"What is that?" Mina asked, curious about the box that Akira was about to open.

"No clue," Akira replied. "It was just delivered."

Before Mina could say any of the dozen of her immediate thoughts, Akira smiled at her.

"Don't worry, it smells fine. It smells like it's mine."

"Oh. Well, carry on." Mina carefully sat down beside him on the small sofa to see what he'd received. She'd been on her way elsewhere, but caught sight of him in the little parlor-esque room not far from her office and, obviously, had been curious. Her other business could wait, for it was not Akira.

Akira chuckled. "It must be something I left behind somewhere. Um..."

"If it is something unfit, I'll accept your excuse." Mina could believe someone would waste time packing up and sending Akira an old stash of magazines or similar. After all, thanks to Yuki, she had achieved a greater understanding of one's ability to attach to the explicit.

Sighing, Akira cut the tape with a small, sharp pocketknife and opened the box's flaps.

Mina leaned to see what was inside, sliding a bit, her leg against his, warm.

For a long moment, Akira was silent, apparently confused.

"Notebooks?" he finally questioned as he pulled one out. But-- not just notebooks, but a pencil case, a couple of paperbacks, and a half-worn eraser that had part of Akira's name written on it.

"Things you left behind at school? I could have easily replaced all of them and you hardly need to worry about homework..." Mina trailed off at Akira's expression as he opened one of the thin notebooks. It was indescribable and yet so very telling.

Akira chuckled. "Nobody needed to send me these. They're just leftover from when Yuki got me to join the Literature Club," he explained. "But unlike her, I'm not any good."

Mina was sure her world was exploding. "Stories?" she questioned softly. "That you wrote? I must have them."

She grabbed quickly but Akira held it up in the air, away, as if it was a deterrent from her climbing right onto his lap and reaching. But even then, it was beyond her fingertips.

"There's nothing good in here, I promise. But..."

"But?" Mina questioned as she settled, still straddling his thighs, marveling at his warmth as their eyes met.

"I know you'll make it your mission to get your hands on it if I don't just hand this over."

Except now, Akira's arms were around her, the notebook set aside on the cushion where she'd been. There was a safety in his embrace, and Mina leaned her head against his shoulder, looking for words for the longing she felt. This was far better than any story, this delicious feeling. Longing, ache, love, desire-- She shifted just a bit, pressing closer, feeling him with her entire body.

Beneath her, Akira sighed, his breath warm on her neck.

It seemed a shame to even blink, but...

Mina quickly grabbed for the notebook, eeling off Akira's lap and against the arm of the sofa, which was not dramatically far away in any sense but felt dramatic enough.

She opened the cover and-- Not stories, she realized.

"Poetry?" she questioned. "You write poetry?"

Akira sighed again. "I tried. But I think I prefer reading it."

Already, however, Mina was dreaming of publishing it. Her Akira, and poetry! How wonderful!

Well, perhaps the first one was going to be a little rough. Surely Yuki's first stories were not the most perfect and delicious of prose.

And oh, this second was perhaps just practice?

But the third and-- Mina frowned and flipped through the notebook, and honestly...

"I told you there wasn't anything good in there," Akira finally said. When Mina looked up, he looked more amused than deflated.

Mina was not going to affirm that for him, though. He certainly had not mastered the form, however...

He had written it, now she could read it--

It did not need to be perfect.

Mina loved it just the same.