PIKO POV

I was walking down the street, on the way home from a night out with a few friends. The rapidly darkening streets were devoid of people at this time of night, and the only sound was my breathing. Streetlights gave off a dim, flickering glow, but they hadn't been serviced for years and all they did was create more shadows on the deserted pavement.

This wasn't a good place to live. In the darkest, grimmest corner of London, crime was an everyday occurrence, and everyone under the age of 16 knew to stay home after 8pm. I was tall, strong, and 17 years old- not exactly a great target for your average mugger, really. So, yes, I was feeling pretty confident as I strolled home that day. That is, until I heard the scream. It was a young boy, judging by the sound of it, and it was raw with terror, the kind that comes from deep within your chest. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the sound, and before I knew it, I was running towards the source of the cry- a dark alley filled with trashcans, the pale light of the streetlamps unable to penetrate the grimy brick walls.

I skidded to a stop, peering cautiously around the corner into the narrow passage. There-movement! I crept closer, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw a small boy, a few years younger than me, huddled in a ball on the filthy pavement. I looked up, and saw the silhouette of an older man crouched over him, holding something that flickered briefly in the trickle of moonlight that had somehow struggled through the clouds.

Knife.

My breath caught in my throat as the man raised the knife over the tiny form on the ground. As his arm began its fateful descent, I finally coaxed myself into action. I dived forward, knocking the attacker backwards. He let out a grunt, taken by surprise, and his weapon skittered into a pool of shadow. I began raining punches on him, and then hauled him up against the wall, holding him by the throat. "Get away from here," I hissed. He nodded, and I let him go. He ran towards the open road, out of sight.

I turned and ran over to the boy that lay curled on the cold stones. He was tiny, and couldn't have been more than 14. I turned him onto his back. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in gasps. His hair was blonde, long at the front, and pulled into a short ponytail at the back. I lifted his head up, and felt something warm and sticky covering my fingertips. I lifted my hand up in horror, realising that maybe I had been too late-the man might have already used that knife. I debated whether to call an ambulance, but decided not to-the emergency services here were really unreliable. So I scooped the boy into my arms, and took him home.

Two hours later he woke up.

I was sitting next to him, having bandaged his head, when he came to life with a start. I jumped and hastily leant over him. His eyes flew open, and he sat up, screaming, unsure of where he was. When he saw me, he started hitting out at me, evidently thinking I was his assailant. I gently grabbed his wrists. "Relax! It's ok, you're safe. You're safe…" I repeated. Gradually, he grew silent, staring at me with frightened blue eyes, which were glossy with a shining layer of tears. His shock of blonde hair had freed itself from its ponytail, and cascaded round his pale cheeks in a golden waterfall. His face was made of milky-white skin, and he seemed so unsure, so fragile, like a feather could break him. I inhaled sharply. He was beautiful-no other way to describe it. He was trembling under my grip, so I let him go.

"What's your name? How old are you?" I asked him, trying not to scare him.

"L-Len…. I'm 16…" he whispered, looking down at the floor, his voice cracking. I had a sudden urge to take him into my arms and tell him that everything would be alright-but I concluded that doing that would probably creep him out majorly.

So instead I just sat awkwardly on the sofa next to him. After a while, I noticed that he was shaking slightly, trying not to cry. For some reason, I didn't want to see that, so abruptly I stood up, announcing that I needed to get something from the other room. As I left, I heard his voice calling out to me. "Wait… Please don't go…" he pleaded. I paused, unsure, and all the while he was watching me with those eyes, and I couldn't walk away from that gaze, sparkling in the streaks of light that had wriggled through the filthy stains on the windows. I slowly turned and walked back to him. Len was watching me, and again I was struck by how tiny he was, and wondered why he had been out so late, alone.

"Thank you…" he breathed.

I felt that it was time for me to contribute to the conversation. "I'm… Piko," I said, somewhat awkwardly.

"Thank you for saving me, Piko," he said, looking away. I could have sworn a blush was beginning to stain his cheeks.

"No problem… But seriously, what the hell were you doing out there? Are you stupid or something? If I hadn't been there, you would definitely be dead!" It had been a long day, and I took out all my frustration on the poor blonde.

He blinked. "I…I…"

"You what? I'm beginning to wonder if I should have left you to die, if you're dumb enough to go out so late!"

The vicious words fell coldly into the silence between us, and immediately I regretted them.

I looked away, composing myself, and then looked back. To my horror, I saw that tears were falling onto the blanket. Len had his hands over his face, droplets of salty water escaping from the gaps between his fingers. His thin body was shaking with the force of his silent sobs. In a weak attempt of reconciliation, I reached out to place my hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away. I couldn't bear to see him like this, and before I knew it, I was wrapping my arms round him, and pulling him closer. To my surprise, he didn't resist this time, and buried his face in my chest as I stroked his hair. I rested my chin gently on the crown of his head and whispered "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

I felt him nod, but he didn't pull away. I think he just needed someone to hold on to; so I stayed like that with him until dawn broke and he had fallen asleep in my arms.

I eased myself out of my slouched position, rubbing the crick in my neck, and looked down at the sleeping boy, his face still streaked with tearstains. And quickly, I leant over and pressed my lips lightly against his forehead.

Then I slid off the couch, careful not to wake him, and walked over to the window. As I looked out, I let a small, rueful smile play over my mouth, at the realisation of the fact that this helpless blonde I had saved had somehow-somehow-made me care for him.

I shook my head, sighing. "Oh, Len. What are you doing to me?" I whispered.

LEN POV

I think it might be time to clear a few things up here. My name is Len Kagamine, I'm sixteen years old-and I ran away from home.

Yes, that's why Piko found me down that alley. My father was the final thing that drove me to leave-ever since our mother died a year ago, me and my twin sister, Rin, have had to live with our dad. And let me tell you-that wasn't exactly the best time of my life. He started drinking-a lot. And when he got home, he took out all his anger and sadness on us.

Rin and I ran away three days ago, but we got separated-and I don't know what happened to her.

Was she as lucky as me? Is she being cared for by a kind person like I am?

I don't know.

Speaking of that kind person… He's so-nice, I guess. When I woke up, I was lying in his arms. Immediately, a blush started creeping up my neck, but I stayed still, hoping he wouldn't notice. I felt him stretch, and I knew he was watching me.

Suddenly, I heard him bend down to me, and I felt a kiss on my forehead, so light I wasn't sure it was real. My eyes flew open, but thankfully he'd moved away.

Piko….kissed me?