Author's Note: After this, there's only one more chapter. It's already written, but I'm going to go over it to make sure I don't regret anything I wrote in it.
Just for a fair warning, I suppose, there will be no definitive answers here. All this is building up to the ones that will come out in the third story.
What I'd like to know is how against are you with the idea of reading through the eyes of a different character for the main plot progression? And if you are totally against the idea, from whom would you rather hear? Uzuki or Kariya?
And you know what shocks me? There are so little fanfics for these two. I never even noticed.

And longest chapter! Whoo!

Chapter 8
Day 4

"You know, I haven't tried to get drunk since I've died."

"Your point?" Kariya wove in and through the crowd, again with Uzuki trailing behind.

"Have you? Does it work?" she asked, running her eyes through the crowd like a blue comb.

At first she thought she might have missed what he was saying—the crowds were always rather loud. "What?"

"I didn't say anything," he told her. "I don't remember. I don't know."

Uzuki hummed, thoughtful. "Well, I think if you had, you would remember."

"Maybe."

They eventually got around to Miyashita Park Underpass where there was less RG presence. As much as the living toddling around didn't get in the way of anything, it was still a breath of fresh air. Granted, it was city air, but there was little anyone could do about that.

"He survived," Kariya said blandly, eyes trailing after a certain blond turd of a boy.

Uzuki gave a frown that nursed a grudge reaching into the depths of Hell. "Let's send some hard ones after those two."

"What we really should do is let other Harriers have a chance," said Kariya.

She snorted. "Unless someone's been hiding their raw, individual talent, I doubt they have much of a chance. If they didn't reap a few on the first day, that's just too bad." She glanced at him. "Besides, your lazy is showing again."

"Where?" he replied instantly, watching another couple fight past a barrier while Tally off on the other end nursed her free cup of coffee. He sighed. "Kind of miss the mooching days."

Uzuki gave a grunt which meant, more or less, that she couldn't exactly disagree with that. "Never understood why Noise gave 'em any money, though. It's like... Where the heck are they getting it?" she grumbled, looking a little tense at the idea.

He nudged her gently. "The Composer, maybe."

"I want his nest egg."

Kariya chuckled.

Day 5

Kariya could never be called an unpleasant man, but being as happy as he was was practically a crime. She couldn't understand it. It was only when she asked a question about his past that he stopped smiling for a moment. It made her feel guilty and completely baffled.

She began to make a habit of asking about his entry fee first, which he always said no to. She started to think he wasn't giving any thought to it at all and she would never find out.

It wasn't until she asked about his family that she got a similar reaction to rejection. He paled, and looked as if she'd slapped him. "Not that one, please."

Guilt kept her from needling. "What about your birthday?"

His lips pursed, and he gave his usual vague answer. "Sometime in the late 18-hundreds."

She was legitimately shocked, and could feel herself gaping. She knew he was old but... "Wow."

He flushed visibly, very uncomfortable. Quickly, he moved on with, "Alright. How did you die?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Heavy question."

"I couldn't think of anything else."

She couldn't help but smile, just a little, before remembering her death. Her scowl was deeply engrained in her features at the thought. "The neighbor boys drowned me by accident."

If Kariya had been pale before, he took on the complexion of grey snow, now. He sat back and stared at her, looking sick. "I don't even know what to say to that," he murmured, raking his eyes over her face, trying to imagine her struggling under hands, or... "How?"

"The youngest one pushed me on the wet dock, I slipped when I tried to jump, hit my head on the edge, and didn't know that I was breathing water until I was already drowned." She felt far away describing it. It had been the most frightening, horrible and uncontrollable thing she had ever felt. There was nothing like dying. "Something like that. It was a lot worse than I have words to say," she told him.

"I believe you," he said quietly, sinking into the couch cushions. He grated out a sigh, then said, "We should get going."

