Kai: Why are you still trying to write from my PoV? You screwed it up enough in Tomorrow.

Ereshkigali: The story needed you.

Kai: I'm truly flattered.

Ereshkigali: Enough to do the disclaimer?

Kai: Um, let me put it this way: no.

Ereshkigali: Fine. I will heave a theatrical sigh and do it myself. I will even give it its own little heading to make it feel better. Aren't I a nice little creature?

Disclaimer, health warnings and other boring stuff

I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this fic. I will not be held responsible for the scarring of anyone's mind, seeing as I am warning you right here and now about the fluff, shonen-ai, hopeless OOCness on Kai's part, and mild language ('damn', 'screwed up' and 'pissed off' are I think the worst you'll ever find me using). I am currently making absolutely zero money, whether off this fic or off anything else, so please don't sue me unless you are feeling particularly sadistic, as I would not be able to afford a lawyer. Thanks. You are so kind.

Chapter Four

Midnight

I stepped into the shower. Cold, hard droplets of water thrummed down on my shoulders, streaming down my back and stomach, making me shiver furiously, setting my heart pumping. The bathroom was dark, as I hadn't wanted to wake anyone; the only light came from the soft, sodium glow of the streetlights outside the window. The others, after a long evening of food fights and reminiscences that I had ignored very determinedly, had finally gone to sleep.

It was midnight, and I had a headache.

Max had said that we were going on a vacation.

Vacations with the Bladebreakers involve a bunch of seventeen-year-olds behaving like toddlers, getting completely out of shape, eating enough to feed the population of an entire continent, and giving long, soppy speeches about how lucky they are to have each other as friends.

Vacations with the Bladebreakers do not involve getting any work done, getting any training in, or in fact doing anything that could at all be described as 'productive', 'useful', or even 'sane'.

This was not good.

Nor was what had almost happened outside that evening. Tyson and I had been talking, and he had been teasing me, and his hand had been on my arm, and his soft, dark eyes had been gazing at me worriedly, and I hadn't been able to control myself, and…

I was furious with myself for such weakness. I had long ago promised myself that I wouldn't ever let him know anything about what I felt for him. It had for the most part been easy, because I have never seen the need to tell anyone anything before. I don't see the point. He is happy to have me as his friend, and I am more than happy being his friend, and so that is what I will remain.

There have been a few times when I almost told him – on that day when, after defeating Brooklyn, I had collapsed into Tyson's arms, exhausted beyond anything I'd ever felt before – when we'd been lying side-by-side in the long, warm grass on the hill - when he had clung to me so desperately before I left for Russia…

I was surprised at how much I'd missed being with him. Tala is my oldest friend, and I value him highly, but Tyson is my closest companion. It's impossible to explain, or to describe fully. All I know is that in these years when we've been fighting together, he brought something new into my life – the ability to cry, to laugh, to let my mistakes go, to never give up. I found myself drawn to him, although at first it was by hate. I was unremittingly competitive. I was horribly, wildly jealous of him, hating him for having beaten me, despising him for his sloppiness, for his lack of maturity, for his naïve, almost imbecilic trust in everyone he met.

He was even stupid enough to trust me, and I betrayed him, taking the power that was offered me, abandoning him and his team. I betrayed him, showing nothing but indifference and scorn where he had showed only simple kindness and liking. I betrayed him, and in doing so, I came very close to death. I betrayed him, and he saved my life.

That is not something you can easily ignore.

I began to respect his tenacity, and, slowly, slowly, to allow myself to be touched by his ferocious loyalty. Somehow, gradually over the long years, the old, almost murderous jealousy became a stupid, infuriating admiration; the enmity became pure, blind trust; the hatred became fierce, relentless devotion. We were still rivals – we always will be rivals – but I looked up to him no end for his skill. We had somehow grown together. I found myself wanting to protect him, wanting to look out for him, wanting to spend time with him.

Eventually, I realised that I loved him – that for me, there would never be anyone else. There would only be Tyson, the reckless, loudmouth loser who had clumsily, irrevocably, devastatingly burst his way into my life, throwing my world into complete disarray, deciding that I was worth caring for, and sticking by me for all the years we'd known each other. Just like that – I had discovered someone worth fighting, and I had discovered someone worth fighting for.

I know that he sees me as a friend and nothing more, and I don't care.

