Antiquer's Trade: Of Spiders and Flies

by ToktelasAndTea

Happy Birthday raiu2112! Here's your present. For everyone else, this is the 3rd installment of my mystery series. It is the origin of how Misaki met Akihiko. Within you will find violins and explosions, hot summer days, a boy that dreams of a bigger world, and a hope that goes beyond reason. AU

Happy Birthday raiu2112! Well belated birthday. I'm sorry this is late. I got it out as fast as I could.

Also I'm sorry for my last PM. I was being pretentious and acting holier than thou.

Don't be angry with me, please.

I'm going to work on something better, but I hope you like this in the meantime.

To everyone: Here it is, the origin story to The Antiquer's Trade series I've been working on. This one isn't really a mystery, because I have to think on those things for month, but it does have action and plot twists and fire and explosions.

It's also part 1 of 2. Mainly because I know I have more inconsistencies than fruit loops have sugar, so by making two parts I have a chance of clearing everything else. So if I missed something, or something it so illogical it should be falling into a randomly birthed wormhole connecting two universes that have never existed before this very moment, please tell me and I'll clear it up in part 2.

His window is open as far as he could force it, though all the effort put into turning the crank greatly unbalanced with the amount of relief it brought him. He had forgotten the feel of a Tokyo summer, so much worse than the London ones he had grown used to. It was not a surprise, after all, it must have been more than a decade since he had set foot onto the land of the rising sun. Decades are very easy amounts of time to forget in.

A summer breeze finally meanders its way into the high class hotel room and for a few brief second he revels in it, loosening his tie, unbuttoning his collar and stretching his head back, exposing a strong neck, beaded with sweat, to the subtle movement of air. The news was calling it the hottest summer on record. He was calling it hell.

Down on the street below a busker had started up. He can hear the first notes of their violin, horrible out of tune. The song cut off as abruptly as it started and after a few scrapes it starts up again.

Now this is what a violin should sound like, he thinks. And yet, something stopped him from smiling. There was something wrong with the music. Like it was missing a piecing, the absence of which tore at his heart and opened a cavity in his chest, he wanted to gasp and place his hands over his breastbone. The heat was gone, a cold creeping up his spine and sending a shiver through his body.

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The violin played through the night, sending him gifts of troubled dreams and half-awake nightmares. In the morning it was gone though, as if chased away by the purity of the sunrise. Not that the sunrises in the city were anything to brag about. He looked out at it with half lidded eyes, regretting his decision to leave the curtains open the night before. Sunrise was not an adequate time of the day to wake up at.

Regardless he swung his legs over the side of the bed and flipped away the grey fringe that irritated his eyes. Getting dressed he left, making his way to the hospital. Breakfast could be grabbed on the way, at the moment though he had a friend to visit.

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Lavender eyes stared down at his once upon a time crush. Takahiro had grown paler since he had last seen him, the man's skin waxy and his hair dull. He supposed being in a coma does that to a person. Especially one that has lasted three years. Setting himself into the hard plastic chair appropriately placed by the bed he sighed, thinking back to their last encounter.

It had been winter then, a good winter, the half a foot of snow on the sidewalk kind. The next day he was going to leave for England, the finally break he needed to get away from his father the influence of the Usami family. There were some things however that he did not want to break from, one of them being his secret love, Takahiro.

"Usagichan! Come in." The spectacled man stepped away from the door and with a warm smile Akihiko stepped in, immediately feeling the effects of being around the warm hearted man. He felt secure in this tidy little apartment, as if it were cut off from the rest of the reality he had to live through, the one that existed under the shadow of his father.

"Thank you for letting me come over."

"You don't have to say that, you're welcome any time."

"Takahiro."

"Yes Usagichan?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow."

"Really, are you going on a vacation? Where? Will you bringing back souvenirs?"

"It's not a vacation, I'm moving away. To England. I have a relative there. He says he'll give me the money to start my own business."

The evening had continued on from there. For some reason the other man had never stopped smiling, but Akihiko had let it pass. He knew he didn't mean as much to this man as Takahiro meant to him. For the other, the separation would not be as powerful, nor as agonizing. He too had spent the evening with a smile, never letting in a peek under the mask.

Half way through the dinner of left overs he thought he had heard someone ender the apartment then leave a few minutes later. When he himself had been preparing to leave, for the last time in he didn't know how long, he had vaguely registered an extra pair of shoes in the hall that had not been their previously, but he ignored them. At the time his find had been far too fixated on Takahiro, his face, his movement, his everything. He had been memorizing, imprinting those last few minutes into his mind, burning them against his brain, something to conjure up on lonely nights, in a country he hadn't been in since he was ten years old.

Finally the door had closed and he had made his way over to the elevator. It was a dinosaur of a thing, and as he waited for it to make it to the eighth floor he had heard it. The sweet strain of a violin, echoing and amplified in the stairwell. Notes jumped and the melody whipped by at an impossibly fast pace before suddenly slowing into to something that was both a funeral hymn and a lullaby and yet neither at the same time. He remembered closing his eyes and letting the music take him on its journey. It seemed appropriate for a sending off, like the violinist was playing the soundtrack to the movie of his life. The thought had stuck him as a bit self-centered, but he let it go. The music was too much to let thoughts like that intrude.

All too soon he was startled back to reality by the ping of the elevator and reluctantly he had stepped in. The shutting of the double doors cut off the music and at the same time shut off the happiness he was leaving on this fast paced island nation.

"Takahiro?" The hospital room was silent, broken only by the beeping of the machine and the occasional shout in the corridor. Somehow he felt cut off, as though the room were used to silence, the lack of substantial noise having made its home between the white hospital walls. He tried again.

"Takahiro?"

He should have returned sooner.

"I should have returned sooner Takahiro, I'm sorry."

He couldn't though, he didn't want to see him. Not like this…

"I didn't want to see you Takahiro. On the night I left you were so happy. I didn't want to spoil the image. When I heard about the accident, I didn't want to ruin the memories I had of your happiness. It was selfish of me. Very selfish. I'm sorry." He took the man's hand in his own, not liking the feel of it, so thin and weak. He squeezed the appendage gently. "Too tell the truth, I'm really here on business. Someone was advertising a 17th century tea cabinet and I had to come myself to authenticate it.

I didn't tell you did I? I'm in the antiquing trade now, and I've published a few books. I have my own shop in London. Near Baker Street. You know, like Sherlock Holmes. You always said I was like Sherlock Holmes, the way I could always figure things out. I bought it thinking of you." The silence came again and Akihiko began to feel desperate. Anything to chase away the oppressive stillness.

"You brother sent me word of the accident. I guess he got tired of your phone dinging every time I sent you a message, wondering why you hadn't spoken to me for a week. At least I think it was your brother. I can't remember his name though. It was something funny, you laughed about it when you told me."

Once more it was quiet and Akihiko knew he had to leave. It was pressing in one him on all sides and he was finding it harder and harder to breath. Stiffly he stood and made his way to the door. With one had on the knob he turned and looked over at the comatose figure of his best friend.

It was because he wasn't looking forward that he was not prepared. Suddenly the door was pulled open and something crashed into him. Something short and soft. And smelly.

He looked down at the gangly teen he had collided with. The boy had fallen backward onto the hall's linoleum. There was no clear image of the figure, his view obscured by the duffel bag he was clutching to his chest with a pair of pale hands, that despite their long fingers were still small. He observed what he could. Wide holes in baggy jeans, the hems worn off, revealing muddy trainers and boney ankles, not covered by socks. The kid's grey sweatshirt had no collar, the advertisement for Tokyo Disney Land obscured and stained by what looked to be years of wear and tear. A kaki green raincoat added some bulk to the small figure. Curiously Akihiko looked to the boy's face, only to find it obscured by matted burnt umber hair and a tightly pulled down beanie. The boy was apologizing.

"No, it was my fault, I wasn't looking at where I was going." He offered his hand to help the other rise and the boy jerked back, as though expecting a blow. One regal eyebrow was lifted questioningly. Hurriedly the younger scrambled to his feet, backing away at the same time. He bowed quickly at the author and Akihiko, remembering that he had an appointment soon, offered a half bow in return before turning down the hallway. Keen eyes however did not miss the silhouette of the boy making his way into Takahiro's room, reflected in a passing window.

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Bottle green eyes watched the retreating figure before entering the familiar room of his brother. The man had been moved and sheets changed since he had been there the day before, but like every other day his face was no different, expression still flat, his eyelids no more ready to open than the day of the accident, at that dreaded moment when Misaki had watched the car swerved. When the windshield had shattered he had known his life would never be the same again.

He sat down at the chair, shifting awkwardly when he realized it was still warm. He wondered who the man had been and why he had stayed long enough to warm the cold plastic. Had he known his brother? Why had he never visited him before?

As he did everyday he was sure to wash his hands thoroughly in the doctor's sink, this time scrubbing his face with a damp and soapy paper towel for good measure. It was just as he returned to the chair that the door to the room opened. He jumped, muscles tense and his nervous gaze shot to the door. A nurse stood there, frowning at him.

