by Momiji Hime

There was an art to being evil. It had to be practiced for years. One couldn't just be born the spawn of Satan, or some of his best work. On one hand, you had the capability to use all of your given power, to kill, to destroy. But killing only took a man so far. Before long, after everyone was dead, what else was there to do? Killing was best to be treated like a cigar, or really expensive sake- saved for a special occasion. Limiting killings to once a week, or better yet, a month really made the actual deed more enjoyable. Like a reward for being good. You had to earn your killings, earn your right to be among the 'evil' ones.

It was also more than just having long, dark hair, hollow brooding eyes, a tall, scary form, and dark clothing. Although, being up on the latest evil fashions was pretty neat. But it required much more preparation than appearance. It was attitude, a state of mind, and last but not least, it required a valid reason.

But now, he had no reason, no drive. Who was there to attack, to kill? Where was the main goal? Where was his motivation? An evil dude with no drive was no fun. A wimp. A sissy. A pansy. How depressing. And to top it all off, he couldn't even get his full strength back until he was whole again, and had all his parts. Trouble was, in order to get what was his, he needed more strength. Dammit, he needed to be able to flash in and out of his victim's vision, he needed to fly! He needed to have the body strength to wring someone's neck without straining a muscle. A vicious cycle, it was. A fine mess.

He sighed, his thoughts shifting to the owner of his lost part. Breasts... finally. God, did she have breasts. And rather lovely ones. And those smooth, well shaped legs.. in those disreputable shorts she had worn that day, he'd seen quite a bit of them. She had to be aware of the pull that she seemed to almost radiate, had to be aware of her sexuality. It was puzzling that she didn't actually seem to be with anyone, least of all that Kusanagi. Then again, Mr. Aragami-Slayer would have to resort to something a bit more romantic and manly than flipping up her skirt to get some. That idiot Kusanagi... had eight mitamas, and was probably still a weenie.

He chuckled softly, idly fussing with his flawless cuticles. "Bah," he said out loud. "Kusanagi hasn't a chance in hell."

Sure, most girls grew up, developed, and matured, but what a sight she had been. She had changed so much, and yet so little, that it was almost staggering. Plus, she must look stunning with a mitama-his mitama. Now more than ever, she fascinated him.

Thinking of her made his blood run hotter, his heart beat faster, made his senses all of a sudden seem more acute. He pictured her, as she had looked that day, wandering alone in the fog..

...and realized that he had to see her again. Soon. Before he went insane. He wanted to see her face.. her perfect body. He wanted to hear her voice. She was a part of him now. And the sooner she came to that realization and accepted it, the better off they'd both be. He wasn't idiot enough to fall in love-with her or anyone-but he was, after all, a man. And by far, not an angel or saint.

Well, golly gee. Dammit if the pure, angelic Kushinada princess wasn't making him a bit hot.

He anticipated a struggle, a battle, before she relented, but the best part of winning was the fight, the lead-up, the anticipation. Without all that, victory wouldn't be as sweet. The journey was half the fun. As cliche as that sounded, it was true. Of course, he had matters to take care of first. Business always came before pleasure. Maybe afterward, he would kill her. Oh, the possibilities..

He'd suffered through many bouts of self-reflection, re-evaluating himself over and over. Being a monster blessed with such a stunning body had both its merits, and its pitfalls. And as complicated a list as it was, at the very bottom, with a star at the end, was the most important; he was allowed to have impure, downright dirty thoughts. Didn't all demons? And oh, did he have them. Jerking that Kushinada around was going to be so very splendid.. watching her agonize over the choices she would have to make, but in the end choosing the one that was inevitable, and right. God, was he going to love it.

He grunted in satisfaction, at ease now that he had a plan. He was fast on the track to becoming his old self. If he wasn't him, he'd be envious.

***

She could hear the gentle pattering of rain on the roof, and it almost pulled her to sleep. Her dim bedroom cast little light, and seemed almost heavy.

Intricate lines.. so fine that she almost had to squint to see in the dimming atmosphere. Some splatters of paint were thicker than others, some wider, and some more scattered. Momiji decided that she in fact did like her ceiling. She'd never had much of a chance to stare at it quite this long.

But then again, she'd never been sprawled on her back, her body pressed to her mattress by a man before. There wasn't much else to do, nor did she really care. She just wanted to lay there, and listened to the soothing melody of the rain splattering against every available outside surface. She wanted to feel his breath tickling her face for endless hours. She wanted to wrap her arms tighter around him and hold on, and never move.

Her hands played over his back gently, and she felt him move about slightly. "..Momiji."

"Yes?"

"Do.. do you really believe what you said about me?" His voice was somewhat scratchy from his earlier tears, but easily understandable.

"No." Not anymore. She whispered her apology to him. "I'm sorry.." She hadn't really believed anything she had said.

He mumbled something incoherent against her throat, but wouldn't repeat it at her request. Probably something snippy. He merely gave her neck a lingering, gentle kiss, then fell silent.

