DREAMS

What I feel for you can't be conveyed in phrasal combinations;
It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent,
but I promise—
it beats words.
It beats worlds.

Katherine Mansfield

I had love once in the palm of my hand.
See the lines there.

John Wieners

I: I wanted to know you.

M: I wanted far more.

Anne Carson

"We got a nine-percent boost to the site," announces Mimi. Pleased, she takes a large bite of his almond praline bar before handing it back to him, ignoring his scowl. Her fingers move rapidly over the screen of her phone, chewing loudly on purpose.

"Well done," says Taichi, resuming his task of picking off the caramelized nut crumbles coating the top of the pastry.

"It's just web traffic, but that's a pretty great bump, right?"

"Just said it was." He reaches for his coffee, only for her to swipe a long sip first. "Get your own dessert, Mimi!"

She begins to make a face, eyes halfway back, when the barista calls loudly, "Order for Mimi?" and she snaps into a winning smile, smirking as she glides from their booth to the pickup counter. He shakes his head, regathering what she'd left him in her magnanimity, and tapping his own phone back on.

"You don't even like almonds," she defends when she returns to his still present frown.

"They said they didn't have any other kind," Taichi says, then pushes his cell across the table towards her. "Okay, so even after making up a good bit since the morning, we're going to have to really rethink route options if we want to get there on time."

Setting aside her small green tea and bagged oatmeal cookie, she picks up his phone to toggle the map options. "Well, what if we skipped off at this exit until we loop back…here?"

Taichi disagrees through a full mouth, mumbling, "By the time we get to that intersection, routine traffic will be all the way backed up."

"Then we're just going to have try."

"Then you're going to have to actually get up to the suggested speed limit."

"I believe it's pronounced, 'Thank you for prioritizing my safety by following all traffic laws.'" His eyes roll back, unmoved, and her eyes shift away quickly, "I think you got a message." He nods, hand outstretched to hold the cell she places in his open palm, and tries to swallow. She scoots his drink back towards him with a sigh while he rubs the back of his other hand over his mouth, streaking his stubbly chin with powdered sugar. "Why do you always eat like you're never going to get another chance?"

"Around you?" he manages after a sip of coffee, and she makes another face, watching him glance at the screen, turn the phone off, and return it to his pocket, all in a seamless movement. He doesn't acknowledge her looking either, only swigs the rest of his drink in two more consecutive gulps. "Let's go."

"I just sat down!"

"You had your fill off half my entire lunch already. You can take your dessert to go," he dismisses, swinging his legs out and onto the side of the booth, his forearm braced on the table. He finishes off the coffee and wipes his mouth again, and it's reflex, or habit, that has her own hand out in the same moment, her thumb to the corner of his mouth to brush the touch of sugared crumbs there, and it's habit, or reflex, that begins to turn a kiss into her palm. Her arm snaps back to her side and he's frozen. "Sorry—,"

"It's fine," she says, unable to hear it, and smiles. She points to their crumpled sandwich wrappers and salad bowls. "Don't leave that stuff here."

"No—'course not." Taichi digs out the car keys from his pocket, tossing them to her as he stands up. "Be out in a sec."

She's carrying her drink and pastry out of the roadside restaurant a moment later, walking across the pavement to where they'd left the rental, and takes the time before he joins her to rearrange their luggage in the boot, carefully moving the dry cleaning over all the bags so it can remain flat. Then it's readjusting to her preferences in the driver's seat, tapping on the navigation system, replacing their water bottles with new ones. After the third practiced look towards the door, she checks her phone, taking a small sip of her green tea.

miiiiiiimi what's your eta I need your face

With a smile, she puts the cup down again and switches to her messaging app. Soon, dearest. Halfway, I think.

good! ken showed me your interview from the morning you looked so cuteeee xx I am a very proud momma

Thank you, babe. How are you doing?

dai's been here all week it's like I've got three children! can you even imagine? place is a mess it's a good thing you're with jou

I'm

He opens the passenger door, and she flicks the phone off, putting it back in her purse and reaching behind her seat to store the thin handbag in the rear pocket. "I thought the idea was to try to beat the traffic we're due?" she asks, turning the ignition. "We're already behind schedule."

"I've decided that I believe in you," says Taichi. He buckles his seat belt and adjusts the seat back, recouping the aviators he'd left from the morning to use again, and gestures with his topped-up coffee. "And I think my jet lag is finally hitting."

Mimi tsks. "You know you don't get to sleep if you're up front," she warns. He shakes the cup in lieu of a response, leaning back to stretch his legs. She's still glancing at him, lips pursed in barely withheld conversation, and with a loud exhale, she throws the car into reverse and onto the street.

