Chapter Text
On the roof, the chill from a lonely wind filled the growing gap in Miko’s heart. It had been years since Miko had been to this bar - and the first time she had been there without Sara. Every memory from that place was filled with Sara’s rugged good looks and awkward, yet charming, stage presence. Cheap drinks in a good, homey atmosphere… It was a comfortable place. It was their place, in a way.
It had been years since Miko last heard Sara perform in person. But, when Miko heard the band was playing at the bar again for old times…
“You lovesick fool,” she muttered to herself. How foolish it was to come back, to allow herself to feel the emptiness tear through her once more. Even glancing at her favorite table - closest to the stage, of course - sent a lance of regret through her. The table wasn’t occupied, but maybe it should be.
…But should it be Miko ?
“I thought I saw you slink up here.”
For a moment, everything stopped. Miko forgot to breathe, her heart forgot to beat, and she’s certain she time-traveled to the past.
But, after taking an uneasy gasp of desperate air, she looked up and saw an all-too-familiar leather jacketed guitarist head her way. Miko squints; their face obscured by the shadows of a billboard, and it’s too difficult to try to read their clearly hate-filled expression.
Nevertheless, Sara leaned on the rooftop’s fencing, right next to her. Not as close as before, Miko noticed.
The wind picked up for a moment, the only sound between them.
“Do you hate me?” Miko asked. As soon as the question left her lips, she hated herself for asking it. What was Sara supposed to say to that? How was that fair ?
But Sara chuckled. In the sound is a guilty absence of any lilt, any humor.
“I tried,” they responded, a sad, but fond smile on their lips. “But, I couldn’t. I don’t think I’m capable.”
Desperate to get out of the emotional bind she put herself in, Miko forced out a laugh. “You’re plenty
capable
.” In a softer tone, she continued, “You’re the most capable person I know.”
Neither of them were able to look at the other. Sara responded in their own soft tone, and Miko could have
sworn
she heard their voice crack:
“I could
never
hate you, Miko. I
will never
hate you.”
Miko found herself grateful for the wind that drowned out the pain she felt; the trembling shudder that left her could only convey so much, and the pain was deafening.
“Do you…” Miko started, then stopped to clear her throat of the lump that had formed. She refused to cry in front of Sara; her decision was her own, and she would not burden Sara with the consequences of it. “Do you still wake up at 5:05pm?”
She could see Sara startle at the question in her periphery. To her relief, Sara settled back into a comfortable lean. Maybe it didn’t have to hurt so bad. Maybe it could be okay.
“I do,” Sara said.
“And,” Miko continued, “Do you still jog five miles every morning?”
Miko heard the smile in Sara’s voice. “Yes, I do.”
“And do you still make onigiri for lunch? Even though you
know
it won’t fill you up all the way?”
They both broke in that moment: Sara broke into a real, genuine laugh, and Miko felt as her heart broke into thousands of tiny, lost, scattered pieces. She didn’t realize she began to cry, as Sara didn’t bring it up, but they both
knew
.
“What I wouldn’t give to hear that laugh…” Miko shakily said, but trailed off. She couldn’t bear to finish it as she wanted to: ‘
every day for the rest of my life.
’
Sara glanced at her with an unreadable expression, but didn’t say anything.
Miko couldn’t bear the silence; she couldn’t bear the noise unrelenting from her heart. If she had ever seen Sara again, she promised herself she wouldn’t cry, and here she was! Crying! She was a fool, a fool that couldn’t control her own impulses. She knew the bar would bring an onslaught of turmoil, but she walked in, knowingly. Willfully. She knew , she knew , she knew.
With a sniff, she turned away to wipe away the tears that couldn’t stop tracking down her face, smearing her mascara in the process; wasn’t that just her luck? She knew Sara was too respectful to bring up her crying - Sara never made her feel bad for expressing her emotions, even when they were ugly. That damned sweet, caring, handsome …
“Why are you back here, playing this bar?” Miko asked. She needed to fill the space. She needed a sense of control, and Sara was kind enough to allow her to steer the conversation wherever she wanted. Always so kind.
Sara shifted. “Well, it’s a bit nostalgic, y’know?”
“Yeah, but aren’t you famous?”
Sara’s laugh was so loud and sudden that Miko startled, turning to look… Their eyes locked. Sara’s gaze softened. Miko felt her jaw tremble.
“I’m not famous, no,” Sara said, turning away. “And I haven’t struck it rich.”
They were so close -- Miko could raise her hand and lay it on their shoulder, if she wanted -- but they suddenly felt remarkably distant.
That night, the wind felt so cold.