DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tokyo Mew Mew at all.

A/N: This one was a hard one to write in some ways, a few tears were shed in its making. I know the writing is probably sub-par to my usual standard, but I needed to get this out, and reading over it a million times was not really an option. Personal experience helped with this one... This story is my something good that came from something bad that has happened. Without any more rambling about me, I give you:

He Changed His Mind. . .

By Brown-eyed Wolf

His arms, so warm and familiar, wrapped around me tightly, crushing me to his body. His long fingers, fingers that looked like they were suited for the delicate movement that music required, pressed into my back, clinging. I knew why he held me like that, I held him in the same painful embrace, knowing how soon it would be over. It would all be over. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, and defiantly I refused to let them fall, not anymore, not in front of him again. My arms constricted tighter as the seconds ticked away, painfully fast. Tick, tick, tick. Too soon he was pulling away, holding my shoulders at arms distance; his face was a mask, whatever he was feeling I couldn't decipher it. He smiled, a small smile, nothing like what he used to give me, the ones that used to light up his whole face. The smile he gave me didn't reach his eyes.

"We're growing up together. We're better for all of this." His words were sincere; he was trying to ease me out of this gently. If anything I appreciated the effort, he didn't want to hurt me. Too bad he couldn't avoid it. I nodded mutely, not trusting myself to talk; I didn't want to hear the sad crack in my voice as I answered.

He came to me, not exaggerating anything with dramatic slowness. His pace showed the familiarity of the movement, we had this part down to an art, and it was the last one ever. Our lips touched, and inside I ached, knowing it was the last kiss we would ever have. I knew I would miss it, the closeness, the sensation. I tried to savour it, elongate it, but too soon it was over, and I was left staring at him, empty. I fought the urge to whimper pathetically.

It was time for my departure, and although I wanted to throw my arms around him and refuse to leave, I knew that I couldn't do that. I couldn't go against what he wanted, and I wouldn't. I turned away from him, feeling the loss as his fingers left my shoulders, and walked to the front gate, pausing to fumble with the clasp that held it firmly shut. His voice, a voice I would have known anywhere, made its way to me. "I love you." It was a goodbye, a final send off. My throat dried and it became hard to swallow. My nose stung and I knew tears were coming. I wouldn't answer him, I wouldn't let the words I wanted to say tumble out because I wouldn't be able to stop. I had to stop talking so openly, I couldn't love him anymore, he wasn't mine to love. So I stayed mute, turning back as I finally opened the gate and gave him a sad smile, my own goodbye.

I walked carefully home, each step away from him excruciating. My thoughts, unsaid words swirled in my head, loud and all consuming. Masaya... I love you, I don't want to go, please don't force me to. I'll be better, I'll try harder, and I'll do anything. I wish you would change your mind. I wish you would run out and tell me you were stupid, that you would never give up on me. I know that won't happen. You changed your mind about me. You won't change it back.

I couldn't hold back the tears anymore; it was too hard to bottle them in. Crying was the only thing I could do, crying for the loss I had suffered, and the pain that was to come. It hurt. It felt like my stomach had flipped in my body and kept getting poked with a stick until it was raw and bleeding. I had always thought having your heart broken was just an expression, but as I walked I was acutely aware of the pain in my chest, a constricting tearing pain that vibrated through me. He changed his mind. . .

I didn't know how it was possible to do that, to give up a year of your life for someone, and then change your mind about them. Not want them anymore. What hurt more was the realisation that he wouldn't have done this without foresight, he had been planning it, evaluating his decision and still it came to that. I had caused him that much pain that he didn't want to face it anymore, even if he knew it would hurt me. He had always been so careful about causing me pain, always said it was the last thing he would ever want to do. Apparently I had made his life so bad that he was only left with that option. The realisation was like a knife to my skin, slicing until red beads flowed, splattering silently on the pavement.

Every step was another small cut, scratch, bruise to my skin. The farther away I walked, the more it hurt, mostly because I couldn't turn back. I didn't want to walk this path, I hated it, but it was my only option. When one door shuts, another opens. The door didn't just shut, I was pushed out of it and it slammed right in my face, leaving only the other doors open to me. His door was now locked, I wouldn't never be allowed in it again, not like I once was. Ironically enough his door was the only one I wanted open, I'd have happily turned my back on all those others for him. I was sure that no other door would offer what I wanted most in the world, him.

More metaphors filled my head; the words that I knew would be coming from all my friends. Ryou's face came to me, filled with pity for my situation. "There are plenty of fish in the sea, Ichigo. Don't worry."

Mint's polite face came next, showing just a dash of concern, mainly because she didn't really like Masaya. "It could work in your favour too Ichigo, you can see other people as well. Get out in the world some more."

Pudding was next in the line in my mind, her hand patting my own, trying to comfort me. "He wasn't good enough for Ichigo, na no da."

None of the words helped, in fact, they just made it all worse. I didn't want to be consoled that there were others out there. I didn't want to know that I could see those others, nor that the boy I loved wasn't good enough for me. All their faces were worried for me, concerned that I was hurting, but none of their words were what I wanted to hear. In fact, I didn't know what I wanted to hear from them. What could they say that would make it better? Nothing.

