Author's Babblings: Ok, I was feeling doomy while writing this, so this part is a bit less cutesy-humor-fluff. Sue me. ^^; To tie up loose ends: yes, I'm aware that it's illegal to drive and talk on a cell phone at the same time in the fine state of New York... would Ran honestly care? ^_~ Ken in leather has been brought to you by the letters S, E, X, and Y, as well as several requests. General vagueness of description of Saks Fifth has been brought to you by the fact that I haven't been there in... uh, ever, thanks to being too broke. n_n They'd prolly sic the dogs on me.
That is all. ^_^; I promise more in-depth, meaningful conversation in the next chapter. ::watches her audience throw tomatoes and fall asleep:: 9_9;
//'Cause I
did enough to show you that I
Was willing to give and sacrifice
And I was the one who was lifting you up
When you thought your life had had enough
And when I get close, you turn away
There's nothing that I can do or say
So now I need you to tell me the truth
You know I'd do that for you
So why are you running away?
Why are you running away?//
~Hoobastank, "Running Away"~
They were standing in front of Saks Fifth, and Ran was looking for an exit. A valet had taken the bike away, snow was starting to fall harder, and the last thing in the world the redhead wanted to do as go into the damned store.
Which was precisely why Ken was tugging on his arm rather firmly.
"Come on, Ran! I know you don't own anything that you could wear to a club, an' I sure as hell am not goin' into one with you in a suit."
"I'm not going clubbing."
"Yes, you are."
At that moment, Ran decided that his boss was going to die a painful, cruel death, and maybe Ken would share a similar fate. He finally let the brunette drag him into the store.
"Mr. Fujimiya!"
Ran wanted to shoot himself as the store manager floated over on expensive-looking Italian heels. She was short and incredibly fit, dressed in something pricey though all you could really see were the huge emeralds around her throat and dangling off of her ears. Her lipstick was a classy shade of off-red.
"Welcome back! We haven't seen you in the longest time. How are you?" she asked, with feeling, as she placed one hand on Ran's shoulder. The redhead forced himself to take a steadying breath. Ken, on the other hand, laughed.
"Damn, Ran. You really get around. Is there a place in this city where they don't know you by name?"
Ran shot him a glare, then forced himself to level a polite smile at the manager.
"Business has kept me busy."
"I know how that works." She nodded understandingly, the way a therapist might. "Who's your friend?"
"Client," Ran corrected, perhaps a bit too fast. "He wants to go clubbing and I have to accompany him, so..."
"We'll take good care of you." And attempt to bleed your credit card dry. The manager smiled warmly and gestured to the escalator.
"Please head on upstairs. I'll let them know you're coming. Should we have someone on hand so that you don't have to translate?"
Ran nodded slowly. At least that way he could go get something conservative while leaving Ken in the more flashy department. "Japanese or Portuguese, if you will."
"Ah, wonderful. We just got a new sales associate from Brazil."
Ran thanked the woman politely, then grabbed Ken's upper arm and dragged him away from the store directory towards the escalator.
"Hey!" The brunette yanked his arm free with a mild glare, then perked, stepping backwards onto the moving stairs. The whole store was lit in warm shades of holiday gold, making Ken's tan skin practically glow. "I haven't been in a store this big since the team dragged me out to Rio."
"No."
"But sir, it's really the latest in club fashio—"
"I don't care."
"If you'd at least try to—"
"No."
"I understand that you may not be comfortable with—"
"I said no."
"So. What do you think?"
"Eh... 's kinda on the expensive side, isn't it?"
"Well, yes. But it's a very good look for you."
"I dunno... I never really saw myself as the black leather type, ya know?"
"How about this?"
"No."
"And this?"
"..."
"..."
"........"
"...For the love of god, just try this on before I fling myself off the damn building!"
"I think it's perfect." The tall Brazilian's reflection beamed back at Ken in the mirror. The brunette had a good view of himself, as well, and he wasn't sure that that was a good thing.
"Uh... you think so?"
"Yes." She picked an imaginary bit of thread off of Ken's shoulder. After much prodding, poking, and stuffing into various outfits, Ken had finally just given up on expressing much of his own opinion. After all, making him look good was what the woman was paid for, right? Right. Plus, she was a fan of the soccer team. It didn't take much to win Ken over.