They never spoke about the answers much after the initial question. Kariya slipped back into the ease of making her feel anxious with glee. She had never known anyone to make her feel so happy just by being so, themselves. Neither had she known anyone to make her feel anxious while doing it. She thought maybe it was because she was scared. Not of being happy, but for him. She would take this Kariya over the one a few weeks ago, but she felt like she was sliding off a roof, somehow.

So she asked him. "Why are you so happy?"

"You already asked me that. I'm just putting up an effort," he said, sitting up with her at the top of one of the shorter buildings. She tried not to watch how the wind played with his shirt, but so long as he didn't notice, she didn't see the point.

"Why?"

"Never know what's going to happen." He shrugged, eyes trained on a particular pair of players down on the streets.

She took that moment to trace the features of his profile. Pointed chin, slightly upturned nose, strong cheekbones—God, were those freckles? How had she never noticed? They were awfully small and faint. All those features made quite a unique face. Kariya.

She couldn't get the thought of him as a little boy out of her head. Climbing trees, hair bleached a lighter blond, skin freckled and tanner in the sun. She shook her head. Of course, he had been a city-dweller. Perhaps his life had not been like that—like hers.

"Have you noticed that Spud's always the one who figures the missions out first?" he said, a bit absently.

To that, she said, "I don't find myself caring."

That made him grin. It wasn't one that transformed his features any, but it was amused and second-best to the little ones and the real, bright ones.

"You know," she said, "I think when I was newer, I thought being a Reaper was a lot different than this."

"Figured it out, have you?" he asked, still smiling, but in a different way.

"It's simple."

"Not boring."

"No," she agreed. Not with you.

He climbed off the edge of the building with the care that she had learned was natural to him. His purpose was to fish a lollipop out of his bag, and for the first time, she asked, "May I try one?"

His hands stilled for a moment, then a smile split his features. It reached his eyes when he looked up at her. "It never even crossed my mind to offer."

"This would be the first time I would have ever said yes, so no loss."

Appearing to like that answer, he held one out to her. He waited, watching, so she made her movements deliberate. She unwrapped it, folded the wrapper, and popped the lolly into her mouth. His eyebrows were raised, wondering.

He wasn't lying. It was bean paste. It was sweet, and of an interesting texture, and she knew finally why he liked them so much. She gave him a thumbs-up and drew a laugh out of him that made her insides tickle.

Day 6- Morning

He woke her up in the dark grey, milky residues of the night, and it shocked her. She swallowed a gasp because "How the—how did you get in here?"

"You're not the only one who can pick a lock," he said with a grin. She tried to calm her heart, and took that moment to sweep his features with her eyes. He was tired, exhausted, by the look of his own eyes and the creases under them.

Her head sunk into the pillows with something like relief. The idea of anyone else in her apartment made her sick to the stomach. Regardless, she was appreciative of the fact that unlike a certain someone, she slept with clothes on.

"Why are you here?" she asked, awake, but still dazed.

"Couldn't sleep."

She groaned. "Selfish bastard."

His laugh was too bright for the early hours, and it dimmed as he realized it. "No, but really. I wanted to catch the sunrise with you. The clouds are just right."

"I thought that was my thing."

"Yes, well," he began, looking thoughtful as he crouched by her bedside, now at eye-level. She couldn't see the depth of his eyes in the dimness, but she wished she could. "I'm not really that creative."

She sighed, but in a yawn. When she opened her eyes, his nose was wrinkled. "Hello, morning breath," he said, and covered her lips with his hand.

Rolling away, she said, "Told you."

He made a confirmative noise and stretched up to a stand again. "We have to hurry."

"Just give me a moment."

He left the room, and she changed as quickly as her mind could let her. She pulled on a shirt with a black lace from the chest to the sleeves and brightly-colored coral shorts. Not knowing what to do with her hair, she simply shoved the sides back with pins, and swung out the door. He was standing in the kitchen, going through his iPod quietly. He was wearing a simple, green V-neck and chinos. He had tried wearing a thin black hair band and she couldn't say it looked bad. He'd have to be wearing something supremely awful for her to say anything of the like.

