"How did you know my name?" He peers at me curiously, blue eyes staring into mine, unblinking. "We haven't been introduced before, have we?" His brow furrows as he studies my face, the confusion visible in his eyes. It's like he's trying to put a name to my face, but he doesn't know my name.

I take a step back. He's peering at me intently from underneath his bangs, scrutinizing, trying to place me. But I am positive we have never met. I know I've never seen this kid before in my life. "Was…Your name, it was on the paper, wasn't it?" That has to be it. I was looking at the assignment sheet earlier; he must have his name written on it.

He blinks once, frowning slightly, "No…I only put my name on things that are getting handed in." His eyebrows knit together and he places a finger on his temple, thinking. "But somehow, you knew."

"Must have been a lucky guess." I smile sheepishly.

"Maybe you're psychic." He smiles brightly, hiking his backpack up on his shoulder. "Maybe you read minds."

I look at him strangely. "No." Another odd look. How could he even suggest that? He seems to be an intelligent young man. Surely there's no way he believes in all that crap. "That's a load of shit." I turn away; ready to lead him off to the biography section.

This time, he follows, hair bouncing around his face. "Then how else do you explain it?" He presses, "I mean, you knew my name, Sir. Stuff like that doesn't happen just every day."

"I don't know." I'm getting annoyed with all of this talk, "Maybe we have met somewhere before. Maybe I've overheard some one talking to you. There are plenty of possible explanations for why I knew your name."

"Yes, but Sir-"

"And would you stop calling me that?" I stop in my tracks, turning to face him again. It's getting on my nerves; his being so formal and polite with me.

"But I don't know your name." He blushes lightly, looking sort of flustered.

"Oh." Duh. I feel stupid now. That's right; I don't have to wear any kind of nametag and they usually just send people in my direction without telling them my name. "Well, I'm 'Tari." I offer him a hand.

"Souji." He shakes my hand warmly, "But my friends call me Sou."

I nod. His hand is still clasped in mine and I look down, looking at our joined hands, then blush. He looks at me, blushes as well, and removes his hand from mine. "Sorry." He mumbles, staring off at the carpeted floor.

Not knowing what to say, I pretend it never happened and lead him back to the corner of the library where the biographies are shelved. I know these books like the back of my hand and I know which ones are a waste of time. Souji plops himself down at the closest table, pulling the assignment and a notebook out of his bag as I weed through all the books on the shelf.

He flips through his notebook to a clean page, then props himself on his elbows to watch me. "You know," He begins, "You're very pretty. I bet you were a woman in a past life."

My hand freezes. A woman? Who is this kid and what the hell is he thinking? I pull off my reading glasses, turning slowly to face him. "What did you just say?"

"I said," An impish smile crosses his face, "I bet you were a woman in a past life. You are very pretty. And that might be why you keep your hair long enough to wear it in a ponytail and why you're wearing a pink shirt."

Great, now he's teasing. I shove my glasses back up my nose, glaring over the rims at him as I turn back to the bookshelf. "You're one to talk." I retort, "When I first saw you, I couldn't tell if you were a girl or a boy. I'm not the only pretty one here."

"You really think I'm pretty?" He asks eagerly, "No one has ever said that before. Cute, yeah, I get that all the time…But nothing else."

My face flushes red. How am I supposed to respond to that? I do indeed think he's pretty; but I've never, ever thought that about a man before. I can't bring myself to look at him as I slide a couple books across the table. "Have you ever heard anything about Rasputin? Fascinating man. He was quite the guy. You might find him interesting."

"What did he do?" Souji asked curiously, picking up one of the books and flipping through it.

"He was a Russian mystic. A self-proclaimed healer and holy man, but also a depraved sex fiend. He worked for the royal family in the early 1900's and was thought to have affairs with the czarina and several of her daughters. It took poison, a shooting, a blow to the head and drowning to kill this man in 1916."

"Wow…You do know a lot." He says, sounding somewhat awed, "I'm so impressed."

