Okay, so if this was some kind of meeting where we confessed what we've done, like some weirdo game of Extreme Truth or Have You Ever or maybe AA, I'd be doing some major gut-spilling. I'm a hooker, okay? And the funny thing is… I'm sort of proud of it.

Or, at least, I was. For the longest time, I've had this rather… morbid sort of glee when I told people this—I mean seeing the looks on their faces is hilarious! And then… there's the doubt…

As funny as it is to see people's reactions when I admit my profession, I also have always wondered what it's like to be a Disney princess—be the apple of some charming, handsome guy's eye, and to be loved unconditionally for who I am outside of a bedroom… to go on dates with a guy who's too chivalrous to even suggest something close to sex. I want a guy who will hold me close through thick and thin and give me roses on random days just to say "I love you…"

But I know that's utterly impossible. I mean, who knows a guy like that, right? Actually, until a few years ago, I thought—no, almost believed—that every guy had already lost his virginity by the time he got married, or 23, whichever came sooner. Of course, that was the outside figure.

The funny thing is, the one exception I've found—at least, the only one I know of—is a total recluse! I don't think he'd set eyes on a real, live woman since his mother. It was so funny to watch him… Ironic, no? Makes you think if that's the qualification for being virginal: being cut off from the world of females. When I first laid eyes on him, he was… Okay. I'm going to stop rambling and just tell you the story. Will that make you happy?

Whether it does or not, tough freaking luck. Go away if you don't want any part of it.

Right. Down to business. It all started with a not-so-lucky night at work…

It all started with a not-so-lucky night at work. I was being rough-housed by this absolute jerk of a man—I mean he was a brute. He was trying to beat me up whilst I was tied down to the bed, all right?

And my manager heard my cries before the idiot could shut me up, so he came in and "rescued" me. I was so happy with my manager—he's nice enough. Gay, perhaps, but then, how else could he run a freaking whorehouse without… taking advantage of it? Anyways, he had some bouncers—for lack of a better term—come in and chuck the guy out, and I got to go home for the night.

And so, with tears in my eyes, I hurried home.

Now, my home… well, I'm by no means poor, as I'm one of the higher-ranking "courtesans" in the place (which, by the way, is called The Rising Sun—a well-known and well-respected establishment in the underworld, and no, it's not in New Orleans), so my place is a penthouse in a high-class hotel. I'd rented it for the past two years. So, as I was in the nicer side of town, I was feeling a bit safer. That's when I shouldn't have let my guard down, for as I was heading for one of the hotel's side-entrances, which was—conveniently enough—hidden by a line of trees and foliage from most angles by the parking lot, I was jumped by that same son of a gun who'd tried to assault me earlier. (A bit of vindictive pleasure, here—the stupid dummy paid with a credit card, so Raphael, my boss, charged him triple for "damages.") Anyway, I struggled, but he took me by surprise and was ready for me this time, so he'd stuffed a gag into my mouth before I could make a noise. Within seconds, everything went black.

I woke up with a very soft velvet pillow beneath my head and the scent of cake in my nose. A pair of large black eyes shadowed by shaggy jet hair and heavy bags bored into me, and I jolted. "Where am I? What am I doing here? Why am I wearing so much clothing?" (Sure enough, I had on a baggy, long-sleeved white T and a pair of enormous jeans—they matched this new guy's attire perfectly, and I realized that the clothes belonged to him.)

The guy looked at me like I'd sprouted a second head. He tilted his head and began chewing on his thumbnail in a strangely endearing way. He looked like a cute little kid, then, and I had this freakish urge to simply glomp him. Of course, the way he kept staring at me, he was probably a pervert, so I held back. I started with a different tactic. "Um… could you please explain to me what happened? I'm… lost. One second I'm being jumped by some meathead, and the next, I'm in a cushy hotel room." (I could tell by the wallpaper and coloring that this was the same hotel where I lived.) "And… I'm sorry, but if you keep staring at me, I'll be forced to charge you extra."

