A/N: Thank you for waiting through weeks of my writer's block. I've started a new job, and I feel like it is getting harder and harder to remain consistent with my updates, so I would like to apologize for that. I don't want to keep you guys hanging, and I do have an ending plotted out, it will just take a while to get there. Thank you so much for reading and waiting, and all your words of encouragement have been fantastic. Thank you. It would help if I could bounce ideas off someone, any volunteers?
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VII.
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The sky is still dark when Takumi decides to stop tossing and turning, and go for a run. He tiptoes out the front door, slipping his trainers on in the street, stretching. The chill of the dawn air clears his head, and the cricket song calms him. One foot in front of the other, he starts to run. He waves to the old man sweeping in the road, bows to a passing delivery man, and runs until his chest is bursting, until his arms and legs ache.
He sprints through the streaks of sun rise filtering through the mist, as far as his feet can take him. Lost in the rhythm of pounding the pavement, he staggers to a stop when he cannot go further. Then Takumi notices where he is: the playground near Ayuzawa's place. Chest heaving, he clutches his knees until the burning in his lungs stops.
When he straightens up again, his eyes go to where Ayuzawa lives. Her lights are off. It is dawn, and she must be asleep. Just the thought of her name sends the turmoil hurtling back into his system. He hits himself on the forehead. "Idiot." Why did he kiss her? Why? He hits himself again as he paces off the burning in his chest. "Don't go looking for trouble, moron."
"Don't beat yourself up, President." Her voice, husky and low, sends his pulse accelerating, though he can hear the sardonic note as well. Takumi whirls around to find Ayuzawa standing at the entrance of the playground, balancing on crutches. Her injury must have worsened. Her feet are elegant in rubber sandals, a bandage on one ankle slightly hidden by her long white nightdress. His chest tightens at the sight of her. Suddenly he can breathe again.
His fingers itch to touch her hair again, to straighten out the tumble of waves that supermodels try to emulate. She clutches at her hoodie to ward off the cold.
"Ayuzawa. What are you doing out at this time?" He can't help but scold outline of her black underwear is visible through the white cotton, and once again, he is infuriated by her reckless behaviour.
"I couldn't sleep." She looks away. "So I took a walk."
"Go back home," He keeps the few metres between them. She bites her lower lip, and he is riveted, the memory of her flavour now flooding through his system. "It's too early for a girl like you to be out and alone. It isn't safe."
Her jaw sets. "That again? You're not my keeper, President. Stop treating me like a helpless female. I can take care of myself." Her eyes flash at him, sending tendrils of heat curling in his stomach. Her lips tremble, and he can see her breath in the morning air. The crutches slow her down; mud stains decorate the hem of her nightdress.
"Well, apparently you take such good care of yourself that you're willing to risk pneumonia, you idiot. Where the hell is your fiance and why isn't he taking better care of you?" Takumi snaps.
And there it is, the elephant in the room. Her face shutters immediately. He gives her a mockery of a nod, anything to get the last word over this girl who holds too much power over him.
"You said you didn't hate me." Her words halt his steps. "Were you lying, President?"
"I don't understand," he admits, meeting her gaze. "You are engaged, Ayuzawa. He is not your boyfriend, he is your fiance. Why are you involving me when you are getting married? I will not be a party to cheating." Takumi watches the colour drain out of her cheeks. He doesn't care. It is way past time someone said these words out loud. "Leave me out of whatever game you two are playing."
With that, he walks away.
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When he gets home, he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, even though the sun is high. It is the first day of spring break. He should be able to sleep in today, of all days.
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The sound of china wakes him. Takumi's eyes fly open, and he is drowning in the scent of tea. Night has fallen.
"Oh, good. You're awake." Bringing himself up to his elbows, he squints through the darkness to find Tora Igarashi sitting on what looks like a throne, sipping from a snowy white porcelain cup. He isn't alone, either. Beside him, looking unperturbed, are his brother and his boss, both in identical chairs. Is he still dreaming? The street lamps cast lights on the ceiling, but this seems very real, down to the man in a suit pouring tea into Sasuke's cup. "Good morning, sunshine!" The blond boy joins him in bed, forcing him to back up against the wall.
"What the heck is going on?" he demands, pulling the comforter up to his chin.
