A/N: Hahah. I must've finished this chapter a million years ago. I just revised it. It's pretty good, just a little short, and, as usual, every single person is out of character. Every. Single. Person. Anyway, I'm not going to do review responses and shit in the chapter, because I'm going to upload the other chapter today, too, and I'm just going to respond then. Did that make any sense at all? Anyway...

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Chapter Fourteen

The November light filtered lightly through the window by my bed. I was already up, cleaning my room. Not that I had any particular occassion to clean my room; I did it habitually. Some people smoked or ate or showered. I cleaned.

Since I'd been over his house I hadn't seen or heard a lot of Jakotsu. It left me content- but it also left this weird silence, this long, outstretched boringness. Jesus Christ- three weeks with that fag and already I was used to the noise, the stupidity, the weirdness of it all. It was like I stepped out of some dream zone. I felt drugged.

School had proceeded as normal; Kagome and I had made up, I was getting straight-As, Miroku was being clandestine, Kouga was being a jock, Holy Hell what was I doing here? Where's all the goddamn noise? Stupidity on a stick. Filet of farce. Bisque of bull. However you put it, I was goddamn bored. I didn't miss him, and I wasn't sad. I was bored. You got used to it.

Well, of course you got used to it. When there's a constant buzzing in your ear, this warning signal every time your phone rang, a consistent need to fucking camoflauge yourself, Jesus Christ did you get used to it.

My phone rang- the first time in a couple of days. I knew instinctively who it was. Nobody else called me but Jakotsu. "Hi."

"Hi," he answered bluntly. From the flat way he said it, he sounded angry. Weird. I wasn't sure Jakotsu was capable of any emotion aside from hyperactive joy… "Look, I need a ride."

"Why?"

"'Cause. Just...I just need a ride. Okay?"

"I'm not budgin' until I hear a reason."

"Can you please just trust me on this one?" he asked, and I couldn't help but feel bad. He sounded desperate. Like one of those pathetic little British orphans who asked Sir for a little more porridge or whatever it is pathetic little British orphans eat.

I heaved a sigh and looked out the window, tapping my fingers on the pane. "Okay. Fine. Where are you?"

"I'm at school," he answered. No thank-you or anything. What was he so upset about that his Catholic school manners deserted him?

"Okay. Fine. I'll be there," I answered.

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St. Midoriko's was a lot bigger than I remembered it, now looking at it from the porch. It was a tall, brick building with a lawn on the sides and a statue of Mary above the two heavy doors, smiling with her hands open, like she was giving you something. The grounds were deserted; nobody was there, save a couple of Catholic schoolgirls holding their books and a boys' soccer team practicing on the lawn. But the building itself seemed to tower above the grounds, with its tall steeple-like towers, all seeming inaccessible.

I waited for a while on the campus for him until I finally decided to go inside the building. The inside was pretty much like the public school, only not as bright and cheery and fucking sunshiny as it. Only a few projects lined the walls, most of them collaborated for a class decoration, or essays. I looked along the wall- to see him sitting on a bench indifferently, looking like an impatient female lawyer type, legs crossed and one foot tapping.

"Hey, Mr. Sunshine," I greeted.

He looked up, looking altogether disheveled and surprised to see me, like I was some unbelievable Calvin Klein model in my underwear. Like that would ever happen. "Oh. Hi," he said slightly. He picked up his bag and his sunglasses and followed me out the door. I remembered that, looking at him now, in the slacks and button-down shirt and tie, you couldn't even guess he could ever be gay. He looked totally straight. Just a little weird...

I started the car in silence. Okay. Awkward moment. "So why were you there in the first place?" I asked, stepping on the gas pedal and reversing.

"I was...uhmm," he started. He brushed his hair out of his face. "I was there for some stupid detention thing."

I rolled my eyes. "That's why you needed me to pick you up?"

"Yeah." He sank into the heather gray upholstery and closed his eyes. I turned my head to the side, and realized that, Holy Shit, he wasn't that bad-looking of a person. He had his feminine looks, that wide, delicate face, those freaky gray eyes, the longish, wavy black hair, his sloping nose. So why the Hell did he cling to me? He could get any other guy he wanted- gay guys were weird enough. So why me? "Yasha, take me somewhere."

"Hemmph?" I grunted, heading for his house already.

"I need to get away- oh, Yasha, let's just go," he said. "I'm so tired of everything. Wouldn't it be fun, to just go away forever, just you and me? We could start a traveling show. Or be traveling salespeople. It doesn't matter, anywhere or anything. I just need to fucking go." He sighed.

