review replies

yamora: oh darls. thank you for following this story for such a long time. you've been a prominent reviewer throughout this story and it is a blessing - and wonder - that you've followed this story for such a long time. i really appreciate it.

old guest: yes, they are finally talking about it. i did make it drag, i admit. haha. i think i was in denial about letting this story go. but hey, the final chapter is here now. thank you for reading :)

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And not just these two. Everybody. Thank you for following, and reading this story over the years. Every single review, negative, positive, constructive, flailing - all of them, I have treasured. They all meant so much to me, especially with a story that has been as long as this one (and possibly the longest story that I've ever written).

With this being said, I'll leave you with the final chapter xox :)

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[BITTERSWEET CATASTROPHE]

final chapter

official debut

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Everybody likes to binge on something in times of desperation.

For Hikari it's soba. Mimi opts for cream puffs. Miyako's is yakitori. Koushiro goes for plain miso soup. Takeru likes his natto (which is disgusting, if you ask me). Taichi's all about his beloved ramen. And, lastly, Yamato's a popcorn addict (would that be considered a comfort food if he's always eating it?).

Anyway, for me...it's always been omurice – my mother's omurice if you want to be specific.

I watch as my mother pours the bowl of beaten eggs onto the frying pan. It sizzles, and naturally, makes my mouth water. Ambling towards where all the action is, I smile, hugging my mother from behind. She stiffens at first and then relaxes. She turns her head to kiss me on the cheek.

"We always fought when you were a teenager, but I knew that whenever I'd make you some omurice, we'd make up and be fine again."

"Omurice was our saviour," I agree, grinning. "Since neither of us would apologise to each other."

"That's because you both were too stubborn," my father chuckles, spectating us from behind the newspaper he is currently reading. "It always felt like a natural disaster was going to strike whenever the two of you would fight. I sometimes wish that I had a son instead."

I groan, "Dad."

"Sora was already a tomboy. Anyway, one male in the family is enough if you ask me." My mother sniffs, but her lips are slightly tilted upwards. "The house would be a pigsty if we had another."

It's always nice when my mother is in good spirits. After being exposed to Yamato's clinical depression, I had a better insight on her, and why she treated me the way she did when I was a teenager. Thinking back, I feel guilty for the times I'd pick fights with her, never acknowledging what she was actually going through, nor bothering to see from her perspective.

And maybe, because of this, I've been visiting my parents more frequently.

I'm not playing out the good child (considering I'm the only one), however, I want to mend, I want to fix our strained relationship. From seeing how Yamato has been trying with his mother, I thought that I should too. His mother isn't on the top of my list, but I still have to give it her...because without her, without Yamato attempting to smoothen out their relationship, we wouldn't have gone on that blind date. Even worse, we mightn't have even gotten back together.

Besides, it's something I've been meaning to do. Spending time with my parents is more important these days because they aren't getting any younger. My dad's mop of grey hair is a sign of that, and my mother's arthritis is more prominent whenever I'd witness her climb up a flight of stairs. Even now, as I watch her cross the kitchen with the plates of omurice, I can tell that her gait is slower than it had been a decade ago.

I take a bite of the omurice, and I'm instantly in a flurry of happiness from the egg and tomato flavoured rice.

"Is it any good?" My mum still asks me, expectantly.

My father chuckles at me because instead of answering my mother, I put another spoonful into my mouth. The flavour dances on the tip of my tongue and I can't hold back my glee, closing my eyes to savour it. Nothing will ever beat my mother's home-cooked omurice. Nothing.

"More than good. It's amazing," I – somehow – muffle out.

There's something calming about being at my parents' house. It's homely, cluttered, yet warm. And maybe that's why I purposely had wanted to be here for breakfast. If I had been waiting at home until lunchtime, I'd be simmering with nerves, pacing back and forth, checking the time, and making any viable excuse to bail. At least, by being here, I'm distracted and I'm hitting two birds with one stone. As well as spending time with my parents, I'm also dulling my own anxieties about today.

"How's your new job doing?"

"It's great. I'm learning new things every day," I stretch, rubbing my bulging stomach. "Our latest project that we've been assigned is to design the interior to that new hospital they're building in Ueno."

"Near the park?"

