From Tokyo to San Francisco for eliza_natsuko
For: eliza_natsuko
Title: From Tokyo to San Francisco
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Tezuka hires Fuji as an ad consultant for Seigaku Inc.'s latest series of persocoms. As a tangent, they fall in love.
Warnings: NA
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and all affiliated characters are property of Konomi Takeshi.
A/N: To eliza_natsuko - I tried to hit as many of your kinks and prompts as possible! =D As a result, you have fluffy, slice-of-life Tezuka/Fuji, with them as business men and set in two big cities. Tokyo and San Fran are my absolute favorite cities in the world, so I hope you enjoy this fic.
From Tokyo to San Francisco
*
Safe in the privacy of his 50th-storey office, Tezuka sinks back into his chair and sighs softly. Tokyo glitters outside the wall-to-wall windows, but he has no desire to admire the view. It is undoubtedly beautiful, but the darkness outside simply reminds him of the fact that he is at the office later than any sane man should be.
Atobe loves the large windows that come with power and prestige, though. The man has a habit of posing himself against the skyline when receiving business rivals in his office - a tactic that Tezuka had the opportunity of experiencing firsthand just that day. Atobe - young, rich, and immensely successful - looking down over the stretch of Tokyo as if it belongs to him - it highlights the grandeur of the Atobe empire in a way that Tezuka himself has to appreciate, even if he does not share Atobe's predilection for flashy displays.
Yes, Atobe is a threat to his own fledgling enterprise, as the report from Inui - currently sitting on his desk, unread - undoubtedly says. The fact that Atobe seems to have taken a personal liking to Tezuka himself will not prevent Hyotei's prince from crushing Seigaku as ruthlessly as possible.
Tezuka steels himself and picks up Inui's neatly labeled folder.
He will simply have to prevent it from happening, he tells himself. Seigaku's investment in persocoms is extensive, and the future of the company rides on their overseas venture.
Everything is in place - he will simply have to proceed as carefully as possible. Atobe is going to have to stomach losing this once.
*
It's an impulse that leads him to stop at a small bar in Roppongi. Perhaps it's the golden-glimmer of light under the doorway, so inviting at two am when most of the other places are closed.
The bartender is unobtrusive and so is the music - an indiscriminate strings piece that provides a simple, meandering background that requires little attention. Tezuka orders a whiskey on the rocks and takes a deep breath alongside an even deeper swallow, shutting his eyes and letting the alcohol slide down his throat.
'That's a stiff drink,' a voice says, and Tezuka's eyes snap open.
The voice had been a tenor, but mellifluous enough to be confusing. If it had been a woman Tezuka would have tried to dismiss her as best as possible - tonight of all nights he does not want to spend politely fending off advances - but it's not.
It's a man with light brown hair, who's smiling at the bartender and ordering a dry martini. Tezuka takes a second swallow and observes him out of the corner of his eye. He's wearing a suit, which leads Tezuka to believe that he's probably a salaryman. On the other hand, he's not wearing a tie and has the first two buttons of his white shirt open in a way that would not look amiss on a model.
Nonetheless, it is the flash of blue eyes as he turns to Tezuka that convinces him otherwise. This man is not the sort of person who could be an office automaton.
'Seigaku's Tezuka Kunimitsu,' the other man says quietly, and some of Tezuka's surprise must have flashed across his face, because the other man laughs quietly. 'It's said that Seigaku's latest persocom series are the next big thing. And there is a great deal of attention centered on "Seigaku's stern young leader, who leads his company with an old-world honor that makes the business world sit up and take notice".'
Tezuka raises an eyebrow.
The other man laughs. 'That's what the Nikkei called you.'
Tezuka restrains the urge to roll his eyes. It seems even reputable business papers are not above hyperbole at times. 'And you are?'
'Fuji Syuusuke,' the other man answers. 'I work for a advertising firm.'
'Ah,' Tezuka says.
'Ah?' Fuji echoes curiously.
'You strike me as the type,' Tezuka clarifies.
Fuji drinks and smiles, a smile that's charming and just the slightest bit sharp. To his credit, he does not fish for further clarification but simply lets it slide. 'That's good to know, Tezuka-san.'
