Chapter Seven: Zero Enna's Journal, Part Two
Zero sat on his bed, waiting for Clay to leave.
You're still here! Weren't you supposed to meet with Saki this evening?
Clay stepped out of the bathroom, wearing fresh boxers and a white t-shirt. He had used a little gel on his bangs, pulling them away from his face.
"So, Zero," Clay asked, "should I go with the usual GOA outfit, or try something else?"
Zero walked over to a closet, and rummaged for a few minutes. He handed his roommate a rust-red shirt, dark khaki trousers, and a pair of dress socks.
"Wear this."
Clay glared at him.
"Hey, dude, you asked me if you should try something new. No offense, Clay, but you can stand a little color in your life."
Clay growled.
"Okay, all right, lighten up there! We both know," Zero said, as he wrapped an arm around Clay's shoulder, "that you've been crushed out on Saki from day one. Am I right, or have I missed something?"
"Yeah, that's right," Clay muttered. Where, and when, did he catch the vibe?
"Dude, the only thing you haven't done is put up a neon sign announcing, 'Clay Cliff Fortran loves Saki Mimori! Details at 11:00!' Even the cafeteria staff see you drooling---and they know it's not over the sludge."
Clay sank to the floor, head in hands. Where's a VICTIM ambush when you need one?
"Hey, don't get so tetchy! You've got a great mind. And Saki may ride you roughshod, but she likes you. She's attracted to your mind---and with a little focus, she'll see what a stone fox you are."
He tossed the clothing onto his bed, and walked Clay to the closet. "So that outfit's not you. Point taken. Let's see if we can't find something else."
Fifteen minutes later, he held up a black roll-necked sweater and a pair of matching jeans.
"Go give that a try," Zero said, shoving the taller Candidate toward the bathroom.
Clay stripped away the GOA uniform, pausing to stare at his reflection. Zero banged on the door.
"Let me get dressed already!"
"Get a move on, dude, she won't wait all night." Clay sighed, removing the jeans from the hanger, and unzipping them. Once the jeans were on, he pulled the sweater over his head.
"So, are you ready?" Zero called out.
"Come on in."
The two looked at the reflection in the mirror. Clay managed a smile. All right, I admit it: this is a great outfit. Not too formal, but not scruffy. Watch out, Saki, Clay Cliff Fortran, Sex God Extraordinaire, is on the prowl.
"It's a good look, but you're missing something." Zero paced, before he grinned. "Wait right here, dude."
He came back with a green suede vest. "Try this on."
Clay slipped the vest on, studying himself in the mirror. Yow! Forget the Sex God bit---this look screams sex itself. He studied the denim molded to his hips and thighs, the cotton knit accenting the muscles of his chest, the hair grazing the nape of his neck. This vest really does add the proper touch.
"Now," Zero said, grinning, "you're ready." And you look absolutely scrummy.
"Tell me, where did you find all these clothes?"
"The sweater and jeans are yours." And you could have found them with a little effort.
"And whose vest is this?"
Hiead's voice cut in. "Mine." He stepped into the bathroom, glaring at Clay and Zero. "And who gave you permission to wear that?"
Zero gave him a nudge. "I'm the one who took it from the closet. Sorry."
Clay froze a minute, caramel eyes widening. Oh my god. Zero apologized to Hiead. Is the Antichrist on the rise here?
"What the hell is Fortran doing that he needs my vest?" Hiead threw a smoldering look at Zero.
"I'll explain," the dark-haired boy answered, pulling the other out of the bathroom.
Clay slipped the vest off, walking into their room, where he saw Hiead and Zero whispering.
Ruby-red eyes glanced up, taking in his fellow roommate.
"You're right," Hiead spoke. "It does suit him." He paused, a smirk forming, as Clay attempted to stammer. "Put it back on. Mimori won't know what hit her."
Zero walked over, helping Clay into the vest.
"Thanks, Hiead. I'll have your vest back by lights out. And I won't let it get damaged."
"See that you don't. Oh, and as I said to Enna---next time, ask."
Clay blinked. Was there something I missed here?
"Go," Zero said, "and have a good time."
Clay half-smiled, leaving the room.
"You're forgetting something," Hiead called out. He turned to see the silver-haired Candidate, holding a pair of black boots. "Or maybe you want to be the Barefoot Casanova?"
