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The gentle patter of clapping touches Madoka’s ears, drawing her attention to the door of the studio as the music played on the cd player comes to a close.
“Oh–” Madoka flushes, fixing her leotard just to fidget. “Hi Akem– Homura,” Her tongue trips on the syllables, still getting used to the raven-haired girl’s request for first names over family names so soon.
“That was a wonderful performance,” Homura’s smooth voice fills the studio, echoing gently and swimming in Madoka’s head.
“Ah, you think? I mean, it was just practice. I’ve been needing extra practice, because of the upcoming–” She’s rambling. She’s absolutely rambling. Homura’s too cool to listen to Madoka freak about auditions! “I just… felt like I needed more practice,” Madoka fills the air with a nervous giggle. Why someone as cool as intimidating as Homura insists on being Madoka’s friend will never not confuse her; Madoka is just some bumbling girl who embarasses herself at every turn.
“The upcoming auditions, right? For The Nutcracker?” Homura inquires, leaning against the wall as she fiddles with her unique earring. It was a pretty little thing; an elegant curve that looks like it was made specifically for Homura’s ear with a beautiful purple gem hanging from it.
“Y–yes! Yes, that’s right. Though I doubt I’ll get the part I want, I’m not that good yet,” Madoka sighs, taking a glance at the clock on the studio wall. It was the end of her booked time slot.
“You’re much more talented than you think, Madoka,” Homura’s silky voice tells her as her short heels click against the hardwood floor. It should scratch, Madoka knows, but somehow Homura’s footwear of choice never leaves as little as a mark. “Let me help you pack your bag,” she offers.
Madoka hums and nods, giving Homura her best grateful smile. It comes out more meek and bashful than she intends. This part has become routine. Every day after Madoka’s private practices, Homura will come at the tailend of her session to watch and help her pack. Then, she’ll walk Madoka home if they don’t stop for shopping or food.
Madoka slips out of her dance flats and leg warmers into her school loafers. Before, Madoka would run to the bathroom to change out of her leotard and into her regular clothes, but ever since Homura began accompanying her she felt awkward leaving Homura there to pack her bag alone, like some sort of mom taking care of a scatterbrained child.
She slips on the graphic tee she had packed that morning and a pair of leggings on top of her leotard and takes down the bun from her hair. Homura shoots Madoka a smile; one of her genuine ones, as she reaches into Madoka’s bag for her brush. “Can I help?”
Madoka nods, of course she does, they do this everyday, why does Homura bother asking?, as she slips down onto the floor holding two red ribbons in her hand. Homura gently brushes through Madoka’s sakura-pink hair, separating it into two to style into pigtails.
Homura has a pretty smile. It’s soft, and barely crinkles her eyes. Madoka feels pinned down by it whenever its directed at her. It’s interestingly different from Homura’s fake smiles. She smiles, often, at almost everyone, but it’s not real. Her eyes don't twinkle with happiness and her lips look more thinned out, almost like Homura is pressing them together to keep herself from speaking.
She’s very quick witted, Madoka came to realize. Much more than Madoka herself. After living in the United States for a while, Madoka admittedly started forgetting some of her more advanced Japanese. There was no need for it then, everyone spoke English! But now conversations with her peers have awkward lulls in them as Madoka fidgets, trying to remember a word that she just can’t remember the syllables to. People grew annoyed with her for this. Madoka can tell. Less classmates tried talking to her, and teachers called on her less.
The only one who didn’t mind was Homura. Beautiful, understanding, patient Homura. How Madoka earned her friendship is one of life's greatest mysteries.
Homura skillfully ties the red ribbons into Madoka’s hair, pulling up the twintails. Homura’s done this so often, it must be second nature. “Thanks, Homura.”
The girl ruffles Madoka’s hair a little, playing with the tied up sections. “Of course,” she replies.
They pack up and leave, Madoka catches herself staring at that beautiful earring as it’s purple gem glints in the sunlight.
The walk home is the same as usual. Mitakihara is big, but not too big to where you could get easily lost. Madoka fulfills her daily routine of eyeing the beautiful wedding dresses that sit in the shop windows. The same dress that catches her attention daily sits proudly in the center, with a large trail skirt flowing with ruffles. The chest portion is intricately designed, lace and ruffles curving to fit a cut out just beneath the chest. The mannequin wears a white ribbon choker to match the outfit.
“Madoka,” Homura calls, already a couple paces ahead. Madoka didn’t realize she had stopped to stare.
“Oh! Y–yes, coming!” She answers, jogging to catch up to Homura quickly. Homura gives an unidentifiable look to Madoka, and then to the window display. “Sorry Homura, the dresses are just so pretty.”
Homura hums, and continues to stare at the parlor display. “Do you really like that dress?” She asks after a moment of silence.
“Huh? Oh, well, yes,” Madoka mumbles, feeling bashful. “It’s really pretty, I–I thought.”
Homura stares a little longer. Unflinching. “Would you like it?”
“W–wha?” Madoka gawks. “I mean, maybe, in the far future, I guess? I don’t really know if I’ll ever get married or anything, I just think it’s pretty. It feels familiar to me too,” Madoka rambles, confused at this line of questioning. At that last comment, Homura’s head whips around to face her with a pointed look.