"Yeah." I pour a cup of green tea for my parents, and then for myself. The steam mists against my face, and as I'm about to take a sip of its almighty goodness, my mother has to interrupt me with one of her incredulous, eye-rolling questions.

"Any boys?"

Of course. There she goes again.

Isn't it funny that when I was a kid, all she'd chatter on about is how I should study, get a stable job and earn a decent amount of money. Now it's not about career, the one thing that she's drilled into my brain since I was in my diapers – it's about finding a man, marrying him and producing children. Which I, dare say, do find hypocritical after having been told for eons to focus on my studies and not breathe a single breath next to a person of the opposite sex. She reckons that after all these years, I can easily snatch up any guy and marry him.

There's no point arguing because if I do, she'll get all strung and we'll find ourselves in argument one million and twenty-two. I'm not joking.

I resort to keeping my opinion to myself, but I still roll my eyes anyway. "Mother, didn't I tell you that I'd only introduce you to a potential boyfriend if I'm serious about him?"

My father snorts. "No secrets, Sora. If you ever start dating a guy, he needs to still have my approval first. I want him to visit the house and court you in the proper manner, so that I can judge him myself-"

"Dad, nobody uses the word 'court' anymore. You're being ridiculous."

"But you should really think about it, Sora. You're not getting any younger. It'll be harder to have kids-"

"I'll adopt then," I shrug.

Mother gives me a sad look. "Sora, I want you to be happy."

I know she does. It's in her best interest since I'm the only child. But sometimes, it gets frustrating repeating the same thing over and over again. I can say I'm not as snappy about it as I once was, maybe because I'm tired of the interrogating.

"-why don't you settle for a nice guy?"

Ah, so we're still on this topic? I don't reply anymore. Unfortunately, my silence doesn't stop my mother from ranting on, "I just wish you had met the young gentleman who stopped by my store yesterday. He took a good half hour trying to pick out the flowers for his partner instead of choosing a bouquet of typical roses. Sunflowers. It was a wonderful choice. Even your father is horrible at picking flowers out for me-"

"Maybe because you actually own a florist." Dad retaliates, "You're always bringing scraps of leftover flowers home on a daily basis. How the hell would I know what you like?"

My mother gives a cheeky grin. "Well, that is true."

After mindless bickering, resulting in me laughing at the both of them, my father retires to his worn-out recliner chair in the lounge. The television buzzes on and he leans back, watching his favourite morning program on the Geography channel. On the other hand, I do my task of cleaning the table down, then joining my mother in the kitchen.

As she washes the dishes, she passes one plate to me, which I dry. We keep going at it on repeat. I've washed dishes with mother for as long as I can remember, that we make quite the efficient team. Sometimes we'd talk about anything and everything, other times we'd remain quiet. 'Washing dishes time' has always been therapeutic between the two of us.

When I place the last glass onto the shelf, in timing, the doorbell sounds. My parents are startled by the ringing because it's not often they get guests at this time. As for me...well I had anticipated it.

I make my way to the entrance first, but my father beats me to the door.

My father erupts at the man standing at the doorstep, "Who are you?"

I can't hide my smile as I watch Yamato standing there. For once, not a single hair is out of place. He's actually put the effort to slightly gelling his hair back – which I don't mind on him. It looks good, actually. He's donned in his favourite leather jacket, and replacing his jeans are dark grey pants. The weather is overcast, but the two bouquets of bright yellow flowers in his arms are vibrant, contrasting greatly amongst the weather, literally lighting up the area.

However, it's the jittery smile and the sprinkle of pink on his cheeks that make me giggle out loud, when he holds his hand out to my father, juggling both bouquets in one arm.

"I'm Yamato Ishida. It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mr Takenouchi."

Although suspicious, my father takes his hand to shake it. Yamato sends me a look and I nod, speaking up. "Um dad, mama...this is my boyfriend."

There's an audible gasp behind me. My mother cranes her head, tip-toeing to get a better glimpse at Yamato considering she's shorter than father and I. She points at him in utter accusation. "It's you! You're the young man who was at the florist yesterday!"

Fate is really funny like that. I laugh out louder, observing that the flowers are sunflowers, which indicates that the young gentleman she had been talking about was Yamato.

