Part 15- Suteki Na
[Version 1.2]

Seishirou stood in the doorway of the kitchen, silently admiring his 
work.  First with the lights on, and then with them off... on again and 
off again.  The floor shone charmingly by the many tiny moons of the 
streetlights, and yet he could not grow used to the dark, even where he 
knew there to be no monsters, and no shouts waiting for him, so he 
wavered between the two: pride of a spotless kitchen and the comfort 
the lights; yawned then, stretching a little in such a way that the 
neck of his t-shirt slumped over one shoulder.  

Higurashi-san he had felt go to bed some time ago, and her dreams were 
wafting about the floor if he reached for them, so she would not come 
to ask about the fluxing shadows under his door.  Though she had let 
him do the dishes, more or less, she stayed about to help and called him 
many very cute and young names.

And he hadn't minded.  Not that.  Just the floor and the counters, and 
the fact he'd had to be a bit naughty and fix them up before bed.  He 
hadn't wanted to be bad, it simply came as part of being good, or how 
Megaera had always told him good was.

He was too young even for a telepath to realize his deep, peculiar 
notions were brought on by the ghosts that began to linger behind his 
lashes when he blinked and did not wish to open his eyes again.  They 
made him giggle sleepily.  Life was different now, and so he must 
therein be thinking oddly because of it, like bubbles of jokes and 
silliness at a birthday party.

Or other people's memories of such.

It came to him his father would be rather unhappy perhaps to find him 
up so late, and he ought to go to bed for that reason alone, gleaming 
kitchen floor or not.  So the lights stayed off, and he scampered off 
to the bedroom, shadows chasing him all the way up onto the mattress 
and back under the covers where he laid down and tried to pose himself 
exactly as he had been left.

***
 
How Youji had managed to get home in the state he was in... Well, even 
he was amazed. He had stopped crying long before, while he was curled 
up on the floor of the mens' room; he had stopped trembling as well. Now, 
he was simply numb. 

No one was on the streets when he pulled up in front of the Hanano, 
nor--to his relief--were the lights on inside the building. He locked 
up the car, not bothering to check the seat for possibly stainage; he 
couldn't bear to see it if it was, couldn't deal with it. Arms wrapped 
around himself, Youji limped over to the alley, and there he paused, 
blinking into the half-lit shadows for signs of movement. He saw nothing 
but a fat black cat who'd been rummaging for a late night snack. Even so, 
it wasn't until he had reached the back door and was safely inside when 
he did relax a little. The locks went shut with definite snaps, and 
Youji made his painful, shuffling way up the stairs, heading 
instinctively to his own apartment. 

But when he reached the door, and had the key in hand to fit to the 
lock, Youji paused. He couldn't go in there--not then. Maybe not ever. 
What would Seishirou say? There was no way he could keep him out of his 
thoughts. Youji sagged against the jamb, forehead pressed to the door 
in his anguish. Where could he go? 

He rocked to the side, and his eyes fell upon the door to Omi's former 
apartment. No one would bother him there; though he hadn't put the 
separating door back up yet, he was sure that if he were quiet, that 
Sei wouldn't hear him. And he had the key still. Omi had never asked to 
have it back, and neither had Ms. Higurashi. Youji pondered over that 
last oddity as he shoved awkwardly away from the door and shuffled off 
to the other. It fell open at the key's bidding, and Youji began 
peeling off his clothes even before he had the door shut again. He 
locked it, and trudged wearily over to the bathroom, but left the 
lights off as he fumbled over to the shower. He didn't want to see 
what he looked like. 

Youji didn't care if he never saw himself again. 

A check behind the now closed door showed him that his spare grey 
bathrobe was still hanging there. He padded to the bath, and flipped 
the taps on, and Youji climbed into the tub without even checking the 
water's temperature first. As it was, the water was lukewarm. Youji 
nudged the hot water knob up, and then sat down in the shallow puddle 
that had formed. 

Then he flipped on the shower, and lay his head upon his bent knees, 
and sat quite still as the water washed away all the leftover residue 
from his attack.

***

The web of dreamy thoughts and the empty spaces left Seishirou.  
He almost felt himself fall from the edge of his own sleep, so it was 
with a bit of a start that he sat up in bed and glanced around the room, 
his eyes following the curves of the furniture and his mind the clouds of 
other people's dreams.  No Omi, no Yuuji... Higurashi-san... no okasama... 
no, he wouldn't feel her anymore where he was.  So he remembered, and 
knew why the dresser wasn't where it usually was.  

Just as swiftly as he had halfway risen, he flopped down into the 
covers and drew them back to their former places, hoping his father 
wouldn't notice the noise the springs had made.  One look to the clock 
before scrunching his eyes closed found not many minutes had passed 
since he had crawled into bed.  Not many at all.  

12:23 AM.

And already he had an awful taste in his mouth he couldn't quite 
account for.  As if he had bitten his tongue with something bitter past 
his lips and the two flavors had mingled together.  It seemed a small 
thing, but the more he mulled over it, the more anxious he became, 
until he was terribly afraid to move, but knew not why.

Footsteps, they came to the door.  Were still.  No sound of a key.  
They fell away.  There the tell-tale jingle.  He once more feigned 
sleep.  Click.  Sighing.  The shower...

But not their shower.

Were those not his father's thoughts? He reached out to one, only in a 
little test, for he had promised he would not stray too deeply into 
them, hadn't he?

Though the taste in his mouth grew steadily worse, and he began to ache 
in places as if bruised there.  His cheek and his chest burned such 
that his eye began to water.

In his soft focus on the window and the dim angels of luminescence 
there, he remembered the time his Megaera had sliced her finger open 
making dinner- how he could not go too near her mind without feeling a 
vinegar tingle on his own hand.

Seishirou, blotting his one wet eye, swung his feet to the floor and 
with quick footsteps, skidded across his clean floor over to the 
cupboard and then the refrigerator.  He caught himself a glass by 
kneeling on the counter after climbing it, and filled it with water.  
There was probably aspirin in the bathroom, much as there was aspirin 
in all the other rooms of the apartment.

But just one trail of blood.  His voice was soft shivery when he rapt 
upon the bathroom door.

"Otosama? Daijoubu desu ka?"

***

Youji thought he was dreaming when he heard his son's murmuring voice 
over the rush of water and the barrier of whitewashed plywood that was 
the bathroom door. He turned his head in that direction, staring at it 
through the thick film of the shower curtain liner. Water dripped in 
his eyes from the ends of his ragged bangs, but Youji only blinked the 
droplets away. 

What could he say? That he was all right, just a bit drunk, and why 
don't you go to bed now? It was useless to lie, especially to Sei. If 
he didn't know now, he would know later. There was no hiding it from 
him, and that sudden realization made him want to cry all over again. 
He had wanted to keep his child as innocent as he could have; wanted to 
protect him from the abject cruelty that made the world go 'round. 

But now, even that had been taken away from him along with everything 
else. 

Again came the timid little knock, and Sei called once more--this time 
with tears in his voice. Youji turned the shower knob to the 'off' 
position, but left the water running. Then he pulled the liner back a 
little, and raked his hair back from his face. Left his hands snarled 
in the tangled mass of inky waves as he bowed his head and closed his 
eyes to shut out the darkness. 

"I'm okay, Sei-chan," Youji rasped softly, as if the lie would somehow 
becomethe truth.  "The mission just didn't go as I had planned it, 
is all."  

***

Seishirou froze then, his lips apart and trembling, but without sound 
upon them now, though there was a part of his fighting for words.  He 
knew he should say something, he just knew it... but what?.  That was 
locked away with the hoards of white crows he had plucked up along his 
way to wherever he was now.

He stamped his little feet against the ground and bit his lips into 
mute line while he steeled himself.  His heart began to pound when he 
took the knob in his hand.  After all, he had no idea what he'd find.  
What he'd feel.  And there was already so much creeping in the aura 
around him, finding him almost like smoke comes close to the wings of 
an insect but whirls and whirls away into nothingness...

The budding sense of purpose in him broke the surface of his own dark 
thoughts.  And it was all like a faerie tale.  I'm here for a reason.  
I'm here to be good.  I'm here to help.  I'm little, but I can do...

...something...

The bloody patches continued inside the doorway- but they looked like 
snowflakes when they melted suddenly; save for the color.  He could see 
it was just dim beyond the plastic veil, and steam leaked from there, 
thought at first the water had been stained pink by the tint of it, but 
drawing nearer he saw feathers running in it, breaking up with the 
current which he could clearly make out, for there was golden silt 
caught there.  The very last of Youji's makeup mixing with his blood.

Some small relief then.  He'd expected to find one unspeakable wound 
such as only whispered of near children, never to them; there were just 
little ones.

A lot of little ones.

All still weeping.

And there were patches of blue larger than his whole hand.  And there 
were a few stray threads of black hair that had been pulled out but 
clung to him.  One soggy 1000 yen note.  Nothing of Youji's eyes for 
him though until he plucked the bit of wet paper away and tossed it to 
the floor beside the glass, which he had to put down, else he could not 
have managed to steady himself on the tips of his toes, and lean far 
enough into the tub to get his arms around his father's neck when he 
realized he'd been crying too.

***

Youji had to steel himself from recoiling when Seishirou touched him; 
the memory of many hands traveling over his naked body was still fresh 
in his mind. And Youji felt so dirty. Filthy. Not fit for anyone to be 
around. Not worthy of anyone's kindness. 

Still...the negligible weight of those thin, little arms, and the 
powdery scent of him managed to prick the nightmare Youji'd been 
clothed in. All the times he'd come home worn out and covered in 
someone else's blood, hating himself and the world, and all the 
wickedness in it, no one had ever tried to comfort him. They'd all just 
come back to the Koneko and off to their respective rooms. It had even 
been like that the night he had killed Asuka. Not one word spoken in 
solace, not one hand on his shoulder in understanding. 

Youji had never imagined how sweet the sensation of having someone try 
to comfort him could be. 

A shiver rippled through his body, and Sei began to pull away, fretful. 
But Youji caught his son by one arm before he could leave him 
altogether. He slid over to the side of the tub and hitched his hands 
under his son's arms, lifting him off the floor to sit on the tub's 
edge. Kept one hand on him to hold him steady there, and stared at him 
for a bit as if he were considering his next move. Indeed, he didn't 
know just how to proceed. 

"Some bad men hurt me tonight," he croaked at last, wincing as if he 
had just heard his voice for the first time and had found the sound of 
it appalling. "I don't know how badly I've been injured. I didn't want 
to go to the hospital..." 

He carefully lay one finger upon his son's trembling lower lip, and 
traced the curve of it. Dealt a fumbling caress to his cheek. 

"Don't worry, Sei. I'm not going to die. I'll be okay." Youji's hand 
slithered down the side of Sei's head to his shoulder, where he left 
it. "I think..." 

Sei took Youji's hand in between his own, and held it awkwardly in his 
lap, petting it. Youji watched him rather detachedly for a while, and 
then withdrew his hand, and wrapped it around his son's waist. He 
carefully lowered him to the floor. It was then that he saw the glass 
of water glimmering in the faint light. 

"Is that for me?" 

Sei nodded solemnly. Youji managed to give him a wan smile. 

"Thank you, Sei. I'll drink it in a bit okay?" 

The boy made no attempt at replying, made no move to leave him. 

"I'm going to finish getting cleaned up, so...why don't you take the 
water and go wait for me out there?" 

/Because...I don't want you to see.../ 

Sei nodded slowly, and took the glass in his hand. The moment he left, 
Youji tugged the curtain closed again, and flipped off the taps. Water 
sloshed over the side, as he'd let it flow until the tub was an inch 
from overflowing. Youji took no notice of it however as he reached for 
the bar of soap that Omi had left. It smelled slightly sweet, and it 
reminded him so strongly of how things were before... 

His eyes stung, and he forced the memories away as he rotated the bar 
in his wet hands. Only when they were slick with lather did he drop it. 
Youji then pulled himself up onto his knees, and began to soap himself 
up, head to bruised thighs. Over and over and over until he was 
shaking. He froze, and then his hands clamped down on the edges of the 
tub with a resounding smack! 

/Damn it, pull yourself together!/ 

Youji blindly reached for the plug and yanked it free from the drain; 
flipped on the hot water tap and the shower knobs respectively and just 
sat there under the scalding water. Oh, if he could just burn his skin 
off. Maybe he wouldn't feel their hands anymore; wouldn't smell their 
cum. Or his blood. 

He felt his son's frightened presence in his thoughts, just skating 
across the outermost edges of them, and Youji was struck with remorse. 
He rocked back on his heels in the draining tub, and stared at the grey 
shadowed walls, stunned. Mechanically, he turned the taps off, and rose 
to his feet. Water and blood mixed dripped from his body as he stepped 
out of the tub. Youji didn't bother to dry himself--just took the robe 
off the hook on the back of the door and slipped it on. Then he stepped 
out into what was Omi's bedroom, and found his son sitting there 
forlornly on the never slept in bed. 

Youji raked his hands through his hair, pulled his robe a bit tighter 
around himself, and then held one slightly trembling hand out to his 
son. 

"Come on, Sei. Let's go back to our room."

***

Seishirou had nearly hidden under the covers of the strange bed which 
had still carried the imprint of someone lounging on their back across 
its pale blue sheets, but not a sign the covers had been parted.  He 
smoothed the lines of that phantom away before he rested there himself 
now, watching Omi caught in the threads of darkness, for there was no 
one else in the house with an image that would have fit the traces on 
the bed.

Though that lachrymose image gave way to another, dashed by pressure 
and by edges of his own presence that were all cut wrong.  The small 
angels of someone else's weeping ascended from the pool of roseate 
light hovering just outside the door between him and his father, 
soaring about him as tried to rest upon the pins of closed persona.

So maybe it wasn't the whole evening, but it was parts of it, flashes 
sliced wrong ways from time.  Sight for an entire second, sense for a 
breath, sound for a heartbeat.  Here, and moments before, under the 
gaze of the attackers.

The ice in the water glass shifted with a clank, and there why he cried 
out without his lips.

He was not strong enough to refuse Youji's hand when it was offered 
him, nor so taken with his own body's small gifts to speak and tell him 
there was an awful lot of blood trickling down his calves.  He did not 
have to do either.  A small sigh, and his father had taken up his 
fingers, for he remembered himself. 

There Omi again, all smiles despite his bloodied sweatpants.  Sei had 
to shake his head to remember now.  Because it didn't seem like Omi, 
the eidolon there in his father's thoughts.

And yet it did.  

But that was for another evening, if this one would ever show such 
kindness as to end.  

Hand and hand, and with all the lights lingering behind them, they went 
back to their own room were the lamps all came on at once, and his 
father sank against his own bed as if trying to remember it was his.  
The glass crept towards his lips, but Seishirou caught his arm and held 
it until he had gotten the drawer to the nightstand open and found the 
white bottle there, which he opened, despite that he should not have 
been able to, and with an encouraging shake held out to Youji.

*** 

Youji dazedly regarded the bottle as he took it from Sei. Carefully, 
moreto appease Sei than anything else, he tapped two white pills out 
of the bottle and popped them into his mouth. 

Then he opened the drawer to replace them and take out another white 
bottle, this one smaller in size. But before he could pop the cap off, 
Sei grabbed his arm again, and shook his head frantically, holding onto 
him as tightly as he could. Youji didn't replace the bottle, but he 
didn't try to pull away from his son either. Instead, he cupped the 
back of the boy's head and gently urged him to come even closer. 

"I only want one," he said quietly. "That's all. Just something to help 
me sleep." 

/Because I don't want dreams tonight. I want oblivion./ 

He smoothed the dark trickle of his bangs back from his forehead. "You 
understand?" 

No nod came from the tiny boy, but he loosened his hold on his father, 
trying to cling to him it seemed even as Youji raised that hand to pop 
that pill as well. He washed it down with the last sip in his glass, 
then set it down on the night stand. The bottle, though, he handed to 
Sei. 

"Here. You take it and hide it, and I'll go bandage my legs." 

Without waiting for an answer, he ruffled his son's hair and rose 
onto his unsteady limbs to stagger into the bathroom.  When he 
emerged, his legswere duly swathed with gauze and tape, and he'd 
donned a pair of boxer and a T-shirt he'd found in a basket of 
unfolded, clean clothes.  

Youji walked past Sei and slowly settled himself on the bed, flinging 
an arm over his eyes to block out the light.  Already the pill he'd 
swallowed was starting to take effect; his muscles were starting to 
relax, his thought processes growing foggier and foggier. Still, 
though, Youji wasn't quite ready to surrender to its influence. 

"If you wanna be my doctor, I don't care. But I don't want you to stay 
up all night. And I know you cleaned up, 'cause I could smell the stuff 
you used when we passed through the living room. You didn't have to do 
that. I don't expect that of you. You don't have to do things like that 
in order for me to accept you." 

/Do you understand me?/ 

"I wouldn't care if you spent all your time playing with your toys or 
reading. I wouldn't care if you'd rather go out to the park than do 
your homework." 

Youji sighed, and let his arm slide away from his face. It fell upon 
the pillow behind his head. He turned his glazed eyes towards his son 
and blinked at him stupidly. 

"You wanna sleep wi' me? You can, y'know..."

***

"I'm not old enough to go to school," Seishirou whispered to himself, 
his eyes drifting away from the ones that could not find him even in 
the achy brightness.  Youji giggled, not at him, nor any of the angels 
still left, and fleeing him, not to be seen, in ever wilder numbers.

Yet, there was a certain stillness otherwise, when he shook his head 
and they left him. 

"I do," he uttered at last, getting no answer at first.  One tap 
reminded Youji he was not alone, and his father slid over for him. 
Seishirou climbed up on the bed without even reaching for the lamp, and 
he curled up there into the smallest ball he could manage, a little 
pocket of warmth above the covers they had not bothered to crawl 
beneath.

Like most people usually did.

"You know," he whispered then.  "If you get under the sheets, that will 
keep the monsters away."

The skid of fabric on fabric.  It seemed otherwise he might have been 
disheartened that his father had believed him.  He was just that far 
gone though.  So far indeed, he cast the covers over Seishirou's whole 
body and lost him in the ripples of satin.

But then again, he had the covers over his own head too.

*** 

A set of keys on a brass ring clattered in his hand as Youji drew them 
out of his pocket. It was a delicate juggling act he had to perform 
just to get the right key in the lock, as he was also carrying two 
bouquets of crimson roses in the crook of the other arm and had a six 
pack of Sapporo dangling between the fingers of that hand. Finally, 
though, he managed to get it unlocked and as the door swung open, he 
caught the strains of some jazz music--a piece from one of his favorite 
CDs. A smile touched the corners of his lips; those wives of his sure 
knew how to welcome him home. 

Youji took the steps two at a time, pausing at the top to blow a kiss 
to his newest work of art: That of a crucified boy, all blond of hair 
and sweet of face. Arrows protruded from his limp hands and sneakered 
feet. He prodded him in the side with one of the keys, but he didn't 
move. In fact, as he recalled, he hadn't moved in about two days. 

"Darling?" 

Youji shot a look over his shoulder, and found Megaera standing there, 
dressed in a brightly patterned shift. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, 
and she wound her arms around his waist. 

"Don't you think you ought to do away with that sculpture? I mean, he 
hasn't so much as moaned in a day." 

Youji frowned, and shook his head. "Oh, no, Meg! I want to keep him. 
I've looked high and low for someone like him." 

Meg sighed. "You are impossible." 

"Don't you know it!" Youji groped her ass and gave her another kiss. 
"What's for dinner?" 

"'Suki and I made your favorites: Teacakes, ramen, and okonomiyaki. 
With lots of butter on the side." 

"Ahh! You ladies think of everything!" 

"That we do," she said with a nod. She took the flowers from him, and 
held them up to her nose for an appreciative sniff. "Why don't you take 
one of those, and give me the rest, and go find Mitsuki? She has a 
surprise for you." 

"Oh?" Youji grinned as he wriggled one of the cans out of its plastic 
restraint. "I think I'll do just that." 

As he left her, he heard the sounds of bowls being shifted, of water 
running. Charlie Parker gave way to Paganini. Midway down the hall, 
under the fierce, passionate swoons of the distant violin strings, he 
heard faint sounds of laughter. Youji paused where he stood in the 
hall and cocked his head to listen. The sound rose and fell as if 
muffled by inconstant breezes. He took another sip of his wine, 
debating whether or not he should go investigate, when he felt a 
hand lightly touch his arm. 

It was Mitsuki. She was clad only in a short dress of red and blue 
cellophane. 

"Darling, what are you doing here?" 

"Megaera sent me after you. She said you had a surprise for me in the 
bedroom." Youji waved down the hall with his glass. 

"Oh, I had meant for it to be a surprise for later!" she cried, 
throwing up her hands in a show of exasperation, but smiling at him all 
the while. 

"Meant for what to be a surprise?" 

Again, that arch smile. She linked her arm with his, giving it a little 
tug. "Come on, and I'll show you." 

He took another sip of his champagne, then left the glass on a hovering 
tray that had suddenly appeared at his side. When they reached the 
door, he noticed the laughter had taken on a vile tone to it, and he 
thought he could just make out the sounds of someone weeping under it 
all. When Youji looked to Mitsuki for an answer, however, she wasn't 
there anymore. 

In a burst, the door flew open, and she was standing there on the other 
side of it, wearing her usual black leather. But that wasn't what 
caught his eye. 

Behind her, on the floor, were four naked men. Three lounging, smoking, 
while another was in the process of raping a fifth. A young man with 
soot-colored hair, and bright green eyes. He watched, horrified, as the 
first traded places with another. And yet another straddled the 
victim's face. Youji fumbled on his wrist for his wire, but found 
nothing there. He tried to move forward, but his feet were stuck to the 
floor. 

"Mitsuki!" he cried. "What the hell is going on!" 

"Darling, darling!" she cooed, leaning in to blow in his ear. "What 
sort of stepmother would I be if I didn't give your son a proper 
homecoming?" 

At that, all four men started laughing crazily. Blood and semen began 
to creep across the carpet from where the boy was lying. Youji started 
shouting; he soon began to scream... 

And then he bolted upright in the bed, wide awake now and staring, 
sweat pouring from his shaking body.

*** 

Already the club lights were going out one by one. Yuuji had bundled 
Omi onto the cycle and then himself, and had driven from there as if 
all the demons in hell were following them, gunning through lights when 
necessary. He had taken no notice of the boy cowering at his side, 
where before he might laugh and murmur nonsense to soothe him. 

There was no point in soothing. The monsters would come when one least 
expected them, and all the platitudes and kisses one could offer 
would not stop them from rending a person apart in their dripping 
claws. He should have known better. He cursed himself because he had 
forgotten all the way to the dark, silent shop. He whipped the 
motorcycle down the alley, and drew it to a violent, shaking halt. 
Or was he the one that was shaking? 

"Come on," he muttered, though it hurt even to expend the breath needed 
to carry his words through the air. "Come on, and let's get inside..." 

