Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ken moves into the busy streets of Tokyo, and finds himself rooming with four super models. They are determined to transform Ken from the plain 'boy-next-door' to the hottie, they are sure is hidden underneath. But who to impress? How about that passionate-looking redhead, who lives in the apartment building next to them?

Author's Notes: Based on the movie, "Head Over Heels" starring Monica Potter and Freddie Prince Jr.

Warnings: Swearing and yaoi; Ran x Ken, and a surprise pairing :)

Head Over Heels:

Chapter Five:

Much to my disappointment, the week passes by incredibly quickly. As promised, Omi took me shopping during the early evening of the Wednesday following a number of grueling hours of instructing a brand new class of students at one of the high schools I frequently teach at. Time had went by in a blur as Omi expertly chose colours and shades, none of which looked particularly different to my untrained eyes, and worked them into my skin with deft hands and experimenting with countless items. It seemed an eternity went by before the young model finally wiped the makeup off my face with a cloth soaked with what must be some sort of makeup-removal liquid. He assured me later that the entire adventure only took up a few hours of my time and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I could have spent those few hours doing some weight training at the gym or playing soccer with the local kids in the park.

I received a call on my cell phone from Yuriko sometime during the week who evidently just wanted to see how I was coping with my new home and flatmates. I haven't seen her since the day I moved out of her place and I felt a surge of guilt at the thought. We spent a good number of hours talking on the phone about nothing in particular and I ended up mentioning, albeit reluctantly, my predicament with the neighbouring redhead. As per usual, Yuriko was very supportive and gave me the advice I knew I wasn't going to ever hear from my promiscuous roommates.

"What I can't understand," Yuriko was saying carefully, munching on something loudly on the other end of the line. "Is why you failed to mention to me that you've been living with a bunch of models for the past week and a half. I mean, we're best friends! Isn't sharing an integral part of our friendship?"

Rolling my eyes but very much accustomed to this sort of behaviour, I said, "Yuriko, all four of them are most likely already preoccupied with a lineup of men and women ready to shower them with expensive gifts and fine dining. Even if they were your type, they wouldn't spare people like us a second glance. It's a whole other world they're living in."

"Oh, I'm not looking for anything more than just eye-candy, Ken. I've long since concluded that men are good-for-nothing assholes who want nothing more than to get into your pants -- and I'm sure you can relate, dear." I decided not to mention that my best friend just grouped me along with these "good-for-nothing assholes". "But these model friends of yours do seem to like you enough to help you through this whole Fujisaki fiasco."

"Well," I began to explain, also a little confused at their antics and wondering in my head if it was merely boredom that got them going. "I suppose it's 'cause I'm their roommate and that makes me the exception. They wouldn't have given me a second glance otherwise."

"Or perhaps it's your boyish charms at work," Yuriko retorted, giggling insanely like a lunatic school girl. "Seriously, you better work those charms when you go to that party this weekend. The next time I call you, I wanna hear something good come out of this."

And with that, she ended the call abruptly, leaving me confused and slightly irritated on the other end.

Friday suddenly creeps up behind me and I face it with nerves. Presently, Yoji and Schuldich are spending the better part of the evening teaching me how to walk like a model on the catwalk, swinging their bodies here and jutting their hips there. I reluctantly follow their steps and movements, mimicking the strut of their hips unsuccessfully and concluding quickly that the catwalk must be reserved for the overactive ego. All this time, Nagi sits on the stool by the kitchen counter, looking on in silent amusement and sending me encouraging words every now and then. It isn't long before I collapse onto the cream pleather of the couch, whining in frustration and anger at the situation and at myself.

"Not bad, KenKen," Yoji says, seating himself on the couch beside me. "You're getting better."

"You mean, I look less like an idiot than before," I grumble, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on the T.V., surfing through the channels thoughtlessly.

Omi returns home at that moment and a greeting barely reaches my mouth before I am hoisted from the sanctuary of the couch and dragged unceremoniously down the hall. Schuldich and Yoji follow at a much more sedate pace and Nagi joins us in Schuldich's bedroom a mere moment later while Omi rifles through the hundreds of pieces of expensive clothing in Schuldich's walk-in closet. The rest of my evening is spent trying on different ensembles of formal evening wear and feeling extremely out of place as the boys force me into clothing piece after clothing piece, none of which suit my personal style or taste. I conclude inwardly that I probably won't have a chance at showing Fujisaki my so-called "boyish charms", as I forcefully try to fit my muscular and bulky frame into another one of Schuldich's skin-tight long-sleeved shirts.

