Furihata's POV
In much the same way as relief comes from exhaling after holding a deep breath for as long as possible, Furihata felt liberated when the cab dropped them off at the front door of the condo. There was no doubt in his mind that the trip was a good one. He'd become friends with Kazunari, seen the Statue of Liberty, eaten pizza that made his head spin, and Akashi had finally admitted he was hurting and received treatment. All those things were good, but being home was better.
He left his suitcase right inside the door. He'd deal with it and Akashi's later. Instead, he went into the living room, switched on the television, and studied the fish tank. It had been almost a month since he'd hand-fed them, and he had to hope they would still recognize his scent. He brought out the rolling stairs from the closet and pushed it over to the four hundred gallon fish tank. He climbed the three steps.
"You know you don't have to do that." Akashi's quiet voice came from behind. "The automatic feeders are still on."
Furihata turned on the platform and placed his hand inside the tank. Eight large koi came to the top, and the largest, most aggressive one, snatched the pellets from his fingers.
"I know, but I've missed them," Furihata said, yawning as he sagged against the plexiglass. "I think Koromo has gotten bigger; his beard is so long now it tickles."
"Is that Koromo?" Akashi asked, inclining his head toward the silver fish. He'd bought the fish for Furihata, and left naming them to his discretion.
"Yes, the chrome-colored one, Jiro," he smiled, laughing. "I thought my names made them easier to remember."
"I don't think I see colors the same way you do, Kōki. I wish I did."
Furihata saw an underlying sadness in Akashi's quiet eyes as he made that confession. The golden color was much more muted than when they'd first met on the basketball court, seven years previous, but that side of him still lurked in his unwillingness to express emotions – or perhaps even feel them – and deal with the outside world in a productive, empathetic way.
"Then I'll teach you about colors, so even if we're not using the same exact language, you'll have a good understanding of what I'm talking about."
Sure, Akahsi had played with the kids at Midorima's charity event, he even spent time talking about Godzilla to the boy with scars as deep as his, but at his core, Akashi was still healing from a wound so awful and terrible, that some days having no emotions was still the safest place to live.
"It may be futile, Kōki, some people are color-blind from birth."
"Come here," Furihata moved over on the platform, making room for Akashi. With one eyebrow raised, the Emperor did not move from his sure-footed position on the floor. "Don't make me beg, Jiro, come here and let me teach you something."
Furihata watched as Akashi blinked and his eyes focused on the hand beckoning him forward. To Furihata, Akashi was a barely tamed animal. He could feed him and pet him, but if he tried to hold on too tight, the skittish fox would bolt in an instant. Instead he'd learned to offer and cajole in such a way that it seemed like Akashi was in charge and making all the decisions by limiting the amount of choices he was left with. He could come or he could go, and unlike Akashi's father, Furihata had learned very quickly that punishing Akashi for any decision would only reinforce selfish aims.
Akashi rolled his sleeves up and climbed to the the small platform. Furihata put a scoop of pellets in his hand.
"This one is named Kōhaku. You can tell from this cool red spot on his head; it's the same color as your hair," Furihata pointed out a fish. "If you put your hand in the water, he'll eat from your palm."
Furihata saw the hesitation, but he stepped behind Akashi and put his chin on the other man's shoulder and his hands on those sturdy hips. Akashi's body tensed, but he reached his arm over the lip and submerged his hand in the water. After a moment the heterochromatic fish took the bait and Koki thanked everything that he held sacred that he'd had the patience and perseverance to train not only the fish, but the man feeding them. It was rewarding in a way few things were in his daily life.
"It feels… slimy," Akashi said, "but it's oddly satisfying to have a creature like this eat out of my hand." Furihata smiled into Akashi's neck, placing a soft kiss of encouragement there. Yes, it was satisfying, wasn't it?
"Give some to Ōgon next," Furihata suggested, guiding Akashi to turn right and greet the golden fish waiting for its turn. "He gets jealous easily."
Akashi's POV
Tokyo… the very word evoked images in Akashi's mind: Teiko, basketball, friends, his father's empire… none of those things made him think of a Hispanic man twirling a spatula and fork in front of a hibachi grill.
He clapped politely as the chef spun an egg on the edge of the spatula and then tossed the thing into his over-sized black hat. The skill is impressive, even if it is useless, he thought. The investors, whose idea this meal had been, were awed by the spectacle.
"Just like back home, I bet," said Franklin Johnson, the brains behind the Onsen project.
