a/n: This fic wasn't supposed to continue, but I have so much fun writing it, so here we are! It grew a plot! Shoutout to the guest that reviewed last chapter, you made me smile. The fluffy bits are here, all. Just a thought: I like to think I interpret different angles to Sakamoto and Mutsu's character with this story. Happy reading and tell me what you lovelies thought of it; it really makes me day! EDIT: I realized I forgot to complete a sentence, so I corrected it.

There's a distinct clink that resonates in the lowlight of a backend bar as Sakata and Mutsu finish off another drink, asking for a flask through the art of reverberating cups against the table.

The bartender sighs, none the wiser to refuse Mutsu when she's the least rowdy of the pair and usually the one who pays on the nights Sakata loses his wallet (which, of course, she follows up with interest), but as he refills their sake holder, he doesn't forget to give Sakata a hand single denoting 'only one more'.

With a dismissive hand as Mutsu feels the conversation tipping in her favor, Sakata reels their first Friday ritual away from his issues and casts his line into her own pond of romantic woes. She offers, out of fairness, a succinct explanation. Glazes over the deep end of their conversation, the instant she realized Sakamoto Tatsuma is not thoroughly a fraud in his way of life but a mere buffoon who makes the most of his own, withholds the blossoming feeling that he finds her company more than a coincidence, forgoes the complex revelation that somehow, her regimented life unfurled the second he gave her a work ethic that is not for provisionary survival, but to each their own perpetuating their own philosophies of living be it magical realism, aestheticism, or other thematics they had yet to dissect in their next conversation.

She is sparse in her detailings because Sakata is a colleague, a drinking buddy with many other buddies to share a night smelling of heated alcoholism, but she exaggerates their art movement banter and skips right to the blunt, "and that's how he asked me out," without further questioning.

Because all Sakata can focus on is the nerdy banter on art movements and books. His eyes keep blinking but his hand is steady as it pounds against the bar.

"So let me get this straight, you two flirted the shit out of Oscar Wilde and Banana Yoshimoto's name. Then boom, you're going on a date next Saturday night?"

Mutsu tips the lacquerware flask and lets the warm drink fill her cup. She sips and leaves her colleague in suspense as his eyes bug out of their sockets and alcoholism saturates the air around him. He's not drunk but nearly, and it's enough to throw him off his prying game.

"Wilde is dead and Yoshimoto is taken."

"Banana's still alive?"

"Not all interesting authors are dead."

"Whatever!" When other wan bar guests turn from their upsetting expressions reflected in their drinks and elect to glower at him, Gintoki pinpoints his tone into a safe whisper-hiss–he's past the point of tipsy. He shakes his head faster than necessary and pours another drink; the bartender looks close to stopping him out of deep concern for everyone. "The point is, I can't believe you goaded the nerd outta' Sakamoto instead of his headass side."

She taps the table with a thoughtful finger and shrugs. If the other weekend is any indication of the nature of Tatsuma Sakamoto, it is that he had an emotive intelligence spanning a delicate optimism. It isn't that he's a complete clown (arguably), he's…

He's something else.

But it doesn't change that crass and goofy side of him that emerges when everyone least needs it. He met Onohara in a meeting the other day and right after he nailed the introduction, he started cracking up over Onohara's "Japanese game show" tie. It certainly soured Onohara's openness to her proposals with every retaliation in the form of rain checks on their final meeting to secure the Kaientai-Chidori partnership.

So instead of unburdening her garish heart as Gintoki did earlier in the night despite her many opinions and questions, she focuses on his work ethic. "Yes, but except when he's working on his own projects or the stuff he cares about. He's showy but it's because he's excited about what he does."

"Yeah, you've always been too much about work but you know what, Mutsu?" Sakata gurgles up a guffaw and the bartender swipes away his drink, cutting him off. But he doesn't seem to care, even when Mutsu points it out. All he does is down his drink and smiles uncontrollably as he parses her carefully placed straight face. "You're perfect for that guy if you care to notice crap like that."

"Question, how did we go from talking about your beautiful event planner sweetheart to insulting what's none of your business?"

