Mutsu opens her email, bites back the rise in her throat, and exhales a shaky breath despite the frustration that presses against her forebrain. Everything around her is quiet, save for the buzz of the refrigerator and occasional pipe rattle in the bathroom. Compared to her Friday afternoon, this is the closest thing to peace.

That is until a Chidori Group email notification flashes across the bright screen.

From no other than her boss.

She stifles another groan. Before her boss cheated his way to promotion,

The screen flickers to life when she resuscitates it with the sweep of her mouse; Mutsu's eyes strain reading her boss' orders in the dark.

Fr: Head of Marketing - Hiroto Onohara

To: Mutsu Kaien

Your family history clearly precedes you. It's non-negotiable; you'll do Watanabe's job Tuesday. Order your ticket and we'll reimburse accordingly.

Fingers lingering on the keyboard, Mutsu debates outright quitting a job she worked so hard for, to keep her head finally out and away from debt-infested water, and cursing her new boss to hell. He might have risen to a position higher than her despite a long time, one-sided rival vendetta he held her to, but she never forgets every stab to her career being overlooked wounded her. Now, after their altercation at the office and the loss of a major client, Onohara pointed a skinny finger in her direction (what she would give to put her "self-defense" classes to the test on his face), and it was enough to send her on the precipice of losing her job.

Apparently, voicing an opinion nowadays is controversial. Damn him. It's not entirely her fault he chose to continue their battle on strategizing their statements to public relations despite his appointment with their potential partners who flew in from Nagoya,

She could read between the lines to know there's her career at stake. It is a cost she's lived with since her university years, her father's empirical rise-and-fall in business, and his debt left in her bank account when he went missing. Most days she convinces herself that she moved on to live her own life. On the days she's rendered weakest, Mutsu is flogged to a static, three-year position because of it.

Oh well. Success comes easy to no one and playing the game is the closest she'll ever get to it. If she has to fly out to slave away to keep her job, she'll do it.

She breathes in and out. Swallowing hard, Mutsu's fingertips press against the keys.

That morning, the vestiges of a churning storm at her destination cause the airline to send a blipping notification on her phone.

Mutsu rolls on her side, soaking in the information as the bed dips with the sudden weight shift. Her flight is delayed for an understandable amount of hours.

But she stands up anyway, brushes the overnight knots in her hair, picking up a towel on her journey to the bathroom.

Rather be there early than missing her flight and jeopardizing everything.

Mutsu packs light. As if it's weightless, she lifts her carry-on onto the security check belt, way before the man in front of her grunts with his own effort, his hands turning white gripping his dark suitcase.

"Here," she cuts next him, heaving the underside of his luggage, guiding it down the line. He dazzles the drudgery of the morning with a grin before waltzing through the security arches.

...except the metal detectors alarmingly beep twice on the same man donning a red windbreaker in front of her. The first time catches the metal on his department store watch–an accessory entirely too formal for a case of bedhead and athletic clothes–and the second alarm rings because he forgot to remove his loose change from his pocket.

He guffaws gratingly despite the increasing pairs of glares on him. The looks he gets mean nothing, she can tell this because he nudges her and she nearly jumps at the gesture, but without looking at her directly, he manages another unusual grin at her, addressing a complete and utter stranger. "Can ya believe I forgot about the coins?"

Mutsu nods for courtesy's sake and raises the handle on her luggage, a reserved part of her mind feeling a gravitating familiarity with him. Was it his sense of humor in even the most inappropriate of situations that is jarring to her? Her thoughts wrestle and entertain the gripping familiarity to endless laughter–perhaps it underscores the times before her father left her in charge of his debts when the parties were light and friendly.

Whatever the case, she holds no reservations speaking her mind about the present moment. "You held up the line with your antics. Don't worry, I didn't mind," she adds quickly to ease the guilt pulling at the corners of his eyes. It dissipates as fast as it appeared, an emotional exchange of sorts.

"I see. Well, don't let me hold you up! We've both got flights to catch," he rolls his bag ahead of her, waving a zealous arm in goodbye, and consults the signs with an intensity Mutsu knows better than to interrupt.

She walks past him. It's a hasty parting, but it's the way life goes. With an immense time to kill-a full three hours now-she goes through crappy souvenir shops with sweatshirts emblazoned with pilot terminology and tourist destinations. The kanji peels right off the thick cotton like a separate entity that never belonged and Mutsu subtly hides it behind the other hoodies before ducking out the plastic trinkets store.

