Eighteen Candles, Only One Wish

"Happy birthday Usagi! Happy birthday to you!" The chorus blared, filling the tiny space with their huge voices and smiles. I grinned back, clapping my hands and laughing. Motoki and Makoto were the loudest; twisting the notes till it was a racket of awful sounds clashing together.

Eighteen candles flared to life, crackling with sparks like fireworks over the pristine white icing. My parents smiled in the back, and Shingo casually draped a long arm over a cute brunette to the side of the group. Even the girls were here to celebrate, though several had moved away since we met.

I'm eighteen today, and surrounded by my family and friends. We'll be seniors this year, with tons of opportunities and adventures ahead of us. I'm smiling, because I love everyone so much, because it makes me so happy to see the faces that have grown so familiar. I smile because it's easier to pretend to be happy, rather than dwell on the one face not looking back at me while I blow as hard as I can.

The candles are tricked, like they have been every year. The second I let up the pressure, they flare back to life and everyone laughs. The cake is carrot, to which I immediately complain until Motoki brings out a slice of triple chocolate fudge. Every year, the same tricks, every year a new flavor. It's the ordinary things that make me laugh and smile. I glare and pout, because it's what I always do.

It brings me back to three years ago, when the jokes were new, and the smile not nearly as friendly. The carrot cake had been a dig at my name, the candles meant to wear out my lungs so I couldn't use them.

I try to hide the bitter smile behind a fork, but even the creamy, smooth midnight in my mouth brings him to mind. The pressure starts to build again behind my eyes, the others blissfully tease and taunt about chocolate. At least there's no mention of...that really would make me cry.

The girls are bickering over who gets to give a present first; and deep down I have to laugh at them for real. Amy's is sure to be a book, Minako's makeup, Makoto's a fresh batch of cookies, and Rei's a fresh box of tissues and a movie.

Rei knew me best, it seems. Birthdays the last few years have been hard. I'm in the prime of life, finally finishing up school and getting my dreams in place. They're new too; I can't help but wonder how long they'll stick around after graduation. I used to only have one dream, but it left on an airplane without so much as a 'see you later'.

I shouldn't still feel like this. After all, it wasn't like the relationship was...well, a relationship. We'd been mortal enemies for so long that there'd been no dividing line when I fell. I should have known it was inevitable; mostly because everyone did when he was around.

An icy blue package slid beneath my nose as I thought. There was no point glancing up, though, my friends were pretty predictable in their choice of colors. A grin spread easily at the thought, and Ami's smiling face came into view. The girl sure had a way of ending fights, even if it did mean, in her words, putting herself out there.

"Open mine first. The others won't even notice till you're done." We smile at each other like conspirators, and the white ribbon falls away.

It's not a book. I didn't have the heart to tell her that last year's present had hit too close to home. Who know a British author could write my perfect love story? But this was no Pride and Prejudice, it was an ice cream maker and two mix packets.

"Whoa, Ami-chan! Breaking from the norm?" I squeal, more excited to see her branch out than anything. She nodded, her face reddening as the others stop fighting long enough to see us. There were a few murmurs of disappointment, but at least they weren't bickering.

It seemed to be a day strange things all around as the presents began to fall in line. There was a romantic movie with two popcorn buckets, meal tickets to a fancy restaurant and other presents intended for two people.

I was starting to get the feeling my friends were making a point of it. Their eager faces surrounded me like they were looking for something –some sort of reaction. The tears started to fall, but I pretended it was out of happiness as I hugged each girl and screamed my thanks. Maybe I could just get away with ordering two meals…

"Hey beautiful," a dark voice called through the thoughts, had me turning from the forgotten cake with little interest.

"Oi, Seijuro-kun." I waved a hand at the seat beside me, quite familiar with the band geek. We'd palled around a few times over the years, and he always seemed so nice. There'd been a rumor in middle school that he had a crush on me, but back then I'd laughed it off like a bad joke. Middle school had been some pretty rough years, and my grades reflected that. There were other things to think about then.

"All grown up and nowhere to go." He smiled and I did too, loving that we were good friends despite all the years between.

