[Fanfiction] Destination Nowhere (Chapter 1/?)
Fandom: You’re my Loveprize in Viewfinder
Pairing: Asami x Akihito (so far)
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: There's no way to know who the real you is. Akihito, a photography student, struggles to find himself within his own mind. Asami fights his own demons as he tries to fulfill one last dying wish. When their paths cross, reality turns into a sea of illusions.
Warnings: Possible spoilers for minor situations, nothing major; smex (for what else should I write fanfiction? :P); AU with possible OOC.
Word count: 2742
Disclaimer: The characters from the Finder series do NOT belong to me. This also applies to anything related to this series. Any similarity with real world situations is pure coincidence.
Author's note: Finally finished chapter 1! Thanks my beta so much for doing a wonderful job in correcting my text *bows*. University is starting to get crazy (I never hated electricity so much in my life) and since I started another part-time job, I’ll probably have less time to write *cries*. My idea for this chapter was to introduce new characters and also let you get some insights about our main guys. I love to put things “between the lines”, so if you have any theory you would like to share or see developing, feel free to tell me. Hope you will enjoy it! Reviews are love <3
Previous chapters: Prologue - Inverted Sun
Chapter 1 - The Wheel of Fortune
(5 years later)
“… now the opening news: a 23 year old female university student committed suicide last night by jumping from a 31 story high building. The victim, whose name was requested to remain anonymous, was said to be an exemplar, honour student and was supposed to graduate in June. The parents of the victim claim she displayed no visible signs of depression and apparently, there was no death note left behind. The victim was dressed casually and a camera was hung around her neck. The police are now investigating the photographs…”
Akihito changed the channel, the morning news being too depressing for being only 7:00 AM. The remaining available programs didn’t catch his attention either: more news, variety shows that weren’t funny and old Korean dramas. Maybe it was too early to have something decent and worth watching on television. Turning off the TV, Akihito sat on the edge of the bed, a packet of chocolate coated biscuits laid on the nightstand beside him, ready to be devoured.
Getting out of the bed, the blond boy picked up his vintage jeans from the floor, where he discarded them the previous night, and dressed in a quick fashion. It wasn’t the best looking pair, being faded and worn, but they were extremely comfortable, and a bargain, so there was no way that they were going to escape Akihito’s radar. Although miniature pieces of snow were incessantly hitting the window pane (and melting into small pools of clear water), the temperature inside the room was pretty warm. The heater must have been on the whole night. His gray T-shirt lay sadly forgotten on the carpeted floor.
On the same bed, a young woman was sleeping, mumbling a string of nonsensical words, probably in the midst of a dream or on the verge of waking. Akihito pulled a blanket over her nude shoulders. Her peaceful sleeping face made her look younger than she actually was and her skin was well taken care of: fairly tanned and with no imperfections. He always wondered where she got that tan and how she managed to keep it. Well, she also asked him countless times why he dyed his hair so frequently.
Not wanting to accidentally wake her up, the blonde grabbed his favourite snack and stood near the window, his eyes gazing the horizon, as if all those skyscrapers weren’t there. The streetlamps still emitted a rather fake golden light, and the sky was like diffused spectrum of different hues of blue, slowly turning to lighter tones. Akihito’s stomach was starting to complain and hunger invaded his senses. He didn’t want to call room service so the chocolate sticks would have to cheat his brain.
The brief piece of news minutes ago suddenly came to his mind. He wondered why the reporter refused to give out the name of the poor girl who had decided to end her life. No physical description was given either, the colour her hair or her height remained a mystery. The images of the not so unusual misfortune were blurred purposely to avoid shocking the viewers. They distracted the audience’s attention instead with footage of the police nearby and the hectic medical staff.
Akihito didn’t care about the commotion and the horrified faces of the unlucky witnesses. It was actually coincidence that he was the same age as her and he also liked to have his camera with him all the time. Maybe he knew her. Though she was a total stranger, they could perhaps have had something in common to share. However, there was no way to know that now.