"Well, he is a favorite of mine." I smile slightly, looking at him once more. He's beaming up at me, blue eyes shining with admiration. Looking at me like that, it's hard to believe he's in college. He looks so young and innocent. Something about him seems so…safe and familiar. Like I have known him for a very long time.

And I can't figure out why.

"Are you good at writing, 'Tari?" He asks curiously. His face scrunches childishly when he's thinking.

"Kinda." I'm no prize author or anything, but I could always do well when I had an assignment to hand in and all. "Let me guess…You need help with that too?"

He smiles sheepishly, leaning over the table. "I'm not a very good writer. All of my teachers always told me I was smart, but I have problems putting the words onto paper. I can never organize my thoughts, you know?" An ink pen bounces between his fingers and his leg twitches as if he's nervous.

I smile. "If you're asking for help, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. I work in the morning, so I have the rest of the day off. I'm always available on Friday afternoons and all day Saturday." I want to help him. It feels right to help him. Like helping an old friend.

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" He breaks into a smile, "I really appreciate it. I haven't ever got a good grade on something like this. Thank you so much."

His enthusiasm is unequaled. I have never seen some one so excited about something they dislike. I watch, amused, as he scribbles his phone number and room number on a piece of notebook paper. Then he proceeds to rip it from the notebook and wave it before me, offering it to me. I fold the paper and tuck it safely in my pocket as he begins stuffing things back in his backpack.

"I'll just check out this book." He tells me, "If you say this guy is interesting, I believe you."

I nod, checking absently to make sure the books are in the right order. "You can get me on the phone at the front desk any time. If you need help, don't hesitate to call." Then I turn to look at him again. "And here's my home phone number." I pull out a small stack of business cards I made for the kids who need my help.

"Okay. Thank you." His head bobs up and down, silky hair bouncing around his face. Then he gives a little wave, hefting his backpack up onto his shoulder. "You'll be hearing from me then." He informs me.

And then he's gone.

My apartment seems small and empty compared to the vastness of the campus library. It's not the nicest of places, but I keep it clean and tidy and -most importantly- comfortable. There's a kitchen, a bath, a bedroom and another room that I use for relaxing. It's tiny, but homey, and I love it.

My cat comes running out to greet me. He's a chocolate-brown short-haired cat, a stray I found a year or so ago. He was shivering and cold outside the apartment complex, mewing pitifully and I couldn't just ignore him. He looked battered and wet and was missing a patch of fur. One of his ears was torn up. He was a pathetic creature.

I felt so sorry; I couldn't help but love him.

I took him home, fed him, cleaned him up. He was still wet and shivering, still scared and, he wouldn't look me in the eye. I trundled him off to a vet's office the following day and he was remarkably healthy. The vet told me it was good some one had found him or he probably would have died of starvation.

So I took him back home, named him Makoto and he's been my constant companion ever since.

"Hello, Makoto." I scoop the cat up into my arms and he rubs against me, purring like an outboard motor. "I made a new friend today." I tuck the cat under one arm as I rummage in the fridge for some dinner. "He was looking for help with a history paper."

"Mrow?" The cat rubs his head against my side, still purring incessantly.

"That's right…A boy this time. I know it's usually girls who need my help, but it was a boy this time. Although…He really did look like a girl." I mutter thoughtfully as I set the cat down on the counter and pull out a left-over nacho salad. "He was pretty…Dark hair, brilliant blue eyes, small and slender…And what the hell am I saying?"

No response. I glance over. Makoto is bathing himself while sitting next to my cookie jar.

"You would probably like him, Koto." I continue describing my day, as I always do. It's good for me to recount everything which occurred throughout the day and go over all of my actions. I strive to be the best person possible and reevaluating my day is a good way to do so. "He's polite. He kept calling me 'sir.' But he was odd too…" My thoughts drift back to Souji's statement that I must have been a woman in a past life.

