This chapter chronologically takes place way after Faith, but before Face.

This chapter also marks the first time I've ever used "I love you" entirely unironically in a story. Which, now that I think about it, is kind of mind-boggling...

The original plan with this scene was meant to be a two-part thing. I wrestled with that first part. Oh, how I wrestled with it. In fact, I wrestled with it so long and so hard that I deleted the damn thing in a fit of frustration. I have the backup copy. I just don't feel like recovering it. The problem is that part of it was inspired by certain comments from a classmate of mine about the sinfulness of homosexuality (please excuse me while I sigh my little heart out). I'm going to let you guys in on a little secret - I don't usually write homophobic characters because I flat-out can't understand them. Even when I read nonfiction, I tend to find homophobic people unbelievable, despite the fact that the words coming out of their mouths come straight from real life. For the moment, I've tabled the original plan so that I can at least post something for you guys.

FIRM

Izumi knew that she didn't look much like her mother. She had inherited the thin, blonde hair but nothing else. Not the thick eyelashes, not the full lips, not the arched nose - and definitely not the personality. Orimoto Mia was a force of nature in heels. She clinked around in black pumps and stared everybody down. She was strangely intimidating for such a tiny woman - even Izumi was a good five centimeters taller, and Izumi was considered very short indeed in her native Italy. (Compared to her mother, Izumi was also a good five centimeters slimmer around the bust, but that was another issue altogether.)

The point was...they didn't look like they were related at all, much less mother-and-daughter. Only in Japan did people assume some degree of blood relation, but that was because wide-eyed blonde women were such a rarity. In fact, Izumi often wondered whether somebody had made a filing mistake at the hospital. Maybe that was why she had little to nothing in common with her mother.

There was something to be said, of course, for a mother who cared enough about her daughter to fly from Italy to Japan just to celebrate the week of both of their birthdays. There was, however, something much less positive to be said for a mother who would try to set her daughter up with someone else after calling her daughter's boyfriend dirty for being...well, for being flexible, as Kouji put it. Izumi didn't even know how to start apologizing to Kouji for that one. He hadn't exactly given her a chance to, either.

But mothers were mothers, and more importantly, Orimoto Mia was Orimoto Mia. There was no dissuading her from coming. Izumi didn't even try. She had just plunged in, knowing that nothing good would come out of her mother's day trip to her university...but she had expected - well. She didn't know what she had expected, actually, but it wasn't happening. For one, Kouji hadn't approached her mother even once to ask why she was interrupting practice. For another...no, she didn't need to list anything else that had gone wrong. Kouji's apathy had been enough. It was nothing short of humiliating to see him maintaining a poker face after her mother tossed her head and asked Izumi in a fierce whisper, "Why haven't they thrown him out yet? They should really warn the other boys, at least..."

But the problem wasn't what Orimoto Mia said. It was how she said it, strict and disapproving and entirely in Japanese.

There were apologies on the tip of Izumi's tongue as Kouji looked up at them, but he brushed past her before she could air any of them. He was walking over to drop his gear on a bench. Izumi just kept looking until he finally looked back. There was a wry twist to his lips that made his face seem completely unlike the Kouji that she knew. She hated it.

But then she looked back at her mother, and her mother's satisfied grin, and she felt a thousand times worse. The feeling of inexplicable dread persisted even though her mother wasn't even smiling at her, she was smiling at the crowd of Izumi's teammates. "Look at all you boys!" the older woman cried, immediately getting the nearest twenty or so heads to swivel. A few shinai even clattered to the floor, startled out of their owners' grips.

Izumi could see her teammates switch between looking at her and looking at her mother, almost in unison. It would have been funnier if it hadn't been so creepy, and it would have been creepier if it hadn't been so embarrassing.

"Oh - what a handsome group," her mother crooned obliviously, whipping her head back and forth. "I'm so very, very, very pleased to meet you all."

"This is my mother," Izumi said. It was obviously unnecessary but still the polite thing to do. A few of the boys cracked a smile, or a grin, or a laugh, but not enough to break the awkward pause in the conversation. A few of them even glanced at Kouji, as if asking for permission to stop sparring.

Kouji made a vague gesture with his hand. Izumi didn't know what it was for, but apparently everyone else did, because they quickly fell into a neat set of rows and bowed, echoing, "Pleased to meet you!"

