Seven Years Earlier
[in Ogikubo, Japan]

With the rain pattering on my shoulders and the crown of my head, I glanced down at my phone to check the time. The screen flicked its bright light across my face as I scowled at the realization that it was already so late. I held a shot glass in my other hand, turning it over to examine the print across its surface which spelled out "Happy Birthday, (-First Name-)". Although I didn't drink tonight, now I'm legally obliged to do so.

It's nearly two in the morning. It's definitely rare for me to be out this late, but I guess my own birthday party would be an exception. All my friends were either drunk at the restaurant by now, probably, or dead asleep. I'm glad I left before I could be morally forced to take care of them as the single sober. I watched cars drive past me on the road as my breath became visible in the cold, rainy night. Tucking a few strands of my (-Hair Color-) hair behind my ear, I wrapped myself tighter in the raincoat. All I had underneath was a (-Color-, -Style [optional]-) dress, and on my feet were (-Color-) high heels. I looked down at my reflection in a puddle. This is far more formal than usual... I told myself. And not so comfortable.

I waited for the stoplight to signify that I was allowed to walk, but my travels were cut short by the sound of people arguing. Curiosity struck me and I became set on trying to find out what the problem was. As I inched closer, I found that one of the voices was small and meek--like a child. The child's harsh words were sent to appear tough, but it greatly contrasted the shakiness of their tone. The other voices were clearly teenagers, maybe highschoolers, most likely bullying the poor kid.

Soon, I arrived at the scene which was located within a secluded alleyway. It was a bit dark, but I was still able to make out the gist of the situation. As I suspected, there was a young boy--no more than eight years old--being held up against a concrete wall by his shirt collar. He kept trying to insult the teens, but it so obviously wasn't working; judging by the way they were laughing instead.

I stepped in without really meaning to. By the time they noticed me, I figured it was too late to turn back now. "Wow..." I exclaimed. "To team up against a young boy just to prove to yourselves that you have just the slightest fragment of dominance in this world... I pity you."
Amused and offended, the teens started slurring insults and taunts as they crept forward, nearing me. I threatened them back as if they had hurt my feelings or something, and removed my jewelry, preparing to fight.

A tall figure stepped in front of me, blocking the teens from my view and blocking me from theirs. "You kids should head home," it said, bearing the voice of a man. He grabbed onto the young boy whose buzzcut is only visible to me now that he's closer. Then he outstretched his other arm like he's trying to hold me back from launching myself at the bullies. "Leave these two be. I'll deal with them."

"Oh, no way. Give up the girl," their leader, I assumed, said to the man. "She has to pay for what she said." I could see the teen grin to his comrades who smiled back. I cringed at the nasty looks on their faces. "Besides, she's drunk," the leader stated with a chuckle--as if it were a fact--whilst glancing at my shot glass.

I looked up at the man in front of me. He wasn't facing me, but I could still see his careless smirk as he lowered the arm that was restricting me. "Would you like to test that theory?" he challenged, speaking in place of me.

Taking this gesture as him allowing me to fight, I hooked my finger onto the back of my high heel, taking it off and twirling it in my hand so I could hold it comfortably as a weapon. Everyone flinched. "Come here," I encouraged. "This'll be my birthday present."

Instead, the teens stepped away, stumbling over their apologies, and ran off. I heard the man in front of me sigh as if he were stressed. "Couldn't you calm down a bit?" he asked me, opening up a black umbrella. "They were just kids."

"That's why scaring them off was best," I said to defend myself. "Besides, I don't know how to fight. It was a bluff." I shrugged, putting my shoe back on.

The stranger shook his head at me. "You. You are crazy." I curtsied, intending to take that as a compliment.

"How did you know I wasn't drunk?" I asked him, holding up my glass for my own personal inspection.

"I didn't," he said, holding his umbrella over himself and the little boy. "That was a bluff." I barked a laugh.

The young boy looked up at him, then to me. He spoke up defiantly soon after. "I could've taken care of myself, thank you!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? You had everything under control?" He nodded furiously in reply. I sighed, "Kid, it's two a.m.. You shouldn't even be out this late. I'll walk you home."

"No!" he shouted. "That's too shady! I'll walk myself home! Goodnight!"

He bowed deeply and got ready to set off, but before he was able to bolt away, I stopped him and lent him my raincoat which he accepted graciously. He happily waved at us before he vanished around the corner.

"That brat has good manners," I marvelled.

The man next to me sighed in a way that made him sound stressed. "You're going to get a cold," he stated knowingly.