"Oh, don't do that," he mutters without having looked at her.

She exhales again, louder on purpose. "What am I doing?"

"Sighing like that," he says. His hand gropes for the seat lever, and he cranks himself further down, drawing one bent leg up to rest lazily on the passenger door. "What do you want to say?"

Her fingernails dig into the steering wheel's leather binding, while she decides to go a different direction. "I get that it's made us delayed," she says after a moment, "but I do appreciate you waiting on me this morning."

"Mm."

She narrows her eyes into the side mirror, merging on the expressway carefully. "I know my work is boring—,"

"No, it's not," he says.

"Well, it's sillier anyway," she continues, "more than yours at least—,"

"We're not that different," and he smirks at the way her brow immediately furrows. "No, I'm serious. Your work makes people happy, and mine keeps them safe. And people feel happy when they feel safe, so that means those aren't mutually exclusive feelings—they create each other. Right?"

She considers his equation, hiding her face from him. "Maybe."

"Plus, you run your own business, and that's the farthest thing from boring. How many people can even say that at your age?"

Her tongue draws into the corner of her mouth, puffing her cheek into a reluctant smile. "It's impolite to talk about a lady's age."

"Show me a lady then—ow!" He swings his other knee just out of reach of the second strike, "Pay attention to the road!"

"You pay attention to that mouth—shut up, Taichi!"

"Then why do you so perfectly set yourself up every time?" he chokes out, eyes watering.

"Cookie!" she yells over his snorting laughter, and he struggles to upright himself. He picks up the pastry to-go bag she'd stashed in the small nook above the gearshift, tearing off a small piece of the dessert to drop in her waiting palm. She stuffs her face, chewing angrily, and he tugs on her chin.

"Slow down or you'll choke," he says, managing to free his hand before her teeth can sink. "Childish much?"

"Just trying to keep up with you," she snaps back.

He's still chuckling to himself, handing her another bit before taking a piece for himself. "I'm only joking."

"Then why aren't you answering your messages?"

He nods as he chews, then picks up her tea, turning the lip in the plastic top around so it's at the easiest angle for her to take a sip when he hands it to her. He places it in the cup holder when she hands it back without looking, and then resumes breaking the cookie into more bite-sized pieces.

"Taichi," she says.

"How about a break from the radio this leg?" he suggests instead, popping another sugary piece into his mouth. "What was it next, dreams?" Her sigh is even more noncommittal than the first. "I'll go then," he says, and leaves the last of the cookie in her hand to dust his off, readjusting his aviators, and slinking lazily against his seat. "One day, I'm going up against the greats."

"With those knees?" she mutters, determined to remain displeased with the segue way.

"I've got some kick left," he defends, and knocks his legs together. "There's always some type of press campaign for one initiative or another these days, and we've been using so many spokespeople for them. I'm just biding my time for a charity match and my dream will come true."

"'Biding time' sounds less like a friendly pick-up and more like a premeditated vendetta."

He kicks the air. "Thirteen seconds, Mimi! If they had just held on for thirteen fucking seconds, we'd be in!"

"Oh, not this again—,"

He's still punting the air, consumed once more by daymares of the worst football upset he'd ever seen. "I lived a thousand lifetimes in those thirteen seconds! The whole world—!"

"—already let it go, so you need to move on, Taichi!"

He shakes his head, sputtering in barely held together anguish, "Of all the unforgiveable plays—,"

"All right," she bursts, voice rising over his, "if you're going to go with a completely ridiculous dream first, then mine'll be not running my company anymore."

"I just don't understand what was going on in their minds! How could they have left themselves o—what?"

Mimi rolls her eyes. "Have I got your attention now?"

Taichi lowers the sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, his narrowed glance trained on the side of her face. "What do you mean, not run it?"

"More branch out, really," she corrects. Her voice has found its usual light touch, picking up its cheeriness with every word that outpaces the one before in her eager visioning. "I sort of really love all the special campaigns we do, less our regular lines. That's what I meant by boring, what we'd supported before. I mean, it was fine—and I still love our old lines. But, lately, who I've been acquiring and our conversations have me thinking about how by investing in the right project I can bring people together, or show us how we already are. So I've been thinking it might be fun to actually move into something like that, to share my suppliers' work and raise the platform—I don't know how yet. Maybe spotlight interviews like today's, which was why I wanted to make time for it. There's just so many ways we're connected to each other, if we look to the work we can share with each other, and I think I could help people tell them."

