Title: Dreamwalker – Chapter Seven: The Mask and the Mirror.

Rating: PG-13ish

Warnings: A swear or two. Still in first-person Doumeki POV. Couldn't escape. Sorry.

A/N: The nature of this chapter is VERY different from previous chapters. There is a reason for it. You'll see. Read on. And also, the long-missing disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda. :3

Dedication: Kiin-chan for being so very, very motivational and for making me laugh when I thought I'd go crazy, and Pen-chan for being so very, very patient with my procrastination and MY LAST MINUTES CHANGES LIKE THE TITLE OF THE CHAPTER AND THE FACT THAT I DELETED THREE CHAPTERS OF THIS STORY BECAUSE OF THIS. ONE. CHAPTER. WHICH WOULD GO WHERE I PLANNED FOR IT TO GO. I wanted to cry. She patted my head and told me quite pleasantly to grow up and let the story go where it wanted to.

Summary: Watanuki is caught between a revelation that could change his relationship with Doumeki forever, and a decision that could change the fate of all worlds forever. Poor guy just doesn't get any breaks…

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I am a very particular person. I don't have a lot of preferences, but the few I do have, I'm very, very particular about.

When I'm not practicing archery, I like to eat. When I'm not eating (and even better, when I am), I like to be with Kimihiro.

This is because archery, eating, and Kimihiro happen to be my favorite things, in order from least to greatest. Right now I'm not able to access the first two, but I've had an abundant amount of the latter over the indistinguishable period of time we've been stuck in his dream. It doesn't look as if that period of time will end in the near future.

Then again, when it comes to Kimihiro, nothing every happens like I think it will.

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Needless to say, I was pretty content with my life regarding the extended Kimihiro-time I'd been granted. Even without the archery and the eating, I couldn't remember feeling more satisfied with the world in general.

However, one thing disturbed me a lot. Since his encounter with the Card manifesting itself as Kaede, the spirit woman who'd nearly killed my boy before I exorcised her, Kimihiro seemed to be thoroughly depressed, as if he couldn't get his mind off the very depressing thoughts she'd inspired him to think.

I grumbled to myself. Every time that damn woman showed up, it only spelled heartache—in Kimihiro, and in me for Kimihiro.

Wait. I knew of a way to, if not cheer him up, then at least get him out of this funk he was in. Carefully I wiped all traces of concern from my face before speaking casually.

"Oi."

To my satisfaction, my boy fired right up on command.

"My name is not 'Oi,' you single-brain-functioned disgrace of a primate."

"You should make inarizushi," I told him matter-of-factly. My boy responded beautifully.

"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO REPEAT MYSELF? I DO NOT TAKE ORDERS! IF I DO MAKE IT, IT'S ONLY BECAUSE I KNOW HIMAWARI-CHAN LIKES IT SO MUCH, SO DON'T GO GETTING ANY IDEAS!"

I nodded as if my boy's rambling made sense.

"So you should make her inarizushi."

Kimihiro scowled at me, then glanced around him in obvious disdain, taking in the bench, the tree, the vending machines, and the white space that occupied every other area. "Right. I'll get right on that, shall I? In the nonexistent kitchen. With the nonexistent ingredients. For the—" He considered his words. "Not-currently-in-attendance Himawari-chan. Sure. I'll whip up a feast right now." He snorted at me expressively.

"When we get back," I said to him. He stopped and stared at me.

"What?"

"When you wake up, and we don't have school. We should all go on a picnic. And you should make inarizushi." He stared some more. "Because Kunogi likes it," I added helpfully.

"When we…get back." He repeated my words carefully, and I knew that I'd at least gotten his mind off Kaede. Heh. Bull's-eye.

"Yeah." I made sure that I put every ounce of sincerity I could into the tone of my voice without sounding downright eager. I caught his eye and let him see my conviction that we would get out of here, and he would wake up in the right world, the one where he had me to protect him.

He blushed and looked away. "For—for Himawari-chan."

Wasn't he a good little parrot. I tried not to roll my eyes.

"You should make…her…oolong tea, too." I'd almost said me, which would most probably have resulted in the absence of tea and sushi altogether. My boy could be quite stubborn when he chose to be.

