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eunivrse · 3 years ago

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if i can’t be yours. [armin arlert]

—for @misss-chrisss’s 1k getaway collab !

summary: for a tourist spot known for its parties, you felt more alone than ever. armin just happened to be there to comfort you… in a friendly, totally pure way.

content warning: bandboy armin, rough sex, drunk sex, breast slapping, fingering, squirting (no the reader did not pee), unprotected sex, spitting, porn w plot, paparazzi stepping on private property

word count: 4.2k

note: this collab was sm fun and ofc i had to do it w armin, so again, tysm for letting me join, chris!!

Mykonos. One of the most popular hotspots in Greece, from its beaches to the five star hotels celebrities like Leonardo DiCaprio himself have stayed in.

Being the person you are, you usually aren’t the type to go out of your way to spend copious amounts of money just to go to a well-known site, but here you are, in the airport, waiting for your ride.

You’re here as a result of one of your good friends’ constant begging to come out of your shell for once because he’s hosting a party in Mykonos as celebration for his band signing their first record label.

Eren Jaeger, a childhood friend. He’s someone who kept himself in close contact with you even despite his success and fame. Plus, if it means seeing him — which has been rare the past few months — no way you’re gonna pass on an opportunity to meet him face to face.

Even if that means you have to party. Nothing against partying, you just haven’t been feeling it lately with all the stress on your shoulders.

As you took your luggage off the conveyor belt, a pair of arms went to wrap itself around your neck. “Eren.” You whisper, turning around to see the brunette in front of you. Luscious locks sitting just below his shoulders and a pair of sunglasses leaning atop his pointed nose.

“Are you ready?” He takes the luggage from your hand, leaving one of his arms around your shoulder as you walk off the baggage pickup area and into the parking lot.

“Can I check into my hotel first?” You ask as he opens the trunk of his car to put your suitcase in. “Hotel? You’re staying in our suite, babe.” He opens the door to the passenger’s seat to let you in, and him following in the driver's.

You couldn’t complain or protest, after all, you owe him for this after ghosting him for months.

The breeze of the air conditioner hit your face, a small laugh of disappointment and nostalgia coming through your nose, because as much as this is out of your comfort zone, you really do miss Eren.

“I hate you, Eren.”

—

You’ve met his band mates before, they were all friends in high school, you can consider yourself a good friend of theirs as well, though you barely kept in touch with them after graduation. Despite this, you’re their biggest fan in terms of their boy band, 104th. Not only because you know them personally, but because you genuinely believe their music reaches for the soul, not for the fame and money that comes with it.

Eren, Jean, Connie, and Armin. The 4 individuals who altered the meaning of music for the modern generation.

The sky was full of stars, twinkling lights splattered over the raven surface of the sky. Music blared through the speakers and you were sitting in the bar in a hut, alone. You figured as much that this was going to happen, but there’s free food and alcohol so you had nothing to complain about.

After Eren picked you up at the airport, he drove you straight to the party. It was at the beach, but the white, milky sand Platys Gialos beach is particularly known for is barely even visible under the moonlight.

You weren’t the only person alone though. To your right, a familiar blonde sat next to you. As a fan, he’s your favorite, as a person however, you find him a little intimidating. He has an approachable demeanor, but it’s obvious he keeps himself distanced from his fellow bandmates.

He’s intimidating to you because you can’t read him despite knowing him personally.

Armin Arlert, the guitarist.

Connie and Jean are both outgoing, it’s easy to know what they’re thinking, but Armin? It’s as if you’re trying to figure out what’s under the ocean with your own two eyes.

That’s the thing: you can’t.

His blue eyes seemed faded as if all of this is bothersome to him, wearing nothing but swim trunks on, the curve of muscle on his chest sprinkled with sand and water.

Realizing that you’ve stared at him for too long since he seems to have noticed by the way he looked you in the eye, your cheeks flared in heat, quickly turning your head away from him and fighting the urge to slap yourself on the face for being inappropriate.

“Why isn’t Eren with you?” You turned your face to see Armin next to you, swishing his wine glass on one hand. “Mm… I’m just not feeling it tonight, ‘don’t wanna ruin the fun for him. What about you? Isn’t this supposed to be your party?” You muse, sighing against the cool air of the night, your voice raised due to the loud tunes from the speaker.

“I’m not the biggest party person. Especially if those three are around.” He chuckles, gaze turning upon the drinks displayed on the shelf in front of him.

It was a few long seconds of no exchange of words between you two. Feeling awkward, you blurted out, “Hey, ‘wanna go back to the suite? I’m bored… and you seemed bored. I mean! You don’t have to if you don’t-”

“Sure.” He answers abruptly.

“Huh?”

“Yeah. Sure. It’s already 1am and it doesn’t seem like this is going to end soon, plus walking with a friend is probably safer than alone, right?” Smile so bright and screams pureness, you couldn’t help but do so as well.

—

The walk to the suite was less than a mile long, but still lengthy nonetheless. You were glad Armin was with you the whole time, it made the trip less boring and you got to catch up with him. Learning that he still remembers some of the small details of your friendship in highschool made you feel at home. Quite ironic when you’re literally thousands of miles away from where you reside.

Before you knew it, you were already at the doorstep of the rented suite, Armin opening the door for you and the fresh scent of a clean room seeping through your nostrils.

“So… I guess this is good night.” You smile as you’re about to walk to your room, until a hand wrapped around your wrist, the grip tight but soft, almost comforting.

“Are you sleepy? Because- you know. Um… we can still hang out on the terrace upstairs, if you don’t mind.” Maybe this is all because you’re touch starved and haven’t been in heat for a while, but Armin’s presence gets your heart thumping. It’s the type you experience when your high school crush does the smallest interactions with you.

It means a lot.

Especially since you’re in a foreign country and the only person you deem as a close friend is with his other friends. Friends that have more money and fame than you’ll ever attain in this lifetime.

You’ve only been here a couple of hours, but you already felt so out of place. So when Armin initiated a conversation with you, it made you feel a little better.

A lot safer, on this unfamiliar island.

Turning your face to see his slightly anxious expression, you chuckle, “Yeah, I’ll go. Just let me go change, ‘kay?”

—

All your previous speculations about Armin seemed to be just you overthinking, you haven’t talked to the guy for a long time after all. It seems that he just prefers to be professional during interviews and would rather not say something that could get the press taking his words out of context.

Such as that one time Jean said the dumbest joke about having threesomes and some people on the internet got offended.

Or that one time Eren talked about the worst experience he’s had with a girl and got accused of being misogynistic because someone took the clip out of context and it went viral on YouTube.

You and Armin were standing side-by-side, arms resting on the metal partition of the terrace, staring at the moon that was unraveled from the dark clouds.

“Hey Armin?”

“Hm?”

“Why did you agree to go back here with me? You know a lot of people want you there, right?” You’re unsure as to why you’re bringing this up, but you couldn’t help but assume that he only went back to the suite because he felt bad for you.

“Couldn't you see I was alone?” He laughs, eyes looking straight at the moon.

“Yeah, but that’s because you chose to. Come on, aren’t you supposed to be celebrating for such a big accomplishment? Your solo mini album was amazing too, I say you deserve to go out there and party.” This isn’t what you want. You want him to stay with you, right here in this place. Under the warm light of the moon.

So why are you implying that he should go back there?

He just shrugs, a hand brushing through his soft blonde locks. “I told you. I'd rather celebrate with a smaller group. Half the people out there are people I’ve never even spoken to, how am I supposed to enjoy that?”

You sigh, slightly regretting the fact that you've pried too much. “Sorry.”

He asks, “Don’t be… what about you though? What are you doing here instead of taking advantage of your time by having fun?”

“Well, to be honest… I don’t know. I guess I’d rather hang out with you. It’s been a while after all.”

“Me too.” He half whispers, both your eyes glued to the scenery that lies in front of you. The calm waves brushing towards shore, the moonlight reflecting on the turquoise water, it was mesmerizing to gaze upon.

“Hm.” You breathe through your nose, turning your face to look at Armin only for him to do it at the exact same time, eye to eye.

“Armin… have I ever told you how pretty your eyes are?” Must be the alcohol kicking in your system now, you aren’t usually this blunt about your thoughts. But they really were pretty.

That’s why you keep staring at him. You can get lost in his eyes.

“No, but thank you. You look beautiful too. Always have been.” He gives you such a gentle smile, it makes your heart drop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You can feel your cheeks warm, your hand going up to rub your shoulder.

“Eren never told you? I had a crush on you back in highschool. I just… was too nervous to say anything. I’m actually nervous saying this to you right now.” He tries to conceal his shaky voice with a laugh, which only causes you to giggle along with him.

You never really noticed Armin back then, aside from the fact that he and Eren shared a close bond throughout high school. All you remember was thinking he was a cute dork with shoulder length hair and thick glasses. He was always the type to get shaken up by minor inconveniences, wasn’t necessarily your type, but it was adorable at the time.

Now he’s grown, it seems like he’s been working out lately too.

So many filthy thoughts are running through your head just looking at him right now. The way those toned arms could cage you in as he hovers above you, or the way those pink lips would feel against yours.

God, you were in heat. Probably because you’re touch starved and haven’t had anyone to call as a partner lately, but either way. You couldn’t help but come closer towards him, taking his jaw with your hands, fingertips on his chin and pulling him just millimeters from your face.

Voice low and a bit slurry, you say, “Do you think you still feel the same way now?” He leans in, his forehead bumping against yours. “Not sure, but I wanna find out.” Putting his thumb against your bottom lip, you catch a glimpse of him with a smirk plastered on his face. “Do you mind?” He whispers.

“Not at all.” You envelope your arms around his neck before he crashes his lips on yours, his lips so soft with a slight hint of ouzo from earlier.

All of this is under the influence of being intoxicated. This is probably wrong in so many ways, but at the moment this just feels so right. As if this was what you came all the way to Greece for.

Armin Arlert, the guitarist of the rising 104th. The one who has fangirls that would kill to be in your place, the one just initiated a kiss with you, and the one you long for right now.

You whimpered when his hand squeezed the back of your neck. He slowly pulled away, his lips glossed with your saliva. “So? Did you find out?” You trace your finger across his pectoral area as you wait for his answer.

“Yeah, so is it okay for me to ask if you want to continue?” You pulled him for another kiss, rougher than the one prior, your lips smacking on his hungrily.

Walking into his room with kisses in between, you found yourself pushing him off a little, hand leaning against his chest. “Is everything alright?” Armin breathes, airy breath hitting the tip of your nose.

You sigh, looking up at the blonde with a slight smile. “Yeah… it’s just. I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship, I mean- I didn’t see you for-“ You were interrupted with a thumb holding your lips close. “Hey, hey. This isn’t me pressuring you into a relationship, okay? This is just a one time thing.” He used the same thumb to rub the corner of your mouth, the gentle gesture not giving you a choice but to chuckle quietly through your nose as you nodded at his reassuring words.

“So let me make you feel good, hm?” Palm cupped against your cheeks, you uttered a small ‘yeah’ before you shut your eyes, letting Armin take you by the lips again, the mellow plump of his lips that only leaves you wanting more.

You sensed his hand going down your underwear, finger going swiftly in between your folds, your body shuddering at the cold contact, both your hands grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage.

Having sex with Armin definitely wasn’t on your list of things to do in Mykonos, but it’s not like you had anything else in mind. You trust him and you’re willing to share this type of intimacy with him even if it’s only for one time.

The only question now is, do you actually want this to be the first and your last with him?

Armin curled his index finger on the waistband of your shorts as well as your underwear, sliding them down your legs, letting the pieces of garment plop on the quartz tiles. You both shed yourself off the rest of your clothes, leaving yourself bare to each other.

“Want you, Armin.” You whisper, almost as if you were telling yourself instead of to him.

Foreheads still against each other, he murmurs teasingly, “Want me?” All while his finger rubs against your cunt, already swollen and in need of stimulation.

Your legs shaken, you nod, Armin turning you around by the shoulders, your back now against his chest while still on your feet. With one of his arms wrapped around you, hand cupping the swell of your breast, his other was working circles against your clit, fingertips of his index and middle swiping back and forth on one of your most sensitive parts.

“Oh- Armin-“ Head thrown back against his shoulder, he gave you sloppy kisses on your neck, using his teeth once he coaxed you into submission. His hardened cock was pressed right up against your ass, you subconsciously grinded on him as his long fingers taunted you, your hand going down to guide his hand where you wanted him to touch you.

He thought it was adorable; cute. How you’re so easy to play with, so easy to get you to submit despite the big wall you put in between yourself and others. That apathetic masquerade you act as – that’s just a sham, he knew all that. Under that mask is just… you. Someone who’d like to feel tender affection just like everyone else.

The little whimpers of pleasure that he elicits from you each time he rubs over your little clit, not to mention the warmth of your hand holding his own, trying to steer it where you want it, he could stay like this forever, just embracing you.

He’s well over his little crush on you, he honestly just wanted a good fuck and trusted you enough to be who he gets the ball rolling with, but he couldn’t help but think in the back of his head.

‘I want you as mine.’

A soft whine wrung out your throat, “Baby… please touch me more.” Two of his fingers glided over your hole, then pushed it inside you. It was evident in your sharp gasps that you were in utter bliss and he took pride in that. He took pride knowing that you’re moaning because his fingers are inside you and not anyone else’s.

You attempted to rut on his fingers, but his grip on your breast slightly tightened, the pressure of his palm against the mound of flesh evoking a throaty groan from you, preventing you from moving, aside from little squirms.

Armin didn’t shy away from moving his fingers in and out of you at a moderate pace, digits covered arousal as he pulled out then back in. “God… god! Armin… please, please—“ With a hard curl of his fingers inside you, he reached the spot that immediately that your breathing paused, a tight scream that got you on your tippy toes.

You were shuddering against him, he could feel the snugness of your body while you had trouble trying to keep balance, your knees obviously wobbly.

Your vision was blurry for a split second, Armin taking his fingers off you and rubbing your clit to your orgasm. When you felt diluted liquid run down your legs, you immediately held his wrist to stop.

Breathlessly, you pant, “Fuck…” With head tilted on the crook of his neck, your breast sore with the print of his hand as well as your neck and shoulders littered with saliva splotches and hickeys. Your legs felt weak, you would’ve collapsed on your knees if Armin wasn't behind you.

He caressed your inner thigh, lips right next to the hull of your ear as he whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah… thanks.” Head thrown back on his shoulder, mind too hazed to worry about the wet mess in between your legs.

