A/N:

Thank you to Miyanoai for all of your hard work. I know that you haven't finished beta'ing this one just yet, but I am still grateful for all that you do! Have a great start to the semester!

I own nothing but the OCs and the situation. It's not much, trust me.

***BeThere***

Asami slid his suit jacket off. He was tempted to toss it, all crumpled up onto his bed. Rigid habit won out over spontaneity, and he draped it neatly on a wooden hanger. His ridiculously expensive shirt was hung next, and placed in a garment back so it could be sent to the cleaner's. His pants followed, and for a moment, Asami stood naked to the world.

He was alone in his room: a new room in a new penthouse in a new building. It was his, and his alone. Gold eyes fluttered shut as he imagined tapered fingers calloused by a a heavy camera dragging along his chest. Long fingers were anchored to lithe arms, warm as they hugged him. The featherlight kisses that had once been pressed against his back gave Asami security in his soul.

All of it––gone in the blink of an eye.

His eyes snapped open as his phone buzzed loudly. Apparition gone but not forgotten, the fixer glanced at his phone. It was Minamoto Yoko, but it was not important. The thin phone dropped from his fingers onto the kitchen counter. He would take it tonight, but he doubted that he would need it. He had given orders that he was not to be disturbed, no matter what happened. It was a Friday night in the middle of June, and more importantly, it was just a few days until the two year anniversary of the worst day in his life. He poured a brandy and downed it, before glancing at the clock. It was five after eight, and he needed to get dressed.

Tonight's bar was casual, something that the crime lord was uncomfortable with. However, he was still a man of his word, so he slipped on a new shirt that Kirishima had purchased it. It was a light blue, linen button up. Rolling up his sleeves, he mussed up his perfect hair until the gel had fallen out. His reflection glinted back at him, and Asami could admitted that he looked younger than his forty years. More importantly, he looked good. Everyone would notice him.

Akihito would notice him.

His phone kept buzzing so before he poured himself a second brandy, he finally read Yoko's text message. 'Ready whenever you are' blared brightly on his screen. No smiling emoticon. No attempt to be cute. It was cooly professional, as if this was a business meeting rather than a date. His response was terse. Asami sighed loudly. Two years. How had the time passed so quickly?

Downing his third brandy in as many minutes, the fixer grabbed his keys. He was the one driving tonight, a rarity in itself. But it was a casual night, no matter how violently his stomach roiled at the the thought of the upcoming event. He considered getting a brandy for the road. He was going to need all of the liquid courage he could get.

***BeThere***

He wished that it was his fault, that he had pushed Akihito away. That he could have lived with. He had loved his precious boy enough to sacrifice the world for him, even himself if it meant keeping Akihito safe. Instead, the boy left on his own. He explained through his tears that Asami was selfish and destructive. Their life together would never amount to anything, so he left in order to find fulfillment somewhere else.

The alcohol had knocked off his edge. He was still buzzing when they pulled into the parking lot. Yoko had noticed, she did have a brilliant mind. The marketing guru said nothing though it looked like she wanted to. They both were on their best behavior tonight.

"It's very quaint," the brunette said diplomatically. Her sculpted eyebrows barely moved, but that might have been the botox. Neither were as young as they used to be, but they both fought age off tooth and nail.

"I know you were expecting something more grandiose for a first date," Asami said as he opened the door. She took his hand as she stepped out of the car.

"Surprises keep you young," Yoko tucked her arm around his.

That was good and hopefully true, because the bar was jam packed with twenty-somethings. They were bawdily laughing, shoving each other out of the way and tossing darts at the wall. Beer was free flowing, and somehow the dance floor was throbbing with life. His gold eyes searched the crowd for the one face that he sought out every day.

"Asami-sama," Suoh appeared out of nowhere. Yoko startled at his sudden appearance. It was understandable. One would think that Suoh stood out in crowds, but the man managed to move stealthily, even in tight spaces. "We have cleared a table for you."

"Thank you," Yoko answered for them.

Suoh nodded politely, not remarking on her boldness. Their table was nearest the dance floor and had a direct line to the bar. There was going to be lots of drinking before the night was through. Asami pulled out his date's chair, using the time to really search the room. And there he was, in the back corner surrounded by his friends. Laughing boisterously like he had no weight on his shoulders, Akihito gleamed like the sun. After all this time, his boy was still beautiful.

