She spends the first two days of their school trip staring longingly at the ocean. Once upon a time, Sadayo Kawakami had fancied herself a swimmer. It had paired well with her other hobbies. Fishing in the morning, going for a dip in the afternoon. Age and almost a decade of particularly hard living hasn’t managed to beat that out of her (yet).

The water, as some of her students have frequently and loudly pointed out, is different here in Hawaii. It’s brilliantly blue, clear enough to see the bottom and all the fish. And it’s warm. One of the girl’s babbles on about this for almost ten minutes, barely stopping to take in air. She’s big enough to admit that jealousy makes her prickly. Sadayo points the student in Makato’s direction and returns to her paperwork.

Somehow, even here, hundreds of miles away from the school, she has responsibilities. There are meetings and forms for her to complete and before she knows it, their return to Japan is looming on the horizon. She watches more and more of their students wander off in pairs. Some are in love, some are in lust and everyone has someone.

She hates that, too.

Sadayo frowns, stops with her hand halfway to her phone. His number is second nature now, right near the top of her contact list. They haven’t had a proper moment together since school started up again. To say she misses him…

Well, it’s an understatement. She aches and it’s in that embarrassingly nonsexual way that infinitely harder to write off. She glances up at the clock. It’s just after noon and she’s putting the finishing touches on her last assignment.

No one will notice if she ducks out for a few hours.

She sends the message and then pushes her phone right to the edge of the desk. Kawakami folds her hands, sets them neatly in her lap, and glares at the little device. It remains oppressively silent.

A moment later, the tinkling little alarm colors the air. There’s only three words and somehow (stupidly) it sets her heart racing and she’s too damn old for this. “I’ll be right out.”

She signs her name to the last form, sloppy but good enough.

_____

They’ve been together a few months now. It’s the first time they’ve been out before dark and she...doesn’t expect it to matter so much. Akira pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, shifting a little in the sun. His swim trunks still have pockets, wonder of wonders, and he’s got his hands shoved in there, as per his norm. She wonders if he requires that of his wardrobe. It’s either a nervous tic, maybe, or just a habit. She’s started to track how often he does it during their time together.

It never ceases to amuse her, those little eccentricities unique and wonderful and singularly him.

“You wanted to swim?”

She shrugs, bringing her hand up to shield her eyes, “I wanted to do a lot of things. But. Work.”

He isn’t in the least concerned. The young man looks brighter here, like someone has lifted some invisible weight hanging around his shoulders. No Phantom Thieves to worry about. He’s Akira. Only Akira. He shrugs right back, flashing her a lazy smile, “Somehow we’ll make due.”

They’ve got good at this whole...narrow windows of contact thing, after all. She asks for shrimp so he finds her shrimp. She wants a lei and he finds one of those as well. She calls him her boyfriend and the kid behind the drink counter is good enough to offer his congratulations. One woman stops them as they walk past. Her expression is purely friendly. She says they look good together. They look like they’re in love.

Sadayo has learned to live without outside approval. Positive feedback, encouragement, have never been overtly present in her life. But it’s nice to hear these things. It’s a little like validation. Akira thanks the woman, and hugs her closer to his side. She tucks her hand in his front pocket and it’s all too natural.

She thinks, and she’s well aware just how irrational the thought is, she could stay like this forever.

He squeezes her hip, angling them towards one of the drink stalls. Akira fishes a few dollars out of his wallet, slips out of her hold long enough to get them both a soda. The young man shakes his head, takes a drink, and then sets the beverage aside (too much sugar; it, and these are his words, not hers, leaves his mouth feeling funny).

He huffs, reaching out to catch the bottom hem of her tee between his thumb and forefinger. The modest getup hadn't been her first choice but she'd made it halfway down the hall in her bikini before understanding it'd cause problems. A few of her male students had been staring all too intently. Akira's frown deepens and his touches falls away with a faint note of disapproval. The Hawaiian sun hasn’t done him any favors; his naturally pale skin is tinged a violent pink. It makes it difficult to take him seriously, the graveness of his expression undermined by the tender way he moves. Sadayo arches a brow, “You aren’t usually this pensive.”

“Just thinking.”

