She gets out of bed and shuffles down the hall. A sliver of light spills out from her father's office along with a hacking cough—one that roused her from sleep minutes before.

She peers in just as he's taken by another bout of painful-sounding coughs. He presses a trembling handkerchief to his mouth, waving his other hand to ward off his concerned guest who has risen from his seat to help him. Easing the door open more, she sees that it's Jin. He hovers a moment before sitting back down.

"Are you alright?"

At the sound of her voice, they both turn.

This close to election time she sees her father everywhere—on news feeds, televised press conferences, and interviews, but never home. The only evidence that he's been there comes in the form of cold coffee grounds in the garbage and the absence of an old silver travel mug in the cabinet. She's used to living with ghosts, but a creeping fear twists its way up her spine seeing him like this. There's a stark difference between the self-assured man on television and the one who now grips the edge of his desk with white-knuckled fingers.

"You're working too much."

Her gentle accusation causes his shoulders to slump as if granting permission to think the same thing.

"It has been a long day."

On cue, Jin shuffles a stack of paper to slide into his bag and begins packing away a laptop. He adjusts his glasses, glancing her way once before looking away.

"I was just about to leave," he murmurs.

More like looking for an excuse to. She notices with some surprise that he seems almost awkward as he gathers his things. He nods at her father and then passes by her without another word.

Her father's face sinks into something like disappointment. He nods to the door.

"You should walk him out."

"I think he knows the way by now," she says lightly, approaching him to get a better look at his tired features.

He clears his throat.

"He's been helping me with some legal issues," he offers and adds, "He's going to be successful in the future. I can tell. He's smart."

Oh, she's well aware of how smart he is, if only in relation to how stupid he makes her feel. She's constantly testing the limits of his patience. Especially when during her lessons he looks close to snapping a pencil in half when he realizes she's been daydreaming instead of listening to him.

"Do you enjoy your time with him?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. His phrasing is…weird. Enjoy tutoring? A doubtful smile tugs at her lips.

"I don't think that's something people usually enjoy."

"Ah. Well." He shuffles the rest of his paperwork awkwardly, "In time maybe you two could find something else to bond over. He's fond of you."

What Jin is fond of is watching Shino make dinner. Or do dishes. Or talk. Or do anything. It's a little sad actually, to see someone so wholly devoted to staring longingly at another person without ever making a move. The romance dramas she watches have nothing on the unrequited glances that those two share and like a drama, neither of them seems willing to take a step toward a relationship. Maybe by the eleventh episode. If her father spent more than 20 minutes at a time at home, he'd be able to see in an instant the reason Jin deals with this job has nothing to do with her.

"I was actually hoping to talk to you about something." she says, steering the conversation away from her lovesick tutor, "A classmate told me the restaurant they work at is hiring. I thought after I graduate I could try working there."

He pulls off his glasses, running a hand down his weary face.

"A job?"

"Yeah! I think um…it could be a really good experience."

"I don't like the idea of you being somewhere so open. It could be dangerous."

"At a restaurant?" She laughs, twisting her fingers together, "No way! Besides…Mugen will be there."

She adds this last bit hesitantly.

"So, you trust him now?"

She shifts from one foot to the other, fingers still tangled in one another. She does. At least, she thinks she does. There are moments, sparsely strewn across their short time together when she feels like they're getting closer. Or rather, that it would be easy to grow closer. The problem is that her grumpy bodyguard seems hesitant to share anything with her. It's like a switch flips and he becomes standoffish. Then again, what kind of relationship should you have with a bodyguard? Her father doesn't seem to keep close relationships with any of the people who surround him at his press conferences or wait outside of his office to cart him away to the next interview. For him, it's always a strict employee-employer type deal.

Mugen would probably like it better if she treated him like that, but that's not who she is. She's been spoiled by Shino's friendship and sometimes she can even trick a smile out of Jin. What's the point in having someone close without being at least a little friendly?

"A few years ago, I considered remarrying," he admits after a moment of her silence. "someone with older children."

"You were going to remarry?"

Her voice goes up an octave. It's silly, but she feels betrayed on behalf of her mother. Even considering it feels wrong.

