Strings Attached

by

dancingfingers

Disclaimer: I don't, under any circumstances, own Skip Beat! and its characters.

Chapter 15

Tokyo, Japan

Earlier that day; 8.55 a.m

It was a beautiful morning; the sun beamed at the city below warmly, puffy clouds floating lazily in the azure sky as birds twittered cheerily, the sound pleasing to the ears. In a cafe where mostly people had gone to work, Shingai sat in the midst of the comfortable silence with the occasional sound from the bar and kitchen on the back as the staffs worked. He sipped the luwak coffee—such a price for such a rich taste, he concurred with half-smile, half-grimace—very, very slowly, fingers drumming against the orange-colored table rhythmically.

Where is he, he thought as his eyes glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner. Five minutes to 9, and he almost sighed to himself at his own impatience. That person was very punctual—not that he wasn't—and would not suddenly absent in his own appointment with him, nonetheless. Shingai knew he should sit and wait like a good boy, but he was growing restless as the minute passed by; there was no time, there were too many things to be done, there was a plan to be made—and he still didn't...

Ah, there he is. Straightening on his seat, Shingai crossed his leg over the other as the other man glanced sharply at his direction, then promptly glided like a tiger to its prey towards the chair across from the Inspector.

"Shingai."

The curt greeting would have had annoyed the man, but he was a special case. Standing in nearly 6'2" feet tall, the man had a curious snow-white hair that Shingai almost (the keyword was almost) believed he had a particular interest in visual kei or something if it weren't for his eyes. His silver eyes glinted in a dangerous light as he kept his eyes on Shingai, while he settled down gracefully on his seat. The suit he wore was pressed snugly against his sinewy muscles, making the male looked like every bit of a bad-guy type although he knew otherwise.

"Ichirou," he greeted warmly, a smile spreading across his lips. "Long time no see."

"Hn." He waved to the stand-by waitress, who had her cheeks pinked at the sight of an inhumanly gorgeous man before she wore her polite mask, and ordered a simple black coffee and french toast. "It is, indeed," he said after the girl headed to the kitchen. "How has everything been?"

A chuckle emitting from his lips, Shingai regarded the man with an amused expression. "Momose still has her defenses up; perhaps in the next two days I will finally get my date."

Ichirou huffed, an alternative to a roll of the eyes as Shingai had known it for ages, and graced him with a deadpanned look on his face. "I don't need your updates on the lack of your love life—" he ignored the laughter from the dark-haired man, "however, you should stop being pathetic towards that woman."

Shingai shook with laughter. Ichirou was clearly humoring him, he knew, but the advice was welcome. He was aware of his friend' averse to women (not that he had shown any interest in males, though, as far as he knew) since he was immune to any flirts, innuendos, or blatant invitation from his growing fans club in the squad.

It must be the white hair, he concluded with mirth bubbling inside his chest. Or the muscles. Even I as a guy will admit that he has a nice, well-built body. The type women want to have tangled with in bed.

"I must thank you for the... tip," Shingai said after a comfortable pause stretched between them. The waitress was back, with a tray in her arms as she finished placing Ichirou's order with a smile. "I have been—carefully, that is—pulling strings with Momose's help and the dynamite duo... ah, you were not there when they were initiated to our division. A man that looks more like a rebellious teen and a girl who's harmless as a hamster but has a mean right hook—you don't want to anger her, believe me—though, all in all, they have been working so dilligently since then. Of course, sometimes their... playful... quarrel nearly makes the ever-lovely Momose to explode in frustration..." He blinked at the glare directed at him, then grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I got carried away. So, I've been pulling strings to weave the trap for those crocodiles and it only waits for your signal before I can catch them."

Swallowing the toast down, Ichirou nodded. "There will be only at least a week before she is released from imprisonment. In the meantime, Fuwa has arranged everything in place."

"I see."

A sigh, then, "He finds out about me."

Shingai lifted a brow at that, though not in surprise. He had known that someday, somehow, Ichirou's cover would be discovered—he could be very stealthy in that, but Fuwa Sho was not someone who one could trifle with. Ichirou was the best in his job—well that came from years of experience—thus he had offered himself to be the one who went undercover; he had sensed (and heard rumors from his trusty informants) that something was going to happen (if not soon, it would be later) after that woman was thrown into the jail for her sins, and had since worked under Fuwa as one of the bodyguards.

"I see," he eventually commented. He sipped his coffee again as he stared out the window; an elderly man walked with his dog, as the pet padded happily against the pavement, a mother who was wiping her daughter's tears trailing down her cheeks with a gentle smile on her lips, and a few people waiting on the bus stop, glancing occasionally at their watch. "I was actually hoping that he found out sooner. You are very good then, Ichirou-kun," he finished with a teasing smile.

The white-haired man frowned slightly, a sole sign of his irritation. He drank his coffee in one sip before he gave his response. "There is something odd, still."

Shingai leaned forward slightly. "What is?"

"... the woman," Ichirou muttered under his breath, then after flicking a glance at his superior, added in a louder voice, "Do you remember the only woman in our team, Shiori? Yamada Shiori?" When Shingai nodded slowly, he continued, "I have tried to look for her background, but it led me to nothing. There is very little information about her; aside from her birthplace and date, education background... nothing. There is nothing of import I could find, until I mentioned her name—in passing—to one of my informants."

