A/N: I own nothing except the situations I put the characters in.

Chapter Two:

"Dude, I do too like chicken!" Kou laughed loudly. Throwing an arm around Akihito's shoulders, he stumbled slightly, jerking the photographer forward with him. "Bawwk! Bawwk!"

Akihito snorted. "Chicken goes cluck cluck! Turkey goes bawwk!" Even Isao knew that! Fumbling for his keys, the drunk lead the drunk down the neon-lit alley between their tenements. Alice trailed, shaking her head. They left the party with vigorous promises to Rinka that they would walk the exotic beauty home. Somehow the promise morphed into Alice making sure they weren't arrested for peeing on the street corner.

"I could really go for a clucky leg." Kou's head bobbed on his shoulders. He had to squint to read the incandescent signs; his brain struggled to untangle the jumbled letters. The hand thrown over Aki's shoulders pointed. "Clucky?"

The photographer stutter-stepped to a stop to focus his spinning vision on the sign. "Moo cow," he nodded his head. Yes. This was a place where moo cows could be eaten.

"Let's just keep walking." Sliding between the two of them––they clung to her for stability––Alice lead them through the crowded alley. Miraculously, she hadn't lost either of them on the walk, but she wasn't counting her blessings until they reached Akihito's apartment. "Do you know the way home?" she asked the blond.

Akihito turned sharply to the right, nearly slipping out of her hold. "This way," he pointed, focus fixed on a dilapidated building at the end of the block.

Alice grabbed ahold of his shirt before he could wander off. "You sure?" She didn't want to get arrested for trespassing. Or end up on some psycho's doorstep.

"Yup," he popped the p. "Ta-dah!" The lobby door opened with a quick turn of his key, and they stumbled in from the measly entrance the landlord dared deem a courtyard.

"Hold on a sec," Akihito belched loudly. Arm braced against the doorframe, he struggled to get his key to fit the lock.

"Stinky one, dude." Laughing, Kou waved his hand in front of his nose.

"Tasted bad, too." The door opened suddenly, Akihito falling loudly into his place. "Sorry Alice." He finally remembered his manners. His mother would have been mortified.

"You aren't the worst drunks to babysit," she told him as she shut the door. Akihito didn't really know what she meant, but she didn't seem upset and that was good enough for him.

"Whaddaya got to eats?" Kou slurred his way over to the fridge.

"No clucky," Alice pulled her boyfriend to the couch. "You both need to sit down and drink some water. Otherwise, you'll have terrible hangovers tomorrow."

Kou threw his arms around her waist, and pulled her onto his lap. "You're bootiful! Didja know that?"

"Kou!" she laughed and tried to squirm out of his grasp. Kou wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Oh yeah, he was getting lucky tonight. He winked at Aki, who gave him a thumbs up. Alice smacked Kou's shoulder playfully. "You're drunk off your ass."

"He found sumthin' he wants more than clucky!" Akihito howled. He kinda wished that Takato had come with them, because he would have laughed at that joke. Alice looked embarrassed and Kou, a dumb blond in spirit, just looked confused.

"No clucky?" he looked at Alice, crestfallen.

"Water," she firmly responded. "Which way is your restroom?"

"That door," the photographer pointed. Damn, she must have really had to go if she was asking where his was. It was clean, but the apartment itself was a piece of crap. Even Akihito didn't piss there unless he was desperate.

A loud buzzer rang out, the sound of bees against rusted metal, and Akihito jumped. His shoulders jerked up around his ears. "Fuck," he swore, torso twisting. The buzzer still rang. The metal clang echoed loudly in his small apartment.

"What the hell?" Kou's voice clamored with the buzzer. Sobriety clawed at their brains as the two tried to stand. Their feet were tangled together, and neither could get off the couch. Sweat slicked his palms. Kou knew what he did; he was just as trusted as Takato and just as terrified.

"Fuck!" Kou fell onto the coffee table. For such a cheap piece of shit, it didn't splinter or crack. Akihito managed to clamber over the fallen heap to the window. No one ever rang his bell; his friends texted to be let in, the postman had a key to the mailbox and even the pizza guy called when he showed up.

No one ever range the doorbell.

A single man stood, his finger pressed against the buzzer. It was impossible to tell what he looked like; under the moonless sky he was more silhouette than man, a specter in the dark. He stared up, not at Akihito's apartment, but at the unit next door. The lights were off. Was he trying to get ahold of the Hakaedas?

"Are you going to answer that?" The toilet flushed and Alice walked into the living room.

"No!" screamed Kou. The girl was making to answer the buzzer, and had Kou not hurdled the couch to grab her hand, she would have.

"What the hell?" Alice jerked her hand free.

"Aki?" Kou whirled around to his friend.

