"Fuji."

Fuji turns around, all smiles. Inui's glasses catch the light and reflect back at him.

"Inui," Fuji replies, folding his arms across his chest. "Did you need something?"

Inui takes a step forward. Fuji doesn't step back. "You purposefully avoided my lucky pocket," Inui says.

Fuji has never lost at billiards before, and he knows he could have beaten Echizen. He'd wanted to, badly, but he couldn't have risked an unknown variable. Inui is always an unknown variable.

"Can't get anything past Inui," says Fuji, his smile carefully widening. And it's true. This is why Fuji reveals so little of himself around Inui; anything Inui knows is analyzed and carefully recorded, and Fuji doesn't like thinking he can be explained away in graphs and lined paper.

Inui takes another step forward. Fuji raises his eyebrows. "You didn't know what would have happened," Inui says.

"Ah," says Fuji, "but I knew I wasn't thirsty."

"What makes you think you would have gotten the same prize as Katsuo and Kachirou?"

Fuji's smile falters and his eyes widen. He can almost hear Inui scribbling away at the notebook in his brain, but he recovers quickly.

"I didn't realize you rewarded on an individual basis."

Inui takes another step forward, and he's suddenly very, very close. Fuji can feel the way Inui's body radiates heat as his soaks it up, and he now has to lift his head to look at Inui's face. When Inui pushes up his glasses, his elbow brushes against Fuji's, sending an infuriating, confusing tingle down Fuji's spine.

"Hmm. I think," Inui says, "it's not so much any individual."

Up close, Fuji can see Inui's eyes.

"I thought you'd take what I was giving," Inui continues, his face now so close that Fuji has to tilt his head to give their noses room. "I was looking forward to testing something out."

"And now?" asks Fuji. Inui's eyes are closed, and Fuji is on his toes. Just one little push. That's all they need.

Inui swallows, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. Then his eyes open again, wide and dark, and he takes a step back. Inui smirks and Fuji can no longer see through the glass.

"And now I guess we'll never know." Inui turns away, then looks back. "It's a shame," he says over his shoulder. "The data would have been interesting."

Fuji narrows his eyes as Inui walks away. "Interesting, yes," he murmurs to himself. "But dangerous."

So next time he'll take the shot.

END. (Though there's a serial killer bonus omake.)