It's definitely the sake that's warming her cheeks.

"Don't call her my sweetheart when all I've gotten to do is hook up!" Another warning from the bartender and more glares from the other guests. Mutsu uncontrollably smirks as she empties her cup and opens up her wallet. Sakata's face falls as he comprehends the weight to his words. "Oh shit. Please don't tell Kagura."

She stands up, thanks the bartender, thinks about the next train to her neighborhood as she gives Sakata a friendly wave goodbye.

"No promises."

In the morning that Monday, Fumiko intercepted her in the elevator as she chirps about the latest updates on her mending relationship with Eren. She doesn't believe in it lasting, but after another round of begging and embarrassing innuendos, Mutsu caves in and agrees to have lunch with her to catch up on whatever she couldn't hyperspeed in an elevator ride.

On her break, she ignores a pointed look from Onohara. He narrows his eyes in askance as she exits her office, announcing her break on the standard hour. Even Fumiko shoots her a puzzled, wordless question: what did you even do this time?

She holds in her sigh when he locks his gaze with her and approaches her in wide strides. He folds his arms and she mirrors him, back straightened.

"You're not working over lunch?"

"Why, so you can call my work your own?"

"You usually go over your work on break."

"Why won't you let me catch a break when I'm more than caught up on our projects and partnership papers?"

"I'm not disallowing you from anything, I'm asking a question."

"Please don't overstep our professional relationship by asking me a personal question."

Fumiko and the rest of the office quiets in the slightest. Onohara gives the room a precursory read and clears his throat. One of them is close to losing face.

And it's not Mutsu.

For a prolonged breath, the office eyes them from around and above their cubicles or through their office windows in the least furtive way possible. Face still tight, Onohara tsks.

"Watch yourself, Kaien."

Three words erases the attention on them. When he turns on his heel, she takes her opportunity to rolls her eyes. Fumiko mouths what Mutsu imagines are curse words-Onohara isn't many people's favorites-then hand signals herself eating from an upturned palm.

Mutsu takes her up on her offer with a thumbs up.

Thankfully, Fumiko kept the gossip and latest complaints about Eren to a few sentences and text message screenshot viewings. In an instant, once Fumiko twirled a lock of hair around her finger, she switched up the topics to what heated/killed Mutsu's mood the fastest: Onohara and today's incident.

"What if he's weirdly attracted to you?"

"No. Do not," she gags without bothering to hide it. She unthinkingly crumples her napkin up onto her salad plate as she finishes cleaning her space on the table. "This isn't some hate-love office rom-com, this is Onohara The Chairman of The Communist Party."

"He's just our department head," Fumiko says, biting back a laugh in between sips of the vestiges of her smoothie. Mutsu can't help herself when she rolls her eyes so far into the back of her head–was it not obvious how vexing Onohara was to everyone?

"His agenda to cheapen out on the bathroom tampons is chauvinistic, communist quality if I ever saw it," she stops before she can throw another verbal pitchfork at Onohara's sullied name, despite the grueling memories over his vendetta to 'save their office the money' through sly tactics.

"I'm sorry," she says at Fumiko's inquiring gaze. There's no need to dreg up past events, no matter its veracity and the rapport it built defending her loath for Onohara.

Fumiko shakes her head. "Don't be, he's actually scum. Besides, I've been the one talking all this time anyway. It's fair to let you speak if for the past three years you've listened to me talk about the same man who cheats on me." Mutsu can't even keep her straight faced professionalism in tact at that. The auburn woman giggles. "Oh come on! I'm a ditz, but I practice self-awareness!"

Mutsu stares at Fumiko like she's the child of Cerebus, donning several heads impossible to human logic. Fumiko being self-aware? The thought of that alone would sooner destroy the entire solar system. Fumiko prods Mutsu to continue to rant again with a nudge of her cold plastic cup against Mutsu's arm and Mutsu shrugs, her tense shoulders weighing a little less as they loosen.

