Writer's Block

Disclaimer: Don't own DC/MK. Not in this universe.

(A/n: This fic is dedicate to s2lou, whose "Gem's Entry: Blue Child" was actually the first AU I've read about Kaito/Aoko. Hopes her writer's block will clear up soon! ^^)

Her heart fluttered, fireworks exploding before her whirring eyes. Her legs weakened and she found herself sailing forward, the air breezing past her delicate limbs and rosy cheeks. His arms, strong and solid, shot out and grabbed her just in time.

"I love you, Hanako."

And those three words - so simply construed and yet so complicated in its meaning - escaped from his lips, slightly muffled as he held her - gently like a china doll - and nuzzled into her perfumed neck. Tears, hot and full, gushed from her eyes.

"I love you, too, Koichi!"

She felt his arms tightened around her willowy waist. In a fit of passion he eased his weight onto hers - bringing their entangled bodies onto the waiting bed. The rose petals fluttered around them. She gasped, and her cheeks flushed a deeper pink.

His lips crushed against hers - passionate in its force but tender in its caress - and she felt a wildfire lit and spread from her loins... crotch... genitals...

Bam!

Nakamori Aoko slammed her head, hard, against the desk and let her fingers trail down the battered keyboard. Around her, chocolate-specked silver foils littered -

wonderfully intermixed in the medley of stained coffee mugs, used tea packets, crumpled papers and empty instant noodle bowls. Below her, there was a loud thwack as something rammed against the tatami (most likely a broom), immediately followed an angry slew of cursing,

"Hey - writer girl! You keep it down up there! No funny business!"

"Yes, Watanabe-san," Aoko answered her landlady dully. The walls were so thin that she didn't even need to raise her voice.

There was rustling down below. Probably the old lady complaining to her husband about the deteriorating youths nowadays. Pesky teenagers and blah blah blah, and so forth. Not that she could even consider herself a teenager now - as flattering as it may to think so. Her 26th birthday was rolling around with a vengeance, and pretending that she was still fresh out of high school would just be delusional.

A nice thought, though.

With a weary sigh she turned back to the blinking screen. Her eyes scrolled down the bottom of the page. So far: 130 pages. 130.5, if you were splitting hairs. Not good. Her publisher Akako Koizumi wasn't going to be happy. She ran a hand through her tousled hair - tangled from a night and a half of almost no sleep. Unhappy publishers ate puppies for breakfast.

The phone shrieked; startling Aoko a foot into the air. She cast one dismayed glance toward the screen before peeling her behind off the chair and wading her way across the room. (Distance: 3 metres) Gingerly, she lifted the receiver to her ear.
With the air of a man stepping up to the guillotine, she breathed,

"Hello?"

"Aoko, how are you?" Soft and smooth, Akako's voice flowed through the line like honey.

"Good." (Damn, did she just squeak?)

"Excellent." There was a rustling of papers on the other side. "Now, I trust that you have finished the 300 pages you promised me two weeks ago?"

Aoko twisted one finger around the rubbery phone cord, sweat seeping through her palms. She was silently grateful that human eyes couldn't see through the phone line.

"It's... er, almost done."

"Wonderful. I'll swing by on Sunday to pick it up."

"Sunday?" Her voice went up another octave.

"Hn. Do you have other plans?"

"Er... y-yeah! I sort of have a date." She let out a nervous chuckle. "You know - dinner, walk on the beach. The whole nine yards."

There was a pause. "Uh-huh, okay," Akako said breezily, unfazed. "That's all right, I'll come on Saturday then."

Aoko felt her stomach drop to her feet. "What - ?"

"Anyways, I'm just checking in to see how you're doing. I'll see you Saturday, Aoko. Take care."

With a crisp click, the line went dead. Aoko clenched the wedge of plastic in her hands, so tight that she heard an ominous crack.

Down below, there was another loud thump,

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE, WRITER GIRL?"

