And run he did. That was what he wa

And run he did. That was what he was best at, wasn't it? Running away with his tail between his legs. The way he ran from Japan, on a winter day just like this one. Except, there wasn't any snow that night, was there? Just the cold, biting wind that he felt now as he raced down the empty streets, three men in his pursuit. His throat stung from the cold air that coursed through it with every breath he took, stripping away at the moist mucus.

Aki, you fucking idiot.

He skidded around a corner, using a sign pole to help him change directions, the momentum carrying him through the swift turn. Random memories flew before his vision, just like the shop windows that he ran past, frame by frame like an antique film, jagged and crude swerves down his memory lane.

There.

He spotted the stairwell down to a metro station up ahead. He understood now why the neighborhood was marked as "notorious"; there just weren't any people to help you out.

Takaba jumped onto the railed and slid his way down, flying over the last few steps. The doors to the metro were still open, just about to close. He blindly lunged at the closest door and crashed inside into an empty compartment. The doors closed with a hiss and a sigh behind him, and he looked up to see the three men arriving onto the platform, cursing.

Takaba sank down against a pole. He was still in considerably good shape considering how much his physical condition had deteriorated compared to his days in Japan. Or maybe it was just the adrenaline making him do strange thing. Chases tended to do that to him.

He looked at his camera bag; somehow, it had managed to stay with him through the ruckus. The sight of it made him smile. Maybe it had been worse it; he would see.

The floor of the compartment shook in regular rhythm like his own heart beat, which had finally settled down to a steady beat. Takaba glanced at the painful buzz in his left arm where the bleeding was just barely starting to coagulate. Nothing life threatening but…

Huh. Since when did I have a cut?

The hell with it. Time. Four past eight.

Oh, Gyles…fuck…

Gyles watched the long hand pass the fifteen minute mark. He couldn't help but be anxious. It wasn't that he obsessed over punctuality. Rather, it was that, despite being young, his lover was extremely exact with his time, almost never being late. In fact, he could only think of two occasions when he was late, today being the second one.