AN: Very, very sorry for the day. This is the first free day I've had in two weeks. I really have been writing as much as a can but work and illness have kept me down for a while. Now I've recovered and they've stopped calling me for extra hours so I should be able to get these chapters out faster. Please enjoy.

Chapter Eight

He awoke before his alarm, tangled in the rough, warm embraced of his twisted sheets. The coverlet was bunched and heavy against his back. There was something sweet and terrible writhing in his body, heating his blood. His skin felt shivery-sensitive, stretched too tightly. He could only remember vague, translucent fragments of the dream, but it had been about Arima, of course, and it had been good: strong hands, firm fingers, Arima holding him down, leaning over him with parted lips and endless, liquid eyes.

His hand had already slipped between his thighs and sweat had gathered on his stomach and back, under his arms. Still half-asleep, he closed his mind to the glowing digits on the clock radio and the faint light from the window. The lazy, delicious arousal crept over him, stealing his breath. It would be easy to finish off the need quickly and efficiently and get back to the business of sleeping or waking, but Hideaki did not want to think rationally.

He pulled his hand back, sliding it over the sheets to clutch the edge of the bed. Drawing in quick, rapid breaths, he savored the unfurling of the demanding ache throbbing through his body, spreading wisps of pleasure from his stomach to his fingertips. His hypersensitive skin felt every strand of hair that shifted against his face. The fabric of the pillow smelled deeply of his own soap and lotion and sweat.

Carefully, he twisted his hips, turning his body downwards and just the small movement, the slight friction sent another wave of desire flooding through him. He gasped softly into the pillow, is stomach clenching. Arima was a distant, simmering presence in his sleep-fogged mind. Slowly, he moved his body, pressing into the thick mattress, sliding languidly against its firm, rumpled surface. He drew out the pleasure with great care, intending to savor the sweet resistance. The pillow muffled his faint moans. His left hand gripped the edge of the mattress while the fingers of his right hand curled in the pale sheets, alternately twisting and stroking the fabric. His tongue slicked the roof of his dry mouth.

"Arima," he gasped. The pillow swallowed his voice easily. Burning slowly, he twisted his body harder against the mattress, relishing the resonance of pleasure and stronger want. Hideaki knew what was inside him now, knew this feverish, ravenous beast curled inside his belly. He knew what it wanted.

His hair stuck to the back of his neck, chaffed the side of his face. He bit his chapped bottom lip and arched his back again, reveling in the stretch of muscles and tendons, the straining energy racing through his body. He pretended there was something brilliant and beautiful inside him, a fiery presence fighting its way out of his body, burning through his skin.

Morning light spilled over the edge of the windowsill, bringing in the familiar sounds of people getting up and going about their lives, but Hideaki was safe and warm in his own private space, grinding slowly into the mattress of his bed. He panted and whispered foolish things to himself, repeating the name of his best friend. He felt on the edge of breaking, but still he grappled with the raw hunger, twisting it, teasing it, until it finally overwhelmed him. His right hand slipped down again between his stomach and the mattress.

"Arima," he moaned. "God, Arima." There was light in his wide-open eyes, enough light to blind him. He gasped hard as he came, lost in the light. He closed his eyes to keep out it out and the inside of his eyelids shone red.

Minutes passed in the little bedroom. Hideaki's breathing gradually slowed and he heard the noises of cars going by outside his window, a cheesy pop ballad playing on his clock radio. It was time to get up, take a shower, and go to school. His cooling skin felt raw and sticky. There were warm tears smeared on his pillow, drying on his face. He didn't know why or how they'd gotten there.

-

According to the rumor going around school, Arima was going to be on television. When the gang met to eat lunch together that day, Tsubaki lost no time in confirming it.

"This is going to be awesome!" she declared when Arima acknowledged the event reluctantly. "You have to introduce us if they ask about your friends."

Arima clutched his head with sudden anxiety. "This was a huge mistake. I'll look like an idiot up there. I can't believe that advisor talked me into it."

"Relax," Yukino said, touching his shoulder. "You'll look great. You know how proud your parents and friends are. Even my family is looking forward to it. Give them a little treat for once."

Hideaki sat on the windowsill in the back of the room, but he could see clearly the way Arima's face changed at her words, the tension smoothing out, opening into a slight smile. Yukino smiled back, glowing with encouragement, but Hideaki remembered her words in the courtyard: "It's a little frightening to think that I might always be beneath him." A vague discomfort grew in his mind, an unfocused image of Arima rising above his friends and classmates to some lonely, isolated summit in the sky.