---

Half an hour later Aoko was bounding down the cigarette-littered steps of her apartment, leaving the paint-chipped door bang shut behind her. She had on her favourite turquoise jacket - well, okay, her only jacket. But she liked the colour and it matched her scarf, a scruffy little thing that she had knitted years ago. She was content, if nothing else. The night was young, and there was plenty of time to air out her mind before returning to the (heartlessly) blank screen. The florescent streetlights flickering to life overhead, she hummed softly to herself as she popped into the nearest convenience store up for coffee before going on her way. A rush of heated air greeted her as she stepped through its sliding doors. She made a beeline for the hot drinks aisle.

Her eyes scanned the plethora of colours for her favourite - Monster Coffee. If she was going to crank out 70-odd pages in two days then she needed some serious caffeine. Her eyes lit up. Just her luck - there was only one can left. Just as her hands reached out to claim its prize - another one, larger and thin-fingered, shot out and grabbed it out of her reach.

"Hey!" She cried indignantly, glaring upwards. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Blue, blue eyes. Tousled, just-got-out-of-bed dark hair. A grin tugged in a crescent wedge.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Sorry, did you want this?" He blinked innocently, handing the can over.

Suddenly, she was at a loss for words. "Er, well - I - um, yeah -"

"Psych!" and like that, the man's smile soured into a triumphant leer. "Better luck next time, slowpoke." With that, he flicked the can back toward himself and sashayed toward the cash register.

Aoko gaped. Resisting the urge to march right up and clock the man in the face, she turned back to the drinks and took a can without looking. She could feel the heatcreeping onto her face.

Stupid, stupid Aoko... of course it couldn't be... it's not possible...

The thoughts whirled around her head. Humiliated and still half-mad at herself, Aoko brought the beverage to the cashier and paid without looking. She didn't give it much thought until she was back out in the night air, the wind bitingly cold against her cheeks, the warm drink pulsing in her hand -

and looked down.

100% Natural Prune Juice.

---

"Let our auras merge, Hanako."

"Oh, I love you, Koichi!"

And she pressed up against him; his flesh chiselled like marble but yet warm - so hot - scorching like fire - against her softer curves. She felt his fingers trailed down. A gasp escaped her throat. He groaned, a deep, masculine rattle deep from his throat - and then -

Pfftt.

"Hanako?" And his voice was so soft, gentle. Like velvet, like silk, like -

"Did you just fart?"

Aoko snorted, sputtering maroon splotches onto herself. Several onlookers turned. Hastily wiping the lavender droplets from her lips, she pretended to peer around, in perfect nonchalance, for the real culprit. Eventually the eyes drifted away.

Nursing whatever was left of her prune juice in her hand, Aoko huddled close to the storefronts as she passed by another couple, giggling and intertwined in such fashion it was hard to tell which hands began and which buttock ended. She had to suppress an inward snort. Jerks. It was ironic, really, that as a romance writer she was never really into the sap, even though it was almost all she wrote. Sap sold. Akako made sure of that.

Aimlessly she wondered by the store displays, stopping once in a while to peer at an especially elaborate scheme. The holidays were fast approaching: the businesses wasted no time pushing their merchandise by marketing them all couple-friendly -chocolates nestled in heart-shaped boxes, paper flowers blooming in soft shades of lavenders and pinks, picture frames studded with roses and angels. Absently, she raised one hand and pressed it against the glass. An extra-large box of chocolates glowed softly under the soothingly gold lights.

Five minutes later, she found herself back on the street, half-drunk prune juice in one hand, the large box of chocolates in the other, the door bell merrily clinking the door shut behind her.

Great, she had just blown a week's worth of grocery money.

Two weeks' worth - if she didn't get her manuscript finished in time.

Feeling an odd ache in her chest, she tucked the box under her arm and went on her way.

---

Aoko had no idea where she was going. Only that her feet were carrying her forward and she let them. Soon the sound of grinding tires and bustling street life faded into a distant hum. Dim orange lights flickered to life around her. She was climbing up steps. It wasn't until she was standing directly before its grandeur that she became aware of her surroundings.

