0mohni0

The Code Gayass Love Lives Yet! (Attempt at community first-aid)

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 17:55:15 GMT

This community has been D-E-A-D for a veeeeeery long time...I curse my luck that I didn't come across it when it was still up and running.

But as...a product of my bored mind, and of your posts here (yes, I got the idea from you guys) I bring you a Model!Lelouch.

Nooooo! Gayass community, don't die! Come on people! Spinzaku and Fail!Louch can't ever get old!

Just trying this out...

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 13:37:25 GMT

Never learned how to LJ cut...

Is this in?

Umm...

[FIC] Hetalia: Bitter Ice

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 08:16:08 GMT

Title: Bitter Ice
Words: 564
Rating: G
Warnings: Angst! Lots of it! And me trying to be poetic.

A tentative hug. His voice came, choked and muffled through Arthur’s expensive coat. “I’ve- I missed you, England.”
The sandy-haired man was dazed, full of bursting pleasure and a sharper, more pressing pain. After so many years, he was finally warm. He didn’t remember warmth hurting this much.
It was the right way for a nation to die, Arthur had decided. A nation as old as himself, with no aspirations, no hope, nothing to look forward to in tomorrow, ought to sit and crumble with dignity and grace, and try not to remember the colorful, yet painful times full of bittersweet memories.
Yet, that ice was thawing; Arthur was being hugged by the man he had vowed never to set eyes upon again.
He had retired years ago; the last ten years had been harsh. Slow agony. Everyday, he ached. He had pained when he woke, had pained when he cooked, had pained when he ate, had pained when he went back to sleep.
A mindless, but safe life.
Safe, because he didn’t posses a single picture of Alfred.
Safe, because he hadn’t seen Alfred for the past ten years.
Safe, because his insides were never warm and fuzzy and cushiony.
Safe, because he had forgotten how to love.
Arthur had retired early, but his fading youth didn’t stop the bitter ice of disappointment from encasing his heart. And he knew disappointment. All kinds of disappointment. The disappointment of a nation with a colony, of a care-taker with a child, of a lover with a unrecognized, severed love. He had withered from inside.
He had lost the will to live, but lacked the courage to die: A mindless existence. Disappointing. Safe.
Until today.
Alfred was a young man now, no longer as impulsive, no longer such a glutton. He towered over the older figure, stooping to hold him in his grasp.
“England.” America murmured, leaning down to reach the shorter man and squeezing him against him chest tightly. He was face was buried in Arthur’s shoulder; it smelled of the older nation so abundantly, the scent that had haunted him for years. The crisp, formal, yet comforting smell of books, paper, and of expensive, starched clothes.
“England. England. England. England…”He crooned, feeling the name roll over his tongue, savoring it’s taste. A sudden, deep sense of contentment sheathed his heart as he wrapped his long, sinewy arms around the man whose attention he had craved for as long as he could remember. He squeezed England’s limp body against his, making sure he was there, really there, this was really England, ENGLAND, England, his England, yes, him, England, in his arms, at last.
A soft smile.
“England.” He croaked, so heart-brokenly, so raw, and tenderly that something inside Arthur’s chest shattered.
The slow ice covering his chest, full of sharp words, cruel formalities, and cold manners scattered into a thousand painful shards, each a bitter testament to his lost love.
Reluctant tears flowed from England’s emerald eyes and he moved to wrap his arms around the man who he loved.
“America.” He choked, feeling the warmth against him again, again, and yet again,. He was really here. America. He was here. America. Alfred, here, his beloved Alfred, come back for him, Alfred.
And just like that, on the doorstep of a prison, the lovers embraced.

Written By: 0mohni0
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: How was that? I hop it wasn’t too cliché, or too sappy. Review please! (My first attempt at US x UK, as well as Hetalia angst.)

