Escaflowne 1. Chapter 1

**Wahooo my first Escaflowne fic! plz read and review puppy dog eyes.**

**Thanx to mysterychild, tiki-chan and jordan for being my beta-readers, sniff sniff I love you guys. newayz enjoy reading, and don't sue me unless you want...lint! cuzI don't own a thing!**

**Liberty: Chapter 1**

"_What happens if too early we lose a parent, that party on who we rely for only, everything? Why we are cut loose again and we wonder, even dread, whose hands will catch us now." _

**Charles Dickens: Nicholas Nickelby**

He watched as the flames ate at his home, sweat ran down his face cooling the burning heat that had threatened to consume him too. The fire danced in front of his eyes making his maroon coloured orbs look haunting, disturbing. He breathed into the oxygen mask he was presented. He heard them cry out for help, smelled their burning flesh, he tried to pull them, oh God he tried hard. But fire isn't merciful, isn't, gracious, it's a greedy, ferocious, vicious, it is _hungry_. It is _insatiable_, and unless you plan to become part of its hellish dinner, you have to run. And run he did, anyone would have done the same thing; it had already devoured those he was trying to save. He watched as his beautiful mother was simmered in it, he was trying to drag her body to bathroom to dump water on her, however she never made it. That ravenous creature called a fire licked its way up her extended arm and almost gave him a third degree burn. She had died. Just like that. No 'I love you', no 'I'll miss you,' just the chilling screams of a dying woman. She ended with a thud. No dramatic, theatrical music in the background. She had been burned alive, _eaten_ alive, and she had left the world fighting for her life, yet she didn't have a fighting chance. Where was the dignity in that? He should have died in that flame too dammit. And while all this was playing in slow motion in his mind, Van didn't cry. He couldn't cry. It was like his every emotion had taken a backseat to his thoughts. So instead of breathing which had become very difficult all of sudden, he did the only thing he could.

Van Fanel took off his mask and neatly hurled up every displeasure his body felt.

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Hitomi Kanzaki sighed and changed the channel.

"Hey 'Tomi flip it back!" complained her brother Mamrou.

Hitomi shook her head and looked disgustedly at her younger brother, "Seriously what is it with guys and Britney Spears? She's such a slut."

"You're just a jealous, opinionated, prude. Britney's hot," her brother countered sinking into the plush powder blue couch and crossing his arms. His bangs tickling his face lightly. Hitomi turned to her brother her coifed honey curls swishing along behind her facial features.

"I'll take that as a compliment _baby_ brother," Hitomi answered, crossing her long legs. She continued switching the channel, till she found a movie which she would allow her fifteen year old sibling to watch, and settled up against the couch armchair. They had just moved again the second time in six months; luckily it was permanent this time. Her mothers traveling agency had decided that her mother had done enough _traveling_ and had settled her mother and family in the little town of Liberty, which was thankfully very close to her old school about a twenty-five minute drive away from her old friends, and old neighbourhood. She hated moving so much, as any teenager would, mainly because of her inability to make good friends fast. Oh yes she was a charming, respectable girl, with a crazy sense of humor and a craving for excitement. And people were drawn to her like a moth to a flame because of her fresh personality. However when people got closer to her they only saw her "bookish" also referred to as nerdy habits, an opinionated look on life, and the prudish way she carried herself, along with being quite the introvert, but not being to scared to show how intelligent or sarcastically witty she could be, Hitomi was used to being called the "Ice Princess", "Miss Frost" among other crueler things. People failed to realize that she had a strong sense of who she was and so she was not as insecure as they were. Of course she was also impossibly naïve, innocent but she could not, she _refused_ to change for anyone who thought she should "loosen up" a bit. But whatever…she would make friends. Even if it took her a while.

"Hitomi, hey Hitomi," someone called her name, and it came echoing through her peaceful darkness.

"Huh?" she asked sitting up banging her head into her brother's nose. The pain vibrated through her head, what a wonderful wake-up call.

"Dammit, Hitomi do you _not_ want me to breathe?" whined Mamrou rubbing his nose gently, he had taken punches harder than that but those were expected, surprises hurt a helluva lot more.

"Oh sorry, what do you want?" she inquired annoyed that he had awoken her from her much needed sleep.

"Aren't you going to dance class?"

"Yeah…what time is it?" she questioned groggily.

"Quarter to six," he replied turning the T.V back to MTV, he had left as soon as she fell asleep.

"And you couldn't have woken me up earlier you idiot?" she cried as she began to run up her soft cream coloured stairs.

"Be glad that I got you up or else you wouldn't have been able to dance!" he called out as he watched girls in the Ciara music video "shake their tail feathers". Leaning back he stretched his enormous legs on the mahogany coffee table sitting in front of him, and placed his arms across the length of the chair. Yup, this was the way you spend your Saturday afternoon. Watching hot girls dance around all day.

"Lazy bum," he heard his sister mutter before rushing out of the house, he decided to ignore the comment.

Her black Lycra dance pants fit comfortably and held on snuggly to her lean form, and with her gray sweater she looked like someone who would appear in _Flashdance_. Sliding into her car and throwing her multi-coloured duffel bag behind her into the back of her BMW, she settled into the velour seat, gunned the ignition, and the lighthearted yet serious teen zipped down the street.

Ever since she was younger Hitomi wanted to dance, not the dancing they do on MTV mind you, ballet dancing, interpretive dancing, and waltzing. Anything smooth and utterly classy, anything beautiful. It was hard to pursue all three types of dancing so she asked to pick one, and interpretive dancing had been her choice, since it entailed almost all of the aforementioned genres. Usually interpretive dance didn't include any of that but she was lucky, they had found a dance school who would cater to her wishes, Floresta Dance School.

Turning right at the lights she drove for about five minutes then pulled up to the red bricked white pillared impressive structure. It was pretty, in the way that a mansion mixed with an office could be pretty. Okay so maybe pretty was the wrong adjective, just think about the type of mansion a business tycoon would have if he didn't have a wife. Meaning no flowers, just a circular gravel driveway (to drop your children off, the parking spaces were in the back) surrounding a circular patch of healthy green grass, with a tree in the exact middle. In other words strictly business looking, yet charming.

Parking her car across the street, even though she had to pay a fare it was probably easier to find a space than having to drive around. Grabbing her mostly emerald coloured duffel bag Hitomi ran across the street, stormed through the outstandingly bright white double doors, past the receptionist desk and almost literary dived into the dressing room.

"You definitely know how to make an entrance Hitomi," a familiar female voice commented.

"Hello to you too, Celena," answered Hitomi slipping her feet into her pink ballet flats and she took off her ash coloured sweater to reveal the matching tank top to her dance pants. She watched Celena disappear through the separating door, and heard the reprimand that was given to her for being five minutes late. If she didn't hurry she would have go through the same torture. Miss Eriya Cohen and her twin sister Naria didn't accept tardiness, if you punctual it meant you were focused and determined. They were great when it came to disciplining "wayward" or "lazy" kids, and they were as strict as a drill sergeant and as kind as Princess Diana on a good day. They knew the value of hard work because this was one of the top dance schools in all of this wonderful country called Gaea.

Stepping out into the florescent lit room Hitomi winced as Eriya's strong voice pierced the room, "Thank you for joining us Miss Kanzaki. Do you happen to know what time it is?" she asked sternly.

Hitomi nervously glanced at the clock, "Ten after six Miss Cohen," she replied in a small voice.

"Meaning that?"

"I'm ten minutes late."

"Yes but it also means you are interrupting your peers and our lesson time, first apologize to your dance mates and on Friday when you **will** arrive on time, please present me with a two paged essay on why tardiness is not acceptable."

"Sorry everybody for interrupting you," she apologized obediently. Her "dance mates" replied with the mandatory "it's okay" which was expected of the twin sisters as well, to avoid any rude comments and more "disruptions". (Sometimes it seems that school follows you no matter where you are.)

"Alright everybody from the top! Miss Kanzaki do your best to follow along, if you need any help just ask," she called out with a smile on her face. Hitomi nodded back, found a spot near the back where she positioned herself and their exercises began.

_Like every tree stands on its own_

_Reaching for the sky I stand alone_

_I share my world with no else_

_All by myself, I stand alone_.

The class was now separated in groups, and were now going through their warm up dances, stretching and releasing any tension in their muscles, breathing, pushing air, pulling imaginary objects towards them. The whole class was listening to the same song and trying to portray the story it was story it was telling however someone was annoyed, "Tell me why we start everyday with corny Disney songs?" complained Celena to her group members.

_I know the sound of each rock and stone_

_And I embrace what others fear_

_You are not to roam in this forgotten place_

_Just the likes of me are welcomed here._

Walking gracefully and pointing her toes while doing so, Hitomi crossed her arms on her chest and brought them down in as fast as she had lifted them. Touching her face with her girl scouts positioned fingers; she pulled her fingers away and turned her face on her retreating digits. Circling half her face with her right hand she touched her chest then bowed and extended her arm fluidly, finally she stood upright rippling her body in time with the music. "I don't know Celena, but I do know if you don't stop talking the person who spased on us earlier is going to do it again," she answered continuing with her movements.

_Everything breathes_

_And I know each breath_

_For me it means life_

_For others, it's death_

_It's perfectly balanced _

_Perfectly planned_

_More than enough_

_For this man._

As she predicted dance instructor Naria Cohen in her silver leotards, enchanting cat like features, just-from-Florida sunkissed skin, and dyed, shimmering silver coloured hair decided to join them, "Is there a problem Miss Schezar, Miss Kanzaki?"

Before Hitomi could give the expected reply Celena told her, "No Miss Cohen no problem, I was just wondering why we have to listen to unoriginal Disney songs everytime we practice."

"Oh, I believe you used the word _corny_. But they're not," replied the teacher raising her eyebrows. "Would anyone like to tell Miss Schezar why we listen to Disney songs at the start of every class?" she inquired looking at her and her sisters pupils. "No? Okay well it seems Miss Schezar was not the only one with this question. The reason class," she informed them walking lightly around each group dancing on the wooden floor, "is that you know these songs, and they are one of the easiest things to make actions to. Don't you remember that when you were a little kid you used to pretend to be Cinderella, or Snow White, or even Jasmine? Disney songs were made to make you feel like you were lighter than air, and that you could dance the night away. Even though they are clichés they are meant to inspire everyone. Everything is supposed to inspire us, because we are interpretive dancers, anything from nature, to the cars we drive, to the music we listen to. _Everything_ students, and until you grasp that fact you will never be a dancer. But enough of the pep talk, me and my sister have something to announce," informed the trainer.

_I've seen your world through these very eyes_

_Don't come any closer, don't even try_

_I've felt all the pain and I've heard all the lies_

_But in my world there's no compromise._

"Continue dancing wonderful pupils you were making me so very proud…but anyways, as my wise said we do have something to announce, our hopes of once again joining the group of young men across the hall have come true!" The group of girls stopped their actions and cheered. "Back to work ladies!" she called out and changed the ending song. "Also with these delightful gentlemen, we will be entering a dance competition. And if we're good enough—and hopefully we will be—we will compete in this years Couples Dance program. The winning school will have a chance to travel around all of Gaea to perform! But we are getting ahead of ourselves first we must practice, practice, practice!" notified the teacher clapping her hands and giggling like a giddy five year old.

"Now everyone let's start with some pirouettes," instructed Eriya and the class continued…

"Remember ladies we want suggestions for music selection by next week Saturday. Goodbye! Good luck during your first week of school!" the twins waved to their precious students, honey-suckle, and silvery ponytails swishing in time behind their heads.

"Those two are _very_ odd people," commented a brunette when the herd of girls entered the dressing room.

"I prefer eccentric ladies!" called one of the two instructors, opening the door Eriya stepped through, "And Miss Kanzaki add half a page to that essay about why you shouldn't criticize your teachers when they discipline you, please. For your "spas" comment," commanded the blonde Miss Cohen, closing the door behind her.

"They also have the hearing of a cat," Hitomi grumbled.

"Thank you Kanzaki!" answered one of the two. And Hitomi slumped in her seat.

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Van stared at the quaint bungalow house standing proudly before him. It was almost identical to every other lining the God-forbidden street which was attempting to be something it wasn't. A real neighbourhood. It was like one of the ghetto "hoods" you saw in music videos all the time, except it didn't have wire-fences or toys, or makeshift tables with lawn chairs littering the lawn. Instead colourful flowers, and perhaps a tree or two—if you were lucky— were strewn across in perfect pattern. It was like every house was the remake of the last, but occasionally with different colours and accessories. People were very good at making the illusion of an little romantic street in which you could keep your door open at night and not have to be worried about a thing. Only with a keen eye could one see the peeling paint or a crack up the floorboards, or the group of suspicious looking teens not even a minute away. He could clearly see the graffiti on the walls which were painted over, and the burn marks on the house next to one he was facing. Which he was getting very used to seeing, by the way. This place desperately wanted to be the elegant yet somewhat rough suburbs, when it utterly and entirely…crap.

Bad adjective yes, but that's just what it was c-r-a-p. His mind couldn't muster up any other word to describe this place. It wasn't bad, but most certainly not good, or beautiful, or okay, or even ordinary. Just flat out blah. Add all the colour you want, change the design of the boring houses, and if you wish get rid of the kids that seemed to be getting louder and nearer at this moment, it would still be the same in his mind. It was then that Van decided he would leave this crappy-wannabe as soon as he got a proper job and education. He wouldn't return to Fanelia…then again maybe…Whatever, all he knew is that he was leaving this town, with the street and neighbourhood he would adjust to but never like.

Brooding Van was so lost in his thoughts—more like plans—that he didn't even realize his social worker with her brown tweed blazer and pencil skirt, a frilly white tank top, brown lizard scale patterned pumps, straight brown fluffy hair, high cheekbones, sharp yet pretty green eyes, and model like shape, was talking to him. Actually she was yelling at him now, but who has time for technicalities these days? "Van Slanzar Fanel, I'm talking to you," she proclaimed sternly, finally capturing his attention.

"Huh, oh sorry, I was thinking," he mumbled snapping out his daze.

"I said don't be rude, and remember to pay attention when people are talking to you," she restated.

"Okay," he agreed with a shrug beginning to walk down the cement walkway leading to the white front door. Mrs. Lenox stood beside his five foot ten figure, straightened her blazer and smoothed out her skirt, then lifted her hand to ring the doorbell. The voice that erupted from inside was enough to shake the whole town.

"I'm coming," boomed the baritone voice. Out strode—Van would have thought that _anything_ _his_ _size_ would _lumber_— a man that no one would have believed could fit in the habitat he occupied, much less live in there. This enormous being would have given "Shaq" competition, because Van in his entire five twelve splendor had to look _way_ up to even peer at this creatures face. He was probably seven feet and two hundred and fifty to three hundred pounds of pure muscle. Not a millimeter of fat on him. With a thicker neck than one of Mr. Mayor Schewartzenagar's arms, high cheekbones, strong jawline, two bushy dancing caterpillars for eyebrows, thin serious lips, and deep chestnut coloured hair which gray was trying to dominate. Then there was the mustache; perfectly trimmed yet bristled, as tainted with ash coloured hairs as his thick mane, it was like a ball of messy uncombed fur, sitting neatly on his lip, moving in perfect timing with them (lips that is). It was sort of troubling actually.

"It's wonderful to see you again Van," the man greeted driving his hand with incredible force. He had quite the firm handshake, and Van winced slightly.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you sir," Van shaking the man's hand back, slightly confused. If anyone _that_ big had ever appeared at his door, he would _definitely_ remember.

"That's right, it was probably fifteen years since I last saw you, I'm too big to forget unless your two and no sir call me Balgus," he smiled, large pearly white teeth glistening. "You must be Mrs. Lennox, well it's talk to you again will you come in? Stay for dinner?" he welcomed engulfing the dainty woman's hands in his paws.

Mrs. Lennox smiled a strained model smile and released her hand from his powerful grip. "No thank you but I appreciate the offer. It's always a pleasure indeed. But I must go, if you don't mind me asking, where's your wife?"

"Jenny's out buying groceries with Merle, the two of them should be home in about ten minutes, I'll tell them you said "hi"."

"Thanks Mr. Hoshino," she nodded, "Take care Van, have fun," she hugged him—weird— "You better behave Van, these are good people, friends of your parents, they'll take care of you," she whispered to him.

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled back grimly.

"And no mumbling young man," she ordered him patting his shoulders, then walked down the stairs and the walkway in a fashion that would have made a model proud. Waving one last time, Mrs. Lennox stepped out of Van Fanel's life forever, leaving him as always to fend for himself. Van seemed destined to be alone.

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She could hear her "mother" pull up into the driveway, but she didn't care she _wanted_ to be caught. He continued to leave a burning trail down her skin, his hands went around her back and unclasped her bra like the professional he was, and he removed it and threw it to the floor. She ran her perfectly manicured hand through his thick black hair. She loved the way it curled just before his eyebrows, how it tickled her right where she wanted it. If only he'd move a bit faster…However this man, who happened to be older than her by about ten years, was intent on taking his time. He was now _just_ hitting her stomach.

They heard her "mother" push the key in the whole and unlock the door. He was about to say something when she brought him up for a kiss. The duo got up from the couch which they had been occupying and into her "mother's" bedroom, she made sure she left a trail of clothes heading directly to that ivory and gold door. She left the door—a hair breadths wide—open, so that her "mother" could walk in at the perfect time. Her "mother" called her, but she was too busy to care, pale bright and sunny blonde hair, the colour of corn silk, mixed with dark ebony strands, creating an interesting pattern. Her "mother", as planned entered at the perfect time. Just as she was hitting the highest note in their wonderful crescendo, they didn't even hear her slam the door in disgust, so high they had gone. When they were done they covered with her "mother's" bed sheet, relishing in the afterglow.

It was at that moment, when contentment had just begun to lace through her body that her "mother" had decided to interrupt her. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.

The question had made her lover jump, but it was expected, and she told him to leave, while she dealt with her "mother".

"What I'm doing "mother" dearest is the very thing _you_ do _every_ night!" she yelled after the older man left. "You don't care what happens to me then you wench, you're too banged up to even care! Do you know how many nights I've been scared shitless that some creep that you bring home is going to knock me up too? You're such a conceited freak, who is too much in love with the good money that my father brings to you to even care! Do you know how many nights I've left you here after you're nightly fix, how many of you damned suitors come on to me, how many times I've left this house and enjoyed partying the night away at someone else's house! I could have been raped by now you slut! I could be dead in a gutter! You wanna know something else, _I_ _HATE YOU_. And I'm going to enjoy the rest of my life partying and having great sex, which by the way you'll never have, while you rot in hell!" She hollered, finally being able to burst. Her "mother" did something so very predictable, and she had braced herself for it. A slap across the face hurt more than she thought it would, and she heard it echo off the walls.

"Get out you conniving witch, go to father, get raped, end up dead in a gutter, let some guy take advantage of you, overdose on drugs, choke on your vomit…I don't care just leave before I kill you myself," her "mother" sneered. But she stared at her instead, everything she despised stood right before, she wanted to make this thing called "mother"—who was her nanny—angrier. "_LEAVE!_" her "mother" roared, shaking the house, almost shattering the glass windows.

She skipped out of the, room dressed in toga, pale blonde hair following like a halo behind her, and left with everything she owned, or everything her father owned. Meaning anything that could hold in her Hummer.

_Leave_.

One of the single most freeing words a teenager could ever hear.

**Leave**.

It was a beautiful thing.

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He stared up at his white ceiling, he was absolutely tired, and yet he didn't want to sleep. He _couldn't_ sleep. It was physically impossible, because as soon as he closed his eyes he could _see_ them, he could _hear_ them. Each and every time he shut his eyes, and his long eyelashes connected, it was like his senses extended beyond the natural world. He could feel his hand burn, he could smell her flesh smolder, and he could see the shape of his father lifeless in the corner. He had tried to forget, but it seems that forgetting was so intertwined with remembering, that it was one and the same thing.

'_Focus on something else, and breathe dammit_' he scolded himself. Something else…well how about that new family he was thrust upon? The most interesting he had come across in a while. Jenny—the giant's wife—was a petite pleasant looking woman, with auburn hair which bounced all the time, it never swished. She was a chef at a small restaurant down the street. She was a health nut, with the most original eye colour he had ever seen, it looked like the sun was setting over the biggest and clearest aquamarine sea in the world. When Balgus had caught him staring—which was extremely embarrassing—he told Van that, that was one of her many charms. The woman slapped her husband's arm playfully and blushed while shaking her head. Then there was Merle. Dressed in a tight fitting orange crocheted sweater and a black pouffy fifties skirt with black Converse All Stars, she had left a lasting impression. She was about two years younger than him, with flashing yet deep red hair, which was streaked with pink, electric blue eyes that peered playfully up him through cat eyes which were done up in pitch black mascara and cute lips which were lightly touched with cherry lip gloss, she looked so…He didn't even know how to describe her she was so beautifully unusual.

You do remember when he had resolved to leave this town after he got "a job and a proper education" right? Well there was now one complication. Merle Hoshino. He was infatuated with her. With her charm, with her grace, with her warm welcome, with the way she smiled, the way she laughed, with the way she hugged him goodnight. He hated it. He hated how all of a sudden a girl could show up and ruin your perfect plans. But he still had a chance, as long as he stayed infatuated with her, and _not_ end up in love, he would get over her. '_You hear that buddy? _Infatuated **_not_ **in love. _You didn't come to stay, you came for an extended visit._' He informed himself. Besides he didn't think it was right to have feelings for your adoptive sister.

He closed his eyes again. They opened with a flash, and he glanced at the time. It was three seventeen in the morning. Oh bloody hell, he was going to find some sleeping pills. He found the bathroom with little difficulty, and opened the medicine cabinet. Sleeping pills, sleeping pill, sleeping pills…where were the damned _sleeping pills_? '_Not everyone has problems sleeping idiot_' he reminded himself. Okay, so screw the sleeping pills, he still had to find a way to tire himself out. Maybe if he made himself a sandwich, staying up all night was making him hungry.

So tiptoeing up the stairs—he was sleeping in the basement— the thin yet muscular onyx haired seventeen year old found his way to the kitchen. He would have to be quiet because everybody but him slept on this floor. He found the bread pulled out two pieces and threw them into the oven. Next he raided the fridge, pulling out the cheese and some ham and bacon concoction, he cut himself a couple of slices of cheese and then removed two slices of meat. When his toast was finished he slathered it with butter put the remaining ingredients on it, then stuffed everything back in the fridge, and gobbled it down finishing his meal with a glass of milk. Even after all that he still wasn't tired, so he would watch some T.V then use his uncle's exercise center.

Making his way back downstairs, he entered the incredibly neat and orderly rec. room. He would give his food some time to digest, then use the treadmill. Thirty minutes into the Matrix, or around the time "Morpheus was fighting Neo", Van got himself his running shoes and jumped (literally) onto the treadmill.

His father had always told him never eat past ten at night unless he wanted to be fat. And so every night when our young friend would have a midnight snack, he would either box it off, or run it off. He never gained any excess cellulite thanks his wonderful "papi". It was his dear father who had the best advice to give. It was always his dear father who wanted to move from the pleasant house they had been living in, always worried that the juvenile delinquents they had been living near would go farther then egging the house, and keying the car on Halloween. His father who was always scared for what family he had left. It was his father who had gotten him out of bed that night, his father was going to try to help his mother out, because she was pregnant again. It was his father who he saw get crushed underneath a fallen beam. It was his father…his stomach lurched. "Shit," was the only word he uttered as he ran to the bathroom and stuffed his face into the toilet bowl.

He didn't even have time to lift the toilet seat before it all came rushing out, his food, which he thought he had digested earlier, spilled out him. The first wave of nausea was gone so he wiped up what had gotten on the seat with toilet paper and dropped it in. He lifted the seat. He had to stop thinking about them…_them_. The second wave came washing over him and anything that was left in his stomach was violently wretched out. He had to stop, he thought as he wiped the sweat which was dripping down his face and he noticed his hand was burning again. It burned everytime he did this. _This_ wasn't going to help them, _this_ wasn't going to bring them back. He knew it. He told himself that everytime he felt like this, but it still came. Faithfully, dutifully. And it came again, Van put his face back into the toilet, the putrid smell ruling his senses. He felt the stomach acid and blood being rejected from his body and then it finally stopped, and he flushed the toilet. _He_ _had_ _to stop_. Not feeling any better than when he was looking into the water filled basin Van washed his face, re-brushed his teeth and tried to drink some water. The water had other ideas, so he spit that out too. He realized he was shaking. Turning off the water angrily, he clicked off the T.V, and headed to bed.

As usual our beloved, good-looking, brooding and serious young man, who would swear he had ulcers by now, left this reality and fell into the world of haunting memories. Our peculiar Mr. Van Fanel, was finally asleep.

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Hitomi watched the stars up above and traced the constellations in her mind, the "Big Dipper", and the "Little Dipper", Orion, and the Virgo. When she was younger she had wanted to dance up in the sky with the stars twinkling around her. That was her dream, and every night she wished on a star that one day she'd be up there with them and they'd have the time of their lives. Back when she was younger…back when she didn't know that by the time a star's light reached you it had already burned out, back when parents didn't argue as much. Back when she laughed more, back when people were friendlier. Life is full of innocence and "back when's". Funny when you were older reality seems to snatch away all your dreams, all of you innocence. So gazing at a star Hitomi did something she hadn't done in a long time, "Star light, star bright I wish I may, I wish I might… Stars I'm going to ask, that, if there's someone wishing to dance up there with you one day that they will get their chance. And stars don't let reality take away their hopes and dreams. Stars let their wishes come true. Oh and God, since you're up there too, can you make the stars burn brighter, and teach someone to hope as well." Then the naïve yet no longer innocent Hitomi Kanzaki hopped into bed, not knowing that someone who was going affect her life in a very serious way, was holding on to their last hope, wanting for someone to wish on the stars for them. But Hitomi didn't know about that…all she knew was that she wanted her parents to keep their voices down. They were going to bother the neighbours.

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Labour Day was in full swing, people were barbequing, kids were swimming, or running through the sandy beach playing Frisbee, and Van, well Van was being Van stretched out on the itchy green grass thinking. He was watching Merle and Jenny on the beach while Balgus was barbequing hamburgers, just like every other family. Merle had come over in white polka-dotted, black striped halter sundress, and asked him if he "wanted to join her and her mother on this regrettably not so sunny day for a glorious game of Frisbee"—her speech was one more eccentricity he would have to add the list of that Merle was. He would have accepted too, if he hadn't spent his second night there with his face stuck in a toilet bowl. So he told her he would have loved to, (he really would of just to make her happy) but he didn't feel too good so he would have to lie there instead. Merle smiled her enchanting smile and said that he'd feel better by them time dinner was ready. He nodded and watched her form bounce away. It was best he distanced himself from her anyways.

He looked back at Balgus, he really should be helping the monstrosity of a man, but whenever he thought about food as a whole, his stomach fluids seemed to slosh back and forth. He wondered abstractedly if that's what it felt like to be pregnant. His mother was pregnant. He would have been an older brother. Perhaps to a boy who would grate his nerves, who he would give advice to, who he would teach how to protect himself. They would play fight and argue all the time, but when worse came to worse they would defend eachother to the death. They would bleed for eachother, always be there for one another.

Or maybe he would have a baby sister; they would tease eachother all the time. She would spy on him with her friends, and he would steal her Barbie dolls. He would teach her how to dance, he would teach how to punch and kick just incase some guy decided to get fresh. He would kill any man who touched her below the neck. He would defend her dignity; he would always catch her when she fell. He would make her husband nervous. He would tickle her till she wet her pants, and then spin her around till they both fell down. And each time she needed a hero to hug her and wipe away tears; he would be there in a flash. After all, that's what big brother's were for. To annoy and be there for you, no matter what.

Sadly that dream had been run over by a bus, after shattering into a thousand pieces. Actually it was burned to a crisp. Okay, slow down kids. '_Slow down, breathe. Breathe dumbass! Breathe and don't think. Don't you dare take a step towards that bathroom._' He instructed himself. He had had a good breakfast, and he wasn't planning on becoming bulimic, he liked his food to stay just where it was thank you very much.

He had to find something to do, focus his attention on something else. He had to stop thinking about what could've been or else he would be puking every five minutes. They say idle hands make trouble, so he had to find some activity to do, something that would also make him tired enough for him to fall into a deep sleep tonight. Swimming. Swimming by himself, swimming with Merle (ooh that would be nice), swimming with Jenny, he didn't care. He just needed to swim. Van pushed himself off the floor, not a good thing to do when you're queasy. Steadying himself Van raced into the water, clothes and all. He had a change of clothes in the "family van" anyways.

"Hey Van, I thought you weren't feeling good," called Merle.

"I'm not, but if I swim I will," he hollered back.

"Well don't end up sick in the water," Merle warned.

"I won't," he notified then dove under into the refreshing clear liquid.

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Hitomi glanced at the sky, it was particularly gray for a Labour Day afternoon. "The weather man said it was going to be sunny today," she whined.

"Hitomi darling, the weather man gets paid to make an educated guess," observed her mother, tucking the strand of cocoa coloured hair that blown out from behind her small ears, back into its place. The two continued to stroll down the sidewalk in what looked like perfect peace, but both were struggling to find a topic which they discuss so that it wouldn't even divert to the second huge fight that Ira Kanzaki and her husband had had that day. "Do you think you're prepared for school?" she asked finally finding an okay subject.

"As prepared as I'll ever be, I have to apply for college or university this year," reported Hitomi shuffling along at her mother's pace. She was planning to work with troubled teens. Maybe even become a psychologist. When she was younger she had wanted to be a dance teacher, but that wasn't a sensible ambition according to her parents. So she had opted for the next best thing, at least according to her. Furthermore, if she was really good at what she did, she could write a bunch of self help books for teens and possibly help a few them while she was doing her job. Maybe, instead of having them on a steady flow of Prozac and Ritalin, she could actually _help_ them with whatever problems they were having. Such as being misunderstood, or having horrible communication skills, or they didn't fit in, or perhaps their life is being dictated by two angry parents who couldn't control their tempers. Problems she understood, exceptionally well.

"Well darling in case I don't see you tomorrow morning because I have to go in early, good luck and do well," Ira Kanzaki offered.

"Thanks mom," Hitomi replied appreciatively.

"Now, where's your brother?" she questioned good naturedly.

"He's with dad," Hitomi imparted, looking at her mother warily.

"Oh," was all she muttered, but that "oh" was so full of meaning…

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Merle watched her "brother" splash through the water. He had been in there for over an hour, going back and forth like some lost fish that was desperately trying to find his way home.

Van Fanel. An interesting name for an equally interesting person. She remembered the first time she had saw him. He was standing, five foot ten of drool worthy hotness, in a scarlet red sweater and baggy blue jeans. But his clothes wasn't what had caught her attention. It was his face. Hard, chiseled, jawline, perfect almost heart shaped lips which naturally turned down made him look like he was constantly musing over something (which he was). High cheekbones that would give Johnny Depp a run for his money, and the most peculiar lopsided grin that would drive any girl into insanity, made him so endearing. However it wasn't those features that had captured her heart. It wasn't even his full hair which flew by on dark ebony wisps that had taken her. It was the very thing that that unruly mop covered, his _eyes_. His eyes were the most unusual, mesmerizing, enchanting things she had ever seen in all of her fifteen years. They looked like Hershey kisses mixed with strawberries then dipped in hot fudge. Like the Sahara deserts setting sun, mixed in with every chocolate goodie one could ever buy. And it wasn't only their colour which caught her by surprise, it was the personality she saw in them. Serious, and humorous, fiercely loyal, and protective, kind, stubborn, and utterly enigmatic Van had stolen her heart. The heart she so carefully guarded. She didn't even know how it happened. But that was okay, his beauty wouldn't be accepted by all, so she didn't have to worry about his heart being taken. Van was protective, and she knew Van would protect her heart with his life.

"Do you suppose we should remove the fish from the water, before he _actually _catches a cold?" queried Merle after her moment of reminiscing.

"Go ahead love, I'll set up the table," responded her mother dusting the sand from her small form. She pulled the red and white checkered plastic table cloth from the cooler bag, and spread it over the wooden picnic table. Pulling out other miscellaneous things and condiments, Jenny spread them out in an orderly fashion over the table.

"**VAN!HEY VAN!**" screamed Merle over the peace that had settled across the lake. When he looked up (he heard her while he was still halfway underwater) she waved her hand for him to come in to shore. For seeming so quiet, Merle had a vocal range that could match her adoptive father's. Upon arriving on shore Merle watched as Van's black shirt clung to his shaped abdomen in wonderment. He had the greatest physique in the world, lean (more like stick thin) but strong. The type that took a good eye to notice. A good eye like Merle's. "Well I'm glad you worked so hard out there. Such a workout is sure to bring out a hefty appetite, and we, being the hard working cooks that we are, are certain that you will be filled to the brim."

Van gave her his lopsided grin, and said that he was sure that whatever they cooked would cure his hunger, and followed Merle up the bank to their table. Jenny Hoshino gathered her little family around the table and told her husband to say grace, "Thank you God for…" Van was bowed his head respectively and swallowed his stomach's discomfort. It was the exact same prayer his father had religiously recited every night before dinner. The same prayer he said that night: _Thank you God for food, family, and friendship. Keep us always mindful of those who have less than we, we ask this in Jesus' name. Amen._ '_Forget the prayer_', he told himself, '_tonight you're going to have one solid meal, and have at least seven hours of rest because tomorrow is school and you have to be able to think straight. Do it for them. _Them. _Oh God…_'

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Her father had always been sort of a hopeless romantic, so had her mother, it was the reason he had moved here in the first place. She peered at the street signs that were lining the gray sidewalk, and the ten acre estates. Passing by the pearly white mansions with their winding driveways, and big statues, she felt a bit nostalgic, like she was back in Asturia again. Which was sort of stupid, but she couldn't help it if it reminded her of home.

Turning left she finally found it, asking Anthony, her father's butler to open the mechanical black iron gates, she drove her Hummer past the white limestone lion statues her father had imported from some foreign country, past the sprinklers, which were wetting the freshly trimmed grass. She drove past the willow trees, whose gently blowing leaves were going to start to change colour, past the way to the garage, all the way up to the front steps.

Grabbing two of her suitcases and her purse, she lugged less than a tenth of her baggage up the long stairs, and flung her lengthy, rippling lemony blonde wave behind her neck. She was so tired. She had been driving for five hours, and as soon as she entered this house she was going to take a hot shower and not wake up for school tomorrow. So preparing herself once again she rang the doorbell with a strained hand.

Anthony opened the door like the true butler he was, making himself disappear behind the wide, blindingly white painted door. She regained her strength and took a few steps in. "Daddy I'm home," she called out to her father.

"Millerna Sara Ashton, _what_ are _you_ doing _here_?" demanded her father, his looming presence coming out of the shadows. So much for a warm welcome, Millerna thought.

"Well my _precious_ nanny told me to leave so I left, and now I'm here," Millerna proceeded in telling him while she dragged the luggage she had in hands toward the winding staircase.

