"An Honest Mistake"

Part III

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Usami Akihiko was not having a pleasant evening. Hell, he wasn't even having a normal unpleasant evening—that would've involved a frantic, in-person Aikawa screaming in his ear about his deadlines, a depleted cigarette supply, and Misaki spending the night out with that bastard Sumi.

No, Akihiko was having an exceptionally bad, once-in-a-decade bad evening, the sort he hadn't experienced since his father had insisted on having a bath with his fourteen-year old self in order to discuss Akihiko's emerging (read: firmly established) sexuality.

Then again, Akihiko might have preferred that excruciatingly awkward conversation and the flotilla of rubber duckies that accompanied it to his current predicament. His teddy bear obsession causing him to shamefully mistake an underage boy as his own lover, having to face down said underage boy's enraged boyfriend (fiancé?), being knocked to the ground and getting half-choked by his own necktie—could anything make this situation worse?

Oh yeah. Misaki was still missing.

"Hey, mister, are you sure you're all right? Really sorry about that, yeah. Um, can I get you some ice? Does your neck hurt? Sorry I got up like that, but Wolfram's been known to go crazy sometimes, so I had to stop him. Are you here with anyone? Would you like me to—"

Akihiko roughly brushed the black-haired boy's hand off his shoulder and growled an indistinct reply. The kid, who had breathlessly introduced himself as Shibuya Yuuri—weird name, he must get made fun of all the time—had practically pounced on Akihiko while he'd been trying to regain his breath, and since then had been spouting a nonstop stream of apologies, explanations, and offers of aid. The kid probably thought he was being helpful, but in reality, he was just giving Akihiko a headache. And the fact the boy sounded exactly like Misaki just added another element of weirdness to the whole thing.

Akihiko rubbed his temples. Was it still too late to find Misaki, shove him onto a plane, enjoy a relaxing dinner in a distant city, and then have fluffy, post-date sex? Misaki would probably complain that he was making him miss class the next day, but that didn't really matter. Akihiko was going to need a healthy dose of Misaki's body in order to forget this ever happened.

Of course, the plan was dependant on getting away from these two strange boys and actually locating Misaki's whereabouts. Once again brushing off the puppy-like attentions of the black-haired boy, Akihiko pressed a hand to the floor and began to push himself up—

Zzzzzzz-THunK!

He blinked for a moment at the sharp piece of metal buried in the patch of floor between his legs, his mind refusing to register what had happened. Then, suddenly, it hit him.

Someone had thrown a knife at him!

A fucking knife!

His head snapped up. The blond foreigner wasn't even attempting to hide the fact that he had been the one to throw it. The kid's arm was still extended, even, his wrist still bent. And across the brat's face was one of the most evil smirks Akihiko had ever seen.

That little

That was it. That was it! Akihiko had put up with that brat's tantrum long enough. Bad publicity or no, that kid needed to be taught a lesson. Akihiko was going to get up off this floor right now and—

"WOLFRAAAAAM!!!"

Akihiko clapped his hands against the sides of his head. The black-haired boy, Yuuri, or whatever his name was, had just shrieked directly into his ears.

"Wolfram, you said you wouldn't!" the boy screeched again, leaping up and dashing towards his friend. "You said you wouldn't do anything to him! I told you that he had nothing to do with—"

The blond brat crossed his arms and stuck his pointed nose in the air. "Humph. I promised no such thing," he said prissily. "I only said that I had no intentions of harming that villain at moment."

"Wolfram—"

"You are too forgiving of such an affront to your person, Yuuri. I, however, am not." The foreign boy turned towards Akihiko, his eyes glowing with a demonic light. "And I swear, to you, as your fiancé, that I shall not rest until this blackguard's presumption is dearly paid for."

From the floor, Akihiko could only gape. Was the boy mad? Normal people don't—don't threaten anyone like that. Normal people don't take an innocent, though embarrassing, mistake as reason to promise bodily harm.

Normal people don't throw knives with deadly accuracy, either.

Maybe, just maybe he should just swallow his pride, find Misaki, and beat the hell out of this establishment. Fucking hell. There had to be plenty of good restaurants on the other side of town that didn't allow freaks and crazies into 'em. And since the two boys were wrapped up in their argument, now would be the perfect time to slip away without the blond brat noticing and throwing another hissy fit…

"Um…e-excuse me…"

Akihiko growled an oath under his breath. Somehow his entire encounter with the boys had taken place without any of the restaurant's staff taking notice. Until now. The poor waiter who had decided to interfere in the fight looked positively terrified at having to intercede his minimum-wage self between the two sides.

"Uh…is there a problem here?" asked the trembling waiter, who sported a pair of bottle-cap glasses and a bad case of acne. "I-I've called the manager, so if you guys would p-please s-stop fighting…"

Dammit. If it were leaked that award-winning author Usami Akihiko had been thrown out of a popular restaurant, or worse, arrested, the press would have a field day. Not that would matter to him, of course, but Aikawa would be on his back for months, yelling, interfering with his time with Misaki, constantly waving lower-than-usual book sales figures in his face…

Akihiko took a long, deep breath before climbing to his feet. Dusting off the front of his slacks, he turned towards the waiter, his best book-promotion smile on his face. "I'm terribly sorry for the disruption," he said smoothly. "This was just a minor argument, truly. I was just about to take my leave. No harm done."