"You'll have to manage his publicity from now on, Yukinon," Tsubaki said.

"I'll arrange talk show appearances and signings," Aya joked. "If you get a book deal, I'd be happy to work as your ghost writer."

"We have to pick out his wardrobe first," Yukino told them. "I'm sure Rika could design some of my ideas." She rubbed her hands together comically to assure Arima she was only teasing. Arima's smile widened slightly at their light words, but his eyes were strangely distant in their polite attention.

-

Hideaki stopped briefly by the crowded conference room where the camera crew had set up to film the show. A crowd of excited students had gathered outside the half-open doors, watching the TV crew get ready. Arima stood to the side, listening to a balding man in a suit. He wore a simple yukata that wrapped his lean body in graceful elegance. Beneath his smooth, black hair, his eyes were bright, attentive, and sharp with intelligence.

The familiar jab of attraction pulled at Hideaki's heart, but standing in the crowd of whispering admirers, he realized that he was nothing more than another one of them, another worshipful animal in the herd, following the call of someone who towered above them all.

"He looks so handsome when he's in his kendo uniform," one girl murmured to her friend. "I nearly faint every time I see him."

Hideaki backed out of the crowd and walked slowly away. He had no destination, but he ended up in the little grove outside the courtyard with the decorative stone pillar where he had first seen Arima two years ago. What a strange person I was, he thought, so preoccupied with meaningless things. I saw him there but I was so blind, I didn't really. I just saw myself, my own stupid needs.

He sat on the bench and stared at the pillar in the trees but it gave him no answers. Arima wasn't there anymore. Idly, he ran a hand over the rough surface of the bench. Some one had scratched a message in the corner with something hard and sharp (a nail?): Kaze ga suki Sora. Wind loves Sky. He didn't know if someone was just being poetic or if there were actually people named Kaze and Sora at the school. The marks were light and shallow; the words would fade quickly.

"Um, Asaba-kun?" A girl's voice came from behind him. He turned to see her looking at him plaintively, a slightly familiar face that he couldn't place.

"Can I help you?" he asked smoothly.

She looked down at her feet, blushing slightly and he remembered the brunette first-year staring at him in the hall. Her chin jerked up bravely then to meet his gaze at last.

"I… wondered if I could talk to you."

She had her hair pulled back in pigtails with bits of sparkly gold ribbon. One was tied in a tight bow while the other hung loosely, dangling glittery ends. Her wide, guileless eyes watched him bashfully.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. "I didn't really think you would."

"I remember seeing you in the hall on the first day of school," he relied lamely.

"We went to the same junior high," she said, scraping one heel against the paved ground. "You were really popular there too."

"Oh…" he racked his brain, trying to place her among the array of faces from middle school.

"My name is Megumi," she said helpfully. "Megumi Ayato. I was two grades below you."

"Ah, Megumi-chan." He had a faint memory of a small, shy girl in the back of the room when his admirers gathered around him.

She smiled. "Are you just pretending to remember me now? You'll break my heart again, Asaba-kun."

Hideaki blinked. He had no memory of ever dating or even flirting with Megumi. "Sit here," he said, patting the bench beside him. "I'm very sorry if I ever did anything to hurt you, Ayato-san. Maybe you could remind me of what I should apologize for."

She sat on the other end of the bench, careful not to touch him or look at him too much. "It's really nothing," she murmured. "I completely overreacted to your kindness, that's all."

"Tell me about it," he insisted, watching her attentively.

"Do you remember Valentines Day?" she asked, biting her bottom lip.

"In Junior High?"

"I was twelve." She traced the seam on her skirt with her index finger. Her eyelashes covered her half-closed eyes. "I found a small package of chocolates on my desk with a sweet note from you. I could hardly breathe, I was so excited." She inhaled slowly, not looking at him. "Then I found out that you had given one to every girl in the junior high classes. It must have taken you hours to write all those notes and separate all that chocolate. You made sure every girl in the school knew she was special. But really, I felt none of us were special— not to you at least."

Hideaki watched the movement of her lips without speaking. He remembered that year now, the valiant romantic gesture toward every girl in the school. He remembered writing to the girls to tell them that the holidays should be switched so that women could receive their gifts first instead of buying for the boys and waiting until White Day to be rewarded. Now that he thought about it, there was something sickeningly arrogant in his gracious benevolence, his chivalrous assumptions.

