Chapter Text
The phone would ring four times before the answer machine picked up, and the wait between each one felt like an eternity.
"Tsukino. We are out right now. Please leave a message—"
Mamoru hung up for the third time in a row, unable to bring himself to leave a message because a callback wasn't what he needed, and besides, would she even be able to call him here at this random phone booth he'd found between a bank and a butcher's, far enough away from the pubs that he could finally hear his own thoughts? Not that they were pleasant ones.
What he needed was to hear her voice now. Ever since that strange, spectral encounter in the bar, he could not stop trying to see behind the curtain of reality and it was making him frantic. Somewhere in his head—some rapidly diminishing place—he knew it was irrational, but in his heart, he was afraid—
No.
He was downright petrified that something was deeply, horribly wrong.
He picked up the receiver again and punched in the long sequence of numbers he knew by heart, the thirty-six digits that would first connect to his calling card and then allow him to call home. Sometimes it amazed him how simple it was to be able to talk to someone across ten thousand kilometers, but sometimes all those numbers made him homesick, each digit feeling like a whole planet between him and the ones he loved most.
He kept the card in his wallet next to her picture, and made sure the balance was always full. It was the first expense his scholarship stipend went to, even ahead of his meal card.
Ring…
Please answer, Usa.
…ring…
I need you.
…ring…
Are you still there?
…ring.
I can't…
"Tsukino. We are out right now. Please leave—"
He slammed the phone back down on its hook with a frustrated growl, then slumped against the box with his face buried in his arm.
What was wrong with him? He'd never been the sort to panic easily, and the few times he had had never felt like this—his insides coiled to breaking point, his heart and mind racing, his fingers wanting to claw at himself, his arms, his face, his hair, in insuppressible agitation. He curled them into fists to keep from hurting something, either himself or the booth, and tried to regulate his breathing in a desperate bid for control. Instead, he broke into hard, wracking sobs.
The reaction horrified him—what was he even crying about?—but it did release the worst of the terror that had built up inside of him. For the moment, he no longer felt like clawing off his own skin.
He picked up his head and the phone and tried again, stabbing at the numbers half-blindly through his tears. When the connection went through, he slid down to the ground to wait, knees tucked tightly to his chest and the receiver clutched even tighter like a lifeline. Cold seeped in through his back from the plexiglass wall.
Ring…
A lock of hair stuck to his wet face and he scraped it back roughly, catching sight of his reflection in the opposite wall as he did so. It looked as pathetic as he thought it might. The frightened expression reminded him of the pain he'd seen in his other self, pain so deep, it could only be caused by one thing. His heart leapt into his mouth just to think of it.
…ring…
He pulled on his hair harder, as if the self-punishment would make any difference.
…ring…
He was shaking so hard, the phone booth rattled, and another wave of sobs was cresting in his throat.
…ring…
Usa, where are you!
"Hello?"
A cry of relief burst from his lips like a bullet, and if he hadn't already been sitting on the ground, his legs undoubtedly would have given out beneath him.
"Hello?" The person on the line repeated. She sounded confused, and he jammed a fist against his mouth to keep from alarming her with his wretched sounds. But he knew he had to speak soon, whether or not he was ready, to keep her from hanging up.
"Usako." His voice sounded awful, rough and trembling and nearly giving out after just one word. Oddly, and thankfully, she didn't seem to notice.
"Mamo-chan!"
The sheer delight with which she cried his name was a salve to his fever of fear. He could picture her face just from the sound—eyes sparkling, mouth open in a joyful smile, skin glowing like sunshine. He longed with his entire soul to hold her.
"I almost missed you! The phone was ringing when I walked in the door, and I tripped over my shoes taking them off so I could run for it, but I would have been so mad if it was just one of Shingo's stupid friends, but I had a feeling it was important and I was right!
"What are you doing? I love yooooooou." She finally paused to take a breath, or so he thought until she went from chirpy to concerned in an instant. "Why are you calling so late?"
The question caught him off guard. Not once in the whole time he'd been away had she ever pretended to remember what the time difference was. "How do you know it's late?"
"Papa put a clock next to the phone set to the time in America. He got tired of me asking him every day what time it was there."
