A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

Mephisto's bed was a bloody death trap: a king-sized fly catch of luxury, beckoning with hour upon hour in the sweet dreamscape of dozing. The silk sheets kept just the right temperature, despite the summer warmth, and let you sleep on cool, soft clouds. The mattress embraced his body with perfection, and the pillows…!

"I could live in this bed." Shiro wormed one arm in under the plush pillow, nuzzled his face into it, and relished. "It's gotta be stuffed with angel down or something."

There comes a time, however, when the pleasure of snoozing can no longer drown out the groans from an empty stomach. Shiro dragged his protesting body out of bed, donned his glasses once the shivering convulsions of hangover had passed, and began rehearsing to himself in which order clothes went on the body. Mephisto wasn't around, so he assumed there was a gap before the next anime aired.

"…fuck."

Anime special. Saturday. The anime special was on Saturday, and he had promised to spend Saturday with Shizuku and Kasumi.

Shiro hopped over to the bed table on one leg while pulling his trousers up over the other. Half past eleven? No need for panic, then. He could dress and ease his uncooperative head into functioning without haste.

Why had he saved him?

Uncooperative head… Shiro buttoned his shirt slowly, repeating over and over the question that had squirmed in his mind ever since Mephisto's drunk curiosity planted it there. Why save Satan's son? You'd think you'd have a sound and solid reasoning to back your actions before you put yourself in a life-and-death situation like that, yeah?

Shiro's brain was a peculiar contraption not unlike a very, very old car: either it worked very efficiently, or not at all. Sometimes it was a curious mix of both, when he performed the most idiotic acts with the calculated precision of a surgeon. Deep Keep had been that kind of mix; impulse and accuracy, mindless instinct and steel focus.

"I never thought of myself as a soldier…" But as he sat down on the bed to tug on his socks, he realised that's what he was: trained to make decisions and enter combat at any given moment, with a minimum margin for mistakes. He'd always had the makings of a soldier, but with the training he'd gotten through cram school he had become one. "Pff, a soldier who betrays his own and aids the enemy." He cringed and cursed under his breath as his headache spiked: it was the wastebasket panda that came clanking over the checkerboard floor, carrying his other sock between its jaws. "Demons even treat me as if I were one of them."

He didn't have any trash to give it, so he snatched one of Mephisto's drawings from the wall – what was that even supposed to be? a guy with a Christmas tree on his head? – and fed it to the delighted panda. He vividly remembered the first time he'd made contact with the familiar: getting bitten by the little critter for tossing crumpled paper on the table. Mephisto had had so much fun at him when he pulled his feet up in the chair... And that had only been the start.

"I did save him 'cause I like him. I just rushed ahead without thinking and didn't realise what I was getting myself into – not the smartest thing to do, in retrospect, but I did it to save him." Couldn't say he regretted it, either. He regretted the six that had died, but he didn't regret saving Mephisto. He'd never regret saving someone important to him. "Tell him that and he turns it into something pervy. Unbelievable, that guy…" Shiro's abdomen trembled with laughter when he recalled how Mephisto had more or less climbed up in some guy's lap in the bar, until Shiro had dragged him away. That guy really couldn't hold his liquor. "Unbelievable and incomparable."

He rubbed the panda's metallic head gently and caused it to give off some strange humming sound, while his uncooperative mind lingered on certain other things that had happened yesterday.

"I'm a human who acts like a demon, and he's a demon that acts like a human. Heh, what are the odds…?" A grin grew on his lips. "About the same as the odds of him rolling a win at hazard games."

When he felt Mephisto's presence approach the door, he was almost done dressing.

"Gute Morgen, Sleeping beauty." True to his habits on holidays, Mephisto wore a casual yukata. Choice of clothing for the day was one in imperial yellow, with a pattern of pink seeds and white flowers that Shiro recognised from his mother's small but dearly loved garden: Japanese spindle tree.

"We've been through this, and I'm not the princess here", he pointed out with a smile.

"Clearly not, since a kiss from a prince didn't wake you from your slumber."

"What kiss?" Shiro said flatly, halting everything he had been doing.

An insinuating grin smeared itself over the demon's features.

"Come now – a handsome young man half-naked in my bed; how could I possibly resi- Careful with that!" The anime figurine disappeared out of Shiro's hand before he had a chance to throw it, and reappeared in Mephisto's protective clasp. "Goodness, Shiro, I was joking! And this is a limited edition collectible! It could become invaluable in the future, sought after by otakus like the Golden Fleece by the Argonauts!"

