Summary: After a breakup, Mimi has a question the boys aren't quite prepared to answer.
I've been drinkin' lots to forget about the news
I know when I sober up I'll have to pay my dues
My friend, my dearest friend
When did I lose it?
("Glitter" by 070 Shake)
It's after the girls go home that everything sort of falls apart.
Their leaving couldn't have anticipated this, of course, but nonetheless they are the first to leave. Miyako, for practical reasons, as she lives the farthest, surprising those who hear her announcement into momentary silence as they marvel at how grown she suddenly appears, even with the glitter streaking through her long hair and the tiny penis pendants she'd won earlier that night still adorning her ears. Sora, not by choice, hoisting a blubbering Catherine by the waist, the latter's permed blonde hair tucked under a top hat with some rather voluptuous tits decorating the band, and the former's pretty bob held in place by a headband sporting two glow-in-the-dark dildos. Hikari, with great regret, bearing in her arms all of the others' purses, coats, and one of Catherine's shoes, having managed to escape the evening genital-accessory-free thus far, and likely attempting to keep this record going in dipping out with the others. Meiko, out of necessity, still boasting the fluffy pink boa with thong-shaped confetti sprinkled throughout, being the designated driver, and promising to return in precisely thirty-five minutes, to escort her friend home, too.
"No, no, no," protests Takeru. He tries to help Sora straighten Catherine's drunken posture, who bites at his hand when it comes too close. He retreats, stalling at his own attraction to the way she licks her lips right after, "uh—I mean, we'll take her. Just one last round."
"A round, a round!" chant Daisuke and Taichi, pounding the table hard enough for Jou's drink to topple off and onto the floor, joining the puddle of red wine sangria that they'd knocked over only a little while earlier.
"Are you sure?" asks Hikari, glancing worryingly over the bunch, as Iori starts mopping up the spilled beer and Koushiro surreptitiously draws himself closer into the gap between a furious Jou and the crooning duo, no doubt preventing another episode of bodily harm.
"Give them money for a cab," says Sora.
"Please, it's okay," interrupts Ken, who motions for Meiko to put her purse away. "We've not had much," he adds, and its only at this acknowledgment of the one trustworthy person left in the room that the girls appear to relax a smidgeon, though Yamato's not paying attention; he's tending to a bloodied nosed Michael, who'd toppled off his chair and face-first into the corner of the table after a poorly executed drinking game, and speaking with the thoroughly unhappy looking bartender, likely making elaborate promises to leave, tip heavily, or otherwise detour the night's festivities to another location.
Equipped with multiple assurances that he will text after they deposit her back at her hotel, the girls depart, leaving Ken to survey the remainders with some unease. He is about to walk over to Yamato and Michael, to begin developing some kind of an exit strategy, when a movement at the rear doors freezes him in his tracks.
Mimi walks into the room. Hands on her hips, she stares unceremoniously about the group, who haven't noticed her return from the restroom. She's freshly retouched, her honey brown hair newly released from its elaborate updo and twisted now, instead, into a high bun held together by two wooden chopsticks that Ken prays—for her own sober-tomorrow's sake—are clean. Her eyeliner's a bit smeary about the corners, but the smoky look only makes her own hazel gaze that much harder, brighter, and dangerous. She's put on new lipstick, a shade she must have borrowed off of another bar patron, seeing as how Iori's still wearing her purse over his shoulder. In fact, everything she's wearing right now is borrowed: Yamato's black leather jacket, draped loosely over Jou's cardigan that she's pulled down on top of Koushiro's undershirt; Daisuke's sweatpants rolled down over Taichi's socks; one, each, of Iori's and Ken's shoes; and Takeru's baseball cap, which she's propped backwards over her bun. The only thing she's kept from before the spill that had ruined her outfit is a bright white bridal-to-be sash, draped from her right shoulder to her left hip, a "not" handwritten into the space between "Mrs." and "to-be."
Only Ken's looking at her, making the mental note to not allow any pictures of the ensemble to make it to anyone's social media accounts. She starts to climb onto the table, and Jou's panic at her wobbling posture alerts Yamato's spider-senses, leaving the pair in tense anticipation, until Iori offers her a supportive hand as she finds a more secure footing, while Takeru holds her ankles steady.
Mimi clears her throat, "Gentlemen! Tonight, we are celebrating my brilliant decision-making."
"Yes, please get down," mumbles Michael thickly through his stuffed and possibly broken nose.
"I have decided not to marry someone who doesn't love me the way each of you do. So as one last toast to me, I want to hear you say you love me and why. And no one is leaving until all of you answer!"