/Got to get inside. I'll never go out again if I can help it./ 

They more or less dragged each other into the house once Omi had gotten 
his trembling hand to cooperate with his mind and the key went into the 
lock. The door slammed behind them, rattling in the frame, and Yuuji 
frantically threw shut every single bolt that lined its jamb. Then he 
caught Omi by the arm and hustled him up the stairs as fast as their 
injured, torn bodies would take them. 

Once inside, the curtains were yanked shut against the gradual bluing 
of the night and every light in the apartment set ablaze. Yuuji threw 
the locks on his own door, and then headed off to his bedroom. 

He passed out before he even reached the bed.

***

Omi stood in his doorway, once more rubbing at his eyes to try and make 
them see daylight where there was none.  He didn't seem sure at first 
that he had seen his lover go fluttering down to the floor, one twirl 
of white ice coming to rest somewhere in the deeply sinking blue.  For 
a long time he stared at the pale smudge before him, smiling as if he 
had never seen another human being before.  

With tiny sigh, he drew near at last, and softly called his name 
instead of listening any longer to his own breaths.  "Yuuji? Yuuji? 
Ohayo... Yuuji? Hi...hiiiiiiiiii su? Yuuji?"

When he got no answer, he crumpled to the floor beside him. In the 
momentary white light of a passing car, he thought he saw something 
glinting on Yuuji's back, waited there a moment, many moments, for 
another, which came, in time.  They were so clear- the shards of glass 
set in his skin.  The first came out easily enough with a little flick 
of his hand, and did not hear it break any more than it had.  

He sat and held the shard until all the blood on it had dripped down 
his wrist; clutched it to his chest as if it was rather a fallen star. 
"I'm tired... Knight.  I'm really tired. I'm sorry."

As he rose, he dropped the glass onto the nightstand and left the 
little glow behind; he went to the bathroom and there, for one more 
time at least, picked up his med kit and carried it to the bedroom.

With his smallest, lightest tweezers, he started to clean his lover's 
wound, casting the glass into a little, mostly empty jar of aloe.  When 
he drew them out, the cut wept again where they had been, and he would 
have to blot it with one of the towels he kept for such things until he 
had stained them all red.

He had one more to go when someone knocked on the door, and so had no 
intention of answering the first time, or the second time, the third, 
for the sound was to him only a dream of when one of those other two 
lived in another building somewhere else in the world.

"I can't talk now Ken!" He finally called.  "And you'll just have to go 
next, Aya! Even if it's really nasty, and Masa..."

"I'm Seishirou."

After that, he didn't even remember opening the door, but he did.  
Holding a flashlight in the middle of the hallway gloom hovered the 
shadow of the boy, just barely trembling, but trembling still.  Omi 
looked at him as if those quavers were the breath of ectoplasm.

"What are you doing up?" though his own words came light, and soft as 
children always seemed to like.

"I... umm... Otosama... Otosama is hurt.  Really bad.  And he won't go 
to the doctor.  And I..." silence then, the light in his hand dimmed, 
and he drew back, shaking his head to scare away some vision Omi 
guessed had floated before them.  

"It's Ok... umm..." A glance to the angel passed out on his bedroom floor.  
"Show me where daddy is in a minute."

After gathering a few of his supplies into his arms, he nodded, and 
they ascended the stairs together, Sei leading, he following, but not 
seeing where he was going, nor knowing just what he might find at the 
top of the steps.  

A few drops of blood through his own apartment, or what had once been.  
The smell of a long, steamy shower.  And Kuudou, lying in the bed, 
smiling and sweating amid dark marks on the covers.

Omi was too tired to make any sense of the mess.

"YOUJI YOU STUPID BASTARD! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? GET UP! 
JUST GET UP! HOW COULD YOU LET YOURSELF GO TO BED LIKE THIS!?"

And he cuffed him over one cheek.

***

Youji froze, his shoulders hunched as if he expected to be struck 
again.  He didn't say anythingto Omi, didn't look at him--just 
burrowed under the blankets again, and curled himself up into as 
tight of a ball as he could. 

"G-go away, Omi. Just...go away, and leave me alone," he whispered.  
"...goawaygoawaygoaway..."

***

Omi stamped his foot and nearly took the lamp out when he swung his 
hand out.  Seishirou steadied it at the last moment before it fell to 
the ground, and while he had his hands upon it, flipped the switch.  
Everyone winced.

And the boy saw Omi had started to cry.

"You know, you're not the only one who had a rough night, Kuudou! But 
you ARE the only one with a kid and that means it's NOT alright to come 
flouncing back in here at all hours of the morning and let 'em freak 
'cause he's never seen so much blood before in his life."

Seishirou bowed his head and tried to make himself blend into the 
nightstand, for he had been the center of one too many arguments in his 
life, and did not wish to find himself in the midst of another.  It was 
all he could do to keep himself from bolting.

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!? 'cause I know you can do better than 
this! And you are NOT the only person I get to sew back together this 
morning! I'm fu-... damn tired and I got a hole in my stupid ear I'm 
gonna have to fix MYSELF.  I don't need you acting like a two year old 
right now!"

With one more exasperated shout that bore no words in it, he reached 
over and ripped the sheets from his companion's huddled form.  Or most 
of them, for the rest went flying in little shreds between Youji's 
hands.  Youji only cried out and would not take more than a brief 
glance upon the boy, who reached for him again, and yanked him around 
by the scruffs of his battered shoulders so he laid now on his back, 
staring up at the ocean blue eyes of his once-upon-a-time lover.

Who fell very still himself then, very silent.  Whose fingers crept 
over his damp hair even when he flinched away.

Omi sat down on the edge of the bed than and took his companion in his 
arms, rocking him back and forth a little and trying to shush him.

"It's alright, Youji-kun.  I'm here now.  I won't hurt you and I'm 
sorry I yelled, OK?"

***

But it wasn't okay. It wasn't ever gonna BE okay again, not that Youji 
could see. As much as that one rational morsel of his mind chanted over 
and over that it was OMI who had him in his arms, and Omi meant comfort 
and love and fun, the rest of him--the fearful, broken near whole of 
him--did not want to be held or touched by anyone save his child. 

And so, Youji frantically clawed and shoved himself free of Omi's 
cradling arms, and shot off the bed. The sheet which had been torn from 
him, Youji took from the floor and swathed around his body. Limping
slightly, he crossed over to where his son stood cringing and set one 
tender hand upon Sei's head. 

"As you can see," he rasped, "I didn't exactly have a choice except to 
come home bloody. Some guys wanted to cut me, and so they did. There 
were a lot of things they wanted to do to me, and so they did. Rapists 
are funny like that." 

/I'm so sorry, Sei./ 

Seishirou whirled around and clasped his father's leg, burying his face 
in the black cotton folds he was draped in, and Youji began to pet his 
soft, dark hair. A droplet of moisture fell from some point above his 
outstretched arm, and rolled down a ways until it sank into his skin 
altogether. It was followed by another, and then another. 

"Maybe I deserved it. I don't know." He chuckled darkly and dragged the 
back of his free hand over his damp cheeks. "I don't even know how much 
longer I'm going to be able to stand upright, so I've gotta ask you now 
to leave. Go back to Yuuji and let me faint--if I'm going to faint--in 
dignity, hm?" 

"And don't you ever come in here yelling like you did and frighten 
Seishirou again. Not ever again."

***

Omi dropped the few shreds of sheets he had been holding, eyes vague 
for a moment with the recollection he had once slept amid their 
tangles.  Twice... often enough that the memory of them stayed on his 
skin now that they had died, and in spite of that trembling fact.  He 
held still a moment on the edge of the bed and out of the strewn 
supplies he had dropped he took the pair of white plastic chopsticks 
and the box of sterile gauze.  One sheaf he unwrapped and held between 
them just as daintily as he could.

Bit by bit, he drew himself up from the damp sheets still clinging to 
the bed and then, with the interminable grace of a caterpillar settling 
itself from one leaf to another, he approached the trembling pair, 
smiling soothingly all the while, but not making a sound beside the 
rustle of his clothing.

When he had slipped close enough, he dabbed at Youji's tears with the 
gauze as if they were wounds themselves.  Each and every one.

His former lover flinched from him now and then, but did not turn away 
all together, or fight him.  Not too much.

"I'm sorry I scared Sei, Youji-kun.  I am.  I didn't mean to, but he 
came to me asking if I'd help you, so I did.  And this isn't want I 
expected, but that's my fault, ne? You should be proud of your little 
boy.  He wants you to get better very much."

Seishirou glanced up from his hiding place and chanced a quick look at 
the boy who had stolen into his home, but said nothing himself.  Just 
rubbed his cheek into his father some more and brushed the blood this 
brought away.

"And I do too..." Omi whispered then.  "So, why don't you sit back down 
on the bed? For me? I just want to have a good look at you, I promise I 
won't touch you onnnnnnne bit.  If you need cleaned up a little more, 
I'll use these, or if you need some... err... more... bandages, I'll 
tell Sei how to put them on.  I won't even touch you if you need 
stitches.  I promise.  Hurry up now if you feel dizzy."

***

Youji hesitated, but then, taking temporary leave of his son with a 
gentle flick of fingers against his scalp, he did as Omi had urged. 
He swayed a bit as he rested his weight upon the edge of the 
mattress, but the dizziness rolled away just as quickly as it had 
come. He stared at Omi as if he were trying to see through him, and 
then he bowed his head, closed his eyes. 

The sheet fell away from him as it might from a shy bride, and 
slitheredaway in black rivers of silk straight to the floor. 

***

"There, that's not so bad," Omi cooed, folding his hands and the wet 
gauze behind his back as he looked over his companion which he did 
half-standing on one foot so he looked rather like a timid little 
heron than an assassin playing doctor.  "Really, it's not so bad! 
I mean that."

Seishirou blotted his own eyes then despite their being only shimmering 
rather than shedding any tears.  In a drifting little voice he 
breathed, "Youkatta!" before sinking down against the edge of the bed 
with his back against the mattress.

The youngest Weiss boy smiled at him as he drew himself.  He meant to 
ask after his penlight, only to find Sei-chan holding it up.

"Ah... arigatou." And he went about else he did assuming the child was 
fond of grown-up doctor shows.  To his former lover he said, "You know 
the drill, open your eyes as wide as you can."

He did, and Omi shined the tiny spark into the cloudy emerald pools, 
then again, just to make sure, even if Youji was plainly fighting to 
keep his eyes open at all, for his lashes trembled, and he scrunched 
them up as tight as he could when the brightness left them.  "Well... 
your pupils look alright... you feel feverish?"

All this got him was a touch of a downcast gaze and the little 
crinkling sound of the sheets caught under Youji's ankle.

/You don't feel anything but hurt, huh...?/

With a little touch of a sigh, Omi went to fetch the children's 
thermometer from the bathroom had it in Youji's ear before a minute was 
up.  "Ok... you're a little cold actually."

He tumbled from where he had knelt on the bed then and tried to catch 
his patient's gaze; spoke earnestly, but scarcely loud enough to be 
heard by anyone very shy of his lips, well enough for the time as 
hovered quite close to Youji.

"You did just fine cleaning up, and most of the bandages can just stay 
on your legs until tomorrow.  But ah... I really should put stitches on 
those cuts you've got, at least your chest.  If you don't want me to 
just yet, I don't have to.  I brought some of that numbing lotion so it 
won't hurt as bad either way."

***

"You think it's not so bad, hm? You're a fucking idiot." He 
laughed out loud, shaking with the effort. "You know what? I don't 
care. I don't care, Omi." Youji shook his now bent head, swishing his 
long black locks around his battered face. "What does it matter if I 
have scars? What does it matter if I bleed to death? It doesn't. 
It doesn't!" 

He dragged the tattered sheet up from where it had fallen, winding it 
snugly around himself. "Go away now. Go back to Yuuji. I don't 
want anymore of your cooing, don't want anymore of your solicitude. I 
just wanna sleep until nightfall, and then..." 

"Then I'm packing every goddamn thing I can into the car and Sei and I 
are getting out of here. For good."

***

Sei had curled himself into a ball by then, for he sensed what was 
coming before his hysterical father.  If he had been himself, Youji 
probably still would have missed the little twinge in the Omi's eyes, 
the sense some something shattering in the air around him, but to Sei, 
it blazed in his mind, it shook him, and it tasted like chewed silk and 
hot water swallowed too fast.

"YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!"

He kept his promise though, his fingers fell not on the skin of the man 
who had once been his lover.  Rather it was that the bottle in his 
hands went bottom first into his mouth and settled there, jammed 
between his teeth.

"How can you do this to us, Kuudou! You know, I don't care if you've 
lost it! I don't care if you keep losing it until there's nothing left 
of you but a drooling idiot! Frankly, that would be a lot easier to 
handle.  But don't you tell me you're gonna die when you have a son to 
take care of, and I know you love him 'cause you told me off the second 
I even mentioned him at work! Don't you EVER DARE say that around me 
again, got it!?"

He seemed to expect an answer despite that he had arranged for there to 
be none, and she shook the bottle, jarring Youji's head about when he 
did so.  

"'cause I don't care if they did you with a broom handle and most of 
that blood's dripping out of your severed insides! I don't care what 
you think of me! I don't care if you ever speak to me ever again! If 
you leave tomorrow and I never lay eyes on you again as long as I live! 
I just don't care!"

He swept in close then, hot and gasping and with blue eyes half closed 
in rage.  He brushed not against him, fell not close enough for even 
his clothing to be too near him.  But he was there, and his presence 
loomed around Youji, twitching always as with swallows far too deep.

"I. DON'T. CARE!"

Silence then, proximity and gasps.  Seishirou looked up and reached for 
his father though he did not find him.

"I just love you and you keep walking away from me... but that's Ok.  
I'd walk away from me too."

***

Youji removed the bottle Omi had so inelegantly forced into his mouth and 
scooped up his frightened child, cradling him as if he feared Omi might 
try to snatch him away. He wasn't exactly sure he wouldn't--wasn't exactly 
sure of the boy who now hovered beside him. 

"You l-love me, but you don't care? Don't care if I leave, don't care 
about...what they did to me? Wh-what are you talking about?" he 
murmured, astonished, half-cringing. "*You* left *me*, just because 
of...of...'Suki. Just because I wouldn't accept her child as mine. I 
told you why, but you wouldn't listen to me! I was just wrong in your 
eyes." 

Sei squirmed in his arms, and Youji stilled his fingers 
fingers atop his son's dark head. "Maybe I was wrong, in a way. I 
do love my kid, this one. I didn't think I would. I didn't think 
I'd ever care to be a father, but...I do. And I won't let 
anyone take him away from me, won't let anyone hurt him..." 

/You won't have to live with your mother ever again./ 

Sei lifted his head from Youji's shoulder, and regarded him sadly, tiny 
hands cupping his father's cheeks. Youji only gave him a crooked little 
smile and ruffled his hair, having been struck deep with remorse. 

"I'm sorry I said that. I don't really want to die," he said, shaking 
his head. "Not anymore." 

He gathered Sei close again, and then he looked back over at Omi. And 
studied him. And then it occurred to him that Omi might have been 
telling lies, and the reason why he lied, and he was stabbed with 
remorse all over again. 

Youji hesitantly lifted one jittery hand and gently thumbed away a 
newly spilled tear from Omi's cheek. 

"Would it bother you so much if I did leave?"

***

Like very little rabbit far away from home, Omi began to curl up bit by 
bit, rubbing against the finger that had brushed his face when he 
feared then it might leave him.

"I thought... I thought you didn't want me anymore after that," he 
murmured, the sound of his voice light as feathers and quavering as 
with the breath of another on such really plumes as might have brushed 
close.  "You didn't come to me anymore when I called.  I couldn't find 
you... I was... I don't even remember what I was anymore... I just..."

But he fell into sobs then and crept only the littlest bit closer 
Youji, forcing a vain smile onto his lips as he wept.  Seishirou would 
not look at him, but his father's eyes fell to the space between them 
and the window frame where the dawn was just baring herself.  Youji and 
his son both shuddered as if the mere possibility of sunlight 
frightened them.

Long moments of wet noises later, Omi had come as close as he dared to 
his lover and skated his lips over his stubbly cheek.

"I should have been with you and I wasn't.  I was too scared.  Of you, 
of making you miserable.  But... look what I've done! I might as well 
have hurt you, then at least you could punish me for this."

*** 

"You aren't to blame for last night. It might have happened even if you 
had been with me, and then the same thing might have happened to you. 
They would have hurt you because you are so young and pretty. They 
would have hurt you because..."

Youji had begun stroking Omi's cheek at the start of his speech, and 
now he had stopped. His hand dropped from its resting place and fell 
through the air to catch upon Omi's own. 

"Because I love you." 

Then he let him go. Youji shifted on the bed, dragging the restraining 
sheet out from under himself as he did. He laid Seishirou out before the 
closest pillow with a soft tousle of his hair, drawing the 
end of the spilled blanket over his son. The boy blinked and rubbed one 
eye, but said nothing. 

Youji turned back to Omi. His tears had lessened somewhat, but Omi still 
bore the look of one immersed in sorrow, and Youji took his hand again. 
"Sapphire said to me that you needed help, that I didn't know what I was 
doing to you. I asked you about it, and you said you were fine. You're not, 
though, are you?" He gazed at him earnestly for a second, then chuckled, 
adding, "'Cause I know I'm not! I don't want to leave the apartment at 
all. Not in daylight or dark. I don't, and I do. Suddenly I want to be 
away from here, as far as I can get. I get so sick sometimes of being 
Kritiker's puppet, don't you?" 

"And yet...I don't know if I could stop trying to protect those who 
need help. How easy would it be, do you think, if we gave it all up, 
and attempted to live like normal people?"

***

"But Youji... I don't know what's wrong with me..." the boy blurted out 
after a moment of trying to choke back his sobs, one that only brought 
them all out at once, and with a momentary shower of tears.  "I don't! 
How can I lay that on you, the not knowing.  And that I... I'm never 
gonna be alright, am I, Youji-kun?"

It seemed then as if this epiphany came rather to him like the unborn 
memories of death that know the hearts of soldiers, though this denied 
until all visions of the living world had passed him. He shivered there 
a moment with the millions who had found such paths before, glorious, 
content with the madness that was his life, for all of the seconds 
before despair could take him, which it did, and once more, he cried. 

"But I *WANT* to, I really want to, Youji-kun! I want it more than 
anything! Why isn't that enough!? Why can't I be heartless and leave? 
Why can't the last thing we steal be that terrible bitch's baby so we 
can call it ours? You're right, you're so right.  Being free... wouldn't 
help us! But what can I do?! What can I do to save you and Sei!?"

And then, as he slipped down where he knelt and ran the fingers of his 
lover over his wet face again, "Why did we have to be the ones left 
behind?  Why?  I want to be free even if it's not TRUE! I want you so 
bad..."

Seishirou sat up a little where he had been lying and wrapped his 
little hand around his father's shoulder, as if he feared losing him 
to Omi who still sat before them both, shuddering now with his tears.  

***

Youji scrunched down and pressed his cheek to Seishirou's grasping 
hand, rubbing against it like a cat would. His fingers stayed upon 
Omi's damp face, catching the copious tears with the tips and petting 
them into his skin, soaking them up into his own. 

"Which question should I answer first? You've posed so many." He drew a 
deep breath and let it out slowly, and leaned over a little to cradle 
Omi's face between his palms. "I guess...I can't blame Aya and Ken for 
jumping at the chance to escape. I would have, and I don't know if I 
would have thought of them. Maybe...there wasn't time for them to wait 
for us. Maybe they thought we'd be okay. Maybe they didn't care at all 
about us. We may never know the truth, Omi. Aya and Ken are gone, and 
we may have been forgotten." 

Youji drew one hand away from Omi's face and scooted back a little to 
gather Sei to him. "You can't be heartless because it's not in you to 
be. We can't steal 'Suki's baby because she won't have it--I know she 
won't. She's no mother, and she's not one who would willingly go 
through pregnancy and childbirth just for the sake of an infant, or for 
me. I doubt she's still pregnant now. Her social life, looking good and 
having lovers, that's what's important to her." He hitched a shoulder 
in a sheepish way. "All those things were important to me, too. But 
she'll never change. I would like to think I have." 

He hugged Sei, then, ever so cautiously, tipped Omi's head back a 
little and bent to place a kiss upon his forehead. 

"We are going to be free, Omi. You and me and Seishirou. You're going 
to put us back in the system under new names, and then we're getting 
out of here. I love Tokyo, but man, it's going to be a drag now. I 
don't know if I'll ever want to walk its streets by day or night ever 
again. I don't know if I'll see them again, or where, or what they 
might do; I'll constantly be looking over my shoulder for trouble. They 
threatened Seishirou, they threatened you, and you're all I have left. 
I can't let anything happen either of you, and I can't let anything 
happen to myself, for his sake." 

"So we're leaving. But as for wanting me...I'll be yours again in every 
way but one. I don't know about that. Not for awhile." He swallowed 
hard, eyes glistening suspiciously. "But I'll be okay in time," he 
added, sniffing. "And you will be too. We all will be." 

***

Omi had listened to every word and for the first time in days his heart 
could no longer tell, he looked into Youji's gaze with eyes of only 
clear blue.  Dark.  Fathomless and contemplating slow like sleeping 
honey.

He reached up and drew the gleaming saline from himself.  His hands 
settled on his companion's shoulders and drew him down against him, 
until his head rested on his shoulder and he had tangled his fingers in 
his black hair.  Seishirou sank back to his pillows then, smiling 
almost though not in sleep; now and again his hand would steal out 
after his father's form.  But not for long, and not without little 
mental kisses.  

Omi got a few, too, though he did not know what they were.  When he 
tried to speak, his voice seemed to have shrunk.  "I... I don't... I 
didn't think I'd ever hear anyone say that to me.  We're leaving.  
It feels like you whispered it to me just now and I'm going to wake 
up in the morning and forget all about it... but I don't... I don't 
want to."

Suddenly he realized he had no idea what else he could need if the 
words came true, and it only made him draw Youji that much closer.

"I just... I just want to take care of you.  I don't mean to be mean 
but... I'm trying to come up with something else... and that's all 
there is in me."

He kissed him then, around the cut on his cheek, lips only and his 
breath.  

"I'm sorry about your other baby.  I'm sorry we can't stay here even if 
part of you still loves it.  I'm sorry the sun won't come up and make 
you feel better." Silence for but a moment, and he lifted his lover 
away from against his body, and laid him down on the covers as he slid 
off the bed after his needle and thread, holding them up with a sad 
sort of look as one of his hands felt for the bottle of numbing lotion.

"I'll be careful.  I'll be good.  I promise."

***

"It's okay, Omi," Youji whispered, cocking him a half-hearted little 
grin. "A needle never hurts as much as a knife." A considering pause. 
"Or a wire." 

