White Cotton

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Tokyo Mew Mew

Copyright: Reiko Yoshida, Mia Ikumi

Aoyama Masaya opened his eyes to find that he was standing under a shadowed awning in a rain-soaked street, shivering in his white cotton shirt. The clock on its metal pole read nine p.m. He fingered the concert tickets in his shirt pocket; the performance had to be halfway over by now. Where in the world was Ichigo?

He felt dizzy, disoriented. He could have sworn that it had been light - and dry - outside only a moment ago. His head was full of strange, surreal images - a cocoon of poisonous moths growing at the top of Tokyo Tower; malicious beings with grey skin and pointed ears; Ichigo falling, caught in his arms moments before her impact with the ground.

Realization shot through him like a lightning bolt. Tokyo Tower - the newscast - the Mew Mews. Ichigo!

He had known the identity of his friend - perhaps his girlfriend - almost from the beginning. At first he had dismissed the oddities around her - the cat ears, fish cravings, meows and startling agility - as figments of his imagination, but seeing more and more evidence in front of his eyes had led him to question everything his scientific mind had believed until now. Then, the day his life was saved from mutant bacteria by the heroine Mew Ichigo - with cat ears, a tail, and a voice and body almost identical to the Ichigo he knew - he had quietly put two and two together. Since speaking of it seemed tomake her so fearfully embarrassed, he had let the subject alone, believing - hoping - she would come to trust him more in time.

That was also the day he had first called her by her given name, called after her as she ran away.

Now here he was, standing by the silent street, watching the grey cement turning bluish in the relentless summer rain. The girl he loved was fighting for the future of the Earth, and there was nothing he could do.

What was love? If love was wanting nothing more than to see those honest grey eyes of hers crinkle in a smile, to walk hand in hand through the park, to suddenly understand every love song ever written because they recalled her sunny face, to feel that existence on this planet was nothing without the scent of her hair and the sound of her laughter - then yes, he loved Momomiya Ichigo. And by God, he'd never even told her.

She and her comrades might die today - the whole city might - and he'd never even told her.

I swear to You, he prayed silently, that if we both survive the night, I will confess my love.

Whatever her answer might be. He knew she found him attractive; the delighted fluster she got into around him was evidence of that. He knew she enjoyed his company. But Love? As far as he knew, that was a different matter entirely.

Loving someone is noble. It overcomes all difficulties. Where had he heard that before? A religious text? He recited it to himself in the darkness like a mantra, praying that he would be noble when the time came.

He stepped around the corner of a closed-down building and into the square, to have a look at the intersection as he had been doing since his too-early arrival. He could hear the faint bass pounding of the concert in the nearby auditorium.

He turned the corner and saw Ichigo.

She saw soaked to the skin, as he was, her grey and white uniform plastered to her body. A passing car bathed the two of them in its white headlights, and he saw that she was flushed and breathing hard. She must have run all the way here.

Catching sight of him, she locked her hands behind her back and shifted her weight from one penny-loafered foot to the other. "Aoyama-kun! Uh, I arrived late because, um ... "

For a moment, he truly believed that the time had come. That she would tell him the truth. After all, what did she expect? Where did she see this strange, undefined relationship of theirs going if she lied to him on a regular basis? Suppose he didn't know her secret, how would it look - showing up three hours late without a word of explanation? He had every right to ask for one.

"Aoyama-kun," she sid, in a tiny shaky voice, "I'm sorry."

The light of the streetlamps was reflected in the tears running down her face. Masaya forgot his silent anger, forgot everything but the sudden impulse to erase those tears by any means necessary - because this was Ichigo, a girl made for happiness, and it was unendurable to think that her shame in front of him was making her cry.

He crossed the sidewalk in long strides and threw his arms around her. "I waited for you, Ichigo ... I love you."

He closed his eyes and breathed in the sent of her rain-touched skin and hair. After all those minutes, or hours, of waiting in the chilly wet night, she was so unbelievably warm. Her arms closed around his waist in tentative return, and he wondered how he could ever have thought himself happy before. He hadn't known what happiness meant until this moment.

With a sudden sob, she pulled away, clapped her hands over her hair ribbons and darted behind a column. He could just make out a hint of black at the sides of her head before she disappeared.

So the moment was over, and it was back to hiding again. He swallowed his disappointment and approached her cautiously, reaching out to touch her head. She flinched away, huddled up like a wild creature behind that column.

"I understand," he said sadly, trying not to let a certain bitterness show. "I'm sorry I shocked you. I'll just go home."

Had he been mistaken after all? Didn't she care for him at least a little? Why couldn't she say something at least?

Putting his hands into his pockets, as he sometimes did in a despondent mood, he found a handkerchief, freshly ironed and folded. As a wistful afterthought, he held it out to Ichigo. After all, she couldn't walk home with cat ears showing.

Ichigo emerged looking rather awkward, with the white handkerchief draped over her ears and getting rapidly as soaked as the rest of her. She caught Masaya's eyes, timidly, her lips moving as if struggling to say something."

"Aoyama-kun ... I ... you ... "

Yes, Ichigo? he almost said. You and I, what? Are you about to apologize again? Tell me you just want to be friends?

"I love you too," she said.

As soon as the meaning of the words sunk in, Masaya drew her close again. Her covered head fit snugly under his chin, and her soft squeak of surprise made him smile. A different hug this time, more certain, because she was his to touch now and he was hers. What a difference three words made.

He would escort her home soon. It wasn't safe in the dark. And someday, when they knew each other better, she would tell him everything about her other life and he would bear it as best he could. But for now, all he needed was to hold her.

Just a little longer ... please, God, don't stop the rain.