"Yamato love

London Rain

Part Five

~Natsu~

A/N: Phew…essays…research…presentations…ugh. Oh the joys of Sixth Form. Anyway…new part. With some good splashes of alcohol, great lumps of pretentious description, dustings of Notting-Hill-ness and…Marie. ^^

THREE IMPORTANT THINGS:

  1. UPDATE: Drinking scene is rewritten. The first one was an embarrassingly pathetic attempt and so now I've done it again using a fabulously wonderful suggestion from the fabulously wonderful Sora Ishida. Ta love!
  2. I'm toying with trying to write a lemon scene. The thing is…I know I'll just make a fool of myself and I like this fic and don't want to fuck it up. But yeah. Hands up who wants lemon?
  3. I've decided that I'm not writing the sixth part until the review total for this fic is up to at least 50. Just because I'm feeling bitchy and self-indulgent.

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"Yamato love?" Marie's rounded voice signals her entrance to the kitchen.

"Mmm?" She kept her promise and when I finally made it downstairs, I was met with the enticing smell of frying bacon and the satisfying sizzle of eggs in a hot pan. A proper English breakfast cooked up just for me. Of course, I get breakfast fixed for me wherever I go, but nobody's ever done it simply because they wanted to. It was always because they were getting paid and/or threatened by Missy. And you can tell just by looking at her that she is not someone you should fuck with. So nobody does.

"Can I ask a question?" She asks, a smirk twitching at the corners of her painted lips.

"I guess…" That face is exactly the same one Taichi makes right before he tells me something that he thinks is hilarious, but knows I'll hate. I can't help but be suspicious. Oh God…what have I left lying around that I shouldn't have? What has Tai said to her? Or worse, what has Alice said to her?

"Why didn't I need to make your bed this morning?"

I pause for an instant too long before my morning-muddled brain supplies a suitable answer.

"I…made it myself."

She smirks properly now, a gentle curve of mischief and amusement swept across her face, and crosses her arms fluidly across her chest, but says nothing.

"What?" I ask innocently.

She shakes her head, her ringing laugh brightening the room and leaving me surprisingly at ease.

"Am I going to have to wash Taichi's sheets?" She says in a mock-condescending tone.

I shrug casually, hiding my smile in my coffee mug. I love this. I really do. Being here, I mean. It makes me feel like I belong. Everything's so relaxed and friendly and comforting and just so much…better in every way than what I've grown used to. Perhaps I should just fuck the music business and just stay here with Tai and Marie and Alice. I've already made more money than I could ever need…so why bother going back?

"You're nothing but trouble are you?" Marie's continuing, obviously loving every minute of this lovely morning chat, "He can make enough mess on his own without you being there to help him."

I try not to spit coffee everywhere and make a huge effort to swallow before I let my laughter out.

"It may be hard to believe to look at me now, but I was young once, you know," she says, grinning widely at my reaction.

"I thought you still were young," I reply, the cheerful tone of my own voice something completely alien to my ears.

She beams despite the fact that she knows it's only meaningless flattery, "Are you sure you don't want any more, love?" She asks, striding over to the fridge with purpose.

"No, I'm fine thanks." She's already tried to give me about ten plates of food, determined to 'fill me out'. She tuts disapprovingly at my refusal then suddenly perks up.

"Oh, that must be Alice," Marie says cheerily, leaving in the general direction of the front door. I didn't even hear the doorbell…or a knock.

The doorbell rings when Marie's halfway down the hall. The amazing psychic housekeeper. I get to my feet, actually looking forward to talking to Alice and place my coffee cup in the sink. I'm not allowed to wash things here, you see. Marie says that it's her job and it would be a personal insult to her if I did it for her, 'I'm not paid to sit around and do nothing, you know.'

"Oh…of course…yes, he's just through here. Please come in," comes Marie's confused voice from the hallway and there are muffled voices of thanks.

Not Alice.

I automatically glance around the room for an escape feeling suddenly and irrationally panicky. I don't want to see anyone else. What if it's Missy? Fuck, or reporters. Or cops?! Can you be arrested for breach of contract? Probably…and you can certainly be arrested for drugs…shit fuck…oh God…could I fit out that window? Maybe if I wasn't full of bacon. Damn breakfast!

"Yamato?" Shit, no where to go and too late to escape anyway.

"Yeah," my voice comes out unsteady.

