A/N: Thank you to all those who've followed/favorited the story! I know it's silly, but it makes me happy :)

The chapters seem to be getting longer every day, and perhaps that's due to the character's feelings spiraling out of their own control, but it's certainly taking a bigger chunk out of my day! Please tell me if things are too much. But mostly, enjoy!

11:48 p.m.

He'd lied when he said that there was another meeting he had to attend. He'd cleared out the entire schedule for the night, desiring a night's rest.

The rest of the night ended quickly. They were mostly silent as Hotta drove them back to her place, and she left with a cursory goodbye and a thank you to Hotta (come to think of it, she didn't thank him for the dinner—how could she). The rest of the ride was even more silent, as Kyouya contemplated the situation with Akito.

He knew that his second brother's marriage wasn't a love match, and that it didn't grow into one of affection, the way it had with Fuyumi's marriage. Akito and his wife had a child, a boy, a few years after the union, but Kyouya didn't know much about the boy other than that he gave him a model airplane for the last birthday (Tachibana had suggested it).

But that wasn't Kyouya being heartless—that was the way it was in his family. His father had been present in his children's lives in the most indirect way possible; his siblings saw him during breakfast, when he debriefed them about the latest news the kids should be aware of, and he might ask them to accompany them to a function sometimes. But no play time, no help with the homework, none. The children had a tutor; they could figure out the rest.

So Akito ni-san was seeing another woman…

Kyouya sighed contemplatively. He supposed that, theoretically, his father might've had an affair without any of the children's knowledge. He wasn't even sure how his mother would react; the older pair had an implicit understanding that work and family reputation came before personal feelings, and what one did with their spare time was under no one else's purview but their own. Kyouya supposed that Akito and his wife might have a similar understanding, and that his wife might be meeting someone else behind his back as well.

It wasn't his business, and he wasn't going to interfere—as long as it didn't tarnish the Ootori reputation or became a liability.

He had to admit, however, that the idea was distasteful to him. He had no romantic ideals about marriage or family—that was Tamaki's specialty, not his—but marriage was a monogamous contract. If one wished to be involved in a polyamorous relationship, marriage was axiomatically the wrong choice; they might've as well have stayed outside the institution. What was the point of signing a contract if he meant to break it in the first place? That was paradoxical and troublesome.

Perhaps Tenri-san would've looked a bit more assured if he told her all this. She seemed to feel sorry for him, believing that he was part of a dysfunctional family that condoned extramarital affairs. Certainly not. But his feelings on marriage were none of her business. In fact, his feelings at all were none of her business.

Then why did he regret not telling her more about his interpretation?

He'd given her a cynical view of marriage and divorce, supported by statistics and sociology. It was an apt observation. Regardless of this, he wanted her to know that he was not one of those people, that when he got married he had no intention of getting a divorce without even trying, that he believed in commitment and loyalty.

Damn it. He must've had too much wine.

What that annoying woman thought of him should not be his concern. She was easy to talk to, certainly, when she was not convinced he was out to destroy her life. He even found himself enjoying the banter she had with Nakamura, hearing about the conversation that took place among the service staff, and playing guessing games. It was as if he was a sponge immersed in water; he somehow absorbed all of her views for a few hours, getting accustomed to her way of speaking, thinking, even relating.

She had a small network of people that she knew and liked and who knew and liked her. Even that old watch repairer seemed to know her familiarly.

He had a large network of people that he knew of and who knew of him, and that was enough.

It must've been the wine. It must've addled with his brain. That damned Californian brand that Nakamura wouldn't reveal despite his repeated hints.

Besides, it wasn't as if he didn't have business associates whose company enjoyed as they remained business associates. None came to mind at the moment, but that didn't matter—he was certain that there were some.

8:42 p.m.

"Anyway, Meiko-san grabbed the screwdriver and began to disassemble the entire thing…" Mihoko said, trying to contain her mirth. She'd already been given two warning looks from other diners for snickering too loudly. "In front of everyone!"

Ootori, true to form, did not show his amusement in public very easily, and even when he did it was barely more than a small uplifting of his lips. Just like he did now as he took a sip of the wine, hiding his grin. But Mihoko had become accustomed to reading his expressions a bit more. He wasn't very expressive, but that didn't mean that his feelings didn't show at all.

