XI.

They met on the tenth day of December. He swallowed thickly as she approached. Her short auburn hair was longer than he remembered, though it couldn't have been more than five – six weeks since he last saw her. They smiled, shyly and awkwardly as she came closer and took a seat at his table.

"You look good," she told him, and he smiled at the kind lie.

"I like your hair," he complimented. Her hand touched the very tips and she flushed pink.

"Oh, yeah, I'm thinking of growing it out, maybe."

"It looks good," he assured her, "Worth a try."

He asked for jasmine tea; she chose green tea and chocolate cake. Yamato placed the bundled bulb inside the hot water, breathing in the delicate scent. Sora took a bite of her dessert and he watched her, content to do just that for a while.

"I'm sorry," he let out after some minutes, making her look up at him. "I haven't been avoiding you, it's just –,"

"– Yamato, it's okay. I understand."

"No, you don't." The bulb was succumbing to the heat, opening up slowly as the water took on a golden hue. "What you said that night, when you asked me if I would come back to you…" he swallowed, "Even then, I should've known I couldn't."

"Maybe I should've been more patient," Sora told him, but though her voice wavered, she was not yet crying. "I should've tried to understand you, try harder, I – I don't know…"

Yamato reached out across the table, placing his hand over hers.

"It wasn't your fault, Sora." She looked at him, her smile softer than he remembered. "I should've been more honest with you, but I didn't even know it myself."

Her lower lip trembled. "What are you talking about, Yama-san?"

"When you asked for my heart," he began quietly, "I wanted to give it to you. I tried to, but," his hold on her hand tightened, "it wasn't mine to give."

Her hand slipped back from under his, and she looked hurt for a moment.

"Who?" she asked, so quiet that it burned him to hear it.

"Mimi," his hands gripped the tea, the flower – now fully blossomed, floating gracefully inside. "Mimi."

"Since when?"

He looked up, shaking his head a fraction. Just enough.

"It's always been her."

"And you – all this time … why, Yamato?"

His blue eyes widened in horror, and the words tumbled out in a hot breath.

"No," he murmured, "Sora, it wasn't like that," he swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. "I wouldn't do that to you – she wouldn't do that, either."

Sora calmed down, her spoon picking at her dessert. "Does she know?"

His smile, when it came, was heart-breaking. "She … does not return my feelings."

"Are you sure of that?"

"She's with Takeru," he said stupidly.

"And you were with me. Did that stop you?"

He blushed furiously, but Sora let out a little laugh, surprising him.

"I thought you would hate me," he admitted, bringing his cup to his lips.

"I couldn't ever hate you, Yamato-kun," Sora said, "Quite frankly, I feel relieved. I kept thinking this was somehow my fault, and now I know it isn't."

Her hand reached out for his again, and he held it gratefully. "This doesn't mean that what we had wasn't real. I loved you – I still do."

"I never lied to you," he frowned, "I hope you know that."

"I know you didn't. But if anyone should understand about degrees of love, that should be me."

He leaned back on his seat, releasing her hand.

"Taichi?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Sora turned a deep scarlet that clashed horribly with her hair. "He's been so nice to me these past few weeks," she spoke so quietly he almost had to strain to hear. "Nothing's happened but, would you hate us if –,"

"There's nothing you could do to make me hate you, Sora."

She smiled brightly, clearly relieved.

"You know," she began, "Mimi-chan's favourite tea is jasmine, too…"