"You!" He sprang from the chair. "How many times do I have to tell you, get out?! Heaven knows how many diseases you're carrying! Get out!"

He shoved past her on his way out, being sure to bump her roughly with his 'diseased' shoulder before he dashed down the hallway, skipping the elevator in favor of the less populated stairwell.

The familiar run from the hospital was familiar. That was all there was too it, day after day, ever since the money had run out and he had been thrown from the apartment.

The duffel bag slapped reassuringly against his back as he ran. He thought his heart would stop when he had fallen over after running into that stranger, but luckily he had been able to swing it around to his font. He didn't know what he would do if he had actually fallen on it. His life was in there.

He always thought it funny how short a distance it was from the hospital to his home in the…not very nice part of Tokyo. Did the residents of the city know just how unsafe their beds were in such close proximity to the dark alleys and bright eyes stares that worked together to form the neighborhood he took shelter in. If shelter it could be called. It had a roof though, and he guessed that counted for something in the street where antigun and drug laws held no sway.

His steps slowed to a walk, the sight of a running teenager always brought unwanted attention, as he turned into an alley. Steam from a laundry mat marked the beginning of the corridor between two austere building, and the soles of his trainers squelched in the stream of dirty water that must have come from another leaking washing machine. He didn't stop, though his knuckles grew tighter on the duffel bag and his other hand slipped discretely into his pocket, the cool weight of his switchblade settling reassuringly into the palm of his sweating hand.

Head down, eyes forward, don't stop walking. It was a just shortcut but one he had to stay on his toes in. It was the middle of the day, so it shouldn't be that bad, but still he refused to relax the set of his shoulders, the breaths escaping from his mouth heavy and measured.

The walk was ten minutes, but it felt like hours. Misaki breathed a sigh of relief as the air itself seemed to grow brighter around him. He knew the sun shone in those streets just as much as it did here, but somehow this part of town seemed lighter, more airy. Pushing back his hair a bit, just enough to let a single emerald green eye beak through, he looked up at the sky, taking in the way the afternoon sun glittered in the hundreds of windows of a nearby skyscraper, like lights reflecting back from the eyes of an insect. The sound of a pedestrian approaching sent his gaze back to the dirty sidewalk, cleaner here than in the world he had just emerged from, but still littered with trodden upon gum and crumpled receipts.

Choosing a corner he set his stuff down. It didn't look like it would rain today which was good. Meant he could play outside. For the first time that day a smile tweaked his lips as he unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a violin case. With the delicacy of a mother holding a new born child he unlatched the case and pulled out the instrument. The feel of it against his collar bone was like magic, the way it was instantly able to relax his whole body. His back straightened and the tightness around his eyes disappeared as he tightened the hairs of the bow and drew the first note. A little bit of tuning was all it took for the world to disappear around him. At that moment there was nothing but the boy and violin, the two as one. Sometimes at night, when the hormones struck him, he would wonder if this was what making love felt like. Joining yourself, surrendering yourself, devoting yourself in your entirety to another being. Somehow he doubted it though. Nothing could be more complete than playing his violin.

It was as he came to the end of the refrain that the sound of clapping broke through the shell of music. Dazedly his eyes blinked open, he wasn't sure when they had closed, and he took in the figure standing before him. The man looked to be his age, though obviously taller, most of them were. His hair was a sandy grey-blond and his skin pale. His lips were smiling but his eyes were covered by glasses a fact which sent Misaki immediately on edge. His mind darted to the switch blade, within easy reach in his pocket. Still smiling the other reached into his own pocket. Misaki's feet shifted, ready to flee.

"You playing is awe inspiring."

"Well…um…t-thank you…" God he hated his inability to speak like a normal person. His eyes, still fixated in the stranger's hand observed him extract a wallet from his back pocket. His shoulders relaxed a bit, though his feet remained in position. A bill was taken from the wallet and tossed into his case. Emerald eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the number. 5,000 yen. Without thinking he found himself bowing to the stranger.

"Thank y-you, very m-much!" With a wave us his hand the stranger brushed away the bow.

"Think nothing of it."

"N-no really s-sir, do you…um…w-want me…uh…to p-play anything?" The man's smile widened.

"How about a sound track or something. Know any?"

"A-a few."

"Play me one." Quickly Misaki nodded before putting his bow to string and began the theme to James Bond. He snuck a peak at the stranger only to see that smile persist. That meant he was doing well right? When he had finished that and no indication was given from the other to cease he went on to Pirates of the Caribbean, which was easier, seeing as how it was a song actually made for violin. Again though no indication was made to stop and He's a Pirate turned into the Hedwig's theme and then Concerning Hobbits. Somehow Zelda snuck in there and even the Mario theme.

It took an hour for the man to finally lift his hand in a gesture for Misaki to finish. Lowering his instrument the brunet gazed at the teen from behind his mattered fringe.

"Thank you, that was splendid. Enjoy the tip." Another 5,000 was thrown down. Misaki could only stare as the sandy haired man turned and continued down the sidewalk without even a backwards glance.

Decided that some things were best left alone, Misaki quickly snatched up the money and tucked it into his shoe for safe keeping. He continued playing for the rest of the day.

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To say he was disappointed would be understatement. Akihiko stormed into his hotel room, throwing his tie onto the bed and in a fit of frustration slamming his fist into the wall.

The cabinet was a fake. He had come all the way out here for nothing.

No, not nothing. He had been able to see Takahiro, for all that it counted. With a sigh he collapsed in the plush mattress of the hotel, the memory foam creating a strange sensation around him as it slowly moved to fit the contours of his body.

Maybe he was just sexually frustrated. That sounded about right. He could do with a good fuck right now. Although it would have to be really good to make up for coming all the way to Japan for a fake cabinet. It wasn't even Chinese, just some knock of some Victorian had cocked together in America. If it had been British, he would have been able to at least make some money off it, but no, the only American furniture people wanted these days was the austere, minimalism of the shakers. He sighed again and flopped over on his stomach, the belt buckle digging uncomfortably into his lower abdomen.

With a sudden movement he sprung to his feet and roughly grabbed his coat. He needed a walk. Something to clear his head.

And who knows, maybe he'll meet someone.

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Night was falling over the city. Misaki had moved to a nearby patch of green. Fiddler's Green(1) he thought with a wry smile and continued playing the mournful tune that seems to come not only from him but the very air around him.

This always happened at night. It was almost as if the setting of the sun released something in him, like the opening of a door, allowing all the loneliness and desperation of the day to be released and flow through his bow.

The music he made was hollow, skipping over and missing vital pieces but he didn't blame it. The music was him and he the music and with each reflecting the other it was inevitable that it would turn out sounding this way.

He swayed softly to the melody, standing in the middle of the small park that had somehow been squeezed between a hotel and the back of a shopping mall. It was a rather classy hotel. Some days he would just sit in the park and watch the men and women go by, each dressed to impress in clothes that cost more than he could make in a life time. He always imagined he would be among them. That after going to M University he would work a nice sales job or something like that. That he would fly around the world, attending conferences in big cities.

Thoughts like those would lead to thoughts of the accident though and he would need to leave. It was for that reason he didn't come to this park very often, even if it was once of the nicest in Tokyo. Maybe he was just a masochist. This was the second night in a row he had been here, the nature of the place drawing an extra rip in his music.

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It was the violin. The same from last night. He was certain of it. That sound…never in a thousand life times would he be able to forget that sound.

It had started again, right outside his hotel and suddenly he wasn't sure if he wanted to cry into a pillow, or scream in outrage at the universe. He felt like a boy again hiding beneath his bed as his parents screamed at each other over who would be saddled with him after the divorce. He remembered clearly huddling beneath the covers, waiting for their inevitable entrance into his room. The memories rose up. Memories of hot tears and stinging cheeks, dark imprints on arms and quiet refuge in the library. He shook the thoughts away.

There was a wound in the music, giant and gapping, spilling it's life into the world. He began to walk towards it.

Shadows gather on the pavement as he makes his way down the park path. It was only a small park, maybe half an acre. Without warning the path turns and he was in the center. His breath caught as his heart jumped into double time.

A single street lamp shines down on the boy. The boy from the hospital.

He moved closer, drinking in the sight of the brunet with his eyes. Without thinking he stood before the smaller male, his long legs eating up the pavement beneath giving the other no time to react. His haste wasn't needed though. At this close range he could see that behind the knotted fringe his eyes were closed, though his expression itself was unlike any he had ever seen before on a violinist. He had seen people entranced by their music, the muscles in their face relaxed as they fell under the spell of their instrument.

This child though was different. Pain twisted their features as loneliness carved shadows under tightly screwed shut eyes.

Akihiko couldn't help himself. He needed it to stop. Before he knew what he was doing he had laid one of his hands down on the bridge. Silence, the same silence he had found in the hospital room rained down on the two figures under the street lamp. Suddenly the boy jerked and Akihiko caught a glimpse of wide emerald eyes before the slight figure disappeared into the shadows. The pounding of rubber on cement faded quickly, too quickly, into the distance and Akihiko found himself alone. Casting his eyes to the ground where the brunet had been standing his gaze fell on a beat up duffel bag, the same as at the hospital. In his hand he held gently the violin.