"These two have brought you something," Marie smiles at me reassuringly, as if she knows the frenzy my brain's just gone into. Before I can protest or beg her to make them go away, Sumi and Tomo (band members, remember?) step into the room, both smiling uncertainly.

We've never been particularly close as a group but these two have their moments and I certainly have reason to view them as something resembling friends.

Everything about Sumi is petite. She's tiny and skinny and has the smallest feet you've ever seen on an adult. To add to that, she's got very elfin features; button nose and tiny pouting lips. Her hair is dark and layered and it bounces around her chin to the rhythm of her drumsticks as we perform. In a combination as perfect and striking as that of the outfit she wears, her eyes are wide and enigmatic, the irises an eccentric violet. She makes clothes in her spare time. Spare time…how does she have enough time to make herself clothes when I never seem to have any at all. Today she's wearing a lace-up black corset (that looks far too tight for her own good) and tattered jeans that flow from her hips and pool around her ankles in surplus folds of faded denim. There's strategically-placed slashes running across her thighs. The jeans catch my eye immediately because I don't think I've ever seen her wear things with legs before. Sumi lives in mini-skirts that barely cover her ass most of the time. Even in the winter. She freezes of course, but the male fans seem to appreciate it.

Tomo's shock of messy red hair clashes comically with Sumi's sleek jagged layers. He's tall and lanky, about my height…maybe slightly taller…I've never bothered to check. Tomo's the kind of person who melts into the background and I often find myself overlooking him. In fact, I probably wouldn't have noticed him at all if it weren't for the fact that he and Sumi come as a pair and you'd have to be blind, deaf and probably dead not to notice someone as loud and attention seeking as her. He's always been quiet, reserved…the referee to the arguments between Sumi, Koji and I. Which there are rather a lot of. His eyes are brown and understanding, similar to Tai's, but lacking that special spark. I've only recently started to get to know him and have made the amazing discovery that he has an absolutely wicked sense of humour. He delivers his punch lines with a calm and subtle indifference that you can't help but find funny. His movements are somewhat awkward, self-conscious, but his fingers fly across the black and white bars of his keyboard with unbelievable grace.

"Hey," Sumi says quietly, "How are you feeling?" How am I feeling? How is she feeling, more like. She must be ill to be this quiet.

"I'm…okay."

"Good. We…well, we were talking last night," She glances at Tomo, as if for reassurance, "and we wanted to do something to help. But, like, we couldn't think of anything. So…we agreed that for us the worst thing about being away from the group would be not being able to play and stuff so…" she looks at Tomo again and for the first time I notice that he's got my guitar case slung over his shoulder.

"We broke into Missy's room last night," Tomo says coolly as he shrugs the strap from his shoulder and hands the case to me, which I take mechanically. Missy doesn't trust us to look after our own instruments. They live in her room when we stay in hotels. Bitch. Probably uses them for her satanic rituals.

"You…broke in?" I ask incredulously. Why did I never think to do that? I could've poisoned her Evian or something.

"You bet your ass babe!" Sumi blurts out, her exuberant character leaking out again. "It was fucking sweet! Sliding that credit card through the crack and then…click! Easy as pie…even if it took a couple of attempts. And credit cards," She smiles triumphantly.

"You bloody well better be grateful," Tomo mutters, "I'm down one MasterCard because of you."

"I am. This is so…you didn't have to do this. She'll find out and there'll be shit to pay when you get back." I run my hand over the leather of the casing, suddenly realising how much I've missed the comforting weight of the instrument in my hands.

"Of course we had to do it!" Sumi says.

"Yeah…pass up a chance to get one over on Missy? Never," Tomo confirms.

"Well…thanks. Really. This means a lot."

There's an awkward silence that often falls between you and people you only half know where you all realise that with common ground exhausted, there's nothing else to talk about.

"We should go back," Sumi breaks the silence as usual, "Can't have three of us escaping at once. Get better, okay? We miss you…Koji's unbearable without you to shout him down." She leans forward to place a sisterly kiss on my cheek and Tomo smiles wryly behind her.

I'm already unpacking the guitar as Marie ushers my band members out the door, and smiling unconsciously as I do so. In a weird way, this is the only sight that can compare to Taichi. The guitar. I can spend hours just looking at it. Following every sleek line and curve, running my eyes across the slick, glossy surface, carefully examining the flawless border between sharp red and purest white. Everybody should have something so incredible to look at. And it's not just that. This thing holds more memories and more emotions than I care to count. Every lyric that's ever fallen from my lips is wound between those taut strings and the lights of every gig are trapped in the smooth paint. It's a constant reminder of success and of better times and of everything good in my life. I have others that I play in concerts and stuff…but they're just instruments. This is MINE.

