So. This is the first of several forthcoming uploads:
The next will probably be a chapter of Mistakes and Consequences. Prod me with a cattle prod if you have to...I have most of the next chapters to all of my stories already WRITTEN. I just need to edit and...edit...and edit...
I will also have a second part of Ultimatum that I completely forgot about. Yes, I know. I'm a silly little authoress.
In the meantime, enjoy this story. One shot.
Also, note: there is NO Junpei bashing in this story. I have never understood the point of that...comedic relief is one thing, but outright bashing?
Catalyst
Kouji doesn't actually remember the first time he met her. He knows that he ought to, because people always ask, "So how did you two meet?" as if it was supposed to be a memorable occasion. It wasn't. He would have remembered it.
By the time he realizes that she is going to mean something to him, he already knows who she is and what she looks like and even how many people she's dated. At some point, they must have had an official first meeting, but he doesn't have the faintest clue when or how.
That's fine by him. In the real world, love stories always begin with apathy. Sometimes they end that way too. But not always.
She walks into the classroom one rainy day with long wet trails on her face. He wonders if she forgot her umbrella. Almost immediately after that, he realizes that the rain is not to blame. All of the moisture on her face is concentrated in two dripping lines that curve down her cheeks. Everything else is dry.
The lecture begins. She puts her head on her arms and cries quietly.
Kouji doesn't care to ask himself why she came to class when it's so obvious that her mind is miles away.
He doesn't care at all, actually. Not yet.
This is what uneasiness feels like:
When the students break for lunch and the professor goes off to do whatever it is university professors do in their free time, she sits against a column in the hall and he trips over her feet on his way out. He offers her a cold nod of acknowledgment while his eyes slide past her, towards the door. He doesn't apologize, because...well, because he never apologizes.
It's a habit, not necessarily a character flaw.
He tells himself all the time that one day he'll stop acting like such an antisocial prick, but whenever he works up the willpower to change, something has always stopped him. School. Work. Parents.
His father, especially, is fond of delivering long lectures about how he'll never be a good businessman until he learns how to act friendly with people he doesn't like. It's called networking, his father says, pinching a prematurely grey piece of hair out of his eyes. Genuinely interesting people, apparently, are rarely good for business. Kouji's almost certain that the man doesn't mean to imply that fake friendship is better than the real thing, but he can't say so for sure.
He also tells himself that someday he'll learn to appreciate his father, but he hasn't even gotten past the pretending stage yet.
He tries to hurry off to his next destination, but she reaches out and snatches the corner of his coat. Arms flailing behind him, he manages to catch his balance, but not his usual dignified posture. Before he has the chance to snap at her, she starts to talk, green eyes bright and livid, "When you run over someone," she tells him, "you say sorry. It's common sense. If you have enough time to nod at me, you have enough time to say sorry."
It's impressive how she manages to sound so authoritative with fresh tears on her face.
He doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything at all. He just stares.
Her cheeks are getting more and more flushed by the second. "Well?"
He has half a mind to tell her that it's also pretty rude to ask for an apology when the incident caused her a second of discomfort, if that - but already his mouth is saying, "Sorry," while his head wonders what the hell is going on.
She smiles at him and wipes her face with a Kleenex. "Not a problem. See you later, Minamoto."
He doesn't know why he takes an interest in her. She's not that pretty, though he suspects it's because she doesn't take care of herself. She has green eyes that would have been nice to look at if they didn't sit on top of purplish eye bags. He doesn't particularly like the color of her hair - he's enough of a traditional Japanese male that the exotic has no appeal - but it's natural, so he doesn't judge her for it.
She also has a reputation for being outspoken, especially in front of boys. After being on the wrong end of her temper on that rainy day, he agrees.
He respects her for her honesty, because he knows how much self-confidence it takes. But he doesn't like it, or her.
A week later, she taps him on the shoulder and jerks her thumb back, silently asking him to stay behind.
