I promised you that all is not what it seems. For example, Hirato isn't half the jerk he pretends to be.

Also, this chapter starts the drama so I feel obligated to tell you that I don't usually write cliff-hangers, although I certainly write in a manner designed to drive plot. That being said, please bear with me if one or two slip through on this story; its plot is a bit more serpentine than what I'm used to.

Hey guys, have you read Chapter 72.5? If Hirato/Akari isn't your OTP after that, I don't know what could convince you.

To anyone and everyone who's ever read even a sentence I've placed on paper – you mean more than I could ever articulate. To those who take the time to review or PM - you're why I write at all. Thank you.

-A.

Hirato drove to his uptown condo with more aggression than was his wont. The anodyne grey of Lake Michigan sped past his window, its effect all but lost. He wasn't frustrated exactly, but he wasn't unaffected either. Naturally, even an iota of mutability was awfully unbecoming of an emotionless bastard. The very realization further contributed to his current ill humor.

Although he'd gone to the DA's Office in hopes of prevailing upon Gareki, he knew with relative certainty he'd fail at that particular endeavor. His younger brother was the recalcitrant sort; he'd always been. Coaxing him into common sense would require nothing short of a miracle, and Hirato had depleted his share of the miraculous when he didn't take advantage of Akari's drunkenness the other night. Nevertheless, the chance at snatching his brother from the blond's squeaky clean clutches was worth an attempt. Garkei was his responsibility, after all; it wouldn't do to permit soul-selling to the opposing side, not without a fight anyway. Yet he'd be lying if he claimed that the appeal of unsettling the famously stoic prosecutor had nothing to do with the ploy. Sure, he'd promised to keep away from Akari last night, but forfeiting so convenient an opportunity was beyond even his extraordinary gift for restraint.

To his credit, everything had gone according to design. Well, apart from the conflagration of want now scorching his skin. That had not been anticipated.

He'd been precise, methodical, and prepared for even the most remote outcome. The plan was simple: Arrive unexpectedly and antagonize Gareki, provoking him into recklessness, in turn prompting Akari to fire him. Gareki's fruitless present was small remuneration for a secure future, after all.

Now that he thought about it though, the fact that the younger man would actually throw a punch was rather baffling. Slap a wall, perhaps. Kick a wastebasket. Upend a pencil holder or two. Gareki might have bristled easily, but he wasn't the type to violence another. His uncharacteristic behavior was exactly what made the situation endlessly amusing. Hirato delighted in self-satisfaction, buoyancy returning to his mood.

His pleased grin melted away when he imagined Akari getting hurt. The prosecutor would have been caught unawares; he was more attentive to the imminent confrontation rather than his own person. I shouldn't have spared him. Time and again, I've told him to look out for himself. Truly, it would have been the most sensible course, pedagogically speaking at least. Even so, the idea of Akari suffering at all on account of something he'd devised was unacceptable. Thus, Hirato did what was requisite.

Necessity ought to have been limited by blocking his brother from injuring the other man. There'd been no obligation to aim at seduction, and frankly, the more he investigated his reasons for having essayed it, the more perplexed he grew. Moreover, something about Akari shrinking from his caress had been enough to stall his intellection and reduce him to levying insults and unfair accusations. Watching the other's incarnadine irises cloud over in anguish was no longer entertaining, evidently. In fact, it was anything but.

The voice residing in the recesses of his mind—the one he typically ignored—finally surfaced, bringing into striking clarity all that had happened in the last hour: You didn't protect him. Not really. What you did was the opposite. That, Hirato supposed, was sufficient to keep at a distance from Akari. It's the least I owe.

If only the Akari haunting his memories were as accommodating as his corporeal counterpart.

"Wrong. Again." Akari huffed, long fingers massaging the bridge of his nose in a manner he'd perfected over the past year. Being romantically involved with Hirato was a constant exercise in patience, it seemed. "You were admitted here. How is it that you have the acumen of a single-celled organism?"

It was ironic that a man as perceptive as Akari hadn't discovered that his partner aggravated him on account of the resultant flush that bloomed across his fine skin. Too easy, Hirato thought mischievously. They were sprawled on the bed amongst a veritable sea of open books, eyes (supposedly) glued to their notes. Final exams would commence in the morning.

