A/n: 'Allo, mates. It's been a while, hasn't it? My sincerest apologies. Studying for final exams, taking AP's, taking final exams, and finishing my Junior year of highschool filled up my entire schedule, so I had no time to write. I think I can make it up to you, though! This chapter is over 11,000 words long. (That's a lot of words). Plus, I'm on vacation, so I can write whenever my muse hits me. Which may or may not be more often than it already has. My muse is a finicky creature.

Anyway. Thanks for putting up with me, guys. It really means a lot that people still read this story.

Thank you for all the reviews! I'm sorry I couldn't reply to everyone, but my intentions are good. I really appreciate your positive feedback. Thank you!

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR. That's Akira Amano. Sorry guys.

So, without furhter ado: chapter 11, ladies and gents.

The mansion finally fell silent sometime around three in the morning. The remains of the party were scattered all around the main hall; empty bottles, puddles of alcohol, and stray pieces of food from when Colonello had started a food fight. Many of the models were also strewn haphazardly around the room, having found the strangest places to pass out. Colonello, for example, was hanging upside down on one of the chairs, his blonde hair just brushing the carpet as he breathed in and out. How he was staying on the chair in the first place was a mystery to the only awake person in the room. He smirked, turning away from the mess without another thought, and started up the main stairs.

Some of the models had made it to their rooms before the party ended. The amount of closed doors in the hall on the second floor, though, made it clear that not many had made that decision. The man passed a couple of the doorways, both closed and open, and settled in front of one of the closed ones. He tried the knob, knowing it wouldn't be that easy. It clicked and clacked in his hand when he tried to turn it. Locked.

Not worried in the least, the man fished in the pocket of his white hoodie for a few seconds, and pulled out a small screwdriver. These kinds of doors were poorly made, for the screws that held the doorknob together were on the outside of the door; meaning that anyone with enough ambition could break in to any room in the mansion, locked or no.

A few minutes later found the man standing silently in the once-locked room, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie. The model sleeping quietly in the bed was completely unaware of his visitor. He breathed evenly in and out, his alcohol induced sleep keeping him under a thick blanket of lethargy. It made the intruder's job all too easy.

He slinked over to the sleeping model and bent over him until his lips hovered just above his ear. With the soft sound of lies on his lips, he began to whisper poison.

Fran couldn't place where he was. He felt like he was floating, weightless in the cloudy mist that was his mind. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. What was going on?

He couldn't remember how he had gotten to this misty nowhere. He didn't feel any panic at his helplessness. He had the feeling that something was going to happen, that someone was going to come and help him…

"Fran."

The voice shattered through his nothingness. Gravity returned, and Fran's feet touched lightly down on the ground – cool tile, by the feel of it against his bare feet. He could feel his clothes again as they settled around his body, as his hair tickled his chin and neck. His passiveness, however, did not change. He was still completely happy to be standing still, completely convinced that the voice in his head would help him.

Wait…whose voice…

The mist forced the thoughts from his head, and in an instant they were gone as if they had never existed. He shouldn't worry. He was safe here. The mist and the voice would get rid of any danger he had ever faced…

"Excellent. You're already so obedient. And here I'd thought you would put up a fight…"

What…fighting? Why would I do that?

He shook his head, trying to – he didn't know what. The mist was still there, still covering his thought process in a thick muck that refused to ebb. Again, his previous thoughts were forgotten, and peace returned to his mind. He wasn't in danger here. He was safe.

"You're safe. I can protect you. But out there, out there is dangerous, Fran."

Out there? Where is that?

He shook his head again. I have to get – Get where? He'd forgotten again. He was peaceful. He was safe. The mist was warm, caressing his cheek and sifting through his eyelashes. His ears were filled with the hypnotic sound of the unknown voice, cooing and whispering him truths.

"Out there everyone is your enemy. Everyone but me. I am your only friend, Fran. Do you understand?"

Where is out there? What is –

"Do you understand?" This time the voice was a little more forceful, and the mist thickened around his head, wafting into his ears and curling around his mind. Fran was at peace. He spoke for the first time.

"Of course I understand. You've always been my friend. You're the only one who won't hurt me."

The voice sounded smug when it spoke again. "Excellent, Fran. Excellent. Now remember, what did I send you here to do?"

Fran thought hard, his forehead scrunching together. The mist cleared as soon as his conscious thought broke through, and he found the answer immediately.

"You sent me to spy on the Varia."

The voice tsk-ed. "Almost, but not quite, Fran. Keep trying."

Fran tried again, driving deeper into his own mind, searching for the correct answer. The mist only let him go in one direction, down one path. He knew that if he followed the mist, he would get the answer. And there it was.

"You need me to ki –"

"Ah ah ah. Don't say it. Just know you have to do it. Make it look natural, Fran. I'm counting on you."

The voice wanted him to do a good job. Fran nodded contentedly, and the mist re-enveloped his mind, and he was at peace again. The gravity was gone again, and he was floating. The voice had returned to its home. He had returned to his lost state of contentment. The mist would keep him safe. The mist would protect him. The voice was his only friend. Everyone else was an enemy. He had a mission. And he had to fulfill it without fail.

Hours had passed. Byakuran was leaning back in his comfortable chair, eyeing the glowing computer screen with growing annoyance. He had Fran Sachi under his thumb. The Varia were oblivious to the extensiveness of his schemes, and Lal was well on her way to death. Tsuna was collateral damage that would be dealt with soon, and Mukuro was a broken doll of a man, simply waiting to be pulled by the right strings. Mammon was proving a valuable asset, already having bled out everything he knew about the Varia.

Byakuran now knew all that Mammon knew. He knew that Belphegor had been diagnosed with mild schizophrenia, and had a dark past that only the very rich or the very unfortunate have to bear. Squalo had a soft spot for practically everyone on the planet, and Xanxus had trained with the mafia for an unknown number of years. Of the entire group, he was the most dangerous. Lussuria, for all his sparkles and happiness, had an intelligence web of sorts throughout the entire modeling community and beyond. How someone as influential as he had ended up as the manager of a spiraling modeling group was lost on Byakuran, but he pegged Lussuria as someone else to watch out for. His way with words and his connections made him just as dangerous as Xanxus, in his own way. And Levi was just useless. Byakuran had already known this, but Mammon had confirmed it. He was no threat.

Byakuran flicked a part of his fingernail at the screen. All the pieces were lined up for his victory. He had Mammon. He had Fran. He had Mukuro. Lal and Tsuna were drawing closer to death with each passing second. There was no way he could lose.

So why was he so certain something was wrong?