The man shook his head and backed off. "Mmm, no, I have no intention of ordering your… services, Miss Jackson. You may call me 'Ryuzaki' for the time being… and… I rescued you from your attacker, whose intentions, I regret to inform you, were less than friendly."

"Yeah, I noticed that," I muttered, sitting up. My head was swimming—probably from the drugs I'd inhaled in that gag. "Ugh… Okay, Mr. Ryuzaki, why am I wearing all this clothing?"

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and shuffled over to the other side of his suite. So he's fairly affluent, I noticed. Not everyone could afford a night at such a high-class hotel, let alone a suite. And judging by the state of the mess surrounding me—papers, binders, computer equipment, plates, a few stray articles of clothing—he'd been here for more than a few days. Wealthy, indeed. I surveyed the papers and technology more closely, and my eyes caught words like "murder" and "officers" and "victims"… Was he some kind of freaky detective, or a murderer, or perhaps an insane writer? Maybe a lawyer… And maybe it wasn't this guy—maybe it was someone else with him.

My musings were interrupted by Ryuzaki's rather monotonous voice. "Your clothes were rather a mess, and not wishing to invade your privacy, I had Watari put those overtop your own clothes."

I blew a raspberry at him. "Privacy, my foot. I have none. I appreciate the gesture, though."

Ryuzaki nodded absently, picking up some of the documents closer to me. "Mm, yes… however, I decided that such an action was best when accompanied with a request for permission and a response in the affirmative. Hence the extra clothing."

I gaped at him. "You are so freaking sweet! I didn't think guys like you existed anymore…"

He frowned at me. "Guys like what…?"

"You! Not wanting to take advantage of me and all… especially when you know my name and—I'm assuming by extension—my… profession… You did say something about that earlier…"

Ryuzaki gave me a soft smile. Dang, he was so cute right then. I had to suppress my feelings, though. Even if they looked gallant, oftentimes they'd end up being the worst jerks of all. I knew this was true, at least in my experience, and yet… I still found myself liking him. Maybe he was gay… then I'd be fairly safe to get close to him, at least as a friend. And he wouldn't expect anything out of me. It would be perfect. I found myself wishing for this to be true.

But then, he was staying at a hotel. Despite the evident mess, he'd probably be leaving soon. Most people who came to a hotel did…

"I suppose everyone deserves a little kindness—including courtesans." Ryuzaki gave me a rather piercing stare, which made me sigh and hang my head. Dang. A perv after all.

It took me a few seconds to realize that he wasn't staring at my body, but my face, studying my reaction… "Are you all right?" he asked in a gentle—but rather unreadable—tone.

I sighed and shrugged. "I guess. I hope he didn't rape me… I'd hate to catch an STD and then get fired…"

But the panda-looking man shook his head and set an armful of papers down on another chair beside a high-tech computer. "No, he didn't. Shortly after you passed out, I… incapacitated him. He should be at the police station by now. We believe he's a suspect in the rape and murder of two females in their early twenties."

"We"… So he is a detective. "So, then… What case are you working on now, Sherlock?" I asked, just to see his reaction.

It certainly was amusing, I'll give it that! He abruptly stopped and turned to stare at me openly for several seconds. This time, I was ready for it and matched his glare. Without breaking eye contact, he moved over to another table and grabbed a slice of cake on a small plate, shoveling large forkfuls into his mouth as we continued our staring contest.

"If you're wondering how I figured it out, Mr. Ryuzaki, you should look at the contents of the papers and stuff lying right next to me. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out." I averted my gaze from his and looked at the confection in his hands. "Got anymore cake?"

He smiled again—only this one looked slightly more creepy—and nodded. "Excuse me." He disappeared into another part of the suite and emerged a few moments later with an older, distinguished, mustachioed gentleman in a suit. And this was a fancy suit. It was a blatant contrast to the baggy, grungy T-shirt and jeans combo the black-haired Ryuzaki wore. I wondered if this old guy was the detective and Ryuzaki was his… assistant or something, but then, he was so thorough, I began to wonder.

