A/N: Oh... my god, I finally finished this. I finally got into the perfect mood to write this as the sequel to Rage, and I apologize dearly to all the kind readers and reviewers that asked for a sequel looooong ago.

...*Decides to keep talking at the end*

ENJOY THE MORNING AFTER ANGSTFESTSUPREME.

Oh, and if you haven't read Rage, please do, or else this will make... enough sense, but not a satisfying amount.

fanfiction. net/ s/ 5905352/ 1/ Rage

Since Lisanna's death, Natsu's hated mornings.

Mornings are when you're supposed to wake up from the fasting of sleep through the night. They are supposed to be a sort of salvation from the inevitable pain life brings. Lisanna's death was probably inevitable, and most certainly painful, yet waking up didn't help. Or rather, he didn't know, because Natsu wasn't waking up. He hadn't want to look away from the one good thing the night, the dark, the agony brings—the beautiful mirage that It hasn't happened.

This morning, though, was different from the others.

The other mornings, Natsu woke up numb, unfeeling of the pain he thinks he should be feeling, and end up feeling more troubled as the pain caused by the numbness refused to be felt. This morning, though, Natsu woke up cold. Cold, like a certain ice mage had stuck his hand through Natsu's chest and froze his heart. He woke up with a sense of lost, and was momentarily breathless at the terror—much less pain—it brought.

At first, he thought it was about Lisanna.

Natsu had never been particularly good at sorting out emotions, and six days worth was a hell of a lot to take into account at once, but he tried all the same. He grouped all the shock he felt together, from the moment he received the news, and the six days spent wading through the shadow quagmire. He gingerly picked up the pain, the Hell that Lisanna must have went through, betrayed by her brother, betrayed by her own trust, and felt the shocks race through his fingertips, tightening around his windpipe. He glared at the shame, the survivor's guilt and I-Could've-Done-Something, and squeezed his eyes shut until all the water behind quivering lids vaporized. He cupped the memories gently, and held Lisanna's smile, her tinkling laughter, deep in his heart. Natsu closed his eyes, and pictured Lisanna in perfect clarity in his mind.

Then it was like the opposite of snowing—the winter-white of Lisanna's locks melting into shorter, darker spikes. Deep green eyes started to gradient into ash, and though the glistening crystal lights of a winter wonderland were quickly fading, the coldness remained, and everything was frozen over.

Snow became ice. Lisanna became Gray.

Natsu's eyes flew open at the thought of the ice mage, and he saw, for the first time, his apartment in shambles.

A tremble ran through Gray's body before he woke up, and dark eyes, lids at half mast, stared blankly at the foreign landscape. At first, inexplicable surprise permeated the ice mage's mind, and he wondered why half his line of vision was blocked by the silhouettes of grassy blades, protruding from the ground. Then, creeping tendrils of chill snaked their way up his body and into the barely-bandaged wound at his side, bringing Gray into painful awareness of his memories from last night.

He groaned, burying his face into the crook of his elbow. Fuck this. Fuck this all.

The acute pain sinking its claws into his body last night made sure Gray didn't make it far before collapsing. He had made it to a bridge, at least, and managed to drag himself under the grassy, shadowy expanse at the foot of it, miraculously finding the strength to procure long strips of makeshift bandages from the ruins of his shirt and wind them tight along his torso, effectively staunching the blood flow. He had fallen straight into the realms of unconscious immediately after, so Gray didn't find it very surprising that his feet were drowning in water, and he could no longer feel anything from his calves down. Cursing out loud, the ice mage ripped his legs up, and began to massage feeling back into the frozen skin. He thought that had Natsu been there, he wouldn't be in this mess.

Then he realized that it was because of Natsu, that he was in this mess, and returned to rubbing his feet at a determined pace, with a pained glare at his whitened flesh.

His apartment wasn't really in shambles, but it was still a mess, compared to the way Natsu had always kept it, and he knew, immediately, despite the clean front, that somebody had fixed his place up for him. With a low growl, the flame mage started attacking the damages.

The coat hanger Natsu kept his scarf on when he went to bed was turned the wrong way, a corner of the bed sheets wasn't tucked in. There was no longer a generous coating of dust along one window ledge, and the scent of blood wrought through the air.

Natsu wrinkled his nose when his eyes caught on the gaping space in his kitchen, where his table used to occupy.

Gray stared at the broken kitchen table occupying the space in front of him, standing where nothing else had been, somehow killing the beautiful sparsity nature possessed. He had no idea why he took it with him, because, either way, Natsu was going to know something was wrong. In fact, if he had left it inside the flame mage's apartment, Natsu might've just assumed he broke it in blind rage one night—something more plausible than anything that he would come up with concerning the disappearance of the entire table. There had been no reason to drag the piece of furniture along with him, and now, after quite some time, Natsu might've woken up, and it could no longer be replaced.

Gray chalked it up to innocent miscalculation on his part, and refused to even entertain the thought that maybe—just maybe—he wanted Natsu to find out.

