His And Her Circumstances Fan Fiction ❯ A Reason For Another Day ❯ A Reason For Another Day ( Chapter 1 )

Written in response to Makin' Lemonaide challenges for Week 71: “Write for the fandom the members choose for you,” Week 64: “Obsession. Stalk someone. So much here to explore... let your dark muses run wild!” & Week 66: “Lies lies lies, yeah. They're gonna get ya. Someone's been lying. The problem with lies is that you have to keep track of em all. And when one is exposed, they all could be.”

 

Disclaimer: Kare Kano belongs to Masami Tsuda, not me. I make no profit off this story. If Masami Tsuda-san wishes, I will remove this from the web upon her personal request.

 

When the graduation party was finally over it was not a moment too soon in his opinion.

 

Oh, sure. He'd been happy to see his friends again. And he was never one to pass up the opportunity to attend a party. But other than his immediate friends, none of the other guests had stayed longer than the obligatory drop-in. And he seemed to be the odd man out - the only single entity there.

 

When he arrived, of course he knew Maho and Takashi would be there as a couple. It was Maho's graduation from medical school. She'd be an intern in a few weeks. And of course, Yukino and Soichiro Arima were there as a couple together. But he was a little surprised that Tsubaki and Tonami were still together. Somehow he'd thought that their relationship would have fizzled after a while.

 

And then, another surprise was Rika - who was there with Kyo, Aya's brother. Worse, she was married to the guy. When he agreed to show up at this thing, he'd sort of planned on using her as a fall-back plan. If he wasn't able to pick up some unknown Mary, he'd at least be able to chat with Rika, who held a special place in his high school memories.

 

Rika had never been too impressed with his looks and charm, but somehow the simple things she said made him feel like he was her special older brother - one that she found brimming with talent. When he became an artist, she'd told him she was proud of him, and… truth be told, that statement had made him keep at it even when the power was shut off for non-payment and he didn't even have enough money to eat every day.

 

But now, she was married, and in love. Oh, he was glad she was happy. He couldn't deny that. But she was completely in love and with his reputation, he'd have to leave her alone. Otherwise, there might be hurt feelings other than his own. They hadn't even invited him to the wedding.

 

Throughout the night, he'd noticed that the party was filled with nothing but couples. Tsubasa and Kazuma were even able to attend. And the last member of their little high school group, Aya Sawada, had brought her editor - one Kano Miyazawa. Okay, so he wasn't sure if they were a “couple” or not. But either way, it still meant that he was the only single entity at the party. Aya was too jaded to flirt with him and Kano was Yukino's little sister - off limits!

 

And to be so alone while surrounded by those he loved most…

 

What good was he anyway? Okay. He painted. People said they loved his work. He was finally making a living off it. But in the grand scheme of things, it was still just painting. If he wasn't doing it, some other starving artist would. And the end results were just art. Not life saving, not important.

 

After painting hundreds of portraits of women, he had come to a realization, that he was nothing but a lens - a clear piece of glass. And no one would miss him if he wasn't there. Nothing he did counted for anything. He didn't help anyone, and he was truly special to no one.

 

Just like his father had predicted.

 

He could look out on these people - his friends, all of them - and know that if they never saw him again, the most he could hope for was that once in a while they might say, “Huh? Whatever happened to Asapin anyway?” No one would feel any kind of intense emotion at all.

 

That thought was not a new one.

 

He was tired. Tired of trying to drown the loneliness in an endless sea of Marys. He was tired of pouring himself drop by drop into that sea, in his bed, Mary by Mary. Each morning he woke up alone. And none of it mattered to him any more.

 

With a jovial laugh, he answered Tonami's question, “Me? Settle down? When there is a whole world of Marys waiting for me?” He finished with a wink and then he drained the rest of his martini and stood to go mix another.

 

On the way to the bar, he was intercepted by Tsubasa - who was a lot more interesting now that she was calm and centered and devoted to Kazuma. She was actually capable of conversation other than animal grunts and growls now.

