(Aka: Battling semes and a lemon)

For Mi-chan, because she asked, and I'd do anything for her.

We meet for lunch, a quiet little sushi bar. You sit at the bar, I can see you from the big floor to ceiling windows as I stand on the street outside. Sunny day, even in the centre of Tokyo, and the sky is bright and clear. I wore the pale blue shirt that you're so fond of, with tight black leather trousers from my recent trip to America. A present to myself. I have my necklace on as I always do, the heavy cross buried under my shirt. As I stand outside, I think that the world might have well been empty apart from you. I acknowledge the presence of others, but I do not see them at all. You are sitting at the sushi bar, in gentle conversation with the chef, who hands you something on a tiny plate. Elegantly, you take the morsel with a pair of lacquered black chopsticks and your thanks. You are wearing that shirt, the flowing white one with the open neck. I like that one, though you don't know it, it shows off your dark skin and the shape of your neck. White trousers too, and soft leather sandals. How come you always look fantastic in whatever you wear? Long black hair cascading around your shoulders in waves as you laugh at some comment by the chef and shake your head. What are you laughing at?

I remember the phone call, if we don't see each other then we talk almost every other day. I love it when we go out. Not that we're 'going out', at least I know you do not consider it that. We go to catch a movie each week, the latest release or a re-run of some classic horror. At least we have the same tastes, nothing with a body count of less than two hundred and at least one sex scene. We meet up for lunch and dinner, and sometimes breakfast when we arrive back too late after a night at a club but crash in your living room. I love being woken by you with breakfast even if I am lying, still dressed, on the sofa. You phoned late last night, and we discussed our days. You went shopping, I stayed home, read a few good books and worked on some sketches, just small things, nothing but glamorised doodles really. But I know you like them so I have one tucked into my back pocket. I want to show it to you.

I have stood outside for a good ten minutes, just looking at you, watching the way your back moves as you breath, the muscles in your arms as you take up a glass of water and sip it. Your face is turned away, and I cannot see your throat as you swallow. You have your sleeves rolled up, and my eyes catch on the only bit of colour on you, a ribbon looped many times around your wrist, bright orange, like the setting sun. I remember when we watched the sunset after coming out from a movie. I can't remember the film, just the way you looked, bathed in a blood red and bronze-gold glow, like some ancient pagan god.

So I enter, smile to the woman who seeks to know my pleasure, I nod toward you, a possessive gesture, and she smiles, sidestepping to let me pass. You turn before I can place my hand on your shoulder, something I long to do, anything for a contact with you. But your smile disarms me before I can become even the slightest bit annoyed and you kick out a stool for me. I sit down, and I feel you take in my appearance with your eyes, darker than anything I have ever known and as tempting as dark chocolate. My hair is going through the messy stages between being short and being long, though I do have the makings of a slight fringe. I love your hair, one of the many things I love about you, there's so much of it, all as black as ebony dipped in pitch, looking good whatever you do, or don't, do to it.

"Gomen-ni Sakura-kun. I'm late."

You smile, lips curving upward with a short twitch, and I notice the ribbon around your throat, the same shade of orange, and I think I can almost smell something like that scent around you, and interesting perfume that makes me remember the heat of America, wishing you were there with me.

"You're not late Ken-chan," you say, your voice washing over me, dark like your eyes, and causing a reaction almost to sinful to mention, "I'm early. Hungry?"

"Starving," I reply eagerly, even though I'm not all that hungry. I didn't eat breakfast, but my appetite seems to fade around you. You give me all I need. You chuckle, eyes glittering and take two plates off the conveyor belt. Inari-zushi, my favourite.

The conversation rambles, and even though we spoke for over an hour last night, there is plenty to talk about in between comfortable silences. Food, observances, music and what is running on what I like to call our 'internal soundtracks'. Mine is an old release by Dir en Grey, yours is an English song called "Boys of Summer". You spend a moment humming it softly, since I do not know it, and promise to play it for me next time I go round your apartment.

"You done another drawing?" You ask me, sipping at your green tea. I nod and pull the paper from my pocket, handing the folded sheet to you, not meeting your eyes. It's a small drawing, a man, with long dark hair and beautiful dark eyes, with wings, light and wind curling around his fingers. There's no mistaking that it's you.

"It's beautiful," you murmur, taking another sip of tea, holding the paper out to me.

