Passing the Night.

by Ashida

Summary:

He looked up into sky through his windows, and noticed that it’d started raining today too before he pushed up the sleeve of his three-piece Armani suit, to look at the twenty thousand dollar Rolex on his wrist.

“So this is how it begins, huh?”

Notes:

• For Setsuna24.

***some archive warnings do apply.***

Happy friendaversary to Setsuna24! (well, it’s close enough anyway!)

Her and I were talking, a long time ago, about idea’s when she came up with this one, and she was kind enough to let me write it.

Without a doubt, I wouldn’t be writing anymore if it wasn’t for the lovely person that is Setsuna, I have a lot to thank her for, but not enough words to do it in! So this one’s for you, my dear!

I can only hope that I did it justice, and I can only hope that you like it, Setsuna!

*runs and hides now*

Chapter 1: Passing the Night

 

*****

 

 

The sun was shining brightly; a crisp spring breeze rustled through the trees, and they whispered their happiness at the turn of season in reply. It was a nice day in Tokyo, with clear skies and no signs of trouble.

 

Inside a western style funeral home with polished wooden pews and lectern at the front, a sea of people waited, all clothed in the shade of mourning; midnight colored suits, oblivion tinted kimonos, and night hued cheongsams made up the uniform color.

 

At the back, photographers jostled in competitive silence, still fighting for a scoop despite the grim occasion. They were looking for big names and big faces among the ranks of politicians and businessmen, who was talking to who, and who was seated closer to the front. It was all about standing, social hierarchy, who out of them all would fill the giant hole left in Tokyo’s business dealings.

 

One photographer however, wasn’t looking towards the front, he was looking among his ranks and wondering about another of his kind, thinking that no way would a guy like that, miss a story like this.

 

Said businessmen though, they were here for the opportunity; there was always business to be had no matter the grievance. This chance was the biggest of all, and so these pretenders with their cloth armor and demeanors of quicksand were only waiting to finish what someone, perhaps even in that very room had started.

 

The downfall of the biggest financial organization in Tokyo would be complete when the benefactor was entirely and utterly broken, and some were here to make that happen.

 

They were here to witness with their own eyes, the inheritor crumble before them so that they could make their move, after all, a person like that would never be able to handle the burden of it all. It would be an easy task, they all thought.

 

Further up, stern expressions demanded the respectful silence that held, disturbed like so many times before by the soft sound of camera shutters going off.

 

Hard faced men stood vigil for the three empty seats remaining, guarding them, it was their duty and it would continue to be so. The chatting of shutters soothed the black clad men, keeping them in check from unleashing the righteous fury upon would be usurpers behind them.

 

Not one thought of disbanding, or one consideration of leaving had crossed any of these men’s minds. This was a rally, and they were showing their support for the people that they were waiting for.

 

With a breath long kept, they waited.

 

The person who belonged closest to the front was not here yet.

 

*****

 

 

“Asami sama.” Kirishima called at the door that’d been shut for days on end, and winced at the sound of his own voice in the condo that’d been silent with solemnity for just as long.

 

“Stop calling me that!” a strangled voice snapped back.

 

It was an answer at least. The first they’d gotten since the door shut. It wasn’t the door to the master bedroom either, that one was still wide open, the belongings inside left like an untouched memory of better days.  

 

No, the room he was standing outside of used to be the spare, and the occupant had shut himself in, turned it into a self made cell, with a lock of denial and white walls lined with anguish.

 

The pain through the cracks in the door was palpable, it resonated with his own, it was all he could do, to not slide down the wall and just listen to the sobbing on the other side of that door. Beside him, he could hear his friend’s teeth grinding as his jaw clenched, the body guard hadn’t left his post outside that room since the door shut either, apart from to attend to his own basic needs.

 

It broke Kirishima’s heart every subsequent day, to come to the hallway and find Suoh still standing there, all because that door remained shut.

 

Today though, Kirishima needed that door to open, no matter what measures he had to use.

 

He tried the door handle again without success, the metallic rattling was loud and intrusive in the stillness, the pained noises on the other side of the door stopped at the sound.

 

“He’s dead, Asami sama.” Kirishima’s throat constricted around the words, it wasn’t something he’d brought himself to say yet, it felt unnatural, and his body rejected the notion, even though it was true.

“He’s dead.” He managed to force it out one more time.

 

“Impossible!” came the subsequent denial from inside.

 

Beside him, Suoh’s tired eyes drilled holes in the hallway wall as he looked straight ahead, his brows pinched in misery, his neck taut with restrained sobs of his own.

 

It was the most emotive he’d ever seen his stoic life long comrade, because not only did they both have to deal with the loss of someone they’d known since childhood and the hole in their lives that’d been left, they now had to deal with the one who suffered most from his permanent departure.
Someone they’d both grown to care for more than they ever thought possible. It was especially hard on Suoh, who was now the closest to the person in that room out of anyone.

