It has been waaaay too long since I published something, so here we go, another Shinji/Takako for the ages.

WARNING: this one is rated "M" for a reason! Nothing explicit, but you have been warned. Language, sex, ect.

I planned this one to have a lot of backstory, so if you're confused feel free to ask me any questions! But it's better if you stay tuned until the end :D

Waking up naked and confused after a long night of partying should have lost its novelty by now. But as Shinji Mimura groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes before curling back into a ball—why was the sun so bright ughhhh—he wasn't really questioning his life choices. No, he was actually trying to keep the churning of his stomach down to a dull roar. He covered his eyes with his arm and moaned in discomfort, wondering when he'd been hit by a fucking truck during the festivities.

Then he removed his arm and was rather surprised to see his almost-entirely-naked body greeting him. Someone—the owner of this couch, he would presume—had covered his crotch with a handkerchief, but nothing else.

Why was he naked? And where the hell was he?

The two should go hand-in-hand—if he was in the house of some pretty girl who'd brought him home, well, that went without saying; however he still had recurring nightmares of waking up handcuffed and naked in Sho Tsukioka's bathtub. He was still grateful he'd been able to sneak out of the window before Sho had woken up.

It was too early and he was too hung over for such mysteries. And there went his stomach again, making all sorts of unpleasant sounds. (Oi, Mimura, this is your stomach speaking, and I bear a message from your liver: I HATE YOU. STOP DRINKING. HERE, HAVE SOME PAIN, ON THE HOUSE. HAPPY HOUR IS FROM 4-6PM.)

He was naked, he was hung over, and he was role-playing with his anthropomorphised internal organs. Fuuucked up.

Shuuya's bachelor party was last weekend. This weekend—yesterday—was the wedding. His best friend was a married man, he was losing his battle with crippling despair and loneliness, and that was what prompted him to thoroughly take advantage of the open bar. (That and you SUCK. Thank you, stomach.)

But right now he had other priorities, such as figuring out whose couch he'd commandeered for the night; where his underwear, expensive suit, wallet and keys had gotten to; and most important of all, finding a toilet. Because he was going to—

He didn't quite make it to that third goal. He made to get off the couch, but instead he rolled off rather gracelessly, and the effort of getting back to his feet was enough to make the dormant toxins in his stomach rise.

And now his throat burned, his mouth tasted awful and there was a lovely pile of vomit on the living room floor of this mysterious house/apartment/whatever. Pile of vomit? Puddle of vomit? Was vomit a solid, or a liquid? Judging by the smell of the stuff, he'd guess it was a gas, too.

In conclusion, handsome, successful Shinji Mimura was lying on the floor, naked and propped up on his elbows next to a mass of his own expelled stomach waste, thinking about the physical properties of vomit. He wasn't sure what success in life was, but this wasn't a picture of it.

He was beginning to think he was becoming an alcoholic. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. He rolled over onto his back with a groan, too nauseous to even think about moving. The ceiling appeared to be spinning. No, that was the ceiling fan.

He was interrupted from his churning stomach and throbbing headache—right behind his eye, too, that was the worst kind of headache—by a biting female voice. A familiar one, too.

"Oh, god fucking dammit, Shinji. Really?"

Shinji looked up and met the glare of one Takako Chigusa, looking annoyed, amused, but mostly annoyed, still dressed in her pink pajamas and holding a blue mug.

Some part of him—his inner romantic, if you will—appreciated how beautiful she was even when she looked that pissed. The other part of him—his mind, common sense, hormones, healthy survival instinct, and so on—warned him not to get an erection because Takako had the home-field advantage and would not hesitate to stomp on his proffered anatomy.

He instinctively put his hands over his front and offered her a winning smile. "Mornin', sunshine."

But then he had to puke again.

(Serves you right, JERK.)

Love you too, stomach.

Here we go into the flashback portion of the evening, the hazy poorly-pieced-together aftermath of the Nanahara-Utsumi nuptials.

