Author's Notes: Oh, look. It's... not finished yet. ^^

For some reason, this story just isn't wrapping itself up. It just keeps going, and -going-... No idea how I'm gonna end this, so suggestions are welcome; I'm afraid if I keep going much longer, a plot that was nebulous to begin with is going to dissolve entirely. ^^

On the plus side, this fic just hit fifty reviews. *quietly in awe* Thank you all soooo much for firstly taking the time to read, and secondly for taking the time to let me know what you think. It never would've come this far without feedback (for good or bad ^^)...

Warnings? Office party. Rampant Truth or Dare. Enjoy!

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Outside Looking In
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Chapter 7
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For all outward appearances, it might have been a normal day in the halls of the JuOhCho. Except, perhaps, for the unusual noise level emanating from one room in particular, and the small brown feathers that dusted the floor.

No sooner had the Nagasaki pair materialized in said hallway then they were greeted by an enthusiastic call. "Yo, Tsuzuki! Bon!" A moment later, a grinning blonde was bustling forward to return the older shinigami's cheerful wave.

"Watari!" came the counter-greeting, hopeful violet eyes not wavering from the party's host. "We didn't miss the start, did we?

"Ah, actually it got going a bit early," the scientist admitted. Laughing a little, nervously, the man pushed his glasses back into position. "Tatsumi's been gone since three."

Tsuzuki deflated, letting out a sad little whimper. "You started without us!" he wailed. "How -could- you?"

"Because you'll forget all about it as soon as you realize there's cake left," Hisoka pointed out dryly, annoyance tinged with amusement in bright green eyes.

The wounded puppy expression grew infinitely more pathetic. "You don't have to be so mean," the older shinigami whined. "I mean, after this morni--"

"Bon's right, you know," Watari commented, sweeping in to stop the sentence before it went too far; incredibly, he managed to appear oblivious both to Tsuzuki's words and Hisoka's startled glare. "There -is- cake left."

"Ooh!" Two seconds completed the transformation from self-pitying martyr to enthusiastic party guest. "Let's go!" One hand fisted in a gesture of zeal, Tsuzuki snaked the other back to grab his partner by the wrist.

Chuckling softly, Watari followed them into the main office.

* * *

It was loud.

Initially, that was all Hisoka had room to think, because everyone else's feelings were pouring in, the music pounding above them all. But slowly-- very slowly-- the outside world arranged itself into some manageable sort of order, and the boy was able to move away from the support of the wall.

It was not just loud, the young shinigami was startled to realize, but bright in an artificial, glaring fashion. The blinds covering the long, wide office windows had been drawn, and dark sheets hung down, blacking out the day entirely. Sunlight had been replaced with blinding, strangely positioned spotlights, and tiny colored bulbs that flickered on and off at intervals throughout the room.

Blinking about the office he hardly recognized, the empath decided that Wakaba had outdone herself. In a not-necessarily-positive way.

A thick, artificial fog rolled in from somewhere, the machine cleverly hidden by the party decorations. The desks had been converted into a sort of makeshift stage, draped in dark cloth and almost-tastefully bright dangles, and an entire wall was occupied by a single, long table, similarly adorned and covered with sweets of every sort. The opposite end of the room was surrounded by a cluster of small, over-stuffed chairs, most of which had remained largely overlooked. In the corner, Yuma and Saya seemed to have commandeered the stereo system; abruptly, the music came to a crashing halt, only to begin again moments later in the form of painfully loud, sugary J-pop.

Taking a quick, shallow breath, Hisoka shot a furtive glance around the room, searching for his partner. But the lighting was strange, and with the glare of the nearest spotlight, he could only determine silhouettes of the people nearest the food table. Biting back a little sigh, the boy took a few cautious steps away from the door, picking his way toward the chairs.

He settled himself in the one nearest the door, sinking into the over-stuffed cushions gratefully. Around him, the music picked up its tempo, and the buzz of conversation grew ever-louder as everyone struggled to be heard over pound of the bass. The whole situation was... overwhelming.

