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Homura lies down on the surprisingly comfortable hotel mattress without even bothering to change and closes her eyes. Finally, some rest. Who knew spending all day on a train would be so exhausting?
Just before she properly dozes off, a shrill ring goes off next to her ear and startles her half to death.
She jumps off the bed and glares at the landline phone sitting on the bedside table, then picks up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Oh shit, it worked—hold on—” says Kyoko’s grainy voice, and Homura strains to make out what’s being said. She can vaguely hear Sayaka talking in the background, something about drinking on the job. And was that Mami? “Yea, yea—Homes, we’re going out to grab a beer, you two coming?”
“Who is it?” Madoka asks, emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel. Homura nearly drops the phone.
Hitomi definitely set up the rooms this way on purpose, that sly manager. And as if sharing the room with Madoka wasn’t enough already, there’s only one bed.
“Kyoko,” she says, covering the receiver with a hand. “They’re going out to drink. She’s asking if we’re joining.”
“Oh! Sure, but I have to dry my hair first,” Madoka notes, rubbing it with a smaller towel. “And get dressed.”
Homura thinks she should shower too. “We can meet you there in half an hour,” she says.
“What, did I catch you doing something else already?” Kyoko teases, the smug tone easily cutting through the poor quality of the call.
“No,” she says instantly, then realizes: “Is that why you used this god-awful phone instead of being normal?”
Kyoko cackles. “You should’ve seen Sayaka when the receptionist called us back. She nearly fell off the bed. Why do they make these suckers so loud?” There’s a muffled comment to that from Kyoko’s end that Homura doesn’t get. “Smartass,” Kyoko responds. “Anyway, I’ll send you the location when we’re there. See ya.” She hangs up.
***
Half an hour later, they’re both downstairs in the small, poorly-lit hotel lobby. Homura calls Kyoko for the fourth time.
“Sayaka isn’t picking up either,” Madoka says, looking down at her phone. “Do you think they’re alright?”
Homura hovers her thumb over Kyoko’s contact before finally looking towards the upper right corner of the screen. Ah. Why would anyone have a wedding in a place this remote? “There’s no reception.”
Madoka leans closer to glance at Homura’s phone, then double-checks her own and exhales in relief. “You’re right. They probably haven’t realized yet.”
“Probably,” Homura says. “It’s late. Do we go back to the room?”
“We could go and look for them,” Madoka proposes. “We’re already here, it’d be a shame not to try. And it’s a small town—we might be lucky and see them somewhere.”
If it were anyone else asking, she’d have refused. She’d much rather just go to sleep.
“Lead the way,” she says instead, and Madoka beams and links their arms together.
The moment they step outside, they hear the waves. It’s faint, but more than enough to guess where the lantern-lit path to the side leads.
It takes them less than five minutes to find the worn stone steps down to the beach, and by that point, the lantern light nearly fizzles out. There’s a short wooden path that leads further out, and they take it, getting used to the darkness. Homura realizes they’re the only ones there.
“Do you think this is where it’ll be?” Madoka asks, delighted, once the sea comes fully into view.
Homura would have thought it to be at least a little bit unsettling at night, but it’s not.
In the distance, below the horizon, ships flicker like candles, and the tide is on the ebb, leaving a whole plane of darker, flat sand exposed. The water is calm; it looks nearly inviting. “The ceremony is supposed to be on a beach. And it’s close, so I don’t see why not,” she says.
Madoka sighs, tightening her hold on Homura’s arm with it. Homura stands a little straighter. “It’s a pity we won’t be needed here,” Madoka says.
Homura tries to imagine it. “I dread to think of our instruments near all that sand…” Madoka pouts at her, and Homura is glad for the moonlight that lets her see it. “On second thought, this beach seems pretty desolate,” Homura continues. It seems to be more of a small, secluded bay, and there are no signs of umbrellas or folded sunbeds anywhere. “This might not be it. And—I don’t think we’ll find Kyoko and the rest here.”