The photojournalist let the shades slip close. The last thing he wanted was for this guy to see him looking, and realize that he was peeping. Most likely it was the wrong bell, but Takaba only knew the unlikely. No criminal had ever tracked him down to his home; no one had ever come by the paper. But that did not stop the dread that pooled in his gut as the ringing abruptly quit.

"Can't tell who it is," he answered.

"Guys?" Panic crept into Alice's voice. "What's going on?

"Aki's a criminal journalist," Kou explained. Not that Akihito ever got in to trouble with his day job. But it was easier to make it sound dangerous rather than tell her the truth. If Rinka didn't know, Alice never would.

"Oh my god, you don't think someone's followed you home? Do you?" She bought the lie.

The buzzer rang again. "I can't tell. He's looking over at the Hakaedas' window."

"Want me to chase him away?" She didn't look like she lived here, had no connection to the blond outside of Kou and even that was tenuous. This guy would never suspect a thing.

"No!" Kou held her wrist even tighter.

"It's the wrong apartment," Akihito tried to slow his racing heart. "False alarm." Alice looked uncertain. She bit her lip, but before she could protest, Akihito said, "He's leaving now, anyway." Which was true: the man finally turned on his heel and left, casting one last glance over his shoulder. At the Hakaedas' place.

"Should you call the police?" Alice asked.

Yeah, because he had just finished the exposé on the corrupt cop, and was blackmailing two of the lieutenants in homicide. Calling the coppers was nearly a last resort, and Takaba wasn't that desperate for something that he was trying to convince himself was the wrong address. "And say what?" Kou was shaking his head. "That some guy rang your bell?"

"If his job puts him in danger––" Alice argued.

"It's all good." Akihito pulled himself away from the window. He wanted to slink out the fire escape and follow this guy. See who he worked for, what he wanted. Though he told Alice it was the wrong buzzer, he didn't really believe it. His gut had yet to be wrong, and it was now screaming that this was the start of trouble.

"Should you come home with us?" Akihito could tell that Kou did not want to ask that question, because he had naughty, drunken plans for Alice, but he was so worried about his friend that he would ignore his boner. The last thing the photographer wanted to do was be a cockblock, or even worse: pretend to be asleep on the couch while they went at it. Nope. No thank you.

"I'm fine. Seriously guys," he smiled at them. "It's all good."

"Ugh," Kou ran a hand over his face. "I'm sober as shit now."

"That's a good thing," Alice emphatically responded.

The brunet pouted. "It was such a good buzz, though."

"I'll make it up to you." She bumped her hip into his. Oh yeah, Akihito totally made the right choice to not spend the night with them. "Call us if you need us," she said to him.

"Pinky promise I will," he swore.

"We'll let you know when we get home safely," Alice promised as she steered Kou towards the door. The two guys shared a look of confusion. It must have been a girl thing.

After he locked the door, Akihito slumped down on the couch. He forced his eyes to stay open, his ears straining to hear any odd noise. His eyes flitted around the apartment in case someone managed to sneak it. And he counted the footsteps on the ceiling, making sure that the loud fucker walked from and to the couch, and finally to the bedroom. He wouldn't be taken off guard. Who cares if his eyes burned? Or his stomach churned? Maybe he was going to throw up but he could do that if he didn't lose focus.

And suddenly, he blinked––sunshine flooded the room. He must have fallen asleep. Standing and stretching, popping each swollen vertebra and elongating the ligaments between his ribs, the photographer tried to shake the soreness from his body. He really needed a new couch; also, actually laying down while sleeping was a good solution too.

He glanced out the window. All was quiet. Having survived the night with nothing more than a slight headache, it was easy to laugh at his paranoia. Of course no one had followed him home. They would have struck while his drunk ass wandered the streets looking for food. Damn, he needed a vacation-something to clear his head and get rid of the tension in his neck.

At least today he could relax. There were no criminals to bribe, no one to extort, and all of his contacts had gone to ground. He contented himself to reading the paper––the good one, not his––and finishing the crossword. Kou called because Alice was studying, something neither understood because she seemed to know Japanese perfectly. Still, they got to play COD without interruption, and it was as if they were teenagers again.

Speaking of teenagers, Akihito did something that he had not done since university: spent he day in his pajamas. It was refreshing to slip into a fresh set of plaid pajama pants and a tank, commando because he preferred to let his junk air out. And when his buzzer rang, he froze. Visions of last night swam through his mind, but quickly faded along with the buzzer. It was not the one continuous barrage that made his skin crawl like before, but cursory––someone who just wanted to be let it. Maybe the Pizza Planet guy was new and didn't know to call him.

"Who's there?" Takaba asked in lieu of hello. Sure, this guy's pressed suit made it look like he was on the up and up, but Akihito knew that appearances were more deceitful than words. After last night, he wasn't taking any chances. Especially since this dude didn't have a pizza.