My theory—that of Ryuzaki being the detective—was further strengthened as I heard Ryuzaki ask politely for another slice of cake and a tea set. "Of course, Ryuzaki," replied the old man amiably.

"Thank you, Watari," he responded, shuffling over to me and sitting down in an armchair across the room. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hunched over them slightly, staring me down. "You are extremely perceptive," he murmured quietly, bringing a finger up to his lips, toying with that small bit of pink flesh that protruded from his face. Come to think of it, he had rather nice lips… calm and unassuming, but somehow sensual in a way that I could not begin to define. I suppose I'm rather used to thinking of things in what could be considered a perverted manner—I mean, think about what I do for a living, for Pete's sake. "Tell me, what do you think of your situation?"

"What do you mean?" I shot back. "I just got almost raped twice in one night by the same idiot, saved by some kind of rich, generous detective-freak who possesses something called courtesy, even if he doesn't have manners, and no sex drive whatsoever, and now, I'm being interrogated by him whilst he's serving me cake… which I'm not sure if I want to accept, now that I think about it…" I finished hesitantly. "Who's to say this isn't some extremely clever ruse to lull me into a sense of security whilst you poison me and have your way with me…? The words I caught on those documents hinted at murders and morbid crime scenes, and there were some pictures of victims. You aren't a necrophiliac, are you?"

He blinked. "I assure you, I'm not. But after seeing what you've just been through, imagining the life you've led, and listening to your analyses, I'm not so sure you'll be rather inclined to believe me."

"Actually… maybe I should," I mused. "After all, you could've easily done something to me when I was passed out and HEY! You were just trying to see if I'd come to that conclusion, weren't you?"

"Of course. If you hadn't reached it yourself, then you'd be less inclined to believe it." Ryuzaki gave that freakishly pervy grin as he bit his thumbnail and blinked at me. "You are indeed rather intelligent."

" 'Rather?'" I repeated, slightly offended. "Do you know what kinds of grades I got in high school?"

"Mm, yes, actually," was the… surprising reply. "You were valedictorian of your class, and got nothing lower than a straight A in any class since seventh grade. You were president of the chess club, secretary of the book club, highly regarded in the Mathletes' AAA class, and were rather competitive in track, always seeming to get first or close to it in whatever you did."

I narrowed my gaze. "Okay, this is getting creepy… What are you, detective by day, stalker by night? Dude, if you want me, just pay me. You've got the dough. Heck, I'll even give you a discount for saving me."

"No, no, you misunderstand," said Ryuzaki quickly as Watari came over and handed me a piece of cake. He was back a few moments later with a tea set, the contents of which looked delicious. "I looked up what I could about you after you were unconscious. Purely out of curiosity, you see. I do not require your… services."

"Whatever," I responded with a shrug, and took a bite of cake. "This is delicious. Thanks." He fixed his tea—with about a zillion sugars—in silence, and I studied him. Who was this guy? He felt no attraction towards me, and yet, he'd saved me…? Something didn't fit. "Ah… you say you don't want 'my services.' So are you married?"

"Mmm, no."

"Gay?"

He blinked a few times, as if caught off guard—but not in a suspicious way; more like, "How did that come up?" "Mm, no…"

I stared at him for a few moments, unable to put my finger down on whatever this guy was. He didn't want me, a girl who sold herself… Now, I could sort of believe that if the guy at least reacted somewhat. But Ryuzaki was treating me like a straight human, as if he would talk to another guy, for instance. It was like he didn't consider me a female at all. I'll admit, at first, I was rather offended. But then, I calmed myself down. Maybe there was a guy with a genuine heart out there, after all… "Are you, perchance, a eunuch?"

Ryuzaki choked on his tea and coughed loudly. "No…!"

His vehement reaction made me smirk. Hit a nerve, had I? He he… "Then… I'm sorry for my failure to comprehend, but… why aren't you attracted to me? Are you some kind of weirdo?"

I heard Watari's soft laughter from the kitchenette. "I suppose I am eccentric," Ryuzaki admitted. "But I don't know what you mean. I suppose you are attractive," (did I hear a hint of a question in his voice, like he doubted what he said! The nerve…) "but… I have no time for women, you see."