Her mother seemed puzzled at the volume they were speaking at. Izumi had to bite her lip, hard, not to run over and whisper explanations in her ear. Japanese etiquette had always been lost on her mother, simply because she didn't care. Izumi cleared her throat and smiled, trying to put the boys at ease. "It's nearly my mother's birthday, she's here to celebrate - "

"And it's nearly my daughter's, too," her mother said, with a touch of reproach, "so we're celebrating together, hm?"

"Right. Right, we are." Izumi kept smiling.

"And I," her mother dragged her close by wrapping her arm around Izumi's shoulders, "am here to make my daughter dress properly for it! She is always so bland." She tugged on Izumi's outfit. "Girls her age ought to be pretty. What a waste."

Izumi tried not to wince as several jaws dropped in the crowd, and just as many faces turned blankly polite. She had no idea how to explain that her mother's Japanese, perfectly accented though it was, didn't differentiate between being pretty and dressing pretty. In fact, she herself wondered whether her mother simply didn't see a difference between the two.

At least this time her mother seemed to realize that something was lost in translation. She held her chin high and said slowly but slyly, "Have any of you even seen her in a dress?"

Junpei piped up from the back, "Never!" with a sweet, genuine smile on his face. The rest of them either glanced at him and grinned, or they shook their heads emphatically.

Orimoto Mia practically beamed in response. Then she pulled something out of her bag and - oh.

Izumi didn't know why she never protested against all the pictures that her mother snapped during her adolescence - or why she never wondered where all of them went. But now here they were, tucked into an old photo album that her mother was brandishing like a weapon. "Well, I have proof here that she looks absolutely lovely in them, if anyone wants to see?"

Izumi promptly slammed a hand to her forehead.

The crowd began to come to life, all of them talking at once. Some of the newer boys, wide-eyed and just a bit too interested, pushed forward to glance at the book. Izumi's mother took a few plastic-lined sheets out of the book and passed them around. The rest were locked securely in the rings, but she flipped through the pages obligingly for the front row. While her mother was preoccupied, Izumi snuck to the side of the crowd and glanced at the pictures being passed, sighing heavily at each one.

Fourteen-year-old Izumi in sundresses and ruffles.

Fifteen-year-old Izumi in heels and skirts.

Sixteen-year-old Izumi in thick, glittering layers of eyeshadow and pink lipstick.

Seventeen-year-old Izumi in the arms of a dark-eyed brunette boy.

And meanwhile nineteen-year-old Izumi was looking around at the half-curious-half-entertained faces of her kendo teammates as her mother waxed eloquent about how pretty she could be, if only she tried -

- and nineteen-year-old Izumi felt sick.

She didn't remember most of these pictures, and for the most part she didn't outright hate how she looked in any of them. But she did remember a great many other things about that time of her life, especially the constant feeling of not being enough. Not girly enough, not pretty enough, not social enough, not popular enough...well, at least she hadn't suffered from not being strong enough, but that was beside the point.

It felt like she was picking at old scabs, listening to her teammates whisper and chatter and boggle their eyes. It took her entirely too long to realize that most of the whispers had worried undertones, and the boys kept shooting speculative glances at the large gap between where she and Kouji were standing.

"She used to look so much more like a girl," her mother was saying now.

Junpei said something in a very low voice, pointing at one of the pictures.

Her mother laughed. "Yes, well, she has to settle down sometime, doesn't she? No point in pretending to be a boy forever." She turned and winked at Izumi.

Izumi rubbed her elbows and looked down as if there was something particularly fascinating about the sidewalk - which there wasn't.

She only looked up when she felt the steady thud of Kouji's - it had to be Kouji's - footsteps behind her, stopping briefly at her side before walking onwards.

"May I speak to you, Orimoto-san?" he asked politely, his voice cutting through the air like a whistle.

The talking immediately stopped. Her mother was clearly taken aback, staring as the boys in front of her let go of the photobook and scooted back to join their teammates. "Why - oh, yes, of course." She frowned at Kouji, looking decidedly displeased. "What for?"

He frowned tightly. "Just a quick talk."

Mia's eyes narrowed. After pessing the photos into the hands of a nearby boy and whispering, "Go on, have a look if you like!" she walked over to Kouji with her hands on her hips. "Come along, Izumi," she said sharply.

"I - " Izumi started, dusting off her uniform self-consciously.