"Okay, just once more," Hirato pleaded, amethysts bright and mirthful. Akari had explained the case four times. Each further elucidation was completely unnecessary; the brunet understood perfectly when he reviewed it initially. But the prickly light-haired, crystalline-eyed law student lounging across from him made for an excruciatingly tempting instructor. He absorbed every syllable of his bedmate's authoritative tone, letting that deep rumble wash over him and set his thoughts ablaze.

Akari groaned impatiently. Hirato laughed. He then took a pillow to the face when he was found out. "You jerk," the blond grumbled. "I'm under enough pressure without your nonsense." He shook his head roughly, but Hirato could make out the barest curve of a smile dancing upon pale lips.

So adorable. There was nothing else for it. He crawled across the bed like a predator, agile, muscular limbs navigating the precarious stacks of books with supernatural prowess. Several were unceremoniously shoved to the floor in service of pinning Akari against the mattress.

"Oh no. We have an early morning. Don't you dare try t—mph—" He smirked into the kiss as his victim vacillated between pulling away and arching closer.

Nimble fingers gliding through strawberry-colored strands, Hirato tugged gently while nipping along a tense jaw. "How about some extra credit, professor? I promise I'll do the work." With that, an unrestrained hand moved from Akari's hair to his waistband, dipping below without the slightest reserve.

"Fuck." His paramour's refined and sophisticated vocabulary failed spectacularly in such circumstances, supplanted by uncharacteristic vulgarities and a vast array of four-lettered words. Hirato loved seeing the ever-composed so-called genius undone. He was gorgeous when being debauched… and absolutely stunning when he came. No wonder, then, that the brunet endeavored a romp at every stray chance.

"That's definitely the plan," he murmured, sucking along the base of Akari's neck. Blood rushed under his lips, intimating quite clearly that the blond was game. Still, he stopped long enough to regard his lover with utmost sincerity. "Tell me you don't want to and it ends here."

Akari's incredulous laugh was as mellifluous as Seraphim's song, at least to petitioning ears. "You bastard, asking me something of the sort after stroking me like that. Like hell I want you to stop."

The saboteur hummed contentedly against heated flesh while stripping off their clothes with swift expertise. "That filthy mouth of yours—I'm going to put it to very good use…." he promised, marking a neat trail down a trim chest, each snap of teeth more vehement than the last, "…later."

"If I fail tomorrow—ah!—I'm going to fucking murder you," Akari managed through shallow inhales. "In your—damn!—sleep."

The brunet chuckled softly. "You'd have to try to fail. Anyway, I'm doing you a favor." He looked up at his conquest. Mere foreplay, and Akari's fair skin had gone deep scarlet. His head was thrown back, revealing both the tight cords of his neck and the series of bruises that had lately formed along them. Hirato grinned salaciously.

"H—how is that?" Akari queried. Honestly, such lucidity was impressive given that an exploring tongue was rasping along the juncture of his thigh. Then again, he was nothing if not brilliant, so coherence while distracted was par for the course.

"Stress relief." Hirato's mouth replaced his hand and all the blond could do was let out a long, shuddering hiss and grip raven-colored locks for leverage. He writhed and moaned as vibrations from amused laughter sent tiny sparks of pleasure skittering up his spine.

Neither man looked even marginally rested (or presentable) in the morning, but both did appear quite smug. Deservedly so—despite the inordinately long night, the two managed to outscore the entire class.

Chicago's most skilled defense attorney stood in his expertly-decorated living room, minimalist blacks and whites doing nothing to turn his mind from the bittersweet recollections now monopolizing it. A sharp gaze traced the long expanse of Lake Michigan and looked toward Hyde Park from his sixtieth floor window. If he squinted, he could barely make out the towers of the University half a city away. Or perhaps it was his imagination.

It's dangerous to look behind. I've worked too hard to turn back—even to a breathtaking blond who tastes like sin and feels like no one else.

For the second time in as many days, he strengthened his resolve to leave the other man in peace. It was best for the both of them.

Paradoxical, it was, that the Assistant DA was convinced he'd been jilted on account of indifference or lack of sentiment. If only he knew it was me I was guarding him from, Hirato thought, a wry smile contorting his lips. Too late now.

