Hello to the next chapter. It's about the boys this time, a complete set of them, including Akihito.*


Part 2:

The Unfortunates.

Akihiko walked with the yakuza through a maze of narrow corridors and staircases immersed in darkness. The treacherous environment, he naturally linked to the taste of his guide, disturbed him considerably. Still, he was thankful for its lack of light as it hid the apprehension splattered over his face.

He didn't dare to think about extent of the underground businessman's tentacles. He didn't want to imagine the explicit details he might know about Akihiko's personal life either. The man must have learned the purpose of his visit to the club even before they met. Though he could not fathom exactly why, Misaki's presence somewhere there—at the end of their stroll—could be the only reason behind the yakuza's invitation to join him. Like a fog, uncertainty and worry engulfed his every thought, holding him on pins and needles, as he obediently followed the man.

The man who evidently possessed more senses of a cat than those of a human moved in front of him with fast and steady steps, while Akihiko himself barely stumbled along. One, two, three… He tried to distract his troubled mind by counting the stairs.

Bang!

He hit a wall of solid muscles that rippled under the expensive suit. His hands shot out. In panic he scrabbled and grabbed around for something to save him from a spectacular fall…anything.

"I don't appreciate groping." A half-hearted threat, with no small amount of amusement, ended hushed shuffling and fumbling.

A mix of anger and humiliation jolted Akihiko's already strained nerves.

"One could not tell!" he spat out the words briskly when he gained some stability without holding convulsively onto the man's arm and waist. "Any good guide would usually warn the people about a direction change or stop…not just stop!"

"And I don't appreciate offensive remarks either." The crime lord added in the same "playful" manner of his, "And yes, we are stopping here."

If not for the wariness Akihiko felt, if not for the holster he'd accidentally palmed under the man's arm, he would show this arrogant snob who is more apt in verbal skirmishes. Disgusted with himself for his own cowardice, he swallowed his pride and let the jabbing comments go.

The sheer volume of space in the empty lounge was what overwhelmed him the most. Suitable for art galleries or museums, over-run with glass walls the hall spanned through the several stories up to seemingly endless high. Across from them, along the wall, behind which a spectacle of Tokyo's night-life ran quietly like a movie on the silver screen, a dozen tables were lined up in a row. A couple of them had been occupied by a group of rather dishevelled customers: three boys, Shinobu between them, forcibly held back by bouncers, one curled up on a chair and, in what seemed a secure distance from him, another sat bleeding.

Misaki!

The atmosphere hanging over boys' heads felt thick and heavy, the tension in it almost tangible. With a golden halo of disordered hair framing his fine boned features, the fair boy on the chair was definitely the eye-catcher of the group. In contrast to his angelic face, he exuded an aura more like that of a devil. He was currently competing with Misaki in an intense glaring game. The boys' eyes, brilliant and sharp, were cutting through each other with rage that halted his steps even before both youths turned with the same ferocity toward them and in unison spat:

"Why are you here?!"

He was taken aback, as was his underworld companion. By now, Akihiko could read the club owner's body posture to certain extent. His face didn't change one bit, nothing other than a slight shift in his stance signified surprise and, given to his lofty nature, displeasure as well.

First to recover, Akihiko let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and rushed to crouch by his lover's feet.

"Hey, does it hurt a lot?" he asked softly. In haste, he pulled out his handkerchief and went to clean the blood from the split lip, while Misaki struggled with his bleeding nose.

"Why are you here?"

Seeing disappointment replace fierceness in those beautiful jade eyes hurt more than seeing his partner enjoy playing the stupid phone prank on him. It did hurt as much as being excluded from this uninhibited portion of Misaki's life. In an instant, he regretted his reckless invasion into Ciel, but there was no 'reset button' he could press and take his egoistic action back. So he went beyond his limits with intention to apologize and comfort the youth's hurt ego, and yet, mindful of his own.

"Don't be mad at me…please… I had lost my patience and wasn't thinking clearly when I decided to go after you," the novelist pleaded in voice full of remorse making up for the fact that it was barely audible.

Not that what he believed to be a heartfelt admission of guilt and contrition in one broke through his partners unusually cold stance. When he tried to reach out and press the white fabric against the wound, Misaki flinched away, slapped off his hand, rejecting him again.

"Don't bother! Rather, let's go home Usag…Usami-san."

