Every so often they would go out for tea at Chagall. Yukari knew that their team leader tried to give everyone the same degree of attention; she kept herself busy by filling up her day with working and studying and socializing, so as to not fall prey to the city's special brand of malaise. The only thing that ever seemed to slow her down was the steady drain of Tartarus.
She folded her hands in her lap and wrung her wrists, radiating life in all directions. Her smile, as much as she tried to hide it whenever the situation seemed less than appropriate, remained a perpetual feature on her face. She rarely sobered. It never occurred to her that dropping her bubbly facade might contribute to her mental health one day. Her constant state of ease was like an insult to all of the terrible things that happened on this earth. Her parents were dead. Why shouldn't she be upset?
She twisted her fingers together, positively bursting at the seams. "Anything new?" She had a talent for looking people straight in the eye. Hers were red: not the rich red-wine color of Mitsuru's (and Mitsuru's hair and favorite nail polish), but a stark vermilion. Yukari would try to look somewhere else, and find her line of sight swallowed up by a great conflagration of red, a burning sun. Her eyes trotted back to her friend's face like a well-trained dog. She felt rather asinine for it all.
"Not really," Yukari replied, ignoring the impressive sight in front of her. It recalled a larger breed of sunflower: massive, obnoxious, and vibrant yellow. Still, you had to try not to feel happy around them. Such creatures of the sun invited joy of the unfettered sort.
The question was rhetorical. They lived on the same floor and went to the same school. They saved each other's lives on a regular basis. Of course nothing was new; it never was.
She took her coffee with cream and a little sugar, and from the tray she emptied a couple of packets of sweetener and mixed in a little cream. Yukari used it to wake up in the morning, but in the afternoons she would never drink coffee; she didn't run around at night talking to shady older men, so she didn't need to. Judging from the cup it appeared to be an espresso.
As if she needed any more energy.
"Don't you ever think you're maybe pushing yourself too hard?"
"No, but thanks for the concern."
Yukari was rewarded with a sincere smile. She tried and failed miserably to keep the color from rushing to her face; she had not expected that kind of response. She almost wished she were talking to Mitsuru instead. At least she didn't feel so embarrassed around her-anxious, maybe, but for entirely different reasons.
Perhaps it was her unbridled enthusiasm that did it. Most people didn't become quite as excited over every little thing. Or maybe Yukari was just jealous. That was an understandable excuse.
She sipped her tea, staring into the depths of her cup, and when she looked up she noticed their exalted team leader smiling suggestively at her.
"Is there something wrong?"
Yukari sank into her seat. She had never felt so exposed in her life. "Stop reading my mind."