She still didn't meet his eyes. "On White Day, you received dozens of gifts, of course. I baked my own cookies for you. They were shaped like little ducklings and frosted with icing— lemon flavored, I think. I never gave them to you. You sent a lovely thank-you note to every girl who gave you something. I didn't get one. I was afraid. I wanted to be acknowledged by you, to have something from you… but I was more afraid to be just another silly girl, no different from the rest."

"I'm so sorry," Hideaki said quietly. "I never, never meant—"

"I know," Megumi interrupted, her voice reassuring. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're one of the sweetest boys I've ever known. It would have been better if you were a jerk or had a girlfriend. It would have been easier to let you go." She smiled up at him, finally looking straight into his eyes. "It's strange, seeing you now. You're not quite what I remembered."

He was surprised by how calm she looked, as if her confession had washed away the fear and hesitation. She tilted her head to survey him curiously. "I wonder… do you have anyone to love you yet, Asaba-kun?"

He felt oddly frozen at those words, a numb sensation in his chest spreading to his stomach and throat. His hands gripped the stone until it hurt.

"Not… not that I'm still obsessed over you or anything!" Megumi exclaimed quickly. "I mean, I have a boyfriend now and everything… I just wanted to know how you were doing after all this time."

Hideaki recovered quickly, flashing a grin of pure confidence. "Me? I'm doing great. Everyone loves me, you know."

"Of course." Her smile came more easily, brightening her eyes. "Of course. I should have known that wouldn't change."

-

Hideaki stood on the roof of the school, staring out at the sky. With his eyes turned to the vast stretch of heaven above, it was easy to pretend that there was no tile beneath his feet, no green grounds, no stiff school buildings, only the pure emptiness that surrounded him.

"Close your eyes and you can fly," his mother had told him when he was just a toddler. She had held him over her head with one hand on his chest and the other on his thighs, balancing him above her body as she lay on the bed. "Higher!" he had ordered, but her arms were only so long and they'd quickly grew tired. He'd whined as she set him down on the warm, soft bed and she had told him to be a good boy. "Mommy loves you when you're a good boy." Hideaki was not a good boy.

The door to the roof opened with a loud creak and Hideaki turned to see Arima step out onto the smooth tile of the roof.

"Hey handsome," Hideaki called. "Got away from the fan club already?"

"Shut up," Arima said mildly. He crossed the roof to the railing where Hideaki stood with his back pressed against the bars.

"I thought you'd try to get into the filming and get your face on TV," Arima said, setting both hands on the railing beside his friend.

Hideaki shook his head ruefully. "No, you're the star of the week this time, Soichiro. I wouldn't dream of stealing your glory."

"You know I hate it," Arima grumbled, frowning at the other boy. "I never would have agreed on this unless I had to."

"I know, I know." Hideaki admitted. "It's just scary for Yukinon and me to see you so famous now. It's like you're getting farther away from us all the time."

"But I'm not," Arima insisted. "I'm no different than before. I really don't know why all these people are following me around. Yesterday at lunch, some girl asked if she could keep my used napkin for her collection." He groaned. "Why me, Asaba?"

Hideaki smiled and leaned back into the railing, letting his head fall back. A light wind ruffled his hair. Next to him, Arima stood, a solid, magnetic presence. "Do you ever look in the mirror?" he asked.

Arima snorted softly. "Do you ever look in the mirror?"

Hideaki's eyes popped open and his head turned to scrutinize the boy beside him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Arima looked out over the grounds, a frown gathered between his eyes. "How should I know? You asked it first, idiot."

"I'm perfectly aware of my own self-worth and beauty," Hideaki insisted. "You, on the other hand, seem determined to put yourself down at every opportunity when you should be enjoying your good fortune, good looks, perfect grades, and wonderful girlfriend. Everyone loves you except you."

Arima didn't answer, continuing to gaze out at the landscape below. His forearms rested on top of the railing and he leaned into it, staring pensively. Hideaki let the long silence go, waiting for his friend to speak. The wind cooled his neck, playing with his hair and jacket.

"I'm going to a wedding tomorrow," Arima said at last. "My entire family will be there."

"Yukino told me," Hideaki said quietly. "Do you think you'll have problems with them?"

Arima scratched at the silver paint on the railing with his thumbnails. "When I was a kid, everyone expected me to play with the other cousins, like I was one of them, just another member of the gang. But I wasn't. They made sure I knew that." He bent over farther so that his chin rested on his arms. Hideaki watched him silently, listening.

