Disappear

In a city controlled by the mob, it wasn't hard to figure out what happened to someone when they suddenly disappeared. There were thousands of explanations, each more plausible than the next. But when it came to people who just downright wouldn't disappear, that took quite a bit more guessing to understand. There could be relations, pay offs, potential employment, any number of things.

Or, in the case of Badou and Heine, just a hell of a lot of luck.

Silk

Neither of them had ever bothered to possess nice things. They couldn't afford fancy wine (tasted like shit anyway), didn't bother with fancy tuxes or shoes that required polishing. Hell, they'd probably get blood on them anyway. But one year, on the eve of his birthday, Haine had given the Cyclops a set of deep, ruby silk sheets. The chain smoker had been confused at first, wondering what on earth the albino had been thinking. What use could he have for something so fragile?

That night, he had found out first hand just how wonderful silk sheets felt. They ran like water against his skin, light as snowflakes, and gentle as a twilight breeze. But they warmed, as skin did. Cool, smooth skin like that of his partner, warming to a fevered flush the longer he lingered.

Stars

City smog was an astrologists' worst nightmare. That was probably the exact reason why their city tended to have no astrologists. If a high wind kicked up in the middle of the night, you might be able to see one if you were exasperatingly lucky or stoned out of your mind. But thanks to Badou, Haine had found a vice with which he could see plenty of stars, whenever he so chose to ask for them.

And Badou, the gentleman he always was, never once refused him.

Misery

Badou was a miserable person. He had a miserable apartment, made a miserably low wage, had miserable acquaintances, and even more miserable friends. He had a miserable past, and more than likely, a miserable future. But there was one thought in his miserable little life that comforted him slightly.

That maybe, even if he died miserable, he wouldn't die alone.

Weapons

It didn't take much in their city to find a weapon. You could more often than not find discarded daggers lying around in the alleys, clips of dropped and completely unused ammunition just waiting to be picked up by someone that could use them. Just wandering the streets was like walking through a massive mall of free and only slightly bloodied goods.

And, Haine being the prime example, the people themselves could sometimes become weapons. Hard and cold like the metal tools they mirrored, people like him, like the sight of a knife, struck fear in the hearts of those who passed him on the street.

But one heart, much in comparison to the rest, warmed when the sight of those cold features came into view.

Attention

Haine would never have done well in school, the smoker one day decided. Badou, his best friend and probably onlycompanion, often had a hard time keeping the albino's attention, and only ever really got it when things of interest were weaseled into the conversation. If any teacher had even tried to break Haine's solid wall of I-don't-give-a-shit, they would have had the hidden drawbridge drop down on top of them and crush them beneath the weight of his indifference.

Sugar

Neither of them had a liking for sweet things. Badou would rather smoke a pack of cigarettes than eat a sucker. Haine… well, he just didn't care for it no matter how you put it. But one night, when Badou's lips had been too tempted to control themselves, and they had communally met in agreement, Badou had realized something.

There was a sugary flavor to Haine that was more addicting that the most potent nicotine, and more than anything, Badou loved it.

Sunburn

Badou always hated it when Haine got sunburned. More than the albino, to be sure, because when Haine got sunburned, Badou could never tell if it had been the sun, or his own magic touch, that had warmed Haine's icy skin to that blushing red.

Deal

Every once in a great while, Kiri would have live poker tournaments to raise money for repairs often needed in Buon Viaggio. And most of the time, (because most of the time they were the cause) Badou and Haine were manhandled into helping. Badou, whom Kiri always seemed to revel in picking on, was always forced to be a bust-boy and take people their refreshments with that sickly sweet smile on his face.

Haine, on the other hand, got a much sexier job in Badou's opinion. Haine always got to be the dealer, where he sat on his high stool, his long white fingers expertly dishing out the fateful cards with a kind of humorous malice that shone with a metallic glint in his red eyes.

Little did Kiri or the rest of the participants know that Haine had picked up the talent of being able to stack a deck to his liking, even while shuffling. And the entire time he bore a smirk so sexy that Badou always had to remind himself that he couldn't drag Haine off that stool and shag him then and there, in spite of their company.

So instead he would wait until the small gala was over, then challenge Haine to a private game of poker, and would watch with glassy eyes Haine's smile as he dealt them both in.

Dance

It was hard to find anything slow in the city they called home. Cars, people, light, life, it all revolved in a dizzying pace of existence and death, where no one was spared from the blurred rush until their time was finally taken.

But Badou found, one gray rainy morning, where the rain contended with the crackle of the fire, that a slow dance, his hands on Haine's hips and a slow rhythm between their lost minds, was more than enough to overpower that hustle.

Shakira

Every day Badou would walk past an old shop window, grimy with age, full of different televisions. They would switch channels periodically, mostly because it took all three of the shop workers to figure out how to do it, but one day, Badou caught sight of something that nearly made him faint.

Some woman had, surely, stolen Haine's hips right from his body.

For a moment he was so caught up in his disbelief that he could hardly contain himself. He then rushed home and cornered Haine in their kitchen, demanding that the albino present his hips just to be one hundred percent sure.

Still partially asleep, Haine had bewilderedly complied, pulling up his loose black sleeping shirt so the Cyclops would calm himself without any drastic damage.

At that point, Badou did calm himself, as he realized with great pride that Haine's hips were far better.

Damn that woman, Shakira, anyway.

Sacrifice

It was always said that to live, you had to make sacrifices. Badou Nails hated this view, because it meant that, at some time, what he valued he would have to sacrifice.

The aspect that truly frightened him was that there was only one thing he owned, and that was the one thing that he outright refused to live without.

And that one thing was Haine.

Victory

If there was one thing Haine was strangely bad at, it was checkers. And though Badou could only surmise that it was because Haine had never had a childhood in which to play them, the constant victory over his partner was made no less amusing.

Especially when Haine would end up swearing at the board, sulking for at least a good hour in his defeat, and eventually requiring consoling, in one form or another, from Badou.

That, to the Cyclops, was the greatest victory of all.