A/N: Hi guys! Sorry it took so long... ^_^' Remember when I introduced Sayuri as Shiemi's mother and chanced a guess that she was "a year or two" younger than Shiro? Ehehe, no. 0w0' Turns out she's 12 years younger than he is. Which means that she should be eight years old here. Well, that's what you get for writing fanfiction for an ongoing series. x'9

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

Samael had an unmatched knack for frustrating everyone within a hundred meter radius. While that was nothing new, it was a rare sight that even the stoic Belial failed to put up with it. The butler's face remained blank and schooled as ever during cooking practice; in fact, Shiro had started to wonder if maybe his host was a poor match and he actually couldn't work his facial muscles much. That kind of thing occurred, Samael had taught him. A body could be a good or bad fit just like a pair of shoes. Be that as it may, Belial's face hadn't shown a single trace of tension; but when he accepted the plate of biscotti from Shiro it had cracked between his fingers. So, that particular three course dinner became a two course dinner, and the ensuing Italian class made Shiro wish he had plates handy to shatter, too.

"Today we will be equipping you with some basic skills needed in order to survive in the Italian society. And to make it as authentic as we can…"

The tower room exploded in a burst of pink, and when the smoke dissipated it had been refurbished from Renaissance studiolo to what looked like an old-fashioned grocery store.

"…we'll role play!" Samael finished and threw his arms out wide at the market scene. "So, signore: what can I offer you today?" he inquired in Italian and instantly fell into role, slouching forward over the counter while rubbing his fingers together over a hideous fake moustache.

Shiro doubted that he'd need much "skill" to go to the market and point at the wares he wanted. He kept that reflection to himself, though. Just go along with it and get it over with. He glanced over the shelves that stood at attention along the walls, stacked with produce; he took a moment to note the domed ceiling that had been equipped with wooden bars where onion, garlic and salami hung in fragrant clusters; lastly, his gaze returned to the counter that had replaced the table between them, complete with an antique cash register and a bell to call the owner.

"I'll take two tomatoes. And a watermelon", he said, making no effort to conceal how tedious he thought this exercise was.

"Ah but that will only suffice for lunch! What of supper, hm? Look, I buy these aubergines from a good friend and they are the best you can find outside Sicily. The flesh is firm and juicy and the skin is glossy like olive oil."

"Yes yes, I'll take two aubergines too."

"A good choice! That will be three thousand lire."

"Sure: here you go", he replied and mimicked the motion of taking bank notes out of his pocket and putting them on the counter.

The "salesman's" sympathetic face fell, as did his whole posture, and gave way to crossed arms and a sceptical glare.

"Really, Shiro: you should pay no more than two and one hundred for that."

Oh. Haggling. Right. Shiro had had no need to haggle for a long while. He always bought the food ingredients he needed from the same market vendors and they knew by now what prices they preferred.

"Three thousand, is that your best price?"

"Best price the market has to offer, signore." And the Italian vegetable vendor was back at full throttle.

"Two and one hundred sound like a better price", he suggested and attempted to pry his lips into a smile. "Maybe this is what Belial feels like if he tries to smile."

"Ah, you have a sense of humour – I like that. It reminds me of my old friend Enzo who now lives on Sicily. It's a beautiful place, isn't it?"

"How am I gonna haggle if you keep going off topic?"

"I'm not going off topic: tell me you hear Sicily is beautiful and that you'd like to go there some day; ask me if Enzo has any special tips on what to see and do there."

Shiro drew a deep breath and tried to suck in some extra patience along with it.

"I hear Sicily is beautiful. Maybe I'll go there some day. Does Enzo-"

"Ah-ah, keep eye contact!" Samael grasped his chin and tilted it higher. "Italy isn't Japan; people will expect you to look directly at them when you speak."

"Do we really have to do this?" Because Shiro didn't even have the energy to be angry at the demon's antics. All he wanted to do was to be left alone and figure out how he would handle his upcoming birthday.

"Of course we do!" Samael had no shortage of energy. And through some hellish irony of fate he seemed to have his highest mood peaks when Shiro had his lowest. "It's mercanteggiare: the unofficial national sport of the Mediterranean. Or would you rather like to try the other play aga-"

"We'll do the shopping roleplaying."

