The hot sun bore down on the single man as he walked along the bustling streets of Tokyo, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over his heated body. As he walked along wishing for some kind of refreshment to cool himself down (and maybe something other than this white button-down shirt to cover his skin), he realized belatedly that it might have been wiser to actually prepare for this trip rather than simply backpack it. He'd decided to stay for only a few nights, but perhaps it would have done him well to have packed a few more necessities considering the summer weather.

Women stared at him as he walked by, some openly pausing to watch his passing in admiration. An arrogant smirk snuck onto his handsome face. His appearance certainly drew the eye; he couldn't deny his physical allure when it was such an obvious trait. Despite the burning disappointment he felt over Miss, he perused his surroundings from behind the protection of his sunglasses, mostly because of habits being hard to break, or something like that. He eyed several of the women who glanced his way, but only those who had another man already linked on their arm or at least had the aura of being a taken woman. He couldn't even spare a glance for those who were obviously single.

He also made it a point to survey their left hands. More specifically their left ring fingers—sure, he didn't mind taking someone's girlfriend, but someone's wife? The thrill of the chase was infinitely more appealing, the satisfaction from his catch that much more gratifying. His sight had focused selectively on the opposite sex this way since high school.

A green light halted his stride. He found himself tuning the chatter around him out, surveying the passerby absently, when a sudden bright glare of sun on metal penetrated the glasses and hit his dark eyes, making him flinch. The striking image of that one unforgettable woman flashed through his mind.

He recalled the first moment he'd seen her with a startling clarity. The low clack of her heels struck his ears as she entered the bar. Her smooth, reddish-brown hair flowed softly down her back, mussed but not messy from the wind that blew outside. A somewhat forced smile twisting her face, she followed her friends in as they seated themselves at their high school reunion. As he watched her, he wondered what topic they were discussing to make her look so uncomfortable, and chuckled quietly to himself when the big-shot soccer player's declarations lit her face on fire; the ring on her finger gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He'd smirked to himself, knowing exactly who his next prey would be.

He never anticipated that he would be the one ensnared instead.

Several shoulders and elbows hit him as the light flashed, signaling to pedestrians to cross. He tsked at himself, rolling his shoulders with irritation as he made his way across the street. Now wasn't the time to be thinking of Miss. He had come to enjoy a weekend vacation away from her memory, so he certainly didn't want her on his mind the whole time he was here. Just for now, I'll banish all thoughts of her from my mind…no matter how difficult it is to do that, I have to try.

His decision to visit had been quite sudden. He didn't often travel, and despite his revived exchange plans to go to France, he'd never longed to; school and his job and painting consumed the majority of his time, and whatever he had left over he'd reserved for her. But that night just under a week ago—the conclusion of his relationship with the ever unattainable Miss—had sparked a superficial frustration in him. Left with a painful emptiness, he'd experienced a whimsical desire to visit his bartending mentor here in Tokyo. Why visit his mentor rather than indulge himself in another woman who could wash away his troubles? Who knew. There were some strange forces at work out there.

Soon enough, he had reached his mentor's bar's location in the high-end Azabu-Juban shopping district. The familiar exterior had him grinning with nostalgia, a strange and inappropriate sentiment for a young man such as himself.

"Long Island Sports Dining Bar," or just "Long Island" for short. The home of the world's most laid-back, carefree man ever. Even now he could recall the summer days here where he'd spent hours training for what (at the time) was no reason at all: cleaning the storage room, washing dishes, mixing drinks and serving the only group of customers that regularly came in. It had only been a couple of years since then, but he wondered if anything here had changed. Nah, he thought to himself. It'll probably just be the usual gang, going through their daily routine, with the old man watching over them while he flips through a fortune telling book to learn ever more womanizing tricks.

He grinned. Bartending had only been one of many things he'd picked up from Kunihiko Aikawa.

With a long last look at the Long Island sign, Kiyoto Makimura pushed open the doors and crossed the threshold into a very familiar world.

At first sight, his suspicions were confirmed; absolutely nothing had changed.

The bar's cheerful atmosphere was welcoming and appealing. Midday light streaming in from the lengthy window wall illuminated the entire space, bathing every surface in a mysterious but warm glow. The stools and tables hadn't worn down a bit, the paint on the walls shone healthily, and only minute, nearly imperceptible scuffs marred the otherwise shining hardwood floors. The place was as totally empty as ever, but Kiyoto could tell from how well-kept it was that it still had business, if not for the sake of the regulars then because its owner hadn't stopped looking after the place for a moment.

