loved, lov·ing, loves (verb, transitive) – 1. To have a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward (a person).
I returned the dictionary to its shelf and retraced my path back to the café, not wanting my coffee to get cold without me. Words on a page, black and white, transitive verb – was that what I'd meant? It seemed impossible to believe, now. 'Tender' and 'affection' were not words generally associated with me, and there was a good reason for that. I was a duelist, a corporate leader, a man who lived successfully because I depended on logic instead of emotion and people. Looking at the words printed so sharply and coolly on paper, I couldn't believe I'd ever brought myself to say it.
It's her. And this place. For well over a year they'd been my escape but I was stupid enough to think that I could section Coffee girl away into just that, that she couldn't affect any other part of me. She wasn't just the girl that I read with anymore, she wasn't even just a girlfriend I saw once a week. She was the girl I thought about constantly.
She was on my mind in the mornings, when I woke up and showered. In the day, when something happened at work I wondered what she would have thought of it. At night, when I was tinkering with something in the lab I imagined how she would stare and ask questions, never understanding the complex answers that followed but always understanding how much it all meant to me. I fantasized about kissing her, and then the two of us in a more horizontal position where just kissing wasn't enough. It was so bad I couldn't even concentrate on the now-daily memos from Hong Kong.
2. To have a feeling of intense desire and attraction toward (a person).
So maybe it is love, after all.
'definition'
If Coffee girl noticed my restlessness then she didn't say anything, exhausted by her own trials in discovering freedom. Work was six days a week now, with the occasional overtime, and now that her brother was speaking to her again she'd reverted to spending the weekends with him. Still a little awkward, she confided, but thawing slowly and surely. Her mother was less amenable, and lowered eyes when I asked told me all I needed to know about that. For two weeks she'd been crossing days off her calendar until the big move, packing up clothes and taking a box over to the flat now and then. Her landlady generously offered to help her pick out a futon and drive it home, but other than that there would be no furniture.
"The only thing in my room that's mine, besides my books and clothes," she'd told me, "is my little pink TV. So it's not like I have to worry about actually moving anything. I'll get my own futon and then eventually I can pick out some nice rugs to put over that nasty carpet. It'll be fun to decorate."
The eternal optimist.
She dropped into her usual chair with book and paper cup, tired smile on her face. "Hi."
"Hi. Today's the big day, right?"
"That's right. Last night was my last time to sleep at home, and it felt so strange. Most of my stuff wasn't even in my room anymore. And Mom was so unhappy. I felt bad for her, but I wasn't about to give up after coming this far. So tonight, I'll just go straight… home. To my new home." She shivered and clasped her hands nervously.
"I don't think I've ever spent a night alone before. I'm sure I'll get used to it, but I wonder if it will be a little scary."
"You'll get used to it. Here, I got you something." I gathered my resolve and produced the wrapped gift from my briefcase, pushing it across the table with one finger. I didn't wrap it, of course, you can pay people at the mall to do that. Coffee girl looked surprised. "A housewarming present," I explained. "To celebrate moving."
"Oh! You didn't have to do that, how sweet. Can I open it now?"
"Sure."
Smile a little less tired now, she peeled back the paper eagerly. Underneath she found a DVD, and when she saw the title her eyes popped open wide.
"Casablanca!"
"Collector's Edition," I added. "I saw it in the store and thought you'd like it."
"Oh, you're wonderful… but I don't have a DVD player."
"Yeah, I'd guessed that." I cleared my throat. "It's in the car. Your other housewarming present."
Coffee girl stared at me.
"But you -"
"I wanted to. Really. If you like, I can hook it up to your TV for you and then… we could watch it. Together." My hand covered hers but neither of us broke eye contact; dimly I heard my heart beat a little faster. For a long time she just stared, then she smiled shyly.
"You really want to watch it?"
"I really do."
"Then yes. I'd love for you to come over."
Reading time never passed so slowly. But it did, and that night when I drove her home – her true home – I came upstairs and installed the player for her. It was the night of the first Sunday of August, and hot, but she opened windows to catch the breeze.
We curled up on her new futon, and I watched Casablanca for the first time. She spent her first night in her new home. We also did something else for the first time, and afterwards I collapsed next to her on the sheets with a mumbled "I love you."
3. To embrace or caress, to have sexual intercourse with.
"I love you too," she whispered, and it was good.
