"So, how was France? What did you do in Paris?"

"Work." Subaru closed the CLAMP Campus van's door and stared at Kamui, who was sitting on the opposite side of the middle row and not wearing a seatbelt. "Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?"

"Yeah, I really want to be in—" Kamui checked his watch. "—Algebra III right now. Imonoyama said I could come get you. It's nice to get away once in a while."

"For this?"

Subaru nodded toward the traffic-jammed chaos the international arrival terminal of Narita Airport had become, a bumper-to-bumper labyrinth of caution signs and saw horses behind which men frantically tried to fix earthquake damage. It was a living nightmare, even though most international governments had vehemently warned their citizens against going to the Tokyo area, and some governments had even restricted travel to business-and-government-only. The departures drop-off area was even more of a living nightmare, especially since, reciprocally, most governments were putting anticipatory caps on Japanese immigration, and nobody wanted to be one of those unlucky stragglers stuck in Japan when the quotas were met. People were flooding out of the country every day, and the flood was getting worse. The domestic terminals were constantly packed to the seams with people trying to go anywhere-but-Tokyo, but still in Japan, and the arrivals areas were deserted in comparison.

Kamui shrugged. "It's not like I'm driving." The driver, a middle-aged man dressed as a chauffeur with the CLAMP Campus logo on his shoulder and cap, did not respond. "Besides, you got to get away from this godforsaken city to go to Europe; I would have killed to get to do that, even for, like, a day. I can't believe you didn't do anything but work, Subaru."

Subaru shrugged.

"Didn't even see the Eiffel Tower or anything? Like, the Napoleon arch thing or… anything?"

"I saw them on my way to the Opera House." He gave Kamui a rare, genuine smile, thin though it was. Kamui grinned back in spite of himself. You're the only person who makes me smile like this anymore, and you don't even try. "I probably had the best guide in all of Paris, too."

"Seriously? Wow. Who?"

"The Opera Ghost."

"No shit? Like, the guy you were sent to exorcise? That's awesome!" Subaru nodded. "Why couldn't I have gone with you?"

Subaru shrugged, sighed, and settled back in the seat, enjoying the ability to stretch his legs out but desperately wishing he was alone so he could smoke; he had only smoked two cigarettes between de-planing and boarding the van. The flight had been lengthy and brutal, the latter mostly because he had to go without smoking for eleven-and-a-half hours, but was made somewhat tolerable by the personal television screens fixed into the backs of the seats with which passengers could select movies and games from a limited library. Subaru had tried to sleep, failed miserably, squirmed around with his flat, net-encased airline pillow, given up, and played several rounds of trivia before finally being exhausted enough to fall into a fitful doze with his head on the tray-table in front of him. During the latter hours of the flight he frequently half-awakened to see on the screen, at the top edge of his peripheral vision, a miniature airplane posed on their current position along a filling, arced path across Eurasia from Charles du Galle to Narita, alternating with screens in French, Japanese, and English telling him their current physical stats and the time until they reached their destination.

He would be pressed to find a more mature way to describe the flight than 'It sucked.'

"Okay, you have to tell me about this," said Kamui. Subaru opened his uncovered eye. "You were called to France to exorcise… what? They had to import you? What was this; Satan? Are you that good?"

"…just a tricky ghost I happened to have luck with where no European exorcists had luck. They had just exhausted their pool." He smiled thinly at Kamui. "The Voice of God shouldn't be so impressed with a lowly onmyouji."

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

Kamui did not respond and stared out the window. Subaru adjusted his shoulders to a more comfortable position.

"So… did I miss anything?"

Kamui shook his head. Subaru was relieved to see that Kamui had sustained no new injuries since he had left. For once, the poor boy was not wrapped somewhere in Ace bandage and limping around while the CLAMP Campus medical researchers tried to talk him into volunteering himself for just 'a little' research, since he seemed to heal so phenomenally quickly.

"What's under your shirt?" said Kamui.

"…oh, this." Subaru fished the ring-chain out from under his black turtleneck and lifted the necklace off his neck completely, showing Kamui the ring in his palm. He had originally felt far more comfortable carrying the necklace in his pocket, but had decided that wearing it around his neck would look less suspicious at customs, and he had forgotten he was wearing it. "…the ghost gave it to me. It was a gift." Reminder, more like. "Do you want it?"

"What? No; if the ghost gave it to you, he obviously wanted you to have it. Keep it."

Subaru shrugged and stretched back out, dropping the heavy necklace into his coat pocket and closing his good eye, hoping Kamui would get the hint.

