Kari smiled at him. "All right, why not?"

The man who introduced himself to her as Takeru Takaishi bowed over her hand with a brief smile and led her to the center of the room, where men and women danced together with oftentimes graceful steps, although that isn't to say that there weren't some who stumbled on their feet, being led about on a dance unfamiliar to their bodies.

"So what is your name?" he asked her with a smooth smile and a graceful sidestep

"I'm Kari," she answered, smiling impishly at the young man and observing with an eye of professional scrutiny. He didn't look much older than she did, with his youthful blue eyes and pale blonde hair. And unlike her other less updated colleagues, she kept an ear open to the social news of the upper crust. She had heard of this Takeru Takaishi, who was supposedly kept from some awesome inheritance by a Yukio Oikawa. Perfect suspect material.

She smiled again. "Nice to meet you."

He sent her an admittedly breathtaking smile. "It's my pleasure. You don't usually meet people my age at these kind of functions, and when you do, they're usually 'eligible' daughters, perfect for marrying, or so their mothers tell me." He threw her a mischievous look. "You aren't one of them, are you?"

Kari laughed. "Hardly."

"Hardly a daughter?" Takaishi gave her an appreciative stare but she refused to blush. "Or hardly eligible?"

She smirked. "Hardly able to answer that."

He spun her gently. "So who are you then?" His tone was easy and light but his blue eyes were serious.

Kari felt the usual stirrings of panic that crawled into her belly whenever she was undercover; she couldn't tell him that she was a cop who was currently incognito—obviously.

Takaishi noticed her uncomfortable look and smiled reassuringly. "You don't need to answer me, Kari." His eyes seemed slightly different—colder and much more distant than they had been a moment ago. As if a wall had slammed down around him.

She realized that he was still speaking. "...so just tell me that you aren't one of those young and hapless hopefuls and I'll let it pass."

Kari forced a laugh. "Oh no! It's perfectly all right to ask." She needed to break down that wall—to earn his relative trust again. She assumed a haughty expression. "I was not, in any way, forced to catch your attention and make you ask me to dance by my overbearing mother, nor am I one of your social equals, for that matter."

"So what are you then?" His eyes warmed with silent laughter.

She shrugged as he twirled her. When she faced him again, she replied, "I'm a reporter."

Takaishi seemed to think that over for a minute, then shrugged. "Better a nosy journalist than a spineless mercenary. You wouldn't believe how many times I had to pry some simpering pansy off my arm just because she'd believe that every word that came out of my mouth was a promise of my eternal and everlasting love and affection." He rolled his eyes, making a face. "You'd think that I would agree to live that long to keep that promise—I'd sooner fall on a sword."

"You're rich," Kari pointed out. "You're powerful. Don't you ever get away to do whatever you want to do?"

His eyes became distant, as though he was thinking of something far, far away. "Sometimes…sometimes, when I can free myself from the shackles of responsibility. Yes, I get away every now and then," he looked at her, the distant look in his eyes replaced by one of curiosity. "How did you know?"

Well wasn't that interesting?

Kari laughed and noted with some unusual amount of satisfaction that his eyes were now warm an open, though still a bit guarded. But that was to be expected. Everyone looked like that whenever she posed as a reporter.

"I promise," she said grandiosely, stepping back with the dance, "that I will take nothing you say at face value. I'm certain that my faint and love-struck heart could not bear the betrayal."

He shook his head with mock regret. "Where were you when I was besieged by all those lily-handed sniveling fluffs?"

Takeru held her hand a bit longer than was required of the dance and looked at her straight in the eye. She was, as what usually happened in half-starved love stories and windy poems, caught in his gaze and found herself staring back.

He had the most amazing blue eyes. They were sort of a pale shade of azure blue with hidden depths.

Kari suddenly realized that she was getting too close to the man—literally and figuratively. Why was she being so free with her words? She was undercover! This little flirtation was nice and all but hardly acceptable and pitifully unprofessional.

And if she was planning to win the next succession of verbal spats with her brother, she was going to be professional.

Kari broke the gaze with a flamboyant spin. When she returned to his arms, she replied tartly, "Probably scraping the remains of an instant-noodle dinner."

Takaishi frowned slightly. "…Instant-noodle?" he echoed, the confusion written in his lovely, lovely eyes.

Kari shrugged, stepping around him. "I can't afford banquets of steaks and honey," she replied lightly. "Lowly reporter equals lowly salary, obviously." Still seeing the puzzlement in his eyes, it dawned on her. "You don't know what instant-noodles are, do you? No way!" she laughed delightedly.