"Why did she tell you to leave? What happened Millerna? What did you do Millerna?" he interrogated calling someone to help her with her baggage.

"What did I do? Christ Dad, I'm not _always_ guilty. You should ask her what she did. I'm safer here than I was in that house, so you should be glad I'm here instead of there," she quarrelled exasperatedly. "But when you do call her and ask her what she's done, and she blames everything on me, I want you to know I refuse to go back to that house."

"What happened Millerna?" he persisted.

"Dad I'm tired, I just drove for five hours straight. Just ask _her_ what went on. I'm going to take a shower, and go to bed. Good night Dad," Millerna retorted, then as an after thought she called to her father, "Tell Anthony to put the Hummer into the garage please Dad, the keys are still in the ignition."

"Millerna you do remember that school is tomorrow, how are we going to get you to enroll by then?"

"I don't know," she shrugged then disappeared into her bedroom.

Her father looked at her bedroom door and let out a heavy, weary, sigh. Daughters. Sometimes he wished he had sons, they seemed so much easier to raise. But right now he had a couple calls to make, and call in a few favours. He shook his head at the thought of all the talking he suddenly had to do. Women.

**Thanx for reading and remember kids, REVIEW! I would appreciate some constructive criticism and flames...if necessary sighs...will be allowed. But be nice in a squeaky voice. JA NE! i luv those things aren't they just so cuuute!> ahem**


	2. Chapter 2: Part I

**Hiya kids! thanks for the reviews they made my day XD...yes well moving thank you to sister-person (mystery-chld) tiki-chan and jo-chan for beta reading. This chappie is for you guys squezzes them to a sad death . I'm sorry guysI love youuuuuuu! **

**Sister-person: NEWAYZ...same disclaimer applies, the poor soul has nothing to give you and since she doesn't even own Van I guess you can't sue...ah well. **

**Chapter 2-Part I: Misfits**

_Misfits; a term loosely used to describe a person who's_

_Not like everybody else._

_If we were all the same person, _

_Who would we be?_

**Anonymous**

Hitomi drank in the familiar smell and nearly coughed up a lung. "Jeez, does nearly every teenager _have_ to smoke. I swear there won't be a future generation if they keep this up, we'll all die of emphysema!" she grumbled.

"Oh stop being so melodramatic Hitomi, you should be used to it by now," retorted Celena running her hands through her nearly white hair. She pulled her turquoise sweater further down over her arms and zipped it up. Even though the sun was blindingly bright it was still a bit chilly.

As the duo entered the large facility called a school (a.k.a hell hole) a barrage of students rushed past them, practically knocking them. "They also have no sense of direction, is it so hard to walk _around_ someone?" griped Hitomi.

"What's got you in such a bad mood, all you've done is complain, complain, complain… I thought you liked school."

"I do, I just don't like most of the people that inhabit it," she explained matter-of-factly. "Hey Celena my locker is on the top so I'll see you later okay," finished Hitomi as took a glance at her schedule. If her locker was upstairs why were most of her classes downstairs? Secretaries and guidance counselors needed more common sense.

Trudging angrily up the set of steps, Hitomi's thoughts wandered to what had set her off in the first place: _She had woken up once again to her parent's arguments, something utterly small and insignificant; then again they found a way to argue about everything. "Jesus Ira just leave it alone. I came home late last night, I wasn't sleeping around! I was just doing my job. Look I know it was a holiday but I was needed. I was making the money that supports this family, you should be thankful that I'm a hard worker you wouldn't have as many luxuries as you do now if I didn't work as hard as I do."_

"_I support this family too, even if it isn't as high paying as yours. And I would be a lot happier even without those luxuries. We don't need money David we need to talk."_

"_Talk? Talk about what? About how you don't trust me, about how all you ever do is nag, nag, nag? About how I try to do nice things for you and you don't appreciate it? I don't get it Ira what the hell _do_ you want to talk about? What do you want?"_

"_David, whenever you're ready to actually communicate with me in a decent manner, let me know. But right now I'm going to my job, which according to you doesn't really count for anything," her mother hissed and left her enraged father standing in the hall staring at the door which was slammed shut. Her dad had been in an aggravating mood after that, leaving her and her brother with a hasty goodbye and a strained smile._

Homeroom class English: Creative Writing, not bad at least it wasn't Math or Biology, she really couldn't take anything hardcore on a morning like this, anything that allowed her to express herself was always therapeutic. Unexpectedly someone slammed their locker shut to the left of hers and she jumped. Some guy that stood an inch and a half taller than her five foot eight and a half stick figure, with a black hooded sweater and faded Levi denim jeans, his hair looked combed but it raged around his sharp features like he had just been sticking his head out his car window while doing a hundred mph. It overshadowed his eyes, and she thought idly that he could almost be one of those dogs whose hair touched their noses, but he was much too thin for that. His look was completed by bright red Chuck Taylors, and a black leather biker glove on his right hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized his serious tenor voice ringing in her ears.

"It's okay," she assured him then asked, "You're new aren't you?"

"Yeah," he nodded adjusting the weight of his back pack. That was the benefit of living in a small town with only one public high school; you notice every new face that you see. However, before Hitomi could catch his name, the first bell rang and they headed off in different directions.

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"Alright ladies and gentlemen, we are going to have the announcements and an assembly in the gym in a few minutes so let me take this time to introduce you to a new student Millerna Ashton," the portly female teacher presented. Upon hearing her name a teenage girl stepped through the door. When Celena actually decided to look up at the person who was being introduced (she was doodling in her notebook), she had a case of déjà vu. This girl, whoever she was, was dressed in a pink t-shirt with some words black printed on it, but Celena was too lazy to read them. She had on a blue and black plaid skirt, which was a couple inches short of being a scarf, and onyx pumps. This girl looked like she should be the spokesperson for Loreal or Revlon, because her sallow coloured hair almost shone as bright as the gleaming sun outside, her lips were plastered with prismatic bubblegum pink lip gloss, and a figure that would leave Paris Hilton (or Mischa Barton) crying because they had been replaced with someone more extravagantly beautiful. But the thing that had got to Celena most was her face, she looked so familiar it was like seeing a carbon copy of a person you couldn't remember. How frustrating.

When the teacher placed her beside Celena she went a little insane and started playing with all the rings that decorated her face; her nose ring, the one on her eyebrow, her labret (AN: thank you to aoi-hitom's story _Rebel Girl_ for telling me what it's called. Hilarious story by the way, go read it ppls!), and her earrings. The two even held an actual conversation, in which Celena asked if they new eachother and Millerna replied if they did she couldn't remember. And so the day passed in the uneventful series it always did class after class lunch more classes and then the long or short walk home.

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It was Friday, the first week of school was going to end that afternoon and the teenagers who had been contained all those (soon to be) four days were going to be finally released. But this first Friday was going to a bit dreary considering that it was not raining— that was _definitely_ not the word to describe what was going on outside— it was _pouring_. And this wasn't your regular downpour in which you could, if you really wanted to, dance in or even walk in. Nope, whatever was happening outside could only be described as a waterfall of rain crashing down to earth. The unlucky habitants of outside would have to face the clouds as they fell on them, with an angry vengeance. Van one of a few unlucky habitants of outside would swear he had never seen so much rain fall at once in his life. He was actually a bit nervous that by the time he and Merle (who he was walking with) had to go home, there wouldn't be a home to go to. And his mind already started to wander back to Fanelia…

"Darling Van, are you alright? You look a little pale and faint," questioned Merle, concern lacing her voice. Merle was always worried about him, always thinking something was wrong. Our dear Merle was right of course, because Van always looked like he was about to pass out or fall asleep. Which he probably was because Van got around two or three hours of sleep that night and had a late night snack, then as usual threw it all up. In the back of his mind he knew he should see a doctor, but Van was exceedingly stubborn and decided that he could fix his own damn problems.

"I'm fine, I just haven't seen so much rain before," he replied as they neared the beige brick building. He shoved his wet, cold hands in his pockets, because even though they were under an enormous umbrella (thanks to Merle) the rain was still dripping through. There was a group of students sitting on the steps under the extended entrance, and as they passed some who had nothing better to do called out cruel catcalls, while others just said "hi" to the two of them. Merle shook her head at the group and Van who was sort of used to it just ignored it.

Merle left Van to go find her friends and Van went to his locker, because he honestly didn't have any friends in this "dump". He took his hand out his pocket and looked at his watch, he had fifteen minutes till the bell rang, so he took out his CD player, leaned his head back on his locker and tried to relax. If relaxation was ever possible for him. Which we all know it wasn't. So when Hitomi stumbled across him lying against _her_ locker, and that sick pained expression on his face, she was going to touch him to see if he was alright, however his leather gloved right hand whipped out and caught hers before she could touch him. He had to thank his deceased father for his lightning fast reflexes when he got the chance.

"You're sitting against my locker," she told him her wet hair beginning to drip on his clothes.

"Sorry," he apologized yet again then moved over to his side, he peaked at his watch, again. Five minutes. Just enough time to listen to one last song or get up and get his books and head to class and attempt to make friends. He laughed at that thought, make friends, yeah right. Okay so at least go to class, the only problem was he didn't want to get up because he felt sick, and sleepy. It was almost like he had the flu but without the extra symptoms. He banged his head lightly on his locker, decisions, decisions, decisions. It's not like it was life changing or anything, he just felt so tired that the task of actually lifting himself off the floor seemed difficult.

"Are you alright?" inquired Hitomi, her brilliant verdure eyes scrutinizing him. He looked really ill, and she personally didn't think all that head banging was going to help him. Maybe she should offer to take him to the nurses, possibly get him some Tylenol…

"I'm fine," Van assured her as he got up. A wave of dizziness struck him, '_Careful there buddy wouldn't want Miss Nosy Locker Girl worrying about you,_' he commented to himself as he steadied his stance.

"Are you sure," she pestered still not convinced.

"I said I was fine," he insisted his voice was cold. He hated it when people worried or fussed over him, all he really wanted was to be left alone. He wasn't a porcelain doll. Van opened his locker with his left hand then pulled out his backpack (that he placed in there when he reached his locker) with his right, black, biker leather covered hand.

"Can I ask you something," Hitomi started trying to be a friendly conversationalist as she tucked a strand of short, honey golden hair behind her ear. He ignored her, which even though it wasn't a yes wasn't a no either. So she took advantage of his unusual silence. "What's with the glove are you a biker or something?" He turned to face her and for the first time she noticed his eyes. They were like chocolate dusted with cinnamon, serious, and chilly. She unintentionally shivered.

"It's none of your business," he muttered almost sneering at her. Jeez, this guy whoever he was, was mean. Van shut his locker and ignored the curious girl with the biggest green eyes he had ever seen.

"Well _sorry_, I didn't mean to offend you," she retorted. "But if you don't mind can you at least tell me your name so I have something to call you other _you_."

Didn't this girl ever give up? (This was one other thing about Hitomi that I forgot to mention she can be incredibly irritating without even trying.) "I don't care what I call you, so why should you care about what you call me?" he told her walking away from her. Did I ever tell what a humanitarian Van was?

"Fine from now own I'll just call you a bastard," she informed glaring at him, as she began to walk next to him. Someone called her from behind, and she turned to wave at them. By the time she had turned back to Van or "bastard" (whatever floats your boat kids), he had already made his way to the end of the corridor, and for a moment in Hitomi's mind he looked so lonely, so forlorn that she was genuinely concerned about him. Then she snapped back to reality, if he was lonely it was his own stupid fault.

She walked over to the person who shouted out to her when she was arguing with that guy. "Hey Hitomi," greeted Celena, "meet Millerna Ashton, the richest bad girl weirdo you'll ever meet."

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"Merle! Hello…Merle!" someone yelled at the girl who was in a striped rainbow coloured top, loose fitting jean capri's, striped rainbow leotards, and her classic black Converse All Stars. To finish off her crazy look she stuffed her fluffy, red and pink hair into two ponytails and added a denim baseball hat. Merle turned to look at whoever was calling her, "You look like a walking spectrum. I swear I could spot you from ten miles away." His blonde hair touched his eyebrows as he spoke and his royal blue eyes sparkled behind glasses. Chid tugged at his pine green Adidas sweater, and stared at his friends colourful wardrobe. "It's making me dizzy just to look at you," he joked, shaking his head in a cartoonish (not a word) fashion.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever Chid," she answered back in a relaxed tone, smirking at his cute, child like face. "What do you want?" she questioned her smile growing bigger, as she adjusted her cap and sat in the cafeteria seat next to his.

"I was thinking, you should take this Van person, who you haven't stopped talking about for the entire week, to the club. Or even sightseeing just so he could learn his way around," he recommended to her as he took a bite of his huge, homemade, hamburger filled with the works.

"A capital idea darling, if you don't me saying so," she exclaimed, happy to find a way to get Van out of the house. For the whole week she had been contemplating on how to kind of go out with her while making it seem like an outing in which he could be social and make friends. Merle submerged her fry in a load ketchup, so that when she was done the ketchup dripped off of it and the weight of it almost broke the fry. A horrible, disgusting habit that she had and was never going to try to break.

"That's nasty," proclaimed Chid obviously disgusted, and turned his lip up to show it.

"I know dear, but it's an addicting a habit, besides it tastes better when it's drowning in delicious, thick, blood coloured ketchup," she informed him carrying on with her task, dragging and enunciating the last few words of her speech.

"Merle, I'm eating, and you should stop reading so many old books and watching so many old movies. They seem to be affecting you," Chid reflected good-naturedly at her.

"The media affects and dictates many things we do in life. After all we teenagers are so impressionable. Thank you, by the way darling for the wonderful suggestion and if you do decide to come as well please save a dance for me."

"I will as always," he promised her taking another big bite of his gigantic hamburger. The two ate in a comfortable, friendly silence afterward. Leaving Merle to go back three times to ketchup pump to get a refill, and leaving Chid to add in his two cent comments.

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Van stared out through the foggy window, to the very wet outdoors. He was bored out of his mind and his teacher was blabbing on and on about something he really didn't care about. Why had he let Merle talk him into taking a philosophy class? Oh yeah, that's right he _liked_ Merle, and she could basically talk him into anything she wanted him to do, as long as he knew it would make her happy. He had tried ways of ignoring his feelings, distancing himself from her, but she wanted to "bring him out of his shell" (according to her), and so she was always around him, and he always felt compelled to make her smile. '_You are obsessed,_' his mind notified him, and Van sighed.

He looked back at the old man who was asking stupid questions that were supposed to make you "ponder and wonder about the world around you". Well Van was wondering how a man who looked he was alive when the earth's crust was just cooling, and who spit boulders bigger than his head could still be allowed to teach. He was _so_ bored.

'_Well you can always _do_ something; you're only bored if you want to be,_' his father's voice barged into his mind and instructed him. Even when his dad was dead he could still give good advice. Actually he always said that to Van whenever he complained that he had nothing to do. It was the reason why Van was so active, why he would box, why he would run, why he would draw, or listen to music, or sing and dance around with his mother (even if he was embarrassed to do so). Or perhaps he would play video games till he got blisters, or watched T.V till three in the morning, or read a book. His father was the reason for it all. And his mother well his mother always told him that it would be the best thing in life if his wife, or any woman in his life could come home, to somewhere clean and good food was already prepared. He was Spanish and so his mother had taught him how to cook every traditional Spanish and Venezuelan dish (where she lived for four years) she could. She also taught him how to cook food that almost every Gaean woman knew how to. She taught him how to sew (he wouldn't be sharing that aspect with anyone), she taught him how to survive on his own. He was even grateful for his brother's advice but he was dead too, and so there would be no trips to his college, which was where he was going, no seeing him when the holidays rolled around. He couldn't even stop by his brother's grave because no one actually knows he's really dead. So in hopes that he would return his mother would lay a forget-me-not on his bed every month.

Van realized then how alone he was, there was not a person that he could actually call a relative. His mother was an orphan and his father was an only child. His grandparents were dead, and he didn't even have an old and graying aunt or uncle he could call his own. No one to talk about good times with, no one who new his fears, his dreams, what he hated, what he liked, no one who remembers what his parents were like when they first met eachother, no one who _knew_ him. No one who saw him grow up to be the seventeen year old he was now. He had _no one_. And that thought was chilling. He was lost in a world that only looked out for themselves, he was a number to some, and to others he didn't exist. For example how many people knew he was sitting in the back of this class? He probably guess one and that was that old teacher, and he looked like he couldn't see past the first row. Yet he could notice and knew everyone, for instance that girl with the bright strawberry blonde hair and really bad acne, her name was Patricia, she apparently loved philosophy considering how many questions she's answered already, and how the teacher kept talking to her. The guy in the middle row to the right, the desk before the one next to the shelf, he was Quinton he had an accent that sounded like he was Irish or possibly Scottish. He had unconsciously memorized every single person in his class, yet—even when the teacher called out his name for the attendance—they didn't know he was alive. Lost somewhere between Heather and Daniel.

He wasn't complaining because being alone was one of his favourite past times. Friends according to him, got in your way, so Van just had acquaintances. The only thing was the thought that he was the only one out there by himself that was related to Gaou Fanel and Varie Fanel was scary. And Van hated to be afraid.

He took in a deep breath. All these thoughts about the past had to stop, or else he would be extremely sick. That was another thing he hated, all this vomiting. It was becoming a habit, alright it already was a habit, one that had started the day his parents died, he just turned to the side of the stretcher and barfed. He blamed it on smoke inhalation, because it probably was, but what about now? He wasn't sick because it wasn't "flu season" yet, and it wasn't a bug because if you throw up _that_ often for _that_ _long_ it would be gone by now. '_Stop analyzing every little problem, you sound like a girl. 'Oh no, I think I have bulimia,' 'oh no I think I have ulcers'_ 'he mocked himself. Then again…oh who gives a damn what he has, his freakin' stomach will figure itself out.

He glanced at his watch with a bored expression. Twenty more minutes till class was over, so he had to find something to keep his mind off of his dead family members. He decided that listening to music and doodling would have to do. A Spanish song blared through the headphones as he began to doodle. He changed the song. His mother loved that song. His mother. '_Just breathe Van_'…

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"You're thinking of joining the Floresta dance school?" asked Hitomi as she bent down to tie her blue Wal-Mart 725 sneakers. Hitomi personally didn't care where she bought her clothes or shoes as long as she liked what she bought.

"Yup, I used to go back when I lived here. But that was seven years ago―"

"Aha! That's where I know you from!" interrupted Celena. "You used to go to Palas Private School in Asturia then you moved to Liberty Elementary school," she continued.

"Yeah…but how do you know that?" Millerna wondered.

"Well, I also used to go to Palas then the year after you left, I left too. I was new to the elementary school the same year you were leaving. Me and you sort of became enemy friends always fighting for attention and telling eachother silly little girl secrets," she explained.

Millerna's eyes lit up as she remembered, "Oh yeah, that's why you and me had that strange déjà vu thing going on. You used to be so shy and nice and I was always loud and happy. Small world isn't it?"

"Indeed it is, but back to our original conversation. You were saying…"

"I decided with my dad last night. Plus it would give me something to do, other than sit around and get fat and run up my credit cards," she proceeded in telling them, smiling her charming smile. The trio exited the school, and into the soaking surroundings. Despite the heavy shower just a few hours before the sun was shining, it's rays cutting through the thick fog that was lifting. The sun was also starting to dry up any puddles that the rain had left in its stead, and it was fairly hot out. This town definitely experienced a fast change of weather. It was while Hitomi was observing all this that she noticed a girl in bright rainbow patterned clothes, and a guy who had a familiar glove on his right hand. "Hey Locker Boy," she called out to him, while her friends gave her weird looks. Usually Hitomi was a nice quiet person, so it was a bit odd when she started shouting at random people.

Van immediately knew who the voice belonged to but he chose to ignore it. It was that girl Hitomi, the one who didn't know how to leave him alone and let him enjoy his own peaceful and wonderful company, or Merle's company. She was everywhere. He couldn't even walk home and enjoy the sunshine without her turning up.

He was ignoring her, and Hitomi didn't like to be ignored, she liked if and when she started a conversation to have them answer back, so she ran up to him and the bouncy red headed girl with him. "I said hello Locker Boy," she pestered him.

"What do you want Hitomi?" he groaned not even bothering to look at her. Hitomi didn't bother to ask how _he_ knew her name. Ah well.

"All I ever wanted was your name and then you'll forever be rid of me with the exception of when you see me beside your locker."

"Do you know how annoying you are?" Van inquired of her, but then before he could even go on or before Hitomi could cut in, _Merle_ _asked_ him to tell the young lady—politely— what his name was. He would do anything for Merle. "My name is Van."

**Sorry about the quick ending and the utter crappiness of this chapter. But, meh. Next chapter will come faster...and it has a slightly different writing style since it was typed more recently. Anyways as always read and review. JA NE!**


	3. Chapter 2: Part II

**Hiya kidz! Thank you so much for reading my fic! see you make happy! But newayz same disclaimer applies, yada yada, don't sue you won't get anything worthwhile, blah blah blah. You understand so onward oh yeah! This contains VxH fluffy-ness cuz I needed some to make me happy. I don't own any of the songs in this fic either.**

**Memories: Part II**

_Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it._

**Michel de Montaigne_ (1533 - 1592)_**

"Alright our beautiful young pupils we have the return of an excellent dancer, and what perfect timing too. But anyways this gorgeous student of ours has a name, dear Eriya please bring out Millerna," exclaimed Naria.

Out walked the blonde sister, with the girl who had the model's body and ripples of coveted fair hair. "Well now that we know our new friend, does anyone have any music suggestions?" asked Eriya. Her students started calling out names like: Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Jessica Simpson, any "pop princess" (as the media liked to call them) that was note-worthy or extremely significant. Then there was the occasional punk groups mentioned, and even Prince and Michael Jackson were suggested. The dance teachers then called those wonderful yet horribly rude creatures commonly referred to as guys, who marched in.

That's exactly how they did it. They didn't walk, didn't prance, didn't trudge like they were being subjected to some cruel and unusual fate, didn't frolic; excited that they would be able to touch certain body parts of any good-looking girl without being slapped or condemned by their girlfriends. They simply _marched_, all serious and business-like, probably thinking they were entering the army rather than a dance class. Seeing them Millerna thought they were silly and needed to show a little more emotion, she was also starting to regret rejoining this dance school, if everyone was _that_ boring she probably wouldn't pay attention for very long. Some people would swear that Millerna had A.D.D.

"Greetings gentlemen and Mr. Rogers were so glad you could accompany us in this competition. Now our young apprentices, Mr. Rogers will take over and tell you all about what we are planning to do over the next couple of weeks," explained Naria.

Mr. Albert Rogers cleared his throat smoothed back his russet coloured hair (a habit he had whenever he was addressing a crowd), and true to the army fashion of his own students placed his hands behind his back jutted out his chest and planted his feet shoulder width apart. He looked like someone in the Navy. Millerna was almost going to shout out "soldier at easy" but she resisted the urge and giggled inwardly instead.

"Now students after your performance next Sunday we will be getting straight to work. We have decided to make this almost like a play we will have two main characters a male and female, but all of you will play an integral part in this competition…," _blah, blah, blah_. It had been five minutes and Millerna would swear to you that he had efficiently found a way to say the same thing using different phrases. Lord this man could drone on about nothing—for a whole excruciating ten minutes—right she was thinking of…

"Millerna Aston thank you for volunteering!"

"Hmm?" a brilliant answer, from a brilliant student she thought inwardly. And she looked directly at the speaker of the voice determined not to be made an example on her first day there. Indigo eyes stared at defiantly at auburn orbs and she smirked the eyes smirked back. Uh-oh. Miss Eriya was smarter than she remembered…what did she volunteer for?

"But I'm afraid that your skill level is not as high as you will like to believe at this point in time, after all you have been out of practice. So I will ask Julia if she would be so kind to demonstrate," ordered the dance instructor her grin nearly a tangible presence, humiliation was the price for inattentiveness. And Julia glided to the front of the class an uncomfortable smile positioned her face at Millerna's almost sneer.

It was then that Millerna decided that she didn't like Julia.

——————————————————————————————————————

Ahhh the wonders of Saturday thought Van languidly. Saturdays were exquisite, it seemed that on Saturdays that the pressures of the previous days just rolled off in waves, collecting in imaginary storm clouds that wouldn't rain till Monday, bringing back it's stresses but leaving you in anticipation. Anticipation for Saturday. Yup Saturdays were beautiful.

But you see Saturdays could be ruined, and Van's, unbeknownst to him, was about to trampled by Merle's loving, scheming question. A question that even though would cause much deliberation in Van's mind he would answer 'yes' to no matter what. A question that would—unintentionally mind you—bring along painful memories of what once was. But you see Van would persevere, the stubborn bastard (his thoughts not mine) that he was, would fight the squeamish feeling, the _feebleness_ crawling through him and he would conquer. He would rule. He would reign. All for Merle's simple question, all for Merle's quaint smile. "Hey Van do you wanna come dancing with me?" And all that Saturday was—his mental depressurization chamber—let all that weight back in.

——————————————————————————————————

Just how had Millerna force her to come to this club? How? How? How! Oh yeah, she almost forgot how _extremely gullible_ she was. '_Pathetic_' she scolded herself and shook her head. Millerna had told her in that coaxing, bubbling, sparkling voice—that she knew she would soon loathe—how _exciting_ it would be…it would be their first outing together. _First_, meaning that there **would** be more. Hitomi sighed; right now she would rather be at home completing the rest of her homework instead of partying her night away at some club. And her mother—that evil little witch—actually _agreed_ with Millerna saying that Hitomi needed to get out of the house, that she needed to relax, she needed to be less serious about life. Hitomi "supposedly" chase away any great opportunities if she continued to wander through life with a frown and the tense atmosphere surrounding her. Hitomi slumped in the black barstool she was sitting on.

She looked angrily across the dance floor, Celena had long since disappeared and Millerna? Well Millerna was there at the center of the crowd sliding along some guy to the beat of the music. Blonde hair shone green and purple in the multi-coloured lighting and swish-bounced in perfect timing with her movements, like she was some sort of hair commercial model sporting a new shampoo. Hip-hugging—practically painted on is more like it—noir sleeveless jump suit, four inch heeled boots and a loose pink "off the shoulder" with long sleeves finished off her look. Somehow Millerna had mastered the peculiar art of looking inviting without displaying any skin. Hitomi looked down at her own clothes white sneakers, indigo close-fitting jeans (that couldn't rival Millerna's), navy blue zipper hoodie and a snow white tank top underneath. Basically same old, same old…she "hmph'd" once more; perhaps Millerna's father helped her pick out her clothes. Millerna seemingly reading Hitomi's thoughts turned around to face her and winked (who else winks _but_ Millerna?), then separated herself from her dance and scuttled—as much as a girl like Millerna could scuttle—over to Hitomi and tugged her to the dance floor. Hitomi following, but protesting found herself crashing into a hard body when Millerna abruptly stopped, with an embarrassed frown on her face she looked up above the red t-shirt, she was in no mood for a confrontation, seeing the face however she grinned, "Hey Locker Boy!" Van growled angrily.

Shit. It was the only word that floated through Van's head. Shit, shit, and even more shit. That word encompassed his entire being as he stared down at her, because what the hell was she here for? Did she make up in her mind that she was going to stalk him? Why was she _continually_ around him? She was _everywhere_ this annoying girl who it seemed that a bug crawled up her ass and thus was motivated to, whenever the opportunity presented itself, drive him insane. And to think he had only talked to him a maximum of four times. He stared down at her icily…he didn't know what it was but there was just something _irritating_ about her presence and whenever she was in his vicinity he needed to remove himself as quickly as possible. Her impossibly animated, large jade eyes glared up at him mischievously; maybe she was an imp at least that's what he looked like at that moment.

Their staring contest continued until Van realized Merle had disappeared. Unlocking his gaze, he began to thread his way through the moving crowd and then something happened. You see until now the music had been muted to him, he had unconsciously ignored it meeting up with Hitomi had caused that but now, now that he was all alone in this wave of bodies, he could _hear_. His mother loved this song, played it all the time, and every time she did he'd complain accuse her of trying to feminize him. His mind shuddered at all the thoughts all the memories that were trying to overwhelm him, because every time she played she smiled. The smile was so comforting so _warm_ that no matter how much he whined, and no matter how many times he sincerely professed that he disliked the song he would smile too. Now that song…that hideous song taunted him, it proudly showed him all he had lost, and it _smiled_.

Suddenly Merle was there telling him how much she loved this song, how she wanted to dance with him, those azure eyes shimmering up at him. He was presented with a choice: face the song with brazen courage or cower in the washroom trying to erase the memories. And then Merle _smiled_…why was the whole world beaming when he couldn't? Why was his memory mocking him? Van could feel his knees begin to weaken, his breath was coming out in strangled pants and his memory churned. Apologizing to Merle he told her he had to go to the bathroom. Knees submitting to the cold tiles, face staring at the unnaturally still water Van lost the battle.

_I won't go_

_I won't sleep_

_I can't breathe _

_Until you're resting here with me_

_And I won't leave_

_And I can't hide_

_I cannot be _

_Until you're resting here with me…_

And the words continued to smile.

0000000

Celena stared vaguely out in the crowd she had distanced herself from Millerna and Hitomi for a reason, she needed to think. Sinking deeper into the well-worn ash coloured couch her thoughts continued to wander. He was going to come back soon he told them when he left for Freid he would be back in two months. Two months of freedom, two months of decisions. She wished it was a year, in a year she would have drifted away just like her brother had, in a year she would be in Asturia in college never needing to return to that God-forsaken house, except to make an offer to her mother. Try to cajole her mother to come along with her. To evaporate in the mist, just like her. Life would be good then, life would be full of prospects, life would brimming with goodness as soon as she was free…But in two months this feel-good life of hers would end, it would abruptly come a trembling halt. He would knock on the door and proclaim he was home, and when no one would greet him, he would be enraged saying that he wasn't respected, he wasn't treated with dignity. Life and all its pains would coat her again like the cold sweat his company brought.

Sighing she decided to not think of such things. There was a chance, no matter how small, that two months could change him. Forever the optimist she believed that maybe, _just maybe_, in those sixty days he got himself some help and life would be good. Not great because it couldn't expunge all the horrific memories, but _good_ because those days were gone they were over and life would go on how it was meant to. Yes, she decided there was still an inkling of hope left and covering her arms because of a slight chill that she felt, she grasped that hope. Clung to it, hope is after all what keeps us holding on. Hope; without it our dear Celena would be dead.

Chid watched her dance and his child like face grinned happily, he was looking for her while he was playing up on stage and he weaved through the bodies expertly. "Hey!" he greeted over the music and she looked up at him. Her face flustered and glowing with the youthful exuberance they both possessed. Similar coloured stared at each other and she asked him, "Well my dearest friend is there a reason you're immobilized there? Or have you forgotten the reason they call this a dance floor?"

"Why of course not Merle I was just temporarily struck by your beauty," he professed sarcastically, clutching his heart and then he continued, "the feeling has passed so now we can carry on." Smirking and bowing he asked, "May I have this dance ma amie?"

"Oh dear me, how can I refuse such a dashing prospect, with such proper etiquette and wonderful French? Of course Chid I'll spare you a dance. I do believe that you would are quite the gentleman!" Laughing Chid grabbed her hands and spun her around and she twirled in such a lady-like fashion in her aureate 50's dress that he chuckled some more. Winking, she led him backwards and he followed, they had danced so many times together that they practically followed each other's thought process. No one person was needed to lead, they just flowed like the ol' two-peas-in-a-pod.

While dancing Chid reminisced about all the "good times" that they had over the past years. The first time he met her he was six, all golden curls and muddy face from digging down to the clay in the sand box. Along comes this bouncy red headed girl in _pink_. Now according to boys, girls were synonymous with another "partner in an innumerable amount of crimes" _unless_ she was wearing **pink**. At least according to Chid. So when she asked him what he was doing, he told her in his "angriest" mean-little-boy talk to "go away". She, being Merle, was definitely not intimidated; instead she laughed at him and parroting his voice told him no shaking her head vibrant hair and pink ribbon bouncing as well. Next she unexpectedly bent down and with a stick she found lying next to him, and dug beside him with a tremendous amount of feminine gusto. The two grubby faced children had made an agreement that day, unknown to them mentally, in their young, blossoming souls they had made a pact because it seems that nothing could break the bonds formed in an insignificant sandbox. And for all the days that were filled countless childhood (and teenaged) exploits, and witty banter Chid dipped her; Merle's laugh rang out above the beat of the music.

_Sugar pie honey bunch_

_You know that I love you_

_I can't help myself_

_I love you and nobody else_

000000

_So seductive…_

Pink lips parted blue smoke coiling away appreciatively from its pretty caged center. Smoking, almost all men complained how disgusting or unattractive it looked for a woman to participate in such a dirty habit. All those men had never seen Millerna smoke, because like most delicious actors out there she made smoking look _sexy_. A lot of women cursed her for that talent. Inhale. Exhale. And the pattern became continuous until, oh no, the butt met her finger tips.

She knew she shouldn't do that, not right after she had just had a dance-a-thon with numerous amount of partners, she should be catching her breath. But hell, she'd do what she wanted because she was now removed the ever watchful eye of her nanny. She shuddered as she thought of that woman, she never, _never_, wanted to see that woman again. That miserable human had stolen her innocence and she'd never forgive her for that. Her innocence was something was something that she prided herself in having, her mother or what she could remember of her was the epitome of child-like purity. And her sisters, they were immaculate almost to the point of being frigid. '_Too clean to take their tramp sister,_' she thought angrily getting ready to light another cigarette. She decided against it, she didn't need anymore chemicals in her system than she already had.

Her sisters, she hoped God for all their goodness, damned their souls to hell. It'd serve them right, well…at least Marlene. That idiotic sister of her's, it was her fault that she ended up with that nymphomaniac of a nanny, because Marlene could have taken her. She could have kept her with her when she went off to university, and Marlene the perfect freak she was, wouldn't even have to pay for her. Their great grandfather _founded_ the school after all. They were a legend at that school and her father had to pay a small amount for both his daughters to go to that prestigious 'Ivy League' facility. But _nooo_, Millerna would only bother her, she would have to be home early and couldn't bring boyfriends home after dates…like she even _had_ any in the first place. And her inconsiderate, _icy_ sister never once considered Millerna's or her father's feelings. Millerna felt worthless and her father was grieving the death of his wife, "unfortunately" his daughter had refused to help him out in his time of helplessness, and he was undoubtedly betrayed. See how far _purity_ got you? It made you a bitch.

Listening to the thumping music she was once again sucked in; tucking and reorganizing her thoughts so that the upsetting ones were neatly tucked to the furthest corner Millerna decided to just dance. It was good for her, perhaps she imagined whimsically that they her cursed memories, while in the midst of her dancing, would flit away and she would be the carefree, innocent, _virgin_ girl she was once before. Nah. She lifted her eyes to the dance floor and they met creamy brown. She would never be a virgin again, but she could **definitely** enjoy being _heathen_, and a smile curled her lips.

