A week passed before snowfall hit South Town in thick white blankets that made driving a treacherous affair. The temperatures dropped to frigid levels so Yamazaki had to power up the heaters and blast the inside of the car with hot air. It had been a quiet week, all things considered. Little work was available, so he spent his time transferring things to and from the safe house. The money from that warehouse was transferred to Rock's abode just in case.

Little wolfy spent most of his time either at the dojang or at work so he was seldom seen but when he was, he did seem agitated. Fidgety whenever some item was placed in a different spot than he had put it. Yamazaki didn't stick around to find out what it was for he was being a bit selfish. This little break was a good thing because the incident at the hotel still rested heavily on his mind. Like a constant image that flooded his eyes when he was too relaxed, as did every sensation that came with the experience.

Maybe that was why he couldn't help but be a little excited when he followed the little guy with shades and his big burly buddy inside the gate to the Kim residence. He'd be here for a good while after all, and maybe then he'd find out what was going on with Rock. Maybe seeing the kid was why his heart began to race a little when he saw the shape of him putter about inside the abode.

Yamazaki reached for the door handle and pressed down – only to find it locked. Usually, it wasn't whenever Rock was home. A little confused, Yamazaki knocked on the door until a voice called out to him on the other side.

"Who is it?" Rock asked, somewhere between cautious and passive-aggressive.

"A dragon," the older man answered. There came a pause followed by noises of clicking and turning until the door was finally opened, revealing a wide-eyed Rock.

"Oh," he said. "Hi."

"Hey," Yamazaki answered as he entered, catching a glance of the younger locking the door and testing the second lock and door chain that weren't there before.

That was one hell of a surprise. Five minutes went by in nothing but silence as Rock tried and failed to relax. Something had happened and it had rattled him enough to the point where Yamazaki asked; "What's with you?"

"How long are you gonna stay?" Rock asked instead.

The older man narrowed his eyes. "Huh? I asked you a question first, punk."

But getting a good look at Rock, seeing the quiet panic in his eyes set alarm bells ringing. So Yamazaki relented, hoping to not unnerve the kid further to the point where he unraveled.

"A month, most likely. Things are slow in town."

Rock visibly relaxed and headed for the fridge like nothing was amiss then. He took a notepad and wrote a long grocery list on its front. "Good to hear. I'll whip up something nice for you. Ever heard of meatballs with curry and rice?"

"No," Yamazaki headed for the bedroom and dropped the bag on the bed. He looked at the windows and saw they had all been outfitted with security bars that could be released if necessary. A key was required though.

"It's a Scandinavian thing," it came from the kitchen, all chirpy and carefree. When Yamazaki didn't answer, Rock came into the bedroom staring at him, then staring at the windows.

"Oh. That. Just…being cautious."

"Rock," the older man pinned him with a stare and realized that he so rarely used his actual name directly. "What in the finger-licking fuck?"

The younger man shuddered a bit, closing his eyes and sighing until he fluttered them open and lifted his head. That abject misery that had been gone for so long returned in waves but Yamzaki suspected it was already present, resting right under the surface.

"It's easier if I show you," Rock disappeared into the common room and headed for a nearby shelf. The safe with the briefcase was there but it hadn't been opened once.

There was a box next to it that wasn't there before. Rock pulled it out, lifted it, and slammed it on the dinner table. The impact caused the lid to fall off. Inside was a stack of letters. That he was shaking now made it clear that it had rattled him something fierce. It became even more apparent as he explained the contents and the files on an accompanying disk which the police now possessed. Meaning that everything in the box was replicas.

He had to pause numerous times, furiously ranting about what a waste of time this was and why there was no discernable reason to be obsessed with someone like him. But this entire experience had shaken him to the core, even if he tried hard to hide it all through the rant that left him all red-faced and out of breath. In the end, Yamazaki had to clasp a hand around his arm to stop his pacing and raving like a wet hen.

"Okay, shut the fuck up and breathe before you keel over or I'll have to put a muzzle on you."

Rock huffed but kept quiet for a bit. His body was tense to the touch like he was about to fold into himself out of paranoia. It was entirely possible to forget the hotel incident for a second as they stood here and eventually parted from that non-intimate physical contact.

That encounter got thrown into the ether as Yamazaki committed himself to reading the letters himself, skimming through the deranged versions of slam poetry material, the pictures of murder victims with quirky little titles, and a copy of a letter that had outright been written to Rock.

A deranged love note from some weirdo called Freeman.

Something urgent settled over Yamazaki then. This strange urge to keep Rock by his side at all times and stab anyone who dared to touch him dead. What was it?

