This kinda of planted itself on my mind and wouldn't let go so I had to write it down. I'm not sure where this is going but it will go somewhere...Anyway, the story will be funny at points because I believe this is one of the couple's greatest strength but it will get sadder later on. Yay for character development!

Read on please.

She had become a habit. Her 'gyabos' and her 'muckyas' rang through the air often enough for him to not pay much attention anymore. He didn't mistreat her as much as he used to, except for the occasional slap against the forehead when she said (or did) something extremely stupid. Her apartment was still next to his, even in France which only led her to leech off him just easily as before. Her piano playing was still as radical as ever but she had calmed down enough to play the pieces the right away at least once in a while. He never tired of hearing her play though; that would never change.

In all, they as they were had not changed at all.

Or at least that was what Chiaki Shinichi thought.

In reality, he had changed most of all. His conducting was known well around the University and he was under the tutelage of the best teachers the University had to offer. Everything was going according to how he had always dreamed. But then one day…

It had been a sunny day in Paris. Like all sunny days in the city, the people had taken the time to sit out in the verandas and pass the time away, drinking, talking, and laughing the day away. Birds sang shrilly, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, and though the sun shone down harshly on the Parisians, a gentle cooling breeze aided the comfort of the day. However, instead of enjoying the incredible day outside, Chiaki had found himself stuck inside his smoke filled apartment with Nodame screeching about.

"Fire, fire! Gyabo."

"Shut it!" he finally yelled, going to the window and opening it roughly. He stuck his head out and breathed in the cool air, closing his eyes and trying to gather patience to deal with the panicking woman inside. Finally, hair slightly disheveled, he stuck his head back and spotted her with a fan, trying to calm down the fire at the stove. The chicken was beyond repair and the juice that was supposed to stay in the pan evaporated into the Paris atmosphere. The potatoes were also burned to a crisp and excreting a dark, nasty odor. So much for the Emincé de Volaille sauce Roquefort - Pommes de terre sautées.

The dish Chiaki had chosen for Nodame to make had been excruciatingly simple and yet the end result was a pile of charcoal. She had insisted and at the end of the night, demanded that she would cook the day after. So being tired from a long day, Chiaki had reluctantly agreed only because her face had shown signs of the child like sadness she had exhibited once before, when she had brooded about playing Rachmaninoff with an orchestra. So he relented and had picked a simple meal of chicken and potatoes, sautéed in Roquefort sauce and green beans. Yet the end result had been a small fire on the stove.

"Relax," Chiaki muttered to Nodame who pouted in the corner of the kitchen, "We have more chicken and vegetables. We can try again."

As if in slow motion, her sad face drooped away and was slowly replaced by the shining smile she always seemed to wear. She clapped her hands and jumped behind Chiaki, wiggling her arms around his waist to hug him. He didn't shake her off nowadays; he was used to it. She washed the burnt dishes by the sink, keeping a streamline of chatter about whimsical things. She insisted there was a special on Puri Gorota on the BBC chanel though Chiaki highly doubted such a channel would even know of such a show. Still, her voice, like her piano was something he had gotten used to for some time now.

As he spied on her from the corners of his eyes, every movement she made he knew. The way she cut the potatoes with nimble fingers, thanks to years of piano playing. The way her eyes spread back and forth from the pans to the pot and back to the pans, as if reading a score. The way her mouth pouted in a ridiculous sort of way as she concentrated on taking out the chicken fillets out of the pan. Every habit he knew and though he would never admit it, he felt a sense of pride in knowing her that well.

Finally, when most of the meal had been cooked and was now simmering, Nodame happily announced she would do the dishes. She hummed the tune she was currently learning for a piano exam as she poured water over the dirty dishes, her head and hair swinging back and forth with the rhythm. Her hair had grown an inch or so, not enough to be noticed by anyone else except Chiaki but he kept his eyes on the hypnotic rhythm of the sweeping auburn blur of her hair. Then it happened. Suddenly and without a single sense of warning.

There, on the side of her neck was a spot as normal as the rest of her neck. Lily white, soft, and flawless—but it called out to him like the chords of the multitude of scores he digested every day. If there had been an orchestra behind him, it would have played a great crescendo and held it for as long as Chiaki held his throat. The strands of hair swung back and hid that tantalizing piece of flesh for a few seconds before they went on their way and exposed it once more. His throat went dry.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Her head turned and her mouth made the shape of an O. Utter silence passed between them for a second before she spoke again.

"Didn't you hear me, Shinichi?" she said with a tilt of her head, "The chicken…"

"Eh—"

The smell of smoke rose again and he all but jumped on the stove to turn off the flame. He sighed heavily, feeling as if he had run a mile. He kept his eyes on the slightly burned chicken and shook off the hand on his shoulder. She drew back for a second before sticking her head between him and the chicken, inspecting it. She stuck her finger inside the pan and drew a drop of sauce on her finger, bringing it to her mouth and suckling innocently.

Chiaki chocked on his non-existent saliva.

"It's ok, it's ok," she sang to him, a smile splitting her face. She tried to get him to taste some but he shook her away, telling her to get everything ready.

"Hai!" She exclaimed, singing how she cooked the meal by herself. He had half a mind to reply to her that 'no she hadn't cooked the meal herself' but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

What the hell had happened to him? What the hell was that spot on her neck? Why the hell was he so nervous? It was Nodame. Nodame. Weird, sometimes dirty but definitely a pervert Nodame. When had she gotten that spot on her neck? Why did he have a sudden urge to see how it smelled, how it tasted---

He shook his head violently and Nodame thought it was because of the kotatsu that now resided on his table.

"Ma, ma…" she said calmingly, "You like the kotatsu, yes? Remember, it's all warm and comfortable…ahoooo."

She hummed the last part, getting under it and wrapping it around her like a comforter. She placed the plates of food down and with her hands urged him to sit. He stood standing for a couple of seconds before complying. She was still the same right?

It was still Nodame right?

"I'll feed you for today since I'm your wife. Hya…"

Chiaki gave her a firm slap on the forehead as smiled softly as she 'gyabo'd' and rubbed the offended spot.

She was still Nodame.

Right?