So, as it says on my profile, the modeling agency's giving me a break and I have no tests on the upcoming Monday (for once) which is definitely something to celebrate. As of now, my week is going to be test-free! (As of now.) Also, you guys have really been encouraging in your reviews about my temporary leave, and I just couldn't bear to leave the story at that. I did promise fluff, after all. Hence the update. As always, thanks to Shibataea for editing this. Enjoy.

Hiyoshi walked in the office. "I come in peace, bearing gifts. Pick one."

Oshitari looked up, exhausted. In one hand, Hiyoshi held a mug of black coffee. In the other, he held a bottle of aspirin. "Can I have both?"

"I could mix the aspirin in with the coffee and let it dissolve," Hiyoshi offered. "But I'm not sure if that's safe. You might die." He paused. "Yeah, maybe not." He handed both over. "Here. So how'd the Seigaku interrogations go yesterday?"

"They weren't very helpful."

"I figured out that much from your face."

"Thanks," Oshitari replied, glaring up at him. Hiyoshi didn't seem apologetic in the least, instead gesturing for him to continue. "Fuji said some . . . confusing things. Do you know if Niou had any contact with Hyotei?"

Hiyoshi nodded. "I knew him, somewhat. Niou and I used to take similar routes home, and we'd usually hold a brief conversation or two. He invited me out sometimes, but it wasn't often. I don't know if he spoke to anybody else from Hyotei, though." He paused. "Do I even count?"

"Not really," Oshitari admitted. "But if he spoke to you, surely he must have had some interest in Hyotei. I can't imagine what."

Hiyoshi shrugged. "I doubt it," he said. "It was just polite conversation. And besides, I'm pretty sure Niou liked to observe people. That might have been all he was doing."

Oshitari sighed. "Then that doesn't get us any farther than we were to begin with."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. The coffee and aspirin make up for it."

Hiyoshi fell silent for a moment, then murmured, "Are you interrogating Hyotei next? They won't be too keen on that. It's not like I care, but . . ."

"They'll have to deal with it. Atobe will understand—Jiroh and Kabaji won't mind. Neither will Choutaro. It's just Shishido, in the end, but Choutaro will be there to appease him," Oshitari reasoned.

"What about Mukahi-san?"

"What do you mean?"

"Won't he be upset?" Hiyoshi pressed.

"Why would he be?"

"You know why." He seemed exasperated. "The whole lack of trust thing. And Mukahi-san always was pretty touchy."

"He'll be fine with it," Oshitari said dismissively. "I'm sure he understands it's routine."

"I don't know," Hiyoshi replied, doubtful. "It's been a pretty long time . . . But I guess you know him better than I do."

"I think I should conduct the Hyotei interrogations sometime next week," Oshitari began. "It'll be enough time for me to get the rest of the data and notes in order, and as such, the Hyotei interrogations will be much less tedious."

"But it's only Tuesday; isn't a week a bit too long? You don't need a week to sort out information, Oshitari-san. You're putting things off."

"No."

"Yes."

"Maybe," Oshitari conceded. "I just . . . need to organize things."

"You're never disorganized."

Oshitari gestured wryly to his desk, littered with papers and notepads. Before Hiyoshi could reply, Oshitari's cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Oshitari? This is Fuji. I'd like to speak to you—today, if possible."

"That'd be fine," he responded, slightly confused. "Come to my office then, at one."

"I'd rather not," came the prompt reply. "Would the new French café be alright? Camille's, I believe?"

"Fine," Oshitari said. He was about to add more, but ever-cryptic, Fuji hung up.

"Who was that?" Hiyoshi asked.

Oshitari looked up. "Fuji. He wishes to speak with me."

"Maybe he'll actually tell you something this time," Hiyoshi said, sounding condescending. "If he knows something, he should spill it. Causing trouble for no reason . . . it's so like him."

Oshitari murmured agreement. "Though I can't imagine what he'd want to say to me. It must be in regards to the case—but if he were to say something, why wouldn't he say it yesterday?"

