But I don't think he cared. I had asked him what he wanted, not pleasantly I might add. He just looked up at me, his sapphire eyes tinkling as if he knew something I did not. I believe that day was the first time I had smiled at a customer.
I guess he had sensed my inner turmoil; my grief over this nondescript job. I don't know if he decided to make my time at this café worth it, or if he just wanted to come back for the coffee every day.
But I saw him again the next day. His eyes were unchanging, and I still remember them that way. Maybe that day was different, but he asked what my name was. I thought it was a simple enough question, so I answered it.
I didn't grouch or complain. It was just something simple, but it made my day brighter…especially when he told me his name.
Even though I didn't know if he was going to come back again, I was looking forward to the next day working at this dismal café.
I'm sure a lot of you know how much I despise men. Not all men, just men in-general. I've just had such bad experiences with the male species that I just decided no more. I'd always suffered when my friend's hearts were broken.
Alright, so then he came along. I didn't know what had come over me, back then. I started rushing to work in the mornings and in the afternoon I'd tell everyone how much I loved my job. I even started smiling to almost all of my customers. I never yelled when the plates were too hot when I touched them and I never complained when one man would order an ass load of food.
And it wasn't because the tips were about fifty times better…although I will admit at one time when I couldn't grasp the idea of love, it was my impetus.
Then he'd come in, and my mood would be even better than before, if anyone can even imagine that! It's pretty rare to see me happy, especially happy to see a silly boy I didn't even know. But still, he greeted me the same as he did the other day, but instead he used my name.
But I noticed something different about him. Maybe his eyes were different, but I doubt that. But I knew something was odd. So I took the time to ask after my shift was over. I sat on the opposite side of him and I left my hands on the table as I looked into his beautiful eyes.
He told me that he was going off to war. I didn't know what that meant, though. I didn't know what he was going to do. So I asked. It was a stupid question, I know, but it didn't seem like he minded.
He told me that he was going out on the front line. He said that he might not come back.
I truly didn't know what to do. I wanted to cry, but I didn't know what for. I hardly knew this guy, and yet I wanted to cry painstakingly because he was leaving me. Because he was leaving someone he didn't know?
It just didn't make sense.
Some part of me wanted to reach over and take him up in my arms. For some odd reason, he looked hurt that I looked hurt. I shook my head, I remember doing that. I asked him why.
For once in my life, I think I finally did something meant to be. From what I can remember, I told him about how I had hated work. I told him all that I say here today; that he made coming to work enjoyable…I told him that he made me wish tomorrow would come faster.
I think I almost cried for the first time when I told him that. Sure, I had only known him for about five days, but I wanted to know him better. I wanted to learn about his family, I wanted to know what made that smile turn upside down. I wanted to know what worried him; that thing that would put wrinkles on that beautifully flawless face of his.
I think I was in love, even though I didn't know him. It was something that only happened in folktales, and that's what I kept on telling myself. That's what I tell myself today, surprisingly.
Well, he must have thought my confession was heartfelt because he put his hands on top of mine. It was one of those things that make a girl feel warm everywhere. All I needed was just his simple contact; his smallest touch; his first sign of emotion of that nature to me.
We walked out of the café, me still in my apron and deathly cute uniform. We didn't talk though…we still didn't know each other well, but I knew he wanted to know just as much about me as I wanted to know about him.
He was such a puzzle to me. Even though he seemed so open, I still knew nothing of him. For all I know, he wished it to be that way.
We went up to Takaihiru, an extremely tall hill overlooking the city. I don't know how long we talked for, it might have been hours. I asked him about his heritage; where he grew up. I asked him about his family (good Lord, who would've known he had 29 sisters?). He told me of his family's good fortune, and his inheritance. He told me what he remembered of his parents, although he hadn't seen them for years.
I got to know that man who visited my café daily. And I still think it's a blessing to this day, five years later.
Amazingly, I even remember the smallest detail that he revealed to me that day; he was just a few days past 18. That means he was only two years older than me…but why would that matter?
At the end of that day, we watched the sunset; me leaning on his shoulder and his head atop of mine. Our hands were intertwined. Did I mention I felt like I was going to explode with butterflies with him next to me? I could smell is cologne; roses I think it was.
He asked for my address, that man. I gave it to him, not one ounce doubtful of his intentions; I knew him. He then told me he would write to me as much as he could.
We parted in front of the café, and I walked home by myself. I can't tell you how painful it was, because it's indescribable. All I could think about was his face; his brilliant blue eyes and his pale blonde hair that had always managed to fall into his face.
Have I mentioned how polite he was? He never once made me angry, and that in itself is a miracle.
Those letters he spoke of came soon after written in his magnificent cursive; better than any cursive I've written, that's for sure.
I never told anyone about these letters, though, or about him for that matter. I guess he was my little secret; my little secret soldier.
The only problem is that the letters started to be fewer and fewer. I can't tell anyone how much this hurt; never could I break down and cry because…the one I love was showing less interest in me.
I don't know what was wrong with me, for this to happen. All I can say is that I was starting to think I wasn't good enough, and no one should ever think that about themselves.
I sort of entered a deep depression, but the letters still came. The letters were the only things keeping me alive, I think. My friends didn't know this, not even my best friend. Because he was my secret little soldier and nothing would change that.