"Takaba Akihito––" whelp, this dude could read. That was a good sign. He didn't want to die by the hand of an illiterate; that would just be embarrassing. "My name is Kirishima Kei. Asami-sama has sent me to escort you to the Imperial Hotel."

"Huh?" the blond grunted. Shit. Shit, shit oh fucking shit. Isao's birthday party flooded his memory. Asami Ryuichi had pushed him against the wall, pressed their foreheads together, and said he was taking Akihito to dinner. He had completely forgotten! And now, it was six-thirty and he was supposed to meet Asami Ryuichi somewhere at seven. And he was in his pajamas!

"Asami Ryuichi," the man repeated. The photographer could tell that he was startled. Most people who ate with Asami Ryuichi probably squealed and spent the day prepping––something that Akihito should have done.

"Yeah, yeah," Akihito nodded even though this Kirishima Kei could not see him. "Give me just a second."

Pulling his pants down so quickly that he fell chin first onto the cheap floor, the photographer crawled to his closet, kicking his feet free. Grabbing the only pair of khakis he owned, Akihito said a quick prayer of thanks that they were pressed. He still had Kou's blazer and white dress shirt, and as he hurriedly stuffed the shirttails into his pants, he shoved his feet into his dress shoes.

It only took ten minutes for Akihito get dressed, but he looked like it took three. He was pulling a belt through his belt loops as he ran down the stairs. Kirishima quirked an eyebrow when he burst through the door, but did not comment. Takaba was grateful.

"Asami-sama has sent a car for you," Kirishima explained as he opened the door for Akihito. The blond looked skeptically at the rigid man beside him in a suit so crisp a coin would bounce off it.

"Where are we going?" The silver BMW was ostentatious. He could feel the stares of his neighbor's peeking through the blinds. People in this area had never been in such an opulent car. They probably though that he was giving a rich dude a quickie for some extra cash.

"Asami-sama is waiting for you at the Imperial Hotel."

The car was spotless. Nothing about this gave him chills, or made his hair horripilate. "Why isn't Asami-san here?" Still, he wanted to put off getting into the car as long as possible. The entire thing seemed to be on the up and up, and the made him all the more wary. Nothing was ever as it seemed in his life.

"Sudden business kept him, but he assured me that he will not keep you waiting."

Rather than let Akihito take another ten minutes to make his mind up, Kirishima helped him into the car. He was in the driver's seat before Akihito realized the door shut, and moments later, they were driving away. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Hopefully he would not regret this night.

The Imperial Hotel was an architectural feat, with its top floor so high that it breached the clouds. Takaba expected such a building in Dubai, but not coastal Japan. He could not help but whistle of appreciation when he saw the burnished steel walls that glinted like fire in the setting sun. Kirishima Kei might have smirked at the exclamation, but the reporter did not look to see. Like he cared what Ol' Four-Eyes thought.

"If you need a moment, I will get the door of you," the man glanced at Akihito's face pressed against the window.

"Nah, I'm good." Quickly, the blond tried to buff out the nose print with his elbow. Hopefully Glasses didn't see it.

A kid in burgundy uniform and funny hat ran out. He couldn't have been more than fourteen. Akihito could see his knees knocking together. "Welcome to the Imperial Hotel." He bowed low.

"Uhh…?" Words were caught in his throat as he tried to say that he was normal too. Certainly not worth the trouble of a bow. And then Kirishima was beside him, tossing the keys to the valet. "Follow me, Takaba."

The photographer turned to wave at the kid, who looked as nervous as the photographer felt, before following Kirishima through the fifteen foot doors. The conditioned air hit him like a wall. It was loud inside the lobby––much louder than any club––where the guests stood lackadaisically. Their arms were folded as they laughed heartily, the cloying musk of money dripping from their starched suits and perfumed pearls. The rich had no clue how they inconvenienced those around them, nor did they care. Burgundy clad workers swirled around them, like a current around stagnant rocks, and a heavily mustached man barked orders from the front desk. It was astounding that two polar opposites could cohabit so naturally.

An elevator attendant that stood at such rigid attention that Takaba was afraid he might have an aneurysm. "Sirs," he bowed respectfully and opened the golden cage of the lift.

"Top floor," Kirishima motioned for the photojournalist to enter first.

His feet slid in the too-big shoes, and for a moment, the world moved from beneath him. If he were to fall, fingers crossed that the floor was thin––so he could plunge to his death rather than land face first, ass-up in front of the intimidating Kirishima. But then a steadying hand caught his arm and the four-eyed man was helping into the lift. With a clang, they were soaring over the lobby. None of the guest noticed the photographer's mortification, and he couldn't bring himself to look at Kirishima's face.

