Disclaimer: Megami Kouhosei isn't mine (yadda, yadda, yadda), I don't make any money off of it (blah, blah, blah), don't sue (please).

Thanks to: #falls over and dies when she sees all the wonderful, mind-blowing, fantastic reviews; revives herself so she can choke out a proper thank you to the spectacular people who took the time and effort to do a nice deed (curses herself for leaving you all in suspense)# My deepest and most sincere thanks and gratitude go out to the following for their kind words: Chevira Lowe, UE, Argent Inluminai, poetisa, Shime, RcA, pariah_chesiretiger, Kichigai, Anonymous, lillykawaii, veggies lil sis k-chan, gundamesca, Silfee, Hemii aka Heie, Dark Fire, Karyx, panchan14, and Anonymous 2. You're the best! #huggles you all#

Author's Note: I've finally decided what's going to happen in this fic. Sort of. It will conclude after a few more chapters. There might be a sequel, though, if you guys want one. ^_^

Zero's POV

I wish I knew more about everything, so I could sort out how you feel—how I feel—and classify just the way you taste.

But I don't know how to do any of those things; all I can do is simply feel—like an animal.

Frightened and unthinking and misplaced—and is that how you think of me?

I don't know—I don't know anything, now!

You've changed everything. Do you understand? Everything.

We can't go back to the way things were in the past—today you changed time, too.

And now, I don't know anything at all.

I have to learn the taste of apple cider and sex, and see if they compare.

Can your touch be found in baby blankets and hail?

If I ever smelled the scent of fresh-cut grass and fire, and would they make me dizzy too?

And do you sound like a swinging sword, all smooth strokes and blood?

I have to find my God, and look upon him, and will he be as lovely as the lights shining on your hair? 

And yes, when you're around, I have to learn to breathe, because you make me forget, sometimes.

How did you destroy my mind so completely?

Did you know you could do this to me?

My stomach is churning—my body's soaked with sweat—and I'm melting into the floor, burning up with questions that need answers that I might not want to face.

But I have to, and I will, and I wonder where you are, for we must speak.

*********************************************************

It is time to face my own little Hell.

I see you in the corridor; we're all alone—it's time to find out what our fate may be.

I stop you with one quiet hand on your shoulder, and when you turn around you don't pull away; it's me who does that.

You stand there, waiting—evaluating—while I struggle for words.

"What did it mean?" I finally ask, not one for subtlety, but you don't say a word.

You can't do this—you can't just kiss me and not tell me what it means; what you feel! And that's what you want to do—isn't it?—but I won't let you.

"What did it mean, Hiead?!" I repeat, angrier now.

I only hope I don't have hysterics in the hall—I haven't the control to stop myself. That was lost long ago.

"It didn't mean anything," you say coolly, detached and distant (like I hoped you wouldn't be) from this place; this situation; me.

"It had to have meant something," I protest, voice defensive and broken all at once (and this is frightening, because it's never happened to me before).

"Did it? Did it really?" you hiss in feigned curiosity, and I am injured and incised at the sneer I hear in your liquid velvet tones.

"Yes!" I exclaim, too tired and distraught to sort through the lies and pretend that this is normal.

Seconds of silence creep sluggishly by.

"Yes," I repeat more calmly, the finality of the word almost crushing me on impact.

The full meaning of my statement has struck me; I realize what I've said—what I've done with a single word. I have accepted you—the concept of "us"—and everything is so clear, now.

We need not hide behind denial anymore.

I have just changed our future permanently, and this is such sweet suicide, this thing between you and I.

"Damn you!" you spit, the rage seeping out between the cracks of your imperfect armor, and you push me against the metal wall (as if I were a rag doll) and lean in closer, until the only things that separate our bodies are two inches of air and your fists where they clutch at my uniform.

"It was lust, alright? Fucking desire," (you snarl on the word) "and that was all. Are you satisfied yet?! Are you happy, now that you have your answer?! I wanted you, Goddamn it! I wanted to be inside of you. Do you understand, finally? Well, do you?!"

I stare at you in mute wonder, but you don't let me answer; you think you know what I want, and you think it isn't you.

"Now leave me the fuck alone, before I bash your brains in against the floor," you whisper dangerously, perhaps too spent to do anything more.

With that, you push me harder into the wall with your clenched hands, still wrapped around my clothing, and I can feel the back of your fingers and the ghost of your lips before you let me go and turn away.

"Hiead," I say, before you leave me—leave this barely-born thing we seem to share—forever (and isn't it ironic? Now I'm the calm one, because I understand what's going on, and I know just what I should do).

You whip around, but before you even open your mouth, I'm speaking again.

"Come with me," I demand, walking towards an empty storage closet in the hall.

You glare at me, demanding and impatient.

"And why the Hell would I want to do that, Enna?" you bite out, more suspicious now than ever.

I stand in the doorway, one foot planted firmly on the safety of the white corridor, the other on the tiled uncertainty of the darkened room, and smile at you in a way I hope is coy.

"Because here, we won't be under surveillance," I say, hiding my sudden blush by slipping determinedly into the shadows.

Perhaps you are surprised; maybe you are curious. I do not know—I can only guess.

A lifetime of "what ifs" is incontrovertibly demolished when you take that first step; you follow me to a future we never even saw coming.

Will you be gentle with me?

No.

Will you call me sweetheart?

Never.

Will you hold my hand and say you love me?

I'll never see that day in this lifetime, nor the next.

And can I handle that?

I'll have to. I hope so. I'll try.

I welcome you with open arms as our lips meet and you take me roughly against the floor.

You make me bleed, but I make you do that too, and when we're through we wipe away the tears and blood and sweat and cum together. They mix and blend into a painful abstract, too personal to decipher, and neither of us know if we've created beauty or a mess, and we can't tell what's going to happen next.

You don't say goodbye when you leave…but I can live with that.

I sleep soundly that night.

Author's Note: …Um…yeah, I know this chapter was really rather weird and dull, but I'd already made you guys wait long enough for chapter six, and I thought this was better than nothing. Future chapters might be even shorter, as I'll be updating much more swiftly than I have been.

Another Author's Note: Want to be entertained? Then go to http://rpg.dualpotential.net/journal/index.html. Trust me, you'll love it. It's an AU MK journal RP site, and I really love it (and that's not just because I'm one of the RPers, mind you).  Some of you might actually be fellow members of it, some of you might have heard of it, and, then again, some of you might not have known about it, or not even know what a Role-Playing Game is. But, trust me, it's really awesome. Go check it out! If you don't want to take my word for it, then here's some background info: it was created by the infamous MK fanworld goddess Kay Willow. I kid you not. So you know it must be awesome. Bye for now!