June is the Sweetest Month

A/N: Just a short little piece written partly for my friend Mia, and partly to satisfy the June/Day shipper in me. Hope you enjoy it!

And promise me this:
You'll wait for me only,
Scared of the lonely arms.

Rolling clouds blanketed the sky with promise-filled bellies of rain waiting to embrace the rustling streets of Los Angeles. It was an unseasonably cold summer day, and passersby tucked chilly hands into the deep labyrinths of their pockets to salvage what little warm they could. Great gusts of wind ravaged the streets, stealing words and making wild things out of young women's hair.

She laughed to herself as a man across the street chased down a loose piece of paper. Mindless distractions were precious these days: like the warmth seeping from the ceramic mug cupped between her palms, like the tinkling of the bell every time someone entered the coffee shop.

It had started to rain already, and with each drop she felt the leaden weight of worry grow bigger and bigger in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't even thought to bring an umbrella.

What if he doesn't come?

What if it was a gratuitous momentary lapse, and he has forgotten her again?

These were questions that plagued her mind frequently these days, and she cursed the monotonous presence of uncertainty that prevented the diverging of topics.

It was tiresome, really.

"Miss," a voice said, snapping her out of her daze. "Is this ch—"

"I'm expecting someone," she said, perhaps a little too snappily she thought in the aftermath.

The man retreated quickly as if she had bitten him. "Sorry," he muttered.

"N-no, my…apologies," she stammered but he had already walked away. She heaved a sigh. When had she become so irritable?

Just then, the bell above the door tinkled, and he entered in a pair of fitted blue jeans and a thin grey knitted sweater with the sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He folded his umbrella and shook it out—it was pouring heavily outside now; she could scarcely see beyond the blurry film of water on the window.

Pieces of pale blond hair fell in his face as he leaned his umbrella against the coat rack.

She longed to run her fingers through his hair, to tuck the stray strands back into place, to care for him the way he had once cared for her. And she does, in her own special way—though she does not yet realize this—by giving him distance and time: the only two things of meaning she had left to offer.

His eyes slowly combed the room, and for one frightful moment she worried he might not remember what she looked like, but then he found her tucked comfortably in her cushioned seat and smiled that bashful smile that made her feel like a teenager again.

"I hope you haven't been waiting for long," he said, taking a seat opposite her.

"Oh no, don't worry, I got here not long before you did." Lie. She was already on her second cup of coffee. "I already ordered, sorry—"she gestured to her mug"—the waitress kept pestering me."

"It's fine," he assured, and then to the waitress who had wandered over, "black coffee, please."

She looked at him now, really looked at him. There were the obvious changes: his hair, which he now wore short; and his cheekbones, which had sharpened.

But there were also the changes that were not so obvious: the fire in his eyes, which had fizzled to a curious spark; and the muted energy he exuded, which was now respectable for an adult.

She had loved him as Day, and she still loved him as Daniel.

The waitress set his coffee in front of him. The steam gently curled upward and dissipated.

"How was your day?" he asked. "Good, I hope?"

"Same old," she replied, feeling nostalgic for the easy way they had spoken to each other all those years ago.

Once past the small talk, though, conversation came easily. She asked about his time in Antarctica and Eden, wishing to catch up with the lost years that he'd spent without her. It was endless fascinating the way his eyes would light up whenever he talked about Eden and all of his impressive achievements.

He asked her if she had any siblings. Her heart clenched just a pinch before she explained she did, but that he had died ten years ago.

"His name was M—"

"—etias," he finished softly. "Yeah. I remember that now."

They talked for nearly two hours. It had been raining on and off throughout the course, and it was raining again when they got up to leave.

"Where do you live?" he asked, noticing her lack of an umbrella. "I'll walk you home."

"Oh, don't worry, I can just call a cab."

"No, it's fine. Let me walk you home. I promise I won't hog the umbrella."

And so she does, for who could resist such endearing, boyish teasing? They ducked together under his umbrella and ventured out into the rain.

When the door shut behind them, the waitress followed their receding figures down the street with her eyes and commented to her friend, "They look nice together."

Streetlights fluttered on at intervals in the soft hazy city streets that were languishing under a wet, slippery veil. He unrolled his sleeves. It seemed even the boy who stirred an entire nation couldn't help but surrender to the chill. She fidgeted silently with the thin necklace dangling just past the collar of her shirt. For the duration of their time together, she'd been holding her breath while dancing precariously on the knife's edge of reality and fantasy.

The light was fading quickly, but she didn't mind it at all. It was nice. Black filtered into empty spaces and rimmed colours with such spectacular flamboyancy that the city looked like an over-saturated oil painting brought to life.

It was nice.

Several times, they bumped into each other accidentally and apologized with hushed voices before he gathered the courage to reach for her hand.

