Hello, hello.

Just so you all know, I'm starting this twenty-four hours (give or take a minute or two) after chapter 12 was posted. So even if it's another seven months before this is posted—which, hopefully, it won't be—I'd just like you to let you know that I started it early.

Hehehehe.

In any case, I hope this was a quick enough update. I wrote this awhile ago, but then I got it betaed and checked over and such so it took a bit longer. So, I hope you enjoy.

P.S. Muchos gracias to Hitome-chan for the beta. Love you!

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Majikku no Seirei: Chapter 13

Home for the Holidays (Part I)

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Yuusuke hated waiting.

He hated the feeling of standing helplessly around, unable to make time go faster. Shoving his hands into his pockets and exhaling a held breath, he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, eyes shifting around the airport.

From where he stood next to the entrance to the gate area, he had seen more reunions of overly-sappy families, friends, and couples than he'd ever needed to. If he heard one more female voice screech "Oh, baby!" one more time as some woman jumped into her lover's arms, Yuusuke was beginning to think he'd go street fighter on their asses.

His conscience, which sometime in the middle of fifth grade had taken and stuck to the form of Keiko, told him that that was a very, very bad idea.

And despite all outward appearances; Yuusuke was the sort of person who listened to his conscience.

Usually.

He checked his watch, contemplated, and looked back at the happily kissing couple several feet away from him.

Street fighter was starting to look mighty friendly.

He sighed, running his fingers through his gelled hair. He hated airports, they were too sterile. "Fuck;" he mumbled. "This sucks. Where is he?"

"Yuusuke!"

The sound of his name sent him spinning around on his heel, and then Kurama was in his arms.

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"I feel like it's been ages;" Yuusuke told him three hours later as they walked down the street to Keiko's family's ramen shop. He had firmly commandeered Kurama's small duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder and insisting on carrying it. Kurama had rolled his eyes, muttering something about being treated like a girl, but hadn't protested.

He looked thinner, Yuusuke mused, studying his friend out of the corner of his eye. Or maybe he was imagining it, and it was just the different style of clothing the redhead was wearing. In a remarkable difference from the conservative clothes Yuusuke was used to seeing, Kurama was currently dressed in low-slung, tight jeans (girl's jeans, maybe? Yuusuke couldn't tell.), a green polo over a white long-sleeved shirt, and a brown wool winter jacket. The entire ensemble was a bit…feminine, really; but Yuusuke couldn't say that it didn't flatter him.

Kurama caught him staring, and smiled. "What are you looking at?"

"You;" Yuusuke said honestly, and couldn't help a grin. "You look good, man. Europe must be treating you nice."

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't." Kurama sighed happily, looking around at the Japanese signs. "It's good to be home, though;" he said, and Yuusuke felt a small curl of warmth at the idea that Kurama had honestly started to consider Japan 'home', rather than Makai.

"It's good to have you home;" he said instead, and slung an arm around Kurama's shoulders. "I missed you."

Kurama laughed. "Stop. People will stare."

"Well, let them." Just for good measure, he wrapped his arms around Kurama's waist and hoisted him into the air, spinning him around as Kurama's hands flew to his shoulders for security. "I haven't seen my best friend for four months, and now he's back, and fuck up the ass anyone who can't appreciate how happy that makes me!" He yelled the statement, and several people nearby looked at them and laughed good-naturedly.

Kurama was laughing, too, though he did try to look indignant. "Put me down, Yuusuke;" he said finally, and Yuusuke allowed him to slip through his grip until his feet touched the ground. There was a moment where he simply stared at the other boy, and then he smiled and said "It's good to know you haven't changed."

Yuusuke grinned. "Glad you think so." Offering his arm to Kurama, he said cheerfully; "So, how about ramen? Keiko will be glad to see you."

Kurama's eyes were dancing with a genuine happiness as he linked his arm through Yuusuke's. "That sounds wonderful."

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Molly Weasley met Ron, Harry, and Ginny at King's Cross Station.

