Rating: M [slash]

Pairings: MasakixKichijouji, a.k.a. Ichijou/Cardinal George

Disclaimer: "The Irregular at Magic High School" is the property of Satou Tsutomu. The fanfic author is not making any money from this story.

Blurb: At thirteen, Kichijouji loses his parents and home, but the Ichijou Clan saves his life. Suddenly he has to move, start a new school, and begin a new life. But the boy who helped save him is the boy he falls in love with. Drama ensues. (IchijoxGeorge).

Author's Note: Although the anime subtitles call Kichijouji "George," I won't be. As I listened to the Japanese audio track, I realized that Masaki is calling him "Jouji." Although "Jouji" or "Jo-ji" is the Japanese pronunciation of George, "Jouji" is also a nickname from Kichijouji's surname. So I'll use "Jouji" here.

Name Order: I prefer to render Japanese names as they truly are—surname first—even when writing in English.

Chapter 1

Above him, the only thing Kichijouji Shinkuro could hear were explosions.

He sat scrunched down, huddled together in a bomb shelter with the other kids from his school. The ground shook from the bombing, and sprays of dust erupted from the ceiling. Kichijouji hugged his legs to his chest and prayed for his parents' safety, but given they worked at a magic research facility, he had no real hope they would survive. The invaders would ensure all the magicians died.

A deafening boom vibrated the entire shelter, and several kids screamed. All around Kichijouji were sounds of sniffling and crying. He understood their terror; he had never been so afraid. His entire body trembled; sweat drenched his shirt. In his panic, he couldn't remember a single spell he'd ever learned. He had always imagined protecting himself in a fight, but he'd never imagined a battle erupting.

My parents are dead.

It was one of the only thoughts that would come to Kichijouji. He hugged his legs tighter, too panicked to either scream or cry when another explosion racked the shelter. Several children and one teacher burst into wails.

I'm going to die.

One final explosion rocked the ground, sending more dust flying through the air, and then there was silence above.

For long minutes, Kichijouji heard nothing but sniffling, sobs, and whispers. Then he heard voices outside the bomb shelter's door. Through the metal, the words couldn't be distinguished. He had no idea if Japanese forces would be opening that door or if it would be the invaders.

The door banged open, admitting harsh sunlight into the dimmer light of the bomb shelter. Kichijouji jerked at the sound.

A male voice spoke, and Kichijouji didn't understand what it said.

At that moment, Kichijouji lost all belief that any higher power was in charge of the universe. There was only death. No hope.

Ichijou Masaki felt numb. Target. Squeeze the trigger. Blood explosion. Target. Squeeze the trigger. Blood explosion. In the thick of battle, he no longer had thoughts racing through his head. It was just: Wrong uniform. Kill them.

His father seemed calm, collected, unusually grim. Masaki wondered how that were possible, but he could at least pretend to be cool-headed. He could hide the fact he wanted to vomit.

They fought their way through the invading forces, having a clear shot now that the bombing had stopped. Every Japanese citizen Masaki walked up to was already dead when he found them.

Soon enough, the road was splattered with blood, bile, and pulp. Masaki stood with his gun CAD still poised, waiting for more invaders to round the corner.

A shout from his uncle broke Masaki's trance. "We've found the bomb shelter!"

"Where?" Masaki's father demanded.

"This door." Masaki's uncle pointed his phone at a steel door in the ground. The GPS map on the screen showed a red dot.

Potential life tumbled into this war reality, and Masaki stumbled. The road tilted, and he looked over the volunteer platoon with fresh horror. We all look terrifying. Everyone was covered in the blood.

"Confirmation?"

A woman lowered her phone from her ear, apparently having checked with a local authority. "Confirmed."

Masaki found himself stepping forward. "Let me." He opened the door and let it swing back on its hinges. It thudded to the ground.

Hundreds of kids peered up at him, red-faced and crying.

