After Hours

Summary: Mimi returns home to realize her dream of opening an upscale coffeeshop bakery, with only two things in her way: the dive bar on its last legs in the basement, and its owner, who just so happens to be her college ex-boyfriend. Well, they won't stay long. One way or another, she'll get that space, too, and expand her culinary empire even further. Mimi guarantees it.

Remember the rooftop parties
Remember the friends
Remember the way I love you now
And the way I loved you then

("Now and Then" by Lily Kershaw)

then

She felt like silk under his hands. It was a stupid description, something only an amateur would have come up with, but that was exactly what she'd turned him into, a hapless, hopeless, reckless newcomer to the only way he could ever see the world now, after her. He wanted to tell her as much, he'd always wanted to, but every attempt before and since had ended up exactly as it did that morning, when he'd opened his bleary, bloodshot eyes to find her own looking back at him, and I think I love you came out as, "I think I left Sora at the bar."

Yawning, Catherine snuggled herself closer. "She's fine. Kou's got her."

At her reassurance, Taichi felt the hum of his hangover dim a little, or maybe she was the tonic. "What would we do without Koushiro?"

"We should marry him."

"Me first," he said, and kissed her, pulling himself up and over her as she sank into the one good pillow, tussled hair caught between his fingers and his face tucked into the curve of her neck. "I think I dreamt about you."

She laughed at the whimper he made when she moved her hips beneath him. "A good one?"

He would have answered, should have, but then his head was too full of too much: of Koushiro talking too long and Sora laughing too hard, of Catherine leaning too close and Takeru sharing too much, of Yamato walking too far and Mimi—

He blanked, emptied.

"Don't—!" shrieked Catherine, ducking out of the way just in time for Taichi to launch himself over the side of the bed and dump his face over the bin, retching. The night of bad choices had caught up with him, accelerating with every burst of pain across his dark brown eyes, each one drawing more bile up his burning throat. Catherine suppressed a queasy shudder at the sight and took charge, looking for something to put on. "I'm going to get you some water."

"Aspirin," he gasped, "please—,"

She was dressed and gone just as he heaved again, sides convulsing, his eyes shut tight. He pressed his sweaty forehead into the bend of his arm as it hung around the rim of the rubbish bin, fingers curled into a steadying fist, trying to keep the world from spinning out.

What the hell had he drunk last night? All he remembered were grimy walls, worn advertisements, a dark stairwell, and something…something breaking open.

Her hand was on his bare shoulder and he jumped, then groaned at the triggered churning of his stomach, and she instantly slunk back, wary. "This is not a reaction to you," he reassured, spitting.

Catherine tutted. She held a glass of water and an open bottle of aspirin at arm's length towards him. "Of course, it isn't. Have you seen me?"

Taichi laughed, making a weak effort at rubbing his face. Struggling to sit back, he accepted both offerings from her, suppressing the instinct to hurl again when the water touched his lips. He swallowed one tablet with some difficulty. "How are you not sick?"

"It's called moderation."

But he was shaking his head, forcing himself to remember more. "I didn't have all that much. I think."

"You weren't planning to," said Catherine. She scooted back to the edge of the bed, far enough to avoid the splash zone but close enough to grab his head out of the bin if it got stuck the next round. "But then Mimi dared you to do some shots with her—,"

He felt his stomach lift, and his cheeks swelled. A false alarm. He breathed through an open mouth, breathing hard, and waved her concern off, rubbing his eyes. "You let me do shots?"

"You are your own person, Taichi."

"Sora let me do shots?"

Catherine's lip curled into the deepest smirk, her chin tilted to the side. The look she gave him slipped by entirely, unmoored except to her own hesitations. "Well, like I said. Koushiro's got her now."

He snorted, still rubbing his face. "They're just friends."

"Mm."

This time, he heard it. Glancing up after forcing another gulp of precious water, he let his brow wrinkle, toeing a line with more confidence than someone in his position really should pretend to have, next to someone like her. "I think I like you jealous."

Her tongue slipped out between her teeth, nose wrinkled. "You can be friends with whoever you like, and so can I."

"Is that what we are?"

She shrugged, her thin shoulders pinching together. "Don't you want to be friends?"

