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Outside the airport, the air is cool, not biting, but fresh and full of the promise of heat later. Utsumi lets go of the handle of her luggage to breathe it in; despite the bitter taste of car exhaust unavoidable, it's home. She closes her hand around the handle again and squares her shoulders. Now to find Kusanagi so that she can truly finish the day in the comfort of her own home. She can't see him, though he had promised to meet her right outside.
She swings her purse off her shoulder, holding it in front of her, to search for her phone. As she thumbs it on, propped on the opening of her purse, she raises her head to look around again, and spots Yukawa before he notices her, striding toward her, straight and tall and so familiar... No, it wasn't supposed to be him. She was supposed to manage this, not have it managed for her. She's not ready. She can't face him with a lump in her throat, tears in her eyes, and a heart beating like a captured bird's.
He's closed the distance before she's ready, and she's looking everywhere except for directly in his face, purse held close -- hiding herself, she realizes.
"Utsumi," he says.
"What are you doing h--" The rest of her question gets stuck and reverberates in her head, caught there, crushed between her mouth and Yukawa's shoulder. This is also not unfamiliar, but certainly unexpected, being reached for and tucked close, in the circle of his arms. Her purse slips from her fingers, but to reach for it is out of the question. She keeps her back stiff, not trusting it enough to relax into it. A few seconds pass, silent, both of them quite still, close enough to feel his heart beating, but then she feels his head bend to hers and could swear -- no, that couldn't be. She breathes in, holds herself straighter, prepares for distance.
"Don't tell me you missed me?" Her sarcastic tone is for the most part lost in the muffling breadth of his embrace and she fears she'll have to repeat herself because he doesn't respond with the quickness she would expect. "Professor Yukawa?"
He steps back and now she can see his face, and a year gone hasn't diminished her ability to read his expressions, the fleeting abashment that doesn't quite leave his voice as he says, "If that's what you desire me to say." He bends down to pick up her purse, and dusts it off before handing it to her.
"Damn it," she answers in English, too late to catch herself, but it's almost worth it for the surprise that flashes across his face. She tucks the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. "You could just say it," she continues on, once again in Japanese. "I didn't expect that."
"Perhaps your response would have been different if Kusanagi had been here to meet you as you'd prearranged?"
"Oh. Yes. Maybe. About that--"
"You can thank him here in a few minutes for allowing me to come along and greet you first."
"The later arrival wasn't my doing, you know."
"Oh, no doubt," he answers, as if it was anything but, and starts walking off, presumably to Kusanagi's whereabouts, leaving Utsumi to grab hurriedly at the handle of her luggage, fumbling it, and then rush after him.
Once beside him, he says, "Kuribayashi put your original arrival time on a sticky note on my computer. I think he thought he was being clever in this."
"And?"
"And you let Kusanagi know, but not me." He looks at her, all sharpness and jagged shards disguised in polite passivity, without breaking stride.
She's not unaware of his meaning, but she's not going to let it show, no. "And both of them weren't going to let you be ignorant of when I was coming home. How meddlesome."
"You would have preferred it that way."
"It's been a long time, Yukawa!"
"And I felt every second of it. Didn't you?" He pivots round, his voice now as sharp as his expression.
Dagger-sharp, swift, damaging, breath-stealing, and her defenses crack. She stutters to a stop, says, "Yes," small-voiced, quiet enough that maybe he won't hear it, the warning of incipient breakdown, the struggle of containment. "I wrote to you. I sent you gifts, too. You didn't have to do that, you know," she continues, and she's so tired and her shoulders hurt now, and just like that she can't push away or bury any of her pain.
"That hurt. Okay?" She can feel her mouth trembling and she ineffectually stifles a whimper. "This could have been anything but this. Anything but having you know just exactly--" she stops, closes her mouth and breathes through her nose, swiping at the tears tracking down her cheeks, harsh dashes.
She checks his face, brings her hands down, clamps her mouth shut. That... that kind of sadness should never be seen. She should know. It's not the first time for him, either.
He says, "I don't think I could know. Just how much. Could you have?"
"Anything but this," she repeats, a whisper this time, and takes a step forward, at which Yukawa holds his hand up, a clear sign to keep her back.
He draws breath, his mouth a grimace of agreement. "There are words we need to say, but perhaps not now? We mustn't keep Kusanagi waiting."
He drops his hand.
Utsumi uses the silence as they continue walking to calm her heart and sniff back leftover tears, trying to be delicate about it. Yukawa gives no sign of hearing Utsumi's attempts to pull herself back together. It isn't until she spots Kusanagi leaning against his car, that she notices that Yukawa has been keeping pace with her, instead of striding forward, ahead. She looks back at Kusanagi, who lifts his hand in greeting, and then her heart flutters like a frightened bird again, and she says, "Professor."
He gives no sign he heard her.
"Stop, please, before--" again she looks to Kusanagi, who has now straightened up from his relaxed pose. Any second now and two will be three and the chance for this question will be past and God knows when or if she could --
"Professor... did you, did you," she closes her eyes and then gestures behind her, pointing with expansive vagueness back to where they'd started from, spitting out her words, "did you kiss my head back there?"
"Did I?" The question is quick and evasive, but a look at his face gives her the answer.
"How is it that you--"
"Not back five minutes and already you two are fighting." Kusanagi sounds amused but when Utsumi swings around to face him, his eyebrows are raised with questioning concern.
Yukawa says, coolly, "Yes, almost like old times." His head turns toward Utsumi, catching her attention, and for just a moment it does seem like old times, until Utsumi notices the tightness of his jaw and a lift to his chin that defies her to disagree.
Kusanagi asks, "Is everything all right?"
Utsumi holds her gaze on Yukawa a moment longer, then switches to Kusanagi. She says, "Maybe, but it's not a problem we need you to help with, sir."
"Ahh," he answers, "you don't need to be that formal right now, and if that's the case I'll leave it alone. Come here."
He holds his arm out, and Utsumi exhales inaudibly, taking a step forward. Kusanagi closes the distance, and for the second time, Utsumi is enveloped in a warm embrace. She takes a deep breath and holds her hand out, her fingers moving to grasp at nothing until they encounter what she was hoping for -- the side of Yukawa's jacket sleeve. She slides her hand down until her fingers are tangled in his.
Kusanagi says, "It's good to have you home." He steps back and Utsumi lets her hand fall back to her side.
"It's good to be home," she answers.