I let the rain drench me. "No, I'm not."

He thrusted the umbrella toward me. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not!"

"I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong," he retorted.

I rolled my eyes and started walking to my place, trying to avoid his umbrella, but he followed me. Before I knew it, I was home with an umbrella over my head even though I was one hundred percent sure that I wouldn't get sick. The man said goodbye and left as I entered my house. I peeled off my rain-soaked dress and threw on my pyjamas, immediately going to bed right after.

The next morning I woke up with a cold.

I felt horrible, but not because I was lying in bed sick; because I knew I was wrong and that some persistent-as-hell stranger won the argument. It didn't take too long for him to rub it in my face, though. Lo and behold, the man from last night was standing casually in front of my house when I answered the door.

"Oh," I sniffled. "It's you."

He walked past me and entered my house, hauling a grocery bag onto the dining table after leaving his shoes at the front. Now that I saw him in actual light, his appearance astonished me. Deep blue eyes, like two marbles carrying the ocean, sitting placidly behind the showcasing glass of his specs and underneath the wheat, tan yellow of his eyebrows. His skin was so fair and clear that I would've expected him to be transparent. And his semi-formal attire matched cleanly with his messily sleeked-back hair. He looked foreign to this world--or like a porcelain doll.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized.

I tilted my head, snapping out of my thoughts. "Late to what?"

"To prevent your cold." He then rolled his sleeves up and pulled out a few things from the bag I didn't recognize very easily besides a small cloth that was meant to be used for a hot towel. "Now go lie down. Stop getting up."

"Says the guy who made me get the door..." I grumbled, conjested, before complying. I wouldn't be as easygoing as I was for anyone, but he was so honest that his trustworthiness was obvious after first glance.

How strange. This person I didn't know was taking care of me as if were his child. I was pretty certain he didn't even know my name, and I'm sure I didn't know his, but it seemed too late to ask, so I went along with it. He let himself peruse my kitchen in search of cooking utensils. He brought his own ingredients, so I assumed that he was going to make me something that would help me get better.

"Is it cake?" I asked him with a childlike hopefulness to my tone.

He scoffed and chuckled at my silly wonder. "I'm making you porridge."

I shook my head at him. "No, I smell cake. It's (-Flavor-)." He looked at me in disbelief. "I'm telling you, it smells like a bakery in here."

I remembered him calling my senses selfish because they worked only for my own good. However, he soon wound up pulling out a small (-Flavor-) cake out of one of the bags he brought, claiming that he bought it this morning since I mentioned it being my birthday when I was threatening those teens. He then unenthusiastically told me something along the lines of "Happy belated birthday; you're sick"--which I accepted with as much grace as you can expect from a sniffling idiot, sweating from the heat of her own blanket. He instructed me not to eat the cake until I got better.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked in true confusion as I lifted my head a bit to look at him.

He scratched the back of his neck like he had to remember why he was here. "Because you lent your coat to that little boy and I feel guilty for letting you. And then you got sick because of it. I should've done something, being the man in the whole endeavor."

I laid back down and adjusted my blanket. "That's a gender bias."

He chuckled and came up next to me, holding out a bowl of porridge. "I suppose it is. Anyway, promise me you won't do something like that again; at least as long as I'm around."

"Yeah, yeah. I promise." I extended my arm to him so that I could affirm that promise by shaking hands.

He narrowed his eyes at me at lifted up his pinky finger. "Pinky-promise me."

I chuckled and obliged. "God, you're like a little girl."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a gender bias."

I rolled my eyes at him with a smile. "I suppose it is."

As I ate, we shared conversation and eventually shared names... which really should have been done first. His name was Kurokawa Taichi and he--with just an umbrella and a mini (-Flavor-) cake--became close and closer to me faster than all the friends I had spent my birthday with just the night before.

So I never let him alone since, and I continued to pester and bother him, but we agreed that we were just hanging out--mostly at his studio apartment for the sake of not spending money anywhere else. A lot of times I would help him with his work. He said that he was thankful for it, and that I had a knack for solving problems anf analyzing as well as a charm that could lead anyone to me; part of his usual flattery. Not only was it us, but we became better acquainted with the boy we met at the alleyway, Doi Doppo, and he'd maintain company with us too.

Whenever I talked to Taichi, I'd learn something new and it'd only fascinate me more no matter how insignificant it seemed. He was allergic to paprika so he'd use sweetened cayenne pepper as a substitute when he cooked. He liked sweets and hated sour food. He liked plants, but didn't have a green thumb. He played the violin. He loved reading fiction. He was one year older than me. He liked wintertime. He loved otters and dogs. He loved stars. Art. Fireplaces. Blue... Games... Nighttime...

