Work Text:
Makoto gets a letter. She doesn't read it.
It's stuck under her door, misplaced, wet with boot prints only until Ami picks it up before she leaves, saying, "hey, so, I found this?" Makoto is confused and takes it. She gets a paper cut under her thumb, curses as the skin breaks and blood spits, and sucks it until she watches Ami disappear down her hallway with a wave.
There isn't a lot of blood anyway. There are things to do. The letter gets tossed to the counter. She cooks. She want to surprise Usagi with jellies which, if anything, feel like they'll be impossible to make. She does her homework and takes too long. Homework always takes too long. It's fine, it's always fine, and she's still an average student. She could have been more of an athlete, but those are memories that she'd rather not lost too, headstrong and all.
It isn't until she's sliding into bed, blinking back some sleep, that she stares at her school uniform and remembers the letter sitting on the kitchen counter with Usagi's jellies and an extra bento box for Minako because she forgets to eat most days. She gets up and wraps a sweater around herself, padding to her kitchen in the dark.
Her apartment is sparse and she lives on a quieter street in the city. Lights from outside are hazy, distant even, and scatter into the walls like accidental splotches of paint. She moves to one of her windows and cracks it open, the cool air breaking as she remembers the letter. She grabs it and it's still sort of damp, even as she leans against the glass and slides her nail under the lip of the envelope.
"Oh."
The ink is smeared everywhere. She frowns again, tries to smooth her fingers over the page as if they were going to be of some help, and gives up, then folding it in half, squinting to find something readable.
There are a million ways this was supposed to go, she'll say later. A lot of it is unreadable, a blue, blurred ink that takes forever to get off her skin. She'll still say something. Maybe to Ami or even Rei. Most likely to Usagi and Minako. Mostly Usagi. But she tells herself she's still half-asleep, and a surprised, tight laugh seems to push forward from her mouth. Her lips feel dry. Her hand twitches and she reads the words again, out loud.
" -- could I see you, maybe? Senpai."
Briefly, she thinks: she's never quite an adult.
The sensible thing would be to go to the Temple, or stay at school, or even walk Usagi home, despite Usagi's house being on the other side of the park and completely and utterly out of the way. She says nothing to the girls yet (remember, that comes later) and tries to distract herself with the motions of school; class, class, break, share lunch, class, class, why is it still too quite again.
It's not until later that she finds herself walking downtown, not to the coffee shop, but straight to Nathan's flower shop. She can't lie to herself. It's the first place she thinks of going and nothing more beyond that. She feels ready to explode and it's making her panic, confused because this was supposed to be a part of herself that stayed buried. Then again, she thinks, so was Nathan.
She hasn't let herself think of him as Nephrite. At least, for the moment. They barely talk about those pieces as it is. Instead, his name is Nathan, he's a man and just a man, and it might be naive, but there is something to share with him; their memories are collectively broken, fragmented, and too complicated to piece back together. They share denial well.
The door is open when she stops in front of the shop. There is a delivery truck outside and she smells the winter jasmine, bright and almost too overpowering.
"Makoto-chan."
She blinks and Nathan is in front of her, wiping his hands on his apron. There is a cigarette behind his ear.
Her mouth twists. "Hey," she says shyly.
"Hey," he greets and checks his watch, "this is early --" he gets distracted by the delivery guy, stepping in front of her, "hey, careful -- those vases are crystal."
"Sounds pricy."
Nathan turns, his mouth curling. "I still feel guilty."
She laughs. The taste is soft and she likes it.
It's a very strange, surreal thing to get used to. She doesn't have very many memories. Sometimes she dreams of him, not him, but of him. She sees Nephrite more after a battle, when the rush is still very real and she is still very, very angry. She can't explain it; her fingertips do more than just tingle. Her entire being feels like it's too sharp, that she might explode and hurt someone because her feelings are so fierce. She thinks of him and remembers and cries and screams and then there was that one time that Ami caught her shoving a fist into a tree. It makes her and it breaks her.
And then there is Nathan. And that is very different, like Makoto-different. It's all part of the struggle that she has with trying to differentiate Jupiter from Makoto and Makoto from Jupiter because they are both her and then, sometimes, most times, they are not.
