Chapter Seventeen
“Yo,” Fuuma said, bouncing in and plopping into the chair. Kakyou was sitting up in bed, reading. “I brought ice cream again,” Fuuma said, flourishing the container at Kakyou. “It’s French vanilla. It’s not too sweet, so you ought to like it. I mean, not as sweet as chocolate.”
Kakyou leaned over and snatched one of the spoons. “I love ice cream,” he stated, waiting for Fuuma to take the lid off the container so he could start gorging himself.
“I’ll have to take you to a sundae place,” Fuuma said. “Now that you’re pretty much up and walking around, right?”
“I’m fully mobile for short distances,” Kakyou said with a nod.
“Well, we still need to do that full shopping trip to get you all the clothes I want to see you in, so we can go for real ice cream then.”
Kakyou smiled. “How about we get all the clothes that I want to see me in instead?”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Fuuma said, grinning. “I’ll try on anything you want, if you’ll try on what I want.”
“I already like your clothes,” Kakyou stated.
“Don’t make me paint mental images for you, Kyou-chan,” Fuuma said threateningly, waving a spoonful of ice cream in Kakyou’s face.
Immediately, a barrage of mental images assaulted Kakyou. Fuuma in tight pants, Fuuma in tight shirts, Fuuma in no shirts at all . . . He blushed slightly. “You’re so cruel,” he said, covering his embarrassment by reaching for more ice cream.
“So guess what I found out today,” Fuuma said, still chowing down his own portion.
“What?” Kakyou reached out and put ice cream on Fuuma’s nose.
Fuuma blinked. “You gonna lick that off, Kyou-chan?”
“No.”
Fuuma wiped it off himself, giving Kakyou an odd look. Then he took a spoonful of ice cream and fed it to Kakyou. “Anyway, back to the subject. I found out that Kamui has a boyfriend.”
“Um,” Kakyou said, and hesitated, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. “Is this a good thing or a bad thing?” Inwardly, he wanted to be glad, because if Kamui was otherwise occupied . . . but it was a silly thought. If being made to torture Kamui hadn’t gotten Fuuma to fall out of love with him, this wouldn’t either.
“I haven’t decided yet,” Fuuma said thoughtfully. “Of course, I’m green with jealousy. But it’s really nice to just watch him be happy with someone. And they’re cute together, too. Horrifically so.”
Kakyou smiled slightly. “You sound like you think it’s a good thing.”
“I like seeing him happy,” Fuuma said quietly.
“But?” Kakyou prompted, hearing the unspoken word in the tension in Fuuma’s voice.
“But the obvious,” Fuuma said with a shrug. “You know. I saw him first, hands off, he’s mine, oh wait I’m torturing him never mind then.”
“Then you have to decide what’s most important to you,” Kakyou said, in the kind voice that he only used when speaking to Fuuma about the things that were important to him. “Him being happy or you having him.”
Fuuma sighed heavily. “I already decided that, and I’ve pretty much burned my bridges. It’s not like there’s anything I can do but feel jealous.”
Kakyou went with his stock answer; he leaned over and pulled Fuuma into a hug. It was rather awkward, since Fuuma was still in the chair, and he pulled away quickly. He wasn’t really in a hugging mood.
“So now I have an ethical dilemma, believe it or not,” he said, getting another spoonful of ice cream and wishing for hot fudge.
“This I have to hear,” Kakyou said, keeping his tone light-hearted.
“Well, from what I can see, Kamui is totally smitten and soon to be head over heels in love with this Keiichi guy, but thus far they haven’t actually done anything,” Fuuma said, thinking back to the kiss he had obviously interrupted. “So my question is this. If I killed Keiichi, I think . . . I think that would just do it. I think it would finally make Kamui angry enough to kill me.”
“I’d venture to say that killing Keiichi is a bad idea,” Kakyou said calmly.
“Other than that obvious ‘killing people really sucks’, why?”