 

The secretary could almost understand the denial and the stubborn arguments of impossibility though, as if putting on the act of normality would suddenly fix it all, like it was just another day where they had a disagreement and then that one person would come in and it would go back to normal and this would just be a memory instead of reality.

 

“He’s not coming back….” It wasn’t something they could do today though, they had a service to get to, so even as it grated against his empathy, even as it chafed against his own needs of wanting to just sit and grieve with a bottle of whiskey and reminiscent recollections, he pressed the issue.

 

He only got silence this time, but he knew the cries were only muffled by a damp pillow or scrunched up blankets, his heart was heavy, this never use to be part of his job description.

 

The hands on his expensive watch moved much too quickly, and soon enough it was time to be at their destination, but they’d made no progress.

 

“Kazumi, we need to do something. It won’t mean anything if he’s not there.” His whisper hissed down the hall.

 

The man’s shoulders slumped as he was addressed; it wasn’t something Kirishima wanted to ask of him, but if anyone could get that door to open right now, it was Suoh.

 

“Akihito san?”

 

 

Without moving an inch except to close his eyes, the bodyguard spoke aloud to the empty space, and Kirishima was forced to listen, to fight himself from crumpling inside.

 

“Akihito san….. right now, apart from our men, he’s by himself in a room full of people who only ever wanted something from him. You know what they’re like, not one of them will shed a tear, and not one of them will mean it when they say his passing was a tragedy, all they can think of is who will take his place.

None of them care about him, some probably hated him, fuck, maybe the person responsible is even in that room.

Do you really want the last people he says good-bye to, to be them? The last faces he sees? I’ve known him my entire life, and I know the only person he’d want to be there is you. Please… Akihito san, do it for him, and for us because we need to say goodbye too.”

 

Kirishima grew tense with each word, because it was true, and he wanted nothing more than to go there at this very moment and tell them all to get out, they didn’t belong in his company in life, and they didn’t belong in his company in death.
And, if he never got to pay proper respects to his friend, to the kid who he used to walk to school with every day, the boy he used to eat lunch with on the rooftop of their high school building, or the young man who’d been his project partner for every university assignment until graduation, to his boss, who he used to drive to work every day, his family, who he would have willingly died for had he been close enough to take the bullet, but instead could only watch as he fell to the side walk in a spray of red- dead before he even hit the ground.

 

If he never got to say goodbye, it would haunt him for the rest of his days, there would be no forgiveness. Just one last time he’d like to call him Asami Sama, or maybe one last time he’d like to say ‘Ryuichi, we did it.’

 

He felt his own jaw cramp with tension as he thought about it, and forced himself to stay standing in front of the door.

 

It took many heartbeats, he thought maybe it hadn’t worked, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of ghostly footsteps padding around in the room, and heard Suoh let go of a breath he’d been holding since he finished his speech.

 

A sharp clack signaled unlocking, before the door opened just enough to reveal a tear-stained face, black-circled eyes and the unruly blonde hair of Asami Akihito. It was in the will, that Akihito take the name if this situation ever came to pass.

 

It must feel like acidic salt in a horrible wound for the young man, to suddenly be called Asami, something that wasn’t possible in life, but had been forced upon him because of death.

 

Looking at Akihito was like looking at his own grief, the young man looked exhausted, deflated, haunted, he looked empty of all emotions but sorrow and resentment.

 

But what Suoh said must have worked, hit some undamaged nerve deep inside that represented Akihito’s loyalty to the previous Asami, because there was a flicker of will there, blazing even as fresh tears fell.

 

“I… need a suit.” Akihito finally croaked.

 

“Right away, Asami sama.” And Kirishima left to get it all ready, feeling hope for the first time in days, the orders in Asami’s will were absolute.

Akihito was the benefactor, the business, legal and otherwise, were all in his name now. He could do with it what he wanted, and it’d left a void. A void of uncertainty that left everyone wondering what was going to happen next.

 

But today, for the first time since he was gunned down, Kirishima had received orders. Shaky orders, but it was a start at least.

 

Outside, on what was forecast to be a perfect spring day, ominous clouds began to roll in.

 

*****

 

As his shoulders bumped into the persons either side of him, Mitarai cursed and wondered if there was even any point showing up to this wake, it’d been nearly an hour, and the rumored inheritor of the Sion Corporation still had yet to show.

 

His old suit was an uncomfortable thing, tight around his neck, and too short in the sleeve; that- and black always put him in a sour mood. There was always too much black as these things.

