Disclaimer: Digimon and Vocaloid do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: This story was crafted after a Vocaloid song, 'Choose Me'. Despite this, I wouldn't recommend the song, though you are certainly free to find it on YouTube.

There's at least one explicitly sexual scene, and the overall theme strays a little from what I usually write, but it was a really helpful exercise in terms of theme, narrative and form. If you have any comments/suggestions/rude remarks, feel free to leave a review or drop me an anonymous message on Tumblr at adventurechronicles.

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akai ito: red string

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He met her on a rainy day, in a train station. It was a Tuesday. Ishida Yamato sat with one leg crossed over his knee, waiting. He wore headphones and listened to an alternative music station whilst he killed time. Around him, the screens announced clearly that the next JR Tokaido Shinkansen came in exactly sixteen minutes and he sighed; those things never lied. His fingers moved to the rhythm of the music, one, two, three, one, two, three; he opened one bright blue eye as soon as the doors opened.

He saw her from afar, her bright red hair separating her from the rest of the travelers as she climbed out of the train. She carried two suitcases with her and Yamato stood, headphones hung carelessly around his neck as he waved, hands outstretched to help with her luggage. Takenouchi Sora grinned when she saw him, waving with one hand and then pointing behind her at a petite brunette that walked by her and he swore he had never seen before.

"Yamato!" Sora exclaimed, happy. "You weren't waiting long, were you?"

He shook his head. "Not much. How was Kyoto?"

"Splendid," Sora answered, pushing her hair behind her ear. "This is Mimi, Yamato-kun. I told you about her, didn't I?"

Yamato was prepared to smile; she was hardly the first of Sora's friend he met, but the brunette, whom up close was even smaller than he had thought at first, was giving him a quiet, calculating look, eyebrow raised. A little indignant, he imitated her gesture.

"You're too tall," she finally sighed, looking at Sora. "Don't you get tired of looking up at him?"

Sora laughed and Yamato looked at her again, her lips drawn in an impish grin. He knew her to be one of his girlfriend's childhood friends, a nice girl who seemed to have the strangest, most interesting stories in their group of friends. Despite this, he had never met her in person before that day. They had run into each other in Kyoto while Sora visited her father and, at the last moment, had announced that she came back home with someone. He hadn't questioned her, until now.

"Tachikawa-san," he greeted her with a fine smile. "I can finally give a face to the infamous name."

"Infamous?" She appeared to consider it, then sighed. "I guess there's not much I can do about it. I'm afraid to ask what Sora has told you about me."

"You're exaggerating, both. I haven't said anything, Mi."

"Mh-hm," Mimi murmured, walking past them and dragging her suitcases behind her, "Just like you've never said anything about Ishida-san, no?"

She left them with that over-the-shoulder smile, long hair bouncing with every step she took, walking farther away from them both. Yamato, with sharpened sapphire blues in contrast, blinked, trying to get rid of the points of light on his vision, as if he had just stared for too long at the sun.

"What do you think of her?" Sora asked, holding on to his arm. "Isn't she sweet?"

He frowned, ignoring the way the brunette swung her hips from side to side, focusing on the warmth of Sora's hand on his forearm.

"She's ... peculiar," he conceded. "How long is she staying for?"

Sora's grin, if possible, grew wider.

"She's moving back to Tokyo," she said. "Isn't that great?"

Yamato didn't know what to answer.

I am losing myself.

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The sun was high on the sky, covering the city under a warm, bright blanket. The sky, blue as only in summer, was clear with a few clouds moving slowly and lazily. Yamato lied back on the bench, patting his neck with a small towel as his eyes followed the small ball.

"Impressive," the young man next to him said. He was blond like him, though thinner and more fine. His eyes were even clearer than Yamato's.

"Her team were champions during high school," Yamato answered, looking at his younger brother. "What did you expect?"

Takaishi Takeru, who never missed a beat, smiled.

"I didn't mean Sora," he said, flashing white teeth, "Or tennis, really."

Yamato made a face, leaving his towel over his shoulder and bringing his bottle to his lips. On the court, a few meters away where Sora and Mimi, finishing a game that had initially been doubles before Yamato got bored. Takeru on the other hand, was only taking advantage of the opportunity to sit back and watch the two attractive women run around with their bare legs.

"I thought you had a girlfriend," Yamato muttered dryly, calling his brother's attention.

"Had," Takeru said. "Distant past, Yamato."

"I think I remember you saying you didn't want to know anything about relationships," he continued, sceptic.

"I've changed my mind," he answered with a sigh. "When opportunities just ... present themselves, the least you can do is take them."

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sora call for a time out and walk away, waving a hand towards them. He waved back, turning his face upwards when the brunette came closer to his bench. Her cheeks were pink and the blush of the sun and exercise was clear on her face and chest. The wind moved what it could of her hair (that which wasn't sticking to her sweaty skin), and the fringe of her tiny skirt. That, especially, made him pick his bottle up again despite the fact that there was no more water.

"You're not coming back to play?" she asked, taking his towel and using it to dry her face, neck and chest.

"We wouldn't let you interrupt your game," Takeru said, casually turning his head. "Just watching you, we're already warm."

The brunette rolled her eyes, throwing the towel at her and leaning forward to get her water bottle.

"You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"I think you meant charming, but I understand; it's hard to think at this hour."

Mimi laughed, squirting water at the younger blond and sprinkling Yamato, who only sighed with a slight smile at her. Since she had moved to Tokyo, Mimi had ended up monopolizing his time with Sora, making him equally happy and desperate. He smiled as Sora came back, raising an eyebrow as she chewed on her bottom lip, eyes on her phone.

"I have to go," she said, throwing her things inside her bag and taking a fresh towel. "Mum needs me to help tonight at the school."

"Sora!" Mimi complained, pausing unceremoniously in her waterfight with Takeru. "I thought we would go out tonight!"

"I'm sorry Mimi," the redhead apologised, smiling tremulously. "Something came up, you know Mum. But you can go on without me! I'll catch up."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on, Yamato," Sora said, "you don't need me there, do you?"

"No, but..."

"No buts. I'll be there later, that's all."

She kissed him swiftly on the lips, against an indignant Takeru's protests and announcement that he was leaving, too. They both went off in opposite ways, leaving them in a warm silence while they gathered the rest of the things Sora and Takeru had left. Mimi smiled half-way, resigned.

"I guess we have to wait," she raised her bag, "but we can grab a bite in the meantime, no?"

"Of course," he said, not wanting to mention how he thought that, without Sora, they had precious little to say. He pushed his shades onto his face, looking at her over his shoulder. "Shall we?"

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The more I see her, the more my heart is drawn to her.

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It was strange, how things happened. A few months after moving back to the city, Tachikawa Mimi was practically an extension of the Ishida-Takenouchi relationship. Her apartment complex was closer to Yamato than Sora, which was why they usually travelled together half-way, he dropped her off and then took a train to his own. The first times they did this had been awkward, and boring, if they were being honest. Without Sora to smooth out their differences, they answered each other in one-syllable words, nodding, waving a hand, pretending they had no problem including each other in their lives.

But strange became familiar, and neither really knew when it changed to laughing on the train, taking a detour for an errand, stopping for coffee on the way home. Mimi would raise a hand to say good-bye, smiling broadly, sometimes she would nudge him with her shoulder; Yamato just nodded, rolled his eyes, left with an 'adieu' hanging on the tip of his tongue.

Her nails were oval, painted in what she called a "permanent French". A lot more elegant than the usual, according to her. Yamato liked it because it was simple, the colour was soft. He thought pink suited her, but he took care to never actually say it.

"How's your project going?"

Yamato raised his eyes, squaring his shoulders and letting one rise and fall in a casual move.

"It's going, I guess," he said, "it's been an interesting collab. But, I don't know whether we're ready to take it seriously. You know?"

"Of course you are," Mimi said, placing a hand above his. "You're better than you think, Yama."

The seconds passed, in which they held each other and Yamato's eyes were fixed on her hand, so soft above his. Then he looked at her and she, upon seeing where her hand had been, blushed a pretty pink, embarrassed. She withdrew her hand immediately and he felt his heart race just a little, just for one second.

"We'll see how it goes," he closed his hand in a fist, occuppying his lips on his tea, already cold, and avoiding her eye.

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Whose shadow do you see inside me?