"Yeah, it'll be much more fun next year when my parents won't come." I nodded at the couple by the front, casually talking with Motoki. My fake older brother had an arm around Makoto, his pleasant face plastered in a stupid grin. I could help the smile that spread at the sight of them, aching a little that it had taken the duo so long to get together.

"So..." Seijuro started, brought me right back to him. He was blushing, fiddling nervously in his pocket. "I noticed you came alone today."

"No way! I came with mom and dad!" I answer back, smiling brightly. Another bite of dark chocolate slides across my tongue as he laughs. He has the strangest green eyes.

"Same old Usagi. I meant a boyfriend."

"Hu?" I muttered, a little nervous. Where had that come from?

"Ano...I was wondering..." he began.

"Where you're hiding the dip." Another voice slid between us like smoke, laced the air with something dark and sweet. We both turned toward the newcomer in curiosity.

"Demando," I muttered again, wondering what the resident bad boy was doing here. Bleached blond locks always fell into his face like he had something to hide. The man had a grin like a tiger and a reputation to back it up. I took in the telltale signs of trouble etched into his skin, the weird moon at his brow.

"May I?" He gestured to Seijuro's seat curiously, moving before either of us had a chance to speak. My friend practically flew to the floor as the blond slid forcefully into the booth. There were rumors about him, too; the kind that made your stomach sour. "Usagi-hime, you look breathtaking."

I glanced from him to the pissed teen fighting to get his seat back. The world had gone nuts this year. A slick black box slithered across the table toward me, decked in a hot pink ribbon. I gulped uncertainly, eyeing them both before reaching for the gift.

Cautiously, I lifted the box in both hands and slid a finger between the clasps. Black velvet fell away beneath a flick of the wrist, and brilliance caught the raging sunlight in chunks.

The necklace was exquisite, probably designer. I hadn't dared to look at the magazines, knowing my earning money was going toward a CNA. There hadn't been time to coo and squeal over things like this for months now.

Unsure, I glanced up at the gift giver in question, noting how dark his violet eyes seemed this afternoon. From anyone but him, it would be a priceless token of friendship and admiration. Even a year ago, I would have taken it for just that.

It was a bribe.

"I can't accept this." The black velvet box slid back with a hiss, and his dark purple eyes narrowed slightly.

"Perhaps you should try it on before saying that."

"No, Demando," my words were cut short as he slid the necklace home and sat back. The weight of it pulled at my neck and chest like a collar. I found myself tugging at it uncomfortably as he leaned back in the seat.

"Beautiful," he all but purred, and I felt his eyes slide over me like oil. It was happening way too fast; frankly there'd been no lead up to this. He was in one of my classes, but never came. I wasn't even sure how he knew what my name was.

"This is…really creepy." I muttered, unclasping the thing from my neck. The angry advice I'd received so long ago came back with a vengeance, and I found myself moving before things could escalate. "Thanks anyway, Demando-kun." I slid the glistening treasure back at him, rising from my seat quickly to avoid the coming explosion.

I wasn't fast enough.

"Ko-Neko-chan," I turned, suddenly quite aware of the boy standing beside me. We knew each other, of course. He'd been in my phys-ed class last year. I didn't actually know why he was here.

"Oh, Seiya-kun," He stood just a little taller than me, with icy blue eyes and a dark ponytail. He was probably closest in appearance, but as different a soul as could possibly be. It still made me uncomfortable, sometimes, to look at him.

There should be more mocking in that gaze, the eyes a little darker and shuttered. He should be taller, with hair that scraped the edge of cobalt eyes, with a mouth so sarcastic and smart that it practically hurled daggers. There should be more reserve, more quiet elegance, more intensity burning in him. I felt the lump form in the back of my throat.

It wasn't him. It wasn't even close.

"Happy birthday! I brought you a present, if you don't mind." He gestured to the guitar, as if it were obvious what his intentions were. I blushed heavily, glaring at my group of friends while the opening chords echoed in the arcade.

What the heck was going on? Someone declare open season on rabbits? I felt all eyes on me while Seiya sang about love and sweetness. All I could do was stand there, humiliated and frightened. Demando looked ready to kill, Seijuro disappeared some time back, and frankly the whole arcade seemed to be enjoying the circus.

