Anthology – Alternate Universe

Genre: Romance, AU

Pairings: YuurixWolfram, YuurixOC, WolframxOC

Warnings: Slash. Sexual innuendos and some improbable scenarios of the type that might possibly happen in a novel or a manga, but not very likely in real life.

Summary: Yuuri's getting married. And Wolfram's invited.

~o0o~

SOMEONE LIKE YOU

(Part 1)

~o0o~

Prologue

~o0o~

Yuuri Shibuya

"What went wrong with us?"

The question caught me off-guard.

"I don't know, Wolf…"

"Yuuri…"

The way he whispered my name made me feel oddly hot. I loosened my tie and tried to keep my breathing steady. Wolfram looked up, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, much like a cat's.

"Was it our families?"

"My mom loves you," I pointed out.

"Well, so does mine," said Wolfram, before adding with a slight sneer, "Your brother hates me though."

"Well, so does yours," I retorted.

"Gwendal does," Wolfram conceded, "but certainly not Conrad."

"Yeah, but I've only got one brother. What am I supposed to do?"

Unexpectedly, Wolfram laughed and let out that dear, familiar word in amusement. "Wimp."

I laughed too, the atmosphere lightening considerably, almost like ice melting. Wolfram leaned towards me, resting his head on my shoulder, and I automatically put my arms around him.

"You smell good," Wolfram said unexpectedly. He brought his face nearer to mine, and I caught a strong whiff of alcohol from his breath.

"You're drunk, aren't you?" I held him back at arm's length to examine his face. "How many glasses did you have exactly?"

"Not much." He let out an un-Wolfram-ish giggle and reached up to ruffle my hair. "Did I ever tell you that you look good in a tuxedo?"

"You are drunk," I told him nonchalantly, although I felt my face getting hot at that compliment. "You better go to sleep."

Wolfram shook his head. "Funny, isn't it? I thought I'd forgotten about you, but here I am again. Why do you still have this much effect on me?"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. A moment later, I could hardly think of anything at all. Wolfram drew closer and our lips met for the briefest second. It was no more than a light peck, but a crushing wave of electricity flowed from my lips, to the rest of my body. I sat there, a bit stunned. I wanted to push him away, but the images that appeared inside my head were so very tempting…and yet I…I…

My body was on fire. Wolf's skin was so warm against mine.

Wolf drew nearer, sending a fresh wave of heat through my veins. Instinctively, as though my body was acting on memory, my arms moved, coming to a rest around his waist. I shifted to get a better position.

We kissed, and this time, I was the one who moved forward.

"I hate myself," Wolfram said when we parted.

"I'm sorry…" I worried my lip and added ruefully, "I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"Well, it's too late for that."

"You don't have to be there tomorrow…"

"Don't be silly. It's your wedding…"

The last word hung heavily in the air. I held him tightly, not knowing what else to do to make everything easier for both of us. "Wolf…"

He cut me off with another kiss, deeper and more intense than the last, and it was nearly enough to make me forget that we weren't lovers anymore. I doubt if you could even call us friends. I ignored the fire that was rapidly spreading through the rest of my body, held Wolf by the shoulders, and moved to push him away.

But Wolfram's voice stopped me.

"Don't. Please."

I froze. "Wolf…"

"I'm drunk," he reminded me with an unconvincing stab at a joke. "I seemed to have lost my manners. And my sense of decency."

I didn't know whether to laugh or tell him off. I settled by warning him, "You'll regret this when you're sober."

"Probably," he replied, "but I think I'll regret it even more if I don't do this now."

"Wolfram…"

I'm not sure what my face looked like then, but it must have been bad enough for Wolfram to back off and release me. I noticed that he was shaking a bit.

"I'm sorry," he muttered softly. "I…I just…I…" He shook his head – a blur of gold in the shadows. "I'm being stupid. I…I have to go."

It must have taken him a lot of self-control to say that. I stared at him for two or three seconds before deciding that I couldn't let him leave. At least not like this.

I didn't budge. Neither did he.

"Stay if you want to," I told him quietly.

Wolfram's expression was hard to read, and when he pushed me to the bed and kissed me again, I didn't stop him.

~o0o~

(ONE MONTH AGO)

~o0o~

Chapter 1: Of Weddings and Proposals

~o0o~

Yuuri Shibuya

"Will he come?"

The question haunted me as I climbed up the stairs to the second floor of the restaurant. And while my eyes scoured the crowded tables for any sign of my companions, my mind continued to ponder upon the sanity (or lack thereof) of what I'd just done.

"Oi! Shibuya!"

"Over here, Yuuri!"

At the sound of my name, I turned towards a table at the far corner, waving back to the familiar pair seated around it. I made my way towards them, wondering how to break the news, knowing that they would neither agree nor understand why I'd even bothered to do something that I'd surely lose a lot of sleep over. But it wasn't as if I could keep something like this to myself for very long. I had to tell them.

"You're late," Shori, my older brother, said with a grin. "Hope you're not hungry."

I rolled my eyes at him and settled on the last empty seat. The remains of what appeared to be a sumptuous lunch were spread out on the table before me; I seemed to have missed the sea bass, the miso soup, and a bowl of something that now only contained a single slice of asparagus.

"We can order some more if you want to," said the second person on the table. Ken Murata, a good friend of mine, was wiping his mouth delicately on a napkin. "What took you so long, anyway?"

That was my cue. "Well," I said, sighing. "I finally did it."

Their reactions were so hilarious that I didn't even have the heart to be offended. Shori, who was just finishing his meal, choked on a slice of fish and started to cough violently. Beside him, Murata's fork fell against his plate with a noisy clang; he was gaping at me in wordless incredulity, as if I'd just told him that the food they'd just consumed was poisoned.

"W-wha—cht?" cried Shori incoherently, face already red from the effort it took to dislodge the food from his throat.

"You did what?" Murata asked in a clearer voice, his hand moving mechanically to tap Shori on the back. He must have struck him harder than he intended, because Shori nearly collapsed face first on the table, upsetting a cup of tea and spilling its murky contents all over his front.

"I did it," I repeated, fighting down the urge to laugh. "I sent Wolfram the invitation."

We had been arguing over this for the past week, and that entire time, both Murata and Shori had assured me that it was an incredibly stupid idea. But stubborn and reckless as I was, I did it anyway, just because…well…because despite everything that happened between us, Wolfram was still my friend…my best friend, in fact. It didn't seem right to leave him out of such a very important event in my life.

"When?" asked Murata.

"Just now," I told him. "Before I came here." I had sealed the embossed envelope, and before I could change my mind, I had shoved it into Conrad's hands and had asked him to please ensure that the letter made it to Wolfram on time. "I invited Cheri-san and Conrad. It's not as if I could leave Wolf out. And besides, I'm sure he'd find out eventually, so I thought it'd be better if the news came from me…"

"Are you mad?" Shori demanded, too upset at my news to even bother to clean himself up. "You really want him there?"

I shrugged. "He's my friend—"

"Was," Shori pointed out. "Past tense."

I wanted to disagree, but I know deep down that my brother was right. Besides, I couldn't really blame Shori for reacting this way. Truth be told, I was beginning to wonder myself if I'd done the most sensible thing by reaching out to Wolfram after three long, silent years. I wonder how he'd respond to my invitation, or if he'd even answer at all.

I sank deeper into my chair.

Every person has some form of unfinished business in his or her life – a deep-kept secret, a personal ghost, a skeleton in the closet…you get the idea. And Wolfram…Wolfram is my unfinished business.

Wolf and I sort of grew up together. His mother moved to the house next to ours when I was just eight. Cheri-san was really beautiful and glamorous and all that, with hair of gold and eyes as green as emeralds. She was every bit what I imagined a goddess would look like, and I adored her from the very first sight. But she was the type of woman that the neighbors called "loose." I didn't really know what the word meant at the time, but I'd soon come to realize that it had to do with her having three kids from three different men. She was never married.

Cheri-san's kids didn't really live with her. They just came to visit her during vacations. The first six months after she moved in, I got to meet two of her sons, Gwendal and Conrad. Gwendal was the serious one, the one who always kept to himself, who was usually locked up in his room reading, writing, and – believe it or not – knitting. Weird stuff mostly. I didn't really talk to him that much. Conrad, on the other hand, was the friendly one, the one who was patient enough to baby-sit me when my parents and brother were busy. We'd always play baseball, and he'd tell me stories about the countries he'd lived in. There were quite a number, considering that Conrad was just about Shori's age. He told me that his dad really traveled a lot, and he'd always take Conrad along with him.

Over time, Cheri-san and her sons became like part of our family. Mom treated her like the sister she never had, and I came to see Conrad (and even Gwendal, to a certain extent) like brothers. Dad and Shori took a little more time to warm up to them, but left with no choice since mom and I practically adopted them into the family, they eventually did.