"Is that it then?" Marie's asking over my shoulder, bending to see better, but sensing that she shouldn't touch it.

"This is it," I confirm, not taking my eyes off the instrument. You never know. It might disappear if I look away.

* * * * * * * *

The guitar rests on my lap as I'm talking to Alice just over an hour later. I can't really play without an amp, but my fingers move just above the strings practising familiar chords.

"I've been thinking a lot since our last talk, Yamato," Alice starts conversationally. She's dressed all in grey today. Not a dowdy schoolteacher grey, her suit is a crisp, sophisticated colour with a white cotton shirt beneath. The top two buttons are undone to reveal a flash of dainty gold against her pale skin.

"Yeah. Me too." I mutter absentmindedly, not looking up from miming my songs.

"And I think I've come up with an interesting theory, which I believe was confirmed today."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. I'd just like to ask a couple of questions," She says, waiting for my permission.

"Okay." I relax my hands, resting them across the guitar, prepared for having to think carefully about complicated answers.

"How do you feel?" She asks. That's one of her questions?

"Fine," I shrug.

"Are you pleased with your progress?" What? Progress in what?

"Progress…?"

"You know. Not being so depressed all the time, not turning to…" She trails off, watching me as if she can read my thoughts, "Please tell me that you have actually noticed an improvement."

"Oh. Yes." I haven't been thinking about it. Like…at all. That's a past problem. It's gone away. I'm safe for now, so why bother to worry? I've developed a terrible ability to push anything that's out of sight completely out of mind and only worry about it when I come to it. I always used to think that I was a pretty rational person but…I guess things do change.

"It hasn't crossed your mind in the last…oh…twenty four hours, has it?" Alice says in a strange tone…not quite disapproval. Just as if she knows she can't be annoyed because I don't know any better.

"Er…not really. But…the birds didn't piss me off this morning," I offer helpfully.

"I see. I thought as much."

"What?"

"Never mind. Next question. Are you missing your…former life, as it were, at all?" She asks thoughtfully, bringing her hand up to rest her chin on.

"A little…I guess…I miss my music."

"But nothing else?" What is this? Random pointless questions? I shake my head.

"So you're happy?"

"Yeah…" I say suspiciously, suddenly worried that's she's in some way in league with Marie to…do something.

"How are you getting on with Taichi?"

"Fine."

"Fine?" Ah…there it is.

"Yes. Fine."

"Not…better than fine?" She's trying not to smile. Damn them all.

"What did Marie tell you?"

Alice loses her battle with the unprofessional quirk of her lips. "I think you know perfectly well what she told me," She says, in the teasing manner of a teenage girl.

"It's not what you think," I say, entirely too quickly.

"Yeah, yeah…"

"It's not! What is this? You're supposed to be professional," I tell her, folding my arms across my chest.

"Fuck professionalism," Alice returns easily, the curse surprising me. She seemed too…upper class or whatever. But I guess I know better than anyone that stereotypes are not always accurate. And she is Marie's friend. That has to say something about her. "I'm not going to tell anyone, Yamato. I just want to know because I want to prove my theory. Are you and Taichi getting…you know…closer?" she asks cheerfully. This is like if my mother asked me for the exact date that I lost my virginity.

"I…what? I have no idea what you're talking about." I say stubbornly. I'm not ready to trust her THAT much. She sighs, blows up her bangs and settles back in her chair.

"Okay. Alright," she concedes, "Would you like to hear my theories? It might give you something to think about." I can tell that I'm going to hear them whether I like it or not, so I shrug in non-committal agreement.

"Well. You told me before that you didn't really have any specific reason for what you were doing, no real problems in your life. Correct?" she queries, knowing she's right.

"Yeah…" Now what is she getting at?

"Did it occur to you that perhaps that was the reason you were using the drugs?"

"What…the fact that I didn't have a problem?" I ask in confusion. Of all the screwed up theories…

"Yes. Exactly that. You didn't have a problem. You were depressed for what was seemingly no reason. That's always confusing - not understanding your own emotions - and many people find that they can't deal with the fact that there's no logical explanation for the way they're acting. Your way of dealing was to simply create your own reason, thereby ensuring that things made sense again," she explains, carefully watching for my reaction. And I don't seem to react at all.