"…Yeah, I think I'm just gonna stay here for a while," he folded the last letter and put it in the box, wishing he could burn the entire thing. On the other hand, the expression on Rock's face was…indescribable. Yamazaki had to look away because he couldn't quite discern the feelings it left him with.

He dropped his coat over the back of one of the chairs, watching Rock skim over the grocery list, and asked; "So, what's this about Swedish meatballs?"

After a quick trip to the grocery store, they made it back to the abode with all the ingredients in stock to last them over the course of a zombie apocalypse. It would seem that Rock had been in a mood to do all kinds of cooking and now when he had a guinea pig to feed, he would not let this chance slip past him.

Yamazaki recalled that he mentioned his culinary abilities in passing but watching him actually put his money where his mouth was could confidently be described as mythical. It was easy to just mindlessly observe him form the meatballs, chop veggies, and make that curry sauce thing. Despite the snow outside, he ran around in short sleeves and thin sweatpants.

Unfortunately, that hotel experience came running up from behind and smacked Yamazaki across the head with a brick. It might also be because he didn't give two shits about cooking. That was what cup noodles were for. Spending so much time just prepping and cooking was boring.

So, it was nice that Rock enjoyed it so much, providing eye candy on the side. At one point he stepped away from the pots and pans and headed for Yamazaki, slapping him gently across the side of the head.

"Don't just sit there. Help me make the apple salad," he huffed and pointed at another spot on the kitchen counter where some veggies lay along with those apples. Sure, why the fuck not, Yamazaki shrugged and headed for the counter. He grabbed the knife but before he could go about cutting, Rock glided over, took his hands, and guided them in the proper position.

"Do it like that and you won't lose a finger," he slinked back to watch the meatballs. "Don't tell me you don't know how to cook."

"Do I look like I would?"

A smirk spread over Rock's face in the midst of finishing the curry sauce. "Well, I don't know. Appearances can be deceiving. Besides men who cook are a treat."

Heat crept down Yamazaki's neck. "I guess bitches do love it."

"Not if you call 'em that," Rock reached onto the cupboard above and pulled out plates and glasses to dress the table.

"Where'd you learn to be a little housewife even?"

Returning to the cupboards for a bowl for that apple salad thing, a flicker of gloom came over Rock as he answered. "I taught myself. Mom was often sick, so I had to cook for us and I ended up liking it. Terry would only burn the whole fucking building, so I had to cook for him too. Don't ask about culinary school. You don't need a stupid degree to make shit taste good."

"What did higher education ever do to you? You got kicked out because you dared to forget the lamb sauce?" Yamazaki grinned.

"Oh fuck off. Behave yourself or there won't be any dessert," the younger man scoffed, his cheeks turning pinker than cotton candy when Yamazaki couldn't quite help himself from chuckling like a fiend.

It took less than an hour from then on out before everything was ready. Yamazaki had done himself and Rock a favor by buying a few beers along the way. Not the cheap shit that smelled like sweaty socks and hard labor either. Real quality beer with a fruity understate that could knock you out for an evening with a single can. For one it made the night a little less fidgety and looser.

That was the power of liquid courage.

Rock eventually stopped jittering under the table and glancing out the windows at the tiniest of noises. As pleasant as it was to see him like this, Yamazaki couldn't help but ponder over whoever was the deranged pen pal and why they'd go to such lengths. In his extensive criminal career, he couldn't think of working with anyone called Freeman who also had side gigs as a stalkers.

He must have been sitting deep in thought because he felt a sudden shove to his shin, that almost caused him to do a reactionary kick as hard as he could. Looking up, he lay eyes on Rock pointing at him with a fork. "Hello? Anyone home?"

From the looks of things, he hadn't actually been drinking that beer. He settled for apricot soda. Yet he appeared lively, staring back like nothing was amiss in his life. It made Yamazaki wonder what type of person he was before Andy died. But if Andy was still alive, they would not be sitting here either.

"You're a weird one, wolfy," Yamazaki stabbed one of the meatballs. "One moment, you're you, then you're a housewife, then you're all snarly and ready to rip some Free Man's free throat out, right after you got scared shitless. But you're not in a blue funk…good riddance."

As he said that, he regarded Rock long enough until the younger man squirmed a bit, then stared down at his plate. He should stop serving himself bird-sized portions by the by.

"Blue funk, huh?" he mused. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You better fuckin', punk. Running around here with Captain Justice and doing manual labor, all that legal shit did wonders. Despite the garbage under your belt, you're not cowering anymore. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. That means progress."