It was only a year later, when I turned nine, that I met the youngest of Cheri-san's children. Wolfram, I quickly found out, was the family's spoiled little prince. He was three years older than I was, and that time, he was on vacation, straight from an exclusive boarding school on the south of France.

Meeting him for the very first time, I was a little bit jealous. I think anyone would feel insecure at his face, because he looked so much like a copy of his mother in every way – pale, blond, and perfect. I never even knew that you could describe a guy as 'beautiful' until I met him. I once saw this postcard of a Vienna boys' choir, and I thought Wolfram looked like he could fit right in. Or he could be a movie star. Or an angel. Or a god.

But unlike Cheri-san's other kids, I didn't get along with Wolfram immediately. He was too aloof and snooty to start with, and he didn't know a single thing about baseball. I think he disliked me, although I could never figure out why. I suspected sometimes that he was jealous because his mom and brothers were spending more time with me, but then he'd always keep on yelling at them whenever they were together. It was so confusing to deal with Wolfram, and so I kept out of his way as best as I could.

Things heated up eventually, when Wolfram made a snide comment about me and my mom – how I was a wimp who couldn't survive without somebody baby-sitting him, and how my mother couldn't even teach me not to impose my presence on other people. I wasn't the sort who'd get angry so easily, but hauling my mom into the discussion was a dirty move, and I just snapped.

I couldn't bring myself to hit someone with such a pretty face. I mean, you don't strike a girl when you're mad at her, and Wolfram looked so much like one, and so I did what I thought was a more acceptable move. I slapped him. That shut him up, and I had a few seconds of grim satisfaction before he scowled and hit me squarely in the eye.

Wolfram didn't look like he had it in him to pack a punch like that, so that took me completely by surprise. I remember going back to our house that afternoon and trying to explain to my mother how I got a really terrible black eye. I didn't tell her the truth. I was too ashamed to admit that a girly-looking boy got a piece of me. Fortunately, Mom was the sort of person who'd believe in anything, so I hatched her a little tale of how I bumped my face against a tree because I was trying to save a cute little bunny who – for some impossible reason – had gotten itself stuck at a really high branch.

She totally bought it.

I didn't go over to the house next door for the next three days. But then at the fourth day, Conrad came by, bringing Wolfram along with him. To my astonishment, the brat actually apologized to me, although I couldn't really be sure of his sincerity. I realized later on that that was a big move for him, as he really wasn't used to saying sorry. Anyway, Wolf was quite cute when he wasn't being snobby or angry, and before I knew it, I'd accepted his apology. We didn't really talk much after that, but at least we never tried to hit each other again.

I saw Wolf intermittently in the next years, when he'd come for his summer and winter breaks. Gwendal didn't return all that often, especially after he entered the military. As for Conrad, he went to live with his father for a while, and I saw him less frequently than I would've wanted.

The year that I turned twelve, Wolf's father passed away, and he came to live with Cheri-san permanently. He told me that he'd just escaped the clutches of his uncle, who wanted Wolf to go to Germany with him. I actually saw Wolf's uncle once, when he came in his chauffeur-driven limo, supposedly to get Wolfram back. He and Cheri-san had a row right outside the house, and listening in, I unintentionally found out more about Wolf's family.

As it turned out, Wolfram's father was incredibly rich – one of the richest in Europe in fact, that he was practically royalty – and Wolf was the sole heir. The uncle wanted to take Wolf away to be trained in the family business, but Cheri-san didn't want to. They must've shouted at each other hoarse for one whole hour before the man finally left. I think Cheri-san must've won, because Wolf stayed with her since then.

Wolfram and I became close friends through the years that he stayed in Japan. Nobody could really understand why because we had virtually nothing in common. He was too beautiful; I was just plain. He was interested in the arts; I was into sports. He was filthy rich; I didn't have a single yen to my name.

Despite that, we came to enjoy each other's company. I taught him how to play baseball (he sucked at it), and he forced me to try my hand at painting (I sucked at it). Oftentimes however, we'd just take a walk somewhere and talk about random things that happened at school, or at home. It eventually became pretty much like a routine for us, and after a while, we became much closer to each other.

Like I said earlier, Wolfram was my best friend.

But then, just as things so often do when people grow up, everything changed.

I couldn't remember when I started to feel awkward and self-conscious having him around me. I seemed to have gone to sleep one day with everything in its normal state, and then I woke up the following morning and…and I started looking at Wolfram in a completely different way. Suddenly, I felt so uncomfortable touching him, having him touch me…

I avoided Wolf after that, but of course, he wouldn't have any of it. He barged into my room one night, demanding in that bossy tone of his why I was staying away from him. Taken by surprise like that, I lost my nerve and I just confessed, in the plainest words possible, what had been bothering me.

I could still remember that flabbergasted look on his face, and that odd smile he'd had when he'd asked, "You…you have feelings for me?"

I hadn't said it that way, but I just nodded. It meant the same thing anyway. I felt weird being around him.

"You mean you like me?" Wolf had asked, eyes wide.

I bobbed my head again. Of course I liked him. I wouldn't have put up with his tantrums if I didn't, right?

That was when Wolf said the words, "I like you a lot, too."

I felt both warm and cold all over. I felt that something had gone terribly wrong, and that I had just been misunderstood, but I was afraid to say a single word. Wolfram hugged me then, which wasn't really unnatural. We'd been this close before. But then, Wolfram put his hands on my cheeks and lifted my face up, and I think I blacked out.

All I knew was that was the very first time that we kissed.

After that day, we decided to become much more than friends…well, Wolf decided, actually. I just went along with it because I couldn't tell him no. And besides, if I were to be honest with myself, it wasn't really that bad. We were still friends – we still talked like always, still hang out like always. It was like nothing had really changed…just that we were…touching each other much more than usual…in less than innocent ways…

I was fine with it for a while – for a few weeks, a few months – for as long as the fact that we were going out together was kept between us. But of course, Wolfram had other ideas. He didn't really care what everyone else would say – he was self-absorbed that way – but not me. I was eighteen then, and I was way too self-conscious at how the world would react to our relationship, knowing that most people would neither understand nor accept us.

I guess that I was more at fault with how our relationship ended. We were together for the better part of three years, with only our close friends and family members knowing the exact nature of our relationship. We never told them, but I imagine it became sort of obvious as time passed. I think Wolfram was waiting for all that period for me to acknowledge him publicly, but I…I just couldn't. Then I turned twenty-one, but still, I was too much of a coward to do what Wolfram wanted, to be what he needed.

I am now twenty-four, and all I want is a chance to patch things up between us, especially now that I'm about to venture out into a new stage of my life. I need closure, and I'm sure Wolf does too.

"Does Reiko know?" Murata asked, rousing me from my memories. "Did you tell her that you invited Wolfram?"

Reiko. The name made me wince, as though somebody had just punched me in the gut.

I couldn't bring myself to tell Reiko anything. I'm sure she'd understand but I just couldn't bear the thought of having to hurt her. She was the best thing that ever happened to me since…well…since Wolfram. I never thought that I'd come to care for someone as much as I did for Wolfram, but then I met Reiko. That was about two years ago, during our high school reunion, and ever since, we were inseparable. It didn't take me long to realize that I loved her. It took me less time to decide to propose to her…and now, after a year of engagement, we were about to get married.

And I sent Wolfram an invitation.

"Does Reiko know?" repeated Murata.

"Of course," I said indignantly. "Who do you think insisted that I invite him?"

Shori and Murata both fell silent. They glanced at each other, then back at me, both with identical dubious expressions. I squirmed in discomfort under their scrutiny, unable to meet either of their eyes.

After an awkward second, Murata said slowly, "Reiko…she doesn't know, does she?"

I cringed. My brother quickly pounced on my reaction and accused, "You didn't tell her?"

"She knows that Wolf's my best friend," I said, unable to skirt the issue, "which isn't completely a lie, right? He really is – or was – my friend."

"It isn't completely the truth either," said Shori disapprovingly. "I mean, that brat's also your boyfriend!"

"Was," I said sullenly, "Past tense, Shori."

"Who does that?" ranted Shori, ignoring me. "Who invites an ex-boyfriend to his wedding and lies to his fiancée about it? Are you out of your mind?"

"I can't take it back, okay?"

"But will he come?" Murata interjected, echoing my earlier thoughts. "He might not want to. Wasn't your break-up…you know…messy?"

"Messy" was the right term. The night that everything ended, Wolfram and I were both drunk, and we'd both said some truly hurtful things to each other. I couldn't really remember how the fight began, just that the word "marriage" was somehow involved and that I'd offended Wolfram with my reaction. Then we made the mistake of riding in the same car together (Wolf was driving) and ended up crashing into the front window of a coffee shop. No one was hurt, but that basically placed an end to our relationship.

I made a face, remembering that the last time I'd seen Wolfram, he had looked at me with disgust and some other emotion that could probably be hatred. I knew that we parted with him loathing me, and it just dawned on me then that Shori and Murata, as per usual, were right. Inviting Wolfram to my wedding was a stupid idea.

