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"This is not a good idea," Yamamoto says uneasily.
Matsuda nudges him. "Come on, don't chicken out now – it's gonna be fun!"
Yamamoto fixes him with a resigned look.
"Fun," he repeats dubiously. "That's what you said last time."
"And it was fun, wasn't it? We got to dance with some hot girls."
Yamamoto rolls his eyes. "Well, yes, terribly fun. About as fun as it can possibly be, getting thrown about in the crowd and breaking an arm. And the time before that, when you got so drunk you decided it would be the next Schlieffen plan if you filmed yourself breaking a wine bottle over my head and posted it on YouTube."
Matsuda chuckles. "Now that was fun."
"Painfully fun."
Matsuda makes a point of pouting and turns his wide eyes on his colleague.
"C'mon, please? It's Friday . . ."
"So?" Yamamoto ignores his expression.
"Friday's party-night! No-work-tomorrow-so-let's-celebrate-night!"
Yamamoto sighs, ruffling his spiky hair in anguish. "Why pick me?"
Matsuda senses his loss of will in the argument and beams.
"Because," he threads his arm through Yamamoto's, "there's no way I can ask Aizawa. He'd kill me for suggesting it. Ide isn't romantic enough and Mogi doesn't drink. So that leaves you!"
Yamamoto tries to remove his arm but Matsuda hangs on. "This is sounding worse and worse."
"No!" Matsuda cries. "Look, we're here now!" Hurriedly, he nods to the guard-guy outside and drags Yamamoto into the building. The rotating neon lights, the mass of people from business men to full-out punks writhing on the dance floor and the loud blaring music of a live girl-band hit his senses as he glances delightedly around the club.
He grins at Yamamoto who resembles a rabbit caught in the glare of head-lamps.
"What d'you wanna do first?" he shouts over the noise, gleefully.
The rabbit shouts back. "I don't care, so long as we stay well away from the dance floor."
"Okay, let's go grab some drinks!" Matsuda decides, and drags the rabbit to the bar, obediently giving the dance floor a wide berth.
* * * * *
"Hey, check out that drummer girl," Yamamoto gestures towards the live band from where he's lounging against the bar, one hand cradling his drink, his words slurring together. "How cute can you get?"
Matsuda hides a laugh as he looks in the direction of the band. This was why he brought Yamamoto along. The guy really did loosen up after a few pints.
He nods appreciatively. "Very cute."
The girl in question is giving the drums her all, arms a blur, short spiked hair whipping across her face as she devours the beat of the song. Matsuda vaguely recognises it . . . ah, yes, a 'YUI' song. What is it though . . . ?
He tilts his head on one side, listening to the lyrics another pretty girl is singing in a husky voice – a very pretty girl, but with long hair tumbling down her back. Matsuda prefers short hair. She's a good singer though, and soon, he's remembered what the piece is. 'Again' by YUI. He likes this song.
He taps his fingers along to the strong beat – the drummer girl's good.
He frowns.
Speaking of the drummer girl, there's something about her he finds familiar. Her eyes, her face . . . does he know her?
He fights with the alcohol fogging his brain, then gives up. It doesn't matter anyway.
Instead, he hums along to the song, but as soon as he's started, the piece ends, and to his disappointment, the band are replaced by a DJ who starts up a new song.
"Oooh, I like this one," Yamamoto leaps up and before Matsuda can utter 'hypocrite' he's vanished, shimmying into the crowd. Smirking, Matsuda twists round on his stool to face the bartender, gesturing for a refill. As he delves in his pocket for some change, the beat of the current song reverberates out from next to him.
He glances up and a pair of large eyes, bright with adrenaline and half-hidden by short, dark, spiky hair grin back at him as their owner picks out the beat on the bar counter with her drumsticks.
"Hey," she skilfully flips one. "Matsuda, right?"
He stares at the drummer girl. "So I do know you! I thought I did." He smiles, pleased.
"Sayu Yagami," the girl flicks her tangled fringe out her eyes with a deft shake of her head. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"My God, yeah . . ." Matsuda mentally punches himself. Of course he knew her. "I haven't seen you since . . ." he trails off again. Whoops. How tactless could he be? Sayu's smile falters a little, but then she's brushed his stupid comment away skilfully.
"Yeah."
Still mentally beating himself up, Matsuda is burning with questions to ask. Like 'Do your parents . . . er, parent, know you're here? In a club?' and 'Are you still upset about . . . you know . . .' He hastily whips them into submission. They would make him seem even more tactless. And stupid. Who in their right mind would ask if someone was upset about the death of their family members? But everyone thought he was stupid anyway.
