when I talk about you, I'm afraid to say too much
somebody asked about you, if there's something more to us
but if it is love, doesn't matter, there's nothing to discuss
and I think you know

"hope is a heartache" by léon

"Did you know I'm in love with Koushiro?"

"Aw, me, too."

Strikes at his elbow on the table with the newspaper, clucking at bad manners. Grins through a mouth stuffed with buttered toast, taking the folded papers before she can land another blow. Barely skims the first headline before he's chuckling. "Wow, they're thorough. Got pap pics and everything." Flicks down the left ear of the broadsheet to reveal comically wide brown eyes, dark caramel turning sunlight into gold. "Is this why you've been trying to keep me inside all weekend?"

"That's entirely your own doing." Grumbles as she swirls her peach bellini, distracted by the refraction through clear crystal. All light oddly less precious, after him. She doesn't remember when that happened. Him, of all people. Even now he's a lazy mess in old sweatpants and a wrinkled undershirt, his son's name etched into the faded leather bracelet wound to his left wrist, unruly curls peppered grey at the temples. Doesn't know that she's already thought up half a dozen schemes to dye the spots out herself, unable to risk anyone else discovering how unfairly sexy age has made him. Sighs and looks away as the light shifts, distrustful of herself when she thinks about this fact too long. "And it doesn't matter, since I can't go anywhere without starting another rumor anyway."

He hasn't noticed. Never does, somehow. "Definitely not, as according to this illustrated timeline here, you've been two-timing on Kou since being reunited with your first love after all these years." Cackles to himself, oblivious to the way her eyes narrow as his crusty snort shatters all illusion. Hasn't told him how many of his public hearings, scheduled interviews, well-crafted speeches had her mesmerized, wondering how two worlds and counting managed to get that smooth polished side, leaving her with the blemished undercut that's now eating the soggy bits of half-chewed bread he'd spit up laughing a minute earlier. "I admit, that's quite a predictable plot, but tropes are loved for a reason."

Buries her face in both hands. "Jou has me call his wife every time they print that, even though she's the one who posts the headlines in the group chat thinking they're the most hilarious thing. He says it's the principle."

Half-listening, his smile a permanent fixture these days. "And aren't you both fresh for talking about principles while having not one, not two, but three love children with Yamato between you." Turns the open pages around to better admire the centerfold. Nods along to the article, almost wistful, and she's not quite sure for who. "Still, if our species really could advance this beautifully, I'd thank you for your service."

Drops her hands to the table. "You're not funny."

"I couldn't write funnier headlines, that's true." Turns another page. Slams both feet onto the ground, sitting up straight. Humor a thing of the distant past. "I'm sorry, what about you and my sister?"

Pats his shoulder as she gets up, reties her silk robe. "Don't worry. I was very gentle."

His turn to bat at her with the rolled up paper, the lightest smack to her right calf. Does nothing to change her course, but does give him a better glimpse of the article on the back. Makes a show of falling over in his chair. "You're in a polycule with Takeru and Daisuke?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would, actually." Calls into the room through the balcony door she'd left open, "I'd like to know when exactly you had the time to be romancing Ken, traveling to spend every weekend helping Iori pass the bar, and eloping with Sora when her mother couldn't accept—and I'm quoting here—your Austenian love story?"

Sniffs, nose in the air. "I think that was after my first love child with Yamato, but before Miyako and I began a clandestine affair when Ken took on my blackmail case." Grumbles again, despairing, too sincere to keep up a joke for long. "All because I sent her those flowers for their anniversary, and the stupid florist misprinted the card so it was just her name on it!"

Tosses the bargain bin tabloid over the remnants of the hotel breakfast, his stretched arms above him, glancing blissfully into the enclosed garden around their suite. No care in sight. "What you get for thinking you can go out and about your life in public like the average person."

Pokes her head round the door again, lured by the promise of imminent flattery. "Because I'm not average?"

"I mean, these are pretty average stories." He's smirking.

Pouts, whipping her head back, hair tumbling from its loose bun. Trailing rose oud and amber. He's on his feet before he can even tell himself to move, follow her inside. Anywhere, really, but she still doesn't know this about him yet. "Be jealous more quietly, please."

Laughs, "Of what?"

"That all these columnists and bloggers write about me the most."