He does, much to the general astonishment of everyone else, including himself. He is, after all, known for being a loner. He tells himself it's because of curiosity. He's probably right.
"Sorry," she says, when the room is completely empty.
"For...?"
"For getting mad at you. Erm, the hallway thing." Her eyes flick downwards and she blushes. "I was just...I had a lot on my mind. Kind of took it out on you. So...sorry."
"It's fine," he tells her, more amused than anything else.
She relaxes and gives him a dazzling smile. Then she bows quickly and practically glides out of the room. Her easy, self-assured gait makes him wonder if he had been imagining the blushing girl who had been in her body only moments before.
He doesn't know what's more striking, her pride or her humility.
...Or her smile.
The next time his father delivers his "friendship equals networking" speech, which is considerably more bearable over the phone than in person, Kouji thinks of Orimoto Izumi and wonders if she would be one of those "genuinely interesting people" that his father likes to dismiss.
The thought feels so natural that he doesn't even recognize its novelty until the next day, when he greets her in the hall as if he's always done it.
It's becoming a new habit, this thing called socialization.
And it grates on his nerves.
The first time one of his classmates asks him for homework help, and he gives it, everyone watches for a sign of annoyance. He peers at them serenely, and inwardly laughs at the badly hidden shock on their faces. The second, third, and fourth times, he slides comfortably into his new pattern and people stop getting surprised. By the fifth and sixth requests for tutoring (mostly from pink-faced girls) he begins to remember why he had been antisocial for so long.
Talking to people is a pain. It takes effort to be polite. It was so much easier before, when all he had to do was hold his tongue. Now, people watch for his reaction, and they won't let him ignore whatever it is that's bothering him.
He has to buy a new pack of pens by the end of the week, because he's been fidgeting with them so much that the ink cartridges come loose. It's better to bang his frustrations out on the pens than on people.
He doesn't consciously think about Orimoto Izumi until the moment he breaks the cellophane packaging, rubbing his thumb on the gleaming golden caps of his new pens.
She must have been there, this entire week. She's gone to class, he knows that much, because he makes a point to greet her every morning. But she's no longer in the foreground.
For some reason, that irritates him. She's not the nameless-face-in-the-crowd type.
It's a lucky accident that he finds her alone in the classroom again the very next day. She's eating her lunch at her desk.
He is relieved that it's her, and not someone else. With her, talking is easier. He's never felt the need to be nice and polite to her. "Hey," he says, leaning against the door.
She whips around and stares at him. "Hey," she says softly, frowning. "Um, you need something?"
Yes, I'd like to ask you why you're not as interesting as you used to be... "No, just forgot my book." He walks past her and slides it from below the desk.
She looks at him oddly. "And...you walked all the way back to get it?"
He returns the look. "Something wrong with that?"
"...why would you use your lunch break to get a book? You're coming back to this room for your next class, aren't you?"
"Because it's a book," he says, slowly.
She wrinkles her nose and grins. "I don't get it, but okay. Sure. You're a weird guy, you know that, Minamoto?"
"I'm not weird," he tells her, rolling his eyes ever so slightly.
"Yes, you are," she says.
"You're the weird one." He pauses. "Although you haven't been that weird recently..."
She cocks her head. "I'm never weird," she tells him firmly, but her eyes are glinting suspiciously.
"If you aren't, then neither am I."
She shakes her head, grinning. "Whatever, Minamoto."
"I'm serious," he tells her. "I think I got used to the girl who yelled at me for not saying sorry. I don't know how to deal with you being all...polite."
"You don't say," she mutters. "That's not usually how I act, you know."
"Still," he insists. "First impressions and all that."
For some reason, she looks disappointed. "Right."
He raises an eyebrow. "Please tell me you aren't offended. I need someone who I can be normal with."
She laughs out loud, then.
The sound is encouraging. "So, what's the verdict? Honesty is fine?"
"Yes. It's fine." The dark shadows under her eyes crease even more as she smiles at him.
