*Sigh* Ehhh… two weeks, plus allowing time for the fact I was ill. Not the kind of ill like "woop, I can write a ton of stuff and miss school, yay~", but instead, "ok woah I can't even get out of bed without being sick woops." And then we have new things such as Free! to contend with, Attack on Titan and other crappy excuses that I can throw out into virtual space. But you'll be pleased to know that the chapter after this is written, as it was originally going to be with this update but it made the word count ridiculously long. I have also (in my moments of strength) written scenes that will be inserted into later updates, and I have planned this fic completely. There will be twenty chapters, and I aim to finish it by the end of summer, as I hopefully have a lot of time. Updates are now weekly, apart from the next chapter which you will see next Saturday, 20th July. You will see it next Saturday. I mean it.

KelAlexshipper4evah: I'm glad I did make you laugh! That was, after all, my intention.

Blackandwhiteangel13: Saruhiko is rather blinded by love, I'm afraid. And it's not something that the average person would expect, is it? As for underwear, Yata grabs whatever he can and doesn't have time to check for sizes. It's likely it'll take a lot of tries to get a decent amount that will fit him c:

Call Me Tom: If you do review this chapter dear, remember to not mention anything about spoilers for this fic I've given you! Especially, /those/ ones. Yeah, them. You know what I'm talking about.

Redthorn13: *Shifts eyes awkwardly* well, I didn't but… are you still waiting?

lovelysickness: Your review is gorgeous and really lovely, thank you :) As for the hate Fushimi has for Yata, that will be explained, don't worry. I'm so glad you like it!

Mizuouji: In love? *grins* thank you so much! I really appreciate it. And I hope you enjoyed your birthday~

Taz: I KNOW ISN'T IT JUST

Living Twice, Chapter 4

"Sorry, it's not the classiest restaurant in the city," Saruhiko smiled nervously, "but I'm not that rich at the moment, so… this is all I could afford, really."

"You don't even know me, Fushimi-san," Misaki looked up at him, over his arms that were supporting her shoulders, "you don't even have to take me anywhere. I can just go home."

"Not when it's this dark, you're not," he insisted as they stepped through the doors, "I still don't know what's wrong, but we don't want it happening again. You need something to eat and to get cleaned up, and this place'll make sure of that."

She looked around, taking in the interior. It was a quiet pizza restaurant with soft music humming through an old jukebox and polished wooden tables that lined the edges of the room. Only a few were occupied.

"We'll take a seat up at the counter, where we can watch the chef make our dinner, yeah?" Saruhiko nudged her forward gently when he noticed se had stopped. He took a seat on one of the higher chairs and tapped the surface in front of himself gently to get someone's attention.

"Excuse me," he raised his voice a little, leaning forward over the till and catching the eye of a large man in a chef's cap.

"How can I help you?"

"Misaki-chan here tripped and fell, and she's bleeding. Do you have anywhere she can get herself cleaned up?"

The man glanced at her and frowned, seeing the dirt on her face and the blood that covered a lot of her legs. "Oh, my…" he said, his accent Saruhiko now registering as vaguely Italian.

"It's not that serious," Misaki said quietly, hunching her shoulders as he cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, "it looks worse than it is. I can… handle it on my own."

The chef bent down behind the counter before re-appearing again with a medium-sized green box, "take the first-aid kit, miss. The woman's toilets are just over there to your left."

"Ah…um… thanks a lot," she stared intently at her feet whilst receiving it, not really wanting to look the man in the eye.

"Take your time, Misaki-chan!" Saruhiko called after her, an anxious frown pulling at his mouth as he watched the redhead disappear.

The man behind the counter gave a polite cough as he continued to stare closely at the bathroom door.

"Sir?" he finally caught the noirette's attention.

"Oh, sorry, yes?"

"Did you want to order something while you're waiting for her?"

"…Yeah, I guess…" he flicked over the menu that had just been handed to him, scanning the pages half-heartedly with his dark eyes. "I'll have some cloudy lemonade for my drink," he finally said, "and that's it for now. I want to wait Misaki-chan to get back before I order food."

"Of course," the chef replied with a nod and (after a moment's hesitation that Saruhiko didn't see because he was busy looking at his fidgeting hands) added something else, "are you together? You know… like a couple?"

He started at that, jerking his head up and holding a frozen, open-jaw expression for a while. It didn't take his face long to turn the same shade of red that had lit up Misaki's earlier and he buried it in his hands for a second before adjusting his glasses and shuffling in his seat.

