I know, I know, some of you want to choke me for not finishing 'C is for Contract, D is for Demon' or writing another Major Arcana piece before starting a new story – and a multi-chapter AU at that. What can I say? I go where my muse leads. If you can wrangle that tricky minx into inspiring my in-progress works, I'd be eternally grateful.

As for this little tale, I have no idea where it's going and I'm writing a dissertation too, so expect inconsistent updates. And here's the other thing: This is totally experimental, so I won't continue this if you don't like it. I write to relieve stress, yes, but I really, really want my readers to enjoy my work. Otherwise why bother posting at all?

So, be honest. Tell me if you hate it (or if characters are OOC) and I'll find better ways to occupy both my time and yours. ;)

This is my love letter to Chicago. Even so, this ardent expression of my feelings contains quite a bit of cursing, sex, and morally bankrupt behavior. Consider yourself duly notified. Oh, and Yogi and Gareki make their debuts in the next chapter.

In retrospect, he'd wonder if it was coincidence or kismet that threw them together that night.

Hirato was the toast of Chicago. Well, he was the toast of a very narrow swath of the Windy City's population, but even trial lawyers needed their demigods. Indeed, if deification had been retained as a religious practice, the surprisingly young legal prodigy was a prime candidate. With his Yale connections and University of Chicago law degree, he was bound to be a success. Couple such an immaculate pedigree with strikingly good looks and infectious charisma, and it was no wonder that he'd made partner at the tender age of twenty-nine.

Fast cars, faster lovers, and an unimpeded trajectory straight to the top. He'd earned it, deserved it even. He was just that good.

Actually, there was someone who was better. Someone who'd always been better, in fact. But the blond-haired, fae-eyed Assistant DA preferred to put criminals in prison rather than defend them. Shame, really. Criminals paid better than the city. Akari had always been like that—self-sacrificing, idealistic, trusting of the system and its so-called justice.

Stupid, Hirato thought as he trained his gaze on the other man from across the room. He's always been stupid. The blond in question was seated at the bar, head bowed over a glass of scotch, his briefcase still in tow. He was staring blankly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, completely unmoved by the skyline beyond. Hirato wondered idly why Akari would bother to come to a high-rise bar in the Loop if not for the view. Personally, he preferred to conduct all his business from aloft—advising clients, meeting senior partners, consulting with other firms, and yes, fucking whatever lucky man or woman had caught his fancy. In a sparkling city bejeweled with awe-inspiring testaments to human ingenuity, it made no sense to walk amongst the mere mortals fourty floors below.

Akari had never made much sense to him, now that he thought about it. They'd been law school classmates, and even at one of the most competitive, cutthroat programs in the country, the idiotic strawberry blond would spend his free time tutoring the lowest common denominator of the L1s. He still graduated at the top of the class, of course, but that was resultant of natural aptitude rather than any ambition or concern for life's zero sum game. It was like Akari lived in his own private utopia, free from the vagaries of the world.

He doesn't look like he's inured to harsh reality now, does he? Hirato smirked. He quite liked seeing the other man brought low. It was sweeter knowing that Akari's defeat had come at his hands. The three month trial that ended this morning was destined to be a crowning moment for one or the other. The mayor's deputy, Azana, had been charged with a series of grisly high-profile murders. Thanks to Chicago's most able criminal defense attorney, he was acquitted. Hirato had been warned that it was an impossible win, but he took immense pleasure in making the impossible look easy. It helped that Akari's case had been severely damaged by the police department's mishandling of evidence. Still, that wasn't the brunet's fault; a skilled orator would have found a way to turn liability into asset. Okay, maybe not that liability, he conceded. Still, I won. That's all that matters.

He'd just decided to stroll over and tease when he felt a sharp slap on his shoulder.

"Congratulations, you magnificent bastard!" His associate Tsukitachi was in particularly high spirits (no doubt after having imbibed many spirits of a different sort).

"What a pointless thing to say," he responded curtly.

Tsukitachi only sighed in resignation, as though his friend's antisocialism was a lost cause. His honey-gold eyes scanned the room for any of their acquaintances. "Is that Akari Dezart at the bar? Jesus, that poor fuck. He looks miserable." The redhead was a man of too many words and annoyingly undue familiarity, but Hirato liked him anyway. At least he was never boring, unlike most of their coworkers. "Maybe you should buy him a drink. It's your fault he's having such a shit day."

