"You know, your hair would look good pulled back." Around Miyako, the room was spinning, her words almost lost in the noise of the crowd. The air in Spain was more humid than she was accustomed to, her own lilac tresses coaxed into a bun atop her head. As alcohol loosened her muscles, stray hairs formed a halo around her head, beads of sweat dripping down her temple.

Beside her, Ken was unfazed, a bottle of water tight in his grasp. "Would it, now?" he mused, voice dry.

Miyako had a habit of repeating herself when sober; as she became more intoxicated, most of her words trailed on in an endless loop.

After a long day of classes, and an even longer commute to the bustling city, Miyako was prepared to unwind. Ken had a week off from his university classes, opting to spend his break in Spain with Miyako rather than traveling home. His decision had rattled her; never had she spent this much time with him alone.

The neon lights of a hole-in-the-wall bar called out to her like a siren, pulling her into the bustling atmosphere. Warm bodies danced against one another, hordes of friends gathered around the tables that decorated either side of the dance floor. The disc jockey was hard at work keeping the energy alive with pulsing beats in a language Miyako was just beginning to understand.

Ken stood beside Miyako's bar stool, the heat of the night coating his forehead with sweat. Dark hair plastered against the nape of his neck, the man decidedly too sober to enjoy the nightlife.

Clumsily, Miyako leaned towards him, her hand inching towards him. "Lemme see."

Her hand made a little grabbing motion, her body swaying softly to the pounding music.

Dutifully, Ken turned around, allowing her fingers to pull at his tresses, nails accidentally scraping pleasantly against his scalp. For a moment, Ken stood perfectly still, Miyako giggling softly as she pulled his hair this way and that, her breath wrapping around his damp skin.

"Just like I said." Her hands had managed to pull Ken's tresses behind his head, piece falling free from her weak grasp and framing his face. Her bar stool creaked in protest as Miyako leaned forward, her hands resting on Ken's shoulders, his hair falling back into place.

"You should put your hair in a little ponytail."

Even with his back turned, he could smell the tequila on her breath. A small smile worked its way onto his face. Miyako was intelligent and well-spoken most of the time; Ken savored the moments in which she let her guard down and relaxed.

In her youth, Miyako had been rash and short-tempered. She would often overstep boundaries without realizing there were any, quick to poke and prod anyone she deemed fit. Now, nearly grown, it was rare for her to initiate physical contact. Still, her hands remained at his shoulders, the warmth of her skin permeating through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Ken placed his palms over Miyako's hands, turning back around gently, careful not to topple her over. "Miyako," he said, his attempt for her attention futile as her body wracked with small giggles. "You're drunk."

"Duh." Miyako offered him a toothy grin, a halo of baby hairs illuminated by the low light of the bar. "But that doesn't mean that you aren't pretty."

She tugged one of her hands free from his grasp, holding onto his other hand with a ferocity Ken had never known. One of her fingers waggled in his face before poking insistently at the top button of his polo. "One of my crests is sincerity, you know? It's kinda," she hiccuped, "impossible for me to lie."

Behind the lens of her glasses, Miyako's hazel eyes were wide, pupils large and dark from the alcohol. Her eyes met his with an unusual focus, her face somber.

"Oh?" Ken chuckled, doing his best to meet her intense gaze.

Her bun bobbed as she nodded, the finger that pressed to his shirt button pushed up until her palm was flat against his chest. Ken could feel his heart beat erratically underneath the pressure of Miyako's hand, his cheeks growing warm.

"I can't lie. Not to you, anyway." Her voice was earnest, so soft that the music nearly swallowed her words. With a sigh, her hand dropped from Ken's shirt. Her other hand was still encased in his larger one, but she had yet to notice or had no desire to pull away. Ken felt his stomach flutter at the thought of Miyako - brave, independent Miyako - wanting to be near him.

Miyako averted her gaze, eyes lingering on the line of empty shot glasses. A longer piece of lavender hair dangled in front of her eyes, but she made no move to tuck it behind her ear.

Her face was flushed, skin golden from hours spent underneath the sun. Against the dim lights, Miyako looked far away, eyes glazing over as she tucked herself neatly away, a panicked feeling seeping into Ken's veins.

"Tell me a truth." His mouth opened before his mind could process the words. The air in the bar was stifling, Ken's nervous energy nearly suffocating as he tried to maintain his composure.

