Tsuzuki woke slowly that morning. It was the first time since the fire that he had slept soundly, so he was content to just lie there, enjoying the few moments of peace that his mind was gracious enough to let him have. The remnants of a particularly nice dream lingered over the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't seem to remember it.

He shifted slightly as the hazy cloud of sleep lifted, and it was only then that he realized there was a protective arm draped over him. The shinigami froze. Tatsumi wouldn't have possibly . . .

Anxiously peeking up, he was met with a soft smile.

"Ta-Tatsumi?"

"Did you sleep well, Tsuzuki-san?"

"I–Was I lying on you all night?" Tsuzuki asked, looking appropriately chagrined. "You couldn't have gotten any sleep sitting up like that . . ."

"Please do not worry about me."

". . . That's a yes," Tsuzuki groaned as he reluctantly sat up, feebly attempting to brush the wrinkles out of his work clothes. "What time is it?"

"It is almost one in the afternoon."

Tsuzuki turned to the secretary, alarmed. "We're that late!? The chief is going to–"

"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said gently, "Today is Saturday."

"Oh . . . oh, right . . ." Tsuzuki stammered, letting out a shaky laugh.

"Why don't you go get changed? I'll make us some lunch."

The secretary stood with surprising agility for someone who had been sitting in the same position all night, and Tsuzuki couldn't help but smile. Even when they had been partners, he had rarely seen Tatsumi looking tired or disheveled, and it was incredibly comforting to find that some things hadn't changed.

Tsuzuki showered and fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the steamy bathroom toweling his hair dry.

"Mmm, something smells good."

"I'm making blueberry pancakes."

Tsuzuki sat down on one of the stools in the kitchen and leaned over the counter as he watched Tatsumi cook.

"Breakfast food . . . for lunch?" Tsuzuki peered up at the larger man. "That isn't like you, Tatsumi. Are you feeling ill?" He put his hand over the secretary's forehead for emphasis.

Tatsumi batted his hand away, pretending to be irritated as he continued to cook.

"I decided that since we technically have not eaten breakfast yet, allowances could be made . . . just this once." Tatsumi went quiet as his hands stilled momentarily. "I . . . didn't realize that you still had it," he said, motioning to the stuffed dog seated on the couch. "Mochi-chan."

"You . . . remembered his name," Tsuzuki said softly. "You always used to refer to him as 'that thing.' He was kind of falling apart, but Gabriel patched him up for me when–" Tsuzuki suddenly stopped himself. What was he going to say? 'When I tried to kill myself earlier this week'?

"When he was here," he finally finished.

"You kept it . . . After all these years . . ."

"Of course I did . . ." Tsuzuki admitted quietly. "He was from you."

That Monday, Tsuzuki found himself, once again, trapped in the confines of his office. It was only eleven thirty, but for the first time in nearly twenty years, he was finished with all of his work. He busied himself by daydreaming and counting the dots on the ceiling–there were three hundred and twenty-eight of them per tile to be exact–but that could only keep him occupied for so long.

"Hisoka . . ." Tsuzuki whined.

"What?" the boy asked irritably.

"I'm bored."

"You've got over three weeks worth of case reports to do, and you're complaining about being bored?" he scowled.

"But I finished them all."

"I know you–wait, you what?"

"I finished them." Tsuzuki said, not bothering to keep the tiny bit of pride from creeping into his voice. "I was so bored that I was reduced to doing paper work!" Tsuzuki sighed dramatically as he flung himself over his desk, earning himself a tiny flicker of a smile from the younger boy.

His partner's stern exterior had only cracked for a second, but it was just long enough for Tsuzuki to know that he still had a chance at fixing things between them.

"We've been in the office a lot lately, so I finally got caught up on everything." Tsuzuki paused for a moment, "But don't you think it's weird that we haven't had any cases recently? Especially when everyone else seems so busy."

Hisoka remained quiet.

". . . Oh," Tsuzuki said weakly as the realization hit him. "The chief doesn't want to send me out . . . does he?"

"He said that he thought you could use a break for a while."

Tsuzuki wanted to argue with this, but in all actuality, he was too relieved to care. He didn't even mind the fact that Konoe thought he would fall apart on a case because when he was being completely honest with himself, he was pretty sure that the other man was right.

