A/N: Theeeeeeeeey're OFF!!!! I just got my braces off today--and missed all my morning classes during :D--and it feels weird and getting the glue off hurt like effing crap, but that doesn't matter because as of now theeeeeeeey're OFF!!! And there's going to be a tiny scare--not scare as in halloween or creepy scary, scary as in worrying scare--at the end of this, but this fic isn't over. Just so there's no confusion later on. It's just Kuro-tan being Kuro-tan. Well....you'll understand what I mean when you get to the end of this chapter.


Chapter Seven: I Actually Remember This One

Yeah, so I can actually recall the name of this world. Yama, or some shit like that, right? I don't think there's any way I could not remember this hellhole. I'd be able to play the memories over and over until I'm in my grave. I didn't doubt it a single bit.

We probably would've had had to kill every fucking soldier in the entire encampment the minute the stupid, dysfunctional manjuu dropped us on our heads in the middle of it all. Fortunately, we didn't since Yasha was right there watching. They weren't exactly free on soldiers which meant we were taken in and strapped up for battle—lucky for us it was that very night, whoop-dee-fucking-do.

But it felt freakin' amazing to be a warrior again—not exactly a ninja where it depended on stealth and secrecy, but I needed a sword beneath my fingertips. I'd never been one to use a mount like Souma, but now I could say that I'd had the experience at least.

The sixth months here I could spread into different stages. I spent the hours after our first battle trying to sort out the similarities and differences between their language and my own original one. It was close enough that I could just consider it another dialect. At least I wasn't as far off as the mage.

But these sixth months were nearly all about the mage. It began when Yasha told me off the age old pairing of the swordsman and the archer. How if both were consistent and skilled, it was a nearly undefeatable setting. I didn't know how….but I somehow got it through to the mage…and we were exactly that.

Undefeatable.

We became Yasha's advisors—his right hand men. He consulted us—well, me—before any move he made toward Ashura. The mage hadn't had any reaction at Ashura's—this Ashura's—appearance….it must mean that it wasn't his Ashura…..which would make sense since this Ashura was a girl.

The first month I was still trying to figure out how the hell was I supposed to survive without being able to talk to the mage—and how he was supposed to survive not being able to talk at all. Or understood. But he was smart—scary smart—and a quick learner. He was far smarter than the others took him for, but they, too, learned how lethal he was, despite his appearance.

But a part of me was angry. Angry with the other soldiers. Did you see how they looked at him? They looked at him like he was a bed warmer. It was sickening. I knew he noticed it, but he couldn't exactly lash out verbally at them—neither could he attack them, as that was against the rules.

They gathered in the baths….awaiting him to come in every night. I always found myself lurking in the corners….not stalking him….just making sure none of them tried anything funny.

It was the month after that that I noted my eyes—their color. I'd been filling a bucket with water for my mount and in the clear liquid, two black orbs stared back at me where there should've been familiar red ones. It wasn't so much a shock as it was a realization. After all, I'd seen the mage's blue eyes darken each passing day, as well. It was strange I hadn't thought of my own eyes changing.

This world was unnerving. At first it was fine—I was a soldier again, I could fight—but soon it was catching up. The mage never talked anymore. He smiled and laughed and fought…..but I never really heard his voice. I needed to hear him….even if it was gibberish….I…

I missed him.

As fucking girly as that sounded, I did. I noticed him close in on himself more and more each day. I could only imagine how he felt. No one being able to understand him….no way of knowing if anyone ever would….and being caressed with those disgusting gazes everywhere he went….

I couldn't stand the thought of him unhappy. I wouldn't. I wanted to….I didn't even know what I wanted anymore. So I did what I could. Random moments….we spent together…..there were tons of them. But I could remember each one with such clarity. Two of them stood out the most. One good, one bad.

I'd been waiting a while for the mage to return from bathing. I wasn't worried that anyone had taken advantage of him in there since he always took eternity with cleaning himself. But……a part of me wondered why he took such a long time. It was a pathetic thing to be contemplating, but I'd been pretty pathetic lately anyway—getting caught up in a mage that was probably a criminal looking for a plaything.

He was flawless. Even when the other soldiers leered at him, he carried himself with a grace and composure that was almost inhuman. Yes, his mask had tons of cracks, but other than that…..nothing.

I glanced at his pallet and saw that he'd left his towel. I sighed, grabbing it and standing up; ducked out of the tent and headed across camp toward the showers.

I found him in the last stall—wedged all the way in there. He was sitting on the wet tiles, the steam surrounding his pale, naked body and the rivulets coming down from the showerhead—it was still on. His eyes were hooded and he was staring at his knees. I couldn't tell if it was just the water, but….it gave off the impression of tears.

