A/N And now back to your regularly schedule program: angst. Dedicated to Peaches-Destroyer, as requested. May be some (easily ignored) tendershipping subtext, not sure though. I'm always bad at knowing what's subtext and what isn't. Oh and this is AU.


Lies will take you somewhere, but never back. ~ Jewish Proverb


The night is harsh and unforgiving - like his master's eyes.

His master is smirking; of course he is, because they won. There is no emotion, no happiness or anything that could resemble feelings (because feelings are signs of the soul and the boy knows…), just confidence. As always. The boy does not know what else he had been expecting. (The boy always seems to expect too much.)

He tries his best not to shy away from his master's stare, but to it frightens him. Everything about his master frightens him. His master sharpness, his coldness, his utter lack of everything. But tonight the fire they lit is in his master's eyes and there is something in there. Deep down inside those cold endless eyes. For a second the flames reflected makes it seems to be some sort of emotion hidden inside. But it is only a second and it is only a reflection. Like the boy himself is nothing more than a diluted version of his master; a washed out twin. And again he reminds himself that this is what he chose, and therefore this is the life he would lead.

(Nothing, nothing will ever change that. He repeats this to himself three more times for good measure,)

His master turns away from him, and he is glad (though he's not, not really). This fire tonight is particular bright, brighter than the others he has watch burn. The flames also seem more chaotic than normal, flaring up and then collapsing into themselves. It could be considered magnificent. Watching fire takes a special kind of person though, something that the boy is not (no matter how hard he tries) so to him it is just terrible.

The boy steps forward, trying to get closer to his master. He doesn't like being alone, especially after the things he had done today, so he longs for that closeness. But (of course, of course, of course, of course) not to close and always a least a step behind his master. There is that unspoken rule, that fully conscious order of "I will lead and you will follow," ("And I'll follow you, to the gates of hell and back again. You won't care though,") that seems to always command the boy's actions. He's a good servant in that way.

The fire flares up again, burning the brightest it has yet. The boy simply stares because there is nothing else he can do. He cannot stop it, for (his master) the fire is far too strong. He cannot save the people inside because they are already dead. And he cannot turn back time because if he could he would not be standing here thinking about it. So he stares, as does his master but for entirely different reasons.

(Or maybe none at all.)

The boy shifts his attention away from the fire (and away from what it is burning) and towards his master. So unlike the boy, in every way but one. They are identical, save the subtleties. At first that gave the boy hope, perhaps they were meant for each other in that way. Yin and yang. But time has passed and the boy is less of a boy then he was before and he realizes that sometimes there are simply bad people.

(And people like him, who are bad but do not enjoy it.)

The fire burns on, oblivious to the regrets the boy has for starting it.

The fire has no heat, the boy finally realizes, and for a brief second panic attacks his heart. The fire has no heat, his mind screams terrified, the fire has no heat. The fire has no heat. Again and again until the boy snaps himself out of it. They are so far away and it is an extraordinary cold night. Of course it would seem as if the fire had no heat. All fires have heat. He knows this as fact. The boy has the scars to prove it.

(But the fire had no heat...)

He shakes his head, white bangs obscuring his vision. The boy longs to say some something to his master, just to hear someone say anything. But he says nothing. And his master does not turn around to provide comfort to the boy. Or turn around at all.

(And that still hurts him, even though the boy should know better by now.)

The flames are not reaching as high as they had before, and the boy is very thankful for that. It would still be awhile until it was done, though.

He remembers the first time he saw fire like this, the kind that blazes none stop, the kind that illuminates the night with its glow. (The kind that kills.) If the boy had spoken to the people inside, he would have comforted them. He would have told them that he knows how the fire works and hopefully the smoke will kill them before the flames. And he would mean that, every word (because late at night he still hears Amane's screams, because late at night he remembers that he has been and always will be a coward.).

The boy's heart is beating faster again and he needs his master to turn around and look at him even if his face is twisted with disgust. As long as his master is looking at him, not simply gloating. He just needs something, anything, everything - but there is nothing. The boy wants to go home now, before the flames and the screams and the ashes, when he was acknowledged. Maybe even loved. But the world he lives in is only full of following, of watching flames, of regrets and of no befores and only afters.

(And this makes him weak in the knees even if it is only the same as every other thought that passes through his head.)

Just look at me, he pleads silently, just one real look. I need it, please, please…

There is nothing.

There never was anything to start with.

And the boy knows he should not act so surprised, because he knew this all along. He was not lied to, everything he has done the boy did because he had wanted to do. Maybe not on all levels, but at least on a few. And that is enough to for him to be condemned.

The flames touch the sky for one last time, and retreated back within the ashes to slowly die.

Sometimes the boy dreams about leaving his master (about not having to say the word master ever again) and returning. He didn't know who to or where he would go back too. It doesn't matter. The boy just wants to go back to something that was familiar and right. Maybe if he stopped all this he could be forgiven. Be welcomed home with open arms. And the yearning starts in his body again, the wanting, the physical need for some kind of contact, for some kind of support.

There is nothing.

(- But the smell of smoke and useless regrets.)


A/N And one last thing - I have to thank all of you again for the amazing support of last chapter. Seriously, you guys and all your reviews blew me away! (I'm over a hundred now! =DDD) No, but you don't understand how grateful I am. Keep them coming!