“Because there are two logical outcomes,” Kakyou said, putting aside his spoon. He’d had enough ice cream. His stomach still felt ridiculously small in comparison to most people’s. “Neither of which you want. One: you make Kamui angry enough to end this, but he winds up miserable and alone. Two: he just loses all will to fight because you can only lose so many people before giving up entirely.”
“True.” Fuuma considered it for a long minute. “Maybe I should just maim him. You think?”
“Depends on how you define maim,” Kakyou said imperturbably.
“You know. Hurt. Maybe scar a little. Make scream and/or bleed.” Fuuma thought about this. “God, listen to me. This is sick.”
“Don’t overanalyze,” Kakyou said. “And don’t do anything permanent.”
“I’m not overanalyzing,” Fuuma protested. “I’m not even analyzing! I’m planning on how best to torture Kamui’s boyfriend so he’ll be able to kill me. This is sick without the slightest bit of analysis.”
“You’re right,” Kakyou admitted. “It’s sick and scary on all sorts of levels. But that doesn’t change anything so it’s best not to think about it too hard.”
Fuuma put his own spoon aside and put the lid on the ice cream, putting it on the side table. “All right, all right. And nothing permanent. But you think maybe picking him up and making him bleed all over the place so it looks like he’s going to die would be good?”
“In a purely practical way, yes.”
“Okay.” Fuuma paused. “Now, convince me to do it.”
“Well, it’ll get Kamui to do what you want,” Kakyou said, hoping he sounded at least a little persuasive. He’d never actually tried to talk someone into maiming someone else before. How did he miss that in his education? “End this with a lot less bloodshed.”
“Oh, intellectually I know it’s the right thing to do,” Fuuma said, waving this aside. “I just don’t feel it. I mean, they’re really cute together.”
“They’ll have the rest of their lives together if Kamui can do what needs to be done,” Kakyou said delicately.
“True.” Fuuma pondered for a long minute. “So why did I have no trouble dismembering Kotori and I don’t even want to bruise this guy?”
“I’d have to see Keiichi to make a judgment, but I met your sister,” Kakyou said dryly. “She could drive anyone over the edge.”
Fuuma laughed. “She knew, though. That I liked Kamui. And she didn’t care. She took him for herself, anyway. She didn’t do it out of spite, she just sort of . . . did it. Without even thinking that it might hurt me. What does that mean about her?”
“It means that she wasn’t as empathetic as she wanted people to think,” Kakyou said, then added, “Or maybe she was just as stupid as most people think blondes are.”
“Or quite possibly both,” Fuuma said, amused.
“Also an option.”
“Well . . . thanks, Kyou-chan.”
Kakyou smiled. “No problem whatsoever.”
~~~~
Though Subaru had taken to spending a great deal of time at the house where Kamui lived, and had even been given a bedroom there for when it got too late at night for him to bother going home, he did still live in his own apartment. This apartment was sparse in both furnishing and decorations. The walls were white; the carpet cream. It contained only a living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. There was a small balcony with sliding doors that branched off the living room.
He had a lot of plants, and a TV/VCR with movies scattered all around it. That was the only cluttered part of the apartment; the rest was spotless. There was an armchair in front of the TV, but no couch. On the other side of the room was a stereo with a similar litter of CDs. The dining room had only a table and two wooden chairs, as well as a laptop sitting open on the table. The place was ridiculously empty. The only other thing was the very large, obviously expensive, saltwater fish tank next to the television.
Seishirou had never seen the inside; at least, not from the inside. If one angled correctly, they could see through the sliding doors and inside, but he had only done this on a few occasions. It was much easier to just wait for Subaru to come out if he wanted a glimpse. On this particular day, he was standing outside, ill-at-ease, shifting from one foot to another and contemplating the doorbell.
At great length, he reached out and rang it.
There was a pause before Subaru opened the door, wearing loose jeans and a dark green T-shirt. He was barefoot, and obviously hadn’t been expecting anyone. When the doorbell rang, he had thought it was probably Kamui.
