Chapter Twenty
“So, uh, what’s the occasion?” Kamui asked. He didn’t mean to be rude, but Subaru taking him out to dinner seemed rather odd. Maybe Subaru just wanted to grill him about Keiichi again; he wouldn’t put it past him. Sorata and Yuzuriha had already made comments on the relationship, mostly seeming very nervous about it.
“I figured you’d probably want to get away from Sorata and Yuzuriha,” Subaru said, calmly sipping his tea. “Before you splatted one of them out of sheer frustration.”
Kamui blushed slightly. “Was it showing that badly?”
“Oh yes. It definitely was.”
“Well, that’s what they get for trying to get into my room while Keiichi and I are -- ” Kamui coughed slightly -- “occupied.”
“Oh, speaking of being oddly occupied,” Subaru began.
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Kamui said with a grin.
“Guess who showed up quite politely on my doorstep yesterday?” Subaru reflected that he and Kamui were gossiping like . . . sisters. It was rather funny, actually.
“Stray dog?” Kamui guessed.
“I’ll have to remember that,” Subaru said with a smile. “Close, but not quite.”
“I don’t know. I’d call Seishirou a stray dog,” Kamui said thoughtfully. “Or maybe a mad dog. Something like that, anyway. Was the stray dog asking for treats?”
“I probably would’ve kicked him,” Subaru replied.
“What, then?”
“He came with a warning, actually,” Subaru said. “One I thought I’d better pass along to you.”
Kamui tensed. “Is Fuuma up to something?”
“Most likely, but I don’t think this has anything to do with it.” Subaru took a drink of his tea and paused while the waiter came over to take both their orders. “Apparently, there’s a magician by the name of Muraki in town; a very powerful one. He, well, takes a liking to pretty boys with unusual eyes.”
“Seeing as Seishirou is neither pretty, nor a boy, nor with particularly nice-looking eyes, why the hell does he know about it?” Kamui asked.
“His son fits two out of the three.”
Kamui blinked. “Seishirou has a kid?”
“Surprisingly enough, yes. He’s fairly nice, and about your age. In other circumstances, the two of you would probably get along.”
“By saying that, I take it you mean that he wasn’t harmed permanently by this guy?” Kamui asked, wondering whether or not he really cared. Not that he would wish sexual assault on anyone, but . . .
“He seemed to escape relatively unharmed,” Subaru said. “I thought you should know, and I’m not sure he’s somebody you can just splatter.”
“Why not?” Kamui asked calmly.
“It was tried,” Subaru said. “Actually, it was done, and he was quite alive again the next day, or so I’m told.”
“Oh,” Kamui said. “That sucks.”
Subaru gave Kamui a brief description of Muraki so he’d know if the man approached him. Kamui appeared to take this all in stride. “Present company excepted, what is it with evildoers with one eye?”
Subaru blinked. “Maybe it’s a union mark.”
Kamui laughed. “So what else did you and Seishirou talk about?”
“He asked me out to dinner.”
Kamui choked on his tea. “He did? Really?”
“Really.”
Kamui’s eyes narrowed. “In a good way or a bad way?”
“In a good way, I think.”
“You think?”
Another pause while the waiter set down their food. “Seishirou seemed quite confused,” Subaru said. “I’m not sure he even knew why he was asking.”
“But he meant it as a date, right? Not just some weird . . . thing?”
“Seems to be,” Subaru said, wondering what Kamui meant by the phrase ‘weird thing.’ “There was a distinct lack of weird things.”
“Well . . .” Kamui considered this. “I guess that’s good, then. What’d you say?”
“I said yes. Of course.”
“Of course.”
“Right.” Subaru looked vaguely guilty, and trained his attention on his food. He was slowly aware of Kamui laughing at him behind his napkin. “Don’t make me tell Sorata what you’ve really been doing with Keiichi.”
Kamui grinned, unremorseful. “Sorata already knows. He walked in on us.”
“Get an eyeful, did he?”
“Our clothes were still on, but I’m pretty sure he’s never going to walk into my room without permission again.”
“Why do I suspect you might have engineered that?” Subaru asked, smiling slightly.
Kamui looked innocently. “Who, me? It wasn’t precisely engineered. Just convenient. He knocked, I didn’t answer, he knocked again, I still didn’t answer, he got worried and came in and found me occupied.”
