A prequel of the previous chapter.
These things weren't supposed to be painfully boring. Alfred sighed, swirling the champagne in his glass. It was pretty all right—everything was gold and red, and the food was awesome. Then again, he was in Japan, so everyone was formal as fuck.
He had attracted strange looks, but Alfred was used to brushing those off. By an hour into the event, hardly anyone noticed him. Except for that one guy in the corner. Alfred caught his eye and grinned.
Alfred was pretty sure his contact wasn't going to show up. It was a long way from Tokyo to the ass end of Japan, and she had warned Alfred she probably wasn't going to make it. Still, he had expected something from this night.
Alfred was never much good at keeping quite. In school, he had once taken this writing class lecture thing. Half the time, he sat around and listened to the professor drone on about structure and bla. It drove him nuts, so he had set up a mass note-passing operation to pass the time. Phones were prohibited, but Alfred had figured out a way to ferry one note from one end of the lecture hall to the other.
Seriously, who was that one guy in the corner?
Alfred finished his champagne and waltzed over to the man, skillfully dodging the couples dancing stiffly to the music. The man ignored Alfred, eyes fixed on one of the only graceful dancers in the room. He took a seat, leaning back.
"Noticed you noticing me," Alfred said softly, raising an eyebrow and trying to catch the man's eye. "If you don't mind me asking, you wouldn't happen to know when the next flight to Nagoya leaves, would you?"
"Your code is as good as your Japanese," the man responded, gracing Alfred with a passive, apathetic look.
Alfred whistled. "Easy, there. I'm just here to dance! Name's Alfred F. Jones, maybe you've heard of me? The incident in Egypt, that whole mess down in South Africa, the works."
The man didn't respond, still watching the couple dance. He tapped the rhythm of the song against his leg, and was otherwise perfectly still. The gloves looked expensive, but they were probably to hide the bruised knuckles and callouses.
"Honda."
Another whistle. "Nice to meet ya'. Not many people have gotten close to Tino, I'm a big fan. I didn't picture you quite so—"
Finally, eye contact. Alfred had Kiku's full attention, his fingers having stilled. The song ended, and there was polite applause from the other party members. Alfred adjusted his glasses, staring right back at Kiku.
"So dignified," Alfred finished.
That had more effect than anything else Alfred could had said. Kiku looked away, back at the dance floor. What was this guy even doing here? Last Alfred had heard, Kiku and the Finnish dude were holed up somewhere in Russia. And, anyways, low profile meeting places like this ball weren't exactly Kiku's venue.
Alfred lived at parties and brothels, while Kiku traversed endless skyscrapers.
Fuck this noise.
Alfred stood, offering his hand to Kiku. The whole party stilled, watching the scene.
"Want to dance?"
Kiku hardly glanced around. Alfred knew he had made a mistake when Kiku grasped his whole lower arm instead of just Alfred' hand. The significantly smaller man pulled Alfred down as he stood, neatly flipping Alfred over his hip.
Alfred landed on his back, winded. Kiku stood over him, face passive as ever. After a moment, Kiku smiled politely at the other guests and walked away.