 

“Asapin,” she smiled at him and gave him a brief hug. A bit of small talk, and then she made a request. “Kazuma doesn't know I'm asking you this, but he mentioned recently that if he could get you to paint me for the cover of their next album, it would really make it for him. So what do you think? Would you be interested?”

 

With a practiced smoothness to his voice, he responded, “If I get to choose what you wear during the session, I'll do it for free.”

 

“You'd do it for free? What do you want me to wear?” she clapped her hands happily.

 

With his patent-pending, womanizing leer, he responded, “Nothing.” Then he waited.

 

It only took two beats before she smacked him upside his head. “If you're not going to be serious…”

 

He winked at her and said in a serious voice that she'd only rarely heard from him, “You're a beautiful woman, Tsubasa, but even *I'm* not stupid enough to get between you and your husband. I can't do it for free, but if you can work your sittings in between my regular paid sessions, I'll make sure you get a really good deal.”

 

She smiled at him again and said, “He's going to be thrilled!” Then she spun to tell her husband the good news, leaving him free to go mix his next martini.

 

Being a performer had its benefits. Even after 10 martinis, no one was the wiser. He was Asapin. Unchanging. Always the same. Both inside, and in his performance.

 

But god it was tiring.

 

X

 

Growing up, she'd been blessed. The youngest child is often doted upon in tight-knit, happy families. Her two sisters had spoiled her and taught her early. She learned how to read before anyone else she knew - she had to if she wanted to catch up and be able to play with them at their level. And they both had enjoyed sitting with her and reading to her, teaching her how to read.

 

In the end, it was good that her sisters pushed her, because her parents believed more in leaving their children free to learn as they chose. So there was absolutely no pressure on that front. It left her free to study the subjects she found most interesting. And with her sisters pushing her - and silently holding a competition to see who was smarter - she excelled in what she loved: philosophy and writing.

 

When the oldest sister began immersing herself in her studies, leaving no real time to play, it didn't bother either of the younger siblings. The middle sister simply spent more time in sports, developing a huge group of friends and teammates. And that left the youngest free to read.

 

Reading had always been her favorite pastime. It allowed her to disappear into another world.

 

Not that there was anything wrong with this world. No. This world was beautiful, too. But it was understood that no matter who you are, there's always something to catch your fancy that you just can't have. Maybe you want to be prettier, or thinner, or have longer, more luxurious hair. Maybe you wish your legs were just a little longer and shapelier. Maybe you wish you were more outgoing. Or that you had more friends. There was always something. And reading allowed you to live out that fantasy by empathizing with someone else's life.

 

It was that skill - the ability to completely immerse herself into a character, to feel what that character was feeling - that had prepared her to become the perfect editor for her favorite author, Aya Sawada. Aya's stories were always based on character interaction and growth. And Kano knew just how to cut out an unnecessary word or sentence so that the whole remained focused.

 

Meeting Aya through her sister had been an astounding stroke of luck. Aya had immediately treated her with respect, not like she was a to-be-tolerated kid sister of a friend. Then when Yukino had mentioned to Aya how much Kano loved her work, Aya had commented, “Well, I have this story that's due to my editor, but I'm not sure how well it's going. Do you think she'd want to read it to see if it's up to snuff?”

 

And from that chance reading, a career was born.

 

Which was the reason she was at this graduation party at all.

 

X

 

“Kano, you got any plans for this Saturday night?” The question was tossed over her shoulder as if unimportant while she continued to type furiously on her latest manuscript.

 

With a half-amused smirk, she responded, “Other than catching up on the latest issue of Kaikan Phrase? Or were you referring to some last minute editing for the manuscript due on Monday?” She held a hand over her heart in feigned astonishment, “Wait. Aya. Are you… Are you asking me out on a date? You mean that you've finally fallen for your young assistant?” Shaking her head, she tsked softly. “And I thought you were *different* than those other authors that we meet at the conventions.”

 

A soft snort showed the authoress' amusement. “I'll take that as a no then. So will you go with me to a little party?”

