Time was passing so slowly. He purposefully turned right at the next corner, crossing the deserted street. A snowflake drifted down to land in the small space between his collar and hair, sending a shudder to chase across his shoulders. He rolled his head from side to side and banished the sensation, glancing up and down the street to make sure he was indeed still alone.
At the next corner he crossed another street, watched a single car drift by and decided to walk by their work. Not for any reason, but because it was a goal. He needed a destination, for he knew exactly where his feet would lead him if he let his mind wander again.
And it was too soon for him to go back. She would go to bed early tonight, because her mind would hound her until she couldn't see anything else, but before that she would drift from moment to moment and try to latch onto any distraction she could find.
He should know. He had done the same.
He imagined her curled up in that small bed alone. Would she be asleep when he got home? Or would she feign sleep just to not deal with him?
What a painful thought, but he could understand. Still, understanding didn't lessen the pain. It actually increased it, because he could commiserate. Like anticipating the prick of the needle only made it sting more.
And understanding definitely stung.
There were lots of things he understood, that he was diligently trying not to look at. Like...how she might blame him. Might push away all thought of reciprocation and force herself to believe him delusional. May...hide behind anger and push all responsibility out on him.
He took responsibility for what was his, he owned the parts he had influenced, consciously or subconsciously. But he wasn't alone in responsibility here. And he hated to think in terms of 'blame', because that would be like saying his emotions were a mistake, or wrong...and a word like 'wrong' was too abstract to have real meaning here.
I can't make myself see it as wrong. I can't make myself feel sorry about these emotions. I love Aya. I will never feel sorry for that.
What a difference a rough month and hundreds of miles make. He vaguely remembered nearly being crippled with angst before they left everything they knew behind. But it was a distant memory, slightly displaced as if he was out of touch with it.
Or remembering something he had experienced only vicariously.
Had he really tried so hard not to love her?
How impossible it all seemed now.
And how sad. To see something so wonderful as a behaviour that needed to be corrected. As something he should fear and hate and hide.
How sad.
But it was a lesson he had to learn the hard, slow way. And unfortunately it was a lesson she was learning right now.
Again, a thought pricked at him. Should I back off? I don't really want to, but it shouldn't be all about what I want...
Her, sprawled across that small bed, her eyes dark with heat as she curiously placed her hand on his chest. As she slowly chose to ignore certain realities just so she could make a new one where her conscience would allow her to reach out to him, to touch him.
The soft part of her lips in a look of true want, too raw and strong to be hidden, or manufactured. The slow down-glide of her hand, as if he was to be taken in, savored in pieces. As if he had a beauty that wasn't just a reflection of her own. And she wanted that beauty, to touch it, taste it-
Possess it.
Possess him.
He paused again in the new snow, curling his hands into fists and taking a deep breath. His emotions kept over-spilling their cup, and while a great part of him wanted nothing more than to fall back into them and revel in their sweet poignancy, most of him understood that he had to keep a level-head, or risk a miss-step in this new dance. And this was too important to allow for mistakes.
Not that he knew exactly what he was doing.
Oh, he knew the destination he wanted, but he had no idea what paths that journey would take them down.
The store-front to the shoppe was bright, if not mostly deserted, and he was surprised, having forgotten that it really wasn't that late at all, and so it would still be open at least for another hour. Not to mention, the reminder that other people even existed was strangely...new.
And yet, they didn't seem to matter. Except for maybe...him.
He supposed he should feel a modicum of gratitude to this distant idea called 'Rei', but in the grand scheme of things, he just wanted to sneer. Sneer, and make it absolutely obvious that such a person will never gain any real foothold in their life.
The gratitude was all logical, and had absolutely nothing to do with emotions. He understood that 'Rei' was part of the force that had driven Aya to confront him last night. That part of the conflict that had spurred her was this boy's interest in her, her lack of reciprocation, and how he viewed her relationship with Aki.
She hadn't been quite clear about that, but he was no idiot. He knew how to fill in the blanks, interaction with Aya had at least taught him that much.
Rei liked her. Aya didn't like him. So why, his inner-voice returned, did she go with him to that party?
Easy enough, in its complexity. She was pushing me away.
Rei perceived us as a couple. She probably didn't look at it consciously, but the fact that someone else saw them as such...well, it suggested a great deal, didn't it?
A great deal that she probably hadn't wanted to look at.
He lowered his head and forced himself to walk past. Forced himself not to look in the front window to see if this 'Rei' was there.
He didn't matter. Not really.
Aya...
Another glance at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed. Alternately too long and too short. He wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into that small bed with her, to have this business behind them. The bitter wind spurred this desire on even more. It pinched at his skin, and shook his shoulders slightly.
He took a right at the next corner and realized that he had stayed away as long as he could. He didn't know what was awaiting him, but knowing she was there hurried his feet. His walk out had been more of a wander, but now his steps were intent and steady on the snowy sidewalk. He raised his chin and observed the deserted street before him, and the spattering of lit windows around him. It was a rough thirty minute walk back, he had wandered in near circles for the better part of two hours, and it would just have to be enough for her.
It was for me, too.
He realized his thoughts were flowing more calmly. His emotions, while still strong, had smoothed over the surface some. They still bubbled hotly, but they weren't spiking like solar flares anymore. For the moment.
So maybe, just maybe, I can see her, speak to her, without my skin practically jumping with the urge to touch her.
He doubted it.
Happiness and dread, what strange emotions to entwine within him. Happiness at the thought of seeing her, of knowing his emotions, despite their impossibility, were reciprocated.
Dread, because everything had to be so careful. Because he had to measure each of his actions with delicacy, until she was ready to give up the ghost.
And dread, because he knew he had to push, but he didn't want to push too hard.
He sighed, even as his spirits remained so high. But he steadied himself with the reminder that he was going to see her soon, and no matter how she chose to see him for the moment...he always wanted to be close to her.
Tomorrow was another day off. Tomorrow was another day where it would be just them. They would talk tomorrow.
One way or another.
( ) *
As expected, she was in bed when he arrived home. Whether she was actually asleep or not was another matter all-together.