Disclaimer: I wish I owned Wild Adapter. I'd even settle for EC. But I don't. They belong to Minekura.

Summary: A theoretical outlook on some aspects of Wild Adapter. My latest hypothesis on where the story might be headed - this one's gonna be quite a few chapters long, so be prepared.

Warnings: Spoilers for WA, of course. Also, this is a BL manga, so expect there to be boy's love in this, though I think it's safe to say this chapter doesn't have anything that overt. You all are NOT gonna be happy with me at the end of all this - just a warning.

Comments: This is set after everything else is, so assume Kubo-chan's no longer being held by the police and all that stuff - it spawned from one of those evil moments of realization that causes your face to drain of blood and pale. I was happily listening to the second drama disk in preparation for my next chapter of translation while on a plane to visit my significant other and got out the book to check a line, ended up reading along with the dialog on the disk, and ran into something that just clicked. Then after a bout of frantic flipping through the 3 volumes that I have, the realization set in, and I jotted it all down in a notebook. It originally stemmed from an idea I've had toying around in my head for a few weeks, and it's utterly turned into something devistatingly more morbid and depressing. So, now I'll subject you all to it. Don't you just love me?

Seventh Heaven Chapter 1 - Bit of Life

The sound of the door sliding open broke the monotonous silence in the store. Kou-san looked up from the counter he was polishing with a slight smile.

"Hiya" The familiar greeting flowed across the store, the eternal ritual of words.

"Welcome" The customary response rippled back, a routine tide of verbal tradition smoothing into harmonic redundancy.

The shop was no different than yesterday, or the day before. Or last week, even. Though days pass and the world flowed on, the appearance of this one small place remained the same. The Berlin wall had fallen and still the dust layer on the window display went unheeded. No new items like the ones every three weeks at the convenience store. Only the bitter scent of medicinal herbs, mingled with tiger balm and the faint, acrid trace of gunpowder. Stagnant with a trace of malignancy, a placid surface with deep currents stronger than the undertow of the ocean.

"Is Tokito-kun not with you today, Kubota-kun?" Kou-san's voice held the hint of surprise.

"New game." Kubota spoke with a shrug, "Came out last night."

"Ah, he's still asleep then. Please give my apologies if my call this morning woke him up." Kou-san's voice never wavered from his polite, neutral tone.

"It's fine, it's fine." Kubota waved a hand to stave off the apology. "He wasn't disturbed. I doubt an explosion could have woken him."

Kou-san smiled softly at that and then rummaged below the counter preemptively at the question that he knew was coming.

"And... this delivery?" Kubota asked as the bag was brought out.

"Medicines. It seems this particular customer of mine has been a little delinquent on their tab. I have tried to be understanding, but one can only delay payments for so long..." Kou-san sighed softly.

Kubota glanced into the bag as he took it from Kou-san and clucked his tongue. "Your generosity has limits, as always," he observed, his voice with undertones of regret. "Then, I will expect a call this afternoon."

"Probably," Kou-san agreed, "Those incidents have begun to be a little more predictable, all in all."

"To one with knowledge, the future is clear? Or something." The corner of Kubota's lips curved up in a twist.

"Or something. Please, send my regards to Tokito-kun."

"Will you not give him those yourself, later?" Kubota's voice held slight amusement, as if his words were a joke that only the person across the counter from him would understand.

"True. Perhaps I will wait." Kou-san's voice shared the amusement with a touch of fondness, "At any rate, thank you for always allowing me to rely on you, Kubota-kun."

"No worries." The black cloth of the trench coat billowed out as the shape turned, business concluded.

The sound of the door gliding shut again echoed into the street, a dam of fused rocks, heated and molded into a manmade form, segmenting off this little pool from the river of society.


"Minoru... come here..."

"No... Stay away..."

"Don't be afraid... You will always belong only to me..."

"Stop it! I don't... Let go!!"

The black, looming shape before me morphed into a clearer form, one I recognized easily, one I knew so well.

"Tokito... Come here..."

The lights faded and I was in darkness. Nothing. Gray to black to deeper black of eternity. Then a golden spark spoke, a voice familiar yet seething with malice.

"Kubota-kun is scared. Everything that has come out of his mouth lately has been lies, because in those sort of fictitious things he has come to live. More than anything else, that which he doesn't believe is himself.

Therefore, for certain...

If it's truth, Tokito-kun...

Isn't it you that holds everything?"

I shot up in bed, a half-cry escaping my lips, panting for breath.

