Author's Note: This is the result of being alone for hours on end, cutting and assembling wedding invitations with Call Me, Maybe on repeat. I'm not ashamed.

It will probably be... 2 or 3 chapters?

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

Chapter One

In which our hero and heroine meet under less than desirable circumstances

"I really don't feel comfortable here, Harada-san."

Okita Soushi wrung his hands taking a seat at the bar while his friend Harada Sanosuke accepted a shot from the bartender and threw it back with ease.

"Aw come on, man. This is a five star establishment!"

"I don't doubt that it is," he replied, before nodding to the bartender, "a water, please."

It was true. The gem of Kyoto's red light district, this club was, in fact, quite a sight to behold. Crystal chandeliers hung from the tiled ceilings, and shimmering black staircases spiraled up, spilling out onto each of the four floors. There were leather chairs scattered around the level they had settled in, two or three to a small table, lit by a singular modern lamp. Chic uplighting lined the walls in various shades of blues and beautiful cocktail waitresses pranced around in sparkling costumes, flashing smiles at any gentleman to make eye contact.

In the center, a stage jutted out from the black velvet of a curtain sporting the object of every man's anticipation: a freshly polished metallic pole.

"All I'm saying, " Okita went on, "is that I don't think Shousha would be very happy if she found out I was here."

Harada scoffed, putting down another shot, "Please. It's your bachelor party. The little miss will understand. She's cool like that."

"She'll cry," Okita said flatly.

"Whadda you think, Saitou?" Harada asked, leaning forward to address the man by Okita's side who was nursing a cigarette with a rather sour look on his face.

"I agree with Okita," the angular man replied, narrowing his golden eyes at the scene before him, "this is no place for a married man. Not one of a respectable character."

Harada sighed, running his hands through the black spikes that made up the hair that hung over his forehead, "He's not married yet, you know. This is his last weekend to enjoy himself. By next Saturday, he'll be committed for life."

"I was committed the moment I proposed," Okita mumbled into his water. He had always been the type of man to walk the straight and narrow. That wasn't going to change for one night simply because popular culture deemed it should.

Just then a woman came up behind Harada, using her tiny manicured fingers to cover his eyes. Her frame was small, much smaller than any of the other girls in the establishment, though the seven or so inches that her shoes gave her created an illusion of height.

"Guess who~?" she cooed, giving her bottom a small wiggle as two patrons passed by.

Harada grinned. "Ophelia!" he cried, taking hold of her wrists and spinning his chair to face her.

She smiled back at him, a flash of hot pink lipstick and perfect teeth. Tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder, she set her mouth in a pout and used her enormous heels to press the lever on the bottom of the bar stool, lowering him to her level.

"How long have you been here without saying hello?" she asked, pulling herself up onto his lap.

Saitou let out a disgusted grunt, extinguishing his cigarette and Okita pulled out his cellphone. He really should tell his fiancee what was going on.

"About fifteen minutes," Harada told her, biting down on his lip as she gripped his broad shoulders and began teasing him slowly with the beginnings of a lap dance.

"I have something for you," he tried, reaching into the breast pocket of his flashy embroidered dress shirt, "Do you recognize this man?" he asked, snapping open a crisp bill.

Ophelia let out a small moan of sensual disappointment. "Oh Sanosuke, you know how I hate going to the bank."

"Maybe so," he murmured, sliding the bill into one of the cups of her diamond encrusted bustier, "but I think Mr. Franklin wants to go with you."

Keeping with her steadily lazy rhythm, she took hold of his collar, pulling him close, and brushed her lips over his forehead and down his nose, just a whisper's length from his skin, but never touching. She could feel him shiver beneath her, his hands aching to touch her, but knowing better.

"Mr. Franklin gets awfully lonely," she said lowly, her breath teasing his own.

Without hesitating, Harada placed more money into her lingerie, smiling as she pulled away. He knew she hated foreign currency, but for all her teasing, she deserved a little bit of hassle, so he went out of his way to acquire it.

"Now he has friends," he said triumphantly, frowning slightly when she removed herself from him, but letting out a small hiss as her hand lingered over his erection.

