"Hey, Tachikawa." Slings both arms over the ledge, folded beneath his chin. Tall enough to simply just prop himself against the wall, muddy-kneed from trekking between the hedges lining the second-years' classrooms, the shrubbery still soggy from that morning's drizzle. Distracted all day by only one thought in mind: "Wanna go to karaoke after club meetings?"

"You and me?" She mocks a gasp, a hand fluttering to her chest. "Are you planning on confessing?"

"No." Uses his elbow to point past her, further into the classroom. "Going for that one."

Her lip curls, offended as much by the uncouth manners as the unbearable lack of romance. "'That one'?"

Rolls his eyes, scratching at his ear. "Just bring her, will you?"

"You'll have to be more specific."

Taichi huffs, rubs his nose into the sleeve of his jersey. "You know, the one with the, um," and makes a series of aimless, circular movements about his head.

Her mouth twists even further. "The aneurysm?"

"The—what?" He's left a little streak of snot down the fabric seam, mouth hung open.

Mimics him perfectly with both hands, attracting the bewildered stares of nearby classmates. At the lectern, her teacher's carrying on with the afternoon lesson she hadn't been paying close attention to anyway, waiting for him to drop by her window. "That's what this means, right?"

"How does this mean aneurysm?" He mimes the gesture right back, emphatic that time. More classmates are staring now.

She shrugs, "It's your sign."

"That's not my—there is no sign for an aneurysm."

"Of course, there's a sign for it," scoffs Mimi. "Everything has a sign. I mean, what if I drew it in charades? I'd have to know how to sign it to win the game, right?"

"Okay," and says this very slowly, struggling to get the conversation back on track. "Well, can you bring her or not?"

Leans away as she surveys the room, studying each of her peers for evidence of medical distress. "I really need you to be more specific."

"The one with the hair!"

"They all have—,"

"Fucking forget it, Mimi!"

Kicks her heels together under her desk, wearing a full grin when she looks back at him, pleased with her little joke. "Yes, I'll come to karaoke, and I'll bring her."

His shoulders sink at once. "Really?"

"You are my friend, Taichi," and sweetly pats the elbow he still has bent towards her pretty classmate, "and that means your happiness is my happiness, and your aneurysm, my aneurysm."

Yanks his arm back. "Why do I even talk to you?"

"Why, indeed, Mr Yagami." Her teacher has one hand on the window latch, the other pointing back to the field he'd snuck away from, teammates running laps without him. The entire class is looking over at them now, curious if still largely unruffled by the familiar scene, the whole school having long since given up on trying to make sense of the two of them. Friends, clearly, and only, but in that eyebrow-raising way sometimes, with all their casual ease. Never quite sure what they were, or weren't, or were again. "Kindly stop interrupting my afternoon classes for these windowside chats. I'll not ask again."

Salutes him. "Last time, Teach'."

"I have a name."

Taichi looks genuinely surprised by this, and Mimi intervenes, smoothing it all over, "It was an emergency, sir. Someone's brain health was literally on the line."

"Mine?" Her teacher says this sarcastically, but she's never had an ear for it.

"Oh, no, sir." Smiles brightly, too honest too often, "At your age, a stroke is much more likely."

Her teacher makes a strange noise in his throat, and Taichi's already slinking away, bowing out of any blame or involvement in her making and then immediately dooming their karaoke plans. "See me after class, Miss Tachikawa."

The classroom is full of giggles now, but Mimi's not paying attention, oblivious to how this annoys her teacher all the more. Just stares out the window, jaw dropped at the swiftness with which he'd abandoned her, not even bothering to look back. Fearless leader, her ass. Well, let it be known, then. Never will Tachikawa Mimi go to karaoke with Yagami Taichi, ever once, or ever again. Nods emphatically to herself, resolved. "No, sir."

Her teacher really does lose it then.

"Which one?"

"Whichever."

Scrunches her face into the roundest little pout. He presses a finger to one puffed cheek, chuckling when it deflates. Mimi swats his hand away, still frowning at the phone on her nightstand. It'd been silent for almost five hours now, an unbearable record. Finally tears her eyes from it, knees his side, unwilling to accept his noncommittal evasion. "Which one, Taichi?"

But he can't make heads or tails of the three allegedly different colors she's holding out before him. Squints to be sure. "I mean, aren't they all just…black?"

Evidently not, the strain in her voice suggesting she's at the end of her rope with his inability to see sense. "This one is charcoal, this one is carbon, and this one is blackest black."

"You do hear yourself, right?" His turn to suspect her of clinical unreason.

Just about squeaks, astonished by his doubt. "These decisions are important, Taichi!" Sets aside two of the mascara tubes and uncaps one. "One shade can make all the difference for the perfect smoky eye, and how are we supposed to show up to theme night at karaoke if it's not absolutely perfect?"

"Yeah, yeah," because it's easier pretending to have listened than to actually. Lets her get back to work applying one test color to his right lashes, straddling him where he's sprawled on his back over her Giverny Fleur duvet. The best naps of recent memory were spent on this organic cotton set, keeping her company whenever Sora or Jou or Miyako or Daisuke or whoever were too busy, not at all bothered he's this far down the dance card of friends to call when she's bored or lonely. All the one-sided chatter and litany of non-errands usually ended with something more or less edible from the biohazard of her kitchen, plus access to any number of streaming service subscriptions he couldn't afford himself. That, and Mimi'd always been good fun. The way his uni courses are going, future biting at the heel, he needs good fun more than he'll admit, likes that she doesn't make him admit much of anything.