[FIC] An Utterly Useless Meeting And Japan's Stupid Fan

Mon, 15 Jun 2009 14:26:12 GMT

Title: An Utterly Useless Meeting And Japan’s Stupid Fan
Rating: K...
Summary: What the title says.
Warnings: EXAM-INDUCED CRACK (Don’t beleive me? I get so crazy during the exams I was doodling pics of Prince Zuko and Aang (The Avatar) hugging in a cave before my math paper. Yeah.)
A/N: I should be ashamed of myself. NINE WEEKS with NO update?! My exams were finished two weeks ago, but it’s only been my pure laziness that’s kept me from doing something. I’m sorry.

Germany decided his luck was screwed. It was the middle of a meeting where most people were actually cooperating (coughItalycough) and the power went like ‘BAM’.
Well, not actually ‘bam’.

More like, ‘psssht’.
The sound of traditional Japanese lutes played in the background as Japan, in the height of his glory, spoke quietly: “It’s a power outage.”

Germany suppressed a groan as Italy, who had previously been sleeping in the background, effectively woke up and let out a high-pitched scream.
Japan’s cool voice whispered something he didn’t catch and Italy calmed down. He could imagine how Italy would be looking right now—he’d been confronted with that scared-face too many times to forget.

...Italy was so pathetic. But kinda cute. (He’d always liked helpless things. Like little puppies. Others kicked them—he gave them army training and employed them in his kickass army.) But really really pathetic.

Lutes (from an unknown location) played some graceful tune and Japan said, “I’ll go see to the matter.”
Germany grunted. “A-ah. Thanks, Japan.” A thin layer of perspiration had already formed over his forehead; damn it—why was it so goddamn stuffy in Japan’s house?! Japanese houses weren’t supposed to be this goddamn stuffy....right?

Ludwig thought it over a few times, before coming to the conclusion that he knew very little about Japan. Like where he hid those flutists, for example. (He wasn’t even sure you called a flute-player a flutist.)

He had to find out someday. Someday. Not today. Not today, because all he could think of was the unbearable heat in that stuffy, stifling room. It didn’t help that he on an army jacket suited for German temperatures.

Japan quietly got up and paced outside the door—oh, why—dammit why?!—did he have to close the door!?
Germany’s eyebrow ticked; he knew that his patience was going to explode. From anger. Or heat.

“Ve~Germany~!”

Germany tried to suppress a groan. And possibly, a shriek of outrage coupled with ploughing through the wall.

“It’s hot, isn’t it, Germany~?”

“Yeah.”

“Then take off your coat~!”

“Alright.” He had long since learned that the best way to get Italy to stop using those puppy-eyes at him (even if he couldn’t see them right now) was to go along with what he said. Of course, Italy’s ideas (and his eyes) had been responsible for getting Germany in lots of tight places too. If he started counting—the time he had almost been captured by Britain because Feliciano had called him an ocean away, complaining (crying) that he couldn’t tie his shoelaces—he’d never be able to—the time Italy had convinced him to try his pasta made of sand; he’d never gotten worse food poisoning—get through them all—when Italy had decided to take all of Germany’s clothes (even the underwear Austria patched) and dyed it pink—even in the first year!

His hair was falling in his eye, and he shot the infuriating lock of blonde hair a withering look, before growling ferociously.

“Grrrrrrrrrr—
“—Germany? Why’re you growling~?”

He snapped out of his intrinsic growling session and to blink at Italy in the dark. It was only then when he realized that he couldn’t see Italy’s face...or any other part of him, for that matter.
He sighed. “Because it’s hot. And my hair keeps on falling in my face.”

“Oo~! Do you want a hair band~?” Ludwig’s eye twitched at the mental image of himself wearing a pink and glittery hair band with ‘P-A-S-T-A!” spelled out in large white sparkles.