"Who are your friends, Sanosuke?" she asked, all the hunger of a lioness in her eyes as she gave Okita and Saitou a once over.

Harada cleared his throat. "Ophelia, this is Okita Soushi. We're out celebrating for him, you know."

"Really?" she asked, taking Okita's boyish face in her hands, "I don't know about this, Sanosuke. The poor dear doesn't look a day over sixteen."

"I'm twenty-three, miss," Okita replied uncomfortably.

"Well now," she said huskily, "that does make a difference."

Lowering his chair as well, she placed one hand on his chest, encouraging him to remain seated, despite his obvious efforts to escape.

"This one's on the house," she told him with a wink. When she slid up onto his legs, however, he let out a strangled yelp, and with two hands on her upper arms, steered her off the stool and put a good five feet between the two of them.

"I don-I don't n-need your ser-services, miss," he sputtered, taking a few calming breaths, but still holding out his open palm lest she try to advance on him again, "I'm getting married."

The hunger in her eyes disappeared then and she let out a smile that left him with no hint of flirtation.

"Loyalty to one woman," she said with wonder, "I like that."

He gave her a forced smile, and her attention snapped back to Harada.

"Maybe you should take some clues from your friend here," she said, crossing her arms.

He shrugged his shoulders and turned up his palms. "What," he whined, "It was arranged. Until I set a date, I'm not really engaged."

Ophelia's glare could have frozen Hell.

"Besides," he continued, "you're the one working your magic all up on my junk."

"It's my job, Sano," she quipped, "you're the pig who keeps requesting private sessions."

Not waiting for his retort, she leaned in, gave Okita a light kiss on the cheek, and strode away in search of other clients.

"Do you know her?" Saitou asked, lighting up another cigarette, "she seemed to know you."

"Yeah," Harada replied. "we've been friends for a while."

"Good friends?" Okita questioned.

Their spikey haired friend held up another Benjamin with a smirk. "Sometimes."

About an hour later, Saitou was alone at the bar. Harada had gone off to watch the dancers, Okita was entertaining himself in the billiards room, and their other friends had dispersed into various areas of the club.

He had wanted to take Okita to the shooting range. The man was a legend with a handgun. A night of guns, poker, and intelligent conversation would have been a much better night than being stuck here in a strip joint.

"Can I have a glass of red?"

The familiar female voice pulled Saitou from his brooding and when he looked to his left, his eyes fell on the blonde entertainer from earlier.

"Drinkin' on the job, Ophelia?" the bartender joked, handing her a glass of the deep red liquid.

"Men like a classy lady," she replied, perching herself on the stool next to Saitou, "and I've got a few minutes to spare.

Though he didn't know why, Saitou found himself staring at her. He didn't have any interest in her, preferring intelligence over beauty, but even he couldn't deny her striking appearance. Her eyes were bright and alert; gray like the sea on a stormy day, and her mouth was set in just enough of a pout to be desirable, kissable, and irresistible. She probably made a fortune.

Her breasts, he noticed, were real, and not overly huge, a refreshing change from all of the silicon balloons parading around. They were, he noticed, sneaking a glance at his palm, the perfect size for him. More than a handful was a waste, after all.

When he looked back at her, he caught her staring at him. She must not have expected him to have noticed, correctly assuming his disinterest, but when his eyes locked with hers, a small blush appeared through her heavy makeup, and she fumbled a bit with her words, recovering with perfect grace.

Slipping from her seat, she slid her wine into his hand and, surprised at her overpowering presence, Saitou found himself accepting it.

"What's your story?" she purred, running a finger over his jawline, "you're here with Sanosuke too, aren't you?"

Saitou slapped her hand away. "Against my will."

"You can leave at any time," she noted, "your groom friend is busying himself with manly things like billiards and darts."

He cast his glance downward, looking at her from the corner of his eye, but not speaking.

"Though you should stick around," she told him with a smile, motioning towards the stage where a dancer was performing acrobatics that no human being should physically be able to do. "I'm up next."

