It had started raining sometime in the early afternoon and Yuki found himself frowning at the dark, ominous clouds as he waited for Michel after the final bell rang. Despite the dreary way the day had dawned, the American hadn't thought to bring an umbrella and even the hood on his jacket would do little to protect him from the torrential downpour that fell from the heavens. He sighed. The two blocks from St Justin Martyr's to the underground would feel like eternity.

"Sorry I'm late!" Michel pushed his way between a couple of other boys, looking slightly out of breath. "I got held up after my last class." He didn't bother telling Yuki that he got "held up" trying in vain to scrub an obscenity off the door of his locker. These sorts of things seemed to be happening with greater frequency. There was no point in worrying Yuki more and besides, he needed to learn to fight his own battles.

"It's okay." Yuki replied casually, "I don't particularly want to go out in that anyway." He jerked his head towards the door, indicating the pouring rain.

The blond followed his gaze and his face fell. "I didn't bring an umbrella!" He frowned, "We'll get soaked."

"I know." The older boy sighed again.

"I can call Free." Michel started digging in his book bag for his cell phone. "He can come get us."

"Don't bother." Yuki pulled up his hood, frowning. He hated when his glasses wound up spattered with rain, "Free and Chloé have a shift right now. Aya's doing deliveries and I know Ken was going out on his time off."

The smaller boy pouted, "Free would still come get us though…"

"I know he would." Yuki snapped, "But he's working and you know how Aya'll get if he leaves during his shift. We'll manage fine."

Michel wilted slightly at his harsh tone and he instantly felt bad. "Do you want to wear my hoodie?" He offered, "You might not get as wet and I don't mind…"

"No. No, thank you; it's okay. I was going to change out of my uniform anyway." The blond tried to force a smile, "We'd better get going, or we'll miss the next train."

Yuki looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Let's make a run for it then."

-----

Ten minutes later, two soggy, rumpled boys were waiting for the train. Michel's damp hair had clumped into curls that fell in his eyes and Yuki was trying unsuccessfully to dry off his glasses. The pair of them were soaked through and the American teen was half hoping his books and papers had gotten too wet for him to do his work that night. He knew he couldn't be that lucky though and he shifted uncomfortably, pushing his dripping bangs off his forehead. Beside him, Michel sneezed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Yuki glanced down at him. The little blond looked miserable. He was shivering and must've been freezing.

"Yuki?" Michel blinked up at him from behind wet hair, his face flushing pink, "Do…do you think I'm a fag too?" He fidgeted nervously, twisting at the strap on his bag.

Yuki was silent for a moment. It was very important that he answered this question in the right way. He didn't want to cause Michel to feel the need to inflict any more injuries on himself. He also didn't want Michel to think he was a homophobe or anything, because he wasn't. "It's not really any of my business if you are gay or you aren't…But if you are, I don't really care." He offered a tentative smile, "You're still my friend, either way."

He was relieved to see the smile that crossed Michel's face and not at all surprised when the little blond practically tackled him in a hug. He patted Michel's shoulder awkwardly, not sure what else to say.

"Thank you, Yuki." Michel murmured, his face pressed against Yuki's shoulder. He sounded a little choked up and the older boy wasn't quite sure what else to do.

"And don't say 'fag,' Michel. That's a rotten word. So are all those other names they call you." Yuki gently pried the other boy off him, "I don't want hear you call yourself any of those things, okay?"

Michel nodded and both boys fell silent. Yuki pondered over what to say next when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "That fucker Thomas hasn't been after you again, has he?" He demanded, "If he tried anything, I'm going to mess him up good."

"No, Yuki…I was just…" Michel stammered for an explanation, but fortunately, he was saved by the train pulling in, just on time. Looking relieved, he stepped forward, dragging Yuki along by the hand.

-----

Michel stared out the window as the train hurtled towards home. How could he have asked Yuki that? Now he was going to assume the worst things and no matter what, that was bad. "Stupid; stupid; stupid," that little voice in the back of his mind accused, "You are a stupid little boy." He clung to the pole, eyes falling shut, head bowing. Now Yuki would think he was queer and he wasn't even sure himself if this were true or not. Just because he had kissed Free didn't make him…Did it?

He pondered over this for a moment. Never had he ever thought about another man the way he thought of Free. So maybe it was just Free then? Maybe he wasn't really gay…But still. The fact that he had a crush on the person he considered his best friend in the world was bad, wasn't it?

Still deep in thought, he followed Yuki off the train and through the deluge to the shop. He was running on autopilot as he mulled over his current situation and failed to notice Chloé and Free's greetings as he passed through the shop to go change. He plodded up the steps leading to the apartments and padded into his room to change out of his sodden uniform.

As he slowly undressed, he was vaguely aware of Yuki calling through the door for him to bring his wet things to the laundry room and he would dry them. He might have responded; he wasn't sure.