Takaishi shrugged, looking away. He was obviously offended, but at least that wall of his hadn't come down on her toes.

Kari was still chuckling to herself. "That's a little too rich, I'd say, if you'd never tasted the delight of a cup of steamy noodles."

"Then why don't you show me, one day?" he suddenly asked, his face losing all traces of stiff indignation. "I'm certain that it would be very educational." He flashed her another smile.

Refusing to be drawn in, Kari smiled back. "Reporters have horridly busy schedules, don't you know? Deadlines to target and such."

"I'm sure you'll make time for me," he answered confidently. "How often is it that you get to teach an ignorant about instant-noodles. I know I'll be very receptive." His smile was deceptively innocent, but Kari had a feeling that he was saying something else.

"Highly doubtful," she sniffed and twirled.

Inside, she was fuming. Why couldn't he have been old and gray and absolutely boring? Kari was keenly aware of the unfairness of it all. 'Because if he was old and decrepit, I wouldn't have to lose my breath each and every single time I looked at him.'

Because she realized that…well, she did.

Kazuki Oikawa was a charming young man to many of Hataro Tsukichi's party guests, partly because he didn't share the dead-eyed gaze and forbidding nature of his uncle, Yukio Oikawa. He was a charismatic man with dark, intelligent eyes and a smooth, urbane manner.

In other words, he was definitely more entertaining conversation in comparison to all the other people Sora had previously spoken with.

Not to mention a hell of a lot more attractive, whispered that most irritating whine in the back of her mind.

But Sora wasn't going to kill herself in an effort to be charming just to be able to gawk at her handsome companion. Particularly because he, or rather his uncle, Yukio Oikawa, was one of the potential ringleaders of the Sayonara gang.

Sora and her suspect were standing at the champagne fountain, each holding a flute of the red stuff yet not actually drinking any of it. Early in the conversation, each had discovered that they other shared his or her deeply rooted dislike of wine and alcoholic beverages—Sora because it befuddled her senses (which she liked to keep perfectly intact), and Kazuki because he absolutely hated the following hangover.

Kazuki Oikawa was interesting to talk to. His dry, scrutinizing outlook was very much similar to Sora's, and they found that they shared many generalizations about the people loafing around at the party. If he was rather guarded on some topics (which Sora carefully took note of), he more than made up for it by telling her all sorts of stories about this high-brow society and the fleas that preyed upon its flesh.

Which Sora found absolutely fascinating. Informative, too.

And while Sora was on guard with him as well, she was not so willing to be as edifying as he was. She kept firmly in mind that it was entirely possible that he had given the order for the kidnapping of Toki Hidenaki.

That smooth, friendly personality of his might just be a veneer to hide something not open for the viewing of the general public.

"Is anything the matter, Mirayama?" Kazuki's voice penetrated her dark thoughts. His usage of the pseudonym she had given him brought her back to reality.

She looked at him and smiled. "Nothing at all, Kazuki," she told him. "Just thinking."

He set down his glass and gave her an encouraging look. She glared at him, and Kazuki grinned. "Go on, Mirayama. I'm all ears."

She scowled and resisted the urge to shatter the glass she was holding. "You're daft if you think you can get anything out of me," she informed him not-too-politely.

"It's about me, isn't it?" he asked, grinning wickedly. His eyes seemed to glow brighter. "I know it is."

She shoved him, laughing a little. "Don't you know that if it was, I wouldn't be able to stand here so quietly?"

Kazuki leaned closer. "Oh?" His voice was seductive.

Sora gave him an ironic look. "Yeah," she answered, her voice slightly acerbic. "I'd be on the floor, laughing my spleen to pieces."

An expression of mock injury came over his face and he put his hands to his heart, as though he had been wounded. "Although I must say that I certainly admire your…creative hold of the language, I am honestly hurt, Mira."

Sora's face was smug. "Then I have done my job well," she bantered.

He was too down-to-earth, honestly. You wouldn't think that he was really sitting on all that wealth. He was warm, he was open—so unlike that blonde man…

And, inevitably, her thoughts turned to her blue-eyed informant. Her mind conjured up images of him, smiling mysteriously at her, his blue eyes standing out like a star in the clear night sky.