Saturday night finally comes along and my forehead and neck are sweating profusely. Omi and Nagi ended up picking out an ensemble of neutral shades for me: an elegant, slim-fitted, pinstriped top untucked beneath a casual, dark gray waistcoat and a pair of tight, black, low-rise trousers. Reluctantly, I loosely knot a black tie around my neck, allowing it to hang just slightly off my neck casually the way Yoji had insisted looks perfectly sensual. Looking myself up and down in Schuldich's full-length mirror, I decide quickly that it would probably be for the best if Yuriko did not see a photo of my getup tonight and made a note in my head to not encourage any picture-taking amongst my overly zealous model friends.

Cautiously, I step out of Schuldich's bedroom and slowly walk down the hall, my vegan leather shoes clicking softly on the hardwood flooring.

"You look fantastic, Ken," Omi exclaims, running up towards me eagerly. His heavily made up eyes peer into mine and he frowns slightly, licking a finger and rubbing it into my right eyelid where my makeup must have smudged slightly. Then he steps back and admires his handywork, "Perfect! You're gonna knock Fujisaki's socks off tonight!"

I groan. "I still can't believe I let you guys talk me into doing this."

"I bet it was more the prospect of seeing Fujisaki than our talking that really convinced you into going," Yoji says, grinning mischievously from his reclining position on one of the single-seater sofas.

Ignoring his comment, I walk towards the large windows, feigning an interest in the sea of cars situated below us and failing miserably if the looks I'm receiving from Yoji is any indication. My eyes slowly travel up the length of the other building and they land hungrily on Fujisaki as he manoeuvers around his flat at a quick pace, shouting orders to a group of delivery men carrying platters upon platters of what must be expensive finger foods. His eyes are narrowed and his posture is stiff and forbearing; he looks like a man very much in control of himself and the situation. The complete opposite of me, I think forlornly.

"Nagi, Schuldich," Yoji calls, impatience evident in his tone. "You guys ready yet?"

"Almost," a soft, lilted voice calls back from within the confines of one of the bedrooms down the hallway.

"Is Schuldich still in the washroom," I wonder incredulously, dragging my eyes away from the busy fashion executive, who is already welcoming invitees into his beautifully decorated apartment. I collapse onto the couch adjacent to Yoji.

"Hair," Yoji says simply, gesturing to his own like that explained everything. "You're looking good today."

"Thanks," I mumble, fidgeting with the left cuff of my mid-length sleeve.

"Stop that," Nagi orders primly, suddenly walking up behind me and slapping my nervous fingers away.

"So are we all ready yet," Schuldich asks, sauntering into the room expectantly, swishing his beautiful long mane this way and that.

Omi rolls his eyes and jumps off the stool he was sitting on by the kitchen counter. "About time, Schu. Let's go!"

The beat of the music resounds loudly throughout Fujisaki's apartment, leaking through the door and down the vast hallway. As a servant steps aside to allow the five of us into the room, Schuldich and Yoji immediately make their way towards a group of middle-aged women holding glasses of champagne in their delicate hands.

"Stop wringing your hands," Nagi whispers to me sharply before making his way into a throng of people standing close to the kitchen counter where a hired barman works deligently behind it, mixing colourful drinks at guests' requests.

Omi pats me on the back encouragingly and nods towards the middle of the room where Fujisaki is making small talk with a small crowd of elderly men in confining suits, young and willful women draped on their arms and listening to their conversation, half-heartedly. Gathering myself, I look around the room discretely, measuring myself up to the other guests in the room and deciding I don't look half as bad as I thought. I consider strutting through the crowd as Yoji instructed but decide against it when I see other men doing so in an attempt to impress the wealthy ladies, young and old, and failing miserably.

Instead, I slowly wander through the crowd, accepting a martini from a passing server, and indirectly make my way towards the redhead who is busy jumping from one crowd to the next, evidently attempting to make fun conversation with just about everybody within the enclosed space. For about a quarter of an hour, I attempt to follow his general direction in hopes that he might notice and even recognize me. An idea of how our conversation could play out runs through my head and I'm feeling less and less sure of myself as I study the professionalism of all the wealthy people in the room.

"Why, I don't believe I've seen you anywhere before," a nasal voice suddenly pipes up from behind me. Turning around, I see a portly man with alcohol-induced rosy cheeks, his eyes squinting as he scruntinizes me from behind his small gold-framed glasses. "Are you new to the industry, my boy? Which agency are you signed under?"