"I'm written about." Far more, comparatively.

"Not with me." Not like them.

Mostly amused by this, and also mostly not. He ignores the latter. "Truth be told, I'd like to be thought up in better stories with you than these."

She looks at him in the bathroom mirror, his back perched against the door frame, arms crossed. "You don't know what it's like to be written about like that." Continues getting herself ready for the day, movements more strained than normal, tense at stiff joints. It makes him soften his tone, watching her carefully.

"It's not fair."

"It's not—," and stops, staring at his reflection again, surprised by her thoughts in his mouth. He hadn't always been able to do that. Stumbles still, but tries to understand better, or at least more than he used to. Realizes then, sudden as it occurs to her that, for him, she is worth learning, worth refining. Sifting the earth for the precious kind. He steps forward, taking the brush from her hand. Gathers up her hair, combing with his fingers first. "Men don't have to deal with things like this," she goes on after a moment.

"Not usually, no."

"And if you do, then it's as trophies, or notches in the belt." She breathes out a heavy sigh. "Women just get reputations. It's not right." She says this as quietly as possible.

He twists three plaits slowly. Threading hints of vanilla, flecks of saffron. "Want me to make a call?"

"That's even worse," and her shoulders sink further in the beginning of a tantrum, but too deflated to follow through. She doesn't quite know why it all bothers her this much, this time. "Having an actual diplomat fight my battles for me."

"You kidding?" He finishes knotting the hairband, watches as she inspects his work in the mirror. "I'd be warning them you're coming."

Bright faced as she flips the braid back over her shoulder, preening at the smallest bit of praise. "If only it were that easy. But I will suffer nobly—,"

"—I believe that word is pronounced 'noisily' in your case—,"

"—for the sake of others." Her brow furrows then, serious once more. "And I think I'd rather it be me than you."

This is a little surprising. Head on a tilt, "Me, me?"

Rolls her eyes at the overdone pun. "You've got a reputation, too."

"Sort of."

"And it's an important one."

Shrugs it off. "Maybe."

"'Maybe,'" and mocks out the word like a foreign concept. "So, you'd rather have a different one?"

Turns her around with his hands on her waist, walks her backwards into the wall. "Maybe."

"Really?" and laughs into his kiss, transformed. Feels herself rise up in it, breath drawn to an aching whimper when he rediscovers the spot over her pulse he'd worn down the night before. "Mm, okay, but—you promised—,"

"What did I promise?" His palm on her hip, pressed heel on bone.

Pulls him back in a whine of frustration when he parts from her only long enough to speak. His turn to laugh at her eagerness, her nails pinching the skin at the nape of his neck. Tease. "You—you said we'd go outside today."

"The balcony was outside." Sucks her bottom lip as he lifts her against the wall, a move that has her knees apart again, riding up his thigh, seeking friction.

"That's not—," but a soft nip behind her ear, and she forgets the rest. Always made sure that the marks he'd left stayed beneath her loose hair, underneath the collars of her blouses, below the hemmed waistband of her skirts. Told him once how much she needed his fingerprints on her, in the hidden places, for all those nights she'd had to recreate his touch on her own. And there were many nights like that, which she'd known from the start. Known that it'd be difficult, that it wouldn't quite fit, that they'd be better just friends. Raise less eyebrows, attract less questions, face less rumors. Not have to justify what made sense, because they didn't really. But she'd never wanted sensible—she only wants to be known. Press the tip of her finger to the center of every tender proof. Evidence of his knowledge.

She's nearly out of words. Still, a gasp, "Nn, okay—,"

"Mm?"

"I want—,"

"I know—,"

Laughs, bated breath, arched back. "I want to go out." Seen, the part she doesn't say. With you.

He hears it, but jokes anyway. "You sure you should be adding to that top ten list so soon?"

Fists his curls tight, enough to make him hiss low with pleasure. "Are you really making fun of me right now?"

"Think your complaint's better lodged with the papers." Tries to kiss her again, but she rests her thumb on the corner of his mouth, her pulse slowed once more. Lets him shift her weight to bear it all on him, the way he carries everything else. Like it's easy. Of course he's meant for this, looking at her with a hazy smile, the sort she'd never seen in a press photograph, or old snapshots. This one's just for her. That's the problem.