 

He looked at his watch, closer to one and a half hours now, and to make matters worse, he could see the sky was closing in through the windows outside. Maybe it’d be better if he packed up and left. There was already plenty of coverage, anyway.

 

The turn out from other journalists and media was undoubtedly huge, and he knew why. Try as he might to dig up the name of whoever it was they were all waiting for, he’d come up blank.  That was the only reason he was still here, if he and every other journalist in town couldn’t find that name, then it had to be someone special.

 

So, no way was he leaving, he’d get this story and protect his gear from the rain, after all, this had front page written all over it.

 

Which led him to wondering where that blonde shrimp was, where there was a story, Akihito normally always followed, and he thought he was sure to see him here.

Maybe they could have worked together like they’d done before for the best shot, split the pay out - in his favor of course- but looks like he was on his own this time.

 

He probably didn’t have a suit fitting enough for the occasion.

 

Still, the kid had always found a way before; it really was turning out to be an odd day.

 

 

****

 

 

Akihito had been sadly pliant once that door opened, in the space of half an hour they had him showered, dressed, and looking presentable enough.

 

Kirishima expected some fight, a snap about calling him Asami sama, a refusal to do his hair, a fight over which suit to wear. He wanted a fight, needed a semblance of person to look to that could be called boss to fill the gap left in his life as well. Any dose of regularity would have been welcome, even if it were Akihito’s stubbornness.

 

They only got quiet though, no more tears or sobs, and now Akihito’s lifeless face could put even Suoh’s to shame. It was a hard thing to see, someone so animated and bright sucked of everything that made their character stand out from the rest.

 

He stood there in an Armani suit tailored specifically for him, it made his shoulders seem broader, his legs longer, the suit had poise, but for the person wearing it; there was still something missing that made the infamous three piece suit come to life.

 

It wasn’t exactly the best impression to present to everyone waiting, people would see the weakness, target it with speculations and false words until he broke again in front of them. It was cruel world to be born into after such a trauma.

 

But in the words of the deceased, such harsh lessons tended to have more dramatic effects.

 

As he led the somber procession of three out the condo door, he could only hope that it was true.

 

 

*****

 

 

Mitarai really was thinking of leaving now, a few had left already, and he was convinced that the mystery person wasn’t coming. With yet another inward curse, he put the cover back on his lens, and was about to pack his camera away when a commotion came from the set of wooden double doors at the entrance.

 

He stopped what he was doing just in time to see the pair of doors swing open, grey light flooded in, a turbulent mix of sunshine and impending rain silhouetting the three figures who stepped through the threshold before his vision adjusted.

 

A cacophony of whispers started, but all Mitarai could do was stare, dumb struck because Akihito did indeed have a suit that fit, and he was walking in measured steps not towards the media section, but to the front.

 

“Akihito.” He hissed as the blonde walked passed him, “what are you doing, you idiot?”

 

“I’m going to say goodbye.” came the empty, lifeless words that made no sense what so ever.

 

“Oi!” He murmured again, trying to keep a respectful volume. He tried to grab a sleeve, to stop the dude from making a fool of himself at an event like this, it wasn’t an occasion to pull tricks, but all he got was sharp pain as his wrist was caught in a vice like grip, he felt the joint about to pop, and stifled a grunt as he looked up into a pair of smoldering eyes set underneath heavy brows, looking down at him in a blank stare that made his blood run cold.

 

“Do not touch Asami sama.” Came the growl. Behind the giant, Akihito kept walking away from him, further from the media section with each step.

 

The photographer heeded the very real threat to his limb and retracted his hand, and could only stare once more as Akihito walked up the center isle with the juggernaut on one side, and a man with glasses and a cunning air on the other.

 

His colleague kept walking towards the front in his perfect suit, flanked by those two men like they were loyal hounds, eventually he made it to the front row, where slowly, but very surely, he took one of the three empty spots that’d they’d been waiting to be filled.

 

“What the hell?”

 

In the distance, the first rumbles of thunder tolled.

 

 

*****

 

 

Once the problem of Akihito’s former colleague was sorted, Kirishima tasked himself with staying as close as possible to the young man on the walk up the center lane.

 

The hushed room had all turned to look at them as soon as the doors opened, mutters under people’s breath started, looks of disdain bled through false sympathy, and as their walk progressed, certain whispers stood out.

 

“Not much he could do.” Kirishima thought he knew who that one was.

 

“He won’t last long.” That voice Kirishima couldn’t place.

 

“He’s only a boy.”

 

“So it was the pet that got it all.”

 

“What a waste.”

 

His comrade on the other side of their charge was scowling in all directions at the choruses, daring anyone to say it to his face, and forced silence fell in behind them as they made their way up as a result.

 

Akihito could hear them too, and he thought it might be their undoing; surely Akihito in his state would fall under the scrutiny, break even though he was already broken.

