AUTHORS NOTE: Yeah all the standard disclaimers proclaiming my non-ownership still applies. And if you're wondering why I'm updating this and not any of my other stories—I'll give you the standard spiel that I'm sure all other fiction writers would agree with (reluctantly or otherwise)—creative juices flow where they may and you can either harness it and go with the flow or ignore it and suffer from writer's block.

I took the easy way out and simply gave in to the dark side. If my imagination is working overtime and wants to produce for this fic, I say let it. If it's a choice between being frustrated by not having anything to write and having something for a fic no one's bothered to read, well I say, just let the words keep on coming. People would read what they will and I can't seriously predict which of the things I write would make sense to anyone anyways.

So here is the second installment. I figured it would be best to set the scenario before I create any chaos. And I think I (and any reader who wishes it) to see a relaxed life for our two characters before I introduce any problem for them. And I know, their relationship isn't the usual serious, cuddly thing that we normally see and read about. I figured two men probably have a relaxed, bantering atmosphere between them.

2-3-14 Update: I am tweaking this story a bit to fit into my Underworld mindscape—and no I am not talking paranormal underworld. It's more like organized crime kinda underworld okay? And you don't have to tell me how silly that sounds but the way I figure-what's the bloody difference between mercenary ninjas carrying out assignments for cash and the dark, convoluted Underworld? Not a damn lot. Organized violence the lot of them.

CHAPTER III:

FLAWED STARTS AND STOPS

Laugh so hard that even sorrow smiles at you.

Live life so well that even death loves to see you live.

And fight so hard that even fate accepts its defeat.

Nishan Panwar

Land of Waves

Present Time Line

Shizue Manor

Dawn was breaking…and a sleepy seventeen year old woke up reluctantly to face another day.

He turned his eyes away from the feel of sunlight burning crimson fire behind closed lids. Consciousness was slow to come, an affliction a cause for complaint among those tasked to wake the wayward sleeper but when it finally did, it was to the color that reminded him of things long past, a color that reminded him of another morning, a far different morning, of one that he hadn't thought about nearly half a lifetime ago.

Red…

The color of fire…

The color of blood…

The color that for him would forever remind him of rebirth…

(Flashback)

Shizue, Ten Years Ago…

Red…yes… that was the color of the coat that I found myself wrapped in when I woke that day. The day Iruka-daddy found me. A red coat that carried with it the scent of sandalwood and oranges. A smell so soothing and strangely familiar. Iruka-daddy called those days the Dark Ages. I had a far simpler term for that period in my life. I called them B.D. Before Daddy.

That's what we called those two years I spent on what I could only recall as some sadistic fuck's version of hell on earth. The kidnappers that took me from my original home tortured me so much that I couldn't recall anything at all but for two things. My full name and my age at the time of my abduction because I remember I had just celebrated my birthday when those sadistic maniacs snatched me away. Everything else about me—where I came from, who my parents were and what happened to them the day I was taken—those were blank canvasses in the oubliette that calls itself my mind. I wasn't able to recall anything back then and I couldn't recall anything now.

And they were truly dark ages. I couldn't even walk properly when Iruka-daddy finally discovered me at the back of his truck. My leg muscles have declared rebellion and nothing I could say dissuaded them of their decision not to move or even unbent. The bruises I already had after the beatings the night I escaped were so bad they were causing internal bleeding it was a wonder to them how I managed to walk, let alone run as much as I did back then. The heat from the 'stings' I so joyfully ignored when I was running were actual gunshot wounds that grazed through my skin, they were infected and inflamed from all the dirt that got to them that night. Add to all that the fact that I was malnourished, anemic and had a cough that was bordering on pneumonia and I was declared one wormy signature short of a death certificate.

Iruka-daddy was beside himself with worry when he found me on the truck bed. He was fluttering so and muttering like a nervous mother-hen even back then. I remembered being bundled into Iruka-daddy's thick red coat and then being brought into the dark cool interior of the house. It was very late then and I was swimming in and out of consciousness but I couldn't forget that Iruka-daddy hadn't left my side—hadn't let him out of his arms since he found me. I heard daddy's voice ordering people around and there were sounds of things being done, pots and pans and running water and the door slamming closed and a phone ringing in the distance but I guess I must've lost consciousness then.

