Author's Notes: Okay, this is a reintroduction-to-writing-fanfiction fic, so don't expect miracles here. Oh, and if you're a fan of other pairings or something, well, don't waste your time flaming. If you don't like, just don't read. For the rest of you, please enjoy.

Disclaimer: It goes without saying, I don't own Tokyo Mew Mew.

Every night.

I swear, she comes here every bloody night. Let's be honest; who the hell goes to church every night? At midnight to boot! I usually ask afterwards, who the hell even goes to church at all?

Only two answers really. Religious maniac or church organ player.

Heh…

What's so funny, you ask?

I am the church organ player.

My name is Daisuke Akabane. I'm Japanese,though I don't look it, born and still live in Japan.

I'm a nobody; a sad atheist who had the misfortune of being good at playing the organ. I'm also a miser. You can tell by the distance of my house to the church. Two minutes walk is about how long it takes. The thing is, bus fares are too damned expensive these days, which is mostly why the house I bought is so near where I work.

At the moment, it's about five minutes to midnight and I was still at the church. I needed to practice before the prayer thing next morning. As I played, you can see the moonlight shining through the stained glass windows of the church, the coloured light falling to the floor.

Half a minute to midnight now. I played on, counting down the seconds until she arrived.

5..4..3..2..1..

Creak!

Door opened, in she came, door banged shut.

I kept playing.

She stepped forward, up the stairs towards the alter as she always did and when she reached it, she began to pray.

I sneaked a glance at her, my fingers pretty much on auto-pilot at this point.

She was wearing what she usually wore; a broad-brimmed hat and a big trench coat. The coat wasn't really long enough to hide her high-heeled boots. Nor was her hat big enough to hide her long silky hair. This brings me to another question; who the hell dyes their hair purple?

Not that I dislike the colour, mark you, but it does seem to be a bit over the top as a hair colour. Just a bit.

At least it's a pretty dark shade of purple.

At least it's better than my hair...

Mine's blacker than the inside of a tar barrel and twice as greasy-looking. It's actually quite dry. Soft, a former classmate of mine called it. I gave her a good knock after that. She must have been crazy. Or drunk. I can't be bothered to cut it either. Long, bit longer than shoulder length actually, and straight; my hair's completely limp. No joke. My hair might as well be dead for all I know.

I stopped playing.

Time for me to head home. I stood up and placed my bag on the piano stool. Black as well, it's really an old doctor's bag I bought off a street hawker. I placed my music notes into it. and closed it. After closing the organ and picking up my hat from where I had placed it, I pushed the stool in and walked towards the door.

I had just put my hat on and was about halfway out the creaking door when I heard something; a sudden and very faint rustling noise.

I looked back.

I froze.

Why is she on her knees?

I took a step back into the church and let the door bang shut.

Now I was, what you call, caught between a rock and a hard place. I have absolutely no social skills whatsoever. I wouldn't know how to deal with women. Even the non-excitable types, if they actually exist of course. This one started to sound like she was crying. So trying to help her was a rock in itself. The hard place was that if I didn't do something, I'd feel guilty.

Guilt...

It was really no use in saying I'd forget or not feel guilty. I could feel guilty over anything, and I do mean anything. From seeing people less fortunate begging on the streets, I'd feel guilty because I, myself, was living a mildly comfortable life, while they had to scrounge for a loaf of bread. Anything and everything, I tell you.

So...to stay and try to comfort the woman or to not stay and feel guilty about it in the morning. That is the question.

Real tough choice...

Sigh...

I chose to stay.

I walked down towards the foot of the stairs. I had no idea what I was going to say. The climb up the stairs seemed too short for me. I was now about an arm length away from her. I never understood how I managed to get any sound out; my mouth didn't seem to want to work at that moment. I took a deep breath to calm myself.

All that came out was a quiet sort of low hiss. Not what I intended. I was aiming for friendly and comforting, but its better than what you could call my usual speaking voice. It's sort of deep and very quiet; quite dark and evil sounding at any rate. I didn't want to scare her, you see.

"Miss?"

What were you expecting? I didn't know her, except by sight, and I dare say she'd never even notice I was there, except by the sounds of the organ. That's me, the Invisible Man at your service. I'm pretty much anti-social and so never got any social skills obviously, which made it so ironic that I had to be the one to deal with this woman.