I paused. I didn't know how to answer- I mean, it's not really every day that a raging homosexual suggests running away and starting a weird ass traveling job. Answer sarcastically and I might get a bullet to the brain. Answer positively and he might get the wrong idea. I was at a crossroads.

So I answered the intelligent way. "HmphmmIguessyeah."

"I mean, everyone around me is just so disgusting and annoying and blah," he continued, not seeming to get my answer. "Everyone is so simple-minded. Gawds, why are people so stupid and uptight and annoying? I need real people. I need substance."

"So I'm a 'real' person?" I asked.

"Yeahs, only you try to be typical," he answered simply. "You're very confined. You should be more free."

My mouth twitched. "Feh. Whatever."

He laughed airily, like the Jakotsu of too many yesterdays- the light, airy, weird Jakotsu. Not the bitter, humanity-hating, weirder Jakotsu. "Oh, Yasha, you're so funny." He sighed, and then lit up again, seeming to forget what he'd been mad about, like a little kid exposed to candy. "HAHA, you know where we should go? We should go to a gay bar." He cackled. "We should act like fags and parade around like cliche gay people. I wanna take you to the gay bar, gay bar/ something something GAY BAR SUPERSTAR!" He sent himself into another fit of hysterics, throwing his head back, even.

"There is something wrong with you," I muttered, rolling my eyes as he laughed.

"You think?" he asked, pulling down the vanity mirror above his seat and tying his hair up into that loop. He smiled gently as he folded the mirror back up. "You see, I like being with you. You're always fun."

"What about Bankotsu?" I asked, trying to decide where to go.

"Oh, you know," he said, in a vague way, laughing a little. The way he spoke about other people, it sounded secret, like a woman who talks bad behind her man's back. "He just gets all emo and stuff. I love him, but sometimes he just gets weird."

"Weird?" I repeated. Maybe Bankotsu...

"Yeah," he said.

"Like how?"

"I dunno," he answered. "He gets all needy. Possessive. Emotional. I can't deal with emo people."

I paused. It sounded like Bankotsu... "It sounds like he has some sorta 'thing' for you," I said cautiously.

He laughed, not at all surprised. "You think?"

"Yeah," I mumbled.

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We were in some deserted place in Queens where construction hadn't gotten to yet, an open field-type place, with scattered patches of grass and dandelions galore. It'd been behind a large metal fence, just waiting for some Con Edison truck to bulldoze it away.

We were walking around in it aimlessly, with him carrying a boom box he'd taken from home before we got here. "It's gonna break if you carry it like that," I said, noticing the way he held it- like a briefcase, swinging it whichever way he wanted.

"Hmm?" he answered. "Like what?"

"Like that," I answered snappily. "Carry it on your shoulder."

"Eeew. I don't wanna look like some dirty Puerto Rican," he said, repulsed. He laughed obnoxiously.

"You're messed up," I observed.

"That's mean," he said. I looked up at the white sun and shivered- how were we so close to the sun but so damn cold? "And vague."

We walked for a little while longer in silence. I shivered a little. I didn't even have my jacket on. I had this thing with jackets, something about them symbolizing security and logic, or at least Kagome said so. Then again, she was her therapists' puppet, and I did not trust that guy, and would not, even if he had Mr. Rogers written all over him.

"What do you see in her, anyway?"

I looked up. Jakotsu was still walking. I stopped for a minute, wondering who'd asked that. He turned his head back. "Yasha?"

I realized it was him and not some weird figment of my conscience. "What the Hell kinda question is that?" I asked, agitated.

"A good one," he answered cutely.

I rolled my eyes. "Tch. Loser." I sighed. "'Sides, what's your problem with women?"

He hesitated. "Well, it's just...they...women ruin everything. Like, as in, everything. Yoko Ono ruined the Beatles. Gweneth Paltrow ruined Coldplay. But they weren't that good to begin with, they just sounded like U2. And U2 is starting to get stupid, too. Anyway. Rachael Hunter ruined Rod Stewart." He sighed. "Besides, women are just so inferior. They don't think like men. Men are great intellectuals, warriors, musicians, writers, reformers, everything. Women usually just try too hard to make sure they can do whatever men can do, but they usually screw it up. Besides they're all typical and think in black-and-white and vain and stupid and haughty-"

"Yeah yeah," I interrupted. "How can you prove your point like that, anyhow? Those were just examples in music."

"Music is everything, Yasha," he said airily. "Music is love and sex and God and beauty."

"And love, sex, God, and beauty are the only things in life?" I asked.

"And music."

"Fine. But there's other stuff to life, too," I said. I turned my head back up to the sky.

"Like?" he asked. I thought about it for a while. "Well? Go ahead!" he said, almost triumphantly. Almost.