They drink in companionable silence for a while before Fuji breaks the silence again. 'I think it will be very rewarding to work with you.'
'How so?' Tezuka asks. Fuji's statements are all leading. His words are full of assumptions, assumptions that somehow seem guaranteed in his mouth, confidence and smiling, curled around the rim of a cocktail glass. When Fuji says it - even though Tezuka has never met him before - he is already considering what it would be like to cooperate with Fuji.
'I'm sure a successful persocom launch will require an advertising campaign,' Fuji says smoothly.
Tezuka decides to throw out a challenge. 'There will be an open tender.'
Fuji's smile is dazzling. 'I look forward to a fruitful partnership, then.'
*
The next time they see each other is where Tezuka meets the ad companies as head of Seigaku, listening to an almost interminable afternoon of presentations ranging from the passable to the interesting, and then, to Fuji.
Fuji, who walks in and bows politely to Tezuka as everyone else does, but meets Tezuka's gaze with a humorous sparkle in those cobalt eyes. Fuji, who brushes past Tezuka and murmurs, 'Don't you think it's amusing that we already know each other?'
Fuji, who looks at Tezuka with an air that's mischievous... and somehow clandestine.
Fuji makes a perfect business presentation, dressed soberly in a dark blue suit and gray tie, outlining the possible angles for the persocom, his blue eyes almost demure as he outtalks the rest of the other potential companies. The consummate business professional.
The point of Seigaku's latest line of persocoms is to personalize them, to have them be more than simple daily organizers with a holographic function. The VR technology that goes into it is the result of years of hard work, and the resulting persocom is something that, perhaps, skirts the boundaries of human consciousness.
Of all the ad companies vying to represent Seigaku's latest and biggest venture, Fuji seems most aware of that fact. But at the same time, Fuji seems to understand that there are still limits to the persocom - that there are some things that the virtual-reality technicians have not been able to duplicate. And his proposed ad sequences have an element of that awareness that Tezuka appreciates.
Oishi and the rest of the core Seigaku team do as well. And just like that, Fuji's hand is in Tezuka's, his handshake firm and his smile warm as he echoes his words from the other day, his confidence completely vindicated.
*
'Fuji-san is here to see you, Tezuka-san,' his secretary says.
'Let him in,' Tezuka answers, and in seconds Fuji's standing in front of him. Again, no tie. It draws attention to the grace of Fuji's long neck and the dip of his collarbones, and not for the first time Tezuka wonders why Fuji is in business and not in modeling or something equally glamorous.
'Shall we go for dinner?' Fuji asks.
Tezuka raises an eyebrow. 'The San Francisco side is asking for the proposal to be ready in two days.'
Fuji dismisses it with a wave of his hand. 'I'm sure you have all the details ready. Just modify the Berlin proposal and send it to them.'
It's only been four weeks since they started working together but it's beginning to feel like Fuji is part of Seigaku's core team. Kikumaru and Kawamura have particularly taken to him. Kikumaru sees him most (other than Tezuka himself) because Kikumaru does the publicity, and Kawamura thinks Fuji is an absolute genius, but the rest of Seigaku likes him a great deal as well, for which Tezuka is glad.
'Come on,' Fuji cajoles. 'There's a lovely restaurant that just opened. It's within walking distance. A few hours to unwind won't damage your precious schedule.'
Tezuka sighs and says, 'Give me ten minutes to save and tidy up.'
Fuji's smile is as charming as it was when they first met. 'I'll see you at the lobby in five, Tezuka.'
As Fuji disappears through the doorway, Tezuka begins saving documents and tidying the papers scattered around his desk. He's a person who's deeply concerned with details, so it comes as a bit of a surprise that he can't actually remember when he and Fuji dropped the honorifics.
Perhaps, Tezuka thinks to himself in a rare moment of amusement, it was the same moment when he first surrendered to one of Fuji's whimsical demands.
*
Fuji has clearly been here several times already, because he greets the waitresses by name and flirts outrageously with them. They smile and blush and serve Fuji before they serve other customers, and Fuji takes a mouthful of the chicken baked with paprika and sour cream and smiles triumphantly at Tezuka, who resists the urge to laugh.
'I notice you don't use a persocom yourself,' Fuji says, halfway through the meal.