He glanced up when he heard me. I was getting as soaked as he was in this place….but I didn't care. I knelt down beside him….there was something about seeing him helpless like this that ignited inside of me. He was human. He wasn't a bewitcher, an enchanter….he was just him. The mage. My mage. An idiot…..the biggest in the world.

His expression was utterly stoic, frozen, as though he didn't want me to see what was behind the mask—he never did. I wanted to break that shell—break all those stone walls and shatter them on the ground.

I narrowed my eyes…..hesitantly holding out my hand towards his. He stared down at the extended limb and then back up to me. I knew he wouldn't understand me, but I asked him with my expression. I didn't really touch him and he didn't touch me. We sort of reached out at the same time so that our hands met. I threaded my fingers through his, enclosing them around his hand and bringing his wet knuckles to my lips. I tasted the warm water that was on them….how his skin was cold despite the warm steam.

Cold….why was he always cold? It felt like my warmth….my body heat….it never reached through to him. Why?

The look on his face was now so pained that I thought something I did offended him—insulted him. I rewound and I couldn't find anything hardly offensive. But it was the mage—anything was possible with him.

I didn't unwind my fingers or my hand from his, but with my other I removed the towel from my shoulder and held it out toward him, raising an exasperated eyebrow. He stared at it for a minute, and then laughed. And not one of those prissy fake ones either. A real laugh. A laugh that rang like wind chimes and made my eyes snap open to their widest.

He hesitantly made to take the towel from my hands, but I caught his wrist. The mage's eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me, bemused. I turned off the shower—stopping the flow of water that'd soaked us both. Slowly, not for one second letting go of his eyes, I carefully pulled him up. It was feat in itself that my heart hadn't exploded through my chest and began writhing on the ground for the world to see.

The expression on his face was now utterly bewildered. He blinked dumbly as I led him to the—much, much drier—outer rooms where spare uniforms and clothes and towels were kept. I was as dripping wet as he was, so I pulled out another towel and a pair of clothes.

In the single second we stepped out from the steam-infested depths of the baths, he'd instantly wrapped his hands around himself, not shivering….but shuddering. Any other time, I would've been over my head that the mage was fucking naked and standing beside me…..but for some reason…..today my body didn't even know what a hormone was.

He sat on the bench, his hair damp against his forehead and neck, dripping water onto the wood. I ignored the cold wind blowing around my wet form and touched the towel to his hair. The mage's eyes blinked up at me as he mumbled something and closed his hand over mine……the word he said sounded final. "Stop", maybe?

But I couldn't. I continued to ease the towel through and over his hair, holding locks of it in my hands as gently as I could—why would anyone waste a single strand of hair like that? It was soft and feathery even when weighed down with water. Through this entire time I had no idea what my face looked like. Last time I checked it was just….blank—instinctive. Doing things like this for the mage seemed nothing more than instinct now…..like I'd been made for nothing else.

And when I did finally come apart, the confusion in his eyes was erased. He looked almost…..scared of me. There was warning in his eyes, and I could've sworn he even shook his head infinitesimally. He didn't look reluctant….just afraid. With a few more seconds, I saw that it wasn't fear of me. It was fear of what was happening.

Again. Again. Why didn't that mage want to get close to anyone? What could've ever possibly had happened to him that would've made him this reluctant to get close to anyone? I knew it was because he didn't want to make anyone unhappy or some other bull, but how did he know that it wouldn't make someone unhappier if he wasn't with them at all?

I was past all caring now. The knowledge of him wanting me in return was enough to shove me to the point where I no longer cared what his mind needed or wanted—I only wanted him, and I would have him.

But I touched his face again, and I knew all his resistance crumbled to the ground. His wet hands moved to the hem of my shirt—the soaked cloth stuck to every fold of my body—and hesitantly tugged it upward, over my head. He kneaded it around nervously in his hands, looking at me….wondering if he'd gone too far.

I rolled my eyes at him and that smile appeared again. It wasn't….a happy smile….but it was sincere and serious….and I had to say I liked these ones better than the infuriatingly, annoying peppy ones he usually gave me. When the mage was solemn…..I actually kind of….liked him.

I knew I liked him before, but it was a forced kind of liking. This one….I just….liked him. I brought the towel through my own hair and over my torso; eventually shedding my pants and drying my legs, before exchanging for a dry pair of clothes.

Even after I'd dressed, the idiot was still naked as Eve, sitting on the bench watching me with that curious, solemn smile. His hair had already dried thoroughly. "You're going to catch cold, idiot." I'd said it before I remembered he couldn't hear me.

