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Sure, she hadn't expected forever. Anezaki Mamori had no delusions about relationships leading to eternal rainbows and sparkles. Still, her two-year-long 'romance' with Juumonji Kazuki had, honestly, almost changed her mind. She started to think they'd actually make it.

Was that where she went wrong?

The streetlights were shining through the pouring rain, and car headlights passed her by on a regular basis; even in the dark of this All Hallows' Eve she could still see where she was going. See, but her numbed mind wasn't paying attention in the least as it replayed that one scene over and over again.

'Who was that...?' she asked herself, and every time she thought about it she could see that tiny, cute-beyond-cute girl with long black hair and big brown eyes throwing her arms around Kazuki's neck. She was smiling as if the sun were shining just for her inside that little mom-and-pop cafe, and Kazuki looked like he'd just won the Christmas Bowl again. It was a pair of faces like that... Mamori could honestly say they'd never had that. When she understood that, the thoughts kept chasing themselves around and around in her head, 'Was I too reserved with him? Was I doing something wrong? Should I have spent more time with him?'

...

'Were we just... not meant to be at all?'

There were plenty of hopeless thoughts ready and waiting to batter her heart, and she could only stop them for a little while at a time, concentrating on the edges of her sopping wet pixie costume. She'd done this because he'd said to--it may have only been a joke, and she really said she wouldn't, but here she was in a pink fairy costume with cutesy wings and flowers and glitter in her hair and everything. Anezaki Mamori, barely girly enough to be called female, had done herself to the nines just for him.

She always did ridiculous things for him, so why was he with someone else? Was doing things she normally never would not enough? Things she would refuse if they were a request from anyone but him, under threat or otherwise?

Halloween was hearing her thoughts, because just as she contemplated the word 'threat,' she nose-planted into a much-too-familiar chest. Between the black, skin-tight shirt and the familiar, expensive cologne, her thoughts slid from 'threat' into, "Hiruma-kun, don't get yourself purposely bumped into. You would fluster someone who didn't know you better."

Though knowing him, he would do it on purpose so he could be a bully and tell them they broke his arm or something.

"It's your fault for not paying attention, Anezaki."

'Oh lovely damn.' If he was actually using her name, that meant he'd done this for the sake of getting her attention... and was probably fully aware of the situation. She sighed, dropping her forehead against his shoulder with a, "How much do you know?" Why bother with the preamble if he knew everything anyway? She could hear him click his tongue just over the rain.

"I'm fucking omniscient. Didn't you know that?"

"Right. I did." She sighs and leans away, prepared to maneuver around him. It's less than shocking however when he catches her by the back of her tulle-covered costume and starts hauling her away in the opposite direction, back towards that restaurant she swears she'll never patronize again. Mamori looks up at his face first though, as she scrambles to catch her balance, and realizes that he's set himself on something. "What are you doing, Hiruma-kun? I think you know that I really don't want to go back there."

"I'm not doing this for you."

"Making a play at being a tsundere?" she asks, half-heartedly teasing. His scowl actually turned into a smirk, and it wasn't hard to see that he was genuinely amused by the thought.

"As if I'd be so cute."

He was probably right. On his own terms he was a tsundere-- he made a great show of being the sadistic demon lord, but he took care of his own and never let harm come to them. She could even think of times where, despite all else, he created an opportunity for one of the old Devil Bats to move up in the world... even when it was difficult or--to some vague degree-- illegal. Still, cute? Hiruma? Never.

For something like this though, he wouldn't be able to hide that minutely caring side of his... he probably would gain from it in some way, but she was rather confident that he was also taking pity on her. A sigh escaped her lips as she righted herself, and she decided to forgo a futile attempt at removing his iron claw from her drenched costume. It was ruined anyway; she would probably go home and throw it in the garbage can, because it simply wouldn't be worth it to send the bad memory out for dry cleaning.

As she'd been walking so slowly the first time, it only took a few minutes for them to reach the restaurant again; Hiruma didn't bother stopping outside to throw their lovely pink-colored aura in her face. Rather, he stormed through the front door with her towed limply by his side, and it was more than enough to see her ex-boyfriend gazing adoringly at the cute little doll attached to his side as she blew on her hot chocolate with more adorable cuteness. Really, it was finally starting to get on her nerves. What was she made of, cotton candy and adorable sweet cutie goodiness? The thought had her about to hurl, especially, since those were the only descriptors that fit her. Adorable. Sweet. Cute.

