Disclaimer: Ronin Warriors is not mine, but they have my love.

Warning: Yaoi. Het. Complicated interpersonal relationships.

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Persuasion – chapter two

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Rowen was thinking of nothing when the doorbell buzzed, and the sound startled him. It was year since the picture frame. A month or so since Cye's aborted lunch. He straightened, steadying the tower of cardboard boxes that held his cds and a sound system his mother had bought for him when he left for college. He hadn't had the heart to tell her he didn't listen to music much.

The apartment around him was scattered, lived in. It should have been packed days ago. Lethargically, he wandered to the wall, hitting the button to unlock the entrance. After a few minutes, Kento's broad frame appeared in the open door, staring at the messy apartment skeptically.

"Brought the van," he said.

Rowen mumbled something like an acceptance. He was sitting on the floor, pulling comic books off a shelf. Kento shrugged, stepping into the tiled corner of the apartment that served as the kitchen. "You haven't really packed much, have you?"

"I slept in," said Rowen.

"You just started today?" The fridge door paused in its swing, Kento's head appearing above it.

Rowen mumbled again, picking up a stack of American comics he'd bought from a store in the U.S. during the academic year he'd spent there as part of college. He missed the milk and the comic books. Into the box they went. He started reaching for the thirty eight volumes of Ranma in a neat row.

Kento considered the skinny man with the silly hair very carefully and then asked an incendiary question. He'd been spending too much time with Cye, really.

He said, "When is Sage coming?"

Rowen tilted his head to the side, spinning a roll of packing tape in its plastic case absently. "Sage?" he asked, his back to Kento. His voice was higher than it should have been. He was not usually so obvious when he faked innocence.

Kento grimaced, pulling a glass (also not packed) from the cupboard. It suddenly seemed a very long time since high school.

"I didn't want to call Sage," Rowen said suddenly, in his normal voice.

Kento looked up. "What?"

The comic box was half full. Neatly arranged, meticulously organized. Rowen dropped his head over it, his hands buried in tankobans. Kento watched the sharp line of his shoulder blades underneath the red shirt. It wasn't a good shade on him; too bright, it blasted the color from his skin. With his blueberry hair above it, he had the color scheme of a Fischer Price product.

Rowen spoke negligently, with a shrug, "I... kind of thought he would think I was an idiot."

"Rowen," said Kento, waving his hand at the unpacked apartment, "you are an idiot."

Rowen glared suddenly at the door. He shouted rudely, "Go away!"

Kento froze in wiping his milk moustache on his sleeve, hopelessly confused by this last statement.

But there was Cye in the doorway, glancing curiously around the apartment, at the mess and the empty boxes. Rowen had obviously known Cye was there before there was any way he could have.

Suddenly energized, Rowen slammed a book into the box on top of the others, shiny cover to shiny cover. The sound was a gun shot that hit Kento at the base of his skull. Rowen jerked the cardboard flaps into place, dropping a calf over the top to hold them while he peeled off the packing tape inch by careful inch with a certain vicious intent.

"I see we're prepared," said Cye with his eyes on the unpacked apartment. But he said it without conviction as though he were only saying it to make noise.

Rowen told Cye, "I've decided to kill you slowly." He eyed the packing tape unrolling in little jerks as though it were the source of all inspiration.

"I was invited," Cye said mildly.

"Not by me."

"Well, seeing as you're so on the ball with the moving thing – " another calm glance over Rowen's clutter, "I can understand why you wouldn't want the extra help."

"Slowly," Rowen elaborated. "Very slowly."

Cye shrugged his shoulders underneath his coat before noticing Kento looking so pale on the beige kitchen tile.

"When did you get here?" Kento demanded.

"I followed someone in," Cye explained, misunderstanding his confusion.

"That's not it," Kento started, but Rowen ignored him, crooking a finger at the slender man in the doorway, lips spread wide and thin. Cye only smiled.

"C'mere, Cye," Rowen coaxed, almost leering. His other hand fingered the packing tape dangerously.

Cye cocked his head curiously, his hands in the pockets of his khakis. His neck was smooth and tan. "Oh? What for?"