Ichirou paused on his elaboration as he munched the last bit of his toast.

Shingai waited patiently, uncrossing his legs and folding his arms on his lap.

"...she is reported dead," the silver-eyes gleamed eerily as Ichirou resumed his report of his finding, "...fifteen years ago. In Saitama."

The Inspector's interest was piqued. The steely tone in his interrogation-voice reached Ichirou's ears as he leaned back on the back of his seat, eyes darkening in intrigue.

"Tell me more about her."

Jakarta, Indonesia

12.45 p.m

Meanwhile, the said woman was currently sitting on an armrest, watching over her young charge and the blond man who had indulged Sachiko in playing with his hair. There was no trace of annoyance in Hizuri's face as the little girl worked on his hair, patiently and carefully dividing his hair into several sections, continued with twisting each one into a neat braid. Tiny ribbons in various colors tied the end of the knots, making Hizuri's blond hair turned into a some sort of rainbow after the rain as the sun's golden light exuded its warmth to the earth.

In contrast, the rain had started pouring after Sachiko stopped crying (though she clung tightly to the man afterward, unwilling to let go). Shiori wondered, idly, if Kyoko-san was still adamant to go to Bandung in this weather; she was aware that her trip was overdue, therefore Kyoko-san felt responsible to go—there was so much to do, anyways. Shiori never asked (it was not her responsibility) and she completely understood that the golden-eyed boss should go, if only for her own sake. Still, it didn't deter her hope that Kyoko-san would arrive soon to meet the unknowing father, and something else, though the involved parties had yet to be aware. The auburn-haired woman swallowed down the laughter as she thought of Kyoko-san's reaction in seeing the man with braids and ribbons on his hair.

Sachiko patted her handiwork in satisfaction, green eyes sparkling as she stifled a squeal at the pretty sight on Kuon-san's equally pretty hair. Hearing a chuckle, she blinked her eyes owlishly as the man peeked over his shoulder, grinning boyishly.

"Done?"

"Un," she replied enthusiastically. She watched in bemusement when the tall man snatched a hand-mirror with Cinderella painted on the back of it, and handed it to her. "Erm...?"

"I want to see, please?" he asked, the grin growing wider.

She bobbed her head up and down, then dutifully lifted the mirror over the back of his head. She took a step back as he asked her to in order to see it more clearly. The little girl waited in bated breath, anxious to hear his comment. He had been nothing but kind and playful with her, and Sachiko pretended that this man was her father, even if for a day. It felt good, and it was like everything she had imagined.

He tilted his head from one side to the other. After a moment of silence, he rubbed a blue ribbon between his forefinger and thumb, a smile blooming as he did so. He then proceeded to turn fully to face Sachiko, and patted her cheek gently, tenderly.

"I think it looks very good on me—don't you think so, little cub?" He paused, fingering another ribbon, red this time. "I am very honored that you have styled my hair so wonderfully; even my stylist, Miss Woods, can not make something like this for me."

Emerald eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yep." He then cupped a hand over the side of his mouth, whispering, "but you can't tell her that if you met her, alright? She will be mad at me, and... she is very scary when she's angry." He shivered in remembrance, or perhaps just to humor the girl, Shiori couldn't decide—but Sachiko was already giggling in response, promising that she would not tell anyone about her braiding skill, nor that she would braid anyone's hair but him.

"Good, little cub." He ruffled her hair playfully, and laughed as Sachiko glared at him. "Wow, look at that; you might be scarier than Miss Woods herself!"

Sachiko pouted. "I'm not."

Kuon shrugged. "Well, that's what you think."

The huff escaping from her lips only made Kuon laughed louder. It felt great to laugh so much this morning. It had been so long since he could laugh freely in genuine happiness. He couldn't believe how entertaining his usual boring morning (or day, in general) would be.

As he shifted to get back on his feet and went to the kitchenette to grab a drink, the sound of the knock on the door echoed through the room. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Shiori straightened in her seat, watching the door from her place in wariness. He could see the debate in her eyes whether to open the door or just let him do it, and in the end, she glanced up at him.

"It's your room. If it were a reporter—which I doubt with the increased security in this building—my presence will rise an unneeded gossip."

He nodded absently, already aware of it. However, the flash of coldness in her eyes as she explained about the security alerted him. There was something really odd, yet also familiar about her, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Perhaps it was the grace of a fighter he'd noticed from her movements, or the occasional calculating look when she glanced about the room, or perhaps... it was the guarded expression she wore firmly whenever she interacted with him.

Shrugging inwardly, Kuon walked towards to the door. Faltering slightly in his steps, he had just remembered that he had his hair in braids, but had no will to cover it with his baseball cap because a certain girl would be heartbroken if he did.

Well, here we go, he sighed inwardly, and reached out to open his door.

Did I say the dreaded meeting will happen in this chapter? Well, I obviously miscalculated. However, no worries, readers; for an exchange of thousands apologies and dogeza, I decide to do a double update! However (wait, keep reading okay), I will post it later on the very same day according to my timeline (GMT + 7, so it's March 31 today in my country). I was up late last night, and I pay dearly for it. My head feels like it's going to split open at any moment, and I am actually amazed that I managed to write the next chapter. I promise I'll update it—I have been away for too long, after all.

See you soon,

-dee