Hiyoshi shrugged again. "Who knows? He's supposed to be a genius, right? Must have a plan or something."

"And that," Oshitari mused, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."

---

Fuji was sitting at a small table for two, sipping tea and smiling up at him brightly. "Hello, Oshitari."

"Fuji," he greeted, and sat. "Why did you want to meet here?"

"Your office is much too dreary," he answered. "You should get it remodeled."

Oshitari frowned. "You say that, Hiyoshi says that, my colleagues say that . . . I don't see how it's dreary, or morbid. It's a perfectly fine office. Simple."

"'Morbid,'" Fuji repeated, looking thoughtful. "Is that the word Hiyoshi-kun used for it?" He nodded to himself. "It's a good word. Describes your office perfectly."

"Does it?" he asked, exasperated. "If you say so. So why did you want to see me?"

Fuji leaned forward in anticipation. "Have you discovered who the murderer is?"

"No, I haven't. I've yet to speak to Hyotei, as a matter of fact, and the notes I've taken are scattered all over my office. I'm afraid I won't be coming to a conclusion until some time later—if I ever do. It's a very strange case."

"Don't be discouraged," Fuji said amiably. "You're a genius, after all."

"So are you."

"I am," he agreed. "But you have the advantage. I only have my own experience to go on, whereas you have the information of RikkaiDai and Seigaku to use freely."

"You talk about it like it's a game."

His smile widened. "Because it is."

"Niou was killed. It's not a game if someone's life was at stake."

"You sound so moral," he said dismissively. "Morality is uninteresting. And I never specified the game, now did I? You asked me for information yesterday, and I'm offering it to you now."

"Well?"

"Saa . . . Oshitari, have you ever played Russian roulette?"

---

Oshitari stared at his phone, indecisive. He was back in his office—it was almost eight PM, and he was preparing to leave for night school. Another part of his routine, another habitual task, something with no meaning. He could afford to miss one day, and he wasn't in the mood to listen to a lecture at the moment, not after what Fuji had told him—or rather, what Fuji hadn't told him.

What did Russian roulette have to do with anything?

"It's not fun if I give it away," he'd replied teasingly.

Because obviously, it was completely fun to give Oshitari another headache, while letting the murderer slip away.

I need a moment away from all of this, he decided. Just one. Just tonight.

He went back to staring at his phone. Gakuto—surely he wouldn't be busy? He was in Tokyo for vacation, after all.

Perhaps he ought to call Gakuto first; invite him out. Or not. It'd only been a week or so since their last encounter, after all, and he'd seem clingy.

But Gakuto had been the one to invite him out the first time.

He never minded before.

It could have just been an act of politeness.

He might be waiting for me to call.

Why am I even worrying about this? He and Gakuto used to walk home together daily, used to spend their weekends and vacations together. It was just Gakuto. Just Gakuto. Always Gakuto.

He glanced at his phone again, and his resolve vanished.

It'd be foolish to wait until Gakuto called him out again, he decided—he'd done so once, and Oshitari had ruined it. It was only right for Oshitari to call this time, surely. Courtesy. Proper courtesy. That's all it was.

He dialed the number and called quickly, before he could change his mind.

Gakuto answered after the first ring. "Hey, Yuushi. What's up?" he asked quickly, sounding rushed. Oshitari wondered if he was busy doing something.

"Are you busy?"

"What, no greeting? No, I'm not busy; why?"

To go with the safest option . . . "It's been a long time; I thought we could catch up," Oshitari said.

-

"I thought I'd wait for you. You know, it's been a long time and all, and I figured we could catch up or something."

-

He thought he could hear Gakuto smiling when the redhead replied, "One whole week. Sure, Yuushi. Do you have anyplace in mind?"

"Not in particular."

"Then I get to choose. But . . . don't you have school?"

"I don't feel like going today. I know most of the material."