Tezuka shrugs. 'I never saw the need for one.'
Fuji laughs. 'For the chief of a high-technology firm, you're surprisingly unwilling to use them.' He gestures to the leather briefcase at Tezuka's side, an anomaly in the days where everything can be stored and displayed on a data-stick.
'And so are you,' Tezuka answers. It's another one of Fuji's quirks that he insists on using recycled paper for the initial drafts of his work, although by the time it gets to the clients Fuji's underlings will have digitalized the whole stack.
'I like the feel of paper,' Fuji answers. 'I like doing the recycling myself.'
'Oh?' Tezuka asks.
'I don't do it very often anymore,' Fuji admits. 'It's been a busy few weeks. But I used to make my own paper.'
Tezuka thinks about Fuji painstakingly blending the pulp to the right consistency, adding the liquid starch, pressing out the water with fabric, lifting the wet fabric and peeling off the sheets of paper, painstakingly smoothing out any bubbles -
Or perhaps, Tezuka thinks, Fuji would leave some in. Fuji is the sort of person who would relish the tactile imperfections of home-made paper. Fuji is not the sort of person who would use a persocom, because despite how advanced VR technology has become, there is something that a persocom cannot duplicate, something human and intimate about sitting together and having dinner together, the taste of the vintage wine on the tongue.
Fuji's smile looks as if it knows precisely what Tezuka is thinking about. He holds up the slender wineglass to Tezuka. 'A toast.'
He does not say what for; and somehow, Tezuka does not feel the need to ask.
*
They run into Atobe at Kanda, one of Roppongi's finest, and despite the quiet, graceful surroundings of the restaurant, the sizzle in the air is immediate.
'Tezuka,' Atobe greets. 'And Fuji Syuusuke.'
'Atobe,' Tezuka returns, and Fuji nods his head as impolitely as possible.
Atobe's lips curl into a smirk. 'I look forward to your latest campaign, Fuji-san. The commercial series for Yamamoto Yohji was very impressive.'
Fuji smiles as sweetly as he knows how, and for once, Tezuka decides that it's best to stay out of this. 'I'm quite glad that I was able to find such cooperative models, really,' Fuji answers calmly. 'It was an unconventional ad.'
'It certainly got the media fired up,' Atobe replies smoothly.
'I assume you're referring to the rumors of my bisexuality?' Fuji answers. If Atobe was smooth, Fuji's words slide frictionlessly against each other. Tezuka does not bother showing his surprise - he's finally remembered the Yamamoto ad.
It is every bit as arresting as Atobe says. Tezuka's not one for fashion, but it was startling to see such a blatant display splashed on billboards and building faces - a pair of male models and a pair of female models, curled sensually around each other, both pairs completely androgynous and extremely alluring.
'I'm sure they're merely rumors,' Atobe demurs.
'Oh, it's all quite true, really,' Fuji says airily. Tezuka would never admit it, but he appreciates the rare look of surprise on Atobe's face as much as Fuji does, if not more. It's rare that Atobe is caught off-guard.
It doesn't take long for the surprise to fake, though, replaced by Atobe's customary knowing smirk. 'Well, I'll leave the two of you to your dinner, then. Enjoy yourself, Fuji-san, Tezuka.'
'Goodbye, Atobe-san,' Fuji says, his voice saccharine.
*
Work piles up over the next few months, Tezuka busy being the liaison for all the overseas branches and the tech department. To their credit, everyone is frantically working as well. Fuji's campaign is slated to begin running simultaneously in sixteen cities two weeks prior to the launch. They've not held back with this - television holo-ads, soundbites, print media - everything they could think of and then some.
Ten weeks pass before Tezuka finds himself and Fuji in San Francisco. Union Square takes up most of his week, but Fuji barges into his office one Saturday night and demands that Tezuka take Sunday off.
The campaign will open on Monday. Tezuka's seen it time and time again, and time and again Fuji's talent never fails to take his breath away.
Fuji's played on the inevitable sense of longing that all people want - he's created a story out of an ad campaign, told in a series of short snapshots that barely mean anything as individual images and sound clips - but when put together, mean so much more than possible.
