A/N: So, I reference a small headcanon of mine that Mondo has asthma. So fed up of it being seen as a "nerd" condition, so... The boi now has it. Not severe, but still.

Mondo made the executive decision to stay sleeping on the couch that night. Not that he was that bad off - the suite was VIP, after all, and the couch was comfy. he was a just bit miffed that, firstly, he had to do that in the first place because Mr Pretty Boy wanted to go clubbing, and secondly, there was a plush, California king sized bed in his room which was being tragically wasted. He hadn't exactly had many chances to experience that sort of luxury, and he'd slept like the dead the past few nights.

Maybe that was a problem. Had he just not realised? Some "Ultimate Bodyguard", if that was the case. Shit… Little asshole, making him question things and get all shaky and crap. It might've had very little to do with Ishimaru, in full honesty, but he was too tired to think it through clearly.

At least he did manage to get some sleep, despite being slightly cramped. He was over six feet tall, after all; not exactly made for sleeping on the couch. He'd even managed a rare, pleasant dream; dogs and cotton candy, Daiya's obnoxious laugh and hanging with their friends in one of the many abandoned buildings they used as hangouts. They were such edgy little shits, but it wasn't like anyone cared about the disused factories and crap.

He'd been reliving the time Takemichi got his tongue piercing stuck in his jumper (somehow, Mondo still didn't know how the hell someone did that), when he awoke. It wasn't some crash or anything, just the usual sounds of someone pottering around, getting ready for the day.

He groaned as he sat up, head pounding. He still felt exhausted, and he'd definitely drooled in his sleep. He turned to the window, and realised… It was still dark. Fucking really? After Mondo told him he wasn't going out?

"Hold it right there," He began, hoisting himself to his feet, doing his best not to fall straight over again, "I thought I said -"

Oh. He wasn't wearing the tight jeans and such he was the night before.

Ishimaru raised an immaculate eyebrow at him from where he was tying his trainers. "Relax, I'm going for a run," He huffed, "I might as well get on with my regular routine, since someone -"

"I'm gonna cut you off right there, kid," He grumbled, stretching out his back and arms, "What time is it? Sun's not even out yet…"

"Owada-san, it's winter," The kid sighed, a deadpan look on his face, "It's about 5:15AM."

It was a damn good job he wasn't drinking anything - he would have choked on it. Who the fuck even wakes up at five in the fucking morning, let alone after being awake at midnight? Not to mention the clothes. Mondo was praying, if the kid really was going to work out in some way, it'd be in a gym. Heating, shelter from the elements, a bench he could probably catch some z's on because it's not like anywhere's going to be busy at five in the morning -

"Now, if you excuse me, I'm late for my run," Ishimaru waved off, going to open the door before Mondo reached above him, slamming it closed once more. For a guy who worked out pretty constantly, it was pretty effortless to overpower his grip. Eh, guess that what comes from having lithe muscle for aesthetics, rather than the bulky stuff for actual strength. Not to mention the lack of warning -

No, that shit could wait until later. Fucking focus, Mondo!

"You said routine… Have ya really been sneaking out every day?!" He demanded. He could've been a little softer about it, sure, but you have to understand; this wasn't a good start to the job, especially if shit got out. Was he being overly paranoid? Yes. Did he not have a reason to be? He abso-fucking-lutely did!

"It's not sneaking anywhere," The idol groaned, sounding very much like the stereotypical teenager in that moment, "I'm an idol. As such, I have an intensive exercise routine to stay trim, not to mention fit enough to perform my high-energy choreography. I just don't see the need to wake you and have an irritable tough guy around me, when I can easily complete my run without dragging you the whole five miles."

Five fucking miles?!

Oh, today was going to suck. Today was going to kick his ass and run him over with a truck. All because an idol needed to "stay trim". Fuck, if the kid was any trimmer, he doubted he'd have any skin left.

"Were the idols you guarded before babysat so extensively?" He kid questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"In all fairness, you're the youngest client I've had," He grumbled, scrubbing his hand over his tired eyes, "But kid, you've got to tell me when you run off. Don't care what for. You being famous, and pretty, and so skinny… I wasn't kidding about my worry last night. Celebrities get murdered… Or worse."

"You think… I'm…" The kid shook his head, cheeks red, gaze staring holes into his trainers, "I understand. I don't like it - it's suffocating! But… I see the logic."

Mondo smiled, turning back to his room. He had to find some clothes that passed as exercise gear…

Mondo knew someone had it out for him.

He was wheezing as he jogged, trying to keep pace with Mr Trim in front of him, but lagging behind somewhat pitifully. He had his inhaler in his bag - he wasn't that much of a dumbass - but holy fuck if this wasn't torture. He didn't do track in middle school. He was more than content to work on his strength and brawling skill.

Speaking about things he was more than willing to do; laying down in the road, waiting for the next car to come along and end his misery, was getting far too attractive.

Conversely, Ishimaru was just about breaking a sweat, panting. His insides weren't threatening to become his outsides like Mondo's were. Kid either had a stomach of steel, or he was just a lot more used to this shit than Mondo was - namely, the extensive train travel and exercise.

Actually, considering the whole "Ultimate Idol" thing, it was most likely the latter.

That was when his legs noped out of the situation, sending him stumbling and falling. He didn't cry out, per se, so much as let out a manly grunt of surprise.

Who was he fucking kidding? Ishimaru heard him through his headphones and blaring music.

"Owada -san!" He called, rushing to his side in an instant, "Are you hurt?! Can you speak?! What's wrong?!"

Ugh, so loud.

"What's wrong," He grunted, "Is that someone is punishing me!"

Maybe a tad dramatic, but holy hell! Fuck five miles, it felt like he'd run a marathon.

"I don't know if I royally pissed off someone up there -!"

He pointed an accusatory finger at the idol.

"Or someone down here! Like, sorry kid, but I give! Just doing my fucking job!"

Mondo watched the idol's carefully cute and prim expression crack apart, his dignified (if far too loud) concern quickly falling into laughter and snorts. He had half a mind to be rather offended, but the carefully crafted exterior melting into those cute as hell snorts and chortling… That wasn't even mentioning the look on the idol's face. Pure fucking sunshine.

Could he not be a queer disaster for five fucking minutes?!

"You're rather funny, Owada-san," Ishimaru chuckled.

"Mondo."

"Huh?" The idol barely breathed - lord above, give him strength - staring at him wide-eyed. Of course, that tends to be what happened when he let his tongue go before his brain.

"Ya can call me Mondo, none of that 'Owada-san' crap," He grumbled, and he will eternally blame the heat in his cheeks on the marathon he was sure the other dragged him through.

"Oh! Well, in that case… You can call me Taka!" The kid - Taka, Goddamnit that's cute - grinned. He was going to have to invest in those cheesy, stereotypical sunglasses if the kid was just going to unleash that megawatt smile on him without a shred of warning. Then, the kick to the crotch he really needed in that moment -

"Now, as you've caught your breath, we should keep going! Obviously such a long break isn't ideal for cardio, but we can still -"

He just flopped down once more, groaning like a man dying.

"I said sorry, didn't I?! Ya don't need to keep punishing me! I fucking give!"

"Mondo," Kiyotaka sighed, standing once more and looking at his FitBit, "Do you want to know how many miles of my morning run we've completed?"

"I don't know, ten, you animal!"

He was sent a rather disapproving, leveling look. "Two," Taka deadpanned, "We've got three miles to go."

That truck Mondo mentioned? The one the day was going to run him over with?

Yeah, it reversed for another hit.