Originally, Samael had proposed an actual play to improve his verbal performance. Shiro knew about as much of plays as he knew of poetry and art; however, just like some works of art were so famous that even he knew of them, some plays were famous enough that he had an inkling of what they were about. Romeo and Juliet was one such play, and he would sooner have the soles of his feet flayed than enact Romeo and Juliet with Samael.

"Excellent! Now tell me your grandmother used to make delicious aubergine parmigiana and that you want it for two thousand lire."

"How does my grandmother's cooking have anything to do with haggling?" She hadn't even cooked aubergine parmigiana; she had served natto every time his family had come to visit, regardless of main course, and for a long while in his childhood Shiro had believed that elderly women were wrinkly because they all ate those awful beans and the grimaces contorted their faces.

"We really need to work on your aptitude at small talk…"

The lesson continued in that fashion until Shiro figured out that the Italian played a very different game from the Japanese. They haggled by doing everything except haggling: talking about the weather, about relatives, about where to go and what to do. It made absolutely no sense, but it got Samael off his back. One had to be grateful for the small blessings – and they were indeed small. When class was over and the tower room was once again a Renaissance studiolo, Samael had another topic to discuss.

"You know, I've been thinking: it's your birthday soon, and a very special birthday at that." He leaned back in the wooden chair, one leg crossed over the other and hands comfortably clasped in his lap. Despite his attempts to give off a relaxed air, Shiro could tell he was excited. "Any plans for celebrations…?"

"No, there won't be any celebration", Shiro replied, still standing.

Actually, yes. Sen and Midori had said they might turn up and give him something – maybe Ryuuji, too, if he wasn't too afraid of arousing Shizuku's wrath. And Kasumi was coming over to see him. He had received a telegram that she was going to be a day late because of bad weather but in all honesty that was a relief. Shiro dreaded her visit more than anything, because he would have to tell her that he was going to Rome. That he was going to take the special classes for those who wished to be both exorcists and priests. That they couldn't be together anymore. She would wonder where the hell that came from all of a sudden, and she wouldn't let him off the hook without some good answers.

"Are you sure? Someone seems to have a celebration in mind."

Samael's tone was casual – bored, almost – and matched his lazy scrutiny of the opened envelope between his fingers. All façade. He was curious as a little kid in front of a locked attic door. Why else would he have that card, crinkled and blemished with unidentifiable stains from the depths of the trashcan in Shiro's dorm room?

"A Fujimoto Satoshi…?" he read aloud from back of the envelope with some kind of mild, feigned surprise that True Cross Town had more than one person by the name Fujimoto.

"My uncle", Shiro provided guardedly, not sure yet what to expect or how to feel about it.

Samael lacked every human concept of personal space, be it literal or figurative; Shiro shouldn't be surprised that he was snooping in his private affairs. He shouldn't be surprised that incoming mail was run through some kind of check-up before it reached the students' compartments. Still, seeing the crumpled paper in those gloved fingers made him silently wish he'd burnt it instead.

"Your uncle." Samael's voice curled around the word, tasting it, before he turned his green eyes from the envelope to Shiro. "Whose invitation you threw out as trash?"

"I didn't know you dug around in people's garbage", he replied, calm and toxic.

"Don't be silly; I had a familiar fetch it. You call your only remaining relatives' invitation to a family reunion garbage? That's uncivilized even for you."

Family. Like the sprint that held together the feathers of a fan, family was the centrepiece in the life of every Japanese. Family was the altar on which you heaped the achievements of your existence: money, reputation, gratitude, honour. Shiro had gone through much of his life without that. It had marked him, of course it had – in both good and less good ways. It was a closed chapter, though. It set the tone of the story, but that chapter was closed and the story moved on. He had never had any intention of going back and reopening it.

Shiro met Samael's green eyes in silence, letting the words ripen on his tongue to make sure they carried the message when he spoke them.

"You've lived in Japan longer than I have. You know what people do with kids they don't want."

Yes, Samael caught what he implied. Caught it, spun it around, tied a little bow of it, and returned it with a light smile as he pointed out the obvious:

"They don't send them birthday cards."

"You know what I mean." Yes: he just had a foul habit of not caring about it.

Shiro felt the sudden need for a cigarette, if only to have something to occupy his hands with and a reason to look away for a moment. He couldn't light it anyway; Samael had confiscated the lighter, but the lighter had also run out of gas that same morning.

"It's been, what? Nine years?" He took his time deciding which of all the identical cigarettes in the packet he wouldn't light. "Nine years since dad died, and now all of a sudden they invite me to family dinner?"