 

With each step up that walkway though, Kirishima witnessed something amazing happen, and he knew is former boss had indeed made the best choice.

 

Akihito seemed to grow into the suit right before his eyes, each stride towards the front grew measured and deliberate, the fabric began to mold around him and come to life.
The fit around shoulders now was just right, showcasing an angle that he knew well.

His back straightened out, giving his small chest presence, his footsteps grew heavy, the loafers clicking down on the wooden surface in a way that turned heads for a different reason. He demanded attention.

 

The words, toxic and spoken with intent to sting, filled the empty shell in that suit, Asami Akihito’s eyes flared with a look the secretary had seen only once before, on the cruise ship in Hong Kong. The look of someone, who if you put a gun in their hand in that instant, would kill without a moments thought.

 

Now, the suit well and truly fit him, a second skin the color of the abyss.

 

By the time they got to the front, it wasn’t Suoh’s brooding scowl that kept them silent, it wasn’t the horde of subordinates all but saluting their charge with guns ready under their suit jackets, it was those click clacking footsteps that filled every inch of the hall, echoing in a steady rhythm of someone who was neither hurried, nor rushed.

 

For formality’s sake, Akihito stood in his rightful place, the front row on the end, closest to the deceased, for only a few moments, as if to say this is where I belong.

 

And then pride swelled within, because after that, Akihito threw it all to the wind that was building outside, Suoh and Kirishima remained at their place and witnessed as Akihito let out a shaky breath to continue to walk forward to the lectern, silently bidding the funeral director to give him the first words on Asami Ryuichi’s last goodbye.

 

Neither secretary or head of security were worried, it wasn’t about the sadness of the occasion, it wasn’t about adhering to custom, it was about what their friend would have wanted, and in life he’d always wanted to see the fire in those hazel eyes, he’d always wanted to see that stubborn streak that led them on many a chase through Tokyo, the only person who really would challenge Asami on a personal level.

 

Kirishima had a feeling that what they were about to see now would be the best display of all of the above he’d ever seen, there could be no better send off.

 

It would overjoy Asami Ryuichi to see his lover standing up there at that lectern, challenging Tokyo’s most powerful with nothing but his trademark glare.

 

It wasn’t until this moment, standing up at that lectern with the same foreboding angle to his shoulders, and same unshakeable stance to his legs, that the secretary first noticed how similar the color hazel was to gold.

 

The realization had the hairs on his neck standing on end, because for a split second he wasn’t sure who he was really seeing up there.

 

It all came crashing back to unsavory reality, one made better by this turn of events. Asami Akihito began to speak.

 

 

“You people dare come to this wake and stain his name with your foul mouths.” Akihito spoke slowly, his eyes roaming over them all with unfeigned disgust. “You think you knew him, you people with your money and status, you think he was like you. But it wasn’t the galas or balls he enjoyed attending, but sleeping in on Sundays with pancakes for breakfast. Every time, he’d tease me about putting too much syrup on mine, because Asami hated sweet things. I bet none of you knew that. He also liked watching fireworks on the balcony, or sitting in the sun with a book and whiskey. Sure, he was an a grade asshole, his ego bigger than the Tokyo tower.” Akihito’s hands grasped the corner of the lectern, knuckles white, jaw clenched.

“But I wouldn’t have it any other way, because even on the days he would piss me off, he’d still find the time to have dinner with me, he’d still find the time to call me every night if he wasn’t coming home, to care for me if I ever grew sick.”

A hollow laugh echoed off the varnished wooden walls, it paired with the thunder rumbling its own ode outside; the first drops of rain began to patter angrily against the windows.
“I have no idea why Asami chose to spend his days surrounded by snakes like you, who couldn’t put your pride aside even if you know how, not even at a dead man’s funeral. You all think your better now that he’s…. dead. I’ll have you all know, that everyone combined in this room wouldn’t surmount to even half of his importance. You think to fill his shoes?” Akihito near sneered with chagrin.

“I can tell you this now, none of you are worthy of his throne. You think to tear down all that he’s built, to soil his life’s achievements with your filthy greed? That is something I will never let happen. The Sion Corporation will continue to run as usual, anyone who tries to back out of agreements, any body that tries to undermine our business, will all answer to me the exact same way you answered to him, and you all know what way that was.”

 

A momentary symphony of camera flashes begun anew at that point, questions flew from the back, ‘what way is that?’ a few journalists asked, oblivious to the true underlying meaning.

 

If you demoralize his name, I will kill you.

 

The message was loud and clear to everyone who needed to know, and with the men there, standing tall, standing proud under their new boss in a symbol of unity, there wasn’t a doubt in the room that the threat was real.