For six days, Natsu had gotten into the unpleasant habit of deceiving himself. So much, that even now, when he's understood the truth, that he instinctively continued to do so. It was simply a method of self-preservation, after all, for the one vulnerable thing Natsu possesses—his mind. It's not so much as his beliefs or willpower, but the one thing that would lend anybody's mind, much less the inexperienced fire mage's, to manipulation.

Guilt.

Natsu hated feeling guilty, because sadly, he has a functioning conscience, and it would nag him endlessly until he's set things right. Usually, he would have no problem doing that, despite his annoyance with himself, but somehow, this morning, something was different. Natsu feared confronting the one thing that would absolve his conscience, and he was running out the door before he realized what he was doing.

He was running away from the scent of Gray lingering the blood-stained room behind him.

Natsu smelled like summer—any self-respecting thing with the slightest sense of smell would second that. Gray certainly would, and he knew, for one, that at the consensus of Mage Weekly magazine's readers, he himself smelled like winter.

Winter and summer didn't mix. They would never come into contact with each other, and they are bound to disagree.

Winter and summer were opposites. North and south. Positive and negative. Opposites attract.

Gray didn't even have the energy left to shake his head free of the thoughts, and he closed his eyes to the Choice presented to him. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Natsu stood on the other side of the silver table, and his hand was outstretched. What could Gray do, but reach out for it?

But he couldn't cave in. He wouldn't cave in. Gray was strong, and independent. He could make his own choices, and he knew he couldn't keep on giving, because Natsu would only keep on taking. It was not the nature of the flame mage, Gray knew, but it was just the simple fact that Natsu didn't know. Natsu didn't know how taxing it was, on both the ice mage's mind and body, to have even provided him with an outlet of his anger for just one night. What would become of Gray if Natsu never notices?

The choice wasn't his, Gray knew, and with a deep steadying breath, Gray extended his hand, and watched it disappear under the table with a grim smile.

Natsu knew what he had done, if not what fully happened. Rage and exhaustion had blurred his memories from last night, but he wasn't completely delirious. His eyes had carefully recorded his actions and stored it safely in the back of his mind, but Natsu didn't want to play it. He was still running away.

But no. Natsu gritted his teeth and paused in his steps. No, he couldn't run away. He couldn't afford to. He knew, that if he ran away now, he would most certainly lose something.

Something of Gray's, that the ice mage had selflessly given to Natsu, and that Natsu had carelessly crushed in his palm.

Gray... Gray would still be his "friend". Natsu wouldn't lose the companionship of the ice mage by a long shot, simply because Natsu was Natsu, and Gray, however frozen his magic may be, his passion still burned as fierce at Natsu's, and that's what will keep them together for years to come.

His trust, though, was another thing altogether.

It wasn't so much as trust as... Natsu couldn't put his finger on it. The two mages trusted each other with a scary amount of simplicity. They trusted each other to argue when they had to, and watch each other's backs when need be. They could safely predict each other's next steps, and that was an iron-clad bond between fire and ice.

Neither Gray nor Natsu saw last night coming.

It was like someone took a law of nature—the sky is blue—and trampled on it, pounding it into dust. Natsu couldn't tell who's feet they were, but he could hear the crunching of the broken trust, and winced when he remembered the one thing he heard last night.

"Natsu-! Shit- stop it! Stop it right- oh FUCK!"

Natsu swallowed hard when he recognized Gray's voice, and took a turn he didn't know existed—the turn that smelled most like Gray, blood, and their wavering bond. Natsu understood now, that what he feared wasn't Gray's anger, wasn't the unavoidable agony that would come his way if he had anything to say about it. No. What he feared was Gray's pain, because he knew, deep down, the ice mage would blame himself. The mere thought casted Natsu's thoughts in ice and his feet in flames. His footsteps burned through the indecision littering the ground.

Whether it was his or Gray's, Natsu didn't know, and he didn't care.

Stifling his groan, Gray stumbled to his feet, hearing his knees crack as the stiff joints were pushed into motion. The wound throbbed, thick and heavy, at his side, and Gray's hand was gripping it tight before he knew what he was doing, fingers digging into the skin as a desperate imitation of sutures, and he almost screamed from the pain. It took him several minutes to get his breathing from choked wheezes back down to shallow puffs, and another two more to convince his body to move.

He wanted Natsu to know, but he knew he shouldn't. Natsu was better off not knowing, but Gray would hurt if he didn't.

But either way, he had to go.

If Natsu wanted to find him, Gray knew the flame mage would find a way, no matter how elusive he is. And if he didn't... Well, all the easier.

The blood was the only thing warm on and in the ice mage as he stumbled along the riverside, heading for nowhere but out.

Natsu was sprinting at full speed now, and he inwardly cursed Fiore for being so big, and Gray for being so prone to wandering the city when he was bored. The ice mage's scent was everywhere, and Natsu was sure he had taken too many wrong turns to be following the correct path. Damn the ice mage, damn his life, damn his room for smelling too much like Natsu-

The flame mage would've smacked himself on the head, had he had time to do so.

