Shiki suppressed a sigh. He stepped out of the building where he had been cooped for what felt like half a lifetime and nearly sank his leather patent shoes on a murky, glassy puddle. His fine features scrunched briefly in an expression of distaste. A moment later he was again the stoic yakuza boss.

He hurried across to the car idling on the curb, carefully avoiding puddles and the detritus of dirty, half-melted snow that turned the pavement into an accident waiting to happen. It was with relief that he settled on the smooth seat, the door closing briskly after him.

Thus far Hokkaido had not been impressive. In fact, it had turned to be cold, dismal and quite frankly, a sheer waste of time. Akabayashi had sent him here to deal with one of the many sub-groups affiliated with the Awakusu. Shiki had received the typical welcome, full of sycophant platitudes followed by a very long session in which the boss droned on and on about balance sheets and the like. It would be annoying under any circumstances but the fact that the boss was bent on covering up a slight accent and thus kept stuttering every other word made it nothing short of torture.

Shiki had more to worry about than just his personal distaste for bad weather, simpering underlings and petty kingpins. This entire trip struck Shiki as a demotion or at the very least a sign that his standing had dropped considerably. The Hokkaido yakuza were honored, at least nominally so, to receive the visit of someone so high in the hierarchy but Shiki was all too aware that virtually anyone else could have handled it. Very little of importance was at stake. Some smuggling revenues, a slice of which the Awakusu was entitled as the parent group, were about it. Which was why the boss saw fit to enumerate item after item in aching detail, going through them all in his strange halting manner, stuttering every few words and dragging out sentences in unnecessary flourishes of courtesy.

Shiki had to hand it out to them, these fellows were surprisingly honest to a t. It was almost expected that subordinate groups lined up their pockets and cooked the books in order to keep the tribute they were due. This kind of corruption was a delicate procedure. If done in excess the umbrella group would either drop the under-group and/or exert pressure that often resulted in disbanding it altogether.

Shiki almost wished something like that was the case here. At least that would give him an opportunity for acting, thus giving vent to some of the pent-up frustration. But there was nothing Shiki could do except look imposing, inspire respect by his very bearing and endure the many feasts done in his honor.

And there were three more days of this. This evening Shiki had managed to squirm his way out of a lavish dinner and headed straight to the hotel. He now entered the suite, his men dutifully closing the doors behind him. As he removed his jacket and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, Shiki mused on how his position so often kept him from opening or closing doors himself. There was always someone to do that for him.

Shiki threw himself on one of the very plush armchairs that fronted the large curved window behind which Sapporo was a thrilling picture of fragile light blinking through the quiet drizzle of snow. Shiki stared listlessly for a while then briskly got up and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

It scalded his mouth and throat but revived him a bit. He would have to drop a hint to one of his men, probably Matsumoto who was almost smart by foot soldier standards, who would then communicate it to lower ranks of the Hokkaido men who would then in turn tell the boss to drop the jarring speech pattern and talk normally. Such a convoluted chain of miscommunication to convey a very simple command but Shiki wanted to strike a balance between keeping a respectful aloofness and throwing his authority around.

He knew that the moment he began to show his displeasure it would escalate very quickly and end with this sub-group alienated and past repair. This trip was a waste of time but it could snowball into a disaster if Shiki lost his temper. And said temper was somewhat brittle and frayed around the edges.

A quick shower did much to lift his mood. Shiki decided to order room-service, taking a kind of twisted pleasure in selecting the most expensive delicacies available. The Awakusu would be footing the bill then Shiki might as well bleed it some. After all, it had seen fit to send him here for no good reason.

Which was not entirely true. There might very well be good reasons, all of which revolved around keeping him away from Tokyo. And it was not the group, in abstract, that had sent him here on this fool's errand. It had been the group in the person of Akabayashi. Shiki could not help but think this was significant. Perhaps one of recurring power reshufflings were at hand and it was in the interest of some factions to make certain he was not in the thick of it.

