Sting

Bees hadn't existed for a long time; they'd died away with the rest of the seasons that used to exist in their petulant little world. But the sting still remained. The painful itch of a knife on your arm, or the dull, yet biting, searing pressure of teeth on bare skin. And though honey had died away with the bees, Badou had found something much sweeter in its place.

Warning

Haine and Naoto never got along. They never even came close to getting along. So Badou was more than

surprised when Naoto, after a particularly grueling and gory battle, reached out to touch Haine on the shoulder. It was probably meant as a gesture of comfort, but Badou doubted its intentions the second he saw it.

So before Haine could even have the chance to snarl at her, Badou had swatted away her hand, his own arm draped across Haine's narrow shoulders. He could feel the both of them looking at him in surprise, and he could feel the subdued gratitude trickling from Haine.

"Back off."

Black

The night shielded them from everything. It shielded them from the sun, from the world, and the prying eyes of the public. The black skies of night were the only audience Badou had ever seen Haine be human in front of. So, needless to say, he had an unspoken appreciation for the color black, and all that it subtly implied.

Late Night

Every once in a great while, when Badou had cases outside of Granny Liza's office, he would have to pull a late-night to put together all of the info on a certain commission. On one such case, a massive undertaking on his part that required more blood, sweat, and tears that he'd expected, he had requested that Haine help him out with it.

It was after seven hours of non-stop arranging, organizing, writing, the case was finally done. And after crying out in sheer exhausted joy, and receiving no reply from his assistant, Badou finally noticed that Haine had fallen dead asleep, his body twisted and curled over the mounds of paper he had just been working on.

Badou smirked then, knowing that even though the need for help with the case had been real, the true purpose (getting Haine to fucking sleep) had been achieved.

Unfaithful

Every once in a great while, Mimi would wonder if Badou was ever unfaithful. It was common knowledge that he flirted with anything in heels that had a decent face, but those days seemed to have faded away in recent excursions. Now he was always trailing after Haine.

Who, admittedly, wore some killer heels in those boots of his, and had one hell of a face when he wasn't scowling.

Famous

"You think we'll ever be famous?" Haine looked over at the smoker through the haze that had settled around their floor. And, for once, it wasn't just Badou's smoking that had caused it. Haine had actually just gotten out of the bath, and as he often liked it so scalding hot it would give you a burn just looking at it, the mist was still rolling out of their tiny bathroom like it was going out of style.

"We already are, idiot," he replied, taking a breath and rubbing his towel up his neck, shifting his weight onto his other hip, the loose waistband of his sweat pants slinging across his stomach. "What more do you want? A red carpet and a bunch of hookers dangling off your arms?"

"I don't need the hookers."

Buttons II

Haine had grown accustomed to the lack of bottom buttons on his collared shirts, mostly because it pleased him to catch Badou's sparing glances at his midriff. Something twice removed from the family of "warm and fuzzy" prodded at his chest when that happened.

However, there was no such feeling when he started to find another trend: the distinct disappearance of the buttons on his pants. And it wasn't just the buttons to the pockets or the hems. No. They were the buttons on the waistband that kept his pants from falling off that seemed to be going missing.

So, after finally giving up on letting Badou keep his button secret, Haine confronted him about it.

"Where the hell are you keeping all my buttons, Badou?" he growled one morning, reduced to holding his pants up with a white knuckled, very angry grip. "This is really getting old!"

Badou merely looked at him with a suggestive, sidelong look. "I'll tell you where they are," he said, a sly grin on his lips. "But only for a price."

Jacket

Badou had known for a long time that Nill regarded Haine as a savior. He allowed it, however, knowing that Haine's trust and quasi-present affection would only ever belong to him. So when Haine grudgingly deemed his favorite jacket too patched to repair, he opted to give it to Nill.

When he handed it over to the girl, her confused eyes blinking as they gazed up at him, he smiled at her, patting her on her head. "Haine wanted you to have it. If you want it, that is."

It was probably the warmest hug he'd ever gotten in his life.

Vegetables

"I don't get where they get these things from," Badou griped one day over a plate of steaming food at Buon Viaggio. "I mean, who can even grow vegetables anymore? The smog would kill them before the sun even got to them!"

Haine merely shot him a half-interested glance over the top of his newspaper and mug of coffee. "They don't grow them here, idiot," he said, looking back to his article, "they ship them in from places where things actually grow."

Badou went silent for a moment, prodding at a slice of steamed carrot. "Do you think those trucks would be willing to ship me there?"

He barely caught Haines half-smile.

Boots

There was always one sign Badou could count on to tell when Haine's mood was good enough for him to get away with things. If, when he arrived at the apartment, Haine's boots were at the front door and not on his feet, it was a sure-fire sign that Haine didn't have any plans to go anywhere.

And, thus, could obviously be detained for at least a bit longer by whatever shenanigans Badou had cooked up.

Ransom

Badou had been used as a ransom multiple times. He'd been used to draw out his partner, or some other rogue force out of the woodwork, but he'd never known what exactly could be used to blackmail him. He had his pride, but no matter what scandalous pictures anyone had, there was never anything that was beyond repair.

But then, one late winter night, he found out exactly what it was that held sway over him.

Someone, in their right or wrong mind, depending on the perspective, had managed to kidnap Haine. And had send him a ransom letter, obviously having thought that they could keep the albino restrained until they'd gotten whatever sum of money they wanted from him.

He'd actually just arrived at the warehouse when Haine walked out. He walked up to Badou, rubbing his jaw and looking just a bit more worse for wear. Badou grabbed his hand, pulling it away to see what was bothering him. There was a small circular indentation in his chin, showing the not so subtle sign that he'd been shot across the jaw.

"You were supposed to be the damsel in distress. Couldn't you have waited a bit longer?" he griped, turning to head home.

"No," Haine's raspy voice gurgled back. "After a while some sick fuck mentioned "bondage" and that was all the time I was willing to risk."

"Well," Badou said, wrapping an arm around Haine's shoulder and smirking at him mischievously, "thanks to you, I don't have to pay the ransom fees. So it can't be all bad."

"Maybe, but you still owe me a fee. Which is worse, do you think?"

Question

Haine wasn't particularly fond of surprises. He got angry, most of the time, before annihilating whatever it is that had surprised him.

But when Badou surprised him with a small velvet box and four words, Haine's dislike of surprises went away.

Anatomy

The quickest way to Haine's heart was through his body. If Badou petted him, rested on him, kissed him in just the right way, he'd unwind like a coiled snake. It was a lesson in anatomy every time, and soon enough Badou knew Haine's body better than a textbook, and knew just what to do in order to get what he wanted.