"You all have ten minutes before I call the cops," says the bartender, and Mimi swivels to point at him, "Wrong answer!" and he stalks off, angry.
"We're going, we're going," Ken promises to the man's retreating figure, regretful that Sora and Miyako went home first.
"Mimi, get the fuck off the table," says Yamato, leaving Michael to tend to himself and approaching her, arms raised. She shoos his hands away, sliding to the other corner, "Wrong answer!"
Daisuke, who's scrambled to his feet over the others' protest as he's now stripped down to his boxers and feels no embarrassment at the state of it, yells eagerly, "I'll go first!" And she beams, leaning down a little to clasp their hands together in a clingy, over-the-top way that makes Taichi pretend to vomit into a still annoyed Jou's lap. "Mimi Tachikawa, I love you. If you don't want to get into his pants anymore, I'm just glad you're in mine."
Ken, grateful that Sora and Miyako went home first, immediately grabs the cuff of Daisuke's shirt and pulls him back. "Really, please, Mimi, come down, it's not safe—,"
"Then you go next!" she insists, and the sudden way she rounds on him compels the response before he can even realize he's speaking. "Okay—I, I love you for how brave you are." The answer surprises him, makes him blush, and Mimi's smiling, covering her own suddenly red cheeks with her soft hands.
"I really am brave, aren't I?"
"And I for your humility," chimes in Taichi, shoulder slumped into the wall behind him.
Mimi narrows her eyes, pointing a slim finger at his face. "I'll give you a minute to revise your answer."
"No need. I'm phoning a friend," and he balls up another napkin, throwing it at Michael's face. The latter bends over, pinching the bridge of his nose, and stands up, precarious, but still too worried about Mimi's own precarious stance to be nervous about how dizzy the room still seems.
"Uh—your, uh, your grace, and your charm," says Michael, a little panicked to be put on the spot. "You make everyone feel special."
"Your persistence," offers Koushiro, looking up at her, "which some might call your stubbornness."
"If only they knew better, right?" she teases him, and he wrinkles his nose, sheepish. She sticks out her tongue, tapping a finger to his forehead. "Thank you, Kou."
"I love you for your heart," says Iori, "and how you put it into everything you do."
Her lips part, hands fluttering to her chest. The boys stare at him, silenced.
"Well, damn, I didn't know we were supposed to be serious about it," says a dismayed Daisuke to a thoughtful Takeru. "Should I revise my pants answer?"
Takeru ignores this, releasing his hands from Mimi's ankles, and looking up at her with a wide grin. "Mimi, I think you're the first woman I ever loved. Just don't tell my mom."
She laughs along with the others. "I like being your first, too, Takeru."
Yamato snorts at the phrasing, while Taichi waggles his eyebrows and Daisuke struggles to keep the betrayal off his face. "Surely, there's a better way to say that," he says.
"What he doesn't know can't hurt him," Takeru tells her in an exaggerated stage whisper, and ducks before Yamato's hand can land, his palm coming to a rest, instead, around Mimi's left calf. He leaves it there, circling his arm around her leg, and raises the other to grasp hers. She finally relents, allowing him to lift her off the table at last, but doesn't let him let go once she's back on the ground.
She curls her fingers around the collar of his shirt, arms around his neck. She's up on her toes to look him in the eye, and even then she's still not quite tall enough. "Tell me you love me, Ishida."
He catches her by the elbow, seeing the shine to her wet eyes, and looks past her to Jou, who takes the hint. The latter stands, "Come sit down, Mimi. We'll get you a cab."
"Not until everyone answers." Her voice is rougher now, and even Daisuke hears it. Ken's taking off his overcoat, which Jou accepts to put around her shoulders after bringing her to a chair. Taichi's fishing for his wallet, standing up to meet Yamato at the bar to cover the rest of the tab. Mimi turns around in her chair to watch him approach, "Neither of you are off the hook yet, you know!"
"We love your expensive taste," Taichi calls, flashing a credit card over his head without looking back.
"Because you know what you're worth," interrupts Michael quickly, seeing the red flare in her cheeks. She's sufficiently distracted, nodding, "I do, I do." And then she takes a breath, looking back at everyone in turn. "Okay. Next question."
Jou tries again. "Mimi, let's go hom—,"
"All the reasons you love me, still weren't enough for him." She lifts her chin, surprised herself, a little, to feel how dry her eyes are this time. "Why?"
