A/N: If you're familiar with Hikaru Kaitou's Their Love in Fifty Words fanfic, then you'll know how this bit is going to work. If you aren't, then let me explain: It's going to span out more than just one chapter, but basically if you see the chapter title Secrets: and then whatever names, it'll tell the story of those characters within the Secrets timeframe, because Fai and Kurogane sure as crap weren't the only ones with juicy plots during that year. This mini series within a series happens to be Kamui and Fuuma's story, and it's basically the result of rereading those KamuixFuuma moments in Tokyo Revelations in TRC, and I just naively realized how hot these two really are together. No, I haven't read them in X, because I already know how they end, and I really don't like endings THAT violently sad SO without further ado--

Secrets: Kamui Sumeragi and Fuuma Sakurazuka

Kamui's fingers flew over his keyboard, but his eyes never left the screen of his Mac once. If you typed enough, then you rarely made any mistakes, and you didn't have to look up and down and possibly give your neck a sore, and your head a headache. He adjusted his screen a few times and checked ten of his tabs out. His phone ringed at the same time he was taking a sip of his coffee. He stood up from his desk and went to it.

There was a return text from Amaterasu. She'd been right beside him only minutes ago, and she was already telling him off for moping around in his dorm—again. Unlike what everyone—even the rest of the Sacreds—thought, Kamui wasn't having a difficult time getting over Amaterasu. He didn't even like Amaterasu anymore. The only reason he glared at her more than was normal for anyone to glare at a person was because they were friends.

And as his friend, she never ceased to egg him on about the freshman captain of the Akamizu soccer team.

He glanced at the text, and decided to ignore it. Kamui walked around to drain all of the remaining contents of his mug into the sink and poured himself a flute of Prosecco instead. Coffee was fine and dandy, but alcohol was really what a Sacred needed these days. And quite an amount, at that.

Kamui knew he was as desirable as Yuui. If not, maybe more, since unlike the pianist, he didn't flaunt everything he had in broad daylight and dark moonlight. Right here, right now, in his dorm, dressed in absolutely—absolutely—nothing but an overlarge Akamizu sweatshirt and black boxers, he knew that he was one of the most lust-inducing pictures on campus.

The thing was, he didn't exactly know how he was supposed to face Fuuma. Subaru and Seishiro had solved all their ridiculous problems in the nick of time last year. But now that The Brother excuse had expired what was Kamui supposed to do? Go up to Fuuma and say, "So now that my brother is with your brother happily ever after, let's go off into the sunset with them"?

No chance.

Kamui had more dignity than the average person—it was a writer thing—and he liked keeping it that way. Besides, there'd been more than enough to handle this year—what with Kurogane You-ou showing up, Fuuma coming to Akamizu, Subaru moping around because of Seishiro, Fuuma coming to Akamizu, Fai getting all reminiscent about insanely reliving his past, Fuuma coming to Akamizu, Mioru Aoi being Rondart's next victim, and Fuuma coming to Akamizu.

Did he mention Fuuma coming to Akamizu?

It wasn't like Fuuma had sexually harassed him or anything. Yet, that is. The masquerade ball was coming up in less than a day, and Kamui knew that Fuuma would be attending. The soccer player had already given Kamui the Look at Hexagon numerous times. At the masquerade party…definitely something. Something was definitely going to go down, and it was all Kamui could do to hope that whatever would be going down wouldn't be him.

Kamui's head turned toward the door. There'd just been a knock. He closed his eyes and sighed when the person knocked again. "Leave me alone," he muttered, standing up heavily and crossing the room to open it.

Fucking fantastic. It was the Maestro—returned to Akamizu.

"What?" Kamui said flatly.

Seishiro was looking every inch his perfect conductor self—if you asked Kamui, it didn't look at all like the bastard missed Subaru. To Kamui, it truly looked like Seishiro had grown up and out of the high school and college scandals socialites had and became a full-on adult socialite—ready to pay any amount of bribe to keep what they'd done as a teenager on the down low. After all, it was the route all of their lives would eventually take. It'd basically been laid down as unwritten law since their socialite ancestors in the 1900s. "You're looking well," Seishiro said, smiling. "May I come in?"

"It's not as if you'll settle if I refuse, right?" Kamui moved out of the way. "Close the door after you." The writer returned to his seat at the dining table, while Seishiro sat on the sofa. Kamui noticed that the conductor's eyes were focused on the junior's bare legs. "Mind your peepers or they might get poked out with a carving knife," he snapped.