A grin meekly spread over Rock's face, yet it faded soon thereafter. "It's funny; I can talk with you about all the nightmares…er, most of them just fine but my friends from before Andy died…I just can't. I feel ashamed to even think of telling them. I guess I fear they'll abandon me for."

"I don't know 'em on a level beyond kick, punch, and trash talk but I doubt they would throw you away just because you got wrapped up in bullshit."

"It's about exposure. You've seen me at my worst and still, there are things I haven't even told you."

Yamazaki could probably figure out what those things were but he'd just wait until he was spoon-fed the answers. Seemed like the right thing to do. Funny though because when did he care about right – except his right hand?

"Don't force yourself through it. We've already established you know jack shit about me."

"You're right. Two enigmas," Rock smiled again.

Dinner was a quick and easy affair afterward with leftovers for tomorrow. They stood stored next to the eggs which Rock took to prepare some batter. Dishwashing would be one hell of a time when all this was done. For now, Yamazaki found himself keenly observing the young man whisking the mixture in a bowl while a pan stood and slowly melted some butter.

As the first batch of cakes was poured in, he came slithered up behind Rock, leaning his head over his shoulder to look at the pale mass transform in the pan. The smell was nice but not as nice as Rock's. The height difference between them was slight so Yamazaki could stand here and indulge without being too suspicious while getting an eyeful of flushed skin under blonde hair. Despite how close they stood, their bodies never actually touched.

"What are you doing?" Rock asked softly, his voice trembling a bit.

"I'm just making sure you're doing it right," Yamazaki answered before he had to jolt back lest he got smacked across the chest with a spatula.

Waving the thing around like it was a weapon, Rock pointed it at him like the housewife he was not. "If you did this, you'd burn the whole place to cinder."

Grinning, Yamazaki poked the kid in the side when he turned around, delighted at the yelp that came from him. "Have some faith in me, ya brat."

"Stop that or so help me, I'll spank your ass so badly, you won't be able to sit down for a week!" Rock's face turned as red as his eyes, but he never left his post as he quickly snapped his attention to the pan when not flailing the spatula around to ward Yamazaki away like a bad spirit.

After a breed between playfighting and cooking, the Great Battle of the Spatula ended with sitting on the counter, eating ice cream with pancakes. Slightly exhausted and overheated. Reeking of cooking fat. But…happy? Well, Normal, Yamazaki concluded. Normal, it was. Normal, it felt. Not a home per se but homely at least.

He hadn't felt normal in years.

Whatever normalcy had filled the abode for most of the evening began to crumble as nighttime approached. Rock, for all his strengths, began to fidget again, checking the locks and making sure that the prison bars over the bedroom windows were secure. Evidently, he had even installed automated lights that would switch on whenever someone got close to the building. That Yamazaki had a knife with him at all times, eased him just a notch.

Didn't erase the sense of panic that lingered in the air. Got just short of unbearable by the time, the lights had to be turned off. The lamps outside the courtyard illuminated the snow outside so the white light reflected against the curtains. Already, Rock lay in under the covers, all cocooned up in blankets like usual. Next to him, Yamazaki flopped onto the bed, not sure if he was just actually tired or well-fed.

It could be his third sleepless night if he chose so and momentarily, he almost did – just in case. But then he'd have to sleep the next. Thinking of the ways he could calibrate this weirdly specific ability of his, he looked at Rock slowly unfurling. Still lean, still slender but meatier these days which was good. He looked like his old self again. Not that Yamazaki had been hyper-analytic the times they had encountered each other before. And still, it was in the company of the disruptive force that was Terry.

As for Rock, there was a layer of concern in his eyes but having someone else around would probably be enough hopefully. He slowly worked himself to sit upright, leaning against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest.

"It just struck me; I never thought to ask for your number."

"You got a phone?"

"…No. Kain took it away. I'm saving up for a new one."

"We have six million bucks," Yamazaki reminded him.

It occurred to him that Rock had never actually asked for any money to buy the things he clearly and quite verbally dreamt of. Instruments, a new motorcycle, overpriced whole-food pomegranates because he wanted to make sorbet and muhammara and those were the best quality. Maybe there should be a genie leaving out money just to trigger that tiny greediness. But frugal people had a tendency to avoid spoiling themselves.

And of course, Rock shook his head, but he did it with a smile. "No thanks. I can use my paycheck just fine."

"…You're such a masochistic skinflint."

"No. It's our retirement fund, Yamazaki," Rock smirked just lightly.