He couldn't help himself, really. Curiosity possessed him as he bent down and unzipped the bag. It was a large one, though obviously not large enough, the violin case that had been crammed in their working to burst the seams. Around the case he found a small wad of clothes along with a lighter, a toothbrush and tooth paste, and a photo. He held it to the light.

It was worn around the edges and the middle creased and raged, but he could make out Takahiro smiling back at him, his high school uniform sitting well on broad shoulders. Behind him stood a man and a woman, the people Akihiko knew to be his friend's parents. What caught the author's attention though was the boy. Skinny and short, looking to be nothing more than a brat, the small brunet beamed widely at the camera from his position next to his brother. For the second time that night Akihiko's breath caught as the identity of the violinist was revealed in the faded and smudged kanji that rimmed the bottom of the photo.

Misaki.

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He couldn't breathe. A lump rose in his throat, restricting his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, only to choke out a sob instead. The first was followed by another and then another as he slid down the concrete wall wrapping his arms around his knees and hiding his face, allowing the hot tears to soak into the jean fabric. The wind whistled around him and eventually he lifted his head, gazing with blurred eyes at the view of Tokyo, or at least what he could see from the parking lot roof he had escaped to. On shaking legs he lifted himself, walking the couple of steps it took to reach the edge. Almost in a daze he climbed the concrete barrier that divided him from the long drop.

He stood there, swaying, tears still streaming down his face, the lights of the city blurred and faded until he wondered if he were standing before a field of stars, maybe if he were to just tip forward he would fall into a galaxy, and sleep eternally, the constant movement of the celestial beings singing a lullaby to harken his rest.

Furiously he wiped the tears away and looked up, eyes training as he tried to find the constellation of Hercules. It was the correct season, and even better the correct time of night, and he needed that comfort right now.

But no, not even the constant shine of a planet could make it through the light pollution of the city. God how he hated Tokyo. Bitter revulsion rose in his chest and suddenly he was angry. Angry at the strange man for scaring him, angry at his brother for leaving him, but most of all angry at himself for his pathetic weakness.

He needed his violin. The ache for it grabbed at his heart and a fresh wave of tears rose up. His violin, the only happiness he owned. Not even the picture of his parent, the one he pulled out every night to look at before falling asleep could rival the emptiness that possessed him at the loss of his instrument. He felt like a part of himself had been snatched away. Like someone had stolen his heart from his chest.

No, not someone. That man.

That man who had taken everything from him. True he had his clothes, thank god he always wore his sweatshirt and didn't stuff it into his duffel. He had most likely also escaped with his life. Still, he did not feel alive. He looked down, the realization of the sudden drop that lay before him making him sway dangerously.

He wondered, if he were to drop, would he feel any different afterward?

He climber down from the ledge. He couldn't afford thoughts like that. This…this helplessness…it was only a short chapter in his life. He would get through it. Just survive until his brother wakes up. Just stay alive till then. Everything would be perfect again after that.

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Akihiko found himself bringing the duffel bag with him to the hospital the next day. He didn't know why he had canceled his flight back to Heathrow(2). His business in Japan had ended with the discovery about the cabinet. There was nothing for him here, not with Takahiro like this. Lavender eyes looked down on the sleeping man. There was something holding him here though. He didn't know what, but he was determined to find out.

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The restrooms at the public library were ideal for washing his hair. Cleaned daily, wide sinks, plenty of nice smelling soap. The hand driers were crap for anything but hands though and he could still feel the dampness seeping through his knit hat. He shivered. There was a reason he only did this once a month.

Emerald eyes watched the receptionist from around the corner to the building. Waiting. There, she was getting up. And going into a back room.

Seizing his chance he walked quickly but casually through the front doors. He already had the plans for the hospital memorized, making the walk to his brother's room uneventful and boring. Lost in thought he pushed the door open, only to freeze.

"Good morning." He could only gape opened mouthed at the silver haired man sitting at his brother's bed side like a monarch would sit on a throne. His eyes darted to the ground. His duffel!

Narrowed eyes returned to the man currently smirking at him. Could he get to it in time? The stranger only smiled wider.

"If you attack me, I call security."

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The fear in the boy's wide eyes was only made more apparent by the fact that his fringe was no longer hanging in front of them, the dampness of the hair causing it to stick to the sides of his face. For the first time Akihiko had a clear view of the other male, allowing him to see clearly now the boy's resemblance to Takahiro. The author picked up the duffel bag in one hand and held it just out of the teen's reach.

"Let's make a deal shall we." He could swear that was a growl that had escaped from the boy's throat. "You answer some of my questions, and I give you back your bag, alright Misaki?"

Emerald eyes widened even further as his whole body seemed to tense. With a keen gaze Akihiko watched as Misaki eased into a subtle fighting stance, the weight of his body imperceptibly shifting to the balls of his feet.

"Sit down." The boy hesitated before he complied. Green eyes blazed at him, causing Akihiko's breath to catch as their gaze connected.

"Will you answer my questions?" A forced nod.

"Why did you run?" Eyes narrows, clearly communicating the question of whether the author was really as stupid as he sounded. "Would you stop looking at me like that? Don't you know who I am?" The glare intensified.

"Alright then, my name is Usami Akihiko. I'm a friend of your brother."

"Prove it." The words were hissed at him from between clenched teeth. Akihiko was just happy he finally got an answer. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet.

"Certainly." Unfolding it he pulled out a picture and calmly passed it to Misaki. The boy flinched as he got close, before snatching it away. Obvious reluctant to take his eyes off the perceived threat he flicked his gaze to the picture, barely looking at it before looking back to Akihiko, seeing if he had moved. The man leaned back, relaxing with his hands folded in his lap. He smiled warmly at the smaller, noticing his stare. "Look at it properly." Slowly eyes returned to the picture and suddenly they were fixed.

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It was his brother, dressed in clothes he remembered from when the elder was in middle school. His arm was slung around another teenager. Another teenager with silver hair and violet eyes. Another teenager who was looking at his bother like one might gaze upon an idol. He gulped.

"You…my brother…w-were you…dating?" The question was obviously not one this man, Usamisan, had expected. He seemed to choke.

"Excuse me?!" Misaki's glare hardened.

"Brother. You. Dating?"

"No! God! Takahiro's straight as a lamp post! Why would you think I was dating him?!" Misaki was staring at him intensely and suddenly Akihiko could feel the power in the room slipping from him as he began to sweat.

"I've never heard of you, and every one think's Takahiro's straight, so if you were dating than obviously it would have been a secret, so of course he would have never mentioned you. And also," Finally the weight of the smaller's stare left the author as Misaki's gaze swept over the picture again. "The way you're looking at him…" He looked back at the silver haired man, just in time to catch the flash of sadness and heartbreak that seeped through the elder's defenses.

"You have a good mind." And with that the glare was back.

"Look, just because I don't have a home right now, doesn't mean I'm an idiot." Akihiko put his hands before him in defense.

"I never said that. It's just…" Now his face fell and despite himself Misaki felt his heart going out to the suddenly vulnerable stranger. "I knew Takahiro for over a decade, and never once did he…"

"Realize you were in love with him?"

"Yeah." As he sat there, suddenly feeling the weight of years of unrequited love bearing down on his shoulders, Akihiko couldn't help but ask himself how the interrogator had somehow become the interrogated.

"I don't believe you."

"What?" His gaze snapped to the younger's eyes, narrowed once again in suspicion.

"It's a pretty story, very believable, but your only proof is this photograph and photos can be doctored."

"Point taken. What do you want me to give you?"

"Facts about Takahiro." There was a pause. "And not things you can find on facebook."

"Let's see. He was always talking about you."

"Close but no cigar. Anyone can realize that, he's my brother." Akihiko thought for a minute before smiling fondly.

"Well, he was an absolute airhead. I used to catch him wandering into the women's restroom all the time because he wasn't paying attention. Afterwards his whole face would turn red and he wouldn't do anything but apologize for the next half hour." His words were followed by a chuckle and emerging from the memory he realized Misaki too was smiling. "Then there's the fact he would always step in dog shit and wouldn't realize it until he was already home." The brunet pulled a face.

"I know, right? And I was always the one who would end up cleaning it up!"

The rest of the afternoon passed with broad grins and laughter as they swapped memories, one after the other. Come the end of visiting hours Akihiko offered Misaki a stay in his hotel room, and instantly regretted it.

The boy froze and the distrustful glare Akihiko thought he had gotten rid of returned full force.

"No."

And with that he grabbed his violin and as out the room before Akihiko could even lift a finger.

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The teenager with the glasses was back. Misaki eyed him as he spun a melody from his bow. The man was smiling again, that wide toothy grin that the brunet didn't know how to react to. Finishing the piece with his own personal flourish he lowered the violin and looked up at the stranger questioningly, and if not a little hopeful. The smile widened still further.

"How would you like a job?"

"I d-don't do prostitution." An indignant look cross the stranger's face at Misaki's reply.

"Of course not, who do you think I am?"

"Rich." The other laughed at that.