”No thank you.” He replied in a clipped tone, hoping his voice was scary enough to substitute for the glare he couldn’t give Italy. Purely because it was dark, and not in any way because sweat in his eyes was rendering him completely unable to see. Nope. The great Germany didn’t have weaknesses.
Yeah. Um...back to the scary voice. Germany couldn’t help the mental smirk that spread from imagining Italy’s face right now—he always found it cute even if he had yelled at Feliciano all day, through the meeting, through training, through his pasta-filled antics, Italy always came crawling back to him.
It made him feel kinda important. But mostly smug. Italy was so dependant on him! The warm thought filled him with the desire to roll around gleefully on the floor like he used to do in his childhood.
Just as he was about to give in (just a little bit!) he was interrupted by Italy’s voice. “Germany~! Are you still hot~?”

“Yes.” He grumbled, grumpy at not being able to roll around.

“Really~?”

“Yes.”

“Like, how much hot~?” Germany gaped in the darkness. His eyes narrowed, and his voice shook with emotion. “Italy...”

“Yes~?” The voice came from the darkness.

A dark aura surrounded Germany—“Have you been talking to France?!” He was going to kill France for filling Feliciano’s mind with perverted French stuff.

“Nope~!” Ok, he was going to kill that perverted France anyways.

“Besides, France-san says he’s turned non-pervert now~....” Still.

“Japan says that he hasn’t even made one weird comment at the last meeting~!” Germany didn’t believe it. Not the ‘one comment’ part, nor the ‘non-pervert’ stuff. He invented French-kissing, for heaven’s sake!

“Germany~?”

He snapped out of brainstorming ways to blow France’s face in and blinked at where he hoped Italy was.

“Are you still hot?”
Germany’s eyes narrowed, vowing to kill France the next time he set his eyes on him—

“Because I have this handfan~......”

“Y-you do?” His voice sounded too hopeful, even to him.

“Japan’s so resourceful, ne~?”

“Err....Italia, where is the fan?”

“In my hand~!”

“Err....where’s your hand?”

“Attatched to my arm~!” Germany refused to let himself slap himself on the forehead.

“No, as in where.”

Italy gasped. “Germany~! You’re blind~!”

At this, Ludwig allowed himself to groan. And slap his forehead.

“No, idiot. It’s dark!”

“Really~? I can see fine~!” Although Germany couldn’t see Italy flailing his arms, he could imagine it, and the mental image wasn’t very pleasing.

“See~?”

“I already told you, it’s too—“

“This is your arm~ this is your nose~ this is your stomach~!” Italy had crawled over from wherever he was before and had started poking various parts of Germany.
The blonde nation blushed furiously (thanking goodness, for once, that the power was out) and tried to swat away Italy’s hands before they got anywhere else.
He succeeded in slapping him. He really couldn’t tell which part of Italy he had just killed, but thanks to Feliciano’s inability to remain quiet about anything, he quickly found out.

“Aaah~!” Oh god, Feliciano even sang while crying!
“Germany~! You slapped me~!”

Ludwig was just about to apologize when Italy starting ranting full speed and he couldn’t even hear his own thoughts, let alone what he was trying to say.

“You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! You slapped me! Germany~!”

He was just about to thank god that Itlay had stopped chanting ‘you slapped me’ when he had to face palm.

“Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~! Germany~!”

Oh hell no.

“Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~! Waaaaaaaaaaa~!”

“Oh, just SHUT UP!” He snapped, and Italy stopped whining at the top of his voice, only to sniffle after every millisecond.

Germany though the situation over. Was Feliciano trying to guilt-trip him?! (Mental gasp) That guilttripper!

That bastard France.

Ludwig let out a sigh of defeat to the guilt welling up inside his heart (Italy’s sentimentalality was so rubbing off on him) and gently called the brunette’s name.

“Italia.”
“Sniff...”
“Italia, come here.”
”Sniff...”
“Italia...”
“Sniff...”
“Don’t be difficult, Italia.”
“Sniff...” Germany felt something brush his arm and he immediately tugged at it, succeeding in bringing about a large crash.

