Notes: Strange and twisting Anthy/Utena fic, written in 2011. All the rainy days.

It rains as though rain was the only possible weather. It's always been raining.

Everything that happens here feels as though it's always been happening, although intellectually Anthy knows that yesterday the sun shone.

Time and reality can't be trusted.

By the window Utena sits and stares, eyes a hazy reflection of grey sky and subdued light. Utena, who she has always been engaged to - will always be engaged to. Until she isn't.

Utena is fidgeting, of course. She's terrible at sitting still. She isn't really in there right now, she's wandered away into some daydream, sits there vacant - but her hands are pulling at her clothes, rearranging things that were never out of place, smoothing and messing up fabric over and over again.

Anthy just watches her. She has an urge to take in every detail, understand it all, take all the pieces of data and try to put together the puzzle that is Utena.

She isn't even sure why.

Utena stretches. "Damn," she says, eyes coming back into focus, narrowing, glaring at the streams of water collecting and meeting and pouring down the other side of the glass. "It's still raining? Ugh."

In some ways Utena is actually very simple, Anthy thinks. But even with Utena there again, straightforward and blunt and not exactly surrounded by an aura of mystery, she still feels as though she's missing something.

"Of course," she says.

"I wanted to go running," Utena says quietly, half resigned, half an accusation.

"I'll make tea," Anthy says, and smiles.

"Mm..." says Utena.

"Do you ever get the feeling that," Utena says, and breaks off. They're lying in half-darkness, small against their oversized surroundings.

"What?" Anthy says.

"I don't know."

"Hm."

"I just feel like this has happened already." Utena turns her head to look at Anthy, reaches out a hand. It's entirely natural to take it; Anthy does it automatically.

Of course they have. If Anthy really focuses then she knows that they've done this over and over again, that their life is a series of variations on a fairly simple pattern. But she doesn't like to focus, because then she feels.

There's too much to feel. She tries not to.

She doesn't answer Utena at all, just smiles. The palm of Utena's hand is warm against hers. there are calluses on her fingers. The sword leaves its mark.

Anthy runs her fingers over them, lingers as long as she feels is allowable, lets their hands fall.

Does Utena sigh slightly? Yes, she probably does.

Outside the rain is still falling. It will rain tomorrow as well.

She opens her eyes. It isn't near dawn yet, but the blinds are drawn up to leave the high window open to the night. The city lights from far below filter in, made hazy and distant by the rain. They outline a figure by the window, change it to a silhouette.

The bed beside hers is empty.

"Utena?" she says, respectful and low, tries to stay unobtrusive.

"Are you going to leave now?" Utena's voice says. The silhouette doesn't move.

Something sharp twists in Anthy's chest.

"Leave?" she says brightly. "Of course not, Utena!"

Tonight she is never going to leave. Although in some other reality she might. In some other reality everything might hurt too much. Actually that reality could be tomorrow, but tonight it doesn't exist, it's never. The thing that is happening now is the only thing that can ever happen.

Utena turns slowly towards her. The lights reflect off her hair, a thin sliver of her face, her shoulder, but her expression is still in shadow.

"Do you promise?"

"Of course."

After all, I'm your - friend? Your bride.

After all, I...

No.

She doesn't know what love is anyway. He has always said so, and of course he was right. He always is.

She shouldn't have promised.

She watches as Utena comes slowly back to bed, as she sits carefully down, looks back towards the window. Now Anthy can see her expression clearly for the first time, but she can't read it properly. It only lasts a second, anyway. Then the blinds fall again.

Was Utena sad, or scared. Or angry?

For a moment when she saw Utena standing by the window she thought, inexplicably, that tomorrow might be another day. But it won't. It will just be the same one over again.

She is so tired of that day. But at least it's safe. Nothing can happen that she doesn't already know about.

It rains as though rain was the only possible weather. It's always been raining. It'll always be raining.

By the window, Utena sits and stares. Fidgets.

Then turns to Anthy and says, "come on. We're going for a walk."

This isn't in the script.

Something shifts in Anthy's mind anyway. She realises that she's just staring, remembers to put together a smile. "If you like," she says, and tries to push the confusion out of sight, keep the mask. It's always about keeping the mask, because otherwise someone might realise that there's nothing behind it.

On rainy days - which is all the days, except when all the days are sunny - they sit and watch the rain fall. Anthy knits, or crochets. They drink tea. Utena gets annoyed and paces and figets, Anthy is soothing. She knows all the routines, all the possible variations.

But now Utena is pulling her towards the door, into the elevator.

Neither of them is even wearing a rain coat.

Anthy wonders if she owns a rain coat.

She honestly can't remember. After all, they don't go out when it rains.

It's a shock to stand in the open. The air is almost cold, she draws it down into her lungs, feels the dampness in her throat, turns her face up towards the rain. She has no idea what time of year it is. It hasn't even occurred to her to wonder about details like that in what may have been a very long time. Although she isn't certain.

When every day is the same it really doesn't have very much meaning.

"Let's go," Utena says, and strides away, doesn't even look back to see if Anthy is following.

But Anthy is following, pulled along in Utena's wake.

She can feel the windows of the tower like eyes on her back: it can see her wherever she is, it's always with her.

Water is already seeping through her dress, and ahead of her she can see that Utena's clothes are hanging a little heavier, her hair is getting darker.

Anthy feels. She doesn't know what, but she definitely feels. It's too much. She wants it to go away.

"Huh!" Utena says, and stops, and holds out a hand to the air.

The rain has stopped.

She turns and grins at Anthy, and gets a reflexive, polite smile in response.

Now it's fine, the crack in her shell has closed itself again. But a little warmth stays behind, small and - for the moment - manageable, curls up somewhere around her stomach and makes itself comfortable.

"What is it?" Utena asks.

"Hmm?" says Anthy.

"Damn, I can never tell what you're thinking," Utena mumbles.

"I see."

Utena sighs.

"I'm going to change and then train for a bit. You coming?"

Of course she is.

"Anthy," Utena says. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Anthy says.

"Mm," Utena says. She stretches out across the gap, creeps into Anthy's space.

Her head rests carefully against Anthy's hip.

"I don't understand anything," Utena says. "I guess I'm just not that smart."

Anthy doesn't answer, but she strokes Utena's hair, feels the silence getting heavier.

Poor Utena, who means so well, who tries so hard to change the shape of the world.

She wishes it could work and she knows it can't. If she believes then the closing of the loop will only hurt more. Going back to the beginning will become impossibly painful.

Better to keep everything far away, stay in the tower, protect what she can.

Tomorrow her brother is coming home. Once he's there he'll always have been there. They will never have had a moment without him.

Why couldn't this be one of those moments that becomes a forever? Now, together, in between one endless, painful, repetitive day and another, in a place where she can almost breathe.

"Some day," Utena says, "let's travel together."

"Yes," Anthy says.

"Let's go far away from here."

"Yes."

There's no-one she'd rather travel with. But there is no some day, together. There's only the loop, forever. And there isn't anywhere else. There isn't anything else. Even if Utena can break the small patterns, she can't do anything about the others.

[fin]