Still not being able to face him, he led you to the foot of the bed, just inches from where you just were. Your palms on the edge of the mattress, ass up in the air, you spread your legs as you wait for Armin to shove his cock inside you. Body feeling as if you were a fresh slab of jello, you could do nothing but follow what position Armin wished you to be in.

The alcohol in you has made you vulnerable, Armin could throw you around like a rag doll and you’d let him. You felt dizzy and prone to falling asleep, but the little sliver of soberness telling you that you’re about to get dick for the first time in a long time kept you awake.

He rubbed his palm from your lower back down to your pussy before he gave it a light smack, knowing how sensitive it still is. You uttered a small ‘fuck yeah’ in a sotto voce tone, an approval of his ministrations. Your cunt was dripping, a small trail of slick running down your thighs evident by the moonlight reflecting through the huge window of his room. Puffy folds begging to be penetrated, hole needing something to warm around, it was a challenge for Armin to stay patient.

If he’d known you were so goddamn wet and tight just for some dick, he would’ve taken you as his a long time ago. He’s experimented with a handful of people in the past, none of them seemed to satisfy him as much as you have.

And he hasn’t even felt you yet.

“Need you, baby. I need you to fuck me now, m’so horny.” You mewl, forehead resting on the soft sheets of the comforter. “I know, I know. But I don’t want you to get hurt, sweet girl. Just wait a little more, okay?”

A small whimper of approval, his tip bumped against your clit, his cock dragging down in between your folds before he reached your hole, slowly but surely piercing his cock through you. It was a bittersweet sensation of burn and pleasure, it was too good for both parties. Your cunt was sucking him in, Armin getting too impatient and clapped his hips right on your ass, your body jolting forward in accordance to his movement.

“Nn, yeah- mhm…” A frail praise falters from your lips, Armin taking a few seconds to let you get used to his size. His hands grabbed the meat of your hips, pulling you closer towards him before pushing you out, then slamming you back in. The impact of his cock so deep in your frothing cunt got you chanting his name like a prayer, spit and drool puddling the sheets beneath you, one cheek leaned against the soft mattress.

Your knees bumped against the mahogany frame of the bed with each thrust, you lifted one of your legs on the bed to give Armin better access. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Armin, just like that-“ It’s as if he’s got it all calculated in his pretty little head; the speed, the depth of his thrusts, he’s got you all figured out.

Pussy sputtering with cream everytime he fucked into you, his breathing became jagged, hands slippery with sweat as he tried to keep his grip on you. “Yeah baby? You like it rough, don’t you? So fuckin’ dirty.”

You mumble, “Hah- yes- ‘love it. Fuck me rough, Armin… I’m your dirty girl.” Your use of possessive pronouns, referring to yourself as his — as his dirty girl, for a moment how he wishes that was true. Who would’ve thought Eren’s best friend would be squeezing him so well. Plush walls pulsating around his cock, and from the way you’re trembling, he felt you were close. A palm holding your lower back down, he pulled out.

“Turn.” He demands sternly, your weakened body rolled around to face him. His toned out body glimmered with sweat, blue eyes staring you down full of lust. Your cheeks were spotted with saliva, nipples fully erect from the cold air the ac churns out.

A smile lights up his pale face, the back of his hand caressing the dried up tears from the corner of your eye. “Was it nice? You want more, babe?” It was more of a rhetorical question because he didn’t need you to answer.

“Yes… ‘need it.”

He placed his dick on top of your folds, taking his sweet time lubricating himself from your juices, your hips grinding against him to feel something — anything. It was finally when he entered your hole again that you almost choked on air from gasping. “M’so sensitive.” Lips parting as you groaned out all the air you have in your lungs as Armin ignored you and kept the pace he was at earlier. You wrapped one leg around his waist to pull him closer as your other was placed on the wooden foot of the frame.

Your boobs jiggled as he impaled his cock in your drooling hole, he gave it light slaps, fascinated by the way it bounced with the contact of his palm. His free hand went to grab your jaw, from your head tilted to the side to meet his eyes. “Gorgeous.” He kneaded your breasts to soothe the pain, only to smack it again as he gathered saliva in his mouth, then rolling his tongue out as the glob of spit made it straight in your agape mouth. Swallowing his warm saliva, you writhe under him, but you didn’t complain nor whine.

After all, this is what you asked for.

With a few more messy thrusts, his cock repeatedly hitting your spot, you felt like cumming again. “Armin, yes, please, hah- please, I wanna cum- haaahhhh yesss” You hiss, hands grabbing onto your chest to brace yourself, legs tense as you came, coating Armin’s cock with your fresh slick.

Your head trashed on the bed as his hands touched you all over, from your breasts to pressing on your tummy, his breathing so loud that it was turning into needy whimpers. He frantically pulled out, strings of white, warm cream splattering on your abdomen.

Even after he already came, his cock still twitched, the slit of his tip dripping with cum. With the little force you still had in you, you took hold of his arm and pulled him for a sweet kiss eagerly, as if it’ll be the last time you’ll ever feel his lips.

He closed his eyes and cupped your warm cheeks. “You were amazing”

You exhale through your nostrils, giggling as you intertwine your lips with him once more.

Mykonos is widely known for its wild parties, even Leonardo DiCaprio has been spotted here. But the thing about events like these is that paparazzi tend to sneak in and stalk celebrities, even if it means they have to step in private property to take rare shots.

Armin always avoided controversy, he’s the only one in the band that hasn’t been tangled in some type of scandal. At least, not for now.

Cameras are considered as one of the world’s greatest inventions. Though, maybe not for this situation.

#chris’ 1k getaway #armin smut #armin arlert smut #armin x reader #armin x reader smut #armin arlert x reader smut #armin aot #aot fanfiction #aot smut #aot x reader smut #aot x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x reader smut #snk smut #snk x reader #snk #aot #attack on titan

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 4 years ago

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Title: Bring the Sun (Chapter 2) Word Count: 19,448 Summary: Koushirou expects to spend the whole engagement party in the company of his close friends, if possible, but things don't go entirely as plan.

Happy Odaiba Day!!

Part 1 Here Continue Below or Read in Full on AO3

~*~

“It’s so cold,” Miyako complains, already turning the direct fan on the dashboard in front of her up and away. She adjusts the one in the center as well, flipping it away from herself so that it streams straight down the middle of the van. Koushirou feels the concentrated jet of air along his arm where he rests it on the center console between them. Miyako huffs a little, shouldering herself further away until she’s practically up against the side door. The residual, muggy temperature from that afternoon's heat spell lingers in the air, invited in to mingle with the chill from the air conditioner when Miyako cracks the window on her side open.

“It needs to be cold,” Mimi explains. A hollow thumping follows her declaration. Koushirou catches her lightly smacking the tupperware on the seat beside her through his rearview mirror. If he remembers correctly, it’s the one filled with the cupcakes Mimi had ordered him to ice for her just that morning.

“Nothing’s going to spoil in ten minutes,” Miyako shoots back. She lifts herself up in her seat, straining against the confines of her seat belt in order to sit closer to the fresh, less cool air. Koushirou wonders if it’s working. “But I might lose a limb to frostbite.”

“It’s not just the ten minutes,” Mimi protests with an indignant sniff, whacking the tupperware container again. Koushirou really hopes the frosting is safe, both because of all of the time he lost that could have been spent on finishing up some of his own projects, and also because he knows Mimi will be inconsolable if they’re not still perfect. “It's going to be a while before people start eating . I did not put food poisoning on my menu.”

“That’s why they invented coolers,” Miyako volleys back. There’s a beat before she whips around in her chair, looking back at Mimi between the headrest and car door, “So wait, anyway, you know about Iori’s great aunt—”

Mimi gasps, “That’s right! She’s the one with—”

“Absolutely, get this—”

Koushirou rolls his eyes, making sure to train them back forward on the road as he turns into the entrance for The Cove. He thinks they’re onto their fourth half-finished conversation of the evening, but he’s already given up on following along. Years of their friendship has taught Koushirou to not engage when they’re both this giddy. All he’ll get for trying to keep up is whiplash.

Even with just the sliver of Miyako’s window open, the smell of salt water permeates throughout the car, mingling with the intense scent of Mimi’s homemade cooking. It must be low tide. Koushirou wrinkles his nose, wondering if he’ll be able to stomach a single thing.

He follows the winding paths down towards the little beach front, past the recreational fields where children are still chasing each other along the designated pavement with scooters and rollerblades. Dusk is already settling along the farshore, pinks blending in with the gold of the sun, and soon the park will be shut down to all non-licensed activity. On habit, Koushirou turns the headlights on, barely just illuminating one of the signs telling him to turn right onto the dirt road to continue to their destination, rather than on towards the designated picnic area. It’s a narrow road, barely large enough to accommodate his mother’s van he burrowed for tonight’s purposes. His hands shake minutely, hoping no one else is leaving from the opposite direction, as he’s not quite sure how they’ll pass him.

Miraculously, no one does. The parking lot is barren save for a few wrappers littering the pavement. Miyako’s already jumping out of the car before Koushirou’s fully parked between barely there white lines, exclaiming, “Hallelujah! Finally blowing this literal popsicle joint!”

Koushirou catches Mimi’s fond smile in the rearview mirror, and feels his lips mimicking the sentiment.

Miyako’s already waiting for them at the trunk, sitting along the bumper until Koushirou motions for her to move so they can collect their belongings. She grabs quickly for a stack of colorful tupperware, tucking the top one under the point of her chin to keep them all from toppling over onto the pavement. Koushirou pulls out one of the wheeled coolers, letting it roll off the bumper and thunk heavily on the ground to Mimi's blatant displeasure.

“There’s glass in there,” she hisses, but Koushirou doesn’t really know what she expects of him at this point. Blunt strength is not, well , one of his strengths. Mimi presses the button on the block handle of the cooler and extends it until she’s able to tug the white, wheeled container closer to her side. Koushirou places a box labeled votive candles onto the back and assures her he can handle the tables on his own.

“Hey,” Miyako calls to Mimi from the bottom of the hill, already engaging her back into one of their conversations with a, “Did you know that Yamato—” before the wind picks up the rest of their conversation. All he can hear is Mimi’s loud shriek of, “What!”

Unloading the tables isn’t a terrible task since, when they’re closed, leaves Koushirou with distinct handles. The plastic is easy to handle, but the metal bars strain his grip as he shuffles them out of the trunk, careful not to scratch the paint too harshly as he pulls them down enough to lean against his leg so he can close the door. It wouldn’t do if they got robbed blind. He takes the tables back in each hand and begins the arduous task of trying to handle them as he waddles towards the end of the parking lot, which gives way to a long slope of shells and pebbles and dirt, right into the actual makeup of the beach.

Koushirou stalls for a moment, taking in the sight of it.

The designated event section has the largest pocket of beach at the Cove. It’s usually opened to the public unless a notice of events has been put up. Koushirou eyes the little bulletin board, the bright yellow paper declaring, Private Event: Engagement Party; June 12th; After hours. He smiles at it for a brief second before he looks over towards the beach just below him.

Cove is a misnomer. It’s more of an estuary, but Koushirou can’t fight the city on it more than he already has, so he let’s the thought roll right out of his head as he breathes in the sea air again. A little too much. He hopes the eventual smell of smoke and alcohol will choke out the unappetizing stench. Koushirou wrinkles his nose. Was he growing accustomed to this lifestyle now?

“Koushirou!” Mimi calls to him, standing along the cleanest, most level part of land, just before the thick dirt gives way to the unstable sand. She clicks the handle of the cooler all the way down, beckoning him over and oh right, he realizes, he’s got the fold up tables they need to start prepping.

Mimi has a practiced hand with opening them, with all those years of catering under her belt. Miyako rushes back to the car at Mimi's request, to grab the box of linens she'd had Koushirou pick up from her storage facility earlier that morning. He follows Miyako back up the hill, to grab the folding chairs they'd brought along, strapping two across his back and holding the other one in his arms. For convenience he grabs the final table from the trunk and pulls it along by the handle.

It's a mistake.

He doesn't know how he makes it without toppling head first and somersaulting the whole way down.

"We could have gone back for those," Miyako tells him far too late.

Koushirou doesn't know what to do with his hands as Mimi hems and haws over the finer details of dressing the plastic tables up with ivory skirts. It's got a lovely pattern too, some Damascus overlay in a darker ivory, just barely popping out against its similar colored backdrop. Koushirou thinks it's a shame when the real festivities pick up, such a fine nuance will be hidden by the lack of lighting.

Over Mimi's head, his eyes roam the endless structure of barely unclimbable rocks. They incave the beach on either side. Koushirou spent some of his youth here, when his mother had taken him with her for a personal beach day, scraping his hands on barnacles, callusing the bottom of his feet, all in the name of studying the local marine life in the tide pools once the sea had gone back out. Koushirou smiles at the memory. Before computers, he had thought taxonomy would be his calling.

When Mimi finishes with the first table, Miyako digs around into the still unopened cardboard box, pulling up a small, fake candle in each hand. She smiles at Koushirou asking, “Want to help me set these up?”

Koushirou smiles back, unsure.

He tries placing them in what feel symmetrical to every one that Miyako puts down, but it feels like every time he walks away, Mimi comes up behind him to straighten them out and replace each one. She’s rearranging his last votive when someone shouts down toward them from the top of the parking lot.

Daisuke waves enthusiastically at their little group before taking the plunge down the slope, kicking up dust and shells with the velocity of his footwork and the large cooler trailing behind him. He almost takes a tumble across one particularly stubborn cluster of beach debris, but rights himself without missing speed. Koushirou wonders if that’s something they teach you in college soccer just as Daisuke narrows in on their location.

Mimi yelps as he reaches for her first, easily lifting her above the ground as she giggles out her own greeting, squeezing her arms around Daisuke’s head. In the breeze the offensively pink tassels of her coat’s sleeves rustle, shielding his head as if they were a curtain. He rights her back on the flats of her sandals and wryly Koushirou wonders how long Mimi will keep them on before she shuffles them off to some unknown corner of the beach, possibly to be swallowed up by the brackish waves.

Koushirou doesn’t really know how to greet him, so he offers Daisuke a small smile when their eyes meet. They’ve only met a handful of times so he doesn’t know if that makes them acquaintances or friends. He wonders if Daisukes even considers him in his sphere of people and swallows, suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t really be here.

His trepidations don’t last long as Daisuke envelopes him in a hug instead, calling him, “Iz-man!”

It’s nice, Koushirou thinks, trying to relax against the tight grip around his midsection, arms pinned to his side, that Daisuke has a nickname for him. Or at least partially remembered some part of his name. It’s that, or the bear hug, making his head dizzy. But he does, actually, think it’s charming.

