A/N: Why am I starting something new instead of updating another story? Seriously, can someone find my muse and give her some Ritalin? Contains major amounts of angst, very minor spoilers, and an alternate timeline (it takes place about a month after the move). I wanted to diversify my KomuixReever portfolio a little and experiment with different genres.
Disclaimer: I don't own DGM… if I did well… you've seen what I write.
Reever was leaving him. That was the only thing Komui could think of when he heard the decision.
After the death of the previous head of the Oceania Branch, the blonde had been offered the position. And he had accepted.
No one had asked Komui for his opinion. They hadn't needed to. Reever was perfect for the job, he was responsible, goal oriented and a fantastic leader.
And just like that his Reever would be gone. Well that wasn't entirely true because Reever had never been his. And not for lack of trying, he'd been trying to win the blonde's heart over ever since he first saw him. The attempts had been numerous and spread out over the six long years that they had known each other but all had ended in failure. At first he had thought that Reever was unaware of his intentions, naive even, but over time he'd begun to suspect that Reever just feigned ignorance of his feelings as a humane form of rejection.
Xxxx
Reever, for his part, was having a hard time reconciling himself to his new role. It hadn't seemed real until he had started packing. He hoped that the others would be okay without him but he was sure that they would be. They'd be perfectly fine, and for some reason it made him a little sad.
There hadn't been much in his room, he never used it anyway so everything was still in boxes from the last move. His desk was much more difficult. He felt guilty redistributing his work to the others but he didn't have a choice, he had finished everything twice already and more work just came in.
He went through his drawers one last time, feeling like he was forgetting something. Then he remember the secret compartment on the underside of his desk. He'd found it years ago when he'd been taking cover from one of Komui's early experiments. He reached down, open the latch, an removed a paper wrapped parcel. He slipped the package into his coat.
All he had left to do was say goodbye.
A/N: Yes the package is a Chekov's gun. Um, the beginning of Joe , George and my's interview (the one awarded to the winner of that contest) will make up the next chapter and the chapters will alternate between story and interview until this thing gets done.
Reviews are made of love and we're accepting questions (anonymous ones are fine).