Summary: Twenty-somthing year old Yamato has a stalker. The players in my fic: Yamato, Ken, and Hikari. Weird but fun; I am very proud of this work. Also posted on FanFiction.Net under the pseudonym "Strangelove."

Dark Eyed Stare

Chapter One
Footsteps in the Snow

Yamato lay in bed, his laptop pulled tight against him, his beautiful eyes shut in sleep. His breathing was measured and soft; his computer whirred softly with him. He had been writing, again-that was what he did for a living. It had been the happy story of a long lost love coming home, but it wasn’t going well. It just lacked that spice that all interesting romances require. Now, though, the day’s troubles were over.

But there was still a night’s trouble to worry about.

Snap! The loud noise from outside made Yamato wake suddenly, startled unjustly from his dreams. His eyes shot open, and without moving, he glanced over through the curtain-less window on the far side of his room.

Dark eyes, watching him through the icy winter glass. Yamato’s heart froze, and he blinked. The eyes were already gone. His tensed muscles relaxed a little: it had only been a trick played by his mind. The anxiety of writer’s block was catching up with him, that was all.

Silently, Yamato laid back in bed, allowing the surreal land of dreams to claim him once more.

******

EEP EEP EEP EEP-thud.

Yamato swore, viciously hitting his alarm clock and rolling out of bed. He had a meeting with his publisher this morning to talk about his latest book, the romance that really wasn’t going well at the moment.

He stood in front of the full length mirror in his bathroom, buck naked, brushing his teeth, and noticed it was hanging crooked. He didn’t have time to mess with it now, though. Ugh, he hated the damn published. He hated the damn morning! He hated-

“Shit!” He had stubbed his toe.

******

Glass of orange juice clasped in one hand, briefcase in the other, Yamato stumbled down his front steps, almost slipping twice on the icy front walk. He strode carefully now, staring at the ground: the last thing he needed this awful morning was a trip to the emergency room.

That was when he saw it.

There were footsteps in the snow, leading to and from his bedroom window. Yamato’s glass of juice smashed on the ground, coloring the snow bright, incorrigible orange.

Chapter Two
Coffee with Hikari

“So that’s it,” Yamato finished the story of the footprints hastily, running his fingers distractedly down the side of his coffee. He had long ago missed the meeting with the publisher, but he didn’t care. At least Hikari understood this was an emergency. From across the café table, the young woman reached over and patted her friend’s arm sympathetically.

“You’re sure it was a man?” Yamato nodded.

“No woman has eyes like that. Oh, god,” he groaned. “This guy might want to kill me!” Hikari sighed, sounding a little exasperated.

“Yama, please. Now you’re going a bit overboard. It was probably just some one-time voyeur. I’ll bet you twenty bucks you’ll never even see him again!” Yamato did not seem to share her signature optimism.

“Don’t you see?” he said, sounding even a little panicked. “I have a gay stalker after me!”

“Now what could the problem possibly be with that?” a familiar male voice interjected from behind them. “You’re gay, aren’t you, Yamato?” Yamato turned beet red, and both himself and Hikari whirled around.

“Ken!” Hikari exclaimed, sounding very annoyed. “What are you doing here?” Ken smiled darkly, seating himself beside them without so much as removing his sunglasses.

“I live in an apartment upstairs,” he said smoothly, and then returned his attention to Yamato. “So…?” he said prompting an answer to his exceedingly rude assertion. Yamato colored even further.

“Well, yes I’m gay, if you must broadcast that to the public.” A couple of girls a table away giggled, and Yamato glared at them. “But I don’t see what that has to do with any of this!”

“Well,” Ken smirked, obviously not being serious in the least. “Maybe it’s a friendly stalker. A very friendly stalker who wants to-”

“Yamato,” Hikari said loudly, glaring at Ken, “let’s go find a more quiet coffee shop.” With that, she yanked Yamato to his feet and started for the door.

“Why do you hate me, Kari?” Ken called softly after them, not even standing up.

“Because the awful way you dumped me senior year!” Hikari snapped childishly back, turning to face him.

“Oh, don’t feel bad about that,” Ken said, allowing his smirk to return. “You’re just not my type. Women aren’t my type.” Hikari snorted in a very offended way and threw up her hands, stomping out with Yamato right behind her.

From a corner table in the coffee shop, dark eyes watched them go.

Chapter Three
A Spark

It was after midnight that night when Yamato finally gave up on his romance altogether, banished to the back of his hard drive, and decided to check his mail. The first available messages were various angry emails from his publisher and her secretary. Bored out of his mind, Yamato actually bothered to type out the lengthy tale of an utterly fictitious family accident that had caused him to “regrettably” caused him to miss the meeting.

He knew his publisher would eat it up.

