Disclaimer: See Act 1.

Warnings: See Act 1.

Author's Note: Foregoing my studying for finals in favor of writing this. Reread approximately 9 volumes to get back in the "mood." Didn't expect myself find myself to suddenly be in a Nakatsu/Taiki mood though. :buries head in hands: So now I have random plotbunnies gnawing on my ankles and other vulnerable body parts. I'm so pathetic...

Wrote the majority of this in one sitting and came to the conclusion that, since this is really light in EVERYTHING, that the serious fangirling material will be a later on. Right now I just fear that this thing will be worse than Intrigue and will span for god-knows how many parts. Not to mention I'm suffering from serious characterization uncertainties. I don't like writing Ryouichi. Serious!Akiha scares me. And Umeda-muse refuses to work with me period.

Dedication: To Kanae since she's already finished the line-art to my FujiRyo gift. And since she set the deadline for her Stanford acceptance/rejection letter date, I could only stand and deliver. Hope you got in imouto!

Forward Motion Act 2 – Counterclockwise Turn
by kasugai gummie

There's just something about having a prestigious career of catering to other people's problems and then having to find out that nobody was there for when you wanted to bitch. That's right; nothing like having a riveting conversation with someone going through their mid-life crisis to rub away at one's patience. Needless to say, most physicians have what is often referred to as a short temper.

Umeda Hokuto was not an exception to this rule. In fact, he was the very definition.

Barely constraining the wild, impractical urge to simply hurl his cell phone out the window and towards the picturesque sky, the light-haired doctor sank down into his chair instead. His fingers clenched into a choke hold around the handset as he glared unseeing at the few scattered documents on his desk.

Breathe. Just breathe. It's not his fault he's the biggest bastard this side of Japan.

Pressing slender fingers to his temples in a series of controlled, circular motions, he attempted to relieve the pressure that always seemed to accumulate whenever he had to talk with Ryouichi over an electronic appliance. Almost as an afterthought, he set the sleek hand held device down on his desk, just in case his judgment decided to act up like his older sister on PMS and made him do something he'd most definitely regret. Like throwing the cursed thing out the window and missing the bastard's next phone call.

Damn, he needed a cigarette.

Once he had the little cancerous stick lit and somehow managed to soothe his grated nerves, he leaned back into the plush chair. Smoke trailed up coyly from where the smoldering cigarette dangled limply from between his fingers. He stared outside, brooding for all he was worth, and brought his stress relief to his lips again.

When had he become such a masochist?

They stared; one with curiosity, the other in disbelief.

Cocking his head to the side, Kijima quirked a questioning look at the person who was shameless ogling him. Or so he would like to think.

Calmly tucking away his handset without breaking eye contact, he assessed the other man. Artificial blond hair (he could see the darker roots) framed a slim aristocratic face (quite like Hokuto's but less sultry, less exotic), and brown eyes (an interesting blend of hazel nut and Belgium chocolate) stared at him almost accusingly.

His parents were psychotherapists. So was he, to an extent. And if the tumultuous darkening, dark, darker shades that colored those eyes were of any indication, he could diagnose himself as "very much disliked" with his current company.

"Is there a problem?" Kijima inquired politely. Ever closed. Ever polite. Ever courteous...

Akiha on the other hand was anything but calm; his mind had been plunged into a maelstrom of unpleasant thoughts, memories, et cetera. He was shocked that Kijima Ryouichi was one to visit cafés. He was disturbed with the other's appearance. He was Very Displeased that the asshole had taken his table. And he could smell the overpowering scent of expensive cologne on the black-dressed physician—the scent that he presumed his Umeda-senpai was just told, in no smiling terms, to "actually wear."

Not to mention the fact that his beloved breakfast had to wait because of the asshole's untimely appearance annoyed him greatly.

Akiha was never athletic in the sense that he'd willingly jump after some inanimate object like a drugged dog to begin with. But that didn't cancel out the irresistible urge to simply hook his leg under the other's chair and pull.

And point.

And laugh.

And take a picture while he was at it.

And then finally enjoy his melting breakf—

Eyes widening, the acclaimed photographer broke eye contact and turned in his seat to watch his ice cream dissolve into a gruesome mess. He frowned. Drinking cold milk had never been one of his favorite pastimes.

Sighing in resignation, he grabbed the hot fudge pitcher in one hand and the glass dish in his other. Turning back, he glared frostily at his slightly amused, but still puzzled, headache incarnate.

"You're in my seat."

Ryouichi raised an eyebrow, skillfully ignoring the shiver of disgust that came with the sight of a grown man chugging some hundred twenty grams of sugar so early in the morning. "I see. Then I'm sorry to have—" he smirked, with the slightest hint of condescension, "—taken your seat. I was just leaving anyway." So saying, he got up, paid his tip, offered an impersonal little half smile at Akiha who merely intensified his unwelcoming stare from above the rim of his breakfast cup, and strode out the door without another backward glance.

Licking away the remnants of the sugary confection, Akiha slammed down the thick glass, a few bills, and followed the older man out the door. Only to start swearing in both Japanese and English (and even a few other languages he wasn't as fluent in) when he realized he had no idea which way Kijima had gone.

He was in the process of giving another student, who decided to intrude on his privacy with the trumped up excuse of an illness, some fast-acting laxatives (he'll give them illness) when his mobile rang. A quick glance at the caller ID confirmed that he should, in fact, take this call.

Ignoring the scurrying sounds of desperate, self-preserving feet, he flipped open the small device and drawled an irate "what do you want?" into the unoffending mouthpiece.

—That's not very nice Hokuto—

Amber eyes flashed. "I wasn't put on this earth to be nice, Ryouichi," he snapped. "All that fake nicety is a part of your job, not mine."

—Testy aren't we?—

Umeda contemplated to just hang up on the insufferable bastard... but rather predictably, didn't. Instead, he continued to cling to the decibels of sound that traveled god-knows how many kilometers.

Masochiiiiiiist. Masochiiiiiiist.

He could see Io and Minami laughing their asses off right this moment.

"It's still school hours Ryouichi. I'm busy."

—Busy torturing your students?—

"..."

—You're so easy to read sometimes Hokuto. You never were a morning person...—

"Ryouichi..."

—Anyway, just called to tell you something—

Umeda sat down again, propping his feet up on his desk. "What? Are you canceling tonight again? Or is Masato sick? Or did he impregnate his wife again and needs immediate medical assistance despite having fathered two others?"

An unconcerned chuckle slithered across unseen radio waves. —Jealous, Hokuto?—

Umeda fell silent.

—Tonight is still on. I was just calling to inform you that I'll be over in about an hour—

"You'll be over in what?"

—I'm visiting Osaka Gakuen this afternoon. As a graduate, I do believe that I'm allowed the right. See you soon Hokuto—

The dial tone was abnormally loud in the neat, little office space.

Where was her burgundy lip-liner? Ah, under the beige foundation. But that meant she was still missing the wine-rouge...

Just as she clicked her case shut, Ebi jumped when her cell phone's whimsical "It's a Small World After All" ring tone was suddenly belted into the otherwise empty room. She fumbled as she tried to pull the annoyance out of her purse.

"Yes? Ebi Kotobuki speaking."

Her eyes widened as she inadvertently glanced out the door of the powder room towards the general direction of Akiha's own office where an Osaka Gakuen yearbook still lay opened.

"I understand. Right. I'll call you if there are any emergencies."

Her voice softened imperceptibly.

"Take care, Akiha."

End Act 2
Completed: 12/11/04
Revised: 04/13/05