A/N: And I think I'm done for today. This is a long oneee.

Warning: This one is a little suggestive. But then again, if the language hasn't sent you running for the hills, I doubt this will.

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Chapter 7

(Rusted Guns of Milan by Art Brut)

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Fuu started up at me with glazed eyes when I dropped her onto the bed.

"I'm wet," she whined.

"Heh, I don't do drunk chicks," I muttered.

"Psssh, y'know what I meant." She started wriggling round, pulling off her shirt, "And I'm not drunk."

That's what I think she said anyway, because I couldn't really hear, what with the shirt going up over her head and all.

"Whatever, I'll be right back. Don't kill yourself or nothing."

Pushing through the door, I grabbed a t-shirt and went to my bathroom.

I took off my shirt and wrung it out in the sink.

Tossing the shirt over the top of the shower after it had been pretty much all rung out and putting on the other, I pushed through the door.

"Mugen," Fuu whispered, sitting up, the comforter up around her front, back exposed, "Come here."

I could see smooth planes of skin, looking like paper.

I raised my scarred eyebrow, but I complied; I figured why the hell not.

I stood on her side, a dubious look on my face.

She wiggled down and flipped back the covers, pushing them off to the side.

I'd always pictured her in pink, but I have to say I'm more partial to this white.

Then again, there were blushes of pink still – her cheeks, elbows and knees, fingers and toes.

"Come on," she whispered between little poufy pink lips, skinny little fingers tugging the sleeves of my t-shirt til I was straddling her with both sets of limbs.

I stared at her – she's kinda hot from this angle – and tried not to enjoy the new skin too much, because if I'm gonna be smart about this shit, it'll be gone real soon.

Her hands started undoing the buttons of my jeans, but I just kept looking.

She really was so fucking small.

She wasn't drunk – not much anymore – and she wasn't high - well, I didn't think so – and she wasn't emotionally broken - that one, maybe; she was just dumb.

Mostly, she was just dumb.

And she lay out in front of me, naked, begging for me to take her.

And man, I wanted to.

But I just…I couldn't.

"Sorry, Fuu…" I held myself up on one arm and pulled the corner of the comforter from the right, where she'd folded it off of her, to the left, where it kept her safe from me and my wandering eyes.

"Why are you being noble all of a sudden?" The low whine of her voice – the one that comes out when she's drunk – sounded irritated.

I pulled my shirt down back over my head and gave her a scowl. "Shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Fuu."

She rolled over, sleek white shoulder blades peeking out suddenly over the red expanse of cotton.

"Just figures that you'd push me away when I need you."

Yap it up, you spoiled little brat. You ain't gonna break my stride.

I ain't gonna fuck her and that's final; her tits ain't big enough anyway.

"You know, it's just like you to not care. I mean, I know I'm not stacked like the girls you like. But, seriously, to just push off me like you're being noble about it and I'm just this horrible little monster trying to entice you off your heaven-lit path or something?"

Meh, I'm sick of her shit and tired from rescuing her.

I'm sick and tired and fucking done.

I buttoned up my jeans, plopped on the edge of the bed she was sitting in – my fucking bed, what kinda gentleman am I, eh? -and pulled on my all-black high tops.

"And you act like my feelings don't matter. All 'Sorry, Fuu' like you're refusing a kid! As if the fact that I feel awful means nothing as long as you come out being the better person, being responsible. Sometimes, it's okay to get drunk and want to do things just because."

"Are ya done with your little bitch-and-moan-fest?"

I had been fixing my gauged earring – still small, one of those solid black ones Fuu said I shouldn't get – when I heard her say it.

"I feel so alone," she whispered – a sound so small, so nearly fucking impossible to hear that I don't even know how I caught it.

I eyed her suspiciously over my shoulder.

No tears yet, but I think I smell 'em coming.

"Why does she have to go? Nobody loves me but her."

Now, here's the point where I underline that if I were a normal person, a functioning and decent member of society, I woulda said something.

Anything.

Shit like that, it needs something to come after it. Something nice.

I can't do nice shit, can't say nice shit. Looking back, I guess I coulda tried.

I guess she understood, because she rolled onto her side, sighed, and said, in a - thankfully - stronger voice, "Goodnight, Mugen."

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Nov.22.2007