The sea of blood she laid on startled him, pushing his mind to an even deeper hollow. To be immersed in that crimson ocean, he wondered how it would feel. Would he drown in all that red or would he be able to emerge as a new person? Just the thought of having his fate on the line, between continuing to live or dying, it terrified Akihito but also sparked hints of excitement within his own limbs. The blonde shook his head. Why would he want to experience the same fortune as that girl? It just seemed familiar, something he had undergone before. Maybe it was his mind playing pranks or the result of watching too many horror thrillers. Either way, he had no recollection of it. Akihito’s memory was restricted to the last 5 years. Anything prior was like the wistfully abandoned pieces of a puzzle, forever waiting to be solved, yet no one capable of challenging it due to its difficulty. Sometimes, abrupt instances of a distant past would drift to the present “he”, though he was unable to make sense of it.
His line of thought was disrupted by a warm body pressing against his back, a free hand roaming down his spine and a soft kiss planted in his arm. - “Eating Pocky at this hour?”
- “It’s the only thing here that is edible.” - He was so absorbed in the suicide case he didn’t notice his fingers were smeared with melted chocolate.
The now awakened woman took them to her mouth and licked them one by one. A revolted frown was on her face as she finished. - “Too sweet. I don’t know why you like to eat this. You could have called room service.”
- “Maybe because I want to let Sleeping Beauty continue her journey in dreamland.” - Akihito withdrew his hand swiftly, now coated with saliva.
He didn’t enjoy this type of contact. Yes, they were friends. They were more than friends. He remembers dating her, inviting her to luxurious dinners and spending whole days together in her company. They met a couple of months ago, when she wanted to buy one of his photographs that were, at that time, being exhibited in one of the main art galleries in Shinjuku. Sex with her was good, nothing extraordinary, but satisfying enough for him to relieve his daily stress. She was his girlfriend, and they’ve just spend another night in each other’s company.
Intimate touches, however, was something he tried to avoid. Yukiko didn’t have the most elegant face in the world, though it was above average. She was older, practical and sure about what she wanted to do with her future. She could be the perfect lover, but Akihito felt something missing and it was him that was the source of that void. - “You should put some clothes on. You’ll catch a cold.”
Yukiko donned the cream robe that was part of the amenities of the hotel and lit a cigarette. It was her habit every time she woke up and Akihito grew accustomed to it. It didn’t however disconcert him like it did this morning.
- “Which brand do you smoke?”
- “The usual. It’s too troublesome to change.” - She continued inhaling and purging the smoke, not noticing her lover’s feelings.
- “I’m going to take a shower.” - And made his way to the bathroom, grabbing his abandoned shirt along the way.
The young man hastily closed the door and turned on the shower, hoping the sound of running water would distract him from whatever his mind was trying to recall. Akihito stared at the person on the mid-length mirror. He had accentuated dark circles under his eyes and was a slightly pale. His sleep pattern had changed for the worse, insomnia being frequent these days and small fragments of broken memories insisted on appearing in the middle of the night (when he could actually close his eyes and get some rest).
Sometimes he was running wildly as if someone was chasing him. Sometimes there was a woman conveying a message he could never hear. Other times, there was a man. The shadow of a man that… Akihito grabbed his head, frustrated for his helplessness in recognizing that figure. The hot steam in the bathroom clouded the mirror, his face losing identity as time continued to run. The blonde snapped out of his internal conflict and stepped into the shower. The hot water relaxed his muscles and, for an instant, liberated his mind from all the dismay and uncertainties. However, there was one thing he was sure of after seeing Yukiko smoke - the man in his dreams was a smoker as well.
When Akihito left the bathroom, his lover was already dressed up and ready to leave. - “What took you so long inside there?” - Yukiko sported a pair of brown khaki pants complemented with a fuchsia turtleneck sweater. She had put some light make-up and her long dark hair was secured in a single ponytail. - “Never mind. I have a meeting this morning. Some Russian guy is interested in one of my client’s paintings.” - She worked as a curator, but sometimes people trusted her to sell their works. - “When will I have the chance to visit your apartment?”