"I KNOW THAT, YOU TROLL," Kimihiro snapped. "HIMAWARI-CHAN LIKES OOLONG TEA WITH HER INARIZUSHI. THAT IS WHY I WOULD MAKE OOLONG TEA TO GO WITH THE INARIZUSHI." He scowled at me. "I DON'T NEED YOU TELLING ME HOW TO MAKE A LUNCH PROPERLY!"

Depending upon the definition of 'properly.' I shrugged. "Sure you don't."

"ARE YOU MOCKING ME, REJECT?" thundered my boy.

I schooled my expression into its blankest form. On the inside, I was snickering with amusement at how adorably predictable he was. "Just agreeing with you. You don't need me to tell you how to make a lunch properly."

Kimihiro blinked, apparently unused to me telling him that he was right. He recovered quickly though. "Y-YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I DON'T!"

"So you'll be making the inarizushi and oolong, then?"

"DIDN'T I JUST SAY—"

"That Kunogi would like it? Yeah, you did," I pointed out. "You wouldn't want to disappoint Kunogi, would you?"

Kimihiro stared at me, obviously thrown for a loop.

"I won't," he finally said with a suspicious glare. "I'll make a special picnic featuring all Himawari-chan's favorite foods once we collect all the Cards and I wake up. A-and you don't get a say in the menu!" He pointed dramatically at me. I gave him a peaceful look.

"Do I ever?" I asked innocently. Don't I always?

"NO YOU DON'T."

As my boy stomped ahead, muttering direly under his breath and obviously unsure as to whether or not he'd just won that particular round, I walked behind him and caught the words inarizushi and oolong and only for Himawari-chan's sake, and permitted myself a small triumphant grin as I followed sedately.

Dance, puppet. Dance.

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We were back to trekking through the vast whiteness again, having left the tree and the park bench far behind. To be honest, I hadn't noticed when exactly they'd disappeared, so I couldn't tell how far we'd gotten.

"Hey, Doumeki," said Kimihiro suddenly, sounding uncharacteristically timid, and I looked at him.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think…the real world looks like?" he said hesitantly.

I stared at him. "What?"

"The world—the world I didn't dream." He wasn't meeting my eyes. "I just—I just thought that maybe the world outside my dream might be different from…everything it usually is. You know." Now his cheeks were a dull pink, and he shook his head firmly. "Never mind, it was just a question."

"A stupid question," I said, and he whirled on me.

"Who asked you?"

I lifted an eyebrow. "You did."

He blinked at me, then glared and resumed ignoring me.

But now the question was in my mind, and I couldn't ignore curious things like that half as well as Kimihiro could.

What did that world look like? If the world I remembered was all part of Watanuki's dream, did that mean that it was a reflection of Watanuki's perception of the world? Did the real world have spirits in it that endangered my boy's life? Did he even need me?

A hard ball lodged in the pit of my stomach. Yes, I thought furiously, yes he does. He has to. If I need him this much, then there's no way he's allowed to not need me back.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reached forward and grabbed Kimihiro's hand.

He froze in midstep, and I could see his shoulders tense. If he'd had a tail, it would be puffed up at the end, and he he'd had ears, they'd be flat against his head.

"What," he said very clearly without looking at me, "are you doing?"

I thought about it.

"You'll get lost without me," I said finally, and not even I knew whether I was talking about him being lost in the real world or in this dream world. It was the same either way, I decided.

He was silent for a long moment.

"You," he said very calmly, still without looking at me, "are an idiot."

He started walking again, but didn't try to pull his hand from mine.

Now why, I wondered tiredly, can't he apply this behavior to the rest of our relationship?

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We were lost.

I'm not sure how that was possible under the condition that everywhere we went looked exactly the same—big and white and endless—but we were.

But we were lost together. That was a plus. And Kimihiro had yet to pull away from me. A-plus, even. He'd even relaxed his fingers. Extra credit.

Food and archery there might not be, but the Kimihiro-time more than made up for it.

"Hey," he said again.

"Yeah?"

He paused, and I knew he had to be thinking about that real-world question again.

"You said before…that you think we're still together. In the real world. Right?"

My heart began to beat very fast. "I…yeah," I said, my mouth dry. "I think we're still together."

He glanced at me, and blushed bright red, correcting himself hastily. "I-I-I meant we as in you and me and Himawari-chan and Yuuko-san and everyone!" He glanced at me again. "Haven't I warned you before about s-s-subtext?"