He'd been watching her the entire time, but it's only now that she glances at him, almost anxious for having admitted it at last, to anyone. Both eyebrows lift when he sees her nervous appraisal of his response. "That's not ridiculous." She looks at him, mouth parting at the unexpected honesty of his tone, and he tilts his head. "You said ridiculous dream, and that's not one." He keeps his tone light to reassure her of his seriousness, "Ridiculous would be me building my own house."

And in spite of herself, she laughs, taking the wheel in one hand to stretch the other towards her tea again. He hands it to her, pinching her wrist teasingly at the quick way she'd brushed off his next response. She doesn't relent. "Since when?"

He winks and pushes the sunglasses back in place. "I told you I had secrets."

She plays along, bemused, "So what, three-bedroom, two-bath? Single family detached? Craftsman contemporary, modern with a—?"

"You know," he laughs, putting the cup back in its holder for her, "just because I wanted something else once with you doesn't meant I can't want something different w—now."

Her palms are flat to the steering wheel, stretching out her fingers. "Well, naturally, but it's still very funny to me."

"What'll be funny is your unbridled jealousy when you see the cast iron clawfoot I'm putting in, too."

Mimi gasps, her whimper making him chuckle. "Oh, my God—do you know, I still have dreams about that suite? How did we ever get that lucky?"

He pulls the aviators off to rub at his eyes, yawning. "Yes, a free upgrade from another couple's canceled honeymoon is what I call an auspicious start, too."

"We each make our own luck, Taichi."

"Just not enough of it." He winces, "Sorry."

She closes her mouth. "It's fine."

He presses his fingertips to his temple, rubbing hard. "No, it's the jetlag. I mean it—I'm really feeling it this time around. After-lunch fog's probably not helping."

"Finish your coffee then. Or do you want the rest of my tea?"

"I think the caffeine is making it worse." He sighs, "I'll find the strength."

"A hero."

He makes an obvious show of gazing at the speedometer, suspended now within a tediously obedient range. "It'd go so much faster if you let me take a nap and then switch back."

She warns, gravely serious, "Sleep on me and I'm shaving that five o'clock."

"You know in some places that could be considered battery, right?"

She just huffs, tutting, "I'd get off for having done a public service."

He chuckles, passing his hand under his chin. "A lot of the younger guys in the office have 'em."

"No," she corrects without having to ask for further information, "they have designer stubble."

"How would you know that?"

"Because I know how old you are."

"Straight to the ego," he groans. He rubs both palms over his cheeks, the scratchy stubble scrapping the flesh of his skin and drawing a papery sound that makes her swat her hand at his elbow. "What if I grew it fully out? Like Michael's?"

"Michael has the face for it."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"I literally just told you—gross, Tai!" she bursts into giggles, ticklish spasms wracking through the arm he'd grabbed. Her laughter is screeching, and his fingers tighten around hers to keep running the back of her hand over the scratchiest patches of uneven stubble. "Okay, okay, I give! Oh, and now I've lost all the feeling in it—!" she wails, flapping her arm when he finally releases her.

He ducks when she comes dangerously close to socking him, still grinning. "Your turn," he says as he pulls off his aviators, putting them in the glove compartment.

"To be childish?"

"Only trying to keep up with you."

She runs the hand through her loosely done hair, smoothing the long wave to recover its body from the tickle fit. "Well, the idea would be that branching out could let me travel more, or again, really. And I want to learn another language again. Oh! And—,"

"That's two already!"

"Dream big or go home—which is the other one I want. A big one, with a garden, big enough to grow fresh fruit and just a bunch of vegetables and share everything with neighbors and community and—,"

His phone buzzes again from his jeans pocket. She forces herself to keep talking but loses her next thought when, again, he merely passes a glance at the screen before ending the call without answering. "It's work," he says when he catches sight of the hard look she's fixed to him from the corner of her eye, "and it can wait."

Mimi stretches her still tingling hand flat over the center of the steering wheel, her other curling around the bottom so her shoulders can lower, slouching a little. "What can wait?"

He toggles the switch on the side of the slim case. "It's fine, Mimi."

"You've been dropping calls and messages all morning."

"Because I'm on holiday!" he insists. "I should think you'd be happy about my improving on a bad habit."

"Something's bad if it's got you acting like—,"

"Mimi, enough."

She exhales sharply. "I'll just catch the evening news then."

He's just as sharp. "Fine."

A full minute passes, and then, "Is it the reason why you flew to me instead of—?"

"Mimi!"

Her mouth is pulled tight. "I'm not stopping until you tell me what's bothering you—,"

"I'm not—doing great," he spits out, biting back the stupid instinct to laugh when he does.

She glances at him again, her gaze still hard. "At work?"

