Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
AND THEY WERE ROOMATES
DIANA
The hands that were clutched in her thin fingers were nearly frozen, but the red eyes that stared into her own brought warmth to the biting cold of the ice rink. Akko wore a look of both concentration and a hint of fear as she tentatively stepped forward in her rented skates, each movement jagged and stumbling, but Diana held on tight as she skated slowly backwards, her knees bending slightly to keep the steady momentum she needed to urge her friend forward.
“I’m going to eat shit,” Akko moaned, staring down at her feet and the well-used old figure skates that had been worn by so many people Diana didn’t even want to think about it. “I totally don’t know how you do this without falling down every five seconds.”
“You grow accustomed to it,” Diana replied, chuckling as Akko flashed wide eyes up from her skates. She tripped over the front stopper but quickly righted herself when Diana’s arm flew forward on instinct, grasping her by the waist and steadying her with the expertise of a girl who had grown up on the ice. “Careful. Try to stay on the middle of your feet. If you go forward onto your toes, you will —” she hesitated, letting filthy words that her mother would never approve of linger on her tongue before letting them out, “eat shit.”
“If you want to go off by yourself and practice I can just use the wall,” Akko said. She glanced across the arena at an older woman who was scooting slowly along while holding onto the side of the rink as two children, clearly hers, skated circles around her. “I know you need to work on your Salty Cows or whatever—”
“Salchow,” Diana corrected. “But it wouldn’t be wise to practice during public hours. You said you wanted to learn to skate, right? Well, I’m here for you. Not to practice.”
The warm eyes that met hers made her insides do the awkward and uncomfortable twist that they’d been doing of late. She’d been best friends with Akko Kagari for years, but only recently had that look brought her breath to a stop in her throat, made her cheeks flush with rising heat that was confusing at best. Akko was her best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
So why, when Akko flashed that signature half-smile, did Diana draw a sharp breath and look away?
Akko’s hands squeezed a little tighter. Diana wished she had worn her gloves—at least then there wouldn’t be skin on skin, at least then there wouldn’t be the blush rushing into her neck and cheeks that she was grateful could be explained away by the cold—but she had left them in her locker, not once even considering that they might be her saving grace from the reactions her body was having.
She honestly thought about letting go, if only for a moment, if only to catch her breath and let her mind return to the normalcy that was hanging out with her best friend and introducing her to the world of skating. But she knew that if she did, Akko would likely trip over herself and crack her skull on the ice. Akko was just like that. If there was a way to hurt herself, she would find it. It was almost like a special skill. A skill that explained, entirely, why her parents kept first-aid kits just about everywhere feasible.
“How long did it take you to get used to this?” Akko asked, looking down once more to concentrate fully on the movement of sliding her blades over ice made choppy by kids skating in reckless circles and couples enjoying an evening date at the rink. “And how are you going backwards? No one else is going backwards.”
Diana smiled. “It’s easy once you get used to it. It feels quite natural.”
She suddenly felt the urge to show off, to let go of Akko and slide into easy crossovers and small jumps that would entertain even the most casual of figure skating viewers, but refrained. Humility was ingrained within her and, even if she wanted to show Akko what she could do, she held back. Her friend had attended a competition or two already, anyway. Even if it was just local, easy stuff—a far cry from the demand of what she was now facing.
“Try to stop looking down. Just feel the ice. One foot after the other. You’ll be skating circles around me by the end of the night.”
Akko burst out in a laugh so hard that she nearly fell over sideways and Diana had to catch her by the waist once more. She was well aware of how her breath seized when her thumb brushed against bare skin as Akko’s hoodie rose up and even more so of the hard swallow that accompanied. She let go as quickly as she could, returning her hand to Akko’s searching fingers and resuming their slow maneuver around the arena.
“Very funny,” Akko said, still laughing despite her near fall. “That’ll never happen. You’ve got the ice, I’ve got the ground.” Her laughter died to a chuckle. “Solid ground, that is.”
Diana loosened her grip, increasing her speed only slightly so that Akko would barely notice. “It may help if we talk about something. Just to take your mind off it. Skating comes a lot easier when you’re not fully focused on what your feet are doing.”
“You see what happens when I forget I have feet.”
“Akko.” Diana laughed. “I don’t think there has ever been a time when you knew you had feet, much less used them.”