Oh. I tried not to feel too disappointed, reminding myself that he'd said you and me first. "Right. Well, yeah. I think we're…all…together."

After a moment, after the flush in his cheeks had died somewhat, he said quietly, "Do you think we're the same kind of people?"

Frowning, I thought about it for a moment. "Define 'kind of people.'"

He made a vaguely sweeping gesture with his free hand. "I mean, do you think we—act the same? Think the same? Feel the same?"

This was an interesting question. I looked at him seriously.

"I'm pretty sure you act like a flailing idiot no matter what scope of reality you're in. Anything else would just be out of character."

He scowled and aimed a kick at my ankle, which I dodged while continuing thoughtfully, "And I'm not sure how to answer the rest of it. Most of the time, it's hard for me to know what you're thinking, and…who knows if your feelings will change?"

He jutted out his chin. "My feelings for Himawari-chan will never change?"

I rolled my eyes. "There's more to life than Kunogi." Open your eyes and look at me, damn you, I thought desperately. "And most of it's a hell of a lot less life-threatening."

Instead of his eyes, he opened his mouth, and I expected him to go off on a rant about how anything other than Kunogi was a waste of his time, except possible cooking. But he surprised me by asking, "What about you?"

My heart began to thud alarmingly again. Had he somehow guessed what I was thinking? "What…about me?"

"Do you think you're the same person?" he pressed, and for the second time in as many minutes, my heart fell. I'd hoped…but of course not. Why would I expect him to realize…?

"Yes," I said shortly, and tugged him along.

"Hey, don't pull on me," he complained, jogging to keep up. "What do you mean, 'yes?'"

"Yes is yes," I said. "And you say my conversational skills are lacking."

"I mean," he snapped, " 'yes, you act the same,' 'yes, you think the same,' or 'yes, you feel the same.' Which 'yes' is it?"

"All of them," I muttered. I couldn't, after all, imagine a world in which I didn't feel exactly this way about Kimihiro, or think about him all the time, or do anything to protect him. Before I could stop myself, I added, "As long as you're around."

He went very quiet suddenly, while I cursed myself for not shutting up.

"Subtext," he whispered, and I felt the weight on my shoulders at once lighten and grow heavier. Would he never understand?

"Truth," I said, purposely shrugging away my heartache. His cheeks pinked again, and he wouldn't look at me.

"Scary," he mumbled. "I hoped that maybe you'd be less of a jerk than you are now."

I pretended not to hear him.

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"Hey," said Kimihiro again, a little while later.

By now I was resigned to the topic of conversation. As long as he wasn't being depressed over Kaede the spirit woman, I could deal with incessant questions about the validity of reality or whatever-the-hell philosophy he wanted to wax. It was a way to pass the time, after all.

"What?"

"Do you think Yuuko-san is the same?"

I pretended not to hear that either.

After a while, he nodded slowly.

"Right."

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"Hey."

"What."

He glanced at me. "Are you going to let go of me anytime soon?" he groused, cheeks pink again.

I pretended not to hear that, too.

He scowled.

But he didn't protest, and he didn't pull away.

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What I judged to be an hour or so later, we were still holding hands, and my boy's fingers were relaxed enough that they curled loosely around mine. I tried not to let my hopes get too high; perhaps he was just extremely exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions he'd been riding. His passiveness was pleasantly surprising, but I couldn't help thinking about the Western parable of King Solomon, and the engraved ring that would make a sad man forget his sorrow and a happy man forget his joys: This, too, shall pass.

We'd been wandering around in relative silence—he hadn't asked a question since the one about us holding hands—when Kimihiro suddenly said, "Hey, Doumeki."

I had the feeling that pretending to ignore him this time wouldn't work.

"What?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Again? I wanted to say, but his tone of voice made me rethink my statement. "Yeah."

He deliberated for a moment. "What—what's…going on?" he said at last, and his cheeks grew so red that I thought he might grow dizzy from the heat.

"What?" I said again, frowning.

"With…with us," he clarified, looking at any part of the whiteness surrounding us, refusing to meet my eyes.

I tensed suddenly. "With…us?" I repeated slowly, my heartbeat quickening once more despite my assurances to myself that he couldn't possibly mean what I was thinking—what I was hoping—he meant.