"There," and smiles to herself, twisting back the cap to the second shade she'd used on his left lashes. Turns over the handheld mirror. "See the difference?"

Absolutely couldn't, nor did he do a good job hiding his grimace at the glittery midnight blue hues she'd used for eyeshadow. Not for the color, of course, but because fifteen minutes later it'd already caked too much around the crease, suggesting a production flaw rather than poor application. That's when he pauses, struck by how often he must have let himself be lured into her makeup tutorials to have acquired independent knowledge about things like the wear and set of various eyeshadow brands. Pushes the mirror aside to implore her, "Don't let me know any difference. Let me keep my innocence."

Clucks her tongue through a fleeting smirk, the first real laugh she'd had in about five hours, swinging a leg up and off to settle onto the duvet next to him. Inspects between the mascara samples with such close attention even he sees through it, propping himself onto his elbows.

"Why don't you just call him first?"

"I'm trying a new rule." Says this nearly directly into the blackest black tube, uncharacteristically demure with the reply, another thing he doesn't miss, and likes even less.

"Not like you to hold yourself back."

She opens her mouth to retort, then stops herself. A final sign, the apocalypse nearing too close for comfort. All right. Intervention time, Yagami style. Sits up all the way, reaches around her to snatch up her phone. Unlocks it with the passcode she'd had since they were teenagers and refused to update despite Koushiro's numerous pleas, navigates to her voice notes. Her fingers grab back, but he's too quick. "Taichi!"

"You don't get to make yourself small for anyone. Least of all," and finishes the rest into a new memo he manages to send off before she finally gets the upper hand, "someone who's standing her up on karaoke theme night like the flake he is."

"He's not—oh!" because there's an incoming memo in almost instant reply, already starting to play. Slams it off speaker right as Taichi takes notice of that deep, mature bass that makes her eyes light up, his roll back.

Flops onto the duvet again as she jumps off, knows his substitute karaoke partner recruitment is about to be rescinded, no longer needed to take one for the team. Well, wouldn't be caught dead in cakey eyeshadow anyway, reputation to protect and all. Reaches up to rub at a sleepy eye, finds her hand settled around his wrist, stopping him. Picture first, which she silently mouths at him whilst having a fully verbal phone conversation with someone else, and wonders for the umpteenth time about all the progress that could be possible if she put her superpowers to good use.

Peels off the bed to drag himself over to her vanity, dutifully snapping a quick Polaroid selfie and waiting for it to develop before marking the back with the date and list of products, on autopilot for this part of their routine. Adds the finished entry to the next blank page in her makeup tutorial notebook, but has to flip past a bunch of others first, getting there. He really has been here too often, pausing at the different looks she'd painted on him over the while, all of them carefully annotated.

Except one.

Can't remember when this was, or why he had to be caught on camera sleeping like that, laid up against the passenger seat of her father's borrowed car, uni sweatshirt over his neighborhood pick up football uniform, hair worse than usual, mouth slobbered open to the glass. It's twilight, catching the last of it on smooth tanned skin, the dimple in his left cheek even deeper here than when he actually smiles. That's the only part she's circled. Tiny letters, like it hurts to even write the admission out. Pretty.

"Well, I guess it's good to keep yourself busy."

Nods, twirling a lock of curled hair between her fingers, answering in a pleasant tone, "And I am. Just last week, I was in Pa—,"

His hand's on her elbow. "Come help me with the next round." She does, looks back over her shoulder at the group that's already turning away, sniggering between them, her brow furrowing with even more confusion when he doesn't let go until they're outside the bar. Shrugs when she frowns at him. "He was making fun of you, Mimi."

"Oh, I don't think so," and seems to believe this.

Taichi shifts on his feet on the sidewalk, uncomfortable. Or, more honestly, ashamed. His friends, after all. His invitation. "He wasn't asking about your start-up to be nice."

Folds her arms over her chest, bracelets pressing into the thin skin of her wrists. "But what if he was? Don't I deserve someone nice?"

"Mimi." Sighs her name, stretching out the simple syllables, because that's not the point. "I know these guys, okay? They're not—they care about having certain stuff, you know?"

She considers her outfit, her shoes, the tasteful care put into each accessory. How she held herself, the way she walked. Her openhearted speech and spirited tone. Can't see a thing out of place, but not conceited about it. "What don't I have?"

Grits his teeth, glancing back at the bar entrance. "A college degree."

"Oh." For the first time in a while, unable to find better words. "Oh."

He's looking at her carefully. "But fuck 'em, okay?"

"Mm," and nods slowly again. When she smiles at last, after a minute, it's still honest, still accepting, brushing past their mistaken assumptions, unwilling to hold a misplaced thought against someone. "Once they get to know me, they'll think differently."

His sigh hitches, staring at her. Shakes his head instead of saying anything more, a palm run across the back of his head, flattening unkempt curls. "Come on, let's go."

She pauses again when he continues walking in the opposite direction from the bar. "We're not staying for karaoke?"

"Definite no." Flashes her a cheeky grin, "Can't, anyway. When he kept talking shit to you like I wouldn't notice, I spit in his drink when he wasn't looking, but he's probably figured it out by now."

Mimi's lips part, the scandal. "You what?"