“I see,” Subaru said.
“I’m still waiting for Yuzuriha to figure it out, really,” Kamui said.
“Oh dear.”
“I don’t think she’s actually realized that two men can do that,” Kamui added thoughtfully.
“She gave me a small, stuffed bunny,” Subaru said. “I’m trying very hard not to think about what she does and does not realize.”
“Arashi walked in on us, too,” Kamui continued brightly. “But she just turned around and walked away, instead of spluttering a whole bunch like Sorata did. And he did try to give me The Talk, by the way. He seemed a bit put off by the fact that I wouldn’t stop making out with Keiichi long enough to listen to it.”
Subaru laughed. “Thus proving that Arashi is a smart lady.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Sorata was all flustered about it, though, and that night Karen was over for dinner and she laaaauuuughed until I thought she was going to cry. Sorata got kind of insulted by that.”
“I think Sorata just might be trying too hard,” Subaru said. “He has your best interests at heart.”
Kamui snerked. “You should come over to dinner more often. It’s fun to watch the others bicker.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Not that I want to interrupt your love life, of course . . .”
“He invited me out to dinner and isn’t even sure of why he did it. I’d hardly call that a love life.”
“Sure, sure. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.”
“You’re a little pipsqueak.”
“And proud of it.”
~~~~~
“So how’re you feeling?” Watari asked, looking at Nataku a bit anxiously. “We’re about halfway done with everything.”
“Kind of queasy,” Nataku admitted.
“Well, lie down for a few minutes and it should pass. I’ll get you some tea.” Watari walked out of the room and into the common area, blinking around. He had no idea how to go about actually getting tea in this weird place. He couldn’t even ask Fuuma or Kakyou, since the two of them had left for vacation, but fortunately, Yuuto was sitting in one of the chairs, reading a newspaper.
“Where do I get Nataku some tea?” Watari asked him.
“Kitchen’s in there,” Yuuto said, motioning to the door between Kakyou’s and Fuuma’s. “I just made a pot, so you ought to be able to just grab a mug.”
“Thanks,” Watari said. He retrieved the mug of tea and stopped to chat momentarily with Yuuto. Really, these end-of-the-world types weren’t so bad. They just got the short end of the stick, that was all. While he was chatting, Satsuki came in to talk to Yuuto. Okay, she was kind of creepy, but what could one reasonably expect of a sociopath?
“Muraki’s coming,” she stated.
“Oh boy,” Watari said. “Fuuma didn’t fire him before he left?”
“Fuuma left approximately one hour and thirty-eight minutes after you did,” Satsuki informed him, leaving Watari to think if that was approximate, he’d hate to hear exact. “He didn’t get the chance.”
“Peachy,” Watari said. “Maybe I should, um, not be here.”
“No, I think you should be,” Satsuki said. “Nataku likes you.”
Watari shrugged. He had seen Muraki on occasion, though he’d never actually met the man, and had been hoping to keep it that way. However, with three Dragons of Earth on his side, he wasn’t particularly worried.
Muraki entered the room a few minutes later and looked questioningly at Watari. “Is Monou-san here?” he asked.
“He went on vacation.” Satsuki, oddly enough, was the spokesperson. “You have to leave.”
Muraki raised an eyebrow at her. “I have work to do.”
“‘Kamui’ doesn’t want you to work here anymore,” Satsuki said simply. “You’ve been replaced. Your last paycheck will be sent to the same address as always. You’re not to come here again. Beast will be programmed to recognize your face and alert security if you do.”
“Did I do something to warrant this dismissal?” Muraki asked smoothly.
“I didn’t like you very much.” Nataku spoke up from his doorway, where he had come to watch. “You were scary. You’re a . . . pervert. Is that the right word?” He looked askance at Watari and the others.
Watari coughed slightly. “Yes, that’s the right word, and quite accurate.”
Nataku sat down right where he was. He still didn’t feel very good.
“I see,” Muraki finally said. “When is Monou-san returning?”
“He didn’t see fit to inform us,” Satsuki said. “But I should think in a week or so.”
“If I may, I’ll be back then to discuss this with him,” Muraki said.