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He watched her from his place in the sopha, distracted. Her hands moved elegantly, with a grace that was truly fascinating and her face, so serene in concentration, made her look more beautiful than he had thought at first. He had never been drawn to ikebana, but he had always enjoyed watching Sora practice it. He had, on occasion, seen Takenouchi Toshiko do it, and it had been a surreal experience: it made him feel rough, clumsy, like an intruder in his own body.

It was similar, in a way, to what he felt when he was too close to Mimi. Hyperconscious, hypersensitive, hyperawake. Everything, a little more than usual. He still remembered her hand on his, and how electrifying her touch was. The idea made gave him shivers (and a little nausea), when he thought about it.

"Is anything wrong?" Sora asked after several minutes of silence, not moving her eyes from the gerbera in front of her.

"No," he answered. "Why?"

"You've been staring at me for a while," Sora answered, a smile playing on her lips. "You look like you want to say something."

Yamato tilted his head, offering her the smile he should have never missed.

"It's nothing," he said. "I just like watching you work, that's all."

Sora, with pink cheeks, gave him a look before turning her attention back to her flowers. There was something peculiar about the way he looked at her, as if he thought of something, or someone else. The very moment she thought that she stopped, pausing in her work and looking back at him, now a little unsure. Yamato was staring at the screen in his phone, distracted, far away.

"Yamato-kun?"

"Hmm?"

Sora shook her head softly. She smiled.

"Would you pass me those ribbons?" she asked, pointing at a table to his left. He stood, sliding his mobile back into his pocket and reaching the small box, eyes fixed on it before he came closer to kiss her.

"I have to go," he murmured against her lips.

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course,"he stopped at the door and, in a suddenly uncharacteristic move, turned back to her, saying good-bye with a long, soft kiss. "Good night."

She tied the white ribbon around the finished arrangement, cutting off the threadbare tips. One hand on the table, palm down, and her chin against her other hand, thinking about the softness of his lips until night stole him away.

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He was my friend's lover.

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The place smelled strongly of coffee, cocoa and cardamom. They were sitting far from the window to avoid the glare of the sun against the computer screen. Mimi mixed her drink with an elegant silver spoon, its long, finely decorated handle carved with flowers. On the other end of the table, the redhead looked up every now and then, amused.

"You'll melt away in sighs," he told her. "Do you want me to ask, or should I ignore it?"

Mimi frowned, pausing in her menial task to offer him a disdainful look, pursing her lips.

"Keep ignoring me," she told him after a moment, then sighed again. "It's what I'm trying to do."

Izumi Koushiro, who had never been accused of being particularly intuitive with women (let alone her), frowned. He raised his chin, watching Mimi through cold, practical, steel-gray eyes.

"Can I help?" he asked tentatively. Mimi smiled and, after years of friendship, he thought again it was her best asset, that smile.

"It's nothing, I'll get over it."

The redhead nodded and, slowly, turned his attention back to the screen before him. Mimi had an open book, a notepad, a pen and her phone. She played around with it for a while, made a face and placed it back on the table, screen-down.

"Koushiro?"

"Yes, Mimi-chan?"

"I think I like someone."

He stopped typing, arching a thick eyebrow.

"And…?"

"And, nothing," Mimi bristled. "Nothing, Kou."

"Mimi…?"

"I think I'll order chocolate cake. It's one of those days, don't you think?"

He could only nod. Definitely, understanding women was never going to be one of his talents.

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My world is entirely getting filled with you.

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They found each other by accident, though neither would call it that. The streets of Tokyo were busy, the traffic was hideous. The rain fell generously and she didn't carry an umbrella; it was one of those days. Mimi waited by the edge of a building, her back to the wall to avoid the worst of the storm. Her clothes were slightly wet, her hair too. She touched the tip of her foot (in those gorgeous boots she had only just managed to pull out of the box), and had her arms crossed over her chest.

He stopped suddenly, almost as if he had felt someone's eyes on him, but Mimi's head was hanging, looking down at her phone. He thought of texting her, or calling. Say something like 'hey, do you need company?' or 'come on, I'll take you', but the truth was that he would do neither. He crossed the street, raising his umbrella and looking down at her.

"It's supposed to rain all week," he said as a greeting. "They said so on the news."

She jumped a little, startled, holding her phone to her chest. Upon seeing him he thought her eyes shone for a moment, but he didn't know if that was only what he wanted to see. Mimi gave him a tired smile, looking up.

"I don't watch the news," she said, stepping away from the wall. "It's terribly boring, don't you think?"

"You have to be prepared," he said, twisting his mouth.

"You can never be prepared for everything, Yamato-kun," she said, emphasizing the last syllable in his name, raising her voice an octave. "You'll take me?"

"Anywhere you want," he answered, too late, too quick to think of his words. Mimi's smile softened, and she raised the hoodie of her coat to cover her face.

"Home would be fine."

In the space under his umbrella, their shoulders almost touched. Yamato tried to ignore the small electric charges her proximity caused, thinking of the list of pendings he had and the things Sora had asked him to pick up on the way to her apartment. He hesitated one second, too short to be real, before he pulled his phone out and typed up a text message.

Something came up and I have to go home. I'll drop by tomorrow.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, right?" Mimi asked. Yamato shrugged.

"No," he said, as seriously as was to be expected from him. "It's a good day to spend at home. Sora has plans anyway, now that you're too busy to visit, she has other friends taking up your place."

"What's this—Ishida-san, missing me?" Mimi touched her hand to her breast, smirking through pink lips. "I'm absolutely flattered."

"It's the quiet," Yamato assured her, voice dry and cold despite the distinct curve of his smile. "There's been too much peace. Inoue isn't as aggressive as you."

The brunette bumped his shoulder affectionately, laughing.

"Come on, admit it," she mocked him. "You miss me."

"I wouldn't go as far as saying that..."

"Your sincerity moves me," Mimi rolled her eyes. "I'll drop by sometime this week. Clearly, you need me there."

.

I don't know what to do.

.

"He's annoying, I tell you. I don't know how I put up with him sometimes."

"Love does strange things to people," Sora answered simply, eyeing a magazine with interest. Her friend turned a deep crimson colour, indignant.

"Love? Yeah, right. I don't think so." She pouted. "It's more like a reflex, or a disease."

Sora laughed, resting her cheek on a palm.

"Inoue Miyako, you're so full of it."

"Come on Sora, you've seen him," the girl said, flipping her long violet hair back. "It's like dating a teenager. He wants everything, can do anything, everything, everything..."

"And you love it," Sora said, making Miyajo open her mouth, not say anything, and close it again. She touched her temple, sighing.

"And I love it. It's incredible, I must be out of my mind."

"Happens to all of us," Sora said. "It's normal."

"Not to you," Miyako sniffled resentfully. "Ishida-san is perfect, and older, and mature ... you're so lucky."

"Mh-hm."

Her fingers touched the corner of her magazine, distractedly. Thinking about Yamato

"Speaking of … where is he? I thought you said he was on his way.

"He is," Sora said, taking out her phone. "…oh."

Something came up and I have to go home. I'll drop by tomorrow.

"Looks like he's not coming."

"What?" Miyako asked, indignant. "What do you mean? We were waiting for him! How rude."

"He's just busy," Sora said, closing her magazine. "His project is taking longer than we thought, that's it."

"His commitments to you are also important, Sora," she said, pausing. "Whatevs. Let's go eat. I'm starving."

She rose, announcing that she would go freshen up and fetch her purse. Sora was grateful, running her hands through her short auburn hair before the living room mirror, and then turning towards her phone again. It took a few seconds, but her fingers moved quickly across the screen.

I hope you'll be done soon.

And then:

I'll miss you.

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I knew I shouldn't fall in love with her from the beginning.

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The phone rang three times before the call was answered.

"Yam—?"

"They loved it."

"Wha— oh, my God! Congratulations, that's — that's great!"

"It really is, I mean, I—," he stopped, hearing a yawn. He turned to see his wristwatch and felt his cheeks go red. "I hadn't seen the time, it's so late. I'm very sorry, did I wake you? I just left the studio, I didn't realise—"

"No, no, Yama? That's fine," she yawned again, her voice small (and he couldn't help thinking), sweet. "They loved it. Go on, tell me!"

"You're falling asleep on the phone. It's fine, really, it was my fault for not realising the hour."

"Ishida Yamato. You woke me at —," a pause. "One thirty-six in the morning. If you think I'll go back to bed without hearing the whole story, you're very wrong."

"It's really not important," he started, but was interrupted not only by an indignant squawk coming from his earpiece, but by his brother's blond head peeking in with two cups of coffee. "What are you doing here?"

