How to Call a Bluff

[Rina]

The three months he was away had taken a toll on him; the constant use of his katana wearing away the skin of his palms until they became raw and calloused and the lack of sleep irritating wary eyes. It had been a while since he had to rely on himself during a mission. At first the nuisance of a partner had irritated him, but the two had eventually learned how to coincide and their chemistry on the battlefield brought forth an undisputable force that triumphed anything Sasayaita had seen in years past. Kain had considered them prodigies, the fellow assassins labeling them “the Power Couple”, and Tamaki found himself accepting their partnership—even approving of their harmony.

What had promised to be a mission lasting one week engulfed him and he became more involved with the inner workings of it, an obsessive-compulsive nature overtaking him until it prolonged his journey a day, then two weeks, then three months. He had begun to rely on himself and only himself once more, finding his inner mechanisms and perfecting them until he felt more improved than he had ever been. He found solitude demanding yet rewarding and appreciated the opportunities he had to delve into his own self and not have to worry about the responsibility of sustaining others. The base was probably concerned with his failure to return, but he was selfish and enjoyed bettering himself in the seclusion of the world outside.

The more extensive mission—created by himself—was completed in two months, the last reserved as a time used purely to better himself as an assassin. The summer months had been unforgiving and he often had to remind himself to seek shelter to avoid damage from the exposure to the sun and heat. But with his training came the mindset to push himself and he did; unadmittedly blacking out a handful of times from training in such intense conditions. The weaker he became from the constant exertion, the more determined he was to combat it and build immunity. When he felt he couldn’t possibly continue any further with his training, he decided to return back to base.

He returned with the arrival of winter one night, much to Kain’s disapproval. He had caught Tamaki’s silent arrival and agitated with his extended absence, reprimanded him for his decision and for not consulting with him prior to his action. In the midst of the confrontation, Tamaki’s temper flared—perhaps beckoned by extreme exhaustion or other outside factors—and he lashed out, beckoning Kain to swiftly counter before Tamaki's fist was able to deal a blow. The assault had resulted in an irritated Kain and a cut spanning from Tamaki’s cheekbone to the corner of his mouth.

No one could ever tell if Tamaki was agitated or ready to lash out, for neither his composure nor his tone gave insight to his mood. He kept his voice at a constant low, husky murmur and stared on with his usual listless countenance; looking serene, if not a little sleepy. He was aware of his strength and capabilities and wasn’t afraid to throw his weight around if provoked. He was unpredictable and confident and that’s what made him so dangerous.

The next evening the two were on speaking terms again, displaying the utmost civility in their interactions. Rumor had apparently spread throughout the base like a wild fire and some of the base’s inhabitants stared at Tamaki with wary eyes in passing whilst others kept their head down or gaze diverted. He kept his typical stance—shoulders slumped, chin tilted upward in a confident gesture, hands buried in his pockets—and stared over the heads of the fellow assassins with his usual indolent expression that gave no evidence that something had gone awry the night prior.

He was content to laze about on the couches in the den or rummage through the cabinets for food in the kitchen with little to no interruption of other assassins—perhaps due to their caution of arriving in his presence—and he appreciated the alone time free of irritants. However, he kept scanning the hallways for a particular female that seemed to be out of sight. Curiosity plagued him but his reluctance to interact with others overruled his curiosity of where she had gone off to. Perhaps she was on a mission herself.

The day passed without conflict until the brunette haired matriarch had called everyone into the dining room for a “family” meal. Usually the room was used only for special occasions or holidays, but the woman deemed the night rather important—a new recipe. The majority of the assassins were already seated at the table as Tamaki arrived—he wasn’t exactly the punctual type—and their conversations hushed as they noticed his presence. A few fell completely silent and stared at their plates, others whispered feverishly to their neighbors, and others offered glances his way, either out of curiosity or caution.

He leisurely made his way to the table, staring at everything, yet nothing in particular and took a seat near the middle of the table. As he raised his eyes, a flash of silver caught his attention.

[xJaxx]

He had heard that Tamaki had returned. After three months, Arata had been hopeful that the blond haired assassin wouldn’t return—after all, he was expected to be home after a week but having failed meet the deadline, especially for so long, everyone had thought he had perished on his mission. Such assumptions would only point to tragedy for the base, as Tamaki was considered one of the greatest assets to the organization, but Arata couldn’t help but pray that the assumed loss of Tamaki was accurate.

Truthfully, Tamaki’s absence had been a blessing, for his departure left a favorable female vulnerable. His victim was Katanai, the one female who had been practically unbreakable when he had tried to crush her like a member of the inferior sex she was. However, with her support gone, he planned on moving in and attacking again, ready to seek revenge and anticipating her demise with eagerness.

He could sense her vulnerability from miles away and moved in, being sure to offer her consolation for her partner’s absence in order to beckon her to drop her guard around him. After a short time, he found that she had begun to warm up to him, trusting him more and more with each kind remark or each gentle touch. But his plan had begun to backfire and as she became more accepting of him, he found himself becoming more emotionally involved with her.

Eventually he had fallen into her trap and let his defenses fall. With each longing glance she directed toward the horizon, he found himself becoming more desperate to console her. He found himself going out of his way to trace gentle strokes along her jaw line or to offer a smile to beckon one of hers in return. However, the distraction of his presence seemed to allow her to escape for only brief amounts of time. He had wished on multiple occasions that Tamaki wouldn’t return for the pure uncertainty of how he would react to his arrival. Actually, he -did- know how he would react: he’d kick the blond man’s ass for stealing the light out of Katanai’s eyes when he left.

