With dry, chapped lips, Misaki let out a sigh. He felt himself getting sleepier each second; he didn't comprehend why Sakuma must—wants to go over each and every detail of this murder so many times. It really felt that at is very press conference, he wanted attention, not the justification of the murder. With another sigh, the rookie journalist went back to writing notes. He shoved his thumb inside the space of his neck and his camera strap, trying to rub his sore neck. When the conference ended, he got up, took any finishing pictures and then left, only to feel a tap on his shoulder.
"Excuse me."
Misaki, tired and cranky, turned around slowly. "I'm sorry but this conference is over—Usami-sa. . .?" His eyes widened as he began looking up at the man who held the authority of millions. Misaki had seen the man before with the experienced reporters, but it had only been a brief glance since he only came to deliver coffee for his boss' friends. "P-pardon me, I thought you were another—"
"Yeah, yeah, reporter or whatever. Now could you please tell me where Iroda—your boss—is?" Iroda Fujima, an excellent journalist who actually got to work as a host for a limited period of time on The Quick News. "I actually have something to do, besides sleeping around and acting rude to people who could give them more information about the current case."
Taken aback, Misaki shook his head, "I really am sorry, terribly sorry." Bowing his head, Misaki gulped and looked away. "Well, I, uh, oh!—I meant Iroda-san is actually on vacation which he started today, Usami-san." Misaki blabbered, mostly because the older man had quickly scared him out of his pants and into his diapers, especially the way his purple eyes glared down at Misaki.
"Could you stop giving me such an headache?" He then added a quick, "Bloody," in English and pinched the bridge of his nose. Reverting back to Japanese, he rolled his eyes, "When will he be back?" The man had bags under his eyes, but he held his glare well enough to scare the Devil himself.
Misaki fidgeted for a moment, nervously shoving his hand in his jean pocket. He began to babble, again, "Iroda-san never indicated but I could—"
Waving his hand, Usami sighed once again, "Never mind. It's my fault for asking."
"But Usami—!"
The man had left faster than a pubescent girl noticing she had gotten her first pimple, great. Feeling gloomy, Misaki sighed and left the area, arriving back to his work.
"Misaki-kun, where have you been?!" Cried Fujimara Sobu, Misaki's 'work mom' who had somehow predicted that regardless of his job, the green-eyed youngster would marry a wealthy person. "I was worried about you! You said you'd be back in an hour!"
From the very beginning, Sobu had always been embracing Misaki and encouraging him, not caring about what others thought. At times, Misaki would get carried away helping someone that he'd come to work late and worry Sobu to an enormous degree. Many people had grown to be jealous of Misaki, which is expected due to Sobu's appearance. Deep, rich chocolaty brown eyes, with black-blue strands of hair that wildly feather across his face but still maintains a sexy impression. His voice isn't too deep, but when mad or trying to seduce someone, it sounds like liquid gold or thunder from the skies, dependent on the mood.
"Fujimara-san! Didn't I tell you to stop worrying to such an excessive degree?! You know how some people tend to hold everything up late! And besides, I just did something that can get me fired and ruin everything in my life! Cut me some slack."
"Misaki-kun, you aren't even capable of doing something dumb. It couldn't be that bad. I mean, look at Fushiro-san." Misaki had always been innocent and nice, and would get picked on for stupid reasons. It surprised him to hear that Misaki had done something fundamentally stupid, it just didn't sit well with the man. Even when Misaki messed up, he'd find a way to redeem himself and apologize like there's no tomorrow. "She spilled coffee on Iroda-san's head and then elbowed his face."
"Ah, you're right. But I couldn't help feel bad for the two of them. . ."
"Anyways, what did you do that was so bad?"
Misaki hung his head, "Weelll, I kinda acted like an idiot in front of the great Usami Akihiko. And mistook him for a late journalist. But look, he's a rude good-for-nothing fool! Like, even after I apologized he became so stingy. What's up with him?"
Sobu blinked three times, each blink his pupil expanded, he then waited for the other to laugh it off. But it didn't happen, so he stood there for a second, processing the information. "Uh. . . His brother was murdered by his dad who blamed it on him? You were going to write something on it?"
. . .
"I can't believe I was acting like such a jerk myself! I'm definitely going to lose my job and live in a shell of a crab! What am I going to do?! Fujimara-san, that's it! My life is over, my future and most of all my lack of money will never improve!"
"Well if you corrupt it a bit you could definitely get by. Like, um, say he was on drugs!"
"But I can't! That would be even worse! And what if no one believes me?! Then everyone would think I'm some desperate liar, who'd go far enough as to say someone who's brother died is on drugs! Then I'd for sure have to live in a shell!"
The rest of their babbling was drowned out by Onodera Ritsu, who only had smiled and shook his head. Making his way back to his own work area, Japan's Information Network which soon evolved to a simple *Jip, sister of Japan's Informational Newspaper (*Sip) whom also maintained an healthy impression. Remembering to go to an important guest, he changed his route to a formal restaurant.
Quickly making his way there, Onodera inputed his name and got led to his table. Checking his watch, he sighed in relief for being on time. Greeting everyone, Onodera sat down and smiled. "So, how have you been, Usami-san? Has everyone been well to you?"
Nodding, and then sighing, Usami bitterly muttered something in English. "Yes, I suppose. Takano and I were just conversing about how I've been having an hard time, trying to look for a base for the protagonist of a possible book that I may publish." He rested his elbow on the table with his chin on his palm.
