Takeshi stood in front of the mirror, arms crossed, staring at his reflection like it had personally wronged him. The bathroom light cast harsh shadows on his face, highlighting the faint stubble he'd forgotten to shave and the way his eyebrows furrowed in perpetual concentration. He adjusted his collar for the umpteenth time, tugging it straight only for it to wrinkle again under his fingers.
"…Was it the sixth date?" He muttered to himself, voice low and gravelly, as if admitting it out loud would make the nerves worse. He replayed the mental tally, the first had been that awkward coffee grab after the group hangout, where she'd teased him relentlessly about his order. The second, a movie where she'd stolen all the popcorn. Third, the park walk that turned into an impromptu debate about the best ramen toppings.
He tilted his head slightly, squinting at the mirror like it held the answers. "No. Seventh? Eighth? Damn it." The exact count escaped him now, lost in the haze of easy laughs and stolen glances. What mattered was that he was nervous again, a knot twisting in his stomach like he'd swallowed a bad batch of street food. It pissed him off more than anything else, nerves weren't his style. He was the steady one in the group, the guy who fixed things without complaint, who kept cool when Kaoru's deadlines imploded or Kaede's chaos escalated.
You'd think after going out with Emi so many times, arcades where she'd trash-talk him mid-game, late-night ramen spots where she'd critique his chopstick technique with a straight face, that weird museum she dragged him into because "dead things are educational, Takeshi, don't be a caveman" he'd be used to it. The museum still stuck in his mind, dusty exhibits of fossils and artifacts, her explaining some ancient relic with mock seriousness while he tried not to laugh at her dramatic gestures.
He wasn't used to it. If anything, each date amplified the butterflies, making his palms sweat like a teenager's. Takeshi ran a hand through his hair, messing up the careful parting he'd just fixed, then immediately smoothed it back the way it was, cursing under his breath. "Come on, get it together."
"Relax.." he told himself firmly, leaning closer to the mirror as if eye contact with his reflection would enforce the command. "You're not confessing. You're not proposing. You're literally just going out." Just another evening with her sharp wit and effortless vibe. No big deal. Except it was, because every time felt like peeling back another layer, revealing more of the Emi who wasn't just the group's sarcastic wildcard.
His phone buzzed on the sink counter, vibrating insistently against the porcelain. He snatched it up, already knowing who it was.
Emi: "You alive or still overthinking in front of a mirror?"
Takeshi let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head. "…She knows." he muttered, thumbs hovering over the screen. How did she always nail it? It was like she had a sixth sense for his internal monologues.
Takeshi: "On my way. Try not to scare off any passersby with that glare."
He hit send, pocketed the phone, and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door, a thick wool one that still smelled faintly of the café from their last outing. He left before he could rethink his outfit again, slamming the door shut with a bit more force than necessary, as if to leave the nerves behind.
Emi was already waiting when he arrived at the station, punctual as ever in her unpredictability. She always was early, claiming it gave her time to "people-watch and judge silently." But he suspected it was her way of controlling the pace.
Leaning against the railing near the station entrance, one leg crossed casually over the other, she chewed bubblegum like the world moved at her pace, not the other way around. The gum snapped between her teeth with rhythmic precision, a soundtrack to her boredom. Her white hair was tied into a neat bun, secured with the two golden pins that caught the winter light just enough to draw attention without trying too hard. It gleamed softly against the fading sun, adding a touch of elegance to her otherwise casual vibe. Hands tucked into her coat pockets, eyes half-lidded behind subtle makeup, she scanned the crowd with lazy interest.
Unbothered. Unrushed. Completely herself. That was the Emi who intrigued him, the one who could stand in a sea of rushing commuters and look like she owned the chaos.
Takeshi slowed without realizing it as he approached, his steps faltering for a split second as he took her in. She looked effortlessly put-together, her coat hugging her frame just right, boots scuffed from city walks but polished enough to show she cared.
She noticed immediately, her gaze locking onto him like a heat-seeking missile. "You're staring." Emi said flatly, popping her gum with a loud crack that made a nearby salaryman jump.
Takeshi recovered quickly, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets to hide the slight tremor. "…Just checking you're real." he replied, voice steady despite the internal flip. "You disappear sometimes. One minute you're texting, the next poof."
She smirked, the expression pulling at her lips in that way that always made his stomach dip. "Miss me already? That's almost cute, Takeshi."
"Don't flatter yourself." He shot back, but there was no heat in it, just their usual banter, the kind that masked deeper currents.
She stepped forward anyway, bumping her shoulder lightly into his as she passed him, the contact brief but electric. Her shoulder brushed his arm, sending a jolt through the fabric. "C'mon. I'm hungry. And if we stand here any longer, I'll start eating my own gum."
No greeting, no hesitation. That was Emi, straight into motion, pulling him along like a current he couldn't resist.
They walked side by side through the crowded street, the post-Christmas hustle still lingering in the air. Lights strung above storefronts glowed faintly, casting a warm hue on the pavement despite the encroaching dusk. Strings of LEDs twisted around lampposts, some flickering erratically like they were on their last legs, while shop windows displayed clearance signs amid wilting holiday decorations. Families passed them in clusters, parents laden with shopping bags, kids tugging at scarves and mittens with whines about the cold or pleas for one more treat from the vendors lining the sidewalks.