Hisoka stood up and headed toward the door. "Well, what are you waiting for?" the boy asked over his shoulder. "That new pastry shop that opened up last week is having a special starting at noon today. Are you coming or not?"

Tsuzuki blinked for a moment before he understood.

Hisoka had forgiven him.

Watari waltzed into Tatsumi's office as though it were his own late that afternoon.

"So?" Watari asked, pulling up a chair and straddling the back of it. "How did it go?"

"How did what go?" the secretary asked idly as he studied the report in front of him.

Watari gave the secretary an exasperated look. "The other night with Tsuzuki."

Tatsumi raised an eyebrow at the other man. "And since when have you started monitoring my whereabouts?"

"Since you started acting like an insufferable bastard." Watari thought about that statement for a moment and then clarified, "More so than usual, I mean."

The shadow master's smile was predatory. "I see. If I had known that you had that much free time on your hands, I would have allowed you to start cleaning out the storage room. I know how long you have been wanting to do it."

Watari paled slightly, but he refused to be derailed. "Seriously though, how did it go?"

"It went fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes, fine."

"Fine as in you two actually talked and you've come to an understanding, or fine as in you mumbled an apology and you're just going to go on misunderstanding each other for the next fifty years?"

Tatsumi shot Watari a steely glare.

Watari sighed heavily. "I was afraid of that. You can't keep doing this, you know . . . you need to tell him."

"Tell him what, exactly?" he secretary asked as he clutched his pen, turning his knuckles white.

". . . You aren't seriously going to keep pretending like you have no idea what I'm talking about, are you?" Watari sighed. "Fine. How about the real reason why you were so upset with him after finding him with Muraki?"

The scientist received no response except for the twitch from Tatsumi's clenched jaw.

"Look. Things can't keep going the way they have been. I know the toll that it's taken on both of you–especially the toll that it's taken on Tsuzuki. What happened in Kyoto will happen again if you don't do something to stop it this time."

Tatsumi suddenly went very still. "Watari-san," he said dangerously. "Are you implying that what happened in Kyoto is my fault?"

"No, of course not. I'm just saying that he needs some stability for once," Watari sighed, "I'm saying he needs you."

Tatsumi's voice wavered slightly when he spoke. "Watari-san, do you fully understand what you are asking of me? What it would mean if . . ."

". . . You really are the only one who doesn't see the way he looks at you."

Tatsumi snapped his pen cleanly in half. "I am not having this conversation with you," he stood and headed for the door.

"You can't keep this up forever," Watari called out after him. "It's going to happen again."

Tatsumi stopped.

"Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, hell, maybe not even within the next few years, but Tatsumi, one day it will happen, and next time, we may not be there in time to pick up the pieces. Think about it and then decide if your pride is worth more to you than Tsuzuki's life."

Neither man noticed Tsuzuki quietly backing away from the door.

Later that evening, Gabriel softly padded into the pool room, hoping to get a few laps in before going home for the day. The combination of moisture and dust that covered the white floor stuck to his bare feet in the disgusting way that only the tile surrounding a pool can manage, and the stifling-warm smell of the chlorine was nearly tangible as it clung to him.

He thought that he would have the pool to himself, so he was surprised when he caught sight of his partner, wading in the far corner of the shallow end and fervently typing away at a laptop floating in front of him.

"Watari?"

No response.

"Watari?" Gabriel called out again, walking closer.

Gabriel sighed. The scientist was too engrossed in his work to even notice him. It wasn't until he waved his hand in front of the other man's face that he got his attention.

"Huh? Yo, Gabriel!"

"What's up with this?" Gabriel asked, motioning to Watari's setup. The scientist's sleek black laptop was floating leisurely on a hot pink wading tube as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh this? Pretty neat, huh? The laptop is waterproof, and I've got it rigged so that it won't fall off at all."

"Why are you working in here anyways?"

Watari blinked. ". . . Wouldn't you if you could?"

"Good point."

"Anyways, come on in. The water is great."

Gabriel paused. "You know, people only say that when it's freezing."

Watari grinned mischievously. "I hacked into the pool's heating system . . . just don't tell the chief."