Gathers herself, still held up. A small palm gracing his unshaven chin. "Why doesn't it bother you?"

His eyes clear. Pulls her off the wall, into his arms. "What bothers you?"

It occurs to her that he really doesn't see it, the missing headline. The only one she reads for, all those mornings she should know better. "That we're so impossible." Voice thinner than she means.

He looks at her for a long time. Then, a slow nod. "If they say so." Nuzzles his nose against her cheek. "But if you ask me, I'd—,"

Pushes back again, from him. Ignores his deep sigh, because she's been wanting to make this point for a while. "I meant it, before. I really would rather it be me. It's annoying, but I've learned to deal with it, even when it's unfair. But, I'm." And stops. Gathers a bunch of his shirt collar, clutched tight in her hands. "But I didn't go to college. I don't have a settled career. My family's self-made." Raises her chin, then, proud of where she comes from, what she's done. Even if it means this: "So when people think about you, of course, they never think about me, too."

He's drawn his head back to look at her fully. She keeps going, unwilling to wait for him to reply. Finds a cheerful tone, for the both of them, worrying the collar of his shirt between her fingers, gaze focused to the worn stitching. "I mean, without those things, it'd've been too obvious." Thoughtful, and bitingly candid, without malice, or conceit. These are facts, and they both know it. "After all, I've become very cute, and sweet, and I think the best of everyone, and I like to help people. I'm a great match." Pauses, a genuine epiphany, her gaze wide-locked with his. "No wonder stories with me are so easy to write..."

"I could've told you that." Rolls his eyes.

Scrunches her nose. Cute, and sweet. "As if you know."

"If it's worth knowing." Maneuvers each of her bare feet onto his own, his arms locked tight around her lower back. Waddles the both of them out of the bathroom, her face ballooned pink to keep in her laughter at the silly penguin walk. "Like, you and Kou? Cute as fuck. Pretty sure you're his only tether to our reality most days."

Shuffles slower, raising her arms around his neck for a sturdier balance, slipping off her silk robe. "Jou's always wanted to take care of people, do right by them. But you're the one person he lets take care of him, the way he actually needs."

Reaches the edge of the bed then, tips them backwards onto the mattress as she shrieks from the sudden dip. "Yamato's calmest with you. That mask he puts on, with everyone else? Never seen it on long around you."

Wrestles her around the bed, raises his evened voice over her yelps, her squeal buried in one of his armpits, "Sora's actually honest with herself if you're with her. Yamato, or Jou, or me—nothing any of us have to say has ever made a difference as much as a single word from you."

Tickles her knee, escapes a kick. Rolls her over the duvet, ducks when she finds a pillow, grabs one of his own. "I can't tell you and Daisuke apart most days. He might actually be your soulmate, or at least the same side of the same coin."

Tackles her with a well-timed strike of the thickest part of the pillow, dives ahead so it's his shoulder that breaks their tumble into the headboard. "Around you, Iori actually lets all ten guards down, Ken's the picture of inner peace. And Miyako might actually love you more than her children, probably'd be the first to say as much, too."

Feels her laugh against his throat, runs her palms underneath his shirt. Takes the hint to pull it off with one hand, the other still wrapped around her waist, rolling her under him. "Takeru doesn't let anyone know, 'sides Yamato, and maybe Sor, that he hasn't been able to sleep through the night once since Patamon. But he always manages it if you're the last one to talk to him."

Pins her deep into the mattress, kicked under the sheets, tangled limbs. Kisses her so slowly. All the time in the world, and in the other. "And if I really had to choose someone for Hikari, well—,"

"Enough," with a throated gasp of need, and joy. "You've made your point."

"Ten points."

"Mm." Knees anchored to his waist, locking tight. "You know me."

His hand finds hers, clutched above her around the top of the headboard. Sure and steady. "Better than yesterday."

That's the other problem. Chews a swollen lip, plumped from his attention. "And tomorrow?"

"Have I ever been a tea leaves kind of guy?" A blithe response, but these are facts, and they both know it.

There's that pout again. He imagines she must know what the bow of her bottom lip does to him. Yielding in ways he'd never allow of anyone else. "Tell me."

Scoffs, "I don't gamble with the future." A last defense, already crumbling at the heel.

Draws out the final ace up her sleeve, puckering her mouth in that way she knows buckles him at the knees. "Isn't that all politicians do?"