Clay returned, putting on the boots. "Thanks, I guess I was kind of excited there."
"Get going, love cat, she's waiting." Zero shoved Clay to the door, giving his backside a light swat. Clay yelped, giving Zero a puzzled look, and left.
"Was that necessary, Enna?" Hiead walked up to Zero, eyes lit with a dry amusement.
"No." Zero looked at the floor, then at Hiead, chuckling. "But it was fun. Besides, he's spoken for, and so am I."
Hiead's eyes darkened. "So you are." And that's as it should be. Or is it? "Going to the Library?"
"Thought I'd have a little quiet time. Maybe another day?"
"Maybe." Hiead turned to leave, when Zero's hand clasped his shoulder.
"Thanks for asking, Hiead." He turned, gazing into his rival's deep blue eyes.
"You're welcome, Zero."
Once Hiead had left the room, Zero retrieved his journal, and once seated on the bed, started to write.
~Saturday, 17 October 4209 ~
~Heard from Erts today.
~He told me that I could always unburden with him, not to get so wound up around Hiead, and try not to take everything to heart.
~You think I'd be happy to hear from my koibito. And I am. But---damn, why am I not singing at the top of my lungs? Two months ago, I'd have run down the halls, scattering rose petals and chocolates for everyone's delight. Two weeks ago, I'd have grinned like some utter loon.
~Not only that, I would have rushed to compose a reply, and I'd think of the look on his face when he opened his inbox. I'd dream of how he would laugh, cry, maybe melt with every word I said. And I'd wait for him to send another letter, to leave me weak with longing, with joy---with pure passion.
~And I think of this waiting, this distance between us---he won't return to GOA until the next visit from the Pilots. Oh, there's always the off- chance that some skirmish or other will force the Pilots to dock here for refueling. But I doubt I'll be that lucky.
~Did I really kiss him before VICTIM slaughtered his brother? Did we snuggle together, whispering and giggling like children at Christmas? Did we touch and taste each other, in a haze of mango sorbet and pheromones?
~I know the answer to the questions. And yet, I wonder if all those things really happened to me---what was it that Zero Enna, GOA's Wonder Boy, really gave to Erts Virny Cocteau, and why? Where does the Wonder Boy begin? Where do I end? Who am I? Mother Kannon, tell me!
~When I came here, I was a country boy, all raw ambition and optimism. I was my mother's only son, determined to pilot a Goddess. Determined not to let my home colony die.
~Never mind zero-gravity nausea, ball-busting instructors, or insufferable, silver-haired bastards with no sense of humor. Never mind wondering if my Repairer Candidate felt like choking on bile at the fact that her rowdy, far-from-serious partner got to do what she couldn't, and just how long she could put on a happy face for the other girls---no, for herself. Never mind that encounter with Eeva-Leena, or anything. Zero Enna was here to prove his worth as a Candidate, here to ascend to Pilot status, here to wipe VICTIM off the map.
~Only, well, something happened that I didn't anticipate.
~After the sortie with VICTIM---the world I knew kissed me goodbye. I tried to shrug off the fact that my EX had linked itself with two others of the same kind; and for a while, I thought I could just continue sleeping, eating, training, and the like, much as I had in the past.
~I couldn't. ~When I began having nightmares and waking up wounded, I knew there was no going back.
~And it really smarted, thinking that there was so much going through my mind, and nobody to really hear me out. As I said earlier, much as I love the mail alerts from cocteau@gis.org, there's no substitute for the intimacy of a face that sees your face.
~The objections rise: "But you know your koibito understands you, even if you're not able to muss his hair and cover his arms with butterfly kisses. And if you really want a face-to-face, you can always look up Clay, or Kizna. Zero, there are tons of people that would be honored if you sat with them for five seconds!"
~But most of them would see what they wanted to see. And if I ever fell from grace, the same people who shoved me onto the pedestal would swing the wrecking ball.
~Maybe they'd celebrate the downfall of another false idol. Or maybe they'd just haul the shards off to some nameless quadrant, leave them to drift till eternity's end.
~I don't want tons of people kissing my ass. I just want one that sees me-- -Rei Enna---not Candidate 88, not Zenoah 01.
