Chapter Text
A moment ago, his pristine suit had been perfectly white.
And a single collision later all Goro could do was stare in abject horror as terrible, deep red ate its way across the expensive fabric, staining his carefully curated image with it. Handpicked for tonight’s occasion, an expensively exquisite asset.
“That -” he began, cutting himself off because the anger rose in him too hotly to be allowed to manifest where it could be heard, or seen. He just clutched at the stains like that could salvage anything.
They were outside the actual venue . Why were there even servers offering flutes of champagne and red wine ?! “I am so sorry,” the stranger said, sounding sincere enough, not that Goro gave a damn. “Let me help you -”
There was a flash of tousled dark hair as the stranger darted behind him, and next, lean fingers on his shoulders trying to help him out of the jacket. Yeah, absolutely not. Biting back a hiss, Goro stepped decisively away and shrugged his ruined jacket off himself.
Even professional cleaning would have one hell of a time salvaging this.
And back the stranger was, all up in Goro’s vision, hands snatching the jacket from him. “No, I insist, it was my fault -” And before Goro could stop him, he proceeded to make an entire scene of things. “Does anyone have tissues, a cloth? Anything? Ah, I am so terribly sorry -”
Manners warring with his rage, Goro’s face twisted into a smile. People were staring, and as per usual, Goro was forced to save face and be the one to show grace. “Look, this isn’t necessary, I will simply - “
And again, his jacket was swiftly swooped out of his grasp as the stranger went to meet a server. “Thank you! Thank you so much!” He took the offered towel and began dabbing at the suit, doing absolutely nothing to help.
It was all terribly embarrassing. Goro rubbed at the droplets on his thighs and frowned. He needed to take control of the situation again, or else -
“Sir,” he said again, more firmly. Goro took a step forwards, settling a gloved hand over the man’s arm. “Sir. It is quite alright. I will take care of it.” A winning smile tacked on. Perhaps he should get the stranger’s name to get him banned from any event Goro would attend in the future. Wasn’t that a thought to soothe his resentment?
“Is it truly?” the other man asked, glimpsing up at him from beneath his dark bangs, which shouldn’t be possible considering they were about the same height. At least he offered the ruined jacket back. “I am so sorry. Let me at least pay for the cleaning.”
“That is an acceptable offer,” Goro said pleasantly and accepted his jacket back, carefully folding the unstained material over his arm. “May I ask for your name then?”
“Ren.” The stranger’s dark gaze bore into him. “Amamiya Ren. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He reached into the inner pocket of his impeccable black suit and procured a business card with a fanciful twirl of his wrist. “Here you go.”
Goro noted that this Amamiya character was wearing deep red gloves. Quite a bold touch of colour, but it worked nicely with his red tie and overall garish manners. “The pleasure is mine, Amamiya-san,” he replied, pointedly not offering his own name, but accepting the card nonetheless. “I wish you a pleasant night. If you would excuse me now, I must find an alternative so I may look … presentable.”
There was an odd spark of amusement in Amamiya’s eyes, like this was a joke they were in on together. “Of course. Once more, I am terribly sorry. I am expected inside the venue, but I hope to see you later. Perhaps I could make it up to you with a dance, then.”
He bowed and walked off before Goro could reject this hope with a sunny smile and practiced politeness. A pretty face and long legs in a well-tailored suit were decidedly not enough to make up for leaving him with a ruined jacket and decidedly soured mood.
With a sigh he considered calling the driver back up and skipping the soul-sucking pleasantries of high society. There was paperwork from the station, reading assignments and essays for university, and Goro was running on three point five hours of sleep. Alas, it would wound his pride too much to give up for such a ridiculous reason.
He’d been building and retaining the persona of the perfect golden boy too long for a stain to be able to sully him. A few remarks were all it would take to spin this right, an easy conversation starter as he recounted the tale. Just a good-natured and laid back young man, poking a little fun at himself for an unfortunate little mishap.
Besides, Amamiya Ren would approach him for a dance, and Goro could not wait to get the chance to reject him outright.
The thought was sweet as a piece of candy and gave him enough heart to finally glimpse at the business card he had been given - only to have his opinion of that imbecile lowered ever further. This was nothing but a thin cardboard square painted black, bright red letters cut out and crudely pasted to it spelling only: Call me. Beneath, there was a number, and a winking face.
Goro struggled to keep himself from outright snarling. People were still feeling a certain kind of schadenfreude after the scene, no doubt, and watching what he would do next. So instead of crumpling the ugly paper and getting rid of it, he calmly slid it into the pocket of his pants.
Had this man ruined his suit to hit on him, or did he offer such terrible excuses for a business card to just about anyone? Either way, Goro vowed to find the most expensive dry cleaner in Tokyo.
He adjusted his ruined jacket over his arm. Time to see what the filthy rich were up to this time around, in the name of ‘charity’. As if every single garish piece of decoration and needless extravagance would not be enough to keep hundreds of families fed.
He, of course, put forth his best sunny smile as he approached the doors, reaching for his entry ticket.
Instead, his fingers brushed a strange little object.
“Akechi-san … good evening. We are very honoured to greet you here tonight.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he managed to reply, despite realisation sinking in. Goro stared down at the delicate origami rose in his palm, its red the exact hue of Amamiya’s gloves. “Wouldn’t you know it,” he said, softly, because if he spoke any louder it would be terribly hard to conceal his emotions on the matter. “How clumsy of me. I must have misplaced my ticket.”