A/N: Hello, readers! Thanks for waiting~! I bring you another chapter ^_^ Hope you like it. I'm trying to stay in character, but it's getting kind of OOC despite my best intentions w'' xDDD

6. Small Talk

The question stirred something in him. It was hot, dark, and deep in the pits of his lungs and abdomen. It wasn't pleasant. In fact, it was angry. With the name, a thousand memories came surging up, and none of them were anything he wanted to remember.

Every single fucking time he tried to say or do anything-… always ungrateful, Panty was. And her sister wasn't too clean on that account either. The sudden green flames in Brief's eyes made Stocking sit back a little, her own blue eyes widening. That glare could ice a bitch, she thought.

"Why is that any of your business?" he snapped. Again, Stocking noticed how easy it was to determine his emotions without his bangs across his eyes. The honest irritation on his face intimidated her. Two years ago, Brief's anger was only funny and pathetic; now it was discomfiting.

"No need to be a dick about it," she said. "I was just-"

"You see?" He pointed at her, his gaze incriminating. "It's that kind of talk that made me give up in the first place."

Stocking blinked. What kind of talk was he talking about? Both sisters had always spoken a certain way to one another, and to other people. Therefore, it was difficult for her to grasp the concept of "meanness." Not being human didn't help; she wasn't properly socialized. And frankly, Brief was a sensitive, soft person, with feelings that were easily damaged. He just persevered past them most of the time. Now was not one of those times.

When Stocking didn't say anything, Brief used the edge of his sleeve to wipe under his nose. His scowl didn't lift, but his tone was defeated. "S-sorry.. but could you just go?" He was done with hinting. He would just downright ask her.

Blinking in surprise, the angel was unsure of what to do with herself. It was all foreign to her. Brief hardly ever, if ever, asked the angels to leave him alone. He invested great amounts of his energy in catching up with them, maintaining them, despite all their personal attempts to avoid him. Stocking should be glad, she realized, for this opportunity—glad he was asking for distance. But she wasn't. For some reason, her heart hurt a little.

"Damn, you're such a crybaby," she said, dropping the spoon back into the soup. It probably wasn't the appropriate response, but she couldn't help it. It was reflex. Brief glared at her now, in no mood for a lack of sympathy. "If you don't like us, why were you even friends with us in the first place?"

"Because I foolishly thought one day you'd stop being a pair of heartless bitches," he spat. Stocking, appalled, fish mouthed at him. "But apparently angels don't change." His green eyes illuminated with his passion, fierce and firm against his pallid skin. His cheeks glowed pink from either ardor or fever.

"Well, you can be quite the thankless prick when you want to be," she said. Yet even as she chided him, insulted him, she made no move to leave. Something kept her glued to her chair. Brief's eyes widened with disbelief.

"Thankless? Thankless? What should I be thanking you for?!" His illness wore his voice down, keeping it low and bleating. He sounded like a young man with a bad head cold, and he was…but to know that he was actually Brief created such a strong juxtaposition. Like blood on snow.

"Maybe all those times we saved your life—"

"Oh, nevermind the times I saved yours! You and your good-for-nothing sister!"

"Don't talk about Panty like that, you pasty, human bastard," she squeaked, feral like a wild cat. Brief unexpectedly smiled, and the predatory nature of it struck Stocking between the eyes.

"Oh, what are you gonna do? Exorcize me?"

In a fit of elated anger, Stocking raised a hand to slap him, just as her sister had back in their kitchen. But Brief caught her this time, enclosing his strong, large hand around her small wrist. His grip was warm, tight, but not painful. Before she could retaliate, he leaned in, and she felt his hot breath against her lips.

"Don't you dare come into my house and act like I owe you or your sister anything," he growled, low and gravelly. "Even if you covered my ass, I put up with your shit long enough to settle debts." He let her go then, tossing her arm away as if he loathed touching it. Never had Stocking thought Brief could be capable of saying things like this. Such a gentle person driven to cruelty-… for the first time, Stocking began considering what they could have done to him.

Well, when they first met him, Panty kicked a raging beehive onto his head. Granted, it was there in the first place, but still.

They destroyed his PKE Meter.

They once stripped (or attempted to) him of his clothes in a public place.

They refused multiple times to let him ride with them in See Through.

At least once, both of them have caused or dealt him physical abuse.

When the Demon Scanty made a threat on his life, the Anarchy sisters replied candidly that they didn't care.

They often ignore his attempts of kindness toward them.

They ignore his advice.

They use his hormones to their advantages, especially Panty.

When shrunk down to size, they entered his body and proceeded to nearly kill him.

They are openly rude to him

Panty was not accepted to heaven because she was such a bitch, and proceeded to still act like one when left on earth, attempting to make Brief fight all the ghosts alone.

Panty did give Brief "the viginity of an angel," but at the cost of probably his emotional stability. He grew attached to her, and she dropped him right after the deed was over.

Stocking could blame herself and her sister for all this, but that wasn't fair. Brief was just as much at fault—for his creepiness, for his obsessiveness, for his perseverance, his willingness, his durability. He was asking for it, most of the time, and if he couldn't handle it he shouldn't have been asking in the first place. All of this tumbled through her head, and eventually the silence lingered long enough.

"Please just go," Brief said, rubbing an eye. He felt gross, sleepy, and hot. He didn't want to have Stocking bothering him right now. In fact, as much as he hated himself for it, if he had to have one of the angels with him it would be Panty. He cursed his broken heart for his weakness.

Humans were more complicated than Stocking thought. Especially at Brief's age. When he coughed a few times, she met his eyes with a somewhat sympathetic gaze. For the first time, Stocking felt herself giving a shit about him—about his feelings. And that was a strange, strange experience. For the fourth time in many days, Stocking put a hand on his forehead. Before, in their church kitchen, he had felt warm. The other times she tried, he had thwarted her. But this time he let her, and he felt hot. Being an angel, Stocking had never been sick before, and the raw heat of his body fascinated her. On a cold day, cuddling up against a human furnace might not be so unpleasant-… She shook her head at herself. What was she thinking?

"You're really hot…" She said it quietly, as if unsure of herself. Her hand did not move, and it was so cool and refreshing against his burning head, Brief didn't ask her to remove it. Sighing, he leaned back against his pillows and closed his eyes. As long as Stocking wasn't physically or verbally abusing him, he supposed she didn't have to go anywhere. Though her persistent desire to remain in his room was baffling.

When he didn't say anything, looking almost asleep, Stocking awkwardly asked, "Will you get better?"

What a question. It applied to more than just his cold. His heart, his confidence, his friendships and future all dangled in the white space above him, uncertain and hard to reach. Would he get better?

"Probably," he said, voice hoarse and soft. But who really knew? The logical side of him said he was being overly dramatic, but that was piece easily gagged and tied. Besides, his head was aching a little too much for him to think extensively on his life. He just wanted to sleep. Again, the silence stretched and Stocking found her thumb tenderly moving on its own, stroking his forehead. It was dry and smooth. She pulled at the hem of her skirt, shifting in her chair as she cleared her throat. Then Brief spoke.

"I saw a future in Panty," he said through a drowsy haze. Stocking's eyes hovered on his eyelids, and the matted orange mess of his hair. "But I don't anymore. It hurts."

That was the answer to her question, then. It was a satisfactory answer for her, and was all she wanted from him. Reluctantly, she thought about standing to go, but the moment her hand shifted he slapped one of his own on top of it. His eyes cracked open, bright with fever and pain. Pain from love and from loss.

"C-.. could you stay with me until," he swallowed, "fall asleep?"

…and…suddenly, Stocking found she couldn't really say no.