~Someone who's watched me sick up, and makes sure that I'm cleaned up before they put me to bed.
~Someone who will not automatically treat me like the Goddesses' gift to humankind, or, conversely, won't go out of their way to demonstrate what a snot-nosed, flaky little dweeb I am.
~All right. So Hiead has never once failed to ridicule me, get into a quarrel, or fight with me. And falling on top of him, in a suggestive way, was probably the surest way of landing on his "Dead Meat" list. Why in the world should I believe that he would even give a flying about my life? For all I know, he could be plotting a really elaborate mind-fuck. Win the country boy's trust, wangle the most intimate details of his life with some sweet nothings, and use them for a bloodletting.
~Then again, why would he risk a ream of demerits to join me in the kitchens? And why would he insist on sealing a pact, not once, but twice--- the second time, with a kiss?! More to the point: why did I follow his lead, when he drew blood? When he offered his to me, and drank in mine? You'd think we were vampires---or cohorts in some especially vicious crime.
~And yet, if I said I felt revulsion at the thought of such a primal---such a binding---act, I would be lying. Hiead's blood tasted like copper and cinnamon: bittersweet, clean, and highly intoxicating. That alone should have settled the matter.
~When his lips touched mine, I expected to feel venom burn through my veins. Though for all I can tell, it is. He is.
~Hiead Gner is in my veins, shooting sparks through my nerves, a cold fire that levels everything in its path. I should run. Run as far and fast as I can, before this penetrates to the marrow.
~Where would I go? How could I hide? He really is a part of my mind's landscape---as I am part of his. To hurt him would be to hurt myself; I know this. And there's enough hurt already on his plate. Wounds that leave no visible mark---he bears these. I'm amazed they haven't destroyed his soul altogether. His father, the foster family, and those so-called doctors treating him worse than any lab rat---that much suffering scares me, if only for the intensity.
~And what scares me more is this: I would endure hell itself to keep his demons at bay. ~
Zero paused, twiddling his pen between his fingers. He closed the journal, placing the pen in his vest, and left the room. He made his way to the Relaxation Room, where he climbed up a rock wall, and listened to the sounds of the waterfall.
He stretched out on a patch of grass, looking at the skylight, revealing a view of the night sky. When is it ever daylight, really, in space?
Zero hummed, a low tune that grew, shaped by words that were still new to his tongue: "O nosso amor não vai parar de rolar, de fugir e seguir como um rio; como uma pedra que divide o rio, me diga coisas bonitas. O nosso amor não vai olhar para trás, desencantar tema de livro; a vida inteira eu quiz um verso simples prá transformar o que eu digo. Rimas faceis, calofrios; fura um dedo, faz um pacto comigo. Um segundo, seu no meu: por um segundo, mais feliz."
"Por um segundo mais feliz," he murmured. Only a second of happiness? There ought to be more than that.
He rolled onto his stomach, and then resumed writing.
~What's it like, to receive a gift that has no price, with no ulteriors?
~I remember going to school, after the Christmas holidays, to see my classmates talking about the feasts of roast pork and turkey, of platters heaped high with cakes and pastries. They'd whisper about the midnight treats they'd receive, of hot chocolate with a little brandy mixed in, and cloud-light puffs of meringue, iced with a powdered sugar glace, with silver and gold candies topping them out. And then they'd brag about their presents: the new spinning tops, the dolls with silky blonde hair, the candy-apple red bikes that would go anywhere, forever.
~Within three months, most of those lovely, sparkling things would end up in a corner, gathering dust. And when the next Christmas rolled around, they had made their way to church basements and junk heaps.
~And my mother would take whatever she had managed to save, and sort through the flotsam and jetsam. She would take her finds home, cleaning them, getting them repaired, and wrapping them with parcel paper and scraps of cloth.
~Someone once said "One man's trash is another man's treasure." And I suppose, after rambling about gifts, and holidays, that the saying has to pop up.
~Where does the line get drawn, between trash and treasure? Many of my classmates sneered at me, for the handmade clothes, the patched shoes---and the pieced-together bike, which after the age of 10, took me to and from school. And yet---these things were dear to me, as dear as the strips of red and green velvet that graced even the smallest package.
