A/N: Another chapter with M-rated content, although less graphic than the last one. I deem it to be safe even for Fireminer. ;P

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

Wednesday blanketed True Cross Academy in that good mood holidays tend to bring, and effectively split the student body into two categories: those who were panicked or steadfast enough to cram in a few more studying hours for exams, and those who valued their time of youth and simply couldn't be bothered.

Shiro had spent half an hour in the flower shop on the corner downtown, deciding what to buy, until he remembered that Kasumi didn't have a vase to put flowers in, or even a table to place them on. Crap.

He had considered giving her a hair clip, since the one she had – one in leather, carved with a Dharma-chakra design – was rather threadbare: until Shizuku had told him their father had carved it for her on her seventh birthday. Crap.

He had gone on wondering what the hell to give a girl who carried everything she owned in a bundle on her back, and crafted everything she needed by herself; eventually, he had settled for the one thing he could give her that would be appreciated, useful, and not become dead weight.

He would make her dinner.

"I didn't know you could cook", Ryuuji said in earnest surprise. Himself he could barely make tea, and visited the kitchen solely out of fascination for what Shiro was doing. Which was a rather basic set of bento box dishes, but still; he hoped Kasumi would appreciate the gesture.

"Orphanage standard", Shiro said while beating eggs, sugar, mirin, salt and soy sauce together for the tamagoyaki. "All kids helped out with chores. I just proved better at cooking than cleaning." Not a skill he would advertise he had, but a very useful one still - not the least because it caused people quite the shock when they found out. Apparently, cooking wasn't something you expected a blonde-bleached delinquent to do. "It's cheaper than buying food in the cafeteria anyway." He set bowl and chopsticks aside, and spread oil out over the frying pan with a brush.

"I could treat you, you know. I mean… It's really nice food, and, you know, if you ever want something you can't make yourself…"

Shiro smiled into the hum of the exhaust hood that ate the smell of omelette in greedy gulps. Ryuuji was good material for a Doctor. He had a big heart, always eager to help people: pity the rest of him got in the way.

"Thanks, Ryuuji-san, but I prefer getting by on my own means."

"…but, you don't have any means", he said, confused and more than a little shy to bring up the subject. "You've got no one to pay for school, or food, and you study too much to have a part-time jo-"

"I got a scholarship. I'll work over summer, too." Shiro grimaced, and carefully transferred the first omelette roll onto the cutting board. "Gonna need that, to pay for 'vandalising school property'." Had he known vending machines were that expensive, he would've thrown something else. "Anyway, there's no need to worry, I'll get by."

"I know you'll get by, you always do; it's…" Ruuji's forehead crinkled over affable puppy-eyes that were worried, but unable to pinpoint the reason for their worry. "We just want to be your friends, all of us, we… we are friends, I know that. It's just, sometimes…" Shiro didn't rush him; rushing and pressuring made him stutter worse than Saburota. He began coating the seasoned bits of chicken breast in cornstarch for frying, waiting for Ryuuji to find his words. "Sometimes it's like you're pushing people away", he said softly, and his voice carried emotion as painfully well as when he sang.

"I'm not-" Lie. Fujimoto Shiro kept his distance: always had. As Shizuku had pointed out, Shiro liked joking and hanging with friends. But deep down… "I don't rely on others, that's all."

Deep down, ye're cold.

The chicken sizzled in the oil, spitting burning hot droplets at Shiro's hands as he quietly added more. Cold, reserved, guarded; he'd heard many words for it. Trust issues were the ones that had been written in the child psychologist's file. Reluctance to expressing emotion was another line – he knew, because he'd sneaked a peek in the notepad once, when Mr. Nobuo had been urgently called to the reception counter. Might have difficulties in forming close relationships in adult life. As much as he'd disliked that psychologist, the old fart had diagnosed him rather accurately.

Not that he pushed people away consciously; he wanted to be around people, he just… didn't open up to them. Didn't show weakness around them. Didn't tell them things that he perhaps should have said.

"Like that I was studying exorcism, that I made friends with Mephisto, that I have to shield myself from demons…" The list could be made endless, if one went back to the years before True Cross Academy. Shiro simply didn't confide in people: not by choice, but by nature."Who wouldn't have trust issues when all people did around you was to play theatre, and shush you when you didn't want to play your part?" he huffed, turning the golden nuggets with chopsticks. He'd grown since then, yes. Changed since then. Still, all new things were built on top of the same old foundation that he'd done nothing to repa-

"Um, Shiro-san…?"

He had wandered lost in his thoughts and had completely forgotten about Ryuuji.

"Hm?" he said wordlessly, to show he was listening.

"Just… You know we're here for you, right? If you ever need someone to rely on, we're here for you."

"…thanks", he murmured under the sizzling of the frying pan. He was grateful, he was… But deep down, he doubted he would ever take Ryuuji up on that offer, even if he did find himself in need of someone to rely on.