_I'll take you to the candy shop…_

000000

Merle and Hitomi were worried. Merle had somehow recognized her as the girl who talked to Van an on Friday (what a great memory) and had thus asked Hitomi if she had seen Van. He had apparently been missing for twenty-five minutes and Merle was beginning to feel anxious, she knew that Van was strong, stubborn and had amazing perseverance but she couldn't ignore what her mind was telling. He looked sick. He had since she had first met him but she had failed to acknowledge it, she had even heard him retch violently before. A nauseating sound that had made her stomach slosh with worry. Now he was gone, telling her specifically that he had to go to the bathroom. Dear God, she hoped he wasn't passed out on the bathroom floor.

Suddenly there he was—she silently praised whoever was up there—his tanned complexion looked almost hauntingly transparent and the flashing lights reflecting off the contours of his face, making him a colourful canvas that she so desperately admired. She hugged him. She was just so happy he was alright, fine, okay, in Van-working-order. That simple notion made her so…so incredibly _happy_ that embracing him to be certain he was there and not still stuck in that dreadful bathroom was a must. She felt his body jump a bit from the hug but he didn't stiffen he just hugged back.

Van cursed his hands silently, silly little creatures, '_traitors_' he told them. They just didn't understand the simple concept of **stay away form Merle Hoshino**, he'd swear at that moment that they were rebellious things that lacked the knowledge of obeying logical orders. Obviously his face was too, because he could feel his face stretched in a smile. Something that was bound to happen around Merle, '_backstabber_,' he scolded angrily. But the anger wouldn't show on his face because his hormone induced reactions were taking over his mind. Feeling her curves mold into all his angles he rained down damnation on testosterone.

The symbol of elation that decorated Van's face caught her off guard. In all honesty it scared her. There was something beautifully disturbing about that smile, he looked wonderful when he smiled, just _wonderful_, it was so enchanting that she found herself staring. His permanent scowl which was present for her and the rest of the world did him almost no justice and that scowl was so very endearing most of the time, which was why she tolerated it with such good temperance. But that smile, it nearly alighted his eyes with its modest brilliance. Which was even more captivating, he saved it for Merle. Then for the second time that night envy had coated her mind…how she wished—although she would never admit it—that someone would give her that look. It would burn through her soul and for that instant everything and anything would be that smile. It was something that Hitomi-the-romantic waned for, and her brain, the sensible part in times like these, would tell her she didn't need that, she could survive without it. Logic had yet to figure out the line between surviving and living…the romantics already had.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment from watching them, seeing that they probably wanted their personal space she spun silently on her heel about to leave. Besides she needed to wallow in self-pity for a while, '_Damn romance_,' she cursed, it always made her feel absolutely pathetic. However before she could sufficiently run away Merle turned and grabbed her pale arm. Looking up to see what she wanted she was forcefully dragged over to Van, "Merle what are you doing?" she questioned alarmingly as she was pushed softly into Van's arms. She looked up at Van's face and the smile was gone, he was frowning again and he looked a bit worried.

"Uh Merle?" he asked blankly, what a great response. He was so articulate.

"You two wonderful young people are going to dance together! And I will have no back talk from either of you, now go on and dance this spectacular night away! I'm off to find Chid so ta-ta for now my companions!" she spoke the incredulous glares given to her were ignored with that unique grin and her motherly scowl look plus the wave of her hand.

She was gone yes but that didn't mean she couldn't see them, and so Van did what he was told obedient to Mother Merle to the end, he pulled Hitomi into him and began to sway their bodies to the slow music. However he found some resistance from her what was she doing? "Are you trying to lead?" he inquired looking down at her his tenor voice ringing out over her.

"Do you have a problem with that?" she retorted that annoying smirk plastered over her face, her train thought was simple if she aggravated him enough he would eventually let her go. Perfect plan, and what better that to get into a gender-related argument with him? She was still thinking about that smile.

"I thought that the men were supposed to lead," he answered gruffly, she was turning out to be a difficult partner. But fine he could deal with her. He seriously needed to get over Merle she was making him submissive.

"Only if you're a chauvinistic bastard, which I think you are," she replied smile widening. Why oh why was it destined for her to see that smile, it was driving her insane with its romantic-charm. Such an enthralling smile, stupid Van for wearing it.

He could smell her hair and surprisingly it didn't smell like the ever oppressing hairspray, it was something more relaxed more comfortable and he enjoyed it. This made him glower down even more, '_No matter how great your hair smells you'll still be annoying little Hitomi_,' it was then that he realized that she fit just beneath his lips, okay so she wasn't so little. He could see a random pimple or two placating itself on her face, he hated those too they made her seemed natural. She wasn't just some elaborately ornamented doll like most girls. "And you're a feministic homo I think we're even," he growled.

She despised him when he growled it made her mind wander to things that it shouldn't, it made her want him. She looked up and noticed how close her face was to his, this frightened her. She had never allowed herself such proximity with men, they were distrustful and you could never predict what they were going to do next. She always expected their hands to be roaming. Thankfully Van's weren't. She didn't like this, Van was being a decent human being, but all she had to do was wait. Yup, it was going to come and it would be soon, this would give her a reason to slap him and stomp away clearly displaying all the dignity she possessed…Wait did he call her lesbian? Stupid twit he was going to be castrated, and she told him so.

His mind began to wander. '_Whoa, calm down Van those thoughts are evil, disgusting, you should be burnt in hell they're so condemnable!_' Foolish pituitary gland, idiotic chemical reactions, sometimes he hated all of the male species. Dirty things they were. He inhaled deeply her scent a heady mixture of Hitomi and her just plain fuzzy shampoo. Bad idea. He groaned inwardly and wondered if Merle had conspired to kill him. He looked down at her again maroon eyes glancing at forest green, her eyebrows had furrowed from their verbal fight but the grin was still plastered there, daunting. Making her look like a small child, an elf or something it was adorable… '**_NO! NO! NO!_**' His mind yelled, all the same he wanted to touch that grin, wanted to see what it felt like. He told her she was a sadistic pervert and spun her around then and there to keep from doing anything that he would regret.

She twirled and for a miniscule second something other than that ridiculous toothy beam was placed on her face. She smiled. When she twirled back in though she was closer than before. Bad. Very bad. She could smell him, _feel_ him. He smelt like the outdoors, he felt hard and soft all at once. He didn't smell like sweat even though she suspected she did, and he was _so_ _luxurious_ feeling that she didn't want to move. Thus she had too, things happened when people didn't go anywhere, the things that were swimming carelessly through her brain were some of the things. Things with wispy ebony hair and bronzed skin. His hands, those gorgeous objects, still hadn't tried to grope or violate and she _wanted_ them to but they refused to. She wanted to slap some sense in his decent head. Then his hands threaded through her own. She knew it was an unconscious action on his part he was attempting to be a gentleman, but that act of doing practically made her sigh. His hand was on her lower back now and without warning he dipped her. She wanted to kick him for that. But it felt so fairytale-ish that she couldn't help but enjoy it. She was being intoxicated by this adolescent; she was burning him in her mind.

Where did the dip come from? Why was he finding the need to be creative? He didn't want to know. He felt slightly paganistic because there were so many images running and imprinting itself in his mind, like his brain had become a scanner and he was pasting all the images across the borders of his psyche. It was consuming him and he felt somewhat woozy. Woozy— oozy, images were created once more from that word. '_Damn you mind_,' when he went home he was taking a cold shower. Lord, those cheeks void of blush were painted with the red splashes of anger she was flustered. Good. A thought pranced gleefully through his sanity. No not good, definitely not good. '_Vanish corrupt imaginings! Be slain vile imagination demon!_' his mind screamed in protest. Shit, what was she doing to him? He gritted his teeth at the vision that blew past his mind. She was fighting again on a quest for dominance it was undeniably imploring. '_Stop!_' his mind protested angrily. He could feel her heat emanate from her being and he _needed_ to pull her closer, but alas he denied the pleasure…Pleasure? What pleasure? When had being in the company of Hitomi Kanzaki even been the slightest enjoyable! Bloody hell, he needed a cold drink.

She could feel his warm breath splay languidly across her forehead it smelled of cinnamon, the gum that he was chewing. It made her hungry. Ideas which she would rather not share bounded through her mind. That breath blew strands of her hair wildly, naturally framing her face her eyes shining from behind coming to the forefront, and with the verdure eyes she captured mahogany, cinnamon dusted chocolate seemed to melt her insides. She was particularly happy she had dancer's legs, or else she would have been jelly. Something flickered in those eyes as he insulted her again. Quietly, breathily. It was silk against her skin, she loved it. She hated it. It was so simple yet so complicated. Something touched her arm, she believed it was him. Yes finally he was sinking to that sex-crazed man she knew he was. She was going to go in for a mass murder. However it was just Celena, Celena telling her she—they—had to leave. No. Yes. No. She wanted to, to escape from him, to erase him from her memory from invading her stone wall where she hid her thoughts. But this dance couldn't, just _couldn't_ end. And when she was leaving him about to tell him how nice it had been dancing with him in a sarcastic tone he was falling into her arms and she was saving him.

Van, although slightly dizzy, felt as if he was at home. He didn't like that at all…

**Well that's it for this chapter, and plz do keep reviewing it would be greatly appreciated. I know, I know it's a little early for VxH fluff but there just so cute together I couldn't help myself! Thanks a bunch to all my reviewers starry eyed you make me feel special! well until we meet again… Ja ne! **


	4. Chapter 3

**Hey ppls I'm back again. Same disclaimer applies as in the other chapters...you get the point. Now thank you everyone for reviews and KEEP DOING SO! I feel sad without reviews...it means I'm doing a bad job weeps anyways onward! **

_Don't wake me just yet_

_I want to dream a little more_

_I want to feel a little more_

_I want to be._

**Anonymous**

She was floating, flying, spinning. The world was her room in which she wasn't an occupant, she was too far to come back down. It was faultless. Sanity and insanity had melded into one perfect universe where there were no boundaries, no authority, nothing but the ultimate liberty. There was nothing surrounding her, yet there was everything, it was addicting. A feeling of unadulterated euphoria became her body, her mind, it became _her_. The sounds, the sights, the smell, the taste they were both amplified and slurred, and with blurred swoosh it all ended. Worlds crumbled, and perfection was destroyed. She enjoyed this part, roaring back to reality, the ground meeting, greeting, wrapping around her body shivers of pleasure and pain contorting her into a hideous but elegant distorted figure. This feeling was even better than the first. This feeling surpassed all the others of this process, it was glorious. There was a distinct buzzing running through her head, a dizziness that intensified the simplest whisper of breath. Her breath. It had disappeared, because this feeling had left her breathless.

She heard the footsteps first, then the muffled voices. Something told her that a conflict was following those sounds, but she didn't care, she _couldn't_ care, because she was drifting now. On the border between one broken world and the next and they were fighting battling seeing who would win, who would command for a time. When they burst into her sanctuary they expected complaints, protests, and they got them, however they were half-hearted coming out only as petty whines. It was controlling her now, demanding her attention and she listened, then she followed. The angry voices were to far away to be heard…

—————————————————————————————————————

Yukari Uchida disliked many things: relish, Minnie Mouse, sports, grape juice. However Wednesday's she abhorred, because Wednesday's were the days when she had to tutor that idiotic male. She shuddered. He was so vile, so _disgusting_, that her stomach threatened to remove all of its healthy contents. The truth was she was afraid of him, the way he his slithered into her parents mind as a trustworthy character, the way he was physically clean but underneath that sparkling exterior lied something so sickening it oozed through his pores giving him a revolting sort of aura.

This he. that stood in front of her, was named Amano Nakano. She was his tutor. He gave her his trademark grin it would cause any other girl to swoon, but she knew that grin, it was oily, rehearsed and with that grin his mind had already started undressing her. Sex crazed bastard. Now let me say that he had yet to literally touch her in a physical sense, but he had touched her, raped her mentally. There was so much innuendo and _filth_ that came out of his mouth curling around her making her feel _dirty_ thus she would run home and take a shower, vainly trying to scrub away his words from her skin, from her mind.

She tolerated the grin, grinded her teeth and said told him about the weather. He didn't want to know about the weather, he wanted to get straight to work, and they busied themselves with math equations while Amano's blue socked feet ran absent-minded patterns across Yukari's calf. She held her tongue, refraining from insulting him; it would probably make his hormones even crazier, something she didn't want. So instead she moved up to get herself a coke from his fridge, he told her to never ask for anything just go and get it. Life was simpler if he wasn't obligated to be a gentleman apparently. '_Why did half of the female population have lust filled dreams about this pig?_' She wondered vaguely as she heard the popping hiss of the can being opened.

He asked her to come back then, he had a question to ask so she would have to be true to her duty and answer. Tucking her navy coloured school kilt beneath her and crossing her coveted legs she began to explain the steps in figuring out a "complicated" trigonometry question. He leaned closer to her as she talked, therefore, thinking to preserve her innocence she shifted her body so that her head was closest thing to him, but it didn't matter, she still could feel him. The nearness was bordering unbearable and she could feel her voice shake in the midst of her explanation, but she refused to clear it, it would have been a sign of her weakness. He might think she was attracted to him.

He had been watching the paper for a while the, without warning he turned to face her, ginger coloured eyes piercing her skin. She felt it before she saw it. "What's wrong?" she inquired, eyebrows furrowed.

"You're beautiful, did you know that?"

This was a shock, '_It was nice to be called…_,' wait a second where had that thought come form? He said that same line to every girl, her mind wouldn't be confused so easily, "Excuse me?"

"I said you're beautiful, and I'll tell you why: you've resisted every advance, every flirtatious pass I've ever made at you," he clarified.

It was a simple case of wanting what you couldn't have, men where so predictable sometimes. "You think I'm beautiful because I'm not attracted to you?" she asked not the least bit of astonishment ringing through her tone. He wanted that, he was expecting that. She'd never give him what he wanted.

"Yes and I promise you I won't say anything dirty if we can just be friends," he informed her smirking. There was something different about it; it was playful, friendly, genuine.

Pick. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Pick! Time was a-ticking and she had to make a decision. To trust or not to trust, that was the question. Well… "Okay, friends, nothing more or nothing less," she agreed warily. And she noticed his shoulders relax and that aura seemed to slither itself away.

——————————————————————————————————————

_I'll be coming home_

_Just to be alone_

_Cause I know that you're not there_

_And I know that you don't care _

That was day that everything fell and life got harder. Her parents stopped understanding, and they started yelling, started pushing, and started gripping. She was going to strangled if she didn't find some way out, an escape, freedom. That's when they started, the addictions, and she never wanted to stop. They were too wonderful all the experiences they brought with them. It was relaxing after hearing her parents whine and complain about this or that. Satisfaction was difficult to come by these days, and it seems that her parents knew this and therefore proceeded in pushing her harder and harder. With more force every time. They were threatening and screeching and on and on the voices went. They pressed on with this ridiculous method thinking that if they screamed loud enough their voices would be constantly berating her, until that shriek was imprinted eternally in her mind. Oh it was but that didn't stop her it drove her, the propelling force behind her actions, she needed to leave the boundaries of her mind and explore the surreal world around her, if they didn't squeal like mad sows she would have never discovered what a great world was in ones imagination. God bless their greedy, unsatisfied hearts.

_No matter how hard I try _

_You're never satisfied_

_This is not a home _

_I think I'm better off alone_

They were going to back soon, so she fed herself her delightful poison again—such a appealing thing it was—and turned the on her radio and the pounding music poured violently into the house, satiating every corner ever crease from the eerie quiet that filled it emptily before. Her world extended beyond infinity and existed in only a tiny atom, spinning, zooming and accelerating all at once. She heard the door slam but she didn't care it just shook the air surrounding her, reverberating and carrying her farther into it's beauty. They snapped off the throbbing music but it didn't matter because by then it was the only sound she could hear. It consumed her and she devoured it, and their voices carried into her universe but it just tingled sending her body into a magnificent spasm. Holy shit. She couldn't breathe, she didn't want to breathe, she only needed to feel.

_By the time you come home _

_I'm already stoned_

_You turn off the T.V_

_I can hardly wait _

_Till you get off my case_

Sometime later when the superb pollutant was discarded from her body she had been caged to the confines of her room. In the immense space she heard everything echo, the rush of cars outside flooded her thoughts, and the streetlights gleamed and shone in slits through her curtain. She breathed, barely a whisper, but it seemed to fill the room with _something_. A longing came out with that breath, a wanton sort of need that had floated through her without her permission and without her notice. _She wanted to leave_. And for the first time in a year she was filled with a purpose, she felt motivated. It was energizing this thought…but wait what about all those that she was leaving behind? Wasn't this sudden departure self-centered? She thought about the friends that she had gained, or lost in the past year maybe she should…Her parents screeching voices clanged and rambled in her mind, like large church bells that announced her every sin. She grabbed her money which she was saving it should take her to her god-mother's house in Liberty. Scrambling through a few drawers she found her address book and after piling as much as she could into her duffle bag she left her house. Waiting at the bus station she vowed not to return, a new life was waiting for her in Liberty. The bus hissed to a stop and stepping onto the vehicle confidently, Yukari Uchida didn't even bother to say goodbye.

_This house is not a home_

_I think I'm better off alone_

———————————————————————————————————————

She hated it. It held a steady rhythm, a rhythm that was dripping with impatience. The thought behind dar-ra-rat, seeped through filling her mind with a foul stench, because it was insistent. Insistent in its explaining. This constant resounding noise was explaining—no bluntly stating—how _generous_ they were being, to actually listen to her tell her story. Like she wasn't worth the time, like _they_ had something better to. Those drumming nails were despicable. Condescending. _Patronizing_ and she was tempted to scowl. She had been ignored long enough and therefore she needed someone to talk to, they were her only option, Chid had scampered away somewhere…Damn friends, where were they when you needed a _compassionate_ listener? This was why she ignored these French-manicured things, and those rolling eyes, all they held was ice.

But she smiled in spite of them, flashing her somewhat pearly whites, she did have her dignity, and she refused to let these plasticized beings have the satisfaction of knowing they had annoyed her. Never be weak, weakness meant that they would win. She would lose; she was determined not to lose to these dim-witted _ladies_ that had become a frosted society. So then why was she still here? If she cared so little about their opinion why was she sitting there babbling on and on about something they had no idea about and therefore didn't care? Because there was no one else… No one else who she would allow to know, Van couldn't know because _he was the problem_.

She had been pining away for him a little over two months and somehow their relationship had morphed itself into brother and sister, a deep friendship that had grown into an intense connection. She felt as if they had become integrated, synchronized with each others beings. Normally she would have relished in that fact, but this bonding on his part had been purely platonic, it was pure, crystallized, and virgin. Just like his burdened heart, oh sure she knew that he wasn't perfect he was a bit (very) anti-social, distant, and well just _detached_ with most people—Hitomi in particular—but with her there was some internal warmth that exuded through it made the hard lines, the one caused by the constant brooding frown that ornamented his face, seem softer almost elegant. Like for a moment he wasn't just a splintering piece of glass that would cut you in a second and so transparent you couldn't tell if he was truly there or not, he became layered, an opaque solid substance that had an unimaginable depth. The ocean, cream, a warm bowl of chocolate sauce, that's it he transformed into some infinite liquid that saw only sunshine and he glowed. But only for moment, as soon as anyone that wasn't her decided to drop by he was that piece of glass again. It was amazing really, how quickly the alteration took place, it was practically visible though, she could see that impassable wall rectified itself and BAM; he was Van the _thing_, not Van the _human being_. Then again she could be reading way too much into his emotions.

She wished she had the courage to tell him where he was placed in her mind. But no, she was too feeble to do that, too cowardly, and she sighed a little at that thought. No matter how much she would try, she would always be too weak.

In the middle of her speech she just got up and left. It was slightly surprising to those seated at the table, and they possessed the insolence to ask her where she was going, like they had been listening all along, as if they would have noticed her if she hadn't moved. She just replied with a shrug and told them that she had to go to the library for some reason or another, she'd be back. '_Yeah_,' she thought idly as she began to walk away, '_like they wanted me to stay_. _I'm just a bother_, no _they're just a bother_.'

Without she came face to face with large deep blue depths like her own, and short platinum blonde hair spilled over to cover them. "Oh sorry," she murmured in surprise, then her eyes squinted didn't she know this girl, she looked dimly familiar. "Um, I'm do I know you from somewhere?" it was weird but this girl was giving her a weird case of déjà vu.

"What?" the eyes looked down, they were absent and broken, and for some reason Merle felt a well of sympathy for their possessor. It was weird, but there was just something so _lonely_ about them, it nearly made her cry. "Oh I'm sorry, uh no, I don't thi―"

"Celena! Hey Celena!" called a familiar voice interrupting the girl's speech. Merle turned, but already knew who it was, on occasion Hitomi was the person she'd talk to while waiting for Van at his locker, since Van attempted to be a mute around the girl. She couldn't understand what was so horrible about her; she was one of the kindest and without a doubt most decent people she'd ever met. It was impossible not to like her, albeit her prudish or bookish ways and unimaginable curiosity made it somewhat difficult, she _was_ a great person, and besides everyone has character flaws.

"Oh hi Merle, how are you?" despite the somewhat frosty countenance she was a very cheerful girl. And then her face dropped upon seeing Celena, "'Lena is everything alright?" the young woman inquired, worry present in her voice, Celena had always had this sort of despondent atmosphere around her, but today it was tangible: you could smell it, you could taste it, you could _see_ it. It was disgusting, and Hitomi wanted to wash it away.

Celena smiled it didn't do anything to that God-forsaken aura that had wrapped itself around her, in fact it seemed to get worse. "Me? Yeah I'm fine I just blanked out there for a second, sorry 'bout that. So what were you calling me for?"

"Nothing…never mind it's okay, do you wanna got get lunch?" she asked it was strange actually all her determination that she had possessed just evapourated becoming one with the atmosphere surrounding them, vainly trying to pretend that it didn't—doesn't exist. Merle noticed it, like Hitomi had suddenly become uncomfortable about something, or unsure if she should press the matter of Celena's state. She blinked randomly a few times at the pair and then made some excuse about having to meet someone in the library and scuttled off. But before the other two were out of sight she glimpsed at Celena, the girl shivered and pulled the sleeves of her floral yellow sweater farther down on her arms, reaching her palms. That was odd because despite the chilly weather outside the school was quite warm. However Merle just shrugged the action off and made her way to her destination.

Journal,

Warning this is anmush filled poem but I'm feeling rather thoughtful today so I thought I might write it out, see how it looks.

Do you see me?

Oh I'm sorry I forgot I'm wearing a blindfold

You can't see me through the mirror

That is you

Have you discovered what I'm trying to hide?

That's right it's in you

You'll never find it unless you search there

Did you lose my soul?

It's alright I can thrive

If you continue to live

You breathe for me,

So I don't need this false supply I gave myself

You live for me

So I don't need to survive

Speak for me,

So I can talk to you

Read for me,

So you can understand my mind

But please don't let me die

Because I can't lose you

And I'll try to remember you

So I won't forget myself

You are me

And I am you

But can you see the truth?

It exists solely in me

The part I won't let you be

I can't let you keep it

Because I'll forget

I won't remember to tell you

How much I love

But do you know who?

Okay, it's more romantic than anything else but to tell you the truth…it's how I feel I can't explain to them that they are— you read the poem you understand. Ah who am I kidding this poem is stupid see what love does to your brain? It makes you spout nonsense on pages, well then goodbye page with foolishness on it. God I feel like such a girl. Anyways I'm ripping you out now, Sayonara!

She had no idea where it came from; it was simply lying there scrunched up in a half-made paper ball. How could someone throw away something that was blooming with potential? Where in the world was this writer, she wanted to know so that she could slap them for calling such a thing foolishness. Didn't they know that she was feeling the exact same way, that she had become a part of someone else, that they were the one who carried out her functions for her? Was her problem that universal that so many had to deal with this feeling of…of _longing_, just an insatiable craving for being so near barely a hairsbreadth apart yet that was more painful than the thought of there being a larger separation? That the phrase 'so close and yet so far' was just a clichéd understatement, that it went so much farther than physical being, that mentally and emotionally they possessed each other and now he was incessantly with her? It conveyed everything, every last thing she felt for the teenager named Van. And she wondered with a girlish romanticism that it was him who wrote that poem, thinking of her. Impossible though it seemed it was only a fantasy, picking up the poem she expected it carefully, hmm…the handwriting _did_ look familiar…Brushing off the strange feeling she decided that she was going to turn the poem into a song, she'd get Lily to help with the revision, and maybe she could sing a duet with Chid.

Where was Chid anyways? That kid was always disappearing at the most inconvenient times, and she wished that she had a diary or a notebook to write things in, it would make life a whole lot easier for her. Wandering the halls she kept on searching for her friend her booted feet making an echoing thump throughout the stone walled school. Nearing his locker she heard sniffling, was Chid…crying. That notion made her laugh—inwardly—this was Chid she was talking about he had only three modes: happy, angry and irritated, so what was with all the weeping sounds that seemed to be springing from that one point, it was confusing and she began to tread softly in case whoever she pounced on wasn't Chid.

Pallid coloured hair hid the beginning of a face and the sallow coloured sweater shielded the rest. Her fingers gripped tightly to the inside of the sweater, as if it was a cocoon, a shell that could protect her from the prying world, the ones that wanted to know how she was and if she was going to be alright. She would always be fine if she stayed here, if she could just stay in this place, this haven, inside herself she'd be content. She was mumbling something to herself so quiet it was just a tremble of sound, just a petit disruption in the air waves, that its true impact was never felt. Merle wanted to know what she was saying, it would have made it easier to draw near her. Then again she probably wanted her privacy which Merle was undoubtedly going to disrupt if she approached the girl maybe she should back away. An unlikely character took the chance to show themselves, and she blinked a few times to see that she was seeing right.

Theteen had slid down beside the girl, and didn't even bother to question her about what was wrong, he just nudged her and offered his earphone which was playing a haunting tune of music to her, said something along the lines of it being soothing. Celena stared in shock at first possibly speculating about where the kindness had been spurred from in the indifferent teenager sitting beside her. He didn't even smile, not even in the slightest form, but there was something compassionate in his voice, behind his closed eyes that Celena grinned and she accepted, and for a fragment of time she looked not content or happy, simply satisfied. Satisfied by the fact that there was at least one person who cared so much that they didn't make her talk they merely offered an escape. To Merle the sight of Van being an empathetic was just so awe-inspiring that if she didn't want to ruin the comforting atmosphere between the two she would have engulfed him in one of her many bear like hugs. Even though the adolescent hated any sign of affection he returned it when it was from her, and despite how many times he tried to display how aloof he was, looking at the picture of two almost strangers sharing some music at a locker that wasn't their own displayed every bit of sweetness that he had locked up in him.

She was so ecstatic she could hug herself, or Chid who materialized out of nowhere, and turning around she ran and threw herself into him. The poor boy was nearly knocked over, and stumbling a little he hugged her back a look of pleased confusion placed on his face, "Did I do something?" he laughed.

"No, but don't trouble your mind about that hug, being your friend I am permitted to show any display of affection towards you without notification," she stated grinning, and she began to pull him along to the second level when he started to walk in the direction of his locker (which Celena and Van were 'occupying').

"Merle where are we going? I have to go to my locker," he began to protest Merle being as stubborn as she was refused to let him go, and continued to drag him up the stairs, he practically falling over himself.

"You are not going to your locker! Not until the bell rings, there is an act of sympathy being displayed there and I refuse to let you ruin it!" she informed, and Chid reluctantly surrendered, there was no use fighting her she was unbelievably determined, plus she had more perseverance and he was too free-flowing to contend with her. "Besides I have something to discuss with you, Lily as well. I have found a wonderful item that someone decided to throw away. Ridiculous people why won't they except talent when they see it?" she grunted and lamented all at once. Chid was still very lost as he was being towed along, most likely to where Lily spent her spare, on the roof. They weren't allowed to mingle there, it was strictly forbidden by the school policy since they didn't want to be responsible for the accidental death or injury of a student, but Lily was a born to be rebel. She refused to accept authority, and how she was even permitted to have a spare still amazed him.

Once again trekking up a set of stairs, then heading out to the far east corner the duo discovered that Lily wasn't there. Merle plunked herself down regardless, weighing down Chid down also. Odd really, the fact that they, throughout all of their climbing they hadn't released each other's grasp on the other, yet the action went unacknowledged by both. "Sit," she commanded, sounding very much like an aggravated mother at that moment. '_What happened to that great mood she was in earlier_?' Chid huffed in his mind. He obeyed nonetheless. "Now," she started fishing something out of her skirt's many pockets, "I want you to read this creation, and tell me if it has capability of being transformed into song."

He looked at her and sighed she always did this, she was always unsure about herself and he had told her countless times that she was one of the best poets, lyricist that he had ever met, he'd have to tell her again. "Merle you know what I think about anything you write I don't―"

"Darling Chid, I didn't write it," she confessed while shoving the piece of paper in his face. Upon seeing the paper the phrase 'what the fuck?' just didn't do. But wasn't this the…oh Lord it was, how did she get this? He was panicking, Merle had probably recognized the handwriting but hopefully she couldn't place it, the words had been somewhat scrawled in flash of feeling, if he didn't know who wrote it he wouldn't have had the vaguest idea who it belonged to. This was bad, terrifyingly bad, if he said this was poem was a disgrace to the art she'd begin to argue with him, begin to discuss why it was so good. Why it held so much potential, then he'd have to listen to it, listen to her discuss her feelings, and he would listen because he was compelled to do so, he'd endure it with indomitable restraint because no matter what the disheartened poet, who wrote that piece felt, he would listen. She was more important, she always had been, and her innocently stumbling across this goddamned piece was just twisted act of fate. He already had a reckoning of who she imagined expunged this lunacy.

He'd have to leave this one for Lily to approve of this, because he couldn't, just could not… He looked down at the thing that was spiting him, he was motivated to crumple it up and burn it, but he wouldn't do that she would figure out too much for his liking if he did something so stupid.

Merle couldn't read his reaction it was too—too what? She couldn't figure it out, he was usually so clear so expressive that there was no problem in understanding what he was thinking, but now? He had a sudden changeling experience, he had become an enigma, sheltered and hidden. His face, his body expression, his _eyes_ didn't allow his thoughts to permeate to the world where she was, they were locked like the door to his thoughts had been slammed in her face then barred so that she couldn't review them, or even speculate at what was the reason behind them. She had always loved to do that, analyze him because she too was so easy to read, and she had never learned the art of hiding what she was feeling. That's why she needed him around, there was a certain comfort in being with someone that was so much like one's self yet complete opposites. "Chid?" the voice that emitted was tentative, unsure about how to approach her dear friend.

"Huh?" she wanted to wipe that look away it was unknown, but behind it there was the indescribable, it bewildered her even more. There was something, some feeling that skulked behind that she wanted to show itself, but she only saw its shadow. Contact covered eyes squinted a little, they saw right through her, understood what was inside her, why wouldn't he let her see him? "Is there something wrong Merle?"

"No, why?" she knew he knew why, her mind was one easy to read, to understand to see.

"Merle my pearl, when you twirl your hair curls!" he spouted and puzzled look overtook her face before she laughed. He was telling her not to worry about the feeling that hid behind the door, it would be better if she didn't know, he didn't want to hurt her, to crush her dream. So never worry, just laugh, laugh away the uncertainty. "I, without a doubt, believe that that poet whoever they are is better than I am," he chuckled.

"Well, of course my dear friend, you can sing, you must not expect yourself to _also_ be able to write. Why that's just inconceivable!" she teased, smiling at him.

"So who do you think wrote it?" he had to be sure, you see, he had to be certain that she didn't know. His mind was murdering him inside, here it comes…

A lethargic smirk graced her pretty features, "Well…" and she told him about her wish, her dream world that the true poet could never be a part of. But he wanted her to be happy, wanted her to keep smile. '_Keep smiling Merle_. _The world becomes a better place when you do_.'

* * *

Weird. Yes that's what it was. Basically it was the oddity of the day, to see Van Fanel sharing with someone who wasn't Merle Hoshino, and his music, something had been forbidden knowledge for her. Maybe that bastard had a heart after all. Yeah sure he did, that was like saying she had the perfect home life, which as she knew perfectly well she didn't possess. The silences where becoming denser and the fights more explosive the neighbours were being more generous, and if she looked closely she could spot a hint of pity, like a tiny glint of sunshine in their expressions. She hated that, their pity, it wouldn't do anything for the situation it only infuriated her further. But she would just have to ignore it, like everything else she would dive deeper into whatever she was doing, so that the touchy voices that commanded the attention of the others around it simmered down to a background noise. That's just the way she liked it, the fact that she could runaway when a task came up, those voices were her momentum, like a slave driver that strode to have her achieve the best possible results in the minimum amount of time. In fact all their arguing had caused her marks to increase, and in her mind she encouraged them to continue, it was contriving magnificent results.

Now back to the reason she was there watching a rarity unfold…that's right Celena had told her she needed to use the bathroom but didn't return so she went out to search for her. After a thorough combing of the bathroom (she swore that half the female population in her school lived in there) she decided to search through the rows of lockers, she was about to head back to the cafeteria when she had spotted the pretty yellow sweater that had adorned Celena. Hitomi wondered where she had gotten it and had asked her about it. Come to think of it that was around the time Celena had retreated to the bathroom—or wherever she was at that point in time. Then there they were Van and Celena sort of resting on two lockers, like they had been friends forever, like there was some incommunicable understanding between the two. It made her eyebrows shoot up, and she questioned her eyesight to make sure she had been seeing correctly. The scene nearly gave her a heart attack. So now she was there just, hiding cautiously behind a wall, she hated how juvenile she acted sometimes.

"Is there something you want Hitomi?" he queried, the tenor voice rippling through the sound of students in the cafeteria. How the hell had this kid spotted her was what she wanted to know.

"No," she scowled at him, "I just wanted to make sure Celena was alright." Then sat beside Celena looking at her friend anxiously, all morning she had this feeling, a foreboding one, that something was wrong with her companion. Glancing at her eyes she noted the barely visible ring of red that outlined it, but inside those azure pools there was something hiding something so forlorn that Hitomi just had to give her some sort of comfort. Embracing her she had forgotten that Van was still connected to Celena by the headphones, Van came cascading down and with Celena's added weight Hitomi toppled over.

The first thing to come from this display of clumsiness on Hitomi's part was a laugh, it was Celena's. Clear, happy, beautiful, they had cheered her up, it may not have been permanent but it was enough to take her mind off the problems that were shrouded within it. So although she was blushing Hitomi giggled along at her own stupidity, it had been a while since she chuckled, truly chortled at her self and the world. This, whatever it was made her shine with such exuberance that she couldn't help but want it to continue. So she turned around and her digits ran along Celena's stomach in attempt to tickle her. Celena laughed even harder and reciprocated.