"Well, it's not really a surprise then for you to accept these flowers. They're for you Mrs Takenouchi." Yamato hands my mother a bouquet, then the other to me, leaning downwards to kiss me on the cheek in greeting. He murmurs between his teeth, "Sora, you told me that you'd give them a warning that I'd be coming. They're looking at me like they've seen a ghost."

I smirk. We had decided it on it, but with my mother's consistent nagging about me finding a guy, I prolonged spilling the beans to them. Serves her right. Yamato gives me another look.

Alright, he's going to kill me. Maybe I shouldn't have been so vindictive about it all...

My father is frowning as he stares at us.

"What?" I say. "Didn't you want me to introduce my boyfriend to you? Does he meet your approval?"

"As long as you're happy dear...and as long as he doesn't make you cry." My father glares at Yamato. He confronts, preparing to let loose, "Was it you that made her cry?"

Oh no. Yamato looks like he wants to disappear, unable to meet my father's eyes, which makes him appear even guiltier. And here I thought this would be the easy part of the day – introducing Yamato to my parents. Perhaps it's his leather jacket. I assumed he was a bit of an ass when I judged him based on his appearance. Maybe I should suggest to Yamato to stop wearing it if he wants to make good first impressions.

Yamato speaks up, "Yes, I did and I'm truly sorry for doing it."

I gape, not expecting Yamato to admit it to my father and be all upfront about it. I mean, it's not like I had told Yamato how I had bawled my eyes over him. It was too embarrassing. I hadn't told Yamato that I had binged on tubs of ice-cream, and how my father had pieced the puzzle without asking me that it had, indeed, been a guy that made me cry.

Yamato clears his throat, ignoring my father's eyes that look like they have the ability to burn through his skull. "But I won't do it again. Ever."

"Sora always jokes that she'll never invite a guy home, unless she's serious about him," my mother interrupts, thankfully butting in, even if it is with another judging question. "Are you serious about her?"

I whine, "We're not getting married. Can you stop it-"

"I do care about your daughter," Yamato says, squeezing my hand, causing me to gaze up at him. "I am serious about her Mrs Takenouchi."

Blood rushes to my cheeks. I want to hide. It feels hell awkward when Yamato gets like this, especially how he's blatantly expressing how he feels about me to my parents. Another time I'd find it endearing, but right now I'm so embarrassed that I could die.

"Then welcome," my mother gives him a light hug, which I find absolutely odd because she's not the type to display any signs of affection that easily – especially when it's a stranger. "Come in."

It's an order, not an offer.

Yamato feebly takes off his shoes and joins us inside my parents' place. I grab a clean cup from the cabinet as we make our way back to the dining table. I pour the leftover tea from the teapot, handing it to him.

He accepts it without question, mumbling to me a 'thanks'. He takes it between his hands, taking in the aroma of the green tea. He'd usually refuse the cup of tea and would ask for coffee, but not today, not when he's under my parents' scrutiny. As if remembering something, he sifts through the sunflowers that I've placed on the table, taking out a pink organza bag to give me. "Those are for you too."

"Oh?" I quirk an eyebrow. I loosen the thread at the top of the small bag, peeking through the little space to glimpse the contents inside. I try to appear disinterested, but my mouth is already grinning upon spotting the tea bags that Takeru and I had previously discovered in Yamato's cupboard two weeks ago. "Thanks for the orange oolong."

"How did you know?" Yamato says, taken back, that I had known its flavour despite not leaning in to smell its contents.

"I'm a mind-reader." I wink.

"She's impossible with her tea," my father comments before Yamato gets the chance to query me more. "I did suggest that she become a tea brewer, and then she rebuked me, proclaiming that's what she was in her past life. She even went to the extent of saying that she was too young and beautiful to have a career in an industry that mainly consisted of the elderly."

I nod. "I still believe it."

"Who knows? In a couple of years, she might change her mind again and pursue that pathway considering she isn't getting any younger."

"Thanks mother," I complain. "You don't need to remind me."

Yamato laughs, which brings him back into focus.

My mother starts to interrogate him instead, "How about you, Yamato? Have you flitted from job to job as my daughter has?"

"I'm afraid not. Though, I have been maintaining my career in the music industry."

"He's a musician," I tell them.

"You play the guitar?" Of course that's the first question my father asks Yamato about his career.