He only raised an eyebrow and laughed quietly—like his smile, it wasn't free and superficial…it was sadder….the laugh of someone who'd seen years and years of history…..but I liked it better. It fit him well, too. I tossed him the smallest size I found—you wouldn't believe how hard it was to find a pair that actually fit him.

The mage slipped into them as though they'd been made for him and stood up lithely. He slung his towel over his shoulder and gestured with his head for me to follow him. I frowned. What? I knew my way back to the tent.

He was motioning with an arm now, waving for me to follow him. I walked behind him, letting him lead a few steps since I had no clue why we were going the opposite direction from the baths and deeper into the forest.

The leaves crunched beneath our bare feet—why both of us had been stupid enough to forget boots, I couldn't fathom—but the rare patches of bare earth were warm, even though there wasn't much the sun could do about the thick canopy of trees.

It was sudden, but as we walked farther and farther away from the camp, a soft melody began filling my ears—sweet, biting, and almost painfully clear….it was the mage humming. I was used to hearing his voice laughing and teasing and mutilating my name and other words in all different ways. I nearly never heard it serious—and when I did, it lasted hardly enough time for me to appreciate or gauge it. But in motion….in song like this….even I—who, by the way, hated music for the most part, unless it was a war dirge—had to appreciate its sad beauty.

It was the kind of tune that wrapped itself around the perimeter of your mind and refused to release. I could hazard a guess that it was a lullaby, but it was too creepy to put some kid to sleep. Not creepy exactly….more like….haunting.

I jogged up a bit to fall into step with him. My shoulder brushed against his and he stopped humming, looking up at me with an apologetic smile. I shook my head, "Go on." His eyebrows went up. I touched his lips. "Go on," I repeated.

A light of understanding appeared on his face and he continued, only this time he added lyrics. There was something calming about the fact that I hadn't a shit what he was singing about, nor did I know the song. His language—the syllables, the sounds—were so different from mine….but they had a kind of….fluency. It was calming, like I'd said.

I hardly noticed how dark the sky had grown….too busy staring at how the mage's eyes lidded over when he sang….how his face looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here…how the burning of emotion beneath the simple melody was almost suffocating.

It wasn't black yet, but it was certainly evening, and the sun had gone down a while ago. We wouldn't be missed at camp….though if we didn't return in two days—probably the amount of time they'd think we'd last on our own—they'd send a search party, expecting us to be deserting or kidnapped.

When the song ended—or he just stopped singing—the mage sighed deeply. He looked up at me with his eyes soft and slightly amused but mostly sad. I only noticed where he'd led me after he swept his arm out, fell away from my side, and collapsed to lie spread-eagle on the grass.

It was the clearing where most of the soldiers sometimes went to get water or to train. An enormous lake took up most of it, but there was decent firm ground surrounding it. The mage was staring up at the sky—a slightly darker shade than what his own eyes had been—and his expression was completely blank. The air was warmer than usual, now that we were in dry clothes, and bits of nightlife were beginning to poke their noses out.

I leaned down and folded myself beside him, his head near my thigh and my hand pressed into the grass near his head—the wisps of blond hair feathered against my wrist. His eyes were closed and his breathing even, as though in sleep. It was a world far from my own—and even farther from his…then why did this feel like home?

I lowered myself until his breath fluttered up and mingled with mine…I could still feel the heat from the baths radiating from him. His eyes opened—coal black, and nothing like they should be. His hand moved to touch the hair at the back of my neck—his fingertips were cold, despite the warmth of the rest of him. We didn't kiss. We just stayed like that, our faces mere moments away from the other's, and our lips nearly touching….eyes half-closed…feeling something that neither of us had ever felt—at least I no way in hell hadn't…I didn't know if the same could be said for him.

Instinctively…almost routinely….he straightened and I fell….my head in his lap, one of his hands holding him up and the other lightly in my hair. My arms were crossed and one of my legs were folded up, knee in the air. He was in the perfect position to be gazing at the sky….at the stars….but he didn't. He was gazing down at me.

Okay. You can shut up now. Do you guys ever get…y'know…thirsty? Screaming that much has gotta take a toll somewhere. Any of you got your tonsils taken out? That's surprising. The screaming's getting reeeeaaally annoying now, guys. I'm trying to ask you nicely to shut the fuck up. Okay….so nice doesn't work.

Forgive me, mage.

ALL RIGHT, IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP RIGHT NOW, I'LL SCREW YOU ALL WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIVES AND KICK YOU OUT OF SHIRA-FUCKING-SAGI, GOT THAT?!?!

A few of you are looking at me hopefully, as though you want me to screw you into the floor. The rest are looking at me with amused grins…like a ninja isn't scary at all.

All right then. You know, what? Fuck you all. I'm done with this.