“Ahaa...that...wasn’t the antique vase...that Japan had...right....?” He asked airily, trying not to imagine the look of cold fury in painted in the normally tame Asian’s eyes.

To his surprise, Italy began laughing. It started with just another sniffle, but turned into a hiccup, and dissolved in helpless laughter.
Germany’s face heated up—he didn’t like being laughed at. “O-Oi! Italia! Stop that!”

“Germany’s so clumsy, ve~!”

Oh god, was Feliciano devoid of all tact?!

“S-Shut up!”

“....” It took a few seconds for the brunette nation to process this, before—“Sniff.”
“You are not starting that up again.”
“Sniff.”
“Italia.”
“Sniff.”
“I’m warning you...”
“Sniff.”

Before Italy could start his rhythm of ‘sniff, wail, cry, Germany!’ the blonde nation groped around in the pitch dark and pulled something which felt like a head towards him.

“Come here...” He muttered, trying to find Italy’s face so he could prop him up against himself or the wall. Or something. Or France’s dead body—he smirked at the thought, before the smile turned upside down.

That idiot was probably even going to be perverted when he was dead...he didn’t want Italy going in a five-mile radius of that— Italy interrupted his thoughts by squirming out his Germany’s grip in his head and crawling on the blonde’s lap.

“O-Oi! Italia!” His face heated up; he hoped that his voice didn’t sound too scandalized. He held a distaste for the word ever since America had teased in a World Meeting that all did Britain did when he tried to kiss him in public was go red and shout ‘Ameri-ca!’ in that ‘endearing scandalized way’.

“Germany~! I’m hot~!” That settled it. France was going to die.

“Could you fan~? My hand huuuuuuurts~!”

“And my head.” Germany muttered, but Italy didn’t catch it and nuzzled against the blonde’s chest.

After five minutes of meticulously noting the enticing (He didn’t think that. Not at all.) way Italy’s hair moved with ever stroke of air he waved in their direction, Germany began to get bored. Sure, Italy was warm, but right now, he didn’t really want warmth.

...And his hand hurt.

After half an hour, the pain was unbearable. If Japan was here, he would say something about—actually, he wouldn’t say anything.

Germany sighed, and shifted the fan to his other hand, before realizing that he’d just shifted it the former hand a minute ago.

“Italia.”
“Hmmm~?”
“Your turn.” Germany made to hand the fan over to the brunette, but Italia waved it away. “We’ll take hour-hour turns, ok~?”

“........But—“Ludwig began, when Italy cut him off. “Pleeeeeeeease~?”

“Fine.” He huffed, and flapped the fan vigorously, only to be completely wiped out after three minutes.

What followed was a tedious process: Up down up down up down up down drop-fan pick-fan up down up down change hand up down up down accidentally-smack-himself-in-the-nose-with-the-damn-thing up down up down up......

When the hell had Japan informed them that he would be going on vacation under the cover of going to change a fuse, again?
Oh, right. He didn’t.

Damnit.

Although Germany couldn’t tell the time, he calculated that it had been over an (tedious, excruciating) hour and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Oi, Italia.”
The brown-haired man mumbled something and nuzzled closer to Germany’s shoulder, asleep.

Damn.

“I’m not doing this!” Germany threw the fan down, and sat with a pout (although he would never admit it) for approximately three minutes before the searing, stifling heat forced him to greedily snatch up the fan again.

“Damn it all....” He grumbled, and started fanning, once again focusing his eyes on Italy’s vacant, content expression and the way his hair waved in the Germany-generated air.

And that was how he ended up fanning for three hours straight.
In his mind, the three hours were completely wasted. He didn’t find where Japan hid his flutists (the ones that burst into a cheerful song when he came back into the room bearing a candle and news that the entire house had been short-circuited).
Nor did he train. Or plan. Or kill France. Or mash potatoes.

....Damn.

And his hands felt dead.

A/N: Errr...Don’t look at me like that!