Takeshi glanced at Emi instinctively, checking her reaction to the festive remnants. The couples holding hands, linking arms against the chill, their laughter mingling with the distant carols from a speaker somewhere, did it faze her? Make her rethink their unlabeled thing?
She didn't seem bothered. If anything, she looked amused, her eyes darting to a kid who tripped over his own untied shoelace, sprawling dramatically before popping back up with a grin.
"You keep doing that." she said suddenly, without breaking stride.
"Doing what?" Takeshi asked, feigning confusion as he dodged a group of teens glued to their phones.
"Checking my face. Like you're waiting for me to crack or something."
Takeshi felt a flush creep up, but he owned it. "…Am I that obvious?"
"Yes." She blew a bubble, the pink sphere inflating slowly before she let it pop with a satisfying smack, the sound cutting through the street noise. Then she continued walking, her pace unchanged, as if the admission was no big deal. "Relax. I don't suddenly turn into a different person on holidays. I'm not gonna start caroling or demanding mistletoe."
"Could've fooled me." He replied, a teasing edge to his voice. "Last time we walked through here, you vanished into that crowd like a ninja. Left me holding your empty coffee cup."
Emi stopped abruptly, her boots skidding slightly on a patch of ice, forcing Takeshi to halt too. The flow of pedestrians parted around them, grumbling softly. She turned, stepping closer, too close, her breath visible in the cold air, mingling with his. The proximity made the world narrow. The lights, the chatter, all faded.
"Hey. Look at me." She commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Takeshi met her eyes, but before he could respond, she reached up and flicked his forehead with her finger. Sharp, precise, like a punctuation mark.
"Ow, what the hell?" He rubbed the spot, glaring down at her, though a smile tugged at his lips.
She leaned in just enough for him to see his reflection in her eyes, the golden pins in her hair catching a stray light. Her face was inches away, expression serious but with that underlying playfulness. "I'm here." she said calmly, each word deliberate. "That enough? Or do I need to tattoo it on your arm?"
Takeshi swallowed, the flick's sting forgotten as her words sank in. It was her way. Always direct, no nonsense, cutting through his overthinking like a knife. "…Yeah. That's enough."
Satisfied, she pulled back with a nod, turning and kept walking as if the moment hadn't just shifted something between them. "Good. Now hurry up before I freeze my butt off."
Dominant. Always. And damn if it didn't make him follow without question.
Their first stop was a small café Emi liked, quiet, slightly tucked away in a narrow alley off the main street, with warm lighting spilling out from fogged windows and a chalkboard menu propped outside that changed weekly. The board today boasted handwritten specials, spiced hot chocolate, fresh scones, and a winter soup that promised "soul-warming goodness." Inside, the air was thick with the aroma of ground coffee and baked pastries, a cozy hum of soft conversations from the few patrons scattered at wooden tables.
Takeshi ordered something simple. A plain black coffee and a buttered toast, his go-to for not overcomplicating things.
Emi, predictably, ordered three things. A loaded cappuccino with extra foam, a plate of assorted pastries (croissant, danish, and a muffin for good measure), and a side of fries Because...
"Why not ranch it up? Get it?" 'Cause people put ranch on- nevermind. Nevermind. This joke is worse than ordering fries and getting a single sad potato stick. I'm sorry. I should've stuck to narrating about ketchup, the only dip that knows how to COMMIT to a bit. Hahaha... Alright I'll stop..' (Narrator.)
"You know we're sharing, right?" He said as they waited at the counter, eyeing her overflowing tray.
"You know I don't care." She replied with a shrug, already snagging a fry from the plate before they'd even paid. The cashier chuckled, used to her antics from previous visits.
They sat by the window, coats draped over chairs to claim their space, steam rising from their drinks in lazy curls that fogged the glass further. Outside, the street bustled on, but in here, it felt like a bubble, insulated, intimate.
For a while, they just ate. No forced conversation, no awkward pauses. Takeshi savored his coffee, the bitter warmth grounding him, while Emi demolished her pastries with methodical bites, occasionally dipping a fry into her cappuccino foam for an experimental taste.
Takeshi watched Emi stir her drink absentmindedly, her spoon clinking softly against the cup, gum tucked neatly to the side of her mouth now, a rare etiquette move for public spaces. She seemed relaxed, her shoulders loose, eyes half-lidded as she watched through the window. Comfortable in a way she wasn't around others, where her sarcasm built walls. Here, with him, those walls cracked just enough.
"…You enjoying yourself?" He asked eventually, breaking the easy silence as he set down his empty cup.
She raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-stir. "Is that a serious question? Or are you just filling air?"
"…Kinda serious." He admitted, leaning back in his chair. "We don't do this often without the group crashing in. Wanted to check."
Emi studied him for a moment, her gaze piercing but not unkind, then shrugged. "Yeah. I am." She took a sip, foam clinging to her lip before she wiped it away. "The food's good, the company's tolerable. What more do you want, a review?"
