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The piece of zoisite sits in her bag.
It isn't heavy. She forgets about it. The stone rests between two books. She likes to think of it as dull.
"I thought you gave it back," Makoto says. Hands her a cookie. The taller girl straightens her collar. Her cheeks are flushed; it's getting colder.
Ami shrugs. "I did. You know how Minako gets."
It's an empty statement. Makoto humors her with silence. Ami loves her for it. Between them, the cookie sits in Ami's lap. Settles underneath her palm. You should eat, she tells herself.
She thinks of the zoisite again. Stops. She doesn't want to. Minako isn't that cruel.
"How are you?" She asks Makoto instead, grimaces because it's awkward. Her throat is scratchy.
"Tired. Classes are hard."
They've met at the park between the school and the hospital. Ami will go see her mother, then off to cram school, and finally, her last swim of the day. There is order in each of these decision. All things she can control.
Ami picks up the cookie. Studies it. It's chocolate and homemade, Makoto's handwriting scrawled against an attached tag - remember to take care of yourself! because she's the most selfless out of the four of them. Maybe to a fault.
"Do you need help?"
Makoto smiles wistfully. "I found some."
"I heard," she mutters, and Makoto meets her gaze, raising an eyebrow. Ami flushes and looks away. "I mean," she backtracks, "I'm happy -"
"You can ask me, you know."
Sure, she could. Like she could asks Minako, then Rei. Like she could ask Usagi to hold her hand while she slings accusations at Mamoru because it will make her feel better. But she won't.
Ami still manages to shake her head. Her hair cuffs her chin and she slides her nail under the cellophane, ripping the bag open. She's not hungry, but she brings the cookie to her mouth. She chews slowly, the chocolate sticking to the roof of her mouth. It's dry. She doesn't usually eat Makoto's cookies.
"It's good," Ami tells her.
Makoto smiles and wipes the crumbs from her knees. Her hand feels a little heavy.
"Liar," she says.
The pool is empty.
Save for the an older woman swimming laps in the last lane. Ami remains seated by the edge of the pool, her legs dangling in the water. It feels cold today, she thinks. Her legs slow into a sway. Her skin feels like it's crawling; maybe an omen.
The zoisite sits in her hand.
Maybe the problem is the expectation. She knows the story from the others. He will appear again. There is no way she can stop it. History is history is history. What she feels will remain irrelevant. This much feels familiar and sane.
It's unspeakably pretty, she thinks. Remembers the stone in her hand. It's warm. There is an eerie glow. She feels like she's waiting for some kind of magic trick. Pictures a man and a laugh. The stone is warm; not the memory. This feels like a need and a constant reminder.
"How long are you going to stand behind me?"
Ami does not recognize the sound of her own voice. She swallows and Mamoru laughs. Tries to sound convincing. For why, she wonders.
"Usagi said you would be here," he offers.
"I don't want to talk about this." She glances back. Watches as he holds up his hands. There's no bite behind her. "I'm sorry." She's exhausted. "It's just that I don't know -" Her face burns. "You're ahead of me," she stumbles.
Mamoru shakes his head. His hands shove into his pockets. "I'm not," he replies.
"I doubt it."
"I don't understand your perception of me."
When she looks up, Mamoru is every bit the man they intend him to be. Tall. Unreasonably handsome. Desperately honest. He blurs; there's the prince. Out of practice, Ami feels her eyes narrow.
"I don't mean to come off... that way," he circles back. He steps closer with no intention to sit by her. "It's been -" He pauses, rubbing his face. "I've always envied the five of you. It's the only way I can explain it. You've had a starting point. It's always been tangible. Me?" He laughs sharply. "Forever on the outside," he says.
You don't make any sense, she almost snaps. Her mouth opens. Then it closes. But the zoisite in her hand shifts and rolls, scraping against her palm. The hazy light from the pool pulses its color into a green, a sickly and bright green, a mess of contradictions.
Ami feels herself near amusement. It doesn't belong to her; the water shifts against her legs. Remember who you are.