The novelist didn't know what surprised him more, the sharp retort or the sharp gasp he noticed it elicited from the other boy. Misaki noticed as well, according to his suspicious look, hostility of which bored holes through the pretty blond. Before he could start pondering all the reasons behind Misaki's extreme aggression, with an apparent pain the boy rose clumsily up to stare at him in astonishment. Akihiko was baffled.

The professional part of his brain logically attributed young man's abrupt interest in him to the 'Usami Sensei the famous author' status. Although, he immediately doubted his conclusion when an alarmed guard jumped to support the injured boy, turned toward the Ciel owner and asked, "Asami-sama, what are we going to do about him?"

Now, the same astonishment mirrored in Misaki's green irises. After a moment, they became frantic, switching from the boy to the man, as if puzzling some mystery with only a vague understanding of it.

"I don't need a babysitter!" The exasperated blond shrugged the guard off but, oddly enough, shot the angry words at Akihiko's new acquaintance-a 'grey eminence' behind the Tokio's prominent underworld club, whom he now had a name for; a name almost identical to his own.

Unaffected, Asami crossed his arms over his chest "I see... And then perhaps you give us an explanation about what happened inside."

Until now, the novelist assumed yakuza's concern for the matter to be the one of property owner in whose facility an accident occurred. Maybe, this was not the case. Akihiko peered curiously at the yakuza. The man that, moments ago, considered an accidental touch offensive, even worth of a threat, now patiently bore the hostile onslaught from...this whelp?

Given the rising level of shock in his lover's gaze, Misaki's perception of these two was absolutely the same. At the back of his mind, in his unbound imaginary world, the novelist started to piece together a theory.

After moment of utter silence and determined staring at the ground, even the tranquil yakuza's patience was wearing thin; his strict gaze pierced the boy.

"Akihito?"

Akihiko's head mechanically jerked up at sound of the first few letters of his name, just as Misaki's dropped down into his hands to hide mortifying comprehension on his crimson face. Too late, he still caught his expression and started to believe that what, until now had been his bizarre scenario of the night leading to the current situation among the boys, didn't fall too far from the reality.

"You are not obliged to explain anything to him!" screamed an outraged Shinobu from behind them as Akihito kept refusing to answer. After he succeeded in wrenching himself from the bouncer's grasp, the future lawyer calmed his breath enough to add in dignified manner, "At least not from the legal point of view."

Akihiko, to his shame, only now closely examined Misaki's friend's dishevelled appearance. It was freshly accompanied by reddened cheeks and desperate eyes that went wide when Ciel's owner twisted toward him with an outstretched finger.

"You. A nice try…but it won't save you from talking." The yakuza's golden sight, promising no mercy, swept over the abashed group teamed up in defiant silence.

Feeling like he was their last resort of help, Akihiko decided it was time to intervene. He owed Misaki that much, besides,thequarrelling trio threatened to leave them all in another, altogether different predicament. So as the one most proficient with words, the novelist stood and cleared his throat. "I'm certain there will be another opportunity for the young men to explain this unfortunate…misunderstanding," he started casually; it always worked when he wanted to wiggle out from his own nasty situations.

Then he switched into concerned tone. "For now, I would like to thank you for your assistance and for bringing me to my partner." He ignored the wincing Misaki. "He obviously doesn't feel well and I would like to take him and his friend to the hospital. I see the young man here is in no better shape." Akihiko pointed out at yakuza's most likely soft point, even though he suspected the man was already updated on the boy's state during the phone call. The injury probably wasn't serious; otherwise he would not stand here so calm and fought for a pointless explanation.

Surprisingly or not, Asami was willing to play along, though he added a few rules of his own. After he nodded with the understanding, he unceremoniously slipped Sion's business card into Akihiko's breast pocket.

"For another opportunity," he offered. "I hope that there will be a chance for proper introductions…and for an apology that the boys owe each other for tonight's incident." Then he added, in an amused tone only for Akihiko's ears to hear, "If I'm correct?"

Ah, here we go again! Akihiko let out an exasperated sigh. As expected, the man was a master of manipulation. The self-assured snake didn't miss any opportunity to confront him again. Because confrontation, it was! Even he admitted that they had more in common than their names—he quickly narrowed 'more' to the same trail of immediate thoughts—it didn't mean he would be friendly with the guy at any time ever.

