Chapter Text
It’s not like the money would be so terrible.
It’s also not like Iruka doesn’t enjoy good cock.
(He enjoys it a little too much.)
But staring at the profile that he had been drunkenly cajoled by his roommates to set up the night before and one-hundred eighty notifications in red at the corner of the page, Iruka is starting to wonder if signing up at BadSugar.com had been a smart idea at all. He debates just deactivating the horrible thing all together. Iruka isn’t even sure how he (or maybe it had been Kotetsu or Izumo) had managed to type legibly in the first place.
Iruka’s self summary reads:
I am a broke very hard working student (it’s ridiculous) soon to be a teacher to small people and have absolutely no interest in committing murder. I am polite, clean and I wash behind my ears and between my toes. I keep a strict grooming regime and I floss and use deodorant. I’m a terrible liar but an excellent +1. You can usually find me dragging my feet to the train station and/or eating ramen at the Ichiraku on Tea Avenue. I’m also judgmental… when it comes to noodles. And sweets. And unconditioned hair.
I have never been to jail (except when playing monopoly.)
I do want to graduate. So if you pick me, I’ll make sure to treat you right and be whatever you want me to be as long as I can pay for my tuition fees.
I also hate liars. And cheapskates. And people who make fun and kick small helpless animals.
I also enjoy big majestic cocks and making out.
Iruka buries his face in his hands, scrubbing his palms down as he stares at the monstrosity of a profile. It had Kotetsu’s name all over it. Iruka swears that the moment Kotetsu wakes up from where he is passed out in their shared living room floor, Iruka is going to put on the thickest and heaviest shoe he owns and stomp it really hard on Kotetsu’s toes.
The picture they had uploaded, apparently, is at least something not quite humiliating. It’s a shot of Iruka smiling at the camera with the beach in the background, where Iruka’s hair had been half up and half down. He also happens to be shirtless.
It’s not a terrible picture, per se. Except for the fact that his nipples are showing.
He’s going to step on both of Kotetsu’s toes.
Iruka should delete the profile and be done with it. Just because he mentioned considering being a sugar baby twice, it does not make the proclamation a serious one. It has been quite a struggle juggling his night classes, his teaching assistant post at the public school and his shift at the coffee shop just outside the campus, but he has been managing so far. He has to eat during his commute before boarding the train, or while he’s walking (he once had to live on boiled potatoes for a week - they’re surprisingly easy to carry around; he had that going for him). He does manage to pay his share of the rent. He is more than happy with his very tiny bedroom. He is happy with what clothes he has on his back.
But sometimes, he lies at night hungry and wonders what it would feel like to eat something that doesn’t come out from a plastic packet or isn’t cooked (or heated) at a convenience store microwave. Sometimes, he wonders what it’d feel like to wear something nice that isn’t too wash-worn or a little too big because it had been the only size available at the buy-one-get-one sale rack. Iruka can’t even remember the last time he had beef. Or a good slice of cake. He wonders what it’d be like to sleep on an actual bed, or actually have the time and energy to have sex. It’s hard to have sex when he is coming home very late and trying to catch the last four hours of sleep before repeating his vicious cycle. All while trying to get his assignments done on time.
It’s a hard life.
But Iruka is determined to persevere!
Everything will be better once he graduates!
Iruka is most confident of that!
(Or so he tells himself just so that he can sleep better at night.)
Curiosity predictably wins over logic when Iruka finds himself clicking the one-hundred eighty notification button. The page opens to a window pane of listed profiles of men who have expressed their interest to initiate a conversation.
Iruka can see a preview of the messages these potential sugar daddies have sent. Most of them are a variation of hello, interested, you're cute, let's chat sometime, I've got the meat you want and, unsurprisingly, the cock photos. They did not even bother to include a greeting or some sort of opening remark. Just straight up hard meat.
Iruka immediately erases all messages that have the word cock, a picture of said cock and other words like meat, ham hammer, and dick. Anyone who starts a conversation that way cannot be anything but unsavory.