"You're certainly correct there." He held out his hand. "My name is Sumi Keichii. Call me Keichii." Misaki rubbed his palm hurriedly on his jeans before taking the offered hand.

"Call me…Suzuki." Keichii cocked an eyebrow.

"Isn't that a girl's name?" Misaki blushed. It was the first name that had come to mind, probably because it was the title of his violin books from when he was younger(3). Not that his real name was any better. He hurriedly changed the subject.

"You said a job?"

"Oh yes, I was wondering if you wanted to play violin at my party." Misaki's jaw flapped for a few seconds.

"P-party?"

"Yeah, my birthday party. It's tomorrow. How does 30,000 yen sound?" Misaki could not remember a time when he had been so lost for words.

"Th-thirty thousand!" His voice broke in the middle.

"It's the standard pay for those who play at my parties. I could go higher if you want. Is 50,000 alright?" Misaki took a step back, waiving his free hand before him.

"N-no! Thirty thousand's just fine."

"That's great." He reached into his pocket. "Here's my address, and here's an advanced payment of 15,000. Can you be here tomorrow at say…13:00?" It took a moment for his words to move past the lump in his throat.

"Y-yeah. I'll be th-there."

"Perfect! See you tomorrow." And Keichii left, waving behind him.

"Y-yeah…see y-you."

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Akihiko wasn't sure whether he should be surprised or not when the haunting wail of the violin drifted through the open window.

He didn't even bother with his coat this time, barely remembering his card key before he was racing down the hallway and pounding down the stairs. By the time he got to Misaki he was panting hard, but smiling. The teen eyed him strangely.

"Are you…alright?" Akihiko grinned at him.

"Never better." The smile slipped. "Why are you here? I thought you didn't want to be around me?" Pink blossomed on the younger's face and Akihiko suddenly realized he quite enjoyed the look.

"I…I-I need you to know something."

"Yes?"

"I got offered a job."

"That's wonderful!"

"N-no, you don't understand. I'm going to this guy's house and…"

"Misaki! Don't you dare tell me you're selling yourself!"

"I'm not! Jeez, what do you take me for?" Akihiko didn't even have to think about it.

"An intelligent teenager and a wicked violinist."

"R-really?"

"Really. But you're also really cute and could get a lot of money if you directed your looks in the right direction."

"I could? I mean, don't call me cute, I'm a guy! And I would never do that!" His mind though flew back to the last winter and he couldn't help but add a silent yet to his statement.

"Alright then, what are you doing at this guy's house?"

"He wants me to play violin for him at his party."

"…Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't trust him."

"But you trust me?"

"Of course not! I told you I'm not an idiot! You're just…you're just the o-only one I know…a-and…" Akihiko was silent, watching Misaki with a soft gaze at the teen took a moment to gather his thoughts. "And I need someone to know where I've gone. In case I…y-you know…don't come back. Someone needs to tell my brother. If—I mean when he w-wakes up."

"And there was no one else to tell?" Misaki looked down, fingering the neck of his violin nervously.

"N-no. I…um…don't make friends easily."

"That sounds like something a kindergarten teacher would put on a report card." There was an imperceptible grumble sounding something like, "It was."

"Well it's true ok? I-I can't talk to people v-very well."

"You can talk to me just fine." Misaki looked up at him in shock as he realized this was true.

"…Yeah…I can…" And it was true. Around Akihiko he didn't feel his mind go blank and his words sticking in his throat like he did around others. Akihiko chuckled.

"Shut up! It's only because you make me angry!"

"But anger is better than fear and I don't want you to fear me Misaki."

"Doesn't mean I trust you."

"Of course not. You're not an idiot."

"Yeah, that's right!"

"Is that all you wanted me to know. That you're going to a guy's house? Don't I get a name, or an address?"

"Oh, I forgot." Misaki pulled out a crumpled paper from his pocket and passed it to the author. Akihiko too out his blackberry and snapped a picture of it before handing it back. "His name is Sumi Keichii."

"Sumi? Is he very rich?" Akihiko knew a Sumi family. They were all in the publishing and literary business. A powerful family, but not as much as the Usami. If need be he could overpower them easily.

"I-I g-guess. He gave me f-f-fifty thousand yen as down p-payment, and t-ten thousand the day before because I played him some movie sound tracks." Akihiko raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like he really wants you to play. No wonder you're suspicious."

"Good, someone agrees with me. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll see you tomorrow night." Akihiko frowned.

"Misaki, I'm worried. Are you sure you don't want to stay in my hotel room." The glare he was shot was chilling. "It doesn't have to be mine. I'll pay for another one if you want."

"No, I won't be a burden."

"You're Takahiro's little brother, it wouldn't be a burden." The words sent a shot of pain through Misaki's heart, but he didn't show it.

"Shut up dumbass and go away."

Akihiko sighed as Misaki walked into the shadows beyond the halo of the street lamp. The absence of the teen left a bad feeling in his gut. Apprehension, concern, and loss all rolled together, making him queasy. His phone was slipped into his pocket as his jaw clenched in determination. Tomorrow he would be paying a visit to the Sumi family. Without fail.

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His throat was dry and his hands shaking as he reached for the button to open the intercom and hopefully convince whoever was on the other side that it wasn't all just one big mistake. Mainly because at the moment he was doing a horrid job at convincing himself.

The buzz from the speaker startled him.

"Please state your name and business." The voice was feminine and chirpy, and sounded exactly the same as every other tin can voice recording done by a woman.

"Ta—I mean S-Suzuki"

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Please repeat your name and business."

"Suzuki, violinist." He cringed internally. When it was put like that it because obvious the name was fake.

"Welcome Suzuki we have been expecting you. Please drive through the gate safely and remember, only one car at a time. Have a nice day." And the voice shut off. Misaki was too nervous to notice though and almost tripped over his feet in his haste to get through the gate, still half convinced it was going to slam shut before he could enter.

It didn't, but he couldn't find it in him to feel relieved. A gravel drive way stretched before him and turned into a pine forest. It took a half hour walk for him to emerge on the other side, and then he could only stand their frozen in shock.

It was like…he felt like…

It was as if he were visiting the emperor, or a very close cousin. The mansion before him looked like it had come straight from one of his favorite feudal dramas. He had to force himself to take a step forward. One after the other until he was on the stone walkway making his way to the front door. To his right a shishi odoshi tipped into a mossy stone basin and to his left a stone lantern revealed itself from behind the deep evergreen of a camellia. He felt dizzy, quick breaths never making it into a suddenly tightened chest. White knuckled he gripped his duffel and concentrated on his violin, calling up the music and letting it echo in his mind. For what must have been five minutes he stood there, concentrating only on the music, the rest of the world falling away like grains of sand draining with time.

He was jerked back to reality by a sudden cough.

"Suzukisan?" He looked at the maid, smiling sheepishly, wishing the color on his cheeks would recede faster.

"Yes?" She gave him a funny look.

"If you would follow me." Being careful this time not to trip he slid off his grimy shoes in the walkway, grimacing at the smell that rose from his feet. The maid, dressed in a traditional kimono which only reinforcing Misaki's hypothesis that he had actually gone through a time portal, led him down a number of hallways, the sides lines with rice paper sliding doors and the floor made from a rich hardwood that gleamed in the light. Looking down he realized he could see his reflection, causing him to quickly jerk away, almost slipping on the polished surface. At one point they passed a courtyard, an actual pond situated in the middle, lotus blossoms floating atop, and for a second he swore he just saw a koi fish jump from the water.

He was drawn away from the vision of paradise by another polite, though impatient cough. His cheeks never lost their scarlet flush as he was finally let into a six tatami room. A small ikebana arrangement was against one wall before a scroll, but otherwise the room was plain, the philosophy of teaism(4) shining through, especially in the short table situated near the center.

"Please wait here. Master Keichii will be with you shortly."

"A-alright." And the maid was gone. Uneasiness hit him like a concrete block, and again his breath speed up, his heart pounding out of his chest, as sweat prickled on the back of his neck. He needed his violin.

Shaking hands finally managed to clasp the zipper and hurriedly he pulled it back, almost tearing it off in the process. It took a couple of tries to get the key into the hole on the violin case, but he did, and the effect of opening of the lid on his heart was instantaneous. The feel of the polished wood in his hands, and the smell of resin were like a breath of air in the eternal vacuum of space.

He began to play quietly as he waited. The piece was slow, soothing, and he allowed his shoulders to relax, his eyelids slide close, and the anxiety of the day leaving him.

Of course it all came rushing back as an angry shout cut through the silent tranquility of the room and the furious pounding of footsteps from down the hall, getting closer. The sliding door was thrown open, causing Misaki to almost drop his violin.

"Ah! S-Sumisan!"

"Suzukichan! How are you?" The thunderous expression that had marred his face when he entered disappeared in an instant, being replaced with a wide smile and crinkled eyes.

"I-I'm ok. A-are you alright." Keichii waved his hand before him dismissively.

"Oh, don't worry about me. Just some trouble with my parent, you know?"