He went over his mental list again and again, accepting the fact that he was getting no sleep that night, since the night had already merged into dawn. He had spent the majority of the evening at Fran's bedside, whispering to him in his drug induced sleep. The drug was a special concoction that only a powerful few even knew about, let alone had access to. It allowed for a brief window of time in which the victim's memories were up for grabs. If the window was hit, then the attacker could rearrange the victim's perception of the world, and mold his mind into whatever state he may wish. Once awake, the victim wouldn't realize anything amiss. His new mentality would be his only mentality. Only those trained in intense mental gymnastics could even hope to break away from the drug's influence, and Fran was not one such person.

So he had Fran. Byakuran ticked down his list, assuring himself that yes, he had everyone in place. Everything was perfect.

So why? Why was he so certain something was amiss?

He scowled in disgust, shutting the computer down with a savage jab and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Enough. No more. He couldn't plan himself into a corner that didn't exist. Everything was perfect. Nothing was wrong.

He forced himself to his bed, laying there in silence as his hyperactive brain continuously ticked through everything, over and over. Nothing was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Nothing was wrong. Something had to be wrong. Nothing was wrong…

So, in order to calm his mind, Byakuran went to the one chain of memory that he tried to avoid at all costs.

The memories leading up to the day he killed Sachi, CEDEF's CEO.

"And your name, young man?"

The white haired teenager stared at the desk in front of him, trying to keep down his nausea as he answered. "Byakuran, sir. Byakuran Kami."

The man before him chuckled lightly. "Kami, hm? That's quite a name for such a young man…now, Mr. Kami, why do you want this job?"

Byakuran grit his teeth, now trying to keep back nausea and a nasty retort. He hated it when people made fun of his name. And he had hated this man the instant he walked into the interview. With his unreadable expression, cool manner, and impenetrable gaze, Byakuran felt like the man could see right through him and deep into him at the same time. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.

"Mr. Kami?"

Byakuran forced his reply through his teeth. "CEDEF is the main peace-keeping organization between countries all over the world. I want to see new places, new government, new cultures. I want to understand the world. All of the world. Not just a little portion of it. Why do governments fail? What's the best way to rule a population? What makes it so? Why are people raised so differently? What ties the worlds together? I want to know the answers to these questions. This job can get me to them. That's why I want this job. Sir" He added on as an afterthought, but the man in front of him didn't even notice. He seemed deep in thought, even slightly worried. Byakuran cursed himself mentally. He hadn't meant to give that much away, but he had been nervous, and slipped up. Now the man was wary of his motives. Even if he was hired, he would always be watched…

"One more thing, Mr. Kami. You seem very interested in government and power. Here at CEDEF, the only power we hold is that of coercion and conversation. Are you willing to handle that?"

Byakuran could see what he was hinting at. Again, he cursed himself mentally, but externally, he plastered a small smile to his face.

"Of course, Sir."

The man rose, extending his hand as his light green hair pooled around his shoulders.

"Then welcome to the company, Mr. Kami. You start on Monday."

Byakuran stood, and shook the man's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Sachi. You won't regret your decision."

(Time passing – Fran's age: newborn)

"You bastard! How did you even get into this company? You're a fucking retard!"

Byakuran pressed his lips together until they were white from blood loss. He had slipped up enormously, but he wasn't about to make his situation any worse with a couple scathing words to the screaming man in front of him. He was just a nameless overlord, someone of higher status than he, the new recruit. And he was loudly pointing out every mistake that the white haired man had ever made at the company. But Byakuran could do nothing but stand there and take it.

"That was the ambassador from the Italian Mafia! And you just insulted him, his entire cooperation, and his country! How did Mr. Sachi even consider letting you into this company? You just screwed up the most important case we've ever taken on, and you did it all in a single sentence! How? How could you destroy years of work with just a few words? You fucking idiot!"

He couldn't take any more. Just as Byakuran was ready to punch the man right in his filthy mouth, a light but strong touch on his shoulder stilled him. Byakuran knew it was his boss without even having to look. He was in real shit now…

"What's going on here?"

It was a simple question, but his tone was laced with menace. Sachi didn't have a temper to lose, but when he was upset with you, you knew it. Every employee in the room had been on the tail end of Sachi's anger, and no one wanted to rat out the newbie. Byakuran could feel their pity in the silence that followed the boss' comment. Sachi tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for an answer that he knew would never come.

"Mr. Kami, with me. The rest of you, back to work."

The building scuttled back into action, avoiding eye contact with the unlikely duo as they marched back to Sachi's office. Byakuran stared at his shoes, certain that he was going to be fired in the next ten minutes. He was already packing his things in his mind.

The door closed behind them with a soft click, and still Byakuran said nothing. He heard Sachi cross the room and take a seat behind his desk, sighing as he settled into the chair. Silence filled the room. Byakuran hadn't moved from his spot in front of the door.

Sachi, of course, was the one to break the silence.

"How old are you, Byakuran?"

The use of his name startled him into answering. "Nineteen, sir."

"Nineteen, huh? Well, Byakuran, when I was nineteen, I was out getting drunk and throwing parties. I certainly wasn't trying to make a career for myself, and I most definitely did not have to be tactful every second of every day. In fact, if I had been in your position today when I was nineteen, I would have been murdered on the spot by that Mafia leader."

Byakuran looked up in surprise, startled in spite of himself. So Sachi already knew. This was it. He was done for.

"Sir?"

Sachi sighed. "Byakuran, you're the youngest person here, aside from Lal Milch. I don't expect you to be perfect. You are young. You make mistakes. Hell, we all do. No matter what my employee was saying back there, this client was not our most important. You made a careless remark. Careless, but honest. Once the initial shock wore off, our client agreed to our terms. Wholeheartedly." Byakuran couldn't believe his ears.

"There's no way…"

Sachi chuckled. "What was your comment again? I want the exact wording, Byakuran."

The white haired teen sighed. "They were talking about trying to move their headquarters to a new location of the city. There was nothing wrong with their current situation, they just wanted to move. It was getting so heated that I just snapped. I said "Why are you wasting our time with something like this?" Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say…"

Sachi blinked at him, a little stunned. "That's it?"

Byakuran blinked back. "…what do you mean, 'that's it?'. That's what happened…"

Sachi did something that Byakuran was never expecting. He burst into laughter. Tear inducing, gut wrenching laughter. The white haired teen was extremely confused, and stood awkwardly in front of the closed door, unsure of what to do.