Before he can stop himself, he's already asking, "Why were you crying? Earlier, I mean. The day you yelled at me."
He doesn't expect her to answer so easily, but clearly he's underestimated her. Again. "I was angry," she tells him. "I have this tendency to cry when I'm angry. Sorry, that doesn't really answer your question, does it? My boyfriend sort of cheated on me. That's why I was angry."
He has no idea what to say to that.
She just shrugs slightly and smiles at him. "It's okay. I'm avoiding him at the moment, you know. My friends told me that they'll deal with him, and I...want to let them."
"What, are they going to beat him up?"
"Worse, probably," she tells him.
"Well," he says, "good."
She blinks at him.
He coughs slightly and turns away. "Not that I'm advocating violence," he says, as prim and proper as he can manage, except he's starting to sound like his father, so he stops. It feels too much like sermonizing. "I just happen to think that sometimes the pain is well-deserved."
She giggles. "I'll let my friends know they've got backup, then."
"Go ahead," he says. "He's not still your boyfriend, is he?"
"Well..."
"Orimoto, you've got to be kidding me."
"Shut up," she says, rolling her eyes.
"Why would you keep him if he's already cheated on you?"
"It's complicated," she says, looking away.
"How so?"
"Well, I'm living with him, for one."
The world is full of stupid people, Kouji decides. Kouji himself included.
He doesn't ask about her boyfriend any more, because it annoys him to think that a girl who he respects so much is weak enough to keep a boyfriend who cheats.
Maybe that makes him a judgmental bastard, just like his father - actually, he's starting to notice the resemblance more than ever - but he can't help it. What does she see in him? What could she possibly see in him?
But it's not really his business, he decides reluctantly, so he doesn't bring it up.
She's grateful for that, or so she tells him. They start to eat lunch together in the classroom, every day. And they talk about everything, from the color of his hair to the way their access cards always demagnetize at the worst possible moment. The conversations they have are amazingly freewheeling. He's glad that, of all the people he chose to be affected by, it was Orimoto Izumi.
She calls him Kouji-kun now. He thinks that he likes the change.
He hasn't called her by her name in a while. He wonders what would come out.
It's ridiculous how much he watches her, waiting for something that he doesn't quite know how to express. And when he turns his back, he can feel her doing the same. He doesn't know who started it but now it's mutual.
It would have been easier to stop if he didn't know that his bizarre pastime was reciprocated. At this point, he thinks that he watches her only because she watches him. And vice versa. It's silly and petty and he wants it to end today.
So he stops avoiding the question that he really wants to ask. That was the point of talking to her, after all. If he can't be honest with her, then he might as well give up on honesty altogether.
"Did you break up with him?" he asks her in the hallway, without preamble.
She sighs, probably because she's tired of this question. That sigh means, 'You too?' But he can't bring himself to feel guilty. "I spoke to one of our mutual friends. He'll take my spot at the apartment at the end of the month. The landlady doesn't care as long as she gets her money, so it's fine."
He nods. It's a good sign. "So. Breaking up?"
She rolls her eyes hard. "Come on, can't you wait a bit before starting on the I-told-you-so's?"
"To be fair, I haven't said anything. Yet." He tilts his head at her. "Stop beating around the bush. Are you breaking up with him or not?"
"Okay, fine. I'm breaking up with him. Happy?"
"Yes," he tells her, honestly. But then he frowns at her. "You're still not sleeping enough."
She rubs her eyes. "No," she admits. "I try to leave before he wakes up and come home after he goes to sleep. Less awkward."
"Don't your friends have couches you can crash on?"
She shrugs. "I'm paying this month's rent. Might as well use it."
"You're paying for less sleep," he tells her flatly. "Find a couch."
"Right, because it's so much better to beg some couch space for the month, or even after that."
"Isn't that what friends do?"
"Oh, yeah, they would, but I know that they'd get tired of someone hogging their couch for months on end."
He shrugs, baffled. "Hell, use mine, then. I wouldn't mind."