“Oh, Cavendish the Comedian,” Akko joked back. “Let me know when your next show is so I can be there with a bag of tomatoes.”
“You would never throw tomatoes at me,” Diana said. Akko’s attention had quickly been pulled from watching her own feet and already they were moving more smoothly. Diana briefly glanced over her shoulder to make sure the ice was clear behind her, lest they run over a stray child. “Pickled plums, maybe.”
Akko shook her head, her eyes focused on the blue of Diana’s as she skated forward, her fingers relaxing into Diana’s palms. “I wouldn’t waste pickled plums on that. And, okay, you’re right. Your face is too pretty to be smashed with rotten tomatoes.”
Your face is too pretty—
Flames lit Diana’s cheeks and she looked away. At the mother, who was clambering off the ice in rigid desperation to get her feet on solid ground only to stumble awkwardly on the blades. At the children, who were laughing and pushing at each other as they raced back and forth along the outer edge of the rink. At a smaller child who had been given the walker and was being assisted by his father, who wore the gleeful smile of a parent capturing the moment in his mind.
And she looked back at Akko, at the girl she had known for so many years, who she had come to consider part of her family, her rock when things got bad and, recently, even worse. At pale lips, slightly blue from the cold, that smiled at her in a way that she gave no one else. At eyes that captured her own and held, lingered, spoke, but the language was one that Diana was unfamiliar with and so the word fell upon the deaf ears of the ignorant.
“How’s Mum?” Akko asked after a moment that seemed much longer than it was and, if Diana were to be asked, could have gone on. But the words, nearly a whisper between them as they skated together, made her quickly look down, made her study the glide of sharpened blades that she was scared would dull long after her mother drew her last breath. The thought made her shiver.
“She’s—” Alright? Okay? Getting by?
Diana wanted to say one of those, but none of them fit. Her mother was not alright. She was not okay. She was not getting by. Just that morning she had coughed so much blood into the sink that Diana had honestly thought she had hemorrhaged, but she’d insisted on going into the office anyway. It wasn’t as though she had much say in the matter. Fourteen year olds had no sway with a parent who prioritized duty over health.
“Not good, then, eh?” Akko smiled sadly. “Anything I can do? I’m sure Okaasan would be happy to bring yakisoba or something so she doesn’t have to cook.”
Diana shook her head, catching Akko once more just as the girl started to falter in stride. “You do plenty, Akko.” She flushed. “And Okaasan cooked for us four times last week already. I feel awful.”
“Well, she honestly thinks you’re going to starve to death if you don’t eat more.” Akko laughed, patting Diana on the head and ruffling her hair the slightest bit, earning a small trip for her efforts. “She thinks you’ve already got a growth stunt.”
“I don’t—” Diana huffed, her blush deepening with the touch. “I eat plenty,” she lied, because she only ate when she absolutely had to. “I’m just short.”
“If you count eating as, like, half a carrot and that gross sausage stuff—”
“Black pudding.”
Akko snorted. They were going faster now, her blades sliding easily over the jagged ice. “Yeah, that.” She faked a shudder. “Gross.”
Diana opened her mouth to retort, but she never got the chance. Akko tipped forward onto her toes with the attempt at an exaggerated stroke of the blade, which instead resulted in catching the stopper on the ice. Her taller and definitely more awkward body lurched forward and, before Diana could catch her or even try to stop the momentum, a very clumsy girl with aimlessly swinging limbs overpowered her.
“Akko—” Diana yelped.
They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs to the laughter of a few passing boys, who made sure to hockey stop right next to them and spray ice against the side of both of their faces.
“My bad, my bad!” Akko cried out. “Aww, my knee! Ow!”
“Your knee?” Diana moaned, her bones protesting the sudden impact of the ice and Akko’s body on top of hers. “How about my entire body? Christ, you have the grace of a lame duck! Get up!”
“Hey.” Akko narrowed her eyes. Her face was close to Diana’s, far too close for comfort and far too close for her to be able to breathe. Stray strands of brunette hair fell in curtains around Akko’s slim face, tickling Diana’s forehead with each movement. She could feel flames licking her cheeks as she froze, blue eyes locked on a deep brown that flickered with hues of red. “I happen to think ducks are pretty cool.”
“That’s not what I—”
Akko’s smile faltered. Her eyes grew wider, more serious, and she leaned slowly in, gaze flicking from Diana’s own intent stare to her cold, slightly chapped lips.