"A mystery indeed. It has nothing to do with you turning twenty, I'm sure: who would think to celebrate such an insignificant parenthesis in life as passing from childhood to adulthood?"

"Knock it off. What does it matter to you if I celebrate my birthday or not?"

"Always expecting plans and traps, hm~?" Samael seemed to find it very funny that burnt children shunned fire. He fanned himself lazily with the birthday card envelope, putting on a face that suggested Shiro was being comically paranoid about it all. A scent of perfume wafted into his face from the motion, and he was pretty damn sure it had been added after the envelope had left his trashcan. "Relax, little lion: those creases between your eyebrows age you beyond your years. It's nothing much to me if you celebrate or not, but quite a lot to you. You go from boy to man the tenth of May, and that happens only once in life. If you don't take the opportunity to celebrate, you will spend the rest of your life wondering-"

"I can celebrate that on my own."

"Just saying", he smiled effortlessly. "Fail to seize opportunity as it flies by, and you will always wonder what you missed." He stopped using the envelope as a fan, turned it over and looked at it contemplatively, as if it had just whispered something in his ear. "It might be your last chance to have a family."

"I've done well without a family." And Samael was making an unmotivated effort to get him to seek his remaining family out. Always expecting plans and traps, yes. It was a justified suspicion – and it made it easier to ignore the stab those words left in him. It might be your last chance to have a family.

"Let me put it like this, then." Samael's voice lost some of its shallow cheerfulness as he eyed Shiro with that scalpel gaze of his, as if to locate that stab wound and drive his point home deeper into it. "How long are you going to run from your past?"

"In that case no, I'm not letting you put it like anything", he retorted. "This is a business arrangement and my past isn't part of that business."

His guardedness amused the little bastard. Well, so be it. Shiro wouldn't give him a single scrap more of his private life to use against him.

"The past is always part of the present~ Toss them in the trash and pretend they don't exist – is that how you intend to handle problems in the future, too…?" Samael clicked his tongue against his teeth, disapproving of how his apprentice failed to pick up on his lessons. "Not a very reliable business partner, then."

And that was where Shiro wouldn't put up with it anymore. He snatched the envelope out of the demon's hand and snarled through his teeth:

"You're in no position to talk about reliable business partners."

Shiro marched out the door before the bastard could say anything more.

His feet fell heavily on the steps of the spiral staircase, at first; then he was reminded by more clearly thinking parts of his brain that the tower was part of the library and that he should be quiet. It was frustrating, how those brain centres only seemed to work when Samael wasn't nearby. Shiro's steps slowed, and the rattling in the wrought iron armature diminished.

"He only says those things to piss me off. There's no other point to it, just pissing on me to get a reaction." But was that really all? Was that truly, really all there was to it…?

The further away Shiro got from Samael the more did his mind clear from the hazy buzz of anger; and when it did, some things came to light that he would rather have left in the fog.

"I flare up 'cause he's right."

Lies hurt. Betrayal hurts. Truth hurts more than anything. Reason is cruel that way. Tears the veil from the mirror so that all your flaws – all your painful truths – can crack you with their glares.

Rows of heavy bookshelves faded to grey as Shiro shut himself to the world once more. An iron shield to keep demons out, a shell to hide within. He needed more than that. To be iron all the way through, with no weaknesses to expose if the shell cracked; that was what he needed. To obtain that, he needed to purge the ore so that only iron was left, weed out the weaknesses that made him vulnerable. Reason is useful, in all its cruelty – tears the veil from the mirror so that flaws can be identified and eliminated.

"I've had nine years to seek them out. Nine years telling myself the fault is theirs so I wouldn't have to. Running from it all just like dad."

The envelope creaked miserably in his fist.

It's always tempting to find a scapegoat for your conscience – place the blame on someone else and let them deal with it. It's never pleasant when the mirror points out that some of the dirt is on you as well.

Shiro didn't go to Aria class after Italian. His brain was full of words already, inbred words that played tag in familiar circles; he should stop running and meet his past face to face, but why did Samael show an interest in that? Another hidden motive, another trap waiting for him to spring it? Accept the invitation: decline it? Right choice, wrong choice – why not just pick a flower and pull the petals off one by one? Let Hazard decide, since Chance seemed to be on Samael's payroll.

Shiro trod the wordscapes on the stumps of haunted thoughts, feet like compass needles pointing to the night market only to remember that nocturnal distractions slept in cardboard nests at this time of day. His thoughts churned on. His feet followed like mules on tether.