 

Akihito was what Kirishima would call innocent, naïve even, but he had this quality in him that was fierce loyalty, so even more than he hated to succumb to the position given to him, even if he hated what he would have to do in the future, the only thing he would loathe more than that would be people tarnishing his lover’s name.

 

“You tell ‘em, Taka- ah, I mean Asami sama!” Suoh hissed under his breath next to him, and for the first time in years, Kirishima saw a smirk on his face.

 

The secretary feigned adjusting his glasses with a careful hand to hide his own.

 

Truly, this was a goodbye fitting for his old friend.

 

Look at him now, Ryuichi. You were right.

 

 

“Those who truly wish to pay their respects may stay, everyone else; get out.” Akihito intoned to them all.

 

Not a camera flashed, not a breath was heard, no one moved. Akihito had shamed them all into disgrace, you did not come to a man’s wake and act this way, much less Asami Ryuichi’s wake, because they knew that if he were to attend any one of theirs; he would never have such disregard for the dead.

 

So without a word, Akihito stepped away from the lectern, and took his seat at the front, only once he’d settled, did everyone else take their place.

 

As Kirishima sat down, he could see Akihito shaking in his seat, could see his Adam’s apple crawl up his neck as he struggled to swallow passed what was an undoubted lump in his throat.

 

The corners of his eyes were wet with unshed tears, those little droplets gathered on the tips of his long lashes, threatening to fall like the rain outside. Small fists clenched in the black fabric on his thighs, he was putting up all the fight he had, to stop from breaking down again then and there in front of all these people.

 

Kirishima did something then that he would have never been allowed to do before, he placed his own hand on top of Akihito’s trembling fist, and squeezed with all the support he could possibly convey in such a small action.

 

Even if it was only temporary, even if he locked himself in his room again for the next three days and cried, Akihito should know that with this gesture, he wasn’t as alone as what he thought he was. Suoh, no doubt would never leave his side, and that was enough to comfort the secretary too.

 

The young man froze in fright; he’d been in his own little world, spiraling down to the mentality that’d kept him locked in his bedroom, and as thunder boomed overhead to mark the start of the service, Akihito let out one more unsteady breath, and then stopped shaking.

 

“Thank you, Kirishima san. Suoh san.”

 

The service went on uninterrupted, the rains grew heavy, lightening carved its path through the skies, and it opened up the way for new beginnings.

 

He wasn’t going to change overnight, but it was more than Kirishima could ever have hoped for.

 

 

 

*****

 

 

Akihito held on. The service passed in a blur, he didn’t hear the funeral director speak, he no longer heard any whispers, eyes were on him no longer, it all faded into the background, and the only thing he could really see was the casket at the front.

 

Asami Ryuichi was in that casket, surrounded by sandalwood incense that smelt too much like his cologne, and candles that reminded him too much of the embers on the end of a Dunhill.

 

A photo he’d taken himself sat in a simple frame on a table next to him, he loved that photo. He even remembered when he took it, and why.

 

His eyes stung as he remembered; through his tear-blurred vision the glow of the candles warped his site, the luminosity intensifying around that simple black coffin.

 

He’d visited the Sion office that day, bored as anything with no scoops to chase, and rather than go home to the condo he’d plonked himself down on the leather couch in Asami’s top floor office and fiddled with his cameras all day.

 

It’d been a good day, Asami did his thing on the phone, or on his computer, and Akihito took apart all his gear and gave it a clean.

 

Of course, when he was all done and his camera reassembled, he had to test it out, and who to test it out on but the most attractive thing in the room; Asami.

 

The man never noticed until the last moment, he was too intent on the screen in front of him, a serious look on his face as the sun streamed through the windows behind him, and as the shutter went off he looked up suddenly, and peered down the viewfinder in all his businesslike, underworld king glory.

 

His hair was perfect, the knot of his tie flawless, it captured his powerful chest, the lines of his shoulders, and the golden light surrounding his chair only high lighted the molten ambition in his eyes. He didn’t even need to edit that photo, it was perfect.

 

Of course he paid for it afterwards, but he’d been glad to keep that photo.

 

It just didn’t feel possible that he could never have a day like that again.

 

He’d locked himself in that room hoping Asami would come home, shoot the lock, and barge in like he always did. He’d tried sleeping it away, maybe if he slept, it would all be normal when he woke up, maybe Asami would have been the one to wake him, to comfort him as he always did when he had nightmares.

 

He’d even tried calling his cellphone, only for it to go directly to voicemail, and Akihito had screamed his message, yelling at the phone for Asami to come back, before he threw it against the wall in hopeless fury.

 

Now, he still thought maybe if he kept putting too much syrup on his pancakes, Asami would come back to scold him for it, or maybe if he got sick, Asami would have no choice but to come back and take care of him.

