Last word

He couldn't see the first rays of the sun reflecting on the glass buildings around him. He couldn't see the shops opening their metal shutters. He couldn't see the last party animals staggering on the sidewalks.

His eyes were focused on the road. His hands were nervously gripping the car's wheel. He sped up a bit more. Time was running fast.

**********

He had arrived at Akihito's apartment less than an hour before.

Kirishima had come in his office at the Sion to tell him that the new employee they had assigned to the photographer's surveillance had failed in his mission: the brat had shaken him off. First, the businessman released his anger on his faithful secretary because he had chosen someone inexperienced for this task, then he had asked to see the guy himself.

As soon as the newbie had entered the room, he had received a violent slap from Asami and had been dismissed permanently. He had been asked not to come to work the next day. The poor guy had left, depressed.

Asami was worried. Since the mishap in Hong Kong, he had forced Akihito to refuse every dangerous job. But he knew the young man: he was addicted to adrenalin. It was certainly why the photographer stayed by his side. He was sure to live exciting adventures with him. Exciting, that was true, but they were very perilous too. And Asami didn't want to endanger the young man again because of his heedlessness. He cared for him. People would even say that he cared too much, that his well known self control was lost against his attachment and that his reactions were strange when they were caused by Akihito.

He had hoped that his company alone would be enough to satisfy the young man, but he had been wrong, obviously. So he had got in his car and had headed to Akihito's apartment.

At the foot of the ageing building, he had parked his car and had taken the elevator to the third floor. The door to his lover's flat was in the middle of the hallway. He had taken out the spare set of keys he had secretly made and had opened the door.

He had been met with a happy mess, an evidence of how lively Akihito could be. Two days worth of dirty dishes were piling up in the sink, some already worn clothes were lying on the floor or on the sofa, and empty cookies boxes were spread over the table. The only clean and well-kept place was the case where his cameras were proudly sitting. Asami had gently smiled.

Then he had begun to search through the apartment, looking for any clue about where the photographer had gone. He didn't have to search for long: he had soon found the white sheet of paper that Akihito had fixed on the fridge with a magnet. Now he knew where to find the young man.

**********

The gatekeeper at the port's entrance didn't resist for long when he pointed a gun to his face while asking for the gate to be opened. He didn't have time to waste, especially not with a too zealous little employee.

Before him, the light of the rising day was slowly filling the sky. The numbers on the warehouses were passing before his eyes, but not fast enough for his taste. Fear was constricting his heart. He felt he had to speed up. He had once felt the same, when he had been waiting for the right moment to try and save Akihito from Fei Long's claws. But this time he had no reason to be scared, he didn't know if the young man was really in danger. But he had a hunch. A really bad feeling.

It wasn't a good time to lose Akihito. He had so much to tell him. So many things he hadn't said.

**********

Akihito had come to see him at Club Sion a few days before. It was so unusual that he had been surprised, in a good way. Unfortunately he was having a meeting that had been planned a long time ago and he couldn't cancel it to spend time with the photographer. So he had sent Kirishima to ask him to wait.

When the contract had been signed, he had gone down to the security room. He had sat down in a comfortable chair in front of the screens with a glass of champagne, and had looked for Akihito. He had found him leaning on the counter, a cocktail in his hand. With his flushed face and his shiny eyes, it had been unquestionable that the photographer had been drinking more than he should have.

He had turned on an intercom labelled "bar" located on the right side of the console and had asked: "How many?"

"Already three, this one is the fourth," the barman had answered. Asami had cut off. It was time to go and see the brat.

When he had arrived at the counter, Akihito had literally jumped in his arms. Holding that supple and warm body against him had flustered Asami for a moment, and then he had decided to bring the young man to his apartment to make the most of his current state.

Once in the car, the photographer had been even more pushing. Asami could already feel his blood going to his groin because of the feeling of those wet lips on his. The kiss was delicate and shy. It was new for him who was used to passionate embraces. But he didn't think it was bad. He had the vague feeling he was kissing rose petals, and it was intoxicating. He could feel the young man's desire against his thigh. Maybe Asami had finally won his heart, for him to indulge himself like that.

