In'ei    
[Shadow]

A Yami No Matsuei Fic by Murasaki Suishou (murasakisuishou@yahoo.com) and the 
Queen of Blueberry Toast (TheKWOBT@gundamwing.net).

*~*~*

Three- Utsukushii [Pretty]
[Version 1.1]

*~*~*

Oriya awoke the next morning to find three, small, golden pins jabbed in his right 
forearm.  Each wore a halo of blood where the point had slipped past his skin, and despite 
that the doctor beside him still slumbered, that blood was fresh, wet, red. With a terrific 
yawn, he sat up in bed, and found that this time at least, his rising had not roused his 
lover.

The pins he laid in a star with two others he found glinting in the morning light as it 
oozed over the nightstand... his own small sort of joke for Muraki and his various occult 
delights.

Stark naked, he wandered sleepily into the bathroom, and there pissed with the door 
open, brushed his teeth with Muraki's toothbrush, left the faucet running as he washed his 
face, and made squeaky noises on the mirror with his fingers and residue suds.  A cursory 
peek into the bedroom revealed none of this had awakened the still-dozing man lying 
sideways across the mattress with only his upper thighs covered.  Perhaps a shower 
accompanied by a rousing chorus of Coffee Scotch Mermaid would have ended his 
slumber, but, then again, that would have been contrary to Oriya's plan.  

Beaming with pride, he strode into the closet, retrieved a few random items that were 
most certainly not his, and with a wave rather than a kiss, tramped out into the hallway, 
still quite nude, and reveling in the faintly sweet aroma of the post-coital sweat he had 
made no attempt to rinse from himself.  He could wash later if his idea paid off.  

"Ohayo Gozaimasu, Oriya-san," Kaoru caroled in her metallic little chirp.

"Shhh! Not so loud!"

"Ohayo Gozaimasu, Oriya-san," she repeated in a much more subdued tone, cupping her 
hand just above her lips as if hoping the gesture would muffle her further.  "Is there 
anything you need?"

"Why yes! I'd like a cup of the strongest tea you can make- black tea that is.  A slice of 
toast with as much margarine and marmalade as you can fit on it and... a quick reminder 
of where Muraki-sensei's office is."

"It is two doors down and on your left, Oriya-san."

"Thanks! I'll have my breakfast there."

She bowed to him, and he just smirked and slunk off in the direction she had sent him, 
thinking to himself /Ah, Muraki, Muraki.  It's too bad you can't build dolls that lie./

/But then again, she is a servant./

/And I lie, if I really am one of yours.  Ah, but I've got more fascinating things to worry 
about this morning!/

For all the elegant, Asiatic sparseness of the rest of the house, Muraki really had a very, 
very European office, with great, big, pieces of mahogany furniture all wearing carved 
swirls at their corners... like feathers they looked.  Even the window had one such frame 
to it, underneath five layers of sponge-dyed curtains drifting serenely in the breeze.  The 
desk was as large as a bed, and had a glass top underneath was set a small display of dolls 
and trinkets of dolls- some very old ones from Colonial England no less, peering out from 
the shade of the blotter.  A few of their cousins stood alongside sweet-smelling leather 
volumes on the bookshelf. 

Muraki did not have a computer, but rather, a grand array of filing drawers, and 
implements for fine writing.  And a door to his basement tucked away in one corner.  
Oriya, having been in the doctor's said room once before, had no desire to return, and, in 
fact, moved one of the spare chairs over before the frame, just in case.  It became the only 
thing in the room out of place besides the handful of dead rose petals that had blown in 
through the open window.   

The brocade cover of the chair behind the desk embraced him, more so than the misty, 
bright feel of the morning and its shade where it had crept in, and he, in turn, embraced 
Kazutaka's rolodex, which he was, in fact, still thumbing through when Kaoru returned 
with his tea and the absolute BIGGEST slice of toast he had ever seen in his entire life.  
He thanked her, and managed to devour it without getting so much as a crumb on the 
upholstery, or a trace of marmalade on the business cards he wafted through.  

He thought he could figure out what did and what didn't belong in such a collection, and 
in now time at all, had five sorted out that he KNEW weren't the doctor's usual far of 
acquaintances or... suppliers.  Or doll shops, there were a great number of doll shops 
appearing in the file.  Drumming his fingers over them, trying to choose which one he 
liked best, he realized suddenly that he knew... well, to be honest, he knew all of the 
names.

"I think this is going to be fun then.  Alright... let's go with... Dai-Nippon Geikan Heavy 
Industries!"

The princess rotary phone beneath the desk light jumped into his fingers and was all too 
happy to be dialed.  Answered before his end even had a chance to indicate a ringing on 
the other.

"Hello! DNG Headquarters Japan! How may I help you?"

"Moshi moshi! Are you... Let's see..." the name of the CEO escaped him for an instant, 
but came puttering back into his mind then with the realization he'd left a smear of 
marmalade on the plate and it needed licked off. "Daniel Coldsman's Secretary?"

"I'm not sir but I can transfer you to her if you'd like."

"Oh, no miss.  That's very nice of you and all, buuuuuuut... I think this would work 
better if you could transfer me directly to Coldsman-san himself.  Tell him it's his friend 
from Kyoto calling to check up on him."

"Just a moment, sir." A few clicking sounds, and the whisper of another woman passing 
by.  "And, Sir? Just for future reference, 'friend from Kyoto' sounds kinda boring.  If 
you're going to be a mysterious caller possibly demanding a substantial blackmail, you 
might want to come up with something flashier, like... I dunno.  'Dark Alley Duke'!"

"Souuuuuuuuuuuuu da na?" Oriya heaved an irked sigh as he was treated to first a spat of 
girlish humming, then some Edo era music played on a synthesizer to create especially 
tedious elevator music.  He was so lost in it's mind numbing thrall, that the nervous 
shiver of a voice that finally broke in startled him.

"Ah... hello?"

"Hello hello Coldsman-san!" He had to clear his throat then to loose the chirp he had 
caught from the secretary.  "How's every little thing with you? Still going in for all things 
underage and good at pretending they're into brown stuff?"

"KAMI-SAMA! Oriya! HIMO!" Whispers then, he could almost see the man glancing 
around his tremendous, empty office and seeing imaginary eavesdroppers in every glass 
and chrome corner.  "What do you want? Money is no object! Do you want money? 
Stock? Hell, I've got a seat on the board opening up if you want it! My daughter's going 
on 17... do you want her?"

Muraki's guest threw back his head and began to laugh, catching himself though before 
the racket of amused and evil joy in him became vocal.  "Oh NOOOO! You do 
disappoint me.  I thought you had more faith in me than that... besides, your daughter 
looks like a squirrel, we both know that."

Coldsman started to complain, but hushed himself ruefully.

"Actually, I had a question unrelated to all matters of bedrooms and shit.   You wouldn't 
by chance have... a secretary or a bodyguard... maybe someone under the table? 
...working for you? A male, oh, pretty tall.  Early twenties.  Long hair that's been in the 
henna?"

"N-no.  I don't."

"Are you suuuuuuuuuuure?"

"I'm sure. But ah..."

"But what?" Oriya leaned forward over his lover's desk here, and took the receiver chord 
in his hands, twirling it this way and that with idle candor.  Outside, Kaoru was tuning 
her shamisen, Coldsman could probably hear her. "I really don't like buts, you know.  
Unless they're on pretty girls, sometimes... even girls who look like rodents!"

At last a ground out, grudging confession.  "I don't have one but I know who does."

"Oh, who would that be?"

"Umm... Takatori Reiichi.  He owns a substantial conglomeration here in Tokyo and is 
head of the independent party.  I saw this... man of yours at a function with him once.  
He's... thin.  Very thin.  Green eyes.  Smirks a lot.  Walks like some... some... well! 
You tell me! What do they call male tarts these days?"

"Neko? Ah, it doesn't matter.  Thank you ever so, Coldsman-san.  Your kindness almost 
makes me want to burn those photos I took of you and Moira-chan!"

"WHAT PHOTOS!?"

But Oriya had already hung up and tucked the business cards back into their respective 
slots.  The borrowed clothing he had cast on the floor he gathered to him once again, and 
without another thought to it, retreated to the hall where he asked if there were any spare 
showers in the house.  After all, he needed one badly.  And would she mind telling Sensei 
he was out after proper clothing for himself should he wake after he had left?

(OOC: Himo- pimp/good for nothing/blackmailer/loafer/.)

***

"But of course, Mibu-san," chirped Kaoru as she extended one draped 
arm towards the other end of the twisting hallway.  "If you will just 
go that way, and turn to the the left, you will find another 
bathroom.  And I will most certainly inform Kazutaka-sensei of your 
whereabouts when he awakens."  She bowed most gracefully to him, and 
Oriya strolled away whistling.  Kaoru rose from the doorway, where 
she had knelt to await any requests her master's guest might want to 
make of her, and then she tapped away in the opposite direction.  It 
was her habit to check on her owner from time to time on those 
mornings when he'd had people stay over, and she did so when she 
reached the screen, pushing it open just enough for her to peek 
through.  

And then she slid it open all the way and clicked into the room, for 
her master was awake though still abed.  A cigarette smoldered in the 
hand he'd rested upon his bent leg, and he looked most pensive.  

"Ohayo, Muraki-sensei," the doll sang as she knelt once more upon 
the floor beside the gaping doorway.  

"Ohayo, Kaoru," he replied.  "Where is Oriya-san?"

"Mibu-san is in the spare bathroom, Sensei."

"Oh, so that's where he is..."

"Hai!" She smiled.  "Will you be joining him?"  

"Hmm..." he took a drag from his cigarette.  "No, no."

"Breakfast then?"  

"Ah...yes," Muraki answered, sitting up fully and stubbing out his 
smoke in the ashtray he'd placed on the bed beside him.  "Miso, a 
piece of buttered toast and some strong tea, please, Kaoru."  

The doll bowed to him, then shuffled backwards on her knees until she 
was once more out in the hallway.  As she touched the screen, ready 
to pull it back into place, he called to her again.  

"Did he say where he was going?"

"To find some more clothes, Sensei."  

"And that's all?"

She nodded.  Muraki waved her off, and the screen slid back with a 
faint rattle.  He remained in bed long after the tapping over her 
geta on the floor beyond had died.  He didn't feel like moving at 
all, frankly, not to dress or shower.  Probably he would feel 
differently once he'd eaten.  Probably, he would have an answer to 
his dilemma by then as well.  Tea could work such wonders...

But damned if he wasn't irked with that redhead and his precognitive 
lover.  Why didn't they tell him about Oriya's appearance?  Surely 
the precog had seen his visit along with everything else?  Surely, he 
had.  Surely, they were laughing now about the predicament he was 
in.  And why not?  

Suddenly, Muraki felt like laughing too.  He supposed it really 
didn't matter that Oriya was there, and he was about to meet with his 
beloved and his slave once more.  This time, though, would not be 
like the last.  He would win Tsuzuki's affections.  He *would*.  

And no one could stop him.

***

"You people are all disgraces to the shinigami!!!" Boomed Kanoe, spitting so much in his 
rage he actually compelled Wakaba to dart out of the crowd before him and dab at his tie 
before his slobber could soak in.

"Umm... I'm not a shinigami, nor do I wanna be one," Byakko intoned this quite smugly, 
waving his tail this way and that and nodding long after other topics had been taken up by 
the one-sided conversation currently taking place in the main offices of JuOhChou.

"I ask you to catch one LOUSY-ASS murderous spirit running loose in Tokyo and YOU 
CAN'T DO IT!"

Tsuzuki ducked a binder which seemed to be aimed more for his head than 
anyone else's. "H-hidoi..."

"Not only that but *WHILE* you people are *supposedly* trying to catch it... we have an 
agent rendered temporarily mute for unknown reasons. Kurosoki! How *COULD* you 
be so irresponsible as to allow Tsuzuki to only loose his VOICE *TEMPORARILY*!? 
YOU KNOW WE WOULD BE BETTER OFF IF HE NEVER UTTERED ANOTHER 
DAMN WORD!!!"

"Hidoi na!" Tsuzuki fussed. Hisoka said nothing in his own defense. Then again, Hisoka 
couldn't help but know his unlife would be in danger if he spoke a single syllable which 
did not suit their raging chief.

The conflagration of ire though shortly redirected itself alternately to Watari and 
Tatsumi, who were standing on opposite sides of the room, and rather curiously, glancing 
back and forth between one another as if their distance bothered them and they were 
trying not to show it; failing miserably at it. "AND YOU! WHERE THE HELL WERE 
YOU YESTERDAY!?"

"Umm... nowhere in hell?" The doctor offered, and shortly had a slew of 
binders to worry about himself.

"I KNOW THAT!"

"We ah... were... hung over. We went to earth for a walk! We didn't 
think..."

"EXACTLY!!!!"

"Hai, boss."

"Don't you know that Sei could have done SERIOUS damage to our officers!? DON'T 
YOU KNOW I HAD NO ONE TO TIE MY OWN TIE! TATSUMI!"

Tears then.

"H-how could you!" Having blown his nose, Kanoe took a breath and went on, plainly in 
no mood for excuses.

"Terazuma, I'm not exactly pleased with your performance yesterday either."

"Little birdie kisses mangos all St. Swivel's day."

"Not being able to defend yourself against a simple BABBLE CURSE. That's a rookie 
mistake and you know it!"

In a tone that could be nothing but utterly, utterly ashamed, the shinigami in question 
said, "Quin's shoes are thrilling to me," and clapped once, tipping his head in plea for 
forgiveness, probably not from Quin's shoes.

Everyone began to chuckle, and not only because such deference was alien to Terazuma's 
repertoire of reactions.

"Bowling balls fall up!" He screamed at them subsequently, shaking his fist. They only 
laughed more and he missed the chair that sailed towards his head and shortly sent him 
sprawling into the GoShuShinn's crutches. No one knew what had happened to the two 
librarians, though they seemed to have been rendered unable to float, but, unlike 
Terazuma who they had spent most of the previous day with, were speaking quite clearly.

At last, Kanoe flopped down in his chair, panting still from the shouts that had escaped 
him. "It's inexcusable! Just... inexcusable..."

Everyone in the room had something to say about that. "It was the day after Tsuzuki's 
birthday!"

"Yes," began the elder librarian, as he held up a chart, "As you can see here, I made a bar 
graph to illustrate the escalating tendency of the disasters the day after Tsuzuki-san's 
birthday.  It goes all the way back to 1938,"

The printed excel file drew a long string of unpleasantly surprised oohs and ahhs from 
pretty much everyone except the man whose mishaps they elucidated.

"You know, I am SO SICK AND *TIRED* of that line! THAT'S IT! As punishment for 
not doing your jobs yesterday..."

"You're docking our pay?"

"Reducing our vacation time?"

"Making us announce over the loudspeakers when we need to use the bathroom?"

"Rice happy jingles concrete pillars?"

The ensuing silence indicated something... far more diabolical, and the 
gleam in Kanoe's eyes only confirmed such fears as those already dead might know.

"Oh no... as punishment. You will all DO EACH OTHERS JOBS! Tatsumi? You 
like earth so much? Fine, you will partner with Tsuzuki and hunt the sei with him, the 
twenty page petition you filed to never work with him again be damned! Kurosaki! You 
will work with the only person in this division even NEARLY as annoying as Tsuzuki- 
Watari. Terazuma, YOU will be my secretary!"

"Fish stick reservations!"

"...speech impairment or not. Wakaba, you mind the library. GoShuShin! Do whatever 
the hell it is Wakaba does. Byakko, that coffee isn't for you."

***

"Kanoe-san," Tatsumi began.  "It is impossible for me to work with 
Tsuzuki.  You know that.  You have twenty pages documenting the 
disastrous events which occurred during our brief partnership--not to 
mention my attendance record during that time.  Fifty times I had to 
go to the infirmary for this injury or that, and at least ten times I 
had to stay overnight at the hospital!"

Kanoe leaned back in his chair, clapped his hands over his ears and 
began humming "Meet Me in St. Louis." 

"Chief!"  

Said person only hummed louder.  

Sighing in defeat, Tatsumi pushed his glasses further up his nose.  
He felt someone lightly brush against him, and looked around to find 
Watari standing at his side with just enough space between them to 
maintain some semblance of propriety.  A somewhat sad Watari. 

"Looks like we have no choice in the matter."  

"The hell we don't," groused Hisoka.  

"Hisoka-kun..."  

"No!  Why should we break up just because he says so?"  

He glanced sidelong at Watari, then back to Hisoka.  "Why does it 
matter so very much?"  

Hisoka pinked a bit, looking as if he'd been caught off guard, then 
scowled.  "Because Tsuzuki's my partner.  I'm used to working with 
him--just like you are with Watari."  

That gave Tatsumi pause, and he looked at the pair opposite him--
really looked.  They were standing as close to each other as he was 
to Watari, like they wanted to touch, but dared not do it.  He 
wondered if they even realized it.  Tatsumi found it most 
curious...and found himself feeling inexplicably sad.  

"Be that as it may," he began smoothly, "there is a certain order to 
things here, and we must heed it.  We have to do as we are told by 
our supervisors, and since we all failed to meet our obligations, we 
now must pay the price."  Shooting Watari a regretful look, Tatsumi 
left his lover's side and crossed over to where Tsuzuki stood.  To 
his dismay, his stomach fluttered when their eyes met, and he covered 
his distress by quickly turning back to Watari.  

"We're just going to have to be apart for a while.  But it won't be 
long," he said reassuringly, clapping the stunned Hisoka on the back 
as he smiled at Watari.  "You'll see."  

The boy stumbled away then, looking quite bewildered.  Indeed, he was 
torn: eager to be alone with Watari at last, but yet wholly unwilling 
to leave Tsuzuki's side.  What if something should happen?  Would 
Tatsumi keep a close eye on him?  They hadn't even left yet, and 
worry was already tearing him up inside.  

Watari gently patted him on the shoulder, and Hisoka put aside all 
thoughts of Tsuzuki and what might happen, mentally chastising 
himself for being ridiculous.  "I guess we should be on our way, 
then."  

"Yes," agreed Tatsumi as he settled his hand on Tsuzuki's 
elbow.  "And we really should head back to Tokyo.  I want to hear all 
about your encounter yesterday with the Sei." 

***

"Ah... Okay..." Tsuzuki stammered, sparing one last glance at Hisoka as he took the two 
or three steps he needed to approach the field of gravity that was Tatsumi's rather than 
the boy's.  He felt his eyes linger after him as he sling-shot himself past Watari's space, 
through the invisible field of stars and very real dust about the floor, and finally back to 
the spatial influence of his former partner.  In the end, it took him five steps before the 
orbital plane he had once known so well came back to him... he always stood beside 
Hisoka, sometimes, on the solstices, just a few centimeters before.  With Tatsumi 
though... the ellipse of the celestial footsteps he took around him kept him just a few 
centimeters behind; more broken ice in the tail of a comet as it wheels around someone's 
sun than a planet with a moon that always faces it.    

It almost made him kinda mad- the way Watari, having let him pass, just stomped over 
beside Hisoka.  The way he stood with the boy was all wrong! And they had 003 
fluttering around them both! A spacetime impossibility.  

Then again, he was fairly sure what he'd almost witnessed between them two days ago 
was also just a galactic ghoul destined never to be anything but an irregularity footnoted 
in Astronomy books!  The doctor's little grin obfuscated any memories that might have 
lingered in his eyes.  Hisoka's nonplussed nibbling of his lower lip did no such good.

And speaking of memories.

"Actually, I ah..."

He could still hear them laughing in their cups from far away as he spun the champagne 
bottle this way and that on the coffee table, muttering obscene riddles to himself where 
the contest had ended...

It was not the only recollection that made him start to sweat.  A glance to his 
companion... he'd lost the language of his face over the years... did he think he was 
upset because it was they two shooting through the living universe, or did he think it 
was... because of... maybe he didn't know!  At least, not about Kuudou.

The thought of the name snagged his breath in his throat.

"...I have too look something up quick! Be back in a Jiffy."

Quite unashamedly, Tsuzuki raced out the door.  Watari and Hisoka's kissing clatter fled 
him, having lasted only a few instances the morning before. (In retrospect, how could 
he... how could he had forgotten THAT!?)  The little nibble at his mouth Tatsumi hadn't 
quite stolen... and the ones he had, long ago.  The feel of Hisoka in his arms.  They all 
took off into the reaches of the all-ensconcing vacuum and he broke for the library.  

Wakaba, being studious about her temporary duties as she was about he regular ones, was 
already scrunched down at the toddler-sized desk outside the door, humming merrily as 
she punched some data into the itty-bitty computer using the itty-bitty tip of her My 
Melody pen.

"Ohayo again, Tsuzuki-kun!" She giggled, obviously amused with the fact she, a full 
sized-guardian looked like an adult in their child's toys as long as she fiddled with the 
GoShuShin's things. 

"Ohayo! Ah, would you mind if I looked something up real fast?"

Wakaba blinked and took up a miniature ledger which she thumbed through a moment, 
"Well, actually, according to this, you've been banned from the library until such time as 
mankind develops mass-produced humanoid combat robots.  So I'm sorry! Can't help 
you."

Not content with the sympathy pout she had given him, he dropped to his knees, more to 
keep her from having to crane her head back as she spoke to him than any show of 
respect or desperation. "Well... could you look something up *for* me? 
Onegaishimasu!"

"It says here no one who works for the library is allowed to look anything up for you 
until such time as those humanoid combat robots I mentioned earlier have an all-weather 
specification."

"But you don't work at the library."

Wakaba blinked, licked her lips, shrugged and finally nodded.  "You're right! I don't.  
What do you need?"

"I need the file we have on ah... Kuudou Youji.  In Tokyo."

"Sure thing! Let me see here... is he living or dead?"

"Alive, I guess.  I hope he's not dead, I mean he was wandering around in broad daylight 
and all I..." Tsuzuki trailed off then into several long moments of unintelligible mumbles 
and he quickly came to realize he was blushing and as such glanced away.  His skin felt 
warm then where he'd been touched the day before.

The printer chirped to life then and promptly spit out a good five pages of data, which, 
needless to say, surprised both of them; after all, the average human life only had about a 
page of important involvements in other existences...

/KAMI-SAMA! He's only 22 and he has a FIVE PAGE FILE!?/

His face fell.  The image was unmistakable.  Even in the tiny picture, his playboy grin 
crept in, all seriousness aside.  A wink with both eyes...

/22... I'm... a cradle-robber!/

"Sankyuu, Wakaba-chan," They exchanged a handful of other pleasantries at the end of 
which, he got to his feet, and having stuffed the papers into his coat, sprinted back to the 
office which. Needless to say, no one else had left since him, thought he doubted they 
were waiting for anything besides a last-minute reversal of the chief's decision, or an 
order to get out or else.  Back to standard orbit around Tatsumi he went.

"Ah, everything's just fine, sorry to keep you waiting.  Ah... should we umm... go 
now?"

He nodded, and they both began to draw from the cluster still spinning sort of in the 
middle of the room.  Neither looked back, but they both got to know the floor better on 
the way out.

Tsuzuki a little too well, for he quite walked into Byakko, whilst his temporary partner 
managed to avoid the shikigami and his coffee with a grand finesse, shortly followed by 
an embarrassed sigh.

"Neeeee, Tsuzuki!" The tiger god fussed, twitching his ears... it always meant he wanted 
something outrageous when he did such a thing, and that he probably expected to get it... 
"Can I come too?"

"No!"

"Why NO~OT?"

"Because every time you go to earth, regardless of you're intentions, you always end up 
making a beeline for the nearest DDR machine and forgetting to come home FOR 
DAYS, leaving the rest of us to come to earth, find you, and erase the memories of 
several hundred people who're wondering just how come a normal man can dance to 
Butterfly for THIRTY SEVEN HOURS STRAIGHT."

Byakko though, not one to be defeated by his own super-human accomplishments, made 
an evil kitty grin appear on his face as he slunk over to the dark side of Tatsumi; there 
purred, and there wrapped his tail about one of the elder shinigami's legs.  

What Tsuzuki had momentarily forgotten, came back in a super-nova burst.

"Oh, I think someone else wants me to come, don't you, Tatsumi? Anata? My wittle te ga 
hayai."

(OOC: Te ga hayai- person who goes through lover's with the greatest of ease.)

***

Sighing with the air of one long-suffering, Tatsumi coaxed his 
glasses back in place upon his nose.  "He might as well.  I am not in 
the mood for any tantrums he might throw should I refuse.  And would 
you please remove your tail from my leg?" he added, peering down at 
the smirking god.  "White tiger hair doesn't go well with brown 
gabardine."  

Said tiger god rolled over onto his back, hands laced behind his 
head.  Said offending tail twitched away from its curl around 
Tatsumi's leg, but snaked upwards between his legs to flick over his 
groin before Byakko drew it back altogether.  Tsuzuki chuckled 
somewhat nervously.  Tatsumi glared.  

"That is NOT funny."  

Byakko simpered up at him, and blithely blew him a kiss.  Tatsumi 
frowned at him, and then at Tsuzuki.  "Is he drunk?"

The younger shinigami shrugged, and Tatsumi noticed that he was 
trying not to laugh, which didn't exactly put him at ease.  It got 
slightly worse when he found Byakko had gotten to his feet, and had 
come to stand before him.  Very close to him.  