"Is that how you say hello?" Takeru complained, offering him one drink. "Is that Sora? Good, tell her—,"

"It's Mimi," Yamato corrected, ignoring the prickling in the back of his neck.

"Even better," he said, taking the phone against his brother's silent protests and holding it up to his ear. "Mimi, darling," he said. "Are you decent? I hope not. We'll be there in ten minutes. Wear something comfortable, if you absolutely must."

"Yama—is this Takeru? Why? Ya—,"

"Ten minutes!" the blond repeated, hitting the end call button. Yamato, with his arms crossed over his chest, raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"What do you think you're doing? It's almost 3AM."

"What do you think I'm doing? Celebrating," Takeru asked, taking a sip. "Oh, come on, she's already up. We'll go to your place and hers is on the way. It'll be fun, dad."

He couldn't say no (Takeru wouldn't let him), but he did take out his phone again, opening a conversation that hadn't been closed in months. He dialed the number, let it ring once, thice, five times.

I guess you're asleep. Everything went well, we'll talk in the morning.

To his surprise, Mimi was almost ready when they came for her. Takeru greeted her with a warm espresso and chocolate they picked up on the way; she greeted them with gusto, hanging from Yamato's neck with an earsplitting shriek and then hugging Takeru.

"Where's Sora?" she asked, looking around. "She stood us up?"

"Asleep," Yamato answered, hands deep in his pockets. "Toshiko-san has been sick and she's had to cover for her at school. Her schedule's a mess."

"Yes, it's a shame," Takeru said impatiently. "But time's-a-wasting and morning waits for no-one. Come on!"

They ended up in a bar close by. It was a small place, kind of run down. Everything was dirty, nothing was new and everyone seemed delighted to be there. They played darts until Mimi and Takeru got tired of Yamato winning (they suspected foul play), they drank and no doubt due to unhealthy doses of liquid courage, even sang some karaoke.

It was close to five in the morning when they made it back to Mimi's place, and they could see the sky beginning to wane before their eyes. Takeru, who at some point had participated in a shot race with a group of friendly strangers, was absolutely drunk, and it was only by half-carrying, half-dragging him that they brought him to the door.

"You can't take him like this," Mimi insisted, opening the door. "I'm pretty sure it's illegal to be this drunk in public."

"He's imposed on you enough," Yamato said, moving his weight to his other foot. "We dragged you out of bed, to a run-down canteen…"

"Oh, stop," she laughed. "It was so much fun! Step in, you can both stay. There's enough room."

Despite his protests (considerably lighter because he was tired, and sleepy, and drunk), they ended up accommodating Takeru on the couch, with Yamato on the guest room if he ever wanted to stop hovering over his brother.

"If something happens, I'll hear it," she assured him, leaving fresh linen, pillows and an eye-mask on the bed before announcing she would jump into the shower. Yamato sat on the edge of the bed, distracted by the sound of the water running across the hall, making an inhuman effort not to think about her in there, naked, while he was on her bed, drunk on alcohol and excitement, and lack of sleep.

When Mimi peeked around the door, her hair wrapped in a towel and her face fresh and clean, Yamato barely moved.

"If you need anything, just take it."

"Mimi, really…"

"I mean it, Yamato. If you wake me for some stupid little thing, I swear…"

"Alright, alright," he laughed, staring at her sideways. "Understood."

"Good-night, Yama-kun," Mimi yawned, turning without waiting for an answer and leaving him on his own, taciturn, with a strange feeling in his gut. He managed to fall asleep once all lights had been turned off, turning his back towards the wall that, he knew, stood between them. Failing, once more, not to smile.

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I want to stay by your side forever.

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He could still feel the beginnings of a headache pulsating on his temple and the base of his skull. He wore the darkest glasses he owned to avoid all sunlight, and carried a water bottle religiously in his left hand. Sora opened the door, throwing her arms around his neck and he grunted out a complaint as soon as her kiss smacked his eardrums.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out, letting him go. "Headache?"

"Do you have any aspirin?" was his answer, and she let out a low laugh.

"Long night, Mr. Rockstar?"

"I don't feel like a rockstar," Yamato said grimly, swallowing the pills she offered without water. "I feel…"

"Like you were hit with a rock?"

"Wow, comedy really isn't your thing." A couple of seconds went by in silence, during which time Sora was laughing and he shook his head as softly as he could. "That was awful, Sora, really."

"I'll keep practicing," she said, shrugging. "Now, tell me everything."

In high school, Yamato had been a part of a rock band with some of his friends from music class. They had reached relative popularity but after graduation, they had split and decided to follow their respective college careers. Two years forward, present day time, they met and old dreams and longings came forth with it. They had been working together on a small project for the last five months, an extended production they had managed to record in a studio belonging to a friend of Takeru's.

Without really looking, or wanting, or even knowing how, a producer had stumbled upon them and asked them to work on a couple of singles as an official proposal. The previous night, after months of negotiations that had led nowhere, they had finally reached a formal agreement.

"Yamato, that's amazing!" Sora squealed, hugging him again. "It's such a great opportunity, this … I'm really proud of you, Yama. Congratulations."

He took her hand softly between his own, bringing it to his lips for a moment.

"Thank you," he mumbled against her palm, smiling. "Everything feels so surreal. But I really think it'll be good for us."

"Does this mean I have to share you now?" she raised an eyebrow, and his smile waned.

"What?"

"I mean, once you're rich and famous, Akiru-kun, Yukata-kun and Takashi-kun won't let me see you," she pouted. "Even less than now!"

He felt his heartbeat steadying slowly and, at the same time, a vein of guilt running through his neck.

"Impossible," he said, bringing her closer for a kiss. "Besides, in the meantime … I'm all yo—" his stomach growled, and Sora had to cover her mouth, giggling behind her hands.

"Maybe after lunch."

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You're obsessed with your cell phone.

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Takenouchi Toshiko was known for her work in ikebana and Sora, being her only daughter and heiress, had to represent her occasionally when her mother could not assist to events. A modest art exposition had taken her on that long weekend to Lake Tazawa, outside of Tokyo. Cars went after the other in a blur of colours and sounds, leaving behind a lingering feeling of escape, hurry, and the smell of biodiesel.

The outskirts of Tokyo were not like the city, with its constant movement and a lifestyle in a blink of a rush; here, people rode their bikes more, used the bus or cars only for the long ride back into the cities. They had decided to take the train, despite Yamato's offer to drive. Sora thought that a little time alone could be good for them, that it would help them reconnect, like Mimi said. She adjusted her hat over her hair, smiling at the good weather that afternoon.

"Kakunodate," Yamato announced at his phone, letting out a low hmm at his options. "There's a restaurant about twenty minutes from here. We could walk there, I suppose."

"Oh, we're already at the station," Sora said, unnecessarily pointing out to the roofed benches where they sat.

"I thought you wanted to walk around, take some photographs," Yamato continued, taking out his phone and pausing for a moment. His fingers moved quickly, and he closed the conversation when he finished, turning towards his girlfriend with dark glasses covering his eyes.

"It can wait for a bit."

"Suit yourself," he answered, slouching slightly into his seat and placing his arm around her shoulders. Sora leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and rocking her feet back and forth, bored. She heard his phone go off again and saw him smile at the screen, just a little, so tiny she may have missed it if she hadn't been looking for it.

In ten minutes, seven more notifications. Even when the phone stopped ringing he took it out to stare once, or twice more before finally putting it away. She scratched her cheek, sighing. When his phone rang again, she pretended not to hear it and took hers out, opened a conversation window and hit send before she had time to regret it.

I think this whole "reconnecting" business isn't really working. Wish you were here.

Her answer came swiftly.

There's still time to do something fun.

And then:

Aw! I miss you too (k). Take lots of pictures!

"Yamato, come here."

"Hmm?" he asked, raising his eyes. Sora was sitting sideways, smiling into her phone and making a peace sign with her hand. Over her shoulder was Yamato, a politely surprised, slightly confused look on his face.

"It's for Mimi," Sora explained, sending it. "I promised her lots of pictures."

"You should bring her next time," he said, shrugging.

"You think? This isn't really her kind of scene…"

"It's still Mimi," he said, standing as the bus came around the corner. "She'll make sure every scene is her scene."

She followed him onto the bus, sitting by the window, looking at the foliage, the flowers and how sparkly the lake looked. When she turned Yamato was staring back into his phone, and there was that clandestine smile he was trying so hard to keep in. Sora rolled her eyes, turning her back to the window and burying her face in his chest, pretending to be sleepy. She could only see the name flash for a millisecond before the screen went dark.

