(A/N: As I've said before, my school's hectic schedule gets in the way of my writing, but it's over now so I apologize for the long wait. I'm also trying to write an original novel, so that factors into my time for this story as well. I admit that I've lost some interest, but I always plan to finish what I start. Thank you guys for all the support as the tale continues!)

CHAPTER III

"Good evening, Mr. Karpusi," Kiku greeted him, one hand wrapped around his Frappucino and chocolate bar, the other gripping his bags of coffee. He stood there uneasily, waiting for some sort of invitation to join the CEO.

Taking another swig of coffee, Heracles answered, "You too." He gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Sit."

Kiku complied and placed his purchases on the table, giving him credit for being short and to the point. "I see you are working. Are you sure I will not distract you?"

"It's nothing I can't do later…" he replied, shutting down his laptop so he could focus his full attention on the graphic designer. "What brings you here?"

"Oh, I am just stocking up on coffee. I have an important design to finish. You saw the very rough work today."

"Right…those drawings of the cherry blossom tree…"

"Yes, those," Kiku confirmed, nervously swiping his black bangs aside. "…Um, I know I apologized before, but I really am sorry for falling asleep at work."

Heracles shrugged his broad shoulders and gulped down the rest of his coffee, remarking, "I believe told you this before but…there's no point in working if you can't concentrate on what you're doing. The results are never good. You were tired, needed a little nap…There's nothing wrong with that."

Somewhat impressed with his stance, Kiku simply replied, "I agree."

"That's good…"

" …Um, so what brings you here?"

"Free Wi-Fi…and coffee…"

"…I see."

An awkward pause surfaced between the two, leaving Kiku to sip his drink in an attempt to fill the silence. Eyeing the Java Chip Frappucino in the man's hands, Heracles asked, "Is that good? I've never had one…"

The Japanese man looked down at the beverage, studying the chocolate trails around the whipped cream mountain. "It is. I like the presentation even more than the taste, though."

"…What do you mean?"
Kiku relaxed against the seat back, explaining, "Before my family moved here, I lived in Japan. I was ten years old, but I suppose that is why I remember the food the most. My mother would wake up early and make my bento every morning. A bento is a lunch box, but it is very different from the ones here. You take the lid off and the food is all grouped into sectioned out parts of the box. She would arrange and make the food so that it looked like cute animals. I remember she would turn the sausages into little octopuses."

Smiling in nostalgia, Kiku continued, "When it came to dessert, though, the food would look cute even if it did not have a face on it. Just the way that she made it, so meticulously. When I took a trip back to Japan about a year ago, I found so many cafés with cute food and it reminded me of my bento. One of them had ice cream, cake, and other desserts with these little candy cats on them."

Immediately, Heracles' olive green eyes lit up with interest and he leaned across the table, inadvertently invading the graphic designer's personal bubble. Kiku leaned back in his chair, trying to put some distance between them, as he found Mr. Karpusi's sudden interest a bit unnerving. He bit his lip and wondered what he possibly could have said that piqued the man's curiosity.

"…Cats?" Heracles uttered like a captivated child, his gaze unwavering with enthusiasm.

Imagining an anime-style sweat drop gliding down his hair, Kiku stuttered, "Y-Yes, cats…made of candy…specifically, colored chocolate."

"Cats…" Heracles repeated, seemingly in love with the idea.

A little flustered, the Japanese man stated, "Um, I could probably recreate one of the treats i-if you want. Hold on."

Popping off the dome-like lid of his Frappucino, Kiku stuck the straw in his mouth and opened the gourmet chocolate bar. He broke off three pieces and using the rim of the cup, shaved them into a triangular shape. After sticking two on opposite sides of the whipped cream and one in the middle below them, he grabbed three coffee sticks from the extras bar and inserted them into the white froth to emulate whiskers. Shaping two pieces of chocolate like spheres, he placed them in the appropriate places for eyes and turned the cup around for the Greek CEO to see. "See, it looks like a cat," Kiku told him, displaying his makeshift creation on the table.

Heracles' eyes seemed to grow brighter, almost sparkling with delight as he stared at the beverage's feline camouflage, his lips caught in a silent awe.

Plus ten heart points.

Kiku nearly slapped himself, still thinking within the constraints of a dating sim game. It was hard not to considering the nearly moe look that had come over Mr. Karpusi's face.

