Different I

The morning Badou complained that he and Haine should try something different, he had no idea just how maliciously conniving the albino could be. He had gone about his business for the rest of the day, having ditched the albino as they went on separate jobs.

But when he had returned to his apartment that night, it had been to the door open. He had edged inside cautiously, screaming like a ninny when he was shoved to the floor over the top of his couch.

When he looked up Haine was standing, one foot on the back of the couch, covered in blood and smiling like a lunatic. His feet were bare, and he was wearing a pair of jeans so tight fitting that Badou was practically drooling.

But it was Haine's accessory that struck fear into the heart of the chain smoker.

Haine had a whip with him, and as he flicked it against the floor, he blanched as the albino said in that same, so-crazy-you're-going-to-****-your-pants voice, "So, different enough for you, Badou-kun?"

Different II

Badou always loved revenge. It was the sweetest of all the social endeavors he could count. He still had whip burn from the night Haine had chosen to follow his directions and do something "different"… along with couple of bite marks. Even though he had probably been more turned on than he had ever been in his life the entire time during that experiment, he still saw the stakes uneven between them; the majority of them resting prominently in Haine's favor. And that, for him, was not going to fly.

So as he sat, drowning in a blue fairy costume that he had found at the Bishop's place, staring up at Haine stare down at him with the color all but sucked from his face, he couldn't help but smile. He twirled the small plastic wand in his hand.

"What?" he said in reaction to Haine's obvious horror. "I thought I'd try something different too. Make a wish, pup."

Out

Badou never really understood Haine's fashion sense. His shirts were edgy and flashy, yes, but one pattern the red head had noticed was that every single pair of Haine's pants had a strange band that wrapped around the upper thigh. He didn't know if the albino wanted to accentuate just how skinny his legs were, or if they just came that way. But one day, when they had been out and around, some drunk fag had stumbled out of a bar and literally tried to get in Haine's pants from the ankle up. It had been at the same time as the man has halted by the bands that Haine beat the **** out of him, but Badou had seen the momentary lapse.

"So that's what they're for," he had said after Haine had smoothed his feathers. The albino had just looked at him with an expression that had he not been smoothed out would have undoubtedly spelled the end of his partner.

"They keep fags out," he continued, motioning to the failsafe with approval. "I like them. They make sure that no one's gonna touch what's mine."

Beyond

Badou always knew he had the talent of being annoying. He lived with it, worked with it, made a job out of it. But the day he learned when it wasn't useful was the day that he almost lost everything.

He had known about Haine's dog side for a while, and had come to the conclusion that Haine would be comfortable with him talking about it. They were partners after all, and if they couldn't talk about things, they wouldn't be able to do anything at all.

But as Badou realized, talking too much could be worse than not talking at all.
He had been drilling Haine about his inner dog, teasing him, prodding at him in what he had thought to be good jest. Haine had appeared to be ignoring him, like he usually did, but when Badou made one loose comment, one that in comparison to the other things he had said was not even that important, his partner snapped.

He had only just had enough time to jump out of the way before those crushing jaws came clamping down on the air where he had previously been standing, a vicious snarl rumbling through the air as Badou stood back trembling.

"Don't you ever ****ing say that again," Haine snarled at him, his red eyes glinting viciously as his temper boiled dangerously.

Badou stood in silence as his partner walked away, stunned and frightened by how close he had come. But dismayed he was also by how far beyond he had gone in relation to Haine's limits. He supposed, then, as he watched his partner disappear into the city, that even dogs could only take so much.

Pouting

Badou knew for a fact that Haine was physically incapable of pouting. His body just wouldn't let him. His lips wouldn't quiver, his eyes wouldn't water, and he just couldn't do it. But what Badou found out the hard way was that Haine was verbally capable of pouting, and that his body could do a wide range of other things to wheedle the red head into doing what he wanted.
He remembered fondly when Haine had leaned into him, his pale hand resting dangerously high on the red head's thigh, his nose cold as it brushed against his cheek. He had remembered Haine's warm breath on his lips, and his hips resting against the chain smoker's side in a suggestive angle.

"You're so unfair, Badou," he had said, his tone husky as he whispered to his partner.

If you didn't call that pouting, Badou wasn't sure what you would call it.

Buttons

Haine was always infamous for having torn up clothes. It was how he functioned. If he didn't have skin showing through some kind of tear or imperfection, then he wasn't happy.

But even Haine had begun to see a pattern in the case of his button up shirts. Every time he tried one on, he found that the bottom button would be missing. He had always figured that they had just popped off somewhere, and seeing as he didn't really care who noticed his hips and his belly button through the triangular gap they formed, he had never bothered to try to do anything about them.

But one day, when he had been cleaning out Badou's apartment for the sake of it smelling to high heaven, he had found a jar. It was small, and had been sitting clandestinely in the smoker's sock drawer. But inside, and Haine couldn't help but smile in amusement, was a collection of very familiar looking buttons.

