This week would be dubbed, the calm before the self-imploding storm week.
The scales so precariously balanced it was impossible to tell which way they would tip.
Just like Akihito had been, they were all unknowingly walking on the precipice.
This precipice though, was much more dangerous.
The netting that should have provided safety was filled knots and holes, delicate knots tied of uncertainty, and holes that were sure to tear any second, sending you plummeting into the abyss anyway.
The fall was inevitable, the nettings time was limited.
On one side of the scale, there was Asami, who went back to life as usual before Akihito.
He attended to business like normal, woke up early, showered, went to the office for legal dealings, and controlled the night in his role as King of the underworld.
He put up that black tie front at meetings, conversed in that cold-hearted way he always had one, disconnected from the world. Above them all.
There was no deviation whatsoever, from his life before Akihito. It was almost frightening.
Kirishima and Suoh questioned their sanity everyday, wondering if the chapter of Takaba Akihito had just been a lie, if they had all imagined it, and Asami was the only one who knew the truth. That it was a fake.
It was like that Sunday morning and its paper never happened, burned out of memory and out of his life, Akihito with it.
When asked about the headline, the yakuza just lit his Dunhill and waited for the next question.
On the other side of the scale, there was Akihito.
Akihito, who hadn't even left the couch the first night when Kirishima came home. The remote was in the same spot he left it, the poor boy was shivering, his skin pale and lips blue, he really did look like an apparition. He hadn't even bothered to turn the air conditioning on in the middle of winter.
Kirishima got him to do things eventually that night, he told Akihito to eat, and he did. Told him to shower and he complied. He was like a remote controlled human, push the button and it did what you asked without question. Gone was the defiance in those hazel eyes.
The human in his apartment was everything Akihito wasn't. The demons of the underworld has taken the luminous light and smothered it, Kirishima couldn't help but feel guilty that he played a part in it.
Finally, at 1am when Kirishima suggested he get some rest did he see the first reaction since that single tear in the limo.
For a few seconds, the boys lips parted in thought and he cocked his head, mouthing the words 'rest' and 'bed' as it if were a foreign concept. That was all, then it went back to the blank slate as Akihito got up and mechanically made his way to the guest room.
That was the only reaction all week that the secretary had seen, he didn't shed a single tear, not one cry passed his lips, because there was no emotion at all.
The once expressive photographer had been turned into a lifeless doll, all human emotion and feeling had been ruthlessly extracted by the public, strung up and put on display with that one earth-shattering photo.
He didn't mention the photo once either, he was exactly like Asami. As if he had just forgotten, though his routine was slightly different.
He didn't leave the apartment all week, he woke up (if he slept at all), showered and then sat on the couch all day until Kirishima told him to go to bed.
There wasn't anything else he could do, reporters were out in rabid packs, stalking the streets of Tokyo for any scent of the hypocrite they used to call colleague. He would never work as a photographer again, and it would be a long time before he could show his face anywhere.
Being caught by the media was a lot more dangerous and damaging then anything one of Asami's underworld enemies could have done to Takaba.
Oh, they could physically abuse him, rape him, kill him even, Akihito would have fought it all to the very end. Would have remained himself, taunting his captors every step of the way.
To be in the medias clutches though, was to be tied up by thousands of invisible threads and stripped of your character while the entire world watched.
They would take away everything that was Takaba, bend him, break him, tear him to pieces, scatter him about in news articles and headlines until his person had been alienated so much that even he wouldn't know who he was anymore.
They would take it all and more until there was only an empty shell, left without the desire to go on.
So he stayed in the apartment and lived life as if stuck on repeat.
It went against all Kirishima's instincts to leave Akihito unguarded, for over two years he had caused a shit storm of trouble on his escapades, and he would much rather be trying to catch the brat then staring down at the pathetic creature that shared the same name.
Suoh had come round one night after work to see for himself, and it had shaken the big man to his bones, he had an incredibly soft spot for Akihito.
Seeing Suoh standing there, clenching his fists as he fought to control his pained expression was enough for Kirishima to need a very strong drink to get any sleep that night.
He thought about perhaps calling Takaba's parents or his friends, but he didn't know how to even begin to explain the situation, couldn't begin to explain that Akihito… was not Akihito, and that he didn't know where he had gone or when he would come back.
Suoh Kazumi was exhausted, for such an uneventful week, he shouldn't have been this tired, if not for Sunday morning.
If he hadn't gone to Kirishima's during the week and seen the little brat he was so fond of in that black state.
He fucking hated black.
He never knew how to respond to black. No one ever did.
Seeing Akihito on that couch looking like the world had abandoned him had Suoh feeling sick with the truth of it all, because his whole world had abandoned him, had pulled the earth right out from under his determined feet, all the while twisting the knife in his back.
The knife that had been hovering there the entire time, the knife of corruption and darkness, the knife of Asami Ryuichi, he knew his boss was a cold man, but he never expected this.
Anything but this. Suoh would happily skin someone alive, torture someone to within an inch of their life, taking out finger nails one by one, it was all joy compared to this.
He really fucking hated black. It made him so weary. Hong Kong was a piece of cake compared to this.
He thought Kirishima had overblown the situation on that first Sunday morning, but Suoh could see how bad it was now.
That quiet explosion happened, they were all just silently waiting for the first shockwave. It was coming, they could all see the toxic breaker creeping closer, but there was nothing anyone could do. They just had to ride it out and hope that everyone would still be in one piece when it was all over.
It was eerie, how much the two reflected each other in that blackened state, like the only two people actually feeling anything were Suoh and Kirishima instead.
He really loathed black.
Suoh stood in the office on Friday night, 5 days after that stupid paper, and thought about all the calls he got that first morning from people that had been assigned to Takaba.
The moment each of them got that morning paper, the first thing they all did was call him or Kirishima.
The first thing they had all done was check on their charge, they all knew what that photo meant. They all knew that perfect photo had condemned him, every single guard that had ever attended Takaba just wanted to make sure he was ok.
They had all gone from protecting him just physically years ago, they all wanted to protect that light inside now too.
Suoh was proud, so proud that the blonde brat could infect the harshest, most ruthless bunch of men he knew.
The burly guard snapped to attention in the office when he saw Kirishima's face at a call he was getting.
He exited the office to take it, leaving him and his boss alone.
The storm was coming closer.
"Officer Yamazaki, what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"
"Sorry Kirishima san, there was no one else I could call."
"What are you talking about Yamazaki?"
"I have Takaba here at the station…. He was in a fight. Took on a bunch of thugs all by himself. I tried calling his old man… but he just said he didn't know anyone called Takaba Akihito and hung up."
Kirishima braced himself against wall outside the office as the impact of the words hit him. Of course, he never even thought how his old man would take it. That man had taken down some of the biggest criminals in his time with his viewfinder, he knew well and truly who Asami Ryuichi was. It seemed the older Takaba hadn't taken it well.
Takaba really was alone, even his family had abandoned him at this point.
The media's merciless onslaught had begun, and they started with cutting away the most precious things Takaba Akihito held dear.
"….. I will be right there. Thanks for the call."
Just like that, the safety net gave way. Sion and its subordinates would be plunged into chaos, chaos filled with questionable loyalties, resignations and blood.