"You seriously exorcised the Phantom of the Opera? Like, the guy from the musical and everything?"

"He was first exposed in a novel. He was very particular about mentioning that several times."

"…he's real?"

"Yes."

"Whoa. You went to that underground lake and everything? There's a boat, right?"

"Yes."

"…'The Sandman will be your judge'?"

"Yeah."

"That sounds like a lot of bullshit to me."

Subaru shrugged and looked up as the CLAMP Campus gates passed the van overhead, hands shoved into his pockets. Kamui was watching him.

"Seriously, I mean, it kinda makes sense, but it still sounds like this guy's dribbling at the mouth. Sounds like the lit teacher, actually."

"Has the Sandman been kind to you, Kamui?"

"…you mean, have I been having nightmares?" Subaru nodded. "Yeah. You know that, Subaru. Hell, I don't know." Kamui was quiet for a moment. "It still sounds like bullshit."

Subaru shrugged. "It made sense to me."

"You going to tell me anything else this guy—"

"—Erik—"

"—Erikku said to you? You're jumping all over the place. You're not making sense."

Subaru sighed heavily and closed his eye as the van stopped alongside the Dragons of Heaven's apartment, separated from the front gate by only a tall hedge-growth. He knew Kamui was staring at him, awaiting an answer. He opened his eye as the driver opened the passenger-side door and pulled his backpack out of the van from beside Subaru, then stepped aside so Subaru could pass.

"Welcome back, Sumeragi-san. Shirou-san."

"Subaru, do you want to go get something to eat or something?"

Subaru stepped out of the van and took his backpack from the driver with a bow. Kamui was climbing out of the van and repeating his question as Subaru adjusted the bag across his back, fingering the ring in his pocket half-consciously. The van drove off.

"Subaru, are you listening?"

"No. I mean, yes. I'm listening." Subaru looked up at Kamui. "Kamui, you should go back to class."

"Oh, come on—"

"Well, I mean, you don't have to go to class, but I need some time alone right now." Subaru sighed and pulled his box of Mild Sevens out of his coat pocket and fished around for a lighter, avoiding eye contact. "Sorry. Maybe some other time."

This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous. This is ridiculous—

Subaru stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, a lean figure with a bandaged eye wearing only a black turtleneck and black pants. He had discarded his cream-colored coat and draped it across the countertop, and had been staring at his reflection for a long time, waiting for… something. He wasn't quite sure what yet.

"At what point does a man cease to be himself and starts to be defined by his tragedy? Who is Sumeragi Subaru without that tragedy?"

So, who was I last before my tragedy? Is that the real Sumeragi Subaru?

Come on. This is ridiculous. You know you can never go back to what you were. You are what your experiences have made you. Stop it. Go write up your report.

Subaru gathered his coat over his arm and strode out of the bathroom, only to stop in the doorway for a long moment. The clock on the bathroom wall ticked softly, methodically. He shifted his weight, shifting the coat from one arm to the other. He felt the ring shift and drop further into the spacious pocket.

He walked back to the mirror and laid the coat out across the counter once again, then braced himself on his palms and stared.

…gloves, a hat, cut the sleeves off this shirt, and grow my hair back out into that ridiculous bob-cut. I'd look my old self again, wouldn't I? Subaru furrowed his eyebrows. It felt curiously warm and intimate to analyze his past self, but he felt as though he was speaking to a close underling, somebody to whom he related but was far more mature than. I've gotten quite a bit taller, and I'm quite a bit more masculine now, but…

This is ridiculous. I can't dress myself up and transform back into my former self. It will never work. Now, go do your report.

Subaru started toward the door without even lifting his palms, stopped, and twisted forward again. He stared.

Pretend there's no Seishirou. Sakurazuka Seishirou never existed.

Subaru stared for a long time, placing himself in that world. At first, he defined the world in terms of being without Seishirou, but then he defined the world as being merely very pure, in a sense, having a void in that association. He straightened, breathing regularly to keep his heart from fluttering even slightly. The effects pseudo-liberation were having on his body were odd; he seemed lighter, almost transcendent, and his joints seemed almost numb. He shook out his shoulders experimentally and took a deep breath.

…here we go. Do it.