Simple answer. No fluff. But Takeshi nodded, pretending that didn't mean more to him than it should, the quiet affirmation warming him better than the coffee.
After that, they wandered, letting the evening dictate their path. First, a bookstore down the block, its shelves crammed with towering stacks of used books and new releases, the air heavy with that musty paper scent. Emi dove in immediately, weaving through aisles with purpose, pulling volumes off shelves to skim blurbs.
Takeshi followed, browsing half-heartedly but mostly watching her, how her fingers traced spines, how she'd mutter "trash" under her breath at a bad summary before shelving it.
They spent time debating picks, her championing a thriller with "actual twists." him countering with a comedy that "doesn't take itself seriously." Laughter echoed softly as they mocked bad covers, the store's cat weaving between their legs for attention.
From there, a small arcade tucked between two closed shops caught their eye, its neon sign buzzing 'Open" like a beacon. Inside, the dim lights and electronic beeps created a nostalgic chaos, claw machines, shooters, and that rhythm game Emi loved.
She dragged him to it, coins clinking as she fed the machine. "Prepare to lose."
Emi destroyed him at the rhythm game without even trying, her feet flying across the pads in perfect sync to the upbeat track, score skyrocketing while his lagged from missed beats.
"You're terrible." She said breathlessly as the game ended, leaning on the rail with a triumphant grin.
"I wasn't ready.." he protested, wiping sweat from his brow.
"You say that every time." She leaned against the machine afterward, chewing gum thoughtfully, blowing a small bubble before popping it. "You know, you tense up less now. Used to miss half the arrows just from stressing."
"…Is that an insult?"
"No. Observation." Her tone was casual, but appreciative.
Takeshi snorted. "High praise from the arcade queen."
They played rematches, he improving marginally, her teasing relentlessly until quarters ran low.
They walked again, the cold biting sharper now as night fully settled, streetlights casting long shadows. At some point, Emi slipped her hand into his coat pocket, fingers brushing his knuckles.
Not holding his hand. Just… there, seeking warmth.
Takeshi stiffened, surprised by the intimacy.
She noticed, squeezing lightly. "Relax." She said, not looking at him. "I'm stealing your warmth. Hands are freezing."
"…You're doing a terrible job of it." He muttered, but shifted closer anyway.
"Then.. stand closer." She tugged him nearer, their arms linking naturally.
So he did, the contact steadying him against the chill.
They ended up at a small park, mostly empty under the winter night, the snow crunching softly underfoot like fresh powder. A few couples sat on benches, huddled together, while someone walked a dog bundled in an absurdly thick sweater, the pup's paws kicking up flurries.
Emi sat first on a frost-dusted bench, legs crossed, looking up at the sky where clouds parted occasionally.
Takeshi followed, exhaling slowly, his breath a thick cloud.
"…You ever think about the future?" He asked suddenly, the words slipping out amid the quiet.
She glanced at him sideways. "That came out of nowhere. Cold getting to your brain?"
"Yeah, well. Humor me." He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
Emi leaned back, hands braced behind her on the bench. "Sometimes. Random stuff, like better jobs, less group drama."
"…And?"
"And I don't like planning it too much." She kicked at a snow pile, sending flakes scattering.
Takeshi frowned. "Why? You're always so decisive."
She shrugged. "Because people change. I change. You change. Locking things in feels stupid, like jinxing it."
That stung a little, making him question their momentum.
"But.." she added, eyes still on the sky. "That doesn't mean I don't enjoy where I am right now."
Takeshi looked at her, the words hanging.
She finally met his gaze, steady and sincere.
"I like this." Emi said. "Us. Whatever it is. No rush."
He swallowed again, heart thudding.
"…You're bad at saying important things casually."
She smirked. "You're bad at hearing them without analyzing."
Fair. They lingered, sharing the silence, the cold forgotten in the warmth of the moment.
They sat there longer than either planned, the park's quiet enveloping them until fingers numbed.
Eventually, Emi stood and stretched, arms overhead with a groan.
"Alright. Walk me home before I turn into an icicle."
"Bossy."
"Yes. Deal with it."
They walked in silence, but it wasn't awkward, comfortable, laced with contentment.
At her apartment building, Emi stopped under the entry light.
"Well." She said. "You survived another date."
"Barely." he teased.
She stepped closer, fixing his scarf without asking, fingers lingering on the fabric.
"Same time next week?" She asked, eyes searching his.
Takeshi hesitated only a second. "Yeah. Count on it."
Emi smiled, not wide, not dramatic. Just real, softening her features.
She leaned up and kissed his cheek, quick, casual, but lingering enough to spark.
'I've always enjoy our dates. Maybe... we should really get married?'
Then she turned and headed inside, the door swinging shut.
Takeshi stood there, hand hovering uselessly where her warmth lingered, a smile breaking free.
"...Damn it." He muttered, smiling despite himself. She had that effect.
As he turned to leave, his phone buzzed.
A message from Kaoru.
"You alive?"
Takeshi glanced up at the winter sky, then typed back.
"Yeah. I am."