He turned slightly, trying to look at the image in the mirror in an impersonal manner. The t-shirt he was wearing was bright yellow with a Brazilian flag on the front. It was eerily soft and clung snugly enough to highlight his mucles but at the same time gave the impression of being loose. The t-shirt wasn't the problem.
It was the pants.
The black, jeans-cut, ridiculously expensive Italian kidskin leather pants, to be specific. They rode just a bit too low on Ken's hips though they weren't tight, fitting rather like... well... his favorite pair of worn-in blue jeans. Except that they made the slightest rustling noise when he moved, and the fact that they were leather. Ken was all about the wholesome boy-next-door look. He wasn't sure how he liked himself in leather.
"They really make the most of your butt. You have a really great butt," the saleswoman assured him. Ok, yeah. He had to grin at that. Boy-next-door, sure. But he'd spent the last several months living with a whole teamful of brazen, loud, extremely gregarious guys, and it was hard to stay innocent when they dragged you out to parties, practically force-fed you liqor, and made you get a piercing. That and the nude beaches. The nude beaches were very educational. ...but at least Ken could boast of a full-body tan!
"Heh. Alright, this works. I should prolly check up on Ran. I wonder if he's killed the girl that was helping him..."
Violet eyes blinked. Twice. And once more, all in rapid succession.
"I..."
The saleswoman met his gaze in the mirror and sent him a 'go ahead, try me' glare that made him shut his mouth.
One thing at a time. But where to start, when everything was so... gods. So Youji.
Shoes. The shoes were safe. Black leather, silver buckle, very Manhattan and very modest. He owned a similar pair.
The jeans were... not safe. They were dark indigo, faded lightly for a 'washed a ton of times' effect that managed not to look fake. They were what the woman had called a "slim fit" which meant that the bottoms weren't flared, just the slightest bit boot-cut. They were what Ran would consider three sizes too small. They were painted on. Yet they managed not to cut off his circulation or cause him immense amounts of pain.
That was probably why they cost more than anything made of cotton, plant dyes, and metal rivets should ever cost.
The shirt was plain indecent, in Ran's opinion. Black mesh, sleeveless, with seams at the top that suggested that it had started out as a baseball tee before its designer had overdosed on heroin. It wasn't flashy, but it didn't have to be. The color contrasted brilliantly with his pale skin, and the denim color offset his hair.
"I look like a cheap whore," he finally hissed.
"You're going to a club. This is what you're wearing."
And something about the past years mixed with the expression in the woman's eyes—and his current lack of a katana to defend himself with—made Ran scowl, yet not argue.
Ken's jaw dropped. He just stared as the redhead descended down the escalator, oblivious to the turned heads and appreciative looks cast his way by more than a handful of female shoppers. A petite, conservatively-dressed sales assistant stood behind him, looking frazzled and carnally proud at the same time.
Violet eyes finally noticed at least the one set of brown taking in his new look, and Ran had to resist the childish urge to cross his arms over his chest and sulk. If Ken so much as commented on anything about the outfit, he was going to get punched in the face. Maybe the brunette picked up on that, because he just shook his head as Ran approached.
"Damn. I didn't know you were that thin under that suit."
Thin? Ran looked down at himself. Was he? He never really bothered with a mirror except when he was fixing his hair in the morning, and by that time he was usually at least mostly dressed.
"I mean, 's not a bad thing, just... you know. I figured you had more padding." Ken grinned.
Ran's eyes narrowed. "Shu—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. 'Shut up, Hidaka'." Ken's grin broadened, his impression of Ran's gruff voice conveying the emotions that Ran was feeling—namely, embarrassment and irritation—surprisingly well. "Let's just call it a truce an' grab dinner. Takes a lot of fuel to keep dancing all night."
The redhead started to nod, then froze.
...dancing?!
Yes, dancing.
Ken pushed Ran through the doorway and the redhead just stood there, trying to take in the sight of dozens of bodies pressed tightly together and gyrating to a pouding bass rhythm emphasized by throbbing strobe and colored lights.
"You need a drink!" Ken hollered over the overwhelming sound of the music, dragging Ran towards the bar.
"I don't dri—" but a shot glass was thrust into his hand and Ken lifted his own in silent toast, and the redhead felt compelled to face up to the challenge.
It only burned his throat the first three times or so. To be honest, Ran didn't know what the hell he was shooting. The only alcohol he ever imbibed was wine, and that was rare and far between. The liquor currently buzzing into his psyche could have been vodka or whiskey or rum or snake venom for all he knew.
