Disclaimer: All the characters belong to CAMP.
Written for TrueDespair. Happy Birthday!
Prologue – How to Say Hello
I have tried it.
Many times. In my mind. But nothing I came up with sounded right.
It was not about leaving a good impression, mind you, we have seen each other for weeks and I am always polite but reserved, like I should be. I always give tips and I never flirt; I guess I am the very definition of a good customer.
I have said hello to him multiple times, without revealing the slightest bit of myself.
There were moments when I had wanted so hard to give up my pretense. I wanted to walk over and kiss him on the mouth, hard, regardless the consequences. But what I wanted even more was to have a proper conversation with him just once. I bet he has a lot of things to say, if you can get him to stop with the small talk, that is. But I have a way of diving into things and I am afraid that if I ever got the chance to talk to him one-on-one, the truth might just fall out of my mouth.
I can't have that. So I make up conversations in my head. Think of worthy introduction lines.
"This is a nice cafe you have here."
Well. That would be a bit late and make me look very dumb. Desperate for conversation, which I am, but he doesn't have to know that.
"Since when do you live in this country? Why did you settle down here?"
That is a good start, isn't it? If I wanted him to lie to me. He could no more reveal the true motivation for coming to Rome than I could tell him why we met in the first place.
"Do you like music?"
Who doesn't?
"That guy who just waltzed in and yelled at you was by no means your ex-boyfriend, was he? Because he looked like you and him – never mind. Looked like a real jerk, too."
I bet that would make him real comfortable talking to me.
The longer I think about it, the more apparent it becomes that maybe sticking to the truth is a lot easier than avoiding it. Why yes, as soon as he stops freaking out about it, the truth would make a number one topic to discuss; he would shower me with questions. I could make a huge joke about it, like showing him my scars and tell him in my best world's-gayest-vampire-voice that this is the skin of a killer. Because that's what I am. (Well, not a vampire.)
If I had to introduce myself to him in all honesty, I would have to say: "Hello. I never bothered to tell you my name although I come to this spot every morning but I have my reasons. Really. But the thing is, I'd love to get to know you and that means you have to get to know me first. I'm the guy who has been following you for some time. Don't worry, I'm not a creepy stalker, I do this for a living. You know, spying people. I'm an assassin, working for a company called Aries; I'm sure you've heard of them. Because you're on their list.
I'm supposed to kill you. Well, I was.
But the thing is; you are beautiful. You're one of the nicest things I've ever seen in my life and I figured it would be such a waste to drive a bullet through your head. So here I am. Talking to you.
Name's Syaoron, by the way. Syaoron Li."
Part I – Duke of Rabbits
And no rear view could picture what we leave behind,
Drive darling, drive
-Boy, "Drive Darling"
In the little frame that was defined by an unimpressive silver-gray car's window, the landscape was flying by, dark trees a stark contrast against the untouched white of the snow on their branches.
The road before the car sneaks its way through the alps, heading toward a destination that only the blond in the driver's seat knows.
The brunet man next to him has no eyes for the beautiful, calm scene surrounding them. All he wants is a little bit of rest after the hectic of the last twelve hours. So he takes a deep breath and lets his eyelids droop. Just for a few seconds, he tells himself.
It may have been seconds.
It may have been minutes.
Then a familiar voice wakens him.
"Talk to me, Syaoron, please."
His eyes snap open, his shoulders flinch and just this small movement makes his side burn like it is on fire. His wounds have been tended by the blond, by Yuui, but that was hours ago and now the gauze is soaked and sticks uncomfortably to his skin.
„I'm just going to sleep a little," he replies weakly, though he might have said „I'm just going to die a little." He is not sure and it makes no difference at all. As long as the girl with the strawberry blond hair is still sleeping soundly at the back seat right behind the driver, he can say what he wants and be as weak as it pleases him.
The car is shaking gently on the rocky road and Yuui looks anxious, fingers clutching to the steering wheel so hard, that his knuckles turn white. He is not driving as fast as he could and by far not as fast as he wants to – but at this pace he can avoid the bumps and the holes of the street. Syaoron knows the blond is doing it for his sake, to spare him at least some pain and to keep him from crying out and waking the girl.
"I'm afraid you won't wake up again. What am I supposed to tell Kobato, then?"
"The truth. That I've been stupid and haven't taken care of myself."