Hmm, the rest of his messages were chain letters…a note from his ex-boyfriend (fuck that)…moreIt was a subject-less message from a person named “dark.” There were no capitols in the name; it looked like the email address had been hastily set up. Slightly intrigued and still half-mad from the tedium of having positively nothing worth doing, Yamato opened it.

Dearest Yamato:
I’m sorry I frightened you last night by coming to your window. I saw you talking to Hikari in the coffee shop today, and it was only then that I truly understood what I had done. Don’t worry, I would never want to hurt you. Please put that worry to rest.
In truth, I love you-but you could never accept me. So I will stand in the distance, waiting for your smile. You are a beautiful god; I do not blame you for not wanting someone so mundane as myself. None the less, I am yours always.

Yamato wanted to scream, or run, or hide. But with a sudden sinking feeling not unlike agoraphobia, he realized there was no place he could possibly go to and be safe. This man, whoever he was, had obviously spent a lot of time finding out all he could about Yamato. He would undoubtedly know where Yamato’s friends lived, and who they were. The young writer cowered in his bed, his fingers frantically gripping his computer as his eyes darted through the room, sifting through the corners and the dark spaces of window glass.

Finally, when he was certain there was no one there, he read the mysterious message over. To his surprise, it didn’t seem quite so horrifying as before, except, of course, for the fact that this person knew everything about his whereabouts the previous day. Despite this, the email was spattered with gentle, apologetic and even empathic phrases: “I’m sorry,” “don’t worry,” “I do not blame you.” And then, of course, there was the clincher: “I love you.” How could someone he didn’t even know possibly love him? And more importantly, why?

Slowly, his heart beating like a drum, Yamato closed his computer and slipped it softly from the bed to the floor. He lay his tousled, angelic blonde head on his pillow, and drew his arms protectively around him as he closed his eyes. He was confused; he was afraid, but most of all he was exhausted. He need rest whether he liked it or not.

He felt a fearful burning in his gut; he was, quite frankly, terrified. Yamato knew even a stalker who exuded words of love and kindness was still a stalker. He himself could easily still be in danger.

And yet, as the young man thought the email over, he also felt a softer burning in his heart. It was not fear, nor was it horror. In fact, it was such a strange feeling to have at the time, he suppressed it and denied it altogether. But denial or not, it was what it was. A spark.

******

Outside, from across the small winter yard, eyes watched Yamato’s recumbent form through the window. They weren’t exactly as dark as the now-sleeping writer had thought them; in fact, they were quite light-in color, at least. Behind them burned a tragic sable fire that turned them black to all who viewed them from afar.

The slim young man’s eyes were not loveless, though. They were simply unloved, and they had been so, so alone for so terribly long….

Chapter Four
Phantomwise

It was ten in the morning. Yamato was awake again, and the phone was ringing. He slid his laptop back off his lap, and went to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Any developments with your stalker?” Hikari’s voice said, her tone ironic.

“Actually,” Yamato began, but then stopped. He didn’t want to burden Hikari with any more of his personal business. She was sure to get very worried if he told her about the email, and it just didn’t seem worth making the poor girl fret so much. “No.” the young man finished. He heard Hikari laugh a little on the other end of the line.

“I told you so,” she said. “And…how about the writing? That going well?”

“It’s been atrocious. I’m going on an impromptu sabbatical.” Hikari sighed sympathetically.

“Well, that’s about all I called to say. Too bad about the romance. I hope your publisher isn’t angry.” Yamato winced at the thought. “Ja ne!”

“Bye--” She had already hung up. Gently, Yamato put down the receiver. He stared around his apartment, and finally picked up his coat to go out. There was nothing better to do.

******

He went walking in the darkest quarter of the city, roaming the streets there with no where to go and nothing to do. In some places, life was active and loud: people yelled, machines screamed and whistles shrilled. In others, though, there was nothing.

Silence.

Yamato walked a quiet place. The alley’s walls and windows and trashcans all seemed to be stained black from soot and tireless wear. The icy wind stood still as he wove through the patches of dirty slush. He was alone.

And then, he was not. Just ahead of him, a coat tail swished out of sight. Yamato stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body quivering from the sudden release of adrenaline.

“Who’s there?” he called, his voice sounding abnormally small. He fastened his eyes on the corner, and then he saw it for real. Ponderous eyes, so dark yet so bright, were watching him. “Hey!” he yelled across the expanse.

Immediately, whoever it was darted away behind the building. What Yamato did next he would later not be able to explain for its obvious stupidity. He gave chase, barreling after his stalker like a bull. He had never been very athletic, causing his lungs to burn, but he didn’t care. This was the person watching him. Frightening him.

As he reached the corner, Yamato was just in time to catch the man’s coattails fluttering off around the next corner. He kept running, but was forced to stop around the third side of the enormous building. He stared down at his feet, gasping for air. His quarry had just been too fast.

