A/N: This is Dariel's b-day present---HAPPY TWENTY, YOUUU!!!! (hugs madly). Note that the quotations or snippets of poetry in the beginning of each chapter—belong to me. If you're listening to a song make it either "Warning Sign" by Coldplay or "The Scientist." That's what I have listened to for most of this fic. Ohh yes, this will be updated in three days; updates to be fast, for once! I haven't been dead, but actually writing!!!
Continue on…
.x. S A N C T U A R Y .x.
I. Silent Whispers
Softly, slowly, like a hazy morning
Amongst the misty mountain tops,
The wrinkles of water smoothed
And I saw You.
Chup. Chup. The sound of her running feet layered the symphony of the falling rain. Crystalline drops dripped down as clemency for the tarnished soul and the girl continued her trek, her raincoat zipped up, yet the insidious moisture stole in, seeking shelter in her warmth.
She paused under a tree trying to catch her breath. Gently easing off the cap that covered her head, shiny honey-blonde strands bounded out, happy to be freed from the confined quarters.
A rustle of leaves, a crunch as if someone had stepped on them.
A wailing wind stung her cheeks like a violent kiss from a lover, and her green eyes darted around searchingly as she rubbed a palm to sooth the nip.
No one.
Heat poured into her icy fingers as the friction kindled a flame. A lusty wind came with a sudden force carrying along her warm cap that she'd placed carelessly on a branch. "Damn," she cursed, knowing it was useless to follow the untamed wind. Taking in a deep breath, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat and once again rushed to her destination.
Spiky, long, dark lashes over cinnamon-auburn eyes trailed the figure and a momentary emotion gave spark to his eyes that quickly disappeared leading one to believe that it was imagined.
He clutched the gray, knit cap in his fingers, bringing it to his nose.
A delicate scent mingled—fresh as the morning after a night of thunderstorms. He closed his eyes as a man would if he'd found peace.
OOO
"Oh, Hitomi!" Dressed in an expensive, short plaid skirt Yukari Uchida, age seventeen looked the epitomical picture of elegance. "I didn't know you were coming." The other girl knew; it was more along the lines that I didn't know I invited you.
Green eyes surveyed her, looking deep into her hazel ones for a moment, and then Hitomi shrugged. "Your mom insisted I come." She had been livid, as her mother had with a cheery force badgered her to get ready for her cousin's birthday when Yukari's mother had oh-so-innocently invited her daughter.
"Oh," she laughed nervously as the blaring music continued in the background, "Come in." She opened the door further to let her cousin enter. No, there was something about Yukari Uchida that glimmered on her surface, a polished finish of perfection—and Hitomi had a nagging suspicion that she even cried prettily.
Her eyes softened. There was a time when there was no air of stiffness between them, when they'd been as close as sisters, twins—but it hadn't taken much for her cousin to discover her true value amongst the royalty in her high school—which apparently did not include Hitomi.
And Hitomi Kanzaki would damn herself to hell before she would follow her like a puppy at her beck and call; slowly, steadily, her circle of friends decreased, one by one leaving her alone to quickly eat lunch and stroll around the school to eventually curl up under a tree with a book.
If you'd ask her, she'd deny it but an aching emptiness, a swirl of darkness made her heart heavy.
She was unhappy, he could sense, just by her posture, her expression. A lost lamb amongst a den of wolves. Go to her. The command, and desperate need sprung so surprisingly that for a moment his breath hitched.
Drowning the glass of punch, with one last brief look in her direction, he turned away.
Boys and girls danced in a mad frenzy, drunken talk found in some discreet corners where cans of beer were passed as in a kind of sick initiation with contests of who could chug most.
Yukari's parents were blissfully unaware of the nature of their angelic daughter's party as only last night they'd received a phone call giving the news of the death of one of her parents' best friends. Now, there was an advantage to having understanding parents and daughter. They hadn't wanted to ruin her birthday party that would declare her eighteen years old and Yukari had charmingly confided that she couldn't keep them away from the funeral; it would seem like a deep injustice.