I love him, and he doesn't love me, and I don't care.

He is everything to me – brother, friend, inspiration, guide. He is unbelievably enthusiastic, his energy and his intensity sparkling brighter than anything else. I love him for his openness, for his readiness to laugh at himself, for his hotheadedness, for everything about him that is contradictory to what I am. He is everything that I'm not, and that only makes me love him more. I know that he would do anything for me, because that is who he is. Once he's given his word, he keeps it. He would never let me down. I know that, and I trust him as I trust no other.

For my part – I would do anything for him. It's as simple as that.

The only reason he doesn't see it is that I won't let him. I know that he doesn't love me, and I don't want to embarrass him. I don't want to lose him. I value him too much. He's the only one who really challenges me. I still enjoy battling him. I like going up against him. He knows me far too well by now, and it's gotten to be so that we can spend an entire battle knowing exactly what the other is going to do, reading each other's thoughts from no more than a look or a motion – but I like it. It makes it all the more difficult to beat him – and one thing I want more than anything else is to defeat him, to prove to him that I'm worth something.

I can't let him know. It would upset him, because I know that he doesn't think of me that way. I honestly don't mind, though. To be with him at all is enough.

I've always been embarrassed even to think things like this to myself. In the beginning, I was doubtful that I could trust anyone – even Tyson. I knew, both from teachings and from experience, that other people were not stable. They were potential failures. It was nothing personal – it was the simple, straightforward knowledge that they were weak and I was not. If you know that you're strong, and that everyone around you isn't, in whom will you place the most trust? It's logic. I got to the point where I didn't need anyone.

That is what absolute power is – when you are so strong that you can accomplish anything without needing anyone else. You are able to rely on yourself at all times, thinking only about what outcome will prove the best for you, with no complicated emotions or inexplicable personal loyalties getting in the way. You can do anything, and you don't need anyone.

I still have trouble understanding how Tyson managed to completely break down this ideal. In a way, it doesn't make sense. By caring for someone as irresponsible and foolish as him, I should have weakened myself, should have lost my strength – but I didn't.

When you blade for someone import to you, you blade stronger than ever before.

Shaking these thoughts away, I curled my fingers around the tap and twisted it until the soft roaring of the water died away, and I was left standing shivering in the cold, echoing darkness, my hair plastered to my face, water dripping down my skin. My hands, shaking and shuddering, were pale and spindly. I picked my way across the bathroom, dried myself off, and, without bothering to put on a shirt, slipped back into the pair of old trousers I sometimes sleep in, rubbing at my hair until it was reasonably dry. Then I padded down the halls of the dojo to the room where we all slept, Kenny on a small camp bed in the corner, his head pillowed on his laptop, while Daichi, Max and Tyson packed themselves into the same bed, snoring away. I had long ago claimed the sofa, and pushed it up against the wall, as far away from the others as I could get. I lay down on it, silver-brilliant moonlight spilling everywhere, and turned onto my side, pulling the blanket over me. I was still very cold, but I didn't mind. Cold isn't so bad, once you're used to it, and I have been for the better part of my life.

There was a rustling noise behind me, and a thump, as though someone had tripped and fallen. There came a muffled grunt, and then footsteps could be heard coming closer across the room. Something poked me in the shoulder. "Hey! Kai! You awake?" a voice whispered.

I jerked away from his touch, my eyes staring wildly into the darkness. Oh, great. It was Tyson. I'd purposely avoided talking to him all evening, operating on the theory that, given his attention span, which is minute to the point of being almost non-existent, he would have forgotten my little lapse of sanity by morning. Now he was obviously coming to confront me about it. "What do you want?" I snapped in an undertone. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Yeah, and we all know that you really need your beauty sleep, Kai my man, but I need to talk to you about something," he whispered.

"Can't it wait?" My heart was thumping. I did not want to talk about this.

"No," he said, simply. "It's kind of important."

Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth in annoyance, I turned onto my back and, staring at the ceiling, said, "Tyson, it's late, and I'm tired. Go away."

"But Kai…"

"Now, Tyson."

"Dude, it's just a simple little question!"

"I don't want to know!" I almost shouted. Across the room, Max stirred and mumbled. In a hushed voice, I said, "Tyson, go to sleep."

"No! I don't have to take orders from you!"

