Work Text:
There’s nothing about this moment that should make it particularly special.
Anju is sitting in the cafeteria with everyone, having lunch just like she would on any other day. Dustin’s burst into laughter over some joke Raiden’s just made, and she’s smiling at him wryly – it wasn’t that funny – when a realization sweeps through her. Sudden, and cold enough to freeze the smile on her face.
How many times had she seen Daiya laugh? She doesn’t know. It might’ve been fifty or a hundred or a thousand – the number doesn’t really matter. What matters is that no matter how many it was, it hadn’t been enough, because no matter how hard she tries, she finds she can’t summon up a single memory. A single instance. A single image of him laughing.
Back then, she hadn’t thought those moments were particularly special either. She’d known that, in the 86th District, it wasn’t a matter of how many decades or how many years you had left to live; it was a matter of how many days – how many hours. She’d lost enough friends to know that any moment might be the last moment you saw them face to face. Anything you said to them might be the last thing they heard.
She’d known, and yet –
She’d never really believed she could lose him. Had let most of her moments with him pass by as if they were ordinary. Let them slip through her mind like they were as common as dirt instead of trying to sear them into her memory – to hold onto them like they were more precious and rare than diamonds, and so now…
Now she can’t remember what he’d looked like when he laughed. Can’t even manage to recall what the last thing she’d ever said to him was.
Now, when she thinks of him, she can barely remember anything more than a voice gasping her name through the Para-RAID. A Juggernaut exploding under self-propelled mines.
And this realization has become so intense that it’s almost a physical thing – a weighted chain winding itself around her lungs. Inexorably choking away all her oxygen.
In spite of herself, she gasps out loud. Dimly, she realizes that she’s spiraling, so she casts her mind out desperately looking for a lifeline. A mental picture of Daiya the way she wants to remember him. Smiling. Laughing. Not broken. Not dying.
She squeezes her eyes shut, reaching out in desperation until finally, she finds it:
She’s in his arms. They’re dancing amidst a shower of pink blossoms, petals fluttering in the air around them. She laughs as he twirls her around, and when she’s face to face with him again, there’s a silly grin on his face.
Then his expression seems to soften as he looks at her, says her name gently.
“Anju.”
She remembers that in the moment that followed, she could have kissed him. Should have, she realizes now, but didn’t. Instead she’d let it pass. Stepped away from him with a giggle. She hadn’t known him all that well yet. Thought that if she ended up really wanting to kiss him, she could always do it next time.
“Next time” never did end up coming, though.
She’d let herself put it off and put it off, always thinking that she’d have some other chance, if she wanted it, until finally she’d had to watch as every single one of her “next times” burned away in a cloud of smoke and ash that, in her imagination, had been almost close enough to reach.
“Anju, are you ok?”
Dustin’s voice drags her back to the present, and she blushes as she realizes she’s been having her own personal breakdown right at their table, over nothing that anyone else can see.
“Sorry, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head.
Her eyes meet Dustin’s then, without her really meaning them to. There’s still concern tracing its way across his face. “You sure?”
Her body moves before she’s even conscious of having made the decision to move it. She’s leaning across the table, bracing herself with her left arm and pulling Dustin toward her with her right when her brain catches up – I’m not going to make the same mistake again, she thinks.
And before she can think too much about it, she kisses him.
It’s completely unlike her – she’s always been a private person and she’s distantly aware that this is very public – but in this moment, she doesn’t care. Isn’t willing to wait for a “next time” that might never come.
Dustin’s promised that he’ll never die and leave her alone, but she knows it’s a promise that might end up being out of his reach.
So she concentrates. On the feel of his lips against hers – soft, and a little moist. On breathing in the smell of him through her nose – the scent of the same regulation bar soap they all use mixed with something else she can’t identify exactly and decides must just be his smell. She likes it. It’s something uniquely him. Something that will help her remember.
She doesn’t know how long they stay this way before Dustin pulls away with what seems like reluctance. She can hear whistles and cheering throughout the cafeteria, but they barely register. Knows people must be staring and ignores them.
Because she’s too busy staring. At the goofy, surprised smile breaking out across Dustin’s face. At the blush blossoming across his cheeks.
I’m done taking time for granted, she thinks.
All of these moments should be special and she knows that whether she lives for another ninety days or another ninety years, she’ll make a treasure of each one she can.
In Dustin’s smile, she can almost see the ghost of Daiya’s, and it makes her feel light. Happy. They’re entirely different people, but still – it reminds her that she’ll never lose anyone completely. Not as long as she remembers them.
It’s too late to go back and make more memories with Daiya, but she still has time to make new ones with Dustin. And she sees it now –
The worst thing wouldn’t be losing him.
The worst thing would be letting these moments go to waste.