Chapter One: The Road Less Traveled

Tokyo is completely silent tonight...

And for a city that always thrums with such intoxicating rhythms of life, the mere idea of something like this would surely be looked upon as an impossibility – a fanciful dream woven by children as they whisper of spirits and nightmares under the cover of the dark. Yet here he stands on an empty corner, under the sickly pale glow of the streetlamps – the only illumination granted beneath the shadowy fall of moonless night – and he is the only sign of life as far as his eyes can see.

Being here, like this, there is no way to deny that that ‘fanciful dream’ has now become his reality. However, this pseudo-tranquility is anything but soothing to his mind. The warm, moist air that wraps around him like a blanket should be pleasant to his senses; instead, it is stifling and strangely chilling against his skin. Perhaps it is simply because he is usually so morbid in thought that this seeming peace registers as the lull before the storm. Then again, most of his life was spread before him in a disjointed mural of symbolism; so of course he would tend to seek hidden meanings in everything around him.

And this carefully constructed vision of a standing, yet empty Tokyo is far too convenient to not mean anything. There is no wind, no rubble, no debris, no scent, and no sound – it is completely still and empty and untouched by catastrophe. All in all, it is simply too perfect. In fact, he is almost certain that if he closes his eyes and waits long enough, this scene will blossom and he will see the other end of the divide.

He doesn’t have to wait very long.

Within seconds, the temperature drops and another shadow is cast over him that deepens the surrounding darkness in a very unnatural way. He doesn’t even need to turn around to know whose arrival these things herald, but he does so anyway, despite himself.

“Fancy meeting you here...” the dangerous, rumbling murmur and golden stare that seem to pierce him down to his soul are not at all surprising, but he cannot help but feel threatened by their intensity. Reflexively, he falls into a defensive stance, raising his arms in front of himself and edging away from the approaching figure, trying to maintain safe distance. Though he usually lacks the will to battle this particular person, simply fleeing his enemy seems a bit inappropriate, as it is likely to merely drain his energy for his efforts, leaving him even more vulnerable.

Fuuma follows him slowly, matching his pace and direction, turning their steps into a strange sort of dance. His words are mildly reproachful, but his eyes glitter with amusement, “Why Kamui, aren’t you happy to see me? I wove this vision just for us, and you don’t seem to like it one bit. And after I put so much effort into it – I’m hurt... after all, I have feelings too...”

Kamui grits teeth and keeps retreating until his back brushes up against a wall. Unfortunately, Fuuma is too close and he doesn’t have enough room to maneuver away before the Angel flashes forward and slams his arms down on either side of the younger dragon’s head, boxing him in. Stunned, Kamui can only manage to choke out something faintly apologetic, unsure of what else he could possibly say in response.

The Dark Kamui appears to find his prey’s reaction terribly cute, as though the skittishness is unwarranted. “You're sorry?”

“Yes. Very sorry. Can I go now?”

Fuuma pauses, an eyebrow arching curiously, “What makes you think I believe you?”

Kamui cringes slightly under that probing look, “Because I mean it?”

Fuuma leans in closer, ghosting his lips over the Seal’s temple, “And I’m supposed to just take your word on that?”

The violet eyed teen presses into the wall as though he could melt into it, his voice painfully thin and small, “Yes?”

Fuuma smirks at that, “You know Kamui... you have a bad track record about saying things and meaning them...”

Kamui blinks, confused, “I... do?”

Fuuma curls a hand loosely around Kamui’s throat, “You've broken a lot of promises since you came back, 'Kamui'...”

Kamui registers the touch and tries not to panic. “I know... I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” Fuuma studies the fluttering pulse under his thumb with clinical detachment, “You didn't seem so sorry when you made her cry, Kamui...”

Kamui tries to pull away, stuttering, “I... I was... I just couldn't say anything...”

Without warning, Fuuma tightens his grip, evoking a tiny, startled cry from his prey, “I told you not to ever make her cry, Kamui... do you remember?”

It takes him a moment to respond, and even then Kamui winces slightly as he speaks; the pressure increases as the muscles work in his throat, “I’m sorry... Fuuma... I thought... it was better if... if she didn't know...”

Fuuma pretends not to hear him, “You promised not to make her cry... I told you I’d be angry if you ever did...” A hand flashes out to grab one of Kamui’s wrists roughly and holds it tight between them, almost grinding the bones together in his unforgiving grip. “Do you remember our promise, Kamui?”

The violet-eyed youth cries out softly, his whole frame spasming as the white-hot pain shoots up his arm, tears pricking his eyes, “Fuuma... please...”

His pleas go unanswered and he instead finds another strong arm wrapping around his waist from behind, and pressing their bodies together tightly. The voice in his ear is sweet and deadly, “...I told you that as long as you remained true, I would protect you...”

Kamui brings his free hand up to try to push against him, turning his face away and speaking softly, “You killed her...”

Fuuma smiles, unruffled, “I did... does it matter?”

Kamui closes his eyes, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks, “... We both broke promises, Fuuma...”

Fuuma’s smile widens, edged with a gleam of dark satisfaction, “Actually, I never broke any...”