- - - - - - - - -
Change and business have always had a curious relationship. Change can bring opportunity, rocket the most unsuspecting entrepreneur to multinational stardom – or it can bring a fall from grace and annihilate not just a man's company but the entire industry. It all depends, I suppose, on how watchful the man is and if he's paying attention to the world around him. I'd always thought, given my stellar track record in the office and the duel arena, that I was one of the best.
I was wrong.
Change and business were two things very much on my mind the next Sunday, after Coffee girl's first week in her new home. She greeted me with a shy "hello" and a light pink blush on her cheeks, no doubt full of last Sunday's memories, and I greeted her with a nod and a brief smile of my own.
"How's the loft?"
"Oh, it's fine."
"Spending the night alone all right?"
"Oh yes. You were right, I got used to it. Still…" Her voice dropped a few notches. "I'm glad you came over last week."
"Me too."
"Did you like- um, did you like Casablanca?"
"It wasn't bad," I acknowledged. "In fact, it was great." I covered her hand with my own and held it, there on the café table. "Maybe we can do that again, sometime?"
"Definitely," she concurred quickly, and nodded. I hadn't expected any other answer, but I was relieved nonetheless. Apparently the way I hooked up the DVD player to the TV pleased her.
So all was well, but those two things were still on my mind. Coffee girl opened her book and read, I browsed through my papers and read, and by the time six o'clock rolled around I'd made up my mind. I'd been a part of her changes, and she should be a part of mine.
"I have to tell you something," I announced, quite abruptly, and she blinked. Something in my expression must have worried her, and she bit her lip.
"What, is anything wrong?"
"Huh? No, it's nothing bad. In fact, I have really good news. It started in June and I kept meaning to tell you, but things distracted me. The head of an arcade chain in Hong Kong gave me a call; seems they've been doing some marketing research over there and the region has a high consumer count of duelists. Until now the cards have always been imported from Japan and played the old-fashioned way, but this guy is ready to import more. He wants to distribute my company's product."
Coffee girl's brow creased slightly as she tried to follow the meaning of my words. "And, that's good?"
I exhaled. "Yes. That is very, very good. It means he's going to install my dueling arena technology in arcades throughout the city and resell the portable duel disks to game stores. I'm sending two of my top executives to live there and help the buyers market the products effectively, and I'll have to hire on dozens of new employees to cope with increased demand. The contract with Indonesia will have to be renegotiated. It's big – millions of yen big."
"Oh! Well that's wonderful, I'm so happy for you." She beamed and reached across the table to squeeze my hand in congratulations, but I wasn't through yet.
"I have to go there."
"What? To Hong Kong?"
"Yes. Not all the details are sorted out and I can't put the company through something this big without even meeting the local buyer at least once. To finalize the contract, the company lawyers and I will have to fly over, and we're going on the 17th. I'll… have to miss a Sunday."
"Oh." Her face fell a little, and her gaze dropped. "Oh, that's too bad. But- this is a really big deal for your company, it's important. You shouldn't worry about it."
"You could come with me."
Her chin turned up so sharply it must have hurt; stunned, she stared. "What?"
"You could come with me," I repeated, lacing my fingers through hers. "I'll be there five days, four nights, but I won't always have to be working. We can see the city together, go see anything you like. I haven't seen Hong Kong personally, but a lot of my vice-presidents have and it sounds like just the place you'd like. Lots of culture, shopping, old temples and art museums and things." She was still staring at me and I found myself pressing the case more urgently, wanting her to say yes more and more every minute. "I'll pay for all of it, of course, hotel and restaurants and so on. You don't have to worry about airfare, it's a corporate jet. You'll need a passport, though – do you have one?"
Her eyes had started to look a little glazed, but she nodded.
"And we'll be back at least a week before your classes start. It's just five days, could you get off work?"
She took a few moments to consider that, and again nodded. Silently.
"Well?"
"I- I don't know."
"Say yes. I want you to come with me, I don't want to go there with just lawyers for company. I'll, um, miss you."
She flushed and gripped my hand more tightly.
"Sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed. I've never been asked to an exotic foreign city by a boy before."
"I should hope not. So what do you say?"
She opened her mouth and then hesitated, gently working her hand free of mine. "I don't know. I don't think…"
"What? That it wouldn't be fun for you? You wouldn't like it?"