(Nevermind the fact that Iruka’s profile states that he loves cock.)
Iruka is about to click on the first message when Kotetsu suddenly grabs him and looks over his shoulder with a loud excited squawk. Iruka wishes he did not stop his reflexes and allows his hand to slap Kotetsu on his face like he deserves.
“You're looking at it! You're actually looking! Izumo! Izumo! Get up! Get up now! Iruka is finally picking a sugar daddy!”
Iruka clamps a hand over Kotetsu’s very loud mouth and hisses, “Will you keep it down for fuck’s sakes! Our walls are thin! I am not dealing with Mariko-san knocking on our door again with her broom!”
Kotetsu shoves Iruka off the kitchen stool, taking control of the laptop as Izumo rises from the dead from where he had been asleep on their old lumpy plaid couch.
Kotetsu pays no heed to Iruka’s protests and proceeds to examine all the propositions presented by numerous candidates.
Iruka glares.
“Really?” Iruka asks. “You’re actually going through them?”
“If you become a sugar baby and get money, we can have fried chicken and beer. I haven't had fried chicken in a long time. This is a great opportunity!” Kotetsu says with an eager tone Iruka didn’t think Kotetsu was capable of even making.
Iruka scoffs and turns around, puttering about the kitchen to make coffee and wash the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. He turns deaf ears to the laughs, sounds of disgust and crows of excitement from both his childhood friends. By the time the dishes are done and Iruka carries three hot mugs of coffee to the counter, it is revealed to him just how bad of an idea it was to leave his two friends to handle his sugar baby account.
That he did not want.
Or ever planned to create.
Ever.
“Okay, we have found three men who seem to be okay, fairly rich and already want to meet you. The good thing is that you can power through this. One wants to meet you for coffee on Saturday morning. The third wants to take you to dinner at… Peppermill. We’ll look that up later. Third one wants to take you to a place called Asuka’s Grill.”
Before Iruka can open his mouth, Izumo holds a finger up and says, “Way ahead of you. Both restaurants are in South Konoha. Just around the edge of the financial district. There's a train station ten minutes away from both of them too. Yay?”
Iruka frowns.
“Coffee date is at Tea Avenue at a hotel called The Towneplace Suites. Which is great because well, it's not far from a train station, so you do have an escape route. It shouldn't be more than an hour or an hour and a half. It’s just coffee,” Kotetsu says, shrugging, typing on the laptop. “I've already said yes.”
Iruka is pretty sure that both his kidneys had ruptured when he starts to strangle Kotetsu for being a fucking idiot.
“Why? Why would you do that? Do I not have a say in this at all?” Iruka shouts, possibly wheezing somewhere in his lungs which is also probably failing too.
“It's not like you have anything to lose!” Kotetsu gasps, allowing himself to be shaken back and forth like a rag doll.
“If this works out, can you buy us fried chicken and beer?” Izumo asks.
“I am going to murder you too!” Iruka yells.
The doorbell rings.
Izumo and Kotetsu shoves Iruka forward, who answers it and has not choice but to face the temper of their grumpy, elderly neighbor Mariko who looks like she is most tempted to whack Iruka repeatedly with her broom.
Not that Iruka can blame her.
It's eight in the morning on a Saturday and here they are, making a loud ruckus.
Thankfully, Iruka does not get hit by a broom.
*
Iruka’s first date turns out to be with an elderly, sun-spotted, wiry hands gentleman – Yamashiro Tanaka. A real estate contractor who is in charge of several government projects in the city. He started off as a mere engineer in his early twenties and built himself up over the decades. He is widowed, has two grown sons and now fills his time with managing his company at a consultant level and enjoying his semi-retirement.
It’s not that Tanaka is terrible (at first). It’s just that even with the distance of the two-seater table between them, every time Tanaka opens his mouth, Iruka could smell something rancid.
Like some sort of very badly aged cheese.
