Revised: 1/2/14

I hope this story isn'tt going to be a disappointment. I'll try my very hardest to update both of my stories steadily. Please stay in tune and comment or subscribe. Those brighten my day considerably. Excuse me for any mistakes or confusion.

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One year later...

(Alaina’s POV)

The teacher droned on and on in that dull voice of his about some nonsense that occurred in history. Don’t get me wrong, I loved learning and everything—I was an outstanding straight-A student—but today, I felt...dismal.

My gaze was blank as I stared out the window-aligned wall of the class. Hazy gray clouds obscured the blue sky that I adored. Was it going to rain today? I hoped not. I'd been planning to visit the orphanage again.

Without minding if someone took notice, I slumped over my desk, sulking. I had a logical guess to why I was in a sulky mood: because everyone around me in a mile radius was also moody about the weather. Although I wasn’t in skin-to-skin contact with anyone, all the emotions condensed in one building loomed over me like a gray storm cloud.

Pit-pat-pit-pat. It began to drizzle, saturating the air with humidity before it progressed into a steady drum session of precipitation. The sky wept and it wept, its falling tears smudging the vertical plane of the window.

Watching the rain fall, I huffed to myself. Great, I thought bitterly, I forgot to bring an umbrella.

Bad luck just loved to follow me everywhere, didn’t it?

The bell rang shrilly, signaling lunchtime. A sigh expelled from my lips as I packed up my school papers into my bag. As I was quietly edging down the aisle, some kid bumped into me, making me lose my step and have my hip collide with a desk; I hid a wince.

“Whoa!” exclaimed the kid, then briefly glanced over his shoulder. “Gomen ne. I didn’t see you—”

I had quickly ducked out of the classroom before he had even finished his sentence. That was rude of me, but it didn’t matter if he was apologizing. His apology wasn’t sincere, and I understood if he didn’t see me—I was used to being invisible.

It’s raining, I thought mournfully. I usually eat on the roof.

Considering how I would rather jump off a cliff than eat in the cafeteria, I headed to the roof anyways. The rooftop was splattered with rippling puddles, the rain soaking the building structure a damp gray. I liked seeing it rain though—it was nice to have a change in scenery. I advisedly stayed under the safety of an underhanging that belonged to the structure sheltering the stairwell’s entrance. I sipped my carton of juice as I watched the sky cry a limitless amount of tears.

I wonder why the sky is crying, I mused. I, for one, am not. It wasn’t like I was prone to pathetic fallacy, but occasionally.

Raindrops shattered upon impact like shards of broken glass, hazardous remnants flying in a multitude of directions. I closed my eyes, hearing the dissonant tune it created.

What beautiful music.

...

“Alaina-san? Can you come up here for a second?”

Last period had ended when the teacher called out my name, many students hustling out to hurry home to avoid the wet weather. Brows furrowed, I shouldered my schoolbag and ambled over to my teacher’s desk while the classroom emptied itself.

“You called for me, sensei?” I inquired in a respectful tone.

The teacher smiled at me, lines fanning out in the corner of his eyes. “I have some great news for you, Alaina-san. It looks like you’ve been chosen as the exchange student for this year’s program to Seoul! Your academic scores and spotless attendance record outshone all other applicants.”

A dim light sparked in my dark eyes like coal being fed to a flame. The student exchange program? I had applied to that!

“Was I really chosen?” I gasped, baffled. “What about the scholarship to SNU?”

My teacher held up a hand, signifying patience. “Wait a second there—don’t go jumping to conclusions. Your request for a scholarship at SNU hasn’t been confirmed yet, but”—he strengthened his tone when my hopeful expression wavered—“if your performance during the program is exemplary, then they might just hand you one.”

Attending school in Seoul had always been my biggest dream. I was an intelligent girl, challenging myself with advanced classes and projects the school funded freely to me. Though I had started school a year late, since then, I had skipped two grades—currently a senior in high school at the age of sixteen (almost seventeen). I had accomplished numerous scholastic achievements and maintained my position as the third rank of my grade because I was a hardworking student, both academically and intellectually. I may not have the money to support my goals, but I definitely had the brains and the commitment.

I nodded my head fervently, a kindling fire set deep within my eyes. “I understand, sensei.”

