Author's note: Currently I feel like a BAMF right now since I finished two chapters in one night (WHAT WHAT!) Actually, it takes me a lot longer than that to brainstorm/write/edit/publish, but I found out that I had a few unfinished chapters lingering around, so I decided to crack down and finish! Now if only I could find that inspiration for my economics homework -_-"

Thanks so much for reading!

~4~

The next day, Isaka thanked Misaki for his hard work, though it was in the most peculiar of ways.

That morning, while Misaki and Shinobu were chatting and sweeping the dirt corridors that encircled the outside of the main house, Isaka stalked his way over, wearing the most colorful of grins. "Chibi-tan!" he called out, once he was halfway down the main staircase, his hands cupped around his mouth, drawing specifically the blonde's attention.

Shinobu, broom going still in his hands, shot Misaki a curious look as he said, "Uh, Misaki," he said, gesturing over his shoulder with a flick of his head, "Isaka is roaming around, looking for you."

"Isaka?" Misaki swung his head around, and sure enough, Isaka, wrapped in a western-looking coat, was heading down the stairs toward the two boys, his enthusiastic expression was almost blindly vibrant on the dismal backdrop of early January fog.

Shinobu glanced over his shoulder a second time, in the direction of the approaching man, before turning back to the brunet again. "What on earth did you do to make him like that?" he asked in a hushed tone, pulling a face of utter incomprehension. "He never comes out here! And he's never this friendly in the morning." Misaki shrugged helplessly, leaning his broom against the side of the house, before stepping forward, closing the distance between him and Isaka.

"Umm, good morning Isaka-san," Misaki tried to say in good spirits, though there was still a shadow of his puzzled expression that remained in the cast of his eyebrows.

"Chibi-tan, I've got to say, I underestimated you," Isaka grinned, with plumes of smoky condensation surrounding his mouth with each word he spoke.

"Uh, underestimated me?" Misaki questioned dubiously, not necessarily confused as to why he was under estimated, but rather the fact that he was being estimated at all.

"According to Haruhiko, he had quite the time with you…its rare when a guy like that has a lot to say about somebody. And yesterday, I couldn't get the guy to shut up!" Isaka exclaimed and Misaki noted the slightest shiver in the man's voice as he wrapped his arms over one another. But the fire of his enthusiasm kept his expressions as lively as ever because his eyebrow suddenly quirked in a mischievous way and his voice dropped practically an octave as he purred, "You must have been a hell of a lot of fun, Chibi-tan."

He winked after he said this, insinuating something sexual though Misaki couldn't quite figure out what. As he blinked at Isaka, then turned back to Shinobu, confused and worried that perhaps the man actually he thought he and Haruhiko had…those kinds of relations. Shinobu scrunched his nose, confused by the conversation and the implications that it had…and Misaki's eyes widened, realizing if anyone had been mislead to think his relationship with Haruhiko had become sexual, was Shinobu. Misaki abruptly shook his head and opened his mouth to protest this accusation…

But Isaka had already moved on, saying, "Actually, there's even better news. After yesterday, Haruhiko was insisting that he see you again."

"Really?" Misaki asked, surprised, and Isaka nodded.

"He thought you were quite the charm."

"Really?" This time, both boys chimed in.

Isaka nodded smugly, turning to the young blond to say with all the pride of parent to say, "Seems we taught our little Chibi-tan well, neh Shinobu-kun?"

Shinobu just rolled his eyes at the house-owner's antics and patiently nodded. "Yes, it was all your insightful expertise at work," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Green eyes shifting past them, Misaki wondered, "Wait…did he say when he wants to see me again?"

Isaka stopped, paused for a second to think, and then shook his head. "No, he didn't make an official appointment yet," the man replied, his voice gaining a little bit of distance as he tried to remember the details of the conversation. In typical Isaka fashion, he flashed a grin and said, "I think he's finding just the right place to show you off. Just give him a little time, alright?"

