Chapter 3: A Moth To The Flame

There is a moth. There is a moth on the ceiling of my home office. I watch as it expands and contracts its dull grey wings, drops into the air, and then proceeds to make a beeline...no...a mothline...directly for the overhead light.

In the mid-morning quiet of the house, I can hear the insect plink against the glass of the light bulb. Plink. Plink.

Why? Why do they seek to burn themselves? Such a luminous suicide...thwarted. Plink. Against the glass, over and over, drawn to the manufactured flame within the transparent shell. Even though the moth knows that to ever succeed...would mean death, it tries, again and again, to bash its small body through the heated barrier.

Fuck.

Apparently, I fell asleep on the floor. Not even enough goddamn sense to move my body to the divan, which would have been mildly more comfortable.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I sit up suddenly, causing a small scrap of paper to fall off my chest and flutter, cartoon-like, back and forth until it settles against the floor. Shuichi's words, his declaration of love, the one I stole from his notebook months ago, comes to rest on the carpet like a dead moth.

You too, Shuichi, are like a moth to a flame, aren't you? Getting closer and closer to me. Plinking against the glass wall that I've erected. Repeatedly bashing your head into the gates, calling out for me to let you in...to let you come inside. To let you look upon your brilliant doom...just for an instant...before it consumes you.

Shuichi...

Fucking hell. Shuichi...

I scramble to the door, unlock it, and throw it open. He's not here. He's not in the hallway. Whenever we fight like this, he always sleeps right outside my office. Maybe he's in the kitchen...

No. Don't be too hasty. Walk like a normal person, Eiri. Because, if he –is- in the kitchen, you don't want it to look like you were –searching- for him. Keep cool. Goddamnit, when did the kitchen get so far away? This is ridiculous. Why do I have such a giant flat? I don't need this much room.

Fuck. He's not in the kitchen, either.

But, at least, he left a note. Attached to the fridge with a goofy magnet he made out of a picture of us. (A picture which he –must- have photoshopped. I knew I should never have given him that camera phone. If we get through this next week alive, I'm going to have a serious talk with that idiot about taking pictures of me without my permission.)

If we get through this week...

And if I can figure out why Shuichi keeps lying to me.

"Hey! Sorry about last night. Didn't mean to upset you, even though I don't know how I did. I had to go to work, but I will be home after and I'll bring your favorite take-out, too. But, also you should eat breakfast because I really don't think you eat enough. You look tired, Eiri, and I am really worried about you..."

The note goes on and on in this vein, and ends abruptly with:

"See you tonight! --Shu."

Once again, for the second day in a row, he leaves without saying he loves me.

I should be much less affected by this than I am. Is it oversight? Or...is he really...finally...getting tired of me? He –did- lie to me, so...

I can't think about this now. I can't deal with this now. But, I do have to know. I have to look, just to make certain.

I race into my office and bring up my map of Tokyo. There he is. Again. In that same spot across town. Not at NG. I should call Gabriel. I should –demand- answers. Why can't I just call Shuichi and ask him where he is? No. Too many questions. He'd want to know how -I- know he isn't at NG. Fuck. This is driving me...

Grabbing at my hair, I kick my desk chair, sending it rolling across the room. It hits the divan and topples over with a –thwack-. I storm into the bathroom and tear off my clothes. Water from the shower sluices over my body as I try to form a decent plan. I could tell Seguchi about Lucy. No. He'll just try to send me away somewhere, leaving Shuichi vulnerable. Even if I could take Shuichi with me, together...we're so famous that eventually Lucy would track us down. Seguchi's tactic would only be stalling.

I have only one choice. Like a moth to a flame...

I've got to go search the scene of that fire for clues.

Give me a clue, Lucy. Lure me further towards my death. I'll play the moth for you.

I get out of the shower and clothe myself. What do I need? Knives. In the trunk of my car underneath the secret panel. Cellphone. Got it. My cigarettes. Check. And my lighter.