 

Maybe this. Maybe that.

 

But despite all that, still he held on until the last word was spoken, because Asami obviously thought he could.

 

That was all that mattered, if Asami thought he could, then it didn’t matter if all the pests behind him thought that he couldn’t. He would do it. He would prove Asami right, like he always was.

 

He was going to preserve all that Asami had done, a monumental legacy that told of his overwhelming greatness, hearing those whispers up the walkway made him realize he was willing to do just about anything to take care of what Asami had given him, his name and his empire.

 

That feeling alone was his sole focus as he walked back down the center lane once it was all done, that bastard in death was still looking after him after all.

 

He’d left Akihito one giant distraction in the form of a purpose, like he had predicted Akihito’s sadness, read him like an open book like so many times before, and then put his own plans in place to suit himself.

 

Some things would never change then.

 

As the double doors opened in front of him and revealed the skies opening up to let the rains crash down, he looked at his world that would never be the same.

 

Once he passed the threshold, it was all his, this city, the limo waiting out front, hotels, clubs, the shady dealings, and the black market trades, all his.
It was a terrifying thought, but the only way to go was forward, if he looked back now he would only be faced with the sight of that coffin, and if he saw that for even one more second; he would crumble.

 

The rain on his face was soothing as he took his first step outside into the abyss, and he felt a smile tug his lip, because Asami had always liked the rain.

 

 

******

 

 

Kirishima felt Nostalgia tug at his emotions as he looked at a photo very similar to one he’d received 12 years ago.

 

It was only when his own assistant that he was training to be his replacement asked him what he was laughing about, that he’d realized he hadn’t laughed in his head, but out loud instead.

 

He was pushing 50 now, Suoh only 45, but neither of them would ever forget what happened when a photo just like this one came into the office 12 years ago.

 

“You’ll see, in time, Hajime kun.” Kirishima advised, and then he was up and off to Asami sama’s office to show him what their men had dug up.

 

Life was going to get interesting, yet again.

 

 

*****

 

‘Asami sama, we have something to show you regarding the recent intel leaks.’

 

“Oh? Interesting, bring it in, Kirishima san.” A 35 year old Asami Akihito mused from his desk.

 

He wondered what it could possibly be to have Kirishima addressing him as Asami sama after so many years on a first name basis.

 

He’d replied in kind out of pure respect, and waited until his door opened to admit Suoh and Kirishima both.

 

The greying at the temples secretary had a twinkle in his eye as he carried a folder in his hand, and next to him, his bodyguard bore a smirk on the corner of his lip.

 

This really was interesting then.

 

“What is it?” he asked with a raised brow.

 

“Look for yourself.” They both chimed at once.

 

And so he did, normally any new paperwork would go on a pile of things that needed doing in prioritized order that sat next to a most precious photo he had on his desk, but his curiosity was piqued enough by the way his two closest subordinates and friends were acting that he spilled the contents of the folder on the mahogany desk.

 

Papers came tumbling out, personal info, medical records, photos and drivers license copies, and as his eyes fell on a particular photo; he couldn’t help the barked laugh that came from his mouth.

 

“Kirishima, is this who is responsible for the photos?” he asked with amusement.

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

Akihito looked down at the stats of the person, 23 years old, freelance photographer, criminal photography was listed as the major interest.

 

Then, he looked back to the photo of a black haired young man smiling into the sun, gold eyes sparkling and a camera strap slung around his neck.

 

He looked positively innocent, without a care in the world, or a clue either.

 

“Bring him to me.”

 

“Consider it done, Asami sama.” The pair said with a bow, before leaving to complete their orders.

 

He looked up into sky through his windows, and noticed that it’d started raining today too, before he pushed up the sleeve of his three-piece Armani suit, to look at the twenty thousand dollar Rolex on his wrist.

 

“So this is how it begins, huh?”

 

Akihito laughed alone in his office, his work forgotten as tears fell for the first time since he’d felt that rain on his face a long time ago.

 

“Oi, Ryuichi, how much you wanna bet this one doesn’t like sweet stuff?”

 

Chapter 2: In Heart's Wake.

Summary:

His story repeats itself.

Notes:

Many people asked for a continuation of this, which was meant to stay a one shot, but I played around with this for a bit to get my writing going, I thought it would be interesting to go over Akihito's transition, so this is a snippet of that because an empowered Akihito is literally the only thing I am capable of writing.

Continued right after where the previous chapter left off, and also writing memories is hard, what are tenses, what are english, how do I put it together? XD

Akihito sat languidly and watched the rain trail down the windows of his top floor office at Sion as he waited for word from Kirishima and Suoh.

 

Time passed, and as the tears at the corners of his eyes dried; his grief continued to fall from the sky, the droplets connected on the pane one by one, until it blurred the view outside into a waterlogged landscape of all that was his.

