A/N: This is a companion fic to "Touch: Philip". However, it can be read as a standalone. The fascinating characters of Kamen Rider W do not belong to me but to their creator. ENJOY! xD

Touch: Hidari Shoutarou

They were physically closer than most guys their ages; actually, they were closer to each other than most guys in general. From a single glance, they could read each others' minds, predict the thoughts and that were never voiced.

So then, why was this so different? What changed?

Well, it was usually Hidari Shoutarou that initiated most of the physical contact between them; he was the more touchy-feely of the both of them. A casual arm flung over shoulders and the shared warmth, comforting in its familiarity, as they leaned shoulder to shoulder. The occasional rare glomp when excitement and victorious euphoria overwhelmed the detective; the gentle, caring pats as Shoutarou tucked the blankets around Philip when he was entirely preoccupied with new findings.

It wasn't that Philip was adverse to touch, he certainly wasn't when it came to his aibou, but it wasn't in his nature to be physically demonstrative the way Shoutarou was.

So, Shoutarou wondered if he was imagining things when he found Philip curled up in the corner of his bed, not Philip's own but Shoutarou's, his book in hand, clearly buried in research.

Again.

It was commonplace for Philip to be buried in research, but it certainly wasn't commonplace to find him tucked into a bed that clearly wasn't his.

At least, it wasn't commonplace before. Recently, it had begun to happen more and more.

The first time Shoutarou had awoken in the middle of the night to find Philip sleeping back to back with him, he had assumed that Philip had simply collapsed in exhaustion in a random place like he always did. It couldn't be helped that this time, the place just happened to be Shoutarou's bed. So, he tucked his blanket around the sleeping boy and returned to his own adventures in dreamland.

Then, it happened again. This time, Shoutarou had merely been lounging in bed, the heat of the summer zapping whatever hard-boiled notions he had, making him feel lazy and drowsy. Philip had showed up, a book in hand, but before Shoutarou could even acknowledge him, his partner sat down beside him, knees curling up to his chin as he continued reading unperturbed. Deciding that the day was entirely too hot for a full reaction, Shoutarou had merely shifted his body, bumping lightly against Philip, the friction between them creating a sticky heat, before rolling on to his side in an attempt to find a cooler spot, only to find Philip adjusting his position and fitting himself to Shoutarou's new one, spooning Shoutarou's back, still reading unperturbed.

And, it wasn't just in bed. Wherever Shoutarou happened to be sitting, or lounging, Philip was right there, hands brushing, knees knocking. The younger boy had even taken to carrying a notebook around with him, a more portable substitute to his wall-hung whiteboards. If they happened to be out, Philip somehow always found a way to sit beside Shoutarou in a café, fingers a breath away from Shoutarou's, or he somehow always leaned on the detective, the heat of his back against Shoutarou lingering, the solid presence becoming a constant.

Not that it was a problem for Shoutarou, considering his affinity with physical expressiveness, but it worried him. What if something was wrong with his partner? It was out of Philip's usual behavior, and the detective couldn't place a finger on the trigger that had brought on this curious change.

No matter how long he sat at his desk, analyzing and trying to work out what was going on in Philip's mind, his brain categorizing and cataloguing every single flicker of his partner's eyelash, every frown that tugged on his lips, every twitch in his slender, active fingers, comparing his current data with his observations of his partner from the past, it never worked. Even his usually astute intuition drew a blank, and Shoutarou was not used to being stumped, not when his reliable deductive faculties never failed to pull him out of a pinch.

And, this was more than just a pinch. It was an all out crisis.

Shoutarou had asked Akiko and Terui about it, but neither had noticed the change in Philip. Well, Akiko hadn't, but she was so used to the connection between them that she couldn't be blamed for not knowing the difference.

Philip's strange behavior, however, hadn't failed to escape Terui's notice.

And, ever observant, Terui had also noticed that Philip wasn't behaving strangely in front of or towards anyone else.

It was just Shoutarou.

'Maybe you did something to him,' Terui had said with a shrug.

From behind his desk, pulling the brim of his fedora over his eyes, Shoutarou silently observed his partner, who was more than a little distracted as Akiko pulled him along in her newest scheme to promote the detective agency.

Then, it struck him.

Terui was wrong. It wasn't something that Shoutarou had done.

It was something that the detective hadn't done.

Something he should've done.

Shoutarou looked at the palm of his hand.

Those touches; they were real. He had felt them, his very senses tingling at the solid, physical presence of his partner.

He stood up, nearly knocking the chair over in his sudden force, striding briskly over Philip, whose hands stopped short as his partner entered his field of vision. Ignoring Akiko's startled squawk, Shoutarou reached over and grabbed Philip by the shoulder. The younger boy opened his mouth, a question on the tip of his tongue, only to have his very breath halted by Shoutarou's next words.

'You're here, Philip.' I can feel you. I can touch you. You exist.

Philip's eyes widened, stun and a whirl of other emotions filtering through.

Looking into those obsidian depths, an innocent yearning making them seem younger than they really were, Shoutarou was determined to give Philip what he desperately needed.

Philip had come to him, and no one else but him, and Shoutarou wasn't going to let his aibou down.

He would prove to Philip the very truth that Philip had not been able to prove to himself.

Shoutarou moved to take his partner's hand, to place it on Shoutarou's chest, right above his heart, when he hesitated.

After all, Philip did not need a reminder that he had once disappeared and would only live on in spirit, alive only as long as Shoutarou continued to keep him in his heart.

How then could Shoutarou show his aibou, reassure him, that Philip was here, that he was real?

Then, it came to him.

Grinning, he took off his fedora, and before Philip could even blink, Shoutarou dropped it on his partner's head, his hand landing firmly on the top of Philip's head.

'You'll always be here.' You'll never vanish again. I won't allow it.

Because Philip's existence mattered; not just his memory, but the physical, tangible proof of an existence, a life, that was both so important and so precious. It was an existence that Hidari Shoutarou treasured.

An existence he would protect.

I will not allow it. Not again. Never again.

Always.