Whatever had been poured into this bottle to create the liquid within had to have been laced with drugs, for the taste gracing my lips tasted better and sweeter than any wine I'd ever swallowed before. It felt like fairies and pixies danced on my tongue, magical dust falling out of their little pockets to sharpen my sense of taste tenfold. And then they threw balls of rainbows to one another, and sunlight radiated off of their tiny bodies to brighten the liquid's flavor.

Holy fucking shit, I was drunk!

Easily I could've drained the entire bottle, and I would've, too, had it not been pulled out of my mouth forcibly. The little and not-real celebration in my mouth screeched to a halt, and I turned to look at the light-orange-haired fuckface at my side. That fuckface held the bottle of euphoria in his hand, and he wore an amused smile on his almost too-perfect face.

"Having fun there?" Ikasma asked, a teasing tone dancing on his voice.

"Shut...shut up…" I mumbled. "Gimme 'at back!" I reached for the bottle, which Ikasma held in his lap. Wait, no...no, he held two in his lap! There were two bottles! How the fuck did he do that?! Was...was he magical? Was one of these wines he brought magical? Did he drink it to become magical? Would...would I become magical…?!

Just when I grazed my fingertips across the glass neck, Ikasma lifted the bottle up. With a soft growl I reached up to grab it, but my knees seemed to hate me today. The left one moved a little too far to the left, and then I fell to the left as well. I hit my head off the floor and stayed that way, my face facing the hardwood surface.

Ikasma laughed under his breath. I turned my head to glare at him, though it had to have looked weak. I was laying on the floor, after all, and he was above me…

"You should probably stop," he advised.

"So should you!" I retorted. "And I still want th-the bottle...so gimme it!"

"You're sure you can handle it?" he asked doubtfully. "You've had a lot already."

"No...that's only my…" I paused, directing my eyes at the pile of bottles in the corner. "One, three, four, two...sixth one!"

Ikasma laughed again. "You're so drunk you can't even count straight. You've had five, Souichi. You should really stop."

"I'm fine! I'll stop after that one."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I pr...I promise."

He sighed. "All right," he allowed. Ikasma set the bottle down, and immediately I snatched its little bastard ass up from the floor and returned it to my mouth. It's fine, bottle, I said to it mentally. You're home now. Where you belong. I drank him—the bottle was a 'him,' clearly, since it had a long neck—with a smile, and once again the woodland creatures partied in my mouth.

But then he was empty, and then my mouth was empty, and then I was sad. And I made sure he knew, too—the bottle, not Ikasma. Ikasma knew I was sad, since he was a person, but the bottle...was a bottle. And he didn't have eyes or ears or any other body parts. Just glass. But it could feel. And now it could feel that I was sad.

"You won't die from not drinking," Ikasma assured. "Hell, you'll probably die from drinking if you do it too much."

"Don't preach to me 'bout not drinking," I snapped. "You're not my mother."

He sighed. "I know. I'm your leader." He leaned over and kissed my cheek. "And you one of my trusted followers."

I felt heat creep onto my cheeks at his actions. It felt strange when he did this shit. We both had dicks, after all. But it never felt bad. Like it was going against the natural order of things, yeah, but never bad. Hell, it even felt good, whenever hit the right spots. But eleven times out of five it felt strange as shit.

"You have an adorable blush," he murmured.

"Shut up," I grumbled. "'s not adorable…"

He laughed under his breath, as if to mock me. "Still in denial, I see. Such a shame." His lips brushed against my own, and a glint of some nature appeared in his eye. "Don't worry, though. I'll get you out of that soon enough."

Intense pain burst in the back of my head as it cracked against something hard, and immediately all chances of falling back asleep died in a pit of fire. Whether that had dragged me out of the dream or the dream had done it itself, I didn't know, but either way I welcomed the view I had of the forest. Darkness still hung over the treetops, but it didn't necessarily feel like night. It was probably somewhere in the asscrack of time, in those three or so hours where it wasn't night but it wasn't morning, either. If that asscrack was an actual asscrack, I'd shove my foot so far inside that those three hours would leave existence until generations after I'd died out of fear. I liked that idea. Now all I needed was the asscrack...

As I contemplated utilizing witchcraft in order to make those hours physical entities, I rubbed the back of my head. As far as I could tell, no blood seeped from any cuts. There'd probably a bruise or two, and maybe a minor scratch, but nothing that excessive. Good. I didn't need the overbearing bastard being an overbearing bastard.

The fire we'd lit the night before had died long ago, though tiny tendrils of smoke still plumed from the blackened sticks. After his unforeseen assault on my mouth, I'd moved to the side of the fire opposite where he'd lain after my unforeseen assault on his head. He hadn't remained there, clearly, since nothing occupied that spot. Knowing him as I did, all I had to do was glance to the left to find him. Sure enough, there he was, a few feet away, completely lost in the Asscrack Hours.

My gaze went flatter the longer I stared at him. He looked so damn peaceful, as if he'd never left the safety of civilized life. As if there was no possibility of his skull being pierced by an arrow or a blade. Hell, that might have happened anyway. I've been told that I had a short, violent temper, and Morinaga seemed to just love toying with it. Such an annoying bastard to deal with. I never should've let him come with me. He'd only hinder me from doing what I needed to in order to return to my former life. More risk, more danger, and more trouble. I should've left him by now.

But it wasn't like that. I couldn't just leave him here on his own. He'd never make it. Well, he could probably handle himself in a fight. He was relatively strong, and with the right motivation he could end up causing serious damage to someone. But even with that strength, he lacked the mentality to back it. He was too civilized, too clean. He could have a knife actively slicing his throat open and still try to negotiate with words. He needed knowledge. How to fight in the criminal world, who to and not to fuck with, intimidation tactics—and most importantly, how and when to kill. The last would be the most difficult skill to teach him. It hadn't been much effort getting myself in that mindset. I didn't enjoy killing by any means, but I did know that sometimes it was unavoidable.

I groaned, but not from the reality of having to teach him shit. That dream...why now? That'd happened long ago. Was it stress? Yeah, it was. It had to be. Stress from being back in these woods and knowing that he knew I was alive. Nothing more. Well, there was some worry in there, too, but that was only natural. I'd encountered death far more than I would've liked over the past few months, and here I was now, thrown into a pit of death. Not only that, but I was also in that pit with another person who had nothing to do with the events of the past.

He was stupid as hell for coming with me, but he meant well enough. Having him with me would help if we got into conflict...and it wasn't as if he was totally useless…

With a sigh I leaned back against the tree I'd injured myself on earlier and closed my eyes. Hopefully this wouldn't be as terrible as I'd initially imagined.