:Laughs nervously: I know some of you want to shoot me for taking so long... and some of you will want to shoot me by the end of this chapter. Quick warning: Any of you who were cooing about how cute/sweet/innocent this is? You might get a surprise in the end. And it's angst ridden everywhere, but I'm sure that was obvious. On the plus side, aside from the darker moments that this fic will go through, there's plenty of fluff planned too, so don't get scared off. On and this is unbeta'd and I suck at editing my fics (mostly cause I'm too lazy to read over pages of stuff after stressing over writing it)

Anoooother thing... I came up with some pretty cool ideas about how they're going to meet, and who already knows who. Not telling though, cause that'd give it away. :grins:

Sorry for the belatedness, but ENJOY!

Christmas Warmth- Chapter 4

ÒoÕoÒoÕ

Christmas day, huh… Dark thought lazily, gazing at the ceiling as he placed his arm on his forehead. His other arm lay underneath Krad's sleeping body next to him, hand reaching up to stroke his back, mechanically swishing back and forth over the smooth skin, displacing golden silk that periodically entangled itself in his fingers.

He figured he should get up, they'd fallen asleep again after that brief awakening earlier, but it was comfortable, and the gray, monotone skies outside his window, flurries of snow trailing indolently behind the glass, was making him feel lazy. There was a warm body next to him, and foreshadowing of unrest, and he felt like bed was safe.

Glancing at the clock, though, the neon green mechanically admonished that it was early into the afternoon. One o'clock, to be exact. He'd always been a late riser as it was… he turned his head to look at Krad, then turned onto his side so he could wrap his other arm around him as well.

Hm, I thought he was a light sleeper? The violet-haired man brushed his fingers gently across the velvet lips of his One and smiled to himself, only to have it vanish. Or maybe he's exhausted from being in the cold… He didn't know how long Krad had been out in the streets before Dark had found him. Placing a large hand on the moonlight-pale cheek, he was glad to see that his temperature had risen from that dangerously low one he'd had the night before. His complexion had lost that sickly pallor too, thought it was obvious he didn't go out in the sun much. Unlike the amethyst-eyed man himself, whose skin was richly tanned, even in the midst of winter.

Yawning largely, narrow pupils slitting even more so that it gave the overall image of a yawning feline, Dark carefully removed his arms from around his blonde and eased himself off the bed.

He dressed himself in black, a sweater with a baggy neck and leather pants, before brushing his teeth and fixing his hair, brushing mussed, untamed strands of deep violet into presentable untamed strands of deep violet. Yes, there was a difference. The coffee pot gurgled and fizzed from the small apartment's kitchen, and Dark poured himself a cup with all the grace of a tap-dancing gorilla. Several napkins were wasted in the process of clearing up the mess. The bitter liquid swirled like molten amber contained in ebony porcelain, steaming visibly. Without anything more than a little cream, the violet-haired kaitou sipped it, staring contemplatively out into equally bitter streets. Snow poured from the heavens to entangle and suffocate the city in white, giving the sinful place an innocence it only received in winter. Many would have said that was a cruel description, that the snow blanketed the city, making it radiate in beauty…

But he knew better than to let the snow deceive him…

He didn't know when the golden-haired man would wake, but it didn't make a difference to him. In truth, he wanted nothing more than for the world to freeze, for everything to stay calm and quiet—he had a feeling things would be stirred up quickly around here once his guest woke, that there would be a trial for them to go through… But then again, he didn't want to stay alone for the rest of eternity. The sooner his One would wake, the sooner Dark could take steps to get to know him better… and if he didn't screw up, maybe he wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

There wasn't much on TV that he really felt like watching. Cartoons, movies, things that really shouldn't be watched on Christmas, and Season-oriented programs flickered for a couple seconds on the constantly changing screen, before they were promptly replaced by another program.

Channel surfing was kinda like life, he mused. You became interested in something, so you stuck around it for a while—as soon as you lost interest, if was quickly replaced by something else. Yeah, that was life in a nutshell. He knew from bitter experience. The coffee swished around in his mouth, the taste becoming unpleasant suddenly, and Dark swallowed.

Presently though, the clock struck three, and Dark reluctantly got off from his comfy beanbag chair –his favorite—to stretch and make his way back into the bedroom.

He was surprised Krad was still asleep, but the dark-haired man figured he was exhausted. He sure looked it, pale features and a gaunt body, faint shadows under his eyes. His eyes narrowed at just how thin he was… well, he'd fix that. Amethysts deeper than night softened as he gently stroked those threads of liquid gold, relishing in the smoothness, and bent down to kiss his cheek, tucking the covers more securely around him. Krad tossed his head in his sleep, snuggling deeper into the covers. God, he's so cute, Dark grinned.