'Well excuse me for being savage, vengeful and manly. I didn't set out to be a football coach, it just happened that way,' she thought bitterly, reveling in the way his face paled and terror seeped in as he noticed who was traipsing up to his table.

"Oi, Ha-Ha Brother Eldest. Have you noticed that something's wrong with that pomeranian under your arm?" Hiruma snapped, his eyes narrowed on his former teammate. Mamori wanted to rip something apart; even the way the girl got offended was more of the adorable, sweet and cute. The kind that guys would tease and make mad, just because--as Hiruma pointed out--she was like a little pomeranian. Damn, she felt really ugly now. Was it a sin to be tall and sharp-featured and strong-willed? Was it so damn unsexy for her to want to stand beside her man instead of being coddled by him?

"Hiruma-senpai.... Mamori-!"

"Shut up. Trash doesn't talk," the demon man cackles, suddenly looking pleased with himself. Mamori was about to say, "Goodbye, enjoy your chihuahua," but apparently the former Devil Bat quarterback had something else to say.

"If you're going to be trash, then be trash. I'll take the damn manager like I should've before you interfered."

'....Wait, what?'

Looking much too proud of himself, Hiruma dragged her back out the door, called a taxi, and had them on the way to his apartment before Mamori could even process what he'd said.

...like I should have before you interfered.

"...Hiruma-kun."

"Eh?" he grunts, still sounding demonically pleased with himself. She couldn't bring herself to look at him just yet. He wasn't touching her anymore; his arm was simply draped over the back of the seat as he stared out the window and cackled away. Should she even ask? It felt like inquiring about his declaration would lead to an unpleasant amount of teasing.

She was sure of it, in fact; but her mouth moved anyway, flatly muttering, "You were kidding, weren't you?"

"What makes you think that, damn manager?"

"I'm not your team manager right now, Hiruma-kun. This is a bad joke. Just once is enough, but I would appreciate you leveling with me."

He observed her silently; his sharp eyes still danced with amusement, but were more serious than before. The devilish grin on his face didn't falter a bit, but he wasn't belittling her. He wasn't looking at her from his lofty position of "genius," and he wasn't ignoring her, either. He was waiting. This was him waiting, she knew it, but waiting for what exactly she didn't know. If he was waiting though, she would continue her thoughts--this time, meeting his eyes with all the faltering confidence she could muster.

"If you really wanted me, you wouldn't have had to wait. You probably have any number of ways to make a girl look at you. We were the closest in high school, and Juumonji-kun didn't ask me out until we graduated. We had times after that where we would barely text each other for a month or more because of school or football or other activities. You were with me all the time then. We've been by each other ever since Sena entered the Devil Bats--six years later, we haven't parted ways, despite our contrary personalities... Do you seriously expect me to just accept that you wanted to interfere all this time and never did?" she asked. Her blue eyes measured him, and waited the way he had waited for her. For a moment, Mamori thought his eyes softened on her; they were still devilishly sharp, but they had a certain glint to them that looked different than before.

He still didn't answer.

The taxi driver sounded like he wanted out of the car when he finally pulled up to the sidewalk and announced their arrival and the cost of the journey. Hiruma tossed him a random bill out of his wallet--Mamori could've sworn she saw one too many zeros on it--before dragging her out of the vehicle and toward the front door. The doorman had it wide open long before they got there, allowing the demon to sweep her through unhindered as if he were fully aware of the mood (or rather, was under a hefty threat to always treat him thus). He ignored the elevator and led her full-steam ahead up the stairs to his fourth-floor flat. He stopped abruptly at the entrance to his apartment, turning and dangling the door key in front of her eyes.

He didn't have to tell her to open it for it to be completely understood.

No matter how unsure she was (rather, she was absolutely sure that she was walking into a trap, no doubt about it), she still snatched the key from his hand and moved to unlock the door. It opened without a sound, as expected; if anyone stepped foot in his foyer without knowing better, he wouldn't need a squeaky door as an alarm. His innumerable traps would send the offenders to the hospital all on their own. The first tile to the left, the second on the right; if one didn't walk in to his apartment as casually as he did, they wouldn't make it very far. Mamori left her shoes on the only tile aside from the one he preferred that would not result in shredding her shoes, and moved further down the hall.

His football shrine of a room looked more comfortable than she felt at the moment. She wanted to curse the bed and worn-out couch for looking as inviting as they did when she wanted to turn around and throttle their owner as much as she did. Just as she was about to open her mouth again, a towel flopped on her head with an unceremonious, "Stop dripping on my floor, damn manager."

"Hiruma-!"