He nodded, still averting his gaze. "Yeah."

I thought fast. "Well, apparently we're still stuck in your dream, if that's what you—"

"No."

I stared at him, stunned at the quietly spoken interruption. He turned to me at last, and there was something in his eyes, something violent and peaceful, something awful and beautiful, something blue and gold—not the color, but the emotion in them.

"That's not the us I meant," he said.

"What…" I took a shaky, silent breath, willing myself to not look away from that very, very intense gaze. "What did you mean?"

He shook our linked hands lightly. "Us," he said simply. His eyes said, You know what I mean.

I couldn't have thought of something coherent to say if my life depended on it.

Oblivious to my state of shock, he said slowly, "I know I've told you about a thousand different times to…to be careful about the sort of things you say, because people might take them the wrong way, but—" He lifted a shoulder moodily. "But you never listen, and I think it has to be more than you just living to irritate the crap out of me whenever possible. And now—" He shook our hands again. "This. I just—" He scowled, apparently unable to express himself properly, which was funny in a So not the right time to laugh sort of way, because he'd never had trouble expressing himself to me before.

I could hear my heart in my ears, I was so nervous. I desperately hoped my palms wouldn't start sweating. Trying to present an air of casual indifference, I pulled my hand away from his and told myself it was stupid to feel like I'd cut it off completely. "Not like I care what people think, but if it bothers you that much, all you have to do is tell me to stop," I said.

He eyed me dubiously. "I have," he said pointedly. "And you didn't."

Shit.

"I—" I began, but he steamrolled right over my feeble argument.

"I've told you hundreds of times to stop saying things that sound so weird. I know I asked you to let my hand go. But you didn't. And I want to know why."

My brain seemed sluggish. "Look," I heard myself saying, "if you can't take a joke—"

"Don't," he breathed, all at once furious. His eyes blazed Damn you damn you at me. "Don't you dare lie to me. Don't you dare treat this like a joke. You don't even make jokes. You never say or do anything you don't mean to, anything you don't want to, anything that doesn't have some purpose behind it."

"Watanuki," I began.

"If you tell me you didn't mean any of it," he whispered, going very pale, "if you tell me it was all just a game to you…I'll hate you for the rest of my life."

I was absolutely astonished. "Watan—"

"Enough people have come and gone in my life that I'm used to watching them walk away," he said, his voice very low. "I can't afford to lose anyone else."

He was trembling with anger. I wanted so badly—so badly—to reach out, to draw him closer, but I knew that if I did so now, not only would he rebuff me, he'd probably make an effort to knock me unconscious.

"But if you tell me you've just been playing around," he said, the words bitten off venomously, "I will be the one to walk away, and I promise you that I won't look back."

My eyes went wide. I stared at him, lost for words.

We stood like that, facing each other down, him daring me to speak, me trying desperately to.

It had to happen one day, I reasoned miserably, and I opened my mouth to tell him the truth—trying to brace my heart against his swift rejection. It was inevitable. Hitsuzen, I thought, and wanted to punch something.

But before I could say anything, a figure appeared beside us as if it were materializing out of a fog.

Without thinking about it, I stepped in front of Kimihiro, ready to attack, to defend—desperately grateful for the reprieve—but the figure laughed. "Oh, please, don't worry," it said in what sounded like the voice of a boy about our age. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. I'm actually here to help you!" Slowly his shape became clearer, the image of him sharper, like an invisible mist around him was clearing.

I peered at him. He had sandy brown hair and very light brown eyes that looked almost gold. I frowned; I'd never met anyone else with eye color like mine before. The difference was that he wore glasses.

"Hi!" he chirped. "My name is Tsukishiro Yukito. Pleased to meet you." He bowed.

My boy tried to peer over my shoulder, but I backed him up a step. Ignoring his huff of annoyance ("Hey! You hulking ape!"), I demanded, "How do you know about Watanuki?"

Tsukishiro straightened with a smile bright enough to blind the sun. "You could say that he and I are in the same boat," he said cheerfully. "In a metaphysical and emotional sense, that is."

My eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"

The boy's smile became slightly dimmer, more self-mocking. "Only that I, like Watanuki-san, am both more than and not quite what I appear to be."

From behind me, my boy inhaled sharply. "You're…not human either?"