When I woke, an old man was there. Iruka-daddy said his name was Teuchi and that he was a doctor and he would take care of me. He came into the house to check on me and I would've declined but even then Iruka-daddy understood and he didn't let me go alone. He held me close and comforted me with soothing murmurs and rubbing and tight warm hugs. I recalled the warmth of the bath that Iruka-daddy gave me to soothe my wounds and make me feel tons better before I was dressed in something clean, soft and smelled like sunshine for the first time in three years.

The weeks that followed were a blur of doctor visits, therapist and tutors but eventually things got better. Iruka-daddy insisted that I live as normally as possible and exposed as much as I could to all the things that I never got to see during The Dark Ages. Things like going to parks, and watching movies and attending school. He wanted me to know what it is like to be as normal as possible and to forget the darkness of the world I had been in. He didn't have to do much convincing since I wanted to be as far removed from everything that former life represented without actually discarding my skin and still be the same person.

Iruka-daddy vowed that since he found me, I was his now and he would do everything to keep me safe. He said something about remaking me—making me new again. I knew then that I would love Iruka-daddy for the rest of my life and that no matter what happens I will take care of him. He promised me a chance to be renewed—remade into someone worthy of standing beside him. That was all I wanted. A new beginning. A new life. I wanted no part of my previous life. Everything else—everything that I wanted to remember in my life that happened was set in A.D. After Daddy.

And the first thing I wanted was a new name. I remember Iruka-daddy giving me his solemn look before nodding. He told me what my name would be after two days. It was the step we took in remaking me.

But the changes we wanted weren't so easily gained. I had a lot of hang ups and a whole lot of things to unlearn. I also had a hole in my memory the size of a continent and a gap in my education that made my tutors tear out their hair in frustration. That's how I knew I found a saint for a father. During those early years no one normal could've withstood my caveman nature with as much aplomb as Iruka-daddy. He simply brushed off every obstacle like so much dust and simply moves on.

There were a lot of things for me to cover and the worst thing was that I knew it too. There wasn't much that I did know and everything else that I did couldn't be used within civilized context. I was nearly eight years old and I didn't know anything about the world worth a spit. I had issues with everything—the rigid ruling in school, my questionable hygienic practices or lack thereof, my abysmal manners, my objectionable language and the strange obsession I developed over a certain food. In truth, it wasn't so much as something to fix but rebuild from scratch. Whoever I was and whatever station in life I might have had before, it was all wiped clean and all that was left as a boy who was nearly as feral as one raised by wild animals.

But Iruka-daddy simply faced the challenges with his usual earnestness and tackled each one that popped up with his usual determined smile and patience. He insisted on getting me therapy and all throughout those days, daddy stayed by my side and plied me with food and soothing companionship.

Then came the music.

(END FLASHBACK)

Thick, golden lashes fluttered and finally eyes the unusual shade of cerulean slid open. As the sun poured in and light glinted off the viridian and golden tints from the art deco panels that framed the old stained glass window that directly faced his bed into a much lighter hue, his ears finally noticed the faint strains of a string concerto that came from a record playing just outside his room.

For a moment longer he tried to cling to the fuzzy semi-unconscious state that promised oblivion and snuggled deeper into the bed allowing his consciousness to be lost in the soft dips and lilts of violins that even now ushered and cajoled him back into the dream world. He closed his eyes once more and wondered why the haunting tune sounded so familiar, all melancholy sighs and poignant cries that seemed to pull him under…calling to him…bringing him back to a forgotten time that hovered just a breath away.

If dreams could be given form and love be given voice, it would surely sound like Elgar's Salut d' Amour. Maybe I would meet my soul mate when I walk into my life accompanied by such a beautiful song.

The fanciful thought flittered through his mind like quicksilver before sanity and humor asserted itself with a snort and making the feeling vanish completely, leaving him bemused and still.