"Er," I respond intelligently, unconciously rubbing the back of my neck in a very un-model-like way. "Lazaris," I finally say, after wracking my brain for the agency I vaguely remember Omi mentioning during one of his ramblings.

"Lazaris," he repeats, his eyes widening in surprise. "I suppose you know Yamamoto then? I believe he's currently their top agent --"

"I'm sorry, sir," I say hastily, downing my martini in one go and pointing in a random direction. "I think someone's calling me over there. It was nice to meet you... sir!" Bowing hastily, I manoeuver around the crowd, ignoring the portly man's frown at being disregarded so readily.

I make my way towards the kitchen counter where the barman is currently conversing happily with a bored-looking Nagi. I put my empty glass down on the expensive stone counter top before turning back towards the party. Much to my amusement, Nagi doesn't seem to be aware of the gaggle of onlookers, male and female, hidden in the shadows and sending hungry looks in his direction. Yoji does, however, and I watch in growing delight as he saunters over to the kitchen-turned-bar casually to place a large hand on Nagi's shoulder in a familiar way. I laugh to myself silently but out of the corner of my eye, I notice another elderly man sending an inquiring look my way and I immediately cough into my hand discretely before turning away from him.

Since the first interrogation incident, I notice more men regarding me with the same questioning looks, no doubt trying to figure out where I fit into the fashion spectrum. I make a point to avoid these men and their curious ogling while keeping Fujisaki within my line of sight. I do receive more appreciative and alluring looks from women as they look me up and down, automatically matching each article of clothing to famous labels, mentally calculating the total cost of the night's ensemble, then nodding slightly to themselves in apparent approval. Some of these women attempt to lure me into their inane, rich-people conversations but I merely nod my head in apology, efficiently skirting a situation that I feel should be best avoided.

After a long moment of simple observation, I realize that each group of elegantly dressed partygoers is graced with the presence of a tall model or two, as my roommates assured me the week before. But I notice, to my utter disappointment, Fujisaki making googly eyes at each of these models, suggestively kissing the hands of one or sensually brushing his lips across the cheek of another and whispering undoubtedly lewd comments into women's ears while they giggle and blush in delight. At one point in the evening, I catch one of Fujisaki's pale hands lightly groping the bottom of a very beautiful and effeminate male model who looks no older than 21 years. A voice in the back of my head encourages me to join one of these crowds of fashion gurus to await my turn but I quash the thought immediately.

Feeling a little disgusted at the display and deciding that the situation is not worth the time I initially believed it deserved, my eyes search the apartment for one of my roommates, finally landing on Schuldich who is currently standing in the middle of a crowd of starry-eyed admirers. Bowing my head slightly, I walk towards him.

"Schuldich," I say quietly. He turns around and looks at me expectantly. "I'm going home."

"Why," he demands, narrowing his blue eyes. Behind him, men and women are looking at me reprovingly for interrupting what must have been a very important conversation about Schuldich's ethereal beauty.

I shrug, looking away from the others to give my roommate my full attention. "He... I think I was wrong about him. I'm gonna call it a night."

Schuldich studies me for another moment, before shrugging and bidding me a goodnight. I turn away to stride towards the entrance, intent on escaping the stuffiness of the room.

Out in the hallway, I'm making my way towards the elevators when I see a gaggle of semi-drunk middle-aged ladies, making obnoxious noises and laughing hysterically while waiting for the lift. I make a beeline for the stairwell instead, intent on getting home as soon as possible. Taking my first steps onto the concrete floor of the stairwell, I vaguely notice a man sitting to the right on the steps, no doubt trying to avoid the hubbub of Fujisaki's party. Paying him no heed, I briskly walk down the steps of the staircase until a deep and utterly recognizable voice calls out to me.

"Ken," the voice asks, confusion evident in his tone. I spin around, nearly losing my footing on one of the steps and grabbing onto the handrail to steady myself. I thank the gods that I was able to keep myself from falling flat on my face in front of the now infamous Fujisaki Aya.

"F-Fujsaki Aya," I stammer, in confusion and nervousness. I can hear my heart pounding against my ribcage.

"Aya is fine," he responds blandly, his eyes sparkling in quiet amusement. He looks me up and down, scrutinizing my getup and I conclude quickly that he probably has no interest in the total cost of my ensemble. "Were you at my party? I didn't see you."

