It's such a random pairing, and it's only in my head because Malik is so, so shocked that Joey has a sister. God damn you, silly mind, going off of nothing. They would make an attractive couple, though, with the colouring and height differences.

The whole Jou thing isn't going to be explored in this story. If anything, it'll be another, longer story that will only be explored when I get closer to finishing my Avatar project. But hey, if people are curious enough I may do it sooner *wink wink*.

Before we go too far, I'll state that Malik and Shizuka would both be legal for the timing of this story. She'd be riding at 18, him floating around 21.

And I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh. By the gods I barely know what happens after Battle City. In other words, this story will probably be somewhere after that. And if I continue the universe I'm building on, it'll follow the same timeline, at least until I read up on the Ancient Egypt arc.

Right, read on, and please enjoy my first foray into the Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction!

A light ocean-scented breeze blew Jou's bangs lightly, the sunlight catching the honey golden colour. He knew he still stood out in Domino, his hair such a strange colour in the dark-dominant town. Beside him, even more ostentatious, was his sister, with her shock of red hair tickling across her cheeks. She seemed irritated with it, swiping multiple times to flick it off, but perhaps some of that irritation was focused at him, too.

They hadn't exactly moved in the last five minutes.

"Katsuya-kun, we have to go into town eventually. Standing here is just going to make it worse."

He sighed at her soft (yet insistent, that girl could be pushy) voice. "I know, sis. It's just... Not really looking forward to the hello reunion, ya know? 'Specially without the goodbyes first..."

"All you have to do is explain what happened, they'll understand." He looked at her hand resting on his shoulder, giving her a smile as he covered it with his own.

"A'right, well-said. Let's start with Honda then, yeah?"

Hiroto Honda nearly dropped his wrench when he looked down his driveway and saw the familiar crazy blonde mop heading for him. It was probably only shock freezing his body up that kept the heavy metal from clattering. He pursed his lips as he set the tool aside, grabbing for a filthy rag to wipe oil from his hands. The movement held his back firmly to his long-time friend.

"Well looky-here. The conquering hero returns."

"Honda, c'mon, don't be like that..." He turned to face him now, eyes narrowing.

"Don't be like what, I'm sorry? Defensive to the guy who up and ran off on us? You want me to throw a welcome party? It's been four years, Jou. You up and ditched us." Jou tried to speak, chest hitching as he opened his mouth, but Honda cut him off. "I'm sorry, but I have to work. Cars to look at in the garage I own. Check back in another three years or so, maybe we'll talk then." He finally switched his focus to Shizuka. "Always nice to see you, Kawai-san."

He turned on his heel and stormed back inside the garage/house, trying to ignore the twinge of guilt he felt at seeing the look of betrayal on Jou's face.

It was as he was rummaging around his kitchen that he felt the presence of the other, and he half turned before Jou slammed him against the closest wall. "What the hell man?!"

"Ya can't just talk like that when you don't even know what happened, Hiroto, damnit! You didn't even gimme a chance to explain!"

The two glared at each other before the taller sighed, grabbing Jou's hand to pull it off his shoulder. "You drink coffee?"

Five minutes later had them sitting around a high bar, both sets of overlong legs tangled in the spokes of the bar chairs. Honda was leaning back, far more casual-looking than he was feeling as he watched Jou hunch over his coffee. The blonde looked well enough, he supposed, maybe a bit thin. Honda had put out a bowl of fruit, even, to test Jou's hunger. He hadn't ravaged it, so that was a reassuring sign.

After another minute, Jou drained half his cup and sat straight. He once again went to draw a deep breath, most likely to spill the story of whatever he'd been up to, when he froze up. "Where'd Shizuka go?"

He swung around to look at the doorway, as though she'd have been standing there the whole ten minutes it took for them to fight it out and get their coffees. Honda groaned, having pushed her from his thoughts to focus on Jou. "She's probably wandering around the garage. Shit..."

"'Shit'? Why 'shit'?" Honda felt that familiar doom impending when Jou narrowed his eyes, swallowing back and managing a grin.

"So, uh, it's been a bit, ya know? Couple of years, I needed some help around the garage, and passionate guys, they're not so easy to find!" His hands were up, and he was chuckling almost like a loon. Jou's eyes narrowed even more.

"Honda, who's out there?"

His nervous laughter was all Jou needed to drag the pair of them out to the garage.

He was moving pretty quickly, shifting tire after tire to the new display area. That Honda wanted to rearrange the entire garage was honestly a huge pain in his ass, but the pay was good and Honda was a decent guy...