The sappiest thing a gooey lovey-dovey engaged couple could do to ENSURE their single friends would want to commit hara-kiri during the exchanging of the wedding vows was choose to get married on Valentine's Day…

Which was exactly what Shuuya Nanahara and his bride Yukie Utsumi had decided to do. Predictable, perhaps, but it still made Shinji want to puke more than those beers he'd shotgunned with Yutaka and Kawada before the reception even began.

Needless to say, being one of several unhappy bachelors in a room full of happy couples and celebrating a wedding on Valentine's Day was probably the reason Shinji's heart was full of sad (and why his stomach was full of alcohol). But he was Shuuya's best friend, next to Yoshitoki Kuninobu anyway (Shuuya was so torn as to who to make his best man he'd wimped out and chosen Hiroki Sugimura instead), and therefore would be attending this wedding even if it meant he'd want to deep-throat a chainsaw for half the reception.

Normally he didn't mind attending weddings, because at least there'd be lonely bridesmaids to hook up with. But in this case, he'd either gone to school with the bridesmaids or they were related to Yukie, and he did not want to incur the wrath of Shuuya's pretty wife when she found out he'd had a foursome with her cousins (he had not, by the way).

He ignored the fact that it was his own meddling that brought Shuuya and Yukie together, all those years ago back in high school. He was thrilled for his friends, maybe even a little envious of how happy they were, and annoyed at their absolute refusal to let him spend more than 5,000 yen on a wedding present.

Best friend getting married, live band playing the reception, a very fancy catering company donating the food (because Yukie's charisma worked in many ways), and best of all, an open bar. Because if Shinji was going to get roped into attending a wedding on Valentine's Day, he was definitely going to take advantage of said open bar. Challenge accepted.

But his worries (minor annoyances, really) were for naught; Yukie had told her hot cousins about Shuuya's handsome best friend, and Shinji had been more than happy to delight them with his acquaintance. His best best man speech was written and tucked away in the inside pocket of his sport coat (even though he had planned to improv it anyway).

And the true object of his affection had shown up after all, and he'd been pestering her for a dance all evening (and she'd refused him every time, grinning from ear to ear).

Then the time for speeches rolled around. Since nobody could know Shuuya for longer than fifteen minutes and not get fantastic story-telling material, there were quite a few people who had something to say…

Shinji waited for Shogo Kawada to finish his story ("This is the quietest I have EVER heard Shuuya be, EVER, in fact if I couldn't see him alive sitting fifty feet from me I'd have sent out an APB") before venturing into his own, reminding everyone of the time Shuuya decided to get a tattoo shortly after his 18th birthday.

"So Shu's got this whole idea panned out. He wants a guitar, his parents' anniversary, something about his name, an eagle, Wild Seven, baseball, a nude photo of Yukie—kidding about that part—anyway it was going to fill up half his arm. I agree to go for moral support (and comic relief). We get there, and Shuuya panics when he sees the pen they use to give you the tattoo. And he starts screaming when he hears the sound the thing makes."

"So he gets his shirt off, and the tattoo guy starts wiping his arm down with a wipe. Shuuya starts screaming again. "That was the wipe," says the guy. "Oh," said Shuuya. "Well it can't possibly hurt that bad, right?"

"WRONG. Exactly two minutes into getting this elaborate tattoo, he squeezed my hand so tightly he dislocated two metacarpal bones. Two. I'm sitting there wincing while this crybaby is screaming and asking for a bite-block because he can't stand the pain. Needless to say… he's got a line tattooed on his arm, and that's about it. Meanwhile, I spent four hours in the hospital getting my hand put back together by a very rude orthopedic surgeon."

"After you did the hot nurse!" Shuuya yelled, which made everyone either laugh or make a face of disgust.

