On Unions Civil and Otherwise

by Kita-Ysabell

Ten years have passed- ten years to the day- and when Utena and Anthy's engagement party goes somewhat awry, Saionji finds that some things are not so easily forgotten, and faces the bitter possibility that to make good his escape from Ohtori, he must rescue his oldest and closest friend- whether that friend wants to be rescued or not.

9. A Stranger Calls

It was late at night, so late that the night seemed disconnected from the day. Saionji sat up studying for a test, working his way steadily through piles of notes scrupulously organized by some arcane principle born of the late hour and his impulse to keep them in piles.

The phone rang.

He stared towards where it sat, halfway across the room. It kept ringing.

Who would call, at this hour? It was far too late for a social call, or a call from work, or a telemarketer. And he couldn't think of anyone who would call him in an emergency. He went over to the phone and looked down at it as if trying to intimidate it, then picked it up.

"Saionji-sama?"

He grabbed the counter to steady himself. Hearing that voice was like hearing the voice of the dead. And with it came a flood of memories, a whole lifetime of emotions.

"Himemiya…" he whispered.

"Yes."

He slammed the phone down and stood there, knuckles going white from the force of his grip. He was awash in recollections of the boy he had been then. He could still remember that passion, that anger, that pride, that bitter contempt for himself and everyone else. He never wanted to live that again. He didn't want to be that person.

The phone rang again. He waited. It didn't stop. He paced the room, glaring at it over his shoulder. It didn't stop.

He snatched up the phone, almost shouting into it, "What do you want?"

"Do you remember," said the voice on the other end of the line, soft and sweet, "when you said that I was to be yours forever?"

"But that's not what you wanted."

"Perhaps."

"Stop this. You're engaged to Tenjou Utena."

"Yes. Goodbye, Saionji-sama."

He heard a click, and then the faint white noise of a dead line. He set the phone down.

What was she to him?

Something from another life, long buried. He had been in love, or something, with her, or the idea of her, or a thing she could be made to resemble. Or perhaps she had been a means to an end.

And now she was a stranger.

Or rather, she had always been a stranger. He had always known, in a way, even though he didn't want it to be true. It had haunted him, the way he would look into her eyes and see something hidden, unknowable. He had always hated that look in her eyes, her distant manner.

But surely, it was no longer his problem.