"That's so like you, Yuushi. Then I'll see you at seven-thirty?" He sounded hopeful. "By the bakery near the police station."

"See you then." For some reason, Oshitari breathed a sigh of gratitude when he hung up the phone.

---

The streets were dark and deserted—it was seven, after all, and a December night at that. November had ended only a day ago, and the winter chill had finally taken hold of Tokyo. Sidewalk lights lit the night, replacing the barely-visible stars.

Straight from a movie, Oshitari thought.

Gakuto was punctual, for once. He stood outside the bakery, leaning against the store window, and wearing a simple jacket and jeans. He was slouched, looking much more casual than when Oshitari had last seen him. He suddenly wondered if he was overdressed—he'd opted for a dress shirt instead, and looked more like he was going to work than going out with a friend. Before he got the chance to think it through, Gakuto caught sight of him and walked over.

"You're two minutes late," Gakuto informed him, sounding very serious. "That's not like you." Then he cracked a grin and punched him in the arm. "Getting lazy, aren't we, Yuushi?"

"Possibly," he replied, relieved. "Time's not really an issue when you're an investigator."

"Lucky you. It must be fun; I think you would've been way more suited to this lawyer stuff than I am."

"It's not fun, not at all. But that's why it's called work, right? Anyway, I was going to suggest we play tennis, but you look kind of tired, so we'll just warm up or something."

"Warm up?" Oshitari repeated.

Gakuto shrugged. "Metaphorically speaking, sort of. I thought we'd go for a walk. Do hot shot detectives get to go for walks?"

"Do they get to go with their hot shot lawyer friends?"

The night was dim; Oshitari couldn't see Gakuto's expression when he said, rather softly, "You bet."

"Then yes, they go for walks."

With that, they left.

---

It'd been an alright night, but an extremely quiet one. Oshitari had already forgotten what it'd been like when he walked home with Gakuto back in middle and high school, but they must have had more to talk about back then. He vaguely recalled complaining about Atobe and Shishido, but not much else. Was that all they ever talked about? Surely not.

But as it was, Oshitari had no idea what to say. They hardly seemed to have anything in common anymore—well. That wasn't true. If anything, Gakuto had more in common with him now, what with his new attitude and ethics. Given, he seemed more relaxed than before, but still, it was different.

Maybe I'm just being picky.

But in the end, there wasn't anything for them to talk about. The case, maybe? But neither of them wanted to discuss murder in the shady, abandoned streets of Tokyo.

—They wouldn't have wanted to discuss murder, anyway.

"So, how's college?"

It took Oshitari a few moments to realize Gakuto was talking to him, and that he was required to give a response. "It's okay, though not very interesting. What about you? Don't you have school around now?"

Gakuto shook his head. "It's different in France. I'm on vacation." He smiled. "And I figured I'd better come back before you guys forget all about me."

"We wouldn't," Oshitari insisted, casting a glance at the lawyer, who chose that moment to look away.

"Hey, things change."

They lapsed back into an awkward silence. Then:

"You're too tense."

The words came out of nowhere, but they were spoken with such a sense of confidence than he couldn't bring himself to protest. Instead Oshitari stared at the feisty redhead, who had his hand on his hip. He was suddenly smiling smugly, and looked nothing like the uptight lawyer he'd been acting like for the past week, past day, past hour.

"You're too tense," he repeated. "So we're going to loosen you up a bit."

"'We'?" Oshitari inquired, arching an eyebrow.

Gakuto shrugged. "Well, yeah. I'm not going to a club by myself. And besides, you don't seem that tired anymore. Just lazy." His eyes shone with expectancy. "You've been so dreary lately; dancing will do you some good." He laughed. "I've been pretty dreary, too. And it's been a really long time since I've been to a club."

"A club?"

"What, did you forget how to talk for yourself or something?" The grin widened, and in that moment, Mukahi Gakuto was every bit of the lively teenager that'd left Japan, every bit of the lively teenager he'd missed. "We're going dancing. There's this hot new club downtown, and I've been dying to check it out."