"Come here, all of you;" she said upon seeing them, scooping the three of them into one large hug. Pulling away after a moment and surveying them, she gave a motherly sigh. "You're all too thin. Don't they feed you at school anymore? Really, let me look at you." She inspected each of them in turn, commenting on Ron's acne ("Really, Ron, at least ask Hermione to magic some of it away."), Ginny's hair ("Ginny, dear, that new conditioner is working wonders. I've never seen it so red before."), and Harry in general ("Sweet, you're looking awfully peaked. Have you been ill lately? Staying up too late studying? It's a tricky year, sixth, but you need to relax sometimes—")

"Mum," Ron finally interrupted, "Shouldn't we get out to the car?"

Harry shot him a grateful look as Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together. "Goodness, you're right. The Ministry provided them, and there's plenty of room for all of your things…off we go then, dears. Have you all got your trolleys?"

"Yes, Mum." Ron and Ginny chorused, and Harry filled in with "Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley was waiting at the car, waving enthusiastically at them as they approached.

"Hullo, hullo;" he greeted, pulling Ginny into a hug. "Happy holidays." He pressed a kiss to his daughter's hair and reached for Ron, shaking his son's hand, then Harry's. "Have you had a good term so far?"

"We wouldn't know, of course;" Mrs. Weasley sniffed, "seeing as how you never write."

"Oh, come off it, Mum." Ron rolled his eyes. "We write."

"A letter a month hardly counts as writing, Ron. I get more letters from Hermione than I do from you."

Ron's eyes widened. "Hermione writes to you?"

"Of course she does. Just to say hello, mostly, and to keep us posted on the going-ons of you two." She frowned at Ron and Harry, who suddenly decided to be fascinated by the pavement.

"Well, here's not the place to be talking." Mr. Weasley said cheerfully.

"We really have the whole family this year," Mrs. Weasley told them as they piled into the car. "Even Charlie's come home, all the way from Romania."

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Harry loved waking up in the Burrow. It was a comfortable, homey feeling that he never had waking up on Privet Drive, or even at Hogwarts. He snuggled into his camp bed, wondering exactly why he was awake so early, when he realised that someone was shaking him awake.

"Harry. Hey, c'mon mate. Wake up."

He cracked his eyes open. "Ron?"

"Yep." Ron sat back on his own bed, already fully dressed. "Up you get."

"Why?" Harry sat up, squinting at his watch. The digital numbers blinked six-thirty. "Er, Ron…seriously. Why?"

"Christmas tradition." Ron said, sounding only slightly cheerful.

"Christmas is tomorrow, Ron." Harry pointed out, but rolled out of bed anyway.

Ron shrugged. "Well, not so much Christmas, but holiday. Come downstairs, my mum'll explain."

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Harry blinked. "Delivering flowers at St. Mungo's?"

"Yes, dear." Mrs. Weasley said, bustling around the table with a plate of pancakes and serving them one person at a time. "A lot of the people in St. Mungo's don't have family or friends to visit them over the holidays. Visiting is something Arthur and I started doing before Bill was born, and we've just kept it up over the years. How many pancakes do you want, Ginny?"

"Just two, mum, thanks." Ginny turned to Harry. "It's actually not as awkward as it sounds. It's a Ministry-sponsored thing and they provide the bouquets, we just deliver them. People are usually really happy to get visitors, especially over the holidays."

Harry couldn't help but feel a tingle of warmth. To think—even a family with so little to spare put others first. He'd always loved the Weasley family's kindness, but the depths of it never ceased to surprise him. "That's…really cool. I'd love to help."

"Of course you can, Harry, dear." Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock on the wall. "The twins should be here by around seven-thirty, and we'll leave after they've eaten."

"How are we getting there?" Harry asked curiously. Last year, when they'd gone to visit Mr. Weasley, they'd left from Grimmuald Place and travelled by train. He was curious to know how they'd get there from the Burrow.

"Well, dear, we're taking the train into London and we'll be walking from there." She served a generous amount of pancakes onto Harry's plate without asking how many he wanted. "The Ministry's paying;" she said in response to his unspoken question. "And you eat all of those."

Harry grinned, accepting the syrup from Ginny. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

She kissed his hair fondly and smiled. "Now, why can't the rest of you be that obedient? And speaking of obedience, where on earth are the twins?"

Right on cue, Fred and George Apparated into the kitchen doorway. "G'morning, you lot," Fred greeted them, setting a large pile of presents down just outside the door. "Happy holidays, happy holidays."