Misaki nodded, though he wasn't certain exactly what showing him off specifically entailed. Haruhiko hardly seemed like the type to want attention…

At this pause, Isaka suddenly announced, "Well, I'm going to get myself out of this freezing cold before I meet an untimely fate," clapping his hands together loudly, causing a large stir of birds to flap erratically over head. Once things had settled, the man continued with, "I'll see you around, Misaki-chan! And Shinobu-chin," the man said, his voice dipping into some kind of coo, "Someday you'll impress me too. All it takes is hard work and a sprinkle of fairy dust." And with that, the man turned around on his heel and headed off, audible cursing drifting down the coridoor as his steps thudded dustily, disturbing the dirt and causing it to catch the swirling air and scratch against his bare ankles.

Once the man was a distance away, Shinobu rolled his eyes and wandered back to work, grumbling about his boss's hijinks. Misaki followed behind shortly after, and the two boys began silently sweeping. Eventually they fell into the rhythm of things, the sound of horse-hair brooms scraping over a medley of dirt, sand, and pebbles all ground into a well packed mix, acted as a backing soundtrack to their conversation.

Then, during one of the valleys of their dialogue, Misaki drifted to a thought, a thought that provoked a strange feeling within him. This sound, the echoing of brooms grating over the dirt as it bounced along the side of the okiya only to dissipate into the early morning silence, was soon going to be foreign to him. He never really thought of it before, how much of his life would change—even down to the basic sounds that he heard each day—once he began hosting.

His date with Usami Haruhiko was only the beginning to this transition from one world and into another, he realized, and for a moment, he felt a mix of nameless emotions, a flurry that left him feeling rather strange inside.

~0~

The longer Misaki resided at the okiya, the more he began to find himself yearning to become a part of the world of hosting.

He started taking interest in the other person who was living in the house, their home's full time host named Kamijou Hiroki. For the first few months, he was a mystery to Misaki—the youth had only seen the man four times, either early in the morning or very late at night, just in passing. Only once had he made eye contact with the man, for a second, before Hiroki continued his way down the hall, as if he'd never even noticed him at all. According to Shinobu, Hiroki was the most successful host Isaka's okiya had ever housed, so he was often busy tending to clients, and in his spare time—which was rare—he locked himself in his personal room, dwelling in privacy.

"He's the devil," Shinobu spat as he retold a story of his encounters with Kamijou. That day, they were cleaning out the shower. "I'm sure of it."

"What do you mean?" Misaki questioned, wide eyed. When he heard about Kamijou in the first place, he could only suspect that the man was stunningly attractive and charming from all the business he seemed to get.

"He's crazy I swear," Shinobu shrugged as he lifted a bucket of water, its contents sloshing down onto the cobblestones below. As he walked back toward the bathhouse, he continued talking, his voice raising just a bit. "Sometimes I think he's been possessed." When Misaki gave him a curious look, Shinobu supplied with a shrug, "If you don't act properly around him, he'll shriek, throw things at you…sometimes I've seen his eyes turn red."

Misaki stared at him, perturbed that the boy talked about such a horrific experience as if it were the most common thing in the world.

The brunet youth's face twisted in horror, suddenly seeing the once magnificent image of Kamijou that his mind had supplied, only aided by the quick glimpses he'd caught during their brief encounters, morph into a wicked mad man with knotted hair and a devil's grin.

Isaka and Asahina had their own opinions about Hiroki as well. Asahina always treaded lightly when talking about Hiroki—apparently the fiery brunet had some unspoken level of power over the man and apparently was not one to be bothered. Isaka, however, had managed to transcend this barrier in a peculiar way that neither made sense to Asahina or Misaki, though he never spoke badly of Kamijou, unless it was in jest.

However, no legend Shinobu concocted or explanation Misaki's bosses could supply quite compared to the real Kamijou Hiroki. For Misaki, their first true encounter was actually an accident, a slip of fate that brought the two of them together.

It was early in the morning when Asahina called Misaki into the office.