He'd spoken the truth as he knew it, but he turned his head away when 
Omi climbed up on the bed beside him and bent over him to dab the long, 
weeping slash with the cold lotion. Youji tried to keep his hands from 
shaking in their silken sheathes, tried to keep the air flowing evenly 
in and out of his lungs, but he couldn't. It wasn't that Omi was about 
to pierce the ragged edges of his injured flesh with a sharp metal 
thorn; he'd been sewn up too many times for something like *that* to 
bother him. It was that he was lying down while another person bent 
over him. Like he had been subdued. Like...he was back on the floor 
of the men's room... 

His hands came up and he shoved Omi away before he could set the 
needle's tip to his chest. Youji vaulted off the mattress and onto his 
feet, and skittered away from him. He just stood there, then, breath 
coming in gasps. He knew he was being irrational, but he couldn't help 
it. He just couldn't! Even though he'd hurt Omi's feelings again. 

"You'll have to stitch me up with me sitting up. Not lying down."

***

The hurt that had surged in Omi's heart for a moment fell back in him, 
fleeing like the foam on top of the waves, leaving only jagged little 
glimmers of pity behind.  Glancing over his shoulder, he found Sei 
looking up from the pillow, though the boy sank down himself once his 
father had returned to the bed.  He thought for a moment of plucking 
him into his arms and plopping him down in Youji's like a squirmy, 
living teddy bear, but the boy needed sleep, and seeing someone else 
sewn up could trouble even those much older than he was.  

His fingers, still a little slick with lotion, skated over his lover's 
brow, brushing the long, stringy bangs away until he looked just so 
much younger.  

"It's OK, Youji-kun.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that.  Now hold 
real still like this for a little while.  I promise it won't be too 
long."

A determined little nod and he took the silver sliver of the needle in 
between the tips of his clamp, for he still had that, promises to keep 
his hands to himself or not.  They seemed long, long over.  The 
stitches however were just beginning.  Youji's breath slowed and grew 
shallow then, though it stuttered in his chest now and then as he 
remembered...

And Omi almost started to wish he would remember it too, so he could 
say it would be alright.  And really mean it.  

***

Youji had sat still as Omi wished, save for the clenching and 
unclenching of his hands within the sheet he wore draped around him. He 
could feel the wisps of his son's sleepy reassurances drifting around 
the edges of his consciousness, and he did nothing to push them back. 
Only warned him not to delve too deeply into his thoughts, even as he 
sank into them. It was only the pat of Omi's lips against his forehead 
that roused him. Youji raised his head then, and found himself 
presented with a wavering smile.  

He leaned over and lay his head on Omi's shoulder, holding his forearms 
so he would not touch him. "Come to bed with us. Don't bother packing 
all that up. It'll keep." 

He felt Omi's hand hesitantly slip across the back of his head, and he 
looked up then to receive Omi's assent. Youji pulled away, stretching out
along side Seishirou.  The child curled up against him, and he wrapped 
an arm around him as he watched his lover. 

"We'll sleep some more, hm? And when we wake, we'll start making 
preparations." He pulled the sheet up over his head, and mumbled 
dreamily, "I've always wanted to go to Hawaii..."

***

Omi fumbled a moment with his ear to make sure it had stopped bleeding, 
wondered over Yuuji for a moment, and glancing down at the heap of 
black covers beside him, remembered that he cared for the blond Crasher 
still...

/So you're a whore, you love two men./

/This one needs me.  And he's always been there, even when he wasn't 
really close to me, he was there and I.../

/You want to leave?/

/I've wanted to leave since I was born.  You know that./

Rubbing his eyes, he stretched out on the bed on the far side of the 
little boy's arm; smiled at him and dangled his fingers in his bangs a 
moment.  All the while he held himself as if a small saint rather he 
had become, or a doll who could be posed no other way- flat on his back 
with his hands folded on his chest, pushing back on his breath.  

"I don't know where I've always wanted to go," Seishirou offered, 
seeming to answer the question that had not quite formed in his mind.  
"Like I didn't really know where else I *could* go."

"Hawaii sounds nice," Omi murmured, somewhat in response, and somewhat 
to himself.  "Although sometimes... I usedta wonder about what Papua New 
Guinea would be like.  When I was just thinking about getting away.  As 
far away as I could."

He sighed, and his eyes began to drift closed.  The room went hazy 
then, the breathing beside him slower step by step until there was only 
peace there and the faintest hum of the street outside- the 
refrigerator, and the sound no human hears of dew gathering where there 
were still touches of grass about Tokyo, and flowers not betrothed to 
cases.

His last faint words before he fell to dreamless sleep- "Sei-chan, the 
sun's coming up."

***

*"Aw! Are you going to stay in tonight, TOO?" 

"I have to get this paper finished, and get it off my mind--cut it 
out!" Yuuji yanked his book free of his friend's grip, shooting a 
wadded sheet of paperat him as he skittered away.  The other boy swatted 
it away easily, sending it rolling to the floor beside Yuuji's desk.   

"There's going to be some pretty girls there," his roommate sang. 

His viewpoint shifted from the book to a grinning young man who sat 
upon one of the room's two beds, and Yuuji felt his heart skip a beat. 
"Good, then you won't be too lonely." 

He grinned, turning back to his desk, and the piles of papers and 
books he'd stacked upon it. These, he set upon, dragging a particular 
volume from the middle of one small stack and flipping it open. For 
a while the only sound was that of the pages shuffling together. 

"Oi, Yuuji?" 

"Mn?" 

"Do you get lonely?" 

The marker he'd been highlighting with paused in midsweep over a 
line of text, dangling in mid air from two fingers. "What sort of 
question is that?" 

"A probing one? A nosy one? One you don't want to answer?" 

He paused, staring thoughtfully at the texts before him, and then 
shrugged, but didn't turn to meet his roommate's eyes. "Who doesn't get 
lonely, Sugihara? It happens. It comes and you deal with it...because 
that's all you can do."* 

*** 

When Yuuji emerged from his dream, he found the lights were still on 
all around his tiny apartment. But still he remained where he lay upon 
the floor, listening for any signs of life around him. Nothing came to 
his ears save the whistle of passing cars behind the bedroom window, 
the distant hum of the refrigerator in the next room. He wondered 
vaguely where Omi was, but sadly wasn't in the mood to go looking for 
him. The building was locked, that much he remembered, and he doubted 
Omi would want to go out any more after what happened. Not just now. 

Bit by painful bit, Yuuji managed to get himself into a sitting 
position on the floorby the bed.  As he leaned back against the bed, 
he realized his back didn't hurt quite so much as before, though it 
still stung a little whenever he moved. Other places did too, but he 
couldn't be bothered now. At least he was still breathing, and he 
still had his whipsword, but it was a shame about his coat though. 
Yuuji scooped up the bloodstained, torn garment which lay at his 
feet and ran his fingers over the various rips it had been dealt 
by Creiddylad's bottle. Then he tossed it aside, and, using the 
bed as a support, dragged himself off the floor and onto the 
mattress side. 

Slowly, Yuuji shed his tattered clothing, throwing all of it on top 
of the heap his coat had made. And then he pulled down the covers and 
flopped himself under them, and fervently hoped he would never dream 
again.

***

"I just HATE Kelvena when she's right!" Creiddylad screamed once she 
had left the capsule of the helicopter, though not the whirlpool of its 
wind, for the spinning vapors all around her in the nearly-hatched 
morning light blew the words back into her mouth.  So she wailed then 
again and again until the machine had lifted from the lawn, and still, 
it seemed no one heard her over it.  She was hoarse and panting by 
then, her hair turned all around her neck by the weaving gusts of the 
blades.

"Yes, yes! Everyone hates 'Kelvena', let us all bow down and worship 
the anti-Kelvena who will destroy the real deal and let us all get on 
with our pseudo-paradisiacal lives."  This rather yawned by Aburatsubo, 
who made no effort to cover his mouth or any other part of his naked 
self.

Feng at last though, stretching her back in a patch of shade beneath 
the tendrils of a Bird of Paradise that sported a bloom which had long 
ago died and as such was making her wrinkle up her nose.  "Then why do 
you bother leaving the house? She said you would meet kitties if you 
came to Tokyo.  You knew what that meant."

"Because!"

"Wow," the dom began again.  "What an insightful answer.  I don't 
suppose you're going to tell me who this 'Kelvena', why I should care 
or where the bloody hell we are?"

"No one asked you to fuckin' come along, you perv!"

"I beg your pardon, I am not the one who choked a swordsman with my 
vaginal secretions."

"You shut up!"

"Yes, all of you!" Rivolta suddenly broke in with a darkly amused sort 
of laugh.  "There's no need to worry about any Kelvenas here." Though 
surely he did not know that on his own, being in the same situation as 
the dom when it came to her name.  "This is only the lesser of my 
estates, please follow me to the back door if you would care for 
breakfast."

"Is breakfast being served on the buttocks of a charming lad?" Presto 
inquired, having raised his hand but not been called on. 

"See, PERVERT!" Creiddylad, had she been younger, might well have stuck 
out her tongue.  She looked for an instant as if she might do it anyway.  

But their mutual host assured him of the possibility just the same, 
only to have the less vocal of his female guests ask of him halfway 
down the path, "Why are we going to the back door if the front is right 
over there?"

"Because I would prefer if you got neither blood nor girl spunk on my 
new carpet."

That of course, quieted everyone down until such time, much later it 
seemed, as they reached the rear entrance.  A phenomenal work of art on 
its own it was- not in the shape of a door, but of an arc rising and 
sinking along one wall of the mica-floored porch.  It parted in two 
halves, one of which was set with the rays of a sunset in clear 
crystal, the other with true ruby glass which burned with the traces of 
gold dust in it by the light of the real sun.

Everything beyond these facets was of white marble dusted with grey, 
glittering clouds- the floor, the walls, the tables, the pedestals on 
which rested all manner of unusable dildos- the buttresses of the 
ceiling and the bodies of the chairs.  Despite the ancient cast the 
stone lent the morning and the chamber that held it, all the lines were 
of the nineteen twenties and the sorts of maidens that era had spawned.  

"You ever screwed on the floor?" demanded Creiddylad.

To which Rivolta honestly responded, "Not much," only to watch her sigh 
and throw herself down upon it rather than one of the couches.  Red 
crept out from her in all directions.  "Now see here...!"

"She's psychometric," her companion explained, her voice grating 
horribly and her fingers stealing to her ears now and then.  "If she 
gets anything from one of the couches, it'll suck for all of us."

"Right... now, Presto, as for you... what are YOU doing here?"

"I was hustled out of the room with everyone else.  I thought I 
deserved a nice place to crash after all that." He had cast himself on 
the biggest lounger and was presently splayed there, trying to eye his 
bruise while lying down.  "Capital show, by the way.  I'm sure it was 
arousing if I liked Foxy Boxing."  

"Do you have *ANY* interest in life besides getting off!?" The woman on 
the floor shouted, her voice ringing on the smoothness all around her.

"No, not really.  Why? Do you have any interest in life besides whaling 
on hot, blond guys?" 

"Yeah, bandaging the results of having a blond guy whale on me, killing 
that blond guy, and world domination.  I'm a regular Renaissance woman 
compared to you." One who shortly began to shift as if something itched 
her, and then cast out of her bodice Sugihara's ring, which rolled 
across the floor with a clank and was more or less ignored for the time 
being.

"Tehehe! World domination! That's funny.  Are you from Estet or 
something?"

"Don't insult us!" Feng sighed despondently as she stuck her knife 
against one of the pedestals.

"I've sent for the nurse boys, ladies.  So please, don't destroy my 
property any further." Rivolta again, pulling himself away from a 
phone in the wall that had been painted to resemble the rest of his 
surroundings.  "And Aburatsubo, would you care for a brunet to a 
redhead? I've both on hand."

"Oh, a brunet and a razor, I feel like shaving someone's head."

"Fascinating.  As you wish.  Feng?  My, how might I serve you before
 the omelets are ready?  Not that it shall undo the injustices of last 
night..." 

"Earplugs..." she whispered.  "I can hear the ceiling cracking... little 
by little..."

***

"Why Abbess Hildegard! You know better than to take a flying leap into 
Mr. Irrigation Ditch after yummy tadpoles!  You certainly do.  BAAAAAAD 
kitty."

Reiichi playfully shook his finger at his misbehaving feline, still 
smiling at her stupefied (and rather muddy) visage.  

The poor white cat, after all, was now soaked from head to paw with 
not-so-wonderfully clear water from one of the rice paddies 
interspersed throughout the city.  A few people out on early morning 
strolls and even a few more who were sprinting as fast as they could to 
the nearest train station, stopped to have a look at the man in the 
fluorescent blue suit and the muddy cat who knelt before him, swishing 
her wet tail this way and that, not to mention getting the gooey dirt 
there all over his shoes.  

He didn't seem to care.  She was wearing a tutu, a pair of angel wings 
with real feathers and a halo on a spring, all clues to the 
inappropriateness of this get-up aside, and no leash.

Most pitifully she meowed and held up one of her scummy paws up as if 
she expected him to shake.

"Well, it's OK.  I'll get you all pretty and cleaned up once we get to 
Masato's house.  And no worries, I brought you a spare costume just in 
case."

The cat's master reached down to pat her head, which he did, and then 
promptly wiped his fingers on a handkerchief from his pocket.  While he 
was doing this, Abbess decided it would be fun to rub up against his 
legs in thanks. 

Reiichi did not so much as start to cringe, but rather, with a laugh, 
hoisted his grimy kitty into his arms and thusly continued down the 
street.  She grinned back on the befuzzled eyes of morning city, 
seeming to say, "Oh, what joy! I have finally destroyed these frightful 
wings." Fortunately, her companion caught no glimpse of her expression.  

He did however come to a green door after a few more side streets, one 
with a number he double-checked against a slip of paper before knocking 
upon it.  One of the neighbors saw him and ran back into her house at 
once.  Another waved and then did a double take after he tipped his 
tiara.  It was the yellow glass one with the serbindi that always 
clacked against his glasses.

Another knock, and the door finally came flying open.

"Whaddya want?" yawned Naru.

"Oh my..."

"'Oh my', I am terribly sorry, is not an answer to my question."

"What else do you want me to say? Just curious."

The time spent pondering this was great indeed, and in that time, no 
one went in or out of Masato's apartment.  Naru did not find himself 
properly dressed to do so, and the visitor... well, frankly he was 
somewhat afraid.  

The cozy shabbiness of Tamura's quarters was utterly obscured.  One of 
the lamps had been upset- not broken, but it was lying on its side, 
full ablaze.  Shopping bags, some of them ripped open in great 
flourishes, were strewn about between the seven or so pairs of 
underwear.  The coffee table had footprints on it.  The room smelled of 
shoe polish, and presumably for many fine reasons, as among the new 
garb of said room lay many implements of very new, very studded 
leather: cuffs, belts, whips, more underwear, braces, chains.  Several 
sex toys Reiichi seriously did not know the names for, even without his 
flabbergasted state.   He did, however, recognize two empty chartreuse 
bottles amid the mess, one of which had been rammed between the sofa 
cushions.  

Naru looked as if he had allowed a hoard of disagreeable guinea pigs to 
coif him.  He wore a shirt of torn fishnet, a pair of nipple clamps, 
two implements of restraint that covered his forearms and were dripping 
padlocks.  His midnight blue leather shorts seemed to be more zipper 
than anything else.  In the silence that ensued, he produced a bottle 
of beer and had a few swigs.

"Umm... Naru, dear.. what is that on your..."

The boy made a sound of puzzlement and his finger slipped into his 
navel for a moment.  The red, gooey substance it came out covered with 
went straight into his mouth.   "Ketchup."

"I see... umm... is Masato around?"

"Why, he most certainly is! Let me go wake him for you! NEEEEE! MASTER! 
SHISARAGI-SAMA HAS COME WITH SALUTATIONS!"

***

At the sound of Naru's near deafening summons, Masato awoke with a 
violent start, looked around his bedroom, at himself, then flopped down 
on the futon again, eyes closed. He lay there for a handful of seconds 
before it occurred to him that the sun was indeed out, the sheets were 
indeed hanging from the swinging lamp over his bed, and he did indeed 
now have a new tattoo of a gothic, rose-embellished cross upon the area 
of his right upper arm. 

He was clad much as he had been the night before--in a black leather 
vest and jeans, no shirt. A strap of black leather lay near him, and he 
caught it up as he rose from the futon, groaning piteously. Masato saw 
no need to change; Reiichi had already had an eyeful, no doubt. 

He couldn't help but laugh behind one hand before he regained his 
composure and swung the door open. Yawning noisily as he loped down the 
hall, Masato scrubbed a hand through his wildly tangled locks. 

When he entered the room, he caught Naru's eye and cracked the belt at 
him with a smirk before he turned his attention to their unexpected 
guest. Masato was as completely at ease as if having his living room 
strewn with sex toys was an everyday occurrence. 

"Ohayo, Rei. What the hell happened to your cat?"

***

"Ohayo, Masato!" Reiichi caroled merrily.  "What the hell happened to 
your arm?"

"What happened to all the ketchup is what I'd like to know," Naru asked 
of the empty Heinz bottle he had found in with his beer.  He gave it a 
fruitless shake and then stared out through the slightly sticky bottom 
by means of the neck, giggling and waving as if everyone else around 
him had such make believe telescopes.  The wavy, magnified specter of 
his eye alighted on his lover's arm at last.  That done, he whistled 
appreciatively.  

"OOOH! Someone has given the lake district poets a terrible fright! 
However will they define beauty in lieu of this? The lot of them must 
be doing acrobatic flips in their sites of internment."

As for the guest, he decided to let the dear, old fellows be or at 
least not to give commentary on the issue at hand, but rather answer 
the question that had been put to him in the first place.  "Oh, nothing 
much.  Abbess simply decided she would like to make her costume ironic 
is all.  She gets a bit cranky when she's up late at night, like both 
of us were.  I assume the two of you had something close to that 
experience? And that I can safely say that you *WEREN'T* minding that 
friend that you happened to be so insistent on monitoring in the first 
place?"

Naru and Masato exchanged a pair of guilty blushes, and gave Reiichi 
the rare opportunity to see their faces well matched, for Naru was just 
starting to show a bit of stubble, and Masato's was in perfect form 
that morning.  

Their guest merely l stepped into the apartment at last, closing the 
door most softly behind him.  A smile still fluttered over his lips, 
even when he shortly discovered what had indeed become of at least some 
part of the missing condiment.  

"Oh, dreadfully sorry about that!" the youngest Crasher sighed.  "It 
must have leaked out of the flacon over night! Oh woe are the most 
delectable distractions!" A shrug, a sip of his beer and he grinned at 
no one in particular.

"Now, now, don't feel guilty, you two.  I've got all my observations on 
tape, and I'd be more than happy to report them to you as soon as I get 
Abbess and my shoe cleaned up.  Should I use the kitchen or the 
bathroom sink?"

***

"Um...the kitchen sink will do. Just kinda ignore the dishes," Masato 
advised, brushing the underside of his chin with his fingertips. "I was 
too preoccupied last night to do them." 

A sly little grin broke over his face as the grizzled Crasher snagged 
hislissome lover around the waist, and Reiichi walked off to the 
kitchen with his precious secured in his arms.  He mouthed the back 
of Naru's neck before swooping in for a beery kiss, then off towards 
the kitchen they went. 

"Might as well do our talking in here. It's as good a place as any." 
Masato fished three cans of soda out of the refrigerator without even 
asking either of his companions if they wanted a drink. He set two of 
them down on the table, and flipped the top on his with his thumb. 

"So, Rei, what's the news?"

***

"Well, for starters, the dish soap you have will never take off lasagna 
that's been drying on a plate ALL night.  My, my, my!  Didn't anyone ever 
tell you store brands don't work well?"

Masato, in between gulps of his soda, took the time to quietly flip 
Reiichi and his cat off.

The eerily calm Crasher only responded with the shaking of one of his 
less offensive fingers and proceeded to roll his sleeves all the way 
up, not that doing so would accomplish anything, for they were already 
quite caked with fur-laced mud. A few whistles of Cinder-relly later, 
he had all of the offending plates soaking in a mountain of suds in one 
side of the sink, and what was presumably a bath drawing on the other.  
He kept testing it with his elbow to make sure the temperature was 
right and took only enough time away from this task to filch a bottle 
of shampoo from Masato's bathroom.

Of course, during the duration, Abbess was wandering the counter, 
leaving all manner of paw prints behind.  By the time her master 
reached for her though, she was exactly where he had left her- the 
print of her fluffy bottom not one millimeter off.  

Naru broke off admiring his lover's tattoo to remind Reiichi of the 
non-cat and non-dish related matters at hand.  "You know, you did wake 
us up a most insufferable time before the polite hour of noon.  
Whatever is it?" 

"If you fish the tape recorder out of my back pocket, I'm sure it will 
tell you.  There, there! That's a good Abbess! Get all the nasty mud 
out of your pretty, white fur!"

Abbess Hildegard promptly yowled and splashed up a grimy veil of 
droplets, and not because of the grimace Naru had given upon reaching 
into the aforementioned pocket and not feeling any underwear beneath 
Reiichi's pants.

With a shrug, he hit the play button.

"Youuuuuuuuuji." 

"What is it?" A pause, some sighs.  A bottle breaking.  "Having a laugh 
on me? Well, fuck you!" 

"YOUJI! I'm not laughing at you! I'm just doing what we usually do? 
Don't you remember! Silly!"

Some muffled speech, something about a drink.  A disconnecting click.  
And that should have been the end, but the comm. It seemed, had not 
been properly closed when hours before, it had found its way into a 
pocket in a wholly different life... where the off switch was pressed by 
someone else's simple motion. All crackles and pops and the plinging of 
the switch going on and off.

"...your latest piece of ass on the phone? I heard he was cute.  Too bad 
he's not here now."
 
"I'm not going to the fucking alley with you! I'm not going anywhere 
with you."
  
Scuffles...

"Don't leave just yet, Youji-kun.  Not before we get to know each other 
a little better."

"I want some too!"

"I wonder if you feel like... scared.  I can feel you shaking inside..."

"Oh, am I gonna pay you back for hitting me!"

"Don't you dare sob already! You'll ruin it! ...make everyone cum in 
their pants.  Bitch!  If my sister can't be here, you'll be my sister 
and you'll be a good weepy movie damnit!"

"You dare look at me without my permission?  Scum like you?  A murderer 
like you?" 

"Strip him, and turn him to the wall, ass towards me.  I think I want 
to warm him up a little before I fuck him." 

"Oh, god...Please..." 

"What's my name, again, Kudou?" 

"...bastard..." 

"If he swallows, I think I will." 

"Let's play a game.  How about you play with yourself.  And for every 
minute it takes you to get off, I'll give you another little nick.  
You'd better moan my name while you're at it too!"

"NO! Let me go!......oh, J-j-joshua..." 

"What? I'm sorry, baby, but I... a second too late."

"That is because I am touched."

"...suck it out quick?"

"Let me make a deal with you, okay?  If you rim Pachinko here, like a 
good little slut, we won't kidnap your pretty little boyfriend and rape 
him. What do you say to that?" 

"HELP ME! PLEASE! HEL-...!" 