It is so terribly pungent that even the slab of steak on Iruka’s plate and honey buttered carrots no longer seems appetizing anymore. It is so bad that Iruka has to hold his breath so many times that his lungs start to hurt every time Tanaka speaks.
Iruka knows from the get-go that Tanaka is a hard pass, hard no.
They are never going to work out.
He is narrowly built, a little hunched over and looks like a gust of wind may just knock him over. All sharp elbows and brittle bones. Not that Iruka is age-shaming but he is wondering how Tanaka’s knees can still carry his weight.
Even if there had been the slightest, thinnest of a tendril that Iruka would even think of considering Tanaka, it promptly dies when Tanaka asks Iruka to sit adjacent to him after dinner. They indulge in some wine that Iruka honestly has a hard time appreciating because Tanaka’s wiry fingers keep caressing his knee and thigh in the public’s plain view, unabashed that they attract some tittering glances and judgmental looks. It’s not a nice caress, either. A little more on the creepy side, a lot of leering when his slightly cloudy irises look like they are in severe need of an ophthalmologist's attention.
Iruka tries to be polite.
He tries to tolerate the appreciative hums and praises of how virile and young and cute he is.
He really, really does.
But when great-grandfather-Tanaka attempts to cup his balls while licking his lips hungrily, Iruka thinks fuck it and hightails the hell out of the there, uncaring when Tanaka starts calling out for him like a sad, sad man.
Iruka has never run so fast in his life.
He’s also never quite yelled himself hoarse at Izumo and Kotetsu; not like this anyway.
They at least have the decency to look chastised.
*
The second date, which thankfully is the coffee date (short and sweet; Iruka is still not over his date with Tanaka), happens one afternoon with a fifty year old purposely bald man with sharp gray eyes. He is tall, built broad and looks like the kind of guy who gets his eyebrows threaded with how perfectly shaped they are.
Sugiwara Eita is old money.
The Sugiwaras are one of the most prominent families in Fire who dabble in a lot of things from politics to healthcare to education and trade. Eita doesn’t come from the main family, but having the surname (which had been a driving force in Izumo and Kotetsu’s argument) meant that he had to have something.
And he does.
Eita runs a very successful marketing company.
He also has no problems flaunting numbers of said company.
Which is fine. Iruka figures that it’s probably just a rich people thing to show off their wealth. Or some sort of marketing pitch to convince Iruka - who Eita had looked up and down and smirked - that he is the legitimate shit. That he can finance Iruka’s whims. New clothes? Sure. New phone, new tablet? Sure. Trips? Sure.
Iruka is almost comfortable with the meeting, until the waiter brings their coffees and Eita absolutely loses it when his latte comes with foam.
In the middle of the café, uncaring that other patrons turn to look at them, Eita proceeds to dress down the poor young waiter, calling her all sorts of things - deaf idiot, slow, incompetent fool. It is so bad that Iruka actually intervenes, horror and shock all over his face at the cruel display.
“Sugiwara-san, that’s quite enough. She can bring you a new one!” Iruka says with alarm.
The poor waiter looks like she’s ready to break down and cry.
“Iruka, if the world continues to excuse such stupidity, our society would collapse. As it is, it’s barely held up. Add to it such moronic behavior, and well.” Eita gesticulates at the waitress, who is clutching her tray for dear life.
There is no thought required after seeing such an inhumane display.
Iruka isn't even sure how he manages to sit through the entire horrible dressing down.
He stands abruptly, coffee untouched, takes the waitress by the hand and walks her away from Eita, who absolutely loses his shit and starts demanding for the manager and cursing Iruka for wasting his time.
Iruka, for the life him, could not make himself give a flying fuck.
*
If Iruka is being honest, the only reason he agreed to go on a third date is because Izumo and Kotetsu would not stop pestering him and because he’s shallow enough to think that Ryunosuke Aone is fairly attractive and only forty-five. He has a head of thick dark hair that is most certainly dyed, dark green eyes and built like a wrestler.
