Akaya was feeling a tad disgruntled. It wasn't just that Yukimura was making him go to a costume shop, of all places.

No, it was that Yukimura was looking particularly excited. And that was never a good thing.

He peeked out the window and noticed that the neighborhood was full of expensive shops. Must be a high class society, Akaya mused. The limousine slowed in front of an extravagant looking boutique.

La Maison de Glace. It was a fairly small shop, though it appeared to have three floors, and was a strange mix of modern and old. The doors and walls were glass, the windows were edged with a cold iron, but the words were in an elegant cursive, and from what Akaya could tell, the inside of the shop had the look of a British castle. It was all in pastels—the doors had a light blue tinge, the carpets a soft white, and the glassy steps were a pale yellow.

Yukimura opened the door for him, and he stepped out tentatively. "Why are we here?"

Yukimura said nothing, simply leading the younger boy inside. There was the faint tinkle of chimes. The inside of the store was filled with soft classical music.

It was also filled with dresses, much to Akaya's dismay.

Blue dresses, black dresses, green dresses, red dresses… pink dresses. It was then that Akaya realized, This looks a lot like my cousin's dollhouse.

This was bad.

"Fuji-kun?" Yukimura called.

A young, petite brunet walked toward them. He had a perpetual smile on his face. "Ah, Yukimura. And this…" He turned to Akaya, opening his pale blue eyes, "must be Kirihara Akaya." The corners of his lips rose in a sadistic grin, and Akaya suppressed the urge to shiver. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," he said, trying to remain calm.

Why was he doing this again?

Oh, right. Because he had a nutcase for a boss.

Yukimura mimicked Fuji's smile. "You see, Aka-chan—"

Kirihara flinched at the nickname, and he could have sworn he heard Fuji snickering, just a little…

"—Fuji's releasing a new line of clothing, and he needs a model. We both agreed you'd be perfect. After all, you're the most feminine out of all of us, and you just know how much the public loves a feminine looking male…"

First, he was offended. Feminine? Excuse me?

Then, he was perplexed. Out of Fuji and Yukimura, he was the most feminine looking one? Really? That made no sense.

And finally, he was struck with a sense of horror. I do not like where this is going.

"I'm sorry," he said, laughing nervously. "I can't model. I've never done anything like that, really. I'm going to have to decline…"

"Nonsense!" Fuji insisted, shoving him to some back room. "You're perfect for this role. I've got the perfect outfit for you, and you'll look simply stunning."

Say no while you can. Come on, say it.

He opened his mouth to protest, but then caught Yukimura's eye. The tennis player was staring at him, sadly. "Please, Akaya?"

With a resigned sigh, Akaya followed Fuji into the backroom.

Akaya stared at the bright lights and the white backdrop. Fuji sat, poised by the camera, and Yukimura smiled brightly.

"Put this on," he said, pushing a black clothes-bag into his hands. "The outfit is inside."

"I thought you were taking me to a costume shop," Akaya accused.

"It is a costume," Yukimura insisted. "Right, Fuji?"

The brunet smiled a smile equally brilliant. "I designed it myself." He revealed his blue eyes, daring Akaya to say more.

Akaya frowned, but went to the changing room without further protest.

God, what were they up to?

The changing room was fairly large, with at least eight mirrors. There were three cushioned seats, and Akaya figured that Fuji was either ridiculously rich or ridiculously talented.

Probably both, he admitted, and opened the bag.

He was not prepared for what he saw.

For it was a dress.

It was a lacey, French-maid-esque dress.

With a very deep neckline.

Very deep.

He'd been expecting some sort of stuffy suit, or leather pants at worst. Akaya squeaked (it was a very undignified moment for him) and threw the dress to the other side of the changing room.

"Is everything okay?" Yukimura called.

"This is a dress," he all but snarled, and stomped out of the changing room. "I'm not wearing this!"

"But you'd look so good in it," Fuji trilled. "I had it designed especially for you!"

"I'm not wearing this," Akaya snapped, and with a huff, made to leave the shop.