"You don't strike me as the type to go to a club." He berated himself the instant he said those words. Isn't this what you wanted? he asked silently. Isn't this the Gakuto you've been looking for?

Gakuto shrugged it off. "You make it sound like I'm two hundred years old," he snorted, and began walking, leaving Oshitari with no choice but to follow. "I don't get how being an adult is that much different from being a kid." He whipped around and fixed Oshitari with a tense, vivid stare. "We're not fourteen anymore, and we'll never be fourteen again, but seven years can only do so much. I'm still Gakuto. You're still Yuushi. I'm not saying it again, got it?" With that, he began walking again, his short legs keeping a surprisingly fast pace.

They were now in a part of Tokyo that Oshitari didn't recognize. It was every bit as lively as the central area (at daytime, anyway), but a different type of lively—unprofessional, in a way. It wasn't bustling with businessmen and socialites. The people there were laughing, carefree, holding drinks and chatting. Some wandered around, others remained fixed, waiting for friends. No, these weren't the businessmen and socialites Oshitari saw everyday on his way to work.

These were just . . . people.

He realized now that most of them were gathered around a large, dimly lit building. It was a modernized glass dome, looking every bit as flashy as Atobe's hotel—cruder, somehow, but eye-catching. "Is this the club?" he asked.

Gakuto nodded. "Yeah, it's called Katwalk. I heard it's from this chain of these really popular American and European clubs. I've never been there, but almost everybody else has. Even Jiroh, actually. He was raving about how awesome the songs were, and how the drinks there were—and I quote, "super-tastic." And he's not even the type to go to a club, so that's got to be saying something, right?"

"It's European," Oshitari echoed, a tad disconcerted. Seven years could only do so much to a person—but surely it was still enough to change someone for good. Gakuto, however, didn't seem worried in the least.

"I know you don't like foreign stuff," he replied, "but this club won't be that different from the ones in Japan." He smiled mischievously. "Besides, it's not like you've ever been to a Japanese club, so you won't know the difference, right?"

"You'd be surprised," the detective said, remembering Gakuto's words from their first meeting in three years. The redhead had sounded so cryptic when he'd said it, and Oshitari couldn't help but wonder how someone could alternate so drastically between personalities in such short periods of time.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Yuushi." Then Gakuto laughed, actually tossed his head back and laughed, and Oshitari's heart began to beat just a little faster. This was him—this was Gakuto. "Come on, this'll be fun."

They entered the club after presenting their IDs, and instantly, overpowering rock music filled their ears. Oshitari grimaced—this was what he hated about clubs. He'd only been to a few in his life, and he couldn't say any of those experiences had been positive ones. Clubs reminded him of the reek of alcohol, the drunken, staggered movement of the underage, the promiscuous behavior of people without shame—everything opposite to the life he was used to.

But Gakuto seemed positively ecstatic, and Oshitari couldn't bring himself to ruin his companion's good mood. "Let's get a seat," he said hurriedly, and dragged Oshitari to the bar. "Look, there are two, right there! This is perfect."

Oshitari smiled weakly and took a seat next to him. The bartender sidled up to them, propped his head on an arm, and smiled enticingly at Gakuto.

Almost unknowingly, Oshitari scowled.

"Hello, young lady," the bartender greeted, and gave a Cheshire cat grin. "How may I help you today?"

Gakuto groaned. "See, Yuushi? This is what I mean—mistaken for a girl every other freaking day."

"He's a guy," Oshitari clarified, and the bartender recoiled instantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," he stammered. "I—uh—Kazu will be serving you today. I—excuse me."

He backed away, but Gakuto managed a "Next time you hit on someone, try inviting her—or him—out for a drink or something!" before he got out of earshot. To Oshitari, he said, "They're all the same. It's crazy."

"I found it rather amusing," Oshitari admitted. Gakuto gave him a light punch on the arm.