"So that's where they've been going."

Surrender

Haine, despite his standard appearances, was usually not a confrontational person. He avoided contact, eye, body, conversation, anything to get himself by without having to deal with the daily life of normal people. But when Naoto walked in, everything changed. She'd harp on him, harass him, wheedle at him until he would leave or snap at her.

But he never let himself really snap. He would only make an angry comment or make a rude hand gesture (he had more than most people knew), and then leave. But finally, after so many weeks of taunting, prodding, and irritating, Naoto finally got what she wanted.

She got Haine, and all of his full bore anger, at her disposal. It had been a game all along, to see who would give in first. Who would be the first to fold and surrender to the other. The victor would be proclaimed king of the castle, and would claim rule over whatever they had to compete over.

That day, despite her pride and her skills, Naoto unconditionally surrendered.

But Badou knew, that even in the end, he was the winner. Haine would do anything for him, so all along Naoto had been picking the fight with the wrong person.

She'd surrendered to the underdog, without even knowing it.

Dreamscape

Dreams were worth more than gold in a city like theirs. They were the only life left for anyone with half an imagination. They gave hope, even when all was hopeless and lost. But sometimes, every once in a good long time, dreams came true. They weren't always the same as what people expected, strange little blessings that at first no one really knew how to understand.

Nill was an example. Sweet, innocent, pure. A shining example that out of horrid things, beauty and peace could still be wrought.

Haine was also one, whether he himself believed it or not. He was the perfect example of designed perfection. Porcelain skin, indestructible, perfectly maintained. Everything a dream could be was embodied in him.
And luckily for Badou, he knew just where to look past that iron shield to see just where the angel began, and the façade ended.

Halo

There were lots of iconic images associated with angels. Wings, golden harps, but most prevalent was the halo. Badou didn't know much about them, or why angels saw it fashionable to have golden rings hovering above their heads at all times, but he could see one parallel.

What might have been a collar to Haine, was more than definitely a halo to him.

Parallel

As much as they hated each other, Naoto and Haine were similar. They acted alike, insulted alike, slouched alike, glared at each other the same. Hell, if you stuck a mirror between the two, they probably couldn't tell the difference between them and their own reflections.

Of course, when Badou informed Haine of this, he just about lost his remaining eye.

Ink

Pointlessness was something that teenagers were supposed to be able to live by. It was the basis of most of their codes of conduct. And because Haine and Badou were yet young, they could still lay claim to a good portion of that stupidity.

And their chance to flaunt it was finally allotted when one day they both sauntered their way into the church, Badou with his left sleeve rolled up to show off a newly acquired tattoo on his arm. It was a dog design, one that he'd thought would bring a different title to his half of their partnership.

Because in all seriousness, Eye-Patch was getting really old.

He was hoping for something like Mad Dog or something, but he hadn't had the chance to test it out yet. He'd boasted about it to the priest, while Nill looked on questioningly at the reddened flesh, occasionally glancing at Haine to see if he showed any signs of contamination.

"So," the Priest asked at last, "did you both get one?"

Haine nodded while Badou elaborated, and Nill rushed over to the albino, shoving up his sleeves to look at his arms. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be found on his arms, and she looked up at him curiously.

"Forget it, Nill," Badou said, putting a hand on her shoulder with a smug smile on his face. "That tat is off limits: approved personnel only. I'll get him another one, just for you. But this one is mine."

Cities

The term "city" was often associated with a large assembly of large structures that are inhabited by a large number of people. Typically, it is also associated with general wealth and happiness, and overall peace if you ignored the smudged parts of town.

That's why the scum-hole they lived in would never be called a city. It was a burn mark on a map that actually led to somewhere. None of those maps existed within the city, so it was only a hypothetical idea that the city even existed at all.

But as much as it was nowhere, and as much as it might have been somewhere, to a small group of people, it would be home forever.

Proximity

The couch Haine had wasn't exactly luxurious. It was old, scratchy, and pretty small in comparison to their proportions. But sometimes that could serve as an advantage. Because it was so small, it often forced them into close proximity with each other. Which, of course, Badou never minded.
But one day, when he sat contentedly plugging what was left of his lungs with tar, Haine grabbed his wrist, keeping his desperately needed nicotine away from his desperately parched lungs.

"I can't take this, Badou," he said, and if Haine Rammsteiner was ever capable of leaning, it would have been a shining example. "What is it about that stick of nicotine that attracts you so much?"
If there had been any distance between them Badou would have surely devoured it to get at the tone in Haine's voice. "The same thing," he said, thanking god for what close proximity the couch demanded, "that attracts me to you."

"And what's that?"

"Knowing that one day I'll die because of one of you. And seeing as your both so pleasurable, I think it will be a pleasant death at least."