[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

The Yamanote line was probably the most famous subway line in Tokyo. It ran around the heart of the megalopolis in a distorted, oblong circle. Well, heart--Tokyo had multiple hearts, each of them beating with a different rhythm. However, the Yamanote line embraced the most notorious places and buildings of Tokyo, which might be viewed as drawing a heart of sorts. Once you stepped into one of the coaches, you could stay there for a whole day without ever stopping.

Running around in circle.

Drowning in the overwhelming noise of the train's engine and brakes, and that of the steel wheels grating against the rails.

Sinking into the droning words of the announcer telling station names like beads and reminding the passengers to mind the security rules.

Losing yourself in the rising and ebbing waves of people filling and then emptying the coaches--in the buzz of their many voices.

Unhooking yourself from the thread of Time--for a while.

So I did. I stepped into a coach, I sat down and leaned my head back against one of the windows. On the other side of the glass, Time streamed past in a blur, tied to the parks, the streets, the highways, the houses and buildings, and the monuments that shaped the world outside. Relentless as the wind, they kept rattling at the window, stubborn and insisting, until you remembered they couldn't be avoided forever.

All the companies I had stolen from had withdrawn their complains, as well as the man I had nearly killed--even him. It seemed to be real, to be true despite the insanity of such a turn of events. It couldn't be Benedict, there was no way Greenpeace wielded that kind of influence and power. It couldn't be the work of my father either, no matter that he was a famous, talented lawyer back in France.

Besides, nobody had been warned of my arrest, unless the media had somehow gotten wind of it. With a snort, I chased those useless conjectures away. I had been released, and I supposed it meant that I could come and go as I pleased, and get on with my life. On instinct, I tensed when a brusque, jarring motion of the train made me sway to the left. Around me, all the other passengers did the same and most of them only partly succeeded, swaying like a forest of reeds assaulted by a sudden rain storm. Somehow, I had been spared a trial and many years in prison, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be consequences to face.

Repercussions to accept.

I had a good idea what they would be and, insignificant though they might be compared to the devastating, destructive experience of prison life, I found I felt like the ground was opening beneath my feet at the thought of them. And so I sat in the coach of a train running along the Yamanote line. I sat, and wished that my thoughts would be swept away, along with the places the train left behind as it sliced its way through Tokyo.

But it kept coming back.

They kept coming back.

The Yamanote line was a circle, however mangled and misshapen. There was no escape. None. Eventually I stood up from my seat. Then I stepped through the the coach packed with people, to reach the door just when the driver announced we were coming into Ueno station.

My mind empty, I exited the train and walked out of the great subway station. Green greeted me outside--deep, vivid green, all around me.

Reassuring.

Peaceful.

I entered Ueno park behind a group of tourists, and followed them when they turned to the right and went toward the pagoda. The shortest route for me would have been to veer left and go parallel to the Keisei line, until I reached the path that crossed Shinobazu pond and led through a grove of beautiful sakura trees before that, but I stayed away from it. When I turned left, the pagoda was swarming with chirping and photographing gaijin--an amusing reversal of the universal cliche of Japanese tourists abroad.

I felt a smile tug at my lips.

Digital cameras should be banned from the face of the earth, betrayers of the true image the eye captured as they were. Enhancers and correctors of perception as they were--cheats and liars that tainted the memories of places and people with their unrealistic, absurd perfection. There was no more need to carefully select a spot or to gauge the intensity of the light--no more need to feel the picture you wanted to make, no more mystery or surprise at discovering whether the result would match the vision you had held in your mind in the moment of taking it. Digital cameras allowed you to carelessly trash failed attempts and try again, as many times as you wanted. They took all the magic out of taking pictures, and on top of it all they led people to believe they were great photographers or journalists who just had to shoot more or less anything they walked by.

Besides, watching pictures on a CD through a TV screen was ugly and dull.

Lifeless, when compared to photo albums and all the carefully written notes set next to each photo.

A gentle breeze flew past me, carrying my idle thoughts away with it. I was now safely past the level of the sakura grove, and past yielding to a crazy impulse to stop there and wait for the night. Smirking at my own stupidity, I traversed Shinobazu pond in brisk strides, and managed to cross over Shinobazu avenue without getting myself run down by a car. Then I stopped.