"Where are you taking me, exactly?" He broke the oppressive silence––if only to hide embarrassment.

"Asami-sama is waiting for you in the private gallery," was the clipped answer.

"Cool." The blond glanced at the sweating attendant. He was as thin as a shadow, to take up as little as possible. For such a turgid hotel, the elevator was tiny.

"But why?" Talking meant inhaling the hot air, but it was better than suffocating silently. The bespectacled man glanced at him. "I…I didn't do anything."

Breathing the stale air was painful. Maybe it was Kirishima's aura, the terror that radiated from the attendant, or the golden steel walls of the elevator, but he could not wait for the ride to end––if only for a cool breeze.

"You saved his life," the man responded. "That is worthy of thanks." He sounded genuinely appreciative, which astounded Akihito.

It made sense when Kirishima put it that way, but Akihito still found the entire situation surreal. "Just doing my job," he shrugged.

"You can tell him that," was Kirishima's answer as the lift slowed. He was out before the doors were fully open, forcing the photographer to scamper after him.

The restaurant was on the of floor of the hotel. It spun above the clouds, giving a full view of the neon city. The visage was enough for the photographer, but he could smell the succulent food as the waiters rushed by. There were desserts, and meat, and booze…Maybe this thank you dinner wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"He's finished with Tahan," a giant informed Kirishima. Takable flinched. For such a massive guy, he blended seamlessly into the wall.

Four-Eyes nodded. He rapped on the ornate door, and paused––just long enough for the man on the other size to compose himself. "This way, Takaba." The door swung open, as he bowed. "Asami-sama."

"Thank you, Kirishima. The will be all."

The wooden door closed with a resounding thud, leaving the journalist on the other side, alone with Asami Ryuichi. He didn't remember his feet moving. But there he was, hazel eyes staring into golden depths.

"Good evening, Takaba." Asami pressed another featherlight kiss to his knuckles.

Yanking his hand away, because dammit the man was wearing that cologne again, and he was sure to get a hard-on, Takaba flushed. "Thanks again for the invite."

"It was the least I could do," Asami reassured him. "Please, have a seat."

The billionaire, with a hand pressed to the small of his back, lead Takaba to his seat. The ornate table groaned with the weight of the dishes, and tall candles that flickered. It was formal. Intimate. Romantic—if it has been a date. Women gushed over the theatrics that Asami put on.

And when Asami pulled out his chair, it almost did feel like a date. Takaba shook his head, clearing it. Focus! He'd been so plastered last night that he had forgetting to squeeze Kenzo in for a booty call. Newest plan: text Kenzo after dinner.

"So," he cleared his throat just to do something other than soak up the sexy, "have you eaten here before?"

Asami sat down across from the reporter, smirking. "Several times."

Good. Good. "What do you like?" That was a safe topic.

"The chef says the entire menu is exquisite." Asami opened his menu. "Personally, I prefer the porterhouse cooked blue. However, the restaurant is known for the braised paleron."

"Paleron?" Takaba had never heard of that dish. Sounded fancy.

"The steak is cut from the animal's shoulder."

"Oh." Holy shit, it all sounded amazing. Far from the greasy street food of last night, every item was organic, braised and flipped and spun in everything from salted honeydew to balsamic ginger confit. It was mouthwatering and bankrupting. One glance at the price told Takaba everything he needed to know: he was drinking water and eating a small side. And that was still going to be ridiculously expensive.

"Order whatever you want." It must have been written all over his face. The desert cost more than his weekly food budget. "Dinner is the least I can do."

Yeah, that wasn't going to change his order. No food should cost this much. It was criminal. No matter how fancy it was, it did not justify cost over 20,000 yen for a steak. Takato and Rinka flashed through his mind as he read the laundry list of reasons why the food was so extortionate. A meal for two would pay their rent of over a month!

"Please," Asami reached over the table, placing his hand on Takaba's. The photographer looked into brooding golden eyes and melted. "I want to say thank you."

Takaba's stomach churned. If he reached just a little bit, he could touch Asami's face. The man's cologne permeated the air seductively, and when he gave the softest of smiles, Takaba's heart stopped beating. "Well," he jerked his hand back to fiddle the napkin in his lap that covered his raging hard-on. "The owner is going to stay in business, that's for sure. Only a crook can get away with charging these prices!"

Asami chuckled. "I'll make a note for the manager."

Manager? Shit…it did not take a detective to figure out his faux pas. "You own the Imperial, don't you?" The photographer's head dropped to his chest. Plummeting through the elevator was suddenly sounding better and better.

Asami signaled for a waiter, who appeared with a bottle of wine. "I'm surprised you didn't do any research for dinner."

Takaba dropped his head into his hands. "I forgot," he muttered. He totally would have looked the guy up had he remembered. The little he knew about Asami Ryuichi stemmed from the news and Miyazaki. Not credible sources at all.