Our lowly Van Fanel simply took the earphone out of Celena's ear placed it back in his own. Celena would be fine for now, that laugh had proved it. However…he sighed, he wasn't her therapist or counselor but he had felt sorry for her, he hadn't even inquired about her problem, he simply knew, knew from the song she had asked him to replay again and again. Shoving his hands in his pockets and bowing his head in an attempt to hide himself from the rest of the peering world around him, he raised his glove covered hand as a goodbye. Goodbye for now…he'd come by and rescue her again when she needed it.

"He's a nice guy, I don't understand why you hate him so much," he heard her remark, it made him chuckle and it made Hitomi scoff. Celena just laughed louder.

_So fathers be good to your daughters_…

* * *

The wind was howling again, she wanted it to stop, at least halt its noise when she was participating in illicit activities. All it ever did was remind her of the how empty the house was, it was another reason to do just this, but she didn't want another reason. '_What do you want_?' she demanded, '_I want_…_this_,_ yes this is what I want_, _I want his hands I want everything about him_. **_I want it now_**.' "Are you sure?" the question in her mind voiced itself through him. Are you sure? Are you sure! She paused for a moment yet she knew the answer. She had memorized the response, yet it was caught there suspended in the act of formulizing. It sat there in her throat, strangling her, suffocating her, she spat it out anyways refusing to stop. "Of course I'm sure," her voice slithered back. Slithering through the silence of the room and piercing through the howling atmosphere around her.

Are you sure? Yes, she had already exclaimed that, it was there it hung in the ominous, lusting, and uncertain. It had curtained her, coating her heart and saturating her mind with it. Are you sure? No she wasn't it, she never was. She was never certain, but in saying so she would become it. Become assurance, become a calculation taking her lack of confidence and convert it into an ego—a large self-esteem—and with every breath that streamed across her skin, with every incendiary word uttered it would multiply. She was a simple scientific equation give it what it wants it would become a positive energy, reinforce it and it would produce. This beautiful system had been so that her hollow world could be filled with the sounds of her manufactured love. Truth be told it was as vacant as this house. She didn't care though she was too immersed in the object of her desire. It was okay for now because this hole, wherever it may have been, was temporarily filled.

Settling down, she could feel the artificial warmth wrap around her, and snuggling it she began to relax. She loved this feeling of comfort, _fabricated_ comfort. Whatever it maybe she didn't care she enjoyed it and she would continue to because for her there was no other choice. Then the phone rang, it nearly scared her, slicing evilly through the soothing quiet that had washed over the two bodies occupying her bed. She picked it up so that one of the few servants that loitered around didn't have to, "Hello?" she sighed, she was becoming tired, whoever was on the other line better make it quick.

"Good night, may I please talk to my father?" the other voice chirped sweetly, Millerna nearly slammed the phone down to the receiver, she new that voice, she hated the owner of it, more than she hated her false mother.

"I'm sorry _Marlene_, he's unavailable at the moment on one of his _many_ business trips. Isn't that why you ran away?"

"I beg your pardon," the feministic voice sounded truly offended, and Millerna oppressed the opportunity to snicker at her sister. "Who am I speaking to? I will report you for verbal harassment and he'll have you thrown out!" she retorted with such conviction that Millerna let out a giggle.

"Don't you remember me _Lene_? Oh yeah, you haven't seen me in about six years…well now we could make this a game. Guess wrong once and I'll hang up the phooone," she replied singing away in her frosty voice. She was smiling, if Marlene guessed wrong she wouldn't have to talk to her again for another two years when she was graduating. Then again she didn't even have to go to that graduation.

"There are a lot of people I haven't seen in six years, I moved away to university then," remarked the voice, it almost sounded nostalgic, she didn't like it. She was reminded of the way things were six years ago.

"Uh-oh wrong answer, well buh-bye!" she practically chuckled, the piece of plastic moving away from her ear, she would ask her father for a second line tomorrow, if Marlene or Eries wanted to call this house she didn't want to pick it up.

"WAIT!" the voice called and even though Millerna loathed the person on the next line she realized that they could phone this house tomorrow. She wouldn't be in a good mood if she had to hear that voice again.

"What is it?" she surrendered.

"Please tell my father that me and my boyfriend will be joining him for Christmas and New Years."

"No," it was the only word that registered in her mind. This was just like her, just when she was becoming accustomed to her surroundings, this sibling of hers would just skip in, happily, and ruin it all. She could already see the Christmas dream that she had created with her father crumble. It was disgusting the way that Marlene could do that, poison everything before it had a chance of even existing. Then again her father would probably be off on some business expedition that he had to attend. Something always needed to discussed, not that she was complaining or anything, but if Marlene just decided to show up… "NO, _you_ cannot come here." It was a simple statement, an order and Marlene, Millerna knew, disliked being ordered around.

"Who am I talking to?" Marlene demanded, the little controlling tattle-tale personality shining brilliantly.

"Oh my god Marlene you are stupid, don't you know this is your little sister," Millerna announced frown lines set in place.

"Eries! Oh my, well hello, I'm sorry for being so silly," Millerna noticed immediately Marlene unwound at the thought of talking to Eries. They always had that, this sisterly bond that had kept them attached, grounded and just…close to one another. She didn't share that with either of them. Marlene was babbling about something or another, and Millerna just snapped. She despised tweeting bird voice, that males thought were cute, but was just…revolting.

"This is Millerna you fucking idiot. Not Eries, and not some servant that you harass non-stop. Don't you remember the kid sister you abandoned six years ago?" she yelled, the pressure in her head was building up, she was going to need an Aspirin after this.

The phone was quiet for a moment, not even the breath that should have been inhaling and exhaling seeped between the small holes. "Millerna? Are you living there now?"

"You don't need to know _sister_, I just want you to fuck off. Don't call back, and don't come for your little Christmas visit, because I don't wanna see you. I don't care what our father wants."

"I'm coming Millerna whether you―"

"Hi Marlene, what did you want?" it was her father's voice it rang clear, cutting off Marlene's about to be clichéd words. That sentence was so overused it was actually starting to grate her nerves. Her father had said the exact same thing a couple of nights back. She listened to them converse happily about things and heard her father agree immediately to Marlene's visit, promising that he would remain off work. She never had that either, the closeness that seemed to be shared between their voices, meant things. Things that she never had, not that she was complaining… She placed the phone back where it belonged. Looking at the body in the bed, she realized she didn't care. Didn't care if her father found them together, didn't care if her sister was coming to disrupt the peace she had found, didn't care if she had someone who sincerely loved her back, because there was him—there were many "hims" actually ones that no matter what would always think of her, throughout their experiences. She would become a standard, women would be measured against her. And she was content with this, because _this_ was what she wanted, wasn't it? Besides if her sister could get a boyfriend she could get one too and she had a month.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey, hey my lovely reviewers, first off I'd like to say THANKS BUNCHES! And yes Infinitis, Dilly, my fire wielding idol shall be included. I could never forget him…he'd burn me to death ! Now about this chapter there are some parts I like, then there are parts that should burn in hell there so awful, but this chapter _needed_ to be done and so voila! It's not entirely finished so I promise to make the next chap better…perhaps longer… cuz there is this hole somewhere in this stupid thing that needs to be fixed, but alas such is life.**

**Disclaimer: don't own, don't sue, don't forget to read and review! **

**Chapter 4…(I think)**

_Yesterday I was dirty_

_Wanted to be pretty…_

_We are the nobodies_

_Wanna be somebody's_

**The Nobodies: Marilyn Manson**

She was gliding, not flying, not soaring, _gliding_ and it was oh so much better. She felt transparent like a phantom of wind or some enigmatic ethereal being that just seemed to ghost around the other occupants of the large stage. She was captivating, at times like these she radiated magnificence, not the haughty type but the kind that alighted itself in the most humble of beings. Those that looked ordinary and had nothing to offer. But she was brilliant, charming, _perfect_. Where had all that talent buried itself, some wanted to question, because it appeared as if she had some insurmountable stock concealed in the depths of her being, kept hidden, hushed, and patted down secretly, as though a tiny split would have let the whole gushing river flowing through. It was exhilarating just watching her, seeing her twirl, stretch, jump, caress the air around her with loving, measured strokes. Hitomi wished she could have done that, unfortunately she was on the shorter end of the talent spectrum scale.

Hitomi wanted to be jealous, really, she wished that the little green monster would crawl through her making her absolutely envious at the obvious expression of natural and practiced ability. But the sight, the imaginary picture that was created before her was just too beautiful, too _wonderful_ to even have the time or thought in order to put effort in such a thing. That just made her feel wonderfully worse, there was this unmistakable gnawing feeling eating its way through her but she almost cried out of sheer joy and happiness for her friend. Hitomi abhorred mixed emotions; they made life so much more difficult. And those ludicrous things filled her constantly, piling on top of one another, always another more different opinion, continuously contradicting each other. She wanted them to float away.

"Amazing isn't she?" Hitomi turned to see who was whispering to her.

"Yeah, I feel like a proud mother or something, as if I had anything to do with it," she snorted while smiling; the gnawing feeling was starting to ebb away. She watched as a long jump was made and platinum blonde hair swung behind. Delicate, feminine muscles rippled, the guys in the audition room must have been having the time of their lives. She was glad that this wasn't her, for some reason, perhaps it would have been the fact that even though on the outside she would have denied be anything but good her heart would swell with a massive dose of pride. The unhealthy type of pride which can lead to belittling people—even if it was only in her mind—and she was against such a thing, therefore to prevent any sort of hypocrisy (which she despised even more) she would be content wishing good on her friend while being jealous, all at the same time. '_So much for not being a hypocrite_,' she grinned to herself.

Her audition was coming to an end, but the sheer excellence of her performance didn't stop there, instead it looked like she had been holding back the whole time. Spinning she tiptoed away almost hauntingly, as she became apart of the lyric-less music, her arms trailed behind her like she was a bird that had glimpsed at freedom, met it, but abruptly had it snatched away. And now as she began to fold into herself that beautiful creature was weeping for what it had lost, the eerie practically broken mumble of words and an owl like hoot rippled through the auditorium the ornately ruined sound waves running over the objects echoing back. This was all done in a two minute song, she was bloody amazing.

The clap behind the behind the curtain made her giggle and she bowed then skipped over and tapped Hitomi over her head, a mock scowl presented on her face. "What was that for?" Hitomi sputtered angrily, though still beaming.

"You weren't _supposed_ to be watching me!" Celena attacked good naturedly, ah yes Celena was back to her old abusive self. Hitomi was glad that Celena although extremely sarcastic wasn't the least bit stuck up, because it was forbidden to watch others auditions, and those essays were a pain to write out, plus the prudent—goody-two shoes seems more fitting—side of Hitomi hated getting in trouble.

"Well I was attempting moral support, no need to get all pissy about it," she huffed grinning.

"Oooh a swear word what's next Hito you gonna your belly button pierced?" Celena cooed back, she always liked to ridicule Hitomi for being so overly uptight.

"Oh shut-up. What's got you in such a happy mood anyways?" she questioned, "Lemme guess you got a new stud in some absolutely crude place," she smirked. Then she eyed all the vacant holes that decorated Celena's face, she really didn't know why she bothered with those things they looked like a chore to take out and then put back in.

"No you idiot, can't a person be inexplicably happy without a reason? Hey I used a big word!" she congratulated herself while laughing galloping down the back stage stairs and into the dressing room. The reason she why she was so happy…He had left again, gone away for another month, another month of relaxation and rest for her and her mother. Another month of not having to be terrified to step out of her own bedroom, another month of not worrying what was slinking through the bathroom door, another month of becoming and being completely rested. Another month of being free. But when December came… '_Don't think about it_,' she commanded herself, because she and her mother had a whole month to plan, and a whole month to leave.

"Sure you _used_ a big word but I don't think you even know what it means, being _inexplicably_ joyous mood without a reason makes totally no sense," Hitomi countered sighing as she trudged behind her friends skipping form, she seriously needed to help Celena with her language skills.

"So tell me Miss Webster what _does_ inexplicably mean?"

"Would you two please be quiet?" Someone groaned from behind them, the feministic voice ringing out in the forefront of all the other noisy girls. The two strange females gave a smug glance towards Millerna.

"No!" they shouted, then noticed that their voices rang out in unison. "Jinx!" still united, "Double Jinx!"… "Triple Jinx!" the continued in their bout and Millerna looked heavenward, as if that would have helped the situation. She wished.

"God, it's like someone put the two of you on a sugar high, either that or your both smoking _something_," Millerna complained. She occasionally wondered how she could stand those two sometimes, they were like two small, and utterly juvenile school girls.

Celena slapped Hitomi's back with all the force she could muster while choking on her own laugh, "Come on Millerna why can't you just join in the fun?" she howled.

Hitomi after doubling over from the hit, stood herself up and slapped Celena across the forehead, making sure to miss the eyebrow where two holes were placed. "Yeah '_Lerna_ it wouldn't hurt to act ridiculous and totally out of character," she teased watching Millerna's reaction to the hated nickname.

"Don't call me 'Lerna, it's such a stupid name," she proclaimed scrunching up her face while the three pulled on their clothes and unloosed their hair. Millerna could distinctly remember her sister calling her exactly that whenever there had been a lightning storm of some kind and she wanted to be comforted. Marlene would be reluctant at first, but as soon as that childhood nick name fluttered past her lips Marlene would realize how mean she was being. Pushing Eries (who would be the first to enter the large bed) to the corner, she would scoot over to the middle of the bed then let Millerna snuggle in close. Those had been the good ol' days, way back when Millerna actually loved, or even carried the smallest bit of sisterly feelings for both her siblings.

And now there was nothing, nothing but those two that was. Oh sure during her stay in this miniature town she had made friends, but they were just friendly acquaintances, people she made small talk or gossiped with. There was nothing profound to their relationship with her, together they just covered the basics. But Hitomi and Celena, she honestly didn't know what it was about those two. Maybe she saw in them the two siblings that she thought she had but inevitably lost when she was younger. Or perhaps it was the fact that they were so unlike Eries and Marlene, so imperfect, that she felt herself drawn to them, because it was only the flawed that fit in her world, which was why they were such likable companions.

Getting up she began to walk past them, her nose stuck up in the air as if she was attempting to imitate one of her sisters. Glancing down at them she quickly smacked them on their heads and frolicked away. She turned just in time to see them glowering at her and beginning to get up to chase her. Crossing her eyes she stuck out her tongue and blew spit at their figures, turning she ran passed the other girls who simply rolled their eyes and ignored the three active bodies. Millerna laughed as she sprinted down the hall, they were undeniably immature, but one does have to enjoy one's youth after all.

————————————————————————————————————

_You come at night _

_That's when the energy comes_

_And the dark sides light_

_And the vampires roam_

Her stop finally came. After getting lost twice, having to back track three times, and riding on the wrong bus once, she was finally there in the itty-bitty town of Liberty. She didn't know that buses were so expensive, she _also_ didn't know that their routes were so hard to follow. Then again she was somewhat directionally challenged; yup she followed that womanly stereotype to a tee. Now all she had to do was find the house. She looked around her and all she saw was residential areas, it was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Nearly impossible. She looked at her watch, it was only seven o'clock but the sun was already casting its dusky shadow down to earth as it slowly slunk away from sight. The almost indigo dominating the sky shading the trees and the odd car that passed up and down the road.

Perhaps she should wander around for a while to see if she could attempt to find the new house she was about to reside in. Besides there were a million people walking the street she could probably ask one of them for directions, yeah as if people were reliable. They'd most likely direct her to the wrong house and she would end up being kidnapped, or something ridiculous like that. Her mind continued to wander, why didn't she just call? No, she couldn't do that it would ruin the "element of surprise", it would mean that her god-mother would have time to alert her parents of where she was, what she had planned, and it also gave her god-mother time to also notify the police of her whereabouts. Which would have ended in her going back to her stupid house, to the idiotic school that didn't give a damn, to people she barely cared about, all back to a mockery of living.

So instead she searched the crowd, for one trustworthy face, preferably a teen girl that looked somewhat preppy, or at least kind, maybe she'd get a guided tour to wherever the house was. She didn't realize she had been scouring the crowd for until she glanced down at her watch again. Forty-five minutes, an entire forty-five minutes and she hadn't one meager person in which she could trust, well _that_ told her something about the world now didn't it? Then again it could have been the looks that she was receiving, black eyeliner, black mascara, blood red lipstick that had cautiously been outlined by black lip liner, jet black sweater, black baggy jeans, black boots. She looked like something that had been rejected from the underworld, all imposing with her added height. Perhaps people were afraid of her because she seemed to stare down at them—and since she had no doubt that there was an irritated look plastered to her face—menacingly. They were probably afraid she would mug them or something; she couldn't blame them, because she was ready to bomb the world in a few more minutes.

Suddenly there was this _girl_ right in front of her about to walk right into her, "Hey watch where you're going," she sneered. Even if she was looking for someone to direct her to her new residence it didn't mean that she had to be polite to every passerby that made their way in front of her.

The girl glanced up, '_Stupid female_,' Yukari thought peevishly, '_who the hell reads while walking in the dark_?' "Oh sorry," she mumbled while turning around and tucking her book into her floppy, navy blue knapsack. She was about to begin to stroll away, when Yukari caught an idea. The girl seemed somewhat helpless and she was somewhat more embarrassed by her stupidity rather than scared of her. Besides there was something comforting about her, and so Yukari asked her the directions to her new house. "Sure I do, I'm heading that way now actually," in fact the house was the one right next to hers. She however, that she didn't want disclose this information to Yukari. She glanced at the bag that was on the ground, it looked heavy, and even though Yukari looked somewhat strong, she didn't really know what was going on underneath all that cloth. "I can help you carry that if you want," she suggested tentatively, not knowing how the pale looking girl would react.

"You sure you won't fall over or something?" She wasn't a twig or anything, except for the fact that she looked like a tree meeting her height even in her boots, but like she said—rather thought—before, the girl did look _weak_. She watched the girl smirk a little, then she bent down picked up the bag, and began to saunter away. She was covering a lot of ground in a minimal amount of time; those exceptionally long legs were good for something at least.

She jogged to catch up to her, her hard high heeled feet pounding on the cement, and the distinctive sound of metal clasps jingling. "So," Yukari started, she didn't like silence between strangers too much, it made everything awkward. "What are you doing outside reading a book while walking in the dark?"

The looked aimed at her was distrustful at first, then it softened and she smirked again, "I needed a walk and ended up at the library. What are you doing standing at the bus stop―" she stopped herself, as if she already knew the answer and knew that Yukari would be a bit offended if she inquired about something so personal. The girl was right of course, and the scowl that was beginning to grow on Yukari's face flitted away. Thrown out into the light wind that had picked up, just like the question.

"Well, what's your name?" she questioned.

"What's yours?" the girl didn't trust her, didn't have any reason _to_ trust her. But Yukari found herself trusting this girl, it was odd really, but she had the sudden need to dispel all of her problems to this one female, and practically knew for a fact that they would never be uttered again. She had felt that whatever was said would be taken as strictly confidential, not another soul would ever know what she felt like. This girl, whoever she was, was just so trustworthy, it was amazing. You see Yukari always had the uncanny ability to read people.

"What's this place like?" she asked, revoking the name question. She didn't like force people to do anything.

"It's okay, it has a good dance school if that's what you're into, but it's basically like every other place. It has its good and its bad, it's really ordinary."

"Is it _boring_?" Why was it that she always had a question to ask, why was it that—

"Well there is always stuff to do I guess, but it depends…" the girl had interrupted her previous thought process.

"On what?"

"On what you classify as fun, we have all the stuff that a bigger city would have it's just on a smaller scale," she answered. She smiled a bit sadly, she had her suspicions but was assured now, Lady-Morbid-Bus-Hopper, was a runaway. If she was kicked out of the house, which was her second guess, she would probably be left with nothing. She didn't feel pity for her though; pity would have been a crappy substitute for honest sympathy and compassion, which was what she needed. She made a right turn for their street; they would be there in a couple of minutes.

As they continued to walk, Yukari took in the night air, it was comforting, relaxing. Even with all the lights she could still see the stars, she always liked those things, they reminded her that even though a life died out its legacy would remain forever, that they could inspire people. That if they stayed in one person's heart that a human spirit could last forever that they became one of those lone stars up there. For being a cynic she had such positive thoughts, maybe she just one of those silly romantics. In fact the title would have fitted her perfectly, '_Silly romantic me_,' she thought bitterly, '_who thought everything turned out like in the story books_.'

"Where here," the girl stated smiling giving Yukari her duffel bag, it wasn't a happy smile, Yukari noticed, it hid something. A secret, welded tight in her mind, never allowed to spill out. Yukari thought that that the girl was locked up tighter than Fort Knox, but she grinned back none the less, the beam of inner light barely touching her eyes.

"Oh, okay well I guess this is goodbye for now," heavy boots began clambering up the steps. She knocked the door, "And thanks!" called the red head after the retreating blonde.

"No problem, I'm Hitomi!" she chuckled slightly and then began to trudge on her own lawn, the one right beside Yukari's.

"I'm Yukari. Later!" she waved once more and watched as her new neighbour stepped into her own house. The light flicked on in front of Yukari and she watched as a shadow appeared before the door. The pale yellow entry opened slowly, and there stood a woman who looked about thirty two, in a deep pink apron covered in flour. The definite smell of baking pastry wafted to her nose, reminding her stomach that she hadn't had anything since twelve in that afternoon. She looked at the face that wasn't the least bit angry, not even a trace of disappointment leaking through. It was pure elation, with a hint of mischief, and Yukari knew she had done the right thing by coming.

"God Yukari, you smell," she giggled while pulling the young girl inside, and for a little while all was well. They'd deal with the complications the next morning.

—————————————————————————————————————

_You strut your Rasta wear_

_And your suicide poem _

_And a cross from a faith that died_

_Before Jesus came_

_You're building a mystery_

She didn't need to see the school, despite her decision she still had to go to it. She and her god-mother—who's name as Marie—had decided to call her parents of couple nights ago. They were pleasantly peeved, and she was glad. She informed them that she wanted to live here in Liberty for the rest of her high-school career—funny how it always called a career, when parents say that an education wasn't a job—and then decide where she wanted to go from there. They knew from the sound of her voice she had thought this through, and after a bit of deliberation, they finally agreed to make Marie Yukari's guardian. It hadn't been hard, and somewhere in her Yukari's mind she knew that she was disheartened about that fact, because it proved that the once perfect daughter was tossed aside, and she was some other worthless troubled teen to her parents. They had barely put up much of a fight, there was no opposition, which meant that they had simply lost interest in her.

It was gone just like that, and she was left to deal with the world alone. But that was what she wanted right? Wasn't that her goal the whole entire time? Didn't every teenager constantly argue for their freedom, isn't that what she desired? Maybe she would never find out, but at that moment she realized she was twitching. That would just be one more thing that she'd have to explain to whoever she began to hang around with, not explain _lie_. Lie about her very recent past, lie about the way she dressed, and lie about that goddamned twitch. Lying about herself did the whole world a favour, they shouldn't be interested in her anyways, but she knew that they were just a bunch of nosy bastards.

She heard herself jingle, which was the only sound she made as she entered the school the sunshine drizzling down her black encased figure, her boots were decorated with loose metal chains that she took great pride in, hooked onto to the laces of her combat boots. They made their own music, it was a frightening song, one that made people cringe, it told the truth about Yukari Uchida, about her soul. Her black cargo pants were stuffed inside, becoming a poof of strangled cloth where both items met. Black gloves covered her hands, except for the fingers which she had deftly snipped off the fabric meeting up only to her pale knuckles. Her torso was hidden by a midnight blue sweater which she had also cut so that it was now a short sleeve and a black form fitting shirt reached down to cover her already covered arms where her palms met her wrists. The familiar vermillion lipstick spread across her lips, ebony eyeliner joining as well, a pasty complexion and black mascara fanning and covering her mahogany eyes burning the holder of the gaze.

Her guardian asked her if she left the house without anything black on, she smiled and shook her head no. It had been a long time since she actually grinned so many times in one day and it was only morning. Maybe Marie's personality would brighten her constant depressive mood. Yeah right, the only thing that could pull off such a miracle was her pleasure pills and she hadn't seen one of those in a long time. Her body let out a twitch, she'd have to go searching for some later on.

Her time table had been given to her when she was forced to scour the halls one day, the stupid passages were always so busy she would think that it would be practically impossible to push your way through. But human beings, they were incredible things really—and these kids found ways to push past each other move with the normal grumbling that one did because of such congested areas. They were like little vehicles on a small highway, and this road led to a classroom, or the cafeteria, or somewhere else where socializing was inevitably going to take place. This stupid hall with its gray tiles and defiantly ordinary walls painted white directed you to places that guided your future and defined your personality, amazing that it was just a simple government building.

She met her new locker for the first time, it was ugly. Well at least it wasn't as hideous as some unnaturally bright school bus yellow that decorated the lockers of students back in the day when she was younger and had ignored the nuisance of a colour. She hated it's vibrancy, the nearly fire truck red, that caused swirls of hazy colour behind her eyelids, it contained something she didn't. It held something, a thing which could not yet acquire and she despised that and the piece of metal itself. She kicked it, her boot hammering into it, and she heard the vacant echo find it's way to her ears. Not _hollow_ just _vacant_, so much unlike her.

"You seriously don't have to kick the crap out of something that can't fight back," a husky voice informed her. Deep, robust, and laced with testosterone—if testosterone could be _laced_ through anything. It wasn't one of the most feministic hormones in the world. Males that bore such a voice were usually the burly type, with muscular meat dripping off their bones showing through the typical too-tight t-shirt. The muscles were flexed periodically in order to impress random albeit "cute" passers bye, which caused streams of giggles from the ordinary opposite sex. Fortunately neither fit either label, he was for one thing too long and almost gaunt, but there was something charming about him. Curly burnt amber hair framed his face and eyes before being pulled back into what looked like an attempt at a loose ponytail. But the hair was disobedient, and refused to listen to rationality. She had to admit there was something odd about him, a sort of apprehension that surrounded him. He was just too…too _gangly_ it was almost sickening, and she wanted to, well, feed him.

No matter how sympathetic her heart seemed to feel, the stupid thing that it was she felt inclined to snap back, "Screw off, I can do whatever I want it's mine."

"Not really no, in another year it will be someone else's," he stated simply, removing some books from his locker calmly why she just stood irate, while watching his lanky form. Of all the men she _had_ to meet first it was a vaguely intelligent and albeit reasonable one. How utterly unbearable, she just wished that guys would all just stay generically stupid.

"Yes well since I won't _know_ the next person coming along, I guess I don't care," she glanced down at her hand engraved with blue pen her combination, something that she never wanted to forget, but what it represented opened up to entirely was something she really didn't want to deal with. Like the past, but the code that unopened that lock had made its imprint, daunting, forever there.

"Seems a bit selfish doesn't it, imagine what would happen if the world thought like."

It was a rhetorical question, if it was even a question at all, it seemed more like a comment, not a statement, it wasn't _declaring_ anything, purely commenting. She hated things like, that it made her think, it made her feel slightly guilty, because she criticized the world everyday for how selfish, how completely self-centered it was. No one looked out for the odd person, no one had dreams or ambitions for anyone but themselves, no one not even her. She was such a hypocrite. "If you hadn't noticed it already does," she countered pulling open the stupid hunk of metal that had gotten her into this thoughtful argument in the first place.

"No, if you look around there tons of people doing something good, however small it may be, for someone else, it's stuff like that that keep people alive," his voice resonated. He seemed so intelligent, so damn smart, that she doubted that if ever got into an actual argument she could win against him. She hated that, she was used to winning. "A person's life is only shitty because they allow it to be, we all have the power to affect change if we want to."

Well that was just stupid, no one could change what had happened in the past could they? No one could change neglect, cruelty, or humiliation could they? No one could ignore being scorned and spit down on; it was just not the way it worked. Mr. Barry White Voice had obviously never been crushed before, and if he had well then not as much as her, his heart hadn't been shattered then stepped now had it? Nuh-uh, if it had then this guy was just an idiot just to believe in some farce of a philosophy, seriously it almost made her laugh.

"Yes well whenever your life turns to crap let me know how much you believe in that," she replied smartly and dumping her unnecessary items into her locker, locked it and marched away, smirking she thought, '_Here's to showing him_.' She didn't see him grin though, it was lined with its own sense of triumph, because you see it is a rule that you do not assume anything about those you're battling. And assume she did.

Music, thundering, climbing and entirely quiet rolled through the room, it was nearly faultless. He didn't what it was exactly but as his digits sped away it the music calmed his not only his mind, his pounding headache, the stomach that had formerly been emptied, his essence. His fingers— those wonderfully graceful things hadn't been put to use in a while and it surprised him that he held even a wisp of talent. Fingers ran furiously over ivory white and he ignored the slight pain that tingled through his right hand plummeting down to his funny bone, the tingle itself was delicious. A foot kept time with the beat of the melody, pressing down every so often to draw out a single note or enthralling harmony. The composition in its almost flawlessness dragged through one's heart and one could almost see through the eye of the pianist, what a painful view it was. Not the casual doom and gloom that one feel's one a rainy day, instead it almost seemed to yearn for rain. Rain depending on perception didn't drown, it cleansed, and purification was needed for perfection. Nope, it wasn't going to be perfect anymore. Nothing was.

The music unbeknownst to the creator had drifted off into the hall, the hall that was supposed to be practically empty. Practically. A head cracked open the door, blonde hair peeking cautiously in, blue eyes glanced up as the music abruptly stopped. It was Van, Merle's Van playing the piano and, goddammit, he was bloody amazing. So amazing that Chid felt compelled to compliment him, besides he going to use the space wasn't he?

"Oh, hey Chid," Van smiled…well as much as Van smiled to anyone who wasn't Merle, and Van began turning to get up to leave. Sure he _liked_ Chid and everything, but they weren't the best of friends, the only reason he knew him was because of Merle. Plus, and this is the most embarrassing part, he was slightly _jealous_ of the kid, for some unfathomable reason he found himself angry at the fact that Merle and Chid spent so much time together. It was bordering too much time (in his mind of course, her parents never did seem to mind) and sometimes he even had to restrain himself from _growling_ at the guy. Not that Chid wasn't nice or anything, but he occasionally saw more friction than necessary between the two, and that just made him somewhat possessive, I mean he could remember sometimes when he actually coveted Merle. God, he was such dirty prick…it wasn't like he was in _love_ with Merle or anything, pure infatuation, he just hoped it would stay that way, but she was making it mighty hard…

"Don't leave, from hearing you play I'd say you're the probably the only person who can help me," he grinned, it was adorable, and if Van wasn't virtually brimming with envy he would have probably had become really good friends with the kid, most likely making him a "younger brother" of sorts.

Van glanced up and pushed some stray hairs roughly out of his face, his half a grin stayed put as he questioned Chid, "Sure what's the problem?"

Chid beamed his cute features resonating happiness, "Well I've got the lyrics to a new song, but I can't seem to get the tune right," he explained pulling out his fawn coloured acoustic guitar, the midnight blue case slamming down gently. He fished the lyrics out of his pocket, those words condemned him every time he looked at them, he looked to Van out of the corner of his eye, the poet's grave just kept getting bigger. Handing the lyrics over to Van he watched as maroon eyes skimmed the page and his leg jittered slightly, the rational part of his mind was slowly diminishing, if Van the object of Merle's undying _obsession_ found out who wrote the lyrics he would be a dead man.

The lyrics were good, better than good it was like someone had carefully described his and Merle's relationship, but somehow he got the feeling—and this was just some stroke of non-existent male intuition—that this set of stanzas were written but someone totally unrelated. "Did you write this?"

Oh hell, "Nah, you have to ask Merle where she found it," he shrugged, eyes guarded, body and voice feigning nonchalance.

Van although an extremely unfocused was occasionally perceptive, and such a trait showed up during the most inopportune times, well at least for the victim of such scrutiny. Van's mockery of a smirk dropped, just slightly a sign that he was steadily becoming distrustful, or analyzing something. "Okay, it's just that the writing sort of looks like yours," he hinted.

His mind's barricade increased in it's strength, because he had just had an epiphany, a sort of revelation that prances its way into one's mind out of the blue. It is always late in coming, but when it decides to arrive it can save more than just your wimpy ass. And what exactly _was_ this _great_ insight? Oh he wouldn't really describe it as great but it had saved him from getting himself turned into a pile of mush by Mr. Fanel over there, the insight: Merle not only _liked_ Van, but Van—and here comes the good part—_liked Merle back_. Dear Lord why was he such an idiot? How long had it been staring at him in the face waiting, ever so patiently for him to figure it out. He had spent ever constant hours over the phone listening to Merle discuss intelligently how _glorious_ Van was, and he had spent equal amounts of time at Merle's house dodging the sporadic more than just icy glares from Van, that he was sure could cut him to bleeding shreds of meat if he let it. But this was the best part of all, Van was in a predicament, he didn't comprehend it entirely—and he didn't necessarily want to either—but whatever it was it had efficiently stopped Van from acting out on such feelings, even if it hurt Merle. Life, or rather love was the biggest screw over of all time.

"I'm warning you I'm not the best composer of anything, okay? Don't expect Mozart or something. Oh yeah can you sing?" he might as well give the poor guy a try right, especially since Chid had been ever-so kind to him, even through his death glares. Sometimes Van wondered idly if anything could dampen his enthusiasm, probably not. He was so much like Merle, in everything and yet…there was this odd difference that made them pair up so well together, they were confusing, but they complimented one another. And all of this thinking was making him even more green-eyed.

"I guess, you'll have to ask Merle's opinion on that one," he smiled embarrassedly head tilting a little as he chuckled a little. It was really a giddy sound, the kind that made birds wanna join their other chirpy voices in, creating music that the world could grin to, to bounce to, this young man was like the epitome of sweet; no wonder Merle was so close to him. Hell even _Van_ gave a hint of chuckle at the sound.

And they started, the room was filled with beauty, it radiated even through the mistakes and frustration. The guitar tickled lightly every strum echoing the progress they were making, the alto voice reverberated heavenly created blessed little sound waves, and the piano, whatever had ignited his poor fingers Van would remember later to worship. Quite unlike rolling wave that people believed music should be, it recoiled hidden deep in the voice, but burst, unfurled every second a note was unleashed in quiet, steady, passion, and Van found himself singing along. An unlikely voice that held a sort of searing undertone, making alto brilliant, and the tenor of his own voice haunting. Desperate longing etched every breath of each, and the two unknown listeners found themselves close to an uncertain emotion, something close to tears and utter ecstasy their mind just couldn't decide.

_Read for me, _

_So you can understand my mind_

_But please don't let me die_

_Because I can't lose you _

_And I'll try to remember you_

_So I won't forget myself_

Merle didn't know that two voices could praise each other so well, but both accentuated the opposites range so well that it rang clearer, untainted. She didn't know what she liked better the voices or the actual instruments themselves, they were so well conducted. Glancing at Van she marveled at the depths that he had buried such resounding larynx, but Chid…his voice could melt her, break her, make her become something she wasn't for a while. They _made_ her _need_ to sing, because their voices left her longing, making her want to join in such a wraithlike depression. She _needed_ to cure them, but as their voices raced up her skin she refrained.

