A/N: The chapter title, and perhaps the overall feel of it as well, was taken from In the Mood for Love—it was the soundtrack for a movie of the same title, and while it actually has nothing to do with this fic, yes, I'd recommend it if you asked whether to watch or not lol.

vii. in the mood for love

There was a bookstore a few blocks from Greater East Asia Cultural Society building that Kaminaga used to frequent—when he was yet to be a spy, when he still stacked his shelves with books of different languages and countries. Now he would only keep one or two at a time before selling them again; the kinds of books they read could give away what sort of people they actually were, and Kaminaga would avoid that at all cost. He no longer struck up conversations with the shopkeepers, and never visited the same store more than twice.

The same goes for bars and restaurants, or any other establishments that might recognize their face. After all, spies were like ghosts, and people were not supposed to see them. In the usual night outings the eight of them would try new places and enter other halls, took different routes and even went back in smaller groups. Habits and patterns were bad; making sure not to be noticed or followed had become a must.

On one night in midwinter, Miyoshi announced that he was bored and prompted them to go somewhere. Neither Hatano nor Jitsui were seen in the cafeteria, and Odagiri said he'd stay behind for a reason that Kaminaga could no longer remember. The rest of them hopped into the streetcar without any destination in mind, but it was Fukumoto who then suggested going to Teitoza. To be honest, dancing wasn't what Kaminaga fancied the most before, but he had taken more liking to it ever since he saw Miyoshi in their social dancing class. Miyoshi was so good that he became an exemplar, arguably the instructor's favorite student, and perhaps what Kaminaga would call his casual private mentor.

Now when Kaminaga saw him on the dance floor, wearing his signature brown waistcoat and dancing with a lady in green, skillfully tapping his feet and leading their steps, he found that his eyes were glued. His mind replayed their small sessions of dance practices, when Miyoshi's rather slim waist would feel just right in his hold and nothing fit more than the way their hands interlocked. Kaminaga had always been a fast learner, and in no time he'd be able to follow the pace Miyoshi was setting, but sometimes he would go as far as purposefully taking wrong steps and though Miyoshi was aware, the man would humor him and ask to redo the whole dance from the start, extending the time they had to spend together.

The thought of not having Miyoshi while the man was in front of him rendered his own dancing almost insufferable, and the spy was glad when the song was over. He bowed slightly to the woman who had been his partner, flashing her what he considered as one of his most attractive smiles (the kind that turned anyone flushed and clumsy, yet never succeeded in making Miyoshi falter). Kaminaga then slowly moved closer to the corner, grabbing the closest drink he found, and gulped half of it down in one go. Although it was light, the familiar burning sensation still welled up from the base of his throat, and instantly it filled his nose with something dry and pungent. His eyes searched the dance floor afterwards, one by one eyeing each of the spies, failing to find Miyoshi.

It was only when the music had turned slow and romantic that he finally saw Miyoshi, coming to him from the direction of the lavatory. He noticed the glass Kaminaga was holding, then took the same one as he walked closer.

"Shouldn't you be dancing to this?" Miyoshi said with a smile, lifting his glass a bit, as if he was referring to the air.

"Why would I?" Kaminaga tilted his head a bit, returning the smile, interested in what the other spy had to say.

"Well, isn't this your kind of music." It was not a question. "The star of the dance floor shall not run away."

"Aren't you talking about yourself?" He gave out a little laugh, deciding not to comment on Miyoshi's claim about his taste of music being romantic and mellow. Miyoshi wasn't entirely wrong though, since Kaminaga often opted for slower music in their dance practices—though it wasn't necessarily because he preferred those kinds of song. It was for himself and his greed; after all, when else could he savor the moment of just the two of them being together?

"To music like this," he took a sip before continuing, "I actually prefer dancing in a more… private surroundings."

"Then perhaps I should've asked you to teach me more often," Kaminaga replied, playfully.

Miyoshi said nothing in response, but he was smiling. Taking another sip of his drink, he then commented, "This one's actually decent."

Silently by each other's side, they watched the dance hall attentively. The swirl of western dresses and flutters of kimono sleeves filled the space between suits and ties, spinning around the room like flowers on a water surface. Japan itself was indeed changing, yet everything still seemed static for members of the agency. Even if Kaminaga tried not to think about it too much, his mind would work automatically, calculating possibilities and counting the time they could spend gaily like this. Not much left.

"He's good, isn't he," Miyoshi suddenly said, eyes kept looking at the couples dancing, "Amari."