"Only if they are willing." Akihiko tried to negotiate the invitation, hoping that consent to meet each other again, would never enter their minds.

"Of course, that's the condition." With a presumptuous smile, Asami agreed too readily to his liking.


...

"What?" Misaki barked from behind an icepack, unnerved by quizzical eyes Akihiko kept on him all the way in the lift to the penthouse. Even though Misaki had all rights to be back in the hot-tempered mode, Akihiko could not resist teasing his impulsive lover.

"I'm still waiting to hear why my presence in the dance club had such disastrous effect on you," he asked, not bothering to suppress a smirk tugging corners of his mouth. "Though, when that's healed, it will look manly." He ruffled the boy's hair with sincere affection before he bent down and tenderly kissed his split lip. Then promptly dodged the icepack flying toward his head.

...


One week later, Akihiko still had no answer…no sex either.

Usually, without flinching, he would 'attack' his lover and subdue his oh so responsive body, makinghim succumb to hiswill. However, he knewit wasn't going to work this time. Misaki's enmity and withdrawal ran deeper than simple exasperation or shame.

So the novelist played Mr. Doesn't-Give-a-Damn when Misaki retreated to his bedroom he hadn't used in years. But not only had the boy physically locked himself in his old living space, it felt as if he locked his soul away from Akihiko as well.

Misaki's anger lessened and turned inward. It gave way to guilt, moved to reproach and finally settled on contempt. At first, the young man was riled up for being stalked to the club, the result being a brawl between youths for the reason Akihiko could guess. Yet he believed, there was something else bothering his lover even more. During that unfortunate night, this good-natured and occasionally impulsive boy must have committed some crime against his usual kind and thoughtful manners; something that was not Akihiko's , Misaki was regretting deeply his act.

Akihiko feigned nonchalance and suppressed, with mammoth effort, the urge to console his lover each time he saw the constant internal monologue of profound self-bashing going on behind his distant could sense Misaki's misery in the tastelessness of his usually fantasticfood. He could touch it in the dust of his once spotless apartment. The chilling feeling of Déjà vu struck him, of a home: quiet, cold and impersonal. A home without Misaki's caring touch. It scared him but he had to endure their momentary situation that, according to his estimate, shouldn't have continued for long.

He had set up a trap. A sophisticated trap!

Like a psychologist amateur, he was sure that the time would come when his beloved would need to pour his frustration out, to share a burden on his mind and relieve his beaten up conscience. Akihiko, even if lacking in anything else as a partner, would be there for Misaki in the role of a patient and compassionate listener. Now, he had only to wait.

Indeed as expected, in the early evening a few days later, Misaki entered his study. He carried something close to determination in his face and a printout document with a familiar looking business card in his hand.

The boy circled the room first, as though not completely sure he was going to stay and Akihiko began pretending to work. His fingers slowed and then flowed over the keypad, aimlessly typing non-existent words while hidden behind the laptop he watched Misaki's every step. His partner occupied himself by shutting the blinds on the ceiling high windows. It was a job he used to do regularly, since the novelist had never bothered to block the intrusive glow of the city out. When dimness engulfed the room and a Tiffany lamp on his desk became the only source of light, the boy finally halted in its ray. Positioning himself almost in the man's shade, without words he demanded his lover's full attention and Akihiko eagerly obliged.

"Who is this guy?" The shiny, black item was pressed into his palm, "I saw him give it to you."

Akihiko's features, initially ready to be sympathetic, hardened when a quiet, concrete foreboding whispered to him that his little game might be steered in a direction he had never planned. "Where did you get that?"

"From the breast pocket of your jacket that I was getting ready for the dry cleaner. You forgot to take it out." Misaki shifted back a step but looked no less determined.

"Don't concern yourself," a flash of panicked fear, or rather instinctual self-preservation, nearly made him cast the business card off into the bin by his feet and raise his voice to suspicious height. Only in the last second did he manage to curb it into a mildly disinterested tone.

"I'm not concerned about the man," Misaki started vehemently. "I'm concerned about his…his—" he couldn't finish thank to his natural uneasiness with the topic. His head bent toward the floor, his silky, chocolate hair covered his face and fresh pink crept up his bared neck. The trait that always endeared Misaki to his heart, at the moment lost its charm on him; strained by apprehension as he was.

"His pretty boy toy?"