That was when Asami noticed a slightly taller man with thick arms and shaggy hair. He had been standing beside Kou, innocuously sipping a light beer. But when Akihito laughed loudly, his focus shifted from the brunet to the blond. His gaze was lustful and possessive, heated as if he intended to strip Akihito naked and fuck him on the dance floor. Asami's blood roiled. It was nearly two years later, but the mere thought of another seeing Akihito so exposed––the way his back would arch as he was fucked hard, his long hair bouncing in sync with his moans––made his vision blacken.

"Asami-san?" Yoko touched his hand.

The fixer was pulled away from the party. He looked down at his date in surprise. He had forgotten his eves for even being there. "Sit down," she told him softly. "You're staring."

And he was. his date had noticed, thankfully the object of his obsession did not. There was no judgement in Yoko's eyes, no sneer on her lips. In fact, the empathetic set to her body made Asami uncomfortable, as if she had stood in his shoes before. Obviously her love story ended no better than his.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was distracted."

Lips plumped by surgery pursed. "He is beautiful," she told him.

Asami looked at her incredulously. There rumors had run rampant around Tokyo when Akihito still lived in his apartment, but no one was brazen enough to mention it. Coupled with the fact that it had been so long ago, and Tokyo's elite had the collective memory of a gold fish, he was stunned that Yoko was intuitive enough to understand what was happening. "Excuse me?" he gave her a chance to renege, to admit that she might have been mistaken.

Instead, her dark eyes glanced at Akihito, and Asami could not help but look the boy's way. He leaned in to his new lover, the man's arm loosely draped over his shoulders. "Maybe I was wrong," she said blithely.

Yoko was not stupid enough to challenge Asami or his ego directly. Akihito jolted when Kou nudged his shoulder. Asami turned away from the group, not about to be caught staring. Yoko laughed at his jerky movements. She had a direct line of sight on the photographer, so she could look without staring or risk being caught. The boy's mouth dropped in disbelief. His date, oblivious to the turmoil that surged through him, ruffled his hair adoringly. Leaning into the table, she gestured with her long fingers. "Then again, perhaps not."

Her smile was too wide for such a comment, her eyes dancing with mirth. Asami drawled, also putting his hand on the table. His fingers thrummed, centimeters from hers. "Is he staring?"

Yoko winked. "But of course." Twisting a paper napkin, she licked the tip before pressing it to his cheek. Asami winced, but did not pull away from her touch. He could feel Akihito's eyes bore into his back. "You know," the marketing guru said conversationally. "Most men aren't brave enough to use me to bait for another lover. They typically go for the young interns in my office."

"Most men are afraid of a black widow," he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Asami wasn't afraid of anything, not even of living without Akihito. For years, that had been his biggest fear. Now he was doing it every day, and though every day was dull, he was living. The mundanity made him feel invincible, for nothing could destroy him now. "I'm not."

"There," Yoko set her napkin down. "He can't keep his eyes off you," she remarked.

So Akihito was still looking. A little retaliation would do his soul some good, so Asami did something out of character. Putting his hand on Yoko's cheek, he affectionately stroked it while pulling her in close to him. Yoko followed his lead. Their faces were close, and he felt the heat of her breath as she laughed in his face. Seconds more and he could kiss her. Yoko said something, but he was not paying attention to her. He could see Akihito's reflection in a vintage metal sign. The boy watched them intently and then turned away quickly, as if it had suddenly become too much.

"He's excused himself. His friends are still looking at us, though," Yoko pulled back with soft simper.

Asami wanted desperately to turn around, to study the group that judged him so harshly. Instead, he focused his attention on the woman he barely knew. They had a good business relationship, and both were worldly enough to know that little would come from this night. In fact, it emboldened him to know that Yoko knew that she was a puppet in his schemes, and that she was not upset about it. "Why are you helping me?"

Yoko leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms. "We have a profitable business relationship," she told him. "I'm not stupid enough to let petty feelings get in the way of that." He would have accepted that as an answer. Business had always been more important than emotion before Akihito. He would not have been used in such a way, no matter the stage in his life, but Asami would never have let a small insult interfere with money. Yoko sighed, and flicking up her eyelashes, she confessed. "Also, I probably understand how you are feeling better than anyone on your staff."

True. Kirishima was happily married, and Suoh was an eternal bachelor incarnate. Both offered their sympathies, but no more. Asami did not pry into her personal life. He simply nodded his head. "Would you care for a drink?"

Yoko nodded with a tight smile. "The darkest beer they have," she told him. "And some nachos. If we're pretending that we're still twenty, I'm going to eat like I am."

