Sailor Moon doesn't belong to me, it belongs to Naoko, the wonderful person who thought the whole thing up, and gave us up-and-coming writers something to live for.

This fic is Serena's POV. Its not as sickly-sweet as my others (even though I happen to LIKE sickly-sweet), and has a more melancholy tone. It could be classified as a vignette.

~~——Takes place right after the episode of Sailor V's arrival, but before the next episode (the showdown where everyone learns each other's identities). As always, please review.

I walked slowly down the street, my mind tearing me apart.

He didn't come.

There were reasons, of course.

There always were.

There must be.

I don't know why I allowed myself, even the others, to become so dependent on him. Honestly, he had no obligation to us. There was no reason for him to come to our rescue all those times. I should have been prepared for the day he didn't.

But I wasn't. It was a mistake; a mistake we paid dearly for last night. He didn't come, and we almost died. If Sailor Venus hadn't shown up, we would have— all because I screwed up. I let us lean on him; I leaned on him, and he didn't come.

People passed by me, a brush of air and the brief feeling of presence before they were past me. I went through the crowd looking at the ground, but strangely none of these people touched me. It was like I was there, drowning amidst them, but I had a wall around me that none could penetrate. It was a surreal thought. A little comforting, in its own way.

I looked up. Through the mass of bodies ahead of me I saw him. He was here, in the open. Why...

No, it wasn't him. It was someone else— just a young, tall, guy with black hair. Why did I even think it was him? This guy wasn't even wearing a tuxedo. Why did I even imagine... oh my god, it's Darien.

He stopped at the street corner, and turned in my direction. He kept walking, obviously not seeing me in the clutter of people. He was fifteen feet away now.

Twelve.

Ten.

Seven.

Five.

Three.

He turned his head to the right a little, and saw me. His eyes met mine, blue meeting blue. Sea meeting sky. That's what it was. Those swirling, ocean drenched orbs looked strait into my own sky-blue ones. I think I saw his soul. It was there, behind his eyes, and it was a little boy spinning with arms open wide in a field of wildflowers. There was no expression on his face, as there was none on mine. He kept walking; so did I. It was simply a recognition, a brief moment frozen. Our eyes tore apart, once again lost in the melee of rushing, congested bodies.

Another lost opportunity; another chance slipped through my fingers and carried away on the breeze.