He isn’t taller than Iruka, which is fine. Iruka doesn’t consider height that much of an issue. He seems polite, what with how he seems to portray interest in Iruka’s personality.
For about five minutes
And then all Aone does is talk about himself. He talks about his law firm, his conquest to be a judge and involvement in high profile cases internationally. Just outright showing off. Aone goes from talking about his success to his shit of a marriage, where he proceeds to trash talk his divorced partner, not at all bothering to pull back his punches, degrading said partner in such a way that it makes Iruka stare in shock.
Iruka sits there rather woodenly and almost exhales a sigh of relief when Aone stops talking for ten seconds, just long enough for them to order their meal before he proceeds to make Iruka’s ears bleed with things Iruka quite frankly had stopped listening to in favor of drinking his champagne.
Iruka figures that maybe, with enough alcohol, he can dull down the drone of Aone’s self-centered voice.
However, as their dinner is served, Aone drags his chair and sits adjacent to Iruka, making the servers rearrange their table at short notice. It is during the process of tucking into their meals that Iruka decides that no amount of alcohol will make him unsee how Aone would literally dig his nail in between his teeth, trying to pry pieces of his tuna steak.
He would then pull out whatever it is that had been stuck between his teeth and then eat it.
Waste nothing, he says.
Iruka isn’t sure how he even manages to sit through dinner.
It is during dessert, when Aone starts to caress his neck with the same fingers he had pryed shit out from between his teeth that Iruka thinks, fuck it. He’s done.
No more dates. No more agreeing helplessly to Izumo and Kotetsu’s arguments and justifications. Just done and done.
Rich people, Iruka concludes, are disgusting, rude and outright self centered.
*
“Sooooo,” Izumo starts, one weekend after that horrible third date. “Out of the four hundred offers you’ve received, we found an interesting one and this time, it looks legit.”
Iruka scowls darkly at Izumo, looking up from his bowl of instant ramen. “No.”
“Seriously, no joke. It looks legit,” Kotetsu adds.
“No!” Iruka snaps, jaw dropping when, predictably, his protests are ignored.
Izumo stands and retrieves the laptop. Kotetsu drags Iruka on their flattened and very old rug and sits him by the coffee table. Their dinner is momentarily forgotten in favor of the laptop that Izumo sets in the middle, boxing Iruka in.
“Have you forgotten how terrible those three dates were? I am not going on another one again!” Iruka attempts to stand but gets yanked down and forced to sit in front of the monitor.
“Just look at this for a second,” Izumo says.
“I will not!” Iruka shakes his head, turning his face away, only to have Kotetsu grab him by the chin and turn him to face the monitor. “Don’t make me hit you! You know I will!”
Kotetsu rolls his eyes. “Yes, yes. Now look. Just read! You can read!”
“One more time. Just one more. Four dates and done. If this fails then you can go back to being a slave of society and suffer with, at best, four hours of sleep and shitty nutrition. Last one!” Izumo says.
“Is that a promise or are you two just being the assholes that you are with this whole sugar daddy business?” Iruka mumbles, his lips pursed into fish-lips from where Kotetsu has him trapped.
“Promise!” Izumo and Kotetsu chorus.
Iruka sighs.
One more date shouldn’t hurt. It’s not like Iruka had a lot of dignity left. It’s hard to have that when you’re usually too tired to care about life anymore. Iruka has to remind himself that even if this works out, he can at least have six hours of sleep and maybe, hopefully, he can drop the job at the café.
Iruka nods, rolling his eyes when his friends crows with delight and pulls the laptop closer.
“Okay, okay. Just read this.” Kotetsu points at the monitor with an open, very long message from someone called Hiraishin.
The name alone is enough to make Iruka roll his eyes - really? Flying Thunder God?
Iruka is already getting a bad feeling with this. Anyone who referred to themselves as a god must be bad business.
The message was received two days ago.