Kouji cut her off before she could get any further. "No, Izumi, you have to tell them to get back to practice. I don't want any unsupervised sparring." His tone was neatly professional. She couldn't read it at all, and that was what alarmed her the most.

Her mother looked even more displeased. "...very well."

Kouji inclined his head politely. "Thank you. Come this way, Orimoto-san." He started walking in the direction of the locker rooms, spine held stiffly. The door closed behind Orimoto Mia with a resounding slam.

It took all Izumi's willpower not to eavesdrop, but she managed to resist somehow. She held up her head, smiled at her teammates, and said in a voice that was much more cheerful than she felt, "Last person to find a sparring partner has to fight me!"

Immediately, the boys snapped to attention. It was almost, almost like normal again, but she could practically feel the relief dripping from them. "Yes, Vice-Captain!" they chorused, scrambling to put the photos back into the album in some kind of order and running back to the practice area. One of the freshman boys shyly walked up to her, head bowed, and handed her the album before scurrying off again.

Then she was barking orders, correcting stances, snapping at people who were doing silly, foolish, reckless things...

The club had even numbers today, apparently - or otherwise the odd one out was hiding from her. Idly, Izumi sat down on a bench and watched, feeling an immeasurable calm settle over her. This, at least, was part of the usual routine. She could handle this.

Then she glanced back to the clubhouse and all the worry came marching back.

...maybe she could listen just for a bit? They were probably talking about her, or at least something that was closely related to her. She had a right to know, either way.

As it turned out, she didn't even get a chance, because the door suddenly jumped open far before she was in listening range. Izumi swallowed hard, watching as Kouji marched right up to her. The look on his face hadn't changed in the slightest.

"Izumi," he said, evenly. "Go talk to your mother."

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Go talk to your mother," he repeated, sharper.

She glared at him. "If it's about me - "

He snorted. "Of course it's about you. But she's your mother, and I'm not your anything, so go talk to her already."

Izumi opened and shut her mouth, feeling the words stinging against her skin. "Okay," she said quietly. She walked past him quickly, half-worried for her mother, half-worried for herself. Kouji never minced words when he was like this - he seemed to like having the words do the mincing. Sometimes...he was far too good at hurting people.

She never thought she'd see the day when she preferred possibly fighting with her mother over fighting with Kouji. Except the problem wasn't preferring one over the other - it was having to choose between the devil she knew, and the devil she knew that she couldn't win against.

She gulped. Turned the knob. Opened the door.

And there was her mother, sitting with her arms crossed, looking furious. Her perfect little hairstyle had become a soft, fuzzy sphere from the strands of hair that had been shaken loose. Izumi wondered, stunned, just how Kouji had managed to piss her mother off so much in such a short time. And then she couldn't decide whether she even wanted to know.

"Zoe," her mother hissed, "that boy is so rude - what a load of - how could he - "

"What did he say?" she whispered, feeling her heart thudding in her chest.

"He said I was practically auctioning you off!" the older woman sniffed, looking appalled. "The nerve!"

Izumi cringed, not sure how to soothe her mother when she privately agreed with Kouji's assessment.

Her mother stared at her. "Of all the deplorable - Izumi, I have your best interests in mind, and you know it."

"It's not about me," Izumi said, wringing her hands. "It's about - in Japan, you don't do things like that. You just - you don't."

"In Japan, do they not take pride in their children? In Japan, do mothers not want their daughters to be beautiful? In Japan - "

"In Japan," Izumi countered, "they try to be private about these things! You can't just march up to strangers and - "

"Well, you and I are not Japanese," her mother snapped. "They can deal with it."

Izumi glared at her. "Easy for you to say, mother. You don't have to be around them every day. You don't live here. You don't understand any of them." She swallowed. "And you - you don't want to. But I want you to. And you don't know how much it bothers me that people don't think I belong."

"Izumi," she said sharply, "if they really start bothering you, you could always quit."

And just like that, her restraint snapped. "Mother!" she practically hissed.

"You know it's true. And I don't think being around that boy is the best influence on - "

"Mother, this has nothing to do with him! I love it here! This," Izumi gestured around the room with her arm forcefully, "is what I look forward to every day!"

"But in the future, you need to find a nice man and have a family, and doing things like this," she swept her gaze over Izumi's uniform critically, "won't help at all."