All of a sudden, I felt so tired. I thought that three years were more than enough to heal the wounds we'd inflicted on each other…perhaps enough to bridge the gap Wolf and I had created between us, but…maybe it wasn't after all.

"Maybe he won't come," Murata said.

"He better not come," muttered Shori. He didn't get along with Wolfram, but he liked Reiko and treated her like a little sister.

I didn't know what to say. I just know that I hate pretending as if Wolfram didn't exist. I hate going about my life as if Wolfram hadn't been a part of it. I hate not talking to him. I hate it that he hates me. I hate it that I didn't get a decent goodbye from him.

"Will he come?"

The question returned to haunt me. 'Will you come, Wolfram?' I asked inside my head. Maybe not, but now I know for sure that I…I want him to. I want to see him again. I want to hear his voice again. I want to touch him again.

I miss him.

~o0o~

Wolfram von Bielefeld

I was staring at the darkening skyline ahead, paying only the slightest bit of attention to the cars zooming alongside me, rocketing so fast that they were mere blurs in my peripheral vision. My hands were on the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension. My vision was fuzzy…as though I was close to crying…although I could not understand—

"Wolfram!"

Someone was seated next to me. His dark eyes were wide with panic, and he was shouting my name in a tone that was somewhere between a plea and a warning. I stared at this apparition, and right there and then, I realized that I must be dreaming. To have this particular person with me right now was highly improbable. No, impossible. Still, that did not help to diffuse the succeeding noise and images of tires screeching, glass breaking, people yelling, the person beside me screaming—

I reached out in terror, knowing that he was about to get terribly hurt, and yet I…I couldn't…I wouldn't…

"Wolfram, please!"

I ignored the plea and took my hands off the wheel. The second that I let go, I felt my entire body lurching into the air. I was not wearing my seatbelt. I soared through the glass, breaking through it as if it were made of ice. I was suspended in midair for one terrifying millisecond. Then I crashed. Face down. On the pavement.

I could hear the thud of a dozen feet above me. Through the commotion, I tried to open my eyes to see what became of my companion, but I only saw shards of glass and fragments of twisted metal. My head was pounding.

"Wolfram…"

My name was uttered in a groan, the sound emanating from somewhere to my right. I willed my head to turn, freezing as soon as I realized what I was looking at.

A body, crooked at an awkward angle.

Something white sticking out of a broken arm.

The black of his hair obscured red with copious amounts of blood…

That was the moment when I finally found my voice.

"YUURI!"

I shouted for him. Reached for him. Cried for him to look at me. But his black eyes lost some of their luster, and after a moment, they fluttered shut. Fear shot through my veins. I was paralyzed at the horrifying thought that I might have just killed him…my best friend…the person I love…

I screamed for him until my voice grew hoarse. Until the entire world faded into a dizzying mirage of metal and glass and blood. Until the screams died down and I could no longer see or hear. Until the only thing left inside me was a terror so debilitating that I could not even cry.

"Wolfram?"

The voice freed me from my immobility. I opened my eyes, sitting bolt upright in the next instant, mouth open in a silent scream. But I was not in the car. I was not even in the pavement.

I was in bed.

"Wolfram? Are you okay?"

A hand started stroking my back, and slowly, I began to relax. Everything's fine, I thought. It was just a dream, a nightmare. I leaned into the hand that held me and allowed its owner to plant a trail of soothing kisses down my neck.

"You okay?" he asked me again.

I nodded, not trusting my voice at the moment. I took several deep breaths to calm myself, to force myself to accept the reality that I was not inside that car anymore. That was three years ago, during my last year in Japan. Why on earth did I have that dream again?

More to distract myself, I looked over at my companion, noting that he was not dressed yet.

"Damien," I muttered exasperatedly. "What are you still doing here?" The morning light was muted against the blinds, but I could tell that it was already late. "Aren't you going to work?"

Damien waved me off, his arms snaking around my waist. He was naked. We both were. "I'll call in sick," he answered dismissively. "What did you dream about?"

I stiffened, remembering my nightmare, and I answered curtly, "Japan."

Damien seemed to understand, although I have not told him anything about my stay in that country. It was not the sort of thing I would talk about with somebody I had known for only a few months and had gone out with for only three weeks – not the sort of thing I would willingly bring up, period. But Damien works in our company, and I am pretty sure he had heard some of the hundred or so rumors about me – the prodigal son who would not attend his father's funeral, the ungrateful nephew who spurned his uncle's offers of a better life, the irresponsible heir who opted to live in exile in another country rather than face his duties as the son of the company's deceased president…

Since I returned to Germany three years ago, a slew of unflattering gossips kept hounding me wherever I went. My reputation was shot to hell even before I could properly build one, and after a few weeks of trying to fit in with the people around me, I gave up and decided to just direct all my attention to my job. After what I had just been through with Yuuri, I desperately needed the distraction. Conrad warned me that I was becoming too much of a workaholic like Gwendal, but I don't give a sh—

"Who is Yuuri?"

I cringed at the name. Yuuri Shibuya...

In my mind, Yuuri will forever be the boy who lived next door, the one person I had really loved with unrelenting devotion. It still stings a little to think about him, although it had been such a long time – three years! – since we broke up. Yuuri had been my best friend – my only friend, in fact – and later on, we became so much more, although I realize now that I sort of coerced him into it. For years, I deluded myself into believing that we had a relationship, that what we had was not just a one-sided affair…but despite that…well…I guess it was never supposed to be. I guess we were just wrong for each other, or more specifically, I was wrong for him. It was hard for me to finally come to terms with that, but after nearly killing Yuuri in that car accident, I had no choice but to give him up.

I shook my head to rid myself of these thoughts, wondering what had prompted me to reminisce about such things after three long years. I bit my lip. It was when Yuuri and I broke up that I finally decided to return to my uncle and start working for him. I was twenty-four then.

"Wolfram?" Damien's arms tightened around me. I blinked, remembering his question.

"How did you…?" I meant to ask how he came about Yuuri's name, but then I realized that I must have spoken it aloud in my sleep.

"You were muttering that name in your sleep," Damien said, confirming my fears.

I flushed. What other embarrassing things had I unwittingly divulged just now? I knew I should not have allowed Damien to stay last night, but it was way too late to regret anything.

I had been in a very foul mood yesterday. One of the temps at work messed up a report, and I had the unfortunate pleasure of presenting the erroneous data to a bunch of American businessmen that we had been dealing with. If successful, the presentation would have led to a deal, which in turn, would have meant the expansion of our business abroad. Now that was all gone. I had to fire the temp, of course – a thing that he, and all his friends at work, did not take too lightly. Simply put, I was not my subordinates' favorite person yesterday – not that I ever was.

The only person at the company who seemed to like me was Damien. He had always been a bit too…different. Too…audacious. While the others tended to avoid me, Damien gravitated towards me and actually had the nerve to ask me out. I was amused at his brazenness, and the fact that he did not care at all who I was, that I eventually accepted his invitation.

Damien had invited me out again last night, and since I had no better option of spending the evening – save for some half-formed plans of tracking down that stupid temp and beating him to a pulp – I went with Damien for dinner and a few drinks. In the end, I had been so intoxicated that I wound up in the passenger's seat, giving Damien directions to my apartment. I think he did a pretty good job of following my instructions, considering that I had been sliding in and out of sobriety for most part of the journey.

We had been seeing each other for nearly a month now, but it was only last night that I allowed him to take me back to where I live. As a matter of personal policy, I never bring people home. It was my private space, and I do not feel very comfortable having a stranger around. Considering our recent activities however, it was laughable to even qualify Damien as a stranger.

"Wolfram?" Damien murmured, nibbling lightly at my shoulder. Then with a bluntness that I was just slowly getting used to, he added, "You want to forget about…it?"

I had the strangest feeling that he was about to say 'him.' Before I could say anything, his hands shimmied down to the center of my thighs, drifting lower deliberately.

"We could both skip work today, what do you say?"

At the mention of 'work,' I immediately came to my senses, remembering that there were several things that I needed to look into today. I had to at least try to get the American account back, even if my chances were very slim at the moment.

"No, I'm sorry," I said, extricating myself from my companion's busy hands before I get sidetracked, and got off the bed. A trail of discarded clothes lay higgledy-piggledy across the floor, where we had both thrown them in abandon in our haste to get to the bed the night before.

I picked up my shirt from where it had landed, atop the drawer, and pulled it over my head. "You should get changed and get to work," I told Damien. "You don't want word going around that—"

"—that I'm screwing around with the boss' nephew?" he finished candidly, eyes twinkling with mirth. "I don't care, actually. I think I might just hang around and help you."

"I don't need help," I said coldly, hoping to convey by my tone of voice that I was not in any mood for company. I wrapped a robe around myself, and then seized another and chucked it towards him. I added, a bit annoyed, "Get dressed and get out."