Akihito spit out the first excuse his mind could come up with. - “I had a leak yesterday. My kitchen is my personal pool now. You know, it’s a real mess. And it’s nothing as you imagine it to be. It’s just a small studio, nothing more. You won’t like it, I’m sure.” - His house was his sanctuary, his sacred temple that he wasn’t willing to easily share with others. Only his two best friends - Kou and Takato - had been there and they were really close, like his partners in crime. - “We can go to your place next time.”
Yukiko was in a hurry so she didn’t insist any further on the issue. - “Fine. I’ll call you later or else I’ll miss my taxi.” - She put on her long coat, almost touching the floor, gave a chaste kiss to Akihito and left.
The blonde, actually feeling a bit relieved, sat on the bed and took a deep breath. The sky outside had turned into a much lighter tint. Well, at least he could enjoy a proper breakfast before checking out.
*_____*_____*_____*_____*_____*VF*_____*_____*_____*_____*_____*____*
- “When are you going to stop reading the contract?”- Said the long-haired man, sat in front of Asami’s desk, a hint of impatience noticeable in his voice.
- “It’s because it’s you who came to my office that I’m paying extra attention to it.” - Asami declared with a most indifferent attitude, not caring if the other party felt offended or not. His bored expression soon turned into a smirk when he sensed the other man’s intense glare on him, so strong that could literally kill him.
The man had crossed his legs and shifted his position countless times. He was clearly not comfortable in the suit he was wearing. His hair, of such natural black shade, resembled the purest silk strands that fell gracefully over the back of the chair. Any woman would definitely envy that asset of his.
- “You know one thing Feilong, you don’t look that Chinese in those clothes.” - And threw the contract to the desk without signing it.
- “Business going smoothly, humm?” - Feilong stopped moving, finally resigning himself to the imprisoning suit. He always thought that his cheongsam were way better than these western outfits.
And Asami was right in one thing - his Chinese traits were extremely subtle, easily disguised or simply too intricate to be perceived. He could easily pass for a foreigner and much to his dismay, his elder brother Yantsui took advantage of his refined appearance for his own schemes. Maybe it was his illusive eyes, a borderline between lavender and cinereal - the blend of an amethyst and a hematite. If it wasn’t for his father supporting Yan’s decisions for the Triad, he would have fled from that infernal household.
- “What is the problem Feilong? Another quarrel over some toy?” - Asami lit one of his Dunhill, boldly blowing that poisonous smoke to show the other man he was invading the enemy’s territory.
There was an unspoken resentment on the other man at the mention of his brother. A growing rage gradually stabbed his composure and translated in his whiter knuckles that were fiercely gripping the armchair.
The entrepreneur took enormous pleasure in pulling the strings of Feilong’s sanity and playing with it. It was a shame that the little cobra was still hidden in the shadows, the accumulated venom corroding itself and gnawing at its own flesh. The Chinese young man was smart and often proved to surpass his brother in almost every field, from martial arts to firearms and even the art of deceiving. The only hindrance laid in the fact that he was the youngest son, and family ties meant more than any other relationship. If possible, Feilong wished to sever all bonds that he shared with Yan. But once connected by blood, is there anyone who would be strong enough to dissolve it?
In Asami’s eyes though, the Triad member was a sleeping dragon looking for the best opportunity to wake from the transient slumber. His conflicting feelings were binding him from ascending to beyond his own horizons.
- “Can’t I just pay a visit to a business partner?”
- “So now the Liu family also sends personal threats to all associates?”
- “Only to the worst ones.”
Asami liked that boldness. Though Feilong, had an effeminate aura surrounding him, he was actually quite manly. They didn’t entirely trust each other, yet both still had some sort of mutual respect and regarded themselves as a mosaic of asymmetrical pieces, among them, alliance and rivalry.
The entrepreneur grabbed the Yomiuri Shimbun that rested beside his crystal ashtray. He had read it once already that morning before Kirishima actually handed him a stash of archives. There was nothing out of normal, and Japan continued to remain the peaceful country it famed to be. His Dunhill was almost finished.