“Congratulations, Daisuke,” Koushirou offers up when he can breathe again.

“Thanks, man,” he gets in return. His grin is a thousand watts bright and it makes Koushirou think of a different one, a little more tamed but no less bright, and he feels uncharacteristically restless.

Koushirou frowns. Much like Miyako, Daisuke knows everyone. At least, everyone knows him . An infuriatingly symmetrical smile flashes in his mind, and he wonders how vast Daisuke’s pool of people reaches.

He’s forgotten all week to ask Miyako for the stranger’s name, but now that he’s remembering it doesn’t feel appropriate when Daisuke pulls her into a tight hug as well, promising her into a round of shots later in the evening. He should have let Mimi ask one of them on his behalf back when she had offered, instead of insisting it would feel more organic to ask on his own.

“You really outdid yourself, Mimi,” Daisuke whistles as she begins pulling even more tupperware out of a reusable grocery bag and a couple silver chargers to dress the tables. “I’m kind of glad Ken talked me out of the ramen stand idea. It looks so good.”

Koushirou can attest to that last bit. He’d been the guinea pig back when Mimi was putting the menu together, and the volunteer when she had needed someone to sample each batch as it came out of the oven this morning.

Mimi leans over her work, moving some of the hors d'oeuvres out around on the platter to get them to look more presentable. Her curls slips over her shoulder, obscuring her face, but Koushirou can make out the pleased flush she’s sporting. He smiles.

“It tastes amazing!” Miyako says, suddenly beside Koushirou. She props her arm up on his shoulder like it belongs there. “Because I helped her cook all day!”

Daisuke wrinkles his nose. “So you ruined Mimi’s cooking on my special day.”

“Hey!”

“Miyako is a great assistant,” Mimi comes to her defense, lifting her own head high again. “And her family was nice enough to donate most of the ingredients.”

Miyako grins as if she’s won, crossing one of her legs over the other and leaning deeper into Koushriou’s personal space. He thinks there might only be an inch separating them by height now, but Koushirou’s certain that makes all the difference to her. Since she gained a few inches on him early on in high school, Miyako has never let him live it down.

“Anyone want a beer?” Daisuke wonders, lifting the lid of his own cooler. He pops a cap of one off with the bottle opener keychain Koushirou had bought for him as a Secret Santa present, at the party Miyako had hosted last year. She’d insisted he would love it and Koushirou’s chest swells with pride that it is, in some way, useful to him.

“Later,” Miyako decides for both of them. “We’re gonna go stake a claim at the bonfire,” she relays.

Miyako pushes one of the camping chair bags against his thigh, smiling back at him. Koushirou takes it from her, noticing the bright blue strap already fastened over her bright pink sweater, a vibrant contrast already to the bright orange binding tape along the fabric’s edges. Koushirou doesn’t know much about fashion, but somehow Miyako pulls off the oddly bright colors. Mimi always tuts that she missed her chances of making it big as a model, but Koushirou’s glad he’s got her around the office, sending him barely work appropriate emails and gossiping about their less than appetizing co-workers.

“I’m driving,” Koushirou adds in helplessly, taking the chair from Miyako’s grip.

“You’re always driving,” Daisuke complains, tipping back his drink. “Next time I’m gonna get you to do shots with me,” he tells Koushirou with a very blatant pointing motion.

Koushirou smiles back politely. It’s a slim to none likelihood, but telling Daisuke those statistics will either fire him up, or dampen his mood— and Koushirou just doesn’t think he can do that tonight of all nights.

“I’d love to,” Mimi throws in, “but I can’t until after I put out the dessert.”

Daisuke groans. “You’ll have to make up all that time,” he’s telling Mimi as Miyako drops her arm from Koushirou’s shoulder and easily loops it through his own arm, tugging at him gently.

“Let’s go get close to the fire so we can have a front row view when all the drunks start falling in.”

“You’re going to be one of those drunks if Daisuke has anything to say,” Koushirou snickers back, allowing Miyako to lead the way. She shushes him, reaching for their third seat as they pass by it, leaning up against the buffet table.

Towards the center of the beach someone has jammed four stakes into a large square with tape looped about each pole, framing a small hill of dry wood. Koushirou breathes in. At least tonight when he inevitably left to his own devices, he’ll be able to hide his boredom by watching the crackle of a roaring fire.

He had meant to do just that last time, Koushirou remembers, before that had been welcomely thwarted. He doubts he’ll be quite so lucky this time. Koushirou wonders if people-watching is a solo event, if it can even be fun with just his own imagination to bounce off.

It’s weird, Koushirou thinks, to miss someone he can’t even place a name to.

Which reminds him, “Hey, Miyako?”

She hums distractedly, dropping the two chairs on the sand to hold her hands up in an odd rectangle, surveying the scene between her thumbs and humming again, this one with less intent to acknowledge him. She takes a step forward, and then a large sidestep to the right, as if she were performing the box step for his entertainment. “Aha!” she exclaims finally, leaning over to grab for her chair without compromising her current position. Koushirou pushes it towards her with the heel of his foot.

He unfastens the drawstrings around his own chair and shimmies the fabric down to reveal the deep purple canvas seat. They used them a lot back in high school, when the old drive-in movie theatre would host a collection of nostalgic movies. He misses when they used to marathon Star Trek with subtitles, and he and Jyou and Miyako and Iori would spend the ride home discussing their favorite episodes, arguing over which roles they would have on the Enterprise if given the chance to explore space.

“The perfect spot~!” Miyako lilts, looking quite pleased with herself as she plops into the chair to enjoy the view she’d spent so much time scouting.

“I was wondering about your house party,” Koushirou begins when she finally prompts him to continue. Miyako watches him with her head tilted slightly. Sunset drapes lovingly over the purple hue of her hair. “There was—”

“Yo,” Daisuke calls once more, jogging his way up to meet them with another wide smile. “Can’t wait ‘til we light this thing!” He says, jumping the distance towards them, his arm sweeping wide and pointed towards the designated section, just in case there were any doubts.

Koushirou’s not sure if his lips are frowning or smiling. Perhaps both.

“What happened?” Miyako asks, pulling the second chair up towards herself to undo the fastening without having to stand back up. “Thought you were goading Mimi into drinking.”

“She shooed me away,” Daisuke pouts. “Said I was fucking with her muse.”

Miyako snorts. A moment later she notices, “I haven't seen your better half yet. Where's Ken?”

“He had to pick up some extra supplies and he’s gonna grab Jun from work.”

Miyako stares pointedly at the beer Daisuke is already tipping back again. When he notices he lets out a huff, “He dropped me off first. Jun’s going to drive us home.”

Koushirou busies himself with wiping leftover sand off the seat of the chair. It's fine , he reminds himself. What would he even do with just a name?

"Hey!" Daisuke shouts. "What did you mean better half ?"

"It's an expression," Miyako exhales in a way that sounds long-suffering. To Koushirou she adds, “But it’s not wrong in this case .”

He snorts.

Daisuke makes an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat before he manages to make the accusation, “You’re just jealous!” He points at Miyako with the hand still mostly holding onto his beer bottle. She scowls back.

“Of what?” Miyako asks, standing to her feet. There’s not much of a difference between her and Daisuke, but Koushirou imagines she still makes an intimidating figure, hands on her hips and lips pursed as they were.

“That Ken—”

“That I what?” Ken interrupts them. Koushirou bristles in surprise along with his company, none of them having noticed their approaching friend. He watches Daisuke with a passive inquisitiveness, arms filled with long, wooden poles. Citronella torches, Koushirou realizes.

“Uh,” Daisuke starts. His cheeks darken, eyes meeting Koushirou’s as if he half expects to find the answer with him. Koushirou stares back.

“Nevermind,” Ken gives a short, airy little laugh. He shrugs his arms towards their group, adjusting the burden within them, and asks sheepishly, “Could one of you give me a hand setting these up?”

“Sure,” Miyako offers easily, lifting at least two of them from his arms. She carries them like two long staffs and Koushirou has to bite his tongue from declaring, “ You shall not pass! ”

Miyako smiles brightly as Ken leans in to give her a quick kiss on her cheek in greeting with a gratuitous, “Thank you, Miyako!”

“Hey!” Daisuke wails immediately, stepping forward between them. “What’s the big idea?” He turns on Ken, “You’re my fiance!”

“That I am,” Ken responds, mildly. Koushirou feels the air between them soften, watches as the heat in Daisuke’s expression melts, a long, dopey smile growing in its place, as if the words have just struck him. Ken returns it.

“I’ll take these,” Koushirou offers after a moment, stepping around his chair to pull the last few torches from Ken’s grasp. For a moment he looks at Koushirou as if he had forgotten he were there at all. He’s not sure if it’s insulting, or endearing.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his grip loosening around the rest of them. Koushirou manages to lay them across his own arms. “I wanted to set them up at the buffet table,” he explains, shooting Koushirou a gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“Indubitably,” Koushirou answers. He tries and cannot stop himself from adding, “And no kiss required.”

Miyako laughs behind him, nodding her head and telling them, “Lets get them set up before everyone else gets here.”

“I’ll light them!” Daisuke volunteers, running off before them to presumably acquire the lighter. Ken follows quickly on his heels, smiling over his shoulder at the two of them before quickly catching up to his fiance.

“It’s like I adopted another brother sometimes,” Miyako lets out a long breath when they’re finally alone, rolling her eyes. She wrinkles her nose, “Does that mean my ex-boyfriend is now my brother-in-law?”

Koushirou laughs.

“I’m really happy for them,” Miyako confesses on their walk over, her feet stepping to an unhurried beat. The edge of one of the torches smacks gently against Koushirou’s knee. He doesn’t bother to mention it, picking up his pace minutely to avoid another soft whack. Miyako makes a soft hum and continues, “In high school I thought Ken and I would work, because we were so similar, but I like them together,” she admits, her smile sincere.

Koushirou follows her eyes, watching as the two bump back and forth into each other, almost as if they’re racing without running. He can’t stop his own smile. It’s nice to see Ken like this, he thinks. Happy looks nice on him.

“It’s like they compliment each other, you know?”

“What’s taking so long!” Daisuke calls back to them, waving his arm over his head wildly. “Everyone’s gonna be here soon!”

“We have important cargo!” Miyako fires back, waving one of the sticks at him. Despite her words, Koushirou notices her pace quicken, his legs taking longer steps to keep up with her before it feels like they’re lightly sprinting towards an end goal together. He tries to hide how deep his next few breaths are.

“They just have to be fairly even,” Ken instructs them as Miyako hands her second one off to Daisuke. With a concentrated effort, she successfully stakes the first of the citronella torches into the ground, kicking a healthy amount of sand up and over the base to keep it upright. “So,” Ken trails off, taking a few steps back, carefully shuffling his feet along to keep the line, “right here,” he decides, rubbing the tip of his sneakers into the ground. Koushirou pierces the marked earth with his own torch, handing the other one off to Ken who paces back further to set it up.

Miyako finishes off with the last one as Daisuke comes down the line, lighting each of the frayed wicks. Black smokes circles along the torches head, dispelling the lovely scent of citronella and lemongrass. It masks some of the low tide, to Koushirou’s delight.

“You have such exquisite taste,” Mimi gushes. Koushirou looks behind himself and sees the newest member of their team already organizing items onto the table. He needs very little contextual clues to deduce that she is, in fact, Daisuke Motomiya��s sister, from her bright grin, to the wild, cherry-brown of her hair.

“I’ve always had an eye for design,” she tells Mimi, empathetically. She pulls several shells from a plastic bag, laying them carefully between every platter and the votive candles they’d placed earlier.

“I’m Jun!” she introduces herself when she catches Koushirou’s stare. She has the same high energy most people around Koushirou seem to just exude. He wonders if, perhaps, he’s an extrovert magnet. Koushirou smiles back politely as Jun explains, without needing to, “I’m Daisuke’s sister!”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Koushirou says. “I’m Koushirou,” he adds a beat too late. Jun doesn’t seem to notice, already heading down the line of the table to place more shells.

Koushirou looks down. He is no stranger to shame, and yet every social event has him feeling as if it is their first time becoming acquainted.

Miyako passes in front of him, placing something new atop the table. From the back, it looks like a photo frame. She gives Koushirou a brief, assuring smile as she continues down along, placing smaller looking frames bundled against her chest. He plucks the object from it’s placement on the table.

Koushirou admires the frame first. It’s simple, with wooden, engraved flowers sitting in each of the four corners. It makes the colors within the actual photograh pop, the mirth on both Daisuke and Ken’s faces palpable and stark where their hands are clasped together, the gold bands of their engagement rings small, yet bright. Koushirou thinks he might have seen it before, among their engagement photos on one of Mimi’s social media accounts.

“Hikari took it,” Ken tells him suddenly, peering at it over Koushirou’s shoulder. His smile is more subdued than inside the picture, but no less happy. “She’s one of Daisuke’s friends from middle school,” Ken explains further.

“Well, Hikari has a lovely eye,” Mimi adds on her way past them, placing tongs and silverware next to each charger.

Hikari. Koushirou frowns. He knows the name. Perhaps Daisuke had mentioned her in the few times they had met.

But it’s not Daisuke’s timbre in his memories.

He places the frame back on the table in its designated spot for the evening, facing away from them both.

“I’m really grateful, Koushirou,” Ken says softly, still beside him. Koushirou looks up, but Ken has his eyes trained on the white tablecloth instead. His gaze is too steady to be searching for the almost invisible patterns.

“I haven’t been of much help,” Koushirou feels. "Mimi put most of this together."

"That isn't wasn't I meant,” Ken says quietly. “I'm just grateful you would be here. As my friend." His pale skin is an honest canvas, the bright red on his cheeks so easily perceptible.

Koushirou thinks his cheeks might be a perfect mirror. This directness must be a side effect from spending too much time with Daisuke. It's not an adverse one, he decides.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Koushirou admits, hiding his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants. He doesn’t know how his chest manages to feel so light, yet so heavy simultaneously.

“Let’s get some food before everyone else gets here,” Miyako jumps up behind them, throwing her arms over both of their shoulders. Her grip is tight, but not unpleasant, where it slips and sits around Koushirou’s neck. “Come on,” she pushes, grabbing for both of their hands and tugging gently.

“I still have a few things to attend to,” Ken says, apologetically, letting his fingers slip through hers. “But you both enjoy your time,” he tells them politely.

“You’re still obligated to hang out with us,” Miyako says, making a show of pointing at Ken as she walks backwards, still dragging Koushirou along with her, “I won’t let schmoozing be an excuse, you hear me!”