It reads:
Umino Iruka, If you are interested, appear at the following address at the following time:
March 29 - 7:30 PM
Suiran Hotel
Suida Tenryuji
Konoha Heights
Basic offer:
- All meals
- Grooming costs
- Clothing costs
- Accommodation (TBD)
- International trips (if you do not own a passport, you will be asked to apply for one)
- Generous allowance
Further details and allowance to be discussed post assessment.
When responding, please provide the following information:
- Proof of a clean bill of health and
- Proof of being on PrEP.
- Full body photo (front, back and ¾ pose)
-
Accurate measurements for the following:
- Chest circumference
- Neck circumference
- Shoulder width
- Arm length
- Bicep circumference
- Wrist circumference
- Back length
- Stomach circumference
- Waistline
- Hip circumference
- Inside leg
- Thigh
- Shoe size
Upon receipt of your expression of interest and the above information, approach the concierge for assistance.
Iruka just stares at the message, jaw slacking and maybe just a smidge disturbed.
That is a lot of details to ask of a stranger.
“Right?” Kotetsu nudges him in the ribs. “This is really detailed! And! Check out his profile photo!”
Helplessly, Iruka watches as Kotetsu clicks on Hiraishin’s picture
The man’s photo is cropped, showing exactly three-quarters of his face from the eyes down. He is relaxed and seated on a chair with a window backdrop of the city at night. He is dressed in what looks like a suit that probably comes with a little too many zeros in its price tag, very flattering, all sharp lines, clearly bespoke. Hiraishin is seated facing the camera, an elbow propped on the arm chair, jaw resting on a fist where a silver ring that is most definitely not a wedding ring but likely a family ring sits on his ring finger.
Hiraishin also seems to have tattoos on his face, red lines cutting down his chin, and probably both sides of his cheek (Iruka can only see one from the cropped photo) - an oddity given his age. Iruka doesn’t know any man in his forties who would even have facial tattoos.
His profile reads (in actual bullet points):
- Net worth: Over 1 billion
- I run a very lucrative business with my brother.
- Most of my time is spent running my business. Do not expect much attention.
- I value intelligence, discipline, and good manners.
Searching for:
- You are between the ages of 20-25.
- You have goals and are working towards a degree or have just started a career. Do not contact me if you are not either:
a.) a student
b.) starting out in your career
- I am not interested in someone who has no life goals.
- You will practice discretion and the highest level of confidentiality.
- Must test negative and be on PrEP.
- Comfortable with bareback.
Iruka shakes his head, completely taken aback. “This is a scam! It is definitely a fake profile! You can’t even see his full face!”
“But look, look! Most of my time is spent running my business. Do not expect much attention! Iruka, you probably just have to fuck a few times a week! He sounds busy! He won’t bother you! And look!” Kotetsu zooms into the profile picture. “Check out that bump!”
Iruka wrinkles his nose as he looks at the very obvious said bump between Hiraishin’s legs.
“Do you think he’s hard?” Izumo asks.
“Why are you two like this?” Iruka deplorably asks.
Iruka’s question, as usual, goes ignored.
“Well, if he is, that’s a big cream gun right there. Which you should be fine with. I’m going to go get the measuring tape. You have to give him a chance! You know that over one billion is the last choice from the drop down menu, right? Billionaire, Iruka! You are doing this! Izumo, tell them he accepts! The medical report and PrEP refill prescription that we sent to Rude-to-Waiters-Guy is on the desktop.”
“No, no, no, no - wait!”
Iruka gets shoved to the side. Before he can do anything Izumo hits the enter button with a confirmation and two attachments.
Twenty minutes later, after a lot of arguing, bickering, name calling and an almost beat down, Iruka’s measurements follow.
The message is seen immediately.
*
Izumo looks at Iruka up and down and gives him his most unimpressed look.
Iruka is tired. He’s been on his feet most of the day.
He also has a rather long commute ahead by train and probably at least a twenty minute cab ride from the train station to the hotel. He had to cut his hours short at the school and pretend to be sick to his café boss just so that he can go home, shower and suffer the commute after. He’s barely on his feet, has had no time to eat except for the convenience store onigiri from six hours ago, and quite frankly, he is not in the mood to tolerate any judgmental comments upon his person.
