summary: this is how she falls in love with him: in between her curiousity and his secrets.

She meant to go up to him, to strike up a conversation, and make him fall in love with her the same way she became enchanted with him. But she faltered in her step and that broke her stride, when she saw him surrounded by the news reporters.

They kept asking questions like, did you know about this? where there anymore lovers? we heard there was a fight in the hospital ward, is that true, tell us more, tell us more, what about your stepmother? what about your brother? what? why? when? how? where?

She wanted to go there and scream, who do you guys think you are? how dare you presume to ask him those questions?But she didn't, because who does she think she is? So, she was left hoping that he'd do that himself.

But he didn't, because he is Yoshida Yuuzan and she didn't really know much of him, except that he smiles really nicely. He smiled and apologized politely, saying, no he can't answer any of their questions, because he has to take care of his father.

After that, the reporters were quickly shooed away by his guard.

All that was left was them standing on both ends of the street, like parallel lines that can only look but never meet. So, she looked.

He walked the other way, away from the aftermath of a mess that his father's scandal had left. He's pretty, like those paintings in museums, always glorious but indecipherable to her.

If she was a painter like DaVinci or Monet, this is how she'll paint him. She'll paint him a background, first. She'll paint him surrounded by tall, looming, buildings that are all blacks, grays, and squares and rectangles. She'll paint those pesky reporters to the side, she'll draw them like a bunch of angry bees, color them a harsh annoying yellow. Then she'll put him in, and the wind will blow his hair, because he looks really cold. His hands are in his pockets and his back is hunched and his face down. And mind you, this is a big painting, so you can clearly see his face. Because if you were a painter, and she's imagining that she is, you'd want people to see the one thing that matters clearly. She'll paint the curves of his face, not angles, his drooping smile and parting lips releasing a sigh. And his eyes are brown, and she doesn't care about the color, as long as she captures the look in his eyes, eyes that are dull and muted, and, and she wishes she was a photographer instead—

it'd be easier to capture the loneliness, then.

She doesn't understand him. Not when he does things that makes no sense.

She's watched him enough times to see a pattern emerging. He only smiles when somebody's watching, and he looks sad when he thinks no one's looking.

And trust her, she's trying to understand. She thinks that if she was sad, she'd want everybody to know, because then everybody would want to make her happy again. Besides, she doesn't like being sad. But then she realizes her error, she's talking about him, not her.

With Haru, he acts like a villain. All he needs is to wear a mask, and he'd fit the part. His voice drips with condescension, his smile artificially sweet. He looks at Haru with taunting eyes, and she can't hep wonder if he ever gets tired pretending.

She knows he's pretending, because once Haru is gone, he starts being nice again. Suddenly he acts like this gracious big brother, apologizing after the mess his little brother caused. Or, asking Shizuku to care for her brother or thank her for worrying about Haru.

She takes note that the entire Yoshida family is a goddamn mess, even him. Their father manages to ignite riot out of his multiple lovers, Haru's so messed up, he couldn't even act within normal social functions before meeting Shizuku. But, she thinks, Yuuzan is the most messed up out of all of them. He's aware that something's wrong, but he doesn't do anything to fix it.

And to be honest, she feels like a child solving a puzzle with missing pieces. And if she has to be totally honest, she's thinking too hard about somebody who doesn't give a fuck about her.

But she admits, she's in way too deep to give a damn about that.

She's surprised the first time he flirts back, instead of blushing like usual. She felt like a detective then, finding a new clue to fit in the picture. He laughed at her face, when she stood gaping. That was them, he was 23 and she was 19.

She still doesn't know him, but she's slowly collecting all his puzzle pieces. She can be patient.

She likes this part of him, the one that smiles at her, the one that flirts with her, the one that likes eating sweets. It's a stark contrast to an earlier memory of him. She finds it so odd that the lonely guy walking in the streets is the same guy laughing beside her. Each time she compares, her mind ripples likes water, blurring the two images together. It's her brain saying, they're one and the same.

What she doesn't like is how much of a tease he's being. He'll flirt with her, then act like the gentleman the next second. She can't decide if it's because he's restraining himself or it's because he's playing with her. She's sure that it's the former, but sometimes, even she has doubts.

