Author's notes: Wow. This is a very, very long chapter. I really hadn't been expecting it to be this long at all. I just have a few things to say: my apologies to Chaim Potok and Stephen King. Anyway, even though this chapter is LONG, there will be a fourth chapter (it'll be very short) as well as an epilogue. Thanks for reading! Please review!

Disclaimer: Blahblahblah.


* * *

O B L I V I O U S S I G N A L S
chapter three

* * *

Dancing with the wall made you bitter and sweet
There ain't much you can do when they just lay it at your feet
But you could tell by the song I wanted to be the one
Did you listen again when the damage was done
Now the paint's still wet in your do-it-by-number dream
Are you gonna' tell me how it felt, will you tell me what it means
Go on and close your eyes go on imagine me there
She's got similar features with longer hair
And if that's what it takes to get you through
Go on and close your eyes it shouldn't bother you
( "Similar Features." Melissa Etheridge. )


* * *


"I can't believe you actually brought me here . . ."

Astonished timbre was dipped in a succulent sugarcoating, while appreciative glances of molasses wildly ricocheted after the facets of the surrounding environment. Those gold-streaked denizens stalled in their aimless wandering when lighting upon the absolutely incandescent visage that otherwise only invaded the very edge of vision . . . Daisuke's lips were split apart into almost sore proportions with his uncontrollable smile. How proud he was of himself; incidentally, such glory radiated off of him in nearly visible waves.

"I wasn't able to book the fanciest place, Hikari-chan," Daisuke mumbled over the first of his response, attempting to justify exactly why they stood there. The locale: bathed in the iridescence of neon lights made of curvaceous glass kanji filled with ignited argon, wholly spelling out the name of a particularly upscale restaurant. It was not straitlaced enough to require formal garb, but the food was really pricey -- even if it was good. ". . . I just did the next best thing. I guess. Or tried to."

Hikari smiled prettily as Daisuke grew more and more flustered, seraphic features accented with a golden halo of light from that previously mentioned sign. The night air was laced with the delicious scent of what was being prepared within, and even from their vigil on the chipped sidewalk, the lilting strains of a violin could be heard through the din of bystanders filtering around them. Inhaling the aroma, Hikari couldn't occlude a relieved sigh, even as Daisuke continued his explanations in a jittery tone.

The passing breeze bid an unwelcome approach of winter, although that was still very far-off as they stood near to one another beneath the clear, flawless onyx sky; still only decades away as they shared the remaining summer if for a few moments.

"It's okay," Hikari breathed at last, stopping Daisuke from further description of how he spent an hour trying to bargain his way into the ritziest restaurant in Tokyo. There was an unmistakable quiet in her voice as she went on, one bare hand resting on Daisuke's arm. "It's more than okay, actually . . . it's great. But how did you ever come up with the money to make a reservation here?"

Daisuke had to let his brain catch up with the fact his Hikari-chan thought that his choice for the evening's dining endeavors was great (not okay, not so-so, but great). Feeling encouraged by her words, one arm wove its way about her slim waist with an air of nonchalance . . . not at all shocked when he felt her stiffen slightly. "Hikari-chan," Daisuke chided into her ear, grin again threatening to conquer his entire face, "now you're beginning to sound like Ichijouji."

Hikari tensed further at the simile, which Daisuke quickly attributed to how his warm spearmint-scented breath tickled the shell of her pale ear. He was pleased on some level with mildly riling her, even though her voice betrayed nothing other than a casual curiosity and uninvited concern: "Why do you say that?"

"One time he got 'rilly angry with me when I bought about a dozen pizzas, because he thought -- Ken's weird like that, you know, always thinking -- that we didn't have enough money to pay the delivery boy and we'd get in trouble. He doesn't even like pizza, which is just crazy besides, so I didn't know what his problem was," Daisuke sniffed irately, letting the pleasantness of Hikari's unknown shampoo (it smelled a little like the roses he had bought her) soothe him. He looked almost wistful afterward, as though caught in an all-too-real memory. "But man, was he surprised when he found out I had Jun's credit card . . ."