It's a persocom that's human in all the ways that a persocom can't be. A persocom that tries his best to connect with the woman who owns him, a persocom that eventually becomes more than a series of computer data -
A persocom that sets the woman up with another man, in recognition of the fact that the persocom is meant to help organize and manage life - not create or dominate it unnecessarily.
It emphasizes being human in a way that Tezuka knows will strike a chord amongst the busy lives of modern people. It emphasizes the need to take time off -
The need to connect.
Tezuka leans back in his office chair and lets out a rare smile. Much in the same way that Fuji has done for him, perhaps.
*
Things have changed between them, ever since Atobe's catalytic comment. Tezuka isn't a fool, is aware of what Fuji is trying to do - and is almost willing to give in.
'I love San Fran,' Fuji says softly. They walk up Telegraph Hill by the Greenwich steps, occasionally pausing to admire the picturesque houses. 'Don't you think the cars look so precarious?'
It's true, Tezuka has to admit. The hill is almost a forty-five degree incline, and the cars parked along the slope look terribly tenuous. Fuji loves making indiosyncratic observations like that, loves meandering up and down San Francisco's ridiculously hilly streets.
They walk for a while longer and stop in Tartine's for lunch. The fruit tart is fresh and the cream is not cloying in the least - and Fuji grins and says, 'I knew you'd like it.'
From there they move to City Lights bookstore, where Fuji spends a contented long hour and a half debating Beat poetry with the counter girl while Tezuka browses the selection, an eclectic mix of literature, arts, and progressive politics. Some of which he doesn't agree with, which ends with him being drawn into a discussion with the counter girl as well, her blonde braid flapping from side to side as she shakes her head vigorously in an attempt to argue against Tezuka.
It's not until Tezuka notices that Fuji is laughing at him - silent chuckles shaking those slender shoulders - that he realizes that he's been arguing back just as passionately - and that he's enjoying himself more than he could have thought possible.
They end up at dinner in a small restaurant overlooking the bay, with the night winds tap-dancing across the skin, ripe with the promises of a golden autumn.
When Fuji leans over the table and kisses him, his mouth tastes of Chardonnay and apple tarts. Tezuka kisses back like it's the only thing in the world to do.
Title: From Tokyo to San Francisco
Pairing: Tezuka/Fuji
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Tezuka hires Fuji as an ad consultant for Seigaku Inc.'s latest series of persocoms. As a tangent, they fall in love.
Warnings: NA
Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis and all affiliated characters are property of Konomi Takeshi.
A/N: To eliza_natsuko - I tried to hit as many of your kinks and prompts as possible! =D As a result, you have fluffy, slice-of-life Tezuka/Fuji, with them as business men and set in two big cities. Tokyo and San Fran are my absolute favorite cities in the world, so I hope you enjoy this fic.
From Tokyo to San Francisco
*
Safe in the privacy of his 50th-storey office, Tezuka sinks back into his chair and sighs softly. Tokyo glitters outside the wall-to-wall windows, but he has no desire to admire the view. It is undoubtedly beautiful, but the darkness outside simply reminds him of the fact that he is at the office later than any sane man should be.
Atobe loves the large windows that come with power and prestige, though. The man has a habit of posing himself against the skyline when receiving business rivals in his office - a tactic that Tezuka had the opportunity of experiencing firsthand just that day. Atobe - young, rich, and immensely successful - looking down over the stretch of Tokyo as if it belongs to him - it highlights the grandeur of the Atobe empire in a way that Tezuka himself has to appreciate, even if he does not share Atobe's predilection for flashy displays.
Yes, Atobe is a threat to his own fledgling enterprise, as the report from Inui - currently sitting on his desk, unread - undoubtedly says. The fact that Atobe seems to have taken a personal liking to Tezuka himself will not prevent Hyotei's prince from crushing Seigaku as ruthlessly as possible.
Tezuka steels himself and picks up Inui's neatly labeled folder.
He will simply have to prevent it from happening, he tells himself. Seigaku's investment in persocoms is extensive, and the future of the company rides on their overseas venture.
Everything is in place - he will simply have to proceed as carefully as possible. Atobe is going to have to stomach losing this once.
*
It's an impulse that leads him to stop at a small bar in Roppongi. Perhaps it's the golden-glimmer of light under the doorway, so inviting at two am when most of the other places are closed.
