This took me a little bit longer to finish than I'd initially planned, and though I know that you probably will think this chapter just goes on and on, I do hope that you'll like it. My tendency to ramble probably makes this boring.

I'm trying my very, very best to make this not seem OOC, but things are going out of my control and I want to bash my head on the desk, because Tezuka is out of character, and Fuji's slightly out of character, and it's killing me.

If you have any complaints at all about this, I'd love to hear them. I'd like to hear what you didn't like about it so I can fix it. Other than the pairing and the basic concept of the story, I'm willing to change anything about it if you give me something to do that you'll think make it better.

I appreciate all reviews, especially constructive criticism. Please, I'm just an author who has nothing better to do; I LOVE reviews. If you read, review. I'd love it so, so much.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tezuka or Fuji or anyone else. They all belong to Konomi Takeshi.


Chapter Six- DREAMS

-Tezuka-

The past

Cold.

Tezuka was oh so dimly aware of something cold and wet hitting his cheek. Calm, yet disoriented hazel eyes flickered open and closed slowly. His lips parted for a moment, just slightly; they met wetness. Cool, endless drops of water hit his face, sliding down the skin and hitting the ground with a soft 'plip'. This was not the sound of just a calm rainstorm, though.

Thunder echoed in his ears, and he shuddered. Sometimes having such accurate senses didn't help. Sometimes, he did not want to hear the soft whispers across rooms, or the racing heartbeat of a frightened young child as he desperately searched for his mother.

Sometimes, it really hurt his ears to hear the louder noises. Thunder sounded more like a cannon.

Mostly, though, the downsides of these senses were his ability to smell blood very acutely.

Tezuka was able to think himself as mad whenever he smelled human blood. His senses were sent reeling. He could no longer breathe, for his whole stomach was conquered by a hunger that couldn't even be described, something that hadn't been satisfied, for Tezuka, in years. He would shiver slightly. A strange feeling passed through his stomach, the impulse to grab and bite. Tezuka wasn't inexperienced with it, nor was he unfamiliar with the feeling of a human body squirming in his grip that couldn't be human as he proceeded to drain their life, their vitality.

This thirst never let him out of its steely grasp. One night, it would be satisfied. Tezuka would lick the dried blood from his lips, and then give the corpse one last look. Always, it was the same. The corpse lay stiff from his all too rough touch, the eyes affixed in an expression of pure terror. The next night, his stomach would churn again, and he'd have to go searching for new prey.

What he chose over this was never quite the same. There was never the satisfying feeling of being able to sink his teeth into something human. Animal blood, which he was able to get in large supplies from different sources, kept him going. However, it lacked the sweetness that indicated humanity. It was cold. Unlike the warm human blood, it did not set his body alight with the only sort of excitement that he couldn't resist; it was a rabid, animal-like feeling of warmth that spread from his toes to his fingertips. If there was one thing Tezuka wanted, so deeply that only darkest and quietest parts of his heart knew such a thing. The other parts of him remained ignorant to it; he ignored it so much that he forgot. Yet somehow, the longing was still there. Drinking human blood was the only time he was really able to feel closer to being human, closer to being alive.

Almost every night now, for almost sixty years, his stomach felt cold and empty. Sixty years ago, he decided that he would break the habit of drinking human blood. It had taken him almost ten years to finally live up to that promise. Fifty years he had gone without a single drop human blood, and the strain was beginning to show. As a leader, he was strict in enforcing such a rule. The lone group that chose to follow him was ordered to live his lifestyle. They could no longer live off human blood.

Part of Tezuka sometimes wondered why he'd given up drinking human blood. However, that part knew, and remembered that each time he killed, he would look upon the corpse, and for just a fraction of a second, and the only human part that was left in him recoiled in disgust. He would tremble form a minute at the mixture of feelings pouring over his soul, that of absolute, immense thirst, and that of a human caring that had been almost completely demolished by his inhumanity.

The corpse, for the briefest second, made him shudder, and there was a small child in him that blinked softly, wide eye concealed by glasses that glinted sadly in the moonlight. There wasn't much child left in Tezuka at all. He would slowly, ever so slowly ponder it. The child would seems so tangible that it tugged on his sleeves and pleaded with him to stop, that this was wrong.