Before me was standing the Ikenohara gate, and beyond it the Hongo university campus. During long minutes, I stared at it, my left hand clasping right forearm, then at last I stepped under it. It was the shortest way, that was why I was using it--not because a part of me desperately wished to run into Sho or Shinju, to hear friendly voices and feel less alone than I did right now.

Idiocy.

I broke into a jog, biting my lower lip. Selfish was what I was, so self-centered that I could envision burdening Sho and Shinju with my presence and abuse a friendship I knew I didn't deserve. Fortunately I didn't meet with anyone I knew on my way. It was the second half of August, and only a few students were walking down the beautiful alley of gingkos--those who had deadlines and works due for the beginning of September when the Summer holidays would end.

Once I left the university grounds through the Akamon gate, it was only a ten minutes walk to the international lodges' building where I had a room. When I reached the spot, the sun wasn't yet at its zenith, and the streets were rather quiet: there was still a bit of time before lunch break. As I stepped under the building's porch, I realized I mustn't have spent more than two hours in the train of the Yamanote line. I should have stayed there longer. I should have remained hidden there longer.

It was too late now.

Denying the cold spreading in my chest and constricting it, making it difficult to breathe, I went to the wall of mail boxes set in the building's entrance. It was hard to do so, to simply walk to where I knew my mail box was, to go through a thing as small and unimportant as that--much harder than it had been to go up the stairs leading to the police headquarters.

Perhaps it was because there had been some kind of ludicrous glory in going there to nobly surrender myself to the authorities. Perhaps it was because something deep inside me had managed to cling to the delusion that it couldn't be real. Here, it wasn't possible to entertain such illusions. Here was real, as down to earth as you could get.

Reaching out with the left hand, I gave a light tap on the neatly typed label set upon my mail box with the tip of my forefinger. The name read "Pilar Cardoso."

It was as nice an eviction notice as any.

I pivoted away from the mail bow that was no longer mine, and went in slow, reluctant steps to the door of Takaba Natsume's little apartment on the building's ground floor. Once there, I stared at her door for a while, contemplating turning my back on this place and walking away just like that--abandoning everything and simply disappearing in the maze of Tokyo's streets.

Vanishing.

At last, I heaved out a sigh, and rang the door bell. Leaving everything and starting the life of a beggar, wandering without aim and pleading with people for coins in the darker areas of the subway stations--well, it was perhaps a romantic notion for rebellious teenagers, but not for me. It took a rather long moment for someone to answer, which wasn't surprising given the time of day. Most of the building's residents were students or researchers, and they'd be away, either at work or having fun in livelier places than this one. Eventually the door creaked open, ever so slightly, and the wrinkled face of Takaba Natsume appeared above the safety chain she had of course not unlocked.

"Ah!" She recoiled, even as the startled cry left her lips.

So, the media must have talked about me, then. "I'm not on the run, Takaba-san," I smiled, "or out to steal anything from you, or threaten you in any way."

The old manager of the building peered at me from the relative safety of her corridor, and sniffed. "I know. They said you'd be released today in the morning news." From the way she had pursed her lips, I could tell she didn't think it was a wise thing to have done. "Wait here!" she spat, and then she went back inside her studio.

Head bowed, I tried to stifle the laughter bubbling up my throat, and didn't quite manage it. It figured. She was one of those self-righteous persons who enjoyed no sport like the one which consisted in gossiping and speaking ill of anyone who didn't match her rigid set of values. The old woman wasn't fond of gaijin, and seemed to believe that the building's rooms should be reserved for Japanese students, never mind this being a place set aside for international lodges. In this case though, I could hardly fault her for the icy welcome.

"Here." I blinked. Takaba Natsume had come back and was holding out an envelope and a key. "Inoguchi-sensei came two days ago, and he arranged to have your belongings moved. He left this for you. Now," she snorted, "why such a nice young man would inconvenience himself for the likes of you is beyond me. I'd have had your stuff dumped or given to charity, if I had had my way, but never mind. Fortunately they had someone on a waiting list," she muttered, "or they might even have let you stay until the end of the month."

With a faint sigh, I took the proffered key and envelope, and she started to close the door. "Oh," she paused, "no need to give back your room key. The lock has been changed. Luckily your caution money was just enough to cover for the expenses." Yellow, mismatched teeth flashed at me in the grotesque imitation of a smile, then she banged her door shut.