The clock tower.

Once a looming sentinel of the city, it was now a ghost of its former glory. The city hadn't dare to tear it down due to KID's puzzle scribbled years ago. But now that phantom thief had all but vanished from the map, the city tripped all over itself to continue the plans for an amusement park. However the deal fell through and the construction was simply abandoned when the funds dried up. And now the clock tower was left crooked, torn, and hollow - with most of its abdomen dismantled.

Aoko felt her steps slow to a halt. Slowly, she glanced up at its worn, numbered face.

"Are you waiting for someone, too?"

" It's my dad. He promised that he would take me out to play today... but I guess he's too busy again."

She tipped the juice to her lips. Winced. Cold, there was a slight acidic, vomit-like quality to the flavour.

"My name is Kuroba Kaito. Nice to meet you."

Knowing but not really understanding why, her pace picked up again - right up the steps, through the winding asphalt road, and into the belly of the building. Not even so much as a glance at the red "Danger - Do Not Go Beyond This Point" signs, her eyes soon found the battered staircase in the moonlit darkness. Careful to keep one hand on the banister, she climbed.

The stairs creaked. Something scurried by her foot and she almost dropped the chocolates. After a few deep breaths she resumed her climbing, this time more wary of tiny scuttling noises in the night.

It seemed to take forever. Her legs felt like lead at the end. But eventually the soles of her shoes found the landing and she was on solid ground. The door leading out onto the roof was torn into splinters, scattered all over the ground. She stepped over the fragments and strolled into the night.

The city was beautiful from up there. Small, but so alive with its blinking eyes, strings of lights that bloomed like flowers, in shades of reds, ambers, oranges and even blues. Skyscrapers dominate the landscape, soaring high into the ink-black sky with its frostily glaring windows. Underneath her, the whole city bustled with life.

It was also very, very cold.

The wind was much stronger, way more than she had anticipated. It lashed at her hair and tore at her flimsy jacket. Tucking the scarf tighter under her chin and then rubbing her hands for warmth, she sat down (carefully) a few metres away from the edge. She set the box of chocolate down on the ground and unwrapped its delicate attire of layered tissue paper.

Each chocolate truffle was wrapped in a gold foil of its own, topped with a silky little bow. (You really get what you pay for, she observed idly) She peeled the wrapping off and popped it into her mouth, letting the bittersweetness melt on her tongue.

She had never cared for chocolates. Or sweets in general, for that matter. It was never a top priority whenever a junk-food craving struck. The boy, however, went wild for them. She felt a nostalgic grin tug at her lips as memories of the boy, bit by bit, resurfaced. The stupid, messy-haired, prankster-loving boy who practically worshipped chocolates...

She hadn't cared for chocolates. Not at all.

Until that wind-swept night, when he kissed her.

She hadn't expected it. They had been talking - about what, she couldn't remember. Probably something stupid - as the way most of their arguments spurred. The conversation had trailed away to one of those comfortable silences that she cherished. With him, moments of quiet were almost impossible - but when one lapsed, it was never awkward. There was no hasty fumbling for another topic to fill the gap. They simply let the air fill between them, peaceful. Quiet for quiet's sake.

She glanced back, and then, he was there. Their breaths were so close; face-to-face, it only seemed natural to close in the rest of the space altogether. His hand was cold when he gently brushed away a stray strand of hair from her face. She blinked.

And then, his lips pressed against hers.

He tasted like chocolate. Milk chocolate - to be more precise. No subtle tartness of cocoa mass, no earthy scent of the darker bark,- just pure sugary sweetness.

She had pulled back. Well, to shove him back was more like it - a pure reflex after all these years of mop-chases and skirt-flipping. He had looked surprised - sad, hurt (the angles of his face crumbling in a way she had never seen before) - then it was all gone in a matter of seconds, replaced by his familiar playful grin. He made a crack about April Fool's, and she might've said something back - or glared - or chased him around for stealing her first kiss. Or perhaps all three - she couldn't recall. It wasn't until later, hours later, back home that she brought her fingers to her lips, the sweetness still lingering upon them - that she remembered that it was Christmas Eve.