Without another word, she left, leaving Saitou with a glass of red wine, a lipstick print kissing the rim.

xxxx

It was nearing five a.m. when Takagi Tokio entered the small corner diner. Giant porfolio slung over her shoulder, she slid into a booth and a waitress immediately served her a coffee. She accepted it with a smile, pulling her black hair back over her shoulders and fashioning it into a loose braid.

Taking out her latest project, she arranged everything, as she needed, pulled out an assortment of coloured pencils, donned a pair of readers, and set herself to work.

On the other side of the diner, Saitou Hajime was engrossed in paperwork. He hated paperwork. It was inevitable, and as it just so happened, every promotion he earned came with more paperwork. What was the point of advancing in the police force if the higher he climbed, the less enforcing he actually got to do?

"More coffee Saitou-san?"

He grunted in response and timidly, the waitress obliged before heading back into the kitchen. It had been a week and a half since Okita's 'bachelor party', and now that the idiot was married, he was sailing the seven seas on his honeymoon with his new bride and Saitou was stuck doing his paperwork as well. He could almost feel Okita's cheery grin soaking into his flesh.

"Thanks so much, Saitou-san!" his vision chirped, waving at him from a sunny beach in a horrifyingly husband-like hawaiian shirt, one arm wrapped around the petite bikini clad form of his Tokyo heiress.

Damn him.

Sighing and rubbing his forehead, he looked up scanning the diner for no other reason than to focus his eyes on something other than his work. There weren't many people here; the early breakfast rush hadn't yet begun, but when a young woman across the room looked up in thought, he nearly choked on his coffee.

"Are you alright, sir?"

His waitress was back. Why was she back? Waitstaff were the worst type of staff, he decided. They were never around when you needed them, but when you didn't need them, they never seemed to go away.

"Fine," he clipped.

With a trained smile, she gave him a nod and left again, refilling the napkin dispensers at the counter.

"Masa."

"Masa."

"Masa!"

When the waitress finally turned around (due to a crumpled up straw wrapper bouncing off the side of her face), Tokio sent her a look of frustration, and with a jerky hand movement, motioned her over.

"Seriously girl," Tokio huffed, "are you going deaf?"

Sugawara Masa rolled her eyes. "Well maybe if you weren't trying to get my attention like a twelve year old I would have actually responded."

"Who is that?" she asked, nodding over to Saitou.

Masa looked back too, but Tokio kicked her under the table.

"Who?" she asked.

Tokio let out an impatient snort. "The cop with the stick up his ass."

"That's Saitou Hajime," Masa replied, clearly not sharing Tokio's judgement, "he and a few others just moved here from Tokyo about a month ago. They're good friends with-" she paused, blushing and then rolling her eyes hopelessly, "they're good friends with Sanosuke."

"That idiot," Tokio muttered. "Has he set a date yet?"

Masa's forced, yet utterly hopeless grin said it all. Though she had been arranged to marry Harada Sanosuke since birth, she had fallen head over heels in love with him in high school while they both poured their hearts into the archery club. If he felt the same way, he had one hell of a way of showing it.

Tokio sighed roughly. "Alright, well listen. I'm going to pick up Officer Needs-a-good-lay over there's tab."

Masa's eyes widened and she crouched down, holding onto the table so as not to fall over. "What? You don't even know him."

Tokio shrugged. "He looks like he'll be fun to play with."

"Don't make me."

"Making you," she replied, adjusting her glasses and picking up another pencil, "go on."

"You are so lucky you're my best friend, you mean thing," Masa hissed, taking in Tokio's satisfied smile.

When Masa arrived at Saitou's table for what seemed like the hundredth time for both of them, she was nearly shaking. He never was very nice to her.

"Just leave the bill," he sad sharply, not looking at her.

"It has been taken care of," she said softly, her voice cracking slightly.

The pen in Saitou's hand paused. "Excuse me?"

"Th-the bill has already been paid," she repeated with more confidence, and then, just to pit revenge against her friend, pointed at Tokio, "that woman over there has seen to it."

