category: Card Captor Sakura

disclaimer:I don't own it.

He didn't like sweets, really. But he was waiting for someone, and in the meanwhile, he suffered the strong, nearly suffocating, smell of fresh pastries in silence.

A waitress humming a lively tune passed by, and he closed his eyes in concentration for a minute. Presently, he opened his eyes and blew out an angry sigh. It was as difficult to remember things as ever, and he found himself scratching marks into the steel leg of the table in his frustration.

He pulled out a little flipbook then, and caught a whiff of jasmine flowers, like a perfume he had once liked on someone. November14:Tunefromsometelevisiontheme, he quickly scrawled in large writing, Mostlikelyfromacartoonofsomesort. His therapist had told him that writing down things that he couldn't remember would help jog some memories, but it all seemed like a load of nonsense: it certainly hadn't worked yet. He looked up for a moment at the empty seat across from him, then back down at his flipbook. Curiously, he shuffled a few sheets back, wondering what he had written a few days ago. He vaguely could remember his therapist reading the book aloud, talking about the odd things he had written.

November11:Myneighboristryingtokillme, he read to himself, his brow subconsciously furrowed in a great effort to just remember, Shebroughtmeatinofbrowniestocelebrateherbirthday,butIcansmelltheratpoisonshe'sslippedintothemix.IknowshewantsmygoldfishwhenIdie.

The crazy things he had written, he corrected before he shut the book with a scowl. He was going crazy, losing his mind, seeing things that weren't there, remembering things that had never happened to him –

The booth seat opposite him squeaked as a sudden weight landed on it. He looked up to see a woman taking off a bright yellow wool coat.

He cleared his throat quietly, embarrassedly. "I'm sorry, I'm expecting someone."

The woman blinked, green eyes swimming, and raised her eyebrows slightly. She broke the stare quickly, and picked up the menu unconcernedly. "I won't be a bother for too long."

He looked back at her steadily, uncomprehending. She looked back up to meet his eyes. "I'm waiting for someone too."

A waitress with flaming red hair made her way to their table, ending their awkward introduction, and twirled her pen enthusiastically.

"A lemon pastry with a vanilla latte, and a plain bagel with cream cheese and a hazelnut coffee." The woman rattled off the order quickly: she had been here before.

The waitress scribbled a few words on her pad and bounced away. The green-eyed lady turned her gaze back to him. "I ordered for you."

He made a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat.

"Is that all right?" She asked, almost tentatively.

"I don't really like sweets. The bagel is fine," he mumbled, not looking away from the window. After a brief pause, "I like hazelnut coffee."

She settled back into her seat, as if in relief. A few minutes passed, and their order arrived on a round black platter. He picked up the steaming cup placed in front of him and turned back to the window.

"Nice weather out today," she commented offhandedly as she broke off a piece of her pastry.

The sickly saccharine smell wafted to his nose, and he grimaced a little. "If you like that sort of foggy chill before the real winter sets in." He ventured to take a sip, and burned the tip of his tongue. Wincing once more, he set down the cup and began to tap his fingers on the tabletop.

"It certainly can be charming in a picturesque way," and here she ripped open the top of a sugar packet, "but it's also terrible for driving. I had to hail a cab here, I was so afraid to start up my car."

"I was in an accident last year," he abruptly said. The woman raised her eyes in a silent prompt to continue. "It was bad. Still have the scar and all," He traced the three-inch mark along his hairline with a ghost of a touch.

She passed a sympathetic smile in his direction and blew over the surface of her drink impatiently. "I understand what you must be going through." She took another bite of her pastry and proceeded to clarify, "My fiancé was in a car crash last winter too."

He felt a sudden, dour pang run through him at the mention of a fiancé, gathering that he was the one she was waiting for. "How is that working out for him?"

She bit her lip. "Oh, he's coming along. Sometimes he isn't entirely there, but I'm willing to hang around." She played with her napkin for a short moment, and gathered herself enough to continue. "We were supposed to get married this past summer, but his accident put a damper on things."

"I'm sorry," he said, as sincere as could be to a complete stranger. She really was rather pretty. "No one deserves that." At her lack of response, he continued. "Winter weddings aren't so bad."

She raised her head with a jerk. "You think?"

He shrugged, not expecting to be put on the spot. "You said you like gloomy weather."

"But what do you think?" she pressed.

He stayed mum, unsure of what to do in the face of such intense attention. After a while, she polished off the last of her order and wiped her fingers on her napkin. "In any case, I think we'll wait until this summer. Maybe the next. He'll be better by then."

He plucked up the courage to speak again. "It shouldn't really matter though,"

She looked at him interestedly.

He fumbled for the right words. "If you love each other, then it doesn't matter if he remembers or not...He'll feel it inside."

She nodded pensively. "Even still, you only have a wedding once." At the quick opening of his mouth, she interjected, "I'm not going to marry someone else." She sighed. "I really love him, and so I'll wait for him." She stood up and began pushing her arms through the sleeves of her coat.

He watched her with surprise. "I thought you were waiting for your fiancé."

She shook her head. "I don't think he'll be coming after all. Thank you for your company." She pulled out her pocketbook, but he spoke up in objection.

"I'll pay. It's not much at all."

She smiled at him brightly. "Well then, have a good day." She left the café in a flourish of flowery perfume and a jingle of bells, without a second glance backwards.

He pushed away his own empty cup soon afterwards, and pulled out his wallet to fish out a bill or two. As he searched for the correct change, his eyes fell on a picture tucked in next to his driver's license. Realization hitting him like a fist to the stomach, he swore and slammed some money onto the table, pulling on his sweater simultaneously. He rushed out the door, not hearing the chimes that announced his departure, and swung his head both ways, trying to catch sight of a yellow coat. He found it then, amidst a mass of pedestrians waiting for the light to change. Sprinting along the sidewalks at a breakneck pace, he shoved past handfuls of people until he reached her.

"Sakura," he panted as he spun her around and pressed a kiss to her cheek, "Sorry I'm late."