Mihoko regarded the young man sitting in front of her, her thoughts becoming more thoughtful. When she took a step back and looked at herself from an outside perspective, the entire situation was bizarre. There she was, having dinner—a weekly dinner that Ootori somehow managed to keep despite his often-emphasized busy schedule—with the person who tricked her into joining his project. At this point, it almost felt superfluous mentioning that he used deceit and blackmail to make that happen; from half the stories he told about his endeavors, Mihoko got a sense that her case wasn't the worst one. The thought should've made the prospect of dinner with him distasteful, but she always found herself looking forward to the occasion.

The fact that Hirose thought he had nothing to gain from you says more about him than you, no?

She'd been beyond discomfited when she saw Ichiru that night and, despite whatever she might've said, her legs were shaking out of nervousness. Confronting him was never something she would've done intentionally, and she hated to admit that Ichiru still had the effect of making her gulp out of embarrassment; he was far too good-looking for his own sake. But she'd been truthful when she told Ootori that she didn't have feelings for him anymore. Ichiru had betrayed her too fundamentally. Her dignity would not allow her to go back to the way things were.

The fact that Hirose thought he had nothing to gain from you says more about him than you, no?

That underhanded compliment. It wasn't even a compliment, she supposed. He stated it so matter-of-factly, so rationally, that it took a while until it sunk in that Ootori was saying that she could do a lot better than Ichiru. That was one thing she'd never thought until that moment. Until that moment, Ichiru was the one from a good family,the one with a good education, the one who was attractive, sociable, and had everything. She was the mousy geek who was too sharp-looking and quiet to attract any friendly attention. But Ootori's question drove the point home that experience had shown her—she could do a lot better.

And, as foolish as it was, she was grateful that Ootori pointed this out.

Even despite the fact that his recognition of her talent was probably what led to the crash and burn of her company in the first place.

"Please tell me that you're doing more with office furniture than just dismantling it," Ootori said. Mihoko resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I gave you the run-down of the developments, didn't I? Oh, I almost forgot—here." She took out the document in her bag and placed it on the table.

"A rough sketch?"

Mihoko nodded. "I thought I should show you the copy. You know, to prove that we're not lying to you."

The annoyance on Ootori's face was clearer than his smile. Mihoko grinned.

"I am not that suspicious, you should know."

"I am," Mihoko said. "Thanks to somebody. I wonder who that is."

Ootori shook his head in exasperation.

It was easy talking to him. She didn't know why. She wasn't a huge fan of talking to people in general and, even when she did find someone with a common ground, oftentimes she found that she didn't have much to say. With Yuu-chan she could listen to her and feel enough; with other close acquaintances she had, they seem to accept that she wasn't very into small talk and let her be.

With him, however, she didn't know why, and she was probably just fooling herself, but she got a sense that he enjoyed her company. That made all the difference, in that she wanted him to keep enjoying her company. And for some reason, he seemed to be willing to let her talk. She would even say that he was friendly, if she didn't know any better.

She must've had too much wine.

"I would like you to come with me to a conference," Ootori said suddenly.

"Why?"

"I can't represent all the things I've got going on," Ootori shrugged. "Someone's got to explain what you're up to."

Mihoko rocked back and forth in her chair.

Conferences. Were not her thing, unless she could sit in the audience seat and take notes. Now learning, that was her thing. Mingling was not her thing.

It seemed that Ootori could read the expression on her face.

"You've been telling me about the project for weeks now," he said. "You're the most qualified."

"What would it entail?"

Ootori shrugged again as if it were no big deal. "Series of panels, discussions at each end, talkback afterwards, dinner for people who are staying." And then: "it's tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"From one to six. I'm told you have time."

"Told by whom?"

That smile on his face was not due to her. "I have my sources."

"I'm not prepared, Ootori-san," she said, beginning to feel annoyance bubble up in her again. Friend, him? The fact that she even entertained the theory for a second showed just how drunk she must've been.

"Nonsense, I'm sure you can whip something up. I already reserved a spot for you on the panel. If you don't go, then the panel won't be complete."

"What panel?"

"The panel on robotics in biomedical engineering. The entire conference is centered around biomedicine."

"I didn't even say yes!"

"Well, I suppose the panel might do just fine without you," Ootori said, looking mockingly contemplative. "But what about all the experts and investors in the room who won't hear about the project? You wouldn't want Meiko-san to sit on a wobbly chair the entire time, will you?"

The nerve of him. "Meiko-san is perfectly capable of putting together a chair." Truth to be told, she doubted Meiko-san's ability to put together a chair. His disassembly was shoddy at best. But he continued: "There's only so much I can do to fund this project, you should know. And those dinners Tanaka-san keeps asking for aren't paying for themselves."