He was far from being gentle. His lovers often complained about that. He was used to get what he wanted, and he was the same in love: he took. That was what had happened when he first met Akihito. His lovers' gender didn't really matter. He was able to want either men or women. But he had to want them. And God how he had wanted the young photographer when he saw him running away before his eyes! He had managed to have him under his control for three days, and he had made the most of them. But his desire hadn't disappeared. He had once again searched for Akihito. He didn't want to think too much about his feelings, he just wasn't the type: he was a man of action. If his body was telling him he needed Akihito, then he will satisfy it. Plain and simple.

But after the events in Hong Kong, he couldn't hide his attachment to the young man any longer. He had realized the difference between plain desire and deeper feelings… Maybe love? No need to give them a name. What was important was to be sure the photographer was feeling the same.

So that night, in the limousine, Asami had been searching for those feelings in Akihito's hazel eyes, and he thought he had caught a glimpse of them. He wanted to ascertain it, so he had begun to talk.

"Can you explain your behavior tonight?"

"It's nothing. I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're very forward, though you used to do anything to avoid me."

"That's because I love you, bastard."

There it was, the confirmation, those almost harsh words which were hiding the young man's extreme sensibility. He was so happy and relieved that his lips had stretched in a real smile. But Akihito had moved to the end of the seat, looking bothered. Unfortunately, the young man's mind, clouded with alcohol, didn't seem to understand that sign of affection, and a great despair could be seen in his eyes. So when he had told the driver to stop, Asami had let him go, not wanting to scare his young lover even more.

He had watched his delicate silhouette going away silently. In retrospect he thought he should have tried to stop him, to show him once again with his body how much he cared for him. But what he had seen in those hazel's eyes had paralyzed him. He had then decided to leave Akihito a few days to calm down before seeing him again.

Unfortunately things had gone a lot faster and now he was on the docks, driving fast between the big warehouses looking for his lover.

**********

He finally reached for the building specified on the sheet and went off his car. The sun was now a bit higher in the sky and the orange glow was burning his retinas. The city would soon awaken. And almost eight hours had passed since Akihito had run away from his guardian. Anything could have happened. The photographer could either be drinking a coffee in a bar or salty water at the bottom of the bay.

He was looking around nervously, thinking of where Akihito could be. That's when he saw a brown bag near a pile of boxes. He breathed heavily, wanting to calm down to not feel embarrassed if he found the boy sitting quietly, his back on the wall. Walking slowly, he approached the containers, the sun behind him.

His heart missed a beat when he saw Akihito lying in a pool of his own blood, his face pale and his lips bloodless. The young man looked up at him and whispered: "Asami?" before he closed his bluish lids.

'Oh no, don't let it be too late!' the businessman silently prayed. He put two fingers on the young man's neck: the pulse was weak, but at least it was here. Bending in front of the livid face, he felt a light breeze coming from between his lips. He wasn't lost yet. Akihito's legs seemed misshapen and his jeans were soaked with blood. Apparently the fluid was seeping out from a gash on his thigh. Asami took a little knife in his pocket and cut slowly through the fabric, willing to see how bad Akihito was wounded before deciding anything.

Even though he was used to kill and to watch killing with firearms, he wasn't prepared for what he found: the broken thighbone had pierced through the skin, and the boy's life force was draining through the wound. He got off the ground and unbuckled his belt. He made a makeshift tourniquet out of it. Then, not caring about the indelible stains that blood would leave on his expensive suit, he took the young man in his arms and brought him to his car, noticing the bloody footprints which were taking different directions from the place where he had found Akihito. He put him gently on the backseat, and sat behind the wheel. He started like a rocket and took the road to the nearest hospital.

Like a mantra he was telling himself again and again: 'Don't die… Please don't die… Please don't die… My Akihito…'