My teacher smiled warmly. “Your flight to Seoul will be this Saturday,” he informed. “You’ll be excused from class Friday for any last minute packing.” He patted my shoulder encouragingly, and I suppressed my instinct to recoil away. “Go and do your best, ne?”

Stepping back, I bowed gratefully, and said, “Sensei, thank you so much. I promise I won’t fail.”

Unable to contain my excitement, I rushed off to the orphanage despite the pouring rain. I ran the entire distance there on foot, my hasty footfalls splashing water everywhere as I raced through the front yard. I saw the blur of yellow light that flooded out the front door as it was flung open to welcome me in.

It was an elderly women who had flung open the door, her heartwarming voice pitched with startlement as she appraised my drenched form. “Alaina?! My gracious, child! Did you run all the way here without an umbrella? Oh, dear, get inside—you’re sopping wet!”

A firm, weathered hand gripped at my upper arm. The long skirt of the women’s dress swept to the side as she hastily ushered me inside. My body shivered at the warmth the building provided; it began to defrost my chilled bones.

“I GOT IN!” I exulted, grabbing at the hands fussing over me. I was panting from my unplanned marathon, but my words were clear. “I’m the exchange student this year! I’m going to SEOUL!”

Eyes that held much wisdom widened in revelation. The old lady squeezed my trembling hands, sharing my happiness. “That’s wonderful, Alaina! But...” Her tone became chiding. “We need to get you out of these clothes before you catch a cold.”

I smiled meekly. “Hai, Ayano.”

Ayano took me upstairs to her quarters where she lived so I could take a hot shower. On her bed, Ayano laid out some of her old, but clean clothes for me since my sodden school clothes were currently being washed. It was a simple outfit she improvised for me: trousers, a tunic shirt, and she let me borrow her shawl. As I sat in front of an old-fashioned vanity table, Ayano towel-dried my hair while I recollected my day.

“Have your moods approved yet?” she asked me as she always did.

There was a thing about Ayano: she was like a dearest grandmother to me. It wasn’t just because she was the orphanage’s founder—no, she cared for me like I was her real granddaughter, treating me and raising me as her own. Having been in close contact with her before, I knew her feelings about me were genuine—her heart full of sincerity and love. I viewed her as the embodiment of trust and comfort; I could tell her whatever was on my mind, or she could just wheedle it out of me.

And since she was my grandmother, she was well-aware of my...strange capabilities that she referred to as gifts (much to my displeasure).

I could feel what other people felt; could imagine what they imagined. I sensed foreboding abnormalities in the atmosphere, and my dreams were so vivid and so real, I swore they weren’t just dreams. Sometimes, I heard voices in my head that only I could hear.

Pursing my lips, I shook my head somberly. “They haven’t gotten...they’re not any dimmer. My dreams are even more bizarre.”

“Do you need to see a doctor again?” Ayano tried to meet my gaze in the mirror. “I know Kazuko-san won’t mind doing another examination.”

Doctors, hospitals, sicknesses—I detested them. Dr. Sato Kazuko was a gentlemen, a local doctor who lent his assistance to the orphanage when he could, but I refused to have the need of ‘medical attention’. I hated attention. The last time a doctor gave me attention, I was branded as an overly sensitive empathetic and that was that. There was no other need for a psychiatrist or therapist of any kind—I wasn’t crazy or mentally-ill.

From an outsider’s view, I was an unsociable person with no friends my age. I was extremely reserved and was always daydreaming, pondering, or studying. But really, I was an acute observer and enjoyed my personal bubble. I preferred to spend most of my days roaming the streets during the day and cuddle up with a good book at night. To me, the only general company I mingled myself with was with anyone pertaining to the orphanage—I didn’t need anyone or anything else. Not wealth, not fame, and not expensive luxuries.

But I did want to explore—to have an adventure. That, I could obtain on my own.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, fidgeting with my fingers. Ayano didn’t insist any further.

Grooooowl.

My cheeks flushed with embarrassment as I clutched at my rumbling stomach. I hadn’t eaten much for lunch, so now my stomach was paying the price for my foolish mistake.

My grandmother sighed and tossed the damp towel in the hamper. “Tie up your hair and head downstairs,” she told me. “The children are about to eat dinner—go join them.” She tucked away a stray lock of my hair behind my ear. “Find me afterwards so I can give you some fever medicine, just in case.”