He settled on the sofa and dialed Tsukitachi, long fingers scrubbing through inky hair in sudden exhaustion.

"Hello?" The red-haired man always sounded on the perpetual edge of a snicker. It was an infectious trait, one that contributed to their ongoing amity.

"Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Tell Bizante I'm working from home today."

Tsukitachi hesitated but acquiesced eventually. "….Sure thing."

"Thanks." He made to end the connection.

"Hey, Hirato?" The tone of concern in his interlocutor's voice caused a small flare of irritation. Am I being that obvious? How disappointing.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Tsukitachi paused. When he received no response, he continued. "You seem a bit… distracted."

He sighed. "I'm fine." And because he knew that alone would prove unsatisfactory, "…now."

"Okay. Well, you know you can call if you need anything, right?" It was a genuine offer, of that he was certain. Tsukitachi was not the posturing sort. Not generally speaking, anyway.

Not about this I can't. "I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Really. It's just that my brother took a swing at me today and I'd rather not meet clients with a bruised jaw."

"Gareki kicked your ass?" Raucous hilarity met his confession, but he didn't mind. "Did you deserve it?"

"I might have." He smiled fondly at the mental image of his sibling's ire. "But trust me, it was worth it. I'll see you Monday."

After his third cup of coffee (brewed by an unusually accommodating brunet), Akari was feeling more like the city's finest prosecutor. He'd been alert all afternoon. He'd been productive. He'd been blissfully preoccupied, and therefore largely inured of the phantasm of Hirato's lips against his. Or so he thought. Having caught himself sliding hesitating fingers across his own mouth for what seemed like the thousandth time, he conceded that his immunity to the other man was more tenuous than previously assumed. Goddamn him. He had half a mind to call the conniving imp and threaten him with assault charges. Ah, but he wants me to react like so. Maybe silence is best…

A soft knock disrupted these ruminations.

"Come in," he called, grateful for the interruption.

The office's latest hire shuffled through the door, atypically subdued in comportment, eyes focused on the carpet.

"What can I do for you, Gareki?" And don't make this about him, he appended mentally.

"I'm so sorry."

Akari arched a brow in mild surprise. "For what?"

"For bringing Hirato here. For causing trouble after you'd been kind enough to give me a place to work."

"Don't be. I expected a visit from dear elder brother when I took you on." He rubbed his temples; talk of his erstwhile lover was so damnably tedious.

"Well, I'm sure you deal with plenty of evil bastards in your line of work without my adding to the lot."

Akari's answering sigh was resigned, defeated. "Your brother's not evil. He cares for you more than you know, or even want to acknowledge, apparently." Nectarine eyes leveled seriously upon cobalt. He'd have been hard pressed to articulate why it was so imperative to impart this point to the younger man; he certainly didn't owe Hirato anything. "What you deem meddling is a show of concern."

"He meddles with you too. By your logic, does that mean—"

"—Likely not. With me it's out of residual habit or enmity. I've not discerned which." That any real, substantial affection lingered between them was far too fatiguing a prospect to consider. "Anyway, I've a mountain of police reports to analyze, so if you don't mind…"

"There's one more thing," Gareki said, a trace of color dusting his cheeks.

"Yes?"

"Yogi. He's not doomed, is he?"

The older man forced his emergent smile into a tight line before it could manifest fully. "No. But I do wonder why you'd be so anxious given that you met only this morning."

"He's a really nice guy. I'd hate to see him fired or suspended on my account."

Akari scoffed. "Do I give off the impression of an idiot?"

Gareki merely huffed before relenting, recognizing that he was ill-prepared for a battle of wits. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. He's hot. Very hot. Not like that's news or anything. Anyone on the street would say the same." A few breaths passed between them; the youth was clearly waiting for a reply. He received none. "Oh, fuck you, Akari."

There was no suppressing the grin precipitated by the other's embarrassment. "I'd suspected as much." The DA adopted a more serious tone, hoping to inculcate sufficient wariness. "You should know that Yogi is… exceptional. His past has resulted in a sort of emotional fragility. As you saw today, he can go from guileless and innocent to wrathful and unyielding in a blink. He's—"

Gareki cut in with a dismissive wave. "Look, you've been more of a brother to me than Hirato, and I appreciate all you've done. But I don't need coddling at the moment."