Fuck. Where is my lighter? Why does my lighter keep disappearing? Hn. Shuichi probably keeps stealing them in an attempt to get me to quit smoking. Where is...

Here's an old one, at least. Pink. What the fuck possessed me to buy a pink lighter?

Don't answer that.

Just -don't- answer that.

When I think back, I can pinpoint the exact day it all went bad. Uriel and I had been on an assignment. Our mission was to find the dirty yakuza slime behind a child pornography ring, and eliminate them. The mere investigation made my guts churn. But, Uriel...I could tell, he was barely holding it together.

We'd been holed up in this repulsive hotel on the bad end of Tokyo for days. The kind of place where you can literally peel the loose wallpaper back and find bloodstains from the last drug deal gone bad. We took turns sleeping in a bed with sheets so filthy it made your flesh itch. I was quickly running low on cigarettes. And Uriel was running low on scotch.

It was a bad situation all around.

I watched from my perch on the bed as Uriel lit matches, one by one, and let them burn down to his fingertips. He'd always been fascinated with fire. I figured it had to do with his past, but I simply didn't ask. In Exile, you don't pry into other people's pasts. And, as long as you don't, no one asks you about yours, either.

But, Uriel took his obsession to an absurd limit. In addition to being a crack shot, he was a demolitions and explosives expert. Several times, I'd had to literally –drag- him away from some house he'd set on fire to cover our activities. Well, we all have our sicknesses. Uriel didn't ask about the wig and contacts I wore when I killed people, and I didn't ask why he couldn't walk away from a fire.

"Anything yet?" I asked, lighting another cigarette with a lighter that I had to keep in my pocket, lest Uriel pick it up and burn all the fluid out.

Uriel shook his head and poked at the dials on the radio. A thin lead ran from the equipment to his ear. We'd bugged the room we knew the yakuza had been using to make some of their smutty videos, but so far, only some under-flunky had been there, eating lots of pizza and watching the most insipid television sitcoms you can imagine.

"You know," Uriel said, hissing and shaking his hand to extinguish a flame he'd let burn a few seconds too long, "If you're bored, you could work on one of your books or something. You know, your –other- job."

Uriel liked to pick on me, well, on all the other agents of Exile for having alternate identities. He had only one job, and that was working for Exile. I guess he didn't have any talents that Seguchi could transform into something else. Or, maybe Seguchi just figured that at least –one- of the top operatives should be out of the public eye. Whatever it was, Uriel liked to bring it up whenever he could. Yeah. He was Seguchi's favorite, and we all knew it.

I'd even suspected that they'd slept together.

But, really, it wasn't something I wanted to think about, especially since Seguchi is married to my sister.

Liquidly, I darted my gaze in Uriel's direction and gave him my best sneer. Uriel snarled back with equal intensity. Then, of course, he broke into a chuckle. "I'm just messing with you, Michael. It's always so strange to think that my partner, the same guy who helps me kill off sick assholes, is also a famous romance novelist."

Uriel shrugged and went back to his match-lighting. I watched him then. He had dark eyes, almost black. Pools of molten tar. Thick with expression. His eyes always betrayed the emotions he tried to hide beneath that oft-immobile sleek face. Wisps of thick black hair escaped the long braid dangling down his back, framing his face in a shadowbox. Uriel was a striking man, not terribly tall, but with a decisive and undeniable –presence-. He had charisma, whereas I remained socially inept. I could fake it, sure, but to Uriel, it came naturally.

In our time together, I'd seen him charm men and women out of just about anything. Information. Money. Sex. He knew how to play people, how to find out what they wanted and insinuate that he could give it to them. In that respect, he was a lot like Seguchi. Except, Seguchi –could- give you the object of your desire, and Uriel...just created the illusion of power. He was a master of seduction.

"Michael..." Uriel finally said, his voice tinged with remorse, "Have you ever thought about leaving Exile?"