The tape died in a fit of cracking plastic and circuits winking out as 
they ran into each other.

***

By that time, Masato was no longer hunched comfortably at his kitchen 
table, but was on his feet and pacing back and forth between the 
refrigerator and the window, pale of mien and puffing madly on a 
cigarette. He was thoroughly disturbed by what he had heard--even more 
angry at himself for choosing to spend the night playing with Naru 
instead of doing his job. Maybe they could have done something to stop 
it. Maybe... 

"Shit, Rei! Why the hell didn't you warn us about what was on the 
tape?!  Or was that your intention?  To play that grim account to us 
to make us feel guilty?" 

Masato took a deep drag on his cigarette, then stalked over to the sink 
and crushed it out on one of the dirty dishes he had left along its 
rim.  "Well, you've done a damn fine job of it.  How did you get that 
tape anyway?"

***

Reiichi seemed somewhat puzzled by the question.  Puzzled enough to 
stop washing his cat for a moment- he left her wearing a crown of suds 
which he had fashioned in mimic of his own tiara.  It melted at once of 
course, and so, wonder of all wonders, did his smile.

Naru found himself quite obliged to have another swig of beer to calm 
his nerves, though it went down all wrong just the same.  

"I record all radio transmissions I am privy to.  Why, I've got every 
word you ever uttered to me at home on CD no less."

At the empty stares this got him, he could only turn away to the 
boundless grace in the eyes of Abbess Hildegard.  He spoke without 
looking back on his two companions, of whom Masato was still white as a 
sheet, and the boy had begun to shiver. 

"It was simple enough to access their frequency, they're only a few 
points off from our own.  Silly of Kritiker really.  But, as you heard, 
none of the signals lasted thirty seconds or more, which is what I need 
to establish approximate location with the equipment I have.  It 
wouldn't have mattered much if we had heard this and been close enough- 
I couldn't have found them from it.  Club land or not... I think it's 
club land and it's so easy to get lost there..."

Without any prior consent, he took the sprayer from its holder beside 
the sink and began to rinse his furry companion.  

"And if you want to know the truth... I couldn't... bear to say it.  
Because it is, without a doubt, what it sounds like.  And I know no 
one's voices there, save Youji's, which I heard for the first time in 
his screams..."

***

"No," Masato began shakily. "There was no mistaking his voice in all 
that.  Damn it!  I wish we could have stopped all that." 

A pall of silence fell over them briefly, Masato watching Naru during 
the space of it.  He crossed over to where his lover sat and knelt 
beside him, taking his hand under the table.  

"I'm sorry, Rei. I was...upset. I shouldn't have made such veiled 
accusations against you-thinly or otherwise." 

He got a curt nod, and Masato felt a pang of guilt over his rashness. 
He plunged onward in a different vein anyway. "There's got to be some 
way to track these guys down. I mean, how do we know that they aren't 
working for the person or persons who are stalking Weiss?" 

***

Naru nodded and sagged down on his lover's shoulder.  He left his beer 
and sighed.  "I'm quite inclined to ally myself with Masato, and not 
only for what reasons may be most obvious to you and the maltreated 
ketchup.  I know it violates one of the laws of logic- not frightfully 
sure of exactly which at this point -but then again, it seems in the 
sort of microcosm that we all live in, the natural laws really DO make 
this something to be suspicious of.  All hasty questions of who and why 
aside."

Abbess Hildegard shook herself and bounded out of the sink, seeming to 
think she had been rinsed enough for the time being.  The room began to 
smell of wet cat and she shook herself beside Masato, who only sighed 
and dove into his soda.

His guest however, on turning around, wore once again the forever-
softly-smiling mask of his.  "Why Naru-han," he said, gathering up his 
feline in one of the dishtowels, "I couldn't have put it better myself.  
We *NEED* to jump to conclusions, as do we need to find these fellows 
and give them what for. It's the least we can do- we're friends."

"We are?" Naru wondered aloud, starting to rise then but finding a firm 
hand around his shoulders before he ever had a chance to do such a 
thing.

"Of course, all of Kritiker's chess pieces are friends.  Because I said 
so!"

Reiichi, still cradling his squirming cat, stooped then, and pecked 
both of his companions on each cheek, then scuttled to a safer distance 
for the time being.

"So, I will see if I can match the voice prints with some of my... err... 
other recordings of our fellow agents and enemies who dare use such 
comms.  Naru, you will try to meet the little boy for drinks again this 
evening and ring him for everything he's worth.  Masato... umm... seems 
as if you'll be stuck on surveillance for the time being.  Abbess will 
dry."

***

"I think she already has," grumbled Masato as he wiped his forearm 
across the leg of his pants.  He attempted to glower at the pampered 
feline, who was now sitting on her haunches and swatting a paw over 
her damp face, but it only came out like something of a grimace.  
Rei and his unexpected kisshad distracted him. Just what did he know 
about Rei anyway? What sort of life did he really have up there in 
his make-believe castle? 

"All right," Masato said at last.  "I'll play lookout. But we're going 
to make sure we have our comms, and *you*," here he tightened his arm 
around Naru's shoulders in a brief, hard squeeze, "will call me if 
something goes down.  We don't know if the guys who attacked Kudou 
will set their sights upon that friend of yours." 

Scooping up the soda, Masato rose and padded over to Rei, kissing him 
fully upon the mouth. He gave him a thoughtful sort of look before 
heading towards the doorway.  

"I'm going to get changed," he said, turning to look from 
one to the other. "When you're ready Naru, I'll take you back to your 
place." He gave him a wink, adding, "Don't bother 
with the toys out front.  Seems a shame to put them away when we're 
only going to use them again."  

With that, he strolled off, whistling all the way.

***

Naru, of course, had other ideas for the present, the first of them 
being to go absolutely livid, which he did.  The second was to growl, 
which despite being such a fragile looking boy, he managed to 
accomplish with such finesse that Abbess looked at him in seeming 
understanding, and tried to answer him with a few silvery mews.

"How cute!" her master giggled, and it was not certain exactly what he 
meant by that.

Which only riled Naru all the more.

The boy got to his feet, stormed over to Reiichi and, with his arms 
crossed over his bare, shimmering chest, demanded.  "What in the 
cerulean conflagration do you assume yourself to be doing bussing MY 
paramour!?"

Reiichi reached onto the table, got himself a soda, and replied, after 
a few swigs.  "Why did I kiss your lover?"

"YES!"

"I haven't the faintest.  Do you know why you do everything you do?"

"YES!!!"

"Fascinating.  Is it worth mentioning he kissed me back?  You didn't 
seem to notice that."  His hand stole into the younger Crasher's hair 
then, tousling it much as Masato had done and leaving only with a 
gentle pat.  "Now did you? Or the fact I kissed you, too?  How about 
that?"

"Those indelicacies have nothing to do with my question!"

The can of soda landed on the counter with a clack that attracted the 
attention of one Abbess Hildegard.  She observed the subsequent lack of 
decorum with a connoisseur's edge.  After all, it was not the first 
time she had seen her master bury his tongue on the throat of some 
unsuspecting acquaintance. 

Naru spat and struggled against him, but only for a moment, only for a 
few breaths of those Reiichi swallowed.  His nails still dug at his 
wrists but their pearly sting waned and the thrum of his heart quieted.  
There was no sucking back, no purrs or mirrored caresses.  He let his 
companion have his tongue for awhile, and when it was all over Naru 
spit and wiped the slippery flesh on his wrist.

"I'd say you're even now," Reiichi yawned.  "Well, I've my own part of 
this mission to attend to.  Ta-ta!"

Thusly, he left one half naked Naru and a good deal of mud behind as he 
went whistling out the door.

As for the boy, he threw on his shirt from the day before, dug out a 
pair of his shoes, and after having scraped up most of the ketchup, sat 
on the couch to wait, only to find that Abbess Hildegard had stayed 
behind and was staring at him.

***

Masato emerged from the depths of his room some scant few minutes later 
somewhat combed and trimmed and decked out in black: jeans, jacket, 
T-shirt, boots.  A pair of high powered night vision goggles rested in 
one hand. Between his jacket and his shirt, he wore a holster currently 
sans pistol; even though he was only going on a stakeout, he never 
liked to leave without some sort of weapon. One never knew when one 
would need protection. 

From the look on Naru's face, Masato had the feeling that one of those 
instances was about to come up.  It didn't stop him from ogling his 
lover though as he crossed to a small, cabineted end table, which 
wasn't an end table but a cleverly disguised safe.  Setting the goggles 
onto the table's top, Masato knelt on one knee before it, and took out 
one of the safe's few contents: a 45.  With a practiced flick of his 
fingers, he popped open the chamber, and began to load it from a 
little-used box which rested inside the safe. 

"Man, I hope you find out something from that kid; it'd make our job 
that much easier."  He set the chamber back into place, and then shut 
the safe's door, spinning the lock before shutting up the cabinet's 
false front and getting to his feet.  The gun he placed into its holster 
as he crossed back over to the sofa.  He stood beside Naru, looking the 
sulky boy up and down, and then bent to playfully smack his thigh. Naru 
promptly smacked him back much harder across the chest (it was clear 
though, that he had been aiming for his cheek; Masato had jerked back 
just in time).  A short, frantic tussling session ensued, which ended 
with Masato dragging Naru onto his feet and against him. 

"I didn't know you had it in you to play so rough," he said with a 
smile after breaking contact.  "I *almost* want to drag you back into 
the bedroom to continue this game--and I would, if this wasn't so 
important." Masato held him close, swaying a little as if they were 
dancing. 

"Suppose you tell me what's wrong before we go on this merry hunt, hm?"

***

"Ii wo!" Naru began, doing his very best to pout, though his very best 
quailed in the face of his lover, the wandering closeness they had now... 
not to mention the fuzzy thing that kept batting at his feet.  A little 
shrug and he had gathered his companion's hand in his own, locked their 
arms about each other's waists...

And they danced then, while he talked, to a waltz and a bit of slow 
jazz that was both and neither and never really had been in the first 
place.

"Reiichi was merely doing his very best to engage in the act of being 
Reiichi, and he happened to do it all over your living room while 
leaving me thinking about how things were once upon a not-so-merry time 
when we all lived over Haruna-jo's and we would have less libidinous 
matches in the living room there.  The fellow really does get on my 
nerves, if recollection has decided to serve me properly on this day, 
and it seems earlier it did not."

Quiet again, and still they moved.  Masato hummed and hummed to himself, 
pausing to rub at his stubble a little, and to this Naru simply rose on 
his tip-toes nuzzled where his lover's hands had passed.

"Why ever did you kiss him back? I'm not jealous, simply... wondering."

*** 

Masato cupped the back of his head and kissed his brow, his cheeks, and 
then flashed him an impish grin.  "Well~l, I just felt like it. He 
kissed me, and so I thought it only proper to return the gesture." 

They swayed a moment longer in silence, and then he spun around on the 
balls of his feet, taking Naru with him.  "But in case you were 
wondering, I did not..." he dipped him, "slip him the tongue. I save 
that only for you." 

Hold his gaze, Masato slowly drew him upright again.  "I figure on 
saving a lot of things solely for you, 'cause you know...*you* are the 
one I love. If that makes me a sappy old man, then so be it."

***

"Well..." Naru sighed, sinking down against his lover's shoulder, "it 
most certainly does, however! No such thing shall dictate to me than I 
can't live with it."

Before his bottom could be slapped, the boy had taken off, skipping 
though the sea of sex toys to the door, which he fluttered through 
leaving only the smacking of his lips behind.

"I was wondering, my love, for I am only one vapid sprite of a creature 
among men.  C'est la vie!"

***

Strangely perhaps, Youji did soundly sleep most of the day away. He 
would have been content to lie there until sunset, but dreams of palm 
trees and blue sky and even bluer waters floated to him from the depths 
of his unconscious, and lulled him into waking. From there, he became 
aware of the tiny body pressed so tightly against his own, of the 
softness of the fabric he lay sandwiched between; there was no turning 
back. Youji opened his eyes and found the sheet had fallen from his 
eyes in the course of his slumber. Sunlight streamed full force through 
the crack in the curtains, almost as if it yearned to burn them away. 
He threw his arm over his eyes and lay there in the quiet for a moment, 
listening to the mingled sounds of his companions' breathing.  

And then he carefully disengaged his arm from around his son, and eased 
himself up, minding the stitches on his chest. The effects of the 
numbing solution had passed, and now the area had begun to hurt again--
but no where near as much as it did before. To his amazement, he didn't 
hurt anywhere as much as he did, at least not physically. Every other 
way...? 

"No," he mumbled to himself. "I don't wanna think about it anymore. Not 
anymore." 

Lightly fingered Omi's handiwork, Youji edged off the bed. He gave the 
mirror not so much as a glance as he quietly dug out underwear and socks 
from one drawer, T-shirt from another. He started towards the closet, 
but then stopped to examine the T-shirt, holding it up to himself and 
smoothing it out across his body. Then he wadded it up and jammed it 
into a corner of another drawer. It was too form fitting, he'd judged. 
Wholly unsuitable. 

A pair of baggy grey sweatpants and a never worn, long sleeved black 
pajama top wasn't, in his opinion, and those he took to the bathroom to 
change into. When he emerged, he was still unshaven, and the two on his 
bed were still asleep--or looked to be. Youji hovered in the doorway, 
watching them both for a moment, and then slipped away, pulling the 
door shut behind him. 

Snatching up the remote from his coffee table, he turned on the TV, 
lowering its volume the moment the screen flickered into life. It was 
all soaps and old movies; he chose one of the former before heading 
over to the kitchen. The clock over the sink read 2:30 PM, and his 
only reaction was that he was surprised he hadn't slept longer. Or 
that Sei and Omi had slept as long as he had.  

"Well," he muttered, "let 'em. They both had enough to contend with 
last night." And Youji fished out a jar of instant coffee from one of 
the cabinets, and began his morning ritual.

***

Omi knew he had been dreaming, but when he woke, he felt nothing of 
such fancies dripping in his memory; nothing at all but the sense that 
time had passed, and the sun settled on his eyes was much later that he 
had expected it to be.  But he didn't mind, and didn't want to get up.  
Not just yet.  

Rather, he gazed with a wistful smile at the ceiling- he knew he would 
never see it again.  The thought chilled him, and it freed him, and the 
union of those worries calmed more than thrilled.  

/I wonder... if this is what it's like, falling forever? If I could.../

He felt water on him, saw a sun brighter than dared shine down on 
Tokyo, sensed powder on his skin and touches of salt where the naked 
ocean had come up around him.  

Had Youji been dreaming the same thing- of that peace which elsewhere 
settled?  

Rubbing his eyes a little, Omi drew a deep breath and knew only the 
smell that had awakened him- fresh coffee, and he followed it out to 
the kitchen, making as much noise as he dared so he would not startle 
his lover.  

"Ohayo, Youji-kun.  Can I have some coffee? And maybe a kiss?"

***

A tremor rippled through Youji at the sound of Omi's voice, sending a 
few grains of coffee sailing from the spoon to the counter; some melted 
into those lingering drops of water which had fallen from the passing 
decanter. Youji tightened his hand around the spoon's handle, and 
woodenly tapped the last of the brown granules into the cup he'd chosen 
for himself, one that was a milky grey. The spoon landed in the sink 
with a grating clatter, and Youji turned around to face his lover. He 
gave him an uncertain smile. 

"Sure," he said softly. Wiping his hand upon his cotton covered hip, he 
walked towards him, but stopped just shy of taking him in his arms. 
Youji quickly bent and pecked Omi on the cheek, then scurried away to 
fetch him a cup. 

"I didn't mean to wake you, if I did. I'm sorry." 

A fresh spoon was taken out of the drawer and a fresh dose of coffee 
was tipped into the cherry pink cup. He licked one finger and touched 
it to the side of his kettle, and found it was only warm. 

"If you want to bring you computer down here to work, you can. In fact, 
you can bring all your stuff down here." Youji cocked a nod in the 
direction of his former apartment. "I haven't touched it at all...well, 
save for the bathroom. But I'll clean that up after breakfast. You're 
welcome to use mine in the mean time. If you want..."

***

"Sounds good to me," Omi beamed a moment to try and hide the momentary 
ache he had left throughout his heart.  He had a little sip of his 
coffee then, and another before coming to face Youji again.  

"I don't think I'll need the rest of my things though, not just yet.  
Knight won't be getting out of bed to-day, I'm sure and... we won't be 
here much longer.  I think I'll just pack later."

He did not have to fight for joy in what he spoke next, for it sailed 
in him still, the idea.  "I'll be ready to go before dawn, if you can 
spend one more night here." At which he let his fingers creep along the 
surface of the counter until they came to a place where they could 
twirl  a little, dancing on their tips before his companion.  "But, I 
will have to run out for awhile this evening."

Youji's expression never changed, not even when he reached up and 
combed a few threads of his raven hair from his eyes.  "You know, I 
didn't get a chance to say so before but, I really like you with dark 
hair.  You look softer, like a stuffed kitten almost.  And I... ah... 
I was going to dye my hair too, if you don't mind."

***

"Maybe that was the problem?" Youji mused in a faraway voice. "That I 
look soft, like a kitten? Do you think that's...why...? Hmm..." 

Omi's hand never left his hair, but collapsed within it. Via the 
strange prickling along the back of his neck, he became aware of the 
boy drawing nearer, and then felt the weight of his head tip against 
his back. Still, Youji stood where he was, gazing upon the blue crystal 
sky beyond his window. 

"Yes, you dye your hair, and Sei will dye his, maybe. Anything to make 
him look less like me." He snared one long lock around his index and 
pulled it forward so he could better see it. "Maybe I'll dye it again? 
Maybe I'll just shave it off altogether." 

When those entwined digits weakly flexed against his scalp, Youji 
turned around. Omi's eyes were wide and sorrowing and moist with shyly 
trickling tears. Youji trapped one under his thumb upon the boy's 
flushed cheek, and smeared it away. He blankly looked at his dampened 
thumb, then slipped it into his mouth, licking away the salt fluid. 

"You always cry," he murmured.

***

"Well," Omi choked out after a moment's hesitation, "Somebody's gotta 
do it." He rubbed his sleeve over his eyes and tried to smile.  He 
didn't do too well- just ended up combing some of his own blond floss 
behind his ear, wondering vaguely if had had really just said he would 
color it.  Even if he wanted too, it felt like someone else in a movie 
offer to do it, and he couldn't imagine himself as anything besides 
honey blond.  

His ear, however, stung when his fingers grazed it, and he looked down 
on them to see a few pricks of dried blood.  And some fresh.  

He gasped, his companion just watched him with those empty green eyes 
as he dove for the paper towels and bunched one up against his wound 
where his earring had been the night before.

"Oh damn, I forgot.  I musta bled all over your sheets.  I'm sorry." 
but the words died on his lips when he gauged no reaction from Youji, 
and remembered the sight surely must have been more troubling the night 
before when the wound was fresh.

"The woman just grabbed the hoop and pulled.  It only hurts when I get 
my hair in it so I think maybe I'll just get rid of it?"

He paused and wiped his fingers on his shirt, had another sip of coffee 
afterwards.  

"Annou... please don't cut yours all off though.  Well, if it would make 
you feel better, you can. I'd miss it, but I'm not the most important 
person in the word.  But anyway, anything I can do...?"

***

Once more, Youji's fingertips found Omi's injured ear, but his slow 
caress was for the upper, pinked curve. "Yeah, there is something you 
could do. Several somethings." His hand fell away from the boyand he 
slid his fingers into the thick, silky mass of his hair, petting him. 

"Don't cut your hair. Don't dye it dark. Dye it something that would 
wash out easily." Youji lowered his gaze from the sweep of his hand to 
Omi's eyes, and there he held him. "I like you as a blond." 

His fingers brushed Omi's nose, then his chin. "I still like you, Omi-
ai." 

Youji hesitated, then jerkily bent and pressed a awkward, chaste kiss 
to the boy's rosy mouth. As he pulled back to look at him, it was clear 
that his eyes had regained some of their focus, and his face a bit of 
color. His hand, however, he did not let linger upon any part of him. 
He did smile a little. 

"Do you need any help in tending to your ear?"

***

"You... called me Omi-ai again..." He whispered, and he hovered there 
before his companion for may slowly breathing moments, eyes wide and 
wet.  In the end, he did not cry anymore; simply sniffled a bit and 
smiled himself.  There was nothing else he could do so touched as he 
was by those two tiny words. 

"You could get your old shaving mirror and hold that up for me.  It's 
easier than leaning over the sink trying to watch myself in the 
bathroom mirror.  Only if you don't mind though... I know it looks 
pretty... umm... not nice."

Youji simply shook his head though, and slunk off to his own bathroom, 
leaving his coffee behind for the time being.  His lover picked the mug 
up with his own and took them into the living room with him and his box 
of needles.  He waited with one hand half-clasped around his wound.  
Now and then he lot go only long enough to wash the blood from his 
finger tips with his tongue, or dab fresh damp spots from his collar.

By the time Youji returned, he'd gingerly worked his way out of his 
shirt and was just kicking it into a corner.

"I'll put something on as soon as I'm done."

And with a sigh, he cupped his injured ear in one hand, and with the 
other scraped the scum from it with the blades of the scissors before 
even trying to rinse it off.  

***     

Youji averted his eyes, moving the mirror in the process. He felt 
Omi's fingers nudge his own clenched ones, silently instructing him 
which angle to hold it, and he hesitantly glanced at him again.  Omi 
was oblivious to him, so intent was he on his task, and Youji took 
advantage of his inattention to study the milky softness of his skin 
in the velvety afternoon light. 

And then, without a word more, he balanced the mirror against a handy 
tin of tea, leaving Omito his work while he moodily lit another 
cigarette off the still hot stove eye.    

"I'm sorry, Omi."  

***

Omi gathered up the mirror and left the washcloth resting on his 
shoulder- his ear had begun to bleed again.  

"It's alright, Youji-kun.  It's really alright, I promise."  Quiet 
then, for whatever he wished to say had suddenly gone ghosting away 
like the veils of smoke the cigarette in his companion's hand spun into 
the air.  He sighed, and tasted a few himself, wished suddenly there 
were more and that he could have lit one himself so they could be 
together in that at least.

"I can finish myself. Just tell me what you want when I come back." 

And with that he locked himself in the bloody bathroom and tried not to 
gasp.

***

"I could tell you what I want now," he said to the closed bathroom 
door. "I want more cigarettes, more Sapporo. I want to be away from 
here NOW. I want to be in control again. I want to pretend that the 
last few weeks didn't happen, and that we never broke up and were never 
unhappy." He took a sip of his neglected coffee, and grimaced. It had 
cooled significantly. Sliding his cigarette between his lips, Youji
took the cup over to the microwave. 

"Of course, I don't know if we were happy. That kid said you weren't 
okay, and I..." 