“Konban wa.” Seishirou, for once, didn’t gift Subaru with his large, obviously insincere smile. His face was perfectly straight. He had come in the evening because he figured he would be most likely to find Subaru there around the dinner hour.
Subaru blinked. “Konban wa. I must say you aren’t who I was expecting.” His voice was cold, but civil. If Seishirou had taken the time to find him like a normal human being and ring his doorbell, rather than just showing up at an inopportune moment of his life like usual, Subaru supposed he owed him at least that much. He stood in the doorway, blocking Seishirou’s view inside. “What can I do for you, Seishirou-san?”
“I need to talk to you.” Seishirou searched for the right words to say, something that would get Subaru to quit glaring at him like that. “I’m sorry to disturb you at home, but it’s quite important.”
“It must be,” Subaru said casually. “You’re acting like a human being.”
Seishirou sighed slightly. “May I come in?”
Subaru nodded, almost imperceptibly, and stood back to let him in. He closed the door behind him and watched as Seishirou looked around for a seat.
“Thank you,” he said. “This may take a minute.”
“You can have a seat at the kitchen table,” Subaru told him, gesturing to one of the hard wooden chairs. He was becoming insanely curious as to what could make Seishirou so serious. He’d never seen him acting quite like this before. “Would you like some tea?”
“Yes . . . tea would be nice. Thank you.” Seishirou pulled out a chair and sat as Subaru went into the kitchen. He poured two mugs of tea and stuck them in the microwave long enough to warm them up. Then he came back out and placed them on the table, sitting in the other chair and moving the laptop aside. He tucked one foot up underneath him, waiting for Seishirou to start.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Muraki Kazutaka?” Seishirou asked, sipping his tea.
“Can’t say as I have,” Subaru admitted.
“He’s a very powerful magician that’s apparently taken up residence in Tokyo.” Seishirou wasn’t looking at Subaru, so he missed Subaru’s nod to continue. He continued anyway, looking into his tea mug. “He makes me look like a nice, caring individual,” he added dryly.
Subaru’s eyes widened slightly. “That’s alarming.”
“I thought I should warn you,” Seishirou said, glancing at him. “He’s very powerful, and . . .” He coughed slightly. “He has an interest in good-looking young men. Especially ones with unusually pretty eyes.”
Subaru sat back slightly, pondering this. “While I appreciate the warning and the compliment, why the sudden concern?”
Seishirou smiled for the first time since entering the apartment. “Well, in the past, if I thought anyone might hurt you, I would simply kill them. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be an option this time.”
Subaru blinked, taken off guard by this odd form of protection. He chose, however, to not question it. “Why is it not an option? It’s not as if you care about any of the social factors that might cause you to leave someone alive.”
“Well, let’s see,” Seishirou said, as if he were actually pondering the answer, “I think it really comes down to the fact that I tore his heart out and yet he was up and walking around the next day.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that’s alarming.” Subaru was blatantly wide-eyed and paying close attention by now. “What did he do to incur your . . . well, normally I’d say wrath, but that doesn’t seem like your style. Was he a contract? Or was this just in the interest of preserving your favorite hobby?”
“It was wrath,” Seishirou said, very calmly. “The bastard touched my son. And for that I will kill him, if it takes me the rest of my life.”
“You actually care about him,” Subaru said, honestly surprised. He set the mug down and considered this for a minute. “Apparently I was wrong; you do have a heart. Is your son okay?”
“It’s nice to hear you say so, Subaru-kun.” Seishirou tried to sound sarcastic, but he meant the words, so it didn’t quite come off that way. “Yes, Sei-kun is all right. I fortunately got to him before Muraki had a chance to . . . do . . . very much.” It was only with great effort that he kept his voice even. He definitely did not want to be talking about this.
“Well, that’s good,” Subaru said after a pause. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll pass it along to the other Seals.” He had no idea what the hell to do with this conversation. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be mean to Seishirou; for once, the older man didn’t really deserve it.