"Right…" I say emotionlessly.

"The drugs and the drink were your problem. Your created reasons," she expands and I feign recognition.

"Oh yeah. Yeah…I guess they were."

"Yes?"

"Yeah." I'm rapidly losing confidence in her abilities. What a stupid idea. Yeah, because I really wanted to make my own life as miserable as I possibly could. Maybe she's the one who needs a shrink.

"Okay…so…the remaining question is…where did the initial depression come from? And why did you have to create your own reasons for it? What was wrong with the existing cause? " What the hell is she babbling?

"I guess…"

"Do you want to know what I think the cause was?"

No. Fuck off, I'm bored of you.

"From what Taichi's told me about your relationship…it was a pretty big thing," Alice says in a seemingly irrelevant statement, "I know I shouldn't say this…but he was pretty messed up when he first came to me. Totally absorbed in his work, didn't know whether he was coming or going, really edgy…completely different to how I now know him to be. And unless whatever you two had was terribly one-sided, I expect that such a sudden and somewhat unnecessary split, had quite an effect on you too," she finishes calmly.

"What…so…you're saying that you think that all this was because I left Tai? That's stupid." I inform her bluntly. What does she think I am? Stupid, idiot woman.

"Is it?" Alice arches a slender eyebrow, regarding me carefully. "I think it's incredibly interesting that now that you're staying here, and are quite obviously growing closer to Taichi," she stresses her voice to cut off any protest I might have been about to make, "all the problems seem to have disappeared practically overnight. I mean, what could have been a better excuse to come see him again? I'm not saying it was subconscious of course…but maybe he's more important to you than you'd like to admit."

I give her a withering look. I don't know why I'm even bothering to listen to this crap. Even if there is some weird little thought in the back of my mind twitching at her words.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you have absolutely no desire to get back together with Taichi," She says plainly.

I stare at her for a moment before I calmly get to my feet and leave the room.

* * * * * * * *

"Okay. Hit me." Taichi says, sitting down at the table and drumming his palms against the yellow oak with an eager grin.

"What, literally?" I ask, placing the numerous shot glasses provided by Marie (her husband collects them. Apparently) in a neat line across the table. They're the biggest 'shot' glasses I've ever seen. In fact, I'm debating whether they're even supposed to be used for shots and not like…orange juice or something.

It's amazing how much I'm looking forward to this. And I'm not even sure why. By Alice's theories it's no doubt because of the connection in my mind between Tai, vodka and fantastic sex. The subconscious desire to re-live everything about that night when we were both on the verge of really beginning out lives, finding out where we fit into the grand scheme of things. The lingering memory of his arms around me last night. Or it could just be the fact that it's been too long since I had a good, hard…drink.

Taichi gives me a withering look, then turns his attention to counting the shot glasses.

"What is that? Twelve?" He queries with no particular emotion.

"Six each. Too much for you?" I ask with mocking sympathy.

"Oh no. It's you I'm worried about." He returns, smiling confidently. I reply by retrieving a bottle from the counter and sloshing vodka into each eager little glass. Not the pathetic amounts you get when you ask for a shot in a bar. These are the real thing. Six will be plenty.

"There," I say calmly, "You ready?"

"And waiting."

I pull up the chair opposite his, lacing my fingers together across the polished golden wood of the tabletop. "First one to choke loses. You going first or shall I?" The radio's playing in the background, something fast and insane by Fatboy Slim. I couldn't name it but it seems vaguely appropriate, unlike the buttery yellow walls, warm ceiling light and pretty potted herbs on the windowsill. The two lines of stout little glasses standing to attention before us look deceptively innocent with their cut-crystal surfaces and their still burdens of transparent liquid. Not the best setting for a drinking binge.

You don't need me to tell you that Taichi goes first. Without bothering to voice his decision, he reaches for his first shot; his fingers wrapping around the little glass with carefully focused determination. He lifts it up, seemingly oblivious to everything else, pausing at the last moment to offer me his classic old devil-may-care grin.

"Bottoms up," he says, before tossing the fiery liquid down his throat with a jerk.

It barely affects him.

"Alright Blondie," he says, voice as steady as ever, "show me what you got."