"I see," Hikari replied lamely after a second of silence, allowing herself relax somewhat -- even with Daisuke's arm remaining possessively around her. Seeming not to mind the closeness as much as she had moments earlier, she again piqued her voice with demure question. "So what did you do this time? Rob a bank with Veemon?"

Her counterpart's simper was positively bestial. "Of course not, what kind of guy do you think I am? . . . I just pawned Jun's tickets to the next Teenage Wolves concert!"

Nettled by Daisuke's morally wrong and parasitic advantage (even if she was flattered he had risked life and limb for her sake), Hikari only expressed scorn in how deftly she escaped his encompassing arm. With a flinch, the enterprising youth began after her, slipping clumsily past the milling pedestrians that she herself seemed to bypass without effort. Her gracefulness was downright irritating at times, Daisuke stored absently -- he was thus confronted with the supplicating of furtive muscles, concealed, at least partially, in shades of breathable green material. A soccer ball chased elusive violet jewel-points through his mind's eye.

Even as the whirlwind of imagery faded into his subconscious, Daisuke still dismissively wiped the slate of his mind clean. Not even missing a beat throughout the process of muse and visual schism, he approached and quickly passed his Hikari-chan, if only to open the door of the restaurant for her in a gentleman-like practice. She smiled graciously at him as she passed; his heart soared.

Daisuke nearly ran directly into her when he entered the foyer, considering his princess had failed to actually continue further into the establishment than a scant number of inches. Her unbroken complexion was lit in a soft shade of azure from light fixtures of blue-tinted halogen bulbs. This color was easy on the eyes, while virtually bathing the entire front entryway. The room generally very industrial looking -- panels that would normally keep pipes and electrical outfitting in the ceiling out of view had been fashionably forgotten. The sharp metallic twinge only heightened the effect of pallid sapphire on the combination of wood and metal, on their edges and curves. A row of free-hanging lights carved a pathway of white into the otherwise aquamarine floor, leading the both of them to a modest reception area.

"Hikari-chan, I'm cold! Want to warm me up?"

"That's the light making it seem cold, Daisuke-kun. It's just a trick of your mind."

Hikari walked automatically at Daisuke's side, otherwise wrapped up in the room's decoration, while her date's arm inconspicuously wrapped around her waist. The man that received them looked stuffy and out of place with his completely black tuxedo and especially dark features, engaged in flipping sullenly through the pages of a leather-bound book resting atop a podium. Presuming this was where reservations were verified, Daisuke took the initiative and presented himself, clearing his throat.

"Your name?" the employee muttered, movement suddenly ceasing. His eyes, however, abysmally deep, flickered upward toward the couple. A current of discomfort passed through the boy.

"Motomiya," Daisuke said, before hastily adding on. "Motomiya Daisuke."

"Shaken, not stirred," Hikari quipped softly, from somewhere by his flank.

"Party of two?" Those eyes were like looking into two black-holes, Daisuke thought.

"Yeah," he responded, shifting around inside his clothes. The man regarded the both of them with an unvarying scrutiny . . . as though he was disbelieving that they had a reservation. One particular page of the tome proved otherwise, though, proven by a rigid finger set beneath a line -- 'Motomiya: 2' -- scrawled in a slightly rushed handwriting. Spying this, Daisuke felt somewhat empowered, his voice a bit more insistent. "See? We do have a reservation, so if you'd kindly let us --"

"Your hostess will be with you shortly to show you to your table," the man interrupted noncommittally, returning to his lazy page-turning. He gave no indication that he had heard the cheeky boy speaking.

His feathers ruffled, Daisuke elected to turn back to Hikari with an apologetic smile. She shrugged her shoulders, silent in her rationale that it didn't quite matter if they were seated in five seconds or five minutes. Daisuke's nervousness lessened.