I cleared my throat.

"Miss?"

That still came out as a hiss and inwardly I cursed myself. Her head whipped round to look up at me. When I say up, I really do mean up. One thing I think I can boast about is my height; I'm about six feet five.

She just stared.

I would have if I were in her place. I'm by way of looking like something out of an old horror movie. Not that I got plastic fangs on or anything, but height, nigh bone-white skin, a very thin figure and black clothes make me something you really wouldn't want to bump into unexpectedly, in the middle of the night in an empty church. The almost abnormally thin figure from my very small appetite. The clothes, a present from one of my few friends, are quite black, almost gothic and have a very Victorian touch to it.

She was still staring.

I couldn't see her face very well; the hat cast a dark shadow across the upper half of the face, but I could pretty much feel her eyes on me. But I could see the tears still running down her face. What the hell am I supposed to do? Then I noticed I still had my hat on, and I quickly took it off.

I tried to speak again.

"Is everything alright, miss?"

Now that sounded stupid. Was she alright my foot! Of course she ain't! I swore inwardly at myself again. Then realising I was frowning, I tried to put on a smile. It came out as more of a grimace. I was about to speak when she turned her head away from me, and a voice came, low, quiet and icy cold, from under the hat.

"Leave me alone."

I quickly shut my mouth again, annoyance evident in my face. No matter how much I wanted to help her; no matter how distraught she was, the last thing I was going to take from her was attitude. I cleared my throat loudly, hoping to get her to look up. She did.

"Miss," I said frostily, a very cold expression on my face, "I am not in the habit of being anything more than cold to complete strangers, certainly not kind. I am, however, making a special effort now of being civil to you. So could you kindly, please, not treat me like some nosy busybody?"

She was staring at me again.

Her mouth was wide open, so were her eyes. Shock, perhaps? I had no idea. I think she was more...indignant at that little monologue. I could see a retort on the tip of her tongue as she took a deep breath, her lips parted. I suppose it was my expression. She shut her mouth and looked away again.

We both waited for the other to speak. Need I say I was again unsure about what to say? I doubt. Her though, I couldn't tell.

"You wouldn't understand."

Her voice was about as cold as mine when she spoke, but seemed fuel by some fire that burned within her. I frowned. Again, I was a bit ticked off. I've never thought myself as nosy, nor did I feel I was intruding, only helping, which is why I snapped back at her twice as cold.

"Precisely what would I not be able to understand?"

She didn't answer. She was still looking away from me, as she slowly took off her hat, her silky hair shining very slightly in the faint light of the moon. I couldn't see her face. Hesitantly I placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. Her head whipped round, and inwardly I gasped.

Lord...

I knew that she would be pretty, from what little I could see earlier, but bugger the Lord...

At least my face wasn't turning red...

I had to admit, she was very beautiful. The blue eyes were striking, a shade of azure I had scarely ever seen, one that would make the sky lower its head in shame. The skin was pale, not compared to me, mark you, but pale, porcelain really, compared to most. Her hair as I've said was long, but at close quaters you could see that it was soft, almost like silk, and I really mean silk. Same went with her long eyelashes. And those rosy, red lips...

All this flashed through my head in the space of a second. I gave myself a mental slap and got a hold over myself. Last thing I needed at the time was to act like a love-sick schoolboy.

I cleared my throat again. Straightening up, I said calmly: "Might I suggest we sit down somewhere? I doubt the floor's all that comfortable."

She didn't speak, but allowed me to help her up off the floor. She was still crying I could see. As we walked towards the benches, I noticed she was shivering. Was it the cold perhaps? I forgot to metion that it was the middle of November, and places like this church could get hell chilly late in the day. I had my jacket on, as well as a thick, long, winter over-coat. The only thing I could see she had against the cold was that trench coat and a turtleneck sweater, both of which looked a bit too thin for winter. I sighed and took off my over-coat.

I put it on her shoulders.

She stiffened slightly, before continuing to walk towards the benches. I followed, although I had absolutly no idea how this was going to end.

She sat down.

I followed her example, sitting down next to her. Tears were still running down her face, and I sighed silently as I pulled out a pocket handkerchief.

