For The Successor Challenge 2017

"I love this song."

Julia cradled her wine glass against her cheek, the contents swirling about as she gazed out the window. She pretended not to hear him.

"I remember first hearing it."

Her eyes dropped from the cityscape of Deling City and fixated on nothing of interest.

A hand rested over her free one splayed upon the table. Her gaze didn't drift back to him. Instead, she memorized the conscious patterns he stroked over her soft skin. And the song he spoke of floated in the air.

Everyone knew it now, just as they knew her. Upon discovering who she was, strangers gasped in awe and recalled that very song along with whatever meaning it held for them. She carried that song like a distant, hollow memory.

But she smiled. She thanked them. That was what people wanted—expected, even. No different from the endless requests to hear that same song played again and again.

All the while, she swallowed the dreadful sensation of her vacant heart growing.

"I knew then," he went on, "you were meant for greatness. Not just some hole-in-the-wall bar. Everyone needed to hear your voice, your music."

The squeeze of her hand brought Julia's focus on Fury. The smile he wore was for her eyes only. The military thought of him donning ice and steel like armor, but around Julia, Fury melted.

"You captivated me before," Fury whispered, "and I already knew I was in love, but hearing you sing? It's indescribable. It makes me want to stay beside you and listen to you sing forever."

Julia sipped her wine, licked her lips, and gazed upon the single candlelight flickering between them. "You'd grow tired of me singing all the time."

"Nonsense," he chuckled. "How could I ever get tired of you?"

She quirked up an eyebrow. "There's something to be said for mutually shared silence. Makes us savor the next time we get to hear music or one's voice."

He waved a finger at her. "That. That is what I love."

"What?"

"Your sense of poetics when it comes to life. Brings about a new perspective to others, or at least myself. It would be a dull world without them."

And yet there she was, at a loss of words. So she tucked dark hair behind her ears and flashed a coy smile. It was enough to leave him grinning.

All the while, the song which jumpstarted her now high profile career serenaded those dining on overpriced gourmet entrees. As Fury reminisced about it, Julia quietly begged for there to be a way to forget it.

To forget him.

At times she questioned if she had settled for the life she lived. Not that she dared to voice that concern, but it lingered like gloomy clouds in the distance. Those clouds inched closer while she mingled with those so-called friends—women of similar social standing—and sat in silence amongst their gossip of incompetent husbands, cherished children, and materialistic greed. And while she and Fury ventured for a night out on the town as a means to shower her with tokens of affection. And while she arrived at the studio to work on another album with her agent rattling off potential concerts to headline.

Had Julia ever voiced those thoughts, they would find her insane. How was sitting in the lap of luxury settling? People starved on the streets of Deling City with nowhere but the alleyways to call their homes, all of them beyond willing to trade lives with her. Many could only dream of what she obtained. How could she possibly not be happy?

While Fury introduced her to the high life of Deling City, it swept her further away from the lounge she used to play at. Back then, she owned only a handful of gowns that were deemed passable for the environment. She wore the same earrings and shoes each performance, but no one would be looking at her, anyways. Julia showed up, played her usual set, and received her end of the payment. Sometimes people clapped, sometimes they didn't, but no one ever noticed her, let alone discover her in any manner.

Until he tried to approach her that evening.

It was only one night. She wished it had been longer. She wished many things, all of them regrets she harbored over the brief instance they shared. Perhaps he felt the same way. Julia was content with listening to him ramble all night. For once, she wasn't forced into a social situation and could merely listen. It brought her joy to watch his passion unfurl.

When he stopped for air, he blinked and stared at her. "Shit, I've been talking nonstop, haven't I?"

Julia bit back a giggle. "I don't mind." And she meant it.

He could have talked forever if it meant he would never leave her.

"What's it about?"

The neon lights setting the midnight city ablaze blurred by as Julia leaned her temple against the glass. It wouldn't be long until they were home. She fiddled with the diamond ring on her left hand.

"Hmm?"

"The song," Fury explained. "Your song."

But nothing played in the taxi and vehicles and pedestrians crowed the streets. The white noise of Deling City hummed along the window and Julia found peace there.

"Eyes on Me," Fury said.

Julia wished she had imagined his inquiry. "You know what it's about."

