Notes: A little darker than part 1, mood-wise. This was originally posted over at LJ under the title 'Conversation on the floor of a not-quite-empty house', but that doesn't quite fit into the space for a chapter title over here. Immediately preceding events are left to the reader's imagination.


When Doumeki's vision starts to focus, the first thing he sees is an unfamiliar ceiling. The second is the pissed off Watanuki who's standing over him.

"I thought," Watanuki says, arms folded stiffly, "that we talked about this."

"Talked about what?" Doumeki has to ask. Either he's got a concussion, or after twenty seconds of consciousness Watanuki has already given him a headache, and it's going to be a while before he's awake enough to decide which.

"You didn't hit your head that hard, what do you think?" Watanuki snaps. "I mean that thing where you let yourself keep getting beaten up because of something that was after me!"

"You'd rather you got beaten up?" suggests Doumeki irritably. He's finally starting to remember where they are and what's going on, and it's not a pleasant experience – even less so given that, since they clearly haven't made it out of the building, it's probably not over yet.

"I don't want anyone getting hurt," Watanuki assures him. "Not that you don't deserve it, with some of your stupid behaviour, but that is still not the point!"

"Why not?" Gingerly, Doumeki tries sitting up, and is pleased to discover this works without making his head feel any worse.

"Because you…" Watanuki starts.

"Oi," Doumeki cuts him off, not in any sort of mood to hear more of this. And maybe he does have a head injury doing the thinking for him, but the first way to make sure of that which comes to him is to grab Watanuki as high up the front of his shirt as is in reach from the floor, and drag him down. Before Watanuki can recover enough to complain about this treatment, Doumeki kisses him. It's as good a way to shut him up as any, though – head injury or not – Doumeki wouldn't even try to pretend that's the only reason.

What reaction this would get him he hadn't thought as far as to guess, but Watanuki kisses him back without hesitation – hard, hands fisting in the back of Doumeki's shirt to pull him closer. It's not just an angry sort of kiss, not like their first two from what now seems like an age ago, this is Watanuki being honestly, horribly glad Doumeki's okay. Realising that makes it all the harder to pull away.

Doumeki hadn't put much thought into how long this would last either, but the kiss definitely continues much longer than he'd first intended.

He moves back at last. Watanuki still looks angry, but at least he stays silent long enough for what Doumeki needs to say.

"I don't want you dying either." Doumeki hadn't expected to hear that hoarse quality creeping into his own voice until it reaches his own ears, he's surprised by how unlike him it sounds. "We talked about that too."

Watanuki, at least, seems to accept this fairly well, which is to say he sighs and slumps down, the combined weight pushing them both back to the marginally less awkward position of being flat on his back on the floor. "I never said I wanted you to let me die ," Watanuki says, his voice coming from where his head is resting on Doumeki's chest. "I like being alive. I intend to do a lot more of it. But I'm the one that attracts all those spirits and there's nothing I can do about it. And I might have mentioned how I really, really don't like it when you put yourself in danger to bail me out."

It shouldn't be so unfamiliar to hear Watanuki express an interest in his own self-preservation – and if it has to be unfamiliar, it should at least be a relief – but there's a traitorous part of Doumeki that has to wonder whether this is a sentiment Watanuki will remember next time it counts. He's seen more than once just how much Watanuki can be convinced to throw away to help someone he perceives as in need – in those moments, Doumeki had discovered a kind of anger he'd never before realised himself capable of. And if that's how it's going to be, who is Watanuki to forbid someone else from doing the same, to suggest his life is worth somehow less than Doumeki's life would be?

"I'll offer you a compromise," Doumeki says.

"What did you have in mind?" Watanuki asks. His fingers smooth over the fabric of the shirt beneath him, ever so slightly. Doumeki is carefully not distracted by watching them.

One of his arms is still wrapped around Watanuki's shoulders, and it takes some concentration not to mimic the movement of the smaller boys fingers with his own. "I won't put myself in any more danger than you get yourself in. That's all I'm promising."

"That sounds like a weighted offer to me." Watanuki sounds skeptical.

"If it helps, I don't have any intention of throwing my life away to save you."

"That's better," Watanuki grouches, still not sounding quite convinced.

"I mean it," Doumeki tells him honestly, then adds, "If I died, you'd only go and waste all my good work by getting yourself killed the next time."

"I am not just here for you to rescue, you know," Watanuki complains at him.

"You're not," Doumeki agrees.

There's silence for a bit.

"We still have to get out of here," Doumeki says eventually, still very much aware of the warm mass of Watanuki resting on his chest. "We should get up."

"Yeah," Watanuki agrees vaguely. His fingers still, but don't leave Doumeki's chest; the weight of his body stays where it is.

Neither of them move.

They did get up and leave, of course, but they didn't do it right away.