"He deserved it." Chest puffed, even if he still can't shake the guilt of having let it get that far, let her near people like that. Let himself near people like that. He's supposed to be a better judge of character than this, and failure's never been easy to swallow. He'd make up for it, though. Maybe call up some of their actual friends, Daisuke, Jou, or Takeru, keep the night young. She's not following, just gawking at him where she's frozen on the curb, horrified by such a breach of social etiquette. "If he doesn't want people spitting in his drink, he shouldn't be an asshole who drinks vodka martinis. You can make it look like a bit of an ice cube in a drink like that."

Her face has turned green. When she speaks at last, it's between heavy gasps. "That was my drink."

His stomach drops. "What?"

"I had the vodka martini." She's whimpering, massaging her pale cheeks.

Stares at her, dumb. "You—no, you drink things with, like, pretty colors and fruit and all that sugary shit in them—,"

"I wanted—," claws at her throat, "—I wanted to be friendly, because they're your college alums, and I—so I said I'd have what he—but then he changed his mind, after I ordered, and—,"

"Why would you—oh, no," because she's stumbling around the sidewalk now, whole body shuddering. He grabs her wrist, palm open flat before her chin. "Just spit it out, spit it out in my hand, come on—,"

"Spit what out?" She wails, something close to hysteric despair, "I already swallowed it!"

"Why would you swallow it?" He's yelling to match her own frantic energy, has the distant understanding that they're causing a public scene, the sidewalk heavy with after-work foot traffic. Shakes her arm anyway, holding her around the waist when she starts dry heaving.

"Why would you spit in my drink?"

"I didn't know it was your drink!"

"That's not the point!" and smacks his arm off her, finger jabbing at his face. "Don't pull pranks like that again!"

Ducks another jab, bewildered. "I wasn't planning on—,"

"What if someone saw you?" Shoves him again, has him stumbling backwards as she rolls forward, "Don't you know how important you are?"

"What're you—all right!" Manages to get a hold of both wrists, startled that her small hands have formed quite formidable fists already, "What does that matter?"

"Because you matter!" Her arms locked as they are from sudden movement, she kicks out a foot instead, no momentum behind it. Face pulled into a hundred different emotions, looking up at him when she finally catches her breath. "The things you do, and say, and the people you're around now—that's going to matter more and more, Taichi."

He understands that part. Had heard this almost exactly from Koushiro, Yamato, Sora. Ever since choosing his graduation thesis, after Tokyo Tower, starting up at the embassy, sitting in on press hearings and—"I'm not trying to matter to people like him."

She stops, arms hanging down now. He's still holding onto her wrists, but she twists them around, slips her fingers through his. Squeezes tight, just once. "You bring people together, Taichi. All people," because he's already tried to interrupt, fierce in only certain convictions. "And when they see your faith, they might change."

Lowers his gaze, mostly because it's hard still, sometimes. Being seen for the potential you aren't sure of yourself. Swings her hands in his a little. "You really think that." It's not a question.

"You do, too." Squeezes again, playful, but firm enough to make him flinch a bit, smiling when he catches her grin. "Or you would, if you'd stop to think first."

"All right," he groans, rolling his eyes. "I'll take the high road, since you asked so nicely."

Beams at him, happy to have made her message stick. "That's all it takes then? A little ask, and you see sense?"

"Don't go repeating it anywhere." He knocks his shoulder into hers, a friendly shove, arm slipping around her lower back to walk her forward, falling into step beside her. One of his favorite places to be. He doesn't know how else to tell her this, so he just laughs, quieter than he means, "But when it's you asking. Yeah."

"Wake up—next stop's karaoke!"

Pummels his shoulder with her little fists, the knuckles of her middle fingers jutting out just like he'd taught her. They land without any meaning behind them then, her body too boneless, loosened from the tequila shots Daisuke'd taken with her at the concert pregame, the first stop on the night's impromptu drinking tour. Wears the hundred-yen toy tiara Yamato'd won for her from a novelty arcade game machine at the after-concert pitstop, cheeks still covered in Miyako's lipstick stain kisses from their turn in the mosh pit, mascara running like a comic book villain. He'd never seen her such a mess, but then he hadn't seen her in a while. From what Sora'd told him, she'd been unlike herself for almost five months now, a streak so eyebrow-raising he'd relented to Jou's demands. Changed his own plans that night so he could be the last to show up to the group outing she'd summoned after calling it quits on her most recent rebound. They're now at the sixth place on the post-concert bar hop, and he's thinking they're all getting too old for this.

"I'm awake," groans Taichi, leaning out of firing range.

"Why come out at all?" Her voice a little too slurred to be very cross.

"'Cause you're my friend." Opens one arm, and she dives in, sheltered, "And that means your happiness is my happiness, and your breakup party, my breakup party."

Pinches his side. "It's a birthday party."

"It's not your birthday." He's pretty sure, at least. She declares herself reborn so often it's hard to be truly certain.

Like now, for instance. Right on cue, snapping pin straight with a determined shine to her eyes: "I was reborn today, Taichi! Resurrected from my old life and into a new one. That is what we are celebrating this night."

"This morning," he corrects. "Come on. Let's skip karaoke and go home. Look at poor Kou."

They both glance over at the next table, where Koushiro's face down flat and eerily still to the countertop, the tips of his cropped red hair peeking out from underneath Sora's jacket, an attempt to protect him from Takeru's marker pranks (it did not).

