Chapter Six: Visit

Kamui glanced at the stunningly gorgeous girl beside him and wondered when on earth had his luck skyrocketed to such a point that not only had he been accepted early into Akamizu, but his escort to the College Visit for the weekend was Kotori Monou, who was not only the Duchess, but she was the Maestro's cousin. In other words, she was also Fuuma's cousin, which meant that Kamui should probably not make himself to be an idiot in front of her.

Although, Kamui wished his mind could've been enjoying itself in the company of this amazingly pretty senior, rather than worrying itself worn with thoughts of the fact that Subaru's escort was none other than the bastard Maestro himself. At the least, Fai and Yuui were safe, as they'd managed to have Ashura as their escort.

"And these are the extra rooms where you and the other senior applicants will be staying for the weekend," Kotori finished cheerily, wrapping up the tour of the east dorms during which Kamui had totally zoned out. He jerked and blinked at her expectantly.

"Sorry?" Kamui internally cringed.

Kotori smiled. "There aren't any showers in these rooms, since they're only used for these visits, so you'll have to use the ones down that hall," she pointed, "Or up that corner. I suggest that you use the ones up the corner, as you're less likely to get molested."

Kamui opened his mouth voicelessly. She laughed. "I'm just saying. Besides, I'm not worried about happens if you do. I just don't want my baby cousin to come barreling through the doors of Akamizu to kill the sorry perpetrator that makes the devastating mistake of touching you."

He faced the door that she'd given him the key to. "Fuuma? He wouldn't. He's not the kind that gets jealous. His head is too swollen to be able to comprehend that much." Kamui fitted the key into the hole and turned it.

Kotori crossed her arms and smiled. "Who knows? When it comes to you, all bets are off for him, you know? I saw him looking at you when you were getting into the car. As much as a writer like you—I know—thinks things like these are ridiculous…he really looks at you like—"

"Please don't say it," Kamui said quietly. He looked at her steadily, one hand remaining on the doorknob, the other hand wrapped so tightly around the handle of his leather backpack that the knuckles had whitened over the bone. Kotori's eyebrows flew up into her chestnut bangs. She nodded her head once, smiled, and stepped back.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." The writer closed his eyes and shut the door behind him.

It wasn't that he didn't…that he hated it when people commented on how Fuuma looked at him. He just didn't want to be constantly reminded of it. Honestly…it still frightened the hell out of him. He didn't want to think about the level of…commitment that that look implied. After all, the more attached, the more you loved, the more you knew someone…the more it would hurt when it came apart at the seams.

Fai stood, staring at the small face mirror that lay on Ashura's desk. He supposed it was for self-portraits or something of the like. An artist's room was a one of a kind thing. It was a special experience to be let alone in such a quirky environment—every artist kept their room a different way. No two were alike. Even though he was supposed to be with Yuui in one of the guest rooms, he'd managed to convince his brother that he'd sleep with Ashura.

Ashura's walls were covered with tacked up drawings, unfinished scraps, half-shaded sketches, completed and uncompleted paintings here and there…there were even a few practice photographs scattered around. Fai recognized the sketches that involved himself—traced the lines…the planes…the angles. Somehow, Ashura made him beautiful on the paper. But Ashura had never seen any of Fai's body past his arms and neck. In any of the drawings where the paper-Fai was unclothed, it was what Ashura could guess of Fai's body.

He sat on the wide bed, looking through the pile of sketchpads that were thrown loosely together on the side table. His fingers brushed carefully down the sharp edges of the torn, and crumpled paper. Amidst all the white and black in the room, there was a small orange corner that stuck out from the bottom of the compilation. Fai's eyes narrowed. Growing up with Kyle, he and Yuui had never really been taught about privacy and respecting others' rights to it. If they wanted it, then they should take it. That was all they knew.

The violinist carefully held the corner between his fingers and tugged softly, slipping the manila folder out slowly and slickly enough so that the rest of the pile wouldn't capsize. His heart thudded forward when he saw that right across the front of the folder, in huge bold sharpie marker, was his name. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, and hastily opened the metal clamps, slipping off the envelope cover. His hand reached hurriedly in and grabbed the sheaves of paper within.