"Akaya, wait," Yukimura pleaded, and caught up with him. The reporter whipped around and stared at him. "I'm—I'm so sorry. I really did think it'd be fun. I-I mean, you said something about doing this with your cousin on our last date, and you were talking about how hilarious it was, and I…" He averted his eyes. "I just wanted to make you happy." Yukimura's eyes widened. "Because… I think I'm falling in love with you."

Oh, helllnopleasesomeonesavemeNiou-sanI'mgoingtokillyou.

He could just hear his boss laughing. "You can't say no to that," he would be leering, and Akaya had no choice but to concur.

This wasn't fair.

And of course, he missed the triumphant gleam in Yukimura's eyes when he finally agreed.

His legs felt... bare.

Like, really bare.

It was with gritted teeth that he finally managed to put the dress back on (that is, without throwing up). And it was with gritted teeth that he posed, one after the other, as Fuji gave some very questionable instructions.

"Good, good! Now lean on that cube over there. Prop your head up with one arm… yes, that's right! Purse your lips… Good. Widen your eyes a bit, and lean forward."

Purse my lips? Pout?

Widen my eyes?

Lean forward?

He decided that models are either naturally slutty, or the bravest people on the face of the earth.

"Oh, Akaya-kun, darling, you look like you're having a seizure," Fuji scolded, clucking his tongue. "Try to look seductive, innocent. Goodness, haven't you ever seen a lingerie ad?"

No, I haven't, thank you very much!

"See, in a lingerie ad, you have to show off your curves. You mustn't hunch back, that simply won't do…"

"I'm a guy," Akaya said tersely, resisting the urge to punch the delicate little photographer in the face.

"You certainly don't look like one at the moment," Yukimura sang. "Don't worry, dollface. I think you look delightful." He smiled a smile that looked way more like a smirk. "My, I think we'll have to dress you up like that later, when we get home…"

Akaya cringed.

"You remind me an awful lot of my last boyfriend," Fuji mused. "I'm bisexual, you see. And he was the most beautiful person in the world. Looked just like you."

"Did you two break up?" Akaya asked, trying to divert the attention from himself.

"Not quite," Fuji said, that smile ever-present. "He wanted to leave me for another boy. And I admit, that other boy was a darling. But I just couldn't let go of him. So I compromised."

"You compromised?"

"Ah," he acknowledged. "Well, he wanted to leave me. He wanted to abandon me forever. So I ate him."

". . ."

"I ate him," Fuji repeated, "and now we'll forever be together." He rubbed his stomach happily. "Saa, man and wife, joined forever."

Of course Akaya didn't believe that, but after spending ten minutes with the man, Fuji's explanation actually didn't seem that ridiculous…

"Like I said," Fuji continued, "you remind me a lot of him, Kirihara-kun." He licked his lips a little, and Akaya flinched. This was all too familiar.

"You know, the exact same thing happened to me, once," Yukimura said, thoughtfully. "His name was Echizen Ryoma, and he threatened to leave me for someone named Tezuka Kunimitsu." He shrugged. "So I locked him in the basement for two months. He was still alive when I let him out, of course."

"How surprising," Fuji replied. "My boyfriend was Tezuka Kunimitsu."

"What a coincidence!" Yukimura exclaimed, and they giggled like schoolgirls.

Akaya was mildly disturbed.

These people were crazy.

And he was crazy for agreeing to the stupid thing in the first place.

Now, I don't think models are sluts, so if you are one, don't be insulted. I'm a model too, and not all models have to do what Fuji's making Akaya do. I've never had to, and I really think that television dramatizes the life of a model way too much. We take photographs, we travel a bit, we walk the runway, and that's about it. Not every model has a scandal, a cheating boyfriend, and a perverted photographer. Seriously.

And of course, Fuji didn't eat Tezuka. It'll be explained in the next chapter (assuming I remember to include it). The preview:

"He promised you a threesome," Marui repeated.

"A foursome," Akaya corrected wearily. "Him, Sanada, and Fuji. Actually, he said it would technically be a fivesome, because Fuji ate his boyfriend and all…"

"…What?"

"A fivesome."

"Dude. You should so go."