He laughs that time. "Yeah." Her hand falls down to join the other under the wheel, close together on her knees, and he's pinching his chin, still shaking his head, looking out his window. "So I'd rather—you know, I'd rather hear you—," he stops again, gathering himself. "I mean, another language will be pretty handy, won't it? You could tell a lot of people's stories that way. I think that'll be really great. People need that. You should do it."

But she's not listening. Instead, Mimi sits back in her seat, staring straight ahead of her. "You always do this."

"Don't say always."

"You take everything on yourself—,"

"—don't say everything—,"

"—and never let yourself share it."

He leans his head to the window, quiet. "Don't say never."

They drive in silence, Mimi keeping a governing eye on the other cars they occasionally pass, and Taichi slouched against the passenger door, finishing off his coffee in paced sips. The navigation system sounds on a little while later, to direct her off an upcoming exit and onto an off-roads route to avoid a swell of upcoming traffic, intoning a new estimated time of arrival. She remembers needing to reply to Miyako's message and briefly considers asking him to finish it for her, but she's also not quite sure he hasn't fallen asleep. Every glance brings only the slight rise and fall of his evened breathing, his bent hand curled on his stretched knee.

She takes his hand into her lap, and waits.

He stirs finally, mumbling into his other palm, "I think I've just been…lost, discouraged. These days, somehow. Like, you remember when we first started this whole adventure, and everything felt possible? We lived impossible lives, just full of chaos, yeah, and fear, too, but there was still just this—this meaning to all of it." His chin slips out and onto the glass of the window with a dull thud. He bends over, fingers pressing down over tired eyes. "I don't know where it went."

Mimi squeezes his hand. "But a lot of things are better, right? I mean, at least now you're able to have some agency over—,"

"What agency?" he interrupts, arm so stiff where she's still holding on, tighter now. He doesn't move it. "We forfeited all control for handling Digital World crises ourselves, and now instead being in the field all I do is defend our allies' right to exist against government after government protesting delegation expenses, or another corporation challenging a legislative opinion, or some military agency trying to get backdoor access to our tech or—worse—to them." He shakes his head, "You want ridiculous dreams? After years of failing to make people see it, my apparently most ridiculous dream still is coexistence. And what do I have to show for it?"

"You have a way forward," she says. "You have to see that."

"I know. I do—I want to." She releases him to merge into the next lane, and he leaves the back of his hand resting open-palmed on her leg, a weight and an anchor. He's still staring through his window, frowning to himself. "I'm just—I went from working across worlds to being behind desks all the time, in meetings with people who barely want the resolutions we're arguing, writing policy papers no one's even reading—meanwhile, the anti-Digital World movement just keeps getting more and more media coverage, so Sec Gen has me charged with creating a bipartisan coalition, which okay, I get, but I still think the urgency should be on the member states whose buy in I'll need if—,"

But she's stopped listening, sitting so straight that his hand rolls off her knee, his head turned to her. "What coalition?"

He stumbles back to recall the least interesting details of his situation, crossing his arms. "It's like I said—bipartisan coalition, my office is meant to lead it. Not entirely unneeded, granted, but it's damn near close with all the other priorities I'd rather be on. I don't know—," he murmurs, "I just feel like I'm spiraling backwards."

She feels her tongue swell in her mouth, a cool wave across the back of a prickling neck. "You'll be—you have to work with them?"

"Who, the anti-Digital World movement?" He shrugs, still not really listening. "Well, yeah. Coexistence, right? Takes all kinds, if we're going to protect it. Even them."

But she's not playing the game anymore. "And Yamato, does he know?"

Taichi glances at her, confused. "Yamato?"

"They held that demonstration at his research base a while back, remember?"

"Yeah, and he wasn't even on base that week—,"

She interrupts again. "Did you tell Kou? He's had to get security now—,"

"He's always had security on-site. They've got a ton of high-tech assets—,"

She keeps pressing. "Do you know Jou's had to put in cameras in his clinic's parking lot? And that someone tapped the phonelines at Takeru and Naoko's newspaper?"

"Mimi—,"

"So all this harassment is still happening, but they're still putting you on this coalition?" she asks, voice pitching. "Even after reducing the security budget for your office this year? And you don't think that's a big deal?"

He's staring at her again, arms still folded. He can't remember telling her that. His words come slowly, "I'm…look, I'm not thrilled about having to be in the same room with them either, but that doesn't mean I don't see the need for it. I'm not frustrated by that part. I'm just saying I thought wanting to cultivate political influence and climbing the career ladder would mean getting to at least lead my own missions by now, or building something unilaterally with the council, not sitting around with bullshit agitators who'll eventually move on to something else anyway."

"Don't change the subject."

"I—what subject?" he asks, unable to hide his astonishment. "That their bullshit movement is bullshit?"