 

“How fitting, to rain on a day like this.” He mused aloud as he reached into his suit pocket to find his Dunhills.

 

The hiss of steel on flint whispered through the empty office, and he dragged back the first burning lungful and savored as it scoured the permanent distaste in his mouth with its own cleansing poison.

 

It was always nice to smoke in the rain. In the months after he died, Tokyo recorded its wettest spring in decades.

 

The rains were there to oversee so much of his trials and tribulations in the first difficult months and Asami Akihito remembered all those weathered memories.

 

The first night he spent alone at the penthouse; the heavens opened up in lament and crashed down to flood the streets. The first meeting he had as CEO there was an unexpected deluge the moment it started, the first underworld negotiation Kirishima and Suoh took him too; an unceasing drizzle kept them company until it was over.

It was raining the first time he lit one up, too, and that was also the first time Akihito killed someone.

 

The Tokyo revolt began a few weeks after the funeral, just like Kirishima told him it would.

 

The feel of a gun had been so foreign then, unfamiliar and unwanted. He still recalls how shaky he’d been when Kirishima pressed the weapon into his hand. It was so pathetic he could laugh, now that he looked back on it.

 

But Kirishima had rounded up a few culprits for him, and he knew it was something he had to do to truly step into the shoes of being an Asami, to make people realize he wasn’t going to let the Sion Empire crumble if he could help it.

 

Akihito remembered the way they looked at him in that warehouse, with disdain, he was an obstacle to them climbing any higher, up to a place they didn’t belong, he recalls thinking.

 

Killing someone was easier said than done though, and no matter what anyone said, no matter how seasoned you were; guns were always heavy.

 

He had been about to balk, to ask Kirishima or Suoh to do it for him, he’d nearly handed the weapon back in self-defeat, he’d teetered on the edge of just succumbing to everyone else’s belief that there was no way he could do this.

 

But as his thumb played with the safety to buy time, as he stood in the center of it all with expectations weighing down; the pitter-patter of rain on the tin roof began, tenderly as first, until it was constant enough to drown his unease in its downpour.

 

He raised his pathetic, shaky hand and cocked the gun at the first restrained, defenseless person and took aim. His grip was awkward, and his hand was clammy with the nervous sweat of inexperience, but he remembered what it was for, why he was doing this – why he would always do this.

 

He listened to the rain as he pulled the trigger on someone for the first time, and looked at the dying eyes of his first among many victims.

 

After that, Kirishima and Suoh finished everything off quickly as he held himself together long enough to stagger outside to the rain and empty his stomach on the concrete.

 

He’d retched and retched, feeling like he wanted to bring up everything he’d ever eaten, the taste of bile and murder in his mouth was unbearable, and still the rain kept falling to wash the filth away.

 

In that rain he dry heaved on his hands and knees, a pathetic replacement for the pinnacle left behind, and he let the warm spring droplets soak into his suit to plaster the fabric to his skin in a binding of comfort.

 

It was a short time after that, after he’d barely calmed down that Suoh had come out with an umbrella and a packet of Dunhills to offer him one.

 

“Take one, it’ll get rid of the taste better than water ever will.” Was what Suoh had said back then before he could even ask, before he could protest and say but those are his.

 

He’d nearly coughed his lungs up after the first drag, and maybe the second, and god now that Akihito looked back on himself he was so green, what had Ryuichi been thinking back then? 

 

Suoh had been right though, the smoke burnt away the tang in of disgust in his gut with its heat, and seared the first taste of killing into his palate. He still remembers looking at the packet in Suoh’s hand and thinking “Those are mine now.”

 

Cigarettes were something he needed now, to dispel the permanent bad flavor that the underworld left on his tongue.

 

It was a short time after that though, through more challenges and hardships, that he discovered sometimes cigarettes just wasn’t enough.

 

He’d opened his first bottle of whiskey and sat on the patio as a tempest rolled in on the Tokyo horizon that day, felt the pre storm air dampen his skin as he swallowed it back to erase the taste of blood, smoked to corrode the smell of massacre from his nose and drunk himself blind to disinfect the vision of corpses from his vision.

 

Those first years had been grueling, he’d fought each day just to get out of bed, to get dressed into that iconic three-piece suit and strap the holsters over his chest – but it was those years that he felt the closest he ever had to him.

 

Parted in death Akihito understood more than what he ever did in their life together. And one cruel epiphany after another; his determination to see it through only grew, until it became easy, until he could pull the trigger without remorse, until he’d grown and learnt, evolved and changed; until he was no longer a substitute, but the real thing instead.