“Yamato!” an exhausted voice yelled from behind him, and he whirled around.

Chapter Five
Insanity in Acceptance

“Ken!” Yamato yelped in shock. “What are you doing here?” Wordlessly, Ken pointed down to the end of the alley. Yamato turned rosy: he could see the coffee shop and the apartments above it only about a block away. Ken had simply been out walking.

“More important is what you are doing here!” Ken said, sounding extremely concerned for someone who was usually so socially frigid.

“I was out walking,” Yamato said, “and I thought I saw someone watching me.” Ken sighed.

“Yama, I know Kari believes your little stalker story, but I just think you’re coming down with something nasty. Is everything all right with you, otherwise?”

“I guess--unless you count writers’ block as an ailment.” Ken shrugged, and started walking out of the alley towards the street.

“That could be it; who knows? Oh, and sorry I was freaked out so bad when I caught up to you. You’ve got to understand: I’m walking down the street, and I see you scream something to no one in particular and go flying off down a dark alley. I thought you’d lost it or something.”

“It’s okay,” Yamato said in a resigned voice as they reached the street. He wasn’t surprised that Ken didn’t believe him. He watched as the other young man walked to the curb and hailed a cab. When it pulled up, he helped Yamato inside.

“Get some rest!” he said to the blonde.

“Sure.” As the cab pulled away, Yamato looked back. In a flower bed by the side of the building, a long dark coat had been shed. He felt a chill run down his spine, and decided to try and keep his eyes on the road with the driver.

******

It was well past midnight, but Yamato was still awake. He couldn’t sleep; he was paranoid beyond reason. Instead, the young writer perused the internet with no purpose other than to take his mind off the obvious distraction.

Unexpectedly, a message popped up on his screen.

dark: Hello, Yamato.
Yama1: Why are you following me?
dark: My email explained as much as I want you to know.
Yama1: You’re sick. Get some therapy! Leave me alone, I have enough problems!
dark: Exactly: you’re sick. Lonely and confused, just like me. That’s why I like you.
Yama1: I would feel a lot better if I knew who you were.
dark: That’s a laugh. You’d turn me in if I told you a word.
Yama1: Well, yes, but what would you do in a situation like mine?
dark: I’ll make you a deal, if it helps.
dark: But I’m doing this only because I love you.
Yama1: Yeah right, but go ahead and shoot.
dark: I will meet you where you saw me earlier today. You may arrive tomorrow night at this time. Your part of the deal: wear a blindfold. We can talk, but I’m not stupid enough to let you see my face.
Yama1: I’m not doing it. Too dangerous.
dark: It will hurt my feelings if you don’t show up….
[User “dark” signed off 1:08 AM]

Yamato held his breath. He read the talk he had just had with his stalker over. When he was done, he ran his fingers over his palms-they were slick with sweat. There were chills racing up and down his spine, but the funny thing was that they hadn’t been entirely induced by the prior conversation. Yamato’s fear could be partially attributed to the insane decision he had just made a second ago.

Tomorrow night, even if it snowed, he would be waiting in a black alley for a certain man with light eyes turned dark by a tragic mind.

Chapter Six
Meeting in the Snow

The ground was covered with it-the frozen white fluff that dreams and deaths are made of. Yamato practically waded through it, moving as quickly as he could from where the cab had dropped him off. It was almost one.

Almost time to meet the dark-eyed man. He admitted it: he was terrified. His most primal human impulses were telling him to turn back, or to run. Even his logic agreed, but something more-something he had never before known in his sheltered existence-was telling him to push on.

The alley was as black and desolate as he had first witnessed it, perhaps a little more so. A thrill of horror trickled through out Yamato’s body as he walked. The silence was complete; the snow muffled even the noise of traffic on nearby roads. It was as if he were walking in some tragic, tainted dreamland. It was so lonely here it made him almost want to sit down in the snow and cry like a child, forever frozen in hopeless winter.

Without warning, a warm arm circled his waist. Yamato cried out, but the flake-filled air stifled his sound.

“What the fuck!?” he gasped in horror, but did not struggle.

“It’s just me,” a soft voice murmured in his ear.

“I know! Let go of me!” The voice laughed, but failed to release him.

“You’d see me. Did you bring the blindfold?”

“Yes. If you’d let me go--”

“Where is it?” Yamato paused, debating whether to tell.

“It’s…in my pocket.” The man gently reached down, exploring Yamato’s left pocket. The blonde squirmed, fighting the chills that chased each other up and down his spine like rampant spiders. Meanwhile, the other man drew the black length of cloth out. With on hand still anchored firmly on his obsession’s waist, he secured the blindfold around Yamato’s head. A moment passed, and he released the young blonde. Yamato stood, almost losing his balance for lack of visual contact with the world. Surprising even himself, he intentionally fell back against his former stalker for support.

