Author's Note: Took a while to update. Sorry. Busy life and ADD do not mix very well. This is probably shorter than usual, so sorry about that! Please read and review for me, I love to know if you're reading! Anyway, here we go!

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"Hey, you." My eyes fluttered up. The library was teeming with life as students wandered around, trying to cram until their heads exploded. Exams were coming up, and summer break was to follow. I hadn't realized how fast time had passed. Sports Day was tomorrow, Saturday, as a sort of kick off to exam week to help loosen up our stressed minds. I was trying to study the best I could, but my mind was having a hard time remaining here at Gekkoukan High.

Yukari Takeba stood over me, a book under her arm, her eyes on me. Me? Why would she be talking to me? We didn't know each other past my minor appearance at the Dorm two weeks ago. As strange as it was, I didn't completely ignore her. I just gave her a casual glance, then grunted a noise of recognition and began to attempt reading the words on the book before me.

"Hey, don't ignore me," she said indignantly, eyes rolling. "C'mon. I want to talk to you."

A harsh 'shhh!' was uttered nearby, and I let out a heavy sigh. I didn't mind the mental distraction from all of this ridiculous studying, but I couldn't let her know that. I loved to annoy people when they annoyed me to begin with. I stood, shutting my mathematics book and sliding it into my backpack, and the two of us left the library. We walked down the hallway a few paces before Yukari paused. I halted my stride, glancing back at her casually.

I crossed my arms, letting my bag sag off of my elbow. "What do you wish to speak to me about, Takeba-san?"

"Minato wanted you to come see him in the Dorm again," she said, putting her open hand on her hips. It wasn't because she was annoyed or nervous, but rather because it appeared she had nothing better to do with it.

I gave her a questioning, belittling smirk. "Why would that be? Why didn't he ask me himself? I know he was here today." Her expression hardened. I didn't like her much, and she didn't appear to like me. That was fine with me.

"He went home sick," she said icily. "I don't like playing messenger girl anyway, so don't make this harder for me."

"Why did he…?" I started, my façade dropping for a moment as concern threatened an entry.

She seemed glad to have established an upper hand, if only for a moment. "You didn't notice? From the way I always see you staring at him, I thought you would've seen it…" I turned my back on her. What had I missed? It was that god damned 'Strega' people again, wasn't it!? They'd done something to Minato again! I moved faster than my usual pace, wanting to get to Port Island station as fast as I could.

I sat on the monorail, staring into my lap, a frown creasing my face. My bag rested on the seat next to me. The sun was low outside, and I didn't realize it was so late. I should've been heading home anyway, so this stop by the Iwatodai dorm didn't bother me. Besides, all I could think about was those 'Strega' people, and what had happened a few days ago. I needed answers.

It wasn't physical possible for all of those people to have disappeared clean out of sight over the period of a second or two. There was something going on. How had a man caused that massive injury on Minato's stomach? This was way over my head, but I didn't care. Minato was my best friend, to put it simply. No one else had taken me out to karaoke, or to eat ramen at the strip mall. I wouldn't let him down as a friend.

As I approached the dorm, I knocked on the door. My father told me that just as important as a handshake, was a good strong knock on a door. My father was big on making impressions, and I supposed it now flowed through my own veins as well. I heard a girl's soft voice bid me entrance, and I moved into the main floor. Sitting at a couch, eating from a cup of ramen, was a slight girl. It was the same girl I had seen earlier when I had come to the same dorm--that green-haired one.

"Minato," she called, her voice meek. "Odagiri-san is here…"

Minato came around from the barrier, and I couldn't resist lightening my frown ever so slightly.

"Thanks, Fuuka," he said in a soft voice, and he gestured for me to follow him upstairs. It was rather reminiscent of the first time I had come to the Dorm. My feet followed whether they wanted to or not, and I gave the girl a nod as I moved away. With my eyes plastered on Minato's figure, tracing for any flaws I had managed to overlook previously, we moved upstairs but instead of lurking out by the snack machine, Minato continued straight to his room. I did not vocalize my immediate confusion, but instead silently accepted this and entered with him.

Once his door was shut, I set my bag down and crossed my arms, gazing over the blue-haired youth. "…Are you feeling alright?" I questioned quietly, voice tight. It was much harder than previously though to keep one's worry hidden. Maybe I wasn't nearly as collected as I assumed I was. Minato glanced up, he was trying to kick some stray socks and pajamas under his bed. I noticed a few bloodstained bandages as well. I held my tongue--he would explain in due time, wouldn't he?