"Then don't buy him dinner," Mihoko said through gritted teeth. At the same time, however, Mihoko realized that no one quite knew how this project was funded, through what means and channels. Was this Ootori's way of saying that he couldn't find the capital to source the project?

Looking at his smirk, however, she decided that he was just making fun of her again.

"We need a face for the project," Ootori continued.

"Then pick a nicer one than mine." Mihoko said without much thought. Then, realizing how it sounded, she tried to amend her statement hastily, saying, "someone that's more traditionally appealing."

Ootori looked at her askance. "You'll do," he finally said.

Mihoko was annoyed, but this time, at herself. It sounded like she was fishing for compliments from him, and that's not what she'd intended—it was just a thought that predominantly defined how she behaved in the world. There were a lot of people who were a lot better looking than her in the world. She knew it to be true.

Seeing that Ootori wasn't going to say anything else until she said something in the affirmative, she said, "I'd need to look at the program, the people who are talking, and also look back at our own research to tailor it to the audience and the other people on the panel. That's going to take some time."

Ootori shrugged. "Energy drink? It'll be on me." Again, that smirk was on his face.

She refused to back down. "I need that information."

"It's already in your inbox," he replied lazily.

"I don't suppose you have my opening lines in there as well?"

"Oh no, to speak on someone else's behalf would be impolite." He was clearly enjoying having his way.

"I'd better be getting overtime for this, Ootori-san," she said bluntly. To be honest, her salary was the least of her concern. She liked the job enough as it were. But letting him get his way—that irked her.

"Your hourly wage was calculated from the annual salary and the expected amount was added to the next paycheck around six," he replied.

"You just planned it all out, didn't you."

Ootori smiled widely. A part of her noticed that his lips curled rather attractively when he smiled, and another part of her hated her for noticing it. "Oh yes. Now, shall we have dessert, or would skipping to coffee be better? I wouldn't want you to be sleepy while you're working."

4:04 a.m.

"Ne, Miho-chan, you're still awake?"

Hatori Yuu was used to keeping odd hours. It was the way creativity flowed, she joked, but really, trying to keep to deadlines (and staying awake to keep to deadlines) made the mangaka used to sleeping at odd hours, and after a few years of working as an assistant and then a full-time artist of her own right, going to sleep at normal hours felt abnormal.

Her friend, on the other hand, tended to function like clockwork. Even as a high-school student, she always went to bed before midnight so that "her performance in school the next day would be optimal."

"Good morning, Yuu-chan," Miho-chan said, her voice barely audible.

"What could you possibly be up to at this hour, Miho-chan?!" Yuu approached her friend bent over the dining table. A sticky note stuck to her chin as she looked up, and dark circles covered half of her cheeks.

"What time is it?" Miho-chan asked blearily.

"It's four."

"Four… it's four…" Miho-chan yawned. "What are you doing up at four?"

"Oh, I thought it would be a good time for a cup-a-noodle… Do you want one?"

"No," Miho-chan said, and fell back on the table.

"What's this for, then?"

"Work."

"You don't work past midnight."

"I do tonight… I mean this morning." Miho-chan growled. "That Ootori is sending me to a conference at a moment's notice."

"Ootori Kyouya?" Whether Miho-chan noticed it or not, Yuu noticed that his name kept popping up more and more during conversation the past month. Miho-chan seemed reluctant to talk about him in the beginning, calling him annoying and arrogant, but Yuu saw that she was always smiling when she talked about one of their conversations.

She shook her head. Despite what the world believed, she liked to base her hypotheses on observations. And there was definitely friendliness here, but was that enough to…

"That annoying bastard," Miho-chan growled without a beat. "Is making me prepare all this in one night! One night! This is a week's work, at least!"

"Ne, Miho-chan, come on, let's take you to bed…"

"I'm not done."

"I don't think you're really awake right now."

"I know that!"

"Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

"That is… far too reasonable…" Miho-chan muttered as Yuu led her gingerly to the bedroom. As soon as her knees hit the mattress, Miho-chan slumped on the bed and groaned.

"I'm going to make him pay for this, Yuu-chan," Miho-chan drawled.

"I know, I know." What a guy to make Miho-chan all riled up this way.

But other than Hirose Ichiru, Ootori Kyouya was the only guy Mihoko brought up willingly.

11:45 a.m.

Something was ringing. Something was ringing.