But then again knowing my luck, I'd bet I'd be listening to something depressing and dreary and looking like an idiot when that time comes. They'd probably be playing some god awful techno stuff that would make my ears bleed and I wouldn't see the One because I'd be too busy mopping up all that remains of my brain matter off the floor.

The morbid image sobered him for a moment before he shook his head sharply to clear his thoughts once more. The darkness that sometime seeped into his thoughts were not unusual…though they came rarely now. They used to come at night during the first two years he stayed with his Dad but eventually they too faded like all bad dreams, but just like anything dark and haunted they come sneaking back when he least expected them. Lately, they've been occurring every time his mood plunges. It irritated him to no end when it happens and it never bode well for the people around him when they come with any frequency. With luck the stray dark thought was a simple fluke resulting from stresses from school. Otherwise he would be breaking out the shovels and increasing yet again the size of his rose garden. As it was, he already covered nearly fifty square meters of land filled with a wide profusion of blooms.

Maybe I should try something more challenging and time consuming. Like ferns. Those things take forever to grow.

With renewed effort he concentrated once more on the music. A moment or two passed, maybe more, but caught up as he was at the odd flicker of memory or imagination that shot through him, he could hardly credit the passage of time. Classical music always made him feel just the slightest bit emotional, much to the glee of those who know of it and believed that with his rambunctious personality he couldn't possibly appreciate anything as refined as music, let alone the classical ones.

That only goes to show how much of an idiot people can be, dumbasses. With a dad like mine, what did they expect? Did they actually think I'd only listen to punk rock or something?

Dumbasses. Outside his room, Serenade played out and he listened with half a mind for the following piece. The CD was a new one and he hasn't memorized the flow yet. So when the opening bars to Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No.2 began, it caught him unawares, plunging him back to his past and calling to his mind the first time he ever heard that particular piece.

(FLASHBACK)

Land of Waves

Five Years Before Present Time Line

Yes…above all music…that was it…music…

We have been browsing in the mall like we usually do during the weekends, the way we've always done since I turned twelve. Iruka-daddy felt that enough time has passed and it was finally safe enough to bring me out of my perpetual hiding. I felt like someone that's been released for a second time.

It wasn't that he kept me prisoner, and it wasn't because he was afraid I would run away. I wasn't idiotic enough to run away and have those idiots that took me once find me again. And there really was no way in hell I'm abandoning my most precious person. He just wanted to make sure no one followed him home the night he found me and no one would come and ask awkward questions. He became decidedly even more protective once the therapist revealed just what my captors did during B.D.

Contrary to what most would've expected I didn't mind the delay. Those first few months with Iruka-daddy weren't horrible, but they weren't pretty either and much of the blame falls squarely on me. I was more like a wild, untamed beast than a boy when he found me. I barely spoke anything but curses and swearwords that would make a prison inmate blush. I didn't have any social graces—I barely had any discernible normal skills to speak of. I ran around the first week bundled in Iruka-daddy's red coat—the feeling of being warm, dressed and clean the first time in years and I wanted to savor every minute of it. Of course the issue came when I didn't want to let go of the coat, but like always, daddy found a solution to my crisis—he bought more red coats so I could have one for every day.

Eventually I adapted once more to the notion of changing clothing, and footwear on a regular basis and manners such as they were. And through it all I had Iruka-daddy with me. He insisted that we do something fun every week whenever we could. We've been doing it since I came to live with Iruka-daddy and now that I could go out even farther; needless to say I looked forward to each trip.

Sure it was a gigantic pain in the ass since every time we had to get out we had to be bundled up, my hair hidden beneath a beanie, our faces hidden behind scarves and coats and we always had someone with us for 'added protection' during the first year or two, but it was still the first semblance of normalcy I've had in my rather tumultuous young life.

The therapist Iruka-daddy found for me was a bit odd and loud and relatively less sane than anyone in that profession ought to be but the methods employed worked. Why and how that was—wasn't very big parts of my consciousness at the time and so when the therapist went and suggested during their last session that music might be a good avenue to channel my excessive energy. So that week, we decided to look for something that I could develop into a useful hobby other than pitching a fit whenever I lost my temper and bouncing off the walls whenever boredom hit me.