Momiji closed her eyes and felt a shiver run through. His kisses proved potent no matter where they were placed. After his not so verbal confession, her insides had turned to liquid, and she couldn't seem to do more than examine her ceiling. Her brain was incapable of anything more just yet.

"Kusanagi?" Momiji tensed.

"..what is it?"

"Is that Sakura peeking at us?"

"You really need a lock on the door."

Momiji blinked, then rolled her eyes before whispering back. "I can't get a lock. This is her room too, as long as she stays here."

Kusanagi tightened his arms around her. The situation was far too tentative to speak of yet, so he didn't bother, and he had a feeling she was dodging it too. Truth be told, Kusanagi found it too nerve-wracking to mention at all, really. They'd wait until later to figure things out. Right now, the contact was enough, and they had more important matters to worry about. Like keeping her safe and alive.

More than anything else, he had to keep her here, for him at least. He felt a surge of anger pass through him. Hadn't she been through enough? She had a complicated enough life as it was. Teenagers like her shouldn't have to deal with the everyday horrors she had endured. He sighed. And on top of it, teenagers like her shouldn't have to deal with people like him. They shouldn't fall for men like him. But it was too late. The dam had been broken, and something told him after this, after his declaration, nothing could rebuild it. There was no way she was going to settle for them just being friends. The situation had gone way too far for that. And having their relationship being determined-at least for the time being- for him instead of by him, was a surprising relief. All they could do now was deal with it. And if this predicament got any worse, she would most definitely need him. That was a fact. She had made her decision, and he had given her plenty of opportunities to choose otherwise.

He idly ran a hand down her arm, feeling her relaxing even more under his fingers. Yeah. Physical contact would have to do until they could evaluate what was between them.

He smirked to himself. Heh.. Momiji really should get a lock on her door. It was now necessary. In the near future, Sakura might peek in on much, much worse.

Momiji's body remained still, but as she gazed outside, she felt the need to speak. "Is it ever going to stop raining?"

Kusanagi would have shrugged had he not been in his present position. "Depressing, huh?"

"Mmm.." Momiji stated in agreement, here eyes unmoving. "But it's pretty too."

He nodded, and pulled them both into a sitting position. Momiji dropped her head to his shoulder with a sigh, both happier and sadder than she had been in nearly two years. The fact ate at her, the guilt almost a physical ache.

When he found out, hell was going to break loose. And when he found out that she had known and kept it from him, there would be hell to pay. Something she wasn't so sure she would survive as easily as her past experiences.

She reached for one of his hands, fiddling with his fingers while she mused. She knew she had done a horrible job of hiding things, but she soldiered on. She had merely changed the subject, not banished his worry. She was scared; she knew the truth would surface sooner or later, but she thanked the heavens the time wasn't now.

Kusanagi curved his fingers around hers. "You haven't gone out this whole time."

"No.. I've been too tired."

"Put a coat on. You can come with me."

She blinked up with him, her confusion evident. "Where are you going?"

"To my apartment. Just to grab some stuff. Go and get a coat." He rose to his feet, and as he gazed at her, another thought came to him. "And change out of those shorts."

She fought back a frown. She would have preferred to stay right where she was, but the temptation of getting some fresh air, and escaping everyone's protectiveness won over, and after he went into the hallway to wait, she hurried to follow his instructions.

***

"You ought to lock your door, Kusanagi."

"I thought I had, but there's nothing in here anyone would want, anyway."

"What do you need to get?"

"Just some little stuff."

"Mmm." Momiji hurried to other side of the room, opening his windows. "While we're here, we might as well air it out. It's stuffy in here."

"Whatever." He was shuffling around in his bathroom, and his voice was muffled. "Would you get that box out of the closet? It's on the floor in the corner."

Momiji shoved open the closet door. "Sure." She knelt, and crawled over to the farthest corner. She pulled the box to her, then eased herself back out.

She blinked. What the hell?

Kusanagi's voice was still muffled. "Did you find it?"

"I found it." She had found it, alright. And a little something extra. She lifted the bundle of material that had been thrown on top of the box.

The wrinkled, plaid material hung forlornly off her pointer finger. Good god. These were Kusanagi's? Momiji raised an eyebrow, flinging them back into the closet. Maybe he just wore them to bed or something. Yuck! She'd just made out with a guy who wore plaid pants. And she could tell just by looking at them that they had to be a very snug fit.

"Got it?"

Momiji jumped. "Here." She got up and handed the box over, and watched as he dumped it on the bed, and started to empty the contents into a duffel bag.

"Done." Kusanagi slung the bag over his shoulder, and approached her. "Ready to go?" With a bravery that would normally have astounded him, he folded her hand in his, and started tugging her towards the door.

"Why don't we stay for a little while?"

"It's getting dark, and it'll probably start raining again. We shouldn't get caught in it. And button up, it's cold out there."

"Yes, sir." She did as she was told, then reached for his hand again. "Don't you want to close your windows?"

"Nah, leave em."

"Someone might try to get in."

"Who would break in?"

Momiji squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. He dragged her out the door, and she followed him, using her free hand to lock up before she let the door slam shut behind them.

Kusanagi was right. Who'd show up?

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