“Akko—”
Her breath caught.
At the last moment, when Diana thought—hoped?—what was happening was actually happening, Akko ducked her head to the side, her nose tickling the shell of Diana’s ear as she let out a very loud, very obnoxious:
“Quack!”
Akko fell to the side, dissolving into raucous laughter at her own joke, ignorant to the waves that had been set in motion in Diana’s body as she lay on her back, both recovering from the internal roller coaster that she’d just ridden and the sheer embarrassment of even thinking Akko would do that. The other girl’s body fell from Diana’s as she squirmed on the ice, ignoring an angry, “Get out of the way, idiots!” from an older teenager and, instead, laughing even louder.
Diana let herself smile. She shoved those confusing, intrusive thoughts back into the shadows of her mind where they belonged and instead embraced what was right in front of her: Akko, her best friend, the one person who would always get her know matter what, the one person who could make her smile even when the world was falling apart around her.
And so, on her back on the cold ice surrounded by people who scowled as they passed by, she let herself forget, let herself focus on the moment and on Akko and on the good parts of life, and she laughed.
Her room was nearly empty, save for the few suitcases gently stacked to the side of her bedroom door. There wasn’t really much to pack. Diana didn’t have a whole lot in the way of material possessions. Just clothes, textbooks, and the very few small mementos that served only as haunting flashbacks in her rear view mirror.
She was at the bottom drawer of her large dresser, quietly and meticulously sorting through clothes that she either wouldn’t wear or didn’t need. Breeches from riding were pushed carefully to the side—there would be no horseback riding at Luna Nova University—while old shorts and out-of-style shirts were placed to the side for donation. She had plenty of clothing and could easily purchase more, if needed.
The manor was nearly silent, the only sound being the creaking of windows against a heavy wind and the gentle and rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Aunt Daryl was out with Diana’s two cousins for their usual Saturday shopping spree, gleefully spending the earnings from the family practice that Diana’s own grandmother had founded. Aunt Daryl had little to do with Cavendish Medical—she’d even outsourced a director for the London division instead of taking on the job herself—and merely skimmed the top for her own personal gain. It was something Diana’s mother never would have allowed. But, seeing as her mother was no longer alive and Aunt Daryl had little to no respect for what Diana thought, there was nothing that could be done.
She sighed, her mind wandering through the dismal five years she’d spent in England. Five years where she’d had nothing to focus on but her studies and working around Aunt Daryl’s strict and unwarranted household policies. At least she’d had Anna, their housekeeper, to keep her company—though, as kind as Anna was, she could hardly be considered a friend.
The only escape was skating until she didn’t even have that any longer, when a simple double axel, one that she had long since mastered, had ended in a compound fracture of her fibula. Even then she went to the rink just to get away. To lean her crutches against the edge of the wall and watch the others practice. Wishing that the boot on her leg wasn’t holding her back from the one thing she loved, the one place she found solace, the one place she found escape from Aunt Daryl and the menial, dutiful life of a Cavendish.
“How is your packing coming along, my lady? Would you like any assistance?”
Diana glanced up to find Anna standing in her doorway, arms folded across her midsection, the smallest hint of a smile almost out-of-place across her thin lips. The manor had been so quiet that Diana had almost forgotten that Anna was still present.
“I think I’m nearly finished,” Diana said, rocking back onto her heels and wincing at the weight on her leg, still weak and unsteady even after two surgeries and more titanium rods than she could count. “Thank you, though, Anna.”
Anna nodded. Her smile fell back into the usual expression of neutrality. “Supper will be ready in an hour, pending the return of Lady Daryl. Will you be joining us this evening?”
Diana didn’t want to. She never did. Supper was nothing more than small talk and backhanded slights from both her aunt and cousins, but there was nothing more she could do than swallow their tasteless words with a meal just as bland as her life had become. But it was her duty to be there, as the future head of the household and the medical practice, if only to uphold the appearances of the person she was expected to become.
“Yes, Anna. I will. Thank you.”
The retreat of footsteps told her the short conversation was over. With a sigh, she turned back to the drawer, removing yet another older pair of dress pants that could go into the donation pile.
But there was something beneath them—something she hadn’t seen for quite some time—and with a sharp intake of breath and eyes that slowly widened with curiosity and remembrance, Diana’s fingers tentatively closed around the small book that had long since been forgotten, painful memories purposely hidden from view among a drawer of clothing rarely worn.
