Hello everyone! 8D Yes, this is my second Deon oneshot. x3 Well, okay it can be interpreted as Deon, but it doesn't have to be. I hope you enjoy it. C:

Please R&R~

xxxxxx

One year.

It was raining. The rain was soaking through his denim jacket, making the material stick completely to his still half-dry white shirt. The water had already plastered his mane of blonde hair to his head. Jill used to joke that he should've been named 'Lion' instead of Leon - god, that was back when Jill used to talk to him. But maybe she wasn't to blame. When he ended up like this almost every day, it was no wonder that his social life had completely withered away.

He was half-slumped, one leg bent, knee resting against the concrete wall beside him as was his shaking, clenched fist. His head drooped, and he felt like banging it against the wall. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, he'd be able to see him again, goddamit. How could he have just left!

The horns of cars sounded around him as they sped by, ordinary people going about their ordinary lives in their rush to get home from work before the storm got worse. He envied them - maybe they didn't have grief like this to dwell over. Maybe they thought their problems were so much worse than they actually were. Maybe - god, when had he started thinking like this?

"Fuck, it's all that bastard's fault!" The words tore from his throat, raw from tears he wasn't even aware he'd shed in this rain, of their own accord. His fist beat weakly against the wall. Here. It was here that his shop used to be. These stairs that led down into the oriental-scented shop were boarded up now. No one used this place now.

Three years.

It had been okay in the beginning. He thought it would have been okay. After he'd started walking again and his injuries from the building explosion had healed, he'd been fine for a few weeks. Gotten back into the groove of his job despite the scars. He still caught criminals for a living, laid the bang on hundreds of people - he couldn't even keep count anymore. He didn't want to. But then, after about a month, things started changing. He started suddenly remembering, like someone had just flipped the switch on in his head and all of a sudden he really remembered.

Of course, he'd remembered before then, but god. Suddenly, everything seemed so...

They'd known each other, damn it! Okay, they hadn't really been friends, since he'd spent most of his time in there trying to figure out a way to jail the guy, but... they'd... god, he'd never expected to be saying these words to himself, but they'd been through so much together! That crazy Christmas Eve spent rapidly hunting down that dragon egg when they'd first met... the times when D would give him some plant or sissy-ass butterfly to cheer him up, only to drag him into one of his crazy dream stupors. The cases they'd (reluctantly) done together, the arguments they'd have (I swear, I repeat myself everytime you come in here! I'd be better off having tea with the gerbils!)

He missed it. More than he'd ever care to admit.

"Fucking asshole! How could he just leave! Didn't any of that matter to him!" He slammed his fist down on the desk, scattering a couple papers. "All of that... it was all..."

"Leon, are you still angsting over him? It's been three years." Jill's voice cut through his haze - the first time she'd spoken to him in weeks. They hardly ever talked. Actually, he hardly ever talked to anyone. It was known he was prone to these kinds of outbursts about D - people tended to avoid him now.

"Huh? Oh... yeah. Yeah."

Six years

Sometimes, if he tried hard enough and closed his eyes, and he was in just the right mindset, he could still imagine it all. The dim lighting of the shop, the oriental decor of swirling deep mahogany wood, the gentle, suggestive incense smoking from the corner. And most of all - the Count. That man haunted his mind's eye, those glimmering eyes of soul-spun purple and molten gold seemed to burn into his brain no matter how hard he tried to dispel it. That knowing smile... that superior, fucking annoying smile! God, once upon a time he'd wanted to wring D's neck every time he saw it.

Now, he just wanted to cry.

What the hell. A grown man of thirty-two now, buckling down and crying because of some crazy Chinese man he'd met eight years ago. It was about time he settled down with someone, but to be honest, he'd given up thinking about women some time ago. All he ever seemed to think about these days were the Count. It had been that way for so long now... ever since he'd left. Ever since he'd just... up and left. Without even saying goodbye. That lying sack of shit...

"If I didn't care for you, detective, who would?" And that voice. God that fucking ethereal, monotonous voice that lurked in his very dreams at night.

Ten years

Why... oh god why did it have to end like this? He had never seen him again. Maybe inside, under all the grief and paranoia, he had hoped that he'd see that bastard again before he left. It had been so long now... who knew where in the world that man was? Selling his demonic pets to another set of ignorant people who were just waiting to fall into his trap. Fuck, maybe there was someone else on his tail now just as Leon had been so long ago. Maybe he had already forgotten about his dear detective, maybe things were different.

But now he'd never know.

"Oh god Leon! Hang in there - let's get you to the hospital!"

The bullet wound was bleeding rather badly, but oddly enough the place where he'd been shot was numb, and he didn't feel any kind of pain. He had a vague notion of someone crouching over him and shouting to people behind them. With a slow realization, he knew that it was Jill. Damn, that girl was still working with him? He had almost forgotten who she was... almost. He tried to grumble something, but she shook her head. Man, she looked so much older now.

"Don't talk Leon, you're really badly hurt. But you'll make it. You've always pulled through."

Really? Maybe that was in the past, cause he was definitely ready to just go now. His eyes were already fluttering closed. God, where was D? Usually he saved his ass at a time like this or something, or came by with his girly dresses and deranged pets... did he know Leon was dying? Did he care?

For a while after that, people would say it was such a pity Leon Orcot had died so young. He'd only been thirty six years old, hardly ready for death. He had led a fulfilling career though, and had brought hundreds of LA criminals to justice. People nodded with approval - he'd been a man worthy of recognition.

But Leon Orcot wasn't upset about dying. Oddly enough, he felt strangely at peace, like he was finally achieving some of that nirvana shit D kept rattling on about. Or... maybe that was in his dreams. He wasn't so sure anymore. But there was one thing he was sure of. And that was the look on D's face right when he'd died. As the lion's sky-blue eyes flickered closed for the last time, he could see the Count's flawless, pale face turning towards him, mismatched eyes glittering as if he knew something Leon didn't. That mysterious smile tugged at his lips again, and all around him there were sakura petals.

Shit. Even in death, he was girly...