"I realized it would be for the wrong reasons," he says, accurately surmising her feelings, "I just thought if I could find someone to watch over you, I would feel better about…well. I know I'm not home enough."

So, is that what he thinks Mugen is supposed to be—a surrogate sibling? The idea of him being brotherly rubs her the wrong way, even if he's definitely capable of being annoying like one. You can't buy a family, no matter how hard he seems to be trying.

"You don't have to jump through all these hoops for me," she insists. "I'm not helpless."

But standing in the middle of his office like this is a familiar sort of helplessness. This is where he would coach her on how to behave in front of cameras; keep her grief in check and wipe her face clear of emotion. She'd stare down at her socks; the ones her mother bought for her just before she died. They were colorful and covered with Sanrio characters. She wore them for longer than she should have. Until they grew threadbare from repeated washes and a toe peeked out of one of pochacco's faded eyes. She feels the same. Like her essence is getting scrubbed and rinsed away. She has to exist in a diluted form. He must believe if he keeps her neutral, she'll be overlooked.

"I'll help pass laws to make it harder for these sorts of things to happen again. I'll make things right."

What law could he pass to bring her mother back? To a grieving child, those promises were meaningless.

It's his guilt making him like this. He knows that when someone's eyes light up in recognition of her name—it's him they think of. Whether it's some policy he endorsed that screwed over their father's failing business or a law he campaigned against that would have guaranteed better housing for a sick relative—she bears the brunt of their anger while being afforded none of her own. Because she's reachable. Just like her mother was; she gets it. She wants to live her life regardless.

"I can't live in hiding forever," she pleads softly, "please understand that."

He seems to be thinking her words over. Her eyes stray to the corner of his desk where the same heavy, ancient bible has lain for as long as she can remember—sometimes flipped open or bookmarked. She can usually gauge his state of mind based on which passages he has it turned to. Gilded edges catch the light from his desk lamp as she tilts her head to read upside down: Ephesians 5:25 Husbands, love your wives…

"Trust is important."

She looks back at him as he pulls the heavy tome toward himself and shuts it. He takes a deep breath and continues.

"I'll discuss it with Mugen soon."

Outside of the governor's home, Mugen leans against the concrete fence flicking a lighter absentmindedly, sending brief flashes of sparks into the dark in quick succession. To his ear he holds his burner phone, not-so-dutifully prepared to give his weekly check-in. Mukuro's voice cuts off at the third ring.

"So, you learn anything new?"

What is he supposed to be learning? He could tell them when the girl goes to school and comes home, but anyone could find that out. He has a trove of other useless information you can only get by living with someone. Like what breakfast she prefers (tamago kake gohan—which she never shares). She watches cheesy dramas nightly. The sleeves of her sweaters are always damp from holding them up to her streaming eyes (he still doesn't get how women cry over that corny-sounding bullshit). She's clumsy, constantly running into the corner of a table or something because her head's jammed in the clouds. Beneath her skirt, her pale legs are frequently kissed by a smattering of mauve-colored bruises. She's weird about it too. When he stubs his toe on something he's likely to try and murder the offending piece of furniture; she sits there with tears in her eyes and laughs, like it's just a funny little accident.

But as far as the man he's there for…nothing.

He barely sees him. Once a week there's an envelope with his name on it laying on the kitchen table containing his payment. They exchange brief messages about his daughter's well-being. Thankfully the Governor is fine with short answers. Yeah. She's fine. No sign of any rogue vehicle swerving to hit her because Shiren's boss hasn't ordered another one. She's never been safer.

There was the asshole that messed with her after school. He remembers this with a sharp flare of annoyance. He's primed to hate any brat that goes to that sort of snooty rich school, but especially him. Because even after she knocked him on his ass, he still had the audacity to talk shit.

"You better believe the next car isn't going to miss—"

That fucker would have been much less lucky if Mugen had gotten there sooner. He would have heard whatever it is the coward said that gave her reason enough to hit him. He gives another aggressive flick at the lighter.

"I don't know. What do you want me to say? He's hackin' up a lung in there right now. He hired me to watch over his kid; that's all I do. You wanna know what toothpaste she uses? 'Cause I know that."

Shiren's voice chimes in from the background.

"Wait—is he sick?"

