Um, Seishirou might seem OOC in this part. But because it's late and I'm tired and it's my Seishirou, I really don't care. So um, thingy.
Chapter Fifteen
In times of crisis, Seishirou made tea. He wasn’t quite sure why he did this. His mother had never put particularly great stock in tea. Then again, Setsuka hadn’t exactly put great stock in comforting to begin with. Seishirou was not about to start treating Seimei the way his mother had treated him, so he was going to do his best to comfort the kid and probably fail miserably.
No, he’d probably picked up the habit of making tea from Hokuto. She’d always seemed to want tea ready for whenever Subaru came back from a job that she anticipated was going to be overly dangerous or trying on his nerves. It did seem to soothe him, so Seishirou had accepted the habit.
Damn it. He hadn’t meant to start thinking about Subaru. He really had enough problems at the moment, without thinking about him. He had to make sure Seimei was okay.
Seishirou had never really denied, inwardly, that he cared about Seimei. He just didn’t want Seimei to realize it, for reasons that all made perfect sense in his head and he knew would sound stupid if he tried to explain. Seimei was going to have to kill him someday, for one thing. Anyway, he’d never been a particularly good father and had always had the opinion that Seimei would hate him, even before he’d ever met the boy.
His original plan, which he’d discussed with Misako, had been to take the child and raise it as his own. Raise it to be the cold-blooded killer it was meant to be. Then Seimei had been born, and Seishirou had picked him up and looked into his honey brown eyes, and thought about just how much Seimei looked like him.
It was in that moment, as his blood ran slightly chill, that he realized if he raised Seimei, Seimei would probably turn out just like him. And as far as he was concerned, the world didn’t need another Sakurazuka Seishirou. Seimei deserved better than that, anyway. So he’d changed his mind, given the baby to Misako, sent her large checks every month, and ignored the fact that he’d had a son at all.
He’d meant to leave Seimei alone -- he really had -- but the loneliness had gotten to him, and a few tart letters from his grandmother reminding him that he really did need an heir hadn’t helped. Those letters were the only contact he’d ever had from the rest of his family; he remained well-hidden from them, just as Setsuka had. She had told him, when he was younger, about how they had thrown her out of the Clan and then mercilessly tried to hunt her down. With the Tree backing her up, she had managed to prevail, but only barely. Seishirou had not felt it necessary to reconcile with them.
He shook himself as the tea kettle started to whistle. The jolt back to reality made him frown as he realized how much time had gone past. He glanced at the clock and was assured that his mental clock wasn’t off; they’d been home for nearly an hour. That meant Seimei had been in the shower for almost as long. He had disappeared into the bathroom muttering something about germs as soon as they’d arrived.
Seishirou hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. On the one hand, he didn’t want to upset Seimei and possibly make him feel worse than he already did. On the other, he was fairly sure that Seimei had scrubbed his skin off by this point. He settled for knocking on the door, then cracking it open. “Sei-kun? Are you okay in there?”
Seimei was, in fact, huddled on the floor of the shower, having his hysterical crying jag in private. It wasn’t so much that he was ashamed of it, as that he wanted to hide it from Seishirou. “I’m fine,” he said, in a hicuppy crying voice, trying to sound as normal as he could and failing miserably. “I’ll be out soon.”
Seishirou again hesitated. “Sei-kun, you’ve been in there an hour. You need to come out, okay? I’ll make you some tea.”
“I’m sorry.” Seimei hauled himself to his feet. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He turned off the shower to prove his point, leaning against the wall and trying not to be upset. “It’s okay, I’ll make the tea when I get out.”
“No, I’ll make the tea,” Seishirou said. On this point he was firm. “And there’s nothing you need to be sorry for.” Now back on shaky ground. “Just . . . dry off. Take as long as you need.”
“Okay.” Seimei sniffled and waited for the door to close, then got out of the shower and snagged a towel. His skin wasn’t raw; he hadn’t spent much time actually cleaning himself. Most of the time had been spent crying. Not only was he upset at losing the fight and what Muraki had done, but he was positive that Seishirou was mad at him. The man never showed any appreciation for him, and now had been forced to rescue him because he couldn’t take care of himself.
Seimei dried off quickly and pulled on the bathrobe that he’d brought in with him. He picked up his clothes and dropped them in the trash can, then went out to the kitchen. Seishirou was waiting with a mug of tea, and looked at the sorry state his son was in. Red-eyed from crying, though his tears had stopped, huddled in his bathrobe, skin wrinkling from so long in the water. Seishirou did the only thing he could think of to do: he put the mug of tea on the counter and pulled Seimei into a hug.
