A/N: BC3 here. Magic Mind and I would like to say thank you very much for the reviews! And you lurkers—WE SEE YOU! XD Let us know what you think. We're having a tremendously exciting time writing this. We have so much plot and character development planned out for this story. It will be rich with drama, angst, comedy, and BOOOOY LOOOOVE! If that's your thing, you'll want to stick around.

Chapter Two

Two days later, Ritsuka's situation had gone from bad to worse. After his success with Soubi, he had decided to try to sell other sketches as a way of earning money. He'd encountered people here and there on the streets and offered to draw landscapes...portraits...even cartoons. Whatever might interest them. But no one was willing to purchase a single drawing. It had depressed him, but not so much that he stopped looking for work. He still needed to eat, after all. So he had gone in search of the restaurants he'd looked up in Chai's phone book. But it was a bitch to find work when you had no resume, no references, and no experience. None of the restaurant managers offered him a position anywhere - not even as a busboy. Gainful employment had so far been a disastrous joke.

As for where he slept...Ritsuka was far from eager to repeat his night on the cold concrete underneath the highway overpass. He'd gone to the homeless shelter but it was filled up. The woman in charge there had taken his name down on a waiting list and told him to check back in three days. She had been kind enough to offer him use of their bathroom, though, and had given him toothpaste and soap. Ritsuka brushed his teeth with his fingertip and gave himself the best sponge bath that he could. It was meager, but he was still very grateful for even that much. After that...it was back to the overpass for the night.

His neck was sore, his fingers and toes were stiff and numb with cold, and he'd been living off convenience store food—Potato chips or candy bars—whatever he could find cheapest. They were edible, but always slightly stale-tasting, like they'd been on the shelf too long. He found himself missing home a few times, and his mother. She didn't always cook, but when she did and wasn't being twisted about it, it always left him feeling sleepy and satisfied.

Having exhausted the busiest portion of the city, he started westward, reaching closer toward home and assuring himself with every step that he wouldn't get closer than seven blocks from his old neighborhood. He was too afraid of running into someone he knew.

As he walked, he began to notice that there was less trash on the sidewalks...business signs were brighter, newer. Even the air began to feel more fresh. He hoped that these were good omens for his job search.

Turning a corner, Ritsuka noticed a crowd of people ahead. Not an extremely large group but clearly a gathering of some kind. An assembly? He continued on cautiously. Maybe it would even be beneficial to have so many people around...he could blend in more easily.

The closer he got, the more distinct became a woman's voice, slightly panicked and carrying over the indistinguishable murmur swelling from the onlookers. The woman's voice prevailed and become instantly recognizable the same moment Ritsuka's eyes fell upon the face of his mother, staring around at the crowd and brandishing a poster. She had a stack of them under one arm, and it seemed they all had an enlarge photograph of his head planted squarely in the middle, with the heading MISSING CHILD in clear print.

Ritsuka didn't have to think twice about it. He just went. Fast. Turned on his heel and fairly ran in the opposite direction. Nothing good could come from anyone spotting him and putting two and two together. Better to starve than to be brought back home.

When he was out of earshot of his mother's shouts, he allowed himself to slow down a bit. A teenager running down the street would be conspicuous anyway. He was a few blocks away from the crowd now. He allowed himself to walk (briskly).

And then...just when his heart was already beating on overdrive from ONE surprise...there came another. A blond one, walking out of a storefront not twenty feet away.

Ritsuka had to admit he had looked for him the day after the sketch. It wasn't an elaborate manhunt, but he hadn't retraced his path into Chai's diner for nothing, and he hadn't wasted two hours of his morning because the coy pond was seriously that interesting. In all honesty, he didn't know if he wanted to sell another sketch more or if it was the company he had really been looking forward to. Life as a homeless runaway was lonely.

But he'd given up after those two hours, dismissing Soubi as a local who'd just been passing by that day. Soubi… that was his name. And Soubi was heading directly toward the area his mother had congregated.

"Hey...Soubi!" Ritsuka cried thoughtlessly. He needed something...anything...to keep Soubi away from those people. God only knew what would happen if he saw one of the posters. Or worse: Ritsuka's mother.

Soubi paused in his steps, looking up at the sound of Ritsuka's voice. Even at this distance, Ritsuka could tell that his eyes were quizzical.