He was safe, then – well, not from Mephisto's imminent ode to otaku culture, but even that held a certain charm once you had accepted it as one of his many characteristic quirks. Shiro had learnt quite a few new words that way: shibboleth, for one. Tsundere was a word Mephisto had refused to explain, but since Shiro kept hearing it applied to himself he suspected it had some pervy meaning that validated the expression "ignorance is bliss".

It was fascinating, too, to see how all that exposure to anime had influenced Mephisto's body language. Shiro had put it down to sheer quirkiness at first, but as he'd become aware of the demon's habits and hobbies it had occurred to him that his behaviour looked too much like a cartoon's for it to be coincidence.

"And he's got natural purple hair. He's like a living anime character." Shiro had zoned out of the demon's monologue long ago, and focused his attention on adding the final touches to his clothing. "Wonder what his series would be called? Fufufufu 'Ribon no Akuma'." He watched his reflection grin at the thought. "Or 'Marvelous Mephisto'! Guh, maybe without the panty-shots…"

"-the depth and complexity of a charming façade over a troubled past makes moekko even more…" The lilting, enthusiastic voice trailed off; green eyes lingered on Shiro's hands and the work they were performing. "Since when can you do a tie?"

"I learnt it the first time you showed me", Shiro replied, grinning at the look that revelation planted on Mephisto's face. "But it's much more fun to pretend I can't and hear you whining about it." Shiro smoothed the shirt collar down over the tie, and adjusted the latter to his preferred degree of sloppiness. "Guess that's not gonna work anymore. How about breakfast?"

Mephisto pinched the bridge of his nose with two clawed fingers, but chuckled rather than sighed.

"My my, what a monster I've created…"

Shiro burped loudly on his way down the road from Faust Mansion. The wheeling swallows cheered summer on with sharp cries, and a pleasant breeze tossed his hair and tugged at the jacket slung over his shoulder. Ukobach had taken every precaution to ensure the guest would be satisfied with his breakfast, and lined up a buffet with more dishes than even the fancy Academy cafeteria offered. Ukobach was also a dangerously talented chef.

The bright day smoothed out the sinus curve of his body temperature, and Shiro wore a smile on his lips despite the sluggish protests from his head. True Cross Town reached for the horizon below him; one mastodon carpet of civilization drinking up the sunlight and beaming it back from parabolic antennas and bridge wiring and windshields, with buildings elbowing each other for space in the square paddocks streets herded them into. Up through the mud, striving for the light.

Shiro took a moment to stop and look at it: look at it from the topmost lotus flower that soared higher than all the rest. On days like this, such a view filled one's lungs with warm hope and vibrant promises.

"I can do whatever I want now", he told the city quietly, smiling at the bustling panorama and closing his eyes briefly as the wind made the crosses on the glasses string dance. "I can start studying for my first Meister, I've got money, friends, girlfriend, summer job, a reputation…" He squinted in the bright light, and grinned wider still. "First ever to pass all exams at once, most promising student in decades: suck on that." For a moment he imagined he was thinking about somebody else, 'cause that really wasn't him. Not a year ago. So many things that can change in a single year… "I've got the world at my feet." And what a feeling that was! "And all because I was dumb enough to break into that old goat's office." Shiro laughed quietly to himself. That's Mephisto's beloved Lady Chance for you; turning the world inside out when you least expect it.

No headache could stop him from running the remaining road down to the Academy campus: too much hope warming his muscles, too many promises buzzing in his nervous system. Too much Shiro to fit into the body.

"Haaah-haah-haah…" Kasumi was right to click her tongue at his stamina; still, it felt good. He dropped his jacket on the first patch of grass he came upon, laid down and leaned back on his elbows and just… enjoyed. "This day's perfect." He closed his eyes and smiled up at the sun, feeling the grass under his fingers and the smell of warm asphalt in his nostrils. "A cigarette now and it would be really perfect."

Suddenly wondering if Mephisto had remembered to return his lighter, Shiro sat up and dug around in his pocket. Yes, the lighter was there: along with something else.

"Candy?" He pulled the smooth, hard pieces out of his pocket: it was not candy. "Ah, that's right", he grinned. Didn't remember putting them there, but seeing them made a chuckle bounce in his throat. "I'm pretty sure they didn't have that colour before", he mused as he turned one of them between his fingers. Looked more like children's toys now… "Oh, of course", he chortled quietly to himself. "Don't do magic when you're drunk. Never know what might happen."

