quickly says, the voice is so clearly stuffed with tears, and I curse myself again as she hangs up.

And everything goes silent again. It is so silent I can hear my heart, my future shattering into smallest pieces. All I really have are boxes and bags around me.

They are patiently waiting to be unpacked.

But I can't myself do it.

It is the last piece of the rope I am hanging on. They lie scattered across the floor, as if ready to be taken back home, to New York.

Moving them would be a dose of reality I cannot handle yet.

To (hopefully) be continued.

Broughttoyouby:::winter.