He’s not even sure why he’s doing this at all.
Then again, if he doesn’t, they are never going to leave him alone.
(There is also probably a part of Iruka that hopes this works. Just a tiny, tiny, molecular sized spark that is as good as not being there if one ignores it hard enough).
“It’s clean, it’s pressed and you can’t go wrong with black denims, black shoes and a white button down shirt,” Iruka says, when both of his best friends stare at him like he’s said the most offending thing on the planet.
“You look like you’re about to handle an unsatisfied customer at a department store.” Izumo frowns.
“Izumo…” Iruka sighs, tucking the hair dryer away, brushing his long hair that is in serious need of a trim. This is the probably the longest length he’s kept it; it’s almost touching the end of his shoulder blades.
“Just saying…” Izumo mutters.
“Are you at least wearing a jacket?” Kotetsu asks. “Oh and put your hair up in a bun. You look a lot cuter.”
Iruka knots his high ponytail and glares at Kotetsu through the mirror. He does not put his hair up in a bun. Just because.
“Put some mist on.” Izumo points, and then shrugs when Iruka glares. “What? You wanna counter the public smell a little and remain pleasantly fresh in case he decides to, you know?”
“Oh give it here!” Kotetsu grabs the mist and proceeds to spray Iruka all over.
Iruka starts to wave his arms, trying to block Kotetsu to no avail. “No - no - that’s too much!”
“It evaporates quickly! It’s the cheap kind! Shut up and hold still!” Kotetsu continues to spray. “There! Now you smell really clean~”
“I took a fucking shower!” Iruka yells.
“I mean, he looks okay, I guess.” Izumo says, looking Iruka up and down.
“It’ll do,” Kotetsu agrees. “We make do with what we have.”
“I do not like any of you!” Iruka snaps. “And this is the last fucking date! I’ve had it! No more old-people dates!”
“Fine,” comes the chorus, punctuated by an eyeroll.
Their neighbor Mariko thumps on the wall with what sounds like a broom handle.
Iruka remains tight-lipped and promptly exits the apartment, taking his wallet, phone and keys before either of his friends can make any more comments. He also ignores their encouraging cries of good luck from the apartment hallway.
*
The train ride takes exactly thirty minutes. Of which Iruka manages to find a seat after the first four stops and snoozes for the next fifteen minutes. He does the same in the twenty minute cab ride, his face mushed against the window where he did not intend to fall asleep on. He only wakes when the cab driver repeatedly calls out to him and to find the valet attendants giving him funny looks.
Iruka is at least relieved that he hadn’t been drooling.
With his heart heavy as he hands the cab driver what is the equivalent of his one week worth of meals, Iruka steps out of the cab and into the hotel lobby which almost immediately makes him want to turn around and probably walk all the way to the train station. Fuck it all.
Iruka read in one of the paperbacks he immerses himself in when he has time to read that the sight of a hotel lobby is always a grand relief no matter how one has enjoyed the variation of scenes of their journey. Not that Iruka had time to appreciate Konoha Heights’ scenery. Sleep had won over.
There is absolutely no relief for Iruka at the sight of the lobby.
The book lied.
He stands there in the middle of polished and gleaming marble floors as he stares at the illuminated and soft welcoming light of the dome overhead, as if it were sunshine within the sharp architectural structure of the hotel. The hotel smells of white tea with undertones of citrus and sensual earthy and woody white musk. It’s meant to relax its visitors, which maybe it does. Iruka wouldn’t know. He’s too busy trying not to bolt and give fuck all about the goddamn meeting with this Hiraishin.
There are crystal vases, flowers and just a few other guests in the lobby dressed in either power suits, elegant cocktail dresses, or silky traditional clothes.
Never has Iruka felt more out of place than that moment.
