Paint my silence [Encounter]

Pairings: DouWata

Warnings: Language and, quite possibly, even sex.

Disclaimer: xxxHolic is not mine, but the OC obviously are.

-

Doumeki Shizuka, a twenty-three year old graduate of an esteemed university in Japan, was never thought to be one to be found in a prison cell.

In all honesty, he did not deserve to serve a sentence he did not commit any crimes for, but three years' time was a long way to go- being convicted for murder and arson, presumably, even if in truth it was one of his batch mates who had set the fire in the first place- and that the dagger was stabbed by a drunk ex-teacher, not him. He had not bothered- nor did he dare- to drink that night, much less to get drunk, so he had mainly been the person who tried stopping the troubles and the panic of the party-high teenagers, what with a dying classmate and burning tables to boot. The evidences had disappeared in the flames, and as he staggered out all covered in blood and soot with the dagger in his hand, the gathering police had pointed their guns at him and decided it easier to imprison a hapless adult rather than looking for the right convict at all.

Three years. He had been in the place for three whole years, but he looked stoic and tough enough to not get picked on by fellow jail mates. They even left him alone, and he earned begrudging friendships (it was crucial, a man named Skurai had said, one of the more cryptic convicts; it was crucial for a man to have friends and converse to survive in imprisonment) with the decent people serving their own time. The only problem with his rather peaceful living, though, was killing time. So he spent his three years keeping his shape, learning how to deal with cards and thinking of how different things could have turned out if he had chosen to go straight home after graduation rather than agreeing to go along with his batch mates.

The nice thing about being in jail, on the other hand, was relief. It was the kind of relief that assures him that he had possibly hit rock bottom- that, in his present case, couldn't have gone a lot worse, and since it wasn't his fault that he had been locked up in the first place, he was completely certain that once he got out of the place, he would join the police force, as was his goal when he went for college.

Sometimes, people would come visit him; interesting people, at first, but only to the farthest extent of pure curiosity on his part, since such audiences were unknown to him- concerned faces even if none of them really did seem familiar. Sometimes it would be his parents, still assuring him that they'd get him out soon, that he'd be proven innocent and the responsible would succumb to justice. He would shake his head no by then, mentally cursing the world for the materialistic sense of justice, and the fact that his parents would still sacrifice so much just for the son to come home.

"Ah, Doumeki," says his jail mate, a man called Akuma (or something), one fine night; "In the end, we're all convicts here. Nobody is entirely innocent." And he had chuckled to himself.

Doumeki couldn't help agreeing. There were times when he would blame himself for all the misfortune begotten on him, always thinking that if he had acted fast enough, if he had only controlled his batch mates a little more, none of them could have died, the place wouldn't have been set on fire, and he wouldn't have been rotting in the jail for three whole years.

It was a thought he'd rather avoid thinking about.

Doumeki learned to keep to himself. But since he had always done so even when he was only studying in high school, it was not a difficult thing to get used to. Normally talking wasn't encouraged when they were to do prison work- license plates and cement, the usual- so he was always labeled as a behaved convict doing his time, and it never made him feel better.

If it wasn't with Akuma or Juggernaut, his so-called 'friends', he would not talk to anybody at all, only if the need be.

Two weeks after his third year, he felt a sudden change in the air- something enlightening, in a way. He was called twice to a bare white room wherein he could talk personally with some stranger- obviously people looking for convicts to do their dirty work for them- at first to coax him, the next the job offer itself, but Doumeki wasn't the kind who'd draw a gun and randomly shoot somebody in his way- and as was obvious, he politely declined.

"And why did you?" asked an exasperated Juggernaut at one point, when he decided to tell him about it; "I would have said yes! You should learn how to steel your heart, Doumeki, since we're all convicts here- people are to believe we'd sealed our souls from the world." And then Akuma would quietly interject, "He's still a kid," which would eventually shut Jugger up.