He would have answered, should have. He should have shown her what he thought about such a ridiculous question, joining her on the bed to make sure she could never think otherwise about what he wanted. Instead, he asked, "When do you leave?"

Catherine shrugged again. "He said he was coming to pick me up at my apartment before lunch."

He nodded. "Well, we better get you back to your apartment then."

"We?" she repeated, blonde eyebrow arching.

He raised his arms, open palmed. "Guess not."

"No, probably not."

"Cat."

She looked at him and shook her head. "I'm not asking you again."

"I'm not asking you to," Taichi protested. He pulled himself closer to the foot of the bed where she was sitting now, cross-legged above him. "I just—," and he paused, holding his breath, seeing it all clearly through the dull haze of his hangover.

She bent so her lips touched his forehead. "Let's leave it."

"I don't want to."

"Me neither." After a few minutes, Taichi stood, gangly and unstable, taking his time gathering himself up. She helped by finding him fresher clothes to wear. "Should I drop you off at work on the way?"

"You'd be going too far out of yours," he pointed out, accepting her selection and bundling all the clothes into a loose ball in his arms. "It's all right, Catherine."

She took far too long to nod but managed it, in the end. She moved to embrace him, then grimaced at the idea. "Wash up, or I'll leave before I let you kiss me," she warned.

"Five minutes," he promised, only to fumble out the room and nearly collide right into a short blond man with a splotchy face and a bright sunburnt nose. Taichi leapt back. "Willis! Practice a heavier gait, will you?"

Unbothered by the fright he'd caused, his flatmate continued down the hallway towards their shared kitchen. "You know you're late for your internship, right?" he asked without another glance when he passed him.

"You could have woken me," he called in frustration.

"Your problems are your own, Taichi."

Tossing the clean clothes onto the bathroom floor, he leaned against the doorway, peering out at him. "Would it kill you to show me a little kindness?"

"I'd rather not test the theory." But Willis still paused, smirking. His pale blue eyes darted to Taichi's bedroom across the corridor and then back to his disheveled appearance. "I'm glad this City Hall gig isn't taking all the wildness out of you."

He wasn't ready to concede. "You look like you caught a fair share yourself," he said, and left one hand gripping the doorframe to bend over the sink, splashing his face after the tap had run cold enough.

Willis made a great show of collapsing back onto the wall, arms spread in a dramatic surrender to the perfect twist of fate that was his vacation. "A week in the most beautiful part of the most beautiful country with the most beautiful views and the most beautiful people you could ever imagine," he groaned. "And all I've got to show for it is this sunburn."

"Doesn't really sound like that's 'all' you got," he said. He dipped back up and halfway out the doorway again, mouthwash sloshing between his full cheeks, and winked knowingly, a gesture Willis returned with far too much slickness.

His hand darting up to the dark red mark on the side of his throat, he shared, "You should have seen their necks." Taichi would have spat the mouthwash onto the corridor wall if he hadn't managed to dive for the bathroom sink just in time, while Willis laughed behind him. "Hey, don't judge me for my kinks after you and Sora were at it all ni—,"

"Sorry, Will," interjected Catherine. She was freshly dressed again, her hair whipped into a tight bun. "That was me."

Willis stood up straight, mouth suck frozen open, and before he could breathe a word Taichi had latched Catherine by the wrist and pulled her into the bathroom with him, shutting the door. "That," he warned, "is the biggest mouth on campus, you know that?"

"Tough luck, Yagami," she teased. "It's a campus I get to leave."

"Without me."

She stepped up to him, "Last chance."

He understood what she meant, and what she didn't.

And, unable to answer, he kissed her. His forehead pressed to hers, he whispered, "I can't wait for your boyfriend's luck to run out one day."

And, unable to answer, she kissed him back.

Moments after she'd gone, Taichi reemerged and returned to his bedroom, searching for the side sling workbag Hikari had given him for his internship—a job, he realized with a wincing cringe, he was in danger of losing if he didn't move faster. Fuck, last night had really gotten out of hand….

Grumbling, his stomach settled uneasily as he found his phone under the bed and the last unstained necktie in his closet. The mobile was dead, chipped across the protective glass . Sighing, he slipped the phone into his back pocket and yanked the unused portable phone charger from the wall, stuffing it into the workbag's outer pocket. Then he turned to the mirror and found his flatmate standing in the doorway, ominously silent.

