You and I [Completed!]

Ordinary Lives

At nine Arata heard the doorbell which drew him out of Akira Kurosawa's feudal world. He switched off the TV, dropped the spoon back into the bowl of vegetable soup and got to his feet. When he answered the door, he expected a round face looking at him with a distant expression and he wasn't wrong. Along with it, however, there was another unfamiliar one which looked displeased.

Arata stared at the two women, his brows lifting in question. Hanami shifted in her spot which drew his attention to the bags in her hand. He took hold of them, feeling their heavy weight, and stepping aside, motioned them into the apartment. The taller woman did not move and continued staring at him through narrowed eyes. Wishing to get out of her sight, Arata turned towards the drawing room, leaving them slipping off their shoes at the entrance.

He left the bags on the bed of Hanami's room, taking the opportunity to prepare himself for small talk and pleasantries which might be required of him. Arata glanced at the mirror by the dresser, noticing the tired reflection of his face. It was only when his gaze fell upon the tiny bottle of cream hidden behind a hairbrush that he realized it was no longer his work room but his wife's place. He felt somewhat embarrassed to be lingering about and stepped out.

When he reached the drawing room, the woman flashed him a taut smile and glanced towards Hanami who looked stricken. A heavy silence hung over them for a while. Tension was palpable in the air between them. Arata was the first to break it.

"Arata Miyama." He offered the visitor a hand, throwing in a smile.

"Mari Aizawa. Hanami's frien--room mate,"she said and shook hands. Hanami looked between them, brows tight and bottom lip bitten. He gestured them to the sofa and the ladies took a seat. Arata, however, remained standing and glanced between them.

"Tea, Coffee? Dinner...?"

"It's alright, Mr.Miya--"

"Coffee, thank you."Mari quipped,leaning back in her spot. His wife dropped a sharp glance towards her friend but remained silent. He wondered what they'd spoken behind his back. By Mari Aizawa's expression, it wasn't pleasant.

"Oh, add lots of sugar as well. I don't like bitter things."Mari gave him another one of her smiles. Arata felt his brow twitch but he nodded and turned towards the kitchen.

"Mr.Miyama, wait, let me fetch it." Hanami fell in step with him. Her hand drew closer to touch his arm, but she seemed to hold back, "You don't have to do anything. She's my guest."

"It's alright.I don't mind." He continued on his way.

The kitchen provided an escape. He took his own time, choosing the coffee beans, inhaling the rich scent and munching on cheeselings while waiting for the milk to boil. It was better that he was disliked. That way, he needn't pretend to be nice. There was to be no charade and despite the irritation, he appreciated that.

"Ah, the perks of having a man who knows his way around the kitchen."Mari Aizawa commented, once he returned with a fresh brew of coffee. "Good for your wife who doesn't know sugar from salt."

He looked at Hanami perched on the edge of her seat and offered her a cup. Unfazed by the comment or perhaps too distracted to have heard it, she cradled it between her palms, staring at the stream rising up.

He fell into a chair by the sofa."Thank you for the compliment, Ms.Aizawa."

"Miss? Please drop the formality. I heard you being called Mister. Doesn't it make you feel old?"

Arata stared at the woman, feeling his cheek turn hot.

"It's her choice,"he said, turning his gaze towards his wife. Looking at the young woman now made him feel older, ancient even. She shook her head in mute apology.

"You've got a good place by the way."Mari's eyes roamed around the room, coming back to rest on him. He knew the look she gave him. Calculating. Weighing. The wrinkle on her nose marked her judgement.

"What do you do for a living,"he asked, deflecting her focus."Miss Aizawa?"

"I am a fashion designer, Mr.Miyama. I own a boutique in Tokyo."

"Interesting,"he said, without interest."I'm glad you helped Mrs--er, your friend here. Thank you."

"Your wife's name is Hanami. And it terrified a friend of ours to see her drag those bags by herself and trip on them. So, she sent me here." She set the cup down and cut him with an accusing glare.

"He did offer to come along."Hanami spoke up. Mari shrugged, hell bent on avoiding her.

"Anyway, I should get going now." She rose to her feet. Hanami rose as well but received a shake of head asking to stay where she was.

"Take care. And thank you for the lovely coffee."

Without much fanfare or greetings, Mari and Hanami parted with a single nod. The awkwardness between them remained hovering in the air for a while. Arata continued sipping his coffee, the initial annoyance subsiding.

"Your friend, hm?"he mused, setting the cup down. Hanami's remained on the table, forming a ring of brown.

"We were roommates," she answered, "Had a little tiff, nothing much."

Curious about the 'little tiff', he stared at her as if to say 'Go on'.

She looked away. "Mari wasn't happy I went through this...arrangement."

That's apparent, he thought bitterly. Her comment came back to prick him. Old.

"Don't get her wrong. She's kind, sweet really. But it was all too rash and rushed to her."She mused, "She cares."

He nodded and cleared his throat. "What Ms.Aizawa said-er-Do you feel uncomfortable when I call you Mrs.Miyama?"

"...A little." A smile was sent his way. "What about you?"

"Well... if it feels odd you don't have to keep up with it. Hanami." At the utterance of her name, Arata saw her cheeks turn pink. The expression left him amused. She was pretty old school.

"Have you eaten?"she asked, turning away.

"Yes. There's some for you in the kitchen."

He heard her footsteps fade away as she left the room. There was a clatter of vessels and in a moment, Hanami appeared at the doorway, looking pleased. "It smells good."

Arata pretended to be unaffected by the compliment.

"I'll be off to bed now,"he said, passing by her.

She nodded. When he was a few steps away, she breathed, "Good night...Arata."

Arata continued towards his room, without turning to look at her, relieved that the woman couldn't see the uneasy flush that had crept to his cheeks for some reason.

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