/...Am talking to myself like a doddering old man./ 

Rolling his eyes at himself, he punched in a minute on the timer, and 
then leaned back against the counter to wait. His stomach growled, 
surprising him as he figured he wouldn't want to eat. He didn't really, 
but...it wouldn't do to abstain from food. A rummage through the 
cabinets produced the cereal he'd bought for Sei, found just as 
the bell sounded.  Youji took his cup out of the microwave and 
headed off for his bedroom. Water was running in the bathroom, and he 
could hear Omi humming softly above it, and he couldn't help but sadly 
smile a little at that. It was like they were a family. Maybe they 
were, in a way. Who knew? 

Youji took a sip from his cup, and then set it down on the nightstand 
before easing the covers back off his son's sleeping form. He bent and 
wrapped his arms around him, and lifted him from the mattress, cradling 
him against his shoulder. 

"Oi, Seishirou. You hungry?"

***

Seishirou let out a long, stuttering yawn which he just managed to hide 
behind his little fist. 

"Ohayo, Otosama!" It would have sounded happier, if he hadn't been 
obliged to stretch in the middle, and broken off once again to pardon 
his sleepy eyes.  "I'm VERY hungry! Will you eat with me though? I'm 
sorry, it's just... I feel funny.  I've never EVER slept this late 
before."

That got him a little ruffle of his hair, and a kiss to one of his 
temples rather than an answer.  Still wearing the old T-shirt he had 
been given to sleep in, still with the stray locks of his bangs perched 
about his forehead more like mussed feathers than anything else, Youji 
plunked him at the table and went at once to the cupboards. 

Before he returned from his search for the milk, the frosted flakes 
managed to find their way into two bowls that hadn't been present a 
moment before.  Seishirou beamed at him, but he too, was quiet in the 
end.  The milk rose all around his cereal and he went to have a bite, 
only to find the spoons were missing.  No matter, he had them out of 
the drawer before his father could ask him to find them..

***  

A glass of orange juice appeared beside Sei's bowl. Youji topped off 
his cup with more hot water, scooped up the second-to-last banana and 
sat down in the chair to the left of his son.  The banana was duly 
strippedof its bright peel, sliced into uneven chunks, and arranged 
carefully atopthe sugary flakes.  

"From here on in," he began, waving his spoon for emphasis, "you can 
stay up whenever you like, sleep in for as long as you like. I won't 
mind at all. You don't have to play housekeeper though." 

/I know you did last night. I could smell the cleaner./ 

Youji took a dripping, banana-laden bite of his cereal. "If you want 
to clean up after yourself, then okay. But don't feel like you have 
to mop and dust and wash everything in sight to get me to like you. 
Because I already do. You don't have to earn your keep. I'll feed 
you and buy you books and whatnot whenever. Just because." 

/Got it?/ 

***

"It just seems strange to me sometimes.  I'm sorry.  Guess even good 
things you gotta get used to.  Somebody said that to me a long time 
ago, but I can't remember her name anymore."

Seishirou looked up from the little sea of milk in his dish to find his 
father, still in his reveries, but looking straight at him nonetheless, 
trying as hard as he could to smile though his eyes.

Minding not to upset his breakfast, Seishirou got to his toes, and 
leaned forward with his hands against the table until he was close 
enough to kiss Youji, which he did, and lingered close for some time 
with his nose buried in his hair.

Only the sounds of the bathroom door coaxed him back to his seat. 

In the other room, Omi tapped his closet open after a shirt.  He hadn't 
done much laundry, and what he had cleaned ended up in Yuuji's closet.  
The sapphire blue shirt still hung where he had left it, though nearly 
dropped by its crooked hanger.  He pulled it on, and tightened the 
collar around his neck with a safety pin so the silk wouldn't slouch 
form his shoulders.

And then he went back to the kitchen, one ear still wearing silver, the 
other hiding underneath some snippets of tied bandages.

Sitting down, he said rather quietly, "Ne, Youji-kun? If you're not 
hungry, I'll eat that."

***  

The sound of Omi's voice dispelled Youji's daydream of hibiscus topped 
drinks and blue water, and the fog cleared from his green eyes, 
rendering them lucid once more. Chin on hand he looked down at the bowl 
of barely touched cereal. "You can have a fresh bowl, you know." 

But Omi only shook his head at the edges of Youji's vision. So, 
shrugging one shoulder, he nudged the bowl towards him, lifting his 
eyes to the boy's face as he did. The dying sunlight fell through the 
pane and dusted one fair cheek gold, dyeing his hair and lashes the 
same. Youji quietly took in the boy's beauty with a wistful smile. 
Placing one elbow upon the table's edge to support his weight, Youji 
leaned over and pinched the collar of Omi's shirt between forefinger 
and thumb, rubbing it gently. 

"You're wearing the shirt I gave you. I had thought you might have 
thrown it away.  I'm glad you didn't," Youji said with a tiny sigh.  
"Well...I'm going to clean up the mess I made in your bathroom. And 
then, I might see about cleaning up myself. I don't know. Either way, 
I will be ready to go tonight, when you are." 

He kissed him on the forehead, then walked around the table to do the 
same to Seishirou. "If you go out, Omi-ai--which you are more than 
welcome to do, this being our last night in Tokyo--buy me some 
cigarettes? And maybe some Sapporo for the road?" He smiled vaguely. 
"You never know. We might want to celebrate." 

With a ruffle of his son's hair, Youji staggered away to tend to his 
chore.

***

"Umm, Youji-kun, you don't have t-..." But a wavering smile met Omi's 
trailing eyes, and he knew then that he did have to, even if it was a 
strange way of saying good-bye to the place.  So he saluted, and 
offered a few other words.  "I'll pick those up then!" A nod, and then 
a shake of his finger, "But if you want to get a bath make sure to put 
gauze and tape over your cheek instead of just a bunch of band-aids."

A sigh answered him, and sort of half-giggling over something he 
couldn't remember being funny, he took once more to making his way 
through the mushy cereal before him.  Though Seishirou gave him a bit 
of a look after awhile.  

"I like my breakfast this way.  It doesn't taste like cereal if it's 
like this.  You know, that kinda nasty preservative flavor?"

"Mn."

A few flakes drifted in the boy's bowl, and so Omi got to his feet 
for a moment, doused them once again with milk and said quietly, 
"Just let them set.  It's yummy, I promise."

His lover's son stirred the contents of his dish for a few moments 
before taking a bite, which he sloshed around in his mouth awhile 
before swallowing and then credulously cocking his eyebrow.  Omi 
gulped down one more sliver of banana and then sighed.  "Ah... 
gomen."

"It's not... bad.  Just different.  Like you're different sometimes."

"Sou ka!" They mumbled back and forth for a few moments more before 
Omi finished his cereal, or Youji's rather, and as he got to his 
feet to leave his bowl in the sink, pressed the boy's lips into a 
smile with his fingers.  As he turned away, to rinse his things, 
knew once again the memory of what had not yet been done.  The boy 
did too, but only one of them spoke.

"Ne, Sei? I need to go upstairs for a little..."

He found his wrist had been snatched up, and turning to face his 
captor, found Seishirou shaking his head.

"Now, now, I really..."

"No! Don't go Omi-san, please don't go!"

"Seishirou, your daddy's right here..."

"Please?"
  
"No..." But he did hoist his companion into his arms then, and cuddled 
him close with his nose pressed to his neck, their hands in each 
other's hair.  They rocked together, just for awhile.  "I'm sorry 
grown-ups can't always be there, and can't always be good, but it's 
just the way they are, even if they don't want to be.  I'm sorry I was 
mean last night, but while we're away..."

/Which has to be forever, just has to be!/

"...I'll make it up to you."

Saying so, he left the child cuddled on the couch before his books and 
departed.   

The trinkets of his former teammates he stowed in the attic, each in 
different boxes that seldom belonged to whoever the icons claimed.  He 
spent a long time tucking them away, and then, half-feigning his 
reluctance to say his goodbyes for Yuuji as well as he knew how.

***

Yuuji was at last awake. He had showered, had cleaned and bandaged his 
wounds as best he could, and had made himself a cup of strong tea. 
He was now sitting in his bed with it, the TV on low, the lights 
off. He had not bothered with dressing as he didn't intend to leave 
that room that night. At that moment, he didn't care if he ever left 
that room ever again. 

He wondered very much why Omi had decided to go. And where he had gone. 
And then he set the cup aside, and drew his knees up to his chest, and, 
head bowed, silently cursed himself for being such a damned fool. So 
lost was he in his grief, that he didn't hear the soft knock at the 
door, nor the quiet footfalls of his lover as the boy entered the room. 

***

"Yuuji?" Omi called softly when Knight's eyes did not meet his, and 
then again, three times before he summoned the smoky blue topaz eyes to 
rest upon his own. They weren't like Youji's; so pale, so heartbroken... 
they moved him, and he almost wished they would leave him.  

But two thin, unwilling tears fell from Omi's lashes.  One vanished in 
the bandages he wore, the other steadied on the surface of the carpet 
for an instant before melting away.

And then, for that time, and no other, Omi didn't mind calling them 
both his lovers in his own thoughts.  That he adored Youji with 
everything he was aside- that he always had, always would, Yuuji was... 

/Something to you that there are no kind words for, but you still 
needed.  More than anything./

"Yuuji!" He flew towards him then, arms outstretched.  Knight caught 
him, and he fell to his knees before him, pressing his face against his 
lap.  Omi smelled toffee and cigarettes.  Just like before.

"I... I heard something downstairs just before the sun came up, and I was 
afraid, so I went down there to check the back door, and I just... I just 
nodded off I guess.  I didn't mean to leave you! Not like this! I'm 
sorry Yuuji!"

Omi rose and kissed him just below his ribs.  "Ai'shite.  Gomen, Yuuji.  
Boku no knight.  Gomen nasai..."

***

"It's all right.  I'm not angry.  I'm not hurt.  Not so badly.  I did 
miss you, though, so very much." 

Yuuji's bent to give him a tender kiss; another and another, wriggling 
his hands under Omi's shirt, and stroking his chest.

***

One more tear fled Omi's eyes, tumbling aimlessly at first until it 
splattered in the space between them.  His palm came up from his 
lover's, meaning at first to push him away, and to speak with lips, not 
body, but he failed, for he felt too much just then to be free of their 
touches.  Rather his fingertips raced over Yuuji's cheek; rather, once 
they had drawn away after air, he surged back, seeking his lips all 
over again.  

It was almost as if Yuuji already knew he was leaving, and now seduced 
rather than letting himself be consumed by the last flickers of lust 
they ever would know.

Omi wondered dreamily if this was really what love intended itself to 
be; if all craving of companionship was spawned gently from some other 
desire far less pure. "I missed you..." he breathed then, swaying into a 
caress that lingered around his waist.  "I missed having you like 
this."

/Yes... Youji is my dreams, where it's OK to be less than perfect.  And 
you're my waking, even though I don't ever want to wake up again./

"Tell me you'll feel better if I make love to you."

***

Yuuji's answer was to move back a little to allow the boy space in his 
bed. When Omi had climbed up and back into his arms, he gathered him 
close. A sigh escaped his lips when Omi began to lap at his neck, and 
he fumbled with the buttons of his lover's shirt in the narrow space 
which lay between their bodies. His hands sought his flesh as their 
mouths came together again. 

"Once more, you're mine, and I'm yours. Do what you want with me, 
just...don't be so quick to leave me." He kissed him again, and slipped 
his shirt from his back; it fell to the side of the mattress, and then 
melted onto the floor. They fell together again in a tangle of limbs, 
gently teasing each other with hands and mouths.

***

Omi could not speak to his lover, even if he had found more to say than 
laments and desires for his flesh, and for Knight's, which all around 
him brushed his own.  His hands latched around his hips at first, but 
one stole up into his hair after awhile.  

"I'm sorry.  I love you.  I love you Yuuji..."

And his palm slid down the back of Yuuji's trousers.

***

"I love you, too, Omi..." 

Yuuji's breath caught, and one-handed he undid his fly and pushed the 
garment down to his thighs, giving the boy better access. He himself 
resumed his exploration of Omi's torso, noting the way his stomach 
dipped past the swell of his ribs, how soft his skin felt. The way he 
gasped when he touched him or kissed him a certain way--everything he'd 
missed before. Things he hadn't really had a chance to learn about him. 

If only there were more time... 

He couldn't stop to regret, not then. But he poured out a little of his 
desperation in his kiss, one hand unfastening Omi's trousers, and 
slipping between the cool metal teeth of his zipper to pet his 
throbbing sex. 

"Do you want me to take you, Omi?" he whispered between fluttering 
kisses. 

***

"Just for a little while, but I wish I could tell you to do me hard 
as you can."

He grinned up at his lover then, his hands his hands sliding down to 
embrace his wet cock.

"And then I want to take you for awhile.  We can do both, right? 
Neither of us will get real tired then, we'll still be alright.  Say 
yes...?"

He rose, crept up on his knees until they were eye to eye rather than 
he sunken in their tangle of limbs.  His lips parted before they ever 
met Yuuji's, and he cradled the other assassin's mouth with his own for 
as long as he could without breathing, rubbing himself into those hands 
that held him, throwing one of his legs around his waist and thrusting 
against his waist with his thighs only for he could not quite reach it 
with his penis.  

"Please... just this once."

***

Yuuji had barely noticed the protest his bruised body made over being 
treated so roughly. He just wanted to be stripped as fast as he could 
be, spurred into eagerness over the thought of having Omi buried deep 
inside of him. He let the boy undress him, the zipper of his jeans 
splitting as he yanked them down. Yuuji rolled onto his back, legs 
sprawled in invitation, and it made him ache to feel Omi's clothed 
thighs brush against his bare skin as he crawled up to lay in the space 
he'd made. 

Yuuji bent one leg at his urging, wrapping it around his narrow hips. 
His fingers snaked through his hair as he pulled the boy down for 
another needy kiss. 

"Take me," he breathed. "However you want--just remember it's too nice 
a job to rush..."

***

Omi did not rush in the least as he drew himself up from the mattress, 
and poised above his lover, drew his hand through his bangs as he 
looked down on him with shivering eyes.

Yuuji though, went very still, looking rumpled, and much younger then 
he actually was without his hair in his face.  The boy cupped his chin 
then, and fought back a whimper as he spoke.

"I... won't.!"

The words would not come out then, not without tears, so he got to his 
feet and stood beside the bed, dressed and undressed both for his 
unfastened clothing still hung on him.  He bent and kissed his lover's 
sex before shedding what he wore, thread by thread, as if it melted 
from him rather than was torn away by passion.
 
"You can have me for awhile.  I should be Ok and then we'll switch."

A few steps to the bathroom and he came back with a plastic bottle of 
lube which he uncorked with his teeth as he crouched down on the bed, 
sitting on his heels with his legs braced as far apart as he could.  

His rosebud clenched, finally breached after so many days as he thrust 
the bottle in and squeezed the jelly inside himself until he was 
dripping on the sheets.

***

Yuuji's hands skated down to Omi's hips, and there he petted him. 
"Omi?" he breathed. "Are you sure...?" 

But the boy only nodded, gave him a wavering smile as he crawled 
forward to settle himself over Yuuji. His hand gathered the blond 
Crasher's sex and guided it towards his body as Yuuji stroked Omi's 
own. It was all he could do not to suddenly thrust into those warm, 
tight muscles, but to keep his cool head--he felt that good. 

They hung there, with Omi resting against Yuuji's bent leg and his hand 
toying with the boy's sex, licking his fingers at intervals so that 
he'd feel dampness there. 

"I love you," he chanced with a roll of his hips. Omi shuddered a bit, 
eyes closed, and Yuuji tightened his hold on the boy's thighs as he 
jerked his sex upward just a bit harder.  

"God, how good you feel. I have missed this..." 

***

"Me... too..." Omi sighed hard, shuddering again, and Yuuji seemed to 
think it was with pain in spite of his happy moan.  He caught his 
lover's embrace before it encircled his shoulders and slipped down 
against his cock where it had pushed into him.  Knight met him there, 
and they both started to cry out though all their sounds not kisses 
vanished soon enough.

"...Missed you so much..."

/I'll miss you more than you could know.  And maybe you won't have to 
feel that too.  Someone will find you out there./

Another thrust, and he bucked with it, knocked them both down onto the 
sheets where they tumbled, let the damp spots cling to their skin.  
Yuuji entered him as they lay side by side, and while Omi rode him just 
as he had the first time.

***

And Yuuji rolled one last time with Omi in his arms, so that now it was 
the boy's dark golden strands which lay scattered over the coverlet. He 
thrust into his one last time, desperate to savor it, then withdrew 
from him with a lingering kiss. 

"My turn now." 

He nuzzled his throat, then rolled onto his back, sprawling 
suggestively on the bed. Catching Omi's gaze and holding it, Yuuji 
wrapped his hand around his slick cock, and stroked it. 

Omi lifted his hand to pet his cheek, and when his slender digits 
neared his mouth, he took them in without protest, sucking on them 
gently.  

"How do you want me?" Yuuji asked, pulling back just enough to kiss 
those dampened fingertips, before taking his forefinger between his 
lips again. 

***

"Just like this."

He sighed then, sweeping in little by little until his mouth had 
followed his fingers, stealing over Yuuji's.  Little by little, his 
mouth wound around the bone until their was no space, no way to tell 
the finger tips from tongue tips, only skin and muscle keeping him from 
the marrow.

Omi drew himself up between his lover's legs until he kneeled inside 
them, and from there he pressed the other assassin's feet together, 
sole to sole, and kissed him all around, from his toes, to his knees, 
to the tip of his shuddering stiffness.

The bottle of lube came back into his hands and emptied itself then.  
It was not the nozzle this time that slid inside someone, but Omi's 
gooey fingers- one from each hand, that crept in as deeply as they 
could, and stroked rings around the wet silk of his lover's muscle.

***

Yuuji gave a little sigh, his legs falling farther apart under the 
sensual workings of Omi's fingers. He could not help but moan, softly, 
meant for his lover's ears alone. Lips met his in a slippery kiss, and 
Yuuji wrapped an arm around Omi's shoulders to hold him there as he 
wriggled his tongue into his mouth in time with the circular caresses 
of those slender digits. 

"Feels...good," he murmured in between kisses. 

***

Omi smiled down on Yuuji before leaning in to chase his pinking lips 
with his own.  His caress landed on his lover's lashes first of all, 
then his wet cheeks, finally found his tongue, reaching for him.

"That's all I want then... for you to feel good..."

/At least... for now./

/Now, I think.../

With one smooth motion and a cry stifled by his own wrist, he slipped 
inside his lover's anxious body, much further than he had meant to, 
came up from his gasps muttering apologies.

/...is better than never again.../

***

Yuuji clutched at Omi's arms, moaning in a mix of pleasure and pain. He 
didn't care to be quiet anymore, didn't care if anyone heard them at 
their play. Let Kudou be wondering about the strange sounds coming from 
his bedroom! He wasn't going to let Omi go. 

And if Kudou didn't like it, Yuuji didn't give a damn. He suddenly 
didn't give a damn about anything save for the glitter of lust in his 
young lover's eyes, the insistent plunge of his cock into his body. His 
own throbbed between his legs, and Yuuji reached down to stroke himself 
in time with the surge of Omi's hips, holding his eyes as he did so. 

And then he closed them, and lost himself to the crazed rhythm of Omi's 
body against his own.

***

Omi sighed between fits of contact, and the fevered little gasps of 
Yuuji's lips, which he took with his own before he said what he most 
wanted to.  "I'll do anything for you.  I could stay for you.  I 
*could*." 

And he pushed the blond Crasher's hands away from his cock, and took it 
with his own, wetting his fingers down with what little sweat had 
already gathered between them, and then his tongue when he could not 
find wetness.  Yuuji stirred in his hands, shaking wildly as the flesh 
around Omi squeezed, shuddered, parted just enough to let him in.

So this was their mad dream, like light after a long darkness or just 
before, and it alone had excited him, like hands could have, or Yuuji's 
all too willing body.

It couldn't last.

But he expected no less.

He couldn't shake it, the illusion of wanting to wait.  Omi orgasmed 
very suddenly and lost nearly all feeling in his limbs, falling into 
the arms of his less than sated lover, who he pumped wildly then until 
he could drink cum from his fingers, but still find no strength to 
rise.

*** 

Yuuji thought the same of Omi it seemed, for he was loathe to let the 
boy go.  He cuddled him against his chest, despite the fact that both of 
them were sticky and sweaty and flushed. It would, after all, be the 
last time he'd have the chance to touch him. His fingers found his way 
into Omi's hair, and he petted him tenderly, dealing kisses to his brow. 

"I almost don't want to let you go, but...I never really had you, did 
I?" He chuckled softly. "I don't think I've ever really had anyone." 

Omi murmured and Yuuji pressed a finger to his lips to silence him. 
"It's true. And some that lack is my fault, some...just part of Fate." 

The slender body he held so close to his own broke the loving circle of 
his arms, and Yuuji soon found a pair of worried blue eyes gazing 
raptly into his own. Yuuji only smiled at Omi though, and playfully 
ruffled his hair. 

"Don't look like that. I'm not sad. Not really. Even though...I'll 
miss you."

Yuuji pulled Omi down for a nuzzling little kiss.

***

Omi sighed faintly himself, and reached down to take his lover's chin 
in his hands as he kissed him back.  Once... twice... and then all their 
touches melted away into one, as if the air had stirred them together 
at that moment, left them to drift in and out of each other.  He had 
parted from him in the end, and was only kneeling around Yuuji's waist; 
his limp, wet sex sliding between them now and again.  

Then there was only his lips and at last a few threads of his golden 
hair, which he held in his mouth for an instant, even though they had 
no taste.

Yuuji did not reach for him as he drew away from the mattress.  Omi 
smiled, but his steps faltered for an instant as he got to his feet, 
because his legs didn't want to hold him up.

He had nothing to say to the man he left behind in bed, touched by his 
last few words or not; he picked up his clothing and left walking 
backwards, a smile as bright as crystal still playing on his lips.

***

Downstairs, Youji had finished with his chores, and had taken pains to 
shave himself before getting dressed. He chose for their 
journey an outfit he deemed most suitable: an iridescent dark blue, 
long-sleeved dress shirt, black trousers, and a pair of black hi-top 
sneakers which he had never worn; a rope of amber beads hung close to 
his throat. His hair, he'd pulled back in a ponytail. 

Sei had said nothing to him when he emerged from Omi's apartment, and 
he didn't seem to be in the mood to talk now. He just sat curled up on 
the sofa as Omi had left him. His lack of responsiveness struck Youji 
as odd, and he switched directions away from the kitchen, and crossed 
over to the sofa to check on him, sinking to his knees on the carpet 
when he saw the tears glimmering in the boy's eyes. 

"Are you okay?"

***

"I-..." the boy began then, falling silence only to fall silent in the 
face of what he most wanted to say. 

His hand followed his thoughts where he couldn't utter them.  He 
reached out and caressed the edges of Youji's mind, coming no deeper 
than a physical touch might have fallen on skin, like his father's 
fingers did then, just tracing over the paleness of one cheek.

"I..."