Kaminaga followed his gaze and found the brown-haired man, still dancing with the lady clad in a yellow western dress, his partner from the previous song. The spy had always struck him as free-minded as well as caring, and even though Kaminaga couldn't say he knew everything, he could tell that among them, Amari belonged to those who were more genuine. Kaminaga wouldn't know what went on inside that man's head, but he always looked like he's enjoying every second of life. Whether it was training or laughing or drinking, Amari would do it wholeheartedly.

"He is." Kaminaga admitted, "If he's smiling like that all time, they look like an actual man and wife that I'm almost ready to give them my blessing."

"Oh, won't you find one too?"

"What, a wife?" He sneered. "I never thought something like this would come from you, Miyoshi, but why don't just find one for yourself, then—though, I can't actually imagine anyone would put up with you."

"How rude, am I that unbearable?"

"For most people."

"You're not most people, Kaminaga."

The reply made him look at the other spy. Miyoshi's eyes met his, but there was not even the slightest crack on his poker face. Neither on Kaminaga's.

"You're right," he said, "I'm not most people."

It was then like one of those times when they were discussing something, but got suddenly preoccupied with their own minds. There were only sealed lips and words that left unsaid while the music played on to the next; people kept on dancing, around the room, around their shadows, just like the world revolving. Kaminaga imagined the most likely predicament he'd be having if he hadn't gotten into the agency. He'd probably still have the job he used to like—though it was never as challenging as being a spy—whilst soon turning thirty and his parents would kept urging him to find a bride. That father and mother too, would've probably been upset if they had known what kind of life their son would be living; a life that threw names away, buried his real identity, and trained him to be a heartless machine.

That's what he thought, but he'd never know; Kaminaga hadn't sent even a letter home for more than a year.

"But would it even be satisfying," Kaminaga's sentence came out a surprise, even to himself, "if our lives were just to marry, have children, then die after being good contributors to the society? I never get why people see it as the way things are supposed to be—like I never get why one must always find a spouse—but I think that if you live only for those things, then it's not worth the trouble."

"It's out of the question, with the way we are now," Miyoshi shook his head slightly, twirling the liquid inside his glass, "you said it, Yuuki-san said it; the life of a spy means only dark solitude. Social and filial obligations have nothing to do with us, and we do not conform to others' standard in regard of what is proper or satisfying. But in turn, we'll be alone."

When the man turned his head to Kaminaga, his foxlike eyes glinted under the hall light. "Then could we claim that our way of life is more satisfying? You answer it, Kaminaga."

"We've always been alone anyway," and perhaps also lonely, but he would never say it outright, "so it won't really make any difference."

"Indeed," Miyoshi's eyebrow lifted a little; his gaze knowing, "if it did, you wouldn't have volunteered to be a spy, would you?"

Kaminaga had never told anyone that he volunteered, and was convinced he was the only one who did until he grew closer to Miyoshi. Nobody, even perhaps including the other spies, would understand if he tried to explain why he did—yet this one particular man knew, and saw him as clear as water in the pond. When did Miyoshi figure it out? Was it around the same time Kaminaga realized that the other man had also volunteered? Perhaps he wasn't being all too delusional when he thought there was just something, unnamed and unknown, between them; a feeling that was strange as well as unfamiliar, but exactly what he'd been longing for.

He knew he was falling deeper and it had to stop. But how could he? When he finally found something—someone, who put meanings into the things he'd been doing and emotions in the smiles he'd been giving. For the briefest moment, Kaminaga knew that he wasn't merely an automaton, and a thing that people called heart was still functioning somewhere inside him, beating to the tune that only the two of them was able to hear.

"Say, Miyoshi," weighing the glass in his hand, Kaminaga said softly, "even if the life waiting for us is only darkness and loneliness, it wouldn't be entirely impossible—don't you think?—that somewhere, at one point, we came to love someone and ceased wanting to live in this solitude. It's beyond our control, if someday our hearts are to belong to somebody else."

The question hung in the air like thin mist after a morning rain. Kaminaga waited for an answer for so long that he felt the passing time had formed a clot inside his chest, and that he was meant to wonder forever for Miyoshi would not answer. But in between the waning music and the bows of the dancers, he found the other leaned in closer to him, holding his glass as though he was asking for a toast.

Kaminaga stared at him, perplexed.

"You're right, it's not entirely impossible." Miyoshi's smile was one of those which meaning he couldn't yet to decipher. "Then to minimize the possibility, shall we throw this thing away before it really belongs to anybody?—That's what we are trained for, after all," the man said, with that alluring lilt Kaminaga had come to love so much, "cheers, Kaminaga."

Their glasses met in a pleasant clink.