Miyako blinked up at him, hand twitching where he still held it. "What do you want to know?" Her eyes were so wide, so trusting. Ken almost felt guilty for taking advantage of her intoxicated state of mind. Almost.

"How does this make you feel?" He squeezed her hand for emphasis, committing to memory her slight shiver and rosy cheeks. One of the lenses on her glasses were smudged with greasy fingerprints, her breath heavy with the scent of tequila.

Instead of responding, Miyako carefully uncurled his fingers from around hers, extending his hand only to press it against the warmth of her cheek. His skin was surprisingly cool against her face, Miyako letting out the smallest noise of approval.

Ken's heart soared. A goofy grin stretched across his lips, thumb tracing the outline of Miyako's cheekbone beneath her soft skin.

"I think…" Miyako began, thoughts trailing off as she motioned towards the bartender. "I think that I need another shot."

A monosyllabic laugh fell from Ken's lips, unbidden. Bashfully, Miyako rested her hand over the one Ken still had at her cheek, pressing a chaste kiss into his palm before letting it go.

He didn't make an effort to hide his blush. Instead, he merely smiled, signaling for the bartender to pour a second one.

Together, they allowed the liquor to burn its way down their throats. Ken shivered as the warmth seeped into his stomach and through his veins. Miyako swallowed hers as if it were water, her little glass empty on the counter.

The spot where Miyako's lips had been seemed to tingle with every flex of Ken's fingers. Selfishly, he wanted more, wanted her lips on his until his entire body was engulfed in the feeling. Out of the corner of his eyes, Ken watched as Miyako's eyes glazed over, her mouth curled into a relaxed grin.

They were much too drunk to do much more than holding hands, he decided. Still, he would hold on to her hand for the rest of their lives if she let him.

"How did it feel? Ken asked. Miyako started, Ken's voice much louder than intended despite the booming bass in the background.

"Huh?"

Miyako's eloquence was expected at this hour of the night. Biting back a chuckle, Ken grabbed her hand once more. "This."

Carefully, he threaded their fingers together, too afraid to move any further lest she pushed him away. He couldn't hide the hope that shone in his eyes or the sound of his pounding heart.

Miyako's eyes fluttered shut, her hand twitching in his grasp.

With bated breath, Ken waited for her to look at him, to tell him the things he already knew: how perfectly her fingers fit between his, how beautiful she looked in the low lighting, how much he loved her.

Instead, Miyako clenched her eyes tighter, as if she were determined to never look at him again.

His heart stuttered in his chest, hope melding into heartbreak. Just as he made the move to pull away and salvage what would be left of their friendship, Miyako let out a breathy laugh.

"It feels perfect, Ken. You don't - I've been - But I'm so scared." Her words stumbled over each other, brows furrowing in concentration.

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The bartender had wisely left them alone, their section of the bar nearly deserted. It was in the comfort of seclusion that drew Ken nearer, that allowed him to pull her into his chest, hands still clasped together.

His free hand rubbed the top of her back lightly, unsure of how to comfort her. Miyako had always been strong - her resilience both inspired and terrified Ken. To see her so raw, so vulnerable, was uncharted territory.

Ken was unprepared.

Still, she clenched his palm tighter, her other arm wrapping around his midsection. Her breath was hot against his thin shirt as she mumbled something incoherent.

"Miyako, I don't want you to be scared. If you don't want this, it's okay. I wouldn't risk your friendship for the entire world."

Reflexively, she pulled him closer, the tips of his shoes colliding with the base of her bar stool.

"Thank you," he managed to make out. Though her face was still pressed to his front, his legs awkwardly spread apart to accommodate for the piece of furniture, Ken knew that there was no place that he would rather be.

He spent the rest of the night pressing glasses of water into her hands, clumsily walking her back to her temporary residence. Throughout it all, their hands remained clasped, fingers warm.

After ensuring that Miyako safely made it across the threshold, Ken pressed his lips lightly to the back of her palm, finally releasing her.

"Get some rest," he begged, kindness and worry shimmering in his gaze. "I'll find you tomorrow. We can get breakfast, or something. Whatever you like.

Through her intoxication, Miyako managed a smile. "Sounds like a date."

The next morning, she teased him for his pink cheeks, as if she hadn't committed to memory the way his mouth felt against her skin, nervously, anxiously, hoping that he would do it again.