She flushes bright red and stares at him.
He keeps his face impassive, something he's been perfecting since his middle school days. Inside, he is completely stunned. Why did he say that? It's not like he doesn't have couches to spare, but...
"Thank you," she says, quietly, still blushing, "but I think...I mean...how do I say this?"
"It's a bad idea?"
"No. Well. Yes. It's a bad, bad idea. I mean..." she shivers. "Single guy, single girl, you get my drift?"
"It's fine," he tells her, embarrassed. "I really don't know why I said that."
"Yeah. Well..."
"The offer still stands," he tells her, seriously. "If you're desperate enough to sleep on a random classmate's couch."
"You're not totally random," she tells him, smiling.
He shrugs and salutes her as she goes.
The latest game they play is called avoidance.
She hides in plain sight, always surrounded by people that she knows would annoy him.
He, in turn, simply starts sitting across the room, as far as possible, where he doesn't have the opportunity to look at her. It's as if they silently agreed that they were spending too much time together and now they had to make up for it.
In fact, it takes quite a bit of misplaced intervention before he sees her again.
Somebody knocks on his door at eight in the morning on Sunday, but he's so sleep deprived that he lets it continue for fifteen minutes, until he begins to fear for the hinges. Then he drags himself up and opens up to find a redheaded girl that he doesn't know. She's tapping her foot impatiently. "Minamoto Kouji?"
"Yes," he confirms, half-asleep on his feet. "And you are?"
She rolls her eyes and drags him out to the hallway, where a little brunette sits with her knees propped up, playing with a wooden puppet. He's not even awake enough to protest.
"What's going on?" he asks, staring at them strangely.
The redhead crosses her arms. "This is a strategy meeting."
"Wait. First things first," the brunette says, "I'm Juri. This is Ruki. You're Kouji-san?"
"Yes," he says, very slowly, uncomfortable with the fact that they haven't told him their surnames. He doesn't like to call strangers by their first names. "What strategy meeting? What for?"
"Talking to Junpei." She puts far too much emphasis on the first word.
"Who the hell is Junpei?" he asks, rubbing his temples.
"Izumi's boyfriend," Ruki replies, speaking slowly, as if she were talking to a particularly stupid child.
Things begin to fall in place, finally. Particularly because she doesn't insert an ex- prefix in front of the word "boyfriend." It's enough to make him think, What the hell?
"Go on," he says. "I'm listening."
Ruki grins at him ferally.
Shibayama Junpei, as it turns out, is just a Nice Guy.
Kouji can't actually imagine him cheating on anyone, and he's usually pretty good at believing the worst of people. Something tells him that Shibayama doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. He still seriously dislikes the guy, but that has nothing to do with who Shibayama is. It's all circumstantial bias.
He has to give the guy credit, though, for not running away when an entourage of people who always take Izumi's side show up at his door. The slightly portly young man takes one look at them and sighs a deep, disheartened (but not heartbroken) sigh. "Hey, guys. Come in."
Ruki is already pushing past him and dropping herself onto the couch. Kouji likes her spunk. He thinks Izumi would have done the same thing, if it had been Ruki's boyfriend at fault. Or maybe girlfriend, he revises in his head. He tries not to assume too much.
Juri is far more sedate and peaceful, but her eyes are just as firmly set as Ruki's. "Hello, Junpei."
Shibayama seems more chastened by Juri's tonelessness than Ruki's rudeness. It's fascinating.
Kouji walks in after them and looks at Shibayama in the eye. They stare at each other for a very, very long time. He's not sure what prompts him to speak first: "You're Izumi's boyfriend," he says, not exactly a question, but not a statement either.
"Er," Shibayama says, wincing.
"I owe you a punch," he says flatly.
"Oh," the other teenager's eyes are very round.
When he sits down, he's perfectly aware that the others are staring, but he doesn't give a damn. He's wanted to say that for a while. Plus, he takes pleasure in how Shibayama looks so wary of him, waiting for a punch that won't come.