"Stop—stop saying it's bullshit." She heaves a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "It's not. They're not a joke. And you—you are not a joke to them," she says, gripping the wheel with hands so tight her knuckles pale.

He sees her grip, sorting the cause of it out in his head, trying to keep up. "And I'm not joking. I'm just saying I'm not going to cow to a bunch of outliers who hate us for—,"

"You, Taichi!" and her palm hits the steering wheel, the blast of the horn cutting him off, startling him into shocked silence. "They started that movement because of you! And you not taking them seriously is exactly the kind of shortsighted—,"

"Hey!" he interrupts, matching her agitation, "you know I take it seriously! Why do you think Yamato wasn't on base when they went there looking for him? Because the second we picked up chatter online I told him to get the kids and Sora out of town so that I could deal with it. How else do you think Jou got that call system, or the one I had Kou put in at Iori's firm, or Hikari's daycare—," his hand courses through the hair at his temple, frantic, "—I mean, fuck, I had to install panic alerts at my parents' house, Mimi! You think that didn't fucking kill me, bringing them into all this, because of me? So, no, I don't ignore their movement, but I can't let—what the fuck?" and he grabs the dashboard, holding on as she veers the car off the road and onto the shoulder, skidding on unforgiving gravel. The car shudders as she yanks on the handbrake.

"Where do you think Yamato and Sora were while you went to meet with the protestors at the base?" she asks, thundering in a voice so unlike her he just stares, open-mouthed. "Who was Koushiro on the phone with every time your sat links were tampered with, or when the Ports were ordered closed and no one knew where you were? Who waited with your mother during lockdowns, or made sure Hikari had a way to get home? No," she says when he tries to speak, "you were on so many back-to-back missions and on so many of those early hearings, Taichi, you couldn't see what they were like—but I did," she hits herself in the chest with a fist, "Me. I saw it, and I was there, and I—I heard everything they said about you, and wrote about you, and lied about you—me, Taichi! I had to listen to people who didn't know what you sacrificed for them blame you for every attack and every disaster and every loss and every mistake—and you talk about them like they don't matter, and you're right, they don't! But they will never stop coming after you, and you can't j—,"

He rubs his face, bent over to hide it from her, "I know that! Mimi—I know they won't—none of this will stop until I can move things the right way—but that's what I do, right? I'm trying to keep us safe, I'm even trying to keep them safe—that's what the job is—,"

She presses her fist into her knee. "I know that, Taichi!"

His voice is raised, "That's the future I want—,"

"I want it, too, Tai, but you—,"

"So I have to show them what we're trying to achieve—,"

"I'm not saying not to," she cries again, hands shaking as she clenches the air in front of her. "I'm just saying don't—don't take these assignments, or projects, or stupid coalitions—don't make these choices without thinking about our—,"

He's turned all the way in his seat now to face her, blood in his ears, "When am I not thinking about you? I'm doing this—I've been doing this, Mimi, for you. For us, for our chi—," he stops again, turns back again, unable to understand her, and she looks away, unable to hear him. Maybe, he tells himself later, that's why he says it. "Some of us don't choose to leave when things get too hard. Some of us stay. That's how a future gets made."

She opens empty hands to him. "So why wasn't I happy?"

He kicks open the passenger door, and she's halfway pulled on her own handle when his voice stops her. "Mimi, if you follow me, I'm going to say something neither of us will unhear. Give me a minute."

She sits back, blinking quickly as his figure disappears from the side mirror, and there's nothing around her anymore. She leans forward, arms crossed over the steering wheel, nose to the cooled leather stitching, and tries to catch her breath. Instead, a sob shudders out, her lungs bursting with the weight of having held it inside too long. Wrenching herself back against her seat, she reaches behind her for her purse, fumbling for the clasp and producing nothing but odd scraps and loose trinkets. With a cry, she throws everything across the dashboard, holding only onto her slim wallet and tucking her phone in the same hand with it, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Wiping her running nose with her wrist, she leaves the car locked in the empty lot, hides the keys in the pocket to her woven skirt, and walks against a cheerful seasonal wind.

Her face is a dark, wet red by the time she arrives at a small roadside convenience shop, the cashier greeting her when the door chimes. She grabs a hand basket and immediately turns to walk down the first aisle away from the staff, ducking her shoulders, and finds the tissue packets near the travel toiletries. Opening one with shaking hands, she scrubs her face clear, breathing sharply, and walks further into the store away from the registers, tossing the torn tissues along with her wallet into the basket. She stops in front of the refrigerated drinks and unlocks her phone. Closing the chat without finishing her answer to Miyako, she instead finds her way to him, as she always did, and always would.