"Done," she said, a tiny bit breathlessly—from getting ready so quickly or the sight of him, she wasn't sure. Also, she didn't know which was worse.

The fact that he decided to run made her laugh. He was not being ridiculous, exactly, but he was making all of it fun. Like chasing him, or him racing her down the stairs. Then rushing up the stairs of ten-four, gasping for breath. He jumped up to the edge, spread out his arms like a bird, and sighed.

"Never thought I'd catch you running for recreation," said she.

He made a thoughtful noise, slipped off his headband, then pushed it back on again. "We all learn some new things."

"What does that mean?" she asked, coming up to swing her legs over the edge.

"I like to speak nonsense."

She laughed, looking down at the grey streets below. Small blots of color moved slowly down there. "Sometimes."

He dropped down next to her, and in a moment of déjà vu, nudged her to look up as the sun breached the horizon. Sometimes, sunrises were nothing more than the sun appearing in the sky. No colors. Nothing new.

But this sunrise was quite striking. The clouds were so bright with orange, it was if the skies were riddled with cracks in the universe—lava moving under the tears. The buildings of Shibuya cracked the picture with bold blocks of grey. The higher clouds were the color of faded gold, shyer as they reached farther into the grey-blue sky.

Kariya let out a low, steady whistle.

"Still seen something prettier?" Uzuki said, not moving her eyes from the sky.

"Yes, but I will not deny that this is a masterpiece," he said calmly.

She looked to him, slightly affronted. "What have you seen that is better than this?"

"I have a thought that the glory of whole milk transcends all things," he mused. Though she knew he was completely avoiding her question, she was still frustrated.

"I bet you haven't even tried fresh milk," she said.

He simply laughed. "No. It must be sinful."

"It's not," she said, rolling her eyes. She kicked her feet out, pressing her fingers to her lips. He had touched them earlier, and she had been reminded how warm he always was. It was almost uncomfortable. She wondered how he could possibly stay cool, and then whether the sole reason his apartment was so hot was because he was its own living heater.

She gathered her thoughts. "I have a question."

"Okay."

"Why do you have all those lollipops?"

He answered easily. "My friend was obsessed with them. They remind me of him."

"Who?"

The fingers of his right hand drummed on his knee, and he shook his head. "Just... A friend. Why do you die your hair pink?" he continued immediately.

"It's more interesting. I always thought I looked plain. You should understand. You went all..." She gestured at his hair. "Orange." She knew it was his favorite color, and that offered some explanation.

The corner of his lips twitched. "I avoid reminders of some things. That's why it's not its original color. But you?" He considered her calmly. "You looked just fine with brown hair."

She barely remembered what she had looked like with her original coloring. She blinked and raised a hand to her roots, knowing and remembering that she had to bleach and dye it again soon.

"If you had been born with pink hair, you may have dyed it brown," he told her.

That tugged a smile out from her. "Perhaps." It was then that she was reminded how his fingers had felt in her hair, woven through. She shivered.

He looked at her, then back at the skies, now a paler, less vivid orange. "Are you cold? We can go."

"I'm alright," she replied, shrugging more to rid her mind of his hands. She could imagine them with a splash of pale freckles over his knuckles, but she hadn't the slightest idea if that was right.

She gave up. "Can I see your hands?"

"No. Yes, sorry. Why?" He held out his hands for her, palms up, expression bemused.

She turned them over and held them closer to his eyes. His fingers twitched. "What are you looking for?"

"Freckles."

They were the faintest freckles she had ever managed to see, and there was only a small, sparse scattering. There was a slight nick on his middle right knuckle, crescent-like. She wasn't aware that it was possible to have scars after death. She hadn't even thought about it.

"Freckles?" He echoed, dimly, then pulled one hand away. Moving it slightly in front of his eyes, he made a small noise that was halfway between bewilderment and fascination. "I never noticed."

"You're welcome," she said, as she felt how his fingers radiated warmth. Wide knuckles, long, tapered fingers, freckles.

He didn't respond, looking even more bright and pleased than he ever had before—as well as lost.