Without any warning, Heracles rose up from the table and joined the line at the order counter, leaving the graphic designer completely dumbfounded. He watched as the barista flirted with Mr. Karpusi, a bit pleased by how ignorant he was of her come-ons, simply letting her swipe his gold card. As the man waited by the pick-up counter, Kiku noticed how well his clothes fell over his strong build. Sure, he was not muscular like a body-builder, but he definitely had a masculine form. Kiku found himself studying the CEO's anatomy - the chiseled but placid facial features, the relaxed posture of his torso against the wall, the effortless folds of fabric around his crotch…

A swift blush spread over his cheeks and Kiku shook his head back and forth in an attempt to clear his mind. He had sworn - sworn on the life of Hayao Miyazaki - that he would save those kinds of ideas for his BL games. It was embarrassing that they even crossed the stream of thought flowing through his head. Despite the prude he liked to portray himself as, locked away in the deep recesses of his apartment, he was a strong closet pervert.

Java Chip Frappucino in hand, Heracles returned to table, asking, "Could you…do the same for mine?"

"Ah…sure," Kiku answered as he pulled himself from his thoughts, carefully turning the beverage into another feline imitation. Adding on the finishing touches, he passed it back to the CEO, who looked unbridled with delight. "There you go."

"Thank you…so much," Heracles told him, his brazen smile starting to tickle Kiku's heart rate.

"I-It is nothing," Kiku replied, a small grin flickered onto his lips despite the swelling in his lungs. A silent minute passed as he watched Mr. Karpusi continue to stare at his Frappucino, feeling his anxiety level starting to rise. "…Is something wrong with it?"

Heracles shook his head, explaining, "…It looks so cute…that I don't want to ruin it."

Relieved that he had not done anything wrong, the Japanese man let out a sigh. "Oh. Okay. Ah, I…I really have to get to work on that design, so…"

Nodding, Heracles gave him a wave of his hand. "By all means...leave, if you must." Eyes lidded in a suggestive fashion, he added, "I hope we…run into each other again."

Unable to repress the blush on his face, Kiku quickly stammered out, "S-Same," as he gathered up his purchases and left. Before walking away from the door, he glanced at the Starbucks' window and gasped, instantly turning back around, his face growing hot. His stride grew in pace with his flustered heartbeat as he tried to calm down, sure that Mr. Karpusi was still gazing at him from that window, his expression so…

(Sexy).

For once, Kiku understood how Mr. Jones felt when Matthew gave him a rousing look. He is doing it on purpose, Kiku thought as he walked faster. He has to be.

He was oh so right.

. . .

"Almost there," Kiku encouraged himself, finishing the painstaking details on his intricate design, the clock boasting the time - 2:29 in the morning. After his encounter with Mr. Karpusi in the Starbucks, he had returned home and immediately gotten down to business. Struggling to come up with a strong design before time ran out, he had finally found the Holy Grail: a large coconut half perched on top of a lush and tropical cliff, the coconut water pouring out like a mighty waterfall.

Rapt with the excitement of reaching the finish line, Kiku pushed onward, downing his coffee with a fierce determination. He touched up the image on Photoshop: smoothing, sharpening, blending, erasing, redrawing, changing text size or color, fixing value - anything to create a flawless design. As time-consuming as it was, he had to thoroughly scrutinize his work for any problems, no matter how small. Within the constraints of a computer screen, a small speck or color out of place was not fatal, but should the image be blown up and slapped on a billboard, what was once a tiny mistake would become a salient error.

After scanning the zoomed-in picture multiple times for the slightest issue, his dark eyes hoping to find nothing short of perfection, Kiku let out his breath, resting against the back of his chair. It was done. At last, it was done.

Kiku pressed the save button for the final time, remaining calm when the screen stopped reacting. In his younger days, he would have nearly throttled his monitor in a frenzied panic, for he would have last saved his work thirty minutes before. He had made a habit of saving as often as possible, so should he need to reboot his computer, the design would still be there, one misplaced dot from completion.

Thankfully, Photoshop came back to life and the image was saved. Already logged into his email - in the middle of composing a message to Mr. Jones, no less - he attached the product design and sent it. Kiku emailed the picture to himself and printed out two copies of his work, just in case.

The graphic designer stretched his arms above his head before shutting down his computer and curling up in bed. Sinking into the welcome depression of his mattress, Kiku gave one glance to the clock: 2:53. He sighed, clutching his pillow, half his face buried into the supple cotton. Everything was so soft and comfortable and…

Then Mr. Karpusi's bedroom eyes came back into his mind.