He stiffened up as he heard a tiny gasp behind him, and he was all too aware of his shirtlessness. He knew whoever was behind him was staring at his back, at the scars spanning the whole of it. Reaching for his shirt he felt a sting of irritation; the sun was just getting at the right angle, heating his back just right, and what the hell were people doing back here anyway? Honda normally kept people well out of his little niche, his corner of the car shop. He could count on one hand how many people were even allowed in the workspace; the attached house was more than accommodating for waiting customers.

"It's rude to stare, you know." He glanced over his shoulder as he pulled the shirt down, tugging it to his slim hips for good measure. He felt a wave of surprise at seeing the girl, seeing the red of her hair in full light.

He knew her.

Just as he knew that wherever the girl was, her brother was sure to follow. He turned his back on her, gathering the sweater he'd cast aside that morning, along with his favourite mug. He wasn't in the mood to deal with this.

A hand grabbed his forearm, making him stop in his tracks. His body tensed up against his will, and he peeked at her from the corner of his eye. She looked almost... curious.

"You're Ishtar-san, right? From the Battle City tournament?" She was looking up at him, but he could see her gaze flit underneath his eye, tracing the scars there as well. She must never have heard all the rumours about him that had been flying around the blimp. Not surprising, as she hid behind her brother so much that she missed most of everything. Her voice was still as soft as he recalled, right from that day he first heard her on the docks.

She sounded weak.

He pulled away, dead set on getting out of her brother's way, and was halted yet again. Her grip had closed tighter around his arm, and he glared back at her small, pale hand as he tried to shake it lose. Okay, not so weak maybe. And as stubborn as her brother. He glared.

"Let go, you fool." She seemed to wince at the familiar words, but he knew that the venom he'd once carried in his tone wasn't there anymore when she did no more than that. Instead she was looking at him with some kind of... pity? No. Not today. He wrenched his arm away, sending a bitter, bitter glare as he finally bolted for the garage doors. Two more seconds and he'd be inside the shop, away from her.

Two more seconds...

Until he smashed into the one and only Jounouchi Katsuya.

Malik pressed the bag of ice to his eye, glaring with the decidedly unswollen one at the blonde. Honda was pacing between the two, arms switching between crossed and flailing as he tried to control his temper. Shizuka and Jou were crowded on a small loveseat, the latter fidgeting in guilt. Finally Honda had had enough.

"You, me, kitchen. Again." Jou was pulled right up off the couch, sputtering loudly. The remaining two could hear the frustrated, 'You can't go around punching my employees!' as the door slammed behind them. Shizuka broke the sudden silence by giggling under her breath. She got to her feet, walking over to him with no preamble. On the way she scooped up his fallen sweater and mug, still there from him having dropped them in shock.

His visible lavender eye followed her cautiously as she went to the bucket of additional ice set up on the table, watched as she tweaked a few cubes and plunked them into the mug. She vanished into the washroom, and he heard the rush of tap water before she flitted back out. And she really did flit around, so dainty that he couldn't believe she was related to the oaf in the other room.

She perched beside him, that pity shining bright again as she held the mug up. She was close, close enough that her hair was brushing his shoulder when she leaned forward to peek under the ice.

"I'm sorry about Katsuya-kun. He panics easily, and you guys have a... strange history. He keeps forgetting that I can take care of myself."

Malik snorted, leaning away from her. "Most likely because you can't."

He saw the change immediately, her eyes narrowing and glinting with a deep-hidden gold underneath all that olive. It was an inner strength that surprised him. But she didn't say anything, only drew a deep breath and smiled, so brightly that he was disarmed. She took that distraction as a chance to lean once again, pulling the bag away successfully this time so she could peek at his swollen eye. Her voice only wavered a bit with that buried offense as she stated him in decent shape, and then she swept up and away to join her brother.

He stared after her, mouth slightly open in shock. He remembered, on the blimp, how the two friends of Jounouchi had been fighting over her affections. He'd thought it silly, she wasn't overly remarkable, but...

He could almost see the appeal.

A week later found Malik sprawled on a roller board as he fiddled with the oil cap on an older car. He didn't care for car work; the stash of old motorcycles in the back was a testament to his passion for them. But it had to be done, and Honda was too busy with the surplus of cars in the shop that he hadn't been able to weasel out of it this time around. He was just working on loosing the cap when a jolt on his board had him jump. His head launched into the oil tank with a deafening thud, and he distinctly felt the cap twist under his hand.