"Well, about love, yes. But... I can't help but wonder if you ever had someone in mind when you wrote it."

Her brow furrowed as she drew in a deep breath. Ah, yes; the age old question of unveiling the mystery behind beloved classics. Fans and interviewers asked her every time, reveling over the delusional notion that they were the first to ever ask her about the origins. Scholars could draw conclusions all day, but they weren't the creators; they would never know. Maybe it was a complex story woven from personal experiences. Maybe it was a popular topic that many would relate with. Or maybe it was something passable enough to sell and thus pay the rent.

The truth was Julia loathed when others read too deep into content that was beyond anyone's understanding.

"What difference does it make?" Julia asked.

His hesitation concerned her at first. "I guess it doesn't. Not that I worry you'll run off with some handsome man. Was curious, dear, that's all."

Julia lolled her head to spot Fury. He held her hand, stroking it while his eyes locked onto hers. By every sense of the definition, he was a handsome man. Plenty of her peers mentioned off-hand they would happily swipe Fury from her if she was no longer interested. Sad attempts at humor, something Julia was all too familiar with now.

There had been a time when she was interested. She was also heartbroken, vulnerable, and in need of someone to make her a promise they intended to keep. Fury could recount their first meeting as if it was yesterday, but Julia was shaky on the facts. He hadn't left a lasting impression on her. No one had since he left.

It was more of a building momentum. She noticed him sticking around far longer than most men dared to bother with. Always smiling, always opening doors, always listening to her intently, fondly. Not once did Julia believe this man was serious about commitment until he held both her hands, looked her in the eye, and asked for her hand in marriage.

Fury was a smart choice—a military man with a promising, respectful career. With it came the luxury of wealth and all its securities Julia never experienced. But Fury was always humble. And patient. Everyone else Julia knew was in a rush to get nowhere. The world whipped about, but Fury was the first to slow down and, for once, offered to listen to her.

"I have nothing to say," Julia said back then with a nervous giggle.

"Then don't say anything," Fury said, smiling upon her as if she was the sunrise. "But whatever is on your mind, I'd love to hear it."

She spoke to him, because no one else would listen. She stayed with him, because she felt safe. She married him, because she knew who she truly wished to marry would never return.

"Do you remember your first love?" Julia asked.

Fury perked up his brows and breathed out a chuckle. "I'm looking at her now."

She rolled her eyes and whacked his hand. Together they laughed, even if it pained Julia. "Stop it."

"No, I'm serious." Fury continued to delight in his amusement, reaching out to push hair out from Julia's eyes. "No one's captivated me as much as you have." He tilted his head. "And what about you?"

"W-what about me?"

"Do you remember your first love?"

She missed the piano. Not just any piano, but that piano. When she first agreed to play at the lounge, she had to bend over backwards to convince the owner that the piano needed to be tuned. Badly. At least ten keys made Julia cringe whenever she struck them. Oh, what she would give to have that shitty piano back.

She missed the thick scent of cheap cigarettes and draft beer. She missed the narrow alleyway she ducked out into for her quick breaks to down a bottle of water and stuff a day old sandwich into her face. She missed the dark restrooms with the leaky faucet and vandalized mirror.

She missed him.

Every haunt had that table the servers always spoke of a year after the fact. He and his two friends were forever that table. The bartenders took various bets on what shenanigans would happen whenever they showed up. As for Julia? She could only hope the man with long hair and bright eyes never noticed she passed lingering gazes in his direction after every song.

Maybe it would have been better if he never approached her. Perhaps then he could live in her memory as a dream of something she never had. But he was more than a dream. He walked, he breathed, he lived. And Julia wished for nothing more than to live beside him, quirks and all.

The war swept him away, though. Called him elsewhere.

"We can write each other," he told her, grinning from ear to ear. "You know, letters and stuff. Send one to me, I'll send one to you. It'll be fun!"

Fear should have rattled her bones. Battles could claim his life, take him away from her, amongst many things, but there he was, joking through it all with a face she couldn't say no to.

"Of course," Julia said.

He loved writing, after all. Who was she to deny him of such a treat? And he was the one who begged her to write, for he wished to hear her lyrics, her poetry, her thoughts woven through silk. Those eyes of his stirred many emotions within Julia, but they ensured hope.