The gray-eyed other rubbed the back of his neck in silent guilt, hesitated, then shook his head. "No…" he admitted. "I hurt pretty bad, Hidetoshi-kun…" I tensed a little, brow furrowing, and he gave me a small, comforting smile. "But...I'll be able to come to school tomorrow anyway. They aren't bad."

That having been the most I'd heard from him in a while, I wasn't sure if I should've been worried or relieved. I remained tight, expecting. When I figured out he was waiting for my reaction, I sighed and moved forward. Well, damn it all, I'd find out for myself what the damage was. "May I?" I asked, and he nodded, looking a little anxious. Rolling up his shirt, I tried to stop myself from biting my lip, but I did anyway.

The single slash across his stomach was finally scabbed over and sealed and well on its way to healing, but now…I could see discoloration across his ribs and an usual bump or two in his flesh. I curiously reached to touch, but when I did, I sincerely wished I had not. "Y-Your ribs…!" I started and he nodded, tugging his shirt back down. My stomach feeling squeamish, I crossed my arms again and watched him worriedly. "This was from…Strega, right?"

Minato's poker face appeared. I lost any contact into his emotions instantly. I pressed on anyway--now was the time for answers! "Who are Strega, Minato? Are they some sort of street gang? And…why are you involved with them?"

The blue-haired male sighed softly, and moved to sit on his bed. Massaging his chest very daintily, he mumbled, "…Strega…They're bad. They hate us. They want me…and my friends dead…We're messing something up of their's…I'm sorry…I really…can't tell you it all…"

"Why not?" I snapped. "I'm not going anywhere. I have plenty of time." I tried to tell myself to tone it down, and that I wasn't supposed to interrogate anyone; just ask questions. Minato nervously ran his fingers through his hair (I silently mused, 'this is the same kid who sung his heart out at karaoke?') and stared at the floor.

"See…Hidetoshi-kun…It's not really something you can be told…If…If you ever see it, Hidetoshi…Then I'll tell you everything," Minato promised, glancing up, and he nodded. That was the best I was going to get. I decided to let it slide. I moved to sit down next to him, peeking under his shirt again to examine his injuries.

"Why don't you go to a hospital?" I asked, a bit sharper for my taste but it was a habit. He shrugged. "The pharmacy?" He gestured to a few bottles overturned on his desk; most were cold pills and painkillers. He even had Vicodin for the main bite of his pain. "What about the blood? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

"My…um…inner thigh…" Minato replied quietly, running a thumb against where he had been cut up. I asked before I thought.

"Can I see?"

A soft pink fluttered across Minato's cheeks and a bit of a fluster overtook me. "What I meant was--" But Minato had stood and was fumbling with his belt, much to my amazement. Tugging his form-fitting jeans down just enough for the bandaged wound could be seen, (and both of us pretending to ignore the other's deepening blush as he realized I was learning his preference in underwear), he ran his thumb against the slightly stained injury.

"..It hurts to walk…but…that's about all…" Minato admitted quietly, quickly pulling his pants back up and messing with his belt again. I straightened, coughing to cover up my own personal embarrassment. Once Minato was sitting again, his gray eyes lowered in a bit of surprise of his actions, I decided to ask the other question on my mind.

"How can you be hurt so badly by them? Do they carry bear claws with them?"

Minato's stared at me blankly. "The…pastry?"

"No!" I snapped, rolling my eyes. "A literal claw of a bear. Your wounds are huge--too big for, say, a sword or a knife." Minato nodded, then shrugged and shook his head. I could tell he was not going to give me a straight answer. I sighed quietly, disappointed, but not surprised. I sat quietly next to him for an awkward bit, and then Minato let out a soft laugh.

"You're cute when you get embarrassed," he mused in his low and quiet voice. I turned slowly to look at him, eyes a little wide, jaw ever so slightly slack. My comprehension skills worked overtime in an effort to understand what had just been uttered. So thrown off by the comment, I couldn't do much but ask, "…Did you say I was cute?" Not only was I a tad offended--if anything, I wanted to hear I was handsome or devilishly good looking, not cute--but completely surprised. It made my cheeks feel a bit hotter than before.

Minato looked away and let his faint smile disappear. It was apparent he'd expected something like that to go over a bit easier. I locked my jaw and furrowed my brow. "Well," I drawled. "You're rather cute yourself when you get embarrassed." Take that! No, it wasn't a very effective comeback, but damn it all, I wanted him to get all flustered in payback for those bizarre remarks. I saw a flicker of competition behind his blank gaze (perhaps that was what had driven him to participate in sports?), and then he turned to me, a challenge laid out in his carefully calculated expression.

"…Well, then," he mumbled, cheeks turning a soft pink. "…What does this make me now?" He moved forward before I could react, and his soft lips were against my cheek.