And now the rumors were spreading through the base that he had indeed returned—and lashed out at the Leader. What gave the pompous bastard the audacity to attack the Leader? Why the Leader didn’t kill Tamaki right then and there was beyond him. His act of treason should have been handled with prosecution, in Arata’s opinion. After all, the man was a travesty at best.

The off-duty assassins were later herded into the dining room upon the matriarch’s request; she had apparently decided to try out a new recipe for the base’s inhabitants. Arata had arrived a few minutes later than Katanai had—he was rarely on time—and he made his way to a vacant chair beside her, offering her a kiss on her shoulder as a greeting as he sat down. He angled his chair closer to hers and rested a hand on her knee. “Have you heard who’s back?” he questioned in a low voice, hoping that she hadn’t but knowing that she probably had. Her ears were marvels; they picked up on basically every happening around the base.

A noticeable hush fell upon the dining table and Arata glanced up, eyes falling upon a familiar face with an injured cheek and lip, evidence that both rumors were true. His eyes narrowed at the man as he arrogantly made his way to the seat across from them. He seemed to be blind to the world, oblivious to the trouble he caused for the feline-esque female sitting across from him. In a vain attempt to distract Katanai from Tamaki’s arrival, he reached for her chin and tilted it up toward him. He murmured a feverish “I love you,” into her lips.

[Kitty]

The door to her room was locked. She felt guilty for shutting herself away, but she couldn't look at him. Not now.

The last time she had been on her balcony, there was a beautiful sunset, a gentle warmth cooled by a refreshing breeze, and the blue-eyed assassin that she continued to pray for each night. That night, she had given him a piece of herself. When he left for what was supposed to be a week-long endeavor, he took that piece of her with him. It wasn't until he had been away that she realized just how significant a piece she had left in his keeping. Each hour they were apart felt like a day. Each day felt like a week. Each week felt like a month. When the first month had passed, she was sure that an entire eternity worth of bitter black teas and bloody-handed training had passed. With that eternity passing her by, she felt her hopes grow dimmer and her mind grow darker.

If the mission was estimated to be a week long, he should have returned in five days' time at the very most. Tamaki was a skilled assassin that surpassed most others in the base in terms of skill and endurance. She knew--he was her partner. When they were first assigned to work with one another, she never imagined how much he would grow to mean to her. Starting off as the sarcastic bastard who asked her to "take care of him," he slowly but surely broke down the barriers that she had spent a lifetime constructing. He went from a headache-inducing annoyance to an interesting subject of study. Eventually, he forced her to admit that she had developed feelings stronger than vague curiosity.

Love. It was a sensation unlike anything she had ever felt. Katanai had never imagined herself as the type of person to fall in love. She was practically a demon with a quiet, yet cutting manner of speech. She was exceedingly mannerly, but it was a cold, impersonal sort of politeness that made her seem more distant than anything. She very rarely let her guard down and now, living in a home full of people who worked together as an association of assassins and spies, she was just as guarded as ever. How was it that here, in this house, she was able to fall so deeply in love?

She shook her head, picking up her teacup. The biting air of winter had taken the liquid's warmth away hours ago. Now it was so cold that she couldn't even smell the bitterness of the dark leaves that had soaked for so long. Without a coat on, the air stung her arms a bit. She didn't mind. Uncaringly, she poured the too-cold-to-consume tea over the balcony. Earlier, she had a note slipped under her door with Raven's handwriting on it. Apparently, she was trying a new recipe and all members currently on the grounds of the base were required to attend dinner in the rarely-used dining hall.

She didn't want to go.

The day before, people seemed to be unusually quiet when she walked by. It wasn't as if people usually struck up conversation around her purposefully; everyone one what she was more of the type to keep to herself (with very few exceptions). However, it did seem like the others were making a point to not speak around her. It made her suspicious. It was not long before she found out that her suspicions were justified. How easily the others forgot how amplified her hearing was due to her cat-like deformities. Many whispered details caught her by surprise.

Tamaki was back.

It seemed as if her prayers were answered. But, perhaps there were more complexities to this moment than she had anticipated. For example, he was not gone for an extended period of time because he was captured or constantly under attack. Tamaki had apparently lived in a manner that the Leader considered to be frivolous and completely uncalled for. The cerulean-eyed vagabond had become so ill-tempered as to lash out at Leader-sama--something that would usually be considered high treason. Besides the unusual circumstances by which he had left, vanished, and now returned, there were other things that complicated the idea of running to find him immediately.

His name was Arata.

In the past, he had attempted to somehow seduce her or humiliate her. She still was unsure of his intentions. Either way, she had written him off as a spider, waiting to prey on the weak and defenseless that got wrapped up in his web. Being the type that was not easily snared, she had evaded his attempts to toy with her. She had attempted to play his game, using his mind games as a training exercise. She had won his games as far as he was concerned, but he had managed to get deeper under her skin than she had let him know. He was sick--vile, even--and she avoided him at all costs.

When Tamaki left, she felt her strength crumble. It was no wonder she had not been assigned any missions--she would have been more of a hazard than help in the state she was in. Of course she was leery when Arata repeatedly asked her to confide in him. Unable to gain enough will to so much as verbally refuse him, she would sit silently. Then, he began to simply sit with her. For some reason, it helped. It pulled her back to reality a lot faster than her sitting alone would have. As much as she hated to admit it, Arata had helped her through a time that she thought she could never be helped through.

Eventually, she came to accept his presence as a part of her day. Wherever she went, he was sure to be there. She slowly began to open up to him. She rarely spoke directly about what was on her mind or what was hurting her, but he somehow followed all the correct cues. It was bizarre how in tune he was to her senses. It was natural for a spy to be exceedingly preceptive, but never had she witnessed a spy's abilities being used so fluently off the work field. He seemed to catch her every time her mind wandered to thoughts of how Tamaki's hands could be so cold, yet so warm at the same time. Even when she felt like falling apart, he would coax a smile from her. He would place his hands in place of Tamaki's.

