Chapter Eight
As another phone call reverberated through the office, Houjun laughed at Myou Jyuan's disgruntled face and excused himself. Still unconsciously clasping the photograph in his hand, he pushed open the doors of the studio and stretched.
Do I have anyone in mind?
He frowned slightly, twirling the photograph between his fingers, biting his lip slightly. There's always Nuriko…or Saihitei. They're well known enough that they would be recognized.
Houjun was shrewd and smart enough to know that his skill as a photographer would be sufficient to jumpstart new careers, or give life to fading ones. This time, the assignment was nothing short of spectacular; the magazine was one of the most popular and widely circulated. It would also boost his reputation, and reassert him as one of the nation's best photographers.
He sighed and looked around, before idly beginning to walk, with small steps. He walked and walked, lost in his own private world, as he was only too prone to do whenever he was deep in thought. Until he heard an all-too familiar voice.
"I thought to myself, 'That is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen'."
Houjun glanced up. And blinked.
Doukun?
He knew that Myou Jyuan's son was quite the Casanova with the opposite gender. Feeling a chuckle begin to rise to his lips, he craned his neck and tried to get a look at the younger man's new conquest.
She had shoulder-length hair the color of rubies that glinted with golden highlights in the fluorescent lights, and creamy, peach toned skin. He could see the telltale blush on her cheeks, but Doukun's body blocked everything else.
Wait a moment.
Red hair?
"With that said…would you like to go out sometime?"
How many women are there around with hair like that?
The photograph slipped to the floor, and he bent hastily to retrieve it. The glowing face stared back at him.
A dainty cough behind him alerted him to the fact that someone else was standing behind him, and he whirled around, losing his balance as he tried to rise and turn at the same time. Strong hands reached out to grab his wrists, and steady him. From his back, he heard a small gasp, and Doukun's exclamation of surprise.
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At the sound, Doukun spun around, and Genrou took the opportunity to spring away and put about five feet of distance in between himself and the other man. His cheeks were still burning furiously, and he was about to kick himself when he noticed just who was standing there.
Facing him, thin lips slightly turned up in a smile, was a tall man, taller than even himself. Long black hair was swept back and tied in a myriad of braids, framing a pale face. Even from where he stood, Genrou could see the deep green eyes, fathomless and bottomless, like the depths of an ocean.
And he was holding someone who Genrou clearly recognized.
The blue hair, the slim physique, the tanned skin, and the outline of delicate features that he could just make out from his angle.
It's him.
It's Houjun.
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The stormy gaze fixed Houjun in place until he realized with disturbing clarity that Tomo was still holding his wrists. With a weak smile, he attempted to pull away, and at the slight pressure, Tomo let go.
"Are you all right?"
Houjun cleared his throat self-consciously and nodded. At that, Tomo stepped past and walked forward, seemingly intentionally oblivious of the other two people looking at him from the side.
Doukun let out a whistle.
"That guy always creeps me out, Houjun. I don't understand how you can work with him. And what are you doing here anyway?"
At the reminder that he had been, accidentally or not, eavesdropping, Houjun grinned nervously, before he remembered that he did have a real reason for being there. "I came to drop some files off at the office, and I was taking a walk when I saw you and—"
His voice trailed off as his eyes traveled to the woman who was standing a way apart from Doukun now.
"—Tasu Leika?"
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Genrou blinked. And blinked again. Wished ardently that he were anywhere in the world but here, at this moment.
"Hey," a warm smile lit Houjun's face. "What are you doing here?"
Where is my voice? Genrou struggled to come up with a reply, but to his horror, found himself beginning to giggle inanely.
"Tasu was here for her portfolio shot," Doukun interrupted, walking towards Genrou and beaming at Houjun. "I just caught her on her way into the studio." He slid an arm casually about Genrou's shoulders.
Shock therapy. He needed ice cream. Genrou had never felt so torn between being exhilaratingly amused, immeasurably horrified and goddamned nervous all at once. His eyes darted from Doukun's hand on his right shoulder, to Houjun's smiling face, to the sudden all-too-familiar figure that appeared on the horizon of his peripheral vision.
MIAKA?!
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Miaka turned left and right, trying to scan for her brother through the throngs of people milling about. Finally, she spotted the escalator, and headed for it determinedly. If she couldn't spot Genrou through the crowd, perhaps she's have better luck from a bird's eye view on the second floor.
"Where is that idiot?" she muttered, looking intently down as she stepped onto the escalator, gripping the side support gingerly. As she approached the second floor, she moved forward, craning her neck to look past the back of a slim man with a dark blue ponytail as her gaze fell upon a mop of wavy red hair.