DISCLAIMER: "Shin Megami Tensei" and "Persona 4" and all associated characters and likenesses are the exclusive property of Atlus. Used here without permission. This is a fictional story made for purely entertainment purposes. Any relation to events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

It's June twenty-second, 2012, and it should be a good day for Hanamura Yousuke. It should herald the onset of freedom, maturity, and awakening...and not just of the sexual kind (though that's usually at the forefront of Yousuke's mind). It should be spent screaming his name from the rooftops, not tracing it silently with his finger as he slouches, chin planted firmly on fist, behind the Junes food court counter.

He shouldn't be here, not today. Because today, eighteen beckons to him like a beacon, singing to him to drop everything and forget about stupid Junes and its work shifts, time sheets and summer treats menus.

He should just rip off this stupid smock, he thinks, and jump on his bike (not the Kawasaki he's been lusting after these last eighteen months, but Arashi is just as good, dents and all), and leave this manager's son's life behind. Because if he's learned anything during this year, it's that life is full of more fantastic excitement than anything Inaba could offer.

Inaba isn't even the worst of it, though, or what's put Yousuke in his foul humor. He can handle work, the useless duties of serving topsicles and ice cream to oblivious customers. But today is his birthday, his eighteenth birthday, and he's always thought – always dreamed – that today would bring with it something beautiful.

Or, more precisely, someone beautiful.

He glances up, and someone beautiful does approach: an impeccably-shaped blonde who shimmies the way that girls (women, he corrects himself, since he's now entered manhood on this should-have-been glorious day) do, when they know guys are watching them. And guys always watch this one; he knows – he's done his fair share of stumbling into walls for following her swinging gait with his hungry gaze.

He stands up a little straighter (and beneath both counter and smock, something else stands a little straighter, too) and throws this beauty the most dashing smile he can muster. "Ebihara! Looking good!"

Ai turns at the call, her pale curls brushing across her flawless cheek. Shit, even in this heat, she's gorgeous.

And unflappable, too, based on her deadpan reply. "When Hell freezes over, smock-boy," she glowers, and faces forward again, her heels clacking against the concrete of the court.

Yousuke snarls, even as he enjoys the view of Ai's accentuated posterior walking away. It's certainly not the most perfect ass he's ever laid his seeking eyes on (that particular honor belongs to another girl), but he'll take what thrills he can get, especially today.

"Aw, don't listen to her."

Yousuke turns in some surprise at that familiar, high-pitched voice, to look into the scowling face of the owner of said perfect ass. "Satonaka. Hey."

Chie watches Ai go, too, her snub nose wrinkling at the other female's back. Then she turns to Yousuke with an easy smile that looks almost comforting. "I think the smock's cute."

Yousuke slumps. Cute. That's nowhere near dashing, or handsome, or cool. No wonder Ai – and every other girl – thinks he's a dork; he dresses the part every Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday (and sometimes Saturday, if the old man uses his mind control powers to saddle him with a weekend shift).

"Thanks," he grumbles disparagingly, wiping down the counter even though it isn't any dirtier than it was a moment ago. "What're you doing here?"

Chie perks to her full height (all the way to his shoulder). "Ice cream?" she suggests, and then presses her lips together somewhat thoughtfully. "Strawberry?"

"Oh, a normal flavor," he teases as he picks his way through the miniaturized tubs of chocolate, vanilla, and swirling fudge, until he finds one of his favorite. He slides it over to her, along with a spoon. Then he leans on his arm, taking the moment to watch her in distracted amusement, as she digs in her pockets for her coin purse, one leg cocked coltishly to the side.

He's always thought she's cute (pretty) – especially with those strong, stunning legs, and that firm, flawless ass – but he's also come to notice of late that she's subtle, and smooth, and...soft...in a spit-stealing way that he never thought he could consider of a girl (woman) who's always seemed to take so much personal pleasure in tormenting him.

And he realizes suddenly that just one timeless clutch of that shapely little body would be enough to change his whole mind about this day, this place, this life. A beautiful someone to make all the mundanity worth it.

But she's about as interested in him that way as Ai is (or less, if that's possible); why else all of the knocks to the nads?

And it's not like he's Souji, after all.

He notices that she's peeled back the ice cream's cover and is just staring at it, so he tilts his head at her:

"What's wrong?"

She blinks, then looks at him. She pushes the cup toward him, shrugging one shoulder close to her ear at the same time. "Happy birthday," she murmurs.

He blinks back dumbly, first at the cup and then at her. "Uh...?"

"Strawberry's your favorite, right?" She shrugs again now, blushing lightly (beautifully). "Sorry. I know it's lame. But I...kinda forgot, before I spent my allowance."

"N-No," he stammers. "This is...fine. It's nice of you, really. Thanks."

Chie pauses, then nods. "I've gotta get home," she mutters. "Maybe we can do something tomorrow. But...you have a good day today. Okay?" And before he can reply, she hops up and puts her arms around him, clutching him close, very briefly, but timeless to his mind.

He doesn't want her to let go, but she does.

"Don't let it melt away," she tells him with a smile.

"I won't," he says, and as he watches her go, it's with a new sense of excitement of everything Inaba has to offer.