SAILORMOON STORIES ± WRITING MAIN

He closed the door to his apartment behind him with a soft click, and leaned wearily against the warm wood. His tired gaze ran over the familiar surrounding without really seeing anything, streaky light stealing over everything as the sun lowered in the sky. With a nearly inaudible sigh he stood upright away from the solid support behind him and strode wearily into the living room. The light was about the same as it had been yesterday when . . . Oh god, don't think about that now. Too much overload, and so damn tired too. All day at university he'd been totally unable to concentrate, unable to give anything more than half his attention. He'd only really been able to forget his problems during the obligatory gym class. He had never really cared for team sports but today it had felt good to run, to let the clean air blow his chaotic thoughts right out of his head.

He walked to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, his mind stumbling over what was clean enough to wear to work. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him he had just about an hour clear, enough time to eat something if he wanted to. If he had the energy for it. He walked through the bathroom door and stopped with a sudden aching sense of loss, his long eyes momentarily bleak. There were towels everywhere on the floor, oil candles littering the small space and over everything hung the scent of the bath oil he'd used when he had carried her into the water.

He passed a shaking hand over his face - it had been less than twenty four hours and he was still an emotional wreck. He reached down blankly and then stood up with a damp towel in his hand. When everything was cleared up, put away, tidied up - there would be nothing left to remind him that she had ever occupied this space, however briefly it had been. He snarled silently at himself - couldn't leave things lying around just because she had touched them. For a moment, the memory of Serena, freshly washed and wrapped in one of the large towels arose before his mind's eye. He shook his head savagely and reached down to pick up another towel.

Two cups in the sink and two plates. He resolutely ignored their silent reminder as he cleaned his apartment mechanically, each thing methodically returned to its place. Without thinking, he punched the button on the CD player as he walked by, wanting some distraction from the too empty silence in the place. Sweet strains of a sad music started to play and his brilliant eyes closed momentarily as he involuntarily remembered her dancing in his arms, clean scent of her hair draping over his hands. He turned the music off in helpless pain, preferring silence suddenly. When everything was straightened, he slowly crossed the distance to his bedroom door, knowing that this too he had to face and it might as well be now.

The bed was as rumpled as they had left it this morning and he thought for sure he could smell her clear scent rising from the sheets. Absently his hand picked up the brush left on his headboard and his heart gave a queer spasm as he saw the golden threads trapped in it's bristles. He replaced it shakily and twitched the covers off, intending to throw them into the laundry hamper. He resolutely ignored the scattered dark stains, knowing them for her blood, knowing that to try and feel the implicit accusation in that dark color would unravel all his edges. A matter of minutes and his bed was remade with clean sheets, the window open to clear the faint musky smell.

He walked slowly back to the living room and could have cried if not for the cold control he had imposed upon himself. The cold sterility of the place washed over him, everything in its place and nothing out of order. It had only seemed alive when she had been there - he was only alive when she was there. He felt his carefully bottled emotions and turmoil welling up, hot and burning, threatening to drive him to an uncontrolled rage against the fate that kept them apart.

For so short a time he had been totally without walls, without defense of any kind. He had spoken true words, unflavored with any kind of restraint and had had them returned to him in full measure when she had spoken of the love that had lit her world. To climb back inside that cage had been the most difficult thing he had ever had to do. Aloof, brilliant, the best of his prestigious school, untouched and untouchable - that was all he was, all that he had ever showed to others. And now in the space of two small days, a yellow haired slip of a girl had shown him the bars on his cage and had given him the key to his release. He could have howled for the injustice of it all - the bars protected both of them and he had willingly put them back up again this morning but the fresh awareness of his loneliness cut him like a knife.

He strode into the center of the living room and pushed the coffee table up against the couch. With a savage curse he reached over his shoulder and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off in one jerky motion over his head. His thoughts and feelings were scattered to the winds - he had to refocus. With a deep breath he faced the light in the window and closed his frightened eyes. From the beginning then, he started - nine stances for the basic forms; hisoko-dachi, misubi-dachi, heiko-dachi; strikes from the hands then block - open hand, closed fist. From there the first kicks; mae-te-geri, oi-geri, mawashi-geri. Then the flowing motions that took him into the first kihons and then into true kata - body and mind struggling to meld, to become as one through the discipline of his chi moving through his straining muscles.

The movements were so familiar, practised hour after hour and soon he was able to obtain the state of no-mind, where all there was was the movement and the dance, imaginary opponents surrounding him, struck down by the speed and fierceness of his reactions. The room was too small to contain his full power but the restraint in his actions helped to ease his troubled heart. By the end he was soaked with exertion with damp hair falling his eyes, but he was temporarily whole again.

He grabbed his shirt from the couch and strolled leanly back to the bedroom to get ready for work. A swift comb through his hair took care of the worst of his fingercombing attempts and without a last look he left his apartment as silently as he had entered. The dying light fell indiscriminately over everything, shadows blending to softest black in the corners of the room.

SAILORMOON STORIES ± WRITING MAIN