"He's just...been a pain with our partnership when he was the one who wanted it in the first place. And I want this to work out so bad, we've been tripping up in profits and branching out with a reputably small but efficient company would do all of us well." Mutsu looks out onto the window as she collects the last of her thoughts. "I just wish he would ease up."

"He's always been like that with you. I don't know why it's bothering you now."

"Fumiko, this time, I led this project, it's not just–"

Her phone, facing the ceiling, lights up on cue.

Tatsuma Sakamoto (Kaientai) 12:40PM: omgomgomg so i think i'm eating the best gyoza on the planet and it's not too expensive omg mutsu you gotta try this

Tatsuma Sakamoto (Kaientai) 12:40PM: do u think you'll get out of work on the dot so we can fine dine?

"Oh, I see," Fumiko drags out her humming. Mutsu averts his eyes. She only mentioned Tatsuma once, by chance, on a water break discussing the partnership and their intriguing, unique first impressions.

"He's only part of it."

"No need to get defensive on me, Kaien. Look, this project is your baby turtle. That…" she leans over the table to read the name from the screen and Mutsu swipes it off the table, "Sakamoto guy and your relationship is in a baby stage for your other turtle. I get it. Onohara is the predator that gobbles up your baby turtles before they can make it to the ocean."

They continue to talk for as long as their lunch break permitted, and about a minute before Mutsu makes it to the elevator, Sakata blows up her phone with text messages to speed up her lunch in thirty seconds.

Onohara steps on a stool and picks the clock off the wall, a lanky finger tapping the glass on the lengthier of the hands placed barely away from the 1. It is then that Mutsu knows that she won't be getting that gyoza Tatsuma gushed about at all tonight.

She finishes up the website report and analysis, adding the final line on the projected demographic and their company's suggested response to the transitional period they were undergoing as new clients are attracted from the buzz surrounding their deal with the Kaientai. Around her, the desks are empty, including the seat beside her where Fumiko occupied ten minutes ago until her beloved called her.

"Crap," she muttered when she hung up on him, "I forgot to tell Eren I was working overtime tonight. I can already feel it falling apart all over again once I come home."

"Say no more," Mutsu said, merciful. "This was all because of Onohara's vendetta against girls having fun on their break. Go make it up to him."

"For serious, Kaien?"

She nodded.

And that is the story how Fumiko gave Mutsu a million air kisses and sprinted out of the building. Once her keyboard went cold and her eyes scanned the document a final time, she hit print and shouldered on her pocketbook.

Her phone also lights up as she picks it up. Excellent timing as per usual.

Tatsuma Sakamoto (Kaientai) 6:30PM: are u still at the marketing office?

Unexpected but she reserves no complaints. She continues on her journey to the printer, dim lighting as her pathway as she types back:

Mutsu Kaien 6:31PM: I am... why?

Tatsuma Sakamoto (Kaientai) 6:32PM: bc behold, i brought dinner lol

"What?" she questions nobody in particular and on instinct, her body turns 180 degrees from her blind spot. Before she can look away, the elevator doors open, light spilling out and revealing Tatsuma carrying two plastic bags heavy with takeout.

"No way," she says, using her phone as a pointer. She kind of laughs but represses most of it, leaving behind a curved grin as a remnant. When he hands her one of the bags, she inquires. "How much is it?"

"Yes way and don't worry about it."

"Well I am," she argues back, reaching for her wallet in her bag.

Shaking his head, Tatsuma gently pushes her hand away from its quest, overriding her plans. He puts his touch away when she relinquishes her stance, smiling lightly. He clears his throat. "It was discounted at the depachika(1), that's why you shouldn't worry about it."

"Here I thought you were the type of man to splurge."

"I am a cheap, cheap man, Mutsu, with a stomach for food a step up from convenience store bento."

There's a pregnant pause as they examine the other, expecting a shift in consignment or retaliation, but there's none. Finally, Mutsu says, "I owe you one then."

She glances back at her paper out of habit, and instead of finding retreat from looking at Tatsuma for too long, she sighs wearily, throwing her fresh print outs on the nearest desk. "And on top of everything, I just realized I forgot to look into the weaknesses in our current digital marketing."

Tatsuma actually looks sympathetic. "I can stay if you need."