"Hi!" Ritsuka called brightly, hurrying over to him. He quickly attached a smile to his face.

It felt rather forced and artificial, probably because it was, but Soubi didn't seem to notice. He smiled back and chuckled under his breath."If it isn't Mr. No Name. Or does the artist prefer something a little more unique? Anonymous?"

Ritsuka kept the smile plastered on, hoping it would aid in keeping a conversation going. "I'm sorry...you can't blame me for being cautious, right? You hear things on the news all the time about talking to strangers and stuff. But I think it was rude not to tell you...you were nice enough to buy my sketch! My name's Ritsuka."

"Ritsuka, well," said Soubi, his violet eyes narrowing further as his smile widened. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Yeah," said Ritsuka. He was far too frantic for these frivolities. "I was just going back to Chai's for some eggs. Wanna come?" He linked his arm into the bend of Soubi's elbow and began practically dragging him along. Chai's was the furthest place from here he could think of at the moment.

Soubi glanced down at their linked arms, his smile bending into something resembling a smirk. "I'd love to but...I've actually got some things that need attending to right now. Actually..." he paused, as if considering a farfetched idea. "Would you be able to help me with something? I'd repay you, of course. And it would save me time. Then you and I could have dinner together at Little Italy. They have wonderful pastas. You must be tired of eggs."

He wasn't sure which was more exciting to him, the prospect of payment or pasta. Ritsuka's stomach gave an enthusiastic rumble of an opinion on the matter, which he tried to hide by shifting impatiently and saying, "A job? Okay. Do you want your shoes shined or something?"

Instantly he felt himself go red. Was he stupid? What was this, the 1930's?

But no… he wasn't stupid. He was panicked! What if his mother decided to come this way?

Soubi took the suggestion as though it were perfectly reasonable. "No..." he said conversationally. "I'm actually in need of milk. The grocery store is a bit out of my way today...do you think you could pick up some for me? I only drink whole."

Without waiting for an answer, he pressed a few bills into Ritsuka's hand.

"Meet me back here at 6:00 and we'll walk together."

And to Ritsuka's immense relief, he turned and walked back up the street, away from the crowds and posters.

It wasn't until after he had sunk into the plastic seat of the bus and had been hypnotized by the loud rumbling of the engine that Ritsuka realized how bad he felt. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. Had it really only been three days since his birthday? It felt like a lifetime, and the city was already screaming at him to go home.

But he wouldn't go home no matter what happened. Even when his insides began to sink into the depths of his stomach every time he wondered just how bad things were going to get before they got better. He came close to vomiting when the notion that they never would slithered serpent-like into his mind.

Just how long could he survive in the winter with no shelter or access to medical care? The outlook didn't seem promising; he'd already witnessed dozens of watery-eyed people coughing and purchasing multi-symptom bottles of medicines. Even the small girl currently riding with her mother in the seat in front of him had a runny nose. She kept facing backward and staring at him, loudly snorting back her mucus and then falling into a coughing fit. Ritsuka shrank back and folded his jacket over his mouth and nose.

He had used part of the milk money Soubi had given him to ride the bus into the upper East side. There wasn't a grocer downtown he'd trust buying milk from, and the store Soubi had been headed for was in the eye of the poster chaos. He'd weighed his options fretfully and, running out of time, finally ended up here, coasting the ritzy side of the city in a bus, where the streets were nicer and the architecture more complex and ornamental than even the comfortably decent neighborhood he had grown up in.

This is where the doctors live, He thought wryly. This is where the people live who go to college after high school instead of becoming runaways. This is where the lucky people live who have mentally stable parents who love them.

The thought made him feel even worse. He turned his eyes toward the bus window, hoping to spot a convenience store as soon as possible. He had to get himself up and moving - distract himself from his growing depression.

Ritsuka found one five minutes later, right on the corner. He reached up for the cord to signal the bus driver to stop. Apparently the driver was half asleep because it took four pulls before he finally felt the bus begin to slow down. And when he stepped off, he saw that he had to walk four blocks back to reach the store.

...he also saw that he had stepped in gum.

There was a faint pain radiating up the back of his head that was growing steadily more severe. He had the tendency to get worked up over little things like this, but it was hard not to when they began to pile up, like some sick joke fate was playing on him. He inhaled deeply and held it in the center of his chest for a full five seconds, trying to calm his innermost thoughts, which were starting to whirl and make him feel too warm beneath his layers of clothes.