 

Now her curiosity was piqued. “Party?” Aya knew darn well that she wasn't really a party person. So for her to ask, there had to be more than just something social going on.

 

After a sly smirk she explained, “Yup. Maho's graduation. All the old high school gang's gonna be there.” There was a pause as she took another long drag from her cancer stick. Only the author's eyes moved to watch for the reaction. As soon as it was visible, she continued, “And I really don't wanna be the only single female there or someone's likely to try to pair me up with the only single male.”

 

She gave another pause to allow Kano time to process the situation fully. While the girl had never mentioned it, Aya wasn't as completely absorbed with her writing as most people thought. And while, yes, her editor and assistant did comb through the papers for articles that would act as research for her upcoming stories, Aya did not miss the fact that every single piece of press that mentioned one Hideaki Asaba was also cut out from the periodicals that lay scattered about their office. But somehow none of these articles ever ended up in her research files.

 

“So will you come with me and protect me from the wayward affections of Asapin?”

 

“He… probably has a girlfriend - you'd be safe anyway.”

 

“Well, then, you can keep me company so I won't be lonely.”

 

And that left her with no real way to refuse.

 

X

 

Twelve martinis. The man had drunk 12 martinis at the party. He'd eaten a few onigiri when they were served. And there were, of course, the obligatory olives in the martinis. But even so, that was not nearly enough to counteract the amount of alcohol in 12 martinis.

 

Twelve martinis. And those were just the ones she counted. It was possible that he'd had more than that. Not likely - she'd kept him within line of sight all night - but it was possible.

 

So how was it possible that he wasn't slurring his words or falling down?

 

He'd joked with everyone, acted just like the same old Asaba, but hadn't hit on any of the women - not really. A token advance that was obviously going to result in a playful slap of rejection was aimed toward each of the women who were there with their significant others. They'd been timed out so that no one should have noticed how similar the attempts played out.

 

But she'd seen each of them. The first time he played it out on Yukino, it was cute - Asaba being Asaba. Then she saw him use the same strategy on Tsubaki, but in front of Tonami - as if just to piss him off. It worked, but Tsubaki laughed it off, kissed her man, and it ended with no hurt feelings.

 

Then, he used the same approach on Maho, who slapped him hard. Then Shibahime, who didn't take him seriously. She saw him playing with the idea of trying it on Rika, but then changing his mind. That was when he grabbed and quickly downed his 11th Martini. The 12th came very shortly after.

 

It confirmed her fears.

 

As Aya'd noticed, she'd been… watching him… for years. Ever since she'd met him, he was a mystery: full of joy and laughter and mischief and, when he thought no one was looking, such loneliness. At first, she just wanted to know the answer. All the stories she read laid out the answers - the why behind characters. She wanted to know his.

 

Somewhere along the way, though, he became very important to her. More than just a mystery. Probably it was because she began to empathize with his need, his loneliness. She was alone, too. And he was always so happy when he was playing with her. She wanted him to be that happy in reality, not just a charade.

 

It was kind of funny how her sister's friends ALL had masks on. Masks that most of them had to take off to find happiness. And now, she wanted to help him take off his.

 

The party broke up, and he bid everyone adieu, bowing to each of them, tipping his non-existent hat, and then traipsing out into the night.

 

“Go.”

 

That single word broke through her worry-induced haze and she started, jumping and turning around to see her boss gazing at her with a wistful, reflective smile.

 

“You've been staring after him all night anyway, so go. Follow him. You know you want to, and… How long have you been waiting for a chance like this anyway?” A hand reached out to ruffle Kano's hair, as she continued, “You'll either find love or get him out of your system. Either one has got to be better than the longing, the watching for stories of him in the paper and wondering. So go. Go and then come back and tell me what I missed, okay?”

 

Aya's speech had cut through to the heart of the matter. She hadn't realized she was that obvious, but then again, Aya usually did notice things others didn't. She just knew how to keep her own counsel. Each word spoken caused Kano's heartbeat to pound, faster and faster, until finally, she just hugged her friend and boss and flew out the door into the beckoning night.