Shiki contemplated the elaborate crab dish when it arrived, absent mindedly taking a photograph before sampling the clear, soft white meat that was such a contrast to the hard red shell. The stability of any given yakuza group was something of an illusion. Internal strife and constant fracturing made for sudden promotions and equally sudden demotions and downright purges. The structure retained its integrity not so much despite all this mutability but precisely because of it. Virtually everyone had to be on their toes, always alert to a game of politics that was not even entirely rational. There were times it all seemed like a whimsical game played by chaotic, half-insane yet shrewd players, all of which were entangled in often contradictory alliances.

Throughout his life Shiki had played it very safe. His progress had been steady with a few power moves done at just the right juncture. It was his tenacity and ability to read the game that assured his security. But there was more to it. As a medium grade manager of sorts he was not quite part of the higher echelons but was far removed from the soldier ranks. His was a position much closer to the core of power than to the lower levels which had very distinct implications in a self-contained society in which hierarchy was so fundamental.

But Shiki's apparent lack of ambition had a deliberate element to it. He knew all too well that his particular relative position gave him something a wider margin of manoeuver. If the Awakusu were to suffer a major meltdown and split into so many tiny groups, or be swallowed by a bigger fish, or simply disappear altogether, Shiki could- at least in theory- survive. It was a fact of life in the yakuza that the higher one climbed the ladder, the harder the fall if the ladder turned to smoke. The higher echelons, those whose very names bore the group's name- or vice-versa, depending on how one looked at it- were almost by definition bound to crash and fall if the group collapsed.

So when Izaya brought up talk of making Shiki into a king, Shiki read that as an invitation to disaster. This, of course, was true of virtually everything Izaya ever offered, affection included.

Shiki shook his head. Thinking about Izaya was the last thing he wanted at the moment. Shiki missed Izaya on a visceral level that reasserted itself cruelly here, in a strange city, as a cold absence. Of course, there was nothing stopping Shiki from simply calling Izaya who should be back in Tokyo. Except Shiki was not used to just chatting up on the phone. And Izaya was not likely to call himself since he knew Shiki was away on business and thus not to be distracted. Shiki found himself smiling ruefully. It seemed the issues with communication went deeper than Shiki's professional ties.

Shiki noticed that the food was almost gone with some surprise. He had barely tasted the crab. The matcha dessert with its subtle sweetness reminded Shiki of Izaya all over again. Shiki found himself smiling ruefully as he took a picture of it. He wondered what Izaya was doing now. Playing with that whacky cat of his? Plotting the downfall of civilization? Spinning on his favorite swivel chair? All of the above?

Impulsively, Shiki decided to send Izaya the dessert photograph. The reply was so quick that Shiki at first mistook it for a confirmation the image had been sent successfully.

[Shiki-san! Looks delicious!]

Shiki considered his next move. He could easily shift this into sex but as fun as long distance sexing might be, Shiki wanted to be there for Izaya's afterglow. Shiki needed the physical connection of holding Izaya in his arms even if only to have him slip asleep almost immediately. Even that had its own charm, endearingly so.

[I'll see if I can bring you some back]

[Yay! Matcha is love. Sleepy time now. Goodnight, Shiki-san]

Early hours for Izaya, it seemed. Then Shiki noticed it was actually rather late. It seemed he had lost track of time somewhere along the line.

[Goodnight. Sleep well.]

Shiki wished he knew what more to add but this was not his medium. He would simply have to save his words for when he could lay them before Izaya, face to face, and say whatever need be said. The Awakusu might just have to take the backseat, too. Shiki was too tired presently to be fully aware of what a mental revolution had just taken place in him.

Izaya sauntered around the living room in a wide circle, gesturing toward the windows before spinning around to smile widely at Namie.

"Behold! What do you think, isn't it great?"

Namie looked around the apartment that was to be her new home. While considerably smaller than Izaya's, it was extremely spacious by Tokyo's standards. The living room had an open layout that along with the wall to ceiling windows reinforced the sense of vastness.

"Very impressive."

Izaya had taken to swinging back and forth slightly as Namie did her inspection. He now swung forward, all bubbly.