Mihoko would've responded, but she was swimming in a pool of jello. Wonderfully think jello, in fact, that it was more like lying on a bed than swimming. Great surface tension, she thought to herself as she thrashed her legs about. Great texture. I wonder what the flavor is like…

"Miho-chan! Miho-chan, the phone is ringing?" Yuu-chan's high voice startled her awake.

"What?" Mihoko said.

"Your phone." And sure enough, her phone was indeed buzzing. She looked at the caller ID. Ootori. What would he be calling about on a Saturday?

Oh, shit.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." She did not swear often, but she was swearing now. She leaped out of the bed, every trace of sleep gone from her eyes, and ran to the bathroom. Toilet, brush the teeth, wash the face, comb the hair. What a mess of a hair. But she didn't have time to take a shower.

"Miho-chan, aren't you going to answer?" her roommate yelled from across the apartment.

"I know exactly what he's going to say!"

"What?"

"I said, I know exactly what he's going to say!"

"I should answer him?"

"What?" Mihoko jumped out of the bathroom to her room, but it was already too late; Yuu-chan had answered the phone.

"Hello, this is Hatori Yuu speaking…" Yuu-chan paused and listened.

"I see," she eventually replied. "Well, could you give her half an hour? She just woke up." Apparently, more words from the other side of the line.

"Talk to her? No, she's in the bathroom." Yuu-chan winked at her as Mihoko frantically went through the closet. Honestly, Yuu-chan was sometimes too good at lying to people.

"Now, that's rather unreasonable to ask of a woman, isn't it?" she said to the phone. And then, finally:

"Twenty minutes, and that's the final offer. Good-bye, Ootori-san." Mihoko took off the clothes she fell asleep in the night before; there was no time for modesty this morning.

"What did he say?"

"He's not very nice, is he?" Yuu-chan frowned. "He said that you'd better bring your ass down right now because he's been waiting for fifteen minutes and he didn't care whether you were in your cosplay costume or not."

"I don't have a cosplay costume," Mihoko muttered, trying to get a panty-hose up her leg. She was not used to this kind of attire. "And I told you multiple times, he's an annoying bastard."

Yuu-chan shrugged. "I know. I just thought maybe it was an initial dislike that happens in love stories."

"Love story? I'd like to shove that up his nostrils right now," Mihoko scoffed. Yes, she knew that they meant to meet at eleven thirty. Yes, she felt bad about oversleeping. No, she was not apologetic enough to apologize to him. He put this deadline on her, damn it.

"Are you going to wear that suit, Miho-chan?" Yuu-chan asked.

Mihoko looked at the suit in question. It was a rather old one, one that she bought at nineteen for the first formal "interview" she had to go to. Lost about where she should start looking, she asked Ichiru—the only person in her circle who knew anything about "formal attire"—if he could help her out with picking an outfit. He took her to a rather upper-class department store, or so it seemed to her, but he and the staff working there somehow managed to produce a woman's suit that she actually thought looked nice on her. She was, however, convinced that she couldn't afford it.

"It's within your budget," Ichiru said loudly.

"Really?" Mihoko said, skeptical. The inner lining of the jacket did say "Italian wool," and although she didn't know much about fashion, she knew that it meant a certain quality.

"Yes," Ichiru coughed loudly. "It is."

It was only after she had lost a button a few weeks later and went back to the store to ask for a spare that she realized the suit had cost twice the amount she'd actually paid. Ichiru had asked the staff member to disclose the "discounted" price to her so that she could pick what she wanted, and he took care of the difference.

That idiot. And that might've been when Mihoko started to have deeper feelings for him.

She looked down at the suit now. It was a little faded around the elbows, and the waist probably had to be taken in, but it served her well the last eight years.

"It's the only one I've got," Mihoko said. "And it's just clothes, isn't it? I don't mind." And she meant it—the association between the suit and Ichiru didn't move her as much as it used to.

Yuu-chan looked at her with a funny expression.

"What?" Mihoko asked.

"Nothing," Yuu-chan said. "Now, I have ten minutes to arrange your hair… and seriously, Miho-chan, you have to get a haircut!"

Mihoko grimaced. It was not her favorite activity. "Please make it quick and painful," she said.

12:15 p.m.

"You're late," were Ootori's first words.

"I needed sleep," she replied.

"You were meant to give me a summary before the conference."

"We can do that in the car," she reasoned.

Ootori still looked annoyed. "Whatever. Tell me what you're going to say."

4:10 p.m.

She sat by the other panelists, looking rather green. Kyouya had to admit that it made him a little smug. Serves her right. She was forty-five minutes late, for goodness' sake. He had to miss a call with an Amsterdam fund manager for that.