Sachi finally waved him forward, wiping tears from his eyes as he calmed down. "My goodness, Byakuran. That's all you said? I'm definitely demoting that employee. That's nothing. Did I ever tell you about the first case I sat in on? It was a rather touchy case about a mob war that was going on in the city depths. When the two sides came in, they had all tried to look nice for the occasion. Well, not nice, exactly. Presentable is a better word. Anyway, they failed tremendously. So much so that when they were all seated, the first words out of my mouth were 'Where did you all get those clothes? You're grandmothers' closets?' Needless to say, that meeting did not go well for us. I got hell from my superior afterwards. That was a bad day, and it wasn't the last one, either. So your slip up is minor, even tactful, compared to mine."

Byakuran was trying to wrap his mind around what was being said to him. He wasn't getting fired?

"Mr. Kami, I'm going to reward your winning us this case today. I'm promoting you a level. You now have access to all the low level cases. Congratulations, Byakuran. You're moving up."

Impossible…

Byakuran had entered the room that day certain that he was to be fired. Instead, he walked out with a promotion. This was the first step in his hatred of Sachi.

The man was killing him on the inside, killing everything he had ever believed in. He wanted power, absolute power. The ideal that absolute power corrupts absolutely was meaningless to him. He was willing to give up anything, everything for that power. But Sachi was teaching him differently. Teaching him that mistakes were allowed, even praised. Teaching him that power wasn't everything. Byakuran's world was being shaken by this man.

And he hated it.

(Time passing – Fran's age: 4)

"Byakuran!"

The white haired man looked up, unsurprised to see his boss striding to him with a soft smile on his face. His glasses were hanging from his neck on a thin gold chain that his wife had bought him for Christmas a few weeks ago. His light green hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and his eyes were alight with kindness.

One the outside, Byakuran was pleased to see him. Internally, however, he cringed at the thought of dealing with this man's kindness. It was so sickeningly sweet that it actually made him nauseous. Byakuran hated it.

"Hm~? Sachi-sama, to what do I owe the honor of your company?" Byakuran smirked, securing the manila folder he was holding under his arm and turning to face the other man. Sachi's smile never faltered.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your handling of the Russia case the other day. Very professional. You've come a long way."

Byakuran bowed, a little put off by the praise. It wasn't like Sachi to show favoritism, and a visit from the boss was very rare. He tried to fight down the feeling of elation that Sachi's praise brought, but it bubbled to the surface anyway, filling him with a warm, tingly feeling of happiness.

"Thank you, sir. I'll continue to keep this company running to your liking."

Sachi smiled wider, patting Byakuran on the shoulder. "I look forward to your progress, Mr. Kami." He turned and continued on his walk to his office, not looking over his shoulder once.

If he had, he would have seen Byakuran's expression darken, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. His eyes sparked with a dark energy, and his teeth were gritted together, much in the semblance of his expression when he first met his future boss.

Sachi made him feel at home. He felt at peace around the man. He felt that power wasn't necessary, that he didn't need to rule to be listened to. He didn't have to use force to make people aware of him. Violence wasn't the answer. Everything Byakuran stood for was being thrown in his face with every passing day. Sachi trusted him more than any one should, and it was making Byakuran physically sick. Every day, coming to work was more and more of a chore. Lal Milch was becoming more and more of a nuisance, rather than the friend she once was. Work, in general, was taxing. And then there was Sachi. Perfect, always smiling Sachi, who had a young son of four at home, and a wife waiting with bated breath for his return every night. He had everything. Everything was perfect.

And Byakuran despised him for it.

(Time passing – Fran's age: 6)

"What's it to you, bitch?"

"Byakuran! Watch your mouth!"

"I'll watch my mouth when you shut yours, Lal! I've had enough of our constant babbling!"

"That constant babbling is important to your work, Byakuran! Honestly, sometimes I wonder why you were even hired here. All you've done lately is complain, and balk at your job! If you don't shape up, you'll be fired!"

That set Byakuran on edge. It's true, in the years following his success, Byakuran became less and less enthused at the prospect of working with CEDEF. His clients were unhappy with him, he didn't keep his tongue in check, and his coworkers were angry with him on principle. He was surprised he hadn't been fired already. He had caused so much ruckus at work, he was practically begging Sachi to fire him. This, it seemed, was the final straw.

"Kami. My office. Now."

That voice. The tone he had been waiting for. Byakuran turned with a sick smirk, his mind already moving to the second stage of the plan.

Ah. The plan. He had a plan, yes.

Sachi was too good. He didn't belong here, on Earth. He didn't belong at CEDEF. His ideals were too…well, idealistic. And as long as he was alive, Byakuran could never rise to complete power. Sachi would always be there, disappointed that his prodigy had turned so sour.

What he didn't realize was that his prodigy was sour from the beginning.

As the office door closed with a small click, Byakuran set into motion a string of events that would eventually result in the death of the man standing sadly in front of him.

"Byakuran…I'm sorry. You can't stay here anymore."

Byakuran closed his eyes, reveling in the moment.

"You're fired."

(Time passing – Fran's age: 9)

The hot summer sun was beating down on him, making his white hair gleam with otherworldly light. His lavender eyes were brimming with excitement. This was the day. Everything he had done had led to this day.

He had brought a disguise, of course. It wasn't a very good one, but it would work for his purposes. The wife had no idea who he was. Only Sachi himself would recognize him, and that would be enough. His revenge would be completely.

Revenge? Revenge on what?

Byakuran chuckled. Revenge. Revenge on Sachi for shaking up his ideals. For messing with his head. For trying to teach him that the world was inherently good. That power was a bad thing. That power corrupted. That power was evil.

"That, Sachi, is where you're wrong. Power is everything. Not just evil, but good as well. Not just corruption, but revelation as well. Everything. I have everything."

But as the couple walked out of the church that afternoon, Byakuran wasn't thinking about power. As he walked up to meet them on the steps, he wasn't thinking about good, or evil. As he pulled the gun out from where he had it hidden in his black hoodie, he wasn't thinking about revenge. As he shot the woman first, silencing her screams, he wasn't thinking about anything. Even when he grabbed Sachi by the arm, forcing him to look him in the eyes, he wasn't thinking about anything. He saw those kind teal eyes widen in shock, and then fill with betrayal as a second gunshot rang through the town. His eyes, always so full of pride, were not empty now. Byakuran wanted them to be empty. But even in those last seconds of life, Sachi had hope. Hope that Byakuran, his prodigy, would turn around and believe in peace. He still had hope that the white haired man would abandon power, and follow his path of conversation and coercion.

So as Byakuran let the body of his boss fall to the ground, he felt no completion. His revenge was not complete.