Yuui sniffed uneasily. His faded-jeans-blue eyes hardly trail away from the road for too long but when they do, they linger on the young man in the passenger's seat. "You weren't stupid. You saved me."
"You saved yourself," the brunet states, somewhat stubborn. 'And you're trying to save me, too.'
Yuui sighs. "Alright. Sleep. I'll wake you in about an hour, when we make our next stop. And don't you dare not to wake up."
'Kind', Syaoron thinks. 'Yuui's too kind.' Being too careful, too slow, too attentive. His kindness would have them all killed. But Syaoron is too tired to be afraid right now. He can always worry later.
One day – it was no special day – the target became a person. Of course, the target had been a person all along but as a professional, Syaoron used to filter this minor detail out. Killing was easier when one did not give much thought about the victim; its family or friends, its lovers and foes.
He had spent the last few weeks observing, to learn his target's daily routine, its weaknesses, its favorite places... everything with the calm eye of a man of science; like he was studying some rare kind of animal rather than hunting a human. A bird perhaps. Yes, the man he observed was in many ways like a bird.
A rare kind of dove, fluttering vividly among the common Rome street doves.
His target was a man, who seemed no less ordinary than any other man, save for his his good looks. (But the assassin would do a piss-poor job if he let himself get tricked by looks.) A man, who lived a frugal life, owned a small cafe; a man who was friendly to every one and close to no one. What made him outstanding, compared to all the other men and women that Syaoron had hunted down in his career, was that he lacked that certain haunted look.
Basically, if you were on Aries' list, you were dead. It did not matter if you could still breathe, walk and talk, if could you laugh or read or share someone's bed – your death was just a matter of time, so close that you could feel its presence behind you, making the flesh of your neck crawl. The assassin wondered why this man was not afraid and paranoid. He wondered what this gentle blond might have done to piss Aries off and if it was possible that he was not even aware of it.
Giving this serious thought had been his first mistake.
The second mistake had been to seek the presence of this man. Not even his company; his presence. One might think that getting a closer look on the target was beneficial for observations, but one could only get so close without getting too close to a person and familiar faces stuck out – so invading this man's work routine meant risking to get caught while trailing him later.
Nevertheless, Syaoron became a customer of the Azzurro cafe (which was named, he had no doubt, after it's owners eyes, who had seemed to have a different shade ob blue every time they met, always mirroring the color of the sky); he frequented it every day at the same time between morning and noon, always hired the same thing and exchanged few words with the staff – he was very professional while being so unprofessional. Even brought a book to have an excuse for not talking to anyone. His Italian was kind of stiff anyway.
It was a small street cafe, just the owner and two part-time waitresses, as far as he could tell. After the first week his conversation with the waitresses could be narrowed down to "Good morning", "The same thing as usual?", "Yes, thank you very much" and "Good bye". Unless the owner himself took his order, then it was always "Could I tempt you to try our strudel (or a similar sugary treat), it's delicious!" and he always declined politely that the hour was too early for a ridiculous amount of calories – he would say it in English though. The cafe owner – "Ui" his employees called him, which was either a nickname or a bastardization of the alias he was currently using – would smile and look just a bit disappointed before he retreated.
The third and last mistake had been noticing what kind of a man the cafe owner was. Noticing things about him promoted Ui from a random person on the company's hit list to an actual human being, with a story and feelings and all these habits that one suddenly gave a crap about. The man Syaoron had to kill was a friendly stranger among his Italian customers, though the lack of an accent indicated that he had come to live in Italy years ago. He was all calm composure and polite smiles. When he spoke, he needed not to raise his voice to make people listen. He seemed to be quite intelligent, yet not intelligent enough to find a decent hairdresser – he wore his blond mane in a loose pony tail (black hairpiece on usual days, a pink one on Wednesdays for whatever reasons), face framed with shorter strands that had escaped.
He was also persistent in his efforts to chat with Syaoron and persistence was a trait the young man had always appreciated in his men. Not that Ui was one of them. Not that he intended to make him one of them, dear god, no.
The more he knew and cared about this man, the less eager he was to kill him, but his determination to carry out every other aspect of this job grew stronger. Ui turned into his very own sick obsession. Syaoron followed him like a shadow, always watching, never making a move – and hopelessly falling in love with the man he dared not touch.
