Disclaimer: I revolve around everything Rurouni Kenshin, but unfortunately, Rurouni Kenshin revolves around Nobuhiro Watsuki, Sony, etc. DO NOT OWN. DO NOT SUE.

A/N: *crawls out from under a rock* Hey there! So, glad that you're here, reading my very first piece of fanfiction! It's going to be drabble-ish, so it might sometimes be in chronological order, though you shouldn't bet any money on that. It might be confusing at first, but think of it as a jigsaw – I'll be giving you the bits and pieces to form the big picture. I'm also experimenting with different writing styles, so some chapters might be a tad incongruous. If all that's okay with you, then onwards!

She Left On A Thursday

1. Him

She left on a Thursday.

Which wasn't surprising, really, considering that she had always hated Thursdays.

---

"It's not that I hate the word or anything," she said as she licked the melting ice cream cone. "It's just that Thursdays are so close to the weekend that you can almost taste the freedom, but there's always Friday to bar you from sweet salvation. And then you think to yourself, "Hey, maybe this Friday would be okay!

"But you're wrong; always utterly, completely wrong."

He didn't say anything then. Just sat there and watched, filing this information away in the corner of his mind that was dedicated to memorizing every little thing about her.

From that day forward, he always made sure that there was at least a pint of ice cream in the fridge on Thursdays.

Preferably Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.

---

He was not sure why she left. It was raining when she did, which was bitterly ironic. She loved the rain, but hated Thursdays. Now, maybe she hated him as well.

She cried then, and he cried too. But those tears never made it out, and instead ran through his veins and arteries, clogging up everything, and he could feel his heart suffocating, pulsating like that of a drowning man. Maybe if he had tears streaming down his face, if he had shown the pain he felt seeing her like that, maybe, just maybe, she would stay.

But what are a million "what ifs" worth? Nothing, because in the end, he shed no tears and displayed no pain on his face. It was part of his training and was drilled into him by countless life experiences, although he never told her that.

Never reveal your weaknesses.

---

"Sheesh! Stop being such a cold fish! Smile for me, come on!" She held a camera, and insisted on taking a photo of him, since he was so "photogenic". He tried to smile, he really did, but all that came out was a sort of grimace. She returned the grimace and lowered the camera, disappointment shining in her sapphire eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, it started raining. There was thunder, lightning, booms and bangs clashing together in a spectacular sound-and-light show. It was probably hazardous to be out in the open, but she didn't care. Instead, she shrieked in delight, tilting her face upward, letting the raindrops fall on her smooth forehead, flushed cheeks and full lips.

She turned to him, and smiled one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen. His heart fluttered, and although it sounded clichéd even to his own ears, he thought that he might have just died and gone to heaven.

"This," she said, her voice full of that infectious joy which she carried in bucketfuls, "is feeling alive. To feel every individual raindrop fall on your skin, to feel that stinging sensation travel along your nerves to every inch of your body, to know that you're not numb to everything after all… this is feeling alive."

Somewhere along this, she had closed the distance between them, and her face was a mere few inches from his. She stared into his eyes, searching for something, a spark of life within those molten depths, perhaps. "Do you feel alive?"

He turned his face towards the heavens, and felt his skin tingling from the barrage of raindrops.

He looked at her, at her miserably wet appearance, at the bright periwinkle blue eyes that contrasted so greatly with the concrete-grey sky, and replied, "Yes."

Before he knew it, there was a flash and he was momentarily stunned. She emerged from behind her camera, grinning triumphantly. "See? I knew I could get you to smile!"

She pulled him down to sit with her, ignoring the wet grass and laying her head on his lap as she soaked in the rain and tranquility with closed eyes.

He looked down at her, and smiled again.

Only for you.

---

He had always tried to predict her moods, her actions, but all those predictions always seemed to fall flat at the most crucial moments, when she would do something unexpected, throwing him off completely. But he didn't mind, that was one of the reasons why he liked being with her in the first place. He liked the surprises – having gone far too long without them – such that every single start or semi-flinch that she got out of him was never unappreciated.

So he stood there, staring at the swinging front door, wondering how she managed to surprise him, yet again. Open and close and open and close and open again, the door was swinging, and he heard her footsteps echoing along the corridors, together with the soft pitter patter of teardrops. Her tears, a voice in his mind whispered. He hated it when she cried, although he never told her that.

Your tears are far too precious.

---

It was snowing.

A girl was crying.

A girl, sitting on a swing in the middle of a park at midnight, was crying.

Normally, he would have simply turned around and walked away – he had never liked the sight of crying women – but something about this girl crying made him stop dead in his tracks.

Maybe it was the fact that despite the constant sniffling and blotchy cheeks, she looked beautiful. Maybe it was the fact that she was trying so hard to stifle her sobs, choking on them from time to time like a kicked puppy trying to be brave in front of its master. Maybe it was the fact that it was snowing, and snow tended to mess with his mind a little.

Whatever it was, he found himself kneeling in front of her, untying his scarf and putting it around her neck instead.

She looked up, shocked, and he was shocked as well – by the endless blue eyes that stared back; infinitely, impossibly blue eyes that seemed to proclaim This Is Forever with its million shades and wondrous depth.

A slight sniffle on her part, and then, "Thank you."

A small smile on his part, and then, "You're welcome."

A moment passed, and he pulled himself up and away from those eternal blue eyes lest he drown in them. He then turned around and walked away, like he was supposed to do, like nothing happened.

But she happened.

---

She had never explained why she cried that day, and he had never bothered to ask. Maybe he should have, he thought, as he heard the elevator doors close with a sense of finality. Maybe if he had asked her what was wrong then, he could have prevented it from happening now.

He was still standing there, deciding, when the door made his decision for him. It swung shut, and all that he could see were the tearstains on his carpet, the hard unyielding wooden door, and her eyes.

A hand reached out towards the doorknob, only to falter, and fall by his side once more. He was always one step behind, always one second too late, and he learnt the hard way that that one step, that one second, will always be the one that mattered the most.

What if I'm late again?

---

---

Next up: Her. A companion drabble, from the other perspective.

All reviews are heartily welcomed!