What he'd come to learn to say to his mother once so she wouldn't shout 
or consider slapping him, he said in place of his real considerations.  
"I have a headache.  I'll be OK though.  I'm sorry.  I wanted to feel 
good for to-day, I tried really hard."

***

"Maybe that's why you have a headache.  Sometimes, it's best not to try 
at all, and just go with it," Youji said, smiling fondly at him as he 
stroked his son's dark head.  "I don't have anything suitable for you 
to take, but...I think I know of something that might make you feel 
better." 

A pat on his arm and Youji rose from the floor, and went to the 
kitchen. Out of one cabinet came a bowl, a spoon from the drawer, and 
out of the freezer came a carton of ice cream--some fancy brand he'd 
found at the grocery store the last time he'd went: White Chocolate 
Cherry. Youji scooped out two healthy dollops of it and, after 
squirting a little chocolate sauce over the snowy mounds, he took the 
bowl over to his son. 

"Chocolate solves everything."

***

"Really?" Seishirou asked with a stunned little wonder to his words as 
he beheld the shimmering dish.  The sight of it made him very, very 
hungry, even if breakfast really hadn't been that long ago.  Or lunch 
rather. His father nodded enthusiastically and gave him a spoon.   

Really.

So he curled his own thoughts up in his tremulous shields took a great, 
big, syrupy bite of his ice cream, some of which clung to his upper lip 
as he savored what he had managed to get into his mouth.

He felt better for those few seconds before it melted inside him than 
he had in ages. 

*** 

Omi washed up in the bathroom of the unoccupied apartment, and then sat 
for some time on his bath towel where he had cast it in the middle of 
the floor, waiting for the smell of soap to leave him, or to be caught 
waiting.  He couldn't tell, and it didn't matter which. Truth didn't 
even ask such things of him; his two lovers knew each other, had fought 
each other over him.

And now there was only one.

He almost slipped into dream awaiting Youji's presence, saw himself and 
Yuuji, wrapped in feathers taking one another again and again.

But Omi woke, dressed, smoothed out the satin of his shirt and fled the 
empty room.  His computer came out of its little, black bag, but the 
bag came too, since he meant to take the machine with him when they 
left.  It seemed heavy all of a sudden, and for a moment he wondered if 
it was really worth the trouble, hauling the thing with him to the one 
place among the many he had planned for them to be.

They would not go straight to Oahu.  Too risky.  He had thought of 
somewhere else to hide first.  They could worry there for awhile, but 
until they reached it, he didn't plan on saying too much about it.  

When he came back into the apartment proper, he found Seishirou sitting 
alone at the table, looking something close to intoxicated as he stared 
down a bowl that had once contained white ice cream, and which was now 
dripping on the counter.  His father stood behind him, silently petting 
his hair.

"I ah... just have to get our papers ready." Omi told them,  "It won't 
take much, but as soon as they're done, I have to run out for a few 
things.  I won't be gone long."

Then, with a little smile as he slung his things onto the table- "So, 
what would you two like your new names to be?"

Seishirou spoke up then, suddenly, but in his usually faint voice that 
was hardly different from the endless hiss on the other side of silent.  
"Can we still call each other what our names are now?"

"Oh course, Sei-chan! Just not too loudly or it'll look pretty funny."

***

A pile of luggage stood waiting by the front door; Youji hadn't been 
lazy in Omi's absence. He didn't point out his work, though. He didn't 
really react in any sort of way except to continue to toy with his 
son's hair as if he hadn't heard either of them at all. But he had, and 
before Omi could say anything, he spoke in a voice as dreamy as his 
son's was uncertain. 

"A new name, huh?" 

He slid one hand down to cup Seishirou's chin, and he bent over to look 
at him, hoping to make him laugh at least a little. The little boy 
reached up to grasp one dangling lock of hair in his tiny fist, but no 
smile came to his lips. 

"I'll be Akeno. Fujimiya Akeno?" He cocked him a sideways look, careful 
of his snagged hair. "Shall we keep their names alive, then, Omi-ai?" 

Youji's eyes slid off him, smiling at nothing. He gave Sei's captured 
chin a squeeze, then moved back, drawing his hair from the boy's 
loosening fist. "Ah, it doesn't matter, does it? After all, we're 
probably dead to them." 

The bowl was scooped up and taken over to the sink. Youji flipped on 
the hot tap, and then stood there, chin on hand, to watch the clouds 
billow from the water.

***

"I don't think we're dead to them, even if maybe they wish they didn't 
have to worry about us anymore." With a sigh, Omi jiggled the switch on 
his laptop before remembering he hadn't plugged it in yet. It started 
just the same, for the batteries hadn't died.

"Memory's funny when it's like that," Seishirou breathed as he drew one 
of the dish towels up around his wet hands.   

Omi didn't look back to him, but startled just the same, paused a 
moment.  "How wise of you, Sei-chan!" Setting the plug to the socket 
furthest from the sink, he ran the wire in loops around his hand before 
hooking it into his beeping machine.  "So, what are you going to...?"

"Fujimiya Tomeo."

The blond boy did laugh then, brightly as he could.  Though he never 
said why, he plainly liked the little words, and started punching them 
in as soon as he had his image program open.

"And I will be Hidaka Kioshi then.  Do you like that... Akeno?"

(OOC: Tomeo- Cautious, Kioshi- Quiet.  Akeno- Morning.)

***

"Hm. Kioshi. Something Ken never was." Youji turned off the faucet, 
and dabbed his fingers in the hot water. "I like it. And I like yours 
too, Tomeo," he said to Sei, wrapping one arm around him and squeezing 
him. "You'll see. This will be a fine adventure. We'll sit around on 
sugar sand beaches and lose our city pallor. Maybe I'll even lose some 
weight," he said, patting his stomach. "Or put some on." 

Sei smiled faintly, a look he lost when his eye landed upon Omi again. 
This time, Youji noticed his abrupt grimness, and he gently tapped the 
boy on the arm to get his attention. 

/What's wrong, Seishirou?/ 

The child perked as if he might say something, then sort of sagged and 
averted his eyes from his father's. Frowning, Youji released him, and 
turned to Omi instead. The youngest Weiss was still tinkering with 
something on his computer. Youji then realized the laptop was all he'd 
brought down with him. 

"Oi, Omi-ai. You were gone for over an hour," he said with a chuckle. 
"I figured you were packing up everything you owned."

***

Omi promptly blushed and answered with his hand behind his neck.  
"Youji-kun... err... gomen ne but... I checked everything before 
I brought it down and the printer was leaking ink.  I'd never seen 
it do anything like that before! Not ever! I thought maybe something 
awful had happened to it! So I took the whole thing apart upstairs 
so you wouldn't have to see it..."

Father and son both raised eyebrows at this explanation.  Youji's 
shifted his son to one arm and went straight for the bag's zipper, 
wanting to see for himself.

"Turns out the ink tank had ruptured.  It's no big deal.  I put a new 
one in."

His machine beeped at him then, and he punched a few keys that made it 
sing in ire.  "I... actually didn't pack anything up at all."

His lover though only half heard him, for his son had curled up against 
his neck, trying to look lonely and nothing more as he whispered in his 
ear.  "Omi's really sad..."

***

"Is he?" Youji whispered back. 

Seishirou nodded against his neck. He twined his fingers in the collar 
of his shirt, and Youji did nothing to shake them off. Instead he 
walked over to Omi and wrapped an arm around his waist without any 
warning, making the boy jump. He pulled him back against him, and held 
him there. 

"Seishirou told me that you're sad about something...?" he whispered. 
"You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

***

Omi nearly went limp in his lover's arms, but the sensation, the little 
wish passed in a moment, and he turned to him, shaking his head.  They 
were so close that his bangs brushed his lover's nose as his head 
swayed.  

One of his hands came to rest on the Seishirou's head, and the other he 
drew around Youji, clasping him tight and cuddling down against his 
chest.  "Leaving anything is hard for me, even if there's nothing 
here."

And then to his lover's son- "It's... the happy kind of sad though.  
Like when something seems kinda wrong, but you know it'll turn out 
OK.  And it will."

***

There were only two fits of laughter on the tape, it died in the midst 
of one and the rising symphony of the traffic it had found on the 
street outside the club.  Whooshes, giggles, shouts of someone who 
didn't know anyone would be listening almost a day later and on the 
other side of town entirely.  The sun began to set in earnest for them 
and their third bottle of champagne gave out.  Once its cork sped 
through the half open window, no more sound from the little silver box.  
Even the static rippled away.

Mitsuki applauded and knocked over the last of her drink.  No one said 
anything about the trickle of suds than ran into the carpet with the 
whirling glass, not even Megaera who herself remained, just as she had 
been the whole of the rape: perched on the most uncomfortable 
decorative chair in the room, as she listened with a sort of impassive 
curiosity to Kuudou Youji's misery, now and then scratching something 
on the notepad before her.

"Fuckin' sweet... just... fuckin' sweet!" The bikeress blurted out from 
her foamy lips.  "Take a bow, you wonderful bastard you!"

Hiro, grinning from ear to ear, did just that before stooping and 
gathering up her hand in his.  Kissing the unmasked nails there he lead 
her over to where his butterfly perched so dainty and still so lost in 
the screams even though they had ended.

"Haven't I pleased you, Megaera-dono?" he asked, all teases and sugar.

She shook her head, eyed him through the pale pink distortion of her 
lenses.  Said nothing.  Her eyes at least were happy; clouded with the 
unspeakable joy of that princesses with dead dragons at their feet 
know.

"God, don't you look sexy now."  Mitsuki sighed, licking her lips until 
they were dry of color and fizz.

"It's true, you do..." their male guest intoned, and once again he bowed 
for one of his ladies.  

"Oh, Hiro-san." Megaera cooed.

"Tell me you are glad I hurt that luscious little fag for you.  For 
your beauty is that of sadness, and even if I am partial to it, I want 
to hear you say this loveliness does not become your heart."

Mitsuki silently mocked this exchange, mumbling herself over what had 
come over the chap since yesterday evening.  He had certainly not been 
so glib until then.  As he went on, she shifted where she stood to try 
and get her damp panties into less of a knot, for their cool touch was 
only making her tingle that much more.

Megaera finally assented to his little flirts, "There are no words..." 

And that made Hiro smile so.  "How many kisses have I plucked from his 
pain then? For I want one... right... now..." this spoken as his mouth 
descended, came close up to hers.  The paper where she had written such 
things appeared between their lips as he swept near enough to feel her 
breath. 

"Hey! No fair! I want a better look."  The bikeress, of course, had 
snatched it away before either of them got a proper glance at it and 
with it she went tumbling into a further corner of the living room, and 
she whistled at the marks she's stolen.  "You sure can kiss her all you 
want, Hiro ol' pal! Well, five times 'least.  Eight pieces of clothing, 
aw! Only two feels though and... HOLY SHIT! I get to kiss Meg twelve 
times!"

At which the woman in question made a little sound of disappointment...

"Besides... you know... other things.  Bastard Hiro! Makes all the boys 
cry 'cause he's really into pussy."

...and then gulped.

Perhaps Hiro was simply playing on his new sense of eminence, but he 
pushed himself between his two companions.  "Now, Suki-san, if Meg 
doesn't want to play with you, we won't make her, understand?"

Mitsuki tossed her head at him and wiggled her hips.  "Hey, can't the 
bishojo decide for herself?"

"Very well.  Anata...?"

Megaera regarded him with a faint scowl for a moment, then rose to her 
feet.  She had no shoes on, and that fact only served to accentuate 
how petite she really was.  The bikeress, unfazed, looked her over 
once again and pretended to catch her breath, though her eyes really 
did grow languorous and dim with desire.

"Will you stop *nagging* me if I do?"

"Sure, girl! I mean, after this, you sure as hell won't wanna nag."

"Youkatta. Then... I will."

She couldn't see it herself, but Hiro smirked and he turned over his 
shoulder just let her watch him undo his tie with a re-assuring wink.  
"Then this is number one..." 

He kissed her- chaste, and lingering, as if in such a small space of 
time he had grown unused to such acts.  Her lips were sticky like warm 
metal because of the bronze shimmer on them, and he licked the residue 
away before running his fingers down her cheek.  "Well then, ladies? To 
the bedroom I suppose."

"I'd rather do it on the floor, more room." Mitsuki said.  With that 
she kicked the fallen champagne flute into the corner where it broke 
into a thousand pieces that shone dimly for a moment in the reflection 
from someone's rear-view mirror.  

Megaera simply shrugged, and padded over to the light switch.  It 
hadn't grown that dim outside, but in her own small spirit of excess, 
she turned on her chandelier- it was fashioned of clear plastic stars 
and moons with porcelain faeries: a souvenir from some momentary affair 
with a diplomat.  A pointless, whimsical thing among so many others.

So many others, just for that evening.

She shook off her second thoughts and left them under the plastic 
heavens; stepped up beside the woman who had inspired her revenge; 
looked every bit the unwilling bride. Hiro snapped one picture and put 
the camera away before approaching at last, and taking the list to look 
over his spoils before he asked for them.   

"Just lovely, ladies.  Just lovely.  I almost want you to stay as you 
are, and let me imagine."

"Oh, stop being poetic and tell me to take somethin' off!"

"Ok then.  Mitsuki, for your first piece of clothing, take off your 
corset."

They two had been clad, as per his request, exactly as they were the 
night spent gathered at the bistro.  

With a sly smile, Mitsuki complied, unhooking the front seam one eye at 
a time while leaving the tiny black wings of ribbon on the back tied 
tight.  Only the midnight blue chiffon shirt clung to her beneath the 
leather, and that hid little.  Her two breasts already perked above the 
small swell of her stomach.  One wore a ringlet of ink pearls set with 
feathers.  

Hiro had never seen it before, and Megaera would have turned from it, 
but their companion half knelt before Mitsuki, his hands hovering 
before her chest.  He did not touch her, but tongued one nipple and 
then the other, squeezing them with his lips.

"That's two of your kisses, now take the shirt off too, nice and slow, 
like you did that corset."

She did so, and rather wrapped the translucent folds of it between her 
two hands, looping Megaera in it and drawing her close.  Their chests 
brushed, and she let her lips steal against Megaera's. 

"Ah, Meg, darling," sighed Hiro, "I'm afraid your shirt will have to go 
as well.  Take your time with it."

Mitsuki would have none of that though- while her companion's fingers 
were still just making their way to once of the drooping straps of 
silk, she had them both and pulled them over her head before throwing 
the little tank after of the shattered glass.  Though she was still 
wearing a bra, Megeara crossed her arms, for it was a strapless, lacy 
thing that left holding her.

"Now, now, what's to be afraid of, anata? 'Suki tells me you're the 
same cup size, even if that bit of lingerie does look just delightful 
on you.  It must go too.  Here, let me make it better for you."

This time, he kissed her with a famished swaying of his mouth inside of 
hers.  Her garment came away in his hands where he had not even brushed 
her with his skin.  He held her bra to his nose and watched the rosy 
glow spread to her there where she was naked.

"Oishi!" Mitsuki declared.  "I can't wait to get my hands on those."

She did, and stood there kneading the soft flesh for many slow, oozy 
moments.  Once her hands dipped down her own jeans, and the liquid 
there she rubbed into one nipple until it glistened.  Hiro was moaning 
then, but Magaera lover was not.  No, she stood wide-eyed and silent, 
and then once more kissed until her lips were on the verge of bleeding.  

"Don't you like the way 'Suki frenches?" Hiro asked, dreamily, not even 
really looking anymore- he had reached into his pocket for a cigarette 
and then scanned the room for a lighter.  There were several.  One was 
a Shirow Masamune and it wasn't his.  

"Ah... eto ne... it's not... bad... just that..."

"Just what?" Mitsuki asked, bending down and taking one of her dainty 
ears between her teeth as she spun the pearls upon them with her 
tongue.  

"Different."

They laughed, all three of them.

"'course, baka! I'm a GIRL! Girls don't kiss like guys! You ever kissed 
one back just like he kissed you?"

"No..."

"What were you expecting then?" And another dollop of creamy cum 
drizzled onto Megaera's pale pink nipples.

"I don't know anymore." And then to the voyeur who offered her his 
cigarette, "What would you like me to take off next, Hiro-san?"

"Your skirt, of course.  Undo the buttons on the side and draw it away 
like one of those Hawaiian girls would."

"But they aren't real buttons."

"And I can do better!" The bikeress set her fingers to the loop of the 
zipper in the back and eased it down, sparing no moment against the 
denim, not even as she drew it down around Megaera's ankles.

She was bare-legged this time.  Hiro noted so with a whistle.  "Make 
your new 'friend' the same as you, anata.  And don't be quick about 
it."

"You always say that... they all do." Magaera murmured as she fumbled 
with the black laces of the jeans she had been asked to pull off, 
taking the string out of each eyelet before letting the denim fall, and 
then the glitter tights beneath, for they were asked for with a murmur 
of dismay on the part of their watcher.

And they tore in her hands.  For a moment Magaera kneeled there, the 
smell of Mitsuki's wet panties tickling her nose, the gleaming threads 
scratching her fingers.  She thought she could see scissors marks on 
the seams, but had no time to look.  Mitsuki descended upon her, pulled 
her up and once more had her lips.  

"I guess you don't know your own strength."

And then the bikeress's finger on her lips, she noticed the nails were 
naked.

"That's because they're going in you."

But she had said nothing.

Hiro's voice followed, and a puff of smoke as he drew near.  "One more 
piece, ladies? What should it be? I can't make up my mind... but I want 
to celebrate the oyster's pearl finally coming out. So... Megaera-san? 
Your earrings."

"But..."

"I'll take them and put them on the table."

"...they don't cover anything."

"That is..." He drew near then, holding his cigarette in his left hand so 
the smoke trailed behind him.  With the beckoning of his finger tip, he 
called them both close to his lips, and for his final kiss, gave each 
of them half before pressing their mouths close and holding them 
together by the backs of their necks, tilting them whatever way he 
liked as their tongues darted in and out of one another's lips. "...not 
what's important." 

When his hands left their hair, he slid his fingers between their legs 
to their panties.  He took them there rather roughly, and squeezed 
their nether lips through his fingers.

Megaera broke away and cried out, her thighs closing about his wrist 
before he tugged away.  From her.  At least.  Mitsuki rather rode his 
fingers for a moment longer.

She threw back her head and crowed in mad delight as she had her 
orgasm, and he felt her clenching and unclenching under his finger 
tips.  With a grin, not for him, she hissed softly until she had 
finished, and there was nothing left to capture her attention but the 
other woman and the way she had drawn her arms around herself now, was 
blushing so hard...

"Ah, Meg, Meg! Dontcha you know, going red like that's a sure sign 
you're turned on? And dontcha know you can't hide with just your 
hands?"

"Yeah... I..."

"Did that look like fun to you?"

"Annou... ah... y-yes."

"Would then stop lookin' so upset! I can make you feel that good.  Come 
over here and quit worryin' about it."

When Megaera did, it was only after she had caught the bikeress up in 
her arms, as if she feared she would leave before making good on her 
promise.  Hiro simpered at this, and they didn't see him right away, 
didn't bother to look over even when he first undid his zipper and 
slipped his hand inside.

Mitsuki fought not her newest captor, just sank down in her arms to try 
and look submissive, or as much as she could with her raspberry wine 
eyes alight.  It was all a dare for the other woman to be the first of 
them to do anything, a little illusion of power by light of the evening 
sun as it fell.  

Megaera's hand did stray into her hair, caressing it this way and that.  
Their breasts met with a jolt as if she had slipped in the hold that 
had her.  Mitsuki sighed, and licked her lips.  Drawing around behind 
her, she took off her companion's glasses, but only for a moment before 
humming to herself and sliding them back on.

"You might want to see this."

Mitsuki's hands then followed where her body had fallen as she moved; 
down Megaera's collar bones, over her ribs and onto her nipples from 
there, where they did not linger, it was underneath that her palms 
stayed for a moment, pushing her chest upwards in three little jolts 
before sliding down and prying her navel open so she could side her 
slender digits in and out of it before reaching down after her panties.

These she knocked down to her ankles.  Only the smallest patch of 
dampness there, and none that she could feel at once, taking the fine 
silk of Megaera's sex between her hands, and kneading the skin, though 
not reaching for anything it hid.

"Doesn't that feel nice?"

"Ah... I... Yes! But you..." Megaera wimpered.

"One thing at a time.  Oh, you're soft there.  Very soft.  Don't you 
want to feel mine?"

No waiting for an answer, her own underwear fell away, and she pressed 
her naked mound against Megaera's back, unfolding against her, but not 
staying long enough for any clear sense of herself to emerge.  She left 
her then, but only after having a quick grope of her ass that made her 
jump.  

Without further ado, Mitsuki sat down in the middle of the white 
carpet, and patted the space beside her.  Her companion knelt.  They 
both kept their knees pressed together, one to tease, and one because 
she had not yet been asked to do else with them.  The bikeress 
descended upon the throat of her lover, marking both sides of it with 
her teeth before claiming her tongue, but never letting their lips 
touch through that kiss.  She began to fumble with one of her breasts 
then, the tip, and then all of it.  Through her cries at this, Megaera 
didn't even notice the hands snaking down after her thigh until it had 
pulled her legs wide.  

A gasp, but no words of protest.  Mitsuki laughed hotly and Hiro's eyes 
fell lazy-closed at the sight of the folds of her there revealed, and 
the little shuddering of shadow between them.  Her clitoris was swollen 
and bobbing as she breathed.

"What? Don't tell me you're one of those girls who always tells her 
boyfriends they can screw her to their little heart's content, but not 
see her?"

"Well... kinda."

"Oh! Silly Meg! Baka! Baka! Ba~ka! Let me fix that.  I'll be fair this 
time." Saying so, Mitsuki scrambled out before the other woman, 
blocking Hiro's view, but placing herself in Megaera's as she opened 
before her and reached down to part her nether lips further than they 
would have reached on their own.  Underneath, she was lipstick pink and 
glistening, very small seeming.  This puzzled Meg, who rocked onto her 
knees then, creeping forward for a better look.  "Oh! You like that! 
Well... how about this?" Mitsuki sank her fingers into herself, her skin 
stretching around her insinuating digits and giving way to the milky-
wet crevice she stroked then.  "Mmm..." and then purrs no words could 
match, and her thumb upon her clit.  

Their friend wasn't sorry at all he couldn't see exactly what was going 
on- the sound was enough.  

Megaera watched, sweating slightly and taken in a fragile sort of way 
by what she beheld  Her own hand reached out then, steeling over the 
bright blue curls her companion wore below, and bit by bit, pushing her 
fingers away to feel where they had been, and the way they were sucked 
in and held.

When Mitsuki came again, all of the juice from her ran into her lover's 
hand, and she bent to lap it up.  "You're good, musta had a few useless 
ones, huh?" She teased.

"I've had no one in years, I can't remember."

"Oh, so I'm the first since Kuudou.  Good for me!"