I was only eighteen! Here, it was like they had chosen presents that would ensure years of terrifying, heartbreaking commitment that I just couldn't fathom. I had been warned, so many years ago, not to accept gifts with that kind of meaning.

Not till I was older.

Not till I was sure.

I didn't want this! It just felt too flashy, too showy. I'm a flashy, showy kind of person, let's make that totally clear. Somewhere along the line, though, there was more than just saying whatever I wanted and laughing way too loud. I wasn't a young child anymore, and all of this felt like it was coming from left field. A gripped my head hastily, wondering how the situation could possibly get any worse.

Love isn't about show.

Love isn't about the presentation.

"Oh, isn't that Chiba-san?" Ami's voice shattered all thought process and I spun like a knife fighter for the front entrance.

My heart rammed my chest so hard, I was sure it broke the sound barrier. A flicker of shadow black hair caught the light, his face staring down at the cement. His shoulders broke the sunlight at pristine angles, even as he turned to leave.

I bolted.

"Baka-san!" I called, feeling my heart wither with every step away from me he took. The figure stilled, his dark shadow pausing only slightly at the sound of his old honorific. Even that move brought life back to me. I was grinning, I couldn't help it. Here he was, back in Japan on my birthday.

Was it too much to hope?

"Odango Atema." He replied, and I felt the whole hallelujah chorus bubbling up in my chest. Every ounce of anticipation and fear from the past three years was spilling across the sidewalk between us, and I found myself wading through it all to reach his side.

"Baka, you can't come all the way home and not visit my party! Who would bring the pranks? Who would call the names?" I challenged, knowing even as I did that it would be another battle. I needed it, though, needed his familiar voice and those taunting eyes. I felt the tears coming on; the soul-wrenching idea that perhaps it would be the last time…

"I bet you do plenty of that still." He mused, and those laughing cobalt eyes drew me closer. He never seemed to smile; not really. Every once in a long while, I remember seeing the crinkle of those eyes, the tug at the corner of his mouth to show how amused he was. I could still trace the curve of his brow, the pattern of his arrogant tilt.

"Haven't had any worthy foes rear their head." I complained, wishing this could be so much more than our usual fights. The fire was dying in me, though, because he didn't move toward me. He never had.

"I suppose that would be a trial for you." He muttered, now that I was close enough to hear something so quiet. I'd grown. He was the perfect height to wrap my arms around him and steal a kiss, the best height because my head would fit right there beneath his chin. That beautiful tug at his lip was happening again, and his eyes seemed to crinkle as he looked down at me.

"Mo! You didn't even have a final battle! I should have had the last word, but as usual, you never gave me the chance!" I felt my childish punch rebound off of his abs and had to hide the blush. He chuckled, but I couldn't look at him, not without showing that attraction and possibly scaring him off.

He was quiet, reserved and deep. The girls, even years ago, would hurl themselves at his feet, and he would calmly help them up and keep walking. If he knew I'd done the same, I felt perhaps even that tiny little part of him would be lost to me forever. I buried it, along with everything else over the years, and turned a fake pout at him.

"I didn't know it meant that much, Usagi-chan."

I stilled, the dull thud of my heart rocked the quiet that followed. He never, not once, used my real name. He'd always been the Baka, and I the Odango. He'd always been the impossible college crush too far out of my league to even hope for more.

But he's here.

He's standing outside my party.

I'm eighteen.

I gulped, shutting both eyes in fear and longing. It was too much to ask. This was too much, just him being here where I could see him and hear that voice billow through my head and chest. I felt faint, just at his use of my name.

"It did," was all I could answer in response. His hands touched my chin to pull me up, but it was too late; the tears had run big swatches down my face, already loosening the black mascara I'd taken to wearing this week. I blinked, wondering why my hands were jangling, why my knees wouldn't lock. It wasn't fair; because I was sure he could see right through me.

The moment he let go, I could almost feel the withdrawal, and soon the mocking rejection. It was everything I secretly feared even now; and the reality of it made me quake.

"It's not diamonds, or a song," he said regretfully, reaching into his jacket pocket. I felt my lips trembling, the hot summer wind brushing at my face as he slid the beautiful gift free. "It's all I could afford. Exchange rate's killer these days."

