Chapter Twenty Four

Heartbeat drowned out the dull slap of his sneakers against the asphalt as Genrou ran, ungracefully hiking the skirt up to his knees and pushing roughly past the midday lunch crowd milling outside the entrance to the food court that flanked the shopping center. Perspiration trickled down the sides of his face, making Miaka's blouse stick uncomfortably to his back and under his arms. He took to the escalator three steps at a time, bounding past a watchful lollipop-sucking toddler clutching on to her grandmother, two well-dressed businesswomen chatting and laughing, and a diminutive, black-haired teenager with a skateboard tucked under his arm.

"How could I have been so careless?" he asked aloud in despair, clamping down on the urge to rip the offending denim away from his legs so that he could move faster. "How could I have been so goddamned careless?"

It had been half an hour since he had discovered the loss of his wallet. An entire thirty minute-span in which he had hailed a cab, gotten caught in a traffic jam, fielded a call (and an ensuing lecture) from Miaka and knocked over an ice-cream vendor in his destructive haste. Anything could have happened in half an hour. Nuriko could have gone back to the studio. The boss—what was his name again? Don Juan?—could have gone back to the studio. Hell, Yui could have gone to the studio!

Calm down, he reassured himself, dodging a group of casual shoppers and turning left down the corridor where the studio was located. What are the chances that anyone would have found it? It's a fucking weekend! Yes, he was being paranoid as usual.

From where he was, about three stores away, Genrou could see that the studio was dark. His heart lifted and sang in relief as he trotted the remaining few feet and reached out to push open the door. There was nobody there after all! He was home free! Now all he had to do was to get his wallet and then he could be off—

The door was locked.

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"That wasn't very nice of you," Houjun remarked neutrally, his eyes closed, one hand dangling idly over the side of the bed.

Nuriko peered critically at his friend, and was about to voice disagreement when Saihitei clapped a hand over the violet-haired man's mouth and took over, phrasing his best friend's response in more diplomatic terms. "Come on, Houjun. You like that girl!"

Houjun raised an eyebrow, but did not deign to comment.

"She really likes you too," Saihitei added, almost as an afterthought. Nuriko nodded furiously, his words coming out as muffled jargon behind the brunette's hand. "It's a match made in Heaven!"

A pause, and then a dry retort, "Neither of you look like angels to me."

"Ha, ha, very funny, Houjun," Nuriko finally fought free of Saihitei's hand, bouncing easily onto the free space on the bed and poking the photographer hard in the shoulder. "She's the lady! She's shy! She can't possibly make the first move!"

"Maybe you've mistaken her feelings. For God's sake, Nuri, she's just a friend who came to visit. And didn't you tell me five seconds ago that she didn't want any help from you when you broached this…topic to her?"

"Did I say that? No, of course I didn't! She didn't say that at all!"

"Merely implied it," Saihitei finished helpfully.

Houjun sighed.

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He stared, flabbergasted, at the doorknob. Tentatively tried it again, twisting it carefully, hopefully. It didn't give.

No lights…which means nobody's in…which means…which means…

Genrou deflated like a punctured balloon.

"My fucking brains have taken a vacation," he muttered sourly, still shaken up with disbelief at the sheer idiocy of the situation. "Goodbye, luck. Hello, stupid."

He had to get in somehow. The wallet was probably just sitting there, untouched, somewhere near the area he'd been knocked down earlier. It contained everything that would sound his death knell.

Or he could wait. Wait until tomorrow, which was the next working day. Somebody would be there, and if he hadn't seen the wallet when he was picking his things up earlier, it had to have fallen in an unobtrusive place.

Which means no one might see it till I get here. It could work.

But that was leaving an unhealthy dose of temptation for fate, wasn't it? No, he had to find some way to get in, now.

Could he pick the lock? Genrou didn't think he had seen any alarms set in the studio, but then again, he hadn't really been paying attention. Did security have a camera fixed on this corridor?

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"Look, this kind of thing only gets worse if too many people meddle with it."

"Ah, don't tell me you believe that 'too-many-cooks-spoil-the-broth' nonsense, Jun."

Houjun leveled a look at the flippant model. "As a matter of fact—"

"You see, Sai?" Nuriko threw up his hands in frustration. "I told you Jun wouldn't go for it, but you insisted on talking to him first. I told you he wasn't going to get off his lazy bum for dessert if it were placed in front of him. I told you—"

"—Now wait just one minute. Are the both of you planning something? Please tell me my worst fears are unfounded—"

"—told you he was a scared, good-for-nothing—"

"I like to call it caution—"

"—we should have just done it my way and set them up for a dinner date—"

"—what?! Of all the childish things to—"

The door opened a fraction, and a short, plump, scowling Indian nurse poked her head in, disapproval evident in the glare behind her thick, purple-rimmed cat-shaped glasses. "Is there a problem, boys?"

The argument ceased midway as both guilty parties froze.

Mutely, Saihitei shook his head.

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Maybe he should start a fire. Surely that wouldn't be so hard? He had a lighter in his bag, and certainly something around here was flammable. Would the doors open if there were smoke?

Oh man. This is going bloody nowhere!

He fumbled in his purse for his cell phone, hoping against hope that his twin would have a better suggestion. Somehow, Genrou doubted that that any of his reckless plans would work.

"You."

His stomach lurched into the pits of his feet. He spun around, ignoring the screaming little voice in his head that told him his Maker had come, and met Doukun's accusing stare.

The younger man held red plastic bags of food packets and drinks, and it was obvious that he'd bought back lunch for more than one. Slowly, Doukun shifted the strings of steaming cups to his other hand, and then reached into his pocket.