In spite of everything, that managed to make Mamoru smile. His beautiful, carefree Usako. Why had he ever decided to go so far away from her?
"Is everything okay?" she persisted. "What are you doing?"
He was tempted to lie, to say he was in his dorm so she wouldn't worry, but he didn't like deceiving her. And what if whatever he'd seen tonight was important?
"I went out with some friends for St. Patrick's Day," he said carefully. "I wasn't going to go, but they talked me into it, said it was tradition. We went out to some bars, and everything was so…so…green, including the people. It was crowded and loud, but they managed to find some seats and I was making my way over to them when I—"
I think I saw Death, and he had my face. He swallowed back the words just in time.
"I missed you," he said instead. "I needed to talk to you, so that's why I called. Are you okay?"
After starting out almost normal, his voice betrayed him in the end, catching on the things he couldn't say, and the rest of his words tumbling out gracelessly like pebbles rolling down a jagged hill.
"I miss you too," she said quietly. Too quietly. Too calmly. In an even softer tone, she asked, "Mamo-chan, are you drunk?"
His mirthless bark of laughter was probably all the answer she needed. Why was everyone so obsessed with that when potentially something far worse might have been going on?
"A little, yes," he admitted, and he didn't consider it a lie. "I went out to get some air."
"By yourself?"
"Yes." No one here would understand.
"Are you sure you're okay? Do you friends know where you went?"
He loved her so much for worrying about him, but he hated himself for worrying her at all. Why couldn't he be a better liar? His thoughts got tripped up somewhere between his brain and his mouth as he tried to think of something both honest and placating to say.
Sudden movement outside the booth made him look up sharply, and that turned out to be a big mistake. Nothing was out there as far as he could tell, but the feeling that the night air was going to split open at any moment and reveal a nightmare overwhelmed him. His vision swam as he stared wide-eyed and unblinking into the dark, pulse drumming in his ears and his nails lancing into his scalp.
"Mamo-chan? Are you still there?"
"Tell me about your day," he whispered. "Did you go anywhere? Who did you see? What are you wearing right now?" I need to know you're real.
"Mamo-chan!" Her scandalized tone made him realize how his questions had sounded. "You're lucky Papa isn't home right now."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Sure, Mr. I'm-only-a-little-drunk. It's nothing too racy, sadly, since it's the middle of the afternoon. What are you wearing?"
Slowly he extended his arm in front of him, surprised he could have forgotten for even a moment about his uncanny jacket. It was supposed to have kept him safe…
"It's a green jacket. My roommate insisted—"
"Oh good. I know you always forget about that. Not that I should mind since it means I get to pinch your butt."
He tried to smile, but couldn't do it. "Usa, what was I wearing the day I left?"
"What?"
He closed his eyes and silently asked for her forgiveness for how much he was about to distress her. It couldn't be helped. He had to know or he would go insane.
"The day I left for America. At the airport. What was I wearing?"
"Are you sure you're okay? Where are you? Should I get someone to come find you?"
"I'm okay." His trembling voice belied his words, but there was nothing for it. "Please just tell me."
"Okay. Um. You were wearing your jacket with a vest underneath because you said it gets cold on planes, but no tie because your flight was like a hundred hours long and nobody would wear a tie for that, not even you. And you didn't wear your necklace either because you didn't want to have to take it off in the security line.
"Do you really not remember?" She sounded sad. "I do because we'd never had to say goodbye before."
Until an hour ago, he thought he did remember. Now he wasn't sure if his memories could be trusted.
"What color was my jacket?"
"What? Mamo-chan, why is this so important? I'm not answering you anymore until you tell me what's wrong."
I never made it off the plane.
Tears welled in his eyes as the terror returned. "Please, Usa."
"Fine. But promise me you'll go back to your friends after this, okay? You shouldn't be alone right now. And I want you to call me when you get back to your dorm, no matter what time it is. Do you promise?"
"I promise. I'll call you no matter what." I'll do anything to make sure you're still there. That I'm still here.
"Okay." She hesitated, and he would swear he saw his entire life in that tiny fluttering moment. Finally, she said, "It was green."
He dropped the phone with a strangled cry.