Seimei let himself be hugged for a moment, frozen with shock at the sudden display of affection. Then he began to cry again. “I’m sorry. I’m really really sorry.”
Seishirou shuffled over to a chair and sat down, then pulled Seimei into his lap as if he were only five years old. “What are you sorry for?” he asked, confused. He was under the impression that they’d cleared that up already.
“Because,” Seimei said, his voice quiet, “because I’m not very good.” He sniffled. “You shouldn’t have had to rescue me. And . . . and now you have to take care of me because I’m a mess and I know you hate that. And if I can’t learn to take care of myself, you’ll have to find someone else to train.” Seimei stared at the floor, trying vainly to figure out why Seishirou was hugging him.
Seishirou stared at him. “Weren’t you watching me try to fight that man?” He knew Seimei had been watching through the Tree, even though he wasn’t there in person. “I wasn’t losing, but I certainly wasn’t winning. If I couldn’t beat him, how could I possibly expect you to?” In truth, he felt slightly sick. Everything that Seimei said was making him feel like a worse and worse father. He knew he was a lousy father, but it was one thing to know that, and another to hear your son say it. Even if it was in a roundabout way.
“But it’s not like he outright beat you the way he did me,” Seimei said miserably. “You had a chance. I’m just . . . a disappointment.” He sniffled again. “I know you don’t want me around. I’m sorry.” He tried to stand up, wiping at his eyes. “I’ll just go get dressed now.”
Seishirou caught him around the waist and pulled him back down, feeling even more lousy. He wanted to explain, but wasn’t sure he could find the words, and was even less sure that Seimei would accept the explanation. It wasn’t a particularly good one, in any case. “You’re not a disappointment,” he started with. “You don’t have as much experience as I did at your age, but that’s not your fault.” He wasn’t sure a kid could have as much experience as he’d had. Setsuka had taken him on kills as soon as he’d learned how to walk. “And it’s not that I don’t want you around,” he added, and handed Seimei the mug of tea, now cooling. “Drink that.”
Seimei took a sip, his eyes fixed to the floor. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t really want me. You just needed someone to take care of Tree-san when you can’t anymore. It’s okay.”
Seishirou wasn’t sure what was worse; hearing those words which were so close to the truth, yet so far, or hearing his son’s flat acceptance of them. There was a part of him that wanted to shake Seimei by the shoulders and tell him he was wrong. There was also a part of him that refused to do so, but whether it was out of some sense of morals, since Seimei wasn’t exactly wrong, or because he was afraid, he was unsure.
He had always been afraid, really. Setsuka had taught him that love only led to pain. He had never wanted to be connected to anyone after her death, or even before it. Not that he’d ever admitted this to anyone, of course.
He settled on a middle course, sighing slightly at his own indecision and ineptitude. “It’s . . . it’s not that.” Best to tell the truth; Seimei would know if he were lying. “I’ll admit that I didn’t want a kid, and I didn’t know how to deal with it once I had one. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t care for you. I’ve treated you badly and I’m sorry.”
Seimei looked flustered, obviously not having expected this. “You were never mean to me. You don’t need to be sorry.”
“You obviously think I don’t care about you,” Seishirou said, forcing the words past his lips, “so I must have given that impression. That’s what I’m sorry for.”
“Oh,” Seimei said, after a long pause. He still didn’t quite trust this new attitude of his father’s, unsure of whether or not it was genuine, or merely something to get him to feel better. Then he felt terribly uncharitable for even wondering it. Seishirou wanted to make him feel better . . . and that should be enough, shouldn’t it?
“What did he do to you, Sei-kun?” Seishirou asked quietly.
Seimei intook breath quickly, his hands clenching down on the mug. He noted abstractly that they were trembling. “N-Nothing really. H-he didn’t get the chance.”
Seishirou hesitated for what seemed like the thousandth time, unsure of whether or not he should press the issue. He didn’t know if Seimei wasn’t talking about it out of genuine fear, or because he simply thought Seishirou didn’t want to hear it. He decided to push a little harder, and if Seimei still wouldn’t talk about it, to let it go. “Are you sure? If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen . . .”