~I'd like to walk up to someone, and say, "Here I am. See me. Hear me. Trace your fingers across my lips. Know me. Love me. Let me love you. Let me show you how beautiful you are." "But you have Erts! You can tell him everything!" Can I? I mean, can I really?
~I swore I would never let anything, or anyone, hurt him. And I fear that I won't be able to keep that promise. That I will end up hurting him in the most intimate of ways. That, in saying this, I already I am hurting Erts.
~Hurting him, because I cannot say that he has me. ~
Zero closed the journal, making his way from the Relaxation Room to the Observatory Deck.
He saw Hiead, standing at a window, staring.
"Come closer." Hiead spoke in a low tone. "Something's upset you."
Zero walked over, until he stood at arm's length from his roommate. He took in the sweep of the silvery hair, the light from the red eyes, and the way that angle and curve shaped his face.
Hiead turned to face Zero, noting the boy's eyes, deep and wintry. He felt a catch in his chest, as the dark-haired Candidate moved closer.
"Shall I tell you what I see?" he said.
Zero nodded, leaning forward, until a scant space remained between their mouths.
"I see you." Hiead paused. "And I wonder how I haven't before." He leaned in, kissing his rival on the forehead.
"Now go on, get some rest."
Zero nodded, touching his fingers to Hiead's face. "Thank you."
Hiead watched Zero as he turned, walking away. Little mystery---tell me, what do you see?
Zero returned to the room, dressing in pajamas. He lay back, slipping into a dream:
A cat looked up at him, two mismatched eyes catching his in a piercing stare. The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen where he sat, as the cat turned, yawned and fell asleep.
Feet treaded over the kitchen floor, as another man wrapped his arms around Zero. He smiled at the kiss to his shoulder, and shivered when the same mouth glided along his throat and neck.
A lock of silver-white hair brushed Zero's cheek.
"What would you like for your birthday, Rei?"
Zero laughed. "World peace."
"Sorry, itooshii, no can do."
"Okay, how about the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything."
"Forty-two, and they bollixed the question."
"Okay, how about a naked man in my bed, who's willing to feed me brunch, complete with chocolate-dipped strawberries?"
"Is he cute?"
"He makes straight guys weak in the knees."
"Does he have a brother?"
"Nope."
"Damn, there goes my evil plot!"
Zero draped an arm across his forehead, doing his best "damsel in distress" impression.
"Why Hiead, you wouldn't think of ravishing poor, defenseless me, would you?"
"No, I'd rather seduce you."
Zero smiled in his sleep.
Author's Note
Hello, and thank you so much for the responses I've received.
Tri: thanks for the glomp! And the encouragement. I think that Erts may end up discovering that his boyfriend is falling for Hiead.should prove for an interesting time. Luna Crescent: Welcome here. And I am honored indeed. *bows* I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. And I shall try to keep them as in character as I can---really. Jade_chan: I will continue. Thank you. Anime Cat: welcome back! Glad you enjoyed the last couple of chapters. And hey, a three-star rating equals a mark of high quality, especially in the Michelin guide. And to my invisible reviewer, thank you, thank you kindly.
Music note: the song quoted here is "Mais Feliz," as sung by the lovely Bebel Gilberto. Here is a modified translation of the lyrics: "Our love will not stop rushing, moving like a river. Tell me beautiful things, like a stone that divides the river. Our love will not look back, become disenchanted, become a book's theme. I looked, all my life, for a simple word to transform what I say. Easy rhymes, goose pimples. Prick a finger, make a pact with me. Yours pressed to mine, one second: for one second, happier."
Recommended fanon: Nozomi-san is back! The second half of "Ruby in the Shadows" is up; the twist she puts on the MK vampire fic gets more twisty. (I sense a YYH/MK crossover waiting to be written.) Also look for her doujinshi page at mediaminer.org. So wonderful! And Missfortune has posted chapter seven of "Realizations"; check it out. I also recommend "Green to Silver: the Journal of Draco Malfoy" for you Draco/Harry devotees out there. (You can also look this up at draco-malfoy.blogspot.com.)
Next chapter: We take a peek at Kizna's journal. Clay Cliff Fortran gets a few lessons in being a Sex God. And the arrangements are made for the upcoming meeting of the Midnight Breakfast Society. Stay tuned!
As always, I welcome all your comments. Thank you for reading.