"Why are you always in such a hurry to get rid of me?" he asked, looking slightly miffed.

"Look, I have things to do—"

"I know," he interrupted. "Like I said, I could help you."

He ignored the robe, stood up, and grabbed his bag from where he had left it, beside the door. He rummaged inside it for something, then faced me again with a strange smile, waving a short, thin folder in the air.

I crossed my arms. "Am I supposed to know what that is all about?"

Damien traipsed towards me, extremely distracting in his nudity, and offered me the file. "Here," he said, suddenly businesslike. "I think you'd find everything in order."

"What?"

"You're going to take another shot at the Americans, right?" Damien guessed. "That's everything you're going to need." He grinned at my skeptical expression. "It's accurate, I can assure you. I did it myself."

There was a note of confidence there. "How did you even know what I was planning to do?"

"I just do," Damien answered simply. He brushed his hair back with his fingers, trying in vain to tame the brown strands that stuck out at awkward angles off the side of his head. He smiled impishly at me. "You're quite easy to read, you know that?"

The way he looked at me made me feel so…exposed. I pulled my robe tightly around myself, seized with a sudden desire to cover as much of my body as I could. Damien looked amused.

"So," he said, still smiling, "would you at least offer me a spot of breakfast?"

"I don't cook," I said gruffly. I eat out or order my meals from the café across the street.

Damien seemed to expect that. "I sort of figured that out. Your kitchen is practically empty."

"You've been into my kitchen?"

"I was curious," he said, much to my annoyance. "What about coffee?"

"Damien," I said, now frustrated, "you really need to leave." His smile faltered. I turned around, taking the folder with me. "Get dressed," I repeated, as I made my way to the bathroom. A shower first, a cup of coffee, and then down to business. "When I come out, you shouldn't be here."

"Wolfram, wait…"

"What?"

"I love you."

My mind had already skipped to what I should be doing for the rest of the day, that I nearly missed Damien's response. When the words finally registered inside my head, I screeched to a halt and glanced back at him in surprise. Did he just say what I heard he did?

"What did you say?" I asked with foreboding.

Damien repeated, "I love you." He took a step towards me and repeated for good measure, "Wolfram, I'm in love with you." Then he smiled ruefully. "Damn it. I meant to find a better way to say that, but…well…"

It took me a minute or so to recover. "You must be joking…"

"I'm not."

I tried to think of an appropriate response, but in the end, all I could do was shake my head in disapproval. "One month isn't enough to jump to any conclusion on how you feel about anything," I scolded him. "You can't just tell me that you love me after that span of time."

Call me old-fashioned, but that was how I see it. There was no such thing as love at first sight. At least I no longer believed in it.

Damien gazed intently at me. "It wasn't just a month."

"What?"

"You really don't remember me at all, do you?

The question made me cautious. Damien Schwarz. What should I remember about him? I knew that he was a freelancer whom my uncle engaged to do some part-time work for the company. I knew that he joined the company about a year before I did, and that he was assigned overseas. He mentioned that he moved to the London branch some months after his first assignment, and that he requested for transfer to the main one just a year ago. I also remember that he was of American descent. He spoke English with a slight accent, but was fluent in both German and French.

But other than those things that I remember from his résumé, I drew up with a blank. I do not know the place or day he was born, or if he had brothers and sisters, or whether he was even single in the first place. It struck me then how little I actually knew – and bothered to find out – about the guy I had just slept with. It made everything so painfully awkward.

"Wolfram…" Damien seemed embarrassed for some reason. "I've known you for longer than a month. To start with, I've had a hand in most of your projects for the past year. When I was still in England, we've corresponded for a bit. Remember the Tobias account?"

I did, and my eyes widened slightly in remembrance. "You were on that project?"

Damien nodded. "We've also seen each other occasionally, mostly during major company functions, but we didn't really talk. Well, you never talked to me, but I did approach you a few times. Remember that affair at the Belgian embassy…?"

"Oh," I said weakly. I did attend a party there, nearly two years ago. A masquerade of sorts. I remember leaving very early, because the event reminded me so much of a similarly-themed festival I attended back in Japan with…with Yuuri…

"I asked you to dance," Damien continued with a wistful smile, "but you said you were leaving early. And…" He hesitated. "Well, I'll let you remember the rest…"

There were more? I blinked, utterly bewildered. How could I have so many encounters with a guy and end up not remembering him? Warning bells started to ring inside my head. I decided to go out with Damien particularly because he was safe – no strings attached, no expectations, none of the complications arising from getting involved far beyond what was physical…but with this…this was not good. I do not think I can handle this.

He seemed to guess what I was thinking. He gazed at me with determination and said earnestly, "I'd like to see you again. I'd like another date…other moments…just like the previous weeks…just like last night…"

I turned red, the memories of our exertions the night before flashing vividly before my eyes. Damien seemed to be reliving the same things. He closed the gap between us in three quick, resolute strides, and trapped me against the bathroom door.

"I was hoping that you'd finally notice me – or recognize me at least. But I guess I never made any lasting impression on you, did I?"

I shook my head, both in denial and in confusion.

Damien looked momentarily depressed, then he shrugged and moved to kiss me. "No matter. At least you're now paying attention, right?"

"W-wait," I gasped, flustered at his confession. "I don't think I—"

"You don't think what?"

"I can't—" I started to say, but Damien just sighed and leaned forward just the same, brushing his lips gently against mine.

"Be reasonable, Wolfram," he murmured. "You can't just refuse without even giving this a chance."

That was extremely logical. I looked at him doubtfully.

"Why don't you go out with me for real?" He said the last word with emphasis, smothering any complaint I might have with another kiss. "If you still don't want anyone to know, then I could live with it. I'll be discreet. I won't tell your uncle…" His eyes bore into mine and I could feel myself giving in. "I just want you…"

Despite the fact that my body felt all too willing to agree, my brain kicked into gear and I managed a disparaging scoff. "You're blackmailing me for sex? Isn't that a bit low, Damien?"

It was his turn to look exasperated. "Don't be an idiot, Wolfram," he said severely, pulling back. "I meant I want all of you." He paused. "I want to be with you. Forever."

My jaw fell open at those words. That sounded eerily like a…a wedding proposal…

Damien smiled, and without giving me time to reply or even comment on the absurdity of what he had just said, he changed the topic. "I'll make us coffee. You do own a cup, don't you?"

I nodded dumbly, failing to add that cutlery was just about everything I have around the kitchen. I had not bothered to drop by the supermarket these past days. Damien collected his clothes, got dressed, and threw another disarming smile in my direction.

"Take a shower. I'll wait for you outside."

And then he plodded out of the room, leaving me standing alone like a fool, wondering what on earth that had been about.

~o0o~

Minutes later, when I had showered and dressed, I found Damien on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee, the morning paper spread out on the table before him. He looked up when I came out and gestured to the spot next to him. I ignored him pointedly, trying to act casual, as though nothing remotely significant had been discussed inside the bedroom just moments earlier.

That did not dampen his mood.

"Your things are on the table," he said. He looked so maddeningly happy that I felt a bizarre urge to clobber him with something, just to wipe that smirk off his face.

"You fixed my things?"

"You're welcome."

"Oh good," I said sarcastically. "I do need another assistant."

"Or a lifetime partner," he shot back.

I was skidding on thin ice. I retreated, although I hated doing that, but a change in topic was severely needed. "Where exactly did you get that?"

I pointed at the cup in his hand. I don't remember keeping a stash of coffee, in whatever form, anywhere inside my apartment.

Damien winked at me. The coffee's aroma was enticing; his smile, even more so. "Your neighbor was very accommodating. Very curious, too. She told me bluntly that I was the first guy that you took home with you."

I felt a prickle of annoyance at the look of satisfaction he was wearing. "Oh? She didn't tell you about the girls?"

"There were none," he answered smugly. "I asked that, too."

"You," I growled, eyes narrowed, "are getting out of hand."

He laughed. "I'm sorry. I'm annoying you, aren't I? I'm just happy. You have no idea how much I've waited for—"

"Wait," I interrupted him, alarmed at the notion that he was hoping for something more, something that I would not be able to give. "Forever" sounded amazing and all, but as I discovered three years ago, it was not real. Like fairy dust and flying carpets, love everlasting was the stuff of fairy tales, not of real life. In real life, "forever" lasts for oh…say, three years. At least it did for me. "I didn't agree to anything."

"Not yet."

"Damien…" I whined, but I could not think of anything to back up my complaint. I thought hard of something – anything – but I was feeling pretty sluggish at the moment, especially since Damien was looking at me with such hope in his eyes. I felt a twinge of discomfort, knowing how painful it was to look forward to something that was never going to be. I was not that terrible of a person to inflict upon him what I had to go through with Yuuri.