“He pawed me,” Seimei said, his voice quivering. “And he kissed me. It was awful.” He paused, then added in a small voice. “It was . . . dirty.” His voice lowered even more, so he was barely audible. “It was my first kiss.” He started to cry again, hiding his face in Seishirou’s shoulder.
Seishirou felt an overriding wave of fury that he pushed back for the moment, prepared to unleash it the next time he came within arm’s reach of Muraki. For now, he settled for hugging Seimei tightly. “God, I’m so sorry I didn’t get there sooner . . .”
For the first time, Seimei leaned into the hug, clutching his father’s shirt in one hand, the mug of tea held precariously in the other, crying so hard he could barely breathe. Seishirou took the tea away from him and set it on the table, and continued to hug him, occasionally whispering that he was sorry.
He simply hadn’t realized. It had been a difficult target and both his and the Tree’s attention had been focused entirely on it. He had simply figured that Seimei could take care of himself, and now felt like a total asshole for the assumption. Deny as he might that he cared for Seimei, there was no denying the wave of panic he had felt when the Tree had related Seimei’s call for help to him.
Seimei started to wind down. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, sniffling and rubbing his eyes.
“I know it wasn’t,” Seishirou said, though he knew no such thing. “I just wish I’d gotten there sooner, that’s all.” Or been paying any attention to his son in the slightest.
“I thought I could take care of myself,” Seimei said quietly.
“Well, if it had been anyone else, you could have,” Seishirou said reasonably. “This wasn’t your fault, Sei-kun. You have to believe that.”
“Why do you call me that?” Seimei asked suddenly, leaning against Seishirou, sucking in the attention because he thought it wouldn’t last.
Seishirou blinked. “I don’t know. Because I do. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“But it implies affection,” Seimei persisted, sounding confused, “and you never show affection.” Then he winced. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s all right,” Seishirou said, though he had also winced. “I’m . . . not very good at showing affection, I suppose.”
“I thought you didn’t want me,” Seimei said softly.
“No,” Seishirou said, just as softly. “I didn’t want to want you. But that . . . that was just because I was sure that if I raised you, you would turn out just like me. And I didn’t want that.”
Seimei didn’t reply. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking; namely ‘well, how was I supposed to know?’ So he sat in silence.
Seishirou waited for him to say something, realized he wasn’t going to, and attempted to move on. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I don’t know,” Seimei answered. He honestly had no idea what he was feeling. “Maybe.”
Seishirou was quiet for a minute. “It was that man you met with Hisoka, right?”
Seimei nodded slightly. “He told me I wasn’t as pretty,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “He said I didn’t have the kind of pretty eyes he liked.”
Seishirou thought back to Hisoka’s large, luminous green eyes, and felt an unpleasant jolt in the pit of his stomach. Surely Subaru was capable of taking care of himself, and Seishirou might have written it off, if not for the fact that he’d now fought Muraki and knew what a formidable opponent he was. He really didn’t want to have to go warn Subaru . . . “I’m going to kill him.”
“I would’ve killed him if I could have,” Seimei said quietly. “It’s the first time I’ve ever actually wanted to kill somebody. But . . .” He shifted slightly, thinking back to the conversation he’d overheard through the Tree. “But what about that person Monou-senpai said Muraki was taking care of?”
Seishirou’s legs were falling asleep. He shifted Seimei from his lap, into a chair, and lit up a cigarette. “I don’t care,” he decided. “Fuuma can look after him.” He paused, then added, “You can watch. You can even hold his arms, if you want.”
“But I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Seimei protested. “I mean, what if someone really does need him?”
“He hurt you,” Seishirou said stubbornly. “And despite what he agreed, I don’t trust him to not try to hurt you again. I’m going to get out my sniper rifle, and I’m going to kill him, and Fuuma can find another mad scientist to deal with Nataku.”
“Do you really think there’s someone else?” Seimei was torn. On the one hand, he really wanted Muraki dead. On the other, he didn’t want an innocent death on his conscience.
“I’ll speak to Fuuma about it,” Seishirou promised. “We’ll find some solution.”
“Because it isn’t fair to hurt someone else just because I was hurt,” Seimei said, looking away.
Seishirou shrugged, obviously not giving a damn about it. “Whatever you want,” he said. He fully planned on killing Muraki anyway. Fortunately, Seimei didn’t realize this. He was still huddling in his robes. “But you said you wanted him dead, so I’m going to kill him.”