Tsukishiro tilted his head curiously. "Not quite," he said again. "Although you, Watanuki-san, are more human, in some respects, than I am, in terms of creation."

I found it odd he chose to use the term 'creation' instead of 'birth' or even 'origin.' However, I couldn't sense any malevolence from this boy, so I stepped aside slowly and let Kimihiro come forward.

He did so cautiously, his eyes flickering over Tsukishiro's face. "What…what do you mean?" he said hesitantly. "You're a Card…aren't you?"

Tsukishiro smiled again. "Yes," he admitted, "but more than that, outside of your dreams, I am a…complex being. You could say that I have a dual nature." He chuckled at some private joke.

Kimihiro blinked. "You exist…outside of my dreams? But I've never met you before," he said, frowning. "I thought all the Cards were people I've met in my life…er, my dreams." He and I shared a glance, but then he apparently remembered that he was in the process of being furious with me, and he glanced away again. I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Oh, no," laughed Tsukishiro. "There are too many Cards to assign the roles to only people you remember meeting."

I thought about that. "You're saying he's got more flaws than friends."

My boy turned dull red and whirled around. "You are a jerk!" he snarled.

I shrugged, needing this moment of normalcy in order to regain my balance. "They're not my flaws being made into Cards."

Tsukishiro laughed again. "You two remind me of other people I know very well. Except they don't have the relationship you do."

I froze.

Kimihiro looked back at him, sufficiently distracted from deafening my eardrums. "Eh? Relationship?" He gave me a blank look with just the slightest hint of questioning. I did my best to look indifferent to the terminology.

Apparently, that was a bad move, because his face slowly darkened with anger. He glowered at me. "There's no relationship here," he said sharply, and I felt a sharp pang go through my chest, "except for maybe unwanted indentured servitude."

I lifted an eyebrow, feigning apathy when it felt like I couldn't breathe properly. "Then shouldn't you be referring to me as 'Master?'" That glib reply was met by his incoherent sputtering.

The other boy simply shook his head. "Well, however you choose to term it." He clapped his hands. "Right! Guess what? I have a story to tell you."

Kimihiro paused. "A story?"

Tsukishiro nodded. "Well, actually…" He smiled secretively. "I suppose I should say it's more of a legend."

I didn't like the fact that that word resonated oddly in my ears, almost like déjà vu.

"A legend?" repeated my boy. "About what?"

Tsukishiro gave him a long, silent look. "About a boy," he said quietly after a moment. "And his brush with hitsuzen."

All at once, we were surrounded by darkness, completely replacing the cavernous, boundless white canvas. The only things Kimihiro and I could see were ourselves and one another, as if we were glowing from the inside. Tsukishiro's figure was lost in the blackness.

"What is this?" I ground out, moving closer to Kimihiro. Things were never good for Kimihiro if he stood alone in the dark. "Is this how the legend begins?"

Tsukishiro, still invisible in the sudden blackness, let out a humorless chuckle.

"This is how everything begins," he murmured in a voice that had gone oddly flat, echoing eerily, almost as if he wasn't really speaking at all. "With emptiness."

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Once upon a time, there was a Boy.

He lived a life of joy and sorrow, of trials and triumphs, of colors and sounds and sensations and memories. He had family and friends, and his existence was one of contentment and peace. He wished for nothing more in life.

Once upon a time, this Boy's life changed.

His family was gone, and his friends drifted away too. He lived alone, trying to pretend that he was perfectly content in his solitude.

Once upon a time, this Boy met another boy.

The two boys discovered that although they were very different, their lives were intertwined, and they were constantly in each other's company, sharing the joys and sorrows and trials and triumphs and colors and sounds and sensations and memories of life together. They each had a special power that no one else could know, and they kept each other's secrets. Their lives became even more intertwined as time passed. The Boy was no longer alone.

Once upon a time, this Boy began to fade away.

He didn't realize what was going on at first. But the colors he saw became shadows, and the sounds became silence, and the sensations became numbness, and the memories…became emptiness. This Boy didn't know that his existence was in great peril. The other boy realized what was happening, but was too late to warn him.

Once upon a time, this Boy fell into an enchanted sleep.