I can't stop my mind from buzzing with all the ways I could interpret that request as I reach for my own glass and down the alcohol without hesitation. Easy as pie. I place the glass back in its position at the start of my meticulously arranged line and raise my eyes to meet Tai's.

"Child's play," I inform him bluntly and his eyebrows quirk with competitiveness. Keeping his eyes firmly locked on mine; Taichi picks up the next shot in his line and downs it easily, barely wincing as the drink roars through his system. He says nothing but he doesn't need to. Any idiot can sense the tension of a challenge. Following his lead and not breaking our gaze I take my next little punishment-in-a-glass and lick my lips with exaggeration. Nothing is more enjoyable than a little competition with Tai than a little competition with the added bonus of sexual undertones. Whatever the extent of Alice's lovely little theory, he still turns me on.

Naturally, he knows that.

The bottom of my glass has barely touched the table when Taichi's next one is in his hand, the rim being pressed to eager lips. He gulps down his vodka and slams the empty glass to the table, not quite in line with the others. He grins at me expectantly, brown eyes smouldering. Just like when we always used to fight. Even when we were little and innocent…innocent-ish…our fights were never anything really nasty (Excluding that tiny little, practically insignificant, 'I'm feeling pissy so I'm going to rip your head off' moment I had back in the world we never talk about. But hey, that was once.). It gives you such an incredible buzz to have someone so prominent in your life focus all their emotions solely on you and nothing else. The fact that they're screaming that they hate you and want you to stick you head in an oven or fall quite randomly off a cliff is irrelevant. The one-on-one contact that generally comes after the first punch has been thrown isn't too bad either.

I swallow my next shot automatically, hardly noticing it. Three down. Taichi pauses before reaching his fourth, watching intently as I drop glass number three back into place. His eyes are starting to glaze like they always do when he's drinking. Perfectly aware of him watching, I bend an elbow and bring my hand up to rest my chin on, raising one eyebrow at him in expectation. "Flagging?"

"Fuck no. After just three? You gotta be kidding me…have a little faith," he says, smirking for some reason but not making any move to continue. I drop my arm and lean forward to talk to him over the wall of shots.

"So drink the next one," I say, daring him.

He leans forward on his side and pauses, eyes burning into mine, then sits up again and salutes mockingly. "Yes, ma'am!" he barks, picking up an untouched little glass.

I feel my foot connect with his shin before I've even thought about doing it. What do you know? My brain still picks up those girly comments and automatically delivers the violence that simply has to follow.

He sucks his breath in with pain, but then sucks in a whole load of vodka instead, which no doubt blanks any traces of pain from his mind. Taichi squeezes his eyes shut with the rush to his head, while I watch with interest. So soon?

"Ha," he says breezily as his eyes slide back open. Alright…perhaps not. He positions the shell of his last shot in it's line and then reaches across and picks up my next one, which he proceeds to hand to me. "Your turn." He folds his fingers together and rests them under his chin, regarding me with worrying cheerfulness.

I bring the glass to my lips, watching suspiciously as his lips quirk into a playful smirk. I jump and nearly drop my shot as his foot runs up my leg, tracing the calf through the denim that covers it. Bastard.

"Careful. You don't want to spill it. You lose if you do," He informs me helpfully, "New rule."

"Oh yeah?" I mutter, having gained control of the slick little glass again.

"Yep. You've got to swallow every…single…drop." He leans towards me over the wall, still smirking.

"This is my game," I say calmly, "which means that I make all the rules."

"So make this one."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it will piss you off."

Taichi shrugs. "Okay. Fine," he grins, "It's not like it'll affect your chances of losing." Yeah. Won't make them any more existent.

I throw my head back, downing my vodka with a dramatic flourish and then meet his eyes as I run my tongue down the side of the cold glass, catching a stray drop. Every drop.

" 'Ha' back atcha, oh cockiest of the cocky," I mutter, leaning forwards as I replace my glass. The whole head tossing thing was a mistake. Hurling your head about is always guaranteed to make you even more drunk. And my head is definitely starting to feel drunk. Idiot. Are we trying to lose or what?

Taichi laughs. "I thought you said something different, there," he says, shaking his head slightly.

"That's because you've got a mind that's trapped in the gutter."

"Please! I invented that gutter," he returns shamelessly, "Do you not know me but at all?"

It's not until Taichi reaches to pick up his fifth glass that I notice how close we are. The distance between our faces is barely more than that of the two lines of back to back shot glasses. Tai's eyes are dancing. With laughter and determination and barely contained lust. I'm sure mine look the same. He smiles at me over the glasses, the light from the ceiling ricocheting off the shaped glass and streaking fluidly across his face.