The Maestro smiled wider. "My apologies. But your body really does resemble Subaru's."

"We're twins—that's sort of the idea," Kamui retorted sarcastically. "You're still sick, and I still have no clue why my brother loves you. If we're from the same egg, I don't see why he can't—"

Seishiro laughed. "Really? Because it seems to me you love my brother. So if I were you, I wouldn't be worried about family ties—you and your brother are perfectly alike when it comes to taste." As the Maestro said that, his eyes swept up Kamui's thighs. "Along with…other details."

"Bastard."

"Who ever said I wasn't?"

Kamui started to bring his knees against his chest absentmindedly, until he realized that Seishiro's eyes were waiting for that exact position to happen. The writer swiftly dropped his legs back down and brought them up on the chair Indian style—which seemed like the only harmless position there was. There was the alternative of actually putting on pants, but that seemed like too much work for the moment. "I was hoping last year would've somewhat changed you—you know, having the trauma of seeing the one you love, no matter how many times denied, nearly raped and possibly killed."

Seishiro smiled. "And yet, I'm still me. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Not remotely." Kamui folded his arms, the sleeves billowing out from him like huge, gray clouds. "Now what do you want? I'm writing something for Yuuko and like most things concerning her, it's best that I don't screw it up because my brother's asshole boyfriend comes over."

"Your brother's asshole boyfriend has some advice for you," Seishiro said with a raise of his eyebrows. He picked up Kamui's phone from the table near the sofa's armrest and threw it to the writer—who caught it right before it hit the floor and broke into smithereens.

Kamui fingered the cell. "What?"

"Call him," Seishiro said. "Please. He's driven to the hotel I'm staying at four times in succession just to sit there and talk to me about what I could possibly have done him wrong in making you hate him even more. You two haven't spoken in what, three years? It's getting ridiculous."

Kamui gave him a Look. "What am I supposed to say? The reason I didn't want to be with him in the first place is because of the shit you and Subaru fucked up. Now that there is no more shit to be fucked up, am I just supposed to back to him and expect everything to be sunshine and daisies?"

"I know that you love Subaru." Seishiro pulled out a joint and lit it—without even asking Kamui. "But I never did really believe that you'd just up and tell Fuuma to fuck off like you did three years ago just because Subaru and I duked it out a bit." He stood up and handed Kamui the joint, "Am I right?"

Kamui accepted the smoke and fit it between his lips. "Of course you are, Maestro—right on track, as always. Although, there are some minor details that need to be fitted into the story you've got."

"So you want to tell me why exactly?" Seishiro took back the joint.

"It didn't have nothing to do with you and Subaru, you know. There was a lot caused because of what you did to him. I saw it," Kamui said quietly, looking up at Seishiro with hard eyes. "I had to watch Subaru through the entire thing—meeting you, getting enchanted by you, falling in love with you…getting his heart stomped on again and again. You didn't have to always push him down the minute he managed to get back up."

"I did have to," Seishiro said calmly. He sat down across Kamui at the table. "I did it to everyone I slept with. What should make him any different? Because he's your brother? Everyone I slept with must've been someone's brother or sister—someone's close friend. They all knew the rules. Some were even younger than Subaru was. He knew the rules, too. He chose to get pushed down."

Kamui's expression contorted, but he knew it was true. He knew that Subaru's own stubborn stupidity was what got him all this grief. But he waited for Seishiro to talk.

"But I'm glad he was absurd enough to do that," Seishiro said, smiling. "He's the first who ever had the balls to keep pushing until I had to let him through—he's a persistent little twat, isn't he?"

"Extremely, by all means." Kamui sighed. "And you love him."

"Unfortunately. But I do." Seishiro raised an eyebrow. "And at least I know enough to admit it and face the unluckiness life as granted me with. Anyhow, being in love isn't as terrorizing as it is in those books you write. It's quite pleasant sometimes."

"That's precisely it," Kamui snapped. "My books don't acknowledge love as it truly is. No books in the world tell what love is really like except for Yuuko's. Love isn't something that's funny or romantic, or troublesome at first and t hen rewarding at the end. Love is a link—to your family and to your friends and to other people. Being in love is a chain—your locked and you can't get back to where you started."

"Well." Seishiro smiled into his joint. "That's a lovely perspective on things, now isn't it? It isn't that terrible, I assure you. Now stop being a prick and call my darling little brother before he commits suicide and my parents disown me."