He glances up at the house to the Governor's office windows where more muffled coughing seeps into the quiet night.

"Doesn't sound good."

"Now that's helpful information!" Shiren exclaims, "As far as anyone knows he's got a clean bill of health. Good! This is useful!"

He hears the door behind him open. His back straightens.

"Yeah. Later mom."

He hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket. They know the signal for when he needs to go. He'd rather not drag out the conversation longer than it needs to be anyway. They got something useful out of him. That's enough hard work for one week.

The four-eyed law school nerd walks by him. The silence is loaded. He's always giving him these looks. Like he knows everything. Could be his own paranoia. Might not be a bad idea to have one of Shiren's guys take that judgemental bastard out, or at least keep him away. Occupied. He's always hovering and it pisses him off. He notices that he shifts closer to the girl when Mugen is around—a protective hand steering her away. Like he's going to pounce on her or something.

He flicks the lighter again until a flame blooms. He runs his other hand over the top, letting the warmth kiss his palm until it nearly stings. He catches sight of the light turning on in the girl's bedroom on the second floor. Her silhouette darkens it briefly before she pushes back the curtain.

Drawn to the flickering light, she looks down at him and waves. There are still two tiny bandaids over her knuckles where her skin split on the kid's face. You wouldn't know she was capable of something like that looking at her now in her oversized sleep shirt with her hair falling loose over her shoulders. She just looks like a girl; innocent and unassuming. He remembers how she looked after though; her bared teeth, the fury in her eyes. Not at all like the way she flares up at him. This was cold, long-held rage. The kind that demands you to retaliate. He understands it; he just doesn't understand what that asshole could have said to trigger that sort of reaction in her.

I couldn't let him get away with it.

What couldn't she let him get away with?

She stammered out to the housekeeper that she fell down on her way home and sprained it. She looked over at him, breath held, waiting for him to contradict her. He didn't. It's not his business who she lies to. He ignored her smile along with the mouthed thank you.

Her presence oscillates between comfort and discomfort. It's hard to find a good balance between keeping her close enough to avoid suspicion, while also keeping her far enough away from knowing him. Especially because he almost…craves it. But that would be really fucking stupid on a thousand different fronts.

It's all this sneaking around bullshit. How do you tip from one cup without spilling from another?

Her curtains flutter closed over a smile he hasn't earned.

If you knew, he thinks darkly, letting the flame from his lighter flicker out, If you knew everything, you wouldn't look at me like that.

"Kasumi-san's boyfriend is crazy."

"Who is he?"

"I heard he's some washed-up old criminal."

At that last comment, she snorted to herself in the hall, earning her a few head turns. Mugen would love that one.

She flexes the muscles in her hand, feeling soreness wash over her as a pale remnant of the anger that led her to jam it into Kohei's face. His resentful eyes may still follow her, but he's kept his comments to himself. She goes home without finding any more surprises in her locker. She can't control the whispers that follow her, but at least they now have a note of caution in them.

It was only Shinsuke who connected her bruised hand to Kohei's newly discolored nose.

He joined her under the awning during lunch while the rain fell in a soft mist. She smiled at his concern, fiddling with the straw to her drink.

"So then…" he said, gnawing the straw to his juice, "that guy I heard about…is he your boyfriend?"

"Nope!"

"Then who is he?"

She hesitated.

"I'll tell you, but don't make fun of me." she said, lowering her voice, "My dad hired him to…watch over me."

Bodyguard still seemed too embarrassing to admit out loud.

He nodded and looked away from her momentarily, rubbing the back of his reddening neck.

"Do…do you still want to work at the restaurant with me?"

"Of course I do," she assured him, "I just need to convince my dad. He's worried about my safety or something; it's really stupid."

"You know, I wouldn't let anything happen to you, Fuu."

He said it with such conviction that she felt warmth spread across her face like a spotlight. She had to be the one to break eye contact, unsure of what to do with that sort of intensity.

Hours later, the sky has broken into shards of clear sky slicing through taupe-painted clouds. The end of an early spring rain fills the air with sweetness. She inhales it greedily, letting it fill her lungs with something like hope.