“You may not,” Satsuki replied calmly. “I will tell him you wish to discuss it, and he will contact you if he wishes. And if he does not . . .” She let the words hang for a minute.
“Well, it just sucks to be you,” Nataku said. They all stared at him, even Muraki. Apparently he had been hanging around Fuuma a bit too much.
“Yes, basically,” Satsuki said, as she was the first to regain her composure.
“I see,” Muraki repeated. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
“Well, that was fun,” Watari said. He helped Nataku back into bed, then gave him the tea. Once he had finished it, he felt a bit better, and when Watari left he had fallen asleep.
~~~~~
Fuuma, meanwhile, had no idea that Muraki was giving him any trouble whatsoever. In fact, he was sound asleep, despite the fact that it was nearing noon. Kakyou was awake, still entangled in his arms, and was watching him sleep. He’d been at this for some time.
He reached over and gently ran his fingers across Fuuma’s cheek, then his lips. Fuuma smiled and mumbled something in his sleep, turning his head towards Kakyou. Kakyou leaned down and landed a soft kiss on Fuuma’s lips.
Fuuma caught him with an arm around the waist, turning the kiss from gentle to thorough. Then he yawned and pulled Kakyou down to rest his head on his chest, eyes still closed.
Kakyou laughed. “Good morning.”
“Morning to you too.” Fuuma still made no move to look anything near awake.
“That’s it?” Kakyou asked innocently, licking Fuuma’s ear.
Fuuma reflected vaguely that he’d turned Kakyou into a nympho. Well, not that he was complaining, but it was kind of funny. “I’m sleepy,” he said, and started to fake snores.
“I can fix that.” Kakyou rolled over and sat up, straddling Fuuma’s waist. Fuuma continued to snore. “I’ll think you don’t love me,” Kakyou warned him, running his hands up and down Fuuma’s chest, then leaning down to nibble his neck.
“You know I love you,” Fuuma said, not sounding concerned at all. “But I also love my sleep.”
“You can sleep later.”
“But it’s early . . .” Fuuma said, though in fact he had no idea what time it was in the slightest.
“It’s not that early,” Kakyou whispered right into his ear.
Fuuma’s eyes opened wide as he noticed Kakyou’s very wandering hand. He flipped the Dreamgazer over, pinning him to the bed. “Getting a bit grabby, aren’t you, Kyou-chan?” he teased, smirking.
“Yes,” Kakyou said with a return smirk, squirming, but more in a manner meant to attract than to escape. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Somehow, and Fuuma was not exactly sure how, the two of them were halfway home before he had quite managed to process it. Ah, well, one mustn’t question these things. “Wanna try something new and fun?” he asked innocently, nipping Kakyou’s ear.
“As long as it involves you,” Kakyou managed, his voice faint and gasping.
“Okay then.” Fuuma stood and picked Kakyou up, putting him over his shoulder in a pose reminiscent of the phrase Grog-has-woman.
“You look incredibly good from this angle,” Kakyou commented.
Fuuma bit back a yelp as Kakyou took advantage of the position. “Sex kitten,” he accused, and then went into the bathroom and kicked the door shut. His new goal, having supplanted the desire to break all the social norms he possibly could, was to have as much sex in as many places as he possibly could. Shower sex seemed a good way to start.
Some time later, when they finally emerged from the bathroom, they dressed in companionable silence. Kakyou sat on the edge of the bed to brush his hair; Fuuma took the hairbrush right out of his hands and settled behind him to do it himself.
“You know, when I first woke up, I thought about getting this cut,” Kakyou mentioned, closing his eyes and enjoying Fuuma’s touch.
“Really? Why?”
“Well, first I thought it was because it would be a hassle,” Kakyou said. “But I had it short when I was little. Maybe I was trying to erase it all.”
“I’m glad you didn’t cut it,” Fuuma said softly. He put aside the brush and ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’m glad too.” They sat in silence for a minute. “What do you want to do today?”
“I dunno. Whatever you want to do.”
Kakyou thought about it. “I want to buy a camera,” he announced. It was a decision he had come to while watching Fuuma sleep. The thought that Fuuma was going to die and leave behind a legacy of fear and hatred was more than he could bear, not while watching him be so gentle and kind to him. He would take pictures, he would prove to the world that Monou Fuuma was a monster by necessity . . . not by choice.
