Nobody likes my fic!! Maybe the sections are just too short... but if you want *more*, you have to *tell* me!!

Of course... it *could* be the fact that classes are underway, again, and everyone's probably drinking hot tea and trying to get their eyes to uncross after their first *expletive* music theory classes...

See first installation for explainations, disclaimers, warnings, etc. But, then, of course... I dunno what the heck you think you're doing here if you haven't read the first chapter, and if you have, then why do you care about reading explainations, disclaimers and warnings, because you've already read them, right?

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"In the Eye of the Beholder"
-Hidaka Ken-

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I'm not sure why everyone loves him. Maybe it's just in the eye of the beholder. Is it his beauty? His personality? Certainly not his job description...

When I look at him during the day, I see a seventeen-year-old boy with honey-blond hair and a cheerful, optimistic personality. He has these huge, sky blue eyes that reflect every emotion from ecstatic joy, to affront, to heart-melting sympathy. And his voice is just as open. He is in love with the world, and the world is good to him.

When I look at him at night, as we sneak through alleys and high-rise buildings, I see a seasoned killer. His mind is trained, perfectly honed to see our target, and to find the most efficient way of completing our mission. His eyes are no longer emotional, nor is his voice. They are not monotonous, though... they are sharp, aware, and calculating. His entire soul goes into the mission, and those open emotions are lost in the dark night.

When I look at him in the morning, after the mission, I see a tired young man. His eyes and voice are dead, and he tries so hard to cover them with a happy smile and cheerful greeting. Perhaps he fools the customers that come to buy flowers from our store, but his eyes don't sparkle the way they will in the afternoon, when he has had some time to recover from whatever brutal deed he took part in the night before.

Inside, I think he's still a little boy, looking out at the big, wide world with wonder.

He's never been innocent. He's been a killer since he was six years old, and having that on your slate immediately ages you. Every morning, he seems to be ten times his true age, as his actions weigh him down, pulling him into the deep recesses of depression.

But he comes out of it. As the sun crosses the sky, real smiles come onto his face. When he sees a chance to help someone, or just to make them feel better, he jumps at it. He loves to make people smile.

And that's why I love him.

He makes me smile.

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