Loosening his grip on Kamui’s wrist marginally, he brings the captive hand up to his lips, laying a deceptively gentle kiss on the upturned palm. “For one, Kotori sacrificed herself so you could survive long enough to possibly find happiness – I kept that promise to her... that you would live longer than that first encounter... whether or not you’ve actually found happiness... well, that’s not my problem,” he slowly breaks into a grin against the soft skin, still held quivering beneath his mouth, “For another... I have always looked out for what is mine, Kamui... and you are no exception. You are mine and I protect you from all others. I hold you where others cannot.”

Kamui shivers in dread when Fuuma kisses his hand, shaking slightly despite his efforts to stay still; he knows Fuuma is right about Kotori, but it doesn't mean he believes everything the older boy says. “...You ‘protect’ me from everyone but yourself...”

“Indeed?” the Dark Kamui smiles down at his other condescendingly. “And why should you need protection from me, Kamui?” he asks, pressing the young Seal into the wall with the weight of his body, “Why should you ever want to distance yourself from me?

Kamui takes a shuddering breath and finds that Fuuma’s weight against him makes it difficult to breathe. “Fuuma... Let me go...”

Fuuma lets go of Kamui’s wrist in favor of taking the other boy by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Why?”

Kamui cringes, once again seeing nothing reminiscent of his friend in Fuuma’s eyes. “It hurts...” he says and pushes at him weakly, head spinning from too much shallow breathing.

Fuuma lets up a little pressure, but not enough to allow Kamui room to escape. “But Kamui, I thought you liked pain?” And with that, as though to illustrate his point, he forces Kamui’s head to the side and leans down to bite the other boy on the neck firmly, just shy of bruising. And while it is perhaps not his intention to do any real damage, it is enough to send a flash of aching, paralyzing sensation through the younger dragon and Kamui lets out a strangled yelp, trying harder to push him away as the tears fall faster, “Fuuma stop... please...”

Fuuma suckles and licks at the abused skin for a moment longer before pulling back enough to look into Kamui’s face. Strangely enough, he is no longer smiling... and his tone is frighteningly sober. “What makes you think you have a right to ask me that?”

Kamui’s eyes widen at the question, and as he thinks, he can find no response; on some level, this is his punishment – for making Kotori cry, for not protecting her and Fuuma as he was supposed to. He has no right to ask Fuuma to stop, but he desperately wants him to. “Be... cause... it hurts...”

Fuuma’s eyes narrow and his voice becomes deadly soft, “Because it hurts?” His lips twitch in the barest hints of a snarl. “What would you know about what hurts, Kamui? Do you have any fucking clue what you're talking about?”

Something in the other boy’s tone sets his heart pounding terrifyingly fast and Kamui squirms frantically, trying to find an opening – terribly afraid of the strange look in those golden orbs that, in any other person, he might’ve called hatred... anyone at all but this one person, “Fuuma, let me go...”

Fuuma smiles a sort of smile that isn’t one at all and begins to talk, almost conversationally – his words a non sequitur; or so it seems, “Did you know that my mother didn't care about me? Yeah, sure, she loved me, but she didn't really give a shit about me. Because she loved your mother – loved her so much that she died for her and left me and my sister by ourselves... exploded all over the fucking room and left us to pick up the damn pieces...”

Kamui freezes, stung. “That's not true... she loved you and Kotori... it was fate...”

Fuuma ignores him, laughing bitterly, “And my father... he was killed trying to protect the sword his wife died giving birth to so that your mom could live – somewhere out there, far away from us... after turning tail and running the minute she heard my mom died and you left with her. You never said anything – never left a note, never wrote... nothing. And my dad fucking died for it – for a sword that was supposed to be yours.”

Throughout this, voice grows increasingly cold.

Kamui speaks desperately, terrified at the tone in Fuuma’s voice, “That wasn't my fault! I didn't want to leave you, but mother didn't give me a choice!”

Fuuma’s eyes harden and he continues, heedless of Kamui’s protests “...and then my sister gives herself up in your place - lets her heart cry out for such a foolish wish... wishing for a person who was responsible for our family being ripped apart to live. She turned me into a murderer and stained my hands in blood for the boy whose mother stole our mother away... for the boy whose gift to us was death and heartache... the boy who became the center of my existence and the heartbeat of my deepest hell.”

Kamui feels the guilt to pile up on everything that was already there as Fuuma speaks, until he just can't listen anymore; he covers his ears with both hands, shaking and sobbing. “Stop it... please, stop it... I didn't know... I didn't know...”

Fuuma refuses to cease this cruel, verbal assault. It seems that he’s too worked up by this point to let it go; now that it’s finally coming out, there’s little point in holding anything back. “And then to top it all off, I was only born to be your mirror, and nothing else. I was fucking shafted before I ever saw the light of day. Do you know how much that hurts, Kamui?” A growl creeps into his voice and his eyes darken dangerously. “No one was ever strong enough to control destiny – no one is supposed to be – but you were. You were offered up a choice where no one else ever had a choice before and I had to pay for it. I became your fucking shadow, Kamui. That’s all I ever fucking was to you. That's all I could ever be to you after all the pain you inflicted on me and my family and that fucking hurts. You’re so fucking selfish for thinking that you aren't responsible for anything.”