Shiro was still in thought when he left the bento boxes to cool before he closed them. Sen's words had calmed him somewhat, but he still felt he didn't know where he was headed. And Kasumi…

Shiro sighed as he entered the dorm shower room, a fresh set of clothes slung over his arm. He was looking forward to his date with Kasumi, of course he was – and yet, this whole trust thing… Tch, why did Ryuuji have to bring that up now? Shiro wanted to have fun with Kasumi, joke and laugh and have a good time, even if they couldn't spar as they had intended to. He didn't want to ponder whether he truly, deeply trusted her, whether he could open up to her, whether he-

"Whether I can form close relationships." Shiro shut his eyes and let the hot water wash over him, raked through his prickly hair and took careful note of any soreness in his shoulder. He'd dated plenty of girls, but never really been close to them. "Pff, I was never really close to any of my friends, either." Never relied on them. "If I'm ever gonna make a serious attempt, it will be with someone like Kasumi." Someone bold and shameless and funny; someone that could give him a match. He wasn't the type to lead a nice, slow-paced life, and neither was she. "I could hit the roads with her, easily. Travel from place to place, raise enough money to eat and sleep, and see all those crazy things on the way…" Shiro smiled into the dense steam that built around him as he rinsed the shampoo out of hi-

Blood.

Shiro squinted and strained his myopic eyes to see clearly: the water that washed down his skin was bright red, but how the hell…? Breath held, he checked himself over. There was no wound, no place that hurt, nothing that-

A jarring suspicion hit him. Shiro snatched up the shampoo bottle, turned it upside down…

"No no no you're kidding me...!"

"I need a word with the obnoxious fuckhead you call master", he declared bluntly when the front door opened.

"His highness is busy", replied Belial, who had by now become so accustomed to Shiro's lack of manners that any epithet applied to Mephisto worked, so long as Mephisto wasn't there to hear it. Shiro had a slight suspicion that the butler had grown lenient because he appreciated hearing somebody voice the opinions he himself was forbidden to express, but he was going to let that remain a suspicion until he'd wrung Mephisto's neck 270 degrees.

"It's a holiday: he's not fucking busy." Shiro kicked off his shoes and entered past the demon, in no way intending to let some high-score attempt at Space Race stand between him and his natural hair colour. "Where is he?"

"His highness is in his bedchamber."

Probably in the middle of an anime marathon, then. Belial tailed Shiro at respectable distance as he stalked down the hallway, past the arcade games and the dining hall, took a wrong turn at the music room, and finally arrived at Mephisto's door. He checked his wristwatch: half an hour left until he would meet up with Kasumi.

"Oi, if my hair isn't-"

Mephisto did seem rather busy: one succubus straddling his hips and another straddling his face somehow gave that impression.

"From this day on, I will always knock", Shiro promised the door as he slammed it shut. Crap, crap, crap, this was even worse than walking in on Sen and Midori…

An awkward silence settled in the corridor - or would have, if not for the even more awkward sounds the succubi made on the other side of the door.

"Right", Shiro said. Because what the hell else was he going to do? "He's busy."

"Quite. Would you like some tea while you wait for his highness?"

Shiro gawked at the impeccably unfazed expression, at the flawlessly polite tone - at the rising pitch of the voice crying out 'my prince!' repeatedly behind the door - and burst out laughing. Demons. They didn't know shame.

"Fine, fine, I'll have tea", he chuckled. "But if he isn't done in fifteen minutes, I'll be on my way." He waved offhandedly at Belial when the latter gave him a small nod of a bow. "I'll be in the library."

Shiro had finished his tea, and come several chapters into Glass Mask, and no Mephisto had shown up. He moved about constantly on the plush couch, checked his watch every ten seconds, and was slowly (and begrudgingly) accepting that he might have to go on his date with-

Finally, the sound of shoji doors sliding apart. Shiro put his glasses back on his nose, and was greeted by the sight of a Mephisto that seemed to have had that smug grin glued onto his face ever since he tampered with his dreams. He came sauntering over in a deep purple morning gown that flowed like liquid over his skin: that special kind of gown, tied in that special kind of way that puts one question in your mind: is he wearing anything at all under that?

"Such a dedicated principal, busy even on holidays." Shiro's statement came accompanied by a wolfish smile.

"The only way I would ever want to be busy on a holiday." Mephisto seated himself in the opposite armchair as if it were a throne. "And you…? Shouldn't you be putting on your Sunday best for Miss Honda?"

He knew that? Pff, of course he knew. Spying on students seemed to be his favourite pastime when there were no animes on TV. Mepphy Land was for entertaining the humans, the Academy campus was for entertaining the demon. As it were, the demon in question crossed one leg over the other in his usual fashion, with the effect that the silky morning gown slid to reveal one very long, very slender leg.

"Nope, not wearing anything under that", Shiro guessed without any real surprise. "Interesting that you bring up that. I was just going to, when-" No, he couldn't go on like this. Taking a moment to fight the twitch in his eyebrow into submission, he resumed: "Could you stop smugging me?"