She wondered why she kept thinking about him while she was talking to Kazuki. The two were polar opposites. But wait…

Yes, they were completely different—Kazuki was charming and gallant, while the stranger was…well, not. Yet there something in their starkly contrasting personalities that burned true in the same ways. Something…

"So, Mira," Kazuki turned his eyes on her. "Would you like to—"

"Mr. Oikawa!" A woman in a dress like a business suit was striding towards them, looking very official. "I've been looking all over for you. I need to talk to you about—" She suddenly caught sight of Sora and seemed to catch herself as well. "—stocks," she completed hastily.

The scrutinizing look she gave Sora didn't sit too well with her, and Sora gave her an equally piercing stare in retaliation. Nobody could weather her clear scarlet eyes for long, though, so the woman gave up and turned to Kazuki, who had been watching the exchange with some amusement.

"Akami, meet Sarah Mirayama," he introduced them, his eyes sparkling. "Mirayama is partly Irish, which would explain the red hair and disposition. Mirayama, this is Akami Murosugi, one of my business associates."

"Charmed," Murosugi said flatly, obviously meaning nothing of it.

"Likewise," Sora responded politely, although her eyes were mocking.

"Mr. Oikawa, there are some matters that need to be brought to your attention," Akami then said, pointedly turning her back on Sora.

"All right, all right," he held out his arm to her and looked at Sora. "Well, I'll see you around, then."

She replied, "It wouldn't be entirely unwelcome."

Curiously, he swept up his wine glass. "She likes the stuff," he muttered to Sora. "I guess I'll have to wake up screaming again."

Sora smirked and gave him a crisp salute with her drink. When he and Akami Murosugi vanished into the crowd, she let the smirk fade and she turned to the fountain to evaluate what she had learned.

Could Kazuki really be privy to the Sayonara gang? He seemed too flighty to be a part of the underground organization. He could just be some society punk, but his ties to the disreputable Yukio Oikawa were too prominent to ignore. Miss Murosugi's little interruption had also prodded her curiosity. Akami Murosugi clearly didn't intend to talk to Kazuki about stocks. Seeing Sora, she had quickly changed her tactics.

It was more or less confusing.

She sighed, shutting her eyes.

A slightly mocking voice suddenly spoke behind her ear. "Watching Oikawa walk away with another woman isn't that depressing, is it, Mirayama?"

Sora's eyebrow twitched. She recognized the speaker immediately and scowled. "Why am I not surprised?"

As usual, the blonde man left her question choking on nothing but air and opted for another. "Would you like to dance with me?" he asked.

Sora opened her eyes and looked at him over her shoulder. "And if I said no?"

"Thank you, Sora," he murmured, meeting her gaze with his steady blue eyes. He took her hand in his gloved one and led her through the suddenly insubstantial crowd to the dance floor. Sora surprised herself—she did not resist. The crowd seemed to melt aside to give way to them, although they certainly did not appear to notice it.

And so they reached the dance floor.

Sora was no mean dancer—she knew all the steps and her body was well-trained. But for all of her knowledge of ballroom dancing, the steps he led her through were bafflingly different from any other dance she knew. She adjusted well, though. He was a smooth dancer, she wasn't surprised to note. He was dashing and straight from a storybook in a tuxedo.

Also not a surprise.

Sora looked around. The lights were still bright and the people dancing around them did not appear to fade away. "What, no mysterious shadows? No complete darkness?" she said archly.

His reply was rather detached. "You expecting any?"

She shrugged. She wasn't quite as furious with him as she was before, although it was still frustrating to have her questions turned aside. "I've come to associate you with all those things. They seem to be the norm with you."

He broke off the subject, telling her that she looked beautiful. His reply was no longer distant, and his eyes were glowing a pulsing blue as he looked at her.

Sora smirked slightly. "You're only complimenting your fashion sense, you know."

He laughed softly. "You may not know it, more likely that you ignore it, but you are remarkably beautiful, Sora. Beauty bows to you when you wear grimy dust-stained clothes just as it does when you are clothed in a dress of the night."

Sora refused to blush. Those were nothing more than words. Yet inside, something inside her seemed to open up, like a flower to the sun that was his voice.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice harsh.

His smile was like a comet, blazing through the universe toward some indeterminable destination. "Isn't it obvious?"

Her hold on her blush escaped her, and she knew that she had to change the subject. Immediately.

"You know Kazuki?" she asked, trying to avoid his gaze. She watched the other dancers, observing how their steps suddenly seemed so awkward in comparison to the dance he was teaching her.

Sora felt her partner's mood change, and she looked at him. A frown was marring the perfection that was his face. "You know, you should be careful who you talk to. There are many things people would do to keep their secrets."