"O-okay. If you say so," the waiter said dubiously. "You sure you don't need to talk to the manager?"

"I'll be fine. I'll be going, then." Before the waiter could object, Akihiko turned and walked off, leaving the unfortunate fellow to deal on his own with the two oddball, violent teenagers, both of whom were still animatedly shouting at each other. However, before he had gone more than a few steps, something caught Akihiko's eye.

The knife the blond brat had flung at him earlier was still embedded in the floorboards of the restaurant. It would probably be best if he didn't leave it there—it might cause unwanted attention, which might lead to unwanted questions, which might lead to the police (and perhaps the press, too) tracking him down. Certainly not something he wanted to deal with.

Nonchalantly, he sidled up to the knife. Perhaps if the rest of his date with Misaki went well, he might even keep the damn thing as a souvenir. Stooping swiftly, he plucked the blade from the floor and tucked it into his sleeve.

"HA!"

The shout rang from the rafters to the kitchens. Every head in the restaurant turned towards the sound, including Akihiko's. Unsurprisingly, the shout had come from the foreign brat, blast him. The boy was dramatically pointing again, a triumphant grin splitting his features.

Akihiko glanced behind himself—no one was there. That meant the kid was pointing at him this time. Mentally groaning, he turned to face the foreigner, bracing himself for the ensuing dramatics.

He didn't have to wait long. Apparently deciding that simply shouting wouldn't cut it this time, the blond brat calmly stepped up onto the table and then proceeded to walk down the length of it, still grinning like a maniac.

"So. So," the boy said gleefully, "I see you have decided to accept my challenge." With each step, the few cups and plates that remained on the surface rattled and clanked, punctuating his words. "How do you wish for us to decide our contest, then? A competition of strength perhaps? Or of fleetness of foot? Considering your rough stature, human, such methods might suit you. However, I must warn you that my prowess in such things is not insignificant. "

The foreigner stopped directly in front of Akihiko, staring down imperiously from the added height of the table, one hand resting on his cocked hip. "Or perhaps," the boy continued, his voice suddenly stiff and angry, "you would rather us settle this duel in through contest of arms?

Off to one side, Akihiko could hear the other boy, Yuuri, spluttering in what sounded like panic. Akihiko, though, was too preoccupied with what the first had just said to pay much attention to it.

Accepting his challenge? A duel? A "contest of arms?" Was the kid offering to fight him? With weapons?

And had he just referred to him as "human?"

It was right then and there that Usami Akihiko came to the conclusion that he was dealing with someone who was completely and utterly delusional. No doubt about it. And had never had any desire to play along with anyone's mad little games, much less those of a tantrum-throwing adolescent.

Without saying as much as a word, Akihiko spun on his heel and simply marched off. There really was no point in being polite at this point, and he had no inclination to do so anyway. Behind him he could hear the foreigner shouting angrily at him, but he refused to pay any heed.

Until, of course, said foreigner suddenly reappeared directly in front of him.

Akihiko jerked back with a startled oath. How had the kid gotten caught up to him so quickly? The boy must have moved preternaturally fast to do so. Inhumanly fast.

"What do you think you're doing? Do you think you can just walk away from me like that?"

Akihiko, his composure regained, just coldly stared down at the boy for a moment. "Well," he said flatly, "I thought I was leaving a noisy child whose lack of manners just pisses me off. So yes, I can just walk away if I want."

The kid twitched, seemingly becoming even more livid than before. Akihiko was long past caring, though.

"Look, brat," he growled. "I don't know where you're from or what little world you think you're living in, but this is Japan. You don't just—

"Fine, so we'll do something from Japaaann then. Hurry up and choose the means of your defeat already, you perfidious pile of sandbear scat! You-you're trying my patience!"

"Your patience? What about mine, you little—"

"Wolfram, please stop this! I'm really sorry, mister, he just gets like this sometimes—Wolf, come on— "

"Can it, Yuuri, this is between me and the gorilla-man—"

"Gorilla-man? Listen, princess, you're hardly—

"Wolfram, please don't—"

"Sumo! That's Japanese right? I challenge you to a duel through sumo!"

"You-you're challenging me at sumo wrestling? What, did your mother drop you on your head as a baby?"

"You leave my mother out of this, you—"

"Wolfram—"

"Well, brat, if you'd—"

"Wolfram!

"Yuuri—"

"U-SA-GI-SAAAAAAAN!!!!"

Misaki!

A feeling of relief swept over Akihiko. Misaki! Misaki was here. Suddenly all the plans he had about his date, the loudmouth foreigner and his now-hyperventilating friend, and everything else in the world seemed unimportant. Well, the foreigner had been too annoying to forget completely, but all that really mattered now was finding Misaki!

Roughly pushing past the one of the boys, Akihiko darted into the aisle between the rows of tables. And there was Misaki, his adorable Misaki, charging toward him, a panicked expression splashed across the boy's face, the hem of the black high school uniform he was inexplicably wearing billowing out behind him—

And hot on his sneakered heels, three unknown, dangerous-looking men.


Egads, my brain is mush. Taking a practice LSAT is not a fun way to spend your Saturday. 'Till next week, then. As always, reviews will be much appreciated.