Mimi.

.

I never thought it would come to this.

.

"Sorry I'm late!" she said, planting a kiss on a very disconcerted, now embarrassed, Miyako; her mannerisms and airy attitudes, so foreign, so cosmopolitan, still made her collapse nervously in giggles and sighs like an infatuated teen.

"Mi-chan," she said sweetly, closing the door. "We thought you weren't coming!"

"And miss a girl's night out?" she laughed. "Right. So-ra-chan," she sang, "Where is she?"

Sora came out of her room, running her fingers through her recently combed hair, letting it fall in soft, auburn waves. She wore a long white sweater over dark pants, reaching out for a pair of brown boots by the foot of the mirror. Mimi came closer, hugging her, and then took a step back to admire her.

"You look so cute," she said. "Am I missing something?"

"We're going out with the boys," Miyako supplied with a grin. "I thought we mentioned it…"

"I don't think so," Mimi said, squinting. "And what, I'm supposed to go out like this?" She pointed at her faded jeans and t-shirt. "I don't think so. I'm raiding your closet, Takenouchi."

"Go right ahead," Sora said, snapping on a pair of heart-shaped gold earrings, a present from Yamato on their last anniversary. "Still don't think you need it."

Ten minutes later, Mimi came out in a long pink sweater that barely hinted at the existence of a skirt below, dark thigh-high tights and a scarf in her hand, that she threw at her friend.

"Wear that," she ordered. "You need some colour."

But Sora was staring at her, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"That's mine?" she asked, incredulous. "It doesn't look mine."

"You like it?" Mimi beamed, smiling as she tied a ribbon around her head like a diadem with long, rabbit ears.

"Up to the ears, yes," Sora smiled. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to study design with me?"

"Sora-chan," she sighed. "Fashion is one of those things where I want to maintain a strictly professional relationship."

"That's not what—,"

"Let's go!"

.

Initially, they had made plans to watch a film and have some dinner, something that was neutral enough for everyone to have a decent time without going out of their way to make extraordinary plans for that Friday night. Sora grinned at Takeru, waving heartily at him and, beside him, at Yamato. She kissed his cheek and he squeezed her arm, smiling.

"You look nice," he raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

"Of course not. I'm just meeting with my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" he let out a low whistle. "Do I know him?"

"Maybe. He's blond, tall, handsome…"

"You're not half bad yourself, Sora," Takeru interrupted, giving her a one-armed hug and laughing at her blush and the mocking laughter of his older brother. She bent low, freeing herself from his hug and taking Yamato by the arm.

"Don't you have anyone else to torment?"

"Actually," he smirked. "I do. Oi, Mimi!"

When his eyes fell on her figure, her long rose sweater, dark tights, and ribbon, he felt a warm rush to his face and he coughed, covering himself with his free hand to distort the object of his attention, hoping it would not prove a difficult task for the rest of the evening.

It proved not to be, as he was often occupied with Sora, Daisuke and Miyako, and his brother, who seemed to be only too comfortable next to Mimi, who always seemed to laugh openly at his jokes. Yamato excused himself from the table, mumbling something about the bathroom, when she spoke up.

"Ah, it's really late. I have to go."

"Go?"

"But we haven't even ordered," Miyako and Daisuke complained.

She smiled benevolently, brushing her hair with her fingers.

"I'm sorry, someone's waiting for me. Raincheck?"

Takeru offered, quite gallantly, to walk her to the nearest station which was a block away. Mimi assured him it wasn't necessary, but the young man insisted that exercise would help him gain an appetite, and so she agreed to him walking her out the door. Just before leaving she stopped, gesturing with her hand and retrieving an object that she gave him with a smile, a couple more words and a kiss she blew into the air, waving from the door.

Sora saw her disappear through the window, her phone glued to her ear as she smiled, distracted. When Yamato came back and took his seat next to her, his arm went around her shoulders.

"Where's Mimi-chan?" he asked.

"She had to leave," Sora answered. "I think she had a date."

"Date…?"

"She left you this, by the way," Takeru said, handing him a silver wristwatch.

"Oh." He slipped it on his wrist, shutting it with a soft click. "I thought I lost it."

"Why did Mimi have your watch?"

He looked at Sora, who asked more out of curiosity and surprise than anything else.

"Must have left it at her place," he answered indifferently, despite the sudden tension in his neck. Sora tried to cover up her surprise, taking a menu and eyeing it listlessly.

"At her place?" she asked in a lower voice. "When?"

"We were nearby," Takeru interrupted them, side-eyeing his brother. "I wanted to celebrate my brother's good news and your poor friend had to suffer because she lives close-by. Geopolitics, Sora, are everything."

"It was late, and Mimi offered us her home," Yamato finally said, raising a hand to place his order. "It just came up, Sora."

Realising what she sounded like, Sora smiled.

"Of course." He reyes were back on the menu and she pointed at something without really seeing it. "I'm sorry I missed it. Celebrating, no? Must've had fun."

He made a noncomittal sound, meeting Takeru's gaze for less than a millisecond before moving his arm around Sora's shoulders again. This time though, she did not reach out to hold his hand.

Once they were standing at the register, paying, Takeru leaned closer to his brother.

"You didn't tell Sora?" he asked. "How come?"

"I forgot," Yamato answered, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "It wasn't on purpose."

The younger man watched him for a moment, tilting his head to one side and finally, laughed.

"I'd be more careful, if I were you."

"What?"

"Whatever that thing you feel for Mimi is," he waved an airy hand, "It can get very nasty, very fast."

"Excuse me?" Yamato exclaimed, squaring his shoulders and frowning. "This isn't funny, Takeru."

"I'm not joking," he said, despite his smile, as he handed the cashier a couple of bills. "You should do something about it," he glanced over his shoulder, looking over at Sora talking with Daisuke and Miyako, holding her jacket in both hands. "—before someone else does."

He knew he had crossed the line, way before he came up to him and opened his big mouth. But he knew, also, that he was right. Something was going on between his brother and Mimi, even if neither of them admitted it, or even knew. He thought that, at least now, Yamato could do something.

He, who warns, cannot betray.

.

If I lose everything, will I be able to live in peace?

.

The smell of her nail polish had gone up to her head, making her dizzy. Mimi blew at her hand — now painted a bright lilac, and stood to open a window, holding her phone between her shoulder and her ear.

"Sora?" she greeted, waving her hands in the air. "How are you? Listen, are you free tonight? Because…"

"I'm sorry Mimi, I can't go out tonight."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going out with Yamato."

"Oh, come on!" Mimi complained, indignant at being replaced by her boyfriend, once more. "You see each other every day. Surely you can make an exception…?"

"It's our anniversary, remember?"

"Ah, of course," Mimi said, kicking the air. "Yeah, I forgot. Have fun, okay?"

"Okay."

"Right. Then, I'll call you Sor—,"

But the line had gone dead. Mimi stared at the phone, suddenly upset. It had been over two weeks since she last saw her friend, always passing on her invitations to lunch and cutting short her calls whenever she wanted to catch up. Sora insisted she was too tired, too busy, too distracted to talk, and Mimi hadn't thought anything of it until she realised, quite by accident, that Yamato hadn't called or texted, and he hadn't met her at the train station as they used to, either. And even though it embarrassed her to admit it, she missed her simple routine.

Frowning, Mimi searched her contacts for his name, and hit the dial button. The phone rang six times before she hung up; the next time, it went straight to voicemail.

Beep.

"Yamato?"

.

She waited outside the building where she knew his studio was, in a small café that was easy to miss. Her jasmine tea was fragrant, soft and relaxing and slowly helped with her impending headache. She came out with her plastic cup in hand, securing her knit hat and reaching him before he could disappear around the corner. He had his phone in his hand and Mimi dialed him once more, just to see him stare at the screen without moving.

"You're really not gonna take my call?"

His shoulders squared immediately and she could practically see the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge before he turned to her.

"Mimi."

He didn't ask, what are you doing here? or, what do you want?; he just stared at her, his gaze softening after a moment in a way that made something flutter in Mimi's stomach before she had a chance to smile, knowing nothing had any business doing any fluttering around there.

"Walk with me?"

He hesitated before agreeing and Mimi released a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding. She had been so sure, so bored, so worried and now all she could think about was how he had looked at her and how he had wanted to smile but ended up just saying her name. And, for all she wanted to ask about Sora, she didn't.