"I'm going to tie you to the bed I don't have." The other man showed his teeth, and Cye snorted, biting his lip to keep from laughing when so scrawny a person was making a face like a stray dog.

"And do what?"

"Oh, I'll think of something. It's a fantasy thing, see. Imaginary bed, imaginary torture. The details aren't so important."

"If I had someone tied to my bed..." Cye laughed, ducking his head. He kept his hands casually in his pockets like he weren't graceful and strong under his boring, brown clothing.

Rowen was watching with interest under half-closed eyelids. "You'd do what?" he mimicked. Kento closed the refrigerator door and carefully looked the other way.

"I'd think of something," Cye said, an odd light in his eyes. He came into the apartment, sauntering in his cheap slacks to stand over the man in the primary colors of a children's toy sitting on the floor.

Kento set the glass down hard. "Do you know how many times I've had to explain to people that you two aren't flirting?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

Rowen stood slowly, like an old man whose joints gave him trouble, and turned away like he'd forgotten Cye was there (a carefully practiced expression). He wandered across the room to put Kento's milk back into the boxy, white refrigerator. "It would help," he said airily, "if Cye didn't giggle."

"I'm not giggling," Cye called helpfully as he crouched down to inspect the literary collection Rowen hadn't packed. But he was, of course, though hiding it with a hand over his mouth.

It was a small kitchen, trapped between the cabinets and a counter that jutted from the wall. Rowen fiddled with the contents of the refrigerator, and Kento changed the subject with a snap of his fingers. Rowen's face tilted up to look at him, his hand on bottle of sugared juice drink.

"How did you know Cye was here? You just shouted and there he was."

Rowen's face dropped back to the fridge. "Didn't you tell me he was coming?"

Kento frowned but Rowen wasn't looking at him, so he said, shortly, "Wasn't what I meant."

Cye was flipping through Rowen's shelf, pulling out volumes and stacking them next to flat boxes that needed to be folded into their three dimensional shapes. Rowen stood, tossing an arm nonchalantly over the still open refrigerator door.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Of course I knew he was coming. Why didn't you?"

Cye looked up. He turned his head, eyes gone hard like he was listening to something normal people couldn't hear. Or see. Or didn't believe in unless they were locked up somewhere with comfortable walls. Kento remembered that look from fighting bad guys. Evil, demonic bad guys from another dimension.

He turned to Rowen and said, "You've got your orb on you?"

Rowen shifted his bare feet on the yellowish tile, asking warily, "Don't you?"

Kento looked to Cye uncertainly. "I don't," Torrent said.

The air before the fridge was chilly. Kento pushed Rowen gently out of the way, shutting the door and giving his shoulder a friendly pat. "Don't worry. You're not paranoid or anything. I just... stopped carrying mine. No problem."

Cye did not make the effort Kento had to smooth things over, staring openly, one eyebrow higher than the other.

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In the end, it took four hours to get the apartment boxed. Rowen wasn't a materialist, except for the books, and he'd thankfully revealed that his clothes were already packed. Cye didn't mention that it looked like Rowen had been living out of the same suitcase he'd used for his last holiday at Mia's house. Which had been months ago.

Cye watched Kento heft a box to his shoulder, taking another under his arm without even a grunt for his effort, and reflected that Rowen was not the only one to cling to the effects of the mystical armors they weren't supposed to need anymore. Maybe it didn't mean anything. He followed Kento out with his own box, pushing the elevator button that Kento couldn't reach with his hands full. Rowen stayed behind, packing up the straggling items, emptying the fridge.

"Eh?" Kento said. Cye blinked, glancing over his shoulder at the big man behind him.

"What?"

"You looked angry all of a sudden." Cye leaned to the side, looking past Kento's boxes to his own foggy reflection in the elevator's polished metal walls.

"No, not angry," he said, studying his face in the makeshift mirror. "Determined perhaps."

When the last round of boxes was in the van with the futon and the small table, Kento put a hand on Cye's arm, whispering, "Why don't you hang around?" He nodded to the back of the van where Rowen was tossing the last of his things onto the load before shutting the doors. "Just tell me about it later, okay?"

"I will," promised Cye, tracing an X across his chest.