The breath ripped from me at the sight of this most beautiful, precious gift. The deep, glorified red, the long dark green stem slid into my hand, thorns and all. I couldn't breathe. Oh, heaven help me, I couldn't tell if I'd died or not because here, in my hand...

"Masaka..." The uttered hope bled from my mouth with every ounce of longing I hid moments before. This stunning rose was as deep, as intense a scarlet as I had ever thought possible, with its young, sweet bud just barely beginning to open. My jaw hung, like the gawky teenager he knew years ago.

"Usa..." He trailed off, and it broke my slack-jawed stare long enough to look up at him.

"You said not to accept these." I accused quietly, thinking back to a middle school boyfriend. He'd severely reprimanded me for taking a gift with such a powerful meaning so young. He'd told me how misleading it could be to receive something so personal and intimate.

Perhaps that's why my fingers bit into thorn, or why I couldn't bear the thought of letting it go.

"Mamo-chan."

Those haunting midnight blue eyes closed, clenched for a moment, and I felt the steadiness falter. I'd let it slip, and the fear was bubbling up. My face was burning, even wet still, and he wasn't saying anything. It was every night terror I'd ever had, followed quickly by the chill bite of reality. I needed to throw up. My feet began to pedal backward.

His hand latched to my arm like a vice, fingers strong but gentle as I was rocketed forward. Those gorgeous arms slid around me and I thought, oh gods for sure this time, that I really had died.

"Forgive me." He gasped, arms tilting me till I dipped backward and his mouth closed over mine.

No, really. I died.

For one blissful, perfect moment I think I could actually feel the presence of a supreme being. It was like praying and singing and dancing and cliff diving all in one. It was like cotton candy flavored chest surgery and a volcano of hot fudge drizzling over caramel ice cream.

I may have feinted.

It was everything, and then it was nothing. He was pulling away and the world was sliding back beneath my curled toes, and all the while the completely empty brain started kicking into over drive with one, singular thought: 'Kiss him back, you moron!'

He barely had time to suck a breath before I met him in a jumble of nerves and terror and utterly delicious desire. One hand went to his hair –his perfect, soft, gorgeous hair- and the other went around his neck, rose and all. He groaned, arms tight around me, and tilted further back till I was sure the ground didn't exist anymore.

Dimly, as reality sped by in the guise of a motorcycle, the rest of the world came back into focus. At least this time, it was filled with deep blue eyes and a beautiful little smile.

"I was hoping I'd read you right," he murmured, voice thick and warm. I gulped, still feeling the aftereffects of terror and confusion, the hot mess of jumbled organs swimming around inside.

"What do you mean 'read me right'! You just kissed the daylights outta me!" I accused just as quickly. The ridiculous grin cemented to my face certainly didn't help my plight as he carefully righted the both of us.

"I did." The smile grew a fraction; his eyes were soft and kind. "Then you did."

His arms never left me. I could have danced and sang and literally conquered nations at the look on his face. I'm sure mine was just as smitten, just as excited and flustered. I only had one wish, every single year, for my birthday. Now I would have another for every year to come; that I could see that face, every single day, for the rest of my life.

"You started it." I muttered, turning a nose up at him. It was the first time I ever heard him chuckle out loud.

"Happy birthday, Usagi-Chan!" Motoki hollered from the front of the arcade, the girls giggling around him along with the rest of my abandoned party. Even mom and dad were a little teary-eyed.

Cautiously, I stepped away from him, knowing my father was not so nice about boyfriends. I'd only had a few dates about two years ago, but it had been enough to make me fear for the life of anyone I happened to meet. But Papa was throwing me a thumbs up, and even Shingo seemed to agree.

"Motoki's been working under cover. I hope you don't mind."

I stare back at the crowd, the glowing faces of my friends. Every present from the girls meant for two, every joke as if he had done it himself from half way around the world. Had they planned this all along? How could my parents be smiling so happily –usually, they just get worried anytime a boy is mentioned…

"How long has this been going on? And why didn't you say something years ago!" I thought back, the last three years feeling like I was in exile from my life because he wasn't here to tear it all to smithereens every afternoon. The tears were rising again, and I felt the lump begin in my throat. I fought the urge to punch him, and found myself fingering his gift anxiously.