Yelling, Taichi dropped the tie on the floor, arms raised in defense. His heart thundered. "Can you please put on some weight, or wear a bell, or something—,"

Willis pointed to the rubbish bin. "Is that your puke, or your mistress's?"

Taichi let out a slow breath, lowering his arms. "Really would suggest a trial run on that kindness theory someday."

He snorted, crossing the room to pluck the tie from the floor. He pulled it around Taichi's neck, twisting the knot carefully. "I'm not pretending I'm a saint either—," (Taichi started to laugh, then gasped when Willis yanked the knot tight to his throat) "—but even I would be halfway there by now."

He slid a hand down the front of the neat fabric, fingering the knot looser. "It's not the right time," he muttered, and Willis just stood staring back at him with a blank expression. "What?"

"When is the right time?"

Taichi stopped, breathing light. He shut his eyes, "I—I'm—,"

Willis interrupted, "Because, like, it's nearly eleven, and if you aren't going to get fired for stretching the generosity of a slow Friday to this start time, then it's definitely going to be f—ow!"

He cursed, "Then get out of the way—!" and tripped around him, limbs entangled, and flung himself out the door.

"The bin, Taichi! You can't leave that shit here!"

But he was gone, taking the stairs to the ground floor two at a time and unlocking his bicycle from the rack lining the side entrance. He shouldered his workbag, took a deep breath, and swung a leg over the seat—then immediately got off, bending over at the waist with a groan after riding a wobbly few yards. "Nope," he said to himself, stomach freshly churning, "nope, we're walking this."

And because he kept his gaze on the sidewalk as he rolled the bike along with him, hoping the staring would ground his disoriented sensibility, teeth grinding in concentration, he didn't see the pick-up truck that moved itself into the far lane just to follow along. It paused when he did at the crosswalk, and the driver rolled the window down by hand. "How the hell are you still alive?"

Taichi stopped, squinting. "Takaishi?"

Takeru leaned out of the side of the truck, his hand braced against the door panel, and laughed. "I really thought she killed you on that last tequila bomb."

He heaved, raising a silencing finger. "Don't—please—do not speak about alcohol to me now, or ever again."

Takeru grinned, nodding his head to the side. "Put your bike in the back. I'll give you a lift."

"You don't know where I'm going."

"Taichi," and he rolled his eyes, "you spent last night threatening everyone who came into the bar that you were going to put Mr. Tachikawa in the prime minister's office. We know where you work."

Something flashed across his mind then: spitfire honey brown eyes and a thin arm slung around his shoulders for support when she leapt into his arms, repeating his insistent declarations to a cheering bar. He blinked quickly, and it was gone, though his neck felt heavier now. "Threatening, huh?"

"Just don't inflict him on the country, and we'll call this favor even."

"Don't think I like the way you're talking about my boss."

"Am I saying anything we both don't already know?" And he laughed, good-natured and easy, "Besides, it's for his own good. I've been over to their home for family dinners, and he's far too codependent to survive in the real world. They would eat him alive out there."

Taichi couldn't dispute this, but nor could he stand any conversation about food. Making a face to steel himself against another nausea wave, he assured Takeru the paleness of his cheeks wasn't due to the wholesome anecdote and wheeled the cycle around to the back of the car. He lifted the bicycle into the truck bed, clumsy and heavy-handed, then struggled into the passenger seat. Every move he made sent a ripple of discomfort through his dulled body, head pounding from the exertion and dehydration.

Takeru noticed. He started the truck back up and drove as slowly as he could to avoid any bumps in the roads. "You're a brave one showing up to work looking like that, for sure."

"I was hoping the tie would help distract from the rest," he muttered. "Honestly, I really don't remember too much of last night."

"Probably for the best," admitted Takeru.

"Saying it like that isn't comforting me."

"Who said anything about comforting you?"

With another chuckle, Taichi ducked his head under a wide palm, pinching his nose to keep the discomfort at bay. "Let's just ride in silence."

"See, you say things like that and leave me wondering why you and Yamato don't get along better."

"Because neither of us will humor you?"

"Fuck you, I'm hilarious."