Because in his dying seconds, Sachi had managed to unearth all of Byakuran's doubt and questions about his belief system. And as long as he remembered that hopeful dying gaze, he could never rise to complete power. He was stuck with his incomplete revenge, and the memory of a futile gaze. Power would never be his, unless his revenge was complete.

CEDEF must be his. That meant that he had at least two more murders to carry out.

Fran Sachi, the rightful heir to the company.

And Tsunayoshi Sawada, the son of the current CEO.

"Byakuran-sama. Fran is waking up."

The soft murmur shattered through his reverie, and the man shot up in uncharacteristic surprise. Mammon was standing in the doorway, his face completely in the light for once. The small purple triangles tattooed under his eyes made him seem eternally sad, and the solemn expression on his face did nothing to help cheer up his mood. His violet eyes were flat, dark, and completely blank. Byakuran sighed quietly, wiping a hand across his eyes as he eradicated the last remnants of his memories from his thoughts. Enough. No more. Not anymore.

"Hm~ Thank you Mammon. You've been most helpful."

At this point, Mammon would usually bow his head and exit the room as silently as he had come, but this time he stayed. He stood in the doorway, his eyes still holding that same, flat look.

"Byakuran-sama, I'm concerned about Mukuro."

That got Byakuran's attention. Mukuro was a key pawn in his game, and he couldn't afford a slip up at this point. He turned a deceptively kind glance to the slight model, turning his face up into a smile. "Oh? What kind of concern?"

Mammon seemed to choose his words carefully. "When he came back from the mall yesterday, he was different. He wasn't as vacant or listless as he has been these past few weeks. I have a feeling something happened…" The model trailed off, obviously not wanting to explain further. Byakuran raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. A thick silence fell over the two. Mammon kept his lips sealed, making it clear that Byakuran was getting nothing else form him on the matter.

The white haired man sighed silently and plastered another grin on his face. "Thank you, Mammon. You may be dismissed. Stay by Fran's side, would you? Be sure to let him know who his enemies are. And don't forget to play nice"

Mammon nodded silently and disappeared from the room. Byakuran smirked and returned to his computer, booting it up with a single keystroke.

And now, the real games begin.

Drowning. Fran always had nightmares about drowning. In his dreams, he was always swimming in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. As if that weren't enough, the water turned to blood, thick, red, and pungent. Fran could do nothing but sink, drown in the disgusting smell of his parents' blood. Every time he tried to scream, his mouth was filled with the stuff. Just before he died, he woke up, panting and sweating. These nightmares were becoming more and more frequent. But that wasn't the point of this moment.

Fran was slowly coming back to consciousness, but he couldn't figure out if he was alive, dead, or drowning. He felt like he was sinking down, deep down into himself, and being trapped there. His mind was filled with mist, and he was drowning in it. And yet his eyes were open, his lungs were full of air, and his body was shifting around of its own accord. He was not dead. But he certainly didn't feel alive.

What's…

"Fran?"

It wasn't the voice he was expecting, but he immediately welcomed the sound. It meant he wasn't dead. He blinked his eyes, reassuring himself that yes, they were open, and tried to force himself into a sitting position. His mind was more than clouded. It was impenetrable, confused, and not working properly. He felt so exposed…

"What…" His voice came out of his throat in a croak. His eyes widened slightly as he tried to clear away the gravelly feeling, clearing his throat to no avail. His visitor walked to his bedside, handing him a tall glass of water.

"Here. This will help. You've been out for a while, you know. I'm not surprised your body doesn't know what to do with itself."

Out? I've been out? For how long?

The question must have shone in his eyes, for his visitor immediately responded. "Okay, you haven't been out that long, actually. About fourteen hours. But still, it's enough to throw yourself out of whack." His visitor smiled softly, holding out the water for Fran to take. The green haired teen did so, eyeing his companion with a confused gleam. What was he doing here? Something didn't feel quite right.

After taking a few sips of water, Fran was finally able to use his voice, albeit sparingly. "What are you doing here?"

His companion chuckled quietly, looking slightly offended. "Really, Fran? I'm your best friend. I'm here because I want to be. Why else would I be?" He brushed his purple hair out of his eyes, staring down at him with an intense violet stare that left Fran slightly breathless. What was he saying again?

"You're my best…friend?"

The purple haired boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Man, you hit your head good, didn't you? Yes, Fran. I'm your best friend. Have been ever since you got here. We really hit it off. Although, all the other assholes in this mansion hate our friendship. They keep trying to take you away from me. They think I'm a bad influence…" Again, he pushed his hair out of his face, and fixed him with a hard stare. Fran blinked, more than a little bit confused with it all.

"Okay…hold up. You said I hit my head?" The boy nodded.

"And I've been asleep for fourteen hours?" Again, he nodded

"And you're my best friend…Mammon. It's Mammon, right?" The boy cracked a grin, obviously pleased.

"Of course my name is Mammon. As if there were any doubt. Man you really hit your head hard…do you feel alright?" Fran blinked as the boy leaned across him, feeling his forehead with the back of his hand. His violet eyes narrowed in concern.

"You feel a little warm…maybe you should go back to sleep, Fran."

The green haired teen blinked, still very confused with it all. On top of everything, his head hadn't cleared at all. It still felt like a blanket had been laid across his thoughts, keeping him from thinking. Mammon spoke again before he could complain about it.

"Your head may feel cloudy for a little bit, but that's to be expected. Don't worry, though, that will wear off. I'll leave you to rest, okay?" Instead of waiting for Fran to answer, the purple haired boy just continued with his train of thought. "I'll bring some food up for you later. You should sleep now, Fran."

Already, Fran could feel his eyes starting to slip shut. His head hurt. His eyes hurt. He just wanted to sleep…

"Oh, and one more thing…" Mammon was already at the door, his silhouette illuminated in the doorway. "Don't trust the blonde one…Belphegor. He's not your friend, no matter what he may say. He really wants to hurt you, Fran. He already did once. Don't talk to him at all, okay?"

Before Fran could even try to respond, Mammon was gone, and he fell into unconsciousness.

When he woke next, it was night time again. The first thing he noticed was that his head was much, much clearer. It no longer pained him to formulate simple thoughts or questions. There was still a slight pressure behind his eyes, but Fran considered it a huge improvement to before. Secondly, Mammon was back. Already, Fran felt extremely comfortable with the boy. They were best friends, after all. He felt like he'd known him all his life.