She was using him. At the end of the day, she was taking his caring for granted. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't bear the emptiness that she was left with. If he could even trick her into thinking that she wasn't reduced to a hollow shell, so be it. "Together" was a very loose term for what they were to each other. She was unsure of what exactly she meant to him, but it made her feel uneasy. It was completely unfair that each time they kissed, he was kissing her while she pretended that he was someone else. Perhaps the thing that bothered her most was the sheer fact that he knew that she was unable to love him. He knew that she was left with a gaping hole in her heart. He knew.

Trying her best to keep a clear mind, she made her way down to the dining room. She sat away from the others; the table was large enough and she had arrived early enough to afford her this luxury of choice. Folding her hands in her lap, she tried to block out the stir of conversation. It was all about Tamaki. She couldn't handle it without wanting to run from the table and back to her room. She focused her eyes on her hands, trying her best to block out all the others. Feeling a familiar set of lips burying into her shoulder, she offered Arata a sidelong glance.

“Have you heard who’s back?"

"I'm not deaf," she replied in a cold, quiet murmur. Her eyes turned to sharp daggers of ice as she cut him an irritated look. Then, she instantly felt bad for lashing out. With a sigh, she closed her eyes momentarily, seeking clarity. His hand was still on her knee. As a gesture of apology, she gingerly placed her hand atop his for a brief moment.

Her ears twitched atop her head as the entire room fell silent. She didn't want to open her eyes: she knew what sight would befall her. Procedures dictated she stay at this little "dinner party" and she knew that if she caught sight of him, she would get up and run away. It drove her mad. Her eyes shot open defensively as she felt an upward tug on her chin. She began to question him, but was quickly silenced with a kiss.

Anger. It was terrible of her to feel the red hot anger she felt when Arata sealed that kiss. He had kissed her numerous times over the past month and she had taken it as nearly meaningless physicality. Or at least, it was meaningless to her and he knew it. She could always feel the effort and passion he attempted to wrap up in each caress, but she simply could not bring herself to feel for him the same way he felt for her. Now, however, it was almost as if she could taste the spite in his lips as they pressed against hers. Breaking away after allowing him to have his moment, she cut him another sharp look. This time, her look clearly warned that he was not to try something similar to that a second time.

Tearing her gaze away from him, she sought solace straight ahead of her. Hoping to stare blankly at the wall or to keep her eyes lowered onto her dinner plate, she craved solitude. She had locked herself in her room simply because she did not want Arata to mention exactly that. As soon as she turned forward, she was met with those icy blue eyes that she had only dreamt of for the past three months.

Her own eyes went wide as her mind came to a crashing halt. Her heart rate increased, her fight or flight instinct telling her to fly away immediately. She wanted to speak. She opened her mouth for a moment, only to close it again. Her mouth was dry and she forgot how to form words. No matter how much her usual self would have wanted to, she could not have the first say.

[Rina]

She was just as he had remembered her; a slim face displaying a casual countenance, thin, soft lips pressed into a neutral expression, and eyes that held a look of vague curiosity as they scanned the room. However, her eyes were closed during the time being, a habit he learned that indicated that she either lost in thought or in deep concentration, and he was unable to gain insight to her thoughts through the pools of crimson. He had learned how to read her through her expression; a simple variance in the hues of her irises could alert him to a change in her mood. Her eyes grew a darker shade of crimson when she was upset and if she was content or even pleased, they’d brighten, reflecting the light within them like rubies. Her stare would chill if she was agitated and she’d shoot an icy glance if irritated and her gaze would soften if she was intrigued or contented.

He wondered if she had heard of his return. Of course, her ears were able to pick up on the slightest murmur, granting her the ability to learn the latest gossip—whether she wished to or not. He found it perplexing that she would close her eyes in such a public place and grant vulnerability. Part of him wanted to be beside her, to dare anyone to so much as glance at her in such a susceptible state, but the other half of him had rationalized that she had learned how to exist without him; that her life went on turning and that she simply moved on. After all, there would have been no advancement if she hung onto the hope of his return.

The red-haired man sitting beside her affirmed Tamaki’s assumption that she had moved on. He watched as his hand moved to her chin and tugged it upward before planting a kiss on her lips. Tamaki showed no visible reaction to the display in front of him, staring on indifferently as his jaw set. His hand twitched under the table, closing into a fist until his knuckles turned white. As she pulled away from the kiss, his grip slacked, leaving a faint throbbing in his veins as an unpleasant reminder of the display of affection.

As she looked away from Arata, their gazes locked, her eyes widening instantaneously as they landed upon his. Her mouth gaped open, as if she wanted to speak, but she seemed to think better of it and closed her mouth.

Initially, he returned her gaze casually, his usual listless countenance failing to leave his face. However, as her mouth moved to speak, his gaze grew more intrigued and his stare wandered to her lips. The same lips another man had been kissing during his absence. He wanted to stand up, lean across the table and pull her into a kiss to reclaim her as his own, but he owed her more respect than to consider her a prize to be won. He absentmindedly bit his lower lip.

He had had females in the past, but he never wanted anyone, especially not as badly as he wanted her. The first night they spent together had weighed on his mind. He had slept around during his high school years—a past he wasn’t necessarily proud of recalling—yet each girl had known that nothing special would come from a night spent with him. He wasn’t one to develop personal attachments to any of the females who willingly slept with him, yet they all hoped they would be the one to change his mind and have him settle down with them. And just when he thought he would never become emotionally involved with anyone—especially someone who had him stay the night—he found himself tangled up with Katanai—both physically and emotionally.