Some vague memory tugged at his consciousness.  Something familiar 
about how Byakko was looking at him.  Something which suddenly sent a 
chill up his spine.  

"It was...you?  YOU?  In the garden with me the other night?!" 

***

Byakko, to say the least, was taken aback but this, so much so, he actually staggered 
away with a cry, stumbling straight into Terazuma, who was none too happy with the 
latest collision in the office and stated so with a quick, "Tape measure mother's airplane 
socks!" before stamping off across the room, wondering if the tiger god and the sweet-
adoring Shinigami were not in fact related in some freaky cosmic way.  

As for said tiger God, he spent the next few moments, pointing an accusative finger in 
Tatsumi's direction, and mumbling just about ever stalling word known to both Chinese 
and Japanese.  The recital, which missed only "are", concluded with a rousing:

"You... you... YOU FORGOT ALREADY?! YOU GREAT BIG BAKA!!!"

"Ne, Byakko..." Tsuzuki spoke up, "We were all very, very drunk.  Frankly it's a wonder 
you remember his having his hand down your pants at all."

Neither the prosecutor, nor the defendant, seemed especially moved by this plea.  
However, Terazuma turned a several fascinating and inexplicable colors before fleeing 
via the window.  Outside, there was a great, feline roar and the sound of trees snapping in 
two.  A few new recruits peering out the window, but otherwise, work went on as usual.

As did Byakko's impending rant.  Recovered enough from the shock now to have more 
or less full control of his limbs, he marched over to Tatsumi, shook his finger in his face, 
struck him upside the head with his tail and, without further ado, flung himself into his 
inadvertent embrace, or would have, if it was not for some quick backstepping.  As things 
ended up, Tatsumi found himself with a fuzzy, white, shikigami halfway hanging on him, 
his arms looped around his neck and tugging him down to where he half-stood, half 
slouched.  And grinned.  "Guess I'll just have to do better next time."

Terazuma's feline form had just the misfortune to peering into the window then, and 
witness the great, big spitty kiss being exchanged.

***  

"HMHMMNI!" came Tatsumi's muffled summons--which, in plain language 
translates to: "TSUZUKI!"  And which, of course, went largely 
unanswered--save for a few stifled chuckles.  Byakko was purring so 
eagerly, the tremors reverberated through Tatsumi's body, and 
affected him in the most embarrassing of ways.  And from the saucy, 
post-kiss grin the tiger god flashed him, Byakko could feel just how 
much he'd gotten to him.  

Tatsumi jerked out of Byakko's embrace, and hurriedly straightened 
his suit jacket so that it hung just right, hoping to conceal his 
current physical state.  "Look, you're attractive and all.  But we 
were drunk, and people, of course, do things when intoxicated that 
they normally wouldn't do otherwise.  I mean, we *hardly* know each 
other.  And relationships based physical attraction alone never 
last."  He looked from Byakko to Tsuzuki, to the window.  Closed his 
eyes and performed his trademark glass-nudging move.  

/Oh, hell.  I sound like an advice columnist./  

The warm weight of someone's head landed upon his shoulder, an arm 
around his waist, and Tatsumi looked over to find Byakko curled up at 
his side, blinking those big dark eyes of his.  And doing odd (and 
rather titillating) things with his tail.  Tatsumi tried his best to 
look nonchalant, but it was hard to do when one felt like one might 
suddenly explode.  

"Tsuzuki," he began in as even a tone as he could manage.  "Please 
call your misguided shikigami down."  

***

"But Tatsumi-baka and I are in WUUUUUUUUUV!" Byakko protested before his mater 
had even the beginnings of command so much as in mind.  His free hand sailed up and 
settled a finger tip in his ear- a symbolic shutting out of the impending refute more than a 
literal one.

Tsuzuki had fairly gone the color of cherry pith by this time, and not only for the fact his 
very own tiger god was well, not exactly owning up to being his very own tiger god, but 
because his former partner he found looked so... so... so oddly enticing, all balled up in 
those sleek white arms, with Byakko's slick lips trialing up and down his neck... 

"Ugh, do you mind being in 'wuuuuuuuuuv' somewhere else?" Kanoe grimaced.

"We're in WUV everywhere we go!" Byakko cried then.  "Even when my heart's delight 
is writhing and the depths of hell while I frantically search all the flower fields of earth 
for him!" The enamored shiki proceeded to crush his heart's delight in a bear hug that 
caused his ribs to creak audibly.  "When he is trapped in a meeting with you people and 
SohRyu is paddling my ass for no legitimate reason."

"TMI" muttered both GoShuShin.  Tatsumi was fighting for breath now, turning bluer by 
the minute.

"Even when he appears to love his paperwork more that me! Nay, those moments of him 
drowning in his figure when he dost pine for me; those are the TRUE foundations of out 
ever-lasting passion!!!"

Tsuzuki, knowing not how else to put an end to the growing speech, raised his hand, 
whereupon Kanoe called on him, despite not being otherwise involved in the 
conversation.  "Umm... it was my understanding he got to B with you once when he was 
sloshed."

"Our wuv works in mysterious ways."

"Uriru... umm... so it wouldn't mind getting a little less mysterious than usual so I can 
take Tatsumi to earth with me for the day?"

Byakko shrugged and slipped all of his limbs save his tail from the 
fellow he had nearly crushed, remarking, "Guess not.  Have a good time, my wittle bean 
cake! I'll be waiting for you~o."

***

Slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen, Tatsumi nevertheless managed to 
retain his battered dignity--not to mention his balance.  He did not 
faint or falter as he crossed over to Tsuzuki and curtly beckoned for 
him to follow.  And he certainly didn't offer any sort of farewell to 
Byakko as he exited the room, nor did he even acknowledge Tsuzuki's 
presence--when he did become aware of the other's clicking footsteps 
somewhere to his right.  Tatsumi was still quite put out over what he 
deemed as improper treatment.  

Wittle bean cake, indeed.    

Once he'd entered the yawning hallway which led to the building's 
main entrance, he tugged loose the knot in his tie, unbuttoned his 
collar, and slowed his pace until he fell directly alongside 
Tsuzuki.  His cheeks, though he couldn't really see them, felt 
considerably cooler than they had; he hoped they'd lost the whole of 
the blush he knew he'd worn whilst being subjected to Byakko's 
crushing hugs.    

/I'm SO glad Watari didn't see any of that./  

/There's no way I could have explained it.  No way I could have 
explained how...um...strangely Byakko's attentions affected me./  

/Taking up with someone else's shikigami.../  

"It's just preposterous..." he muttered under his breath as he swung 
open the door for Tsuzuki.  The sun, of course, was shining, and the 
air was ripe with the scent of cherries.  Tatsumi breathed deeply of 
it as they emerged from the shadows of the JuMaCho offices.  Such a 
fine day.  He almost didn't want to go to Tokyo at all.  

When he looked over again at Tsuzuki, he wished he could forget about 
his duties altogether.  

"It's pity we can't have tea in the sakura grove today," he said 
wistfully.  "Ah, well.  Work is work, and we apparently have quite a 
bit to do."  A smile, and he set off down the steps.  "Suppose you 
tell me all about your experiences of yesterday on the way, hm?"  

***

Tsuzuki looked up from the pavement just long enough to nod, and to  cast a doleful little 
smile Tatsumi's way, in his hopes that his once-upon-a-time partner wasn't finding him 
too distracted, or seeking explanation for his empty, wandering eyes.  Though, now what 
he thought on his own expression... it would have been a simple matter for any of his 
friends to take it as thoughts for his deluded little tiger god.  

In fact though, it had been Byakko who had broken the enchantment the day still wore for 
him, if only for a few minutes.  Seeing him cuddle Tatsumi so... it had put all thoughts of 
that charming blond from his mind.

/I like... blonds?/

The possible realization made him trip, and he would have fallen flat on his face had the 
elder shinigami not caught his arm.  

Oh, right, Tatsumi had asked him something.

"Maa maa, it wasn't too bad.  Hisoka-kun and I were just doing a run through of umm... 
some of the seamier places near where it's last been reported when this ah... annou... 
umm... well, this bunny girl who we happened to be paying just a little bit of extra 
attention to decided she might like to rip out my throat.  And she did, actually, but ah... 
nobody noticed.  She made a pretty big racket.  Oh yeah! She smelled like... she smelled 
like dead leaves while she was possessed, and she didn't afterward.  We... had a little bit 
of a battle, and I kinda got umm... hit with my own spell and couldn't talk for awhile.  
But I'm alright now! And the Sei kinda... kinda got away."

A little old woman with a Shi-tzu on a leash canted him a wondering look out from the 
brim of her sun bonnet, and he realized at that moment that through his little speech, 
Tatsumi had taken the liberty of transporting them both to earth, and they were presently 
standing on the edge of a fountain in the middle of Tokyo, the backs of their pant legs 
getting wetter by the moment, and a good crowd of park-goers not understanding what a 
Sei was.  

***

Tatsumi acted as if it were perfectly natural for two grown men to be 
standing so very near a fountain, discussing supernatural creatures.  
He didn't acknowledge the crowd at all, but merely stepped down from 
the stone-and-tile ledge, and jiggled his pants' legs free from his 
calves.  "Ah, I see.  You let your guard down because of a pretty 
face, and then..." A quirk of his brow, and Tatsumi fixed him with a 
stern look.  "Perhaps it's a good thing that Kanoe-san paired us 
together after all.  It will be to your advantage to have a more 
experienced partner on this case.  Hisoka-kun's not ready for such 
battles yet."  

Signaling for Tsuzuki to precede him, Tatsumi asked quietly, "But I 
suppose that's why you are so glum--because you aren't with him?  Or 
did the two of you have a fight last night?"  

"I don't mean to pry," he added.  "But we both need to have our minds 
on our work--not on our problems.  If you think it would help you 
clear your mind..."  He paused to give Tsuzuki a searching 
look.  "Well, I'm willing to listen."  

/Even though I wasn't very good at doing it before./ 

***

Tsuzuki stopped dead in his tracks then, pausing to assure himself that he had indeed 
heard such words from his partner, and that said partner was not in fact possessed by 
some kith of the sei, or other such creature.  Whirling around then, he managed to catch 
his coat in a juniper bush besides getting a good look at Tatsumi, who did not appear 
possessed, or feverish, or anything but quite sincere.

However usual such a remark might have been for him.

Tsuzuki couldn't remember ever, ever hearing him say such a thing before.  Ever.  Not in 
seventy some odd years.  Yet, there the elder shinigami stood, one hand in his pocket, one 
paused on his pant leg that had once more clung to his leg.  Smiling.

And just for that, he couldn't bring himself to say anything besides, "Maa maa, I'm just 
fine, Tatsumi-san.  Just ah... just a little worried, after all! I'm nothing without my voice 
and all!"

To which he gave a shrug and laughed nervously, letting one of his palms stray to the 
back of his neck.

"But you know! Ah..." He wasn't sure what either of them were supposed to know, and as 
such, paid a little too much attention to a large, white lily someone had spilled and that 
the wind was just now scooting over the path between them.  "Thanks for asking.  There 
was... there was one thing...!"

It had only just come to him, from the way he'd spoken of so long ago, just moments 
before.  The near desperation of Tatsumi's plea not to be by his side.

/...you know! Back in the day! When we were.../

/...we were kinda.../

/...going out?/

"Umm... I... just... well... about..."

In an effort to stop the unusual isometric exercises his hands were 
presently engaged in, Tsuzuki knotted them up in his coat tails, where they stayed, 
pulling the weave of the fabric this way and that, one timid step towards his partner after 
the other.

And he just said it.

"I'm not mad if you're not mad.  So cheer up, Tatsumi-san! You too!"

Then he went skipping down the path.

***

In muted wonder, Tatsumi watched Tsuzuki prance off.  

/See?/  

/That didn't hurt a bit, did it?/  

/You just make an effort.../

/Open up.../ 

He slid his other hand in his pocket and meandered off after Tsuzuki, 
still very much in the mood to mull over his impulsiveness, and the 
decision he made to, for once, go along with his urges.   

/It's not me.  Doesn't fit quite right./

/But.../  

His hands suddenly fell out of his pockets, and Tatsumi's stride grew 
more purposeful.  Tsuzuki was fading out of sight, lost in the ever-
growing crowd; Tatsumi knew if he didn't hurry, he'd lose him for 
sure.  Tsuzuki was prone to wandering, his head lost in some fancy, 
distracted by this or that; Tatsumi certainly remembered that much 
about him.  

If only he'd recalled it sooner.  

When he reached the curb, it became apparent that Tsuzuki was well 
and truly gone; Tatsumi called after him anyway, garnering a few 
curious and/or amused looks from those passers-by.  "Tsuzuki!"  

/We haven't time for games!/  

Glancing about, Tatsumi spun to his left, nearly knocking down a boy 
wearing a backpack.  He heard his softly hissed insult, leveled him a 
disapproving look in return before striding away.  He didn't get 
halfway to the next curb when he decided to give it up.  It was no 
use anyway.  

Sighing, Tatsumi pulled out a slim, black leather bound notebook and 
a pen from his jacket's interior pocket, and hasty scribbled--"Asato 
Tsuzuki--dock one hour's pay for every hour out of my sight"--and 
then slipped it back into his jacket.  It was a good thing the chief 
had sent him that email outlining the case, else he wouldn't have any 
idea where to start.  And someone had to.  

Nudging his glasses into place, Tatsumi glanced around him, and then 
phased out.  

***

No, Tsuzuki hadn't been intended to EXACTLY loose his partner right then and there.  
Things had just worked out that way.  Besides, it was somewhat, kinda better than what 
he'd had in mind...

Chibi Tatsumi: Lalala, I am Chibi Tatsumi who would never say "lalala".

Chibi Tsuzuki: Ne, what do you want to do today?

Chibi Tatsumi: Cuddle money, hunt the Sei ^_^V.

Chibi Tsuzuki: Umm... Okay... Iiiiiiiiiiii'm going to go look over there.  Back in a 
minute! Ja!

Chibi Tatsumi: o_o

Chibi Tsuzuki: *pad, pad, pad* TAXI!

*vrooooooom! Chibi Tsuzuki drives off!*

However, as things were presently going, the real Tsuzuki had accidentally wandered out 
into traffic and nearly been struck by a speeding, crimson motorbike, the female driver of 
which was shouting 'I'm late! I'm late! I'm late!"; doubtless a narrow avoidance of an 
ironic fate for someone who was already dead and coincidentally had no pressing 
appointments!

Not to mention an unintentional dearth of money.  Why, he most certainly could NOT 
afford a cab if he wanted to buy Kuudou-san a little something... he would have to walk, 
or maybe take the train, which would also involve walking, since the station he figured 
out to be some distance from the address on his printout.  Somehow flying to the house of 
an earthly admirer seemed rude, not to mention the tendencies of such acts to bestow 
heart attacks.

At least it was a nice day.  A very nice day indeed.  He pulled off his coat and slung it 
over his arms as he went along, humming some shamisen music he vaguely 
remembered...

***

Of course, at that very moment back in Meifu...

Byakko, who had, for the time being, ceased to be amused with the contents of his Wittle 
Bean Cake's desk, leaned back in his Wittle Bean Cake's chair and propped his feet on his 
Wittle Bean Cake's blotter.

"Angela sometimes chews up Proust," wisely commented Terazuma on this most recent 
of the shikigami's dawdling actions.  "You not should in tandem put bubble gum in 
doorknobs."

Byakko sat up long enough to cock a skeptical eyebrow at shinigami, who had possessed 
the nerve to reprimand HIM while standing stark naked in the middle of the JuMaCho 
dispatch office as Wakaba frantically darted around after his spare uniform.  "I'll try not 
to," he said then, and nodded seriously to what had obviously been a serious comment 
prior to the babble curse ruining it.

Just then, the phone rang, and being as he had nothing better to do whilst separated from 
his beloved, he answered it.

"Moshi moshi, Chief Kanoe's phone, please state your address and the nature of the 
disturbance.  Mwahahah! I always wanted to say that! Who is it?"

"BYAKKO!" Kijin burst out then, and much more composed then, as he leaned in as 
close as he could to the payphone he was using.  "What are you doing answering the 
phone at JuMaCho?"

"Oh hi! How are you? Have nice dreams of your cutie-wutie, cuddly-wuddly fire snake 
last night?"

"Well... yes, actually, I did but... hey! That's not what I called to talk to you about! Did 
you ask him?"

"Ask who what?"

"DID YOU ASK TSUZUKI IF HE'D COVER FOR US! I CAN'T VERY WELL RUN 
OFF AND GET MARRIED IF I HAVE NO ALIBI!"

"I think your alibi is shot," one of the passersby remarks, and then 
stumbled off, laughing in tune with his girlfriend.

Kijin blushed, grumbled, and adjusted his baseball cap that matched neither his blush nor 
his fringed leather vest and dress pants.  Byakko yelled something back at him, and for all 
the traffic noise, he couldn't hear a word of it.

/Serves me right for coming to earth to use the phone./

***

The world on the other side of Youji's opened windows beckoned to 
him, bidding him to come share in all the joys and sorrows it had to 
offer. The sun was shining, the sparrows were twittering to one 
another, the wind was singing through the trees on the block. All in 
all a winner of a morning. 

However, Youji was immune to such displays. Being a night owl, he 
cherished the moon and stars over the sun, nighttime when he could 
truly shine as brightly as anyone. Another seducer in the darkness. 
He'd graced the halls of one of his favorite bars the evening before, 
flirting and joking and drinking. And drinking. He'd taken down the 
numbers of two young lovelies, and went home with a third. Snuck her 
through the back door and past three other doors without incident. 
He remembered that much. 

He remembered more, still--but it was the unshakable recollection of 
liquid violet eyes and soft dark hair which had led him down the path 
of debauchery. Youji had thought that sinking himself into the 
silken arms of some woman or other might rid him of his inexplicable 
longing. 

But it hadn't. Even now, as he lay there, head aching and mouth 
watering for a smoke, all he could see behind his closed eyelids was 
Tsuzuki stretched out naked beneath him. Youji murmured in 
irritation, unconsciously rubbing his hips against the mattress. 

And then the door flew open and bounced against the wall with a 
distinct thud. Something fell off something and cracked itself apart 
on the floor. Youji only rolled a shoulder, and snuggled his hands 
more firmly beneath his scrunched up pillow. 

"YOUJI!" 

He cracked his eyes open to find one irate Aya standing beside his 
bed. Glaring, of course. Like he wanted to punch him. 

So what else was new? 

"Mmm...yeah?" he mumbled, nuzzling his pillow. 

"It's 10." 

"...Yeah. So?"

"So, get out of bed and come downstairs to the shop," the redhead 
groused. 

"It's Thursday. It's my off day."

"No, it isn't." 

Youji opened his eyes again, and turned his head a little so he could 
better see Aya; the sullen boy still hovered by his bed. "Huh? What 
do you--"

"You left the shop out of the blue and didn't come back for ages. 
When you did finally come back, you only stayed two hours before 
sneaking off again." 

"Oi," Youji shrugged, "a man's got to have some fun." 

"Yeah," snarled Aya. "And you've obviously had it." 

One brow rose. "Jealous?" Youji smirked. "That's just too--OI!" 

The sheet he'd covered himself with abruptly flew back, dragged thus 
by Aya's hands. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Youji wasn't wearing 
a stitch. 

"What the hell are you doing?!" 

He was also still quite erect from his dream of Tsuzuki. 

Aya quirked his brows at the sight of him, then quickly turned away. 
Just stood there as if he wasn't sure what to do, arms folded across 
his chest and eyes downcast, trying desperately to squelch his 
embarrassment.  "Put on your damn clothes and come downstairs." 

Behind him, unnoticed, Youji's face split into a sly grin. He fell 
back on one elbow, combing his fingers through his mussed hair. "Did 
you see something that offended you, Aya?" 

That got a reaction. The redhead leveled a fierce look in his 
direction, then stalked over to the bed, and yanked Youji's discarded 
jeans off the footboard. These he flung at him, managing to aim them 
successfully at his groin. 

"Yeah, I do," he ground out. "*You* offend me." 

Youji looked him over slowly, then chuckled, his hand falling lazily 
to his stomach. "That's just too, too bad, Aya." 

Aya's eyes narrowed, his fists clenched hard at his sides. Again, he 
looked as if he might lay into him in the next second, but he only 
spun around and slammed out of the room. Youji lay there listening 
to the frantic, retreating slap of his sneakered feet, and then he 
hefted himself out of bed with a soft grunt and trudged through the 
condom packet-and-beer bottle littered floor to select his outfit for 
the day. Dug out a yellow shirt and another pair of jeans. Yellow 
always brightened him up after a night of carousing--as did coffee. 

As Youji opened the door, he hoped with all his heart that he would 
have the chance to down a cup before he had to face the trio of 
undoubtedly pissed-off gremlins below.

***

Mixed blessings waiting for Youji in the kitchen. The breakfast rule had not been broken; 
there was indeed coffee, and rice, and miso soup, and teriyaki chicken bits, and cucumber 
salad and the contents of Ken's pot on the stove, left more or less untouched that 
morning. The assassins of the Koneko no Sumi ie had a tacit agreement that the morning 
meal would not be served before ten, to permit some kind of sleeping in for whoever of 
them might have been up until dawn the night before. Oh, they rose quite early to open 
the shop otherwise, whoever was in condition to do so. Breakfast for them was merely 
another break just like lunch. Snacking around eight AM was still rampant of course, and 
there were always disputes over just what constituted ten AM and who had to wake 
whoever else was destined to be grumpiest.

That morning, the rice had been done an hour before breakfast, and so had sat sometime 
in the warmer, growing stickier and stickier, unbeknownst to Omi, who stood in one 
corner heroically minding the teriyaki cheese and chicken bits between snitching slivers 
of cucumber out of the salad and the occasional toast point. He had gone to bed without 
supper and was famished, but staunchly refused to let on about it to anyone else. Aya had 
followed their missing teammate a few moments before, leaving said salad unguarded, 
and Ken was otherwise smitten with whatever he stirred on the burner.

Ken being in a copasetic mood to say the least. For the first time in weeks, he had gotten 
to take his morning rinse alone, and was singing about it in between licking his spoon and 
waltzing randomly across the room while patting the chairs on their shoulders. "I got to 
take a shower without Youji molesting me~e. I really did! I'm finally, finally clean! 
LUCKY!"

"Stop making fun of Youji-kun!" Omi insisted quite crossly, and with a few strands of 
cucumber he had pressed up inside one of his cheeks so it puffed out like a squirrel's. 
"You don't tease Aya-kun because he sleep walks or me because Ouka-chan hangs on me. 
It's just not FAIR."

Spoon once again in his lips, Ken turned around and batted his eyes rather dumbly at the 
boy before him. "Omi, the attachments of Ouka-chan aren't the sorta thing you make fun 
of! I feel BAD for you! VERY BAD and that's the truth!"

"Oh... well... how about Aya-kun! You even saw him walk into the table in the hall one 
night!!!"

"Yeah, and contrary to all the tough talkin' I may do at night, I value my life, y'know."

"That's MEAN- OW!" Omi had burned his pinky finger, which, unlike his other 
calloused digits, was not used to coming into contact with very hot breakfast treats or 
other harsh surfaces. "...TOO! And what on EARTH are you MAKING over there?"

"Chocolate pudding."

"CHOCOLATE PUDDING!?"

A big, oozy glob of it hovered on the tip of his spoon, was blown on, and shortly slurped 
up with another resounding sound of delight. "The breakfast of all good little assassins.  
MMM!"

"KEN-KUN!!!" Sadly, the teriyaki chicken bit intended for Ken's temple had the 
misfortune to intercept Aya as he chose the moment to come stalking into the kitchen, 
and go for his mug of coffee, which the aforementioned chicken bit sailed into having 
bounced off the end of his nose.

Omi proceeded to launch into several minutes of "Gomen nasai" and various forms 
thereof as he dabbed his teammate's nose between fetching him a fresh cup of French 
roast, and glaring at Ken, who was doing a really fine job of not laughing, regardless of 
how much he wanted to.

After all, there was something very, very fascinating which had caught his eye! 
Something even more worthy of his attention that the delight of hot, chocolate goo. 
Spoon protruding from his lips, he crouched down beside Aya and took a good look at his 
face... which wasn't the usual milky white but rather... just a little rosy, under his eyes. 
Like the mark a sleeve that's a little too tight leaves on the wrist when its rolled up, or the 
color of a bruised, pink peony.

He couldn't resist poking it. Was it hot like a blush? It most certainly was!

/Woooooooooow.../

Aya didn't look impressed with this gesture, or anything existing in the world at that 
particular moment.

"Ne, Aya. 'as Youji got a *girl* in there?" He said "girl" as if he still firmly believed such 
beings had "cooties".

***

"No, he doesn't," replied Aya. "But he DID have one there last 
night.  I could smell her perfume the moment I entered his room.  
I'll leave you to imagine how the place looked."  

Aya sipped his coffee, glancing up at Ken in time to see his rising 
blush.  Ah, but that was a gratifying sight after the reception he'd 
received upon entering.  Poking at his cheeks--how very rude!  

"I doubt he'll be of much use this morning--not after all he drank 
last night," Aya added coolly.  

"I beg to differ."  

A freshly showered Youji appeared in the doorway just then; his damp 
hair was caught up in a tail at his nape, and he'd added a large gold 
X pendant on a black leather cord to his ensemble and a touch of 
violet liner around his eyes.  "Hmpf.  Nag, nag," he chided.  "You do 
it almost as often as you clean something."  He shook his head.  "Man, Aya, can't you lay 
off just once?"  