 

If he had managed to catch a cab, she wouldn't have a chance. Still, she didn't allow herself to think about things like this. She wasn't thinking at all. After all these years, she was finally acting instead of thinking. And so she ran. And ran.

 

And ran.

 

X

 

After walking several blocks, he needed a break. The bus stop seemed to be a perfect place to rest and he dropped into it disconsolately.

 

Holding his head in his hands, he tried to figure out a reason why he shouldn't just step in front of the next bus, a reason to exist for another day. The sound of footsteps slapping against the pavement - someone was running - had made him look up. The footfalls were too light to be a guy and at this time of night a girl shouldn't be out alone. If someone was chasing a woman… Looking up, he saw… was that…?

 

“Kano?”

 

His voice calling her name pulled on her like an emergency brake. She skidded to a stop. “Hi-gasp-dea-wheeze-ki!” she panted, hands on her knees, bent over to catch her breath.

 

He stood from the bus stop bench and crossed to her. “Kano, what's wrong? Why were you running? And what the hell are you doing out alone at this time of night?”

 

“I…” She paused and took a few deep slow breaths while she waited for her heart rate to steady itself. His hand rested on her shoulder as a support. “I was trying to catch up with you.”

 

“Me?” The look he gave her was glazed, and obviously confused. “Why would you be trying to catch up with me?”

 

Bemusedly shaking her head, she clasped one of his hands within her own. Why, indeed. “Do you have coffee in your apartment?”

 

The way he cocked his head at her question reminded her so strongly of Peropero that she almost laughed. “No then? Follow me.”

 

In a manner that proved once and for all that she was definitely Yukino's sister, she turned and began a brisk pace down the street, firmly clasping Hideaki's hand in her own.

 

At first, there wasn't really a reason why he followed behind her so docilely. Just… what else was there to do? It wasn't as if his previous thoughts were what could be called productive. And he had always been a mellow guy who only got more easygoing when drunk. So he followed.

 

Her hair had grown longer over the years. It fell to just below her shoulder blades, bouncing softly as she continued on her way. The movement hypnotized like the swaying of a cobra. His eyes followed the swishing motion. Flounce. Whisper. Like a quiet breath, a sigh. The movement of the waves worked down, down, and then there was another sight to capture him - equally mesmerizing and similar in the swish and sway.

 

Ah, the beauty of a woman. If only he could touch that beauty. And have it touch him. Truly touch him. Not for a brief moment, but irrevocably. Every painting was an attempt to capture the beauty and make it part of him, but somehow it made it everyone else's. Never his own.

 

Her hips suddenly stopped their movement, and he wrenched his eyes up with a jerk to see that she'd stopped at an apartment door. The jingle of keys for a few seconds and then she held the door open with one hand as she pulled him inside with the other. Once she was in, she shut the door and locked it, never letting go of the fingers in her own.

 

Smiling softly at him, she gave another tug, pulling him down the hall.

 

So many times in his life, he'd walked similar halls, followed girls as they led him. He knew now where she was leading. But what he absolutely did not want was this. This was Kano. Not some beautiful, nameless Mary.

 

Women were beautiful, so beautiful. But none of them knew the real him. None of them wanted to. They just wanted a moment with him, a moment of pleasure. None of them knew him.

 

This was Kano.

 

Sweet, funny, smart, Kano.

 

He blinked and realized that her hands were guiding his pants down over his hips, and that his shirt was already off. Trying to bat her hands away was unsuccessful. Damned alcohol. She'd pushed him onto the bed, and was sliding his pants off, over his feet.

 

He shook his head, trying to clear it. His eyes were wide as he saw her slip out of her dress. Quickly, he turned his head. The vision she presented was burned into his retinas. Softness and curves, shadow and light.

 

This couldn't happen. Because tomorrow would hurt too much if it did.