And why would it matter if her parents – 'parent' he reminds himself again – knew where she was or not? She was around 25 now, after all, wasn't she?
Instead, he hears his mouth steer the conversation back to safer waters.
"Well, I've gotta say, you've changed a lot since I last saw you," he smiles weakly. Sayu grins, gesturing towards her self with her drumsticks – her clothes and her hair.
"What you mean this?" she laughs. Matsuda flicks his gaze up and down her briefly. Very gothic. Black skinny jeans, black and red checked hoody, metal belt, and – was that a Motorhead shirt?
"Yeah, but the drumming too," he acknowledges. "When did you take that up?"
Sayu twirls a drumstick in her hair. "A few years ago. I kinda gave up on everything after . . ." she pauses and catches Matsuda's eye, ". . . well, you know what I'm talking about. I got really depressed."
Matsuda marvels at the calm way she's telling him this.
"Must have been hard on your Mom," he comments.
"Yeah. She kept on going on about how I should get out more. But I got into rock and heavy metal . . . and from there came the drums. That was probably the last straw for her. She's practically disowned me." Sayu chuckles, but in her eyes there's a glint of sadness.
"What did you do?" Matsuda asks breathlessly.
Sayu shrugs. "Kept up the drumming. Went to stay with a friend. Oh, and cut my hair." She smiles a wide smile. "Mom never let me, so once I'd left, that was one of the first things I did. Defiance and all that. I love it short. So much easier to keep in control."
Matsuda nods. "Looks good. I like it."
Sayu glances at him with a weird expression on her face. Matsuda has no idea what it's meant to convey so he just tries to look innocent. It must have worked because Sayu goes back to her drumsticks, absent-mindedly attacking the counter again.
There's a long silence.
"I like drumming," she tells him eventually. "It's cool. And it gives me a chance to get rid of everything. Take it all out. I like the feeling." Matsuda raises an eyebrow. Sayu notices and grins.
"Oh, my bad. Sorry, I'm kinda random like that." She runs a hand through her hair, slightly embarrassed.
"Oh no, I mean . . . it's not that random . . . I, uh . . . I'm quite weird like that too . . . blurting out random stuff . . ." Matsuda stutters hastily. Sayu cocks her head on one side.
"Did you just call me weird?" she frowns.
"No, no, no, no!" Matsuda cries quickly. "I didn't . . . er . . . oh hell . . ." he subsides into an anguished murmur as Sayu giggles. Now he's the embarrassed one.
"Uh . . . can I get you a drink or something?" Mastuda hurriedly changes the subject.
Sayu smiles knowingly, tapping a glass with one of her drumsticks. "Mmm, I'd love a hot chocolate. It's so cold tonight."
Matsuda winks. "If you need warming up, just let me know, and I'll have you toasted in no time."
Then he freezes. What did he just say?
His mental tortures become a walk to the gallows as he stares at Sayu in horror. Why the hell had he said that? This was Sayu he was talking to! He couldn't act like he did with other girls!
To his immense relief, Sayu just laughs, accepting her drink and sipping it gingerly.
"I'll make sure to take you up on that," she grins, flicking her hair again as she eyes him flirtatiously over her drink.
Matsuda's jaw drops.
"Are you . . . flirting with me?" he asks, wide-eyed. Damn the alcohol for stating the obvious.
Sayu leans forwards, and Matsuda notices how long her eyelashes are.
"May-be," she draws out the syllables, rolling them round her tongue.
"Are you drunk?" Matsuda demands. "I thought you were sober."
Sayu leans back, affronted. "What do you mean? 'Course not. Unless someone spiked this." She raises her hot chocolate.
"Then why are you flirting with me?"
Sayu arches an eyebrow. "Is it illegal?" The tinge of a smirk appears in the corner of her mouth.
Matsuda stares. "But I'm like, a whole decade older than you."
Sayu's expression softens. "Why should I care?"
Matsuda's inner conscious fights momentarily to preserve Sayu's dignity, but then he beheads it.
"The hell with everything," he decides and slides a hand into Sayu's hair, pulls her face towards him and crushes his lips against hers.
It's everything he's ever dreamed of. Her mouth is soft and sweet; he blissfully tastes lingering drops of her hot chocolate. Her hair is tangled in his fingers as he runs a hand through it, whilst with the other hand he strokes her smooth cheek. Her own fingers are like butterflies as they abandon their drumsticks and flutter up to his neck, sending chills down his spine.
And then he remembers that he still needs to breathe and reluctantly breaks away. Panting heavily, he stares into her gorgeous eyes.
A smile twists her mouth.
"Again," she murmurs, and entwines her hands in his hair.