Fai only had to glance at them, before dropping them to the floor the same way you'd drop a fresh cut flower that you'd just realized still had a bee perched upon it.

"Pretty complete, isn't it?"

Fai didn't turn around. He stayed exactly as he was. "Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?"

"What do you and your brother take me for? Truthfully, Fai?" Ashura sounded absolutely deadly. He sounded like nothing Fai ever remembered hearing him sound like. He sounded like…like a Sacred. Like a Sacred that had been crossed and vexed and lied to one too many times.

Fai kept staring at the wall, at the table, at anything besides Ashura. He didn't dare turn and look at the expression on the artist's face. "I…what do you think I am? The file…do you…get it?" It just proved how much he and his brother had trained himself if he could still carry on this conversation with the airy, nonchalantly cheery voice the way he was doing so.

"I thought I did." He felt Ashura take a step forward; he heard the door snap shut, and the lock clicked into place. "I just need a few things clarified. If you didn't want me—if you didn't want to have sex with me, why couldn't you have just told me in the first place? Rather than fucking around on me with the doctor—who's, I don't know, old enough to be your father?"

In one fluid move, one slippery smooth slight of hand, Ashura had pinned Fai to the wooden floor, the artist's entire body weight on the musician. This was the reason Fai hadn't wanted to see Ashura's face. He knew what that the artist would have that smile on his face. The smile that should be copyrighted. The disappointed smile. The furious smile. The crushed smile. The "I love you so much, I'm sorry you didn't love me" smile.

The artist's hands were suffocating Fai's wrists—nailing them into the floor. Fai could feel the bones being pressed against the hard surface; he could feel the bruises forming. He could feel the wounds that Kyle had ripped anew on his back being cut open all over again—they hadn't had even twenty-four hours to attempt to heal. He could feel the wounds in his heart that hadn't even had a decade to heal being ripped afresh as well.

"It must run in the family," Ashura smiled. "Yuui, I knew. But I thought you were different. You two always prove everyone wrong, you know that? Everyone. Especially me. You're a whore."

Yuui ran a hand through his hair. He threw his pack of clothes onto his bed and sat down heavily. He should be more excited about this weekend, shouldn't he? After all, this would be his new home in a matter of mere months. And at the moment, all he could think about were Fai and Ashura. About that one night last spring break…that one time Ashura had slept with him; even if it had only been so Ashura could submit the sex tape in turn for being a Sacred…that one night still meant everything to Yuui.

Pathetic as that made him, he didn't care. But he couldn't help wondering how Ashura held Fai. Maybe even if Fai didn't say a word about it to Yuui…maybe Fai was just lying to him and he really had already done it with Ashura. Yuui wouldn't hold it against his brother if that was true—after all, what Yuui had done was far worse. Fai didn't have to tell Yuui anything. He ran his finger down the cloth of the clothes he'd wear for the brunch tomorrow. Tonight, they'd most likely be invited to one club or another. He'd brought clothes for that, too. His head turned, and he smiled. "Knock, much?"

Kamui collapsed onto the bed and rolled his head into Yuui's lap. "You know I don't knock. Besides, why do people knock anyway?"

"I don't know. In case the person's changing or naked. Or having sex."

"Well, it isn't like I haven't already walked in on you doing any of those three. So what's the harm, right?" Kamui widened his eyes indicatively at Yuui. The musician laughed, leaning back, one hand resting against the writer's throat. "Any plans on how to lock Subaru away from Seishiro? How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing my brother is sleeping in the same bed as the bastard Maestro?"

Yuui sighed. Really. He knew that Seishiro wasn't the…kindest person around, but he wasn't completely soulless. The Maestro cared about Subaru enough not to bash his head in with a baseball bat, at the least. And in the pianist's opinion, that was all that should be expected of someone like Seishiro. "Nothing's happened so far, and nothing will happen." Yuui pulled his fingers through Kamui's hair absentmindedly. "This is the worst way to spend a weekend, you know that? Real college visits are about going to keggers and frat parties, and getting so high and drunk that you don't even realize you've lost your virginity ten times over in one night."

Kamui wrinkled his nose. "And why? Anyway, we can't do that. We don't have our V-plates anymore, so it doesn't even work. If you really want to go to a kegger that badly, I'm sure the Maestro knows of one or two that're happening this weekend. Go ask him."