"Give me a reason to, and I will."  

Youji tossed Omi a wink and Ken a sly grin--one which he quickly lost 
before reaching the table.  Damned if he'd let Aya see him 
smiling.  "Ch'!  Can't get a break at all, not at all."  

"Didn't think you'd care one way or the other, Youji."  

"Well, that just proves how little you know me, A-yaaa."  He patted 
at his chest, thinking he'd left his smokes upstairs, but he hadn't.  
He didn't take one out though--cigarettes went over better after 
breakfast.  Usually, Aya's mood did too.  

And speaking of food...

Youji walked over to the coffee maker, and poured some brew into the 
cup Omi had set out for him.  His usual one--a black one with a 
flashy gold dragon on painted all the way around it.  A touch of milk 
but no sugar.  He wanted the bitterness today.  

"Oi, Omi!  How about serving up a plate of those chicken bits for me, 
hm?  And some rice."  He tossed a smirk over his shoulder at 
Ken.  "But I'll think I'll pass on the chocolate pudding, Ken old 
boy."  

Behind him, Aya picked up a napkin from the holder in the middle of 
the table with a flourish and held it out to Ken.

***

For a moment, Ken starred at the napkin as if he had no idea what in the world such 
things could possibly be used for, let alone what one might want with him.  He ended up 
licking his lips in confusion though- something he hadn't done since he was very little -
and as such, discovered the problem at once, and as such snatched the hapless bit of paper 
before slinking into the corner to clean himself up.  The corner furthest from Youji, 
naturally.

Omi just groaned, and forfeited throwing his hands up in favor of serving breakfast.  At 
least to said Youji...

/Now that's strange, usually EVERYONE wants to get their own.  But I guess... if he 
wants me to, no harm in it!/

So he nodded without really answering, and patted a great, big, gooey glob of rice into 
Youji's favorite bowl, which he stood shortly on the edge of a dinner plate also graced 
with a neat little pile of chicken bits.

The eldest Weiss veritably beamed at him the moment the plate appeared on the table at 
his finger tips.

Omi just smiled back, and skipped away to fill his own plate, his steps much lighter than 
they would have been usually, and Ken, in the way as he was destined to be did as much 
himself- they collided in the way to the rice cooker.  Nothing spilled, and a few remarks 
about the need for a kitchen large enough for four people later, everyone was back in 
their favorite seat.  Ken always got the one closest the refrigerator and the window both.  
Youji had his back to said window and Aya looked straight out of it.  Omi across from 
Ken, and, in this case, Ken's enormous bowl of chocolate pudding and teeny-tiny little 
row of...

Rice balls.  Rice balls were never a good thing.

"Ken, eat those first.  We all know that you're more familiar with the ballistic properties 
of rice than anyone else in Tokyo, so you've got no excuse to throw them this morning!"

"Looks like you're off the hook, Youji." 

***

Aya looked up sharply from the array of dishes before him; toast, 
rice, salad, chicken.  He'd begged off the chocolate pudding on principle; it had been his 
experience that Ken liked his desserts on the sugary side.  "No, he isn't."  He pointed at 
himself with one end of his toast triangle.  "I still have a problem." 

"Well, stun me," countered Youji.  "Aya has a problem."  

He eyed him over the rim of his cup.  "You leave us alone during a 
crush like you did yesterday, and *you're* going to have a problem."  

Youji frowned at him as he popped a piece of chicken into his 
mouth.  "Ooh.  Scary.  Whatcha gonna do, Aya?  Make me close the shop 
every night for a week?  Make me sweep the floor before we open?"  

"Maybe.  Or, maybe we'll leave you alone to run the shop one day all 
on your own.  Say on a Saturday?"  

Youji looked aghast.  "You wouldn't."  

"Try us," Aya replied with a tiny smirk.  

Their eyes met and locked, shooting daggers over the jumble of 
condiments and paper napkins Omi had set out earlier.  Youji was the 
first to look away; he usually was.  He sighed glumly, and prodded at 
his rice for a moment before scooping some up with his chopsticks.  
Then some chicken.  Then he looked over at Omi.  

"Good breakfast."  

"Aa," Aya chimed in.  "Good coffee, too."  He held his cup up to him 
before taking another sip.  "Thanks."

Beaming, the boy looked from the one to the other.  It seemed to Aya, 
though, that he smiled just a bit longer at Youji, and THAT he found 
interesting--but not as interesting as the boy at his side.  Sensing 
his teammates attention drawn elsewhere, Aya huddled a bit lower over 
his plate, and slanted Ken an admiring sort of look.  The boy was all 
involved with his breakfast, and so didn't seem to notice him, 
thankfully, so Aya relaxed just the tiniest bit, and began to drink 
in the sight of him.  Always about that time, the sun would shine 
straight through the window and fall upon Ken's profile, dusting him 
with its soft radiance.  He would gaze upon him as long as his luck 
would hold out, and the others--Ken especially--took no notice of 
him.  Which meant he could look at him to his heart's content.  Being 
the quiet one had its advantages.  

That is, usually it did.  Today, however, his luck appeared to be 
bad, for Ken suddenly looked over at him in the same shy sort of way 
(in Aya's opinion) as Aya must have been watching him.  Momentarily 
startled, the other quickly averted his eyes, murmuring in an attempt 
to cover his slip, "Is there any more pudding, Ken?  I'm craving 
something sweet for some reason."  

Youji, grinning, leaned over to Omi to whisper, "It couldn't be that 
he's so bitter, he needs sugar to balance him out, now could it?" 

***

"Aya-kun! Youji-kun!" Omi protested, not sure in the end why his tongue had seen fit to 
include the redheaded swordsman in the reprimand.  Nothing remaind to him but a forfeit 
then, for their glares both turned to him and they STAYED.  "Oh I give UP!"

Ken promptly began to applaud because it seemed Youji had finally found someone else 
to harass in the morning, and, that someone was not him, nor Aya, who now that he 
thought of it, probably wouldn't have done anything about such teasing besides groan... 
/After all, for being opinionated and particular, he sure doesn't stick up for himself.../  
Rather than dwell on that occasional thought of his, he excused his clapping with a quick.  
"Wow, it was only Tuesday last week when you gave up on us."

"Was it now?"

He nodded, and then bounced up from his chair, after a custard cup, of which he could 
find only one, and it was pink.  "Well, I got lots of pudding left! But this is all there is to 
put it on, unless you want to eat it out of the pot."

No, Aya had no desire to eat pudding straight out of the pan it had been cooked in, but he 
did, very shortly, have a pink custard cup of the stuff grinning up at him from beside his 
plate, and Ken, staring at him from a point not too far from one of his elbows.

Ken who'd still had his curiosity in the possession of Aya's blush, though that was more 
or less gone now... almost seemed to have been coming back at first but now... maybe 
just a minute more watching, a minute more of gazing at someone he simply didn't 
suspect of gazing back at him as often as he did.

For Ran watched Ken every single day, and Ken, at best, was oblivious to most of it, and 
assumed the rest was thanks for his not exactly wonderful manners.

"Ken-kun? I'm going to try and fix the broken refrigerator again to-day, and I was 
wondering if you'd give me a hand.  I have the manual now and Momoe-can's cat is 
licking your spoon."

Actually, Momoe-san's cat had plunked her furry bottom smack in the middle of the 
table, and only happened to find his unguarded spoon more interesting than any of the 
other ones.

Ken's eyes left Aya's and he said to the overly-friendly feline who was now purring as 
loud as a cat could possibly purr.  "What did we tell you about people food now?"

***

Frowning slightly, Aya moved all his dishes closer to the edge of the 
table (and away from the cat).  "That's unsanitary."  

"Whatever," shrugged Youji as he plucked up the last of his 
chicken.  "I don't care what it does so long as it doesn't bother 
me.  Or eat the butter."  

"Why just the butter?"  

"Why not?"  

Aya stared at him for a moment, then, with a quirk of his brows, 
resumed his breakfast.  Indeed, there hadn't been that much of it; 
he'd never been a big eater.  "Don't forget you've got deliveries to 
do today--three of them.  I checked when I came down this morning."  

Youji reached for the soy sauce at the same time as Ken did.  He 
tossed the boy a tiny kiss when Ken jerked his hand away.  "So that 
leaves me with you?"  

"Hm, yes," said Aya. "Life is hell."  

Omi frantically tapped the side of  his coffee cup in a plea for a 
truce, and both boys looked at him and then back to each other.  
Youji grinned.  Aya sighed.  

"All right," he muttered.  "I'll lay off." 

***

Ken dragged his hand over his brow and slumped back somewhat in his seat.  He's never 
heard a more melodious truce than those five little words.  Admittedly, it wasn't a 
straight out 'I will stop randomly hitting on you, Ken' from Youji, but if Youji was 
concentrating on being civil to Aya, Youji would have less time to dream up ways to 
randomly hit on him.

/YAY!/

Of course, in the time Ken had been rejoicing in that eventuality, Momoe-san's cat had 
decided not only was his spoon interesting, but tasty too! She sat now, merrily licking 
away at the pudding which had coated the end, and now for the most part, coated her 
nose.

Everyone was quietly observing the sight long before he noticed it, and they did not seem 
especially pleased with it, unlike the cat.  Who had started to purr.  

"Silly neko-chan!" Ken called her, and reached over to pet her fluffy head.  She bit him, 
and went back to tonguing his spoon.

"Oh, alright, be that way."

He had two more bites himself before holding another gloopy serving out to the delighted 
kitty.

Omi slurped up one more bite of his salad, and then said through a few threads of 
cucumber, "Ken-kun, it's very nice to feed the kitty, but you said yourself, people food 
isn't good for her."

"I know but..."

***

"It'll get sick, Ken," Aya said. "Momoe-san won't be too pleased 
with you, if it does. And I'm not too pleased with you now." 

Ken threw him a questioning look, as did Youji--but for an entirely 
different reason. Smirked rather knowingly at him too. Aya 
pointedly ignored the latter. 

"You shouldn't eat after an animal, period. It's dangerous. You 
don't know where that cat's been." 

"Yeah, Ken," Youji purred, blithely laying a hand on Ken's knee under 
the table and giving it a good grope. "It might be rabid. Right, 
Mr. Clean Freak?" 

Glaring across the table, Aya muttered something vile under his 
breath. He finished off his last three bites of chicken, then began 
to stack his plates. "Think I'm being silly? Fine. Let the cat eat 
out of your spoon. Get sick." He scooped up his dishes and toted 
them over to the sink. "Why should I care?" 

"Hmm," mused Youji around the rim of his cup. "Why do you, Aya?" 

Aya shot Youji a quick look over his shoulder as he scraped clean his 
rice bowl, but said nothing. Youji only grinned at Ken, and tossed 
him a wink. "I think you've got an admirer, Ken-kun. A very shy 
one."

***

There was dead silence at the table then, broken only by the feline slurps of Momoe's cat 
as she indulged herself with the contents of the 
pudding-dipped spoon before her.  Ken's steadily blooming flush made no 
sound.  Youji's purring caress didn't rustle on his jeans enough for anyone to notice it.

Aya was white as a paper narcissus, and the sound of his plate falling had faded some 
time ago. It hadn't broken, just clanked on the counter.

Then Omi began to laugh.  Hard.  Hit the table holding his sides and trying to cover his 
watering eyes.

Ken's nose caught alight as well as his cheeks and he outright shuddered in 
embarrassment, squeaking now and then as if he had every intention of saying something.  
Not that he managed to get a word out, or that he could have been heard above the 
hysterical giggles of his youngest team mate. The playboy took it all in as if rather he was 
looking over an abstract painting of an artist he didn't quite like, but was willing enough 
to give SOME credit to, going so far as to light a cigarette and take a few puffs between 
patting Omi's shoulder to try and stir the boy from his pit of uncontrollable joviality.

"BAKA!"

Footsteps.  Ken was gone.  A door slammed upstairs, flew open again and 
someone slid down the banister before tearing into the shop.

"Now, now," Momoe assured him, "There's no need to take that right away.  It's not due 
at that dear little girl's party for another hour."

"I-I'll be early! Attract more repeat business that way! Ja!"

On hearing the shop door jingle, Omi rose somewhat from his slouch- looked once 
around the room, twice at Aya's pallid visage.

And promptly cracked up once again.

The cat seemed to shrug, jumped from the table and scampered out of the 
room, swishing her tail this way and that.

***

"Shut up. Both of you," Aya ground out as he turned back to the sink. 
He didn't want to look at either of them at the moment-- if ever. "There's nothing funny 
about all this." 

"I didn't say anything," stated Youji, rolling his cigarette across 
the pad of his thumb. "Did you hear me speak, Omi?" 

Omi snuffled, then broke out laughing again. Aya flung the soapy 
sponge he'd been holding into the sink, splattering water all over 
the splashguard and the counter. A few sudsy specks landed in his 
hair--not that he noticed, of course. "I've had it." Aya turned to 
face them, jabbing a dripping finger at the sink and the cups and 
plates soaking within. "You want the dishes washed, you can do them." 

Omi only grinned. Youji tapped his ashes onto the floor. Aya glared 
at both boys, then started for the door. 

"Going to chase after Ken?" 

"Lay off, Youji," Aya grumbled. 

"I was only asking because you have suds all over your face, Aya," 
Youji replied, in his laziest tone of voice. "I doubt he'll find 
that very sexy." 

With Omi's chuckles as background music, Aya stopped before he'd 
reached the door leading to the shop proper and scrubbed a hand over 
his cheeks; they came away slightly wet, what remained of the soap 
bubbles fizzing away on his skin. 

/Damn./ 

The door was ajar, but he jerked it open anyway; closed it quietly--
slamming it would only be a childish thing to do, and he felt silly 
enough at the moment. Momoe-san was rocking peacefully in her chair, 
the legs creaking with every backwards pass, cat curled up on her 
lap; only its tail moved, twitching side to side against her thigh. 
Oh, to be that contented. 

/Must be nice./ 

Aya watched them as he took his apron off the counter where he'd left 
it before joining Omi and Ken in the kitchen. 

/Yeah. As if.../ 

The shop was empty, usually was at that time of morning, and Aya 
wanted to make the best of it. There were so many things that needed 
to be done during the course of the day--not that he minded. He'd 
found it was easy to lose himself in all the menial tasks they had to 
do. He didn't have to think about...things, he had something else to 
concentrate on. And at that moment, the something else he had in mind 
was taking the carts of potted plants outside for some sunshine and 
watering, if they'd needed it. Aya propped open the door with the 
heavy iron monkey they used as a doorstop, and wrestled the first 
cart outside; drew it level with the window. He wedged a skinny 
wooden triangle under one wheel, and, with his fingertips, began to 
prod the soil around the first of the plants--an English ivy. 

Through the open door, he heard the wavering drift of Youji's and 
Omi's voices as they entered the shop, but he didn't look up at all. 

"Ah, looks like it's just you and me today, bishonen," Youji said as 
he whisked his apron off the pegs just behind the door. "Aya'll 
probably be in a mood all day over Ken--and I doubt Ken will come 
back for a LONG while." He laughed, and took one last drag from 
his smoke before stubbing it out in the ashtray he kept under the 
register counter.  

***

It was this little remark of the resident Weiss playboy that finally stilled Omi's laughter, 
and brought to his face a few inclusions of deeper pink for which his previous fits were 
not entirely to blame. He tried to hide behind the rouge of a carnation he had started to 
clip the low, scraggly leaves from, but the rouge of the petals only served to heighten his 
flush. "Mou! Youji-kun!" was all he said.

And then sighed, for he really had meant to go back into the kitchen and clean up, but 
somehow... having followed the trail of ash his companion left, seen him don his apron... 
he had done the same, if only for force of habit. The dishes, he decided could wait, at 
least for awhile. Besides, he had to find a way to make Youji's face grow warmer than it 
should have been! He was the only one of them who hadn't blushed, and it simply wasn't 
fair!

So for now, the only things that passed between them were the occasional half-hidden 
glances. There in the bower of blossoms tucked up behind glass. And he wondered...

***

It was about that time of course that a lone figure in black appeared on the curb not too 
far from the shop, and sneezed at once, mostly because of the sudden sunshine he had 
come into on rounding the corner.  All this might not have been too strange for another 
hour of the day, but frankly, there weren't too many people in business attire prancing 
about Tokyo while the sun was still up, and the hour for lunch had not yet come.

Even fewer with half-pound boxes of Godiva chocolate hidden under the trench draped 
on their arms.  Tsuzuki paused just then to run his hand once more over the embossed, 
gold foil atop the lid.  Would even the unintended image of a nude woman be taken as 
some small offense, something that just COULD mean MAYBE he wanted Kuudou-san 
to be happy with only creatures.  Just how much of the etiquette of such encounters had 
he missed by dying early in the century? And was it really OK to ask for one of 
everything for a PRESENT? Even if you couldn't make up your mind which one 
someone you hardly knew liked best.

He couldn't help but think he would have done better with just TRUFFLES! Everyone 
loved truffles, and the sample he had cajoled out of the lady at the boutique was 
suuuuuuuuuure delicious.

No time to worry about that now.  A quick glance at his now much be-crumpled map told 
him he had found the place indeed.  But... a flower shop? He'd expected that! He really 
had but... seeing it there, with just a few rays of sunlight that had escaped the shadow of 
the buildings on his side of the street falling so gently on all those blossoms... it looked so 
peaceful there.  Such a little fantasy of what flower shops were like! And so... so... 
straight.

It just looked like a place straight people inhabited to him.  No reason.

He took a moment to straighten himself up in the window of the Sanrio shop he stood 
beside.  Mineral green shirt, black pants, plum tie... he took the tie off and stuffed it in his 
coat pocket.  Too formal.  His socks didn't match- one was navy, and one black -but he 
didn't notice.  Just took a deep breath and crossed the street on the heals of a woman with 
a baby carriage.

It was almost a kind of relief to his thrumming heart and uneasy steps that he found 
someone standing outside the store, tending a pot of lush, green ivy.  After all, he could 
ask them if the man he sought was about, and that would be... some kind of a respite.

"Sumimasen... ah... is Kuudou Youji about?"

The boy turned around... it was indeed a boy.  No, he hadn't doubted the sex, only the 
age.  Shortly though, he had else to question in his unlife, for he found himself staring 
into a pair of amaranthine eyes.

The first pair he had ever seen outside of a mirror.

***

Aya was thinking along those same lines as he beheld the vivid violet 
of the stranger's eyes.  So uncommon, so unlike the misty lavender of 
his own; beautiful, nevertheless.  They were contacts, surely, he'd 
thought--and instantly recalled how people often asked him the exact 
same sort of question.  It was a common occurrence, but men didn't 
usually come around the shop asking for Youji.  And now, here was one 
doing just that--a very attractive one, too.  Aya gave him a quick 
once over, noting his mismatched socks with an amused cant of his 
head.  

"Aa."  He nodded once in the direction of the open doorway.  "He's 
working today."  

The stranger gave him a diffident nod of thanks, and Aya broke off 
his tending of the pots to escort him into the shop.  He didn't need 
to, really, but there was no way he was going to miss overhearing 
what the violet-eyed man had to say to Youji.  Someone's brother, no 
doubt, wanting to check up on his sister's new boyfriend.  

They found Youji sitting with his back to the door, facing Omi's 
table, a bridal bouquet expanding stem by stem under his expert eye.  
Aya made a beeline for the storeroom; all the better to eavesdrop 
unheeded.  "Youji. Someone wants to see you."  

"Oh?"  Youji fitted another pink orchid into the bundle, and then 
rose to greet his visitor, wiping his hands on his apron's skirt.  
The vague little smile he'd wore became surprise, such a look as one 
might wear when presented with the sight of a long, lost friend.  But 
then his manner quickly became all suave and slightly aloof.  

"Ohayo, Tsuzuki-san," he said as he stepped away from the table.  "I 
never thought to see you again." 

***

It was not the shinigami who spoke first in the floral silence of the shop, but technically 
Omi, who made a few bewildered cheeps before practically burying his face in the 
hapless bouquet before him.  

No burning blush assailed Tsuzuki then, and for that he quite thankful.  No, rather the 
violet eyes Aya had strayed into admiring in his turn, glittered softly in the subdued 
spring light of the still early day, and a kind of sadness took him then; one he wasn't 
quite sure of.  Was it something left in his pounding heart from the near century he had 
spent without ever having seen another pair of purple eyes, or was it just because... Youji 
was more beautiful just then, more than any of the fae things that guarded such blooms as 
thrived in the unseen world could ever have hoped to be?  And Youji something that 
would have to die someday, all cruelty aside?

And it was him.  Really, seriously him.  

And suddenly just why he was trembling ever so slightly behind his trench coat didn't 
matter.  The eyes were just wispers of the future that touched him, Kuudou the injustices 
of the stars in all their quiet glory.

"Aa, ohayo, Kuudou-san.  I didn't either but I... eto ne... I..."

Said coat tumbled to the be-petalled floor and the gold box underneath he held out to 
Youji.

"I brought you some chocolates for helping me yesterday!"

"Youji helped a MAN...?" Omi wondered aloud. 

***

"Uh...Yeah, I did," Youji replied. "I did. I didn't expect to get 
chocolates for it though. Arigatou, Tsuzuki-san." He inclined his 
head, but instead of taking the box, Youji bent to retrieve Tsuzuki's 
coat from the floor. He shook it out, draped it over his arm, and 
then, took the proffered box. His face lit up in delight as he read 
the lid. 

"Assorted Godiva chocolates! These are my favorites--a little bit of 
everything. Including the dark ones." 

"He would get chocolates," murmured Aya dryly. "He usually does." 

Behind Tsuzuki, the amused redhead smirked. Youji paid him no mind; 
he gestured towards the door marked, 'PRIVATE', now smiling at 
Tsuzuki. "Why don't you come to the kitchen with me, and we'll have 
some over coffee. Since you've come all this way, you might as well 
stay for awhile and visit with me." 

"Wait a minute," said Aya. "We haven't been open for an hour yet." 

"So?"

"So, we always get busy around lunchtime. You know that. And with 
Ken gone, we need you." 

Youji shrugged. "It's not my fault that Ken is gone. And besides, 
I'm due a break today." 

"Not when your breaks last three hours or more. Youji!" 

"See ya in a little while, Aya, Omi," he called, striding over to the 
door and flinging it open, standing aside to let Tsuzuki pass.

***

Tsuzuki grinned and with just the littlest inclining of his head, slipped through the door 
and into the tiny hall that lead to the downstairs kitchen.   Behind them were the sounds 
of a few surprised cheeps on Omi's part, and Aya's sighs.  He did feel kinda bad about 
chasing their companion away with him, but so things were fated to go it seemed.

Though in truth, he was already having small fantasies of coming in one day, and simply 
announcing he would make up for the days before, his present when it became past; that 
he would sit with them, and he would mind the flowers too.

This daydream besides that of the chocolate.  True, it wasn't at all THAT nice of him to 
have brought some over and then had a nibble himself but... chocolate.

Youji lead him to a tiny room with a white stove, and a white, Japanese 
table on which rested a tiny stack of very dirty white dishes that had, not to mention a 
small window overlooking the back of the apartment building just behind the Koneko and 
no much else.  The florist motioned for him to sit, and so he sank to his knees beside the 
pale little heap of plates.  Rocking back on his heels, he beamed up at his host, and the 
emerald eyes he had been watching for all the way back to the kitchen met his own.

"They seem like very nice people to work with, though I do kinda agree with them- I 
think I'd miss you too if you were gone for three hours I expected to see you I..."

Without turning away like most rather embarrassed people may do, Tsuzuki just blanched 
and blinked at his own bursting, forward words.

"Err......... that just slipped out.  Gomen!"

(OOC: Between In'ei and CV, it appears there are two kitchens in the Weiss household: 
the little "white" one near the laundry room and a larger one suitable for serving meals to 
the entire group.  I guess the white one is technically Momoe's- it's also in CV 12.)

***

Youji turned around, having just hung Tsuzuki's trench upon the hook 
where Momoe-san kept her blue-striped apron.  "No need to apologize, 
Tsuzuki-san," he said.  "I wasn't offended in the least.  Not in the 
least."  Youji laughed knowingly.  "VERY little shocks me, anyway."  

He beamed at him as he exchanged the chocolates for a misplaced saucer.  "Sorry about 
all this mess, but, ah...we aren't all great housekeepers.  And we don't all try to be, 
frankly."  Winking over his shoulder at Tsuzuki, he grabbed up the kettle and held it 
under the cold tap.  "There are far more interesting things to do with one's day than to 
spend the whole of it worrying about sweeping and washing.  I mean, just look at that sky 
out there," he said, waving a hand at the window.  "So full of promise."  

Youji set the kettle on to boil, then seated himself on the mat 
beside his visitor.  "I had no idea just how much promise this day 
would hold for me."  He caught Tsuzuki's eye, and held it.  "I never 
thought you'd show up, bearing chocolates.  I must admit, I'm glad 
you did.  And not just because of the gift."  

