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“Do you believe in soulmates?” Homura asks. The question is unprompted, but not quite sudden. The lingering silence, Madoka thinks, was prudent in its intention to lead up to something.
“I do,” Madoka confirms quietly, turning her head to face the other girl. Homura’s glasses capture the light of the moon, hiding her glazed eyes behind a thin layer of illumination. The two fall into silence once more and Madoka eventually looks back up to the sky. The dewy grass beneath her tickles her neck. She wonders if it tickles Homura as well.
“Do you think we’re soulmates?” Madoka asks instead, keeping her sleepy eyes open, if only to observe the stars.
“In every timeline,” Homura says and Madoka looks at her again. They meet each others’ gazes, this time, fully, the light no longer keeping Homura’s eyes away from Madoka’s. They’re said to be windows to the soul, eyes, and this proves to be true, if only for Homura. She looks so reserved, usually, but they’re set in what seems like a perpetual certainty now. It makes Madoka smile, and she takes the bespectacled girl’s hand in her own.
It’s no new feeling, Homura’s hand in hers. The soft ridges and slender fingers grace her every time she reaches for them. The nervousness has receded over time, though, and Madoka is glad for it. She loves Homura’s moments of serenity, though few, and she’s endlessly proud that the moments can occur in her presence.
“I’m glad to have met you, Homura.”
The words are soft. Genuine. Pink eyes meet purple and Madoka has never been more certain of a phrase in her life.
“Me too,” Homura breathes, squeezing Madoka’s hand. She turns on her side, fully facing her pink-clad friend, and the emotions pushing up against her lungs are nearly painful.
***
Madoka wonders, distantly, why her friend isn’t wearing her glasses, only to remember that she never has.
***
It’s a Thursday after class, and Madoka and Homura study in the library together. They would go to one of their houses, but Madoka knows how Homura often seems to be busy in the late hours after school closes.
The silence stretches for far too long and Madoka feels the urge to say something. She watches her friend write for a short while. Homura has beautiful hands. Madoka wonders if they’re soft.
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Madoka asks suddenly, relishing in the feeling of déjà vu rushing over her. It’s common these days, though she can’t quite remember why.
“I do,” Homura says hesitantly, as if reciting a script. She looks pained, so Madoka doesn’t press the subject.
***
Madoka walks home with her new friend. It’s only been a few days since they’ve met, yet Homura seems to know exactly which way to turn in order to find herself at Madoka’s house. Madoka doesn’t think to question it. She knows by now that she and the girl have a connection. The word is on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t place a finger on it. She doesn’t say anything.
***
“You mustn’t trust him, Madoka,” Homura says. The words are quiet, but Madoka hears them just fine. There’s no other sound around- nothing else to distract her from the sight of Kyubey’s mangled body on the concrete in front of her.
“He’s dead,” she croaks lamely, because he is, and what else can she say? Homura lowers her gun, though the gunshot still seems to shake the innards of Madoka’s ears.
“He’ll be back,” Homura frowns, the expression growing ever more familiar. She steps forward, lines her feet up with Madoka’s, perhaps unconsciously, and continues. “I know what I’m doing,” she says, and the pink haired girl meets her eyes. “He doesn’t want what’s best for you. You have to know that.”
“He wants me to help people,” Madoka breathes, closing her trembling fingers around the hem of her skirt.
“He wants your soul,” Homura all but growls, kicking at Kyubey’s already lifeless body. “I’m here to save you. I need to save you, but in every timeline, I fail!”
Madoka lets her tears spill over, lets them fall past her cheeks.
“I want to be a magical girl,” she says uselessly, weakly, blinking past the tears to look into Homura’s eyes. Is she really her friend? She must have been, once, her mind supplies, though she can’t recall when that might have been true.
“I want you to live,” is what she gets back, Homura’s eyes hardening in such a fierce way that Madoka is sure she hasn’t seen yet. And then she walks off. She walks off, and Madoka’s left with the inner turmoil that she isn’t used to- has never felt before these last weeks- before she was confronted with the idea of being a magical girl.
Who was it that brought her these feelings? Homura? Kyubey? Surely, one of them- one ideal that she’s become familiar with. One path she must follow.
Madoka wants to help people.
Madoka wants to become a magical girl.
***
Madoka feels her organs shutting down and all she can focus on is the girl above her. She’d hardly seen any emotion on her face until now. God, it hurts.
“I’ll find you again,” Homura promises, her face scrunched and blotchy and pained. Tears drip past her cheeks and onto Madoka’s. Neither girl comments.
Madoka’s hand grows limp despite her efforts, the blinding pain softening at the edges.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispers hoarsely. Homura shakes her head, bowing it further and hiding her face beneath her bangs.
“I won’t make you wait.”
***
Eyes are said to be windows to the soul, but Madoka disagrees, at least in the case of Homura Akemi. Homura’s eyes don’t reveal anything, no matter how deep she searches. It’s unsettling.
***
“Do you believe in soulmates?” Madoka asks her friend absently as they walk. A cold feeling rushes over her and she fears it might be a witch, but it’s not. Homura doesn’t say anything. Madoka doesn’t expect her to. She’s always been so cold.
***
Madoka sees the cool-looking girl up in front of the classroom for the first time and she feels a tight pull in her chest. Where had she seen that girl before? The girl, Homura, as she writes on the board, locks eyes with her and the tightness fluctuates.
“Maybe you’re soulmates,” Sayaka jokes when Madoka tells her about the strange feeling. Madoka hums.
“Maybe.”
***
“Do… do you believe in soulmates?” Homura asks desperately, pulling at the foggy formation of Madoka’s wrists and keeping her close. This time, the words are sudden. Madoka feels a sharp tug in her heart and she feels she might cry.
“I do,” She confirms and her voice breaks. “Our meetings are destiny, Homura. I believe that.”
“Madoka,” Homura croaks, the first of her tears dripping from her eyes.
“I’m glad to have met you, all those times,” Madoka says, pulling slightly away from Homura’s grasp. “I don’t know when, but I will see you again, Homura. I promise.”
Homura struggles to keep hold, but Madoka slips away despite her efforts. Again. She wonders if their separation is inevitable- etched into the heart of the universe right beside their meeting.
“Until then, take care of yourself, okay?” Madoka smiles, affection lacing her tone, as if she isn’t ripping Homura apart from the inside.
Homura screams her throat raw, but Madoka leaves nonetheless, taking with her a core fragment of Homura’s soul. Undeniably, the two are soulmates. Perhaps, though, they’re meant to be torn apart just as much as they’re meant to be connected.