Sorry, this hardly reaches 2000 words and has no actual point, but a little mall adventure. I just find that spot in particular a very good spot to end the chapter on. Honestly though, you may read the last sentence of the chapter with the success of reading the whole chapter.

Right, and thou, fucking bitches, got off easily by not reviewing at all. Next time: no reviews: no freaking update! :screams:

That was my life.

The direction headed towards wass the mall, and I won't go into deep detail about or tip, but he dragged me into every expensive clothing store and bought ME something form each one. I refused everything, partially because I was ashamed, partially because of the clothes being so nice, partially because of worrying what insane amount of money he spent on me, partially because I had no clue where he got SO MUCH from, partially because he was a GUY I knew absolutely nothing of, and partially because the items were to damn exposing and sexy. Come on, shiny black lather pants and dark green tank-top aren't exactly… appropriate where I lived. People could take mo for a prostitute if I wore something like that. Although, not all of the things he bought for me were that bad.

After that, he dragged me into the music shop. We were loaded with bags, however, and he immediately run out, used the pay phone. Minutes later, a taxi came by. We stuffed all of the expansive junk into the cab, and I was about to sit down, when Tohma pulled me out, gave the driver an address, some cash, dragged me back to the mall.

His reckless and lack of care for the things that were currently under risk of getting stolen worried me, yet, noticing that, he smiled and spoke to me: "If something disappears, we can always buy new ones. And, what harm is it a little fun of suing the driver?"

I looked at him as if he was crazy. He just stroke my hair. He definitely did not like doing that.

Five minutes later, we were at hair-dresser's salon, he having his hair washed, and me having it cut by the style he picked out of some magazine on some girl with her breasts nearly falling out. We received wired looks from the women around us; we were, after all, in the forbidden lair of all females. I still don't understand why we couldn't go to some good barber shop, regardless that Tohma suggests that "Barber's shops always stink with sweaty men heaving their beards shaved off" every time.

Anyway, Tohma did not like the results at all, while I loved it. Thinking for several minutes, he talked to the girl who just gave me a pretty haircut (my hair merely reached my shoulders, was a little, torn at the ends, everything was loose and light), she nodded and tolled me to sit back.

I asked him that she was going to do to my nice hair, but he suggested something, the sound of which I didn't like at all.

"Black is not your color".

Then I thought that whatever he was going to do would have my mother stab me with a butcher knife. I thought of my poor mother then: she was probably out with some ugly men again. I felt sorry for her; I had new things, and she had nothing. I wanted to ask Tohma, I was too shy and afraid to ask for more.

Soon, the lady returned with some bottles and washed my hair again, applying thick coat of slimy, dark stuff on my hair. It then hit me, and I jumped out of the chair, causing several annoyed looks from near-by women.

"What are you going to do?!" I half-yelled, causing more annoyed women to look in my direction. Tohma looked at me, amazed and amused a little at the same time.

"But dying your hair, of course", he suggested, matter-of-factly.

I looked at him shocked, and he just gave me yet another adorable, blank smile.

"Sit down", he ordered, "I merely THINK I would know better what is best for you."

That was… rather scary. His demanding tone, so soft, yet so harsh, would wake the dead up if it tolled them to do so. I thought this kind of person would love to push people at the moving traffic, watching them run over and backed up on, which I soon discovered he DID enjoy doing.

I sat back, forcing my eyes shut for the rest of the procedure, fearing of the results. Which weren't so bad if I haven't known that my mom will use a hatchet instead of that butcher knife.

My hair, still nicely cut, but… dark green.

After a series of hysterical cries, he finally managed to convince me to leave it the way it was: he didn't do much convincing though, he just replied with a strict "no" to every protest I made.

After that little incident, he dragged me around several more stores, forced me to change into a wired outfit he bought: I don't quite remember what it was, but I do know that it was wired. Finally satisfied with the way I looked, he still managed to "compliment" my wounded face, and dragged me out to that music store, about which I completely forgot.

"So you sing", he said, checking out the equipment they had at the time. We passed some mikes, that now would be considered vary old and ugly, but at the time, were the coolest things ever. The store owner admired both of us; the fact that I still had black eyes and my lip stitched did not seem to lose his high evaluation of me. I blushed as he greeted "Jazzy pop and his chick", but Tohma only smiled. He did not mind being called a chick at all, which surprised me, yet, that did not take away my blush.