He tugged the satiny red ribbon loose, and edged the lid off the box; 
spread the tissue paper aside, and gazed upon the candies in 
delight.  "Lovely, aren't they? All nestled in their plastic cups 
like treasures.  They almost look too good to eat."  Youji studied 
the array of chocolates, then picked up a white chocolate starfish.  
It would be filled with strawberry creme, that he knew all too well.  
They were one of his absolute favorites, and he usually started with 
them whenever he was lucky enough to get a box.  But, this time, 
instead of eating the starfish himself, he held it out to Tsuzuki as 
if he would feed him.     

"It's funny, though...I find the giver to be much more appealing."

***

"I'm not a great housekeeper either," Tsuzuki whispered, started to let is eyes fall away, 
only to catch himself just a moment before they would have left Youji's all together.  The 
blond man seemed to call his gaze back- a swift and gentle summoning, all sweet-star 
wishes.  Had they been of anything...

/No, I still would have looked but... I wanted to... since they're like this I.../

"In fact, last night was the first time in years I remembered I have a maroon couch. I..."

/No! That's stupid! You BAKA! As Hisoka would say... anyway... you can do better! 
You know you can! You're a hundred years old for cryin' out loud!/

/Yes, and in that time I've gone out with... lets see... one... two... two people./

/Damn.../

Though his host plainly sensed so distress about him then, Tsuzuki noticed nothing about 
him changed, for better or for worse.  It was still just Youji across from him, with the late 
morning sun tangling its fingers in his golden hair... Still just Youji, alive and still in 
love with the sky and all that lay underneath it. 

/But... everything's a lot and... you did meet him in a... but he... and you.../

/You know, I just don't care./

Caution, in all its forms, evaporated in one blooming cloud.  All at once.  He almost 
found himself surprised he'd not been able to reach out and touch it to wave farewell.  He 
felt lighter than dragon feathers, soft as cream and just bold enough to lean down over the 
top of the table with his chin in his hands.  

He nibbled one limb from the hapless chocolate starfish and told Youji the truth.  "I guess 
it's okay then if I didn't find you *just* because I wanted to find you... ah... is it?"

Courage of course, feathers milk and all, crumbled before shyness.  And he knew why, 
but he didn't tell himself just then.

***

"I don't care about the reasons why, Tsuzuki-san.  I'm only pleased 
that you're here."  Youji tipped the starfish so the broken end faced 
him, noting the impression of the other's teeth in the creamy white.  
The rest of it Youji promptly popped into his mouth, then he rose to 
answer the kettle's insistent whistling.  

"You want to talk to me about something specific--am I right?" he 
asked as he spooned granules out into a pair of black 
cups.  "Something to do with the odd events of yesterday."  He tossed 
him a smile over his shoulder as he reached for the kettle.  "Oh, 
yeah, I haven't forgotten about that.  Puzzled over it for the better 
part of the night--or that is, when I wasn't thinking about you, 
Tsuzuki-san."  

Smiling to himself, Youji dropped another spoon into one cup, and 
carried them both over to the table.  He fished the milk bottle out 
of the refrigerator and grabbed the sugar bowl off the stove top, and 
set them down before he knelt at the table again.  "Sorry it's 
instant.  I can't get the hang of measuring for the maker," he waved 
a hand in its direction, then shrugged.  "Not that it's important.  
Anyway..."  

***

"Oh I like instant coffee," Tsuzuki explained as he watched the sugary foam play about 
the surface of his cup.  "You can make it just a little sweeter than regular coffee before it 
turns into syrup."  Although, Youji seemed not note that as his companion said this, he 
also happened to be pouring spoonful after spoonful into his mug, an act which only 
ended when he decided it was time for the milk, though Tsuzuki expressed somewhat 
more restraint with that.  And then he stirred it into a caf‚ whirlpool before chancing a sip 
that ended with a mocha-colored smile.

"Well... there was one... err... were two little things I wanted to say to you but... they're 
not very... very polite things.  I don't think."

Youji's fingers stole away from the surface of the open oyster they had been waltzing 
over, and having plopped said candy on his saucer, folded up before him as he smiled in a 
mildly curious manner.  He didn't need to say anything really.

"Well, I wanted to apologize for... for causing that mess! I didn't mean for anything like 
that to happen! It's just that I'm a detective and... things like that happen to detectives.  
I'm very glad you were there and you gave my partner and I a hand but... you know I... I 
feel kinda bad about it."

***

"But why~y?  As you said, detectives get into predicaments all the 
time.  You can't help what happens on cases--I know that all too 
well.  I used to be a private detective, had my own agency.  It was 
fairly successful venture, but, ah...it was far too short-lived.  And 
so, here I am."    

Youji unlaced his fingers and plucked out a sugarcoated dark 
chocolate truffle from the gold plastic tray.  This, he set on 
Tsuzuki's saucer with a waggle of his eyebrows.  

"Don't give it another thought, Tsuzuki-san.  I wasn't horrified, or 
anything like that."  He took a quick sip of his coffee, then set it 
down again to add another splash of milk.  "Now.  What was the other 
impolite thing you wanted to say to me?"    

***

Tsuzuki broke off starring into the imagined soft, chocolaty heaven encased within the 
tiny, sugar-snowed droplet before him as if rather he had a fragment of the moon before 
him, and came to stare once more at the man who had diverted him so with the treat 
unasked for.

His mouth stayed wet though.  Very wet and flushed.

"Well, I was just curious... about... why you were there."

They both raised their eyebrows to this, and his host for his coffee reached, for he plainly 
wanted him to go on, and the coffee would keep him then from answering at once, where 
he wished more words before that.

"I was... looking for someone there, and I thought... well, I just..."

He shook his head then before burying his senses momentarily in the sweet as he found 
his nerve, and spoke it too, chocolate straying from his lips or not.  "If you were there for 
one of the girls, that's OK, I mean.  I was just... you know... kinda glad I didn't find who 
I was looking for.  Since you were... there and I..."

Youji had the most enigmatic smile just then.

"I..."

And it only grew wider.

"Iiiiiii'm! ...not very good at this! I always get embarrassed having to say it out loud! 
That I'm... pretty much what you've figured I am!"

No silence then, rather both they broke into laughter, one of relief, and the other born of 
everything beautiful that morning.

***

And neither of them stopped laughing when the door swung open and one 
irate Aya stood looming in the doorway.  

"What is so damn funny?" he groused.  "I can hear you all the way in 
the shop."  

Youji winked at Tsuzuki, chin propped on hand.  "It's none of your 
business, really, what we're laughing about.  Although..." he looked 
Aya up and down, smirking at the sight of his water-logged shoes, the 
wide wet patches staining his jeans from the knees down.  "You do 
look rather comical just now."  

"There was an accident."  

Youji cocked a brow.  "So what happened?"  

Aya opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, and stubbornly folded his 
arms across his chest.  "Are you coming back to work, or what?"  

Youji plucked a chocolate out of the box, slyly catching Tsuzuki's 
eye again as he nibbled at it.  "Yeah..."  

"When?"  

"When my break is over."  

Shaking the soaked fabric from one leg, Aya glared.  "I say it's over 
now."  

Youji popped the last of the chocolate into his mouth, mumbling, "I 
have a guest."  

"Have him later."  

"Ooh, Aya," cooed Youji, batting his lashes.  "Better not let Ken 
hear you say that.  He might put you over his knee."  

Aya opened his mouth and shut it again like a fish, cheeks flushing.  
And then he snarled, waving the dirt-edged trowel he'd carried into 
the kitchen in a threatening sort of way. "If you don't get back to 
work, and NOW, we're walking.  We don't have to take this."  

Youji shrugged. "So don't take it.  The kid could use a break, same 
as you."  

A trace of the anger in his expression drained away at that.  And 
then, Aya drew a deep breath, then spun around and slammed out of the 
kitchen with a distinct "Damn," tumbling from his lips.  Youji 
laughed knowingly, picking up his cup for one last swallow of 
coffee.  He turned to Tsuzuki, and took his hand under the table.  

"What do you say to a drive?  You and me in a sweet little 
convertible, some music.  I know of some lovely places where we can 
go and just sit.  And talk."  He grinned seductively.  "Or whatever 
you'd like to do."  

***

As for the last of Tsuzuki's coffee, that almost came out of his nose at those words, and 
the look he wore when he peered up from behind his mug didn't seem to be doing 
wonders for the fate of Youji's either.  They both narrowly avoided their spit takes 
though, and with or without, the shinigami once again began to blush.  

The bubbly burden of telling the truth might have lifted away from his heart, but his mind 
was still swooping and dipping through the elation of release when Youji's semi-innocent 
offer came and fluttered around with it.

Speaking of fluttering, he stomach rented itself out to a pantheon of butterflies.  
Dyspeptic butterflies.

/An afternoon... alone... with... Youji./

/Not only that but...!!!/

"REALLY!" Tsuzuki burst out, shrill as a first grader in his delight.  "I've never been in 
a convertible! You wouldn't mind taking me! Really! Really! Really! I would LOVE 
that! You don't know how much!"

/Almost as much as I'm enjoying having a crush on you!/

Or, as the situation might have been, crushing Youji's hand under the table, for he had 
given it an inadvertent, joyous squeeze.  Only at the end of which, did he realize he was 
in fact hand in hand with the most beautiful blond in all of Tokyo, Meiji, present or 
destined to be the victims of alien invasions or not. 

"WAIIIII!"

***

Youji hadn't expected such a strong, positive reaction, and he 
couldn't help but chuckle in the face of it, even as he pulled his 
hand free for Tsuzuki's and shook the blood back into his 
fingers. "Ehh...if I knew you'd be so up for a ride, I would have 
suggested it sooner." He chuckled again, softly, and got to his 
feet. Patted at his pockets in search of both keys and money, and 
found them empty. 

"Be rrrrright back." 

The chocolates and their bearer disappeared from sight behind the 
pale green door. Youji took the stairs two at a time, whistling 
merrily, not caring who heard him or what they might say if they 
did. After all, he had the loveliest man with the most stunning eyes 
(take that Aya!) that he'd ever seen awaiting him. 

His wallet he'd left on the dresser with his keys, but his money he 
had to dig out of an old Twinings Earl Grey tin he kept in a shoebox 
on the top shelf of his closet. His secret hiding place--one of 
them, that is. Youji never cared for banks, didn't have any reason 
to save, hence his makeshift safe. What was the point in planning 
for any kind of future, when you might not even be around to enjoy 
it? Better to live in the moment. 

"And that's what I'm going to do today," he whispered at his 
reflection in the mirror above the dresser. Youji whisked his 
fingers through his hair, slapped on a bit of cologne, patted himself 
down for his keys again because he had forgotten even picking them 
up, then strode out the door, laughing softly at his folly. He got 
back into the kitchen just in time to see Tsuzuki pop a milk 
chocolate seashell into his mouth. 

"Ready to go? Or do you want to devour some more sweets first?" he 
teased. 

Tsuzuki gave him a scrunched up, sheepish sort of smile, and shook 
his head. Youji stood back to let him pass, then did the same again 
when they reached the side entrance. Youji gestured at his prized 
white British sportscar with the air of a proud father. "Here she 
is, in all her splendor." He unlocked the passenger door, and ducked 
inside to pop the hooks holding the leather convertible top in place; 
it folded back neatly over the rear seat. Behind him, Tsuzuki gave a 
clap of delight, and Youji bestowed a grin upon him. 

"Come on, Tsuzuki-san, and climb in!" he said as he circled the car 
to do the same. "We have a whole city all to ourselves, and a lovely 
day to see it in. I say we get to it."

***

Tsuzuki of course, did not just get in, why, how could he enter such a chic and flashy car 
in just the same way he might climb into an more ordinary vehicle? Why, that wouldn't 
be any fun at all! And besides, he had always dearly wanted to try leaping over a cardoor.

And he did.  The toe of his shoe cast him from the edge of the driveway and into the air 
around the metallic glitter in the convertible's finish, took him only the littlest bit higher 
than a living person might have gone- enough for assurance he would find his hips 
colliding with the panels he was trying to clear.  Just a few inches from the ground, 
everything looked... already like it was starting to shrink.  He twisted himself up then, 
heels before the rest of him taken in by the shadows under the dash. Plop! And he had 
landed with barely a stir on the baby-soft leather of the passenger seat, where he looked 
about what surrounded him with already a charmed gaze.

/It's so... low to the ground! Won't it... umm... gonna list an awful lot when we go 
then? Umm.../

In wondering over it, he folded his hand upon his knees, and promptly realized he had 
forgotten all about his coat.  No matter, it would have blown around like crazy anyway.

Youji gave him a devilish little wink.  Didn't ask, just looked perfect beyond perfect 
draped in his own seat, like a model in a room filled with imaginary draps.  Just grinned, 
just took the silver charms of his keys and buried them in their slit.

The car growled and jiggered, and then began to hum softly as could be.  Tsuzuki 
watched his host pluck the gear shift this way and that, rub his hand over the pummel of 
it like he might the shoulder of an old friend.  They crept backwards until traffic opened 
up before at last.

And then they flew.

The feel of the turns, the sense of speed and the screeching air just barely making the 
sound of the motor slip away- it was better than a hundred roller coasters.

"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

***

When Aya re-entered the shop, he found one woman browsing--the same 
one who'd been hanging about for an hour, one man waiting for Omi to 
finish an arrangement, the TV blaring some soap Youji liked to watch, 
and the phone was threatening to jump off the counter. The blond boy 
shot him a panicked sort of look as he crossed over to the counter to 
silence the latter's annoying ring-ring, and Aya felt oddly guilty 
for leaving him alone at all. 

The caller was a woman who wanted an arrangement for next morning. 10 
AM sharp. Lilies, mixed, no greenery, and in a green vase. Aya took 
it all down with his usual shop-sort politeness, quoted a price and 
hung up. Then, with an air of vengeance, he neatly tore the thin, 
pink sheet from the pad, and stuck it to that part of the corkboard 
which belonged to Youji. Stuck the few orders on his and Omi sides 
onto Youji's, too, before remoting the TV into silence. 

The man had left, roses in tow, and the woman had finally made her 
decision--a bouquet of red iris and pink daisies, which Aya found 
jarring to the eye. He gave no outward sign of his distaste, however-
-just took her money, and bid her thanks. And then, after she was 
well clear of the shop, Aya locked the door and pulled the shade down 
over the glass. When he turned around, he found Omi standing at his 
petal-and-ribbon littered table, staring at him in bewilderment. Aya 
only tugged the strings of his green apron loose, and shrugged it 
off. 

"Ken's gone. Youji's on the verge of ditching. As far as I'm 
concerned, the day is over. I'm not going to work when no one else 
will." 

He shook out his apron, and hung it on its usual peg by the door. 
His fingers brushed Ken's as his hand fell away to his side, and then 
Aya turned back to Omi. The boy had resumed his cleaning of his 
table, moving slowly, as if he'd been hurt somehow and had lost all 
enthusiasm. Aya stood by the door and watched him pass the cloth 
over the surface, sweeping debris over the edge and into the white 
wastebasket he kept on hand. 

School, work, and late nights spent at the computer. When did he get 
to have any fun? When did he ever allow himself to have any? 

Would it kill him? 

Would Aya care, if he did? 

A sad little smile touched his lips at the thought of his sister. If 
she were there, in the world and happy, she would be dragging him 
away as often as she could, just as she did when he was at the 
restaurant. 

And so...

"Don't," he said quietly. "Don't bother with all that. The shop's 
closed, and it's not like we have to clean it now." He paused, 
scuffing one toe on the lino, then turned to open the door. 

"I'm going out," he added, looking back over his shoulder at 
Omi. "If you want to come...I wouldn't mind."

***

The boy in question made a most curious sound then; not quite a question, and not quite a 
gilt little noise of astonishment.  Not really very much of anything there in the empty 
shop, but he and the last remaining companion of his both looked to one another without 
any hesitation, and the few blossom shards still clinging to his wet hands began to shift 
off under one another's pressure.

Leaving a trail of such silk snibbles behind him, Omi tip-toed across the shop.  A door 
slammed somewhere far behind him in the building and then there was no more laughter 
to be had unless the sunbeams breaking up about the spare vases counted as they wiggled 
this way and that.  But in this relative silence did his eyes grown wide and pleased, for his 
dare in the way he moved, the way he wouldn't speak, to take back the invitation, had 
gone very much unanswered.

So he folded his hands behind his back, tipped his head to one side announced in an 
almost shy sort of jingle.

"I'd like that very much, Aya-kun! But would you mind if I ran upstairs to change my 
clothing first?  I'm a bit... leafy."

The swordsman shook his head and soon found all of his companion that remained was 
his apron and the sounds of fleet little feet ascending the steps.

Omi didn't even bother to shut the door to his room behind him, not that he could at the 
moment, because Momoe's cat had rather usurped the space needed to close it, and sat 
there washing the last of the pudding from her muzzle.  His work clothes he sloughed off 
with whistles on his lips- everything down to his boxers, though shortly enough, to the 
dismay of anyone who might have been watching through his very open window, he 
shortly replaced them.  His closet had most willing produced a white, sleeveless top that 
fastened rather around his neck- one that wore a pattern that would have been rather like 
fur, except that it was aqua -a pair of baggy, seafoam shorts, a bluish-purple jacket, and a 
backwards creme-colored baseball cap.  

For Omi might not have gotten to display his collection of outrageous clothing off all that 
often between his work and his classes- that of Aya's thoughts was very true.  But it 
didn't bother him all that much.  After all, it made the opportunities to show off his 
eccentric taste all the more rare and special.  Like little birthdays.

And to-day Aya was giving him a birthday! What fun!

Having crammed a few spare yen into his pocket and slipped a pair of titanium hoops 
through his ears, he bounded back downstairs for inspection.

"Yosh'! Ike ka? Aya-kun."

***

Upon Omi's return, Aya pushed away from the wall where he'd been 
standing, waiting for him. He took in his young companion's 
appearance without a trace of emotion--at first--until he thought of 
how he'd always thought Youji was the colorful one. But Youji had 
nothing on Omi. It amused Aya to find his assumption thus destroyed, 
and so easily, though he didn't smile even a little. And it seemed 
he didn't have to, for when their eyes met, the boy suddenly gave him 
a sweet, friendly grin of his own, as if he could read his thoughts; 
a smile from which Aya immediately dropped his gaze, and turned away 
before he could be tempted to return it. Such a threat loomed always-
-Omi affected him that way. 

"Aa," he said; he didn't have to wonder about his cash, or how much 
he had, for that he already knew: It was in his back pocket and he 
always had just enough. He'd gotten good at budgeting his income 
over the last two years. "Iku zo, Omi." 

They wound up in the alley alongside the shop, where they usually 
kept their personal vehicles. That is, all of them except for Aya. 
His car always sat by the curb, rain or shine, and he rarely drove it 
at all. Gas was so expensive, and he had to make it stretch as far 
as he did his paycheck. He had been prepared to walk to...wherever, 
but now, with the sun shining down and the sky blazing deep blue...

Aya slapped at his left front pocket, palm curving over the small 
lump his keys made, and then he stepped off the curb, looking both 
ways twice before unlocking the driver's side door. 

"Get in," he said, just before climbing in himself. Aya snapped 
the belt on, settled the key in the ignition, then waited, hands 
resting on the top of the wheel while Omi got himself arranged in the 
seat. 

And then it dawned on him: He had no idea where to go. It was 
always off to the hospital, or maybe to the yakitori stand on the 
next block if he went anywhere. He certainly wouldn't take Omi to 
the former, and the stand would be too crowded now. Besides, he 
wanted something different today. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Omi fidget in his seat--probably 
uncomfortable in the sudden silence, he figured. Aya twisted the 
key, and the engine reluctantly churned into life, but he let it idle 
for a moment longer. 

"We can go to the beach, or I can take you to that rooftop restaurant 
across town, the one Youji told us about. I've got enough for a cup 
of coffee at least, *maybe* a little more." He tore his eyes away 
from the bustling street before them, and lay them upon Omi. "Unless 
you have another idea. Your choice."

*** 

Omi all but bounced like a super-ball in his seat at the mention of a rooftop restaurant- 
ANY rooftop restaurant! But one that Youji had mentioned and one that happened to be 
across town- and who knew exactly where across town happened to be? What a treat! -
oh, it just didn't get any better than that! Though the beach did sound pretty tempting- he 
did love the ocean but...

/I bed Aya-kun would like the coffee shop better, since it's bound to be quieter.  If I was 
with Ken-kun or Youji-kun, it would be the beach! But it's the least I can do to thank you 
if I say.../

"Oh, I'd just love some coffee!" The boy exclaimed then.  "The restaurant it is then! 
Yapiiiiii!" 

His companion nodded softly and set his sights back on the street- lunch break was just 
then coming up for the businesses of Tokyo, and the roads had filled with gleaming cars, 
the sidewalks with people in dull suits, all looking exciting somehow as they pranced 
down the concrete towards one small world of the city or another.

But then again, the way he saw it, he had ever right to find people in suits fascinating, 
since he had never had occasion to wear one, not in his lines of work, either of them.  Not 
that he didn't have thoughts of making fascinating get-ups out of them... he propped one 
of his elbows on the edge of his door's window and watched the real world speed by for 
awhile- the way the depths of recognition flew past at different rates- the people walking 
so close up, the other cars- all blurs of color while the walls of the other buildings 
waltzed with the skyline and the clouds that followed them.  It was dizzying and joyous 
to see.

A glance to his companion though, and he had to wonder; was he taking it all in, or 
simply seeing, while his thoughts elsewhere dwelled?  No, he didn't think he could say 
for sure in that respect of him.  Could he say if it bothered him to have someone speaking 
to him while he drove... no... but... that at least was worth a try.

/No messy semantic stuff to start off with though!/

/And nothing about... missions./

/Or work!!!/

/Uh-oh.../

Omi blushed at his own dearth of discussable topics.  They were at a stoplight, and Aya 
happened to glance over at him just then.

***

For, of course, Aya's mind was wandering too: onto whether or not 
he'd done the right thing, the RESPONSIBLE thing in closing up shop; 
onto his sister who lay sandwiched between thin, greying sheets in a 
hospital just five blocks West and two North of the shop; onto...the 
fact he was now in a situation that demanded small talk, and he was 
lousy at it.  Keeping everything in did that to a man.  And what 
might he say to Omi?  Ask him about what books he'd read lately, a 
topic he was most comfortable with?  As if a kid his age with his 
responsibilities would have the inclination to read for pleasure.  He 
knew he didn't when he was younger; between work and school, he never 
had the time to indulge.  
      
So, Aya, at a momentary loss, turned away from Omi without uttering a 
word.  The light turned green, and they were off again.  But Aya 
didn't pay any of the whirling scenery any attention at all.  His 
mind was spinning just as quickly.  He sensed Omi was getting restive 
in the seat beside him; he was feeling that way, himself.  

/Well, say something, damn it./ 

"Talk..." he began, his voice strangled.  

/Just anything./  

He cleared his throat.  "You can talk while I drive.  I don't care," 
he said at last.  "Tell me...Tell me about school.  Tell me what 
sorts of things you like to do."  

/Because I really don't know.../    

***

It certainly was an unusual question his friend had asked.  Just out of the blue on that 
shimmery afternoon- well, more out of the pink. Aya had more or less spoken in the 
midst of the boy's blush. 

What do YOU like to do.  Not what I want to hear.  Not what everybody else around you 
says that you're just repeating since you're caught off guard.  Think about it, and say 
something real.  

Of course, that given, all Omi could manage to think about was just how much he 
happened to be silently enjoying the little inquiry, and pondering just how to make it last, 
all afternoon.  Like a great, big, juicy lollipop. 

"Well, I'm doing alright in school, I guess.  I've got all B's and C's.  I really like my 
literature class but... I haven't been doing so well on the tests.  I ah... guess I just don't 
see the same things in the stories everyone else does, and that's ok."

/If I did find the same things in them, as everybody else, I'd be worried!/

And that was more or less that, not because he had finished... no, he could have spoken 
on a hundred other things about school, that clique, this facet of life, that nuance to the 
way the windows in his homeroom stood. 

And ended up sitting on his hands so he wouldn't bite his nails.  One of many bad habits 
of his.  Since there was nothing more about school and him he wished for Aya to 
understand.

"I finally finished painting that gundam Ken-kun bought me for my birthday.  The BB 
Heavyarms? It's not exactly the colors on the box though.  I got some red in my grey so 
the guns are a little on the pink side.  And then Ken-kun reminded me he doesn't paint his 
at all!"

It was really all about one thing, the intermittent quiet, the almost herbal scent of the 
eternally damp air mingling with the smog... not the smog itself.  Not any wish he had 
just... anymore beneath the clouds.  

/Me always wanting to take care of you... to not be the rest of the world... not be this 
deep!!!/

Thump thump! Omi's heels tapped against the seat as he swung his feet just when the car 
sped up.  The boy beamed then at his reticent companion.  "I got a neopet! Two actually.  
I have a blue Usul and unicorn I adopted form the pound.  An Usul is this kinda squrrel-
rabbit creature, they're real vain- least mine is.  Now, you don't have to tell me it's silly.  
I know already!" Giggles here, and nothing more, "But they're easier than real pets, and 
since I didn't figure Momoe would go for me having a rat even..."

***

Neopets?  What...what were they?  Had Omi taken a fancy to stuffed 
animals??  Aya found the notion of Omi cuddling some toy or other a 
likely one, even though he'd never seen one propped up on his bed or 
dresser whenever he'd passed his open bedroom door.  So he said 
nothing to that, save for, "Where do they sell neopets?"  After all, 
Aya-chan had liked stuffed toys once, and maybe flowers were getting 
too...everyday.  