He wakes with a start, ice cold fingers pressing against his throat. He breathes in; dry, frosty winter air fills his uncorrupted lungs, his heartbeat is rising fast as the adrenaline pours into his veins.
"Sorry," Yuui mumbles, standing at the open car door and bowing his head down to examine his sick (-Friend? Helper? Burden?) passenger; their noses are almost touching.
"See? Not dead yet." Syaoron croaks, albeit the cold fingers that disturbed his sleep are not searching for a pulse. They are cupping his cheek, brushing against his earlobe. The blond shakes his head slightly and nods his head towards a very sleepy Kobato, who rubs her eyes and clutches to her blue stuffed dog. She offers her dad a weak smile. One of her braids looks mussed and its plaiting pattern is imprinted in Kobato's cheek. He will have to plaid her hair anew, he thinks and then the idea strikes him that by tomorrow morning, he might no longer be there to do that. Who would do her braids then? Who could he possibly trust enough to let them touch his daughter's hair? It makes his chest hurt to imagine and part of it must show on his face, for the five year old looks at him, bewildered. "Daddy? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Aren't you hungry, sweetie?"
Kobato nods and Yuui flashes her one of his sweet smiles while he steps aside, making room for the injured. He offers no helping hand as Syaoron heaves himself gingerly out of his seat; the younger man is grateful for it. Kids can be so perceptive and he does not want her to know just yet how sick he really is. (He has been able to hide his wound from her so far. He told her he fell and has a big scratch on his side and so far she believes that lie; he rather it would stay this way.)
"So why don't you two go to the diner and order something nice while I fuel the car and join you later?" Yuui offers.
"Should we order something for you too?" Syaoron inquires and hopes that he does not sound too nervous. He is afraid that Yuui will leave them behind – not that he would blame the man for it, it's the most sensible thing to do – but that is just his paranoia piping up. Yuui is concerned for their safety, that much he made clear. Maybe their ways will soon part but before that happens, Yuui will make sure that Syaoron gets to see a physician.
"Just a cup of coffee."
"With a bit of cream and one lump of sugar, right?", Syaoron asks and sports a smirk. Yuui's baffled face is absolutely priceless and the brunet guesses that being a creepy stalker for a living has some good sides after all.
He takes his daughter's hand and together they walk away from the gas station, across a parking lot, heading towards a cozy little diner. Syaoron looks back only once, to see Yuui busying himself with the gas pump.
Before everything is going to end, he likes to have some questions asked; the most urgent being Why do you do this for us? Syaoron is no fool – he can't afford to be one, not with his profession – and he had seen Yuui kill two men in cold blood. Those who trade in death have no use for attachments. So he assumes it is because Yuui thinks he owes him... and if it was not for Kobato, he would have argued about it.
There was this girl.
Pretty thing, delicate features, redhead. The kind of girl that armies of men would fall for.
Syaoron had not considered her a threat, had been to engrossed in stalking Ui to notice something off about her. For example how she could turn her smile on and off in the blink of an eye, like flipping a switch. It was scary. But no, Syaoron sat at his table, in his very private corner of the Azzurro cafe, gnawing on his thumb and savoring the sharp acerbic burning of jealousy for the first time.
More than jealous, he was envious that she had the freedom to walk up to the blonde he fancied so much and that she could talk to him, even if it was about the stupidest things. He was envious that she had the balls to ask Ui out. (The man agreed, of course, because she was a girl and a redhead and had freckles all over her very retroussé nose, which was a deadly combination. Who could resist a girl with freckles and a retroussé nose?)
He didn't follow the man to his date. By then Syaoron faced a simple truth – that he was honestly and madly in love with a man he only knew from afar – and watching the guy have a good time with someone else would not help clearing his mind or deciding what to do with the mess he had gotten in. Besides, he had some pride, after all.
He figured later that the girl must have been a disaster; he never saw the redhead again, not even a flash of her nose or her freckled skin.
Ah, but she was not the only one with an eye on the blond cafe owner. A week after redhead's disappearance, a man started to lurk around, and not very subtle to boot. He kept a safe distance from the cafe and the handsome foreigner running it but he was around too often for someone who had nothing to do with Ui – who, in turn, seemed to take no notice that he was being watched.