"This isn't an order," I hissed. "This is me telling you get off my case before I throw you halfway across the room. Got it?"

"Geez, what did I do?" he sighed. "I just wanted to ask if you were going to come to Maxie's with us or not!"

"Yes, I am," I said, something like relief filling me. "It'll be a good opportunity to blade against Rei. I haven't faced him in a long time."

I could hear him groaning. "Kai, this is about having fun, not practising!" he said.

"Fun, as you call it, is a waste of time."

"It's a vacation! You're supposed to have fun!"

"Just go away."

"Not until you promise me that you won't treat this as another training stint."

"It's not your concern."

"'Course it is," he said, cheerfully. "You're my friend, aren't you? So I'm very concerned."

"Zip it and go to bed."

"Nothing doing." He plonked himself down at the foot of the sofa, effectively beginning to cut off the circulation in my feet. I continued to gaze determinedly at the ceiling. "You are going to make me a sacred promise, Kai, and you're going to do it now!"

"I don't have time for this puerile nonsense."

A small, hot hand, calloused with years of Beyblading, grasped at my own, and pulled me up into a sitting position. Something shot through me, and my chest tightened, my heartbeat quickening. I loved the feel of his skin. I always have. Gripping my hand firmly, as though we were about to arm-wrestle, Tyson, his face lit with the diamond-like glitter of the moon, smirked triumphantly, and began to intone in a deep and mock-serious voice, "Kai Hiwatari hereby declares…come on, Kai, this is an all-powerful oath! Kai Hiwatari hereby declares that when on vacation with his team-mates, he will dedicate himself whole-heartedly to the great and noble arts of…of relaxing, goofing off and having a good time!"

"Give me a break," I grumbled, forcing myself not to smile at him. What is it about him? He's only a little over a year younger than me, but sometimes it feels like it's much, much more. He's so over-the-top and funny and kind. He's…nice. He'll complain and he'll moan and he'll get in my face and piss me off no end, but he always ends up making me want to laugh. Sometimes, when I'm standing by myself, away from the others, watching them yell and laugh and argue, he'll look over at me and flash me this annoying grin. It makes him look incredibly full of himself, but it also tends to make something inside me squirm with this helpless, overwhelming liking, and an almost painful desire to be with him, to laugh at his jokes, to let him know I love him…

Stop it, I reprimanded myself angrily. It's not fair to him. Don't do this, Kai.

I decided I should stop living in the past.

"Dost thou swear it?" he was asking, waggling his free hand in a manner I can only assume he thought was mysterious and awe-inspiring.

"No," I muttered.

"Yeah, well, 'no' is close enough to 'yes'…" he grinned. "See? Now you have to have fun!"

"Don't count on it," I warned him, pulling my hand away from his. I couldn't handle touching him. It made me weak. It made me feel things that would only lead to both our lives getting screwed up. It also made thinking clearly a serious challenge.

He stuck his tongue out at me. "You," he said, "are a spoilsport."

"You," I said pointedly, "are sitting on my feet."

"Hey, I guess I am," he realised. "You don't have a problem with it, do you?"

"Get off."

"I don't want to. My legs are tired."

I looked at him, sitting cross-legged in the moonlight, his untidy hair spilling everywhere, the biggest grin I'd ever seen plastered across his face, and felt that sweet, stupid, heart-rending mix of infuriation and wistful, wondering joy that I have only ever known around him. His caught me looking at him, and immediately began staring back, pulling a face and scrunching up his nose. I looked away with a scornful sigh.

"Hah! Staring competition! I win!" he yelled.

"A staring competition is the only thing you'll ever beat me in if you keep bunking off training," I told him, smugly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he spluttered.

"It means that you came very close to losing today."

He glared at me offendedly. "You can't say that! That was a tie, fair and square."

"Our next battle won't be," I warned him, coolly.

"Yeah, 'cause I'll win."

I snickered unkindly. "Delusional as always."

"Delusional?" he squeaked.

"That's what I said, genius."

"How can you call me delusional?"

"Very easily, actually," I said. "But I could just as easily call you 'moronic', if you'd like."