 

“Kano, I…”

 

“Shhhh…” Her voice by the door, and the light went out. He closed his eyes in a last, futile attempt at denial. Weight shifting the bed caused him to flinch, and then soft fingers were stroking his arm, strong hands pulling him back into her embrace.

 

Never releasing her embrace, she leaned to the side, guiding him with her to horizontal position. “Shhh, Hideaki. Everything will be okay.” One arm wrapped around his head, fingers stroking through his hair as she lowered him to her breast. “You'll feel better in the morning. I promise.” Cradling him to her like a mother might comfort her child, she held him close. “Now sleep.”

 

Her words managed to penetrate the fog in his brain. Sleep. She wasn't thinking… Of course not. He was still in his boxer briefs. And after noticing that, he could feel a thin layer of cotton jersey - like a tank top - against which his face was resting, separating him from the softness of her breasts.

 

“Everything will be okay, koi,” her voice whispered to him. “You just sleep, and I'll take care of you. I promise.”

 

A last vague thought passed through his mind, `Odd that her shirt feels wet,' before he passed into the world of dreams.

 

Her shirt wet with his tears, she held him close, struggling not to cry herself. “Oh, Hideaki. Rest now. Rest now.”

 

X

 

The morning sun snuck through the blinds and danced upon his eyelids. Opening them just a bit, he grimaced and shut them tight. Wait. The sun didn't shine into his room from that angle. His eyes opened squintingly, and he looked around. As he had guessed, this was not his place.

 

Where was he?

 

Rolling over, he looked at the nightstand. Phone, lamp, clock. No clues there. He slipped out of the bed and began looking around. His clothes were neatly folded on top of the bureau. No other clues there, though, just a few shoujo manga.

 

Definitely a girl's room, then.

 

He crossed over to the desk. There was a stack of paper on it. A red pen lying on top had been used to mark up some of the typing on it. A teacher's room? That didn't seem right. Something was nagging at his memory, but it wasn't coming through.

 

A scrap book on the far side of the desk caught his eye. He flipped it open to a random page.

 

It was a review of an art show he'd been in. There was a picture of him smiling next to a portrait he'd painted of a famous actress. It was a good picture of him, he looked very charming. Except if you looked long enough, his eyes appeared haunted.

 

So wherever he was, the woman he'd been with last night was a fan. He just hoped he could remember her name before she came back.

 

Each page of the scrapbook was filled with press clippings about his work. Even the bad reviews were there. Anything that mentioned him. He continued flipping through, going backward toward earlier clippings. Eventually, he made his way to the front of the book. There, in the center of the page was a picture of him, with his arms around Tsukino and Kano Miyazawa.

 

Memories of the previous night came crashing back like an anvil on the head. Shining waves of silk hovering over swaying curves that captivated. But these were somehow attached to Yukino's little sister. Who had held him as he'd cried himself to sleep.

 

Oh, dear god. He'd cried himself to sleep - in front of her. But she'd seemed to *know* that he needed to cry. Her voice, calling to him, “Everything will be okay. I'll take care of you. Rest,” echoed in his mind. “You'll feel better in the morning,” she'd said.

 

And while there was a part of him that was ashamed for breaking down, for letting anyone see him - see the real him, all his fears and pain - the truth was, he really did feel better. Not great or anything. But still…

 

He sat down on the stool that served as a desk chair. The scrapbook lay in front of him, and his fingers traced over the photograph. He was smiling at the photographer, and he truly looked happy. He remembered that day. The girls were planting seeds in Arima's garden for a school project. Tsukino had a pleased yet distant look, as if she were thinking of something else. And Kano was looking at him, not the camera. She was smiling, but almost like she was a touch puzzled.

 

The sound of footsteps in the hall alerted him to her returning presence. Quickly, he closed the scrapbook and leaned back against the desk to face her. Before she rounded the corner of the door frame, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted into the room, making his mouth water.

 

She was wearing a terrycloth robe that covered everything more thoroughly than if she'd been fully dressed. He couldn't tell if she'd taken a shower and dried her hair, or if she was just one of those people who did not wake up with bed-head.