"This might sound a little weird," he replied, "but I only met her a few minutes ago… I found her hurt and stuff, so I brought her here…"

The man gave him a surprised look, but not the negative kind. Well, Saruhiko actually couldn't tell what kind, but neither of them said anything after that. Unless you counted the part where he mumbled a quiet thanks for his beverage as it was passed to him.

Yata limped over to the wall of the building nearby, tenderly rubbing his face as he rested against the cold stone surface. The kick in his side had winded him, and he was beginning to really get worried that there could have been more internal damage, but he could feel his breath returning to normal as his body began to accept air normally again.

He lifted up his jumper and black tank top to assess the damage he was able to see. There was a large red area that was fading around the edges, although the remainder was beginning to turn purple, spreading from just above his hip to below his ribs.

"Ah… he" exhaled, "Clumps-kun was wearing his big boots today, wasn't he?"

His own statement caused a sudden wave of guilt to wash over him, and his expression changed from a pained one to a look of guilt. If Fushimi had known who he had just hurt… Yata bit his lip. He could picture Saruhiko, hand over his mouth and eyes glossing over with tears as he realised what he'd done, wide and shocked beyond belief.

It was uncomfortable because the redhead couldn't be sure that that would be his lover's reaction. He could also imagine him laughing, giving him a cocky look and a strange smile like he'd instantly taken Yata's existence over Misaki's. Or maybe he'd just run away? Break contact with the both of them?

Swallowing, he took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. That wasn't the problem to tackle right now - or rather, it would be if he didn't deal with this first one properly. He needed to find a way to hide all this. The bruise on his side wasn't a problem - the outfit he was planning to wear that evening would cover it easily. But his face… he could feel blood trickling down his right cheek, tracing past his lip towards his chin. Some seeped into his mouth and he winced at the metallic taste.

Yata gathered his sleeve and wiped it away with it. He frowned as his jumper was stained a dark red and set himself on the floor, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He slid his thumb across the lock screen to join up the combination and opened his contacts after it clicked. Within seconds he had Kamamoto on the phone, sighing with relief when he heard the other's voice.

"Yata-san, what's wrong? We're almost here… just struggling a little with all the bags."

He swallowed, "I ran into Fushimi…"

There was silence for a few moments before Kamamoto seemed to catch on, and he heard the hesitation in his voice as the other spoke over the phone.

"Do you want us to head back to your place and bring anything?"

"It's unfair on you, but I can't bleed all over the floor when we get to the hairdresser's, so…"

"Should I bring the whole first aid kit?"

"Rikio-san, I can't feel half my face."

"…Whole kit it is, then."

He hung up after that, but Yata heard him mutter urgently to Totsuka before the line cut off.

It took them an extra ten minutes, but by that time, the redhead had taken his jumper all the way off and used it to wipe as much blood away as he could.

The two blondes were by his side as soon as they saw him, although it took them a couple of seconds because he'd tucked himself away in an alley. When they questioned him about this, he replied with a pained voice, "well, I don't want a fucking randomer fussing over me. Also, I think this is the alley where I first met Clumps-kun."

Totsuka raised his eyebrows, setting the sacks down by his feet. "Seriously?"

"It's a pretty small and ironic world, isn't it?" Yata said quietly as Kamamoto knelt down by his shoulder with an antiseptic wipe.

"What are you going to do about this later?" The larger of the blondes began lightly dabbing away at the remaining (now dried) blood that smeared his face. It caused a quiet whine of pain from the red head before he gave his reply.

"I'll just have to hope a ton of make-up will cover it up," he glowered.

"Let's hope so," he mumbled a concerned reply, "so I don't need to bandage this up, then? It'd just stick out otherwise."

"Yeah, leave i- oh, shit that hurts!"

"Sorry."

This process continued on for another few minutes, stopping every now and then to allow cursing from Yata's mouth and hasty apologies from Rikio, or Totsuka who was trying to get a better look at the bruise on the red head's stomach.

"Do you really need to fuss over that?" Yata asked him at one point, flinching whenever the youngest prodded his finger into his side.

"There could be internal bleeding! Calm down, it's fine~"

"That is not how you check for internal bleeding, Totsuka-san."

"I thought all bruises were technically internal bleeding?" Kamamoto wondered.