Gabriel sat on the edge of the pool with the water up to his calves as he looked over Watari's shoulder.

"What are you working on anyways?"

"I was trying to research what I could about the vision you told me about before. Without much detail to go off of though, I really haven't been having any luck, so I'm glad you're here. I've got a few questions for you."

"Shoot."

"First off, do you know what kind of tree it was? Did it have any flowers or anything like that on it at all?"

"Now that I think about it, it did have figs."

"Excellent. What about the water lily? I'm going to pull up some pictures. Hopefully you'll be able to pick it out so we can narrow down what species it was."

"Does it really matter?"

"If we can find out what kind it was, then we can figure out what parts of Japan it's found in. Once we do that, we can cross check it with where fig trees naturally grow, and that should give us a location. I've pulled up some pictures for you, but you've got a few thousand of them to sort through, so I'm gunna do a few laps while you look." Watari gave the laptop a light push so it floated over to Gabriel, but before the other man could protest, the scientist disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Time passed idly as the glow from the pool rippled across the ceiling like light reflecting off a glass marble. All that could be heard was the gentle sloshing of water against the sides of the pool and the occasional click from the laptop.

Watari continued doing laps, cutting the water like a blade as he swam beneath the surface until he eventually emerged, running his hands over his face and tying his hair up partially to keep it out of his way.

"Any luck?" he asked.

Gabriel pointed to the screen. "It's the species Nymphaea nouchali. More commonly known as the Star Lotus."

"Perfect. This should give me enough to work off of tomorrow."

"There's something that's been bothering me . . ."

"What's that?"

Gabriel hesitated for a moment. "Why are you here?"

Watari blinked for a second before he cracked a smile. The seer only caught his mistake when he saw the glint in the other man's eye, and he realized that Watari was about to start a lecture on DNA and the process of evolution. "Don't even start," the blonde interrupted. "You know that's not what I meant."

Watari couldn't help but laugh.

"What I'm asking is, doesn't being here bother you? You said that you drowned, so it just seems counter intuitive . . ."

The scientist ran a hand through his hair, loosening it from its ponytail. "It used to. I went years without coming here, but eventually I just started to miss it too much. When I was alive, I worked for a large research company in Osaka. The building was near the coast right off a small lake which had gotten cut off from the ocean. It was deep, but there was almost no current, so I used to go swimming there after work at night. At the time, my working hours were random at best, but I usually ended up finishing between two and four in the morning, so I had the whole lake to myself. I'd swum there hundreds of times, so I guess it's kind of a hard habit to break."

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, so Watari answered his silent question. "One night, there was a young girl in the water when the current took her and pulled her under. I jumped in after her, but I couldn't find her, and eventually it took me too.

I'd swum there for years in that ice-cold water–I knew that place better than anyone, and I'd never once felt the current. Something . . . wasn't right about that night. Afterwards I tried looking into it . . . but there was no record of the girl's death or even any indication that she had ever existed at all."

Gabriel looked down at his lap somberly, but Watari just smiled and laughed it off. "Ah, but that was a long time ago, and my life here is far better than my old one ever was. Besides, as stingy as Tatsumi is, he still gives me way more funds to blow through than my old research company ever did." Watari cringed, "Just don't tell him I said that–he still doesn't know."

Gabriel smirked. "Watari, did you just give me leverage over you?"

The scientist lowered his forehead to his hand dramatically. "Yes . . . Yes, I did."

The plastic grocery bags hung like dead weight in Tatsumi's hands as he walked toward Tsuzuki's apartment. The secretary went over the list of ingredients in his head for the forty-seventh time that evening: two chicken breasts, one zucchini, some mushrooms, an onion, some rice, a bottle of cooking wine, and an assortment of carefully selected spices for the sauce that he was making. It was the only thing that he could do to distract himself from thinking about the horrendous mistake that he was about to make. Watari was right. He was a coward. More so than even the scientist could fully comprehend. Yet there he was, going over to Tsuzuki's apartment like he had already made up his mind.

He repeated the list of ingredients to himself over and over again until it became a mantra. Was he forgetting anything? Tsuzuki would probably have anything else that he needed.