“I do, but I don’t want to kill someone by accident,” Seimei argued.
His point was lost on Seishirou, who had never set much store in human life. At least, not in the lives of humans he didn’t know or care about. To him, everyone was a number, an abstract, until he got to know them. And even then, only a precious few could get close enough for him to consider them ‘real’. In his opinion, only people who were ‘real’ were worth keeping alive. Still, he didn’t want to upset Seimei. “Well, I promise I’ll talk to Fuuma and we’ll work something out.” Goody. More time with Fuuma. That was what he needed.
Seimei nodded slightly, and there was a brief moment of silence while he sipped his tea and Seishirou tried to figure out what else to say or do. “Are you all right?” he finally asked. “Really. Is there anything I can do?”
“Are you sure it wasn’t my fault?” Seimei blurted out, picking at the fuzz on his bathrobe. “I know he didn’t have a right to do what he did, but . . . I don’t dress like I would want something like that, or give that impression, do I?”
Seishirou took Seimei’s chin in his hand and lifted it so Seimei was forced to meet his eyes. “No,” he said firmly. “He’s evil. You hardly give off that impression and you weren’t wearing anything unusual. It was entirely his fault and I’m going to kill him. Okay?” How strange, he reflected, that he should be passing judgment on good and evil.
Seimei nodded as much as Seishirou’s hand allowed. “Okay.”
Seishirou released him. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“And . . .” Seimei picked at the robe again. “And you really do like me?”
“I do like you, Sei-kun.” Might as well admit it at this point; he would wallow in guilt for the rest of his life if he didn’t. “More than that. I . . . care for you. You’re a great kid. The best I could ask for. I don’t deserve you.” There, he’d said it. If he was going to shrivel up and die from having let someone close to him, it was going to be now.
“I just . . . wasn’t sure for so long,” Seimei said.
Well, he wasn’t shriveling, but Seimei’s words weren’t comforting. “I know,” Seishirou managed. “And I really can’t say how sorry I am.” He wanted to explain, wanted to tell Seimei why he had never let him know that he’d cared, but the reasons would sound stupid and wouldn’t help. Maybe someday . . . but not today.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Seimei said, and Seishirou marveled, not for the first time, at his capacity for forgiveness. “It’s okay now that you’ve told me.”
“It isn’t okay,” Seishirou said, shaking his head. He wouldn’t -- he couldn’t -- allow Seimei to forgive him that easily, as if he hadn’t suffered at all from Seishirou’s negligence. “Not that you’ve lived for fifteen years believing that I don’t even like you.”
“I should have known better, though,” Seimei said. “I mean, I should have expected that you . . . you’re my father. I should have assumed you cared.”
Then again, was it forgiveness, or was Seimei just taking all the blame on his own shoulders? Seishirou ground his teeth in frustration, but gave no sign of it. “If I never gave any sign that way at all, why would you assume? I’m not a very reassuring person.” It wasn’t quite the right word. He wasn’t a validating person, that was more accurate. He didn’t validate anyone’s feelings or emotions or thoughts. Not even his own.
“Maybe it was my fault,” Seimei said. His robe had run out of fuzz to pick off, so he sipped his tea. “I mean, I’m not really anything like you. I’m not really like what the Sakurazukamori is supposed to be like. I bet I was hardly what you had expected.” He didn’t know what to think or say. Seishirou’s total turnaround had him very confused.
“No, you’re nothing like what I expected,” Seishirou said with a sigh. “And there are no words for how happy that makes me.”
“But I must have done something wrong,” Seimei insisted, simply not understanding why Seishirou would have ignored him all those years if he had not.
“No, you didn’t.” Seishirou either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, explain.
“But I know I bug you,” Seimei said, well aware that he sounded pathetic. “I mean, I’m always trying to get you to talk to me and asking you to do stuff that you don’t want to do like the field trip and you can’t stand my dog and . . . I know I bug you.”
“You don’t bug me,” Seishirou assured him. In truth, when Seimei wasn’t around, he missed his son. He just didn’t know how to tell him that. “I just don’t know how to react to that sort of thing.”
After all, Setsuka had never done anything of the sort with him. It had always been the job for her. Seishirou had sometimes wondered whether she cared about him at all, but he knew that she had loved him. After all, it’s a beautiful thing, to be killed by the one who you love the most.
Seishirou held back a shudder.
“Oh,” Seimei finally said.