Going back into the kitchen, he prepared a quick meal of pasta, leaving the noodles sitting in a ceramic bowl in the microwave, covered in plastic. In the fridge, the sauce and sodas were put in open view, and a plate and utensils set out on the table for later use. Glancing around, he also decided to collect the various plates and glasses strewn around the table and deposit them in the sink to procrastinate washing for another week.

The black coat hanging on the rack was taken off and promptly donned. Around his neck hung a camera, and in his pockets, a notebook and pen, as well as extra film.

The door clicked shut, the sound followed by the soft tick of the locks turning.

ÒoÕoÒoÕ

The air was warm, and for a long time, Krad felt simply as if he were floating, buoyed in warmth that enveloped him like a liquid blanket, gently suffocating…

He was aware of a dull headache, a strained ache in his body, and the hollowness of hunger, but those were normal by his standards, so he didn't pay them any mind. No, it was warm, and comfortable, and he felt… content.

The remnants of his dream were still tugging at his mind. There was a deep drowsiness that was keeping him from becoming fully conscious, but already he was starting to realize that there was something missing, something different than the last time he'd woken up…

It only took a second after opening his eyes and shifting lightly to realize what it was.

He was surprised for a moment, and a bit of him was relieved, after all, he was still uncomfortable to waking up next to someone kissing him… as tenderly as he had… Krad didn't realize that he'd unconsciously raised his hands to his lips until the tingling sensation of his fingertips danced across them.

He couldn't understand it, the cruelty and being ignored he could deal with—was accustomed to deal with—it meant no attachments, it meant he could forget the night, and it meant he'd get food for another day.

But… tenderness… and… dare he say it? Love? He didn't know how to react to those. Was he supposed to take it, or respond… no one he'd met before had ever been loving to him. In that sense, the orphanage had been a better place, he'd had someone who cared for him. But after he'd left, there hadn't been much of a reason for the golden-haired angel to remain.

What surprised him the most, and maybe unsettled him a bit too, was that even though a bit of him was relieved that the dark-haired man wasn't around, the majority of him had been… frightened. For a moment, he'd been frightened at waking up alone, without him.

Now, that feeling had washed out into an emptiness that seemed to weight down the room as Krad looked about it. The snow was still falling on flurried hordes outside, and the room lay empty and quiet, blurry shadows spreading and ebbing with the change in lighting outside. The lights were turned off, and he could see that the room was lived in, stylish and decorated with modern designs and ornaments. The one offset to the room was the whirlwind mess. If there was one materialistic thing Krad could not stand above all, it was dirt and disarray. It sounded highly ironic for someone who lived in the unsightly streets, but it had always disgusted the golden-haired ice angel.

Ignoring the mess of clothes, papers, miscellaneous objects and photography magazines, Krad looked around. There were photographs framed around the room, and a variety of cameras hanging on racks. Stacks of paper and a computer with a half-written document flashing on the screen sat atop a desk littered with photos. He definitely like photography. Continuing his examination around the strange room, he noticed that the door had been left open. Krad tried to find any presence of life around him, but there were no sounds, no lights, no movement. Empty

Where was he? Had he abandoned him after all? It was deathly still, the only sound permeating the unmoving calm being his soft breathing. He frowned, tugging the blankets closer to himself, wondering if he should just go back to bed, trying to ignore the heaviness settling itself in the pit of his stomach. Where was Dark?

I don't care, I don't care at all, he began repeating in his mind, but nonetheless he'd glanced anxiously around the room one more time, as if maybe he'd find him hiding behind thin air, and a flash of color had caught his eyes. On the bedside table, outlined in bright neon green, and written in orange, lay a note scribbled in slippery handwriting—

Dear cutie sleeping on the bed (you, in case you didn't know),

Merry Christmas again! Hey, sorry to leave ya like that, but I have a job at the Civic Center today—gotta watch a Christmas play my college buds are putting on and write an article on it for the newspaper. I'll be back around seven, so if you're hungry, there's pasta in the mic. Sauce and drinks are in the fridge- Eat lots, you're skinnier than a stick T.T/ (crying sign). After that, make yourself at home.

Lots and lots of love,

The ever-incredibly handsome and awesome Dark ;)

Krad had the feeling that he'd had a lot of fun writing this thing. Of course, the doodles in multicolored pens sprawled all over the paper didn't help with that assumption at all.