"No, it's not that." Coffee girl's expression looked slightly pained as she groped for words. "It sounds wonderful. I'd love to go. It's just…"
"Just what?"
Her eyes flicked across our surroundings and she shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable. "Can we go somewhere else?"
She didn't wait for an answer before she was out of her chair, her small and quick steps taking her out of the café and amongst the bookshelves. I followed her until she could see no one else and had stopped and turned.
"It's my brother."
"What? What does he have to do with anything?"
"Oh, how do I say this? If I go away with you, then I'd be missing a Sunday too. My Sunday with him."
"Only one -"
"Yes, but I'd still have to tell him something. And yes," she added when I opened my mouth, "I know I could lie. But after everything that's happened between us, things are just starting to get back to the way they were. He's my friend again, and I don't want to mess that up. I could lie to him but I don't want to. I don't want to have to keep something like a trip to Hong Kong a secret from him."
She took a deep breath, apparently nerving herself, and looked me straight in the eye.
"If I go with you, I have to tell him. About us."
I shrugged, fractionally. "Okay."
"Okay? Don't you understand how dangerous this could be?"
"As compared to telling him and your mother you're moving out? Compared to finding your own home and your own job to support it?"
"Well, no. And yes." Restlessly she paced the narrow width of the aisle, wringing hands. "I've grown a lot these past months, and you've helped me. I should be able to tell the truth, right? But I've kept so much from him and now I've got so much to tell; I don't know how to break it to him about you. He hates you more than anyone else I know."
I huffed exasperatedly. "Just because your brother feels the same way as half the city doesn't mean he can't learn to cope with us being together." She was making me dizzy, wearing a path on the carpet like she was, and the whole absurd situation had triggered a swelling frustration within. "Look, maybe I should just meet your stupid brother already. If you give me a chance to talk to him, he might realize he doesn't hate me after all."
Coffee girl stopped walking so abruptly, it was as if she'd bumped into some invisible barrier. Wearing a very peculiar expression on her face, she turned to me and said,
"What?"
There are moments, in a duel, when a card is drawn and the very air around me is charged with expectation. Even if the card is my opponent's and I see nothing but the look in his eyes, my skin crackles with anticipation and I know everything is about to change. I could feel such a moment now, inexplicably, and without reason my heart beat a little faster.
"I said," I repeated carefully, "that we should meet. Let me talk to your brother, give me a chance to make my case to him. He can't really hate me if he doesn't even know me."
Coffee girl's expression hadn't changed; if anything the strange look in her eyes had only become more pronounced.
"But you know my brother."
This time it was my turn to stare, so thrown that I could only say, "What?"
"You've met him before, you've often spoken with him. I saw you; he's the one who – well, he didn't exactly introduce us but he was there when we first met."
One bewildered stare met another, my mouth opening and closing helplessly while everything around me changed. Impossible, Coffee girl and I first met here in the bookshop. Didn't we? Vaguely I remembered some stray thought that she'd looked a little familiar, but such musings had been swept away by our many hours together. I hadn't even thought about it in over a year.
"What?" I said again, for lack of anything else to say.
The puzzled lines across her brow smoothed out, gradually, and the light of understanding came into her eyes. "Ohh… I get it. You -" She hesitated, looking almost unable to believe her own words. "You don't know who I am. Do you?"
Stare. Stupidly.
"What's my name?"
"Uh…" Coffee girl?
"Wow." She backed away from me, shaking her head in amazement. "And all this time I'd been flattering myself, thinking the great Kaiba Seto actually remembered me, that he liked me even in spite of a brother whom he despises. But you didn't know me at all. It's bizarre, yet it's almost funny. What have you been calling me, in your head, for the past year?"
I couldn't bring myself to say it. Trapped, frozen, I watched her push a few strands of hair back from her face and exhale.
"I guess I can't blame you, really. I mean, you had about a thousand and one things to worry about when we met. I was shy, I hardly spoke to you. And I think you were far too busy to even look right at me, so it's no surprise that you didn't remember me."
What was she talking about? When? Where? I fumbled to ask but was silenced when she raised her eyes to meet mine again.
"I have to go. Excuse me, Mr. Kaiba."
She turned and I snagged her elbow, a reaction almost purely instinct. My brain was still reeling. "Where are you going?"
"Home. I think I'll take the bus today, if you don't mind."
"But- but, what about Hong Kong?"