A few minutes later, as the pair exchanged in a conversation that had no words, they were abruptly startled by the appearance of a maniacally grinning woman. Unlike her counterpart of melancholy countenance, she was quite the opposite. Her tresses were a color almost exact in nature to the hues that flooded to the room, soft and cool and foamy, sporting hundreds of tiny ringlets, all fettered by a hair-tie that settled near the nape of her neck. Her eyes were quite unnatural -- an electric cobalt, almost sparking with energy. Her skin, however, was an intense shade of white that stood out so surprisingly in the room, as though having been over-caked with deathly make-up. Her strapless dress matched her hair perfectly, azure and lively, and had been stretched (literally, considering it was a shiny plastic material) to mid-thigh; whitened lips were still crazed.

"Hi! My name is Ayumi! Please follow me!"

"Huh?" was Daisuke's articulate reply.

He became tense and worried by this strange behavior soon after -- wondering whether or not this was just their waitress, or someone who had escaped from the nearest insane asylum, and had custom-tailored their straitjacket. Hikari, on the other hand, looked . . . amused? He would have asked her what the big idea was had their presumed hostess not taken off down the uncharted hall, with both of them obliged to follow or get left behind.

The hallway led them to a pair of stainless steel doors, each with a neoclassical circular window. Ayumi proceeded on without pausing, holding one door open just long enough for Daisuke and Hikari to get through. They were met with quite a sight.

While the entranceway had been filled with harshly cut corners and immodest, subdued blue light, the interior of the restaurant posed a great change. Everything that had once been rough and unrefined flowed easily into generalized smoothness of elements, spacious and inviting, and totally different from the biting welcome they had received from the cold clerk and his deceptive foyer. Vanilla white swept over every property with the consistency of spilled paint, if only overshadowed at times by a dabble of cream and speckling of gold . . . the carpeting, the wallpaper, even the tables and chairs that stood vanguard in the room. Lights now rested snugly in the ceiling, as opposed to their earlier independence, causing silverware and place settings to gleam. Goldware may have been more appropriate a term, though, as it seemed anything but would have ruined the color scheme that prevailed.

Apprehension passed through Hikari for a moment, distracting Daisuke when he caught sight of the scruples that littered her pretty face. "Are you sure we're dressed appropriately?" she demurred, gesturing vaguely toward the fancy conditions.

"Sure I'm sure, 'Kari-chan. They would've kicked us out by now if we weren't, right?" Daisuke shot back cheerfully, letting his satisfied gaze slip away from Hikari and back towards their hostess. "What the --"

* * *

"It's all physics, Daisuke-kun," Hikari affirmed after setting down her water glass, looking across the linen table-cover to a befuddled Motomiya. Lifting her petite hand, one fingertip idly circled the chilled rim in languid motions, wiping away the smudge of strawberry lip-gloss. She was still bemused, in a matter-of-fact sort of way, considering it must have been the second or third time she had explained it since being seated with her date. "I was suspicious when we first came in, but that cinched it."

Left only to remain mute and bewildered, Daisuke poked his fork sparingly at the greens Ayumi had set before him. She returned only a short sometime after the first delivery in a whirl of eccentricity, Hikari's own appetizer-salad in hand, which was set down daintily despite her flouncy style. Incidentally spearing a particularly large leaf, he gestured toward their server as she darted off to another set of evening patrons.

"Her hair is green, and her clothes are purple. Explain how they got there from being blue before," Daisuke grumbled underneath his breath, shaking his head as he gulped down the iceberg lettuce, "because I didn't see her change clothes on us when we went through the doors."

Hikari, patient as ever, paused to apply a spoonful of ranch dressing to her salad via the filled bowl by her plate. "It has to do with the lighting in this restaurant. And it's cyan and magenta, not green and purple."

Displeased, Daisuke only stabbed mercilessly at slice of salted tomato.

"Like I said: it's physics. White light has three colors, called primary colors, which bounce off things and go into your eye. They are red, green, and blue. These --"

"Wait a second. I remember my rudimentary teachers tellin' me those primary colors were red, yellow, and blue," Daisuke said, arching a brow in earnest.

