The Killing Moon By Heroin Girl

The street on which Green drugstore was perched on ran precariously for many blocks, eventually falling out of the better part of town and into the slums. Glittering neon signs advertised topless bars and every kind of poison for every kind of person. The dark street was illuminated every couple feet by signs like so, masking the sight of scattered newspapers and broken glass. Every thing was hidden, masked, but there was no escaping the taste of the air. It was thick, almost suffocating so, and it was hard to inhale with out gagging on the smoke and just the godawful smell...

It was the air of a people who didn't care about anything beyond seeing the girls behind the women with the tired, heavy breasts. It was the place for a people who needed the cheap, strong drinks. It was for those who had decided long ago that they didn't care, they knew that they were allowed not care and be cared for.

You go down an alley, following some inner, base prodding. You do not know what you are doing right now, and you are reminded of those T-shirts that loftily proclaim: OUT OF MY MIND. LEAVE A MESSAGE. Avoid the potholes, cover your mouth and try not to inhale too sharply. You do not look that man in the eyes, you do not touch the broken nodding junkie, calling out weakly for some one she had known long ago, some one who she saw in every one. Do whatever is necessary, look but what whatever you do, do not see. Trying to ignore the rain is harder than you thought. The drops are becoming increasingly colder, and you shudder and one runs the small of your back. You regress the urge to flee. It is stronger than you thought possible, tearing you apart. "Like bringing water to the dead..." The junkie would have told you (You do not know how you know this, it is like the direction you are going in. You just do) if you had stopped to listen, blinking slowly, grasping your hands in her sharp, shrill fingers. "Water to the dead..."

You follow the alley for another few minutes, alone except for the faint thudding of your bare feet on the rough pavement. You do not know why you aren't wearing any shoes, you have everything else on. You shrug, lost in the moment. Something catches your eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. You stop. And stare. The pollution of the massive city had long ago changed the very foundation of the city sky, turned it into a slow, shimmering dark-light orange, with a hint of purple. The light of nothing but the sky outlined the Boy's body, colouring the blood on his arms and clothing black. It was a full moon, but the Boy was fully encased in shadows. You do not know why it refused to touch him, but something in the back of your head whispers because it was a full moon and the moon's child (Tsukiko, you tell yourself, her name was Tsukiko) did not like the Boy. She might have had something to do in all of this, you think, wanting to cry for her. She shouldn't have been jealous. As much as the one she loved loved the Boy, you didn't have anything but a small, nagging doubt in the back of your head that if she came calling, he would leave with out a second thought. For a horrible, bitter moment, you hate him; hate him for doing this to the Boy. The feeling quickly fades, leaving nothing. You are hollow, a true tribute to the elements and the Boy's eyes. The acidic stench of blood returns quickly though, like a blow to the gut it leaves you breathless.

His hair was the only thing that stands out, a shocking mass of hazel with blonde highlights. Gore gleams softly off it. It must be refusing to wash off in the rain. You go foreword, place your fingers gently on his eye lids and try to close them. They are cold. Your fingers feel sticky, almost alight with the hurt in his eyes. The air has turned into something completely different from a few feet back, it is sour with his panic and pain. Get to your feet and stand over him, touch his shoulder lightly with your foot. His body will bend to your request and for the first time, you can see the full extent of his injuries. He is not wearing a shirt, the tattered remains of one and a jacket in the corner behind the dumpster. He is ripped open, stomach gone and oozing blood, for you and all of the world to see. He is lying on his back, a hand (the colour of a plum, already fading dark yellow at the edges) thrown carelessly on his chest, just before it caves into the ruin of skin and organs. The other arm is nestled in his hair, the still perfectly whole fingers entrapped in the blood locks.

The gleam of intestines will pull you out of your trance. Some later authority figure would later find that all of the fingers on his right hand are broken in several places. He is beautiful in death.

A noise sounds behind you. You whirl around, eyes large and frank, and you know that you were caught in your peeking game, guilty in seeing the dead and having the audacity of actually touching the Boy... maybe it's not true. But in the eyes of the man standing before you, you did. He surges foreword (you hear a small gasp and heavy sigh of pain) and gathers the Boy up in his arms, not minding the fluids soaking into his clothing. The limp arm fall off his chest and the man takes it in a free hand and presses it to his cheek, turning the palm over and kissing the blood.

Turn to leave. Do not witness this. Do not get trapped to the spot, seeing something bigger than you and most of the world, do not care. Remember his eyes and the blind, rough panic. Remember the weight he seemed to have as you turned him over; remember the beauty he had in death.

Go and never forget, go and warn the Boy and the man he loved, the man who loved him, so this would not happen. So he would not have to find the Boy's body, ripped apart and left for dead. Go and warn the children of the future to fear the night. DO NOT FORGET.

And as Rikuo begins to cry, you let yourself awake with a heaving gasp.

