"I want to feel you, to taste you . . ."

Fayt's hands trembled as he read the note left for him on his bed. He still could not get over the fact someone had found him so quickly after he had left Cliff and Sophia behind on The Diplo. It frightened him to think of the lengths this mysterious person had gone to just to deliver the gifts left in his room.

"These flowers, these roses, they are a symbol . . . I shall leave it up to you as to what they mean."

The red roses still remained in the vases, sitting on the desk and counter tops of the room. A few pink roses were nestled in as well, and petals of white roses with violet or blue trim lay on the bed. From what Fayt had learned from his mother, a red rose was a sign of true love. Pink was a sign of passion and white signified peace. He could not remember what the violet and blue colours were supposed to mean, but he understood one thing. Whoever had sent him the roses had been an enemy at one point.

"I am sure your lips feel as silky as their petals. I would love to find out for myself."

His breath came in short spurts, his heart hammered away, and Fayt realised he was hyperventilating. He wanted to escape, to leave the room, the planet, and never look back. Who could have found him and why was this person so interested in him? He was a nobody, not even worth Cliff's love and loyalty, and Cliff had been Fayt's everything.

"No," he whispered. "No . . ."

'No what?'

Fayt closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He held his breath for ten seconds then let it out, repeating the action until he felt his nerves were no longer jumping all over the place. His breathing evened out, and he felt more capable of continuing on with his plans. He would remain on the planet until it was time for him to leave, and something in his gut told him he needed to stay for a short while longer. The letter remained clutched in his hand.

"Why?" he asked it. "Why me?"

The piece of paper held no answers. Only a promise had been written.

"When you feel like yourself again, I shall come for you. I understand you need some time to think and organize your thoughts. I wish you luck in your task. I know you will come around. In the meantime, enjoy the gifts."

"Enjoy the gifts . . ."

With unsteady feet, Fayt pushed himself into a standing position, never letting go of the letter. He walked over to the desk. A particularly large box lay nestled between a vase filled with three roses and four red candles. The scent of the candles, from what he had discovered, was no different than the roses. Someone thought a lot of him to send him such expensive blooms.

"So what do you have for me?" he inquired. Fayt picked up the box. His hands still trembled but they were not shaking as bad as they had before.

As he slid the top part of the package off, a part of Fayt told him he really should find a way to return the gifts sent to him. He was not ready for a relationship, not so soon after discovering Cliff and Sophia's betrayal, and it was obvious the sender wanted more from him than what Fayt felt he was capable of giving. However, another part of him did not want to relinquish the gifts. They told him someone desired him, even though he felt undesired.

'I'll see what's inside first,' Fayt told himself. 'Then I'll make my decision.'

White tissue paper lay folded over a bulky and apparent piece of clothing. A note card rested on top of the tissue paper, and his breath hitched once more. How many notes would he have to read before the day was over? With a trembling hand, Fayt lifted the card up to read it.

"Just a little something to bring you comfort and warmth when the nights become colder. I hope its colour reminds you of when you first looked into my eyes. I know I shall never forget."

'The colour of eyes?' Fayt tilted his head. He pulled away the tissue paper. 'Is that a hint of some kind?'

Underneath the paper laid a plush-style, royal blue sweater. The material felt like it melted under his fingertips, and Fayt inhaled with a sharp pang of sadness.

Cliff had blue eyes. They had sparkled with life and shone with intelligence, and the colour of the sweater reminded Fayt of such facts.

'But his eyes aren't this dark,' his subconscious whispered. 'You know that. Besides, as far as you know, Cliff doesn't even know you're gone.'

"No," Fayt murmured, his hands still on the sweater. "He probably doesn't. Someone else sent this."

He gazed at the garment for a while longer, marveling at the texture and the thoughtfulness behind the gift. Whoever his admirer was, the person knew he was considering heading to a place were the winters were harsh. Hell, he was thinking of returning to Elicoor II, to Albel. A soft smile touched Fayt's features as he refolded the tissue paper and placed the box cover on top. The note card remained in his hand, and he started to analyze what it had said.

"A sweater for the cold nights," he murmured. "Eyes the colour of blue. I know it isn't Cliff. He isn't a Casanova. At least, not towards me. And I know of only one other person with blue eyes. He's the only one who could have found me as quickly as he did." He set the note card down. "I guess the question is why now. Wouldn't you agree, Luther?"

* * *

Luther raised an eyebrow the moment Fayt said his name, and a tiny smirk graced his features. He should have known it would not take the younger man long to figure out who had entered his room and sent the gifts. It should not have been too great of a surprise and yet it was.

'Ah well,' Luther thought with a shrug. He "stepped" into the room, his smirk fading away. Fayt did not need to see it. 'It'll just make things more interesting.'

Fayt kept his back towards him. One of the youth's hands reached up to touch the roses Luther had given him. Calmly, confidently, and respectfully, Luther approached him, stopping a few inches shy of his former nemesis.

"How long have you been watching?" Fayt inquired, his tone quiet.

"Long enough," Luther replied. He gently grasped Fayt's shoulders.

"Was that your plan then? Try to seduce me while I'm down?"

"Is that what the note said?"

"No . . ."

"Then no. That was not my plan."

Fayt turned around to face him, his green eyes shimmering with hurt. Luther kept his hands on his shoulders, though he felt his heart aching at such a sight. It was an alien sensation, and it scared him. Luther was not, though, someone to flee when something frightened him. He knew what he wanted, and he would fight to obtain that which he desired. That which he desired just happened to be Fayt Leingod.

"Then why? Why send me all of this now? Why didn't you wait?"

"Are you saying it is not what you needed? Especially now?"

"No! I mean . . ." Fayt trailed off, uncertainty reflecting in his eyes and his voice. "I don't know."

Luther cupped Fayt's chin with his hands. A gentle smile, a rare thing, touched his lips.

"You are uncertain, Fayt Leingod. Your uncertainty feeds into your fear yet you want someone to care for you."

"Is that why then?"

"Perhaps," Luther replied.

"And you're saying it's not because I'm vulnerable?" Fayt inquired. "Because it would be just like you to take advantage of the situation."

"So you've learned how to read me. I must admit I am impressed, Fayt Leingod. And I will be honest with you. The thought did cross my mind as I have desired you since our first encounter." Luther paused then leaned forward, kissing the blue-haired man lightly on the nose- "However, I am not totally heartless. I never have been. I do understand that you need some time to recover, and I am willing to give you what you need."

For a moment or so, Fayt did not speak. Rather, his eyes continued to gaze into Luther's, and he searched for something only he could find. Then in a voice Luther could not believed belonged to Fayt, the younger man spoke. It enchanted, it enticed, and Luther found himself starting to fall in a metaphoric sense. Fayt had discovered what he had been seeking, and Luther knew from the clarity in the younger man's voice and his words.

"Then stay and never leave."

It was all Luther needed.