She loves that she can reach out for him here, arms winding around his waist, closing the distance between them. No one so much as bats an eye. No one knows them and there is an awful thrill in that level of anonymity. She chucks him under the chin, humming in contentment when he holds her close, “About?”

He’s a lanky creature, more than a head taller than her and corded with lean muscle. He’s too thin, really, and she worries when he calls her late at night, his voice desperately tired, begging her to come to him. The massages are rarely sexual; more often than not, he drifts, his soft breathing at odds with her more frenetic concern. The young man in her arms is some impossible amalgam, delicate looking and inhumanly strong. She scrapes her nails down his spine, revelling in the way he shivers. He has to look down at her when they’re like this, chin tucked against his chest, and she likes that too. Akira’s hand settles at the small of her back, palm pressed flat, “Just how much I hate this shirt.”

“Hate?”

The young man nods, the corner of his lips ticking up in an indulgent smile, “I know it’s hokey but...you’re too beautiful for this kind of thing.” His hand tracks upward, following the rise of her hip, the narrowness of her waist. She’s not as young as she once was but a constant stream of exhaustion, physical labor and questionable nutrition, has kept her (worrisomely) thin and well toned. She clears her throat, glancing to the side to hide the hint of color in her cheeks.

She shrugs, “It’s a school trip. My suit is supposed to be modest.”

“I don’t see anyone else around, huh? I mean...don’t feel pressured into modesty for my sake, Sadayo.”

Those odd grey eyes flash with mischief. If it’s just them, why does it matter? He’s seen so much more already. She teases her lower lip between her teeth, the urge to squirm growing more pronounced. He strokes his fingers over the string of her bikini, rolling the tie between his fingers.

She’s too old for this, “We’re representing Shujin, Mr. Kurusu.”

“Not out here,” it’s so warm. The scholastic half of her brain understands it’s the same sun as they have back home but it’s also different. It’s muggy and leaves the air in her lungs stifling and her blood on fire. Akira leans in nearer, his lips ghosting along the shell of her ear. “Here, you’re a woman, I’m a man.”

“You can’t just use that to justify everything,” her voice is too breathy, misses the air of authority she’s searching for. It’s difficult, really. All she can think about is how close he is, how warm he is, and that, if she kisses him here, no one will give a damn.

The thought is more powerful than she wants to admit. Sadayo glances up; the sun is still almost at it’s apex. They have time before they’ll be expected back at the hotel and...it’s their last night. Then it’s back to hiding, back to only meeting on weekends, back to sneaking around and lying…

“Come on…”

Akira chuckles, his naturally low voice closer to a caress than anything, “Where are we going?”

She tugs on his hand, smiling wide and free, almost laughing, “Listen to your elders, Mr. Kurusu.”

They both know he’ll indulge her. He’ll give her anything, provided she displays even a passing interest. He shrugs his shoulders, throws a final glance back towards the hotel and gives chase. She thinks he probably enjoys these little indiscretions, letting himself hand off control. He’s a Phantom Thief before anything else; that meant...leadership and cunning and layer upon layer of deception. She knows from experience that sometimes handing over your control is...liberating.

Sadayo runs, kicking up sand as she goes, and Akira follows, his hands a constant presence at her waist. Kneading, teasing, playing with the fabric of her shirt. She eases the material up and over her head, chucking it at him with an arched brow, all challenge, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

She thinks he’ll stop for a moment. Observe her with the almost quizzical energy he sometimes has, as if he finds her...strange or wondrous or somehow inexplicable. He doesn’t. There’s just...warmth. His hands smoothing up and over her ribs, squeezing her breasts before she can stop him. He ducks back because he knows it’s wrong and she swings at him because she knows he’s faster. Akira catches her wrist, hauling her back against his chest.

He kisses her. Because he can kiss her here, because if anyone sees them they won’t think twice, give a shit, whatever. She nips at him for good measure; he’s too damn cocky even without her encouragement. By the end of the night, he’ll be insufferable. It’s hard to care. He smells like coffee and sunscreen and he tastes like coconut and somehow that mishmash of flavors works for her. Sadayo threads her fingers through his hair, humming against his lips.

They still have a few hours. She’s determined to make them count.