A/N: Hello! I've know I have been gone for a long time. I just lost the drive to write. It's still missing, but I had this idea in my mind from the beginning of HHD, so I sucked it up (even with a three-day fever) and finished this chapter. If it's not great, I'm sorry. You'll see mistakes. When I feel better, I'll edit this chapter.
Anyways, enjoy! P.S. Thanks to all my loyal fans. I know I'm pain for not writing.
The dessert Taku places in front of us is sweet. As is the rest of the night for that matter. Sweet expressions are soon exchanged for sweet stories which leads to sweet teasing. It's an endless cycle. And it's only when I walk her to her apartment door that the sweetness of our first date meets another component: bitterness.
It's quite obvious that neither of us want to part, but we are too new at this that we don't know how to prolong this night any longer, so with my hand rubbing my neck and her hands clasped together, we encounter our first, awkward goodbye as a couple.
It's bitter-sweet.
But that sweetness, even tainted by its troublesome, fickle partner, continues day after day that I spend with her. Even through the teasing we endure by our friends, the teasing I endure from my sisters who have yet to be deterred from my lack of compliance to give a name, the rumors that have only multiplied and have become even more distorted, the sweetness persists. However, it reaches a premium height when a day that's the epitome of bitter-sweetness approaches.
Valentin's Day. A holiday that never really warranted any favor in me. A day in which I would receive a chocolate from Yuzu, a snide remark from Karin, a kick from dad, and sometimes, a treat or two left on my desk or in my cubicle.
This year is different.
Yuzu doesn't give me any chocolate. She says that my girlfriend should be the only one giving me anything. Karin tells me not to be too much of a pervert today. Dad presence, as it has been for the past two weeks, is sporadic. I comment that they are all being ridiculous.
The day, even though different from the previous ones, is still similar.
Mizuiro still has plans with an older lady, Keigo is still complaining that he's not as popular as he liked to be, and I still garner a few cheap chocolates given to me anonymously.
But even in those similarities, she is still the one component in each year that remains enigmatic.
Now, the first year of high school, she didn't give anyone anything. We were all recovering from the Winter War, and even though the physical wounds were gone, the mental and emotional ones hadn't healed, especially for her. She had been remote and quiet, so when Valentin's Day rolled around, no one expected her to be her usual self, and she wasn't. She didn't give anything, and she didn't receive anything. Not that I know of, anyway.
Last year, it had been a bit different. She was more like herself. Bubbly and happy. She had came to the roof and delivered some decorated bread that she got from her new job. She signaled no one out, and the blush she had I chalked up to the cool air. And if she received any gifts, she didn't tell me. All I knew was that she didn't receive any letters or confessions when I was by her side. My intimidating presence had scared any confessors that year.
Little did I know that my actions were more than just caused by feelings of protectiveness.
But now I know. And somehow, it's worse.
For some reason, despite the rumors that she's taken, that she and I are in some twisted courtship, she's getting confessed to left and right. Glares start to have no effect on deterring those brazen perverts, and the reiatsu that starts to seep out due to jealousy makes no one but her nervous.
It's a hellish day for me. Tiring. Even more so that she decides to have lunch with her friends, which would have been fine on any other day, but because it is this day, Keigo relentlessly jokes that Inoue is gearing up to dump me. That may bug me more than the onslaught of confessions she gets.
The day only starts to fill me with more and more bitterness. When school ends, I've already decided that the day could only get worse as I see her come out of the building while bowing an apology to the guy who wanted a chance to declare his feelings.
However, my decision wavers as we walk side-by-side. And when she begins telling me about her lunch with her friends, that bitterness evaporates little by little. But it's only when she starts going on about how one of friends taught her how to read palms that my mood elevates.
"Oh? So you can read my future?" I ask her as we walk.
She nods.
"Yup! I can if you'd like…unless Kurosaki-kun's scared," she teases.
I scoff as I hold out a hand palm-up for her.
Next thing I know, I feel a hand under mine, bracing it, and then I feel fingertips skimming against my skin, and albeit ticklish, the sensations have me blushing. Too much that I have to turn my head away from her to calm myself.
She hums in concertation.
"Your life line tells me," she begins as a finger strokes the middle of my hand, "that Kurosaki-kun will live a long, healthy life."
It's at this point I realize that we've stopped walking.
"This line tells me you'll live a happy life of modest wealth," she continues softly. I look at her briefly to see that her head is down, her hair covering her face, and when she glances up to meet my gaze, I look away.
"And this line," she trails off as her fingers brush the top of my hand.
"This line what?" I mumble out as I fixate my eyes on a cloud.
I hear her take a deep breath, and I feel her fingertips pause on my skin before the feel of her hands disappear altogether.
"This li—" I begin to repeat as I turn my head toward her.
And then everything stops.
In the second it takes to realize what's happening, my breath catches in my throat, my heart stills, and my blood freezes. The only the thing that defies this phenomenon is that of my mind halting, it races as it tries to capture every nanosecond. As it tries to save the warmth of her fingers entwining with mine. As it tries to burn the image of the scarlet that paints her cheeks. As it tries to imprint the way she squeezes my hand before tugging me forward so that she walks in front of me, pulling me along.
As the next second begins, everything sets in motion. My lungs fill with fast, shaky breaths, my heart beats like crazy, and my blood rushes toward my face. And I'm glad she doesn't look back at me right now.
Because it would make the next thing I plan to do impossible.
"I knew you couldn't tell the future."
She again squeezes my hand, and I watch as she shakes her head.
"I can," she softly insists. "Your heart line...is very strong."
I blush even harder.
"Wow. So cheesy."
"A lot of people like cheese," she defends.
I chuckle.
"So this is what you were doing at lunch? Scheming about ways to hold my hand? How bold."
She stops walking.
"How daring," I press.
She let's go of my hand and turns around.
Babbling. Blushing. Beautiful. At that moment, she's transcendent. And when she's waving her hands in front of her, denying her forward actions, I reach out with my hands to grab hers, I lower my head, I close the distance between her and I, and I kiss her.
It's brief, and it's not perfect, but it's us. And when I pull back, I let her see the reactions that only she can cause.
"Can't let you be the only one who is bold in our relationship," I whisper as I pull back a little.
She pouts.
"I'm not bold."
"You confessed first, hugged me, and you made a move on me."
"I didn't make a move!"
"Sure you di-"
She cuts my teasing short by wrapping her arms around my neck, reaching up, and kissing me.
This kiss, initiated by her, imprints in my soul more than the kiss I gave her. This kiss is a bit longer, more perfectly imperfect, if that makes sense, and it's us, it is, but it's an us that exists for us only. An us that only she and I know.
"Now I made a move," she whispers after we part.
At this, I engulf her in a hug to not only hide my embarrassment but to hide hers as well. Because despite my teasing accusations of her being bold, she's as shy as I am. Yet she's the one making all the steps, making all the leaps, making all the moves.
But I won't be left behind any longer. I'll make sure of that.