"They told me that I had to prove my courage. So I sat with my hands tied behind my back with a jump rope while they poked me with Aunt Eiko's sewing needles. They were cautious at first, just little pricks, but then they became more confident and started stabbing needles into my arms, my back… When Kei said he was going to poke one into my eye, I tried to run… For that, I got kicked in the stomach and locked in the closet for three hours." A rough grain of anger had crept into his formerly level voice. "And it only got worse. I nearly drowned once and another time they packed snow around me to hide me from Dad and left me outside for several hours. I didn't know how to hate them. I was too scared."

Hideaki felt slippery dread and nausea swell in his stomach at the images Arima's words evoked but he kept his expression neutral. "You never told anyone," he guessed.

"I didn't want to cause my parents trouble. They questioned me many times, but Aunt Eiko always assured them that we were just boys playing and I corroborated her story, terrified of angering anyone. Mom and Dad eventually just made sure that I was never left alone with them and we avoided most family events."

"…but you can't avoid this one," Hideaki finished with a sigh. "Well, at least you get to wear a suit. I'm sure you could beat up your cousins if they tried anything now so there's no need to worry about getting knocked around."

"Yeah," Arima agreed. "I just have to listen to their shit about me and Mom and Dad. Sometimes I can't stand it and I just have to go somewhere inside myself if there's no where else. But it doesn't stop it from hurting…" He closed his yes and bit his lip. "The cousins aren't the worst. It's Aunt Eiko the hag who knows exactly how much poison she can get away with. I swear sometimes I think I might be able to kill her… she makes me angry enough."

Leaning on the railing, Arima didn't look enraged at all. There was a certain brooding bitterness about his pose, a hidden, secretive energy in his frame that frightened and intrigued Hideaki, like passing his hand over a blue flame. He touched Arima's elbow, a vague ache in his throat.

"I think we all feel that way sometimes. There've been times when my parents made me feel so scared and angry that I wanted to hurt them in any way I could. But I didn't, Soichiro, and neither will you." He took a few deep breaths. It occurred to him that a lie lingered in that sentence that he didn't want to address immediately. Hideaki continued, "The truth is, we all have some kind of darkness inside us, but we choose whether or not to act on it, I guess. It doesn't make you a bad person. It's no reason to hate yourself."

Arima laughed roughly, not raising his head from his arms. "You sound like some sappy guidance counselor, Asaba."

"Sorry." Hideaki chuckled self-consciously. "Eh, Miyazawa said I'm not very good at giving pep talks."

"You suck," Arima pronounced, turning his head to give Hideaki a despairing look but the tension had gone from his shoulders and his voice was light with amusement.

Hideaki gripped the railing again and took a deep breath of the sky. A high whistle sounded from the soccer field, like the shrill note of a bird. Having Arima beside him was infinitely more comforting than any stale memories of his mother's forgotten affection.

-

The next morning he found Megumi studying in the library with a friend. She looked up at him in surprise but he only winked conspiratorially and tucked an envelope into the front pocket of the brown school satchel that hung over the back of her chair.

"Forgive my lateness," he implored, offering a quick, charming smile. He left the library and the two speechless girls without another word. Inside the cream colored envelope were two tickets to a concert and a short note written in a strong, confident hand.

Dear Megumi-chan,

I must thank you for your delightful gift of the duck-shaped cookies. How did you guess that lemon was my flavor of choice? You are clearly a very kind and intelligent young lady. You were even thoughtful enough not to give the treats to me, obviously understanding my need to keep my figure. Please accept these tickets as a token of my gratitude and take your lucky young man out for the night. I offer myself if you are ever in need.

Sincerely,

Asaba Hideaki

-

Hideaki pushed his paper forward and sighed with relief. All around him, students fidgeted with their writing utensils, scratched their necks nervously, or hunched over their exams, rushing to finish. Hideaki wasn't worried. Certainly he didn't expect to make any top thirty lists, but he had managed to get along in school well enough, with Arima's tutoring. The others in the group often formed study sessions with Arima and Yukino but Hideaki's class schedule was different so he rarely got to attend them.

The class rep came around to pick up the finished exams, frowning when he saw Hideaki's. Hideaki always doodled on the front of his tests to give the rep and teachers something interesting to grumble about. Yesterday it had been an octopus escaping a deep-fryer. Today it was a large panda bear smoking a cigarette. The stolid class rep always treated the discovery with frigid disgust or simply pretended not to care, but Hideaki noticed whose desk his eyes went to first when the time came to pick up the finished exams.