"Did you give this back to me?"
Mamoru chuckles. Then he sighs. "No," he answers and she believes him. Hates that she does.
Ami lifts her hand and thrusts the stone forward. Feels him peel it from her palm. The weight remains and ghosts back over skin. She shifts and drops her hands back to the pool ledge.
"He's yours," she says.
She wants to mean it.
The bathroom light flickers.
"I'm going back to the hospital!"
Her mother's voice is muffled against the door. The bathtub is almost full of water. Steam sinks against the mirror.
"Okay," Ami feels herself answer. Listens to the doors in hall open and shut. Can picture her mother pick up her keys by the door.
This is unnecessary: she sticks her fingers into the water, checks the temperature and feels her skin start to sink, wonders if she's finished a piece of homework that is due in a week. I am Ami, she tells herself. Ami.
But then she begins to picture a man and the man has a face, a handsome face, smiling, always smiling. Her fingers crawl to her throat. They pinch at her skin.
"I gave him back," she says, out loud, a confirmation. He isn't here, she thinks. I am here, she thinks. "He doesn't belong to me. I gave him back and I will give him back again and again after."
Mercury returns with a vengeance. Cruelly, as she strips, climbs into the tub and drops into the hot water. Her body moves without sound, her knees cracking as she slowly drops back, her hands curling around the side of the tub. The water climbs over her throat, then her face, and then the sensation rips into her skin.
She closes her mouth. Then her eyes. Her breathing starts to slow. he won't return, Mercury hums. She listens to her heartbeat. The sound presses against her ribs, ready to burst. She counts backwards. One. Two. Ten. Then lifts herself out from underneath the water, her hair matted to her face and her eyes squeezing closed.
She won't do it. But she thinks about it.
Mercury always knows.
Cram school finishes early.
The sun is about to set against the skyline. Ami checks her watch. Remembers to breathe. One of the girls in front of her says something about a new teacher! but she ignores it.
Usagi is going to walk her home.
There is a patch on her uniform that damp. Another student spilled his water onto her lap with a heavy cough. It's the time of year, he had said ruefully. Ami wishes she were as forward as the other girls; she would have done something stupid. Maybe asked him to coffee.
Her ears ring. Mercury is laughing.
and be a little braver?
"Shut up," she mutters.
"Mizuno-san?"
Startled, she turns. Grips her books to her chest. The words are already at the tip of her tongue. I have to go. I have plans. Her hands fumble at her face for her glasses, hastily shoving them into her school bag.
"Yes?" She greets. Tries to come off as confused.
It's a teacher. Not hers, but the classroom across the hall. They've talked before about school and Ami's university potential. All things that should matter, she tells herself.
But the teacher is forgettable and the man that stands next to him sends her mind into outright panic. It's him, she wants to say out loud. Her mouth is dry. Her throat tightens and the man bows politely, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
"I figured that you might consider talking with my colleague -"
The man's eyes are bright and daunting. He has a name. Her mouth feels like she repeats it; she's not listening but she's polite. Ami drops her glasses. The man picks them up. He's polite too. There's that much.
"Thank you," she offers. He's handsome, she thinks. Her mouth twitches and she cannot smile.
His fingers graze her knuckles and she jerks back. She grips her glasses tightly. They feel unfamiliar.
"But I'm all right," she says.
Usagi stands out in a crowd, a sea of students that mill about and linger after cram classes. She is comically ethereal, fidgeting through adjustments of her scarf, her bag, and searching for Ami. Maybe she knows, Ami thinks. And thinks about slinking back. Disappearing in the crowd and running away.
you should
Mercury is practical and pragmatic. Mercury could have been a survivor, given the opportunity.
But then Usagi spots her and smiles, painting the skyline into existence, a mess of Christmas decorations and laughter, lights from trains and cars and the warmth of people swimming around them. She doesn't run away - she stands, she watches, and smiles back. Because she wants to.
Ami remembers to breathe.