Also, more of his memories had returned. He knew where he was, and why he was here. He was a new model trying to make it big. He had come here with a modeling group called the Varia. They had found him, albeit in a very bloody manner, and they weren't exactly what he would call normal. Fran didn't feel comfortable or safe with them. In fact, one of the models had already attacked him multiple times. He knew that he wanted to get out of that group, but he didn't know how. Currently, he was in the Vongola mansion for a modeling competition. This was where he'd met Byakuran and Mammon. Byakuran was the one who had offered him a real shot to the big time. All he had to do was spy on the Varia for him.

There was something else, too. He had to do something else. But every time he tried to concentrate on what that was, his head flared in pain, and he had to abort the thought.

I'll figure it out eventually.

Mammon didn't notice he was awake. The purple haired man was sitting off to the side of Fran's bed, staring deeply off into space. His vibrant violet eyes were glazed over, making it clear that he was deep in thought. Fran took the glimpse of an opportunity to study his companion. He was short, painfully so, even shorter than Fran, which the teen took an immense amount of pleasure from. He was pretty damn short. This time, his hair was pulled back out of his face, secured in the back of his head with a thick black tie. His clothes were simple, but stylish; black tank top, black jeans, and black boots with just a hint of a heel to them.

Mammon's physical appearance, though interesting, was not what Fran was interested in. Fran picked up on mannerisms. He had taught himself over his years of working as a waiter in the worst part of town. It was easy for him to pick out the troublemakers or the dangerous ones just by looking at the way they walked, talked, and interacted. While Mammon wasn't doing any of those things at the moment, Fran could still figure out some things about his companion's character. There was a tickle at the back of his skull that told him something wasn't quite right. It wasn't a strong tickle by any means; it was practically nonexistent. But it flared slightly whenever he looked at Mammon, so Fran figured that it warranted investigation, at the very least.

Mammon was slouching. It wasn't something that Fran would have pegged in Mammon's character, but he couldn't figure out why he would know that. For some reason, the teen thought that Mammon was very sharp and clean cut, all angles and harsh lines. Slouching didn't seem to fit. But he was slouching, with his legs splayed out in front of him haphazardly. His elbow was propped up on the armrest, and his hand was clenched into a fist under his chin. His head was leaning on his clenched fingers, his hard eyes staring blankly out the window on the far end of the room. His other hand was irritated, tapping out random, frantic melodies on the wooden chair with twitching fingers. There was no rhyme or reason to the movement. He was completely distracted.

His eyes were another thing, Fran found. Although they were glazed over, they were filled with turmoil. Mammon seemed to be in pain, if you were to judge by the look in his eyes. They were swirling, the violet mixing with a shade so dark it was almost black. He was hardly even blinking.

Fran couldn't help but wonder why Mammon was so upset. His brain immediately said that it wasn't any of his business, but that tickle in the back flared again, telling him to take note. So he did. He noted Mammon's expression, his stance, and his eyes. He noted that it didn't seem like something the purple haired man would do. He noted it was out of place.

Then he blinked himself out of his investigation and made a show about 'waking up'.

He shifted and mumbled, moving his legs in large, sweeping movements as he readjusted himself in the bed so that he was facing away from his companion. He yawned loudly, lifting a hand to muss his disheveled green hair, and pushed up into a sitting position. He stretched his arms way up over his head, sighing a little in relief when he heard his shoulders pop.

He made sure his emotionless mask was firmly in place before turning to face the now-attentive violet haired man. Best friend or no, Mammon wasn't getting any emotion from him. The mist in his head was making it very hard to keep his mask in place, though. He wanted to trust Mammon completely, but his instinct told him not to. The tickle was growing stronger, and Fran decided to listen to it, rather than the mist that was becoming more and more present in his thoughts.

"Have a nice nap?" Mammon had a small smirk on his face, but his eyes were still a swirling mess. His fingers had stopped their drumming beat, but his foot had picked it up, tapping out a single, constant beat on the carpeted floor. He was still restless, but he was trying to hide it. Fran took note, but pretended not to notice.

"I had an extremely pleasant nap, thank you very much. At least, I think it was pleasant. I don't remember having a remarkably good time. Since I was asleep and all." Fran swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rising into a standing position as Mammon chuckled softly.

"Alright, Fran, you made your point. Let's get you cleaned up, okay? Looking at you is hurting my eyes." Scoffing at the insult, the green haired teen walked slowly over to the bathroom to start his routine. Much to his surprise, Mammon followed him. Fran tried not to let it show, but with the initial surprise and the lack of control he was having over his mask, the shock was plain on the teen's face. Mammon saw it and chuckled again.

"Man, you're out of it. I always do this. Calm down, I'm not gonna grope you or anything. If I were, I would have done it when you were passed out. Pervert."

Fran let out a small chuckle at that, but his laughter was short lived. He passed his fingers across his lips, his brow furrowing in confusion. His mask was slipping. He had no control. What was going on?

Mammon quickly walked past him into the bathroom, puttering around as he searched for the beginning of Fran's routine. The teen in question lagged behind, his mind carelessly ambling through his thoughts. He wasn't really into makeup or facial washes or anything of the sort, but he did have somewhat of a routine. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Pop pimples. Add a small amount of eyeliner to his eyes. Chew a piece of gum. Get dressed. He showered in the evening, unlike everyone else in the mansion, and therefore always had hot water. He always smirked inwardly when he heard his companions complaining about the "unintentional cold showers" they had to take every morning. Just the other day, Bel had –

The thought stopped him in his tracks. The mist flared up, covering the memory with soupy white fog. For an eternal instant, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. Everything shut down. Fran was reminded of a dream he'd had recently about floating, with no gravity and no sensation. And just like in the dream, he was completely content. He wasn't scared. He knew it was for the best.

When his senses came back, it was as if he had blinked. Everything was the same as it was a second ago.

What was I thinking about again?

The mist provided the answer. Belphegor. He was thinking about the blonde model who had attacked him on numerous occasions. The reason why he wanted to leave the Varia. He was terrified of the blonde. He wanted nothing to do with him. He had no fond memories of the man. And Mammon had told him to stay away from Belphegor, which only reinforced his fear. He was dangerous. Fran wanted nothing to do with him.

The tickle in his brain flared up for an instant, stronger than ever before, but the mist immediately stifled it. Fran barely even noticed. He was more preoccupied with Mammon, who was beckoning him over with a cross expression on his face.

"Let's go, slowpoke. We need to get you ready. My eyes are bleeding. You have a shoot with me today, remember?"

That's right. The photo shoot for Mammon's favorite company. He had chosen Fran out of all the rest of the models to accompany him in the shoot. A bubble of excitement raced through the teen's veins. He finally got to model again, this time for a huge cooperation. He was getting his name out there. Byakuran was keeping his promise.