Yet this wrong, this life of horrible deeds, had become the only way he knew.

The first time he had seen a vampire kill, he was not the victim, and he was not a vampire. In fact, it was years before such an unfortunate fate would befall him. He was just ten years old, wandering in the dirty streets of the cities all too late at night. It had been a lovely woman, a real gem. Perhaps it was that she was a prostitute, and that could be assumed from the way she dressed; young Tezuka wouldn't have known. He didn't know about such things at such an age.

The darkness was pressing on his lungs tonight, and he hid behind the brick wall. The man who he saw coming down the street was tall, handsome as ever. Even at such an age, the ethereal beauty captured Tezuka's attention. The boy with glasses found his breath held as he watched the man skulk in the alleyway a ways up. His dark hair swept his eyes. He was a tall, slim man with well-angled features and glowing eyes.

Foolish… She had, indeed, been foolish. He caught her lightly by the wrist and asked her what she was doing in the alleyway so late at night. His lips curved into a gentle, seductive smile. She, being a woman who had probably seen a lot of men in her lifetime, still seemed extremely captivated by his eyes. He whispered some sweet words into her ear, his breath tickling her face gently, and tugged at her arm convincingly. Her eyes were hooked on his, as if they were really more of an addiction than anything. He kissed her hand, showing his teeth when he smiled, and then slowly brushed his lips with her.

Perhaps she was about to give a small cry, when he grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head, pushing her against the side of the building. All too forcibly he was holding onto her tightly, kissing her neck softly while she moaned under his tempting touch.

The moan turned to a cry of pain.

Now she struggled, but he held her firmly and didn't allow her to move. Slowly, the struggles became more and more futile, weaker. The man drew back later, what seemed like forever to Tezuka. His lips were smeared crimson, and his cheeks had a far more human tint to them, flushed pink. Tezuka had only been a small boy, and having witnessed a woman die, he could no longer stand. He fell out from where he held, right in the line of vision in the man. Unlike the woman, though, he didn't find himself being kissed, or pinned up against a wall. The man's lips curved, anyways.

"What's a little boy like you doing out here so late at night. Go home, now. You wouldn't want to get into… trouble." His fingers brushed young Tezuka's cheek, and a hand on his wrist was what pulled him to his feet. Tezuka's glasses were slightly askew. He looked silently up at the man, who still had blood smeared across his lips. Tezuka didn't speak, but his lips were parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something. Rather than make any noise he just had his head turned up towards the tall man, his eyes blank and expressionless.

"Go on, now." The man's hand ruffled Tezuka's already messy hair, and then gave his shoulder a rough pat. With those last words and actions, the man disappeared into the night mist.

Now… Now, years and years after he had first witnessed that scene, many had fallen victim. They had fallen victim to him. Tezuka was no better than a mass murderer. Numerous had fallen victim to him, and nobody ever survived, no, not once he made the decision.

Tezuka's eyes caught misty moonlight that fluttered down to the alleyway, and he snapped back from his thoughts. Tonight was a lot like the conditions had been that night. It began to rain, and the water slid easily across the smooth curves of his cheekbones. All he was able to recall was extreme pain, and the fact that he was unable to lift his head more than a few centimeters before it smacked painfully down again.

His stomach churned again.

Tezuka Kunimitsu, one who had usually been cautious about the sort of thing, was now finding him more and more cornered by this bloodlust of his. It took over every one of his senses, ensnaring his mind and pushing him into a dream-like state. Tezuka didn't like that. Tezuka's character embodied the ideas that he was always able to take care of himself and control things. Tezuka's values did not instate that losing control was anything that could be acceptably lost.

Tezuka, before losing his humanity, would never have thought of killing.

If he lost it, there would be nothing left. Here, it was slightly difficult. Tezuka was stoic in all other departments, but he thrived off of blood, and as such if he was deprived of something necessary for sustenance, it would become more and more difficult for him to keep himself level whenever he walked past a human being.

That especially included a certain Fuji Shuusuke.

Tezuka wanted anything but to be near him.

He supposed that maybe he would have found Fuji's company entertaining if he were human. However, he was obviously not that anymore, and it was difficult.

Fuji could be considered to be beautiful by many people. Tezuka, though, might not have recognized that at first.

