Chapter Nine

No way…this isn't really happening. Stay calm. Stay cool.

Panic exploded a second later.

He whirled, brushing off Doukun's arm as the latter stepped back in surprise, turning to run and completely missing the stout old woman tapping her stick as she stared up at him in terror in the frozen moments before he collided head-on with her. Spilling the contents of his bag and staggering sideways as his legs got entangled in the dress, he barely noticed as a figure appeared beside him, catching him as he fell to the ground.

It took him another moment to realize that the warm body beneath him that had cushioned the impact of his fall belonged to none other than Houjun.

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"Genrou!" she shouted as she tried to make her way past the crowd. The figure spun around wildly and banged into something else, thrown wildly backwards and sideways and onto the man who had obstructed her view earlier. "Genrou?" Miaka hollered. "Is that you?"

With difficulty, she broke free of the group of small children who had been in her way, and started towards the direction of her brother.

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"Genrou? Is that you?"

No shit!

Without thinking, he tried to rise, when the fact that he was straddling the photographer of his dreams, combined with the fiery blush that streaked up his cheeks, alerted him to the warning sirens wailing in his head. From behind, someone bumped roughly into him, jolting him hard.

Houjun's arms suddenly encircled him, pulling him into an embrace that smelt faintly of warm cinnamon and fresh chocolate, tucking his head into the curve of his shoulder and protecting him bodily from the people who thronged about them. Vaguely, Genrou noticed that they had both sat up, and that his proximity to Houjun was an alarming one.

"Are you okay?" Houjun asked, concern and worry in his voice as he parted slightly from Genrou.

"Geeeeeenrooooooou, if that's you, I swear, I'm going to kill you for making me follow you all the way out here!"

Escape; escape, his mind gabbled wildly. Glancing around frantically and realizing that he had only precious seconds left, Genrou did the only thing he could think of doing.

He pulled Houjun to him and curved his hands around the muscled shoulders and slim back, darting forward and pressing his lips to the photographer's.

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Miaka pushed past the last of the stack of bodies and came to a halt, breathless, onto the scene, and looked quickly about for the trademark red hair. Her gaze roved over the people, until she saw the couple on the floor, pressed to the side of the wall, faces partially covered by the curtain of crimson strands, kissing and wrapped around each other. A blush colored her cheeks as she squinted at them, trying to puzzle out what she was seeing. The figure whose back was turned to her was obviously a man's, and she heaved a sigh of disappointment and shifted back around. She really thought she had seen Genrou, but the woman on the floor obviously had nothing in common with her twin brother, bared legs, dress, boyfriend and all.

"The lack of food must be getting to me," she muttered, twisting past a young man with glossy, mahogany, chin-length hair that was held back with a neon yellow headband.

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She felt delicate, slim and fragile in his arms, her weight pressed against his body as her lips, tasting soft and wholly sweet, touched a slight pressure to his lips. Her hands, long and elegant, felt warm on his back through his shirt, and her hair, silky and scarlet, obscured all but her fiery amber eyes, so close he could see the flecks in them. Lost in wonderment, rapture, and a sudden, inexplicable feeling of déjà vu, Houjun felt himself respond, leaning forward and sliding his hands gently around the slim waist.

"Whoa!" the familiar male voice carried enough shock and amusement for Houjun to snap out of his trance, and he gasped and pushed Tasu unintentionally, roughly away, shaking his fringe, that had come loose, out of his eyes and glancing up.

Doukun's raised eyebrows and Saihitei's knowing grin greeted him, and he gulped, propping himself up and willing the hotness in his cheeks to subside. Unthinkingly, he looked back at the model, and caught the look in those enrapturing eyes; a mixture of amazement, of shock, and then something else that was almost akin to hurt and guilt, and apology immediately sprung to his lips.

"I'm so sorry."

She looked at him steadily, before turning away, shaking her head as her hair fell slightly over her face. "It was an accident. My fault. I should be the one saying sorry."

Her voice was husky, low and held the hint of a tremor. Houjun mentally slapped himself for imagining things when she rose gingerly on her heels and bent down, picking up her bag and slinging it onto her shoulder, holding it almost protectively in front of her. Getting to his feet, he found himself at a loss as to what to say.

"Uh—" he began.

"Hey! You're the winner of Chinoarov Cover Girl!" Saihitei's cheerful voice interposed. Houjun didn't know whether to be more grateful for the timely interjection, or annoyed that Saihitei had stopped him from whatever he had been about to say.

But what was I going to say? There's nothing to say.

"Pleased to meet you." Saihitei had moved forward, proffering his hand enthusiastically. "Oh I know! You're here for your photo-shoot, aren't you? Your free portfolio? Houjun here does great work; believe me, I should know, but then again, it doesn't take much to make me look good does it?"

Doukun smacked the male model on the head, ignoring the loud protests, pushing Saihitei aside and smiling slightly at Tasu. "Don't mind him. He's just an egotistical idiot."

"I—I've got to get back early," the redheaded woman murmured, looking down at the ground. "So if you'll all excuse me—"