- “Deliver the message Feilong. I know you want to stay here as I much as I do.”
As he flipped through the recycled paper, an article caught his attention. It’s odd how he didn’t notice it earlier. The monochrome tones of the photo didn’t do it justice. Inside the small frame, a woman sat on a wooden bench, her hands extended to the sky, welcoming something invisible that only she could see. The photo was taken from a side perspective and apart from her lips, her long bangs shadowed her face. It exuded a perplexing serenity that made him think.
- “Yan wants to have access to the routes for the Russians.”
The photograph was certainly taken by experienced hands and the person knew how to convey the most pertinent message at the most befitting moment. There was some sort of play between the shades and tints. The woman looked as if she was whispering some unclear plea, calling for someone. Such talent was wasted in a simple recycled page of a newspaper.
- “Getting greedy, aren’t we?”
Feilong felt it was useless to have come to Asami’s office in the first place. The man in front of him wouldn’t be foolish enough to yield to his brother’s reign. The stoic gaze directed at him confirmed his premise. The sleeping dragon got up, ready to leave. He had promised Tao, his angelic caretaker, to take him around Tokyo as a reward for faring well at his studies. They both didn’t bother to direct a mutual word of farewell until Feilong touched the doorknob.
- “When will you stop living behind his back Feilong?”
The younger man felt insulted (although those words had struck him painfully, like gouging a fresh wound). He wanted to deny it. Oh, he wanted so much to be liberated from those blood shackles. He would not turn his back now and give the other man the pleasure to see him shatter. One day he would come back stronger. Much stronger.
Asami called Kirishima, his mind back to the newspaper. The secretary listened carefully to his employer’s orders, his memory registering all the minor details. He believed it was some mistake from his part but Asami’s voice had a certain uneasiness and… vulnerability?
Asami wasn’t engrossed by the content of the picture (yet he admitted it was something worth praising). The long body of text interested him even less. In the lower corner of the photo, almost obscured by the unflattening contour the editor had chosen, the author of that light drawing was revealed. A common signature with no surname, neither short nor long. The entrepreneur read it and it resonated in his ears.
- “Akihito….”
Pairing: Asami x Akihito (so far)
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: There's no way to know who the real you is. Akihito, a photography student, struggles to find himself within his own mind. Asami fights his own demons as he tries to fulfill one last dying wish. When their paths cross, reality turns into a sea of illusions.
Warnings: Possible spoilers for minor situations, nothing major; smex (for what else should I write fanfiction? :P); AU with possible OOC.
Word count: 2742
Disclaimer: The characters from the Finder series do NOT belong to me. This also applies to anything related to this series. Any similarity with real world situations is pure coincidence.
Author's note: Finally finished chapter 1! Thanks my beta so much for doing a wonderful job in correcting my text *bows*. University is starting to get crazy (I never hated electricity so much in my life) and since I started another part-time job, I’ll probably have less time to write *cries*. My idea for this chapter was to introduce new characters and also let you get some insights about our main guys. I love to put things “between the lines”, so if you have any theory you would like to share or see developing, feel free to tell me. Hope you will enjoy it! Reviews are love <3
Previous chapters: Prologue - Inverted Sun
Chapter 1 - The Wheel of Fortune
(5 years later)
“… now the opening news: a 23 year old female university student committed suicide last night by jumping from a 31 story high building. The victim, whose name was requested to remain anonymous, was said to be an exemplar, honour student and was supposed to graduate in June. The parents of the victim claim she displayed no visible signs of depression and apparently, there was no death note left behind. The victim was dressed casually and a camera was hung around her neck. The police are now investigating the photographs…”
Akihito changed the channel, the morning news being too depressing for being only 7:00 AM. The remaining available programs didn’t catch his attention either: more news, variety shows that weren’t funny and old Korean dramas. Maybe it was too early to have something decent and worth watching on television. Turning off the TV, Akihito sat on the edge of the bed, a packet of chocolate coated biscuits laid on the nightstand beside him, ready to be devoured.
