If this were meshed together without the chapter breakage and the time lapse between readings, it would be easier to pick up on what I’m about to clarify to save confusion. This chapter starts out with the downstairs half of Fate’s lil’ chat with Aya from the previous chapter, just a little blip involving Youji and the time he spent downstairs. I just needed to get to a pivotal point to shift gears. As always, read and enjoy. BLOOP! *makes fish sounds for a while*

It almost took more willpower than he had to refrain from badmouthing Aya for the handful of hours Youji remained downstairs in their company. The evil looks Omi and Fate kept shooting at him did less to discourage an offensive rant than the way Youji remained politely withdrawn from the conversation. He actually leaned towards the open doorway, so desperate to get back upstairs he visually betrayed it. He was only down here, trapped in the living room, to keep Ken from harping on him.

The atmosphere took yet another downward turn when Fate excused herself to use the restroom.

“Are you all right, Youji?” More worrying from Omi.

“Yeah, I took something for the pain a half an hour ago and it’s managed to dull the sharpest edges.”

“What did you take?” There was more than idle curiosity behind the question. “You should have checked with one of us first.”

“I didn’t have anything but ibuprofen, so cool it.”

“How many milligrams? Can you tell me how many pills you took?”

“Most of one of the fifty-count bottles went down my throat and I chased it all down with shots of whiskey.” Droll delivery paired with a carefree roll of the shoulders.

“Youji?!”

“I’m joking, kiddo. Really, it’s all fine. Don’t waste your time worrying about someone like me. I’m old enough to know better and too stupid to care. An attitude like that deprives you of the right to claim any responsibility.”

Ken snorted, legs up on the coffee table as he watched the exchange. His own attitude was turning decidedly hostile. He wasn’t sure if he forced Youji to stay to prevent him from running back to Aya without a thought in his head but the crushing remembrance of loneliness, or whether his motives had more personal backings. The awkwardness of being left alone with Omi was disconcerting to say the least. The admissions of earlier had made him uncomfortable. He alternately wanted to flee for his life or change directions and cling to Omi until he inadvertently crushed the very air from Omi’s lungs.

“She’s certainly taking her time.” Youji made of show of nonchalance after the minutes stretched on into an eternity, obviously contemplating the fabrication of an excuse to further his escape attempts from the domestic boredom. “Maybe she got distracted. I should go and check on her.”

“Speak of the devil.” Ken shot an arch glance at the doorway.

“I not Satan, if that what you think. You!” She pointed an accusatory finger towards Youji’s face. “You look tired. You go up and make rest now.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, but no can do. I’m tired, but I doubt I can sleep. My eyes haven’t been this wide opened since my discovery of pixie sticks as a small child. I feel like one of those squeezie character dolls with the bug out eyeballs.”

Ken didn’t think pixie sticks would make Youji’s hands shake as he lifted his water glass to his mouth, or his skin turn an unhealthy shade of ash when he moved too quickly.

“Oh, bah! Just go up anyway. Resting does not always mean to sleep. I want to talk with these two right now. Then we clean up last of kitchen mess.”

Unwilling to leave now that the choice to rebel had been taken from him, Youji propped his feet up next to Ken’s on the low table. “I thought you all wanted me to stay down here until Aya felt like an official outcast.” Youji had been practicing his bitter tone of voice as of late.

Ken uncrossed his arms to flap one hand in a carefree gesture. “No, go on up. You’ve suffered through us for long enough. Go ahead and run back with your tail between your legs like some whipped bitch.” He deliberately kept a poker face, word inflection intentionally ambiguous.

“Whatever. I guess I’ll be going now.” Leaving was easier for him once the sense of conflict had been reinstated. The stairs creaked too much, betraying his presence to anyone awake and listening.

Aya looked at him as the door opened, hollow-eyed and careworn. Youji smiled just a little, an instinctive stretching of his facial features. He wondered if Aya had been waiting up for him the whole time, tired and hopeless. His first hours back in the fold and already he was being shunned. As uncalled for as the emotion was, vindication filled Youji’s thoughts. Perhaps Aya had gotten a small taste of the suffering Youji had been subjected to time and time again.

