Fuuko Kirisawa blinked once. Then twice. What was going on? She felt out of breath, looking at the person standing before her. He showed no trace of emotion as he gazed back at her. Habit had forced him to do so. What did he just do? Even if he wanted to ram his head against the wall to make a vain attempt to have amnesia, he couldn't make himself move. He just thought of how unusually beautiful she was, even if her hair was a tad unkempt and her clothes were certainly not suited for a girl. She was unusual, indeed. She almost resembled a boy, but her-ahem- assets said otherwise. And before he could stop himself, he leaned toward her once again, holding her closer to himself. She felt confused at first. But this was happening. And she couldn't stop it. She couldn't bring herself to protest against his actions. She didn't want to. She muttered an almost unheard "Mi-chan…" before their lips met. They were right in the middle of the street.
But it felt just right.