“Oh?” Fuuma asked, missing the point entirely and dripping innuendo.
Kakyou laughed. “Perv.”
“You’d enjoy it and you know it,” Fuuma reminded him.
“We can use it for that too, if you want,” Kakyou said.
“What did you actually want it for?” Fuuma asked curiously, wrapping his arms around Kakyou’s waist and resting his cheek against the yumemi’s back.
Kakyou made another decision then, and that was that Fuuma probably shouldn’t know. He would worry too much about it hurting Kamui, and Kakyou didn’t want him to worry. “Just to take pictures of our travels,” he said. “Of you,” he added, a bit more truthfully. “Of us together.”
“Mmm hmm.” Fuuma smiled, moving up and resting his chin on Kakyou’s shoulder. “Buying a camera won’t take long. What then?”
“We could pick shells, or go out to eat, or go someplace new,” Kakyou said.
“Or build a sandcastle. Or all four.”
“If it makes you happy,” Kakyou agreed, tipping his head back to try to look at Fuuma.
“Anything I do with you makes me happy,” Fuuma said, kissing his forehead. He knew it sounded sappy, but it was true, and no one else was there to hear. He lay down, pulling Kakyou down with him, and they lay there for a long time, content with holding each other.
~~~~
Hisoka was lying awake. He didn’t have the best of sleeping patterns even on a normal day, and lying there listening to Tsuzuki’s nightmares weren’t really conducive to sleeping. He kept getting up to wake him, but then he would subside for a bit, and Hisoka would crawl back into bed.
He listened to the words and phrases that Tsuzuki was muttering, and eventually got tired of it. He walked over to Tsuzuki’s bed and sat on the edge of it, taking a hold of his shoulder and shaking him gently.
Tsuzuki sat bolt upright, gasping. He looked around slowly, remembering his surroundings, and calmed down. His eyes landed on Hisoka and he let out a little squeak.
“You okay?” Hisoka asked. “You were having a nightmare.”
“I will be now,” Tsuzuki said, though he was clutching the hem of the blanket so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Thank you for waking me up.”
“No problem.” Hisoka looked at him curiously. “Ano . . . who’s Takeshi?”
Tsuzuki tensed. “He was somebody I knew . . . when I was alive.”
“Do you dream about him often?” Hisoka asked softly.
“Not so much lately,” Tsuzuki said, looking steadfastly away.
“This is the third night in a row I’ve heard you say his name,” Hisoka said, either unable or unwilling to meet Tsuzuki’s eyes.
Tsuzuki pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, hugging himself. “I suppose it depends on what you define as lately,” he admitted.
Hisoka just looked at him questioningly. “Well, how do you define it?”
“Lately being the last few years.”
Hisoka was silent for a long minute, then said quietly, “You must have cared about him an awful lot . . . to still be dreaming about him seventy years after you died.”
Tsuzuki nodded slightly.
Hisoka stood up and silently went back to his own bed. He crawled under the covers and curled up underneath them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Tsuzuki wondered why on earth Hisoka was upset now. He understood that his partner was insecure, but if he’d bothered to think about it, he would have realized that Tsuzuki had, for all intents and purposes, stopped dreaming about Takeshi after he’d met Hisoka. “It’s okay,” he said. Not that he was interested in discussing the subject, but . . .
Hisoka rolled over on his side to look at Tsuzuki. “Did you love him?”
“Yes,” Tsuzuki replied softly. “Yes, I did.”
“Oh,” Hisoka said, and that was all.
Tsuzuki didn’t know what to say. “It was a long time ago,” he finally said.
“That doesn’t really matter,” Hisoka said.
“It does matter,” Tsuzuki protested. “It was a long time ago, and it’s over, and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.”
“But you seem to still care,” Hisoka said. “So it still matters.”
Again, Tsuzuki had no idea what he could possibly say. Hisoka was right; he did still care about Takeshi. On the other hand, moping about it wasn’t going to do him any good. Takeshi was gone, Hisoka was here, and this was going to turn very bad very quickly.
Then again, Hisoka had Seimei . . .
“Never mind,” Hisoka said. “I was prying.”
He rolled back over so he was no longer facing Tsuzuki.