Michel paused on his way to his closet, looking in the mirror above his bureau. He was naked from the waist up, wearing nothing but his briefs and his socks which, thanks to his boots, were still perfectly dry. He studied himself for a moment. No wonder Free had been worried. His skin was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. He glanced down and was only half-surprised to realize he could see his ribs through his skin. As small as he already was, his pants were starting to get sort of loose in the waist.

It appeared that everything at school had been wearing down on him more than he'd thought.

He frowned at his reflection before moving towards the closet. While he was buttoning up a pair of blue plaid pants, he decided it would probably be a good idea to redo the bandages he'd put on his cut up arm. They'd gotten damp through his sleeve and were covered in navy fuzz from his sweater.

He winced as he slowly peeled of the bandages, the tape getting caught in the fine hair of his arm. Despite the injuries his line of work provided, he'd never been one to just rip off any form of bandage (incidentally, he hated when Ken wound up the one to treat his wounds) because his childish side shirked away from the intense, split-second pain which came with it.

All of the cuts had scabbed over nicely and he wondered absently if they would leave scars. Not that it would really bother him; he already had numerous fading scars crisscrossing on his thighs and spanning his stomach. It was more that he'd been careless and any scars on his arm would be easy to spot.

Still shirtless, his pants sliding down and resting on his hips, he padded across the hall to the bathroom to get fresh bandages. His appearance didn't seem any better in the bathroom mirror; there was no denying he'd that he'd not been taking proper care of himself.

Once his arm had been efficiently bandaged, he wandered back across the hall to find himself a shirt. His damp hair still hung in his eyes and, at this point, he was shivering. Why was it so cold in his room? He glanced around for a moment, green gaze coming to rest on the window, which was open. Why…? Ah yes. He'd opened it before he left in the morning in hopes of purging the room of the coppery smell of blood. His blood. The room had reeked of it after his frantic efforts the night before.

He padded over to shut the window. There were bloody fingerprints on the windowsill, dried to a brownish color. He felt his stomach turn once. No matter how many injuries he received during missions, no matter how many times he hurt himself, he would never get used to the smell and sight of blood.

He lowered the window and paused for a moment, bracing himself against the frame and watching as the rain ran in little streams down the glass. The endless gray of the sky; the damp chill of the air…Both suited his mood perfectly. To say he was depressed was putting it lightly, but he knew he would have to face his housemates with a smile. He simply didn't get depressed.

He pulled a grey-blue sweater off a hanger in his closet and pulled it over his head. The bulky knit of the garment easily concealed the fact that he'd been losing weight and would keep any one from noticing and asking questions he didn't have the energy to answer.

Fully clothed once again, he gathered his moist uniform and headed for the laundry room. Yuki's clothes were already in the drier, but he pulled it open and tossed his in with them. The drier banged shut and chugged to life again. He stood there for a moment, listening to the steady grum grum grum of the machine, trying to decide what he wanted to do until dinner time.

Aya would be out running deliveries and errands for another hour or so. Ken had the day off and, as Yuki had said, had left for the afternoon. Chloé and Free were scheduled to work all day and Yuki was to join them. The two boys switched off afternoons when they got home from school and today was Michel's free afternoon.

For the first time in a long time, he found himself with nothing to do.

Michel wandered into the kitchen and began hunting for the things required to make hot cocoa. He was still shivering, even with the warmth of his sweater and needed something to warm himself up.

Still on autopilot, he set the kettle on the stove to boil. He scooped a couple heaping spoonfuls of cocoa mix into his favorite mug and, knowing no one would catch him, clambered up onto the counter in search of a bag of marshmallows.

While he waited for the water to boil, he studied the mug. It was thick and glazed unevenly green, small flowers stamped into the ceramic around the bottom. He had made it in the spring when he and Free had ventured out to a culture and the arts festival held by one of the local museums. They'd stopped to watch the people who'd paid the fee to try the pottery wheel and, thinking it looked like fun, Michel had dug out the required amount of money, eager to create something spectacular.

At first, he hadn't been able to get the hang of it and he'd pouted as the lump of clay refused to take shape. He'd been ready to give up and admit defeat when Free had sidled up behind him, large hands covering his own small ones and showing him how to work the clay. As what later became the mug began to form, Michel had looked up at his companion in awe and Free smiled softly back down at him. It was at that moment that his heart began to flutter wildly and he felt his face heat up.

He had dropped his eyes back to the wheel, watching their hands. His own tiny hands were enveloped entirely by Free's. Some people might have felt invisible, were they so overshadowed by a figure of power. But Michel simply felt safe. Those hands…had always protected him. Always caressed his hair lovingly, wiped away tears and held him tight. He imagined himself as the clay, molded and caressed so gently by those hands. He wondered fleetingly what it would feel like to have those hands touching him everywhere and knew his face must have been bright red.

At that very moment, he knew things would never be the same.

The kettle whistled, startling him back to the present.