He was sitting at Isaka's desk, frantically sifting through haphazard piles of papers with mesmerizing organization that looked like no more than a heap of junk on a desk. Upon hearing Misaki's footsteps, Asahina glanced up eyes weary with exasperation.

"Takahashi-kun, I need you to do something for me," he said. "I'm missing an expense sheet and I've checked the whole place, and its no where to be found." He sighed, running a hand grimly through his hair. "I'm certain Kamijou has it somewhere in his disaster of a room. Can you go see if he has it in there?" He gave Misaki a pleading look, as if there were no worse task in the world.

Misaki had been hearing about this missing paper for the past three days. He couldn't imagine what could possibly be so important about it, but since he was in no position to question Asahina, he nodded, urgently.

"I don't think Kamijou is in right now...but knock before hand, just in case. You know how he is," he said, grimacing. Misaki had no idea how Hiroki was, but Asahina's facial expression was enough of a warning to leave him feeling more than hesitant.

"Um, yes Asahina-san," Misaki offered, before Asahina began describing the paper to him, as if Misaki had never seen printed ink before.

Kamijou's room was at the end of the hall and was the largest in the whole okiya, larger than the servants' quarters and his old apartment combined. It never made sense to him as to why Hiroki needed so much space, until Asahina explained that Hiroki was originally not alone and used to live in that same room with four or five other hosts. "Though, its probably better that he has all that space to himself now," he said. "Its never a good idea to have all that testosterone locked up in one room together." When Misaki gave her a curious look, he added, "They used to get into horrible fights." He never told him specifically what happened, but just from Shinobu's stories alone, Misaki was glad that there were no others living in the room with him either.

However, Hiroki put all of that space to use. Apprehensively, stomach tight, Misaki slid open the door, and glanced around, immediately puzzled. Stopping in the entrance, he peered around the apartment that looked so vastly different that the rest of the house and cautiously entered the room, only to be greeted with an obscene amount of clutter. There were news magazines littering the floor, an empty whiskey bottle on the bedside stand, and a few towels that were left over from his most recent bath. The futon hadn't been moved yet, still dressed with crumpled bed sheets and a heavy quilt that was a lump on the floor. But the most shocking part was the books. Stacks of books were piled high all over the bedroom—not just on bookshelves, though they were full as well. The books that were in Kamijou's apartment were stacked on the tables, on the chairs, around the bed. There were books in the corners of the room, books lining the walls, books thick and thin, old and new. There was even a stack welcoming Misaki at the door. He fell over them and they went toppling everywhere.

"Oh, shoot!" he cursed underneath his breath, throwing himself down to the floor, gathering the strewn books.

Just as he was setting them back up again, he sensed someone else in the room. Tensely, slowly, he turned. And there he was.

Standing there near the bed wearing nothing more than a juban was Kamijou Hiroki, still looking disheveled from sleep. Upon hearing the movement in the room, Hiroki whirled, the confusion in his eyes clear, almost vulnerable, like an animal that had just been cornered. Then when realization passed over his face, his eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Misaki with mesmerizing intensity, his hand gripping onto the wool blanket he was holding, clenching it tight.

This was the first time Misaki was able to truly look at the man—because, he normally ran into Kamijou during the night in passing or just heard him as he strode past, he never got the opportunity to truly look at the man. But now, staring up at him, he could not understand why Kamijou was so very busy with clients.

His facial features were all quite stunning—he had a perfectly ovular face with clean, white skin that reminded Misaki of porcelain, a small mouth with two plush lips, and fine, gingery brown hair. However, no matter how perfect his features were, there was something horribly ferocious about him. His brows were creasing down into a frown and it seemed as if they spent a lot of time there. His eyes were almost the same color as his hair—a soft brown that in any other case would have been stunningly handsome—had a harsh glint to them, a kind of intensity that was almost terrifying. Kamijou's hair was a knotted mess. He had obviously just woken up, the way his voice had a sleepy gruffness to it, but something told Misaki that he didn't spend much time in front of a mirror.