"You're alright?" he asked, tilting his head. "You look…different."

"It's nothing," she assured him. "Just a lot in my mind. You," she stopped and Yamato had already travelled three feet before he realized she wasn't next to him. He turned, confused.

"What's—,"

"You've been avoiding me."

He shut his mouth, awkward, looking around.

"Mimi, I don't think…"

"And so has Sora," she said suddenly, crossing her arms. "Are you going to explain anything?"

"I don't … I don't know, okay?" he mumbled. "Things have been awkward and—and the truth is, I don't know what's going on." He ran a hand through his hair, lingering in the back of his neck and looking more tired than Mimi had ever seen him. "Can we talk about this elsewhere?"

Around them, a few people passed them reserved, curious glances. Mimi felt ashamed, suddenly, that she was causing such a scene in public and waved a disinterested hand. He stared at his wristwatch—the same, she noticed, that he had left in her apartment so many nights ago.

"It's late, do you know where…?"

"Let's just go to your place. You still have to get ready for your date," Mimi clicked her tongue, irritated.

"Date?" Yamato raised an eyebrow. "What date?"

"Sora said…" and she stumbled, hurt, as she realised Sora had been lying to get out of seeing her. "You didn't have any plans?"

But if Yamato heard her, he did not let her know. He was quiet, lips pursed in a thin line, face hard. He quickened his pace and Mimi had to sprint to keep up, about to complain he was abusing his long legs when he stopped and she had to step back to avoid colliding with his back.

"You know, I do have something to do. I'll walk you to the station, if you want, but I have to go."

"You'll walk me to the station?" she repeated, incredulous. "Forget it, I'm going home."

"Mimi."

"Have fun, Yamato."

"Mimi!"

"Say hi to Sora!"

.

But a time bomb won't stop.

.

When she opened the door, the last thing she expected was finding her boyfriend's hard face.

"Yamato-kun?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"May I come in?"

"O-of course. Is something the matter?"

Yamato did not remove his shoes, or his coat. He barely left his bass in a corner and leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Sora, worried, came closer.

"You've been avoiding Mimi," he said and she stopped, lowering her hand.

"What?"

"Not just that, Sora, you've been lying to her."

"Did Mimi say that?" she demanded, losing all traces of surprise and finding that she was very angry. "And when did she say this, if you were supposedly rehearsing?"

"I ran into her at the train," Yamato lied quickly. "What, you want to call them too, ask?" He watched her cheeks grow red in embarrassment, or anger. Possibly both, but he did not care and would not take it back.

"I don't know what's going on between you and her, but leave me out of it. She's your friend, Sora. You owe her a little respect."

"It's not about her," she mouthed, quietly. Yamato came just that much closer.

"What?"

"It's not about her," Sora repeated, louder. "It's not about Mimi. It's about you."

"Me?"

Her eyes, once a kind ruby red, had darkened. Yamato stared right at her, calm sabe for the erratic beating of his heart. For me, he thought again.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

It was unfair, he knew, but it angered him to think that after all this time she gave him absolutely no credit. He wanted to yell at her, I've made the decision to stay away from her, haven't you seen?, but bit his tongue because he knew admitting it, would be like admitting she was right, that she did have something to worry about.

Across the room Sora hugged herself, looking at him with a sudden bashfulness that irritated him. How she could stand there, accuse him of such a thing, and then shrink into herself like that, was beyond him.

"I … I don't know what's happening, but Mimi is always there, somehow. I know it's not like that, she'd never do it on purpose but … but I also know what she's like, and sometimes I think you…"

"That's enough," Yamato interrupted, raising his hands. He shook his head, suddenly feeling very cold.

"Yamato, I—,"

"Stop, Sora," he asked, running his hand through his hair and breathing deeply. "This is absurd. Are you even listening to yourself? I – I think I need a moment, okay?"

Sora made a sudden movement, like she wanted to draw closer or shrink into herself and Yamato chose that moment to pick his things and avoid either. He reached the door and hesitated, looking at her over his shoulder.

"When you're ready to talk about what's really bothering you, we will."

He didn't say good-bye and he didn't take the train. He walked for hours, stopping only twice to buy water and find a washroom. His reflection was worse than that afternoon, the bags under his eyes darker than ever. He splashed cold water in his face, rubbing it raw to try and give himself some colour. He gave up.

He arrived, late that night, tired and aching in his bones. He drew himself a hot bath and lay there quietly, nearly catatonic.

Have fun, Yamato.

Lowering himself inside the tub, as deep as he could go, he came out when his lungs demanded oxygen, taking deep breaths and trying to ease the pressure in his chest. He took his time drying and then, splayed on the bed, gazed at the clock. It was past midnight and though he felt infinitely tired, could not sleep.

He thought about Sora, and her close-lipped smile. Her soft hair, short, copper under the sunlight. He thought of the birthmark on her collarbone, how he enjoyed kissing it. The scent of apples and cinnamon that greeted him in her flat, how it clung to her skin. He thought of her small hands, the soft parts and the ones that had been hardened by years of playing tennis. Her short waist, the curve of her thighs, her calves, and the way she laughed when she said his name.

His hand lowered to his pants, he dove unhurriedly beneath the elastic waistband, wrapping around himself. Sora, looking at him sideways. Sora, above him, her breasts bouncing softly … milky, creamy skin, long hair, that half-smile that damned him to hell and the dimple in her cheek, honey-gold eyes and her mouth parting, sighing his name.

He came before fully understanding what had happened and when he opened his eyes it was with a mixture of satisfaction and confusion. He went to the bathroom, getting rid of all traces of what had happened. He even changed his sheets but he could still smell the vanilla in her skin, the soft, sweet scent of her hair. If he closed his eyes he could imagine the weight of her soft, white breasts in his palms, the heat of her long legs around his waist.

Mimi had crawled under his skin, and the tips of his fingers had barely brushed her. He never thought that, without touching him, she'd make him hers; that without being his, she'd belong to him in his dreams.

.

All the sins, the wounds and the tainted feelings.

.

She got his call late, two nights after the last time she had seen him. At first, she thought about not answering, damning it all to hell because they had no right to make her feel like this. Sora hadn't texted, and Mimi was too proud to take another rejection. Her last two calls had gone straight to voicemail; her texts hadn't even been read. That was Yamato's fault, she was sure, but she didn't call to complain about that either.

She picked up, tired, lying in bed with her forearm over her eyes and her phone in the other hand.

"It's late. You know that, right?"

"I know."

They were quiet for one, five minutes. She checked her phone, verifying that the call was still active; she could hear his breath on the other side and for a moment, she was afraid at how nervous that cold silence made her feel.

"Yama?" she asked, her voice tiny. "Are you okay?"

He sighed, releasing a short, dry laugh.

"I don't know, I think I want to apologise to you. And talk, if possible. Can I see you?"

"What, tonight?" Mimi asked, nervous.

"I know it's late, if you prefer…"

"No, ahh … it doesn't matter. Just, just give me a few minutes to get changed and I'll meet you somewhere."

"No, er, I can go to yours, if you want."

"…"

"You're outside, aren't you?" Mimi asked coolly. She walked out into the living room and opened the door. Sure enough, Yamato stood there with one hand inside his pocket, the other one holding his phone. His eyes traveled the length of her, almost smiling at the state of her nightclothes and her long braid swept to one side. He removed his hand from his pocket, half waving.

"I was counting on you saying yes."

"You're such a brat," Mimi said, hanging up. He seemed unfazed, putting his phone away and letting himself inside her place. He heard the door close behind him and Mimi walking straight into her kitchen. "—coffee or tea?"

"Coffee," he answered, removing his shoes and following her. He sat on a stool at the kitchen island, watching her go through the motions of fixing him a cup. Her long, thin fingers measured everything carefully and he imagined, not for the first time, what they would feel like on his hair, neck and shoulders.

"You can talk," she said, pulling him out of his reverie.

"Don't you want to wait for coffee?"

"It won't make you more tolerable, if that's what you think."

"I think you might be surprised."

"What's going on?" she finally exclaimed, voice raised an octave, one hand on her hip once she turned on the machine. "Let's not pretend we're the kind of friends that visit at these hours to make small talk."

"No," he nodded. "I guess not. But I don't know what kind of friends we are."

She was cold suddenly, like that time she went out of the house after a shower, just to see the first snow of the year. Drops of water had frozen on her hair, her back, her face and the tip of her nose.

"Stop playing, will you?"