"C'mon, you little, Miss Angel," Yukari had sprung out of seemingly nowhere and dragged her by the wrist, "We're playing Truth or Dare."
"I—no, really," she was perplexed as she felt uncomfortable. These were no little foolish games in which one would dare to sing a bawdy song or tell someone 'I love you.' "I'm okay!"
"Ohh, shut up, and come," an indifferent voice contradicted. Yukari smiled profusely as she passed her guests, patting someone's back and muttering a comment that made them laugh, and rolling her eyes and holding her cousin's hand as if she was a newborn with a deficient mental capacity. Hitomi's teeth grit as she made her way through the throngs of people.
Somewhere she bumped into someone—or really, a male, black jacket to her—as she was deprived of looking into his face when mumbling an apology since her cousin yanked her onwards.
And thus the cruel game commenced. Gathered into a circle were approximately nine people—six being girls with three boys. The bottle spinned for the first time. She gasped with relief as it struck upon a blond girl with a messy ponytail. She had chosen a dare and they'd made her make-out with poor Ben Robinson, a geek of sorts who might've qualified for a friend except for one thing. Hitomi hadn't met an even more perverted man in her life. She felt nauseated as the bottle began spiraling again and the chants rose around her.
With a breath still locked in her throat, she watched the bottle with concentration, shutting her eyes at the last second.
The threatening opening of the bottle looked at her maliciously, as a noose would to a man being hanged.
Yukari jumped up, "It's you, Hitomi! Woohoo! We got her, guys!!" Applause burst forth and some whistled as the only feeling in their victim's stomach was a sort of frozen shock.
She gulped, "I'll take Truth." The boys cackled and the girls drowned her voice yelling 'Dare!' She didn't how, but inevitably, there was a great silence and the girls flocked in a corner to decide in what manner to torture Hitomi. Somehow, the dare had stuck.
Yukari finally came up with a solemn smile, looking like a damning angel with her glossy auburn hair framing her face. "Weell, since we decided that we'd hate to be harsh with you and pick someone up, we decided what to grant you." She smiled triumphantly. "You and some other. Alone in a closet. Seven minutes of heaven." The laughter and cheer was roar but Yukari yelled in cheery excitement to hush them, "Any guy—except Ben here, who's had too many kisses already—can claim her for seven minutes."
Getting close to her, she hissed, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Yukari?!"
"Oh hush, it's only for your best." She shrugged nonchalantly, "You should notice my brilliance—you'll only get someone who wants you—so his affection will be true…and if none do, then you're free from this." Oh yeah, she did see her brilliance. Brilliance in making a mockery of her. Considering the fact that she didn't even seek a second of heaven with any of these savage beasts whose euphemism also happened to be 'boys', but if none of them offered—it would be her utter humiliation. To be not desired, not wanted in such a public way, was as close to a social failure as any teen girl could get close to.
She told herself she didn't care, no, she'd take this as she'd taken everything in her life; from looking after her kid brother who she'd just recently caught smoking a joint to her horror, hiding upstairs in her room when her father came home drunk, her mother's nagging voice berating him.
But apparently, she didn't need to worry about being a social failure, because not one but two boys stepped up for the task.
"I'll have 'er," the blond boy said, obviously drunk as he couldn't walk quite straightly, with an inane smile on his face that made her stomach clench. Oh no…
"The day both of us gets accidentally steered towards the Pearly Gates, maybe then you will." The words carried a degree of harshness, with its definiitive, commanding tone and had a certain echo so she couldn't place where she'd heard them. Her eyes traveled through the crowd that tittered in amused, and as if the Messiah Himself had come through, the throng of people parted and made way for the voice.
"Why you bastard!" Blond-boy's voice snarled like an angry pit bull. "Go fuck a wall!"