Hearing the word 'book,' Onodera's attention became captured. "Base? What kind of protagonist are you hoping for you?" He had always had a love for books, even as a kid, when every other child was more focused on which pack of crayons they should buy. To add on to it, Onodera followed Usami Akhiko's works closely and anticipated his every book, so hearing that one of his favourite authors needs aid, he couldn't possibly resist trying to help. "I may be able to be some help." Completely ignoring Takano, he let a small smile grow on his face.
"Well the character has to be a very selfless person. They are good at cheering other people up, and love to help others, but they always bottle up their worries and jeopardize their safety."
Onodera blinked and then chuckled at the quick but fond memory, "That reminds me of Takahashi Misaki, whom works at Sip, he was at the press conference, perhaps you have seen him. . .? Brown hair, green eyes, young and rather short."
Usami sat up straight and raised and eyebrow. "Really? Tell me more."
Takano cleared his throat, "As much as you appreciate this Usami-san, I believe we should—"
"You know as well as I do, Takano, that this whole meeting serves no absolute purpose. So we might as well continue on the topic of the book. Besides, I am mildly intrigued."
Beaming, Onodera continued, "Well, you could get more information out of his best friend, Fujimara Sobu. I'm sure he'd help greatly."
Usami took a sip of his wine, "Fujimara, huh? This'll be good, thank you Onodera Ritsu, thank you very much."
"My pleasure, Usami-san."
Fujimara bit down on his lip. "Misaki-kun? Why him?" Sobu had always been overprotective of Misaki due to all the types of people who'd bully Misaki. He had become more and more adjusted and suited to the threats so he could always drive them away from Misaki, he called it his hobby. Seeing a rich man, son of a father who had accused him of murdering his dead brother, who wrote books about loneliness and pain and suddenly wanted Misaki to be the model for the main character, didn't sit well with Sobu. "He's an innocent, naïve and kind boy. As much as I'd like to help you—and he would too, I don't think you should use him, with all due respect. Perhaps a more matured person?"
Akihiko glared, "'Misaki-kun,' what kind of. . . . And how do you know so much about him? Just how close are you? It's in— Ah, are you two in a relationship?" A cold glare turned into a more maniac look. "It'd help my research entirely, you see."
"No, not relationship, I've known him for years. And he isn't a book person, really. So if you could just leave him alone and all." With furrowed eyebrows, he looked up at the man. Something didn't just sit well with how the man rolled the name, 'Misaki' off his tongue and seemed so obsessed with the boy. He found it weird, that man was the one yelling at Misaki just yesterday, so why the sudden interest? It felt creepy, suspicious and weird, all the more reason for Sobu to imply for him to back off. But Usami persisted, in the worst way possible.
"Look, I could care less about your fucking relationship with the kid. I want the kid. Not you, you are just some tiny irrelevant waste of sperm. Comprehend? So tell me."
"But—"
"Oh wait, you ran out of your fucking chances. Too bad I have to waste this on you, but it'll bring me results, beautiful results. So, tell me. Now."
"Okay."
Cities away, there was a small mental institution. In a room sat a doctor, an old man, and a police officer. The doctor on a swivel chair, the old man on a small, wooden chair and the officer stood up. The doctor held a clipboard and the police officer held files, yet the old man held nothing more than a small, fleeting memory. The doctor was just smiling and asking questions, the police officer just glared at the ground and the old man did nothing.
"So, describe me Akihiko-san. Have you ever fought with him? Or with Haruhiko-san?" The doctor sweetly asked.
"Sometimes, but we always got over it," the old man grunted in reply.
"Do you hold any hate towards them?" The doctor sugar-coated her words.
"None. I love them. They're my sons."
"So then why did you kill one and blame the other?! If you love them so much?! WHY DID YOU CLAIM INNOCENT?! WHY?!" The police officer finally snapped.
"They're my sons I love them very much—" the old man began to reply.
"—I KNOW!" The police officer held no pity.
"Please calm down," the doctor urged.
"None of us held the urge to kill nor the desire—" the old man tried again
"—WHY YOU STUPID OLD FART! JUST WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?!"
The police officer is too realistic for the old man.
"But when one of us comes back to life, seeking revenge for the littlest things. Then we are capable of anything."
The old man knew better.
"WHY YOU—"
"Akihiko is dead. Someone saw him in his ghostly form, and that was Haruhiko, whom Akihiko killed and then blamed me. So, I shouldn't be here. . . And neither should be Akihiko."
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Why, hello, Father. And fellow officer."
(A/N)
It was supposed to be a one-shot. But I'm going to make it two/three part.
*Okay, basically they call it Jip and Sip based off how you'd say it in English and then the acronym. Since I didn't know how one would say Japan's Information Network and Japan's Informational Newspaper and how to turn into the acronym. Also the two companies are conjoined and have the same founder, so that's why Misaki has seen Usami before, but it was when he was visiting Jip. Lastly, I cal it Sip because we can't have two Jips and the 's' in Sip stands for 'sister' because it is a sister company to Jip.
Please point out all my mistakes if you'd like! And whew, I rushed this chapter. But I want to get on to the more main points. I think I revealed the plot to y'all but I tried my best! Hope you enjoyed! Oh, yeah. First JR fic, so Usami is a lil' OCC