Asami bowed his head to hide his chuckle. Still, he sensed that Yoko knew that he was laughing. "I'll be back in just a moment."

It was maybe twenty feet to the bar, but it was jam packed with kids spilling out of the dance floor. Their bodies writhed together, their chests bumping up like a heartbeat of an undiscovered organism. The dance floor was small, the music not as loud as it was in his clubs, but the youths still gravitated towards it like a fly to the light. Once Akihito had recovered from the shock of seeing Asami so near him in public, with someone else no less, he would be drawn to the music too. He would dance, his lithe body pressed against his lover, their erections grinding with promise. How long would they stay, before the pulsating want became too much and they had to rip each other's clothes off? Asami visibly flinched at the thought of it.

It was a casual night, a date night. Kirishima and Suoh were off doing their own thing, mingling with people nearly two decades younger than they were. He had several more men, men much younger than Akihito ever thought he employed, milling in the throng. They were dressed the exact same as the rest of the patrons. Akihito would never know he was surrounded. In truth, Asami was not entirely sure which of the throng were his men, and which were happenstance partiers.

The bartender promised to send the nachos over quickly with a nod of his head. Asami took the two beers himself. He was desperate for a drink.

"Asami," a flighting voice called to him.

The fixer stopped, clutching the glasses tightly. He stared directly at the face of Takaba Akihito. The blonde's hazel eyes were narrowed, his mouth set in a grim line. Asami's eyebrows rose, as if he were genuinely startled to see him. It was all an act, of course. He intended to bump into Akihito eventually, he just did not expect his boy to be the first to initiate contact. "Hello, Akihito," he drawled.

The photographer glared at him as he folded his arms. "What are you doing here? Stalking me or some crazy shit?"

Asami glanced at Yoko, who was talking politely to another man. He had a buxom redhead with cat ears on his arm. They were engaged in a fascinating conversation, judging by Yoko's politely disinterested expression. "I think that should be fairly obvious," he drawled.

"She's old," Akihito snapped. "Like your age."

Asami arched an eyebrow. "Then it makes sense that we would gravitate towards each other."

Akihito snorted. It looked like he had some scathing retort. Before he could snap it out, the new boyfriend walked up. Boldly dropping his arm across Akihito's shoulder, he cocked his head towards his rival. Only he did not know that Asami was his rival at all. "Hey babe. Who's this?"

Asami went rigid at the pet name. Akihito saw it. "This is Asami Ryuichi." He did not comment on the relationship between them. "Asami, this is Fujioma Kenzou. My boyfriend."

Boyfriend was a slap in the face. It was an official moniker that Asami never claimed, nor wanted. Kenzou had walked in on a battle of ex lovers, and it was as deadly as atomic warfare. Asami nodded to Kenzou. "I am an old friend of Akihito's."

"Like a benefactor?" Kenzou offered him a hand to shake.

Asami looked at the beers in his hands. Even if he deigned to shake the man's hand, he physically could not. The snub was a soothing balm on his burned soul. "Something like that," he replied.

A familiar, screeching noise echoed in the background. It was Akihito's favorite band. He used to blare their music in the condo. He never missed a performance, or song, not for the world. Kenzou's grip on his shoulders tightened. He knew the boy would want to dance. Asami's nightmare was starting to form before his eyes.

"Where's the rest of the gang?" Akihito said sarcastically. "We both know you never go out alone. Not even for a date."

Asami gestured to the bar as a whole with his shoulder. "They're around somewhere. Guys night out," he met Kenzou's dull brown gaze. "You know how it is," he smirked. Akihito searched for them, still listening intently to the conversation––just in case Asami decided to be his usual self. Kirishima was far away, much farther from Asami than Akihito had ever seen, playing darts with fraternity boys. The logos on their shirts matched a ring that the secretary wore, which used to mean nothing to Akihito. Suoh was at a table surrounded by ladies. Their dates looked on, displeased that their attention was so easily swayed. He was sure that there were other guards, but he could not find them.

The shaggy haired man smiled widely. He was as ebullient as Akihito. "Social butterfly, huh? I used to be that way. And then I met this fella right here," he affectionately rubbed Akihito's hair.

Asami glowered. Akihito flushed, and his feet danced. Awkward, he coughed just to do something with his hands. Kenzou mistook his trepidation for embarrassment. "I know being gay is still taboo in Japan," he admitted with an uneasy chuckle. He knew Asami Ryuichi's name, despite never having even seen the man. "But I'm not ashamed of who I am. Or who I love," he carried on proudly.