Distractions. That seemed to be what his life had boiled down to. Not actually living, but distracting himself from everyday life. His grades bore testament to that. He was now an excellent Aria and an even better Dragoon, and the kind of friend that never had time when Sen and Midori – and occasionally Ryuuji – asked him out.

There were many nooks for haunted thoughts to hide in on the campus; hollow depressions for the heavy ones that wished for peace, soaring rooftops for the ones that sought escape by any means. His had taken a liking to the impressive – dangerous – hanging gardens: a no man's land he would never have found if he hadn't tended to the school grounds as janitor last summer. The gardens were a strip of artificial earth, an appendage transplant two meters wide that clung to the outer wall of one of the suspended walkways. You could see far from there, no glass panes or fences to hold gazes back. A decorative wall of bricks, knee-high at best,was all there was to keep the one-way drop out. A red line of brick. The last line to cross.

Suicide was never an option; it just invited itself into his head to remind him of the possibility whenever he was up there. If things ever got too tangled, if there ever came a time when there was no way out, there was the standing offer to cross that red line of brick and end it all.

Maybe Chance had taken offence at his silent accusations of bribery. He had never seen anyone else in the hanging gardens, at least.

"Oh. Hi. I didn't think anybody came here."

A beige jacket cushioned her where she sat, back against the walkway wall. Moriyama Sayuri had occupied the spot Shiro had claimed as his, just beside the lavender shrubs. They would buzz with bumblebees in August, but in May they had only just grown out their wobbly flowerless stems to sample the sunlight. Sayuri looked like a flower bud, too: legs drawn up tight towards her chest almost as if they sought to crawl in under her for shelter.

"Same here", Shiro replied, coming to a stop. He had been so sure he would be alone here that he hadn't spent a thought on what he would do if he weren't. "This place is usually empty."

"Yeah." Sayuri seemed to feel just as awkward. She made a move to take her jacket and leave, then remembered she held a cigarette in her hand and put it between her lips to pick up the jacket, only to remember she hadn't answered properly and remove the smoke again. "I just needed some lone time. You know."

To that, Shiro just gave a nod and a grunt. He knew. But when he turned to leave and find a spot for his own lone time, Sayuri spoke up again. If it was to herself or to him he couldn't tell.

"I don't hate her – not really. She's my mom. It's just…" Her free hand remained clenched around the hem of the jacket, but she made no move to rise. Her eyes were far away, fleeting on the shimmering skyline of True Cross Town. She looked like someone whose thoughts seek out the loneliest place they can find. "She's like the trees in her garden: rooted to the spot. I don't want that kind of life. I know she expects me to take over the shop one day, but…" Sayuri drew a breath on her cigarette and hissed the smoke out between her teeth. "I couldn't do it even if I wanted to. I don't care about plants the way she does and I don't have her green fingers. If she could just realise that…"

Shiro waited a while, but Sayuri remained silent. He didn't know what to do with that kind of silence. He should probably say something, but all that came to mind were standardised lines like "I hope it gets better" or "If you just talk maybe you can sort it out" and other empty phrases that didn't solve anything. They already had been talking, obviously; many times. There was nothing he could do about the matter.

"I'd help you if I could, but I'm really not the right guy to give advice on family relations", he said at long last.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I wasn't thinking, sitting here talking about family trouble when you… Shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's alright." He hoped his words didn't sound as flat and empty as they were.

"Thanks." If they did sound empty, Sayuri didn't show she'd noticed. Her eyes remained on the horizon and the jet engine streaks that planes had left in the sky above it. "It's easy to get caught up in one's own problems and forget others', isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure is…" Shiro had absolutely no idea what to say. Comforting and cheering up had never been his strong point. He was about to awkwardly dig his hands into his pockets, searching for something to say to her, when he remembered the crinkled paper in his hand. "Actually… I do have some family left." Shiro held out the envelope when she turned to look at him. "My uncle wants me over for dinner on my birthday."

"Congratulations", she smiled. "How old…?"

"Twenty."

"Wow. Even more congratulations, then." She swept her eyes down at the grass and then back up at him. "You can sit here if you want to, you know. Want a smoke?"

"Yeah, thanks. I've been dying for one but my lighter's out."

