[02/25/17]
It is late and he lies in bed with eyes wide open, staring into the ceiling. He tells himself it's silly, this pining like an adolescent boy but he can't help the way his body misses her at night. It is the silence and the way his bed is somehow filled with so much space now she's not in it. He has long since stopped being morose but the feeling right now is too familiar, too warm, to easy to fall back into.
He sits up, runs his fingers back through his hair and takes a deep breath as he reaches for his mobile phone. The most recent picture on her feed is of her leaning into bright green metal rails, on the edge of the coast. Her hair billows in the wind, face half obscured by a large sunhat. She's smiling, pointing into the distance. He digs a couple of weeks in before he finds the one that features a surprised Yamato as Mimi kisses his cheek. He's holding a cold bottle in his hand and her eyes are closed. Hikari-chan took that one, he remembers.
To him, she is already more beautiful than any other girl he's ever met. He has dreamt of her milky skin and soft, fragrant bosom and warm, sweet cunt. He thinks what a pretty picture she makes, splayed on his bed, wet and wanting him, but he also thinks there is something ugly about the way he wants her and knows there's something grim about the way she uses him. These are the things that make him recoil from her after the sex, when he's gone soft and cold, and these are the things that make him cling to her when she's about to go.
Part of him wants nothing to do with this, her and all the things she brings into his bed. The other part of him longs to touch her again, to hold her and maybe find what it is about her that makes him so afraid.
(Tonight, here, there is no rest.)
By early afternoon Ken has already made up his mind. He wants to ask her to come over but the truth is he doesn't know what he'll do if she refuses him. He doesn't think she will, not after the way they left things, but the fact that he can't trust her implicitly gives him pause. Instead, he sends her a quick text.
[2:35 p.m.]一乗寺 賢: Hello, Mimi-san. I was hoping we could meet for tea today, around five?
He is a coward, he knows.
[2:37 p.m.]太刀川 ミミ: Sure, I'll probably be a little late.
So is she.
.
.
Because he is the way he is, Yamato shows up to her door-step carrying two bags loaded with food, treats and sparkling lemonade; an apology, if there ever was one. With one finger he rings the bell and in those excruciatingly long seconds, already regrets coming. He tries to smile back when her face pops up, tired but pleased.
"Yamato?"
Her smile is quick, hopeful. It makes his heart sink.
"I brought dinner," he says, holding both bags up. Mimi opens the door wide and takes the bags from him while he leaves his shoes at the door. The apartment is quieter and darker than he's used to and Mimi tucks herself once more under her blankets, dragging them into the living room.
"Sora said you were sick."
"Just a little under the weather."
The back of his hand touches her cheek and she flinches slightly, so he pretends not to notice.
"You're a little warm," he tells her, tight-lipped. "Stay here."
Yamato is quick with his hands, fixing them both plates despite the fact that he doesn't have much of an appetite. He sits on the floor, his back against the couch where she's currently lying. Irritatingly slowly, Mimi slides down to the floor to join him at the low coffee table. The spread is light, mostly vegetables and fruit and Mimi's favourite steamed pork buns.
"You're the best," she says, considerably cheery as she picks up her chopsticks. "Itadakimasu."
"I told them an open air venue was a bad idea, it snowed just two days ago."
She pauses, chewing slowly and his eyes never leave her but just when he thinks she's going to say something, she pops another bite in her mouth. She's talking about work and her projects and what she's going to do once her cold is over but Yamato can't help but notice that she keeps biting down on her lip like she's afraid she's going to run off her mouth.
(She always does, Mimi is the absolute worst at keeping things to herself.)
They end up finishing their meal and catching a film that had already started, on her living room. Yamato's arms are crossed over his chest and she's putting her hair down and tucking away the rest of the food he brought; as she turns, she holds onto a half-empty bottle of lemonade and this uncharacteristic quiet is killing him.
(It's only a matter of time, he tells himself.)
"You know, I saw you, the other day."
The ache in his gut increases but he doesn't turn around.
"The other day...?"
"At the concert."
"Ahh."
They're quiet again but this time, he knows it's his fault. There's nothing he can say that isn't the wrong thing, so he leans back and takes a slow drink from his bottle. He's thinking about thick, blonde locks and a fruity scent he's already half forgotten, an endless expanse of pale, unblemished skin. But mostly, he's thinking how she ruined this, too.
"I've always known, but this time it really hurt."
His mouth feels dry.
"She doesn't—,"
"They all mean something," Mimi interrupts and this time he really has nothing to say. "It's okay. I just wish I didn't have to care so much."
She leans against the wall and when she shrugs there's a helpless smile on her face. He stares at her, blue eyes hard and cruel. She blinks, shrinking into herself as if she knows what he's about to say. Yamato hopes she does.
"When I called you that night, you said—,"
"I know what I said, Yamato."
"No," he says, voice low. "I don't think you do."
She presses her lips together, hurt. He doesn't care. Later he will regret it, can already feel his resolve slipping from his fingers, so he holds on to this sudden anger and hopes this is enough. She's sick and he's tired and this isn't good for either of them.
He can't stand the sight of her, hair tumbling down like liquid gold, cheekbones like papercuts. It's not fair, but then, she never is.
"I'm going to leave," he tells her, in that effective voice that will brook no refusal.
"Yamato," she calls out, her voice a panicked squeak. "Please."
He lingers near the door, just enough to take his jacket. Mimi stands behind him, eyes big and wet and pleading, but the moment is already ruined, his anger already spent.
"You didn't want to be with me and then you didn't want me to be with her," his lip curls and then, because there's nothing funny about it, he laughs. "How miserable must I be for you to be happy?"
He shuts the door behind him and is met with a rush of cold night air that burns deep into his lungs. The truth is, he loves her like he's just learning how to breathe.
And it isn't fair.
Notes: I wanted to post this since January but work and life got in the way and I was coming home to shower and then straight to bed. Then, whenever I did get time to work on this, I kept finding things I didn't like and had to change. I switched from having Mimi's and Ken's "date", Ken and Daisuke in an event of sorts, Miyako and Ken, Yamato and ... and then, at the end, it had to be this. In the same way I am exploring a more selfish side of Mimi, I think a Yamato that isn't always stoic, always in control, sort of needed to happen.
At the end though, I'm not the judge.