He groaned, pulling the pillow on top of his head to repress the memory, but it refused to leave now that his mind was vulnerable to thoughts other than work. The man's green eyes focused only on him, half-closed with that seductively sleep-deprived look, fingers teasing the straw of his Frappucino…

He gasped as his cock tingled, surprised no matter how many times it had happened in his life. Embarrassed as always but unbearably pent up, Kiku took off his clothes and began to stroke himself, letting out delightful whimpers. Inside his mind, Mr. Karpusi was staring into his brown irises, large hand wrapped firmly around the Japanese man's member, moving up and down, and squeezing, oh, squeezing.

"Ah, ah," he sighed, eyes closed in bliss as the sensation intensified inside of him. Every touch made him tremble, sweat beading on his sensitive flesh. The thought of Mr. Karpusi's hands fondling his erection turned him on even more, imagining the man pressing up against his backside.

His shaking fingers grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, Kiku let it caress the tip of his now throbbing hard-on. The feverish feeling spread out from his groin like the heated shivers of an earthquake, and he moaned, a strong twitch in his cock indicating what was to come.

More. Please, oh God, more.

The pleasure grew and he rubbed himself faster, his breath quickening as precum slowly dribbled out of the tip. Another twitch brought him closer to his orgasm, the intensity rising up the skin of his member. His legs spreading farther apart as he stroked rapidly, Kiku felt the pleasure climb up, up, up until it finally reached the peak and burst like a firecracker.

"OH!" he cried, the intense contractions engulfing his cock causing his limbs to lock in place. "Oh, oh, oh! Oh my God, oh! Oh, oh, AH!"

Cum flooded out of his cock into the tissue, his toes curled and thighs shivering. As the remaining semen trickled out, the contractions started to taper off, fading into a dull sensitivity. His heart rate returning to normal, Kiku wiped away the cum from his tip and tossed the tissue in the trash. Exhausted but satisfied, he collapsed onto the sheets, face flushed and body slick with sweat. It had been a long time since he had masturbated to anyone outside of his BL games.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the familiar glow of the clock. Turning to the timepiece, he pictured it laughing, ridiculing him with its tentative numbers, the red blocks changing from 2:57 to 2:58. That was fast, it seemed to say.

"You were made in my country, I hope you know," he scolded it. "You do not have the right to mock me like this."

The clock seemed to disagree.

Out of curiosity, Kiku reluctantly left his bed and picked it, looking on the underside.

It was made in South Korea.

. . .

"Marketing!" Alfred declared as the monthly department meeting began, underlining the word on the whiteboard for emphasis. "What is it?"

Kiku knew the answer, yet decided not to speak up, partly because he hated having everyone's attention on him, and partly due to his lack of sleep. With only a few hours of rest under his belt, it was hard enough to pay attention, despite the copious amount of coffee running through his system. Knowing he had completed his design only further tempted him to fall into a deep sleep, but the Japanese man refused to give in.

"It's how you trick people into buying your stuff," Gilbert joked with a smirk, eyes wandering to the manager's feet. "Just like how someone duped you into buying those Shape-Ups."

Self-consciously tucking an ankle behind another, Alfred mumbled, "They were on sale."

"Uh-huh. Sure, because that was the only reason you bought them."

Repressing the murderous rush rising in him, Alfred continued, "Anyway, you're wrong, Weillschmidt. Marketing is everything it takes to get your product to the customer. Coming up with an appealing product, creating it, advertising it, distributing it, selling it, improving it - that is marketing."

"Yeah, so you're basically tricking them into buying your stuff," Gilbert reiterated, purposely trying to piss off his boss.

"Gil, stop…" Matthew spoke softly, timidly grabbing his friend's shoulder.

Sensing his touch, Gilbert reluctantly backed down. "Sorry, boss. Continue."

Alfred's smile twitched for a mere second as he twirled a marker between his fingers, irritated that Matthew was so close to the albino. "Thank you. Now, as we all know, marketing is much more complicated than that. Of course, you have to first get an idea, but without funds and the necessary materials, that idea isn't going anywhere."

"Much like that little layer of fat on your stomach," Gilbert hissed under his breath.

"…Weillschmidt, you wouldn't mind shutting up for the rest of the meeting, would you? Of course not! After all, you like that paycheck coming in every month, right?"

"…Point taken."

"Good. Now, obviously, you have to advertise, but what's also important is knowing where to advertise. It's all about the target market: you're not going to promote a box of Trojan condoms on a kids' channel. Likewise, you're not going to market Yu-Gi-Oh cards on the Wedding Channel.