She turned around and saw Him. He, who deserved capital letters just because she'd never been struck, never seen such cool authority, this inherent sincerity coupled with a feral finish that was constantly in debate. He was a contradiction. Deep, dark strands of hair cut short—compared to the longhaired fashion—and a face that was sculpted with impressively high jutting cheekbones stared back at her. His skin was olive toned, tan like melted honey in the summer sun but it was not the work of artificial means; no, he was born into it.
He gave a chilly smirk, his eyes containing an ocean of emptiness, "Well, we're all glad that at least someone here listens to their mother." He drawled, "Preaching what you practice, aren't you?" The half-drunk crowd roared with laughter and Blond-boy blushed crimson.
"Watch your back, you bastard! I swear, I'll get you!"
Hitomi backed away, bumping into Yukari who looked awe-struck. "Who is he?" the honey-blonde asked referring to the dark haired boy.
"Oh," she whispered reverently, "That's gotta be him." She looked down at her; the rays of the light making her shine magnificently, "He's Van Fanel."
"Van Fanel?"
She took in a ragged breath, "He called the cops on a party," she raised an amused lip upwards, "and got arrested himself. Some even say," she looked at her in the eye, "that he didn't even try to escape them."
"What?" But she couldn't quiz her any further when people pushed her towards the center in which the seventeen year old boy stood, a lone black wolf, wild, unpredictable, silently threatening. "No!" she growled at a boy who hastily shoved her and she came stumbling into him. Into Van Fanel. Steady arms gripped her shoulder and when she first saw his face, a chill so fierce scattered through her body that she felt like she had seen something terrifying.
But it was his eyes that numbed her.
They were beautiful. Deep hues of fresh sandalwood, a symphony of cinnamon and apples; they were maroon.
"Are you alright?" he asked the second time, a flicker of amusement causing his brow to raise. She went one step backward, her eyes still trained on his form when an oh-so-brief, ephemeral smile flashed across his face quickly to vanish. He outstretched a strong hand. "Come."
The word had a powerful effect on her, not a command, but a plea, a request. For that one moment, as he stood under the chandelier that cast a halo on his dark hair, he resembled the angel—be it fallen—that she'd always wanted to meet. Hesitantly, like the way an infant first tested its feet, she slid her palm into his own, inching over, feeling each of the crisscrossing lines, grooves on his palm.
Like the licking flames of a fire, undeniable warmth seeped into her and her hand fit into hers as if they were two pieces of a puzzle.
He closed his fingers over her palms so fiercely that her eyelashes shot up in shock. Thus, he pulled her, and with great ceremony, all the people in the party crowded near the auspicious closet. It was a vacant hall closet in which they'd usually put their coats into.
He twisted the knob, and when he opened the door for her to enter, the full force of her actions hit her like a desert storm. My God, she was going into a closet with a complete stranger for seven minutes! What sort of liberties would he take with her? Her conscience battled with her…he didn't seem like the predatory type…but often the ones who were didn't seem like that either.
Oh, what the hell had she gotten herself into?
She gulped and did what her instinct told her; she searched his eyes, her own pleading, panicked. It was as if he sensed her discomfort.
He leaned in, closer, and quite suddenly, his hot breath was a hair away from brushing the shell of her ears with his lips. In the eyes of the others, Van Fanel was brushing it, so close was his proximity. But instead, he whispered so softly that it might've been his breaths and the possibility that the words had been conjured from her imagination in her desperation for assurance, "I won't hurt you. I promise you."
She jerked away from him and entered the closet, her heart pounding, bloody rushing to her face, and hands shaking.
Some cackled boisterously, their voices slurred as they made vulgar comments.
The door clicked shut and she realized that she had closed her eyes for a moment. She cracked it open, getting accustomed to the light overhead. It wasn't the light that made her blink but…him. He cornered her, "Shh," he silenced her opening mouth with a finger. "They're watching from the glass," and indeed a small circular glass piece adorned the wooden door, and behind that door, people gazed in fascination.