She'd turned to yell at him. She turned with the intent of finally prying some answers out of him, of getting him to explain himself for once. Mamori turned around with the intention of aggressively barreling in to the conversation, but all those intentions were derailed when she came nose-to-nose with her own personal demon, his teal eyes narrowed on her intensely.

"Don't you think we've known each other long enough for you to use my given name, Anezaki?"

She thought to push away, to move back, but it only took a split second. In that split second, one half consumed with the thought of moving, the second half wiped completely blank, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

It was a tease. It was just a tease, and if she let him do as he pleased right now it would probably be years longer before she managed to get him to answer "why," but her heart was throbbing from pain and anticipation and something overwhelming that she just flat-out refused to name... and she couldn't get her throat to work at all, because she was just that close to sobbing.

Demons come out on Halloween, and here she was wishing on fairy dust that he wasn't going to disappear when the sun came up. She found herself wishing that with all her might, despite the denial and the rejection and the many times her brain and heart repeated that it wasn't going to work. His reasons should've been more important than they seemed at that moment, but instead she let herself tear up as he kissed her again, softly, as if he were charming her. As if he were waiting for her to make the first move when naturally, he was the one leading her exactly where he wanted like always.

She wanted to ask herself what the hell she was thinking, but...

"Mamori?"

What the hell indeed. That barest, barest hint of a question in his eyes, the acknowledgement that this was one plan that could possibly go awry, set something off inside of her. What had he been waiting for the last six years? As she took his face in her hands and kissed him, meshed her lips with his, she came to the silliest, and yet most practical conclusion she could think of. It was so simple that she almost felt she was wrong, but at the same time she knew she was right.

After six years of love/hate relationship, of admiration and respect and being close enough to cause a few misunderstandings, he had waited for this... because he was waiting on her.

He wanted only her, just for her, at her own pace. Not forced or coerced, nor persuaded or taken advantage of. He'd been so cautious about receiving what he really wanted the way he wanted that he ended up working against himself; how very like and unlike him.

When she pulled back, the devious gleam was back in his eyes, mellowed and tempered by a lustful fever. He murmured, "Now time to get you out of this fucking fairy get-up."

She took back her earlier decision. As he tossed the silky garment to the floor, she determined that she would indeed have it dry cleaned, before all her thoughts took a night off.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Sure, she hadn't expected forever. Anezaki Mamori had no delusions about relationships leading to eternal rainbows and sparkles. Still, her two-year-long 'romance' with Juumonji Kazuki had, honestly, almost changed her mind. She started to think they'd actually make it.

Was that where she went wrong?

The streetlights were shining through the pouring rain, and car headlights passed her by on a regular basis; even in the dark of this All Hallows' Eve she could still see where she was going. See, but her numbed mind wasn't paying attention in the least as it replayed that one scene over and over again.

'Who was that...?' she asked herself, and every time she thought about it she could see that tiny, cute-beyond-cute girl with long black hair and big brown eyes throwing her arms around Kazuki's neck. She was smiling as if the sun were shining just for her inside that little mom-and-pop cafe, and Kazuki looked like he'd just won the Christmas Bowl again. It was a pair of faces like that... Mamori could honestly say they'd never had that. When she understood that, the thoughts kept chasing themselves around and around in her head, 'Was I too reserved with him? Was I doing something wrong? Should I have spent more time with him?'

...

'Were we just... not meant to be at all?'

There were plenty of hopeless thoughts ready and waiting to batter her heart, and she could only stop them for a little while at a time, concentrating on the edges of her sopping wet pixie costume. She'd done this because he'd said to--it may have only been a joke, and she really said she wouldn't, but here she was in a pink fairy costume with cutesy wings and flowers and glitter in her hair and everything. Anezaki Mamori, barely girly enough to be called female, had done herself to the nines just for him.

She always did ridiculous things for him, so why was he with someone else? Was doing things she normally never would not enough? Things she would refuse if they were a request from anyone but him, under threat or otherwise?

Halloween was hearing her thoughts, because just as she contemplated the word 'threat,' she nose-planted into a much-too-familiar chest. Between the black, skin-tight shirt and the familiar, expensive cologne, her thoughts slid from 'threat' into, "Hiruma-kun, don't get yourself purposely bumped into. You would fluster someone who didn't know you better."

Though knowing him, he would do it on purpose so he could be a bully and tell them they broke his arm or something.

"It's your fault for not paying attention, Anezaki."

