AN: Apologies for the delay, I have been in Japan for the past month and didn't want to come home to reality. Alas, all good things must come to an end.


Chapter 4: I knew you were trouble when you walked in.

Akihito asked one more time as they parked in front of the huge Sion building if Feilong really didn't want to come in, he was normally a massive worry wart when it came to Akihito getting things done, because deadlines were never his forte, and this time his assistant was so strung up about it he couldn't even bring himself to get out of the car.

Something about 'you don't know who you're dealing with.' Or whatever, it made no damn difference to him; Akihito wanted that man, -Asami, because he had actually remembered his name now – to wear his shit. He was here to make it happen, even if it meant dealing with that fucking Kirishima douche bag that hung up on him.

It probably helped he was dressed a little less like a hoodlum today; his grey asymmetric cardigan with black rider jeans was more clean than he usually dressed, he'd just polished his mid-calf boots this morning too, and the well aged leather shone with the luster that something that cost that much fucking should. And you should always look after your kicks, a life rule he always followed! Anyway, coupled with his glasses and sick bracelet watch, he'd done pretty well by himself actually, even Feilong had been impressed when he picked him up this morning.

He left an annoyed at his brashness Feilong parked out front to strut up to the entrance with his folio case, and with no specific plan in mind other than to act like he had an appointment with Mr Asami; he set foot into Sion without noticing how huge and luxurious it was, or any idea what he was actually getting himself into.


So far, so fucking good!

It seemed people knew his face, which genuinely surprised him, so he'd charmed the office girls by complimenting their outfits and asking what they were wearing, and he'd smooth talked his way all the way up to the top floor with them as an escort because they all wanted their choice of outfits validated – even if he didn't really give a rat's ass about women's clothing. But they did look nice, if you were into women that was, which he definitely wasn't.

If you asked Akihito, he deserved a fucking medal because there were also some hella scary looking dudes in this building; all in the traditional black suit and tie and his fingers itched every now and then as he had this insane urge to adjust hems or fix a collar. There was no way he could have gotten passed them though, that much was obvious, so it was lucky he had this harem as an escort really.

But he would get his medal anyway, in the form of Asami Ryuichi agreeing to wear his threads.

The elevator tinged, and all giggling and gossip talk around him stopped abruptly as they hit the top floor, huh, that was weird.

"His office is just down the hall on your right, you'll see Kirishima san before you get there. We'd better be going back down now, bye Takaba saaaaan!"

And before he could even fucking process the fact that they'd all nervously pushed him from the elevator and shut the doors on him, it was already too late. That was really weird. Were they not allowed on this floor or something?

Fuck, maybe he should have gotten more information out of Feilong on the way after all.

This floor was eerily quiet actually, now that he looked at the hall, a long plush carpet runner led the way, classy and not sterile like all the other buildings in Shinjuku, there was tasteful décor like vases and statues, art work and hints that actual humans used this place.

It was sort of intimidating, who was this Asami guy who worked on the top floor like this? No matter, it was time to find out anyway, he just had to get passed the troll called Kirishima first.

With determination writ on his face, and swag in his step, he started off down the hall. He was so close he could almost fucking taste it.

That diva Feilong was going to eat his words.

He trod carefully on the way too soft carpet runner - that meant it was probably wool and this person had more money than sense- noting how there were no doors at all down the short hall, there was no place for him to go but forward. The plush fabric under his feet led the way to an open area with a sprawling wooden desk in the corner, a boring secretary's office if he'd ever seen one, and he'd seen a few.

Of course, Akihito had instant confirmation even before he registered all that, because said troll was in the chair behind the desk and he knew it was that Kirishima bastard on sight alone.

He had the typical black suit and tie that said he probably had one for every day of the damn week, it was only a smidge too close-fitting but still close enough to perfect, however the minute amount of snugness screamed uptight control freak. A tight suit jacket was on par with shoes that gave you blisters or jeans that showed your ass crack. No good for anyone, especially the wearer.
Jesus, no wonder he was shot down right off the bat, this guy was the literal fun sponge of life.

The tie was too fucking textbook, pulled too close to the collar for his liking, the sort of tedious flawless that screamed monotony and lack of character.