Shinji waved that off. "I suppose you could say I'm responsible for getting our man Shuuya here into some rather difficult situations, some of these stories really needing about an hour or so of story-telling to really do them justice. But I'm happy to say that, for all the trouble I've gotten Shuuya in over the years—"

"And vice versa!" Shuuya added, laughing—

"Yeah, well, I take full credit for insistingShuuya sprout a set and ask Yukie out in our first year of high school, and… here we are eleven years later." Shinji grinned at his best friend and raised his beer (champagne was for lightweights).

"And I never did get that tattoo!" Shuuya added, beside himself with laughter, throwing his arm around Shinji and clunking their beers together. ("Is this a 'toast the groom' or 'roast the groom' occasion?" several members of Yukie's family wondered, but they just didn't know Shuuya well enough, it seemed.)

Everything had been going great, Yukie's friends and family told some stories…

…and then Hiroki Sugimura, the official best man, asked for the floor, to deliver his heartfelt but very funny speech telling the story of how he'd first met Shuuya ("I remember thinking, this guy is a lunatic, when he gets to his feet, blood dripping down his face, his left eye swollen shut from the left hook he just took... and he grins at me and says "You gotta be more careful, man! Those guys woulda kicked your ass!" And then, somehow I knew, the lunatic standing before me… would become one of the best friends I'd ever have the pleasure of making. Congratulations, Shuuya and Yukie!").

Everyone applauded, toasted, and then Hiroki turned to his girlfriend, Mitsuko Souma (yes, the beauty formerly known as Hardcore Souma) and proposed.

And she said yes (after gasping with surprise and very nearly bursting into tears).

Everyone had been shocked (WHO PROPOSES AT SOMEONE ELSE'S WEDDING!) but neither Shuuya nor Yukie seemed at all offended, both of them squealing with delight (yes, Shuuya squealed, it was something you had to see to believe) and cheering that their wedding had spawned so much more love. (Which was actually typical for them. Damn optimists.)

Shinji was stunned. Hardcore—err, Mitsuko Souma had cleaned up her act over the years, probably around the second year of high school. Stopped the prostitution, gave up the drugs and alcohol, her wayward father even came back into her life and took responsibility of her around that time. She and Hiroki hooked up a few years after college, and they'd seemed pretty happy together over the past two years.

Still, remembering the wild child she used to be and imagining her married to kind, gentle Hiroki was a bit of a stretch. (Of course Hiroki always had a strange taste in women. Case en point, the woman equally beautiful to the future Mrs. Sugimura, who'd quietly gotten to her feet and disappeared as everyone congratulated the newly engaged couple.) Shinji laughed and cheered and applauded and thumped Hiroki on the back, along with everyone else…

…when he saw Takako leaving the room. Her long hair was keeping her face hidden from view, but he'd be willing to bet she wasn't too thrilled with the turn of events.

Sure, she was good friends with Yukie (and would never admit being close to Shuuya as well), but Shinji doubted Takako would have bothered to show up at this wedding had she known Hiroki was planning on proposing to Mitsuko here. He didn't think Hiroki'd noticed she was gone.

Seeing his chance to be the hero like it was written above his head in neon letters, Shinji set his now empty beer down, shoved his hands in his pockets and casually walked in the direction Takako had headed off in.

Had to play this cool, didn't want to look too eager… he hadn't been planning this or anything, nope…

Well, he hadn't been planning this, because only dopey Hiroki would propose marriage at someone else's wedding reception. But he wasn't going to get into the technicalities.

(His sister watched him go after Takako and smiled as she helped herself to an extra piece of cake. Maybe Shinji'd be the one getting married next~!)

Takako was outside, sitting on the balcony overlooking the lake, her chin resting on her bare knees. Shinji didn't remember ever seeing Takako Chigusa look this dejected. First time for everything, he supposed.

Still, she'd break his nose if he was anything less than his usual nonchalant self, so far be it from him to make any remarks on the contrary.