Akashi avoided answering by taking a hurried sip of Ty Ku Sake, the only authentically Japanese touch to the hokey restaurant.
"Now, this tastes like home," he said. Johnson and compatriots smiled. A pretty Korean woman delivered refills as Furihata returned to the table.
Johnson's partner, Sana Bardot, shuddered as she tried to swallow the Sake.
"Now what I envision is something like in those episodes of Inu-yasha or Naruto," Johnson said, using his hands to describe a space only he saw in his mind. "Imagine wild, outdoor bathing, in beautiful traditional settings, bamboo fountains and cherry blossoms."
Otaku, Akashi thought.
"We have the perfect location, Akashi-sama," Sana said. "There's a geothermal hot spring resort whose owner went bankrupt because of his cocaine addiction. It was repossessed by his bank and we snapped it up for a steal in an auction."
"Excellent, we have means, location, and ah," he stopped to clear his throat. "And a theme."
"And if I might add," Johnson said, with a huge smile, "a celebrity's name to back the project. It's going to be absolutely fantastic!"
At the use of the word 'absolutely' Akashi frowned. Why does that word sound so absurd when it comes from someone else's mouth? Did I sound that ridiculous? He looked at Furihata and raised an eyebrow. Furihata smiled at him, but he wasn't reassured. We'll have to revisit the issue in private.
"I've already reached out to the anime community in the area and two groups want to book mini-conventions."
"I see," Akashi said, nodding. "I do, however, have one final condition before I'm willing to sign the papers and put down my stake."
"Condition?" Johnson said, exchanging wary glances with Bardot.
"Nothing difficult, I assure you..."
"Jiro, I'm confused," Furihata admitted when they were again alone in their condo in Culver City.
"About what?" Akashi asked, flipping through the mail and dropping the things he deemed unimportant onto Kōki's desk.
"Why is my family's employment at the Onsen a condition to your participation?"
Akashi sighed. You couldn't have spent two more minutes in the bathroom and missed that part? But sooner or later this conversation would be inevitable.
"It's all part of the plan. Who can we trust more with our fortune?"
"You should have asked me first. I love my family, but what if they don't want to come? Did you think of that?"
"I spoke to your father last week."
"You what?" Furihata's tone went low. "Why would you call my parents?"
"I offered him the job, plus a relocation bonus. You'll help them find housing and a school for your brother. It's done."
Furihata's face went as red as Akashi's hair.
Apparently Kōki is mad. This should be interesting, Akashi thought, but made no reply.
"Do you have any idea how hard it will be to keep our relationship a secret with them on our doorstep?"
That's your big problem with all this? Akashi almost laughed, but swallowed the motion.
"Give me some credit as the master tactician I am, Kōki. After the Olympics, that won't matter anymore," Akashi said.
Furihata stopped, turned, and looked at Akashi.
"Really?" He said, walking up and leaning against Akashi's chest.
"Have I lied to you?"
"I can think of a year when you told me nothing but lies," Furihata laughed. "Jiro, tell me the plan."
"I'm not ready to share the details yet."
"We're alone, Jiro, At least give me a clue," Furihata said as he began to loosen the beautiful silk Seigo tie around Akashi's neck. The gold and red tones were a lovely reflection of his lover's eyes. He'd bought it for Akashi's last birthday, a stupid, extravagant expense, and right now the tie dropped to the floor without a thought, as Furihata tried to ply the answers from Akashi's mouth with his tongue.
"You're going to move against your father, aren't you?" Kōki asked, as he lay naked in the bed he shared with Akashi. There was a room across the house that was purported to be his, but he'd only slept in it twice during the four years they'd shared the condo they'd rented in his name. Between the anonymity of Furihata's name and the commute to the Staple Center they had some privacy and peace in their secluded community. The neighbors to the left were Russian nationals working at the local college, while the couple on the right were retirees who were avid football fans. It was perfect, and would be better yet once they were free to be who they really were.
"Our clash is inevitable, Kōki."
"Hopefully, you'll get in the first shot," Furihata said against Akashi's shoulder, kissing the warm flesh there.
"The opening move came years ago, before I realized the match had even begun. He's been six moves ahead of me for the last few years. In Sapporo, it looked like we'd be in perpetual check, but I moved unexpectedly. Our escape was outside his pattern of attack, but he's had these past four years to contemplate his next move."
"Someday you'll have to teach me to play Shogi, Jiro."
"I've been playing that game for so long; if you want to learn, it will have to be soon, because this will be my final game."