"I'll come back." He squeezed both of her hands, forehead resting against hers.

His breath fell upon her lips. She should have kissed him then. Julia never entertained the idea with Fury until well past their tenth date, if they even wished to call it that. Knowing what she knew now, she would have made an exception for him. She would have clung onto him, pulled herself level with his lips, and close her mouth against his. She would have asked him to stay in her room until sunrise. All foolish, impulsive, and careless thoughts. All nothing but that—mere thoughts turned regrets over a life she could have had.

She wrote eight letters since he left her side and convinced herself not to send them all at once. When they were all gone, she wrote a letter a day until the price for postage drained her wallet. Julia waited for a response, eyes to the sky as her mind wandered back to the lounge and his antics and those eyes.

That night, she wrote to him. Not in the form of a letter, but in a song. She had worked on it before, though the lines never made sense. As she read over the lyrics, nothing ever read more true to her.

Come morning, her very first letter to him returned as undeliverable.

"I don't know."

She swore Fury scoffed. Or maybe it was a half-hearted laugh. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Julia shrugged. "It's not... exactly an easy topic."

"Everyone remembers their first love. That's why there are countless songs about it. But you... you truly nailed it. I guess that's why so many people resonate with your work. Emotions like that don't come out of thin air."

The woes of being married to a military officer meant being subjected to occasional passive-aggressive conversations. Julia tended to smile and nod, enough to satisfy Fury, but her silence wasn't appreciated now.

I wish I never brought it up, she kept to herself.

She could have lied. Could have told him it was about him. What was the sense in that? It would be no different than the overproduced pop songs with force-fed lyrics and repetitive, monotone beats. Nothing about that was genuine. Only those who were satisfied with escaping reality and dwelling in a fantasy were content with lies. Julia couldn't bring herself to spin a web to tangle herself and Fury up in.

Not when she always spoke from the heart. Not when she bled into her songs about the moments she shared with no one but herself in agonizing loneliness. Not when the truth was it wasn't about him and it never would be.

Julia blinked back the stinging sensation behind her eyes. Her breaths trembled in her throat. She bit her lip, but the pain never registered.

"I was young," she blurted out, eyes elsewhere, "and I was stupid. Just like everyone was at one time. Because everyone was head over heels for someone they weren't supposed to, but it's fine." She waved a hand and scoffed. "It's just a phase. It will pass. Like everything else."

She settled for silence, just as she had settled for the diamond upon her finger and the extravagant dress she wore and the exquisite dinner they shared and the mansion they rolled up to. Her heart raced in her ears. Sweat slicked her palms. Drawing a breath, she peeked back to Fury.

The warmth in his eyes vanished, as did the smile. She had never seen him in the state he was now, but she recognized the look all too well; she woke to that expression every morning and glimpsed into the mirror ever since he was gone.

Would he have stayed if she implored him to? Would it have made a damn difference if she confessed how she felt? What would life have been like if the man who reminded her daily of how deeply she was loved was the foot soldier turned journalist instead of Galbadia's respected General?

She fantasized of that as much as young girls dreamed of their wedding day. In time, maybe there would be nuances that would crawl under her skin, as was the case with any couple—her peers reminded her of that every lunch, even if she didn't experience it to the same degree with Fury—but one could dream. And so she dreamed.

It was always whenever she thought she was alone. In those times, she smiled—truly smiled. They could have had a life together. Perhaps nothing glamorous, but they would have each other. No one could put a price on that.

He could write about his adventures while she played the piano. He could woo her with his theatrics while she giggled and blushed. He could fumble over everything he wished to tell her while she listened to every word of it.

The intense fear of singing shattered when he breathed confidence into Julia. She witnessed his fearlessness despite not being the most eloquent speaker. In comparison, Fury's charisma made him look like a bumbling idiot, but it was that clumsy charm that reminded Julia it was okay to make mistakes.

And that was the beauty of writing. Scribbles galore decorated her notebooks as she figured out the right words. Countless attempts and compositions. In time, they melded together into a perfect entity. On paper, she was free, she was fearless. Just like him.

All she could hope was that wherever he was, he continued to smile and shine on. The thought of him suffering pained Julia. Some days she doubled over and prayed to whoever would listen for the nightmarish images to fade.