Tatara's eyes widened and a stunned sort of expression spread across his face. Suddenly, he desperately clung to Yata, furiously patting his head as he 'reassured' him, "don't worry, Yata-chan. It's going to be ok, just keep calm… you won't die, I promi-"

"I'm not going to die from something like this!"

It was a little longer until Rikio hand finally declared him to be cleaned up properly, and a little longer after that until the trio got their act together and actually decided to focus on the task at hand, which was to deliver the sacks full of Misaki's hair.

"They'll notice," Yata grumbled, lugging one of the bags over the shoulder that wasn't on his injured side. Walking wasn't too hard a job; it was his face that was throbbing wildly and it wasn't only once that blood began to leak from the wound again.

"They won't," the two blondes insisted in unison, having argued this statement about ten times before in the past five minutes.

"There's blood running down my fucking face! How can they not?"

"…Just act like it isn't there. And if they do mention anything, tell them that it doesn't hurt or whatever," Rikio offered.

"…Tch, like that'll work."

"I thought you seemed pretty determined to get this money?"

"…Yeah."

A slim man with black haired pulled back into a high ponytail was unlocking the door of the hairdresser's, chatting casually to the person next to him who was practically a complete opposite. Smaller, paler, startlingly white hair and a ridiculously goofy grin on his face that looked virtually impossible to wipe off.

"Yatogami-san! Shiro-san!" Yata called out to them, trying to stop the sharp intake of breath caused from the sting in his cheek afterwards.

"Oh, there you are!" the shorter of the two replied back, twirling the red umbrella that rested on his shoulder "you were here before us the past couple of times - Kuroh and I were just wondering what was keeping you."

"Nothing much," Yata shrugged, dropping the bag by their feet, "I was just a bit delayed because I brought these two along with me."

Isana glanced behind the red head's shoulder and waved at Totsuka and Kamamoto. "Hey! It's awesome to meet friends of Yata-san's. My name's Isana Yashiro, but everyone calls me Shiro. And this," he signalled to the person next to him, "is Yatogami Kuroh. Oh - is that the hair?"

Yata nodded.

"Ah, great; bring it all in then, and I'll get your money for you."

"What would you like to eat, Misaki-chan?" Saruhiko leaned closer and slid the menu across the surface of the bar to rest in the middle of them. He unfolded it, obviously eager to eat too, and Misaki took the moment to watch him up close.

He was sweating ever so slightly and there was a light flush on his face from the heat of being sat near the ovens. His hair, which had begun to stick to his forehead, shined a tiny bit cyan due to the light above. His eyes caught the glow aswell, and she observed how much of a gorgeous shade of blue they had turned out to be. But his black-rimmed glasses drew her attention away from them, and instead put her focus on his cheekbones and lips, which were pushed into a tiny pout that went with knitted eyebrows as he struggled to decide on what he was going to be eating. His whole face seemed to be set.

Saruhiko's eyelashes were probably longer than the average male's, she supposed (only having her own to go own wasn't very helpful), long enough that sometimes they would get caught on the glass in front of them as he blinked. Why were his glasses pushed so close to his face? Misaki was surprised he had no will to adjust them, because it looked to be quite irritating.

She jerked when he caught her gaze and quickly looked down, brushing some stray hair away from her eyes. She missed his expression and eventually lost the battle of resisting looking back. Misaki ran her eyes over his hands and noticed how he always seemed to slide his first two fingers down the sides of the pages before catching the corner of the menu and turning it over. She hoped he wouldn't cut himself if he continued to do that.

It was only when the noirette repeated his question that she registered that he had even asked on in the first place. She hastily pointed to a random, letting a sigh escape when she saw that it only (thankfully contained) toppings she was fond of, or wouldn't mind eating. A meat selection with peppers and caramelised onions.

"Ah... that?" Saruhiko blinked, "..sure, yeah. We'll have that, if you want."

"We're sharing, Fushimi-san?"

"It's cheaper."

Misaki's face fell further and she looked down at the prices. They weren't that expensive; simply average restaurant price. How much of this meal was paid for by his kindness, and how much by his wallet?

"And, um... what do you want to drink?"

"Tap water," she replied instantly, making him jump a little. Because it's free.

Saruhiko nodded after a few seconds and replyed the order to the chef who, having no other meals to prepare, began instantly on their pizza. The drinks were served by another waiter and Misaki quietly sat and sipped at her water while she watched.