It was then that Masaki thought he truly would vomit—not from seeing people explode into pulp but from seeing hundreds of innocent kids his own age look so terrified and hopeless.

"We're the Ichijou Clan," Masaki said. "We're here to help." His voice emerged too quiet and mangled from his surge of emotion.

His dad squeezed his shoulder and then guided him aside. He raised his voice, easily filling the bomb shelter with the sound: "We're the Ichijou Clan from Kanazawa. Please come with us. We're going to evacuate you."

Most of volunteer soldiers spread out, covering the bomb shelter's entrance. Already there were two troop transport vehicles on standby, waiting for the civilians. Masaki, his dad, and a few others stood by the entrance and helped the kids and teachers climb out. Masaki's aunt and uncle, along with two of his older cousins, stood by the transport trucks and helped the kids climb in.

The third to last boy to emerge tripped on the stairs and nearly fell.

Masaki shot out his arm, catching the boy under the waist. "Whoa! You okay?"

The boy looked up at him with wide, crimson eyes, striking in their unusual color. Then the boy looked around the area.

Masaki grimaced. All that surrounded them was rubble. There had been a huge neighborhood and a school, but now there were just chunks of concrete, a few bent steel beams, burnt-out cars, and splattered corpses.

The boy gasped sharply. Masaki could feel him trembling.

"My home," the boy whispered, his lower lip trembling. "My parents . . ."

Masaki felt his eyes burn with tears. "I'm Ichijou Masaki. My father is in charge of our volunteer force. We're going to get you to safety." He helped the boy straighten and then held out his hand. "Will you come with us?" If I can just help one person, just one, this will be all worth it.

The boy nodded slowly and slowly reached out, his fingers shaking. He accepted Masaki's hand.

Masaki wrapped his free arm around the boy's back and steered him toward the transport truck. "What's your name?"

"Kichijouji Shinkuro," the boy said, his gaze lingering on what had likely been his school.

Masaki's father quickly caught up to them. "Kichijouji? Are your parents Maiko and Seijuro?"

Kichijouji nodded. He was ghastly pale.

Masaki's father returned the nod and then looked to Masaki. "Stay with him. We owe a lot to his parents."

"Yes, sir." Masaki continued to guide Kichijouji toward the truck.

Kichijouji gazed up at the taller boy, who was covered in blood, and tried not to stare at the rubble that had been his neighborhood. Ichijou Masaki. Ichijou Masaki, save me. All he could focus on was Masaki's face. If he thought about anything else, if he attempted to process anything else, he was going to combust into instant hysteria.

Masaki met the boy's gaze. Kichijouji seemed delicate. He was small, with a sweet face and those big, beautiful eyes. "It's all right. I'll keep you safe." His whole world abruptly shifted. All he cared about was protecting this boy.

In that instant, Kichijouji knew he would never forget the name or face of Ichijou Masaki, even if he only spent one hour with him. He squeezed Masaki's hand and nodded his assent. Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone.

Masaki squeezed Kichijouji's hand in return. "Kichijouji-kun, let's be friends. I'm thirteen. How old are you?" He was relieved that his father was giving him space, as well as letting him do something other than kill people. I can help this boy. I can do this. Just let me do this.

"Thirteen," Kichijouji whispered. I've lost my parents, I just know it. I've lost my home. I'll have to go to a new school. Then the reality of the situation landed on Kichijouji with crushing force. "My parents! They're dead; they have to be!" The horror of it slammed through his chest, amplifying his voice but making his lungs seize. "An orphanage!" The magicians' orphanages were utterly notorious for their mismanagement. Kids often claimed abuse. "Oh, god! They'll send me to that orphanage!"

Masaki clamped his hand down on Kichijouji's hand and shot a panicked look at his father.

"The Ichijou Clan will take you in," Masaki's father said. "I owe your parents too much to abandon their child in such a time of need."

Masaki was stunned, but deep down, he'd had faith in his father to do something. His father always did. "That's right. You're coming home with me."