"N-no, s-sorry…I-if you w-want to talk a-about it, I-I m-might be able to h-help." He could feel himself trembling and would have hugged his violin tighter if he weren't so afraid of breaking it. Keichii blinked at him in surprise. "I-I mean, you d-don't have to t-talk! I d-don't want to b-be a b-bother!"

"You know Suzukichan, you're a really kind person." Misaki coloured, though whether at the choice of name, or the compliment it was uncertain.

"I'm n-not rea—" He caught the other's look. "I-I mean t-thank you." He bowed awkwardly and Keichii sat down of the floor next to him.

"I'll tell you about it, just sit ok, you look really uncomfortable"

"T-thank you." He sat, trying to not make it obvious that he had put a meter of space between the two. The smile given to him then could almost be considered kind, he mused, and suddenly he didn't feel so nervous anymore.

"Let's see, how should I start…I don't get along with my parent, as you can probably tell. You see, I'd rather suck a dick than a pussy so it kind of rubs them wrong, you know?" Misaki could only stare, his whole head turning the hue of a fire truck at the monotone bluntness of the other. It took one look at his face for the other to break into laughter.

"Oh god! I'm sorry, was that to blunt for you?"

"N-no! I-i-i-it's f-f-f-fine!" He waved his hands before him, desperate to not seem offensive. Finally Sumi's laughter died down.

"You're priceless Suzukichan. Really."

"T-thank you?" Sumi snickered before continuing.

"But not just any dick, you understand."

"…Er…"

"Good. Because I only want one, and it has to be attached to Usami Akihiko." Now Misaki could really say he was stunned speechless.

"…U-Usami?"

"You know, the author? The one who's writing is pure orgasmic." Sumi blinked at him. The brunet could only stare blankly, still trying to process just how small a world it was after all. "Come on, you must have seen him in the news. You can't just forget a man like that, he's practically sex on legs." Surprisingly it was only now that Misaki's cheeks chose to betray him and exploded in a vibrant tomato. No, one really couldn't forget a man like that. "Jeez Suzukichan, do you live in a hole or something?"

"I-I don't h-have tv."

"He's all over the internet."

"I d-don't have a computer e-either."

"You really do live in a hole." Misaki concluded that it was high time for the subject to be changed.

"S-so how are you g-going to…get h-him?"

"I'm going to do something big."

"Huh?"

"Something worthy of the news. Something that will catch his attention. He already knows my father so obviously if something happened he would have to give his condolences."

"C-condolences…?" The violinist suddenly didn't like where this was going. Suddenly Keichii shot up.

"That reminds me. Stay here, I'll be right back." The taller was out of the room in an instant the door slamming firmly shut behind him.

"…See you?"

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"110, what is your emergency."

"You've got to help me!" The voice on the other end was muffled, breathless.

"If you tell the nature of your emergency and location we will send assistance immediately."

"There's a kid in my house! He's trying to kill me!"

"Please give more details and we will assist you as best we can."

"I'm Sumi Keichii. The kid, his name is Suzuki. OH MY GOD!" The male voice was suddenly drowned out by the resounding noise of an explosion.

"Sir, please remain calm and tell me your location."

"Fire! Oh God, fire! He's blown up my house!"

"Sir, if you cou—"

And the line went dead.

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The smell of wood smoke sent a wave of uneasiness to Akihiko's gut. Hurrying his steps he rounded the corner, desperately hoping it was just a summer cook out. Eyes widened and he broke into a run as the flicker of hungry flames appeared through the trees at the end of the block.

The next explosion sent a shockwave through his chest, rattling his rib cage and causing his heart to rise into his throat.

He was running now, breath coming in short bursts. His feet pounded hard against the gravel as he caught another glimpse of fiery red through the pine trees.

Green eyes flashed through his mind and for the first time since he was a child he found himself calling out to whatever power set the course of fate.

Please! Save him!

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Sweat poured into his eyes as the hot air scorched his lungs. He didn't know where he was, every corridor a dead end. He was lost, hopeless, in a maze of rice paper doors as the world transformed into an burning angry orange. He couldn't stop, but at the same time he didn't know where else to go.

How had things become this bad? He had been doing so well. He had been getting a hang of life without a home, getting used to the waiting for his brother to once again open his eyes.

What would his brother think, waking up, only to learn his only sibling had perished, nothing left of him but ashes born from this hellish inferno.

The tears weren't even given enough time to run down his cheeks before evaporating into the blazing air. Like Hansel in the witch's oven he was trapped with no way out. He clutched his violin closer to his chest as he coughed furiously into the black smoke surrounding him. Desperation clawed at his chest as he screamed again, hoping for someone, anyone, to hear him through the roar of the fire as with greedy fingers it consumed the walls around him.

The sharp crack above him was the only warning, barely giving him enough time to jump forward, before one of the ceiling beams found it could hold up the roof no more. The sudden rush of air from the hole in the roof worked to divide the flames.

And that's when he heard it.

Misaki didn't give himself time to think before tucking his chin against his chest and jumped.

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He was paralyzed by the sight before him. Pillars of flame reached for a blackening sky as screams pierced the air. Men and women streamed from the building like ants from their hill. Violet eyes searched desperately for that one glimpse of brown hair, but every time he thought he saw it, the color belonged to another.

Reaching out he grabbed onto the shoulder of a passing maid, almost sending her tumbling to the gravel driveway. She tuned to him, eyes wild, like a spooked stallion.

"Have you seen a short teenager. Brown hair, green eyes, probably with a violin."

"Let me go! Please! Let me go!"

"Have you seen him!?" The maid looked at him, and perhaps it was commanding bite in his voice, or the crazed light behind his eyes but she suddenly wondered if she had been safer within the burning building.

"Y-yes. I-I let him in earlier."

"And where is he!?"

"Near the courtyard!" He voice rose in hysterics and before with a shriek she broke away. Akihiko didn't watch her run though, for he had already taken off towards the building. His long legs splashed through the small stone basin containing water, only sparing a second to trail his coat through it before throwing the garment over his head.

The waves of heat assaulting him might as well have been solid walls at they stole his breath and reddened the exposed skin of his hands and face. He could feel the hair on his knuckled singe and the fabric of his shirt become uncomfortably hot. He put his arm before his face as he leapt through an opening in the flames, trying not to breathe to deeply.

He might as well have been blind. With no idea where the court yard was he could only run deeper into the house.

He wondered if he were going to die here.

He wondered if it was worth it risking his life for a boy he had met only a few days ago.

He wondered who would miss him.

Aikawa maybe. At least, she would have to find a new author. She would probably enjoy that, the woman had never liked him very much anyways.

His family? Not his brother. In fact it would probably be a relief for him not to have to work so hard to prove he was better than the legitimate son. Probably not his father either. Most likely it would be a relief knowing he wouldn't be around to embarrass the Usami name anymore.

Hiroki? He hadn't seen the man since he was last in Japan. The brunet was a professor now, with a lover of seven years or something like that. They had fallen out of contact years ago, and Akihiko couldn't find himself able to imagine that his lose would much impact his old friends life.

He didn't have any friends in England. It just wasn't his way to get close to people. Perhaps his landlord would miss the monthly check that came in the mail for the store front he was renting. It was nothing that could be replaced though.

The conclusion formed in his mind and he only ran faster through the blazing hallways.

He knew, with the same certainty that knew the sun would rise each morning and that he would never understand women, that if he were to just turn back, and leave the house, without knowing if Misaki had escaped or not, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

The sleeve before his mouth was removed as he sucked in a great breath of air, trying not to choke on the thick black smoke and shouted as loud as he could.

"MISAKI!"

There was no reply, but his steps did not falter. Again he shouted for the boy, and again came no reply. Behind him the wall fell in, exactly where he had been standing less than a second ago. He screamed again, turning right, leaping over a collapsed part of the ceiling. He wondered when he had become so athletic. It must be the adrenaline that pumped through his blood steam, causing the world to pass him at what seemed like light speed as he felt himself to be crawling at the pace of a turtle.

A sudden cry for help sent him whipping his head around and his feet pounding in that direction. He didn't know how he had recognized the voice. Misaki barely spoke and when he did it was soft and barely there unless he managed to anger the teen.

Somehow though he had recognized it, and the second cry sent him running faster still, at a speed he didn't even know was possible for him. Spots clouded his vision from the bright light of the blaze, or perhaps it was the smoke that caused the world to turn fuzzy around the edges. The heat pressed him at all sides until he felt like he should be screaming in agony. He ignored it.

The sudden breath of air was like a wind from the gardens of paradise as he finally came upon the court yard. The fire had reached the trees here too as their tops blazed like torches with a pulsing orange glow. Nowhere could he see Misaki.

He screamed again and suddenly something came crashing through the walls on the far side, tumbling over the white sands of the Zen garden, rolling to a stop at the mossy divide. The thing uncurled itself and Akihiko finally found what he had been looking for.

"MISAKI!"

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Wide emeralds met the blazing amethyst and suddenly Misaki found himself scrambling to his feet violin still pressed tightly to his chest. He didn't know where the sudden feeling of relief and safety that flooded his senses at the sight of the author came from, but before he knew it he was throwing himself against the scorched cotton of the elder's shirt as strong arms circled his shaking body. He could hear his name being repeated over and over again, like the words of a priest during prayer, and all he could do was press tighter.