 

“Oh. You're awake,” she said as she saw him sitting at her desk. She smiled at him, but he noticed it didn't quite reach her eyes. “I made us some breakfast.”

 

He moved out of the way so that she could set the tray down. There was a large platter of pancakes, some maple syrup, two glasses of orange juice, two cups of coffee, a carafe, a mini pitcher of cream, and a dish of sugar cubes. Looking, he noticed one of the coffees was black, and the other was half coffee, half cream.

 

She picked up the black one and took a sip. “Half cream, four sugars, right?” she said, gesturing to the other cup. He nodded and reached for it as she sat on the edge of the bed, facing him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

She shrugged. “No problem. I always make more coffee than I can drink anyway…”

 

He shook his head, took a sip, and then said, “No. That's not what I meant.” His cheeks pinked just a touch as he said, “Last night…”

 

“Oh.”

 

They sat nursing their coffee, silence hanging in the room like the heavy smoke that remains in the kitchen after you've burnt your dinner in the oven beyond salvaging, neither of them daring to look at the other.

 

“Why?”

 

It was meant to encompass so much. Why are you doing this? Why did you chase me down last night? Why do you have a scrapbook about me? Why do you even care? Why?

 

He'd looked up as he asked it, so he saw her jump at the sudden intrusion of his voice in the silence. Even though he wanted to turn from her in embarrassment, he continued to watch. She flushed at her own reaction, not looking at him. He saw her struggle for which words to use. Her tiny rosebud lips opened and then closed, willing the words to form between them. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision.

 

“Why did you drink so much last night?” Her eyes flashed over to him, watching for a reaction. There was none. He continued looking into her.

 

“Twelve martinis is a lot, even for an alcoholic, which you are not. So why?”

 

He deflected, “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

 

She smirked, “Do you have a problem with that?”

 

“How do you know I'm NOT an alcoholic?”

 

Rolling eyes and a sigh. “Because I know you, Hideaki.”

 

Defensiveness sprang to the fore. He slammed the coffee cup down on the desk. “You KNOW me? You KNOW me. Right. YOU. KNOW me. A few newspaper articles clipped and stored in a scrapbook means you KNOW me.”

 

She gasped, then recovered. Setting her own down on the nightstand, her lips pressed together tightly before and after she responded, “Yes, Hideaki, I do know you.” And then she waited. She could be incredibly patient. She'd proven that, if nothing else, over the years.

 

“That's another thing. Why are you calling me Hideaki? Since when have I been Hideaki, not Asaba or Asapin or Aniki?” While he was ranting she had stood and crossed to him. One hand on his shoulder stopped him cold.

 

And then there was a hand on his face, cupping his cheek. “That's really the same question as your first, isn't it? It's all the why. You want to know why I'm doing what I'm doing. But you're not asking the same question of yourself. The answer to your question is in the answer to mine. So tell me why you had so much to drink last night.”

 

He pulled away from her hand and mumbled, “You're so smart, why don't you tell me.”

 

She chuckled and whispered softly, “Okay. I will.”

 

The hand that had warmed his cheek stroked down his shoulder. Then she turned, sat on the bed, grabbed a pillow, drew up her legs and grasped them, effectively turning herself into a little ball. Her voice was quiet and laced with conviction, as if she didn't want to be saying the words, as if they held a truth that should not be spoken.

 

“You feel alone. You spend your time alone. You push away those you care about. You are afraid to let anyone really care about you, and you're afraid no one ever will.

 

“I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror, but it's not something you like. You want someone to love you, but don't believe it can happen.

 

“Your friends tell you of your great qualities, but you see more of yourself than they do. You see your own ugliness, your own worthlessness. And you have to make sure no one else knows, no one finds out. But that means you'll always be by yourself.

 

“You deserve more. The ugliness you see is only a part of you, and the rest is so much more… You're so much more.”