The feeling of oil pouring over his shirt was a less than pleasant feeling.

He ripped himself away from the car, figuring the floor had enough oil on it that, hell, let the old oil spill. He stood with a noise of disgust, hands futilely shucking some of the oil away. It took only a second to whip the shirt off, and he took a moment to be thankful that it was a button-up. The less oil in his hair, the less likely he was going to kill his damn boss. He finally looked up, expecting the thrice-cursed Hiroto Honda. He didn't expect to be greeted by olive-golden eyes, and he half-started before blinking rapidly.

He kind of wished he could have said something witty, something that would have made her laugh or roll her eyes. It was a strange compulsion, since she was just a silly little girl, but it was there nonetheless.

What she got instead was, "You seem to appear whenever I get shirtless."

Her face flushed red and his flooded just the same. They both looked away, Malik running a hand through his hair before he remembered the oil. Perfect. He glanced back at her and groaned, seeing that she was still staring at the floor with complete interest. Or perhaps the oil he'd spattered on her. He caught her hand (wrist damnit) and pulled her along, guiding her to the car bay doors so they could sneak back into the house through the back porch door. He had no wish to trail the mess through his living space, thank you very much. He also had no wish to notice her gaze once again on his back, so he focused on the sneaking and not the company trailing along after him.

The moment they slipped out if the small workshop, he almost felt like one of those foolish teens in those dumb romance movies. Not that he watched them. Ever. Rishid was just a big fan, the man had an obvious weak spot for them. Regardless of how he knew about them, it didn't change the fact that looking both ways before creeping along the house's perimeter felt very much like one of those situations. He led her around the complex, straight to the easily-accessed washroom. Since it was frequently used for oil spills like this one, it and the adjoining laundry room tended to be stocked with soaps and the like.

He was already running a rag down his body, trying to get as much oil off before he started wiping himself down with the disinfectant scrubs. To her, he tossed a shirt. She caught it, yes, but she also looked ridiculously confused.

"You'll need to wash your shirt now if you want any chance to get that oil out." He looked back, noting her alarmed look. "What? You think I'll peek? You Japanese and your modesty."

She sputtered. "I-I'm half American!"

"That's even worse, then. Most cultures have shared bathing, at the very least. Americans only find lack of modesty acceptable when it's on a screen." He scoffed under his breath. He had never understood that particular stigma, but to each his own. He could hear a slight shuffle behind him, and then a shaky, pale hand held forward her spring-green shirt. He reached out, noting the sheer colour difference with their skin. The comparison had him pausing, holding on for a second longer than needed. It was her clearing her throat that made him pull the shirt away with a crisp finality.

The process of removing oil from clothes was familiar enough that he lost himself to it a bit, concentrating on it instead of the girl still hovering behind him. His own shirt was far too gone to bother, so the task of the droplets on hers took very little time. He hung it, pleased with himself, and finally turned to ask her just what she had wanted with him in the first place.

The words lodged in his throat at seeing a girl, and a beautiful one at that, huddled in his own shirt. He had a natural affinity for tighter clothing, and it showed in the pull across her chest. That shirt was never going to be the same again. He probably looked like an idiot, gaping and covered with oil, but she still managed a shy smile.

"You're a mess, I'm sorry. Do you need a hand?"

He blamed her lack of shyness on her innate kindness in those minutes that followed. She had no shame in helping him run sandsoap through his hair, standing behind his seated form as she massaged his scalp for what felt like an eternity.

He personally wished it could have gone on longer.

She chattered as she worked, and he was so relaxed that he barely heard a word she was saying. Something about being bored, and she didn't really know anyone else in the city. If she wanted to throw her luck in with a guy like him, he'd accept it for the sake of the pampering he was receiving. He was so out of it he almost didn't notice her hands sliding down to his shoulders, focused as he was on her pressing into his neck. The moment her thumbs brushed the top of his scarring, he tensed so quickly that she squeaked. He didn't pull away, though, merely waited for her to make her choice.

A long second and her hands shifted slightly, once again brushing over the raised lines. They didn't pause to examine, just kept moving across his shoulders and, eventually, the span of his back. It was oddly peaceful, such unfamiliar hands in contact with such a personal part of him. He again traced his strange trust to her innate kindness and, possibly, that weakness. She had strength, yes, but he was still of the opinion that she couldn't hurt a fly.

