Half Kiss: Chapter 1

He was only a young child at the tender age of nine when he met him. The one with the golden eyes. Ones that entranced him, drew him in and threatened to devour his soul if he ventured too far. But, he didn't care. He was lonely and his body and mind craved something far deeper than what the castle's company could give him.

Fuji wanted a friend.

Or, so he initially thought. A mind of a child is so simple, so untangled when compared to that of an adult. The other children of the castle always left him alone. Maybe it was because he was the heir to the castle. Or maybe it was the unusual outlook he had on life (the adults often commented that he was too solemn and mature for a child his age).

So, Fuji learned to smile. He smiled constantly. Anytime they asked him a question, he would only smile. His words were trapped inside, and he could do nothing about it. But, no one could tell. He would put on a cheerful face with others.

He found his release in the castle's small garden. Every night under the cover of a dark cloak, he would sneak past the guards and make his ways out of the boundaries of the castle to the small garden just outside of the protective stone walls. There, he spent a few hours tending to the herbs and plants, telling them the events of the day. The garden was his private sanctuary, a place where he could say what he wanted and no one would judge him.

Or, so he thought.

"Why don't you just say what you want?" a soft voice suddenly said to Fuji one night.

Fuji whirled around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"To your left," the voice said, clearly amused.

Fuji turned, only to find himself staring into a pair of glowing gold eyes. The rational part of him told him he should've been afraid—very afraid—but he couldn't tear his own eyes away or even move his body. Only when the other pair of eyes blinked was he free from their mesmerizing control.

"So?"

"So what?" Fuji replied. He looked over the stranger. It was a boy older than him—around sixteen years of age—but those eyes…they were far too old for the body that possessed them. He was dressed lightly, despite the chill of the night, and perched atop the fence enclosing the garden.

"Why don't you just say it?" the boy repeated.

"…I used to," Fuji said, going back to tending his garden, conscious of the piercing stare on him as he turned his back on the boy. "It's easier if I—"

"Just smile and pretend you don't understand what's going on," the boy cut in. "But, that's not very fun for you, is it?"

Fuji turned to stare at the boy. "How do you know that?"

The boy only gave him a wide smile. "I know a lot of things."

The moonlight glinting off of the stranger's ivory teeth made Fuji shiver suddenly. Was it his imagination, or were they a tad sharper than normal? "And I don't suppose you would tell me how you know so much about me?"

"Unfortunately for you, my time here is up," the boy responded as he looked away, a faraway look in his ancient eyes. "Maybe I'll tell you next time if I feel like it. Until next we meet." He gracefully hopped off of the fence and turned to walk off, away from the castle.

"Wait! What's your name?" Fuji asked quickly.

"…it's Echizen. Echizen Ryoma," he replied with a small smile before walking off, the wisps of the night's fog curling in to fill in his vacant space.

"But, the castle's the other way…" Fuji said, his voice trailing away as he suddenly remembered that he had never seen this particular person in the castle before. It wasn't uncommon to have strangers that passed lodge in the castle. But he was sure he would've remembered someone like Ryoma.

And, so, every night from then on, the stories that spilled from his mouth no longer fell upon the petals of his flowers but on ears that took everything in. He didn't have to hide his feelings behind a blank face and a false smile any longer. It wasn't long before he started looking forward to their nightly conversations.

"Aren't you cold?" Fuji asked one night. He hadn't asked Ryoma many questions after learning that the other was very skillful at not answering them; Ryoma either dodged them skillfully with an abstract answer or distracted Fuji with a question of his own.

"Are you?" Ryoma countered playfully.

"Not in my cloak," Fuji answered. "But, you aren't wearing one."

"I guess that just means I'm not."

Fuji pulled out a cloak he had brought with him tonight. "Here, take this one."

"Are you worried about me now?" Ryoma responded mockingly, but nonetheless took the cloak.

"I would miss you if you couldn't come to visit because you were sick," Fuji answered honestly.