Igarashi's smile has too many teeth, but it is his hands that Takumi has to avoid, one patting the top of his head, and the other pinching his cheek. "You're really cute," Igarashi snickers. "I can see why she favours you. Turn on the lights, please." The bright white light blinds him temporarily, rendering him defenseless to the other boy's attack.
Takumi casts desperate eyes to his brother but Sasuke, mesmerized by the cookies on the plate, ignores him. "What do you want, Igarashi?" he growls, as the other boy hooks an arm around his neck.
"What does one usually want? World peace, naked women, and hot tea. What do I want? Mostly, for you not to bore me. I have decided to rent you out from Mr. Satsumi Hyodo over here, for the duration of spring break." The man in question lifts his cup in greeting. Takumi sends his boss a glare, and fixes his attention back to Igarashi.
"Why?"
"I'm heading to our beach house in Okinawa. You are coming along," Igarashi winks, unhanding him. "Let's go." He rises to his feet, dragging Takumi out of bed. "No need to pack, I've got clothes ready for you. We inspected your closet while you were sleeping, and do you even know what colour is? No, I'll provide you with a wardrobe, President Usui."
Two men in black suits flank Takumi, gripping his arms. "No! I refuse to do this. This is abduction."
"Sure, sure. Don't worry, you'll be paid handsomely for your time." Igarashi comes to a stop as Sasuke blocks the door. "What do you want, littlest Usui?"
The middle-schooler pushes his glasses up his nose, his face blank. "I have to agree with him, you cannot take him away like this."
Igarashi grins. "Aren't you cute. Did you want to come along, baby brother?"
"What?" Takumi objects. "Don't involve him."
"It isn't that," Sasuke explains. "He has his student council meetings."
"Ah, those," Igarashi sighs, tapping his lips with a finger. "Hmmm… Who is the vice president of the Seika student council?"
"Yukimura, Sir," one of the suited men barks out.
"Excellent. I can't really interfere with another school's student council, but you can teleconference during your meetings, right? That's what most of our council is doing, since most everyone is out of the country for spring break," Igarashi announces, clapping his hands together.
"We don't teleconference!" Takumi protests. "We don't do things like that. We only meet in person."
"Really? How interesting. Poor people really do things differently. I don't believe the Miyabigaoka council has ever been in one place at the same time. We're all heirs of large companies or political families, so it is too dangerous. Hmmm. Well, nobody cares about Seika anyway. You can call your VP later, you're the president anyway, so you can do whatever you want." Igarashi waves at Sasuke and Satsumi as they drag Takumi outside. "Oh, and, make sure my hairstylist and valet meet us at the beach house when we land," he orders the other suited man.
Takumi has to admit, when he spots the helicopter parked in the street, that this is pretty ridiculous and the tiniest bit cool. Unlike the movies, though, there is no chance of conversation once the helicopter is in the air. The city falls away. He tries to remain unimpressed, all too aware of Igarashi's eyes on him.
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A late night follows their landing at a massive estate that occupies a major part of the Okinawa waterfront. They are greeted by the house staff, arranged like chess pieces leading from the helicopter to the front door. "Did I say beach house? I meant estate," Igarashi winks, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Call me Tora, by the way. Everyone does."
Takumi is painfully conscious of his shorts, flipflops and ratty t-shirt, in stark contrast to the opulence surrounding him. 'You're the president of Seika,' a voice hisses in his head. His chin goes up; his spine straightens. Sensing the change in him, Igarashi's grin widens.
"Attaboy," he chuckles. "Girls love confidence."
The double doors open before them, revealing a dour-faced butler. "Young Master Tora," he intones, dragging his eyes off the floor to meet Igarashi's. "Madam wishes to see you in the east study." Without changing his expression, he glances at Takumi. "She was not expecting you to bring… guests, but I believe she would wish to see you alone."
"I thought I would have more time," Igarashi mutters aloud, though Takumi wonders if he was meant to hear it. He drops his arm, and flashes a giant smile at the old man. "Nonsense, I'll introduce my friend to the lady of the manor. Come along, President." The first sign of uncertainty crosses Igarashi's face, so quickly he may have imagined it.
"Master Tora, I must protest," the butler exclaims, following after them.
"Takashi, are you being rude to my guest?" Igarashi is now every inch a young lord, ice dripping from every word. Takumi remembers a similar expression on Ayuzawa's face, when she declined a suitor who got a little too familiar.