"It's a common misconception. The most accepted arrangement, scientifically, is what I told you. Anyway, let's take Ayumi-san's hair for example. It's cyan. In white light, her hair is actually absorbing the color red . . . and reflecting back blue and green, which combines into cyan," Hikari clarified kindly despite the interruption. She smiled softly; "Are you with me so far?"

She was met with Daisuke's blank stare.

". . . I'll take that as a yes. So we're seeing cyan, at least when under white light. Now, if you place her under blue light, only the color blue is shining on her -- not red or green. There's no red to absorb, and no green to reflect . . . so, naturally, the only color reflected is the initial blue. That's why her hair looked blue beforehand, but cyan here. The same works with the magenta of her clothes, which I could explain if you wanted --"

"How do you know all this, Hikari-chan?" Daisuke queried absently, voice distant. His awed brain could only manage one thing: Wow.

Apparently caught off guard, Hikari busied herself by roughly shoving a fork-load of brussels sprouts into her mouth. She chewed noisily while her companion awaited an answer, despite his detachment, and swallowed. "Onii-chan is taking a beginner's course at his school. He showed me a few of the more interesting things. I just noticed the restaurant's theme offhandedly. After all, the bathrooms are lit with red light, and the dance floor with green. Coupled with the entryway, it leads up to white for the dining area. I would even guess that the reception guy from before is wearing some radical color that looks black in blue light."

"Someone must've done his or her homework," Daisuke vocalized, although heedlessly wondered what inspired Hikari to ever memorize any of that. To him it was only scientific mumbo-jumbo that he knew he would be dumbfounded with at another time and place, a place still rather far away for someone who preferred to think he was living in a perpetual vacation from pencils and schoolbooks.

She nodded sagely, picking at a slice of soft-boiled egg.

Daisuke smiled quite suddenly.

"Care to join me for a dance after dinner, Hikari-chan?"

* * *

Once accepting that it really was Yagamii Hikari in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and her warm breath touching his neck in set intervals . . . Daisuke lapsed into a state of fancied contemplation. The dance-floor seemed notorious so far for playing only slow songs, with which couples could grow closer and twirl about in their own little worlds. It may have simply been the time of day -- the evening -- invoking twilight romances to celebrate their union in public rather than at an undisclosed spot, left to their own devices.

Regardless, Daisuke was grateful for this act of predictable humanity; howbeit, his arms carefully drew Hikari closer into his protective embrace, eyes lidded and wandering, watching the myriad array of discolored persons that skirted his eyesight. It hadn't taken very long to get used to the atmosphere submerged in a static shade of viridian, as it was rather soothing, even despite the seasick color-coordinating job it did on worn items.

Through the steady crescendos and diminuendos of a violin and viola duet interweaving their melodies together from the nearby orchestral setup, Daisuke perceived a low-key sigh as being released against his shoulder. Combined with this, Hikari's lithesome arms about his neck served only to pull her closer to him discreetly . . . he in turn granted with more opportunity to feel the welcome touch of her silky hair on his cheek, and breathe in that unidentifiable scent.

It was the latter Daisuke started thinking about as his eyes slipped shut. The peppering of roses was still present, like a glaze, but carried a stark artificiality that made him suppose it to be a perfume. It luckily wasn't heavy enough to cause opaqueness to occur, which allowed Daisuke to easily nuzzle past its floral film to the "heart" of the matter.

This new touch to his senses spun off a suggestion of something more personally ingrained into Hikari -- au natural, maybe musky -- that produced the inklings of an unbidden memory. Images danced across the inside of his eyelids from his mind's private projector, hazy and warm with the wash of sentiment that came attached . . .

Ken smirked devilishly -- not the sort that used to chill blood, no -- past disheveled ribbons of dark topaz, laughing as Daisuke attempted another attack with the pillow taken from his nearby bed. He dodged nimbly of course, his reflexes were excellent after all, but that didn't deter the obstinate Motomiya in the least.

Dawn was creeping in through the open slats of the bedroom's blinds, announcing the faint beginnings of a morning the two boys should have continued to sleep through. And they would have, had Daisuke not taken up the mischievous muse of awakening Ken with a mouthful of cotton and feathers.