Takako seemed to sense his presence, and looked up, sparing him an entrance line. She frowned. "Oh. Shinji."

Shinji offered a small wave. "Yo. A little overdressed for the balcony, don't you think?" That strapless, take-no-prisoners coral-colored dress was far too beautiful to be wasted out here. (Even if it did mean he had the view all to himself.)

Takako spared him a glance before resuming her glare out at the lake. "I fancied a smoke."

"Uhh, you don't smoke," Shinji pointed out. "You run marathons for fun, remember? Not a winning combination, hon."

Takako shot him a weary, helpless look. Knowing the last thing she wanted was pity, he took a seat next to her on the ground. The sanitation of his expensive pants were not a priority at the moment. "You cold?" he asked. "I'd be happy to warm you up."

"Only if you give me the article of clothing most difficult to remove," Takako answered, lips turning up at the corners a bit. "My body temperature is fine."

Shinji took that as a victory. "And as for the rest of you?"

Takako snorted. "Also fine. Feel free to ask any personal questions."

"In that case…" Shinji began teasingly. He leaned back against the wall and exhaled audibly. "Who the hell proposes at someone else's wedding?"

Takako shook her head. "I'm all right. Really. Feels kind of like... closure, I guess."

"Closure?" Shinji asked, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

She shrugged, staring out into the distance aimlessly. "I knew me and Hiroki were never going to happen a long time ago. But I guess I never really gave up hope." She smiled sadly. "Now there's not much to hope for, right? He's happy. That's what's important."

Shinji realized rather abruptly that he couldn't find it in himself to sympathize with her over losing Hiroki. Rather selfish on his part, particularly because he was only her friend, but... he wasn't about to blow his chances with her now. Felt like this was his last chance.

Of course he didn't say any of that, instead mimicking her posture and leaning his cheek in his hand. "Hmm."

"I wonder if he's even noticed I'm gone," Takako continued. She was in no danger of crying, thankfully; he didn't think even his brilliant mind could process the idea of Takako Chigusa in tears. "I mean, I get it. Best friend starts taking the back seat to the girlfriend, fine. But he's getting married. It's like… absolute confirmation that he's never been interested and he never will be." She laughed humorlessly. "I sound so selfish. But it's what I'm thinking."

The thought of sitting with her and listening to her pick apart minute details—which would only make her feel worse!—sounded agonizing, and his aforementioned brilliant mind had a different idea, a much more pleasant one (for both parties involved; he was being uncharacteristically selfless for once). He turned to face her, taking her pretty hands in his own and getting to his feet.

Takako looked surprised even as she let him pull her up, tottering on her heels as she regained her balance. "Shinji, what the…"

"We're going back inside," Shinji told her.

"But I don't—"

He interrupted her. "You don't have to talk to Hiroki if you don't want to. Dance with me. Shu'll have my head if he found out I was out here, and I don't want to listen to him whining and pouting at me. Don't make me endure that."

Takako looked, for once, uncertain. He'd never seen her look so unsure of anything before, and once again wanted to sock his kind friend in the nose for unintentionally turning this girl into such a stereotype.

Time for a more familiar tactic, he reckoned. "Oi, Taka. This is a wedding. People traditionally have fun at these. Your face, lovely as it may be," he continued, tipping her chin up so she was looking at him, "looks like it belongs at a funeral. Now either you come with me and pretend to enjoy my company, or I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and kidnap you. Am I understood?"

Takako stared at him wordlessly, before snorting and pushing his hand away. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass you are when you set your mind on something? Damn it, Shinji." But she was smiling.

"I'm told it's endearing," Shinji told her, winking and pulling her close. He could feel her breath on his lips. It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to kiss her.

Takako made a noise of protest, but didn't budge an inch. "I don't like dancing."

He reached for her hand, breaking eye contact. "I don't either. We're going to pretend."