“You’re welcome,” Seishirou replied. “I don’t suppose you know any spells that would allow someone to recover from having their heart torn out?” It was a long shot, but it was conceivable that Subaru might know something.
“Let you recover, no, but surviving is a different matter.” Subaru picked up his tea mug again, but didn’t drink any of it. Seishirou had barely touched his own.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s hard to get rid of someone, even by killing them, if you can’t get their soul to move on.” Subaru was speaking in a more comfortable tone now, obviously in his element. “When people die, they possess things all the time. Maybe he can do that when he’s alive.” He shrugged slightly. “Or maybe he was already dead. A Shinigami would be up and around the next day, not that they would let someone so perverted into their ranks.”
“His soul wasn’t in his body,” Seishirou told him. “I tried to bind it to the Tree, and couldn’t. It just wasn’t there. And this isn’t possession; it’s the same body, just without the gaping hole. He isn’t a Shinigami, though, I’m positive of that.” He didn’t bother to mention Hisoka; Subaru could ask if he wanted to know.
Subaru shrugged. “Then your guess is as good as mine.”
Seishirou nodded and tried not to look as frustrated as he felt. He hid it by taking a long drink of his now cool tea. “I see. Thank you.”
“If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know,” Subaru said, and then wondered why the hell he had said it. It was the first time he had offered to help Seishirou with anything since he had found out the man’s true identity.
“Thank you. I’d . . . appreciate that.” Seishirou stared into his tea mug. He knew that it was time to leave, but didn’t feel like going. Seimei was at home; the Tree was keeping an eye on him. Seishirou had been so worried about Muraki trying to get near him again that he had called Misako and arranged for Seimei to stay with him for the week. This meant, among other things, that Seishirou now had a dog in his house. He wasn’t very pleased about this.
“He must be a real monster to have you this out of sorts,” Subaru said conversationally. He had lost interest in drinking his tea, and dipped a finger into it, swirling it around.
“I’m not sure if I’m out of sorts because of that,” Seishirou said thoughtfully. “I’ve dealt with monsters before. But never monsters that I couldn’t beat. And certainly never monsters that had taken an interest in my son.”
“You know, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that you could be the caring father type,” Subaru said pensively.
Seishirou laughed slightly. “Neither did I.” Though he would have rather died than admit it, Seishirou was very fond of his new relationship with Seimei. It was nice to not have to worry about whether or not the kid hated him, and be able to actually show affection without fear of repercussions.
“He must be something really special, to have gotten you to love him.” Subaru stood up abruptly and went into the kitchen, on the pretenses of getting more tea, even though his mug was barely touched. He crammed it into the microwave to warm it up, trying valiantly to not be jealous of a fifteen year old kid.
Seishirou waited patiently. When Subaru came back out and sat down, he asked, “Would you like to go out to dinner, Subaru-kun?”
Subaru nearly dropped the mug, and did spill some of the tea as his hands jerked with surprise. He must have heard that wrong . . . “What?”
“I asked if you’d like to go out to dinner with me,” Seishirou repeated. He still wasn’t smiling. On the contrary, he looked very serious about this. “My treat, of course.”
“I . . .” Subaru searched for words. “I would love to.” He shook his head to clear it. “Why?”
Seishirou smiled suddenly, but it was a genuine smile. “You really would? I was sure you’d say no.” Seishirou wondered, momentarily, what the hell he was doing. He hadn’t even wanted to come here, so why the hell was he asking Subaru out to dinner? And even more importantly, why was he so thrilled that Subaru had said yes?
Subaru was just as confused, both at Seishirou and at himself. “But why?”
“I don’t know,” Seishirou said after a pause. “I’ve been acting mostly on instinct lately. It seemed like a good idea.”
“At the risk of sounding redundant, why the sudden change in behavior?” Subaru asked. “I’ve known you to make exactly one impulsive move in the entire time I’ve known you.”