Ruki looks at him in seeming approval, and clears her throat. "We want you to leave Izumi alone," she says, straightforward as always.
"Oh," he says, looking down. "Yeah, I guess you would. I..."
"I don't care what you said to her to make her stay, but you're going to regret it."
If this is a contest on who can make Shibayama more uncomfortable, Kouji thinks that Ruki would win hands down.
"I haven't said anything," Shibayama claims, looking so stricken that Kouji is inclined to believe him.
But it's not enough to make him sympathetic. "Really," he says, very slowly. It's nice to see that he still has the ability to make people cringe just by looking at them.
"Look," Shibayama interrupts, rubbing his eyes wearily. "I really...I'm really sorry for what I did. And I know that you probably won't forgive me, but - "
"Excuse me," Kouji says, resisting the urge to hit his head on the coffee table, "but I'm not really here to listen to your apologies. I just want to know why you cheated on your girlfriend."
Shibayama is staring at him. "What?"
"So, why'd you do it?" Kouji asks, plowing right over him. "You don't seem the playboy type. Or the drinking type. So what was it?"
"That's - " the other man's face is a strange purple hue.
Ruki snorts in a very unladylike way. Juri nudges her gently.
" - a simple question," Kouji retorts, frowning. "Well?"
Shibayama closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, I don't know," he rasps weakly.
It's an interesting reaction, and Kouji would like to pick it apart just as much as he would like to pick Shibayama apart in general, but he's not here to analyze. Right now, he just wants answers. "You have a nice girlfriend," he comments evenly.
A wince. "Yeah."
"And you like her?"
"Yes." Shibayama has a fierce look on his face. It's the first time Kouji has seen the guy's backbone.
He is not impressed. "But not enough, apparently," he contemplates icily. "You seem to be a nice person, Shibayama. Can't imagine that you'd cheat on someone without a reason. So, tell me, what was wrong with Izumi?"
Shibayama's fierce look grows into something that does impress him. "Okay, look. You can say whatever you want about me, but Izumi is - she's been nothing but amazing, and I won't have you - whoever you are - "
"Minamoto Kouji," he interrupts. "Just a...totally random classmate." He's not sure how else to introduce himself.
Ruki scoffs; Juri nudges her even harder.
"Right," Shibayama says, glancing at him warily, "right, sure. Izumi...she did absolutely nothing wrong. It's not her fault that I...and she knows it, and I know it, and that's the most important thing. I'd be - I'd let her walk out if she wanted to. But she hasn't. She wouldn't."
"Of course she wouldn't," Kouji says piercingly, feeling somewhat bitter. "She's such a nice girlfriend, isn't she?"
Shibayama swallows, hard. He won't look Kouji in the eye.
Surprisingly, it's Juri who speaks up. "Junpei."
"Yeah?"
"You made her cry, you know."
The look on Shibayama's face is one of deep despair. He shudders, as though trying not to cry himself.
Suddenly Kouji understands why Ruki told him to let Juri have the last word.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Kouji closes his eyes and curses his timing. He hates Monday mornings enough as it is. He does not need an interruption like this when he's already poised to have a bad day. "I'd rather not, but if you must," he says, not feeling terribly generous.
Especially not with Shibayama, who grimaces nervously and fidgets at the door. It's a strange, awkward meeting place that he's chosen, but in many ways it's ideal. No one goes near the vending machines this early in the morning.
Kouji sips his soda for the caffeine, and waits.
"I just wanted to ask you how you know Izumi."
Oh. Kouji glances at him, surprised. "Classmates," he says. A little grimly, he adds, "Why, jealous?"
"Should I be?" Shibayama asks, seriously.
Kouji stares at him. "What?"
"Should I be?" he repeats. "I know," he adds, sadly, "that I probably don't deserve her. I hear people say it all the time. Stuff like how she could do so much better." He looks at Kouji beseechingly.