But it's more fun that way. It's more fun to lay rules aside now and then; take chances, and see where they get you.

"Take a gamble…" Shiro mumbled, watching the sunlight reflect off the object's shiny surface. "That's what we do, you and I…" And nurtured by the warm sunlight and a belly full of breakfast, an idea took shape.

An idea is a curious thing. You never quite know where it comes from, and more often than not it's one of those wonders that successfully slips past notice and carries out its work with no questions asked. But, as with many wonders, one might still rediscover it and marvel; if you pay attention, that is. The forming of an idea is quick – too quick to register, for it is the point where knowledge and memory cease to be either and combine into something entirely new. It's the magical moment when strands of thought and recollections half forgotten merge together, and give birth to something that is more than the sum of its constituents.

As it were, Shiro was far too occupied with being alive to pay attention, and this particular wonder slipped completely past notice and scrutiny.

…as maybe other things did, too.

Hellhounds are excellent trackers, and also ridiculously easy to track with the burnt paw marks they leave. Shiro followed the trail to the small orchard where Midori had gathered wood for their charms long ago. The pear and apple trees were in full bloom, as though some of the fluffy clouds Mephisto admired had been anchored to earth with gnarly trunks. Humming bees were busy securing that autumn would have plenty of apples that students could pick: and beneath the buzzing foliage stood a lanky, traditionally dressed teenager who'd already tanned to a hue of dark honey. He didn't look quite as harmonious as the rest of the setting.

"Goddammit, Shiro! I nearly shit myself! Why'd ya send that beast ta eat up my work?!"

With that spiky, combed-back haircut Shizuku looked almost like he was bristling where he stood, slightly hunched, with the tip of his khakkhara pointing accusingly at the hellhound that was… chewing… on something…

"Sorry, I just didn't know where to find you." Shiro dismissed his familiar by burning through the summoning circle with his cigarette, and picked the chewed, slimy, scorched piece of wood up from the grass with an apologetic look. "Um, I'll cover the extra cost for making a new one", he said sheepishly. "What was it going to be?"

"A daruma otoshi doll. Wasn't the head piece yer mutt got, fortunately." Shizuku swung the khakkhara around to rest against the apple tree with the same practiced motions as Kasumi did. "Ya came ta find me, ye say? Not ta collect me fer hell, I hope?"

"Actually, that was what I was going to do – but I'm willing to let you off the hook if you do me a favour."

"I'm lis'ning, Enma-kun", he grinned and crossed his arms.

"Do you take commissions?"

"Ye as dumb as ye look? It's what I make a living off."

"I look nowhere near as dumb as I am." Even with pink hair. "I've got a bit of a special request, if you're up to it. I'm paying, it's not that: the favour is that you'll do it today, before you guys leave." Shiro rummaged around his pocket and got out- "Crap, I must've dropped one. Anyway, these." He held out the remaining four in the palm of his hand. "Have you got any tool that can make a hole in them? Enough for a nylon string to fit through?"

"Lemme have a look at that." Shizuku picked one up for closer scrutiny. "Plastic. Yeah, I can put a hole through this. It's gonna take a while with hand-tools, but it's doable." He cupped his large, calloused hand and let Shiro drop the other three in it. "I'm gonna need ye ta hold 'em still for me, though."

"If I do half the work, I should get half the pay", Shiro smiled, putting his cigarette out and seating himself on his knees in the grass.

"That's why I charge extra fe' whining." Shizuku flashed him an impish glance as he sat down and began assembling a simple hand-drill from his roll of tools.

"Per minute, or per word?"

"Per on."

"The hell's 'on'?"

"Pff, ye're funny… I learnt ta write with a stick in dirt, an' learnt ta read from road signs an' shop windows." Shizuku raised a pierced eyebrow over his teasing smile, silently asking how much Shiro had learnt in the public schools he went to. "On is the unit ye use when ye count sounds in words, but it's not paid much attention to outside poetry." He set the first item on a flat piece of wood, and motioned for Shiro to hold it in place. "In poetry it's a must. Like, fer haiku the form is five on, seven on, five on; fer tanka it's five, seven, five, seven, seven."