She sniffs, softening her posture. "I told him he could go home, but he said he wouldn't until I do." Pulls her legs up to gather her bent knees to her chest, cuddling up next to him in the corner booth.

"Same applies." He's talking about all of them. Yamato's holding his forehead up with both hands, slouched over the bar, Jou passed out open-mouthed on his elbow. At the next booth, Sora is rubbing a dozing Miyako's back, yawning into her own palm. The younger crew are still at it, though their movements have slowed a bit: surrounded by more empty glasses than any of their seniors have had all night, Iori's wearing Ken's jacket, Ken's wearing Hikari's scarf, Hikari's wearing Takeru's hat, Takeru's wearing Daisuke's sunglasses, and Daisuke's crying foul on how they've swindled him by playing their drinking games the way they were meant to be played, and mysteriously winning.

She leans herself back under his arm, cheek turned into the muscled curve of his shoulder. "I've got you all wrapped around my finger, don't I?"

"Your little court jesters." Wiggles his arm so her head bobbles.

She's giggling, pressing her face into his chest to muffle the sound. "But like all loyal subjects, you'd still go to war for me."

He spits out a laugh, because it's that ridiculous. "No."

"I'm not worth fighting for?" Pinches him again.

"Didn't say that." Snakes his hand around to run his thumb behind her ear, making her shout, body spasming from the ticklish reflex. Ducks out of the way before she can strike back, grinning at her. "You know how to fight your own battles, Mimi." Nudges her leg with his foot, making her look at him when he says, "You always have."

Narrows her eyes after a moment, then blinks tiredly. "I don't think I want to right now. I think I just," releases a long sigh, lashes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments, "want to go to bed."

"Fucking finally," and swivels around in the booth, calls out into the room, "We're skipping karaoke. Let's get cabs." Can almost hear Sora's whimper of relief from across the barroom, Yamato's irritated muttering as he stretches out aching limbs, righting a groggy Jou. Koushiro immediately sits up to attention, so fast that Sora's jacket glides straight down to the grungy bar floor, abandoned. The younger ones throw back the last of their drinks in quick succession, everyone scrambling for coats and wallets and bills to settle, released.

Mimi sticks out her bottom lip. "It's like you planned this."

"It's like we're used to you." Holds out his hand for her after he stands, but she feels like fighting, folding her arms tight across her chest as she sinks further into the booth. Drops his arm with that don't-try-me look. "If I have to carry you out of here, I will."

Crosses her legs then, too, chin raised and nose up, airborne before she can even close her eyes. Scrambles to keep her tiara on her head with one hand and the skirt of her dress from fluttering too high with the other, thrown carelessly over his shoulder like the gentleman he isn't. "Okay, okay! Put me down!"

Like he doesn't know she'll bolt the second her feet are hers again. What is he, an amateur?

Keeps an arm secured around the back of her knees to his chest, walking out with the rest of their friends. Makes sure his sister's taken care of first, then Sora. Hands Miyako off to Ken, checks that Koushiro's still breathing and Jou's not fallen into delirium. Saddles Yamato with his brother and the younger crew. By then, Mimi's gone limp over his shoulder, and he jostles her not unkindly, but not very tender either. "Don't fall asleep. I'll put you in a cab, but then you're on your own. I'm not carrying you up the four flights to your flat."

Mumbles something into the bunched fabric of his shirt somewhere near the middle of his broad back, hanging weakly, and he's not willing to risk it. Swings her upright and then to her feet, but her legs keep sinking until she's plopped herself onto the curb, the heels of her wrists pressed to her temples, head bowed over her lap. He's grown up enough to not be smug about how quickly she's deflated, but he does nudge her tiara back into place. Tries being kind, looking at her slumped into herself on the muddy street. "Must have been a bad one to make it a six-stop drinking tour, five months out."

"I dumped him, to be clear."

"Good girl."

Raises her face then, a weak grin. "You've always had something to say about them."

"Not true. I liked the one before." He really had. They'd gone for several double dates, and he'd even been on a couple of happy hours with him, just on their own. This last rebound hadn't been open to the same kind of invitations, but Taichi rarely took those things personally. Had his own share of partners who'd had trouble figuring out how to fit with a friend group like theirs.

"I liked him, too." Presses a palm over her mouth, looking blankly into the dark ahead of her. "But I'm starting to figure it out, why it didn't work." Tilts her head a bit, tiara slipping off, tangling between loose hair. She doesn't bother to fix it, so he doesn't either. "I think I thought I needed these big, romantic declarations, to know for sure." Her shoulders lift in an innocent shrug, at ease in herself. "Turns out it's the ordinary kind that tells you."

He paces across the sidewalk, glancing further up the street to watch out for an available taxi. "Ordinary how?"

Tilts her head as she smiles, gaze turned upwards. "Like, 'I'll call you as soon as the cabin light goes off, so you know my plane landed safely' ordinary. 'I stopped at the store on the way home, do you want dinner in' ordinary. The 'nothing's wrong, I only have a second and I didn't want to text because it's been hours since I heard your voice' ordinary. You know?"

He's amused, not really listening. Still staring up the street. "So, boring."

"No, not boring!" She traces the outline of the word in the air with her finger, "Mundane."

"And mundane's romantic?"

"That's what I'm learning." Mimi shivers, folds her arms around her stomach, folding into herself against the night wind. "Mundane doesn't break your heart."

He smiles, triumphant, and raises an arm, beckoning at the cab that's finally turned the corner. "Everything breaks your heart."