She doesn't like uncertainty, which is odd because when it comes to him, it is the most uncertain she has been in her life. She can't stand it, so she vows to herself to find out the next time it happens.

They're sitting in his car, alone.

They're parked, somewhere, and he's at the driver's seat and she's sitting beside him.

She's complaining again, but he's smiling.

"I'm so annoyed," she pouts, "I don't understand why she had to write it like that. Of all the plot twists, she goes with the one that goes against the character's development."

He laughs, "Why don't you write one yourself, if you're so bothered by it? Show them how it's done."

She smiles crookedly. "My grandparents would not like that." They have talked about this before, and the answer to his question is always no.

"But what about you?" And he leans towards her, as he says this. "If the only choice that mattered was yours, what would you do?"

"I want a bakery. Mother took me to this pastry shop in Paris, when I was little. I've been in love with the idea since i've tasted créme brulée. But that is just a hobby. In the end, my grandparents were hoping I could handle the company with my brother. I don't really mind."

He pouts, "well, I guess I can't tell you to go against your family, when I can't do it myself."

Iyo shakes her head and takes his hand, squeezing it, "don't say that. If anybody could do it, it's you." You've wanted it so much you have pushed the only person who loved you. You should get what you want.

He has that face again, the one that she doesn't like. He's looking at their joined hands, and she can feel his warmth, but he's deep in his thoughts.

"Yuuzan?"

His eyes snap back to her. He smiles very warmly, eyes crinkling at the corner. "Sorry, i think that was the nicest thing I've heard anybody say."

At that, her heart clenched a little. She felt like crying, and her eyes started blinking furiously.

"Hey, don't cry. Why are you crying?" He cups her cheeks, his thumbs wiping away the tears. "C'mon, you're not allowed to cry, okay?"

She swallows, "I'm crying for you, you stubborn idiot. One of us has to be brave enough to do it."

"And you volunteered?"

She glares at him, "It just happened, okay?"

He sighs, moving forward to kiss her forehead. He pulls away, "you are too good to me." He's staring at her intently, like no one has done before. His eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes back again. Her face is red, she doesn't know if it's from crying or him kissing her. But what's worse is that he can probably feel the fast thrum of her heart, with his hand on her cheek. She wants him to inch closer, just a few inches more. He wants her too, she knows it. And when she thinks he's going to kiss her, his hand drops from her cheek instead.

He looks away and releases a breath that he's been holding, but she is appalled. She makes him look at her. She can't stand it when he does this, wanting something and letting it go. So, she's taking it for him. "You can't leave me hanging just like that. If you wanted to kiss me, all you had to do was ask."

In that moment between heartbeats, she wonders, if she puts her hand on his chest, would his heart be beating as fast as hers is right now?

His movements are tentative, the slow lick of his lips, the nervous movement of his throat, the flutter of his eyes, but she is sure. This is he, asking, and she, answering.

She pulls herself up, pressing her lips to his. He sighs against her lips, his hands grasping the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. Her hands weave through his hair, at the same, pushing him closer to her. He gasps when she licks his lips; he tastes like caramel and coffee, sweet and bitter. She wonders if he'll like it if she wore candy-flavored lip gloss.

She continues kissing him, her hand sliding to his chest. There's something to be said about heartbeats; when you listen to it, when you feel it quicken its beat in response to your touch, it's like the very essence of him is telling you what it feels. The answer is so basic she's got nothing to do but believe in it. She does. She listens and she does.

He pulls away, cheeks blushing, and rests his forehead against hers, "Hi."

"Hi," She gives him her brightest smile. She hopes it makes his heart flutter.

"Uhm," He starts, taking one of her hands and interlacing their hands together, "I'm not sure what happens next."

She looks straight in his eyes, "I don't think it needs to be said, because it's really obvious and considering it's you, I don't think you kiss girls you don't like. And you've always known that I like you." She rolls her eyes when he doesn't say anything. He's making her do all the work. "Yuuzan."

"Yes?"

"Stop being so cheeky." It's meant to come out annoyed, but it's hard when he's merely a breath away. "Will you go out with me?"

He smiles so sweetly when he says, "yes," that it makes her heart flutter.