They came to a stop at a red light, and Takeru let Taichi's laugh fade into a comfortable quiet. Being at ease with each other had never been an issue, even if they hadn't exactly ever been close to begin with, despite Takeru and Hikari having shared the same homeroom for most of high school. And even if Takeru had noticed him, Taichi hadn't paid much reciprocal consideration, far too fixated on where his older brother's evolving attentions lay whenever the rides Takeru had been getting from Yamato coincided with the same times that Taichi dropped Hikari off or picked her up. But even in these briefest of moments, which hadn't always made much of an impression on Taichi's own memory, Takeru himself remembered getting along with Taichi, who seemed to get along with everyone anyway; it was likely the one reason why his mother had relented to admitting her youngest son to a college away from their hometown, despite the moderate distance it actually was. Anyone related to Hikari had to be stable and dependable and safe, his mother believed, and it was enough to let her think what she needed to think if it meant he'd finally get to be on his own, away from his worrying mother and puttering e father and overbearing brother, and sharing the same campus with someone he got along with easily, and was hoping to get along with better.

Well, that had been the plan at any rate, until yesterday.

Truth be told, before yesterday, and despite sharing the same school for a year now, Takeru hadn't seen Taichi more than a few times. It wasn't unexpected: there was little overlap between their social circles on a campus as big as theirs, and sharing coursework was obviously not possible. Plus, he'd been busy himself. First year adjustments required reorientation not only to this new place but also this new lifestyle. Now, Takeru knew how to take care of himself. He could be self-sufficient, if a little more socially needy than other peers, and never had much issue setting goals and seeing them through while still cheerfully open to whatever else life brought along to him. So first year life, including joining the basketball team—recruited, really; the scholarship certainly helped—and writing for one of the campus's papers and exploring electives and going to parties had been fun, and then came talk about getting involved in class administration. All of it meant that he'd somehow managed, rather quickly, really, to move on from who he was before he'd stepped onto campus and became someone who was finally coming into their own self.

And then Yamato had started coming to visit.

His brother went to another university, one far exceeding Takeru's own academic ability, a fact that Yamato never made obvious or even relevant. He hadn't expected to follow him there, nor did he want to even if he could. He was grateful that Yamato seemed to understand this, though that didn't stop him from staying in frequent touch. It was funny, really, that Takeru had come to loathe written communications despite loving writing as much as he did, but the nearly daily messages or emails or texts had only gotten worse since he finally started college. One attempt to put a pin in the state of perpetual anxiety that his entire existence seemed to invoke in every member of his immediate family was getting Yamato to visit him whenever his studying permitted it. And then, on the very first visit, Yamato had met Mimi, and Takeru's luck finally turned around.

At least, until yesterday, when it would spin all the way around, and back again.

He glanced a second time at Taichi before the light changed, counting the haggard breath the latter took, clearly still suffering from the long night. He ought to have been considerate about that, but he was too curious. "So…you left Sora at the bar."

Taichi immediately opened his eyes. "You've talked to her?"

"You haven't?"

"I can't. My phone's dead." He quickened with realization, "Let me borrow yours."

"How? I don't have her number."

"What is with the youth these days not knowing any phone numbers on their own?"

"I'm three years younger than you."

Taichi still plucked Takeru's mobile from the cup holder. "Did you see when she left last night?"

"No, sorry. I was with Yamato most of the night." Taichi only grunted in response, focused on the screen, and Takeru shook his head again, deducing which reference the other's temper fixated on for now. "You have more in common than you think."

"You watch that mouth," Taichi warned.

"They're better as friends," continued Takeru, "which is what they are, Tai. Just friends."

He grunted again. "He should have figured out that's all they are before any of that shit happened the way it did."

Takeru remained optimistic. "Maybe. Still, live and le—,"

"No," and Taichi, having finished sending his text message to Sora, shoved the phone back into the cup holder with enough clatter to silence Takeru's sarcastic retort.

He recovered quickly. "So, what? We're all just supposed to get everything right the first time 'round?"

Taichi made a sarcastic gesture. "What's wrong with trusting your gut?"

Takeru could think of several things wrong with such impulsiveness. Focused on the road ahead, his gaze firmly averted, he continued, "Well, here's hoping that your gut keeps itself together long enough to get through the afternoon."

