Burgundy

She said burgundy was his color.

She laid his suit out on the bed and a black V-neck t-shirt to keep it casual. He didn't have many suits; the few he had, she bought; left at her place; formerly their place.

After he dressed, she styled his naturally frizzy hair for him; a quick blowout and some pomade to keep it in place. She combed a bit to the back and left most of it to the side. She pinched his cheeks. With his slightly reddened face, he frowned, "What's that 's for?"

"For breaking up with me", Haru handed him the cologne she liked most. He sprayed very little on to his wrist, dabbed the rest behind his ear. She held up his blazer for him to slip into and pouted, "How are you this handsome after we split?"

"Come with me," Akira asked, he pushed the sleeves over his lean forearms, "as friends."

"No. I sent Ann a huge gift basket. I'm sure she knows I'm happy for her." Haru handed him very fine framed, oversized glasses. His eyes met hers as he placed them on his face, "you know, you're handsome with them off too."

"I like to keep a low profile", he smiled. For the first time in a long time, she seemed like herself and he felt like himself. She hugged him; held tight. She feared it'd be her last time with him; that close; in that way. He placed his hand on her head, "Thank you, Haru." She fought to hold her tears but lost the battle. He let her. He let her lose her composure, the thing she was very good at maintaining.

It would be all right.

She reapplied her mascara carefully. She did not often wear makeup, as it made her break out occasionally, but she did have a new obsession with mascara. It developed after she noticed how long Ryuji's lashes were. She found she envied them when they laid in her bed together reading a manga. She quit studying. She gave up her pursuit for law school in America and redesigned her five-year plan around her dreams to honor her father's career, Sae, the baby, and Ryuji.

"Let's move in together," he stood behind her, while she applied her lipstick. He kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms around her waist, already dressed sharply for the evening.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I like being with you. I know it's been a short time but, I figure we've known each other for a long time and since I'm always here -"

"Yes."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You make me laugh. And smile," Ryuji felt his cheeks flush from bashfulness. He pulled away from Makoto and covered his face with his hand. She turned around and faced him, "Ryuji?"

"I – I love you," He said muffled, behind both hands. Makoto felt her own face burn as those were words she never heard before in her twenty-seven years on earth. They stood in the bathroom, dressed well to celebrate, and support their friend; they had an occasion to attend, but it was unclear who would move again first. They were both terribly embarrassed from Ryuji's utterance of love and a great silence filled the small tiled room; the only noise came from the ventilation fan. Makoto placed her mascara inside the medicine cabinet. She faced Ryuji and pulled his hands from his face. He was pink from ear to ear and she smiled. His eyes were that stardust brown she had come to love. His mouth, the source of her new joy. She placed her hands on his cheeks and Ryuji's eyes widened as she kissed him passionately. They both closed their eyes and he was reminded of his love for her.

When the time came, Makato was bold, forward, and incredible. As they separated and she blinked, fluttering her lashes – made longer by some falsies mascara – she said words that Ryuji believed in for the first time, "I love you, Ryuji." Following that exchange, they moved on with each other.

Their love for Akira and Ann was no more.

Tall and slender women walked back and forth in a large, pop up dressing room. They sat down and got their hair fluffed, lips painted, cheeks blushed and their faces fully made up by Japan's most popular stylists and cosmologists. They made kissy faces to the mirror and each other then slipped in and out of designer dresses. They took pictures for their social media accounts and used the tag #phantommasquerade. When they exited the dressing room and stepped into the main studio they stood among men and women in black masks.

It was to be a marvelous night.

The occasion was invite only. The studio was small but well decorated. Champagne was handed to each guest as they exited the elevator to the private floor. No photos were allowed, except by staff, though it didn't stop young models from continuing the post using #Phantommasquerade. Guests drank, looked at the glammed-up models, and made conversation on the gala, the fashion, and Ann.

He was nervous for her.

He heard her name several times since he stepped out the elevator. From the moment he was handed champagne, to his attempt to find some vacant space, he heard many things. Praise, for her taste, stylistic choices, and the presentation. Admiration, for her attempts to encourage diversity in Japan. Critique, for thinking a makeup line for women of color outside of white or Japanese would sell well; it was not well thought out. Too many of those critiques came from men in suits, which he assumed were investors. He was terribly nervous for her.

Akira finally found refuge on the rooftop terrace, just off the studio. He removed his mask as he made his way out and saw a familiar face smoking a cigarette. He walked over to Mishima and the two men made eye contact and bumped fists.

"Ann is a genius," Yuuki said. He dressed well in a black button down tucked in fitted navy slacks. He wore a nametag that said 'staff' and his mask sat on the side of his head, "all the guests wear masks and only the models show their faces, genius. I can't believe I'm here!"

