Honestly, that guy was the farthest thing from photogenic, but Ryouta couldn’t stop taking pictures of him whenever possible. If the editor complained about the many photographs about Aomine Daiki, Ryouta could always say that it’s because Aomine’s freaking amazing.

Asides from the uncontested basketball skills, the guy was ridiculously good-looking, even though his photographs attested otherwise (and man, was Ryouta sorry for that).

“Your photographs are always so awful,” Ryouta sighed as they finished one of their photo sessions. It was hard to remind himself that Aomine wasn’t a model – those looks would definitely work in that industry. “Aominecchi, please stop ruining my career.”

“Huh?” Aomine threw an exasperated look at Ryouta. “It’s not my job to make yours easier. It’s just photographing, for fuck’s sake.”

Ryouta wasn’t sure whether he wanted to throw a basketball at Aomine or fuck him more.

It was pretty even, he figured as he packed his camera with pursed lips. “Aominecchi can be the best player on court, but he’ll never be the king of my heart at this rate.”

“Wha— wait a moment, Kise, you mad or something?”

“Stay still.”

Yamamoto listened to him well enough, even though his lack of knowledge for technical terms sometimes made it hard for him to follow through with Shouichi’s suggestions. Shouichi’s inability to dumben things down was on bad par with the Rain Guardian, and Shouichi acknowledged this.

“Hahah, okay, but I’m really alright, Shouichi--”

Shouichi pinched at Yamamoto’s hand. “You’re not,” he said sternly, “let me do my job.”

The flames came gently to life, the heat of them flunctuating until steadying. Shouichi pressed his hands on Yamamoto’s chest, brows furrowed as he tried to undo some of the damage Yamamoto had taken on himself by protecting him after things had gone south.

Geesh.

In the small apertment in a complex in the middle of Rome, Shouichi once more questioned how his life had turned from safely planned route into mafia and bloodshed that had yet to cease.

“Oh, my.” 

Byakuran smiles at the identical look on another Byakuran’s face, both of them sipping from their respective cups as pleasant chatter fills the round table which several Byakurans are seated at.

“I can’t believe my Shou-chan betrayed me, as well.”

Byakuran tastes the aroma of tea, clicks his tongue before adding more honey into his cup. Too much? Never too much, especially when his tongue’s gone numb to sweetness a long time ago.

“Yours, too? Ah, he really is a disobedient one in all the universes.”

Words ring in and through Byakuran’s head, the buzz harsh and unpleasant as he hears his own voice multiplied. He pours more tea, takes another marshmallow, bites into it like a savage.

“It’s fine; he’ll see who’s right and wrong when the time comes.”

blANKS OUT