She had gone to his house the next day, a large box of home-baked cookies in hand.

And everything was gone.

The house had been burnt to cinders. Police cars. Blaring yellow tapes stamped with bolded "Do Not Cross - Metro Police Department" ringed the parameter of what had once been a human dwelling. She panicked. Grabbed the first uniformed man she saw.

"I'm sorry," the man said, sounding anything but. His gaze was cold as he looked down at her. "No one survived the fire."

It didn't make front-page news. An accident - the newspaper blamed the cause of fire onto - skimming over the tragedy before diving straight into the romances of celebrities. No bodies were uncovered. She shredded the newspaper, locked herself in her room, and cried.

Tears were shed at the funeral. Kaito was well-liked at school, and almost everyone in the class turned up. They went up to the podium and recalled what they remembered of the boy. Aoko was the only one who didn't. How could she - when the only thing that swam to mind was the sad way the lines of his face fell when she pushed him away - and all the others spoke of was his smiles and limitless pranks? She suffered her tears in solitude.

Later, she refused Keiko's offers to "talk about it". How could you mourn over a broken heart, when the only promises had been the faintest of whispers - gathered from the imprints of your own suspicions?

Finally, one day, she picked a pen.

The words poured from her easily, like water. She wrote down everything and nothing. Letters to Kaito that he would never read. Recipes of cookies she had hoped to try on the boy. Things she wished she had said. Things that had happened on that night. Things that she suspected she felt. Things that she had felt. Things that she was. Things that he was, to her.

And once the ink started bleeding, it didn't stop. The letters trickled into words; words into paragraphs; and paragraphs stacked neatly one after another, flowing fluently into page after page of conversation with herself. It was her first and only unfinished story - "The Magician Boy". She kept it tucked away - in the bottom drawer of her desk, nicely bind with a paper-clip and buried under sheets after sheets of discarded ideas.

She unwrapped another piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth.

When Hanako woke up the next day, her arm automatically reached for her left, expecting to feel the perfectly chiselled flesh warming the other half of the bed.

And grasped onto empty air.

She turned.

The bed was empty. Upon the pillow laid one lone rose, black and shrivelled.

"Koichi - " she cried.

That was good. Who said that romances had to be saccharinely sweet all the time? Akako would be pleased with the plot twist. She searched her pockets for paper - and came up with a crumpled bus ticket. (Good enough.) She reached into her back pocket for the pencil stub she always carried on her and started scribbling it down.

Hanako - the morning after - abandon - angst-filled mind??? Questions Koichi's love...

And there, her pencil stopped. Great - stuck again. What was Hanako to do after this? Probably throw herself into the arms of another Adonis-esque suitor in hopes of mending her broken heart. She jotted that down - note to self: create another hunk.

She paused. Then: with long flowing hair. Shampoo-commercial worthy. She should be able to stretch a few paragraphs with that.

Feeling a yawn coming up, she got to her feet and stretch her arms. Absently, her fingers slackened - and the gust of wind lapping at her face instantly snatched the paper away. Her jaw dropped. Panicking, she lunged after the little piece of paper - extending her arms as far as they would go -

"Watch out!"

She felt something tug back at her waist. Losing her balance, she toppled backward, butt-first, onto the hard ground. She looked up; the precious piece of paper was gliding into the air and over the ledge - her lips parted,

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!"

A shadow blurred past her. It stepped onto the ledge and leapt into the air. One slender arm extended - the fingers smoothly grasping onto one edge seconds before its inevitable plunge. Aoko gawked. The figure landed back on the landing, smoothly - almost catlike.

She scrambled to her feet. "Oh, God, thank you thank you thank you!" She gushed, practically throwing herself at the shadow. "That's my meal-ticket right there!"

