[03/03/16]

Ice is a difficult thing to love.

They meet again years later, at the TV station where he worked. At first she had been surprised, apprehensive, a little embarrassed. She had almost run then, but she reminded herself that she wasn't here as some intern, recent graduate looking for a job—this was her show, her time, and he knew that. Still, a little awkwardness had to be expected. The last time they had met had been under far different circumstances; he was working on fixing his estranged relationship with his youngest son and Mimi was trying her best to fit into the family she expected to marry into.

It hadn't worked out exactly right for either of them though, and it surprised neither of them when that became their parting point. His invitation to coffee, on the other hand, surprises them both. The first cup is small talk, How are you, Ishida-san? and I've been very impressed with your work, Tachikawa-san, and she can feel the strangeness of it stirring in her belly. This is the same man that often caught her (unapologetically) making out with his son on the couch, floor, bed, kitchen counter, who used to make him walk her home and then drove out to get him only because he wanted to make sure they had plenty of time to talk. This man was also the person she last saw, the day she finally left. Somehow, the memory of his dark eyes and that sad look never left.

The second cup ends up with her laughing as he lets her know how nervous she's making most of his team. They're easily intimidated, he admits, but it doesn't help that she's so pretty, and successful, and smiles as brightly as she does. He catches himself at the last moment, drinking his coffee as they both refuse to acknowledge what he has said out loud. There's no need to, because Mimi knows she's a lovely young woman and he always knew she'd grow up into this. The only thing is, he didn't expect that she'd also be alone.

It's been two hours and three cups later, they still sit together, each thinking of his or her own failure and how they missed the signs, how they would have done a number of things differently if they could. Mimi thinks that maybe, she would've left sooner, wouldn't have kept her eyes shut to what she had known in her heart to be true. Yamato had been in love with her, had loved her madly even, but what he and she considered eternal and true, were far too different things. Hiroaki, on the other hand, thinks that if he had listened, if he had seen it before, he would've never glanced back at a Natsuko that wouldn't ever be his, not really.

"Sometimes, I think he's just like me," he says after a moment, and he's looking at her strangely. "But the truth is, he's always been more like his mother."

"Natsuko-san..."

"Left, and didn't once glance back."

He's quiet after that, and she is no longer smiling. Outside, the snow falls heavily. It's not like they show on Christmas TV specials, the snowflakes aren't beautiful, or perfect; it's cold and the snow clumps on the sidewalks and the air bites into her exposed skin. She draws her coat tighter around herself, stealing a glance at him. He hasn't had a smoke in over three hours and she supposes he's really itching for one. Still they walk, and still his fingers twitch inside his pockets.

As they draw nearer to Shibuya, she feels lost in the anonymity for a moment. So many people here don't know her name, or his, though they watch their televisions every evening. She walks further from the stores, on to the parks that have been abandoned in a search for the warmth and comfort of large department stores. Hiroaki glances at her shivering form, red nose, long hair. It has been so many years since he came to terms with his divorce, how he just didn't make his then-wife happy. But looking at Mimi, he can't possibly imagine why she wasn't enough for his son. There's no way around it—they're both here, now, together, because other people had left them. That it was his son only made him feel worse, like he somehow had a part in the unhappiness life dealt to this girl and he had been thinking about this when he asked her for coffee, perhaps, a little nod to say I know what it's like.

Mimi thinks of Yamato, how he hates the snow, despite what everyone thinks. It hadn't occurred to her before today, that she might have had an idea why. She turns around in the semi-deserted brick road, stands in front of her would-have-been-father-in-law and kisses him full on the mouth. He doesn't react—he doesn't kiss her back, and does nothing to push her away. A couple of seconds pass and Mimi steps back, sighing, and he sees her again for what she is, alone and heartbroken.

"I still love him. He doesn't even know I'm back, and I still love him." Her hand clutches her breast, desperately. "Does it ever stop burning?"

His hand touches her cheek, but she is looking past him, searching already for someone else.

"You're warm," she murmurs, and Hiroaki hesitates before pushing her hair out of her face.

"It's hard, when you're warm-skinned," he begins softly, the words clumsy on his usually uncouth tongue, "to distinguish fire, from frost."

She is quiet, but he can see the exact moment when she understands, and it is almost enough to break his heart all over again.

"Was Natsuko-san ever this cold?"

He smiles so briefly that Mimi is almost afraid to blink. But then he shrugs like it isn't important, like this isn't a part of their life anymore.

"Ice burns too, Mimi-san."

He finally does take out a cigarette, lighting it despite knowing the wind will consume most of it anyway. He takes a long drag, tries to protect the small flame.

It's helpless, he knows, but so are they.

Notes: I can't believe it's been almost a year since I started these, and there's only eight more chapters to go. This is both exciting and daunting, so very daunting.