Later, legs comfortably tangled with Aya’s, completely awake, it seemed almost inevitable to fall back into old patterns. He pretended to doze off until Aya himself was asleep. There was no way in hell he was going to sleep with his hear thrash-dancing around, bouncing from one side of his ribcage to another. Besides that fact, he wouldn’t want to trouble Aya’s resting hours with his own nightmare-wracked sleeping troubles. Aya hadn’t any tolerance for that sort of unintentional stupidity.

He padded downstairs, simply avoiding the loud stairs in his quest for stealth. Ken and Omi were involved in some sort of deep discussion or another in the kitchen while Fate hogged the couch, masquerading as a lump of flannel blankets. Neither of the two in the freshly sanitized kitchen looked as if they could use any extra company. The only place left to sulk in solitude was the unused, unfurnished spare bedroom.

Too dark until he lit a candle, the room seemed to speak of things best left outside of consideration. It could always be worse. He could be sleeping his this room on his own, never having uncovered the slightly more compassionate side of Aya. He could be dead, or worse. Who knew what Ko-Ishi’s ultimate intent was towards Youji’s usage. A cigarette was lit from the candle and cradled between his lips before he even registered the unconscious actions. The nicotine calmed the cravings enough to let him worry about his other varying ailments.

Youji sat on one of the still unpacked boxes in the room, hoping in a distant sort of way that it wasn’t covered with unseen spiders. Or those damned roaches they couldn’t seem to finish off. When the cold in his bones grew to the point that it made his teeth chatter, he stood, joints popping like the Fourth of July, to return to the bedroom he’d left behind.

As Youji wormed his way into bed, Aya made a soft sound down in the back of his throat and twisted towards him to curl one arm around his ribcage. His chest ached with the pressure of repressed tears and unrequited sorrows and still it beat with the rush of coffee and never ebbing adrenaline. The steady huff of Aya’s breath against his neck eventually lulled him into a shallow doze.

At first he didn’t realize he’d lapsed into the dream world. He roamed the hall of their house, bare feet crunching over unidentified insect exoskeletons, little shivers of revulsion gripping his gut. Trying to run down the stairs proved to be the end of the happy bug stomping portion of the dream. Ko-Ishi simmered up from the floorboards, ever the grinning demon he saw when he closed his eyes. Ko-Ishi smiled and his teeth were blood-tinged, glistening points.

Turning to flee, he found himself thwarted by the very house he lived in, hallway shrinking to trap him. Whirling back towards the open stairwell, he came face to face with that grinning death mask, too close for safety, too solid and real to be his imagination. His hands were caught in unbreakable fists, arms pulled out spread eagle style, inexplicably trapped in place.

“Now, where did we leave off?” A sudden damp brush of motion against his bare feet, so cold it made his toes curl. Straining against invisible bonds his eyes rolled wildly, trying to get a glimpse of the numbing liquid slowly creeping up his calves. Rough hands made their way across his body, more a memory of the hurt and humiliation than the actual sensation. The tension holding his head back finally broke and he stared down into the swirling red depths of a lake of blood, slowly sucking him under. Murky, inhumanly thin forms broke the surface, all lumbering forward to converge on his forcedly stationary location.

One slimed, twisted hand reached out to cover his mouth, the metallic, icy liquid trickling past his lips to hit his stomach like a swallow of fire. “Stop it!” A pair of bloodshot, lidless eyes hovered inches from his, a once human face peeled back to reveal the bones and musculature beneath, teeth forever bared in a parody of a delighted grin. “Be quiet!” The hand pressed harder against his mouth, muffling the revolted moaning trying to flee his mouth to pave the way for a bout of vomiting. Anything to clear that foul rancid blood from his throat and stomach. Anything to get that greasy, freezing hand away from his mouth and nose.

“Youji! Wake up.” Absolute disorientation as the drowning pool of blood and animated dead bodies faded from immediate sensations to be replaced by soft fabric and a decidedly warm and living body pressing him down against the resistance of a mattress. He could barely breath, chest straining against the pressure of his violent awakening. “Stop. Just hold still.” His body took several moments longer than his conscious mind to give in to the inevitable.

“Oh, gods, oh gods, fuck, oh gods, oh fuck!” He panted for breath, curses timing themselves perfectly to the frantic thud of his heart. He looked up from his undignified sprawl, catching a brief, raw glimpse of the anger below Aya’s mostly composed features. Realizing he was being studied, Aya seemed to draw in on himself, leaving Youji to deal with the uncaring shell left behind to pretend to be the Aya that he couldn’t stand to live without.