Akihito's eyes flashed. Asami felt like he had been punched in the gut. The accusation rang out loud. Asami had always been concerned with his public image, with staying detached and stoic. He once said that his enemies capitalize on the relationship, seeing Akihito as a weakness, using him against Asami. The fixer had a nasty habit of always coming to save him. The photographer thought that a relationship was more dangerous to Asami's business if he was publicly gay. Japan didn't fawn over a homosexual couple the way they adored a playboy bachelor.

Asami had known that this was distinct possibility when he started buttoning his new shirt. He had come on this expedition to see if Akihito still cared for him, if there was any emotion left other than disdain. He had suspected that maybe the photographer still cared for him during Akihito's irked dance. His feet had shuffled, and he looked anywhere but at Asami. When Kenzou pulled him against his chest, Akihito had straightened his back and given Asami a challenging look. Seeing the two together made his chest ache in a way he thought no longer possible. Maybe Akihito was over him after all.

"Who's your date?" the boy asked, tossing a glare towards the woman.

"Minamoto Yoko," Asami knew the beer was getting warm. Yoko had smiled at him moments ago, when she saw that he was speaking with Akihito. Her gaze narrowed when she saw Kenzou approach them.

Kenzou paled as he followed their gaze. Yoko was looking at her nails, ignoring the redhead who leaned in close. The woman kept chattering away. Asami needed to excuse himself, and intervene on his date's behalf. But he was not ready to leave Akihito. Kenzou dropped his arm and took a step away from the photographer. Both fixer and journalist looked surprised at the quick movement. "That's my boss's boss," he gaped at the woman.

Akihito's gaze swiveled to Asami. "You knew, didn't you?" he accusatorially demanded.

"I didn't," Asami answered truthfully. He barely knew Yoko, and he had no knowledge of her staff. There had been no need.

"She knows my name," Kenzou was saying. "I don't think she likes me now. I don't know how she would react if she saw us together––" he was babbling.

The bartender passed them with the nachos. Asami straightened his shoulders, putting on the imperious facade Akihito had always known. He refused to show any emotion to the boy, especially regret. He would never know how his leaving had shaken Sion to its core. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said with a nod of his head. "I have left Yoko long enough." Leave them to sort out the argument that was brewing in Akihito's eyes.

And then the entire evening fell apart.

The redhead was still arguing with Yoko, the exuberance replaced with annoyance when Yoko continually seemed disinterested. The girl's cat ears were cockeyed as she tried to hiss at the woman. As the bartender set down the nachos, the girl grabbed at the burning metal plate, and with a quick flick of her wrist, threw them in Yoko's lap. Yoko jumped to her feet, arms rising as the cheesy mess slid down her front and onto the floor. She did not make a sound.

The redhead was startled by the woman's sudden movement. She stumbled backwards, bumping into her date. The date, in turn, fell between a bear of a guy and his petite girlfriend. Akihito thought that he maybe copped a feel on the girl as he fell to the floor. The redhead with the cat ears recovered quickly. Spitting mad, she turned to Yoko, who was running to the restroom to try to salvage her dress. "Oh shit," Akihito swore.

Asami dropped the beers and dashed to Yoko's side. Suoh stood up so quickly that he overturned his table. The women around him shrieked, beers and food were tossed into the air in arcs. Most of the gathering crowd was hit with the debris.

Kirishima turned at the noise. He was too far away to get to Asami in the time, not that Asami was in any sort of danger. The redhead grabbed Yoko's long hair and pulled, jerking the forty year-old back. The redhead's boytoy came running towards the two women, as if he intended to help his girlfriend. He had finally gotten off the floor and away from the snarling bear-man. Pulling his shoulder back, Kirishima lobbed the dart with all of his might. He was maybe thirty feet away, so he threw as hard as he could. The trajectory was off; rather than hitting the man's jugular, the dart embedded deep into his upper arm.

Asami grabbed Yoko's arm. Spinning her behind him, he twisted the redhead's wrist. Akihito heard the pop as the bones snapped into pieces. Suoh's arms wrapped around the struggling girl, caging her. Injured and angry, the boyfriend jumped to Suoh's back. He wrapped his arms around Suoh's neck, and squeezed. Suoh grimaced, his face turning a deep aubergine as he struggled to breathe. White spittle bubbled in the corner of his mouth, contrasting vividly with his purple face. However, he did not relax his hold on the cat eared girl.