I stood up and faced her. “Hai, obaa-san.”

The dining area, which was basically a rectangular lunchroom, was already jam-packed with all the kids and caretakers alike. Caretakers hustled their butts to organize the younger children and pass out trays of food. I quietly seated myself next to a bunch of rowdy toddlers who stubbornly refused to eat a bite.

“You know, if you don’t eat, your stomach will complain,” I told the kids a matter-of-factly.

About six pairs of eyes glanced up at me. “My tummy will complain?” asked a girl, her lips upturned dejectedly.

I nodded, placing my hand over my stomach. “My stomach is doing that right now.” I winced, as if recalling the twisting pain. “It’s rumbling and groaning. I might get sick if I don’t eat, and the same might happen to you.”

My distress made the kids rethink their food-strike. “I don’t like getting sick,” grumbled a pouting boy.

I pointed at his untouched bowl. “Then eat, so you can stay healthy. And that way, you can go play.”

As if my words had the effect of a compulsion spell, the kids immediately dug into their food. I smiled at them adoringly, watching them smudge their faces with sauce and grains of rice.

A familiar presence hovered by my shoulder and I turned around just as a tray of food was slid onto the table before me. I glanced up to meet warm hazel eyes.

“Arigato, Yuki.” I smiled softly, touched by the undisguised generosity in those beautiful eyes of his.

Like me, Yuki was an orphan, but three years older—already in his freshman year of college. He was a handsome young man, with a slight, athletic build toned with wiry muscles, and a softly-sculpted, angular face adorned with a kind, winning smile. The most noticeable features about him had to be his short, dark hair that was swept sideways from his expressive, stormy eyes. I always loved those eyes of his; the hue would change depending on his mood. Right now they were clear and bright, like an azure sky filled with white clouds.

Compared to the kids around us, Yuki and I were the oldest of orphans. In retrospect, the orphanage had only been opened for about twenty years, but I had been here since I was four, and Yuki, seven. That meant we had spent about twelve years of our insignificant lives here, but not one complaint ever escaped our lips—not even a peep when we grew too old for adoption. We grew up just fine—with a roof over our heads, clothes on our bodies, food in our stomachs, and an education to support our futures. Though we had managed to scrape up enough money by working mediocre jobs to rent out our own places of living, we still came back to our roots. It was tough to separate ourselves from our home and family, especially Ayano.

Yuki nodded and sat across from me with his own set of food. We ate in comfortable silence, though we had to divide our time to monitor the noisy kids around us. Between the fussing and the squirming, I struck a conversion with Yuki about my day.

He was surprised when I told him about the exchange program.

“You’re going to Seoul?” he said, echoing my words with thick disbelief. His taut hand absentmindedly gripped the table’s edge, as if to brace himself from falling over.

“Yes, I was the one accepted out of all the other applicants. I’m flying to Seoul on Saturday.”

“That’s...too soon,” he murmured, eyes casted downward.

I frowned uneasily at his dismayed expression. “I-I’ve been wanting to travel outside of Japan for a long time.” I leaned forward almost beseechingly. “Don’t you think this is the perfect chance for that?” Anxiety churned at my insides.

Suddenly, Yuki looked up and smiled at me, but I could see the pain visible in his eyes. “You’re right,” he agreed, trying for a wholehearted tone. “It is the perfect chance. I hope you’ll have a wonderful time there.”

It was hard. It was so hard not to reach out and touch his hand to see if I could decode his emotions, but I resisted such notion. I would do it more discreetly when the two of us were alone.

“Are you going to tell the kids?” he asked me, inclining his head at the youngsters surrounding us.

I bit my bottom lip. “Yeah, either today or tomorrow.”

My best friend gave me a sad, wistful smile. “Good luck with that.”

...

Since it continued to rain all through the night, Ayano told Yuki and me to stay the night so we could avoid being drenched on the way home. It was too dangerous to travel at night anyways, especially for a young high school girl like me. Consequently, Yuki and I would be sleeping in our old dorm room. It was nothing new sharing a room with Yuki. We had actually been roommates when we were younger. Besides, Yuki was an honorable person; he wouldn’t take advantage of me, for that I was certain of.