"What are you-you going to do?" she asked softly, her tone urgent.
"Give them what they want," his lips lifted into a small smile. "I won't hurt you, Hitomi."
"How did you know my name?" he titled her chin at the question.
"How could I not know?" he whispered hoarsely, and with that, she gasped, as he pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly that she could barely register where her body left and his met.
"Van!" she squeaked, "please." It was a no-no. Embraces. She had despised them for their ability to say so much, for their ability to renew fake hope. They were a lie. Oh, there were so many ways of deceit, but this topped for most its occurrence. Words even faltered, but something as potent as an hug could lift a battered soul, heal the scratches temporarily, breathe life into the sunless caverns of one's heart.
He parted slightly, his breath like a dragon, fiery and soft like the caress of a cloud of cotton. "Stay still," he ordered. Her breaths were shallow, her heartbeats speeding up as if she'd run a mile, and it was then that his hands crept down from her back.
Lower, and lower they went, until he fingered the hem of her shirt.
She squeezed her eyes shut and momentarily stopped breathing when his fingers stole up under her shirt. "Don't do that!" she hissed.
Fingers of heat, they were like warm sunshine on her back.
"I said, I won't hurt you." His fingers didn't move, still latched onto the naked flesh of her lower back. "I won't take advantage of you," he lowered his mouth so his lips were intimately close to her collarbones. He moved his head up, painting the image as if his lips had traveled up the column of her throat. But to Hitomi, it might have happened as well. With the way things were going, she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd died from a heat stroke.
"Tell me," his voice was husky, "why are you sad?"
Her cheeks were pink as she denied his query. "I'm not."
"Right," his voice was pleasant, with the traces of a smile, "and God Himself will open the doors of heaven for me."
"That's not funny," she defended.
"So's your face. When was the last time you laughed?"
A dry chuckle poured from her lips, and she bit her lip, "Just now?"
His face was at the side of her cheeks now, his hair now tickling her slightly in a comfortable manner. "Hmm…that wasn't a laugh." he inhaled deeply.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Fire," he whispered into her ear.
Something strange was happening to her. Her legs felt like soft butter, her body like melting honey. She took a daring move and wrapped her hands around his waist, resting her head on the side of his chest for support, "Why were you arrested?"
He paused.
"How'd you know about that?"
She pressed a smile onto his black jacket and repeated what he had said, "How could I not know?"
He relaxed visibly. "They were all drunk and had too many shots of drugs…when this girl started having seizures." He halted for a moment, closing his eyes. "I had to call the ambulance, but the boys wouldn't let me. I gave one a black eye, and another a limping foot.
"The cops also came and arrested some of us for drinking and others for abuse." He shrugged, "there's nothing to the story. Some kids ran away, some too drunk to move, stayed."
"Why didn't you run?"
"And leave the girl to the mercy of the boys?"
"But then, how did you get out of jail?"
His lips became a firm line, "My lord Father came to the rescue," he bit out those words sardonically as if they tasted awful in his mouth, "and got me out. Not that I would've stayed there for long, anyway. They decided that I'd get a warning since I was the one who called for help and I wasn't partaking in substance abuse."
"Your father? What does he do?"
"He's a lawyer."
There was a silence and when she realized that she had bumped into him earlier, remembering the feel of the coat her hand had briefly touched.
It was then that Hitomi realized that the boy—no, the man—who stood before was as mysterious as the curtain of night, as veiled as a blanket.
And somehow, she trusted him.
"Hitomi?" he asked quietly, "Can I hold you?…hard?"
Her eyes widened and she nodded mutely. He didn't hesitate for a second as he yanked her in a violently tender manner into his arms, rocking her.
It moved her.
He held onto her as if she was his salvation, as if she was the only thing that existed, a floating log in a sea of betrayal, a cherished one.
