A/N: The title is inspired by E.E Cummings poem. You can check his poem out, before reading this. It's pretty. It fits to the Soulmate-ish thingy I was imagining when I wrote this (although this is some kind of an reincarnation AU). I truly enjoyed writing this one.

(Fluffy for the rainy season)

A thousand footsteps, a thousand flickering of lights, the bustle and hustle of the Tokyo Metropolis, the sound of the engine roaring, of cars honking and the rush jagged sound of the train was how it meant to live in the city. Mikoto Suoh did not like the sound of it, he didn't like how everything sounded like an amalgam of different kinds of noises. But he had no choice. This was development, this was productivity, he can only conform and live with all the buzz.

And we all know what the price of all of this developments: a sky full of stars, ignored by most because their feet are chained to the ground, too focused on the realities of the world to take a glimpse of the beauty of the sky above their preoccupied heads.

A night's peaceful sleep, and the flush of life, this was missing in his mundane existence and he demanded it like a child. That's why he was going to quit his work and go to the countryside. That's what he planned but something along the way made him change his mind.

It was almost 1 am in the morning. The trains would stop and he can no longer go home. He decides to go to the train station to wait for the trains to run again. When he arrived, the entrance was empty and everything was still. It was a surprise, it was probably the first time he experienced the train station deserted, bereft of thousand little heads bobbing up and down as they walk thither and hither. His footsteps were the only sound there was and an occasional cooing of the wind. It was truly a marvel he muses to himself.

He started going down the stairs and his metallic footsteps reverberated as it struck the ground. He never knew how engulfing the underground station was when one's alone. When he was at the last step he saw a figure sitting on one of benches at the back row. He was quite surprised to see someone there. A fire was lit just beside the person. He sauntered towards him and when he was near enough to be heard, the person raised his head and looked at his direction. His breath formed mist in the air and he was clutching at his scarf, his face flustered. The rim of his glasses gleamed when struck by a lost light. He was sitting properly, his back straight, his stance dignified. Mikoto could tell he was a high tier employee. Or he could even be a young master of some household. They held each other's gazes. And when Mikoto was too deep in the pull of the other's gravity, in the connection that they had made, he stopped walking.

There was something in the way the other man looked at him that made him feel things. His eyes were serious, unwavering but there was a hint of gentleness in it, it made the purity of his soul so apparent to Mikoto that he couldn't stop himself from staring at him. He's never held gazes with anyone that long before. He walked again and this time, the other man's image, every bit of it was one by one being engraved in his mind. The contours of his face, his long matted lashes and violet eyes that bore into him, his flustered cheeks and the mist of his breath made him fumble with every step that he took. His pallid skin was ghostly against the light.

As he comes closer to where the man was, he feels his life get vibrant with color. And an image one after the other flashed through his mind. What is this? He asks himself. When it felt like he was inches away from him, some meters that he could finally see him clearly, his eyes gleamed with recognition. It widened a little bit, pupils dilating for the familiarity of this man before him. His lips parted, frost coming and out of his system. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew of this man. The man's eyelids fluttered and then he looked away cutting the connection that Mikoto felt.

Mikoto did not need this he says to himself, but by now he was used to these troublesome things to even think of complaining. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and sat at the other bench.

They stayed like that for hours, the two of them not speaking. He would steal occasional glances at his companion and would see him scribbling on something that looked like a journal. The sound of his pen against the paper, the occasional rattling sound the pipes were making, the crackle of fire and the pitter-patter of his anxious foot against the ground enclosed their world. He took out a cigarette from his breast pocket and was about to smoke when he heard the other close his journal and pick up his belongings. He heard his footsteps, he heard his incoherent breaths against the sound of his steady footsteps, thumping against the cold hard ground. And much to his surprise, the man sat beside him. And when he glanced at him, dumb founded—he could see him clearly now, with bated breath he observed him from head to toe. His violet eyes were downcast, his shoulders stiff, and his face was covered with tufts of hair that the shadows hid away. The glow from the fire dappled on his skin, it made him even more fluorescent in Mikoto's eyes. He was bright and shining, and utterly otherworldly. And he was probably cold, his cheeks were still flushed.

Mikoto was just staring at him at how he was just there inches away from him making him feel a roller coaster of emotions one second at a time. Mikoto was expecting an infinite number of seconds to waste before they would finally be apart but then the other turned his head towards his direction, meeting him squarely in the eye. They held each other's gazes, their eyes boring deep into one another's soul. Mikoto couldn't help but feel embarrassed, his voice was caught up in his throat. He was tongue tied, a flush of red suffused his pale cheeks. The other just smiled sweetly at him. It was a familiar smile, so familiar that he could feel an ache in his chest. A deep longing welled within him from the abyss of his soul. There was something in that smile that was heart breaking. He had the urge to caress the other's face and to assure him everything was going to be okay. He had the urge to press his lips against the other, no matter how weird that sounded (to be kissing a stranger). His throat felt parched and his hand was trembling, excited to touch him. But he desists. He refuses to. He looks away and the other does too. And they just stay like that, the silence oppressing them much more than ever. The seconds, the minutes drag on. The other was now reading a book and Mikoto smokes. The other glances at his direction. The redhead thinks he would transfer to another bench, but he stays instead and says

"…toxic air."

Mikoto's eyes widened, he glances at the other and sees him confused and weary. He turns to his direction and both of them understood that there was something more to this meeting than their worlds colliding.

"Mikoto Suoh… I'm Mikoto Suoh."

Mikoto fumbles with his words as he sips on his cigarette. The other just smiles at him and then looks away, his head downcast, his long fingers busy playing with his pen.

"Munakata Reishi."