Ken hadn't been offended in the least -- quite the opposite, actually -- and Daisuke had been pummeled quite a number of times from a second pillow without getting his own chance to retaliate further. Ken now rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still disoriented in the early hours (Daisuke could have guessed), dictating what a perfect time to strike . . . he scowled when Ken slipped past the arc of feathery doom even then, yawning and unkempt.

To his dismay, his best friend caught the pillow on the next pass. Over the curve of its surface he could see Ken smiling brightly, and a gentle voice sought as to whether or not it was okay that he take a shower. Daisuke nodded dumbly in response (Ken's smiles were still such a treasure no matter when they happened), eyes following his companion as he and pallid lemon-lime pajamas disappeared into an adjacent bathroom.

He realized suddenly he had been holding his breath, and with an explosive sigh, Daisuke flopped facedown onto the futon Ken had slept on throughout the more peaceful night. His own pillow already usurped, Daisuke claimed Ken's and drew it to his face, breathing in as he settled on the comfortable mattress. The hints of sweat from Ken's scalp smelled sweet, imprinted into the fabric of the pillow's slip, causing a tingling current to run down Daisuke's spine, almost making him feel giddy.

It was a guilty pleasure dozing there, taking deeper and deeper breaths to have Ken's essence envelop him completely, and only made more exciting by the fact the subject of his delight was bathing yards away from him, behind a shut door.

"Ken . . ." Daisuke murmured yearningly into the softness of the pillow, letting his eyes creak open to check whether or not he would be discovered anytime soon.

He realized, with painful acuteness, that it was only Hikari's green-splashed hair that he had been burrowing into, and that she had gone quite rigid in the past few moments. A cold sweat broke out all over him almost immediately: what was he doing, letting himself daydream like that? And more importantly: had he actually whispered that name into Hikari's ear?

Shit, Daisuke thought, not at all irrationally. Shit shit shit.

"What --"

Hikari would have continued had it not been for the renegade pair of dancers that joined the group almost immediately behind her. They plowed recklessly through a number of arm-locked partners, as erratic as a spinning top, and Hikari was no exception in being isolated from Daisuke, and knocked roughly to the floor. Addled for more than one reason, she only lifted her head with a saturnine slowness . . . and was met with the anxious and overly worried face of her date, and his warm hands on her shoulders.

"Hikari-chan! Are you all right?"

Relief washed over her, as a saccharine smile replaced her sullen frown.

"I'm fine, Daisuke-kun . . ."

* * *

Even through the mild darkness of the theater, Daisuke could still make out the effeminate curves of Hikari's profile. Her forehead sloped gracefully to where he knew her eyes to be situated, and from there a delicate nose was highlighted in ever-fluctuating light from the movie screen. Rosebud lips followed soon after, and her chin swept into the elegant curve of her neck. Aside from her thin shoulders, what more she possessed was shrouded in darkness, leaving a lot to his imagination.

Motomiya Daisuke was very, very confused.

Sitting beside him in the relative privacy of the last stop of the evening was . . . well, a number of things, in his opinion: a saint, an angel, and the epitome of light. As risqué as it sounded, Daisuke should have wanted to corrupt that purity, should have wanted to do a lot of things. That afternoon, more questionable conceit had been given to what he would have done if he had Hikari in the position he did now . . . left alone with him in a mostly lightless place, with barely any witnesses. Even he had carnality.

And now?

Truthfully, Daisuke was left disturbed by all that had transpired. He considered himself extremely lucky that Hikari had failed to pursue interrogation as to why he had said his best friend's name longingly in her ear. Maybe even that was an understatement. But even so, he was still puzzled. Could he like Ken in more than a platonic manner? Was it just his subconscious second-guessing his choice to date Hikari? Was he only a hormonal teenager that wanted anything that moved? The rhetorical questions weren't helping any, he reflected.

Whatever the reason for them, he needed to bury the rising feelings with a renewed urgency. He wouldn't be able to stand it much longer, this much he was absolutely sure of, as already the light was playing on Hikari's hair to make it appear like a wave of oceanic plumes, and her soft features already resembled Ken's to begin with . . .