Fuji's light colored hair framed his face well, and Fuji's eyes were thrilling to see.

However, whenever he was near Fuji, it seemed to be when he was hungry, and he was particularly interesting. Tezuka was able to acutely hear the heartbeat that was strong under his chest. It was never faltering, and showed that Fuji was nowhere near as weak as he seemed to look.

There was something about Fuji's blood that made the sweet, intoxicating scent permeate off the skin like perfume. It was like having food put straight under his nose when he was on the verge of starvation, but still expected the urge to eat the food. Not everything, of course, but for some strange reason, it seemed that many were already attracted to the idea of being the one to take his blood. Tezuka might have been in denial. He hadn't yet acknowledged to himself that even after years of keeping from human blood, he longed for it. Even uninjured, the sweet scent of Fuji's blood made way temptingly to Tezuka's nose. Sometimes it was far to tempting, and Tezuka suddenly would tackle Fuji backwards. That had happened twice now, and twice was quite enough for him. Fuji was an object of temptation.

So, of course, he decided that he would remove himself from the temptation.

It had been easy enough the first time. He'd removed himself, leaving Fuji and a small girl on the doorstep of an apartment. Fuji had followed him, and the second time he felt some strain when he walked away, after their fingers had twined so gently. Their fingers had twined once, sending electricity up Tezuka's nerves for the first time in what seemed like too long.

Fuji had been warm.

Tezuka had almost let himself forget how warm humans were. The little touch was enough to bring the memories back with stunning accuracy. All at once, it had hurt his head. He still kept it inside, though. He never showed how surprised he had been, or how suddenly he'd been shaken by the overpowering desire to squeeze that hand tighter. Dark motives had clouded his eyes, and finally he managed to tear himself away from it. Those three seconds in which their fingers had been touching, though, had seemed like the longest three seconds that Tezuka had ever experienced.

The third time had not been very easy at all. He, who had battled for a good few days with the idea of going back to secretly keep an eye on the interesting human, had only just forgotten about the idea of ever seeing the soft-lined face before he was dropped right outside the boy's doorstep by mere coincidence.

The life of a vampire was not easy.

For those who chose to drink human blood, they had to escape clutches of hunters. For those who vowed to only drink animal blood, they were in constant battle with instinct and will. Tezuka wasn't exempt. His tight-knit personality was there to hide it, and to prevent him from leaping out at a human whenever he saw one alone. Tezuka had the strains of both, his conscience prevented him from killing nightly, but since his introduction the nocturnal world of vampires, he'd had a line of hunters after him. That wasn't about to change.

He never would have though he'd be doing this, really. Even if he were told that such a fate would eventually befall him, he would disagree about the trouble he had. He would point out that he would be able to control himself easily and go how forever long he fancied without human blood.

Such a thing was easier said than done.

For just a week into the new lifestyle, one free of hunting humans, the urges to grew more strong, and he found that it was harder than ever not to follow the sort of things vampires infamously thrived off of.

The third time he had found him cornered in Fuji's bedroom, with only less than an hour of dusk left before the sun rose. Fuji had been very, very foolish to corner him. He was still maintaining control, but defiantly not as much as he needed. Fuji leaned down to sniff his breath, and he must have caught the scent of blood that now permanently lingered on his lips. The boy drew back curiously, tilting his head to the side slightly. Tezuka's heart throbbed; right now, it was very difficult for him to remain in control.

Such became obvious when raw desire took over everything else, and he found himself leaping out at the human, pinning him to the floor.

All sorts of strange emotions came racing to him when he felt the body securely under his. Fuji's warmth was enough to drive a man crazy, or at least Tezuka. Fuji lay there, dazed and gasping. Tezuka's eyes widened, and the intensity of them was the final thing that tied the ropes to Fuji that kept him from squirming and beating the man senseless. He could sense it, too. Tezuka had never been acute in sensing thoughts, much less his own. Tezuka could feel everything. He was thrown into a storm of a teenager's emotions, and hit hard by the sudden anger that Fuji felt of being pinned to the floor. The anger wasn't enough to make Fuji move, and perhaps Tezuka wielded such emotion against Fuji. There was a wonderful mixture of dreading, and fear intertwining around all the others that flooded his head and made him lose any other thought, any thought that didn't have to do with Fuji.