Kento got in the van. The back was not over-packed, and the doors closed easily enough. The keys to the new apartment were sitting in the cup holder; one trip had already been made. Cye discreetly blocked Rowen when he started towards the passenger door, asking politely, "Is there anything else to do here?"

"I guess not," Rowen allowed, frowning suspiciously as Kento started the van. "Aren't I going with him?"

"Posh," Cye said breezily. "You went on the last trip. You do have to turn in the keys or unplug the fridge or something, don't you?"

Rowen watched the car drive away over Cye's shoulder, uncomfortably. "Okay..."

Upstairs, Cye pushed open doors and peered into corners, promising Rowen that such final searches were necessary. Rowen sat in the middle of the carpet, spinning the key ring around his fingers, saying nothing even when Cye came out of the bedroom holding a small picture frame in his hand.

"You left this on the wall," Cye explained. He sounded quieter than usual. Rowen frowned.

"What is it? I don't remember anything like that."

"It was in the closet. Why did you hang anything on the closet wall?" Cye handed the small cherry frame to his friend sitting with his legs crossed on the floor. Rowen took it, watching Cye rub his hands on his slacks nervously, and flipped the picture frame over.

"Oh."

"I've never seen that picture before," Cye said cautiously. Rowen stood up, draping his coat over his hand to conceal the picture from sight.

"Mia put it there," he muttered, "after her high school reunion." He heard suddenly laughter, high and far from sober. Mia's knees at the edge of the futon were apart like a boy's, showing the run in her stockings. He felt her disgust at the girl she remembered being and the empty frame pressed into his hands, needing to be filled with any picture, as long as it wasn't of her.

He let out a long breath as a strong man might before lifting a heavy load. "Let's turn in the keys, okay?"

Cye muttered something irritable under his breath like a curse. When he closed the door as they left, it slammed.

"I never really liked this restaurant," Rowen said, later, when the waiter had cleared their dishes and he could find nothing better to do than roast pieces of bread over the candle flame.

"Sorry," Cye said, offended.

Rowen looked up, his eyes confused. The table was small, in the back of a nearly empty room. Rowen's coat was bundled up on the window sill, presumably still hiding Rowen's latest mystery, which, like Rowen's other mysteries, would not have been nearly so interesting if Rowen knew how to give an explanation that wasn't vague or unsettling.

"I just meant... I was thinking about a girl I brought here when I didn't have any money. We shared something she picked out. Salmon, I think. I don't like salmon."

Cye said, with conviction, "Nerdy stereotypes are realized in you."

The candle fizzled out, suffocated by garlic bread and butter. "I thought nerds were supposed to be rich when they grew up," Rowen murmured, poking at the char with a spoon. Cye was half-waiting for a member of the staff to force the check on them as a less than subtle goodbye. He considered saying something about Rowen's bad habits.

He said instead, "I meant socially inept."

"Oh," Rowen said. "Oh, right."

"Will you tell me about the picture now?" Cye asked, staring at the dark wool piled by the window. People walked by on the street, animated but eerily silent behind the glass.

"No. Do you only pick my brain at restaurants or can we do take out next time?" Cye looked away from the window to see Rowen's expression twitch, and Cye realized he was trying not to smile. The restaurant was dim, but it was still beautiful outside, the end of bright, crisp day that made Cye want to drive until he got hit water, regardless of previous plans or the fact that it was becoming cold enough to justify Rowen's winter coat.

"Ass," Cye accused.

"I really think you bring out the best in me, Cye," Rowen replied. "I just want you to know that."

"Alright," Cye said, unimpressed, "then tell me about Sage."

Rowen started. "Sage?" he repeated, honestly surprised.

"You seemed to be in the know."

"You've got to be kidding me – "

"Picture, then!" Cye agreed, reaching for the coat triumphantly, laughing a little to cover his unease when Rowen snatched it away hastily, the wooden frame slipping from its hiding place and clattering against the floor, shockingly loud in the deserted room. By the door, the maitre d turned from his podium, peering curiously into their corner.

Rowen ducked his head, glaring murderously across the table while he bent to pick up the frame. Cye tried to look abashed and didn't find it hard.

"It's nothing," Rowen muttered quickly. "I don't see him much any more. Is it weird that we're not as close? So what?" Cye was startled to realize that Rowen was talking about Sage. Cye found he'd lost interest. The picture wasn't even of Mia, why had she put it there?