"That sounds like so much fun, I think my heart might burst with excitement," Takako began sarcastically, but Shinji ignored the tone, squeezing her hand tighter and leading the way back inside. For all her grumbling about dancing, she was willing to hold his hands and sway to the music, even move her hips a little, which was fine by him.

Much to his approval, Takako stuck with him for the rest of the night. He might have been drinking a bit—okay, a LOT—but she hadn't minded. He had a suspicion that she wanted him to keep drinking in hopes he'd cease asking her questions about Hiroki, but now that he actually had Takako's attention, he had no intention of making her think of anyone else.

Ikumi even stopped chatting with Yukie's little brother (who was the same age as Ikumi; Shinji had had his eye on Yamada Utsumi since the kid had met his little sister) to beam approvingly at him and flash him a thumbs-up. Shinji winked and returned the favor over Takako's head.

The last bit he remembered was, during a slower song, Takako wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his chest. She said nothing, but she looked almost content, and it was making his insides squirm (either that or he'd had too much to drink). He'd tipped her chin up and was going to kiss her—even if it meant he'd get smacked for his troubles or for being an ass taking advantage of the situation or just being her rebound—and it looked like she was going to let him, closing her eyes—

—when stupid Shuuya interrupted because he wanted to play his guitar, unable to sit by and watch the band perform alone any longer. Shinji of course knew Shuuya was well in his own right to interrupt at his own wedding, but it was still frustrating, especially when the opportunity to kiss her didn't present itself again for the rest of the night.

He also vaguely remembered something about falling down the stairs leaving the building, using his teeth to open a beer bottle, and crying in the front seat of Takako's car, but…

"Still can't believe the only thing you found for me to wear was this thing," Shinji said finally, over a cup of coffee. It was amazing how much better one felt after two aspirin, extensive use of mouthwash, and coffee.

Except the pink sakura-print robe he had on wasn't exactly his idea of anything he normally would be caught dead in, but at least he was decent. Not that he minded of course, but he didn't want to torment poor Takako by forcing her to witness perfection in all of its naked glory.

"It's Hiroki's. And believe me, it's more for my sake than it is yours," Takako answered, "and the next puddle of vomit you create on my floor is the one you clean up!"

"I offered to clean up the first two," Shinji pointed out, looking put-out.

"Yeah, a real nice offer until you remember that you almost fell into it when you attempted to, Shinji. Use gravity much?" Takako replied, fidgeting in her chair. She changed the subject. "Enough about vomit. Are you hungry?"

"Did you just offer to cook for me?" Shinji asked, amused. "Can't say I mind the look, alien-pod-Takako-impersonator, but I am rather fond of the original. Can you give her back once you're done cooking?"

Takako swung a light punch at him as she got to her feet. "Only because I can't sit still for this long," she answered, putting a skillet on the stove and spraying it with vegetable oil. "I get antsy. That and I have you hostage, so you can't tell me how terrible my cooking is."

"That's up for debate," Shinji answered, laughing. He paused, something coming to mind. "Uh, Taka? My car's not totaled, right? I just dreamed that?"

Takako nodded in confirmation, re-filling his coffee mug for him. "Your car's at your house. You were in the wedding party, remember? You got to ride in the limo. But when it came time to take your drunk ass home, you were too drunk to tell me where your keys were and I didn't want to leave you on your front porch. I would've asked Ikumi, but I couldn't find her," she added, adding onions, mushrooms, and green peppers to the already-sautéing chicken in the pan.

Shinji paled suddenly, remembering Ikumi's company the night before. "She had better not be with that damn Yamada or I'm going to—"

"Whoa, killer. Calm down," Takako said, looking amused, putting the cooking rice mixture aside and preparing eggs. "Big playboy Shinji Mimura's allowed to get some when he wants it, but Ikumi can't? Hardly fair."

"She's not even eighteen," Shinji protested, which admittedly was four years older than when he'd become sexually active—and really, the older he got, the grosser he thought it was that he'd first had sex at thirteen—but whatever. He was losing his focus here. "It's different for girls."