The event sparked one of many, though, and soon he found he was seeing her almost more than he saw his own family. 'Almost' the key word, since Rishid was always so adamant on checking up on him VIA video phone. They'd stayed back in Egypt, a small blessing for him. He loved them dearly, but they smothered like mother hens. He had just wanted a quiet mechanic's job working with motorcycles, and he would never stop thanking Honda for hooking him up with one. Well. He grudgingly supposed the Pharaoh had helped too, speaking for his character and all, but he chose not to comment, if only for the sake of old grudges and mocking rivalry.

He was sprawled on the couch as only he (and possibly Otogi) could pull off, one leg slung over the top and the other stretched and propped on a table. The rest of his six-foot frame was draped over the arm dramatically, his arm the same over his eyes. He heard a snort, the most unladylike (and most endearing) sound his newest female friend could utter.

"You're hogging the couch, Malik-kun." She hooked her foot under his extended leg and feebly attempted to move it, but he held firm. He heard her setting down her armload next, and then two hands grabbed just below his knee. He waited until the opportune moment, when her weight was so poorly balanced that only disaster could come from it, before he let his leg go limp. She nearly screamed as she stumbled, and it was only thanks to his core strength that he could sit up quick enough to catch her. Normally she would have thanked him until she was blue in the face, but she had visited him enough by now to know his little tells. The most obvious at the moment was the bright shine in his violet eyes, the one that spoke innocence but betrayed his diabolical plans.

It was his favourite look to use on her.

Her favourite response was to slip an ice cube down his shirt before settling into the now-vacated couch seat with the popcorn and DVD remote, gearing up for the cheesy romance movie he always sat through, complaint free.

He taught her dueling, so she taught him how to make sandcastles. He showed her fresh honeycomb and dried figs, so she showed him pulled taffy and fudge. Their friendship had started with a mutual need for the others' help, and soon became a trading of knowledge, teaching the other about their own cultures and hobbies. Jou voiced his displeasure to her directly, and when she basically told him to sod off he went to Malik. Malik, using the exact phrasing on complete coincidence, was only regarded silently before Jou just shook his head and left, muttering about his own fragile state of mind for letting this all go unsupervised. After that, he only stalked them from afar with the promise of death threats.

It was much more refreshing than the old alternative. And, as an added bonus, most merrily only happened when they were in public.

Honestly, most of their visits happened indoors, with her showing him movies or them challenging each other to mock duels-to-the-death. He always won, naturally, and sometimes Honda even cheered him on.

Malik was pleasantly surprised that the taller male didn't drag him aside for a good old-fashioned shovel talk; it may have had something to do with his constant outings with Jounouchi, but Malik wasn't one to assume such things.

Who was he kidding, he totally assumed they were both as straight as rainbows.

Regardless, Honda's lack of mother-hen-pecking gave them suitable alone time, treasured moments that they spent making unforgivably stupid jokes or experimenting with questionable cooking techniques. They were moments that probably weren't special-looking, but ones he knew he'd always remember.

She took enough photos with her phone that she would have enough pictures to last her own memory two years. Looking at, of course, a different picture each day that is.

He'd tried to take that phone from her once, and had finally understood how she could be related to her violent brother. She'd had him face-first in the ground not ten seconds later.

Naturally, she'd snapped a picture of it.

When Isis sent him a message asking if he was being beat up by the apparently astronomical amount of Domino City ruffians, he promptly reassured her, hung up the phone, and purchased a boatload of silly string. The war that had occurred that evening had been promptly photographed and sent to Egypt, along with a caption of 'all under control here'.

He was sitting alone in his section of the living room (a very distinct line sectioned it off from Honda's half), sulking and generally being miserable about life when he heard a knock. Shizuka had said she'd be busy that day, so he found himself rather blase in his attempts to answer the door, instead resigning to staring semi-intently at it. If he had mind powers, that door would be open long ago.

He supposed he had had mind powers, at one point, but that was in the past, and it wasn't getting that door open any faster anyway. After an equally annoying bout of knocking he groaned, kicking his legs off the couch and ambling over. His sandy hair was strewn about and his clothes were crooked and wrinkled and his level of caring was honestly so low.

Which explains why it had to be Shizuka.

He wanted a redo button, one that he could mash in moments of blind panic like this. She looked amazing, wrapped in a soft blue dress that made her hair look like fire. Her hair, which was tossed into a casual bun and tucked into a wide-brimmed sun hat, leaving only wisps of red to dance in the summer breeze. The dress was shorter, only reaching her knees, and it was when he ran his eyes down the length of it that they flicked over to the large picnic basket tucked in the crook of her arm. He only had time to open his mouth before she grabbed his arm and pulled him outside, straight to a shiny silver car in the drive.