She's falling in love, if she isn't already. He's taking her heart piece by piece, or maybe she's the one giving.

He only looks sad when she's not looking. She can tell by the easy smile, mismatched by the blank look of his eyes. She almost feels offended, but she saddens, all the same. What she is asking, as always: why are you so sad?

Trust me, she asks.

Be brave.

She regrets it all too soon.

They sit at a secluded corner of their favourite restaurant. He likes their crepes. She stays for the dessert. Their crème brulee is to die for.

What's left unsaid: they've eaten here for so many times that the owner knows their names, they don't need a menu to order, and it's theirs. A bigger admission: she likes the way he gets so happy, that his eyes crinkle, when he eats his crepes. It's vivid, even if she closes her eyes, she can still see that picture clearly. And she loves it.

He's stealing one of the strawberries on her plate, when he suddenly freezes. She blinks. He retreats back to his gentle smile, and his eyes, they're guarded. He nods, "Mother."

She turns her head, and is met by the sight of another Yuuzan. Immediately, she slips into her own role, she smiles.

His mother recognizes her, "Yuuzan, I did not know you were friends with the grandaughter of Yamaguchi."

"I assumed you knew, mother." Looking between them, she can see where he gets everything. They were mirror images of each other. "This is Yamaguchi Iyo."

Iyo bows her head in acknowledgement, and his mother actually takes her hand and squeezes it. "I wish I had met you sooner."

She actually seems nice, but given that Iyo knows how strained her relationship with Yuuzan is, her actions all end up as phony.

But before Iyo could reply, his mother's phone rings, "I'm sorry to cut this short, but an emergency has come up, and–"

"It's fine." Iyo waves her concerns off. His mother leaves immediately. She doesn't even say good bye to her son.

Yuuzan sighs, but smiles. He's good at it, pretending he isn't hurt. "Ah, that's my mother. She's very busy. Where were we–"

She touches his hand, "Yuuzan." And she leans in, "It's okay."

He sighs at this, a hint of aggravation in the action. She knows this, because lately he has been sighing more. She'll ask what's wrong and he'll say, "nothing." It's giving her anxiety.

"But you don't know." His voice comes out accusing, it's a tone she rarely hears. It's the first time it is directed at her. "Your parents are together, and they love you. How could you say that you know? How could you?" The words are tumbling out, and she wonders if he has always felt that way. She didn't know he felt bitter towards her. He looks away from her, "sometimes, I look at you and your family and I have to look away. I'm so jealous sometimes, and I can't stand it. "

"But, I asked you if you were fine with it, and you said yes."

"I didn't want to be rude."

"So why are you telling me this now?"

She feels ugly all at once, when she realizes where she's heard it before. Haru, she thinks. It sounds like he's letting her go.

There's been this doubt gnawing at her heart.

She's always been the one doing, and doing, and doing. It feels so one sided sometimes. He tells her that she's like sunshine, so bright. Maybe that's why he keeps her, because she's a constant source of reassurances and—

She cuts that thought short. She is a Yamaguchi, dignified, but she is also Iyo, selfish in her own ways. If maybe, just maybe, he doesn't love her, she'll leave.

She wants him to be as in love with her as she is with him. She wants all of him, even his secrets and scars. She's being unfair to him, she knows. But he's not being fair to her, either. He's been feeling this bitter for so long, and if his mother hadn't come, would he have told her at all?

So she lets go of his hand, and rises from her seat across from him. She blinks the tears that are forming fast, no, she refuses to cry here. I love you, she wants to say, but she doesn't want to hear the silence that follows after, so she doesn't.

"How, how," she starts, "I have known you for the past five years of my life. How could I not understand? You thought you were going to be rude if you said otherwise? Please don't lie to me. You're so good at pretending sometimes, I can't even tell anymore. " She releases a shaky breath, and stares at him. His face is neutral, but he can't look her in the eye.

She swallows, "When I kiss you," but she stops there. She can be brave and fearless, but not right now. She wants to say, "when i kiss you, do you even feel anything at all?" but she's not ready to hear the answer to that question. It feels like she's looking at the world through broken glasses. Everything is blurred, she can't tell what's fake and what's real.