"It's not you I'm protecting." Akari's irises flashed in warning. "Don't pursue him if your intent is conquest alone." Because he'll fall too easily, precisely as I did.

The younger nodded in understanding. "Got it."

Night fell over Chicago like silk. Hirato had been so immersed in work that he hadn't noticed. He swiveled around in his desk chair and gazed at a glittering metropolis through the office windows. His current accommodations had cost a small fortune, and as the golden grid of the city's heart stretched forth into a blue-black horizon, he reaffirmed the incalculable worth of the view. The world seemed malleable from aloft—like he could move it according to whim with a few choice words and a charming wink or two. It was for that very reason he chose a condominium on the sixtieth floor of a glass palace that skirted the sky; each room boasted another vista, another god-like opportunity to impassively observe those below.

Whenever he grew dissatisfied with attending from above, he deigned to mingle with Chicago's denizens, preferably at a trendy bar peopled with the successful and beautiful, and more often than not with the promiscuous and solicitous.

Having grown weary of work, he decided that having someone might wholly rid him of the past. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pictured another body spread open underneath him, sweat-slicked skin sliding against his and breath hot in his ear. A panacea for all my ills.

An hour later, he'd settled himself at the city's most exclusive high-rise lounge, predacious violet irises raking the crowd for a suitable target. The room was sparsely populated and uncommonly quiet, but that had never thwarted Hirato's ambitions in the past. Tonight, however, the lawyer needn't have bothered canvassing. A lanky blond had been eyeing him since he entered. The stranger lurked in the shadows and nursed a drink, clearly biding time, marking his quarry. Finally, he sidled up and perched on an adjacent stool, light-colored irises darkening with prurience. "You seem lonely," he said.

And you seem like prey. Prey with clichéd lines, no less. "You're quite presumptuous, aren't you?" Hirato turned and regarded the interloper appraisingly. Lean limbs, pale, almost luminescent skin, and eyes that looked like jewels under the ambient illumination. The man canted his head, a new pattern of fluorescent lights revealing that his irises were grey, not ruby. Not like Akari's. That errant notion was smothered with another long drink. "What's your name?"

"Call me Xander," he stated simply.

A mysterious pseudonym. How unforgivably trite, the brunet mocked silently. He was indeed interested, but not remotely impressed by such clumsy technique. "Is that your real name?"

"Does it matter?" the blond queried, lips twisted in roguery. Ah, so this striking, assertive creature was an initiate, was he? Perfect.

Hirato adopted his most disarming smile. "No."

Cool fingers brushed along the tiny laceration on his cheek. Presumptuous indeed. And quite forward too. How cute. Xander leaned in, breath ghosting across the thin, raised scar. He leaned past and murmured into the shell of Hirato's ear, warm exhales skimming his neck. "Now who would mar a face like that? A dismissed lover, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid the truth is far less scintillating. Sibling rivalry."

"You poor thing." Under the countertop, a discreet hand landed on his thigh and traveled scandalously higher and higher, thumb following the seam of his trousers with remarkable abandon. "Fortunately for you, I've just the thing to lift your spirits."

"Do you now?" Hirato wondered idly about the amount of alcohol he'd imbibed if he was liable to persuasion with minimal effort on his would-be seducer's part. After a few moments' reflection, he found that he didn't much care. Uncomplicated sex had been his aim all along, and this Xander would doubtless be satiated with a single evening. Add to that the fact that he was undeniably alluring and well-experienced, and the next several hours' events became a foregone conclusion.

Tousled argentine hair shone blue in the light streaming through the bedroom windows. Xander had been everything promised and more, yet Hirato itched for something, something lingering just beyond his reach. Maybe his longing was occasioned by the shape of the other man's tangle of long limbs under the sheets. If he stared long enough, he could imagine Akari's lithe body warming his bed. Or perhaps it was that this evening's conquest bore more than a passing resemblance to his former paramour. Probably, it was that his slipping in and out of bed had not disturbed the sleeping man in the least. How he missed Akari's bleary glare whenever he shifted, as if Hirato was not only expected but obligated to spend every nighttime moment in immediate proximity. That blond had always been more tactile and affectionate after sex. That blond had never failed to fully satisfy him. This blond was a shade of the one whose place he usurped. Hirato smiled bitterly as his eyes roved over the snoozing form at his side.