Kamui shuts his eyes tightly, hands closed so firmly around his ears that he's left welts on the skin from his nails digging in; he can't think, Fuuma’s words rip new wounds in his heart that are too close to the ones that were already there. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...”

Fuuma sees this and grabs Kamui’s hands, slamming them against the wall and pinning them above his head. He only intends to say this once; and if that was the case, then Kamui was going to hear all of this, damnit. “You're sorry? Well, I’m afraid it's a bit late for that, 'Kamui.' You already fucked me over in a way that no one will ever be able to fix...” he hisses hotly, “And it never once bothered you that you did so – not for a second – not until I took my place as the 'Kamui' of the Dragon of Earth and rocked your happy, selfish, little world. You honestly don't give a shit about me... this crusade you're on to 'get me back' is all a way for you to save face with yourself because it ruins your image of how you want things to be and you don't want to be the one responsible for me being this way.”

Kamui strains against Fuuma’s hands, shaking; this is all horribly wrong and he wants to shout back that it isn’t true, that Fuuma can’t possibly mean any of that, but the words stick in his throat – in some perverse fashion, everything that the other teen is saying is absolutely true. What he does manage sounds terribly lame in his own ears, “It didn't bother me because until you changed, I didn't know!!” he hesitates for a moment, then hangs his head shamefully, “I tried so hard to keep you out of this... and I’m sorry... I didn't know any of it... if I could have stopped it, I would have...”

If the Seal’s admission does anything for his counterpart, he does not show it; the only significant change is that his eyes are now shining over-brightly, almost feverish in their intensity. “Well you couldn't, Kamui... not when I’m your mirror... not when I’m your shadow...” his says, his voice dropping slowly until it is almost a whisper, “Not when I’m so fucking deep inside of you even when you're trying to push me away... not when I’m made to be everything you are and everything you aren't and the only thing I have left to do to touch you is to become you and mirror back all the pain you ever caused me because you are ‘Kamui’...”

The Dragon of Earth’s ‘Kamui’ stares at his companion intently, then takes a deep breath before continuing, “...Because 'Kamui' is so special, he cannot be touched.”

The young Seal is trembling so much by the end of Fuuma’s outburst that he can barely stand, he sags in that merciless grip, head hanging in defeat; the pavement below blurs from the tears in his eyes, and he can barely command his voice to whisper, “What... do you want, Fuuma?”

He chokes on a sob that wracks his whole body. “Tell me... what I can do...”

The response he gets is far from anything he might’ve imagined, had he been given the time to think, and it strikes him like a kick in the gut.

“I don't want anything from you, Kamui. I don't want your sympathy and I don't want your lies,” Fuuma replies coldly, stepping away and letting Kamui slump gracelessly to the ground, unsupported. He begins to turn away then, only holding himself in profile for a moment longer so that Kamui can see the resentment that finally burns so openly in his eyes. “Anything you do or say now won't be because you mean it.”

He says nothing else of it because he knows that Kamui already understands the adage that a person who has to be prompted into action rarely ever had the intention to do anything to begin with. Such people do not do things because they want to, but because they are expected to, and therefore lack sincerity.

The stunned silence that follows is stifling, and then it is Fuuma who eventually breaks it.

“I loved you, you know?” he asks, almost like an afterthought; the brightness in his eyes is now something akin to glass, “All I ever wanted from you was for you to care... but that isn't something I can ever have because I don’t mean a thing to you.”

His fists clench unconsciously. “Not at all.”

Kamui slowly looks up at him from where he fell, slumped pitifully on his knees at Fuuma’s feet, his eyes dull with pain.

“I care – “ he begins to say, but stops himself as he wonders if he truly does, or if his guilt merely prompts the response; Fuuma’s words have turned everything inside him upside down, and as twisted as the reasoning is, he doesn't know anymore if anything he's done has been genuine. He appeals to Fuuma silently, his violet eyes stark and wounded.

The response he receives is soft, but the words are anything but gentle, and they roil a sick sort of ache in his stomach. “You care... about a memory, Kamui... Because in the six years you were gone, that was the only thing you knew of me – that last image of a naive, eleven year old boy. You never knew what I felt or what I dreamed or what I believed in after that. You may as well have been living a lie.”

He turns away completely then and stares hard into the nothing. The words keep flowing though, hot and chilling, “And then you come back and you don't even have the heart enough to acknowledge me. When you look at me, all you want to see is that damn memory. Not what I am now, not who am I... you care about someone who does not exist - hasn't existed in years – and so you essentially care about no one.”

His fists unclench, but he feels far from purged. “I knew that you changed and I accepted that... and you couldn't even do me the same. You don't know what it means to care.”

Kamui feels himself start to shut down, a numbness gradually taking over, stopping his tears and slowing his manically beating heart. “I... Don’t...”