"Constantly." I replied, exhaling a hazy cloud of smoke. It was the truth. Every time I saw Seguchi, I told him I wanted to quit. He'd then hand me an envelope, and I'd put off my retirement for another week. Exile wasn't something you could escape. Everyone who was there...remained in its service of their own volition. The work we did...was something we –needed-. I was working to save others from becoming like me. But the others...I am certain...had their own reasons.

"Why don't we?" Uriel slammed his matches down onto the table and turned his torso towards me. "I'm fucking tired of this. Of Seguchi holding us back. Tomorrow, we'll kill some yakuza thug, but what the fuck difference will it make? Someone else will step up and take his place. Unless we find a way to...make them afraid...to fear what they are doing..."

"And what do you plan to do? Write 'You're Next' in blood in the lobby of the yakuza headquarters?"

"Well, yes. I believe that would be a good start."

I sighed and stubbed out my cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray as I stood up. "Get a grip, Uriel. I think those match fumes are going to your head."

"Yeah, I think they are. In a good way." Uriel snorted a chuckle and leaned back in his chair, his long braid dangling behind him like a lazy pendulum slowly coming to a stop. "Think about it, though, Michael. If I do...leave...I want you to come with me. We're the best agents..."

"Shut up. Drink some scotch. Get some rest. You haven't slept in forever."

"Yeah. Sleep." Uriel pulled the earpiece out and handed it to me before heading over to the bed. He plopped down, making the springs creak noisily, and pushed his bangs out of his face before looking up at me. "Wanna fuck, Michael? Forget Exile for a while? Forget everything...just for a while?"

Alright, so, yeah...I'd fucked him a few times. It wasn't like we were –together- or anything. Forgetting. Temporary vacation from reality. That's all it was. We weren't interested in each other...that way.

But, if I recall correctly, he –was- fairly talented in the sack.

I could only roll my eyes as I plugged the lead into my ear. "Eat shit, you crazy pyromaniac."

Uriel laughed so hard he convulsed on the bed. "That's the best insult you can come up with, Mr. Famous Romance Novelist?"

Remaining silent, I lit up my second to last cigarette and stared out the lone and incredibly grimy window at the building across the street. Uriel eventually calmed down and fell asleep while waiting for me to come up with a more biting retort. After a while, I turned back towards the room and watched him doze. Even asleep, there was just something about him which seemed piercingly sinister. Most people look peaceful when they sleep, but Uriel....looked...

Lost. Incredibly lost. And angry about it.

As I gazed at him, his lips moved, and I heard the one word he moaned, a word which told me more about what was going on in Uriel's mind than I would have been able to deduce from a thousand conversations with him. A desperate, keening gasp that filled the room with desire....

"Tohma..."

The Shimo-Kitazawa shopping district is known throughout Tokyo as for its antique toy shops. It's a favorite among hobbyists and children. But, I usually go there for the bookstores. For signings, never to buy. If I want to buy a book, I'll order it off the internet or have Mizuki find it for me. No need to go out among the repulsive masses and chance a face to face encounter with...anyone.

But, towards the West end, the smell of burnt paper hangs in the air. Here, businesses slowly peter out into abandoned shopfronts and notice boards peppered with a rainbow of ripped sections of playbills, sale announcements, and desperate pleas to help find lost animals. This part of Shimo-Kitazawa has become ghost town of cheap property which has been gobbled up by larger corporations as storage space. There are no brightly colored vendor stands here, just layers upon layers of industrial paint designed to cover up graffiti. I kick a soda can, by accident, and watch it go tumbling up the road with a rattling clinkity-clink that has –surely- alerted anyone nearby to my presence.

The difficulty rating in finding the burnt warehouse is zero. Thin streaks of smoke still rise towards the sky. Lucy probably burnt the place with jet fuel, or something even –more- caustic, just so that his precious fire would last longer. Damnable pyromaniac.