Kichijouji's world stabilized for the moment. Barely. But it did. He pulled his thoughts together, realizing that his parents were the head of the team that had worked hard to improve the Ichijou family's spells. Right. Connections. His parents had always said everything resided on good networking and good connections.

Clearly they had been right.

Without releasing Masaki's hand, Kichijouji turned toward Mr. Ichijou and bowed deeply. "Thank you very much." He knew he should let go of Masaki's hand, but he just couldn't. It was the only thing keeping him together.

When Kichijouji straightened, Mr. Ichijou gave him a nod. "You're welcome. Now that that's settled, let's go." He hopped up into the nearest transport.

Kichijouji peered up at his new friend. "Thank you, Ichijou-kun."

Masaki offered him a small smile. "We're going to live together. You should call me Masaki."

"Masaki-kun," Kichijouji murmured, shot through with shyness. "You can call me Shinkuro, if you want, but my friends at school nicknamed me Jouji."

Masaki nodded. "Jouji-kun. I like it." He helped Kichijouji up into the transport truck and then climbed in behind him. They took the last two spots on the left bench seat. "Don't look, all right? It's better if you just look at me."

Kichijouji did exactly as told. He clasped Masaki's hand tightly. He stared at their hands, looking neither right nor left, up nor down. Even still, with the karate training mandated by his old elementary school, he had developed an excellent amount of peripheral vision. He saw blood—lots and lots of blood, spattered everywhere. Also, there was more rubble.

Only ten minutes later, they were rerouted into a militarized zone around a hotel. There were command tents, four vans filled with various equipment, and three ambulances. The kids were immediately sent into the hotel's basement, along with the teachers and most of the Ichijou Clan. Among all the shouting, Kichijouji heard the adults saying the bombing might resume.

During the entire time, Masaki stayed by Kichijouji's side. Even after they had been hiding in the basement for hours, Masaki didn't change out of his armor, although he did accept towels to clean it up some. He kept giving Kichijouji reassuring smiles, although Kichijouji could tell Masaki was tense as well.

In the end, they had to spend the night in the basement. Packaged food and water were brought in, and Masaki left long enough to shower and return with bloodless clothes and clean armor.

Kichijouji didn't sleep much. He lay on the floor by Masaki, facing him, and listened to the other kids cry off and on. Occasionally, adults would murmur in the background.

Finally, morning came.

Kichijouji was sitting against a wall by Masaki, choking down a breakfast bar and water, when a woman wearing a uniform bearing the insignia of a lieutenant walked up and bowed to him. "My apologies, Kichijouji-san, but I need you to come with me and verify . . ."

Don't say it. Kichijouji knew what the woman was going to say. He didn't want to hear it. But he knew that Masaki's father had gone out of his way to try to find Kichijouji's parents, and this was now the result.

The woman paused and bowed again. "My deepest apologies, Kichijouji-san, but we believe your parents have been killed."

"You want me to identify the bodies," Kichijouji said flatly. His stomach clenched so hard he nearly vomited up the breakfast bar. He turned a tortured look upon Masaki. "Would you—would you escort me there, Masaki-kun?" He barely got the sentence out. His throat tightened.

"Of course I will," Masaki said. "I insist." He squeezed Kichijouji's shoulder. "You're not alone. Let's do this together."

Kichijouji nodded. He and Masaki followed the lieutenant, exiting the basement and heading outside. The entire time, Kichijouji's heart thudded harshly in his chest. His palms sweated. He felt hot and cold at the same time. Somehow, the world didn't even seem real. When he glanced at the soldiers bustling around the hotel's yard, it was like he saw them through a concave lens.

Kichijouji was shown into one of a series of the tents and then led down a row of cloth-covered bodies. The attendant pulled down the very top of two of the cloths. Pale, grayish faces met Kichijouji's inspection. The eyelids were cracked open slightly; the jaws were slack. A few mottled spots of collected blood marred the cheeks. But these two people were most definitely his parents.