Crawling up into her, Mitsuki kissed her, and kissed her, and gave no 
more thought to the count as Magaera gave way under her, and they fell 
to the floor, bikeress on top and rocking against her lover, for it 
stirred them both when she did- not enough for their climax, but for 
their voyeur's perhaps.  He could see into both of them from where he 
sat, and was gasping louder than they, though neither heard him.

Mitsuki left her on the floor, exposed and looking down to her with 
expectant little gasps.  It was not between Megaera's legs that she 
settled, but as if rather she sat at her bedside.  She reached down 
over the planes of her stomach, along her thighs, and then returned 
what had been done to her in the moment's before, piercing with one 
finger, and then two, but just for an instant that.

And then her lips.  The crest of Megaera's sex she clasped in her mouth 
and sucked and sucked, teasing with her tongue and nibbling.  Her lover 
cried out under her, and her vagina twitched and shuddered before Hiro, 
leaking at first slowly, and then in little bursts, for after one 
orgasm, Mitsuki refused to retreat for very long- only to reach into 
her purse for a pair of wintergreen tic-tacs which she wore upon her 
tongue to keep her companion cool as she ravished her with it.  

She plunged her fingers into her though, breaching her rosebud rather 
and pressing against the inner walls with no direction.  Magaera 
screamed over until she was breathless and her glasses cast off in one 
of her spasms.

Mitsuki needed no words to tell her lover what she wanted when she 
rose.  Just rolled over onto her own back and spread herself.

Megaera went down on her with long, kitten licks and fingers darting in 
and out.  

Like the hands of a clock gravitating nearer one another as the hours 
passed, they drew together and in time, lost themselves in each other 
and a feverishly fast sixty-nine where they rolling over and over 
against each other, caressing with whole bodies, rather than hands 
alone.

Hiro had long fallen to the floor in his own first rapture, but a 
second began in him, and without thinking, he lunged over and using the 
silky liquid of Megaera, took the bikeress up the ass so their 
companion could see him from below, and be brush-burned by his thrusts.

Still, Megaera did not leave her licks, her kisses. She only dreamed 
the three of them could fall asleep just so- drifting from one orgasm 
to the next.

***

The sun went down after awhile, but they scarcely noticed the 
difference in Youji's little apartment, for the lights started to 
gleam, one by one, in the distant ribbons of the towers, and the closer 
stirrings of the true city that from the windows almost looked like 
they could be touched, held, played with.  If only the glass would go 
away.

Omi opened the window for his lover's son before the boy could even 
ask, and Seishirou sat on one of the kitchen chairs before it, watching 
the headlights swim between the streets, and the skyscrapers shimmer 
with their own sequins.  His father slept on the couch just behind him, 
and the TV was off.  Sei liked the skyline better than even the prime-
time anime that Omi knew was running.  

As for Omi, he covered Youji from the hazy chill of the summer evening, 
and told the boy it smelled like rain, even though the look in his 
eyes- black by the Tokyo light -seemed to say he already knew.

A few clicks after that, and holding his aching wrist, Omi found 
himself blowing on the ink of the fake ID's he had made.  Fujimiya 
Akeno, Fujimiya Tomeo and Hidaka Kioshi waited patiently as he made 
them real people with just a few keystrokes in the census bureau's 
poorly-guarded system.  For now, there were just two driver's licenses 
and three birth certificates with gold ink from the auxiliary color 
tank.  They looked so, so, so real though, and gazing at his reflection 
in the laminate as he cut it, he almost believed they were.  Everyone 
else would so... why not? Why couldn't he be that smiling face? 

He did have to go, just for awhile.  

"Seishirou? Watch Youji-kun for me, okay?"

"What do you need so much?" The boy asked.

"Hair dye.  I might be gone awhile though.  But then I'll pack and we 
can go.  I promise."

"Okay."

Just for reassurance, he kissed him on the forehead before he slipped 
out.  Sei wiped the mark from his skin and rubbed his hand on his pants 
before turning back to his view of the sidewalks.  As for Youji, he 
stirred in his sleep, and his son coaxed him back to his empty dreams.

Omi stopped in his own rooms to find his jacket- easier said than done 
that, because once he turned up the green one he usually wore, he cast 
it aside and looked for the black one instead.  He told himself it 
would look better with the cobalt shirt but... no, he just wanted one 
that didn't look like something of his.

When he got to the front door, keys ringing in his hand, he slipped on 
his black high-tops without socks, and that was all it seemed he could 
want at the moment.

At least until he DID get the door open.  He started.  The person on 
the other side started too, catching the hand he had paused to knock 
just before it bumped into Omi's forehead.

"Naru-han! What are you doing here?"

The boy before him shrugged and clasped his hands behind his back.  
"Oh, it is merely that this evenfall finds me quite abandoned and I was 
wondering if perhaps your spirit might yet desire some respite from 
your charming little enamoratas to go... how shall I say it...? Get 
wasted at Tenshi no Mon?" For this Naru expected some excuse, some 
wondering questions.  Anything but what he got really.

Omi bounded outside, nearly slammed into him, and threw every lock he 
could from the outside, a smirk playing on his lips all the while.  
"I'd love to! But first, I need your professional opinion on something.  
Is that OK?"

Blinking, and nearly losing his hat, Naru replied with a befuddlement 
that showed none of his devious ecstasy.  It wasn't every night that 
one of his trademark horrible ideas had actually succeeded.  "Why Omi-
who-has-no-other-name! You know you're always quite welcome to ask 
anything you wish of me! Despite the rather obvious actuality I am not 
a professional anything."

Omi drew back a few paces, and with his fingers straying over his chin, 
looked his companion up and down.  Huge, dark blue hat with a leopard 
print ribbon tied around it, black lady's blouse with enormous brass 
buttons, vest sporting a school of sequined fish, jeans three sizes too 
big and held up by a silk scarf, dancing shoes and bondage cuffs on 
both hands- surly the mark of a professional SOMETHING.

"No, I don't agree with you.  I'm sorry, but I just don't.  That, and I 
need to pick out a new color to dye my hair and..."

Naru squealed in delight and promptly hauled Omi down the street, 
blathering about which places in Tokyo were best for what colors. 

***

Masato had never been so amused to see Naru. Across the street from 
the Hanano, the grizzled Crasher stood smoking outside a boutique, 
trying his best to look like he was waiting on a woman within. He 
wasn't sure how successful he was in the minds of those passersby, 
but then he really didn't care. 

He tracked the boys from block to block until he got bored of 
watching them.  Masato then dropped the remains of his cigarette 
and crushed it under his heel. He glanced at his watch, cast a look 
back at the shop in case anyone was watching him, and set off across 
the street in the direction of a coffee shop which stood two doors 
away from the Hanano. But when he reached the shop, he kept going 
past it as if he'd suddenly decided to go for a stroll instead. 
Masato ambled down a wide, bricked walkway which lay between the 
coffee shop and a bookstore, turned the corner at the end, and headed 
back towards the Hanano. He paused at the mouth of the delivery 
entrance, glanced around over the rims of his shades, and then headed 
down that alley towards the door. From there it was all a matter 
of luck and skill. He had the door breached in seconds with the help of 
a lock pick. Masato hurried in, and locked the door behind him. He 
waited there in the shadows, listening, but heard nothing but the creak 
of the building settling. 

Masato headed off then as quietly as he could, glancing about as he 
made his way towards the stairs. From Ms. Higurashi's door he could 
heard the sound of some afternoon drama. Her laughter blended with it 
on occasion. She was cooking something, something which smelled 
incredible, and his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten much, being so 
unusually keyed up, and now it was all coming home to him. To counter 
his sudden hunger, he lit another cigarette when he reached the 
landing, the one leading to Youji's apartment. From his door, he could 
hear the sound of some anime, one he didn't recognize. And he'd thought 
he knew them all. 

Shrugging, he set off for the next flight of stairs, and Yuuji's 
apartment. He already knew which one it was, they'd made it their 
business to know, and with the boy out of the way... 

The knob gave way easily in his hand; Yuuji hadn't bothered to lock it 
in Omi's absence. Masato cursed him silently for his lack of 
discretion. An agent couldn't afford to get comfortable, no matter 
where he--or she--was. Anything could happen at any time. 

Case in point: The agent he'd come to see was still in bed, still quite 
naked, and the room still smelled of sex. Hell, the bed *looked* more 
than just slept in, with the covers bunched up they way they were; 
Yuuji had merely lain down in a patch that was dry and lapsed into 
oblivion. Masato wrinkled his nose slightly as he crossed over to the 
bed. He could just see the edges of Yuuji's bandages in that poor 
light, the shadows where his bruises lay, and he switched on the lamp 
so he could have an even better look. 

Yuuji came awake with a start, and Masato froze. They both did, Masato 
with one hand lingering under the lamp shade, Yuuji wide-eyed and 
panting slightly, as if he'd come up from a nightmare. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Masato took that as his cue to retreat, and he did, taking up residence 
by the dresser. "I told you I'd come back." 

"Yeah, but..." Yuuji broke off, frowning at nothing in particular. 

Masato folded his arms across his chest. "What did you do to yourself?" 

"Huh?" Yuuji glanced down at himself as if he didn't know what Masato 
was talking about. He shook his head. "Oh, I had a run in with a woman 
named Creiddylad." 

"How's that again?" 

Yuuji attempted to spell it out, but then waved it off. "Oh, damned if 
I know. Don't ask me such questions." 

Masato shrugged. "Don't make it so tempting for me, and I won't." He 
shoved away from the dresser, and walked over to the window to open it. 
The sound of cars and people and fresh gusts of ozone-laced exhaust 
spilled in through the gap, fluttering the curtains. Clouds were 
massing in the twilight sky above, tinged with the colors of the dying 
sunset. Masato admired them in silence for a moment. 

"So...which one was it?" 

Yuuji was quiet for a while. "Omi." 

"That kid?" No accusation. Just a simple question. 

"...Yeah." 

"From the dejected tone of your voice I take you broke up then?" 

There was a rustle of blankets behind him, and Masato turned around, 
thinking Yuuji was attempting to get out of bed. He found him instead 
propped up against the headboard, a pair of pillows heaped against his 
injured side, and his face was sweaty, and very pale. 

"That's none of your business." 

Silently, Masato left the window for the bed. Without asking 
permission, he lay a hand on Yuuji's forehead, and one on his own, 
pointedly ignoring the other's glare. 

"You're burning up," he said, dropping his hands back to his sides. 

"Am I?" Yuuji asked sarcastically. 

"Smart ass!" he spat. "Screwing around with some kid when you're badly 
injured. Don't you know any better?" 

"No, Masato," Yuuji growled back. "I suppose I don't." 

Masato sighed heavily, gnawing on his lip as he glared at his partner. 
"Right," he declared, flipping back the blankets from Yuuji's body. 
"Let's go." 

"Go?" he rasped. "Go where...Oi!" 

Masato had slid one arm around Yuuji, and was urging him forward. "Out 
of this bed and into a bath with you. Clean those wounds and wash all 
that crap off while I strip off this stinking linen." 

Yuuji gasped, groaned as he hefted himself off the mattress with his 
insistent companion's help. "Who are you, my mother?" 

Masato laughed. "No, kid. I'm a hell of a lot worse than she ever could 
be."

***

"Mother? I was raised by my uncle so I never knew her.  I hear she used 
to be a geisha..." Omi admitted as he stood in the gaze of a dim 
streetlight with his hands in his pockets.  He sensed Naru's frown at 
his side, and a few speculative glances from people who just happened 
to be waiting for the sign to say it was alright to walk across the 
intersection.  He didn't know where they were- it wasn't far enough to 
seem unfamiliar, but it did.  And there was no bridge here.  It made 
him feel almost like they'd left Tokyo, and indeed, they weren't 
talking about anything that concerned her, or the other children there.  
The dead were nothing to those who insisted life was streetlights and 
pocky and TV.  He met the other boy's sorrowing pout with a grin.  

"Oh, Omi! Would that I had more to say to you besides one apology for 
what I don't recall at *all*.  I wish I could remember her *for* you at 
least!"

"Thanks." As they made their way past the lights of the stopped cars, 
Omi patted his companion on the arm, came away with a hand dusted in 
sparkles and smelling strangely familiar.  "Hey, I used to use this 
glitter lotion."

"Really? Oh! Isn't it just DECADENT! I mean... err... I mean decadent 
in a good way.  Like cake! Even though that's a cliched example."

"S'ok, I understood.  And anyway..." A few skipping steps ahead, and he 
whirled, almost colliding with a lady carrying a poodle in her arms.  
"What about your mom?"

"Ah, my mother was... ah... oh, drat it all! I've lost all remembrance 
of the precise mot! She was..."

/A Herald... one of the best there ever was./

"Well, she cared for people who were nothing of hers, and she did it 
MARVELOUSLY.  Not like the typical, acrid, ancient, awful damsels 
associated with such things, and I dare say, she was quite fresh when 
last I saw her.  Though that was eons away from the avenues I now 
tread."  

Omi hadn't moved from his perch in the middle of where everyone out 
that night was evidentially trying to walk, so the young Crasher took a 
few steps back and gathered him by the back of his coat, dragging him 
along backwards for quite a few feet.  

"So that's why you asked me- you miss her."

"Well, that and I was rather curious as to whether or not you were 
still wont to profess all manner of sins to me whilst drunk.  Ah, Omi, 
my boy! Repent!"

A rolled up Shonen Jump came down on his head before being returned to 
the keeper of the newsstand with many a bombastic apology. 

They laughed, and the door they had come to rang with a loud electric 
chime.  The shop was lit inside with heavy, glass lamps, the sort 
better found in hotel rooms.  One girl stood at the one register, 
filling her gaze with a copy of Eyes rather than watch her customers as 
her whirling techno CD played half-subdued in the background. The 
counter under her clasped hands was littered with all manner of pretend 
jewels and glittering powders Omi did not have time to look at for Naru 
escorted him directly to one of the shelves along the wall.

"There now, just tell me which one you like," Naru said, sweeping his 
hand along the rim of one shelf.  Around it stood crystals and glow 
sticks; earrings and displays of makeup, and what made Omi think he had 
come across part of a medieval apothecary, sliced out of time and left 
there in the present city.  Below the neck of a retort filed a series 
of tiny bottles.  They all had tags of clear plastic on them, but no 
words, and each was filled with fine, colored powder that shimmered 
like satin.  

"'tis that which yields the most spectacular effects of any hair-color 
in city.  All made right here on the premises for vampyrs, delinquents 
and all other children of Our Lordess Night alike."

"Aaa," replied Omi, as he lifted a vial of pale, baby pink and turned 
it over and over his hand, not seeming to know what he was seeing.

His companion at this made several very unhappy noises and guided his 
wrist back over the shelf so he might be encouraged to put the bottle 
back.  "Mind you, it's exquisite, but it won't suit you in the least.  
No, better perhaps..."

He came up with a brilliant, electric indigo and waved it around 
hopefully.  Plainly, it was what he liked best of them all.  What he 
didn't tell Omi was that he had dyed his hair just that hue once, and 
hadn't managed to grow it out entirely by the time he met the other 
Crashers.  What a fright Yuuji had gotten upon knocking off his cap!

/Ah, memories of my far-from-darlings.  Well... mostly./ 

"I don't think so.  My boyfriend told me he didn't want anything too 
dark."  

"Truly?" The remark was idle at first, but he leaned in rather close 
then, and batted his eyes.  "Have things turned so grace? Letting your 
courtesan interfere with what you do to your own hair! Mmm, I think 
they must have."

Omi threw up one of his hands and turned away, feigning embarrassment 
badly enough to have been caught at it by anyone who wandered by.  "I 
was waiting for you to bring it up."

"And I've not failed you I hope by taking so long?" And then, without 
dropping his voice for there was no one in the store but they two and 
the girl lost in her sparkling hues of sound.  "So, how is it? 
Exquisite? Tantalizing? Universe-shattering?"

"It's like..." He didn't know.  He had to stop for a moment and wonder 
over it, pacing up the length of the shelf of dyes and then coming 
back, all serenity and rose.  For he had no one else he could have 
spoken to about such things, and so, never really had ever tried... 
"it's like... saying goodbye to someone you hardly know and running 
into them again years later only to find out they've missed you, too."

"Te gusta la?"

Omi nodded, pretended he'd understood every word.  

/I'm... happy then.  For Yuuji./ "Scarlet perhaps?" /He liked red a lot, 
after all.  Like that boy had... what was his name?  I'm sobering up!  I 
can't remember at all!/

"I don't know..." That particular flask, Omi considered much longer than 
the last, watching the powder inside catch the light this way and that 
as he turned the bottle over and over.  

Naru laughed at him after awhile, "No, no! If you want to know, try 
this!" At which he held the bottle up by the tag, and spun his 
companion over to the mirror.

The red plastic between him and the glass, Omi looked himself over, or 
tried to- he could not see himself any longer.  Not anyone he ever 
could have thought of as that person, and he set it down, almost 
shaking his head, but then.  "You know, you seem awfully genki, even for 
you!  Did that guy you liked come back to you?"

"My stars.  NO!  I've simply taken up to having rough bondage sessions 
with his former flat-mate.  It's soap-opera wonderful!"

Omi did indeed drop the bottle of red dye then, but the other boy's hat 
came off in a wink and he managed to catch the vial before it became 
too well acquainted with the floor. 

"Why... You...  why didn't you... NARU! I'm so happy for you."

"Ah, 'tis but a trifling of two fickle whims.  It isn't as if we're to 
be married, or that he doesn't have a daughter and a wife.  Divorced, 
naturally.  The wife, not the daughter." And with a bit of a yawn that 
made Omi laugh.  "I've met them already though, they're..."

He could not speak well in the his companion's embrace, only return the 
warmth, and sway in the cradle of Omi's arms. 

/I missed you... silly me.  Missing another assassin I barely know./

***

"Is that okay?" 

"Oh, yeah," murmured Yuuji. "It's just as light as I like it.  More 
golden than brown." 

Masato set the empty milk carton down on the dresser, flashing Yuuji a 
bit of a grin in the mirror. "See? I did remember how you like your 
coffee." 

Yuuji held his cup up in a toast to his partner, then set it down in 
favor of the bowl of homemade miso soup Masato had set before him. 
After his bath, and after Masato had wrapped his injuries in fresh 
bandages and helped him into some clean clothes, Ms. Higurashi had 
unexpectedly shown up at his door carrying a tureen full of it.  
Now, thirty minutes later, half the soup was already gone. 

"You gonna be okay without that kid?" 

"...I'm going to have to be, aren't I?" 

Masato drank down the last of his soup, and set the bowl aside. 
"What's going on, anyway? I mean, first their teammates, and 
now them..." 

"Listen. I think...no, I feel like something's up. Like they're..." 
Yuuji paused, and mouthed the word, leaving. Masato had let him in 
on his hunch, and so Yuuji, in the interest of their welfare, 
became more circumspect with his speech, lest the room was tapped. 

"I see." When? Masato mouthed back.  

Yuuji shrugged, and turned back to his miso. 

"What are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to leave the Hanano." After they do, he added silently. 

"I see," Masato whispered. "What are you going to tell Kritiker?" 

Yuuji shrugged again. "Something of the truth. Anyway, I doubt 
they'll care one way or the other where I am, so long as I'm still 
on their side." 

Staring down into his cup, Masato nodded. "Hm. I guess you're right." 

They fell into a thoughtful silence as they finished up the last of 
their dinner, and then... 

"I want you to do something for me," Yuuji said, setting his bowl to 
one side and easing himself out of his chair. 

"Hm? Oi! Don't get--" Masato started for him, but stopped when the 
blond pointed emphatically at the ceiling. He gave him a quizzical 
look, to which Yuuji only caught him by the arm and drew close enough 
to whisper. 

"Help me get upstairs." 

Masato started to ask why, but Yuuji silenced him with a wave, 
tugging on his arm to get him to come along. Grumbling, he complied, 
wrapping an arm around his partner to help steady him. Once out of 
Yuuji's apartment, they paused long enough to listen for any sounds 
of life below, and then they set forth. Masato let Yuuji direct 
their path, and managed to keep quiet until they reached their 
destination: the attic. Yuuji shut the door behind them, and then 
loudly, unexpectedly sneezed. 

"You wanna tell me why we're up here?" hissed Masato. 

Yuuji held up a hand. "Wait, and I'll show you." 

So Masato leaned against the door and watched Yuuji shuffle around 
the musty, moldy attic, poking around this box and that, until he 
finally unearthed what he was looking for. It was a zippered, 
black canvas case, long and cylindrical in shape; a fraying 
shoulder strap dangled down one side. Yuuji held it by this as he 
carried the case over to Masato. The elder man lay it in the crook 
of his elbow as he unzipped it. His eyes widened slightly when he 
saw what lay inside. 

"A katana?" 

"Yeah."

He patted the weapon's glossy black saya. "And what am I 
supposed to do with this?" 

"I want you to take it when you leave. I don't know if they'll 
remember it when they go, and I don't want to leave it here." 

"It's not yours, is it?" 

Yuuji shook his head. "It's Ran's." 

One brow rose. "That redheaded kid." 

Yuuji's face fell. "...Yeah.  He called it...Shion." 

Masato pensively stroked the katana's leather-wrapped hilt. 
"You, ah, liked him, didn't you?" 

Yuuji said nothing, didn't even meet his partner's searching gaze 
when the older man looked up.  Masato abruptly clapped him on 
the back.  

"You've got the lousiest luck when it comes to love." 

"Yeah, well," Yuuji grumbled, shaking him off. "I'm beginning to 
wonder 
if it's not so much luck, as it is me." 

"...Maybe so." Masato zipped up the case and settled the strap 
upon Yuuji's shoulder with a final little pat.  "And maybe that 
weapon will work some magic for you, since he's so keen on it."  

Yuuji smiled. "Thanks, Masato." 

The older man waved a hand dismissively. "Nevermind your thanks, 
kid.  Let's just finish up and get out of here.  This place is too 
filthy even for me."  

*** 

"It's the absolute least I can do for thee, Omi! And there's no need to 
worry if you find yourself causing a dearth of hot water.  I've already 
had my shower."

"Umm... arigatou, Naru-han," Omi called out over the rush of the shower, 
halting a little on his own words, for the hot water had been gone from 
the moment he stepped behind the vinyl curtain.  He had been washing 
his hair in tepid droplets all the while, shuddering on occasion.  

With a sigh, and a silent prayer to whatever gods there might be 
guarding the ritual of coloring one's hair, he turned the bottle he 
over and over in his hands.  The handwritten instructions were quite 
plain- Shake well, apply, wait five minutes, rinse.  Non-toxic.  
Permanent.  Will stain fabrics.  The glass beads the girl had slipped 
into the bottle with the alcohol and neutralization agent clattered as 
he swished the tube this way and that, one thumb over the cork to keep 
it from flying out.

Not long after that, the wispy rust lines that had tracked down from 
the shower fixtures were joined by a river of brilliant, transparent 
aquamarine; almost the same color as a Hawaiian beach under a naked 
sky.  A little liquid remained in the bottle once he had drizzled his 
hair with it, and that he splashed onto crotch, and dabbed against his 
eyebrows. 