Don't get Akihito wrong, what Kirishima was wearing was actually impeccable, but it was impeccable and plain as shit. Akihito and plain fashion was like mixing red wine and a white jacket with a long night of drinking ahead. Oho, boy that was not a mistake her was ever going to repeat again, he still mourned the loss of that jacket.

Lastly though, he fucking called it, the glasses, black, rectangular and with no decoration or label showing, intellectual and practical, and so typical he fit the nerd stereotype in manga and anime storylines. The ones where they are attractive, but the glasses and general weebishness just wrecks it.

His hands were starting to do that grabby thing a kid does when they want something, but it wasn't a want for Akihito; it was instinct, something so ingrained into him that he couldn't help but start putting shit together in his head the moment he set eyes on Glasses-kun. Fucking hell, he wanted to give this prick a make over so bad. Maybe some tortoise shell frames, a paisley tie and a suit fitted by him and this guy would be an A class stunner.

What a waste.

"What are you doing here?" the flat tone and use of personal pronoun to add insult to the greeting ripped him back to earth, ugh, he'd just gone all fashion eyes and zoned out, in front of this guy no less.

"I'm here for my appointment, that's his office right?" he jerked a cheeky thumb in the direction of the door that had 'A.R' on a bronze panel, which answered his question but it was fun to watch Glasses-kun frown.

"You don't have an appointment." The deadpan oozed contempt, "Please remove yourself from the building."

Akihito was hell bent on not blowing up as he had on the phone, which would only give satisfaction to his foe, so fighting fire to defeat the sponge was his next best bet, and in Akihito's head fire was sarcasm.

With a feigned sigh of boredom, he strolled on over to the desk with his folio bag in hand, and leant over the desk. "I'm pretty sure you told me to come right over this instant? Right? 'Please come at once Takaba san' you begged on the phone? And this is how you treat me? Rude!"

A sliver of reaction stiffened the secretary in his seat for a second, before he adjusted his glasses in a way that said 'I'm way to good to be dealing with you.' "I don't recall saying anything of the sort, I do however remember telling you Asami sama is not interested in your dress ups."

"Fucking dress ups, my arse!" the secretary just had to go and say the only thing that could raise his heckles, so much for staying level headed. "Just because you don't know how to wear a suit, right, Four Eyes?"

Oho! That got the man's attention alright, the offended quirk to his brow and hardening of his lips was a small triumph to Akihito until the bastard spoke again. "Please, child, at least I'm important enough to have a reason to wear one."

"Ha! Well I bet you had to have your old man give you that suit, cos it's about as outdated as corduroy jeans and turtles necks, which even I would look good in, so sorry if I look better than you when I actually bother to attend one of the occasions people beg me to attend. Hmph!" with a snarky emphasis he crossed one arm and tucked it under the other, and cocked his hip to the side in sass for good measure. He fucking hated status dropping, but this guy was just a fucking secretary and he would learn his place.

"The ones you attend to play dress ups and convince yourself that you actually contribute to society?" came the flat tone once more, along with another nonchalant adjustment of his glasses, this dude had his own head so far shoved up his ass, forget about people thinking Akihito was an asshole, this guy was top quality asshole.

"You call it dress ups one more time…."


Asami laid his pen flat on his mahogany desk as hints of trouble outside made themselves known. Was that Kirishima raising his talking repeatedly out there? That was a rarity even when there was meetings scheduled.

He listened for a few more moments with a raised brow before looking at his Rolex; his next appointment wasn't for another three minutes, and Kirishima was a stickler for running exactly on schedule with no deviations.

The commotion continued, which was even more strange, because Kirishima was capable of getting things under control rather efficiently, and his next appointment was with a Diet member who he had good on going relations with, so there should be no cause for concern.

However the noise only went on, he continued listening before his curiosity and instincts told him to intervene, checking his 9mm in its holster with practiced ease, he then rose with predatory grace that only he was capable of, and quietly stalked towards the door.

The voices and words were muffled of course, because he didn't want his office completely soundproof, just enough that any conversation from the outside or inside would be inaudible – as it was now.

So he was forced to crack the door to hear it all clearly, without looking; he flicked the safety off his weapon at the same time, hoping he wouldn't need to draw his gun completely. Blood was always such a pain to clean from the carpets on this floor and he always had to dispose of the cleaners afterwards too.