There was no point in staring at that door, it wouldn't open again until I was gone, and nobody would come and tell me it had all been a bad joke. Reality had reasserted itself, as I had known it would. Pocketing the key, I turned and strode away, opening the envelop and scanning the contents of the letter inside it as I walked. It was from Sho.

Na-kun,

Sho.

There was a slight noise when the fingers of my left hand crumpled the small sheet of paper. It was nothing other than what I had expected--shit, it was even better than what I had thought possible.

Benedict had moved. That fool had used the name of Greenpeace, he had tainted it, tying it with me as he had most likely done.

Damn it!

Reality had reasserted itself. Indeed. Spitting out air from my lungs, I walked in brisk strides toward Okachimachi station.

This time, I didn't take the Yamanote line. Instead, I went from station to station, switching lanes as if I was out to establish a record of some kind. I needed to think, and the subway seemed a place as good as any to do that--a better place, and certainly cheaper than sitting down in a tea room or a cafe. So I sat, and stood whenever coaches were too crowded, and I watched the tides of people wax and wane without really seeing them.

I had left the Sumeragi mansion to face consequences.

Well, they had readily presented themselves before me. Even though I wasn't officially a criminal, the Japanese society viewed me as one, with good reason, and repercussions had followed--as logical as dominos falling one upon the next and starting an endless landslide.

I would lose my job at the UNU, and the freak wave project would die.

All of this for insane notions like saving the world with my own hands.

All of this to allow me to play Phantom Thief and believe myself above the rest of humanity.

The freak wave project was real. It was a true challenge, one that could be won. With it, it was possible to help people, to make their work on sea platforms safer, to make sea travel safer. With its results, it would have been possible to save lives.

To do something real.

Something true, something that would be useful and would help, however small that help might be.

It was a job I could have carried out, my job, and I had thrown it all away for a doomed illusion--for a project that could never have led anywhere, a project I had never given thought beyond devising what my next target should be. Sugarcoating the whole mess only made it worse. I had failed in everything, and there would be no making amends, no making things right again.

Even if by some extraordinary stroke of luck the UNO administration didn't fire me, by the time it made its final decision, I'd be half a world away from Japan.

Expelled, if I didn't leave the country on my own.

Now that I had no more lodging and that my name had become famous, there was no way my request with the Immigration Office for an extension of my stay would be accepted. They'd be all too happy to send me back to France, and good riddance. The UNU might find someone to replace me, or even give Benedict the position of head of research on the forecasting project, but that would mean delays. That would mean my replacement would have to lose valuable time studying my work and getting familiar with it before resuming it--or starting over from scratch. It would kill the whole project: there was nowhere near enough funding to support that kind of setback.

And there was no way the big consortiums would consent giving more money, not after finding out about the wretched Phantom Thief.

People in the coach stole startled glances my way when muffled laughter burst from men, dissonant. Small, mundane consequences, so much more insignificant than dark assassins, curses running in ancient families' blood, or horse-like creatures of fire. Small, and yet somehow harsher.

More painful.

Inescapable.

I was lost, hopelessly lost, no matter how I turned the matter to analyze it from another angle. Woodenly I stood up when the driver's mangled voice announced we had reached Shinjuku station, then I existed the coach. I didn't want to return to France. Olivier Ayné would take me in, he would help me rebuild my life, I knew that. He was my father, and he loved me. He'd judge me, it was the human thing to do, but then he'd help me. I didn't want that.

I wanted to stay in Japan, to keep working on the freak wave project and finish my forecasting model.

I wanted to stay here.

Here.

Where my roots were.

That brutal realization was sharp as a knife's blade, even more painful because I knew it came too late.

Too late.

I wiped the useless thoughts from my mind. The self-pity was more reluctant to obey and leave me alone. Wallowing in it helped throw a thick blanket over my brain, futile though it was. Biting my lower lip, I left the tracks and went in search of the left-luggage locker Sho had stored some of my stuff into. Despite the checkroom turning out to be a huge hall full of several thousands of them, mine wasn't hard to find. I bent down, fumbling for the key I had tucked in the left pocket of my jeans, and a hand pushed upon the front of my locker, even as I started opening it.