"I don't associate with losers," he replied, surprised that the words were imbued with obvious bitterness. He wasn't given to betraying himself so easily. He'd painstakingly cultivated a reputation for being an emotionless jerk. "And I don't owe him anything. I'm not at fault for his ineptitude."

"You really are a bastard, aren't you?" the other man asked with a wink.

"Only to those in my way." He glanced again at Akari, who appeared to be on his third round. Tearing his eyes away, he attended his friend. "Anyway, where's the party?"

Tsukitachi checked his watch and frowned slightly. "Late, apparently. How like lawyers to be so inconsiderate."

Said party arrived twenty minutes later, all the firm's partners and rising stars in attendance. Exorbitantly-priced champagne flowed freely, as did a number of raunchy stories and company gossip. Hirato nursed his drink and conversed politely while receiving due praise from everyone (and rather inappropriate praise from some of their number). He didn't dislike these sorts of gatherings, precisely. He simply thought of them as coming with the territory. Similar to his work they weren't unbearably torturous, but he'd never voluntarily pass his time thusly.

He'd lost track of the hour when the bar announced last call. Hmmm, maybe I don't mind these little celebrations after all. Or maybe he enjoyed the way his goddess of a colleague leaned against him to whisper her salacious intentions. Eva. Gorgeous, brilliant Eva. Eva, the object of covetousness for all warm-blooded members of the firm, both men and women. He could have her tonight, he knew. She'd had enough drink to be uninhibited but not too much to be rendered incapable of consent. (He was a lawyer; he thought about these things.)

"What do you say? It's a one-time offer." Aquamarine eyes leveled playfully on him. He returned her smile indulgently. It was a one-time offer, that was certain. Eva wasn't interested in him as potential mate. She was far too smart for romantic entanglements in the workplace, or romantic entanglements period. She'd propositioned him because she sensed a kindred spirit—a heartless individual whose only use for a lover was the physical sort. He wouldn't trail behind her afterwards like some abandoned puppy. He'd be completely, wonderfully unattached. They'd resume their cordial, professional relationship tomorrow without interruption.

Damn, it was tempting. Sex without strings. Just like he preferred it. Furthermore, he had no doubt of the lady's prowess in that arena. He'd seen her beguile an entire courtroom with a languid cross of impossibly long legs. The night just kept getting better. If he believed in Providence, he'd have thanked whatever entity moved the universe. "What exactly are you offering?" he whispered, allowing his lips to brush along her ear. She shivered at the contact and settled a hand on his thigh under the table.

That's when he caught sight of Akari, still posted at the bar, still drowning his sorrows. He won't make it home at this rate. Later, he'd wonder why he did it. Why he'd made a dozen uncharacteristically sincere apologies to Eva before sending her home in a taxi. Why he'd then taken the fourty story elevator ride back up. Why he'd waited for Tsukitachi to polish off his last drink before making a move. And finally, why he'd planted himself on the stool beside Akari when the room had emptied.

"What the hell do you want?" the blond growled. "To gloat? Fine. Gloat away."

Hirato laughed softly. "That's your problem. You don't look out for number one. I'd never give someone the satisfaction of seeing me upset over a loss."

"Pardon me, but I'd rather not take life lessons from a bottom-feeding troglodyte." He swallowed the rest of his drink in one go, dropped several twenties on the bar, and attempted to stand. That he was unsuccessful at standing was unsurprising. Akari swayed, gripping the edge of the bar to steady himself.

"Is this your seventh or eighth drink?"

"Honestly, I can't remember," he answered with a shrug. "I'm going home, so it's of little consequence."

Another soft chuckle. "Well, I suppose I'll have to tap my paltry reserves of humanitarianism," he stood and slipped an arm around the other man's waist. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

Akari struggled to pull away. "Get off me before I press charges," he huffed, tiring himself with the effort of breaking free. "I'll call a cab."

"In your state, you'd be lucky to make it anywhere without getting taken by your cabbie."