Tsuzuki rolled over as well, and tried to hide his tears. There was a long pause before Hisoka sighed softly. There was a sound of rustling cloth, then Tsuzuki was startled as his blankets were lifted and Hisoka crawled into bed with him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you . . .” Tsuzuki didn’t bother to ask Hisoka how he’d known; empaths were like that.
“It’s just . . . never mind, really. I’m not mad at you. Just try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.”
“Do you mind if I . . . if I stay here?” Hisoka asked hesitantly.
Tsuzuki rolled over and hugged him, and that was answer enough.
~~~~
Fuuma insisted on paying for the camera himself (mostly because he also insisted on getting one that had a timer with it), and as he and Kakyou left the shop, he took it upon himself to ask his question again. He didn’t really consider that the first answer he’d gotten had been satisfactory. “So what’s the camera really for?”
“I want it,” Kakyou said, actually managing to sound coy. He was being quite cute, and knew it, but he didn’t mind because Fuuma liked it.
“But why all of a sudden?” Fuuma asked, draping an arm around his shoulders as they walked along the street. It was nearly evening; it had taken them a long time to extract themselves from their room, and then they’d needed to eat.
“To take pictures of you. And it’s not really sudden,” Kakyou said, fiddling until he got film inserted correctly. “No more sudden than everything else has been lately.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but now I’m confused,” Fuuma stated.
“Why?”
“Because you want pictures of me and I don’t understand why.”
Kakyou pawed at his hair, pushing it out of his face. “The same reason I’d want pictures of anyone. For memory.”
Fuuma didn’t really want to bring up the fact that he knew damn well Kakyou was planning on killing himself once he had died in the Final Battle. There would be a place and a time, and this wasn’t it. So instead he struck a dramatic pose and said, “Well, okay.”
Kakyou laughed and took a picture. “Now what?”
“I’ll let you pick.”
“We went to the beach yesterday like I wanted,” Kakyou said, smoothing the folds of his kimono. “It’s your turn to pick.”
“Hmm . . . let me think. And while I’m thinking, let me see the camera.”
Kakyou looked suspicious, but handed it over. “If you use up all my film, I’ll make you buy more,” he warned.
“Gotcha. Now pose.” Kakyou put his hands on his hips and gave Fuuma a ‘you’ve got to be kidding’ look, so Fuuma of course snapped the picture. “Now pose again.”
“This is the wrong outfit to be posing in,” Kakyou said, but he obliged anyway, giving the camera a Miss America wave.
“No it isn’t. You look gorgeous.” Fuuma took the picture and handed the camera back to him. Kakyou wrapped the lanyard around his wrist and hid the camera away in the flappy sleeves of the kimono. Fuuma, watching this, wondered if he could fit the whole defense force up in them. Really, he considered kimonos a mystery. Even now, having watched Kakyou put one on, he didn’t get it.
They walked along aimlessly for a while until Fuuma spotted a boardwalk and decided it would be the perfect evening excursion. Kakyou had never been to one, so Fuuma had to explain, and stopped at the first booth where he could win a prize. It was the kind where you threw a ball and knocked over bottles. “Okay, Kyou-chan, pick a prize and I’ll win it for you.”
“Bit sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Kakyou asked, pointing to a stuffed fish.
Fuuma leaned over and whispered, “Telekinesis, dear.” Then he licked Kakyou’s ear.
Kakyou laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist. “You’re so evil.”
“I have to be evil, remember?” Fuuma asked the attendant what it would take to win the fish and promptly did so. He picked it up and held it out to Kakyou. “Here you go,” he said, and waited patiently while Kakyou took a picture of him and the fish.
Fuuma then explained mini-golf and insisted that Kakyou played a round with him. He paid and got two clubs, then handed a pink ball to Kakyou.
Kakyou gave him a look. “Are you trying to imply something, Fuuma?”
“No, of course not,” Fuuma said innocently. “Pink just seems like your color.” The two of them began to play through, snapping pictures whenever a particularly amusing situation popped up.
At one point, they were sitting on a bench waiting for their turn; the course was fairly crowded. Fuuma took the camera and tapped someone else who was waiting on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Do you mind taking a picture of the two of us?” The stranger agreed, and held up the camera as Fuuma draped his arm around Kakyou’s shoulders. Kakyou reached up and pecked him on the cheek just as the picture was taken.