He wanted to say he wasn't, that it was a serious question, but his heart wasn't in it. He placed an open palm on the island, feeling the cold marble under his burning fingers.

"I haven't seen her in three days." His blue gaze slid softly towards her, guarded and distant. "We haven't talked, either."

"Why not?"

She felt bad, suddenly, that she hadn't insisted, hadn't called again, hadn't been there for her, but mostly, she felt bad at how her heart skipped a few beats and jumped straight to her throat.

"She's jealous of you," Yamato said carefully, watching her close enough to perceive her shiver. "We haven't talked about it yet, but I think that's why she's been avoiding you."

With her back to him, Mimi poured two low rounded pink mugs, setting them before him with a dull sound.

"Did she ask you…?"

"To stay away from you?" he shook his head. "No, that … that was me."

The silence was interrupted by the shrill sound of the coffee machine, making him reach clumsily for it. Mimi seemed to react, turning it off and pouring slowly.

"I don't understand," she said, letting it rest on a wooden table and placing the sugar bowl in front of him. Yamato declined. "Why did you come here just to tell me neither of you want to see me? That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"I never said I didn't want to see you," Yamato said carefully, bringing the coffee to his lips. It was strong, with an intoxicating scent. Mimi did not believe in instant coffee, something he personally thanked her for. He met her eyes and swallowed, his body reacting positively to the heat.

"It's … complicated."

"Sure it is."

"Could you – could you not be sarcastic? It is, Mimi."

"Hey, my best friend isn't talking to me, and her boyfriend, whom I thought was my friend too, isn't either. How can you possibly be in a worse situation? Just tell me."

She stormed out of the kitchen and Yamato stayed, finishing his coffee and waiting before he followed her. He felt his temples pulsing, wondering if he might be on the verge of a nervous collapse. This was ridiculous and maybe if Takeru hadn't said anything…

He found her sitting on her couch, legs folded delicately under her, braid gracefully resting on her shoulder. Her coffee had been abandoned on the table and she was covering her face with her hand. Even from this distance, he could see her lower lip trembling. With an effort, he knelt before her.

"Mimi."

"Leave me alone."

"I can't."

She sobbed. Yamato took her hand in his, away from her face and she tried pulling back, raising her chin and looking away, but her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were inflamed; her skin burned wherever his fingers touched.

"I tried to keep away from you. I focused on my music, my work, on … on her. But I think it's too late, for that."

She looked at him, lips sealed. Unblinking, silent, fearing any movement or noise would turn this moment real. Too long, she had dreamt about it, that Sora realised she loved someone else, that Yamato was free, and hers.

"No," she shook her head. "Yamato, if you…"

He let her go, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. He slid down to the floor, sitting with his back towards her couch, and her.

"If I could, I'd stop."

He felt her slide down next to him, the scent of her, soft and sweet as he had imagined. Her hand sought his and their fingers intertwined, like they always knew how to. Mimi drew closer and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder; Yamato squeezed her fingers.

"I don't want to."

.

I want to take everything, even if it's a sin.

.

When he arrived at her apartment, it was as in avalanche had come with her. They both apologized. She cried, relieved, stumbling on clumsy apologies and promises she wouldn't know how to keep.

I should've trusted you.

I'm so sorry.

I love you.

Seeing her in his arms reminded him how much they'd gone through, the kindness and understanding that had brought them together in the beginning. Sora kissed his face, his lips, his hands and he had to stop her, kiss her fingers and bring her to the bedroom, where he would lose himself in her face, her hair, her body, until he was hers again.

He loved her, but suddenly, he wanted more.

He thought about how easy it was to come closer, kiss her lips, tangle his legs with hers and make her his again. Then he thought about Mimi and how much time would pass before he would dare touch her hand, caress her cheek, kiss the tips of her fingers. There were no passionate kisses, no mess of hands and lips and feet; he had kissed her shoulder twice, and she had leaned on his chest perhaps once.

But he wanted her, and so much more.

It's hard, picking flowers with full hands.

Yamato knew that very well.

.

I act as if I didn't notice that and laugh.

.

It was as if somehow, everyone decided to pretend none of it was happening. Mimi and Sora made up, met after work and during weekends; when Yamato was included Mimi did everything she could not to be caught between them, and they insisted on including her in conversations and plans. They laughed, often, took pictures and enjoyed each other's attentions as peripheral as it sometimes was. Then Mimi said good-bye with a hug, a kiss too close to his lips, a coy look over her shoulder. Yamato would smile, a few seconds longer than what was appropriate. Sora pretended not to see.

There was something there, but she didn't know how to bring it up. Yamato was hers, she knew that. Yet … there was a part of him she could no longer reach.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"No-uh," she laughed. "I was just remembering something."

Whenever she laughed, he felt like he fell in love all over again. Sora was never more beautiful than when she looked at him like that, eyes clear and bright.

Sometimes, he wished she never looked at him like that again.

.

I wonder why I cannot be the one for you.

.

He was lying on the catch, music sheet in his hand. She watched him from the other side of the room, hugging a cushion to her chest. Some days, just looking at him was enough for her, and him. Some days they sat together, murmuring words they would never dare say out loud. Some time or another, Mimi fell asleep next to him, and he wouldn't leave until she woke up. Those were, without doubt, her favourite days.

"Do you think I'd look good, with short hair?"

Yamato raised an eyebrow, pretended to think about it and smiled.

"I think you'd look fine either way, Mimi."

Mimi toyed with her hair, curling it around her fingers. As she released them, they bounced playfully and she gave him a sideways glance.

"You might like me more, that way."

He lowered his papers, smile disappearing completely.

"Mimi…"

She turned around, facing the couch and making an effort to keep her voice even.

"I'm sleepy."

She heard the door close and refused to open her eyes. Sometimes, she wanted him so badly it hurt. Those days were the worst.

.

Why do you force yourself to smile?

.

She was surprised to find him in front of her apartment, waiting for her.

"Hey," she said. "I thought you were working late tonight."

Yamato took her bags and allowed her to open the door, carrying them behind her into the kitchen.

"I can't concentrate," he confessed. "It's just one of those days."

Sora hugged him from behind, pressing herself against him. Yamato stopped taking the groceries out and took her hand in response.

"I like it when you come to me, those days."

He pretended not to hear her. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her lips and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes.

"Should we make dinner?"

At least he tries.

"Just help me put this away, yes?"

.

But I cannot sleep at all, and the dawn breaks again.

.

Yamato had not gone to see her late again since that one time, so long ago. And he hadn't visited since that afternoon Mimi asked him, not very subtly, to leave. But he was there, standing before her door and she couldn't deny what seeing him there did for her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I needed to see you," he said, watching her lean against the door, arms crossed over her chest. Her short nightgown, loose, like a t-shirt that could have belonged to him. He looked away.

"So? Was Sora asleep again?" she asked, and she knew before she finished that it had been the wrong thing to say. Yamato's eyes were blue, crystalline and deep; more than once she had felt like drowning in them. But now they were dark and in a flash he stood before her, pale.

"Is that what you think?" he asked, never raising his voice. Somehow, that was worse.

"You've given me no cause to think differently," Mimi defended herself, swallowing with difficulty.

The argument began before he could stop her. He came close, took two steps forward in order to reach her, touch her somehow, but Mimi flung her arms away and at him. The slap he expected never came; instead, she pulled him by the neck of his shirt, swallowing his protests with a kiss that was anything but gentle. Still upset, angrier than ever, he removed the band in her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders and sinking his fingers in it, biting her lips. When she began loosening the buckle of his belt, he pushed her against the wall, almost ripping at her underwear. He didn't care that his pants were still pooled around his ankles, or that her underwear hung from her foot because she was so hot, and tight, and wet for him.

He went in and out of her so urgently that he was afraid, for a moment, that he'd hurt her. He tried to stop then, but as soon as his speed decreased Mimi moaned, digging her nails in his back. He brought her closer then and she wrapped her long legs around his waist like he had only dreamed so many times, gasping as he felt her stretch for him. His kisses were clumsy, sloppy because he was trying not to lose his rhythm, not to lose himself as he heard her moan his name 'Yamato, Yamato, Yamato', over and over, like a prayer or a curse.

He wanted to drag it out as long as possible, but he barely had time to slide out of her once she came, releasing his name one last time. He kissed her again, on the mouth, adamant she shouldn't think, shouldn't ask, shouldn't say anything else; and he took her to her bedroom, where he would make her his again.