"Why do you care?"

Ah, that was the question, wasn't it? Why he bothered with a man who had been the bane of his existence. Deciding he'd worry about that later, he marched Akari out of the bar, one arm banded about him while the other held fast to the Assistant DA's briefcase. Unbelievably, they made it to the parking deck without further incident or venomous exchanges. Having settled Akari in the passenger seat of his Benz, he slipped behind the wheel and considered the absurdity of the situation. If his partners found out that he'd been riding around town with Akari Dezart of all people, there'd be hell to pay.

"The things I do for good karma," he mumbled under his breath before reversing out of the parking space. "Where are we headed?"

"Fifty-third and Kenwood. And you're going to have to do much more than pick up the occasional stray to offset your karmic debt." That was the thing about Akari. No matter how spent, irate, or inebriated he'd get, he'd never dull. It was positively infuriating.

"You could try to sound appreciative."

"I told you to leave me alone. You're the one who so desperately wanted to take me home."

"You make it sound as if I'm trying to seduce you."

Akari's glassy irises took on a keener edge as he regarded Hirato thoughtfully. "Are you?"

He choked out a sarcastic bark, keeping his own eyes riveted to the road. "Did you see the option I had tonight? Trade her for you? Not a chance."

"Good. Because I don't waste my time with narcissistic jackasses." The blond seemed mesmerized by the stream of closed shops flitting by. It was fortunate that his distractedness made him oblivious to the minute tightening of his companion's lips.

"…anymore." Fuck. Why did he say that? He hadn't meant to say that. He was never so loose-lipped; it was a career-ending disadvantage. Yet something about the man at his side managed to burrow under his skin like nothing else could. Akari made him fallible, entirely too human. He made him feel guilty, and remorse was not an emotion Hirato had intention of experiencing for any length of time.

"You used to be different."

It was the way the DA articulated the words—like he was truly, genuinely sorry the brunet had risen to heights that most lawyers could only dream of. The very insinuation caused his fingers twitch in anger. How dare you judge me, you self-righteous sonofabitch? Nevertheless, his voice retained its pleasantness while he searched for a way to cut as expertly as he'd just been. "I used to be naïve."

"You mean you used to be like me." A light brow quirked inquisitively.

"Yes. I used to be like you... at least until I realized that justice isn't as blind as we'd been taught, and that right and wrong are societal constructs invented for the comfort of children. So I grew up."

Akari cleared his throat awkwardly. Hirato's mouth curved. I win again. The rest of the drive was spent in quietude. It was delightful at first, knowing he'd silenced the famously acerbic DA. Then uncomfortable tension arose between them. He tossed periodic glances at his passenger, but Akari demonstrated no signs of being affected by their proximity. He simply stared ahead in contemplation, chin cupped in his palm, a few fingers curled against his lips as though he was restraining himself from speaking. They remained like that for half an hour. Finally, Hirato pulled alongside the blond's apartment building. Akari muttered his thanks and opened the door, only to be stopped short by the feel of long fingers curling around his wrist.

"You know you'd have won today if it weren't for Chicago PD's royal screw-up, right? It was yours to take." If anyone questioned why he felt compelled to reveal that tidbit of information, he'd have been hard pressed to answer. What was truly staggering, though, was what followed: "You should have won."

Akari had been accomodatingly placid until then, but on the heels of that assertion he jerked himself loose. "This is why I want nothing to do with you. You think this is about winning or losing, that it's about you. In the meantime, another murderer is walking the streets." He pinched the bridge of his nose in a strange combination of exhaustion and disappointment. Hirato remembered that expression well; he'd been on its receiving end so frequently.

"An alleged murderer," he corrected. "Now an exonerated one."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Akari said defeatedly. "I'm glad you can sleep at night." With that, he spun round and ambled unsteadily up the steps without a backwards glance. The swift dismissal caused Hirato's heart to twist in an unfamiliar manner, unearthing memories and sentiments that he'd choked off years ago. Instead of interrogating these resurgent sensations, however, he concluded that he was unusually tired and needed rest. The drive back to his Near North Side condo was occupied by thoughts of downy comfort and luxurious bedding.

Even so, he didn't sleep that night.