_You are me _

_And I am you_

_But can you see the truth?_

_It exists solely in me _

_The part I won't let you be_

Merle entered the door at this part belting out the verse and Hitomi slinked away, hidden by the gray steel door that was in desperate need of a coat of paint. However she didn't notice such petty things she was busy being entranced by the trio before her. Magnificent was an insult to what they were, what they had altered into. She speculated with where it came from, this completely raw talent that the three seemed to have for song. It was tattooed to their soul springing forth in unadulterated fluidity that gave them a new essence. Such zest was something she wished she possessed something she aspired to but never come close to attaining.

_I can't let you keep it _

_Because I'll forget_

_I won't remember to tell you_

_How much I love_

_But do you know who?_

Hitomi scuttled away hoping that at the climax of their song Merle would forget all about her presence, it wasn't like she was that memorable anyways. Not like that song, not like those voices, the one's that even though masked had briefly become enriched with eloquence, silent explosions that weaved their way into every key. If Merle forgot about her, then she wouldn't mention her name, and if her name wasn't brought up then Van wouldn't have a reason to be extra bitchy to her. She would swear to anyone that that guy hated her. Actually for being such a withdrawn person he was really passionate, you could glimpse at it sometimes coiling right behind the wine red irises. Feelings would begin at his pupils then shudder down his body as he rectified this personal hedge that kept the world from seeing what he was feeling, but Hitomi could identify it. And unfortunately it was anger or disdain a large portion of the time, specifically at her.

Sighing she marched away, looking for a way to cheer herself, maybe she should eat…Maybe not she didn't feel exactly hungry at the moment, later perhaps when she found Celena and Millerna. And that was the beginning of a self destructive pattern.

——————————————————————————————————————

_You live in a church  
where you sleep with voodoo dolls  
and you won't give up the search  
for the ghosts in the halls_

Just her and her mom is what it was, and she liked it this way, it brought her to a sense of closeness with the word contentment, it wasn't there yet but it was coming. Unfortunately for her the feeling never came, sad isn't it that even without her father present or her long gone brother who could quite possibly be the only one to save her, but left her nonetheless not here—despicable man he was and she didn't want to see him again—she and her mother couldn't keep even a wisp of peace. Pathetic. But then again it was her fault; she was the one who asked the moronic question of, "Mom why don't you just leave Leon?" she refused to call that man her father (except in her thoughts) even if it was for her mother's sake, because Encia lived in the world of fantasy where the white picket fence, existed on the greenest lawn on the street. Where a cup of sugar was lent without second thought and doors could be left open in the night never fearing the creatures that prowled, in a world of glorified tranquility, a world that wasn't real.

She could sense the tears before they drizzled over the cup running down the cool ceramic of the cup in her mother's hand, making rivulets in her skin. She wanted to comfort, honestly and truly she did, but then images would skitter to halt right in front of her hated mind's eye. It was a cruel thing really, making her watch over and over her degradation from warm, living being to an numb and inevitably mass of mere existence, a little toy to be done however he pleased with. But that wasn't the worst of it all, the most inhuman thing was forcing her to watch as he humiliated her own mother, and she was too weak, too feeble to help. One muffled scream would come right after the next, but she was paralyzed. All the potential, the adrenaline she had felt burning through her was wasted on keeping herself either conscience as pain snuggled her close.

Her father, the man that her mother held onto so tightly, wasn't even human. He was some sub-species of anger that certain men became after being nudged by whispering voices at night. His damn personal demons became her's and her mother's but she had to endure them for both, because if she collapsed now her mother would have nothing to lean on, nothing to ensure her. Her poor mom would cross the almost invisible thread into her insanity. That is if she wasn't there already…

So she fled the room, she couldn't deal with tears, not tonight, not when there wasn't a reason to cry. But it was too bad for her now wasn't it, because the cursed flow of water splattered its way down her face bursting on tainted alabaster arms. Arms filled with welts, and distant scars. She could hear the eerie twinkle of voices that weren't there, voices that spoke to her father at night, those ever traveling things sifting it's way into her psyche. She found herself in a room filled with ceramic and the voices echoed louder, so loud they became a resounding pounding inside her head. She wished they would shut-up. They wouldn't not yet, not until they were fed, and trying to fight them was too much today, maybe today if she made them happy they'd disappear. Maybe…

**REVIEW! Be honest 2! JA (.)… this one was for u Tiki-chan HAPPY B-DAY hope you like ur present! sorry about the weird mistakes in this and the previous chap, my beta reader wasn't around :(**


	6. Chapter 5

**OOOOOOH I'M BACCCKKKK! My internet was down and now that its back and you haven't had a chapter since God knows when you get TWO! I'm so very wonderful now…ahem**

**Anyways this is a semi-birthday present for my sister and jo-chan HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIDDIES!**

**Chapter 5**

_Metaphor for a missing moment,_

_Pulling into your imperfect circle_

**Perfect Circle-Orestes**

He was proud of his work; honestly, ha…it's funny when you're lying to yourself while saying 'honestly'. Yeah, yeah he was freakin' hilarious, cracked himself up all the time. But seriously he knew that it was all going to catch up with him in time, he just hadn't expected it to be so _soon_. He was hoping on a few more years so that he could get laid a few more times, attempt bungee jumping and plan on way he was going to disfigure his idiot father for good. I mean truly how much does one _have_ to travel, if he seriously wanted to leave him and his self-professed assistant, he'd have no qualms about helping the man. Which meant shipping his father off to some well-to-do, hard-justice-system country like Singapore, maybe then all his con artist ways would end. His mind wandered back to the little stunt he pulled today, it seemed that such fatherly traits wore off on sons, so then again maybe not.

It also seemed (to him at least) that the sins of said father had certain repercussions that the son had to bear. But maybe that was just karma coming to bite him back in the ass for all the people he had snipped. Someone should have warned him, because "karma" definitely had sharp teeth, and its bite was infinitely worse than its bark. He was however hoping he would bleed to death from that instead of wither away in pain, but it was apparent that wasn't happening anytime soon. Thus he would have to be content—as content as one could be in his position—because there was nothing that could change the simple fact, which was he could very possibly be dead by the end of the school. Why was that? It was because his only chance of survival was buried six feet under the earth and was well on her way to decomposing…but that's just the way the world worked wasn't it?

——————————————————————————————————————

The first snowfall of the year happened sometime around New Years Day, and thus Van couldn't entirely comprehend why _this_ was called the first snow fall of the year. First snow of the season was out too since the wonderfully white change of time ended in late March that year, the whole process just started up all over again. Maybe that was why he liked winter so much…it never really ended, unlike everything else. The biting cold would dissipate for a while swirling into the warm air as if it was never genuinely there, and then leak its way back into the atmosphere catching everyone unawares and off guard, in melting cover. Winter reminded him of people; they either started or finished a year. But much more than that humanity liked to cover their faults with the pretense of goodness, the pristine white snow that slowly melted away that gave you glimpse of the world's ugliness. Perhaps that was the reason winter was loved and hated all at the same time, it showed a perfect comparison to the great species.

That onyx haired young man was wondering why he was being so contemplative today, nothing special had happened and the future wasn't looking very promising, for the future held Christmas. Oh sure he was ecstatic for all the kids who got to celebrate it with their families, they deserved it, everyone should be happy on the "wondrous" day but even though he was going to have a multitude of guests around him at his new residency (he really hadn't taking to call it home just yet) he knew he would be all alone. It was his fate, he didn't pity himself, he was simply mulling over the truth, because one does have to prepare. Maybe he should stack up on saltine crackers: choirs, mistletoe, turkey and many visitors were bound to bring up many unwanted memories. Perhaps he should start his own tradition too, it would be a helluva lot easier than trying to participate in the old ones.

Sneakers continued to trudge as white patterns battled the stirring wind attempting to land placidly on the gum tainted concrete. They were little warriors who hid the dastardly blemishes of the world. And the little bits of cottony ice pooled in his hair, while he slumped along never once giving thought to the road he was crossing. "Hey Locker Boy watch where you're going!" she called out to him from a rolled down mirror. She swore that one of these days he was going to be crushed for lack of attention. Hopefully if no one got around to it she'd get to do it herself, he was being particularly moody lately (sometimes she thought he had PMS). Looking at him through the mirror of her car which seemed to sprouting the evil white flakes from hell that made driving a fearsome thing, she nearly wanted to retract that previous thought. (Notice it was nearly, not absolute. He was being way too testy for absolute.)

Goddammit though, sad Van was making her lips quiver and her eyes water dramatically, it was making her heart so compassionate that she almost wanted to just jump out of her warm Volkswagen in wrap his depressed little body in a bear, then take him home and feed him. She even almost "awed" him. Almost, however she slapped herself upside the head and began to think clearly, without motherly estrogen pounding through her. Then she became angry, what was the problem with him anyways? Whenever she saw him he was semi-brood-sulking, head partly down, determinedly strong but weak-hearted striding trudge that he moved across the earth with. It confused her; she couldn't tell if he was angry at the world, or upset that he still had to be, and was, apart of it.

He didn't give her the time of day, just kept on moving (like the real trooper he was) ignoring her voice, ignoring her…like all the other times she had come across him. Today, however she was going to be as stubborn as him, she was not going to be brushed off, she was going to get him to cheer up. He didn't deserve to be secluded, especially at Christmas, no one did. She waited as he crossed the street, quickly, smoothly, efficiently…looking like a monk in some secret divine prayer that only he knew. Following him, she slid into a spot that was empty beside the string of stores the filled the area. "Hey Van!" she was dismissed silently again, he was so difficult sometimes (more like all the time but…whatever). Sighing she got out of the car, she had not a clue in vastness of her own mind what was persuading her to do all of this. It was a curious thing, but she had never been so persistent in her life about having someone to befriend, or even consider a pleasant acquaintance. But it was there all the same, some unknown driving force that, even if it was against her will forced her to move forward without worry of the consequences which she would have to face herself.

Harassed by the cold air that simply hung about, floating without any real purpose through the atmosphere, Hitomi shivered, the harsh feeling reminded her of Van. Pulling her purple coat tighter to her chest, she was thankful for its inward fleece that seemed to rebuke the traces of cool wisps of wind that gathered around her, as if searching for her own warmth. Jogging up to his fleeing figure (well it _did_ look like he was running away) she placed a hand on his shoulder, "Jeez, why can't you just answer me when I call you?" she questioned as he spun around and—holyfreakingmaryandthefuckingsaints his eyes weren't wearing their half mask of hair, which was matted away at the sides from the chilling fluff. Where the hell had he gotten eyes that looked like _that_? Was he some special breed of man that was supposed to have such eyes that their sole goal was to churn a girl's insides until it became mush, make her weak kneed, and mad with complete jealousy! If so she hoped that there was a _kind_ version of such species, who she wanted to meet. (Every time she glimpsed them they brought some new feeling to her, and now that they were presented raw…well she was ready to die and go to heaven)

"What do you want now? Can't you just be content in _leaving me alone_?" is what he groaned, however Hitomi didn't hear it. She was busy staring. At him, at his eyes, they were just so…so…vibrant, so utterly lurid, and the fact that it was so bright outside—despite the dusting snow—made them glow with a vividness that was clearer than the sparkling glass. She was so busy being captivated by them that she didn't even notice, that Van had realized she was staring, and the proximity was causing the skin to redden at Van's cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he blushed…not even with Merle, which infuriated him.

Who was she to cause such an odd plight to fall on him…_him_. The sky must be falling because not only was his face, but every part of him tingled from a raving, pulsating heat. Starting from the center of his head, he could feel it pound in time with his heartbeat, then in a rush crashed to his toes, only to start all over again. This was one of the main reason's he avoided her, she made him so aware of all his bodily functions, so aware of the "going ons" around him, although he would much rather have them all go away. You must understand whenever she was around he could feel his very existence twitch and then BAM the world would come into a sharper than natural. It was frightening, especially for someone who spent most of their time observing, yet hidden in their thoughts.

She saw him jerk back slightly, only for a moment, and then she realized that she hadn't answered him, and what was worse she had been openly staring. Well, it wasn't her fault entirely, it was just that she had never seriously noticed his eyes before (even when she was dancing with him it was dim), if she had she would have been used to them by now and thus there would be no need for staring…or gaping. She sincerely hoped she wasn't doing that too. Trying to decide what to say without further humiliating herself, she decided on a huff with a voice that portrayed annoyance and hopefully nothing else grabbed his arm and tugged him along with a sneered, "Oh just come."

Dodging the cars which he was sure to be slammed into since Miss Nosy was too busy grumbling about one thing or another to be concerned with his well-being, he stared at her confusedly. What was _so_ important that she had to not only drag, but also—ouch stupid girl—_throw_ him into the passenger side of her car? He continued to look at her, perplexity showing on his features, as she proceeded in stomping around to the driver's side and placed the key in the ignition. She breathed a heavy puff of cool air—like they did in the movies before a long winded speech was about to formulate out of the oxygen surrounding them—and Van braced himself for an onslaught of…whatever she was rehearsing and about to say.

"Where do you want to go?" one of the least complex questions he had ever been asked, and it stunned him a bit.

"Why were you staring at me?" it leapt out before he had a chance to edit his mind and he wished he could claw it away from the receptors in her eardrums, because the blush that was almost as rare on Van's face shifted its way to Hitomi in a flash of bright red, the colour of her discomfiture. Van was pretty sure the same blemish would have occurred on his face if once for the day didn't suffice.

As she moved out of her parking space she grew quiet for a moment, crawling along at the speed limit she stopped at the light and replied with something that Van was almost certain she would never say to him. "I'm sorry, now where can I take you?" she sighed. It was smooth, with an unsettling resignation that Van wasn't used to hearing from Hitomi. What was wrong with her, upon glancing he noticed that there was something that was missing. From her face, from her face, from her pants which seemed looser than natural. There was something wrong.

But even with that Van would be Van, and Van—with the exception of that one dance—wasn't exactly civil to the girl with honey hair, which looked thinner than usual. "Why?" it was gruff, and as cold as the weather on the external side of her car. But for the first moment of her life Hitomi didn't take offence instead she decided to explain herself.

"Look buddy, I've never done a thing to you, but you still hate me. I'm just trying to be nice but fine if you despise me _that_ much you can leave. It's just that no matter how alone you _want_ to be no one deserves to be lonely during Christmas…not even you." The words started off angrily, but then they hushed themselves until nearly a passing wisp of wind it was weird because she came very close to sounding hurt, and Van couldn't even comprehend what she was telling him. He hated mind games, and this, although unintentional, was one of them—no Hitomi was a puzzle in herself. Just when you believe you've got someone figured out to be a sarcastic, smart, and somewhat meddlesome who's sole focus was on academia, most of the time they do something completely against their nature and you're back at square one. Hitomi was the only one in the long history of girls that he knew that he had yet to understand entirely. She was actually giving him a headache, and like a complicated math question, the answer to her was one of the simplest things known to man, but he just couldn't figure it out.

"Van…?" no satirical tone, no cutting after remarks, just patience and a hushed touch of care. Why was she like this? Who had stole the real Hitomi and replaced her with this calmer version of the teenage woman who made his blood stir…then again it was still bubbling, but in a different way. Plus, he was beginning to think that this was all some strange joke (Van has a serious amount of distrust for our wonderful heroine).

"Do you do this often?"

"Well if I saw Celena or Millerna outside in the cold walking somewhere, sure I'd pick them up. But they usually take the bus or drive on days like this," she didn't know why this was relevant, and his lack of response was making her sort of impatient, but she'd take her time and wait. After all he wasn't that fond of her, and driving in the same car as her would need some getting used to.

It was a good enough response and Van believed her, Hitomi didn't seem the type to lie anyways, "Well, I was actually looking for a Christmas present for Merle," he responded eyes halfway closed a soft grin on his face. She loved it when he showed something other than the fiery aloofness that was projected virtually all day. Plus it was cute—yes cute—that he was looking for something for his love interest. She didn't know why Merle hadn't discovered that the person she yearning for, actually liked her back. '_Humans_,' she thought amusedly, '_they can never see what was staring at directly in front of them_.'

"I know the perfect place!" she informed excitedly (at least her energy was back) and they zoomed off through the snow to a interesting little strip of road, that people rarely took the time to notice.

_

* * *

_

_You can look but you can't touch_

_I don't think I like you much_

_Heaven knows what a girl can do_

_Heaven knows what you've got to prove_

"Chid can we _please_ go Christmas shopping? _Please_, _please_, **_please_**?" Childish voice, childish vocabulary, she was such a complete child sometimes, and god, wasn't that scary? Sure she wasn't what he'd call mature either, but whenever she begged she sounded like a five year old asking her parents to buy her candy or that new Barbie doll…whichever worked. Did he really, honest-to-God-truly want to go shopping with her, to tell you the truth, yes and no. Yes because this Merle, _Merle_ anything that included his best friend from that day in the sand was bound to be fun, an adventure waiting to unfold all he had to do was snatch it and it would be his. No because this _was Merle_, and being such she would spend hours shopping for the perfect gift and after visiting fifty plus stores, would return to the same store she started in, it was all very infuriating. Besides he already knew who he was going to be helping finding the gift for, considering that also knew Van was a slightly smaller size than him and slightly taller too, she'd have him tailing along like the third wheel of two he knew he was becoming, even when that two consisted of himself and Merle.

"Merle it's the beginning of December, whatever you're looking won't disappear by next week," so matter-of-factly, still he knew that she would think of a way to manipulate that statement because even though she was impervious to it she was good at doing that to his words.

"But alas, ma cherie we have to take part in those dastardly things called exams, and by the second week of this frosty month we'll all be studying with the utmost, undivided attention. Therefore if we start our shopping today then by the second week we shan't have to worry about such things." Incredibly intellectual as always, and she razed his argument to the ground, she should have honestly been on the debate team.

'_Be a good friend_,' his conscience reprimanded him as he was debating in his own mind whether to say yes or no. It's not like he had anything better to do he was just sitting at home playing random songs on his guitar. But it was the friend part that worried him. How could he be a good friend when he had deciphered so much of himself and not tell her, not _warn_ her. Every look would melt, but every caress would have to be forgotten. He didn't like that part, the part that he would read into every little thing then have to brush it off as nothing. It drove him up the wall of his mind, and still sent electricity through his bone marrow, right at the core.

'_Be a good friend_,' a good friend would tell her the truth, would tell her everything and anything that mattered. '_Be a good friend_…' he muttered to his brain, "What was that?" pretty voice asking a question that he already knew the answers to.

"I said, yes buddy ol' pal of mine," lying straight through his pearly white teeth.

"Oh goodie, it is what I like to hear, darling. See you in a bit darling. Au revoir for now."

A giggle then, "Goodbye Merle, be there with no more than ten minutes to spare," and with the sensed smile she was gone. _Click_…he hated that sound.

_I think I'm paranoid_, _and complicated_

_I think I'm paranoid_,_ manipulate it_

* * *

" Ahh! I love Christmas shopping!" Hitomi proclaimed to the world as she did little spirals on the lonely sidewalk, while sticking her tongue out attempting to catch snowflakes on her tongue. There was a crazy grin plastered to her face…she seemed so much like a child so happy…but he could see it, despite the burst of giggles, and the wild waving at passing cars there was something wrong with tall Miss Kanzaki.

"You must really like Christmas, huh?" it was Van's first attempt at starting a conversation with her instead of an argument.

'_Not anymore…_', "Sure do!" she exclaimed, proudly. '_Liar, liar pants on fire_,' the childhood rhyme sang in her head. Christmas at her house was filled with arguments that were threatening to lead her house into a state of spontaneous combustion. She could actually the fireworks burst in her ear, they were so deafening that all that was left was the colours of Christmas which she learned to hate. She had no idea when it started but sooner rather than later along the line of life, her parents would have their annual string of Christmas Fights. They were so plentiful in number that they even earned themselves a title, and all that was left for her brother and her to do was blast the Christmas music so that it out pounded the throbbing of her parents voices. But sometimes…just sometimes if you listened close enough you could hear the pain threaded through every word, and every once in a while she take down her serious, happy, or sarcastic reserve and let little wet droplets usher her off to la-la land while her and her brother held each other. But that only happened sometimes.

"Hitomi!" he called out again, she had disappeared somewhere inside herself for about two minutes, looking—for a few momentary seconds—as if she was resisting the urge to cry. That Hitomi she went through so many emotions at one time that it was hard to tell what she would be next, yet through it all she was ever so energetic about it.

"Huh? Oh sorry…my mom says I'm a space cadet sometimes…what do you want?"

Van glanced across the road that slowly being hidden beneath glistening crystals of white. There was a man selling cinnamon buns and hot chocolate, and considering the fact that his food always ended up in the sewer most of the time, he really could be content with something fattening and pampering. "I just wanted to know if you were hungry, 'cause there's a person selling buns and hot chocolate over there."

"Oh no it's ok…I had lunch, and a light snack…I'm alright," for some reason, her voice hushed a bit at the mention of food. '_Naughty girl you're lying again…no I'm not I had lunch_,_ then again a granola bar and some water isn't exactly what the world calls "lunch"_._ It_'_s more like breakfast_.'

Glancing at his watch Van noticed it had been four and a half hours since the latest lunch could have occurred, "Come on, it's just some hot cocoa…nothing fattening, if you're trying to watch you're figure. Although I think you're too skinny to be doing that."

"You shouldn't talk, you look like a walking toothpick. But fine since you insist I'll just share one with you, I could never finish off a whole one anyways," she retorted somewhat merrily as she stalked away towards the concession stand which was billowing steam, rich mosaic of tints radiating towards them through pearly florescence.

Hitomi whether she liked to admit it or not adored luscious and extremely calorific foods that were filled to the brim with cream or some equally velvety texture. And so as immersed herself in the smell of the food which saturated the crisp air she couldn't help but drool…just a tiny amount however. She would swear to some that the scent alone was enough to bring her to heaven and have her suspended there for a good four or five days. She watched, stomach rumbling in the truthful confession that only the body could tell, as the cocoa filled the paper cup and then was handed to her. The sort of comfort that was brought upon by hot chocolate pooled at her hands and then ran down in long spurts throughout her body, taking her to giddiness…and just imagine, all of this from holding one simple cup, but it seemed it was the little things that made Hitomi smile.

Van glanced at her expression, she looked like the happiest little girl in the world holding tiny cup of liquid. It was like all her problems were diffused into the steam and the wind carried them away. It was cute, and that was his problem. He hated it when Hitomi displayed any sort of emotion other than the typical friendly, bookworm, sarcastic shyness (if that even made sense) and even then he avoided her. When she was off in another world that existed solely in her confusing mind, he had the yearning to bring her back to earth. When she was silent, he had the need to hear her voice…even if it was arguing with him. The smile which was planted there would not be tolerated by him, because he hadn't caused it, so he had to replace it by mild irritation, when she was already flustered about something and came storming towards, a kind gesture to someone else would cause her to smile slightly. He did it all to see her react, so that he could have the same affect on her as she did on him. He didn't try to understand, so God forbid that he ever would because he was unsure of where that would lead, and honestly he wasn't that keen on knowing either. It was just the way their relationship went…if what they had attained together could be _called_ such, to him though it was more like cause and effect. There was always a reason behind what he or she did which was the cause, and the insignificant yet consequential eruptions of emotion or activity was the effect. If only everything was so one-dimensional life would be so easy to deal with.

Yet it seemed that there were factors to Hitomi lounging away in the dark, he was trying to solve a problem without having all the vast and immeasurable amounts of variables that make up a person's character…and all this thinking was making him sound like a math teacher. See what female's did to you: they made you think so deeply about things that you'll in the end confuse yourself even more…which was why he was going to give up and start talking to the blondie again, everything was less complex that way.

"So where are we going anyways?" Van haggled for about the third or fourth time after they had finished the bun and hot chocolate. Hitomi for the past few minutes had been ignoring his questions, probably purposely too because her smirk just kept getting wider every time he pestered for an answer.

"You're really stubborn, you now that?" she grinned glad that her lack of a direct reply was starting to annoy him (hey, he bothered her every day—indirectly of course—she was allowed to pay him back.)

"It's persistence, and you're changing the subject," he challenged. Confounded female if he knew where he was, or at least how to get home he would have done it already, but no, she was even more determined than he was. Like Merle would care if he got her the perfect Christmas present or not…he would care though. Which, to state it plainly, sucked. His 'infatuation' was growing and there was nothing he could do about it, no one he could confide in because as soon as it was laid there, nude and susceptible, he would have to act on it. That's just the way things went for him, plus confiding, thus subsequently _trusting_ people was a very difficult task. People were a bunch of busybodies after all, who seemed to have nothing else to occupy their time with other than mulling over someone else's problems then telling their friend's about such problems so they could muse over them too. By the end of the day, he'd have a whole congregation committed to solving his own goddamned problems. This is why he played it smart and kept to himself. And once again all of the thinking wasn't getting him any closer to discovering where he was going, it was just the babblings of a hormonal teenage guy. Not like he could help it or anything.

"You have to close your eyes now," Hitomi instructed stopping and waiting for him to follow along. He would have to, this was for Merle after all, and it was all or nothing when it came to that girl. Okay so maybe not 'nothing', she swore that Van, if he was asked, would gladly sacrifice himself to some sort of horrific and utterly cruel death if it was only for Merle to be happy—no matter the length of time. Which was a little bit of comfort for her, because she knew that his feelings were returned, (despite the fact he was too dim-witted to notice) if only he could reach out to the rest of the world like that.

"What, why?" was his clever remark, he swore he was beyond genius.

"Haven't you been paying attention? You know what, I don't have time to explain it all again just close you're beau—eyes," she hated her mouth, and the fact that if she didn't censor herself her 'discretion-ization' level, like the heat that was part of the weather, practically banished itself.

"Fine," was all he 'hmph'd' then warily submitted himself to wherever she wanted to take him, he only hoped that she wouldn't throw him in front of an oncoming car in order to rid herself of another minor nuisance. When it involved his wellbeing he wouldn't put anything past her (especially since she found different ways to threaten him for the past months, turning him into a eunuch was high on the list). He hadn't expected her, however, to encase his lengthy and somewhat coarse palmed in her less than dainty, yet incredibly soft one…there was some odd warmth to it but he was too shocked to pay attention.

Oh sure they had touched before, but he blamed _that_ on the drinks he was positive were spiked. Either that or it could be pushed off onto his obedience to Merle and the atmosphere. But this, this was truly bewildering, because as confusing as it was, he could feel her heat soak through his body, infecting it, bacteria scurrying across the plane of his skin and inconveniently sinking in deep until he was sure his body was about to melt down. Until he wasted away converting into a pile of heat that burn its way through the iciness surrounding them. Until he was sure that little ol' Hitomi Kanzaki, who was causing such unexplainable things to happen to him, wouldn't have to worry about his death because a mediocre contact of skin could sear his nerves to a state of such sensitivity that the minimal movement of air could do such tremendous things to his body. She was actually driving him to that unstable state most guys don't speak of but know is there. Foreboding, ominous, and so very tantalizing, and with the way that he could feel their bodies, although clothed, moving against each other…against him, it was wonderful insanity.

She stopped, and he thought he couldn't breathe. Of course that was _before_ she placed her hands—what warm things they were—over his eyes, brushing across his eyelids…oh Lord, she was so warm. He thought her fingers were enough to singe off the hairs that fanned across his cheeks…while sending them into a state of ecstasy. It was amazing as that temperature zipped through his mind causing his brain to shut down for a few moments, traveling through his blood, broiling, bubbling. He wanted it to stop—no he didn't—but it was so toxic, so contagious that all the stubbornness he seemed to possess a few moments ago appeared to die as he inhaled.

He hated this part, the part when—just like when they were dancing (it wasn't his fault he fell for it)—Hitomi would smell all cozy, and fuzzy, like she was one's favourite comforter, in which no matter the time of year, if you wrapped yourself in it you would be so comfortable that it would be a chore to remove it. When one unknowing but long and uncontrollable sniff, would have her scent rolling faster to you than a dead skunk, but unlike that skunk would be so delicious that you'd be compelled to do it again. Then sooner or later you'd end up addicted. And what was this exquisite smell? A mixture of chocolate and cinnamon, it was all natural too. He wondered how she did that, make everything blend together in some crazy fusion that made it so irresistible, it made you wonder why more women didn't smell exactly like that. What was so freakin' special about _her_ that made you want delve in again and again, because one simply could not get enough, the first was never satisfying, but by the time you got to a million and still going strong she would smell like something completely new and you'd have to start all over again. If she really wanted to she could make that same dead skunk smell utterly adorable.

Off he went again with all the words that described something innocent, when Hitomi, with her steamy hands, was far from it. She was a devilish breed of female who understood fully that the males of the world, even the most reserved or cold-hearted, were affected by touch, it was one of their basic ways of communication, (because men haven't exactly evolved very much since cave man days). And as such could do crazy things to them, yet this elite breed pretended not to notice so that they could become the naïve little minxes they were. It would have been yet another conspiracy theory of course if millions of his seniors hadn't unearthed their nasty bit of hidden information, and proved it.

"TA DA!" she declared excitedly removing her hands. She was more evil than he first realized because that word carried it on tiny course of supposedly irrelevant action, but the smallest of things brought with them the whisper of vast out comes, which he would rather not experience with any girl—who wasn't Merle—at the moment. This meant that as long as he spent time with Hitomi it was bound to happen, because before her hands lifted with that exuberant expression, something curious happened to Hitomi's hands. For a piece of what conveyed itself to be both years and a infinitesimal second those digits he would have sworn were glowing elements brushed across his lips.

They fired at the cold skin plate, turning it into a frenzy of lax flesh which for a few moments couldn't remember their function. That plain touch had his mouth dry and the faint outline of an Adam's apple bobbed for a few seconds, unsure of itself, as everything except the receptors in his body nearly shut down. Her hand was so…so…mesmeric across the skin. He was so sure, so entirely confident, that that part of him was dead, then she came along and with one murmur of contact, it was revived with more impact than a defibrillator. His lips were living, breathing objects now and his sudden awareness of them meant that he had to be extra careful that they would not be the demonic creatures he knew they could be, pilfering and rampaging throughout the world of women.

But this touch was only number one, the next was the tips of fingers threading through the front of thick ebony strands. He wanted her to do it again. Wanted to feel her fingers lightly skim across his scalp, while each individual yet wet section of his hair slipped through her interesting hands. The action of cool breath that stirred the goosebumps at the base of his neck accompanied the separation of hair as if her touching him wasn't excruciating enough. The delicious agony shattering through his spinal cord, keeping him in a state of delightful shock as his body strained to stay upright. He only hoped that Hitomi was struggling from the sudden proximity as much as he was.

Poor Hitomi, the drive to help him had perverted her actions and for some reason she found herself touching him. As if his cold magnetism was drawing her in and causing her hands and her body to do such strange things. Yes, it was all his fault, his fault that his chilly being was begging to be warmed by her. His fault that he was the direct opposite of her and at the moment drew her to himself, coaxing ever so sweetly for her join him.

She wanted him to stop, to cut it out, to be warm and cuddly and sweet so that she wouldn't feel so lured, so cajoled into feeling his skin tingle just beneath the fingerprints that coated her odd digits. She wanted to resist the feeling of damp locks that swam over long bony and effeminized fingers, wanted to rebuke the touch of male satin, the skin that protected him from world. She wanted to refuse the smooth consciousness of mouth as her hand unconsciously passed over it, the texture screaming through her skin making her very aware of how _enticing_ it was. And that was just the problem, it's what she _wanted_ to happen, therefore being in the traditional teenage predicament it didn't.

She dropped her hands as quickly as possible hoping, begging, pleading that the embarrassing comment, which she knew was tumbling in, hanging about ever so near, would not force itself across the tongue, and through the ivory gates of teeth. She clenched down hard, making certain sure that that aforementioned gate with gum guards would do its job. She could feel the blood cells pushing up faster, racing up her neck attempting to get her face, scolding them she sent them back to where they belonged, weeping from being rejected. Happy that her complexion was going to stay its regular pastiness that it retained during the winter—not like she cared what colour she was anyways—she opened the aging and elaborately designed oak door by its gold plated doorknob and gently pushed his unresponsive body inside. She was touching him again…

_

* * *

_

_I fall down just to give you a thrill_

_Prop me up with another pill_

_If I should fail, if I should fold_

_I nailed my faith to the sticking pole_

"Merle could you be nice enough to help me up?" he sighed exasperatedly. Merle had decided that instead of finding the object of her affection something in the warm, cozy, mall which had heat and solid floors, she preferred to wander the itty-bitty stores that lined the sidewalk. Now he never said he had great—never mind _good_—balance so when they hit an icy patch it was destined for him to flat on his ass while Merle—with all the grace of cat—waltzed across as if there was nothing there. Then, when she heard the painful _thwump_ he made proceeded in laughing at him, in the middle of the street, lucky for him this part of the street was nearly abandoned.

Sitting on him instead, Merle looked down at his adorable face, cheeks red from the stinging air and warm breath carbon dioxide cloud condensing in the atmosphere, blue eyes shining and she wondered for one reason or another why in the world he didn't have a girlfriend. It was the strangest thing, "Of course I am kind enough but first a question on a personal level, or else you will have to find to become upright while I am sitting on you."

Knitting his eyebrows, then he rolled his eyes and sighed once again, minty gum air swooshing into her face. "God, you and your ridiculous questions…what shall it be this time?"

Giggling she hugged him, _boom_, _boom_, _boom_, heart-hammering sounds filled his ribcage; he had yet to tell her. "Yay, yay, yay! Now, now dearest friend of mine you have yet to explain to me why you don't have a certain love interest. Being your best friend, and what's more being positively female I'm entitled to knowing such things."

Why was there no sense of kindness in fate? Was she just sitting, up wherever she sat, and laughing about what a cruel bitch she could be while tormenting the human race, if so he would have greatly appreciate it if someone had decided to throw her off her pedestal so he could use her as a future piñata. So instead he gathered her in his arms, like he was carrying the bride over the threshold or something else ridiculous like that, and rolling onto his knees stood himself up with her still in his arms. Planting her feet firmly on the ground he pointed out to her laughing figure, "Well I guess now you'll never know," then his own version of a sly smile wandered off in front of her. He wanted to tell her, really truly, deeply, wanted to tell her. But it would have been a failure on his point, it was better she didn't know, because he didn't want to lose any of it. Touches, gestures, that he knew were nothing more than years of friendship and comfort which his mind lingered on, words that he knew were nothing more than mere light jokes, and teases. He was terrified that if he told her it would all just go away, and he didn't want to hurt her. Loved her too much to ever do something like _tell_ her, he wasn't…_couldn't_ be that selfish. Even if he had to watch her, give her away to someone else.

Merle watched him walk away and grinned, one way or another she'd find someone to make him happy, because that's all she wanted for Chid, for him to be delightfully happy.