Just… steady… he coached himself, and stepped off the curb. His foot sank ankle-deep into a patch of dark water.

"Why?" He shouted at it, startling a pair of middle school girls who had been passing by. "Just why?"

Now he had to walk around with a soggy sock inside of a soggy shoe underneath the soggy hem of his jeans. Great. Soubi was going to think he was a nutcase.

He was beginning to feel like he was, himself.

Soubi. The milk. Right. He had to go get the milk now. And that meant getting himself to the store - which meant he had to get a grip on himself.

Things were clean inside the place, at least. The aisles were neatly arranged and the floor pristine. It was a far cry from the streets near Ritsuka's overpass (which he had started to think of, disturbingly, as "home"). The freezers were lined up in the back, and Ritsuka made his way there straightaway.

The milk section was small and Ritsuka hadn't forgotten that Soubi had specifically told him to get whole. There was ONE gallon of whole milk left. He snagged it before anyone else could and hurried to the check out.

"Are you sure you have enough money for this, kid?" The woman at the checkout stand was eyeing him with a mingled expression of boredom and distaste. She was squat with tight auburn curls and a lower lip that protruded with an overbite like a bulldog.

Ritsuka slammed the money in front of her without saying a word, his jaw tight and glower affixed firmly to his face. Was he sure he had enough money? For a gallon of milk? His clothes may not be designer, and, okay, they were a bit dirty and kind of wrinkled and wet from the ankle down on one side, but was that any reason to treat him like a… like a…

A homeless person?

He felt his anger dissipate as she handed him the receipt and change without a word, still sneering down her mushroom cap nose. He left in a rush, feeling suddenly like he couldn't get fresh air soon enough.

He dragged his feet as he made his way back toward the bus stop, but clutched the milk protectively, almost obsessively, to his chest. Soubi would pay him for this, plus buy him dinner. And garlic bread. And maybe even a dessert. Ritsuka had certainly troubled himself enough to get this infuriating man his stupid milk and felt he deserved it.

The thought of food had his stomach making verbal demands again. The bus stop was just in sight, and a few paces before it was a vending machine, gleaming with an artificial pink and blue glow in the quickly darkening twilight.

Ritsuka approached it with wide, hungry eyes. Everything inside of it looked good. He had exactly one hour to get back to Soubi—but that was one whole hour, plus however long it took to get to stupid Little Italy, and then however long it took for the (probably) incompetent workers to take their order. Ritsuka snorted and set the milk jug carefully between his feet, cradling it in case anyone was stupid enough to try to take it from him. He trusted absolutely no one right now. There was definitely no way this was going to spoil his dinner. He'd definitely still be eating the full entrée.

With a suspicious glance around, he pulled from his pocket a few loose coins and inserted them into the designated slot. He didn't really care which snack he ended up with, and so ended up just pressing buttons at random. A brightly decorated packet rattled inside the machine and began to move forward, then made a choking noise and sputtered to a stop.

"…No." Ritsuka grasped the edges of the machine and shook. "No! No, no, no, no! This is not happening!" He shook it harder, more frantically; using an outpouring of words he hadn't even realized was in his vocabulary. He kicked it and shook it and kicked it some more, but the packaged remained steadfast in its slot.

Sweaty and trembling all over, Ritsuka took another of those ridiculous, completely useless deep breaths that had never helped anyone, picked up the milk, and promptly tripped over his own shoelace which, of course, had come undone. The milk jug was not glass, but it bounced once and then shattered like it was. Ritsuka fell into the milk while gravity was in the process of pulling it to the ground, and they hit the sidewalk in unison.

He lay there a moment, face down in the shallow white puddle, too stunned by his own misfortune to move. Then the anger hit him like a sledgehammer and he was on his feet and throwing the plastic handle and what remained attached of the jug at the vending machine. "SON OF A BITCH!"

And then a soft, inquisitive voice broke in.

"Bad day?"

Chest still heaving in his rage, Ritsuka looked to his right. And saw a man who was plainly born under a far luckier star than he.

The man was dressed from head to toe in clothes that looked like they had walked straight off the runway. A gray knee-length wool coat, black slacks, suit jacket and tie...everything immaculate and wrinkle-free. Even his hair, jet black and with the barest hint of curls, was perfectly coiffed.