---

A sharp intake of breath. He sat up, clutching his stomach where his had been torn open. The sleepy haze had began to fall away, he blinks and realizes that he is no longer in the alley, he is at home in bed and he can hear Saiga's even breath beside him, calm and almost hypnotic, if he had had the time to let himself be lost in the other.

Some thing was nagging him. He could not let himself remember what had woken him up so fervently, but he could taste the faint coppery flavor of blood and it had been raining...

"Like bringing water to the dead," He murmured, pulling a hand from his side to ruffle his hair and rub his eyes. Sighing, he reached for his glasses. Sudden light poured into the room with a click of a lamp switch. He squinted and turned his head, where Saiga was looking at him questioningly. "I had a dream."

"I know." He pulled Kakei down with him, buried his face in his hair. He caught a few flickering thoughts of the dark haired man, he was wondering how he could be so small and frail in his arms and still be so strong... He pushed the thoughts away. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I don't really remember. There was an alley, and so much blood... The air was sour. Someone was dead."

"Oh."

He looked up. Saiga's eyes were dark brown, almost as dark as his hair, shot with streaks of gold. He wanted to kiss those eyes.

"I know that I need to remember something. It was very important. I know that it was..." He furrowed his brow. "I need to remem..." He trailed off, biting his lip and tasting the blood again. So very beautiful in death... "Oh God." He pulled out of the tangle of arms and turned over the corner of the bed, was violently sick. Saiga's hands were in his hair, pulling it back and resting his head of the small of his back. He gagged once more but had no more to give. Bitter tears blurred in his eyes and his fingers were so cool, contrasting deeply to his skin, he was so fucking hot and --

all of his fingers were broken, as if he was trying to ward something off but failed miserably.

He wiped his mouth on his arm, checking in the urge to vomit once more. He knew. "I remember," he croaked hoarsely. "They killed him. Kazahaya, I mean. Ripped him apart, left him to die in an alley. Rikuo will find the body." The stubborn tears began to fall.

"When?" Saiga's voice was quiet in his ear, always the calm one. And for a wry, bitter moment, he hated him for it. I would like to see what you would do with these dreams, he thought acidly, I think I would like to see how you handle this type of hurt! He pushed the tart feelings to the back of him mind. Now was not the time.

"I'm not sure. A full moon. I'm sure Rikuo will appreciate the humor in it."

"We'll just keep him in during the next couple full moons," He said, beginning to make small circles with his palm on Kakei's back. He focused in on the feeling, trying to calm down, when Saiga's other hand tangled up in his hair. He could feel a apart of him giving up, leaning into Saiga's rationality, even though he knew that there was so much more to the situation then what met the eye.

Then a sudden flare of anger: "That's not the fucking point!"

Silence followed the outburst, like dreams after a nightmare. Everything felt dank, and he was unbearably weary. Saiga cleared his throat, as if he didn't know what to say. "Then what is?"

"I think Tsukiko has something to do with it," He murmurs.

"What?"

"I think that Tsukiko had something to do with it. There wasn't any really strong evidence, but it just had her feel to it... If you know what I mean. I don't know. She's watching us, you know that. Wouldn't she be jealous of how close they've become? Even if nothing has happened yet, you see the way he looks at Kazahaya," He said, pausing to draw in another breath. "He loves him."

He realized how brazen the statement really was, but he knew that his lover wouldn't mind, knowing fully that the truth was there. "What do we do?"

"We tell Rikuo the whole thing. If we gloss it over, he might not take it as seriously. We tell him what we saw; maybe just not that she is near. It's amazing that he hasn't been able to sense that yet, but I think all of the close proximity to Kazahaya just might have dulled his senses. We do that in the morning. We still have what, another two weeks until the moon is full? Plenty of time to get him to calm down."

"And Kazahaya?" Saiga asked as he began to stretch out as languidly as a cat, still keeping his arms and hands entangled in Kakei.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "We tell him nothing."

---

"Rikuo."

He turned, arms full of boxes of cough medicine. He cursed as one fell out of his grasp and the faint tinkling of the glass bottle sealed his mood. Something was wrong today. Something big, he just didn't know what. Dark blue medicine began to leak slowly out of the box, quickly moving to his shoes. He cursed once more, forgetting that Kakei was standing right in front of him.

"Rikuo!"

"Oh-- yeah, sorry." He mumbled, carefully placing the remaining boxes on the shelf.

Kakei's gaze softened. "I need to talk to you."

The sincerity in his gaze almost frightened Rikuo. The nagging broken record in the back of his mind began to play at full speed, repeating one thing over and over. Something is not right. Something is not right. Something is not right...

"Where's Kazahaya?" He asked, looking around the store. It had been oddly silent for the last coupe minutes, and he realized that weren't even any customers in the store. He was all alone.

Kakei smiled. "Saiga took him out for ice cream."

"Oh."

"I need to talk to you." The air suddenly turned bitter, alight with the seriousness of his words. "It's about... Kazahaya." He looked at the light haired man expectantly. Then, almost too quiet to hear: "And Tsukiko."