Tsuzuki was the only thing that he needed.

Tatsumi swallowed hard and cursed his own weakness. For so long, he had watched the smaller man from afar–too wary of the repercussions of his feelings and too terrified of what he would have to do if Tsuzuki didn't return them. Yet there was always that tiny flutter of hope that his heart refused to set free.

Tatsumi shook his head. After a lifetime of denying his feelings, he knew that it was futile. Tsuzuki had far more power over him than anyone would ever know: he was the man who broke through his cold exterior with just the tiniest of smiles, the man who made him laugh when he had forgotten how, the man who plagued his mind and haunted his dreams at night with the lightest, most innocent touch, the man whom he loved more than anything else. For this man, he would do anything–even if it meant destroying himself in the process.

Only over the past few years was he actually able to admit it to himself, but deep down he had known. He had always known.

Still, in all of the years that they had known each other, he was never able to comfort Tsuzuki the way that he needed. When they were partners, he would lie awake at night in their hotel room, watching over the smaller man as he slept. He told himself that he was just watching over Tsuzuki in case . . . in case he needed him. But when Tsuzuki would wake up, and when he would need him, he would turn away, listening to his partner's heartbreaking sobs and praying for them to stop.

He didn't have the strength to face Tsuzuki when he was like that–too terrified that he'd lose what little self control he had left. The urge to grab him and kiss him until he smothered the insufferable sadness and choked out the bone-crushing despair in Tsuzuki's eyes was too much to bear. It wasn't what Tsuzuki needed; he often told himself. It was his own selfishness–his own desire. That was why he had no choice but to end their partnership. He thought that he had made the right decision–to push Tsuzuki away–to watch over him from a distance. It was for Tsuzuki's own good . . . wasn't it?

Tatsumi honestly couldn't answer that question anymore. Nor did he want to try. He couldn't bring himself to think of what it would mean if he had been wrong all these years.

The secretary took a deep breath as he reached the doorstep. His decision was made. If their conversation lasted deep into the night, he would try to find out if what Watari said had any basis to it. However, if Tsuzuki didn't give him any indication that he wanted him to stay, then the scientist surely must have been wrong, and Tsuzuki would never find out the truth. Knowing that it was no longer in his hands gave him enough courage to ring the doorbell.

He was waiting apprehensively when he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye by the window. Two violet eyes carefully peeked out from behind the cover of the white, lace curtains, but as they fell on Tatsumi, they instantly disappeared from the window.

A second later, Tsuzuki opened the door with a soft smile.

"Tatsumi? I didn't know that you were coming over," there was clear surprise in his voice, and the shadow master couldn't help but wonder bitterly if the other man had been expecting someone else.

Tatsumi held up a bag of groceries for Tsuzuki to see. "Watari informed me that you do not have any food and that you've been living off Pixy Stix for the past three days," the secretary's eyes were momentarily hidden behind the glare from his glasses as he adjusted them."I have come to correct this."

Despite the fact that both men knew Watari had said no such thing, Tsuzuki feigned ignorance. "How did he know? I've been so hungry . . ."

Tsuzuki's fingers grazed over the back of the secretary's hand as he took the bags from him and led him inside. Tatsumi swallowed, and for a moment, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, Watari had been right all along.

Tatsumi draped his suit jacket over the couch and rolled up his sleeves as Tsuzuki took his place seated at the counter. It was something that the secretary had insisted upon years ago. He would bring the food and cook, and in exchange, Tsuzuki had to promise not to help him.

While he worked, he listened as Tsuzuki prattled on about random, inconsequential things: recipes that he wanted to try, the latest experiment that Watari had been up to, places that they used to frequent when they were partners . . . and Tatsumi realized that for the first time in years, he felt like he could finally breathe again. How long had it been since he simply allowed himself to enjoy Tsuzuki's company without second guessing his own motives?

Still, knowing full-well what he might do, he couldn't seem to calm his trembling hands.

He was certain that Tsuzuki hadn't noticed . . . until he nearly sliced his hand open as the smaller man reached out toward him to steal a piece of zucchini. Tsuzuki was gracious enough not to comment on it, so Tatsumi let him have the first piece, but he playfully swatted his hand away when he reached for the second.