Antoinette (poetisa)
Zero sat on his bed, waiting for Clay to leave.
You're still here! Weren't you supposed to meet with Saki this evening?
Clay stepped out of the bathroom, wearing fresh boxers and a white t-shirt. He had used a little gel on his bangs, pulling them away from his face.
"So, Zero," Clay asked, "should I go with the usual GOA outfit, or try something else?"
Zero walked over to a closet, and rummaged for a few minutes. He handed his roommate a rust-red shirt, dark khaki trousers, and a pair of dress socks.
"Wear this."
Clay glared at him.
"Hey, dude, you asked me if you should try something new. No offense, Clay, but you can stand a little color in your life."
Clay growled.
"Okay, all right, lighten up there! We both know," Zero said, as he wrapped an arm around Clay's shoulder, "that you've been crushed out on Saki from day one. Am I right, or have I missed something?"
"Yeah, that's right," Clay muttered. Where, and when, did he catch the vibe?
"Dude, the only thing you haven't done is put up a neon sign announcing, 'Clay Cliff Fortran loves Saki Mimori! Details at 11:00!' Even the cafeteria staff see you drooling---and they know it's not over the sludge."
Clay sank to the floor, head in hands. Where's a VICTIM ambush when you need one?
"Hey, don't get so tetchy! You've got a great mind. And Saki may ride you roughshod, but she likes you. She's attracted to your mind---and with a little focus, she'll see what a stone fox you are."
He tossed the clothing onto his bed, and walked Clay to the closet. "So that outfit's not you. Point taken. Let's see if we can't find something else."
Fifteen minutes later, he held up a black roll-necked sweater and a pair of matching jeans.
"Go give that a try," Zero said, shoving the taller Candidate toward the bathroom.
Clay stripped away the GOA uniform, pausing to stare at his reflection. Zero banged on the door.
"Let me get dressed already!"
"Get a move on, dude, she won't wait all night." Clay sighed, removing the jeans from the hanger, and unzipping them. Once the jeans were on, he pulled the sweater over his head.
"So, are you ready?" Zero called out.
"Come on in."
The two looked at the reflection in the mirror. Clay managed a smile. All right, I admit it: this is a great outfit. Not too formal, but not scruffy. Watch out, Saki, Clay Cliff Fortran, Sex God Extraordinaire, is on the prowl.
"It's a good look, but you're missing something." Zero paced, before he grinned. "Wait right here, dude."
He came back with a green suede vest. "Try this on."
Clay slipped the vest on, studying himself in the mirror. Yow! Forget the Sex God bit---this look screams sex itself. He studied the denim molded to his hips and thighs, the cotton knit accenting the muscles of his chest, the hair grazing the nape of his neck. This vest really does add the proper touch.
"Now," Zero said, grinning, "you're ready." And you look absolutely scrummy.
"Tell me, where did you find all these clothes?"
"The sweater and jeans are yours." And you could have found them with a little effort.
"And whose vest is this?"
Hiead's voice cut in. "Mine." He stepped into the bathroom, glaring at Clay and Zero. "And who gave you permission to wear that?"
Zero gave him a nudge. "I'm the one who took it from the closet. Sorry."
Clay froze a minute, caramel eyes widening. Oh my god. Zero apologized to Hiead. Is the Antichrist on the rise here?
"What the hell is Fortran doing that he needs my vest?" Hiead threw a smoldering look at Zero.
"I'll explain," the dark-haired boy answered, pulling the other out of the bathroom.
Clay slipped the vest off, walking into their room, where he saw Hiead and Zero whispering.
Ruby-red eyes glanced up, taking in his fellow roommate.
"You're right," Hiead spoke. "It does suit him." He paused, a smirk forming, as Clay attempted to stammer. "Put it back on. Mimori won't know what hit her."
Zero walked over, helping Clay into the vest.
"Thanks, Hiead. I'll have your vest back by lights out. And I won't let it get damaged."
"See that you don't. Oh, and as I said to Enna---next time, ask."
Clay blinked. Was there something I missed here?
"Go," Zero said, "and have a good time."
Clay half-smiled, leaving the room.
"You're forgetting something," Hiead called out. He turned to see the silver-haired Candidate, holding a pair of black boots. "Or maybe you want to be the Barefoot Casanova?"