"What about her?" The words tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could hold him in. This was it. He was going to tell her that she was dead, that he had failed her, broken his promise to find her. It was all over now.

"This is hard to say..."

"Then come out with it!" He screamed, desperately to be proven wrong. Kakei faulted in the face of his anger. He instantly regretted the anger that he had so brazenly shown. Now was not the time, not the time to lose control. Then when is? A little voice asked in the back of his head. When can you get angry?

"Kazahaya is going to die unless you do something for me. For the next full moons, you need to keep him in. It doesn't matter what you have to do. You cannot let him out."

The words felt rough, almost tumbled as they came out of Kakei's mouth. "What? How?" He breathed, eager for more information, even as his mind balked at the idea of Kazahaya even being hurt, let alone dead. He would not let it happen. He refused.

The light haired man paused. He could see his mouth contract, then open, and close. He didn't know what to say. "Tsukiko has something to do with it. I don't know what. I saw it in a vision last night. It was very brutal, he is almost ripped apart. They didn't do it quickly. Took their time, made him suffer unimaginably." He paused. "You would have found his body."

Kakei inhaled, suddenly seeing the dead eyes of a boy who he loved like a son, saw the wounds and o god it just hurt so much... It hurt to see anyone like that. But for someone he knew personally, who he had gathered the group of people to protect, lying in the rain like that... It was unendurable. It was horrible. It was a hurt that he knew would stay with him for many years, knowing away at him slowly. It would kill him if it came true.

Rikuo stumbled back. "You... You liar! She would never hurt him! She would never even..." His words broke. He shuddered, leaning against the shelf.

"You love him, don't you?"

His eyes slid up to meet the others. Kakei's breathing was fast, ragged around the edges. "You know that I do."

"Then protect him!"

His eyes turned past Rikuo's form, hunched over and arms folded over his sides, as if trying to hold in all of the emotions that could so easily tear the store apart if left out. He was suddenly reminded of a picture of a person who had survived a holocaust. Rikuo's heavy, hollow set eyes screamed of a dark chasm inside that few could understand and even fewer would know. He reached out and took the younger man's hand in his, relished in it's cool, dry feeling. "I know that this will be hard for you. I know how hard it is to just be around Kazahaya when she's out there some where, and you don't know how she is. But you need to listen to me: he will FUCKING die! You have to save him!" He leaned in Rikuo, surprised at how small and fragile he seemed at the moment.

"I… I can't… I mean, if I did, would she be hurt? … Why else would she be involved in it?" He asked, untangling Kakei from his abdomen.

He drew in a shaky breath and smoothed the front of his white jacket. "She has some thing to do with it. She knows, Rikuo."

"What?" The words seemed to rattle around in his head, and his spine flt as if it had been encased in ice.

"She knows that you love him." He walked towards the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He looked up. Rikuo was staring at him, the dark green orbs flooded. He had murder in his eyes.

The sudden, neon noise of glass breaking. Kakei turned sharply, just as the bottles of various medicines began to shatter. Shards began to rain the isles, and he was reminded of rainbows of many different colours, joining together and mixing from the light of one man's pain.

"What did you say?"

"She knows." He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. "I'm so sorry that we haven't told you, but he thought that it was for your best. She's not stable, Rikuo, she's not entirely in her right mind, and she'll hurt you, she'll hurt Kazaha--"

A fist connected with his face. He fell back wards, smacked his head on the broken glass. His vision went white then purple, and he was aware of his heart beat in his ears, the blood on his face and Rikuo was trying to talk to him, but he had to wait a moment before he could listen. " --THE FUCK COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, TO HER? I SHOULD RIP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF! I SHOU--"

The front windows shattered. A few girls screamed and crowded along the sides of the macabre sight, he could hear their titters and see the flashing shapes of their uniforms behind the isles.

Then silence. Rikuo turned towards the door and began to walk calmly through the bitter triangles and slivers of glass, each making its own noise as he left. Raw terror ran around inside of Kakei, twisting and turning until the very existence of time seemed to be no more.

"Stop! Don't leave! Please, you can't you're the only thing that can save him…!"

It was too late.

Rikuo was gone.

And in the darker side of his heart, he knew that Tsukiko was going to get her way.

Kazahaya was going to die.

And they could do nothing about it.

He laid his head down on the floor, focusing on the tinkling of the glass. He knew that his hair would be sticky and almost absentmindedly, he raised a hand to his face. It came away stained red with already clotting blood. "…fuck…" he murmured, finally letting his weary eyes close. He made no move to get up.

End of Chapter One.

No comments on this one, except for the fact that I don't own. There is one typo that I couldn't find when I was uploading this chapter. The word 'felt' is 'flt'. And it's bugging me, I know it's there. I just can't find it. Grr. I like this fic, so if you don't I don't really need to hear about it, yah? But, if you really want too, you can tell me what you thought (good, bad, what ever) when you REVIEW!