Seishirou sighed slightly. “You should probably go to bed,” he said, sounding awkward. It was nearly one in the morning at this point, and Seimei looked exhausted. “It’s late.”
Seimei nodded and stood to go to his room. “Okay.”
Seishirou also stood, and pulled Seimei into another hug. “I was really worried . . . when I realized that you were in trouble. You know that, right?”
Seimei nodded, then shook his head. He hadn’t known, but felt like he should have known.
“Just . . .” Seishirou tried to continue, tried to explain. “You’re the only person who gives a damn whether or not I exist. I don’t want to lose you.” He buried his face in Seimei’s hair, and the words slid out before he could stop them. “I love you.” He paused and examined that statement, and was a little surprised to find that it was true. “I really do.”
Seimei sagged against Seishirou with relief. “Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled in Seishirou’s shirt. He hesitated, then said, “I love you too,” just in case the idiot doubted it.
“I’m glad,” Seishirou said quietly, and let him go. “Now go to sleep. If you need anything, and I mean anything, come get me. Okay?”
Seimei nodded, looking for the first time like he actually believed Seishirou, then left for his room. Seishirou folded into a chair and stared into Seimei’s half-full tea mug, trying to figure out what the hell was happening to his life.
He knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he sat down with a full mug of tea and a book. His thoughts kept drifting to Subaru. Part of him wanted to go warn the other man, but most of him didn’t. He would kill Muraki for daring to touch Seimei, and that would end it. Subaru had nothing to do with it, which was probably why Seishirou kept thinking about him, because he’d never possessed a particularly logical mind.
It was much later when Seimei wandered out of his bedroom and got himself a glass of water. Seishirou didn’t have to ask to know that something was wrong. He asked anyway. “You okay, Sei-kun?”
“I’ll be all right,” Seimei said, sipping his water. He had woken up as he’d fallen to the floor with a thud.
Seishirou looked at him. “And by ‘I’ll be all right’, I’ll take it to mean that you aren’t all right at the moment?”
Seimei shook his head and sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. “I had a dream about him,” he admitted, staring into his cup of water.
Seishirou pulled up a chair next to him and tried to sound comforting, something he wasn’t particularly good at. “You want to talk about it?”
“I dreamed that you didn’t come,” Seimei said softly, then quickly added, “But I woke up before it got too scary.”
“I’ll never let him hurt you,” Seishirou said firmly, figuring the reassurance couldn’t hurt.
“I know,” Seimei replied. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” Seishirou said. “I just want to be sure that you’re okay.”
“I just keep thinking . . .” Seimei’s voice trailed off. “What if it’s really like that? What if it isn’t nice and fun like everyone says? Or what if it’s just me and I don’t like to be kissed?” Seimei shrugged. “I feel silly.”
Seishirou had no intention of having The Talk with Seimei, so he did his best to skirt around the issue. “It’s not like that, trust me. I’m not quite sure how to explain it, but things like kissing feel different depending on how much you want to be kissed.”
“That does make me feel better,” Seimei said.
“Glad I could help.” Seishirou reached out and pulled him into a hug again. Seimei settled comfortably into his lap, as if they’d always been this affectionate. He was very fond of this whole ‘Dad giving him hugs’ thing. Seishirou didn’t know what else to do, so he just continued to hold him. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“Just get rid of him,” Seimei said into his shoulder.
“I will. I promise.”
Seimei mumbled something in reply, but it was too vague for Seishirou to catch it. After a while, he started to doze. Once he was definitely asleep, Seishirou picked him up and deposited him back in bed. He went to bed shortly after that, but it was a long time before he slept.
~~~~
Kakyou stood outside Fuuma’s door, debating whether or not to knock. It was four in the morning, but Fuuma didn’t exactly show respect for normal sleep schedules. There was a thin strip of light underneath his door, but he could have fallen asleep with the light on. Kakyou knew his news could wait until morning, but it was worth a shot. He pushed the door open very slightly and peered inside, enough to glimpse Fuuma lying on his bed, enthralled by one of his comic books.
He took the cue to knock, since Fuuma didn’t yet seem to be aware of his presence.
“C’mon in,” Fuuma said, not even bothering to ask who it was.
Kakyou pushed the door open and walked in. He still wasn’t too wonderful at walking, but for the short distance between his room and Fuuma, it would do. And according to his therapist, walking on his own was good for him. “Hi,” he said, and sat on the edge of Fuuma’s bed. There weren’t any chairs in the room, but he couldn’t stand for long periods of time.