At least she cut the time to two hours and fifty minutes.

"Excuse me, you're blocking the ladies' bathroom," she says to a head of curly hair.
"Oh! You! Ahaha!" And for a minute she thinks he's going to throttle her before making off with her passport because it's ridiculous for the same man being pat down at security ending up in front of the ladies' restroom. Disheveled hair and too friendly hands at her shoulders alert her to slap him away-he's too forward for a stranger, she'll say it again, peering at the women's restroom sign-when he widens his eyes, less wild but urgent all the same. "Help me get ta' my flight in time!"

She chalks it up to instinct from those times when her father would bring her on some of his business trips, always running late by a few minutes because he took too long to shower or because he forgot his passport in his drawer. He was a busy man, small details like passports or birthdays escaping him, but those younger days when they'd break into a mad dash towards their terminal are far too heart-pounding to forget.

So Mutsu drags him by the wrist away from the women's restroom, the hand that grips his passport and ticket tightly. Surprisingly, her coffee remains upright and secure as it pushes against between her palm and his wrist.

"Alright," she says, releasing him and wheeling her luggage as brisk as her pace, "what gate is it?"

The man fumbles with his papers before appearing at her side, matching her increasing speed. "164... It's in five minutes!" Something about the number rings a bell, but Mutsu sprints first, thinks later. Balancing coffee while intermittently glancing at her watch is a chore too.

"What're you doing here if your flight's in five minutes?!"

"I don't know directions, okay?!"

Thus, the race begins. Washed with the adrenaline of childhood energy, zipping amongst throngs of future passengers and weaving in and out of others' pieces of luggage, desperate to maneuver her own carry-on away from them, Mutsu feels more than a decade of age fall away from her usual, uptight demeanor. And she lets loose.

Amazing, how all it takes for her to relax is resurfacing old habits.

They dart in between a family of four, Mutsu apologizing profusely as she passed, Sakamoto lagging behind to ensure the two kids' hands stitch back together with their parents.

"Oi, we don't have time for that," she calls, checking her watch though there's a touch of humanitarian comfort seeing the lengths one man went to guarantee another family's security.

She needn't dwell on it.

He speeds up, luggage clunking at his heels, and she watches him hop onto the moving walkway. It irks her to watch him smugly smile and leisurely walk as he watches her pant, holding onto a burdensome carry-on and coffee as she tries to keep up.

"I should just lead you to the wrong gate and be done with it," she growls low enough for him to hear.

His face falls. "I'm just kidding, I'll be good!" He stumbles as his sneakers catch on the edge of the walkway's end and looks up at the numbered gate signs as he loiters to the walkway side, mentally sorting out–left or right–where 164 would be.

Mutsu walks by where he is, facing him, sipping her coffee idly. He couldn't look more lost, even if his gate number stared up right at him. "It's on the right," she gestures toward the spaced out signs, '160' staring up at them. "It should be two gates away."

He opens his mouth to possibly thank her and be on his way, but a rushing woman in clicking heels and a bulky purse bursts in between the space her companion leaves between the walkway and himself.

It happens, unsurprisingly, all too fast. His elbow jerks into her forearm and she's helpless to the coffee countering the motion by spilling forward. A small sense of satisfaction glimmers as strongly as the brown stains all over his windbreaker. They collapse on the floor, Mutsu rubbing her back sore, the man across from her, sprawled on hands that broke his fall smiling sheepishly despite the java wafts coming from his jacket.

He rolls much too easily with the punches, Mutsu sighs as she spots her own carry-on leaning against its side, her ticket exposing itself from the precarious compartment she stuffed it into earlier.

She forgets to breathe as she crawls to it, picks it up, and reads the printed gate number. You gotta be joking…

"Aww, now I'm gonna have to bother the poor passenger next to me if they hate coffee," he runs a hand through his curls and offers a hand to Mutsu, spotting her empty green cup, fallen to the wayside. "Oh! That was your coffee?!"

"Who else's, idiot?" She takes his hand after righting her luggage up again, shoving her ticket in his face along with a printed email from the airline citing the delay in bold print. "And it seems to me that we've been rushing to catch the same delayed flight."

"Oh shit?"

She nods. "Shit's right."

In spite of the biting remark, he's unshakably buoyant. "Ahaha! How about I buy you a new one? We've got nothing better to do; consider it a favor, me paying. That's how the business world works after all."