That was why Syaoron kept an eye on the lurker. It seemed like he had a new target to observe. And what a very stupid target that was! This man wore a long beige colored trench coat, the kind one expected to see a filthy private inspector on TV to don. Yet, private inspectors were not allowed to carry guns like this man. As far as Syaoron could read from Mr. Trench Coat's composure, he wore the weapon strapped to his hip.
It seemed like Aries were not the only ones who wanted to see Ui dead. And the brunet could no longer stick to the status quo – he had to pick a side, make a decision. He could not kill his original target; that was out of the question, probably since the moment the man had first talked to him. (He had such a lovely voice; soft but full of compassion and soothing; the kind of voice that could calm down a cattle of spooked cows. Syaoron was sure, that this man must be very good at singing lullabies.)
But he also could not afford to risk his own life or the safety of his precious little child to help a man who was doomed. If he had been on his own... if the murderers of his family had not spared Kobato's life, he would not have minded. But she was counting on him. Depending on him. And he always put his daughter first. So, there was only one option left: to abandon the case, take his little girl and contact his superiors that he had failed and wanted a new target. Easy way out – he would not get hurt and would not have to see Ui get hurt either.
When he ordered her to pack, she obeyed without asking why. She was a good girl and knew better than to question why her daddy's job forced them to move so often. It did not take long. Neither of them had many private possessions, except for the clothes they were wearing and a few books and CD's, pencils here and an alarm clock there... it took the entire afternoon to make the preparations and once they were done, there was only one thing left to do.
He told Kobato that he was taking a walk and left her in front of the telly with the promise to be back when Spongebob Squarepants was over. He took his car keys. He took his wallet. Then he drove to the Azzurro Cafe.
It was Wednesday (Pink Wednesday, Syaoron had come to think, for the pink hairpiece the subject of his affections used to wear on this particular day of the week) and on Wednesday evenings, Ui was always working at the counter.
Syaoron ordered a coffee to go, slapped a five Euro bill into the man's palm and told him to keep the change. That was everything. No stupid last-minute love confession, no important final words. Those words – the spoken and unspoken ones – did not matter. What mattered were the words on the neatly folded piece of paper that he had hidden under the money. They were just four; a simple note.
You've been found. Run.
This way, as Syaoron stormed off, he could fool his conscious to believe he had given the blond at least a chance to survive, regardless how small.
He sauntered to his car, relieved and anxious and a teensy bid sad because this – the coffee and the note – would be the only goodbye they had.
"Excuse me, Sir." The man in the trench coat stepped in his way. "May I have a word with you?"
"Sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry," Syaoron replied with a fake smile, "Maybe next time?"
Something hard and round was pressed against his back; without previous experience to rely on, Syaoron had to assume it was the barrel of a gun. The stench of cold ash and cheap cologne washed over him as the man behind him spoke up. "I'm afraid we have to insist."
"Well. In that case it would be rude of me to decline, right?"
They led him to a small, narrow side alley; the kind that spread through the city map like cobwebs and where clotheslines hung from window to window; only this one was a dead end. In a more than literal way, Syaoron assumed.
Mr. Trench Coat's friend squeezed Syaoron's shoulder a little too hard – as if the brunet needed a reminder who was in control of the situation. He had screwed up. Being overpowered by two amateurs, this surely was a low point in his career. Plus, he only had a cup of hot coffee to defend himself against two guns.
"Kneel." Mr. Trench Coat demanded in a tone that betrayed his arrogant little piggy eyes – he was not used to give orders, that much was clear. Syaoron obeyed nevertheless, because the man behind him had fingers like a steel claw and because it was no use to make trouble before he could judge the situation properly.
He risked a glance over his shoulder. Mr. Trench Coat's friend was about as tall and twiggy as a scare crow and blessed with a wiry white mop of hair that reminded the young man of a dandelion after the bloom, but at least he proved to have a bit more fashion sense – he wore a long woolen coat with a black and white checkerboard patterned scarf. Not to mention the shiny exhaust silencer which made a lovely accessory for his Beretta. Maybe these guys weren't amateurs after all.
Maybe he was really fucked.
He waited for either of them to speak up, bare hands clinging to the cardboard cup, whose hot contents started to burn his skin. It was a welcome pain. It anchored him. It helped Syaoron not to freak out and think.
"Put your coffee down," Dandelion said.
'Well, so much for anchoring pain and all that shit.'
But he did. Even flashed those thugs a wavering smile as if to say look, am I not an obedient little boy who means no harm at all?