The grass was always pleasantly dry up there. With the little soil there was in the hovering flowerbed the plants were greedy for any water they could scavenge from it, and you never had to worry about getting muddy when you sat down. Shiro seated himself an appropriate distance from Sayuri, cigarette ready between his lips.

"That's why I like matches", Sayuri said as she dug around in her jacket pocket. "You always know when you're running low."

Sayuri put her own cigarette between her lips, lit the match for him and cupped her hand around it against the breeze. It suited her, in a way. She only ever wore kimonos when he saw her, just like her mother. Matches seemed to fit the old-school style.

"Thanks", he said in a cloud of grey smoke as Sayuri shook out the match. "That something you rolled yourself?"

"M-hm", she hummed affirmatively around her cigarette and put the box away. "This is sort of a compromise. Mom doesn't like my smoking habits." She wiggled her cigarette in place of saying that wasn't the only thing they disagreed on. "One of the things she has against it is that they add fishy things to the tobacco when they manufacture cigarettes, so she picked out fresh tobacco leaves from the garden and showed me how to dry them and shred them to make my own. She figured that if she couldn't make me stop she could at least make me smoke something less bad." Sayuri drew another breath on her home-made roll and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The motion revealed little golden earrings shaped like four-leafed clovers. "I suspect it's another of her attempts at getting me interested in gardening. She told me you can flavour it, too – you know, while she was at it. Still, that is pretty useful." On the spur of the moment she held the cigarette out to him, offered up with a friendly smile. "This one's with extract of elderberry juice. Want to try?"

"…Yeah. If you don't mind."

Shiro accepted the roll and drew a breath that tasted very different from what he normally tasted. He could get used to that. Definitely.

"That's nice, actually. You could start selling these at the store."

Sayuri chuckled and accepted the cigarette back, shaking her head with a small smile.

"I don't think mom would like that." Her eyes fell on the crinkled envelope that now rested on the grass between them. "Did something happen to the invitation?"

Habit placed "nothing" on his tongue as the pre-programmed response, but Shiro never said it. He was tired; tired from Samael's lesson, tired of trying to figure out what to do. Tired of keeping secrets.

"I threw it in the trash", he said. "Thing is… This is the first time I hear from my uncle's family since my parents died." He paused. Sayuri remained quiet. Of course, death is no easy topic. "I'm kinda bitter over that, I guess. Being ignored for so long and then all of a sudden a birthday invitation."

Bitter, or suspicious…? Shiro drew a breath on his cigarette to undo the knot that had begun to form in his abdomen. Speaking of such things made his gut squirm – it always did. Even when he tried to keep it light and sound like it was no big deal, talking about his past and himself was a big deal: his big deal. His big deal that nobody else had any business poking in.

"Family is complicated either way, huh?" It was no big thing to Sayuri, and that let his shoulders relax a little. She sat calm as well water, resting one cheek on her drawn-up knees and looking at him with soft brown eyes. "They either care too much about you or too little."

"Mh."

"That why you came up here?"

"Yeah. To think. Actually, I'm not sure I care much about them either. They're basically strangers to me. I've talked more with you just these few minutes than I've talked with them in nine years."

Shiro fell silent. His eyes drifted over True Cross Town the way eyes do when they don't want to look at anything, just find distractions. When had that huge thing ever been a town? It must have been ages ago, when the school had just been built. His thoughts didn't go further than that, as suddenly a ladybug tumbled out of his hair and down on his glasses. Shiro flicked it away.

"It must have been tough being alone all those years." He could feel Sayuri's eyes on him from the side, even if his sight was blurry outside the frames of his glasses.

"In a way, I suppose", he mused. "In other ways it was easier. Things are much different when you're on your own." Some fear that – loneliness. To drift through life without anchor. Others can't bear to have anything tying them down. Shiro was never quite sure to which category he belonged. "There's no one to care about and no one to disappoint. I've grown used to the identity of a throw-away kid, with that kind of freedom. Now I'm invited to be somebody's cousin and somebody's nephew, and I… I don't know if I can do that."

The smoke from his cigarette drifted out over the city to join with the smoke from cars and chimneys and street food stands. Somewhere out there he had a family. Or something close to it, at least. Why did he avoid them? Did he really think they would turn their backs on him after going through the trouble of sending him an invitation? He had developed a nasty habit of mistrusting people, that's what. The doubts and suspicions he held against Samael had spilled over and infected his views of everyone – he even doubted himself, it seemed.