To watch another man kiss her lips delivered an unexpected blow that caused his chest to constrict. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, but attributed the feeling to a symptom of jealousy. To think that someone had been touching her where only his hands should have been and had been kissing the lips that should’ve belonged only to him irritated him—and quite frankly, frightened him. How far had they gone? Had he returned to an already lost battle?

No, either he or Arata was going to win—and he didn’t know how to lose.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers and his gaze intensified. It was highly unlikely that she was willing to throw away their relationship for the red-headed vulture beside her. She knew of Arata’s nature and she was smarter than to fall into his trap. There was no way she had become so involved with him in a three-month’s span that she would completely cast away Tamaki from her life.

Yet it was the kiss that bothered him. The way she didn’t shove him away; the way she seemed to allow it. If she truly wanted to, she could’ve prevented it from happening or at least denied consent; but instead she let him steal a kiss from her lips. Had she truly moved on from their relationship? Did her world keep revolving without him once Arata was introduced into her life?

He contemplated just leaving the dinner party to save himself from the inner turmoil he subjected himself to by sitting across from Katanai but he knew he wasn’t in the most favorable position with the heads of the organization. If he wanted to return to their graces, he would have to act civilly and please Raven. Upsetting her would cause him to fall out farther with Kain and the throbbing of his cheek advised him not to cross him again; it would only cause implications.

Instead, he reclined in his seat, indolently stretching his legs out underneath the table. His foot tapped what he assumed to be a leg of the table before he rested his foot atop of it. His feet were still heavy from his long trek and he wanted nothing more than to recline his feet. He snuck another glance at Katanai as he anticipated the arrival of the meal.

[xJaxx]

“I’m not deaf,” she retorted icily. He was surprised by her response but she apologetically placed her hand atop his to quell the tension. She seemed irritated and he assumed it was due to Tamaki’s arrival. After all, he wasn’t necessarily thrilled about his return, either.

As he placed a kiss on her lips, he felt that she was distracted, if not a little detached than usual. She pulled away and shot him a sharp look that warned him not to strive for a second kiss. Normally, she would react with neither encouragement nor passion, but she wouldn’t necessarily reproach him for making an advance. He withdrew from her and draped an arm over the back of her chair in an act of submission as if to say, "Alright, it won't happen again. (Immediately)"

He could tell she was on edge as soon as he heard the rumors of Tamaki’s return circulate. She had locked herself in her room and he reluctantly granted her the solitude she needed in order to collect her thoughts. He assumed she was battling inner demons with the report of his arrival, unsure of how to handle the news. After living so long without him, either she would be unaffected by his reappearance as she had learned to cope without him or she would run back to him and crumble into his hands. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Arata stared on with wary eyes as Tamaki took his seat across from them. His appearance hadn’t changed since the three months he had left, save for the bruised skin and cut spanning across his cheek as evidence of the fight between him and the Leader. He narrowed his eyes as the blond haired assassin stared at Katanai undauntedly, as if he hadn’t a clue the turmoil he caused her, as if he didn’t notice the absence of light in her eyes. He didn't care about Katanai and it showed. 

It took everything in his willpower to stay seated and to not lash out at Tamaki. He was an arrogant bastard and stared on with a casual listlessness, illustrating his unconcern for Katanai. And to think they had been mission partners at some point. It was a miracle she was able to fend for herself for so long without obtaining serious injuries due to negligence on his part. Perhaps he’d try to talk to the Leader about becoming a substitute for Tamaki as Katanai’s partner. Regardless, their relationship would be strained after his return; he’d only be doing them--and the organization--a favor.

His fingers absentmindedly danced their way through the ends of her hair as he warily stared at Tamaki, ensuring that not further advances would be made between the two to compensate for lost time. He felt almost obliged to hate him; after all, he was the reason why Katanai’s whole and undivided attention couldn’t be focused solely on him as someone who could fill the void left in her life. It was Tamaki’s fault that she couldn’t move on to a different man, it was his fault that she wasn’t able to be broken by Arata the initial time, and it was his fault she was so untouchable yet still so vulnerable. Tamaki was able of manipulation, and that’s what ruined her completely.

In a way, Arata admired Tamaki’s ability to wrap someone so tightly around his finger; yet at the same time, he absolutely despised him for it. He hated everyone who had something he couldn’t have or who was someone he couldn’t become. And right now, Tamaki had the envied prize in the palm of his hands: Katanai. She was unobtainable and perhaps that’s what he found so fascinating about her. He wanted to be the one who was able to tame her.

His fingers gingerly worked their way through the tips of her hair to her spin, trailing along her spine until his hands came to rest at her waist. One way or another he was going to have her. 

[Kitty]

All thoughts came to a screeching halt the first time her eyes met his. These were the eyes that had haunted her dreams for so long. She simply wanted to drink in the color of blue once more. Even with the months gone by, she had remembered the exact hue of his eyes. Drawing air slowly into her lungs, she realized just how difficult the task of breathing had become. Her chest constricted and her heart ached. Her stomach was tied in knots. There was no chance that she would be able to eat a single bite of whatever food would be served at this gathering. Biting on the inside of her cheek, she attempted to release the extreme physical tension that the sight of him had brought on.