“No, you don't,” Fuuma snaps, cutting him off. He shoves his hands into his pockets and refuses to look back at Kamui, feeling almost as though the sight of him would send the bile rising in his throat. “You don't know joy or pain because you choose not to. God knows I’ve tried to make you see...” he pauses, as though considering, then laughs dryly, “Maybe I’ll even die trying. But even so... in the end... even if the one thing I can make you feel for me is hate, at least you'll finally be able to see me.”

Having finally said that, he sighs and adds so quietly that Kamui possibly doesn’t hear, “Making you feel anything for me at all is better than nothing – not that you could ever understand that.”

After a minute Kamui finds his voice, and when he speaks, he speaks haltingly, but with conviction, because he knows at least this one thing is true, “I don't... hate you.”

The Earth guardian lets his eyes shut. Kamui’s words spark an overwhelming sensation of unease in him, but his voice stays flat, “Perhaps you should. After all, with everyone around you giving you everything you could ever want or need, I’m that one guy fucking up your perfect little picture. I can't be what you want me to be. I can't give you what you want from me. I’ll never fit into your world... so why shouldn't you hate me?”

Kamui frowns in confusion, trying to figure this out; Fuuma isn’t making a whole lot of sense just now, “I don't know... but I don't... I don't have a perfect picture.”

“Well, even if you don't think you have one, you do,” Fuuma counters without hesitation, as though he’d seen that reaction coming and had prepared for it, “You’ve always been idealistic, Kamui. You have an ideal for what your world should be like... and I cut against the grain. You dislike the idea that I’m not how you imagined me to be for yourself and so you fight it. For that, I mean even less to you. So if you cannot see me as I am and love me for that, then it should be fitting that you scorn the image before you and hate me for what I have become.”

Kamui shakes his head vehemently, seeing where this was all going. “It's not that simple... you're so angry, and you scare me; you make me hurt, you hurt people I care about... but even if it's only a memory that stops me, I can't hate you.”

Fuuma pauses and bites his lip for a moment, then decides to change the subject for the time being. “Don't waste your time, Kamui. Eventually, you will hate me, because sooner or later, you'll realize that memories are dead things and people cannot live on that which is dead. I am not the Fuuma you hold so dear, so it shouldn't matter whether or not you despise me, because in the end, you are only denying hate for that memory – not me.” The brightness in his eyes starts to turn brittle. “All I have left is your hate... Kamui... it's all I can have from you... so why are you denying me that?”

“I don't know!” Kamui cries, holding his head in his hands; a strange realization is beginning to dawn and for a second he almost understands what Fuuma is about, but it is vague and irrational and he is ill-prepared, so it quickly slips his grasp, leaving him even more frustrated than before, “I’m so confused... I don't understand anything right now!”

Then, more quietly, “I’m sorry that I can't hate you, if that's what you want from me... I cared about you before all this happened. I cared about you the way I cared about Kotori. But after...” he stops to shake head, perhaps to clear it, “after, it changed... maybe I wanted what I couldn't have... but the way I felt about you changed... and I can't hate you. And I don't want to.”

The unnatural brightness in Fuuma’s eyes cracks the tiniest bit, like glass threatening under tension, screaming before it breaks. “Of course it all changed... and yet, even after everything that happened, it stayed exactly the same. Even now, I still can't inspire any feeling in you – I might as well beat my fists against a wall, for all it means to you.”

Kamui keeps his eyes on the ground, silently sorting through his jumbled thoughts and the tangled web of logic his counterpart has been weaving around him. He picks out the fragments of their conversation that seem most irregular and pieces them together until they begin to take some semblance of order, trying to understand the thread of reasoning – needing to pinpoint the credibility behind the erratic actions. It takes a bit, but he eventually satisfies himself that he has some concrete idea; even then, he speaks hesitantly, “Fuuma.... which is more important? Making me accept you.... or paying me back for everything I’ve done to you and your family?”

Fuuma takes a deep, calming breath, seemingly disturbed by the direction Kamui has chosen to take. “Why should it matter? You’ll never accept me, Kamui – I already know that. And as for me paying you back... well... that's irrelevant. It just worked into the grand scheme of things like everything else. You are the majesty of the gods and I am he who hunts that majesty. It is not my place to want anything except to fulfill my role as the ‘Kamui’ who will oppose you. It just works better that I have a reason to be angry with you – it gives this little hunt of ours some form of justification.”

Kamui takes a deep breath and starts talking before he can stop himself, “I’m so glad you can do this with a clear conscience,” his voice is bitter and he has every right to be, “You think you know me so well, Fuuma... did you even consider that the reason I can't accept you is because ever since you've become who you are, you have done nothing but hurt me? You never gave me an opportunity to see you. I just see the person who killed Kotori and then said 'you're next'. Where is this love you keep saying you had?!”

His eyes burn with new, unshed tears and he wipes at them angrily. “Damnit, you never showed it to me...”

Fuuma laughs just as bitterly, “Don't assume that anything is quite so simple, 'Kamui' – love really has nothing to do with who we are or what we must be, or haven’t I made myself clear about that already?” Then he abruptly turns back on him, eyes now shining with a liquid fire. “But don’t you see what I mean? There’s your fucking idealism again,” he accuses, his voice rising slightly in pitch, “Get the fuck off your high horse, Kamui. You know why this works. You know why it needs to be this way. Don’t you dare blame me – don't you dare assume that I wanted it to be like this!”

