(The author's note: "Ha! The last chapter got censored—guess I'll behave myself for a while. =.=")
This time, they were smarter. They didn't stay in Tokyo, where the world seemed determined to interrupt them. They switched off their phones, cut off all outside contact, and took a trip up to Mount Fuji together—just the two of them and whatever peace they could find.
Afterward, they wandered to a restaurant at the foot of the mountain famous for its Fujiyama Lava Grill: beautiful cuts of tender beef, thick noodles with real chew to them. Neither of them was thinking much about the food.
They talked—about cuisine, about Shiseido moisturizers, about the latest international headlines—and the whole time there was something simmering just underneath, the careful accumulation of a tension neither of them had yet acknowledged out loud. The setting just wasn't cooperating. The right conditions stubbornly refused to materialize.
Waiting for the perfect moment, Bella decided, was a losing strategy. If the conditions didn't exist, you made them yourself.
She steeled herself—and bit her tongue. Hard.
"Ow —!" The sound escaped before she could stop it. A second later, a thin line of bright red was running down the corner of her mouth.
Natasha was on her feet instantly. "What happened?"
"I—I bit my tongue..." Bella managed, words coming out slightly garbled.
She'd bitten it hard enough to mean it. Blood was dripping onto the table; her soup had taken on a faintly pinkish tinge. Several other diners turned, concerned. The restaurant owner nearly tripped over himself rushing to their table, bowing repeatedly and offering immediate compensation.
Bella assured him it wasn't the restaurant's fault—she wasn't here to make anyone's life difficult—and after paying the bill, she pulled Natasha out of the restaurant with her.
"Let me see. Open up." Natasha tilted Bella's head to the side and peered at the wound with the focused attention of someone genuinely concerned. "Seriously? You're not a child. How do you bite yourself while eating noodles?"
"It hurts... it really hurts..." Bella summoned everything she had from her Snow White performance—eyes going glassy, the suggestion of tears—radiating suffering.
Natasha looked at her with barely disguised sympathy. "Here. Hold still. Let me blow on it."
Blowing on a cut tongue did precisely nothing, medically speaking. Natasha brought her close and blew gently against the wound, which accomplished nothing for the injury and everything for the atmosphere.
She watched the cut begin to close—Bella's healing factor working its quiet, unhurried magic—and kept her expression carefully neutral, playing along.
"Oh no," Natasha said, with theatrical alarm. "It's not healing. What if—what if you die?"
Bella came extremely close to laughing out loud. She held it together through sheer force of will.
"I... I've heard that saliva can accelerate healing," she said carefully, "so if you could maybe... you know..."
Natasha had an aha expression. Then she dipped one fingertip in her own mouth, very carefully dabbed it against Bella's tongue, and tilted her head.
"Better? Still hurts? These injuries are so severe, I'm genuinely worried about your survival."
That was it. Bella had absolutely had enough of this charade.
She was sitting here with her mouth open and her tongue out like some kind of idiot and it was doing nothing for her dignity. She abandoned the performance entirely.
Two seconds later, Natasha was in the passenger seat of the red Acura sports coupe Bella had picked up in Tokyo.
Natasha reclined against the seat, expression unreadable, looking up at her with calm amusement.
"Where are we going? The hospital? I can drive, you know. I'm an excellent driver."
She raised one hand cheerfully, like a student volunteering an answer in class.
Bella licked her lips.
"No. I don't think I'll make it to the hospital. I need treatment right now."
The gap between them was less than the length of an arm. Bella leaned down slowly and pressed her lips to Natasha's. The "injured" tongue pushed past Natasha's teeth—searching, insistent—in pursuit of its prescribed treatment.
The injury was serious. It couldn't wait. Treatment was not optional.
The treatment concluded successfully, and the relationship between them was officially confirmed.
Natasha's flight out of Tokyo departed the following evening.