A detail of firemen linger around the building, chatting, eating their box lunches, still waiting for the thing to burn itself out. Everything is destroyed anyway, so why put up the extra effort except to make certain that the fire doesn't spread to nearby warehouses?

I lean against a telephone pole, and try to figure out why I am here. The smoldering warehouse won't be divulging any secrets. I've definitely slipped into insanity if I think the police or the firemen will tell me anything. Well, what did you expect, Eiri, a sign from God?

Or, something from Lucifer himself. A big, fat, bloody message reading, "You're next, Michael."?

I'm just about to turn around to leave when I feel it, that prickle, that shuddering tingle at the back of my neck. When you've been killing people for as long as I have, you develop a preternatural sense to tell you when you're being watched.

I turn. And, right then, as the clouds break overhead to let slivers of sunlight burst downwards onto this wasteland of warehouses, I catch glimpse of those pitch black eyes watching me from a nearby alleyway.

Lucy.

Damnit! I should have known he'd come back here. He never could resist a fire.

I push off the pole and sprint towards the alleyway, hoping desperately that my presence has not yet been noted by the nearby firefighting crew. Lucy withdraws immediately into the shadows. Fuck. I didn't even get a good look at his face, just a glint of sunlight off his eyes. But, I know it is him. It –has- to be him. He darts between shadows as I chase him, keeping himself unseen with professional ease. I can barely even follow him by sight, and have to rely on the sounds of his footfalls to lead me in his direction. Several times, I run almost trip, on litter, potholes, over a long section of pipe.

By the time I get to the end of the alley, he's already jumped a concrete wall. I can hear him on the other side, breathing heavily. At least I winded him.

"You come over this wall, Michael, and I'll shoot you."

There is something about his voice. Something...I don't remember from before, but decidedly familiar. He's probably had his vocal chords tightened or something.

"What do you want from me, Uriel?" I ask, wishing desperately that I'd brought a grenade with me. Not that I generally take grenades –anywhere-. But, I do have some in my hidden vault at home. For emergency purposes. (Like Tatsuha refusing to remove himself from my apartment.)

A faint shuffle of footsteps moves closer to the wall. "There's nothing I want from you, nothing that I don't already have. Except for you to suffer, Michael. For Exile to perish. Their mission is the past. Outdated and useless. Lampyridae is the future. You could have been part of the future, Michael. It was your choice to walk away."

"I'm not..."

"Not what? A murderer? A traitor? You're not like me? Are you trying to tell me you have morals, Michael? Don't make me laugh."

I lean my forehead against the concrete. There's nothing I can say to refute the truth in his words. I am an executioner...but I've never been good at being the judge. I leave that task to Seguchi. "Just...leave Shuichi out of this, Uriel. What is between us...should stay between us. He's an innocent."

An innocent. But, nowadays, Lucy doesn't care if innocent people get hurt in his quest to rid the world of what he sees as evil. It's futile to argue with him...so why do I try?

"Shuichi?" Is he humming? I know that tune. It's one of those ridiculous songs from Shuichi's band's first album. "By the way, Michael...I found –this-."

A small object hardly larger than one of my fingers comes arcing over the wall. It falls onto the pavement and skitters away from me a bit, making a slurred plastic chitter against the road. Wearily, I bend to pick it up, keeping my gaze focused on the top of the concrete barrier in case this is a trick by Lucy to distract me.

My fingers close around...a lighter. What is this supposed to....?

No. It can't be.

Gingerly, as if holding a small dying animal, I cradle the plastic lighter in my palm. This is... This is –mine-. No. This is –ours-.

It is the lighter to which Shuichi affixed a small sticker... A picture of us from that arcade photo booth...

"How did you get this?" I ask, standing up so quickly that I feel lightheaded. I have to lean one shoulder against the wall to keep from passing out. "Where did this come from, Uriel? Tell me!"