Ken didn't look the worse for wear, his grin just as broad as before.
"That should hold you," he yelled over the music (which was, coincidentally, starting to finally sound like music and not just noise). "Now come on, it's no fun if you don't dance."
"I don't da—"
"Tonight you do. Come on, Aya."
"My name is—" but that was futile, he was already being dragged out past the writhing bodies into the middle of the dance floor where the music was at its loudest and the press of sheer sweaty humanity was almost overwhelming. Almost. It would certainly have been had he not had... whatever it was he'd had to drink.
It wasn't enough, however, to teach Ran to dance. He just stood there, looking somewhat drunk and most certainly lost. Rather irate, as well. Ken laughed.
"Come on, Ran, just dance! It's not that hard."
"No."
"Aww, come on. It's alright to loosen up for once. You trust me, right?"
And suddenly he was floored by an earnest chocolate stare, a silent challenge. Violet shifted away.
"I don't know how."
"What?"
"I don't know how to dance."
Ken grinned.
"You serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious!"
"Ok, ok..." The brunette nibbled on his lower lip throughtfully for a moment, his body unconsciously moving in time with the music. Seemed that Ken was a natural, or at least had had enough nights out on the town to become one.
"Ok, it's easier if I compare it to something, right..? So.. Hey! It's just like swordfighting."
Ran blinked.
The brunette nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, no. Ok, hang on." Ken stepped fractionally closer, placing both hands on Ran's shoulders. "Let's see if I can make this make sense." He pushed lightly and Ran leaned away from the contact. "Now you're on the defense end, right?" Ken leaned back a bit, pulling Ran's shoulders with him. "And now you're on the offense end. So.. just follow my lead, 'kay?"
The redhead nodded numbly, trying to catch Ken's words over the pulsing beat. The brunette started to dance slowly in time with the music, and Ran attempted to follow. Ken pushed, Ran leaned away. Ken's hips twisted along with the rhythm, and Ran's twisted in the mirror reflection. Violet eyes slipped closed; it was easier to feel the music when the visual distraction of all those lights was taken out of the equation, especially now that the dance was speeding up.
Parry, parry... This wasn't so hard. Ken was right, it really was just like a sword fight. Thinking of it that way also made it easier to account for the fact that Ken's hands had somehow managed to shift from his shoulders to linked around the back of his neck, and his own had moved to rest lightly on the brunette's hips.
Had Ran not imbibed the amount of alcohol that he had, he might have wondered how the hell he'd gotten himself into this situation. Said situation meant dancing rather closely with someone that, in another life of sorts, he had killed side by side with and never attempted to associate with at any other time.
The alcohol was doing a nice job of dulling things. Yes, this was a strange sitation, one that he should perhaps be thinking about more thoroughly. But the contact points between his body and Ken's were all that were keeping the word from spinning around in circles as if it was one giant cosmic toilet, so he wasn't thinking any further than necessary.
Until the contact points suddenly disappeared and Ran's eyes opened. A girl with short blue hair had snagged Ken away, pressing herself against him in a rather insistent manner. Violet eyes darkened slightly and Ran backed off, sobering in one cold moment as he forced his way through the crowd towards the exit.
It was all too much. He never should have let himself get dragged out here, despite the fact that Ken was his client and he hadn't had a choice. A nagging voice told him that yes, Ken was his client and therefore should not be alone in there right now, but a harsher one countered that Ken was also an assassin, and survival instincts like that never died.
The music was just a distant thrum in the background. Ran took the stairs up instead of down, absently picking the lock on a door that let him out onto the flat, snow-covered roof. The snow was ankle-deep, not enough to cause any problems as the redhead walked silently over to the edge and sat down, one leg resting on the roof and the other dangling over dead space. He could see his breath, little cloud-like puffs of it, and his skin was quickly getting numb from the temperature. The snow had stopped falling and the clouds had cleared enough that he could just barely make out the triad of stars that made up Orion's belt through the nighttime glow of city lights. One pale hand lifted, and Ran numbly traced the constellation in the sky.
A bell somewhere solemnly tolled midnight, and the redhead glanced down at his watch. He read the date, feeling the chill of the night seep almost soothingly down through his body.
"Happy birthday, Ken."