'Oh lovely damn.' If he was actually using her name, that meant he'd done this for the sake of getting her attention... and was probably fully aware of the situation. She sighed, dropping her forehead against his shoulder with a, "How much do you know?" Why bother with the preamble if he knew everything anyway? She could hear him click his tongue just over the rain.

"I'm fucking omniscient. Didn't you know that?"

"Right. I did." She sighs and leans away, prepared to maneuver around him. It's less than shocking however when he catches her by the back of her tulle-covered costume and starts hauling her away in the opposite direction, back towards that restaurant she swears she'll never patronize again. Mamori looks up at his face first though, as she scrambles to catch her balance, and realizes that he's set himself on something. "What are you doing, Hiruma-kun? I think you know that I really don't want to go back there."

"I'm not doing this for you."

"Making a play at being a tsundere?" she asks, half-heartedly teasing. His scowl actually turned into a smirk, and it wasn't hard to see that he was genuinely amused by the thought.

"As if I'd be so cute."

He was probably right. On his own terms he was a tsundere-- he made a great show of being the sadistic demon lord, but he took care of his own and never let harm come to them. She could even think of times where, despite all else, he created an opportunity for one of the old Devil Bats to move up in the world... even when it was difficult or--to some vague degree-- illegal. Still, cute? Hiruma? Never.

For something like this though, he wouldn't be able to hide that minutely caring side of his... he probably would gain from it in some way, but she was rather confident that he was also taking pity on her. A sigh escaped her lips as she righted herself, and she decided to forgo a futile attempt at removing his iron claw from her drenched costume. It was ruined anyway; she would probably go home and throw it in the garbage can, because it simply wouldn't be worth it to send the bad memory out for dry cleaning.

As she'd been walking so slowly the first time, it only took a few minutes for them to reach the restaurant again; Hiruma didn't bother stopping outside to throw their lovely pink-colored aura in her face. Rather, he stormed through the front door with her towed limply by his side, and it was more than enough to see her ex-boyfriend gazing adoringly at the cute little doll attached to his side as she blew on her hot chocolate with more adorable cuteness. Really, it was finally starting to get on her nerves. What was she made of, cotton candy and adorable sweet cutie goodiness? The thought had her about to hurl, especially, since those were the only descriptors that fit her. Adorable. Sweet. Cute.

'Well excuse me for being savage, vengeful and manly. I didn't set out to be a football coach, it just happened that way,' she thought bitterly, reveling in the way his face paled and terror seeped in as he noticed who was traipsing up to his table.

"Oi, Ha-Ha Brother Eldest. Have you noticed that something's wrong with that pomeranian under your arm?" Hiruma snapped, his eyes narrowed on his former teammate. Mamori wanted to rip something apart; even the way the girl got offended was more of the adorable, sweet and cute. The kind that guys would tease and make mad, just because--as Hiruma pointed out--she was like a little pomeranian. Damn, she felt really ugly now. Was it a sin to be tall and sharp-featured and strong-willed? Was it so damn unsexy for her to want to stand beside her man instead of being coddled by him?

"Hiruma-senpai.... Mamori-!"

"Shut up. Trash doesn't talk," the demon man cackles, suddenly looking pleased with himself. Mamori was about to say, "Goodbye, enjoy your chihuahua," but apparently the former Devil Bat quarterback had something else to say.

"If you're going to be trash, then be trash. I'll take the damn manager like I should've before you interfered."

'....Wait, what?'

Looking much too proud of himself, Hiruma dragged her back out the door, called a taxi, and had them on the way to his apartment before Mamori could even process what he'd said.

...like I should have before you interfered.

"...Hiruma-kun."

"Eh?" he grunts, still sounding demonically pleased with himself. She couldn't bring herself to look at him just yet. He wasn't touching her anymore; his arm was simply draped over the back of the seat as he stared out the window and cackled away. Should she even ask? It felt like inquiring about his declaration would lead to an unpleasant amount of teasing.

She was sure of it, in fact; but her mouth moved anyway, flatly muttering, "You were kidding, weren't you?"

"What makes you think that, damn manager?"

"I'm not your team manager right now, Hiruma-kun. This is a bad joke. Just once is enough, but I would appreciate you leveling with me."

He observed her silently; his sharp eyes still danced with amusement, but were more serious than before. The devilish grin on his face didn't falter a bit, but he wasn't belittling her. He wasn't looking at her from his lofty position of "genius," and he wasn't ignoring her, either. He was waiting. This was him waiting, she knew it, but waiting for what exactly she didn't know. If he was waiting though, she would continue her thoughts--this time, meeting his eyes with all the faltering confidence she could muster.