Jou answers before the first ring can finish. "Didn't I tell you you'd be calling me by lunch?"

She lowers her voice to hide the hollow hoarseness, trying to sound like herself before he can worry too much. "It's well after lunch."

"I never said which time zone."

"We're in the same time zone, Jou."

He continues to ignore her logic in favor of his own, and she can hear the rustling of papers on his end. "Anyway, SOS received. And, look, I already mapped out four different routes. There's even that new expressway, and with my toll card I could be there in seven hours. Six if I speed, but I'm already on the record about not participating in the number one gateway into criminal enterprise, and I'd like to not be made a liar to my kid."

Mimi smiles, opening the door to the flavored bottled iced teas. "Off the record?"

"I'd break any limit to get to you." He hears her laugh, and his voice becomes gentler. "Can you make it seven more hours?"

"Can't promise what I don't know, and I don't even know where I am," she strains to look around the top shelf, "just stopped at a random convenience store—,"

"And the car?" he interrupts, alarmed.

"With me."

"And he's—?"

"—who cares," she interrupts, crisp, and swallows the tickle in her throat at the tender stinging thought.

He pauses, hushed with awe. "Oh, my God, you left him again."

"Jou!"

"When am I allowed to joke about it?"

She sighs, closing the cooler door, and walks into the next aisle away from the drinks. "Why do you keep insisting you can be funny?"

"Sora laughs at my jokes."

"Benevolently, and let's not rule out pityingly either."

"Ken? Iori—no, wait, Jun!"

She imagines him with a triumphant finger in the air, like he'd solved a trivia question. Rolling her eyes, she picks up a carton of candied chocolate almonds to inspect the label. "Daisuke's antics have trained Ken too well to tell a sincere response, Iori admires you too much to let you think badly of yourself if it doesn't hurt anyone otherwise, and Jun was after your brother and willing to butter herself up to family any way she could." She returns the box to the shelf, muttering too quietly, "The only joke here is why I let him still do this to me."

He pivots like he'd been waiting for the chance. "Okay, so, I actually have a theory about this."

"Jesus wept." Her exasperation is already pinching behind her eyes. "I was being rhetorical!"

"It's because he's impressed you."

Mimi's hand hovers over her favorite brand of blue cellophane wrapped chocolate bars. "When's the last time you got some sleep?"

"Eighteen hours and thirty-six minutes ago," he answers and continues without a beat skipped, "and that's what happens when we love someone. We're impressed by them. I mean impress like imprint, you know, the way the skin of our palms learns to fold over itself so our hands can hold what they need to carry. That's what those lines are for, right? They don't tell the future, or our destiny, or how long we're here. They just hold the body together. It's all just impressed muscle memory, like nervous tissue, and it doesn't—it can't leave."

She lowers the basket to her side, fist loosely clutched to the metal handles. "I have a choice about him, Jou."

"Yes, you do. I know that, Mimi. But he's—he left an impression on you, and you don't—," he holds his breath, careful, "—you don't need to keep punishing yourself for letting him. Oh," he gasps, "don't cry. Mimi—don't, please—you know if you cry, then I cry, and if the kid sees me crying, I'll have to tell him daddy made daddy's best friend made cry again, and he's only just gotten over finding out I stick patients with needles all day—I can't add something else to the list of reasons daddy's scary—,"

"Jou, stop crying!"

"You stop crying!"

She bursts into giggles, palming the tears from her cheeks between ragged hiccups. "Oh, my God, why are we like this?"

"You know," he chuckles between grounding breaths of his own, "around these parts, I'm actually thought of as a serious doctor. Community leader, family man—very well-respected."

"Bourgeoning criminal enterprise and everything."

"Don't you tempt me, too—do you have any idea how expensive private college tuition could be by then?"

She tuts, wiping her red nose, "That's the cross you picked."

"Uh-uh," he says, the kindness returning to his deep voice. "We know all about the fund you set up for him."

"Only because I love you so much."

"I love you so much, too."

She turns emptyhanded from the candy aisle, stopping in front of the crisps in the next row. She stares at the row of packets, blinking quickly again. "Then tell me how to get through this. Please. I want—Jou, I need to stop feeling this."

It's rarely that he doesn't have an answer for her. Instead, he says, honest, "We're pressed to each other, too, you know. So hold what you can carry, Mimi, and let me hold the rest."

She laughs again, scrubbing her face dry. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be okay. I'll see the three of you in seven hours."

"At this rate, probably more like, what, ten?" he clucks, resuming an admonishing posture. "I mean, how you've already managed to drag this out this long is beyond me. The maps are very clear."

She's defensive, insistent, "I told you—I had to film a couple of spots!"

