Author's note: For absalon95 :) look what I finally got around to..


Chapter 1: Fashion Your Seat Belts!

"Feilong!" Takaba Akihito hollered to his assistant outside his studio office. "Do I have any more appointments today?"

"Akihito san, you really should just use the intercom." The soft voice called through the phone's speaker on his desk. "To answer your question, no your schedule is clear for the rest of the day."

"So that means I have no portfolios to go over, no models to look at?" Akihito deadpanned his questions in frustration as he used the intercom properly. He hadn't found anyone suitable, yet.

"No, the one that just left was the last."

He didn't need to use the communication system for Feilong to know he was sighing, how annoying.

Akihito had gone through nearly every male model worth looking at in Tokyo, and still hadn't found anyone near close enough to showcase his very first line of formal wear.

Feilong was insistent that he was being fussy for someone who was branching into a new area – Akihito's main focus for years was his casual clothing line, he liked nothing more than comfortable slouch jeans with rips and shreds for attitude, and faded t-shirts with daring necklines that said the wearer gave no fucks.

But he wanted his label, Abyss, to expand into more than that.

There was something alluring, and awe inspiring about a perfectly fitted suit, but Akihito had the feeling his new line could incite so much more, a sense of power and pride, mother fucking swagger on legs is what he had in mind.

He envisioned a suit that demanded everyone's attention; it gave the wearer that assertive air that translated into general badassery.

In short, his new line of suits was the high-class version of giving no fucks - censored if you will.

Akihito could tailor each piece into art sculpted on the body, could give poise to someone's frame, length to the leg and a strong line to the shoulder - then there was the taper down from shoulder width down to the waist that gave the person over all standing and presence. Plus that taper when done right was enough to give him a hard on.

Akihito would make his suits so that even if you cut the goddam sleeves off, ripped the pockets or wore a chain from the belt loop, you could still fucking rock that shit in the presence of the queen.

There was nothing sexier in his mind, than a wicked upturned collar with no tie and a nice jacket, and he'd made some insane collars to pop, ones that looked utterly devilish, ones that framed the neck and face in acute lines that drew observers vision right to the head.

Fuck yeah. It'd been a long time since he was this excited over his own designs.

That was if only he could find the right fucking model.

Which brought him slamming back to what Feilong had just said; he'd just sent the last one packing because he just didn't have what Akihito was looking for. No one did.

Sure, all the models were disgustingly attractive, with chiseled bodies and jawlines like a gift from god, they'd all done formal wear before – but not one of them had the thing he was looking for. The thing.

In short, they were all thick as a fucking post, well maybe that was being too harsh, but none of them seemed to get his motivation behind his first line of suits.

So they could all go eat a dick.

Unfortunately it didn't give him any further options, dammit.

"Argh!" he barked in his office, it echoed off the concrete walls of the studio in Harajuku, above a quirky coffee shop was where his annoyingly proficient assistant Feilong, managed the clients and visitors at the front desk.

Further down the hall that came direct off the stairs; was his design and tailor room, full of adjustable mannequins, sewing machines, tape measures, fabrics, drawing boards, current projects and awards. It was a chaotic mess in there, but it worked for him. Attached directly to that was his office.

Throw in a room for him to crash when he overworked, a bathroom and a kitchenette, and that made up the Abyss design headquarters.

It was cozy and quaint with it's cream colored paint over exposed brick work, the floor was polished concrete, and the ceilings were high with sky lights and windows that let the light in no matter what time of day. He fucking cherished this place.

There was no need for him to have one of those snooty, clean edged places in Shinjuku or Shibuya, the ones with the uncomfortable furniture and sterile atmosphere, fuck that.

"Oh, there is that design gala that you received an invitation to-"

"No."

"Akihito –

"No. You know how I feel about those things, Fei." He cut in over the comm, Akihito stayed away from gatherings of any kind, he never felt the need to attend, his work spoke for itself, and occasions like that were always so fucking exhausting. He wasn't exactly a recluse; but spending an evening with too many people and pretending to be normal wasn't his idea of a jolly ol' time.

So unless he had his own catwalk to run – the chances of seeing Takaba Akihito at any such thing were slim to not a damn chance.

"Really, it wouldn't kill you to go to one every now and then, you know, to show people you haven't in fact keeled over." Feilong appeared at the door of his office, and leant on the frame in a way that was way too obnoxious for an assistant.

"I released a preview of the new line a few days ago, Fei. People know I'm not dead." Akihito said offhandedly as he got his things together.

"Come on, Akihito." Feilong insisted with a huff, because Akihito knew that even if he didn't like going to those things, Feilong did. He was a social butterfly, and he handled the label's publicity perfectly, helped make good connections with his allure and charm, and didn't take any garbage from difficult clients.

Plus, he was insanely beautiful in his trademark all black clothing that Akihito designed for him only, he turned heads, and on more than one irksome occasion people had mistaken Feilong as the designer until the correction was made.
He was a good person to have as his front man though, impeccable taste and dress sense, Akihito had to admit that Feilong presented himself a lot better than he did. He was pretty scruffy, for a fashion designer. Just because he designed suits; doesn't mean he liked wearing them.

But the partnership they had just worked, Feilong put up with his introvertedness, brought him the right coffee everyday – a triple shot long black - woke him up when he slept in, drove him about the city, so he supposed he could humor his assistant this one time, he wasn't a complete bastard after all.

"Alright, but I'm not getting changed!" Akihito assured, he looked down at what he was wearing – he was looking swish today, actually.

Feilong never cared though, Akihito was known for his rough dress sense, so his assistant lit up like a damn Christmas tree on fire, and rushed to shut the office down for the night.

Akihito finished packing his laptop and designs away, grumbling all the while. Oh well, maybe he could find a model there that he hadn't seen yet.

He didn't fancy his chances.