"No, we both have to prepare for tomorrow as best we can," Mutsu finds the nearest pen and scribbles in the error in the margins. "This is going to take another half hour. I'm going to kill you if your pitch is weak tomorrow."

"But you look tired."

"As is everyone who works a job they could potentially love if it wasn't for people who make the job harder. Not you, obviously." When he looks at her hesitantly again, she shoos him to the elevator. "I understand, but I got it. I really appreciate the food and the offer, but I'll see you tomorrow morning," after a moment of thinking she adds, "and the gallery on Friday."

He laughs weakly as he concedes, walking into the elevator and pushing the button.

"I won't let you down then."

The meeting Wednesday is especially memorable. It's burned into her eyes and throat as the anger overwhelms and throbs in every pulse that beats in each passing second that denotes she's been done a grievous wrong.

Firstly, Gintoki comes in hungover. He's still capable of completing his sentences without slurring, but the sunglasses resting on his face clearly did nothing to help with the presentation, and she makes sure he knows she's pissed when she digs her heels into his foot under the table. Tatsuma does a stellar job of presenting the information and necessary paperwork, playful and clean in speech and presentation. She couldn't have asked for a better meeting.

That is, until, Onohara cuts her off during her portion, reads her report as if he worked on it himself, and starts giving credit to everyone but herself.

"Excuse me, but–"

She's cut off. The meeting is adjourned. She forgets about Gintoki when he worms his way out of his seat and she's left staring a burning hole in the wall across from her, too aware of Onohara's smug presence at the front of the conference table, leaning back in his chair.

Fucking hell…

Tatsuma, momentarily, seizes her energy and mind when he slips into the chair Gintoki previously occupied, nudging her with his folder. He asks if he wants to back her up on what he guesses is her wrath–he's right–but she declines. She stands up. She opens the door for him.

"No, please. Go ahead. Go eat lunch for me."

He's still skeptical but nods, ducking out of the conference room, leaving her with her breathing exercises and mind clogged up with oh so many emotions.

"I worked hard to make this partnership happen ever since it was in the works, flew out to the province, and made valuable connections necessary to help the Chidori group," she articulates slowly and professionally. It's too early and disrespectful to flip her lid now. First, make him see reason–how absurd he's being should be a start. "And you're telling everybody that it was all you."

His eyes are like a watchful vulture, preparing his own rebuttal for his inhumanity and disrespect. All he says is, "I didn't think you were one to care for credit."

"I care when you pile the glory all on yourself and acknowledge your secretary for her single e-mail over my efforts."

"I make no apologies, Kaien."

She looks away, exhales, and faces him again. "I'm not asking for any apologies, I'm asking for amends. I'm asking for what I deserved back there, not for an admission to your manipulation."

Onohara gets on the same wavelength as her quickly, standing up to match her height. "Right-o, Diamond Princess, your dad's name might have boosted you to your pretty salary and job with me, but it won't give you what you don't deserve."

The old nickname, the nickname the press tossed around in their articles and television reports about the girl caught up in the midst of her father's mistakes and disappearance reopen an old wound. She glares intensely and without remorse, boss or not. He continues on with his venom, his carcass picking as he folds his arms. "Bad publicity or not, you were the pity of everyone, perhaps even the likes of the Kaientai men. A woman of your position doesn't just secure good deals out of nowhere."

That tone, his implications, how dare he...

"Get serious, Onohara, you know damn well I would be the head of this department if my bad publicity was anything to go by. I am the better businesswoman if I'm not stooping as low as making baseless accusations."

When he smirks faintly and clicks his tongue, he gestures to the door Tatsuma disappeared from minutes ago.

"So Sakamoto Tatsuma means nothing to you, personally."

"In the relevant, professional capacity, Tatsuma is a smart and useful partner to work with. Anything else beyond that, if relevant, is HR's concern," she's glad she can retort as quickly as she can; any more suspicions would not make her case any stronger.