That's great, I think to myself in disappointment. I just spent the entire evening following you around like a lost puppy and you don't even notice me.

"Er yeah, I was," I respond, tilting my head down in embarrassment and trying not to allow the disappointment in my voice heard. "But I'm kind of tired so I decided to just call it a night."

He regards me with another scrutinizing look. "So," he begins slowly, gesturing to my -- or my roommates' -- choice of attire. "You're a model, then?"

"Er," I say, my second most intelligent response of the evening. "Yeah, I'm a model."

He narrows his eyes at me in suspicion. "What are you really, Ken," he asks, quietly, after what seems like an eternity.

My shoulders sag in defeat and I grip the handrail, a hint of a nervous smile on my lips. "My... my roommates are the ones who are models and they...," I trail off, gesturing to the expensive clothes I'm adorning. "They decided to have some fun and play dress up with me. I'm actually an athletics instructor for the high schools and middle schools in the area."

Snorting quietly he crosses his arms in front of him and rests them on his knees. "What an adventure that must be. I have to work with them everyday but to live with models," he says, leaving the rest of his statement unsaid while shaking his head in exasperation.

Feeling a little defensive, I retort, "They're not that bad. I mean, they have good intentions... usually."

Aya studies me curiously, his beautiful amethyst gaze boring into me with an intensity that is leaving my entire body warm. To my utter surprise, he uncrosses one of his pale hands to lightly pat the ground next to him. "Care to stay and have a chat with me, Ken?"

It must have only been a half hour at the most but it feels like a good few hours have flown by before Aya and I are interrupted by a panicking voice demanding Aya's attention from the entrance of the stairwell. A tall man with dark hair and glasses, wearing a cream-coloured armani suit, is speaking brusquely with the slightly shorter redhead, a hint of urgency in his tone. I watch curiously as Aya's shoulder sag a little before sending the other man away in annoyance.

Finally, Aya turns to me and I regard him with an expectant look, standing up slowly and trying to hide my disappointment. I know it's inevitable that the night has to end at some point and Aya has a busy role tonight, playing the part of host as well as the up and coming fashion executive of the century.

"Sorry," Aya beings quietly, giving me a genuinely apologetic look. "I thought my ass-kissing was pretty much done for the evening but as it turns out, I've still got one more to deal with."

I raise my eyebrows in slight amusement. "Judging by your reaction, this must be quite the ass you're gonna be kissing."

"The worst," he says, nodding in confirmation. He regards me with another intense look as if preparing to say more but then he nods abruptly, bidding me farewell.

"See you later, Aya," I mumble in disappointment, the smile disappearing from my lips as I turn around to make my way down the stairs.

"Wait," his voice interrupts me once again and I raise my eyes hopefully to meet his. "Are... are you busy next Friday night?"

My heart is pounding loudly and I desperately hope that Aya can't hear it. "I think so." Inwardly, I think to myself that I any plans I may have made just flew out the window, priorities be damned.

"Would you like to go out for...," he trails off and I realize elatedly that Fujisaki Aya, renowned fashion guru and currently one of the hottest young men in the industry, is actually nervous.

"For a date," I prompt, inquiringly, a hint of a smile on my lips.

"Yeah," he confirms, his lips twitching in a hesitant smile in response. "How about a date next Friday?"

Trying to contain my excitement, I reply slowly, "Sure, that would be great." He studies me for another mere moment, his eyes glimmering with what I suspect is anticipation, before nodding abruptly and turning around to exit the stairwell. I realized early on that night that Aya is a man of very few words and so am not perturbed by his abruptness that may come off as rude to others. Inwardly, I think to myself in satisfaction that the fashion executive he presents to his guests is actually wholly different from the real Fujisaki Aya who I was lucky enough to acquaint myself with tonight.

With those thoughts in mind, I finally take the steps that lead me down the staircase and out into the night air.

"How romantic," a voice exclaims, following the loud slamming of the front door and hurried footsteps running across the hardwood floor towards the living area. I look up from the T.V. as Schuldich lands himself bodily onto the springy comfort of the couch. Yoji comes up from behind me and ruffles my hair good-naturedly.

"So tell us how ingenious we are, KenKen. I've been waiting all night," the brunet says, grinning at me cheerfully. Nagi saunters in quietly behind him, seating himself on the single-seater sofa to my left and regarding me with a knowing and somewhat mischievous smile.