"He's a precious boy, ne, Michael? I didn't peg him as your type, but... So pretty with his mouth hanging agape and his head...tilted back. Ecstatic. Burning with passion. More fascinating than fire itself. Don't worry, Michael, I will take –good- care of your Shuichi when he is finally mine."

"Don't you dare..." How is it that I have suddenly become irrational? I stuff the lighter in my pocket and reach up to find a hold on the top of the wall. I'm going to get myself shot, I just know it.

Hn. That'll make Gabriel's preposterous ninja happy beyond belief.

But, by the time I make it to where I can see the alley on the other side...

Lucy is gone.

Three weeks after he and I killed the leader of that yakuza's child pornography ring, Uriel disappeared. Seguchi was furious. And why not? Uriel was Exile's top operative.

We both hoped Uriel had merely gone underground. Outwardly, we hoped this. But, Seguchi and I both knew... Uriel wasn't running –away- from Exile. He was running –towards- his new group. A group that killed indiscriminately. An organization that would amputate the entire arm to cure a hangnail.

When he finally contacted me, I kept his message secret for five days. I considered it seriously. Exile did have many failings. Progress was slow. And all decisions depended upon Seguchi. But, in the end, I could not join Uriel's new group. The choice I made had little to do with loyalty...

I just didn't want to make the decisions. I am a monster beneath this façade. I am...not the sort of man who should choose who will live and who will die. Because, if I did...

No one would be left standing.

I just hate the teeming masses of humanity –that- much.

In the end, I brought the message to Seguchi. And he decided I would go undercover. Uriel had to be eliminated. I would pretend to join his new group, and when I had his trust, I would destroy what he had been building.

And I would kill Uriel.

This is how, temporarily, I became a member of Lampyridae.

Uriel communicated with me through a messenger. And, of course, his first dictum required me to eliminate agents of Exile to prove my loyalty.

Raphael and Gabriel –had- to go. Uriel didn't want to have them following us across the globe. Besides, with the other two head agents gone, Exile was sure to be set back for a very long time...if it didn't collapse altogether.

So, I called Raphael and Gabriel to a warehouse, on the pretense of handing over information I had collected about Lampyridae.

I remember clearly. Gabriel entered first, his confident stride showing no sense of distrust, beige duster flapping around him as he walked up to the table in the middle of the box-laden room. Raphael appeared behind him, as if from nowhere, dressed in his full black ninja regalia.

Mr. K. and Sakuma Ryuichi. The number two team of Exile operatives.

"Tell me you have good news on bringing down Uriel," Mr. K said, taking off his shades. He let them hang loosely from his fingers, twirling them in an oblong circle as he came to a stop a few feet from me. "Vigilante justice for the innocents is one thing. Psychotic, uncontrolled, vigilante activity is completely another."

As usual, Sakuma didn't seem to be paying much attention. He'd produced a lollipop from thin air and took to examining the ceiling while humming. I knew this was just an act, however. There is little which escapes Sakuma's attention.

I found myself hesitant. But, I needed to be able to get close to Uriel...to know his plans, and more importantly, his location. And unless I proved my loyalty, I would never be able to accomplish my objective.

Rule Number Four for Writers and Assassins: When you're going to kill someone off, never do it in a warehouse. That's just –way- too cliché. Plus, there's a pretty good chance that the sound of a gun cocking will echo, which defeats the element of surprise.

By the time I had my gun out, and leveled at Sakuma's shoulder, Mr. K had sprung into action. He spun to the left, shielding the ninja from the blow with his –much- larger body. I remember his sunglasses going flying into the air, but the sound of them hitting the concrete floor never registered. It was drowned out by the gunshot.

I'd only meant to hit Sakuma in the shoulder. But, my hesitation gave Mr. K just enough time to swing in front of him.

I shot Gabriel in the back.

And for that, Raphael has never forgiven me.

