I have returned! I'm not dead! And my warmup in British Literature was free-writing the day I wrote this, so I decided write fanfiction, for bishies are more fun than school.

Disclaimer: However much I wish that Hotaru and Akira were mine, they are not

Warning: I never have a clue where my fics are going. It's shounen-ai, of course, but I don't know how yaoi-ish it'll get. Like ever.

Chapter 4

"Why didn't you tell me about your leg?"

Akira sighed.

"You honestly hadn't noticed how badly I limp?"

Hotaru glared, not appreciating the slight to his intelligence. Sure, he was aware that his head was rather empty, but he still didn't like being called stupid.

"I meant about Akari fixing it."

"Because, quite simply, she refused to the first time I asked. There was no point in informing you of a useless hope. Ask all you want, now."

Hotaru said nothing, slightly mad at Akira, but not willing to speak and start a fight; nor did he have any questions he wanted to ask.

"You're angry."

The flame-caster let out an irritated sigh.

"I can't hide anything from you," he said. "With anyone else, I can hide anger, I can hide fear, and pain, and I can lie. You might be blind, Akira…but you see right through me like no one else can. And sometimes…I can't help but hate you for it."

Akira hesitated. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to have someone know his every emotion, someone who knew every time he lied. He realized he would hate it, too.

"Hotaru…"

"I know you can't help it. It's just…the one thing about you I can't stand."

Akira almost laughed.

"I seem to remember both of our lists being much longer three years ago."

An amused smile appeared on Hotaru's face. Funny, he seemed to remember that, too. Just about everything about Akira had driven him crazy during the old Shiseiten years, and not much had changed when they met up four years later. But while they fought side by side for the first time in years, something had changed. Suddenly, he saw Akira as a warrior; one without fear, filled with terrifying ambition that matched or even exceeded Hotaru's own.

That was the first time he had thought of Akira as beautiful.

Okay, that was a lie. Akira had always had some strange beauty about him. Hotaru had simply refused to let himself think that way about a child. Akira had been only ten when Hotaru had gone to seek Kyo's strength and found something even rarer; the three people in the world—four once they found Akari—who could make him laugh.

Even then, Akira had been fascinating, if infuriating. Though young, he was powerful, and yet still graceful. His twin swords flowed like water beneath a frozen river as his teal eyes shone with the pride that came with protecting Kyo's back.

Hotaru missed those eyes.

Another reason to envy Tokito, he supposed. The Taishirou had been the first and only person in four whole years that Akira had truly seen with those beautiful blue-green eyes—and the only one to see them.

Akira recalled Hotaru as well. The Hotaru of the Shiseiten years—the years Akira had once been so desperate to revive—was deadly, ruthless and terrifying. Mercy was a foreign word to a man who had fought tooth and nail since early childhood to survive his own father's deadliest assassins. Only by isolating himself from the world, giving himself nothing to lose, could he live without fear. He found his own food and water, mended his own clothing, and for months after Akari had joined them, he had continued to insist on bandaging and treating his own wounds—until a vicious infection from a rusty sword nearly killed him.

At the time, Akira had scoffed and said it served him right; after all, it wouldn't have been nearly as severe had Akari simply healed him when Hotaru had first received the wound.

Now, he could admit to himself how worried he had been for the elder Shiseiten. The snaking red lines that radiated out from the angry gash in Hotaru's side, evidence of deadly blood poisoning, had scared Akira to the point that he could no longer even look at him. The horrible pain that showed on Hotaru's face finally forced him to accept Akari's help—and give up his first secret.

Akira tried once again to picture Hotaru in battle. The roaring inferno of his flames, the strange, floating way he moved; these were ingrained deeply in his mind. These he could still "see" with his heart's eyes.

Hotaru's face was more difficult—all but those molten gold eagle's eyes. Akira remembered his sharply angled features, accented by his chikewai, and the piercings in his ears, and the flying braid that whipped about during the fighting. He remembered each element of Hotaru's appearance, but couldn't quite piece them all together.

"Yeah…I definitely liked you a lot less back then," Hotaru said absently.

Akira really wished he could roll his eyes. It was the perfect response to pretty much everything Hotaru did or said.