Getting out of the bed, the blond boy picked up his vintage jeans from the floor, where he discarded them the previous night, and dressed in a quick fashion. It wasn’t the best looking pair, being faded and worn, but they were extremely comfortable, and a bargain, so there was no way that they were going to escape Akihito’s radar. Although miniature pieces of snow were incessantly hitting the window pane (and melting into small pools of clear water), the temperature inside the room was pretty warm. The heater must have been on the whole night. His gray T-shirt lay sadly forgotten on the carpeted floor.
On the same bed, a young woman was sleeping, mumbling a string of nonsensical words, probably in the midst of a dream or on the verge of waking. Akihito pulled a blanket over her nude shoulders. Her peaceful sleeping face made her look younger than she actually was and her skin was well taken care of: fairly tanned and with no imperfections. He always wondered where she got that tan and how she managed to keep it. Well, she also asked him countless times why he dyed his hair so frequently.
Not wanting to accidentally wake her up, the blonde grabbed his favourite snack and stood near the window, his eyes gazing the horizon, as if all those skyscrapers weren’t there. The streetlamps still emitted a rather fake golden light, and the sky was like diffused spectrum of different hues of blue, slowly turning to lighter tones. Akihito’s stomach was starting to complain and hunger invaded his senses. He didn’t want to call room service so the chocolate sticks would have to cheat his brain.
The brief piece of news minutes ago suddenly came to his mind. He wondered why the reporter refused to give out the name of the poor girl who had decided to end her life. No physical description was given either, the colour her hair or her height remained a mystery. The images of the not so unusual misfortune were blurred purposely to avoid shocking the viewers. They distracted the audience’s attention instead with footage of the police nearby and the hectic medical staff.
Akihito didn’t care about the commotion and the horrified faces of the unlucky witnesses. It was actually coincidence that he was the same age as her and he also liked to have his camera with him all the time. Maybe he knew her. Though she was a total stranger, they could perhaps have had something in common to share. However, there was no way to know that now.
The sea of blood she laid on startled him, pushing his mind to an even deeper hollow. To be immersed in that crimson ocean, he wondered how it would feel. Would he drown in all that red or would he be able to emerge as a new person? Just the thought of having his fate on the line, between continuing to live or dying, it terrified Akihito but also sparked hints of excitement within his own limbs. The blonde shook his head. Why would he want to experience the same fortune as that girl? It just seemed familiar, something he had undergone before. Maybe it was his mind playing pranks or the result of watching too many horror thrillers. Either way, he had no recollection of it. Akihito’s memory was restricted to the last 5 years. Anything prior was like the wistfully abandoned pieces of a puzzle, forever waiting to be solved, yet no one capable of challenging it due to its difficulty. Sometimes, abrupt instances of a distant past would drift to the present “he”, though he was unable to make sense of it.
His line of thought was disrupted by a warm body pressing against his back, a free hand roaming down his spine and a soft kiss planted in his arm. - “Eating Pocky at this hour?”
- “It’s the only thing here that is edible.” - He was so absorbed in the suicide case he didn’t notice his fingers were smeared with melted chocolate.
The now awakened woman took them to her mouth and licked them one by one. A revolted frown was on her face as she finished. - “Too sweet. I don’t know why you like to eat this. You could have called room service.”
- “Maybe because I want to let Sleeping Beauty continue her journey in dreamland.” - Akihito withdrew his hand swiftly, now coated with saliva.
He didn’t enjoy this type of contact. Yes, they were friends. They were more than friends. He remembers dating her, inviting her to luxurious dinners and spending whole days together in her company. They met a couple of months ago, when she wanted to buy one of his photographs that were, at that time, being exhibited in one of the main art galleries in Shinjuku. Sex with her was good, nothing extraordinary, but satisfying enough for him to relieve his daily stress. She was his girlfriend, and they’ve just spend another night in each other’s company.
Intimate touches, however, was something he tried to avoid. Yukiko didn’t have the most elegant face in the world, though it was above average. She was older, practical and sure about what she wanted to do with her future. She could be the perfect lover, but Akihito felt something missing and it was him that was the source of that void. - “You should put some clothes on. You’ll catch a cold.”