"And I watched both of them!"

She drops a crisps packet into the basket before returning to the cold shelves for sports drinks. "You did not."

"God, no. But I considered watching. Briefly."

"Uh-huh—about as briefly as I considered the sugar content of the treats I'm bringing my favorite godson."

"Your only g—and no, Mimi. I'm running out of hiding places he can't reach now—damn my genes…."

She spins around on her heels, cheered up. "Anyway, I should get back. Love to my wife, kisses to all—,"

"She's not y—and we've been over this, okay, you don't get to kiss my wife—,"

"What's yours is mine, Jou."

"Mimi. Mimi—I mean it, do not bring sugar into my house!"

"You mean this sugar?" She smacks her lips to make several loud kissy sounds into the phone and hangs up over his sputtering protests.

Dropping the mobile into basket, she lets the handles slide down to the crook of her bent elbow and runs calming hands over her cheekbones, taking a final breath to clear her head. With a refreshed smile, she stops once more in the crisps aisle and selects two of his favorite flavors, then brings all of her purchases to the cashier, steps so much lighter.

She takes her time walking back to the car, the plastic bag of goods hanging about her wrist, and only a handful of other drivers passing by. She goes around to the back again, unlocking the rental with the remote on the keys, and retrieves a light jacket from her suitcase that she pulls on over her blouse. She begins to close the boot when she spots him walking towards her from the other side of the road. He crosses the pavement, hands in his pockets and shoulders pinched to huddle himself from the wind. She closes the boot and walks around the front, and it's after she knows he's seen her watching for him that Mimi holds out the bag, and he stops a few meters from her, staring blankly at it. "Take it," she says, impatient and embarrassed in the way only his surprised silence makes her.

He pulls a hand from his pocket and presents a blue cellphone wrapped candy bar, and it takes several blinks to clear her eyes. Taichi shakes it at her. "Take it yourself."

"When were you even there?" she mumbles.

They exchange their purchases, and he fishes out the receipt left in hers, inspecting the printed timestamp. His smile is slight enough to miss, but there's very little still, she thinks, that she doesn't about him. "Looks like about two minutes after you."

"Always playing catch up."

"Only for some things."

She rests against passenger side of their rental, scooching to make room from him so there's no danger of them standing too close. He offers her a crisp and she shakes her head, but does accept one of the drinks, while he rests the take out bag on the car and opens his bottle. The silence is thin, and she doesn't want to break it first.

"Mimi," he begins quietly, uncapped container to his lips but not yet having had a sip, "how bad did it get?"

She takes a drink to stay the tremble before he can hear it. "Bad."

"Tell me."

She leaves the bottle on the roof of the car, freeing her hands to unwrap a corner of the chocolate bar. "They leaked our address online. We were just about to move anyway, so I didn't think—," she breaks off a piece of the chocolate, "—I didn't want you to see them."

Taichi nods slowly, taking a sip at last. He wipes his mouth and recaps the bottle, leaving it to join hers on top of the car. "How many?"

"I don't remember—,"

"Mimi, how many?"

"All of them," she says. "I read every threat they made about you."

He nods again, moving so his side is braced against the car door, and he can face her but still not look at her. "I was always going to be fine."

Mimi lowers her arms, untasted chocolate still in her hands. "I know."

"I had detail on me, anytime I went anywhere for work. They still watch who comes into the buildings, we have trackers on email senders. And I trust my team. Completely."

"I know."

"Even the ones who ruin my travel plans."

She makes herself smile. "I know."

"Please don't open mail addressed to me."

"Well," her smile widens, "no need to worry about that anymore."

His lips twitch in a quick smirk. "I don't want you to hide things like that."

Mimi shrugs it off but nods anyway, wordless.

"I'm serious," he looks at her at last. "I need to know how to keep you safe. Even," and he stumbles, cracked open, "even if it's from me."

She drops the bar, the bottom of her shoe digging the cellophane wrapper into the gravel as she steps over it, grabbing a fistful of the fabric to his collar in one hand and grasping the hair at his nape with the other, rising to the tips of her toes to reach him and still being too small, making him fold over to crush her against him in his arms, lifting her off the ground, his face buried in her neck.

A truck bundles by after a while, and Mimi raises her face from his shoulder, breathing calmly. "Let's go."

"Yeah," he says, still pressed to her.

She tucks her face to his skin, moving to kiss his throat, stopping when he shudders. "Let's go, Taichi."

He lowers her back to the ground, and she squeezes his hand before she lets go, retrieving the crushed chocolate bar and their drinks and the plastic bag. He takes the keys from her when she hands it to him, and they switch sides, settling back into the rental in tense silence.