She felt Arata move his hand to rest on her chair, but she did not acknowledge him. She could feel that the redhead was being more territorial about her than he usually was. Tamaki's presence as affecting him nearly as much as it was affecting her--not that he would ever admit it outright. Much to her dismay, it seemed as if a bit of the "old" Arata was showing through. The Arata she had come to know over the past few months was a subtly caring individual. His gestures were not necessarily huge, but they were full of subtext. They had developed a way of talking without necessarily saying anything--that was how she was able to communicate with him without speaking. For example, she knew that his arm around her was his way of acknowledging that he had overstepped his boundaries with that kiss.

The Arata she had first met was a very different person. Venomous and calculating, he never felt anything that he didn't want to feel. He was the embodiment of selfishness; everything he did was for his own sake. He was the sort that bursted into her room uninvited to play mind games. His mental assaults were nothing she couldn't handle, but she certainly did not appreciate it. This was the Arata that was more likely to perform acts of affection in public: attention-seeking and manipulative. His present behavior was filling her mind with red flags. She would have to speak to him about it later.

Now was not the time to address these concerns. The only thing she could concentrate on were the pools of blue that reflected back her own eyes. She felt his gaze intensify. She swallowed hard. It had been a long time since he had gazed into her soul this way. From the amount of time they had worked together, they had learned to read one another. She wondered what he saw when he searched her own eyes. Could he tell just how empty and broken she was now?

Perhaps she repulsed him.

Tamaki was never one to appreciate the weak. He considered anyone weaker than him to be a waste of his time. His mind was rather selective. In a way, he was merciless. He could be so cutting in the way he talked to people he considered "beneath him." At the same time, it also made him noble. If he considered an opponent a great deal weaker than him, he was more likely to spare their lives on the battle field, simply doing what he was assigned to do--be it gathering information or serving as intimidating--and knock them unconscious at the end. Many other assassins, as she had discovered through the steady lifestream of gossip her ears picked up so easily, simply killed off the target unless specifically told to keep them alive: even if they were a great deal weaker.

Now, she was the weak one.

Not wanting to pass up the opportunity, she attempted to read him as she always had in the past. His eyes were heavily questioning. She attempted to meet his level of intensity, but it made her feel somewhat dizzy. She felt her heart grow heavy once more. Inwardly, she cursed herself for becoming so weak. As Arata began to play with her hair, the aching in her chest only increased. Any other time, she would simply imagine that it was Tamaki's hand weaving through strands of her hair as he often did. Now that he was back and sitting across from her, it was almost as if she remember the exact feeling of his finger through her hair. She could feel the difference in the way Arata traced his hand down her back.

His hand came to rest on her waist and she tensed slightly. No matter how many times he touched her waist, she could never simply relax into the touch. Though Arata meant to fill the void that the blonde assassin had left, his touch was just too different. Arata was smug, but even still his touch was nowhere near as commanding as Tamaki's. Today, however, Arata was being uncharacteristically strong in intention. There was something about the way his hand was presently perched on her waist that felt almost violating.

She looked over at him, the questioning clear in her eyes. As per usual, she neither encouraged nor discouraged his physical advances. She simply locked onto his eyes, trying to pull answers from him. She wanted to know what he was thinking. The look she gave Arata wasn't necessarily cold, but it certainly wasn't warm or inviting. What about him was so unnerving tonight? Was she so cold-hearted that the mere reappearance of her former partner made her want to instantly cast Arata aside? No. That wasn't it. No matter how apathetic she came across at times, she truly appreciated him. For the past three months, he acted as consoler and confidant for nothing in return. She considered him a strange sort of friend, yet the only thing she had ever done for him was not object to his physical caresses.


Out of the corner of her eye, she stole glances back to Tamaki. He was reclined in his chair, seemingly without a care. It stung to see how distant he had become; even now that he was back, he was as far away as ever. It felt as if she would never be able to reach him, even if she were to physically reach across the table. She was beginning to think that he had not spared a single thought for her while he was away. He returned looking as sound and strong as ever. It was a sharp contrast to her. He had consumed her every thought in his absence, the dark prospects of the unknown wearing her down. His touch was seared into her skin.

At the present moment, all she could do was try to not suffocate on the tension-filled air that she was forced to breathe in.

[Rina]

There was something about her eyes that perplexed him; the familiar shades gave way to a new—if not lackluster—hue that he hadn’t seen before. A small pang invaded his chest and he wondered if he had actually known her, or if he had just been pretending to. Her eyes were dark, yet held no animosity—at least not to his knowledge. Perhaps he had been fooling himself by pretending to know her on a more intimate level when in reality the woman sitting across from him was a complete stranger. Had the three months lengthened the distance between them or had they been miles apart since the beginning of day one?

Allowing his gaze to wander away from her eyes, a soft movement beside her caught his attention. The redheaded man’s fingers were tangled in her hair, working their way through the tips like a spider in a web. Tamaki clenched his jaw, now numb to the throbbing sensation in his cheek. When he noticed that Katanai paid no mind to the creature beside her, he allowed a falter in his demeanor and he closed his eyes, inhaling to calm himself down. He opened them shortly after to ensure that no one had caught him displaying weakness. No one noticed, and if they did notice it, they hadn’t appeared as if they did. But yet he was still on edge.

Why had it bothered him so much that she might have possibly moved on? Who was he to chain her down? She had every right to continue living her life without him. After all, what did he expect? For her world to have come to a screeching halt once he had left? For her to have been shattered into a million pieces that could have only be repaired by him? He had repudiated the weak, so why did he want her to be so vulnerable without him?

Love. It was such a impractical, worthless emotion that plagued humans and made them weak; susceptible to complete ruin as they put their entire existence into the hands of another human being. He had vowed to never fall in love; it was a trivial sentiment that offered no rewards or benefits. It was a useless emotion that only resulted in weakness and failure, yet why did he catch himself falling prey to it? He was more cautious, more intelligent than that to allow himself to fall in love. So how could one female turn his whole world upside down and render him completely vulnerable?

