Well, all aboard the angst train from here on out people.
I have decided to challenge myself and make this more a creative, artistic writing based fic, something I haven't tried since high school. So, bare with me as I try to get this right.
Thanks for the responses and reviews so far, I know not everyone is a fan of angst, so if you don't like it, don't read it. It's really that simple.
It was worse then Kirishima thought as he stood in Asami's office.
Much, much worse.
He expected irritation, or even anger, he was prepared for the inevitable question of how this could have gotten past them to get published.
The issue of the press was like an incessant mosquito, you were aware of it's constant buzzing in the background, it wasn't so bad if it stayed away, but the closer it buzzed, the louder the whine of its little wings would get, until it could no longer be ignored.
Kirishima had been able to swat all the annoying insects away up until this point, but it seemed this one time, one had gotten through and found the most juicy and delicate of places to sink its teeth into. The most vulnerable place, easy to scar and slow to heal, leaving an angry red welt that burnt and itched. A constant reminder that you had let your guard down.
He expected his boss to light his Dunhill like he always does, issue an order, and continue on as usual like it wasn't even a bump in the road. Orders from Asami were infallible, as sure as the sun would rise in the east and set in the west.
No, he wasn't expecting any of that, that's what he was hoping for.
He was hoping for something, anything.
Anything other then stone faced silence as his boss looked down at the front page of the paper.
Instead, he was faced with the impenetrable fortress of Asami's façade. The fortress that could never fall, that would never let anyone in, the stronghold of the King, where he resided alone.
Oh, it was much worse then he thought.
It had been nearly 10 minutes, each tick of the timepiece tolling the premature setting of that warm morning sun, an imminent warning of red skies and bad tidings. Each tick bringing that darkness ever closer.
Standing there in the office of the penthouse with only a ticking clock to keep his thoughts company, Kirishima knew, he knew the levy of the floodgates had been wrenched open, there was nothing anyone could do to stop the indiscriminant torrent that would wash away everything in its path.
The silence stretched on as the clock ticked.
Had the clock always been that loud?
It was cold. So cold, why was it so cold?
Akihito rolled over in his sleep, his body unconsciously seeking to find it's only true source of warmth.
When he found only cold sheets, devoid of any heat, he began to stir.
He noticed an annoying sound, a constant buzzing noise, like a fly trapped in the room.
As he came closer to waking, he thought maybe it sounded more like a mosquito, great, Akihito always had a horrible reaction to mosquito bites, they never seemed to leave him alone.
He opened his eyes, hoping to get up and squish the parasite quickly, and then he could snuggle back into the warm comforter on Asami's side of the bed.
He always slept on that side once the yakuza left, he liked to immerse himself in his scent, he always slept the most soundly in the mornings as he slept on that side of the bed, bathing in the smells of masculinity and safety. The smell of Asami. It was like a lullaby to his senses, the smell of Asami rendered his prickly front useless in the early hours of each day.
As he finally opened his eyes, he realized it wasn't a mosquito, it was his phone buzzing against the hard surface of his bedside table.
It was going nonstop, demanding insistently to be looked at, sighing, he picked up the phone.
That was odd, there was nearly a hundred missed calls, and just as many messages.
He browsed through the call list. Mum, Dad, Onii-chan, Mum, Mitarai, his editor, Mitarai, Dad, Kou, Dad, a reporter from The Herald, another reporter he had worked with from The Morning Sun, Mitarai, Mum, Takoto, and so on the list went. Every reporter he had ever worked with was in the missed call list.
What on earth was going on?
Why couldn't he get warm on the other side of the bed?
As he raised his finger over the messages button, over the latest text from Kou, he noticed it had a photo attachment, his phone rang again.
It was his Dad.
"Hi Dad, is everythi-"
"Takaba Akihito. Tell me it's not true."
Akihito recoiled from the tone his dad used, his dad, his happy over emotive dad that shared his same passion for photojournalism, one of the biggest names in his time, this person did not sound like his dad, he sounded like a stranger, wait, was that his mum sobbing in the background?
"W-what are you talking about Dad?" came the tentative question.
"The front page of the paper." Was all that cold voice said.
It was really getting odd now, Takaba hadn't gotten any major scoops lately to warrant this sort of attention.
"So you're not denying it then?"
"Denying what? Dad-"
"Don't 'Dad' me, Akihito. As far as I'm concerned, I have no son. Don't ever show your face in my house again."
In the background, he heard his mum scream, heard her desperate pleas for her husband to pass her the phone, calling for her baby boy as her family was torn asunder.
There was no sound more distressing then when your own mother cried, it left Akihito trembling as the phone hung up.
He wished it really had been a mosquito instead of his phone.
He checked the message from Kou, and suddenly he knew. He felt his chest tighten and his throat constrict, forbidding breath to grace his lungs with life sustaining oxygen.
A tide of darkness flooded through everything, lapping at the coast of his heart, threatening to break its banks and soak everything it touched with its icy infection.
The picture Kou sent was the front page of this morning's paper.
It didn't matter though, did it?
Asami would fix it, just like he fixed everything else. He was sure of it.
And so he found himself in Asami's office, he didn't remember walking there, but he had.
He stood, shivering in the temperature controlled penthouse, staring at Asami who sat at his desk. The cause of Akihito's chills sitting on his lap.
He vaguely registered Kirishima, who would normally scold him for entering his boss's office unannounced, but he kept quiet. Why wasn't anyone saying anything?
The only noise was the stupid clock that he should have taken down ages ago, he hated that fricken thing.
Akihito didn't feel so sure anymore. He felt like he was standing on the precipice, the feeling you get where you could fall forward to safety or crash against the floor at any moment, the longer you stood on the edge, the higher the fall seemed as you wiggled to maintain balance.
Akihito's heart was laid bare in that very room, he knew from the start that their 'thing' was like walking around with a loaded gun, with his heart as the target, his life and his livelihood.
There was no safety catch with this gun though, it was forever on the edge of discharging, the only person that could handle the gun was Asami. He had taken control right from the beginning.
The aim of Asami's words were steady and true as the crime lord pulled the trigger and fired.
"Kirishima, take him away."
There would be no falling forward to safety this time, the earth that was Asami wouldn't catch him, instead, he felt the very person push him backwards, off the edge and into the abyss alone.
Asami said he would drag Akihito to the abyss once, he never thought he would be going alone.