"You're a businessman?" It's his turn to nod. "Then you're way too idealistic," Mutsu shakes her head. "If you're a businessman, so tell me, what world runs on uncashed in favors?"

"I'm telling ya, I'm your typical hippie, John Lennon revolutionary idealist and pacifist in another life," he playfully wiggles his sunglasses and brows before relaxing his upturned cheeks. "Accept the favor, I insist, Mutsu. We just went through a marathon after all."

At first, she jolts at the mention of her name–had she even introduced herself properly to him?–when he gesticulates to the ticket in her hand.

"I didn't know you could be so serious….?"

"Sakamoto Tatsuma," he answers her.

"Tatsuma," she chooses to use his first name only because she isn't sure if she gave away her last name when she flashed him her ticket and frankly, Mutsu isn't inclined to give it away for conscience's sake, "and fine, I'll accept only if you let me buy you a new sweatshirt. I plan on buying the worst one out there for you to wear."

Surprisingly, even she can't keep up being serious herself when a touch of instinctive amusement pulls her lips upwards. So she would be buying the peeling, poorly weaved cotton, tourist-in-your-own-town's sweatshirt after all…

They take their time finding a permissible coffee corner literally named "Coffee Corner" with a frivolous design of a steaming java cup as their logo printed on white and brown cups.

It's exactly two hours before their flight is due for boarding, but somehow, Mutsu senses that those hours wouldn't be wasted.

She places her order together with Tatsuma, and despite a last-ditch effort at paying for her own ristretto shot of espresso, he pushes her wallet away and slaps down exact change for both their coffees. "Nice try," he contends when they pick up their respective espresso and latte, "but I'm a man of my word."

"You forget who you're dealing with because I didn't forget either," Mutsu responds, dragging her carry-on to her side as they exit the shop. She begins in the direction opposite to their gate, assuring Tatsuma that they had enough time in the world to peruse the sweatshirt tourist selections.

When they arrive at the first souvenir shop she stopped by after the security checkpoint, Tatsuma practically gravitates to the dark red hoodies from earlier.

"Why are these pilot themed? 'Captain'?'" He practically claws at it, wrangling the sweatshirt from the hangar. "It's so horrible, I just might love it."

Mutsu makes a face. "Only you would call this fashion."

"Hey, you suggested this place. Therefore, it must be a quality type of horrible." Tatsuma pauses to consider something. Suddenly, he jabs a thumb first at himself then to her. " If I'm a 'captain' of the skies, you're definitely the 'vice-captain' for keeping me grounded, ya know, with all the bossing around you do."

"There's no such thing," she replies and it's an understatement to her entire being to realize the levity of words from a stranger. Such throwaway words… she shakes her head, chalking it up to in-medias-res entertainment for him. Tatsuma pouts, eyes surveying the crammed store as his feet dizzy and assess the tourist merchandise. He scratches his neck.

"Aw, what kinda' store doesn't sell 'vice-captain' sweatshirts? Is it called 'co-captain' then?"

"Nevermind that, just pick your size. I'm tired of you reeking like what I'm drinking."

"Thirsty much?" He waggles his eyebrows again and Mutsu slaps the hangar against his chest.

"Go change into it," she orders. "I'll hold your jacket."

Surprisingly, Tatsuma complies without any comment, tugging off his red windbreaker and replacing it with the darker red of the hoodie and the white lettering that threatened to crumble in a few washes.

"Looks good," was all Mutsu says as she marches to the lady cashier. She cracks her wallet open again, thumbing through the credit cards before settling on her recent one. The lady's smile is soft and inviting as she kindly fumbles with the price tag sticking out from Tatsuma's side, Mutsu swiping her card when she finishes scanning the sweatshirt.

Mutsu grabs her luggage and wheels out of the store. Tatsuma follows a minute later, his attention span must be horrendous she thinks, but her eyes battle between softness and confusion at the keychain dangling, a ring secured right down his index finger as he waves.

"What's that?" she barely manages to finish the question when he shoves it higher to meet her gaze, his fingers grabbing hers, and looping the keychain into her palm and hung around a digit. She repeats her question a few times feverishly, her neutral facade cracking before he draws his hand away.

"Well, look at it! Buying coffee is clearly not as expensive as a sweatshirt, Mutsu," he scolds her, his other hand tucking his own leather wallet into the pocket of his joggers. Upon inspection, it's a shiny–surprisingly, he scavenged the less cheap end of the store's plastic trinkets–keychain that glints at the right angles to reveal an engraving of 'co-captain' along an airplane. It's an airline brand, of course, but its product placement does little to bemuse her; it's the whole gesture.