"Why have you to use such outrageous words?!" Fingers curled into his palms, Misaki jumped into the verbal fight. "Let's say partner—or do you consider me a boy toy too?!"

"You should know better!" He gave out an undignified whine. "I don't think that one," he stuck out the business card front of Misaki's nose in dramatic manner, "got into interpersonal relationship so far as to call somebody 'his partner'; maybe 'bed partner'."

Misaki stood rooted to the spot, staring in disbelief while Akihiko realized he'd gone too far. He was too worked up these days. His egotistic, bodily starved self was going to do anything to get laid.

"I want to meet with him."

"No," Akihiko said flatly.

"No?"

"No."

"Why?"

The novelist took his glasses off, placed them carefully together with the business card next to the notebook and pressed the cool pads of his fingers against his tired eyes. From behind them, he peeked accusingly at the evil piece of thick coated paper, the little detail he'd overlooked. The petty, little, pervasive thing, coming repeatedly back like an uninvited guest, was turning his fairly innocent, though not exactly fair to Misaki, and seemingly grandiose scheme against him!

"Misaki," he sighed, feeling exhausted and already halfway defeated by the boy's well-intentioned persistence. He hadn't wanted his unaware lover to get any more involved with the Japanese Underworld. Only Misaki would care enough to want to save a complete stranger from a deadly Yakuza boss, the stranger who most likely wouldn't even want any rescue. "We are not going to get in—"

"Why?!" Misaki repeated alarmed, then scrutinized his lover with caution. "What happened? I don't recall you being so atrocious toward anybody who you barely know!"

"There is nothing in it all, just…" Akihiko placed his hands over his knees clad in the grey slacks and leaned toward his partner. He braced himself against them firmly as he tried to stare the boy down. "Misaki, these people are trouble. I mean serious trouble."

"So are you!" Misaki's temper snapped at last. It left him, in the next second, mortified and red all the way to the roots of his hair.

Akihiko perked up, hoping to take advantage of the turn of the events. And yet, to his astonishment, Misaki ignored his own embarrassment. Single mindedly, the boy was pushing with all his might through the situation toward his goal.

"Here." Misaki pulled out another ace before Akihiko could speak again. He laid a slightly crumpled document, hidden behind his back until now, on to the office desk.

Akihiko bent close over the small letters, barely visible in the faintly illuminated room, while he read the title aloud:

"Confidential Agreement between Usami A. & Takahashi M.?!"

His head snapped back up, his eyes wide, he gaped at Misaki with comprehension. Scorn, wonder and yes, pride, all at once twisted his face into a ridiculous grimace. The fledgling had learned a thing or two after all those years living by his side. Brilliant! Misaki wasn't gonna leave anything to chance this time. And, if Akihiko was honest with himself, he fully deserved his distrust.

"I shall tell you what happened in Ciel." Encouraged by his reaction, though seemingly oblivious to it, Misaki continued with lifted voice and index finger, "You will understand why I want to meet with him. But you must not use anything of what I say in your stupid BL novels!"

"Here, sign this agreement and I can start." He stressed by pointing at the dashed line under the short paragraph Akihiko had briefly read, "I know you are dying to hear the explanation from me."

Even shocked and constantly gnawed at by desire to confirm his theory, Akihiko was not the least enticed by the idea of meeting the mysterious and imposing Asami again.

Suddenly, Misaki's face swooped down to his eye level and they looked directly at each other. Violet and green merged into one sight.

"Please, just sign it."

Akihiko contemplated the situation once again. With this, a bit of listening and an unpleasant meeting with a Yakuza boss, he could save Misaki's dignity, if it was what his boy was keenly striving for —and perhaps get the sex he was desperately in need of. Filled with affection, he picked the bullet pen that had his name engraved in the shiny steel, a Christmas present from the tender-hearted boy, and signed.

Misaki, who, unknowingly, had again wrapped his lover around his little finger, didn't wait for him to finish. He'd already settled on the sofa beside his desk, just safely out of the embarrassing light coming from the lamp, and fiddled with Suzuki-san. Akihiko handed him the paper and he opened his mouth to start the story about the reckless presumption he had made. On that boy's—on Akihito's account.

TBC


AN: I joined two shorter chapters into one, hope it wasn't so long.

About Sion's (not Asami's) business card: I assumed that a yakuza would not plaster his name on any business card.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading and, your opinions matter!