"Ah, you're awake" His soft voice greeted me from across the room. He was sitting at the computer desk, this month's issue of that one mahjong magazine in hand. Slowly he closed it, marking his place with one of those annoying paper inserts that seemed to always fall out when you held the magazine by the spine, no matter how many times you thought you had cleared them all out. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah." I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the memories from my vision, only succeeding in dislodging the sleep rocks that rested in the corners. "I probably won't remember it for long. What time is it?"

"Half past five." He replied, glancing at the clock at the bedside table. "Evening. You slept through the day."

Stretching my muscles, I was slightly pleased our conversation was so predictable. As always, he did not question what the dreams were about, only accepting my words about forgetting them. At first, I would forget about them. Only the terror I had felt would remain. Lately, I'd been able to remember more and more of them, bit and pieces and the sound of voices washing over me, and the feeling that I didn't want Kubo-chan to know. Like when my hand hurt. Something inside of me knew without a doubt that he already knew. If I said it out loud, it would make it real. I didn't want them to become real. "How long have you been awake?" I asked as I took the glass from the bedside table, drinking the water in a few large gulps.

"A few hours. The trash collectors woke me up this morning." He replied smoothly, and then asked, "Hungry? I could heat up some of the curry from last night..."

"Curry for breakfast? Ugh, no." I made a face of displeasure, pointedly not emphasizing that I was tired of curry. Kubo-chan probably had curry this morning. He was weird like that, able to eat the same thing day in and day out. Plus, he liked curry.

"Suit yourself," his voice was neutral as he turned back to his magazine in dismissal. If it wasn't curry, I'd have to get it myself. Sighing, I dragged myself out of bed.


"Tokito, answer the phone." Kubo-chan's voice called from the kitchen, surprising me and making me lose the game I was playing. Tossing the controller down on the ground, I made a noise of discontentment. I hadn't even heard the phone ringing. Kubo-chan must have amazing ears, to hear it over the video game.

"Yeah, yeah. Hello?" The phone was less than a meter away from me; I only had to lean over and stretch to pick it up.

"Ah, Tokito-kun. It's been a while, hasn't it? I trust you have been doing well?" That sickly sweet voice came over the line, filling the pit of my stomach with disgust. It wasn't that I didn't like the quack. He just reminded me that there was so much I didn't know or couldn't remember. He had a way of looking at me that spoke volumes, most written in some language I didn't know. I hated reading.

"I'll get Kubo-chan." I immediately replied, and before he had the chance to respond, I had the phone held out at arms length before me and was heading for the kitchen. "Kubo-chan! It's for you."

Kubo-chan looked up from the dishes he was doing and slowly rinsed and dried his hands. He was taking his time while I was standing there, waving the phone towards him, impatient for him to take it. He didn't seem surprised when he did take it and found that it was the quack. We had just done a delivery yesterday, yet it was almost like Kubo-chan had expected the call. He turned back to the dishes as he spoke.

I got a soda out of the fridge and then headed back to the game. I hoped it wasn't important - I had almost managed to pass the fifth stage on the game I was playing and if we had to go out, I would have to wait until later tonight. Then it'd be late, and I would have to go to bed sometime before two am because of school tomorrow. Sometimes I wish something would happen on Sunday, and they'd cancel school. School always seemed so unimportant, and no matter how hard I tried I could never get as good of grades as Kubo-chan did. He didn't have to study. He'd just sit in class reading his magazine or whatever it was he did, and then borrow my notes, and poof, perfect score on the test. No matter how much I looked at my own notes, I'd still fail the tests. I don't know why I bothered trying.

I almost had it this time, almost beat this stage. But then just as I was this close to killing the final boss, Kubo-chan walked in and said, "Get ready. We're going out." I looked up in surprise and in that split second the boss fired a missile at me and boom game over no save. Growling, I tossed the controller to the ground and went to go get my shoes on.

"What's up?" I called as I was getting socks from the bedroom, and as I padded into the hallway pulling my coat on, Kubo-chan looked up from the doorway, where he was tying his shoes.

"Kou-san gave me an address." He replied, just as helpful as ever. Luckily, I was pretty sure I knew what he was talking about, and lifted my right hand slightly, a questioning look on my face. At his nod, I hurried a bit. Kubo-chan was already out of the apartment and in the hallway by the time I had my shoes on and sloppily tied. I let the door slam behind us a little harder than I had intended, but I ignored the look Kubo-chan gave me. Sure, I was pissed. But this was a little more important to me than the game. I flexed my right hand in my jacket pocket, feeling the leather slide across the fur that was hidden underneath, as we headed out.

(to be continued)