He means it as a compliment. How she feels everything intensely, purely. Every high and every low. Lets herself know the world, and be known by it, in the truest way. It's something he's always admired of people like her, or Miyako, Daisuke, Yamato. So much more connected to their emotions than—

She's crying when he turns around. On his knees in front of her in the same second. "Mimi." Has her face in his hands, helping to stay her trembling, but it's not enough. She shakes her head, digs her fingers into his arm through heaving sobs. He presses his palms to her wet cheeks, trying to think what any of the others would say better than he can, all the right words he never seems to have for times like these. Clumsy in the effort, searching to bring her to solid ground, "Mimi. Look at me."

She bends suddenly over her lap, forehead striking his shoulder hard enough to push him off balance. His arm around her waist, bringing her with him. He tries to move his other arm there, too, keep her unharmed in the tumble off the curb, hears the car rolling to a stop a few paces behind them. Her nails scrape at the skin of his wrists, and she's saying something between gasps for breath. Moves his hand to the underside of her chin, forcing her face up to his. "Look at me, Mimi, you're okay—look, here, here, see? Use me," and pries her fingers off to press one of her palms to his throat, over his pulse, the other to the center of her chest, over her heartbeat, "You're here, right? I'm here—just breathe, okay? We're both here."

"But I don't—," she shudders, red-faced, tear-streaked, "I don't want to be here—,"

"I know," turning his head back towards the waiting cab, the driver frowning at them through the glass, "I can—we can go, let's just go back—,"

Grasps at his arm holding her palm to her chest, twisting her fingers around to cling to his wrist. Flattens his palm there, so his three middle fingertips press over her heart, his thumb and littlest finger cradled to the undersides of her breasts, outstretched hand spanning nearly the width of her chest, holding her together. Her pulse is erratic, and somehow not present, not at first, not over his, breaking through a wall he hadn't realized he'd built up in his head between them. "Then take me back." She begs him, or anyone, "Before any of it. I don't want to be here. I want to go back, before I knew hearts could do this to each other." Clutching the collar of his shirt in her fist to pull herself close, wanting to be held even closer. So he does, until he can't tell the difference. "I want to go back before I knew."

"Who are you bringing?"

"Haven't thought that far."

She licks the broth off the back of her spoon before returning it to her empty soup bowl. "It's in two days, Taichi."

"Like I said. Far." Digs out another spicy wing from their shared basket in the middle of the table, sleeves rolled up with the collar unbuttoned, loosened tie and lanyard tucked into the breast pocket. They're seated under the back corner under a plastic tent, the outdoor food stall one of a handful to stay open this late, but the only one that had dishes they both liked. It'd taken ages to find a free day that worked for their separate schedules, and he's taking his time with it now, on his third helping of fried street food, just to keep her.

"Then get on it." Her voice a warning, her fingers drumming her cheek. Wearing his suit jacket around her bare shoulders, sweetheart crop top with wide-legged trousers apparently too cute an outfit to saddle with sensible outerwear. Anything to keep some of the lingering salarymen a few tables over from staring at her like he hasn't noticed. Keeps an ankle locked around the leg of her stool, makes sure they see him settle it there. "Miyako's going to be really mad if you bring someone none of us know."

Grunts through a shudder, familiar with their friend's well-intentioned temper and never desiring to be its recipient. Keeps his gaze lowered to the basket of wings, casual tone. "Who're you bringing, then?"

Smiles brightly, very proud to reveal the no-pressure hack she'd come up with to get around this dreaded situation. "I didn't ask for a plus one! I know it's not often we all get to be at these kinds of gatherings, so a few days before, I find out which of us is also going with themselves, and then I make a friend date. It's how I got Jou to go with me to Iori's wedding."

"Not 'made'?"

Tsks at him, refusing to let his jokes spoil her mood about this new strategy of hers to never be alone. "It's better going to these things with friends, anyway."

This he agrees with, and not just to quicken the conversation's end. "Jou'd be top of my friend date list, too."

"And Koushiro can be quite fun."

"I'd bite."

"Yamato, when he's not being fussy."

"I like him fussy." Picks the bone clean between his teeth, and she shudders, long since given up on trying to correct his table manners, prime him into the statesman he'd somehow become on his own, but managed to turn off when around old friends. Tucks her chin into a small palm instead, sighs loudly. He rolls his eyes, used to her one-woman show. Licks barbeque sauce from his fingers. "Keep going."

"Hm?" Mimi's still frowning, trying not to be distracted by the mess he's made of his meal. Like for all his civil service work, he's still never heard of a napkin, liberated from the burden of living in polite society.

Waves the meaty wing about. "Jou, Koushiro, Yamato…," and trails off, watching her expectantly.

Her face is an utter blank. "Jou, Koushiro, Yamato…?"

Waves with more enthusiasm, eyes growing wider. "Jou, Koushiro, Yamato…!"

"I don't—what are you talking about, Taichi?" He flicks the chicken wing at her, snapping a spittle of sauce onto her chin from the gesture. She gasps, clapping both hands over her face, reeling, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" because he's not sorry. "If you're going to make up a list like that, at least finish it."

"Fine." Sits as far back on the plastic stool as she can. "Jou, Koushiro, Yamato, Sora, Miyako—,"

"Okay—,"

"—Daisuke, Takeru, Iori, Ken, Hik—,"

"Okay!" Kicks the leg of her stool, but she's held onto the table.

