Chapter Nineteen

[A few days later]

Genrou tentatively pushed the door to the studio open, and his eyes registered the lack of movement and noise almost as immediately as the silence assailed his ears. He didn't know what he was doing here. There was no need for him to be here, as a matter of fact. He had already signed the necessary forms for his entry into the competition via Yui, and she had arranged for him to go down and submit his profile shots at the main company later that day. But he had already collected his portfolio from the studio the day of the lunch—of which Houjun had failed to turn up—so, as he reminded himself yet again, there really was no reason for him to be back here at Capri Studios.

Other than the fact, of course, that he was dying with curiosity about why the photographer had not turned up for lunch. Add the point about having a burning, irrepressible crush on the gorgeous albeit taken Houjun Ri, which pretty much summed it up. Yui had tried to call Houjun that day, but there had been no answer, and she had reluctantly been forced to come to the conclusion that he had forgotten, or was busy or whatnot. Somehow, it didn't seem to fit in the frame of mind he thought Houjun had.

It's not like you know him very well, though…

So, against all his common sense, and much to Miaka's delight, he had made his way here.

The competition was starting that weekend. He privately hoped that everything would work out, even if his heart was twisted up in nervous knots and his brain wasted along with it. This would be the last but he remembered what he had told himself a few nights ago.

I won't give him up without trying. The least we could do is…I don't know, be friends?

The worse that could happen was…well…Genrou didn't want to go there.

However, it surprised him that the studio door had been unlocked, because it seemed as though no one was there. Could something have cropped up?

"Hello?" he called out gingerly, his hand on the doorframe as he stepped past the main reception room and into the first of the studios he remembered with stunning clarity. He adjusted the thick straps of the checkered brown and yellow carry-on on his left shoulder as he walked. "Is anyone here?"

He wandered across the floor and into the second studio, wondering privately how obvious he must have seemed that first day he had seen Houjun. A fierce heat was just beginning to work its way into his cheeks, as he reached for the second door.

It swung open before his hand touched the doorknob, and he fell forward neatly, vaguely hearing the surprised yelp from whoever it was on the other side. His jacket flew open as his arms flailed for balance, the bag flying to the floor as the Velcro clasp ripped apart, spilling the contents of the leather pouch onto the ground. Genrou thudded onto a hard chest, sending the both of them sprawling towards the ground.

Only after the better part of five minutes could Genrou gather his knocked-out senses enough to realize that he still pinned the unwitting cushion to his fall beneath him. He let out a small squeak as he pushed himself off and scooted backwards, hitting the door with his back.

Before him, a young, slim man blinked owlishly at him, before a slender hand groped the floor automatically, landing on a pair of slim wire-rimmed spectacles. Long, violet tresses fell over the shoulders of the white sweater, which had been hiked up to expose muscled pectorals.

He looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?

"Tasu Leika?" the amused but slightly groggy voice answered his mental self-query of whether they had met before. "What are you doing here?"

And then Genrou remembered. The photographs of this model decked the walls of the reception hall. Genrou had scrutinized a particularly lovely picture the day he had come for the Chinoarov competition, on his way out. He remembered Houjun's loopy signature in the column beneath the photograph, and the model's name printed neatly to the side of the credits. Nuriko Matsera.

He stared longer at the young man; his mouth gaping slightly as his thoughts whirred by in a jumble. From behind the stylish turquoise frames, hazel eyes looked inquiringly back at him.

He must wear contact lenses for the photographs, to show off those nice eyes…

The question of a few moments before sank in.

"Oh!" he recovered, laughing weakly and snapping his arms over his chest while trying to stand up and gather his rebellious belongings from across the carpet at the same time. "What am I doing here? I was…um…I was just…"

Nuriko stood up more gracefully, a small smile curving his lips as he dusted himself off, before bending down again to retrieve some of the spilt items. In a few moments, he had just about tidied up the entire mess. Smoothly, his hands full of cosmetics and tissue packets, he tugged at the bag and deposited the load neatly before Genrou could say anything. Then he stepped back, still smiling. "You were just?" he prompted.

"I was just in the area," Genrou finished miserably. Lame, Genrou, lame.

Nuriko laughed, moving past him to open the door he had been about to step through before their accident. "Well, there's no one here right now. Myou Juan got a call from Taka. The idiot's apparently landed himself in jail for some minor offence, and he doesn't want his parents to know. Saihitei and Houjun are still at the hospital. I came back to grab stuff for submission to the National Photographic thing. Just about to leave, in fact."

Genrou had tuned out somewhere along the second line. His throat felt dry.

"Oh, I see," he licked his lips as worry suddenly flooded him. "Why…why is Houjun in hospital? Is he all right?"

Nuriko turned abruptly and leveled a look at him. "You mean you didn't know?"

Know what?

"Houjun's brother was involved in a motorcycle accident," the shorter model shrugged, turning back on his way and smoothly sliding a large brown envelope across the counter, sweeping it into his bag as he walked. "It's better now than it was a few days ago, but Hikou's still in a coma. In fact, I'm on my way there for a visit right now, before I head on over to Shantez. Want to come?"

@@@

Nuriko tried not to glance too obtrusively at the redhead who occupied the seat of the car next to him, and was at that moment buckling in. Tasu Leika really was as beautiful as the photographs depicted. Maybe more. But there was something strange about her, something Nuriko couldn't place. It was a nagging feeling that had bothered him since they had bumped together, but he didn't know what it was.

He had forgotten it momentarily when she had asked about Houjun. Asked specifically about Houjun, and not about Saihitei, he had noted immediately. Nuriko had had to fight from giggling in that moment when he realized that the other model held a torch for the photographer. It was so blatant, in the catch in her voice, in the guilty blush, in the worried amber-flecked eyes. Even now, when he thought about it, he still felt like grinning, resembling somewhat a Cheshire cat straining to keep the fact that he had his paw on the canary a secret.

Now however, the unease returned in full force to his mind, relentlessly pursuing the doubts that had no natural reason to surface as he snapped his own seatbelt into place and started the engine.

What is it about her that doesn't fit…?

@@@

In the empty studio, now illuminated only by a solitary, warm yellow light from the corner lamp, a weathered brown wallet lay under the low side table; various cards and a photograph scattered around it. Printed on one of the cards, next to the black and white picture of a grinning young man, was an identification number, below the name Kou Genrou.