A strange inkling of deja vu...

"I suppose 'co-captain' does exist then," she says cooly, working to attach the keychain to her set of house keys. She meets his twinkling gaze. "Thanks."

Tatsuma imparts a wholly-enthused thumbs-up and with a flourish, thunders past her with his clunking carry-on. She doesn't react right away, so he's prompted to shuffle his feet to face back to her, and nod his head dramatically.

"C'mon! We still have…" he whips his head to a large clock and hesitates as he reads the time, " a good thirty minutes to kill!"

He waits for her to catch up before launching into a conversation, his blue eyes lighting the way.

Eventually, the small talk ice breaks again as it did the first time and after some inquiry, they manage to reach a level of friendly understanding on family or professional matters. She offers little about her family, focusing on the more funny details like how everyone doted on her when her father brought her to work or vaguely touching upon her office rivalry with Onohara. In the midst of explaining Onohara's promotion, Mutsu gulps a large part of her coffee as Tatsuma sidelines a look at her, asking how she felt about it.

"Me? Well, Captain Obvious," she pointed to his shirt, laughing to hope lighten the heaviness underlying the caverns of her thoughts, "I didn't have a field day about it and here I am, going to Nagoya to fix what the both of us messed up over one of our spats…" Mutsu sighs, rubbing a hand to her temple and a beat later, she withdrew it back to wheel her bag. "But enough about me, Tatsuma. Tell me about your seemingly sunshine past."

"So my mom and dad were pretty well off. Spoiled me senseless even if I didn't see them often, but I didn't mind. My babysitter was smoking.A real gem." He's rather scant on the details himself, but he's back to his usual self when he lights up at the mention of his babysitter. She can't help but roll her eyes.

"Do tell me more," she remarks caustically.

"Well, she would let me do whatever I wanted unless it was dangerous," he clarifies and he chuckles at the sight of her wide eyes. "Oh, you thought I meant her looks, didn't you, hm? Who's shallow now?"

Mutsu sighs, conceding to his antics. "You got me." He bursts out into laughter as he clutches his belly to reverberate as an extension to her.

"Ahaha! Just kidding. She totally was hot."

"What're you, 5?"

"Nope, guess."

She quirks a brow; a pause later and she sips the expresso, warm bitterness swallowed down her throat. He certainly has skill when it comes to entertaining others.

"30." It's a shot in the dark guess but one she'll stand by. He carries himself with a wisdom she's short by a few years but not by any stretch of the imagination is he more mature.

His face contorts the most strained she's ever seen him. "Ugh. Was I no good at acting young?"

"So I'm right?"

"29," he corrects with a sigh before raising his eyebrows at her, "and you're 26."

She gawks at him and shakes her head in disbelief. It takes her second, but Mutsu lets it dawn on her slow but rewarding. A smile curls. "On the nose. You looked at my license when I opened my wallet, didn't you?"

Above their heads, the speakers blare a monotone male voice rattling off seat numbers for the flight. Mutsu perks at the mention of her flight number.

Tatsuma acknowledges her brief break in attention and sips his latte with a sly touch to his lips, offering his delayed reply. It's neat, simple, and clean. "A salesman never reveals his tricks."

Her hand shoots to the loose compartment in her luggage, Mutsu digging up her stack of business cards she keeps in a cosmetic bag that lacks any cosmetics.

She lets a man shoulder her without comment as she palms her card into Tatsuma's, pressing it down against the tan of his skin.

"Here's my number. One businessman to another, correct? I'd be lucky to work with you one day." She means it. There's a lot of experience and wisdom behind his ridiculous shades and unnecessary athletic wear, but despite his seemingly directionally challenged brain, he made up for in astute observation and conversation.

In other words, he sells his reputation well.

His eyes blink a few times at her card and she thinks he mumbles something, but she isn't sure because his sudden aside is whisked away the moment he guffaws for the millionth time.

"I'll text you my business contact tomorrow then."

As it turns out, there was no need. The following morning, Mutsu dresses in a tucked collar shirt, pants, and loafers, and single-handedly adjusts her guest ID lanyard around her neck. A black espresso warms her palm as she pushes an elevator button, double checking the floor, and finds the sleek meeting room as directed to her by the man in the lobby.

