Author Note:

o.o Oh... I think people have lost interest in this story (or maybe Paradise Kiss fics in general?! I hope not!!).

Well, enjoy! (for those of you still reading this ^o^)



"Screw you -and- your admir--"

Steaming plates of food interupted the would-be fight. "Here's your orders!" Isabella chimed.

Ah.. Food. The one thing that could tame even the wildest of creatures. Arashi's irritation was forotten as he instead peered down at the meal before him, leaving the fork next to the dish in favor of the chopsticks that were in the middle of the table (the diner -did- serve mainly Westeren foods, after all).

Tentatively, he took a bite.. True, he did eat most anything, but in a place like this, Arashi was sure they could botch up the food.

There was no need to be skeptical. It was delicious. Arashi had never tasted a curry dish so mouth watering! Forgetting, or not caring, that George was sitting directly across from him and had to watch, the blond began shoveling in the grub, practically swallowing it whole.

George's chopsticks halted midway to his mouth, not sure if he wanted to smile at Arashi's sub-par table manners, or make a smart comment about farm animals and blond rock-star wannabes... He wisely chose the first.

"Wow.. This is really somethin'!" Arashi garbled out between bites.

"You like it then?" Isabella asked hopefully.

Arashi paused, glancing over. He'd forgotten Isabella was still there. "Uh.. Yeah! It's great!" The blond actually sounded sincere.

"Yes, Isabella certainly has a knack for coming up with new recipes," George said absently, beginning his own meal.

"This is your recipe?!" Arashi was already half-in-love-- but not in a GAY way --with Isabella.

"Why, yes," Isabella confirmed. "I cook all the time, for George and myself.. Now that you're joining us, I'll be cooking for you too." The effeminite youth sounded beyond flattered, and was starting to take on a motherly tone.

George was forced to smother his snickering with a sip of water when Arashi actually cheered to Isa's words.

"Enjoy your meals, I better get back to work," Isa said before leaving, wiggling his fingers in a little wave, manicured nails a shade of delightful purple.

The designer smirked to himself when he saw Arashi happily waving back. "The way to a man's heart is definitely through his stomach."

Arashi stuck his tongue out (devoid of food, thankfully). "You're not gonna ruin my lunch with some smart-ass remark."

"Obviously," George muttered flatly.

A few moments later, the designer set his chopsticks down and pushed his plate forward an inch, finished, though he'd eaten next to nothing; he really hadn't been all that hungry in the first place. "I'd like to talk a little more about the fashion group, Arashi. Quite honestly, I'm not trying to form a group that's just going to make a dress, win the contest, and go back to wasting their time sketching designs and flipping through magazines. I want my group to become a permanent unit, to constantly work together, even after this year's show."

George tilted his head, a distant look in his blue eyes. "I want to -create- something with my group... Something extrordinary, clothes that won't fit the norm of fashion trends, clothing that not everyone will or can appreciate. In a way, I--"

"Hey, you gonna finish that?" Arashi asked, pointing to the remains of George's meal.

Trying to regather his thoughts (Arashi *had* cut him off in the middle of an excellent speech), George blinked a few times. "I- No.. Take it," he motioned to his plate. "Back to what I was saying though.. In a way, I want to be able to look at our group's work as an art. That's what it is, if you really think about. . ." George's voice died down as it became apparent that Arashi wasn't paying the least bit of attention.

Lightly tossing the napkin that had been laid across his lap onto the table, George rose with his normal grace and sighed. At least Arashi hadn't swallowed that safety pin yet. "I have a few engagements to attend to," he began.

Arashi arched a brow. Chye, the feckin' Nancy Boy wasn't going to let him finish his lunch (rather, George's at this point) in peace. "And what, I gotta go along with you?"

"As fun as that would be," Arashi snorted at George's obvious sarcasm, "I'm afraid you can't come with me." George slid on his sunglasses and smiled brightly. "Cheerio."

Bloody George... Though, 'cheerio' was better than 'tah-tah'... "What? Wait.. That's it?" Forgetting his food for the moment, Arashi glared at George. "I didn't come to this feckin' restaurant for nothing, yanno."

"Of course you didn't. Lunch with me is never just 'nothing'," George readily agreed. "Did you want a goodbye kiss..?" He started to lean over the blond. "Or something.. else?"

Arashi sweatdropped and shrunk down into his seat, kinda like a snake ready to bite. George sounded absolutely serious! "What?! No, you poof!" God, he hoped no one was looking.

George sighed again, straightening. "Well, what then?"

"I meant, like, where are we meeting? What time am I supposed to be there? You know!" This -was- supposed to have been a business lunch, right?

"Hmm." The designer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, there's no way around it then. We'll have to finish discussing things tomorrow night. A little get-together, if you will, the four of us, to iron out the details."

A small, white business card fluttered down, and Arashi shot a hand out to catch it before it landed in his plate. Quickly skimming it over, he glowered up at George. "What the feck is this? This is--"

"The best nightclub in the area. Don't worry, I personally know the owner, and we won't have a problem getting in. I think a celebration is in order... The circle is complete, I've found my chosen ones," the blue haired youth stated, a genuine smile hinted on his otherwise cool expression. He spoke with utter seriousness, his sight taking in every inch of Arashi...

The blond, for the life of him, couldn't think of a good enough comeback when he was trapped in that enslaving, blue gaze. Shifting his focus back to the meal, he swung a hand out, giving George a shove. "Fine, I'll let Miwako know about it. Don't you think you should be on your way? Being -such- a busy guy and all," Arashi sneered.

With a twisted little smirk, George turned on a heel, starting on his way. "If you want anything else, feel free to order it. Isabella will add everything to my tab," he called as he left. George couldn't help but wonder if his offer was the wisest-- Arashi was already halfway through the remainder of his order.. Who knew when the punk would be full?

Giving a small snort, Arashi mumbled to himself as he ate. "Feckin' Nancy Boy.. Thinks he's hot shite just 'cause he's got 'connections'.. Chye. Whatever."

Finishing shortly, he sat back, grinning when Isabella came to check up on him.

"How was everything?"

"Feckin' A, mate!"

Declining Isabella's offer of another helping, he watched as 'she' began stacking the empty plates on a tray. "I just wanted to tell you again that I'm pleased you'll be joining us, Arashi." Call it a woman's ego, but the fact that Arashi was impressed with his cooking had definitely helped Isabella forget Arashi's violent episode. "And , I hope you don't think I'm intruding, but did I hear correctly? You play guitar?"

"Oh, yeah," the blond started cautiously, wondering if he'd recieve another order to quit. "My Pops is a musician, so I been playing since I was old enough to hold a guitar."

"My goodness! To come from such lineage, and with so many years of practise, you must be quite talented," Isabella mused outloud, a knowing smile gracing his features.

Arashi's head swelled almost as much as his chest puffed out from that compliment. Maybe it wouldn't be so hard, trying to get along in this little fashion group.

But Miwako was still gonna have to do a lot of 'making up' for this one.