Dad used to play the traditional shamisen in his adolescence, and because he used to play it, he always tends to brag that he's a professional guitarist to anybody he comes across whenever he gets the chance to.

Yamato scratches the back of his head, cheeks pinker. "The bass is what I'm known for, but I can play electronic and acoustic too. I'm an amateur at the drums and saxophone. I can produce a basic tune on the piano. Though, these days, I'm more specialised in composing songs."

I never really put too much thought into it, but Yamato is quite talented. Therefore, discovering that he is more proficient in other instruments, asides from the guitar, is rather astounding. Yamato tends to rarely show off his musical ability because he is so humble, and he never talks much about his work and what he does. And, when he does, his language is alien to me, as I probably sound to him when I blabber on and on about design concepts to him.

Although we have no idea when it comes to each other's fields, it doesn't stop me from joining Yamato in his studio after my work. Over a few glasses of red wine, he'd compose music, while I'd work on my projects. We never really talk much to each other whenever we'd work, but knowing that he was there was enough to keep me motivated to keep going.

"That's a lot of instruments that you play," my father compliments.

"Yeah, he also used to be in a famous band, and he occasionally helps to manage the label from time to time," I add.

Yamato sends me a look to keep quiet, but I shrug. I'm telling my parents how it is, and I'm taking this opportunity to praise Yamato as much as I can because, if I don't, I know they might insensitively ask him about his wage and if his job is steady. Musicians don't cut it for parents – especially my parents. Therefore, saying Yamato's achievements straight up will uppercut them from belittling him. I love my parents, I really do, but even I know how harsh they can be. I've lived under their roof so of course, I'd know their true intentions.

My mother questions, "What band?"

"You probably haven't heard of them," Yamato murmurs. "It was a four-man band called Knife of Day. I was the vocalist and bass guitarist-"

"I KNOW!" My mother cries out. She's almost leaping out of her seat, eyes wide. "Oh! I've listened to your music so much over the radio. I even wanted to go see your band perform at Tokyo Dome, but the tickets were too expensive. Oh, I was so sad when your band broke up. I always listen to your songs at the shop on repeat. My..wait. Y-ou're famous, Yamato!"

"You're famous?" My father repeats, confused. He shares my gaze from across the table, uncertain whether to be shocked that Yamato's a household name or the fact that his wife is gushing over him.

Mother continues, starry-eyed, "I love your songs. The beat is heavy, but it's the band's lyrics that are amazing. Who writes them?"

Yamato replies, "I do."

"Wow!" She exclaims, "You're so talented."

He chuckles awkwardly. "Uh...well, thanks."

"Can I have an autograph?"

I rock my head in my hands, wishing this will end.

My mother is fangirling over my boyfriend. Even worse? My mother knows about Yamato's band more than I do. She listens to his songs while I, on the other hand, can't name one single son that he has composed. Maybe I am the worst girlfriend on the planet if my mother beats me on all of these accords.

Before my mother gets any more hysterical, my dad asks, "Yamato, with you being famous and all, how did you meet our Sora then? Did she secretly go to your fan-meets?"

"Dad," I roll my eyes.

"Actually, we kind of already knew about each other for a while," Yamato takes my father's bait with ease. His smile is lighter after straining it, to keep up with my mother's crazed antics. "We just never got to know each other."

"What Yamato's trying to say is that we have many mutual friends," I explain. "He's Taichi's childhood best friend. Hikari's husband's younger brother. Otherwise, he knows the girls and Koushiro too. We just never got to formally meet each other because he's been career driven, and I was probably travelling and out of the country most of the time."

We keep talking, delving more into detail about how Yamato and I met. I'm finding it amusing, and I know that Yamato is finding it equally as entertaining. We skip Yamato's drug incident and the real reason why we stopped talking for a long period (I'll save that for another day, as it's not something you bring up to your parents the first time they meet your partner). Nevertheless, speaking about our relationship out loud in the open does feel nice. It reminds me of how stupid Yamato and I had been, how he had grown on me, how I had slowly fallen for him. We tie it all in when we bring up that a specific blind date – that we had been avoiding on an ongoing basis – brought us back together again.

When I glance at my watch, I turn my wrist over towards Yamato's direction so that he can see we're pressing on time. I tell my parents that I'll return the following day to collect my flowers. Prior to leaving, my mother had already roped Yamato into having dinner with the family next Tuesday.