“Louder than Daisuke,” Ken replies. “And crystal clear.”

“What does that mean?” Daisuke calls from the farther end of the table, holding an entire box of something for Mimi and Jun to rummage through. "What is with everyone tonight!"

The rest of their banter gets swallowed by the wind as he follows Miyako over to the coolers. She fishes out a bottle of a bright, almost enticing drink that Koushirou knows better than to test. He manages to find one of the few water bottles after shifting through mountains of aluminum and glass.

The chill from the plastic bottles bites him even through the fabric of his shirt when Koushirou tucks it under his arm so he can use both hands to fill up his plate. He smiles, remembering how appalled Mimi had been, when Ken wouldn't budge on the practicalities of paper at the beach, just because fine china would look nicer.

"I'll get half of everything," Miyako conspires with him, already scooping a large portion of wasabi potato salad onto her plate, "if you get the other half and we'll share."

"Deal," Koushirou decides, taking a healthy portion of bruschetta off it's platter with tongs.

Over the hill by the parking lot, someone calls out to their group again. Koushirou looks up in time to see another woman standing atop one of the dunes, a camera pressed over her face as a light flashes along the top of it. She pulls it back to, presumably, check the digital screen.

Koushirou’s heart stutters. He thinks, maybe, he recognizes her. He sucks a breath in as the tip of another person’s head crests over the hill—

But he has no idea who the other man is.

"I'm glad we didn't miss this lighting," the woman says on a relieved breath out as she joins their party around the buffet table. She takes a quick photo of some of the trays and Koushirou feels ashamed for having taken part in ruining Mimi's masterful plating.

"Hikari!" Daisuke shouts, waving at her from still further down the beach. It looks like he's been bathed in wires—fairy lights, Koushirou guesses. "T.M!" He calls out next. Koushirou presses down on his lips to keep from chuckling as Mimi and Jun try desperately to tame his arm, for the sake of the lights.

"I'm gonna go see if I can help out there," the new guy says with a long smile, tilting his head over in the other direction. His white bucket hat falls over one of his eyes, but he doesn't seem at all bothered to fix it. "Then I'll get us a place at the fire,” he tells Hikari, indicating to the two chairs in both of his arms.

"Alright," the girl—Hikari— answers, but she seems more invested in her photography, squatting down before the table. Koushirou catches a small peek of the digital display, of the water and the sunset captured just over the edge of the fine set-up.

"Hikari!" Miyako squeals when she notices the other woman, dropping her plate on the table long enough to envelope her in a full body hug. Hikari doesn't return it where her hands still keep a grasp on her camera, arms pushed up against her chest in Miyako's embrace, but she looks no less gleeful.

"Have you met Koushirou?" Miyako asks offhand, reaching for the very last item to complete their smorgasbord.

Hikari's eyes light up when she trains them on him and Koushirou feels his cheeks burn under the attention. "Not formally," she says, sending him a half smile. She reaches over in front of Miyako, offering her hand. "I'm Hikari."

"Koushirou," he says needlessly. Hikari drops her hand the moment her eyes notice that his own are quite full. Koushirou feels the color drain from his face. He should have put his plate down, he realizes.

"You and Takeru should come sit with us," Miyako offers, popping a cocktail shrimp into her mouth and throwing the tail out in the nearby receptacle.

"Sure," Hikari says, her eyes drifting over towards her friend. He's got their chairs still propped up against his hip, chatting amicably with Daisuke and Ken as Mimi and Jun bustle around them. "I think Takeru's trying to get some time in before Daisuke's too inebriated."

She shares a knowing look with Miyako.

"Just come by whenever," she says and to Koushirou she tilts her head towards their destination and urges him to, "let's go. I'm starving."

Back at their seats, Miyako fills in him on her side of things at work, the gossip he'd missed since they last went out to lunch, and Koushirou feels, minutely, comfortable in her companionship as they knock their knees together like a makeshift table, so they can pick from each other's plates and laugh.

"I wish Iori had decided to come anyway," Miyako laments, frowning as she scoops some of the seven layered dip from Koushirou's plate with a chip. "I know he doesn't want to be around the,” she pauses, “ temptation,” she finishes. “But still. "

"Ken tried to change the date until after his birthday," Koushirou mentions. "But then Mimi would have—" he cuts himself off there and Miyako sends him a tempered smile and agrees with a quiet, "I know."

As the sun drops below the offing, so with it does the temperature. Koushirou finds himself going back to the car for the hoodie he had brought in case , huddling over himself in the chair. Miyako seems less affected, already working down her second wine cooler.

Chairs begin to dot the landscape around them, other guests filing in. Some of them come over to greet Miyako, a few staying for a while to talk. Koushirou doesn't know where to look. Sometimes he chances to glance up, and hopes he'll recognize a face.

He never does.

Koushirou almost wishes he had chosen to risk sand in his hard drive. He almost contemplates going for seconds, even though he's still stuffed from lunch, just for the sake of having something to do with his hands, his eyes, his mind.

He's grateful when Mimi finally ambles her way over and takes the empty seat beside him. “It has been a day, ” she crows, but the long smile on her perfectly pink lips speaks volumes. Koushirou wonders if she’s been draped in much due praise over her cooking all this while.

Waves clatter along the shore, as if joining into their chatter. It’s becoming more and more difficult to discern where the beach ends and the sea begins. A few couples have begun pacing along where Koushirou assumes is the shoreline, the silhouette of their shoes clutched in their shadowed hands. He’s wondering when they’ll proceed with the highlight of the evening when Daisuke barrels between his and Mimi’s chairs, the very tip of his shoe disturbing the cup of soda she had placed between them as he skips by proclaiming, “Let’s get this thing lit!”

Between them the dark, sugary beverage bubbles and fizzes in the sand. Mimi frowns at the tilted cup.

“At least it didn’t get on one of us,” she concludes after a moment of mourning, lifting the cup from the sand just as Ken filters between them, less hurried.

He mouths an apology back towards their group, before he follows his fiance along. “I thought you wanted to wait for Taichi?”

Daisuke huffs, ducking beneath one of the ropes. “He said he’s not coming—” is all Koushirou hears before the rest of his sentence gets swallowed under new guests arriving.

It is evident to Koushirou whose idea the bonfire had been. He presses his smile into the palm of his hand, watching as Daisuke lifts the can of fuel from its hiding space, making a show of throwing it along the kindling. Ken offers him a lighter from his pocket, the two of them burning what appears to be stuffed egg cartons before tossing them into the fire.

“Candle wax and recycled paper,” Ken explains when they’ve cleared the area, standing on either side of their group. “I read that egg cartons ignite well.”

Slowly flames begin to lick up from the ground, climbing and circling the wood as it rises. Koushirou does not have words to explain the sound of the fire catching, but it is as magnificent as it is terrifying, as if they had captured a ferocious dragon and confined it to a cage. Koushirou cannot look away even as Daisuke crosses in front of him, to seek out the hand of his partner. For the longest while, there is nothing but the sound of silence and fire, each of the spectators as marveled as their group. Soon it is broken by a group of cheering, the jubilation spreading as swiftly as the flames had. Even Koushirou finds himself unable to escape it, sending several quick claps into the air before his hands feel too exhausted to continue.

“It’s quite pretty,” he hears Ken saying.

“Not as pretty as you,” Daisuke follows up. It sounds like he means it, which is worse, and Koushirou coughs into his hand to hide his personal embarrassment.

Miyako, less discrete and more inebriated, shouts, “Get a room!” over Koushirou’s head. Mimi dissolves into a fit of laughter and even Koushirou can only hold back so much, his shoulders trembling with the force of his own chortling.

“You guys are the worst,” Daisuke decides with fond exasperation in his timbre.

“You love us,” Miyako drawls, “because we’re family.”

Family.

Koushirou feels himself sober at the thought of it. He wonders if any of them consider him part of that and his cheeks feel as ignited as the flames.

Daisuke and Ken stay a bit later with them before several new guests walk by, pulling them into conversations Koushirou doesn’t even try to understand. Eventually they bid them farewell, with the promise to talk later in the evening.

“You better come back!” Miyako shouts at their backs. Koushriou thinks they’re too far away to hear anything.

“Jyou!” Mimi shouts at one point, waving her arms enthusiastically to presumably catch his attention. Koushirou looks up from his plate in time to see Jyou noticing their camp.

“Hey guys!” He calls, stopping momentarily to allow a small group to cross over in front of him. “It’s hard to see anything.”

His smile is the same as it has always been, genuine and unsure, and Koushirou finds himself grateful to see it even when Jyou looks absolutely apologetic. He comes to squat beside Koushirou’s chair after they exchange quick greetings, holding himself up by perching a hand along the arm rest. Koushirou tucks his elbow close to his side to accommodate him.

“Sorry I missed you at Miyako’s,” he offers sheepishly. Koushirou can see licks of the pyre reflected in the glass of his spectacles. “By the time I actually saw you, it looked like you were,” Jyou pauses for a moment, swishing his mouth as he seems to grapple with the exact wording before deciding, “well, you looked like you were having fun and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Koushirou feels his own face color again. “Quite alright,” he tells Jyou, eyes flickering towards the fire briefly. “I am grateful to see you nonetheless.”

Jyou beams at him before his own gaze crawls back over to the bonfire. He frowns a moment later. “You know bonfires can be quite dangerous. We should probably move back about ten feet.” He explains, “For safety. Maybe twenty.”

“Nonsense,” Mimi groans. “We’re perfectly safe right here.”

After they settle further back, Miyako shifts the conversation towards more pleasant territory, which for Koushirou means work. Eventually it leads to Jyou sharing stories of his residency, up to his plans for the summer and into the next year. Koushirou thinks most of the details are for his benefit— surely he’s already shared them with Mimi and Miyako last week. Miyako excitedly shares her upcoming vacation before the New Year, an escape to warmer climates when the snow first starts to hit.

Mimi reaches for her spilled drink, frowning when her fingers come up with the empty plastic cup. “I’m going to get another drink,” she tells them all, pushing up to her feet. “Do you guys want anything?”

Koushirou shakes his head. “I’m quite sated,” he tells her. Mimi takes his empty plate, promising to toss it out on her way.

“I’ve actually got to get going,” Jyou admits, wiping the sand off his pants legs as he too comes to stand up. He pulls his cellphone from his pocket just long enough to check the time. “I just meant to stop by to congratulate them, but I’ve got to head over to work now.”

“Boo!” Miyako calls, cupping her hands over her mouth.

“We’ll hang out more next time,” Jyou promises her even as Miyako continues to boo at him. “You too, Koushirou,” he adds, smiling back down at him.

Koushirou can’t hold back one of his own. “Indubitably,” he agrees. “Enjoy your night,” he tells Jyou as the other man starts to leave, waving back at all of them until his figure is indiscernible among the rest of the shadows beyond the fire’s reach.

“Bye Jyou!” Mimi calls out to him regardless, still waving enthusiastically. She turns back on the two of them, shaking her still empty cup and asks, “So, drinks? Food?”

“I’ll go with you, actually,” Miayko decides, struggling out of her chair with both of her hands still full. Koushirou eventually takes her mostly empty wine cooler until Miayko rights herself. “You don’t mind watching the stuff, Koushirou?” She stops to ask him. Koushirou hums in the positive as the two girls thank him. “Oh, so back to Iori’s aunt—” Miyako starts as they, too, become nothing more than shadows.

Koushirou leans back in his seat. His neck feels cold where the fire light does not touch it, an odd contrast to how warm it feels when he leans in closer. He checks the time on his phone and frowns. It’s still quite early in the evening, but he already feels drained. Koushirou considers imploring Mimi to place out the cupcakes early so they can begin packing away the essential items and be one step closer to making it home. Or perhaps he can persuade her to let him leave early, if he promises to come back in time to pick her and Miyako up at the end of the event.

He could feign a weak stomach, if needed.

Koushirou heaves out a long sigh, letting his eyes fully slip closed.

Something taps along the canvas backing of his chair, a cool shadow passing over his face where the fire had still been keeping it warm.

“Hey, you!”

Koushirou startles at the proximity of the voice. Above him is a face he recognizes, from the dimpled smile to the untamed brown hair.

“Mind if I sit with you?” He asks, gesturing towards the seat Mimi had once occupied. Dazed, Koushirou nods. His companion from last week’s party looks him over once and has the nerve to look disappointed when he notices, “You’re not in uniform tonight.” He gestures along his own neck until Koushirou remembers the gaudy keychain holder and snorts.

“Took a different car," Koushirou explains. He lifts an eyebrow at his companion, doing his best to seem actively concerned. "But if you'd like, I'm sure Mimi wouldn't mind lending you her lanyard for the night."

“No,” the man laughs, “I think it looks best on you.” He plops heavily into the seat and wonders, "So does that mean you're drinking tonight?"

Koushirou looks down to the ground, where his still unopened bottle of water sits, waiting. "Still the," he stops, trying to remember the acronym that his companion had coined last week, "D.D."

"Oh man," the guy whistles, rubbing his hands together for what Koushirou assumes is an attempt to warm them. He leans closer towards the fire. Light caresses gently along one of his cheeks as he sends a grin back in Koushirou's direction. "Is this a case of the short straw?"

"It's more or less voluntary," Koushirou admits. "I'm not particular to drinking, so logically I make the best choice."

"That's pretty cool of you," his companion says, genuinely smiling at him. Koushirou isn't sure if a single other person has come this close to calling him cool before, especially in response to his aversion to consuming alcohol . His cheeks feel anything but cool , so he turns away, watching the fine sparks of embers bursting and popping before them, hoping the light of it will mask the color dawning on his face. Koushirou can still feel the other's eyes on him. “Oh,” he starts after a beat, “I’m Taichi, by the way.”

“Taichi,” Koushirou repeats the name without meaning to. It feels nice on his tongue. When his eyes meet Taichi’s, the other is already grinning back at him and Koushirou tries his best to return it. “I’m Koushirou,” he adds in.

"I'll remember that," Taichi promises with a short laugh. “So, uh, which side of the aisle do you fall on?”

"Mostly Ken’s.”

"Cool," Taichi nods.

Silence passes between them before Koushirou ventures to ask, "How about yourself?"

"I guess I kind of fall on both sides," Taichi decides, tilting his head so the light shifts briefly from one cheek to the other. "Daisuke and I have been friends forever, you know? He went to school with my little sister—" Hikari , Koushirou's mind supplies "—and we were both really into soccer so I guess we kind of clicked."