Mugen waits for her a little ways from the entrance beneath a spindly tree heavy with pale green buds days from bursting open into rich, pink blossoms. The hood of his jacket is drawn up, hiding his face. She welcomes the eyes that bore into the two of them as she approaches. She stops in front of him, her smiling face ducking to meet his impassive one.

Their walk home is usually quiet. She rambles on about her day and, if she's lucky, he'll grunt in response. Today, she tells him about her conversation with her dad the night before and about the restaurant job with her classmate. Judging by his reaction, this is news to him, which means her dad hasn't talked with him yet. He probably won't for a few more days at least because of all his campaigning.

She also tells him that no one has messed with her since he threatened Kohei. She doesn't know how she expected him to respond; maybe with smug cockiness since that seems to be his other default setting. But to her surprise, he denies any credit.

"Wasn't me." he says, "he was probably pissin' himself because you hit him first."

She doesn't consider her actions anywhere near as threatening as his. She'll never have the sort of aura he possesses. One made of steel and fire. His presence is one that commands you to pay attention. It strikes her that if she had been born a son to her father, he probably wouldn't worry about her getting a job. Or having a bodyguard. But she's…what did Mugen say?

Soft.

"Hey, Mugen…"

"Hmm."

"What were you like in high school? Were you in any clubs?"

"I played baseball."

"No way!"

Her steps slow, but he continues on, throwing the words over his shoulder.

"You think I'm lyin'?"

She jogs to catch up, darting to avoid the still-dripping eaves lining the street.

"No, I think it's cool! I can't play any sports."

Her softness extends to organized sports. She's got all the spirit and none of the coordination. She pictures him younger, maybe not quite so scruffy and sullen. He can't be more than a few years older than she is. Was he popular? Did he have a string of girlfriends or was he quiet? Did he make a show of home runs or was he laser-focused on winning? She smiles to herself. Was he cute in a uniform?

"I bet your family liked to watch you play."

"Hm."

And he's back to noncommittal grunts.

Her fingers tighten on the handle of her book bag. This is where she should drop it and celebrate her small victory that they're having a normal conversation, but she can't control the next one that tumbles out.

"Are you close with your family? You never mention them."

He gives her a sharp, sideways look as they stop at a crosswalk. It's a warning. She's drifting too close to one of his invisible lines. She doesn't know much about him, but she knows how he gets when she's too friendly. Like a caged animal; if she reaches in too far, he'll bite.

"I get that sort of thing can be hard to talk about," she tries again, keeping her voice light, "I might be able to understand though."

A muscle in his jaw flexes.

"I doubt it."

A few people have gathered around to wait with them for the light to change. She notices with some indignation how they shuffle to keep from getting too near to Mugen. A few sideways glances accompany switching designer crossbody bags from one side to the other. It's then that she realizes the armor of being intimidating comes with a cost. Stubbornly, she sidesteps closer to him.

A little girl in a banana-yellow raincoat bounces around in the oily, rainbow-hued puddles leftover from the rain while her mother carries on a loud, distracted phone conversation. Maybe it's not the right time to talk about something so personal, but she does understand how complicated family can be. She's acutely aware of the pain of having half of her own ripped from her. Maybe he's been through something similar?

"Well, for me," she begins, taking care to keep her voice quiet, "it was tough growing up with—"

"Yeah, bet it was hard havin' everything handed to you."

The little girl splashing in puddles hops between them. A cold wave of water soaks into her socks, but it's nothing compared to the frigid slap his words are. Stung, she steps back from him.

"Excuse me?"

He gives an irritated look to the little girl still squealing and jumping around them.

"Forget it."

"Why are you being like this?" she whispers, hating herself for how whiny she sounds. "I just want to get to know you."

"No, you don't. So drop it."

A chorus of gasps pulls her attention away. Mugen's arm shoots out and grips a handful of the little girl's yellow coat, yanking her back before she can hop off the curb and into the rush of traffic. The harsh gust from a passing truck whips her hair back.

"Pay attention to your damn kid." he snaps at the now stunned-looking woman holding her phone. She hangs up her call, wordlessly reaching for her daughter.

A half-second later the crosswalk light changes and he steps off at once.