"OK, that does it!" he yelled, and launched himself at my throat. His full weight covered me, his hands pushing and punching me. I flung my arms up across my face in defence, grappling at his wrists and holding them as tightly as I could. His legs were kicking at mine furiously, one knee slipping over my hip. "You – " he was panting in my face, his voice laced with equal parts anger and laughter, "are – so dead - Hiwatari – you -"

"Tyson?"

From across the room came Max's voice, blurry and thick with sleep. I froze instantly, feeling Tyson's heart thudding against my bare chest, my hands wrapped around his, our legs entwined, his hair hanging loose in my face. All of a sudden, I was very aware of what this looked like…and Max had never in his life been able to keep a secret…

"Tyson?" his voice called again. I didn't dare try look over to him; I was holding my breath, squeezing my eyes tightly closed, keeping as still and as silent as though I were still the Abbey, all those years ago, waiting proudly for instruction, seeking out all fear and eliminating it utterly… "Tyson? Where are you, pal?" There was a moment's silence, and then a fond little sigh. I could hear him muttering the words, "Probably…midnight feast again…stupid…typical…"

Tyson's forehead was pressed to my chin, our hands clutched together tightly. Slowly, his arms sank down to my shoulders, and my palms covered his fingers, holding them there tightly, afraid to touch him, but afraid to let go. I was both shivering with nervousness and yearning to hold him closer. I could hear my own heartbeats, wild and ragged, in my ears. His breaths were tickling my throat, and his hair, was everywhere, and he was getting very heavy. For what seemed like forever, we waited, until at last we heard Max's faint, steady snores begin again. Then I hissed into Tyson's hair, "Alright, now get off."

He gave a small grunt, and yawned, and snuggled up against my chest, his nose nuzzling my neck gently, tiredly. Already tingling with longing and apprehension, something inside me shivered, sighed, and melted into warm, dazed happiness. Trying to keep my voice steady, I said, in a low, earnest voice, "I'm warning you, Tyson."

He looked up, blinking at me in the moonlight. "Hey, Kai. What are you doing here?" he asked, grinning sheepishly.

I grabbed one of his fingers and began twisting it back, suddenly desperate to get away from him before I could do something stupid. "Get off."

He bit his lip and screwed up his face as I pulled his finger farther and farther back. "No," he said.

"Get off or I'll break your finger."

"You wouldn't do that, Kai. You know you wouldn't."

I looked up at him, and released his finger, raging inwardly at myself. Trying to turn the tables, I said, belligerently, "Why don't you want to get off?"

"'Cause I'm comfy here," he said, folding his arms across my chest, placing his chin on his hands and staring down at me with the biggest eyes I have ever seen. "What? Am I scaring you, Kai? Is poor Kai afwaid of scawy Mister Tyson?"

"Could you at least act like you're an adult?" I snapped, my throat suddenly obstructed by a deep, reckless love for him. His stupid, childish inadequacies and flaws were what made him Tyson, and Tyson was perfection.

"Hey, I'm not even one yet. I'm not eighteen for ages still," he said, reasonably. "If you can't have fun when you're seventeen, when can you?"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Hmm," he said, pursing up his lips and attempting to look thoughtful, which only made me feel weaker and more in love. "Not that I know of."

His hair, still hanging in my face, and his bright, teasing eyes, and his mock-thoughtful expression, and above all that free, undaunted spirit that soared with his every motion…everything about him was making my senses blur and dim. I felt as though I were full almost to bursting with proud, shivering, melting adoration for him, for the stupid, almost-unbeatable kid who had turned my world upside down. I could feel my arms slipping up around him, my hand stroking the smooth, warm curve of his neck. He jerked a little in surprise, but then relaxed. He wasn't smiling; he was looking down at me with a curious expression on his face, sad, but almost eager. Fully aware that if he didn't leave now, I was going to do something for which I would later want to kick myself, I whispered slowly, "Go away."

"Why?" he asked, his voice low, and almost disappointed. "Kai…don't you…?" he broke off, looking down at me helplessly. The sadness in his face somehow devastated me. Feeling defeated, I let my arms close around him, and pulled him down to lie against my chest, holding his strong, slim body to me, pressing my cheek to his hair, breathing in the warm, sleepy scent of his skin. He was just a kid, I told myself desperately, just a stupid, over-confident kid who had somehow forced his loud, unmanageable, chaotic way into my heart…his arms tucked themselves behind my neck, and he wriggled on top of me slightly to get more comfortable, and sighed. Tingles were racing through my body. I was certain I was trembling.