And all too suddenly, it’s way too much to simply stand and take and Kamui finds himself half screaming, Fuuma’s words striking a nerve, “Do you think I did?! Do you think I wanted to be born a bastard and then have to lose my only friends and move halfway across the country? Do you think I wanted to watch my mother burn alive?! Do you think I wanted any of this?!”

He clenches his fists, rising to his feet, chest aching, “I’d rather be an idealist than whatever you are!!”

“You would!” Fuuma hisses back, taking on the first truly angry expression Kamui has ever seen on him. “Has it never occurred to you that maybe your idealism is what made this situation as shitty as it is? Merciful fucking Christ, Kamui! Pull your head out of your ass and listen to what the hell you're saying! Damnit, I’d rather see what's going on around me than to be blind to the world.”

He regards the other boy coldly. “It was that blindness of yours that kept you from seeing me... not because I never showed you. If you never noticed, then it was not for a lack of trying.”

“When did I miss it, Fuuma?! Was it when you gave me these?” Kamui holds up his hands, the scars he bears from his makeshift crucifixion clearly visible, “Sorry, I think I was screaming a little too loudly to hear those three little words! Or maybe it was when you gouged out Subaru’s eye! Fuck it, Fuuma, I may not see everything that happens around me, but do you honestly think that whenever you're around that I see anything but you?! You’re my mirror, you're my twin star. You are everything!! And all you do is hurt me! Whether I deserve it or not, don't you dare accuse me of not paying attention to you. It hurts too much not to.”

Amber eyes narrow and the older boy finds himself gritting his teeth irritably, “I’m flattered that you pay so much attention to me now that you no longer have a choice. I guess I should take that as a hint, huh?”

Gaining such an unexpected response shoots the younger boy down and Kamui feels the anger draining out of him – only a sort of dull ache remaining. “Take it however you want, Fuuma.... you're not listening to me anyway....” He leans against the wall, heavily, exhausted, speaking under his breath, “I was going to ask if you still loved me... but I suppose only hoping would be selfish.”

Fuuma stares at him for a moment, and then turns away again, preparing to leave. “I see...” He pauses, and then continues, his voice returning to normal levels, if still edged with a bit of sarcasm, “Well, since it seems you honestly don't know... and not that it matters anymore... it was when you first came back, Kamui. Even knowing that you were looking right through me every time we talked, I still had hope.” At this, he laughs – the sound heavy with self deprecation, “I was every bit the fool – not that you noticed.”

Kamui is having a hard time thinking when Fuuma twists everything he says into another attack; his mind is tired, and though he knows that if Fuuma leaves, they'll never have this chance again, he doesn't know what to say to him. Instead, he just reaches out and grasps the hem of Fuuma’s shirt, holding on in a white-knuckled grip.

Fuuma sighs defeatedly, wanting to just go but not having the will to turn back and risk seeing Kamui’s face in order to disengage the other boy from him. Unable to do anything else, he continues, “And so now you know. I’m in love with someone who can't love me in return because fate directs it. Nothing is ever without reason.”

Then he realizes what he’s admitted and he gives his shirt a yank, moving forward determinedly. He's suddenly struck with how much he doesn't like this situation or where it’s headed. He’s anxious to get away from the other boy – to put some distance between them and get his head back on straight – staying here too much longer was beginning to feel like a really bad idea. Frowning, he searches out the best way to dampen the significance of his last declaration, “It changes nothing, really.”

Kamui stumbles forward, caught off-balance, landing on his knees with a slight whimper of pain. The thought of Fuuma leaving after such a frank, unyielding declaration is heartbreaking and he calls out desperately to his counterpart, pleading with him not to leave him alone, “Fuuma... don't. Please don't leave.

“It does change things...”

Fuuma bites his lip hard, feeling his resolve weakening and fighting it. “No it doesn't. Not when we are directly responsible for the future of this planet.... not when the only option we can accept is to fight."

Kamui slams his palm down onto the pavement, feeling very familiar words build up and spill out of his mouth. "No! I'm not going to accept that. I don't want to fight you – I never have." He looks up at Fuuma's back, his voice a little shaky but determined. "I'm not going to, either."

"Do what you want, 'Kamui'..." Fuuma says blandly, "but know this: What either of us wants has no bearing in this fight - it has never been a matter of choice, but a matter of fate. You have no place to desire anything for yourself just as I have none.

"Regardless of what either of us feels, we are destined to meet at sword's end... and if you do not fight me... I will kill you."

The young Seal flinches on those words; knowing that Fuuma would still kill him, despite being in love with him, hurts. But that didn’t mean that he was just going to take that without a fight.

"There has to be another way." Kamui says determinedly, climbing slowly to his feet. "Kotori said nothing was decided yet..."

The effect of those few simple words is instantaneous and hard-hitting and Fuuma winces to himself at the way his spine stiffens, almost certainly giving him away. He had not thought that Kamui would ever question the way of things beyond ‘why’, but now he is suddenly faced with answering ‘how’ and while he prides himself on being a very truthful person, this is one thing that he had hoped to never have to consider.