“Do you ever just sleep at night?” Aya sat back on his heels, helping Youji into a sitting position. Youji covered his face with his left hand for a moment, cast folded against his stomach in an almost protective gesture. Reaching out with a hesitant hand, Aya brushed his fingertips against the tensed muscles of the upraised forearm, stroking the silky skin on the underside, the paler bit that rarely saw the light of the sun long enough to darken as the rest of his arms had. The reflexive flinch away from the kindly meant touch set Aya’s nerves on edge. He didn’t act like this often, only after the dreams. Only when Aya woke him up from an unsettling dream with fear and anger in his narrowed, olive colored eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I didn’t think you were going to.” Youji snapped the hand back down in an instant, jaw so tight that Aya could see the slight bulge of muscle. “I’m not afraid of you, or anyone else for that matter.”

Trapped in the conversation he himself had initiated, Aya frowned down at the bedspread. Youji hoped he’d let it drop. Whenever Aya got communicative that meant things would soon be taking a severely sour turn for the worst. He leaned forward into Youji’s air space, cupping Youji’s jaw in his palm. To his credit, Youji didn’t react in any way other than to jut out his chin and slit his eyes in a direct challenge. He’d be damned if Aya thought he could control or frighten Youji. It was only when he was first waking, disoriented and afraid, that any touch was an unwelcome, jarring contrast to the softened edges of control.

Aya blew out an exasperated breath. “Sure. Great. You’re the King of the Bravest. Why don’t you go be fucking fearless somewhere else so I can get some sleep. These days haven’t been easy on me either.” Something Youji tended to forget in his more self-centered moments. He pulled his hand away from the trustingly wide eyes trying to bog him down with more guilt. His shoulders would simply snap under the many weights of his obligations if it something useful didn‘t happen soon.

“Whatever you say, Ran.” Aya’s real name rolled off Youji’s tongue with a sort of depressive finality.

“You don’t call me that. You don’t have the right to!” It was so easy to push Aya’s buttons, to rile him up to the point of violence with only seconds worth of effort.

“Unless I’m fucking you, right? Well, you’re always fucking me over, so in my mind the situation fits.” He left the room with a deliberately collected calm, hoping against hope that Aya would call him back, apologize, or just continue ranting at him about the things he couldn’t and never would change. He was flat out of places to hide. The spare bedroom was too vile and spidery for his current negative mood. The kitchen was too bright, and it resonated with the memories of that rubbery skin mask. Fate was sleeping in the living room. He’d be damned if he’d break into Ken and Omi’s room in his search for a place to escape Aya’s self-assured, snide comments.

He wound up on the porch, unbuttoned coat wrapped around his shoulders like the arms of a long-lost loved one, lungs full of fresh smoke, cigarette dangling from his blue-tinged left hand. Long, lonely silences made him too introspective. Youji had trouble enough coping with his own melodramatic nature when someone held it in check for him. Left to its own devises, his depression was positively annoying. When his bare feet began to ache from the bitter winter weather, he hopped off the wooden porch railing and returned to the comparatively pleasant warmth of the house. His temper had cooled along with his core body temperature. A fair enough exchange, he reasoned.

Aya waited for him at the top of the stair case, chin on hands. “I would have come down,” the words were diffident and uncomfortable, “but I didn’t think I could put my leg through the trip back up.” He stumbled to his feet, following a silent Youji back to the bedroom. “Youji?”

“I’m tired and I’m going to bed. If I wake you up again just hit me in the face a few times and go right back to sleep.” He dropped his coat to the floor, crawling onto the bed and attempting to pull the top blanket over his legs without moving any more than necessary. Aya’s hands took over the job, spreading out the edges of the covers and tucking the bed-side edge in around Youji’s body.

Youji didn’t protest when the mattress dipped under Aya’s added weight, but he did take full opportunity of the bared calves exposed to hi frozen toes’ area of influence. Aya got him back by tucking icy hands against Youji’s ribs. His eyes flickered shut, the dry lines and bluish tinting below his lowered eyelashes betrayed his vulnerability to the wearing effects of the day-to-day world.

Aya wanted to say something. He wouldn’t settle down, fingers twitching against skin, sliding upwards to thread through dark blonde curls. Neither one of them would get any sleep until the subject of importance had been fully expelled from Aya’s twisted mind.