-----

Yuki was bored.

The shop was unsurprisingly empty. That made sense, he supposed, since there were no major flower-giving holidays anytime soon. Plus, people had better things to do than go out in the rain. Business was always far better on sunny days.

He had already rolled some of the change in the register. Already helped an old man who took forever deciding what to get his wife for their fiftieth anniversary. Already windexed and wiped down the main display windows and already watered some of the flowers which appeared to be drooping. Chloé was doing inventory in the storeroom and Free had taken it upon himself to sweep up petals that had been shed during the course of the day.

Yuki yawned. He picked up a pen and doodled on the pad sitting beside the register. He wished absently that the computer at the counter wasn't set only for business. He could have logged onto Guild Wars and completed another mission by now. It's not like the phone was exactly ringing off the hook or anything.

"How was school?" Free broke the oppressive silence by asking a question which only served to aggravate Yuki further. He would have rather inquired after Michel, who had seemed spacey as he glided through the shop, dripping on the floor, but Yuki already seemed annoyed and interrogating him about the younger teen would probably only worsen his mood.

"Sucked." Yuki muttered, "As usual." He glanced at his watch. How were there possibly two more hours of this torture? The sky was already pitch-black and he felt like he'd been there an eternity already.

"Oh?" Free prompted softly without pausing in his work. Engaging Yuki in a conversation could be tough, as the sullen boy seemed to talk even less than he did. But he was used to Michel's incessant chatter and the silence sometimes unnerved him. "Did anything in particular happen?"

"Not with me." Came the cross reply, "If you mean did anything happen to Michel, I have no clue. You know he tells me less than he tells you."

Free nodded, frowning to himself. Over the past several months, Michel had been getting more and more introverted. Outwardly, he was still the same cheery ray of sunshine, but had slowly stopped talking about important things until now…Free could hardly ever tell what his young friend was thinking any more.

"I don't think he's eating." Yuki suddenly blurted out, "He seems skinnier than normal. I mean, he is small, but he just…doesn't seem right." He fidgeted slightly, "I didn't really think about it until this morning, but I really don't think he's been eating much."

Free's frown deepened. He hadn't noticed that. Between missions and work, and combined with the fact that half of Michel's day was consumed by school, they hadn't been able to spend much time just relaxing together. By the time the shop was closed and every one had eaten dinner, they were either preparing for a mission or Michel was settling down for a night full of homework and paper writing. There was occasionally the opportunity for them to unwind together, usually watching TV with whomever happened to be in the living room. Or even better, the rare days where they both had the same afternoon off, when Michel would drag him into the London streets and then would spend the day in comfortable companionship. But those days were far and few and now he hardly even knew a thing about Michel any more.

"I know you're worried about him." Yuki continued, "And I am too. But if he doesn't start shaping up, I'm going to tell Aya and Aya will tell KR and that's bad. But whatever's bothering him or is wrong with him, it needs to go away. I'd rather see him off the team for a while than see him hurt himself more."

The older man nodded his agreement. "I shall try to talk to him." He was worried. How had things escalated high enough that Michel might have to quit the team for a bit? As he continued sweeping, his frown intensified. The team dynamic would be skewed, but if that was what it took for Michel to get healthy again, then that was what would be done. They could not afford to have another repeat of the previous night. Some one could get hurt. Michel could get really hurt. That very thought of that possibility was unacceptable.

Yuki opened his mouth to say something else and snapped it shut again when the subject of their conversation wandered into the room. Michel looked a little more alert now. He was wearing a pair of his favorite pants and a sweater and a mug was in his hand. His face didn't look quite as pale and the humidity made the curls in his hair more pronounced. "Hullo." He smiled, easily sensing that they had been talking about him. The dead silence in the shop was a sure give away.

"Did you warm up a bit, Yuki?" He asked cheerily, "I made you hot cocoa." He plonked the mug down on the counter in front of the other boy, "Thought you could use it. It's cold in here."

"Thanks." Yuki watched as Michel padded over to hug Free, apologizing for not saying hello when they had first returned home. Free simply patted his head fondly, telling him it was okay. The little blond then skipped out of the room, informing them that he was going to do his homework, then help Ken make dinner when he got home.

Yuki looked at Free over the mug of hot cocoa.

"He seems fine…" Free commented passively.

"…But he's not." Yuki concluded, brows knitting together.

The two stared at one another for a moment, reaching a silent agreement to do anything possible to help their youngest teammate. Then they both turned back to what they had been doing, a heavy silence hanging over them. The tension was broken only by a young man who'd rushed in at five minutes to closing, breathlessly explaining that he'd forgotten his wife's birthday until the very last moment and he needed something nice.

As Yuki rang up to bouquet Free had pieced together for the man, he wondered why his life couldn't be as simple as worrying only about forgetting a loved one's birthday. It really isn't fair, he mused, that we can't all be so lucky.