Closer up, the shadow morphed into sharp lines and angles of a man. A cap was tugged low over his eyes, spilling unkempt hair over his hair and making it hard to see his face. His blue eyes peered at her from under the hat - eyes so blue under the moonlight that she was dumbstruck for a second. Speechless.

It couldn't be...

"A little extreme for a bus ticket, isn't it?" He jeered. "Here." He shoved the ticket back into her hands.

He turned to leave. Aoko, feeling as if she had just been slapped in the face, clenched her fists. Defiant, she shouted after him, "It's not just a bus ticket, you know!"

That caught his interest. Lazily, he swerved one eye back to glance at her. "Oh, yeah?"

She crossed my arms. "Don't you have any idea who I am?"

"Yeah, the crazy girl who almost jumped off a 20-story building for a used bus pass."

She puffed up her chest. "Excuse me, but I'll have you know that I'm Nakamori Aoko!"

Silence. In the dark she couldn't quite make out his face. Then, quietly, he said, "Aoko."

"That's right! The author of 'Lilac Love' and 'Starry Kisses'!" She declared, a touch savagely. All right - they weren't exactly best-sellers, but there was no writer in the world that wouldn't be proud of their work.

There was another pause.

"Never heard of them."

Ouch.

"Well, you should," she grumbled. "Whatever." Stuffing the paper into her jeans pocket, she bend down to gather up her box of chocolates. It wasn't turning out to be most inspirational night. Tucking the box under her arm, she was to head back down to the staircase when she realized that the man was still there. There was something in his eyes as he looked at her, hands carelessly pushed into his pockets.

"You're a romance writer?"

"Yeah."

"Then what are you doing on the roof of an abandoned building?"

That question caught her off guard. For a minute she considered firing back with something tart - something like, "So I wouldn't have to stomach your face." Then, her senses as a mature 25-year-old kicking in, she discarded the idea and just shrugged. "To think."

"There are places called 'coffee shops', you know."

"Yeah, well, my writer's block don't like these places," she snapped.

"Writer's block?" And his eyes, (so blue) glinted - almost playfully - under the moonlight. "Don't you just write about love?"

"It's harder than you think." And it was - despite Akako constant hints that she should be meeting her deadlines more efficiently as there was nothing more complicated to her job as, say, a monkey banging around on a keyboard.

"Hnnn, well, it shouldn't be."

"Uh-huh, and you would know that because - ?" She let the question trail.

There was another thoughtful pause. Aoko shifted the chocolate box closer to her side. She felt stupid standing there, carrying on the conversation with a stranger that had just saved and insulted her at the same time. And yet she found him intriguing - or odd, to be more exact. Perhaps it was the writer's side of her - to be interested in anomalies; her feet remained rooted to the ground, her ears perked to what he had to say.

"'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.'" And he grinned, his smile ghostly white in the night. "One: love needn't be put into words. I can bore with you all night with the way the heartbeat quickens, or the way the stomach satiates with butterfly wings. Or..."

"Or what?"

"I could show you."

Before Aoko could stutter out a reply, he was right there, folding her hand into his. He looked into her eyes; blue, blue oceans they were - and in spite of herself she happily drowned. And (Goddamn it) Aoko actually felt butterflies in her stomach as his face closed in. And her brain automatically took note of the lean, slightly boyish face and his bright, dancing eyes. His grin widened.

"Well?" He beckoned toward the stairs.

"What, no chariot awaits?" She said dryly.

He laughed. "I shall personally carry you home, m'lady."

Silently thankful that the night concealed the blush tinting her cheeks, she let a reluctant grunt. "Whatever."

He led her down the stairs, his hand intertwined, almost with familiar reassurance, around hers. And she was sure she had gone mad - crazy as a bat - as she actually tried to keep up with his brisk strides. And still, when he glanced back - making sure that she hadn't slip on a step and lost her footing in the dark - the voice echoed, deafeningly quiet, in her ears,

"Hi, I'm Kuroba Kaito - nice to meet you."

---

She was now 100% sure she had lost all sanity.