If he was alive, she hoped he was out there somewhere writing his adventures. But if he was truly alive, then why did he never write to her? Had he forgotten?

Had he moved on?

She couldn't comprehend which thought was worse.

Fury tipped the driver while Julia headed to the front door. During the day, there was someone there to open it and greet them, but the house attendants had all retired for the evening, save for one. She cracked the door open and slipped inside. Dim lights illuminated the second level. Not a sound echoed through the mansion.

Heading upstairs, Julia was met halfway by the nursemaid, who tip-toed her way from the hall.

"Oh! Mrs. Caraway!" the woman spoke in a hushed, yet cheerful tone. "I hope you and the mister had a lovely evening tonight. Weather's been great and all."

Julia nodded. "We did. I'm sorry if we ran a bit late."

"Oh, nonsense. Traffic on a Friday night will do that. No need to worry. I was busy, regardless."

"How is she?"

"She's asleep."

So she's quite well. Perfect. "Hopefully she wasn't any trouble."

"Not any more than what I'm used to." She peered past Julia as the front door opened to reveal Fury. "I'll let you two enjoy the rest of your evening, Mrs. Caraway. Goodnight!"

"Thank you," Julia said, smiling and nodding, "and goodnight."

With the nursemaid gone and Fury treading the stairs, Julia stood motionless. The sadness washed away from his features, though the familiar warmth he typically greeted her with wasn't present either.

Fury paused upon reaching Julia. "You alright?"

Inhaling deeply, she nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Together they ascended the stairs. Once she touched the floor, arms swept her up from behind and lips caressed her exposed neck. Her gasps mixed quickly into a gentle moan. Heat burned her face as much as it seared her inner thighs.

"And what," she breathed out, "are you doing?"

Fury's hands wandered over her form and the thin satin dress draped over her. His lips traced her neck and jaw before resting along her ear. "Letting my wife know how much I love her."

A short-lived smile flashed upon her lips. "Are you now?" The teasing brush of his fingers was enough of a response. "You must love your wife quite a lot."

He hummed into her. "I always have." Fingers settled upon her jaw and turned her face into his. "Always will."

There were songs about the way Fury kissed her—tender, passionate, and never ending. It was a slow burn that tore through Julia until she was nothing but smoldering ash. As their lips locked together, they somehow navigated their way back to the master bedroom. She gasped into him when he pinned her to the door and fused with her dress. She tangled up in the sheets with him as they clawed for one another. She returned his sentiments in kind until they both cried out.

But she never wrote songs about Fury. Every time his name dance upon her tongue in the heat of a moment, her mind wandered elsewhere.

She thought she woke next to him, that the past years had been a dream and she finally broke free. He sat at the desk near the window, a pen furiously moving across paper. With a long stretch and yawn, she pushed herself up to seated and he turned to greet her with a smile.

"Hey," he said, so close, yet so distant.

Julia hugged her knees and grinned. "Hey."

Rising from the desk, he approached her. She drank in his body, clad in nothing but a pair of jeans. As he dipped in to kiss her forehead, her hands meandered about his bare torso. Scars skittered beneath her fingertips until she found his long locks to push out of his face. He laughed and it was music.

"What's up?" he asked, putting on a mock serious face. "You look like you've just seen a ghost or something."

Arms draped around his neck, Julia tugged him in until she could claim his lips for her own. He moaned into her as she nibbled. The initial slow motion morphed into something needy. Her tongue licked his lips and he dared to meet her tongue with his own. She clung to his hair and he cradled her head to never break from the kiss.

She wanted to drown in his affection. She wanted to memorize the taste of his lips until she couldn't grasp the words needed to describe it. She wanted to let him know how every second with him was utmost bliss.

To both their dismay, he broke away with an immense gasp for air.

"Well then," he said, motionless, breathless. "I won't say no to that every morning. Definitely could get used to it." He threw in a wink for good measure.

"Good," Julia said with a giggle. "It definitely won't be the last."

She bumped noses with him and brushed her lips over his. Her eyes locked with his—so vivid, both in color and life. It suited him.

"Julia." Her name on his tongue was beyond divine. She could never tire of it.

"Mmm yes?"

A thumb caressed her cheek and traced the edge of her lips. "Wake u—"

Jolting awake, she hissed in air. Her racing pulse choked her. A cold sweat welcomed her to reality.