After I swallowed the fever reducing pills Ayano insistently handed to me, I migrated myself to the downstairs playroom. There, I was focused on multitasking: doing my homework whilst watching the children with the other caretakers hovering about. The kids whined because they hadn’t been able to go outside to play today—which was a problem because that meant they were fully charged and equipped for hyperactivity.

A little seven-year-old girl asked if she could play with my hair.

“No,” I blurted out reflexively. Even though children had pure hearts and harmless intentions majority of the time, I was still adamantly adverse to skin-to-skin contact; it affected my mood greatly.

The girl’s bottom lip jutted out dejectedly. “Aw,” she whined. “Why not, A-chan?”

It was no use—I couldn’t deny granting someone a little bit of happiness. “Fine,” I surrendered with a sigh, turning around from where I sat cross-legged by a low table. “You can brush it if you like, but no styling.” I undid the hair tie that cinched my hair into a ponytail, letting it hug the outline of my heart-shaped face.

The girl beamed blithely and used a toy comb to brush the silky mass of black hair. Her fingers were small and delicate as they fluttered through the thickness, an appreciative hum resonating in as she did so. Every time the girl’s wandering fingers unintentionally trailed along the base of my neck or the top of my scalp, images flickered from beneath my eyelids. I saw a flower...a butterfly...a chime of a music box echoed faintly in my ears...

“Nee-chan?”

Blinking rapidly, I was freed from my trance. “Hm?” Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the girl was staring at me weirdly.

“You look sleepy,” she remarked bluntly. “Are you?”

“I’m fine,” I murmured and gave her a tiny smile. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll sleep in a little while.”

By eight o’ clock, it was curfew for the youngsters. An hour remained for the few older kids—the eldest probably a third-year in junior high—until their designated curfew. I helped tuck the little ones in bed—reading to one girl because my soft reading voice lured her to sleep, and singing to a boy because he loved it when I sang lullabies. My head and my body moaned in fatigue by the time the clock read eight-thirty. Thinking I might as well get a few extra hours of sleep, I trudged upstairs to my shared bedroom and flopped onto my twin-sized bed.

I sank into dreamland instantly, a content smile playing at the corner of my lips.

...

(Yuki’s POV)

“Alaina? Are you in here—oh.” Yuki stopped short when he saw his best friend already asleep on her bed. The expression that softened upon his face conveyed years of care and adoration. He crossed to her bedside, kneeling on the worn-carpeted floor.

He chuckled lightly. “You must be that tired, ne?” he whispered, noticing how Alaina hadn’t even bothered to wrap herself up in her blankets. Not wanting her to catch a cold, he tugged up the blankets and tucked her in—just like he would do when they were kids. Hazel eyes were warm and tender as he raised a hand to brush away the bangs that covered her pale, serene face. She had grown much more beautiful over the years, Yuki noted, but she had always been beautiful to his eyes. It was only now that he had the chance to observe such a quiet allure that was his friend. Alaina was unmistakably an angel.

Yuki smiled and leaned forward to kiss Alaina’s smooth forehead. “Oyasumi,” he whispered, his moving lips caressing her warm skin. He got up and turned off the lights.

...

(Alaina’s POV)

My dreams were vividly creative and borderline realistic, but for once, the setting was more familiar.

Before me was the front yard of the orphanage, but the building itself looked restored, as if the years had rewind itself. Why was it like that?

My question was answered when I spotted a pair of children sitting together on a patch of grass; it was a six-year-old me playing with a nine-year-old Yuki. I inched closer to the scene that I recalled from my childhood, a fond smile etching my lips. The younger versions of Yuki and I weren’t saying much as we played with our donated toys—but that’s because we communicated by exchanging facial expressions and maintaining eye contact. Smart children could speak intelligently beyond their years, but the quiet, introspective children, especially those who were closely bonded, could speak without words.

Now as I contemplated about it—was this my dream? A memory? A flashback? Usually I didn’t dream about my own memories.

Then I saw him: the older Yuki standing some distance away, also watching the younger versions of us enjoying our peaceful day outside. His hazel eyes were sad like they were during dinner. His narrow shoulders were hunched, a wistful twist to his mouth.

Without knowing what I was doing, I went to his side as if compelled by a gravitational force.

“I wonder what it’d be like if we’d stayed as them forever,” he murmured when I neared him, my watchful gaze trained on his unreadable face.

Did he know that he was dreaming? And that, to me, this was actually happening? What he said or did, I would remember, but he wouldn’t—at least not completely.