“Familiar?”
“Y–yeah, I think. Like maybe my mom had a dress like that for her wedding? I think? Oh, I might have seen it on TV. My mom loves fashion shows, I’m sure it’s something like that. I think the style is common, like– you know, the frills?” Oh god , Madoka shut up! You’re embarrassing yourself in front of her, as always!
Homura stares unblinking. From this angle, Madoka can see visible bags under her eyes. The silence is uncomfortable and almost deafening. Not just from the conversation, but from the entire world. No birds were singing, and the noise of buses and bikes seemed to cease entirely. This street is usually so busy, where did everyone go?
“I– um…” Madoka stutters, trying to fill the air with some sort of noise to ease whatever tension has fallen upon everyone. As if she alone could make things better. (Yeah, right.)
Homura finally drops her gaze, lifting a hand to her head to hold it. No doubt nursing a migraine, Madoka thinks. Homura suffers from those a lot. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Homura mumbles after a moment. Madoka hears the distinct chime of a bicycle bell as the sound of birds from above fills the air.
“Oh, it’s okay Homura –” Madoka begins, but snaps her mouth shut when Homura looks back up at her. Her smile is forced. Fake. Children skip past, looking into shop windows and oohing and aahing at the dresses in the window.
“I was just thinking…” Homura begins. She takes a look back at the dress window. “You’d look wonderful in a wedding dress.”
Madoka’s face explodes into bright red. “W-what? You think? M–me? I mean, I… I think you’d look great in a wedding dress too, Homura!” She blurts. Oh god, what is she saying?
Homura’s smile drops as color fills her cheeks as well. It's a cute look for her. It reminds Madoka of the way lizards at pet stores will stare at people looking at them from outside the see-through cage. “Oh,” Homura mumbles.
“T–thank you, Madoka,” she says, regaining some composure before Madoka can. Madoka squeaks and nods, bringing her hands up to her face in shame. Madoka wallows in embarrassment for a moment, forgetting the eerie stillness from seconds ago in favor of reliving the experience of Homura inadvertently calling her wonderful.
“Oh, what a shame,” Homura hums. Madoka lifts her head and lowers her hands to question what that meant. “The dress you were looking at – they just took it down.”
Sure enough, the mannequin is laid bare, all traces of its old outfit gone. The little girls looking into the shop window look around, before turning to Madoka and Homura with curious expressions. Madoka thinks she sees Homura flick her hand, and the children disperse with girlish giggles.
“That’s okay,” Madoka hums. She can’t really remember what the dress looked like, anyway. It wasn’t that important. “I don’t think white’s a good color on me anyway,” she jokes, shooting Homura a playful grin. Homura returns her gaze with a real smile.
“I think you can make any color work. You look fantastic in yellow, you wore it once a couple days ago,” Homura begins, taking Madoka’s hand gently in her own as they continue down the street. Yellow? Madoka tries to remember the last time she wore yellow.
“Wait, when was that?”
“You know, you wore it with that black skirt? And the boots?”
Madoka’s brain reminds her that yes, she did wear that for her mother’s birthday… which was a month ago.
“Homura, I think I wore that shirt a month ago, not a couple days ago.” She giggles.
Homura looks like that pet shop lizard again as she blinks slowly. “Oh. Has it been a month already?”
Madoka laughs. Homura has the strangest sense of humor, but it gets giggles out of her all the same. She nudges Homura playfully with her shoulder. Homura smiles back and scratches the back of her head with her free hand.
Homura gives Madoka a hug goodbye, as is their routine. Madoka hugs back, leaning into Homura’s shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, yes?”
Madoka nods into Homura and then pulls away. “Yep! Hopefully I won’t be late again,” Madoka nervously laughs. “You don’t have to wait for me in the mornings Homura, I don’t want to make you late to class just because I can’t get out of bed.”
Homura shakes her head. “Nonsense. Last thing I want to do is leave you to walk to school all by yourself,” she smiles, her tone teasing. “Besides, we made it on time anyway.”
That was true. Even though Madoka woke up 15 minutes late, and Homura insisted they walk and enjoy the morning instead of running to make up for lost time, they still made it to school just as everyone else filtered in before the first bell. It was a miracle.
“One of these days I’ll have to meet you at your door and walk you to school instead!” Madoka offers, walking backwards up the steps to her house.
“And miss your precious beauty sleep? You’re a heavy sleeper, Madoka, you won’t even hear the alarm that early,” Homura teases. Madoka flushes, it's true.
For a moment, things feel like they’re lifted directly from one of her romance mangas. The sun is just starting to set and Homura’s giving her such a sweet look from the sidewalk. Madoka hears a couple of church bells ring in the distance. “B–bye, Homura.”
Homura waves, a real smile decorating her face. “Goodbye, Madoka. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Madoka watches as she turns and leaves, her raven hair blowing beautifully in the gentle breeze. Tree leaves fall, framing her silhouette against the blue and orange sky. For some reason, Madoka’s head feels foggy. The farther Homura gets down the street, the more Madoka can feel the icy tingle of something unknown tickle her brain. Visions of stars and nebulas replace spots of sleek metal and purple gems.
“See you tomorrow…”