Kichijouji nodded, struck through with numb horror.

The lieutenant handed him a tablet. Without speaking, he signed the form on it, his hand shaking. Then he turned and walked back out again, Masaki still at his side.

Once he was back outside, he was hit with a wave of dizziness and suddenly couldn't breathe. "Ma—Masaki-kun . . .!" He pressed his hand to his chest.

Masaki slipped an arm around Kichijouji's shoulders. "It's okay. I know it's horrible. You can let it out. You don't have to be brave." Masaki hurriedly pulled Kichijouji away from everyone else, finding a secluded spot where they would have relative privacy. He wrapped both arms around Kichijouji. "You can sob and scream against me. You can even punch me if you like; I won't care."

Kichijouji couldn't imaging punching someone out of grief, but he had no trouble with the rest. Somehow, having a very kind but total stranger hold him and comfort him made it easier instead of harder. He burst into sobs, wailing against Masaki's chest. His arms had ended up folded against Masaki's chest, and he clenched his fists against his lips. The net effect muffled the sound for those farther away, and Kichijouji didn't bother to worry about Masaki's reaction.

For long minutes, all there was in the universe was pain. Pain and wailing. But Masaki held Kichijouji and didn't let go. That warmth and strength kept Kichijouji from falling into the abyss.

Masaki let out his breath as soon as Kichijouji pulled the pin and let go. He held Kichijouji against him and ended up crying himself—over the carnage he'd seen, over all the people he hadn't saved, and over all the destruction it would take years to rebuild from. All the graves that needed to be prepared. Then he was crying over the horror of seeing his magic kill people, and after that, crying because there was one person he'd managed to save. My magic can help people. My magic can keep Jouji safe. Kichijouji, who was now in his family's care. Kichijouji, whom he'd instantly felt magnetized to. He was terrified of his own feelings and what they meant, and yet he'd been losing his grip on his sanity until he saw Kichijouji. Saving Kichijouji had forced his sanity to click back into place. As long as he had Kichijouji, Masaki wouldn't have to worry about losing himself.

Kichijouji cried until he had no tears left. He heard and felt Masaki crying, also, and assumed it was because they were both standing in the middle of hell. More than anything, he was comforted because Masaki apparently agreed they were in hell.

Once Kichijouji got his sinuses back under control, he peered up at Masaki again. He was abruptly aware that he was folded against Masaki's chest like a girlfriend would be. He was being nothing like a rough and tough boy at all, and not only did Masaki not seem to care, he had his arms wrapped around him still, holding him close. In that moment, Kichijouji gave his heart to Masaki. I will go wherever you go. I will help you like you've helped me today.

He offered Masaki a small, tentative smile.

Masaki smiled back. "We're going to stick together from this moment forward, right?"

"Yes." Kichijouji clung to that promise. "From this moment forward, we'll stick together."

When Kichijouji arrived at the Ichijou mansion with Masaki, he was stunned. Certainly, he had expected something large and sprawling and rich and fancy, but he was still caught off-guard.

They exited the car and were met at the door by a woman who appeared to be in her thirties. She looked strikingly similar to Masaki, and Kichijouji discovered she was Mrs. Ichijou.

Mr. Ichijou, who had stayed on Sado Island for a debriefing, had called ahead and explained the situation. Kichijouji found himself the immediate target of Mrs. Ichijou's concern. It eased his discomfort and nervousness.

It was Masaki, not Mrs. Ichijou, who led Kichijouji upstairs. Mrs. Ichijou's voice faded behind them, and Kichijouji could hear her fussing to someone about getting him clothing and sending up a snack and getting a bed and bedroom prepared.

Kichijouji was too tired to think about much. The trip to the Ichijou estate hadn't taken too terribly long, given they'd come via helicopter, but on top of the rest of Kichijouji's last two days, it wiped him out.

By this point, Masaki now wore not amour but a basic outfit consisting of a purple t-shirt and jeans. Kichijouji was still wearing his school uniform, which at this point was sweaty and gross.