The fact that I almost killed his partner...that his partner almost died protecting him...has created an unending grudge which occasionally culminates in a desire for revenge. Damn...stubborn...ninja.

I am certain that the effusive Mr. K did not hold me in the highest regard for quite a long time after that. But, somehow, after he healed up, Seguchi explained the situation in a way that made sense, and K's grudge against me became fairly minimal compared to Sakuma's. He's not particularly rational, that shinobi, which was why I was trying to shoot –him- instead of his partner. Raphael couldn't survive without Gabriel's help.

(Seguchi eventually re-assigned Gabriel and Raphael to the states to protect me from Raphael's ire. I don't think he'd really ever kill me. Well, I don't think Gabriel would –let- him kill me. Yes. I'm about 70 certain of that.)

In the end, however, it was all for naught. Uriel didn't believe the lie, since neither Raphael nor Gabriel died. I guess Uriel just knows me too well. Knows my abilities with a –gun- too well. Lampyridae became a ghost that Exile tracked all over the globe.

I was never able to get close to Uriel again.

Tungesh tries to wave me down with a book as I drive past his stand. I don't care what it is. No. I know what it is. That damn Akasugi's new book came out today, didn't it? Yeah. I've heard all the pre-reviews for 'Black Licorice'. They all translate to 'Stunningly gay with a topping of whipped homoeroticism.' Maybe I should start writing shoujo-ai. Tangerine could be secretly be a lipstick lesbian. Would that even sell?

Well, Tatsuha would buy a copy, at least.

I can't believe I'm thinking about my novel at a time like this. Ignoring Tungesh, I push the pedal to the floor and race the few blocks home at an absolutely illegal speed. Somehow, I avoid a collision with the neighbor's parked car by a narrow margin of about two inches. My own BMW ends up with the front driver-side tire on the curb.

I do –not- have time to re-park.

Shuichi. He even stood by me when I was poisoned by a particularly clever female shinobi, and ended up at the hospital. Seguchi told everyone it was stress, but considering that every day of my life contains enough stress to turn a non-violent flower-waving hippie into a gun-toting maniac, only those people who weren't associated with Exile believed him.

Shuichi was there. And the little idiot was worried for me. Worried for himself. He's so...incredibly selfish. He didn't ask a single question about why I was sick. Just rambled on and on about how he couldn't...he wouldn't...live without me. So...selfish... And I...just ate it up. The immense guilt over how I had...have...been deceiving him was enough to break me. I...almost got myself killed. And where would that leave Shuichi?

In an empty house...with a few memories...and a fridge full of beer.

But, what destroyed me more than the thought of Shuichi trying to get along after I died...was the terrible 'what if' that I just couldn't shake...

What if...Shuichi died?

How would...I feel?

I decided not to think about it. Because, of course, it was unthinkable. Shuichi wouldn't die. Shuichi could get hit by an 18-wheeler, and be back up on stage singing by the next week. He's the incredible rubber boy. He bounces back from everything.

I was...I –am-...a professional. As long as Shuichi and I didn't get –too- close... As long as I never truly committed to him... I could always wait until –later-. Later. He'd find out about my life...later. And if he were ever truly...truly in danger...I could always leave him...

Later.

If Shuichi died...because of me...

It was unthinkable. So I decided that I would think about it...later.

But, as I race up the stairs, foregoing the elevator to my flat, Shuichi –actually- getting hurt is the only possibility on my mind. It blurs the edges of my vision, leaving nothing on the landing except me, my heavy footsteps as I run, and the door...

It takes forever to find the right key for the lock.

I don't know how Lucy got ahold of Shuichi's lighter. Maybe he's been following Shuichi for a while. Maybe he's even befriended Shuichi. Talked to him. Touched him.

Touched him.