No, it wasn't doubt that made him hesitate; not really. It was fear. Fear of what Samael might have planned. Fear of seeking his family only to find that his child psychiatrist had been right, that he couldn't trust people enough to let them into his life and form real bonds.

Shiro's jaw clenched. Fear? He had promised himself not to run, and yet here he was: running. He had promised Kasumi he wouldn't give up without trying, and what was he doing now? What the fuck was he doing right now, letting fear control him – letting fear of Samael control him – and watching his life sail by in the meantime? Screw it. Screw all of them: his parents, his psychiatrist, Samael. Screw doubts and fears. The past may be part of the present but damn if he would let it get in the way of his future.

"I'm gonna go visit them", he said firmly, eyes focused sharply on the sprawling city as if daring it to oppose his decision. "Not 'cause they invited me, but because it's about time."

"Determination is good." Sayuri was smiling; another ladybug, or perhaps the same one, had missed a step in his hair and fallen down on his nose. "Though you sound a bit like you're going out on a mission."

Shiro blinked, then ran his words over in his head a second time. Yeah, that had come out a bit dramatic.

"Well, I am – kind of", he smiled wryly to himself as he swatted the ladybug off his face as gently a he could. "Battling my own demons. That's an important part of being an exorcist, too."

"Pff. Barely twenty and already damaged by work."

The cigarette stump between her fingers hovered right at her lips, as if something held it back; something that was already occupying her mouth, but deliberated whether it should slip off her tongue or not. It carried the sensation of sticky and thorny, as of something that clings tightly onto its host and buries its roots deeper by the day. Shiro felt the tug inside in response to it, the tickling temptation to pour words on that seed of rot and bring it to bloom.

Battling his own demons indeed.

"Speaking of that, fighting demons… Just leave it if you think I'm being rude and it's none of my business, but how are you doing? You know, with…?" Sayuri forwarded the question with wary eyes.

"It's fine." Same old lie he always told – but what good would it do to tell the truth? There was nothing anyone could do about it. Keeping others from worrying over something that couldn't be fixed was the only thing he could do. "Not the way I expected to get famous but I guess it's something."

Bitterness and discomfort spawn a special kind of humour when they're wed together: the kind of humour that isn't really meant to entertain, only divert the conversation from unwanted topics.

"Always the cool guy. Though, I suppose there's no other option for you than to stay cool, not let it get to you…"

Sayuri smiled at her drawn-up knees, or maybe hid something that was supposed to be a smile. Instead of sucking another breath on her smoke she shifted and ground it out in the grass, still talking and still avoiding talking to him.

"It's kind of inspirational. You got such an awful thing to carry all alone and you battle it out like this… It gives some perspective. Like, what are my problems compared to yours?" She dusted her hands off, pausing once to pry some dirt away from under her nail. "I think everyone needs to be reminded that we're not helpless, sometimes. That we can take on anything as long as we're determined we can do it." She nodded softly to herself, as if listening to her own advice and deeming it good. "I'll try to sort things out with mom. If we can compromise around cigarettes we should be able to compromise around other things too."

"That sounds like a good plan." Shiro smiled at the horizon – a genuine smile, one of the rare ones. It's easy to get caught up in one's own problems alright. He had never considered that, from an outside point of view, his mess could actually be a source of inspiration. That it could bring something good.

"There's this one thing I would like to sort out with you, too. Even if it's just something I've been thinking about. I… This is going to sound so stupid, and I feel so stupid…" Sayuri pushed her unruly brown hair back behind her ear again, even if it hadn't fallen down since last time she did so. "I was jealous of you."

Shiro truly couldn't see what there was to be jealous of, but he could sense the shift inside of her; that sticky something that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue had begun to pour out. He stayed silent, waiting for her to continue.

"When you started coming home to us for special classes it was like mom got the son she always wished she'd had. I'm a failure of a daughter – she's never said that, she'd never say something like that, but I know. I can't tend a garden. I can't get all happy-sappy over a bunch of flowers. She was always looking forward to when you were coming over. She planned out your lessons days in advance, what plants and stuff she was going to show you and… you know: stuff." Sayuri wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged them closer to her chest, speaking to her knees. "All this small stuff that I shouldn't get caught up on but that still made me feel like you were somehow stealing my mom away."