The sheer volume, the filling quality of these emotions, was enough to make his head swim.

All he could remember after that was losing every value he'd ever held, losing all that control he'd worked so hard for. His hands were around Fuji's warm throat, and His lips were pausing just barely a millimeter above the skin, taking the scent of the growing fear that Fuji radiated.

Something Fuji had said, in a startled and gasping choke, had brought him out of the trance, and suddenly he realized who was lying beneath him. Fuji looked at him with angry blue eyes, clear and dark. Yet… despite such a display of anger he was able to sense minute tremors coming from the body under his. Fuji was scared beyond his wits right now, and the anger was there because of the all too human instinct to lash out at the source of fear.

It was fascinating that Fuji was able to conceal such fear, so well.

Tezuka, in his so many years, had seen men and women cower before him, plead for mercy, splutter out meaningless love confessions, struggle, everything, and make empty promises that would mean nothing in a few minutes.

The fact that Fuji was not pleading or whimpering might have been the only thing that made him draw back. However, he struggled for lack of air, coughing and choking when Tezuka's hands tightened around his throat.

Easing his hands from Fuji's soft throat, he pushed himself away from the boy. Fuji lay there for a moment; those pretty blue eyes still wide and clouded with both shock and anger. The emotion was beginning to dissipate. Fuji closed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. Soon enough, he was sitting up, and when Tezuka moved to make his escape, he grabbed him.

Tezuka didn't even know a human could muster such a strong grip. Fuji's lips were not pulled into a typical smile, but an angry frown. A pair of fingers pulled him back, and Tezuka almost stumbled at the display of strength; it was enough to crush bone, if he hadn't been as he was.

That grip, though, was probably only thanks to adrenaline that was finally beginning to take effect.

He asked if Fuji was all right, and the strangling grip was released for a moment as Fuji slowly traced a path on his own neck. Tezuka's eyesight caught it, the beginnings of a bruise. The skin, which looked so light and fragile, would bruise from being squeezed so roughly. His eyes followed the path Fuji traced across his neck temptingly, but he drew his gaze away. Fuji's features clenched in anger and frustration.

Tezuka said nothing in response.

Fuji was even more frustrated, but what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to apologize? Was he supposed to tell Fuji what he was? Fuji certainly wouldn't believe him. He seemed like a logical, intelligent boy who wouldn't believe in the idea of ghosts, much less vampires.

He'd just think that Tezuka was a freak; that perhaps, might have been a wise thing to do. It would keep Fuji a good distance away from him, permanently. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to hold himself in the face of temptation before the control that he valued shattered completely, and he ended up killing Fuji. The boy was stupid in ways. Maybe, just maybe he sensed that Tezuka was dangerous and was not the person who should have been one to associate with. He blatantly ignored that, though. Fuji seemed to have an awful knack for tempting danger just for a good challenge, just for fun.

Such foolishness was enough to be fatal.

That was just as stupid as a woman who was so infatuated that her better judgment did not come into play. Fuji was nowhere near prudent, and it showed. Fuji had already probably had a near brush with death, and by goodness if Tezuka had bitten him, it would've been the end of it. Tezuka was so sure that one taste of that blood would have been enough to send him over the edge into insanity.

Once one lost it, there was no going back.

Fuji may have left for school that day, but his face remained burned deeply into his mind, just like a curse. Tezuka, his eyes already straining from the little sunlight he'd been exposed to in Fuji's room, found the darkest spot, a corner in the closet away from all light sources. He brought his knees up to his chest, quietly. He looked at the skin of his left arm. It was slightly red, burned. It radiated pain. Pain, however, was something that Tezuka was used to, and would no longer mind. It always healed. There was never a time in which his wounds failed to close. It would just… hurt for a while. However, a burn from the sun was severe… he folded his arms against his chest and sighed.

Fuji's smile was still burning within his memories.

Those eyes were haunting him more than ever. Tezuka was feeling frustrated, for not being able to get a mere human out of his mind.