It doesn't matter. I know now exactly what I must do. After I find out Shuichi's coordinates, I'll call Seguchi and tell him what is going on. Seguchi will send in a Seraphim extraction team to get Shuichi. We'll send him far away. Invercargill. Idaho. Interlaken. Iceland. Ipanema. Seguchi has contacts that can hide Shuichi for a while. Sure, his music career will suffer but...it has to be done.

Even if I never see him again, it has to be done.

I never should have gotten this close.

But the fantasy...of my novels...of a normal life...

The fantasy of Shuichi's love...

I couldn't help but cling to them. A lifeline. A secret telegraph wire over the thick walls I have built to keep a firm barrier between myself and the world. Why did it have to be Shuichi? It seems unfair that of all the people I've met in my life, he has to be the only one who knows Morse Code. The only one patient enough to sit there and type out the dots and dashes over and over and over...

'I love you, Yuki Eiri. I love you. I love you. I love you.'

Tapping the words repeatedly...until I forget...which part of my life is a fanstasy...and which is real.

As I race down the hall, I suddenly remember that he hasn't told me that he loves me in two days. Maybe it's a sign. An omen. Maybe he's tired of sending Morse Code messages into the impenetrable castle, and never getting a response.

It doesn't matter. That...doesn't change my plans at all.

The door to my office flies open under an open-handed shove. I walk over to my desk and grab the back of my chair, intent on sitting down and pulling up my map of Tokyo.

Except...

My chair...

Shouldn't be...here...

I kicked it across my office before I left. It crashed into the divan and toppled over.

As I spin around, my hand goes to my hip. But, there is no gun there. I always remove my weapons long before I get home, since I never know when that brat will try to molest me. No gun... Maybe it's just...

"Brat?"

A fluttery sighing sound comes from the hallway one second before the intruder steps into view.

Slowly, an exquisitely manicured hand slides up the doorpost, drags crimson fingernails along the beige paint, and produces the slurring scrape of keratin on wood. The back of the hand, dusted in stark white powder, contains the sharp relief of several veins, unable to be hidden by the makeup. Long fingers flex for a moment before the rest of the arm slinks into view, covered in a thick brocade of black silk. Then a shoulder which has the expensive kimono pulled down to an extreme angle, appears. His neck and collarbone, too, have been slathered in white makeup.

And his face...

Even underneath that mask of makeup he's wearing, it's not hard to discern the features of Akasugi Naoko.

I'm just –not- going to –ask- why he's dressed up as a geisha. He even has his long black hair pulled up in the bouffant style made famous by the women of the pleasure quarters, replete with gold hairpins and sprigs of white flowers.

With a mock pout, he throws his spine against the doorframe and coos, "Brat? Is that any way to address an adoring fan?"

As if it were actually a –funny- joke, Akasugi produces a fan from his obi and snaps it open. He flips it laconically back and forth in front of his face as he eyes me, hiding what I know must be a smirk.

"Get out of my house. How did you get in here, anyway? The door was locked."

"Which do you want, Yuki Eiri? Do you want me to answer your question? Or do you want me to get out of your house?"

I don't have –time- for this. I have to find out where Shuichi is and... AND HOW DO CRAZY PEOPLE KEEP GETTING INTO MY FLAT?

"Let me answer that for you," Akasugi purrs as he floats across the room, his black kimono rustling softly with each tiny step, his frail body structure accentuated by his red and gold obi. Has he actually been –practicing- this? "The door wasn't locked. And do you know why?" The Annoying Emperor of Yaoi stops about six inches from me. His fan snaps closed far too near to my face, causing me to flinch slightly from the sound. "You read my latest novel, Yuki Eiri. And it moved you. You were hoping, fervently, that Naoko-chan would come..."

The fan gets pressed against my lips, which startles me just long enough for Akasugi to finish his statement, "...and rescue you from your unceasing desperation and eternal torment."

Maybe I shouldn't, but at the moment, it seems like the best thing to do. I shove Akasugi backwards. No one touches me without my permission. Not since...