"Keisuke's not in today," he explained. He finished his text message and put the phone back in the cup holder. "Otherwise I would have definitely not gone that hard." He muttered to himself, darkly, "Shots…seriously, Yagami?"

Takeru was amused by the self-admonition. "You're both to blame for that, and you both alone."

His hand found its way back to his neck, rubbing lightly. "Is she as much of a nutcase with your brother as she is with everyone else?"

"Aw, you've already got nicknames for each other."

"Ha ha ha," mocked Taichi. He paused, "What nickname?"

"We're here," announced Takeru with expert timing. He stopped the vehicle outside the side staff entrance to City Hall, and Taichi dragged himself out of the truck. He left the workbag on the front seat and removed his bicycle from the back bed, wheeling it slowly back around to the rack near the sidewalk and laboriously locking it up. Takeru handed him his bag through the open window and nodded at his phone. "You want me to call when Sora answers?"

"Thanks, Takaishi," said Taichi, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "Keisuke should know where I am."

He hesitated, breath drawing tight in his nervousness. "Or, I mean, maybe it'd just be easier if I had your num—,"

But Taichi had suddenly gone rigid, straight-backed, as though the turmoil of his pounding heading and pinching stomach weren't doing havoc to his ability to maintain a sober equilibrium. His dark brown eyes narrowed, and his voice transformed to an octave Takeru had never heard from a non-demonic force before. "Is that Tachikawa's car?"

Takeru turned his neck to follow his cold gaze, spying the polished white sedan with the gold trim parked at an innocent diagonal across two parallel spots in the City Hall employee lot. "That is definitely her parking job," he joked, amused, and looked back to see Taichi had already flung himself at the staff entrance, scrambling with his plastic security badge and hurling himself into the building without another word.

Ahead of him, Taichi could hear her running up through the hallway to the elevator, and he swung his workbag up under his arm so it held snug against his upper back, and, braced with a miraculous burst of focused adrenaline, raced to the staircase, stumbling down them two at a time. He shoved the stairwell door open with a shoulder just as the elevator door squeaked open, and they stood at opposite ends of the hallway, staring.

Her face paled, though he thought it was already rather pasty, even despite the light layer of foundation and a modest amount of mascara outlining puffy, red eyes. Her hair was still damp from her morning routine, the wet waves curled up into a small bun. She wore a blazer whose buttons had been misaligned in her haste to arrive, and her linen cotton skirt had more than one wrinkle to it. It was the closest to a mess he'd ever seen her, and it dawned on him, then, that she was up to something, and it all depended on who got to Keisuke's office first.

Well, well.

"No!" Mimi screamed when he streaked forward, diving towards the office door. She ran after him, holding the top of a paper lunch bag tightly in one fist, "You can't win after I planned this so perfectly!"

He wasn't listening at first, heaving against the closed door just inches before her trembling palm slapped at the handle over his own. They held onto the doorknob together, fingers stubbornly entwined. Then he caught her slip. "What plan?"

"Let go—,"

"You let go—,"

"Let go your face—,"

"What does that even mean?"

"This is ridiculous," she hissed, her fingernails pinching into the skin of his palm. "Let's both let go."

"You first."

"No, you first—,"

"Count of three?"

"Fine, but I'm counting—,"

"What's wrong with the way I count?"

"One—,"

"—twothree—ah ha!" he crooned, and she shrieked again, flinging her hand back from his forceful clutch. He pushed the door open, and took the opportunity of his back to hers to gasp deeply, trying to keep his head from spinning as the adrenaline boost plummeted to despairing levels once more. Wincing, he strode forward into the small office, slinging the workbag down into the chair opposite Keisuke's desk, which was still empty of its owner.

"Can't you win anything without cheating?" she complained.

"You tell me," he said, cocky, leaning against the desk with his arms folded. "Were the tequila bombs part of this plan of yours?"

She suppressed a hiccup, lips curling in internal anguish, her hangover striking across her vision sharply. Swallowing hard, she said, refusing to play into a trick confession, "It's not my fault you don't check your phone messages. Daddy left you one this morning telling you he'd decided to come in. When you hadn't answered, I realized—,"

"—that you could try to sabotage me out of this job?" and Taichi shook his head. "What happened with last night's lecture about parents and honesty and sticking up for what you want?"