Madoka bites her lip. Then she swiftly lets go of Homura, toes her flats off, and races towards the water.
“Madoka?!”
There’s a squeak that nearly has Homura breaking into a panicked run, but then she hears a giggle.
Madoka yells back, “It’s cold!”
Homura puts a hand on her chest in relief. She takes her shoes off with little grace, throws them into the sand next to Madoka’s, and goes to her.
“It is cold,” Homura says, a jolt running up her when a wave touches her feet.
“But it’s nice, isn’t it?” Madoka says. “The air is warm—Huh.” She notices that she’s ankles deep now. “I think I’m getting used to it!”
“Don’t walk too far in, you won’t see if there’s a drop,” Homura says nervously.
“Okay, okay,” Madoka says with an understanding smile. She skips out onto the wet sand and takes Homura’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “I promise not to run off again.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t. She doesn't let go of her hand either.
They end up walking along the shore for a while in comfortable silence, and Homura listens to the sound of the sea and feels the cool breeze on her skin. Then, Madoka hums a tune.
Homura nearly tugs her to a stop when she recognizes it. “Moon river,” she says.
Madoka smiles. “You know it?”
“I do.” And Homura nearly regrets saying anything, because it caused Madoka to stop. “It’s lovely. Could you—continue?”
Now it’s Madoka who pulls Homura back as she stops with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Do you know how to waltz?”
Homura blinks. “Waltz?”
“That’s my condition,” she says, and without waiting for an answer maneuvers them into position. They’re so close that it leaves Homura breathless for a moment, so much so that she doesn’t notice that it’s Madoka who takes the lead.
The lonely melody resumes, accompanied by nothing but the sound of waves lapping at the shore, and Homura eases into it. She eases into the slow, gentle rhythm until she no longer has to pay any attention to it at all, until every movement of her feet feels as natural as breathing. It’s because it’s Madoka, she thinks. They’ve always worked so well together.
Homura knows the song enough that, before long, her mind starts to fill in the gaps. First, the gentle strumming of a guitar, then the strings, and the harmonica, and the choir. For a moment, she almost believes it’s playing somewhere. She can hear it.
Even when Madoka stops to say, “We should play it together sometime, don’t you think?”
“...I’d like that.”
And they fall into silence again, waltzing to music that plays just for them. Homura barely notices when the waves catch her feet now and then. It’s startlingly easy to get lost in each other when they’re this close.
Gradually, though, Homura’s chest starts feeling tighter. It’s been at the back of her mind for a while now, and it’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore.
They’re on an empty, moonlit beach, and they’re dancing. And they’re alone.
Homura has to say it. She has to say it here. She won’t get a better opportunity than this, will she?
I’m in love with you. That’s what she should say.
But the words get lodged in her throat, and she swallows and tries again. Madoka picks up on it, because she looks up and catches Homura struggling. She slows down and asks, “What is it?”
“I—” Homura says, and her eyes briefly drop to Madoka’s lips. She wets her own on impulse and thinks that Madoka is going to lean in if she does.
A surge of courage nudges her forward and she forgets about her feet and trips, dragging them both into the shallow water.
“Cold!” Madoka laughs.
Homura feels herself turn to stone and crumble into dust, to be washed up with the rising tide. She lays flat on her back and stays there, looking at the stars.
Still laughing, Madoka crawls over to her, leans down, and kisses her.
***
The shrill ring of the hotel-room phone nearly gives Homura a heart attack. She emerges from under the covers with an irritated grumble and picks it up. “What,” she says.
“Whoa, way to greet your best—” (“Debatable,” Sayaka cuts in.) “—friend!”
Kyoko is definitely tipsy. “It’s way too late for this.”
“Weren’t you wondering where we went? Weren’t you worried?”
“No, and no,” Homura says.
“Ouch! Someone’s in a bad mood, did I interrupt anything?” she teases, and Homura says, “Yes,” and hangs up.