"What?"

"Sage," Rowen said unnecessarily. "I'll talk about Sage, ok?"

"Alright," Cye agreed uncertainly. "Do you want to do it here?"

Rowen wrapped his hands around his coat, picture hidden again in its dubiously safe place. "Yes."

"Ok."

Rowen stared at him. Cye said nothing. "Cye," Rowen prompted. "You have to ask me something so I can answer it."

The picture, Cye thought and said, "Why do you think Sage's love life is doomed?"

Rowen sighed, sounding too relieved for Cye's piece of mind. "I don't think it's doomed."

"Yes, you do. You always do. Every time."

"It's not that. I just don't think he needs anybody else. He has transcended self-esteem. I don't know why he keeps trying." Rowen made a face and corrected himself, "Well, okay, maybe there's sex."

Cye said nothing, thinking of the rational planes of Sage's face.

"Girlfriend's want to feel needed, Cye," Rowen went on. "He doesn't need one. He's zen."

"And you're not. Zen."

"I'm sane. Sane people hate themselves at least a little bit. I think it's the long centuries of religious indoctrination."

Hanging bells jangled in the background as new customers entered the restaurant. Cye could hear the host talking politely and leading them to a table. The waiter appeared at Cye's shoulder, slipping the check onto the table by his water glass. Cye stared at it for a long time before he looked up. "Rowen," he said honestly, "you sound jealous."

"I'm not..." Rowen trailed off. "At the very least, you realize that's not the kind of thing you can say and have anybody admit to it. Are you jealous? Who says yes to that?"

"Sage is just crazy."

"Bonkers," Rowen agreed, with his arms wrapped around a coat wrapped around a ridiculous picture that he wouldn't explain.

"You shouldn't try handling these things on your own," Cye told him, putting a silver credit card at the edge of the table with the bill. The waiter took it quickly, whispering thanks while Rowen paid no attention, narrowing his eyes at the man across from him.

"What things?" he said.

"There was that girl I never met," Cye reminded him. "And something about a wedding?"

"Cye," Rowen warned.

"And now you're moping because Sage isn't?"

"Cye..."

"Alright, come with me." Cye scribbled a tip on the paper the waiter had returned to him, standing and slipping his wallet into the back pocket of his pants.

"CYE," Rowen said and didn't stand up.

The other blinked at him, paused with his hand on his pocket. "Yes?" he asked as if he were confused (which he wasn't).

"Please," Rowen said. "Stop therapizing me. At least vocally, where I can hear you."

"I'm not. I'm telling you that you're spending the night with me." Cye took his arm, pulling Rowen from his seat. Rowen kept his arms around the coat, wadded up against his chest, glaring dangerously but looking like nothing more than a pouting child with his safety blanket.

"That's a little forward," he observed. "Is this about what I said earlier? About tying someone to the bed? Because I can take it back."

"I don't mean it like that, imbecile. I have a couch."

"What about my apartment? Why am I not sleeping at my apartment?"

"Because I'm leaping to my own conclusions about your mental heath. Let's go!"

Rowen trailed behind him as they left the restaurant and walked towards the bus stop. Cye busied himself zipping up his jacket, not certain how Rowen would respond. There was something... off. And he would not let Rowen out of his sight until he knew all the things he wanted to know.

The street smelled of heavy traffic, of exhaust and gasoline. Cye stepped on a discarded newspaper and risked a glance over his shoulder. Rowen was following him, albeit reluctantly, as though he were looking at the merchandise in the windows, but Cye didn't believe he had much interest in the women's clothing store or the art gallery that followed.

"I don't like that answer," Rowen mumbled finally.

"Alright," Cye said kindly. "Then it is about tying someone to the bed. I want to have my brutal, kinky way with you." A bus pulled up to the stop a dozen yards in front them, whirring loudly as it lowered to the ground and opened its door.

"I'm on to you," Rowen warned, letting go of his bundle with one hand to root through the coat pockets for a city bus pass. "Watch out, I see your MIND."

"Telepathy now, is it?" Cye asked cheerily. "Get in the bus, amateur. We're the second stop."