Me.

I remember him saying it as clear as day, blood rushing to his cheeks and delivering a dust of pink blush that reached his ears. His deep blue eyes, like two marbles rolling in the vast sky collecting the the universe's intent at its wake, sat placidly behind transparent shields of clean, water-like glass and beneath the light hairs and sweat of his brow. His skin was so fair and clear that I could see through him and look at the rapid pacing of his heart trying to keep up with his words. His semi-formal attire was hardly noticeable compared to the glaring, meaningful tone of his voice and expression on his face--his messily sleeked-back hair framing it like a masterpiece. He was so serious, but at the same time, relieved.

He said he loved me. For some reason, I acted as if I wasn't surprised, but I was, and I was happy. I remember holding my breath as he said it; I think we both did. I didn't know how to reply, so I just nodded and rested my forehead on his chest grinning stupidly to myself like a child at a candy store, inhaling the scent of his shirt--a mixture of subtle cologne and his own natural air. He just held me there, resting the side of his head on mine.

I'm pretty sure we never said anything officially, but somehow mutually agreed to be together, to stay together, that he was mine, and that I was his. And this I promised to him by holding up my pinky, letting him hook his own pinky around it like a link of chains. We spent each day with one another like the world was below us and it was the most complete I've ever felt. But it was all a secret.

He explained this to me very early; before he confessed, before I latched onto him like one puzzle piece to another, and before I even got to know him. He was a private investigator working for all kinds of people; from high-end organizations looking into their competitors' tactics, to an orphan child searching for his mother. But sometimes the alleged targets would rather not have their information unearthed. Taichi knew that there would be at least a few individuals who'd try to get back at him, and in order not to rope me into being used as blackmail we kept even our acquaintance as classified information.

This I was fine with, and he honestly couldn't believe me to the point of saying that I loved him to a fault. But he thanked me in melancholic joy and kissed my forehead for it.

We spent a year like this. That time was used up so quickly, but every moment was meaningful to the both of us. Once that year vanished into the past, we began anew. And by "anew", I mean engagement. I suspected that something was up after I found cornflower-blue sticky notes littering the walls, forming and arrow that directed me from the front door to the living room. There, he serenaded me with his violin before dropping to one knee and proposing.

I declined.

But he was far from discouraged.

On the second attempt, he got a local florist to help him tend to and grow a rose from an already existing rose bush; which he clipped and used as bait of some sort. I declined again, but I congratulated him for managing to grow something. The third try was a success. We took a walk together--in public--on the night of a rainy day as we shared the space under the same black umbrella with which we met. He knelt down and reached into his back pocket, and I watched as his content face melted into a panic. I laughed and slid my hand into my own pocket, pulling out the ring enclosed in its dark velvet case--which he momentarily thought he lost. He stared at it in bewilderment before cracking a grin and shaking his head. "You. You are crazy."

I curtsied and knelt down beside him, both of us crouched over and took shelter beneath the ebony, silk-like fabric of the umbrella's skeletal frame. I opened the case to reveal the ring to both of us. It was quite beautiful and eye-catching as it glistened underneath the streetlights and the moon. It's a shame that I wouldn't be able to wear it for the sake of our secrecy. Rather than an accessory, it'd have to remain as more of a symbol, but something like this--a ring--was a promise and I was willing to keep it. So, I proposed to him, and he rested his lips on my forehead, smiled into a kiss, and whispered a "yes".

=Author's Note=

Okay... I suppose I should explain myself now. *sigh*

I wanted the idea of Taichi being Reader-chan's husband to be a surprise, but I also wanted you guys to feel somewhat attached to him so that his death wasn't "just another death" (like the woman who was murdered earlier in this story. Be honest now; you don't give a fuck about her, and you know it)--hence why I had you guys create him yourselves.

This was your special little flashback with him, and it might explain a few things like "Where the hell did Doppo come from?" or "What was up with my awkward pinky-promise with Kida?".

Sorry for not updating in a while! School just started up again... (I'm a Sophomore now! Ew. Getting old.). Anyway, a little more backstory will be given in the next chapter, but the flashback ends here, so... Uhm. Like, favorite, and subscribe! XD

-!n@

P.S. Guys, we're at about 870 votes and 22 K reads, and there have only been nine actual chapters (I'm not including this one because I'm writing this as I'm looking at the stats). Isn't that amazing?! Y'all are awesomes. :)