-Tsubasa

Once again, the infamous Kuro Neko was fumbling in through my window. That idiot. A stream of blood was running down his face. His left cheek was bruising badly. His foot was sprained. Closing my textbook quietly (homework could wait, I supposed), I stood up to help him in. He didn't resist, which meant that he couldn't, which meant the first aid kit I bought the other day would come in handy.

I carried him because he was limping, to the bathroom. He pushed half-heartedly at my chest for all of two seconds before slumping into my shoulder. His skin was chilly, but the wetness in his hair was warm. Stripping off his dirty clothes (again, no struggle), I lowered him into the bath that should've been for me. He flinched slightly at the contant of the warm lukewarm water.

His usually bright eyes were dull, and the slight scowl he still held made it more miserable-looking. I held his head, dipping half of it into the water. The blood spread into the clear water like some kind of fire. I nearly chuckled at the irony, but then Natsume groaned, and I pulled him back up.

"Do you want to get out?" I asked him.

He shook his head slowly, staring dead forward. So I went outside, grabbed my book from the desk, and went back to the bathroom, taking a seat on the floor beside the tub. I heard him turn, glance at me, then I heard him mutter something incoherable.

"No, you can't leave yet," I told him.

It was strange, I thought, that the thought of kissing this cocky brat wasn't so foreign a thought anymore. Hell, sitting in bed being straddled by the cocky little brat wasn't foreign at all, 'cause that's how it was.

There are things you have to notice when you're "with" Natsume. He wasn't used to being handled gently, the way I do. It scares me that he flinches reflexively, and it makes me angry as hell. His kisses can either be as cold or as white hot as he is. But they're always hungry; like he's craving more than what I can give. But that's reasonable. What am I giving him, really? What have I saved him from?

He's still parched.

-Natsume

Tsubasa is an idiot. A wonderful idiot, who's mine, but an idiot anyway. He's apologizing. I don't know what for, so it must not be anything real. He can't say sorry to me. He's not allowed, supposed or permitted to. I'd be deeper in debt than I already am.

He's only ever been really pissed at me once. Because I didn't tell him about a few joint missions I'd been going on. He went on about how worried he was, and how much of a bastard I was for making him worry. He said I love you a few times, so I slapped him. I told him to stop lying, and the asshole punched me.

"I said I love you, you stupid jerk," he said. I hated myself for crying.

I apologize for cringing away from his touch, because I don't want them to really go away. I kiss him almost as hard as I can, and I hold on to him almost as tight as I can. He shouldn't be real for me. He should be a fantasy. A dream.

I can't love him all the way. That would mean a just pain for him. A murderer for a lover? No.

I'll hold on because I'm selfish, and I'm willing him not to fade. Even though I shouldn't.

Maybe that's why I'm still so parched.

Eh. Review because of you love angst-ridden, doomed slash pairings?