Amadán

Badou could never be sure what kind of twisted knowledge Haine possessed in the inner labyrinths of his convoluted mind. He knew most anything about everything, or so it faintly seemed. But one day, when Haine had been quietly reprimanding Badou for a particularly grueling night spent at home, he had used a word that Badou had never in his life heard before.

Of all of the things to call him, Haine had merely muttered the grudging word, "Amadán," and turned his back.

The argument over, Badou had been left in turmoil and confusion over what his partner had said. What could it have meant, truly? He knew not what language bore it, or even where to start guessing. So, the marginally intelligent person that he was, he chose to ask around and see if he could get anywhere.

After a day of searching, and unintentionally avoiding his partner, Badou finally discovered the meaning of Haine's words, and returned heavily loaded himself to his partner, who lay on their bed when he returned. The albino just glared witheringly at him, but that sour expression faded as Badou bent down and kissed the wrinkles on the pale-skinned forehead, uttering his own word in solemn reply.

"Ionúin"

Baskervilles

Haine never seemed like the kind of person who would enjoy reading. He seemed like he would rather be out prowling the alleys with his guns on his hips, rather than a quiet intellectual, holed up in his study reading dusty volumes until late in the night.

So needless to say when Haine started reading a large volume of a book called "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," Badou was almost positive that the albino had lost his mind. His point was all but proven that Haine was out of his gourd when the young man started to carry the book around with him, taking every second he could spare (when he wasn't trying to keep the pages from getting bullet holes in them) to read the text inside.

At long last, Badou's patience wore thin and, one night, while Haine was a sleep, he opened the book to read some of it himself. He had decided to not be conspicuous about it and just open up to the page that Haine had left off on, a tale well within the bowels of the book, marked only by a primly folded dog-ear on the top corner of the page.

As it seemed, Haine had just begun a new tale, one called "The Hound of the Baskervilles".

And despite his best efforts, Badou wound up still sitting in rapt fascination until morning's light, reading page upon page of what was probably the most dryly written, but grimly interesting stories he had ever heard of.

So when Haine awoke that morning and trundled out into their small living room, where Badou sat huddled under a blanket, his eyes still glued to the page, he couldn't help but laugh at the other man's plight and jibe at him with one simple, yet all encompassing phrase.

"I told you so."

Barefoot

After having lived with Haine's strange habits for more than a short time, Badou gave up on asking him what the hell he was doing whenever he discovered another strange habit of his. There were many of them to be sure, but one in particular caught Badou's attention one night in particular. So, giving up on his own habit, he had broken down and asked the albino about it.

"Haine," he said, a puff of smoke coiling out from between his lips, "why don't you wear socks or shoes when you're home?"

The albino had looked over at him curiously, a rather smug look slithering across his face.

"Because they're always so troublesome when things get… heated," he had answered coyly, looking back down to the hand of bills he had been looking over and leaning against their kitchen counter with a purposefully tantalizing tilt to his hips.

Badou had swallowed hard as he thought minutely to himself that he rather liked that habit.

Freeze

It was ungodly cold the night that they got trapped. Side by side they sat, their legs intertwined in a frail attempt to keep each other warm, and their arms clasping at the thin cloak they had to share in order to at least have some semblance of protection from the blinding snow.

"We're going to freeze to death," Badou had said grimly, and the wind roared through the streets angrily in reply. Even sheltered in the alcove of the alley, the wind's cold still penetrated true, down to their bones as they shivered themselves to shatters.

"No," Haine had growled out, his pale lips tinged with blue, "we're not. Just quit worrying and concentrate on staying alive."

"I never said I was worried," Badou snapped back, and Haine's ruby gaze settled on him coldly, silently demanding an explanation.

"Even if we do freeze, at least I'll die with you in my arms."

Courting

Courting Haine was like courting with wolves. They danced in circles, snarled at each other, jumped back and avoided each other, eyes locked and glinting with murderous intent, hackles bristling and fangs bared the entire time. But then dominance would be established, the nights would wane, and the morning would rise with the distance between them that much smaller. They ran their business like a pack, and ruled it accordingly. But Badou couldn't help but wonder when the courting would be over, and the last of the distance, still circling and skirting between them, would be gone.

Shiny

The more time Badou spent with Haine, the more he got to know the small details about him. And the more small details Badou knew about Haine, the funnier he thought he was. One example was whenever they were walking together. Whether it was to get groceries or just prowling the streets at night, Haine's eyes would always dart when something shiny came into view. Whether it was the flash of light on glass, or a nickel lying in the gutter, Haine always seemed to be, for split seconds, distracted by anything that glinted.

And one day, Badou made the mistake of commenting to him about it.

