I guess you could say that the trouble really began for everyone that night, looking back on it. Whether it was Uruha and Ai's decision to stay together even if they were unsure about themselves, Kai realising the truth, Ruki's suppressed feelings, Taeko's treatment of Aoi or Yuki's prognosis (I'll get to that later) that set the course of events for that year, I'm not too sure. It was probably a combination of all of those things, but I think the one thing that really set things off for everyone was what was happened to me and Reita that night.

Memory's a funny thing. Sometimes your thoughts and feelings from the times you've had kind of curl up at the corners, like yellowed pages from old books and the text or meaning in them just fades away to nothing, or to false memories which are caricatures or lies which cloud the truth. But sometimes, just sometimes, you get those memories which just stay there and never fade; like Armstrong's footprints on the moon. They're as clear and as vivid when you're eighty as if it were the day after it happened and this, starting from when me and Reita staggered out of the pub in the very early morning holding onto each other for dear life and balance, laughing like a couple of maniacs, is one of those memories. I don't expect it shall fade anytime soon; nor do I want it to, because it has taught me a great many things.

"... so you did what!?" Rei cackled in an excitable voice; slumping over on the wall outside. I giggled, dragging a clumsy index across his lips.

"I told them th-hey could stuff it!" I announced triumphantly, although unsure what we had been talking about before we left. I was dimly aware of the amount that I had drank but I was still somewhat determined to be as charming as I could to Reita, who smiled casually at me.

I suddenly then realised how close we were on that wall, to each other. I could feel the rhythm of his breath moving my hair, its welcoming chill causing my cheek to gooseflesh. I tried my best to stop doing what many drunk people do, by having no focus or concentration in their respective vision or mind and looked into Reita's soulful dark eyes. He touched my cheek; the back of his alabaster hand tracing a cool band on my skin.

"You look really pretty tonight, Miro," he whispered.

"Th-thanks," I slur-stuttered, feeling rather stupid for doing so. I should have probably been silent and let him kiss me before saying something dumb, as I always tend to, but as it turned out, he did anyway.

It shocked me a little at first, as it generally does when someone does something which you don't quite expect them to after making a fool of yourself, but I remember that it didn't take long before I really got into it, because he was good at it. He took short breaths between each movement, the scents of masculinity and Calvin Klein 'One' welcoming in his closeness. He was a gentleman with his hands, which he raked gently along my back as we came together, but he did not go further than that, which I remembered thinking at the time was exceedingly sweet, but frustrating. It was an act with such a combination of elegance and clumsiness so intense to me, that I didn't even hear the approaching Harley engines, when they came.

But Reita did. I don't think it was because he wasn't particularly into kissing me, or anything like that. I think it was more to do with the fact that the noise was just, well, one of those memories.

As soon as he heard the buzz, he pulled away and pushed me over the wall. He would tell me afterward about how he knew it was them due to the number of bikes he could hear. You could tell, he later said, by the 'Doppler Effect' each one made, because they always rode in the same pattern; one first, two in a line close behind and two a little further back, in a sort of 'incomplete', to quote Reita, 'fucked-up triangle'. I would have been amazed that he could hear such distinctions, had it been the most incredible thing I'd learned that night, but it wasn't. For I was about to learn exactly who Reita Suzuki was, or, had been.

Because the shock was so much to me, being kissed and then being thrown over a wall (be it three feet high or whatever), I didn't register the pain my head made as it struck the concrete patio, nor the quiet crunch my shoulder made as it made contact with a rock. I remember being confused that there should be a rock in an abandoned shipyard, to which we had wandered after coming out of Biru Futatsu some time before, for some ludicrous reason that God only knows. I lay there in silence instead, my body as rigid as a board and the ghosts of pain nipping at my bones, but being only minor irritants at best. Reita did not look back at me, but I heard his sharp whisper and knew he was still there.

"Don't make a sound," Reita told me harshly, "And, whatever you do, stay the fuck down."

I could hear the Harleys now. My Dad owns one, but I remember not thinking that at the time. I was thinking, confused as fuck, about whether or not I should obey or run. Much as I liked Reita, I didn't want to be dragged into any trouble with him, either. My phone vibrated in my pocket, its little buzz a drowned competitor in the race of noise. I couldn't see in my current position, curled into a frightened, silent ball; but I could hear and, drunk or not, I didn't have any trouble interpreting anything.

The noise went from a loud buzz to a deafening roar, which quietened after half a minute when each bike fell silent after a spray of gravel and its owner got off. A dim smell of stale sweat and grease meandered through the air, making my nostrils twitch. It was a masculine smell, yes, but it was nothing like Reita's scent, at all. It was an odour that reminded me of testosterone and crime and I had to cover my mouth to keep from coughing, due to an unpleasant mix of fear and revulsion. The five of them had formed a circle around Reita which I could not yet see. We would discuss all of this later in the motel across the road, after they had left and I remember thinking later that it seemed that it had gone on far, far longer in our minds than in reality.

They called themselves Alice and the Nines, which they depicted on the back of their leather jackets; the word 'Alice' in blue, curly lettering and the number '9' in white, gothic-style font, like the kind on cards. The reasons for their name were relatively simple. Alice, because they were capable of taking you to Wonderland and back with the stuff that they could get you. Guns, knives, drugs, money- you name it, they had it. They could even get you cheap thrills if you wanted. Hiroto Ogata, being the best looking and most willing out of them all, was usually the chosen advocate for the job and he could make thousands a night selling himself; cash that they would all pool together and devour like hyenas on a bloody carcass. They had a business in everything and anything and they'd just about committed every violent crime on the list; whether it was during a job or just for fun. They weren't Yakuza strictly, because they didn't like getting themselves involved too deep in anything, but they were close friends with them, due to the skills they possessed. Hired hands, you could say, who (as far as Reita knew) enjoyed the benefit of protection from the Souma-Kai, one of the roughest and most notorious mafia families.