Nonetheless he sighed, all feelings of apprehension and loneliness ebbing away. He snuggled deeper into the bed, trying to decide whether he should get up or not. It was five, only two more hours 'til he got home. But the calling of food was stronger, so he raised himself out of bed once more.

It wasn't until he actually tried stepping out of bed that he realized how weak his body had become. After nearly buckling to the floor, leaving him breathing heavily as he hung onto the edge of the bed, frowning at his weakness, he realized that maybe it would have been better to wait for Dark.

He was hungry now, though, and there was some perverse instinct in him that wanted for him to do this on his own, without help. He'd been in worse situations before, and had managed to get out of them on his own. And anyway, he thought cynically, it probably wouldn't be long until he was thrown out into the streets again. No one in their right mind would take in a homeless person without good reason, and if Krad didn't like that reason, he wouldn't hesitate to leave.

I don't need him… he thought, his sun-tinted gaze straying to the window. So why did it feel like he did?

Krad had never been much of a dreamer, as reality was always too clear in his mind to let his dreams fly where he wanted them to. But it felt like a dream. He was in a warm house, out of the cold streets, stuffing himself until he was sure he'd throw up. Of course, that wasn't hard to do, as halfway through the plate of spaghetti he'd felt full. That was, after all, more than he'd normally eat in one day.

Golden eyes were drifting shut, arms crossed on the tabletop, when he realized that a bed was infinitely more comfortable than a table. So, raising himself on unsteady legs, and ignoring the dizziness buzzing in his head, he headed back down the hallway.

Framed photos lined the hallway too, and Krad paused to gaze at one that caught his attention. It was abstract, and it took him a moment to realize that it was the dark silhouette of branches against the hazy salmon color of sunset clouds. On the bottom corner in a scribble that looked vaguely familiar, Krad finally made out two words—Dark Mousy.

So that's his full name. Then the larger shock hit him, He took all of these pictures! He walked on with renewed interest in the pictures he was passing, surprised that the professional-looking shots had been taken by the slightly scatterbrained-acting kaitou.

He was more than a little impressed by the time he reached the room, taking the liberty of inspecting each picture with awe showing in the ginger touch he bestowed on the frames as he carefully reached out to touch them. Krad took another look at the note the Dark had left. 'Write an article for the paper? Krad wondered if he was a journalist. Definitely a photographer, if nothing else.

He was beginning to get tired, and standing up for so long had made him worn-out, the heaviness in his stomach making him feel slightly sick. Turning on one foot with the intent of getting back in bed, he instead slipped on one of the magazines laying on the floor. Tipping forward, he landed with a thump on the floor, leaving him light-headed as he gazed at the ceiling from a new point of view.

Messy idiot, was the first thought that entered his buzzing head as he sat up, gasping light for breath that had been knocked out of him, rubbing his arm where he'd fallen on it. But then he blinked, his brow furrowing slightly as he caught sight of a black box underneath the bed. There were other boxes there, but they were all white, and labeled, while this one sat in the corner, obscured.

He wouldn't have caught sight of it if it hadn't been for the fact that there was a ray of light shining on it, reflected from a CD that lay on the floor, reflecting the window light onto the dark corner.

Curiosity got the better of him, as well as the urge to see more of Dark's work. Reaching out underneath the bed, he gently took the box, sitting back and cradling it in his lap. He was about to open it, but suddenly hesitated at the tug of apprehension that made him question his actions.

Dark had said to make himself at home, he thought, but knew that wasn't a good enough reason too snoop in his things, especially one that he seemed to want to keep out of the way as much as possible. Still, if it really was something that private, Dark would have made sure to hide it in a better place. Here, it seemed like he'd intentionally put it there so that there would be easy access to it.

Curiosity finally got the better of him, and he opened the box, a light 'puff' of dust floating up, dislodged into the air. The light-haired angel wrinkled his nose in distasted, waving it aside and looking inside.

Pictures. A huge stack. No harm there, so far. He took the first one out, noting with surprise that it wasn't good at all. In fact, it should have been thrown away- it was a faded out picture of the sun, and the whole picture was practically blinded by the sun's rays, so that it was swallowed up by white. It had an amateurish feel to it. Like a five-year-old had taken it. The reason clicked as he looked at the date and noted, that indeed, it'd been taken fifteen years ago.

That made him wonder how old Dark was, exactly. If he was in college, that meant he was at least eighteen… so he'd taken this picture when he was at least three.