"Where did you park?" I say, holding onto his sleeve as I drag him away from the house.

"Further down the street." He smoothly staggers back, causing me to let go of his sleeve as he reaches for my hand instead.

"Why are we holding hands for?" I snort. I find it strange that he wants to hold hands when we're in a hurry to make it to our next destination.

"Well, aren't we official now that your parents know?" He angles his head. "Pre-celebration?"

"Your mother already knows about us. It's not that exciting."

He has to say, "But you're blushing."

"I-yes, I am alright?" I say, irritated. "I'm not used to this. I hardly introduce my parents to any of the guys I am dating. Now, where's your car...oh."

It's his motorbike, dominant and sparkling from the sun's rays. Two helmets are strapped, hanging around the handles. I glance back at Yamato, who's acting all chill about this, hands in his pocket and looking at me innocently, though we all know he's anything but.

"Really?"

"It'll be a celebrity-like entrance."

"Which is not needed! Why are you going over the top for this, you usually hate this type of attention."

"It's inevitable today. You know that. You reckon me meeting your parents was the hardest part? If you want to back out of this-"

"No! Not after all the planning we've done," I cry out. I stare at the bike. "You could have at least told me we're riding this."

"And you didn't dare to mention me to your parents I was dropping by theirs," Yamato replies back in defiance - which is true, I admit. He puts his sunglasses on as he passes a helmet to me.

I hold onto it, but I don't budge. "I'm not even dressed properly for your bike!"

"Come on, Sora. You had time to get ready, and for the debut, you told me that you didn't care what you'd be seen in."

"I'm wearing short shorts, Yamato."

Yamato allows his shades to slip down the bridge of his nose, blue eyes twinkling. "I know you are."

"Good." Scowling, I lift my chin up. "I'm not changing. I'm comfortable in this get-up. Besides, it's not like we're going to some formal event."

"Good," he repeats after me, taking a longer-than-necessary look at me. "Because I like what you're wearing. The baggy hoodie suits you and those short shorts are-"

"Are what?" My hands are on my hips as I challenge him to respond back with his train of thoughts. When he doesn't accept it, knowing he'll get an earful from me, I send him a sly grin. "Don't stress, I know you like my legs and I think your butt is cuter than mine."

To add to my comment, I whack his behind to emphasise this. He almost stumbles, coughing as he gains his composure. "Do we need to even go? Maybe we should just go to my place..."

He kisses me on my forehead when I threaten him with a glare. The kiss is a weak tactic to not get me to fight back - which I truly can, but we need to leave. He buckles my helmet for me, hopping onto the motorbike. He starts the engine and gazes at me expectantly. He arches an eyebrow at me.

"Fine," I sigh. "Let's leave."

It's not like I haven't ridden on his motorbike before - I just am not really in the mood to go on it. I was expecting a quiet, comfortable ride to the location. However, driving there on a bike makes us open to be gawked at. And, with this being a public event, I know that we won't be able to dodge prying eyes.

"Don't look so sad about it." He gestures, tapping on the minimal space behind him. "Doesn't it bring back memories of how we first met?"

He loves bringing it up over and over again, never holding back to call me a lunatic for almost getting run over.

"Please don't tell me you intentionally decided to take your motorbike out because of today..."

He doesn't need to reply, with that darn knowing look on his face, for me to realise that I've hit the bullseye. I grumble as I slide onto the seat behind him. He doesn't give me a second to adjust to the seating arrangement. He immediately accelerates, causing me to grip around his waist. The sound of the engine disguises his laughter. I pinch his sides, a smile of satisfaction grazing my lips when I feel him tense up. Since we're driving, I know he can't retaliate back.

I smile, leaning into him, closing my eyes as the wind crashes against us, as I feel his steady breathing from our close proximity.

Yamato doesn't forget that I had pinched his sides and, because of this, he takes advantage to pay me back at every time we encounter a red light. Each encounter involved him stepping on the break, turning around to kiss me. Maybe it's not even a form of revenge considering I return the kiss every time.

In fact, I don't mind it. I don't mind it at all.

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"Can we go now?"

