November 2005.

Taichi is sleeping. He falls asleep in the afternoons as of late, because he's working a night shift because he wants money for digs. We're not paid to go to school, he's stated more than once, and hot dogs aren't free.

Taichi is the biggest idiot I know, and I love him.

Sunlight filters into my living room through the window in lazy streams, playing over Taichi's face and his hair. He needs a haircut. In the light, it burns a red-gold-brown fire not quite the colour of tea that angels might drink. He's splayed unceremoniously over my sofa -- well, me and Dad's sofa, but we won't nitpick -- and his chest is rising and falling steadily, his breathing nearly silent.

I've listened to his breath, damp against my neck, his lips near my ear, for three years now. Oh, I've listened to a lot more than that, too.

I'm strumming Mimi-chan -- my new acoustic guitar. I promised Mimi that I'd name my newest guitar after her, when I bought it, because of a long, silly conversation which revolved around what musicians named their instruments. Mimi said that as soon as she got off the phone, she was going to christen her family's baby grand as "Yamato-sama the Second". I don't know if she ever did, I keep forgetting to ask her about it, but the guitar is definitely Mimi-chan. Taichi said it was creepy. You're strumming Mimi-chan, he snorted, and I just grinned, and suggested maybe I should have named it Taichi-chan. He got a wicked glint in his eye, and we didn't even think about instruments for the rest of the evening.

Taichi stirs in his sleep, and murmurs something I don't catch. He throws his arm across his eyes, shielding himself from the sunlight and awakens.

"Ima nanji?"

"About three thirty."

"Damndamndamndamn, I have to work--"

"No, you don't, you idiot. It's Sunday."

"It is?" Taichi blinks at me, huge dark eyes, then breaks into a sheepish grin. "Oh, yeah. Forgot."

I chuckle softly, and keep strumming. Taichi sits up, yawning, stretching. For a brief moment, as he curls his arms over his head, I'm granted a brief glimpse of tanned stomach, tantalizing.

"Your Dad out for the evening?"

"For the next two days. At his--" I snicker, and wiggle my eyebrows "--lady friend's."

He grins. "Not a girlfriend, but a lady friend?"

"When you're on the wrong side of forty, I believe that's what you get."

"Is there a right side of forty?"

"Ha!" I laughed, stopping my strumming and leaning Mimi-chan against the wall. "Good point."

Taichi yawns again, getting up and stumbling over to me, half-falling haphazardly into my lap, snaking his arms around my waist. I hold back a giggle as he nuzzles my midriff, almost purring.

"So...we're all alone for the evening, hey?"

"Yep."

"Geh...what about dinner?"

"You're always thinking about your stomach, you dolt."

"No, my stomach's always thinking about me. What're we gonna eat?"

"Hmm...I'll make my famous call to the pizzeria."

"Ah, baby, that's why I love you."

"Because I buy you pizza?"

"Yep. And because you've got such a sexy ass."

I yelp as he pinches me on the afforementioned area, and glare.

"You're a fucking hentai, you know that?"

"Hell yes," he growls, his eyes becoming darker as he stares up at me, almost predatory. "But you love it."

"Oh, yeah, right."

"You do," he whispers, getting to his feet and pulling me with him, crushing my body against his own and putting his mouth over my own. Oh gods...Taichi...

"See," he murmurs when he pulls away, a dreamy little half-grin on his face, his fingers tangling in my hair. The sunlight's still playing over his face, his hair, his eyes sparkling. "Told you that you loved it."

"Yeah," I rasp out, almost trembling. "I guess I do..."

I still don't know how he does this to me. I've been in love with the blockhead for three years, and he can still render me totally and utterly gone.

"So," he whispers, pulling me close to him once again. "What shall we do this evening?"

"I don't know," I whisper back, feeling myself blush and hiding my face in the crook of his neck. "What do you want to do?"

I could feel him smile.