Head back home...
Relena glanced at her watch. 11.52. Seven minutes more. Seven minutes and 42 seconds more.
41.
39.
She lowered her wrist, her hand falling rather elegantly to her side. What's the use of wasting time watching the clock when it won't make the time go faster.
26 seconds.
She repremanded herself for looking again.
It was actually rather warm outside, she thought as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. She was wearing a polo shirt today, a nice white one with broad pastel bands across her chest. One yellow band. One white. One green band. One white.
It was tucked into her jeans. Vintage Levi's 501, with a bit of a wear on the cuff of the pantleg.
Around her waist was a scarf. White. Lacy with frills, that formed a pretty, crotcheted skirt over the worn blue.
A couple of tourists glanced at her, standing in front of the bakery, yet another form of street fashion. Pretty, with blonde hair and pale skin. Foreign, with frilly accents, facing the shop's pink facade.
6 minutes, 49 seconds and counting.
A few feet away, another foreigner waited, staring at the bold black letters that spelled out the bakery's name. He leaned against the railing surrounding the metal sign marking the area's tourist spots, his hair dangling, touching the flowers planted behind him.
Jeans and a clean dress shirt, untucked, over a pale orange shirt. Long brown hair meticulously braided, a ponytail band on the end of it. Broad shoulders squared, strong arms crossed, one sneakered foot resting on the lowest rail.
If she wasn't waiting for someone, she would strike up a conversation with him.
She can't.
5 minu... no, 4 minutes, 59 seconds and counting.
Heero came this way every morning, her 'sources' tell her.
Heero Yuy.
They met at a club. Or was it a bookstore. She smiled, he looked on. She nodded, he looked on. She gave him her cell phone number. He glanced at it and placed it in his shirt's breast pocket.
A business man in a dark suit approaches from the direction of the Tower. She quickly glances at her watch (11.56.01), anxious, but as the businessman walked past her, she knew that it wasn't him.
She could recognize the face anywhere. It was the body she was having trouble with.
The American a few feet away stopped looking at the black wording of the bakery's sign and instead opted for staring up at the pale blue sky.
Relena sighed and adjusted her bag once more. Her 'sources' told her that he worked in an office building in Roppongi, nothing too important. At two minutes before noon, everyday, he would leave his building and walk to a ramen place by way of the very street she was waiting by.
He passes the bakery at noon, give or take 2 seconds.
Too predictable, the detective she hired said. But he was average.
Heero Yuy. No family. No wife. One friend to speak of.
An American. That's it.
Her watch read 11.58.24.
25.
27 seconds.
The American nearby perked up, moving away from the railing and stood relatively straight as a businessman approached from the side street to the bakery's side. The American's wide mouth turned upwards in a grin even as Relena noticed who the American was meeting.
Heero Yuy.
She stared in disbelief as the two men shared greetings, love-like sentiments sparcely flavoring their words and body language.
They were in their own special place, a bubble, framed only in the pink of the building in front of them. They probably didn't hear all the traffic behind them, she thought, as their bodies visibly itched for each other. They probably don't feel the heat, as their eyes visibly consumed each other. They probably don't even see her, as she unintentially intruded into their moment.
Only when they were down the street, relatively far away, their broad shoulders nearly touching, did she finally realize that she could move.
Her feet, her legs, her body, started moving. Somewhere. She wasn't certain.
Heero Yuy. With the American friend.
More than friend.
Her watch beeped, signaling 12 o'clock.
~~~end
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