Clay returned, putting on the boots. "Thanks, I guess I was kind of excited there."
"Get going, love cat, she's waiting." Zero shoved Clay to the door, giving his backside a light swat. Clay yelped, giving Zero a puzzled look, and left.
"Was that necessary, Enna?" Hiead walked up to Zero, eyes lit with a dry amusement.
"No." Zero looked at the floor, then at Hiead, chuckling. "But it was fun. Besides, he's spoken for, and so am I."
Hiead's eyes darkened. "So you are." And that's as it should be. Or is it? "Going to the Library?"
"Thought I'd have a little quiet time. Maybe another day?"
"Maybe." Hiead turned to leave, when Zero's hand clasped his shoulder.
"Thanks for asking, Hiead." He turned, gazing into his rival's deep blue eyes.
"You're welcome, Zero."
Once Hiead had left the room, Zero retrieved his journal, and once seated on the bed, started to write.
~Saturday, 17 October 4209 ~
~Heard from Erts today.
~He told me that I could always unburden with him, not to get so wound up around Hiead, and try not to take everything to heart.
~You think I'd be happy to hear from my koibito. And I am. But---damn, why am I not singing at the top of my lungs? Two months ago, I'd have run down the halls, scattering rose petals and chocolates for everyone's delight. Two weeks ago, I'd have grinned like some utter loon.
~Not only that, I would have rushed to compose a reply, and I'd think of the look on his face when he opened his inbox. I'd dream of how he would laugh, cry, maybe melt with every word I said. And I'd wait for him to send another letter, to leave me weak with longing, with joy---with pure passion.
~And I think of this waiting, this distance between us---he won't return to GOA until the next visit from the Pilots. Oh, there's always the off- chance that some skirmish or other will force the Pilots to dock here for refueling. But I doubt I'll be that lucky.
~Did I really kiss him before VICTIM slaughtered his brother? Did we snuggle together, whispering and giggling like children at Christmas? Did we touch and taste each other, in a haze of mango sorbet and pheromones?
~I know the answer to the questions. And yet, I wonder if all those things really happened to me---what was it that Zero Enna, GOA's Wonder Boy, really gave to Erts Virny Cocteau, and why? Where does the Wonder Boy begin? Where do I end? Who am I? Mother Kannon, tell me!
~When I came here, I was a country boy, all raw ambition and optimism. I was my mother's only son, determined to pilot a Goddess. Determined not to let my home colony die.
~Never mind zero-gravity nausea, ball-busting instructors, or insufferable, silver-haired bastards with no sense of humor. Never mind wondering if my Repairer Candidate felt like choking on bile at the fact that her rowdy, far-from-serious partner got to do what she couldn't, and just how long she could put on a happy face for the other girls---no, for herself. Never mind that encounter with Eeva-Leena, or anything. Zero Enna was here to prove his worth as a Candidate, here to ascend to Pilot status, here to wipe VICTIM off the map.
~Only, well, something happened that I didn't anticipate.
~After the sortie with VICTIM---the world I knew kissed me goodbye. I tried to shrug off the fact that my EX had linked itself with two others of the same kind; and for a while, I thought I could just continue sleeping, eating, training, and the like, much as I had in the past.
~I couldn't. ~When I began having nightmares and waking up wounded, I knew there was no going back.
~And it really smarted, thinking that there was so much going through my mind, and nobody to really hear me out. As I said earlier, much as I love the mail alerts from cocteau@gis.org, there's no substitute for the intimacy of a face that sees your face.
~The objections rise: "But you know your koibito understands you, even if you're not able to muss his hair and cover his arms with butterfly kisses. And if you really want a face-to-face, you can always look up Clay, or Kizna. Zero, there are tons of people that would be honored if you sat with them for five seconds!"
~But most of them would see what they wanted to see. And if I ever fell from grace, the same people who shoved me onto the pedestal would swing the wrecking ball.
~Maybe they'd celebrate the downfall of another false idol. Or maybe they'd just haul the shards off to some nameless quadrant, leave them to drift till eternity's end.
~I don't want tons of people kissing my ass. I just want one that sees me-- -Rei Enna---not Candidate 88, not Zenoah 01.
~Someone who's watched me sick up, and makes sure that I'm cleaned up before they put me to bed.
