Once again….don't own Beyblade

…

also, the crosses Keniji draws on his hands are straight edge x's

Max & Takao: Tokyo international airport, exit gate 45

9:30 AM

With a battered coat case slung over his shoulder, hanging precariously by a protruding set of crooked hangers, hooked onto two long, velvety fingers . Nails rounding off perfectly, just at the smooth tip .His other set of masterfully crafted cuticles clutching the extended handle of a rolling suitcase, its wheel drifting in and out of their methodical hum each time they crossed a crease in the airport's white, faux marble tiling.

Ceasing to trudge his baggage through the crowded terminal, he paused and ran a willowy hand through his eternally bed-head ridden crop of liquid sunlight, a streak of faintest gold highlighting his already extensive Aryan charm, the early sun, sparkling off his bottle green eyes. Tinged in the corner with anxiety, as his long time…"friend" was yet to be found…

Letting out a low sigh, he quelled the emotion, assuring him that this was bound to happen…

World Champion he may be, highest paid Bey Instructor in Japan, yes, decadently skilled kisser, most assuredly. Catching himself on the last mental remark… and letting the slightest blush rise to his cheeks.

Letting his train of thought commence once more, he slammed into the conclusion that his boyfriend was a total airhead. Throwing a gaze onto his stray beam of wispy white-blonde, he realized that his hair color had once again tossed it's stereotype aside. Smirking slightly now, he dutifully recalled a tremendously humorous scene that he played out in head far too frequently… the one that started with some spacy brunette asking him in his… nether… hair was blonde too, and ended with him frenching his dreamy little Takao right out in the street, just after spitefully replying "you'll never know".

Slipping from his day dream, he cast another glance into the shifting sea of people that surged into and out of the terminal .Then cocking an eye brow when a familiar scent crossed his nostrils .The quite delicious rasp of bento

And coconut that followed his mate dutifully, and if his scent was here, then…

"MAXIE!"

His thought verified sharply as he heard his effeminate pet name shrieked out to him as the vest and jean clad world champion came tearing through the dispersing crowds, grinning wildly and throwing his gloved arms around the slender blonde's chest. Pinning his arms to his sides in the process.

Keniji (Kenny) 6:15AM, basement apartment of the Shibatsu apartment complex

Keniji took another chew of his pencil, crunching the flimsy plastic between his teeth. Reclining his chair back from his computer desk, slipping out of the screens azure wash, just far enough to catch a glimpse of the grey mourning light beginning to seep between his blinds. He smirked, a slender silver circlet jangling against his teeth as he did. Batting the ornament for the thousandth time with his tongue, as if to affirm to himself that he really had had a piece of metal stuck through his lip, and even more surprising that he was actually proud of it. He allowed his smirk to widen slightly.

Exhaling a long breathe, he brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed them forcefully, vainly attempting to drive out the weariness out. It had been the third day this week his virtual lifestyle had consumed an entire night. Tripping his way over to the triple mattress he called a bed, he gazed into the mirror that hung on a wall beside his bed, taking stock of his jewelry as he passed.

Twin industrials, check, rook, check, double helix, affirmative, approximately 16 CBs, all there. Sticking out his tongue, he verified the appendage's barbell was in place, then ran his hand over his collection of eyebrow bars, each of his nine silver ring bands clinking in turn. Thumbing each of his nostril screws, he cast back the thick quilt of his bed, then flopped onto the cushy surface. Barely remembering to smack his alarm clock into its duty of awakening him in six hours, time enough to prepare for the cross-town revelry he had marked onto the mental calendar embedded in his mind. Turning to one side, he closed his heavy eyes and fell into a deep slumber.

Awaking with the grainy strings of a foreign tune in his ears, Keniji rolled to his right, the thinnest of sunlight bands flickering on his concrete floor. Yawning quietly, he slipped out form under his comforter, his billowing pants flapping against the hard base of his darkened apartment. Grasping at his circular glasses perched on a narrow shelf beside him, he flipped them on, brushed his LED bangs onto his face, flicked his dyed chin length hair into line, then cemented it there with some handily placed hair cement . Bouncing his head lightly, he checked its hold.

Smirking subtly at his refreshed faux-hawk, he began the daily ritual of rotating his numerous CBs, tweaking his eyebrow bars, and finally giving his belly ring a flick. The latter he had woken up with after a rare night of party-going, not to mention being in someone else's bed. Shuddering at the thought of what his drunken mind had let some faceless women do to him, he picked up his green-stitched trench coat clasped to a hook drilled directly into the foundation of his apartment building.

Throwing it on as he strolled past the bathroom, which he ducked into to finish some "business" he'd neglected to do the previous night, throwing a glance into the mirror hung on the hall adjacent to his toilet, he took stock of himself once again. Subconsciously comparing it to the tie-clad persona he'd once donned, he was rather pleased with his new image. Brushing his stiffened locks, he adjusted his six inch faux-hawk, hued a cunning purple-black, which faded into his bottle-green bangs, set a shade or two darker than his concealed eyes. Letting his lip ring rise with his smile, he stenciled the straight-edge x onto the back of his palms. Then flexed his wiry form , Each and every muscle lithe and pale from his years of sporadic sleep, as well as his equally irregular eating patterns.

Letting the ultra-marine liner on his hands settle, he turned on his socked heel and padded his way out of his cramped facilities. Pulling left as he exited, Keniji turned into the narrow stone-walled corridor which led to his triple locked resin door. Selecting a high pair of three-inch platform boots from the five member line of footwear, he pulled the set of cross-laced apparel out from between a belted duo of metal lined "bondage boots" (as he dubbed them), and an ankle high couplet of side-zippered industrials.

Strapping the form-fitting footwear onto his trim thighs, he tightened them and stood, now noticeably taller, in front of the heavily secured gateway which protected his apartment from marauding crack- heads ripping him off. Retrieving his jangling key ring, heavy with spare jewelry of all sorts, he thumbed back the series of locks bolted to his doorway. Flinging It open as a buzzing UV light invaded his ears, he secured the door again, locked it up, and briskly paced his way down the pipe-lined hall that was his building's greeting to him upon every excursion.