"Tell us what happened, Ken," Omi cries excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot on the expensive rug. "Tell us, tell us!"

Grinning from ear to ear, I begin to recount the details of the evening and the time I spent with Aya until Schuldich interrupts me to my utter annoyance.

"That's nice and everything but what did you guys talk about," he demands, slapping me on the knee impatiently.

I frown a little, trying to remember our exact conversation. "Er, not much, I guess. I told him a bit about me and he talked about his work. It turns out he absolutely hated the party," I explain, laughing a little to myself and shaking my head at my previous disappointment and disgust.

"That's it," Yoji asks, raising his eyebrows and resting his right arm on my shoulders. "That's all you talked about?"

"Well, what else would we talk about," I respond, irate. "I've no interest in politics or literature and he could probably care less about sports. And I would really much rather hear more about --"

"No Ken," Schuldich interrupts once more, slicing his hand through the air in an abrupt cutting motion in front of me. "We mean other things like... would he be top or bottom? Do you know if he wears boxers or briefs?"

"Stop it, Schu," Omi exclaims, his cheeks reddening at the thought. "Ken's right, you guys do have a one-track mind!"

"I think he wears briefs," Yoji answers Schuldich, his head tilted to the side in contemplation while ignoring Omi's banter. "Better to practice his katana-wielding skills with, don't you think?"

"Well, you're not gonna find out anytime soon," I exclaim in utter horror, pushing Yoji's arm away in disgust and sticking my tongue out at the disappointed expression on his face. "But he did ask me out on a date," I state triumphantly to a sudden eruption of cheers and praise.

The four of us spend the rest of the evening watching T.V. inattentively and chatting about the guests we met at the party and what we -- or Schuldich -- thought about the new Victoria Secret model and her gangly and waif-like appearance and drunken demeanor. However, the cheerful conversation takes a turn for the worst when I can't help but notice Nagi glaring disapprovingly in the direction of Aya's apartment.

"What's wrong, Nagi," I ask curiously, getting up from the comfort of the couch and wandering over to see what has the younger boy so upset.

"Nothing's wrong," he responds, glancing at me quickly and stepping towards me to block my path. "It was just something I saw outside."

I raise my eyebrows at his attempt to thwart my attentions. "You were looking at Aya. What happened?" Curiosity getting the better of me, I sidestep my way to the large windows to peer through it, my eyes landing on the familiar sight of Aya's now empty apartment. Empty save for two lone figures standing by the window, looking out into the night serenely and enjoying their glasses of champagne in each other's company. I could interpret the scene as very innocent, as two good friends having a final drink before taking their separate ways, but the unfamiliar and warm sparkle in Aya's gaze has me thinking twice.

In fascination and horror, my eyes follow the path of Aya's muscled arm as he brushes a lock of hair away from his companion's pale complexion, her cheeks blushing hotly from either the champagne or the intense look from the man in front of her. They're standing closer together than before, closer than I have ever been with him, and I force myself to tear my eyes away from the sight.

"She could be his sister," Omi suggests, tentatively, and I realize with a start that the others have gathered behind me to stare at the scene.

"Ken, this is nothing," Schuldich insists adamantly when he sees the expression on my face. "I'm sure it's nothing. Aya's gay remember? Everyone knows that."

"Or maybe he's not," Yoji speaks up, a hint of anger in his tone, and everyone turns their head back towards the apartment.

Aya is leaning over the young girl with his lips pressed against hers. His now empty glass is sitting on the window sill, placed there presumably to free his hands which are now wrapped around her tiny waist in a tight grip as they kiss sweetly.

Suddenly, a large hand covers my eyes and another one is placed on my shoulder, pushing me gently away from the window.

"Forget it, KenKen," Yoji murmurs sadly. I can see the disappointment in his eyes as well. "A guy like that isn't worth your time or your tears."

I nod mutely, still unsure of what to say and realizing that the tears will come eventually that night. Somewhere in the back of my mind, an unwelcome image of myself crying into Yuriko's comforter while holding an open tub of Haagen-Dazs and surrounded by piles of wadded up tissues, pops into my head. I suppose it's about time I pay my best friend a visit anyway.

My roommates are preparing themselves a light snack in the kitchen before turning in for a good night's rest. I'm not looking forward to sleeping in my small bed by myself with the image of Aya and his mystery girl making out in the middle of his apartment resounding through my head. But I can't bring myself to join the others as they continue their inane chatter, making jokes here and there in an attempt to lighten the situation.