She pressed her lips together tight, refusing to answer, and watched him struggle to find a free outlet for his phone, frustrating himself with a particularly odd little knot in the cord. Glowering at his clumsy thick fingered effort, she set the lunch bag on the second chair in the corner and took the phone cord from him, untangling the wire. "Tell me something else then. How is it," she began, "that you can be so different with different people?"

He barked a laugh, regretting it when his insides twisted at the snap reflex. He turned away and opened his workbag to begin removing his notebook and phone charger, "Says you."

"I'm the same with everyone," she insisted, returning the evened cord to him. "You, on the other hand," she continued, ignoring his mutterings, "had on one face around Catherine, and another if Koushiro was talking to you, and then a completely different one with Sora—who, by the way, you left at the bar."

He grumbled darkly, but more to himself than to her this time. "Yeah, I know. I can't get a hold of her."

"Serves you right," Mimi said, nose in the air as she picked up her father's takeout lunch, collapsed regally into the chair, and crossed her legs, bag on her lap. He finished plugging in his phone, making sure the little battery icon was glowing before he left it alone, and turned around again just in time to catch the quivering of her lip and the tense wrinkles pinching at the corner of her eyes. He knew that look.

"You're just as hungover as I am, aren't you?"

Her face colored, embarrassed, and then grew paler again. She gulped, giving herself a moment to steel her weak nerves, and said flatly, "I still beat you here."

"You know," he pointed out, "if you wanted to work for your dad, you probably could have just asked him, instead of wasting all your energy trying to one-up me all the time to him."

She watched him unlock a filing cabinet and remove the departmental loaner laptop. Afterwards, she'd blame the lack of precision her dehydrated migraine had induced in her for admitting the truth to him. "I did." When he stopped, staring at her blankly, she forced herself to look away, chin still raised. "He didn't agree."

He saw her shoulders slump just slightly, her limbs still tense, and returned the honesty. "Well. Parents are human, or so I've been told." He was utterly casual, but when she glanced at him again, he winked.

Mimi smiled, however reluctant. "Since you're so keen on my advice, want to hear another one?"

"Nope."

"You should take the day off and go talk to Sora."

He laughed, "Just when I think we're finally connecting, it's back to your insidious plots to get me out of the way."

"I mean it," she protested. "She was really upset when she found out you'd left." Then she made a face, unusually self-reflective, "Actually she was mad before then, I think, because I made you take so many shots…." She let out a low breath, shuddering at the taste of those horrid alcoholic decisions.

He paused then to rub his face slowly. "I'm going to take care of it. Later, I will. I'm just…I'm still trying to sort out what all the hell happened last night."

She snorted, leaning back in the chair. "Fill in the blanks for me, too, when you have it. All I remember are pieces of some dumb dares and Koushiro falling asleep in the booth and Catherine spilling her drink on your shirt." When he didn't answer, fixated on the laptop while seated at the desk, she uncrossed her legs and leaned over in her chair in his direction. Her eyebrows wiggled. "Speaking of."

"I'm not talking about that with you."

"So you don't like her?"

"You are participating in this conversation by yourself."

"Taichi." She rolled her eyes. "Everyone saw you leave together. Just give it up."

He slumped over, face in his hands. "It was so stupid. I was stupid. Catherine's just—she's just always in my head. I thought seeing her off last night would be the mature thing, pretend I was fine with everything, and then it all sort of got out of hand and one thing led to another and now," he held his breath, shaking his head again harder. "I didn't want it to end like that."

In a shocking outburst, she flung her arms up over her head with all the exuberance of a sober person in complete control of their motor skills. "Then go!" she cried. "Go after her! Make a grand gesture!"

"That's moronic," he said.

"It's romantic."

"That's what I said."

"Stop making jokes," but she lowered her voice all the same. "Do you love her?"

He laughed, softly, and pulled the back of his hand over his eyes. "Yeah."

"Then this is how you show her."

"I don't think it is. I think those dumb public gestures are self-centered."

Mimi twisted her face into an exaggerated pout. "How are you so boring and wrong at the same time? The grand romantic gesture is a classic."

