A Tentative Reunion

08:07 - London - 5 years post-Totsuki

It's a little past eight when the disgruntled strawberry-blonde steps out from his bedroom, waist-length braid tousled and unravelled, wearing nothing but his rumpled black shirt. She glances at him, then at the stacked luggage bags by the front door before remarking, her voice clipped, "What were you planning on doing if I didn't get up? Leave me alone in your house?"

He grins. There's a spread on the kitchen island – Greek yogurt, oat pancakes, fresh fruit, and Norwegian pancakes. "My flight isn't until two. You had at least three hours to sleep in."

She pads over to him and settles into one of the low-backed barstools. At the recommendation of an ex-girlfriend, he'd bought them some years back – after his and Nakiri's inevitable parting and subsequent break-up, and before their unexpected reunion the night before. And as he watches her pour herself a cup of coffee, he can't help but wonder why it is this woman looks so much better than the last.

Something in his gut stirs, and as he leans over to pour some milk into her steaming cup, he catches her eye. She raises a brow, haughty as ever. "What?"

"Nothing," He tells her. "You're just really pretty, is all."

Nakiri rolls her eyes. "I don't remember having this many hickeys, ever. Thanks for that, you piece of shit."

"You don't really mind." He pauses. The old Nakiri – the one he knew, wouldn't have minded. "Do you?"

Nakiri doesn't respond. Still, he catches her watching him as she sips at her coffee, lilac eyes peering over the edge of her mug ever so often. He plates a pancake for her – crème fraiche, fresh mangoes, blueberries, and just a splash of lime. It's delicious, he knows, but in true Nakiri fashion, the only indication of his culinary prowess is an empty plate.

"Well?" He settles into the chair opposite hers and pours himself another cup of coffee. "What're you doing here, Nakiri?"

"You shoved your tongue down my throat last night."

"That goes without saying. I mean, what're you doing in London?"

He'd just wrapped up after-work drinks with his chefs at a nearby pub. They'd closed early following a review with one of the bigwigs in Bon Appetit and the team had been in good spirits. It was somewhere near their third round of beers that he noticed the girl at the bar – long blonde hair, slender legs and biceps to kill.

It wasn't until Nakiri had spoken that he realised even realised it was her.

Most of the evening is a blur to him. He recalls bits and pieces. She was wearing a dark red dress. Earrings and heels. Her usual prickly – and yet endearing – attitude. It's been all of five years, and he's still a fool for her. You're an idiot. He can hear Ryou and Hayama in the back of his mind, both chiding, and yet equally guilty. You're a goddamned idiot.

"One of my friends from Le Cordon Bleu is getting married this weekend, and that pub is on the list for her hen's night." Nakiri unties her braid and flips it to one side. He counts one hickey. Two. Five. "Anyway, I wasn't expecting to see you. You look like you're doing well."

He grins. "I'm perfectly aware you saw me at my worst last night, Nakiri. But thanks for that. You're doing well too, yeah? I saw you got your second star."

She shrugs a shoulder. "Alice did, too, so it's not a big deal." A pause. The light catches in her hair and perfectly-manicured nails as she continues to rake through the tresses. "You're settled here, then? London's home now?"

"For now." He glances about the apartment. It's been two years since he'd moved in, and one since his then-girlfriend had moved out. "You were right. I just needed to lay down some roots and get to work. I couldn't keep doing what dad's doing full time – that's not me."

The barest hint of a smile curls Nakiri's lips. She doesn't say it, but the sentiment is more than clear in the woman's smirk. "Well, I'm glad. You look happy."

"I am. Content, anyway." And he is. She meets his eyes again, and suddenly, it doesn't matter that they'd parted on terrible terms, and that he'd spent the year following their break-up angry, confused, and bitter. She's here now. "Why did you stay last night?"

Sir rolls her eyes. "You asked me to."

"And you did?" That's a first.

"Don't push it." A soft flush rises. Nakiri's never been one for excessive and overt affection, even in private. But deep down, he knows she's missed him – how could she not, when he's spent about as much time missing her?

So he takes her hand, and relishes in the way she flares up at first, haughty and irate. "Thanks, Nakiri. And I'm really glad we got a chance to catch up again. It's…" He pauses, trying to find the right words. "…it's been a strange few years."

Nakiri's lips twitch. She meets his eyes. "Yeah, well. Nobody said the culinary road was going to be easy." The hand in his withdraws as the woman finishes her coffee. Lilac eyes shift their focus, studying their surroundings, eventually landing upon his luggage. "When will you get back?"

"Friday. I'm just flying to Denmark for a quick consult. You gonna be here when I get back?"

Nakiri barely smiles this time. "Yes."

"Good." He gets up and begins to pile empty dishes into his sink. "Got a date for the wedding?"

"Not just yet." The blonde flips her hair and crosses her arms. Despite the tone of her voice, there's amusement – warmth, even. "But some asshole gave me a ton of hickeys last night, so I'm thinking I'll have one after all."

He kisses her neck lightly. "I'll pick you up."