Not since Sensei.

He ends up falling onto his palms. Good. I hope he gets rug burns. Bad ones. It'll make typing painful.

"You picked a very unfortunate day to mess with me, Akasugi..."

Rule Number Five for Writers and Assassins: Rivals always have something up their sleeve. Be wary of anything they say or do.

"I don't know or care what you want, but right now, you need to leave."

Akasugi lifts one dainty hand and pats at his upswept hair, as if to make certain it is still attached to his head. "There's really no need to be coy, Yuki Eiri." He shifts his knee to the side, allowing the kimono to fall open, exposing the back of his leg almost to the thigh.

He really –does- have nice legs. Pity he covers them with skirts.

WHAT THE HELL AM I THINKING?

He's completely obnoxious.

I lunge forward and grab Akasugi's wrist. Without waiting for him to stand up, I proceed to drag him behind me towards the door. "You're leaving."

"So very violent, Yuki Eiri. Forceful. That's it. Get mad."

"Would you SHUT UP?"

There's a brief moment when Akasugi –does- shut up. And, I'm about ready to believe that he's finally given up on –whatever- it is he came here to do. Then I realize that he's not only quiet, he's also not struggling very hard to pry his wrist away from my hand.

And for some reason, this causes my senses to go on immediate alert.

When I turn to look behind me, in an attempt to find out what the hell is going on...

I see three things.

Akasugi's grin....

His hair cascading down around his shoulders...

And the hairpin that plunges into the back of my arm.

I was wrong about Rule Number Five. Akasugi didn't have something up his sleeve. He had it...in his –hair-.

My heart is already racing so fast that I only get four more labored steps before the toxin coating the hairpin forces me to drop to my knees in the middle of the hallway. Around me, the world blurs and contracts as Akasugi flips me onto my back, waves of black hair framing the victorious grin on his face.

I try to lift my arm to push him off as he climbs on top of me, but it barely rises from the floor. "The more you struggle, my love, the faster it will take effect. You see..." Akasugi takes a deep breath and presses his garishly painted lips to the underside of my jaw, "I adore you. And I hate you. It's a problem for me. I must have you...but, I can't have you writing anymore. Your books...they tear me up inside. Let me be...your tragic heroine. Let me...make a story for you."

"Get...off... Get...fucked..."

"Yes, that's in the plan, Yuki Eiri." I can feel him, dipping his fingers between the buttons of my shirt, scratching his fingernails against rapidly-numbing flesh. I can barely see...anything. A buzzing noise rings dim and distant in my ears. "And after our passionate coupling, I will kill you. Don't worry. You'll be immortalized in my next novel. You'll live forever in the bestselling shonen-ai masterpiece...'Brilliant Eidolon'."

Before I pass out...

Before everything goes dark...

I see a shadow appear behind Akasugi Naoko. Within an instant, a foot connects with the side of Akasugi's head, and his painted face...is no longer hovering over my own.

And then...the figure steps into the light. Pink-haired, smiling, and holding a gleaming silver gun. A gun which is aimed...right at my head.

"Shuichi?" I try to call to him, but nothing comes out.

And an echo of an echo of a voice I know declares...

"Brilliant Eidolon? That's a stupid name for a book. And, if anyone is going to kill him....

....It's going to be me."

In Our Next Chapter: In Brilliant Eidolon, nothing is ever as it seems. More clues are left as to Shuichi's recent strange behaviors. A shinobi plot is unveiled. The pyromaniac strikes again, though Exile ramps up its search for Lucy. And Akasugi...makes a –new- friend.

Thanks for waiting for this long overdue chapter, and for –reading- Brilliant Eidolon. I expect the story to run about 3 more chapters, so hopefully, we are halfway done.

And a special thanks to all of those who have reviewed both on gurabite and Whenever I get lost, and need inspiration, I head back to the reviews to give me that little extra push. I thank you, deeply, and hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.