Perhaps they were both weak; only he with her. Without her he was able to fend for himself, able to analyze situations and able to respond with appropriate rationality. With her, his sound judgment was compromised and he often found himself susceptible to outside forces. She weakened him, yet at the same time, she made him whole and stronger than ever. 

He stared on with an aloof gaze of feigned composure as Arata’s hand worked its way down Katanai’s waist. It settled there, perching like an eager vulture awaiting its next meal. Katanai simply glanced over at the man beside her, her look questioning, yet not irked. Tamaki fixed his gaze on Arata, his countenance revealing no insight to his thoughts save for his chin turned slightly upward in an indignant, if not a challenging gesture.

Watching another man freely touch Katanai had caused his chest to constrict and just thinking about them spending the night together made his stomach churn with a violent intensity. He firmly resolved to fight for her, for he couldn’t bear to imagine her becoming someone else’s possession. Even if she had moved on, he was going to remind her of the moments they spent together; remind her of each sweet word whispered, of each caress of his hand,  and of each place his lips had touched until she finally realized why storms were named after people.

His eyes then wandered to Katanai and he lowered his chin, allowing his jaw to slacken into a more neutral position. His hard gaze softened in the slightest degree as he tentatively watched her. After affirming that she had met his glance, he intently ran his eyes down her face for them to land at her lips. Allowing his stare to linger there for a few seconds, he raised his eyes to return her gaze as if to silently inform her that her lips hadn’t left his mind. With a complacent smirk, he glanced away.

[xJaxx]

As she glanced up in response to his hand resting upon her waist, Arata returned a curious gaze, gauging how she would react to him testing the waters. To his surprise, she looked up questionably, not exactly encouraging his advance, nor reprimanding him, either. She didn’t swat him away or shoot him a sharp glance. Content, he withdrew his hand, placing it reassuringly on her head before returning it to his side. He still had a chance with her and that was all that mattered.

As he glanced up, he caught Tamaki’s gaze, a blank look that displayed his disinterest in the situation at hand. Actually, the blond haired assassin just seemed vaguely indifferent about everything. Perhaps that’s just how he was naturally; uncaring and unconcerned by all matters. Which made sense as to how he could even think about abandoning the organization without warning for so long. He could’ve very well caused the downfall to the Sasayaita and there he was, reclined in his seat like he didn’t have a care in the world. It sickened him.

Then, catching Arata's glance, Tamaki raised his chin in provocation. Arata grinded his teeth and offered a glare in return. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do in that moment to be able to take him outside and handle the situation like men. But Tamaki knew that in the presence of the dinner party, Arata couldn’t do anything, so he sat smugly in the safety of the other guests' presence. He was lucky. 

“Bastard,” Arata muttered under his breath. The dinner would only last an hour and a half at most and afterward, he was free to do whatever he pleased. Well, technically he wasn’t allowed to pick fights with other assassins, but he had mastered playing the martyr and after Tamaki’s attack on the Leader, it wouldn’t be difficult to frame him. After all, everyone had already thought he had lost his mind. 

Then after all was said and punches were thrown, Katanai would realize what a disgraceful human Tamaki was and she would come running to Arata, finally realizing what she had beside her the whole time. And with a little beckoning, they’d spend the night together and he’d have finally been able to secure what he had been working for three months to attain. At the same time, he felt guilty. Had he actually taken a liking toward her and developed affection or did he simply want the unobtainable just to say he had conquered all odds? 

He glanced down, eyes rolling over the petite female beside him. There was something about her that drew him, something he couldn’t exactly place his finger on. She was like a light attracting an array of moths. He planted a kiss on her forehead and vowed that she was more than a conquest to him. 

[Kitty]

More than anything, she felt herself grow tired. In a matter of minutes, this little "gathering" had become unreasonably draining. It was not a fulfilling sort of exhaustion such as that which could be reached after a full day of training. The feeling was comparable to breathing in a thick, sickening fog of suspenseful uncertainty and regret. She wanted to shut the world out and sleep, but she knew better than to leave this mandatory get-together. Perhaps the most unsettling part of it was that no matter how tired she felt, she knew that she was in for a restless night. There would be a great deal of tossing and turning before she would be able to drift off to sleep--and the sleeping part was certainly not guaranteed.

As Arata removed his hand from her waist, she wondered what he was thinking about. He placed his hand briefly on her head before withdrawing it altogether. She was perplexed by his actions and the look on his face gave no indication to what was going on inside his head. It was irritating, to say the least. She was usually so fluent in reading even the vaguest clues to determine what a person was thinking about. The headache-inducing truth of what was happening: she couldn't get a read on either Arata or Tamaki and it was infuriating.

She couldn't help but watch the exchange of glances between Arata and Tamaki. If she couldn't read them, perhaps she could read how they communicated with one another. A slight heat rose to her cheeks as she analyzed Tamaki's upturned chin and the faint sound of Arata's grinding teeth that she would not have been able to pick up on if the room had not been so painfully quiet. Electricity streamed between the two of them. It was not the intoxicating sort of electricity she felt when Tamaki shared her air. It was confrontational. Provoking. Challenging.

“Bastard,”

Taking in quiet yet sharp breath, she decided to not acknowledge Arata. He was muttering more to himself than to her, regardless. Instead, she dared to meet Tamaki's eyes once more. When their eyes met, there was a vague sense of urgency, as if he had been waiting for her to meet his gaze. Attentively, she watched his eyes. His stare was softer than it had been initially, or at least it was far softer than the way he had just looked at the man sitting next to her. The most instinctive part of her longed for Tamaki and Arata to switch places at the table; she wanted to be so close, it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. The more rational part reminded her how those feelings had to be one-sided by now. Otherwise, how could he have left the organization wondering if he was alive or dead? He could he have left her?