Carefully, the young shinigami closed his eyes, attempting to block out some of the intrusive sensory input; even if most of the feelings were positive, crowds were something that the empath still hadn't managed to get used to. Soon, the boy had little doubt, the sensation of nausea that usually accompanied social situations would follow, and he would have to leave.

It had been, Hisoka recognized with an unpleasant shock of realization, a mistake to come. A bad idea from the beginning, whether his or Tsuzuki's. And currently, the eternally pessimistic nature of his mind pointed out, his partner was nowhere to be found.

Abruptly, the boy's thoughts were jarred into silence, flooding them out with someone else's emotions as a hand clutched at his wrist.

Excitement.

"C'mon, Hisoka!" It was Tsuzuki, carrying with him a heady rush of joy. "Truth or Dare-- Watari wants you to referee!" Simple pleasure, and then the man was pulling the young shinigami to his feet and across the office floor.

The words registered a moment later, and an expression both horrified and disbelieving settled itself onto the empath's face. Leaning backward to slow Tsuzuki, the boy attempted to free his arm from the other man's grip even as he prepared to tell his partner exactly the sort of idiot who would want to use empathy for Truth or Dare.

And then said idiot was looking back with laughing eyes and a friendly grin, and Hisoka's efforts died without a fight.

The boy would've protested. Would have said something suitably scathing, and pushed his way from the chaos that was being called a party. But... the music would have drowned him out, anyway.

And besides, they were already halfway there.

* * *

"Isn't there a penalty for lying on every turn?" Tsuzuki demanded, tone decidedly nasty. "I thought it was supposed to be -truth-."

Halfway around the small circle, Terazuma bristled, half-standing. "If everyone would stop calling on me, I wouldn't have to!"

"Let's not destroy the building," Watari laughed, reaching a slender hand to snag the hem of the boy's jacket and pull him back down. The gesture had become habitual; in the past half-hour, the scientist had learned to manage it without so much as setting down his drink.

"But it should be one or the other," Yuma protested from her perch nearby, atop the stage. The little smile on her face spoke of something carefully planned. "He can't say truth and then not answer."

Red eyes narrowed over dark markings. "You just want me to take a dare."

Beside her partner, Saya regarded him with wide, innocent eyes. "Well, Hisoka-kun hasn't done anything, yet-- wouldn't it be more fun if for your turn...?"

"I am -not- in the game," the young shinigami in question pointed out sharply, effectively cutting off the outraged protests from both his partner and Terazuma. "Which means that I'm not taking part. At -all-."

"Bon's right," Watari shrugged, and went to take another sip of sake. It was, he discovered, quite empty. "Referee's exempt."

"But if it was Hajime-chan's dare, then he wouldn't be -involved-, really." Wakaba's camera was balanced neatly on her knees, and her eyes shone hopefully. "He'd just be... well, a prop."

"What the hell?!" Terazuma exploded. "If you think I'm going to get -near- him, then you're out of your mind! Why would I take a dare with you perve--"

"Then answer the question, Hajime--chan-," Tsuzuki smiled unpleasantly. "Or we get to hear what Hisoka has to say."

Eyes flashing, Terazuma leapt from his seat on the floor, only to be returned to the spot by the free hand of a half-drunken blonde scientist. Flushed with embarrassment, he shook his head emphatically, almost violently. "That question shouldn't even -count-," he growled. "Hypotheticals shouldn't -count-!"

"It's not a hard question," Yuma pointed out, smugly. "Just answer supposing that you didn't transform: If you -could- kiss Wakaba, would you?"

"That's none of your busi--"

Very suddenly, the room flooded with light.

Not spotlights, or the tiny colored lights that made up the decorations, but yellow electric light, pouring in from the hallway. Shielding their eyes, the shinigami clustered in the office looked up to see Tatsumi's silhouette in the doorway. The man was frazzled; that much was easy to tell. His hair was awry, glasses crooked, and one hand was closed around a content, fluffy little owl.

"Watari-san," the secretary intoned, voice sounding decidedly dangerous. "I suspect that you can explain all of this?"

~end part 7~