I regarded the young us for a moment, then redirected my gaze back to his handsome face. “Then we would’ve been...too clueless about life,” I whispered, my voice soft and full of blatant honesty. “Too sheltered and weak.”

Yuki made a low ‘hmm’ sound in the back of his throat. “I guess so.” Without any hesitation or a glance my way, he reached out and took my hand. I stiffened at first, but then realized my...gifts couldn’t react in the surreal world. Yuki rubbed his thumb over my white knuckles, the sensation giving me tingles...of the good kind, but I didn’t want it.

“Do you know that you’ve never referred to me as your closest friend?” he asked softly. “But I knew you considered me as one.” His lips pressed together contemplatingly. “But I’ve always wondered...did your perspective of me changed when I entered high school? After a few years passed, I moved out, and you were busy with middle school...”

His words took a minute to sink in, and when it did, my eyes widened in disbelieving realization. He was right...I had never...

“You are my friend,” I asserted, quick to reassure him. “My...only...friend.”

A small smile lifted up the corners of his sternly-curved lips, the change in facial features lighting up his withdrawn expression, but he was still reminiscing of the old days.

“You know...I used to think that we were the prince and princess of the orphanage.” He chuckled. “And when we got older, I considered us the king and queen.” A twinkle of happiness seeped into his expression, and my heart fluttered in shared empathy.

I smiled. “That’s wonderful. Why didn’t you tell me?”

It surprised me when I saw a visible blush coloring Yuki’s ashen cheeks. “I-I thought you’d say it was silly. You were always the mature one, and the reasonable one.”

“Iie,” I disagreed gently. “Not really. I’m the one with the weird—” I shook my head and sighed. “Nevermind,” I said under my breath.

Yuki tore his gaze away from the past memory of us and rested it on me. Those hazel eyes of his were clear of storm clouds and reflecting a gentleness that reminded me of touching cotton. His husky voice was a low and soft as he admitted, “Alaina, you’re beautiful—do you know that? I never had the chance to tell you that either. I...I had thought...when you graduated and I got a steady job that we could...”

My heart tightened at his hopeful words. “We could what?” I urged.

Yuki was studying my face for so long that my cheeks heated up. There was something determined about the way he looked at me, as if he was gathering courage to confess.

And I was right, he was confessing.

“That we...that you...would agree to marry me.”

My throat went dry and my eyes widened with incredulity. “M-me?” I stammered. “Y-Yuki, you—”

His other hand already interlocked with mine, he raised his free hand to caress my pale cheek. The pink of my skin deepened in hue. “I’ve actually been thinking about it these past few months,” he explained. “And when you told me you’d be spending the rest of your year in Seoul, I felt like the world had disappeared from right under me. It—it made me really scared—” his voice trembled “—that I might lose my best friend, my only companion.”

At that, I reached up to gently bring his hand down from my cheek. My voice was softer than soft, underlined with patient understanding and reason. “You’re right, Yuki. I am your best friend, your companion, but I’m not the person you’ll spend the rest of your life with.”

He frowned. “Why not?” he demanded. “When we have enough money, we can fix up the orphanage and take over ownership from Ayano.”

“I’m not that kind of person who can be tied down because of marriage.” Wait, that didn’t come out right. I tried again shakily: “I—I don’t— I’m not someone who could fall in lov—” I faltered and swallowed the lump in my throat, hot, frustrated tears stinging at the corner of my eyes. I was lying to myself, and I knew it, but I wouldn’t admit it. “You need to grow up, Yuki. You can still take care of the orphanage, but you should think about yourself, too. Don’t think you can just bottle up the ideal world you want and always have it tucked at your side. There’s a bigger world out there.” My gaze was as strong as my voice. “Look for that world—where it has everything that you could’ve ever want and more. Find it, and you’ll be living a much better life than never coming out of your secret hiding spot.”

A pregnant silence ensued, neither of us speaking a word. Yuki’s bewildered yet fierce gaze never left my face. Finally, he heaved a big sigh and let me go. The warmth of his body against mine ebbed away.

“I was right, you are the reasonable one,” he said. He smiled at me and then looked back at his cherished memory of us playing in the grass. We were laughing at something. Actually laughing.

“Ja, Yuki,” I whispered, and the dream released its hold on me.

...