The moment was broken by the feel of splintered wood pressing sharply into his chest and suddenly he froze. Another explosion sounded, far too near this time, but he wasn't paying attention. Suddenly it didn't matter. Suddenly he didn't care about the burning heat or the solid embrace he was enclosed him. Because…because…

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"Misaki! Misaki snap out of it! We have to move! Misaki!" But the boy was beyond him now and he knew why. He too could feel the splintered wood pressing into his abdomen, and he could only imagine the importance of the violin to Misaki, but it was not his first priority.

Seeing the blank, dead look in the teen's eyes he knew he would shout himself hoarse before his words reached the other. Reaching down, with both hands hooking behind Misaki's thighs he hefted the shorter up and with a few steps they stumbled into the water of the koi pond.

For a few seconds the world turned black, silence pressing on his eardrums as blessed coolness encased his body. He felt like he had been enshrouded in a coffin of ice.

It was only a few seconds and with a powerful thrust to the muddy floor, he sent them shooting up. The pond was deeper than he thought, deep enough that only his head and shoulders were able to break the surface as he stood on the bottom. To say it was too deep for Misaki though would be an understatement and so without thinking he wrapped the boy's legs around his hips and held his body tightly to his chest. Something brushed against his legs and he realized the koi were coming to see what was going on.

The fast breaths against the skin of his neck were far too shallow, almost sending Akihiko into a panic attack himself. He pulled the teen closed still, releasing that the shattered violin must have fallen away at their impact with the pond. He didn't know what to do. How do you deal with panic attacks like this? A low keening met his ears and brought one hand up to thread through the soaked hairs at the base of the boney neck.

"Misaki? Misaki, listen to me." There was no reply, and he could feel the shaking getting worse. "Misaki, calm down. I'll buy you a new one, but I need you to do something for me, ok. Breathe for me Misaki. Breathe." Contrary to his words though Misaki's breath suddenly stopped, and Akihiko thought his own heart had stopped along with it. "Misaki breathe! Breathe in! Come on! Inhale!"

And he did. It was shaky and rushed but the movement of air against the sensitive skin on his neck sent of flood of cool relief down Akihiko's spine. And so he continued to speak his calm words into Misaki's pink tinged ear, his lips so close they would brush against the burned skin occasionally, sending shivers down the body pressed tightly against his own.

"That's it. Inhale…exhale…don't think about it. Don't think about the fire. We're same now. Can you hear the sirens? We're safe. We'll be out of here before you know it, and I'll get you a new violin, ok?" He was babbling now, not knowing what he was saying, only knowing that Misaki was gradually ceasing to shake and beginning to relax against him. A tree stretched over half the pond, the sap in its trunk boiling and crackling in the air, the smell of scorched pine needles permeating the smoke, but they were on the other side of the water and the court yard was big enough that the fires of the building would not reach them easily. The pond was surrounded by moss and grasses, but that was surrounded by sand and rock. They could not be touched.

They were safe.

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Usami was speaking nonsense and in any other situation Misaki would have giggled as the things he was hearing. Akihiko was telling him stories. Stories about going to Italy, to the original violin makers. Stories about taking him on a canal ride in Venice, of listening to the violin as its music resounded off the stone walls. They would go to Paris and he would play at the top of the Eiffel Tower, or to the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul where his songs would resound across the city from the top of a minaret. They would even go to New York, despite the fact that Akihiko apparently didn't like Americans, and he would play in Time Square.

At that one he did giggle. He was pretty sure at this point that Akihiko's mind was no longer connected to his mouth. At the sound of his laughter though the silver haired man fell silent, much to Misaki's disappointment, and finally he drew back from the brunet's ear. Their eyes locked and Misaki smiled a small, tired smile. Slowly he lifted his arms from the water, the sleeves of his sweatshirt stretching and dripping. His hands found their place over Akihiko's shoulder, and he pulled himself close.

"I'm holding you to that, ok?"

"Alright."

"We'll go to Istanbul, and Paris, and New York, and Cairo, and Venice, and Athens, and Moscow."

"Did I say that?"

"Well I added in Cairo. And Athens. And Moscow. But I still want to go."

"I'll take you everywhere ok?" Misaki relaxed as he hugged the larger man's shoulders, burying his face into the soaked skin beneath Akihiko's jaw.

"I'd like that."

"I'll even take you to an Aztec temple. How weird would that be huh? Playing violin in the middle of a tropical jungle."

"Pretty weird alright." He could feel his eye lids growing heavier as the final traces of adrenaline left his bloodstream.

"And when we've seen everything there is to see, I'll take you to my shop in London. I'll make you my first employee."

"Sounds nice."

He was still smiling as sleep finally took him, resting safely in the arms of this strange man.

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+

The emergency services arrived half an hour later, by then the parts of the building that had survived the explosions were beyond salvage.

It took a few moments for Akihiko to comprehend why they were pulling Misaki away from him. He was so tired, so empty. He felt hollow and light as they guided him from the water. Vaguely he could hear them speaking to each other about shock and one paramedic calling out for a towel.

He was placed at the doors of the emergency vehicle, towel over his shoulders, and passages of Douglas Adams running through his mind. Misaki was behind him on a stretcher, sleeping soundly. Akihiko looked down at his hands.

He was surprised to see the remains of the violin still clutched tightly in his fist. One of the paramedics was bending over him, asking him to let go. His knuckles were white despite the burns and little droplets of blood were seeping through his clenched fist as the splinters dug into his pink, raw flesh. His other hand had been wrapped he realized and the man before him wanted to do the same to this own. Slowly he let the violin go, one finger loosening at a time until the pieces, connected by the four strings, fell into his lap.

That hand too was wrapped and he was being guided, a little too forcefully, into the ambulance.

The red of the flames were gone now, the world of fire transformed into its opposite, damp timbers dripping onto soggy ashes.

He was sat on a bench next to Misaki. The beanie had been removed and brunet strands, darkened to a rich coffee, were spread out on the pillow beneath his head, the damp causing them to twist and pool around him. Akihiko ran his fingers through, gently untangling the numerous knots and mentally noting he should bring the boy to the barbers before they set off on their world safari.

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He woke to the heavy patter of rain against window glass, white walls, and the steady beep of a heart monitor. For a few second he just laid there, the haze of dreams he had already forgotten clouding his thoughts.

And then he shot up.

He was in a hospital bed. In a hospital. Without insurance.

Thoughts of why he might be there or why he had been asleep didn't even register in his mind as he ripped the IV needle from his arm, sucking on the flesh as small droplets of scarlet rose up. The tearing away of the sticky things on his chest caused the heart monitor to flat line and he knew he had to be quick. Experience told him nurses would come running at the signal. He was on his feet and stumbling towards the door, shaking off the dizziness, before quickly gaining momentum and bursting into the hallway. His bare feet slapped against the linoleum as he dashed around corners, bumping into nurses and crashing into a metal cart. The green of the exit sign was a beacon to his frantic mind and he sped towards it, blood pumping in his ears.

He did not hear the surprised shout of his name.

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Akihiko was frantic. In a blur of pale skin and wild brown locks Misaki had flown past him and into the stair well. The second he had made to follow him though the doctor who had been in the room with him, checking up on his burns and the condition of his lungs had stood in his way, angrily telling him to sit back down and wait patiently.

He didn't want to sit down. He didn't want to be patient. This he told the woman. He wanted to catch Misaki. To catch him before his disappeared forever.

Because if that were to happen he wasn't sure what he would do.

He didn't even know why he felt this way, or what even it was that he felt. All he knew was that he wanted Misaki with him, at his side, right now, and for as long as possible. And he supposed, in his still heavily medicated mind, that was all he really needed to know anyways.

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+

Dead eyes watched the screen of the television through the shop window in Tokyo's electronic neighborhood. The smell of hot plastic came from the streets around him, stemming from the machines that had been working hard all day in the oppressive summer sun. Reports of the explosion had swarmed the media for the past three days, the whole country on the lookout for green eyed brunet bomber going by the name Suzuki.

Misaki turned away as an artist rendition of him flashed across the screen. Being sure to keep his head down and his tangled matted fringe falling into his face, he skirted the crowd, hugging himself tightly.

He had nothing.

His duffel bag, containing his money and more importantly the photo of his parents and brother, the one he took with him everywhere, was gone, nothing but ashes and a chest tightening memory.

Bare feet, caked in filth and stained by dirty puddles carried him into an alley, the same one he had been occupying for the past three days. The smell of the Chinese restaurant whose back opened into the thin strip between buildings was torture on his empty stomach that had been steadily eating away at itself.

He was returning to the air vent he had found the night after his flight from the hospital. Warm air and steam rushed from the hot metal grid, and as night fell he knew it was all he could ask for.

Because he had nothing.