"I wouldn't worry about something so trivial," Ryoma answered lightly. Instead of putting on the cloak, he shook it out and stared it. "Ahh…this crimson is so attractive. The same shade as blood spilt on fresh snow."

Fuji's hand jerked in surprise at Ryoma's last comment and he cut his finger on the thorn of a rose he was pruning. He was so engrossed in watching the blood well up on the tip that he never noticed how swiftly Ryoma moved from his usual position on the fence to crouch in front of him. When a pair of pale, slender hands encircled his injured hand, he looked up, only to find Ryoma staring intently at the welling bead of blood on his finger. He shivered slightly as he noticed the gold of Ryoma's eyes had taken on a molten hue, like the intensity of high-temperature metal, but Ryoma didn't notice.

"I wonder…" Fuji heard Ryoma say before the blood on his finger was swiped clean by Ryoma's tongue. He was completely still as he watched Ryoma's eyes close and a visible tremor ran through the slim body.

"Are…are you okay?" Fuji asked worriedly.

Ryoma's eyes suddenly snapped open. "I'm fine," he replied softly, dropping Fuji's hand. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay," Fuji assured, still worried about Ryoma. Something was off with him, something subtle, but he couldn't figure out what.

"It's about time for me to leave," Ryoma said rather abruptly, not looking Fuji in the eyes.

Fuji could only watch as Ryoma stood up in one graceful move and turned to walk off in his usual direction. "Ah, you forgot your cloak!" He watched Ryoma hesitate for a moment before bending down slowly to pick up the cloak.

"Thank you," Ryoma responded, first looking at the cloak before finally turning to look Fuji straight in the eye. "Until next we meet."

Fuji watched Ryoma walk soundlessly away into the night's mist, following him with his eyes until he could no longer see him. It wasn't until he looked at the already healing cut on his finger that he realized that Ryoma's usual parting comment sounded more like a permanent farewell.

And that was the last time Fuji saw Ryoma. When he returned the next night, he was alone. It was the same thing the following nights after that. Over and over in his head, he replayed the event.

What did I do wrong?

Fuji didn't understand. And it was frustrating. He tried to go back to his previous habits, but telling the flowers his stories just wasn't enough for him anymore. Even after a week, he still expected a cynical voice to pop out of nowhere.

But no answer came.

Maybe it was a godsend that his father—the current lord and master of the castle—had already arranged for his education to begin when he turned ten. On that day, he journeyed off to a neighboring castle—a fortnight's travel distance away—in the company of a knight he was to be apprenticed to. It was a path that would take seven long years to traverse. And, to make it easier to forget about the one person that seemed to understand him, Fuji threw himself into his education. He forced himself to work harder, pushing himself beyond his limits in his training. His hard efforts showed through in his skills; he was far beyond other boys his own age.

And, so, slowly in the duration of those seven years, the memories of his past in that lone garden faded away until Fuji remembered no more.

A/N- First things first, a huge thanks to thfourteenth for all her help (and by all, I mean TONS of it) with the ideas for this story. Without her, this story would still be on my hard drive, half-formed and probably still collecting hypothetical dust.

So, a new story for me. Ooh, first chapters always give me the butterflies! It's always so exciting to see how readers will respond to it (hopefully positively, but I know that's not always the case).

I've never done a story that's set so far back in the past (I'm thinking this is close to either the fourteenth or fifteenth century), so for all you history buffs out there, avert your eyes from all the anachronisms I commit. Also, I'm not really too familiar with this darker side of the supernatural genre, so please do forgive me if things aren't quite as smooth as you were expecting.

Any comments, constructive advice, or question will be as happily accepted as a thermos of hot chocolate on a cold night (which is, in my case, a lot :D ).

-The Unreal Phantom

P.S- Anyone read the second chapter of the "New Prince of Tennis"? Ryoma looked hawt in glasses, am I right? Almost had a nosebleed when I saw him XD Feel free to talk about it! :D