The mechanic in him noted that it was a good car, safety-certified and a good, solid buy. The part that was crushing heavily on Shizuka noted, after seeing her pull out a key fob, that this car was a potential death threat and should be removed from her at once. Not because she was a bad driver (he'd be finding out momentarily if that was to be factored in) but because any metal tube traveling at those speeds would be sure to kill her should some idiot lose control of their own vehicle.

He had an urge to slap himself silly for that moment of shameful panic.

She opened the back door and tossed the picnic basket in, and then tossed him right alongside it. He was surprised, which was his only excuse when she gathered his long legs, shoved them into the car, and slammed the door behind him. The child-lock activated door, thwarting his every escape plan. Even the one where he rolled down the window to reach the handle from the outside; she'd already started driving by then.

"Look in the basket, there're a few gifts for you!" Because he was a hostage, he obliged and rooted around, noticing right away the red swim trunks and black flip flops. The moment he felt a touch of panic her eyes met his in the rear-view. "We're going to a public beach, so no one will see you. It's a pretty short drive, though, so you better get dressed!" She tossed a quick wink, before quipping, "don't worry, I won't peek!"

He wondered when he had missed her transformation into the bold woman sitting in the front seat.

On the flip side, after he realized that she wanted him to dress in the back of that car, he was suddenly more understanding of the Americans and their little fears. She wanted him to strip, to remove every scrap of clothing. And it wasn't like she wouldn't peek. Drivers had to look in their rear-view to be safe! But she'd issued a challenge, and he had heard it in her voice. He'd made fun of her once for this, and now she was getting her revenge. She was a vengeful little minx, that was for sure.

He'd never been more attracted to her before that very moment.

He'd also never been more offended, and so off came the shirt and pants. The undergarments he timed perfectly, just a half-second after she glanced back for a traffic check. It was just enough that she knew exactly what he'd been about to do, but gave her enough time to stare at the road and not crash them. Her eyes did linger long enough to see the jut of his hipbone, though, something he felt great pride in.

When they reached the private little beach he padded out of the car (the ol' door-open through the window trick) with a swagger like he owned the place. When he heard her footsteps behind him, he turned with a most triumphant-

Oh Ra.

She had shed the blue dress, and in front of him stood a young woman in a positively tantalizing black bathing suit. She wasn't catty enough to wear a bikini, something he was glad for (he'd have to kiss all hopes of control goodbye), but the stylish cutout suit was only a step higher in the class scale. Peeking through the sides of that dark fabric was her pale skin, from bust line to hip bone, only covered by a lattice-weaved string. He could see the little bows on the bottoms, and the male in him wondered how wide that suit would gape without the corseting to hold it together.

She smiled brightly at him, shifting the heavy basket from one hand to the other. He intercepted, taking it to hold himself as she cocked her head and giggled. It was then he knew that the sly 18 year-old knew the exact effect she had on him, and was now calculating just how many chores she could make him do in his stupor.

She slipped past his prone figure, spreading a cheerful checkered blanket on the hot beach sands. He took a moment to compose himself before joining her, setting the basket down along with his lanky body. She dove into it right away, pulling various snacks and foods out as he stared, crimson-faced, at the ocean line. The girl was wearing a bathing suit and just leaning like that? She leaned into his line of sight, suddenly pushing a bag of ice against his neck. Yelping, he jerked back before collecting the bag in his hands, shooting a half-hearted glare before popping one in his mouth. She batted her eyelashes at him innocently.

Later on, he would be very proud of just how gentlemanly he was being. She'd offered him temptation before, be it wrestling with him over the television remote or snuggling against his side when they finally settled down to watch the damn movie. He wasn't unfamiliar with that aspect; what had him so off-kilter was the fact that she almost seemed like she was thinking along the same lines as him.

He'd gone in for a dip before they tucked in to eat, and he swore that her eyes had followed the contours of his body at least three times. When they'd had a mud fight, she'd smeared it all over his chest, and he was starting to think she was just going for an unnoticed grope. Naturally, he'd caught her hands in one of his own before dripping mud over her collarbone. Gravity did the rest for him.

That, and her flailing around madly as streaks of cool water reached her chest first.