She ran her fingers over the cover, over letters coated in silver glitter that came off with her delicate touch. Akko had made this scrapbook—and another for herself, to match—to fill with pictures of a friendship that was supposed to last. That should have lasted, had Diana not done the dumbest thing ever to end it. The very thought of her actions made her cringe, her nose wrinkling with distaste at the memory, but even so she slowly flipped open the thick cover of the hand-made book.
On the inside, an inscription from Akko in the hand-writing that had become so foreign but seemed so familiar. It was the tidiest thing about Akko by far, and Diana felt the old envy of her neat handwriting slowly return.
Good morning, Angel!
Diana smiled, letting herself chuckle. She could still hear the ring in Akko’s voice, the slow drawl of the repetitive greeting when her friend caught sight of her in the morning. It was from one of their favorite movies—Charlie’s Angels, but the older one—and Diana would always echo back, like a songbird returning a call:
“Good morning, Angel.”
She whispered the words, her mouth moving slowly over a line that tasted of time and distance and fractured friendship, and read on.
I made this for us so that we can always remember the good times of being kids, even when stuff gets hard and we have to pay taxes and work and all that other stupid adult stuff. This is all stuff I’ve collected over the years. We can add more as we go, ‘cause we’ve got nothing but time, right? Best friends forever is a lifetime contract, and don’t you forget it.
Don’t worry, I’ve got my own book, too!
Love you like the sun comes up,
Your partner in fighting crime!
Akko.
Love you like the sun comes up.
She could still hear those words, cheerful and upbeat as they left Akko’s lips with the carefree ease of someone who had never known the loss of love. They rang in Diana’s ears on repeat, like the steady drone of tinnitus, but worse, because it made her heart ache with the knowledge she would never hear them again.
And Diana wondered, as she swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut, if Akko still said them… but to someone else.
She turned the page. She didn’t want to, but curiosity had a mind of its own and this was a break from packing, a break from thinking about the future and the world she would be returning to.
A world that once had Akko.
The first page was filled with faded and worn movie tickets, some slowly coming loose from the glue that held them there and holding on only just. Star Wars: The Force Awakens, which Diana only went because Akko wanted to see it. She recalled sitting there next to her best friend, staring at a movie screen that made little sense to someone who had never seen any film from the series before, only conscious of the soft skin of an arm propped up next to hers on the rest and the distant thought that Rey was achingly beautiful. Of Akko, staring intently at the movie with those wide, childlike eyes as she slid one piece of popcorn at a time into her mouth, working each slowly and pensively as though she could barely concentrate on chewing. Of the flashing lights of the movie that lit a story through her red eyes.
There was Poltergeist in the old theater downtown, where Diana had hidden behind her hands for most of the movie because horror was nothing she enjoyed and instead suffered, with a fond smile on her face, a slew of taunts from Akko afterwards.
The Fault In Our Stars. That one was Diana’s idea, because she’d read the book and loved it, and though Akko joked on her for liking such a “Stupid Girly Drama”, her friend had cried through most of the movie and then had to suffer through Diana’s taunts afterwards.
And Room.
Diana swallowed.
Room had been her favorite. Not because of the plot, though it was a good movie. She didn’t know who had wanted to see that movie or if they just went to the theater, like they often did just to get away from parents and the bustling streets of Toronto, and picked whichever one started next. She just remembered watching, her heart in knots at the realization that, while fictional, it could have been one of them, it could have been her or Akko kidnapped and suffering while the world around them went on, and she didn’t know what she would do if Akko suddenly disappeared, if Akko was taken from her—
Akko’s finger had brushed against the back of her hand and, with a heart that pounded in her ears louder than the audio from the movie, Diana had slowly coasted her fingers over that soft, warm palm and linked their fingers together. They had sat like that, gripping one another until the lights came on and they inevitably broke apart. It was an act that they didn’t talk about later, it had just happened , a single moment trapped in that theater, forgotten in time.
But Diana remembered it now, and the warmth spread beneath her skin just like it did in that moment when she felt Akko’s hand tighten around her own.
There were more—more movies than Diana ever recalled seeing—but she couldn’t remember exact moments aside from being able to sit next to her best friend and just enjoy a world that was not their own. A world where her mother wasn’t sick, where she could fall into the life of someone else but still have her favorite person at her side.