His movement seemed agonizingly slow as Genrou watched, his nerve crumbling with every second, all thought and word abandoning him as Doukun's fingers deliberately, languidly closed in around, and brought out, an all-too familiar object.

He found the wallet.

Genrou's throat went dry, and his palms began to sweat. Had Doukun looked into it? Had the photographer seen anything incriminating? A nervous laugh burst from his throat as he stood there, rooted to the spot and growing increasingly panicky under the other man's shrewd gaze.

Doukun tossed the wallet to him. Time seemed to slow down as Genrou followed the arc with his eyes. Rising…higher into the air…curving down…he held out his hands just in time. The worn leather contacted his palms with a faint thud.

Another look at Doukun's expression, and Genrou knew that he knew.

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Miaka stood, just narrowly missing beheading herself, and jabbed frantically at the bell. When she had called her brother to check on his progress, a missing wallet had been the last thing that she had expected. Genrou had said he was going back to the studio to get it back, but she was still worried. Which was why she was here on a crowded bus, on a nice Sunday afternoon, heading back to the studio to make sure Genrou kept himself out of trouble.

Stupid, careless Genrou. Dumb, dumb Genrou. The grumble in her mind had blossomed into a full-fledged litany. She wrestled out of her narrow window seat, sidestepping the aisle passenger and treading hard onto the foot of a standing man as the bus swerved past the intersection onto the main junction.

Oops.

The terse apology died on her lips when she looked up into the face of her victim. Her knees buckled and she would've swooned had she the space. Given the limitations of her surroundings however, only her jaw dropped open, and stayed open.

He was tall and dark-skinned, with chin-length, wavy hair so black that it appeared blue-green. His lips were turned up in an amused smile. She noted belatedly his scruffy, black leather jacket, the hint of a faded tattoo peeking above the neckline of his loose tank top, and fought not to let her gaze wander down to what looked like long, leather-jeans-encased legs. Silver dog tags tied together with a rubber band hung around his neck.

"Ouch," he said, grinning rakishly at her. "No hurry. I'm getting off at the next stop too." His voice had the husky baritone of youth.

Miaka melted.

Two minutes later, they stood side by side at the bus stop, neither saying a word.

Hmm…I wonder what cologne he uses? I'll have to ask Genrou to get some of those. But wait, Genrou's pretending to be a girl right now, so that's a big no-no. I wonder how tall this guy is?

And crap, when is he going to say something?

The silence was just beginning to become discomforting to her, when the Mystery Good-Looker turned gingerly and offered a sheepish laugh.

I wonder if Genrou has found the wallet…? We're going to have such big trouble if he doesn't…

"I was supposed to be meeting someone around now, but it's really hot today. Want to get some ice cream?"

To hell with the wallet. I'm sure Genrou will take care of it.

"That sounds perfect."

He smiled when she did, and gave a mock-bow towards the nearby ice-cream vendor. "Come on then. Oh yeah…my name's Taka. What's yours?"

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They stared at each other; Doukun wordless and Genrou too scared to say anything. Then the younger man lifted the bags in a gesture and made to move forward. "I'm sure you can engage yourself in your statue aspirations on your own. Meanwhile, I have work to do, so I'll appreciate it if you excuse me."

The cold, curt tone of the words galvanized Genrou. "Wait," he tried helplessly, lifting his arm to bar Doukun from walking past him. "Just…just wait. Please."

Doukun gave him a blank look. "Whatever for?"

A dozen apologies and excuses sprang to Genrou's lips, but he gulped them down, fighting the rise of desperation and defeat. "Are you—are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry, Tasu Leika?" the sarcasm dripped from Doukun's words like artificially sweetened honey, pooling around the last four syllables.

Genrou swallowed hard. "Are you mad now that you know…now that you know…"

"Now that I know what?" Doukun annunciated slowly.

"AreyoumadnowthatyouknowI'maguy?" the whisper came out fast and jumbled as Genrou bowed his head, his gaze sinking timidly and miserably to the floor.

Doukun cleared his throat but remained silent.

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Myou Juan cruised into the car park, whistling under his breath as the Beach Boys blared on the radio. Thank goodness he had season parking as an employer here; the lots were always jam-packed on weekends.

"I hope he's on time," he murmured to himself, steering towards the reserved parking space. Taka had a tendency to be late.

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"Please don't ignore me," Genrou knew he was babbling, but since his time had come, he figured he might as well throw out all limb and fortune while he was at it, right? "Say something!"

One Titanic…two Titanic…three Titanic…noooooo, please let him taaaalk to meee….four Titanic…

Doukun exploded.

"AM I MAD? AM. I. MAD?! YOU BET THE HELL I'M MAD AT YOU! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A LIAR! YOU'RE A…YOU'RE A…" and here even words failed the furious photographer, who settled for shaking his head sharply and regarding Genrou like a diseased thing.

"I'm really, really sorry!" Genrou backed away, holding his hands out in front of him like a shield. "I'm really, really sorry," he repeated for good measure.

"WHY did you do it? Was it to make a fool out of me? What the heck are you trying to prove by playing a stupid game like that? Do you know what you've done? Everyone out there could sue! Sue for millions! There is no Tasu Leika! You're a cheat! A fraud! I can't believe that anyone would do something like this and get away with it for so long!"

Genrou winced.

"Does everyone know except me?! What, is this the new Candid Camera? Who do you think you are to come along and mess everything up like this?! Ken Barbie? And you never said anything, even when I asked you out! All those magazine shoots and pictorials, and no one ever guessed! You're a deceitful, lying creep, Kou Genrou!"

There it was, all out in the open.