Slowly, Subaru reached up to his right temple, where the white bandage around his forehead was pinned. Though Subaru's eye had healed enough to be replaced by prosthesis, Subaru insisted on bandaging the blank eye until he felt the time was right to uncover it. He fingered the metal bracket-pins carefully, feeling the rough texture and folded layers of the bandage and flicking the edges of the wraps with his fingertip. He ran his forefinger down the length of the bandage, strumming the edges of the wrap like a rasp—like one of those rigged fish people rasp with a stick—trying to work himself up to the unveiling with foreplay. He pressed his fingertip against one of the brackets and pushed it up to dislodge one set of opposing teeth, holding it in place and taking a deep breath through his teeth. My heart should not be going like this. This is ridiculous—no go with it go with it don't stop don't think keep going—

Slowly, edging one end out before the other, Subaru undid the three clasps on his bandage and set them on the counter in a line. He slowly nudged the tucked edge of the bandage out until he was able to catch the free end, holding it securely against his temple. He took a deep, shuddering sigh, and licked his lips. Erik, peeling his mask off, Erik tapping his mask knowingly as Subaru felt himself touch his own eye not actually touching it—

Do it. All at once.

Heart pounding, Subaru loosened the bandage and pulled it off his head, still loosely wrapped in a circle when he set it on the counter. He opened his eye and stared at the mismatched reflection. An off-focus gaze of green-and-white, green eye looking off to the left off-center the same, eerie off-focus as—

For the first time, Subaru found himself wishing he had ordered a prosthesis that looked like his living, green eye. He closed his right eye, trying to pass his squint off as a vigorous wink, and slowly smiled. The smile was awkward and forced, thin. He forced himself to grin—damn I look like a car salesman—and started laughing at his reflection.

For a moment, Subaru thought he was sixteen. An overgrown, broad-shouldered sixteen with long sleeves, a short haircut, and bare hands, but still sixteen.

"Did you just discard your identity?"

Subaru's laughter died with his grin, and he slowly opened his right eye.

…I don't think I did after all.

Subaru felt as though he was eighteen, perhaps nineteen, as he sighed heavily and pulled his cream coat back on, feeling the weight of Erik's ring-necklace drop in the right pocket. He stared at the discarded bandages loosely looped on the counter around the three clasps for a few moments, and then nudged them further up the counter and walked out, turning the lights off behind him.

He carried himself with his back and shoulders straighter than usual.

The Catholic Church Kasumi Karen was known to frequent was empty save for an elderly lady in the front row with her shawled head bowed, wrapping rosary beads around her wrinkled hands and feverously praying, and a priest vacuuming the center carpet with a surprisingly silent vacuum. Subaru was able to see the entire church from the foyer as he removed his combat boots and exchanged them for slippers in a cubby: rows of oak benches flanked by confessionals, parallel isles vectoring the visitor's attention to the podium flanked by choral risers and an organ. An off-white tarp was duct-taped to the jagged, half-glass-shadowed portal in which the church's only stained glass window had once resided, testimony to the recent earthquakes in the area.

They're going to get worse. How much longer will this building be habitable? He looked at the elderly woman. …why aren't more people in here praying? Where is your family?

For a moment, Subaru remembered an elderly man he had once befriended during The Year; the man had died alone and unappreciated, even after years of quiet goodwill in the face of cruelty and abuse at the hands of his daughter's family. He looked the woman over. She looked feeble, probably nearly unable to walk, and was probably regarded as a drag. So, are you here praying for a family that ignores you? Or did they leave you here in Tokyo? Everybody really is leaving this forsaken city. Everybody with money and means…

Calm down. It's just as likely that she just walked down the street to visit the church, and that she's fine.

Subaru sighed heavily and sat in the back row, stretching his legs out under the row in front, tilting his head back, and closing his eyes. The vacuum was drawing away from him, further up the isle, and he could barely hear the elderly woman mumbling from the front of the church over the drone. He did not know why exactly he had wandered into the church—maybe to talk to Karen; she was one of the few people on earth who made Subaru feel mellow and at rest for a few precious moments—but now that he was there, he felt like staying for—oh, maybe twenty minutes, half an hour—even if whatever he was looking for was not there.

After about ten minutes of rest, Subaru sighed heavily and stood, orienting himself toward the exit. He stared at the church's vaulted ceiling, stopping himself from grabbing his cigarette pack while still in the building. …do I really want to leave yet? It's so… peaceful in here…

Subaru stopped and realized he had haphazardly been wandering toward the left-flank confessionals, looked up at the ornate door, shrugged, and stepped into the booth, closing the door behind him. Sure, why not? It's dark and quiet in here.

Subaru sat down and sighed again, burying his head in his hands and resting his crown against the latched door. The booth was pitch-dark and smelled of mahogany, incense, and dusty upholstery. There was no need to flick on the electric light fixed into the ceiling. It was far more peaceful in the dark.

