Thanks to the two people who reviewed the last chapter, I will carry on but be prepared for updates.

This story will be slow in coming or deleted completely and re-written if I don't get many more reviews… ive had so many people visit my story but not read it ;; (cries)

Chapter 2: Has No Meaning

It has never, ever, been a question of loyalty… though it may have been considered or contemplated from time to time. The question as to why he always came back, why he even bothered-

He told me I needed friends my own age, not CEO's and representatives for other gaming industries and minor companies. That my brother needed to be taken out for fun once in awhile, instead of being subject to my every whim and taking on so much responsibility, so I agreed.

Agreed to let him take Mokuba out, agreed that I would come with them, as soon as it was said the insults stopped, the temper tantrums receded and I began to realise what he meant. He had meant for him and I to become friends… I had been sitting on the green bench under the oak tree when it hit me.

I had looked up and there he was directly in my line of sight, kicking the ball Mokuba had insisted they play with so far away that Jou ran after the boy to make sure he didn't get into any trouble. As they disappeared I began to wonder, about him, about why he was doing this for me. I always used to wonder as to why I hated him so, now im wondering about why my attitude has changed, why I only now begin to see what has been there all along.

I looked at my watch realising that a few minutes had passed… I began to fidget then began to worry when I realised five minutes had passed. When I heard Mokuba's wailing I didn't think of anything else, I just ran finding him lying on the ground nursing what looked to be a sprained ankle.

Upon threatening the mutt with murder I was forcefully told to 'shut my mouth' Mokuba looking up at me with such hate in his eyes that it took me a few moments to realise he was speaking to me. His eyes glazed and tears streaming down his face.

"-did this"

"Who kiddo?"

"HIS FATHER DID THIS!" Mokuba swallowed and bowed his head, "Jou told him to leave me alone, that he'd get into trouble if anything happened to me… he just picked Jou up like he weighed nothing… took him away like he weighed nothing… he hit me…"

I took him home, and that night as Mokuba slept next to me I accessed Domino's Police and Hospital mainframe, printing out any data sheets of Jounochi I could find. Three times I had to feed the printer with extra paper, each police file seeming longer than the last, one divorce paper, family descriptions, physicals of young Katsuya, pictures of him and his class, one taken for each year of his school life.

He was a rather adorable child, with sparkling eyes and what looked to be soft golden hair, as soon as he entered high school everything changed, his eyes dimmed his hair was messy, unkempt and dirty, his clothes seemed to hang off a frame that until one year ago had been that of a healthy pre-teen.

It was then I realised something was wrong, something that had been so glaringly wrong all these years. I hadn't bothered to notice it because of who he was, because of what he was.

He was Jounochi Katsuya, age 16 born on January 25, and three inches shorter than my 6"1' in height. Being born two years before him and adopted into a much higher society I obviously had never thought of him as anything but someone I could criticize… now I knew better, his whole history was unravelling before my eyes and I could barely contain myself from fleeing the room, begging any employee to take those files I printed and burying them… burning them anything that would erase them from this world. They were bringing up memories I wished I never had the misfortune of receiving.

Yet here he was, living life as if none of this had affected him at all, as if he was a normal child, still acting like the kid he probably still wished he was, still acting like that eleven year old that died during the summer holidays that year he was brutally forced to grow up.

The year I grew up.

The next day he came in as bright as ever, apologising to me when I asked why he left. The smile didn't reach his eyes, he nursed his left leg that day stepping lightly as he walked. Quiet and subservient to all who opposed him. Hirito stood next to him as they left class, demanding something. Jounochi shaking his head and sighing before running to catch up with the rest of his friends.

So he's told one person, doubtless many others must know or have suspicions of the happenings between father and son… but I knew from experience that is was very likely that nothing would happen to stop it. At least Hirito knew.

So why, if his best friend was there to support him… Did he come to me?

This I ponder as I sit in this darkened room, staying way beyond visiting hours. The light blips on the monitor driving me practically insane in the dead quiet. Yet they are oddly reassuring, I know if they were to stop I would never be able to forgive myself. I vaguely hear the conversations of the passing doctors and nurses, faint cries of a child down the corridor.

He is pale, face drawn looking so fragile as his hair brushes his cheek, skin that was slick with sweat and a body that was shaking uncontrollably only hours ago. Only a few hours ago, before putting a foot on my doorstep I took for granted his existence from day to day though recently I had -against my better wishes- been concerned over his safety. I hadn't thought of what I would do if he left, if he wasn't there the next day. It seems that the old saying is true, I didn't know what I had till it was gone.

He isn't, but it could go either way at this point in time, as long as he makes it through the first twenty-four hours im sure he'll pull through. Though I cannot dwell on that thought for to long, for some reason I find it too painful. He almost looks as if he's sleeping now, the bruises on his face do not mar his features but accentuate them, high cheekbones and regardless of the beatings he's received baby soft skin.

I reach out to touch him, reach out to brush soft bangs from his face, to touch his skin, to ensure that he is still here. That he needs to be here. If not for the glaringly obvious fact he is my total opposite but for the fact that Mokuba needs him, and if not… For me, for myself and nobody else. I need him here, an anchor to reality that I thought nothing of until a few weeks past.

I think of how hard he's tried to retain that normality and my body shakes quietly as his eyes move beneath that thin veil of skin, that veil that nobody has pierced through so far, that I have only managed to glimpse past.

Thanks to the book in my lap.

I look down and thumb a few pages before closing the leather bound book, on the front in tarnished gold is the name Katsuya Jounochi. It is moderately expensive, and inside is a small title "Book The Fifth – The Last Year"

- It began when I was younger than I am now, and considering im still relatively young I suppose you can say I haven't changed. Im still growing and learning new things... and this is one of them...

Life, is never what you want it to be.

I sometimes find it the most amusing thing in the world, faced day to day with the most excruciating pain I could ever imagine… ever… and it isn't even remotely different from day to day. Ive tried, I really have, just tried so damn hard and im so damn tired all the time, like ive been on drugs and decided to go cold turkey… I crave it, even if he beats me at least he's touching me. The only family I have left… and he hates every single bone in my body… hell… every single atom.

I know there are people suffering worse… unable to go to school or even wear clothes, unable to eat as well as I do (if scarfing down one meal a day is supposed to be good) so I guess im lucky in a way, I still have family whereas he has none… save for Moku.-

I suppose I find it too painful to read, for that is where I stop, not bothering to notice that the pages were written upon with immense care, as if the book would break if put under any pressure, or possibly to minimize the sound of pen against paper. I know he writes about me, three pages dedicated to my statistics alone, newspaper clippings drawn on and sometimes defaced. I have become an obsession of his, a dream to defeat. All that taunting from me and the suffering in his life had its outlet here, it's a small wonder that he's remained as sane as she is now.

Either way his writing is neater than I have ever seen it, joined and slanted slightly. In some places he writes in different languages to emphasise a point.

'this is not a life… I cannot call this living'

Life has no meaning without you here with me.

Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone.

Without you here life is not what I call living.

Are you coming closer? Living day to day

Seeing the look on my face as you discover

The hidden part of me.

With you here, I don't feel so lonely –

Any reviews will be appreciated and will convince me to update quicker so myb audience will not get mad at me, as you can see im making some changes and adding bits. The poem above is one I wrote myself (not very good)

MESSAGE to FullMetal Alchemist fans! I have a story called Always… a collection of drabbles, im up to two so far and will be updating with my third soon… any requests? Send them in! xXx