She eventually follows him inside and sits by the counter as he picks up a few stem of roses. There's an arrangement in front of him. The roses are red and pink and it's a little cheesy, but her mouth curls anyway.
"You like this stuff?" she looks up and he's watching. She flushes and he laughs, saying: "I mean, it's okay if you do."
Makoto rolls her eyes. "I know."
Nathan flushes and shrugs. He's fast. She likes watching him. There's a certain confidence to the way he works. His fingers twist and turn, arranging the roses so they fold together. The colors sort of melt together and there's a uniformed brightness, a red, a pink, and something she thinks she might have liked ages ago.
She remembers the first time she watched him. He knows too much about flowers and greenery; it's appropriate, he told her the first time, that his things were stars and plants. Sometimes she thinks she's meeting the mirror.
"So you're usually here later in the week," Nathan says, and he finishes the arrangement, wrapping a ribbon around the vase. Makoto props her chin up by her hand. "Is everything --" he's hesitant and almost says mamoru; she knows. He starts again. "Are you okay?"
She shrugs.
"Makoto."
The letter is in her bag. She could very well show him. Senpai is almost completely smeared and unreadable. She just remembers letters.
"I just --" she shakes her head, "how are you doing?"
He blinks. "Fine."
She snorts.
Nathan puts his hands on the counter. The ribbon slips and flutters to the side. She waits for him to reach for the scissors. It's the routine, she remembers.
He's hesitant. "I have coffee with Mamoru-san on Friday," he tells her. "After his classes."
"That's good," she says gently.
Her heart twists. There's a edge of jealousy too. She doesn't ask about Mamoru. She thinks that they have all put different lines up in that regards; they're all different too. Most are sharper than other. She thinks they keep it that way for Usagi's sake too. Or it's an excuse.
"Have you been sleeping?"
He touches her chin, then her cheeks. She bites her lip, blinking back her surprise. Her face feels warm, but she doesn't look away.
"Define sleep," she says lightly and he chuckles. "I mean, I sleep. I have some dreams, mostly because I think we're all trying to understand our --" she struggles, biting her lip, "I guess powers? It seems so stupid, you know. We're not super heroes. And yeah, I know. We're guardians. But sometimes, I feel like it's just another part of me that gets a little lost. I haven't really figured anything out."
He looks away. "You're in good company," he says.
It's one of those moments, small moments, that she lets herself look at him him, like really look at him, even though it might be the same all the time. She could reach out and touch him, she thinks. Run her fingers again his face, just like he did to her, give something back because sometimes it seems like he's giving her more.
He's only kissed her once and that was Jupiter, she keeps telling herself, that was Jupiter kissing Nephrite and Nephrite kissing her first because this is cruel and they were cruel and maybe it's supposed to be that sensible. There are more missing pieces than there are pieces and she thinks she's been a little better at reconciling things than she was in all her lives before.
She reaches forward and touches his hand. Her fingers push into his palm and she feels a little awkward, smiling.
"Thanks," she says. She means it too. He laughs a little and it's a nervous laugh, but he's leaning a little closer, almost over her and the table that separates them.
"What for?" Nathan keeps it light. "Am I buying dinner again?"
Makoto shrugs and forgets about the letter. "It doesn't matter," she says.
Usagi puts the letter back together. Don't ask her how, but she does and Makoto is sometimes convinced that the youngest out of all of them is the most terrifying. They sit outside school though and Usagi is holding the letter carefully between her hands. The jellies are next to her too, tucked away in her bag for later.
"He wants to see you," she says slowly. She bites her lip. She's worried, Makoto thinks. Usagi looks up at her, under her lashes. "He misses --"
"Our friendship," she says. Makoto shakes her head. "It's boy code."
Usagi snorts. "It's stupid."
"You're telling me."
She watches Usagi read the letter again. Her face changes so many times. There is sadness. There is amusement. There is understanding. There is so much she hasn't told her; Usagi protects their secrets just as much as they protect their own, if not more. You have to have your lives, she always says.
"Should I go?"
"You'd take the train?" Usagi asks, leaning back against the bench. Their math teacher is out sick and they should be reading for their next test. "An all day trip?"
