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Let it be said, once only, that Kanbe Daisuke is the world’s richest idiot, and it all begins with ice-cream.
It was a tiny white lie, not by far the most immoral thing Daisuke had done in the week, nay, the day; it was a hot day and Daisuke had brought ice-cream, and when the detective asked, well…
Daisuke was a little tired of cute Katou Haru frowning at the mere sight of him spending money.
“It’s strawberry,” Daisuke said and offered the little cone to him. Only years of schooling his face into calm kept him from grinning to the detective finally accepting something from him. The detective took a small bite and nodded.
“Ah, it’s good,” and that was that. The biggest milestone in their relationship was overcome with ice-cream. Since that moment, Katou Haru had become more… open, so to speak. Less likely to attempt to strangle him every time he paid for something, less pissed off. He still fought at him paying people for information but if Daisuke offered to pay for dinner, he shrugged it off.
Daisuke was quietly letting himself enjoy the transition from absolute hate to acceptance when things turned to better and worse.
Then Katou Haru did the unthinkable: he asked him from something.
“That ice-cream you bought the other day,” he said, too nonchalant for it to be natural. “Where did you get it?”
“The store in the corner,” another lie, but Daisuke was too deep now.
“Ah, alright…”
“Why?”
“I can’t find it,” the detective chuckled. “And I- I liked it.”
Katou Haru had this thing around him, where he was careful about what he said like Daisuke was waiting to find out what he liked to buy it and take it away. If anything, it was more probable that he’d buy it to give it to him as a gift, but Daisuke had to exercise some manner of self-restraint around the detective.
“Mn,” Daisuke hummed. “I’ll get HEUSC to buy some more.”
There, he’d said it. Now, to see how Haru would react…
“I can’t believe you’re really asking your magical butler for ice-cream for me.”
No yelling. No screeching, no calls of dissolute and rich condescending asshole. Just a joke and a smile, and calm. Now, he’d just have to wait until Haru was out of earshot to make a call to that rural store in Albania to get the roses and goat milk ice-cream that Haru had liked.
He’d liked it- Daisuke had given it to him, bought it and offered, and Haru had liked it and told him. Daisuke turned his face to the window to hide his smile.
. . .
So, step one: always have the rose ice-cream.
Step two: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?
Step three: meaningful relationship with Katou Haru.
Yeah. Good plan.
The whole ‘?!?!’ was turning out to be a constant state, Daisuke thought as he passed his third glass of champagne to the detective. He’d bought the bottle on a whim; it was the end of the case, and he’d finally gotten Haru to sit down with him in a restaurant.
The detective stuck out like a sore finger in the middle of the sharply dressed commensals, but Daisuke quite liked it. As much as he would fancy dressing the detective up in the finest the world had to offer, it was quirky and fun, to see their differences: Haru and his raggedy jacket had never even seen this restaurant while Daisuke constantly took Suzue there for dinner. Haru didn’t celebrate cases ending. Haru had never tried imported lamb filled with blue cheese and spices, and Haru had never had champagne.
Daisuke had blinked at the confession before reaching for his earpiece.
“HEUSC, get me a Krug of 1928 and have it brought over.” Haru had complained at that, loudly, but he wasn’t complaining now, as he sipped and laughed, and smiled at Daisuke.
Absolutely worth it.
“This is really, really good.”
“I know.”
“Bet you do, you expensive piece of shit!” Haru threw his head back and laughed, calling the attention of the other diners; he was beautiful like this, unworried and happy. A little silly, but not stupid. Daisuke couldn’t think of a single thing that would make the detective stupid. “Ah, are you having some?”
“You should drink it all.”
“Why? You bought it.” For you, Daisuke didn’t say.
“It’s too sweet for me,” he said instead. A lie; he did like it, but he liked the idea of Katou Haru going home with good champagne even more. Should he buy another? Same brand or another? Did Haru like wine?
“Ah, but it’s so good,” he stared at the flute in his hand, and Daisuke admired how his eyes reflected the pale, yellow glow. “And the lamb, what a lamb!” He waved his awe and Daisuke smirked.
“You’re drunk, detective.”
“Yeah, thanks to you, smartass. You kept passing me the glasses.”
“You kept asking for them,” he answered as he stood up.
“Time to go?” Daisuke nodded. “Alright, then.” Haru pushed his chair back and stilled.
“Detective?” He strode to the side of the chair.