Fuuma laughed. “One more, if you don’t mind,” he said, and pulled Kakyou into a much more involved kiss. The man took the picture; Fuuma pulled away from Kakyou and retrieved the camera. “Thanks,” he said with a sunny smile.
The two of them played a few more holes. “You know what’s really fun, and everyone should do before they die, and I bet you’ve never done?” Fuuma asked suddenly.
“Uh oh,” Kakyou said, shifty eyed. “What?”
“Gotten good and drunk,” Fuuma said. “Not drunk enough to be sick, but drunk.”
“You’re right, I’ve never done that,” Kakyou said. “Have you?”
“A few times,” Fuuma said. “But never in such pleasant company,” he added, winking at Kakyou.
Kakyou smiled. “We’ll have to try it then.”
“Drunken sex is supposed to be a lot of fun, too,” Fuuma said, in a conversational tone loud enough for people close by to hear. They got quite a few odd looks.
“Really?” Kakyou asked, laughing. “We’ll have to try that too.”
“And then we can put this camera of yours to the test, ne?” Fuuma asked, leering at him. He frowned suddenly, giving the kimono a look. “I hope I can figure out how to get that thing off you.”
“You could just ask nicely,” Kakyou said with a smirk.
“Oh, but it’s so much fun groping you in the attempt,” Fuuma said, pouting.
“You can do that anyway,” Kakyou said, and decided it was time to execute step one in his plan to ruin his father’s career. He turned to the gawkers, waved cheerfully, and said, “I’m Kuzuki Kutsuru’s shameless hussy of a son.” Then he yanked Fuuma down for a kiss.
Fuuma kissed back for a minute, then pulled away. “You know, if you’re really out to ruin your father’s career, we could just gave sex right here.”
“A bit too embarrassing, but, you know . . .” Kakyou kissed him again, one hand very firmly squeezing Fuuma’s ass.
Fuuma shrugged and went with it, tangling his hands in Kakyou’s hair. Normally he would’ve slid his hands up Kakyou’s shirt, but the kimono prevented that. Stupid traditional clothing.
Kakyou pulled away, slightly breathless. “Maybe we should go back to our room,” he suggested.
“We could, but that wouldn’t ruin your father’s career,” Fuuma reminded him.
“True, but I don’t have to do it all at once. I could send a compromising picture to the tabloids.”
“We just need dirt on him,” Fuuma said. “I’ll ask Satsuki.”
Kakyou was apparently done horrifying people, but still liked to be close to Fuuma, so he let go of Fuuma’s ass but kept his arms around his waist. “So now?”
“Now we finish mini-golfing, then get some ice cream and finish the boardwalk, then we’ll go back to the hotel, get drunk, and have mad passionate sex,” Fuuma said. “Okay?”
“Sure,” Kakyou said, letting him go but snagging his hand. Then he grinned, took out the camera, and took a picture of the onlookers.
~~~~
“Ne, Keiichi?” Kamui asked quietly. The two of them had been lying on Kamui’s bed in silence for quite some time, occasionally kissing, but not doing much else. Kamui was obviously preoccupied by something, and Keiichi didn’t want to push him.
“Hm?”
“I know that . . .” Kamui’s voice faltered for a second. “I know that you sort of took it in stride when I told you about everything, and I-I’m grateful that you . . . you didn’t abandon me because of it, but . . .”
“But?” Keiichi prompted, rolling over onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Kamui, who was lying on his back.
“But . . . there’s a really good chance that I . . . that I might . . .” Kamui forced himself to spit it out. “That I might die.”
“Oh,” Keiichi said.
“And it . . . it isn’t really fair to you, I mean, you should be able to go find someone else who won’t probably die before the year is out, because that would really suck for you . . .”
Keiichi leaned over and gave him a very gentle kiss. “I think I’m stuck with you, Kamui.”
“No, no, you’re not supposed to be stuck with me,” Kamui said, looking horrified at this concept.
Keiichi laughed. “I meant that in a good way. In a . . . an I-want-to-be-with-you sort of way.”
“Oh.” Kamui considered this. “Are . . . are you okay?”