In his sleep, he discovered there was another being inside him—one who was him, but not him. This being was the true him, the real him—the one for which the Boy was merely a mask. Now that the mask had been stripped away, the Boy's true self was revealed. The Boy realized that if he wanted to wake up, if he wanted to return to his life, if he wanted to stop fading away, he needed to bring the two sides of himself together into one reality. But more than that, he realized he was not strong enough to accomplish this on his own, and that he needed the power that the other boy, his friend, offered him. For within the other boy lay a truth that would forever bind the two of them together, a protection that only the other boy could give him. It would grant the Boy the strength to leave the enchanted sleep and merge his two existences. He had but to accept that truth.

Once upon a time, this Boy made a choice, and forever changed his life.

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Kimihiro's breathing was uneven when Tsukishiro fell silent. "Your…your legend," he whispered hoarsely. "It's my story…isn't it?"

"No," said a voice that was Tsukishiro's and yet very definitely not. "It is mine."

A portion of the darkness shifted aside, as if a veil had been yanked away, and standing before us, where the bespectacled Tsukishiro had been, was another person entirely.

He stood tall, elegant, robed in flowing white, his long silver hair trailing down to his feet like a shaft of moonlight. His eyes, I saw, were silver as well, gleaming as sharp and bright—and cold—as steel; the pupils were vertical, like a cat's.

And he had wings. A pair of great, white, feathered wings protruded from his back, almost dwarfing him with their sheer magnitude, and somehow still accenting his ethereality. He stood out starkly against the encompassing black: a beacon of purity in a den of shadow.

For a moment I hesitated, unsure whether he actually was male. Not that I thought he was female; he seemed too beautiful to be ascribed to either gender, as if he simply transcended all earthly comparisons of beauty.

Before Kimihiro could blink, I was standing in front of him again, between him and the newcomer. Beautiful or not, he was still a potential threat, and besides, I was never one to be lulled into a daze by a pretty face. My daily interactions with Kimihiro were enough to prove that.

The strange being's eyes narrowed slightly at me. "You are," he said quietly, "very much like that person."

I frowned at him. What person? "Who are you?" I said harshly. "Where is Tsukishiro?"

He blinked once. "I am Tsukishiro," he replied in the same toneless murmur. "Or rather, Tsukishiro—Yukito—is myself. My other self."

"Other?" said Kimihiro and I at the same time. I relented enough under the distraction of his fist pushing against my shoulder to stand beside him, slightly in front of him just in case.

The being's wings made a rustling sound like leaves swaying in the wind. "Yes. He was created to mask my existence in the world until such time as I was needed." Those slashing eyes fixed on Kimihiro's face. "The legend he described to you was his own. My own."

He came forward—walked was not the term; I realized belatedly that he was floating several inches above the ground, which was what had made him seem so tall; standing, he'd probably be about Kimihiro's height—until he stood about three feet away from us. I edged a little farther in front of Kimihiro.

Those eyes flashed to me briefly. "Be at ease, Dreamwaker," he said. "No harm will befall you or your charge while you are in my presence. I, like you, am a Guardian, and as such am well prepared for any sort of assault."

That's what the police said. Did it work? Not half so well as they claimed.

At my silence, the being's lips curved very, very slightly in what appeared to be amusement.

"Stubborn," he murmured. "And fierce. You are like him."

I was getting rather curious to know who he was, if he elicited such casual admiration from this otherworldly creature. "Then you should know I won't stand aside," I said.

He blinked those catlike eyes as if processing my words. His smile widened just barely; he nodded to me once, then focused his attention upon Kimihiro.

"Dreamwalker," he said formally, bowing. "I am Yue."

My boy seemed to struggle for words; he looked absolutely amazed that this extraordinary creature was deferring to him "I—uh—hello, Y-Yue-san," he said weakly, his cheeks flushed.

Yue straightened, his eyes intense and thoughtful. "You are like her," he said finally.

Kimihiro faltered. "Eh?"

Wonderful. I was like him. Kimihiro was like her. Tsukishiro was Yue. Who was Yuuko—Buddha?

"Yue-san," I said firmly, feeling compelled to add an honorific to his name, as if I'd insult him without one. "What happened to Tsukishiro?"

Yue gave me a considering look. "Yukito…is here," he said, touching a hand to his chest. "He is inside me. Part of me. He is me, and so he is here." He touched his chest again.

"He's you," I allowed, "but are you Tsukishiro?"

