A/N: Yo! Guess I'll throw this fic up here because it's one of the rare pieces of writing I actually don't have major gripes with. This thing was written for the the first prompt at lj community yuri (underscore) challenge in 2008. The prompt was: “You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place…like you’ll not only miss the people you love but you’ll miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you’ll never be this way again.” – from “Reading Lolita in Tehran” by Azar Nafisi

So yes, I hope you enjoy. Probably should warn you before you go off that it is written in second person POV. Might take some getting use to.

A Toast

A sense of fear, no, not quite. It is a sensation that prickles across your neck, causing you to shiver and silently shake from where you stand. It is nightfall. You don one of your beautiful dresses and are decked in some of your finest jewelry. It is the exact opposite of the outfit you choose to wear in daylight. During the school hours, you are girl dressed like a prince with a dangerous air around her. An air not of a noble, but more of a wounded beast: one that no one dares to approach in fear of getting scratched and yet is admired from afar.

And now you are a princess, waiting, wanting to be saved. See, here you go, up the elevator, to your tower. Perhaps, tonight, your knight shall ride to meet you and beg you to let down your hair. It’s a pity that, even if you straighten the curls out, your hair will never be long enough for him to climb up.

A sense of dread, no, not quite. It is a whisper in the back of your mind, a dire warning, an ominous harbinger of what is yet to come. You get this odd impression that there will be no turning back. You have nearly reached the end of the concerto. Soon comes the candenza.You will have to prepare your bow, ready your instrument, breathe in, breathe out. Your script will soon end and there your improvisation begins.

In the morning, you lean here with your arms folded protectively at your chest in an air of indifference that is both to project your supposed nonchalance and hide your open wounds. Over there a red-haired boy stands pretending to be prince along with a blue-haired boy who seemingly tries to stop, or at least, comprehend time. And there an easily provoked green-haired boy who appears when it pleases him. Together, as the Student Council in the school of make-believe, you speak of breaking the world’s shell to survive. It sounds preposterous but you’ve accepted the philosophy as your own. Even now, at night, you lean at your designated place and when the elevator comes to a crashing halt you cannot help but to whisper—breaking the silence:

“For the revolution of the world.”

Candles lights flicker every once and a while as the wind blows, but none are ever blown out. A red silk cloth covers the table. There your portrait rests in the center next surrounded by bouquets of flowers and a bottle of wine. Today, there are only two chairs to match the two crystal wineglasses also on the table. And you smile; it is a candlelight vigil for yourself. How vain.

You bypass the table and the feeling of cool marble hits the bottom of your palms as you grasp the railings. From here, you can see the whole school—you feel as if you are at the top of the world, looking down, a spectator. Bright yellow lights are beneath you, the lights of student’s dorms, streetlights. The wind is gentle, light. It is peaceful night.

“Wine?” Someone asks from behind.

“Thank you.” You turn around and accept. You hand brushes against hers and Shiori blushes slightly.

“You look…nice.” She says softly, looking down, self-conscious in her school uniform. The contrast between you two has never been so apparent.

You silently nod and turn around. The atmosphere when you two are together is never quite comfortable, even now…especially now. There is always an unspoken tension, things never said, but are known. You wear no locket, but even so.

“I heard you’re leaving.” She says after a tentative silence in an equal tentative voice.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s my turn.”

She walks closer to the railings, to your side. She cradles the wineglass with both hands, delicately. She looks so innocent there, like that. But you know better. As fragile as she looks, it would be you who would break trying to go against her.

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer?” She asks, trying to sound calm, but both of you know she is pleading. “You only have a year left before you graduate.”

“There isn’t a reason for me to stay. No. I can’t stay here. I have to move on.” You mean it. Ohtori is the shell and you have grown too big for it. It is suffocating you. You tire of hearing the same song playing in the background, day in, day out. You tire of all the phrases, the meaningless gestures, and ghosts around every corridor. Even though you do not remember much, it’s all there, those apparitions from a hellish year that is all a blur. You only remember bits and pieces of it but what you remember is enough to give you nightmares. Of swords being ripped out of one’s chest, of a pink-haired girl in a boy’s uniform who no one remembers. You’re not sure you do either.

“So there isn’t any way for me to convince you to stay?” She looks at you with those pleading eyes, making your heart skip a beat and you inwardly curse.

“There is. But would you be cruel enough to ask it of me?” Your voice is raw. Today, no more masks. “Would you, Shiori?”

Your openness startles her. For a second your heart and your resolve sinks, her eyes are dark and you feel fear. You’re scared of her, your chest throbs. There is a complete darkness in her eyes, cruelty, a smirk on her lips. There lies your defeat. But when she blinks, it all disappears. She looks ashamed of herself.

“No. But I still don’t understand why.”

“Today is my revolution. I don’t need for it to be loud or dramatic or for it to be fought with swords. I just need it to be here and now.” You gain resolve. There are no princes here so you’ll just have to save yourself. You don’t care for titles, but if it meant that you would become “prince-like,” then fine. “Tonight, I’m breaking both our chains. I can’t keep hiding in your shadow and you in mine. It’s holding both of us back. ”

“W-What are you talking about, Juri?”

“Do you know who was in my locket?”

“Your locket. That’s what started everything, wasn’t it? It wasn’t Ichiro, was it?”

“It…was you.”

From here, there is no turning back. You know the dangers that you will face, and that you are about to possibly breach the relationship you hold dearest to your heart. Even though you can’t stand that feeling, the knowledge of her hating you—or worst—her fearing you, you know you’ll have to jump this hurdle sometime. That you will have to announce and describe each one of your personal demons for the world—no, for her…for Shiori to hear.

“Oh.”

You close your eyes; your script has almost ended. All you need to finish is this night, this one night. Then you will be free. You’re not sure how it will end, but tonight there will be finality. There will be an ending. You hope that it will end with a sweeping solo, a song played primarily on the violin’s lowest strings, deep and moving, with you and her toasting to a girl who would no longer exist under the shimmering moon.

All you know is this moment, this thought, and this sight. You will only exist as you do at this moment, on the very edge, teetering between the Juri of old and the one you will soon forge. Once you leave this tower, this school, you will cast it all behind. You will look back in recollection, but will never live in the past again.

So for now, just savor in it all.