It was precisely that reason I didn't feel tempted to call any of my friends, even Lettuce who would listen to me moan on and on. I didn't want to drag them into this because I didn't even know what I wanted from them. I didn't want their pity, and I was terrified that was all I would get. All I wanted was him back, and it was the one thing that was off limits. Heartbreak was immeasurably horrible. I couldn't even call him, I was meant to be distancing myself. It was what he wanted. I felt like I had lost my best friend. Didn't it matter what I wanted, was I entitled to be selfish too?

When I finally got home I dodged my parents, yelling that I was going to go to bed. I knew they wouldn't question it, it was nine at night, and I was at Masaya's most of the afternoon. Silently I closed my bedroom door and collapsed heavily on my bed, sobbing into my pillow and hugging it as close as I could. It didn't help one tiny bit.

Thoughts that I dreaded thinking welled up to the surface, making me question everything, dwell on every little microscopic detail. Stupidly I started a line of thinking that would lead to nothing good, a string of what if's. What if I had done this, or done that. . . Would I be lying here, broken and crying my heart out? The worst part of what if's was I didn't know the answers to any of them, and I never would.

My deep crimson pillow became spattered in black where my tears had darkened the material. I was silently aware that crying wasn't helping me and that I should try and get a grip, but it was so hard to do. I desperately wanted to talk to someone, but I didn't want my friends. I wanted someone who would understand, who would listen and who wouldn't make stupid scathing comments. There was no one like that. . . I thought there wasn't anyway.

I heard the faint pop, the tiny rustle as feet connected with the carpet, and the almost silent intake of breath as he took in my position. Immediately I knew who it was, and I needed him to talk to. He would care, and he wouldn't comment stupidly. Sniffing, and whipping at my eyes furiously, I sat up and turned to face him. His expression was pure, unadulterated concern, not pity.

"Kitten. . ." His voice was a whisper as he sat on the edge of my rose coloured bed, his face turned towards me. Slowly his arm extended, his slim fingers reaching, skimming my cheek and catching some tears that hung there.

I couldn't stand it, I wanted to be held, cooed at. I flung myself into his arms, my head buried in his shoulder. He was warm, and although his arms weren't as familiar or the ones I wanted to hold me, the closeness was comforting. "Masaya and I." I whispered to him, crying silently again. "We broke up." My voice cracked, and I hid my face again.

His hand reached up to pat my hair, smoothing it like a mother does to a distressed child. "I thought this might be about that. I'm sorry you're in pain Kitten." His voice was careful, but very honest. I was glad he wasn't making any rash comments; he wasn't accusing or telling me things I didn't want to hear.

"You knew, didn't you?" I stopped clinging to him so tightly, allowing some space between us. He wasn't a bear I could hug and make the pain go away, I needed to remember that. "That's why you're here." It made sense, he didn't visit me unless he deemed it utterly necessary, Pai was strict about his visits. This was necessary. I needed him.

One word. "Yes."

I sighed, swiping at a tear. "Thank you, I needed to talk to someone, and I didn't know who." It was odd to find consolation in an enemy, but who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

He turned to me, a small sad smile tugging at his mouth. "Anytime you need me Kitten, I'm here to listen." He's telling the truth.

The conversation went on into the dead of night. The moon sat watching the two speak sometimes in whispers, other times with more volume. Ichigo told him what she was thinking, what her muddled mind kept spitting out at her. She explained the flashes of emotion, the piercing pain of her longing, the deplorable depth of her sorrow. It went on and on, and then on further. All throughout the onslaught of emotions however, Kish stayed in place, never once thinking on himself. All that mattered was the girl who hung off him was in severe pain, and she was letting him into her mind. He had to help her, or at least try. So that was what he did. At times the conversation drifted from less heart wrenching topics and onto other lighter banter. The two swapped stories from younger days, adding on their own parts when they came to mind. He counted the times he made her smile, twelve times, the times she had even laughed outright, four. Each time made him feel just that bit better, if she could smile and laugh, not everything was lost.

As the night wore on, travelling into the wee hours of the morning the conversation dimmed. He saw that the pink haired girl beside him was gentle slipping into slumber, exhausted both physically and emotionally. She lay against her pillow, long dried of tears, hair sprawled in a beautiful halo around her. The sentence she had been uttering faded into silence as sleep overcome her, and with the grace of one from beyond the Earth, he laid her blanket about her.

A fond smile graced his lips as he prepared to leave her in relative peace. She would eventually be fine, he knew. Human relationships were generally fickle, although he knew better than to utter that around her in her current state. Besides, as long as she was hurting, and as long as she needed someone to listen to her, he would be here. He would be with her as she recovered, as she fought to forget her first love. It would take time, but Kish already knew that time heals all. She would eventually learn the wisdom of that saying. . .

A/N: What'd you all think? Because this one is a bit close to the heart I'd really appreciate no flames, but constructive criticism is welcomed.

Goodbye all, from Brown-eyed Wolf.

*Ominous howling in the distance*