Living room, bedroom, and kitchen – all were devoid of Tezuka's presence. Fuji went back to the novelist's writing desk, and once again reviewed the plot. Reading the content of the sheet of paper on his hand reminded him once again of the difference between fiction and news. Imagination and reality. No matter how he denied it, Fuji personally knew that fiction usually draws more attention from the general public.

Attention?

Fuji diverted his look from the paper he was reading to the gold-plated picture frame of Tezuka on the desk.

Right.

Kunimitsu Tezuka.

He might never had given deep thoughts about it, but perhaps he saw him as a rival. A worthy rival more than anybody else.

Fuji knew a lot of excellent people, and he appreciated them. But never in those years did he showed utmost admiration towards somebody….and he had all the reason why. – for he has always exceeded excellence itself.

Maybe he was really a genius in all fields, though he didn't always deemed it necessary to get what he want. Everything was quite perfect.

Then suddenly out of nowhere comes this man, Kunimitsu Tezuka, who share the same interest as his – writing. Different fields but the same medium, and everything for Fuji just started to went out of their usual way. Talent, intelligence, looks, glory and fame – Tezuka rivaled him in these….and even surpassed him to some extent. Leanne's affection towards the man was a proof.

Fuji's fascination towards the novelist grew from then on, to the point that he even thought he was in love. Maybe. But one wrong move from Tezuka shattered Fuji's respect towards him….and that was the night few months ago. The night when liquor first claimed its victory against his straight consciousness; the night when Tezuka did those 'strange' stuffs on him – on bed.

Fuji frowned.

That was the most despicable situation in his entire life. So despicable in fact that even his mighty memory refused to bury it down to his subconscious.

He brought down the paper, and reached out for the picture frame. Even on a photo, Tezuka's hazel eyes radiated authority and intelligence all in strange mix. Fuji mischievously smiled.

'It surely feels great to defeat you, ne Tezuka?' he thought, without averting his gaze on the other guy's picture.

"Fuji.." Tezuka mumbled.

Fuji flinched as he automatically diverted his look on the owner of the voice, who was standing few feet away from him – topless.

"T-Tezuka…"

He looked straight on Tezuka's eyes who were fixed on the frame he was holding. Fuji darted his look to the frame on his hand, then back at Tezuka.

"A-anou….this is….I was…"

Fuji's mind was working for an explanation – a valid explanation at least. He immediately put back the photo to its original place, and faced Tezuka.

"I-I decided to just go back and….and.."

Fuji's voice trailed off as his eyes were drawn to the droplets of sweat trailing on Tezuka's neck..down to his chest…to his abdomen…and.-

"Fuji."

"Ah…hai…like I said I was…-"

Fuji cleared his throat. He felt so damned embarrassed while stammering in front of his rival.

"You came back and entered my room 'without' knocking, grab hold of my photo, and stared at it for quite some time.."

"Hey I didn't – "

"….and you were smiling.." Tezuka continued with an amused smile.

Fuji sighed in disbelief. So Tezuka 'did' see everything, and he didn't even care to call his attention. Crap.

"Get dressed." Fuji simply commanded while looking away from the man across him.

"What?"

"Put some shirt on, damn it!"

The taller guy gave him an amused look before he went inside his bedroom. Fuji slammed himself on the sofa and buried his face on his hands. It was insane! Having been unable to keep his cool just felt so disgraceful, and he dreaded it. Worse, it all happened in front of the man he least want to see him on that state! Tezuka must be laughing at him by now..

When Tezuka came back, and sat across him, he explained everything as fast as he could in the most comprehensive and convincing way possible. He was quite relieved when the taller guy nodded, and dismissed the issue right away.

2:10 am

..and Fuji was still wide awake.

He had written 5 pages of Tezuka's novel before he finally decided to head home. That was quarter before 12 midnight.

And after some hours of forcing himself to sleep, he found himself sprawled down on his bed, eyes open as he stared blankly on the ceiling.

He can't sleep…and he blamed Tezuka for it. Fuji rolled on to his side and closed his eyes. He didn't care if he couldn't drift off to a real sleep. He just badly wanted to let his eyes get some rest. He has work to do tomorrow…a lot of work.