The hard spray of the shower was but one of the only two sounds in the house besides the sometimes obnoxious ticking of the clock in the hall.

Jun Ki sluiced the water through his hair one last time and turned the dial of the shower. The rungs slid across the rod as he pulled the shower curtain across behind him. Moments later he stepped out of the bathroom, hair plastered to his forehead and steam billowing around his towel-clad hips.

Toweling his hair roughly, he walked further into his adjoined bedroom. He peeked up from under the towel at the sound of the cordless phone performing the electric opera it was programmed to emit. He always called it that because that's what it was. Of course, having told is lover his thoughts about it, he received a bemused chuckle.

Jun Ki snatched the phone out of the tangle of bed sheets and glanced at the ID. There was a number, but in the place of the name was:

"ID WITHHELD."

Normally, under any circumstance, he wouldn't answer any of those calls. But the first three digits were something that were familiar to him.

In a sense.

"Yeoboseyo," he hummed, single handedly handling the phone while the other hand continued to dry his hair. The bar tender turned away from the unmade bed toward the large chest of drawers on the other side of the rather large guest room.

There was a beat of silence before the noise of static assaulted his ears. He soon realized that the other party had only let out a puff of air when a voice spoke, sounding tired, but relieved.

"Yeobo..."

Jun Ki stopped mid-action, leaving the drawer open slightly. The voice was deep and rich; only few people he knew had voices like that.

"Anata ga..." he whispered. It's you... The Korean bartender slid to the floor, the all but the nerves in his fingers giving way to disbelief.

"Aa," the other responded, the smile nearly audible. "Boku ga Gakuto desu kado..."

The two shared a moment of soft laughter. It had been long...nearly too long since he'd heard from Gackt.

"Of course I know it's you," Jun Ki said, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Good," Gackt responded. "It wouldn't bode well for my own heart to forget me."

Jun Ki couldn't help the small smile that stole across his features. Sure,  not hearing from one's other half for months at a time would put a bit of a strain on a long-distance relationship. But it was days like this one where Gackt would call out of the blue and make him smile.

"I live in your house," Jun Ki teased. "Tough to forget you even if I tried."

"First of all," Gackt cleared his throat. "It's our house. And secondly, would you?"

"Would I--. No," Jun Ki answered, catching on to the second question. "Why would I want to forget you?"

Gackt merely hummed.

The younger of the two shifted a bit uncomfortably. "You know I love you, right?"

"Aa," the Japanese man murmured, heaving a static-coated world-weary sigh.

"Hanashi," Jun Ki urged him softly, getting to his feet. He made his way toward the mussed bed. "Talk to me."

The silence began to thicken as he took his seat on the unmade bed, but it wasn't uncomfortable.  As eloquent as Gackt was, speaking about his personal thoughts (he refuses to call them 'feelings') wasn't commonplace for the Yakuza boss.

"I'm just," the Japanese man started. But he seemed to change his mind at the last second. "I'd rather you talk to me. I missed hearing your voice."

Without further questioning, the twenty four year old Korean did just that. He told Gackt about life over the past few weeks outside of work. The older man liked to 'keep the job away from the home,' so to speak.

"And after--."

"Hey," Gackt interrupted. "Aieru, desu kado?"

The moment of silence that passed between the two was abrupt.

At least before Jun Ki let out a sharp bark of surprised laughter.

"Sou, sou," he chuckled. "Are you coming over anytime soon?

"That's a secret," came the impish reply.

"Well," Jun Ki rose off the bed with a grunt. "That's no fun."

Ding Dong.

"Who could that be?"

"Not many know where I live," the Korean frowned, making his way out and down the stairs. "Is it one of your boys?"

"Could be," Gackt hummed. "Be careful."

"Aa."

The entrance hall was obscenely large, with ceilings over a story overhead. It was kind of bland, painted and tiled white with some gray and green effects. Gackt had once told him that the house reminded him of the younger man: pure and unassuming.

Whatever could be pure about the lover of a Yakuza boss.

The twenty four year old ambled past one of the mounted mirrors, double taking with a sigh before continuing on to the door. He was still only in his towel. But there wasn't much he could do about it right then.

"Daijoubu?"

"Fine," Jun Ki placated. "Just not decent," he muttered.