"Just promise me you'll shut up," I growled at him.

"Ten-four, commander," he said, and I could feel him grinning into my neck. "Whatever you say."

I fell asleep listening to his breathing.

I woke suddenly, my eyes jolting open to stare at the ceiling. My chest, I realised with growing horror, was constricted by some weight that rose and fell with gentle snoring sounds, and someone's legs appeared to be tangled with my own, and surely those were arms wrapped around my neck…?

Who…?

I've never liked touching people. It's too personal, too intimate. It meant that someone else was getting close to me. I have no weaknesses, I've always told myself. It's others who create them. If someone was touching me…

I looked down, saw a dark-haired head nestled into the hollow of my shoulder, a hand cupped on my chest, and remembered.

My entire body flooded with sweet, mindless wonder. I returned to staring at the ceiling, but let my arms slide around him again, my fingers slipping into his hair, stroking the smooth, curving line of his spine, feeling his warm, soft skin against mine. He was so beautiful and strong and devoted, and he was mine, mine to hold, mine to protect, mine to watch over forever.

Before I could lose myself in the rush of warmth and joy, I forced myself to focus on the world around me. The light seeping into the room was still grey-green and watery, and a few birds were still singing loudly, so it couldn't have been much past dawn. If I listened carefully, I could pick up at least two different breathing patterns coming form the far side of the room; I hazarded a guess at three. I could hear very little traffic noise from outside. I concluded that it was still very early, which was good. I wasn't sure how the others would react if they saw Tyson and me…together like this…and I didn't want to find out.

He stirred, muttered something unintelligible, and looked up, blinking, his chin digging sharply into my chest. He yawned, sniffed, and said, "Stupid."

I had absolutely no idea what to say. Watching him drag the heel of his palm across one eye, I opened my mouth to say something crushing and cruel, or at least brisk and witty, but the words wouldn't come. I couldn't even formulate anything vaguely coherent. I'd rarely before been at a loss for words. I just stared up at him in silence, his eyes gazing down curiously into mine. At last, I said, quietly, "Hello."

He tilted his head to one side and considered me for a moment. Then, stooping his head, his features blurring for a moment, he gently touched his nose to mine before drawing back only the tineist bit."Well, hello to you," he said, grinning. "What am I going to get for this? Seventy sit-ups and ten laps around the block?"

"Consider yourself lucky if you do," I muttered, my heart beating dazedly in my throat.

"Hey, uh, Kai, you've got that look on your face again," he observed nervously.

"The one that is a precursor to serious violence?"

"Yeah, I'd say that was the one – should I be running?"

"Yes."

He ran, practically skipping out the door. It was cold without him, I suddenly realised: cold, and lonely, and empty. I sat up, looking, as I always did, for Dranzer, lying safe on the small table beside the couch, nestled in the folds of my scarf. I reached out and caught the small, cold blade into my hand, holding it tightly, feeling the sleeping fire within, and, drawing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, stared at the door, thinking of Tyson.

I shouldn't love him.

He was only being friendly. Tyson was a friendly person. Being friendly was what he did. He was just being nice.

It's not fair to him.

How could I betray that niceness, that care, and let him see the whole, futile, hopeless truth? He would feel guilty, knowing that I loved him, and that he couldn't love me back, and that would make him miserable, and our friendship would become strained, and then ruined, as our conversations fell into silence and our touches became awkward…

How can I not love him?

I had to pretend that there was nothing there – I couldn't let him see…because I loved him, I would have to stop loving him.

It's not fair.

Nothing ever was fair…but I had to do it. I could do it - for him.

I shouldn't love him – but I do.

He would never know.

Yup, that 'zip it' bit was indeed ripped off from Episode 40 of the first series, Hot Battle in a Cold Town, which I've recently managed to get hold of. I'm sorry, I love that one quote - Kai and Tyson are arguing, and Rei says that it sounds like they're married! I'd completely forgotten about it, and I shrieked with glee when I heard it again. TyKa has taken over my brain… (starts to drool)

Ahem.

ALL THOSE WHO REVIEW GET TYSON CLONES! (drags Tyson kicking and screaming into convenient evil cloning machine constructed from music theory homework, two erasers and a large amount of thumbtacks) REVIEW!