The billionaire arched an eyebrow. It took Takaba a second to figure out the man was offended. No one in their right mind forgot when Asami Ryuichi called. Takaba groaned. Hopefully he would die at any moment. Food poisoning. Choking on the steak that Asami ordered for him. Impaling himself on the knife.

Anything would do at this point.

The rest of dinner did not fair much better. The food was as good as rumored, and the cityscape was stunning through the great glass windows. Asami was charming and alluring, but Takaba fumbled. He mixed his words up, made new ones, and quickly ran out of topics to discuss. They talked the weather, how terrifying it was to be a criminal photographer, and how impressive Asami's charity work was. All pleasant and appropriate for the occasion, but not substantiative, which was what invigorated the blond.

His ass was numb. Sitting still had never hurt so badly. And by the time the leftovers were packaged up to go to Takato's, Akihito was pretty sure he had forgotten how to walk. Every time he tried to leave, the business tycoon tangled his words up, twisting them until Takaba was forced to stay by social construct. He could see how Asami made his billions. The man was smooth and forceful without being intimidating.

"Tell me about your family." Asami offered him a fat cigar.

Takaba shook his head no. "I don't smoke," he replied. "There isn't much to say. I haven't talked to my parents in years. My old man and I don't get along." Mom sided with Dad when Akihito came out. They disinherited him—he had no idea what their cover story was with the rest of the family.

"I was the same way with my father before he passed." Asami lit the cigar and took a long drag. "Then who were you with last night, if not your family?"

"My friends. It was his youngest's birthday." Takato and Kou were more than family.

"It sounded like it was quite the party." There was a smile in his voice. "Did he have a good birthday?"

Takaba smiled. "Yeah. The kid is a handful, but he's amazing."

Asami leaned forward. "Tell me."

He sounded genuinely interested, so Takaba continued on. "You know how there are kids who you like, but they aren't going to change the world? That's not Isao at all. He's gonna do something amazing. And I just feel so blessed to get to be a part of his life."

The mogul nodded. "How old is he?"

Takaba ducked his head, cheeks warming. "He just turned three. I know I sound like I'm the crazy parent who thinks they're kid raises the sun, but that isn't it." He gestured wildly. "He sees the world differently. He's compassionate and tries to help everyone he meets. Isao will be one of the greats of history. I don't know if it will be through social work or politics or literature, but the way his mind works…" Takaba could not articulate it, but his godson was the world. And would change the world.

Asami's eyebrows were scrunched together. Disgust and confusion radiated off him. Takaba jerked his hands back. Crap. He completely misread the man's interest in Isao. Just when he thought this dinner couldn't get any worse, he––

"Takaba, get down!"

"Huh?"

The ebon haired man launched himself over the table. Takaba barely braced before thick arms wrapped around his shoulders. The chair beneath him toppled, the table collapsed. Plates shattered and food squished between them. Asami pulled him to the floor just as the glass windows exploded.

It was one of those weird moments, where you life flashes before your eyes. Everything slowed down. Scintillating glass shards scattered in the air, twinkling like stars. A thin red beam danced along the wall. Right where his head had been. Asami's heat burned his chest, and the man kept him pinned down as several more shots echoed.

"They're trying to kill you again," he hissed.

Asami kept the photographer's head down and covered. "Not me. You."

"Asami-sama!" Kirishima and Suoh burst into the room. Hands grabbed the man, keeping him low but shielding him with their bodies. The red of the cherry tart terrified Glasses, who starting pawing at Asami's shirt.

"Takaba!" Asami grabbed the twenty-five year old. Akihito could barely get his feet under him as the men drug him out of the room.

"Shot fired!" Suoh shouted into a small microphone. "I repeat, shots fired. Call the police and lock down the building"

"Any pain?" Kirishima demanded. "Have either of you been hit?"

"It's Takaba," Asami interrupted. "They're after Takaba. They could have killed me at any time––my back was to the window. It's Takaba."

"Me?" Takaba couldn't believe it. Though people threatened him all the time, no one was stupid enough to follow through. He would destroy the entire criminal underworld if anything happened-–was going to destroy it now.

Suoh nodded and repeated his boss's declaration. He was on the phone with the police––the last people Takaba wanted to involve. They ran through the dining towards the stairs when more shots were fired. Another window burst open, soaring between a couple and shattering a wine bottle.

No! Whoever it was, they didn't care that innocent people would die. They had a chance to take him out, and they weren't missing any opportunity. "You're one of those people who will change the world." He jerked out of Asami's grasp. "Keep him safe."

"Takaba!" Asami shouted.

Sliding in between waiters and screaming diners, he ran towards the widow. It painted a giant target on his forehead, but better him than someone else.