There, at least, Subaru was wrong. In truth, Seishirou rarely had any idea of why he did what he did. It all made perfect sense at the time, but whenever he looked back on things, he never had the least notion of what his motivation had been. “Well, being logical and reasonable with Sei-kun didn’t help at all after . . . afterwards, so I just started saying whatever came into my head. It worked fairly well, so maybe there’s some value in impulsivity.”
“As I said, he must be something really special,” Subaru said. He had moved from jealousy to admiration. Seimei had just accomplished what he’d been trying to do for ten years.
Seishirou wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “Yes,” he settled for. “He is.”
“Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Subaru said. He had totally forgotten about the tea he had spilled all over the floor. The concept that there was actually hope for Seishirou -- that there might even be hope for them, the two of them together -- was a bit overwhelming.
Seishirou managed a smile. “Shall we say Sunday, seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up.” Subaru still had bandages over one eye; Seishirou doubted he could drive yet.
Subaru smiled back, though it was faint. “I think my overflowing social calendar is empty then, yes.”
They spoke very little after that, a few exchanges of thanks for information, and then Subaru stood up to show him out. Seishirou smiled at him as he left, another one of those genuinely happy smiles that made Subaru feel as if his knees might give and send him tumbling to the floor. He shut the door quietly and stared at his ceiling, wondering what the hell was going on.
~~~~
“Daddy?” Nataku poked his head into Fuuma’s room, where he was lounging in front of the television. “May I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” Fuuma sat up. He was slightly disconcerted that Muraki had continued to come into work, even though Seishirou had been scheduled to kill him almost a week ago at this point. He had tried to ask the assassin about it, but he’d been in an extremely foul temper and the reply he’d snarled hadn’t made much sense. Fuuma assumed that Nataku wanted to ask him about this.
“I thought you said Muraki-san wasn’t coming anymore.” Nataku walked in and sat on the edge of Fuuma’s bed.
“I thought he wasn’t,” Fuuma said. “But apparently Seishirou is having a little trouble managing to kill him.”
“Why don’t you just tell him not to come back?” Nataku asked.
“Because he’s a very dangerous man,” Fuuma replied, “and I’d prefer that he was on my good side. I don’t want to anger him unnecessarily.”
“It’s not unnecessary,” Nataku said. “I don’t like him.”
Fuuma fought back a smile. “Well, tell you what, Kazuki. If he still isn’t dead by the end of the week, I’ll find someone else. Okay?”
“Promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.”
Nataku considered it. “Okay, I think.”
Fuuma smiled. It was rather interesting to watch Nataku ‘grow up’. He no longer accepted everything Fuuma said at face value, without thinking about the consequences it might imply. Fuuma rather preferred it that way. He was, however, taken off guard by Nataku’s next question.
“Why do you like Kakyou-san better than everyone else?”
Fuuma sputtered a bit. It was useless to deny it, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it. He wasn’t sure Nataku would understand the whole ‘he’s the only person I can be myself around’, and even if he did understand it, his feelings might be hurt by it. “I’m not sure, really. I just get along with him very well. We have a lot in common.”
Nataku considered it for a long minute. “Like what?”
Fuuma paused. “Well, like the fact that we’re both bitter and disillusioned, the fact that we never got to make any of the big decisions about our lives for ourselves, the fact that we both lost our first loves . . . that kinda stuff.”
“If it’s all bad stuff you have in common, how is that good?”
“Because sometimes bad stuff seems a little less bad when there’s someone else who can sympathize,” Fuuma said.
“Ohhh,” Nataku said. “Who was your first love?”
Fuuma hesitated, but he knew that he could trust Nataku not to tell anyone if he told him not to. He was very trustworthy when it came right down to it. “Kamui.”
“How strange,” Nataku said with a frown. “Does that make Kakyou-san your second love?”
Fuuma blinked at him. “Why do you ask that?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to deny it, knowing Kakyou’s feelings about him, but he couldn’t confirm it, either.
“Because you say Kamui was your first love. That means there’s a second love. And you spend an awful lot of time with Kakyou-san, and he’s pretty like Kamui.”