Life before the fire seemed almost like a game now. Living on the street wasn't so hard, once he got the hang of it. He made enough money from his playing for a daily bowl of yakisoba, the kind sold by street vendors in carts And he needed something more that day, he could search through the dumpsters behind convenience stores. They were always throwing away unsold bentos. His cloths had kept him warm during the summer night. Winter had been a different story, so ok, maybe it wasn't that easy, but at least when he got too cold he could go to the library or something. And sometimes, if he managed to evade security, he would be able to stay their overnight.

Not anymore though. Now he was a wanted man and going anywhere near a security camera was probably the dumbest thing he could do.

His mind flashed back to the parking garage roof and his futile search for the stars. That jump, that was probably the dumbest thing he could do actually. Before the fire at least.

Now…now he was just waiting. For what he didn't know. It felt like he was always waiting. Waiting for his parent to come home in the rain. Waiting to be old enough to pay his brother for all he had given him. Waiting the agonizing wait before the emergency room doors the night his brother's car had collided with another. And last off all, waiting for his brother to wake up so that the world would right itself once more.

It was like was stuck knee deep in mud near the bank of a river, watching the fast water stream around him, yet not being able to follow it.

He hoped his brother woke up within the next week, because at this rate that was probably how long he had to live.

He curled into himself, boney knees tucking under the pillowing fabric of the now almost unrecognizable hospital gown.

He would make his home here, he supposed, with his back to a dumpster and a roof made from an pissed on mattress. It would be his own personal grave, surrounded by the slick plastic of garbage bags and dented beer cans.

He curled himself farther into the shadows that flocked to his little corner. There was really no reason to move anymore. He would just sit here by the warm steam until the sweetness of oblivion came.

Perhaps he should have found somewhere higher. He liked high places. You could see the sky better when you were high up with nothing around you to block your view. No concrete walls to stop the wind from circling your body with promises of places far away and whispers of worlds unseen.

The fingers of his left hand twitched as he stood, wanting, almost hurting with the need to stretch themselves over wire strings and press down. His head hurt and he felt dizzy. Unplayed notes filled and buzzed around his mind, pleading for release.

He needed his violin, like an addict their heroin. Because the violin was his drug. While other teenager in his position turned to narcotics and alcohol for release from the pain of reality, he had had his music.

Had. He didn't have it now, and the loss of his songs were an open wound in his chest, causing the world to pass by him in a blur of color and a cacophony of noise. He would have cried but he couldn't find it in him. He was beyond tears now.

The parking garage was empty at this hour and his laid himself down on the roof's asphalt, still warm from the day's merciless sun.

The sky above him glowed a deep orange, the edges fading to purple. The lights of the city were more a curse than a blessing.

He closed his eyes.

And suddenly above him he could see the milky way.

He was floating, weightless in a field of stars. All around him, everywhere he looked they were there, twinkling, speaking to him in their own star language. The feel of their light was cool on his skin, a soothing balm made for all the hurt in the world. Planets whizzed by, perfect ellipses being traced behind them as a light shimmer of solar dust, like so many flecks of gold, settled over everything. Kepler's equations flashed through his mind as he reached out his hand and watched as it wove between his fingers, never stopping as it followed an invisible guide, on a journey into the unknown.

He reached out again, this time managing to capture a star. Cupping it gently he held it to his bosom, feeling it hum and glow against his skin in a rainbow of light and sound. The other stars around him began to join in until he found himself flouting there, being lifted up by the harmony. A symphony of perfection, and he was at its core. He was the center of the galaxy.

The stars wanted him to join. Laughing he watched as the light of the burning gasses bent and fractured until he found before him a violin, the most perfect violin, shaped by the heavens. He placed it beneath his chin. It was cool and at the same time warm, and it too was vibrating in anticipation. With the ease he pulled the bow across the strings and all at once he too was a star, his life dictated by the symmetry formed by gravity and mass. It was a universal constant and he was a part of it. They were laws that could not be broken and would never die. They were now and forever and in everything from the subtle movements of a flower as she spread her petals one by one in the rays of a morning sun, to the orbit of galaxies. The rules of life that could not be escaped, were everywhere, until the last star sputtered out.

And he was a part of it.

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+

The taste of coffee on his tongue was bitter and filled his mouth with the remembrance of something fifty years dead and recently dug up. He ignored it.

Just like he ignored the exhaustion that pressed down on his mind and the heaviness of his limbs. Because he was searching. Eyes, rimmed by deep bruised shadows peered into dark corners and down walkways, over roofs, and behind park trees. Almost in a daze he walked as before his eyes the city began to take a new image. One of sin and rot. A city riddled with decayed holes that the darkness seeped out of, its black tentacles straining to the lights, corruption following in their wake.

Was this what Misaki had been living in? This world of vice, formed by those who had been forgotten and abandoned by society.

The thought only made him walk faster, look harder. There was no music to guide his way this time. Misaki was no longer calling, but despite that he would find him. If it took the next thousand years, he would find him.

But a thousand years he did not have, if fact he doubted he had the next week. When he had checked out of the hospital three afternoons ago, it was with Misaki's clothes in hand, wrapped neatly in a paper bag, at the bottom of which was a shoe containing 30,000 yen.

He couldn't shake the heavy feeling that he had been carrying all that Misaki left in this world. He hoped with a hope that was beyond desperation that he was wrong, for if he weren't…

He was running now, eyes scanning, voice calling. He needed to find him. The need arose in him with the urgency of a typhoon. His voice was hoarse and his throat raw, but he didn't stop calling for the teen. And he wouldn't stop. Ever.

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+

He could hear it. In his place among the stars a whisper was rising. It was his name, being chanted over and over again, rising in intensity, a constant rhythm. Without his controlling it the music began to follow, the beats dictating the notes, controlling their speed.

No…NO! This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The order was breaking as a new world began to seep through the cracks. The tempo was picking up, as the planets and stars began to race down their tracks. Momentum building and barriers cracked as paths were changed and suddenly nothing was the way it should be. In great explosions of light, and gas, and rock planets began to collide, stars began to go out and he was being left alone. Like drops of ink seeping into clear water the blackness bloomed around him, spreading, consuming. And that chanting. It was his name, over and over and over again. It pounded in his ears pulling him from sanctuary.

No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!

Like a jack knife he shot up, eyes snapping open, and breath ragged.

He could still hear it. His name. Only this time he knew what it was.

"Akihiko!"

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+

It was so feint he almost missed it, but as he called again there was again a reply. Tripping over tired feet he ran towards it. Once shiny black leather shoes, now scuffed and dull, pounded on the concrete as he climbed the stairs that circled up the side of the parking garage. Lung, still not near close to recovery from the smoke inhalation, worked overtime as blood rushed by his ears, and still he continued to call.

And suddenly, like a child's game in the summer, the answering call was coming from in front of him. And his gaze connected with another's.

On shaking limbs the boy rose and launched himself at the author. Akihiko had to quickly grab a hold of the stair railing to keep from tumbling backwards. Spindly arms wrapped around his neck and he was all of a sudden pulled forward. It didn't matter though because his own tired arms were pulling the slim body against his own, the sudden wave of contentment and satisfaction taking him off guard. He only hugged tighter.

They stayed like that for who knows how long, tranquility ruling their senses, as peace ruled the air. Finally Akihiko could hold it in no longer.

"Why did you run?" Seeming to be pulled back into himself Misaki tried to draw away, the nervousness that controlled his actions returning back full force. Akihiko didn't let him though. Instead he kept one hand in place while the other rubbed reassuring circled over the boy's spine. Finally his answer came.

"Are you here to make me pay?"

"Pay? What are to talking about?"

"For the hospital. I don't have insurance."

"That's why you ran?" There was a nod. Akihiko smiled gently. "No, I'm not going to make you pay. I already paid for both our bills."

"B-but why?" Akihiko was silent for a few second, trying to find the best way to compose his answer.

"Because…I'm trying to obtain something, and spending money if the way people usually go about doing that." Misaki looked at him, utterly bewildered.

"W-w-what is it?"

"You."

"Eh?"

"Do you trust me Misaki?" Now it was the younger's turn to think, mulling over the question. He wanted to be absolutely sure, the only problem being he already knew he was. Straightening he looked the other directly in the eyes.

"Yes Usamisan, I trust you." Akihiko didn't think he'd ever smiled so hard in his life.

"Then come with me Misaki. Let me buy you a violin and let's travel the world."

"B-b-but…"

"But what?"

"I can't leave. I…I need to stay in Tokyo." Akihiko cocked an eyebrow.

"How come?"

"I need to stay with my brother. W-what if he wakes up…when I'm gone?" A frowned quickly wiped away the elder's grin.

"I can't just leave you here Misaki." A tight smile painted itself across Misaki's face, concealing what was underneath. A hollow joker's mask.

"Sure you can. I'm a big boy now, I can take care of myself." The hand rubbing his back paused before moving to his front where cool fingers glided down the defined rib bones that could be clearly seen through the thin cotton of the hospital gown. Misaki flinched and the hand drew away.

"I can't leave you Misaki, so please, don't let me. I'm your friend aren't I?" The brunet froze, shocked. Akihiko was giving him a hopeful look.

"Yes…you are my friend." He hadn't realized it before, and now the thought flooded him all at once filling him with strange warmth. The heat in his chest only increased at seeing the joy his words had brought the author.