"Takaba!" Asami kept shouting. It sounded like he was chasing him, but the photographer did not look back. That would only slow him down. Grabbing a tray, he held it beside him like a shield. The shooter would know it was him, but wouldn't be able to land a fatal shot. There was a fire exit that most people wouldn't know about. It was on the side of the building, far away from the centralized staircase that the guests would flock to.

Bursting into the stairwell, never had he been so happy to see cement walls. This couldn't be happening, not now. Kou and Takato were in danger. If this was a way to get his black book, the people were dangerous. They wouldn't hesitate to kill his friends for revenge.

"This way!"

Voices he did not know reverberated. Their footsteps were heavy on the stairs––they weren't guests. Shit.

Grabbing the handrail, Takaba launched himself over the last two flights, landing in a deep crouch. His knees shook and his legs did not want to lengthen, but he forced himself to stand. To run.

"Did you hear that?"

"He's here!"

Shit. Running through a whitewashed door, he hit a swirling crowd. The lax current churned into a swirling vortex as people ran. There were screams. Husbands dragging their wives through the foray as they looked for safety. Men in uniforms fought against the current, trying to get to the dining room.

Rather than get lost in the crowd, and potentially bring more fire upon them, the blond ran through swinging doors. The laundry room. Of course, no one was there. It dead ended. He was screwed. If the guys from the stairwell thought to look in there––No! There was a way out, so innocuous his eyes went right over it.

This was the move that could get him killed or save his life, Takaba wasn't sure. But he did not have a choice. Shoving the door up, he climbed into the dumbwaiter. Fuck, it was a tight fit. This was for food, not a lanky adult. He knee jabbed against his windpipe painfully, and he really could not breathe or feel his pinned arms. But the motor whirled to life dropping him down into the dark depths of the hotel.

Gasping for fresh air, the reporter tumbled out of the dumbwaiter. Pain shot through his face, but he was alive. Pushing himself up, he threw his shoulder into the door. And he was outside in an alley. He had no idea where he was in relation to the sniper, or if he could be spotted so far away from the peak of the building, but it did not matter. He ran.

Red and blue lights flashed. Sirens blared as they neared the hotel. There was even a helicopter circling high overhead. He couldn't get caught. Not now. That put his entire family in jeopardy. Rather than run along the beach, out in the open, Takaba went towards the city. He could get mugged but he stayed under the cover of the buildings.

"Takaba!"

Just a little farther. A few more steps and he would be lost in the anonymity of the crowd. Tires screeched. Floodlights set the world on fire, and two hands grabbed him from behind. "I've got him!

"Go!"

The world spun. Buildings were suddenly stars and those blurred into canvas. A heavy door slammed. He tried to orient himself as gold eyes, dilated with fear, loomed overhead.

"Are you okay?" Asami loomed over him. "Are you hurt?"

His chest tried to rip open as he breathed. The air rattled in his body, screaming like ghosts. Golden eyes dilated as heavy hands palmed his body. Takaba thought he tasted blood. Shit, he was gonna puke.

"Takaba!"

He couldn't feel his legs.

"Suoh!" Asami pulled the reporter onto hip lap, trying to keep his torso propped up and his airway open. "Get us to the hospital!"

"No," the blond groaned. He tried to roll away from the older man. "No." He wasn't hurt. He needed to get to Takato. Isao––

"Keio is ten minutes out," Suoh reported as the car took a sharp right. Their bodies slid together, his shoulder jabbing Asami's sternum. The man grunted.

"I can't talk to the police." Takaba heaved himself up. "They can't help me." Asami's heartbeat thrummed under his fingers. Golden eyes burned. The adrenaline that coursed between them was intoxicating. "I need to get home."

"They'll be looking for you there," Suoh replied. He was ex-military, part of the tactical unit. "That's the last place you need to go."

His heart stopped. "My friends-"

"Suoh, send men to every address Takaba gives you." Asami ordered. "Kirishima, get Reiko-sensei to meet us at the condo."

Condo? Takaba looked at billionaire. There was a steely set to his jaw, and his grip on Takaba's shoulder tightened. He didn't have a condo. He needed to get to his friends! To protect them- "No!" He jerked away from Asami. "Takato-"

"You'll put them in danger!" Asami grabbed him again. "Whoever this is, they will kill you and them! You can't go near them, not now. Not if you don't want them to know just how important they are to you!"

He was putting them in danger. His very presence in their lives left an executioner's axe over their necks. Fuck, he was going to be sick.

"Reiko-sensei will meet us there." Kirishima hung up the phone.

Takaba didn't hear him. He was too busy hurling his fancy dinner all over the limo's posh floor.

***Inverted***

He wished he was a statue. That would have been easier. Stone felt nothing. Did nothing. Just existed as the world swirled on around it. Stone was unmoved by the plights of men.