He brought the car to a stop, their way momentarily blocked by a 
delivery van.  He glanced in the rear view at the next lane, then 
quickly glanced at Omi as he steered the car into an unexpected gap 
in traffic.  The boy was grinning from ear to ear, obviously finding 
his question amusing.  Aya, grumbling softly, frowned.  

"I don't know what's so funny."  

Omi chuckled good-naturedly at that, but said nothing.  Out of the 
corner of his eye, he could see the other was watching him, but Aya 
pointedly refused to look his way.  Instead, he turned on the radio, 
only to turn it off again when he remembered its sole working 
speaker.  

"You ought to care more about your grades," he said matter-of-factly, 
hoping to rankle him a bit.  "You might want to go to university 
sometime.  Your marks will affect whether or not you are accepted."  

/Or so I've heard./  

Omi just shrugged, and turned away to watch the Tokyo streets spin 
past them, and Aya quietly sighed.  He didn't really blame him.  
University had appealed to him once upon a time, but now...

"I never liked to take literature class either," he blurted 
out.  "All it consists of is listening to someone's own 
interpretations of novels and spewing those ideas back to him or her 
on tests and essays.  There's never any room for anyone else's 
ideas.  A lot of books were ruined for--"  he paused, his eyes 
lighting upon a certain street sign.  With a quick glance in his side 
mirror, Aya spun the car into the next lane to the furious bleat of 
two horns behind him, and made a hasty turn down another street, 
slowing down just enough to make it safely.  

"Youji said to make the first right on Kita-Aoyama.  Next is 
Hatchobori.  Help me keep an eye out for it."

***

"Hai!" Omi bubbled, now openly clapping his hands to the thoughts of tea in the sky.  
Well, that and the fact he was quite elated when it came to the fact he and his afternoon 
companion had not been squashed by any oncoming traffic.  He could have sworn Aya 
was really more the person to signal... 

Books though could have that effect on people though.  That was the whole point of 
books as far as he was concerned.

"I really did like Kitchen, though.  Well... before the teacher got to picking it apart.  I 
wish I still liked it! But... I don't know; Even though we were a highschool class, she 
still decided we'd be better off not reading anything... etchi into it.  And I know it's 
about loosing people, the author out and says so! But maybe it's about... loosing other 
things too, and maybe the moon isn't just the moon to me."

A sigh and a smile later, he had crossed his legs, content to wait awhile for any answer, 
though he did so with his elbow propped on the edge of the window as he looked out over 
all the place where the moon ordinarily would have been, had night fallen just then, 
over...

"Aa! Hatchobori desu!"

***

Once more the brakes squealed, and Aya spun the car into a sudden 
turn onto Hatchobori, just barely missing a jaywalking pair of 
businessmen. Whatever insults they'd shouted were lost over the growl 
of the engine, and it was just as well, for Aya had his attention 
pinned more to the sky than on anything else. The restaurant--which 
resided atop a small hotel whose windows were capped with pink 
awnings--was shaped something like a king's crown, that is sort 
of "puffy" (Youji's exact word), and he was scanning the buildings 
for just such a shape. He nearly missed the light when it turned red, 
*nearly*. Omi had warned him just in time. 

Omi who was smiling rather nervously at him now, his heels having 
ceased their carefree drumming. Aya suddenly felt like an idiot. 

"I didn't want to miss the hotel." 

Unexpectedly, the boy laid a hand on his shoulder, just for a moment, 
and Aya slid him a sidelong glance. Omi gave him a tiny grin, then 
turned to look out the passenger side window. He watched his fingers 
tap idly upon his knee in time with some unheard tune.

"I read that one too. And I agree with you--it is about loss. 
And...it's about finding something altogether precious and rare. 
She...wasn't as alone as she thought she was." 

Omi "hmm-ed" dreamily in response. The light chose that moment to 
change, and Aya no longer felt like much of an idiot. Felt altogether 
normal again when he saw the restaurant after traveling the length of 
three blocks. The building that housed it was one of blond brick that 
gleamed in the sunlight (only noticeable when one was near it). The 
awnings over the lower windows certainly were pink--a hot fuschia--as 
was the one stretching over the front entrance. The door was one that 
spun, made of wood and glass, with brass bars one held onto when 
pushing forward. Aya was privately relieved to see people in all 
manner of dress coming and going through the roundabout doors. No one 
would look twice at the pair of them, then. 

And no one did. Not even as they crossed the lobby with its pair of 
massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, its square setting of ecru sofas around a 
blondwood table. Palms in the corners, white uniformed porters, and white tile on the 
floor; it looked to Aya like the setting in 1930s movie. Even the doors separating the 
lobby from the elevators were frosted glass. 

The coffee shop was as nice as Aya envisioned it: Lamps with green 
glass shades hung over the white cloth-draped tables, all set on dim 
due to the sunshine glow from the windows. Young women clad in plain 
black dresses with white ruffled aprons bustled about serving coffee 
and tea, sandwiches and pastries. One of the lasses swept past them 
with a pot of fresh brewed coffee in hand, and Aya's mouth began to 
water. The very best of all, however, was that there was a table by 
the window, the very last one available. Aya patted Omi on the 
shoulder to get his attention, gesturing in its direction as he set 
forth.

***

Omi didn't need much more of an invitation besides the last seat at the edge of the 
nostalgic little fairyland they're found themselves in.  He clapped once without a noise 
and just like that, bounded over to the blanche-skirted maiden where they were mean to 
sit.  No, they weren't even close to the clouds, but it still felt like they were, beyond the 
passing wisps of steam. He waited beside the table though, and let Aya have first pick of 
the chairs- he took the one that looked out over the aisle of course- the one the door could 
be seen from.

Which left Omi to take in all the other guests, and the ferns and the way those cavalcades 
of green lamps so glittered as the sun wheeled round the crown where they were sitting.

Their waitress came, and offered them menus and her name before scurrying off.  As if 
she assumed they would rather talk to one another.  And she was right, more or less.

"Aaa! They have real Irish coffee."

The swordsman didn't seem to approve of that idea.  No, he hadn't really said a thing, or 
mumbled or even raised an eyesbrow.  It was just a sense from his direction that he'd 
prefer if Omi ordered something else entirely.  

"...and caramel chocolate!" he hastily added, for it did sound delicious.  Maybe even a 
little too delicious.  While he mulled over the peculiar situation- two delicious things 
united in something which might have been more that gagging and saccharine as a result, 
he happened to notice that, despite the candid formality of the place, it still had little, 
albeit cleverly disguised, paper napkin holders hidden on the corners of the table.  He 
plucked one out, and a few moments later, a tiny, fluffy napkin swan landed on Aya's 
fork.

"Momoe-san taught me how to do that."

***

Bemusedly, Aya picked the tiny paper bird up, and turned it this way 
and that, admiring its folds (rendered somewhat difficult on such a 
small scale). "Pretty good," he said, setting it to one side and 
taking a square from the holder for himself. "But you aren't the 
only one who knows such tricks," he added, laying the napkin on the 
table. "Long ago, a man named Kikyou taught me how to do this..." 

Aya began to fold the napkin, and slowly he transformed it into a 
tiny sailboat. With a faint smile, he dropped it onto Omi's half of 
the table. "If I had more paper, I could have made a frog." 

The boy giggled, prodding the sailboat with his fingers to make it 
glide across the snowy linen sea. Aya sat back in his seat, watching 
him as he took another square and tried to copy what he'd just done. 
After two tries, Aya found himself fixed by his querying, sad eyes. 
Oh, yes, Omi knew just how to make a person feel guilty with just a 
look. 

"Watch what I do," he said, plucking two more squares from the holder 
and dropping one before Omi. Fold by fold, Aya went through the 
process, pausing between each one so that Omi could keep up. The 
waitress came just before they'd finished, and they both broke their 
play long enough to order; after requesting a cup of regular coffee, 
two creams, Aya told Omi he could get a dessert to go with his if he 
wanted it. The sweets weren't as expensive as he'd thought they'd 
be. 

"It's a special occasion," he said evenly, when met with the boy's 
pleased, wide-eyed look.

***

Omi applauded this, crying, "Yapi! Yapi!" without a thread of shame before the waitress, 
who merely smiled, and acted as if she was really quite used to such behaviors.  He then 
ordered a mocha with extra whipped cream, and a small slice of strawberry mousse cake.  
Their server left with an airy nod, and once she was out of earshot, or at least doing a 
good job of looking otherwise occupied, he quietly cried aloud- "Domo arigatou! Aya.  I 
do really like cake soooooooooo much!"

After a tiny, giddy pause, he added, "And sailboats."

With which, he took the best of his own, and the one Aya had made, and scooted them 
this way and that over the tablecloth, making little ocean and wind noises as he went 
along.  Then he just laughed, and clapped for himself.

It was just that kind of day, to want to do something silly like that.  And besides, how 
often did he get to go for cake with Aya? Never! So why not?

Aya didn't even seem to be minding it much, though he did glance out the window now 
and then, rather than simply watch his companion, uninterrupted.  Force of habit, no 
doubt.  Or some side-effect of his musings.

Just to join in, Omi voiced his own.

"I wonder what Ken-kun will think when he gets back and finds the shop empty?" 
Spoken as if he expected to hear a funny story about it when they returned themselves.  

***

Ken. The very person he'd been thinking about--had been for days. 
Omi's innocently voiced question drove Aya's attention back to him, 
though he was careful not to let his interest show.

"He'll think we've all gone crazy." 

Omi grinned at that, sending his sailboat weaving through the white 
seas. Aya watched it glide around, silent for a time. The waitress 
bustled back to their table carrying their coffees and Omi's 
dessert. When she'd gone again, and the paper sailboat had been 
docked beside the salt-and-pepper shakers, Aya asked, 

"He's been going off on his own a lot lately--have you noticed?"

***

Omi nodded, and cap up from sipping at the edge of his very hot cup with a small blob of 
whip cream sitting candidly on one of his cheeks.  It shortly met an end when his 
fingertips brushed over it but his skin still shone a little where it had been.

"Mm! I did.  Well, kinda.  He gets like this sometimes..." a little twirl through his droopy 
bangs, as if it was all quite old news to him, though he judged at once from the look on 
Aya's face it most certainly wasn't to him.  

"Gomen! Aya-kun.  Ken used to do stuff like this a lot, before you came to stay with us." 
He mentally patted himself on the back for his truly absurd euphemism.  "He ah... would 
like... umm... kinda..." and he made a series of swooping oscilloscope gestures in the 
air, remarking at the crest of one, "He would want to be with us a lot," and then in a 
valley, "then he'd want to be by himself.  He was in the middle of one of these when we 
met, but he's been up here since then."

A bite of cake and some raving praises of it later, Omi found it warranted to add, "He'd 
have weeks he wouldn't even EAT with us.  Ah... not that I'm trying to gossip it's just... 
I dunno."

***  

Nodding slightly, Aya's eyes trailed down to his cup, where he'd been 
propelling his spoon in dreamy circles through his coffee. Omi's 
answer had left him wanting, for now his curiosity was piqued as 
opposed to soothed.  

"Seems strange for him to have such wild mood swings," he said, 
setting his spoon to the side, and taking the cup in hand.  "He 
always struck me as being fairly steadfast, for all his 
impulsiveness."  Aya took a small sip, then added, "Is there anything 
bothering him?  Anything that might hinder his work, that is."  

***

"I don't' actually know if he's having one..." Omi replied from behind his napkin as he 
dabbed at his lips a bit, for he had gotten the chocolate shavings from the whipped cream 
smeared all over them so well he couldn't possibly have licked them clean if he'd tried.  
"I think Youji-kun just scared him- and that's understandable!  Even if they have been 
picking on each other constantly since I met 'em.  Well that and..."

As if reluctant to speak in the shadow of the passing waitress, he fell silent then, smiled at 
her bright, candy-green eyes for a moment as she stepped away.  He didn't seem to want 
to say another word after that, but the inquisitive silence in Aya's direction finally coaxed 
it out of him.  "That and he hasn't started saying, "Omi-kuuuuuun?" in this real faint 
voice and then going, "Oh, nuffin," -just like that -when I answer him.  Or making really 
random comments on stuff he wouldn't usually notice.  Or walking backwards.  Those 
are the three things he does when he's in a mood."

Playing every bit the authority on the matter, Omi nodded and slurped at his coffee.

***

Brows knitting, Aya once more studied his coffee. Ken was that 
eccentric? He'd never noticed him doing anything so odd as that--
just his sudden departures and long absences. To Aya, it was bad 
enough that he was even doing *that*. 

"Well, then," Aya began hesitantly, "I guess there's nothing wrong 
with him." 

Across the table, Omi beamed at him reassuringly, and dove for 
another bite of his cake. Aya sipped his coffee and wondered idly if 
he should have indulged too. It did look good. 

"I guess I shouldn't worry anymore," he added, mentally counting his 
money. Unfortunately...he didn't quite have enough. 

/Can't worry about that.../ 

He took another sip, then turned to look out of the window, silent 
for a time with the occasional soft clink of Omi's fork kissing the 
plate to remind him of his companion. 

"You want to do something after we finish our snack?" he asked, 
without turning his attention to the boy. "Maybe go to the mall and 
look at all the stuff we wish we could get?" Aya smiled sort of 
wistfully, as if he were remembering doing just such a thing once, 
and then he came back to himself in a blink. 

"Of course, I'll take you back to the shop, if you'd rather."

***

"I'd love that!" replied Omi, bouncing up and down in his seat for a moment- quite 
literally! The fork somehow managed to get between his lips while he shook all over, 
though after awhile, his eyes grew wide, and he ceased his bobbing just as quickly as he 
had begun- "I didn't know you liked to do window-shopping, Aya-kun?"

Still smiling, his companion nodded.

"Yapi neeeee! Can we go to the one with the big model shop? The one that's right down 
the street from ah... that hospital with the funny name.  Onegai!"

When he bowed, his hands fell together, and it was only a sudden breath from their air-
conditioner that kept his hair out of his coffee.

***

"Tenrousei."  The word fell automatically from Aya's lips, cold and 
distant.  Omi tipped his head up to look at him, his smile melting 
just a shade.  He promptly sat up straight in his chair, the cup 
cradled before him, looking somewhat worried--like he knew he'd done 
something wrong, but wasn't quite sure just what it was.  

Aya, though, simply raised his cup to his lips as if nothing was 
wrong at all.  "Sure," he said quietly, surprised even at the steady 
level of his voice.  "I don't mind going to that mall."  

Even though he did.  He had no intention of letting Omi find out just 
why he cared, though.  

*** 

Oriya went shopping.  It took him most of the morning, but he went shopping.  Hey, it 
wasn't his fault most of the Tokyo stores specializing in fine men's clothing weren't used 
to people with French tastes.  Nothing seemed apropos to his fancies.  He threw off 
blazers faster than the harried little clerks could bring them.  He also hurled his Muraki's 
shoe at once of the managers who refused to take in the seat of the only pair of 
ultramarine trousers in his store without a fee, and couldn't find it afterwards.  
Fortunately, it happened to be the store where said shoe had been purchased, so he 
bought his lover two new pairs, and himself three before giving his card to the girl in 
charge of the tie department.  She had such impossibly long, slim, race queen legs, surely 
someone would pay extra for that!

What he didn't have trouble with was finding the boso-zuku who ran the illegal firearms 
trade in the area.  The leader had even given him a discount in exchange for a letter of 
blowjob-based credit, since he intended to visit a former girlfriend in Kyoto sooner or 
later and she wasn't into such things.  

/I'm spoiled by my love of kimonos./ He thought as he admired himself in the rearview 
mirror of the taxi he had claimed as his own for all of the day with a few 10,000 yen 
notes.  

In the end, he had acquired for himself a fourth pair of shoes, five pairs of trousers, a 
velvet smoking jacket, two Egyptian cotton shirts, one silk shirt, one of some kind of 
microfiber with a latin-sounding name, some assorted thongs, a polo shirt, a polo jacket, 
two unrelated business jackets, a three-quarter trench in mauve, a pair of ivory cufflinks, 
a pair of silver cufflinks, a pair of citrine cufflinks, fifteen ties, two pairs of kid gloves, 
some very expensive sunglasses he'd insisted on wearing out, two dew-drop diamond 
earrings for Muraki, a fully-loaded semi-automatic, a leather briefcase, a gold and leather 
rolex, a black briefcase... and one pack of glitter scrunchies because he had nothing to tie 
his hair back with.  

Presently, slung over the back of the taxi with a can of coffee in one hand, he was 
wearing a robin's egg blue jacket with dove pants and a white shirt the sleeves of which 
were fastened with the ivory cufflinks.  At the next light, he dared set his drink down and 
work his hair into a proper ponytail with the metallic blue scrunchie from the set.  Then 
he put the semi-automatic in the brief case, which he shortly used to hit the driver, who 
had missed the turn for the Takatori building. 

"I'm sorry sir!" he wailed.  "I-I'm not used to this part of town."

"I'm paying you to drive, not to talk."

"Yes, Mr. Super-pimp sir."

"That's more like it!" But as he sagged back down on the seat and reclaimed his coffee.  
"Hey! How'd you know I was a pimp!?"

"Umm... I took a wild guess?"

Oriya sighed and just waved the hapless boy along, muttering to himself that he really 
hoped he'd be able to park without causing any minor cataclysms.  Luck was with the 
doctor's lover that morning, and they managed to weave into a small space without any 
damage to any of the cars in the vicinity.  Donning his glasses as he left the car, he said 
unto the driver, "Now, you wait here until I come back... or else..."

"Or else what, sir?"

"Or else I make you my BITCH!"

"Y-yes sir."

"Oh, and you'd better be ready to drive off REALLY fast."

"Y-yes sir!!!"

Oriya ducked back in long enough to smack the chauffer on the crotch before heading off 
towards the stairs that lead up into the lowest chambers of the building.

Which he almost at once assumed must have been more spectacular if entered through the 
scintillating glass of the front doorways.  As it was, he ended up hiking for what seemed 
like ages through some stairwells that hadn't been attended to in quite some time.  The 
tile was falling from the walls, and the spiders were the only ones happy with the 
situation.  Why, he dusted himself off the instant he got to the ground floor! Only to 
realize that the doors leading to the parking garage happened to open up into the main 
lobby, and quite a few of the female interns were watching as he patted himself down.  
To them, he only nodded, having found none of them suitable for any persuasion towards 
the dark arts of the body.  His glasses newly adjusted, he picked his up his case and 
marched with it over to the elevator.

There, he found himself joined by quite a few office regulars it seemed- a secretary, a 
cleaning lady, two young men with a ream of paper each.  Nobody there looked at anyone 
else as the glass tube rose up through the cloud-layers of creamy-white floors.  And then 
he noticed... none of them had ID cards.  Which would explain why no one had asked to 
see his.  But what about saying anything about not recognizing him? Surely, such people 
would know who belonged and who didn't among them... shouldn't they? He was 
tempted to make some off-handed remark about how brazen Takatori must have been, but 
his second thoughts warned him such a supposition might not be the most wonderful 
thing in the world if the police ever did come his way; calling attention to himself that 
was.  Besides, he had no idea who Takatori was! Just that he happened to be, in all ways, 
shapes and forms, an idiot.

And that made him smile at last, the first real, genuine smile of the whole day.  Stirred 
him in a way almost sexual.

At the eighteenth floor, he got out of the elevator, and swaggered his way into the hall 
there, looking as much as he could like any of the other passing men- executives now, the 
salary men had been left down many floors before, the scientists, and certainly the errand 
boys.  No sooner had he found a chair, than he took it and there gathered his briefcase up 
on his lap.  After all, in the little reception area he now sat in, there was this one little 
passage behind the swoops of the desks where all the pretty girls worked.  And that door 
said Takatori Reiji on the front.  He'd have to pass by sooner or later and where he 
went...

It was somewhere through his muffled chuckles, that a rather harried looking man with 
dark hair and glasses came by, and flopped over the edge of one of the desks as if he 
owned the place.  He almost dove for him then and there, but... then it came to him that 
he was in the minority- being in his thirties and owning such a business! This couldn't be 
Takatori.

"Ohayo gozaimasu, Hirofumi-san!" The girl caroled in a very unnatural octave.  "What 
can I do for you?"

"When will my father be out of his meeting? There's this very important personal matter 
I need to speak with him about I..."

"I'll tell Takatori-sama you stopped by."

"But if it's OK I'd rather..."

"I'll tell him you stopped by!!!" And then, in a very quiet, almost librarian-esque tone.  
"Have a nice day, Hirofumi-san."

The man heaved a huge sigh and retreated to the elevator then, dragging his feet and 
turning over his shoulder as if he expected to woman to have changed her mind.  She 
acted as if he wasn't even there.

"Deus ex machina!" said Oriya to himself.

Only to promptly learn the scene he had witnessed was no less common than a fax 
machine breaking on one such place as Takatori Enterprises.  Another man not much 
younger than the first came tearing out of the elevator then.  This one though had dark, 
shaggy hair and somewhat pointed ears, besides the fact he happened to be wearing a lab 
coat, and not just any lab coat, but one which was one fire.  The secretary pulled a small 
fire extinguisher out from behind her desk and put him out with it. 

"Please! Where's father! I need more saltpeter! And fast! But I'm out of money!"

"Takatori-sama is in a meeting.  Please come back la~ater."

This son of the man in question left in a much more dignified fashion, seemingly aware 
of the fact he wasn't going to get anywhere with the woman who managed the 
appointments of Takatori the elder.  

/If I wasn't here to pump this guy's bodyguard fulla lead, I'd be offering him a ten 
percent discount! I mean those two CAN'T have had the same mother! I wonder how 
much he spends on girls a year?/

It was all he could do to keep from making little cash register noises.

In the middle of stopping himself though, he heard what he'd really been waiting for of 
course.  Down one of the distant aisles, a door squealed, and there were footsteps, works 
of pointless stock option related topics!

"...Koga, Koga, of COURSE I'd be DELIGHTED to invest in that little venture.  Just as 
I'm sure you'll... take care of things for me.  It's a trifling, a trifling!"

Two men laughed, their shadows jiggled, and Oriya followed the sound as if he strode 
rather on the footprints of the world's last chimera.  Sure enough, one of the far halls was 
presently occupied by two grotesquely corpulent chaps, shaking hands with each other 
quite greedily.  It was anyone's guess if Takatori was the one who looked like a beaver, 
or the one who looked like a koala, and Oriya had no time for guessing, for on the heals 
of the koala came... a svelte, slowly swaying redhead.  One who had bandages showing 
through the thin, mint green crepe of his shirt sleeves.  One who made a beeline for the 
men's restroom.

/Now I couldn'ta planned this better if I'd planned it at all!/

With a shrug for fate, Oriya slipped in after him, oblivious to the fact he cut off the two 
passing businessmen.

"Who was that?" Koga inquired.

"No idea, I can't be expected to keep track of all my wheelings and dealings!" Takatori 
announced before laughing at his own joke.

Koga and his own bodyguard just staaaaaaaaaared.

***  

Right there, in the pale teal and faux grey granite travesty of a restroom stood his prey... 
and it sure felt neat to think of him as that! Was candy-sweet and rich, like the money 
from a manufacturing magnate spiraling down, down into his beloved cashbox (which 
was now empty of course due to his shopping spree). 

He took in the sight of the redhead, padding over to one of the nearby urinals himself, 
trying not to glance over too-TOO much.

/Ufufu! Look at him there! Pissing like he hasn't got a care in the world./

And OH! Wouldn't it be a titillating embarrassment now that he'd be found, literally with 
his pants down! 

/Hell of a thing to happen to a *bodyguard*./

For appearances sake in the mean time, Oriya unfastened his own fly, only to be 
confronted with the unforeseen difficulty of attempting to avoid spillage and open his 
briefcase at the same time, something he quickly realized was not humanly possible.

/Fine, I'll just wait until I'm done and then BANG! BANG! BAAAANG! No more slut-
boy./

A few cartoonish images of said "slut-boy" falling to the ground in a puddle of crayon-
sketched blood took to occupying his thrilling heart for the mean time.   

As he shook himself off though, Takatori's bodyguard gave a mighty yawn and 
remarked.  "Are you that jealous?" 

Oriya started, almost dropped his briefcase, out of habit glanced down at his own penis, 
and back over to the redhead's, before sniffing contemptuously and turning away, for he 
was quite embarrassed to caught in such a trivial dispute with someone he meant to pop 
shortly.  It just didn't seem right.

Having neglected to zip himself back up, he went on to say, "I mean even if I wasn't a 
telepath... hehe, you're pretty funny.  Coming in here, all dressed up like you're in 
Miami Vice, with the clich‚ little suitcase and the sunglasses that still have the tag on 
them.  Just who are you trying to fool with that ponytail? And you thought you could get 
away with bang-bang-baaaanging *me*? Sorry, not today, and let me tell you, tomorrow 
doesn't look wonderful either."

Following this eventuality, Oriya gaped, and his brand-new pants fell all the way down to 
the floor.  After a moment of the redhead whistling and clucking his tongue most 
dismayedly at him, he managed to stammer, "W-w-w-what!?" Realizing only too late that 
such a repartee did not do wonders for his presented intelligence.

The bodyguard responded in a very slow, and carefully enunciated manner, making 
bizarre little explanatory hand gestures.  "I... am... a... Tele-paaaaaath.  I... can... 
read... your... mind.  Kay?"