Yukiko donned the cream robe that was part of the amenities of the hotel and lit a cigarette. It was her habit every time she woke up and Akihito grew accustomed to it. It didn’t however disconcert him like it did this morning.
- “Which brand do you smoke?”
- “The usual. It’s too troublesome to change.” - She continued inhaling and purging the smoke, not noticing her lover’s feelings.
- “I’m going to take a shower.” - And made his way to the bathroom, grabbing his abandoned shirt along the way.
The young man hastily closed the door and turned on the shower, hoping the sound of running water would distract him from whatever his mind was trying to recall. Akihito stared at the person on the mid-length mirror. He had accentuated dark circles under his eyes and was a slightly pale. His sleep pattern had changed for the worse, insomnia being frequent these days and small fragments of broken memories insisted on appearing in the middle of the night (when he could actually close his eyes and get some rest).
Sometimes he was running wildly as if someone was chasing him. Sometimes there was a woman conveying a message he could never hear. Other times, there was a man. The shadow of a man that… Akihito grabbed his head, frustrated for his helplessness in recognizing that figure. The hot steam in the bathroom clouded the mirror, his face losing identity as time continued to run. The blonde snapped out of his internal conflict and stepped into the shower. The hot water relaxed his muscles and, for an instant, liberated his mind from all the dismay and uncertainties. However, there was one thing he was sure of after seeing Yukiko smoke - the man in his dreams was a smoker as well.
When Akihito left the bathroom, his lover was already dressed up and ready to leave. - “What took you so long inside there?” - Yukiko sported a pair of brown khaki pants complemented with a fuchsia turtleneck sweater. She had put some light make-up and her long dark hair was secured in a single ponytail. - “Never mind. I have a meeting this morning. Some Russian guy is interested in one of my client’s paintings.” - She worked as a curator, but sometimes people trusted her to sell their works. - “When will I have the chance to visit your apartment?”
Akihito spit out the first excuse his mind could come up with. - “I had a leak yesterday. My kitchen is my personal pool now. You know, it’s a real mess. And it’s nothing as you imagine it to be. It’s just a small studio, nothing more. You won’t like it, I’m sure.” - His house was his sanctuary, his sacred temple that he wasn’t willing to easily share with others. Only his two best friends - Kou and Takato - had been there and they were really close, like his partners in crime. - “We can go to your place next time.”
Yukiko was in a hurry so she didn’t insist any further on the issue. - “Fine. I’ll call you later or else I’ll miss my taxi.” - She put on her long coat, almost touching the floor, gave a chaste kiss to Akihito and left.
The blonde, actually feeling a bit relieved, sat on the bed and took a deep breath. The sky outside had turned into a much lighter tint. Well, at least he could enjoy a proper breakfast before checking out.
*_____*_____*_____*_____*_____*VF*_____*_____*_____*_____*_____*____*
- “When are you going to stop reading the contract?”- Said the long-haired man, sat in front of Asami’s desk, a hint of impatience noticeable in his voice.
- “It’s because it’s you who came to my office that I’m paying extra attention to it.” - Asami declared with a most indifferent attitude, not caring if the other party felt offended or not. His bored expression soon turned into a smirk when he sensed the other man’s intense glare on him, so strong that could literally kill him.
The man had crossed his legs and shifted his position countless times. He was clearly not comfortable in the suit he was wearing. His hair, of such natural black shade, resembled the purest silk strands that fell gracefully over the back of the chair. Any woman would definitely envy that asset of his.
- “You know one thing Feilong, you don’t look that Chinese in those clothes.” - And threw the contract to the desk without signing it.
- “Business going smoothly, humm?” - Feilong stopped moving, finally resigning himself to the imprisoning suit. He always thought that his cheongsam were way better than these western outfits.
And Asami was right in one thing - his Chinese traits were extremely subtle, easily disguised or simply too intricate to be perceived. He could easily pass for a foreigner and much to his dismay, his elder brother Yantsui took advantage of his refined appearance for his own schemes. Maybe it was his illusive eyes, a borderline between lavender and cinereal - the blend of an amethyst and a hematite. If it wasn’t for his father supporting Yan’s decisions for the Triad, he would have fled from that infernal household.