"What the hell, man," he had said, rolling his eyes at the albino. "What are you, ADD or something?"

Haine had merely glared at him, a slow, withering glare that lowered dangerously the more silence clung to it, and Badou realized that what he had said was obviously not what had been applied.

"Do you have any idea how many people carry daggers in broad daylight, Badou?" Haine asked, his voice dark. "I'm sure it would scare you if you did."

It was true that for a moment he had been caught by Haine's words, but he had quickly recovered and just shaken hi s head, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"Stupid, that's what I have you for. Having you with me is scarier than any dagger could be. Damn idiots wouldn't dare touch me even if they were armed."

At that, Haine smiled.

Insomnia

Haine's insomnia problem had never been a secret. Even Mimi, who barely saw him, seemed to know enough about his sleeping problem to avoid talking about it whenever those gray tell-tale bags appeared under the albino's murderous eyes.

But what everyone but the two of them didn't know was that more often than not it wasn't Haine's insomnia problem that caused those rings. Rather, it was a one-hundred-and-some-odd pound smoker that stole his late night hours away from him.

Yellow

It was very rare to find cars in the city anymore. No one had enough money to afford a car, let alone the gas to run it. But whenever one did end up trundling down the streets, it was always with some kind of strange circumstance following in suit.

So, needless to say, one day when Badou and Haine had been wandering the streets, looking for some gore to jump in on, and a dingy purple car had driven by, it's windows rolled down and at least two people nearly slung out the windows, shouting at the top of their lungs, "We all live in a yellow submarine!", it was a strange occurrence indeed.

"What the hell was that?" Haine had asked, his question betraying the fact that he really didn't care.

"Some pot-heads probably, out for a last spin," Badou had answered, shrugging nonchalantly. "I liked the song though."

Rainbow

"Gay" was a term that rarely occurred in non-battle situations. Haine and Badou had especially rid themselves of the habit of using it. Instead, they had come up with some far more colorful terms to express their views.

"Riding the Rainbow Train with a one-way ticket to AIDS" was just one of the many they had come up with.

Internet

Badou had long ago decided that Mimi was inherently evil. Especially when she introduced Haine of all people to the magic of the internet. Badou was surprised actually, how little Haine was actually interested in amongst all of the amazing, sick, and truly weird things one could find on the internet. The only thing he was interested in was how he could order guns and ammunition and have it all shipped to his front door by the next day.

Badou, however, found far better uses for the vast expanse of reference material he could find. And on one of such searches, he found one thing that he was sure that he and Haine would surely enjoy.

Haine, however, was less than thrilled when a box arrived at their door one day. One that, instead of holding the special bullets he had ordered, held a very special ring.

One that, as Badou so readily informed him, wasn't made for his finger.

Accessories

Haine had always wondered why girls were so obsessed with accessories. Purses, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, rings, toe-rings, nose-rings, rings of every size and shape and piercings he didn't even want to know about. Most of the time, he just shrugged off their behavior as unnecessary, until one day Badou commented on just how many accessories Haine himself had.

Ironically enough, it was that same day that Badou offered him another accessory, one that took the shape of a sleek, tasteful, silver ring. One that, just as ironically, matched the one that Badou bore on the fourth finger of his right hand.

Puppy

"So, what do you think we would have?"

Haine looked up at his partner with a pair of rather unamused eyes. Which, though not entirely unkindly, settled on his partner with a dully questioning look. "What are you talking about?" he asked Badou groggily, his coffee cup perched on his lips as he stood leaning against their kitchen counter, his spare arm crossed abroad his bare chest. He had deep grey bags beneath his eyes, and every so often he would wince when he shifted his weight too much onto his left hip.

Compliments eu' de Badou.

"If I got you pregnant," Badou said, as if Haine's question were more obscene than his train of thought. "What do you think we would have?"

Haine's pale brows rose. "Probably some nicotine-addicted, trigger-happy lunatics. Why?" he answered in a dry tone.

Badou seemed to wilt at Haine's half of his idea. "Because," he said, looking back up at Haine a little too hopefully, "I was kind of hoping for puppies."

Sigh

Most people hated it when others sighed. It was often a sign of disrespect or disinterest. Luckily for Badou Nails, there was only one time when Haine really sighed. And, also just as luckily, he knew that in that instance neither of the afore-mentioned things were put into application.

The only time Haine sighed was when they were laying coiled on their bed, buried in the deepest throes of the night, radiating satisfaction in the aftermath of their endeavors. He sighed only then, when the only other soul around to hear him was the one who caused the sigh in the first place, in a deep satisfactory way, his breath heady and weak in his throat as his normally sharp consciousness left him in favor of more pleasurable things.