Taichi pulls a water bottle out from the pouch of his black hoodie, uncaps it, and scowls the second he tips it back. “Yuck,” he sticks out his tongue as if to drive home how truly disgusting he finds the drink. “Warm water is just the worst.”

“There’s water in the coolers,” Koushirou mentions. He reaches down for his own, fingers slipping over the condensation that’s formed around the plastic now that it’s been sitting out for so long. It is nowhere near as cold as it had been when Koushirou took it from the coolers, but he offers it towards Taichi, hoping it will be a better alternative.

“Nah,” Taichi says, but Koushirou pushes it towards him once more. He smiles and asks, “You sure?” before taking the bottle from Koushirou’s grip. Taichi takes a few, long gulps out of the bottle and tells Koushirou, “Much better.” He frowns at the bottle he’d brought along with him. “I have no idea how long this has been in my car.”

Koushirou considers the clues and ventures to guess, “You’re also the D.D. this evening?”

Taichi hums in affirmation as he places the two water bottles between their chairs, gently ripping the label off from one of them. Koushriou assumes this is to keep track of the less desired one. Taichi meets his eyes as he leans back up and says, "It somehow just ended up that way. My luck, I guess?"

A couple pulls up somewhere to Koushirou's back, their chatter lending itself to the festivities around them. It is a stark contrast to the early evening that he had spent with his close friends. Most of these people are strangers. Koushirou hears the crackle of the fire, but the sound of waves has been lost to the evening now.

"So how do you know Ken?" Taichi asks, reaching again for one of the water bottles.

"High school." Koushirou frowns, wishing his social sphere had been a little more diverse as he tells Taichi, "We met in computer club. We also attended the same undergrad."

"Oh," Taichi says immediately, eyes cutting directly back towards Koushirou. "Are you still in school?"

"I got my doctorate in computer engineering a couple of years ago," he confesses. Koushirou stares measuredly at the fire. His heart feels like it wants to escape his chest.

"Oh," Taichi says again, this time with a careful slowness. Koushirou notices him cap the bottle, also slowly. He wonders if Taichi needs the time to make up an excuse, to get himself away from the brainiac buzzkill without sounding rude. Instead he wonders, "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-four."

Taichi whistles, the edges of his eyes slightly wider than Koushirou's come to know them. His heart picks up the pace, hammering away. His hands feel clammy. It shouldn't matter to him that this once, perhaps still is, stranger is off put by Koushirou's achievements. He should be used to it. It’s fine.

"I'll be twenty-six at the end of next month," Taichi says. He barks out a laugh. "You're something else," Taichi comments vaguely. Koushirou's too afraid to inquire as to what that something is, so he looks over to the sea instead. Wind whips across his nose, a chill just outside the border of the fire's focus.

"Oh, anyway," Taichi continues after a short while. "You remember my friend Yamato, right? He's the entertainment tonight so we needed a big enough car to fit some of his set, which narrowed it down to me and Takeru. But see Daisuke used to like my kid sister, uh," Taichi hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching along the edge of the fire, as if searching her out. Koushirou wonders if he counts as a stranger now, or if knowing Taichi's name has sealed some sort of acquaintanceship. "I think you saw her at the party, right? Hikari."

Ah. So he'd been right. Koushirou can't stop the self congratulatory smile crawling on the edges of his lips.

"Well she's super close with Takeru, grew up together and stuff, so even though Daisuke's got Ken now he's never fully warmed up to Takeru. Jealousy, you know? Anyway when he gets drunk he's always kind of picking on the guy."

There are a lot of actors, but Koushirou does his best to follow, watching the way Taichi's eyes brighten with no assistance of the pyre, relaying bits of his life so easily.

"...And," Taichi trails off there, catching Koushirou's stare with his own curious gaze. "What?" He asks.

"Nothing, you're still—" Koushirou pauses "—talking." He stops himself from finishing his sentence with an incredulous, “To me.” Instead he adds, "I'm just listening."

"Oh," Taichi says back. His grin is wide and sweet when he turns it back towards the fire. Embers shifts in the reflection of his golden brown eyes and it reminds Koushirou of a rich whiskey, the sort Mimi's dad would always try to pour for him when he would visit their house. Taichi stares hard at the fire for a minute before asking, “What was I talking about?”

Koushirou doesn’t think it’s a test, when Taichi asks. He’s not even sure it’s directed at him, but he remembers, “Daisuke is a belligerent drunk.”

Taichi stares back at him and this time Koushirou asks, “What?”

“Nothing,” Taichi starts, an odd expression crossing his face. “Just,” he tries again, sending Koushirou a charming half grin. “I guess you were listening,” he laughs lightly.

Koushirou frowns. He wonders if people often don’t. Ignoring Taichi seems like it’d be a hard task to pursue.

"But right, they get along for the most part, just Daisuke gets rowdy after a few shots and Takeru figured he should leave early to preserve the peace, so I ended up as the Chauffeur to his highness of the Teenage Wolves. Ah, and then Hikari came with Takeru since there wasn't much room in my car with Sora, too, and, so yeah." Taichi considers the ground for a moment. Koushirou can't place his expression. "Sorry, that was a lot."

"I had no qualms listening," Koushirou tells him. Taichi cuts his gaze back up to meet his, looking almost uncharacteristically relieved. "How do you know Ken?" Koushirou changes the subject.

Taichi's face brightens even more. "Oh, well, you know Ken plays soccer, right?" Koushirou nods even if he doesn't think it's a question needing an answer. "Yeah, we're on the same team. Kid's a beast."

Koushirou raises a brow. "As in the same university team?"

Taichi hums in the affirmative. "I think I only got in because of my soccer skills," he laughs disparagingly. "But it's got a great master's program for polisci and some great internship connections."

Koushirou stares. "I wouldn't discredit your achievements," he puts in after a short moment. "It's not a particularly easy school to get in, even on a sport's scholarship."

"Yeah?" Taichi says. His eyes are back on the fire, but there's a sheepishness in his smile. Koushirou wonders if the lighting were better, if he might be able to tell if Taichi were blushing. "You know you should come watch us some time. We’re pretty good. If you want?”

Soccer in itself sounds incredibly unappealing, but Koushirou finds himself offering a, “Perhaps,” despite himself.

"Hey," someone calls out, approaching them from the other side of the bonfire. He recognizes Hikari as soon as she steps into the ring of light, the camera that had been stuck to her face a few short hours ago now lax about her neck. To Koushirou, it looks heavy. “I seem to have lost Takeru,” she confesses, gesturing back to what Koushirou assumes is the banquet area with her hand holding up a dark, glass bottle. “And our chairs,” she laughs, taking a long swig of the bottle as if she just remembered the liquor existed. “Miyako said I could sit you with guys,” she addresses Koushirou with a disarmingly sweet smile before taking another quick chug.

“Slow down, girlie,” Taichi cuts in. “Or I’ll find you on the stairs later and have to heft you up myself.”

Hikari makes a face at him. "Why are you like this every time we go out?"

"Big brother privileges."

“It sounds preferable to the need of dissimulating cat waste," Koushirou puts in.

Taichi gives a full, hearty laugh, throwing his head back over the canvas backing of his own chair.

“You two should take your act on the road,” she suggests, taking what can only be considered a defiant sip of her beer, “and leave. Speaking of,” she adds, switching her weight from one foot the other. Koushirou worries for the overfilled plate in her other hand. “Daisuke requests your presence at the buffet table, Taichi.”

“Such is the burden of being popular,” Taichi says. He makes sure to tell Koushirou, “I’ll be back,” as if it was somehow a concern he might have. Koushirou refuses to humor the thought, just sending Taichi a crooked half smile back.

“Insufferable that one,” Hikari scoffs jestingly, falling into the newly unoccupied seat. She balances the full plate of food atop her lap and throws back her dusty purple shawl from her shoulders, then hangs her camera strap along the back edge of the chair.

"I'm sorry," Koushirou says. His cheeks feel hot and shame fills his stomach. "I hadn't meant to—"

He catches Hikari mid-sip, but she's already batting her hand towards him. When she finishes she reassures him, "It's fine. I know Taichi's a bad influence." Koushirou presses his lips together, unsure how to proceed, but Hikari adds, "I did think it was pretty funny. Just don't tell him that."

Hikari smiles at him and Koushirou returns it.

"He has a way about him," Hikari continues out of nowhere. Her expression is fond when she tells him, "he's a little overbearing at times, but it always feels like his heart's in the right place."

Koushirou swallows. He doesn't quite know how to compliment her confessions so he settles on saying, "It must be nice to have so many friends in common."

She hums, "Sometimes." And then lets out a soft giggle. "It's hard to keep to secrets that way, though." Hikari smiles at him, something sweet yet conspiring. "Which means this is all between us, got it?"

He has never really had to keep a secret before. Mimi and Miyako are open books, and if even they weren't he doesn't quite know who he would share such gossip with.

Hikari holds up her hand towards him, this time only her pinky extended. Koushirou catches it with his own and when she grins at him it feels as if it transfers through their bond and he cannot stop himself from returning it.

Hikari is a comfortable presence, even in the interims of silence that passes between them. "I can't believe you've known Miyako all this time," she breathes out, taking a healthy bite of Mimi's famous barbeque brisket. "I wonder if we met before somehow."

"Perhaps," Koushirou humors the thought.

Over the humdrum of other guests, a few, strong musical notes drift through the night. Around them people start cheering, the excitement electric in the air. Hikari seems to perk up at the first sign of them, dropping her beer bottle at the base of her chair and hurries the rest of her meal into her mouth.

"Sounds like they're starting," she surmises, reaching behind her for the camera she had retired not too long ago. "I'm going to take some pictures of the band," she relates to Koushirou, stretching as she stands to her feet.

She barely takes a step before she rounds back on him. Koushirou finds it hard to tear his eyes away from hers. "You wanna come with me?" Hikari asks, tilting her head towards the source of the festivities. "I bet desserts out, too!"

Koushirou has never really been one for a great many sweets, but it’s also not often someone asks for his company and so wordlessly he follows her back.

In the distance the reception area looks, quite honestly, like a dream. Flames atop the tiki torches dance in the wind, accented by the fairylights pinned to the table. The cupcakes he had spent the afternoon decorating now sit atop their silver charges, but to his chagrin no one has seemed interested. He hopes it's not because of his lack of skill.

Not too far from the buffet a makeshift stage has been erected; fairy lights drape between several poles stuck into the dirt, something that looks like a rug has been rolled out along the sand for the band members to stand on with their equipment.

A very large group of people has already gathered before them, obscuring most of the view. It only gets more crowded as the band actually starts up, the vocals almost drowned out by the belting of guitar strings, of the pounding on the drum set.

Koushirou stands back with Hikari, closer to the buffet table. Every so often she holds the lense to her eyes and a rapid fire set of clicks sound off. Wind rushes past them, blowing Hikari's hair this way and that. He has to hold her camera at one point when it threatens to dislodge the little red clip fastening her bangs out of the way of her eyes.

"Koushirou!" Mimi finds him, dispersing part of the crowd as she rushes to his side. Her cheeks are flushed and her smile wide, the sand perhaps only partly to blame for her uneven gait. He notices that her sandals are missing and frowns. He really hopes they weren’t too expensive this time. “Come dance with me!" She urges him, pulling on his wrist with a gentle force.

"I—" his gaze catches Hikari's momentarily and she beams at him encouragingly, until he shakes his head.

She considers him for a moment, then carefully slips the camera’s tether from around her neck and pushes it into his hands. “I’ll dance with you,” she volunteers in his stead.

Mimi is fast to switch targets, excitedly taking Hikari’s hand in her own. Over her shoulder, Hikari makes a motion with her pointer finger. Take photos, is how Koushirou interprets her signal. He can hear the two of them cheering just over the music as they venture further onto the dance floor.

His fingers tap gently along the odd buttons and switches adorning the camera. He can find his way behind a firewall just fine, but operating one of these fills his chest with dread. Koushirou has no doubts that if given an hour or two he could divest the instrument of it’s secrets, but he knows he doesn’t have the time and the thought of failing Hikari, even a stranger he barely knows, is almost devastating.

“Just look through the little viewfinder," someone instructs him. “I know there’s a live feed switch somewhere but it doesn’t like to work for me.” Their weight against him is warm and Koushirou looks up to be greeted by one of Taichi's smiles. His companion taps a little raised button at the top of the camera and tells him, "Then you just click this."

Koushirou sends a wary look back at the camera. It’s digital screen is dark and gives him no help. He offers it up with a quick, "Perhaps you're more qualified," but Taichi backs away with both of his hands up in surrender.

"The only machinery I'm qualified to operate is my cell phone."

Koushirou quirks an eyebrow. "And your car, I presume?"

Taichi narrows his eyes in a not unkind way and agrees, "And my car. As far as anyone needs to know."

Koushirou considers his options for a moment and then lifts the camera up to eye level, finding the little window and surveying the crowd through it. He doesn't have the right skill for this, the equipment heavy despite being held up with both of his hands. The button at the top is almost completely unyielding against his attempts to press it that he almost drops the whole thing to the compact earth several times.

"These are horrible," Taichi laughs as they thumb through each of the photos after Koushirou manages to take a dozen or so. He groans. Taichi's right. Every face is a blurry mess, the torch lights a fuzzy glare across the screen.

"Hikari looks like she's on fire," Taichi cackles when they stumble on one of the few Koushirou managed to take of them dancing, with Mimi raising both of their arms high in the air, twirling Hikari on the unstable floor. The fire behind them has blurred across the screen, making it look as if it has consumed most of her hair.

Koushirou huffs a laugh.

She had slipped not a moment after the trigger had gone off. Koushirou smiles at the next image, of Mimi hovering worriedly over the other woman as Hikari merely laughs, the mirth bright and alive on her face even in the still image.

Taichi had found the scene uncontainably funny, his laughter belly deep and contagious. Seeing it again does little to temper the humor, and Koushirou finds himself laughing along with Taichi again as the fire settles lovingly in his wood-brown eyes, burning brightly. His fingers where they overlap Koushirou's own to view the screen better are welcome, the warmth they harbor traveling up his body and into his cheeks.

The music comes to a soft end, the last notes as crisp in the air as the wind brushing over them. This time it does not fade into another song.

"We'll be back after a short break," the lead singer informs the crowd. He looks a little like the guy who Hikari had come with, but Koushirou can’t fully discern most of his face from this distance. "We’ll keep the mic open if anyone would like to say a few words."

Taichi relinquishes his half of the hold on the camera, telling him quickly, "I'll be back." He flashes Koushirou a quick thumbs up as he runs towards the makeshift stage.