"Isn't this work for you?" Akira asked. He looked over at the city below. He felt great unease from being there considering his last encounter with Michael – not that it would stop him – but hearing the critiques of Ann's attempts at her dream rubbed him the wrong way. He thought carefully about why she left and realized that she did need to leave for her ambitions to become achievable. He would not have stopped her, but their love for each other would have made her change their mind. He sighed as Mishima continued.

"Well, yeah, but I'm just covering for a coworker." Mishima flicked his cigarette over the balcony, then shoved his hands in his pocket. He rested against the railing of the terrace, enjoying the warm spring evening.

"So, you're sleeping with her…"

"And I'm sleeping with her. Don't tell my girlfriend," Akira rolled his eyes and looked away from his friend, finding he was somewhat disappointed. "I know, I know," Mishima shrugged, "awful. But I really like my coworker. Don't judge."

"I'm not."

"I'm headed to the bar. Want anything?"

"No. I'm good," Mishima opened the door and disappeared into the sea of people. Akira stayed on the terrace, staring off into the city skyline. To find out someone he thought as wholesome as Mishima would cheat. He was a bit stunned but more disappointed. He had someone who cared for him and he chose to fill himself with another person. But how was he any different? Ann was engaged, but it didn't stop him from kissing her. He was still involved with Haru when it happened. What if something else happened?

He shook his head. He was there to support Ann; not to distract her or bring attention to himself. It was her night. He thought of Mishima, and how he seemed to have no trouble having another woman. He reprimanded himself for considering becoming Ann's other man, though if she asked, he was not confident in his ability to say no.

She sat alone in a private dressing room, staring into the mirror. She carefully applied lipstick and blush. She wore long blonde extensions and tried to pin it up in a naturally 'messy' look. She held hairpins in her mouth as she held up her hair and fought the urge to scream on the inside. Her night was not going well.

Michael called before the event to tell her he was going back to New York. He wasn't interested in competing with her ex for her affections. When she got back to her senses, he'd be there. Her mother called shortly after to let her know she and her father would not be attending the launch. They sided with Michael and felt that if she was willing to ruin her relationship with "the best man God could give her", there wasn't much to say. She was confident they liked him more anyway. Shiho text her; her daughter was sick.

Ann wanted to feel good about the night, but things got worse as it went on. The caters were short on food. Her lead model twisted her ankle after getting her heels caught in her dress. The damage to the gown would cost Ann a great deal of money she was not prepared to spend. The greatest of her problems came from investors who did not believe in her vision. They felt if the intended market was "more Japanese" it would do well. But to sell to black women, to sell to Latinas, Indians and other women who weren't white or Japanese – it was bound to fail.

Why couldn't they just believe?

Her goal was to diversify Japanese standards of beauty. Though the world made attempts to become more progressive, she felt Japan did not. It was so rigid in its rituals it did not take time to see to the exceptionality of people with differences; women who looked like her; women who looked nothing like her.

It happened on a sizzling summer evening on Central Street. Ann and Akira would secretly rendezvous and spend the evenings together. While she waited for him, she saw a young black woman across the street. The woman wondered around frantically and out of an unexplained concern, Ann decided to approach her.

After they spoke, Ann discovered the woman lost her child in the crowd and no one would help find her, though she was fluent in Japanese. Ann helped the woman and soon enough they found the little girl. She was a small thing with big eyes yet, unquestionably Japanese; her skin was a darker complexion, which Ann obviously attributed to her mother. When the girl's mother asked why she had run off, the child told her the children at the park called her an ugly 'hafu'; a word Ann was all too familiar with.

Over dinner with Akira, she told him of the little girl. She told him of what she wanted to do and the sort of model she wanted to be.

"Not just a fashion model, but a role model," She said. He smiled and reached across the table. He held her hand and squeezed it in his own.

"You're already a great role model, and I can't wait for the world to see," he said with a smile. Not with the smirk she had come to know and love, but a genuine smile. It was that day, that face and how beautiful his smiling face was, that she knew she would give up her life for him. That she loved him more than anything.

To achieve her goals, she couldn't. She couldn't love him more than she loved herself.

So, she left.

After placing the final hairpin, Ann arose from the boudoir and made her way to the studio. She'd be stopped by no man; not Michael, who decided not to show out of jealousy; not Akira who confused her. If it meant her success, she'd love only herself. She owed it to herself to be courageous, self-confident and wonderful. Love was her crutch, and the old her. She'd leave it behind again if necessary. She schmoozed with the right investors; shook hands and took photos with designers and models. She called to apologize to her parents who were looking forward to her engagement. They were shocked by her honesty. They made plans to discuss over brunch the following day. She grinded the rest of the night until she came across a sight more striking to her than the models.

Ryuji sat by the bar with Makoto to his side. They both wore their masks and made it their goal to stay hidden from their friends that night. They used the occasion as their first 'date' and flirted throughout the evening. Makoto occasionally touched the button of Ryuji's good shirt and when she'd step away from him, he'd steal a 'feel' of her buttocks. She slapped his hand a few good times but always giggled. It was good. It felt natural for them. They didn't care who saw. They didn't know Ann watched. Ann wasn't sure of what she saw, but she was sure it was them. She felt a level of betrayal.