"Well, you sure took your time coming here." I stumbled when the sounds of that voice reached my ears, and when the clear echo of the laughter spilling from it splashed over me.

Sumeragi Shuusuke was standing next to me, a wide grin splitting his face. I stared at him while my heart did a brutal, painful lurch in my chest. I stared at him until the ache in my left hand, busy desperately gripping the locker's handle so I wouldn't fall to the floor, grew enough to break the spell. With a grimace, I straightened, then faced him again. "I didn't take the shortest road," I heard myself say.

Absurd.

Ridiculous.

He couldn't be here. This was even more impossible than running into him in Kabukicho. "You--"I shook my head, "you're madder than I am! What are you doing here?" I managed not to shout.

"Waiting for you," he gave a slight shrug, "isn't that obvious?"

No--yes. He must have talked to Sho, even thought I had no idea how. There was neither phone, nor computer in his pavilion. "How did you know to find me here?"

That earned me another shrug, then all of a sudden he reached out to me and closed a hand over my right wrist, careful of the bandages. "Leave that here," he nodded toward the locker, "and come." There was no time to ask him where, or anything else. At once he pulled at me, and dived into the waves of people, dragging me along with him.

Left turn.

Back toward the tracks.

I froze in my steps, and he looked back at me. "What?" Impatience flared in his gaze.

"That way leads to the tracks," I told him, babbling, struggling to understand what was going on, and how he had again managed to shift reality aside, "not to the parking lot."

He cocked his head to the side, as if I had just said something particularly absurd, then he chuckled. "I took the trains to come here. The limousine is used only when I feel like wandering around Kabukicho or finding some not so cheap fun there."

Oblivious to the crowd streaming around us, I watched the flames of mirth dancing in the hazel eyes. It had been chance, then. Chance that I had met him in the red lights district that night. "Where do you go, when you're of a mind to?" It was my voice which uttered that stupid question.

Presumptuous.

Incredibly foolish--or hoping to be scorned and left in Shinjuku station to rot.

Hoping to make him go away, to make the deep pain his presence kindled go away.

"The same places you do," he replied quietly.

I wrenched my gaze from his, and dragged in a shaking breath. The thing burning in my eyes was dust, not tears--most certainly not tears. "I wish--" my voice broke, and I bit my tongue hard. The pain constricting my throat was unbearable. "If only," a trembling smile twisted the corners of my mouth, "I had met you there...." my useless words were swallowed by the crowd's droning noise.

If only I had met him.

Before.

Before I--

"No." The gentle word was accompanied by a squeeze on my wrist. "Kabukicho is a place to smother one's loneliness for a little while, a few hours. No more, and no less." Unable to help myself, I looked up at him. He was smiling.

A beautiful, wistful smile.

"Now," he gave me a nod, "let's go." I followed after him; it was impossible to do otherwise with the crowd pressing against us from all sides.

The track he led me to was almost empty. It might be that lunch break was over, or simply that this was one of the smaller lines. I didn't think to check its name, I didn't think about anything at all. When a train came into the station and stopped, we entered a coach almost as deserted as the track had been. Still, Shuusuke didn't sit down, but stepped over to the far corner of the coach and stood there, lifting up a hand to grasp one of the steadying handles dangling from the steel bar above our heads. In silence, I imitated him.

"Why such darkness in your gaze?" he asked when the train moved away from Shinjuku station.

I smiled at the fleeing buildings, and countered, "Why did you come?" there was no answer, but I hadn't expected one this time. "You shouldn't have," I told him, my voice toneless. Better to say it, better that he understood, and went away. "I'm leaving." I drew in a breath. "Leaving Japan." Once he was gone, the cursed pain might lessen, might stop hammering at my heart--in time. "I left your house to face the consequences of my actions, and even though I was somehow spared the hardest among them--" I shook my head, focusing on the damn smile which wanted to start trembling again, "well, there was no escaping them all. I was expelled from the room I used to live in, which in itself is unimportant enough. I'm suspended from the project I was working on, again a small thing. I could fight to regain the job. I'm the best they can get. I could try and look for another room."