“Hi,” Fuuma responded. “You’re up late.”
“I was asleep for a while,” Kakyou said.
“What’s wrong?” Fuuma tossed the comic book onto the floor and hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard.
“I think you need to fire Muraki,” Kakyou said. “First thing tomorrow morning.”
Fuuma looked puzzled for a second, then shrugged. “Oh, you saw what happened with Seimei?”
“Yeah, that too,” Kakyou agreed.
“Too? Oh, this I have to hear.”
“I’m assuming there’s a long string of it,” Kakyou said, “but he’s one of the reasons that Hisoka is such a dead and bitter person.”
Fuuma blinked. “Um. Care to elaborate on that?”
“I was watching one of his dreams,” Kakyou said. He’d kept up with his practice of keeping track of both Shinigami, though more Hisoka than Tsuzuki, since the younger man didn’t know when he was there. “But it was more of a memory, I think.” He shifted uncomfortably, wondering how to phrase it. He didn’t want to tell Fuuma all of Hisoka’s secrets, but it was seeming rather important. “For one thing, Muraki killed him. Slowly and painfully.”
Fuuma paused to consider this for a minute. “And did more, I assume, since you related it back to Seimei.”
“I think he makes a hobby out of horrific sexual assault,” Kakyou said dryly.
Fuuma coughed slightly. “Well, nothing would have given me more pleasure than to watch Seishirou rip his heart out tonight, but I still need him to take care of Kazuki.”
“You’re really sure you can’t find somebody else?” Kakyou asked. “Because, for one thing, I don’t think Seishirou’s going to hold to your edict.”
“Well, I can try,” Fuuma said with a shrug. “But I can’t fire him first thing in the morning.”
“No, I think you should maybe find somebody new tomorrow, because . . . if Seishirou gets his way, he’ll be dead.”
Fuuma rolled his eyes. “I take it you were watching his dreams too?”
“Of course.”
“I’m not sure Seishirou will get his way, though,” Fuuma pointed out. “Muraki is one powerful motherfucker.”
“Yes, all the more reason to fire him,” Kakyou said. “Because he’s going to get bored, and he’s going to mess with Kazuki.”
Fuuma frowned. “I don’t think Kazuki has the equipment for that.”
Kakyou gave him a look. “He likes to mess with people’s minds, too. And he could already be doing that.”
“There’s another thing, though,” Fuuma said. “He knows where we are. Is it better to have a guy like that in our midst, or at our backs?”
“I don’t know,” Kakyou said. “But . . .”
“Well, here’s what I’m going to do,” Fuuma said, after a moment’s thought. “I’m going to get Satsuki to start looking for someone new. I’m going to tell Seishirou to kill the man if he wants, but for Christ’s sake not to get himself killed in the process, because I’m not rescuing him again. But I’m not going to fire him, because I don’t want him mad at me.”
“I suppose it’ll have to do,” Kakyou said.
“I still don’t think he’s doing anything with Kazuki. I would’ve realized if he was.”
“Well, fine, maybe he wouldn’t. But he creeps me out. I don’t want him here.”
“Hey, anything for you,” Fuuma said casually, and picked up his comic book again.
Kakyou sighed slightly. There was another reason he wanted Muraki gone, but didn’t want to say it for fear that he would sound like he was whining. He thought that he was probably pretty enough to keep Muraki entertained, and had the interesting eye color to boot. And he had absolutely no way to defend himself if the man took it into his head to have some fun.
Fuuma tossed the comic aside again and gave Kakyou a curious look. “You know I wouldn’t let him touch you, don’t you?”
Kakyou didn’t bother to ask Fuuma how he’d known what he was thinking. “Seishirou said the same thing to Seimei. He just didn’t get there in time.”
“All right, point taken,” Fuuma said. “Though at least Muraki didn’t seem overly interested in you when you first met him.” Privately, he thought that Kakyou might be a bit too feminine for Muraki’s tastes, but didn’t want to say that out loud. Actually, he wasn’t sure Muraki had taste, or was just willing to attack anything that moved and had certain preferences to go along.
Kakyou sighed again, and yawned. “I’ll just go back to bed.”
“All right. We have a big day tomorrow.”
Kakyou paused. “We do?”
“Yeah, I’ll think of something.”
“Oh.”
~~~~
Chapter Sixteen
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