How could Ryuji not tell her?

Yusuke, who stood at the other end of the bar, saw them – and said nothing. He was pleased. He was happy two people he cared for found something good in each other. He sipped his virgin cocktail and looked around the room. He was certainly inspired by the night, the models. He did not know his greatest inspiration would come from his closest friend.

"Inari!" Yusuke turned to face Futaba and was shocked to see her dressed in make-up, and designer clothing. She held her mask in her hand and smiled. She did not wear glasses.

"You look – amazing."

"Thank you. You clean up nice too."

"Can I get you a drink, my lady?"

"Yes, please. I want to drink enough so these shoes stop hurting!" She grabbed onto his arm and he ordered her a champagne from the bar.

The night ended and the guests left; some abandoned their plastic masks on the floor. The models headed off with Mishima, who was surprisingly more charming than even he thought he could be.

Futaba slept in Yusuke's lap while they rested on the lounge sofa, waiting for a cab. She drank far more than either of them expected. Yusuke was happy to see her relaxed. She was no longer comfortable at Leblanc, or even at home with Sojiro. He wondered if it was convenient to get to the campus from his place, or something else. Did she have feelings for him?

"Futaba, wake up!" he poked her cheek and she groaned. "Futaba!" He shook her gently, and her violet like eyes fluttered open, "Are you in love with me?" It was hard enough sleeping next to her in his bed – it would be harder if she did have romantic feelings for him.

"What? No, you idiot. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. You're like my best friend. Now if you wake me before the cab arrives, I'll smack you," She returned to her previous position, sleeping close to him, "stupid Inari." She muttered. Yusuke smiled. He was glad she didn't want anything more. He feared how their relationship would work if she did. He pinched her cheek and she did slap his hand. He chuckled. Yes, things were fine as they were. Yusuke looked up to see Makoto and Ryuji exit the studio. They held hands with fingers interlocked. He was sure they did not notice him, as Ryuji put his arm around Makoto's waist and pulled her into a kiss while they waited for the elevator. Once it arrived, they stepped in and vanished. He smiled, as he was sure no one would believe what he saw.

Akira walked remained on the terrace until the cleaning staff began their work. Somewhere in him, he hoped Ann would have approached him to say hello, but she left not too long after the models did. He walked out; his friends all gone. He didn't spend time with them, and no one really sought out the other. He did notice when Ryuji came in with Makoto but thought nothing of it. He took the long way home and almost fell asleep on the train. He dragged his feet on his way to Leblanc and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw Ann still dressed up in from the night – in her long red gown – at the door of the café. She couldn't have looked more beautiful.

Akira, without saying a word, walked to the front door. He opened it and left it ajar for her to follow. He made his way up the flight of stairs to the attic. He pulled off his blazer and threw it on the sofa. He turned around and saw her standing there – like magic – before the stairs; her cheeks and lips rose colored, but also her eyes; crying. She must have been.

"I – I'm a failure."

"No."

"Yes. No one wants to invest – not a single person. They think the risk is too high."

"There will be more investors."

"I gave up everything for this night." She covered her mouth with her hand, then ran it up the side of her face, irritating and reddening her skin further. She pulled on her blonde hair and Akira felt his heart break, "I gave up us! I gave up Michael! For what?" She couldn't stop them anymore; tears. They fell, quickly. They poured down her cheeks and he couldn't take it anymore. He held her in his arms. She cried against his chest and he squeezed her. She cried into him, the silence of the night canceled by her sobs.

Then the silence returned.

His eyes were wide and his lips pressed to hers. Her hands roamed his back and he pushed away the many layers of her exaggerated dress. As the dress reached her feet, she stood in a black full body chemise. Her body was thin, and her skin pale. She was different than in his memory. Smaller, more petite. Had she become smaller to adhere to the fashion's world high demands? Was she stressed and was not eating enough? Was he the cause?

He wrapped his arms around her thin waist and kissed her once more. He'd make up for the lost time.

She found herself crying out in ecstasy as he kissed between her legs, but tears filled her eyes as he entered her. He stared into them – like a watery grave. He kissed her once more, more gently than the times before. He knew why she cried; defeat. She had given up the loves of her life to be a letdown. As good as he felt – as good as he was at making her feel good – there was no way to erase what took place. In becoming intimate with him, she cheated on her fiancé. Her dreams; stepped on.

What else could he have done? As good a person as he hoped to be, he wasn't anything but a man. Comfort in that way – nature. Pleasure to vanquish pain. Logical?

Stupid.

She lay in his arms and he stared out the window of the early spring late night.

Stupid.

He reprimanded himself for judging Mishima; for becoming the other man.

Stupid.

As many years had passed, Akira found he did not grow up at all.