Fuu wonders what it's like to have yourself so utterly closed off from other people. If there are doors to her heart, they've always been thrown wide. What is it about him that makes her so determined to break into his?

She follows after him, looking over her shoulder at the little girl whose face holds some of the same shiny, wide-eyed awe he must resent seeing in her.

As her graduation day arrives, Mugen is given an unexpected day off so that the governor can take her out to celebrate.

He sleeps late and spends too long laying around the empty house doing nothing. By early evening he decides to go back to Mukuro's garage to take out the motorcycle he worked on before. The lights in the apartment are on when he gets there and since Mukuro spends his free nights out partying, it's probably just Koza. Judging by the candy wrappers in the trash can in the garage, she probably hangs around there when he's gone. He pulls out a wad of cash and stuffs some of the bills inside one of the wrinkled envelopes the Governor uses for him before texting her to let her know it's there.

Once the bike roars to life, he lets himself relax as he makes his way out of the neighborhood. He weaves his way through winding streets and tight corners, skirting boxy vans and glossy taxis. It's not as free driving in the city when it's busy; figuring out the fastest ways around traffic and taking narrow alleyways to avoid the tight squeeze between two semis. It's less puzzle-solving and more instinct that he follows.

Eventually, through his twists and turns he's rewarded with a long stretch of empty street he can gun it down, pressing forward and skimming by a city bus into the eerie green glow of a tunnel, before emerging into a spectacular view of the indigo skyline jagged with high-rises.

He stops at an intersection where a sea of pedestrians pass by in a swarming mass. A few girls in glittery, short skirts ogle him as he idles. He smirks beneath his helmet. They all giggle when he lifts the visor to stare at them openly. The shit you can get away with on a bike. He knows exactly how he looks. He revs the engine teasingly as they pass, eliciting excited squeals. It's the helmet, he thinks. If he didn't need to get back tonight he might try to find a dumb slut who's impressed enough with his stolen bike to let him take her for a different kind of ride.

Impatiently he inches through the crowd, eager to get back onto emptier streets, only pausing when he catches the briefest glimpse of a familiar blue-plaid skirt. It's not the girl, but someone from her school, out celebrating with friends.

This inevitably brings her to his mind. She's been quiet around him the last few days and it doesn't take a genius to guess why.

He hurt her feelings.

And fuck, the last thing he wants to worry about is a teenage girl's feelings. But this is his life now, isn't it? Half of his damn job is making sure the little bitch doesn't sulk so badly that her dad fires him. He's not doing a good job.

Part of him worries that at that very moment, she could be spilling her guts to her old man over dinner. He's mean to me! He yelled at me!

What's he supposed to do when she gets nosy like that? She's trying to wriggle her way into his business by pretending she would understand him. He doesn't want to hear her complain about her cushy childhood not being everything she dreamed of— is he supposed to feel sorry for her? Did daddy not get you a car when you turned sixteen? I bet that sucked. Her mom doesn't look like she's in the picture, so what? Neither of his parents is in his life. That's all they've got in common. Even ignoring his own, he's seen too many people with actual fucked up childhoods to feel bad about her.

What was so hard for you?

The crowd parts and he lurches forward into the night. Usually, a good long drive is enough to clear his head, but tonight all of her words needle at him until he finds himself back at her house a lot sooner than he would have liked.

He cuts the engine just as his phone buzzes from his pocket. He pulls it out, his stomach sinking. The Governor wants to have a little chat. He removes his helmet in resignation. He knew it was coming. There has to be a way to talk his way out of his. Even if he has to pretend he cares that he hurt her feelings.

There's a waft of perfume in the breeze that she makes as the girl passes him on his way to the Governor's office, her eyes downturned from his. It's been like this all week, but now she seems even more upset.

Aw, shit.

Like the first time they met, Mugen feels a distinct sense of someone flexing their position of authority when he enters the Governor's office. He prefers their less in-depth conversations. It's a lot easier to bullshit someone over a text message.

The hard wooden chair in front of the desk creaks as Mugen sits down. His foot begins to bounce and he has to stop himself. He waits for the kick. She told me you're an asshole I actually don't give a fuck that you saved her life. Something along those lines.

"Did you enjoy your day off?"

"Yeah."