Fuck this.

All I want to do is shove all those annoying, separating little pieces of glass off of the table, grab Tai's face and kiss him as the glass splinters and cracks on the floor tiles. I would as well if only that didn't count as spilling the drink. Losing is completely out of the question.

"Okay. Let's take this one together," I say innocently, wanting to speed this up, win quickly and then jump him while we're both still drunk enough.

Oh what? Like I can't be a pervert too.

Taichi slurs his agreement with encouraging hastiness and I take hold of the glass that was parallel to his, trying to ignore the less than encouraging fact that my vision is blurring slightly.

"Ready?" He asks, and I can feel his alcohol-laden breath faintly.

"Yeah." My lips are numb from the biting strength of the vodka and my head's beginning to feel fuzzy.

We both throw our heads back in an automatic unison that has been perfected over years, and both gasp immediately. I guess five is a significant number when speed-drinking vodka shots.

"Ouch," Taichi mutters to himself…to me…to the table…who can say?

"Tell me about it," I reply in the same tone.

"Okay! Final round!" Tai says with sudden enthusiasm after making a remarkably quick recovery. Either that, or he's faking it. "I'm going to eat mine before your go now this time." He misses the first time when he tries to pick up his glass

"Shut up trying to talk and do it, ya drunk."

He does. I do a double take when he chokes and starts to cough.

"Ah! Ah! Ha ha!" I cry in disbelief, "You lost! You just lost! Did you just see that! You fucking fucked up Tai!" Cool. I'm gonna win. Massive grin.

Taichi composes himself quickly, shaking his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Shut up," comes the impressively dignified reply. He pushes the empty glasses out of the way, seizes my last shot and slams it down in front of me.

"I haven't lost until you drink that," He says through his teeth, his face bare inches from mine.

I lift an eyebrow with deliberate slowness and there's one of those time-stilling moments between us before I snatch up the glass, bring the rim to my tingling lips and snap my head back. The empty glass hits the table with a dull clink and I swallow the harsh liquid and feel it burn it's way through my system.

Talk about a victory.

"Now you've lost," I say remarkably coolly, all things considered.

"Fuck off." Taichi says in a sulky, childish voice.

I'm so drunk. It's amazing how totally aware of that fact I am from the second I pass my drinking limit. Any sane, sober part of me that still exists after a binge like that retreats intelligently and watches whatever follows with mounting dismay.

The legs of Taichi's chair make a noise of screeching protest as they're shoved suddenly across the floor.

"What are you doing?" I ask him in confusion as he places an unsteady foot on the chair he's just vacated and hauls himself up with the jerky adrenaline brought on by the alcohol.

"Getting up here." He says plaintively, as if I'm an idiot for not knowing. He then proceeds to step onto the table and I reach out with one clumsy hand to steady him as he wobbles, in danger of either falling off or knocking over the remainder of the bottle of vodka. It's debatable as to which is worse.

"Why you idiot? You're gonna fall and break your neck." I say, letting go of his leg as the little bugger tries to kick me.

"You won so I think it's only fair that I get to stand higher than you. Evens out." Taichi says, regaining his balance after the failed kicking attempt. He grins down at me as if this drunk logic makes perfect sense.

Of course, something so petty shouldn't bother me. And so, of course, it does. Taichi has never had to look down to see me before. I'm taller and that's how it works. So there.

I climb clumsily onto the table to join him. Why? Because I'm pissed and that's how it works.

"Nope, you lose that one too!" I shove him playfully in the chest after I've found my footing, intelligently not noticing how close he is to the edge of the table.

He quite innocently grabs my arms to stop himself from falling.

And then as if we both saw it coming, my vodka-warmed lips are moving over his, his hands are in my hair and we're pressed together, chest to chest. Instantly, there's nothing in the world but roaring, crackling emotions, flowing through every vein, burning and chilling more harshly than any shot.

It's almost the perfect reunion. A particularly jealous and spiteful thing called gravity, rudely interrupts as Tai steps backwards into nothingness in an attempt to adjust to my weight against him. Our collision with the floor is just as sharp and sudden as the alcohol that litters my consciousness.

Once the mingling streams of expletives peter out, we turn to each other, simultaneously aware that one of us might be hurt.