"Hey," a biteless warning, grins to match her shameless smile. "I'm a civil servant."

"Hm." Rolling her hips up to chase his. Laughs when his breath draws sharp, his face a perfect blank of wonder. Like he'd forgotten the feel of her already, always in need of reacquaintance. "I think that makes me your boss, then."

A miracle he doesn't stutter, head emptied from the thought alone. Takes advantage of his aroused submission to hook her legs around his waist, flipping him. A practiced move, with proven history, flat on his back in reverent surrender. This one's only for her. He doesn't remember when that happened. Her, of all people. Hadn't looked at her twice in their youth, or the years after. Crossing paths only through closer friends, during reunions, at work, the odd match. Her name stuck to the top of his outgoing calls, rose oud and amber between the threads of his cotton sheets. One day, a presence in his periphery so eternal he should have taken it for granted, the way he had others, Koushiro, Sora. The next, like Yamato, a force to alter his gravity, tilting his axis ever so slightly in her direction without his realizing he could slip this easily at all.

Finds his voice, in the meantime. Hoarse, gazing up at her. "So that's your goal?"

"Definitely not," and smiles. Bends to ghost her lips over his bare chest. "I like you on top."

Eyes darkening, grin wolfish. "How my reputation precedes me." Sliding off her shorts, palms under her knees to coax her further up, her thighs settled to either side of his head. Her turn to laugh at his eagerness, bracing herself with one hand around the headboard, the other hitched in his hair, when his mouth meets her center. A well known path.

Still, a gasp, "So you admit it matters to you?"

"I—," and groans, head sinking back on the pillow, from her. This he needs his senses for. "Quit thinking about it."

"The papers don't quit writing about it."

"The papers—," but her eyes are red, suddenly. He yanks her down, back in his arms again. Makes himself a shelter.

"Today is just temporary, you know." Muffled between her teeth, chewing the worst thoughts back, and failing at it. "Eventually it's tomorrow, and there'll just be another stupid column with it."

"Why are you thinking that far ahead?" His hand moving down the slope of her back, then up again.

Her sigh is more of a laugh, but not embittered, only the quiet before the storm. "Why don't you?"

"You really want to know?"

The flushed color's gone from her face, breathing evened again. Arcs a perfectly sculpted brow, lets him tease the angled line with the nail of his smallest finger, resigned to second and third applications of her make-up around him. Just curious, he'd told her, at the beginning, immune to her scolding. Realizes later, that for every mark he's left on her, he needs one to carry back into him, to carry her. "I really want to know."

Mirrors her so they're exactly face to face. "Okay. My father used to wake us up whenever he came from drinking parties at work. Every single time, and there were a lot of times. My mother always got mad at him for it, and to be fair, it was really fucking annoying, but he just could never wait to see us." Eyes bright, if glazed a little, at the memory. "When I moved out for college, you know, remember? That first place I had? He actually came once, completely wasted, the night before graduation. Brought all his co-workers from whatever bar they'd been at, supervisor, too." He's grinning, a sheepish blush wrinkling his nose. "Pissed off my neighbors yelling that I was going to be better than all of them, go further than they ever would. 'Just watch him.' And he was right. I've gone so much further than him." Closes his mouth, still smiling. "He's been gone six years, and I still keep getting farther and farther away, when all I want is for him to wake me up coming home drunk out of his mind, just one more time, because he couldn't wait until tomorrow to see me."

She'd become quiet over the slow telling of his story. Nods when he looks at her, at the end. "Well." Presses the flat of her palm to the center of his chest. "Who could wait until tomorrow to see this face?"

"Let's add smart to that list," and laughs, low and easy. An arm circled around her lower back, closing the distance. Like there could be one anymore, between them. "Way, way before cute."

Chokes back a snort. "Stop trying so obviously to get in my pants, please."

"'Try'?" Mocking at the word like a foreign concept.

Flicks him, tsking under her breath. He pulls her closer, asking to know her, skin to skin.

"Don't think I don't." See, hear, understand. "It's only that I can't let them have tomorrow. That's what I learned from him. That tomorrow belongs to me. It's mine, with you. And I'm not wasting it by waiting for their version. I'm making mine today."