"Damien," I tried again. "I—"

"I'm not asking for much, Wolfram," he cut me short, noting the change in my tone. "I was only asking you to try."

"To what?"

"Try. Being with me is worth a shot. I am worth a try."

I cursed internally. Now what was I supposed to say to that? How could you ever let a guy down when he was being this nice?

Damien stood up, leaving his cup on the table. "Say yes."

If it were only that easy, I thought. I cleared my throat. "Look—"

"I am not taking no for an answer," he said stubbornly. Then his eyes softened. "Just…say that you'll try."

My heart pounded. I could not understand this feeling. Pity? A sense of amity because I could relate to what he was going through? Unrequited love was my territory after all. But…why do I feel so…so…warm all over? I found myself nodding, although I could not remember making a conscious decision to accept Damien's proposal at all.

His face brightened. "You will?"

"I guess so," I said, but some part of me was already starting to regret my answer.

"Thank you," Damien said, pulling me into his arms. I offered no resistance, thinking that maybe it would not be too bad to be in a relationship again. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was worth a shot. Maybe he was worth a try. And how could I think otherwise, when he was holding me this way, as though he did not want to let me go? When he was stroking my hair with such affection? When he was looking at me with such tenderness?

I felt both guilty and ashamed. What was I doing, playing with somebody else's feelings?

"You know," Damien whispered, as though he knew what I was thinking, "someday, maybe you'll learn to love me too."

I think he meant that as a joke, but it only made me more aware how wrong everything was. I could not answer. I could not even look him in the eye. Instead, I buried my face in his chest and allowed him to hold me for as long as he wanted.

~o0o~

Chapter 2: Of Fights and Flights

~o0o~

Wolfram von Bielefeld

I had that dream again and again in the nights that followed. The car. The breaking glass. The pool of blood in the pavement. The dark-haired boy who stared at me with horror-stricken eyes…

Each time, I woke up to find another pair of eyes staring at me, but unlike the ones in my dreams, they do not flash with fear. Rather, they gleam with anxiety, understanding, and – although I am not entirely sure of it – jealousy.

Damien. Now that he was staying over more often than necessary, I always find Damien's eyes on me whenever I wake up from these visions – these images that were rapidly becoming my nightly ordeal.

Inexplicably, I do not resent having Damien see me this way, even if these were perhaps my most vulnerable moments. In fact, his constant presence was strangely comforting rather than aggravating. His arms around me made me feel safe rather than entrapped. Making love with him was as gratifying as ever, and surprisingly, talking to him was not as dreary as I had previously envisioned. It turned out that we had quite a lot of things in common.

No. I no longer detest the idea of being Damien's…what was the right word here? Boyfriend? Lover? Fiancé? I shrugged the thought off, finding that I did not really want to care what my role was in Damien's life. I do not find the idea of being with him as undesirable as I did before, but there was still that occasional feeling of regret looming over me. Sometimes, I feel like knocking my head against the wall for committing myself to another potentially disastrous relationship. Sometimes, I curse myself for doing the very thing that I had always steered clear from after breaking up with Yuuri – getting involved. With Damien, I was more than involved. I was tangled. Ensnared. How could I have allowed this to happen?

But it was too late to take anything back. The only consolation I had was that I was not the one who cared more. When things fall apart – which I am pretty sure they would – I would not be the one who would get hurt.

"Wolfram?"

I gave a start. It was early morning, and I had just risen from another version of my nightmare – the one where Yuuri closed his eyes and drifted away forever – only to find Damien staring at me with unwavering intensity. There was something in his eyes that made me instantly alert that something was off. Had I done or said something offensive? The look he was giving me said as much.

I straightened up. "W-what time is it?"

"You were dreaming," he said. I thought I heard a hint of disapproval in his voice. And hurt.

I wanted to ask if I had said something wrong while within the throes of my dream, but I decided that it was none of his business. If he did not like seeing me thrashing about the bed while occasionally shouting my ex-boyfriend's name, then he could just as well stay in his own house, couldn't he? Who invited him over anyway?

I was feeling pretty peevish for some reason. I think it was because I still could not figure out why I was having all these dreams about the past. Why now? Why here? Why wouldn't they stop? I remember my brother, Gwendal, saying something about dreams being manifestations of our subconscious, of the things, events, and people that we keep out of sight. Out of mind. I thought back to the visions I keep having about the car accident and tried to process what those could possibly mean. Longing for a person who clearly did not want me as much as I did him? Shame for accidentally hurting the person that I professed to be in love with? Guilt because…

I stopped my thoughts right there. No. I did not want to think about that.

Damien stood up when he saw that I was not about to give a narrative, an apology, or an explanation. He said neutrally, "I'm making breakfast. You should get up and eat."

Ah, breakfast. How long was it since I actually had one made right here? Cooking was an unusual occurrence in my apartment, but that was when I still lived alone. Now that Damien took up the habit of sleeping over frequently, there were now hot meals on the table, stacks of food supplies in the pantry, and sorted mails in the table each morning.

Damien, I thought with mixed emotions. Why couldn't he just be like everybody else? Why couldn't he just be interested in the sex and be done with it? On one hand, I feel flattered that he seemed to care about me so much. On the other, his devotion could be so uncomfortable at times, particularly because I felt obliged to return the favor in one way or another. I felt that I owed him somehow, and I did not like being indebted to people over anything, especially with things that money could not buy. Things like love.

"Are you coming, or would you like a few more minutes to dream about him?" Damien's tone was unusually acerbic. He seemed annoyed.

I felt guilty, knowing that I really must have done something insulting. Why else would Damien – who was usually so pleasant and considerate – act like this? But another emotion overshadowed my desire to apologize. Anger. Not at him but at myself. I knew I could not handle being in this type of relationship. Why did I even push it?

"Wolfram?" Damien seemed to come to his senses. "I'm sorry. I—"

His apology made me angrier. How could I even consider dumping him when he was being so damn nice?

"It's fine!" I retorted. Then I stood up, throwing the covers away with unnecessary force. Without a single word, I strode to the bathroom, closed the door with a bang, and locked myself in. From beyond the door, I could hear Damien's footsteps. And then his voice came.

"Wolfram? I really am sorry. I was out of line."

"Go away," I muttered.

I undressed and collapsed on the tub. I turned the taps on, and as I watched the water lap softly at my feet, I briefly contemplated holding myself under and just be done with everything. The nightmares could not possibly follow me into the afterlife, could they?

The idea seemed reasonable for a second, and then I realized just how pathetic it was. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. But then, when it came to things connected to Yuuri, I had always been nothing less than pathetic.

I sighed and sank down into the welcoming water, not stopping until I was completely submerged. I held my breath for a long moment, for as long as my body could endure the lack of oxygen. Then gasping, I surfaced, water sputtering out of my mouth.

"You know, if you're trying to drown yourself, the tub is a very ineffective venue."

My head snapped up in surprise. Damien was looming over me, eyebrows knitted together.

"I locked the door," I groaned.

"I know where you keep the keys."

Of course, I thought wryly. From the way he moved around, you would have guessed that he was the one who owned the apartment, and I was the visitor. The intruder. I smiled at the thought of barging into his house and acting as though I owned it. But if I did not know any better, Damien would have probably enjoyed the experience rather than be discomfited about it. And also, I did not even know where he lived.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I should have locked you out of the apartment."

"I have duplicate keys of the front door."

"I could change the locks."

"I could always climb a window."

I rolled my eyes at him. "We're at the ninth floor."

"There are ways," he said dismissively. "There's always a way."

"You…" I was about to tell him off, but I found that I could not. Instead, my mouth quirked with amusement. "You just don't know when to give up, do you?"

"I was told that it's a desirable attribute."

"When has pigheadedness become an attribute?" I asked, and it was seconds before I realized that I was teasing him. And Damien was responding in kind. Have we made up? I was not even conscious of it.

Damien was grinning. "Some people would call it persistence."

I laughed and he joined in, and just like that, everything seemed to be fine again. I marveled at how he could be so undemanding, so forgiving, so easy to please. So…uncomplicated. Out of nowhere, an unexpected warmth rushed through my body, and I realized that this guy was actually starting to grow on me. Damien regarded me then with a sort of relief that I was no longer mad at him. Then he leaned down to kiss me, and automatically, I inclined my face to grant him better access. There was a soft splash, and the water in the tub flowed down over the sides. A weight descended upon me, and when I opened my eyes next, all I could see were Damien's eyes, and all I could think about was how warm they were, and how pleased I was that he was looking at me – only me. All I could think about was how much I wanted him.

"You're still dressed," I observed.

"That could be easily arranged," Damien answered with another lopsided grin, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the floor. He leaned down to press his lips against mine, but before our faces could meet, his head jerked abruptly to the side. There was a distracted look on his face, then without warning, he leapt out of the tub.

"What's wrong?" I called after him as he scampered out of the bathroom.