Tezuka couldn't have been exactly sure when he drifted off like that, curled up in that corner, but he obviously did, because he was met with darkness, and the slowly fading pain from his burnt arm. Sleep wasn't like human sleep; at least it wasn't for Tezuka. It was just a brief time in which Tezuka drifted of, curled in a dark corner. He never dreamed, and he never regained energy from sleep. Of course, blood was his energy. Sleep was just a period of mental rest while the daylight hours wavered on. Sleep came because Tezuka couldn't go near the sun, and had to wait out the hours in which he kept to the darkest corners of the world

Fuji came back later offering food and asking (demanding, really) some sort of company. The food, for him, was no good. This food was something that humans ate, not vampires. Feigning slight interest in it, he held the plate and even brought the fork up to his mouth once. Never, though, did Tezuka allow the food to touch his lips, and a few minutes later Fuji gave up trying to make him eat and just set the plate aside.

Why he was playing around this, he didn't know. Fuji was just a human. It wasn't hard to push him away and tell Fuji that was going, and to order Fuji to stay away. However, there was something more to it, something that was very frustrating. Fuji was a very filling presence, and perhaps annoyed people. He was a hard person to get away from, it seemed.

Even when Fuji was only a mere human, he had a strong grip on Tezuka, even when Tezuka should have easily been able to easily release himself from such a hold.

His mind flashed before him, to the moment he had seen Fuji last, before he walked into the old house and locked the door behind him, locking Fuji out.

Fuji wasn't as scared this time, as he was curious, he thought. At least, that was what he could logically assume. Being a vampire, it was easy to smell fear like dogs and wild animals did. Fuji was not laden with the intoxicating scent of it this time; rather, he just stood there, not resisting the gentle hold that kept him on his feet.

The next time, when they were standing there on the porch of the old house, Tezuka felt far more in control. He could feel Fuji's soft, gentle breathing beneath his lips. He could hear each pulse of the strong heart. He could smell the blood that ran under Fuji's skin. If he was in control, he should've been able to resist, though. Fuji was a tempting being, though. He'd come across ones more tempting than this, but what made it unique was the fact he had held out so long against his longings. In any other situation his fangs would have glinted in the moonlight, while he stalked quietly, using his unearthly charms to lull the person into a sense of false security.

Fuji wasn't like that.

Deep down, Fuji knew that this wasn't right. Fuji knew what Tezuka was, though perhaps only in his subconscious. Fuji knew the trouble he was getting himself into it, and accepted it inevitably in his heart. Without even knowing it himself, Fuji leaned over and offered it out to Tezuka, a temptation that proved to be too hard to resist.

His lips pressed Fuji's warm neck, and he again was able to feel the minute tremors the boy gave off. Though he didn't act it, he had to admit deep down, halfheartedly that this was intoxicating, the way Fuji stayed still under his touch, waiting all too expectantly for what might come next. His tongue passed against the line of the boy's jaw, and Fuji just had to shiver.

He'd found Fuji's racing pulse beneath the skin of the neck, but why he didn't bite down was still unknown, even to Tezuka. There was a thud when he released Fuji; the boy fell. Tezuka, guided by impulse didn't even spare Fuji a second glance. All he did was open the door, shut it all to quickly behind him, lock it, and collapse onto the floor.

Fuji must've proved to be some serious bad luck.

That week, he'd run into Wolfe quite a few times, and he was less than happy about the strange murders that were taking place. He wanted to blame somebody for them, anyone. It just so happened that as Tezuka was the leader of the only group of vampires in the area, so it was sensible to blame him.

Wolfe knew the way things worked in vampire society. He knew about territory, and groups, and lone vampires. He knew it almost too well. Then again, his family had been in the business even longer than Tezuka had been a vampire. The first of the line that Tezuka ever had to deal with was Wolfe's late ancestor so many generations back, that by now, Tezuka had long since lost count. He could still remember their names and faces visibly; he just couldn't count them. Every nine or ten years a new one would come along. It was rumored among the older, more powerful vampires, saying that this line went back even farther than the medieval era. The family line, in fact, was rumored to have existed for at least a century. For at least seven hundred of those years, the family had been in the profession of hunting vampires.

From generation to generation, the family job was passed along to the eldest son, often times when he was only a young teenager. The lifespan of the Wolfe family line was laughably short. Currently the man who'd hunted him only five years ago, James Wolfe's father, was bedridden, with failing health at the age of thirty-five. The mother in the family ran out long ago.

The son was surprisingly proficient at not only supporting his father, but also giving Tezuka a while lot of trouble.