The bartender is unobtrusive and so is the music - an indiscriminate strings piece that provides a simple, meandering background that requires little attention. Tezuka orders a whiskey on the rocks and takes a deep breath alongside an even deeper swallow, shutting his eyes and letting the alcohol slide down his throat.
'That's a stiff drink,' a voice says, and Tezuka's eyes snap open.
The voice had been a tenor, but mellifluous enough to be confusing. If it had been a woman Tezuka would have tried to dismiss her as best as possible - tonight of all nights he does not want to spend politely fending off advances - but it's not.
It's a man with light brown hair, who's smiling at the bartender and ordering a dry martini. Tezuka takes a second swallow and observes him out of the corner of his eye. He's wearing a suit, which leads Tezuka to believe that he's probably a salaryman. On the other hand, he's not wearing a tie and has the first two buttons of his white shirt open in a way that would not look amiss on a model.
Nonetheless, it is the flash of blue eyes as he turns to Tezuka that convinces him otherwise. This man is not the sort of person who could be an office automaton.
'Seigaku's Tezuka Kunimitsu,' the other man says quietly, and some of Tezuka's surprise must have flashed across his face, because the other man laughs quietly. 'It's said that Seigaku's latest persocom series are the next big thing. And there is a great deal of attention centered on "Seigaku's stern young leader, who leads his company with an old-world honor that makes the business world sit up and take notice".'
Tezuka raises an eyebrow.
The other man laughs. 'That's what the Nikkei called you.'
Tezuka restrains the urge to roll his eyes. It seems even reputable business papers are not above hyperbole at times. 'And you are?'
'Fuji Syuusuke,' the other man answers. 'I work for a advertising firm.'
'Ah,' Tezuka says.
'Ah?' Fuji echoes curiously.
'You strike me as the type,' Tezuka clarifies.
Fuji drinks and smiles, a smile that's charming and just the slightest bit sharp. To his credit, he does not fish for further clarification but simply lets it slide. 'That's good to know, Tezuka-san.'
They drink in companionable silence for a while before Fuji breaks the silence again. 'I think it will be very rewarding to work with you.'
'How so?' Tezuka asks. Fuji's statements are all leading. His words are full of assumptions, assumptions that somehow seem guaranteed in his mouth, confidence and smiling, curled around the rim of a cocktail glass. When Fuji says it - even though Tezuka has never met him before - he is already considering what it would be like to cooperate with Fuji.
'I'm sure a successful persocom launch will require an advertising campaign,' Fuji says smoothly.
Tezuka decides to throw out a challenge. 'There will be an open tender.'
Fuji's smile is dazzling. 'I look forward to a fruitful partnership, then.'
*
The next time they see each other is where Tezuka meets the ad companies as head of Seigaku, listening to an almost interminable afternoon of presentations ranging from the passable to the interesting, and then, to Fuji.
Fuji, who walks in and bows politely to Tezuka as everyone else does, but meets Tezuka's gaze with a humorous sparkle in those cobalt eyes. Fuji, who brushes past Tezuka and murmurs, 'Don't you think it's amusing that we already know each other?'
Fuji, who looks at Tezuka with an air that's mischievous... and somehow clandestine.
Fuji makes a perfect business presentation, dressed soberly in a dark blue suit and gray tie, outlining the possible angles for the persocom, his blue eyes almost demure as he outtalks the rest of the other potential companies. The consummate business professional.
The point of Seigaku's latest line of persocoms is to personalize them, to have them be more than simple daily organizers with a holographic function. The VR technology that goes into it is the result of years of hard work, and the resulting persocom is something that, perhaps, skirts the boundaries of human consciousness.
Of all the ad companies vying to represent Seigaku's latest and biggest venture, Fuji seems most aware of that fact. But at the same time, Fuji seems to understand that there are still limits to the persocom - that there are some things that the virtual-reality technicians have not been able to duplicate. And his proposed ad sequences have an element of that awareness that Tezuka appreciates.
Oishi and the rest of the core Seigaku team do as well. And just like that, Fuji's hand is in Tezuka's, his handshake firm and his smile warm as he echoes his words from the other day, his confidence completely vindicated.