Julia's eyes flitted about. Sunlight slipped through the windows and gradually brought the room to life. The stale air tasted of nothing. Fury slept soundly, not once flinching.

With a shaky breath, she sat at the edge of the bed to face the desk that was there with no one writing at it.

The door creaked open, but Julia paid no attention to it. Little feet pitter-pattered along the floorboards. A small hand tugged on her nightgown and Julia turned to see who was there.

A little girl clutched a moogle plushie to her chest. A cartoon puppy pattern covered her pajamas. Her curious brown eyes looked to Julia as she swayed back and forth.

"Mommy, mommy." Again, she tugged on Julia's nightgown. "Are you awake?"

The tears once daring to flood from Julia's eyes subsided. Mustering a small smile, she smoothed a hand over her daughter's hair. "I do believe I am."

She beamed. "Can we go play piano this morning?"

"Hmm... I don't know. Were you a good girl last night?" Before she finished the sentence, her daughter nodded rapidly. Leaning in closer, Julia raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

The girl giggled while Julia tickled her sides. "I was extra good, mommy. So can we go play piano? Please? Pretty pleaaaaase?"

How was she to say no to that face? "Alright, Rinoa, we—"

"Yes!" Rinoa threw her hands up in her victory.

"Hush, silly girl. Don't want to wake daddy."

"Oh! Right." She dropped down to a whisper. "Yes!"

"Alright, let mommy make some coffee—"

"And juice?" Rinoa's eyes lit up.

"And juice." Another tiny yesssss from her daughter. "And we'll meet up in the parlor, okay?"

This had become her morning ritual of sorts—being woken up by her daughter when she would have rather slept in another hour or two. But Julia now cherished the mornings with Rinoa. More so than she thought she would.

The young girl bounced down the stairs with a playful hum. The last few steps received more pronounced jumps, leaving Rinoa laughing at her antics. Julia trailed behind and cracked a smile between yawning and tucking hair out of her tired face. Upon reaching the kitchen, Julia fetched Rinoa's prized apple juice—albeit watered down for everyone's sanity—to occupy the child while Julia tended to coffee.

Mornings were quiet once. Julia always made coffee and Fury always hugged her from behind, kissing her neck, her ears, her jaw, her cheek. The mere memories brought a sad smile to Julia's features as she poured cream and sugar into her dark roast.

Fury hesitated when she sought him out with the news of her pregnancy. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. He scrambled to explain how he wasn't expecting a child, though was more than willing to support both Julia and the child—their child. And while he never spoke another ill word throughout Julia's pregnancy or even Rinoa's lifespan, that moment of stillness and silence, the very shock freezing his eyes for mere seconds, forever burned into Julia's body.

"I couldn't do this without you," he once said almost a year ago.

They were on vacation in Dollet. Rinoa skipped on the streets, avoiding all cracks as best she could. Both Fury and Julia watched from a sweep distance.

"What do you mean?" Julia expected a frown when she eyed Fury back then.

But he smiled. "I worry I'm too tough on her, like I am with my peers. She's just the reminder that I need in my life to take a step back and breathe. Not everything is about following rules and giving a hundred and ten percent. Still..." Those eyes of his upon her brought a pleasant chill to Julia. "It's your compassion and openness that puts us all in balance and I couldn't ask for a better woman to be helping."

He kissed her cheek and she averted her gaze. "I'm not doing anything special; I'm only being me."

"That's exactly what we all love about you."

It was Rinoa who snapped her out of her meandering thoughts. The little girl made her moogle plushie dance on the counter she sat at, singing a song she made up two seconds ago. And when the moogle grew closer to her apple juice, she swiped the cup away and tossed her head in the air.

"No! That's my apple juice!" Rinoa flung her hair over her shoulder. "Mommy told me not to share with moogle plushies, because then you'd be banished to the horrible laundry dungeon. It's the law."

Julia cupped her coffee against her cheek and chuckled. Or at least she tried. It simply sunk her thoughts into an even darker place.

Fury joked with her numerous times of how their daughter belonged to someone else, for neither of them possessed the outspoken, carefree, and impulsive qualities exhibited by Rinoa. Both of them encouraged Rinoa to speak her mind and do what made her happy, for how could they call themselves parents if they did anything but promote the growth and happiness of their child? Still, the question remained.

