Author's Note: Mixtapes (formerly entitled as Style) - a collection of vignettes, drabbles and short narratives for Yamato and Mimi. The chapter title is inspired by Taylor Swift's song, as it seems to have really encapsulated Yamato and Mimi's potential chemistry and relationship. I don't own anything.
Mixtapes
Style
"you've got that James Dean, daydream look in your eyes,
and I got that red-lip, classic thing that you like."
He'd take notice of her in the crowd, her long, chestnut tresses bouncing and framing a tiny, perfectly round and sculpted face, her petite figure sashaying along with her thin legs, her earthly-colored eyes directly looking at his vividly oceanic ones.
He knew her well, but not really. He was very conscious and watchful of her, her presence too dominating despite the tiny little frame. He knew how on-lookers perceived her, very much aware of her reputation to attract lovers and haters. He knew she didn't care what the rest had thought – but he also knew he was the unspoken exception.
She'd see him two to three times a day, a familiar face she knew since they were children. At a distance he stood out among the ocean of people, with his naturally golden mane lightening the dim hallway, and a towering figure to go along with his handsome face.
She knew that the rest of the girls would watch him pass by, awestruck, while the men, in envy, could only watch. The girls would compete for his attention, while he does his best to get past them. She knew very well she wasn't one of the girls. She also knew she had him all along – but she won't tell.
They'd come from opposite directions, and then briefly meet on a tangent. A mere passing of shoulders was their "hello". Sometimes, a mere exchange sighs, chuckles, and breaths of each other's names, a seemingly mundane greeting that meant much more to them. Only they could understand. They were equals, both too proud to make their move.
She throws him a small but very knowing smile; in return he nods as he pierces her with his stare. With nothing much else, both already knew that today will be different.
At a secluded park they will meet, away from the density of judging eyes and gossiping lips. She arrived much later, found him already waiting under a usual landmark of their infrequent rendezvous – a cherry blossom tree; both no longer were they wearing their blue coats and leathered shoes.
It's been a while. Only for today, they would be different people to each other.
He looks up, expressionless, hands buried beneath his pockets, yet again; and she thought he seemed more alive than she had ever seen him inside four walls.
"Tachikawa,"
She smiles back, arms crossed. To him, she looked much more than just a school girl with a pretty face.
"Ishida,"