"Then let's make a deal, ok?"

"A deal?"

"Yes. We'll wait till winter. If Takahiro isn't awake by then, you'll come with me." Delicate brows furrowed as Misaki thought about it.

"Ok, I can do that." He hoped. Really. He didn't actually know if he would survive till winter. Especially without his violin. He was pulled out of his thought by a pale hand being thrust before his face. Realizing what the other wanted he shook it.

"Good, now let's go." Firmly, though not roughly, the other pulled off his coat off and set it over Misaki's shoulder. Wide eyes looked at him questioningly.

"W-where are you g-going?" He really didn't want the silver haired man to leave, though he knew he had nothing to make him stay.

"We're going to get some food, and after that we're going to the hotel where we're going to bed, because as of right now, I am beyond exhausted."

"W-we…?"

"Yes, we, now come on."

"But you s-said I d-don't have to go with you until w-winter!"

"Correct, I'll put off our plans for world travel until then, but in the meantime you're staying with me."

"I can't do that!"

"Why not?" Akihiko was frowning deeply now. He was tired, hungry and now that his quest was over a head ache had decided to make itself known with a bold intensity.

"Be-because I…I-I mean…I can't b-be a burden." Smiling wanly he pulled Misaki to his side.

"Trust me on this. The burden I will experience with you living with me is nothing on the one of worry if you were back on the streets." Misaki still wouldn't budge. "Should I set some bait then? You come with me and I'll take you shopping for a violin straight thing tomorrow morning."

"You sound like some pedo offering candy out of a van."

"No, I sound like a person making sure their friend is going to be ok. So are you coming with me, or not?"

Misaki sighed.

"Alright, I'll come with you." The author wrapped an arms around narrow shoulders and pulled the teen until he was pressed firmly to his side.

"Good."

I think I've given Misaki some kind of violin fetish.

Oops.

(1) Fiddler's Green= the paradise that sailors are supposed to go to when they die.

(2) Heathrow=The airport nearest London. Also Hell. Heathrow and I, we go waaaaaaaay back. Like I said, Hell.

(3) The Suzuki Method is a program for learning different instruments, the most famous being piano and violin. It's notorious for being really hard, but also produces some of the best results. Also hell.

(4) Teaism (which is apparently not a word, if you were to ask Microsoft Office) is very similar to Taoism. Actually it basically is Taoism, save that all their ideas are centered around tea. The growing, the packing, the boiling of water, the brewing, and the drinking. It is where the origin of the unique lay out of a Japanese tea house came from. For example there should be no symmetry, because the tea bush (camellia sinensis) isn't symmetrical. Bowls can't be placed in the middle of the table, and the little desserts that are to go with the tea (think mochi) can't be symmetrical. Ikebana follows this idea. Even the placement of the tatami is specific. There is also the idea that nothing should detract from your experience of tasting the tea, which lead to very simplistic geometrical rooms. The garden outside the tea room is also important. There should be no flowers because they can distract from tasting of the tea. Also if you were to look at a traditional tea room you would notice that the door is very low, so that one is forced to crawl, and if one were wearing armor or weapons, for example if one were a samurai, such things would have to be left outside. This is because everyone is equal in the tearoom. That's all I'm going to say for now 'cause I'm supposed to be writing an essay on mercantilism but if you want to know more, The Book of Tea (Cha no Hon) by Okakura Kakuzo is a good source. You can find a translation on booksshouldbefree . com. I think the Guttenberg Project might have it too. Some famous tearooms in the west coast of the U.S. are the ones in Portland and Seattle.

I've been thinking…

Trust is a funny thing, isn't it? And it comes from the funniest places. I'm sitting on a sky bridge right now between two buildings. Beneath me is the floor and beneath that is a fifty foot drop onto a concrete road. And yet I am able to sit here and calmly type. The concrete for this sky bridge was formed by construction workers, people I do not know. Is it normal to trust people you've never met before? The concrete I presume came from a company that produces concrete, and yet I don't even know which one. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the construction workers were working under a foreman, and not freelance. Can I trust this foreman to make sure and watch the workers so that no accidents happen? And that if something did happen it was reported. I've never met this person. I don't know their name, age, or even gender. For all I know I could be sitting over a giant crack and I just can't see it because it's covered by carpet. I could fall to my death any minute. And yet I'm not standing up at the moment. I haven't moved. I'm sitting on a sky bridge which I have no idea who it came into existence save that the family who donated money into the making of has a plac dedicated to them. I walked onto this bridge and sat down without a thought of how my life could end any minute. Where does this trust come from?

Looking back at history, it's curious to see the ways bonds of trust are formed. Usually through religion. If you were to tell me you were wiccan I would automatically trust you. Why? Because I know the set of rules you follow, and I know that you know that there are consequences for following those rules.

But what if you were to tell me you weren't wiccan, or what if you were lying. Would I still trust you? History says I should trust you if you have the same skin color as me. Think of New York at the beginning of the 20th century (Godfather anyone?) Think of the immigrant population there. There were Italians, and Irish, and Germans, and they all had their own neighborhoods. In the Godfather, correct me if I'm wrong I haven't seen it in years, but there is an Italian family living in a small apartment right next to another Italian family. One Italian family gives the other a rug wrapped around some illegal item that needs to be hidden because their room is being searched. Why give this other family the rug? I can't help but wonder if the two families have met before, or if this is the first time they've spoken? If not, how do they know to trust this family? Is it because they are both Italian? Does being Italian make you a moral person? In the eyes of this family, that seems to be the case.

Around the 1500 trade around the Indian Ocean was at the best it had ever been, especially along the Swahili coast. The people who lived there were the masters of trade and they had a system. Instead of carrying boat loads of silver from one port to another, and hoping that their boat doesn't sink (as we all know from looking for that airplane, the waters of the Indian Ocean can be very treacherous) they would carry pieces of paper with a signature from someone back at home. Usually, since almost everyone who lived in that area was Muslim, the signature would be from an important person in their hometown mosque. This paper would then be taken to a port and given to somebody who they would ask for some goods from. For example you go to the first port and show your paper saying, "I need some silver." At the person at the port would say, "What for?" You would then explain you need to buy silk from the this other Chinese merchant and so would give them the silver, would get the silk back to the first port, where the merchant who is giving you the silver would sell the silk, and you would get some of the profit. And so the person giving you the silver says ok, and you leave. But why give you the silver. How do they know you won't just take it and sail off to Spain or something. The Spanish loves silver at this time. It's because they trust the piece of paper. They trust that whoever signed that paper was Muslim and being such followed the same moral code and believed in the same consequences. After all, during that time, trusting a Muslim made more sense than trusting a Christian. The Christians were those weirdos who worshiped dead people's fingers and burned all their women on stakes.

The world is built on trust, and it comes from the funniest places. But just because the world is built on trust doesn't mean we should trust everyone, as Night Vale so kindly put it. If there is man bigger than me, walking behind me, in a dark alley late at night, I'm not going to trust him not to jump me. But I do however trust the container of pepper spray in my pocket to protect me. Which is kind of weird. I don't know who made the pepper spray. I've never met them, never even seen them, never really thought about their existence, while on the other hand I can see the man behind me quite clearly, and I am thinking about him very hard. Which do I trust more? The person I've never seen of course. Why? Because of circumstances.

Circumstances can tell us who we should trust and who we shouldn't. There are other things that tell us who we should trust. For example, we should trust our government. Locke said so, and he's a smart guy, or so I've heard. Logically a person who fights and risks there life for the survival of their government should in turn trust that government. But why would you trust your government. That's stupid. A few weeks ago I spent hours with my roommate trying to find a doctor who would take her insurance. Her insurance issued by the government for the families of those serving. Also the crappiest insurance on the market and one that only one in forty seven doctors would actually take. What a way to repay veterans right?

Society says I should trust my parents. A few years ago I used to babysit for a saint of a woman who through complications was not able to have children of her own. So instead she would adopt. As her babysitter I ran into children from the most messed up families. At one point I was in charge of two twins who were found, at the age of four, naked in a dumpster, looking for food while their mother was off getting high. At the first birthday party this saint of a woman held for her new children they reached for the candle flame. At first you think, how stupid is that? Everyone knows fire burns you. And yet these children didn't because they'd never had a birthday cake before. I not going to go into what else they've never had before, but you get the idea, right? At one point I was left in charge of thirteen month old baby who was seven pounds when this woman got her. The baby did not move, did not cry, and did not look at you. Because this baby used to have a mother who beat them. And thus this baby, at thirteen months had learned to trust no one.

Which leads me to wonder. Is trust something that must be taught? Or is it something we are born with? If it must be taught then whose duty is it to teach trust? The mother?

I don't really know what I'm trying to say here, I guess I'm just trying to put some thoughts down on paper. Even if it is virtual. If there were a conclusion, it would probably that trust doesn't follow logic, which kind of explains phobias in a way.

You know, the funniest thing is, I've discovered that since started college, if I tell someone anything having to do with history, they automatically believe it to be true, as long as I tell them I'm a history major. Without fail, people believe me. WTF?