The door creaked open and it was thus that the people of the party found Hitomi Kanzaki and Van Fanel.
OOO
It was raining again.
A cool breeze flitted across making the trees shiver. As she stood out of Yukari's house, she gazed at the expanse of roads stretched before her and feeling daring, she thought she would make a run for it. No matter that her mother would probably scold her severely for running into the rain, but Hitomi Kanzaki had always loved rain.
She had been born on a rainy night, when a moon had hung in the sky, vainly showing its pearly splendor, but slowly and surely, had come the rain drops that had shaken the town violently, making the trees bow, quake. Perhaps, it was the unleashed beauty that she'd always appreciated in storms, the display of complete power that it could make a man weak, useless, no matter how supreme he was.
With a smile on her face, she held onto her skirt, and made a dash for it. Her dress would be ruined, but she didn't care. She was halfway near her home when an angry arm shot out and jerked her to a stop.
She collided into the solid figure.
The sound of the rain was peaceful, like the rusticated melody of a forgotten song.
She blinked her eyes, lashes coated with water, yet dared to meet his eyes.
It was him.
"Here," he thrust an umbrella into her hand, the warmth, the intimacy gone of their previous encounter. It was as if she was meeting a stranger. He swore. "Are you crazy? You're going to get sick."
She took the umbrella from him with slight anger. Who was he to say that? He shook his head and not waiting for an answer, slipped his hands into his pant pockets and turned away from her. "Go home, princess."
A solitary figure walked in the rain, and for a moment she thought that it was the most lonesome sight she had ever seen.
Was it all right for him to get sick? A man who thought she shouldn't run in the rain, but…who walked himself.
OOO
His clothes clung to his form, and slowly he peeled them away, grabbing a new pair of pants.
He toweled his torso in his room that was dimly lit with a tiny lamp on his desk.
He sighed and cradled his head in his hands, sealing his eyes. The day came to him in flashes. God, it had been his undoing! An alien feeling had whipped his body until it had become so painful.
He had had another fight with his father. His father, oh how he despised the man. Often when he was a child, he had thought that maybe he had gotten switched at birth, perhaps, or maybe Goau Fanel was not his father—but some other kind man.
Ever since he could remember, he had always been treated like an adult. His father had been severe and had groomed from an early age to be his successor, to be a lawyer as renown as him.
Except, Van Fanel couldn't despise a thing more than law, for such a thing had made his father cold. He had become too jaded to see the honest feelings in his mother, too cynical to look at a woman crying heart-wrenchingly to just wave his hand away and dismiss it as manipulation. It had eventually led to their separation. His father had allowed his older sister Merle to go with her mother and had kept Van.
He clenched his fists.
Everyday he swore he would be different from his father. Not cold, not unfeeling.
A flash and another scene danced across his mind.
Her voice, her vague smile, her conservative ideas…
Hitomi.
It was an odd sort of attraction, one whose base wasn't really physical. He had spotted her from afar, the serious eyed girl and the aura of somber purity around her. She didn't flirt shamelessly with others, didn't even bother to even talk to them out of any pleasure. Her face, it was honest, devoid of any artificial make-up, clean. You couldn't say she was an example of feminine beauty, but there was something to her that he couldn't put his finger on. Her features were actually normal; lashes that weren't too thick or fashionably long, softly rounded cheeks, a straight nose and frank green eyes.
A smile yanked the corners of his lips…ah, but she had a luscious mouth. The color of coral, they looked soft and rosy, pleading to be kissed, to be made love to.
No, he would rather die than be like his father. It was his father's behavior that had lead to the death of his mother.
He would never harm Hitomi or any of those close to him.
OOO
She grinned into her book, her pulse racing as she read the deliciously beautiful poetry of Goethe. Absentmindedly, she nibbled on a celery stalk, soaking in the words with a dreamy expression.
The stalk slipped from her fingers and it was precisely then, her green eyes collided with maroon.
He raised a brow.