Yue looked startled at the question, as if no one had ever asked him that before.

"Well…yes," he said after a moment. "If our existences are merged, and we two are one, and he is me, then I am he."

Kimihiro frowned. "Your other self," he murmured as if to himself.

Yue nodded. "There was a time when I referred to him as my 'false' self, because in my eyes, I was the true being, and he merely a shell. He agreed with me, often calling me his 'real' self. But since we have merged…" He touched his chest once more, absently, as if he wasn't aware he was doing it. "I cannot in honesty think of him as a false form because his existence was just as real to him, and those around him, as mine to me. In this way, we have compromised, agreeing that we shall accept one another as other sides of ourselves, much like a reflection in a mirror is an opposite image."

"In our world, that's called being bipolar," I mumbled. Kimihiro elbowed me and sent me a Shut up, you idiot glare.

Yue merely looked mildly interested. "Is it?" he said politely, and it took me a moment to realize he was being facetious. That, more than anything, made me inclined to like him a little more, so I smirked at him.

Kimihiro elbowed me again, harder. "Stop that!" he hissed.

"Stop what?" I mumbled back.

"Stop…looking at Yue-san like that."

I did—I smirked at him instead. "Jealous?"

Silence met this statement where I expected nuclear meltdown. I blinked at him; he was gazing at me steadily, his cheeks very slightly red, but he held that glare, and he didn't deny my words.

I was suddenly breathless.

Yue, for his part, suddenly grew very serious as his eyes flitted back and forth between Watanuki and me. "I see," he murmured. "If things have progessed this far…" He lapsed into uneasy silence, then spoke again.

"Dreamwalker," he said gravely. "It is time for the Judgment."

Immediately, I was on my guard again. Judgment? No one—meaning Yuuko—had mentioned anything about a Judgment. What the hell was going on?

Kimihiro seemed equally confused. "Judgment?" he repeated. "What judgment?"

Yue didn't answer him; his wings spread wide and he rose high into the air, his eyes glowing like small silver flames. It was a fearsome image: this heavenly, achingly beautiful being, framed and enclosed by utter blackness all around.

"I am not only Guardian, but Judge as well," he intoned, his voice suddenly much colder. "It is I who decides whether or not you are worthy of the chance to complete your quest."

Kimihiro stepped forward, utter bewilderment written across his features. "I don't und—"

"Now wait a minute," I interrupted angrily, glaring at Yue, who regarded me impassively. "Yuuko said that only Watanuki was able to decide whether he could leave his dream."

"She said nothing of the sort," replied Yue callously. "She told you that it was the Dreamwalker's choice and subsequent responsibility to discover his own means out of the dream. The Advocate would not be so foolish as to promise him freedom from the dream when there exists no definite avenue of escape."

I fumed, but I realized he was right; Yuuko hadn't promised Kimihiro would wake up. An what exactly did Yue mean by Judge and Advocate? What did this judgment involve?

Coming forward to stand beside me, Kimihiro peered up at Yue. "Yue-san," he said uncertainly, "does this mean that I've collected all the Cards?"

"You have been shown your strengths, and you have accepted them," was Yue's reply. "You have been shown your flaws, and you have accepted them. It is now time to decide whether you truly understand them. Without acceptance, there can be no understanding; but understanding can not be achieved merely through acceptance."

"But I haven't accepted the strength or flaw that Tsukishiro-san represented," cried Kimihiro. "Or the one that you represent, Yue-san."

Yue stared down at him imperiously, but I could detect a trace of sympathy in his eyes. "Yukito and I do not represent strength and flaw," he said harshly. "Did you not listen to the legend? It was a story of truth. We are those who represent the two sides of truth. You recognized what you perceived to be your own story when Yukito related the legend, did you not?" he demanded of Kimihiro.

Kimihiro looked startled. "Y-yes."

"That is because your story closely resembles ours," Yue said. "That is why we were chosen. Yukito lived his life unknowing that I slept inside him. When I began to awaken, he quickly began to fade, unable to support two existences with his own power. The person whom he treasured above all others tried to help him realize the truth, but Yukito faded almost into oblivion before that person could supply us with his own power." His voice softened, sounding reluctantly fond for a moment before resuming its frosty quality.