"Mother, you aren't helping either!"

"Don't scream at me, Zoe - "

"Do you know - " Izumi paused for breath, "do you know how long it took for them to take me seriously? Little itty bitty thing like me? Months. Nearly a year. I'm Vice-captain. You can't just show up and talk about me like you're trying to marry me off to one of them - "

"Well," her mother replied sharply, "maybe I am."

Izumi closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying not to scream again. Then she finally whispered, "Then I think you should go back to your home, and I'll stay here in mine, because this is about respect, you know, and I try so hard not to fight with you, but if you won't even listen to what I have to say, why do I even try?"

"Zoe," her mother said, eyes wide, "Zoe, I'm so - I didn't mean anything like that." She reached over and hugged her tightly. "But honestly, I wanted to get that boy away from you - "

She was startled into a hard-sounding laugh. "Mom, we already broke up!"

A strange look fixed itself onto her mother's face. "You didn't tell me that."

Izumi bit her lip, forcing back the faint, bitter urge to tell her mother that she couldn't have, considering the reason that they had broken up. It wouldn't have been fair. Her mother didn't know what she had done wrong. Or maybe she did know. That would be even worse.

Something about Izumi's expression must have been a little more honest than she intended, because her mother made a soft distressed sound. "You liked him very much, didn't you?"

"It's not your fault," she mumbled, except it was, and she hated feeling the urge to say so.

"No, of course not," her mother said, touching Izumi's forehead gently. "I didn't mean to hurt you, sweetheart. But a boy like that will only break your heart. You'll always be wondering who else he's got on his mind."

Izumi stared. "But I don't."

Her mother blinked. "Of course you do," she said soothingly. "Jealousy is normal, Izumi, it's not something to be shunned. You don't have to fake yourself into having peace of mind. You know that everyone around him has something that he likes. You can't trust him with boys or girls. Can you imagine living like that for the rest of your life? It would be such a terrible future for you, you don't want that. You don't want someone like him. These... these kinds of people, if you don't watch them - "

Izumi felt a headache pound at her temples. "No, I mean I really, really don't worry about him thinking about other people. It's not...he's not like that."

Her mother looked at her wryly. "I know he looks harmless enough now, sweetheart, but when you're my age, you'll see exactly what I mean. Trust me."

And the awful thing was she could see her mother's point, sort of, but she knew Kouji, and her mother...her mother didn't, really. "Mother," she whispered, "I'm never going back to live in Italy. I'm not Italian, either."

Her mother frowned. "Well, that's fine, but - "

"And I love kendo. And I love Japan. And I - Kouji's really - " she swallowed.

This time, her mother frowned. "Izumi, I really don't think he's a good - "

"I know you don't!" she burst out, flushing. "I know you don't. But you - you didn't even give him a chance. You sat him down and talked about how awful he was for an hour and you didn't even let him say a word."

A wry smile curved onto her mother's full mouth. "You're an optimistic girl, dearest. But sometimes - "

"Sometimes, you're wrong," Izumi said, glaring at her.

Her mouth thinned. "...what was that about respect, Izumi? I certainly can't give you any respect if you won't do the same for me."

"Well, you never think that I respect you enough anyways!" she snapped, feeling her voice echo around her. It felt...strangely powerful. "And you always treat me like I don't know anything, but when you get here - when you get here, you don't know how awful you are - "

The door suddenly jerked open behind them, and Izumi whirled around so fast that her mother had to catch hold of the table to stay upright. A soft, familiar male voice filtered into the room, followed by its owner's face. Izumi quickly realized that turning around had been reflexive but entirely unnecessary. She didn't need to see Kouji to recognize him. She barely even needed his voice. The pattern of his footfalls was more than enough.

She was suddenly struck by the realization that she couldn't have recognized anyone else by their gait.

"Orimoto-san," Kouji's mouth moved awkwardly, as if speaking were a subcategory of fidgeting. "I apologize, I have to borrow Izumi for a moment - Izumi, Rin apparently is suffering..." he cleared his throat, "ladytimes of woe, whatever that means?"

She couldn't help it. She laughed, stunned by how good it felt to hear him act like himself again - with all the sharp edges that never quite bit into anything. For the longest time he had completely shut down where she was concerned. The relief was dizzying. She sat up, then stood. "Then I should go help her out. There are supplies in the first aid cabinet."