He was sitting in front of her, calmly forking a slick of wicked chocolate cake into his mouth.
"How long have you been here?" her eyes widened.
He lifted his head, his bangs playing hide-and-seek with his eyes, "For about six minutes." Before she could shove the book away, he reached for it, "What're you reading?"
"Goethe," she admitted reluctantly.
Instead of laughing at her, or mocking her, surprisingly, he smiled. "I'm suddenly jealous of the attention you give him. On another note," he was amused, "he suits you well."
"Really?" she drawled, brushing away a loose lock of hair. Right, like the guy knew what he was talking about. She'd have good reason to be surprised if a teenage boy was aware that Goethe wrote poetry. "Have you read anything by him?"
"The Roman Elegies…ahh… Often I even compose poetry in her embraces,/Counting hexameter beats, tapping them out on her back/Softly, with one hand's fingers."
She couldn't stop herself, couldn't cease the reaction no matter how much she wanted to.
She blushed, resembling the color of strawberries. She had read those very same lines…but she hadn't done justice to Goethe like him. It was the way Goethe had probably envisioned poetry to be read, melodic, husky leaving you tingly. "How come you're interested in him?"
He shrugged, "Got bored."
"Bored?" she highly doubted any boy with a sensible mind would turn to Goethe to mollify their ennui.
He didn't meet her eyes, "I read it this summer. They were my mother's books."
"Oh," it was awkward, his eyes still shadowed. She bit her lip. Score, Hitomi. You're a brilliant conversationalist. You just made him think of something unpleasant.
"It was my fault," he said so sporadically that she coughed on her drink of water. She waited for him to go on. "My father was angry at me this summer," that was not new news, "and thought taking away my freedom for a week would do excellently for me." He gave a disgusted laugh, "He took away all sources of my entertainment and that only left me with a stack of the books. I'd kept those away from my father, so that he wouldn't throw them away after my mother died." It was then he'd begun to write poetry, composing snippets, pacing like a caged animal. His father had locked him in his room for a week, only brining his meals, and Van had purposely seen to his annoyance to remain the same, unfazed self.
"Oh Van…I-I'm so sorry." Her throat felt sore. He shook his head. She had never known how to tactfully act in these situations.
"It's not your problem." Silently as he'd come, he left the table.
Too late, she remembered she had to still return his umbrella.
OOO
Carelessly she thought of how easy it was to pump personal information from the attendance office. She'd just flashed her Journalism ID that they all made for Journalism class, broke into a big smile and sweetly asked for Van Fanel's address whose "dad had ordered a school newspaper."
Apparently, that excuse worked well for she stood near his mail box.
The guy was rich.
The house was part brick and part limestone, with columns gracing its front and a small balcony overlooking the gardens that were lush with exotic blooming flowers.
Except it was quiet, dead, as if it hadn't felt any tender, loving hands.
She took a deep, courageous breath and walked up the pathway and rang the bell.
She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.
The door creaked open…
She remained rooted to the spot. Dressed in a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans, he looked like the way rock stars should. His hair was messy, as if he'd been lying down, his face possessing a kind of stillness, a peacefulness that was rare.
"Hitomi."
"Van…oh hi." She faltered over the words, "I, I wanted to return your umbrella."
"Oh," he glanced at the black umbrella, "you could've returned at school tommorow. I wouldn't have cared." He wouldn't have cared if she hadn't returned it at all.
"Oh, I, well," she mumbled something.
"Come in," he said, turning around and opening the door wider, " I have something of yours."
Hers?
Cautiously, she stepped into the foreign territory, the hardwood floors gleaming. The house was dark, yet he found his way like an experienced cat would in its home and lead her upstairs…
…to his room.
Light blue walls gleamed cheerily with the minutest splashes of soft white, walls bare of posters and other knick knacks that had coveerec her's so that the least amount of the hideous hot pink of her room was visible.
"I like the color of your walls," she said without thinking.