"I don't see how that - " he starts, but then he realizes where Shibayama is going with this, and it's such an epiphany that he almost drops his drink. "You think that she likes me?"
"Well," Shibayama says, chuckling bitterly, "I guess I wouldn't be surprised."
"That's..." he shakes his head.
"It's not?" Shibayama asks, desperately. "I thought for sure that...well...it's because...I had no idea who you were."
That gives him pause. "And that surprised you?"
"Izumi's always been big about letting me get to know her friends," Shibayama explains. "So then..."
"We only started talking after you made her cry," Kouji says flatly.
Shibayama shrinks back. "Okay," he murmurs, "sorry. Definitely shouldn't have brought this up. I don't even know why I wanted to talk." He chuckles in a self-demeaning way.
Kouji barely hears him, distracted by an astonishing revelation about the way Shibayama talks about him and Izumi. "You aren't even upset," he half-croaks.
"What?"
"You don't mind if she likes me. At all. Do you?"
The guilty look is back on Shibayama's face. "Oh - that's..."
"That's too nice, even for someone like you," Kouji hisses, faintly disgusted.
"Hey, now - "
"You don't like her anymore. Not the way you should." Kouji is, admittedly, not as surprised as he could have been. Somehow, he thinks that he already suspected.
Shibayama laughs a little, but it's a halting, hesitant laugh. "Damn, and you don't even know me..." He sounds defeated and disappointed in his own transparency.
"You're not obvious," Kouji tells him. He's not sure why he's acting almost friendly. By all rights, he should be furious that not only is Izumi in a relationship with a guy who cheated on her, she's in a relationship with a guy who doesn't even love her. But it's not a crime. There are more inexcusable things that Shibayama could have been guilty of. He curses inwardly. Empathy is terrible. People are terrible.
A pause. "Izumi knows," Shibayama tells him, shrugging. "I think she's known for a while. I didn't even - you know, I cheated on her, I really think I did, but I didn't actually...do anything. It was just a hug. But friendly hugs aren't supposed to make you feel like that."
"Huh," Kouji says, somewhat dazed at the surreality of the situation.
"I'm such an idiot, right?" Shibayama sighs.
"Who was it?" Kouji asks, because he suddenly wants to know about the girl who could have replaced Orimoto Izumi. Class has already started, but he's forgotten about that.
"Her name's Shiori," he says, in a quiet rush. "But she's already taken anyways, so..."
"So you don't see a point in breaking up with Izumi?" Kouji grits his teeth.
"Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that."
"Shibayama, stand there for a minute."
"What?"
"Just do it." Kouji downs the rest of his drink, tosses it into the trashcan, and punches him in the face.
He falls down, more out of shock than pain. He's a lot bigger than Kouji is, after all.
They stay like that for a minute before Shibayama covers his swelling cheek and laughs brokenly. "Deserved that."
"You did," Kouji says.
"Cheating isn't the end of a relationship. Breaking up is," Izumi tells him, leaning close to him for a moment as she passes to go to her seat.
"You said you were going to - " he starts, but the words are lost in the crowd.
He watches her, even though there's no reason to. This time, he's pretty sure that the attention is one-sided. But she knows that he's keeping his eyes on her. He can see it in the way she holds her head a certain way, just enough to keep him out of her peripheral vision. She's far too careful for it not to be deliberate.
At the end of class, he catches her by the arm and tells her, "Breaking up is a formality. It's already over. It is."
She starts to cry.
He stands there, panicking, until he remembers: she cries when she's angry. "Are you mad at me or at Shibayama?" he asks carefully.
"Myself," she tells him, tugging her fingers on his collar.
He kisses her on the temple and feels her arms wrapping around his waist.
It's just a hug.
But now he thinks that he understands what Shibayama meant by that.
"I liked Junpei, I really did. But I only dated him because he was safe."
He thinks it over carefully. "Why did you want someone safe?"
"Because I was a wreck with no self esteem when I came to college," she replies, smiling faintly.
