She is too intense, I can barely look at her without getting burnt.
She comes dressed in sunlight, warm kisses, cool spring. The golden gown she wears to the wedding is nothing but exquisite, clinging without mercy to every soft curve and sharp bone in her body. There are Swarovski crystals, pounds of them, from what he hears Sora say, all hand-sewn to the delicate fabric of her gown. She is wearing transparencies, glitter, pure gold, and she moves like a dream, with sway, like the succubus he knows her to be.
When she comes closer, he can see the 1000-watt smile from a distance and he takes his leave, touching Sora's arm and mumbling about getting them drinks. He finds, to no-one's surprise, that Taichi is also at the bar. His former-classmate, bestfriend, would-be-best-man, is not exactly hunched, but not exactly proud as he is wont to be. Yamato takes a seat next to him, orders a glass of cognac.
"What are you drinking?"
"Light," he says, shrugging. "Beams of liquid sun."
Yamato frowns as he is brought his drink, shaking his head.
"You sound like her."
Taichi stops, takes a look at him and at his drink and chuckles, dryly.
"We're a sorry pair," he states, quite unnecessarily. "After all this time..."
"Let it go, Taichi," Yamato says, quietly, but Taichi continues as if he hadn't heard, and perhaps he hadn't.
"She looks fantastic," he says. "That colour ... I can't even look at her."
Her tinkling laughter reaches them and they both turn as she places a delicate hand on both their backs. She squeals in delight, reaches up to kiss Yamato in the corner of his mouth, laughs into Taichi's neck. She's got them wrapped around her little finger, even after all this time. Years of an on-and-off relationship, of tirelessly fighting to keep his head afloat. Of fighting to keep his best friend by his side, and still...
"There you are!" her laughter tinkles. "I've been asking about you."
She hasn't. He knows, because he's been staring at her since she got there, has been aware of her since she entered the room.
"I had no idea," Yamato lies, just as Taichi lets out a well-practised chuckle and says, "What an honour."
Her smile doesn't falter but he swears something flickers in her eyes and he is met, once again, with the pathetic hope that she realises just how much power she has stolen from them. Stolen, because Yamato never intended her to turn him into this.
"It was a beautiful wedding," she says, as though the silence between them wasn't awkward, and charged. As if her eyes didn't burn them wherever they landed. "Noriko-san looks so sweet. She and Daisuke have been very lucky to find each other."
"Ah, luck," Taichi says with a well-timed sigh, "that elusive bitch."
Mimi pretends not to hear him as she draws closer, asks for a glass of whiskey; no soda, two ice, a wedge of lemon. Yamato's senses are on alert and he knows Taichi is on edge too; he can feel it, like the way an animal can feel the quiet gathering of a storm. Mimi takes a long drink, then slowly licks her lips.
"I wish you would stop that."
He looks up but she's talking to Taichi, who is still staring at her with eyes that look ready to smolder.
"Excuse me," he says. "I think they're calling out for me."
"Taichi..." she says, but he is already gone.
Yamato drinks from his glass, then sighs. "He wasn't expecting to see you, tonight."
"And you?"
Yamato only shrugs, looking away. Her hand is small on his back, warm where she has touched him with hesitant, graceful fingers.
"What are you doing here, Mimi?"
"I missed you," she says, and he can hear her voice quivering, can imagine her lower lip trembling but this is all background noise, secondary to the burning of her palms as they rub up and down his arm, try to goad him into turning around for her... "I really wanted to—,"
"Mimi, I—," but just as suddenly, her hand stops and the sudden loss of contact feels cold and hard. He turns around finally, and immediately wishes he hadn't. The young doctor is handsome, towering but with a gentle face. His hair is cut short, modern, efficient — it has the tellings of a Tachikawa decision all over it, and Yamato's mouth fills with sand at the thought.
"Oh," he says, then stops. "I'm very sorry, I didn't know you were busy—I'll come back later."
"No," she says quickly, flying to his side. "Jyou, this is a friend, Ishida Yamato. Yama-kun, this is, Kido," a second's hesitation and then, "—my Jyou."
He can see it then, the rock on her finger. His eyes widen ever so slightly and she realises, because she's suddenly blushing, coy but not at all ashamed, and he looks up at the polite stranger and wonders if the man can hear his heart breaking against his ribcage.
"Pleased to meet you, Kido-san," he manages in a high, clear voice that surprises even him. "—I didn't know congratulations were in order."
"Oh!" the man says and now, he even stammers a little. "Well, it's rather recent and we, well, Mimi didn't want to draw any attention away from the newlyweds."
Mimi is staring at him, golden-brown eyes a mixture of apprehension and what he now knows is fear, but he only shakes his head, his smile like barbed wire.
"That's very thoughtful of you both," he says, and the couple seems to glow for a moment, and it only makes him want to gag.
"Thank you for your well-wishes, Ishida-san," the young man says politely. "But Mimi, I need to leave for a moment, I was hoping you could excuse me with your friends."
"Oh no. Yes, of course Jyou. Don't worry about it."
He smiles, genuinely grateful.
"It's been a pleasure, Ishida-san," he says and Yamato shakes his hand even, wishing he could say the same. "I'll see you back at home?"
Mimi looks at him with those same eyes, the same sort of look that Taichi had for her once, and he grows very still as he turns around, always serene. He doesn't ask if she was going to tell him but he draws nearer, touches her pale arms and the goosebumps on her skin make him shiver. His cold hands brush over cold crystals, soft mesh, warm skin and he bends down to kiss her in the corner of her lips. His lips scorch and she parts her mouth but he draws away before she can draw him in, suck out what little life still remains in him.
He thinks of her as he walks away, and what it would feel like to be able to hold her like Kido Jyou, still her with a few well-chosen words. He thinks of the way she looked at him when he last kissed her, the way she looked at him when he last made love to her, the way she looked when she told him she was in love with Taichi, and with him, and that she belonged deeply to herself. And he thinks of how her kisses hurt, how her fingers burn, how she steals the air out of his lungs and the life out of his heart and how the good doctor has finished what she started, stealing her away from him for good. He drinks her whiskey, his cognac, another round of champagne.
She is gone, gone, gone, and how it hurts to watch her go.