A majority of the crowd disperses over the news, lines of dancers making their way back over to the bonfire.

It is colder now, where Koushirou stands by himself. He teeters on his feet, wondering if he should hazard some photos of the speakers, if he should have perhaps not turned down the invitation to say something when Ken had first requested it of him.

Hikari comes to his side at just right the moment, her smile pushing out both of her prominent dimples. "Taichi's going to take the stage soon," she informs him, gently taking back her camera. “So let's grab some dessert and leave before he goes ham," she adds with a wicked laugh.

“Shouldn’t we stay?”

She wrinkles her nose. “He’s going to do an encore at the actual wedding, trust me. Besides I’ve been his test audience all week, I’ve got it memorized.” She reaches for a plate and fills it with several cupcakes. Koushirou wonders if it’s for their group, or just a personal serving. “I can give you the low down as we walk back,” she offers with a wry smile.

Koushirou can't decide either way when Hikari loops her arm through his and pulls him, not unwillingly, back in the direction of their camp for the evening, only stopping by the coolers to get another drink.

"These are awful," Hikari cackles, echoing her brother once they've settled back into their seats. Her face lights up at what Koushirou assumes is her devastating fall on the dance floor. She grins at him, her flush highlighted by the glow of the pyre. “But I think you captured the feeling of tonight pretty well."

Koushirou's certain he's done no such thing, but he chooses not to argue, hiding his slight smile with the bow of his head.

Across the way Koushirou can barely make out any distinguishable sounds aside from the occasional feedback on the mic. He doesn't know if Taichi is still speaking, or if he's probably joined the crowd by now. Maybe he'll stay over there for the rest of the evening and find a more suitable partner to hang around, who prefers to dance the night away instead of tucking into corners and playing antisocial party games.

Koushirou huffs at the thought.

“I won!” Mimi declares as soon as she returns, throwing both of her hands up into the air as if she has stuck a particularly flawless landing. Clutched in one of her fists is a distinctively red cup. Hikari claps on her behalf which only seems to fuel Mimi’s ego as she strikes several new vogue-like poses in victory. Miyako ducks beneath one of her arms with a pointed snort.

“What precisely did you win?”

“Daisuke goaded us into a drinking game,” Miyako explains, falling into the only free chair left. Mimi doesn’t hesitate to fall atop her lap, keeping her solo cup safely unrattled over both of their heads. “Results are debatable.”

“No they aren’t,” Mimi argues, drawing out every syllable. “ I won. I just said that. Where’s the debate?”

Miyako snorts, resting her forehead against the broad of Mimi's back. "Alright," she says appeasingly, "you won."

When Mimi dips her cup back to take a nice long sip after a final self-congratulatory whoop , Koushirou suspects it is no longer soda. About them the scent of alcohol has become thicker, rivaled only by the sweet smell of burning oak and just the right hint of smoke. Koushirou breathes it in, not missing the low tide in the least.

"Your hot friend is here," Mimi pipes up a moment later. Koushirou wants to assume she's not talking to him, with her eyes taking on that distant glaze as if she's not really looking at anything, but then she follows up with, "You know the one. Bush hair boy."

Miyako cackles into the crook of Mimi's arm where her head still rests. "Taichi," she corrects her.

"Mimi," he whispers harshly. He tries to motion with his eyes, over his head, where the other girl can no doubt hear them.

"What?" She snaps, the absolute vision of drunkenly defensive.

"Hikari is his sister," Miyako explains with little tact.

Mimi sits up straighter to look over Koushirou's head at the other member in their party. "Oh!" She says, settling back down, this time throwing her legs over the arm of the chair until her bare toes wiggle just barely out of reach of Koushirou's elbow. "Then what does she care if he's hot?"

"I love you," she adds, crunching herself up in Miyako's lap to wave at the girl. "We should dance more later."

"I'm good for the night," Hikari says. When Koushirou chances to look at her, she's pressing her lips together as if to contain her own trembling laughter. "Maybe another time?"

"With less sand," Miyako complains, rolling her head back. "My thighs are killing me ."

"My butt is going to hurt in the morning," Hikari adds, taking a swig of her new beer.

Koushirou's just glad they've changed the subject from—

"Koushirou's hot friend!" Mimi greets him as soon as Taichi slips into the light. He gives her a funny look before finally greeting her back with, "Lanyard girl!"

Mimi doesn't hesitate when Taichi offers up his fist to bump her own against it. She even imitates his impression of an explosion when they pull apart. Koushirou smiles fondly at her as she settles into giggles.

And, oh, Koushirou falters. Taichi hadn't corrected her when she declared that they were friends.

"Up," Taichi directs his sister, motioning her to move with both of his hands. "I was sitting there first," he reminds her.

"I was sitting there first!" Mimi puts in, raising her arm like she’s waiting to be called on in class. Both of the siblings send her apologetic smiles but Mimi doesn’t appear bothered as she reclines back into Miyako laps and hums around her cup.

"Finder's keeper's," Hikari says defiantly, exchanging one leg over the other as she sits up straighter. Her smile is sweet, yet coy. "Besides, Miyako invited me to sit with everyone."

Miyako says something, but even next to her Koushirou cannot discern any words. Her glasses have been displaced from over her eyes, just barely sitting on the rounded part of her forehead, suspended only by where she's slumped against Mimi's forearm. They shift precariously whenever the other woman moves around. He almost thinks to grab them off for her before Mimi plucks the spectacles from her head and rights them on her own, as if they were sunglasses.

Hikari beams up at her brother, as if somehow she’s finally won. "There’s plenty of other seats to choose from," she suggests, sweeping her hand above the sand at her feet.

Taichi frowns at her.

"You can sit here," Koushirou offers instead, gesturing to his own seat. He has no qualms with standing, or even taking some part of the dirt.

Taichi looks as if he'll decline before his gaze shifts over towards Mimi and Miyako and he seems to reconsider the offer. "You sure?" He asks. Koushirou thinks he should be weary of the way Taichi tries to press down a very obvious grin.

But he still says, "Of course," and lives to regret it when Taichi takes the chance to settle right into his seat—with Koushirou still occupying it. He mirrors Mimi's position, throwing his legs up and over the armrest and has the audacity to give Koushirou the widest, sweetest grin imaginable.

"Am I too heavy?"

And that's— well. It's unfair, really. What is Koushirou supposed to say to that? Yes?

“No,” is what his mouth decides on without his consent.

"On guard!" Mimi calls, wielding her feet to smack against Taichi's as if they were fencing with swords. Taichi takes the cue, leaning back a slight bit to tap against her until Mimi is no more than snorts and giggles, her curls almost sweeping against the dirt as she sways back in Miyako's lap.

The arm of the chair groans against the excessive weight as Taichi finds a comfortable position. He grins up at Koushirou as if nothing were amiss, but it feels to Koushirou as if the whole world has been turned on its axle, the blood pooling in his cheeks almost enough evidence to prove his theory.

"Let me know if it gets uncomfortable," Taichi tells him.

Koushirou won't. He knows this about himself.

"We can switch later," he offers.

"I'm fine," he answers politely.

But he's not. He's really not. His head is spinning. Where does he put his hands?

Koushirou decides to leave them where they are, along the arm rests, though it almost makes it feel as if he's carrying the man princess-style and he doesn't know how to digest this information.

Taichi grins at him as if he is privy to Koushirou's every thought, leaning deeper against the armrest. His weight against Koushirou's arm is almost pleasant. "How's work been treating you?"

"Fine," Koushirou answers simply. Swallowing feels unnecessarily difficult.

"Yeah? Not getting accosted by any aliens on your way home?"

Koushirou squints at the man in his lap before he remembers. He levels Taichi with a dramatically withered expression. "I'm not their intended target, sir."

"You're right," Taichi looks briefly aghast. "I should have been more careful lately, huh?"

"I know a former Russian agent who may agree to shifting careers toward mercenary work."

Taichi wrinkles his nose. "Does that include fighting aliens?"

"Indubitably."

"Sounds like an amazing movie idea," Taichi comments after he sobers up from a quick burst of laughter, giving Koushirou a lopsided grin. "We should sell the rights to a film company. Make millions."

"Invest heavily in Cranberry juice?"

Taichi laughs. "It all comes full circle, man."

Hikari snorts at them somewhere to his right. "What are you two talking about?"

"I don't want to be left out either!" Mimi makes it known, scrambling to sit up straighter by clutching at the arm of her shared seat with Miyako. She tosses back another long sip of her drink and frowns at the cup, tipping it over haphazardly. "It's gone," she informs Koushirou, miserably.

"There's still more to drink," Hikari says over his and Taichi's head. "With Daisuke involved, I'm certain of it."

Mimi stares in the direction of the fire, several clips in her hair glinting like stars in the night where the light catches them. She makes a clicking sound with her tongue, still trying to decide if it’s worth it to take the long trip.

"Sora's still over there," Taichi mentions. Koushirou perks up at the unfamiliar name. "I'm sure she'll dance some more."

"That's right!" Mimi shouts. "I forgot about dancing!"

She takes a few minutes before rushing off to try to coax Hikari to join her, but it's to no avail.

"She sure has some energy," Taichi comments with a shrill whistle.

"I heard she made all the food tonight," Hikari adds in, humming appreciatively around her first bite of a cupcake.

"All morning," Koushirou confirms.

Miyako mutters something, leaning over to one side now that there’s no one keeping her up. Her eyes are just barely open and her gaze is straight on the fire. Koushirou thinks her glasses might still be on Mimi's head and he frowns, hoping they don't end up as the same fate as Mimi's sandals.

When Taichi wonders if she's fine, Miyako just waves them off.

Drunk , is what Koushriou deems her. She's always the most quiet when she's had enough to drink. He smiles at her, ready to offer if she wants a ride home when someone else walks up to them with a casual, "Hey guys!"

Koushirou recognizes him from earlier, when he came down to the beach with Hikari. Takeru, if his recollection doesn’t fail him.

"Sorry, I totally spaced," he says to her. She only smiles back at him and motions to the open space next to her chair. Taichi leans his neck all the way back to look at their new member, waving his greeting at the blond who returns it without question. "I got caught up talking to Daisuke and Ken and then helping out my brother with the equipment," he titters. Takeru places the two chairs down along their line of seats already, positioning them on a slight tilt so when he finally sits down Koushirou can still clearly see his face.

Mostly . Even with the additional seating, Taichi does not relocate a comfortable seating arrangement. Koushirou thinks he'll need the rest of the week to process this.

Takeru catches his stare under the brim of his hat, smiling up at him. "I'm Takeru," he introduces himself with a long wave and an equally lengthened smile that sets Koushirou at ease.

"That's Koushirou," Hikari says offhand, taking a large bite of the cupcake on her plate. Koushirou almost takes the chance to tell her of the frosting sitting on her cupid's bow, but Takeru pulls back his attention with an enthused declaration of, "I owe you my life!"

Koushirou stares.

Takeru stares back up at him where the lawn chairs he'd carried don't stand quite as tall. Taichi in his lap let's out what can only be described as a cackle after a spell of silence.

"No," Takeru pushes on, "you don't understand."

Koushirou doesn't. He's no longer sure of what he does understand.

"Plan 9 From Outerspace is now my favorite movie ever."

"We rented some of the movies you recommended to me last time," Taichi explains. He rests his head on the canvas backing of the chair. Koushirou can feel the ghost of Taichi’s laughter just along the shell of his ear. All he can manage to do is look forward. "Takeru really likes bad movies."

"He's watched it at least 3 more times afterwards," Hikari adds, licking away all of the evidence of pink frosting from one of her fingers. "So thanks for that."

“Just doing my civic duty of spreading the gospel of execrable science fiction,” Koushirou finds himself adding in his own defense. A moment later his cheeks color. The only person he knows with any certainty is Miyako, and he’s not entirely sure she’s awake anymore.

But Takeru just asks him with a definite shine in his eyes, “What else have you seen?”

“You don’t have to worry,” Taichi tells him softly. Koushirou makes the mistake of turning to look at him, because Taichi is just far too close, his eyes ((disgustingly)) soft for anyone’s good, but least of all for Koushirou and his poor heart. “Not with them.”

"Have you seen The Brain from Planet Arous? " Takeru wonders, calling Koushirou's attention back.

"Absolutely,” he manages. “Easily in the top ten."

They fall into a pattern then, of going back and forth on their favorites. Takeru even takes out his phone to jot down some of the new one's he's never heard of. Koushirou keeps his notes mental, rather than bothering trying to reach for his cell phone in the pocket of his cargo pants.

"You know the truly wonderful movies are only found when you deep dive into the dollar bargain bins," Takeru says, sagely.

"Just like all quality items," Hikari deadpans.

" Listen,” Takeru insists. “Kung-fu From Beyond the Grave is cinematic genius ."

"You can't even see the whites of anybody's eyes," Taichi adds with a roll of his own. "There weren't even any zombies."

"Not every good movie needs—"

“TJ!” Daisuke’s voice calls across the distance, the feedback from the microphone deafening even all the way across the beach.

Immediately, Takeru’s on his feet.

“That’s my cue,” he says, giving everyone a calm smile. Hikari picks herself up, throwing her dusty purple shawl back over her shoulders. “It was nice meeting you,” Takeru says. It takes Koushirou a moment to realize he’s talking to him, which, well, of course he is. Koushirou’s the only stranger in their group.

“Likewise,” he manages. His cheeks burn. He hopes no one’s noticed the timelapse.

“It was fun,” Hikari adds in. Her eyes meet Koushirou’s when she says, “We’ll have to do something like this again soon.” Lovely smiles must be hereditary, Koushirou discovers, when she turns one on him.

“Indubitably,” Taichi answers on his behalf.

"We can rent Flash Gordon!" Takeru offers, snapping the second chair up.

Hikari takes it from him with an exaggerated, "Again!" But her long, fond smile tells Koushirou she doesn't mind the idea of it.

"Indubitably," Koushirou answers for himself this time.

And then they're gone.

Koushirou's eyes watch the fire, unbelieving. It's not that he expects to see them again, that either of them will make good on their promise. It's just— Koushirou's never made plans with complete strangers before. His friend group has never branched out from school or work. It’s the second time in one evening that it feels as if the entire world has been uprooted and turned on its head.

Taichi adjusts himself momentarily, asking Koushirou, "Still alright?" as he slides more into a sitting position, his rump not quite directly in his lap anymore. Koushirou manages to nod, even if he's not sure what the question is pertaining to.

Taichi tucks both of his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie and breathes out a quick laugh. "So any cool adventures this week?" He wonders.

"Do you mean more fulfilling than saving Japan?"