He inclines his head, telling her to continue, even as he stares at her disbelievingly.
She laughs. "It's true. People in high school can be..." she searches for the right word, "cruel."
He nods, remembering how he characterized her appearance when they first met. He's changed a lot since then. And it's hard to remember why he had been so critical about something as insignificant as her natural hair color. He pulls his fingers through the long yellow locks gently. Blonde suits her just fine.
"And when I came to college I was just glad that someone - that Junpei - was willing to date me. I thought that he wasn't attractive enough to be tempted to cheat. Seriously." She plays with his buttons. "That's how messed up I was."
"When I came to college," he offers in return, "I was convinced that everyone was selfish and greedy on the inside, so I did my best to make myself completely unapproachable. I actually knocked someone over and walked right over the papers he spilled." He considers telling her about his father, but...no, that conversation can wait for later. They'll take turns, the two of them, sharing their life stories - one episode at a time.
"Really?" she murmurs.
"Mmhmm. You caught me on the tail end of that."
"But people didn't treat you badly."
"Because my family has money," he points out.
She frowns. "Oh."
"Yeah," he murmurs into her hair. "Wasn't fun."
"I can imagine."
At the end of the month, she asks him if his couch is still available, and he actually laughs.
"I have a spare room," he tells her.
"Even better."
She doesn't actually use it.
They fall into limbo together. It's the in-between space where they don't have a name for their relationship, but everyone knows that it's just a matter of time.
A few months later and they arrive at the stage of mutual understanding. Which doesn't quite mean love, but there is very little difference.
One Sunday morning she climbs into bed, wet and dripping from head to toe, whistling a little made-up tune. He turns his face into the pillow, muttering that it's far too early to be waking up on the weekend, but she doesn't seem to care. The whistling continues until he opens his eyes and tells her, "If you're going to be like that, you'd better make me some tea so that I take revenge on you as soon as possible." He has to applaud himself for sounding halfway coherent, even if "revenge" sounds more like "rib binge" and "possible" doesn't quite make it through the pillow.
Izumi giggles and kisses his nose because she knows he hates it. Apparently, she thinks that the way he scrunches his nose afterwards is completely adorable. He has no idea why. She hands him a cup of tea and he looks at her incredulously, gratefully. "You already made some?"
"You have a meeting in an hour," she says, merrily.
"But I'm not working today," he replies, gripping the cup sideways and getting up carefully.
"With my parents," she finishes, trying to time the bombshell so that he hears it between swallows. She doesn't quite succeed.
It hurts to breathe for the next half hour or so, courtesy of his favorite beverage going down way too fast. The pain lasts through the inevitable awkward first meeting with her parents.
Actually, he's glad that he burned his throat - it gives him an excuse to let Izumi do the talking. He can't put his foot in his mouth if it hurts too much to speak. (He almost suspects that she planned it.)
He can still nod his head, though; her parents take advantage of this when she leaves the room to answer the phone. As soon as she turns around the corner, her father sizes him up and asks him, point blank, "Do you love my daughter?" while Kouji sips on a glass of ice water.
He's pretty sure by now that the ability to make him choke is a family trait.
But her parents must have seen something on his face that they liked, because her father claps him on the back firmly and welcomes him to the family.
It's midnight, on New Year's. This is the year that he proposes to his girlfriend of eight months, the year that they attend Junpei's wedding and toast him silly things, the year that they make that final transition between childhood and adulthood.
Nobody knows any of that, though. The future is a long ways away. Right now, he's holding Izumi back from eating his cake and trying to get Ruki to stop adding alcohol to his glass, but failing miserably on both counts. Juri is taking pictures of them.
She shows him, later, immortalized on shiny printed paper, a scene of him kissing Izumi on the lips. She looks radiant, even in the dim light, and he looks embarrassingly pleased with himself.
He knows for a fact that this is as far from apathy as he could possibly get.
And he keeps the picture, of course.
[END]