~Someone who will not automatically treat me like the Goddesses' gift to humankind, or, conversely, won't go out of their way to demonstrate what a snot-nosed, flaky little dweeb I am.
~All right. So Hiead has never once failed to ridicule me, get into a quarrel, or fight with me. And falling on top of him, in a suggestive way, was probably the surest way of landing on his "Dead Meat" list. Why in the world should I believe that he would even give a flying about my life? For all I know, he could be plotting a really elaborate mind-fuck. Win the country boy's trust, wangle the most intimate details of his life with some sweet nothings, and use them for a bloodletting.
~Then again, why would he risk a ream of demerits to join me in the kitchens? And why would he insist on sealing a pact, not once, but twice--- the second time, with a kiss?! More to the point: why did I follow his lead, when he drew blood? When he offered his to me, and drank in mine? You'd think we were vampires---or cohorts in some especially vicious crime.
~And yet, if I said I felt revulsion at the thought of such a primal---such a binding---act, I would be lying. Hiead's blood tasted like copper and cinnamon: bittersweet, clean, and highly intoxicating. That alone should have settled the matter.
~When his lips touched mine, I expected to feel venom burn through my veins. Though for all I can tell, it is. He is.
~Hiead Gner is in my veins, shooting sparks through my nerves, a cold fire that levels everything in its path. I should run. Run as far and fast as I can, before this penetrates to the marrow.
~Where would I go? How could I hide? He really is a part of my mind's landscape---as I am part of his. To hurt him would be to hurt myself; I know this. And there's enough hurt already on his plate. Wounds that leave no visible mark---he bears these. I'm amazed they haven't destroyed his soul altogether. His father, the foster family, and those so-called doctors treating him worse than any lab rat---that much suffering scares me, if only for the intensity.
~And what scares me more is this: I would endure hell itself to keep his demons at bay. ~
Zero paused, twiddling his pen between his fingers. He closed the journal, placing the pen in his vest, and left the room. He made his way to the Relaxation Room, where he climbed up a rock wall, and listened to the sounds of the waterfall.
He stretched out on a patch of grass, looking at the skylight, revealing a view of the night sky. When is it ever daylight, really, in space?
Zero hummed, a low tune that grew, shaped by words that were still new to his tongue: "O nosso amor não vai parar de rolar, de fugir e seguir como um rio; como uma pedra que divide o rio, me diga coisas bonitas. O nosso amor não vai olhar para trás, desencantar tema de livro; a vida inteira eu quiz um verso simples prá transformar o que eu digo. Rimas faceis, calofrios; fura um dedo, faz um pacto comigo. Um segundo, seu no meu: por um segundo, mais feliz."
"Por um segundo mais feliz," he murmured. Only a second of happiness? There ought to be more than that.
He rolled onto his stomach, and then resumed writing.
~What's it like, to receive a gift that has no price, with no ulteriors?
~I remember going to school, after the Christmas holidays, to see my classmates talking about the feasts of roast pork and turkey, of platters heaped high with cakes and pastries. They'd whisper about the midnight treats they'd receive, of hot chocolate with a little brandy mixed in, and cloud-light puffs of meringue, iced with a powdered sugar glace, with silver and gold candies topping them out. And then they'd brag about their presents: the new spinning tops, the dolls with silky blonde hair, the candy-apple red bikes that would go anywhere, forever.
~Within three months, most of those lovely, sparkling things would end up in a corner, gathering dust. And when the next Christmas rolled around, they had made their way to church basements and junk heaps.
~And my mother would take whatever she had managed to save, and sort through the flotsam and jetsam. She would take her finds home, cleaning them, getting them repaired, and wrapping them with parcel paper and scraps of cloth.
~Someone once said "One man's trash is another man's treasure." And I suppose, after rambling about gifts, and holidays, that the saying has to pop up.
~Where does the line get drawn, between trash and treasure? Many of my classmates sneered at me, for the handmade clothes, the patched shoes---and the pieced-together bike, which after the age of 10, took me to and from school. And yet---these things were dear to me, as dear as the strips of red and green velvet that graced even the smallest package.
~I'd like to walk up to someone, and say, "Here I am. See me. Hear me. Trace your fingers across my lips. Know me. Love me. Let me love you. Let me show you how beautiful you are." "But you have Erts! You can tell him everything!" Can I? I mean, can I really?