He glanced at her in surprise, his look softening, "I had a thing for flying when I was young. My mother painted this room so I could think it was the sky." He didn't mention how intricately his mother had painted the ceilings so it resembled the earthy dark blue shades of the night sky, littered with thousands of stars. He had painted over them partly in his grief and to rebel against his father, his father that should've cared.
She smiled, "Ah, I think it's one of those boy stages. My brother has this huge binder with the stats of all the fighter planes."
He grinned, "What was yours?"
"My stage… hmm, I think I had one where I used to idolize Nancy Drew—the blond hair, the friends, the guys," she rolled her eyes, "the mystery."
"I like your hair," the words sprung up quite out of thin air.
"Uh, ohh," she touched her own locks, "Thanks." They were a light brown, a nutty color that had earned her the nickname of 'Nutcase' from her brother.
"Here," he handed her the grey cap that she lost to the wind.
"How did you get this?"
He shrugged, "Found it."
"How did you know it was mine?"
"I saw you in the rain," he looked out the window at the lazy streaks of sunlight.
"Oh, well, thanks." His eyes were shadowed and once again she thought she had stumbled into an awkward moment, "I guess, I'll be leaving now. See you in school, tomorrow."
He clasped her arm in a firm grip and pulled her right into himself.
He whispered, "Don't go." Her eyes widened. "Will you stay a while?" his voice was a hoarse rumor, like sandpaper.
She extracted herself from his grip and turned to face him. She had felt his thundering heartbeat, had been awash in an unusual warmth.
His eyes looked hungry as he gazed at her.
It was then when her own traveled over him did she notice the bruise. "Van, your arm!"
Numbly did he hold it up and dismissed it. It was a purple mark as if a thumb had held it over too long. "What happened?" she badgered him, and held it.
"He was feeling fatherly so he held onto my arm too long," the cynical jerk of his lips did not need any clarification.
Deciding it was time to change the subject she drove into a new topic, "Did you do all your homework?"
He gave her a droll stare. "No, Mom."
She rolled her eyes. "We both have the same Math and English classes, right?"
Previously she hadn't paid much attention to him since he sat at the backseat of her math class and she had desperately needed to pay attention in that class to pass. "You're helpless in Math, Kanzaki."
"I know," she admitted.
"The key," he spoke as if he was a philosopher revaling some deep, arcane thought, "is that you shouldn't pay attention to what the witch teaches, but read the book."
"What?" she laughed.
"Yeah," he shrugged, "She doesn't know shit."
She shook her head. "And is that how you have an A in that class?" she had meant to be sarcastic, but instead, he nodded, smiling. "Weeell, the thing about English class, which I've seen you don't excel at—is that you pay attention."
"Pay attention, what's that?" he cocked his head innocently.
She slapped his shoulder, "It's not like math, you idiot. In analyzation, there's no one right answer. You can BS your way around everything if you can back it up by some evidence somehow."
"Ah, the mystery's finally revealed."
"Really, analyzing literature is basically a test on your ability to argue. You dispute well, however farfetched you may be, you'll get the points. Fail to prove your thesis with legitimate evidence, a big fat zero hangs over your head."
He clapped, "You should replace Ms. Echols."
"I refuse to be a teacher," she exclaimed in mock-outrage.
"What do you want to be, by the way?" He didn't realize they were sitting on the floor, legs stretched, relaxing as two good friends would.
"Hmm… maybe a journalist. Lost causes are my forte." She winked. "You?"
He wrapped his arms around his chest, "I'm not sure. Whatever I do, I want to be my own boss."
"Ah, the male ego?" She ran a hand carelessly through her hair, her kind eyes twinkling.
He hadn't noticed how truly green they were. Verdant and delicate like the first leaves of spring. "Alpha through and through."
A giggle erupted from her lips until she was shaking. Understanding dawned on him and he drawled calmly, "I wouldn't have thought your mind assessed so many nuances of a sentence."