"Hm. Maybe I will." Yuui blew out his breath, and looked around the room. "Should we go get Fai and Subaru? I don't know, walk around campus or something. I need to get chatted up. Soon."

The writer sat up. "Wow. What did monogamy ever do to you?"

"It rejected me and then spat me out into a garbage can, before sending me to the incinerator, and then dumped my ashes in a wasteland filled with toxic shit from a neighboring laboratory." Yuui smiled.

"Well then." Kamui tousled his hair and looked to the ceiling. "At least you have an excuse. I've got none—it's done nothing to me so far. I'm just the one screwing it around. It's not so bad, though. Not…so bad." He glanced to Yuui. "Is Fai…?" He raised his eyebrows indicatively, one hand motioning.

"No." Yuui looked into his lap. "There's no point in even asking that question anymore. The answer will always be no. Always. It'll never change no matter what I do. No matter how hard he tries. No matter how fucking amazing Ashura or anyone is. Fai will never change, and we'll always be compelled to sneak around—compelled to keep a secret from anyone we meet. Always, always, always," Yuui laughed, and gazed at Kamui.

The writer clasped his hands together, drumming his fingers against the knuckles. He glanced up at the ceiling, and then straight ahead, before settling his sight on Yuui. Kamui was one of the rare few people who could gaze at Yuui like that, and the musician would still be perfectly comfortable. It was a writer's gaze—a gaze that neither calculated, nor planned, nor appraised, nor anything. It was just a gaze that watched. Observed. Looking just to look. There was no black purpose underneath. It wasn't innocent. It wasn't guilty. It was just the clearest, most direct gaze—completely plain in sight. Plain was good. Plain was easy. "Let's go then," Kamui said finally.

Yuui's fist whitened around the doorknob. He pressed his ear against the door, and his eyes widened. Stay calm. Don't make presumptions. Stay calm. Don't assume. Calm. Deep breaths. It wasn't always what you thought. He turned around. Kamui raised his eyebrows, "Well? Are you going to knock—"

"C'mere," Yuui said quietly. "Put your ear up to the door and tell me what you hear. Fast, now."

Kamui frowned, but he complied. His hands rested lightly against the wood, and his expression was even when he first placed his ear upon the door. Yuui watched the progression of the writer's thoughts play out on his face. First confusion, then realization…and then horror. "Is he…? Fai's…?" Kamui's breathing shortened. "Go get Seishiro. He's up a wing from our dorms."

"He's my brother. How come you—"

"Shut up and go," Kamui snarled. He had his own reasons, and he had half a mind that thought Yuui probably knew, too, and instead was choosing to be a ridiculous prick about it just because that was the Yuui Fluorite thing to do. "The more you talk…just…it's because he's your brother."

The musician had pivoted and began to run down the hall before Kamui could assess the damage he'd just done. He took his pen out of his back pocket and unscrewed it, sliding out just the ink reservoir into the palm of his hand. He tucked the ink away back into his back pocket and then redid the now-empty pen capsule. Kamui placed the point up against the tiny hole in the doorknob's center and he tapped the side of the pen roughly a few times. Closing his eyes, he clicked the pen.

When he thought it safe to reopen his line of sight, there were a few smoke clouds billowing from the pen. He breathed out in a relief. It was his first time using it, and he never really thought it wise to completely trust anything Yuuko gave him—aside from drugs—even if he was her intern. But this just happened to be one gadget that seemed more or less harmless—well, not to the lock, but to him. He tossed the pen capsule in a nearby corner, and tried opening the door. It was unlocked.

Kamui stopped short as soon as he opened the door wide enough to step into the room. The first words that came out of his mouth weren't at all intentional—they merely fell out. "What have you done?" It wasn't in a cynical way—or even a sadistically satisfied way. He was just…horrified. Horrified that anyone could do this to a person they were supposed to love. It happened in his stories. It was never supposed to happen in real life. Not his life. Maybe to children living in dangerous third world countries. Maybe centuries ago on slave ships. Maybe with psychos like Kyle. But never anywhere where it could affect Kamui himself. It terrified him.