"Here," I said, handing it to her.

She looked at it and slowly raised it to wipe away her tears. I sat there watching her as she did that. She still sniffed once of twice, before looking up at me. I could see that her cheeks were still a bit damp. A saw another tear threatening to roll down from those eyes of hers again.

"Here, let me..."

I took the handkerchief back and gently dabbed her eyes and cheeks, making sure they were dry. Her breathing was still a bit shallow and I saw her eyes look into mine as I brushed stray strands of lavender hair out of her face. I saw a question form in her eyes. I waited, continuing to wipe her tears away.

"Why?"

All the fire seemed to have left her voice when she spoke. She seemed to have...given up? That's what it sounded like. I think I understood what she meant. My eyes locked with hers as I said, quietly: "I don't know really. I suppose the world would be a better place if everyone cared more about each other than themselves, eh?"

She didn't answer. I saw her eyes struggle to stay open, as I sat by her. I'm by nature more of a night person, so I wasn't feeling as tired a she must've been. I felt her shift as she moved to lie down on the bench, her head coming to rest on my lap. I patted her softly on the shoulder. Slowly, slowly, I heard her breathing even out as she fell slowly asleep where she lay.

Sigh...

Now for the hard part.

I said a mental 'excuse me' as I gently pulled out her wallet to see where she lived. I saw the name on one of the cards inside.

Lord...

Zakuro Fujiwara...

Now I know very little about people in the modelling buisness. Nor have I ever cared about the modelling buisness, period. But even I knew who she was. That was common knowledge. You can't go through life without knowing a bit about everything. I do mean everything.

After I found out where she lived, I slowly replaced the wallet in her pocket.

Now, how exactly am I going to do this?

I don't want to wake her up, so...

After making sure I had everything, my hat back on my head and my bag slid on an arm, I carefully placed her hat back on her head before slipping one arm behind her back, the other under her knees.

Right, now lift...

She wasn't very heavy really. I am quite strong, though I don't look it. I thought she looked on the petite side in any case, as I walked towards the door. I silently thanked whoever had fitted the doors of the church, as I leaned back on them to push them open. What the hell I would have done if I had to have pulled them, beats me.

I hailed a taxi when I got out from the church, almost too quietly, but as I said, I didn't want to wake her. Not yet at any rate.

By the time the trip ended, it was already about ten to two. I paid the fare, wincing slightly at the price, before descending with her in my arms, down onto the pavement.

So...

Her house is number five...

A large plaque next to me stated in big, bold lettering, 'Number Twenty-Seven'.

Perfect...

I carried her as I had done since the church.

When we reached number six, I decided to wake her up.

"Miss?" I quietly whispered in her ear.

"Miss?"

She took her time in waking up. Her eyes opened blearily and she began to wake, all the while with me whispering "Miss?" in her ear. Finally she turned her head and her eyes settled on me.

"Wha...Where am I?"

Now I slowly put her down, so her heels click onto the pavement first. She was a bit unsteady, the sleep not quite leaving her just yet. I took back my coat as I held her steady as I said, in quieter than normal tone, " We're right next to your house, I believe."

She was at a loss I could she. What should she do? I saw the confusion in her eyes. I bent down slightly, so that our eyes were level.

"Don't worry. Everything will be better in the morning." I said, a slightly ironic smile on my face. What I forgot to add at the end was, "hopefully."

She knew what I was really thinking.

She smiled.

Lord...

You could have knock me down with a feather. If I had thought she was beautiful when she was crying, now...

Bugger the Lord...

As I stood there struck dumb, I got another unexpected surprise.

I saw her close her eyes...

Quick as a flash she leaned in towards me...

...and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

Lord...

She turned, walking towards the front gates of her house.

I still stood, rooted to the spot as she looked back, her face very impassive, her face framed by her hair.

I heard a quiet "Thank you".

Then she went in.

I lifted a hand to my lips.

Soft...

When I went home, I was virtually skipping.

Author's Notes: End. Mark you, I'm not sure if this should remaina one shot of become a long story. Tell me what you want/think in your reviews.

To be a one shot or to be a long story. That is the question. :P

That said, read and review, please. There's more to come, probably... well, soon. Hopefully.