Of course there is another way; there are always two sides to everything. That is the way the world and its energies find their balance. That is why there is light and dark, love and hate, hope and despair. It is also the same reason that fate had demanded that there be two Kamuis brought together to decide the fate of the planet.

However, with the way things had developed between himself and his counterpart, the second option had never seemed like a very good idea to him. There was simply no way that he could handle the idea of having to do something like that with Kamui; the very image made his mind burn with resentment and his heart ache with loss.

There was no way they could ever hope to bridge that distance enough to make it work anyway. But really, how can he hope to explain that to someone like Kamui, whose judgments are always colored with emotion instead of solid reason?

Viciously, he decides to bite his tongue instead, not wanting to say anything that might confirm or deny what Kamui says. If he is lucky, maybe the other boy will simply drop the subject entirely.

Kamui watches him straighten, and wonders if he might have said something wrong. Bringing up Kotori was probably not the smartest thing he could have done, not with the way Fuuma sees him. Hesitantly, he reaches out and places a hand on Fuuma's arm. "Please, Fuuma," he says quietly. "There has to be a way to change things..."

At the warm sensation of Kamui touching him, Fuuma clenches his teeth harder, feeling his resistance starting to slip away a little too easily for his comfort, nearly drawing blood. However, much to his distress, the pain does little to distract him in the way he wants it to. Feeling unreasonably crowded, he moves to shrug the other boy off roughly, needing the distance. But this only seems to reinforce Kamui’s conviction and the Dragon of Heaven grabs for his arm again frantically, tears burning in his eyes as he resolves not to let Fuuma go anywhere until he gets some kind of answer. "You're not even going to try? How can you give up like this? Just accepting it is giving up!" He pauses, biting his lip. "How can I figure out how I feel about you if you won't let me?"

"Giving up?" Fuuma echoes incredulously, almost wincing as his voice cracks ever so slightly around the words, but he finds that he's suddenly angry and spiteful and nearly hysteric all at once, and the words start to come faster than he can think on it, "What's there to give up? What's there to figure out?! There isn't a goddamn thing to figure out, Kamui!"

And then he's spinning around and pushing Kamui backwards into the wall again, this time pinning the other boy by his throat, his eyes blazing with a mad, unfocused light. "Why the hell should it matter to me what you feel? Why should I care if you even can anymore?" that wire-tight tension in his eyes begins to buckle and the glassy shine turns into moisture, but he's too pissed to notice, "Fuck you, Kamui!"

His hands begin to tremble, but he doesn't let go. "Don't you ever fucking talk to me about what you feel for me, Kamui... because I don't want to hear it... I don’t need to hear it..."

Kamui's hands fly up to grasp the hands on his throat, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Why..." he gasps, "Why don't you? You're everything, Fuuma... no matter what happens, that's always going to be true... you love me, but you don't want to know whether I can love you back! Why?!"

And then, just like that, the glass shatters and begins to fall away, streaking hot, damp trails over already heated skin and Fuuma is mortified to see the tears that fall against Kamui's face, slack with shock, but he can't stop anymore. The words keep on flowing, edged with hurt and hate and regret. "Don't you get it?! You can't love me back, damnit! Get a fucking clue! It doesn't matter whether you can because you can't!!" he nearly shouts, his breath hitching painfully as the one thing he tried so hard not to acknowledge finally comes free, "You can't love me and it fucking hurts but I know that now and I don’t need you screwing with my head anymore and I can't stand you trying to act like there's something you can do about it! There's isn't anything you can do about it!!"

For a second, he can't recognize that the tears falling on his face are Fuuma's. Fuuma never cried – never. Then Fuuma's words hit, with such brutal force that makes him stop breathing momentarily. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. To see Fuuma in such pain made him rail against the idea even more.

Mutely, he shakes his head as his fingers reach up to brush the wet trails on Fuuma's cheeks, both comforting and curious. The warm wetness beneath his fingertips seems strangely human... and Kamui realizes, with a start, that that was something he’d never once thought of Fuuma as being; not even before he’d become the Dark Kamui. Fuuma was always the strong, infallible one... it never occurred to him that his childhood friend could ever be vulnerable. But the tears that slide against his skin are a harsh reality within themselves.

He’s suddenly struck with how badly he’d misjudged their situation.

Fuuma's eyes have fallen shut at the touch, but this time, he doesn't pull away. Instead, he simply mutters, "I'm tired of caring, Kamui. Too much hope can kill a person..." his hands curl more tightly around that delicate, vulnerable neck and begin to threaten asphyxiation, "...and the only thing I've got left to give you is to kill your hope so that you don't end up like me... Oh Kamui, I'll make sure you don't ever end up like me..."

It takes a moment to register the significance of the deadly way his twin star’s hands close around his throat, but when Kamui abruptly finds himself struggling for oxygen, his mind floods with panic. Whatever he’d just done has pushed Fuuma over some obscure edge of reality, and with as unstable as the older boy is, he is almost certain that the Angel intends to kill him. Here, like this, just when they’d finally begun to breach the barriers that have held them apart for so long. That, more than anything else, scares him – being so close and yet so far from something so vital.