The theatre was dark and absolutely chocked full of kids. The seats were stiff and the armrests sticky. The last hour seemed to have passed by in a blur - one second she and the strange man were flying down the stairs and out into the open night - and the next the man had dragged her to the theatre, choosing the next G-rated comedy that came on and bought both of their tickets. He also purchased a large tub of popcorn - nestled uncomfortably between their knees.

Aoko glanced around the theatre.

Children. Everywhere. Laughing. Yelling. Crying. They were the only ones in the theatre past the age where boogers long lost its palatability.

The man seemed oblivious to this, happily digging into the popcorn and nudging the bucket towards her.

"What the heck does this have to do with love?" She hissed loudly, tugging on his sleeve. Beside her, a boy sneezed into his hands.

"Whoa," he said, marvelling at the lime-green substance drenching his fingers..

Unfazed, the man shrugged. He smiled. "Don't think so much. Just enjoy yourself."

Before Aoko could muster a retort, the movie screen flickered into life. A giant bunny popped onto the screen, ears and whiskers wigging. It was followed by a bear, a turtle, and a hamster, all jumping and down on with vigour. The theatre broke into applause and cheers.

"Yeah! Look, there's the Berry Bear!" suddenly, the small (damp) hand from her left shot out and shook her arm excitedly.

"Oh, um... great." She glanced up at the screen, during which point a bear covered in red polka dots was dancing to a song about "Friendship, Fun, and Forever". After ten minutes of this, she finally elbowed the man on her right. "How long is this movie?"

"Two and a half hours."

"What - ?!" She sputtered.

He patted her hand. Then, placing a finger to his lips, "Shhh... this is where Berry Bear does his solo."

She slunk lower into her seat.

---

Three hours later Aoko found herself sitting beside the man in a ramen restaurant at the chef's bar. Kneading the annoying Berry Bear song from her temples, she silently marvelled at the man's ability to whisk her away to the most irritatingly busy places in the city. A wide-faced, haggard-looking waitress plonked down the two steaming bowls of noodles before them.

"You," she said. "Are absolutely bizarre."

"One of my most endearing traits." He tore the wooden chopsticks from its sleeve and snapped them into two with a sharp crack. Rubbing them together to remove any stray splinters, he passed the chopsticks to her. Hesitantly, she took them and dipped them into the noodles.

"So... what were you doing on the clock tower?" She sipped the soup. It was actually pretty good.

"Hmm."

"That wasn't an answer."

"Hmmm- hm."

Aoko rolled her eyes. Twirling the noodles onto the ends of her chopsticks, she took a large bite. Hissing in pain, she instantly leapt to her feet, fanning her burnt tongue with both hands.

"Oh, God," laughing, he swiftly filled her cup with cold water from the pitcher and pushed into her hands. "Here, drink up."

The icy cold water quenched the pain. Gasping, she shot his grinning face a glare. "That was not funny."

"I didn't say anything." He put his hands. "Here." To her surprise, he leaned in, so close that their noses almost touched. He was looking directly into her eyes. She felt her face flushed red. Eyes grinning, he brought his hand up to her face and gently brushed away something from her cheek.

"What are you - "

"Green onion." And suddenly, he was gone, leaning back onto his own stool, holding up a green-white speck. "It was on your face."

"Thanks." She didn't know what to say to that. She turned away, silently hating the blush that stubbornly clung to her cheeks. "So," she grumbled. "Is that what you do? Wonder in abandon buildings and ask girls out on dates?"

There was a flicker in his eyes. "No."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Voice light, playful. Eyes. Softened. "Only the ones with writers' blocks."

"Oy, either eat up or get a room!" Suddenly, the waitress barked from across the room. "We've got a line going here!"

--

The night air kissed their faces as they walked, side by side, on the cobbled path.

"I should be worried," Aoko observed quietly, "That you're walking me home."

"Uh-huh, and why is that?"

The streetlights winked sleepily. They stepped from one pool of light, crossed the small bridge of darkness, and into light once more.

"I don't even know your name, who you are, where you come from."