He was dressed in an under robe, that went underneath the kimono to keep the expensive fabric from getting dirty—and although the kimono that Kamijou wore were always magnificently colored and printed, the man's juban was twice…maybe three times as luxurious looking. The fabric was an imperial red with white cut outs of ivory that resembled leaves, each of them ringed with a flicker of gold.

Misaki caught himself staring and immediately threw his gaze back to the floor.

Oh God. Here it comes. Fury, roaring anger, perhaps a book to the head…Misaki held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Good morning," Kamijou said, though there wasn't a smile behind the greeting.

"I-I…uh, good morning sir! I'm very sorry sir, but Asahina told me to come in here to look for a paper for him. It's some bill and he's very worried about it. He thinks it may have been misplaced in here," Misaki offered in a whir.

Hiroki didn't say anything for a long while. Misaki swallowed hard, just waiting. Finally, the man just left the side of the futon, went to the table that was pushed against the opposite wall of the room, and simply pulled out a paper from the pages of a book. "Is this it?" he asked, coming to Misaki.

The youth did his best not to flinch, to keep his gaze firm and natural and away from those brown eyes that were just the slightest tint red, but fear constricted his throat. Misaki, to be honest, had no idea what the paper looked like. But the page was filled with all kinds of numbers and markings, so he figured that it had to be it. "I-I think so."

From there, Misaki wasn't certain what to do. Should he leave? Wait to be dismissed? He opted for standing in place, pretending to read over the inked print that was barely legible, waiting for the older man's next move. Finally, Kamijou said, "Alright then," and then turned around on his heel, heading back to his original task, a curt yet effective discharge.

Misaki ducked his head, slightly embarrassed for some reason, before he turned around and started for the door—however, he was cut off swiftly, when he heard Hiroki's stern voice from over his shoulder, command, "…Actually wait. Stay right there."

The brunet froze in place, still facing the door—between nerves, confusion, fear, and discipline, his stomach was beginning to feel heavy, and each step he heard the older man take behind him was daunting. Luckily, before he could conjure up an idea worse than being hit over the head for his bold entrance, Kamijou was saying, "Can you please stop staring at the wall like an idiot and carry this box?"

Misaki quickly turned around—his arms were suddenly filled with a crate box that was surprisingly light considering its size, and over flowing with what seemed to be the pelt of a white animal. When Misaki leaned in to peer inside, Kamijou was quick to scold. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"I-I'm sorry," Misaki stumbled for words.

Before he could fully make sense of what was happening, Kamijou was headed back toward the futon, ordering shortly over his shoulder, "Give me fifteen minutes. Wait outside for me with that box. If anyone asks, just say you're doing an errand for me."

Misaki nodded quickly, and before Kamijou could make any more demands, he carried the box out into the hall, plopping down onto the floorboards next to the door.

It was a fur in the box. A fur coat or shawl or something that resembled a dead animal that had once lived a luxurious life with such a lush plume, only to be heaped into a pathetic pile inside of a crate. He sat for nearly thirty minutes as he waited, his fingers eventually finding entertainment in smoothing over the soft, white hair that was poking out of the box, wondering what on earth Hiroki was doing with this fur.

Listening the rustling on the other side of the door, imagining that Kamijou was dressing himself, Misaki leaned his head up against the wall and sighed, bored. What else could he be doing on a day like his, had Asahina not asked him for help in the first place? He realized that there really wasn't much, nothing better than the task of mopping floors or cleaning toilets to return to.

~0~

Forty minutes later, Kamijou Hiroki emerged from his room, ready to leave. His expression softened somewhat, though tension continued to ripple through the air around the two. Armed with what seemed to be a catalogue, Kamijou ordered that Misaki follow him, and he led them down the back entry stairs and out into the courtyard. Heading out the gates, the man explained, "We're going into town." This meant that Misaki most likely had a busy day ahead of him, and thoughts of Asahina's paper slipped away indefinitely—but this work was the sort Misaki was growing used to; straightforward, unobserved, taking orders. Plus, this time, he was getting to explore the busy streets of Kyoto.