~I swore I would never let anything, or anyone, hurt him. And I fear that I won't be able to keep that promise. That I will end up hurting him in the most intimate of ways. That, in saying this, I already I am hurting Erts.
~Hurting him, because I cannot say that he has me. ~
Zero closed the journal, making his way from the Relaxation Room to the Observatory Deck.
He saw Hiead, standing at a window, staring.
"Come closer." Hiead spoke in a low tone. "Something's upset you."
Zero walked over, until he stood at arm's length from his roommate. He took in the sweep of the silvery hair, the light from the red eyes, and the way that angle and curve shaped his face.
Hiead turned to face Zero, noting the boy's eyes, deep and wintry. He felt a catch in his chest, as the dark-haired Candidate moved closer.
"Shall I tell you what I see?" he said.
Zero nodded, leaning forward, until a scant space remained between their mouths.
"I see you." Hiead paused. "And I wonder how I haven't before." He leaned in, kissing his rival on the forehead.
"Now go on, get some rest."
Zero nodded, touching his fingers to Hiead's face. "Thank you."
Hiead watched Zero as he turned, walking away. Little mystery---tell me, what do you see?
Zero returned to the room, dressing in pajamas. He lay back, slipping into a dream:
A cat looked up at him, two mismatched eyes catching his in a piercing stare. The smell of fresh bread filled the kitchen where he sat, as the cat turned, yawned and fell asleep.
Feet treaded over the kitchen floor, as another man wrapped his arms around Zero. He smiled at the kiss to his shoulder, and shivered when the same mouth glided along his throat and neck.
A lock of silver-white hair brushed Zero's cheek.
"What would you like for your birthday, Rei?"
Zero laughed. "World peace."
"Sorry, itooshii, no can do."
"Okay, how about the answer to the question of life, the universe, and everything."
"Forty-two, and they bollixed the question."
"Okay, how about a naked man in my bed, who's willing to feed me brunch, complete with chocolate-dipped strawberries?"
"Is he cute?"
"He makes straight guys weak in the knees."
"Does he have a brother?"
"Nope."
"Damn, there goes my evil plot!"
Zero draped an arm across his forehead, doing his best "damsel in distress" impression.
"Why Hiead, you wouldn't think of ravishing poor, defenseless me, would you?"
"No, I'd rather seduce you."
Zero smiled in his sleep.
Author's Note
Hello, and thank you so much for the responses I've received.
Tri: thanks for the glomp! And the encouragement. I think that Erts may end up discovering that his boyfriend is falling for Hiead.should prove for an interesting time. Luna Crescent: Welcome here. And I am honored indeed. *bows* I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. And I shall try to keep them as in character as I can---really. Jade_chan: I will continue. Thank you. Anime Cat: welcome back! Glad you enjoyed the last couple of chapters. And hey, a three-star rating equals a mark of high quality, especially in the Michelin guide. And to my invisible reviewer, thank you, thank you kindly.
Music note: the song quoted here is "Mais Feliz," as sung by the lovely Bebel Gilberto. Here is a modified translation of the lyrics: "Our love will not stop rushing, moving like a river. Tell me beautiful things, like a stone that divides the river. Our love will not look back, become disenchanted, become a book's theme. I looked, all my life, for a simple word to transform what I say. Easy rhymes, goose pimples. Prick a finger, make a pact with me. Yours pressed to mine, one second: for one second, happier."
Recommended fanon: Nozomi-san is back! The second half of "Ruby in the Shadows" is up; the twist she puts on the MK vampire fic gets more twisty. (I sense a YYH/MK crossover waiting to be written.) Also look for her doujinshi page at mediaminer.org. So wonderful! And Missfortune has posted chapter seven of "Realizations"; check it out. I also recommend "Green to Silver: the Journal of Draco Malfoy" for you Draco/Harry devotees out there. (You can also look this up at draco-malfoy.blogspot.com.)
Next chapter: We take a peek at Kizna's journal. Clay Cliff Fortran gets a few lessons in being a Sex God. And the arrangements are made for the upcoming meeting of the Midnight Breakfast Society. Stay tuned!
As always, I welcome all your comments. Thank you for reading.
Antoinette (poetisa)