I raised my eyebrows. "Whoa… Is this possible? A guy… who's not a guy!" I began to smile. I think I found one after all… "If you don't mind my asking, are you a virgin?"

"Mm, yes, why?"

A huge grin split my face positively in two. "YES! I found one!" I cried happily. "Wait'll I tell the girls… Oh my freaking gosh, a virgin guy with no attraction to women, who's not married, who's not gay! How old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"HOLY COW!" I couldn't help but shout my ecstasy. "They actually exist… true gentlemen actually exist…" I stared at him like he was some new kind of creature, some amazing, awesome sort of demigod. "Wow… You are the coolest guy I've ever met, Mr. Ryuzaki! Thank you for rescuing me!"

"It was nothing," he said blandly, looking away. This only further increased my amazement. So he's not too proud, either… My gosh… And I'd thought it was impossible…

Only then did I remember.

I swore softly. Ryuzaki raised a calm eyebrow—or his expression hinted at a cross between cynical amusement and vague distaste, anyway. "Crap. Now I owe Jen five thousand bucks. I bet that neither of us could find a real gentleman who fit all those categories within five years' time… Although, I guess I got a lucky break. I mean, five grand ain't what it used to be, what with inflation and all, so all things considered, I owe her less than eighty-seven percent of what that would've been…"

Ryuzaki tilted his head again. "You are… very strange."

I shrugged. "That's what you get for associating with the underworld."

There was a pause. Ryuzaki now looked faintly curious. "Tell me… do you often get criminal clients?"

"Criminal, meaning… what exactly?" I asked, a little guardedly.

"I see. What kinds?"

Hm. He's sharp. I knew he'd taken my hesitancy for an unwillingness to turn in anyone, and that would only mean a "yes." "Con artists, a few thieves, some of the richer hackers… Ah… a smuggler or two, and the occasional mafia member. Typical higher echelon felons."

Ryuzaki mulled over this for a few moments, sipping his tea. "You don't hold any fondness for any of them, do you?"

"Some, yes," I said with a somewhat defensive tone. This was my life, my friends and family, here! "However… there are a few I could stand to live without. Want some names, Sir Detective?"

His lips curled up into a smile. Not the perverted one, and not the cute, kiddy one, either. It was… more wolfish, more hungry. Predatory, in a subtle way. "If you would, please…"

"You know I'm technically a criminal," I pointed out. "Prostitution is illegal in the United States." I was testing him to see what his reaction would be.

"Mm, yes, I'm well aware of that fact, Miss Jackson."

"Kitty, please," I corrected him. "Miss Jackson is a schoolteacher somewhere in the cornfields of Iowa, an innocent little woman who has nothing to do with me." At least, that's what I thought of when I heard the name "Miss Jackson." Though… that's who I once wanted to be… but now, I am no "miss," and I am certainly not a teacher.

"Miss Kitty, then." Who's Miss Kitty? My name is Kaitlin Jackson, and my stage name is Sex Kitten. I go by Kitty. Miss Kitty sounds like someone's pampered pet.

"Cut the 'miss.' Quit calling me something I'm not," I said, a little more sharply than necessary.

"Kitty." He seemed a little ticked, too. He gave me an odd glance, then, which spoke of… pity. Sympathy. As though he wondered why I insisted on abasing myself. Force of habit, I guess. But he continued, then. "However… back to your little statement of fact, yes, I realize that such activity is considered a crime. In exchange for your information and your agreement to be an occasional contact for various favors, I will agree to grant you clemency of a sort. You will never be turned in by the police, never handed over to them—in short, you will be immune to any conviction over past crimes, and any continuing crimes of the same nature. Meanwhile, as you turn in your 'customers,' I shall ensure that you don't lose a single penny of your profits. Is it a fair trade?"

I smirked. "What kinds of favors?"

"Possibly more data collection. The knowledge of various criminals' names and locations, such as the ones you've just agreed to give me. Possibly more, depending."