 

He watched her face as she spoke. Her eyes were closed, crunched in pain. `Is she talking about me? Or herself?' And then, he saw it. She did know him. She knew his ache because she felt it.

 

How long had she felt this? When had she first seen through him, realized, noticed his pain and felt it reverberating to her own? And why had he never seen her pain?

 

He felt unworthy of the smile she bestowed upon him as she continued, “But I was right, wasn't I? You feel better this morning, right?”

 

“What…” he had a hard time with words - at least with words that were supposed to be true, not those designed to flatter and entice. “What do you see when you look at me, Kano?”

 

She turned from him, fear making her face tighten unnaturally. “What do you see when you look at me?” she muttered challengingly.

 

He laughed at her reaction. “Boy, aren't we a pair?” He stood, sat down next to her on the bed.

 

“So,” he asked, grabbing her hand, “Why don't you know how beautiful, smart, and wonderful you are? Why are you wasting time on a loser like me?”

 

Angrily, she retracted her fingers from his grasp. “You are NOT a loser! Damn it, Hideaki! I won't let anyone talk that way about you. Not even you!”

 

“But I am a loser. A loser who drinks too much and cries himself to sleep in the arms of a beautiful woman.” His hand had begun playing with her hair.

 

She was about to smack his hand away. He did this kind of thing all the time. Whenever he had the opportunity to become close to someone, he turned it into a game, a playful one night stand. “Don't…” she began as she looked up.

 

He was smiling at her wistfully, not lustfully. It was too much, and she began to cry.

 

He didn't see her as a woman - just as Yukino's sister. It was as she had feared. Somehow along the way, she'd thought that because they were the same, they had the same fears driving them, that she'd be able to help him, be able to connect with him. That maybe one day he'd find out and he'd love her like she loved him.

 

So last night, she took her chance. And it netted out to nothing. Of course, nothing might be too strong of a word. She gave him something last night that he'd needed. That wasn't nothing.

 

But her hopes were now gone. And she could not stop the tears from flowing.

 

When the tears began to fall, he gathered her to him, held her the same way she'd held him the night before. He whispered quietly into her hair - dear god her hair was soft - everything that occurred to him to whisper. “Shhh. Kano, it's okay. Go ahead and cry. I'll hold you like you held me. Thank you, Kano.”

 

All the years of hopeful watching were gone. She couldn't stop crying. His arms were around her and she couldn't stop crying.

 

“Kano. I'll hold you. It's alright. I don't know why you see anything worth caring about in me…”

 

She snuffled through her tears. It was all gone. No more hope. “I'm sorry, Hideaki. I'm sorry I'm not…”

 

“You have nothing to be sorry about, little one.”

 

She bawled anew at his attempt at endearment. She was finally in his arms, but all he saw was a little girl. A precocious little girl who was smart, but not smart enough to get what she wanted. It was time to give up. She relaxed in his arms, defeated.

 

He continued to hold her and rock her as her breathing became more regular. His hand was stroking her back. It curved nicely, just where it should. And the way her body molded against his own felt… right.

 

Not that he was thinking of sex. Just how nice it was to hold her. And be held by her. It was maybe one of the nicest things he'd ever experienced.

 

Without realizing it, he said it aloud. “This feels nice.”

 

She tensed in his arms for a second. He liked feeling helpful. That was all. Well she couldn't blame him. She relaxed again in defeat.

 

He continued, unthinkingly, “Real. Nice and real. I could get used to this.”

 

Pulling back slightly, she asked, “You could get used to what?”

 

“Holding you.”

 

As hard as she could, she searched for the lie, the exaggeration. But it wasn't there.

 

Her lips crashed into his fiercely, and he gasped. Her hands threaded into his hair, pulling his face into her own, her tongue plundered his mouth.

 

It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He felt like he was floating in mid-air.

 

She pulled back and gasped for breath and said, “I love you, Hideaki Asaba,” and then her lips had crashed onto his own again, desperately.