Then, it was easy to tell that the skills needed to hunt vampires ran in the family. After all, Wolfe had only been hunting by himself for five years, but in the past year, he was a considerably harder opponent to beat. Already, Tezuka had many near brushes with death.

He was growing less and less patient, too.

Today had not been an exception.

Today… he'd run into Wolfe at a bad time. His strength had been waning for the last couple of days. Wolfe had held up very well against Tezuka tonight, and the wounds that he received were far more limiting than anything else. He'd lost a very good amount of blood and would need to feed sooner or later, but right now he wasn't able to find the strength to stand up. He needed to wait until some of the wounds healed over, though he didn't know how long it would take for that to happen.

"Oh, it's raining!" There were voices nearby that Tezuka's sensitive ears were just barely detect. The first voice was strange to him, but a second voice sounded, and he immediately knew who it was. There was a small feeling growing within his stomach. The rain overpowered the sound of the voice, for a moment,, but when he repeated the sound carried over it. The voice meshed well with the sound of pounding rain.

"Shame, I neglected brining an umbrella today," he mentioned casually, as if it was really no big deal at all. "I wouldn't have thought that the weatherman would be right for once." The other snorted, slightly, and took a deep breath. Fuji stopped and paused, slightly.

"Well, let's get back, before we get too wet. I don't want to catch a cold, and you should watch it as well." The voice paused. After a moment, he replied. "After all, Fuji, you have an awful knack for getting yourself ill."

"Atobe, I'm not a fragile woman Stop treating me like one."

Atobe opened his mouth to speak again. They were close. Tezuka's senses, though dulled by blood loss, were able to pick up their presence acutely. He could here their footsteps, hear their heartbeats, and most of all, smell the overpowering scent of Fuji, the scent of his blood.

"Either way, let's get back. You wouldn't want to get sick. We have those exams for the university coming up. Genius Fuji Shuusuke wouldn't want to fail the tests just because he caught a little cold, would he?" The voice taunted a little.

"I will do no such thing." Fuji replied tersely. Suddenly, Fuji stopped walking. He knew that it was Fuji because there was a sneeze right at the moment when the footsteps stopped. The other man stopped.

"See? You're already getting sick." The man pointed out.

"Atobe, you go ahead," Fuji mentioned casually. Tezuka paused and lifted his head just a fraction. A sudden pain traveled through his temples, and he was forced to lie down again. The throbbing pain faded, but he wasn't able to see anything, and his desire had been to get an idea of where Fuji was. Right now all he could see was a clear puddle of rainwater that was forming into something larger and larger.

"What? What do you need to do?"

"I just realized that I forgot to do something. I'll call you later tonight. We can study later."

"Then I'll come with you." Atobe said softly, taking a step towards Fuji.

"No! I told you that I'd call you. Just go home, Atobe."

" I think that that's a lie, Fuji. Don't lie." His voice was serious. "After all, Ore-sama has incredible insight," he added pompously. Fuji didn't make any noise, but replied smoothly, his words silvery.

"If you had that much insight, then you would already know what I needed to do, no?"

"Suit yourself." It was a good five minutes before Fuji was moving again. Perhaps he had been waiting until Atobe vanished from sight. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. A hand brushed his cheek, and it was such a sudden shock that he had to sit up. A wave of pain greeted him, and he groaned. He was sitting upright though, looking at Fuji, who was drenched head to toe in rain.

"What are you doing here?" Tezuka asked, sharply, strictly. Fuji didn't flinch at the tone. Rather, he was looking Tezuka over from head to toe, inspecting the wounds and burns that dotted themselves all over his body. It truly looked as if Tezuka had been beaten up, and they were still a hindrance even when they were beginning to heal.

"I should be asking you that," replied Fuji, calm as ever. "What sort of fight did you get into? You look half-dead."

Tezuka didn't respond.

"Tezuka," he asked. Tezuka didn't respond again. Fuji was foolish. Foolish. He mind as well be laying on the ground and outstretching his neck for Tezuka, doing such a thing at a time like this, when Tezuka was so raw with thirst and deprived of the energy and life he so needed. He knew very well that even if he managed to stand, it wouldn't be for long.