At the thought of the white haired man, the tickle grew into a sharp jab of pain. Fran actually hissed, holding his hand to his head to try and stifle the feeling. The mist responded, covering up the injured area and fighting down the throb until nothing but the mist remained. Fran was safe. Nothing to worry about.

"Fran? You okay?"

The teen glanced up at Mammon with a small smile. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a headache. So, what're you going to do to me, Mammon? Something gentle, I hope."

The purple haired man smirked, holding up a makeup pen and waving it threateningly.

"Oh, trust me, I will be anything but gentle."

"Mukuro?"

His voice was soft, sweet, and so beautiful. Mukuro could hardly stand to keep his back turned, but he forced himself to do it. He had to gather his thoughts before he could speak. He didn't want this getting out of hand.

"Mukuro…I can't be angry with you anymore. I saw you crying on the ride home yesterday. What's wrong?"

He had to tell. He had to tell him everything. Mukuro had spent too long under Byakuran's wing. It was clouding his judgment, making him weak, and gullible, and stupid. How could he not have seen? Nagi was right. He was making the same mistakes he did all those years ago.

He turned to face the other man, whose chocolate eyes were filled with concern. It made tears well in Mukuro's own eyes to think that this man could be dead because of him. He fell to his knees, choking down sobs. The other man gasped, running to Mukuro's side and kneeling beside him, holding him in his arms.

"Mukuro! What's going on?"

He didn't respond. He simply reached up and pulled the man into a desperate kiss, holding them together with their lips. If the man was surprised, he didn't let it show. He melted into the sensation, wrapping his arms more firmly around Mukuro and fully participating in the kiss. He knew that it was wrong to play with people's emotions, but in this moment, all of his indecision was obsolete. He knew what he wanted. Finally, he knew who he wanted.

They broke apart, gasping a little, and Mukuro lightly brushed his hand down the man's face. He had to tell him. Even if it meant losing him, he had to tell him.

"Tsunayoshi. Let's go somewhere and talk."

"I never wanted it to turn out like this. That's the first thing you should know. Everything just fell into place in the wrong way, and nothing went right after that. In truth I gave up trying. But whatever you think of me after this, just know that I didn't mean for it to happen. I never wanted anyone hurt. That's the truth."

The Kokuyo Gang was renowned throughout the area. They had a reputation for a reason. They were unpredictable. They were trouble makers. But most of all, the leader was kindhearted. The rest of the gang was less so, but they followed their leader's path without argument. The gang was more a vigilante group than anything else. They always had their own interests in mind, though. They never did something for someone else's benefit. That wasn't their way. If, when they performed some act, other people were helped in the process, then fantastic. But their first and only priority was themselves.

Until Nagi had enough of it.

She was kind and beautiful, and quite obviously didn't belong in the group. She was an outcast even among the rest of the gang, but she didn't let it bother her. She had her own way of doing things, different from the gang as a whole. She went out of her way to help people in need. No one could stop her. Not even her brother.

"Nagi, please, listen to me."

The girl ignored him, walking swiftly down the abandoned street, a laundry basket filled with clothes on her hip. She was on one of her charity runs, and had already collected quite a few pieces of clothing for those in need. The man behind her was tripping over himself to try and keep up with her, even though he was a few years older and his legs were longer. Nagi kept her course, blocking out everything around her.

"Nagi! Just wait a minute! I need to talk to you!"

Sighing quietly to herself, she stopped abruptly. Her brother scrambled to stop as well, trying not to run into his sister in the process. I few seconds later found them standing still, just a foot away from each other. Her brother reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder.

"Nagi…"

"Mukuro. Enough. You're not going to convince me to stop. I want to help. I need to help, and if the rest of the gang doesn't want to participate, fine. I can do it myself. But nothing you say will stop me." She turned her head, almost facing him, but not quite. Mukuro could see the conviction in her eyes.

He sighed, releasing her shoulder and watching her walk away.

"I'm sorry, Nagi. I just don't understand."

… … …

Hours later, Nagi returned to the hangout, exhausted but pleased. Mukuro heard her come in, but didn't acknowledge her presence. Ken and Chikusa also ignored her. Only MM took any notice of the girl, and that was only to sneer in her direction before going back to painting her nails a violent red. Nagi crumpled a bit inside, but continued to her room without a word.

They didn't understand her need to help people. For them, it was all about money. Her brother was involved in some pretty serious things at the moment. A drug cartel. A bank robbery. He was even making deals with an escaped convict. Nagi was worried for the gang, but mostly for her brother. She didn't understand why they couldn't see things her way. For every person they harmed on their way to power, she helped three more. Even with Mukuro's kind heart and silver tongue, people got hurt. People got hurt every day. Soon, her brother's kindness wouldn't be enough to save them from disaster, and when that happened, he would have no one to blame but himself.

… … …

"Hm~? What was that, Mukuro-kun? I thought I told you to keep her away from the shelters. That was the deal."

Mukuro tried not to squirm in his seat, but the man in front of him was dangerous, and Mukuro could tell that he was annoyed. It wasn't a very good combination. Dangerous and annoyed. Despite that, Mukuro took a breath and answered the question.

"I tried, Byakuran-sama. She won't budge. She wants to help people. Why does that affect you?"

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. The temperature in the room dropped about twenty degrees as the man in front of him leaned forward, a small smile on his lips, and stared at him with cool, lavender eyes.

"It affects me because I say it does. You are in no position to question me, Mukuro-kun. I told you what I wanted. I expect you to deliver. You have one more day. After that, if I see that girl in the shelters again, I'll take her. And that is a promise. Do you understand?"

Mukuro nodded, his mouth sandpaper dry.

Byakuran smirked and leaned back, clasping his hands in front of him.

"I am trying to stage a coup, Mukuro-kun. A coup against one of the most powerful companies on the planet. But in order to do that, I need there to be turmoil on the streets. Which means I need there to be less kindness. Do you understand? When I tear down the homeless shelters, the people will have nowhere to go. They will be forced onto the streets. Some will die, but most of them will get in the way of the daily commutes. The public will get upset. Fight will start. Discord will brew. I'll keep hitting sore spots in society until it's time for me to make my big move. After that, I will have won, and you will be free to do as you will. But until then, you stop that girl, or I will stop her for you. Are we clear?"

Mukuro nodded again, and didn't hesitate to scurry out of the room.

… … …

"Nagi, please, you have to listen to me. You can't go out anymore."