"Smugging you…?" Mephisto did a surprisingly good job of looking innocent, considering what he had been doing mere minutes ago.

"You know, that thing you do with your face that makes me want to set fire to your beard?" Shiro elaborated as politely as he could.

"My, it couldn't be that my little prank vexed you...?" And there it was: smugness so disgustingly contented it deserved its own transitive verb. "You seemed to quite enjoy it~"

"If you think a flying vending machine is a sign of appreciation, you've missed some rather fundamental parts of human communication."

"If you think arousal is a sign of antipathy, I'd say you are the one who has missed fundamental parts of human communication."

Word-fencing with demons: a sport for people who love losing. Shiro had to suppress a very, very strong desire to rip out the pages in Glass Mask before the demon's eyes. However, he needed Mephisto's cooperation…

"Whatever; look, I don't have all day. I'm going on a date in fifteen minutes, and you will fix my hair before I do."

"How do you mean 'fix'? I think it looks good the way it is."

"Yes, lovely: but the thing is, I'm not going on a date with you", Shiro smiled with poisoned pleasantness. "I'm going on a date with Kasumi-chan, and I'd rather not go looking like cotton cand-"

The real candy sashayed into the library without a thread on either body, and Shiro forgot everything he had been about to say, or why he was in Faust Mansion in the first place. Succubi often have that effect.

Long, slender legs carrying a goddess the colour of coffee, an alluring Amazon that looked like she would taste of dark chocolate and caramelized almonds. Bloody hell, one night with her and he could die happ-

Curls of glistening copper bounced against hourglass curves of cream-skinned sin, and he worshipped every part of her, from her full breasts to her arrow- tipped tail.

"You leave us for him, your highness…?" the red-haired one purred; Shiro could swear to god he felt her voice physically, like golden syrup tracing ringlets up his thighs. "He must be something special~"

"An acquired taste, my dear, and a rather particular such", Mephisto replied easily, and looked smugger than ever.

The tall, dark succubus glided across the room and ran her finger along the backrest of the headmaster's chair. She poised herself behind him, sliding her hands down his thin frame as she leaned forward, ravenous eyes locked on Shiro with a look that made him pant with need.

"He looks like dessert", she murmured, leaving scratch marks on Mephisto's chest that healed over instantly; all Shiro could think of was a panther sharpening its claws for the kill.

"One I must deny you, since he is a student of mine." Mephisto tipped his head back to meet her lips, that insufferable jerk, knowing full well what the display did to Shiro's compos- "Unless, of course, the dessert wants to be eaten~?" Three pairs of predator eyes, one green and two lavender, settled on Shiro: the green ones in particular held a mischievous glimmer that meant no good. "It's hardly appropriate for a headmaster to toss his protégées into the hands of Gehenna's finest courtiers." The rich giggles of the succubi made the blood throb in Shiro's veins. The voluptuous redhead threaded her fingers into Mephisto's purple hair, and the demon responded by sliding his hand to the small of her back and planting a kiss in the soft dip of her groin. "However~ this is a holiday, and school is temporarily closed. Furthermore, the Academy's jurisdiction does not include my private estate, so…" he sighed in feigned defeat. "If the folly of youth were to seize hold of a young soul under such conditions, the Academy's headmaster would have no mandate to stop him."

…had Shiro had a single sober thought left in his head, he might have cared to keep his facial muscles in check and look a little less like a testosterone-tripping dimwit. As it were, he hadn't.

"Am I being offered a threesome with two insanely hot demon chicks…?"

Every kinky fantasy a teenage mind has ever conceived melted over his retina. If Common Sense was trying to tell him anything he didn't hear it, as his ears filled with the fevered panting of lust pulsing through his blood. And Mephisto sat there, smirking, one hand on each succubus as if they were obedient attack dogs waiting for his command. Oh yes, let folly sweep this young soul off his feet and into bed for the rest of that da-

"I have a date." And a throbbing tent in his trousers that he didn't even bother trying to hide. But Shiro did have a date, and, as much as it drained his self-control to decline Mephisto's offer, he would not see that date ruined. "And it's due in fifteen minutes, so if you're not gonna fix my hair I'll have to be on my way right now."

"Going like that?" he smirked. It was rather evident to Shiro that Mephisto was not speaking of his pink hair. "Carmilla doesn't need more than a tenth of that time to finish you off." The copper-haired succubus licked her lips with a hungry smile, and Shiro's self-control wavered like a candle-flame in wind. "And, if I'm wrong in that estimation", Mephisto continued with a grin, "I will turn your hair whichever colour you like."

It was probably a stupid thing to do, but he couldn't face Kasumi in his current state, and he might get his hair returned to normal - and, most importantly, he was a teenage guy with a billion hormones clogging his cognitive facilities.

"And if you're right?" he managed to say after swallowing a few times.

"You keep dying it pink the whole next semester: and if anyone asks why, you aren't allowed to say it's because of a bet."

"Well…" Screw dignity: there was no one around to see the wolfish grin growing on his lips except demons. "Youth's prone to folly, so… Deal."