Kasumi nods. The silence he lets build is probably a technique he uses against his opponents. It's definitely unnerving and if this were a debate and Mugen was an oily politician he might be tempted to fill it with empty words. Mugen keeps his face smooth instead. He's not into politics—but he can appreciate that Kasumi is probably intimidating to other politicians.

"Now that she's graduated, I thought it would be a good time to have a talk about the length of your employment," he pauses here, his expression shifting, "She was hurt on your watch."

Mugen frowns. Hell no she wasn't. He's always with her, barring what happens in school, but that won't be a problem anymore since she graduated.

"I noticed the swelling on her hand days ago." the older man continues, his eyes hard on Mugen's, "you had every opportunity to tell me about that incident, but you didn't."

Which means she probably didn't tell him how it happened.

"She punched someone," Mugen says with a shrug. She did the hurting. Big deal. If she knew how to throw a decent punch she wouldn't have had a swollen hand in the first place.

The Governor's expression is still coldly appraising.

"I assumed as much. I'm concerned that you didn't think this was information I would need to know."

And do what with it? If Mugen was in her position he wouldn't tell him either. Maybe if he spent a little less time doing interviews he'd notice this shit quicker, but that's not his business.

"I can tell the difference between some kid being an asshole and someone who wants to hurt her. You should be proud of her for not runnin' to me right away. She's gotta stand on her own feet or else she'll always run. She's not helpless."

"No, she's not helpless." he agrees, "but she cannot only rely on herself. No man is an island."

Mugen bites his tongue. I beg to fuckin' differ. If Kasumi had any sense he'd teach her that the only person she can count on is herself. Believing otherwise is not just stupid, it's dangerous. Then again, he's into that holy-divine bullshit, there's no reasoning with him.

"How long are you willing to stay by her side?"

From the Governor's point of view, Mugen wanted the job to begin with. He sent in a neat little application, got rejected, and still risked his life for her. He's just a down-on-his-luck, needing-a-second-chance sort of guy. Throw in the divine intervention bullshit and he thought he was golden. But these aren't the eyes of a man asking in religious gratitude. The governor's eyes are steel on his own.

He needs to tread carefully with his words—which has never been his strong suit, as proven by the whole conversation.

He's heard Shiren say that the best thing to do to make a lie seem more convincing is to convince yourself. He doesn't hate her. She stands in front of a life-changing amount of money. She's a means to an end, but that's empty.

He digs in and imagines a different scenario: one where his only job is to keep her safe. There's no sneaking around, no late-night phone calls. He's the hero she thinks he is—that's stretching past the point of breaking. Even before all this, he's done enough harm to keep him from ever earning that title.

He settles somewhere between the truth and a lie.

"As long as she needs me…I'm not goin' anywhere."

Her old man nods once more, now sinking back into his chair, all sternness leaving his shoulders. He coughs, bringing a handkerchief to his mouth.

"Good. Then in time, you'll learn the rest."

A chill weaves its way down Mugen's spine at those words. Why does this feel even more like he's selling his soul away? Half of it belongs to Shiren's boss. Half to the governor. There's nothing left for him but it's worthless at this point anyway. He might not even want it back after all of this.

He finds her sitting on the back steps near the driveway. She's still in her school uniform, her arms wrapped around bruised knees, her head bowed. He lights up a cigarette. He's never been good with emotional women. Whenever Koza gets sniffly he just keeps his mouth shut and waits for it to pass. He has a feeling she's not like that.

He exhales, letting a stream of smoke between his pursed lips.

"Who made you cry? If he's still around I'll make him cry."

His shitty attempt at a joke earns him the barest shrug of her shoulder.

"My classmate wants to come over and try to convince dad on their own and I know it won't work" she sniffs again, "and they went through so much to help me get this job and now I'm going to have to turn it down and—"

"Quit your bitchin'. I talked to your old man about it. You're allowed to."

Right after Mugen signed away the other half of his soul, the Governor let him know about her doing the job. He warned him that it could potentially come with more problems. He'll need to be on guard even more, she needs to be able to rely on him blah blah blah. Nothing he's too concerned about.

The girl's head whips up to look at him.