"Mr. Kaiba, I've already slept with a man that doesn't even know my name. I don't think I can go on vacation with him too."
Was it just my imagination, or had she already said my name more often than she did all last year? Rubbing it in that I didn't know hers? "Then tell me."
"No, I don't think I will." She wriggled out my grip, looking quite calm but with chin held high. "Since the first time I sat at your table, Mr. Kaiba, I thought you didn't care who my brother was, that you liked me in spite of all the nasty words you two have exchanged. Now I don't know if that's true. Maybe once you figure out who he is, you'll dump me."
"I would never -" She silenced me with two fingers on my lips.
"I'll be back next week. When you know who I am, maybe then I'll believe what you say. Ja ne."
This time I didn't move to stop her. With a swish of her long brown hair, Coffee girl – no, that's not her name, damnit – turned and left me alone with the books.
'identification'
For the first time in four months I entered my car alone, and drove straight home. My brother's face was hardly more than a blur when I stormed into the house, my direction to go on and start dinner without me tossed over my shoulder on the way up the stairs. Everything she'd said for the past fourteen months, all the clues, were swirling through my mind and frantically I tried to piece the puzzle together.
Nasty words exchanged? Despise? That's no help, I despise almost everyone I know and nasty words are part of my regular vocabulary. He hates me – so does most of Japan. But she said I'd spoken with him often, so he had to be someone I've met more than once. An employee? Her brother couldn't possibly be old enough to be one of the executives on my top floor, but maybe a lab tech…
No, that didn't fit. He was still in school, she said so, and I only hired college graduates for the tech positions. School! Maybe he and I went to the same high school? But I never spoke to anyone in that wretched place all the years I was there, so it didn't seem likely that I'd bothered crossing words with someone I didn't like. And it wasn't the sort of place that I'd have a thousand and one things to worry about.
Duel Monsters, then. She said her brother played the game, that had to be it. The thought had barely completed itself before I was in the second room of my bedroom suite, yanking open the doors of a tall wooden cabinet. Since the very beginning of my dueling career I'd filmed and saved every match that I could, collecting rows of surveillance tapes for study and analysis. Any top duelist that ever played in my park was in here; I had footage of every duel I'd played along with all the duels in my own tournament – city and blimp. Recklessly I started pulling discs from the shelves, combing through cases labeled by both name and date. She'd given me no timeline for a clue, but I wouldn't 'speak often' with some no-name duelist that never made it past the first level of a tournament. I eliminated any of those from the pile and started popping in disc after disc, going first through the ones with my own duels.
Nothing, no clue. I recognized a lot of faces, some less pleasant to remember than others, but how could I know if Coffee girl was sister to any of them? How could I not know the first time I met her? The only person in my life to never ask a thing of me and the only one that I'd give anything to, and I was such a myopic bastard I didn't even notice her. What if that bookshop hadn't given me a second chance?
Still no good. Impatiently I tossed the latest disc back onto the desk and inserted another, watching small and silent figures zip back and forth across the screen at an unnatural fast-forwarded pace. Multipersonality disorders, shrill blondes, loudmouths and the usual batch of relentless cheerleaders: business as usual. Nothing I wasn't familiar with…
Wait. Stop, rewind.
I could never miss that hair, blowing in the hard breeze that only those atop an airborne blimp could know. Coffee girl had been a ringside witness to not just any random duel but the final matches of my own tournament, a special invitation-only event. If that was where we first met then she was right, I did have a thousand and one other things to worry about. But now I was here again, and this time I was paying attention.
Volume, up.
To no avail, of course, even if she was talking to anyone it was impossible to hear over the shouting duelists. A little apart from the others, almost on the very edge of the screen, she hugged her arms to her chest and watched the duel with rapt fascination. I heard my own voice and she turned her head, looked right at me for just a moment. In the next moment her attention moved on, and she waved with a smile. Her lips moved in a greeting I couldn't quite hear, but I could see.
Nii-chan.
Who did she wave to? There were so many people. I rewound a few seconds back and this time I kept my eyes on the other edge of the screen. Nothing to see at first, just a hand that waved in reply from beyond a cluster of people that blocked my view. It wasn't until the duel finished and the crowd shifted that one of them moved forward, supporting the owner of that hand on one side as if he'd been injured. For exactly one second the camera caught his face, and I could see. I had only one word to say.
"Shit."
Why did it have to be him?
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Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.