Suddenly his cellphone rang, jarring him out of nostalgia and his bedmate out of slumber. Xander sat up and blinked a few times, vision acclimating just in time to catch the brunet stalking out the room.

Hirato nearly groaned when he saw the number. "What could you possibly want at this hour? A designated driver?"

Tsukitachi faltered momentarily, and that's when he realized something had gone horribly awry. The red-haired man rarely sounded so grave. "Akari Dezart's been shot."

"What?" He placed a hand to his mouth as the words registered. A breath caught in his throat; his mockery of a heart went crashing to the floor, taking along with it every wistful reminder of what he'd cast aside so heedlessly: His partner resisting a romp on account of exams. A watchful bedmate so attuned to his nearness that he stirred whenever Hirato woke in the night. Arresting opaline eyes, and lips so soft and gentle they felt like velvet brushing his. He'd lost a lover; forfeited love. Oh god. What if memories are all I have left? The possibility was ruthlessly shoved aside. No, he's not gone. I'd know if he were. "You'd better tell me he's okay," he growled, as though commands would craft reality.

"He's alive but not out of the woods. The next forty-eight hours are critical."

"Where'd they take him?" Already he'd begun to gather various items and stuff them into an overnight bag, inwardly enumerating what he'd require for the next few nights.

"UChicago Medical Center."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said, only fleetingly vexed that Tsukitachi had gleaned their history. Those types of secrets mattered very little at present.

"Do you need a ride?"

"No. I'm leaving immediately." It was remarkable how rationality overwhelmed his thoughts. Somewhere in the nether regions of his awareness, the agonizing sting of conceivably losing Akari was clawing away at his defenses; nevertheless, his brain worked with calculated alacrity, neglecting all but the most essential directives: Put on some clothes. Pack your things. Drive to the hospital. Be at your lover's side.

"Hirato." He'd forgotten Tsukitachi was still on the line.

"Yes?" Exasperation underscored the word. Didn't the other man comprehend the urgency of the situation?

"It was Azana."

"What?" The revelation was enough to fell him. He dropped into the couch, head in hand and heartbeat suspended as cold fury flooded his veins. I'll burn him. I'll destroy everything he ever cared about. He'll pay interest on each drop of Akari's blood.

Xander had stumbled out of the bedroom and slipped behind the couch while the attorney attempted to regain control of faculties that had been hijacked by rage. He felt a desirous palm slide along his shoulder, sending a trill through his frame that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with feelings of betrayal. The appendage was slapped away so forcefully that echoes resounded in the room. Grey orbs went wide with alarm. Still, Xander stayed. "What's wrong?" he asked, trying and failing to sound properly concerned.

"Tsukitachi, I'll call you when I get there." Hirato snapped his phone shut and regarded his houseguest, gaze narrowed venomously as if the man were somehow responsible for Akari's injuries. "There's been an emergency. I'm leaving. You can make yourself at home until morning. My housekeeper will see you out." He stood abruptly and made for the bedroom.

Xander trailed behind. "What can I do?"

Hirato barked sarcastically, startling his visitor. You can stop pretending to give a shit. You can start acting like a one-night stand. "Nothing." He stepped into his discarded slacks and pulled on his shirt, not bothering to shake out the wrinkles. Myriad things that mattered only this morning had disintegrated into meaninglessness.

"Well, can I call you when this is over?" the blond asked hopefully.

Under different circumstances, he might have been intrigued by the man's persistence—interested enough to entertain another round of sport, even. Not tonight. "No," he replied flatly, slamming the front door without saying goodbye. His mind was consumed by a single vow: I won't fail Akari this time.

NB: Hirato will feel the full range of emotions resultant from Akari's injuries (including that oh-so-angsty emotion guilt). Please be patient on that front.

And before you all come for my blood: Akari doesn't die. Yeah, it's a bit of a spoiler but I'm sure you'd have guessed as much since he's a main character in this story.