"Oh, but it is concerning your credibility with this project," he says it like he's savoring another kill to her pride, to her career. "Unless you want everyone to think that it's because you 'pulled some strings'–"

"Even you know I am beyond–"

"–then I suggest you 'get serious' about work first before playing around."

She knows what exactly he's implying about her and because of it, and more, she wouldn't mind if aliens were real and a random spaceship demolished his apartment. Maybe hit his head, give him a concussion. That'd be fine, too.

"I despise you. You'll ruin my career here because you can't believe I pulled it off," she slams her palm on the table, uncaring that someone's head pops in on the conference room door window and ducks out as quickly as it peers in. " But I did it. I pulled this off."

There's a pregnant, tensing, pause as Onohara assesses her face, her posture, her body language. She hates every second of it. Finally, he says, retrieving his folder from the desk and starting towards the exit, "and who will administration believe?"

He told her to take the day off. It didn't matter; anything he said was moot. She storms out of the conference room, ignoring Fumiko and Gintoki's questions, and gathers her things without saying a word.

She tells them that she doesn't want to talk except that she needs coffee and space and just like that, she's out of the building. Mutsu wanders into the nearest cafe, gets on the line to order the quickest lunch possible before she heads out to find her apartment and throw herself on her bed.

She doesn't want to cry, but dammit, tears were stinging and filling quickly in her tear ducts. She's angry, not sad, but life had a funny way of turning everything around on her in ways she never suspected.

The phone in her pocket vibrates and she takes a breath to ground herself that yes, throwing away a smartphone would be irrational and expensive to replace. When she sees the caller ID, she answers it, clearing her throat to realign her emotions again.

But what she's about to say in this conversation may never realign her heart again if it goes well. According to plan. A plan so detrimental to her personal life but it's for her job. For her career. For respect.

"Tatsuma, hey. Sorry we didn't get to talk beforehand or after the meeting. Thanks again for the gyoza the other night." She steps up to the cash register and muffles the mic on her phone. "Mutsu, a black coffee and that sandwich over there please. Thanks."

'No problem! Wasn't it amazing?' His voice softens over the line as he inquires, 'Are you on break now?'

"Yeah, I was surprised. And yeah, I'm out. Excuse me, that's mine," she forgets to cover the phone, but she doesn't care as she receives her wrapped sandwich and drink. Walking to a lone corner of the cafe, she swallows as she feels weighed down by her own ideas. It's a familiar ache, letting go of something you wish could stay. "Listen, about Friday…"

'That excited, are you, Mutsu? I promise it'll be great, haha.'

"No, I wish. I can't go anymore. Work's just killing me, Onohara's on my ass, and–listen, Tatsuma, I'm really sorry."

'What do you mean?' Surprisingly, he doesn't sound very hurt. Not even confused. Simply curious, concerned. Please don't be.

"I'm just sorry. It's too much. You're great, but I have to prioritize other tasks on Friday and for as long as we work together," she takes in a long breath that lasts too short but too much for her lungs to take. "It's what's for the best."

"Tell me, is Tokyo Roast's coffee the best too?"

Her breath leaves as her eyes jump into hyperactivity. "Don't tell me…"

"Who knew you'd cancel on me over the very thing that bonded us at the airport once upon a december," He's lax and laughs at his own cartoon reference. Gesturing to her styrofoam cup, he asks, "Can I sip this?"

"Anastasia, really? And go for it," she feels her smile is forced, much too watery as she tries to pull herself together. He drinks a little from her cup and hands it back to her. "How'd you even know where I was? Aren't you supposed to be getting lunch?"

"Heard you talking to the barista and Google mapped your nearest coffee shop. Figured you had something to get off your chest…" She's about to protest when he holds up a hand. She sighs, giving way to whatever he has to say. He has the right after all. After giving his words careful consideration, his eyes find hers in her daze.

"My office gave me the rest of the day, but I'll just give it to you. You don't have to give me a thing; just let me be here wherever you're going," he ruffles his hair but his voice leaves no room for argument. "That sound like a fair enough deal?"

Her hands tighten around her coffee cup. Her chest does the same.

(1) depachika - The foodmarket area in Japanese department store basements. They discount food towards closing time.