"Yeah," Makoto answers. "It's kind of exhausting. I don't know... but I'm thinking about it."
"Would you go alone?"
Something clicks. She looks down at Usagi, amused. "I would take you, Usa-chan," she says. "If I wanted to go. In a serious kind of way."
"So no." Usagi is unfazed. "It's probably healthier."
Makoto laughs.
She thinks this is what she loves most about her. She's honest, even brutally honest at some points; Usagi doesn't know how to be anything else but Usagi and it's the most genuine part of her, the most tangible that they all protect. She's also different too, after everything, from their memories to Beryl, to Chibi-Usa and everything that has come after, she remains as close to herself as possible. Makoto envies it because she knows and wonders and worries about her. She carries the heaviest burden out of all of them and here she is, still trying to reconcile Jupiter and herself together.
"I don't know," she admits. "If this was some other time, if I didn't know what I know now, I'd already be there. I'd be telling myself that finally, finally waiting for him paid off. Because that's who I was."
Usagi shifts next to her and links their arms together. The sun's a little too bright, so she squints and their fingers lace together too. Usagi's palm is softer and Makoto releases a sigh, heavy against her teeth.
"Nathan," Usagi murmurs.
Makoto shakes her head. "He's only a small part of it."
"You could take him," she suggest and at the same time, Makoto says, "That would be so awkward, Usa-chan!" It makes Usagi laugh brightly. She drops her head against Makoto's shoulder too. "You're different," she murmurs. Her voice is a little different and maybe, suddenly, it sounds like Serenity is talking to her too. "You're more patient about this than I could ever be."
"I always go for the unattainable, Usa-chan."
She can hear the smile in Usagi's voice. "Has Nathan-san said anything to you?"
"Ugh." She's blushing hard. "I'm not going to go out and ask him if he's got a girlfriend. That's so --" she laughs a little, nervously too, "I could never."
There's this weird, little flutter inside of her. It happens occasionally, but it feels older. She thinks of him then, mostly. Or spends a little longer trying not to.
"Maybe he would go," she says. Usagi smiles a little too. "Maybe he wouldn't," Usagi says too. "You have to ask. He might surprise you."
There's a lot in that, a lot more that Makoto finds herself appreciating and not understand. It's happening again, she thinks, where she feels herself separating into parts. There's a girl. There's most definitely Jupiter -- the prouder, proudest version of herself, the most unpredictable and maybe the slightest bit unkind. And then there's just Makoto, but she doesn't know what to do with that part of herself, or how awkward it feels like when she has to decide, if it's better to be Makoto or Jupiter, never both. She can't be both.
It's still the first time she's honest -- for Usagi, always to Usagi, like a decree written in stone, blood, or anything else that sounds foreboding and true.
"I don't know if I want him to," she says.
Nathan puts it together too. He's late back, when she's watching the flower shop, not that she's hired or anything, but she can hold her own and doesn't any questions yet.
He says nothing first. She's taken an order. She's trying to do this. It's for a customer's daughter. Yellow flowers, he had said over the phone. He had a nasally voice. So she thinks simply: yellow roses, yellow daisies, all inoffensive and cheap enough for a father to daughter, not that she'd know anything about that and it feels a little sharp.
"Not bad."
"What?" Makoto is startled. She blinks and he's leaning over her, suddenly behind her, his arms dropping over her shoulders and around the vase she's picked. He turns it carefully and she bits her lip. "Oh you mean the flowers."
He shrugs. "You have a knack."
"He said yellow flowers," she tells him, and it sounds a little too shy. She pauses and his hands are on her hands, warmer than she expects. That, stupidly, doesn't startle her as much. She breathes throw her nose. Her hands relax and she tries to continue. "I don't really care for roses like Usa-chan and, well, daisies are cute for kids, right?"
"Sure."
His hands move hers slowly, her fingers pushing petals and she feels herself fold into the arrangement. It happens carefully and then his fingers start to drag back, over her knuckles, as he lets go and she finishes the arrangement.
"Better," he says and she blinks. Nathan laughs too. "You're impatient about the wrong things."