"But Tatsumi," the smaller man whined, sprawling out over the kitchen counter, "I'm hungry."

"I'd be able to finish sooner if you stopped stealing all of the food that I'm trying to cut."

"I suppose . . ." the smaller man pouted, resting his head in his arms.

It wasn't long before dinner was ready, and the heady aroma of wine and spice filled the apartment. Tatsumi served the food and pulled up a stool, joining Tsuzuki at the counter.

"I've missed your cooking," the smaller man said with a wistful expression on his face.

"Well, it has been a while since you've shown up on my doorstep, demanding that I feed you."

"Is that an invitation?" Tsuzuki asked with an impish smile.

"You know . . . that you are always welcome."

There was a long pause as Tsuzuki's expression suddenly grew somber. ". . . Am I?" he asked quietly.

Tatsumi swallowed, feeling as though he had been struck. "Of course." He reached out, thumbing away the rice on Tsuzuki's face. "Always."

As the evening grew late, Tatsumi found himself glancing up at the clock every few moments. It wasn't that he wanted to leave; it was actually the exact opposite. He just couldn't decide how long he could stay before it became inappropriate. Of course, Tsuzuki was not making things any easier. All throughout dinner, Tsuzuki had been quieter than Tatsumi had seen him in years, and the silence from the smaller man was extremely disconcerting. This left most of the conversation up to Tatsumi, and if it wasn't for the genuine smile on Tsuzuki's face or the way that he listened with rapt attention, the secretary would have left long ago. Tatsumi knew better than to assume that things would suddenly go back to how they had been, but when had the distance between them grown so great? The shadow master couldn't seem to place it.

"It is late. I should be on my way," Tatsumi said after the dishes were done. He anxiously searched Tsuzuki's face for any sign of disappointment, but whatever the other man was thinking, he couldn't read it. Tsuzuki simply looked down at the counter and nodded.

Tatsumi folded his suit jacket over one arm as Tsuzuki walked him to the door where the secretary hesitated for a moment. Tsuzuki didn't offer to let him stay, and Tatsumi couldn't find the strength to ask.

"Good night, Tsuzuki-san," he said, carefully hardening his voice. He turned to leave when he felt a tug on his sleeve, and suddenly, Tsuzuki's head was resting against his back. The smaller man shyly slipped his arms through Tatsumi's in a half hug, and it felt like an eternity before Tsuzuki finally spoke.

"I have some pie . . . if you want some."

"I . . . would like that."

Tsuzuki slowly pulled away, and for one brief second, Tatsumi let himself believe that the smaller man was just as reluctant to break their embrace as he was.

As Tsuzuki went to prepare two plates, Tatsumi sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table in the living room. He told himself that he wasn't sitting on the couch because he was just too accustomed to growing up in a traditional Japanese household, but no matter how much he tried lying to himself, he wasn't able to deny the truth. He didn't think that he could handle facing Tsuzuki without feeling nauseous, knowing what he was about to ask.

Tsuzuki returned with two slices of pie and curled up on the couch practically behind Tatsumi. The secretary's mouth twitched in a smile. Perhaps Tsuzuki was just as terrified at the thought of facing him? Tatsumi chided himself and quickly dismissed the idea as wishful thinking.

For the first few bites, neither man spoke, letting the silence slowly set in like a distant storm until the clanking sound of their forks against their plates was deafening. Tatsumi stared down at his hands suddenly very aware of himself.

"He baked a pie for me once," Tsuzuki finally said, staring down at the slice of apple pie on his plate. He opened his mouth to say something before he stopped himself. "S-sorry, I shouldn't–"

"No," the shadow master paused, marveling at the absurdity of it. In the past, he would have given anything to get the smaller man to open up to him, but now that he had the chance, he wasn't entirely sure that he could stomach it. Tatsumi shook his head. "No . . . go ahead."

Tsuzuki nodded. "He used raspberries grown straight from his garden. Huge, blood-red things," he stabbed at his pie sullenly. "Fitting of him . . ."

Tatsumi idly found himself grateful that they were eating apple.

"I'd never wanted pie to taste bad before," Tsuzuki stopped and swallowed before whispering quietly, "but I liked it, no matter how hard I tried not to."