She sees shining teeth and blue eyes. A laugh nearly escapes her despite their company.

Why laugh? She inwardly asks herself, purses her lips, and reflects quickly. Because I expected nothing less from the likes of him.

Mutsu clears her throat. "You're here. You. The idealist, the John Lennon revolu–"

"Ahaha!" He cuts off her quoting immediately, the pleading in his clear blue eyes almost signaling for her to stop. "If it isn't my favorite vice-captain from the skies!" He is worlds more polished than in the early hours they spent at the airport. Donning a pressed suit and straight tie, his attire reveals nothing of the lazy athleticism his airport wear emanated.

To his fellow associates, he explains. "We ran into each other in the airport and shared a flight. Not to mention the two hour delay..."

His colleagues, an older woman and youthful man murmur small talk, pressing for details like old friends eager to hear the latest gossip. When the conversation takes a turn in discussion the menial details of the weather, Mutsu straightens her back and bows, all courtesies she should have done minutes ago.

"My apologies–I nearly forgot my manners. I'm Kaien Mutsu of the Chidori Group. Pleased to meet you and I look forward to working with you all."

The other man and woman bow and shake hands with her. Tatsuma extends his own, and Mutsu shakes it with equivocal firmness as future business partners should.

"Sakamoto Tatsuma, delighted to see you again," he says, reintroducing himself.
Let's get down to business shall we?"

unknown number, 7:07 : i take it back, a woman at the airport yelled at me at the security check

unknown number, 7:08: and i may have thought she was smoking...from all the steam coming out of her ears! (LOLZJK)

Mutsu nearly drops the blow dryer. She rolls her eyes, ignoring her keys on the hotel's nightstand glinting up at her, and changes the contact information to match the texter's identity. For good measure, until she confirms it, she mashes the '?" key on his name.

Mutsu, 7:11: Tatsuma, when I gave you my business contact, I didn't intend on overstepping any lines or enabling workplace harassment.

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai)?, 7:12: it's not tatsuma it's katsura (lol)

Mutsu, 7:12: Who?

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai)?, 7:13: I'm his best drinking buddy. And Miss Mutsu, it's my duty to pick up women for him (*kya!*). Especially on his phone.

She deletes the question marks.

Mutsu, 7:15: let me ask you, how's your own love life going, Mr. Katsura?

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 7:20: ...I'll go home.

Her phone buzzes non-stop in the middle of her typing away her victory email to Onohara.

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 9:50: Hey, Mutsu! Can you guess who it is?

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 9:54: wait wha? How did we have a conversation two hours ago?

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 9:58: oh shit.

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 9:58: MUTSU I'M SO SORRY FOR MY ROOMMATE

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 9:59: I TELL HIM /ONE/ FUNNY STORY AND HE TAKES IT SOSO DUMBLY.

Mutsu reads the notifications as they fly across her lock screen and the second her screen flickers to black in standby, she knows it's a lost cause to even bother powering through writing that email in the middle of Tatsuma's breakdown.

She picks up her phone. Time to defuse his rant to focus on work.

Mutsu, 10:00: It's fine, I understand the situation, Tatsuma. Please quit spamming.

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 10:00: I MEAN, HE YELLS 'IT'S NOT ZURA IT'S KATSURA' EVERY 5 SECS SO YA HE'S SUPER DUMB

Mutsu, 10:01: I gathered as much.

To be frank, the way they both text is rather funny. Still, she needs to write her email and lay out the details to Onohara before he finds some obscure loophole to magnify instead of listening to the facts.

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 10:01: but i promise he's got a big heart and does things in my best interest. So that means... I guess i should have texted sooner, huh?

Mutsu, 10:02: I didn't notice. It's fine, you can stop rambling

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 10:03: Especially since we're colleagues now! How crazy is that?! Y'know, I didn't realize you would be our partner until you gave me your card.

Mutsu, 10:03: That was surprising…so you knew?

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai), 10:04: ;D

Sakamoto Tatsuma (Kaientai): 10:04: Didn't see that trick now did you?

No, Mutsu thinks with an eye roll and laugh much different than when they first started texting, she didn't.

a/n: cross-posted on ao3 ( perpetualpoverty). I had, sincerely, so much fun writing this compared to anything else I've written for this fandom, and most likely there's going to be a few more parts to this modern au so stay tuned. I'd like to know your thoughts so feel free to review!