Takaba wasn't stone. He was warm, flesh and blood. And he had never felt so alone.

Sitting still on Asami's leather couch, he listened to the burning water as the billionaire showered. The doctor checked him first, despite assurances that it was only a cherry tart. The bright red had been frightening against his stark white shirt. As soon as the doctor cleared Takaba, he showered. He offered to let Akihito go first, but the photojournalist declined. Physically, there was nothing wrong with him. Small cuts from shattering window littered his hands, and his throat was sore from his knee, but he was fine. No, what plagued Takaba was visceral but emotional. Moving-breaking his stone façade-would make tonight real. He wasn't ready for that.

He put everyone he loved at risk, doing this stupid stunt. Everything that happened: it was all his fault.

"That's not true."

What? He whirled around. Asami stood between him and the glass windows, once more a barrier between him and any sniper. The handsome man kept speaking. "None of this is your fault."

"You can't possibly know that," Takaba snapped acerbically. The man was surrounded by lavish comfort, by body guards as thick as concrete. He had no idea what Takaba was capable of.

"I do." Asami replied. The journalist froze in place. "Unlike you, I did not forget about our meeting." The implication was heavy.

"So what? You looked up a couple stats on the internet about me. Not much interesting there." That was intentional. Anonymity allowed him to continue his work.

"We both know a paper trail is meaningless." Asami replied. Pulling a decanter off the shelf, he slid Takaba a glass of whiskey. Or some kind of booze. The photographer gave it a sniff, nose curling up in disgust. "You've been too careful."

Takaba froze, glass at his lips. "Careful?"

"Did you really think I did not know?"

He couldn't drink now, not even to soothe his electrocuted nerves. Fuck. "I don't know what you're talking about." Like a well oiled projector, he let emotions slide over his face, assessing Asami's responses in order to play the man. Confusion. Surprise. Mistaken identity. Whatever it took to get him out unscathed. His trusty gut was right again: even Asami had an angle.

"People talk. Criminals talk even louder." The golden eyed man sat beside him. He didn't buy Takaba's act for a moment. "They talk about you, and your dossiers."

His blood froze. The little black book. That's what the business mogul was after. Asami wanted blackmail on all of his competition. Seduction was definitely a new tactic, one that he nearly fell for. If it weren't for his fucking cologne.

"You should turn it over to the authorities."

"Huh?" That was not what he was expecting Asami to say. Maybe offer protection from the criminals. Bribery. Hell, he had Takato's address, as well as Kou's. If he threatened them, the blond would comply.

"It's the best way to protect yourself."

"No," Takaba shook his head. Somehow, Asami Ryuichi would twist this to his benefit. Takaba just had to wait for him incriminate himself. He would have killed to have his microphone on him-another page for his black book. But his memory would have to do. "They're useless." Mostly, anyway. "Besides, everyone will pay for tonight."

Asami quirked an eyebrow. "Not the one behind it all. They're too afraid to betray you."

"Someone has." And that was the deal. His insurance policy would be the rest of the criminal underground, so infuriated that someone caused their secrets to be leaked. Takaba might die, but the wars he started would cripple the gokudos and the cartels.

Victory in death.

"Then you're a fool."

Takaba jumped up, lungs expanding in rage. "You don't get it. You'll never get it. You and your kind," he said the word like a swear. "You're all insulated from the real world. You may know what they're capable of, but you'll never experience it. Never truly understand it."

"I know enough to know that whoever ordered tonight's hit it not in your records." Asami countered. "Everyone in that book of yours, they know exactly what they are capable of. And they fear each other much more than they could ever fear you. They're cowards; they will never gamble with their own lives. Whoever is responsible for tonight is a man with nothing to fear."

"That's impossible." As quickly as the rage came, it vanished. Icy frost chilled his blood. "I don't know anyone else."

Asami stood as well. "He knows you." He lifted the blond's chin.

Takaba's mind raced. A new player in the game. Most of the crooks in the city heard the rumors: they may not know his name, but they all knew Takaba's game. Even if it was someone he had never met, this guy knew about his black books. That must have been what the bastard wanted. "I need to get home." Before anyone else got there first.

"Not yet." Asami tilted Takaba's head to the side. "Your neck is bruised."

"Probably from the dumbwaiter." Takaba brushed the man's hand away, ignoring the incredulity that flashed across his face. "I wasn't asking. I'm going home."

"No." Asami's baritone voice ricocheted through him like bullets, leaving wounds wide enough for fear to seep in beneath his skin. Takaba began to shake as reality set in. His home wasn't safe. Not after the shootout at the Imperial two hours ago.