He'd been taking a cursory look behind the counter, lost in reminiscent thoughts when he heard hurried footsteps approaching from down the hall. Anticipation of greeting his mentor for the first time in two years had him grinning ecstatically like a kid again.

He smiled boyishly as a shadow rounded the corner. He couldn't wait to see the look on Kunihiko's face when he saw who waited for him. "Yo! It's been a long time, Mr. Aik—"

"Kyaaah!"

Kiyoto's eyes flew open in shock at the feminine scream. Before him stood not Kunihiko Aikawa, lazy bum-assed President of one of the fastest growing IT companies in Japan, but a woman of unsettlingly familiar appeal who Kiyoto might have seduced if not for the dangerous situation he found himself in.

"A thief!" Her arms swung around wildly as she swatted at him with a metal clipboard. He lunged back out of reach; he could tell it'd hurt like hell if her hits connected, and anyway, he had no desire to risk scarring his face.

He leapt up onto the counter and jumped down to the other side to avoid her attacks. He displayed his hands clearly in an expression of surrender, trying to pacify her violence. "Wait a minute, Miss, I'm not a thief! Stop swinging, let me explain!"

She halted her assault to hear him out. "Who are you and what are you doing in here behind the counter? We haven't opened yet."

"I'm Kiyoto Makimura. I'm here to see Kunihiko Aikawa. Do you know where I can find him?"

"Kunihiko?" she repeated in bewilderment. "What business do you have with him?" A suspicious look crossed her features as she looked him up and down, some kind of realization dawning. "If you're here because of Ms. Kosugi then I'm going to have to ask you to leave, because we don't have the time right now to deal with some stage play fanatic's wild fantasies—"

"Kosugi? Who? I'm just visiting my mentor, Mr. Aikawa. Could you please tell me where he is?"

She glared at him, posture stiff. "I suggest you leave before I call the police. I've never heard of Kunihiko having a pupil, and besides, something about you is setting off my playboy alert. It's creeping me out. How old are you?"

Wha—who was this woman? Not that I can deny the playboy part. "How old might you be, Miss?" he sassed back. "Thirty?"

"Twenty-six!" she yelled indignantly.

"Doesn't look like much of a difference on you." When she raised the clipboard again, he thought better of his next comment and backed down. "Anyway, could you please call Mr. Aikawa for me?"

She surveyed Kiyoto again. It was no wonder really that she was so apprehensive of him. He had a fairly sweaty shirt on, worn jeans, a flush from the heat and a beaten up old backpack slung over his shoulder. A far cry from his usual attire, but he didn't hear anybody complaining about it. He also supposed that it was a little strange to walk into your bar and suddenly see something that didn't belong there, especially if they looked like they'd been wandering the through desert, abandoned.

Now that he thought about it, something else strange was going on here. He'd never known Kunihiko to let a lover work at his bar, even met any of his lovers there before. He generally kept the two separate, because allowing them into this part of his life meant a deeper commitment and the old man had made it clear he had no intention of ever getting serious with anyone. Much like Kiyoto, he didn't let his relationships get too serious. Much unlike Kiyoto, and admittedly probably for the better, he avoided entanglements with anyone that could lead to a scandal.

This made him wonder exactly who she was to Kunihiko.

Just then, his eyes caught a glint of metal on her hand. An engagement ring adorned her right ring finger, a dazzling piece of jewelry that, under normal circumstances, Kiyoto would have caught immediately. The weaponized clipboard must have distracted him.

It couldn't be….

Already curious since first sight, his interest in her rose. The sun lit the highlights in her hair, her brown eyes shone at him vividly, her lips grew fuller. The casual clothes she wore accentuated her body's every curve and dip at all the right places and angles. She seemed more attractive than Kiyoto first made her out to be, but that wasn't all. She carried an aura of independence and strength about her, one that sang of caring and kindness and support. Her personality reached him despite her defensive stance, like she was an open book that even the simplest man could read. And there was something in the steadfastness of her eyes that made him want to trust in her the same way he'd trusted another not too long ago.

He recalled that agitated feeling he had when he first saw her. I thought so….

The woman resembled his Miss in so many ways that he was stricken with an aching shock. An uncomfortable pang of longing struck his heart, almost painful in its intensity. He imagined stepping forward, reaching over the counter, asking her to start anew with him, so they could share a more intimate introduction to each other…

As he thought this to himself, a low, familiar voice echoed out from the hallway.