I blinked back the wavering light in my gaze I could see reflected in the window before me, and chortled. "Shit, I wish you hadn't come. It hurts too much." There was nothing to be glimpsed in his steady gaze. "I know, now," I heaved out a sigh, and bowed my head. "I understand what you said about being unable to change the world, and," I chuckled, "I understand that, in spite of everything, we can do something. Small things, insignificant things to help that are less than a drop in the ocean, but--" my voice faltered, but I made myself continue, "things which give our lives a meaning. And I know," with an effort of will, I lifted up my head and looked back at him, "that what I can do is finish the forecasting model I started for the freak wave project. It 's a tiny thing compared to the sufferings of the world, but it's what I can do. And also," I sustained the unfathomable light in his eyes, "I know in my heart and in my bones that I must stay here. That Japan is essential to me, that you--" I stopped the words just in time, changing them into a snort. "And I know it's impossible. You see," I told him, "without a place of residence and without the backing of the UNU, my request for an extension of my stay will be denied by the Japanese authorities. My visa will be cancelled, most likely by the end of the month."

Then I'd be kindly requested to leave.

I might even be escorted to Narita airport, all the way to a plane bound for France.

"If that's all there is to it," Shuusuke said with an almost inaudible sigh, "that matter can easily be fixed."

I gaped at him.

There was no way he could mean that--understand what it took to get the Immigration Office to agree to allow a foreigner to stay and work in Japan, and the power as well as the influence-- "You!" I gasped, "It was--"

"Didn't the police tell you you had friends in high places?" There was no mistaking the gentle laughter lighting his eyes. Abruptly my vision blurred, and I looked away. "If you have thought the matter over," he added softly, "if that's what you feel you must do, what you want to do, then stay."

The driver's voice cut through the silence that followed his words, announcing the next station, and in the same time the train braked. Hard. I tried to brace myself, but I couldn't prevent my right hand from crashing into the metallic pole next to me. Pain exploded in my palm, flaring up my arm and my shoulder, and I staggered.

Arms came around me, steadying me and embracing me in the same time. "Stay," he whispered in my ear. For the time of a heartbeat, I leaned into his embrace, then I started to push him away. Never mind that he couldn't have said the word I had just heard, people would stare and frown and mutter at the unseemly sight of two men holding each other in a subway coach. "Stupid half-blood fool," he said in a low growl, but he released me. The light brown eyes were murky.

"Once the train leaves this station," he added in a quiet, quiet voice, "it goes express until it reaches the Saitama prefecture. This is your last opportunity to step down and run from me."

I wanted to reach out to him and touch his cheek, but I wasn't him. I couldn't do such a thing in the presence of strangers. So instead, I clasped his hand in mine, and intertwined my fingers with his, as he had done once before. He didn't say anything. He just stared at our two hands until the coach's doors slid closed and the train's engines started pulling it out of the station.

Then a slow smile crept up his lips.

We walked all the way from the train station to the Sumeragi mansion. The afternoon sun's warmth was a gentle one, a relief after the stuffy-hot rain season. Mostly we kept silent, but it was a peaceful kind of silence, a good one. We met few people on the road, but they all bowed at Shuusuke, offering greetings and smiles.

True smiles, not the mask you force yourself to wear because you owe it to someone of higher status.

None of them so much as blinked when they saw me next to him, not even when his right arm would hook around my left while he pointed toward some detail in the landscape he thought worth noticing--a funnily shaped cloud, or the distant sparkle of a stream cascading down one of the neighboring hills. "They're tolerant people, and kind too." Shuusuke chuckled after I remarked on the absence of stares and frowns, and muttered words at our backs. "They're used to my antics, and most of all," he added with a smile of his own, "they have an uncanny talent for feeling it when what their eyes show them is true.

True.

Yes, it was, and crazy, and as unlikely as lightning striking twice in the same place. Almost, I could believe I had found myself, found a place where I belonged--almost. Drawing in a breath, I stopped as we came into view of the mansion's main gate.

"Can this be?" I asked Shuusuke in a voice as calm and detached as I could muster. "You're part of an old, traditionalist family. A clan, that your sister leads. Is it possible? Am I--"

"Anything is possible," he cut me off softly, "and besides, have you already forgotten that I am insane?" Laughter glowed in his eyes. "My beloved family knows better. They know to leave me alone and avert their gaze so as to ignore my unseemly whims."