Shiro sat dumbstruck, listening, unaware that his cigarette had burnt out long ago. All the times he'd been to the supply shop for lessons, and he had never even considered…

"I think I saw it even more because I knew your parents are gone." Sayuri's eyebrows drew together in soft wrinkles, as if she were both angry and sad at the same time. "I feel awful for thinking like that. I don't know if mom thought like that, but she doted on you like a mom. She does that kind of thing, I see it all the time – spots a wilting flower and pours all her love and caring over it. She wanted to make you feel better. I understand it, with the situation you're in – I mean, exorcists always buzzed about it when they came to buy things. It was still… I wish she could've been that happy over me." Shiro wished dearly that somebody would tell him what to do. Should he hug her? Pat her arm, or hand? How did you do this kind of thing? She was sad, and he had no idea how to fix it. "I know none of this is your fault. Obviously I know that", she repeated with force, telling herself like you tell an unruly kid. "I know you never tried to replace me. I was still jealous, and I'm sorry for that."

Being apologised to can be an awkward thing, especially when you aren't even aware that somebody has wronged you – or believes that they have wronged you. Shiro reached out one hand and placed it on Sayuri's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"You don't have to apologise. I know exactly what you mean – you can know something and still feel the opposite. I think it's in human nature to be jealous: we all wanna be important to someone." The words caught in his mouth, as if they had caused an allergic reaction and made his throat swell and burn. When he spoke again, Shiro did his best to push Samael out of his mind and focus on the girl next to him and her situation. "I don't think you should beat yourself up over it, just be careful so it doesn't grow out of proportion. It's the kind of thing demons are drawn to: jealousy, guilt, pent-up anger – that stuff. I…" She hadn't flinched away from his touch, at least. He didn't know if it helped either. Or how long he should leave his hand there. God, he really sucked at these things. "Even bad feelings can be good, if you turn them around and use them as fuel. So if you're jealous of something – or someone – it can make you determined to improve and achieve what you want."

Shiro chanced a guess that that would be an appropriate moment to remove his hand again, and turned to grind his cigarette butt out on the walkway wall – only to make yet another ladybug lose its balance and fall out of his hair. This one bounced off his glasses and almost landed in his eye.

"…I'm crap at motivational talks."

It started with a snort and a smile, and from there Sayuri had somehow burst into bubbling, pealing laughter. Maybe it was tension wearing off; maybe Shiro was just comical when he tried to sound wise with his head full of beetles.

"No, I like your motivational talks", she smiled. It was a smile that saturated her whole face – maybe not thanks to his clumsy attempt at comforting but because she had cleared out what had been weighing on her mind. "Mind if I take some your little friends with me back home? Ladybugs are great for plants. They eat up the lice."

"You can take all of them." Shiro placed a hand in the grass and tilted sideways towards her. "In the matchbox, maybe?"

"Yeah, I was thinking that. Just hold still a moment…"

A/N:

This is your friendly future dentist discreetly advertising that, if you insist on poisoning yourself with cigarettes, you can at least do yourself the favour of smoking tobacco without all the crap they put in the factory made ones.

Ladybugs are drawn to light colours, such as white and yellow. It is now my head canon that Shiro suffers from the ladybug problem throughout life. :3

Dear Yoko-Zuki10
Thanks for the shout! I feel like quoting a well-known Swedish film character by saying "I have a plan". (I know, I know, this makes no sense to anyone but I swear to you every Swede knows what I mean.) I agree it would have been fun to name Shiro Jacob, but that name simply had to be sacrificed for a bigger, more important plan involving the name Alexander. If you're eager to see Samael suffer (as he deserves) I have worse things in store for him huhuhuhu~ ];)

Well, that's an interesting explanation to why Samael sleeps so little: he's out prowling the countryside at night… oh god why do you make me think these things…? x'D

Dear GoatChild
Thank you so much! x3 And don't worry, your review doesn't look weird. The mere fact that somebody takes the time to review on this forum is pretty unusual but it's also the simplest way in the world to make writers happy and motivated. Just spill your thoughts to them whenever you feel like it; it inspires them! ;)

Dear Mochi
That's plenty of love. xD Yosh, I'll be looking forward to you getting an account, then! (Makes it easier for me to reply, too.) Thanks for writing me!

Dear Guest(s)
I don't even know if it's the same person writing several times or different guests… x') But I'm guessing there's at least two of you, judging by the writing styles. Thank you guys! Wow, I'm so happy and so flattered that you feel inspired to write. Sorry I'm so slow at updating nowadays… :')