“What do I mean to you?” When the question finally came, it was nothing what Youji would have ever expected or prepared for.

“That depends on why you’re asking.”

“I want everything made clear between us. How do things stand? How should it all be? What can I do to make it that way? How much do we matter to one another?”

“You won’t ever get a straight answer out of me.”

“No?”

A less than graceful snort managed to partially abort the despairing fit of laughter. “What could I possibly have to say on the subject? Am I supposed to bare my soul, spit out some sappy little bit of drivel to assuage your inadequacies? I matter less to you than a girl who’s been comatose for years.”

“And now she’s dead.” An emotionless reminder.

“Yeah.” Youji burrowed his cold nose into the cotton pillow case, shifting and squirming until he managed to find a comfortable position for his body, cast tucked against his chest again. The little bit of help that the over the counter analgesic had provided was a thing of the past. If he could just get to sleep, all concerns would melt away for a few hours.

“Youji.”

A waiting silence until Youji looked up, faint crease showing between his eyebrows. “What?”

“Something bad might happen soon. I just need to know where I stand.” He halted there, words unspoken visible in his haunted eyes.

The crawling sense of frustration scrabbled through his bones, drew his nerves tighter together. “Why are we even talking about this? I don’t matter to you beyond my usefulness as a warm body to help push back the loneliness. I’m sure as hell not going to slit open one of my veins and write you juvenile love poetry with my own bodily fluids. I’ve had enough people fucking around with my emotions for the pain to last several lifetimes.”

“Youji-”

“Oh, fuck you, Aya.” He rolled away from the endless inquisition, losing his comfortable arrangement of covers, the perfectly balanced sleeping posture he’d worked hard to find. Why this sudden influx of caring? He wasn’t going to do this, prostrate himself and whore out his own sense of self-worth to boost Aya’s ego a few points. His chest felt too tight, as if he’d been fighting back tears for so long he barely noticed the sensation anymore. The brutally indifferent conversation from several weeks ago kept coming to mind. The one that had take place on the day they’d found Fate and Aya had run off on his own to find his newly apprehended sister. Aya had told him point blank that only that stupid bitch in a coma meant anything in this lifetime; he’d implied that Youji was just a piece of meat with delusions of humanity.

The seconds stretched into minutes and the ache spread out, a constricting heat that gripped his stomach and throat. Bad things would happen? What did Aya think this was then? It was Youji’s fault. He’d made a conscious decision to open himself up to this sort of rejection again. Why was he so surprised when Aya threw it all back into his face, pretending it all meant something to him now that his burden in life was lessened by the death of his main dependant. Aya’s subtle mockery of his desire for a more meaningful connection was more than he could willingly stomach.

Cool hands slid across the skin of his stomach. Frowning ineffectually, he ignored the relative warmth pressed against his back. They lay in silence, Youji depressed, and Aya despairing. “Why are you doing this? Is this some form of punishment? Did I commit yet another breach of unspoken etiquette to deserve this unwanted attention?”

“Why are you so angry at me?”

“Why? Are you that dense? You’re the guy who tried to kill me by drugging me into unconsciousness and then bringing me along as a bargaining chip for your dead sister-”

“I didn’t try to sell you out!” The still hands were snatched away from Youji’s stomach with a violent celerity as Aya sat upright.

Youji plunged on ahead, brushing aside Aya‘s protest like so many other useless reassurances. “You’re the sort of person who can stare someone right in the eye and tell them in no uncertain terms that they’ve never meant anything to you and never will. You’re the sort of person who can take someone’s tragedy and turn it into a personal affront. You’re the sort of son of a bitch who can hit someone else because they made the mistake of having nightmares because of something that was YOUR fault.” His chest was heaving as he closed his eyes, entirely out of important things to say. Nothing would come out around the lump in his throat. “Oh, fuck this. So much for second chances.”

Aya caught his wrist before he could get all the way out of bed for the third time on the same evening, grip as immovable as they came. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

“I’m still waiting for a first time apology for most of those things.” His heart felt sick. It would have been too much to ask that the few hours of peace last. Aya had said he was sorry for the events that lead to Youji’s broken hand and inflamed shoulder. That should have been enough. He always got too greedy, wanting those basic amenities that the rest of the world took for granted. He didn’t deserve that sort of luxury. He let Aya pull him back onto the bed. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. Why struggle against inevitability?