Fushimi talked again a few minutes later after taking a noticeably large gulp of lemonade. He shuffled round in his seat so that he was more angled towards her and gave a small smile. He earned the mirror of this expression for her and noticebly relaxed his shoulders.

"So... where are you from, Misaki-chan?"

There was obviously going to be hesitation in her answer: Saruhiko didn't seem at all shifty - just a little awkward and most likely genuinely concered about her, but the red head still has the problem of just how much information she was going to relay to him. Enough to fill a polite and lengthy conversation, but not so much as to give her true indentity away. Thus (and it was all in this rather short timeframe), she decided on a rough personality she'd give herself whilst talking to him. A tiny bit shy, but also funny, and knowledgeable. Was that how all girls acted? She had no idea; she may have been one for a long time, but she'd always continue acting as if she were male. There was no reason not to, unless she was out late shopping, but then she'd just speak as little as possible.

"Just out of the city, not too far," she explained.

"Really? I'd kind of assumed you lived outside the area quite a bit - I live only a few streets away and I don't ever recall seeing you before."

"I... don't get out that much."

"Oh... I see."

Silence again. So much for acting cute.

Misaki jerked at her own thought and Saruhiko gave her a questioning look that she didn't catch. Cute? Why did she want to act cute for him? Glancing over, she regarded him again as she bit her lip. He had retreated to drinking his drink again, this time with a straw. His right hand rested on his face and he quickly flushed when he saw her looking at him again. Although the noirette had done his best to hide it, she still caught the reddening of his cheeks and felt her own do the same.

Inwardly, she groaned. He was a guy! she couldn't be attracted to another guy! Besides, they'd only just met - it was weird...

Saruhiko sighed softly and used his first finger to run his straw round the edge of his glass absently.

She swallowed. Maybe.

Yata fumbled through his wardrobe, hastily checking each dress to see if anything he had was suitable for the evening. He wanted something lightweight and on the thin side because, even though he hadn't been to a nightclub before, he could easily guess how sweaty it was going to get with tons of people all squeezed onto one dance floor/ bar, ridiculously bright lights and that smoke they randomly poured into the room every now and then. Not too short though, or with a too low a neck line… that could end with some unwelcome results. However, he still had it set in his mind that it needed to be cute, or, rather, something that Saruhiko would find endearing. Clumps-kun hadn't said much about what he was going to wear or what he suggested Misaki should wear, but Yata could guess that he'd come up with something nice.

His right arm was currently partially disabled, thanks to the phone he had tucked between the side of his chin and his shoulder. Totsuka was on the other end, and, after looking back, the red-head didn't know why he had ever called him in the first place. The blonde was younger, hadn't been out with anyone, and most certainly had not been to a night club. Although, he had been the one to find the dress that Saruhiko had taken such a liking to. Maybe he'd do it again?

"You want something with a bit of glitter on," his voice had the expected distortion that usually came with a phone line, "something that sparkles - it'll reflect the light then."

"Ahhh," he mumbled in reply, "I have a few of those, Totsuka-san… what about the main colour?"

"Anything, anything you want," he replied almost without any hesitation, "just nothing too bright. It'd looked ridiculous on you."

"Since when did you become a fashion expert?" he grinned, even though the other couldn't see.

"Come on, every girl that wants to go out 'clubbing with their man' should know this stuff."

"And you're a girl, then?"

A choked and spluttered sound was the only answer.

Yata eventually settled for a navy dress with a pleated lower half and a pre-attached thin, white belt. The sleeves were t-shirt length and the hem was just above her knees.

"I found a dark blue one," he said, "and I think I have a matching bow… in here… somewhere…," he used his left hand to explore through a purple box full of clips and hairbands, eventually pulling out a cobalt-coloured accessory with glittering polka dots. He held it up to his face with a frown, absently blowing some hair out of his eyes.

"Is this too much?" he asked.

"I can't see it, Yata-chan."

"Oh, let me send a pict… shit, this is the house phone. Hang on."

All Totsuka could hear when he fell silent were the occasional curses and grumbles, with a lot of shuffling and rummaging sounds in between.

"Where did I put my fucking….? It's not in…. ugh…. maybe, ah shit not there…"

"I think you're worrying too much, Yata-chan."

"What? No way!"

"I don't think Fushimi would really care at all what you're going to be wearing tonight. I mean, what were you wearing when he first saw you? It definitely wasn't your sense of dress that he feel in love with."