- “What is the problem Feilong? Another quarrel over some toy?” - Asami lit one of his Dunhill, boldly blowing that poisonous smoke to show the other man he was invading the enemy’s territory.
There was an unspoken resentment on the other man at the mention of his brother. A growing rage gradually stabbed his composure and translated in his whiter knuckles that were fiercely gripping the armchair.
The entrepreneur took enormous pleasure in pulling the strings of Feilong’s sanity and playing with it. It was a shame that the little cobra was still hidden in the shadows, the accumulated venom corroding itself and gnawing at its own flesh. The Chinese young man was smart and often proved to surpass his brother in almost every field, from martial arts to firearms and even the art of deceiving. The only hindrance laid in the fact that he was the youngest son, and family ties meant more than any other relationship. If possible, Feilong wished to sever all bonds that he shared with Yan. But once connected by blood, is there anyone who would be strong enough to dissolve it?
In Asami’s eyes though, the Triad member was a sleeping dragon looking for the best opportunity to wake from the transient slumber. His conflicting feelings were binding him from ascending to beyond his own horizons.
- “Can’t I just pay a visit to a business partner?”
- “So now the Liu family also sends personal threats to all associates?”
- “Only to the worst ones.”
Asami liked that boldness. Though Feilong, had an effeminate aura surrounding him, he was actually quite manly. They didn’t entirely trust each other, yet both still had some sort of mutual respect and regarded themselves as a mosaic of asymmetrical pieces, among them, alliance and rivalry.
The entrepreneur grabbed the Yomiuri Shimbun that rested beside his crystal ashtray. He had read it once already that morning before Kirishima actually handed him a stash of archives. There was nothing out of normal, and Japan continued to remain the peaceful country it famed to be. His Dunhill was almost finished.
- “Deliver the message Feilong. I know you want to stay here as I much as I do.”
As he flipped through the recycled paper, an article caught his attention. It’s odd how he didn’t notice it earlier. The monochrome tones of the photo didn’t do it justice. Inside the small frame, a woman sat on a wooden bench, her hands extended to the sky, welcoming something invisible that only she could see. The photo was taken from a side perspective and apart from her lips, her long bangs shadowed her face. It exuded a perplexing serenity that made him think.
- “Yan wants to have access to the routes for the Russians.”
The photograph was certainly taken by experienced hands and the person knew how to convey the most pertinent message at the most befitting moment. There was some sort of play between the shades and tints. The woman looked as if she was whispering some unclear plea, calling for someone. Such talent was wasted in a simple recycled page of a newspaper.
- “Getting greedy, aren’t we?”
Feilong felt it was useless to have come to Asami’s office in the first place. The man in front of him wouldn’t be foolish enough to yield to his brother’s reign. The stoic gaze directed at him confirmed his premise. The sleeping dragon got up, ready to leave. He had promised Tao, his angelic caretaker, to take him around Tokyo as a reward for faring well at his studies. They both didn’t bother to direct a mutual word of farewell until Feilong touched the doorknob.
- “When will you stop living behind his back Feilong?”
The younger man felt insulted (although those words had struck him painfully, like gouging a fresh wound). He wanted to deny it. Oh, he wanted so much to be liberated from those blood shackles. He would not turn his back now and give the other man the pleasure to see him shatter. One day he would come back stronger. Much stronger.
Asami called Kirishima, his mind back to the newspaper. The secretary listened carefully to his employer’s orders, his memory registering all the minor details. He believed it was some mistake from his part but Asami’s voice had a certain uneasiness and… vulnerability?
Asami wasn’t engrossed by the content of the picture (yet he admitted it was something worth praising). The long body of text interested him even less. In the lower corner of the photo, almost obscured by the unflattening contour the editor had chosen, the author of that light drawing was revealed. A common signature with no surname, neither short nor long. The entrepreneur read it and it resonated in his ears.
- “Akihito….”