Snaps, point made, "Do you hear how ridiculous that question is, then?"

"You're the one making fun rankings out of our friends." He says this with his bottom lip curled nearly all the way, a spectacular pout. Couldn't have taught him better. "Isn't that ridiculous?"

Grumbles under her breath, "I don't know why you're so serious about—,"

"—I'm not serious about anything," but won't look at her when he says it, so quick his words tangle up with the end of hers.

Mimi exhales through her nose, gathering up their used dishes on the serving tray, standing to return them to the food stall's service bin. "That sounds like a you problem." But stops at the side of his stool on the way, arm outstretched to pull his face up, no longer able to restrain herself from the need to make unpresentable things less so.

"You're my problem." The side of her thumb running over the sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth, her hand slipping when he'd jerked his chin petulantly at her touch, hooking his bottom lip so that's where her finger lands, stilling them both.

His lip is soft to her touch, just shaven jaw so smooth under her palm, but what startles her more is the heat that stirs low in her belly when he opens his mouth just enough to let her thumb press further between his teeth, his tongue to the pad of her finger. The hitched breath she takes drawing his eyes sharply up, that look to their hard dark brown compelling the only possible reply. "Then I'm a good problem to have."

His lips part, and her thumb wipes up the rest of the sauce. Brings her fingertip to her mouth while he watches, licks it clean, slow to savor, held gaze. He breathes suddenly, like he might have forgotten how. "Mimi." His voice hoarse with an undercurrent of desire she'd never heard from him before, wrapped around her name in his mouth.

Presses her thumb between her lips again, looking at him like she knows. "Taichi."

"There you are!" Daisuke swings an arm around her waist where she's stood. He's staring around the tented hall with a scowl, never bothering to hide what he thinks about anything. "Why do you two even like this place?"

"Don't judge," scolds Hikari, scooping the last wing off her brother's plate, patting his arm in warm welcome. Takes a bite herself first, holds the underside up for Takeru to take his own bite, while Iori pulls up a couple of stools up for them, and Ken smiles, "Everyone has their preferred tastes."

Koushiro has found two more chairs by then, one too wobbly for Jou's liking. The latter is wiping the seats down with a handkerchief, the former helping Sora with two oversized grocery tote bags smuggled to the brim with a generous interpretation of the bring-your-own-beer notice tacked to the food stall's counter. Yamato ducks under the tented opening next, shaking out his long hair, flipping Daisuke off when he wolf whistles at him over the gesture, holding the screen open for Miyako to squeeze by.

She squeals, clapping her hands, and beelines to Mimi's other side, never very happy about having to share her with Daisuke, but agreeing to be peaceable about it now, only two days away. "I'm glad we could do this." Beams at everyone. "Once we're all there, it's going to be so busy, we won't have any time just ourselves."

"You could fix that by not packing so many useless events into one weekend," gripes Daisuke.

"If by 'useless event' you mean 'wedding'," sighs Jou, while Koushiro muses, "It's well scheduled, and will be good to spend time together like that. There's even karaoke at the first reception, right?"

Ken holds up his hands, as though bowing out of responsibility already. "Entirely optional."

"Entirely required," barks Miyako. "So we're not going to any karaoke tonight, because I want you to save those vocal chords for the weekend!" Clings so hard to a still silent Mimi that Daisuke lets go, now trying to squeeze himself onto Takeru's stool. Takeru shoves him back, raises his beer can. "Either way, best show of the year."

Hikari scoots to make room for Daisuke on her chair. "If you'll just remember that it is in fact not starring yourself."

"How would that be any fun?" And they laugh, startling Iori, who hadn't realized he'd made his joke that audible.

"Let's do try to remember that we're all here for you both," says Sora, managing to make it sound both a clear warning to those about to be up to no good and a tender reassurance to the couple in question. "Whatever you need, all weekend," adds Yamato, his arm around the back of Sora's chair. Kicks Taichi's stool. "Why're you quiet?"

"He's on edge," teases Takeru, leaning forward with a wink. "Haven't gotten that chargé d'affaires to say yes to your plus one, yet, have you?"

Hikari's blushing, embarrassed for having let the secret slip. Pats her bother's arm, again, in support. "She will. She's just busy, like you said."

"I just want to finally meet this woman," says Daisuke, eager. "See who nabbed ya."

"She's sweet," shares Sora, eyes twinkling. "Ambitious, fun. Totally his type." And Hikari adds, "Even our parents like her."

"To be fair," deadpans Iori, "they like Daisuke, too."

Everyone laughs again, the group unraveling then, usual chatter. Mimi pulls her arm out of Miyako's grasp, gestures with the tray of used dishes she's still holding. "I have to put this back." Returns each item to its place at the stall's service bin, still wearing his suit jacket she can't give back without everyone else noticing, too. Waits for her breathing to cool, for her heart to go back to before she knew.

He's at her elbow, cleaning up his own tray. Voice in her ear, lowered for the two of them. "It's not what you think."

Steps aside, opening the space between them. Smiles at him, honest and true. Fingers curled into the jacket cuffs, fabric layered with the scent of him, pressed to her skin. Looking at her like he knows. "I don't think anything."

"Open this now."

Doesn't, amused by the wrapping paper she'd used. "A little on the nose, maybe?"