"Once you've found the right channels, radio stations, magazines, or wherever else you're hoping to promote your product, you have to create ad campaigns that appeal to your target market. The customer profile of the target market reminds us how to appeal to the average customer based on his or her age, job, race, income, lifestyle, residential area, and plenty of other factors. Think of luxury hotels: their average customer is going to have a lot of disposable income and regularly live a life of pampered grandeur. The target market for our energy drinks are people that need a boost of caffeine throughout the day, such as high school students or adults doing the nine-to-five. They usually live in urban areas or commute to them, so we stock more drinks in city stores than suburban or rural ones."

Before Alfred could continue, the rattle of a doorknob captured everyone's attention, the CEO, Heracles Karpusi, meandering into the room.

"Sorry…for interrupting your meeting," Heracles apologized, focusing his half-lidded green eyes on a certain graphic designer. Embarrassed as the night before flashed back to him, Kiku kept his gaze on the notepaper before him.

"It's no problem, my man!" Alfred declared, his grin blazing bright. "I wish Barbara had told me ahead of time, though."

"That would be…my fault. This is a bit of an impromptu visit."

Kiku felt the teasingly suggestive eyes on him, trying his hardest to ignore them, the way they seemed to leisurely undress him. A shiver running through him at the thought, Kiku scanned the room for anything else to focus on.

Alfred patted the CEO on the back, laughing obnoxiously loud without any real reason. Rolling his eyes, Gilbert glanced toward Matthew, who was giggling softly to himself.

"What's so funny?" Gilbert asked the Canadian, somewhat confused.

Attempting to stifle his quiet chuckling, golden waves crashing against the shores of his reddening cheeks, Matthew replied, "It's nothing. It's just…I don't know why, but it's amusing…the way he laughs."

Gilbert felt a wave of bitter anger come over him, if not a tinge of jealousy, his red eyes narrow in irritation. "It's fucking annoying, that's what it is."

"I suppose you could say that."

"My laugh's way better. Way fucking better."

"If you say so."

Smirking to himself, Gil leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. Yes, that was the right response. That was exactly the way he liked his women…and men: quiet and submissive to his every whim. Of course, a part of him hoped to find a little spice within Matthew's personality, but the man seemed to be the spitting image of a faint-hearted rabbit.

Well, that wasn't really a problem. No, the real issue was winning over Matthew before the boss got a chance. Of course, Gilbert would never admit that he actually considered Alfred F. Jones competition, for his pride and sense of "awesomeness" would never allow it. He liked to believe no one could ever compare to his utterly awesome self.

Yet, there was a difference between liking to believe and actually believing.

"So what brings you back here, Mr. Karpusi?" Alfred inquired, scratching the back of his blonde hair.

"I…actually wanted to talk…to your graphic designer there."

Kiku flinched, keeping his back turned to the CEO despite his realization that there was nowhere to run, lest he escape through the window…and crash onto the pavement below.

"Who, Kiku?" Alfred asked, receiving a slow nod in return. "Oh, well, I could excuse him for a few minutes and you two could talk out in the hall?"

I cannot, Kiku thought, a hot blush creeping up his face. Oh, it would be just like a dating sim game, but I do not feel comfortable talking to him! His eyes stare right through me every time…

"No, no," Heracles insisted, "that's not necessary. I just…wanted to ask him if he would like to meet me at the Starbucks…this Friday night…at seven."

Several gasps and a few wolf whistles invaded Kiku's red ears as he found himself humiliated and caught between two options: he could politely decline the offer and set himself up for the bad ending, or he could accept and gain some valuable heart points-

Credibility, Kiku corrected himself inside his mind, embarrassed that he was still thinking like that. Not heart points. Just job credibility. Rebuilding trust after falling asleep on the job. Yes…that is right…Yes…Yes…

"Yes…" Kiku accidentally spoke aloud, nearly slapping a hand over his mouth as he realized what he had said. The rest of the department cheered in celebration, whether it was Matthew smiling sweetly, Gilbert whooping like a banshee, or Alfred striking heroic poses. Shyly turning around to face them, or at least plead with them to stop, Kiku inadvertently locked eyes with the CEO.

Heracles wore a faint grin, but nothing was subtle in the seductive olive green of his irises, half-closed and beckoning him to the closest flat surface available. Jarred by a slight twitch in his pants, Kiku quickly crossed his legs and averted his gaze, cheeks blazing in mortification.

Walking at a laid-back pace, Heracles left with a few wispy words lingering in the air: "I hope to see you then. Have…a good day."

Plus twenty heart points.

Once the door closed, everyone turned to look at the graphic designer, who did not appreciate the attention in the least. Gilbert cackled loudly, remarking, "So, that's your type, huh? I could've guessed."

Hiding his burning face behind a notebook, Kiku began to seriously consider jumping out the window.