 

Power was an all-consuming thing; he’d learnt that now, but there was nothing wrong with that so long as the power was yours that was consuming others. The first time someone sunk to their knees at his feet to beg forgiveness was his first real dip into that supremacy, that person had made a particularly bad mistake by saying his name, saying that his death had been inevitable and that it had been about time. A switch had flipped inside him then, something that turned his mercy off – and he’d fired the weapon in his hand with the intent to see that person writhe in pain for what they’d blasphemed.

 

The switch had never been turned back on, either.

 

Regardless of how much he’d changed, inwards and outwards, the muscle gained from sparring with Suoh and others, the cunning and intelligence gained by lessons with Kirishima and general experience; some things never changed, he still loved heaps of syrup on his pancakes, and a sneaky stick of chocolate pocky in between meetings. Kirishima always complained about the rubbish left in the office.

 

Which brought him back to the present, 12 years later; Asami Akihito waiting on word from his closest subordinates about a young gun who’d caused a bit of trouble for him recently.

 

It was the most excited he’d been in a while if he was honest about it, the anticipation prickled his skin – but he waited quietly in his chair, because he’d learnt patience and caution after this long. It could still be a lure, or a trap, someone sent in – he was under no delusions.

 

His Dunhill was about burnt down to the filter by the time his phone rang, “You have him?” was all he asked.

 

“Yes, Asami sama. He’s rather resistant and disgruntled.”

 

“Oh, I bet he is.”

 

 

*

 

 

He didn’t know what to expect when he showed up to the building only two streets over from the first one he’d ever escaped from a life time ago, but when he stepped into the room where the photographer was being held between Kirishima and Suoh; he knew it was no lure or trap on first sight alone.

 

“Ah, this world is cruel.” He murmured to himself as Akihito surveyed the person before him, who was struggling with quiet grunts and rumbles between the two subordinates that were only slightly taller than the captive himself.

 

This person, Takagi Ryota, was young and lean, strong too, if the effort Kirishima and Suoh were currently putting in to keep him in check was anything to go by – but he wouldn’t get one up this time, Suoh dodged a kick aimed for his shin with perfect timing, and held their prisoner firm.

 

Akihito looked on without a word, assessing the midnight hued hair, sharp cheekbones, straight jawline and powerful disposition; it was all there. A ghostly reminder of all the only thing now he couldn’t have.

 

It was blended with all the get go that a naïve criminal photographer could have who sought out their version of justice. It was in the eyes, those smoldering gold eyes that challenged him with all the heat of the sun he used to love before he came to like the rain instead.

 

So cruel. He thought again as he stepped closer, drawn in by his likeness.

 

Silence reigned as they assessed one another, minutes ticked by and Akihito was content to let it remain that way, but 23-year-old photographers always had other ideas. That much he knew.

 

“So you’re the scumbag behind the guns and drugs in Tokyo?” came the clipped accusation, and it was almost a drawl, nearly smooth and full of pride, if it weren’t corrupted with innocent self-righteousness and a skewed sense of justice. Just like that his image was gone.

 

The words were enough to wedge a sliver of anger into his state of mind though, ample enough reason to want to sully this person’s misguided world view, because he didn’t want to hear those words when the real scum bags were the ones he kept in control, the other businessmen, politicians and banks, gangsters, thieves and criminals.

 

After all these years he finally understood his anger when Akihito had lumped him in with the rest – and it must have shown on his face, because the photographer in front of him had stopped struggling now and the challenge in his eyes had notes of fear and desperation.

 

“Scumbag, you say?” Akihito venomed as he stepped even closer, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” And it was his own drawl, low and intent that lit the haughty glare he got back.

 

“I do.” Came the confident rebuttal, spoken steadily like this person actually thought what they spoke was truth, “You cheat, lie and kill, I saw you at the docks with those arms dealers, you hide behind your ‘business’ and deceive us all with your charity events and large donations. People like you disgust me, you’re just another criminal that should be locked up!” conceited passion galvanized the young man’s words, and Akihito found his annoyance growing. He still had a temper after all these years, too.

 

“Ho?” he probed in sarcasm as he drew another Dunhill to his lips, which Kirishima managed to light for him even though he had his hands full. “I disgust you, do I?” a lungful of his exasperation blown into the face of his former self and the resulting sputter gave him satisfaction.

 

“I find that amusing, Takagi.” Sardonicism oozed from his tone as Akihito raised his hand to said person’s throat, “You think I’m disgusting… but I’ll show you something. Do you want to know what it is?”

 

“W-what is it?” came the faulty query, and Akihito could feel the throat quiver under his fingertips as his grip tightened, that was more like it.

 

Akihito closed the final step until he was looking up at him, his hazel eyes locking the other down with control and influence.

 

“I’ll show you, Takagi, that you’re just like me.”

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 12 of A Series of Unfortunate One Shots