“I don’t know if I can stand,” Haru confessed. He rejected Daisuke’s hand with a wave. “Let me try, at least.” He rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any bite behind the remark.
He did manage to stand up, even walk to Daisuke’s car with a certain amount of straightness, but as soon as he sat down, he turned to Daisuke and firmly said.
“I’m not standing up ever again.”
Daisuke blinked.
“Alright.” Haru nodded and turned to the window. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes; Daisuke stopped the car to lean his seat back and let him rest in a more comfortable position.
He drove them to his home, already preparing for Suzue’s teasing; he’d weather it. She’d be right in every remark about him, but he’d get to have Katou Haru in his house, chose his clothes, his breakfast, be the first thing he saw in the morning.
Daisuke had never before seen the big appeal in having a sugar baby, but he was getting there; to use his money to give someone all they wanted, the second they wanted… That had some appeal. Some big, big appeal.
He took Haru upstairs, to the room next to his. If he had his way, he’d have Haru in his bed, but the shock would certainly kill the detective. He lay him down on the mattress, took off his shoes himself.
Acts of service, he thought. He hadn’t thought about them, but that seemed to be Haru’s style; to do something important for someone else. Haru was a very humane person. He carded his fingers through the detective’s hair, as gently as he could. He’d have a headache tomorrow; he’d send someone with juice and aspirins as early as he could. And a good breakfast, that would help too.
It was his fault that the detective had drank so much, after all. He smiled as he thought of the half-finished bottle of champagne in his car.
As he walked away, he heard Haru mumble sleepily, and wished he could stay and listen.
. . .
The day began with business, as usual.
Suzue had decidedly locked herself in their gym, giving him a kiss in the cheek and a teasing remark about their guest’s presence before disappearing. He’d taken a black coffee with eggs before heading up to an office; he’d be receiving people to talk money.
Talk Daisuke’s money, anyway. They all wanted it, and they were here to play nice and ask for it.
Compared to Haru’s laugh and ‘please’s from last night as he asked for more champagne, they didn’t stand a chance at convincing him. He’d much rather skip this ordeal to watch Haru grumble his way around bread with butter and marmalade, cursing him for spending money on frivolous things like champagne.
But he’d enjoyed himself, and that was all that mattered to Daisuke.
The men around him, spoke in charming voices about investments and profits while he contained the urge to pound his head against the table. He could give them the money, he just didn’t want to; who were these people to bother him about golf courses, take that to someone less interesting, he was trying to do important things here, like reduce crime rates and ask Katou Haru out!
The doors to his office opened almost with a bang, and Daisuke, along with seven other men, turned to see the commotion.
Daisuke smirked: Haru had found his way around the house, it seemed.
“Fucking finally!” He exclaimed after seeing him. “Your house is too damn big and you know it- Oh.” He glanced around and quieted down at the sight of these other millionaires. “Er, good morning?”
“Katou Haru,” Daisuke introduced him with an extended palm. “My…” Work partner? Kinda-friend-but-not-quite? Crush? “Associate.”
As the men greeted back, some eyed Daisuke carefully, like they were trying to see where Katou Haru and he matched; good news, gentlemen, your answer is ‘nowhere’. The rest of the men stared at Haru shamelessly; Daisuke had clothes sent to him, good and new ones. Business casual, comfortable, but fitting. Silk and linen, matching wonderfully on top of Haru’s soft skin.
He looked as well as Daisuke had predicted. He suppressed a dreamy sigh.
“Have you had breakfast?” Haru seemed surprised by the question.
“No, I- No. Thank you for the aspirin,” he added, like an afterthought. Daisuke nodded.
“I’ll have the chef bring something up. Any requests?” Haru snorted and smirked back at him.
“Ice-cream.”
“Alright.” Haru made for the door, but Daisuke stopped him. “Oi, sit.”
“What for?” Haru squinted at him. The other men watched their conversation like it was a tennis match.
“I want your opinion on some investments,” at Haru’s raised eyebrows, he added. “Aren’t you the one saying I have to spend my money differently?”
He watched as Haru considered his words, then decided to sit on the couch next to his. Daisuke breathed out softly, in awe; it wasn’t every day that Haru deigned him with the pleasure of his close presence.
“So? What are you throwing your money at, now?”
“No idea,” Daisuke said truthfully. He turned to one of the closet men. “What was it?”