He's folding his arms, bottom lip pursed out as he stares out the stadium, clearly unimpressed. He's bought us VIP passes. Although we're VIP, it doesn't stop him from murmuring, multiple times, how he wants to go home. The damn guy can't appreciate us being here. A lot of people would kill to be here.

I jab him on the side. "Don't be a spoilsport."

"I'm not," he sulks.

This is a token example that grown men do sulk. It seems Yamato's not accustomed going to games as I thought he would be. Sure, it's not soccer - and since I know Yamato's good at baseball, I would have thought he'd find this match to at least be enjoyable.

"They're barbaric, Sora," Yamato states. "Even KOD fans don't seem as vicious as the people here. They're crazy. Look at that guy over there! He's about to punch someone out. Look!"

I shake my head. "Hun, they're only getting into the spirit of the game. Don't you feel your blood pumping, your adrenaline rising sky-high, your heart throbbing out of your chest-"

"No."

Moments like these, I wish I'd be dating a sports lover, not a musician. We're watching Tokyo's Kyojin vs the Hanshin Tigers. Like...hello? I may be a novice at playing baseball, but I have been keeping tabs on particular teams and watching a few games on TV whenever I get the chance to. Soccer is still, and will always be, my number one, my second to watch would be tennis, which is then followed by baseball and basketball, that are both tied third.

"You're the one that encouraged us to get out. This is our first outing in public as a couple."

Yamato is aware of this, but I remind him anyway. He gives a small smile.

Today has finalised it. Actually, it was only finalised half an hour ago. My life will never be the same again. I mean, I don't think it's ever been the same ever since I've met Yamato, but today has concluded my quiet life.

My private life is no longer private.

Upon arriving at the stadium, since Yamato had opted for a motorbike, the paparazzi had been on our backs till we were seated into our current, secluded booth. I still feel queasy thinking about all the flashes that had blurred my vision. Being with Yamato, in this type of life, hasn't sunken in yet. And, as for now, I don't regret being impulsive. Well, I wouldn't say that it's impulsive since Yamato and I have given this enough thought and discussion. Now that my parents know, everyone else might as well too.

There's no other way around it.

I had contemplated it through, over and over again. Everything led to today; to exposure. If the media wanted to focus on me, so be it. I was sick of them trying to scour over Yamato's past. I don't care about them, what people think - that's something that's always stayed with me. If I had cared, I would have finished my university degree and worked as an office lady, earning a steady income, supporting myself...or even, perhaps, I would have married early and become a stay-at-home mother, suiting to Japan's stereotype. And, obviously, I can never do that. It's not in me to.

Anyway, Monday will be an experience when I walk into work. If my boss gets upset and reprimands me for being with Yamato, I'll just quit. It's that simple. I've had many jobs in the past, therefore changing workplace is nothing to me.

Yamato had discouraged me - many times, in fact. His words failed to falter decision. I'm doing what I want to do, not because it's in his best interest...but because the paparazzi would eventually find about us anyway, and I didn't feel comfortable living with a cloud of anxiety over our heads until we'd be exposed without our permissions. If the media would continuously threaten to expose us, we might as well make our relationship public and based on our own stipulation, our own terms.

The crowd disrupts my thoughts and I squeal when I sight Nomi Atsushi's name appear on the big screen.

Instantly, I jolt from my seat. I'm so close to the window that my nose is almost rubbing against it, as I peer onto the baseball field.

It's Atsushi-kun's turn to pitch.

My mother can fangirl about Yamato, but let me fangirl about my favourite pitcher. I clasp my hands together, giddy as I wait for his first pitch in this game. His form is beautiful, his stance fixed for perfection.

Yamato clicks his tongue, standing next to me. "Shouldn't you be cheering for Tokyo, not Hanshin Tigers?"

"Not when it's Atsushi-kun," I say. "He's a total babe-"

"What?" Yamato is appalled by my choice of words.

Then again the term 'babe' never is in my vocabulary. I never use it on Yamato, or anybody else I know. I only save it for my favourite athletes – and that includes my Atsushi-kun. You think I had posters of boy bands on my wall growing up? Ha! You're wrong. The boys on my wall were athletes, and Atsushi-kun was one of those men that were plastered behind my bedroom door. Asides from his admirable talent, he is quite the looker too.

"You're using me to hook up with baseball boys."

I correct him, "Baseball men."