*
'Fuji-san is here to see you, Tezuka-san,' his secretary says.
'Let him in,' Tezuka answers, and in seconds Fuji's standing in front of him. Again, no tie. It draws attention to the grace of Fuji's long neck and the dip of his collarbones, and not for the first time Tezuka wonders why Fuji is in business and not in modeling or something equally glamorous.
'Shall we go for dinner?' Fuji asks.
Tezuka raises an eyebrow. 'The San Francisco side is asking for the proposal to be ready in two days.'
Fuji dismisses it with a wave of his hand. 'I'm sure you have all the details ready. Just modify the Berlin proposal and send it to them.'
It's only been four weeks since they started working together but it's beginning to feel like Fuji is part of Seigaku's core team. Kikumaru and Kawamura have particularly taken to him. Kikumaru sees him most (other than Tezuka himself) because Kikumaru does the publicity, and Kawamura thinks Fuji is an absolute genius, but the rest of Seigaku likes him a great deal as well, for which Tezuka is glad.
'Come on,' Fuji cajoles. 'There's a lovely restaurant that just opened. It's within walking distance. A few hours to unwind won't damage your precious schedule.'
Tezuka sighs and says, 'Give me ten minutes to save and tidy up.'
Fuji's smile is as charming as it was when they first met. 'I'll see you at the lobby in five, Tezuka.'
As Fuji disappears through the doorway, Tezuka begins saving documents and tidying the papers scattered around his desk. He's a person who's deeply concerned with details, so it comes as a bit of a surprise that he can't actually remember when he and Fuji dropped the honorifics.
Perhaps, Tezuka thinks to himself in a rare moment of amusement, it was the same moment when he first surrendered to one of Fuji's whimsical demands.
*
Fuji has clearly been here several times already, because he greets the waitresses by name and flirts outrageously with them. They smile and blush and serve Fuji before they serve other customers, and Fuji takes a mouthful of the chicken baked with paprika and sour cream and smiles triumphantly at Tezuka, who resists the urge to laugh.
'I notice you don't use a persocom yourself,' Fuji says, halfway through the meal.
Tezuka shrugs. 'I never saw the need for one.'
Fuji laughs. 'For the chief of a high-technology firm, you're surprisingly unwilling to use them.' He gestures to the leather briefcase at Tezuka's side, an anomaly in the days where everything can be stored and displayed on a data-stick.
'And so are you,' Tezuka answers. It's another one of Fuji's quirks that he insists on using recycled paper for the initial drafts of his work, although by the time it gets to the clients Fuji's underlings will have digitalized the whole stack.
'I like the feel of paper,' Fuji answers. 'I like doing the recycling myself.'
'Oh?' Tezuka asks.
'I don't do it very often anymore,' Fuji admits. 'It's been a busy few weeks. But I used to make my own paper.'
Tezuka thinks about Fuji painstakingly blending the pulp to the right consistency, adding the liquid starch, pressing out the water with fabric, lifting the wet fabric and peeling off the sheets of paper, painstakingly smoothing out any bubbles -
Or perhaps, Tezuka thinks, Fuji would leave some in. Fuji is the sort of person who would relish the tactile imperfections of home-made paper. Fuji is not the sort of person who would use a persocom, because despite how advanced VR technology has become, there is something that a persocom cannot duplicate, something human and intimate about sitting together and having dinner together, the taste of the vintage wine on the tongue.
Fuji's smile looks as if it knows precisely what Tezuka is thinking about. He holds up the slender wineglass to Tezuka. 'A toast.'
He does not say what for; and somehow, Tezuka does not feel the need to ask.
*
They run into Atobe at Kanda, one of Roppongi's finest, and despite the quiet, graceful surroundings of the restaurant, the sizzle in the air is immediate.
'Tezuka,' Atobe greets. 'And Fuji Syuusuke.'
'Atobe,' Tezuka returns, and Fuji nods his head as impolitely as possible.
Atobe's lips curl into a smirk. 'I look forward to your latest campaign, Fuji-san. The commercial series for Yamamoto Yohji was very impressive.'
Fuji smiles as sweetly as he knows how, and for once, Tezuka decides that it's best to stay out of this. 'I'm quite glad that I was able to find such cooperative models, really,' Fuji answers calmly. 'It was an unconventional ad.'