"She looks just like you," Fury said once.

But when Julia set her sights onto Rinoa, all she thought of was the lounge and the man who dared to speak with her. He, too, possessed the same traits as Rinoa. For a moment, she pictured him beside Rinoa, playing with her and the moogle plushie as if it were no different from his typical, everyday life.

It was enough to swell Julia's eyes with tears.

She hadn't noticed them cascading down her face, nor had she noticed the small hand tugging at her nightgown. Or the pat along her leg. Or the small voice asking if she was well.

Once she shook herself free from the mental image, Julia hissed in a breath and peered down to Rinoa. She clung onto her plushie and stared up with massive eyes.

"Mommy, why are you crying?"

Setting her coffee mug down and drying her eyes as best she could, Julia brought herself down to Rinoa's level. "Mommy was just thinking, sweetie." She hated the way her voice cracked.

Rinoa swayed from side to side. "About what?"

Julia smoothed a hand over Rinoa's hair. "About someone I used to know."

"Are they okay?"

An eternity could have passed by and Julia wouldn't have known the difference. "I don't know."

She wished she had never written that song.

Every moment it played, every instance of a stranger approaching her to sing high praises, every second the masses remembered for her when she opted to forget. All of it widened the void she tried to fill.

She could have never given words to the melody. Stay as a piano player, never to be recognized and blend with the crowd. Nothing would remind her of the love she almost had.

And yet, it was because of him that she swallowed back her fears and opened up to the world. She was creative; her poems weren't reserved for a personal journal shoved to the bottom of her purse. People needed to hear them, to feel them. That's what he convinced her. And she believed him.

She opened up and people responded. Everyone loved her. Some even managed to sweep her off her feet, or more like one did. She did find love, after all. It didn't slip through her fingers. That same love brought life to Rinoa.

All because of a song. Her song. Her words. Her emotions.

If only there was a song to help wipe the unwanted memories from her existence. If only there was a way to express to everyone how their beloved melody tore her up inside.

"Mommy, do you have to go?"

Julia kissed the top of Rinoa's head and patted her cheek. "If mommy doesn't go to the studio, then mommy can't keep making music."

Rinoa fidgeted and looked away. "But... we did make music this morning."

"That we did, sweetheart." Julia smiled at the reminder of their morning by the piano. "Mommy needs to do some on her own."

"But why?"

"That's enough," Fury gently interjected. "Your mother has work to do. She'll be back in time for dinner." He held Rinoa close and looked to Julia. "We'll keep ourselves occupied and be here when she gets back."

"Of course." Julia kissed both of them and waved. "I'll be back before you know it."

She watched from the backseat of a car as Rinoa flailed from a large window and made her moogle wave goodbye, as well. Julia's smile widened as the car drove off, only to die back down to a flat line.

It wasn't like her to head into the studio on a weekend, but inspiration struck a chord within Julia. If she didn't discover a melody for the words that repeated on a vicious cycle in her head soon, then it would be lost forever. She scribbled fragments of phrases in her journal to pass the time. Hopefully, it would all come together and make sense to her when she sat before a piano.

No one on the busy, downtown streets noticed Julia as she slipped out to enter the studio. Her heels clicked along the marble floors and echoed off the high ceilings. Security tipped their heads to Julia and nothing more; she was free to lose herself behind a piano and a microphone.

She couldn't remember the last time she wrote songs in utter solitude. Since her success, a plethora of folk swarmed around her whenever she recorded. How was she able to breathe in those moments? But now she could and the copious space daunted her.

Her eyes locked to the gibberish in her journal, then to the untouched black and white keys. She chewed her lower lip and twirled a pen between her fingers. A frustrated sigh fluttered out.

And when she finally closed her eyes, she sought out the foreign melody lost within her heart.

It was faint, yet distinct, like a bird calling for help in the distance. And then the wind sent it away against its own will. Through the rain—or was it tears?—it dissolved into nothing and danced like fresh embers and ash to the ground.

The words didn't match it, but Julia sat upright and placed her hands in position. Long before she wove poetry through songs, she focused on the sentiments stirred through sounds alone.

And thus she played.