The next page held a four-leaf clover, dried and brittle but held to the page by layers of tape, that Diana had found for Akko one day before school in the modest patch of grass outside. She had been scouring forever (well, days, at least) for a sign of that lucky little weed because Akko had a maths test coming up and was afraid she’d fail.
Diana had found it on their walk to school, the very same day as the test. She remembered seizing it with frantic glee and presenting it to Akko, who stared at it, wide-eyed, with a bewildered, “How did you even find that? Gosh,” and Diana’s heart had fluttered and she’d said, “Magic,” even though it wasn’t magic at all but… well, sheer luck.
And Akko had passed her test, but that wasn’t luck, even though she insisted it was because of the clover.
There was a candy wrapper, though Diana couldn’t remember what it meant. A torn off part of a note they’d passed during class where Diana had written, in her sketchy and sideways script that she absolutely abhorred, “Love you like the moon goes down,” and a magazine cut-out of Shiny Chariot because they both loved Shiny Chariot's music.
And then there were pictures.
So many pictures.
She and Akko at Diana’s eleventh birthday party, if it could even be called that because only Akko and her parents had shown up. A taller Akko’s arm was draped around Diana's shoulders, fingers thrown up in a peace sign as a broad, carefree grin lit her face. She’d been smiling, too, because it was the first time somebody other than her mother had even cared about her birthday.
There was a picture of the two of them riding the same horse in Southern Ontario in the summer, Akko’s red eyes wide with terror and Diana’s head tilted back in a laugh. Side-by-side with their mothers on the first day of a new school year. At a parade in downtown Toronto, Akko’s mouth opened wide around a massive fistful of cotton candy while Diana side-eyed her with her own modest bite. Laughing on the floor of Akko’s bedroom, which was plastered with anime posters and trinkets and stuffed animals, a far cry from Diana’s very plain childhood room. Akko by herself doing a handstand right before she ate it and gave herself a black eye on her own fist (for which Diana had chided her for at least a week). Working on a school play.
They went on.
Their last one was by itself on its own page. They were fifteen and Akko was nearly a head taller than Diana. Their arms were draped around each other’s waists as they stood close. Akko was wearing a short red dress that flowed around knees bruised from God-knew-what, her long brunette hair styled with curls and draping over the thin straps and the slightly jutting collarbone. Diana’s own dress was pale blue, a little longer, with a wide neck and short sleeves that gently hugged the top of her biceps.
She still had that dress.
Diana bit her lip, traced her fingers around the edge of the photograph.
“Are you going to Homecoming?” Akko had asked one night after studying—well, attempting, on Diana’s part—for an upcoming Biology exam. It was their grade 9 year and the dance had been the central subject of the whisper-mill of the hallways and tossed notes for the better part of weeks. In all honesty, Diana was very tired of hearing about it, and that was mostly because no one had asked her to go.
Not that there was anybody she would say yes to.
“Probably not,” she’d answered, glancing up only briefly before returning to her notes and highlighting a few important molecules. “No one’s asked and I should probably study, anyway.”
“Study?” Akko laughed. “On Homecoming night? What would you be studying for?”
Diana shrugged. “I don’t know. Midterms, perhaps.”
“Midterms are a month and a half away.”
“A month and a half will be tomorrow in a month and a half.”
Akko sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “That makes zero sense. You’re way too much of an overachiever, Diana.”
Diana grunted a reply and went back to studying, but the topic of Homecoming weighed heavy on her mind. Akko had become rather popular at school in the past year—she was super athletic, ridiculously cute, and so positive and friendly that hardly anyone could resist her charm—and so there had to have been someone to come forward. There was no way there couldn’t have been. Akko was friends with everybody.
Diana’s highlighter froze over words she didn’t even know why she was marking and she looked up, nibbling at some loose skin on her bottom lip and tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She watched Akko for a long moment as the girl crouched low over her notes, clearly sketching another Totoro instead of studying.
“Has, um—” Diana paused, swallowed, unsure if she wanted to know the answer. “Has anyone asked you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Akko perked up, her bangs swaying across her forehead as she looked up from her drawing. “Chris asked the other day. Gross, right?” She laughed. They both thought Chris was a tool, but he’d had this thing for Akko since the beginning of the year. “And Avery asked last week if I wanted to go with her crowd.”