The next picture was a badly focused photograph of a beautiful lady. She was smiling and waving, and though her eyes were deep green, they held a familiar mischievous glint, and Krad recognized the shoulder length violet hair. His mother…

Next was a man, whom Krad automatically assumed was the father, and upon closer inspection, found the telling trait- his eyes. Deep amethysts, and similar face structure. Krad studied him closer for a moment, trying to figure out why it was that he didn't seem as taken by the father as he had by the mother. There was something off about him, something he could instinctively tell. He felt slightly guilty though, judging Dark's family simply by looks.

Flipping carefully through the stacks of pictures, he saw that little by little, the photos became better and more creative. One he particularly liked was a picture of the sunset taken from a high altitude, overlooking a valley. But there were pictures everywhere, of school, home, in the streets and at parties, on what appeared to be their backyard by the amount of shots taken there. Looking at the dates, he saw that he was ten. He took cameras everywhere… the sun-eyed angel thought amusedly.

As he went on, though, the shots began to turn increasingly obscure and depressing, and Krad repressed a small shudder. There was something morbid, chillingly macabre about them, and they'd become incredibly abstract and disturbing. It started out with pictures of the night, shadows and shapes, which hadn't been all that odd, but it had continued. Squashed insects, broken glass, contrasting forms and colors, fallen trees. Shots that would have been normal and relaxing if not for the irregular angles they were taken at. Krad felt a sense of desolation and pain from them… a trail of apprehension began coiling and uncoiling in his stomach. He frowned deeply at the shot of road kill, a small bird with its body violently ruptured, blood and internal organs gruesomely strewn on the concrete, golden eyes shying away quickly.

From then on, it was as if Dark had grown a fascination with blood and broken images, and Krad realized that he'd begun trembling. It was… disconcerting, to say the least, to image the cheerful, cocky man he'd seen… and relate them to the appalling pictures he was now looking at. The window now provided barely enough light to illuminate the room, and the shadows were constantly pressing into areas before bathed in the weak sunlight that filtered through the snowy clouds, suffocating the light.

Something else he'd suddenly noticed was the lack of people. Where before his pictures had overflowed with people- family, friends, himself and even strangers, now they lay empty of life. For almost three years, Krad hadn't seen anything living in the photographs. Almost as if… he was alone.

He'd begun flipping through the pictures rather quickly, as they had become grotesque and bizarre, and he didn't know if he could stomach it. But the same thing that repulsed him transfixed him, like moths to fire, innocently edging closer without knowledge of the heat that would burn. There was an odd sense of disgusted curiosity pressing him on, as if wanting to see how far this odd change would go. What was stranger was that the pictures he had admired today, though some lonely and dark, hadn't been close to this extent. So whatever had happened to make a child take photographs like these had obviously ceased, but how far had it gone?

There was a trail of fear now making its way around his neck, slithering its poisonous essence slowly, whispering darkly into his ear. The apprehension that had been writhing in his stomach had now made its way into his throat, a nest of fear enclosing itself on him. His hand shook as he took the next picture out, and golden eyes widened, his hand flying to his mouth as he felt his stomach constrict nauseatingly after a moment of staring at it in shock.

The picture slipped from his shaking hand, floating with deceptive innocence onto the floor, where a bright patch of light was able to better illuminate the vivid details. A dark room, lit up in the middle, where something lay on the wooden floor. A body, lying in a puddle of dark liquid. Blood. And as Krad leaned forward, fighting down his nausea, he could make out the disfigured face, and the familiar shock of shoulder-length violet hair, tangled and sticky with blood. In the photo, the moonlight shone on the misshapen, beaten body, limbs twisted in macabre positions, broken and mangled. The ice angel couldn't tear his eyes off, his eyes wide and unbelieving.

He… he took a picture of his dead mother… Krad's mind raced around nothing, not able to comprehend how a child- he'd only been thirteen- could find his mother's dead body and take a picture. There was something about that… that wasn't right. Krad wasn't unused to death, or to the misshapen, but it was by avoiding it that he had been able to become indifferent to it. This was completely the opposite… How… how had he been able to stand there and take a picture like it was nothing?

Warm breath suddenly crept around Krad's neck, and he froze as a low voice whispered dangerously in his ear, "You weren't supposed to see that."

:Cowers: Weeeeeell... how are we on the shooting bussiness? Horrible cliffhanger, I know :evil grin:

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews, great support and complements! I'm glad it's liked. Next chapter will be Satoshi/Daisuke, but if it turns out short, I just might stick the Krad/Dark chapter in there too. Hm... It'd be a good idea to stick this under story alert, or whatever, since my updating is so... spaced out and random.