Wherever you are.

Whatever it is that has captured your attention.

I can only hope that you hear this.

I wrote this for you.

Because you told me I could.

So I did.

I wish you could listen to it.

Back at the lounge.

Our lounge.

Please.

Be alive.

Be well.

For me.

You deserve life.

You deserve love.

You deserve utmost happiness.

For in those fleeting moments, you made me the happiest I have ever been.

No one else can claim that but you.

If only I could hear your voice for a second, just once.

Then I would know you're okay.

And maybe then I can rest easy.

Or maybe I already can.

Because fires like you don't die so easily, after all.

Burn.

For me.

For you.

Rain poured over the car in massive sheets. The driver complained about the traffic and lousy conditions, but Julia ignored it all. She stared through the water rolling off the window and how the city lights morphed it into a kaleidoscope. The vibrations of the rain throughout Deling City thrummed through her body and calmed Julia.

But she had been calm even before reaching her ride back home. The last notes of the piano rang out until silence swallowed her whole. No tears wet her eyes nor did anxiety tighten her chest. A weight had been lifted and for the first time in ages, she didn't feel the magnitude of the world crushing her.

The radio played through the rain and with it a familiar tune. The dark thoughts and painful memories didn't surface. Instead, Julia smiled and remembered how happy she was when she wrote that song.

Just as she had been happy when Fury walked into her life. He, too, had his quirks, despite being such an attentive gentleman—a side reserved for her and no one else. She loved how he spontaneously danced with her on the streets until she laughed or how he surprised her daily with flowers before and after each concert of hers or how he woke her with delicate kisses and cups of coffee. He looked at her and saw the universe. She looked to him and found utmost comfort.

And she had been happy when Rinoa turned up unexpectedly. Julia couldn't have asked for a more delightful surprise. She wanted nothing but the world for Rinoa, who was already curious and eager to learn and help. Maybe she veered off from the common path, but she did so with an intense ferocity that Julia recognized in the most passionate artists. She couldn't wait to see what kind of woman her daughter would grow into. Julia wished to be there every step of the way.

Humming along with the song, Julia grabbed the car phone to call home. After a few rings, Fury picked up.

"You're late," he said.

Julia giggled. "I lost track of time."

"Is it safe to assume you're on your way home?"

"Mmm."

"Excellent. I'll have dinner prepared and ready by the time you arrive. Did it go well?"

"What's that?"

"Your music. I can't remember the last time I'd seen you so insistent to run off and hide with your piano."

A warm smile washed over her face as she gazed out to the rainy cityscape. "Something caught a hold of me. I couldn't shake it free."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." Julia closed her eyes, focusing on the rain and Fury's voice. "Can I... ask you something?"

"Anything."

She drew in a deep breathe. "Does the name Laguna Loire ring a bell?" Silence. "He's... or was in the military. A foot soldier, perhaps?"

Nothing but the rain filled her ears. "I can't say I have," Fury responded, each word carefully spoken. "Is something the matter?"

"No, every thing's alright. He was someone I knew a lifetime ago. He... was stationed elsewhere and..."

"Was he good to you?"

Julia fluttered her eyes. "What?"

"This Laguna. Did he treat you well?"

A million thoughts and memories flooded her mind, but she found the clarity to select the single emotion she needed. "Yes."

"I can ask around come Monday, if you'd like."

"Don't bend over backwards for me, Fury."

"I already do, love."

And Julia's smile was revived. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being you.

She could almost hear him smiling on the other end. "You come home safely now. Someone keeps asking every five minutes when you'll be home."

"I'll be there shortly," Julia giggled. "Not to worry. I love you."

"Love you, too."

With a sigh, Julia hung up the phone and returned to staring out the window. She didn't expect Fury's kindness in regards to her request, but he had been known to surprise her. With a bit of luck, he could give her good news. Not that it could reverse time or heal wounds already made, but it would be closure.

He didn't need to be with her; he simply needed to be alive.

For if he was, then he could hear the new song she had in the works, the catharsis which freed her from her self-inflicted chains. He could see the progress she made and grin, telling her how he knew she could do it.

Through the pouring rain, the screeching tires, the screaming driver, the blaring horn, and the blinding headlights, Julia focused on the music and sang the closing verse.