"Nope. That stuff should be just for the people involved in it. No one else has to know."

She made her sigh as long as possible. "Well, you and I have very different ideas about expressing love for someone." After a pause, and to his utter dismay, she continued, "Look, my parents basically invented the grand romantic gesture, right? Everything's a performance with them, but it's not for anyone else but them. I mean, okay, so a lot of them are in public…like the time Mama ran through traffic to beat his taxi home after a long trip, or the time he used throwing the first pitch at the city baseball tournament to give her an anniversary ring." She giggled, "Except he missed her and knocked the umpire clean out for like five minutes—,"

He seized the opportunity to redirect, embarrassed at listening to this side of his boss's private life, "But that's what I mean. Yeah, that day was nice for them, maybe, but the umpire suffering a head injury? Other people get caught up in these things, and it's not always fair how. Why would you make your emotional life someone else's problem?"

Mimi hissed, "He was fine," exasperated, muttering, "So boring and so wrong…. What I mean is that the grand gesture's not about other people, even when it is. It's like…," she stopped to think hard, face scrunched small and cute, and he bent over the keyboard to stop from grinning at it. Not noticing his effort, she only brightened, straightened, and said, "It's like this: I look at Yamato and I just want to—want everyone to know about him. Not me or us—him. I want to tell everybody about him, because then they'd know what I know, right? Then they'd see why everything's different now." She smiled again, shrugging. "I just can't believe there are people in the world who don't know he's here living in it, too."

Taichi shook his head, having turned back halfway through her wonderings to watch her talk about him. "I'll be honest," he admitted. "It's really weird hearing you talk about my sister's first boyfriend like he's some nice guy or whatever."

"He is nice—,"

"Okay, okay, spare me the recruitment playbook. I don't want to join your creepy fan club."

"That just makes me want to meet your sister."

"Fat chance," he said, grinning. "I'm never letting you anywhere near her."

She waved him off. "I'll just catch her at the next club meeting. And anyway," she went on, ignoring the finger he gave her over the computer screen, "all I'm saying is that if you think your world can't be the same without Catherine, you do something about it. Forget everybody else. Who cares about anybody else? That's all this comes down to, how she makes you feel. Which is what, Taichi?"

He kept his hand over his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "Like the whole world came into focus."

Mimi watched him, hushed into a strange quiet. She spoke softly this time, taking a moment to gather her voice again, "Then that's what you do. Go bring the world into focus."

He scooted further in his chair, resuming his working posture at the desk. "I don't think that's what Sora'd tell me to do."

"Well, Yagami, I'm not—," and then she stopped, gasping, holding her stomach.

His own dropped. "No—don't—if I see you, then I'll start, and I alrea—oh, come on!" he cried, for Mimi had already grabbed the paper bag, pulled it open, and spat a mouthful of vomit into her father's lunch.

The smells mixed horrifically, and Taichi gagged, staggering to his feet, as she bent over in her chair with the lunch bag between her knees, groaning. He scrambled for something of his own, finding the potted plant at the base of Keisuke's desk just as Keisuke himself walked back into the office. Taichi immediately stood to attention, so quick that he dragged the pot up with him, gripping the leafy plant against a stomach swelling past the point of no return. He tried anyway, immeasurably sweaty. "Good af—(ugh)—ternoon, sir," he managed through a mouth that felt full of wet marbles.

Keisuke stayed frozen in the doorway, bewildered.

By this time Mimi had pulled herself upright in her chair, gripping the top of the lunch bag and twisting it closed, as though that could do anything about the horrendous stench or the damning evidence. She stood, approached the desk, and placed the bag gently on one of the free corners. Her other hand reached up and around to the back of Taichi's neck, gripping him by the collar, pinching at the skin there in a gesture meant to make him know to follow her lead. He put the plant back down, mechanical and robotic.

"We'll leave you to it, Daddy," she said in a voice far too low and slow to be natural, but Keisuke didn't question it, his confused grimace directed only to the lunch bag on his desk, wearing an expression of dawning horror.

Before he could ask, Mimi had yanked Taichi's phone from its charging cord and picked up the workbag, then dragged him out with her, moving as quick as she could through the hallways to the elevator. "If we move any faster, I will be sick all over your hair," he warned, weak.