"Umm..."

"Your name is Mibu Oriya.  You're 33, but you tell people you're 29.  Frankly, you look 
36 with all those crow's feet.  You run a high-priced brothel in Kyoto.  Your hobbies 
include dueling, counting your money, drawing Hades Project Zeorymer doujinshi under 
the name Kuroi-taisen, and fucking slash being fucked by one Muraki Kazutaka."

"Umm..."

"Oh, how rude of me.  Ore no Oname Schuldich.  DEECH not DICK.  I'm 22 and 
presently employed by one of the lard-asses out there to protect him from other lard-
asses.  But you knew that already.  In my spare time, I enjoy listening to Stevie Nicks and 
random sexual encounters, preferably with married men, but I'm just kinky that way."

Quite merrily, Schuldich held out his hand.

Quite vehemently, Oriya smacked it out of the vicinity of his person.  "YOU!!! HOW 
DARE YOU BE SO FLIP WITH ME, FUCKED-UP MIND POWERS OR NOT! You 
SLEPT with *MY* boyfriend and DAMNIT ALL TO HELL YOU'RE GONNA PAY 
ONE WAY OR ANOTHER!!!" Though he was really thinking to himself that his luck 
had quite run out for the day- after all, all the gigolos in Tokyo and Muraki just HAD to 
pick the psychic one.  Really, he should have expected no less, though he did suppose 
this one would answer his unhappy thoughts, and was yet again shocked to find he did no 
such thing. 

"Actually," he yawned, "If you want to get technical, he slept with me, but I'm getting 
the feeling 'technical' isn't something you like to hear." 

"Have you no remorse... HOME WRECKER!?" 

"No, not really.  Why do you ask?" 

Frankly, the would-be assassin had no idea why he'd asked.  He'd probably quoted 
something... 

"...but you don't know what?" 

"Oh, shut up!" 

Schuldich did.  However, what he did NOT do was zip his pants back up.  Those stayed 
wide open as he took a few skating steps towards the intruder there, letting his hair sway 
around his shoulders as he tipped his head back and forth.  Just like he was taking him in. 
He made not one move to flee, or to restrain pole-axed Mibu-san in any way.  Just stood.  
Just watched him.  Oriya started to think the way his minutes-ago-prey moved almost 
reminded him of the way a kid at an aquarium watched an exotic fish for which there are 
no names but that of the scientists and the natives who showed the scientists in the first 
place. 

"Oh, aquariums! I haven't been to one since I was... ten." The bodyguard's voice had 
gone pale and light, like whipped cream rather, very unobtrusive though the same could 
not be said of his jade eyes and their steady gaze.  "But I'd love to go with you to one 
sometime.  I'll even wear jeans and a pink t-shirt like a little boy! Would that make you 
happy?" 

"It most certainly would not!" The other man spat back, trying to retreat somewhat, 
though his fallen trousers did not seem interested in permitting him a quick escape. 

"Why not? I'd be more than happy to go down on you afterwards." 

Now, it simply could NOT be said that Oriya had expected anything which happened 
since he'd had the misfortune to run himself into Schuldich, but this remark of the 
telepath's rendered him more mute and stuttering than any of the ones that had come 
before, and all he could manage in response was a play of jabbing his finger down his 
throat and the appropriate gagging noises. 

/After all! Even if he hadn't gotten down and dirty with Muraki, he's not that cute.../ 

Though of the redhead, when he moved then, drawing his arms up over his head in a lazy 
stretch, his own pants crept down from the dip of his waist, pausing on the gentle ridge of 
his hips where gravity was sure to snatch them away, sooner or later, not that it mattered 
much with his fly undone.  Oriya after all, could see all of the organdy floss between his 
legs, and what lay nestled there.

/Eeep./ 

Schuldich just tugged on the edges of his pants, letting his pale thigh peer out as he took 
one step, and another, and another.  It was only his arms that came to rest about the man 
who had meant to murder him- his shoulders.  He did not even brush their chests together 
through all of the almost embrace.  Oriya was too stunned to move. 

"Hora, hora," said Schuldich, "Why don't you want me?  Muraki wanted me, had me 
too." 

He turned away with a snort, refusing to give the simpering little face just below his own 
any attention.  "Why should I?" 

"Because I'm beautiful and I'm just standing here.  Because you can since there is no 
good or evil.  Because Muraki will never be happy with just you. " 

At those final words, he did duck out of his enfolding limbs and shuffle into the corner 
nearest the door, shaking his head.  A dark laugh then for Schuldich.  "You think you're 
so damn smart just 'cause you can read my mind? You don't know anything." 

"Really?" 

"Yes, really!" 

"I know you were looking at *me* right now and I didn't HAVE to read your mind to 
figure it out." 

"That's not true!" 

"You're doing it again out of the corner of your eyes." 

He was too and shortly pushed his glasses up to try and cover the fact, though that did 
him about as much good as an ostrich appearing at that moment to give him a bottle of 
fine madeira would have. 

"Maaaaa! No need to think such irrational things!" Gently chided Schuldich as he drew 
back into the other man's shade, though in truth, he once more, would not touch him, not 
really.  In the swiftly blinking lights above though, the little patches of dimness they cast 
did, just a little, and he laces the shadow of his hand on the shadow of Oriya's hand.  
"Let's just look over the facts we both know, and be perfectly rational.  Yes.  Muraki did 
me in his tatami room, that's true.  He knows well enough I've got a lover, and I knew 
well enough he has many." 

"Many?" he echoed the word in a dazed whisper. 

"Why yes, you've heard him talk about his beloved.  And all the little boys and girls and... 
why, you know he's got a fianc‚e even.  And you STILL believe someday he'll want only 
you.  No no! Don't tell me anything about last night.  You know as well as I do Tsuzuki-
san is no passing fancy." 

"I... did.  Very well.  You're right, it's not fair of me to just shoot YOU." He meant to go 
on, to apologize and excuse himself, but when he tried to flee, to go back to the little 
bottle of his sweet not-quite illusion- for he did believe, like a child at an aquarium 
believes in mermaids where there are none.  

"I'm not a mermaid." 

And Oriya found he couldn't move, as if Schuldich rather had his real hand, before his 
shadow. 

"Not polite to run off while someone's talking to you.  Let me finish.  Like I said, Muraki 
had me.  Wouldn't it be nice for the two of you if you liked the same things as him? And I 
mean, you both do me, that's fair, ne? Swingers pull stuff like that all the time.  And 
maybe... it doesn't have to stop with me.  No, why, if you wanted that beloved of his...? 
I'll leave that up to you.  I just want to say something about swingers, 'cause cool as they 
may be, there's something they don't stop to think about I think you need to know.  
Wouldn't it be sublime for you to be in the same place as Muraki in me? To say you've 
both walked that road into debauchery, and debauched the same boy?" 

"You," declared Oriya, "are no boy." 

"Funny you would count me wrong on that of all things." And he whispered then, as he 
drew himself up on the tips of his toes.  "Funny you want to be so close to Muraki, and 
this would be the only way." He did not kiss his would-be assassin though. 

It was the would-be assassin who took his chin in his hands, and drew his face close to 
his own.  The glasses scattered in shattered plastic on the floor, flung away now, Muraki's 
lover had Muraki's fling by way of his lips, though both of theirs broke, parted, and it was 
all the oozy wetness of their tongues as they twisted and surged against each other. 

"Oooh, that's nice!" Schuldich laughed when they had drawn apart for air, and he had 
saliva not his own running down his face.  "Most of them tell me they're don't kiss." And 
so he ground his mouth on Mibu's once again, rubbing and caressing and swallowing the 
taste of his companion. 

His companion, who with deliberation now did think, /Why not?/ 

::Touche.:: Came the answer in his thoughts. 

His shirt opened, and he felt almost familiar hands come running up and down his chest, 
reaching against the muscles there until his ribs peeked out under the pull of Schuldich's 
fingers as he stroked and stroked and set his lips to his nipples for an instant, until he put 
his head up for a kiss.  He reached for the bodyguard's own garments and his hands were 
pushed away. 

And he couldn't take it.  Oriya, now completely bare, fought back at last, and crushed the 
telepath in his arms, between his body, and the wall.  Schuldich felt very light, and brittle 
under him, and his breaths were light. The thought of him broken beside him abided 
there, still had immaterial giggles not his own about it, though he did not answer them.  
No, that illusion of delicacy, and the faint possibility he might harm that strange creature 
Muraki had screwed... those things could never be real... 

Strange creature who stood under HIM now.

"Oh, you're fierce." 

"I know," shrugged Schuldich, who let his trousers drop and combed his fingers in his 
tousled hair a moment before bracing himself against the wall, bent ever so slightly so his 
waiting flush was fully exposed to Oriya.

***

The door opened just then, and the room brightened with light and 
sound from the goings-on beyond, reminding them that the world had 
not stopped to wait for them while they played.  Both men looked 
around at the imposing figure who stood within its frame, one aghast, 
the other grinning.  

"Oh, good.  I'm not late after all."  Crawford stepped forward, 
letting the door sail shut without a second thought.  "I was so sure 
I had missed the show."  He wriggled his cigarette case out of his 
vest pocket, pinched one out and slipped it between his lips.  "Damn 
that Takatori," he grumbled.  "Oh, how I long for THAT day..."  

He raised his eyes to Schuldich's, and simultaneously, they smiled at 
each other as if he'd just said something amusing.  Crawford let his 
unlit cigarette fall between his fingers again, and he strode over to 
where his lover stood.  Without a look at Oriya, he grasped him by 
the nape of his neck, and kissed him soundly.  

/You and your playmates./

/Whatever WILL I do with you?/

He pulled away, and their eyes met and held in a look most secret and 
sultry, and then Crawford left him altogether.  He walked to first 
the sinks, looked back at his lover as if judging that angle, then 
over to the first stall.  There, he leaned against the metal frame, 
and fished his lighter from his trouser pocket.  

"Mmm..." he cooed as he puffed his smoke into life.  "Don't mind me, 
Mibu-san.  Please do continue."  

***

Oriya most certainly did mind, and said so quite bluntly when the power of speech once 
more chose to bestow itself upon him, "What the fuck..." And his eyes- now as large as 
saucers -glued themselves to Brad.

"Oh, how rude of me," chirped Schuldich in a rude falsetto.  "Oriya, this is my koibito 
Brad Crawford.  Crawford, this is Oriya, he was going to shoot me for that thing with 
Muraki in the tatami room, but he decided he's settle for this instead.  Isn't he a sensible 
fellow?"

Brad, in the process of convincing his smoke it would be happiest in a pale ring above his 
head, nodded, and at it was at this point, the would be assassin chose to re-assert himself 
into goings on in the men's room.

"You... you... you don't seriously expect me to have sex with you in FRONT of this guy 
do you!? I didn't agree to that."

There was a squeak of flesh against the tile as Schuldich stood up, rolling his eyes all the 
way of course.  "Well, it's not like you'd be the first or anything. B'sides, you Japanese 
people are all into Zen and the various wonders of that.  Isn't your mantra 'shit 
happens'?"

"Not.  Exactly."

"But close enough?"

Oriya took this time to cross his arms over his chest and cram his lower lip up underneath 
one of his canines.  He met neither of the bodyguards' eyes, and couldn't very well do so 
with his mind straying elsewhere into the lands of memory where stood the risqu‚ effigy 
of his day so far, and all misfortunes thusfar. "Okay, more or less, if you have to be a 
stupid gaijin about it!"

"You're charming when you're pissed, and you taste like apples in rosewater." There was 
breath over his wet skin then, for he had begun to sweat a little with embarrassment when 
the second pair of eyes had come to trail over him.  What could he say? He was used to 
being the voyeur in these situations.  Schuldich though slithered down his side with air 
kisses, and then real kisses, that has his teeth coasting over his skin.  Oriya purred in the 
back to his throat, looked straight over at Brad, who had not uttered more than smoke. 

::You see, I don't just preach here... I live this.::

"I can see that!"

Both bodyguards stifled laughs.

::It's you doing the ravishing, just like *he* did.  C'mon, what're you afraid of?:: There 
were flashes there, of a memory not his own, where he felt himself at Muraki's mercy- 
wires and icing and all, even though he knew it wasn't quite him there, but the redhead 
who was kissing at his sex now without really taking it into his mouth, or daring to kneel 
upon the floor. ::Don't you still want me?:: 

/I don't want anything but him, and if that means you.../ "You cocky little brat." /So be 
it!/

Having said all of his piece that remained, he turned to Crawford, and pulled his 
momentary lover with him when he bowed to their audience.

"I hope you approve of the way I screw your boyfriend."

Oriya never let Schuldich regain his balance, but rather dragged him up and kept him 
drooped to one side by hauling his knee up in his arms so he could get his wrist just to the 
edge of his crack, and bit by bit by bit dragged him close enough to push his fingers into 
his ass, which he did, all at once when he could reach and without any wetness at all.

As for the redhead himself, he winked just once at his lover.

***

Crawford smirked back around the tip of his Indian cigarette, 
gaze trailing from the one to other, back and forth. He took his 
smoke between his fingers, gingerly tapped the ash away. The air was 
full of Schuldich's whimpers, and Oriya's attention was solely upon 
preparing the redhead for ravishment. He wasn't aware that Crawford 
had come up behind him until a trickle of hot clove met his nose. 
Startled, he turned his head, trying to see what Crawford was up to, 
but the other man only urged him to face forward with a gentle nudge 
of his curled fingers to Oriya's temple. 

"Go on now, Mibu-san. Have your fun. I merely wanted to watch him 
from your angle." A chuckle, and a plume of smoke grazed Oriya's 
bare shoulder. Crawford's sleeve brushed against his back as he 
reached up to pet the calf of Schuldich's trapped leg. "He's 
brilliant, devious, and so wonderfully responsive. The Devil 
himself. I couldn't have asked for a better companion. You were 
wise to choose to screw him, instead of kill him." 

Crawford dropped his cigarette to the tiled floor, and swept Oriya's 
hair up in his hands. "I would have killed you if you'd so much as 
scratched him. Not that you would have gotten that far." He let the 
dark curtain slip through his fingers to a point, marveling silently 
over its sheen before swinging it over his shoulder. "You see, I'm a 
precognitive. I saw you shoot him. I saw you doing this. I was 
sure that I would be in time to prevent the one, enjoy the other. 
And I am enjoying it so far, Mibu-san." 

He saw him tense, and Crawford, in the hopes of unnerving him even 
more, settled his hands around Oriya's waist. He was rewarded with a 
soft gasp. Crawford only grinned. "I'm enjoying it a little too 
much." 

Slinging one arm around his waist, Crawford pressed against him, and 
reached down to pet his burgeoning erection. Nipped at the side of 
his neck. 

"I want to play too, Mibu-san."

***

Oriya growled and blew a puffle of Crawford's cigarette smoke out of his face as he 
turned around to face the man who fondled him. In the end, speaking his mind would 
obviously do him no good- he only sighed and arched his back for Crawford, giving the 
precognitive an ironic grin.  "I should have expected this, right?"

They both nodded.

"You know, if I wasn't a pimp, I'd think this was somewhat kinky, but y'know? What's 
one more gonna hurt? Fair's fair.  You fuck my boyfriend, I fuck you, your boyfriend 
fucks me.  Hell, why don't we get together and call ourselves an institution."

"'s not fair!" Purred Schuldich then though, swaying now on Oriya's encroaching digits.  
"C'mon! You try balancing yourself against a wall like this!"

"It'll be fair," though, obviously, he had figured out by then he had no reason to reassure 
a telepath about anything.  For Oriya meant fair, when he said fair, and made Schuldich 
the voyeur for awhile.

Brad's cigarette went sailing off into a corner of one of one of the stalls, and his lips 
rather found themselves adorned with Mibu's tongue.  The redhead whistled and hooted 
in glee, though he had rather slipped down from the ground and perhaps could not see as 
well as he might have liked.  He stayed just where he had been left though, crouching just 
above the floor with his body still gaping and empty.

Oriya though was content to leave him like that, and rather tear Crawford's coat from his 
body, which he did, flinging it deliberately to the floor.  

"Wouldn't want it to get dirty while you 'play' after all."

And then he was back in the halo of his arms, his lips pressed into his neck and the silk of 
his tie as it tore away and sailed to the same fate as his jacket.  One by one, the buttons on 
Brad's shirt were nibbled off and spit into one of the sink as a pair of warm, wet hands 
worked their way past the rim of his belt and into the back of his trousers.

***

"You know," Crawford purred, tilting his head back a little more 
under Oriya's lips, "I do so enjoy it when my lovers are 
enthusiastic.  Even if they ruin my clothes."  

Oriya chuckled; bit at his neck above the jugular, making Crawford 
gasp.  The Schwartz assassin plunged a hand into the thick, coiling 
mass of Oriya's hair and pulled him back just enough for their lips 
to desperately meet.  A hand spread across one cheek, holding his 
naked groin to Crawford's clothed one, and Crawford bent to lave the 
spot where his pulse jumped in his throat.  

"You will be paying for the cleaning and repair of my clothing, by 
the way," he murmured.  

Oriya made a soft, noncommittal growl.  Another fervent kiss, and 
Crawford had his belt undone, his fly unzipped, and his hand around 
Oriya's sex, pressing it against his own, against the cold, scratchy 
metal of his zipper.  

"Just a little petting.  Just to play.  I don't want to ruin you for 
Schuldich, oh, no.  Or for myself, even.  Two gorgeous men fucking in 
front of my eyes...I've never been one to pass that up."  

He gave Oriya a feral grin, then released him, spinning him around to 
face one sink.  

"I'm going to screw you right here, Mibu-san, so you can watch what I 
do, just as Schuldich can."  

***

"I do like a show myself now and then," the telepath remarked before bursting one more 
into laughter, ringing and ironic, charmed and disparaged.  Oriya, couldn't help but 
wonder why no one came rushing in at the first of his crows.  If he had heard them in his 
own business, coming from between his sheets, they would have chilled and elated him 
enough to part a peephole or two, he was certain.  

Schuldich, no doubt privy to this, sashayed up beside him then, and stood right up against 
his naked side, watching all three of them swaying on the milky droplet traces on the 
mirror- stretched, and out of the corner of one not quite closed eye watched his own 
pinking sexy wobble in the glass before he knelt and whispered in the ear of the man he 
and his lover had captured for the moment.

"I guess you do too, right? Mmm, I wonder what all of those clients of yours would think 
if they knew you called them clients?"

"Oh, there'd be some ass-kicking.  Namely their asses and my kicks."  Oriya lunged 
forward away from the edge of the sink and broke his lips apart, forcing his tongue 
between them and in circles along the edges of his throat where his pulse trembled still. 

/Think you're so smart, reading my mind? Well, tough shit.  I can still shut you up./

::That's true but...::

Something cool brushed his entrance then, and before he had any chance to jerk away, 
another breathless kiss.  His lips opened for one man, and his body began to drift, 
relaxing for the fingers of another.

Brad's digits coursed into him, fell right against his sweet spot and lingered there, 
rocking this way and that until he cried out into the precognitive's lover.

"What the hell!? This is what you call petting."

"Oops," twittered Schuldich, "looks like we have a bit of a misnomer on our hands."  
And then he went whirling away to some place just out of reach, where he stood with his 
cheek in one hand.  Some place with a very good view indeed of Oriya's ass.  "We'll fix 
that when it's my turn of course."

***

"I don't know, Schuldich.  He doesn't seem too happy with what I'm 
doing.  Seems impatient."  Crawford bent over just a little to 
whisper in Oriya's ear, "Are you?"  

Pressing down on that same spot, Crawford wriggled his finger from 
side to side, and Oriya cried out again.  Crawford rubbed himself 
between Oriya's legs, touching his tip to the delicate skin 
separating his ass from his cock.  A shudder rippled through them 
both, a quiet moan from one dying on the air.  

"Right," he breathed.  "No more games."  

Crawford slipped his fingers down Oriya's stomach to tease his 
erection, lightly stroking the head and its veined underside as he 
parted his cheeks with the other.  He held himself back just enough 
so that the tip of his own sex, wet with pre-cum, only skimmed the 
sensitive skin between.  Tossing his hair away from his face with one 
hand, Oriya swore, pressing back as if he wished to impale himself; 
but Crawford managed to avoid him.  

/Are you enjoying yourself?/  

Schuldich leaned over enough to catch his eye in the mirror, and they 
exchanged smirks.  Oriya saw it, and swore again.  

"Okay, so I lied," said Crawford with a one-shouldered shrug.  "I do 
that.  Quite a bit."  Another grin.  "I do a lot of things quite a 
bit."  

Schuldich chuckled softly.  Crawford took his hand away from Oriya's 
sex, and tightly wrapped that arm around his waist.  Holding him 
thus, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, taking the unsuspecting 
man with him.  

"And sometimes, I'm damn rough about it."  

With that, Crawford fell back against the sink, and drove into 
Oriya's waiting flesh with a low groan, the other man's arms tangled 
with his own so that he couldn't touch himself at all.

***

::I'm not just enjoying myself, mon petit lapin...:: Schuldich thought as his tongue 
strayed out over his lips to see their uninvited guest, so helpless and quaking; so flushed 
and hot against the cool, succulent calm of the precognitive.  

Pretty enough indeed that he drew his hands from his hips, and slipped them rather 
around his own, still teary cock, drawing his fingers over himself in shy little motions 
meant more to enrage Oriya than to please his impatient lust.

Oriya in the mean time, out and out screamed as Brad lunged into him again, and stayed 
inside him, deep and nudging deeper, but unwilling still to pull away, to take him again.   
He strained against him, tried too, but the other man had him clasped so tightly... it was 
all he could do to loose his tenuous footing, and then find it again, whether he wanted to 
or not.  His hair had tumbled away from his shoulders and into his eyes.  Crawford was 
always dragging him back to his tiptoes... making it so hard to stand where he just 
wanted to fall to his knees, be ravished there if he was going to be ravished.  He was used 
at least to Muraki's body surging into his own... and then insult to injury watching the 
redhead fondle himself so.

Just then, he purred under his own gentle assault, and stick his finger inside his wet slit.  
Started a little with the sensation, or feigned it just to enrage his guest.

"See, it's just a little stretched, just a little wider than MY finger."

A sputter laugh chimed in his throat, cut off here and there as his body was jostled, but he 
still insisted on speaking.  "You want me to guess who fits there? Ch' not hard." If he 
could have, he would have shrugged, but as things went, he did the only remotely 
sarcastic thing he could, and clenched himself down around Crawford, almost viciously.  
"B'sides, I HIGHLY doubt that's the most enticing part of you to... penetrate."

Schuldich rolled his eyes, and ran circles round his stiffness for an instant.  Stretched, and 
yawned and finally said to his lover, "As much as I don't like that word..."

::Too damn straight, makes people go all someone doing a rape kit on a drunk 
cheerleader.::

"The man's gotta point."

"Oh brother."

***

/Sorry,/ Brad thought at his lover between thrusts.  /Drunk 
cheerleaders aren't my forte./

/No.  Not even the boy ones./  

Crawford's hold on Oriya loosened just enough for him to slide his 
arms low around his waist.  If he wanted to touch himself, if he 
wanted to hold off still, Crawford didn't care--although...he 
wouldn't mind if Oriya did happen to caress the weeping, purpling 
organ that swayed against his stomach with every fevered thrust.  

"Schuldich doesn't have any one single enticing part.  All of him is 
is alluring," Crawford crooned in Oriya's ear.  "I almost pity you 
for being so blind to his charms."  He swooped a wink at the redhead, 
then curved his hands around the pimp's sharp hipbones and ground 
into him again, both groaning.  

"Ohhh..." Crawford moaned, "do bear down on me like that again, Oriya-
san.  I quite like that."  

The brunet cursed under his hammering breaths, and Crawford 
chuckled.  "Saucy, aren't you?  I'm rather sorry I didn't try to meet 
you after I first had a glimpse of you."  He swept a few long, stray 
locks over the other's shoulder, and bent over to bite him hard on 
the shoulder.  

"Maybe we ought to have him and his white-haired lover over some 
evening?  We could amuse ourselves with our client while this one 
watches."  

"Wouldn't you like that," Crawford breathed, "Oriya-san?"  

***

"No, not really," snapped Oriya, but he sighed then, both for his obvious defeat and the 
fact Schuldich- FINALLY! Had reached down and taken his bobbing cock in his left 
hand, smoothing the tight skin o it this way and that against his own, warm, sticky palm.  
"But I get the feeling I'm going to like it anyway, aren't I?"

The telepath burst out laughing once more- so hard he would have stumbled away if he 
hadn't been holding onto Oriya.  But...

Just then, as Brad drove into him so hard all three of them jerked in response, he realized 
his hands were free, or something like it.  Oh, but it was too perfect, that moment, even if 
Schuldich knew it all- and he must have, no wonder the distance between them had 
grown so small,  disconcertingly small... one lover just tapping his sweet spot while the 
other stood on the other side of him, mellow as a cloud and so damn inviting...

"Yeah, sure.  Why the hell not?  But I get the mind reader too!"

"MIND READER!?" he spat- Schuldich had never liked that term.  He did however 
enjoy it a good deal when their prisoner of the moment reached out and snatched him 
around the waist, crushing his playing hands between them, and their stiffnesses on one-
another's bellies.

"Hey, it's that or home wrecker."