“Er, a golf course, Mister Kanbe.”
“A golf course,” Daisuke turned back to Haru, who had the funniest disgusted sneer he’d ever seen. He realized, with a jolt of joy, that was an exaggeration of the usual sneer that was thrown to him. It felt good to be on the other side of the street, with the judgmental and not the judged. “Let’s do something,” he began saying as he reclined back in his seat. “If you can convince him, I’ll pay for the entire thing.”
“You’re insane,” Haru sighed in defeat as the men zeroed on him like hounds on prey. Good luck to them. Haru shot an unimpressed look to Daisuke, who shrugged non-committal. It really was unconsequential, he just wanted to see Haru break these men; and if Haru ended up saying yes, well, then Haru would have learned the way to convince the detective and would use that information for his own nefarious purposes, like feeding and caring for him in a romantic way.
As the golf men began telling Haru their arguments for why it was Scottsdale, Arizona needed a 43rd golf course the door opened and the Kanbe’s household chef walked in with a tray.
“Sir,” he half bowed to Daisuke, who waved him in. “Sir,” he greeted Haru as he set breakfast right in front of Haru, walking in front of the guests. It filled Daisuke with pride for his staff, to know they knew about his priorities. First Haru, then their money-sucking visitors, as it should be always.
“Thank you,” Haru said, as he eyed the tray; it was a mixture of a Japanese and English breakfast. There was rice, and fish, but also eggs, sausages, beans, coffee. All to put some meat into Haru’s thin, lean body.
And of course, in the center of it all, in Daisuke’s favored grey and gold tableware, three scoops of Albanian rose and goat milk ice-cream. Haru laughed and Daisuke melted inside.
“You can’t ever take a joke?”
“Absolutely not,” Daisuke said, hiding a smirk behind a gloved hand. Haru was really, really cute, and if Haru said he wanted the Moon, it would be Kanbe Daisuke’s pleasure to get the Moon in a satin ribbon for him. Joke or not.
The men had quieted down as Haru wolfed down his breakfast; one of them, a very American looking man by the name Blake Dean, watched as Haru ate with singular enthusiasm his ice-cream. He had the beginnings of a smirk on his face as he unobtrusively walked over to Daisuke’s side.
“A word, Mister Kanbe, if I may?”
“Sure.” He was in a good mood, with Haru in his close space being treated like the prince Daisuke wanted to make out of him. Good enough to let a 50-something American entrepreneur try to convince him further.
“Thank you, sir. I just have a few observations, see, I know very little of the world of big shots like yourself, but I know about fancy food. My wife loves odd shows, you see. And there was this one chapter I sat next to her to watch; it was about Albanian specialties.”
Daisuke’s subtle smile dropped.
“And I may be wrong… By all means, do correct me if I am, but I could swear that is Albanian rose ice-cream. And I’m sure a quick googling could fix any doubts. Now, my wife, Joyce, she’s like your… Associate.” He said the word like he knew exactly what was going on. “You and I come from accommodated families, you more so than I. But she had a difficult start, with scarcity; and it stayed with her. Even now, as a married woman, with all I am able to provide, and after 30 years of marriage, she’ll still get mad if I buy for her luxury items, like jewels, shoes, purses… Albanian imported ice-cream…
“I have a feeling, sir, that Katou Haru is a little bit like that, too. The type to get mad at someone for spending what he’d consider too much money.”
Daisuke turned to look at Blake Dean, somber and serious. The man had an innocent smile, friendly even, but his eyes were cold.
“HEUSC,” Daisuke called.
“The information given matches records of a marriage certificate between one Blake Richard Dean and Joyce Ann Byrde, as do several receipts, sir.” His butler spoke into his ear.
Daisuke breathed out slowly.
“How much?” The man’s smile became wider.
“I sent the papers yesterday, Mister Kanbe,” he answered with a happy thrill. “If I may say another thing, sir?” Daisuke shot him a look. It wasn’t the thought of losing money, or even being extorted that bothered him; it was the apparent transparency in his action. Apparently, he was blatant enough with his affections that a simple American with a golf course dream in Arizona could see right through him.
“Say what you want to say, Mister Dean.”
“If I managed to woo and marry my Joyce after absolutely fucking up our first three dates, you and ice-cream boy definitely have a chance,” he smiled kindly.
Daisuke turned to watch the object of his affections burn himself of the coffee and sighed. At least he had two people on his corner now.