"Oh, I'm sure I wouldn't understand that, then," Takako answered, an I dare you to keep talking edge to her voice, and Shinji wisely decided to drop it.

He watched Takako cook with certain interest, focusing on trying to guess what she was preparing/wondering if it was going to poison him and forcing any questions as to what they'd done last night out of his head.

Of course the odds of them having sex were highly unlikely. A zombie apocalypse had a better chance of happening. Takako would have kicked his ass before, during, and after. He forced the thought of fucking Takako—not to be confused with the fucking thought of Takako—out of his mind.

If she could read his thoughts now, she'd probably beat him senseless for even thinking about it… boy was he glad she wasn't a telepath. Even though it would be fun to think dirty thoughts about her, knowing she'd hear them and get angry.

"Order up," Takako said, sounding almost chirpy, interrupting his increasingly-perverted thoughts as she dropped two plates of omelet rice on the table. "I know that look. Criticize my cooking and die," she said threateningly, raising a fork menacingly.

Shinji was uncharacteristically quiet as he ate, only because talking with your mouth full was gross, and while Takako's cooking looked disgusting, it was actually quite tasty (just as long as you didn't look at it while you ate, because a yellow blob topped with ketchup squirted at random was not exactly appealing). He was quite tempted to be an ass ("I didn't know you could eat zombie brains") but he could tell she wasn't her usual self, so he let it go.

"This isn't bad, Taka," he said, when the silence bypassed uncomfortable and went straight to creepy.

Takako laughed disbelievingly. "Really? Stop kissing my ass, Shinji."

"Nah, not horrible at all. Just take the vegetables off a little sooner next time, they're a little overcooked." Shinji poked at his food a bit. "Oh, and it looks like a zombie brain, so I would suggest working on your presentation."

Takako scowled, hitting the table with her fist. He offered her a cheeky grin. He'd tried, really.

Awkward silence.

"So, now that we've eaten… can I ask you something?" Shinji asked. He would like to know how he got naked… and maybe that was an entertaining story. (He certainly hoped so.)

Takako raised an eyebrow in response but said nothing. He took that as an 'A-ok'.

"Two questions. One, where are my clothes? And two, did we…" He connected the two of them with his fork, for some reason not wanting to risk offending her with his usual turn of phrase.

"Did we what?" Takako asked suspiciously.

Okay he couldn't resist anymore. "You dragged me back to your place, stripped me down and had your way with me, didn't you? I hope somebody filmed it."

Takako's face went from suspicious to outraged, and she glared at Shinji (who was smiling cheekily this entire time). "No, we did not!" she snapped, scrunching her face in disgust. "Not even in your wet dreams, you perverted—figures you'd revert right back to your usual damn M.O. And here I thought you were gonna behave!"

"All you had to say was 'no'," Shinji said defensively. "And on that note, care to tell me how I wound up naked on your couch if we didn't have sex? I lose a few too many hands at strip poker, perhaps?"

Takako actually blushed. "You… said I wasn't cheering up fast enough. At a red light, you jumped out of the car and stood in front of where I was parked in the road, said you wouldn't move until you saw a smile. Then when some kid drove by playing loud music, you started stripping. And dancing, I think. I wouldn't call it dancing as much as I'd call it the voices are out to get me so let me shake my dick at you, but… you get my drift."

Shinji was horrified, but not because he'd stripped in front of Takako (he was a smart man, he knew what his advantages were). "That was my best suit. Wonderful."

"Yeah, and then you ran for it, and I ruined the heel of those shoes I was wearing because I was chasing you down, you naked weasel," Takako answered simply. "Expect the bill to replace themsoon."

"Well in that case I deeply apologize, Takako's shoes," Shinji answered, rolling his eyes. "So I was stripping? I've done weirder things drunk. You enjoy the show?"