"Where is she?", Dandelion asked.
"Who?"
"Augustine," Mr. Trench Coat snarled. He had drawn his gun now, too. A Ruger Revolver. Good weapon, albeit it had no more than six shots. Not that Syaoron had ever needed six shots to finish one of his jobs. Not that Mr. Trench Coat would need them, because he was aiming straight at Syaoron's head. "What have you done to her?"
"I'm really sorry, but I have no idea what you are talking about."
There was a quiet ping, followed by the sound of metal hitting rock and then the pain kicked in, sharp and burning hot, eating its way through his left side. The young man managed not to scream, but barely; what escaped his throat was a strangled noise and a gasp. Then he could feel his blood flow, trickling down his lower back and abdomen; leaving a weird prickling sensation on his skin. Disturbingly, comfortingly warm in the cold season. It was soaking his sweater.
He was so, so fucked.
"Lie again and the next one will be aimed at your shoulder."
He wanted to yell that he was not lying, yet he was quite fond of his shoulder and ball joints, once damaged, took years to heal, or so he had heard. The safest way not to catch another bullet was telling these guys what they expected to hear. Now he only had to find out what that was. He chose to bluff.
"All right, maybe I do know her," he mumbled and clenched his teeth in pain. "But my partner took care of her, not I. I'm just the observer."
Mr. Trench Coat pinched his eyes, which was supposed to look frightening and doubtful. Looked like he was suffering from indigestion, to be honest.
"Your partner," Dandelion parroted, coldly.
Behind him, he could hear lighter steps on the pavement, a person approaching this scene. None of the men moved. Syaoron felt a pressure at the base of his neck, right under his skin. Numbness spread like a wildfire through his entire body. For a moment, the brunet was convinced, he had been shot again; that Dandelion drove the bullet right through his spine. Then Dandelion's gun clattered as it his the ground; followed by the twitching body of the man himself. Syaoron only saw the mercenary assassin's fingers at the brink of his vision.
Mr. Trench Coat's face had turned into a waxen mask of horror, the impression amplified by the cold sweat braking on his forehead.
"Who..."
"If there is something I can't stand," a third voice said, one whose sound reminded Syaoron of gentle smiles and pale skin; of sharp blue eyes and sweet scenting pies, "then it's people who pester my customers."
Dandelions limbs twitched a few times more; then they remained still.
Ui picked the weapon up with a napkin and shot three times. Twice at Mr. Trench Coat's heart and once at his forehead, right between the eyes.
The blonde rested his hand on Syaoron's shoulder and at the touch the paralysis vanished. The heaviness of his own body threatened to weigh him down and if Ui had not snaked an arm around his chest and dragged him to his feet, Syaoron might have shamed himself by sagging into a boneless heap or face-planting on the street.
"Are you okay?", the cafe owner asked.
The cafe owner who had just killed a man.
He was in the hands of a killer. Literally.
'Two shots at the heart, one at the head.' It was a trademark.
"Err...", Syaoron replied unhelpfully and then remembered. The Exiled Prince. He had heard rumors... no. No, it could not be. It was absolutely impossible that the man he had been crushing on so hard, the man whose life he had wanted to spare for his god damned innocence was none other than Aries most skilled sniper. Well, former sniper, to be exact, since the company had become a bit twitchy over his complicated attitude and had tried to dispose of him. In vain.
A bubble of panic rose in his stomach and Syaoron though that if there ever had been a perfect time to beg for his life – but that man would not kill him, would he? One did not kill a man one had just asked if he was okay, because that was just rude.
Eventually, he found his tongue. (Seemed like it had been in his mouth all along, useless and lazy.)
"No," he breathed. "I'm quite positive that I'm not okay."
"Shit," the Exiled Prince said. He flinged Dandelion's gun at its owner, who, as far as the brunet could tell, had died from some sort of seizure; a quick scanning look revealed no wounds. However that was possible. "Show me."
Syaoron would lie if he said he had never dreamed about a moment like this; just him and the cafe owner, standing in a dark alleyway while the blonde's delicate long fingers sneak under his sweater – however, this fantasy did not involve bleeding all over the place and certainly no dead bodies lying around. He could tell from the way Ui sucked his breath in, that the wound had to look ghastly.
"Good news is, no vital organs were damaged. But you should get to a hospital as soon as possible." He did not question this piece of information – leave it up to a killer to know where the vital parts of the body were.