"Jerk," he mumbled. "You're the same as always, Yuushi. Sometimes I think you're too much like that Fuji guy for your own good."

"Don't remind me of Fuji." Between the baffling case and the pounding music, Oshitari's headache was getting bigger by the second. "I think he knows something, but he won't say anything, and neither will Tezuka, and then there's Eiji—"

"Stop," Gakuto ordered. "Sorry for reminding you, but don't think about the case today. Just—forget everything for a while. Forget the case, forget Fuji. Tonight, it's just us."

-

"From his best friend, to my best friend . . . to your best friend."

-

Gakuto spread his arms and gestured to the lively crowd of dancers. "Have fun, and forget. That's why they have music, and that's why they have drinks." He grinned at the new bartender. "Don't mistake me for a girl like your friend did, 'kay?"

"I'm sorry about Kiyo," Kazu apologized. "He's too flirty to be working at a place like this. How can I help you both today?"

"I'll have the orange martini," Gakuto said, staring at the enormous list of drinks in front of him. Upon noticing Oshitari's silence, he added, "He'll have the same."

"I don't think that's a good idea—" Oshitari began to protest, but Gakuto cut him off.

"We're here to have fun, remember?" Then he chuckled, and gave a wicked grin. "Of course, you're not going to remember much after tonight."

That doesn't sound good, Oshitari thought in dismay, but the bartender had already begun to pour the drinks.

Gakuto downed his in a swig. "Want to have a race?"

Oshitari grimaced at the strong-smelling liquid placed before him. "I think I'll pass. Could I save this for later, maybe?"

"But you're not going to," Gakuto said, frowning. "You're going to strategically stuff it somewhere, and I'm going to forget you had it, and then you're never going to try an orange martini and I'll feel guilty."

"That's rather warped logic," he commented. "You sound like a teen again."

"I'll prove to you that there's always someone higher than you," Gakuto recited in a squeaky voice, and laughed again. "I miss it. Tennis, I mean. Have you played at all, recently?"

Oshitari shook his head. "I stopped in once we went to college. There was no point anymore—everybody was separated, and doubles . . ." He trailed off, and Gakuto frowned again.

"This conversation is getting depressing," he decided. "Let's dance instead."

The investigator looked up, startled by the sudden change in conversation. "Dance?"

"Yeah, let's go," he said, pulling Oshitari by the arm and pausing in the middle of the dance floor. "Remember that time we snuck out in our freshman year at high school?"

"I believe so," Oshitari said slowly, trying to recall.

He began dancing, moving his arms and shuffling his feet, while Oshitari stood stiffly, watching. "And we were trying to get into the club, and the bouncer wouldn't let us in, so we borrowed these seniors' IDs . . . And the bouncer didn't even notice that we were the same people he saw fifteen minutes ago." He snapped his fingers, and a man instantly came over, handing him a drink. Oshitari made a vague connection to Atobe.

And then Gakuto was dancing with a drink in one hand, while his other hand was running through his hair. A few clubbers stopped to look at him, and he grinned at the attention. Oshitari had forgotten how well Gakuto could dance; it always used to amaze him how he managed to dance for hours without break, whereas in tennis, he lost stamina after a one set match. It could have just been the excessive jumping, of course—but the way he looked so at ease on the dance floor told him it couldn't have been just that.

He wasn't complaining—it was the club that had brought Gakuto back.

Then someone bumped into him and knocked Oshitari out of his trance. He glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring (though it was probably too late by then).

The music picked up a little, and Gakuto moved a bit faster. "Dance with me," he breathed, and grabbed his hand.

At first, there was nothing but awkward movement. Oshitari had never liked dancing himself, and part of him resented being forced to dance in front of so many people. He'd never been shy—but revealing one's gaucheness to a judgmental group of skilled dancers didn't seem very appealing.

But then Gakuto pulled him a little closer, and Oshitari gripped his hands a bit tighter, and before he knew it, he was dancing.