"And why not, Mukuro-sama? Why are you so concerned about me helping people? I will never understand, so please, explain it to me again!" Nagi was furious, pacing around the room with a scowl on her beautiful face, her heterochromatic eyes flaring with rage. Mukuro had cornered her, forced her into a room with him and locked the door behind them. They needed to talk, he said. Fine. He could talk, but she wouldn't listen.

"Nagi, please. I know you're upset. But trust me when I say you can't go out. It's not safe."

"Of course it's safe! It's a fucking homeless shelter!"

"Nagi! Watch your mouth!"

"Oh, so I can't swear, but you can spew poison with your words? I don't think so! You fucking hypocrite!"

"Nagi!"

"Nii-san!"

They were both screaming at this point, panting heavily, their eyes shooting sparks at each other. Mukuro cursed and turned away.

"You will stay here until I say it is safe to release you. You give me no other choice."

Nagi gasped in betrayal and started to run toward him.

"Mukuro! You can't! You can't do this to me!"

The door opened and shut before she could react, and she heard the lock turn into place. She sank to the floor, tears welling in her eyes as the sting of betrayal set in.

"Nii-san…"

… … …

Her brother was a fool. She was part of the gang, after all. She wasn't helpless. And she could damn well get out of a locked room on her own. She was an adept locksmith, or had he forgotten? Had all these months of ignoring her clouded his memory? It didn't matter. Getting out of the room was child's play for her. That evening, she was walking the streets again, visiting every homeless shelter on her list. They were so pleases to see her, that it only intensified her brother's betrayal. How could helping these people be so wrong?

She was walking back to the hideout, feeling extremely pleased with herself, when she was grabbed from behind. Her scream was stifled by a rank rag that was forced into her mouth, and he hands were clasped firmly behind her back. The man holding her chuckled softly, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"I warned your brother to keep you off the streets. He failed. Now, you will both pay the price for disobeying me. Him most of all, since he will live with the guilt of it all. You have it easier. You won't live."

… … …

Nagi was missing. Mukuro went to the room in the morning to find the hinges spread out on the floor and the lock snapped in two. He cursed violently, scrambling for the door. Stupid, stupid, stupid mistake. How could he have overlooked his sister's talent? It had been a small mistake on his part, but it could have cost him his sister.

He didn't even need the note that was nailed to the door of the hideout. He knew where his sister was. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

… … …

"I warned you, Mukuro-kun."

That was the first thing he heard when he walked in the door. He almost fell to his knees at the sight before him. His sister was gaged, tied to a chair and drugged. He eyes were glassy, but she seemed to recognize him. He thought he saw her smile softly at him, but he couldn't be sure. The gag was in the way. He turned his attention to the white haired devil beside her, his face darkening with rage.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

"Hm~? But she has everything to do with it. She was part of our deal. I told you to keep her away from the shelters. You failed. Drastically. She has everything to do with this, Mukuro-kun."

Mukuro gritted his teeth in frustration and worry. This was immensely bad. He couldn't think of what to do.

"Is there any way that –"

"No. You had your chance. Now you will pay the price."

That was all he said. That was all the warning he had. In the next few seconds, Byakuran had a gun nestled against Nagi's temple. His hand was already on the trigger, the safety disengaged, and a cool smirk on his face. Mukuro stared in horror.

"You know my history. You know what I've done. You know I am fully capable of pulling this trigger. And you know that I will. I want you to know, though, that it could have been different. This never would have happened if you hadn't failed. If you had tried harder. Done more. Even if you had acknowledged your sister more than you did. Instead, you ignored her, and let her run free. All this could have been avoided, Mukuro-kun, if you had been more attentive. But you weren't. I want you to understand that before I do what I'm about to do. Do you?"

Mukuro couldn't respond. He could only stare at his sister in shock. She wasn't afraid. Maybe it was the drugs, or maybe she was ready. He would never know. But the look in her eyes as Byakuran spoke was one of peace. She had already forgiven him for what he'd done. It pained Mukuro to see it. He would never forgive himself. It was just another reminder of how different they were.

"Good. I see that you do understand. Very well then. I'm done here."

He pulled the trigger without a second thought, and still Mukuro stared. When some of Byakuran's thugs carried his sister's limp body away, all he could do was stare. Byakuran put his gun away and strode over to him, not a care in the world to be had. He stopped just beside Mukuro, muttering under his breath.

"You belong to me now. Don't fail me again."

… … …

"After that, nothing mattered. Byakuran climbed higher in his ladder of power, and I helped him do it. Now, he's out for the last move in his game. Fran's life is on the line, as is the entire company. And you. You're his new gamble. Now that Nagi is dead, he's using you to control me. With every threat against you, I scramble to be more and more submissive, more controlled, more useful. But every time, it isn't enough. I don't know how much longer I can do it before he snaps, and you get killed. So I called it quits on my own terms. I'm done. I refuse to make the same mistakes I did before. I don't want to lose you. If you hate me, I understand, but I want you safe. And I will do everything in my power to keep you that way."

After talking for so long, Mukuro's throat as dry and scratched. He coughed quietly, waiting for Tsuna's response. The brunette said nothing. He simply stared at his clenched fists, a blank look on his face. Mukuro was afraid to say anything, in case the brunette was about to speak. Sure enough, Tsuna spoke up a few seconds later.

"You knew this all along?"

Mukuo winced, but he nodded. "Yes. I knew. Ever since I met you."

Tsuna 'hmm'-ed and continued to stare at the ground. It was another few minutes before he spoke again.

"I am not upset with you. I'm upset with the fact you didn't tell me sooner, but I understand your reasons. You've told me now, so it doesn't matter. What's done is done. What I'm more worried about is how I am to keep my guests safe. If Fran is a target, that means that the whole Varia is in danger, as well as all the rest of my guests. I need to find a way to keep them safe."

Mukuro reached over and lifted his companions head to force him to make eye contact.

"What about you, Tsunayoshi? I am more concerned about your wellbeing."

Tsuna smiled softly. He leaned over and pecked Mukuro's lips with his own, startling the older man. Tsuna pulled back, smirking.

"Me? I have you to protect me. Why should I be worried about me? Byakuran won't get anywhere near me. I feel completely safe with you, Mukuro."

That was all he needed to hear. His heart pounded in his chest for the first time in years. Mukuro felt a single tear slide down his cheek before he pulled the man in front of him into a warm embrace.

Neither of them let go for hours afterward.

"Alright you two, look this way, please! That's it. Mammon, stop scowling, it makes you look like a wrestler. Fran, turn your face a bit…perfect. Hold."