Atsushi-kun pitches and I'm jumping up and down from his flawless curveball. The batter looks stunned like most batters look when they're facing Atsushi-kun, I can't help but express my glee by cheering. Honestly, this guy is a genius. I gaze proudly, observing that each pitch he throws, he does it with excellent consistency, which makes it look easy.

When one batter does manage to connect his bat to one of Atsushi's pitches, the crowd quiets, only to cheer again a fraction later when Atsushi catches the ball.

I'm almost crying.

Yamato grabs my wrist, turns me around to face him. His eyes are combined with a hint of obvious jealousy and amusement. "Are you serious?"

"About this game, yes." I point at the field, at a particular pitcher. "Isn't he profound? He's a godsend, Yamato."

He drawls, "Atsushi is not as profound as you."

Then and there he kisses me.

I'm laughing into the kiss, at Yamato's sudden possessiveness. Not pushing him away, I draw him in closer. My hands run through his hair as I sigh into his mouth. If happiness is used to define a person, that's how I describe Yamato and who he is to me.

Without pain, without sorrow, without sadness...happiness wouldn't occur. And whenever Yamato's happy, whenever he's in one of his better moods, everything shines. Everything black and white, fades into a glitter of colours.

That's what he is to me. That's why I love him. That's why he's important to me.

He may not completely be strong mentally, but he's there, he's trying. That's what makes him commendable. No matter what setbacks slap him in his face, he keeps going; he keeps striving for a better future. And in that future, I want to be with him - I will be with him.

Rowdy cheering spills around us, flooding into our senses as pausing our movements. I study Yamato's face, watching as his narrow behind the glass. I trail his gaze, paling when I see that instead of Atsushi-kun's face gracing the screen with all his profoundness, it's a live recording of Yamato and me, standing and kissing on the top booth. Yamato doesn't let go, pulling me in closer. The cheers become louder.

I break away from the kiss. "Yamato!" I step on the idiotic bassist's foot.

He doesn't back down; he keeps going.

The distance closes between us and the spectator's cheering burns at my ears. It's the same burning that tingles throughout my body, my lips, my skin.

His kisses, ever since we had gotten back together, had been soft, passionate - not as possessive, not as strong, as confident as it had once been. And now...well, fuck. I had missed this side to him., that I don't find it all surprising how fervidly I'm kissing him back, even harder than he is.

This is our debut - and we're doing it on our own terms.

We're not even acting it out. This is real as it gets. His eyes are laughing when we finally stop kissing, inhaling for air as I clutch onto him. We don't get back to the seats, still lingering by the window as his hands are wrapped around my hips as we continue to watch the rest of the game – not like we can really focus on it anymore.

I just want the game to end soon so that we can back to his. Atsushi-kun has nothing on Yamato.

He chuckles. And yes...I might have said that out loud.

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To my disappointment, Kyojin won.

Despite the loss, I managed to scamper down to the change rooms, sweet-talking security into getting me a signed baseball from Atsushi-kun, much to Yamato's exasperation. "You really are using me to your advantage, Sora," he mumbles at me, once I've received the baseball in my possession, holding it up like a trophy it is.

He snatches it from me, putting it into his pocket and zipping it up before I can dig it back out. I tiptoe and kiss him on the cheek. He gives me a dry look. "No, you're not getting it back tonight. I'll return it to you later."

I bat my eyelashes at him. "Please?"

"That trick isn't working on me either."

Bristling, I resort to tucking my arm around his. This time, he doesn't object. I know he's trying not to smile because his lips are quirked upwards - the fool.

I can't tell if today was a success or not. Maybe with the parents, yes...but the media - I'm not so sure. They might think we're just attention-seeking by the stunt we've just pulled off.

My phone had kept buzzing non-stop since the cameras had aired Yamato and I kissing, so I had turned it off. Yamato has been fidgety all day too, and his shaky mannerisms have escalated ever since revealing our status to the media. It'll take a lot to calm us both down after this. Maybe a shared bottle of wine will numb us, or influence us. One way or another, I look forward to drinking with him at his apartment.

We take the lifts to the stadium's lobby. One of the valet workers bows when he sees us, informing that Yamato's motorbike will be here soon, instructing us to wait inside. He returns soon with Yamato's keys in his hands.