She arched a brow, her lips still twitching, "You should've gotten the idea that I'm excellent at detecting all sorts of connotations." She smiled, revealing straight teeth, "And who said being a bit…" her eyes winked mischievously, "dominant was bad?"
His voice was quiet, "Got any legitimate evidence to prove that statement, Kanzaki?"
A crimson blush stole on her face and she frowned, "Well, no."
When his lashes lifted to meet her eyes, she realized his eyes were glimmering with humor, "Should I think that you were the dominant one then?" Ooh, she was sure he wasn't talking about being bossy…but activities associated with the bedroom, of which she had no experience, with just a bare amount in kissing.
In half-shock and half-laughter she spoke, "No."
He gave a wry laugh, "If you care to find out…" He smiled suggestively, though it was still teasing.
She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, then you can remind me that the tiny of bit of intelligence I had has degenerated into shreds."
"Is the prospect so bad?"
She straightened the collar of her shirt pensively, making his eyes drop down to the gently rounded curves of her breast for a terse moment. "I suppose, the topic is still something that comes under 'dangerous.'"
"Topic?" his brows raised, and he looked at her critically.
"Well, sex." Goodness, Hitomi Kanzaki, even though a senior could not say the word without blushing. As far as Van was concerned, if they broached it, it wouldn't be a topic, but an activity.
"Why?"
"It's not the fact of losing my virginity that scares me." She shrugged, "Trust. Human nature is a bitch and trust is a word that's virtually non-existent in our vocabulary."
"We're like animals," he stretched his arm, and she noticed the rippling strength in them.
"Wrong." She grinned triumphantly, "Animals aren't the evil beings that people use to describe humans. An animal does what it does to survive; it doesn't stomp on someone out of jealousy or careless desire. Look at wolves; if all human males were like them, then we wouldn't have such nasty scandals and divorce rates." Her stated matter-of-factly, but perhaps there was something in her tone that implied her true feeling, "Once they choose their mate, they're forever bound to them. The dark side of human nature, Van, is a beast."
She didn't expect to hear the next words, was even mortified to hear them, "You're a romantic, aren't you?" he said softly.
She met his eyes, "I admire the theoretical aspects, but I don't believe it's applicable in real life, especially the happily-ever-afters."
"Also a pessimist?"
"The glass is always half-empty."
He grinned, "We'll get along just fine."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you're not my type."
She arched a brow, not knowing if the statement was a compliment or an insult in the way he spoke.
OOO
A decidedly giddy feeling hummed through Hitomi Kanzkai. She had skipped up the driveway of her home.
But water was doused into her good mood as the door swung open and Mrs. Kanzaki smiled motherishly, "Hitomi! You didn't tell me you got a boyfriend!"
"What?" She dropped her book-bag to the floor, a flush permateing through her face.
"I really don't understand why you'd hide something like this," her mother rolled her eyes, "Yukari called me and we had a nice chat."
I'll wring her bloody neck! "And…?"
"Gave me all the vital stats."
She groaned, "Mom, really, ninety nine percent of the stuff she tells you is garbage."
"Who is he?"
However much she found her mother annoying, she still loved her. Hitomi sighed, massaging her scalp, "Honestly, there's nothing between us; and he and I are just friends."
Her mother squeezed her, "Good, I don't really care whether you're friends with this boy or he's your boyfriend, but honey," she frowned, "I'd been so worried about you. You were always talkative and then suddenly…it's like you chose answers with the most minimum words."
"Mom," she felt a stab of guilt, her eyes pleading, and mumbled her words, "I-I'm sorry."
"No, no," she denied, "I don't think I understand the complexities of high school now." Pulling away, she met her daughter's eyes squarely, "But affection still produces the same reaction from everyone at any age. Honey, he has a good influence on you."
Hitomi grinned, "He's quite…something."
A/N: REVIEWWWWWWW!!! Thanks!!!