The peculiar mix of Gray's scent and Natsu's was rare and easy to pick up, and the flame mage swathed himself in the smell as his feet practically flew along the road, trailing the path to the end.

The bottom of the ice mage's feet dragged along the dirt as his vision went paler and paler. He had nothing left in him to go at a faster, more efficient rate, and Gray wasn't sure he wanted to. His sense of smell wasn't superb, but it was enough to smell the certain taste of burning in the air—the burning of the air, and he knew Natsu was coming.

But could he come fast enough? Gray almost laughed at his suddenly morbid sense of humor, if it was funny at all, as he glanced briefly backwards, hoping for the familiar column of familiar flame, familiar warmth, blasting over the familiar scape of Fiore.

Gray couldn't help but hug his frozen body, fingers brushing across the foreign expanse of pale, pale skin.

Where is he?

Where is he...?

There...!

Natsu saw Gray first, but Gray was the first to call Natsu's name. Actually, he not so much as called but roared, the day before was happening again, except with the mages' positions switched. Gray had turned and charged, at a speed that would've defied slow-motion cameras everywhere, towards Natsu, fist by his side, muscles coiled tightly together to let out the hardest punch he had ever done on the most convenient target—the flame mage's face. Natsu didn't—couldn't?—dodge, and was sent flying through the air, limp body making an arch. He would've finished with a graceful face-plant, but Gray got there before him, kicking up straight into Natsu's stomach. Natsu was reminded once more of the fact that while (he claims) his magic was superior to Gray's, the ice mage's physical prowess surpassed him by far, and knew he had only gained the upperhand the day before because Gray let him.

Natsu did something he hadn't bothered to do for the many years he's been at Fairy Tail—he swallowed his anger, his flames, and let the punches land.

Gray was packing everything he had left into the punches he was throwing out, carelessly hard, carelessly fast. He made sure Natsu wouldn't be able to dodge them at all, and he didn't. He knew he was mad at Natsu. The flame mage had no right, no right to have done what he did, and he would never be able to repay Gray for the kindness he had shown for one night. No, oh God, Natsu will never be able to make things right, because things were so far from right, and while Natsu was wrong, Gray was left, left all alone to nurse his packed-up wounds, while Natsu was really the one who left and Oh God Gray will never forgive him. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

But he knew he already did, when nothing was left inside him anymore, and his fist finally missed, and his vision blurred, and his balance teetered. His body was engulfed in pain, his mind in fury, his heart in confusion, but the one thing he understood, now, was that he had already forgiven Natsu, because no matter how unfair it was...

No matter how unfair it was, Natsu was the one crying now, and Gray's already got his arms around him, a hand drawing comforting circles on his back. In his rush to get out of the apartment, Natsu had forgotten his scarf, and Gray pressed the cut on his forehead to the scar on Natsu's neck. They really were one in the same; not that different after all. Seasons, no matter how far apart, are still seasons, and they both burned on simplicity, in passion.

They just burned at different ends of the spectrum.

There was no right and wrong here, because power was definitely appreciated, especially in Fairy Tail, and heaven knows they both possessed enough of that. But power didn't just extend to their magic and fighting abilities—it was the guilt that was sizzling at high heat within Natsu, and the fire turned down beneath Gray's simmering anger. It was also the fact that they both realized that they would move on from this. There wasn't even question about relying on each other, because they were already there, supporting the other with what they needed most—Natsu, the desire to make things right, and Gray, the ability to make things right. Yes, they understood now, but those thoughts weren't exactly running through their heads at that moment. At that moment, they thought of nothing else but each other's warmth. To Natsu, for once, Gray was hotter than he was, burning with a kindness he knew his best friend had always possessed. To Gray, the flame mage's heat was oh-so-familar, and so were Natsu's tears dropping on his shoulder, down his back, replacing the tears he wanted to shed himself. Gray was holding Natsu, and Natsu was crying for Gray. Neither questioned it, neither doubted each other's sincerity, but one thing was left to be desired, finally fulfilled by the ice mage's husky words whispered into the flame mage's ear.

"Shh... It's all gonna be okay."

Natsu's hand met Gray's under the table, and his grin was mirrored by Gray's on top.

A/N: I... was ridiculously proud of this.

First of all, I'm in love with the multiple-perspective-to-tell-a-story thing. Thus, switching perspectives between Gray and Natsu, with a mixed collaboration with a lot of "theys" at the end.

Second, all the parallels here. Try and see if you can find some~? A lot of parallels between Natsu and Gray's points of view, along with coherent usage of the plot devices from Rage. Hallelujah.

Third, I FINISHED IT. :DDDD I haven't written anything complete in a ridiculously long amount of time, so please, review! Review and tell me what you liked and disliked, or even just to bash my head in for not writing the sequel for such a long time!