76 notifications, 5 calls, 3 mentions.

This is what Asami wakes up to each morning. Every single day, a new girl comes looking for more and more. The phone always rings, always gives the sound of a notification. It may seem annoying... but he loves it. One of the guilty pleasures of a playboy is the attention, knowing you have someone all for yourself for any occasion at any time of the day.

This morning was the same as always, maybe even better. As he got out of his bed and put on his slippers, he could not help himself but look outside his balcony. Cherry blossoms swayed in the wind under his apartment, no neighborhood dogs yapped and barked, the sun gave the perfect lighting to Asami's red hair and golden eyes, and it was a Sunday.

Asami thought that might be why he got more texts than usual, it's a wonderful day after all. As Asami stood over the railing in his balcony and hummed along to a tune, his peace and calm was interrupted by the call of his mother.

"Renjiro! Get down here!". She is a good woman, strong and independent. Asami looks up to her, a person smart enough to raise a child all on her own. Especially Asami, he was no easy task.

"Going going!" He called back in a groan as he put a shirt on, keeping his slippers. His room was still as messy as ever, clothes thrown on the floor and posters scattered across the walls. The only tidy thing was his desk, where he usually used to store away college material. He took one last look at his room as he ruffled his hair with his hands, then walked out of there.

As Asami hopped down the stairs, he could smell cooked meat. He looked at his phone again, ignoring the notifications and checking the hour. Already 1PM? He was late for dinner, the same happened every weekend. He rushed down and almost tackled his mother as she cooked in the kitchen. Her eyebrows furrowed, irritated at her son.

"Don't you know how to walk calmly without throwing people to the floor anymore?"

"Tsk, nothing happened, it's fine!" Asami, looking at the pots and pans, saw lunch wasn't quite ready yet. He felt relieved, sighing loudly. He sat down at the dining table and played with his hair, but just as he opened his mouth to joke about whatever, his mother interrupted. 

"Go buy rice. You must have some money crumpled up in those dirty pants of yours"

Asami had no other choice but to roll his eyes and stand up again. How bothersome, he thought. Hadn't he bought rice just the week before? With a kiss to his mother's cheek, he changed into his shoes, walked out the apartment and down the stairs, out the front door into the street. Nagoya seemed to be more peaceful in autumn, he didn't see as many tourists around. They were a bother, a lot of things are a bother if they aren't there to make your life better. The reason for Asami to be thinking that was his empty stomach.

Asami walked down to the huge array of markets nearby; fish, meat, groceries, drinks, electronics. Anything and everything was there. He walked confidently to his favorite store, and went inside with the sound of a bell ring above his head. An old man waved at him behind the counter, he waved back. Asami heard about him, that old man was a small kid when the second world war's air raids happened. It was the most boring class Asami had ever gotten in high school, but strangely enough it stuck with him.

After that, he walked down a small isle and got a bag of rice. His favorite one, even if his mom didn't like how much wax was in it. He strutted back to the counter's line, but as he checked his phone he could hear one of the most arrogant, stupid, annoying, and stuck-up person he had ever heard.

"What do you mean by 'it has always been this price'? Can't you see the tag? The workers here should try harder and not waste my time. I suggest you give my card back before I sue this place."

Asami tightened his grip on the small rice bag. How dumb can someone be? This was no fun. No fun at all. His chin lifted itself up, and with a look of determination in his face Asami opened his mouth to speak.

"Hey! You! Try picking on someone your si-"

It wasn't long before both their eyes met. Golden irises met silver, the other looked about Asami's age and height. He wore a black turtleneck and expensive looking glasses, a gold ring wrapped on a necklace, black hair that looked as soft as silk and hands thin, perfect for a pianist.

And there stood Asami.

Frozen, blushing. He knew he looked dumb. But the only thing he could think of was something he disliked very much.

Fuck. He's hot.