"I apologize, Master Tora." The butler subsides, averting his gaze with the ease of many years of experience.
"President Usui," Igarashi utters his title but Takumi does not want this boy saying it, not with that mocking lilt. "Come."
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The study is candlelit and overlooks the ocean. It takes a minute for Takumi to adjust to the dimness, enhanced by the dark woods and leathers, an overly masculine room dominated by the delicate-looking woman at the desk.
"Good evening, Cecilia," his host drawls, plopping onto the couch next to the fireplace.
"Tora, I have some wedding matters to discuss with you. I just had lunch with that odious- wait. Who are you?" Her eyes are gold, like Igarashi's, and her face is perfect, unrealistically so. She can't possibly be his mother, can she? Her gaze is direct, hard and cutting at the same time.
"I'm Ta-"
"He's my new best friend, Mother. President of Seika High School." His introduction is cut short by Igarashi's interjection. "Do try not to seduce this one, okay? I've barely broken him in, and he's not rich enough for your tastes."
Well, then. Takumi closes his mouth with a snap, observing the two. She shifts that unnerving gaze to her son. "I'm still with Maki, I'll have you know. It isn't his fault, or mine, that we fell in love-"
"Spare me the details, Cecilia. I really don't care." Igarashi rises to his feet, brushing off his cuffs as he ambles to the door.
"You're certainly handsome." The lady addresses Takumi now. "Once my… Tora has you cleaned up, you'll look better than him. Careful now, Tora, you don't want your intended bride to fall in love with your new bestie. By the way, your father is on his way here with that woman. You might want to figure out how to placate him, after your latest refusal to move up the wedding date."
Igarashi bows mockingly. "Goodnight, Mother dearest."
"My name is Cecilia," she hisses. Bowing deeply, Takumi makes his escape. Rich people have the same issues as poor ones, but on a larger scale, he supposes. The pang of sympathy he feels for the other boy is surprising. They have more than Ayuzawa in common, it seems.
"President Usui," Igarashi drawls, leading him down the corridor, past the uniformed servants. "Have you ever had a makeover before?"
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The mattress is three times thicker than Takumi's futon at home, and the restlessness stirring in his gut has him tossing and turning. Finally, he gets up, glancing at the clock. 4:12 AM. Sleep is not going to come anytime soon, so he decides to take a walk. After pulling on a light jacket, he slips on the brand-new trainers waiting at the doorway (a perfect fit, he notices begrudgingly) and heads out of his room.
The house is a maze of brown corridors, but servants are cleaning endlessly, even at this time of the night. They drop into curtsies at the sight of him. He makes his way to the back of the building, led by the scent of the sea. It is one of those Hawaiian beach resorts that he saw in a magazine once, all draped curtains and doorless entryways.
Then he sees it, a path of white sand in the green, leading to the ocean. A suited security guard nods at him, from the entrance of the house. He nods back, picking up speed as he crosses the garden, kicking off his shoes to feel the sand beneath his feet.
The moments before sunrise are Takumi's favourite. He closes his eyes, letting his feet take him forward as he inhales the chilly, salty air, the sound of the waves filling his ears. The coldness is different from when he runs, seeping into his skin, loosening his chest with every deep breath.
A memory stirs.
He is young, barely able to reach his mother's hand. "Don't be afraid," she laughs, "I'll always be here to catch you." His feet sink into the soft sand, and the beach is endless. He wants to play in the water but his mother's fingers are cold. He looks up at her, but her eyes are resting on his father, and sadness crosses her face.
Takumi opens his eyes again. The sky is always darkest before dawn, and the stars are out in full force. Why did his mother come to mind? His brows draw together as he strides towards the water.
Then a movement from the corner of his eye has him spinning around. Something white flutters on beach chair, about a hundred feet away, the occupant protected by an umbrella. What little he can see of the person sets his heart pounding. He casts an eye behind him to make sure the guard is still at the house entrance, just in case. Then he makes his approach.
The lacy skirt flows around familiar-looking ankles. His gaze trails up, and he finds, with resignation, that Ayuzawa is curled up on the chair, fast asleep. He sighs, not even surprised anymore. Somehow he always finds her, as if his inner compass was oriented with her as his North. Shrugging out of his jacket, he drapes it over her flimsy nightgown.
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