"You can keep, it's yours."

You smile, I love your smile. You glance down at the drawing, nod, fold it up and press it into my hand.

"Finish it," you say, "On a canvas or something in colour." I've never done a painting before, and you know this, but I know that I'd do anything you ask, so I take it with a slightly muted sound and tuck it away again.

We sit in companionable silence for a while, both eating silently. I watch you more than I eat, chopsticks still poised, unmoving above a kappa-maki, watching you as you consider the slowly moving plates before selecting a tamago, smearing it with a tiny amount of wasabi. That's one of our big differences, I don't like the hot stuff in sushi, but I love Indian curries, whereas you can't stand them. I watch the way you hold your chopsticks, elegant and graceful as you raise a piece of the pancake to your mouth. My eyes watch, closely as I dare, your jaw, creeping down to your throat and the movement of the muscles as you swallow. My mouth suddenly very dry, I ask the next question.

"So what are we gonna see this week?"

You incline your head toward me with a small noise in your throat, and I suddenly see the tightness around your jaw. I want to reach out and smooth it away.

"Actually, I was sort of wanting to cancel our movie this week." I gape at you, try to form an inquiry, but all that come from my lips is a tortured sound I try to cover up. You look at the countertop between us, and continue.

"You see, I met this girl. She's a real beauty, sweet too," You pause, "I'm gonna go out with her this week."

"Oh," is all my numb brain can come up with. I stare at my plate, my kappa-maki still unmoving.

"Sorry Ken-chan. I'll make it up to you."

I hardly hear the words, dimly registering my own mouth saying the words, "No big deal," as my vision blurs. I want to scream, to shout, to tell you why you can't do this to me. But all I can do is let glistening tears drop onto the small sculptures of raw fish and rice in front of me. You reach out to touch my shoulder, my name on your lips, concerned. I knock your hand away hurriedly, getting up and running out before either of us can even say another word.

Outside on the streets it is still sunny, one of those bright days where all you see are happy couples holding hands and eating ice cream. I wish it was raining. I want pouring rain and jagged thunder and freezing winds to echo how my heart feels. At the same time I feel stupid, I've never said anything, and I've sure as hell never claimed you as mine. So why do I feel cheated? I walk home, ignoring the sunshine and the laughter, holding my storm in my heart.

I get home, and kick the door shut behind me. With no lack of haste I walk from my front door to the bathroom, dropping my clothes in a haphazard trail along the way. In the white and blue tiled cubicle I lean against the cold wall, hearing nothing but the rush of the water and your words, repeated over and over in my ears. Words that to me mean you will never love me. I like the shower, it's almost as good as the rain, and I can pretend I'm not crying, though I can feel hot tears on my cheeks. It just seems so unfair that you can love another when I stand right here, unable to give my affection to anyone but you.

Eventually I switch the shower off, and step out, shivering in the sudden cold the air brings. I wrap a white towel around my hips, and walk out of the bathroom, raking my damp hair back from face with my fingers as I go. The shower has washed away all the little traces of make up I wore today, the light eyeliner and the lipstick, even the glimmer of bronze glitter down my throat. It has also washed away my tears, my eyes are clear now, but that's no reflection of my feelings. Your rejection cuts deep like a knife wound twisting in my heart. It would be so much easier if I could make myself hate you, but I know I can't before I even think to try.

"You shouldn't do that to your hair. I like you so much better with that fringe." I turn at the sound of your voice, thinking I must be dreaming. My imagination is tricking me. But no, there you are, standing in the doorway from hall to lounge, leaning one wide shoulder against the doorjamb. As always you look completely relaxed, and I've really no idea how long you've been standing there. I don't stop to wonder how you got in, I just stand there, hardly daring to believe you're here.

"Oh Ken-chan," You are with me to two steps, and I cannot miss the predatory look in your dark eyes as you survey me, wrapped in nothing but a towel and a heavy necklace. Even this close, there is hardly a difference in our heights, you've already taken your sandals off, but somehow I still feel myself looking up at you. You raise one finger to my cheek and catch a fresh tear, just before it falls, on your knuckle, "Why are you crying?"

I don't say anything, I just gulp and drag a hand angrily over my eyes, taking a step backwards. Again I feel your smouldering eyes roam over my body and suddenly I feel the need to be dressed again.