MG: Boo! Ha, that scared you! Now then . . . I'm not quite sure what sparked off the idea for this fic. I started writing it out during work (cuz am on Work Experience! Lotsa fun!) and it kinda grew all by itself. And lookie, I'm doing it from Satoshi's POV, a very rare thing indeed.

I haven't entirely decided on a pairing yet. At the moment the piece is swaying towards Dai x Satoshi, but I am kinda half-considering Satoshi x Krad. Hmmm . . . we'll see how it goes I guess – if you think the story is better suited to one pairing over the other then please let me know. And don't forget to review with that! Ta xXx

Hello.

I am unsure as to whether that was a suitable introduction but I hear it is customary to begin a diary narrative with a colloquial. Why, I shall never understand. Perhaps it is to create a sense of familiarity? If so, then the familiarity is false. It is impossible to feel familiarity with a blank book.

Book in general, while part of the everyday, are not 'familiar' things. They are inanimate objects. Some would say it is the words written in each book which have the power to move people. This is not true. Just as in brilliant works of art, the emotion is not conveyed through the paint or ink, but through the raw passion of the artist. Books are inanimate objects. They only live when the writer gives them soul.

I feel like I'm rambling. I wouldn't really know, seeing as I have little to ramble about. What does a person write in a diary? Secrets? Stories? To record the mundaneness of daily life? To detail intimate emotions? Why? For what audience, and what purpose?

I hear some people write because they are lonely and see an appeal in talking to an invisible friend. Some people relieve stress by 'unloading', removing the burden of the day's worries and imprisoning them on paper.

But when it comes down it, no matter what it is you write, you're still just talking to yourself.

Unfortunately I know that feeling all too well in the literal sense. Not a day goes by without Krad hissing quiet threats in the back of my mind, or tainting my dreams with nightmarish images. We both know I grow tired from his torment. Tired, and weak.

Tired even now, and too weak to move from the bed. Is that why I am writing this? As something to entertain my bored mind? Perhaps.

I am still too weak to leave the house. It was only yesterday I picked up this forlorn book for the first time and, on a whim, began to write. I suppose at the time I hadn't really expected myself to be continuing, but seeing as there is little else I can do, keeping a diary should be an interesting experiment.

So for this experiment to succeed, what do I write? Do I note every task of the day? Give all my personal details and history? Explain myself? No, that would be pointless, for who else will read this but myself?

Perhaps I should begin with a reason for my being currently bedridden. Krad had a brief moment of power yesterday that left me weak to the point of exhaustion. I grow worried, for though he has not attempted it again, the effect has lasted for a long time. I should have recovered by now, I am sure.

I believe the fact that I have eaten very little recently has also contributed to my current state. If Daisuke where to see me I'm sure he'd throw a fit.

Daisuke.

The word feels just as beautiful to write as it is to say.

Daisuke, Daisuke, Daisuke.

I wish I could say that name all the time, so that it forever graced my lips with its presence.

Reading back over my entry, I wonder why I wrote that. Perhaps because no-one else will see the words my treacherous pen has spelled out for me. Should I rip out this page? No, because what I wrote is true. I love Daisuke's name.

The boy himself is something to wonder at. No other has offered me friendship as innocently and sincerely as him. I want . . . I want to be his friend. But the threat of Krad always stops me from becoming too close.

Or close at all, for that matter.

I long for companionship, and the thin semblance of friendship that Daisuke has managed to construct between us fills a small corner of loneliness' void.

I no longer feel like writing.

Should I date these entries I wonder? No, it is enough to know that Spring, though her embrace on the earth is still firm, is beginning to yield her grip to the first caress of Summer.

I have recovered remarkably since my last entry and I am thankful that Krad does not seem overly active. Oddly enough, he has been rather quiet of late. But I suspect that will change tonight when we face Dark once again.

I have begun to dread our meetings in the various art galleries and museums of the city. I know it is my duty, no, my purpose to catch Dark Mousy, but what then? What happens to my purpose when it has been fulfilled? And Daisuke? Daisuke . . .

Would he hate me?

No, he would not hate me. He would loathe me. Well, maybe not loathe as he is altogether too nice to hold a grudge. But he would be thoroughly upset. I know how much the thief means to him.

Too, too much.

It is time. I must leave.