He looks startled, but he doesn't do anything to deny, "Iyo-"

"I'm leaving." She spares him a glance, and she catches his eye. She wants him to say, stop me. But she doesn't because he won't. He's a coward, and she realizes, some part of him thinks that they would have never worked.

And she never looks away first, when they catch each other's eyes. But this time, she looks away.

Iyo calls him a week later, but it's Natsume's voice he hears through the phone, "You better get your ass over here, before I drag you myself."

"Where are you?"

She's at Natsume's apartment, surrounded by bottles of wine.

Iyo's lying on the couch, with an arm thrown over her face. Again, he's hit with an overwhelming sense of longing, he wants to see her face, and touch her hair, but most of all, he just wants to hold her hand.

He missed her. Everything went downhill so quickly the other day, and he'd been left in that restaurant feeling lost. The feeling only intensified each day that passed that he hadn't seen her.

Natsume's anger cuts through his thoughts, "She won't tell me what happened, but I'm pretty sure it's your fault. She kept on saying something about lies."

"It is." He admits, quietly. Somehow, he always makes her cry.

Natsume only gets angrier, "Then fix it. I don't want to ever see her cry, unless they're tears of joy."

He nods, "I'll take her home."

He takes her in his arms, and she immediately curls into him, burying her face in his neck.

"Yuuzan," Natsume stops him at the door, "It may be obvious to the rest of the world, but tell her you love her, sometime. I don't think she knows." With that, she closes the door.

The wind blows, and Iyo holds on tighter, "It's cold."

"I know, sweetie, just hold on a bit." He drops a kiss to her hair.

Her voice comes out muffled, "Where are we going?"

"Home."

"Can I go home with you instead? My brother's going to kill me."

They end up at his apartment, in his room.

He puts her down in his bed, tucking her in his blankets. He moves to stand up, but a hand grabs him. "Stay with me."

She's awake, more than sober. Maybe it's because he missed her or he feels guilty that he drove her to drink, but he can't say no. It's always been hard to say no to her. "Just let me change clothes, okay?"

They've done this before, but he blushes anyway. He slips in beside her, and it's so natural and right, when she sighs into his skin. "I'm sorry." He says.

She gets up into a sitting position, sad and distant. "That doesn't change the fact that you've been acting really weird recently. Or the fact that you close yourself off whenever we get into the topic that you find touchy. I mean, I get that you want space, or there are things that are just off limits. But, I've known you for so long, and it doesn't make sense to me that you still have things you can't tell me." She sighs. "Sometimes, I don't think I can reach you at all."

He smiles a little, and she notices, "What?"

He shakes his head, "Sometimes, I think you're the only one who can reach me."

Another silence. "Were you angry that day?"

"A little, but please don't apologize for that." He says, running a hand through his hair. "I was also being petty that day." He takes her hand, "Just because your family loves you and mine doesn't isn't a good enough excuse to take my frustrations out on you. Okay? And, I'm sorry. I really really am, for making you cry. There is no excuse good enough to justify making you cry. I am a bit jealous, but I don't hate you. I would never."

She nods. But he continues talking, "And you should know that I don't know how to love, because there aren't much people that loved me. Maybe Haru, once upon a time?" And he kisses her hand, "But, I do love you. I've forgotten what loneliness feels like, and I didn't remember until I missed you."

Slowly, he leans on his elbows and kisses her on the lips. "And when I kiss you, my heart does this weird thing." He closes his eyes, "How would your father describe it? Ah, yes, you give me heart palpitations."

That makes her laugh, and he smiles, thinking, that's better. "Are we okay?"

"We're okay." She holds his gaze, "And I love you," She leans down, and kisses his nose. "You know, I've spent so much time trying to figure you out, like, i've got these bits and pieces of you. And i'm trying to piece you together, like you're some puzzle, and i'm stuck in between your intricacies."

"I wish you had asked me instead."

"Why?"

"Because I would've given you all the pieces you were missing, and I would've told you how it all fits," and he buries his face in her neck, "because you're the only person that can see all of me and won't look away in disgust. And you don't try to fix me or change me, or, or–"

"Thank you, then."

"For what?"

"For giving me your whole heart, when I gave mine piece by piece."