"Can't tell you how glad we are to be home." George added, setting another pile beside Fred's. "C'mere and give your brothers some hugs."

Hugs and kisses were passed around, and the twins took their seats at the table. "When're we leaving for St. Mungo's, Mum?" George asked curiously, heaping eggs onto his plate.

"Just as soon as you two finish breakfast." Mrs. Weasley sat down as well. "Who's looking after the shop while you two are gone?"

"We're closed until New Year's." Fred said around a mouthful of bacon, and Bill raised his eyebrows.

"Can you afford to do that?"

"Surprisingly—" George began.

"—yes." Fred finished. "Business is great; we've got the liberty to take a few days off."

"But really," George swallowed thickly. "Would it kill you lot to write to us every now and then? We're completely out of the loop."

"The Weasley Love Loop, as we've taken to calling it—" Fred added.

"—and, not going to lie, we've taken to being a bit offended." George finished with a dramatic sniffle.

Ron snorted. "The two of you are turning into Mum."

"You know," Ginny said thoughtfully, "If Mum was two slightly insane people who love pulling pranks on people."

George grinned. "Well, I always suspected her of having multiple personalities."

"Oh, and speaking of multiple personalities;" Fred interrupted. "We've recently developed a new trick—"

"Boys, no personality-changing business talk at the table." Mrs. Weasley said mildly, filling up her teacup. "Would anyone like more tea?"

-0-0-0-0-

They reached St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries at ten o'clock that morning, filing into the lobby chatting and squabbling. While Mrs. Weasley checked them in as volunteers, Harry peered at the floor guide, re-familiarising himself with the building.

Ron looked over Harry's shoulder, following his gaze. "What floor do you want to take? We generally split into groups of two or three, and a couple of us take each floor. I usually take Spell Damage, it's the most interesting—especially the more illegal ones, they're always good for a laugh—ouch!" He glared at Ginny, who had whipped him across the back of the head with her handbag. "What was that for?"

"For being insensitive." She said crossly. "Honestly, Ron, if you were some poor bloke who'd had a spell blow up in his face, would you want people chuckling at you behind your back?"

"Probably not;" Ron admitted, and shrugged. "Sorry, Ginny."

"Don't apologise to me," she huffed, and stormed off to talk to Bill.

"What's up with her?" Ron asked incredulously, staring after his sister.

"Dunno;" Harry replied. "PMS, maybe?"

Ron poked him in the chest. "Don't you start thinking about any of my sister's vaginal functions, you."

"Ugh. Ron, that's…ugh. Please. She's Ginny." Harry sputtered for words. "She's—" —she's what? Too young? Too like you? Your sister?

…A girl?

"—Like a sister to me;" he finally managed, folding his arms across his chest. "I was just offering suggestions, anyway."

Ron chuckled, slinging an arm over Harry's shoulders. "I was just kidding with you, mate."

Mrs. Weasley came over, bundles of flowers in her arms. She handed each of them several bouquets and clapped her hands together. "Alright, dears;" she said. "The two of you are going to take the third floor—that's Potion and Plant Poisoning. Off you go." Ushering them towards the stairs, she said cheerfully "And do remember not to touch anything. You never know what you could come into contact with."

"Right." They chorused, trooping up the stairs.

"You know, it's too bad;" Ron muttered as they rounded the second floor landing and started up the third flight. "I really did want to do Spell Damage."

Harry laughed. "Look at it this way, mate, we can always come by for some visiting tomorrow." They reached the third floor, which extended out in two hallways from the stairs. "Alright;" Harry said. "What say you go left, I'll go right?"

"Sure." Ron said. "Meet you back here when you're done delivering, alright?"

"Right. See you." Waving as best he could with his arms full of flowers, Harry headed down the left-hand hallway.

-0-0-0-0-

Two hours later, Harry was down to one room and one bouquet.

He was slightly surprised at how much he was enjoying the day. The patients he had stopped into see had greeted him cheerfully, offering him friendly smiles and welcoming words. Some had asked him to sit and chat with them and he had done so readily, talking about anything that came to mind.

And no one asked him about his scar, or about Voldemort, or about the Ministry. That, really, was what really made it worth it.