"Are you okay?" We ask in unison, then blink, our foggy brains confused by the stereo effect. Taichi recovers first.

"Aside from a broken back, I'm okay." He says, grinning.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Good." Taichi says, leaning forwards, and I barely have time for a breath before our lips are locked again. It's incredible. Every slip of his tongue, every sweep of his hands brings back a fresh memory and I'm suddenly realising that Alice is completely and utterly right.

I throw my arms around his neck, clinging passionately; trying to make up for the two lost years that lie between us. And he's kissing me like it's the apocalypse. Locked and lost in each other's embrace as the world crumbles around us.

* * * * * * *

Naturally, Marie only has to make one bed again in the morning. Only this time, she'll probably have to wash the sheets as well.

Between waking up in Taichi's arms and finishing breakfast, some things happen. Probably eating…talking aimlessly. I can't tell you what they are, because they aren't important enough to stick in my mind. But then very little seems of any importance when compared to…

All I know is that we don't watch breakfast TV. I know that because if we had, we might have been informed enough not to answer the door when the now familiar clunk of the brass knocker sounds. Taichi gets up to answer it announcing that it's probably Marie, who's misplaced her key ("Again! I swear, I am gonna superglue that thing to her forehead tomorrow!"). And me, being the intelligent chap that I am, wander down the hall after him to say hello.

I really should know better.

Taichi opens the door before I get there and steps back again immediately for some reason, his face the very picture of shock. Before he can say anything, I'm standing in the open doorway and looking out with a frown wondering whether Marie's wearing some insane clashing outfit or something.

I really, really should know better.

You'd think I'd get used to it. But nothing can ever prepare me for this familiar and increasingly terrifying sight. Thousands and thousands of white, assaulting flashes. So many high little clicks that they merge together into one dull, grating whirr. All the focused voices shouting, telling me to look their way, hurling harsh calculated questions. It might as well be every single journalist and respective photographer in London. But I barely notice them; all they are is one blurring mass, swarming around the one figure in the middle, standing with a perfectly lined pink smirk to match her rose-coloured suit.

"Yamato! Darling. As fun as it's been, I'm now bored of lying to the press on you behalf. So I've brought them to you so they can hear it from your own mouth!"

Says Missy, charmingly.

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A/N: Sorry. I seem to have a slight obsession with cliff hangers, ne? I'll work on getting the next part out though so you're not –hanging- too long. Ba bum cha!

Hooray! Now it's 'Let's all humour the author time'! Yaaaaay!

I'd just like to take a moment to talk a bit about some of the reviews I've been getting and some of my little Taito theories.

It's great, wonderful, totally fantastic that I'm getting nice reviews. *beams* Thank you so much to everyone who has been a 'responsible reader'. You have no idea how much my reviews mean to me – they're what keep me writing! So…I want to write some feedback for the reviewers. Somebody mentioned that this is different to a lot of the Taito fics out there, which totally made me jump for joy because that was exactly what I was going for.

I love Taito, but what I find is that in many fics they seem to be just lovers, not friends as well. Here, I'm trying to emphasise the actual friendship, which is the most important part because it creates a cool kind of equality, which I will rant about in a minute. People seem to forget that Matt and Tai were friends before they were anything else. That means that they already have a kind of bond which makes a romantic relationship both more difficult and more intense. Gives an interesting spin with the paranoia you get about screwing up a special friendship. I know I wouldn't want to do that for the world. It means that the forming relationship doesn't work like clockwork, which is how it is in real life.

I also try to balance the characters. I am SO SICK as seeing Matt as a pathetic, weak, insufferably girlie character. I know that most of you like to see him as the uke and I agree that he probably would be to some extent, but to be really submissive and passive is totally against his character and it just pisses me off. I can't stand when there are two very definite roles in a relationship (i.e. Dominant and submissive) because it stops being a relationship and just becomes some kind of…I dunno…weird…load of weirdness (don't you love how articulate I am?). They are very equal in every way and I believe that they should be portrayed as such.

That's what I was trying to do with my most recent fic, 'Knock Out'. The Matt in that is much more aggressive and feisty than you would normally find him being in fics.

People seem to like Marie…yeah so do I. My favourite scenes to write are the ones with her in! *grins* And I'm glad that some of you actually understand my humour. I don't know when this suddenly turned funny but…I like the humour better than the angst so…yes.

Um…rambled out now. I'll let you leave. .