They lied in bad, breathing erratically. Mimi stared at the ceiling, her lips parted, and he stared at her, tracing every soft curve in her body. During the whole time he watched her, Mimi never blushed, never moved to cover her naked chest, something he immediately classified as inherently Mimi.

"The first time I thought of you like this," Yamato began, not knowing why, "It was the day you found me, at the studio. Do you remember?"

Through thick, long lashes, Mimi watched him, blinking slowly.

"You offered to walk me to the station," her lips trembled, and she half smiled. "Mhm."

"After we fought, I walked half the city, trying not to come here. I didn't think much of it, and hours later, even though I was tired, and didn't want to think about anything, I couldn't sleep. I thought … I thought it'd help, but sometime along my fantasy, you replaced her." He slid closer to her, kissing her shoulder like they used to, before. "It's been you since then, mon soleil."

Mimi touched his cheek with the backs of her hand, moving his golden hair away from his face. Yamato turned, kissing her open palm.

"Some nights, I know you belong to me," she said softly, leaning closer to kiss him full on the mouth. "Tonight, you're mine."

"Always," he murmured, lost, like a man drowning.

"No," she insisted sadly. "But it's enough, for now."

Maybe they made love again, or maybe he dreamt it. But Yamato slept, feeling more complete than ever. This time, Mimi waited.

.

"We should not see each other anymore", I want to bring it up.

.

Despite Miyako's insistence to leave him, Sora knew she couldn't bring herself to do it. They hadn't talked about it and she hoped that, by not facing him, he'd leave on his own. But days passed and Yamato was colder, slipping further away. When they were together and they kissed, she sometimes wondered if he thought of somebody else. When they made love and he looked at her, and murmured her name, she wondered how long he'd have to think of it not to say someone else's. And when she looked at Mimi, she didn't know whether to laugh, or cry.

She arrived at the apartment and found him doing the dishes, disheveled, fresh out of the shower. She had to stop herself from looking around, finding any sign that she'd been there, but nothing sprang to life and just thinking of him hiding her made her want to cry again.

"I wasn't expecting you," he apologized, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. "I wish you'd called."

"I can help you clean, if you want."

"That's not necessary, I'm finished."

"In that case…" she leaned closer, throwing her hands around his neck and kissing him, running pearly teeth over his lips.

"Oh!" Yamato responded quickly, but when her hands lowered to his pants, he stopped her.

"Wait," he laughed.

"I don't want to," Sora insisted. Yamato placed both hands on her face and kissed her on the lips, soft but deep.

"Sora…" he said, when he felt her hands between his legs again, searching, and this time it took all his will to stop her, holding her wrist as delicately as possible. "What's going on?"

She stopped then, her smile like barbed wire.

"Did you sleep with her?"

Yamato felt as though she had punched him, right on the face. His eyes widened, lips tightened and he avoided spewing out anything stupid, knowing that his silence granted an answer. Sora swallowed thickly, and though her lips were stretched in a smile, he could see her eyes watering as she began crying.

"Sora…"

"You're so cynical," she finally said. "My best friend, Yamato?"

"It's not that simple," Yamato replied. "You have to—,"

"Have to? I don't have to do anything," she spat, shaking her head furiously and picking up her bag. Her hands were shaking and she thought she couldn't stop herself if he came any closer.

"Sora."

She stopped at the door, smiling over her shoulder.

"You're not even sorry, are you?" A sob strangled her, but she wiped her tears and opened the door, trying not to dissolve into fresh tears once she realized he hadn't even moved.

"At least you're not apologizing … I don't think I could handle it, if you did."

.

.

I should not have let him meet her.

.

From the moment she saw her name on the screen, she knew something was wrong. Mimi dressed modestly, tying her hair with a blue ribbon and wearing a red cardigan over a sky blue blouse, white pants and polka-dotted oxfords. Sora wore a yellow dress and white slippers Mimi had gotten for her last birthday.

"Hi!" she said, trying to sound cheery. Sora offered a cold smile, asking her to sit across the table. It was a nice café, far from where they both lived. Mimi had switched trains thrice and walked two blocks to get there. They sat outside, taking full advantage of the warm, pleasant weather.

"I ordered for you, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," Mimi said. "I love iced tea."

"I know," Sora replied grimly. "Almost as much as Yamato?"

"Sora!" Mimi half choked on her drink, and her friend offered her a napkin, running a hand through her face. She avoided her gaze, half-hoping she had choked and couldn't answer.

"I'm sorry," Sora said, cheeks pink. "I thought if I confronted you about it I could … I'd know…" she stopped, took a deep breath and hiccupped, taking a shallow sip. "I don't know what I was thinking, forgive me."

Mimi toyed nervously with her straw, mentally scolding herself as she had every day since that night.

"When did you…?" She took a small breath. "I can't possibly imagine…"

"No," Sora nodded. "You can't."

"I never meant to," Mimi continued, raising her eyes and trying her damnedest not to cry. "I never thought, never meant to…" and she laughed, because it was funny, no? Finding herself where she was? "I don't know what to say."

"Do you know what the worst part is?" Sora asked, and she looked so small, so fragile and hurt that Mimi felt it poisoning her from the inside. "I can't even be angry at you. I want to get angry, Mimi, I swear I want to lash against you, and yell, and ask you to get the hell out of my life, but I can't."

Numb, Mimi nodded. She was twelve again, and her father was telling her how "disappointed" he was, and how much he had let him down. Except this time, it was so much worse.

"I thought it was nothing, you know? A harmless crush, something small, easy to brush aside," she let out a small, sardonic laugh. "I never thought I'd be easier to brush aside."

"You're not," Mimi mumbled. "He loves you."

"He loves me, but he's in love with you."

The waiter came with their food and they waved him aside without looking, staring at the food that had been so neatly arranged. During that silence, Mimi tried not to be sick.

He loves me, but he's in love with you.

"He didn't even apologise," Sora said, moving around her salad. "Don't even try, I don't think you're sorry, either." Her hand touched her forehead and Mimi felt like screaming, or crying, or vomiting, but she sat still, chewing again and again on a lettuce leaf.

"How long as it …. have you been … how long?"

"Shouldn't you ask him?" she finally said, frowning. Sora faced her coolly.

"I'm asking you."

"It was just … just once."

"You can tell me, Mimi," Sora continued. "Two times, three, fifteen … it's all the same, isn't it?"

"It was just the one time, Sora."

"Did he come to you, or how…?"

Mimi closed her eyes, swallowing bile.

"We both tried to avoid it, if it's any good to you," she answered dryly.

"You both tried?" she laughed. "It's no good at all, you know that."

"Then you shouldn't ask," her voice had lost all traces of regret, leaving a resented, guarded and cold tone. Sora avoided her eyes, taking a bite despite the fact that her mouth felt like sand.

"I'm asking, because I love him," she wiped her lips with a napkin. "Because it hurts. Because I don't want to lose him."

On the other side, Mimi had to bite her tongue.

"Do you think you love him like that?" she continued. "If you say yes, Mimi, I swear I won't blame you."

"No," Mimi sighed, after a minute. "I don't think so."

"Do you think he does?"

The lump in her throat became thicker, and Mimi knew she'd give in soon.

"No," she said, very softly.

"He's the love of my life."

"No," Mimi shook her head. "He's not."

"Yes, he is."

"If he was, then the choice would be obvious, don't you think?"

She drank her entire glass, and her throat was still parched.

"Thanks for the food," she said, taking out a couple of bills and leaving them on the table. "For what it's worth, I'm very sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Sora waved her off, resting her head on her palm. The tears fell down freely, but though she ached to comfort her, Mimi did not move.

"Will you keep seeing him?"

Mimi was silent, pulling on her purse strings.

"Why, if you know – if you know he loves me?"

"It's enough," Mimi answered. "I don't need more than this."

Sora looked at her now, eyes wide open like plates as she walked away. She asked for the check and touched up her makeup at the bathroom.

The text message came before Mimi reached the station.

How long?

.

I cannot find the answer and keep wandering about.

.

Sometimes, he imagined none of it had happened. That as suddenly as she came, she left. He imagined the same time had passed, without her constant presence. Without her laugh, the scent of her hair, the dimple in her cheek. The nights he spent drunk off her he'd have spent with Sora, where he would have demanded more, more, more and she would've given it to him.

He came to dream, at some point, that he had never met Sora. That he saw her from afar in a cafeteria, that they never sat together to watch that football match. That she never asked him to help her practice her backhand.

Both existences were vastly dreadful.