"If you really wanted me, you wouldn't have had to wait. You probably have any number of ways to make a girl look at you. We were the closest in high school, and Juumonji-kun didn't ask me out until we graduated. We had times after that where we would barely text each other for a month or more because of school or football or other activities. You were with me all the time then. We've been by each other ever since Sena entered the Devil Bats--six years later, we haven't parted ways, despite our contrary personalities... Do you seriously expect me to just accept that you wanted to interfere all this time and never did?" she asked. Her blue eyes measured him, and waited the way he had waited for her. For a moment, Mamori thought his eyes softened on her; they were still devilishly sharp, but they had a certain glint to them that looked different than before.

He still didn't answer.

The taxi driver sounded like he wanted out of the car when he finally pulled up to the sidewalk and announced their arrival and the cost of the journey. Hiruma tossed him a random bill out of his wallet--Mamori could've sworn she saw one too many zeros on it--before dragging her out of the vehicle and toward the front door. The doorman had it wide open long before they got there, allowing the demon to sweep her through unhindered as if he were fully aware of the mood (or rather, was under a hefty threat to always treat him thus). He ignored the elevator and led her full-steam ahead up the stairs to his fourth-floor flat. He stopped abruptly at the entrance to his apartment, turning and dangling the door key in front of her eyes.

He didn't have to tell her to open it for it to be completely understood.

No matter how unsure she was (rather, she was absolutely sure that she was walking into a trap, no doubt about it), she still snatched the key from his hand and moved to unlock the door. It opened without a sound, as expected; if anyone stepped foot in his foyer without knowing better, he wouldn't need a squeaky door as an alarm. His innumerable traps would send the offenders to the hospital all on their own. The first tile to the left, the second on the right; if one didn't walk in to his apartment as casually as he did, they wouldn't make it very far. Mamori left her shoes on the only tile aside from the one he preferred that would not result in shredding her shoes, and moved further down the hall.

His football shrine of a room looked more comfortable than she felt at the moment. She wanted to curse the bed and worn-out couch for looking as inviting as they did when she wanted to turn around and throttle their owner as much as she did. Just as she was about to open her mouth again, a towel flopped on her head with an unceremonious, "Stop dripping on my floor, damn manager."

"Hiruma-!"

She'd turned to yell at him. She turned with the intent of finally prying some answers out of him, of getting him to explain himself for once. Mamori turned around with the intention of aggressively barreling in to the conversation, but all those intentions were derailed when she came nose-to-nose with her own personal demon, his teal eyes narrowed on her intensely.

"Don't you think we've known each other long enough for you to use my given name, Anezaki?"

She thought to push away, to move back, but it only took a split second. In that split second, one half consumed with the thought of moving, the second half wiped completely blank, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers.

It was a tease. It was just a tease, and if she let him do as he pleased right now it would probably be years longer before she managed to get him to answer "why," but her heart was throbbing from pain and anticipation and something overwhelming that she just flat-out refused to name... and she couldn't get her throat to work at all, because she was just that close to sobbing.

Demons come out on Halloween, and here she was wishing on fairy dust that he wasn't going to disappear when the sun came up. She found herself wishing that with all her might, despite the denial and the rejection and the many times her brain and heart repeated that it wasn't going to work. His reasons should've been more important than they seemed at that moment, but instead she let herself tear up as he kissed her again, softly, as if he were charming her. As if he were waiting for her to make the first move when naturally, he was the one leading her exactly where he wanted like always.

She wanted to ask herself what the hell she was thinking, but...

"Mamori?"

What the hell indeed. That barest, barest hint of a question in his eyes, the acknowledgement that this was one plan that could possibly go awry, set something off inside of her. What had he been waiting for the last six years? As she took his face in her hands and kissed him, meshed her lips with his, she came to the silliest, and yet most practical conclusion she could think of. It was so simple that she almost felt she was wrong, but at the same time she knew she was right.

After six years of love/hate relationship, of admiration and respect and being close enough to cause a few misunderstandings, he had waited for this... because he was waiting on her.

He wanted only her, just for her, at her own pace. Not forced or coerced, nor persuaded or taken advantage of. He'd been so cautious about receiving what he really wanted the way he wanted that he ended up working against himself; how very like and unlike him.

When she pulled back, the devious gleam was back in his eyes, mellowed and tempered by a lustful fever. He murmured, "Now time to get you out of this fucking fairy get-up."

She took back her earlier decision. As he tossed the silky garment to the floor, she determined that she would indeed have it dry cleaned, before all her thoughts took a night off.