Three…no four––no five men that Akihito did not recognize ran out of the crowd. By now, people were clustering around to see the fight. Two of the men grabbed the boyfriend's shirt, yanking him off Suoh. Another held back the bear-man who wanted to avenge his girlfriend's honor. The last two, with Kirishima at the helm, started to lead Asami and Minamoto Yoko away. Suoh held back the screaming redhead, who pointed at Yoko.

"You'll regret this, you bitch!" she shrieked.

Yoko stopped walking, despite Kirishima's warning. She looked cooly at the redhead. "Do you really think that I'm going to hire you now? That anyone in Tokyo will?"

Akihito walked up to Asami and Yoko as the fixer asked if she was fine. Yoko nodded. "Just let me freshen up. I might be able to save this dress."

The fixer nodded. He snapped his fingers and a woman in a tight miniskirt appeared. She bowed to Yoko. Together they walked to the restrooms. Akihito startled. The imprint of her gun strapped to her back was barely visible to the trained eye. He hadn't known that Asami employed female bodyguards.

Suoh still held the redhead, though she had stilled. It took three men to keep her boyfriend back. Kirishima's dart was still stuck deep in his arm. "What would you like us to do with them?" Suoh asked lowly.

"Escort them outside, and make sure that they know that they are no longer welcome in my bar," Asami lightly replied. To the onlookers, it sounded benign. Asami was simply banning them from the premise. Akihito knew differently. It was very likely that the two would be severely punished for tonight, and he did not want to think about it anymore. He had put that part of his life, of Asami's life, behind him.

Cheers resounded in the cramped bar. Akihito could barely think. Of course Asami owned the bar. He had known it was one of Akihito's favorite dives, and it was just like the fixer to ruin anything that the photographer loved. Akihito finally met the man's golden eyes, glare full of an unexpected malice. "You haven't changed one bit.'

Asami's gaze flickered over to Kenzou, who hovered with Kou. The man looked terrified, and he gulped down a beer. "No," he agreed. He was still very much the same man. Powerful. Cruel. Unforgiving. "I never once abandoned you."

Akihito did not have to look around to know that Kenzou had retreated to the safety of the group. He had never been exceptionally brave, but that had never bothered Akihito. The photographer was courageous enough for the two of them. Kenzou was loving, and doting, if not patient. He was easily flustered by Akihito's job, and the blood and broken bones that accompanied it. Still, he had never recoiled from their public relationship.

Not until tonight.

"Minamoto-san," Kirishima addressed the woman as she returned from the washroom, attempting to give the two lovers some privacy.

Akihito peaked around Asami. Minamoto Yoko had was still covered with cheese, and now her dress had large water stains. Asami nodded to his date. "How is your dress?"

"Pretty much ruined, I think," Yoko furrowed her lip.

"I'm sorry," the fixer said. It was expected, and they went through the motions. Nothing more.

"Don't be," Yoko wiped her hands. "It's not your fault. And there will be other dresses."

Asami smirked. Akihito saw it, and he was uncomfortable with the surprised ire that swirled in his stomach. Asami liked this old woman. Akihito did not like that one bit. "It was nice to see you again, Asami-san," Akihito said with the coolness of a rejected lover. He bowed stiffly. "Good night."

The fixer did not try to stop him as he rejoined Kenzou. By the time his boyfriend had relaxed, Asami was gone. The bar buzzed for the rest of the night. No one had ever seen a fight quite like that before. Akihito could not bring himself to let Kenzou touch him for the rest of the evening. He felt betrayed, though he knew he was being silly. He had not wanted to let his colleagues know that he was gay, but of course, Mitari had spilled the beans.

But he felt dirty whenever the man tried to wrap an arm around his waist or press a kiss into his hair. Akihito knew it was stupid, that it was Asami playing games, but he felt utterly betrayed by his so-called boyfriend.

***BeThere***

"Thank you for a wonderful night," Yoko nodded her head as Asami dropped her off.

"Your welcome," Asami replied. He watched her enter her building. When she was safely inside the elevator, he drove away. They both knew that there would not be second date.

***BeThere***

Months later, Asami tugged his tie off only to hang it on his tie rack. Rigid habit made him hang up his pressed jacket, and fold his pants neatly. It was another night. With another woman. At another bar. Six months had passed since he had last seen Akihito, though he occasionally caught sight of a mop of blond hair as he walked into Sion. Tonight was a new night, and a new attempt. Hopefully it would go better than their last meeting.

It was astounding, the lengths that Asami would go to just to see that boy smile.