“It doesn’t mean that,” Fuuma said, though he had to admit that Nataku had a pretty good point. “First love is just . . . just a term. It doesn’t necessarily mean there’s a second.”
“Then why isn’t it your only love?” Nataku asked. “It would be your only until there’s a second. When there’s a second, then it would be the first.”
“I don’t know,” Fuuma said. “It just isn’t.”
“That makes no sense,” Nataku said. “So you don’t love Kakyou-san?”
Fuuma hesitated. “I still love Kamui.”
“So you can’t love more than one person at once?” Nataku asked, frowning faintly.
“You can, it’s just . . .” Fuuma bit back a frustrated noise. “It’s just that most people focus their affection on one person, and only one person.”
“That doesn’t make any sense either,” Nataku protested. “Because I thought you loved me. But in a different way.”
“I do love you,” Fuuma said. “In that other way. And I love Kakyou in a different way, and Kamui in another different way.”
“You only love Kakyou-san as a friend?” Nataku surmised.
“Sort of,” Fuuma said. “He’s more than a friend, without being a lover.”
“I’m still confused,” Nataku said.
Fuuma ground his teeth. “Well, Kakyou is a lot closer to me than I would consider a friend. I trust him more than anyone else, and I know that I can tell him anything without . . . without him judging me. That makes him very special to me.”
“So what makes someone a lover?” Nataku asked curiously.
“Uhm, well . . .” Fuuma paused. “Traditionally, sex.”
“Traditionally?”
“Some people are lovers without having sex, but it’s very, very rare.” And, in his opinion, must really not be fun for both parties involved.
“If it can happen without sex, how do you tell the difference?”
Fuuma stared at him helplessly, wondering why Nataku thought he had all the answers. “Well,” he said, floundering, “because, um . . . because you can. When you love someone in that way, you just . . . know.”
“How?”
“Because . . . you want to be with them all the time, and it makes you really sad when you can’t see them, and you depend on them and . . . I don’t know. You love them.”
Nataku opened his mouth, then shut it, looking puzzled. “But you just said all those things about Kakyou-san.”
Fuuma blinked. “No, I didn’t. Or at least, I didn’t mean to.”
“You said you trusted him more than anyone else, and that you could tell him anything, and he was very special to you. And you obviously want to be with him all the time, because you are with him all the time.” Nataku blinked at him in confusion.
Fuuma frowned. “But I can’t be in love with Kakyou.”
“Why not?”
“Because I still love Kamui.”
“You said you could love more than one person.”
“But in different ways.”
“But you didn’t say you couldn’t be lovers with more than one person.”
Fuuma fought the urge to bury his head in his hands and moan. This was giving him one hell of a headache. “Well, you can be, but . . . I’m not.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Nataku stated flatly.
“I know,” Fuuma said. “Trust me, it’s bothering me just as much as it’s bothering you.”
“Well . . . then stop not making any sense.”
“It’s not that easy,” Fuuma said. “It’s complicated.”
“I see that,” Nataku said. “But I don’t see why.”
“Well . . .” Fuuma shifted uncomfortably. “Because I’m going to die.”
“Why does that matter?” Nataku asked blankly.
Fuuma was about to start tearing out his own hair by the handful. “Because most people don’t get involved in relationships when they’re about to die.”
“But you’re not most people. You’re you and he’s Kakyou-san.”
“But it’s not -- ” Fuuma stopped and ground his teeth.
“Daddy, you’re not making any sense and it’s silly,” Nataku stated.
“But if I’m in love with Kakyou,” Fuuma said slowly, “I’m an idiot.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to die and he’s going to die and it’s just going to suck, that’s all, and I’m stupid for not telling him earlier and everything I’m doing is pointless,” Fuuma said in a rush. Right. Add that to the list of things he’d never expected to be doing: confessing to Nataku.
“What does dying have to do with being happy now?” Nataku asked.
“Happiness is often not as happy if you know it’s going to end soon.”
“But not as happy is still more happy than not happy at all.”
Fuuma paused. “There’s nothing I can say to that.”