Suddenly there was an arm around his bare waist that yanked him back into a hard, clothed body.

"I did tell you to be careful," came the familiar, hotly breathed voice.

Jun Ki released the breath he'd drawn in a bit too quickly and relaxed.

Gackt chuckled; it was a rumble, low and deep in his chest. He closed the mobile phone and spun a scowling Lee Jun Ki to face him.

"That's not funny," the victim pouted, but looped his arms around the other's neck anyway.

"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Gackt replied, lightly bumping his forehead onto Jun Ki's. "Don't forget it."

The look on the older man's face showed nothing less than sincerity. Jun Ki had no choice to believe him.

A look that had been broken with a wry smirk. "Now come give pretty boy a kiss."

A small pink tip darted out to caress cracked rosy lips before retreating behind a tired sigh. Long eyes forced themselves open, dark brown pools rolling lazily to land, blurred and fatigued, to steal a glance at the alarm clock.

He had another dream again and there was no way he was could go back to sleep at three in the morning. Jun Ki groaned, rubbing his reddened left eye. It had been nearly six months since he last heard from Gackt -- an entire half a year. A three-year, nearly four, year relationship built off blind faith and well-placed surprise visits and calls. Not to mention that he was under heavy protection in the utmost secrecy by a handful of Gackt's best men.

The young Korean man let his hand fall heavily on the other side of the bed, rumpled from his bout of tossing and turning before he managed to get some shut eye.

But it was true. There was no way he could forget the man. He lived in a house that belonged to him -- them, as Gackt had put it. But there was no denying it. Jun Ki had fallen hard for the Japanese and he was already in too deep before he realized it. He had to face it -- he was wrapped around the other man's finger. That's why he lived in near-seclusion in a billion-won estate in Wonju, waiting for weeks at a time just to get word of the boss -- if not bar-gossip from his Korean men. That was why he worked said bar as a barista. He was known as the Vanilla King since he pretty much ran the place. No one really knew why, but after Kang Min Gi, the DJ of the Club Vanilla, well-liked, always deferred to him...

The rest was history.

Of course, Gackt would have no less for his lover.

A lover that no one knew about.

Jun Ki rolled heavily out of the bed, barely managing to get his feet underneath him just in time to stumble into the bathroom. He flicked on the light, his eyes turning into mere wrinkles embedded into the top half of his face. The fluorescent lights were brutal as he squinted against it to peer into the mirror at himself.

Red eyes, harsh sleep lines trailing from his mouth to his ear and from his eyes to his nose... Chapped lips and wilder than wild bed-hair...

He was a mess.

Jun Ki the tap and splashed himself with some water.

Work hadn't been the best the past few days what with people coming in to disturb the relative peace at Vanilla. They started shoot outs, bar brawls and everything in between. And as the apparent owner, he couldn't sit by idly and let that stuff happen.

He lifted his head a little to peer at the barely-there purple bruise of the choke hold some large man's meaty hands had on him. Tai Chi is a bit difficult when one's opponent took up all the space you needed to execute certain moves. Junk Ki let his fingers trail over it lightly. It was a bit of a hassle to breathe for a day or two after that particular debacle and he had to use whatever was left of his voice to tell the others who, not by his choice, answered to him, to not cause anymore trouble. They were a respectable business. And besides, it wasn't wise to fight them on their turf.

Jun Ki let the water freely run down his face and killed the light.

Watching TV until it was time to officially start the day seemed to be the best thing to do at the moment. With that, the barista shuffled down the hall until he reached the foot of the stairs. Of course there was a set in the bedroom but he preferred not to stay there. It was less lonely to him.

There was a clicking from behind him.

"Jun Ki-ssi?" came the voice of none other than Kang Min Gi -- no -- Reita, his personal....everything-but-a-lover. He also doubled as the DJ at Vanilla. He was a quiet man. He was like a silent shadow that was always there but never noticed consciously. Reita wasn't exactly Gackt's right hand, but he was pretty close to it. It was proof that Gackt still had some kind of feelings toward Jun Ki as a lover. It was his only hope. The sight of Reita every morning put his mind at some kind of ease.

"It's nothing, Reita-ssi," he called back into the moon-lit hall. "You can go back to bed."

He could imagine the other's barely perceptible nod before the room door was closed and the house plunged back into the silence Jun Ki had woken up to.