He relaxed into his seat and took another sip of his coffee. These conferences—in a way, they were just a formality, but it interested him to see who attended what. It was a hint of who wanted to make the next venture in a specific field. And if there was going to be a competitor in that area, Kyouya needed to know.

"Ne, Ootori-san," someone approached him and said. Kyouya looked up. Middle-aged woman. Neat. Her name tag said: Sakamoto Midori. Oh yes, the CFO of a software company.

"Good afternoon," he said politely.

"It's nice running into you today," she said. "I haven't seen you since that meeting in January. May I ask you some things?"

"Perhaps after the conference," Kyouya said politely, wondering how he would wiggle his out of this particular one. When people asked him if they could ask him something, they really meant that they wanted to ask him for something. And as far as he could remember, there was nothing that Sakamoto-san here could do for him.

She nodded, satisfied enough.

The panel began. The greenish hue of her face was overcome by an increasingly strong blush, but Tenri-san managed to introduce herself coherently enough as part of the "initiative taken by the Ootori group." Kyouya would've been lying if that term didn't make him just a bit proud of the work that he'd done, that everyone had done, to come this far.

But it was her who stole the scene. From her crumpled eyebrow, vigorous note-taking, and dedication to other people's ideas, it was obvious that Tenri-san was unaware of her own effect on everyone else. The panelists turned to her whenever she took time to talk. They found what she said relevant and interesting. He found what she had to say relevant and interesting. She was dry without being unprofessional, and informed without being pedantic. A delicate balance that mesmerized him like a virtuoso violinist.

What a silly idea, to compare her participation to a work of art. But it felt that way. She mastered the subject. She knew the field. And he felt inordinately proud for having found her, having convinced her to work with him. He told himself that he could indulge in this pride, this enjoyment for as long as the discussion continued; no one would be looking at his reaction, with the debate becoming more and more animated as people began to ask questions.

For a moment, their eyes met, and an understanding passed. Two people who saw each other amongst strangers.

It felt like she was his.

Then someone asked another question about the integration of analytics in cardiac surgery, and Kyouya turned to look at the questioner, feeling confused.

His. What was this, this—proprietary feeling?

He thought he discovered her, but she was well on her way to being a successful engineer before he came along. He managed to get her to join the project, yes, but it was her who shined within the team, and it was her who made him choose her to be the spokesperson. She wasn't anyone else's but her own. He knew that.

But he wanted her to be his.

Her hair was arranged in a neat knot that he hadn't seen before, and while the Hitachiin twins (and the usual Kyouya, probably) would've found fault with the coiffeur, Kyouya merely enjoyed how much it revealed her prettily shaped ear and the slope of her neck. Her jaw framed her smile and her dimples nicely, and when she grew animated she gestured with her hand in a way that made him feel excited with her.

He hadn't had a drink since the dinner.

Something tight seized his chest. The strange surge of feeling from the pit of his stomach—he didn't know it well, but he was smart enough to recognize what it was.

Admiration for her.

Jealousy of anyone who had her in their lives.

Desire to have her.

All absolutely useless.

The talk ended before it even began properly.

"Ootori-san," Sakamoto said, but Kyouya stood up abruptly.

"Excuse me, Sakamoto-san," he said. "I must urgently talk to my associate. I will be back." Without checking to see if she answered in the affirmative, Kyouya let his legs carry him to the front of the room, where Tenr-san was chatting with a group of people who'd approached her.

"No, I don't think de Vries' most recent work reflects that very well…" she was saying.

"Tenri-san," Kyouya said from behind. She jumped. Why was she always so surprised to see him?

"Eh, Ootori-san," she said, the past irritation with him seemingly forgotten. There was a glow in her eyes. She was intellectually engaged. She was happy. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

He knew he was taking too long to answer, but he couldn't find the right words. He felt like he was in a shell-shock.

"Good job," he finally said.

The glow in her eyes grew brighter. "Really?" she asked.

"Don't push it," he muttered. "I must talk to some people. So should you."

Tenri-san rolled her eyes. "You came to me," she muttered, and turned back to her cohorts.

He stood behind her for a few seconds, contemplating his next move. He had the world arranged in a chess game. It was a complicated game, but there were always reliable steps, foreseeable strategies that he could depend on. He liked to think he knew the opponent very well.

It felt like someone had thrown the board away and all the pieces were scattered on the floor.

"Well," he murmured. "I suppose I could do with a new challenge."