"Usako," Those arms pulled around me again as the sobs began to fall. The use of such a sweet nickname only made it worse. I'd missed him so much! I'd wondered if it was even possible to feel love like this again, and we hadn't even dated! It wasn't fair! "You were so young. I didn't know if it was a phase. I had plans..."

His eyes came into view, downcast and saddened. I hated it when he did that, because it meant that so much more was going on inside his head. I couldn't reach him.

"I didn't know you were serious until Motoki told me. You didn't get the chance to date around..." he trailed off, as if expecting me to somehow be heartbroken by the idea of any other man laying a dirty hand on me. I gripped his shirt at the thought, knowing now more than ever that no one could make me feel like he did. Even raging mad. Even alone. Even from his fancy school in America.

"I don't want to."

"Are you sure? I need you to be sure, Usako. Once you're mine, that's it. I can't give you up." One shaking hand rose to touch my face, and I knew just as well how impossible it would be.

"No matter what, Mamo-chan." I gripped his hand carefully in mine, willing him to understand how serious I was.

I couldn't bear the thought of dating. The second I learned he'd gone, it was like the rug had been pulled, and nothing but the vacuum of space met me. Faces had traveled by in a blur, and a few had asked. But it was just him, with those quiet blue eyes and that perfect, razor sharp wit. How could anyone compare to him? How could I possibly want to try?

No, there had never been anyone else in all my young life.

"I have a year left at Harvard." He offered quietly, afraid to meet my gaze. My hand tightened across his.

"I'll wait!" the words shot from my mouth, so like the Odango he'd teased in the past. "I can wait for you, just please..."

I just needed him to know. Time didn't matter, and distance didn't count for anything. I'd waited 3 years, what was another when he was waiting at the finish line? If nothing else, I could work on my own dreams while he did the same; we could call and write. It wasn't his face that caught me so long ago, though I admit it sure made life difficult while I sorted things out.

I'm pretty sure he's the reason God invented Skype.

"Aishiteru, Odango Atema." The whisper burdened the air around us in a haze. His shirt was warm and soft; his smell every bit as inviting as I'd thought so long ago. The familiar weight of tears began to build at his sweet confession, and I found myself staring up into those impossible blue eyes.

All I do is cry around this man.

"Aishiteru, Mamo-baka."

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.

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…..

You guys, the world is freaking ending.

Well, more like I get to have a 40 hour work week rather than a 60. Which means more writing! Or…more likely, more wedding stuff. Sigh.

BUT THERE WILL BE WRITING!

Also, because it was hilarious, I'd like to share a snippet of my life which I hope you all find as amusing.

I'd like to start out saying I'm getting married to Mamoru. But for real. (Yes, I fan girl all the time!) He's introverted, wickedly intelligent, sarcastic, awkward around anyone but me and his hilarious blond friend, and constantly has to fight the urge to stick my hair in an ink pot. I was having a rough time about a week ago, so he wrote haiku and brought me red roses.

You can't make this stuff up!

In fact, for the sake of the story, we'll just refer to him as Tuxie from now on. It's a nickname that makes him turn funny colors, so all my roommates use it.

We were chatting last night about the need for a benevolent world dictator, because it's just obvious that we need one. I mentioned that Crystal Tokyo was still a viable option, should he want to go that route. It did, however, bring up the need for purple suites and pink haired children.

Tuxie said this:

"So I don't actually know anything about crystals or crystallography, but I do know a couple of professors who research them. I'm sure I could spend a week or two in their labs."

This is my moment to laugh like a donkey before he can continue. There was nothing said about the suite. If he had his way, he would wear an olive green blazer with elbow patches. (yeesh! Freaky, right? Even he laughed at that one when I explained Mamoru's awful fashion sense. Tuxie now thinks his cartoon counterpart is a style god.)

"You have a dream; we should harness the power of science to make it a reality!"

If only Mamoru had had more interest in science. Or world domination. Or mutant cyborg armies.

Love!

E