* * *

Van shivered once from the feel of her hand on his back, then forcing himself to ignore her closeness moved one foot in front of the other as he entered what would have been considered Merle's personal haven. If it was old, used, or an antique—despite what it was—it could be found here. The musky yet lemony freshness of polished wood diluted itself through the room, giving it and everything it touched a part of restored history. He wasn't one for looking in the past, since it caused him so much trouble already, but there was sort of quiet vibrancy about the place which truly had him interested in all the small trinkets that his eyes acknowledged.

Staring through a sort of dusty, yet comforting murkiness—as if she was leering into past beneath a the foggy haze of a dream—she stared at all the ancient spectacles that were stuck in their own personal tableaus. Each piece of cloth, metal, or wood spilling a small wedge of stories never archived into the world of the future. Hitomi sighed contentedly, there was something calming about the hardwood floorboards which squeaked and murmured their individual memoirs, and the window—which when the curtains were drawn—displayed the delicates pieces of icicle strays, making their own little colonies on the dirtied pavement and asphalt. The world in this petit store—out of the steel industrial giants of reality's way—resided in a balance that brought tranquility amongst the most distraught or to her at least.

Van began sifting his piano fingers through the fabric of the feeble and continuously alternating, and he begun to realize—because of some woven threads and a few odds and ends—how everything was inevitably left behind. Whether in people's thoughts or through objects that would eventually link one remote person to the next and so on, the little loop that united people together was never through the future, but always through that stringy loop of a barely tangible moment that dictated reactions, and the ultimate mistake.

Jeez, wasn't he feeling especially philosophical today? Maybe that stupid teacher of his (you remember the one older than the noisy floorboards underneath him, the one who launched pounds of saliva at the front row of the class?) was getting to him. Merle would definitely be proud, and despite the comment in his mind brimming with sarcasm he smiled ever so faintly at the thought. Merle be proud of him, it was a delightful little prospect that churned the corners of his thoughts while he searched for something that suited just her and no one else.

She heard Van humming, which, to tell you the truth, almost made her laugh out right, because Van…god _Van_ never did anything even loosely relating to the term _hum_. Except for that one time when he was singing. And that flash of memory raised the pores in her skin temporarily before settling once more in the boringly normal state. The sound that resonated from his throat then was all bleeding, dreadful, ecstasy. Deep, rich, with a hint of angelic crispness, that ripened in one's eardrums, bursting with some rare fruit, forbidden to taste to _hear_ but so delectable all the same. And his all but happy humming was just an echo, the flutter of demon wings from paradise that tempted and tested, seeing if she would divulge her itsy-bitsy secret. Begging, no _pleading_ with her to disclose her knowledge by just one perfectly lovely compliment.

But Van would perceive it as being a breach in the privacy he struggled so hard to contain. So hard that she and the rest of the school population of the insignificant town of Liberty didn't really know—and most didn't care to know, they thought he was teetering on the brink of being shy…or a bastard—the connection between Merle Hoshino and Van Fanel, nor did they know Van's family status. In fact they knew so little about him that they were clueless as to where he stemmed from in the vast country of Gaea, wondering if he even came from the country at all. Therefore explaining to him how she had heard him play the piano and sing would have certainly thrown the two of them back to square one, which was Hitomi feeling utterly hopeless while Van was satisfied by giving her death glares whenever they came into contact.

Van, unaware that his haunting vocal cords were making any sound at all, ran his hands across the glass that sheltered the twisting veins and little spindles of metals that connected to make necklaces and bracelets, proudly displaying their colourful pendants and charms. They were aligned in an interesting arrangement which for some reason or another made them look exotic, foreign, otherworldly, as if they really weren't from the confines of earth, but mysteriously found nonetheless. As he bent down to get a closer look he could feel his body start to produce the cold heat tracing the fine hairs that lightly layered his whole body, spinning around he gave Hitomi a convicting frown while murmuring, "Stop staring at me, you're scaring me…and come here for a sec."

Glaring at the young man she pulled herself away from embroidered lace and smooth silk, deciding reluctantly to join him. She was 'scaring him' as if he the God of Ice and aloofness could ever be even slightly frightened by anything; it was most likely that beasts of any kind would cower away from such a sour face. Besides it wasn't her fault she was staring; it was all that mystical humming, enthralling, perfectly enchanting, and innocent.

Trudging over to his highness in black and blue she knelt down beside the young man and looked over to him…goddammit he was still humming, and if he wanted her to pay attention to anything other than that sound he was going to have to stop. "What song are you singing?"

"What?" why was it when she asked him questions could he not think of anything vaguely intelligent to say, except of course when they were arguing? And why did he ask himself questions like this when the answer was irrelevant?

"Jeez, can't you pay attention for once? I said what are you singing?" Hey, first he criticized her and now he wasn't even listening, she was permitted (by her standards in the least) to be offended.

"I was singing?" the poor bewildered Van Fanel occasionally—and this is so infrequent that bordered rarely—engaged in certain habits that he normally wouldn't have, because others were present. The peculiar thing was this small habit of his only took place after his parents' deaths. This little lapse of time where he'd be back in the familiar smell of forget-me-not's and spices wafting from his kitchen, whilst his father attempted (and succeeded) in yet again fixing their car, which was probably bought around the same time he was born. And him playing that piano, the one he wanted to burn himself yet couldn't seem to do it. He hated practicing but as soon as his fingers hit the pearly keys—that were plastic because his father refused to support any sort of destruction to animals—his fingers, those skillful demons followed that one simple note with another. The beginning of a melody, until they stumbled accidentally onto another then another, always fingering the sweetest harmonies, he'd surrender then and while his mind ached to do something, _anything_, else his stupid heart would crumble at the loss of sound. His parents honestly had no clue how excruciating it was for him to play the piano, what he wanted to do was instantly neglected, and all the while his mind was screaming at him to move and ignore the proud music maker, he stayed forever rooted until his hands were sore and his joints were stiff and he had missed all opportunity. Lucky for him that the grand siren was no where near his precious T.V or Nintendo, he'd be in ferociously long battle for a lengthy amount time if that happened.

"Well it was more like humming, but it was pretty, I thought I heard it somewhere before so I was wondering what it was. But never mind, you want to get Merle a necklace or something?" babbling on and on trying to get that suspicious look off his face, it wasn't like she _did_ anything wrong, she was just being absent-mindedly curious, that's all it ever seriously was. Just a tiny pursuit in discovering who Van actually is, because one of these days it was all going to be uncovered, and it might as well be by her who had no intention of spreading such knowledge around the rest of the school.

"That's a nice necklace you got there yourself little lady," a voice softly grumbled, as if it was treading light-footedly over some plane of gravel, warm cream over crunchy glass, and she glanced up over the corner of protective Plexiglas, noticing for the first time the manager of the store. Weathered and bronzed skin coiled inside of itself, probably touching the high cheekbones that were buried underneath, with mellifluous gray-green eyes that faded and stirred when ever the cold light of the outside world grazed them. Not only brittle skin and bones sat there on the plump red swiveling chair—the only item that seemed somewhat out of place, clashing against stocks of history—but also some sort of lost muscle tone hidden below thickened blue flannel filled with stripes that created intersections over barely there skin. Of course she knew someone had to be there guarding this little fort of treasures from the evil creatures that were able to traipse in without much more than an empty wallet, then waltz back out with enough heisted goods to earn them good amounts to fill that wallet back up.

Standing up she snagged the floating pendant between two fingers and grinned, "What this? I just found it lying around my house one day and since no one claimed it…" her smile relaxed itself then becoming peaceful as she stared at the pink tear shaped adornment, her mother told her that it used to be her grandmother's. Grandmother who had tissue paper and silk for skin, Grandmother who hair fell in steady flashes of white with electrically spun silver, Grandmother whose calm voice was enough ease over any argument a modern day and very deceased Jesus Christ, who used "peace be still" but with warmth and cookies. Grandmother, oh-so-very very deceased whose flesh had become a midday snack for all the creepy-crawlies underneath the earth. And alas that god—excuse me goddess—of man left her and her brother all alone to strain their voices in futility, begging for the storm, of rushing voices filled with climatic yet painful thunder, to stop. Grandmother didn't resurrect herself either ensuring Hitomi that she was not all alone, no little comforter had marched to protect them, and no god to strike her parents down for being so noisy or angry. Just her and her brother—who was the only one who stayed—left there to be scraped raw by the scratchy voices of adults.

But what was she complaining about, there were people in a lot more stressful situations, and she was coping just fine. No help needed by a counselor, or those pretty coloured pills that took you higher than cloud nine and lower than the bottomless pits of all that was evil. Then she noticed that something caused an itsy-bitsy glow on the pendant that had caused all this thinking. Barely a glint of light where there shouldn't be any, just a splice that seemed to melt away in the dusky, gray-white radiance. Smiling politely she questioned the store manager, "Excuse me sir but where does that window lead to?"

Van, too preoccupied with attempting to find the perfect gift for Merle, didn't notice when Hitomi slipped behind the counter and spread the curtains wide to reveal a medium sized and particularly excluded courtyard. He like the rest of the world was to busy with their own affairs, their own personal dilemmas, to be worried about the things the magnificence they couldn't see. Unless of course it was brought to their attention. "Hey, Hitomi do you think she'll like this one?" he inquired to the air beside that was full of Hitomi's fragrance but not the tangible girl itself. He looked up and she was standing there in calm awe through the window that no one knew existed to a solitary world that he knew—just had this grand insight you know?—that only he and Hitomi could. You see, because this little world was too much like him forgotten, or ignored, _abandoned_, no one there to push him along no one to integrate him—it—into the outside world. Just waiting, patiently counting down precious time till someone truly discovered that they were away from the massive throng. And oh-surprise-surprise, it just happened to be the one female who went beyond annoying because when she was around not only did his body tremble from disdain and the sudden astonishment from being violently thrown into reality, but sometimes he found her skulking around in his mind and all because she was the one girl that had yet to piece together. Then as per usual his mind fluttered back to back to Merle, yet he couldn't decide whether he would rather have her there with him rather than Hitomi. One was like soothing acupuncture the other sadistic shock therapy—oh the choices…

_

* * *

_

_Bend me, break me, anyway you need me_

_All I want is you_

_Bend me_,_ break me_,_ breaking down is easy_

_All I want is you_

_Steal me, feel me, anyway you heal me_

"Ahhh glorious substance!" she exclaimed happily, delectable cinnamon pastry filling her senses.

"Carpe crustulorum!" Chid answered in return raising his own bun, in the air like an offering to the snow and clouds above.

"What was that?"

"Latin…means seize the pastry or something like that…"

"And when did you learn how to speak Latin?"

"I never did," he shrugged and then while chewing his food, "I just read it somewhere and I never forgot."

"Well then, indeed," taking a huge bite of her flaky icing covered food and with her mouth full of it she cried, "Carpe crustulorum!" And most of it sprayed all over the floor.

"Nooooo!" all false drama and sadness, "Merle you're wasting all of your bun, no more talking with your mouth open," he scolded as if he was mother, waving finger and all. Then she smearing her lips with icing pressed them unexpectedly into his cheek. The heavens or something equally evil was testing him, pushing him as far as he could go without breaking down and telling her, watching him melt a slightly more and more. He didn't know how much longer he could endure it all without turning into a pile of Chid-goo and let it come spilling all out.

_Maim me, take me, you can never change me_

_Love me, like me, come ahead and fight me_

But the simple truth was that Merle would always be Merle, and as such she was naturally affectionate. She communicated through all five of her senses, and although to her it was as innocent as not touching at all but he was about ready to implode. He could have told her not hug him anymore, not to tickle him, just an all hands barred policy but that would have been unfair. That was telling her not to be herself, God he didn't know what was wrong with him, but being close to her was definitely a bad thing. So entirely bad that if something wrong didn't happen soon—as in now soon—he wouldn't be cute, controlled Chid anymore. He'd morph in adolescent guy Chid, the one with the raging hormones, who didn't think before he acted.

_Please me, tease me, go ahead and leave me_

She skipped off then as if predicting the destruction of her friend, she saw the car blue old BMW and it started, the countdown of time. She had four minutes, two hundred and forty seconds before she could prevent whatever would unravel itself from happening. _Two hundred thirty-nine, two hundred thirty-eight, two hundred thirty-seven_, she didn't know where she was going, didn't know how long it would take her to get there but she had to move now. Something involving Hitomi Kanzaki, which if she didn't halt in the process, well there was no telling what would eventually unfold. Time was impregnated with an event and the point where there can be abortion—the opportune moment—but it swimming away fast. It would be gone in _one hundred seventy-six, one hundred seventy-five, one hundred and seventy-four_. Hurry, hurry Merle time was ticking away.

* * *

"Is there a door or a way we can get back there," she requested, using that word _we_ as if she knew that Van just had step into that small sanctuary if only to become at least half whole.

Then the manager, of this tiny store that rarely anyone noticed, beamed. Big, bright, and as glorious as the sparkling white outside. He had been waiting, longing, for someone to ask him that question since he became too old, too busy to go out into that crevice and just sit for hours on end and let the world flood by without him caught in the torrents. Kept pleading that eventually someone would open that window and this little world of tranquility would forever be theirs, because if he begged long enough he knew that the right people would come around and he would be content. That grand strip of land had been his for a long time, and if someone didn't find a use for it he would have to sell it off. "Yes there is let me just close this shop and I'll show you."

_

* * *

_

_Tick tock, tick tock_, she wasn't going to make it in time. _Fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one, forty-nine_. She was running now, labored breath running in front of her...

* * *

Bones didn't creak when he walked but he looked so feeble that Hitomi was sad that she made him move. Putting up the closed sign and drawing the curtains behind it so no one could peek through, he shuffled his way towards him. His face was radiating so much that she could feel his emotion begin to drip off the walls, funneling across the ceiling till gravity interrupted. _Drip, drip, drip_ and she could feel it pool around her feet and wash around her soul, and suddenly she was filled with a state of euphoria, happy that she made him happy. It was so utterly contagious.

_Spend all your time waiting for that second chance_

_For a break that would make it ok_

_There's always some reason to feel not good enough_

_And it's hard at the end of the day_

Van was the only one who wasn't smiling; he never really did without Merle around after all, but he was suddenly anxious, as if he didn't move quicker the world that should have been his and Hitomi's alone was going to dissolve, melt away and retreat back into the world that was imagination. As if there being there now was so important that the fate which could have been theirs was shrinking itself, becoming non-existent again. And for some reason he knew they wouldn't make it in time, that lapse in time which could have decided the outcome that could have allowed them happiness was too far away, and it was just so disheartening.

_

* * *

_

_Six, five, four, three, two, one, zero_. And it was closed, the deal was signed, too late, much too late. And the foreboding feeling that she had was beginning to come upon her again.

* * *

Through the old wooden door, beyond the weathered oak frame, down the cement steps, past the weed branches that snagged and decomposing leaves that barely gave their obligatory crunch was a world of vast white and hard cobblestone caged in by the cement bricks of stores. It was beautiful…yet that word felt too cliché too overdone, or perhaps overused to describe the place that was in the process of becoming his new haven. The store owner had left them at the door and together he and honeyed haired teen beside had wandered in like two stray cats looking for a new home—and isn't that ironic? To the left was a bench a steady layer of white icy dust occupying it, while tucked inside the curvy corner that the buildings made closest to the right of the window she had gazed out of was a small fountain with icicles for flowing water. A elaborately decorated structure but was hidden in the overhang of the shadows by the looming wall beside it.

"It's really pretty isn't it?" Hitomi uttered in a whisper, afraid that anything louder would have disturbed the eerie, ageless tranquility that this dimension possessed all by itself.

_I need some distraction or a beautiful release_

_Memories seep from veins_

_Let me be empty and weightless and maybe_

_I'll find some peace tonight_

Van simply nodded, he felt cold and warm all at once, this is where he needed to be, to watch the sun disappear from the graying sky, as it poured glistening patterns over his body. Wrapping him in comfort and a sense of nostalgia, but he was still missing something, something long gone but as close as the snowflake melting on his nose. A mother's touch, a father's instructions on how to build the perfect snowman, brotherly teasing as round packs of snow slammed into his body. All too close to let go, all too far to touch, _slosh, slosh, slosh_ and he knew he was going to be sick. He was going puke all over the crystal white turning it the colour of hot chocolate and half digested pastry, he could feel it coming, knowing that it was hitting his throat where it burned regret, self-hatred, disappointment for not ending up just as dead into his windpipe, then it would leave a sour taste and a rancid smell in his mouth…

_So tired of the straight line_, _that everywhere you turn_

_There's vultures and thieves at your back_

_The storm keeps on twisting, you keep building the lies_

_That you make up for all that you lack_

Hitomi was pulling him along again, her fingertips burning heat into coat straight to his skin, so he swallowed the mess he was about to make, saved all its dirtiness for a rainy day and someone else's jacket. Head spinning because she was humming, he was fighting himself and the reaction that he had to that tune, _if mama gave you a mockingbird_…so truly unoriginal but his mother had this particular way of singing to it, he heard it in his dreams sometimes when he wasn't dreaming about burning flesh and the screeching call that Death made before he came to claim his holocaust meal. He stumbled, there was no stopping it now, guilt and resentment splattered all over the floor never ending. He wanted it all to go away, leave and never come back his mind yelled, but he heaved, the knot tightened again, and oops there came the blood. No matter though his soul needed a good purging, plus he deserved it didn't he, because he had pissed them off…

_It don't make no difference, escape one last time_

_It's easier to believe_

_That in this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness_

_That brings me to my knees_

Hitomi just stood still for a second, unable to comprehend what was happening. It came out of no where, sprung from the depths of him all the way out. He started off by standing over it all but it became so violent that the retching forced him to his knees. Hands and knobby knees, face preparing to kiss the ground and she knelt beside him was about hold him when he interposed, no hissed, an "I'm fine." That moment of "fine-ness" didn't last very long because soon liquid, cranberry coloured, covered the ground beneath him. Instead of throwing back a smart retort, she wiped the hair away from his face while stringing curses together, making them some foreign chant. When he was finished Hitomi although chattering violently, took out some hidden Kleenex from the plastic wrap inside her pocket dabbed it in the snow then melting it with heat of her hands, gave him the makeshift wipe and let him clean his face. When he was finished she buried the vomit and held his shuddering body while feeding him the fresh snow.

He didn't have the strength to protest anymore just let her wrap her toothpick arms around him, cradle him into ease, the acid stung and clean snow struggled to fight back. Snuggle into her soft purple coat and take in her amazing smell, while her overheated hands warmed his hair. For one, for some small space of time Van could have sworn that Hitomi had adorned wings, wings that sheltered and protected, her face meshing with the memory of his mother while taking on Hitomi's individual ethereal quality, that he never knew she possessed. No extra bright light touched him, no inner warmth or peace spread through him, just soft falling of snowflakes and the distant flutter of wings, because in life, there are moments which expound space and time keeping you locked with the most unlikely character. Although everything is not free or good there's an odd contentment which seeps through, and perfection is only a breath away that when you touch it reality sweeps back in leaving you bittersweet and longing, allowing all the angels to fly away to heaven. All but the one you're with.

_You are pulled from the wreckage_

_Of your silent reverie_

_You're in the arms of the angel_,

_May you find some comfort here_

Perhaps, just perhaps, they didn't miss what fate had for them at all, maybe they just took the long way around. Hitomi stroked his head again heat filling his pores, and he flinched, her teeth chattering. Looking up from the crook of her neck Van mumbled, "You can get off of me you know…I really don't want whatever you have." Oops maybe so…

"Which is what?" she scowls through rattling bone.

"A fever," and he pulls her up, not caring about the sudden bout of dizziness from vomiting up all the food he had inside of him, leading her towards the door. Then again…

_May you find some comfort here…_

**AN:Thanks for reading, please, PLEASE remember to review and tell me what you thought. See you later! **


	7. Chapter 6: Part I

**Back again, didn't I tell you there were going to be two chappies instead of one? Thanks beta-reader hugs your so very, very good to me! (she bought me RAMEN yesterday!) Now ONWARDS!**

**Chapter 6: Part I**

_Someday at Christmas_

_Men won't be boys_

_Playing with bombs, like kids play with toys_

**Someday At Christmas-Stevie Wonder**

_Touched  
You say that I am too  
So much of what you say is true  
I'll never find someone quite like you  
Again  
_

He had called, informed, and now he was here. Blonde hair rivaling Millerna's and eyes as static filled as her own. Hugs, and kisses and mush filled words, mother was happy mother was crying, and father had stood proud, towering from the door. Father was here…but at least he could protect her, her knight in shining armor, but wait a minute, who was this behind him? Familiar violet eyes, sallow hair, but different voice, not Millerna but a version of her, perhaps a sister or a cousin. Then again her friend had never mentioned a sister, she hadn't mentioned her own brother to anyone but Hitomi so I guess they were even. And even so she was just making assumptions, "Are you Millerna Aston's sister, by any chance?"

Ice stalactites, icebergs, and every other possible ice formation her mind could conjure was what her gaze looked like at the mention at the name, Celena didn't flinch though, didn't now how unless _he_ was coming after her. "Yes I am, are you friends with her?"

'_Stupid question Marlene_,' Celena thought, mentally shaking her head, she wouldn't ask if she wasn't friends, because if they weren't it wouldn't be the least bit important. The forced smile she adorned when answering the question seemed more painful than loving. And for some indescribable reason the distaste for this girl ran thick all the through to her toes. Possibly because she could see this cuddle up to her father while he resisted then when she was take it out on her mother and herself, or perhaps she knew that this Marlene chick would take up more than all of her brother's available time, therefore not allowing her one bit of comfort in her home. This meant that she should prepare her own personal feast in her room, because that's where she planned to hideout until that man left again, hopefully Allen decided to join them for Christmas, she couldn't bear the thought of having to enjoy of her father's personal festivities.

"Celena," the word slithered evil, slimy, _dirty_ creatures beneath her skin following the pattern of her veins, and when he touched her she had to lean herself against the wall from fear that her rubber knees wouldn't hold her up. Fear wound so deep from his snake like voice and grimy hands that for a miniscule moment she thought she was going to soil herself. She needed a very hot-raw-scrubbing shower, and she prayed to whoever was above that Allen and his dolt of girlfriend would entertain him long enough for her to finish.

"Yes father," she nearly threw-up the word as vehemently as possible, but restraint was something she had learned in this house from Hell.

"You didn't answer Marlene's question." It was a statement, crossed t's and dotted i's, that meant more than she would liked, she really wanted them would stay as long as possible…

"Oh sorry, um…yeah I am friends with her, good friends…at least I think so," she blushed for affect, another trait she had picked up while residing here, acting was a handy tool.

Marlene smiled, okay not seriously smiled, but it was as much a smile that she could adorn while mentioning her sister. And she was glad that fathers still disciplined there daughters—unlike her father with that smaller sibling of her's—it was what made them turn out like good kids. So she decided that she particularly liked Allen's parents…oh how little she knew.

While her mother invited them inside Celena had dashed upstairs—out of her father's sight—into the shower. Hot, hotter, as hot as the stream could assault her body—spidery tendrils of water with a million feet trailing down her battered scalp—she let it burn her scars, bruises, to where she thought she was going to cry because they hurt so much. Then _scrub, scrub, scrub_, soap sinking in deeper over the place where red reigned and her skin was pushing a dirty purple colour. God, she was so ugly, so very hideous, every piece of re-grown skin tissue was the personal narrator to disgust that she hid so easily, it was a wonder had someone hadn't noticed them yet. She was glad though, people didn't need to know about her problems anyways, pity wasn't high on her feelings-she'd-like-to-obtain-from-people list…if such a list existed anyways, and she wasn't keen on listening to the whole "Awwww poor Celena," routine she could hear in her mind this minute. That and climbing footsteps, '_Oh God, please…_' as if He could hear her. But kept scrubbing at the rare, tender skin across her body, hoping that if she didn't come out of the shower at the opportune moment—for him that is—then the shower curtain, that thin piece of plastic, could be the barrier between him and her, unless he felt the need to join in. '_Jesus Christ, fucking **please**_,' she was in the danger of becoming a full-blown-foul-mouthed Christian if those footsteps didn't decide what they wanted to do.

Wait too many footsteps and muffled voices to be the one man, or man with her mother, sure she knew her father heard things but he refused to talk to them. Her mother decided to give a tour; she was going to kiss the ground that that woman walked on someday when her father went away. While they were passing her father—in only the biological sense of the word—_hissed_ (instead of growled, or some equally comforting word) for her to get out of the bathroom, and despite the amount of gratification she'd get from pissing off the man, she was, and perhaps always would be, deathly afraid of him. Therefore the fear that his very breathing evoked was much more colossal than any feeling that could pummel through her, obedience it seems is the shadow of fear.

What a shadow indeed because by the time the tour was over Celena was dressed in the most appropriately covering thing she owned and had set the table for tea and cookies, her father never liked it when she sat in a corner looking incredibly disgruntled, and when he wasn't "playing" with them as he liked to call it—with such innocent flare that it was practically sickening—and while he wasn't at work, he was learning to perfect the art of becoming a modern day Egyptian slave driver. Obedience thence is the catalyst for domesticity, and isn't this a corruptible little world we live in? And when said cookies and tea were prepared, and drunk and eaten, when the conversation had begun to wane and everyone seemed to be getting bored of the other's company Celena realized that if she didn't do this now, there would be no sparing chance, no divine opportunity to ask again, now and only now, her mother coincidentally was thinking the same thing.

"Sweetheart would you and Marlene like to stay here tonight?" high pitched and polite, letting not a hint of urgency wander absently through, but you could see it in her eyes, see that there was a necessity in him being there that night and every other until he could not stay any longer. '_Please_,' is what Celena desperately begged, and if one could tap into her mind one would feel all the hopeful anguish with which the word was repeated.

"Please?" it screeched its pain through the glass and walls and you could nearly hear the broken record scratching its sorrow behind, _pretty pretty please with a cherry on top plus a bright coloured lollipop?_ Or so the rhyme went in their house, back when Allen was still around, and her father was still Superman, god of the entire universe, and her mother laughed a good hardy laughed instead of the pitiful false giggle she coined now. Oh how much simpler were things way back then…

"I'm sorry Mrs. Schezar it's my fault I told my father that for all of this week we'd stay over by him then next week and New Year's we'd stay by you," the woman—damnable thing—smiled as sympathetically as possible while professing all of this.

With that and a "We'll visit as much as possible, and I'll call you when we get to the Aston's mom, see you later Celena!" they were off. There was Marlene sitting beside her brother, her only possibility at knight in shining armor who was able to protect from villainous, fire breathing Daddy—and she was smiling, practically laughing, at the fact that she was taking Celena's only prospect of hope away. Whilst waving back at her knight and his devious enchanter, she decided she liked it better in the cold, because she was dreading going back into that house. Then as she was just settling quite coldly onto the porch in an attempt to numb the pain of loss for a bit, her father—the dragon-villain—called her back inside…

* * *

Tension was on the rise in his house, couldn't, didn't even begin to understand, and the way they had asked him to stay…it was unsettling. There was a disturbed balance, and part of him didn't want to know. Didn't want to know why Celena—his long since virtually abandoned sister (by him) who he had only permitted himself to write letters to so that the separation between the both of them wouldn't be made harder if he couldn't be around to answer the phone when she called, couldn't help her when there was desperation for him to return because just hearing his voice played the video camera in her head which was filled with childhood—seemed so distant yet so longing of something he didn't think he knew how to give. Why his mother looked so entirely broken, that it shattered his heart to see her smile, why his father looked so disturbed, but so forlorn. What could it be, that thing which was eating away at them but he could never pinpoint? It was among the unspoken territory, never even insinuated into a conversation, but it was noticeable, this thing, this…issue, at least noticeable to him. So as he and Marlene happily babbled together about what a great family he had, he in his mind tried to find the missing link of it all, that one tiny flaw that had thrown them so violently off course that no one not even their neighbours would have noticed anything was remotely wrong at all. Or maybe they didn't want to tell him because in the end he couldn't do a thing to stop it?_

* * *

_

_I'll never find someone quite like you  
Like you_

She had, in the mental projection of herself, been pacing for more than and hour, back and forth, so pathetically repetitive that she had swore she had paced a large hole into the floor mat of brain tissue. Back and forth, wearisome back and tiring forth she marched on while sitting perfectly unperturbed in her rich girl room, listening to Christmas music. She wanted to turn it off, it was too happy for the arrival of her long and almost forgotten sister. Almost. The CD player was still crooning its cheerful Christmas noise and she was tempted to throw something make the tinkling sound of snow crunch and the ding-dong of fake bells, stop. Her false feet padded in time with her heartbeat consuming all the oxygen and hemoglobin that had been reserved the two hemispheres of her worm-like matter, all neatly squished into her skull. She wished that they would just arrive already, instead of drawing out their arrival a slug paced timing that had her temples pounding begging for them to just finish the friggin race already.

She knew that if her sister didn't emerge soon—with her nobody boyfriend—, so soon that soon didn't have the age to be in the future tense of the word, only now, her mind and her entire physical being would sputter one last remaining sane cry and then explode with impatience, or maybe it was fiery resentment at having her Christmas ruined by the absent thought of her sibling's presence in this house. Then when the decided to make themselves available to the love and kindness of her father's heart there would only be bits of and pieces of her to look at, splashed in a pretty mural around the room. Shrugging and thankful for the sudden beauty they would ignore it and head back down the winding stairs to take pleasures in the other's company, but she wouldn't mind she would be glad, because her eyes would be too busy being splattered against the white and blue walls to even think about looking at them. Her ears and eardrums separated by the corners of room wouldn't be able to decipher their conversation, and brain entirely somewhere else wouldn't be able to comprehend a thing. Gruesome yes, but the thought was utterly gratifying.

And just when she about to become an abstract picture on the walls—she could hear the biological time bomb counting down the seconds hurriedly, urgently—there it was. _Ding-dong_, happy ring of the doorbell and she could hear the butler turn the deadlock, pushing the latch down, each individual gear clanking and turning in her still intact head, _click_,_ click_,_ click_, an incessant sound that reverberated around her hatred considering whether it should let her own horned demon out.

However she pushed herself up heading to the mahogany railing and the lush white carpet of the stairs, ignored her father's voice when he called her, because she was coming anyways, and let them pad their way down spongy, white, roughness. It was then that she first saw him. Well she thought he was more of an angel than a him, but when she was assured that he had no wings, she thought that maybe she could sense them. Women _did_ have a sixth sense, but her sister would have been too idiotic to feel the glorious aura he carried like a burden on his back, and she almost stepped cowardly away from him in a sign of reverence. But goddammit this man, full of heroic potential, was just too endearing to stay away from. He had something regal about him—wait not regal, _noble_ like a version of a medieval knight whose intentions were pure, and even though he had the task of saving damsels in the utmost distress, what he _never_ did with these many women was even more wondrous than that of what he _did_ do. Swaying blonde hair that did its best to capture the glaring white of sun and turn it into warming currents of yellow, blue eyes that consumed her lilac irises and they looked so infinitely deep that she was sure that the greatest of all the bodies of water couldn't even begin to compare. Muscular, sinewy body that showed underneath the layers of cloth and stuffing, he seemed to come out of some romantic fairytale, and step right into her foyer.

Nobody boyfriend indeed, huh Millerna.

Stupid Marlene hadn't warned him, never even thought to warn him to the fact that her sister was an epiphany to all of man of what it meant to be female—especially to him. Sure she looked like Marlene but there was this holy quality mixed in with the absence of any innocence and paradox in a woman is the most sought after thing, it made her enigmatic, mysterious, and that was _too_ attractive. You see Allen had gone after Marlene because she displayed this righteousness, this frailty, as if she touched anything too dirty she would simply crumble and he wanted to protect that, to fend off any evil that stood in her path. Death and destruction to all those who rose up against her prudent perfection. But oh my, that sister of her's, she was anything _but_ prudent perfection, more like a demon from paradise, and a lot of the time those demon's possessed the persona of the most angelic being known to man. Behind well shaped blameless lilac eyes, with eyelashes that spread over cream's complexion, hid all the static passion that sin had the greatest part of, call him immoral but he wanted apart of that. Wanted to apart of her, he had never in his life felt something so deeply, wanted his hands to be apart of that golden halo of hair that acquired all the wayward qualities she captured man with. Maybe wanted was the wrong word, maybe it was needed, yes that's right he needed her, right down to his feeble bones, he was never so sure of one thing.

News to him, in his transfixed state, was that he still had Marlene, and he couldn't, _refused to_ break her heart during Christmas—death and destruction to opposing forces remember? This feeling, this gut wrenching slew of more than raw, wanton emotion was an imposing force, now he had to live here, _reside_ in the house with this angel from hell for one week, one whole week of not touching her, not devouring her entire essence—and perhaps that couldn't satisfy him—until he was far away from her. Away from distraction, away from his need…or at least not having it presented smack in the face like it—she—was doing now. But he was sure that he could feel her pump through his body already.

All this inner thinking, but Allen had not missed a beat, a second of uncertainty on his part at which part Marlene would forcefully call his name and drag him back to earth, back to where his eyes would constantly be engaged by this…oh god he didn't know what to call her but whatever she was, the purest looking siren he was definitely sure. He was sure he was ensnarled by like a beautiful rosebush, full of delicacy and thorns. And this rosebush was just so damn unattainable because his hands are already full what would he do with _two_ bouquets, one so pure and pristine white, no unnecessary weeding or preparation to go through, perfection; however the other wild, bleeding red blossoms of fervor for every piece of the world and all that it had to offer, so untamed that one glance had him needy and one touch had him retracting, coaxing him to find a way control her, knowing that he never would.

But that was perfection too, wasn't it? Nowhere inside of her being did Marlene possess a simple untamable spirit, making it an ensured fact, which was that he Allen Schezar would want her but never get this temptress of a sister and therefore would never find her amongst the swirling wind, pounding rain, captivating chaos that the world produced. And he heard her name "Millerna," was her answer when he questioned her and shook his hand…he would never find another Millerna.

————————————————————————————————————————

_The razors and the dying roses plead_

Glinting metal, and blood glimmers right above the sink, until 3, 2, 1 _crash_—tiny, insignificant but loud enough for the world to know what she's doing in her bathroom—and it joins the many molecules of hydrogen and oxygen. Diluting red the seeps through and the single droplet expands like food colouring in the generic ceramic white. Variety is the spice of life they say and there is a new artwork of scars and pain tracing itself intricately up her arm. No this wasn't pain this was a child's fucking dream compared to the agony ripping her apart from between her legs, and the slashes across her back were naked to the moon while she lie there crumpled, just as bare, body in a fetal position trying to lock itself away. Reenter the womb of comfort, let the umbilical cord of ease and peace reconnect to the fabled world of goodness, feed her the lies that she'd rather digest than the harsh, sour, reality that marred her very being every day.