He left the second-to-last room with a wave and a "Merry Christmas!", as a slightly raspy voice responded "And to you!" He closed the door behind him with a soft click, padding down to the last room.

The door was closed, which didn't surprise him, and he knocked respectfully.

A soft, female voice called "Come in," and he entered.

Narcissa Malfoy lay in the bed, looking pale and drawn. She was propped up on several pillows, her white-blond hair the only thing visibly separating her white skin from the white pillow. Her grey eyes—Draco's eyes, Harry thought before he could stop himself—blinked at him, surprised.

And then, to Harry's shock, she smiled. "Harry Potter, is it? Come in."

Nervously he did so, closing the door behind him. As he stood nervously in front of the door he noticed that the room had another occupant, curled in the chair beside the simple wooden table—Draco. The boy was asleep, arms folded on the table and his head resting in his arms.

Narcissa followed Harry's gaze to her son. "He dropped off sometime in the night; he's been awake for nearly three days straight." Levelling herself into more of a sitting position, she beckoned him over. "Come here, Mr. Potter. I don't bite."

Quietly, so as not to wake Draco, Harry tiptoed to her bedside. He saw her eyes glance at the flowers, and flushed. "Oh. Um, these are for you. Well, not intentionally for you, I mean for whoever was in the room. I mean…"

She cut him off with a laugh, softer and gentler than anything he ever thought he'd hear from a Malfoy's lips. "I'm familiar with the charity you're participating in," she told him with a smile. "I spent several years trying to convince Lucius to do it, but he never agreed. He liked being the unseen face of a charity rather than an active participant."

Harry shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond. Narcissa had brought up the subject of Lucius unasked, and Harry chewed his bottom lip. What did one say to the woman whose husband he had gotten thrown into jail?

"Don't look so nervous." Narcissa inclined her head towards the chair at her bedside. "Please, sit. I'd like to talk to you."

Placing the flowers on the bedside table, Harry sat, the fingers of one hand fidgeting nervously with a loose thread on his sweatshirt. He felt out of place, despite his surroundings being nothing more than an average hospital room. It was Narcissa, he supposed, who gave the impression of the room being more important—even here, she carried herself and spoke with poise and an elegance that took Harry aback. She was, he realised, a remarkably beautiful woman, even dressed in simple sleeping robes with her white-blond hair tumbling unclasped over her shoulders.

But then, he reminded himself, she was Draco's mother. And as aesthetically attractive as Lucius Malfoy was, Draco's softer beauty had obviously come from his mother.

"So…" he began nervously, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Narcissa's eyes flickered to her son, and then to Harry. "I'd like to thank you, Mr. Potter."

Harry, genuinely surprised, stared at her. "For…what? And just Harry, please. I'm just Harry."

"Just Harry, then." Her eyes closed briefly, and then opened again. "I wanted to thank you for Lucius."

"Er." Harry cleared his throat. "I…" he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but I got him tossed into Azkaban. What could you want to thank me for?"

She sighed. "I understand the question. I suppose I phrased things badly, anyway." She ran a pale hand through her hair. "Really…a better way of putting it would be to say that I'm grateful to you for taking him out of Draco's life."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I love my son very much, Harry." Narcissa said, her eyes drifting back to Draco. "And so does Lucius, in his own way. But Lucius…he does not know how to love a child for being a child. He forced Draco to grow up too fast, didn't give him enough time to learn about life before he threw him into it." She gave him a small smile. "Do you understand, now?"

"I think so." Harry stared at his hands, reluctant to meet her eyes. "Mal—Draco doesn't really agree with you. He hates me for what I did."

Narcissa shook her head. "No, he doesn't. If he hates you, it has nothing to do with his father." She extended her hand, and Harry took it nervously. Her fingers were slender and cool, very much like Draco's. Her hand trembled in his, and he folded his other hand over it instinctively. "Harry;" Narcissa said, "Draco…doesn't know how to show his appreciation for what you did. He…he is confused, amongst other emotions, and you know as well as I do that the two of you don't exactly have a fond regard for each other."

Harry flushed. "I—"

She squeezed his hand. "Don't fret; your relationship with my son doesn't concern me." She smiled with astonishing kindness. "Schoolboy hate isn't exactly the scariest thing in the world, as I'm sure you know."