"Help yourself," he said dryly. "I have no authority on these matters, apparently."

She grinned at him. "Of course not." It was incredible how quickly she could change gears and put herself together again. She wondered what it was about her mother that made her feel like such a little girl. And she also wondered what it was about Kouji that made her feel like she knew what she was doing.

Kouji seemed a little relieved - of course he was, the silly boy - as he opened the door for her.

Her mother stared at them as they walked out together.

Izumi realized suddenly that her mother had never seen her acting like this, like a proper Vice-Captain helping her Captain. Maybe things would have been different if her mother knew how much they orbited around each other. But no matter, it was already too late. And Kouji's hand closing the door behind them, hiding them from her mother... it felt so final. She tried not to dwell on that. Dwelling would do no good.

She was so focused on getting to Rin that she almost didn't realize that he had stopped walking. Turning around, she squinted at him with a frown. "Kouji? Something wrong? Don't you have to go watch the - "

"Rin's watching them."

She took a moment to register the words. "Oh. Oh? So...she's not...? She doesn't need any help?"

He looked sheepish. "You were screaming, and we could hear it all the way down there. I thought maybe you needed a break."

"...Oh." She swallowed. "Really?"

"Should I have left you two alone after all?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, I - no. It was...I think I did need a moment there." She shook her head, just a little thrown off.

He relaxed. Just a little bit. He didn't look quite so much like a stranger that way.

And suddenly she wanted to thank him. For a lot of things, actually, but mostly for holding out against her mother as long as he did. And she wanted to apologize. And she wanted - she wanted to tug on his shoulders and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him, because he had gotten her to stop fighting with her mother without letting the charade drop for a second, and sometimes he was awful but sometimes he was really quite wonderful. And actually she wanted quite a bit more than kisses but she wasn't going to think about that while her mother was five meters away. Instead, she looked up at him and asked, "Where the hell did you get the phrase ladytimes of woe? And do you know what it means?"

"My stepmother," he said immediately. Then he flushed. "Erm. I was ten, and she was...euphemizing. I figured it out eventually. Unfortunately."

"There is no verb for euphemism," she said, grinning. "But that was - that was a pretty stellar moment. Ladytimes of woe. That goes on my list of things I never thought I'd hear you say." Then she glanced at the building behind them and asked quickly, "What did you say to my mother?" She didn't mean to sound so accusing, but she had never, ever seen her mother look so openly angry.

His eyes widened. "...I just told her what I thought about - about - I'm sorry. It wasn't any of my business." He exhaled sharply. "I don't - I should have let you deal with it. If you wanted to deal with it."

"I'm not mad," she assured him, twisting her hands nervously.

He was still looking at her warily.

She dropped her gaze to the ground. "I mean...I was just wondering how you managed to get under her skin so fast. I've been trying to get her to actually listen to me for years, and you can see how far I got."

"Not very?" he offered, finally relaxing his stance.

"Not very," she confirmed, with a short bobble of her head. "It's like she's completely convinced I'll see it her way eventually, so she doesn't have to argue with me at all. It's all so...one-sided. Infuriatingly one-sided."

"Oh." He almost smiled. "Well, I can't claim any credit either. It's Kouichi's secret parent-wrangling technique."

She tilted her head at him, madly curious.

"No, I'm not telling you anything else." He plucked at the strings of his hakama.

"Kooouji," she whined.

"If I told you, it wouldn't work anymore," he countered.

"What kind of secret technique is that?" she complained huffily.

"A secret one," he deadpanned.

Against her will, she laughed.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her gi. Without warning, he gently slid his hand around her, laying the palm against the small of her back. She stiffened at first, but then he made no motion to do anything else, and she started to relax into his arms. "Kouji," she whispered, feeling even more off-balance.

He looked wary. "Is this okay?"

"Yes," she murmured, inhaling his warm, comforting scent. "I - yes."

"Okay." He kissed the shell of her ear gently. "And this?"

"That's - " she swallowed. "That's okay too."

"...good," he murmured, and the strange blankness that had been haunting his face for weeks slowly dropped away. He looked exhausted.

"...I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He blinked. "For what?"

"For taking you to meet her without...without warning you. Or her, for that matter." She swallowed. "And I'm so sorry that she started - and those pictures - the one with the boy - "

"Izumi." He looked exasperated.