"And you haven't seen the best yet! Follow me!"

He led her to a small platform tucked next to a wall, partially screened by what Namie thought was bamboo fence. Upon getting closer she realized it cradled a tatami covered area upon which sat a portable brazier, its metallic skin black and smooth. On top of it rested a round iron pot.

"Tea ceremony?"

Izaya nodded enthusiastically.

"Turns out the former owner was a huge adept and left his tea stuff behind. This means we can have tea parties!"

"Is this in keeping with the kimonos?"

"So not! But isn't pretty cool, isn't it? So archaic."

"Do you know how to handle that?"

Namie indicated the brazier.

"I have absolutely no idea whatsoever."

"Figures. Why do I have a feeling these 'tea parties' will turn into my making you tea while you roll around on the floor?"

Izaya was mid-pout but he flared into a grin.

"Oh, the floor can be heated so rolling around is a must! But Namie-san, does that mean you know how to work with the brazier?"

"Yes, I know."

Which was not surprising considering Namie's upbringing.

"Then you can teach me! That way I'll make the tea and you can roll around the heated floor!"

Namie blinked. Tea ceremony carried less than pleasant associations. Memories of having to kneels and shimmy about had blended with the humiliation that came afterwards. It was as if it stood for all the disasters that would befall Namie and her family. This idea of Izaya's, offered in offhanded playfulness, touched her deeply. Never had anyone made her tea in such a fashion.

Namie crossed her arms, snark back in place.

"It's best I handle that. You'll end up burning down the entire building."

Izaya's pout returned with a vengeance.

"That's just mean…I'm not a pyromaniac…"

"True. Just accident prone."

Izaya kicked imaginary pebbles.

"I just wanted to serve you some delicious tea…"

Namie softened her voice. There were times when Izaya needed to be handled with care.

"You can still do that with a kettle and then pretend to use the brazier. You'd be surprised at how many people do that."

Izaya looked up from the floor where he had been staring at.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Students of Japanese as a second language often do just that for fun. Using the actual brazier can be dangerous so they just go through the motions and then go mere kettle."

"As in, what matters is the spirit of thing?"

"That's right. Besides, why do it the normal way? You might as well go full Izaya and make it a IzaTea Party. With extra crazy on the side."

Izaya sparkled with joy.

"IzaTea Party! IzaTy for short! Oh, do you think I can use my switchblade instead of the whisky thing?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Oh well. Can't win them all, I guess! And now, for the rest of the apartment!"

Izaya made of show of displaying a very modern kitchen, a large bedroom and a smaller one with the famous en-suite, a bathroom equipped with a Jacuzzi over which Izaya gushed most enthusiastically.

"You could have a career in real estate."

Izaya was expected to launch into another bout of sheer gusto but instead he was silent for a while. Namie knew better then to interrupt and simply waited him out.

"Namie-san, I'm very glad you're considering making this place your home. But I know people are bound to make assumptions, living in the same building and all. If it bothers you,"

"Izaya? If I let rumors stomp me, I would not work for you. I do not care what people say."

Izaya let out a sigh of relief.

"Then you'll move in? There are other apartments to pick from, this was just my first choice."

Namie had already decided to accept. This tour had only firmed her decision.

"It's a great fit all around. I'll take it."

"Yay!"

Izaya did the expected little happy dance. Namie watched with a smile that was superficially dismissive but warm underneath. More than a place to live, Izaya had just helped her take a step toward overwriting a crippling past with a present and future rooted on firm connections. She was not about to let Izaya know any this. But she appreciated it at a deep level that was very rarely breached by anything outside of the constricted circle of her emotional attachments. This circle that had previously only contained Seiji had grown by degrees and now encompassed Izaya as well. "And this is the opportunity for getting that Sphinx cat I spoke of! Now, before you say no, you must see one in the flesh! I just so happen to have one at the cat café."

Namie shook her head. Izaya and his silly cats, silly quirks and silly bouts of shyness. No doubt about it, dead in an alley if not for Namie.