The gentle touch feathered across the back of his neck couldn’t have come from the same heavy-handed, heartless man he’d been sharing the bed with moments earlier. “I’m sorry, Youji. Tell me how many times I have to apologize, and I‘ll do it.” The odd intensity of his voice made Youji flit a quick glance his way, eyes luminous in the darkness, perhaps over-bright with tears.

“So, what’s your story, then? You trying to get your nice points on the record in time for Santa to put you back on his list for some really nice presents. You’ve had all this time, why choose now to try and make amends?”

Aya twisted the blankets into wrinkled swirls, lost in thought. “There are things I want to resolve, once and for all. The future is up in the air.”

“And you want to end this on a good note, huh?”

“I don’t want to end anything.”

Youji watched from the corner of his eye as Aya raked tangled red hair away from his face, bars of alabaster skin interspaced with shadow, courtesy of the moonlight streaming through open window blinds. For a moment the self-loathing and unfocused hatred were overwhelmed by a rush of lust, the desire to smooth his hands across creamy skin more noteworthy than his desire to drown his sorrows in a tall bottle of vodka. It was funny how years of skirt chasing had created an immediate weak spot for pretty faces.

“I don’t have the verbal skills to return this to a workable level. Can we just start this whole conversation over again?”

“Sure, why not.” Youji sagged against the mattress, turning his back to Aya. He was so tired, why couldn’t he sleep?

Aya leaned over his shoulder, combing loose strands of hair away from Youji’s eyes, fingers tracing the curves of his facial structure. Mouth drawn, Youji rolled onto his back, catching Aya’s hand and pulling it away from his personal space. He thought of the moments when it had all really begun to go downhill for him. The moment he tied in to every subsequent let down on Aya‘s part.

“You want to start again? How far back are we going? How many mistakes can you really erase.”

“Why don’t we start with tonight and go from there?”

Summoning up his most patronizing tone, Youji sneered. “The second I gift you with a clean slate you’ll find some new reason to jump on me and grind me into the carpet.”

Keeping his own council as usual, Aya stretched out alongside Youji’s body, watching the subtle play of small muscles beneath the shadowed skin of his face. The tough front went down as the moment passed and no retribution made itself known. Youji covered his closed eyes with an upraised forearm. Voice a mere hint of a whisper, he set himself up for another fall.

“Aya, I had a bad dream.” He could pretend for only as long as it would take Aya to complete the circle of utter debasement.

“Tell me about it.”

Separated as much as the size of the bed would allow, they lay without touching, eyes fixed on the ceiling. In the darkness of the room, Youji opened his mouth and began to talk.

---------------------------------

It became apparent after only moments that Ken would like nothing more than to be somewhere else. Omi sighed and leaned against the counter. They’d gone over the entire kitchen several times, first with bleach cleanser and then with disinfectant sprays, but it still made his skin crawl to sit on any of the chairs that had been splattered with filth.

“Youji’s happy to have Aya back.” He tried for a conversation. They had to do something to kill the time. Fate had all but kicked them out of their own living room so she could get some one on one time with the couch. No one had discussed setting up watch rotations to keep the household safe, but neither of them felt comfortable going to sleep this early in the evening.

“Hn.” A noncommittal sound from Ken. He hunched over the table surface, one hand curled around the back of his neck, the other drumming rhythms on the table top. “Is the water boiling yet?”

“No.” Omi didn’t bother peering into the pot on the stove. It had only been two minutes since he’d turned the heat on. This quietly brooding Ken was making him nervous. He actually preferred the blustering and insulting to this unspoken mystery. A lack of words usually meant Ken was up to something. Omi wondered in an offhand, distracted way if Ken were still seeing that girl. No other explanation came to mind for the sudden case of preoccupation.

He rubbed one hand across his forehead, trying to physically suppress the headache forming behind his eyes. It was the reoccurring one that first introduced itself after that first concussion. Maybe the caffeine in the tea would do the trick. Sometimes that was all it took. Sometimes the ache burrowed in like a giant tick, sucking the functioning bits of his brain out and swelling to take over the newly vacated space.