She glared at him. "Let me talk, I've been sitting on these apologies and they're not very comfortable seating, so - "

He snickered. "When do I get to apologize?"

She blinked at him. "For what?"

"...for ignoring you instead of having a nice, mature conversation about all this?"

Oh. She closed her eyes and remembered the way her chest kept hurting when he passed her by without any of his usual sniping or griping or - anything else. She shook her head. "That's...that's okay, really. I can't blame you for avoiding me after that awful dinner."

"Still." He gave her a thoughtful look. "And I'm also sorry because I may or may not have decided to start talking to you now because I heard a bit too much of your conversation with your mother." He leaned back, looking at her steadfastly.

There was an initial spike of anger, but it faded quickly into embarrassed acceptance. There were a lot of things she had said about him that she wouldn't have said if she had known he was listening. She looked back at him and wrinkled her nose. "...Um, then...then I feel like I should confess that I was also really tempted to eavesdrop on your conversation."

He stared at her and rolled his eyes very slowly. "Apparently, Izumi, we're not very good at this having-a-serious-fight business, because neither of us feels like the other one did something wrong."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. She didn't even want to try talking, because every time she did, it felt like a giggle was going to bubble its way to the surface first. They were silent, not quite touching each other properly, but there wasn't much urgency there yet. She wondered if Kouji liked make-up sex, or if he just liked make-up touching. She couldn't tell, not when he was simply running over her skin with the soft, undemanding press of his fingers. "We'll get better at it," she whispered.

"I hope not," he muttered, looking annoyed. "I like fighting with you, Izumi, but not like that."

She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged on the strands a little hopelessly. "Well, if this was practice, and practice makes perfect, I foresee more fighting up ahead. So..."

"Swell," he muttered. "By the way, I'm sorry for losing my temper with your mother. It's just - I didn't think she realized how terrible it looks from our perspective, showing off your daughter like that. And especially that picture with your...boyfriend. Excuse me, ex-boyfriend." He had a peculiar look in his eyes.

Izumi shook her head minutely. "I think she realizes how it looks. She just wanted you to feel terrible."

"Me?" he seemed confused. "Why me?"

She gave him a look.

Kouji twitched. "...Oh. Right."

"And - I think, in her world, it shows people that I'm...in demand?" she wrinkled her forehead. "I don't get her sometimes."

"...Just sometimes?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"Right. I understand. You're going to rebel nice and slow and steady, like the tortoise." He nodded sagely.

She grinned. "Unlike you? Are you supposed to be the hare?"

He actually looked pained for a moment, and she hoped that she hadn't stepped on another one of his rare but volatile nerves. She was getting too good at that. But then he gave her a wry smirk and she relaxed. "No," he said, "I suppose if anything - if anything, I'm a lemming."

She blinked at him. "...a lemming," she repeated. "I don't quite follow."

"Like the lemmings that follow each other off cliffs." He frowned.

"That was a hoax," she said, patiently, staring at him.

"...well, regardless. I'm a hoax lemming." There was something soft about the way he was speaking. Oh, for god's sake, he was actually serious about this, wasn't he?

"Who," she murmured, somehow unwilling to make a snappy remark, "did you follow off a cliff, Kouji?"

Kouji leaned back and glanced at the training fields. The sounds of shinai clashing against each other held steady. "My brother," he said, finally.

She nodded. "Story for another time?" she whispered.

"I think so." His lips curved and pressed into her forehead. "Let's take things slowly this time. Okay?"

"This time?" she echoed, twisting her face up in confusion.

He managed to make blinking look faintly apologetic. "...I assumed that...since your mother was the sticking issue last time...and now she's, ah, unstuck..."

"Unstuck?" she repeated blankly.

"Er, so to speak." He looked pained. "Here, let me turn off my subtlety, since I seem to be shit at communicating when it's turned on." He cleared his throat. "I want to try dating. Properly."

"Oh." Her eyes went wide. "Oh!"

"Right." He waited, expectantly. After she kept staring at him in petrified silence, he made an uncomfortable sound with the back of his throat. "So. What do you think? Have we patched up enough of our issues to try again?"

"Not all of them," she said, finally, working her way slowly through her shock. "I'm still me. I'm still - tomboyish little me." She laughed weakly. "I think that's always going to be an issue."

