#finally wrote this shit without entering full simp mode

[takoyakitenchou]

“Don’t look at me like you’re sorry. You’re not sorry.” (akisako...?)

iykyk.

When she pulls her key from the ignition he’s already opening his passenger door for her. Wordlessly she slides out of her car into his, noting dryly that he’s gotten a new ride since back then. The seats still smell of new leather, and despite the absurdity of the situation, she immediately feels herself start to relax.

Hayama Akira has parked conveniently so they can watch the brilliant molten sunset, and for a moment that’s all they do.

“Arato,” he says finally, and Hisako nods in response. He takes that as license to continue, and he asks, “You know why I called you here?”

It takes everything in Hisako’s power not to scoff. “To show off your Jaguar,” she replies laconically. But to her surprise, her voice is not sharp at all. It’s soft, softer than the sunset. 

“We broke up,” Akira says, and the image of a tall, pretty girl wearing a modest cocktail dress flashes in Hisako’s mind. For some reason, she can’t seem to hate the girl, even after everything that’s happened. “I thought you should know.”

“And why should I care?” Hisako points out, but her words are laden with the burden of a different collection of phonetics. If only. “We’ve been over for a while.”

“We were over because of her.”

“That’s not my problem anymore, Hayama. You’ll go back to her the second she apologizes again. And to be frank, I’m fucking tired of waiting for you.”

Akira leans his elbows on the wheel. “So you were waiting for me?”

“Not anymore,” she replies. “Now please give me one good reason why I should be sitting in my ex boyfriend’s car at six in the evening instead of doing all the shit I need to do.”

“Because you still love me.”

Her mouth opens but she remains silent, because it’s impossible to deny. He’s hit the bull’s-eye dead on.

“That’s irrelevant,” Hisako says, and that’s also true. “I might still love you but that doesn’t mean I miss you.”

“You’re not going to give me another chance, are you?”

At this Hisako turns to meet Akira’s eyes for the first time. She stares at those intense chips of jade, ignoring the repressed optimism that’s so painfully evident in them. “Don’t look at me like you’re sorry. You’re not sorry.”

“What if I am, though?” Akira asks. “What if I called you here to apologize and ask you to give me another shot?”

Hisako shakes her head. “It’s too late for an apology.” She runs a finger over the glossy wood detailing on the glove box. Spotless, as usual. The damn perfectionist still hasn’t taken the plastic film off the handle of the gear shift.

“It is,” Akira agrees. Hisako nods but he’s not done. “Then I guess I’ll have to act, won’t I?” In one fluid motion, his hand cups the back of her head and his mouth fuses seamlessly with hers. Automatically she’s thrown back into the idyllic memories of their past, and before she can stop him—or herself—she’s kissing him back, forgetting the reason they’re here in the first place, forgetting the heartbreak, the betrayal, and every other shard of hurt that’s long since shredded her heart into ribbons. The months of tension between them ignite into a scorching passion and the kiss deepens; minutes pass and so do they—back into familiar habits, finding solace in each other across the line between lovers and whatever they were doing until now.

Then her caved resolve rights itself and she jerks away from him. “What the hell?”

He doesn’t even bother to look sorry. “You said you don’t want an apology.”

“You’re right,” she sighs. “I don’t.”

I love you, he says.

Prove it, she replies, and they both know it is over, for real this time.