"I don't hate your son, Mrs. Malfoy." Harry said, and was surprised at how honest the statement was. "I just…he confuses me."

Narcissa laughed softly, releasing his hand. "Draco confuses a lot of people. He's difficult to get close to." She looked back to Draco. "Yet that's a trait that seems to draw people to him, rather than push them away."

Harry thought about it, and realised that she was right. Draco's cold prickly exterior had, in its own way, attracted him since the day they met. "Yeah," he said, with a bit of a laugh. "I guess so."

Draco stirred in his chair, opening his eyes with what looked like reluctance. He rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair, squinting around the room, his sleepy grey eyes settling first on his mother. "Morning, mum."

"It's afternoon, Draco;" she told him with a soft chuckle, and he shrugged.

"All the same to me, it's the holidays after a—" He caught sight of Harry and his jaw dropped. "Potter?" he sputtered out, looking completely surprised in an oddly becoming sort of way. "What…what are you…?"

"Delivering flowers." Harry said quickly. "With the Weasleys. I didn't know your mum was here, but we got to talking and…uh…" He checked his watch and laughed nervously. "I should probably be going, and all. They'll be waiting for me." He nodded to Narcissa. "It was very nice talking to you, Mrs. Malfoy."

"My pleasure, Harry." She smiled at him. "Do come and visit me again, won't you? Before the holidays are over?"

"I—I'll try." He smiled, hopefully less nervously than he felt, and left as quickly as he could without seeming offensive.

As the door clicked behind him, he heard Draco's incredulous voice say "What the bloody hell was that about?"

And despite himself, he grinned.

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Kurama was greeted by the entire crew when he walked into the Yukimura Ramen House. Kuwabara caught him completely off-guard by sweeping him into a bear hug, lifting the smaller redhead clear off the ground. When he set the dizzy youko back on his feet, he was immediately swamped by the girls. Keiko, Botan, and Shizuru all kissed him, and even Yukina gave him a shy peck on the cheek. They crowded around one of the larger tables, chattering happily while Keiko and Botan ran to get food.

"So, seriously, Kurama;" Kuwabara said earnestly. "Where have you been?"

"I told you, I'm not allowed to say." He smiled and thanked Keiko as she set a tray of food in front of him. "The best explanation I can give is that I was at school."

"In Europe?" Keiko said disbelievingly, taking a seat next to Yuusuke.

"In Europe," he confirmed, breaking his chopsticks conclusively. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I had Hiei with me, of course."

"How is Hiei?" Yukina asked curiously, rice bowl in hand. "He sends me letters every now and then?"

"Does he?" Kurama filed that bit of information away to harass Hiei with later. "What does he tell you in his letters?"

She blushed, embarrassed to have started a new conversation. "Oh, nothing much. Just that the two of you are alright, and you're not in any danger, mostly." Concern flitted through her eyes. "You are safe where you are, aren't you?" She flushed a darker red, nearly on par with her eyes. "Not that you can't take care of yourselves, of course. I…"

He laughed. "I get your meaning, Yukina, don't worry. And we're fine, I promise you that much."

"I've got a question for you, actually." Yuusuke spoke up around a mouthful of rice. He swallowed with what looked like considerable difficulty and said "It's about that bird, the one that delivers your letters."

"Oh…Murugu?" Kurama smiled. "I was wondering if she'd come up. I found her in an emporium in London. It's horrible to see a Makai bird caged, so…I took her with me."

"Did you pay for her?" Shizuru raised her eyebrows over her sake cup.

"Of course I did," he said, sounding offended. "I'll have you know I've been on the straight and narrow for almost ten years now."

Yuusuke snorted into his drink. "Uh…have you forgotten the little incident that got you landed with me in the first place?"

"That?" Kurama waved a hand dismissively. "Doesn't count."

Yuusuke rolled his eyes and pulled Kurama's hair fondly, while Kuwabara snickered and Yukina giggled into her ramen.

-0-0-0-0-

Yuusuke walked Kurama back to his house that night. They spoke very little, and only about insignificant things when they did talk to each other. It was more a chance to enjoy one another's company than anything else, and they took the time they had.

They parted at Kurama's door. Yuusuke declined the offered drink and handed Kurama's bag back to him with a grin. "It's good to have you home, man."