The vacuum, now a distant hum, switched off and wound down. The woman's voice was inaudible even in the silence. Subaru heard somebody walk up the isle as the front door opened and closed, reverberating through the cold masonry against Subaru's back. Then, utter silence; Subaru assumed the woman had left. He sighed and re-adjusted his position, resting his forehead on his folded arms, crown still against the door.

A few long minutes passed. Somebody opened the priest's door and stepped into the other side of the confessional, sliding open the cover across the heavy grille. Oddly, the priest did not turn on his own light; Subaru assumed many people gave confessions in the dark. They felt more hidden and safe away from the scrutiny of bright lights.

Subaru half-waited, still in a daze, for the priest to speak, but he did not. He lifted his head off his arms and squinted through the grille suspiciously, to no avail; of course, that damn thing's there to keep you from seeing. He tapped on the screen.

"Are you all right in there?"

No response. Subaru cleared his throat.

"Um. Well. In case you're wondering, I don't know why I'm here. I have no confessions for you. Thank you for providing the hospitality of your church."

No response. Subaru stood and stretched out his back, then reached for the door—

"Are you sure you have nothing to confess?"

Subaru's hand snapped back and he slammed back down into the seat, back rigid, listening to the ensuing silence. His nerves were humming. Stupid! Stupid, why weren't you paying attention! Seething, he clenched and re-clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"…well, Father," he said quietly, "I can't really think of anything right now."

The man through the grille laughed softly. "…I'm pretty far from a Father, my son."

"Oh, really. Then, what are you?"

"The Sandman."

Subaru punched through the grille and a familiar large, long-fingered hand snatched his wrist and slammed his fist backward against the wall under his side of the grille. He gasped sharply; his wrist and shoulder were being bent at a hideous angle, close to snapping, and his arm had grated along the jagged edges of the smashed grille, halted by his coat sleeve, and was now being pulled down into the wreckage. Blood dripped down the grille wood as his arm was pulled down, spreading slowly through the torn white fabric. Subaru struggled and pulled away from the grip fitfully in short bursts, still blinded by anger and whining, before the wave subsided and he relaxed his tortured shoulder. He was sure the joint was going to snap from its lock.

Seishirou clicked his tongue. "You need to learn to watch your temper, Subaru-kun."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"That language is a bit strong for the House of God." Seishirou looked through the broken grille over Subaru's arm, a familiar, mismatched, smug gaze. Subaru pulled away on faint reflex, caught against the tension in his shoulder, and awkwardly relaxed against the confessional wall, staring back with his cheek on the jagged wood. "I see you've done away with the bandage. Interesting model of eye you chose. It's very refined."

"What do you want?" Subaru's mouth was dry, but he refused to collect saliva and smack his tongue lest Seishirou notice. His shoulder was in hell.

"Is it so wrong that I choose to check up on you after your European sojourn? How was Paris, anyway? I've heard it's lovely this time of year."

"It was lovely."

"Really? I hope you didn't burry yourself with work the entire time you were there. Did you have a good time?"

"What do you want, Seishirou-san?"

The honorific felt ghostly on Subaru's tongue. He blinked, focusing through the strain his one eye was giving him at close-range. –jagged frame, black hair meld black shadow amber eye white eye Seishirou what's so funny—

Seishirou arched his eyebrows. "…relax. I don't want anything from you, Subaru-kun."

"Then let me go."

"So long as you understand that I am not here to fight you."

Subaru stared at Seishirou for a long time, searching for flickers of dishonesty, any flicker of amusement or veiled sarcasm, and, upon seeing only the usual false benevolence, nodded once. Seishirou released Subaru's wrist; Subaru's shoulder loosened suddenly, heavenly, and Subaru pulled his bleeding arm out of the shattered wreckage and cradled it against his chest. Red slowly bloomed across the white fabric.

"…didn't care to break it this time?" Subaru glared through the grille, simmering with pools of deep, tidal hatred, deceptively glassy on the surface. "Or is one break enough per cup?"

"I see they're teaching you well in that remedial rhetoric at CLAMP Campus. How is night school going, anyway? Almost got a diploma?"

"Almost."

"I see."

The pool undulated in Subaru's core. Subaru stared back, nerves humming, waiting for Seishirou to elaborate. After a few long moments during which Seishirou looked down and Subaru heard cellophane rustle and a lighter click, Seishirou exhaled smoke and sighed.

"Aaaaah." Seishirou looked at Subaru, whose spinal nerves were fraying. "Let's go outside. I don't think I'm very welcome in here anyway."