"Fuu... ma..." the hand touching his cheek drops down to join the other hand pulling at Fuuma's grip, trying to get loose – trying to breathe – trying to stop another wrong taking place between them that could only add to the hopeless, endless series of mistakes they’d already made.

It simply could not end this way. Not like this. Not ever like this.

Fuuma stares into Kamui's face, eyes wide and for once, a touch fearful. He adjusts his grip unconsciously, making it less painful for his former friend, but also working to further cut the flow of oxygen, watching sadly as Kamui struggles weakly in his grasp. The flesh is warm and pliant beneath his hands and he observes this with an empty sort of detachment, as though his hands were not his own and he were standing outside his own body, simply watching from a distance. There is no malice behind his actions, nor is there any hate... or much of any real emotion, really... causing the motions to feel mechanical and effortless. But his body is moving on its own; after having been numb for so long his mind is too overwhelmed by pain to reason out that maybe he should stop this, that maybe this wasn’t the way to do this... that killing that fire in Kamui’s eyes really isn’t what he wants. But the concept of rekindling any sort of hope in his own heart is a frightening one and only promises more pain and disappointment.

This... this was the way things had to be... He just wished it didn't have to hurt so damn much...

Kamui digs his fingernails into Fuuma's hands, pinching and tearing the skin – cutting bloody furrows – trying to do anything to make him let go. But his body feels strangely leaden; it's hard to move to even save his own life. Blinking slowly, he keeps his eyes on Fuuma's, seeing his own fear reflected in the other's wide stare. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't supposed to be like this. There had to have been some other way....

But it's getting harder to focus; the burning in his chest takes over all other feeling, even as his mind begins to slow down. He tries to at least say Fuuma's name, but can't make his voice work. The edges of his vision turn grey.

Reading the rising hysteria in Kamui's pain-clouded eyes is enough to bring eventually bring Fuuma back to himself enough to reevaluate his options. If Kamui’s sense of self preservation was strong enough at this point, then perhaps he could get his companion to cooperate with him... Maybe they still could try again without him having to worry about whether or not Kamui would attempt to reconnect with him. With the way things are going now, there doesn’t seem to be much harm in it. After a brief debate with himself, Fuuma decides to take the opening this opportunity presents him and leans down to whisper in Kamui's ear, "You're right, Kamui - there is a way... we don't have to do this..." his voice shakes a little, almost pleading, as though he were the one being slowly strangled to death, "we can try...just tell me that you hate me, Kamui... just tell me you don't care..."

Kamui can feel tears trickle down his cheeks at Fuuma's words. He can’t understand why the other boy would have him say such a thing, what with all that he’d just admitted, but it seems to be what he wants. And it would be so easy... but to lie to his most important person seems like something he wouldn't be able to forgive himself for. He lets out a low, negative sound, "Nnnn..."

"Please..." Fuuma implores him, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation as he sees his counterpart’s eyes begin to roll upward, "Kamui... I need to hear you say it... I can't if you don't... it's just three little words..."

His hands unwittingly loosen their hold a little as they tremble with strain, which allows Kamui to steal a thin, stuttering breath. Shallow and painful as it may be, it's enough to finally speak; his hands start shaking on top of Fuuma's as he forces the words through, "I... can't...lie..." And with that, he erupts into a coughing fit as he fights to breathe in again, made easier from Fuuma’s faintly slackening grip – his lungs spasming from being empty for too long.

Fuuma pulls back enough to look at Kamui with disbelieving eyes, clearly upset by his refusal to give in, "But – It's so easy... why... why can't you just lie to me?!" he gives the younger teen a small, aggravated shake, his voice strained and raw, "Why can't you give me that much? Damnit, Kamui, I need it!"

Kamui whimpers at the movement, his head starting to throb so badly that spots of color play in front of his eyes. His drop hands away from Fuuma’s; he doesn't have the strength to hold on to him anymore. "I... care..." he gasps, his eyes sliding shut. "I want... to love... you... back..."

Those simple, whispered words are not at all what Fuuma wanted or expected and they ring in his ears with the strength of an explosion, shocking him motionless. He stares blankly for a few more heartbeats before their meaning kicks in... and then it’s like the world has been ripped out from beneath him and it’s all he can do from whimpering aloud the sudden roar of denial that screams to life in the back of his mind, ‘No... no, no, no – damnit, Kamui! NO! Oh God...’

Against his will, his own eyes slip shut and his face crumples, faintly pained. His breath catches once... twice... and then for the first time in six years, his legs slowly give out and he makes a few low hiccupping sounds that quickly turn into a string of what might be quiet sobs, buried against Kamui's stomach as he releases the boy's throat and moves to wrap his arms around his waist instead.

Kamui sways a little on his feet, coughing quietly and just focusing on getting oxygen into his lungs to make the world stop spinning. Sinking to his knees, he leans against Fuuma, murmuring breathily, but not really saying anything. Fuuma doesn’t even seem to notice; he simply clings to him, pressing his face into the crook of Kamui's shoulder. For the moment, he has nothing he can possibly say. All he knows is that hearing Kamui tell him such things drives the hurt even deeper, and that he hadn't even thought such a thing was possible. He feels incredibly hollow inside now... knowing that despite himself, he can't help but want to believe in the other boy – believe that there’s still a chance that they could really start over on even ground and perhaps make something for themselves. Even knowing that it was worse than useless, he still wanted to believe.

