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Tap. Tap. Tap.
It's the tip of her pen tapping against her desk- she's going along with the rhythm of the clock, because without it, the timing would be abstract and impure. The clock tells her that the tapping is perfectly timed. Perfectly rigid.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Let me get this straight," Ibara says, closing her eyes against the unrelenting stare that Anzu is giving her. "You want...to ask me out."
A nod. "That's right," Anzu replies. There’s a determined edge to her voice- she’d almost think it too determined, were her own courage not shriveling at merely the thought of doing what Anzu’s doing now.
She can still hear it, ringing in her ears- the click of Anzu's boots, the drawn-in breath of air. Ibara, she had said, at which point Ibara looked up and pretended she hadn't noticed her before she'd even come in. I know this is forward, so please excuse me. But I wanted to know if you-
The sound on loop in her brain is borderline maddening.
"And you decided my office was the best place to have this discussion?"
She shrugs, so casual and careless that it clashes with her tailored suit and neatly ironed turtleneck. Her suit is, of course, tailored perfectly- as if Anzu would accept anything less than perfection in her work. It's something Ibara admires about her (and it has nothing to do with how perfectly pleasing it fits her).
"I had the afternoon off." Even as Anzu says it, they both wrinkle their noses in disbelief. "I figured I should take advantage of it."
Take advantage. As if asking such a thing is something special. Something deserving of precious time.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"What brought this on?" she asks, desperate to break her own silence. Her temples begin to ache with how overbearing her thoughts have already become over this.
Again, Anzu shrugs, though this time it is accompanied by a pretty flush that paints her face. "My boys put me up to it," she says bluntly, then, eyes widening a bit, she continues with, "Not- that I wasn't interested before, I'm sure you could tell I was-"
"Hardly," Ibara lies. She's become well accustomed to turning a blind eye to the line they've been dancing on.
Anzu wets her bottom lip. "What I meant was that they were pestering me because I was- or we were, I suppose- quote," she raising two fingers on each hand in air quotations. " 'So freakin' loud without even saying anything'. "
Ibara bristles at this. "What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, hardly able to keep the venom out of her voice. The idea of any of those Trickstar boys, seeing through her- it sends a shudder down her spine. Violating. Humiliating.
Though most likely not to the same degree, Anzu grimaces in agreement. "I told them it was unprofessional," she explains, tone suddenly hasty. "I told them it was nothing more than a workplace attraction."
Ah. "So it would seem," Ibara says, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut.
Stupid. Stupid. She got her hopes up, but the conclusion was obvious from the beginning. Anzu is only doing this to get those meddlesome boys off her back. Of course she is. And Ibara- is fine with that. She's fine.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"...But."
Ibara looks up. "But?"
And Anzu laughs. It's small, half-formed and very nearly deprecating, but it's a laugh. "I mean, we both know that's not true, right?" she grins, raking a hand through her bangs. "Like, yeah, we can tiptoe around it and stuff, but let's be real. I wouldn't be here if it was a 'workplace attraction'."
"Quite right," Ibara says faintly. She can barely hear what Anzu is saying over the blood pumping in her ears. She's horrendously red, she must be, with a pulse like this.
Anzu's grin widens, and for a moment, she looks just how they did when they first met as second years- naive, nervous, overcompensating. Adorable. "I'm gonna be honest, I'm kinda crazy for you?" she laughs, slipping into her more casual manner of speech. "You're so weird, but like, a good weird. And I'm really into it."
"Uh," Ibara says, because she's never, not once in her life, had someone be so brazenly direct.
Her eyes soften into something apologetic at Ibara's nonanswer. "Sorry, Sorry. This is a lot to push on you, I know."
"No- I mean, it's really- or rather, you're-" Ibara clears her throat. "...You are much more forward than I anticipated."
"Mm, I guess?" Anzu looks to the ceiling thoughtfully, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was really nervous like, two minutes ago, but now I'm on a roll. Literally word vomiting right now."
"I see."
"You're lucky it's not real vomit."
"I- suppose I am, yes?"
"No, really. I genuinely thought I might throw up."
It doesn't show on her face, but Ibara believes her. More than once in her life, Ibara's confessed to things that threatened to spill her guts as literally as the saying goes.
"I'm glad you refrained from doing so," Ibara settles on saying, unable to come up with anything more appropriate than that. Words aren't coming to her as easily as they normally do- perhaps they should teach confession bombing in the military. That is certain to make a soldier stumble over their feet and tongue.
Anzu's eyes flick back to hers, and so to does her smile return. It really is a lovely smile- unfairly so, Ibara used to think. "Don't jinx yourself yet," she teases. "I mean, offer's still on the table."
Ah, right. A response. One that Ibara has not given.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"You understand that it would be very unprofessional of us."
Anzu nods. "Extremely so," she says. "We'd have to keep a strict separation of personal lives and work lives."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"And you also understand that should even this one date go badly, there could be unsavory tensions?"
"Of course. I don't think it would, though. Go badly."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Ibara sucks in a breath. "I am not an easy person to date, Miss producer," she says.
Anzu raised a quizzical brow. "I wouldn't expect you to be?" It's said like a question, though it's clear she understands the implications. "I wouldn't expect anyone to be. There's no such thing as a perfect person to date."
"But you understand, when I say this-"
She's cut off with a wave of Anzu's hand. "I get it," she says. "And I don't care. I like you, Ibara. All of you."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Tap.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap-
"Very well," Ibara says, voice only slightly faint. "I accept."
The look on Anzu's face- pure, unadulterated joy, giddiness incarnate, a look Ibara hasn't seen in god knows how many people years, the look- and all because Ibara said yes. Her words caused such a thing. She made this happen. This lopsided, ruddy-faced, gap-toothed, stretched-thin grin- Anzu's grin.
It's perfect.