Saitou studied the woman across the restaurant, barely acknowledging his waitress. "Has she now?"

Abandoning his paperwork, he rose and strode across the room, stopping at Tokio's table.

"Explain yourself."

"You're welcome," she said, not looking at him. Even though she didn't give him the pleasure of eye contact, he knew exactly who she was. He had recognized her eyes immediately, and even now, looking at her bent profile, her lips, though sporting no more than a simple lip balm, betrayed her identity.

"Ophelia."

Tokio raised her head then, a cheeky smile plastered across her face. "So you recognized me. You have good eyes."

Ignoring the subject, Saitou pulled some money from his wallet. "Don't bother trying so hard. Desperate strippers aren't my type."

"And what makes you think I have any interest in you?" she challenged.

Saitou's gaze remained calm and even. "Then you make a habit of paying for people's food?"

"Yes," she replied resolutely, "I do enjoy a good deed every now and then."

Unsure of how to proceed, he glanced down at the mess of drafts and swatches on her table.

"What is this?" he asked, "arts and crafts?"

With a disgusted breath, she swatted his hand from her arrangement. "This," she said forcefully, "will be my career soon. It's called interior design, something a stiff and boring man such as yourself probably knows little of."

He let out an amused snort. "I doubt the general population would take kindly to caged balconies and poles."

"You never know," she said, surprising him at how she hadn't jumped to defend herself, "mirrored ceilings are becoming quite popular."

"That's disgusting."

Tokio shrugged. "To each their own, I guess."

Saitou stood by the table for several more moments in silence, money still hanging limply in his hands. She had returned to her work, sketching, measuring and coloring, making no attempt to reach for the currency.

"My name isn't Ophelia," she said after a while.

"I don't care," he scoffed, tossing the money onto the table. "I'm leaving."

"Wait."

Saitou paused, mid step. Why he paused, he'd never know, but somewhere down the line, he would be glad he did.

She dug through her purse and something inside of Saitou, some might call it a heart, skipped a beat. There was something far more beautiful about her here, like this. The soft glow of dawn was lighting the edges of her hair, that mess of curls escaping the braid she had attempted to tame them with. She was much prettier as a brunette, he noted. There was no makeup on her face and she was clumsier than the sex kitten that she had played at the club.

When she rightened and gave him an exhausted smile, he dismissed all of these thoughts. She was a stripper. High end or not, she was an excuse for men to gather around and lose themselves in arousal, spending money most of them didn't have, and encouraging the idea that lust was a perfectly acceptable and even a respectable vice.

"Here," she said, handing him a small square of paper, "my work schedule."

With a glare, he let out a low growl, "Just what sort of man do you take me for?"

Gathering up her things, she placed them back in her portfolio and stood, hands on her hips. "I'm not asking you to come watch me dance," she told him, "but I do come here after work every night."

Saitou crumpled up the paper in his fist, just to prove how much he didn't desire her company.

Sliding from the booth, she stood before him and just as before, ran a teasing finger along his jaw.

"Don't lose that," she purred, giving him a professionally wicked smile, and turning to leave the diner.

He watched her go, seething at the fact that his skin was tingling. With her head raised high, she turned to give him one last glance. It would have been a sneaky move that kept him rooted in his reluctant desire, but her depth perception was slightly skewed from exhaustion and as she groped for the handle of the door, the side of her face collided with the glass, destroying any sensuality of her exit.

Though he made no movement that even acknowledged that he had seen her embarrassing slip-up, once she was completely out of his sight, his lips turned up in amusement.

"Masa. Who is that girl?"

Masa peeked out from behind the coffee machine. "That's Takagi Tokio, Saitou-san. She's my best friend."

So that was how Harada knew her. It also explained her show of irritation with him. Women were always quick to defend their own, the exasperating wretches that they were.

He unfolded the paper she had given him.

It couldn't hurt, could it?

xxxx

Author's Note: I thought it would be fun to make Masa Tokio's bestie instead of Shousha this time around. Mostly because I'm not allowing Shousha into this fic. She always seems to bring on the sad times