That was pretty cool – Shizuku was cool, in many ways. He'd grown up feral, like Shiro, but done it in rural Japan while Shiro had spent his life in the city. They were similar, on many levels: and still, they had two completely different reference frames.

"Do I look like the kind of guy that reads poetry…?" Shiro asked, grinning askew at the mere thought of it.

However, his words made Shizuku's smile turn downright devilish.

"Nah; ye look more like the kind a' guy that reads shoujo manga he's borrowed from 'is demon buddy."

Wha-? Okay, now he looked as dumb as he was.

"Who told you that?" Shiro sputtered.

"Sen-chan. Midori-chan thought ye' shoulder bag smelt o' Pheles an' poked around in it." He snickered merrily at Shiro's groan. "Berusayu no Bara, is it~?"

"Please don't tell Kasumi-chan?"

Or anybody else, for that matter. His reputation would do just fine without people knowing he read girls' comics.

"Kukukuku got ya by the balls now, haven't I~?"

"And squeezing", said Shiro flatly.

"I think I'll leave that ta Pheles. Just joking, man, just joking – it's hard ta resist." He glanced up only briefly, and held hands and eyes steady on his work. "I was gonna ask if ye'll have the time ta spar with me, though. After summer. Kasu an' I leave with the sun te'morrow morning. We might drop by here a few times during summer, but just briefly. I'll settle back in a week or so before next semester – will ye be 'ereabouts then?"

"I'll be here whenever you are, working my butt off as janitor."

"Good ta know."

"And I'll be happy to cause some fatal training accident if you tell anyone about that manga."

"Doesn't sound that threatening from a guy with pink hair", he chuckled, and blew away plastic dust from his work. "Dun' worry, I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks. And for the record, your sister likes it pink."

"I'm sure Pheles does, too~"

"…yeah", Shiro muttered. "Especially how I match his furnishings now. I could hang above the mantelpiece in the parlour, next to the Meissen porcelain candelabras."

…Shizuku had a very large mouth, and when he grinned that wide, he almost looked like a frog.

"Ye mean te say yer drapes match his carpet…?"

Shiro doubled over, and they had to stop drilling until he could hold himself still again.

"For one who's left earthly desires behind you've got one damn dirty mind, Shizu!"

"It's you who bring out the worst in me", he grinned into his hand, as if shielding his eyes from unpleasant images. "Ah, man… Heh, Kasu does, too, so I figure ye're a good match fer each other. I'd rather have yer ugly mug fer a brother-in-law than Futotsuki Makoto's." Shizuku let out a merry snicker. "Even if ye dye ye' hair ta match Pheles' bed sheets."

"I don't match his bed sheets", he said before he could think. "Which I know 'cause he never makes his bed properly." And now would be a good moment for changing subject, yes. "Speaking of which: know who'd like to be matched against his bed sheets?" he asked with an indecent gleam in his eyes. "Goggles-sensei."

Shizuku stopped drilling.

"Goggles-sensei…? Ye're jokin', right?"

"Nu-uh: she's fancied him for years. The bastard's well aware of it, too. Take a close look next time she wipes her goggles and you'll notice that handkerchief's got a small M-monogram on it", Shiro grinned. "He gave it to her once when she had a cold during a personnel meeting, and let her keep it."

"Wow… that's… disturbing." Shizuku laughed awkwardly and tried to shake the images out of his head. "Dammit Shiro, now I won't ever be able ta have Aria class without thinkin' o' her sniffin' that handkerchief when she's goin' ta sleep!"

Their laughter mingled with the humming of insects as the breeze gently rustled the white canopy, and from somewhere far away the smell of food wafted over the cracked pavement of the forlorn little square that hid in the orchard. Shiro's head throbbed glumly and threatened him with nausea if he didn't immediately drop this inappropriately merry attitude, but he didn't care. It was a perfect day.

A/N:

Marvelous Mephisto sounds adorable, I think, but Marvelous Melmo (1970-1972) was in fact intended as sex-ed for children. =P Heart-warming story, though, and it's a Tezuka, so I'd like to read it someday.

Ribon no Kishi (1953-1956) was translated as Princess Knight, but is read literally as "Knight of the Ribbon". And whichever translation you stick to in the end, I think "Princess Demon" sounds as good as "Demon of the Ribbon" for Mephisto.

Daruma Otoshi is a children's toy. It's a man built of five pieces of wood standing on top of each other, and the aim is to use a small hammer to knock away the pieces from bottom to top without toppling the head.