A/N: More Katsuya and Kyoko, because I just can't resist. And this is yet another long drabble. Please enjoy!

Words: 766
Characters: Kyoko, Katsuya
Time: Volume 16-ish I think, the flashback arc
Genre: Romance

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Takaya Natsuki, not me.

Katsuya's apartment was small, cozy. Kyoko had visited many times before; he would make her dinner, they would watch a movie, she would curl up next to him under a thick cotton blanket and fall asleep. But no matter how many nights she stayed, how many of her shirts and her shampoo and her books filled with drawers and shelves, only tonight did she remove her shoes, feel the icy cold wood under her feet, and feel as if she were home. She was no longer a visitor, no longer a welcome intruder. Katsuya's hand closed around hers, for simple comfort's sake, not to lead her inside like he did before.

It was no longer only Katsuya's apartment. It was Katsuya's and Kyoko's.

The realization made her breath catch, frozen by the impossibility of the situation. She, Kyoko, the outcast, the unloved, the lonely… how could it be that at last she had a home? Her heart didn't know how to comprehend such a happenstance, and as such it seemed to forget to function, remiss in enabling her lungs to draw in air and love and life; she felt almost faint, giddy with wonder.

"Kyoko-chan."

Katsuya dropped her hand, grasped her shoulders instead. With effortless grace, soft lips, he breathed life and consciousness back into her once more; his kiss touched her heart and soothed it back to an adequate level of performance.

"Ah, Kyoko-chan," he whispered. "Did we do the right thing, my little love? You look so scared."

"Don't call me little," she said by reflex. "I'm not scared. I'm only… only…"

Confused. Elated. Breathless. Awestruck. Nervous. Beloved.

Silently Katsuya kissed her again. She wondered if now was when she was supposed to take the initiative; she knew what came next; she felt the desire and longing and heightened apprehension begin to course through her. But she was not sure, for she had never known love would be like this. In her memory, sex was loveless and brief, two strangers full of drink or rage or desperation meeting in an alley street, the backseat of a junkyard-bound car, or a motel room paid for by the hour. She had seen crying girls, girls with blackened eyes hidden by sparkling makeup, with men dragging or coercing or drugging them to their will, and that was all she had known.

Her hands trembled, fumbled on Katsuya's buttons. He assisted her, and as small as she was, her head was now level with his bare chest, his pounding heart. All she could do, for a moment, was listen and feel the rhythm, shrouded by smooth, hot skin. Katsuya's hands, hesitant but still, touched the collar of her shirt. Still pressed close, Kyoko looked up at him and nodded. She raised her arms for him, wriggled out of her clothing.

Across her body there were etched various scars, some pale and barely visible in the dark room, a few longer, white, and smooth. One newer cut, on her shoulder, was still red and tender; with all her nervous energy, she had been unable to leave it alone to heal. Katsuya had always seen the marks on her face and hands, of course, but never before had she allowed herself to become so completely exposed, so vulnerable. From him she heard a soft inhalation, a timidity, as he traced fingertips over her past.

"I didn't know," he breathed. "Why didn't you ever say something…? To me, to anyone?"

"What would I say?"

"You could have said… said…"

She raised a small eyebrow. "Not so easy, is it?"

"I just don't like seeing you hurt," he said. He touched a long, shallow scar that stretched from her ribcage to her hip. A knifefight when she was thirteen; she had lost. Katsuya spread his palm over her skin, then met her eyes. "And this isn't the worst of it, is it? The worst… are wounds that can't be seen."

He touched her bared heart. Kyoko curled towards him; his words struck close to home, and she was ashamed of the dampness in her eyes, the weakness she feared it would express. Katsuya dipped his head under hers and kissed her. The easy pressure lifted her head. The tenderness in the gesture, the hesitant hands on her hips, and the traitorous, powerful beating of her heart chased away her memories; her scars might as well have vanished.

"Are you…?"

"I'm ready."

Katsuya took her by the hand and led her to the bedroom – cozy, warm, and theirs.