"Yukito had to come to terms with the fact that he was not quite human, that he was my…other self, and I his. He also had to decide whether to allow his closest person to be his power source—he had to choose whether or not to accept that person's decision, and the fact that it was made with the wish that Yukito remain alive, that he not fade away, and that Yukito and that person remain together."

Kimihiro's breath caught. "And…did they?"

Yue looked amused as he lifted one eyebrow. "That is another story," he said mildly. "You should be concerned with your own."

Slowly, Kimihiro backed up a step, then two, then three. "My story?" he whispered, and there was something in his voice that sent a cold shiver through me.

"I told you," Yue said, "that your story parallels ours. You, too, are fading away, Watanuki Kimihiro Dreamwalker. You have a choice to make. Do you accept the legend as Truth?"

Kimihiro hesitated, and Yue's eyes narrowed.

"This is not a matter upon which you can deliberate," he snapped. "You have not a moment to waste. Time is short, and the evil grows strong."

I blinked, remembering Yuuko's cryptic utterance of that phrase before we'd found the first pair of Cards.

"Do you accept the legend as Truth, Dreamwalker? Or will you die clinging to your ignorance? Either choice," Yue warned, "will alter the course of hitsuzen. The fates of all worlds depend upon your answer, Dreamwalker."

Kimihiro went white in the face, and he swayed so alarmingly that I reached out to steady him.

My touch seemed to spark something in him—some shock-dulled defense mechanism—because he went tense suddenly, and spun around to look me in the eye.

"Answer my question, Doumeki," he said quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

"I asked you a question earlier," Kimihiro replied evenly, his eyes iridescent with the emotions whirling through him. "Answer me now."

Cringing mentally, I said quickly, "I wasn't playing around, Watanuki. I—all the things I've done, I—" I faltered, unsure, afraid.

He didn't take his eyes from mine. "Tell me the Truth, Doumeki," he said softly, and I heard the subtle inflection on the word, the emphasis. Every single world was waiting for his answer, and he was waiting for mine.

I stared at him, a hundred thousand images racing around in my brain. Times I'd rescued him, times he'd grudgingly thanked me with home-cooked meals, times he'd simply unleashed every single stress and worry upon me without bothering to apologize, without wondering whether I'd judge him or leave him for it. Times we'd been together—I realized that I could not remember a single time when I hadn't known him, when we'd been separated by such a trivial thing as meeting. As far as I remembered, my life began when we came together; I didn't care whether or not it was because we'd lived in his dreamworld for so long that the memories simply didn't exist anymore. My life consisted of Kimihiro, and that was enough for me.

"I love you," I whispered. "Watanuki Kimihiro, I love you."

He didn't say anything for some time, and I was deathly afraid to move, to speak, to breath.

"That's the truth?" he said finally. There was nothing in his voice that hinted at disgust or pity. I took a deep breath.

"The truest thing I know."

Without hesitating for even a moment, he turned away from me.

I felt everything inside of go cold for one horrible moment. Then he spoke.

"Yue-san," he said clearly. "I accept the legend as Truth."

Something warm, sweet, and hopeful moved through me, and I had to swallow, and stare hard at the nothingness between my shoes. When I was sure I wouldn't lose control of my hard-fought calm, I looked up again.

Yue smiled, and there was something of approval in the curve of his mouth.

"Then let the Judgment begin."

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.4.

A/N: This chapter about broke my heart, ate my brain, stole my soul, and impersonated my identity. IT WROTE LABYRINTH FIC INSTEAD OF FINISHING ITSELF—THAT'S MY ONLY EXPLANATION.

Quick note: Yukito's comments on emptiness ("This is how everything begins—with emptiness.") is a direct shout-out to my ASDLKJFINSDIJV!#$ing Buddhism class; particularly the !#$ASDLKAJEONSDLing section of Mahayana Buddhism that deals with the doctrine of emptiness. (DAMN YOU, NAGARJUNA. DAMN YOU.)

Other quick note: Can you guess who Yukito and Yue were talking about? (wink)

Last quick note: Next chapter is the DENOUEMENT! THE CLIMAX! THE BEST PART OF THE STORY! Followed by a short epilogue. And then. WE'RE DONE, LADIES AND GENTS. (confetti) YES, THAT'S RIGHT, TWO MORE CHAPTERS AND I AM OFFICIALLY FREE. (very off-beat happy rhumba)