Until he glances at her, sighing, and turns on the ignition. "This game fucking sucks."

She takes a long drink of her water, shaking her head at the language, "The point of it stands."

"Which is?"

"We know something more about each other now."

He doesn't respond, but neither does he disagree. Instead, he shuffles on the radio, turning the volume to a low swell. "If at any point you'd like to stop knowing things about me, by all means."

Mimi just smiles, looking out the passenger window. "Did you ever think we'd run out of things to know about each other?"

"No." Her chin slips out of her palm, turning to him in surprise. His thumb is teasing at the stubble under his jaw while looking straight ahead of him, shoulders relaxed. "That's the whole point, right? Knowing someone is to keep finding them, differently, newly. Every day."

She tucks her hair behind her ears, crossing her ankles as she stretches back into her seat. "Taichi," she says, speaking slowly, "I loved every day. You know that, right?"

His smile assures her he does, while she finds nothing of the sort to his eyes when he looks at her. "Let's not talk about it."

She watches him lean his head back, one hand loosely guiding the steering, elbow to the windowsill, and the other now laying on his knee. Something seems to close off from her within him, in this space between them she doesn't remember how else to cross. Drawing a quick breath at the thought, she takes his hand into hers.

Taichi glances at her, brow arched in minor interest. "What are you doing?"

Her search stops under his fourth knuckle, lightly pressing where the impression should have been. "It's gone now," she says, quiet.

He turns his hand within hers to study the back of his ring finger, too. "Took a while," he admits, looking back to the road. "Longer than I thought."

Her thumb taps back, curious. "Well, you always did tan so easily."

Taichi flexes his hand again, miming a boastful gesture, his tone a familiar tease once more. "My best feature."

"Mm," and she takes his finger into her mouth, "one of them."

His breath falls shallow, still looking ahead. "One, huh?"

"Mm-hm."

"What else?" he asks.

"Let me think," she muses, drawing his finger out of her mouth and to the waistband of her skirt, her head falling back in exaggerated contemplation. She keeps a firm hold of his wrist when he slips under the fabric, lacing her fingers between his to guide him. "Definitely not the beard."

"Someone likes it," he suggests, knowing not to move without her showing him where, and when.

She takes her time, a torturous exercise in patience. He eases the car to a running stall at an empty traffic light, peering into the sideview mirror to watch for traffic as he strokes into her. "Someone's lying to you," she says, though the blush on her cheeks betrays her.

"Hm," he agrees, nonchalant, listening to her bated breath. "Didn't sound like you were lying this morning."

"Well, Taichi," says Mimi, loosening her hand over his to allow him free control, curling her other arm around the headrest behind her, "that's because you've gotten very bad at telling when I'm lying."

"If you say so," he chuckles, and cups her with his palm.

She stutters at the unexpected rush this familiar heat brings, a whine spilling out before she can stop herself. "Pull over."

The light changes, and he returns his attention ahead of him, making the next turn with the heel of his other hand to the steering wheel. "No."

Her eyes snap wide when he strokes deeper, fingernails digging into his wrist. "Taichi—,"

"Sit back. Both arms." Another glance studies the ruddy flare to her pale cheeks, her eyes brightening even as they darken, unbridled. She slides down into her seat, her arms draped over the head restraint, looking back at him. He continues driving, scanning ahead of him, and she gasps again when he presses where he knows she needs him, back arching. "And wait."

"Until when?"

"Until I won't."

She breathes, lightheaded at the white edge of her vision as her eyes flutter shut, "That's a mean rule."

"Not trying to be."

"Then pull over."

He chuckles again, "I told you to wait."

She closes her legs, and his neck turns. "I'm telling you not to make me."

Well, fuck. He has the car off the shoulder in the same minute, dragging himself out of his seatbelt, and snapping hers next. "Come here."

"What do you think I've been trying to do—?" and she shrieks, laughing, when he pulls her onto his lap, yanking the level of his seat back with them. She straddles his hips, grabbing his hand when he goes for her skirt again, pushing his arm up and behind his head as she shakes hers. "My turn," she says. "What are the rules?"

He's watching her work at the buckle, his breath caught. "It's a public road, don't get loud—," and he swallows a strained groan when she rocks her hips forward, "—Mimi," he mutters in a warning, or he hopes it sounds like one, because in his head all he ever does is sing her name.

"Quiet," she promises, and watches the muscle of his jaw clench when she tests him with another move. Her lips curl into a smirk, "Anything else?"

"Just one," Taichi says, his other hand buried in her hair, pulling her close to keep his voice low. She braces herself over him with her forehead pressed to his, skin slick where he finds her. "Don't kiss me."