"Yes, I believe I could say the same about you."

"Hey, Akira?"

"Hm?"

"What did you and Tokito do for three years?"

Akira's eyebrows contracted. Why did Hotaru want to know that?

"We travelled around…mostly in desert areas, I was trying to strengthen my legs. I'm not entirely sure where she was when you and I split in China. Honestly, I have not a clue how she found me…

"So we got around, mostly stealing food from caravans when we really needed to. And of course I had to shoot down her challenges ever three hours or so. It wasn't just challenges either…she still has the hormones of a teenage girl." Akira put a hand to his face, recalling the annoyance of Tokito's incessant talking. She just never shut up; it was worse than even Bontenmaru's bragging.

Hotaru bit his tongue, looking at the floor.

Okay. He was jealous.

"Hotaru? Are you all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm 'kay. Tired."

Akira nodded; he could imagine. He was tired, too. He was almost always tired.

"I suggest sleep. It tends to help a little."

"Don't sleep on the floor again. I feel like I'm kicking you out."

The blind man hesitated. He still didn't know what he was starting to feel for Hotaru, and sharing a bed tended to compound his confusion; it certainly had in that sleazy inn with Tokito, and the other night with Hotaru.

"Ah…fine. Go to sleep. I'm not tired yet, and you need to rest more than I do. Go."

Hotaru, suddenly far too tired to argue, retreated to the other room and collapsed on the futon, asleep within three minutes.

A small smile played across Akira's face. Hotaru's mindlessness was enviable indeed…even when Akira was completely exhausted, it usually took him at least a half hour to drift off.

It wasn't long before he went to join the other man. His racing thoughts were annoying, confusing, and getting him nowhere.

Akira curled up on the edge of the bed, not touching Hotaru. His mind was just starting to doze off when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Hotaru, touch me again and I swear I'll freeze your hand," he mumbled. "I'm not in the mood."

Hotaru retreated, frowning slightly, before sleep claimed him again.

---

Despite Akira's warning, the day found him nestled against Hotaru's chest and Hotaru's arm around his waist.

Dammit.

Hotaru yelped and jerked away as a thin shell of ice coated his arm. He glared at Akira as it cracked and fell away.

"What was that for?"

"I told you not to touch me."

"That hurt. And I didn't."

Akira raised his eyebrows.

"Oh really."

"I can't control what I do in my sleep…neither can you," Hotaru said bemusedly, failing to understand Akira's irritation.

Akira bit his tongue, not wanting to start an argument with Hotaru. It never ended well—and never even got him anywhere. He sat up slowly to minimize the stress on his old wounds and perched on the edge of the bed, his back to Hotaru.

Hotaru's brow furrowed. Akira had never been easy to understand—for anyone, let alone the clueless fire-caster—but lately, he was impossible. His words cryptic, his moods shifting inexplicably like the wind, Akira had become more of a mystery than ever before.

The older Shiseiten didn't like it. He didn't get it.

"Akira—"

"Stop, Hotaru. I'm…I don't know my mind right now. I need to think about all of this."

"Are you scared? About tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not," Akira replied swiftly, though he failed to completely hide the tremor in his voice.

Hotaru didn't push him. Akira had never reacted well when forced into anything, especially talking about his fears. His way of coping had always been to deny them altogether. It still was.

Theirs seemed a relationship based almost entirely around waiting, punctuated with the occasional, brief conversation. It was common for the two of them to go hours without speaking or even moving.

Hotaru coughed once, spitting a clot of blood into his hand. Akira glanced over.

"It's fine," Hotaru said. Akira nodded, sensing how Hotaru's body was trying to rid itself of the last dregs of the disease.

Akira rose to sit beside the window, looking out blankly at the Mibu city. Hotaru watched him, incapable of truly understanding the depth of Akira's pain, but full of worry and sadness for his friend.

The rest of the day passed almost entirely in silence.

End Chapter

Okay, I know that chapter was way short, but last chapter was like ten pages! Please forgive meeeee *sad apologetic puppy eyes* The next one is longer. Promise. It's also extremely strange and I'm not entirely sure you'll like it…but it will get better. I think…