As they made their way down the street, Misaki stuck close to Kamijou. He'd never seen a city as busy before—although in retrospect, the streets were far from bustling, with just a few passerby and venders loitering and advertising their wares—and found solace in Kamijou's even, proud stride.

Misaki observed the town silently as he followed behind, trying to soak up all the foreign scenery at their rapid pace. Eventually, Kamijou silently decided on entering a small building that boldly claimed it was the best priced bookshop in this district. Kamijou slid the door open, and then Misaki followed inside, the cowbell attached to the door with a loosely knotted rope, clanging at their arrival.

It was a humble location. The walls, lined with dusty bookshelves that housed mismatched books in size and shape enclosed the small space that apparently doubled as a family's front room. Drawn by the sound, a huge, pudgy man came out from a curtain covered opening that led to the rest of the home, rubbing his wrinkled hands together like the hooves of an elephant. Upon seeing Kamijou, his eyes formed twin crescents and he called in a friendly boom, "Kamijou-san! I thought I just saw you last weekend!"

For the first time ever, Misaki saw Kamijou smile, though it was only a slight quirk of the lips. His voice came much smoother than before, somewhat, comfortable. "I didn't expect to get another package this week, Watanabe-san," he shrugged, sounding half exasperated. "You know I usually don't have the money to be buying books every week!"

"Ah, its because you're popular Kamijou-san. You should be thankful!" The big man tutted, working his way into the room with puffing breaths of exertion. He was huge—larger than Misaki had ever seen a man—swaddled in a pinstriped kimono that seemed as if it had been complied by three regular sized cuts of fabric.

"But they're too much hassle," Hiroki complained, glancing over at the box that was still cradled in Misaki's arms. "It's the third one he's sent this month. Eventually, you'll be tired of buying all my furs," he said.

"I love our little currency though," Wantanabe clucked. "You know, my daughter Ai-chan has fallen in love with the last shawl you brought. She treats it like a pet and carries it around with her. She's even named it Poochiko," he beamed.

Hiroki chuckled, well mannered. "How wonderfully disturbing…Anyway, it's heavy bringing all these boxes down here, so it's quite a bit of trouble."

"Ah, but it seems you've found a friend to carry them for you. " The man's gaze slewed sideways to examine Misaki, his pudgy cheeks shifted up towards his ears in a smile, directly staring him. The closeness of the moment caused Misaki to blush and the man's grin only widened. After a moment, he said, "You always have the cutest accomplices, Kamijou-san," to the fiery brunet, though he was still peering at Misaki with wonder. He turned over his shoulder and said, "Where on earth do you find them?"

Hiroki sighed, turning away from the conversation to browse the shelves upon shelves of books. "He's a new trainee," he simply replied. "Nothing special, honestly."

"But that's his charm! He's just so…common looking," the man clucked. "Though…his eyes…they're quite an amazing green!" Turning himself back to Misaki, the man asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Takahashi-san, pleased to meet you," Misaki replied with a deep bow. He felt the tension in his shoulders loosen in the presence of this man and managed to flash a nice smile.

Watanabe chuckled. "Even his name is common! So very cute! You can set the box right over here, Takahashi-san."

Hiroki scowled into the pages of the book he was flipping through, but the cowbell at the door cut him off as he opened his mouth to vocalize whatever nugget of bitterness he was preparing to divulge. All three men glanced over at the door. At once, Hiroki and Watanabe both called out at the newcomer, one with a grunt and the other in friendly greeting.

"Akihiko!"

"Usami-sensei!"