They had been going at it for hours now. The blonde photographer was very technical. Every shot had to be perfect before he snapped the shutters. While it was an interesting prospect to both models, it made for a very long, very tiring shoot. Both models were ready to fall over, but the blonde wouldn't have it. He seemed just as cool and composed as he had been three hours ago, and just as energetic. Maybe it was all the lollipops he'd been eating. Fran hadn't seen him without one since the shoot started.

"Okay, now, switch positions again. Fran, you face that door over there. Mammon, stand with your back to him. Mammon, look up, Fran look down. Knees bent, guys. Put the toe of your left boot on the ground. There you go. Now, clasp each other's hands behind your backs. Perfect. Now hold…wait, wait, wait, be careful!"

The two, having lost their balance, fell to the ground in a heap of limbs and fancy clothes. The scrambled for a moment, trying to regain equilibrium. Mammon was the first to jump up.

"Okay. That's it. Spanner, get your ass up here and put the fucking camera down. Fran and I need a drink and something to eat. We've been up here for hours. We need a break."

The blonde blinked and shrugged, setting his expensive looking device on a table and calling for food and drink. Mammon nodded happily and bent to help Fran to his feet. The teen was still sprawled and the ground, his clothes disheveled and his hair a mess.

"Here. Let me help."

Fran nodded his thanks and hoisted himself to his feet, with Mammon's assistance. He tried to rearrange his clothes so that they would fall right, but Mammon's sigh told him he was doing it completely wrong. A second later, he was being pulled by the arm to their table, where Mammon made him stand still while he fixed his clothes. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, Fran reached toward the table and plucked his hat from where it was sitting on the wood. He placed it on his head without a word and waited for Mammon to be done. When he looked up at the green haired teen and saw the hat, he frowned.

"Why are you so obsessed with that thing?"

Fran touched the brim of the hat, a little embarrassed. "What? Do you have a problem with it?"

Mammon scoffed and rolled his eyes. "It's ugly as fuck. You should stop wearing it. Why do you wear it, anyway?"

Fran was about to answer, but for some reason he couldn't remember. He had no idea why this hat was so important to him. He just knew it was.

So instead, he shrugged. "I dunno. It's important to me. I think our snacks are here."

Mammon abandoned his interrogation in favor of stuffing his face with food. Fran couldn't blame him. The food was quite delicious. Plus, watching his friend devour practically everything in front of him was a source of extreme amusement. He had no idea how Mammon stayed so skinny.

"Careful, Mammon. You'll get crumbs all over your pretty face. Wouldn't want that, now would we? Shi shi shi…"

A new voice was added to Fran's hearing. It took him a solid minute to figure out who's it was, but when he did, he all but jumped out of his skin. It was him. Belphegor. What was he doing here? Why now?

Fran did his best to ignore him, but Mammon had no such qualms.

"Fuck off, Bel. I'm working. No one invited you. Why the fuck are you here, anyway?"

The blonde looked confused. "I was looking for my Froggy, and when I heard he was with you, I figured something was wrong. So I came here to get him." Fran felt his brow furrow in confusion.

Why would he do that?

Wait.

"His Froggy"?

He felt a hand on his arm, and the sensation of someone pulling him away. Mammon did nothing to stop him. Fran felt a stab of betrayal. Mammon had been the one to tell him to keep away from Belphegor. Why wasn't he doing anything?

Fran didn't struggle. He just went along with the blonde until they stopped moving. He felt the grip on his arm release, and the he was looking into Bel's bangs. There was a small frown on his face.

"What's up with you, Froggy? You seem like you don't even recognize me…"

Fran was confused. He was disoriented. The mist was coming back full force, and nothing made sense. His lips were moving of their own accord.

"You tried to kill me. What makes you so sure you won't do it again? All you've ever done to me if hurt me, or force me into things I don't want. You're disgusting."

Bel took a step back, hurt flashing across his face.

"So…yesterday…at the mall? You didn't want that, either? I forced you into it?"

Fran had no idea what he was talking about. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, but the mist covered it up. Fran shrugged.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Now Bel was cold. He had no expression, no feeling, and no emotion on his face. Fran was suddenly scared for his life. His face morphed into an expression of fear as he backed away slowly. "Don't…don't come near me. Don't you dare touch me." His voice shook when he spoke.

Bel blinked slowly, confused. The rejection hurt, but something was wrong with Fran. He never showed emotion that strong, even when he was in a private room with the blonde. Yet here he was, showing his fear in public, his emotionless mask completely shattered. What was going on?

"Shi shi…Fran…what's wrong with you?"

Fran froze. Something about his name coming from those lips was special. It wasn't something that happened often. For some reason, it made his heart swell, and beat irregularly. It made him happy. He felt the emotion flash across his face, and he thought he saw Bel's eyes widen in surprise. And then it was gone, the mist took over again, causing him to speak without control.

"Nothing's wrong. Stay away from me. I don't want anything to do with you. Stay away. Just stay away from me."

He turned and ran away without another word.

The mansion was quiet. Everyone was out working, shopping, or eating, depending on their schedule. Lal felt extremely out of place in the empty mansion, and amused herself by exploring the many rooms. Tsuna was somewhere in the building, she knew, but he was in his office doing paperwork. Finding that extremely boring, she asked him if it would be alright for her to explore. He said yes, of course, especially since Mukuro was there with him. It wasn't like he was unprotected. Her other charge, Fran, was out on a photo shoot, and Lal figured it would be very suspicious if she tagged along for that. She figured that the next best thing would be to tell Bel where he was. The blonde prince had scurried away immediately after she told him about Fran's whereabouts, muttering out a quick 'thank you' on his way out.

Lal shook her head and laughed softly to herself. Bel was infatuated. That much was clear. She wondered if Fran felt the same way. It was hard to tell with his mask what the boy was really feeling, but Lal figured that the feelings were mutual.

Look at me. I sound like a school girl. Obsessed with love. Bah.

She started to climb up the huge marble staircase – one of them, anyway – laughing to herself and her juvenile thoughts. She paused at the top of the stair and turned, looking out over the enormous room below her. The steps were steep, and there were many of them, so she was very high up. The room itself was probably a ball room, and had beautiful coloring and accents. Before she could be too preoccupied by the décor, her world shifted. She couldn't figure out what was happening, but all too soon she was falling, twisting and banging her way down the steps, her voice caught in her throat, unable to scream. She felt something in her body break, and a shooting pain lanced through her. She reached the bottom of the stairwell, gazing up at the ceiling in shock. She was going to pass out, and no one was here to help her. How? How had she fallen?

She caught a glimpse of a body moving at the top of the stairs. Lal felt her blood run cold.

Someone had pushed her.