Daisuke lets out a sigh, and Iori a soft, small grunt. Koushiro's sitting up straight, hands making silent fists on his knees. Ken's blinking too quickly, and Michael too slowly. Takeru looks to his brother, who finally turns around, looking only to her. Taichi stays at the bar, pretending to concentrate on the bill he's already finished signing, eyes unmoving.
No one says anything, which she expected. She always pushes everything too far.
So Mimi laughs, breaking the tension herself. She bends over, face in her hands over her knees, and then reaches up to yank Takeru's baseball cap off her head, shaking the chopsticks out, hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes are closed, face to the ceiling. She smooths back her long bangs, then adjust the cap snugly over her ears. "Enough," she tells herself. Then she stands, hands returning to her hips in a manner so assured she's transformed, brave. "Well, thank you for your honesty, but I have to be honest myself: none of you are going to quite make the cut with me. I love myself most," she continues. "I'm taking care of me first. From now on, I've got me."
"And my pants," promises Daisuke.
"And my hat."
"And my—,"
"Right, okay, no more speeches," interrupts Jou. "Cab's here, everyone outside."
"Oh, wait," says Mimi suddenly, returning to her seat to shake her feet out of Ken and Iori's shoes. They protest, and she doesn't let them win. "I'm going straight from the taxi into the hotel," she says, "I don't need them anymore."
Yamato watches them reluctantly give in, fixing their respective shoes back onto their feet, Iori entrusting Mimi's purse to Jou, and depart with Takeru, Michael, and Daisuke, as Jou escorts the first five of their group outside the bar and into the first waiting taxi. He looks at Mimi, who's flexing out her toes, still covered as they are in Taichi's socks. She glances at him, feeling the weight of his gaze, and raises an eyebrow, suspicious. Her mouth opens, but he just shakes his head. "Your selflessness." Mimi closes her mouth, lips pressed tight. Yamato looks away, staring into the small corridor leading to the bar's doors. The faint pink in his high cheeks gives him away. "At times, anyway. That's it, for me."
She takes a minute, needs one, really, before she leans forward in her chair teasingly, "You're saying that's why you love me?"
Yamato rolls his eyes, striding forward into the hallway to see if Jou's found another cab. After he's gone, Mimi rocks backwards, mocking a gleeful laugh. "If I got him to crack, that means you two still have to, too."
"I already did," protests Koushiro at the same time Taichi adds, "You heard Jou, no speeches!" He crosses his arms again, leaning back against the bar for extra dignified measure. "None of you may respect that man, but I damn sure do."
Mimi scoots her chair closer to Koushiro, who looks uncomfortable by the physical confrontation; sure enough, she flings her arms around his neck once she's close enough, planting several kisses to his temple. "I love you, too, bestie."
"Please, not so loud," he mutters, pink-faced, and she snuggles his neck. He waits for her to respond, but she doesn't, nor does she loosen her grip. "Do you…want us to come with you?"
"My hotel?"
"Yes."
"Yeah," she whispers.
"Okay," he promises. He pats her arms, and she finally lets go, allowing him to stand.
"Pick up some ice cream, fries, and a cake," she calls after him as he goes to tell Yamato and Jou the change in location. "Carrot cake!"
"Oh, you had me and then you lost me," says Taichi. He walks over to her, bare feet chafing painfully in his sneakers, though he'll never tell her so, not knowing she already knows.
He stops in front of her and holds out his hands. She accepts, standing, and raises her arms over head for him to slip the sash up and off her. She watches as he crumbles it up and tosses it into the trash bin beside the bar. When he turns back around, she's still looking at him. "What?" he asks.
Mimi shrugs. "You show me all the time—all of us—how much you love us."
Taichi puffs his chest. "Well, as the mighty leader of this here merry band, I'm just here to protect your hearts," he pauses, joking tone slipping against his will, "with varying outcomes."
She finds the guilt in his voice strangely pronounced, and maybe tomorrow she'll confront him about it, this odd insistence of his to hold even their worlds on his shoulders. But tonight, she just smiles at him. "Then tell me. How much?"
He looks at her for a minute. Then he steps forward, slipping one arm awkwardly about her shoulders, bringing her towards his chest. At his touch, she sinks, pressing her face into his neck, and he wraps his other arm over the first, stacking his forearms, bringing her tightly to him. "Enough."
"No," she decides for him. "More."
Taichi chuckles, and she feels the laugh fill through her. She breathes deeply, feeling full, feeling safe. "Okay. More."
Author's Note: I don't know what this is, honestly, just a little pick-me-up for me, I guess.