Stepping into the bookstore was one of the most elegant men Misaki had ever seen in his life. He was wearing trimly cut western suit with leather shoes that were polished like lacquer, a burning cigarette balanced fashionably between his fingers. White shirt, skin clean as eggshell, lavender eyes, ashy grey hair. He must be wealthy, Misaki assumed, eyes fixed on the man as he made his way into the bookstore, wearing an aristocratic smile that wafted handsome pride throughout the room.

Misaki's mind flitted back to the wealthy banker, Usami Haruhiko, and suddenly he wondered if the two men had any relation.

"Usami-sensei!" Watanabe called a second time, waddling his way over to the man at the door. "Two of my most loyal customers in one day! What wonderful luck!"

Hiroki's greeting wasn't nearly as joyful. "What are you doing here right now, Akihiko?" he asked curtly. "I thought you had work."

Usami replied smoothly, "I finished my manuscripts early today, so I figured I'd treat myself to some new reading material." The baritone of the man's voice mesmerized Misaki. "You know, I wasn't expecting to see you here either, old man." Akihiko smirked and Hiroki scowled.

"I'm selling something," Hiroki snipped and Akihiko glanced knowingly over at the box, which had been deposited near the door.

"More fur?" he asked, though it was clear he knew exactly what was in the box.

Hiroki visibly prickled. "Yes," he grumbled, turning back to the book in his hands, looking rather bashful. Then, he looked back up again with new petulance in his voice that gave his words a barb. "This is the third one I've got in the past two weeks," he complained.

"Well, maybe if you stop giving Shinoda-san so many favors," he said, fair eyebrows raising in lewd suggestion, "then you wouldn't be in this predicament would you?" Akihiko pointed out, unable to suppress the humor in his voice.

At this comment Hiroki went bright red and hissed, "I do not give Shinoda any kind of favors!" Ducking himself back into his book, he dismissively added, "I haven't seen the man in weeks, anyway."

Misaki had no idea who this Shinoda man was or why he was such a humiliation to Hiroki—sometime later on that week, he asked Shinobu and the boy told him that this man named Shinoda was Hiroki's danna. Misaki remembered then from his talk with Asahina and Isaka that each man who hosted at the okiya had a danna who paid for their virginity during their youth and promised to foot much of their living expenses afterward—and in return, the host would be their personal paramour. During this time, it was incredibly exclusive to have a paramour and usually only the wealthiest of men could afford them. In this case, Shinoda was a young baron and could easily afford a host like Hiroki.

Before World War II, Japan had barons and counts, and Baron Shinoda was incredibly wealthy. His family owned one of the city's most influential real estate firms that controlled most of the business building within Kyoto's limits. He was younger than most, only thirty two at the time, and had not only earned the title of baron at such an early age but also, inherited the entirety of his family's holdings, including an estate not fifteen minutes from the okiya. His business interests apparently kept him busy in Tokyo and Hiroshima however, in order to make up for being unable to attend to Hiroki properly, he'd send all kinds of luxurious gifts to him. This bizarre relationship explained the packages of furs, chocolates, hakama, and jewels that made their way to the okiya each week—and Hiroki would then take these gifts and sell them for books to supply his extravagant library.

The two men bickered amiably back and forth as they worked their way around the bookstore, and Misaki inferred that the two must have been old friends, the way they addressed each other so forwardly.

There was a break in the conversation, where Hiroki was questioning Watanabe about a scroll he found in the corner of the room, and for the first time, Usami took the time to regard Misaki's presence. The man turned over his shoulder and glanced at him for an endless moment, holding his gaze much longer than Misaki anticipated. Footsteps approached him. He felt himself blush and knew he probably came off as grimy to the man. Usami was young, fresh, solid and proud, and his voice came smoothly like honey. "Helping Hiroki with his chores today?"

Misaki knew the answer to the question, yet he choked on his own tongue. "Um…yes, I carried the box for him."

"Must be incredibly boring, huh? Shopping with an old fart like him?"

Misaki flushed, uncertain of what he should say. "Uh…well…"

The man smirked, voice lowering just a tad, as if he were divulging the boy with delicious confidence. "It's alright if you tell me it's boring. I can keep a secret."

