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"I can't stay," Takumi said.
Nana shivered; the cool air rushed in from the vacant building, and Takumi wasn't in a hurry to shut the door. Still, she kept her smile bright. She was glad that he was here at all.
"You can stay long enough for a bath, can't you?" she tried.
He shook his head. Black threads of hair escaped from the style that they had been arranged in, the simple, yet bold look of a rockstar. Nana knew that he had just hurried back from a shoot. Now he was off again— to where, she could only guess. There were the dark suggestions, of course, that shoved their way into her mind, as always, utterly unwelcome. She knew that some truth accompanied them, too. Still, it was exhausting doubting every little thing that he said, like a vulture picking at a carcass. Sometimes, it was easier to just pinch his cheek affectionately and warm up the coffee pot. Their home was worthy enough for a pit stop, and that was enough. She'd make it the most rejuvenating pit stop in the world.
Takumi said, "Nice haircut."
Of course he'd notice. He always made it his business to spot little things like that, knowing that it would make a girlfriend's day. Nana herself felt pleased, though she didn't want to let herself be, and preened.
"Worth every penny," she sighed.
He leaned forward and feathered through her new do. Then he bent and inhaled her scalp.
"I'm exhausted," he muttered, nuzzling.
Nana allowed the touch. It felt nice. "When do you have to get back?"
He rose and sighed, before consulting his watch rather dramatically. "I don't know...damnit. I was going to stay over, you know."
"Really?" She doubted it, rather.
"Yeah. But even a guy like me's got to come home every now and then."
"Every now and then," Nana echoed. "Yeah."
"It's a magazine thing," he went on, his lips faintly turning in distaste, "some indie project. Our name to boost theirs. No real interest in our music. Just like always."
Nana blinked. "But if they're indie, that means it's a magazine run by passionate people, right? They have to like you guys. I mean, hello, Trapnest?" She threw up a hand, like she was stating the obvious.
His smile was pitying. He patted her on the head. "It's nice, the way you think. Passion. That's the sort of thing you forget exists, when you're in the industry long enough."
She found herself feeling rather embarrassed. "Well, fine! Go run along to your magazine. I hope they drain you guys dry."
Laughter. "OK, ouch. I'm just telling you the truth. And I've always liked your naivety. Makes me think that there's still a bit of hope left in the world."
She grimaced, not sure of how to feel. He saw her as naive, did he? That made sense, probably, considering how he played her like a fiddle at every opportunity, hopping from one model's pad to the next.
But still. "I'm not that innocent," she told him, folding her arms and shutting the front door with her foot.
He considered. "No, maybe not. I like that, too."
He smiled again, holding out his arms. She was suspicious, again.
Then she gave in and hugged him.