"Whims." I stared at him. "Is that what I am?"

For the time of a heartbeat, he stared back at me, then he grinned. "Yes. A beautiful," he reached out to me and stroked my hair, adding in a whisper, "precious whim, one which will hold me ensnared through quite a few lifetimes, I fear."

In a brisk movement, I bowed my head. It seemed so easy, so simple. In just a few words, he had committed himself, as if it was a casual, natural thing to do. "All right," I sucked in a breath, then I nodded at him. "Let's go in, then."

Just as we passed under the gate, the old household servant, Takashi, opened the main doors wide to let us in. "Thanks, Takashi," Shuusuke beamed at him, to which the old man replied with a bow that lasted long enough to include me as well. If he was surprised to see me again, dragged into the mansion by his master, he hid it well.

"Shuusuke-sama, your sister wishes--" he began, but we were already past him, and Shuusuke wasn't listening. His gaze was set on something before us.

Intent.

A slight, rapid shuffle of feet interrupted the old servant, and abruptly Shuusuke pulled me close, his left arm around my waist. "Brace," he murmured.

I had no time to wonder what he meant. Sumeragi Ran appeared at the other end of the corridor, and she came toward us in brisk strides. "Shuusuke!" There was no mistaking the irritation bristling in her voice as she added, "We're not done, you and I, on the matter of your abusing our name to--" She came to a sudden halt when she spotted me. Her dark eyes darted toward Shuusuke's hand on my waist, then she looked at him. "So, that's what you ran off doing," she mused, her voice neutral.

"Yes, onee-sama," he gave her a deep bow, and the forced demurred tone of his words sparked laughter within me, which I fortunately managed to stifle. The scowl on Sumeragi Ran's brow left little doubt as to how amusing she was finding her brother's game. "I got us the last in the Ichinomiya line." Shuusuke had sobered up, and he was confronting the cold light in his sister's eyes. Calm. Composed. "He'll be a fine addition to the clan, and besides," he added in a deceptively gentle whisper, "I could do much worse."

During a long, awkward moment, she just watched him.

Motionless.

Silent.

Then she exhaled a shaking sigh. "Yes," a trembling smile hovered on her lips, "I guess you could." There was grief in her voice, and in the shadow that darkened her gaze.

"I'm not Subaru," Shuusuke told her with infinite gentleness in his voice, "I don't let myself be bound by bets or promises I neither made, nor understood. And I never allowed myself to be deceived."

The set of Sumeragi Ran's shoulders was so rigid that it must hurt, but not as bad as the pain that had drowned the light in her eyes, and had frozen her expression into a mask. It wasn't the first time that name was uttered, and the sound of it meant sorrow for them. Now wasn't the time for me to ask what it was about. Perhaps I never would. Some wounds were better left alone, when nothing could make them heal.

"All right," she nodded at last, and the mask lifted from her face. "You're welcome in this house, Ichinomiya-san." I started, and something like a smile flicked her lips. "Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

It was, in part. I gave her a bow. "Thank you," I made myself say. "I'll try my best not to be an extra-load of work on your shoulders anymore."

She laughed at that. "No danger of that. The curse on your line is gone for good. As to your untamed talent," she threw a glance at the bracelet of beads in my left wrist, then looked at her brother. "He cannot be taught," she said, not unkindly, "but he needs not be sealed in this house. Perhaps in time he can achieve just enough control to insure it doesn't come over him and cause chaos and annoyance with the elders."

Beside me, Shuusuke blinked. Then he bowed. A deep, deep bow. "Thank you, onee-sama."

"Yes, well," she waved us away, the tartness in her words belied by the smile on her face, "begone now. I have way more important things to do today than waste time with selfish whims." With that, she stepped past us and disappeared into another corridor.

"She likes you," Shuusuke snickered. "The elders will be pissed, and most cross with her for giving us her blessing."

"If you say so," I shrugged, unable to refrain from smiling at the sight of the childish amusement lighting his hazel eyes.

"I say so," he nodded, and drew me out of the main house.

Crossing through the wall of morning dew that set his domain apart from the rest of the world was like being washed in impossibly pure waters. A myriad bells chimed, like musical laughter coursing through my being. The insubstantial wall drew me in and embraced me. It cloaked my heart with gentle light, and then released me. On the other side, a koi jumped up in the air, as if the insufferable fish had been waiting for us, and had wanted to remind us that it was the center of the universe--it, and certainly not us lowly human beings.