Makoto sighs. "I'm impatient about a lot of things, you know."
"I know," he says. Then quickly, he corrects himself. "I mean, I figured," he says and it's not quick enough to cover up the potential i remember that lingers between them. He leans against her chair, studying her. "I'm just wondering how long it's going to take you to talk about whatever's bothering you..." He corrects himself again. Their words are always loaded. "What's been bothering you all week, really."
"I'm obvious," she guesses, but it's not really a guess. She's tired. She rubs her eyes and her fingertips smell like the roses. She's not like Minako either, she thinks. She's not made for compartmentalizing. She thinks that's what Ami called it anyway.
"A little," he agrees.
And suddenly, this evolves into the most adult conversation she's ever had with him. With him, she reminds herself. She finds herself talking though and not being able to stop, and everything starts to spill in a way that she's almost embarrassed to admit.
"I got a letter," she tells him. It's almost a confession. The shame starts to bubble up in her throat. "It was from the boy I liked. Once upon a time," she says too. She doesn't tell him about her old school or her old friends because then it makes the story even more painful. "It's stupid really," she murmurs, fingering a rose. "Because I only recognized his handwriting because... I don't even know. Maybe it was a project. Maybe it's because he was helping me with homework. Anyways, the letter was a mess and shoved under my door and I don't really know why or how it got to my door."
She looks up at him, waiting for the judgement. He's watching her and there's silence, slow silence, as his face begins to change. His mouth is handsome and it curls, just slightly, into a sad smile. He leans in and his mouth is brushing against her forehead. He doesn't hold her and it makes it feel a thousand times more intimate and startling. His mouth feels warm and careful too.
"You want closure," he says quietly then. His hand brushes under her hair and against his neck.
Her chest tightens. "I don't know. Maybe."
"It's not a bad thing to want, Mako-chan," Nathan tells her. It sounds a little too honest. "It never is."
"It feels a little too safe," she murmurs, and now, here, she's confessing. "Like going back will mean that I'm not ready to move into any of --" she tries and points at herself, but hits his chest instead, "-- this. But I'm not even looking back, you know ... that doesn't make any sense."
He kisses her here and then, first again, and it's softer, still startling, but gentle in a way that consumes the unexpected move. He tilts her head back and she opens her mouth to meet his, her mouth softening her worries against his. He breathes and she tastes it. He sighs and she tastes it. Her tongue pushes forward and his hands drop down, sliding into the cusp of her back.
Her body trembles. She pushes her knees forward and her fingers are twisting in his shirt. She doesn't think i shouldn't and she knows she never has. She won't go that far in lying to herself. So he kisses her and she kisses him back, his hands careful to keep her away from the roses and the glass.
They can pretend to be safe.
The train in the morning is tight.
She wakes up late, calls school to make sure they understand that she's not skipping but she has she's slightly sick since the girls will go and worry about her. She picks a window seat though, checks the lunch she's packed and to make sure she's got her ticket and identification for the third or fourth time just in case.
The sun is high. The smell of smoke and coffee permeates everyone who passes her. She isn't paying attention to scenery because she's tired and she's worried about leaving for too long. It's a day trip, she told Usagi. Just a day trip. The mantra is more of an improbable reassurance anyway.
Usagi still smiled though. Go, she said. Just go.
But this is how Jupiter slides back into her, slowly, not startling, quiet, and maybe dangerously so, away from the others and that's maybe too important. She is on earth and that is the simple part. She can smell the air and the sky and thinks to herself rain, just rain because spring is not even ready to be violent and near. She remembers a color first. She hears a laugh next. Her eyes are closing slowly and she waits for herself to feel tired. Instead, her breathing evens out and she sees herself as too tall, too proud, and in love. He isn't faceless but she can't see him, he's there and she's there and everything is green and bright too. She thinks she can smell the ocean and there's a line, a small line -- a bracelet full of stars -- because she can hear herself laugh and it's delight, pure and simple.
"Can I sit?"
A hand pushes onto her shoulder and she opens her eyes, greeting a shy woman and a baby on her hip.
The facts return. The letter is in her bag. Nathan will close the shop early before he picks her up.
Makoto is polite. "Sure," she says.