Taichi laughs. "Yeah, cooler than that."

"Nothing," he answers honestly. Then he remembers to ask, "And you?"

Taichi hums. “Definitely not anything that cool,” he titters. The fire looks brighter when Koushirou catches the embers sparking in Taichi’s gaze as he turns his attention directly towards the bonfire. “But I guess vigilantism is hard to compete with,” he tacks on, pursing his lips in consideration. Koushirou moves his hand once Taichi starts to bounce both of his legs along the chair’s armrest, tucking it into the space between the both of them and across his stomach.

Taichi just exudes warmth and Koushirou feels it like a salve on his tensed muscles, relaxing into Taichi's offhand stories about his week; regaling him in adventures that involve skirting his coursework in favor of midnight milkshakes or tag at the local park. They involve more extracurricular activities and less extraterrestrial lifeforms than Koushirou would prefer, but he thinks, perhaps, Taichi could spend the rest of an evening explaining a sandwich he made, and Koushirou would still find the tale no less intriguing.

"What are you doing to him?"

Koushirou looks up to see the lead singer of the band from before, regarding them with a critical eye.

Taichi swings one of his legs exaggeratedly and simply tells the other man, "Nothing. We're hanging out."

" Right ." He plops into the seat Hikari had been occupying not too long ago. "Blink twice if you need help," he instructs Koushirou in a harsh stage whisper. There's nothing discreet about it and Taichi tells him just as much. The blond seems unbothered, lifting a bottle up to his lips.

"Where's Sora?" Taichi wonders into their newfound silence, bouncing his legs again. Aside to Koushirou he explains, "Sora is Cannibal A."

"Ah." He vaguely has a face in his stored memories to pull upon.

Although Taichi can't see him, the other guy shrugs. He takes another sip, eyes entranced with the pyre before them as he relays with a heavily distracted tone, "She was hanging out with some new friend. Said they were going to collect sea glass."

"This is Koushirou by the way," Taichi introduces him, straining his neck back to look at his friend. "This is cannibal B," Taichi tells him a moment later, shooting Koushirou a secretive smile. “Or just Yamato, I guess.”

“ You ,” Yamato starts, pointing directly at Koushirou with his beer hand, “owe me six hours of my life back.”

"Plan 9," Taichi explains. "He's not so much into the bargain bin movies."

"Time is a non-refundable currency," Koushirou answers before he can stop himself. He’s starting to think this might be all Taichi’s influence, especially as the other man follows up with a firm, "Should have read the terms and conditions, man."

Yamato shoots them both a withered look.

Taichi rolls his head back once more to look at Yamato directly and wonders with a vague sense of sympathy in his tone, "Did Takeru make you watch it twice?"

Yamato scoffs in answer. Koushirou can hear the whistle of his breath through the hollow of the bottle just before he takes another chug. "Solaranite, though? It's too contrived."

"Yamato's training to be an astronaut," Taichi adds in as if he's bragging of his own accomplishments.

"It wasn't even funny," Yamato continues, sounding absolutely offended. He makes a face at the fire. "Fake science always takes me out of the plot."

"I prefer more preposterous science," Koushirou argues. "I find it preferable to spreading false information that sounds credible."

Yamato takes a short sip of his drink, the furrow in brow enough to indicate to Koushirou that he’s considering the point. Finally Yamato concedes, “I guess that’s better.”

Eventually the fire before them begins to dwindle with the absence of anything more to consume. It is the only indication of time passing that Koushirou has for the evening and he is bewildered by it when Yamato halts them in the middle of discussion on the poor science in fiction to ask, “Is she alive over there?”

Koushirou looks to Miyako, still slumped in the chair beside him. He hadn’t noticed her lightly snoring away since earlier in the evening. The fire cracks atop one of the logs and Koushirou feels his cheeks burn. Around them, everyone else has packed up and left.

"I should take her home," Koushirou says. Regret seizes in his chest the moment the words spill out and Taichi’s lopsided smile falls into a frown.

"Yeah," he agrees, but makes no move to reseat himself.

Oddly, Koushirou doesn't mind.

"Yeah,” Yamato repeats. “I should start getting the equipment back in the car," he tells them, sounding very much like that is the last thing he wants to do. He takes a final gulp of his beer and wrestles his way up to his feet.

"Here are the keys," Taichi says, pulling them out from his jean’s pocket and dangling them blindly over his head.

Yamato snatches them briskly. "Let Sora know we're heading out soon if you see her first."

"Aye, aye," Taichi salutes the blond. "And if you see a nice pair of sandals, I think Mimi's missing them!" He calls to the other's back. Yamato just throws a thumbs up to indicate he heard.

"She kicked them off as soon as the music started," Taichi explains to Koushirou's curious gaze. "I was helping move some of the equipment and they nearly smacked me in the face. Never saw where they went."

Koushirou can't help it. He can see the image so clearly in his mind, can imagine what it might be like if one of them had made their mark on Taichi’s face, that the laughter bubbles up from his chest, throwing his head back against the canvas backing of his chair.

Taichi beams at him. "You have a nice laugh," he comments, bouncing his legs once more. It’s enough to sober Koushirou up, and he is so very grateful for the diminished light of the fire now.

Ken finds them not too long after Yamato's departure, Taichi still spilled across his lap. His friend sways lightly where he stands, squinting at them as if trying to solve a puzzle. A bucket clatters against his hip as he stares.

"Closing up shop?" Taichi asks.

Ken looks down. "Yes," he says, unsure. His eyes settle in Miyako’s direction. “Is she alright?”

In answer, Miyako snores.

“I was just about to take her home,” Koushirou says, smiling sheepishly up at his friend. Ken nods, every dip of his head far too deep and long. He almost offers to put out the fire himself before Ken finally douses the embers, blanketing them in an unnatural, unadjusted darkness, a pillar of dark, gray clouds rising against the muted sky. In his lap still, Taichi seems to hold his breath. It smells aggressively of smoke and soggy wood and the same cologne Koushirou’s certain Taichi wore last weekend.

“I should get her to the car,” Koushirou continues, turning an apologetic look in Miyako’s direction. She looks so at peace.

Taichi lets out a long suffering sigh, but he complies and rolls his way off the chair. Without the other's weight atop him, Koushirou's lap feels unnaturally cold, and the sense of relief he had been predicting earlier in the evening feels, strangely, like remorse.

It doesn't last long. His thighs ache when he attempts to stand, feeling like rubber and prickling with numbness. He winces at the first step. If it counts as a step.

"You okay?" The very reason for his problem asks. Koushirou frowns back at him and Taichi only grins, shoving his hands through the pouch of his hoodie. In the dark the color is almost indiscernible against the night sky.

"I hope the aliens get you," he says. Taichi laughs.

"Come on, Miyako," Koushirou urges his friend. She only answers with a defiant groan, falling deeper against the side of the chair. Koushirou shakes her shoulder gently, calling to her once again. It’s to no avail.

Taichi laughs heartily. Ken chuckles besides him.

Koushirou glares.

"Miyako~" Taichi coos, coming up on her other side. He reaches gently for one of her arms, coaxing her to sit up further. Miyako makes a garbled noise, huffing as Taichi places a hand across her back to keep her from slouching back into the seat. Her head rolls over on to her own shoulder and she blinks up at him.

Koushirou has no idea what she says next, but Taichi laughs. "Koushirou's going to take you home now. To sleep in a real bed, okay?"

Miyako nods. Or she's drifting back off. Koushirou isn't really sure, but Taichi somehow manages to convince her to stand. Miyako rubs at her eyes, giving several hard blinks before she starts to attempt to walk forward, her gait unsure. She slurs out a quiet, “Sorry,” when she sees Koushirou watching her.

“Let’s go to the car,” Taichi suggests, throwing his arm around her shoulder as they start towards the parking lot. Koushirou isn’t sure if it’s to keep her upright, or just a friendly gesture as he asks the girl, “Did you have fun tonight?” Miyako nods.

"Incredible," Koushirou breathes out.

Taichi back at him, grinning. "Just your local drunk whisperer hard at work."

"I’ll help," Ken offers, “with the chairs”. Koushirou just about tells him to not mind it, but the other man is already folding up one of their seats and stuffing it into the respective bag and so he merely says, "Thank you," as he follows suit with his own.

They meet Taichi and Miyako at the pavement of the parking lot. Miyako’s eyes are barely open as she rests her head against the side of Taichi’s shoulder.

"Which one?" Taichi asks. Koushirou points out his mother's SUV, it's lights blinking at them from where he had parked it earlier that evening.

He tosses the chairs into the back, and then leans out of the way for Miyako to crawl into the middle seat, her eyes bleary when she takes one quick look back at him before dropping her head onto the seat.

“On your side,” Ken prompts her over Koushirou’s shoulder. He sounds tired and on just the right side of gone as he expresses the concern, “Don’t want you sick.”

She mumbles a little something, but complies regardless of her words, shifting over onto her side. Koushirou wishes he could fall asleep that easily as her light snoring recommences. He pulls the scratchy, old blanket his mother always keeps draped atop the seat back and lays it across Miyako.

"Have you seen Mimi?" He asks Taichi and Ken, peering at the parking lot around them in case he can see the silhouette of other party goers. Koushirou wouldn’t put it past her to have found another group to weave herself into, but there's only two other cars in the lot now.

Taichi shrugs, turning his own head as if to survey the area as well. Ken looks pensive at the question.

"Jun," he starts, then stops as if he's forgotten that he was talking at all.

"Your hangover is gonna suck tomorrow, buddy," Taichi snickers. Ken opens his mouth and then glares at his teammate instead.

"What about Jun?" Koushirou presses. He makes sure Miyako's legs have been sufficiently scrunched out of the way of the door as he slams it shut.

Ken snaps to attention. "Wanted to know what to do," he says. At Koushirou's confused stare he remembers to add, "With your stuff."

Koushirou feels his gaze turn in the direction of the reception area on instinct. They hadn't come up with a plan after everyone started drinking.

"Jun was forcing Yamato to help," Ken continues, "with our stuff. And the band. Di’you?"

Koushirou stares. "Did I what?"

Ken presses his lips together, clearly finding the activity of speaking with sober people very frustrating when Taichi guesses, "Have Yamato load the car?"

"Yes," Ken says, pointing at Taichi.

He shrugs when Koushirou raises an eyebrow at him. "It's a superpower."

Koushirou considers it for a while. He’ll never get all the items up by himself, or with a drunk Mimi alone. Not before sunrise. It would be a great help, but Koushirou finds it hard to balance against his overwhelming need to apparently suffer.

"I would appreciate it," he finally says, dropping the keys into Ken’s awaiting hands with a smile.

Ken heads down the long slope of the hill first, his feet catching momentum on the incline. Somewhere near the bottom Daisuke halts him with an enveloping hug, the two of them swaying in something almost akin to a lumbering box step. Koushirou can just barely hear the cadence of their laughter on the wind and it brings a smile to his lip.

"I've never seen Ken so drunk before," Taichi titters beside him, warm and steady.

“Yeah,” Koushirou agrees, peering along the beach as well, hoping to find a familiar silhouette. Although the beach is almost as empty as when they had first come mere hours ago, looking upon it now feels different, as if an imprint has been left on the canvas even though so little evidence still stays.

“I think I found our missing persons,” Taichi says, pointing just further down the opposite end of the beach, where two shadows hazard along the rocks.

Koushirou lets out a huff. “Of course.”

“You know Ken used to refuse to drink at our club parties all the time,” Taichi says, shaking his head. Moonlight is their only guide down along the shore, but it seems to favor Taichi, illuminating his face, his smile, in a way that makes Koushirou's heart flutter. He kicks up sand with his now bare feet, sandals clutched in his hand. Koushirou takes to the higher shore, not willing to get water logged into his sneakers. “I tell you that Daisuke is a poor influence,” Taichi scoffs, clutching a hand over his heart in mock offense.

“I don’t believe so,” Koushirou finds himself speaking out loud. Taichi hesitates on the sand for a moment, and as if there is some invisible thing connecting them, Koushirou finds himself coming to a halt as well. “Not that I condone excessive consumption,” he feels the need to explain, “but in recent years I’ve observed Ken laughing more.”

“Yeah?” A wave licks up along the edge of Taichi’s foot. Koushirou imagines it must be freezing this time of night, but the other barely flinches. “Daisuke’s been a little more mature,” Taichi tells him, “since he met Ken. I went to visit him the other day and he cleaned the house for me.”

Koushirou laughs at the way Taichi says it, his eyes slightly widened as if it were relaying a horror story instead.

Taichi lets out a short laugh of his own. “It’s like they were made for each other, I guess.”

Koushirou wrinkles his nose. “I’m not quite sure I believe in any such providence.” He looks up for a moment, trying to decide on the right words. Stars wink back down at him. He never sees them in the city. Koushirou almost forgets to continue, but Miyako’s words come back to him. “I simply believe they compliment each other.”

He catches Taichi's eyes on him. "What is it?"

Taichi's gaze lingers for a moment longer before he trains it towards the farshore. A grin brightens his face as he tells Koushirou, "Nothing." He picks back up on their previous pace, settling one of his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. Koushirou falls into step beside him. “I think you’re right.”

Just as the beach erodes into rocks, Koushirou pauses. "Mimi," he calls out to her silhouette. The tassels on her jacket wave in the wind, an easy tell even as the woman pivots atop one of the rocks to look back at him. "We have to go home," he explains, hollering it over the wind as it whips past them.

A different voice calls back, "We're looking for sea glass!"

"I want to be a mermaid princess!" It’s clearly Mimi who declares this, speaking as if it explains absolutely everything.

Taichi shares a look with Koushirou.

"You won't procure any up there," Koushirou tells them. In the dark he can see a soft light glowing as one of the women turns it in his direction. It's not Mimi's silhouette and so he suspects it must be Sora. The light goes out once more and he realizes she must be tapping open her homescreen, instead of the flashlight app. Taichi snorts beside him.

"Who are you?" Sora calls back.

"Koushirou?" He responds, unsure.

"Koushirou!" Sora repeats it back. He watches as she stumbles along the rocks as carefully as he assumes someone with enough to drink can manage.

Koushirou frowns as Mimi's shadow disappears behind the far off landscape and he means to call for her when instead Sora greets him with another enthusiastic, "Koushirou!"

She leaps down from the nearest rock and with little warning envelopes him in a tight, warm hug. Koushirou feels his shoulders tense. She smells heavily of liquor and a flowery perfume. "I'm so glad to meet you," she coos.

When she pulls away, her eyes are as warm as kindling doused only by the intensity of her inebriation. "Likewise," Koushirou says in answers and she beams back at him.