When we reached the pavilion he used as a house, I sat on the edge of the terrace, and looked out at the gardens.

I drank in the incredibly vivid feeling of the air around me.

I could exist in this magical realm balanced upon the edge of the world. I could exist in this domain of an eerie Faerie lord--who had presently entered the small wooden house and seemed to be busy rummaging through cupboards by the noise he was making. There was no need to tear myself away from this, no need for me to leave and never come back. It was true.

True.

"Shuusuke," I called, and at once I heard the sounds of his steps on the terrace as he came to stand beside me. There remained just one thing to do. A small, insignificant thing. And yet, there was cold, absurd, clawing at my heart at the thought of it. "Hold me," I murmured in a not altogether steady voice.

Wordlessly he knelt behind me, and his arms wrapped around my chest, bringing me against him. I could feel the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, I could feel his warm breath caressing my neck. I could feel him, as sharply as the wondrous gardens around us.

I could feel the light of him, strong and steady.

He had never asked.

He wouldn't ask, even now.

Because he wouldn't, I told him. "Raphael." The three syllables rose in the air, and faded into silence.

Shuusuke was kneeling very still behind me.

"Raphael," I blinked, and felt my shoulders quiver at the sound of his voice calling my name. "I love you," he breathed, kissing my hair. Twisting around so I could face him, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

A soft, gentle kiss, as heady and sweet as Muscat.

"And I love you," I whispered when I broke the kiss. I touched my brow to his. "More than anything," I closed my eyes, "more--" I bit my lower lip, but the tears spilled from my eyes anyway, unstoppable. He held me tight, so tight I could barely breathe through the muted sobs crowding my throat, but that was all right.

Once the sobs subsided, he made me look at him, and kissed away my tears.

Tender.

So tender my heart ached, and I wished Time would freeze now.

"No way!" he chuckled all of a sudden, as if in answer to my thoughts. Gently pushing me back, he considered me in silence for a moment, then he snorted. "Okay, I think we've given romanticism its due. It's high time we started acting like sex-craving adolescents, don't you think?" His eyes were sparkling with an odd mixture of mirth and hunger.

Laughter escaped me, unbidden and mixed with hiccups. "What?" I gestured toward the ponds behind me. "And send the wretched fishes gossiping?"

"Don't worry," he flashed a most innocent smile my way. "It's been years since Ran-neesama stopped talking to them."

I gawked at him. "You--" I couldn't go on. He kissed me full on the mouth, and Time flickered around us, pulled away from its course as if it couldn't help but yield to the fierce, yet gentle tug of his fingers entangled in the knotted locks of my hair. The tingling in my blood was stronger than an adrenaline rush. It sent my heart racing in a mad horse's gallop, and that felt good, so good the sensation threatened to drown the waning echo of his ludicrous words concerning his sister and the lazy koi living in the pond behind us--he meant that. He had truly meant that. The fishes-- I gasped for air when he released me, then I grumbled, catching the light in his gaze, "Not the grass."

"Spoiled, capricious Ichinomiya bastard," he growled softly. "All right." With that, he bore me up in his arms as easily as if I were some kind of quilt, and brought me inside the pavilion.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I asked through the bubbles of laughter bursting inside me.

He heaved out a long, suffering sigh. "The obvious." For the time of a heartbeat he paused, his lips pursed. "You're heavier than you look." Flames of mischief were glowing in his eyes. That didn't even deserve a snort, so I closed my arms around his neck, straightened and nipped at the tender skin just beneath the line of his jaw.

A true cliche ending if there ever was one, but then it was fitting. After all, he had to be the closest thing to a fairy tale prince you could find in this world. "I love you," I whispered in his ear, because it was true.

And because you could always make a bad cliche worse.

"I heard you fine the first time." Warmth and mockery were warring in his tone. The hazel eyes were set on me with very badly feigned annoyance.

"Yeah, well." On impulse, I pulled at him with all my weight, and we both collapsed to the floor in a heap.

And, well, if he couldn't magick the futon under us, the floor would do. It was still better than itching grass and gossiping fishes.

End.

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