He made a sharp noise of disapproval. "You know what?" he said quietly. "I don't give a damn if you can't pick out the difference between two different lipsticks - or if your nose is a little crooked - or if you can't pull off a little black dress - or even if you can pull one off but you just don't want to for some reason - or..."

She giggled softly. "Or if I have no curves to speak of?"

He scoffed and looked a little offended. "I've seen you shirtless, Izumi. I can tell you that's not the case." A long pause, then he averted his eyes slightly. "...sorry."

She stared at him...and started to laugh.

He leaned forward until his face was hidden in the crook of her shoulder. "Don't laugh. I was being serious."

"I know," she said, laughing even more. They were so close. He was warm and the protective curve of his arms around her was so incredibly comfortable. She hadn't even realized how much she had missed him. It didn't seem possible to miss somebody that she got to see every day, but it was.

Kouji toyed with the ends of her hair and waited until her laughter subsided before asking, "Does your mother want to kill me?"

"Kill is a strong word," she murmured playfully.

"That's not comforting."

She smiled. "You made...an impression on her."

"Oh god."

"You don't even believe in God."

"Well, if you're limiting me to things that I believe in, it's not like I have a lot of other options." He was frowning. "I can't say Oh hell because I don't believe in hell either. I can't say Oh dear because that sounds prissy. I can't say Oh man because you're not a man and you'd get mad at me. I can't say Oh woman because that's got a weirdly sexist vibe. And I definitely can't say Oh girl because it sounds like something a girl would say to another girl if her significant other was acting like an ass. So, honestly...I've got no choice."

"You've thought about this," she said, trying not to laugh. "You've actually - you've actually thought about this."

"Of course I have," he said flatly. "I think about everything."

"Oh, Kouji," she said, shaking with silent giggles. "Why can't you just say Oh fuck and leave it at that?"

A long pause. "Damn you, Orimoto Izumi," he murmured against her ear, "fixing all of my problems. Nobody asked you to do that." He sounded like he was pouting. Dear lord, he was pouting.

She laughed, breathless, until tiny pinpoint tears squeezed from her eyes. "I love you," she told him, almost a whisper. "I love you."

He stopped moving.

So did she.

"You do?" he asked, very slowly.

A thick bundle of panic twisted in her belly and she couldn't breathe - she just couldn't breathe. Panic was stopping up her throat and lungs and insides. Adrenaline - fight or flight, she thought deliriously, remembering Professor Takashi's lecture about apex predators. She clung to that thought because it made sense and if nothing else she wanted to make sense.

Then Kouji slid his fingers under her chin and curled them gently so that he was cupping her jaw, and she remembered where she was. "Look at me," he said.

The calm, gentle touch seemed to drain her of anxiety. A whisper of air passed through her lips.

"Look at me," he repeated, more firmly.

"Sorry," she rasped, shaking slightly. "I mean..." Her eyes were fixed on the floor.

He paused. "Is there a reason you don't want to look at me?" he probed quietly.

There wasn't, really. She loved looking at his eyes. She loved looking at him. She loved him. Oh, for fuck's sake, she loved him, this wasn't supposed to be so hard. Her gaze flicked up to meet his. Yeah. There. She wasn't that much of a coward.

He looked appropriately guilty. "Am I making you nervous?"

"No," she replied, slowly but firmly. "You don't make me nervous. You never do. It's just...talking to you. That's the problem." She took a deep breath.

"That's so comforting," he said wryly.

"If I was trying to be comforting, this conversation wouldn't be happening," she shot back, more irritated than he deserved to hear.

"True," he said slowly.

The silence that followed was awkward. They were still touching, fingertips pressing down firmly, but a profound distance stretched between them the longer they stayed quiet.

Finally, she shook her head, laughing quietly at herself. "Look at us, Kouji. Why are we acting like this is a such a big deal?"

His lips twitched slightly. "It is a big deal."

"I mean, yes, but..." She shifted around so that her words fell against the crook of his neck rather than his collarbone. "It's not a problem that needs to be fixed. It's just...there." She made a gesture with her hands that didn't really have a meaning except to tell him that she was having a difficult time finding the right words.

He caught her hands and ran a thumb over her knuckles. "So what you're saying is...you want to talk about this later?"

"No," she said. "I don't want to talk about this at all. But we have to, or we'll never get anywhere."

"...okay." He took a half step back and considered her face.