Ritsuka instantly thought that the guy must be offended to be breathing the same air as him, drenched in milk as he was and sporting a couple of scrapes on his palms where he had fallen. But the man either didn't notice or didn't care. All his expression betrayed was curiosity, and perhaps caution.

Under normal circumstances, he'd probably feel too shy to speak to someone so… for lack of classier words, someone so freaking hot. But seriously, he was way past the point of managing a good first impression anyway, so fuck it.

Ritsuka spread his arms wide and let them drop back to his sides. His jacket made a repulsive squelching sound. "And getting better every minute."

The man smiled sympathetically. "You do seem a little...wet."

Ritsuka glared back at the broken remains of the milk jug. "It's milk. I was picking some up for my...friend. And now it's all over me and it was the last one the store had and I don't have money for more and he's going to be pissed at me and this bitch of a vending machine ate my money and I'm starving and it's just...so yeah. I'm having a bad day."

The stranger, who had been listening patiently throughout Ritsuka's rant, suddenly reached a hand into his pocket, bringing out a handful of coins. "I see..." he began, walking up to the machine. "Let's see if a few of those things can't be mended." And he deposited several coins into it.

Before Ritsuka knew what was happening, the man was holding out a brightly wrapped package of chips. A kind smile was painted on his face - which made him, if anything, even more attractive. Something that Ritsuka would not have considered possible thirty seconds ago.

"I can't - " Ritsuka immediately protested, sputtering. "You don't have to -"

The man said nothing. He just continued to hold out the chips, until Ritsuka felt like it was rude to make him stand that way for so long. He took the bag with a embarrassed "thank you."

As if encouraged by one success, the stranger now held out another bag. This one was a grocery sack, which Ritsuka hadn't noticed he'd been carrying all this time. The sack was plastic and shaped exactly like a milk jug, condensation glittering on the outsides.

"No." Ritsuka protested again, stronger this time. "I can't -"

"Your milk got ruined, and you seem to need it more than I need mine. Take it." the man said, as if the logic of this was irrefutable.

"I CAN'T - " Ritsuka told him, almost plaintively.

The stranger smiled again. "I insist."

He hesitated a beat, then reached out and took the jug, accidentally brushing the stranger's hand. It was big and warm. He stared down at the milk, wanting to say thank you, but was horrified to feel the sting of tears, hot and wet with gratitude, pricking his eyes. It felt like a chocolate was suddenly wedged into his throat, making it too tight to speak. No one, not a single person in his living memory, had ever shown him such uninhibited kindness. The sudden upheaval of tenderness he felt toward this person was overwhelming in both good and bad ways.

The man let go of the milk easily, without the slightest indication that he begrudged the loss of it.

He put his hand on Ritsuka's shoulder and waited for Ritsuka to meet his eyes.

"It'll be okay." he said.

And just like that...Ritsuka believed that it would be.

The comfort the beautiful stranger seemed to have instilled in Ritsuka was, in fact, so effective that he wasn't just feeling better by the time he arrived back at his and Soubi's meeting spot, he was downright cheerful.

With his head cleared of miserable thoughts, Ritsuka had sat quite numb for a while on the bus, a quiet sort of pacification humming through him. And then, little by little, inspiration began to blossom. Perhaps the chips helped free up some neurons or something, but he realized there was still hope for him, and he knew exactly where to begin.

"Hi, Soubi!"

Soubi had been facing in the opposite direction. He turned with a smile, which slowly dissolved into quizzical bemusement.

"I got your milk." Ritsuka thrust it out to him, all smiles.

Soubi took it from him with an arched eyebrow. "I do hope it wasn't an odyssey to obtain." His eyes were combing Ritsuka's disheveled profile, from his milk-soaked shirt to his wet and filthy pants leg.

"Nope," said Ritsuka, his arms linked behind his back as he rocked on his heels. "So, how about that pasta?"

Soubi huffed out one of those mysterious chuckles. "Right this way," he said, gesturing for Ritsuka to go before him.

Ritsuka didn't see any restaurant called Little Italy in sight, though. "Umm..." he said eloquently. "Which way?"

"Straight ahead. Just a few blocks down."

And together they walked.

