Sometimes you forget your partner is half your age.

"Seriously—" Takaba makes this... hilarious flailing noodley gesture with his fingers, "who, sir, enters a goddamn Japanese restaurant holding hands?! You're unworthy of being called Japanese. You heathen; at least show respect for the public!" He scoffs. "I'm starting to think you never learn. Even I, yes I, get tired you know." The cutlery tinkles from abrupt force of a smack on the table.

The sip of whisky burns your tongue, scalding your throat at it slides down.

"...Not really true, though." Hushed conversations continue all around. You look at him. "Isn't it?"

He flushes, you lean back.

Some things don't change, after all. Not when it comes to him anyway. "Don't you try to distract me," his voice tremors, almost hissing. "Do you think everyone thinks like you? They don't. Accept that. There's a word for it; it's called bigotry." He must've learnt that word recently. Your lips curl into a sneer. "Most people don't think that way!"

"Really... they do. You just live under a rock." You say. And it reaches the desired affect. He comes alive with offended shock.

"Why you-"

Years don't make a difference for him. He stays the same.

Or rather, something like that.

There's that similarity between you two: years don't matter. They don't change you, don't make a new man out of Asami Ryuichi. (...Or do they? You don't care about personalities much. You swear you knew how to not influenced once.)

But years do change relations; ardor. Your watch him all the time, watch him in his happiness, watch him sigh when he thinks you're not looking and see the way he looks at the ones under the mistletoe - their fingers shining with a diamond encrusted... lock. There's no better word, really. Do you want that thing? The words stop at the tongue; you already know the answer.

This bright...

young...

...thing.

A boy offers a glass of champagne to Takaba. He doesn't notice the silver gleam from the bottom of the fine glass.

Physical reality cannot satisfy desires of the mind. At his age, it's strange to say, you were conquering all the abnormals of the word - chain free. With sun flowing in his veins, he doesn't deserve that. Freedom is in his bones; not you.

Not you.

Anything but you.

Light reflects from your cufflinks and onto his face. "My friends think I'm selling drugs or murdering people or some thing. Do you realise how much effort I give to just cover for you? The risks?" He thanks the waiter, and takes sips.

(That's it - and your heart slows.)

You know the risks he takes. And it makes you proud, selfishly proud that he still stays. Over his career, over his freedom.

Over his life.

Convince yourself as you may: that you can keep him. Unaware of the cage, unaware of what you can't give to him, aware of the things you can give him.

And you can give this to him.

And so, you take him to one of those restaurants that he hates, where there is more rich perverts than there is good food. His words, not yours. You quite like its view and smoking rooms.

That boy, that man, rambles with his mouth in tight line. And for the first time, you're not listening to any of it. You're too busy zeroing on to finding where exactly the ring is or did he he gulp it down along with the ring? You despair until you hear it clink against thin glass.

(Is it just you or are you a little... frozen?)

Whose idea was this again? Remind me not to take that Chinese brat's advice ever again. Nothing good could come out of taking Liu Feilong seriously. Unless you are a masochist and want pain. In a situation in which you can't even warn Takaba not to gulp the ring down or stay still. You glare at nothing.

"What?" Takaba notes the glare, "did I say something?"

Curse you, Feilong.

...You definitely hear an evil laugh coming from somewhere.

It gives an innocent clink once more, cutting off further sips of champagne. And he finally (finally!) notices, corners of his eyes crease and zeroing in on the fine glass in front of his face. He probably can't see anything from up top, you muse. (Or try to.)

He swirls the glass, the ring makes a sound noise.

"Eh...?"

He reached tentatively into the glass with a spoon. Your stomach gives an unlikely lurch. His confused gaze shifts to you. You can't hear anything anymore.

"...come again?"

"You should go buy a white suit."

You don't know whether to be unconscious gracefully or just throw up.

"You- We're getting married." The silence encloses two exhales from you, two inhales from him. "Taka..?"

一THUMP.

"Sirs?!"

The screech of a trolly and a harsh concerned cry of an attendant resounded.

.

And even though you didn't faint that day; he did so on the spot. You don't know if that's funny or not until the wedding day.

"Say 'Cheese!'"

When you crack a smile recalling, Takaba quietly finishes his last memory space by snapping a picture.