'It certainly got the media fired up,' Atobe replies smoothly.
'I assume you're referring to the rumors of my bisexuality?' Fuji answers. If Atobe was smooth, Fuji's words slide frictionlessly against each other. Tezuka does not bother showing his surprise - he's finally remembered the Yamamoto ad.
It is every bit as arresting as Atobe says. Tezuka's not one for fashion, but it was startling to see such a blatant display splashed on billboards and building faces - a pair of male models and a pair of female models, curled sensually around each other, both pairs completely androgynous and extremely alluring.
'I'm sure they're merely rumors,' Atobe demurs.
'Oh, it's all quite true, really,' Fuji says airily. Tezuka would never admit it, but he appreciates the rare look of surprise on Atobe's face as much as Fuji does, if not more. It's rare that Atobe is caught off-guard.
It doesn't take long for the surprise to fake, though, replaced by Atobe's customary knowing smirk. 'Well, I'll leave the two of you to your dinner, then. Enjoy yourself, Fuji-san, Tezuka.'
'Goodbye, Atobe-san,' Fuji says, his voice saccharine.
*
Work piles up over the next few months, Tezuka busy being the liaison for all the overseas branches and the tech department. To their credit, everyone is frantically working as well. Fuji's campaign is slated to begin running simultaneously in sixteen cities two weeks prior to the launch. They've not held back with this - television holo-ads, soundbites, print media - everything they could think of and then some.
Ten weeks pass before Tezuka finds himself and Fuji in San Francisco. Union Square takes up most of his week, but Fuji barges into his office one Saturday night and demands that Tezuka take Sunday off.
The campaign will open on Monday. Tezuka's seen it time and time again, and time and again Fuji's talent never fails to take his breath away.
Fuji's played on the inevitable sense of longing that all people want - he's created a story out of an ad campaign, told in a series of short snapshots that barely mean anything as individual images and sound clips - but when put together, mean so much more than possible.
It's a persocom that's human in all the ways that a persocom can't be. A persocom that tries his best to connect with the woman who owns him, a persocom that eventually becomes more than a series of computer data -
A persocom that sets the woman up with another man, in recognition of the fact that the persocom is meant to help organize and manage life - not create or dominate it unnecessarily.
It emphasizes being human in a way that Tezuka knows will strike a chord amongst the busy lives of modern people. It emphasizes the need to take time off -
The need to connect.
Tezuka leans back in his office chair and lets out a rare smile. Much in the same way that Fuji has done for him, perhaps.
*
Things have changed between them, ever since Atobe's catalytic comment. Tezuka isn't a fool, is aware of what Fuji is trying to do - and is almost willing to give in.
'I love San Fran,' Fuji says softly. They walk up Telegraph Hill by the Greenwich steps, occasionally pausing to admire the picturesque houses. 'Don't you think the cars look so precarious?'
It's true, Tezuka has to admit. The hill is almost a forty-five degree incline, and the cars parked along the slope look terribly tenuous. Fuji loves making indiosyncratic observations like that, loves meandering up and down San Francisco's ridiculously hilly streets.
They walk for a while longer and stop in Tartine's for lunch. The fruit tart is fresh and the cream is not cloying in the least - and Fuji grins and says, 'I knew you'd like it.'
From there they move to City Lights bookstore, where Fuji spends a contented long hour and a half debating Beat poetry with the counter girl while Tezuka browses the selection, an eclectic mix of literature, arts, and progressive politics. Some of which he doesn't agree with, which ends with him being drawn into a discussion with the counter girl as well, her blonde braid flapping from side to side as she shakes her head vigorously in an attempt to argue against Tezuka.
It's not until Tezuka notices that Fuji is laughing at him - silent chuckles shaking those slender shoulders - that he realizes that he's been arguing back just as passionately - and that he's enjoying himself more than he could have thought possible.
They end up at dinner in a small restaurant overlooking the bay, with the night winds tap-dancing across the skin, ripe with the promises of a golden autumn.
When Fuji leans over the table and kisses him, his mouth tastes of Chardonnay and apple tarts. Tezuka kisses back like it's the only thing in the world to do.