"I happen to think I'm very funny." She's cross-legged on the floor, waiting for his reaction. Everything's in boxes, neatly marked and labeled, but not by his hand. Sora'd been through it first, repacking his lazier efforts while yelling at him for his lack of forethought. Yamato had stopped her from entering the flat when she'd arrived right in the middle of their arguments, lingering bored just next to the entrance, his bent elbow resting casually on her shoulder as they waited for the eventual peace treaty. "This is how they say goodbye," he'd told her, his justification for not intervening.

She'd flinched at the word. "Friends don't say goodbye." Remembers this now as she watches Taichi turn over the package she'd handed him, the day long spent, alone now. He's across from her on the floor, too, an assortment of half-eaten readymade instant food spread between them, each one a brand or flavor or product he won't be able to have again for a long while.

Shakes his head as he starts to tear at the custom paper, hand-stamped with exit visas of various countries, all dated to tomorrow. "Let the record show." Admires the leather wallet, his name engraved along the bottom. "One day I might actually make enough to put something in this."

"You chose the public service profession of your own volition."

"For the greater good," and grins at her. Mimi sits back on her heels, smiling gently. The silence that settles is familiar then, though new. She wonders how much longer she'll have to live with it, even after he's gone. Raises a hand to brush her hair back off her neck. "Well, anyway. We should go soon. I'm not supposed to tell you that Koushiro and Hikari have planned a big surprise for you at the karaoke club, but you shouldn't be late."

He makes a face, reaches for the bag of candied fruit and takes a handful into his palm, passes her the rest. Slumps down onto the floor on his back, knees bent. With a sigh, she slides down next to him, looking up the blank ceiling together. "Why don't we stay in?"

"There's nothing to stay in. All your stuff's packed up."

"Could still have fun."

"More fun with more friends."

Knocks his knee into hers, "Maybe."

She rolls onto her side, tucks her cheek over her folded palms. "Why won't you let us celebrate you?"

Kicks his legs out, stretched across the floor. "It's not that." Waits, and when he's still reticent, scoots herself close enough to poke his shoulder with her chin, as sharp a jab as she can without making any other effort, too comfy where she's laying next to him. Leans her cheek to his arm. "Feels like it'll be real, if I see everyone."

"What's real about it? Friends don't say goodbye." It's become a refrain these days, repeating it at each turn. Jou's residency, Miyako's travels, Yamato's assignments. Even Daisuke'd gone off on his own, though came home more frequently than the others. She understood growth, supported and encouraged it, too. Her life's work a bit easier, though, to meet each of them in any next place. It's why she never takes these temporary departures seriously, tells herself this one will be like all the rest, too.

"They grow up, though. Apart."

Closes her eyes than have to listen to anymore, shutting the truth out. "I think you'll feel worse if you don't go. Maybe not now, but later. And it'll be fun!" He says nothing, and she raises herself to an elbow, frowning down at him now, her hairstyle ruffled out of its once neat appearance, pooling over her shoulder. "I don't like you moody."

Stretches his hand to a loose ribbon of her hair, curling it between his fingers. "Can you blame me?"

It's a while before she tries again, reluctant, her cheer dampening with the weight of tomorrow. Still, determined not to let it show. "I think you're looking at everything the wrong way."

"Mm?" Still plays with her hair, studying every soft strand.

"It's an earned promotion, a new city, a fresh start." All true, and after a split second of thought decides she's got every right to be blunt. "And what did you expect after breaking things off with your boss? That they wouldn't transfer you both elsewhere?"

Taichi groans, snapping his arm back and rolling away from her, gathering himself off the floor. Rehearses through the defensive line, yet again, "She was a chargé d'affaires assigned to a completely different mission—,"

"Still a higher rank—,"

"I'll get there one day!"

"Mm, she got there first, though, and now she's at—,"

"Then you date her!"

Mimi makes her eyes wide, gasps at the possibility. "Could I?"

Flips her off with both hands, then walks forward, palms open, helps her up. "Come on. I've got a surprise farewell party to pretend I didn't know about."

Shimmies her way to the door ahead of him, pulling easily out of his hold, not seeing the way his hand opens out for her, then falls back. "Takeru promised a dance off, too."

Nods appreciatively, more interested in the plans for the night then. "There's an idea."

"We've all seen you try to dance, so I wouldn't get too cocky."

"I've got more rhythm than you." And knocks her hip with his as he passes her to the empty hallway, sending her scuttling in a gasp.

Spins around, facing him with the brightest eyes, dangerously ambitious. "Oh, I'm teaching you a lesson tonight."

"Already learning a lot of things." Stops at the doorway, grinning when he glances at her, pausing only enough for her to see it, and hear it, too. That undercurrent, that old promise of her name wrapped around his mouth. She stills, a hand's reach from him, arms at her side. "Like how friends don't say goodbye, apparently."

Hesitates. "No," and smiles after a moment.

Nods again, slower that time. Looks past her when he asks. "And are we friends?"

She doesn't hesitate then, but doesn't answer either. Knows any reply would be a lie. Instead, lets it show. Walks herself back a step, and then another, further into his empty flat. Everything packed away, put in its place, leaving only her, and this thing between them. Meets the edge of the kitchen counter, leans against it, both hands braced to the ledge, until he's reached her there, too, covers one hand with his own, rests the other on her hip. Shivers when she thinks about his fingerprints on her there. In all the hidden places.

"Mimi." He asks her again, "Are we saying goodbye tonight?"