Oh, how Reita knew that to be true.

But they didn't really need protection, because the second part of their name stemmed from the somewhat unnerving fact that each of them carried a Colt 9mm and weren't afraid to use it. Reita had seen Shou drop a cap into some guy's leg just for looking at him funny in the street. Shou Kohara was the only one out of them Reita was particularly worried about, because he was crazy. Really crazy. Not good crazy, either- cruel crazy- but it meant that nobody in the gang he led dared go against him, for fear of having a set of bullets for teeth. No surprise really, that he was the one who approached Reita with a smile that could easily, by anyone, have been misinterpreted as friendly. Reita however, knew far better and he arranged his body into a stance that was subtly defensive as Shou sauntered up to him; the others in a similar cocky pursuit.

"Oh, Reita dear," Shou said, with syrupy sweetness, "it's been a while, hasn't it? How've you been these days?"

Reita grunted, not looking at Shou in the face. Not that there was anything wrong with it, of course. The majority of them all, in fact, could have been good-looking boys if they cleaned themselves off and Shou was no exception, but Reita didn't want to give him ammunition, no pun intended.

"Well," Shou said with a babyish tone, rolling his childlike brown eyes upward to the sky, "I suppose mother said it was rude not to stare-"

"-but isn't it also rude to ignore someone when they talk to you?" Saga chimed in, with a wicked glint in his eye. Reita glared at him angrily, to which he sniffed.

Saga Sakamoto was the pretty, petty thief of the group, who had a pair of the most nimble hands that Reita had ever come across. Reita himself had been a thief for a while as a kid during his training and hadn't been too bad at it, but Saga put him to shame. He pickpocketed anyone, at any place at any time and Rei couldn't think of a single occasion when he'd gotten caught. He must have done though, because he'd done a fair bit of time over the years in Juvie. Reita, again, knew this because he'd been in there with him and the majority of the others. He knew things that he didn't even think Shou knew about Saga, like the fact that he was gay as a rainbow-filled cream and cherry pie, for which his nimble hands proved useful and spent a lot of his time, when he wasn't stealing or doing jobs for Shou, fucking Nao Murai; who acted as a combination between a spy and a grass. They covered it pretty well, actually; Nao was standing over by Hiroto and they hadn't exchanged glances since they got off their bikes. He doubted Shou would have really cared, as the two of them did their jobs and did them well, but you could never be too careful around him.

"I would say so," said Shou, his sweet voice turning foul, "wouldn't you all?"

A chorus of 'yes' echoed up and quickly died down and Reita saw Shou, out of the corner of his eye, reach into his pocket. He looked up as quickly as he could to reciprocate, but Tora grabbed his arms before he could move. Strong, silent Tora Amano; the Nines' bodyguard on jobs and occasional hitman if someone asked or, worse, didn't pay. Reita struggled against his grasp and tried to kick him in the balls from behind and missed, so Tora tightened his grasp on his arms in revenge. Reita felt a nasty grinding in the upper bones of his arm followed by a rusty bout of pain and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He felt the corners of his eyes beginning to leak and shamefully hated himself for it. He glared at Shou, who rolled his eyes and Hiroto laughed; a crazed, animalistic squawk that rang around the silent shipyard.

What's wrong with me, thought Reita, why am I so weak?

"For fuck's sake, Reita," sighed Shou, "hold still. We only want to talk, is all. Is that so much to ask?"

"Sure," Reita snorted, "sure it is. If you're being so friendly, then why don't you let me go?"

Shou guffawed sarcastically, but there was no humour in it, at all. Reita knew why Shou didn't trust him, but just to reiterate the message, Shou lifted up his greasy brown-blonde fringe. Reita didn't need to look to know what was there; a long silver scar, made by a slash by Reita's switchblade, across the right side of his forehead. He'd made it to get away from Shou when he'd tried to 'talk some sense into him' and was not in the least bit sorry.

"Search him," Shou told Saga, who obeyed with grim pleasure.

"Shoddy behaviour really, from my best customer, friend and associate," Shou continued, mocking Reita by looking at his nails in false vanity while Saga felt him for weapons, "It's been a while since then though, hasn't it? How long, Hiroto?"

"Two years," said Hiroto, glaring angrily at Reita, his looks to rival Uruha's smeared with unkempt makeup.

Whore, he thought, feeling an obscure need to laugh, but didn't dare.

"Oh yeah!" Shou cried with false excitement clicking his fingers. The falseness faded rapidly, leaving an expression behind of dark rage, "That's right."

Before Reita could cry out, Saga pulled out and, quick as a whip, Shou's face was inches from his; the cold of his switchblade etching cruelly into his neck, which, in a twist of irony, Reita had bought specially for him on some stupid occasion long ago. So far I had heard everything, but I did not hear the words that Shou whispered to Reita. He told me about them later and it was just as well I hadn't heard, because I would probably have screamed.

"Let's see if I can make you dance, motherfucker," Shou whispered, furiously.


A/N: This chapter's gonna be a two-parter, or else it would be really long. I'm writing the next bit as we speak, so it's gonna be up later or tomorrow at the very latest :)