"I'm still sorry we had to leave early last time. But you know Taichi's—"

“Yamato's probably waiting for us,” Taichi cuts in with his lips half quirked up, laughing humorlessly. She opens her mouth as if to continue but then presses her lips together as if she's thought better on it.

"We'll talk more next time!" Sora assures him, with a light, sweet smile. She passes Koushirou to encircle her arm through Taichi's, tugging him away instead. Both of them send Koushirou a quick wave overhead but before he can return it they’re already locked into another conversation. He almost thinks he hears Sora requesting, “We should stop for ice cream!”

Taichi scratches the back of his head and Koushirou hears him tell her, "I think you'll regret that tomorrow."

But mostly next time is ringing in his ears. Koushirou wonders if any one of them will think of him after tonight.

He'll probably never see Taichi again. And that's just as well.

"Sora!" Mimi's voice hollers over the wind. Her silhouette slips back into view over a formation of rocks and Koushirou beckons her to continue back towards him. She leaps off the nearest edge, but doesn't quite have the grace Koushirou usually expects from her and ends up dropping to the sand on her rump with a small yowl. It reminds him of when she and Miyako would jump from the swingsets and miss the landing, on late nights when there was nothing else to do in town but haunt the local elementary school playground.

"Where did she go?" Mimi wonders, looking around wildly after a quick recovery. He wonders if she's drank enough to cushion the pain. "We have to find Sora," she tells Koushirou, her eyes large with alarm when they settle on him. Tears pool in the edges of her eyes.

"She's safe, Mimi," he assures her, reaching for one of her hands to help pull her up. Mimi gives him no help, keeping all of her weight there on the sand. "Taichi's taking her home," Koushirou explains further. "We should be going home, as well, Mimi."

Mimi looks up at him, her vision cloudier than the last time he had seen her, but something in his words must have struck a chord because she sniffles, biting at her lower lip. Her hand slips through his old and she crumples onto her back, throwing an arm over her eyes as her hair fans against the beach. In the dark the light pink blends almost naturally into the beach.

"I want to stay here," Mimi says suddenly. The giddy, intoxicated energy in her timbre has dissipated for a softer, somber note. "With you," she chokes out.

Koushirou isn't sure which here she means. He sits beside her on the beach, just far enough to keep his shoes from being touched by rogue waves as they roll up along the shore.

Mimi hiccups into the silence. Koushirou only sees the track of tears rolling down the side of her cheeks where moonlight catches on the droplets.

He runs a hand along her hair in imitation of the way he's seen Miyako combing through it, on the few occasions Mimi is anything but a perky drunk.

"There's sand in your hair," Koushirou tells her to dispel the moment when the grains filter through his fingertips. Sand has already crawled up her feet, clinging in patches to her ankles. She throws her arm off and away from her eyes to look up at him, her expresion twisting and pulling in a show of agony. His heart feels as if it pulls right along with it. "Mimi—" He tries, but it's too late.

Mimi chokes on another sob, the tears on her cheeks rolling much swifter now. Even in the dark he can see where they dampen her hair that clings to her cheeks. She rubs at her eyes with the full, plump of her palms and snuffles. "I promised—I wasn't going to—"

Koushirou isn't sure what she means, but he tries again with a soft, "Mimi," before the woman slaps both hands to either cheek and sits herself up.

"I'm not going to be sad," she tells him, resolutely, puffing her cheeks up in the same way she always does, when Mimi wants to show how determined she is.

"It's alright—" Koushirou tries again.

Mimi shakes her head, and true enough sand drops from every curl. She frowns.

"I'm going to sober up," she informs Koushirou, getting up slowly to her feet. "And wash my hair."

He looks up at her, "Where?"

"In the water," she says simply, and before he can do anything, she's already splashing into the brackish water, just far enough to throw her head beneath the surf without actually diving in.

"Mimi," he manages to call after her, ready to scramble up to his feet after her.

Over the waves Koushirou hears a distinct chiming noise. He used to follow the same sound when he would lose his mother in stores, back when she insisted he accompany her on errands when he was too young to remain home on his own recognizance.

When he looks behind him, half expecting to see her now, to tell him it's time to head in for the day, it is Taichi instead, smiling back down at him. "Hey," he says, dropping to the sand beside Koushirou. He indicates to Mimi with a tilt of his head. "Still on that quest to become a mermaid princess?"

"No," Koushirou deadpans. He breathes in, reminding himself Mimi should be fine if she stays close, that the current is sedentary enough he could pull her out if he needs to. Koushirou breathes out, heavily through his nose. "Washing her hair."

Taichi laughs instead of asking anything further. Koushirou supposes he's used to these drunken activities. "I'm a good swimmer," Taichi assures him as if he knows exactly what Koushirou had been thinking. "I'll wait with you until she gets out."

Koushirou stares. It does, in some way, make him feel better. He falls back into sitting, crunching his legs up to his chest and cutting his gaze back to Mimi, tossing water against her face to wash away what he suspects is any trace of her crying.

“I thought you were heading home,” Koushirou says. Taichi holds up the set of his mother's keys between them, the metal clattering in that familiar song. Koushirou takes them back and stuffs them into his pocket, eyes still watching his new companion.

“We were,” Taichi admits with an easy-going smile. His fingers dig into the sand between them, his eyes locking onto Mimi as she kicks up another wave on her way back in. “But Daisuke was adamant someone made sure you got your keys back.”

“Daisuke?”

“Yeah. Ken and Jun kept insisting they could just leave them under one of your tires, but Daisuke kicked up a huge fuss. Said he didn’t want you to think he was irresponsible.” After a moment Taichi adds, “I kind of think he might be trying to impress you.”

“Me?” Koushirou looks down to his lap. “How peculiar.”

Taichi leans forward, resting his cheeks atop his knees as he regards Koushirou. In the slim lighting his lashes appear longer than Koushirou remembers them being. “I don’t think so.” He hums in thought. “Ken seems to think pretty highly of you, you know? Makes sense Daisuke would want you to like him."

"No part of that is sensical to me," Koushirou says. Ken is far more unique— a perfect blend of athletic and genius without compromising either talent. Daisuke is sharp wherever he chooses to lay his attention, be it on sports or cooking ramen, and his personality is radiant, bordering on charming.

Koushirou's eyes fall back on the water. Mimi's hair is dripping wet now, and Koushirou suspects it's still full of sand, only clinging tighter now than it had been. Tomorrow she'll complain it smells of salt, but right now she's laughing again and Koushirou finds his heart singing along to the melody of it.

In a year from now, he wonders, if she'll be laughing on a different beach, with other friends who like all the same things, and Koushirou will be nothing more than a fond memory.

If he'll even be that. He's never quite understood, why she even bothers with him. Koushirou's always chalked it up to some whim of hers, and he's been skirting by on her kindness all this time, always waiting for the day she'll correct that one mistake.

Koushirou rests his forehead against his own knees. She would never do it to be cruel, he knows that. Somehow it makes the possibility worse.

Beside him, Taichi shifts closer. His presence is warm, as if Koushirou were on the beach nearing midday, rather than midnight. "Makes perfect sense to me," is all he says for a while. Koushirou looks up at him, but Taichi is watching the waves.

He doesn't know why this stranger puts up with him either. Camaraderie, Koushirou is certain, has already run its course somewhere on this beach. Perhaps as far back as Miyako's living room floor.

“You're really impressive," Taichi admits. "So of course people want you to like them." He relaxes his legs a bit, pushing his bare feet through the sand and leaning back on his arms. Taichi deserves to grace the cover of one of those teen heartthrob magazines Mimi used to tape on her walls, back when reading magazines was an acceptable hobby outside of waiting rooms. "I mean who else can say they've saved the world just by drinking cranberry juice?"

A joke. Of course . Koushirou huffs out a laugh despite himself. "When did it become the world?"

Taichi hums. "Just now."

"I had assistance in that endeavor you know."

"Still," Taichi says with a short shrug. Koushirou wishes he could pin a name to the way Taichi looks at him, something soft and winsome. "You should give yourself more credit. I barely know you and I think you're amazing."

And, well , "You are truly overestimating me," Koushirou assures him, but his cheeks burn from more than embarrassment, his own smile overwhelming as he tries to hide it against the fabric of his cargos.

Taichi hums goodnaturedly. "Probably not." It must be a talent, to sound so unperturbed when saying such incredulous things.

"Taichi!" Mimi waves the moment she notices their newest member. He gives her a curt wave back just as Mimi slops her way up through the surf to meet them. She hesitates along at the cusp of land just before the shore. Her white dress pants are darkened up to her knees, curls stuck to the angles of her sharp face. She doesn't look any more sober.

"My feet are going to get—" Mimi starts. She frowns down towards the sand, her toes wiggling as another wave comes up behind her, curling about her ankles as if beckoning her to return. "Dirty again," she finishes, miserably.

"Would her majesty like a chariot?" Taichi offers, getting to his feet and bending slightly forward just before her.

Mimi sways on the sand, considering the offer with a far off gaze.

"Jump on," Taichi urges her and it seems to do the trick. Mimi's face brightens and she leaps forward, throwing her arms over the man's shoulders and hopping until Taichi loops his arms under her knees. He bucks her up higher when Mimi begins to slide back, squealing and laughing and being of no immediate help. Koushirou presses an uncertain hand to her back when they make it further up the beach.

"You ready?" Taichi asks, tilting his head back as if to see her directly. Mimi cheers her consent, lifting one arm up into the air. She returns it quickly around his neck the moment Taichi begins to move down the beach, his still bare feet kicking up dark water and sand as they go, his heels leaving heavier imprints along the ground. Koushirou holds back a few paces, watching warily for any signs that Mimi might fall, but Taichi is usually quick to adjust, and Mimi howls with laughter every time he hoists her back up.

By the hill up to the parking lot, Taichi hesitates. Koushirou falls right behind him.

"Think we can run it?" He asks Mimi. She immediately points up toward their destination and shouts, "Onwards!" as if commanding a loyal steed.

Taichi complies, sand and dirt kicking up behind him as they race toward the top. All Koushirou can hear is the sound of Mimi's delighted laughter.

He makes the decision to not run after them. The most exercise Koushirou is used to in a single day is the long trek between his desk and the copier down the hall. His thighs burn as he trudges up the hill after them. Tonight has been the equivalent of him participating in some iron man marathon and his body will not be happy with him come morning.

He's surprised, and proud, that he isn’t heaving when he makes it to the top of the hill.

"What took you so long?" Mimi asks, hovering at her side of the car. Taichi looks back over his shoulder where he had been leaning on the car's hood. Koushirou levels her with a look.

"I didn't procure a ride on the express route."

"Maybe next time," Taichi offers cheekily. Koushirou says nothing to that as Mimi moans about how cold it's become.

On the foot rack underlining the doors, Koushirou spots a familiar pair of sandals sitting there, waiting for him. Wordlessly Taichi takes them from him across the car hood and drops them into Mimi's lap the moment she clambors into the passenger seat, still dripping wet. She stares at them, as if they had just materialized from thin air.

Taichi slams the passenger door closed.

Koushirou's opening the door to his own side when it startles him by opening wider. Taichi grins at him, his fingers sitting over the top of the door as Koushirou feels himself plop back into his seat. Taichi leans partially in through the door, his cologne tickling Koushirou's nose in a not unpleasant way.

"Eat a little something when you get home," Taichi tells Mimi, "and drink some water. Double that for her," he points to Miyako in the back seat. Koushirou looks to Mimi's head and feels himself wince when he notices the glasses aren't tucked nicely over her head anymore. Most likely they're nestled between some rocks or lost in the sea somewhere. He hopes Miyako still keeps spares.

Mimi grins back up at them . "Roger, roger," she says, giving Taichi the gesture to say okay. He laughs as he pulls back. But he doesn't leave. His hand remains on the door, swinging it slightly. Koushirou looks up at him, feeling suddenly shy. "You too, okay?" Taichi says, his grin melting into some sort of smile that has Koushirou's heart stuttering to a halting beat.

"I'm not inebriated."

"I know," Taichi laughs. "But it's good advice either way."

Koushirou isn't quite sure what to call the emotion that sweeps through him in that moment, his lips not sure themselves if they want to settle into a smile or a large, toothy grin. Instead Koushirou offers the same okay symbol Mimi had thrown up and repeats, "Roger."

Taichi's smile brightens even further, as he bids Koushirou a goodnight, shutting the car door after a quick check to make sure his limbs are tucked safely inside. Koushirou hears someone shouting in the distance, the words muffled on his end through the glass of the car, but he presumes it must be Yamato calling for the other man to hurry up. Taichi waves at one of the cars still in the lot, jogging over to it and disappearing around the other side.

"Are we leaving?"

Koushirou rests his head on the steering wheel for a second. His chest feels light and heavy all at once, a dizzying combination made worse by the thundering beat of his heart.

Despite the brisk summer evening outside, the car has kept some of the earlier warmth. It smells stale and too much like new car , even though his mother's had it since he was in highschool.

"Can we at least turn on the radio?" Mimi's looking at him with eyes still drowned in liquor.

He breathes out and turns on the engine. Mimi cheers, plugging her phone into the auxiliary cord and filling the silence with the most blaring song she has on her playlist, belting out the lyrics all the way home.

Koushirou doesn't mind. It keeps him from thinking about other things as he unconsciously mutters along, letting his spatial memory lead them to soft beds and floors that aren't made of dirt and sand. Miyako stays asleep even when they accidentally drop her on their way in the door to his place— mostly because Mimi tips over trying to slip off her sandals and takes them all down in a domino effect. At least she had something to break her fall, Koushirou thinks wryly, but he’ll take the darkening bruise on his elbow as a souvenir.

"God," Mimi groans after Koushirou gives her the full rundown the next morning. He knows her well enough that when she clutches at her head, it is not from the hangover, but mortification. "I can't believe this."

"You've done worse," Koushirou says, comfortingly.

" No, " she hisses, hunching further over in her misery. Beside her on the sofa bed, Miyako groans and tosses the thin blanket over her head in a huff. Sand jumps off the sheets and pools between every crevice. It makes Koushirou's skin itch. "Not me! You! He sat in your lap for hours and you still didn't get his number?"

"That's what we're taking away from last night?"

"I raised you better than this, Izumi!"

#digimon adventures #taishirou #taishiro #sparkle garbage #tw alcohol #Odaiba Day 2020 #It's literally 11:30 pm #Also no I didn't make a mistake on that word count #tho the whole thing is arguably a mistake lol #all the emphasis is gone again #gdi tumblr

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