Fai was sprawled on his stomach on the floor near the bed. Naked, and lifeless. Kamui's eyes couldn't help but attach themselves to the fluids that were leaking out of Fai. Not even a condom. Not even. Ashura sat, with one knee propped up, completely clothed and calmly smoking a joint. His dark hair fell perfectly as ever against the sides of his face and onto his shoulders.

Kamui couldn't breathe. "You…love him," he choked out in a whisper. "You love Fai, don't you? Why would you…he's your…if you love him, then…why…" It felt like someone was squeezing his head—tightly enough to make it fold in on itself…like it was almost possible for it to burst completely. He looked, waiting for Ashura to speak.

Ashura met the writer's gaze. Dangerous. Kamui knew eyes like that anywhere. They were dangerous. Dangerous didn't mean evil—Kamui knew that. He acknowledged that. He'd learned. Dangerous beings could love as tenderly as gentle beings. But when they hate…they hated like nothing and no one else could. Why else were they called dangerous? Too much pride. Too much envy. Too much awareness. Too much…paranoia.

"And if he was screwing me around?" Ashura said quietly. "I won't love someone who doesn't love me just as much. I want as much as I give. Nothing less and nothing more. If Fai screws me around…then…I'll give back as much as I get." Ashura nodded to the pale body. "That's nothing less than what he did to me."

He doesn't know. The thought ran errant—shouting through Kamui's mind frantically and desperately. Please tell me he doesn't know. Anyone that knew about Fai's past…anyone that knew and had a heart wouldn't have been able to do something like this…right? Ashura just didn't know. That was all. Right? It had to be. It just had to be. If it wasn't—

"Yuui—DON'T!"

Kamui's head flipped up. On the…why was he on the ground? Seishiro was…Seishiro was holding Yuui back? Yuui was struggling—struggling towards Ashura. The intent was clear. Yuui wanted Ashura dead. Yuui wanted to pummel Ashura into oblivion. Yuui wanted Ashura to go to hell and never fucking come back. Kamui could see it all so plainly. Right now, Yuui hated Ashura—a hate that was almost otherworldly.

"He doesn't know," Kamui said softly. No. He had to say it louder. "Yuui—"

"Shut UP!" Yuui screamed. Hysterical. His friend was hysterical. A little gasp went through Kamui's mouth when he realized exactly how far gone Yuui was. "Are you blind?!" The pianist turned his attention now to Ashura. "I don't see a condom anywhere you FUCKER. Did you even at least care if he got sick—if he got AIDS? Even the doctor BASTARD had the fucking balls to make his fucking CLIENTS use that much! I hate you."

"Yuui," Seishiro said quietly—patiently. "Calm down. Stop. Look at Fai. Look at him." Yuui thrashed wildly—worse. He screamed. Kamui could hear him starting to cry. And Ashura didn't even flinch. That was how you could tell if someone was really dangerous. "Look at your brother, Yuui. Your twin. Look. At. Him."

Yuui stopped. Seishiro let go of him. It wasn't that…he stopped. It was…sort of…like he died. "I can't," Yuui whispered, shaking. His eyes were wide, and even then, he still smiled. A smile that scared the shit out of Kamui. "I can't. He'll…he's just going to smile at me…and say he's all right. When he's not. All my…I just…I can't."

"My brother's going to kill me."

Kamui looked up swiftly at Seishiro. The Maestro was looking down at him. Not at Yuui or Ashura or even Fai. But at Kamui. The conductor smiled apologetically. "You do know that you're shivering, right?" When Kamui could only blankly shake his head, Seishiro looked to Ashura. "We're going to have a talk. Yuui…you'll…take a nap. And Kamui," he sighed, "Take care of Fai. I'm going to trust you because you're a writer. Please let me believe that if anyone, you'll come out of this sane. And I've got your brother holed up in my room. But we'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

As much and as often as Kamui said he hated the Maestro, there was a reason he was the Maestro. And Kamui loved him for that much at least.

A/N: Well....now you know why Ashura--ASHURA, of all people--was so good about the whole "no sex unless you want to" deal in Secrets when it came to Fai. Err....yeah. But, CLAMP loves their psychos. And so do I. 0_0 By the way, this is another PLOT!Point when it comes to Kamui and Fuuma's storyline. Also, sorry about the completely bogusly irrelevant chapter title, but I couldn't come up with anything else.