[ Tokyo: 02:21 AM. (14 hours earlier) ]
The moonlight caught softly on her sharp, defined features.
Her eyes, still dull with sleep, hadn't yet settled fully on the backyard pool before she slipped another cigarette into her mouth.
A tiny speck of golden light lit the bud before she took a small puff.
In.
Hold.
…
Out.
The breeze swept it away.
Her hair, no longer tied in that familiarly neat ponytail, splayed across her tired features.
She glanced up.
The moon.
It looked… beautiful tonight.
Like it held a promise of a good night's sleep.
She always called it a liar when nightfall came.
The ash tipped onto her toes, the faint, sharp heat snapping her senses wide awake for only a moment.
She hadn't slept yet.
How could she?
She'd just been involved in the most controversial practicals she'd ever experienced in her career, and she now knew the old geezer she worked with wouldn't stop cackling at her when she showed up to the briefing she knew was coming.
She'd been in the job long enough to know.
Long enough to remember—
A faint hitch of a snore behind her stopped her thoughts for only a moment.
She glanced over her shoulder.
He was still as obnoxiously loud as always.
In sleep, he'd wake her.
Awake, he'd make her wish she could sleep.
She almost smirked at the thought.
Almost.
But it didn't form before the thought that had been interrupted moments before came back.
The bud kept eating itself as it hovered over her lips.
She stared at a palm tree next to the fence, wondering if she'd planted it or if he had.
Not the snoring man behind her.
Her son.
She looked at its leaves.
She remembered it like it was yesterday.
A hot Sunday afternoon, a younger and perkier version of her watched as the brightest bundle of joy in her world planted it, promising he'd outlive the tree.
Her mind replayed his words again.
And again.
And again.
"…'outlive'…"
She whispered that as the bud lowered back to her side, her arm slack again.
"…you were supposed to."
Her voice barely even carried.
It limped out.
So did the bile she still swallowed every day after the incident happened.
The fire.
The energy that charred her collarbone.
The screams that day.
There was too much chaos to begin with.
She should've postponed the practical.
No, she should've postponed the lecture the minute he told her he was sick.
Why didn't she listen…
Why didn't she just…
…a tear.
Maybe two.
Her knees hit the marble with a soft thud as her throat constricted again.
"I should've listened to you…"
[ "…don't think I can go…" ]
Her fingers curled around the cigarette, the heat biting her palm.
Every night was like this.
Every night carried memories she didn't appreciate back then.
Every night carried this same guilt as she remembered the day she lost him…
the day she lost her Kimura.
…
She slipped another cigarette into her mouth again, this time taking a big huff.
The tears had long dried since—
In.
she had crumbled to the ground, grieving her own—
Out.
son.
The breeze, yet again, swept the cloud away.
It was as if the world was trying to help her in any way it could.
The cold had long settled into her body, but at this point, when the moon hid its lying face from her, she felt at peace.
Not with the guilt.
With her own self-deprecation.
She looked at the palm tree again.
This time, a different memory flashed behind those tired gray eyes.
A smiling teenager, braces and acne.
He came back home with his girlfriend that day.
They used to talk.
Even after he'd left them.
Now…
she couldn't even look at her contacts list.
Probably because even if she did, the A.I. on the other end would tell her that the line had been blocked.
She looked at the bud in her fingers.
Three quarters done already after the second puff.
She flicked it away.
It landed in the pool.
She cursed herself for it.
Then the moon decided it was a good time to show its face again.
It would've made anyone else feel at ease.
Instead, her eyes darkened at the insulting spotlight.
"…you're mocking me too."
Her fingertips gripped the already mapped, finger-like grooves on the railing.
It was like even the balcony knew this wasn't the first time she'd tried to rip it apart.
Her toes curled against the cold floorboards before she finally, exhausted by her own feelings, let out a sigh that seemed to relax her shoulders.
Her head inclined toward the celestial body still patiently observing her.
Still present.
Still unfairly beautiful.
"…at least you see me."
It was a secret between the two of them.
Her pink fingers, already numbing, gripped her arms as the cold finally reminded her she wasn't invincible.
Even the broken needed warmth.
And as the snoring intensified, she stepped into the warmth of the AC with a familiarly icy look on her face as her eyes landed on the man who slept like a dog at the other end of the room.
For a beat, she almost envied how he could sleep like that at all.
Then again…
when was the last time she'd even cared enough to ask if he cared?
She couldn't even remember the last time she said goodnight to him.
The transparent wall was supposed to be soundproof.
Another cheap lie.
That was two now.
She walked over to her bed, her body sculpting itself back into a tiny curl.
And just before she drifted off, her eyes slit open.
She looked at her side.
And set down a picture frame of an unfamiliar happy couple smiling alongside a young man…
who stood next to a palm tree.
And as she drifted off, the world reminded her of the incoming earful she'd have to hear from the rest of the world about a certain timid young woman that she'd long decided…
would only bloom under her care.
[ Tokyo: 12:43 PM. ]
A short woman with sharp green eyes seemed only to stare at her as she spoke.
"Allow me to introduce myself…"
Her tone evened out as her grip tightened.
"My name…"
"…is Mrs. Kisaragi Juri."
Her spectacles brushed a fraction down the bridge of her nose.
"And I am Akira's teacher."