Masaki slid open a door. "This is my room. We can hang out here until your room is prepared." He led Kichijouji inside. "I'm glad we're home. I'm exhausted. You?"

"Very." Kichijouji peered around the room. It was spacious. The bed was spacious. The desk was large, as was the window. Everything was top quality and expensive.

All those details failed to impress themselves upon Kichijouji. He instead turned his attention upon Masaki. His first impression had been muddled, but now he assessed the boy more clearly: Masaki had beautiful blue-green eyes that were filled with kindness. He had an equally beautiful smile and a handsome face. He also had a eye-catching shade of auburn hair. Kichijouji realized he was hopelessly attracted to him.

"Let's take a nap," Masaki said. He plopped down on his bed, sitting against the headboard, and patted the mattress in invitation. "There's plenty of room. Maybe later we can play video games. I've got lots, and it's good for distraction."

At the invitation to nap in Masaki's bed, Kichijouji felt a blush in his cheeks. "All right." He didn't want to be obvious about his feelings, but receiving an offer of care during the worst two days of his life was too much to pass up. "I'm totally beaten." He was also suited up in layers of uniform. All he'd ditched were his shoes. "Can I shower first?"

"Sure." Masaki hopped off his bed and led Kichijouji to a bathroom, even finding him a robe to put on.

Fifteen minutes later, Kichijouji returned feeling more relaxed, more tired, and more human. He was far too traumatized and exhausted to even question sharing a bed with a kind and gracious boy. He climbed onto the bed by Masaki, trying not to feel self-conscious about the fact all he had on was a robe and no boxers. He lay down on his back, matching the position Masaki had taken. They both stared at the ceiling for a minute.

Kichijouji couldn't decide if something was actually happening between them or not. Certainly Masaki had been unusually affectionate with him, but that wasn't necessarily the same as flirting.

Masaki yawned. "This is real life, you know—being here at my house. It's not a dream. And my mom will be overjoyed that we've taken you in. She'll love you. She's like that. She loves kids." He dared to look at Kichijouji. "You'll be happy here. I promise."

Kichijouji gazed at Masaki and gave him a little smile. "All right." It didn't make the loss of his own parents hurt any less, but it did make him less afraid about the future. He rolled onto his side, facing Masaki. He wasn't a back sleeper, anyway, but in this case, he wanted to be able to see Masaki as soon as he woke up. He didn't want to be too disoriented if he had nightmares, and he found Masaki's voice and presence soothing.

Masaki paused, then rolled onto his side. "I don't expect you to feel better right away. I just want you to know you're safe here. I'll still be here when you wake up, and then we'll eat supper." He rubbed Kichijouji's shoulder. "Then you can go back to bed and sleep as long as you want."

"Okay." Kichijouji realized he did feel safe. He also knew for sure in that moment that he wasn't imagining the flirting. In any other scenario, the other boy wouldn't touch him. In fact, the other boy would have scooted as far to the side of the bed as he could reach without falling out. Realizing that Masaki was like him in this way, Kichijouji smiled at his rescuer. "Thank you, Masaki-kun."

Masaki blushed. "It's nothing. I'm going to sleep for a while, too."

Despite Kichijouji's exhaustion, Masaki was the one to fall asleep first. He gazed at Masaki's peaceful face, focusing on Masaki instead of the weight of the grief hanging in the back of his mind.

Finally, Kichijouji's body gave in and allowed him to fall asleep. He willed himself to dream of Masaki's smile instead of blood, death, and his parents' pale, waxy faces.

Postscript A/N: This story is AU-ish in the sense I'm having Kichijouji and Masaki be conscious of being in love from the beginning. Their love is obvious in the light novel—even Masaki's, although Jouji is the only party conscious of it—but I wanted to approach the relationship from the beginning instead of waiting until the end of the series.

Also, even though this first chapter is practically grim-dark, the rest of the story is a romantic drama and lighter in tone.