"My bacons are burning!" he shouted back, and true enough, I could smell something off, something…well, burning. It must have been beyond saving, and obviously worse than anticipated, because a few seconds later, there was a noise that sounded ominously like an explosion. I could hear Damien cursing, which was a first. Then there was another loud sound that seemed like water gushing forcefully out of somewhere.

I groaned. Great. Just great. What a way to start the day. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of the water and got dressed. I had a feeling Damien had just demolished my kitchen.

I entered the kitchen a moment later to find my suspicions confirmed. Damien was soaking wet from head to toe as he wrestled with what appeared to be a water spout by the sink, where the faucet used to be. There was a gigantic soot-blackened spot near the stove-top, where the wall should be visible. I stared at Damien for a second or two, not knowing whether to laugh or panic, before I recovered enough sense to sprint towards the main taps and turn them off.

Fortunately, it did the trick.

"What on earth did you do?" I demanded as soon as the water subsided.

For once, Damien seemed at a loss for words. "I—I…didn't…"

"You just ruined my kitchen."

"Yeah," Damien said, looking stunned.

"You'll have to pay for this," I warned.

"I know."

"I was just kidding."

Damien shook his head. "No, I need to pay for this. I nearly burned your apartment."

"It's not really a problem…" I stopped and looked at him, feeling guilty that I hadn't asked earlier. "Uh, are you okay?"

"I guess," he said, looking down at himself. Then he nodded towards the stove. "I couldn't say the same for your breakfast."

"Screw the breakfast."

Damien did not even smile. "Wolfram, I'll fix everything. I know someone. I can get him to come over this afternoon. I'm really sorry. I'll have everything done by the end of the day."

Had he been anything but contrite, I would have taken this opportunity to tease him – or at the worst, get exceedingly angry and use the situation as an excuse to dump him. But since he looked so anxious while waiting for my reaction, I said instead, "I told you – screw it. Don't worry about anything."

"But—"

"I said, it's okay."

"Yes, but—"

I sighed and moved towards him, and then…well…I do not know why I did what I did next. It just felt like the most natural thing to do at that instant. Before Damien could start apologizing again, I leaned forward and captured his mouth in a slow, languid kiss. It was not something borne out of physical desire, but more of genuine affection. Not of a need to satisfy some sexual hunger, but of a yearning to comfort. Not to tell him that I wanted him in my bed, but to tell him that everything was really, truly, alright.

I surprised myself with that gesture, but I stunned myself with the feeling that went with it. My pulse raced wildly, and blood rushed to my face. I felt like I was a teenager, and this was my very first kiss.

But I think I must have surprised Damien even more. After all, this was the first time that I actually initiated any sort of physical contact with him. And to do it like this…that must require some sort of explanation.

"Wolfram?" Damien was looking at me with a mystified, but otherwise hopeful, expression.

I was right. He was waiting for an explanation. Mercifully, I was saved the trouble of having to pluck one out of thin air with the doorbell chiming pleasantly in my ears. I gave a nervous chuckle and moved to step away from him, but he held me by the waist and would not let go.

"Ignore it," he whispered.

"That must be the manager," I protested. "He must be wondering what happened to the water supply."

I could see he was still reluctant to release me, so I gently peeled his arms from me. "I'll be back."

I made my way to the main entrance, but my mind was reeling furiously from what I just did. That kiss…and that feeling…

What was that?

I thought I had all the time in the world to dissect my feelings, but when I opened the door, everything – the nightmares, Damien, the kiss in the drenched kitchen – everything melted into the air.

Because the man in my doorstep was not the apartment manager.

It was my brother.

Conrad.

~o0o~

Conrad Weller

I came to Germany with a mission.

It was not a desirable one by any means, but it was – in my point of view – necessary. A lot of people do not agree with what I was about to do, particularly with the news that I was about to deliver, but I felt that I owe it to my little brother to tell him what was going on. I told myself that if our situations were reversed, I am fairly sure that I would want somebody to tell me the truth. Besides, I know Wolfram. He would never forgive me if I kept something as important as this from him.

I had to tell him.

But now that I am standing right at his doorstep, the significance of my news seemed to diminish at the sight that revealed itself. Wolfram was soaked to the skin, and from what little I could see of the room beyond, it seemed that everything was wet as well. The word 'danger' flashed before my eyes, and my first instinct was to grab my brother out of the room and take him somewhere safe. But then I remembered that he was not six anymore. He was an adult, albeit still a bit too childish in my opinion, but old enough to not appreciate being carried out of anywhere. I reined my panicking self in and assumed a concerned expression.

"Wolfram!" I exclaimed, foregoing small talk. "What happened?"

Wolfram stared at me like he could not believe that I was actually there. His surprise was valid. We had lost touch for nearly a year, and there were no phone calls, no letters, no contact whatsoever. If I were in his shoes, I would be surprised as well. The difference, though, was that I would be pleasantly surprised. Wolfram, on the other hand, had a guilty look about him. I recognized that face. He looked like that time when he was five, when I caught him hiding the remnants of a vase he had obviously broken under the living room carpet.

'He's hiding something,' I thought, and I was immediately on alert. "Wolfram?"

Wolfram seemed to snap out of his trance. "Conrad! W-what are you doing here?"

"Forget that," I replied. "What happened to you?"

"Um…it's just a little fire…"

"A fire?" I frowned, stepping into the room before he could stop me. Somehow, I had the feeling that he was not planning to invite me in. Which was very odd. "What fire?"

Wolfram hurried beside me. "It's nothing really. It's just the stove, it's—"

"Stove?" I echoed. "Wolf…were you actually cooking?" An image of my pampered little brother over a stove-top was utterly preposterous. It made me laugh.

Wolfram looked offended, and as usual, he compensated by scowling and saying rudely, "I wasn't. Have you come all the way here to insult me?"

I was reminded of the news I was supposed to deliver, and I quickly sobered down. Thankfully, Wolfram still seemed preoccupied with something else, that he did not notice my mood.

"Conrad? Look, this is really a bad time. Can't you visit me some other day?" He was yanking me back towards the door. "Or I could just meet you. Give me your address and I'll come see you instead."

I stopped to study his face. He was blushing, and something inside my head clicked. I wondered why it took me so long to decipher my brother's behavior. I smiled in understanding. "Oh, you have company?"

Wolfram froze, then turned beet-red. He stammered, "I-it's not…it's just…he's…" When he failed to complete the sentence, he snapped at me, "It's none of your business!"

But I had heard enough. He. A guy. I could not decide whether this was a good thing. I had heard from some of the people I know at Waltorana's company that Wolfram was often seen with a string of guys. A different one each time. Gwendal was aware of this too, and it did not amuse either of us to know that our youngest brother had actually started emulating our mother's lifestyle. I had an idea why Wolfram had resorted to such promiscuity, but then again, that affair with Yuuri had happened ages ago. I was wary of the thought that he might still be fixated on him. It would make the message I was about to convey all the more unbearable for him, and hurting him was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.

For a moment, I thought of letting the matter drop and just return at a more appropriate time. But I decided against it, knowing that this was as good a time as any to give him the news. It would allow him more time to think and decide what to do with it. But before that…

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" I teased. I knew I was probably pushing my luck, but I must admit that I was curious. Besides, it was fun to see Wolfram this disconcerted once in a while.

"Conrad!" Wolfram whined, sounding like his five-year-old self.

Gently, I placed my hand upon his shoulder. "I'm curious," I said honestly. Then I added in a conspiratorial whisper, "I won't tell Mother. Or Gwendal."

Wolfram actually relaxed a bit. "He isn't really…I mean…we're—"

Whatever he was supposed to say was interrupted by the appearance of the visitor in question. He came from the kitchen area, holding a burnt metal piece that looked like the remnants of a frying pan. He was naked from the chest up, and like my brother, he was sopping wet from head to toe. He looked taken aback when he saw me, and then his eyes narrowed considerably at the sight of my arm on Wolfram's shoulder. For a second, we regarded each other distrustfully. Then the light of recognition appeared in his eyes and his facial muscles loosened up. Now he looked self-conscious. I stared at him for a moment longer. He seemed to recognize me, and I wondered why he looked so familiar as well.

Wolfram said stiffly, "Damien, this is Conrad, my brother. Conrad, this is Damien. He's…er…he's—"

"—just leaving," the guy called Damien immediately supplied, smiling in what he obviously thought was a winning manner. He deposited the charred pan near the table and said, "I'll…be back later."

He strode past us hurriedly, throwing Wolfram a secretive smile. Wolfram flushed. I averted my gaze to a speck of dirt on the floor and pretended not to notice, but from the corner of my eyes, I followed the departing guy's movements. I could not help but notice that he made a hasty detour towards the bedroom, emerging fully clothed, before finally making his exit. When we were both alone, Wolfram groaned in what I could make out as mortification.

"Don't you dare tell Mother," he warned, sinking down to the damp couch. "Or Gwendal."