The searching noises faded into silence.

"I guess you're right, Totsuka-san."

"Just wear it, it's not like he's going to insult you or anything. Heh, unless you went as Yata."

Yata bit his lip; he was slowly beginning to realise that the younger had pointed out more things than he intended. Saruhiko had almost certainly fallen for Misaki's personality, his personality, alone, and not how she looked. If he had, well, he wasn't sure he'd want to date someone who enjoyed seeing their lover with blood all over their body and dirt obscuring their face. He liked Misaki for who she was… would he be able to get past his curse and male self if he found out because of this.

But, there was still the possibility that he wouldn't get past…

He audibly grunted, balling his free hand into a fist and pressing it against his forehead. Thinking about this again? It wasn't the time!

"…Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that."

"Alright, great! Now, uh… is there anything else you need? Dinner's almost finished cooking, so…"

"What kind of shoes should I wear?"

"Anything but boots. You'll be way too hot in boots. Grab some nice slip-ons or something."

"Ok, thanks, Totsuka-san."

"See ya!"

"Bye…"

The line cut with a low and soft 'beep' and he threw it onto his bed behind him, crouching down to look at his selection of available footwear. It was a little dark and hard to see, buried beneath the shadows of the garments hanging above, but Yata could make out the substantial amount that he owned. Wow, he really did have a lot of pairs… his frown fell further. There were so many in here that he hadn't even worn twice. Some none at all; they were ditched at the last minute when finalising an outfit to wear on a date with Saruhiko. He shoved his hand amongst them all, letting the scent of unworn leather escape and dust fly up from the shoes that hid at the back. How much had all of this cost? He was literally spending so much money and he knew he didn't have to.

Pausing just to sigh, he couldn't help but let the train of thought continue down its tracks. How much could he have saved by wearing a pair for more than one date? He wasn't even aware he had been even doing that. And it was only now that he was starting to get how Saruhiko most likely didn't even give a flying fuck about what Misaki wore. Sure, she was complemented when she wore something super nice - that dress from the evening spent at the aquarium, for example - but why was it such a subconscious issue? Did all girls think like this? But, girls going out of their way to dress nice for guys, buy ridiculous amounts of shoes and obsess over little things like a stupid fucking bow were only stereotypes…

His eyes widened and then he lowered his eyebrows as an afterthought twisted its way into his brain and settled there.

Stereotypes.

"Oh," the laugh ricocheted off of the close surroundings , "it'll be more than that. I'll give you labels, things just to make you just as people want you to be. Average. One of those silly little female protagonists in movies that only get the boy they want after they've changed for them. Or at least, the ones that think they have to change. Stupid bitches."

"I… I don't understand what you're talking abo-"

Smack.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up? Neko-chan, do it now."

Bile rose in his throat as the memory refused to stop playing.

The figure was getting closer, bending down in front of him and placing a freezing cold hand on the centre of his chest, so cold it leaked through his torn jumper and deep into his skin, so far he'd thought it would be settling there forever. The hand gripped the fabric tightly, as well as the layer beneath it and Yata heard himself squeal when nails dug into flesh. With desperate eyes, he looked up at the one who had just been addressed.

Her face was in shadow, and her shapely figure was hazy in the background. She was wearing something woollen that made Yata's vision blur even further. She said nothing. So quiet, he could barely hear her breathing. But her mouth moved and spoke a silent sentence, her lip gloss shimmering in the late sunset.

Pain.

He screamed, louder than he ever screamed before. Someone in the back of his mind, in the part that didn't care, he wondered if anyone heard.

Stop please that hurts stop please I can't take it stop stop stop please STOP

The present slammed into him and he trembled, retching. Suddenly everything smelled to strong and the light coming in from the setting sun was too intense and penetrating. His vision kept failing and before he could even tell his legs to move he was in the bathroom, emptying the contents of his stomach.

Clutching the sides of the toilet, he slowly felt his breaths fall into a ragged pattern, only for his heart (that had been pounding fiercely in his chest) to suddenly switch to overdrive again when a pain swelled through his stomach.

"Ah… shit… not now… please…"

If you have been paying attention to the story covers for this fic, you'll have noticed that it has changed a lot. A /lot/. I think I'm going to settle for the one I've got right now, but it might foreshadow too much? Shit…. aw, damn. Now you've looked at it! Close it off, close it!

Apologies for spelling/grammar mistakes. I rushed editing to get this out for you all :)