Little Italy, it turned out, was nicer than Chai's. All of the furniture was clean and bright and modern. It wasn't like the five star restaurants Ritsuka had seen on the food channel before, but it was a fine little restaurant. And Ritsuka could smell something lovely as soon as they walked in the door. So to him, that made the place pretty close to heaven.

They were sat at a booth in the corner and given glossy menu's and two glasses of ice water. Ritsuka scanned the menu front to back, having trouble deciding on anything because he wanted everything. He was so absorbed in the selections he forgot completely about Soubi until he heard him speaking to the waiter.

"I'll be having the butternut squash filled ravioli. Light on the pesto sauce, please." He looked at Ritsuka over his menu as he folded it up. "I highly recommend it, if you're undecided.""Yeah, okay," said Ritsuka. "And garlic bread sticks with dipping sauce, a cup of tea with sugar, and the house soup to start."

Soubi nodded at the waiter as he collected their menus. When the waiter left, Soubi remarked, "You must be hungry."

Ritsuka nodded, bouncing his feet under the table. Soubi had no idea. "I am. I want to see if this pasta is really as good as you say."

Soubi smirked and took a sip from his water glass. "It is. So...Ritsuka...tell me about yourself. I imagine you must live in the neighborhood?"

He had a feeling the conversation would come around to this, and so Ritsuka was unsurprised and also prepared. He smiled graciously. "Yes. A but more toward the west. It's a suburban neighborhood. Not in town."

"I see. I grew up in a suburban neighborhood." Soubi shared. "In my later years, I found that city life agreed more with me. Do you enjoy your home?"

Ritsuka nodded but didn't elaborate on it. "What do you like better about living in the city?"

Soubi gave an eloquent shrug. "The convenience. The atmosphere." and then, with a glass raised in Ritsuka's direction, he added, "the company."

That… he hadn't been expecting. Was this guy flirting? Whether he was or not, Ritsuka felt his face go hot and he hid it from sight under the guise of dipping his over his water glass for a sip. When he sat back up, Soubi was still watching him, smiling faintly, almost predatorily. Ritsuka was glad for the arrival of his soup, which forced the attention away from himself for a few moments."So…" said Ritsuka when the waiter had gone, wanting desperately to get back to more comfortable topics. "How old are you anyway?"

Soubi's lips twitched. "How old am I...hmm. I'm 29 next month. Downright ancient by comparison to you, I'm sure?"

"I'm 18." At least it was something he could be honest about. "I don't really consider 29 old, though. Just mature. People my age are kind of stupid."

Soubi chuckled - a soft "heh" of amusement. "It would be kind to your generation if I protested...but I'd really rather not lie to you. However, you don't seem stupid in the least. I've been wondering whether or not you're a college student."

"I want to be," he answered, without even thinking about what he as saying. "I want to so much. There's a school of Psychology on the east end of the city. It's really good and the program seems like a lot of work, but I know I could do it. It's just... really expensive." He sighed and looked longingly down at his reflection on the surface of his soup.

At that point, their meals appeared, steaming hot and looking perfectly delicious. Ritsuka didn't stop to wonder if Soubi was religious and wanted to say grace beforehand; he just dug in.

"Hmmm..." Soubi murmured. "Higher education doesn't come cheaply, it's true. Are you saving money for it now? Do you have a job?"

Ritsuka replied, but his mouth was so full that every syllable was completely incoherent. Soubi didn't seem offended in the least, simply asked him to repeat himself. Ritsuka swallowed down his mouthful with a swig of tea.

"Sorry. I said I'm looking for work. I've been looking for three days now, but no one seems to be hiring. No ones hiring ME at least." He poked at a ravioli square. "I kind of wanted to ask you about that. Do you have any more errands I could do for you? Maybe even clean up your place while you're at work? ...You do work?" His eyes swept over Soubi's superior wardrobe.

Soubi coughed. Ritsuka couldn't tell if he was trying to hide laughter or discomfort. But he knew the cough was meant to hide something.

"I work," said Soubi. "I'm a consultant. Clients come to me and I advise them on entertainment. And I provide it, when I have what they're looking for. As for your question...I actually do find myself in need of help. Business is growing...I could use someone to take care of the everyday things...when would you be available?"

"Right away," he answered, his mouth again full. "Can I start tomorrow?"

Soubi smiled. "Tomorrow is perfect." And he speared a ravioli on his fork with something like triumph.

—

-Magic Mind & BC3