“Are you less confused now?” Nataku asked.
“Maybe,” Fuuma said. “Are you?”
“I understand. But you’re confusing.”
“You know, if I was going to explain love to you, I’m not the case study I would have chosen, in any case.”
“Who would you have chosen?” Nataku asked.
“Uhm . . . I don’t know. Subaru and Seishirou.”
Nataku frowned. “Why?”
“I was kidding, Kazuki,” Fuuma assured him. “They would confuse the hell out of you. They confuse the hell out of me, not to mention each other.”
“Sakurazuka-san does confuse me,” Nataku said. “He’s so . . . politely mean.”
“Yeah, well,” Fuuma said. “That’s Seishirou.”
“I see. Are you going to go tell Kakyou-san now?”
Fuuma nearly choked. “No,” he said. “I need to think about it for a little while first. Don’t mention this to anyone, okay?”
“Okay. But you already said you thought you had waited too long. You’re being confusing again.”
“I just don’t want to make a mistake,” Fuuma told him.
“How could have you made a mistake?”
“I just could have.”
“I see,” Nataku said, though he didn’t, because he could tell from Fuuma’s tone that he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.
~~~~
Kamui found the first part of his day was too busy, what with helping Keiichi and his mother and another two of Keiichi’s friends arrange furniture and unpack belongs, to have any time alone with Keiichi at all. It wasn’t until after an excellent dinner, and both of the friends had departed and Keiichi’s mother had retired to her room to finish unpacking her things, that they settled on the old, brave couch.
Keiichi took out a needle and thread and some patches, and began to patch some of the holes while they talked. Kamui would have volunteered, but sewing was not his thing. Keiichi chattered on absently while he worked, leaving Kamui to sit there and soak up his presence.
“So, um,” Kamui said, when Keiichi had fallen into a brief silent moment, blushing, “after that kiss, are we, um . . . still friends, or . . .”
Keiichi blinked at him and tied off the thread. “Obviously we’re still friends,” he said, putting the needle and thread aside. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I think I phrased that wrong,” Kamui admitted. “I think I meant to ask if we’re just friends.”
Keiichi looked at him steadily. “I don’t know. What do you want to be?”
“Uhh . . . well, I’d like to be more than friends,” Kamui managed, his blush getting deeper, “unless you don’t want to be, that is, I mean, if you want to be only friends I would . . .”
Keiichi grinned at him. “You’re adorable when you babble, you know that?”
“You’re pretending you don’t know what’s going on again,” Kamui accused. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Guilty of the first but never of the second,” Keiichi said. “You’re just so cute when you’re flustered.”
“You have everyone fooled, don’t you.”
“Yeah, except for the teachers. I like being underestimated. It comes in handy sometimes.”
“I don’t know the real Keiichi at all,” Kamui said melodramatically, pressing one hand against his forehead.
“Untrue,” Keiichi said, looking wounded. “I really am genki and bouncy and outgoing. It’s just when I’m acting clueless that I’m faking.”
“I always knew you weren’t as dense as you pretend to be,” Kamui said.
“Oh, I am about some things,” Keiichi admitted. “Just not about things that matter to me.”
“Keiichi, whatever made you decide to be friends with me? I was cranky and sullen and . . .” Kamui made snapping motions with his hands.
Keiichi laughed. “That was exactly it. You obviously had no intention on trying to make friends, and I doubted anyone else would try since you had that attitude. But everyone needs friends, so I decided I would be yours.”
“I was your personal crusade?”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far. Besides . . . most people that are cranky and sullen are really just lonely. I knew you’d get better once you had a friend. You didn’t act anything like that around Sumeragi-san, after all.”
“It’s hard to be cranky around him,” Kamui said. “I don’t think he could take it.”
“Well, yeah,” Keiichi said with a laugh. “Ne, Kamui . . . you really like him, don’t you.” His eyes slid uneasily to the right, as if he couldn’t quite look at Kamui.
“Depends on how you mean,” Kamui said.