"Is that right?" he whispered under his breath. It missed her ears.

She shook her head. "You could have be a dangerous sex offender for all I know."

"Hm."

"But for some reason I feel like we've met long ago." she glanced up at him. Her lips tug at a coy smile. "Kind of stupid of me, isn't it? So cliché - I've always hated plotlines like that - long lost childhood friends who just happen to find each other and fall in love."

The last three words escaped her lips before her brain kicked in. She could see the surprise in his blue eyes. Embarrassed, she hastily back-pedalled. "Um - not that I meant that we're - er, you know - falling in love or anything. I mean, that would be crazy." She let out a nervous laugh. "We just met."

He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he echoed softly. "We just met."

Aoko's green-tinged apartment swam into view. The lights in her landlady's windows were off - she breathed a sigh of relief. The last time she had let Hakuba walk her home the old couple had talked so much about the lack of virtue of youths nowadays she thought she might tear her hair out. She had only let Hakuba kiss her on the cheek - a polite brush of lips against skin, but by the way they grumble behind her back, you'd have thought she had a sex with an elephant out in the open.

She stepped onto the porch, turning to face him. "Thanks. You... er," She picked at the edge of her sleeve. "Really gave me something to think about."

He smiled up at her. "Great. Glad I've helped."

And with that, he turned on his heels, sliding back into the darkness - when something reached down, clenched hard around her heart and squeezed. Without thinking, the cry escaped her lips, "Wait - !"

The scarf whipping at her cheeks, she practically flew down the steps. He halted, and turned, slowly. She ran towards him, screeching to a stop just before their bodies collide.

"Here." She pushed the box of chocolates onto his chest. He blinked. Obviously taken back. "I don't know if you like chocolates or not - and actually, I ate two already, but, er, there's no point in me keeping such a large box of it for myself. So, um, if you want to - take it." She babbled, feeling like a complete idiot but unable to stop herself.

"Thanks." He took the box.

"And I know it sounds crazy and all - but I'd really, really like to know your name." She stared up into his eyes, defiant and scared at the same time.

He didn't reply. Instead, his fingers pulled on the ribbon that clasped the box closed and tugged. The lid slid open. His slender fingers hovered in the air, until, finally, settling on one that was wrapped in a silvery-blue foil. He unwrapped it slowly.

"I love chocolate." He said softly, popping the chocolate into his lips.

Rejected.

Aoko felt her shoulders slump. Idiot, stupid Aoko.... She took a step back. "Okay, I understand. Thanks for dinner, anyways." And she was about to turn and run -- possibly sprint full-speed, throw herself under the covers and just bury herself in self-pity for the next 12-hours - when he suddenly leaned in.

And kissed her.

His lips were soft. Warm. Sweet.

Like milk chocolate.

After what seemed like an eternity, he drew back, but only far enough to murmur in her ear. "...Nice to meet you, Aoko."

He pulled back. He was smiling. A sad, crooked smile.

A frown twisted right side up.

She let him fade back into the night. The chocolate lingered on her lips.

---

Aoko climbed the stairs up back up to her suite. She inserted the key into the lock and turned. The door edged open with a groan.

The answer machine was blinking. Probably something from Keiko about another blind-date. She took off her jacket and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The computer was on, waiting, the slim chunk of black weeping pitifully on the screen.

She turned the monitor off. Instead of settling into the familiar groove of the chair in front of her computer, she went to her desk and pulled out the bottommost drawer.

Brushing aside the crumpled notes and the bad first-drafts and bad second-drafts and the horrid third-drafts of stories past, she took out The Story. Slid off the paper clip.

Then pen felt foreign, and yet strangely comforting back in her hand. She sat down in front of the desk, ran one hand across the crinkled, yellowed paper.

She began to write.

A/n: This was originally meant to be short little one-shot. Then ideas spiralled out of control and it ended up being this sleep-depriving monster. (I have trouble falling asleep leaving a story dangling... =_=) Reviews are always appreciated - like cookies! ^^