She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for springing this on you."

He nodded. "And I'm sorry that you managed to catch me by surprise."

She shoved him slightly. "What kind of apology is that?" she asked, a half-smile playing on her lips.

"The first one that popped in my head. You calm now?"

Izumi stared at him, feeling ridiculous. "Yes." Wow, her voice sounded awful. She cleared her throat. "Yes."

He tilted his head at her. "...okay. Do you want to talk about our relationship now, or...?"

She snorted. "Might as well be now. I've already gotten all emotional, might as well keep going."

Kouji looked disapproving. "I don't want to rush you."

"I know," she said quietly. "You're good at that. Not rushing, I mean. That was...is...the best thing about being with you." She swallowed hard. "It was nice not having to label anything."

"That so?" He wet his lips quickly, almost nervously. "So dating me properly would take the joy out of it?"

If she hadn't been in front of him, it would have been harder to answer that question. But she was there, and he was there, and she could feel the ground underneath their feet holding steady. Her voice was firm when she finally said, "No, it wouldn't. That's not the point, really. I'm sorry." She swallowed. "Look, can I just...can we start dating when you feel the same about me?"

His eyes were horribly, wonderfully blue. "Yeah. We can do that." His fingers locked gently in her hair and he pressed almost-kisses against her forehead.

She was halfway asleep against his arm by the time she realized that she had said when you feel the same, rather than if. The realization jolted her awake, eyes flaring open. It wasn't panic driving her this time. It was the sudden weight of being in the position to make promises.

Kouji wasn't looking at her anymore. He had leaned his head back, staring at the sky. "It's going to rain," he said, soft and hushed. "Let's go fetch your mother." He looked thoroughly resigned.

Izumi shivered, feeling as though her future was slowly defining itself. "Let's go," she repeated, leaning forward to kiss his collarbone because it was there.

Kouji finally returned his gaze to her, running his eyes and fingers over her lips gently. "No more panic attacks today," he told her resolutely. "You've already reached your quota."

She was surprised by the laugh that rattled out of her throat. It was such a steady, confident sound, even though she didn't feel steady or confident. Maybe that was the point. Maybe these things were always fake-it-til-you-make-it. "No more panic attacks," she said. "It's a promise."

"Good," he said, and then his lips tugged into a small but utterly genuine smile.

"I'm sorry," she said, sighing half-mournfully and half-mockingly. "I never realized I was the panic-attack-after-confessing type."

"Not to worry, I'll prepare properly next time. Maybe I should keep pillows on the floor in case you decide to add a side of fainting to your panic attack."

She smacked him gently. "There will be no next time," she promised stubbornly.

He eyed her with good humor. "Not even when I take you to meet my parents?"

She sputtered, choked, stared, and laughed - ever so slightly relieved.

"What?" he looked bewildered. "What did I say?"

"When," she said, giggling helplessly. "You said when."

He was silent for a long, long moment, and she wondered for a second if he planned to take it back. "It's not a when?" he asked finally.

"Is it? Is it not? Do you know? Do I know?" she was still giggling quietly.

"Are you having another panic attack?" he asked, looking faintly alarmed.

"No." She shook her head. "No. I was just wondering when we decided to start playing with when instead of if."

"If you leave it up to your mother, it's not really going to be a when." He gave her a quiet, probing look.

She looked right back at him. "...It's not up to her." She stared behind him, straight into a window with the blinds pulled up - yes, she knew it, her mother was watching them. And there was a sharp twinge of anger in her chest, so sharp that she wondered if Kouji could feel it through her skin. The good kind of anger. The kind that made her feel like she could push back and not break into little-girl-sized pieces. "It's not up to her," she repeated, tightening her grip on his shirt. "I promise."

Hope you enjoyed that! It's been about a year since my last chapter on this story, I apologize! I keep taking long, long stretches of time to update because medical school stuff occasionally decides to kill me. Also I went to Europe for the first time. That was pretty cool. You may get a Europe-themed story sometime in the future.

Hope you enjoyed your request, Lila! I've been lucky so far with your requests, readers, since no one yet has requested something that I wasn't already planning to write.

Also, this chapter is meant to complement Chapter 9, Face. If you reread that chapter now, you'll understand what's going on much more, I think.

This is chapter 16, meaning that I am now officially over halfway done with all the material I have planned for this series.