Sora narrowed her eyes. He knew something. "What are you talking about?"

He arched an eyebrow at her. "Do you expect an answer?"

She visibly deflated, and she glared at him. "Not anymore."

He watched her, his eyes compelling and unreadable. "If it's any consolation, I'm sorry."

"Well, if you're so apologetic about all this crap, then why don't you just give me a straight answer, for once?" she snapped irritably. "Even a 'yes' would be better than offering me an apology."

He allowed himself a smile. "I'm afraid I have been the cause of much of your unrest lately, Sora. I dislike doing things this way, as entertaining as it tends to be, but it's out of my hands. Fate has a way of taking the rein."

Sora didn't really know what to make of that, so she made a face. "Well, whatever you're talking about, you have my condolences. I hate it when I don't get my way."

He laughed. "I doubt that it is much of a problem for you. You just seem to force your way through."

Sora glared at him and deliberately stepped on his foot, reveling in the brief look of pain that flashed through his eyes. "Tell me, did you crash this party just to call me a bully?"

His only reply was: "I didn't crash this party."

The music began to tone down and he led her to the side, to Sora's relief. She wasn't certain that she could last another song. Dancing was a lot harder than it looked—particularly when you were with a more experienced partner.

"You were invited?" Sora pried. "You don't really seem like the party sort to me."

He smiled wryly. "Neither do you, it appears."

Sora stopped shaking her throbbing ankles—she absolutely hated wearing heels! She gave him the evil eye. "Yes?" she asked belligerently.

He smiled again. His eyes seemed to lose their focus. "I wish things between us could be as they were so long ago," he murmured. He reached out to touch a gloved finger to her chin.

Sora suddenly began to tremble, as though something inside her had begun to wake, tired and raw with fatigue. "Wh-what are you talking about?"  Her voice was made harsh by her confusion.

His gaze was on her, yet he did not seem to be looking at her. "Do you remember Yamato?" His voice was strangely wistful.

The name had an enormous impact on her. For a moment, Sora seemed to fly through time, yet she still saw the glorious ballroom glowing around her. She seemed to see herself over and over again, and she saw him, standing alone in the middle of a world of darkness, watching her as she seemed to flow from one girl to another.

Yamato. The name was new to her, although it seemed like a treasure forgotten through time found covered with dust. It was new, but at the same time, it had belonged to her, and she had misplaced it.

A million thoughts whirled through her head, and she realized that she was leaning on his arm. He was watching her quietly, his eyes compassionate.

"I should go now," he sighed. "This one has broken too many rules for one night. An admirable record, but if I break all of them now, there'll be nothing to do tomorrow." There was a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

Sora said nothing, staring at him intently. She let go of him reluctantly, taking a step back. Her eyes couldn't leave him until she wrenched them away.

"Goodbye, my Sora." His voice was hardly louder than a whisper. "Remember what I told you tonight." Taking her gloved hand in his, he gently kissed her fingers. It seemed to return to her senses the ability to react.

But by the time she was back to herself, he was gone, leaving her feeling thoroughly flattened and without a sounding board to scream and rail at.

Sora just stood there for a moment, hating everything around her with intensity. There are no words in this world or the next (or even the first) that could possibly begin to describe the feelings that whirled through everything that made her herself. Every syllable pales in significance.

Finally getting tired of all this feeling, Sora swiped the first flute of champagne she saw (from the tray of a passing waitress) and emptied it in a single gulp. As it was stated earlier, she found the taste offensive and proceeded to spit it all out in a spray one would respect if one wasn't in the way.

Ignoring the offended looks of the shocked people around her, she flung herself into an empty seat, cradling her head. "I don't need this right now. I really don't."

'But you know you're going to get it anyway, don't you? ´ that mocking voice laughed in her head.

Deciding that she preferred an alcoholic stupor to the incessant nagging of her inner voice, she snagged another glass of champagne, pointedly ignoring the sudden universal movement of retreat from all the people around her.

'You're just going to get sick later,' her inner voice scolded. 'Then you'll begin singing, and you've never sung a pure note in your life. Do all these people really deserve such a fate?'

She swallowed the glass and reached for another. The voice was getting fainter. Three more flutes, and maybe it would disappear completely!

Sora was already feeling much happier.

Yes, I'm alive.                                                                     No, I'm feeling cadaverous.

Yes, I probably owe everyone an apology.              No, I'll just wait until I stop doing it.

Yes, I really need to go to the bathroom.                 No, you don't want to know anything more about that.