.

I don't want to hurt her.

.

Sora agreed to see him one week after their fight. He was nervous, with sweaty palms when she opened the door to an apartment that had been home to him, for almost two years.

He was nervous, palms sweaty as she opened the door to an apartment that had been like a second home for over two years. She had rearranged the furniture differently; he could hardly recognize the place. In one corner, where Sora practiced her ikebana when she was home, he could see a half-finished arrangement and smiled, softly, before facing her.

During the time they had dated, Yamato was well aware of how attractive his girlfriend was. She was a natural athlete, but he knew her true charm was in the warmth of her smile. Sora could make anyone feel better with a soft look, an even softer touch. It was initially, what drew him to her. Despite his obvious physical allure, Yamato was not as superficial as people thought. He had seen other women, before her. Some more beautiful than her, even, but he couldn't for the life of him, remember them.

"Thank you for seeing me," he finally said, when she sat.

"I needed time to think. I guess you did too."

"And yet, you saw Mimi," he reproached her. "Her, you wanted to see?"

"Wanting, Yamato, is not the word I'd use."

He nodded, resisting the urge to defend her.

"I never did offer you an apology. I should've."

"I don't want your apologies," Sora said. "I can't do anything with 'I'm sorry'".

"Still, I am."

"You're in love with her."

Her admission was met with a long, uncomfortable silence during which neither moved.

"I didn't notice it," he finally said, and his voice had dropped an octave. "By the time I realized, it was too late. She had slipped between my ribs, without asking if she could."

Sora took a few sprigs of lavender, twisting them carefully in the vase she had been using.

"Very romantic," she said.

"It wasn't her fault, Sora."

"No, it was yours," the sprigs dropped to the floor. "Even now, you haven't let go."

"I love you. That doesn't change."

"You love me?" she repeated. "You love me, but you're in love with Mimi." She flew to him then, placing her hands on his chest. Yamato ignored the pressure behind his eyes, hugging her like he would've anytime, crushing her body to his, kissing her hair, her temple, her cheek and finally, her lips.

"I love you, I love you," he whispered, "I never meant to hurt you."

"I don't want to hurt her, either," Sora sniffled. "I never meant to, Yamato, but you…"

"It's not your fault," he hugged her tighter. "None of this was your fault, Sora. Just give me some time, to fix it."

He didn't say he'd be back for her, and Sora didn't ask. He didn't say he'd go to Mimi, either, though she had to assume so. Yamato could only promise to fix it, and hope he could deliver.

You're in love with her.

.

I wish I had not met you on that day.

.

Even if he hadn't called her that day, Mimi would have gone to him. His apartment was just like she remembered: clean, simple, elegant without being unpractical. Yamato looked better than the last time they saw each other, and Mimi was glad.

"Konnichiwa," she said. "I think we need to talk."

They didn't do much talking, that night.

When they came closer, it was as if their bodies recognized each other on their own. They knew where to kiss, how to touch, when to keep going and never stop. Mimi allowed herself a dream, that they were together, that Sora wasn't waiting on the other side, that loving him – wanting to love him, was not wrong.

Her hands set his skin aflame and Yamato's long, skilled fingers toyed down the discs of her column. Mimi's skin was soft, delightful, like milk and honey.

Ambroisie, he murmured, more than once.

Her long hair and creamy skin sang to him, and, next to the pools of molten gold that were her eyes, he knew he could never stand a chance. He kissed her mouth, the dimple of her smile, the curve of her neck and the bones of her collar. He kissed her breasts, her bellybutton, the corner of her hip and the space behind her knee. He kissed her thighs and, late into the night, kissed her shadow.

They lay in post-coital bliss, and it was like the hum of bees in the summer, sleepy. Yamato traced her curves with the same care years of musical formation had instilled in him, and he thought about making her sing for him again.

"I wish I could've met you, in another life," Mimi said with a smile.

"Why? Isn't this life enough, for you?"

"In this life, you're not mine," she bit her lip, avoiding to laugh, or cry. "Not always."

"Mimi…"

"Shh, it's okay," she said, taking his little finger and twining it with hers. "You can't break it, Yama. It can stretch, or tangle, but it can never break."

She slept against his chest that night. Yamato could see the moon from his window, smiling above the city. He fell asleep thinking of her words, dreaming that the string was thick rope, wrapped around his neck.

When he woke, he was alone.

.

No matter where I am, I cannot heal the wounds.

.

She said goodbye with a kiss to the cheek, a hug, and her sincere apologies.

"I love you," Sora said. "You don't have to go, I … need you."

"You don't need me. And I love you too, so much."

"No, you don't get it," she sniffled. "I can – I mean, I don't want to…"

"Don't be silly, Sora," Mimi chastised her, eyes bright with unshed tears. "We'll see each other soon." Her head lowered, and she shifted her feet nervously. "I've been horrible to you, and I wish I hadn't."

"Mimi … this isn't what I meant, we can get over it, I'm sure…"

"You can!" she echoed. "If I leave."

"Mimi!"

But Mimi only twisted her thumbs, like she always had. She put her big sunglasses on and raised her chin, feeling far less confident than she looked.

"Don't tell him anything, yes? Say I left. That I want nothing to do with him, or you. Tell him …whatever you want to, I guess."

Sora threw her arms around her, hugging tight.

"I hope you forgive me, but I couldn't leave without saying good-bye."

.

A knife of time makes more wounds.

.

If she had been honest with herself, Sora would have also accepted that the only way they could get past this was if she left. Still, her absence grew, and weighed around them, cold and leering during the first few weeks. Yamato never asked for her, though Sora knew he had to have been dying to do so. She knew it since the night he came to her apartment, eyes red and dull and bags dark under his eyes; the knuckles in his hands ripped and raw, and bloodied.

There were few apologies and even less explanations. The routine of nearly three years caught up to them and it was easy, returning to the roles they had played so well. They grew together, but in the end it was their personal interests that came between them. Sora was completely set on following her family's iemoto; her designer aspirations also occupied much of her time. Yamato's one-off project had been prolonged, too. Their album had been a complete success and they were in negotiations to sign with a known label; he'd been the one to ask for time, to think about it.

When Sora told him she wanted to end things, he hadn't been surprised. In a way, he had been expecting it. They didn't talk about Mimi or what had happened with her, but they both remembered her words and both knew that, though she may have been naïve, she hadn't been wrong about either. The idea was both comforting, and repugnant.

If he had been the love of your life, the choice would've been easy.

The terms were relatively friendly, and certainly civil. Sora even helped him pack up her things and they shared tea one last time, like lovers, like friends, acquaintances. At the end, like strangers, even.

"I'm truly sorry, you know?" Sora said, months after the deal. "I never thought … something like this would happen." Her smile was sad, but not insincere. "Not to us, at least."

You can't break it, Yama. It can stretch and tangle, but it can never break.

"If I hadn't met her because of you, I would have still loved her."

Sora was silent, moving the tea between her hands. Enough time had passed that though it was a bitter memory, she was no longer hurt. Her departure had been both poison and cure, and Sora knew she was doing so much better.

"I don't think I've ever heard you say it before."

"That I love her?" Yamato laughed, but it was dry and hollow. "It seems useless, pretending not to. Maybe it doesn't matter. I probably won't see her again."

Today, that's enough.

"She'll be back."

"Maybe."

"She will," Sora said again. "For you."

.

I love you.

.

The station was full of people coming in and out of different trains. He sat on a plastic chair with one leg crossed over the other, eyes fixed on the arrivals and the Tokaido line coming from Nagoya, waiting for Takeru. He carried music sheets on one hand, the last songs he'd been working on with his colleagues. After Sora left, it seemed useless not to pursue the only dream he had left.

It was like a sixth sense, somehow.

His body, without his permission, anticipated her presence. With his eyes fixed on the notes, he felt a shiver run to the base of his spine at the subtlest hint of her aroma, an intoxicating mixture of anise, violets and licorice that would remain hours after she left. His face turned, finding her eyes and smiling the subtlest of smiles.

"Hello, stranger," she said, her voice so soft it barely tickled. Yamato nodded, lips curling in a gesture that wasn't a smile, though it looked remarkably like one.

"Hey," he breathed in the sweet, sweet air. "I like your hair."

She brought her hands to the tips of her cinnamon locks, which barely brushed her thin shoulders.

"Yeah? I'm thinking of letting it grow."

Yamato shook his head softly, feeling that, inside his chest, his heart began beating anew.

He'd never had a choice.