"I promise," I replied solemnly. Then I remarked, "He seems familiar. Have I met him before?"

"You couldn't have."

I shrugged. Then I realized partly why Wolfram's visitor seemed to strike a certain chord within me, and why it felt like I had seen him before. Although Damien had light sandy hair and hazel eyes, there was something in the way he smiled that reminded me of…of Yuuri Shibuya. I considered my brother for a moment, wondering whether he had intentionally chosen that guy because of this similarity, but I did not dare verbalize my thoughts.

I said instead, "So…you were wondering why I'm here."

Wolfram did not seem interested anymore, but he humored me just the same. "Well, yes. Do you have business with Uncle Waltorana?"

"Actually, Waltorana doesn't know I'm here. Neither does Gwendal. If they knew that I was planning to visit you, they would have stopped me at all costs."

"Really?" There was now a flicker of curiosity in Wolfram's eyes. "Why? What's going on?"

"Didn't anyone tell you where I just came from?"

Wolfram shook his head. "I was guessing that you went to Siberia or something. That's about the only place in the world you haven't been to."

His attempt at a joke weakened my resolve for a mere second, but then I steeled myself to say the next words, "Actually…I was in Saitama."

That should explain everything. Judging from the look of comprehension on Wolfram's face, I knew that he already had a fair idea as to what I was trying to say. He knew that whatever it was had something to do with Yuuri.

"You've talked to Yuuri," he deduced. His tone was flat.

"He's no longer mad at you, Wolfram," I said. "He's been trying to get in touch with you these past months. I think he wants to see you. To talk to you."

"I don't understand."

"I think it would be good for you to…to give him a chance to talk. I think it would be good for him too."

Wolfram did not look convinced. "So he sent you all the way here to tell me that? Why now?"

I hesitated. Then I pulled out an envelope from the inner pocket of my coat. "Actually, he also wanted me to give this to you," I said carefully. "He wanted you to…to come. If you want to."

Wolfram took the envelope. I saw that he was struggling to come to terms with what I had just told him, considering that this was also the first tangible thing that he had received from Yuuri after all these years. I thought that I should warn him, but each time I opened my mouth to say something, no words came out. Then a moment later, I did not need to. Wolfram had realized by himself what he was holding in his hand and all color seemed to have bled out of his face. He looked back at me with a hodgepodge of emotions. I could see he was trying to fight down his dismay, but he was having no success with it.

"This is…" Wolfram rasped out, "…this is…an invitation…" I nodded. Wolfram seemed to struggle with this information for a moment longer. Then he whispered softly, as though he was speaking to himself, "Yuuri's getting married?"

I nodded again to indicate that he was right. Wolfram did not seem to notice me. He was looking past me, as though he was staring at figures that only he could see.

Then in a strangled voice, he repeated to himself, "Yuuri's getting married."

I stared at him, at the lost expression on his face, and I wondered whether I had done the right thing.

~o0o~

Wolfram von Bielefeld

The envelope was a garish shade of pink, with lilies embossed all across the front. There were two doves imprinted at the center, tied together by a long, frilly ribbon. Within the loops that the ribbons made, two names were embossed in glittering gold letters. Yuuri. Reiko. On the lower right hand portion, my name was printed in a heavy handwriting that I immediately recognized as Yuuri's. I had to blink a few times to assure myself that everything was real.

I pried the flap open with my hands, fingers shaking slightly, and pulled the content out. It did not take me long to confirm what I was holding, and my entire body seemed to grow colder.

It was an invitation.

An invitation to Yuuri's…wedding.

"Yuuri's getting married?" I asked, addressing no one in particular. Standing opposite me, Conrad nodded in confirmation, but somehow I still could not drink it in. It was as if I had been wrenched back in time, back to that point when I had proposed to Yuuri and he had turned me down without even batting an eyelash. I could picture us in the hotel room where I had set up what I had imagined as a romantic rendezvous. The meticulously-prepared dinner. All that wine. The room swathed in candlelight. I had even hired a quartet just for the occasion. It was all so sappy now that I looked back at it, and the overly dramatic quality of it all might have contributed to Yuuri freaking out. But it had been for Yuuri. And that was enough reason for me to let go of all my inhibitions and express my feelings for him the best that I knew how.

I was not very good with words, and so I had hoped that my actions would speak for themselves. Either Yuuri was too dense to realize what I was hinting at, or he knew exactly what I wanted but did not want to discuss it. I feared that it might have been the latter. I had no choice but to use words, but when I finally broached the topic of settling down with him, he just gaped at me with an expression appropriate to someone who had just been bashed in the head. Then he just kept on drinking himself senseless, and it was all I could do not to hit him in the face for real. I tried raising the topic for a second time, and that moment around, Yuuri had categorically refused.

"No." That was all he said. I asked for an explanation, to which he only replied, "I can't."

Enough said. I must have drunk myself into a stupor, but still, at the end of the night, I had the bad sense to drive the two of us home. We kept up an argument inside the car, until everything eventually culminated into that…that accident.

'Accident,' I thought darkly, 'Yeah, right.'

"Wolfram?"

My brother called out my name as though he was addressing a wounded animal in a corner, cajoling it to come forth into the open. I closed my eyes for a second, because I could not be sure if I could stop myself from flinging a flower vase right into his overly concerned face.

"Yuuri's getting married," I whispered to myself, driving the reality home.

I did not know what to think. And then suddenly, I was so angry, I could not help but crumple the invitation into a ball. What was this all of a sudden? A joke? Why would Yuuri invite me to his wedding? Why would I want to see him march down the aisle to tie the knot with somebody else, when three years ago, he had refused pointblank to marry me?

Then the anger seeped out of my bones and all I could feel was fatigue. I felt faint – exhausted to the core – and not just in a physical sense. I could feel an old wound opening up somewhere deep within me, a wound that I thought had healed after three years. It was still there, unfortunately, and it still hurts like hell.

My mind was stuck in the moment. At the fact that Yuuri had chosen somebody else. That he had finally moved on. And worse, that he wanted to share his new life with me.

It felt so wrong. So unfair.

"Are you going?" Conrad was watching me with cautious eyes. I glanced at him. He had a resigned sort of expression on his face, as though he knew what I was going to do even before I had fully decided to act on it.

"I…" My throat felt dry. I swallowed hard. "I'll think about it. Is…is this all you came here for?"

He nodded again. "I just wanted you to know. I would like to, if it were me." Unexpectedly, he smiled – that gentle, understanding smile that only belonged to him. "If you decide to go, I was thinking that we could go together."

I felt the edges of my lips lifting up at his offer. My loyal, dependable, adoring brother. With my father always away for his business and my mother busy with her affairs, I was practically raised by my brothers. By Conrad, mostly. Up until I was shipped to a boarding school when I turned eleven, Conrad was the only person in the world I depended on, one of the few people I trusted wholeheartedly. I remembered being so jealous when I spent a vacation in Japan and found him completely enamored with another kid – young, naïve Yuuri. I could not understand why Conrad liked him so much. I just slowly realized how special he was over the next few years, and by then, I was a goner. In retrospect, falling for Yuuri had been inevitable.

"I'm not a child anymore, Conrad," I said. "You don't have to hold my hand every time I'm upset."

"I know," he said softly. "But I couldn't help worrying."

"You don't need to," I told him, and I meant it.

Still, it was tough to convince Conrad to leave me alone afterwards. It was only the promise that I would let him know what I would do with the invitation that finally got him to leave. Left to my own thoughts a little while later, I took a few minutes to collect myself. Then on an impulse, I started doing what I had never done in my entire life – clean my apartment. I managed to locate a mop that I did not know I even owned and started swiping the floor with it. I just needed to do something that would keep my hands busy and allow my mind to wander.

What should I do with the invitation? Turn it down? That could mean that I do not care about the wedding at all, which was good for my image. Or it could mean the opposite – that I still cared too much that I could not bear to see Yuuri exchange wedding vows with somebody else. That was probably closer to the truth.

I made a face, and I began attacking the floor with unwarranted vigor. If I accepted the invitation, what would that say about me? That I was still hoping to get Yuuri to stop this nonsense? Or that I had accepted that he had moved on, and my presence there would be an indication that I had done so as well? I was torn between what I wanted to do and what was the right thing to do. In this scenario, they were – most unfortunately – not the same things.

I ended up spending the entire afternoon locked up in my apartment, doing several menial tasks that I could have easily ordered the clean-up crew to do. I was only interrupted twice. The first time was when the manager peered in to ascertain that everything was well, and that I was really fine. He did not look too convinced to say the least, perhaps because the sight of me cleaning the floor was too much for him to bear. Thankfully, he did not linger, and he left, muttering something about a meeting with the insurance company.