"Please," he whispered. Fear began to tug at the loose threads in his mind, jerking his thoughts in a million different directions. Takato and Isao. Kou. His home. The Raibum Chronicle. PR-229. Everything he had worked so hard to build, to protect. One wrong move and it would all crumble. "I have to go home." Even if it was just to get his book. It was something he could do to protect them all.

"Tomorrow. My men are going to clear it before you go back."

Because if the hitman could find him at the Imperial Hotel, they probably knew where he lived. The man who rang the buzzer last night flashed through his mind. They had already found him home. He couldn't go back now, not if it jeopardized everyone else who lived there.

"You look exhausted." Asami rose slowly, pulling the blond along with him. "I'll take you to the guest room."

"Really, it's okay." Takaba's protests were feeble as he let Asami drag him along. "You've done enough for me. I can get a hotel." That was code for starting to run down leads on who this third party might be.

Asami read between his lies easily. "You will stay here tonight. Tomorrow, I will take you home." There was no room for finagling, for bargaining. Takaba was too mentally split to argue.

"Thank you." His shoulders sagged in relief. Really, he was so tired. Any bed or bench would do at this point. The fact that he didn't have to worry about some freak climbing in through his fire escape would let him sleep easier.

"Of course, Takaba." Asami pressed another kiss to his knuckles. The photographer smiled wearily, too tired to get worked up over chivalry. Shutting the door, he barely made it to the bed before he collapsed, sound asleep.

***Inverted***

Smoke curled lackadaisically up from his thin cigarette. Behind him, Wan pressed his forehead to the ground, hands reverently above his head as he waited for the katana to swing. And swing it would.

"I thought I made myself clear. I wanted the journalist dead before Asami could find him." His words were soft, almost impossible to hear. Every ear in the room strained to hear him, every neck craned a little closer as the quiet noise pulled them to their deaths.

"Kurotsuchi failed." Wan was quick to point the blame at someone else. He would do whatever it took to save his own life.

Fei Long's lips parted just enough for the smoke to slither between his teeth. It had been such a perfect plan. Kill the man who controlled the criminal elite. Let them turn carnivorously inward, cannibalizing themselves until only bones remained. A dragon could have consumed them with one gulp.

Only Asami Ryuichi could stop him. And now he had the key piece in their chess match. This Takaba Akihito could destroy everything he had worked so hard for.

"Yoh," his command resonated in the still room. "Pack our bags."

Wan looked up from his prostration. "Laobhan?"

No one else could be trusted. That much was clear. The looks on his war councils' faces range out in terror. "I'm going to Tokyo." He would end Takaba Akihito once and for all.

***Inverted***

As soon as he could hear the photographer's snores, Asami Ryuichi was all business. Eyes narrowed, he walked back into his living room where his two best men sat at the ready. Takaba never even heard them enter.

"Report." The terse word was punctuated by a long sip of bourbon––not whiskey.

"We have men posted at all five addresses," Suoh answered. "No movement thus far. If someone does show, we will catch him."

Asami nodded. He looked at Kirishima. "I've started looking into everyone that Takaba has come into contact with. As of now, no one is taking responsibility for the attack on him." Rather the opposite, in fact. The criminal underworld was pointing fingers at each other, threatening revenge before Takaba could. It would be a bloodbath.

"Do we really think he was the objective?" Someone had to ask. Suoh looked at the two men he would die for. "Asami-sama, you cast a very large shadow. Is it possible that they missed?"

"Unlikely," Asami admitted the possibility had crossed his mind as well. "My back was to the window. It would have been a free shot." It was careless of him to be so exposed. But he was foolish, consumed by the flushing photographer and the police's assurances that they were tracking Miyazaki's plot down. He never imagined they would attack his own property.

"Then we need to assume that whoever ordered this also ordered your own execution." Kirishima pushed his glassed up on the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit. "He's upset that Takaba interfered."

"Agreed." Even though Asami did not like the conclusion. It meant that Takaba was not safe until they apprehended the assassin's backer. With Asami's list of enemies, that could take months. "That's all for now." He dismissed the two. "We will pick up the search first thing."

As if the search had ever stopped. They had been back channeling every connection they had, looking for any information on how Kurotsuchi's employer was. Forty-eight hours yielded very little, and Kirishima was not certain another twelve would change things. Whoever he was, he was good.

"Ryuichi," Kirishima looked at his boss with the perceptiveness of men who served in combat together. "This isn't your fault. You did not ask him to intervene."

"That does not change how I feel," the tycoon responded icily. "He saved my life, and I will save his." Hellfire glinted in his molten eyes. Whoever was responsible would pay tenfold. He would make sure of it.

War was coming to Tokyo.

A/N: It's been almost two years. Thank you for patiently waiting for an update. If this is a story you are still interested in, please let me know. I have more planned. And I finally have the time to write again! Love you all, and thank you for your support!