"It's good to be home, Yuusuke." Kurama slung his bag over his shoulder. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"'Course you will. Meet at the ramen shop, we'll hang with Kuwabara and the girls." He flipped his collar. "I'm sure we can entertain them somehow, even with Kuwabara's sixteen-second attention span."

Kurama laughed. "I'm willing to bet that you'll think of something. Goodnight, Yuusuke."

"Night."

Kurama waited until the dark-haired boy had turned the corner before stepping inside via a long-unused key from the bottom of his pack, calling into the foyer "I'm home!"

"Shuuichi!"

He set his bag down and braced himself for the onslaught. It came in the form of his mother dashing in from the kitchen and throwing herself into his arms, kissing his cheek with a mother's fervour. "Oh, sweetheart, it's wonderful to have you back. I was so happy to get your letter, but I didn't have the time to write back—your bird's up in your room. I gave her something to nibble, but I wasn't sure what kind of bird she was so I didn't know what to give her…was lettuce alright, or should I have gotten bird food? I can go fetch some—"

He cut her off with a gentle laugh. "Lettuce is fine, mother, she eats just about anything."

Shiori wasn't nearly finished, though. "Do you want something to eat? I know you've had supper with your friends, but you should probably have something else anyway…"

Half an hour and two force-fed bowls of ramen later, Kurama headed up to his room, duffle over his shoulder. He shut the door behind him, and gave the room a quick once-over, happy to see that nothing had changed since the summer. Jet lag caught up with him and he stumbled over to the bed, dropping his bag and curling up, hugging a pillow to his chest.

"Do you know how ridiculously juvenile you look like that?"

Hiei's voice didn't surprise him nearly as much as it could have. Stifling a yawn, Kurama sat up, turning towards the window. The little demon was sitting comfortably on the sill, leaning against the window frame with one leg drawn to his chest and the other dangling loosely into the room. His bag, sword, and boots had been tossed carelessly to the floor under the window, Hiei apparently choosing to keep his feet bare despite the cold weather. Muguru was perched on Hiei's bent knee, his bandaged hand stroking through the feathers of her head.

"Welcome back to Japan," Kurama greeted him. "When did you get in?"

Hiei snorted. "Before you did, I'm assuming. I don't know why you bother with those stupid planes."

"Because I don't feel like running across two continents just to get home?" Kurama suggested, and Hiei shrugged in a 'to each his own' sort of fashion. "Have you eaten?"

"I stopped by Genkai's temple." Hiei moved his knee slightly and Muguru fluttered away, settling herself on Kurama's bookshelf.

"Good to see you, too," Kurama told the bird, and she blinked at him.

"Don't act so offended," she scoffed. "I'm not the one who wasn't even there to greet his poor, hardworking messenger."

He smiled. "I'm sorry. I've neglected you horribly, I know. Shall I make it up for you by picking you up something to eat tomorrow?"

She seemed to consider it, and then smiled as much as a bird could. "I like chicken-flavoured ramen," she told him pointedly, and he chuckled.

"That can certainly be arranged."

Muguru chirped happily and flew down, nipping at his ear affectionately before flying out the window, presumably looking for a place to perch for the night. Kurama shook his head, wondering how he'd just gotten peer pressured into catering to a bird. "I'm going to bed," he announced, more to himself than to Hiei, and burrowed under the blankets, curling around his previously abandoned pillow. After a moment, he lifted his head. "Sleeping on the windowsill, Hiei?"

Hiei raised his eyebrows. "It beats the floor."

Kurama scooted closer to the wall and lifted a corner of the blankets, the invitation obvious but unspoken. Hiei stared at him, and then let out what might have been a laugh and hopped off the sill, crossing the room. He slipped under the blankets, keeping enough of a distance between them.

"'Night, Hiei." Kurama's voice, slightly muffled by the pillow, slipped through the silence.

"Hn." He closed his eyes. "'Night."

There was another soft silence, and then Kurama said, voice thick with sleep, "Welcome home."

And Hiei fell asleep smiling.

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Aww, teh fluff. Hehehe.

Reviews make me happy, and expect the next update mid-to-late May. I'm going to an Anime convention in May, so I'll have lots of stories for the next update.

Ta, m'loves.