"Like morals and stuff," I answered. "And money. You can't do anything without money. Ambitions. Priorities."

He stopped for a minute, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted like he was taking it all in. He exhaled softly, dreamily. "You're such a pragmatist."

"Well, not everyone is like you, ya know," I answered. "Normal people have priorities. Normal people care about their careers and what they need to do. Dignity."

"Cheap, common, sold, stolen, bought, regained," he answered. "And then you die." He smiled. "We might as well enjoy what we have. Nobody's gonna care how you succeeded in life. Or at least not me."

We stopped talking again, with me thinking hard about his take on things and him doing I-don't-know-what in his disturbing little mind. Cheap, common, sold, stolen, bought, regained- was I really that boring and typical?- and then you die. No, at least I didn't think so. I was just practical. I wasn't anything like the goddamn idiots my age. I was a pragmatist.

"Okay," he said, stretching his arms toward the sky. "Let's play a game. I'll ask you a question, and you have to answer truthfully. Then you ask me a question and I have to answer truthfully. 'Kay?"

"Fine," I said. "Who goes first?"

"I dunno. I'll go first," he yipped happily. "Who...wait...how many girlfriends have you had, and who were they?"

"Three," I answered off the bat. "There was Trish, in grade school. Then Jennifer-Anne before Kagome. Now it's Kagome."

"Mmmkay," he replied. "Okay, your turn."

"Alright...how about you?" I asked. "Boyfriends or whatever."

"I don't do dating," he said. "It's so formal and awkward."

"So you haven't been in a relationship your whole life?" I asked, skeptically. Jakotsu Himekawa, the human cling-on, had stayed out of relationships by choice? Who was he trying to fool?

"Well, you didn't say that," he answered.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Relationships, then. Ya happy?"

He paused again, as if in deep thought. "I dunno. A lot. I can't remember a lot of them. But I know it's been a lot. Maybe fifteen. Or ten? I really can't remember. Okay, my turn!" Idiot. "Are you a virgin?"

I near choked. Why did that damn question always come up? "Why're you so interested?"

"Don't answer a question with a question," he sang happily, with a grin. Dammit I hate that question shit God please... "C'mon!"

"FINE! YES! I AM STILL A VIRGIN!" I shouted. I looked around- did anyone hear that? There were a couple of buildings around- but the coast looked clear. I could feel my face burning up red.

He laughed breezily. "You're so funny, Yasha. But...I sort of expected it."

"Huh? What's that supposed to mean!" I barked defensively.

"You just don't strike me as someone who's had sex," he said. He smiled, looked at me sadly, for one reason or another... "You just seem good. You're sweet." He sounded distant, like I was the one who'd made him so screwed in the head.

"Pfft." I raised an eyebrow. "So why'd you ask me if you already knew?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted to see if I was wrong."

"Well, whoop-dee-doo. You have fantastic fucking judgment," I grumbled, giving him a thumbs-up. I was confused, though- how could he tell that? Were there signs? I added cautiously, "Besides, how could you be so sure?"

He smiled. "I can just tell these things." What a vague answer...

"Alright." I sat down on one of the dry patches of grass and looked up. He followed suit. "So, are you one? A virgin, I mean."

"Oh, no," he laughed. "I haven't been. Not since I was, like, thirteen."

"Why do I not find that hard to believe," I answered.

He ignored my comment. "I'm gonna put some music on," he said, opening his backpack. He put in a CD and pressed play; a mellow guitar line with a steady beat entered. He raised his eyebrows and tipped his head back a little, saying with a smile, "Jethro Tull." He ran a hand slowly through his hair, closing his eyes. "Hmmmm."

I sat back further. "Yeah."

"So." He sat forward. "Who's your best friend?"

"Miroku," I answered. "You?"

"I don't have one," he said. "But I like Miroku. He sounds polite, but in a mysterious way. As in, you know there's more than that. And that's he's not really that polite."

Soon we abandoned taking turns, and it turned into more of a conversation than anything.

"The thing is," he continued, answering my former question, "gay people always act so girly and retarded. It's like, were you born with that, or what? A lot of people think being gay is about liking stuff the opposite gender likes. People love being cliché because people are all so inane and mediocre, in the scheme of everything."

I paused and frowned. "So then you don't like gay guys."

He laughed. "Did I say that? Well, yeah. For the most part I've only done…" He turned to me. "You know. Straight guys."

What a moron. "Well, I kinda thought that if a guy does another guy willingly then they're gay," I replied. "But, that's just me."