Realizing he was cornered, Misaki relented. "Yes…I suppose it's quite boring." As the words left his lips, he felt a shock of guilt and fear, knowing if Hiroki heard him he'd certainly be in trouble—probably would lose his dinner privileges for a week. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the man for subjecting him to such danger.

"Such cruel torture for such a young boy." Usami chuckled and Misak couldn't tell if the man was being sympathetic or teasing him. Then his expression grew pensive as he glanced upward, wondering aloud, "Though I suppose there are much worse chores you could be assigned to."

"Yes…though I don't like shopping much. I can never make a decision and I end up getting kind of flustered," the brunet replied conversationally, cringing slightly at the thought of having to choose one or two books out of the thousands of books that lined the shelves. Usami chuckled at this and Misaki, finding some sense of relaxation in the man's amusement, added with a little helpless shrug. "I guess I'm better suited for house chores."

"Ah, we're quite similar," Akihiko pointed out, his features softening ever so slightly. "I don't enjoy milling around stores much either. I much rather prefer the comfort of the home…However, some shopping trips are necessary, I suppose." Then his voice lowered slightly and the man leaned down, so that his shoulder was brushing Misaki's ever so slightly. His scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke and lavish, musky cologne tickled at Misaki's senses, and for a beat Misaki found himself entranced. In a confidential tone, Usami hummed, "Interesting how two kindred spirits can meet in situations much beyond their element…"

Misaki nodded, and for a minute or two, a slightly awkward silence fell over the pair. Usami directed his attention back to his friend and the bookshop owner, drifting back to the wares. His gaze though, continued to be drawn to Misaki, quickly and subtly eyeing the boy until another book caught his attention once more. It happened nearly three times…or at least the three times Misaki had seen him do it. Humiliated, the boy ended up keeping his head down, waiting patiently until Usami had decided on something.

"Well, I've got to be going now," Akihiko announced, once he'd bought a book. "Watanabe-san, I always appreciate your treasures." The pudgy man grinned, pleased. Usami then addressed Hiroki, "You promised you'll be coming over sometime soon, right? I've got a new manuscript in the works and nothing will do it better than a good ol' verbal beating from my closest friend."

"I'm busy too, Akihiko," Hiroki grunted, but when Usami flashed a look of yearning, Hiroki sighed and surrendered. "Well, I suppose I'll be over some time this week," he said, the annoyance in his voice suddenly smoothing out. "So don't plan anything special."

Usami snorted. "Of course, my dear friend." As he pushed his way out the door, he added over his shoulder, "Remember to be nice to your little friend." With that, he gave Misaki a quick wave and the boy returned the gesture to be kind.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" Hiroki hollered in response and they could hear Akihiko's chuckle from outside the shop before the door was slid shut once more.

"He's lucky I'm friendly with him," Hiroki commented sourly, to which Watanabe chortled, enjoying all the banter. The brunet sighed, drawing his attention back in to his original task. He asked Wantanabe which books the man recommended, and Misaki groaned—the man's responses were long and wordy, and after twenty minutes of discussion between the two, Hiroki finally had selected a stack of books to keep as his own. Coming forward, placing the pile of books onto the chipped wooden desk that doubled as a checkout counter, Hiroki was looking rather pleased with himself.

They exchanged the fur with the books and headed out shortly afterwards, Misaki carrying the same crate, this time filled with a much heavier load of books. Though they had spent practically an eternity in the bookshop, Misaki was still thankful that Hiroki brought him along and his daily chores had long been forgotten. Plus, he had a glimpse into the mystery that was Hiroki Kamijou's life, which was more than worth the lengthy trip.

Feeling accomplished, he trailed behind Kamijou wordlessly, marveling about the day's events—the city, the crowded streets, and the peculiar man that was Usami Akhiko.

~0~

Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I made this chapter extra special for you guys so please review, favorite, and follow! THANK YOU!