After she managed to wallop him into the ground (she was a tough little demon), they ended up just sprawling on the hot sand, him stretching out like an overgrown cat across her legs. Around her, he felt less conscious showing off his back. Perhaps it was because she didn't stare outright, or it could have been the fact that, whenever he happened to let them show, her hand fell to his back in the most soothing caress he'd ever felt. She'd sit there with him, fingertips grazing the scars. The feeling in the raised ridging was minimal at best, but sometimes she'd graze the tanned skin surrounding them in a way that nearly had him purring.

She shifted her legs under his chest, and he peered up at her curiously. She was staring straight ahead, a content look on her face as her hand continued tracing. She took a deep, calming breath, eyes slipping closed as she tilted her head back. His eyes subconsciously followed the line of her neck. "It's so peaceful here. Katsuya-kun and I used to go to the beach all the time when I was younger. When I started losing my sight, I thought I'd never see it again."

He sat up abruptly, balancing his weight on one hand and blocking her view as he peered at her. Of course he'd known of her sight issues; he'd walked Jounouchi's mind. It just hadn't been a fact he'd taken much note of. Now, as he sat there and stared intently into her eyes, he could understand how scared she must have been. After living in the dark for so, so long, that moment when he'd first seen the lights and colours of the upper world had been a moment he could almost call religious. It had sparked a whole new set of interests, fired up a passion he had never known could exist. The thought of going back to those underground tunnels, or losing everything he had come to hold dear...

When he snapped back to the present, he realized he'd laid his hand against her cheek, his darker thumb brushing under her eye lightly. She didn't break eye contact with him, and he suddenly realized just what the two fools on the blimp had seen in her. She was pure, innocent, and absolutely breath-taking.

He knew, even as he leaned towards her, that he really shouldn't be doing this. His was a marred and dirty soul, so opposite to her that he almost felt that fate should have repelled him back by now. Instead, he felt his lips brush hers, felt her lips part slightly in a quiet gasp.

She didn't pull away, though.

He pressed in more, encouraged by the slight tilt of her head. The hand that had been resting on her cheek crept back, tangling into her hair as she suddenly pressed into him. Angling his head more to the side, he moved his lips over hers and felt a thrill of excitement at the quiet whimper that resulted from it. She was starting to lose herself to him, picking up on the rhythm of their kiss as her hands bracketed his jaw. It was him that started to pull away, offering small pecks as she followed after him until they had separated completely. Both were panting, even from the short kiss, as they stared at each other. Her tongue flicked out, his eyes immediately following the image as he realized that she was most likely tasting the salt from his little ocean dip.

He swept in without thought to kiss her again, but deflected at the last moment to instead slide his cheek against her own. He couldn't take advantage of the situation, not until he knew what, exactly, she was thinking. He knew how he felt, but in typical male fashion, he had not an inkling about her own thoughts.

He didn't move from his lean, and she must have known his insecurity because her hand laced into his hair, trailing down to rub at the base of his neck. The other she began to carefully trail over his back once more, and he seeped into the embrace, pressing his nose into the hollow of her throat. He felt her giggle a bit, enough so that he drew back to shoot her an irritated look. He knew he was blushing, even, but that didn't stop her from freeing a hand just so she could cover her mouth to stifle the brimming laughter.

"Sorry, it's just... I had a different birthday present for you, but if you only wanted a kiss, I guess I can take the other one back?"

His shoulders slumped as he leaned away, arms crossed over his chest. He refused to acknowledge the pout on his own face. She smiled brilliantly at him, and he felt a tug in his heart. She caught his shoulder, using it as leverage to pull herself closer until her face was hovering just in front of him. His mouth went dry, heart thundering as he attempted to keep up the unhappy facade even as his eyes darted to her mouth. She brushed his jaw, his eyes fluttering just a bit as she did so, before she leaned in so their lips were just, just touching.

"Pretty bold, Shizuka." His voice was rasped, lips ghosting over hers with the words. She smiled at the use of her own name.

"I am half-American, remember?" And she pushed into him, enough that the pair of them rocked back into the sand as their lips met in a passionate reunion, the first of many a repeat occurrence.

A quick ending, since this was just a rapid bunny that was racing around in my head.

That rabid little bunny was either a vampire or very flirtatious, because it's bred all kinds of little mini baby bunny ideas. We'll see where they take me, and if you guys react well to this story that'll sway my opinion more.

All inspiration for cat-Malik comes from my ten-month old a**hole kitten, Galactus the Destroyer. You have him to thank for any cute visual images of Malik sprawling or sassing.

Right, I'm off, so please read, review, and let me know your thoughts! Have a good one, and thank you for making it through!