For a moment, a random bit of petty childishness reared it’s unattractive little head and urged him to make a production out of it. Omi could do with a little sympathy. That would be pushing it, though. He was lucky to have Ken here with him. There were very few things keeping Ken around at this point. The alternative, being left on his own to flounder through life until he found his most likely death, seemed a little too disheartening for consideration.

Bubbles rose to the surface of the water. Playing the good little geisha, he poured water for the both of them, cheating and dropping a tea bag into each cup. His brain was too mushy for something as productive as brewing real, fresh tea.

“You don’t want to sit down?” Ken jabbed at the floating tea bag with a spoon, fierce in his need to submerge the paper packet in scalding water.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I keep thinking about what used to be on the chairs, and on the table. And the walls,” he trailed off.

“Remember when you said you’d change who you were to keep me from leaving you on your own?” Hard line, the look in his eyes, the set of his mouth. Omi nodded. “Sit down.” His chin jerked in the direction of the chair across the table.

Omi sat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Ken released the cup, hands too hot from prolonged contact. “So, here you are. No one’s trying to kill us for the time being. What now?”

“What do you mean?” He kept his question short and to the point. Until he was sure what was running through Ken’s mind he was playing it safe.

“You knew I was cheating on you. Why didn’t you say anything? Why aren’t you angry?!” Ken was angry enough for the both of them.

“I don’t have the energy to be angry.” He sipped the tea, corners of his eyes slightly squinted against the throbbing of his skull. Black tea for himself, green for Ken. “I have a certain amount of sympathy, or empathy if you prefer, for the situation. You’re trapped here with the rest of us. I’m sure it’s very lonely for you.”

“But not for you?”

“I don’t have the energy to be lonely either. I’m used to it.”

“And you’re happy to have what you can get, right? Beggars can’t be choosers and all that shit.“ He parroted back Omi’s words from earlier.

Trying on a weak smile for size, Omi shrugged.

“You know that’s absolute crap, right?”

Omi fished his tea bag out of the cup, letting it splat down onto the small dish in the center of the table, left there for that very purpose. And there went the last of this hellish day, right down the tubes. At least his headache was abating the slightest bit.

“There’s nothing wrong with you exactly as you are. You shouldn‘t ever change to make someone happier.”

“Then why am I sitting on this repulsive chair ?”

Ken showed him the first real smile he’d seen in eons. “Oh, so you want to sit on my lap?” He wiggled his fingers in the air to show he was mostly joking. “I made you sit because you were tired and you would have kept on standing there for all eternity if I hadn’t said something.. Whatever convinced you that I’m the best you can do?”

“You did.” A valid point if he did say so himself. He must be on a roll. “And I barely qualify for even that doubtful honor.”

“You’re a good person, Omi.”

“So was Mother Teresa, and I don’t ever recall seeing any photographs or live footage documenting the long lines of admiring male groupies waiting for a chance to get it on with a modern day saint. Good is boring. I’m boring. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate any extra time you spend in my company, but you don’t have to lie to make up for speaking truths.”

Ken’s skin made a slithery sound as his palm rasped its way along the table top, finally settling over Omi’s lax fingers, trying to share the excessive warmth.. “Don’t tell me you’ve never said things you didn’t mean.”

“I’m regretting that Mother Teresa comment already.” Omi looked up with a shy smile as their fingers twined together. It wasn’t so bad with the both of them being equally dissatisfied with the other.

*******************************

Dizzy! I’m so dizzy my head is spinning! Like a whirlpool it never ends! And it’s yoouuu girl making it spin! You’re making me DIIIIZZZZYYY!! *sings like a fool* *grins* Why is that song so damned catchy! Yet another long-winded piece of emotional sap to be seen as I try to wrap things up and bring the whole debacle to a close. I do so like my unresolved, unhappy relationships (being a fairly good friend with realism, you know), but people keep urging me to be less depressive. *snorts* Well… oooookaaay! *valley girl giggles for everyone* I’m off to chug some more cappucino frothy thingies and give this a final read through before I post it for all you loverly peoples’ reading pleasure. Drop me a line! Or put something nice and happy in my guest book! [email protected] or [email protected] Ooo! If you haven’t already, you should go see my first fanart received for this fan fiction in the new “Guest Art” section! *gleeful dance* ^___^ Now there are only eighteen days until my birthday! The 30th of October. YAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!