Tohma talked to the owner for several minutes, then, he (the owner) disappeared at the back of the store, and came back several minutes later with a big cardboard box. You know how now they have all of those pretty, colorful pictures all over the box to indicate it's contents? Well, back then, it was only a plain brown box with some writing on it, and a stamp "fragile". I wondered what was in it, but before I could ask, Tohma grabbed me by hand, and dragged me into piano department. Well, what I thought looked like pianos: it was rather a large synthesizer, connected to a mix board, connected to some wired square thingy, which all together plugged into an outlet. There were many keyboards like that; yet they all had this structure: piano, board, boxy.

Tohma carefully checked each out, called the cashier, pointed at one, and tolled him off. I wondered if they had keyboards in pink; I always liked pink.

Anyway, he paid for the boxes, left an address for them to be delivered to, and we left the store.

Don't you even dare to think that I am missing out those sweet conversations we had: we had none. "Lets get that", "Do you like it?" "What's your shoe size?" "Which one? Oh, lets get both" etcetera. All I squeezed out was "no, thanks", a blush, short answers and nods. I didn't know him, and was still shy, for crying out loud! He was, after all, an object of my attention for the several months, but that was when I though he was a girl. Now, I thought, he got the wrong idea.

Anyway, discovering that he dragged me around for more then four hours, I thought that it was better to get home, and tolled him so. He, however, got this wired, smile-less expression on his face, and though for a while.

"When do your parents get home?" He asked.

"I don't know." I said, ashamed of the fact.

"Why don't you call home and say that you will get home late?"

" I can't do that", I stated, suddenly finding my toes the most interesting thing in the world, " we don't have a phone."

"Oh", he said, looking at me pitifully. Yet, moments later, his face changed back into that disappointed grimace. "Don't you know the approximate time?"

"Well...", I looked up at him, and then back down at my toes, "My mom should get home by eight at earliest…" I lied, admitting to myself that the earliest I saw my mother get home was midnight. Those were rare occasions, however. Sometimes, she didn't come home at all. She'd just live a note on the fridge.

"Which gives us three hours." His face lit up. If I ever saw something pretty, it was his face when it was all happy like that.

"But…" I started, but I was interrupted yet again. His hand grabbed mine, and I was pulled into another café.

It seemed silly to eat so soon; I tolled you about our family's monetary problems, yet we did anyway.

Unlike with those guys at lunch, he actually let me order. I immediately looked at the price board, yet he turned me around so I couldn't see it and listed what they had. I wanted some fries and chicken, and Pepsi, and minutes later, my meal was at the table. Tohma picked some "donkey food", or salad, and a glass of water. Right at that moment, I noticed that he didn't like eating at this place at all. I wondered why; it was the best café in the whole mall. He, however, looked it at as it was a dumpster. He did enjoy his leafs and carrots, however.

Our table was in the corner, giving us some privacy, and I started to eat silently. He was just staring at me. I couldn't bare it any longer, I wanted to ask him what the bloody hell this was all about, yet I STILL could not bring myself to do so. He started the talk I wanted to start hours ago.

"Hey…" He said, still looking at me.

I looked up.

"Yes?..."

'Well, what's your name at least?" He inquired, and my stomach twisted. All of those little conversations we had never had the last hints of either of our names or anything. I felt stupid.

"Im.. Ryuichi. Ryuichi Sakuma." I finally stated.

"Hello Ryuichi", he smiled, "Tohma Seguchi, He extended his hand across the table, giving me no choice but to shake it.

It was amazing how easy the conversation went on: I rarely talked to people. I'm still surprised that I was able to talk at all. He turned out to be sixteen – two years older then I. I still haven't figured out where he got all of the money from, and why he was spending it all on me, yet, that seemed like a rude thing to ask.

I think I figured that he was some rich kid. He just didn't seem to be like a thief, or murderer, or drug dealer, or anything like that at all.

Yet, there was another thing I wondered about him: alright, he was pretty, but he was a guy. Girls could find him cute, yet up to the certain point; not hang around him all day. Those guys, usually around him weren't gay for sure, so I figured, they had no reason to hang around him either. By the end, I came up with a conclusion that made sense all ways: he was some rich kid (although I had no clue what the hell he was thinking: attending school such as ours), who was just as lonely as I was, Yet, the difference that drew the social line between us was: he was rich, and I was ass-poor. The next sentence I am going to say is a rude and mean in all ways applied, but it is as fair and truthful as I could ever put it. Tohma Seguchi bought his friends.