The familiar anchor of loneliness sank in Diana’s stomach.
“Oh.”
“I told them no. Chris because, well, obviously, and Avery’s friends are, well, kinda… I dunno.” She shrugged. “Plain, I guess.”
The anchor floated up and the constricting feeling in her throat lessened.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” Akko rocked back on her heels. She stuck the tip of her pen into the corner of her mouth and rolled it, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she studied Diana’s face. “I didn’t know if you were going or not and I really don’t want to go without you. It’s kind of a big thing, you know?”
Diana hoped, more than anything, that her best friend couldn’t make out the pink dust that quickly found its way into her cheeks. Personally, she didn’t think Homecoming was a big deal. It was just something they would forget in time and the narrowing space of more memories.
She just nodded, white noise creeping into her head as Akko gave her that sly smile that said, quite plainly, that she was devising something in her mind.
“Wanna go together?”
Diana forced a chuckle. “I don’t think Chris would appreciate me being a third wheel, Akko,” she joked.
“No, no.” Akko shook her head feverishly. “Not with Chris. Ew, why would you say that? Or Avery, even. Or anyone. Just us. Together. You know.” Was Akko blushing? “As best friends. Obviously.”
The noise in her head buzzed louder. She took a deep breath, glancing down at her notes and the highlighter that had squiggled a jagged line off to the side. She’d forgotten it was still touching the paper. “Just…” She turned her eyes back up to meet glistening brown. “Us?”
“Well, yeah.” Akko’s smile twitched. Faded. “If… if you’d want to go. I want to. It seems like a big thing to miss and, well…” She trailed off, dropping the pen from her mouth. “I’d rather experience that ‘big thing’ with you.”
“I—” Diana’s head felt light. She swallowed around the hard lump she couldn’t seem to dispel, trying very hard to clear her mind and to breathe air that suddenly seemed so stifling in the heavy space between them. Akko was asking her to Homecoming. Okay, not as her date, which Diana had denied over and over again that she even wanted in thoughts filled with jealous rage ever since the topic had started at school and every time some guy (or girl) approached Akko. But Akko had still asked her to Homecoming with just her, which meant more than anything to Diana and the heart that was beating at a steadier rhythm than their school’s whole drumline.
“Okay. Yes, I’ll go with you.” And, not to seem too eager, added an, “I guess.”
Akko sighed and let a relieved smile slide across her pale lips as she nodded an affirmation.
And the two had gone to Homecoming. They’d danced the night away, the fast songs with Akko’s awkward but carefree moves and Diana’s stylish grace from years of figure skating. The slow songs where they stayed close but not too close, talking and laughing over anything and everything to avoid a silence that was far too loud if they stopped.
Though Akko’s many friends had come over to say hello, to compliment her dress or her hair or anything else they could think of, they didn’t linger long. Akko would merely smile and turn back to Diana.
Because Akko had done what she had always done their entire friendship:
She had made Diana feel like she was the only one that mattered.
The creak of her door and a loud voice pulled Diana from her memories and she startled, dropping the small scrapbook back into the bottom drawer of her wardrobe.
“Apologies, Lady Diana.” Anna stood in the doorway, a kind smile barely registering across her aged face. Her long fingers found the handkerchief that she kept at her side, twirling it against her palm as she said, “I announced supper a bit ago. I suppose you didn’t hear. We’re waiting for you.”
“Oh. Right.” Diana cleared her throat, slamming the scrapbook shut and hiding it from Anna’s sight as she returned her own sheepish smile. “I’ll be right there. Thank you, Anna.”
Anna nodded, lingering for a brief moment before turning on her heels. Her shoes echoed against the hardwood floor of the long hallway, fading into the west wing.
Diana turned back to the memento and swiped a sweaty palm against her pants. She glanced at her already very full suitcase and debated, with a heart still throbbing with the proximity of the past and the frightful reality of the future, the slight gap between her clothes and some letters that she’d hidden in a side compartment.
Akko wasn’t her best friend any longer. Nor, as it stood now, even an acquaintance. Whoever she was now was a stranger to Diana and she knew that. She knew that Akko was gone, even though the promise of forever still lingered in a book of the past’s shadows, of empty words, of ghosts.
As it stood, she could stand to be haunted a little longer.
And so she tucked the small book into a space that hugged it perfectly to let the chains keep rattling.