He was called again a few days later, and with an excited shout from his obnoxious cellmate, he made his way towards the alleged room- an armed officer at his back, per usual. He entered the room as the metal door was clicked open, expecting to see the same old businessman he had encountered the past two meetings, (perhaps to try persuading him again) when he suddenly stopped in a halt before the open door in surprise, his golden amber eyes meeting a suspicious bi-colored two.

The boy before him- a year younger, perhaps- was seated with his legs crossed on a chair at the back of the room, fingers laced together with each elbow resting on idly on opposite armrests. He had a somewhat messy mop of charcoal hair, a few stray strands standing in different places. His glasses were rimmed with black, matching the suit he was wearing, and if it weren't for his cream white skin, he would have looked slightly out-of-place. What held his gaze, though, were his intriguing eyes- a hazel hue on the right, just as his own- and ocean blue for the other, his lids slender and almost feminine, adorning his smooth unblemished face, with a knowing smirk to rival the Cheshire cat's.

He stood by the door even as the said door closed with a silent hiss and thump behind him, and he struggled for control over his rampaging curiosity and surprise.

"Hn," He began, not knowing what to say; "You're new."

The boy chuckled, slender shoulders rising and falling with the movement. "How incredibly diplomatic of you, good sir."

Doumeki dared to raise his eyebrows. "Is there something you need?"

"Precisely," said the younger man, opening his eyes with half-lids, a smile on his pretty face. "I came to offer you a job."

"As what is always," Doumeki sighed, bringing a palm to his tired features. "Illegal? Somewhat?"

"Well, yes and no, honestly." The smile did not fade. "You would be working for me."

Doumeki allowed himself to study the boy much closer. "As a bodyguard?"

"A job certainly you can't handle, good sir."

"Doumeki," He huffed, frowning. "Doumeki Shizuka."

"Ah yes, where are my manners?" The strange man extended his hand. "Watanuki Kimihiro. I prefer a -san at the end, by the way."

Doumeki took the hand and shook it somewhat reluctantly. "Alright Watanuki-san. To be honest, I would rather join the police force once I get out, to be able to stabilize my parents' well-being. I have absolutely no time for your offer as of yet, since I have not been sentenced my freedom, as you well know. Perhaps a different time?" He retracted his hand and stood a little straighter. "Or would another pick appease you more?"

Watanuki dropped his own hand on his lap, still smiling, though his eyes appeared sad. "But Doumeki-san, there is no one to come back to, once you are free."

"My parents, obviously-" Doumeki started to say, indignant, but the bespectacled boy before him raised his hand to signal the other to stop.

"Their house is on fire, as we speak- in fact, the whole temple is on fire." There were no emotions in the younger man's voice, only a burning intensity in his bi-colored eyes, as if to show him what he could see- and Doumeki could almost hear the cries for help, the blowing of sirens, the smell of burning flesh and thick fumes consuming his sight.

And he ran.

He ran from the stranger, ran past the jail cells, ran faster than any other officer ever could- and switched the local television on, fingers jamming on tired buttons, looking for a live broadcast of the stranger's visions.

It was the family shrine, no doubt- and he could see, as countless firemen attempt to douse the flames, that it already was too late, and the boy had been accurately correct- there was nothing, there was no one, to return to once he was free.

-

Death was a strange thing.

He had not bothered to return to the pale stranger once he had confirmed the boy's assumptions, not because he was depressed or anything- that was one strange thing about death. When you think you would grieve for someone close to you, you just don't. Instead, there is only an empty void, but tears are not always present- perhaps there are none at all.

In fact, the only reason why he had not chosen to return to the stranger was his fatigue. He felt very much tired, disappointed even, after he had clicked the television off. When he returned, Jugger was fully asleep and sprawled on his own bunk, and without a word he had climbed to his and immediately sleep caught him. He wasn't even able to think of what to do next, because as he opened his eyes the next day, the guards were coming to pick him up again.