"It depends. Like, as in." He thought for a while. "As in, you have to love them mentally as well. I read somewhere that gay guys can be physically satisfied by women, too, and for the most part that's true. Well, not for me, at least. But. So it's not really a question of sex and stuff. It's just your head. Mind, I mean. Hahaha. Like, a blow job by a guy is the same as a blow job by a girl. So it depends on your frame of mind, y'know?"

I took that in, confused. I didn't know shit about any of this. I was totally fucking clueless compared to him. Compared to me he knew the whole world. That's what you get when your parents hate you, I guess.

He sat up and yawned. "I'm sleepy."

"Save it." I stood up and looked over the buildings out at the bland sky, wondering how long we'd been here for. "Besides, you can't just say stuff like that about people just because of the way they act or look."

"Yes you can," he said. "Pick any person out for me and I can tell you anything about them. It's not that hard."

"Feh."

"'Only the shallow do not judge people on their looks,'" he quoted. "Oscar Wilde said that. He's my favorite author."

"Isn't that a little shallow?" I returned skeptically.

"No," he said. "Everyone tries to be so deep and intelligent by saying that looks don't matter, but people are so simple-minded that they let themselves shine through everything they wear and do and try not to do. Only stupid people can't analyze a person like that. You can just tell what a person is like from the way they make themselves appear."

So much for Catholic manners. "The Bible doesn't say that," I grunted.

"What, Yaaasha?" he asked, pulling some dry grass out of the ground and throwing it in the air.

"Take the story of David as an example," I said, "that prophet guy- uhh, Jesse-"

"Samuel," he corrected, turning over on his side.

I rolled my eyes. What, was I supposed to know this damn Bible lingo? "Samuel, then. Samuel couldn't believe that God chose David because David was so young and…eh. Scrawny." Nice. Make the last part up. Another thing God can check off against me. "But…uh…David ended up being the Golden King or whatever of Israel and…God chose him, right. So you really can't judge a book by its damn cover."

"Hmm." He smiled. I frowned. He sighed. "No, but Samuel was just judging on stereotypes. He thought that he wasn't fit to be king because he was so young, not because of anything else. So, it was either that he," he started, holding up a finger for each number he recited, "one- was too lazy to analyze him, two- didn't have enough time to really look at him closer, or three- was a bad judge of character."

I grunted. How he beat me at every single fucking conversation, I didn't know. "Tch. Well, I bet you only like Oscar Wilde because he was gay."

He shot up. "I do not!"

"I bet you fuckin' do! And I bet you idolize Dorian Gray!" I barked back.

"You're so mean!" he said, laughing a bit. "He was a sociologist-"

"Yeah, a gay one," I answered.

He threw himself back on the grass, laughing his head off. He sat back up. "Well, o-kay. He was gay. But I don't like him just because of that. I mean, I don't like Elton John because he's gay. Actually, I hate the way he acts. He's such a bitch. But I like his music. It's the same way with Oscar Wilde, except I don't really hate the way he acts."

I sat down. "Huh."

He looked up at me, still smiling. The sun reflected off his hair. I blinked. "Isn't the truth just liberating?" We looked at each other for a little while. I mean, this was Jakotsu. When did he get so intuitive? When did he get so analytical? Since when was this insight, this intelligence, knowledge of the world, given to him? I didn't remember seeing it ever before this. I never remembered him saying anything slightly intelligent. Isn't the truth just liberating?

He threw his head back, laughing.

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"You got lucky this time," I grunted, making a left. "Don't think you'll get off like this again, asshole."

He took another French fry from the Arby's box and popped it in his mouth. "Oh, don't be like that."

"I'm serious," I said, "spill one thing and you're out. I swear, if you get anything on my car I will murder you. I'll put anthrax in your mailbox. I'll slit your fucking throat if you let a crumb fall on my car." Like that wouldn't happen.

"You're so funny," he answered with a smile. He had his sunglasses on- huge, black, Jackie-O sunglasses falling on the tip of his nose.

"Hardy har-har," I said, rolling my eyes.

"By the way," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm, "I'm going to a party on Saturday. Do you want to come?"

I sighed mentally, relieved. "No. I have something to do." Finally- a plausible excuse.

He pouted. "Too bad. What are you doing?"

"Going to a party," I answered. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it. I should've- it was so obvious.

"Oh," he said.

Even now, even months after, I still think about the conversation at that stupid damn would-be-construction site, and how things would've been different at some points if we just hadn't told each other the truth and how a lot of shit doesn't happen with the truth, and that, you know what, the truth is overrated, it really fucking is.

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A/N: Well! More out of character-ness. But, the show doesn't really delve psychologically into the characters, so what am I supposed to do? Have shallow, base-emotion robots for people? I'm really at a loss for all this bullshit. Anyway--- onto the next chapter.