He is most certainly not dressed for the place. The hotel staff looks a whole lot more presentable in their uniform than he does. Which hurts him just a little bit because this is his best pair of pants and shirt.
Iruka doesn’t know how long he stands there, ignored by the staff. The world, of course, is never on pause for the poor.
Iruka tells himself he might as well go through with it. He’s already lost a week’s worth of food money on a cab ride. It is only sheer stubbornness that makes Iruka straighten his back and approach the concierge, who happens to be a lady with frameless glasses. She gives him a look over the lens, chin tipped down and probably resisting the urge to cock an eyebrow.
Politely, she gives him a false smile and asks, “Welcome to the Suiran. How can I assist you tonight?”
“I was told to approach the concierge for a meeting with... Hiraishin?” Iruka says, resolutely trying not to be intimidated by the concierge.
Gods he sounds so fucking stupid.
Almost immediately, the concierge’s eyes widen, her entire approach towards Iruka flipping completely to something attentive, focused and much more customer service oriented. “Of course! May I have your name please?”
Iruka tries not to flinch. “Umino Iruka.”
“Umino-sama, we’ve been expecting you. I will inform Senju-sama’s assistant that you have arrived. Please have a seat. My colleague will bring you some refreshments.” She gestures with an open and pointing palm at the lush, velvet chairs on one side of the lobby.
Senju-who now?
The colleague she is referring to approaches him and bows.
“Right…” Iruka murmurs, nodding. “Thank you…”
Iruka sits in the lobby, appreciating the soft, extremely comfortable velvet finish of the tub chair. It is the most comfortable chair he’s ever had the pleasure of sitting on. It’s a lot more comfortable than his own bed!
He gets served a glass of lemon and mint water and a cup of warm white peach tea. Iruka turns away from the main lobby when he all but tosses back the glass of water to quench his dry throat and then proceeds to sip the warm tea.
It is the nicest tea Iruka has ever had the pleasure of tasting. He can almost see the garden in his mind when his eyes flutter shut, where flowers grow wild and free. The seasonal peach flavor brings with it a moment of sweet serenity, where Iruka swears he can see himself seated under a canopy of verdant peach trees, its branch tops prospering with vibrant pink blossoms. Iruka doesn’t know how long he sits there for, inhaling the fragrant aroma of his tea, fingers wrapped around the ornate cup.
That is, until someone calls his name.
Iruka opens his eyes and finds himself looking up at a fairly young brunette in a neatly pressed suit, the kind you only see on high priced lawyers or gangsters. He has piercing green eyes, is straight backed with angular features. There is a tablet in his hand, his sharp gaze observing Iruka’s seated form almost analytically.
“Umino Iruka-sama?” he inquires, lips pressing down to a most unamused thin line.
“Yes?” Iruka responds, setting his teacup down (with a lot of regret that he has only taken three sips) and stands.
“I am Senju-sama’s assistant, Suzuki Hide. You are scheduled to have dinner with Senju-sama at the Forum at eight…”
Iruka clamps his slightly parted-in-surprise lips shut and blinks a few times. “Hiraishin?”
“Yes.”
Suzuki's gaze sweeps over Iruka from head to toe twice, judging him even worse than the hotel staff who had ignored Iruka outright the moment he had stepped past the rotating glass doors. Iruka bristles a little at the displeased look on Suzuki’s face, half tempted to give him the finger and tell him to shove his Senju-sama’s dinner plan up his ass and just go home. Iruka may not have a lot of dignity left being in such a setting; he did not need to be reminded of just how lackluster his very modest (or maybe beneath modest) lifestyle is.
“Well, this is just unacceptable,” Suzuki says, pointing a finger up and down at Iruka's state of dress.
Iruka scowls.
“Well, excuse me–”
“Follow me, please,” Suzuki commands, cutting Iruka off. He turns around in his polished dress shoes and proceeds to cross the lobby.
Expecting Iruka to follow him like a dog.
Which Iruka stupidly does.
Much to his great consternation.