Disclaimer: Doesn't belong to me, quite sadly. Would've made a bundle from the franchise, what with all the spin-offs and games and such.
bitter escapades;
we deal, we deal.
The day before had been a flurry of rain and tears and crackling static in phone calls – mostly her crying and him murmuring comforting words, because she breaks down when she's hurt and he needs someone to keep him from burying himself in paperwork when he's hurt. Then there are the relatively comfy silences when they both know that they're thinking and breathing in synchronization.
Thinking back, it isn't all too surprising that there's going to be a wedding. After all, Sora and Yamato have only been dating on-and-off for six years coming. But he understands why she's sobbing like a three-year-old who just lost her lollipop to the neighbor's dog, because he feels almost exactly the same way. Just… less watery. She's never gotten over her relationship with the former vocalist, and he's never forgotten Sora's lavender fragrance. And tomorrow, the thin strands of hope that held them together for the past few years watching Sora-and-Yamato (they've become a single entity to most) bicker and make up are going to be wrenched apart once and for all.
It's a cloudy afternoon; rather apt for their mood. He notices that her eyes aren't puffy at all, under her make-up. Trust her to be good at such things – after all, she was one of the first few girls who started giving a damn about her appearance at age ten. He really didn't like her back when they were still running around as kids saving the world, because she was so petty and girly. She, in return, had hated his boorish and bossy attitude as the unspoken leader of the group.
Both find it rather amusing that the two most unlikely ones of the big group have become so close due to unforeseen circumstances. They've never given romance a shot, because that would upset their delicate dynamic that was formed from heartbreak. Maybe.
She fingers her cup of coffee, eyes straying to the window behind him. He knows she's thinking, so he remains silent and keeps his eyes on her. Not intently, but enough to let her know that he's paying attention.
"Yesterday was hard," she pauses.
"But today I'm fine without him."
A small smile graces her lips – it makes him feel like reaching over to grab her shoulders and shake her hard. No, she isn't fine. No, he isn't feeling okay. No, they're not as nonchalant as they look.
Instead, he breaks his gaze from her and raises his glass to his lips. Orange juice. A little uncharacteristic for him to be sipping a child's drink, but he's not allowed to have liquor in the morning, because the boss will have his head. It's already bad enough that he's exceeded his lunch time by two hours just to have "tea" with her.
Her seemingly cheery expression falters when he doesn't reply, because she understands his gestures too well. Probably even better than his own sister, because he's changed so much over the years since the day the little girl left for New York to study photography.
It's ironic, as though she'd come back to replace the only girl who could calm him down during one of his bad temper outbursts, and Hikari had gone over to America in her stead.
Bony fingers grip the serviette that came with her sandwich, which has been left half-eaten. A sign of anxiousness.
She is beautiful – prettier than the average woman; probably good-looking enough to appear on fashion magazine covers. Unfortunately, her height does not match her face well enough and her hands are too ugly. So she's stuck with her cooking skills – not that she doesn't like her job, oh heavens no. The kitchen calms her mind, along with cracking eggs with absolute precision and kneading dough. They're both perfectionists in their own little obsessive ways, with her habit of keeping everything in her kitchen in order and everything else in the apartment in a mess, and his tendency to turn the music and air-conditioner off before killing the engine.
It's because of these quirks that he knows when to tell that she's upset, and not "fine" at all, as she said earlier on. Not finishing a meal is a bad sign for her. Baking excessively is an extremely bad sign for her. He casually glances at her neglected salmon sandwich and the basket of neatly lined muffins by her side. Yep, both bases covered. She isn't "fine" at all.
She notices his subtle glances and closes her eyes in slight exasperation. (It also pains her a little because the both of them seem to have lost their capability of displaying strong reactions during their screwed-up process of growing up. It's always slight anger, a little bit of sadness, too little happiness.) Sometimes, it's quite annoying when you know someone inside out and vice versa, because it is simply impossible to keep anything from that person. They're always playing this game of Who's Gonna 'Fess Up First, and he always wins – ugh, here it comes.
A soft sigh, then the clinking of her spoon as she sets it upon her saucer. "Okay, okay. I'm not all that fine."
For a moment a ghost of a grin passes across his face and lights up his usually blank features. Yeah, the kid that likes winning is still in him – just doesn't come out so often anymore. He reaches across the table, one long arm brushing against her as he steals a muffin from under her nose. Just as expected, she's experiencing the usual tingling feeling that she gets every time he touches her. He's probably too absorbed in what he's doing to realize that he has an effect on the opposite sex. It's not the same dazzling sensation that Yamato has, but she reckons it's way more impacting and long-lasting. She, of all people, should know, since he does it more often to her than anyone else.
Oh crap –
Damn, she doesn't want to spoil another friendship; a friendship that's more important than most other relationships that have happened in her twenty-four years of life.
He raises an eyebrow at her as he bites down into her blueberry muffin. (A small, sadistic part of him likes it when she's depressed, because she makes such good muffins, pies, cakes, whatever when she's down. There's also that tiny detail that she talks more to him during these times.) She needs to stop diving into inner monologues when she's with other people. Well, not that he minds anyway. It's pretty cute when she scrunches her face up at herself and does all sorts of funny expressions. Wait, did he just admit to himself that she was cute –
She speaks suddenly – a sudden break that they're both glad for. Because it's frightening when you realize that you're falling in love with the exact person you hope as Hell you won't end up with since the current situation is perfect enough already, and you don't want to contaminate it with ridiculous emotions. (Evidently, the both of them don't have a very good impression of romance.)
"Will you be there tomorrow?"
Both know what she's referring to, because they have the same invitation card stashed in a dark corner, never to be found until their hearts are whole again. His responding laughter is curt and bitter to her ears. She resists the urge to cover her ears and blinks back the sudden gush of tears that came without warning. It's been a long time since she's heard him laugh as freely as he had done when he was still that stubborn and stupid and loud daredevil. Well, he still is stubborn and stupid and foolishly brave, but no one else knows because all they see is a workaholic with a tight, professional smile.
"We could go to the amusement park," he says randomly, some of that childish spark returning to his chocolate eyes for a bit. She laughs for real, for the both of them, because she knows she's actually the stronger one of the two. He looks plenty serious about his idea though – maybe, just maybe, they'll be able to turn back time on a rollercoaster, or a turning tea-cup, or the carousel.
She props her elbows on the table and rests her head on her hands thoughtfully. "Before, or after?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.
"Neither."
Indeed, she knows him better than most people think. And they've never even tried dating before.
"Sora will be so mad," she chides lightly, but there is laughter in her hazel eyes.
Two of the many bridesmaids and best men are absent from the wedding the next day, but the two culprits like to think that this is penance for Sora and Yamato for running off together and leaving the two of them in the dust. Hah, let them squirm and perspire in those horrific wedding suits of theirs. Bitter? Hell yes. (But not bitter enough to keep her from sending a basket of assorted muffins to the reception, and him from sending flowers – cherry blossoms and lilies to suit the season, and no roses because Yamato hates them with a vengeance after a thorny situation with a certain ex-girlfriend-turned-stalker. They are still best friends after all.)
Of course, they know they'll learn to live with it in time to come. For now, Taichi's pretty content with dragging Mimi by the arm, kicking and screaming towards that seismic-toss coaster.
they're ready to move on.
Author's Notes: References to lyrics, shows and games are intentional. See if you can spot 'em. :D Reviews will be awarded with one of Mimi's emo-muffins that taste pretty damned good. ♥