Curls her fingers around hem of his sweater, teasing the threaded lining with her thumb. "What else is there to say?"

And it takes only a second, maybe less, to slip, to spark. The soft curve under the bow of his lip, the firmness of its taste against her own. His intake of breath asking for permission, the tender urgency when she grants it. How much he's thought about this, how often she pretends she hasn't.

"Never?"

"It's true." Shrugs, having accepted her fate with as much dignity and grace as anyone else, which is to say she continuously reminds everyone about it. "You and I have never been to karaoke together."

"Just ourselves?" Staring at her with his mouth open and brow furrowed. "How is that possible?"

She counts it off with her hand. "You always got me in trouble in school, so we didn't get to go then."

Starts to flick at her wrist, but stops at the last moment, glancing out at the field from the edge of the carpark, knows they're not alone. "It takes two to make that kind of trouble, so let's bench that memory editing."

Ignores him, but her smile softens. Raises another finger. "You weren't around much after you started uni, so even when we had plans, something always came up."

"And yet," presses his hands further into his jacket pocket, angling towards her. Wry grin, "how many of those times when I actually showed up did you bail on me anyway?"

Easily dismisses this, never paying attention to anything she doesn't want to. Palms his shoulder instead, leaning back on the edge of the picnic table where he's seated. She'd set up a small refreshment station there, arranged with the usual snacks and drinks, participant trophies at the ready for every player, regardless of outcome. When he moves to draw her closer, an arm behind her lower back, she lets him. "Sometimes we'd try to organize going with friends—both our usual and not usual. And that always went poorly."

His hand wraps her waist, sliding up, then down again. "See why they say it's hard to try to keep friends as adults?"

"Your problem, Taichi." Twists his ear.

"My favorite problem." He checks the field again before pressing a bite into her hip, over the waistline of her skirt, earning a harder ear twist.

Adjusts the marred crease on nice fabric. "I told you I would be."

"Mm-hm." There are those dark browns again, grinning at her, up to no good. Puts her hands on his shoulders, ready to ease him back, remind him where they are. Has a harder time with it when he's looking at her like this. "What?"

Not like her to hesitate, but she needs him to hear her. "Did you ever think it'd be like this?"

He didn't. Still finds the whole idea of them impossible, really, all these years later. How they'd slipped into an unspoken understanding with each other, without anything to explain. "If you want, I'll tell you how both of us knew it would all come back to this, that it was each other all along, or that everything's led to here and always would."

"But it's not true," she finishes, still smiling.

"I don't know if it is, and I don't know if it isn't." Shakes his head, aware of the time then, or left. "I'm only ever going to tell you what I know," and lifts himself up, standing with her. His favorite place to be. "The first being that you are more than a good problem, Tachikawa. You are a major inconvenience."

She laughs, grasps his curls, only the slightest of peppering of grey at the temples. Can't wait to see how he'll talk himself out of this one. "Oh, the rest of that list better be good."

Turns her so he can cup her face with both hands, thumbs to the underside of her chin, fingertips at the nape of her hairline. "Okay. Then how about, I know that my plane just landed and I wanted to tell you I got home safely." Her eyes open wide but he keeps going, pulling her closer, his kiss swallowing her first laugh. "Or, I know that I stopped by the grocery store, and I wanted to check if I should pick you up anything. Do you need anything?"

"No," she giggles, and kisses him again. "Do you?"

"Yes," and kisses her a third and longer time. "Because I know that it's only been a couple of hours, and I only have a minute, but I just wanted to hear your voice."

"Mm." Leans her neck back, lets his mouth roam there next, "How very inconvenient it is, having me in your head so much, interrupting all your best laid plans." Somewhere near, too close for comfort, footsteps approach, and she feels his sigh fan her throat, a soft kiss to her shoulder.

"Now you get it," says Taichi, both her hands in his. Presses the weight of his browbone across her forehead, his thumbprint to the inside of her wrist, tracing small soothing circles into her skin. "It's never been about making sense."

"When have we ever?"

"Don't go getting any while I'm gone."

"Don't tell me what to do." He starts to reply, but the interruption's arrived by then, his assistant apologetically pointing out the time, the driver opening the rear door to his chauffeured ride stalled in the carpark. Keeps a hold of her hand with one, fingers laced tight, and shields his gaze from the early morning sun with the other, trying to make out just one from the small players on the field, wave goodbye at least. Sees the referee call out first, and has something to say about it almost at once, stepping forward. She stamps on his foot, scuffing the leather she'd shined just that morning, not an ounce of remorse. "And don't you dare be that parent!"

Tries to step on her back, or she's too fast on her heels, shaking herself free of his hold. "You actually want me to let that call go?"

"I want you to let him fight his own battles."

"It's an elementary school, not a warzone." Makes a sour face at the pitch again, like maybe the referee hasn't realized the difference either.

"Exactly," and lifts herself on her toes to kiss his mouth shut. Smiles wide when it works, and how it always does. Tucks her thumb to that pretty dimple in his left cheek, leaves her fingerprint there, in all the hidden places. "Go catch your flight, Ambassador. Your world needs saving, and they're not going to wait."

Catches her elbows, pulls her close, one last time. "But you will?"

Mimi heaves a long sigh, making a show of thinking it over. "I suppose it's worth the inconvenience."

Sinks his teeth into her bottom lip, just enough to pinch, make her squeal through a laugh. "Miss me a whole lot."

"Not even a little." Her favorite lie to tell.