Our. As in the two of them. That shouldn't make Yamazaki think hard about the future but fuck everything, it did and then some. Yet…what would such a future even look like? No, it was a needless effort to be dreaming about something like that. Rock being such a force of ordinariness felt like the beginning of two worlds colliding and causing the apocalypse thanks to Yamazaki's efforts to cause said calamity. But it didn't really change the fact that their worlds couldn't coexist in the long run – unless something or someone changed.

That was highly unlikely though.

He hated being so introspective. Jesus fuck, what happened to the selfish violent cynic so jaded by death and priests and abuse that he was ready to wed himself to a solitary life with mindless sex on the side? The answer to that decided to scoot closer to him ever so slightly.

"You know the offer you made? I've been thinking…do you regret it?" Rock whispered, weariness settling into his voice. "I mean if you were hoping for more or just got freaked out by me freaking out because I-"

"If you're about to debase yourself, I'll tape your fuckin' mouth shut. Goddamn. Repeating bullshit until the heat death of the universe won't make it any less false," Yamazaki interjected with a groan.

"So you weren't grossed out by me. Got it."

"If I was, I wouldn't be here."

Then a pause. The first of a few before Rock spoke again.

"What when-if it happens? Then what?"

"Then nothing. Although we'll fit it onto the agenda if you want to."

"Am I really that enticing? I guess that makes sense in hindsight. Pretty boy, huh?"

Then came the second pause as Yamazaki felt a deep crimson crawl over his neck. Good thing it was dim as he feared he'd be lowkey beaming like a neon sign at a casino otherwise.

"N-no, just…just be you as you are. The you that's here now. That would be best. Yeah," he uttered and cleared his throat. Fuck, everything felt like it was burning. "You're gonna be the death of me. You know that, right?"

The third pause came after a tired chuckle from Rock. He shuffled a bit, letting his body glide into Yamazaki's. "…Can I ask you something then? Despite all that has happened to me, there are still things that I'd like. Could you…?"

Whatever the question was, Yamazaki had a feeling that his answer would be a genuine yes. But…

"Not now when you're sleeping on me."

Grumbling something or another, Rock let himself be maneuvered on the bed again.

There came a dream.

A night of visions where it felt like the ones that'd stick around and be remembered. Yamazaki stood in the middle of a street, empty and desolate. Everything was carved out in what looked like white sand. Even its people stood like statues. He remembered this place. He remembered the streets of Okinawa. He did not remember the booming silence that felt deafening. Amongst the sculptures of white sand, one house stood like an actual building.

He remembered that too.

He didn't want to look at it or the shadows that loomed behind its windows or the shadow of the shivering boy knocking on its door. He felt so small again, like a young child roaming the gutters. The atmosphere felt choking when the door was opened and a man stared down at the boy, taking the young child inside to do unspeakable horrors to him. But it was so quiet. He was certain he couldn't even hear his breathing. Further down the street, there was a church. That was not in Okinawa but Yamzaki had seen it before.

As if he was running on autopilot, he entered and found himself in a chapel where the stained glass was dyed in a satanic red and the corpse of a martyr hung on a cross underneath. A man stood by its altar, dressed in heavenly robes of blue and black. His face was obscured by the light from the windows, but his voice was the only sound in this hellish world.

"Poor unfortunate lamb. Come, I can save your filthy, corrupted soul. Orochi shall bless you and embrace your pain. Renounce humanity. Kneel."

Kneel.

Yamazaki found his body oddly immovable. He looked down at himself and found his knees to be bloodied and bruised. He was no longer a child, but he had survived something or another. Some incident that almost took his life, left him for dead until Goenitz found him in the snow.

And the rest was a satanic, agonizing blur of everything wrong in his life. Everything that hurt.

Again.

Again.

Yamazaki was unfortunately familiar with this particular dream. It could happen on long stretches of time where he didn't flip his switch. Other times his mind just did whatever the fuck it wanted. Tonight, it had been bad to the point where he woke up with his heart racing and the urge to carve it out. He looked over his shoulder at the dim form of Rock still sleeping and gingerly pushed the blanket away. A bad night alright; his body was shaking badly.

He staggered to the bathroom, turned on the lights, and welcomed the glare that burned his eyes. Standing over the sink, he splashed some water onto his face and looked at the image of the man staring back at him. It looked like him. It looked like Ryuji Yamazaki. Sure as hell didn't feel like him. Not with the way his hands were trembling uncontrollably thanks to a bad case of sordid past.

What time was it anyway?

Oh, whatever, he thought. Alright then, he shrugged. Fuck everything, he concluded and remained in the bathroom.