Reluctantly, I turn back towards the window, thinking of pulling the curtains together to hide the image of a two-timing Fujisaki Aya from my eyes. Out of habit, my eyes flick towards the other apartment and I notice that they seemed to have done the same. Only their silhouettes are visible through Aya's -- I mean, Fujisaki's -- expensive curtains but I can still make out their figures separated from their previous embrace. Sighing in disappointment and readying myself for another drowning of sorrows, I reach for our own curtains but stop abruptly at a peculiar sight. The young girl is standing off to the side of the closed curtains, looking out towards the scene of the city through the window. The curtains reveal the silhouetted form of what must be Aya -- Fujisaki -- gripping a long object in his hand and lurking suspiciously behind her as one with ill-intentions would lurk behind an unsuspecting prey.

Suddenly, Aya's form raises the object -- a baseball bat! -- high into the air, taking a long and violent swing at the unguarded victim who is still sipping her champagne.

"No!" I cry, startling my four roommates from their conversation. I hear pounding footsteps behind me as they rush to see what's wrong.

The young girl notices too late what is behind her and I can only watch in silent horror as her body collapses sideways to the ground, behind the curtain and out of sight. Desperately, I rush to the next window on the left, then the next, in an attempt to get a better view of the scene.

"Ken, what happened," Omi cries hysterically, worry evident in his tone. "Why did you scream like that?"

"I... I just...," I can barely form a coherent sentence, much less explain the exact details of what I saw. I can vaguely make out the silhouette of Aya crouching down and doing something. If my hunches are correct, he must be dragging the prone figure of his victim across the floor.

"Ken," Yoji demands, firmly, appearing right behind me. "What the hell just happened? What did you see?"

"I'm... I'm not sure, Yoji," I respond, my breath coming out in shorts gasps. "I... I thought I saw... but there's no way I could have seen... Aya would never..."

Abruptly, a pair of hands grip my shoulders, spinning me around to face a pair of brilliant blue eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation. "Ken," Schuldich says, shaking my shoulders momentarily to make sure he has my attention. "What did you see?"

But I'm still shaking my head in confusion at him, unwilling to believe in what I just saw. "Sch-Schu, I think I just...," I gulp down the lump in my throat and I try again. "I think I just saw Aya kill someone."

"What?"

"No, there's no way --"

"Ken, it's probably your imagination."

"I think you're tired, Ken," Schuldich states with finality, his eyes boring into me, but I shake my head furiously in response.

"No guys," I say, panic rising in my voice. "I really saw something... something happen in that apartment! I mean, it was kind of hard to make out with that damn curtain in the way but --"

I cut myself off abruptly at the sceptical looks on the others' faces. I'm beginning to wonder myself if what I just saw was my mind playing tricks on me. I shrug off Schuldich's tight grip and turn back towards the other apartment. To my surprise, the curtains have been pushed aside to reveal an empty and clean apartment with no other than Fujisaki Aya himself standing by the large windows, with his left hand hanging in his pocket casually while sipping his champagne once more.

"Sh-she's gone," I exclaim in surprise. "Y-you guys saw her too! One minute she was there and the next, she's... she's..."

"Maybe she just went home," Omi suggests quietly, biting his nails nervously, and looking very unsure of himself as he studies the scene suspiciously. The others seem reluctant to so quickly believe in my brash accusations as well but they are regarding Aya with the same suspicious looks.

"I find that a little hard to believe," I reply and Yoji nods his head affirmatively but still with reluctance. "There's no other way to explain it. No, I'm sure of what I saw."

In the neighbouring building, Fujisaki Aya continues to sip his glass of champagne by himself in his now empty living room. Anyone who cares to notice would see the tenseness of his shoulders, the firm grip of his fingers on the delicate glass, and the grim set to his lips as he looks out towards the city through the safety of his window.

Unbeknownst to him, another pair of chocolate-coloured eyes are staring down at him in growing horror and unwanted fascination.

...To Be Continued.

Author's Notes:

I hope everyone enjoyed this looong chapter. I'll try my best to dish out the next one which is already in the works but is turning out much slower than these last two. Positive comments are nice but constructive criticism is always welcome too; I think I may have an addiction to run-on sentences and a second opinion can help me confirm that. Thanks again for your kind comments and encouraging words! Just knowing that people are reading this is keeping me going. ...and I will try to write this story to the end after my French linguistics exam tomorrow.