"- you call it dress ups one more time and I'll give you a knuckle sandwich right in the kisser…"

Well, that was not the voice of Diet member Daiki. But it was the voice of someone young and irritated by the sounds of it.

"Resorting to violence, Akihito kun? Please leave the premises before I am forced to call security. I'll not say it again, Asami sama is not interested."

"I'll accept it only when I hear it from Asami himself!" came the vehement hiss, and what was this all about?

"Ah, Daiki san, you are just on time, Asami sama will see you in-"

"No he won't, I was here first."

Oh? Who was this person that spoke to Kirishima and a Diet member like that, interesting?

"Young man, do you know who you're talking to?" Asami could practically picture the balding politician's chin wobbling in indignation.

"With a suit as badly fitting as that, of course I'd have no fucking clue. Go fix your seams and loosen it around the belly a little, then I might give you the time of day."

And Asami just had to chuckle at that because the politician really did have a horrible taste in clothing, his tailor didn't do him any favors either, deeming the threat insignificant; he re-holstered his weapon and opened the door to find out who this mysterious, smart mouthed anomaly was.

He was met with Kirishima's back as he tried to bar entrance to the nameless blonde, who had an extremely childish glare on his face – directed all at Kirishima no less.

He was young, early twenties by Asami's guess, and even though his comment about the suit had been on point, he himself was wearing a messy grey cardigan and jeans with zips all over them, which Asami didn't much care for, the only saving grace was that they showed off a nice pair of long legs that tapered down nicely to a pair of leather boots which were polished until they shone as much as Asami's own leather loafers, that spoke volumes about a person in Asami's eyes, if you couldn't look after your foot wear, the things that carried your weight all day, then you weren't worth his time.

He had this hipster pair of glasses on that intensified his striking hazel eyes, and this horridly messy mop of blonde hair that looked like it hadn't ever seen a brush.

It was one of the only times Asami couldn't get a good gauge on first impressions alone, because it was a perplexing image, half put together and half disheveled. What an eccentric person.

An extremely eccentric person, because those hazel eyes locked on his with astonishing intensity as if they'd just found Pandora's Box, and in a whirlwind of daring stepped passed Kirishima and met Asami head on.

"Oh! Sweet Dolce and Gabbana, you're even better than I remember! Asami right? May I please have a moment of your time, since Four Eyes over there is so uptight he wouldn't let me make an appointment."

He didn't even give Asami a chance to answer, he simply stepped passed him as well and strolled right into his office without a care as to where he actually was, leaving an irritated Kirishima and a sputtering politician wearing a horrid suit standing in the hall.

Before Kirishima could get to his explanation, because Asami could see it was moments away from falling from his assistant's mouth, he cut him short.

"Mind filling me in before I see to our disgruntled visitor, Kirishima?" Asami queried to his assistant, because he was genuinely curious as to what would have an odd person like that making their way to the top floor of Sion to piss Kirishima off, which was a feat in itself.

"Long story short, Asami sama, that is Takaba Akihito of Abyss fashion, he saw you on the weekend at the design gala, and apparently you're 'The Bird' he's been after for his 'entire life' because you have 'turbo swag' and are 'hella' according to him." The report was the usual monotone, apart from the slang that rolled awkwardly off Kirishima's tongue, which was tainted in his distaste. Asami didn't even know what those things were, but hearing Kirishima say them was rather amusing.

"Hm? After for me for what?"

"To model his designs, Asami sama. I thought it no benefit to you, so I refused him an appointment that his assistant tried to set up this morning."

"So, he came himself to see me?"

"Seems so, Asami sama. Shall I send for Suoh?" Kirishima shifted nervously knowing a breach should have never got to this point. This Takaba Akihito must have really been something; to make it to the top floor without an appointment, and all because he wanted to see Asami at that.

"No. I'll see to it, since you were so rude to our guest." He teased, because he would never miss the chance to unruffle the ever-composed Kirishima – and it worked, because his assistant sputtered wordlessly before snapping out of it and giving him a bow to say he understood.

With that done, he turned back into his office to meet the person who could unsettle his assistant so much, and all to see him.

He had no doubt they were trouble. Interesting trouble.