"No. No hospital, I can't." Hospitals meant doctors and awkward questions and being forced to lie in bed for a long, long time, so if anyone had the desire to kill you, going to a hospital was giving them the perfect opportunity.
The blond cleared his throat and let go of Syaoron's clothes. "I know, this is quite late, but... what's your name?"
He could lie and use one of his aliases. He could tell him to piss off and let him deal with his problems alone.
"Syaoron. Syaoron Li." Or he could choose the truth, because he was an idiot.
"I'm Yuui. But I guess you already know that."
So it was Yuui. Yuui, the Exiled Prince. Yuui, who was not that much taller than Syaoron, a fact that he noticed for the first time because he usually sat in the man's presence, so-
"Tell me, Syaoron: who did you betray by passing me this little note?" His eyes seemed even bluer in the sparse light of the street-lamps.
"Aries." The word was hardly more than a whisper.
He had not expected much of a reaction. Maybe an impressed whistling, maybe a joke about now having something in common. Instead, Yuui's face went blank and the hollow voice in which the blond called him an utter fool was not cheering him up, either. Suddenly it was all hurrying and getting into action.
"I have a friend who lives nine, maybe ten hours away from here; he could sew you back together. Meanwhile we have to find something to stop the bleeding. There's an emergency kit in my car and if we hurry-"
"Yuui," Syaoron said and wondered when they had become 'we'.
"-we could be on the highway in less than an hour. You don't need to get some stuff from your apartment, do you? All I have to do is leave a message for my waitresses that we will have to close the cafe for a couple of days and... and..."
"Yuui!" He tried again, with more emphasis and the other man became very silent. And of the many things Syaoron considered to say, he chose the one that was most practical and most intimate at once. "I have a daughter."
"Oh. You- you have? Well, not that there was something wrong with a healthy young man having a daughter, but I didn't expect you to... anyway, you can't leave without her, that's what you're trying to say."
"We were going to leave tonight anyway. I just... wanted to warn you first." He swallowed, then cracked a smile. "Pretty dumb, huh? The one who could've used a warning was me."
"I'm sorry."
"Wasn't your damn fault."
"Yes it was. I should have left when Augustine showed up. But I haven't and it can't be helped now. But I can help you. So, come on, let's get to my car and then we'll pick up your kid."
Yuui's trunk was filled with records, books and clothes, which indicated that the man had prepared for a quick escape. Syaoron wanted to ask why Yuui had stayed – and remembered that the blond, unlike him, had a life and had grounded himself in this city, with his cafe. Yuui ordered him to sit down on the load floor and asked him to pull up his sweater.
"How old is your girl?", the blonde asked while rummaging through his first aid kit.
"Five."
"That's lovely", Yuui replied absent minded, brows furrowing in disapproval, but not at Syaoron. "Damn. I have no disinfectant. But..." He grabbed for a bottle filled with a clear liquid. "This should do."
"Vodka? Isn't it a bit early for body shots? I mean, we just met and all that." Syaoron could not help joking around, it was his way of coping with stress. Yuui seemed to appreciate it; he chuckled, then kindly told him to shut up, because he was working. The alcohol stung and burned at his wound.
People passed by; pretending not to stare at them while doing just that. They were in public, yet not one stopped to ask them what had happened. They probably thought they were involved with the mafia and that served Syaoron just well – the last thing he needed now was someone calling the carabinieri.
He tried to focus on the most important tasks at hand.
Getting out of town.
Finding a doctor, who would not ask questions.
Finding a place to stay and recover.
Yuui promised that everything would be alright while offering to take a sip from the vodka ("Bottle's open anyway and you look like you could need it") and Syaoron believed him. First of all, because he was talking to the Exiled Prince and if there was one person who could stand a chance against Aries it was this guy. Second, he wanted to believe Yuui.
He wanted to believe there was a safe place where he could live a life in peace, with his little girl and maybe a nice guy who kept his bed warm. He wanted to believe Yuui was the answer to all of the prayers he had forgotten to pray.
There was no way back from now on and the path ahead was unclear; so even if things went terribly wrong it was nice to have someone by his side for once.
Someone akin to a friend.
Yaaay, done! So, I'm trying to upload Part II, which will be Yuui-centric, at Dec 25th.
Hope you like it so far.