This led me to wonder who this guy was. "Half a minute," I murmured, beginning to think. This guy was serious! Who was he? He must've been a really important guy, possible world-renowned. I mean, he was filthy rich, a very intelligent detective… and he had the power to grant clemency? He was in the middle of gruesome murder cases, something the higher-ups usually headed? And… all these added up to a single name in my mind. However, not wishing to injure him with an incorrect guess, I phrased my question differently, lowering my guess to the world's third-best detective. I figured that was low enough to not injure him with too-high expectations, and high enough to flatter him. "Have you heard of Deneuve?"

"Yes, I have," he said quietly, setting his plate of cake to the side.

I frowned. He wasn't reacting very well to this. "Hmm… maybe someone else… Eraldo Coil?"

"Guess again."

"You're not L, are you?"

Ryuzaki's face split into a huge grin. "Watari, would you hear this girl!" he laughed. Laughed.

I'll admit, he looked pretty cute while he was grinning like that, and his laugh was somewhat endearing, but I frowned. "Are you mocking me? Who the heck are you!"

"All of the above," he said mysteriously.

I almost fainted. "You've got to be joking! You, this… sloppy, shaggy-haired weirdo… you are not one, but all three of the top detectives in the world?"

"I'll admit, it probably does seem rather far-fetched…"

" 'Rather?'" I snorted. "Geez, you must be telling the truth, for how else would you treat it so casually, and with such amusement… and the idea is so ridiculous! If you had any sense at all, you'd deny them ALL instead of accepting claim to them all, and that's too crazy to be a lie, so you HAVE to be telling the truth." I shook my head in disbelief. "Holy cow… I feel… slightly exposed…"

"I told you—amnesty." He gave his cute little kid smile. "Do you agree?"

"How can I refuse?" I shot back. "Who do you want to catch more, a mafia leader or an underground explosives smuggler?"

After close to an hour of discussion, he finally gained a short list of about ten or so names that I deemed safe—that is, a list of those clients who wouldn't be missed too much or wouldn't cause too much loss to the Rising Sun.

I haven't seen him since, and it's been over a year. I don't think he really knew how much I'd grown to like him in that short period of time. I was so unused to being treated like a person, and it was a completely new feeling. This L, this Ryuzaki… with his raccoon-mask eyes and shaggy black hair and the somehow both monotonous and expressive voice… When I think of him, I can't help but smile, even though it cost me five thousand dollars to meet him, if you think about it. The only gentleman in the world—in my world…

I received an email a few days ago, on a rainy day in late fall, dated November 5th, 2:14 AM. Rather than boring you by describing it, I'll just read it to you…

Miss Kitty:

It's been a while. I wonder if you remember me. A part of me hopes that you do, for you're one of the few people who have actually seen me.

I fear my life is near an end. I cannot explain in detail, but I could not resist contacting you one last time. Thank you for the names of convicts with which you've provided me. Aiber has proved invaluable to me these past few weeks.

Every day, I remember your declaration of my having been a gentleman. I attempt to live up to that title, but I fear I've failed miserably. Thank you, Kitty, for your kindness. You didn't judge me, and I wonder if you'd consider yourself my friend…? As my life is drawing to a close, I may not truly know. I'd like to think of myself as such.

I'm not good at goodbyes, so I won't make an attempt at one.

—Ryuzaki

That letter made me want to cry. I responded immediately—I'd received it within two hours of the time it was sent—saying that of course he was my friend, and I remembered him vividly, and that I actually would've liked to see him again… And very soon, the reply came:

Thank you. I can die knowing that I had at least one friend.

This may seem depressing. Well, granted, it is. It's a tale of friendship—a very thin one, yes, but if I had but one friend, I'd count that as the greatest thing in the world. Poor Ryuzaki must've lead such a lonely life… And did I cry? For an embarrassingly long time.

I may never fall for a real gent; I may never experience the feel of true, everlasting love… But I was glad that I meant something to someone, finally—meant something other than a night of pleasure or a brief fling.

And that meant everything to me.

Okay, so that's it. Hope you liked! Review and message; I wanna know what you thought!