"Home wrecker works for me!" He turned his hair from his shoulders with to flicks of his 
wrist, and licked his lips with a deep, deep breath.  "My turn," was all he said before he 
worked himself around between Oriya and the tile- made himself just like he'd been 
before Crawford burst in- braced with his forearms, his legs spread and his rosebud 
without even a shadow to hide it.

While he'd had every intention of enjoying the sight of him, the contrast of the 
submissive stance and the iniquitous glance of his jade eyes over his shoulder, Brad 
pushed into him again, and Oriya found himself buried to the hilt Schuldich, who bucked 
against him, sent him plunging back around the precognitive.

"Shit."

***

"That's hardly the most appropriate expletive to use at a time like 
this," said Crawford. "I believe something like...'Sweet Lord!' is 
far more fitting, because you've just been thoroughly screwed from 
both sides, Oriya-san. You haven't just broken your doctor's 
favorite doll." 

/Never mind about religion./

"Oh, yes," he murmured, driving hard into Oriya again. "I do know 
about his obsessions. Intriguing man, your doctor." He gathered up 
his heavy fall of hair and swept it to the side, bending down to bite 
him again. His yelps of pain were too delicious to refuse--and he 
wanted to mark him so that Kazutaka-sensei would notice. Pity he 
couldn't do it in more interesting places than his neck. 

/Oh, well...there's always next time.../ 

And he was right, for the next time had played out in his head along 
with all the other intriguing visions he'd enjoyed at the request of 
the fair Dr. Muraki. 

***

"Actually," Schuldich replied to his lover's thoughts, "He seems to get off on being called 
Muraki.  Especially the way that purple-eyed fixation of his says it- all that disdainful 
panache! MURAKI!"

But he was too lost in the gleaming before his orgasm to more than throw his hips back to 
mark his amusement, as much as he screamed and he cried and he fuzzed the doctor's 
other name, winking over his shoulder at Oriya now and then- Oriya, who was holding 
him wide open with the heels of his hands now, and leaving the tell-tale vibratos of 
bruises behind his hands.  For them, he screamed louder and louder, and made sure 
anyone whose thoughts betrayed they heard would not consider his cries.  

He made no move to bare them, Schulduch, just threw himself back against the cock of 
Kazutaka's admirer that was presently so buried in him.  

His glance alone made Oriya moan and stumble on his tiptoes, this way and that. Oh, he'd 
taken and been taken before, but being caught up in the arms of the two Schwartz 
assassins was more like being fought over by sacred and profane things than having a 
threesome.

And profane was winning him presently.  Those unbearable screams of his lover's 
name... Muraki, when Muraki wasn't even there.  The redhead simpering at him- made 
him grin and scream all the more.  "Muraki! Muraki."

"You SKANK!"

Schuldich just moaned like a one of his former girls used to and stuck his tongue out at 
him.  Crawford punched him lightly in the ribs.  

"Oh you're next, Mr. Armani."

"Mu~ra~ki~!" 

But that time, amid all the voice, the damp limbs fluttering around him, he say the 
doctor's face for an instant before it broke to pieces and he lunged for the redhead's 
shoulder, kissing it as he would have ravaged his mouth rather- slipped into him again 
and again, in time now with the thrusts that breached him.

When Schuldich moaned, he sighed with him- "Brad, oh Brad.  Do me Brad." And when 
he laughed at last, he shook inside, and Oriya gladly came against his silky, inside flesh 
before his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor between them, sighing in the most 
dire of contentments.

***

Brad had come too, hard and deep inside Oriya's straining body, 
though without the shouts and moans his lovers had so delighted in.  
Oriya had been a fine lay, but Schuldich was a better one.  Sort of 
like...a fine white in comparison to a vintage champagne.  

/Okay, yes.  I do like my liquor metaphors./  

"So sue me," he breathed, a smirk spreading across his face as he 
beheld his lover, who still stood braced against the wall.  Schuldich 
tossed his hair out of his eyes, and wiggled his ass at him.  
Crawford stepped around the panting Oriya, and came up behind 
Schuldich, one hand landing with a soft smack on his rear.  He 
stroked his reddened flesh whilst sliding his ring finger along his 
crack.  A tiny tremor rippled through Schuldich in response.  

"My, but he worked you good," Crawford murmured, daring to pet the 
abused entrance to his body.  "I suppose I'll get to play nurse later 
on?"  He lunged forward to lap at his sweat-sheened shoulder.  

"Turn around," he whispered, sliding his hands upwards over his chest 
now.  Schuldich twisted neatly around in his arms, and Crawford 
immediately sought his kiss-bruised mouth.  

/I can feel you quivering,/ he thought, lightly rubbing his lower 
belly over Schuldich's erection.  /He didn't make you come./  

/It's because he's a selfish bastard./  Crawford buried his lips in 
the crook of Schuldich's neck, his hands drifting down his sides to 
cup his hips.  

/But I'm not./  

He bent his head to nibble at one rosy nipple, then sank to his knees 
between Schuldich's legs.  His erection hovered there, red and weeping, beckoning for 
attention.  Crawford curved his hands around the back of Schuldich's knees, and brought 
them up in a slow, heavy caress until they reached the globes of his rear, where they 
hung, the heels of his hands supporting his hips; long thumbs twisting to nuzzle the 
delicate flesh that spanned the space between his sac and his ass.  Schuldich started a 
little when he touched him there.  He moaned when Crawford's tongue lazily swept 
upward along the underside of his sex, lurched forward a bit when Crawford did the same 
thing with light taps of his teeth.  

But something like a sob rose from his throat when at last, Crawford 
lowered his head over his groin, taking him in to the root and 
sucking hard.  

***

Schuldich gasped just once, let his head loll back against the wall.  His hair fell away 
from his face and his back arched without him thinking it should.  Brad only purred a 
little around him, and rather than slink away from him, when he swayed deep into his 
throat, rubbed his nose up against his crotch, caressing the his little wound now and again 
as we worked him from behind as well.

The telepath gave Oriya one last satisfied smirk before closing his eyes, and just feeling, 
pleased as could be to find himself drifting back and forth between the cool tile, and the 
heat of his lover's mouth.

Their guest had grinned at him.  It seemed a fitting finale for the afternoon; they were 
obviously so much more used to moving together than moving with him, the play of 
water on water rather than clumsy dance steps.  Not that it hadn't been good for him- a 
kind of warmth had taken over his lower body, and his head seemed pleasantly clear and 
empty, rather than muddled with the waifs of remaining desire.  He found himself 
thinking just one thing- that he would much rather curl up and lapse into sweaty sleep 
than kill either one of them! Had he really been planning to shoot Schuldich...? Yes, he 
had. 

It would have made him laugh, if the redhead hadn't come just then, startled him.  Not 
because he screamed, but because he was so quiet.  It was all in the way his muscles 
glided, the sudden tremor in his hips as his legs wobbled, and a tiny gasp from his still 
wet lips. Brad let him go and smiled up at him, one trickle of white smeared on his own 
mouth.  

::Now that you mention it, nurse sounds like fun.:: Though his lover as he tapped him on 
the underside of his chin a moment.  ::You hold on a sec though, I want a snowball.::

The precognitive's eyebrows rose just the slightest bit, but he held himself slow as 
Schuldich slipped down onto his waiting lap and pressed their lips together once again, 
his tongue wiggling down inside of him for any of the salty fluid he could find yet.  He 
beckoned to Oriya a moment, and he came over at once, mouth just the slightest bit open.  
Brad kissed him while the telepath swallowed his own cum.

***

Schuldich, once he'd drunk his fill, descended to leave a love bite 
on Crawford's neck whilst he availed himself further of Oriya's 
kisses.  Brad released his dark-haired lover just in time to see 
Schuldich lean in to bruise Oriya's neck in the same manner.  Wide-
eyed as if startled, Oriya clapped his hand to the wounded area once 
Schuldich had sat back to smirk at him.  Crawford laughed.  

"You act as if no one has ever done that before, Oriya," he said, 
purposefully omitting the honorific.  It seemed ridiculous to use one 
at that point.  "Silly of you to do so, when we already know someone 
has."  

Rocking forward on his knees, he moved in to kiss him again.  "I 
know," he whispered, "because I saw it."  

Their lips touched, parted.  Crawford felt Schuldich at his side, 
comfortable and *just* right.  He also sensed behind closed lids that 
the door had opened.  Schuldich began to chuckle wickedly, and Oriya 
stiffened in his loose embrace.  Crawford pulled back to look upon 
the intruder, though he already knew just who it was.  What he didn't 
expect was to find him even more appealing in the flesh; people 
occasionally were nothing more than dull shadows in his visions.  

"I saw him too," he added, grinning at Oriya.  

"I had figured you would, Precognitive," purred the man who'd just 
crashed their party, and was brazenly looking Crawford over.  "Many 
thanks for the warm welcome.  I am only sorry I didn't arrive 
sooner."  His pale eyes moved to Schuldich, and lingered.  "Very, 
very sorry," he murmured.  

He flashed the redhead a smile, then looked down at Oriya, who was 
regarding him longingly; he only brushed a lock of hair from Oriya's 
cheek, and turned back to Crawford as if he'd seen no tenderness at 
all in his lover's eyes.  "I know I need no introduction, but I shall 
make one nonetheless.  I am Muraki Kazutaka."  He made a short 
bow.  "I do hope you found my lover to your satisfaction."  

"Oh, I have no complaints," said Crawford, still lounging on the tile 
at his feet.  "Brad Crawford is my name, since we're making 
introductions.  But I prefer to be called Crawford over my given 
name."  

"Mr. Crawford.  I shall remember that."  

"Please do, Sensei.  Oh, yes, Schuldich did tell me something of 
you."  

"Oh?  And yet you are being so cordial towards me.  How very 
charming."  

Crawford shrugged lightly, glancing at his lover with another ready 
smirk.  "We aren't possessive of each other.  Such closeness can be 
so...tedious."

"How very refreshing," murmured Muraki thoughtfully.  "Then I 
suppose...since Herr Aubrey and I got along so well this morning, 
and you and Oriya appear to have hit it off so well...perhaps neither 
of you would be adverse to switching lovers for a week?  After all, a 
change can do a couple some good."  

***

If Oriya had been rendered speechless before by the strange brew of longing and hate 
surging through his blood before, he was nothing but a statue following his lover's 
proposition, and the three pairs of eyes that lit on him and nibbled on his own fixed and 
stupefied gaze.  The telepath stretched a moment, only to sink down against Crawford, 
and while embracing him about the shoulders, addressed rather their late-coming guest.

"Mmm, you drove all the way across Tokyo during the post-lunch rush to ask.  Wouldn't 
be very polite of us to refuse after THAT." The man on whose arms he was presently lost 
in as well nodded and pushed his glasses up along his nose bridge, while the redheaded 
bodyguard himself indulged in a yawn.  "Not that we *would*."

::Like we reminded each other at breakfast, we haven't done anything like that since that 
French art thief asked if he could 'borrow' you, mon petit lapin.::

"... or are going to.  Just gimme another minute here and I'll go grab my bags."

Having no more to say on the matter presently, he scrunched down against the lover he 
was about to depart from, and whispered to him with his teeth and the end of his nose as 
he rubbed them against the curves of his ear, and where it had been pierced.

He delighted in this for a handful of moments, carelessly fondling his companion 
underneath his ribs while Muraki smirked and finally began to laugh a little- (for he knew 
it was all a little show for his sake, and was plainly enjoying it).  Just before he could 
play with his glasses one more time, or go into any terms, which is certainly looked like 
he was about to do when he took his breath to speak, Oriya at last remembered what he 
had done with his tongue.

"YOU SANCTIMONIOUS LIMP-DICKED SONS OF BITCHES! You had this all 
planned from the start, didn't YOU!?" And with an accusatory fingers flying at the ever-
placid doctor. "And YOU too!"

"Why... yes," Schuldich informed him in a bored and rather provoked drawl.  "Is that a 
problem?"

Having uttered an empty accusation for the sake of having an accusation to hurl in the 
first place, Oriya fell into a livid silence and blushed profusely.

"You obviously need to get used to precognitives then.  They plan everything out. It's that 
they live for.  You should spend a week with Brad just to learn that."

As the redhead nodded sagely, Muraki's visible eye widened a good deal: he hadn't at all 
expected Brad's lover to call him... well, Brad.  And the fact that fact came juxtaposed 
with the latter's request regarding what he liked to be called only made it that much more 
of a shock.

The pimp still found himself somewhat less than satisfied with any of this.  "What's going 
on here!? I haven't agreed to ANYTHING!" 

***

Though Muraki addressed his lover in a bland, cordial way, he looked 
somewhat cross.  "Manners, please, Oriya. Whatever will Mr. Crawford 
think of you?"  

From his glare and the obscenties he muttered, Oriya plainly didn't 
give a damn what Crawford thought of him.  Unfortunately, Muraki just 
as plainly, did NOT care for Oriya's reaction.  

"He's a brute," Muraki said flatly.  "I would say it's the doing of 
his job--pimps often have to be harsh with their women.  But that 
would be a lie; it's a part of his disagreeable nature." 

With a short laugh, Crawford looked from his scowling, soon-to-be-
lover, and met Muraki's visible, silver eye.  "I think I can tolerate 
a brute for a week.  Though, it's not exactly what I'm used to 
having."

"Hmm...No," Muraki purred, once more looking Schuldich over with a 
great deal of interest. "It obviously isn't.  It's obvious that you 
are very close." 

"Of course. We fit perfectly," said Crawford, turning to the redhead 
in his embrace, a faint note of pride in his voice.  "In every way."  

"And yet, you are willing to part with him." 

Crawford smirked.  "Well, as you said, Muraki-sensei, couples need 
to experience new things from time to time.  Keeps things fresh."  

Muraki chuckled.  "Oh, yes.  It's such a pity that Oriya doesn't 
understand that concept."  

Once more, all eyes lit upon the frowning, disapproving pimp who sat 
at Muraki's feet.  Muraki expected him to begin to shout and snarl; 
to the doctor's surprise, however, his surly lover said nothing in 
protest--nor did he even deign to raise his eyes from the semen-
stained tile.  

"Sulking again," said Muraki with a sigh.  "Really, Oriya.  One would 
think you would hate to spend the next seven nights warming Mr. 
Crawford's bed."

***

"Well," Oriya finally snapped, "It's not exactly what I had in mind for my vacation, if 
you get my drift."

The doctor did, or pretended so, for he nodded, and yet, almost shrugged in a c'est la vie 
way, his shoulders jostling the fabric of his white suit just the littlest bit.  

Schuldich though laughed outright, and found within himself the nerve to point at the 
displeased pimp as he did so.  His lover gave him a little swat on the arm for it, but he 
didn't seem to care in the least.  "Well, what's the point of going on vacation if you don't 
get a few surprises?"

"Surprises and vacations have nothing to do with each other."

"Apparently the Japanese word we're using and the English one I'm thinking of have two 
completely different connotations.  I didn't know that!" His hand strayed over his mouth 
then, and he glanced about, feigning some embarrassment over an ignorance which 
simply did not exist. "Did you, Brad?"

Crawford, playing along, shook his head.

"What a nice, little semantic disaster we have here. Almost makes me wish I gave a shit."

But the fact was, he didn't, and couldn't because there was nothing in the world to make 
him love words.  Without them, he clambered to his feet, slinking up through the halo of 
his lover's arms as he rose, only to find them still wrapped about his waist.  A kiss 
against his upraised lips, and he went for his clothing.  

At least, started too.  All of a sudden, he changed his mind and held up Oriya's brand 
new (but still already rumpled) suit jacket.  "You mind if I put this on instead?"

"Yes, but if I thought that would do any good, I'd be a moron.  Are you sure...?"

"We're close enough," And with that, he gathered up what had been his own garments, 
and tossed them back over to his guest, who went through them, piece by piece until he 
was quite satisfied they did not offend him, and began to slip them on then, all the while 
marveling that Schuldich had actually bothered to throw them his way.

::Saves time.  You can keep the rest of your stuff.  And hey, no need to pack it up.::

He couldn't' argue with *that* at least.  But their images did change, and their respective 
lover's past and former, both marveled a little at the result.  The telepath's things were 
just enticingly tight on the pimp's body, and he was obliged to leave the top button of the 
shirt undone for they didn't wear the same size in collars at all; the white coat, previously 
hidden in case Schuldich had wanted it, and now all unfastened around Oriya, made him 
look quite dashing- like a shinigami in white almost.  The telepath in the pimp's things, 
however, came off more as a highschool student whose uniform didn't quite fit, for 
though he kept the suit jacket slung over his arms, he still seemed to have grown younger 
and younger...    

/God, I hate you./ Thought Oriya, his fingertips creeping over his wrinkles.

::Ha! Don't pout, you'll make it worse.::

/You think I don't know that!?/

::I think you're forgetful.:: Just to show how much, he reached over then, and took the 
sparkly blue scrunchie from his hair and looped it into his own.

/Even my stuff makes you happy.  You ARE just a little kid, aren't you? A spoiled little 
kid who wants some of everything./

"You know what they say: try before you buy and all that," Schuldich told him then, and 
he broke off dusting at once of his sleeves to slink across the room and once more wrap 
his arms around his chest.  Without any breath, he fondled his mouth with his own as 
deeply as he could.

::What do you think Muraki has been doing with us all this time?::

***

Crawford, who had been recovering his own clothing whilst his lovers 
were bantering back and forth, now swept over to where they both 
stood entangled in each other's arms. Hands in pockets, he took in 
the way Schuldich's discarded clothing looked on Oriya, how it clung 
to him so snugly. Why, he could see *everything*. 

"You know," he said, glancing bemusedly at Muraki, "I think I'm going 
to enjoy this." 

Muraki made a murmur of assent, and Schuldich broke the kiss. 
Smirking devilishly, he nuzzled Oriya's cheek, then left him to 
hastily press a kiss to Crawford's lips before strutting over to 
Muraki's side. He slipped an arm around his waist, and the two 
kissed as well. 

"Right. Well, I suppose that's everything," said Muraki. "Are you 
sure you don't want to pack a bag?" 

Schuldich shook his head, and Muraki, smiling, led him to the 
door. "Mr. Crawford. I wish you joy of Oriya." 

"And you, of Schuldich," replied Crawford, bowing politely to the 
sound of redhead's laughter. When he straightened up, they were 
gone. Only the faintest trace of cherry cola red in his mind, 
Schuldich's aftertaste when he was in a mischievous mood. It was 
then he was struck with a pang of regret; he realized he would miss 
feeling his presence. 

Oh, well. Crawford turned towards the mirror to straighten his 
collar, adjust his tie, and then he whirled about, and strode 
directly up to Oriya. Paused, briefly, to leer at him again. A 
chilly smile slowly flooded his expression; without warning, he 
snatched the pimp's trailing ponytail and wrapped it twice 
around his hand. Tugged it sharply. 

"Come on, Oriya, and let's get you settled, hm? We've got a busy day 
ahead."

***

"I can imagine..." muttered the pimp.  And, as a matter of fact, he did.

/He's probably going to pull a Roissy with me and make me walk around all day with the 
biggest dildo he can find up my ass./

Self conscious all of a sudden, though the reverie only a minute lasted, Oriya rubbed his 
bottom.  Crawford pretended not to notice.  

/Either that, or he'll strap a vibrator in me./

Though, all truth told, the dildo sounded worse.

/Or maybe, he'll use me as a human toilet!/

That supposition being brought on more by his earlier conversation with the so-inclined 
CEO of Dai Nippon Geiken who, he deiced promptly, would pay for having ever told 
him where to find the especially debauched psychics.  His new lover certainly didn't look 
the type.  Then again, they never, ever did.

/Oh... no wait.  He's a voyeur... he'll have somebody do weird shit to me while he 
watches! Of course! The only question is.../

::What weird shit?::

/You again? I thought you ran off with my boyfriend!/

But he got no answer for his irritable mental summons, and found himself thoroughly 
bussed, given a swat between his legs and ordered out the door first, since Brad seemed 
to have gotten it into his head in the mean time that they two, at least, should leave alone.

Not that he found himself to be the only person in the hallway.  Why, just before the little 
hook in the snow-white walls he could see Muraki and Schuldich still, and they were both 
laughing about the evident reason the latter had opted to forgo packing: he had a gangly, 
grey-haired man with an eyepatch who had just come to them, bearing his black trundle 
suitcase and an utterly mindless sort of look.  Oriya hoped dearly he would have to see 
THAT wretch again for awhile.

::Too bad!:: And a kiss blown here, which landed not on him but some indeterminate 
place behind the bathroom wall.  ::You have a nice time with my rabbit now, and so you 
know, I've told him ALLLLLLL those awful things you were dreaming of right now, just 
for, you know, ideas.::

"YOU WHAT!?"

::Told him.  Everything.  Remember what *I* taught you and everything should go just 
fine so long as you don't pull any more half-assed assassinations!::  And then, as he 
vanished into the reception area with a girlish little wave, he called with a voice like 
some suburban matron to her dog, "Buh-bye now!"

Oriya had quite a few handfuls of his most reproachful curses ready to follow the 
farewell he had known to be inevitable.  He didn't get to speak a single one, however, for 
just then he had the misfortune to discover just WHY Crawford had remained in the 
men's room.

"Schuldick! Where the hell have you been!?"

It was the koala he had seen leaving the business meeting, a man he finally learned to be 
the master of the building, as opposed to the beaver previously seen in his company.  
Given that Takatori senior came lumbering up to him through a mist of saliva and the sort 
of halitosis which only comes from eating leftover Korean food, he would have sold half 
of his whores in a heartbeat for him to change into what had originally appeared to be an 
equally disagreeable man.  

"Uh, I've been..." It seemed that he ought to at least try and answer.  Sadly, that wasn't 
what his temporary employer had in mind.

"I don't want to hear your excuses!"

"Yessir."

"Shuttup! I need you to run down to the pharmacy and pick up my hemorrhoid ointment.  
It's under your name to protect my image.  Onea my good for nuthin' son's blew up his 
lab downstairs.  It's special clearance so you'll have to mop it- don't you dare use the 
expensive pine cleaner on it, use the orange.  The chairmen of the board for our lab 
equipment supplier is coming over at three to demand we pay him: he collects rare 
personal swabs.  Distract him by talking about that.  I need you to schedule us a dinner 
somewhere that serves taquitos.  Hire two escorts from that place in Shinjuku that 
specializes in erotic oddities.  They don't have a phone so you'll have to go there yourself.  
I'll need a manicure, a pedicure, a hair trim and a moustache wax before dinner and since 
my personal stylist is trying to kill me, you'll have to do it.  And get me more shrimp 
crispsies!"

***

"Of course, Takatori-san," said Crawford smoothly.  "We will get on 
it straight away."  

Takatori, after extracting the blackened, gnawed stub of a cheap 
cigar out of his breast pocket, stomped away with one final warning 
glare for his chief minions.  Crawford didn't move from his spot, 
merely watched him go; to Oriya's mild surprise, though, Brad seemed 
quite amused--not the sort of look one might expect from someone 
unfortunate enough to in the employ of such an uncouth man.  

"Cheer up, Oriya-san," Crawford said.  "The paranoid old bastard will 
meet his end before long, a horrible, bloody death at the end of a 
katana.  Which is why I don't just kill him now.  Shooting's much too 
good for him."  He smirked nastily, and gestured towards the 
elevators at the opposite end of the hallway.  "Shall we?"

Crawford hauled his slim cellphone out of his pocket, and speed-
dialed the first number stored in his phone:  janitorial service for 
the lab--old codger was so tight-fisted he didn't employ one for the 
building; Crawford usually logged the expense as copier repair, 
believable given the amount of paper used every day.  Then, it was a 
corner store five blocks away, the only one he knew of that often 
kept his damn shrimp crispies in stock *and* would deliver.  The 
rest...

"Where the hell does he expect me to find a restaurant that offers 
taquitos?" Crawford muttered half to himself.  "And with Nagi and 
Farfarello both gone...I'll have to...have to *groom* him."  Crawford 
eased his fingers under his glasses and pinched at the corners of his 
eyes.  "Oh, damn.  He's just so revolting!"  he groaned.  

"Ah well, at least I don't have to give him a massage.  And I do have 
his card number memorized.  Perhaps we should have some fun of our 
own down in Shinjuku, hm, Oriya-san?"  

***

"That's O...............Kay," the pimp managed to force out between his clenched teeth.  
Another moment later he got his jaw to work again, and so sounded just a hint more 
natural when he went on to say, "I'll.  Stay.  Here.  And... umm... groom... him."

Not that under any other circumstances he wouldn't have leapt like a cheetah on springs 
for a chance to go to Shinjuku's less reputable areas.  All his old friends from his 
industry! The German sex toy shops! The beautiful, beautiful women so unhappy with 
their PRESENT employers.  The perverse of the perverse.

But no, considering Schuldich had manifested the sheer gall to impart the more 
unpleasant aspects of his fears to the man he presently found himself with... yes! It was 
true! He would MUCH rather spend the afternoon among ugly people he did not know! 
They toys of the establishment of conventional and legal business! The foot ailments 
without names and nail fungi yet to be classified.  The flatulent of the flatulent.  The 
UNKEMPT SIDEBURNS OF STUPIDITY.

"I'll just run along and be a good little slave now."

This announced, he took off down the hall at a noticeably quick clip.

***

Crawford let him go, relieved that the unpleasant chore of grooming 
the gorilla for whom he currently worked had fallen onto someone 
else.  