And that in itself hurt the most.

On his own side, Kamui trembles unsteadily, trying to remember how to get his limbs to cooperate with each other. The fading adrenaline, combined with both the physical and emotional exhaustion of this encounter, has left him weary and aching. With an effort, he lifts his arms and drapes them carefully around Fuuma's shoulders, holding onto him weakly – seeking both an anchor and some form of peace offering. For the first time in several months, despite everything, his heart isn't troubled. No matter what happens, he has his friend for the moment – a friend who could possibly show him how they could be more than that. One that he could perhaps still reach; and to him, nothing is more important.

After several minutes, Fuuma finally finds his balance and allows himself to talk, carefully avoiding saying anything that may lead back to personal subjects. For now, he needs the stability, so he needs to stay business-minded. He doesn't move, but when he speaks, his voice is soft and does not waver, "Are you certain that this is what you want, Kamui? Are you sure you want to know the other path?"

Kamui's grip on Fuuma's shoulders tightens, fingers clenching in the material of his shirt. He speaks hoarsely, his words more breath than voice, "I don't want to fight you." His people will be angry with him for what he's going to do. This moment won't last forever, and when it's over, he will have to go back to them and tell them what he's agreed to. But if there's a chance, he has to take it. Resting his forehead on Fuuma's shoulder, he takes a deep breath. "Show me what I have to do?"

Fuuma sighs and sits back enough to look Kamui in the eye, his expression tired but stern, almost as though he sensed Kamui's thoughts. "There are certain consequences, Kamui... you will be forced to leave your dragons, just as I will... and you will not be allowed to tell them where you are going. They will try to interfere and this must be done completely without their influence. Choose carefully."

Kamui's eyes widen, his determination wavering just a little. "Wh... what? Where do I have to go?"

Fuuma's eyes narrow and he repeats himself slowly; ‘where’ does not seem to bear much significance, by the sound of his voice, "Choose... Kamui..."

They won't forgive him for this; Kamui knows it as sure as he knows that ultimately, he would do anything to keep Fuuma near him. He lost him once, and he can't handle the thought of it happening again. Lowering his eyes and swallowing the lump that rises in his throat, Kamui nods. "Tell me, Fuuma."

"Alright, but before anything else, you must first promise me that if you agree to do this, that you will stay by my side unless I direct you otherwise until it is over. Do you understand, Kamui?"

"I understand." Kamui whispers, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His shoulders shake slightly as he wills himself not to cry. "I promise."

There is a brief pause, then Fuuma nods, once. "Good."

And finally he starts to straighten up, drawing Kamui along with him until they are both standing. It is then that Fuuma takes Kamui's face in both his hands and looks at him intently, gazing at him as though he were going to paint his picture. "It is decided then... you and I together will choose..."

Kamui meets Fuuma's eyes slowly, with an expression that betrays the pain he's feeling, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. "Aa..."

Then, quite unexpectedly, Fuuma closes his eyes and lets his hands fall away as they are both abruptly consumed in shadow. There is a whispering sound that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once - a rustling of soft things where nothing was before that brushes Kamui's mind like the kiss of feathers tumbling away into the never. With a final touch, he steps away, "Follow your instincts, Kamui... you'll know where to find me." And before the violet-eyed youth can say anything in response, he sweeps his wings up and over them – enormous and feathery and flowing – plunging the younger boy into nothingness.

Kamui panicked and called out for Fuuma in the darkness, an overwhelming fear washing over him when he found himself all at once alone. Clawing his way up through the shadows, he abruptly opened his eyes to see a plain white ceiling, strewn with the purple-grey light of dawn. Blinking slowly, he took a deep breath and pushed himself into a sitting position, watching with a dull sort of wonder as his bed sheets fell away and settled into a harmless puddle of blue cotton over his lap.

He had been asleep.

'A dream?' he wondered absently, instinctively raising a hand to his throat to press his fingers against the soft skin. His eyes widened a little, startled to discover a deep, dull pain in his neck, like that of a fading bruise. Shifting, he glanced over and found that his window was still closed and locked securely and that nothing in his room was out of place. Everything was just as he’d left it before he’d gone to bed, which left him with one possible conclusion: that that had been more than a product of any sort of paranoid imaginings and that he’d really encountered his other and touched him in their dreams. The conversation, the struggle, the alien expression of pain in Fuuma’s eyes... all of it had been real... right?

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it – what he should think, what he should feel – but the cold, damp sensation of tears against his cheeks as his fingers traveled upward were sobering. He was all too clearly reminded of that terrible instant when the hurt began to overflow and Fuuma cried against him. Morbidly, he wondered if it was at all possible that some of the wetness on his face wasn’t his own.

That possibility clenched something deep inside him and he found himself cold and aching.

'Follow my instincts...'

When he cried again, it was no longer for himself.

(to be continued...)