Hikari started a moment later, and turned her head with hoisted brows. Daisuke was touching her cheek with a few fingertips, wistfully beginning to trace its smooth arc -- she smiled at him compassionately, and his dazed smile was his reply.

The picture onscreen experienced a very sudden contrast of brightness, bathing the audience in an unearthly glow of wan lilac.

Daisuke wasn't surprised in the least.

Her eyes also went under the influence of that light, almost luminous to their own accord. They were violet.

Groaning inwardly, Daisuke snaked his arms around Hikari, feeling the last of his judicious barriers crumble into a heap. He hoped that at least he could someday marry her, grow up to have 2.5 kids, and live a normal life with some nine-to-five job . . . but for now, just for now, he imagined her warmth, slightly parted lips, and flush skin under his hands to be Ken's . . . and he knew, somehow, as his head dipped closer, that he would never be able to love her; that he never loved her.

He was prevented from reaching her lips when she firmly grabbed his shoulders, displaying strength he didn't remember her having. "Dai . . . Daisuke, what are you . . ."

"Hush, Hikari-chan . . ." he whispered fiercely, one hand winding around her frame to rest dangerously on her thigh. She tensed further under his heated ministrations, and Daisuke was satisfied to find that the emotions tripping past her eyes were just as guilty, excited, and confused as his own undoubtedly were. He bent near to her again, but she still restrained him at a suitable distance to keep up her own distressed hiss.

"Daisuke . . . please, listen to me for a moment, damn it . . . I need to tell you . . . I'm not . . ."

Not interested? her consort pondered bitterly, although still fazed enough to loosen his grip on her. Join the club, Hikari-chan.

"So are the two lovebirds enjoying themselves?"

Their eyes snapped to the row of seats in front of them that ran parallel to their own, hearts pounding in their ears. Two arms were folded intentionally over the dark hump of one, and atop them rested a chin bearing one wickedly pleased smile. Takaishi Takeru only regarded them mockingly with lifted eyebrows, floppy hat nearly obscuring both that and his eyes. The illumination from the movie screen defined only certain portions of his features; he was positively demonic . . . in a blond Gilligan sort of way.

Hikari was absolutely mortified, both boys noticed above all, judging by the expressive rainbow of colors that marked the bridge of her nose. Daisuke, however, was soon disinterested in the display, as there was more a vexing instance to take care of. Fingers were soon curled in Takeru's collar, and a furious face lined in raging fire canopied him, bearing down with all the intimidation Daisuke could muster without infracting on anyone else that may have been seated nearby.

"Just what do you think you're doing?!"

It may have been louder than he intended, but he found his anger righteous and justified. Hadn't he rolled over the thought that Takeru was going to follow him just that afternoon? It had been silly to believe then that he would be childish enough to actually stalk . . . Daisuke bore a fang under laborious breaths, ready to turn the blonde's face into a handful of goo.

"Damn, Daisuke," Takeru groused, eyeing the fist now level with his nose warily, "you were all but assaulting her. Did you not hear her telling you to stop, or do you just get off on things like that?"

"What? I wasn't doing anything like that! Right, Hikari-chan?" Daisuke implored, turning his head toward where she was sitting. Only the upturned seat and span of darkness greeted him, with a dire lacking of the brunette. Alarm spun through him. ". . . Hikari-chan?"

Takeru rolled his eyes, using Daisuke's instant vulnerability to pull his shirt out of the threatening grasp. "Dumbass. She left almost as soon as you let her go, if you didn't see."

Daisuke hadn't heard him -- he was already rushing out of the theater.

He discovered Hikari a little ways outside, mumbling to herself and straightening her clothes under the guardianship of a streetlamp. All anger diffused out of him immediately, grounded with the sight of her aloneness, and he quietly approached her . . . removing the jacket he had donned all evening, he placed it over her shoulders with a featherweight touch.

