Disclaimer: Sailor Moon = Not Mine.

Dedication: To Lillian, for being the author of one of the first Fanfictions I ever read, and actually reviewing mine.

Summary: A certain reborn Shitennou’s thoughts as he watches his love from afar. Ami/Zoisite.

********************************

I see you.

I see you from my hiding place within the crowd, safely blocked from your view by the throng of people. You are shopping with your friends, protesting unsuccessfully against their choice of stores. You laugh with them over your protests, for you know as well as them that they fall upon deaf ears. They drag you inside a shop for formal wear, to 'ooh' and 'ah' over the far too expensive prom dresses. As you trail behind them a dress of pale blue satin catches your eye, and you cannot help but examine it.

I see your friends' surprised expressions when they notice the object of your admiration. It's a rather long way from your normal conservative choice of apparel; despite the flowing, ankle length skirt it has a slit which reaches mid-thigh and a rather low v-neck. Delighted by your unusual choice, they compel you to try it on. It fits you perfectly, accenting your curves, the indigo depths of your eyes and the odd blue tint in your otherwise black hair. You twirl around, awaiting their judgment, a happy, girlish smile on your face. Your friends enthusiastically approve, and force-march you to the cashier's station once you've changed back to your blouse and skirt.

I see you point out the price tag in objection, can imagine your lecture on the frivolity of spending so much on a single article of clothing. Your friends stare at you for a moment, and then the black haired one raises her right hand and taps the back of her fourth finger with the other. You look at her in confusion for a moment, then blush and glance down at your own hands. I know that on the same finger the girl pointed to rests an expensive ring, a gift from your parents: a sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. You rarely think about how rich your parents really are, and the amount of money they set aside for your personal spending, since you are by nature so frugal. At the reminder, however, you meekly surrender your wallet and the dress is paid for.

I see the content smile playing across your lips as you leave the store, surrounding by your companions who argue vehemently about the next store to visit. You merely shepherd them through the crowded mall and attempt to keep them from running into other shoppers, and eventually point out the bookstore across the way. The two blondes shout something about mangas and run inside, to be followed a bit more slowly by the raven-haired one and the brunette, and you in the rear. I know that you will head straight for the section of Fantasy and Science Fiction, searching for a new adventure to devour. Most people wouldn't expect it of you, but I know the deep love of adventure you hold. When you finally return to the main part of the mall you carry a second bag, and I wonder what new book you will end up reading tonight.

I see you laugh when one of the blondes demands food, and pulls the rest of you behind her to the food court for dinner. You all split up to order your preferred dinner, then meet at an empty table to eat together. You look around the mall as you sip your soda, people-watching as you always do. There are the families, the couples, the friends, the singles looking for a date, the loners, the rich, the bored, the young, the old. Who catches your eye this time? The father with his two children, talking and laughing over their food? The two women speaking to each other in sign language? The woman in a black dress sitting alone at her table as she eats? There are so many, all unique.

I see you conscientiously throw your trash away and put your tray in its proper place. On your way back, a young man grabs your hand as you pass buy and attempts to flirt with you. For a moment you stand still in surprise, but as he continues to talk your eyes narrow. Abruptly, you jerk your hand out of his grasp, and sharply say something that stuns him into silence. You continue on toward your table, a vision of poise, confidence, and disdain for idiotic men.

And as I see you, I realize—you have changed. No longer are you a shy girl, but a young woman. You have lived, grown and matured. You are a veteran of countless battles and wars, and have lived to tell about them. You are in college, pursuing your dreams. The confidence and tenacity you always possessed has finally emerged. You are not the girl I once knew. Are you?

I see you, and I wonder. Do you remember? Do you remember what occurred what seems a lifetime ago—because it was? Do remember that past time, where you were so different, and yet still so much the same?

Would you know me? I have not changed since that time, or so I believe. My thoughts for you, certainly, have never wavered. If you saw me, how would you react? A blank stare, a shocked face, sad determination, hatred, loathing? What would you think of me, if you were to see me now?

Would you remember the truth? The truth which hurts more than any lies you could thinks were true? I dare not ask. I dare not hope. I cannot take that chance that I might open long forgotten wounds, which would never heal again. You seem happy as you are now, and that knowledge gives me as much satisfaction and happiness as I deserve. I would never run the risk of hurting you again.

And because of this, I see you, but from behind a wall of mirrored glass. Never to touch, never to be seen, never to meet. I am the hidden observer, who is and will always be watching over you.

Perhaps someday in the future you will remember. Perhaps someday you will look for me. Perhaps, even, I will someday be ready to be found.

But not today.

Until then...

"Goodbye, Ami."