Diana felt a whole lot of things, but none of them were good.
She felt disgusting and tired from the hours of travel that had started in England’s frosty early morning. She was frustrated with customs and all the people who seemed so entirely ignorant of just having their passports out, of treating border patrol with courtesy instead of guarded privilege. She was hungry, having had nothing but a rushed cup of tea and a single piece of toast before her ride to Leeds Bradford. She was grouchy—so bloody grouchy—and so by the time she made it to the baggage carousel in the overwhelming rush of travelers that was Toronto Pearson, she was ready to call it a day.
The entire day had been a rush. From England to Amsterdam to Canada, the only peace she’d managed to muster was shoving her headphones over her ears and blasting a podcast to try to cut out the screams of a small child that seemed to be behind her on both flights.
But the day had only begun—quite literally, in Toronto—and she had so much to do before the gift of rest would come.
She hugged her carry-on closer to her side, wary of the onslaught of strangers and the many languages that filtered through her senses. French and Hindi, Russian and Chinese, quiet but cheerful Canadian and rushed and raucous American. Usually she would enjoy the collision of culture and the people-watching that came with it, but instead she found herself growing more irritable by the minute.
She pulled her mobile from her pocket and checked the time. Barely one, but it felt so much later. The skates in her bag—she was not going to trust baggage with something so precious as her Riedells—weighed heavy on her shoulder. She was well aware that she looked like absolute garbage, could feel the half-moons under her eyes and the grease making her wavy hair fall limp over her shoulders, but she didn’t care.
Diana just wanted to get her luggage and go—
“Excuse me.” A woman who had been staring at her for an uncomfortable amount of time stepped forward. “But you look familiar. Do you, by chance—”
“Not her.” Diana cut her off quickly, adjusting her Riedells so it wasn’t so obvious what the bag hid. “Happens fairly often. Sorry.” She plastered on a terse smile, one that said the inquiry was quite over, and sidled past to where her flight’s checked bags were beginning to fall onto the carousel. She did not look back.
“Finally,” she sighed, delicately navigating around a large family to snag her modest black bag.
She kept her belongings close as she winded between people oblivious in either their own exhaustion or their excitement to see waiting family members and friends. People greeted others with hugs, with laughter, sometimes with tears. Diana ignored it all. There would be no one waiting for her, save the Uber she’d arranged to take her from the airport to Luna Nova University.
When she was finally through the main doors, she paused, thirstily drinking air much warmer than home—if Leeds could be called that. It tasted of city: of asphalt tar and car exhaust, of petrol and the occasional drift of fried food. It was a far cry from the country that she’d come to know, but everything rushed back to her as though she had never left at all, as though Leeds was the distant memory, instead, and she’d been in Toronto all along.
But she hadn’t.
She settled into a leather backseat that reeked of cleaner and peered through the window at the scenery that passed slowly with traffic that she hadn’t missed. She felt out of place. Out of time. Everything was foreign and familiar all at once: the CN Tower that loomed gradually closer as they crept downtown, the dark masses of the TD Centre, the skyscrapers that stretched into the bright blue sky of early autumn. The city was open and flat, a stretch of nothing but gray concrete and shimmering office windows for miles ahead.
Ahead, as her driver turned off the main highway and onto the smaller roads that would lead away from downtown and into York, Diana could barely see the single building that meant the most to her:
CAVENDISH MEDICAL.
Her mother’s hospital—Aunt Daryl’s hospital, she internally corrected—looked the same as it did all those years ago. It seemed smaller somehow, but she supposed most things did when the world became larger, and she struggled to fight off the memories of walking those brightly lit, antiseptic scented halls with her mother. She closed her eyes and heard the distinctive sound of hospital doors, of moans and gasps, of nurses chatting and charting and typing, of the abrasive intercom that rang out all too frequently. Staff would stop what they were doing, no matter how busy they were, to greet her mother as though she was an old friend. They’d shake Diana’s hand or squeeze her shoulder and tell her how big she’d gotten, even though she knew it was a lie because she had stopped growing for a time.
Now, they could say that and mean it.
“Drop you off here?” the driver said, and Diana came to the realization she hadn’t even noticed their arrival in front of a University bustling with activity.
“Right, yes. Of course. Here is fine,” Diana replied. She needed to get to the eastern dormitory but she wasn’t about to ask a driver anxious for more fare to fight through the narrow, densely packed street to find it.