The second interruption occurred at nearly three o'clock, when my secretary called to inform me that the Americans had already left. It was only then that I remembered what I had initially set out to do that morning, but strangely enough, I did not care any longer that I missed the opportunity to settle a business deal. Although – I glanced at the report Damien had given me – I felt a twinge of guilt for letting Damien's efforts come to waste…

"I didn't know you could handle a mop," an amused voice rang out of the blue, and I jumped in surprise. Damien, looking fresh and alert in a change of clothes, had snuck in behind me. I was about to ask him how he got in, but then I remembered what he had said earlier. He must be telling the truth about the duplicate key.

"Damien…you came back."

He grinned. "I came to get you. I figured this place would be inhabitable for a while, so since I was the cause of all this mess, I guess I should offer you a place to stay. I wanted to come back earlier, but I wasn't sure if you were alone." He glanced over his shoulder, as though looking for someone. "Is…your brother really gone?"

"Y-yes…" My throat felt very dry again. The sight of Damien and the thought of Yuuri did not jive well together for some reason.

Damien relaxed visibly. Then he sauntered over to my side and casually slid his arms around my waist, his chin digging into my shoulder, his lips pressing against my neck. "So, where were we before he came in?"

His breath was hot against my skin, but his nearness did nothing but fuel my distress at the fact that I was longing for a different pair of arms. Different lips. A different person who was living halfway around the world, probably trying on a tuxedo right now, preparing for his wedding. I disentangled myself and avoided Damien's eyes. He caught on to my mood easily enough.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, all playfulness gone from his features. "Bad news from your brother?"

Bad news. I felt that those words defined the news of Yuuri's wedding accurately enough, but I knew I did not have the right to qualify it as such. I had lost that right that fateful night, three years ago. By all accounts, I should not be able to feel anything right now. Not hurt or betrayal or anger or yearning or jealousy. The problem was, I was feeling every single thing so acutely that I was beginning to feel so pathetic once more.

"Wolfram? What's wrong?"

I wanted to lie, but I knew that I would be hopeless at it. Especially with Damien. He had always been able to tell what I was thinking, or if I was keeping something from him. He never pried, but he had a way of getting to the truth on his own. He was pretty resourceful with these types of things.

"Well," I answered tentatively, "there is news. You…you remember Yuuri?"

Damien's eyebrows rose with interest. "How could I forget?"

I ignored the sarcasm in his voice and went on, "Conrad delivered an…an invitation from him. He said that…that Yuuri wanted me to come."

I was being vague because I could not say the words out loud in front of him. It was odd enough to be talking about Yuuri with Damien of all people. But Damien proved to be far more perceptive than I had given him credit for. He asked, "He's getting married?"

I nodded numbly. Hearing those words from him somehow made everything much more real.

Damien's face changed, ever so subtly. Then he asked quietly, "Are you going?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Damien studied my face. "You're going. I could tell."

His apparent omniscience rubbed me the wrong way. I snapped, "I said I haven't decided."

"You don't need to lie to me—"

"I'm not lying!"

"Wolfram—"

"I. Am. Not. Lying!" I snarled.

Damien regarded me with a hollow laugh. "You wouldn't be able to help yourself, Wolfram."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on. Do you honestly want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes," I hissed. "Please do."

Damien shook his head in frustration. "Because it's him! It's Yuuri Shibuya! You've always been drawn to him. I'm surprised you haven't booked your ticket to Saitama yet."

I was so angry at his superior tone that it took me a few seconds to process what he had just said.

'It's Yuuri Shibuya! You've always been drawn to him. I'm surprised you haven't booked your ticket to Saitama yet.'

I blinked as the full weight of his words hit me. How did he even know Yuuri's full name? Or that he lived in Saitama? Damien must have realized that he had said more than he intended. He looked away. I could do nothing but stare at him, my mind screaming with the realization that Damien knew Yuuri! But how was that possible? Either he had met him personally or he had researched all that he could about him. None of these possibilities made any sense to me. I mean, there was no opportunity for him to have met Yuuri. Yuuri never travelled out of the country. And Damien couldn't possibly be that obsessed to research all of my past lovers, could he? Or couldn't he? My eyes narrowed with suspicion.

It was unlikely that Damien would confess everything he knew outright, but I went for it anyway. "You…you know who Yuuri is, don't you?"

He hesitated, his eyes flitting everywhere but my face. That was enough affirmation for me.

I demanded, "How?"

"What does it matter?"

"Answer the question!"

Damien looked grim. "I worked for your uncle on an overseas assignment once, remember?"

Something nagged at the back of my mind, and a detail claimed my undivided attention. What did Damien say before?

'It was more than a year…I've known you for more than a year…I'll let you remember the rest…'

I felt sick with realization. "That assignment…don't tell me you were in…?"

Damien seemed to be gritting his teeth. "I was in Japan, yes."

"In Saitama?" I asked. What could possibly be the company's business in that particular area? Then it hit me. "I was your assignment? You were there to check on me?"

Unwillingly, as though he was merely forcing his body to move, Damien nodded.

I clenched my fists. "And Yuuri too?"

Damien avoided my eyes. "Yes. To a certain extent."

"But you asked me about him. You were pretending not to know, but you…you knew all along…"

"I know. It was stupid, but I just wanted you to tell me those things yourself."

"But why did you…?" I started to ask, but then I realized the obvious and I answered my own question, "Uncle Waltorana."

"I'm sorry, Wolfram," Damien said. "It was part of my job, but I—"

That was the wrong thing to say. I flared up. "You're saying that you intruded into my personal life just because it was your job—!"

"It wasn't like I had any choice in the matter!" Damien snapped, and it was so unusual to see him like this that I did not get to reply right away. "You ran away from home, remember? Didn't you even think for a single moment that your uncle wouldn't send anyone to follow you around? Didn't you even imagine that he wouldn't try to find out how you were living your life in Japan?" He looked at me beseechingly, willing me to understand. "I wasn't the only one, Wolfram. There were others who kept track of you before I eventually took over."

I did not know which was worst – the idea that my so-called years of freedom in Japan, away from the prying eyes of my father's family, were just mere illusions, or the fact that Damien had conspired with them to hunt me down. I had not yet fully decided what I feel for Damien, if indeed, I feel anything at all. But at the least, with his deception and concealment, I felt betrayed.

"Oh?" I asked in cold fury. "So, right now, are you still here to keep an eye on me, is that it? Are you also being paid to date me and screw me on the side?"

"Do you think that's something I'd actually do?" Damien demanded furiously. "If you must know, I only took the job because—"

I did not want to listen anymore. I felt that anything he'd say would make matters worse. "Stop it. Just go."

"Wolfram—"

"STOP IT!" I roared at the top of my voice.

Damien pursed his lips. He stared at me with a stubborn gleam in his eyes, before stating bluntly, "You're really going to do it, aren't you? You're going back. To him."

I did not refute it, but I did not feel the need to explain my thought process to him or continue talking to him any longer. I had heard more than I needed to hear. I had said more than I wanted to say. I turned my back on him.

Damien said, so quietly that I almost missed it, "Don't go."

I shook my head, not daring to turn around and face his wrath or disappointment, or both. What seemed like an eternity later, I heard Damien's departing footsteps and the front door slamming shut.

The sound ignited something in me – a need to do something, anything, to stop myself from going after Damien. Before I knew what I was doing, I was running towards the bedroom. I was abruptly seized with a frantic need to get away. Away from my apartment. Away from this town. Away from this country. I thought of several possible destinations, but in the end, I was drawn more and more to the place indicated in that sickeningly pink piece of paper. Damien was probably right. I wanted to be there so badly, although why I wanted to was still a mystery to me. It was enough motivation, though, to start packing.

I made my way to the bedroom, called the airlines, and started making reservations for the earliest flight to Japan. I did not stop to think about what I was going to do. Frankly, I did not know what the hell I was doing or why I was going to do it. I could not explain why I was returning to a country I had sworn never to visit again. I could not understand why I was going back to watch the person that I – in some foolish and pathetic way – still love, get married to somebody else.

I do not understand anything. I just have this feeling of…of certainty…that I have to do it. I have to be there. I could not explain it, and I did not have the energy to analyze my feelings. I just wanted to be there, to be with him, to see Yuuri again…and as I realized that, I swore softly to myself for being so stupid.

Damn you, Yuuri.

~o0o~

Notes:

Okay, this is the first time I've written anything in first person, so I'm still trying to get used to it. Now I understand what people say by giving characters their own "voice." Also, since this is AU, I had to convert the events in the canon universe to something that could happen in an alternate universe. Of course THE slap had to figure in somewhere, right? :)

Damien and Reiko are OCs from the main story I'm working on right now. Since the story called for people like them, I figured that it would be more convenient to use them rather than create two more OCs for just a short story.

'Someone Like You' started off as something else entirely, with the wedding being more of a side story rather than the main plot. (Honestly, I don't know why things don't end up exactly how I wanted them to be.) But somewhere along the way, I got tangled with the whole wedding events that I ended up focusing on them more than I needed to. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys reading this just the same.

Thanks for reading!