Somehow, her chest tightened all the more as his eyes traveled downward from her eyes, resting on her lips. His eyes focused on her mouth for what felt like an eternity. When his gaze traveled back to meet hers, she felt the heat slowly gathering in her cheeks. She resumed breathing, unsure of when she had started holding her breath in the first place. Though he was the incarnation of ice, his eyes burned like cold fire. With the time passed since his leaving, she had grown non-revivably cold. As the corner of his lip curled upward, it was as if he had struck a match against something deep within her.

Calm. She had to find a way to slow her reeling mind. Katanai was the sort of person who usually appeared to be in a state of unbreakable tranquility. Tonight, she was having a hard time retaining her placid facade. Rather than looking at anyone in particular, she blocked everyone out. It would be easier to pretend she was alone than to try and question the discomfort she felt from Arata's lips on her forehead or Tamaki's hauntingly familiar smirk. Eyes carefully drifting over the table's surface, she silently prayed that she would find salvation among the rarely used white china that stood lavishly out against the deep burgundy of the table cloth that reminded her of pools of blood.

Glass pitchers of ice water sat in intervals along the table. Ice water always felt refreshing and cooling in her mouth, but headache-inducing and stinging when she swallowed it. Right now, she did not need to be refreshed or awakened. More than anything, she longed for something to soothe her nerves--something to continue to warm her from the inside out. The corner of her own mouth twitched upward, unable to contain the elation that she felt. Spread out in different intervals on the table, her liquid salvation awaited in stout containers of charcoal-colored ceramic.

Raven always did have impressive taste in teapots.

Too far away to simply reach over and grab, Katanai willed herself to stand. Even her own legs felt unsteady. Her voice was trapped too far back in her throat to simply ask the people next to her to pass the tea. Instead, she took the opportunity to regain some balance, stepping as steadily toward her target as she could. Bowing her head and muttering an almost voiceless "excuse my reach," she stood between the chairs of two assassins and/or spies. She did not bother to take notice of who exactly it was. Then again, she wasn't exactly a "social butterfly" at base. More often than not, the other members were more reoccurring faces in the crowd than acquaintances or companions. Gingerly, she lifted the teapot from where it sat on the table. It was practically full. Out of courtesy, she also retrieved the small wooden caddy that contained sugar, honey, and a petit saucer of milk. Already feeling more secure, she carried it back to her own place setting. Before sitting down, she placed the sugar caddy in the center of their section of the table. She took her seat before gently pouring the steaming liquid from its container. A small smile softened her.

It was black tea--just what she was hoping for.

Carefully setting the teapot down next to the caddy, she took the cup between her hands. A steady, noticeable flow of steam rose from the small teacup. Thankful that it gave her something to watch, she fixated her eyes on the rising vapors, inhaling deeply to take in its rich, earthy scent. Carefully, she drew the cup closer to her face, feeling the warm moisture stick to her cheeks. As she often did, she decided to sit like this and wait for the tea to cool. Already, she was feeling more serene. Her once-taut muscles relaxed, as if doctored by the steam from her cup. Sitting like this, it was much easier to breathe.

[Rina]

The red-headed man’s glare did not deter or intimidate Tamaki in the slightest. Instead, it piqued his interest more. It simply confirmed the notion that Arata had accepted his challenge and Tamaki, knowing the ways of his enemy, knew exactly how to handle the situation. He drew away from his opponent’s gaze as the other man muttered something under his breath—either to himself or to Katanai, Tamaki was unsure—and let the conflict drop (or appear to). His face held nothing but a tranquil disinterest laced with undertones of assurance. Arata was the type of opponent that exerted all of his energy in the beginning of a battle, only to die down near the middle. All Tamaki had to do was skirt around his exertions until he exhausted all of his fight and then strike one swift blow to both Arata and his reputation. Those who didn’t know how to pace themselves were easy targets and merely sparring partners for those who were more seasoned in battle.

Tamaki was simply skirting around Arata now, offering mocking glances every time the crimson haired man showed signs of irritation; an upturned chin or sly glance was enough to send him reeling with rage. In the meanwhile, Tamaki sat smugly, if not vaguely amused by the madman’s frustration at the other side of the table. He was sure if he looked close enough, he’d be able to see smoke bellowing from Arata’s ears. A nonchalant smirk tugged at his lips as he regarded Arata’s reaction with a simple confirmation: Arata knew he was being dragged into a losing battle.

As Tamaki’s gaze met Katanai’s, she stared on tentatively. His eyes slid down her face to land at her lips briefly and once they returned to her eyes once more, her cheeks light up in a pale glow of heat. Satisfied, he smirked and looked away, leaving her enough sanctuary to gather her thoughts, whilst still casting sideway glances every now and again to remind her that the storm—her storm—had returned.

The sound of a chair squeaking against the hardwood flooring caught his attention and his allowed himself to be captivated by movement as Katanai stood from her seat. He watched curiously, half anticipating her to walk out of the room, yet slightly hoping she would make her way over to him. Instead, she reached for the tea—an expected outcome (considering she was fond of tea) that frustrated him knowing he wasn’t able to predict the cause of her standing. She drew the tea along with a wooden caddy back to her seat and sat down, finding refuge in the dark hues of the earthy brew.