They didn't bump into each other again for the remainder of the walk.

When they arrived at the entrance of her apartment, they spent five minutes wishing each other goodnight before she retired to her apartment. The moment she stepped through the door, she rushed onto the balcony and watched his figure fade down the street.

.

.

They didn't stay long. He went back to Antarctica with Eden shortly after Eden's interview.

His leaving didn't pain her this time, though. It wasn't so much an ending but a new beginning, of sorts.

Keeping in contact helped to ease the ache of missing him, and she found she no longer had to clutch her pillow to her chest whenever she encountered a snippet of him on the news.

Three months later, she woke up to a message from him saying he was coming to Los Angeles to see Eden, who'd permanently moved back after landing the engineering position. She'd be lying if she said a small part of her wasn't disappointed that his reason for visiting wasn't her. Nevertheless, she invited him over for dinner at her apartment.

Tess dropped by beforehand to help cook. Even though she'd just finished her hospital shift, she still had enough energy to bounce around like a giddy little girl. June admired her spirit and vigor; it seemed Tess was more excited for the date than she was. "Let me know how it goes!" Tess reminded her over and over again before she finally lost her patience and shooed her out of the apartment.

Tess had a good heart—she knew that, but her own nervousness was hard enough to pacify without another person adding to the pandemonium.

He arrived eight minutes early, dressed in a smooth white collared shirt and clutching a bundle of fresh flowers in one hand. He made no move to enter—just stood silently in the doorway and gazed at her with wide eyes.

"Hi," she tried.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't wait until 7:30."

He reached for her and pulled her into him and sighed softly into her hair. Up until then she didn't know it was possible to exchange words without speaking at all, but his every gesture breathed meaning into her skin. She hadn't been wanted this way in so long that it frightened her fiercely.

She'd always been one to thumb her nose at the idea of fear, but not this time.

This time, she welcomed it with her arms wide open.

.

.

Standing on her balcony, the air was cool and refreshing. Sometime in the past two weeks, the season had slowly tipped into autumn's embrace. It was as if Los Angeles had been kissed by a dear lover who prompted all of the trees to blush a brilliant red.

He had complimented her cooking profusely all night, and she imagined what it would be like to eat dinner with him every night for the rest of her life.

She wouldn't mind it. No, she wouldn't mind it in the slightest.

She excused herself and slipped inside to grab their wineglasses. The flowers he'd brought rested by the sink in a vase with delicately carved swirls running up and down the glass. She cleared the dinner table and placed the vase in the centre. The flowers made for a lovely centerpiece, she thought as she admired the colours.

.

.

By the end of their second glass of wine, she'd begun to feel a little woozy, but despite it all, she thought it was the clearest her head has been in years.

"Do you see that high-rise over there?" she pointed in the direction of Drake University.

"Yeah."

"I scaled it when I was fifteen," she admitted. "Fourteen storeys in six minutes and forty-four seconds!"

He laughed and looked at her in disbelief. "No. Way."

"It doesn't come anywhere near your accomplishment of five storeys in eight seconds, though."

"No, no you've got that wrong. It was seven seconds."

She smiled in defeat and bumped his shoulder playfully with hers. Moonlight lined his profile in silver, and his hair was curling gently in the breeze.

"You know," he began, taking a big breath before continuing, "I've been thinking a lot lately about moving back here."

"For Eden?" she asked.

"No," he sighed. "He has his own life now. I've babied him for far too long. He doesn't need his big brother hanging around him anymore."

"Oh." Her breath caught in her chest. She thought of just about a hundred ways to respond, but she stayed silent and studied him; his expression was utterly undecipherable, and she didn't know if that was good or bad.

It was a long time before either of them said anything. Somewhere off in the distance, a car horn echoed through the air as drivers tried to navigate through Los Angeles traffic. Such carefree frivolity, she thought, watching little dots of people fret about on the streets. She almost wished she were down there with them instead of standing here waiting for his response.

It was rejection she feared most.

"For, well…for a while now, I've been searching for a reason to come back. I've had one this entire time—I think I've always known I had one on some level, I just didn't realize how important it was to me until now."

The cold metal railing pressing into her folded arms chilled her skin, but on the inside she felt a warmth shooting through. A coy smile spread across her lips and she fixed her eyes on the winking lights in the distance…on the tiny cars shuffling up and down streets…on anything but his face, though she could feel him watching her carefully.

He reached for her, his fingers tangling ever so slightly with the hair draped over the base of her neck. She followed his smooth motion and turned her face just a fraction to let their lips meet.

It was reminiscent of the many kisses they'd shared in their teenage years, but the feverish passion that had often been present was now replaced with a newfound gentleness that sparked old fires in her.

When he pulled away, he murmured so softly that she almost didn't catch what he said.

It was just four precious little words: "Just like I remembered."