"Never mind," said Fuji, with a slight hint of peevishness in his voice. "You're coming with me whether you like it or not." Tezuka was pulled forcefully to his feet, and he struggled to stand even with Fuji's help.

"You help is not needed," Tezuka rasped. "Go with you friend." Fuji paused for a minute, looking curious.

"How did you know about Atobe? We didn't even pass by here. We were a good few blocks down."

Tezuka looked stern as well, but offered up a single sensible answer. "I have good hearing." His look was that of slight annoyance. "How did you know I was here?"

"Intuition," Fuji answered, all too quickly.

"Intuition?" Tezuka asked.

"Yes, and you're coming with me now," Fuji replied stubbornly, not allowing Tezuka to even think of pulling in the opposite direction. Tezuka was pulled further up onto his feet, but he wasn't exactly standing straight. His knees were bent, not baring his own weight very well at all. For a moment, his chin rested uncomfortably on Fuji's shoulders. His senses were overtaken by a strong scent of orchids and cherry blossom. He wondered where it came from.

Truthfully, it was because Fuji had ran out of the usual type of shampoo he usually used, and because his hair needed to be cleaned to be washed, he ended up using his mother's floral-scented shampoo. It was embarrassing, really, but who would tell?

One might not have noticed Tezuka had a stronger sense of smell than most people did.

Part of Tezuka didn't' like that Fuji smelled like a girl; boys and girls usually had pretty distinctive scents, and right now Fuji smelled almost exactly like a woman. However, even if he wouldn't admit it, the smell of the blood permeating off of Fuji's skin mixed well with the scent of floral shampoo.

Perhaps when Tezuka looked at the boy, he noticed that was why he smelled flowers. Maybe he didn't even need to look in Fuji's direction to realize that the boy was disgruntled for having to use woman's shampoo. His aptitude of Fuji's thoughts was strange; it was like a very well tuned radio.

They limped along in the pouring rain in silence for some while. Things were awkward between them, and Fuji was obviously not happy at all that Tezuka was not accepting his help. (No, that was not just from realizing that Tezuka might have assumed that he always used scented shampoo.)

Tezuka couldn't have told Fuji that the only reason he did so was because it was for his own safety. No, no, no.

The silence between them was broken. "It's strange…" Fuji pondered, almost in a way that it could be considered he was only thinking aloud. He pulled Tezuka's arm more around his shoulder to steady him, and then continued walking. "Whenever I see you, you seem to be injured. It's a strange coincidence I'm meeting you so much."

Fuji was right; after all, this was a city, and they were only two people among millions. Tezuka, in fact, didn't even have trouble admitting it; Fuji hadn't needed say it, because he knew it. He may not have mentioned it aloud, but it was something he might have mentioned if he was more talkative.

He agreed with Fuji.

Tezuka's lips parted. "Ah," he agreed.

They were walking again, in companionable silence this time. They were quiet, not arguing, not talking, and not even looking at each other. Fuji just helped Tezuka along, and Tezuka paid absolutely no attention to Fuji, perhaps in a rude way. Part of Fuji was scowling, but the other part paid absolutely no attention. His eyes were quietly scanning the ground calmly, paying Tezuka absolutely no regard. His face was smiling. Some people walking down the street stared, especially when Fuji was helping Tezuka up the front steps. Fuji acted as if they were there in the first place.

Fuji opened the door with his one free hand and called in.

"Mother, hello!"

"Oh, Shuusuke, hello."

Fuji paused for a minute, removing his shoes before even stepping in the doorway. "Are you in the kitchen?" There was a pregnant pause, curious.

"Yes, Shuusuke. Why do you ask?" All too suddenly, he was being pulled into the doorway by Fuji, being dragged all to quickly to Fuji's room for words, almost stumbling slightly a few times. Fuji, seeming to pay absolutely no attention to the fact that Tezuka could barely stand, as he practically shoved Tezuka into the room. Tezuka nearly tripped and hit his head on the dresser.

"Shuusuke?" Just when Tezuka disappeared into the doorway, his mother poked her head out of the door to see if something was wrong. "Shuusuke, dear, are you all right? I thought I heard somebody fall." Fuji rubbed the back of his head and gave her a convincing smile.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, mother. I tripped over my own feet, but I'm fine."

