Little Things
By Laura Schiller
Based on: Tokyo Mew Mew
Copyright: Reiko Yoshida, Mia Ikumi
There's something very annoying, Aoyama Ichigo believes, about a man who won't show when he's annoyed.
"Darling," he says, for the third time this week and in the same placid, patient tone, "You forgot to take out the trash. Again."
He's leaning against the doorframe between living-room and bedroom, his shirt half unbuttoned, his tatty old house slippers in sharp contrast to the neat gray trousers above them; halfway through the transition between Aoyama, teaching assistant at Tokyo U's Environmental Science faculty, and Masaya, husband and roommate.
She looks up from her laptop, pushes back her red hair and rolls her eyes. "Sorry, sorry," she mutters, padding past him towards the white-tiled kitchenette that takes up one wall of their living-room. "I've just been so busy lately … Minto's moving in with Zakuro, Pudding's opening her own dojo, Lettuce is pregnant, and guess who they all ask to give them advice and do the heavy lifting. Not to mention my own job. I work for a living too, y'know." She jabs her finger at the photograph on a nearby bookshelf: the children at the daycare center where she works.
"Do you think," she continues over her shoulder, crouching down to get the three buckets out of the kitchen cupboard (Masaya insists on separation between glass, paper and organic waste), "Do you think I should do all the chores just because I'm a woman?"
There, she notes, with a tiny flash of triumph. Masaya is raising his eyes to the ceiling; she's gotten a rise out of him. That always was her specialty.
"I took out the trash last week, Ichigo. According to the schedule, it's your turn."
"The schedule!" she huffs. "You are so OCD sometimes, I swear. It's all schedules with you, isn't it? The word spontaneity probably isn't even in yur vocabulary."
"Oh, if that's whatyou think … " Masaya's hurt tone sounds almost real, but she knows him too well by now. His eyes are sparkling with suppressed mischief. "I've had something planned for our anniversary next Saturday, but if you'd rather be spontaneous, we can forget about it."
He takes two slips of paper out of his breast pocket and holds them up: tickets for Butterfly Week at the Botanical Garden.
"Gimme!" Ichigo bounds across the room, grabs the tickets, and pulls Masaya down by the shirt collar for a passionate kiss. "Oh, Masaya, thank you! I've been wanting to go there for weeks!"
"I'm glad you approve. I don't suppose you'll tell me what your present is, though."
"It's a surprise." She winks and puts a finger to her lips. "And no peeking, either! I've hidden it somewhere you'll never reach."
Masaya grimaces – surprises get on his nerves – but her next kiss leaves him thoroughly distracted from his grievance, and sidetracked by the promises of a much more exciting pastime than arguing. She whirls away, giggling, to take the three plastic bags of trash and bring them downstairs.
"I'm not finished with you yet, Mrs. Aoyama," he says, playfully menacing, following her out into the quiet beige corridor.
"Calm down, Mr. Aoyama. I'll be back … eventually."
Her laughing gray eyes are the last thing he sees before the elevator doors close.