I vowed to myself, silently, that I'd never look at another man. I'd never talk to one, or even notice the presence of a man. Not because he broke my heart, but because I wanted to keep it open for him. I only wanted him to fill that place in my heart.
One letter, maybe the best one I had ever gotten, was one that told me how rough he was having it. He apologized for not sending me many letters. I think he wanted to make it all up to me, so he gave me a return address – the Winner mansion in Saudi Arabia.
Also in that letter, was what he had kept in his heart ever since that day at Takaihiru. He told me what he was scared of other than what he told me before. He told me, surprisingly, that whenever he closed his eyes he saw my pretty smile.
My smile was…pretty?
He said he couldn't get the day at Takaihiru off his mind, or the first time he had set his eyes on me at the café. He described how I made him feel, and how my simple touch made him feel warm all over.
It was like my words were in his mouth?
The last thing I remember reading off that letter, was that he loved me.
So I guess this letter is my response to his.
I want to tell him that…I'm scared of the dark. I want to tell him how much I despise ice cold water, and how swimming is definitely not my sport. I want to tell him I love reading the Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales, and that I love music. I want to tell him I love strawberry swirl ice cream and that I hate Oreos; those things are just nasty.
I want to tell him that tardiness makes me angry. Being messy and sloppy irritates me. Anything unorganized just plain pisses me off. And one last thing; that he doesn't anger me in the least.
So lastly, finishing this letter, I have one last thing to say to him. I love you. I love the way you walk, the very way you talk with such sophistication. I love the way you say my name, and how you write to me in that cursive of yours. I love the way you can be authoritative, but not be domineering like me. I just love everything about you, and that's never going to change.
This is Duo Maxwell, a close friend of Quatre's. He told me about you a while back. He bestowed upon me the duty of writing to you if he was unable to…so here I am.
It isn't that Quatre isn't here or doesn't want to write to you, it's just the fact that he's not physically or mentally here.
About a month ago, since letters are delayed in arriving to you, Quatre stopped writing to you. And through all those times the letters had been getting shorter, and less…it was because his life was getting more dangerous.
I'm not usually the one to break bad news to beautiful young ladies like you, but this time I'm the only one I can, because Quatre can't.
I'd like to tell you a little more about him that you may not have known about. Quatre is, as you said, just past eighteen. He's fought in many wars before. During those years, I saw him mature, and I grew to love him like family.
Quatre was a simple man, even though he was rich as hell! He wasn't snooty, more humble. He was more polite than any man should be, but I guess that's a good thing. Quatre never got in over his head…okay, maybe once, but that was a long time ago.
I won't get into that, because that's not a side of Quatre that he'd want you to remember.
Like I said before, Quatre was an overall great guy. Out of the five of us, he was always the one to end disputes and calm us. He'd provide his home for us to stay in when the times were rougher than rough. He was like the family I never had.
And I guess you were like the family he wished he had.
I can't say more, because his life with the five of us isn't honorable, or at least not honorable enough. Let me just put it this way, he's not always a nice guy. There's a side of us not many know, it's the side where he's a lot more merciless.
Quatre has killed before. Maybe the people he's killed were meant to be killed, and deserved it, but we're not ones to judge that. But I guess it came back to get him, because now…well, he's the one buried in the ground.
Sure, that was rude. But we all do it, all five of us. We kill for a living, but not as you might expect. We are soldiers, as you've stated above. And in yours eyes, I hope Quatre remains your …secret little soldier.
Because I know that he was a soldier, and he died how he would have liked to die.
I don't think this soothed you, or healed your wounds. But I hope at least you have resolution. Maybe someday we can meet, the…four…of us and you, to talk about Quatre.
I'll send you an invitation to his funeral, be sure to be there. I'll be waiting for you; maybe you can give a speech.
Good luck to you, in the love department that is. Please don't let the death of Quatre keep you from love, because that's not what he would have wanted.
Instead, she held the tear-stained letter close to her heart, putting the envelope in the fire. She watched the flames engulf it, and wished she too was dead.
Because now that she had resolution, she hurt even more than before. She knew that her wall would grow as tall as the flames, and hopefully her wall will always be guarded by the keeper of her heart.
I tightly lock the door.
I try to catch my breath again.
I hurt much more.
Than anytime before. Dedication: SVZ because she inspired me with her stories and the style she writes. I love you ^__~ You get to be my new 'run-my-ideas-by-you-forever-and-ever' person. Special Thanks to: SILVERCALADAN, who else? We burned each other's eyes with our font colors once. It was fun lmfao ^__^;; Can't forget our hyperness, and my equation (which I didn't get to tell to you because I forgot it so fast): h = LF + D - S (hyperness = laughing X frappucchino + depression - sleep). Oh, and ... the fact that I shall NEVER chug water again O.o Author's Notes: This is a one-shot, written...because I felt like it. I want input. Review, criticize, flame...what the fuck ever, do it. I don't know if I'll write another chapter since this is a one-shot lol So don't ask. That's all I have to say...OH, just a reminder...I do not own the characters in this story. And 'Takaihiru' means, literally, tall hill. ^_~ Since they were in Japan, I decided to use Japanese places. If you can't handle Rei writing in English (cursive) to Quatre, just pretend she writes in Japanese to him and he writes in English to her. *shrug* I don't care. Whatever gets you there. - Transcendent.