"All right, then. Tell me if you need anything." Fuji's mother disappeared back into the kitchen. Tezuka was surprised at how convincing of a liar that Fuji was; he was, after all, somebody who gave true smiles and tricky excuses. Did he plan out everything beforehand, or did he just come up with those sorts of things on the top of his head.

He turned to Tezuka, who was on his knees on the ground. His eyes deadened, and opened, revealing stunning blue orbs. They were captivating, even when they were human. However, they were cold and serious. This was a clear foil of what Fuji and just been. He knelt on the ground next to Tezuka and stared at him forebodingly.

Perhaps he knew why other people squirmed under such a gaze; of course, he had to admit staying that while under such a frightening look was uncomfortable he still managed.

Tezuka's eyes surveyed Fuji, the human that he'd found so tempting over the past few days. The boy was looking at him expectantly, hoping for an answer. Tezuka stayed silent. Even when Fuji demanded like this, he didn't want to explain, for some reason. Whether or not it would keep Fuji away, he wanted to avoid endless questions. It wasn't every day that one came across somebody like that.

Fuji, being the person he was, wouldn't have allowed such things past. He would've questioned endlessly.

Tezuka hated people who didn't know when to stop prodding. Fuji was all too forceful, it seemed. Yet somehow, he wasn't able to detach himself from the presence of the odd, yet manipulative boy, the human that had captured his attention so quickly after years and years of truly being able to say that he was alone.

Yet deeply etched with in Fuji's eyes, he spotted understanding in Fuji's eyes, and found that it would be easier to say it without specifically mentioning it, but implying it instead. "You already know," he observed quietly. Fuji's cold, forceful eyes blinked once and widened slightly.

"No, I don't," he argued a minute later, in a calm and even tone of voice. Fuji was a frustrating person to try and talk to. Tezuka, however, ignored it and figured that eventually Fuji would try and figure out another way. He couldn't move from this spot until then. Fuji's harsh, challenging eyes tied him down to the spot.

Years ago, he would have laughed wryly, to think that a human would have such control over his life. "Should I help you stand up," Fuji asked a minute later, sounding slightly defeated, but satisfied. Tezuka nodded, and they both used all their strength to get to their feet. Tezuka found himself relying on Fuji's strength again, irritatingly. He sighed and closed his eyes, then paused.

"Tezuka?" Fuji seemed to pause, perhaps because there was a blank, expressionless emotion written across his face. His eyes were blank, like a clean slate. Fuji paused again, and seemed to be trying to say something, but stumbling over his words. Tezuka quirked his head to the side, and that seemed to do it. Fuji burst into what sounded like a combination of a soft chuckle and uncontrollable laughter. Tezuka didn't understand what was quite so funny, and Fuji seemed to realize that. Fuji stifled the laughter into his hands and turned the gaze away from Tezuka. Tezuka, currently, didn't understand it at all. Whatever had made Fuji laugh was something that Tezuka had absolutely no clue about. He blinked, confused.

"What is it?" He asked, slowly while Fuji still remained consumed by peels of laughter.

"Nothing, nothing," he replied as he slowly regained control of his own breath. He paused lightly. Tezuka was still looking at him strangely. Fuji turned his eyes up to face Tezuka, and the man found surprisingly that those eyes were so different than they had been a minute ago. Once cold, they were now considerably softer, filled with warmth and swimming with odd, slightly childish joy. They glittered with laugher and mirth, and they were happier than Tezuka had ever seen somebody. Even when he didn't want to be captured by those eyes, he found that he was held there effectively, his hand resting lightly on Fuji's arm. The eyes still glistened with warmth, and for just a moment, Tezuka thought he could've sworn he saw sunlight in them.

They were brighter than anything Tezuka had seen other than the sun, something that he secretly missed dreadfully. Perhaps that's the only reason he stood there and didn't say anything, enjoying the happiness Fuji radiated for as long as it was offered.

He neglected that those eyes, so pure and clean, could've remained like that for very long at all. In fact, he forgot to even think that this might not have been a normal display at all, that Fuji's usual display of happiness was only a smile. He neglected that maybe, just maybe Fuji had been happier than he'd been in a long time, over something so trivial that made no sense.

Despite such negligence, he had to admit to himself that when he saw those eyes, a small glimmer of happiness and hope made its way into his heart.