A familiar smirk played on Katanai’s lips, an expression of contentment. He had often seen the look before when she made herself pots of tea and stood in the kitchen, her waist perched between the corner counters, offering a sort of cradle for her. She often set out another tea cup other than the one for herself, in some expectancy of company; which usually turned out to be him. Whether she intended the cup be for him or someone else, he hadn’t found out. He assumed it was for himself considering she never protested or brought out another cup when he claimed the one displayed on the counter. Truthfully, he hated tea. He hated the heat that emanated and fogged his vision when he lifted the cup to his lips, he hated the Russian Roulette he played every time he took the first sip and put his tongue in harm’s way of being burnt depending on how long the tea had to sit, and he hated the hot, musky liquid as it invaded his system and warmed his body to an unnatural temperature. But he endured each unpleasant factor of the tea for one thing and one thing only: Katanai.

With that epiphany, a sudden fire ignited within him, an unpleasant anxiety coiling in his stomach and beckoning him to hold onto the end of his seat to restrain himself. When he was recruited into the Sasayaita, he hadn’t known why he was fighting or why he pushed himself to excel in his training. For his own self-satisfaction, he decided upon. He knew of his potential and he simply acted upon it; valuing himself greater than to become second best to anyone.

It was the news that he, the solitary assassin of several years, was to be paired up with someone of his “ability” that made him vow to train diligently to regain his pedestal at the top of the organization. A sole pedestal that he refused to share with anyone.

And it was she, who he had uttered the spiteful words, “Please take care of me,” to; who ended up revealing all of his flaws and weaknesses in the midst of a heated battle. It was she who took his words to heart and took a bullet for him—quite literally—and saved his life. It was she who then became a constant part of his missions. It was she who reproached him for disregarding his health during long periods of training and who reminded him of his self negligence during missions. It was she who drove him to his wits end, and at the same time, it was she who helped mold him into the assassin he was.

And it was she, who revealed all of his flaws and weaknesses in the person he was, who reprimanded him for his heavy footfalls, who reproached him for sleeping in too late, who advised him against drinking too many shots of sake. It was she who taught him how to—slowly but surely—trust people and allow others to help support the weight of the world if bearing it became too daunting.

And it was Katanai who he had fallen utterly and uncontrollably in love with.

The epiphany rendered him a victim to his own body; his legs moving out from under him, pushing the chair away from the table in the process. He felt himself stand and he made his way around the table, an eerie hush following him as he advanced. He felt the other assassins stare warily but the silence simply fueled the whirling in his head, urging him forward. His eyes were fixed on his target; the only female he had ever truly looked at; the only female he stared at enough to commit her contour to memory.

The walk allowed him time to gather his thoughts—as the table was long enough to fit an ample amount of assassins/spies. As he reached her chair, he simply stretched over her, pardoning himself in the presence of the assassins/spies beside her, and grabbed the pot of tea. Upon leaning over, he murmured a soft, “I’ve missed you,” allowing his lips to lightly graze her ear in the process. And with that, he withdrew from his position and made his way back to his seat with the teapot in tote.

[xJaxx]

Each time Tamaki raised his chin challengingly or shot an insolent glance his way, Arata felt his tolerance dwindle until he was counting grains of sand. The blond haired man infuriated him to the point that he clenched his fists to restrain himself, the magnitude of the gesture drawing the blood out of his knuckles. He diverted his gaze elsewhere and settled for staring at the assortment of saucers and tea pots laid out on the table. Drawing his hands up to his temples and closing his eyes, he massaged them briefly, willing away the irritation.

He heard the chair beside him screech and draw away from the table. Opening his eyes, he glanced over at Katanai, who was standing. His eyes followed her curiously as she simply reached for the tea and the wooden caddy beside it. Once she obtained the items, she sat down, pouring herself a drink. He let out an exhale, realizing that he had been holding his breath; apprehensive if she was going to crawl back to the irritant on the other side of the table. Relieved, he slipped a hand under the table and rested it on her knee.

As much as he wanted to assure himself she wouldn’t crawl back to Tamaki, Katanai was unreadable and unpredictable. Surely she wouldn’t return to him after being abandoned for so long. Three months—as he had learned—was an ample amount of time for feelings to change. After all, change was the only thing that was constant. But then again, he knew they had been partners for quite some time, earning the nickname “the Power Couple”. It seemed as if everyone recognized Tamaki and Katanai’s relationship—if not accepted it as an unbreakable tie that was the biggest asset to the organization.

Then, it hit him. Were the assassins on edge because of Tamaki’s lashing out against the Leader, or had they recognized Arata’s and Katanai’s blooming relationship and saw a conflict between the two males looming in the horizon? Were they more concerned about how the ‘love-triangle’ situation was going to pan out rather than the fact that Tamaki displayed disloyalty toward the organization? It was as if everyone had mercifully allowed Arata the humor of developing a relationship with Katanai, only to anticipate Tamaki's arrival and the rekindling of the Power Couple. They already had all their cards stacked against him. 

Another seat screeching against the floor pulled Arata away from his confusion and he glanced at Katanai, expecting to see that she had gotten up to return the teapot and the caddy to its original place. However, he noticed a blur of gold out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, his eyes landing on Tamaki as he made his way over to their side of the table. Arata tensed and pushed his seat out from under the table, preparing for easy access to the invader.

Unexpectedly, Tamaki stopped beside Katanai—too close to her for Arata’s comfort—and leaned over, simply retrieving the teapot. Wordlessly, the blond haired man returned to his side of the table. Arata warily followed his retreat with his gaze before scooting his chair back in and protectively slinging his arm over the back of Katanai’s chair. There was no way he was going to allow Tamaki to win Katanai over; and there was no way he was going to allow her to crawl back to him.