She was wilting away up in this tiled cage, with watery whispers and shiny white, smooth scaled dragons trying to take her soul, or perhaps they wanted to deafen her from the sounds creeping up the stairs implanting splinters of pleas, and silent screams being hammered into her head. Pushing its way through the white noise of unconsciousness, maybe sleep. If sleep were possible she'd be there already with candy canes and lollipop's like the Evanescence song she heard one day, yes she really wanted to be there, but the voices were her restriction, jarring her back to where and when, and the immense scraping sensation running through arms, her blood, leaving her shredded on the floor. She _needed_ to get there, one moment of freedom, was all she wished for, was all she was searching for, she'd remove her own eardrums with that goddamn razor which was telling the neighbours about their secrets with its incessant _drip_,_ drip_,_ drip_—but freedom was non-existent in this place that she lived. She wanted to dream that the world was swallowed whole and she was left with cotton candy clouds and chocolate houses that billowed marshmallow and hot chocolate steam. Just wanted everything to shut the fuck up and leave her in peace to bleed to death—which with her luck would never happen—or pass out. Either would have been taken, but when she closed her eyes…ah there was the problem. It came in perfect order too.

He was so gentle when it came to her face, he never wanted her to destroy it like she did, plenty of holes doing the job of pores and sucking up oxygen and expelling carbon dioxide when they weren't filled with metal or sterling steel. And he didn't glance at her arms as abused as they were, she couldn't understand why anyone in their right mind—even if that man wasn't—would want to glance at such despicable mangled things. But everything else, he claimed, was his. He had apart in the making, he would have just as much fun destroying the creature. She had tried to run—always running and telling her mother to hide when only a trace of bourbon thickened the air, but Mother never knew where to hide, because he always found her anyways.

Begging, pleading, "Oh please no…I'm sorry…I'm so sorry," it hardly did anything really except let him display his incisor teeth until black leather descended with all the sadistic love it could muster. Beating her ribs and back the colour of Valentine's Day streamers and balloons, red, purple, pink, such pretty festive colours. He'd admire his handy work for a while calloused hands grazing raised skin, welts, and all the sorrow her body could pump through its veins. He'd coo and awe, then throw her into a corner, and be forced to watch all the degradation one woman could take without letting the neighbours know. He would _know_, know when the next scream would screech its wraith body through the walls over the fence and land smack dab into a brain receptor of someone who didn't want to know and would tell themselves to mind their own business. When that was on the teetering, precarious, cliffhanger verge he would end it all. Help her mother dress herself, and then it was her turn. She'd be driven until she thought that any minute she'd simply snap in half and he'd have nothing left but her mother and a broken doll corpse, but no when she was sure she'd pass out a slight smack against the back of the skull brought her back.

Ditched, naked, cold, shaken to the bitter core, she was left to crawl up the wooden stairs, _bumpity-bump_, hips smacking and making her legs quiver in pain. Up, up, up to a world all on its own, when he would then think and drinking the whole of the brown liquid, would crumple in the corner and tell his wife how sorry he was while trying to keep the voices at bay. And the only thing left of them all was tears, raw voices, cold white noise, and her blood.

_I let the paper balloon fly high into the sky,  
At that point the tears well up,  
the red candy melts away with my memories until there's nothing._

_How many more years will it be before these tears end?_

—————————————————————————————————————————

_I don't leave you alone_

Yukari couldn't leave her alone, couldn't stop the need to hear her healthy voice, couldn't stop the worry. Even when the doctor had simply said that all Hitomi had was the flu and that's why she wasn't eating, Yukari knows it's a lie. Problems went deeper than that, people thought that even the most level headed of beings weren't capable of depression, of anxiousness, weren't capable of anything but a monotonous emotions, but Yukari knew better because she had been one of those once. A level headed being that is, back before things weren't thrown out or dyed some midnight, starless black because her clothes were all plain, emotionless, and weren't dreary enough for her liking. Way back when—for it seemed it had been years now—chalky powder, with richly smooth red and blue black the colour of loving death weren't all part of her regular face wear. Far away when prescription candies, and other such delicious tasting things didn't have to take her higher than heaven to make her feel good.

It's a good thing really, because when Hitomi's around pleasure-ville in the pill had to stay deep in her pocket, and she smiles whenever Hitomi makes her appearance. Hitomi would leave her house and enter her's bringing with her life and refreshment and her whip-thin body. The doctor said since she's been sick for a while she should take it easy on the eating, just little, easy-to-digest things is all she needs. Yukari however doesn't still believe the doctor. Yukari always knows better.

Hitomi, with her pretty blonde hair, and encouraging smile is at her door again, and Yukari grabs her out of the crisp air, probably freezing her small boned body to the quick, and into the warm comfort of her and Marie, the soft pink walls and peace of the house consuming her whole. Hitomi happened to love it here, where there were no worries of future headaches or migraines, where she didn't have to tread softly lest she meet her weeping mother or bump into her father whose angry steam coiled and rolled off of him scorching all those who came into contact—he was always heading out the door. She was scared that one day he simply wouldn't come back. She would find her brother in the basement playing his video games or his music or watching T.V, anything to pretend he was the impervious stone and that nothing that just went on bothered him. Just sitting there as he kicked some extraterrestrial ass or what not, and she would join him, looking just as impermeable, and together they became the impenetrable family, with a leaky faucet for a mother and possibly no father to behold.

They were baking cookies now, her and Yukari, or at least she was baking and Yukari was there animatedly moving her hands and complaining how commercialized Christmas was, and watching her press cookie cutters into the tasty dough, making Christmas trees and big clanging bells for them to eat later. She glanced outside, the sun was setting and flashes of orange and red glittered like crystallite jewels on the ice covering the window. She smiled, when was the last time she had done that in her own house, when did the time when her mom would mix cookie dough—eating half of it, I assure you, before it was even baked and then have hot chocolate while watching sappy Christmas specials, waiting for the cookies to finish while the scent hovered in the air, a testament to their happiness—end? "The beginning of high school," her mind and mouth told her but she wasn't even aware that words had unknowingly seeped into the air.

Yukari just smiled her knowing smile and kept babbling, she knew that half of Hitomi was listening the reasonable half, the half that despite what happened would forever stay grounded and kept her from going anywhere or doing anything illogical. The other half, the distant side that Hitomi let show through only sometimes, was in the world of problems, the land of her forsaken, the one she shielded from everybody else, and she was reminiscing on something that seemed important, maybe pondering about why things had to be the way it was. Coincidently the two halves of Hitomi's whole essence joined—momentarily—and that world crept into the next just for a little while.

She used to be logical remember? And now both of her worlds coincided happily neither one taking the lead, they lived in glorious harmony with one another, her dream world of problems showing through the clothes she wore and what she looked like almost every day, her intellectual self thriving in the world of school and the rest of reality. Oh it wasn't easy, all this balance, but she her candy for that, and it was easier than trying to keep half of herself all bundled up and away from the world, things were as smooth as silk like this where everything that the world didn't want to see was already there, and since she was already exposed, well there were no worries in that I suppose.

"So Hito, who was that guy that brought you home when you were sick?" a cranberry coloured nail uttered from her side. Van…she had successfully been ignoring his nagging presence for two weeks now, oh she always knew that he was there knocking on the door that could very possibly let him into the realm of worry, the place where she strategically placed every person she cared about. And Van was just pushing to get in. The problem was she doubted if she, in actuality, did give even something remote as pity for that bastard of a man. Then again maybe pity was all she had left for him, because even after they had achieved so much—possibly an inch past searing apathy for one another—he just dragged them back down to square one. Hitomi was finally beginning to understand that Van Fanel was an asshole to boot and there was most likely nothing she could do about it. That was why whenever her mind strayed to such silly, _compassionate_ thoughts of him she would out-rightly refuse to even indulge her kindness in wasting its time.

It was just that, now, that she had more time to think about it, and no need to fret about the exams she had to take, or the job she had recently contracted, she had time to dwell on him. Facial expressions she was too busy to catch before, ghosting across her memory, accusing her of not being observant, or even considerate enough to stop, take a closer look. She should have noticed that when he courteously prompted her to "screw off and bother someone else", there was a slight twinge of emotion, something nostalgic and forlorn, that now when she heard it, it dulled the ice of indifference, softened his features a bit. Maybe that's how it always was and it took her four months and watching him barf up blood for her to recognize it. Yes, that was exactly it, the ruby colour of her anxiety, perhaps it was the only thing that concerned her. How much did it take for someone—a guy no less—to vomit blood? If it was a girl she would have blamed it on bulimia or some other eating disorder (though she shouldn't really be the indicter of such things), but a guy…However if you looked closely enough at him you could see it: nearly invisible hard lines that made him look so menacing, but when they smoothed became so despondent that even the least empathetic of hearts had to turn away for just a moment, not being able consume the simple anguish all at once. Skin that held its own honey tint even without the access of the sun, but so translucent, that sometimes, if it wasn't for his tenor voice, she would have never known he was there. A phantom made of flesh, that laid half in reality, half beyond humanity's reach, one world percolating into the next, he simply the transfusion plug, the last remaining memory of something entirely forgotten.

All very confusing, so until he trusted her enough to explain anything to her—which she was practically certain would never happen—she would just have to accept the verity of Van's ambiguity. He was all smoke and mirrors, too wrapped in his own fuzzy obscurity, for anyone to completely figure him out. And she thought all adolescent guys were too narcissistic to have any sort of depth at all. But Van was the exception to most every other of her male stereotypes so that was just one more to the list.

"Yo…uh Hitomi?" Yukari's voice dragging—as nicely as she could manage—out her friend's almost comatose state.

"Yeah, oh sorry—that was Van," she droned.

"And…" she ventured expectantly, hoping there was a story or two she could pull out of the girl that would explain the strange reverie she dipped into a couple minutes ago or the way that whenever "Van" left Hitomi standing by her locker after school—for she had now officially become part of the legion of three friends, thanks to Hitomi, and that Celena had so many facial piercings, or maybe Millerna's badass attitude, possibly all three—because she only ever made it when his back was turned and was walking away with that vibrant red head, Hitomi would look so incredibly sour.

"And nothing he just happened to be around and noticed how overly warm was, despite the cold, so he thought I had a fever…and he was right. Plus I don't think I looked that great anyways, and I hadn't been eating that much."

"Well he sounds pretty damn observant if you ask me," she pointed out while helping Hitomi put the white spongy shapes, the waxy paper, and the metal into the mouth of the stove, '_open wide big boy_,' Yukari thought while placing it into the wafting pre-heated metal cautiously.

Observant…she never thought of Van being in cue with anything at all, thoughtful yes but never observant, it was actually sort of strange to imagine that he paid attention to all the little details of life. Tell-tale signs that she missed while analyzing him, someone else picked up, maybe that's all it would take to figure him out, if she was on the outside looking through the barrier window. "Yes well I guess I should have told the doctor about him too, but he told me not to say anything…although it's been bugging me for a while. He just looks so sick all the time…" she was mumbling now more to herself than to Yukari, hoping that the girl with thick hair the colour of ripe strawberries—hair and nails to match—wouldn't have heard or rather paid very much attention to what she just said. All of which happened in that eerie place that had captivated her from the very start was more of her and Van's business than anyone else's and she was only there by chance.

"What was that?"

"Oh I just worry about him sometimes that's all, probably because he looks like he doesn't eat or sleep at all every once in a while," a vague explanation and she was half right, for Van had barely slept in the past however many months since the death of his parents, and although he does eat we all know what happens with that. But now was not the time to dwell on him or his peculiarities, no now was the time to head up the stairs of Yukari's house like the good girl she was and pretend she had no worries while Yukari slathered her nails in some incandescent shade of fuchsia. She just noticed how much pretending she did. While blowing her nails and happily listening to Yukari babble on about one thing or another—for she had probably realized that Hitomi was more content listening than talking—she absentmindedly glanced out the window, which happened to show the street, and what an unlikely character was walking towards her door.

———————————————————————————————————————

Dryden Fassa was dying, oh he knew it too, knew as much as he knew that the human race was a sucker for anything big, bright, flashy, and simple. Whatever the five senses believed right and true—which was most of the time the easy way, nothing too difficult or they don't want to do it, but careful now nothing too effortless that they begin to suspect something—was what they went along with. Five brain receptors were the only things you had to be worried about, naiveté would do the rest. All of that had been taught by his con-artist father, who liked to coin the term "merchant" or "business man" when describing himself.

The thing was Death had been creeping up on him ever since he was twelve, this tortuously slow countdown of breaths he had to take till he was down to his last, then his activation of a new partnership with Mr. Grim Reaper. And since the time of diagnosis he had been more certain than the doctor that sooner rather than later he would be joining his only chance of a cure. Six feet under, exactly like her. He didn't mind though, when your twelve and your passing is affirmed you tend to immerse yourself in the thing you're sure you can't escape—unless it a miracle from the heavens, but he was too much of a jackass (even as a kid, daddy sure did train him well) to get even that. And that's what he did, he practically swam in it all (his father got especially worried then), so presently he was as unafraid of the one thing he was the most educated about other than his father's own expertise. Although he wasn't particularly looking forward to dying (there were some days when the pain was bordering unbearable however, around then he wasn't so sure) but when he was asked to hold Hell's hand—for that is where his mind had assured him he was going—he could do it fully prepared and without fear.

Now don't get me wrong, Dryden wasn't one to dress up all in black, Marilyn Manson, Joy Division and just about anything else remotely gothic sort of grated his nerves—he'd take The Beatles any day— and the very contemplation about make-up taking residence on his face gave him the shudders. Morbidity had yet to corrupt his optimism, or his stubbornness to live the most carefree life he could possible have—for he was going to die soon what was taking anything _too_ serious?—or his need to gather all knowledge his mind had the capacity to hold. This meant that what his teachers thought of him was a little less than favorable but they had to admit the humor—and regrettably the arguments—were appreciated, if slightly untimely. A friendly youngster, with an opinion in everything (and if he didn't have one he would assess both sides and form one), and a reputable intellectual mind…it was just too bad that he used it all to cheat people out of whatever he wanted from them (cheat is the wrong word, it was more like manipulation, but whatever.) Old habits die hard, so since his was entirely engraved into him—carved in stone somewhere—he'd just have to die with it. That was Life and obviously she was just as bitchy as Fate.

All of this is why the extremely agonizing headache that he had being lugging around for the past hour did absolutely nothing to curb his enthusiasm about going outside, he would manage after all he had his heavy duty medication, nothing that would cure him—that all went out the door after he went into remission—only the little things that would "ease his passing"…if they would just _ease_ it a bit faster he'd be out there enjoying all the pretty white stuff. Although before he went out he'd have to be wrapped with more layers than an onion—because that's all they really were, layers of skin and this small bulb for a seed—he'd be positively round by the time his father's "lap dog" (ahem…errand boy) was finished but that was okay, a tiny price he'd pay gladly. Besides he wasn't going out to impress anyone, just going out to enjoy perhaps the last chance he'd ever have to make a snowman, because when you're dying the small inconsequential things you did as a child appear to be _so_ important. He'd creep down the stairs from his room at night and make himself the grandest chocolate sundae sometimes when he was feeling up to it. He was sure that some of the maids knew—they had to he was _always_ forgetting to put something back—but they'd just smile their knowing smile and went on with life, because they understood as well as he did: he was appreciating the little things, freeing himself from the depression he knew he would sink so easily into. The love of the "small things" was all the liberty he would ever need to die a happy adolescent. He was definitely one lucky bastard…

A few hours later that mean migraine had departed, he was bundled—looking like some sort of round, semi-squashed, multicoloured vegetable—and then deposited outside to make his masterpiece of a snowman…well that wasn't exactly working the way he had planned. Over the course of the last couple months his strength had been fading away and now he was practically reduced to bones and droopy skin—no fat because he lost that with the muscles—this made even moving a circuit exercise, blood pummeling through his body at an increased rate, breathing coming out in shallow pants as he tried to suck in more of the frosty air to cool his rising body temperature. God, it felt like someone was cooking him from the inside out, they pulled all his organs to the roaring heat of an oven made just for him. He was perspiring a lot…too much he was about to become a dehydrated lump of burnt meat, but he not only wanted to finish this, now that he was feeling like shit he _needed_ to finish, just to prove to his damnable disease that it hadn't won yet, it wouldn't win until he said so—or until Death came a-knocking, but all in all it was still the same. Over-exertion would kill him off real quick, and he knew it, but he couldn't help it he was as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be—which was the reason he hadn't died yet, but that was most likely going to be the cause of death anyhow—and right now it was one of those "want to be" times. But he only had a little more to roll, just one final lumpy ball of snow to mount and then the easy stuff would come afterwards, but he could not, _would not_ pass out until he was in his bed where no one would have to fuss all over him. He hated that the most, the fuss, the general uproar, he preferred things relaxed, quiet, unless it was the happy excitement people generated during Christmas Day, and Christmas parties.

'_Just one more lift_,' he told himself as he began to lug the mass of tiny, soft, icicles, to the level of his chin—body protesting loudly: _Drop the damn thing and run into that friggin' house before you kill yourself you idiot_!—and as he was placing that stupid head which felt like it weighed a goddamned _ton_ he saw her, all that work nearly lost from the utter surprise of her presence on the sidewalk.

Boots clicked loudly down the gray cement, all the cracks and engravings being filled in by the snow and she almost laughed. It was cute in a queer way to see some guy who she was sure resembled a stick—the lean face gave it away, although if that scarf was up you would have to get extremely close to notice at all—looking absolutely round. He sort of looked like that snowman he was making and the thought had her just about ready to giggle again.

She had to get out of that house with the man who seemed to her was like some god come down to earth to fulfill every little fairytale fantasy she had ever included the male species in. It was all too surreal to see someone that _wonderful_ appear out of nowhere—and on her sisters arm no less, and the fact that she needed him to treat her with as much genuine love and respect as he did her sister was killing her. So she had runaway again, away from the oppressive air—**need**—at home and into to the streets looking for a good time, a one-night stand. Something that would make her feel as if for at least one measly hour some man in this world really did love her. See what "love" did to you? It made you a whore—and despite the vulgarity it was the abso-fucking-lute crude truth. Ha, there was that word—you know the one between abso and lute—it was the only thing she seemed good at now. And wasn't that the dirtiest thing you have ever heard?

Anyways she was walking down this street and was going to go to some club or another, looking for her nightly fix—she was no better than old hag of a nanny now was she?—when all of a sudden she saw this guy in all his kiddy cuteness. Not a lot of teenage boys would have the nerve to bundle up like that—with more clothes than muscles or body fat, stand outside on their front lawn, and make a snowman all by themselves. She could see the bangs on his forehead—the one's poking from underneath his blue hat—plastered with sweat, and he looked somewhat pale, but he seemed to be having fun. So when he smiled—wow what a great smile, and those pretty white teeth!—and waved his pudgy, red, mitten clad hand, she grinned and laughed a bit while waving back and telling him he was doing a good job. She even wanted to join him, but she didn't know him and her inhibitions (yes she still had some) held her back, so for a while as she was passing by she watched him work. She didn't notice that while she was doing so Allen—what a noble name, as soon as finished up with business she would look up the meaning—was so far from her mind that Allen didn't even _exist_ anymore. Just her and that guy with his faux fat and his snowman, this was the exact reason why she didn't acknowledge that Allen didn't exist, because for those two minutes or so Allen _never_ existed _at all_. But that minute or so passed and she was alone again, Allen also came back infesting her mind, and she, although smiling before, passed the next house with a bit of despondency. Dryden with a little tune in his head that he couldn't quite place just watched her go.

Woe to the girl who passes all her fairytale fantasies by.

—————————————————————————————————

Feathery soft and innocent, the burning of demons, brimstone and fire, absolute purity, he was convinced that once upon a time it was all here where time stood still and the air left a vacuum of sound, where everything and nothing except the bench, the stonewalls, and the fountain subsisted together. It was all a world on its own, the peaceful world of nothing and the ever substantial reality coming into being. Birthed out of one little trip with Hitomi, maybe he should bring her along with him more often because every so often good things happened when she was around. Then again maybe not, it was weird though, every since they—she—had found this he had found his mind, more often than not, wandering over to her, wondering if she was alright—which she was he knew, he saw her the last week of school—and strangely missing her. Bad, very bad, he realized that too yes, but it was like half of the _something_ that was supposed to be this vast amount of space, his own personal haven, was lost, _missing_ without her here. So despite whatever he thought, and no matter how much he lusted after the solitude, he could not—for an unknown reason—sit in great expanse of white with only half of the magic that he felt while he was with her. Once you had that, that small feeling of gloriousness, you could never settle for less than the whole dose. And now he was a little druggie.

So this was his reasoning when he found himself on his way to the street that Hitomi had lived, and of course since he lived on the opposite side of town he also found himself on a bus. Did he ever mention how much he hated buses, it fermented itself a little deeper than the despise for Hitomi—but now he found that he not only could tolerate her but actually _like_ her…it was all Merle's fault really—and no matter what he thought about either of them he needed them both. It seriously is a sick little world we live in. Anyways as they bumped along Van tried to breathe through his mouth, luckily he had brought gum along to mask the taste, and think on better things. Better things…hmph…his mind was drawing a blank on that one, it was like every good memory—that didn't involve his parents—had decided unanimously that the bus wasn't worth their time, and they'd rather walk than join him on the stupid hunk of metal. _See you later Van_, _hope you enjoy the ride without us_, he should have never gotten on the thing. Nevertheless he was there, and he'd calmly have to struggle through the entire awful trip down memory lane that the bus with it's brunette, rumpled looking, middle-aged, driver was taking him on.

These spiteful memories assured him that yes it was his fault, would _always_ be his fault, and since he was the one at fault he'd have to bear burdens of his faulty actions. But the thing was it wasn't his problem (or fault) that he was hot-tempered, stubborn, or moody…oh no, no, no, it was his _personalities_ own flaws, so unless he made the especially difficult decision to remake his personality, to change _who he was_, he was just going to stay that way. He had (stayed the same, that is) because he hated change as much as he hated buses, still, more than he hated Hitomi—dear God, there she was again, even on _buses_ she popped up. Back to it _not_ being his fault now…he wasn't to blame (okay so yes he was) that his own righteous indignation, and need to protect the dignity of his family—chiefly that dead brother of his—had him seeing red faster than those disgruntled Spanish bulls, or that he happened to be able to beat the crap out some of those twits (gang members) that pissed him off. It was _their_ own stupid defect, and as soon as he could convince himself of that the happier this bus ride would be.

Too late now though, the ride was over and it was time to get off and…ooh look at whose back? _Hi Van, did you have a nice time_? '_Of course not you dimwits_,' was his reply just as angry as that bull he was comparing his furious side to earlier. That's why he loathed buses, sure they got you anywhere you wanted to go in the physical sense, but in the act of "getting there" you had time to yourself to contemplate about all your little predicaments. But by the time you were sure the answer was going to come, the ride was over and off you go out into the world, with your mind right back at square one.

**AN: Another chapter completed, please review…the second part of this chapter is being written I don't know when it will be finished though cuz a lot has to happen. Well ta-ta for now! **


	8. Chapter 6: Part II

**Comments and such**: AH! I LIVE! Yes, I am back and with one of my favourite parts in this entire story! It's Christmas…and Christmas or winter in general means lot's of angsty filler stuff. Shh…you didn't hear or notice the dreaded "f-word" written in there. Anyways a millionx10 apologies about how late ahem six months-plus this chapter is. I have no excuse other than, groundings, lack of inspiration, and laziness. I'm an idiot, but please read anyways? Standard disclaimer applies.

**Chapter 6: Part II**

_Rush headlong and hard at life_

_Or just sit home and wait._

_All things good and all the wrong_

_Will come right to you: it's fate._

**The Book of Counted Sorrows**

_She's not the kind of girl_

_Who likes to tell the world_

_About the way she feel's about herself_

Funny thing was he knew she wasn't home. Knew as soon as he stepped onto her street and began to see the swollen gaps—mostly filled with the white, fluffy, wonders of the sky—in the cement, knew as he passed the first house and the second and the third houses knew that by the time he reached the seventh house on this street, which was her house, that he would not find Hitomi Kanzaki at home. So much for his bus ride. Knew as he walked up the steps to her porch and rang the doorbell, knew as heard the door swing open—one rusty hinge because of the frosty air he presumed—Christmas music pouring into the outside world, and had this women who looked like Hitomi only aged and more developed ask him politely what he wanted. Hitomi…only wanted to see Hitomi, and as the recognition dawned in her eyes—because he was the young man that had driven her daughter home (yes he has his license but he doesn't own a car, strange huh?)—he knew, just _knew_, without any bit of uncertainty what she'd say: "I'm sorry Hitomi's not here right now; she's just next door actually so try there. Oh, and thanks again hun." He hated it when he was right; you see he happened to know she was right next door too.

Don't ask him how he figured _that_ out but it had been this ever pestering thought tunneling like the worm it was into his mind, thoroughly annoying him. Maybe it was because he had noticed something when he was lugging Hitomi to her house—she had nearly passed out while they were driving. Like some heroic prince in a desperate hurry to save the dying princess he had carried her up to her door, then stood her up (didn't want those parents of hers to make any assumptions) and when he knocked she practically crashed to the floor and that scared the shit out of him. He had detected something odd when he was carrying her too; she was barely weighed one hundred pounds, like had she eaten anything in the past _year_? Anyways the thing he had noticed was that there had been this person—a girl no less, their age probably—watching them the whole entire time, call him paranoid but it kind of gave him the creeps. Then again it could probably be that she looked sort of like a pretty clown, however she did appear worried, and despite the makeup she was probably friendly. To simply put it Hitomi who was nice (although somewhat distant) with everyone, befriended her and seeing her look like a limp doll made that girl somewhat anxious.

It still meant nor did it explain anything, but he'd just have to accept it as one of those odd things that sometimes ensued in his life, which is something he would not like to get into at this minute. He was just about to ring the doorbell, his finger was practically an inch away, it would have made it in five more seconds, then with an unsuspected _whoosh_ the door flew open. "Hiya locker boy," and the wonderfully peachy Hitomi presented herself. Van was about ready to leave, he had had enough strange occurrences for the day, and he detested it when she did that, just spring out of no where—like a little Jack in the Box—when he expecting someone else, Clown Girl maybe… … …

Actually that would have been all very normal if _had_ happened that way, but abnormality was afoot that day, odd things couldn't help but transpire. Number one was that Van decided not to go to her house at all, instead ignoring how foolish he would look if she indeed she wasn't there, he walked right up to Yukari's new residence, and like it was before—five seconds till the dawning of his finger on the bell—poof there she was, Hitomi in the Box. The second oddity was behind his back—Merle had put him up to this one. "Van darling, you know you should buy Hitomi a bouquet or something…"

He laughed, as if she (of all people it had to be _Merle_ to suggest something like that) didn't know that he'd rather be shot dead then give Hitomi anything. But instead of leaving it at that like he should have, he asked a question—stupid, stupid man, "What do you mean?" he was still smiling as he inquired of her, even though he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"Oh you silly boy, do you not now that when a woman is sick, and you are coincidentally her rescuer she expects a get-well present?" she exclaimed incredulously. He sincerely doubted that Hitomi expected or would accept anything from him. However there was a problem, because ever since that conversation with Merle his mind wouldn't leave it alone. Sometimes when he and Merle were at the grocery store, he'd give one wary glance at the little section of flowers they had displayed there and then quickly scuttle away from the thought before it ensnared him, one day, regretfully, he just didn't move fast enough. There was something in Hitomi that exuded yellow, you know, happiness, joy, peace, harmony, freedom, the whole bundle of words all wrapped up and shoved into 5"8. And that's why he bought the Spider Mum's, plus they smelt sweet, and he liked them more than he did roses.

That would have been it too, indubitably it, if he _didn't_ go back to that store—the one with the old, non-creaking man, who let him into heaven (almost he still needed Hitomi)—and just accidentally glance at the one gift which he _had to_, he _must_ give to her. It was a simple golden chain with a small extension at the hook that would fit snuggly between the shoulder blades that jutted, perhaps a bit rudely, out of her back. The thin silver chain that she had—when he had finally noticed the pendant he saw it—didn't exactly seem to fit with the rosy hue that hung around the hollow of her neck. And the one he had picked up was perfection in it's purest form, so that's what was in the envelope…along with a Christmas card.

He didn't even wait for her to say anything just handed her flowers and the card. She looked stunned, and she had every reason to be, I mean here was this kid who she was positive hated her and he just gave flowers and a card. Her brows furrowed and she blinked a couple of times…where did it all come from? "Are these flowers for me?"

Jeez, she couldn't just say "thank you" and _not_ embarrass him anymore—he could already feel his cheeks start tingling, "Yes, they're for you…"

"Um…what are you sure?" was he sure? How stupid could she be, it didn't stop her from asking, or from feeling distinctly awkward.

"Jesus Hitomi, _of course_ I'm sure, I definitely don't know anyone that lives here," why was she so incredibly difficult…on second thought he'd rather not answer that question.

"Well I was just making sure, you know you really are an asshole," he _was_, and no amount of beautiful smelling, and amazingly yellow (her favourite colour) flowers was ever going to change it.

"Thanks for the _profound_ insight Hitomi, I think I'll leave now," irritation thickened his voice and he began to turn around.

In mid-turn she decided to stop him, "Wait a second, I didn't even get a chance to say thank you," he twisted back and looked at her—his eyes were somewhat covered again, but if you looked really close you could see just the barest hint of his nervousness. "Thank you Van, there really nice and my favourite colour too," she half chirped, half mumbled. There she went making him ever so conscience of _everything_ once again, and it was a battle not to look down at his shoes.

"Your welcome, they seemed like you I guess."

"I don't have anything for though, I'm sorry…" she trailed looking sheepish, she wished she thought about him…but she didn't even know where he lived.

He gave his part-smirk then, "Don't worry about it I didn't even know I was buying them until I—" and it was at that moment that Hitomi had chosen to wrap him in greatest hug he had ever received. Instantly his olfactory system was bombarded by a million scents each and everyone softened into something that represented comfort because it was on Hitomi. How in great, big, freakin' world did she accomplish _that_, he swore even the nail polish she was wearing—he got a whiff of it while her hands were wrapping around his neck—smelt like it should be some sort of perfume, _Eau de toilette Hitomi_, or something equally French sounding and very expensive. Right now she was shortbread cookies, summer flowers, sharp Christmas nights, Snuggles fabric softener, and fuchsia lacquer. If she was the last thing he ever smelt in the world he'd be the happiest man alive. So his hands, he swore they were gifts from the devil, hugged her back…they should package her in bottles and sell her as air freshener.

He made another mistake, he looked down, she resembled a pixie again, something pretty and cute all at once. And the way she was smiling up at him, like she saw inside of him and she knew something he didn't…something he wanted utterly no one to ever figure out. So very mysterious, but extremely attractive—_attractive_? Christ, he had to get out of there **now**, as in now before he could catch the smell of her hair (again), and her deodorant, and the fruity stuff he saw spray herself with every once in a while at school. Now before she opened her eyes and he was hit with how richly green they were, now before his gaze fluttered anywhere further down than her nose, it was right underneath as of now. He needed to leave _before_ his reddish-brown eyes got to those pretty pink lips, because if they got there first he had no idea what would take place _afterwards_.

Hitomi has impeccable timing, or maybe she felt the certain doom that was lurking in the corners of his mind as his eyes just kept tumbling downwards. She must have felt something because she broke the hug when he was on the tip of her upper lip (excuse the rhyme). Stepping back inside the doorway—for she had been so shocked at his gift that she forgot to invite him inside—her socks cold and wet she smiled. "Oh and thanks for sort of saving me earlier."

"_Sort of_?" he didn't mean to react the way he did to comment, but it was all that hug's doing, ridiculous hug, it also wasn't that he didn't appreciate her gratitude, but it was that hug. It made him feel so _dirty_ you should have seen all the things that were running around, like the hormonal lunatics they were, in his mind. And the way she'd smelt, it nearly killed him, males were such filthy creatures that he disgusted himself sometimes.

By then she was filled to the brim—and overflowing—with her own sense of indignation, "I definitely didn't _ask_ you to carry me to my door, I could have walked, I'm not a weakling Van."

"Well fine next time your sick and just about ready to pass out we'll see how well you do on your own," oh the sarcasm, it was all that because of that hug, he swore it.

"Fine! You can leave now!" she retorted, her cheeks reddening with anger—_ so attractive_—foot itching maddeningly with the need to slam the door in his face.

Her magnetism was making him more and more pissed off, "Alright and thanks for that bloody hug…" he grumbled through his teeth making sure he added that seething abhorrence which always happened to come along at just the right time…if she had only kept her distance they wouldn't be having this childish fight. He spun around and marched down the cement steps which needed to be shoveled.

But before he was down the last step there was a cry from Hitomi, "I hope you have a merry Christmas you arrogant bastard!"

That made him stop, he turned half-way around and answered her back, "Same to you slutty little witch." It caught her right off guard, and slammed her into the wall behind her, _BAM_, it was the biggest and one of the most painful verbal slaps in the face she had ever received. He could see it and that _hurt_, it shook through his entire body, he suddenly felt like the biggest conceited ass he had ever met. He didn't stick around to apologize though, just swiveled and left her to think about what he said, he couldn't get her face out his mind, she looked like she was about to burst into tears. He hoped she didn't, not because of him, and most certainly not because of his hot-temper.

See what he meant buses _never ever_ got him anywhere good.

Hitomi just shut the door quietly, "That didn't go very well," commented a voice from behind her, Yukari. She understood then that if she did not get out her friend's house very soon, very very soon she would simply have to cry right there, and humiliate herself. _Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me_. Grabbing her coat and not bothering to put on her shoes but piling them in her hands all the same, she dashed into the frigid air—funny it seemed colder now than before, but that was because it was getting dark, or so she told herself—and burst through her door. _Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me_. Not caring that her feet were leaving tracks on the wood flooring, and the carpet, not caring that she almost fell down the stairs on her way up, she broke into bedroom. _Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me._ The tears couldn't come, she was all cried out it seemed, but the trip of memories came along despite the lack of salty water. Dropping her coat and shoes on the floor she sat cross legged on her bed—wet socks soaking their imprints into her comforter and pants—grabbed her pillow from behind her and waited. _Sticks and stones can break my bones but names will never hurt me_. Ah, there they were, one tear, two tears, three tears, four. She had discovered the truth in that saying, no the names never _hurt_, hurt was much too easy of a word to describe it, the names burned, and seared, and _destroyed_, because one itsy-bitsy name could rape the entire soul.

—————————————————————————————————————

_She takes a little time_

_In making up her mind_

_She doesn't want to fight against the tide_

It is a difficult thing, this world we live in and as such she was currently wondering about a phenomenal choice that she would have to eventually make in the next few hours of her life. But as any good choice is birthed, she wasn't even privy to the fact that her subconscious was calculating, averaging, and extracting all possibilities. No, no she was in any girl's simple dilemma (because those are the things that prove to be our biggest problems when the world is at its most hectic) what to wear. Blue for Chid, red for Van, yellow for herself, that was what her lovely hidden conscience was dwelling on, and poor Merle only thought she was thinking about what she'd like to accentuate: her hair, her eyes, or that golden skin.