When the signal for the end of class came, Hideaki was the first out the door. The halls were mostly empty as classes were still in session in most rooms. Hideaki sat on the wide space of the window ledge and fumbled in his backpack for his math textbook, thinking to brush up on some formulas before the exam. He also located the smooth, round shape his CD player. Before he could pull out the headphones a distant shout drew his eyes to the scene outside the window in time to see Arima deck another boy with the back of his fist.

His CD player and textbook clattered to the floor. Hideaki pressed his nose against the glass, straining to see better. There were two strange boys with Arima, both dressed in expensive-looking private school uniforms. The boy who had been hit was touching his face gingerly, supported by his companion who was shouting at Arima, clearly enraged. Hideaki only caught the words "…told by our parents!"

Arima watched them from a short distance, not speaking at all. His posture radiated cold, disdainful anger. You are beneath me, his body language said. You can't touch me. Hideaki shifted back from the window, watching the unknown boys stumble away from Arima. The dark hatred in Arima's face seared into Hideaki's mind. Somehow it was different from the icy indifference and unbridled jealousy that Hideaki had seen before, this tightly controlled rage that simmered behind his friend's normally calm face.

When Arima entered the school again, Hideaki was there to meet him, watching the purpose in his stride, the suppressed anger in the hard line of his mouth. Arima came to Hideaki who touched his face lightly with one hand, almost expecting to be burned, but Arima's skin was smooth and cool from the outside air.

"What happened, Soichiro?"

"They came here… to my school," Arima spat. "They said they wanted to be friends now… that they hated Kei-chan and only picked on me because of Aunt Eiko. Those filthy little bastards."

He turned his head and Hideaki's hand slid away. He said nothing, unsure of what to think. Arima standing up for himself was a good thing. Arima beating people up and walking around looking like pure murder was not so good.

"You were right, Asaba. I know kendo. I'm not the weak, pitiful kid they used to tie up with jumpropes. Everyone thinks I'm someone now, whether they like it or not; they can't ignore me and I won't let them hurt me or my parents anymore. Someday I'll make the Arima clan pay for the way they treated us." He turned away and began to pace down the hall.

Close behind him, Hideaki nodded, understanding Arima's righteous resentment. "Not playing the good boy anymore?" he asked wryly.

Arima smiled slowly, without warmth or amusement. A chill tingled Hideaki's palms and the back of his neck. "Oh, I'll be good. The model student, the responsible son, the perfect boyfriend. Easy roles. I need to play them to survive, to keep from losing everything. But that doesn't mean I can't get back at the people who would sooner see me dead than happy."

"And this will make you happy?" Hideaki wanted to ask. "You're not telling Miyazawa any of this," he guessed, feeling a weary fear seep into his bones.

Arima gave him a look that could have frozen lighter fluid. "She's all I have left. Do you really think I'm going to jeopardize the most important relationship in my life?"

"Why are you telling me then?" Hideaki asked in pained frustration, and immediately wished he hadn't. The bond of trust he had with Arima was something that he avoided probing too much for fear that it would burst like a fragile soap bubble. Sometimes he could hardly tell if Arima saw him as a friend at all.

Arima lifted an eyebrow quizzically. "I don't know… I thought you understood and I know there's no one you would tell…" He trailed off, frowning slightly.

"You can't keep everything inside yourself forever," Hideaki said quietly, "and you can't hide yourself from Miyazawa forever. She's pretty damn sharp."

Arima shook his head slowly, still gazing into the distance. The hall began to fill with students emerging from classes. Hideaki touched Arima's back lightly, just enough to feel the tight muscles, the firm solidity of his form. Arima stopped walking and looked back into Hideaki's serious face.

"Do you really think that lying to the person you love will make you happy?"

Arima was silent, watching the floor with his hidden eyes for so long that Hideaki thought he wouldn't say anything. Finally he spoke in low voice. "You don't know anything about it, Asaba. Don't pretend you do."

In his ears, Hideaki's pulse pounded a steady rhythm. The tips of his fingers felt numb. Later he would let that hurt in. Later he would think about those words. Now he had to think, to react lucidly. "I know Yukino," he said firmly, forgoing her surname.

Ducking his head, Arima gave a half-laugh that sounded more like a gasp. His eyes darted up to Hideaki's, glistening with a sad, desperate bitterness. "Being ourselves always worked better for her," he said.

Hideaki followed his gaze forward. Yukino, Aya, and Maho came down the hall toward them then and Arima smiled to greet them, like switching on a light in an empty room.