Her breath draws with a small tremble, holding his cheek. Watches him turn his face to kiss her palm. Pulls herself into him. "Be patient with me." Whispers this near his ear, head cradled in the safe haven of his shoulder. "I'm going to try not paying attention to it anymore. But be patient with me. Okay?"

Smooths the worry from her small of her back. "You could just let me call." He'd meant it then, too.

Shakes her head, wisps of hair tickling the underside of his chin from the movement. "Let's keep it."

Sighs, wistful, and she knows exactly for who. "Imagine the bets we could collect off 'em, though."

"Did your goldfish memory already forget our entire conversation about not wanting to make headlines?"

Another flick, but he's ready that time, grabbing her hand, yanking her around into a fierce bear hug, crooning, "But the pranks—,"

Makes a small fist to dig into his shoulder, bursting at last, "It won't be a prank to him!"

Blinks slowly, and then far too quickly. Flings herself off him, a betrayal. "Wait—you're saying this whole thing, all this fuss over the papers, is really about your biggest fan?"

The dam breaks, her face cracked open. Sits up, braid unraveling from the hair tie. "Well? Do you want him growing up with those stories? All about my secret love children and torrid affairs? No matter how ludicrous? Imagine the things he might start thinking if—,"

"You want to know what he thinks about you?" Scoffs, rolling over to his cell phone off the bedside table.

Yelps, trying to grab for it. "No, the time difference—!"

He's already dialing, sitting up. Runs a hand through his curls, unimitable locks mirrored only in the miniature copy that brightens the video call screen a moment later, sleepy caramel brown eyes turning twilight into gold. Melts him, too. Another side the papers never seem to see, or know, about this man she knows, and is known by, too. "Hey, kiddo. No, I'm okay. I wanted to see you, and I couldn't wait. No, I really couldn't! What tomorrow? There is no tomorrow with you! You're my favorite person, sweetheart. By miles and miles. I always want to see you. And guess who else does? Ah, ha! Where was that enthusiasm for me a minute ago? Don't lie, you little punk—no, I'm not giving her the phone, I've changed my mind about wanting to talk to you. Well, too bad! I'm your father, which means the next time I call you, greet me properly! No—nuh-uh, back to bed—I said, back t—hey!" and the screen's dark, her phone ringing next, where it lays on the other bedside table. His mouth's dropped open, the blatant favoritism a twist of the knife. She scrambles, throwing her robe back on, pinches her cheeks to make her face brighter. The knife digs deeper. "You don't get ready for my calls like that!"

Doesn't even glance back, her smile the biggest it's been all day. "Oh, honey, why are you awake so late? Aw, he did? Yes, he is very mean, I agree." Ducks a pillow, effortless. "How can we make it up to you? That's a fun idea! We'll make your favorites. How many? That many! Are you sure you can eat all of them? Oh, I think I could eat...four cookies. Well, if you eat five then I'll eat...seven cookies. Ten? Oh, my gosh, that's too many for you! How about we bring some of them to your mother next weekend? Yes, we can make some for your class, too. And your teachers, of course! Yes, Auntie 'Kari, too. What about Uncle Yamato, Auntie Sora? Yes, I think Uncle Jou'd very much like some. Oh, I think we should do a special batch just for Mr. Izumi. We can make little decorations, too, for Uncle Dai and Uncle 'Keru. How about the Ichijoujis? And Mr. Hida? And maybe...we can make a special one, for your father? No? Well, that's okay." Another pillow, stray hairs gently lifting from the breeze as it sails past the back of her head. "All right, mister, it is way past your bedtime. We'll see you tomorrow, before you even know tomorrow's here. I promise. I love you, too. Okay, night, night."

Turns around to see him huddled in the middle of the bed, surly. "Satisfied?"

Flips her hair back, "Very much so."

He's unimpressed. "There's nothing the rags could come up with to get that brat out of your fanclub."

Blows him a kiss. "Be jealous more quietly, please."

Throws the entire duvet at her and she shrieks again, skipping an escape to the open private balcony doors, hands on either side. "Oi, where d'you think you're going now?" Taunting at her, grin already slipping out, then slipping clean off again, when she drops the robe and steps back into today. Bare skin in full sunlight.

"I told you." Smiles, like maybe she does know, after all. There's no where he won't follow. Beckons a single finger, the one she has him wrapped around. "Outside."