"No," murmured Crawford, as the elevator doors slid open.  "You'll be 
that tonight."

***

Meanwhile, back at the offices of the JuMaCho, Watari and Hisoka had 
retired to the former's laboratory on the premise of investigating 
the phenomenon from a scientific viewpoint.  Apparently, Watari-
sensei had recently received certain physical evidence from two other 
unexplainable deaths--or so he had claimed as the two made their 
way to his basement facilities.  Hisoka had thought he was joking; 
when they reached the laboratory, however, he found that the doctor was 
quite serious.  He did have tissue, bone fragments, and blood 
samples, and was wholly prepared to begin his investigation by first 
examining them individually under a microscope, and by then performing 
certain tests if necessary.  

Hisoka fairly greened on the spot when Watari took the first such 
specimen, the second knuckle from a human finger, from its 
hermetically sealed jar with the intent of studying it more closely.  
The boy couldn't watch him.  He turned away, and began to flip 
through a book on various poisons and their effects on humans.  

It made for gruesome reading, and very soon the tome wound up on the 
stack from which Hisoka had taken it.  

"Must you do that now, Watari?"  

An absent little murmur came from his direction, and with a resigned 
sigh, Hisoka turned around.  At least he was directly in front of 
him, blocking the jars and the scope, and he couldn't easily see what 
he was doing.  

Still, he had an interesting view, nonetheless.  Hisoka thoughtfully 
rubbed his thumb over his lower lip, recalling the hazy memories of 
the kisses they'd shared; of how he'd felt when the other took him in 
his arms.  It wasn't the same as having Tsuzuki hold him, but it was 
just as nice.  Even more exciting in a way.  

/'Course, I don't think of Tsuzuki like I do Watari./  Hisoka's gaze 
wandered over the other's back, lingering on the curves of his ass.  

/He's nothing like Tsuzuki./  

Hisoka nibbled at his thumb, then drew it out in agitation, a soft, 
wet popping sound.  /Damn it.  All this privacy is being wasted.../  

Watari began to hum under his breath, and, without looking behind 
him, he grabbed the stool he had just abandoned and scooted it closer 
to the table.  His hair, he caught up in a slightly off-kilter 
ponytail at his nape.  

It was all the invitation Hisoka needed.  Biting his lip, the boy 
crept up behind Watari, and slowly (so as not to startle him too 
much) slid his arms around the blond's waist, burying his face 
against his neck.  A kiss fell upon what skin he could reach from 
that angle.  

"Why don't you leave that for a while?" he whispered. 

***

Watari, who had just been about to sensibly explain to his companion why he could do no 
such thing, ended up granting his request, albeit inadvertently.  The test tube he had just 
filled with a really very suspicious blue substance of his own design, rolled out of his 
fingers, onto the counter, and subsequently the floor, leaving a plume of spilled azure 
juice behind, the shortly began to crystallize into little, pinkish tube-shaped crystals that 
would have sparked had either of them drawn too close to them.  As it was, neither 
shinigami was moving at the moment.  

And Watari didn't at all know what would be a suitable gesture for this most peculiar of 
situations.  Why, he couldn't remember the last time Hisoka had touched him just 
because he could.  Sure, he'd patted the boy's shoulders now and then, ruffled his hair... 
but they ALL did that! 

As it was at the moment, he was quite sure he could feel Hisoka's fingers running their 
way through his tresses, something 003 gladly confirmed by nudging one of the bottles 
on the rack just above his head over so he could somewhat see himself and the embrace 
he was presently caught in.  He raised an eyebrow to her, and she nodded, letting her 
wings dance around a little as if she had the presence of mind to pretend her contact with 
the glass had been an accident.

But just like that! Watching her samba with herself there on the shelf! Suddenly he knew!

/Oh gosh! Why didn't I think of it before? Poor Hisoka-kun! He must miss Tsuzuki.  It's 
all a plea for attention! That's what it is.  Oh, I shouldn't have ignored him like this.  
Damnable hell.../

Although, as he turned around on his stool, he found himself chanting those ideas, over 
and over in his subconscious.

"Saa, it's okay.  I can take a break for you.  Suman, suman..."

And with that, he hoisted Kurosaki-kun onto his lap, and plopped his head against his 
shoulder as he rocked him back and forth.

003 buried her face in her wings.

***

/What the hell?!/

Hisoka was quite unsure as to how he should react at that point. No 
one was in the habit of picking him up and holding him in such a 
way. And now, here Watari was doing just that--and them both 
investigators for the JuOhCho. It was embarrassing, and Hisoka 
started to squirm a bit on Watari's lap. 

"You don't have to rock me like I'm a baby," he said, his voice 
muffled against Watari's shoulder. "I'm not in need of comforting. 
It's not what I want." 

Watari promptly stopped, and Hisoka, half-expecting the doctor to 
release him, wrapped his arms around the blond's neck. He hid his 
face there, eyes closed. Beneath his ear, he could hear the roar of 
Watari's heart, and he silently marveled at it. Blood pumping 
through muscle, gathering oxygen and dispersing it, all to feed what 
was technically a corpse. 

But the body next to his own was too warm for a corpse, too soft; far 
too desirable. Hisoka lifted his head, drawn by the presence of such 
malleable flesh as that which shone above Watari's collar, and there, 
he kissed him; arched higher to graze his earlobe with his lips. 

"I need you," he breathed softly. "Please don't turn me away."

***

Watari at this assumed a color far more indicative of a corpse, regardless to what the boy 
might have thought of him just then.  His eyes also grew quite wide, and the phantom 
cats of shock had a jolly game of soccer with his tongue.

This while the young shinigami in his lap feasted upon his ear.

At all... made him sort of smile, after a few long and tenuous moments.  Sadly so, and as 
such, he began to let his hand coast up and down the poor child's back.

"Ne, Hisoka-kun.  Have you eaten any of Tsuzuki's cooking? Because, if you have, it's 
nothing to be ashamed of, but you need to tell me right away so we can get a purgative in 
you."

To his gentle suggestion, Watari had quite seriously been expecting a rather sheepish 
affirmative, so naturally, as was tradition at JuMaCho, he got no such thing.  Rather, the 
boy jerked up from teasing his earlobe with his tongue, and stared quite stiffly into his 
eyes as if rather the doctor had suggested the two of them don penguin suits to go scuba 
diving off the coast of Fiji.  As such, said doctor was at once possessed with the urge to 
explain himself.

"Well... it's only that I'm ah... well... it's only that you seemed to not be acting like the 
Hisoka-kun I know and love." A word choice he tried to speak over in the end, though he 
didn't do well.  "Is there ah... something else going on you're trying to tell me? I ah... I 
don't mean to be thick, it's too many years in the lab for me though! You know you can 
come to me with these things whenever you need to though! Sloppiness on my part aside.  
Is it something you can't tell Tsuzuki I suppose I... I'm babbling!"

***

Bewildered, Hisoka simply stared at Watari.  How could he not see how 
he felt?  Didn't he remember the party?  The intoxicated two of them 
stumbling into the house while everyone was outside?  The fervent 
kisses...the eager caresses?  

Well, hell no, he didn't.  It was plain to see, and against all 
sense, Hisoka felt a bit let down--but far from undaunted.  Pouting, 
he settled his arms more securely around the doctor's neck, and 
nuzzled his cheek.  "You're right.  It's not anything I can tell 
Tsuzuki.  I...can't ever tell him.  I can only tell you."  Frowning, 
he shook his head.  "I thought you knew how I felt.  Surely, you 
haven't missed it?"  

The blond lifted his brows in question, and Hisoka sighed; smiled 
wistfully.  "Then I'll tell you."  

He paused, unsure for a moment despite the urgency of his feelings.  
He thought he might burst if he didn't say it now, feared what might 
happen when he did.  

/Damn it.  Just do it!/  

Hisoka suddenly hugged him close.  "For a long time...I...I've loved 
you, Watari!"  

Watari's eyes widened, fading from Hisoka's sight as he shut his own, 
and pulled away just enough to place an awkward kiss upon the blond's 
startled mouth. 

***

There was nothing else Watari could do in the sway of Hisoka's kiss just then- the 
trepidation whirled together with the passion on the boys lips coalescing like sugar 
bleeding out of water, just a little wet with the tip of his tongue.

The doctor kissed him back, but innocently.  Once about his throat, and once upon his 
sweat-damp knuckles.  He dared take no other touches, and not only for the enrapturing 
thoughts of Tatsumi that had blotted out the image of the boy. That Hisoka lay in his 
arms, perhaps he could already feel it but...

Hisoka whose peridot eyes were wide and trembling as they waited for an answer.   

/Now, lets be sensible about this.  Disgust won't do the trick, or anger.  Or the truth! My, 
my, what an sticky situation this is./

003 nodded as if she knew his thoughts.

/Well, it's one you probably should have foreseen! But there you go.  Oh, Yutaka, you've 
really gone and done it this time./

With the palm of his own hand, he took his companion's cheek in his hand and coaxed 
his gaze into his own.  "Please forgive me for being so quiet but... I feel awful, Hisoka-
kun! I really do! I had no idea! I seriously had it through my head you liked... well... that 
you liked someone else.  I'm sorry."

So he kissed those eyes of his as well, though he found no tears there.

***

Of course, Hisoka was not crying, though tears had pricked his eyes 
for a moment, ones which had faded with the light touch of Watari's 
lips upon his throat.  "I love you" was so hard to say--especially 
when he'd never said it to anyone before, and he'd taken great 
comfort from the kisses the other man had given him, from the way 
he'd held him. He'd wanted to laugh afterward, as if he'd been 
released from some tremendous burden.  Watari obviously loved him, he 
just needed reassurance.   

Hisoka lay his hand over the one covering his cheek.  "I don't like 
anyone else.  Not anyone.  Just you, Watari."  He drew Watari's hand 
away, and brought it to rest upon his hip.  Leaned up to kiss his 
throat.  

"I don't know why you thought my affections lay elsewhere."  

***

"Because I'm a batty, old man who likes to blow things up and play with owls?" 
presumed Watari without any especial thought to his remark before he uttered it.  The 
whole line had really seeped out of the most beguiling crayon mental image he'd gotten 
of dashing anime hero Hisoka transposed with the comic relief mad doctor of the series in 
some fangirlish venture drawn between middle school classes.  It was all very strange... 
and yet... quite titillating in a way.  Naughty...

/WAIT! What are you THINKING! You're in love with Tatsumi! Tatsumu! Tatsumi! 
Remember just yesterday how thrilled you were to find him in your house, when you had 
been in bed, naked and obviously wonderfully molested by someone! You love Tatsumi!/

Hisoka, having sensed his distress in their mutual silence, leaned over, and had another of 
his kisses, one that he again returned, just as virginal as when it had been born- the idea 
that he could kiss the boy back.

"Please... I'm sorry, Hisoka.  It's just not every day I hear those words!"

/Until yesterday.  I suppose Tsusuki-kun will get around to confessing to me tomorrow 
the way things are going./

"I don't know what to say!"

/But I know I just can't break you're heart.  You're breaking mine because... you know, 
it's not you're fault you love who you love./

/It's not Tatsumi's fault either he would have this predicament and be in love with me as 
well./

/One more small disaster for the doujinshika to have hysterics over./

***

Hisoka wrapped Watari in another hug. "Tell me you love me back.  
That's what you can say.  And I'll tell you I love you every single 
day."  A kiss fell upon Watari's neck, upon his lips.  

"There's nothing undesirable about you, Watari."

***

Then... he knew. Knew there was one thing- just one thing left to him in all of this, as 
much as he wanted, and did not want the boy to leave his arms, or his mind.

One way to do away with it all, as much as part of him couldn't dare to, end things 
quietly.

Placing a kiss against Hisoka's earlobe he whispered, "You say that even though you 
know it is my fondest wish to be a woman. I find that 
intriguing, touching that you would."

***

Hisoka's hands stopped when they reached the doctor's shoulder 
blades, the boy stilling altogether, even his breath. He became 
acutely aware of the pressure of his hands upon his back, of the 
warmth of his body, and he wanted to feel him skin-to-skin. 

But...

"You don't love me." 

Hisoka nuzzled Watari's shoulder, and then sat back in his lap. He 
saw himself in the fringed, chocolate mirrors of his eyes, and he 
wanted to shrink away in embarrassment. He was a kid to him, he knew 
that much, but he'd thought he could make Watari think otherwise. It 
only made him angry that he'd failed. 

"Why, Watari? Why? I...I don't understand. You kissed me the other 
night, let me...touch you. You let me on your lap..." He clutched 
at his shoulders, as if he feared being set aside and forgotten like 
a little boy. "Why are you trying to shove me away now, when I want 
you...so very much?"

***

"Hi-hi-hisoka!" Stammered Watari then.  The boy on his lap was all surprises that 
afternoon.  No, he should have expected little less but... as much as he knew what he said 
wasn't in his mind, it was as if his body remembered, and he began to blush furiously as a 
faintly sexual warmth unwrapped itself and settled drowsy through his limbs.

"No no!" he burst out then.  "it simply isn't true! You're special to me, Hisoka! Special 
like no one else could ever be it's just... I'm so much older; are you sure it doesn't bother 
YOU? It makes no difference how old you are to ME, being a shikigami all this time, 
you'd THINK I'd have stopped thinking about such silly things but... if they're not silly 
to you I..."

/I... do not believe I just said all that! It's not as if I could just sit here and watch your 
heart break... but.../

003 rolled her eyes and like the little drama queen she was and spun off the edge of the 
counter, coming to almost land on the floor before catching herself, and darting up to fly 
circles about their heads for a moment.  

"I..."

/...can't.../

/...sure I can!/

"I wish I knew what to say to you besides sorry."

Though with that, he did lay his lips against Hisoka's cheek, and coax him once more to 
course against his shoulder, blushing himself now at the image of the phantom Tatsumi 
who stood gaping in his mind's eye.

***

But Hisoka wasn't in the mood to be soothed; in fact, Watari's 
efforts only made him feel more foolish than he might have felt 
otherwise.  He lay quietly for only a moment in Watari's arms before 
he rose, and slid off the blond's lap, turning his back to him when 
his feet touched the floor.  For he was hurt, and he didn't want the 
now-hated other to see how much, even if it was so evident from his 
terse tone.    

"I'm not a baby that needs to be coddled, Watari-sensei, nor am I so 
sensitive that I need to have the truth sugar-coated before I can 
hear it. You don't love me? Fine.  I should have expected it anyway."

/'Cause no one wants me.../ 

"So last night was all for fun," he added, now fidgeting with a spare 
beaker which sat upon the edge of the table.  "My mistake." 

/Not my father. Not my mother. Not.../

The beaker wobbled slightly when Hisoka released it.  "I'll live," he 
said, shrugging.  "It's really no big deal."  

/Eventually, Tsuzuki won't want to have me around either, because I'm 
weak. I can't help him./ 

/Not really./  

/I can't.../

Watari said nothing, and Hisoka, skin prickling as if the blond was 
attempting to stare through him, headed for the door--trying not to 
physically cringe under the weight of his embarrassment as he did 
so.  "I'm going to get the files we have on the other cases.  Maybe 
there's something we missed.  Call me if you find anything."

***

Tatsumi, armed with a copy of Kanoe's email, had traveled to the 
address contained within, thinking (worryingly) to find himself in 
the midst of scads of scantily clad lovelies once he'd arrived at the 
establishment in question.  But unfortunately--or fortunately, even, 
given Tatsumi's utter reluctance to visit that particular area of 
Tokyo--Kanoe had gotten the street name wrong.  'Hiyashi' instead 
of 'Hikashi'; 24 instead of 42.  

Instead of soapland, Tatsumi found himself in a capitalistic 
paradise.  Rows and rows of shops and eateries--the sorts of places a 
penny pincher like himself wouldn't be caught...um, dead in.  

Except...technically, he was dead, so it didn't really matter.  And, 
since he rarely got to see any of Tokyo anymore, being cooped like he 
was at the office, Tatsumi felt he'd been given a gift.  

/I wonder what Kanoe-san would say.../  He laughed to himself at the 
thought of his boss, sitting in his stuffy office, fielding phone 
calls and files while outside the sun shone and the cherry trees 
danced in the breeze.  

He felt sort of bad, then.  Guilty.  He should be there, and not 
here, wayward partner or no.  Tsuzuki could take care of himself, and 
if he didn't come back with a report--being the one who knew the way 
to the right building--then it would be up to him to square it with 
the Chief.  Not his.  Not anymore.  Tsuzuki wasn't his responsibility 
any longer--though sometimes, when he looked at him, Tatsumi would 
wish that he was.  

He wandered over to the shop-side of the walkway, pausing in front of 
the storefront of a furniture shop; the styles a mix of Western and 
traditional.  

/I get too sentimental around him,/ he thought at his blue-shaded 
reflection.  

/I wish I could just stop it.  Stop everything./

/But when I look at him...I can't help but think of all the things I 
did wrong./  

He dug his hands in his pockets, and set off down the sidewalk again, 
staring down at the cracked, leaf-dotted stones.  

/I can't fix any of it.  It's too late./  He frowned.  /And 
anyway...it wouldn't have worked out./  

/Right,/ he concluded, nodding slightly.  /It was for the best, my 
asking for a transfer./

/We wouldn't have been happy--we weren't, having to see each other 
both at work and during off hours./ 

Tatsumi stopped again, before the last shop on that block.  He 
turned, nudged his glasses up on his nose, and peered in through the 
wide, arch-framed window before him.  Mannequins dressed in men's and 
women's clothes stood on display.  It was a department store, and not 
a boutique.  The mannequin directly across from him wore a 
sleeveless, slim-cut brown satin gown; beads of amber and copper 
spanned the arm- and necklines, edged the flared, bottom hem in a 4-
tiered ripple.  The colors made him think of Watari's eyes.  

/I wonder how he'd look in that?/   

/Would he like something like that?/  

Tatsumi studied it, trying to picture Watari thus clothed, and then 
he shook the image away.  

/What I am doing?/  

/Thinking about getting him a DRESS!/  

/I can't believe this.  No, no./  

Tatsumi slipped his hands out of his pockets, and set off 
purposefully towards the curb.  It was ridiculous, him buying a 
dress.  For a man.  It was one thing for Watari to pursue his 
fascination with all things womanly, but for him to encourage it...  

/There's the problem./  

/I'm not encouraging.  Not to Tsuzuki.  And now, not to Watari./  

He pushed his glasses back in place.  The small crowd surrounding him 
surged forward at the crossing light's summoning, parting 
mysteriously around him.  

/What are you going to do, Tatsumi?  Going to dismiss him as being 
silly?/  

/Going to make all the same mistakes as before.../

/And lose someone special?/  

He looked down at his feet; behind him, the light turned red, and the 
humming line of cars roared forth like bees from a hive.  People 
gathered around him.  Tatsumi ignored them all.  

And when the light changed again, Tatsumi was gone.  

***

Not too many minutes later, the shinigami found himself in a much quieter portion of the 
winding outdoor arcade, now in the shade of an awning that graced the front of a posh 
little boutique, and left a long, faintly saffron colored shade along the sidewalk. There he 
paused, and looked about for a moment, seeking no one's eyes, and no one's attention. A 
few little birds gathered by one of the potted ferns not far from the shadow didn't even 
seem to notice him, nor did the girl standing just inside the threshold where she waited to 
escort customers into the billowy lavender soft inside.

Some just across the street, however, caught sight of him, gasped, shrieked with delight, 
and tore over the pavement, not exactly taking the colors of the traffic lights a block in 
either direction into account when he did so.

"Moshi moshi! Tatsumi-san! Tatsumiiiiiiii!" Called Sen, dashing up beside his 
acquaintance of the day before. He was out of breath by then, but still waved as gaily as 
anyone had ever waved before. He also bowed in his peculiar little way once more, 
before clasping his small, delicate hands before himself.

"Oh it's so nice to see you to-day! Lovely, isn't it? Oh, I really do hate to ask you this on 
such short notice, but are you busy at the moment? I've got a problem I could use a little 
bit of help with..."

***

Tatsumi was taken aback for a moment, not so much by Sen's request, 
but because no one was supposed to see him.  He took a quick look at 
those loitering at the nearby bus stop, and found that no one could 
see him though they could apparently see Sen.  And those few who'd 
witnessed the other man's exuberant display were now watching him 
rather warily, whispering to their companions; to their eyes, Sen was 
talking to the air.  Surely, they thought him mad.  

Suddenly, Tatsumi didn't feel so out-of-sorts.  In fact, he was 
rather amused by it all, and he offered Sen a smile.  At that moment, 
Tatsumi saw no need to inquire after Sen's remarkable ability to see 
those who were invisible--an ability he had considered as belonging 
solely to those citizens of Meifu.  

Then again, he was Watari's friend.

/Curious...but.../  

"That's an odd request to make of a relative stranger, Sen-san," 
Tatsumi replied, turning a little to better view the array of items 
on show in the shop's window.  "But, ah...I'll try," he added, 
glancing over at him.  "What is it?"  

***

"WAIIIIIIII! Domo arigatou gozaimasu wa yooooo!" Sen cheered, and once again 
engaged in a very feminine bow- this one very deep and almost solemn in a way, though 
he popped right back out of it after a respectable amount of time and began to speak very 
quickly.

"Well, as Hoshiko might have told you, or that you probably guessed from hearing the 
way we go on... anyway, I have a girlfriend.  Her name is Leona, and she is twenty years 
old."

Here though, he thought to pause before going on, as if to let the rather implausible idea 
stir between them until such time as it began rather to appear as if it might be a 
possibility, albeit a strange one.  When Tatsumi did not scowl disapprovingly or start to 
say anything with regards to Leona's age, Sen clapped again and went on just as quickly 
as before.

"Which would probably be working out better at the moment, except that she's also a 
police officer, and she has this very particular supervisor, who happens to know that 
we're holding hands, and he doesn't like it one bit.  In fact, he's given her orders more or 
less to see me only as a friend- appearance's sake and such.  This doesn't suit either of us 
at all, though we've gotten fairly good at pretending it does.  Though, when we do go out, 
we always have to bring someone else along- both of us! So it looks like a crowd.

"In fact, I'm supposed to meet her for lunch in about half an hour, but my daughter Moto 
has just called to tell me she can't possibly make it as my escort as she's tied up at work.  
So, Tatsumi-san, as a favor, I am asking to treat you to lunch, though you will have to eat 
it with a pair of lovebirds I'm afraid."

Sen here held up his finger for a moment and dove into his pocket after 
something.  One of his rings, for he was that morning wearing six of 
tanzanite and silver all save one which had been set with topaz, snagged on the seam and 
pulled a thread loose, to which he only sighed and preferred rather to present the 
shinigami before him with a small, parchment menu booklet for a cafe ironically called 
"Coffee Alone".


(OOC: Sen just used feminine speech particles, along with rather youthful slang for 
"going out".  Coffee Alone was the title of a best-selling album in Vietnam back in the 
early 90's- random ref there...)

***

The booklet crackled as Tatsumi opened it, walking until his hands 
were past the awning's shade.  He tipped the menu so the sunlight 
caught the feminine, bronze calligraphy, brows perking with interest 
as he skipped down the stiff pages.  If the fare had not been so 
fine, Tatsumi would have declined--he wasn't in the habit of taking 
free lunches just *anywhere*.  

Of course, "Coffee Alone" didn't seem to be an anywhere sort of place 
to Tatsumi, and he closed the menu, and handed it back to his 
companion with a nod.  "All right.  I will accompany you on one 
condition."  

Tatsumi paused and quickly glanced around them, adding quietly, "You 
must tell me how you could see me here, when I was trying to go 
unnoticed."  

***

The most recent of Sen's joyous exclamations was rather fortunately squelched by 
Tatsumi's little condition- though it did not die in grimness, but rather a most fascinated, 
wide-eyes stare.  One the shinigami could not take for anything but Watari's such gaze as 
seen in someone else's eyes.

"Oh... I ah... I beg your pardon then! I simply didn't realize you were trying not to be 
seen! If I'd known, I wouldn't have come shouting across the street to where you were... 
you do blend in quite well, it's just the very umm... very formal way you carry yourself 
makes you easy to pick out!"

In compliment for this then, Sen quite applauded, and did not at all hear the people 
walking past proposing to one another he was (hopefully) conversing with the somewhat 
nearby fern.

"So when I glanced across the street, you just popped right out at me!"

Seeing the utter frankness of his companion's reply, he fell silent once more though.  His 
chin he rubbed, his 'hmm's and 'eto's he uttered muchly... but only for a moment before 
he snapped his fingers with an evident conclusion.  "Is this like that Monty Python sketch 
'How Not to be Seen'?"

***

"Hmm...I don't think so, as it doesn't involve bushes, water barrels, 
or bombs." Tatsumi removed his glasses, and wiped the smudges away 
on a soft lens cloth he always kept in his breast pocket. "And I 
like to think that I'd have far more sense than to show myself and 
risk of being shot." 

Sen laughed, and Tatsumi gave him a smile in appreciation. He donned 
his glasses, then waved for Sen to precede him down the 
sidewalk. "Lead the way, Sen-san. I am most eager to see this cafe 
of yours, and it will never do to keep your sweetheart waiting." 

His be-ringed companion made him another curiously feminine bow, and 
the two set off down the street, Tatsumi already scheming to take his 
lover aside later and grill him even further about his odd, old 
friend.

*****