Besides, she found it just fine. A simple ask from somebody who was clearly an RA—Diana could tell because she was looking quite overwhelmed as she stood before a tall building, clutching a nearly empty bottle of water and mopping sweat off her forehead—pointed her in a direction that wasn’t far off. As she walked, the wheels of her bag catching in the cracks of the sidewalk with each step, she felt small. All around her were groups of friends, excited first-years with their parents still at their sides, people meeting for the first time over awkward handshakes and nervous laughter. Across a park that spread wide, the only green for miles in a world of concrete, settled-in students were kicking footballs or tossing frisbees or having lunch beneath trees arranged in a perfect line down the bricked middle path.
A trickle of sweat coursed down the side of her face and she wished she had a free hand to roll up the sleeves of her button-up.
Diana lugged her bag up the many steps that led to her dormitory and upper-floor room, navigating halls crowded with new students and bags and boxes, until she found her room and the cool air hit her like a wall.
The room was modest, but at least it was renovated. Overhead lights cast a bright, fluorescent glow across freshly painted walls and brand new kitchen appliances. Even the dining table was rather modern—a small aluminum table that looked like something one would purchase in Ikea—and two small, colorful chairs. She was pleasantly surprised. The photos of the second-year rooms on the website had not been so flattering, though she supposed this was one of the newer dormitories on campus. It was almost nice to finally be involved in the university atmosphere. A year of online schooling where physical therapy took up most of her time between classes was not exactly what she'd imagined.
The center of the small kitchen and dining area gave way into a narrow space that served as a common area, and there Diana found the furniture she was expecting. An aged leather sofa, which looked like it had seen more than its fair share of student abuse, was pushed up against the wall, only feet away from a donation-center worthy bookshelf that held, at least, a relatively new television. Not that she watched telly much—she much preferred to read a book or study—but not having to fight aged technology for the news would be very welcome.
Diana leaned her suitcase up against a cupboard, gently setting the bag holding her ice skates on the counter as she meandered further. On each side of the common area was a separate room, each with a twin bed, an old wooden desk, and a bookshelf. The rooms were tiny, nearly identically the size of the manor’s kitchen pantry, but she supposed that space wasn’t necessary. She was there to study medicine, not to enjoy the best accommodations that Toronto had to offer—which were grossly expensive, even by her standards.
But there was one thing she was very, very grateful for.
Separate washrooms.
Not that she had a problem with sharing a washroom if her roommate was hygienic and clean and all the things Diana expected a grown adult to be, but she knew very well that university was a combination of all kinds of people and her standards were not shared by everybody.
She was wondering which room to take, even though they were identical, when the main door swung open. Diana spun on a heel. Great, her roommate had arrived. That would very quickly settle the room debate.
A breathless girl just about fell inside, dropping a bag nearly the length of Diana’s body and heaving another that she’d been carrying on her back to the floor beside it. Diana observed with a raised eyebrow, genuinely impressed by the sheer strength that this smaller girl possessed. The dormitory didn’t have an elevator, meaning she’d had to lug all that up the stairs by herself.
“Hello,” Diana greeted. The girl was bent over herself, palms planted on tanned knees as she sucked in air. Sweaty bangs were plastered to her forehead and she moved to brush them away as she looked up. Diana immediately plastered on a generic smile. “I’m—”
The eyes that met her own were unmistakably familiar. The instant shock of realization hit Diana much like that time she’d run full tilt into a very clean glass door.
“Uh. Um,” was all the other girl managed to sputter as she jolted upright. “Uh.”
She was shorter than Diana remembered—though, in her defense, Diana had encountered a late growth spurt when she hit 18—and her hair was cut to reach just barely below her shoulders. And she looked older. The last of the baby fat had disappeared completely and her face was thinner. But of course she looked older because it had been five years and—
Diana’s palms were sweaty and she unconsciously swiped them against her jeans, though the action did nothing to still the electric shocks that were coursing, rapid-fire, through her nervous system. Her entire body felt like she’d jumped in a bonfire and she wanted to pinch herself to see if this was just some weird dream but she knew that it wasn’t, it couldn’t be—
And finally her mouth chose to work, her suddenly very dry tongue choosing to move of its own accord as she choked out, in a rush of a breath and a name that hadn’t left her lips in so long:
“Akko?”