“Now you’re pretending you don’t know what’s going on,” Keiichi grumbled.
“I would be lying if I said I hadn’t had a crush on him,” Kamui said. “But it’s very over now.”
“Okay then,” Keiichi said. “Just checking.”
“So . . . what do you want?” Kamui asked.
Keiichi laughed. “You don’t have it figured out yet?”
“I’m insecure. I like having people say things.”
“How about a hands-on demonstration?” Keiichi asked, and kissed him. Kamui melted into it, putting an arm around Keiichi’s shoulders.
When they broke apart, he said, “That was very little hands and very much lips.”
“Well, yeah, but there’s only so much I’ll do with my mother in the house,” Keiichi said, with a very un-Keiichi-like smirk.
“I never expected you to be a lech,” Kamui said with a smile.
“I’m a teenaged guy, and you expected me to not be a lech?” Keiichi asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Point taken.” Kamui put both his arms around Keiichi and kissed him. Somehow they ended up with Keiichi flat on his back on the couch with Kamui above him, kissing him. Kamui was starting to wonder exactly how far Keiichi would go with his mother in the house, when the object of his speculation walked into the room.
“Keiichi, did you see where I -- oh!” She stopped short, and giggled. “Well, you’re busy. I’ll ask later.” She bustled back into her room.
Kamui was on the other side of the couch the minute she had started speaking, turning a brilliant shade of red. Keiichi began to snicker. “Whoops.”
Kamui whimpered. For once, he was glad that his mother was dead; embarrassments such as these wouldn’t happen. He just looked shifty-eyed, waiting for Keiichi to say something.
Keiichi sighed and stood. “Well, come on.”
“Am I going home now?” Kamui asked.
Keiichi laughed again. “No. And, well, we can continue kissing on the couch if you’re okay with the fact that my mother might be in and out, but I thought you might prefer to go to my room.”
“Ooh, your hidden lair,” Kamui teased.
“Yeah, it even has such luxuries as a bed,” Keiichi teased right back. “But I guess you’d know that, since you helped me assemble it about nine hours ago.”
“Too true.” Kamui got off the couch. “Shall we?”
“We shall indeed.”
~~~~~
“Ne, Hisoka,” Seimei said, as Hisoka sat down for their lunch break, “my dad wants to meet with you and Tsuzuki-san.”
Hisoka blinked at him. “Huh? Why?”
“I think it has something to do with the pervert,” Seimei said.
“Ah. He’s displeased about not having been able to kill him, I assume?”
“That’s just it,” Seimei said. “Dad did kill him. He was just up and walking around the next day.”
“Well, I don’t know if Tsuzuki and I can offer any worthwhile information,” Hisoka replied. “But we’re certainly willing to try. When did he want to meet with us?”
“He said he’d pick me up from school and you could come then. I think he’s forgotten you don’t go here anymore.”
“All right,” Hisoka said. “I’ll meet you out front, with Tsuzuki.”
Seishirou was prompt. Tsuzuki was late. He offered cookies to make up for this, which Seishirou declined but Seimei and Hisoka took. “Where do you want to go to have this little talk?” Hisoka asked. He was slightly more respectful of the man since he’d actually stopped being a jackass to Seimei.
“I’d prefer if it were some place private,” Seishirou said. “I was just going to suggest my apartment.”
“That’s fine,” Hisoka said, a little curious to see the inside of it. He had walked Seimei there a few times, but never actually gone inside. It had a fairly basic setup; as you walked in, the kitchen was on your right and the living room/dining room straight ahead. There was a hallway on the left which presumably led to the bathroom and bedrooms. It wasn’t too large, or anything that looked particularly expensive. The furniture was nice and high-class, but it seemed very empty. The only thing that gave it any personality at all was the fact that Seimei had left a bunch of books on the sofa.
The four of them settled in the living room, Seishirou distributing tea. Just before he sat down, a man walked out of the kitchen, causing them all to jump, as it had been previously empty.
“Yo,” the Tree said.