Sports might have been another avenue but Iruka-daddy insisted that I try that when I was a bit older and had a little more control. He didn't like me getting exposed to acts of aggression so soon after my experience. He said I might have a little problem dealing with violence and confrontation. He and I agreed on it and though it was grudging on my part I accepted the temporary denial of sports. Oddly enough, gardening became a safe and non-aggressive enough alternative and that too became one of my other hobbies. It was to the amusement of our entire household when they realized I had an inadvertent green thumb and that my rose and vegetable gardens were the envy of all our neighbors. More than one neighbor found out the hard way that when I told them I would not take kindly to people poking in my garden I meant it. Iruka-daddy had to explain a couple of times to other neighbors that I was protective of my gardens and that it simply wouldn't do to try and take from it lest I use the spade for something more anatomical rather than agricultural.

That day we decided to browse through the selections of hobby shops and bookstores. We ventured into sporting stores, gaming stores, even a handicraft store that offered lessons. We've been at it for a good two hours when we finally stumbled along a nearly deserted section of the mall. The spaces were filled with run-of-the-mill art galleries and interesting if a bit eccentric bric-a-brac that most mall shoppers never cared for. In front of the actual music shop was an old fashioned stationery shop that sold fountain pens, calligraphy brushes and actual wax seals. It was the shop that we—well Iruka-daddy—was actually looking for since he was old-fashioned and fastidious enough to want to handwrite everything using pretty paper and good pen. It was the cause of his eternal frustration that my handwriting was so atrocious chicken scratching's actually looked legible. No matter who he hired or threatened or bribed into improving my deplorable penmanship it ended up in failure. The best he could do is actually achieving legibility.

So while Iruka-daddy was busy choosing from the selection offered in the shop, I turned around and stepped out with an absentminded wave and agreement that I would be behaving myself. The promise lasted for all of two minutes.

It was the music that called to me first. It was faint, would've been hardly noticeable had the shop been in a more shopper-laden area of the mall but here, in the quiet hallowed halls surrounded by galleries, the music was just loud enough to be heard. I didn't really know why I liked what I heard…there were no words for me to hum let alone remember…there was just music, pure instrumentation…but the unmistakable sounds would seduce him from that moment on at the age of 7.

The music playing was Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2 and it held me spellbound.

Iruka-daddy told me afterwards that he has never seen me so still or so silent before.

Apparently I just stood there listening attentively with my head tilted to the left just so, my eyes closed and there was an expression on my face that made every employee in the shop stop and stare. He couldn't recall what I did afterwards or what both of us said or did, but I knew that night that we came home laden with a bunch of CDs, two pairs of quality earphones and a brochure for the closest music school.

(END FLASHBACK)

Speaking of music school, he has class today.

The faint thrills of music as always put him in a contemplative, lazy mood that it was any wonder how he ever managed to do anything. But instead of jumping out of bed and trying to get an early start, like every other mornings before this one, he sat thus, eyes closed once more on their own accord, allowing himself to be lost in all the sensations that surrounded him—the faintest sounds of life that early morning silence allowed him to hear, he lifted his head a bit on his pillow to better savor the scent of salt-laden breeze billowing into his room, the perfume of the nearby woods mixing with the unmistakable clean scent of freshly laundered sheets and pine.

This was his magic moment—that small pocket of time he always stole before pandemonium breaks out and the inevitably short-lived solace he desired vanishes.

He knew full well that he would not have to wait very long before his morning became a little less musical and a little more cacophonous. Early morning precipitated the inevitable invasion of someone or a whole bunch of someone's who would dare enter his room. He took a deep breath and resigned himself to the inevitable act of morning mayhem.

His morning's peace and solitude didn't even last five minutes today. Pity he didn't know that today would mark the last day he would actually have any kind of day that even resembled the word peaceful. If he did, he would've kicked out the person who disturbed him and locked the door behind him for good measure.

Unfortunately for him, hindsight really was a bitch. It never played fair.