 

He'd heard those words before. Many, many times. But he could always hear the lie in them. They were nice words, expected words, the words you said when you shared a night with someone.

 

But it wasn't night. It was morning. The sun was still beating through the blinds. And there was no lie in her words. She had thought about this for a long time. She had considered all her options, and what she had determined after years of deliberation was that she loved him.

 

She knew him, all of him. She knew his weaknesses, and she loved him anyway. It was the best aphrodisiac he'd ever had.

 

Hands were moving over her, pulling her close, grasping her like a lifeline. He wanted to pull off her robe and kiss her beautiful skin all over. Give her joy. That was what women were for, to be loved and given pleasure. And he was skilled at it.

 

In all his years, he'd never have considered that cute little Kano could fall in love with him. In love with him. Yukino's little sister.

 

He pulled back. This was Yukino's little sister. He couldn't use her like the other Marys. Yukino would literally kill him.

 

And even if she hadn't been Yukino's sister, this was Kano. Smart, beautiful, sassy Kano. Every time he started up with a woman, it lasted as little as a day, or as much as a couple months. But then it ended. It always ended.

 

And then he'd never be able to hold her again.

 

“Kano, I…” he started, but she cut him off, holding her first two fingers to his lips to shush him.

 

“I know you're not in love with me, Hideaki. But I want to give you something - something no one's given you before. I want to give you my love, all of it. And even if you never feel that way about me, you'll at least know that I loved you.

 

“Let me give you that. Because then I'll know that I've at least done one thing in my life that was truly worth doing. Something of my own that wasn't just a glom-on to something someone else has done.”

 

And then she pushed him backward onto the bed, and crawled to the side to pull his boxers off. Her robe fell off her shoulders and to the floor.

 

Naked in front of him, she looked fragile and delicate. And innocent.

 

But her mouth descending on his manhood was anything but that. Her fingers wrapped around his shaft, the moisture from her mouth providing the lubricant. She squeezed with successive fingers, like milking a cow, as she went up and down, and the sensations were unreal. Even the self-proclaimed hedonists he'd slept with had never felt like this.

 

He looked down to see her eyes closed in pleasure as she stroked and teased his cock, and he couldn't help but moan. He knew he should have stopped her, but that was an impossibility now.

 

A slurping pop sound from her mouth releasing him, and she smiled as she crawled over top of him. Kneeling above him, she reached between her legs and rubbed at her nub. Then reached to guide him into her core.

 

This wasn't how things went. He always teased the woman he was with, bringing her to orgasm after mindblowing orgasm before he even entered her. It was his duty, he felt, to bring so much pleasure that she was begging for him to complete her.

 

But in these situations, no one was ever truly completed.

 

She slid down on his hardened length til he felt her resistance. “Kano, you…” And then she thrust herself down, impaling herself on his shaft, smiling beatifically as she cried out in pain.

 

She bent to kiss his chest as she rode him. Her muscles were so tight, she was like a custom glove, and he moaned her name over and over again.

 

Slow sure strokes allowed him to feel every inch of his cock as she embraced then released him, again and again. God, Kano!

 

He hadn't realized he'd said that aloud. But she started speeding up. And then, he saw her face relax into glory as she fell down the cliff of orgasm. Her movements never stopped, and he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. The sun through the blinds lit her skin as if she was glowing. She sped up again as she neared another cliff. His hands on her hips helped her keep pace.

 

This time, they fell together, screaming each other's names.

 

She fell forward onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

 

“Kano, how did you know how to do all that?” The unspoken `when you were a virgin,' was louder than it would have been if he'd actually said it.

 

Giggling, but not moving from his embrace, she said, “Well, I do read a lot of shoujo, you know. And Aya's stories can be pretty graphic.”

 

He smiled as he breathed in the scent of her. Strawberry shampoo, highlighted with the smells of coffee and maple syrup that floated in the room. His arms reflexively tightened around her.

 

She really did feel so right there, in his arms. They fell asleep in that embrace. Something he'd never done with anyone before.

 

 

FIN