And suddenly, Tatsumi realized that they weren't talking about pie anymore.

The shadow master's mouth went dry. What could he possibly say? Daring to look up at the other man, he turned slightly and rested his head against the couch. As he did so, Tsuzuki reached out and started playing with the strands of hair that had fallen across the top of the cushion. Tatsumi almost lost his composure, and he wondered if Tsuzuki realized what he was doing or how intimate of an act it was. After a while, he almost found his eyes closing as the slow, simple motion calmed him in ways that he never thought were possible.

The smaller man continued talking as though he hadn't stopped. "Every time we were together and I thought that I couldn't take it anymore, he'd stop, and . . ." Tsuzuki swallowed. "And he'd just be so gentle," he let out a shaky laugh, "like he actually cared about me."

Tsuzuki curled up, hugging a pillow to his chest and running his hand through the shadow master's hair. "Do you think it was silly of me to pretend like it was true?"

Tatsumi felt like the room was spinning. Tsuzuki was confiding in him. It was what he wanted . . . wasn't it?

After a moment of hesitation, he pushed himself off the floor and joined Tsuzuki on the couch. He was careful to steady his voice as he spoke in order to keep out the tremor that he felt building in the back of his throat. "No. No, I don't think it's silly at all, but . . . someone like him . . . someone like him could never be capable of love."

Tsuzuki's smile was bitter. "I guess you're right. Everything was just so much easier when he was only hurting me. At least that made sense. Even though he . . . he did things, Tatsumi. Such terrible things . . . Things that . . . things that no sane person would like. Things that no human would like, but I–" the smaller man couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence. "He always said that he would stop if I wanted him to, but–" Tsuzuki's voice broke. "Tatsumi," he choked, burying his head into the pillow, "I–I don't think I can do this anymore . . . I'm just not the type of person who can be loved. Happiness was never meant for someone like me."

"Tsuzuki-san . . . Tsuzuki-san . . . I . . ."

"I shouldn't even exist."

"Tsuzuki-san, stop."

The smaller man lifted his head to wipe his tears on his sleeve in a childlike gesture. "It just . . . hurts, Tatsumi. I just want it to stop hurting so much."

"Please . . ." was all the shadow master could say. "Please, Tsuzuki-san. I cannot bear to see you cry," he pleaded desperately.

Tatsumi wavered slightly before reaching out to wipe away the other man's tears. It was a touch that lasted just a moment too long, but it was Tsuzuki, the shadow master told himself. It was Tsuzuki, so it had to be okay.

Tsuzuki tilted his head to look up at him, and suddenly, it was clear.

". . . You really are the only one who doesn't see the way he looks at you."

It was so wonderfully clear that Tatsumi wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. That look in Tsuzuki's eyes–why had he never realized what it meant before? How many times had that same look tormented him as he failed over and over again, trying so desperately to find ways to comfort the other man? He had always been so consumed with denying his own feelings that he never saw it for what it truly was.

Tsuzuki was waiting for him.

Tatsumi leaned in, pressing their foreheads together and timidly raising a hand to the smaller man's neck. He could feel Tsuzuki's pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingertips, and for the first time since he had met the smaller man, the ache in his chest lifted as his uncertainty was cast aside.

"Tsuzuki-san–"

Yet he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to say the words. After so many years of choking them down, they wouldn't come. His throat constricted and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The shadow master struggled with himself for a moment before he made his resolve. He lifted Tsuzuki's chin with his hand and leaned in, but before their lips could touch, he felt Tsuzuki tense in his hands and pull away. The smaller man looked down, steadily fixing his gaze on the pillow in his lap.

And in that instant, Tatsumi's world shattered.

He instantly pulled away from the other man as his eyes widened in sheer horror.

"I–It's getting late . . . and we have work tomorrow, so . . ." Tsuzuki weakly supplied.

Tatsumi went numb. He had been wrong. He had been wrong about everything, and now Tsuzuki knew the truth. He had wanted it so much. Too much. The shadow master's mind reeled as he struggled for air, and in a wave of terror, he disappeared from the room an instant before he completely lost control of himself.