Brain: Let's write another story!

Me: But…I already have such a hard time updating my other-

Brain: WRITE ANOTHER STORY!

Me: OKAY! OKAY!

…..and that's why this is here. Plus, you know I love me some KenShuu fucked up shit. It just never gets old. Also, the story is titled after Every Breathe You Take by Police which I think is very appropriate for this story. Google the song. I'd tell you why but that would spoil the rest of the story.

*throws confetti* Enjoy!

P.S. For the sake of the story, Shuuhei has green eyes.

Present

He was dripping wet and shivering. Rain pounded around the awning he was sheltering under, the wind whipping right through his thin, cotton shirt. He clutched his schoolbag tightly to his middle, as if it would give him some kind of warmth. It was the same gaudy purple and green tattered thing. It even still had the Greenpeace button pinned to the front pocket.

He looked so vulnerable and tempting.

I licked my lips. "Hey, kid?"

He looked up, his runny nose shining red. Lightning flashed, highlighting the jagged scar on the side of his face, and the faint yellow outline of a bruise around his eye. His soft green eyes widened when he saw me. I tightened my grip on the umbrella handle.

"Need a place for the night?" I asked casually.

The kid was taking his sweet time showering. I wondered if he had escaped through the window while I was busy. I had to reheat the mugs of hot chocolate since he was taking so long.

After thirty minutes, I heard the creak of stairs of someone coming down. I glanced up from the evening newspaper. He stood there, dressed in my sweats and old Vizard University tee that didn't fit me anymore. I had bulked up since then and it was too small for me to fit into. It looked good on him. Made him look like a college student rather than a high-schooler. For some reason, that made me feel a little better.

"Made some hot chocolate," I remarked, holding up two mugs. He glanced at it, a little dazed. He didn't move from his spot.

I sighed in aggravation and strolled into the living room to hand him his mug before gesturing to the couch as I sat down. He murmured a "thanks" but remained standing.

Thunder rumbled outside, like a bulldozer was plowing right outside my window. The boy finally sat down on the far edge of the sofa, hands cupped around the hot chocolate like he was babying it. He didn't take a sip.

My hands were twitching, aching to touch him. To keep them preoccupied, I turned on the telly. And of all the shows to come on, it was Tom & Jerry. My guilty pleasure. I don't care how cliché it got. I would still laugh my head off every time Tom got a piano to the head.

And cue piano scene. I chuckled. But I wasn't the only one. I looked at the kid in surprise. He turned red in embarrassment.

'You like Tom & Jerry?' I asked curiously. He glanced down at his mug, playing with the handle. He nodded.

His hair was partially dry now and fell softly across his face as he bobbed his head, revealing his pale neck. It taunted me, that single sliver of naked skin. I wanted to touch him so fucking badly.

My hands twitched again. But it wasn't the only thing that twitched. My stares were starting to unnerve him.

I placed a hand on his knee. He jumped. I tightened my grip, a warning not to move. With my free hand, I turned his face to mine, a finger tracing the scar running up the side of his face. His olive eyes brimmed with confusion and fear. He licked his lower lip. And that did it for me.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

He was a scrawny thing. Don't get me wrong he had a good bit of muscle on his tiny frame. But his attempts to push me off were pathetic. Either he wasn't trying or I was too strong. Didn't really matter. At least he didn't cry. I never got to have a kid so I wouldn't have known what to do. And besides, what do you say to a kid that just got raped?

He shuddered when I finally pulled away. He didn't move from his place as I zipped up and then proceeded to pull out a cigarette. The first drag unknotted my shoulders and I sighed in relief, blowing out a stream of smoke.

"There's a room upstairs," I stated casually. "First door on your right. I put a hot waterbottle under the sheets since it gets chilly in there sometimes."

He pulled his shirt down, hiding the hickey I had left on his stomach, and just stared at the ceiling. I tilted my head. "Can you walk?"

Silence. He slowly shook his head.

I sighed, irritated, and jabbed the cigarette butt in an ashtray. Pulling his pants up roughly (he bit his lower lip to hold back a whine), I picked him up bridal-style. He winced in pain but refused to say a word. Even at the height of the moment, he refused to utter a word except an occasional whimper. Quite the silent fellow.

There was a red stain on the couch. Great. Gotta clean that, too.

We passed by the fireplace as I made my way to the stairs. I momentarily glanced at the mantle, at the single picture frame I had perched there. Lisa smiled softly at me, her single dark braid hair flung over her shoulder, and her lovely green eyes watching me curiously. She rarely smiled. It was why I loved that photo of her so much. I called it her Mona Lisa smile. Would she still be smiling if she saw me right now?

His eyes were already getting heavy by the time I slipped him between the sheets. He gratefully curled up in the warm blanket, wrapping himself in it like a tight cocoon. He lay on his good side, the side free of any scars and memories. For all the world, he looked like an exhausted teenager who had probably played too much Call of Duty.

I reached out to ruffle his hair but then pulled away at the last minute. I checked the windows, making sure they were securely shut. I cautiously closed the door behind me, careful not to wake him. Then I padlocked it.