#2 drabble for sireensilver

[bluelovesorange]

Maki, Mukai Osamu. Something for the morning. A TITLE!

Picked totally by what was playing on my cdplayer at the moment!

[fic] left hook, didn't see it coming
rated: gee gee I'm not G dragon baby baby


There was no aha moment. One day they had been coworkers, and then the days passed by on the calendar, and after the last cut was finished and she had bowed and thanked the staff and crew for making it so memorable, Mukai-kun had strolled up to her so casually, and asked if she maybe wanted to get a bite to eat some time.

She said yes, mostly out of surprise, and then worried the next day over her hasty decision. Her thumb hovered over her phone, ready to dial his number and call the whole thing off.

Somehow she resisted, and when Mukai-kun showed up, his hair a little bit messier than Sho's and his slim frame swallowed up by a giant coat, she let out a breath of relief. It was just a bite to eat with a co-worker, and nothing more.

Except they had gotten to debating the merits of the dish, and Mukai-kun flatly saying it was a crime to pay for something he could whip up at home in about ten minutes, and have to wait fifteen minutes for it (but his fingers reached out for the bill and whisked it away from her hand) and she had laughed and asked well what would you have done differently?

He knew a lot about cooking - more than most men she knew, and quietly adjusted her impression of him. Not only was Mukai-kun academically intelligent, he was surprisingly well versed in the culinary arts as well.

After they finish their (much better) dessert, he stands up and offers her his hand. "I know a little cafe that has excellent coffee - Italian style. Would you like to go next time?"

She says yes.

They've eaten out five times before Maki broaches what's been bothering her. Every time - Mukai, well, Osamu-kun snatched the bill away before she could even offer to pay her share. Truthfully, after the first few times, Maki's forgotten what she's eaten - not that the places Osamu-kun takes her are bad. They're not. Often, they're rated somewhere, or are cozy neighborhood places she would have loved discovering on her own if she wasn't so busy - it's just that once she starts talking to Osamu-kun, what's on her fork seems less important.

They talk about everything.

Work, what kind of projects they've both been offered since Atadan finished filming, the movies they've seen, any novels they've finished. Maki's read only two novels since wrapping and she feels irritatingly slow whenever she sees the huge stack waiting by her bed. Sometimes they talk about the weather.

Osamu-kun tells her about his cats. His family's cats, he corrects - as he's not allowed to have pets in his Tokyo apartment, which is something he still isn't used to. But back home in Yokohama, he says, there are two extremely spoiled, extremely loved and lithe cats who sit in the sun all day and bat at imaginary things.

When he talks about them, Osamu-kun's face softens and his voice takes on a fond, parental quality.

He's telling her about the play he's rehearsing for when she decides enough is enough, and that there was no better time than the present, and just blurts out, "Are we dating?"

Osamu-kun picks up his cup - and she notices (well, if she's being truthful, she's always noticed) how elegant his fingers are, as he wraps them around the body of the cup. He sips carefully, and then places it on the table. "Jun-kun told me this might happen," he sighs. "I didn't think I was that out of practice, but," and he looks at her solemnly. "Yes, we are." His expression flickers for a moment. "I mean, I hope you're okay with it." He looks down, suddenly embarrassed. "Otherwise...." he trails off and then he looks up again. "Maki-chan, would you --"

"Yes," she interrupts, and reaches over to touch his hand briefly. She knows that she shouldn't date a co-worker, but technically, Osamu isn't a co-worker anymore, and she's sure that she likes him as herself, and not as residual side effects from playing Chisato.

He breaks into a smile."That's great."

The next time Osamu asks her out, it's over to his apartment, where he's cooked his specialty.


There is no aha moment, she thinks as she counts the floors as the lighted numbers in the elevator grow in size.

Her fingers absentmindedly twitch around a cigarette that isn't there, and she runs her tongue over her teeth. Freshly brushed and she can still taste the sweet mint. Being Misuzu meant that after wrapping the day's shoot, she was in her trailer brushing furiously, like a naughty school girl trying to destroy evidence. The production staff had provided her with herbal cigarettes, but the taste was still alien to her normally smoke-free palate.

Which was why it was so weird that she was dating someone who smoked. There was an ashtray and lighter set out on the balcony for that very purpose, and Maki thinks that's where he'll be when she turns her key in the lock.

Except the door opens before she's done and Osamu is standing in the dim light of the hallway, his hair spiky and wet from a recent shower. He is also, as Maki's gaze sweeps down, not wearing a shirt.

"Hi," he says and leans down for a proper hello. He tastes like wine and smoke, and her initial surprise is swept away by the familiarity of his lips against hers.

"What if I was someone else," she manages to say, after the kiss ends. Osamu looks at her, his eyes twinkling. "I peeked through the peephole, I knew it was you." His gaze turns playful. "But if it bothers you, I'll go put on a shirt."

She grasps his wrist. "I'm fine."

His mouth quirks. "I thought so."


Later, after they've finished eating - (and he put on a shirt, much to her dismay, but he insisted that one should be dressed for dinner) and she's wiping the dishes as he washes them, she gives him a sidelong glance. He's humming to himself, a song that sounds like one of the guitar bands he's been listening to lately. He catches her staring and stops. "What?"

She nudges him with her elbow. "Nothing."

"Really?" He cocks an eyebrow and splashes a little at her, which makes her squeal.

"Just that you're kind of cute." She says, and sticks her tongue out.

"Oh ho, only kind of cute?" He grabs at her then, and she shrieks as his wet fingers brush against her shirt, and then slip underneath the fabric. Little pinpoints of dampness and then his hands are warm (so warm) and she's tugged him closer, her fingers resting in the loops of his belt.

Osamu's eyes are half closed and he smiles a lazy little smile. "Hey," he says, half-whispering. "I think..." and Maki breathes, "yes?"

He bends down so that their foreheads are touching. "You're beautiful."

There is no aha moment because every moment with him is a sustained measure of happiness.

Comments

Re: Morning, rebe!

[smithereen.livejournal.com]

Is that the girl from Hana-Kimi?! (Haha! I DID know who she is, I just didn't know I knew!) (Also, that boy is pretty like a girl.) (Also ALSO, the girls! Holding hands! <3)

Re: Morning, rebe!

[calledinvain.livejournal.com]

IT IS. Yes, Osamu Mukai does have a touch of femininity to his face, but oh boy. He's all TALL and his HANDS. And seriously, they are SO CUTE TOGETHER. (lame squee)

(god, I've become that person)

oh hoooo, maki and meisa have taken lots more photos that are slightly above hand holding. This is why Japan fan service trumps everything else in the world, ever.