"Don't—speak—," she warned, heaving back her own bodily impulses, and shoved the phone, with the cord still hanging from it, and his workbag into his chest when the elevator arrived and the doors opened.

Fuck.

He choked, "Mrs. Takenouchi?" What the hell was going on today?

Mimi flattened the fraying wisps of wet hair curling around her ears. "Councilwoman, h—hello, and good afternoon!"

Toshiko blinked coolly between the young pair, noticing the flush to both cheeks and the glassy sheen to their eyes. She folded her hands before her at the waist, clutching a thin clipboard and notebook between them. "Good afternoon, Mimi, Taichi," she greeted in a tone of utter disapproval, making him wince, scolded.

Mimi gestured behind her, stepping aside. Her voice was squeaky. "Daddy's in his office."

"Good," Toshiko answered, disinterested, and passed between them. She paused halfway down the hall. "Oh, and Taichi?"

He swallowed. "Yes, ma'am?"

She remained calm and regal. "Am I to understand that, after agreeing to be the designated driver for your friends, you decided instead to leave my daughter alone at a bar last night, with no way home?"

He felt his body go cold, frozen, and saw out of the corner of his eye Mimi take a comically exaggerated step back from him, as though hoping to extract herself from Toshiko's eyeline when it was fixed so coldly onto his guilty countenance. "I—," he stammered, blank, and behind him Mimi spoke up, high-pitched.

"We're just on our way to see her now, Councilwoman Takenouchi."

Her gaze moved to hers. "That would certainly be the responsible thing to do."

"Responsible, yes. That's what we are," said Mimi, cheerily this time. "Aren't we, Taichi?"

He turned to her, wide-eyed and open-faced. "I need to find Sora."

She glowered at his transparency, then flashed a reassuring smile at Toshiko's unimpressed expression, grasping Taichi by the elbow to pull him into the elevator. "Until next time, Councilwoman."

"Hm," said Toshiko, already turning away, but Mimi, channeling her mother, kept her earnest smile on until the door was firmly closed.

The elevator jolted up at the same time as she struck her foot to his ankle. "Are you always this slow up on the up take?"

He rubbed his ankle with the back of his other foot, inching away from her. "My phone barely got charged, so that's not going to work—and I told Takaishi to call your dad's office if Sora texts him back—,"

"Just calm down! I'll tell him to call me," she grumbled, taking out her phone in a show of reluctant petulance. "Honestly, how you accuse my family of being codependent and this is how you combust without Sora in eyesight…." Taichi didn't answer, distracted, and Mimi glanced at him when the elevator doors opened again. He stepped out into the lobby, walking back to the staff parking lot, as though forgetting she was there at all, or that he'd ever been in mid-conversation with her. She thought briefly for a minute what it would be like, to have hurt Jou and not know how to find him. Sucking in her breath, she started to march up to him when her phone rang, cutting through his mutterings. He closed his mouth at once, waiting anxiously, while Mimi answered. "Hello? Oh—hi, Sora! It's Mimi. Well, of course, yes, you know who you're calling—hey!" for he'd yanked the phone from her, striding several steps away from earshot and holding his other hand up to his free ear.

"Sor? You all right?"

Her voice sounded distant, even despite the fraying quality of the cell signal. "Are you?"

"Just a little hung over," he joked, nervous. "We're, uh, leaving City Hall now. There's no way I could get any work done today."

She didn't respond to the jovial tone. "Going to see Catherine?"

"No, I—I'm not with her. Obviously," he added, hearing how lame and slow he sounded, "she, uh, she went back to her boyfriend."

Behind him, Mimi stopped, strangely still, putting all the pieces together too late, and Taichi turned away to keep her out of the periphery of his gaze, to hide.

Sora spoke again, "Not that that would stop you, I guess."

He gritted his teeth, taking a breath. "Sora, can I please come see you?"

"You know, Taichi," she said, interrupting. "My job isn't to absolve you of the guilt you feel when you make shitty, selfish decisions. So, no. You can't come and see me, because I don't want to see you, and I don't want you to call me, and I don't want you using your new friends to try and track me down. Do we understand each other?"

Taichi said nothing.

"Good," Sora said, crisp and resigned, and hung up, without another word.