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"The key to being satisfied is learning how to want less."
Of all the things he thought Bourbon was going to say, that wasn't the one he expected.
"Excuse me?"
Bourbon smiled; a brutal, severely soft expression of an unfeeling man who thinks a particularly dark joke is funny.
He smelled like steel, then. Steel and copper, burning in the back of his throat like the taste of blood, clinging onto his teeth. It reminded Akai of something savage, hard and coldーunforgiving.
"You heard me."
Just for that, Akai would have taken a wild guess that Bourbon was an alpha, but like everything else about him, that, too, was ambiguous at best.
Violently ambiguous, that seemed to be the theme of a man who was just a name.
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Akai had decidedly stopped questioning Bourbon at this point. He had stopped losing his sleep over determining what was acting and what was not because he might as well be trying to find the right answer to a Rorschach test.
But then Amuro Tooru showed up, and Akai was back to square one.
Amuro was more than convincing, and Akai questioned whether he conjured Bourbon up out of thin, polluted, poisoned air.
(He knew he didn't)
Steel and copper for Bourbon; stereotypical alpha, and Amuro's scent was everything like a textbook omega's; delicately sweet with a bit of tart. Either there was an attempt at being inconspicuous, or there was a joke being made here. A subtle tell at how funny not-Amuro and not-Bourbon found this whole charade.
Akai would bet half his salary that both scents are fake.
He knew he's right, but damn it if Amuro wasn't convincing.
If Akai didn't know Bourbon existed, he would have bought it one and a half. A slam dunk for Mister oscar-winning actor, he's sure, but Akai still was a little offended at how innately convinced he was of the little things Amuro did; the subtle tilt of his head and even the barely noticeable way he lifted his chin when he's being looked at, exposing his throat and Jesusー
The guy knew how to act, of course. Akai was no expert. He didn't know people like he knew guns, but one fact stands; the man bloody knows how to act, and as much as Akai hated to admit, it was getting to him.
"It's in the details," Bourbon would say, "if you want someone to remember you, maybe something a little more drastic is suitable, but like I said. It's all in the details."
He wondered what would be considered drastic for Bourbon. He wondered if that was drastic for Bourbon, because years have gone by Akai still couldn't forget him.
"Is having everything you ever wanted happiness?" Amuro mused, and it's that conversation they had back on the bloodied floor of the warehouse all over again; "everything would be aiming a bit too high, though."
Aim, Akai bit his tongue, chewing on his quiet amusement as he wondered if that was an intentional jab.
"Somebody did tell me once. The key is to want less."
"An old friend of yours, Okiya-san?"
Akai felt like he's being played with, and he still can't decide if he hated it, so he took the extended hand and stepped into the music. Skidding across grid floors lined with words better left unsaid.
Two can play this game.
"Friend," Okiya smiled as brutally as Bourbon did, "is arguable."
Amuro's blue eyes gleamed under the dimmed light, as politely violent as ever, "would you say enemy?"
The air smelled of honey, entirely sweet in the way only a lie can be.
"I don't want him as an enemy."
"That wasn't the question."
"What was the question, then, Amuro-kun?" He sipped his tea, letting the chamomiles wash away the sweetness clogging up his brain, "If you allow me to be a bit overzealous, I would still say I don't want him as an enemy,"
Two can play this endless game of posturing, going one step forward just to take two steps back, waiting for the perfect moment to just pounce
"My enemy, though?" He drummed his fingers against the table, deceptively calm, "that's arguable."
"Okiya-san," Amuro was still smiling so very sincerely even when his words sounded like nothing but a threat; served as cold as a revenge, "want less."