“Well,” the mysterious man said as if he were answering a question, “We can play it that way if you like….” He sank to the ground, still allowing Yamato to rest on him.

The blonde was frankly surprised by how kind this man’s hands and actions were. He really didn’t seem the least bit angry or violent, and he most definitely wasn’t the sort of person Yamato had imagined. He was well-mannered and soft spoken. His hands were soft from lack of work.

“Why do you follow me?” Yamato asked quietly. “Why don’t you just ask me out? I’d accept you, you know.” The man laughed mirthlessly.

“No you wouldn’t. I know you in life, Yama--we are as different as two people could possibly be. It couldn’t work.”

“And this is better? Freezing my ass off just so we can speak for a harsh moment in some god-forsaken alley?”

There was a long silence.

“But you would be so angry, if you knew who I was,” the man said half-heartedly.

“Just tell me.” A sigh.

“Perhaps I will, perhaps I won’t. I will certainly think on it.” He stood, and pulled Yamato to his feet. The blonde balanced himself by placing his hands on the other man’s shoulders.

“When will I see you again?” Yamato asked, shocked by his own desire to do so.

“I don’t know.” With that, the other man carefully lowered his lips to Yamato’s, and give him a sweet, plaintive kiss. “But you will,” he finished, and let go. The blonde fell gently to the snow.

“Hey!” he cried, but no answer came. He fumbled with his gloves, took them off, and only then was able to remove his blindfold.

By the time he had it off, the mysterious stalker was gone.

Chapter Six
Revelation

Yamato had done nothing, all day long. He had laid around in his boxers, emotionally drained. He didn’t understand it.

Why--how--

The leather couch was making his back sweat. He moved, and it made the tiny noise of adhesive being forced to give way. Gross. He took a sip of his Jack Daniel’s.

Why--how could he--

The young man let his droopy blonde locks spill off the sofa’s arm in a golden cascade, the whiskey bottle clutched in his hand. He could feel the heart thumping quietly in his chest-it felt half broken, and for what should be no reason at all. That was it-he had no reason to feel anything like this!

Why--how could he be--be attracted to this man? This stalker? He identified with the lonely creature, and it broke his heart to see someone so like himself in such a painful predicament.

Hell, they shared the painful predicament.

The heater was on as high as the thermostat would go, but Yamato felt cold somewhere where earthly warmth could never reach. He tilted his head back even further, and lay his arms and legs in neat accord so he could stare meaninglessly at the ceiling in relative comfort. Sighing with agony, he took another sip.

******

Ding, dong. The noise of his doorbell startled Yamato out of his intoxicated reverie some time later. Not bothering to dress himself in the least, he stood and answered the door.

“What’s wrong?” It was Ken. His eyes were a harsh mix of annoyance and worry.

“Wh--” Yamato began, but then shivered so violently from the cold, blowing winter wind that he had to stop. “Come inside,” he ordered in a very beaten fashion. Ken quickly complied, slamming the door behind him. He stared at Yamato, who was still in nothing but old boxer shorts.

“What the hell has happened to you?” Ken pleaded, walking Yamato into his den to find a blanket.

“What do you mean?”

“Yama! Kari is having a party right now. She invited us--well you; I crashed--a week ago. You’re the girl’s best friend! I knew something serious had to be up for you to miss it.” Yamato collapsed on the couch again, saying nothing. Distress filled Ken’s face. He grabbed a comforter from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Yamato’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, drawing a little closer. Suddenly, he jerked away, surprised. “You’ve been drinking!” Yamato motioned limply to a half-empty bottle on the floor.

“Yeah. It helps. God, Ken--” he suddenly sobbed, his face falling drunkenly to Ken’s shoulder in spite of himself. Gently, the dark-haired young man placed an arm around him. “What the hell is wrong with me? I-I like the fuckhead who’s been watching me! I’m god damn in love with him!”

“You…are?” Ken said. His voice was slightly hoarse.

“It’s ripping me up! That guy’s a mess, all alone--just like me. We’re practically the same person, but for some reason he seems to think we could never be together in reality-”

“Yamato,” Ken whispered, cutting him off. He was silent as he slipped a hand under Yamato’s chin, lifting his face so their eyes would meet.

Yamato stared at Ken for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Even tipsy as he was, he could not miss the obvious point.

“You,” he gasped out. Unbidden, his hand reached up, and ran down Ken’s cheek, still watching his mournful eyes like they were precious jewels. Carefully, slowly, Ken bent down and brought their lips together. The kiss was passionate and full, vibrating with life and vitality. Their tongues moved together, desperately exploring the sweet recesses of each others’ mouths.

Ken closed his eyes, allowing himself to be absorbed entirely by Yamato’s warmth and…love. And, though the lids were closed, his eyes would have looked brighter then they had in years….

Fini