“With the fact that you might die?” Keiichi asked dryly. “Of course not. I’d hate it. And I don’t like living with that hanging over both our heads, but there’s nothing that we can do about it, so I don’t think about it.”
“Maybe I should try that,” Kamui said thoughtfully.
“Besides,” Keiichi said, “I have faith in you. I believe that you can survive through this if you want to, so you will.”
“It’s not just a matter of surviving,” Kamui said, snuggling closer to Keiichi and resting his head on his shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to kill Fuuma, but . . . I don’t think there’s a way around it.”
Keiichi didn’t reply for a long minute, running his fingers through Kamui’s hair. “I know,” he finally said. “I won’t say I know how you feel, but I understand . . . at least on an intellectual level.”
“If Fuuma dies . . . I have no family left.” Kamui blinked back tears.
Keiichi hugged him tightly for a minute. “I think,” he said carefully, “that the real Fuuma . . . that he wouldn’t want you to be sad like this. That he would want you to do what you had to do and not regret it.”
“How can I not regret it? He’s the last of my family, my friend, my big brother . . .” He felt he could go on for a while with this, so he stopped rather abruptly.
“Well, regret it as little as possible,” Keiichi amended. “If you truly have no choice . . . maybe he would rather you kill him than let him be controlled like this.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” Kamui said. “I’m tired of losing people.”
“I know,” Keiichi said, because there was nothing else he could say.
“Now I’m all mopey again,” Kamui complained. “I was getting better at not being all mopey. And it all went to hell.”
“It’s all right,” Keiichi said. “I mean, I’d certainly rather you not be depressed, but it’s okay if you have times like this. It’s understandable.”
“Keiichi . . . if I die, will you find somebody new?”
“I guess,” Keiichi said. “I mean, I won’t go put an ad in the personals, but if I find someone else . . . I would be with them.” He paused. “Was that the right answer to that?”
Kamui nodded. “I want you to be happy.”
“Well, I promise I’ll do my best,” Keiichi said. “But I’d still really rather prefer it if you didn’t die at all.”
“Yeah, I’d really prefer that too.”
“Then I don’t think you will,” Keiichi said. “Because . . . well, you’re strong somehow. I can just tell.”
Kamui just sort of looked at him.
Keiichi laughed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get philosophical on you.” He leaned down and kissed Kamui gently. Kamui melted into it, wrapping his arms around Keiichi’s shoulders. They stayed that way for a long time, until the inevitable happened and Yuzuriha walked in.
~~~~
Kakyou, Fuuma soon realized, was a giggly drunk. He was also, due to his small stature and lack of experience with alcohol, very quick to get drunk. He was only four shots in, as opposed to Fuuma’s seven, and was far more drunk than him. He stood up and wobbled around a little. “It’s hard to walk,” he announced.
Fuuma was sitting on the floor, lounging against the bed. “Then don’t walk,” he said, as if this was some sort of profound statement.
“But I left the . . . the camera over there.” Kakyou teetered over to the table by the door to their hotel room and picked up the camera, aiming it at Fuuma. “Say . . . fish,” he said, giggling.
Fuuma raised an eyebrow. “How much liquor have you had?” he asked.
Kakyou smiled. “Four shots. I don’t like cheese. I wouldn’t like it sober, either.”
Fuuma wanted to point out that not liking cheese was no reason to avoid the commonly used phrase ‘say cheese’, but refrained. “Only four? We’ve got to work on your liquor tolerance. Come over here and sit down before you fall over.”
Kakyou took the picture anyway, then wobbled over and sat next to Fuuma, leaning against him. “I wasn’t going to fall over,” he announced.
“Sure you weren’t.” Fuuma handed Kakyou the bottle of liquor that had been designated as his. “Have some more.” Kakyou took a swallow and made a face. “So how do you like being drunk?” Fuuma asked him, amused.
“It’s very fun,” Kakyou stated. “Do you like being drunk?”
“Oh, I’m having a blast,” Fuuma said, wrapping an arm around Kakyou’s shoulders. He was beginning to wonder if a drunk Kakyou would talk some about the things he usually wouldn’t talk about. “Got to make the most of our time, ne?”
“We should,” Kakyou agreed, snuggling up to him. “Are you happy?”