They did not bring him to the guest hall, however- today was different, and they steered him straight towards the chief's office, perhaps an addition of a year or, as he hoped for, his sentence to be over.

"Doumeki Shizuka," Read the chief officer from the file he had before him; "Age twenty when convicted. Three years for arson and murder. Correct?"

Doumeki knew enough not to decline, even if it wasn't the whole truth. "Yes, sir."

"Always the busy bee, you are. Completing tasks excellently and without a word. No record of misbehavior-" he placed the papers down. "You probably have an idea what you're going to get right now."

Doumeki's expression did not change, but deep inside he was struggling to find the right thing to say- modestly, or not. "Err, yes. Or I hope so."

"Hm." The chief busied himself with the papers, something to distract his eyes with. "Tell me, Doumeki, what do you plan to do after you are released?"

Doumeki thought for a while, wondering if it would be wise to be honest. "Before my parent's death and the destruction of my home, sir," he paused, then started again, since it came out right and tidy; "I would have joined the police force and used my salary to aid my parents." Another pause. "But it's changed now."

"Yes, I'm sorry to hear about that," said the man, though it was obvious he wasn't sorry at all. "So what do you plan right now?"

"I-" Doumeki thought of his most recent would-be employer, his lithe body and bi-colored eyes.

"You still have three days before we officially let you out," cut the chief in, who stood as if to end their conversation. "Think about what you want to do next for the while. You are still young." The man stared at him sadly, before walking out of his office with papers in hand.

Doumeki sighed.

-

"I was wondering when you would have showed up,"

Doumeki raised his gaze from the tray of bland food in his hands towards the speaker of the voice, familiar and alluring as it had always been.

"Watanuki-san. Quite a surprise to see you here, of all places." He countered easily.

They were in the old cafeteria of the jail palace, where the once white walls rotted gray and the tiled floors broke and shattered across the busy aisles between tables and muscular bodies of all sorts. The plastic tables, wired stuck to the chairs by metal bars, smelled absolutely unpleasant and were decorated with all kinds of blotches of food stains (or blood, at some event). Doumeki noticed how his guest stood out like a decent finger in a rotting lot- once again dressed casually, professionally, for his sake. Doumeki thought he was looking too good and well-groomed for a place such as a jail cafeteria.

Watanuki realized that his companion had been staring, but took it as an indication that he could use something else, like food other than beverage, for example. The younger boy then shook his head, smiling sheepishly. "It's not like they serve tea or anything," he said quietly. "Besides, I won't be long."

Doumeki nodded, gingerly placing his meal across the single glass of water Watanuki had for himself, settling down as the other spoke once more.

"Doumeki-san, I am truly sorry for what had happened to-"

"Listen, let's not get to that, okay?" the older man said quickly, leaning forward with unblinking eyes to stress his point. "I've been thinking."

"Ah...what has crossed your mind, Doumeki-san?" Watanuki still seemed baffled at being overrun as easily as that.

"Well," the addressed man shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling like a child being forced to admit something he didn't like in the first place. "I've decided. I'll take your job offer."

The surprised expression on his companion's face turned into his signature Cheshire smile. "As it is inevitable," he said simply.

Doumeki watched, unnerved, as the younger man slowly stood and collected himself, finishing his glass of water. "I shall come for you then," he said quietly, turning away with beguiling grace. "Three days, am I correct?"

Doumeki's reply came out only as a nod, and he could still the mysterious smirk on the younger boy's face, even as he walked away. "I believe you will serve me well," whispered Watanuki, as he exited the Jail palace and entered the limousine waiting outside the front door; "I believe you will, Doumeki Shizuka-san."

--

A/N: Yes yes, another work in progress. And to think a normal human being would succumb to lots of work- I guess it just turns out that I am a masochist, quite sadly. Besides, I feel like writing this. Blame it on Neil Gaiman; I love his works. 8D Reviews always welcomed. :D