"I'll have you follow us, Mr Ishida."

As we exit the lobby and finally step out of the building, the security guards barricade us from the paparazzi pouncing on us. It's a peculiar experience, something I don't think I'll ever get used to.

"Sora, it'll be fine," Yamato notes my discomfort. "They won't be as this psychotic; maybe even a week tops. Another scandal will take over, and they'll forget us momentarily."

I nod, not knowing what else to say. Yamato's been used to this ever since his early twenties. People poking their noses into his business is something he's already accustomed to. With everything else that has happened in his life, this has been a piece of cake to him.

Boarding onto the motorbike, we don't leave straight away when a shrill, shriek floats over the flock paparazzi. "GUYS!"

Then there's another shout that follows the feminine voice, "Yamato, I'm going to kill you. You bastard. Why did you have to lie to me? You cheater!"

It's unmistakable; it's them.

"Oh God. Yamato…look."

"I know," he groans. He starts the engine. "Don't look at them. Pretend we don't know them."

I can't help but stare at the bush of brown hair popping over the crowd. Next to the man is a woman with fresh curls, most likely from a recent salon visit, streaks of dyed pink visible at the ends of her curls. The woman is attired in an extravagant, purple cocktail dress that is evidently over-dressed for a simple baseball game.

Our best friends are easy to identify - especially when they're the most extra people that Yamato and I know. Out of all coincidences, they had to attend this baseball game. This is great. Just great.

The media, our parents...they're nothing in contrast to dealing with the unstoppable duo that happens to be Taichi and Mimi. Asides from Takeru and our parents, nobody else knew - well, everybody now does know about us because we've just been broadcasting on live television. We had been so close to letting our best friends in on our secret but thought not to considering they hadn't told us when they eloped and, well, we knew they would create drama out of our relationship. Take, for instance, now...

"SO THAT RED TOOTHBRUSH BELONGED TO SORA, HUH?"

For Christ sake, shut the hell up Taichi.

I wish I could say that aloud, but we're being recorded. I'll have to sucker punch him the next time I see him.

Just to spite Taichi more, I plant a kiss on Yamato's cheek. Yamato, follows my lead, deliberately turns to face Taichi, smirking as we slowly drive past them. Taichi lifts up his middle finger at us, displaying a crooked grin. On the other hand, Mimi is gazing at us with love-struck eyes. Actually, she's tearing up at us as she waves us off with her handkerchief, blowing us a kiss like they do in those old-fashioned movies.

As soon as we get to the highway, the cheering, the voices demanding our attention finally dies down.

Now all I hear is the rumbling of Yamato's motorbike, the smell of gasoline and his cologne. I'll never get sick of his scent. Although we've only announced that we're together, it feels like it's more than that. I'm not letting go of him any time soon, and I don't intend to. I grip around him tighter as he speeds down the highway.

"Are you ready?" Yamato whispers.

I don't ask what he is referring to, but I reply a 'Yes' anyway.

Why? Because I'm ready to face everything with him because he is by my side.

A new life. A new chapter. A new challenge. A new start.

We'll do it together.

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fin

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(a/n) Thank you. It's been 3 years since I've started this fanfic. Ironically, it was meant to be a light-hearted story to give me a break from 'Starless Sky', yet somehow it turned pretty at dark at some periods. Additionally, it's my only fanfic (asides from Lifelines) on this site written from first POV. It has been a challenging experience, and Sora's character has grown with me throughout this story. Funny enough, I was twenty-seven when I started writing this story and now I'm thirty too. Haha.

There are still a few more scenes that will be written from Yamato's POV that will officially conclude this story (that will be eventually be found on Lifelines, which is pretty much this story told from Yamato's POV). And, I still need to drastically edit this one too...

Anyway, again, THANK YOU for reading this story. It has been a roller coaster of emotions. Thanks for my regulars who have been here since the beginning, encouraging me on. Thanks for the silent readers, thanks for the silent readers who made themselves known, thanks for the people dropping by sporadically, thanks for the new readers, and thanks to my old readers who have popped by too.

For more of my personal thoughts on this story, check out my latest entry on patamon-ears (on tumblr). Feel free to ask questions here or there, and I will reply to them.

Otherwise, thanks for joining this ride. I'll see you in Lifelines, or if not, all the best. xox