A/N: This is written for a livejournal community challenge known as 30kisses, and it's representing theme #5, "ano sa…". The couple is Mimi/Yamato, and I realize that there's not a whole lot of Yamimi in here, but…well, I like it. I find Michael a fun character to fuddle around with, because he has no personality in the show, and I like the warped, slightly peverted Michael who always winds up in my fanfics. He's more fun this way. Anyway, this is Mimato in spirit, so read away if you enjoy characterness and fluffy friendships. If you're looking for PWP, certainly look elsewhere.

Disclaimer: Digimon is the property of Toei, and none of these characters belong to me.

No Need to Make Believe

"Ano sa…isshou ni ikanai? Dansu ni…"

Michael turned to face her, eyebrow raised, a grin forming across his sunburnt face. "Did you just ask me to have sex with you?"

SPLAT.

"Wha – I – NO!" Mimi screeched, managing to recover from her surprised fall off the railing in a somewhat less-than-graceful manner. Michael shrugged, watching her from his position still perched atop the metal bar.

"That's what it sounded like."

"That is not what it sounded like!" Mimi exclaimed, dusting off the back of her short, unfortunately white, skirt. "Why do you assume that everything I say is something dirty!"

A grin. "Because, darling, everything is dirty. It just takes a talented mind to see it."

"I hate you. You don't even speak Japanese!"

Michael offered his hand, and when Mimi refused to take it, rolled his eyes and hopped down so that he was standing beside her.

"That's right, I don't."

Mimi frowned, pulling a tress of auburn hair behind her ear. She had been so excited to wear that white skirt to school, and now it was probably stained. In Japan, school uniforms were the norm, and cute clothing was normally only revealed after hours. But then again, thinking so much about the other side of the world had been getting her into trouble, lately. Although they were so different, there were times when she would look out of the corner of her eyes at Michael's blonde hair, and forget who it belonged to.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, concentrating hard on English this time, "I…I don't know, sometimes I forget…"

He shrugged. "Baby, English isn't your first language, it's no problem. Plus, it's kind of funny that you're so lonely, you pretend I'm your boyfriend."

Mimi blinked once, twice, and then decidedly stomped on Michael's foot with one of her three-inch heels.

"OW! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?"

"You know what that was for!"

Michael was standing on one leg in such a a way that would have been very comical if he wasn't glaring daggers.

"Jesus, I didn't say it was a bad thing. But it's true, and you know it!"

Mimi huffed, wanting desperately to turn on her heel and march home. Deciding to hang out with Michael after school certainly wasn't one of her brightest moments. But she didn't move, and Michael kept moaning and rubbing his foot, every once in a while offering yelps of "it's broken!" or "call an ambulance!". Yamato would have said nothing, she reflected. He would have simply looked at her with those icy blue eyes, as if daring her to contradict him.

She groaned. Her plan not to think about Yamato for twenty four hours was already broken. She estimated it had taken two and a half minutes.

"Fine. You're right. You win."

"Of course I win," Michael huffed, "I always win."

"I just…" Mimi exclaimed, attempting to reconcile the situation, "well, I…miss him. A lot."

Michael, who had seemed to have miraculously healed, took a step forward to put a hand on her shoulder. "I know you do. Yamamo is all you ever talk about."

"Yamato."

"Come again?"

"His name is YAMATO, for the love of…do you listen to a WORD I say!"

"But I don't speak that language!"

Mimi nearly screamed, gripping her hair to keep from strangeling him, and began savagely kicking the railing.

"So," said Michael, compeltely unfased by her outburst, "if it wasn't your desire to have me right here, right now, what were you asking me?"

She blushed, realizing that she had voiced that question when he had been silent for at least fifteen minutes. When she had forgotten how much of a jerk he could be. When she almost believed he was her gorgeous, silent, Japanese boyfriend.

"The dance," she said, curtly. "I don't have a date, and you never have a date to anything, so I was just asking if you wanted to go with me." He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "And if you make ANY sexual references involving that statement, I will…I will…make a necklace out of your intestines!" Usually her threats were less grotesque, but she figured that threatening to shave hair was only useful on Yamato, whose hair was more important than his very life.

Michael merely smiled. "What were the words again?"

"Huh?"

"The words. In Japanese."

Mimi frowned. "You mean 'isshou ni ikanai'? That means 'do you want to go together?'."

"Yeah, that's it!" Michael grinned. "Okay…um…icho knee…eeeeekahnye?"

Mimi managed to supress her urge to comment on his horrendous accent, because she knew very well that on her first day in New York, she had referred to the upcoming election as the upcoming "erection". She shuddered at the memory.

"Yes, Michael, very nice. Where do you want to go with me?"

He shrugged, sheepish. "How do you say Japan in Japanese? Something like Nipo?"

"Nihon, Michael, it's Ni…wait, what are you saying?"

He smiled, one of his rare, genuine smiles. "Instead of going to the dance, how about you and me hitch a ride to Japan? We could pack a picnic, surprise all your friends, I'm sure that boyfriend of yours would have a stroke, and…hey, Meems, shut your mouth, you look like a goldfish."

It took a good fifteen seconds of silence before Mimi registered the information, and less than half a second to throw her arms around Michael's neck and proceed to squeeze the life out of him.

"Oy, oy! Stop! Ow! Yes, yes, I'm a nice person, but we know I'm only going for the cute Japanese chicks, so let go!"

Mimi simply laughed, and buried her head in his shoulder. Michael gave up his verbal rebuttle, and placed a small, awkward kiss on the top of her head, as if begging her to release him.

But all that Mimi could think about was arriving at the Ishida's doorstep (after disposing of Michael at an all-girls school, of course), and seeing his shocked, hopefully happy expression to find her there. Her eyes nearly started watering at the thought, so she buried her head farther into Michael's shoulder, because he would give her such crap for crying.