She looked to him, eyes strangely lost. "Daisuke-kun . . . "

"I'm sorry, Hikari-chan. For everything."

* * *

The river rippled and undulated beneath them like a long band of black silk left to the merciless wind. The moon was beamless, clouds vanquished in the clarion night sky, lighting the area magically in the cold gold hue . . . leaving only the deepest crevices for the shadows to reign over. Starlight presented itself as shiny teardrops on the surface of the current, constantly broken and reassembled by its fast-moving flux, lending the impression of diamonds sewn crudely into a breeze-blown obsidian scarf.

Daisuke rested his elbows on the omnipresent railing, pretending to be fascinated by the rusty brown leaves scattered here and there on the mostly deserted street. His peripheral vision, however, was used to closely monitor Hikari. She was neither smiling nor frowning, tense nor relaxed . . . only mimicking his actions, wide coat still draped around her, focused on the watery tumult below.

"Daisuke-kun," Hikari said quietly, not turning.

"Yes."

"What have we learned about ourselves tonight?"

* * *

"Nothing? It's just nothing?" Ken responds without hesitation, immersed by Daisuke's words. The intent he focuses on his best friend could be considered frosty, but the light in his eyes seems to obliterate all unfavorableness before it can really become apparent.

It's all back again. The moonlight, the river, the arctic kiss on his cheek of a winter that is now past -- one that has haunted him for quite some time, a memory he shoves to the back of his mind over and over again. This time, however, things are different. He's living through it once more, this time completely, seeing his breath stain the air with its crystallized condensation, feeling the anxiety of standing so close to Ichijouji . . . yet so far away.

"Yeah," he hears himself say behind a blockage in his throat. His fingers tighten around the railing. He is frustrated when he senses he's trembling, and is moreso when he can't locate the reason why. "It's just nothing."

A hand touches his shoulder, while dark satin fleetingly touches his cheek. "You're shaking . . ." is whispered into his ear.

He begins to protest when Ken draws him into an embrace (to calm his frazzled nerves, of course), but is shushed by hesitant, yet warm fingertips. They begin to retreat soon after; Daisuke utters more of an objection then . . . so the prodigy deigns for them to stay where they are.

It doesn't help at all when a few curious digits lift to curl in Daisuke's crenulated hair . . .

He whimpers then, but Ken feels his actions are well-founded. There will never be another night quite like this one, or another chance this opportunistic. It is just after one of their routine sleepovers (this one at Daisuke's, as a majority are) that they stand there, on the night of the following day they always spend with each other; however, procedure has failed them.

Ken has discovered a once unknown personal fixation of Daisuke's -- curling up with his blankets and pillow while he is taking a shower, finding total bliss. Ken had finished a little early that morning, and had walked in unexpectedly. They haven't talked at all about it (only a blush for Ken and incoherent babbling about wasting hot water for Daisuke), so far.

Resolute, Ken gazes at him with softhearted amethyst rhinestones, making his request endearingly: "Will you tell me what you were really going to say, now?"

"Ken . . . I -- just . . ."

(doki)

"I feel . . ."

(DOki)

". . . you and I --"

(DOKI)

The tremendous, prolonged blat of a passing truck's horn nearly sends the both of them into the river out of severe surprise. The moment is shattered, and Daisuke receives a rapidly beating heart and near-painful feeling of disappointment for his trouble. As the leftover shards of the moment strike the concrete, tinkling, he and Ken begin giggling.

He and Ken begin laughing.

* * *


"I learned that we're good friends," answered Daisuke, finally, after what seemed like an endless stretch of repose. "And that I'm very grateful."

"You are?"

"You bet. Tonight, I'm very grateful to you, Hikari-chan. I've realized something about myself because of you."

At her wondering gaze, he only smiled enigmatically. "I don't need to chase you anymore."

He continued before she could interject. "I know you probably hated tonight in its entirety. Thank you for at least giving me a chance, you know? It helped me realize who really resides in my heart."

He kissed her cheek softly, in a way that spoke volumes: he was letting a piece of his childhood go. "Goodnight, Hikari-san."