She had been dwelling on it longer because tonight was the night of nights, the one's where the air vibrates, and when the stars seemed just a hint closer as if they weren't all exactly burned out, and there's a subtle anxious joy to your walk, like it secretly knows there's a crescendo of excitement patiently waiting for you to smash head first into it. I say smash because she just picked the yellow dress, and residing in the area indecisiveness, when there is a verdict dealing with the matters of the heart to come to, is my dear friends a horrible place to be. However it was her placement in the moment, and who can blame her? Her's was a difficult position to be in the unknown (she didn't even recognize it) the monumental affection she felt for her best friend, and the bordering abominable love that she felt for her adoptive brother, that she was more than ready to voice of course, but she didn't feel prepared. Or so she told herself, we all have come to realize though that she simply hadn't decided which it was going to be. Hence the pale yellow shoes that matched the sallow coloured dress, with the golden ribbon—silk preferably—that wrapped around that vibrant hair.

And out steps our Cinderella, through the large oak doors she goes—the ones with the brass handles, down the marble and with a sharp _tick_ of her glass slippers which are actually yellow, she makes her entrance. Now I'd like to say that all the highly characterized participants of this party—which had not yet reached its hour minimum quota—stopped and stood awe-struck at such a beauty walking, but that would be lying, and you don't want me to lie to you do you? Why of course not, the truth: all of two people noticed our deemed fairytale heroine walk in. But two is sometimes more than enough, and that still indecisive conscience's job just got harder, because our Cinderella had two Prince Charming's, if only half of us could say we were that lucky.

Prince Charming number one decides that it's a phenomenal idea to go and scare the goddess that has hidden his best friend under an onslaught of make-up and expensive looking clothing, and quiet apprehension (she's waiting for one of her many relatives or family friends to compliment her). People have underestimated how much convenient speed Prince Charming number two possesses, he may look like a weakling, but dear me never think lightly upon how amazingly rapid he could react in a situation. Suddenly, without any time for the simple thought process, our darling Cinderella is whisked away to the dance floor, by what's this, a total stranger. Cinderella's journey becomes more complicated by the minute it seems.

_Click, click, click_ and the unstable, rough, squishof the cement and carpet of her small basement which had been conveniently cleared out to make room for this momentous…ball. Yes, that's exactly it is, a ball, just like in the fairytales, and the cousin that was spinning her around and around was just one delightful friend, an appetizer before her two actual prospects came cutting in trying to steal her heart. Like they weren't successful at that already. Which was exactly the reason that when the dance was done and she was spun back into standing awkwardly in the crowd, the world around her to busy to notice our beloved princess, who looked more like the enchanting Belle instead of the charming Cinderella, she swept up with all the grace in the world by Prince Charming number one: the dark haired beauty. Pale and sweet, Prince Charming number two that is, was left behind to contemplate, and watch in horrific wonder as our demented little fairytale where the brother likes the sister, and that same sister forgets about the childhood friend and the way he looks at her when he thinks the brother won't notice, unfolds.

Goddammit, it was like the room radiated, and when had she gotten that dress? Much more was the question of when had her eyes been so exotically blue? When had her hair become that red, and why the hell did her skin seem more gorgeously, phenomenally, indescribably satiny? She seemed like the little glass figurines that posed liquidly on top of her unbearably boring dressers. Just the monotone brown, with the aging tree lines, and dust, and tiny nicks that were unimportant and repetitive. It's what everything was, the adults were the aging tree lines, the dust was the pesky males that fought for some pretty girl's attention and the tiny nicks, they were those "pretty" girls he spoke of earlier. If _they_ were appealing he mused, drinking his non-alcoholic eggnog and sulking against the wall like the defeated Prince he was while some piece of dust or another was talking about how those nicks in ball gowns were really something, then he wished he knew what to call _her_. Yes "_her_", not HER, or even **her**, nope, not even a little a bit, there was something special about the way his mind formulated pronouns when it came to Merle, they had to glide, like the way she saturated, _slid_, in between his brain cells until there was no brain fluid, no oxygen, just _her_, _Merle_. He liked the way it looked (in his mind), liked the way it felt meshing between the molecules and atoms and anything he had floating around up there, liked the way it flowed. She some sweet coating on a blunt, dull word, the word vibrancy applied to no one else, and see what she did? All that mindless love drivel just had to be spewed itself out of the oppressive air whenever she was around.

He _needed_ to tell her. **Needed**. Before he did something stupid, something primal, something that would have her despising him for longer than he could possibly handle. Needed. Before she was no longer dangling in his desirous reach, like some carrot in front of the horse's nose. Needed, I tell you, needed, because it was paining him to watch her waltz on top of the world with competition. **_Needed_**. There was a sort of lustful desperation which encircled that word whenever he thinking about her, it revolted his mind and churned his eggnog filled stomach, best-friend indeed. He should never _need_ anything from her, he should give and expect not one morsel of it back…greedy bastard he was…which was precisely the reason why he wouldn't tell her. Why he would recoil and hide, like the complete coward he was because after all, it is what he did best. He would let her enjoy herself with her Prince Charming of choice, let her love him without worries of hurting little ol' friend-dearest. Taking the last sip of his drink he realized how much he didn't like it, it was murky, it hid whatever was in it under a false creamy taste. It was too much like him to be liked, and so down the spiraling drain it went, he still wouldn't tell her however. He never would, because no matter how much _he needed_, this misshapen feeling was never about him in the first place.

—————————————————————————————————————

There is something about the way the petals are shaped, the way they caress her face when she bends down to smell them, the way the glance up at her appreciatively, appraisingly. And she's beautiful you know? He's not afraid to admit it in his mind anymore, not afraid to confess that there are times when he's kissing Marlene that he doesn't wish it was Millerna—his dirty little goddess. The one who he noticed took home some new guy every night, gone in the morning. Sometimes she would come home a panting, sweating, mess of cold cheeks and distant eyes that had him entranced by knowing exactly where she had been. And sometimes—just sometimes—when Marlene had fallen asleep, he'd imagine what it was him being one of those men with their fingers through sallow silk, hands over satin, lips on illicit items he know he could never taste. Never touch. Never ever smell like the way she smelt those flowers.

He smiles when she tells him thank you, takes them and glides away, done for now with her enchantment over him. He wants her so mind-numbingly bad in that one moment, watching her hips swing away from him, the tiny drips of warming snow leaving tiny unnoticeable trails of water behind her feet. He can hear them beckon which each tiny _drip_ to follow her into the kitchen, because 'never' is only for God, besides no one has to know. This simple little thought curls it's way into his mind, and as he leans back in the plush cream chair eyes intent upon the television—he has absolutely no idea what he is watching though—the words hit him with so much it's almost hard to breathe. _No one has to know_. Oh God, it sounded so good, so incredibly delicious, so delightfully _plausible_ that he had to clench his fists to the arm rests to gain the least bit of self-control. And it was true _nobody had to know_. Marlene and her father were out running errands, and the maids had all disappeared to their respective places—even that precious butler of theirs—it was oh so perfect.

His opportunity was passing by. But he told the voice that lusted after her, practically _loved_ her to shut-up. Practically, nearly there, almost love wasn't _love_ itself, and that's what he knew he felt for Marlene. He thinks so anyways…and that's all it ever takes. What it takes for doubt to settle in, a sloshing puddle of maybe-not and uncertainty, all it takes for the droplets of water to start beckoning, calling him into the kitchen, to her. So when his legs—of their own accord I assure you—lift his lust plagued body off the couch and towards the room with its looming refrigerator, he knew that this was a bad idea. Bad idea's meant trouble, but that's the thing about enchanting dirty goddesses, you always want to know how dirty they can get.

—————————————————————————————————————

It is just something about him right now—that's what he tells himself anyways. This smile that he's smiling isn't his, because it happens to be too luminescent, too joyous to be his. That growling sour pain has melted into something calmer something more pleasing, a mental anti-acid coating his entire being. He was serene, and this dance, this goddamned dance was going on forever. Not that he was complaining, no, no, whining wouldn't have suited this occasion. Even as the dance stopped and they drew apart—she had been _so close_—there was still this feeling of propelling, of unconstrained motion, and he new that if _that_ stopped he would be…He didn't know what he'd be but pleased sure as hell wouldn't be it. You see there was something about the atmosphere she exuded that had him trapped. Terrifyingly wonderful this feeling.

Grinning, beaming, gleaming she starts clapping with the crowd that has deftly filled up her basement, "Thanks for the dance," it's just a breathy whisper, murmur of something more than seduction against his ear running thick through his body. She's transformed into this mesmerizing being, so vivid, so real, that he doesn't understand the gratitude he's too busy halting, staggering, waiting until his mind can process information. In arrives that smile again, and what is this? Was that a blush, well it's too late for her to find out—which is all the better—because he sped off to find something for them to drink. While doing so, he found it peculiar, that Chid, great dancer (or so he heard from Merle) best friend Chid, had simply melted into the crowd and through the door without mutter of "hello" or mumble of "goodbye". It seemed sort of unfair, but perhaps—and this is why he walked directly into brooding body ahead of him, his head too full of that disease called infatuation (or was it something more?) was mulling over ways to make her happier, because dammit that smile…That brooding body being Chid, of course, and in any other fairytale land there would have been a fight to the death, or a bargain. But Chid was to play the part of the platonic best friend, while the man of misfortune got to become prince charming and gain all the rights, unbeknownst to him of course.

Isn't this a charming twist now, because Prince Charming number one has demoted himself because of his own need, but Prince Charming number two caught up in the dazzling swirl of Cinderella hasn't clued in—and probably never will, he has a hard time understanding anything that threatens him—asks why Chid hasn't gone to ask Merle to dance. But when he dragged his eyes—a three part mixture of self-righteous anger, of hazy emotion that was perhaps too embedded in hormones, and something else that he had tried to tuck away since the day had begun—up to Chid's glassy azure there was something there that he understood. _Yearning_. It was such a bothersome feeling that attached itself, becoming some infectious appendage, just one more weight that you had to drag through the rest of the day. You're begging the rest of the world to see it, pleading, you'll wash their feet with you're tears, dry them with you're hair, perfume them as long as they promise to dismember it. But can you amputate something as intangible as a feeling?

So even though he understands, that's all he can offer, despite the fact he knows that understanding itself isn't what the used-to-be-prince was asking for. This meeting of the eyes has him oh-so bewildered, and he wonders for a fraction of a second if he should scuttle away like a defeated knight, and let Chid have her. It would be the noble thing to do, and even though he wasn't much for nobility or chivalry from time to time—just ask Hitomi, and jeez she sprung up at the oddest of times—it was just this wistful feeling which he had, that things were supposed to end up that way. Life would be frightfully boring, don't you think, if things always ended up the way they should? It was at that exact moment, that Cinderella chose to laugh, one of her great belly laughs that made just about everyone around her laugh as well.

And he couldn't decide if he hated it or loved it, because his mind kept tugging at Chid, at what he knew, there was this curdling feeling at the pit of his stomach that wanted to sacrifice what the night had become, what the night was blooming _into_. Wanted to wrap it in a box and present it neatly for Chid to have, because he _did_ happen to like Chid, thought he was a great guy in all respects. But where would that leave him; this was his fault you see. He was tired of thinking of others, tired of doing anything that would help someone else in the end, all that got him was a father that was too busy being six feet under to give him any wisdom, and a mother that would rather spend her time decomposing than tell him what he should do. And that was the third little part his eyes, and his mind hid from the world—too bad he can't hide it from himself. Merle laughed again, and he swallowed his problems up, tucked back into the filing cabinet.

…Once upon a time, Cinderella became Prince Charming's sick new obsession.

————————————————————————————————

_Can't bear to face the truth_

_So sick you cannot move_

_And when it hurts_

_He takes it out on you_

She prefers it out here, so please don't worry about her. Out here, rather than in _there_ where her sanctuary with the broken lock on the door—she'd rather strip that film of memory naked, but isn't it too bad that it plays anyways—and the refuge it provides is as feeble as the crystals that melt on he nose. It's too cold for the Dragon to tumble out the door, and demand that she, like an obedient bird, put on a show. Besides, have you ever considered she enjoys it when she's lying there in the caressing white, so that when she creeps through the house—she would never dare walk—so that if he catches her, and he _always_ catches her, she won't be bothered so much when his scaly skin slides against hers, won't mind too terribly much when he clips her wings just one more time. And time itself seems so lost when you're glancing at the sky not bothering to wish you were somewhere else, because if the world worked on wishes then the six billion plus people that wandered around wouldn't be here, herself included. Isn't that a reason to be thankful? She supposes, but thankfulness never assists her when he's burning down her door, so following in the pattern of wishes, thankfulness can dance up there with moon, dead stars, and the bruised-black sky. Birds with clipped wings can't fly anyways.

Lights aren't glowing anymore, as she shifts from her position, while using barely-there fingers to remove the light dusting she has accumulated on her clothes. With one last glance at the inky midnight-blue, she trudges in while the floorboards creak underneath her weight, because they know it doesn't trouble her as he growls, and then barks her name—and what unusual sounds for a dragon to make—doesn't care when, one claw, and then four more, molest rundown feathers, and command her not to tweet. Mother is up in her nest trying to see if dreaming will discard all the demons and ticks in her head, after all, we don't want to wake mother now do we?

Bourbon dragon breath—and she guesses a prayer or two would have been order, but he's so far along dipping her into adultery (or is it fornication?) to ever become Little Miss Virgin—slithers down the side of her neck. Suddenly, unexpected by her and the creature that has its hand up her shirt—dragon, or dog she can't decide—he's bleeding all over her clothes, and she's holding the remaining neck of an amber coloured bottle. Dammit, she's pleading that it wasn't her, pleading that if any good fortune was about to stagger onto her pathway during the Christmas season, she wouldn't be the one holding the bottle and he wouldn't be the one whose mind was muddled in something deeper than drunken vehemence, while tiny glass splinters and those quiet whispering voices waltzed their way into his skin.

This bird would like to sing the song to you where this—while he was shocked, and she was begging for time to rewind—was when she used his stupor to her advantage. When she fought the dragon with the broken bottle neck in hand, roused Mother then they were out the door as fast as their birdie feet could whisk them away. When the day came in which the door was open to them, even if all they could do was hop around the sullied earth, and scrape for things they never had. This bird would like to sing you song about conquering dragons, and overcoming demons, love to sing you a song about freedom. But that's not the way this world works, because fear is such a peculiar thing. He's seething so very frightfully as she squats down in the shards that are doing nothing but laughing at her from the floor. She wants to tell them to shut-up because they're making him angrier, but they don't listen, just swallow up the vermillion syrup draining from his hand. She wants to hear the satisfying crunch, as they feel ever pound of trepidation she's gained, but he's still staring at her, and she still cowering.

She doesn't know when his belt became undone, or how she got to the point of kneeling in the fragments, but then he poured his gentle acid promise in her ear and left it there to burn as she ran upstairs. She grabs the tweezers, the rubbing alcohol, and the gauze, removes her pants carefully then eradicates every sliver—and god why are they still giggling? The alcohol never burns very much in the end, lucky her that nearly got frostbite in her legs and no one will see the strips because she was never one to show off her knees. Tired, however, is what has become; listening as the Dragon plays a record, where some melodic voice croons about peace on Earth, and sparkling snow, but pathetic her can only whistle the tune he put in her mind, "I'll find you in the morning", while she curls up into ball of cold skin and blankets on the floor, in front of that broken-lock door.

—————————————————————————————————————

He'd like to say that yes, they had crossed his mind more than once or twice during the year. He'd like to say that indeed that they had pestered, and bothered, and dug deeper than they had ought to—because he was gone now and there was really nothing that they could possibly do—thus causing at least him to occasionally grow wistful, maybe even wonder how they were. In all honesty he would like to say that yes they had done precisely such things, and he was about to venture out to search for them—even though he had small fragmented doubts to their moving on, shuffling themselves to a different town, because after all he knew his father wasn't one for change. But he hadn't. It was a rarity, scarce occurrences when he'd be reminded of what he had left behind. Sacrifice or not—or perhaps, and this was the thought that had festered and taken their place, he had simply runaway, however thoughts like that held no _dignity_ and that was something he held onto for reasons he'd rather not discuss—he had slowly began to forget about them. Not exactly their existence, because one could never forget being _apart_ of something (despite how insignificant it seemed now in the world that shifted so frequently), he quite simply forgot what it was like to merely be in their _presence_. That laugh, a gruff voice, an admiring smile, one more scolding, he had forgotten what all of that felt like, how much it encompassed who he was.

He was afraid he was forgetting himself you see. It's a terrible thing to be unsure about one self, about who you are as a person, people spend there whole lives looking for it, while it was just about the hardest thing to ever find. This…being, who he _was_, was unfortunately slipping farther behind him, '_Oh, good God you sound like such a priss…make that a _whiney_ priss_.' But it was true wasn't it? He hated to admit it, '_You hate to admit a lot of things_,' but the past just couldn't help but influence the present, and it _always_ had to factor into the future like some stupid disease he couldn't get rid of.

So there he was sitting on the balcony with the Plexiglas door shut to keep the warm air of the party inside, half of him wishing he could forget, the other half not wanting to—and that's the way it went, the inevitable loopty-loop that life had decided to be—out here in the friggin' frigid air, getting all nostalgic, bloody _homesick_ for a home he hadn't seen in about two or three years, while his ass was pleading with him to go back and sit on the **warm** couch. Please…pretty please? It sang, offered him a cheery and all, actually he offered himself ice cream ('_What with how cold it is? Never_,') with a complimentary cherry, chocolate sauce, and those almonds that he loved dearly, to remove himself from his stationary leg-numbing post on the ground just to get inside. He politely declined, just kept watching the midnight-blue and its innocent glittering luminescence contest with the brusque city lights, and shiny glowing Christmas-y bulbs. Cold air biting at his face while he thought of what it was like, way back, when the air smelled like Spanish cuisine and oil. Simpler times, when that pretty piano made more graceful music than he thought it was capable of. A funny little smile hopped along his face just then, it looked like an old secret joke that never once lost any of its humor, and it was all he could ever do to keep from beaming or bursting out it in a giddy laughter that would cause heads to turn and strange looks to follow soon after. He always did like to hear what that piano could actually do…while of course he got to play that abandoned video game. He always did like…and jeez, wasn't he Mr. Sentimental today? That beloved little padre of his would have the time of his life if he knew what he had been thinking. _Him_ of all the lovely people that decorated this tiny…uh…outfit (if that's what you really wanted to call it), logical, calculating, practically _unfeeling_ him, was getting all mushy about those days that were so far behind that he was beginning to forget what they even felt like.

And that was a problem, the very mind-boggling bastard of a problem; _he didn't want to forget_, better yet he wanted to replenish. Dive right back in a have the biggest family revival-get-together, that had ever been heard of, and what the heck invite the grandparents as well. He wanted to get all comfortable living the cozy life once again, or at least _taste_ it once more. If that's all he could ever do.

So maybe it was the Christmas season, '_Tis the season to be jolly, why _not_ just hop on the bandwagon with all the other fools out there_?', or perhaps it was the fact that like a said fool he had been flailing around looking for one decent New Year's resolution. You know one he could _accomplish_ this time around, "non-business" related…if you get what I mean. He wanted something personal, _something closer to home_. That was the resolution, that little phrase just signed his name that would fortunately and unfortunately—it can never be one or the other, it's all about cause and affect—change one too many lives to count (never without all the fundamental pieces that Fate), he was _going home_.

He would first have to find a way to resurrect himself from the dead.

So although his body was screaming for him to at least have some pity and shift just a teensy bit, his mind was too busy planning (we like to call it scheming, but a rose by any other name still smells as sweet or as putrid) to follow the commands of a simple body.

————————————————————————————————————

_She knows the human heart,_

_And how to read the stars_

_But everything's about to fall apart_

Odd that's what it is, if you understand what I mean of course; odd and comfortable, and honestly is shouldn't really be that way. But it is and she snuggles a tad, sniffles just a little and drinks her hot chocolate while trying not to think. Just watch the show and don't think. Small, intricate puffs of pure white housing bacteria and deadly compounds, but it doesn't matter it still looks gorgeous. She wished that was the only thing that mattered. Rather she wished she didn't get that phone call.

People have a way of tip-toeing next to you like that, unexpected and unaware, they don't bother to pounce, simply knock, you let them in willingly (but she can't say that at least _half_ of herself never submitted a warning to the other half) and when they're out, you're equilibrium is tilted and you're left feeling nothing but: odd and comfortable. Comfortable however, is only existing because the smooth cocoa drink that you keep drizzling down your throat every so often. Just like you're trying to drizzle—slowly now, never wanting to get burned, because being in a daze is so much better than having two feet firmly planted in this colourful reality, where things are more than pure, bitter white— every word in, gulping it down never allows her to properly analyze the situation. Or the words, _especially_ the words. Her hands are beginning to dig deep in her pockets, Christmas candy, is what she would like to call what lays in her palms, but they look more like tiny Easter eggs. '_Different name, but every holiday just ends up being the same regardless_,' is what she tells herself, and so now she sitting there being odd and comfortable and contemplative, to consume or not to is the question of the day, and boy-oh-boy she would rather not answer it. She would honestly rather _do_.

That's the problem, there is something about this new house that she's living in that prevents her from doing, she only crosses her legs and mulls over, only rests her palm in her cheek and muses. Lukewarm hands start to heat up, sooner or later the colour is going to vanish from the mini-wannabe Easter egg nesting in her hand and it will just be its ugly virgin bland self, just like the snow outside when it begins to melt. All this thinking is of course attempting to have her ignore the phone call, simply make her dismiss the fact that he said he missed her, and now dammit—and isn't this just one more pathetic replay of circular events?—her hopes are high, and her head is filled with garbage—slap a label on it and you'll see that you've written something that looks like _maybes_—and the voice. Voice that hung low, and still—asking herself how long has it been anyways before the dramatic shift of personalities, the shuffle of opinions that were swept out of the door—made her want to poor alcohol down her ear just for a tiny cleansing, yet made her _crave_ for just one more time…

Well that little piece of perverted heaven is diving down the tunnel like esophagus now so there is no use trying to think, just wait—put down the cup, Marie wouldn't have liked her to spill any on the newly cleaned rug, and she didn't want to re-clean it—while it settles in somewhere it hasn't for quite sometime, but was always in her pocket, patient because after all it _knows_, there was no need rush. Faster she commands until her breathing is heavy, so that will be the only thing she hears, that and the soft patting of the snowflakes on the window. Faster, but never fast enough, because there still the tickle at the back of her mind she wants to cast away, numb it, so when feather soft promises on greasy fingertips pass over there shall be no reaction. No nothing, just a polite response, then the phone is in its cradle so she won't hear mother sing it the monotonous dial-tone lullaby.

Swipes her hand underneath eyeliner, then lays back and lets it happen, like the good ol' days, she always did like those. That scream she was feeling, right at the base of her throat, threatening—and the pill was the ransom so that it wouldn't tattle on her frustration (silly teenage angst and the like) and tell Marie—plucking at the vocal chords and unhinging the jaw to a lax state, is receding…That's right world wonder which is burning, swimming amidst something that will transform it into a liquid, take her where there is no up or down, just the simple pleasantries of seemingly enhanced stimulation.

And when it's done, and she's level with the ground, nothing but human again—she was hoping for a minute longer, yet one more minute is never enough—no more superior hearing, just plain Yukari sprawled on a couch teary-eyed and trembling, she glances at the phone. One hand with ruby nails untangling untangled hair of almost the same colour, so damp now—she wants to know when the temperature changed—and the other hand trailed by those eyes asking him to call again, because this time she's ready.

If only things happened simply one more time.

—————————————————————————————————————

_I won't be the one to let you down_,

_Maybe you'll get what you want _

_This time around_

Beginning to become that sweaty mess that he wanted them to be, or at least they're about to get to it. He simply swept up beside her and told her that no one had to know, she's almost finished being coy and telling him that he has Marlene. Fucking hell, he _always_ had Marlene, never once was she out of his possession—he hates thinking about her as some _thing_ that he owned—but he never had her. _But he never had her_, and the weight of his words take their time spinning in the world that she reigned over, then placed itself as an offering to her. It was the only sacrifice he knew how to make, knew that was _worthy_ to make. Everything else that he could have possibly given up was pointless and unfruitful—bring your first fruits it's all that I ask—and in the end this would be what mattered, this tiny affair. He knew it, and it was exactly that that made his mind quiver, because he was rebelling against dignity and fidelity and everything that was _good_ to in turn replace it with what he _wanted_.

She knows this. This offer isn't serving her alone, and so she analyzes, and weighs, and calculates, but in the end he wins—or maybe she does, because do remember that this is what the mind that almost ended up in being leaving entrails of vermillion and watery fluid on the walls, wanted. So she turns and glances up, pretty violet acting all coy, debating yes or no. '_Yes or no_?' does she want to put his relationship, but perhaps more importantly the one made of egg shells and broken glass she had with her father, in far more trouble? '_Yes or no doll face_, _hurry up and pick because you new devotee won't stay forever—it doesn't exist, remember_?' Looking at him now, she had thought she had him—Purities Lover—all figured out. Had him squared, and analyzed, and fit to perfection, but_ now_ where was all that transparency? All she had left to do however was _say yes_, and watch his offering burn, and normally she would have been quick to answer, at the head of the marathon they were suddenly running with that three letter word. Yet somehow she left out herself. Let her mind runaway with the process of his seduction then forgot to add her own wants, her own bloody needs, and the way he treated her sister is what she griping for. Not sex, it was never about sex—yet she was just one more standard, another statistic in some guys head, with no name just the way she felt when they mixed—and she was so close to clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, taste buds, saliva, and air making the traditional _tut_-_tut_, waggle a manicured index finger and send him to his bitch where he belonged.

Then he inquired—gentleman to the end this one—just a simple question, but one she had never heard offered, "If you want to think about it…" there was disappointment there, lingered and slid off the tails of Y's and bounced about all the dots the hung like the star's over the I's. _There was no time to think_. Not with what he just asked, and there was surging air pressure—which bore such a striking resemblance to need—no more time to ponder, simply _do_.

…And what started out as the gentle pressing of lips turned into a mesh of human meat—what more can you be if you're looking for the _reason_ in someone else?—in that plush bed of goose down. Lucky her though the wind wasn't whistling, but now, even when their sharing an offering, the world will continue to unknowingly be nothing but empty.

—————————————————————————————————————

So he sits up, even when he should be getting sleep, it's alright though the people which have scuttled off to bed—to tired to argue with him, for he should be asleep what with his condition—are to busy stumbling into fragments and snapshots of what they'll most likely forget in the morning, to check on him. His mind is to occupied with being _busy_ however for him to follow suit, but that's what he'd rather do—at least he would if his thought's hadn't drifted to father-dearest. Normally, he would be his giddy self and wouldn't complain, but the people that keep knocking—just one more sign that the tell-tale merchant reign is quickly speeding to it's ending, just one more intoxicated driver about to try to date a telephone pole—and the telephone's that never seem to know when to stop all speak to him about how the man in some faraway country—he wasn't privileged enough to know where he was going this time, but wherever he was they could keep him by all means—owed them money. Precious little green bills, that just happened to fill his father's pocket— enchanted the clam long enough so that it could open it's mouth and out pop's that pearl, because that clam is nothing but one other flitting conquest on the list of many—seemed to be needed back, with interest of course (he had it for so _long_). Yet since good ol' dad had departed with his favourite pin-striped suit he expected that there was no way he could reach him until he suddenly sprung above the wintry weather and rested his hat in what he usually calls "home".

So he did what he could: smiled as pleasantly as possible, then turned them away with a promise of spring blooming fresh flowers, and hopefully the man in the vertically candy-striped—and was he the only one who got hungry when he saw outfits like that?—suit that his father favoured so much. He would have continued as well, until he had one of his "fits" as he had labeled them, and by then his body had gotten so weak he had quite literally toppled onto one of the few upset investor's that had made the pilgrimage to his humble house lying near the end of neighbourhood with the sickeningly-green lawns painted white. He was dragged into the house by one of the house maids and then taken up to bed. Fortunately, he wasn't there to see the dazed, still mildly infuriated pilgrim, swivel on his heel make the journey back to his own equally quaint village. He did, albeit with his fainting spell and all, manage to remember what he had said to the man before he collapsed on him—idiotic, reminiscing thoughts that seemed to lasso the absentminded comment and drag it back to where it may or may not have belong (but perhaps it was a bit of both) at the forefront of his mind.

"I'll see you in the spring―" the rest didn't matter it was this tiny proclamation and the events that occurred following that assertive, **promising** statement that reminded him of his _frailty_—the pathetic spindly heap his body was developing into—because if he ever wanted to be truthful to himself (he would have nothing but the truth and that needle in his arm by the time all of this was over) he would have to realize there was this considerable chance he wouldn't be seeing _anyone_ in the spring. He would have to come to accept the knowledge and the fact that when his father waved that burlesque hand before stepping into that semi-expensive car, it may have very well been the last time he would ever see his father. Even for a boy of optimistic seventeen, that was an overwhelming statement.

So instead he cleared his mind, drew up knees that seemed to be growing bone instead of fat and flesh, just breathing that air he had the privilege to, feeling grateful. Just felt grateful while letting Mr. Grim devour his hallowed body bit by bit.

—————————————————————————————————————

It's becoming a nine letter word that was far from what it was created to be. But if you will, allow me to start at the beginning, which inevitably brought this nine-letter-word act to a nearly subdued close. _Nearly_, nothing is ever absolute.

Intoxication is what it started off to be, nothing more, and he doubted it could be called anything less, because if you questioned him about this day he would have admitted that her smile could have drawn him to his knees and he would have agreed to anything. One more dance, one more chance to talk to her, one more chance for _contact_—for contact all on its own can place you at the doorstep of intimacy, the threshold was never one for keeping anyone out either—is all he asked for. _Just one more_; maybe then he could forget that small entity which took up much wanted space inside his head—wipe the despicably dirty thing clean, and goddammit please let him _forget_, because all he's asking for is freedom—because the day seemed so pleasant when the area that surrounded the splinter was numb, virtually gone.

Progressed to desire so nonchalantly that he didn't even recognize it when it walked into the door, sat on the couch, while he bustled for tea and cookies to keep it jovial and full. They're hugging, she's batting eyes, he's looking cheery; they're playing that silly game of tag, where it's a gentle brush of hands, then an arm around the waist. He would have never known it was so enjoyable, but possibly that was all part of this hormonal induced high. With a dip, a giggle, and the shuffling of feet, this is where they ended up in the hallway—and isn't _that_ romantic?—with her smiling up at him as they were completing the task of trying to catch their breath, the room, hell the entire world seemed slightly too warm. Part truth, marginal lie, and an insipid excuse.

Waltzing into something that smelled, felt, tasted like trouble, but now that logic had been put away, they were demoted to just a couple of kids who laughed at the word, after all who has time to glance at the future when today was all they seemed to have? Pretending to dance just a little more with the music, the crowd, all that this reality seemed to be formulated from behind them, just down the hall. A spin—carousel of feelings whether they were real of fragmented for the time being, for this moment, where it was Fate with her cruel sense of humor tugging at puppet strings, or just a series of coincidental misfortunate happenings, well he'd decide later—a twist, and a pull in is what brings the end result. (Now that he was thinking of it he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. That of course didn't matter _now_ however, because it was _then_ and how to erase it that would ever hold any relevance now.) She's pointing up, a more subtle version of beam tugging at the creases lip glossed skin that made up her skin, and his eyes follow her command—and if he _knew_ then he would have never looked, just pushed her away and let _Them_ be.

It's rushing forward now, without a casual glance back, or in any other direction, the unstoppable force that would never know an unmovable object. Its nothing but feeling that's filling him—although that feeling was never the right one—because would you know they had somehow found themselves underneath the mistletoe, leafy green, cherry red practically coaxing them, and they weren't moving. He would try to say something, but that air passage has been flooded with something else, something frightening, unrecognizable, something _thrilling_. Thus he does the only thing that's left on the list of option's—too bad there was only two at the time—just draws her close, breathes a halting, staggering, breath in (will there _ever_ be a girl that smells as good as that green eyed one which he was sure he made cry—and jeez, what was she doing in his head at a time like that?) eyes flit for one tiny moment into brilliant cobalt and now there is nothing left but her lips.

In this nine-letter-world, there are only halves because when Fate is concerned, things never come in full. So instead there were half the heart-stopping fireworks, but they were heart-stopping nonetheless; they were left only half breathless, but perhaps since breathing seemed so hard already this one had filled its quota; half the heat, half the pressure, half the wonderfully sinking feeling, which made them shift closer because they could never just settle for half and be satisfied. They had induced it themselves, the rest of the dosage that they needed to feel, with the smell of eggnog on each others lips, the taste of the opposite's mouth, silky caressing arms around his neck, and those _hands_ just threading through hair. While she was content with almost fitting perfectly into his arms even as he just held her slightly trembling body, she was smiling with her head rested against his shoulder, curled red strands of hair lying along with her. He nearly told her then—nearly, but if he did was it lying or just giving the final verdict—now though, he was thankful that he refrained. Even as he was busy laying his chin on her head, he happened to turn his eyes towards the doorway.

This is where the act ends and Fate gets to have a sardonic little chuckle—more like a sadistic chortle, if you asked him, but of course you won't and he would probably ignore you if you asked anyways—because there stood Prince Charming number one. Staring at them, at **him**, and good Lord the fact that he wasn't breathing, just made him look like some haunting after image emerging from the brighter lights of the flooded room. It was so bothersome, because Van could simply see it; he was practically drenched in a _need_ so deep that he almost hurt to look at. He had a look so convicting on his face, that Van_ felt_ that he should have been thrown away, with the key swallowed or melted in the heat—unbearable, judgmental heat, what he and Merle felt together could have never compared—that was rising (and this is _what it should have felt like_ but there is no time for that now). He wanted to take it back, wanted to erase the kiss, remove the flirtatious gestures, bring that dance that he wanted to last forever to that thing labeled as extinction. If it never happened then he would have no need to ever feel this guilty (besides he already had enough guilt to satisfy an entire lifetime), because he **_knew_**. Knew this whole time that Chid wanted, what Chid desired, what Chid _needed_, he knew it better than anyone else, because he—Van needed something just as badly. Chid however, before Merle could turn around and feel mortified then culpable, left with Van having nothing but regret and this person who he had now so desperately wanted to give the one that had walked away.

Nine-letter-worlds and nine-letter-words cannot form the word "retribution", however they could be rearranged to make such a word as "tale". A _tale_ is simply a grandiose term for _fable_, and a _fable_ is only an elaborate word, for three quaint letters: l-i-(and regrettably)e. For what more is fairytale than an enchanted lie? All that was left to do _now_ that his cistern mind allowed acid rain and sewage that compunction loved to masquerade as, was to breathe and tying to dispel everything that nine-letters had changed into.

_The trick is to keep breathing_…

**A/N: **Gomen once more!...I have found I don't particularly like this chapter, except for the beginning and the, but after this things start picking up. Which is good, because I have realized how much more I have left to go. Thankies all new/not new: reviewers, readers, and anyone else who has given this story a chance, I greatly appreciate your kindness and support, I just hope this chapter was fulfilling for you. Until next time…


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