"Could you leave?" Kamui said. "I'd like to make this coerced private phone call in private—thus the name, really."

"My deepest apologies," Seishiro said mockingly. "I'll be taking my leave now, and I expect something to happen at the masked ball tomorrow night—something productive."

Kamui watched irritably, as the conductor stood up and left—letting the door close by itself with a resound snap. The writer looked out the window and back down at his cell phone. He had a photo shoot with Yuuko in about two hours. Hopefully, that would be more than apt time for what would probably be the worst conversation of his entire life. Since he interned for Yuuko, it was a given that he had everyone in the social scene's cell phone number completely up-to-date.

He entered Fuuma's name, and put the phone on speaker—probably a dangerous decision because "walls have ears", but he didn't really care at this point. He just didn't want to be in a suffocating position. Kamui stood up and went to the bedroom, lying spread eagle, and placing the phone face-up beside his head. It would be exactly like the way they used to talk four years ago.

"Hello?" Fuuma's voice.

Kamui rolled onto his stomach, placing his chin on top of his hands. "Hey. It's me." And then he grimaced. Why did he even expect Fuuma to remember his voice in the first place?

But it wasn't an errant mistake, apparently. Fuuma seemed to know exactly whom the voice belonged to. "Kamui…?" Although, it didn't mean the captain didn't sound completely shocked.

"Yeah." Kamui turned to the side, his head resting against his arm. He hoped the circulation wouldn't be blocked—even though it always ended up losing feeling a few minutes into this position. "You sound good. How are you?"

"Fine." He heard Fuuma laugh. "Did you lock yourself in again?"

Kamui smiled slightly. "How did you guess?"

"A little birdie came and told me."

"There've been a lot of little birdies around campus, so I've seen."

Fuuma laughed again. "Have you now?" Kamui could easily see him smiling at his phone. "You sound pretty good, too. Who's the guy this time? Usually when you lock yourself in, you end up sounding like the avid smoker you are."

"You should be proud this time around, then," Kamui rolled back onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "The guy is you." There was an odd silence from Fuuma's line. Kamui waited.

The soccer captain's voice was serious, now. But Kamui could still see the smile that had to be on his face, all the same. "Really? That's good to know. I heard you were getting friendly with Amaterasu. Didn't work out, huh?"

"No. All this year…" Kamui exhaled. "She's basically been your envoy—she, my brother, and Seishiro. They've all kind of been…coercing me"—Fuuma laughed—"to call you. So…here I am."

Fuuma was silent again, and then, "Are you naked?"

Kamui stared at the phone. He'd forgotten what Fuuma could be like. "What?"

"Are you naked?" the voice repeated seriously.

"No, I am not naked!" Kamui nearly yelled—until he realized he was alone, and that raising his voice at the air above the phone would be just the slightest bit moronic. "Ah, go to hell, Fuuma." But he only edged nearer to the phone.

"Only if you come with me," Fuuma teased gently.

Kamui stroked the side of the Blackberry thoughtfully. "I might."

"Well, you know," said Fuuma—again, Kamui could hear the smile, "hell is a bit extreme for now. How about we just settle for Rondart's masquerade ball tomorrow night? Unless…you already have a date?"

"I don't have one." Kamui smiled. "But I'm not going with you." He could positively see Fuuma's eyebrows go up, and how his smile would turn up higher at the corners with mild surprise.

"I hear a challenge."

"Find me, and you can take my mask off." Kamui's eyes sparked. "And you can't ask if it's me or not. You have to lead me off—or whoever you think is me—right away."

"And when I find you?"

"You're sure?" Kamui laughed, "Because you said 'when'."

"Of course."

"You know what happens when masks come off," Kamui murmured. "You've been to masked balls before. When it strikes midnight, the masks come off—"

"And the revelries begin," Fuuma finished like it was a poetry recital. "Who doesn't know that? But if I find you—when I find you…I get to take your mask off whether it's midnight or not."

"But how will I know if it's you?" Kamui asked.

Fuuma had already hung up.

A/N: Oh, one more thing. If you hadn't noticed, in Secrets when I mentioned Fuuma, I accidentally made him a senior and didn't really think much of it because I didn't know I'd span out the universe so much, but then I decided to make him a freshman because of various reasons--the simplest being that I needed more of an age difference between Fuuma and Seishiro, and Fuuma and Kamui. So if you'd just ignore that minor yet blatant editing felony.