~*~*~

Red-letter day.

It's permanently marked on my calendar.  The day I met Fujimiya Ran. 

He always tells me I'm crazy.  I mean, we didn't even hit it off the first time we met, and that's putting it lightly.  Suffice it to say that the first few months of our meeting was not quite the bed of roses one would like to believe.  No love-at-first-sight for this couple. 

I still mark that date faithfully every year though, each time making it a point to remind Ran of that episode.  He always tells me to shut up, but his words carry no bite. 

As I watch him, I see the half-smile on his lips as he carries on arranging his precious flowers and I smile to myself while I continue with the day's business – I know he loves me.  And I know he remembers what happened that day with as much clarity as I do.

~*~*~

"Asshole," I muttered to myself as I ignored him and stared pointedly in the opposite direction.  I was never one to pass up on any opportunity to ridicule and laugh loudly at others' expense, but at my own misfortune – it was intolerable.  It was humiliating enough to have been bested by fucking ants, molested by The Bitch Terror (*shudder*) but to now be mocked by a total stranger was the rotten icing on an already putrid cake. 

Oh god, he's still talking.

I gave up pretending to ignore him and turned back to glare instead.  My patented glare – though granted, not as good as Crawford's – was still good enough to have intimidated its share of villains, average folk and innocent animals in its time and it was now directed fully at him. 

GLARE.  GLARE.  GLARE.

It did not have the effect I wished.

The idiot did not let up and unconcernedly kept up a long monologue with his bowl of miso soup, with no one in particular, with the air in front of my face – occasionally sending small showers of blessing my way when his story presumably became more exciting and he began gesticulating wildly with his chopsticks as if trying to physically draw the incident.

Bloody hell.  A fragment of tofu just flew into my eye.

Blinking angrily, I continued glaring at him.  To no avail.  It was as if he was utterly oblivious to the fact that he would have already bled to death had my Glare™ been knives.

It's a skill, I thought to myself.  Definitely a skill.

"…and then Ken tripped over Omi while trying to run away from Yohji and fell flat on his face!  And because Yohji was shouting and shaking the bottle of "shampoo" at Ken while chasing him, some of the liquid spilled out and he slipped on that…"

I was stuck with the fool.  I spent dinner debating if sitting next to Mrs. Greenwood was a greater torture than him.

I could not decide.  Believe you me; at that point, the two of them were neck-to-neck in the Irritating Race.

"…smelled exactly like rotten eggs……three weeks!  …faded…awful green! …so vain about his hair……refused to forgive……bribed……."

I stood up and stared at my half-eaten dinner.  Eat or stay? 

I stepped back from the table and walked away, still absent-mindedly scratching at the ant bites on my arms.  Oh well, it was unfortunate.  And they were serving my favourites that night too.

I most decidedly did not like him.  No sirree.  What an irritant.

~*~*~