"But you gotta do one important thing or he'll call the whole thing off," he says solemnly. He watches her bottom lip quiver and grins, "He said you gotta feed me for free every night–"

She doesn't even seem to register his joke as she launches up from the ground.

"Oh, Mugen, you're the best!"

Her praise thaws some of the dread from before. She snaps to his side in an instant—like the last few days never even happened. If she had any self-preservation she wouldn't let him get away with it. One day he'll give Shiren's bosses whatever it is they need to destroy the Governor. If he's lucky, she'll be none the wiser that he played a part in it. He really might stay a hero in her memory. He's not sure how he feels about that at the moment.

He sucks in another lungful of nicotine.

"Remember that the next time I piss you off."

She makes a face. "Don't tell me you're planning on doing it again?"

Fuck, I hope not, he thinks feeling himself relax. It's a strange relief to have her back to normal. When she's mad at him he can poke and prod until she blows up and cools off, but when she shuts him out completely he feels less in control. It's a good lesson. When she's happy, it's easy. More than easy, it's almost enjoyable.

"Was that—a smile?"

Which of course causes it to drop from his face.

"Hell no."

She steps closer to him, poking a finger into his chest.

"Admit it! You think I'm fun to be around!"

"No way."

"You couldn't stand me not talking to you."

He scoffs as she continues, her face smug.

"You hated that a cute girl like me was giving you the cold shoulder!"

He rolls his eyes. "Hah, a cute girl?"

Her arms cross over her chest, defiance causing her eyes to sparkle in challenge.

"That's right! I bet you've been dying to make a move."

He opens his mouth to let her know otherwise, but up close like this a ripple of awareness passes through him, causing his skin to tingle. His tongue moistens his cracked lips. The way her big eyes are lit up right now—how the round hills of her cheeks tinge pink when she smiles. Even the sight of her teeth briefly pressing into the soft flesh of her bottom lip does something for him. He's probably always had some awareness of it.

She is cute.

"Maybe I will make a move," he murmurs, almost without thought.

She blanches, all teasing laughter evacuating her face.

"Wait—what?"

He flicks his cigarette down, stomping it into the pavement as he takes a slow step toward her.

"Yeah. Think I wanna taste of what a cute girl like you is offerin'."

She glances over her shoulder as she stumbles back over the knotted roots of a tree in the yard.

"I-I am not offering anything!"

He tilts his head.

"Hmm, no?"

It's so easy to tease reactions out of her. Her eyes are wide–Doe-eyed. A deer in headlights. It fits her. She's not his type, but he can't help but enjoy watching her get all flustered over something so small. His face cracks into a grin.

"Shoulda' seen your face. What're you worried about? I told ya; you got nothin' for me."

She flares right back up.

"You jerk! Well…Likewise! Because I don't like guys who don't even brush their teeth!"

"Huh?"

"That's right! I noticed you never brought a toothbrush here! That's gross even for you."

His eyebrow twitches. What a stupid thing to notice. He just doesn't keep his on the counter because it's always cluttered with all of her crap. He can't resist another opportunity to mess with her though. He crosses his arms.

"I do too brush my teeth. I use the little pink one."

Her voice comes out as a strangled whisper. "You do not."

He shrugs, "Figured it was the guest one."

A shaking hand rises over her mouth.

"That means you and I have been…"

He gives up on keeping his cool, falling into a fit of laughter, his hands on his knees as he snorts at her mortified expression.

"You better be lying!"

She smacks him, but there's no sting to it. Instead, he feels that strange awareness from before settle pleasantly into his stomach at each soft blow she lands on him. He catches one of her wrists mid-swing and her smile turns quizzical.

"Fuu? Are you there?"

The voice coming from the end of her driveway causes her eyes to light up again.

"That's Shinsuke! I'll tell him I can take the job. Thank you again!"

He watches her ponytail swing as she bounds away from him and to her former classmate's side. Something like cold water is doused over his head. Not only is the party over, the cops have arrived. This whole time he pictured this classmate she mentioned as a girl.

When she beams up at him, something ugly—petulant sinks into his stomach, turning it sour. She's not acting differently. She's always handing out her smiles like candy. The sugary one she gives this boy is the very same she just gave him.

And he doesn't like it.