"I like him though." I conclude. I really do. I'm looking forward to seeing him again because he intrigues me. The way he smiled made me shivery -I'm sure there's more to this boy than meets the eye- and I felt comfortable being with him, as if I had known him all my life.

I pop the nachos into my microwave to heat them up. Makoto jumps down off the counter and trots over to his food dish, meowing loudly. "Right, right…I'll get your dinner too." I keep his kibble in a cupboard and I pull out the container, the food tinkling into the porcelain dish.

He begins crunching. The microwave whirs. My sink is dripping and I suddenly feel lonely.

I've never felt lonely before. I was never a popular person growing up, but I was always content to be alone. I knew I was different from other people -though I wasn't sure how exactly- and I was happy on my own. Going to college, I had been a lone wolf. There were the occasional group projects that required going out and I had a small circle of acquaintances, but I was happier on my own than with other people. I was the kind of person who tended to blend into the woodwork and enjoyed it.

But a sudden, desperate feeling of isolation has washed over me. I feel all alone; like the world is against me. It's an unpleasant feeling; I've never been anything but cheerful. I do not enjoy the idea of feeling despondent at all. I don't know where it came from, I don't know how to get rid of it, but I want it gone.

Then, as quickly as it came, the feeling is gone. The microwave dings and I snap back to reality, the emptiness subsiding and my usual, cheerfulness replacing it.

I take the nachos into the den and flop down in my shabby recliner, flipping on my TV and turning to the Simpsons for some laughs. Makoto jumps up, landing on my lap and getting himself comfortable. He begins kneading my thighs, his sharp little claws digging through my pants and into my skin.

"Dammit Makoto!" I try to shove the critter away, but he latches on, claws fastened to the fabric of my khakis. He just purrs, looking smug. I swear, sometimes he purposely tries to torment me. Like he's ungrateful for all I've done for him or something.

Grumbling, I turn my attention to the cartoon as I dig into the nachos. I hadn't realized until this point just how hungry I am. I had been busy all day and had no time for lunch, but it hadn't bothered me until now. Even if they are left-overs and a little soggy, I'm ravenous and they're delicious.

Half an hour later, I'm slumped down in the chair, the plate on the floor beside me and Makoto licking cheese off it. I'm flipping through the channels, looking for something better to watch, and yawning. I pull a pillow into my lap and kick off my shoes. It's only eight o'clock, but I'm exhausted already.

Makoto jumps back up on the chair with me, purring once more. I pet him for a while, continuing to yawn. He nudges my hand, trying to get my attention, but I'm too sleepy to play with him. He finally settles down, low rumbles coming from him, and I know he's a happy cat. A faint smile crosses my face and I shift slightly, getting comfortable.

Then I drift off to sleep.

"Hey, Kamatari!"

There's a girl waving, smiling brightly. She's dressed in what looks like a greenish kimono, dark hair framing her face as she beams. The person speaking to her is a dark-haired boy; he's holding a box and grinning.

"Oh god." This statement is muttered by a shapely woman with some sort of low-cut dress on. She's frowning lightly, but whether it's at the boy or the other woman is unknown.

"Sou! It's been so long!" The girl in green chirps cheerfully. Then her gaze swings over to the other woman. "Yumi, it's so good to see you again."

"Yeah…" The buxom woman trails off.

A smug look crosses the other's face. "This time we'll see who can steal Shishio-sama's heart."

"Right." Yumi's eyebrow twitches slightly and her face darkens. "Well, I'm certainly not going to lose..."

Something starts ringing.

I jolt awake. The phone is ringing loudly in my ear from where it sits on the small table near the chair. It takes me a minute to realize I had fallen asleep and been dreaming and that the phone is now ringing loudly. Muttering and pushing my glasses back up my nose, I fumble for the phone.

"…'Lo?" I mumble into the receiver.

My cousin. He begins chatting loudly, his southern accent making it somewhat hard to understand what exactly he's saying. He goes on and on about something or nothing or whatever and vividness of my dream fades to mere memory, receding to somewhere in the back of my mind where it will remain until it's needed again.