Takako shrugged. "Well, you look damn good naked, I'll admit that much. Any comment further risks delving into the territory of 'ass-kissing' and I don't care much for that." She frowned, getting to her feet abruptly and collecting their plates. "All right, now you've got twenty minutes to relocate yourself. Get lost, Shinji, I'm not running a bed and breakfast here."

"What? Why?" Shinji complained. "My head feels like it's going to split open. Are you expecting someone?"

Takako snorted. "Who would I be expecting? Hiroki's not likely to come home, he spent the night at Mitsuko's. Again." The annoyance in her voice could be wearing a sombrero if it wanted to be any more obvious.

"Well, they are engaged," Shinji said cautiously, watching her face for any danger signs. She turned away from him, putting the dishes in the sink.

"Takako?" he said, "Taka, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Takako turned to glare at him. "Stop asking me stupid questions."

Okay, so that was a stupid question. Not everything that came out of his mouth could be brilliant. (The aforementioned pile/puddle of vomit, for example.)

"What's wrong is I have an ass like you in my kitchen asking me ridiculous questions he already knows the answer to. I thought you were supposed to be smart." Takako exhaled loudly, turning and wiping her hands on a towel. "God damn it. I'm sorry, Shinji. I want a punching bag and you're just too irresistible."

"Apology accepted, weirdo. Thanks for the heads up, I am leaving before you kill me." Shinji paused. "Can I have a ride home? It's too far to walk. I'll be arrested for indecent exposure again."

Takako snorted. "Fine. I've got some errands to run, I can do those after I get rid of your sorry ass," she said, chuckling. "Can you wait ten minutes? I want a shower."

"Want some company?" Shinji offered, raising an eyebrow suggestively. Takako swung a punch at him and he chuckled. She did manage to successfully land one hit to his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Shinji watched her go with a sad sort of expression. He quite wanted to grab her and shake any feelings for Hiroki right out of her system, but regardless, it was no business of his own, and he doubted she'd take too kindly to him poking his nose in her personal issues anyway. (She would kill him.)

Instead he got up and decided to at least make himself useful (and repay Takako for allowing him to crash on her couch), gathering up his dirty dishes from the sink and opening the dishwasher door.

He heard something odd coming from the direction of the bathroom, and as he closed the dishwasher and set a wash cycle, he abruptly decided to check and see if she was okay (not by opening the door, you perverts, he would knock. He was such a perfect gentleman). "You fall in or something, Taka?" he asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

His answer, predictably, was "I'm fine", but the choking sob that broke up the sentence was what convinced Shinji that Takako Chigusa was not fine. Before quite realizing what he was doing, he opened the door to the bathroom. It wasn't even locked.

"Shinji what the hell," Takako snapped, but it lacked her usual heat. The shower was running, her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she'd impulsively grabbed a towel to cover herself when he'd burst in. No tears. Just like the kiddie shampoo.

Explanation time now, before he was the one crying (in pain, while Takako broke his limbs backwards). "I thought I heard you… crying. Even I have to make a mistake sometimes, right? Uh, enjoy your shower."

He made to beat a hasty retreat when it happened. The look she gave him made him freeze in his tracks. The look he'd been wanting to see on her pretty face since they'd met as junior high kids (well maybe not that long) was there.

The look on her face was one Shinji imagined someone who felt like the last woman on the planet would wear for an attractive man who fell from the sky. It was a I WANT YOU look, and Shinji had seen many over the years. But Takako's… he'd never even imagined he'd ever really see a look like that on her face.

She swallowed nervously, not breaking eye contact with him, and the towel fell to the floor.

What a perfect place to cut the story off. Hahaha. Updates will be quick for this one! (yes I know I always say that but I don't want one of you hunting me down if I wait too long to update; you know who you are)

As usual, I welcome any feedback/constructive criticism/gushing praise/bitching and whining/whatever else; stay tuned!