Outside in the living room of his friend, A CD played that he couldn't 
hear except for the exotic, hollow beat of African drums.  Now and then 
a little guitar.  Very strange it seemed.  He shut off the water and 
listened a moment.

To prove that I love you
Because I believe in you
Summer skies, stars are falling
All along the injured coast
If I had money
If I had children
Summer skies, stars are falling
All along the injured coast

Naru's voice always joined in on the lines about the firmament and 
waves.  His guest realized he didn't sing with the whole verse because 
the clanks in the background were of his beer bottle settling on the 
end table.  The song ended, and Omi took it to be five minutes, for he 
hadn't thought to bring a watch.  No more color slithered into the 
drain with the spray this time.  

The cracked mirror, left free of any condensation because of the parted 
metal grate on the outside window, did more than tell him why.

His hair was blue.  Luminous seafoam blue.  Just as he had hoped but 
still... some part of him drew his hands the surface of the glass, far 
from the slinky crevasse that raced an almost perfect arc around one 
corner, and when he ran his hands over his reflection, he expected to 
be blond again where he had touched himself.  No such luck. 

Footsteps then, and a little rap on the door.  "Neeeeeee! Omi! Daijoubu 
desu ka yo!" Naru was whining.  "I do so want to see! It can't be that 
horrific!"

"It's not horrific at all... I think."

"Oh!  Then let me have a look!  I shall tell you truthfully as a nun's 
last confession."

"No... it's not that.  I've... never done this before.  I'm 
kinda nervous."

Naru gasped and it sounded rather as if he had dropped something he 
held as well.  "You mean to inform me that you, of all people, are 
VIRGINAL when it comes to dyeing your hair.  Oh!  Why didn't you say 
something!  I feel DEPRAVED now."

"Well... I... ah... I really didn't think of it."  Though he did 
realize at the point he had put his pants on backwards and was 
obliged as such to pull them off, and replace them properly.  

"Saa!  No one ever does."

And they laughed as Omi opened the door, accidentally hitting his host 
with the knob, for Naru had not been far enough away to make an escape 
from it.

As he set himself to rights, his guest froze a moment and rubbed his 
eyes, not only because they were still rather weary from the hours he 
had spent at his computer, but because he had half expected the 
apartment outside to change in his absence- had hoped it would.  That 
wish was just one of many that had failed him.

Appalling wasn't the word for Naru's 'flat'.  Inscrutable didn't have 
the shock value.  It was the most surreal place Omi had ever been in 
his life, defying all logic, all nature, and probably several basic 
concepts relating to spatial laws.  The print of "Returning Home" by 
Michael Parks hanging adjacent to the couch where a television set 
should have been didn't help any of these matters.   

It SMELLED clean, like mild body soap and violets.  But clean it most 
certainly wasn't.  Part of the mess was probably related to the fact 
there was not one proper table to be seen in the entire premises.  Oh, 
there was a console covered with jewelry and makeup, two mismatched end 
tables on either side of the tangerine orange couch which were 
responsible for two equally mismatched lamps- one was brushed chrome 
and looked like a duck, the other was faded, thistle-impressed glass 
that had the aura of a garage sale about it.  They both had beaded 
shades- but one was amber and the other white.  All this perched on a 
Persian rug sporting several very large holes which were presently 
obscured by books, and oddly placed stereo speakers, and a large 
feather boa.

It could not be told exactly where the kitchen ended and the living 
room began.  Plates had been stacked alongside the console and on a 
counter.  Another counter had been decorated to somewhat resemble a 
desk, not that desk items had been limited to that place.  There were 
pens everywhere.  It was hard to walk without stepping on one, or part 
of the dismembered oven, the empty hull of which was covered with a 
hole-riddled bit of blue satin.  An indoor drying loop hung at where 
the median between both spaces most likely put up, and on it hung all 
manners and colors of stockings.

There were clothes on almost all the places anyone might have tried to 
sit, all folded, but never put away.  The cat who appeared to be 
sleeping on the brown, 70's macrame curtains where they dragged along 
the floor (being a good foot too long for the window they covered), was 
in fact napping on pile of t-shirts.  

All this and there was not a spare crumb of food about, not one empty 
beer bottle! Those things had been properly handled.

Not so just about everything else.

Taking it in for the second time, Omi was again flabbergasted, so much 
he missed most of the compliments paid to his hair, and didn't realize 
ny had been dealt him before he felt the grumbling Naru descend upon 
him one of the spare towels.  

"You'll catch cold if you let this go any longer wet!"

"Ah... so da."

Giggles then, and he felt a nuzzle along one of his cheeks, the brush 
of a chain earring over his skin, and yes, his hair being tousled.  Not 
roughly though, like it should have been considering who was drying it.  
Just gently with a light touch, and a light ruffle.  Little pats now 
and then.  Naru hand to stand on his tiptoes to reach his bangs 
properly, because he was just the littlest bit shorter.

"There now! Don't you look celestially scrumptious! Earthly colors are 
so over-rated on humans."

"You think so?"

"I do indeed!" With a snap of the towel, the other boy pulled away, and 
came to stand before his guest, looking him over and humming a little 
as the song on the stereo (which could not be seen anywhere except for 
its far removed speakers) changed.

I feel good
It's a fine day
The way the sun hits off the Runway...  

"Hey, this is the one you were singing the other night!" 

"It most certainly is! I can only hope it sounds somewhat more agreeable 
to your ears when performed by someone who has any training in song."

Omi shook his head and finally thought to step the rest of the way out 
of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, they say if you can speak, you can sing, but that's far too 
optimistic for me.  Well, as for something I know I can have at least 
respectable feelings about, I like to pretend I'm a decent host, so, 
along those lines, might I offer you something from my refrigerator 
while you are here? If it won't keep you too long away, naturally."

Omi paused to lick his lips and then nodded, which sent Naru 
bounding over to the pea-green, pre-World War II model fridge which 
occupied one corner of what was hopefully the kitchen.  "And what would 
you fancy?  I've Asahi... Asahi... what appears to be Asahi but I can't 
quite make it out from here... oh! Some Sapporo... do you like that sort 
of thing? It's far too bitter for my tastes.  Aha! Here we go! Asahi! 
And in the vegetable drawer... Asahi!"

"Umm... Naru-han? Do you... eto... have anything that *isn't* beer?" 
Asked Omi as he leaned over his companion's shoulder, and found 
beyond Naru's lithe form lay racks and drawers shelves all occupied 
by cans and dark glass bottles.  

"Oh, of course! I'm quite certain I saw some ramen in the freezer the 
other week!"

"Why do you keep ramen in your freezer?"

"To make room for the beer."  However, his coaxing open of the very 
contrary door to the icebox revealed only a pair of very chilly mice, 
who cheeped in admonishment and tore off across the floor.  

/HE'S GOT A REAL LIVE MISATO FRIDGE!/ "You know, I think I'll just... 
ah... have a beer."

One of the cupboards flew open then, revealing a six pack and several 
more bottles.  "Warm or cold, can or bottle?"

"A cold bottle would be very, very nice, thank you."

"Just a moment, I need to go into my bedroom after some glasses. 
Wouldn't be hospitable of me to serve up drinks without such things, 
even if I usually do without."

A few little nods, and Naru, swaying in time with the song that still 
played, swept himself over to the bedroom door which he had to fight a 
moment to open.  His guest, thinking to offer help with the stubborn 
catch turned to him at just the wrong moment.  If he had been holding 
the bottles himself, he would have dropped them.  As it was, he had to 
catch himself on the counter.

"Shit..."

A few soft curses.  He'd forgotten.  Again. Naru just closed the door, 
and beseechingly sought his friend's gaze.  Tears then.  He was 
shaking and trying not to show it.  "You don't... it's not... not 
what you think."

"Well then what is it!? Naru-han!"

"It's the only thing that makes truly me happy anymore."

(OOC: To see "Returning Home" Try this link: http://www.michael-parkes-
gallery.com/michael_parkes_poster_gallery_two.htm )

***

Above them, in the Hanano's attic, boxes had been opened, overturned, 
their contents sifted through and replaced--or taken. Yuuji had opened 
the solitary window when the smell and the dust had begun to choke him, 
cracking the frame and disturbing the work of countless spiders in the 
process. He had shut it before he'd left; the only sign of their 
intrusion were the shadows of their footprints on the attic's dust 
carpet. That, and all of Ran's things were gone, save for a picture 
he'd snapped on the sly of his teammates: the three of them were 
sitting in a living room, mugs of coffee in hand. It looked as if the 
boys were laughing at something the man had said. Had Yuuji seen it, he 
might have wondered what was going through Ran's mind when he took the 
photo. He might have seen that it was symbolic of his attempted self-
imposed exile from the world. Always looking in from outside. 

But he didn't see it, nor would he ever, perhaps. It had fallen from 
the pages of a battered journal to hide itself in another box. Yuuji 
took everything else with him: Ran's books, his trench, notebooks.  

"Is that everything?" 

Yuuji pondered the collection of cases he had strewn about the room, 
and then turned to make one last check of the left bottom drawer of his 
dresser. It was empty. Yuuji nodded as he slammed it closed. 

"Yeah. I'm finished." 

Masato snorted. "I can't believe it. You think you've stolen enough 
stuff?" 

As he zipped up the bag he'd stashed Ran's mementos, Yuuji replied, "I 
have more of a right to it than they do." 

Masato took the cases bearing his clothes off the bed. "Is that so?  
How do you figure that, Yuuji?" 

"I was his partner, remember," he said, tapping at his temple. "He 
would only work with me." 

Masato cocked a brow at that. "Oh?" 

"I know him better than they do," Yuuji muttered. 

The older Crasher had wanted to say, If that's so, then why did he run 
away with another man? "They've been with him for quite awhile. Even 
with someone as taciturn as you say that boy was, I doubt he didn't get 
close to them, one way or another." 

Yuuji hauled the bag from the floor and looped the strap over his 
shoulder, looking as if he dared him to try and take it. "His stuff is 
going with me." 

"For what reason? Come on, kid. I know there's more to it than just you 
wanting to safeguard his things." 

Yuuji stalked out of the room; Masato was right on his heels. "There 
isn't." 

"Uh-huh," the other answered as he set the cases by the door; the 
katana was already waiting there along the wall. "And you don't want to 
remember him at all." 

"Shut up." Yuuji dropped the bag onto the sofa and himself alongside 
it. Out of habit, he took up the remote but stopped himself before he 
turned the set on. 

"Give me a reason, and I will." 

Yuuji sat there for a moment, jaw working furiously in irritation. 

"I'm--I want to see him again! All right? Maybe if I...take this stuff, 
they'll know, and they'll tell him I've got it." 

"...I see." Masato dug his hands into his pockets, regarding his 
partner somewhat sadly. 

"...Do you?" 

"Hmm. I do now." Masato shuffled over to the sofa where Yuuji sat 
hunched over his spread knees. He hesitated there for a moment, 
staring down at the other's pale, waving hair, and then he sat down 
on the coffee table. 

"You're in love with that kid." 

"Omi?" 

"...I don't know about him. I meant Ran." 

Yuuji looked at Masato all wide-eyed, as if he'd just figured out one 
of his secrets. "That's not true." 

He stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. "...Whatever you 
say, Yuuji." 

"I say you need to leave now." 

Masato chewed on his lip, then rubbed his palms along his thighs and 
stood up. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'm still on stakeout. And Naru 
will probably be coming back soon." 

"Naru?" 

"Oh, yeah, Naru. Or didn't you hear the latest?" asked Masato airily.  
"We're something of an item these days."   

Yuuji stared. "You're not..." 

"We are. But don't worry, kid, I think he'd drop me in an 
instant for you. Does that make you happy?" 

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't--" 

"Want him. Yeah, and isn't that just a bitch?" He laughed. "He still 
wants you, but you don't want him. In my opinion that makes you..." 
Masato paused, looked him over. 

"That makes me what?" 

In a blink, the older man leaned forward and kissed him, just grazing 
his lips with his own. 

"...A fool." 

He snaked his arm around Yuuji's waist and dragged him forward for 
another, deeper kiss. 

"That first was from me," he whispered. "That last was from Naru." 
Masato let the stunned man go with a little slap to one cheek, and 
then he left the apartmentwithout one backwards glance for Yuuji.  


***

For the second time in a long and winding drizzle of moments, Omi 
stroked his friend's hair away from his brow, and wondered just how 
old the boy was.  It looked now like he'd never find out.  He 
couldn't care anymore, not really.  Caring was the furthest thing 
from his mind, and curiosity not enough to hurt Naru anymore than 
he'd been hurt already. 

Beyond the unwilling door lay a small, shiny room with walls the color 
of dragonfly wings.  Lace curtains batted over the only window, 
letting the light from the street outside in, but nothing more 
certain.  All of the furniture was glass- one double shelf, one end 
table, and a peach lamp balanced on a cardboard box that had never 
been unpacked.  A few wine glasses, none of which matched, abided 
on one of the shelves, some bottles of oil on another, and below 
them a heap of Be-boy Golds.  One of the sheets from the bed lay on 
the floor, the other was half off the bed, which stood in the middle 
of the room, just noticeably out of alignment with the cushy, faded 
rose headboard.  

Scattered around, on the floor, the shelves, the bar for the drapes 
were little silver frames with sky blue backgrounds.  Each held a 
clear resin cabochon where there were frozen tiny, dry, white 
flowers.  There were dozens.  Omi could not recognize the flowers.

One even hung from the ceiling fan.

But then again, so did a length of white nylon rope with a noose at 
he end made of a flowered silk scarf.  

Suddenly, Naru, who had fallen whimpering into his arms, stood up, 
scowling and without no more tears running from his gleamy, pale eyes. 
"What in the name of all that's still holy on Antiterra are you still 
doing here?"

"I... you didn't seriously think I'd leave you all alone like this...  
Naru-han! Why didn't you come to me sooner if you were... so... blue?"  
Omi wasn't usually given to such euphemisms, but looking down in that 
bitter gaze, and what they seemed to mean... he just couldn't say it 
out right.

"Blue? Why, don't you know that's just the POINT! You can't get any 
bluer than that! At least I certainly don't think so... perhaps it 
depends on the context of..."

"I know." A groan, and Omi jerked his companion's head back onto his 
shoulder, running his hands idly through his dirty blond hair, and 
rubbing his back when he thought he might have pulled.  He felt
very grumpy in his arms, though.  Like hugging Aya might have felt.

Meanwhile, the noose and its loop danced back and forth, the shadow of 
it waxing and waning in the faint glow of the curtains.  It made Omi 
feel more than a little uneasy.

"Wait a moment! I believe we've a slight miscommunication regarding 
the contents of my boudoir.  You see, I mean blue as in... umm... 
morally reprehensible in a sexual fashion.  What are you using it for?"

"Umm... sad."

"No wonder you're so disconcerted!"  Blushing now, Naru leapt out of 
his arms, staggering backwards a few steps, for he reached for his hat 
rather than trying to straighten himself properly first.  "My dearest 
Omi! That is no implement of suicide! It's... how do you say...? An 
erotic aid... a sex toy! Yes, that's it."

Poleaxed, as a word, stood far removed from just how shocked the 
visitor to the youngest Crasher's flat looked at that moment; an even 
further cry from what he felt, which in comparison was really more 
like discovering Kritiker was in fact a posse of circus clowns who 
enjoyed golfing with Schwartz on the weekends, an activity which 
they engaged in while puttering about in undersized cars.  "What?"

His host nodded emphatically, and this time, lost his hat in 
earnest.  "Oh yes! You dear thing, I swear with all of my heart I 
didn't mean to terrify you so!" One baby-soft hand lit on his cheek 
then, and was very still.  "There, there.  It's nothing like that.  
You mean to tell me you've never heard of such a thing?"

"Thing?"

"I'm a scarfer.  That's why Yu-... my once beloved, tore out of my 
apartment before.  It's far too kinky for him, doing such things."

"Uh... I'm still back at scarf-..."

"I'm into autoerotic asphyxia.  I... like to strangle myself while
doing the thousand rubs." With a shake of his head, he reached up, 
unfastening the collar of his blouse and pulling it down against his 
shoulder until the crook of his neck was bared.  On the pale skin there 
still lingered traces of a bruise.  

Omi's fingers slipped towards it at first, and then sank back to his 
side, Naru's blush spreading to his cheeks as he watched the grim and 
satisfied smile that grew on his friend's tear wet lips.

"Umm... does the lover you have now know?"

"No, and I've no plans to tell him.  Please don't misunderstand me, or 
think it wounds me that you know.  This is not the ambrosia of lovers' 
secrets- no, it's more profound; the breath that may slip between 
friends, something not so fragile, and yet more so.  Even if I am 
mistaken, how am I tell this to he whom I spend my midnights with after 
he whom I wished to spend my midnights with has left me over it?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything.  This is nothing of yours, and I don't expect 
it to be."

So he didn't, and after some time, as the CD slipped onto yet another 
song, water ran from the two beer bottles they'd left and the mice 
danced just outside the door.  They both sat down on the bed, swinging 
their feet and trying not to look at one another.  

It didn't seem to the visitor that any time passed on the face of the 
mother-of-pearl clock that lay supine on the floor, and it occurred to 
him eventually it had stopped long before he ever set foot in the 
room.  Omi put his arm around the other boy's waist.  "I'm still 
kinda worried about you."

"You flatter me." If he would have been holding a fan, he would have 
turned away into it.  

"No I don't!" Omi soothed. "I haven't said anything nice about you 
since we met."

His companion only soothed back. "I'm quite aware of the fact this 
delight of mine is quite aberrant.  But then I look at it this way: I'm 
a mostly-broke, semi-employed, sometimes drunk holed up in a slapdash 
flat on Tokyo." Almost chuckling, he waved to the window, the curtains 
did not part for the sake of his speech.  "What of Normal, if any, is 
that? Who's to say all the salary men, the housewives, the children and 
the monks passing through, are?  Who decided what they were had to be 
this Normal thing?"

"No one, I guess," Omi shrugged, and shortly felt lips close to his 
ear. 

"If I throw myself into someone else's arms, it's no more and no less 
dangerous than this."

"That's true."

"I don't care anymore.  I wouldn't live here any longer if I did.  Why 
should anyone else care if they don't bother to think over any of this 
themselves?"

"Well... I never did, not like that."

"Oh, do shut up, I wasn't talking about you." Naru struck him on the 
back with a hollow thump, and his palm stayed where it had fallen along 
Omi's spine.  

The other boy said to him, sighing through his teeth, "It worries me, 
and that means I care.  That's all."

"Worried? Why would you worry?"

"Well, what if you pull too hard?"

"I die happy."

Once more silence, but it lasted only as long as the sheets on the bed 
had nothing more to say.  Omi got to his feet and turned to his friend, 
stooping just low enough so they were eye to eye.  Gravity alone 
brought their lips together.  Nothing else of them touched, and it 
meant nothing of such usual caresses.  "That's a good way to go then, 
and I mean that, but... couldn't you... do it with someone else here? 
Just wondering."

Naru threw back his head and looked as if he might laugh.  He didn't, 
didn't even breathe.  "Oh, and who am I supposed to ask THAT of? It 
isn't like walking into a bar and entreating for the sake of a little 
credit, or finding some preposterous excuse to turn in one's papers 
late, even if I have done both things recently enough! It's..."

The other boy jiggled his shouldered back and forth and earned himself 
a suspicious simper.  

"Are you asking me for *something* here, oh member of my karass?"

"I am." he admitted with a nod. "Let me help.  Just for tonight."

"BAH! Haven't you got a lover already?"

"Haven't you?"

They met in mid-air like Naru fancied angels might, though he knew 
nothing of angels except that they flew on church windows, and he had 
never seen two embracing lips as they did then.  His guest drew off his 
shirt, casting it aside as he crawled onto his lap, and rubbed against 
him with his wet, crystal blue hair, sighing gently now and then as 
their budding erections met tip to tip through Naru's trousers.  Omi 
cradled his companion, and together they fell back against the 
mattress.

Neither one stayed atop the other for too long, and the sheets whined a 
little beneath them.

"Oh, Ada's tears but you are better than a Beboy!"

"I sure hope so!" As he bent to suck upon Naru's neck, the bruises and 
the pristine skin.  It flashed in the young Crasher's mind he ought to 
return the favor, somehow, some way.  Stars fell and the lights on the 
horizon of glass towers blotted them out, but he made sure nothing 
could hide the feel of his palm running up and down his friend's 
thighs, and inside the back of his jeans where there was nothing 
underneath but warm, silky flesh that still smelled of water, if there 
was indeed such a scent.

For awhile, with their bodies grinding each other into the mattress, he 
believed there was, that there were angels, and things above the stars.   

Hot and aching both, they drew apart.  It had been longer than either 
guessed.

If I have weaknesses
Stronger than bind me now
Summer sky stars are falling
All along the injured coast

It had started again, the music from the first of the evening, and with 
one very well aimed shoe on Omi's part, it continued until they had 
finished, for the main unit of the stereo was perched not far inside 
the bedroom door.

Naru was never again so glad of it being there.  Naked now, he guided 
Omi's hands to where he wanted them; not on the end of the rope he so 
often held himself, but about his throat.

"Are you sure?"

"Please, make me sure."

To prove that I love you
Because I believe in you
Summer sky stars are falling
All along the injured coast

Omi fought for his breath and the memory he would not be an 
assassin come the dawn, even if he needed some of those moments in his 
life to come back to him as he took his companion's neck between his 
hands.  It didn't feel like someone's breath and body there, mostly 
because the breath grew faint in his hands.  Naru gasped, or tried to.  
His eyes closed and his lips parted as if they wanted kisses, so he 
kissed them, and squeezed as hard as he dared against his throat.  The 
muscles fought, but he got no struggle, just a purring stillness.

Now and then fair hands stroking Naru to climax brushed against him, 
and he felt joy where he could not hear it, could sense nothing else 
but the gasps that could not find themselves.  

Naru threw himself into Omi's hands when he came, one faint sound of 
strangled ecstasy leaving him.  Shrill as a bird, soft as feathers, 
gone as a sparrow melting into the clouds.  

If I had money
If I had children
Summer sky stars are falling
All along the injured coast

He tried to move his hands from around his neck, but he couldn't.  
It was he who had gone into kind of wonder- knowing his mind as he 
watched that orgasm play out on his friend's expression.  The cummy 
fingers pulled his own away, and serenity there overtook the pangs of 
climax.  Naru looked more the blushing, all-loving idol now, with coral 
around his ivory throat.

"Thank you."

With no question then, he took a deep breath and drew Omi's cock into 
his lips, down into his wounded throat.  It drew a cry from him, but no 
more.  Naru had the softest lips.

"You... you didn't have to... But that's the story of my life.  People 
think they need to help me, and they know they'd be better off if they 
didn't.  They do, and then they walk away.  I remember them all you 
know.  I remember..."

Summer sky stars are falling
All along the injured coast

*****