Ok, ok, I realize that this has NO plot what-so-ever, but this was to release exam stress.
REVIEW!

A MONTH (not so happy) EXAMS

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 10:30:26 GMT

Don't. Stop.
...Patience. Breathe in, breathe out.

I'm not going to--don't look so scary!-- be able to update-- GASP!-- for the next month-- DOUBLE GASP!-- because of my exams--NOOOOOOOO!

Yeah.
So...

Um...I'll update after a month? Please keep reading! Pretty please?

Change in Events Part III

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 02:33:37 GMT

Change in Events Part III

He knocked on the door, feeling a little foolish with Ginny hanging off of his arm. “Where are we going?” Ginny had asked, turning her fierce brown eyes on him.
“Err....to visit a friend of sorts.” He had replied, and he now saw that Ginny had figured out which friend this was.
“That’s so sweet, Harry.” She said, her voice dripping with adoration. He resisted the urge to shudder, and instead just shook her hand off of his arm.
“You again?” The gate asked, sighing in long-suffering.

“Yeah. Going to let me in?” He asked, and it swung open, only to slam shut in Ginny’s face. “And who might you be?” It asked menacingly, and Harry quickly stammered that she was with him.
“Take her then.” The gate snarled, swinging open, and shutting with a loud bang behind Ginny.
“Mean gate, isn’t it?” Ginny said shakily. He nodded, and raised the bronze knockers just like he did the first time. The same old man answered the door.

“Here to see the Master again?” He asked, and Harry nodded, wondering if a visit to this place was so irregular that everyone remembered it. It sure seemed so, since even Draco had asked before he had even knocked, through the door, “You again, Harry?”

Ginny stared at him. Since when did Malfoy call Harry anything but ‘Potter’?
“Err...yeah. Can I come in?”

“If I said no, you still would, wouldn’t you? I suppose they’re no way to refuse you.” Harry rolled his eyes, grinning, and stepped in the room with Ginny.
He noticed as Draco’s smirk fell as soon as he caught sight of Ginny, but he supposed he must be wondering what such a beautiful creature was doing in his room.

“Weasely.” He nodded formally, and Ginny smiled experimentally, nodding a quiet “Malfoy.” back.
“Err...We were just passing the neighborhood and decided to come for a visit, since it seemed like it had been a long time.” Harry explained, sounding lame even to his own ears.
It’s been like four days. Malfoy’s raised eyebrow said.

Yes, well, I’ve missed you of sorts. Harry’s slight blush replied.
Draco smiled, although a bit crookedly. Is your nose even fully healed yet?
I was hoping you wouldn’t break it again. Harry twitched his nose.
How about I smash one of your teeth in? Draco ran tapped his front teeth in indication, and Harry took a precautionary step backwards.

The blonde man’s eyes laughed. Are you afraid?
Harry put his hands on his hips. Bring it on!
You sure? Draco’s eyebrow was raised.

Harry stuck out his tongue—and stopped in shock when Ginny nudged him in the side. “What are you doing?” She hissed, pulling him down to the sofa opposite where Draco was sitting.
“What? He was challenging me!” He whispered back, and realized, when Ginny raised her eyebrow in skepticism, that she didn’t believe him. Didn’t she notice the whole sign-conversation right now?
That was the point—she probably didn’t. Draco was smirking at him, which told him that he hadn’t imagined it, and also that the blonde man was making fun of him for getting caught.

You wait. Harry narrowed his eyes and hoped it conveyed the message.
‘For?’ Draco mouthed, behind Ginny’s back.
Harry clenched his teeth and made little cut-throat movements at Draco, who laughed inaudibly when Ginny hit him again.

“Ah...Harry, Weasely, refreshments?” Draco broke the silence, and called in the servant to bring up some drinks and snacks.
“Where are you now-a-days, Weasely?” He asked when the food had arrived.
Ginny looked surprised at being asked a question, but recovered and replied, “I’ve opted for being an Auror, since it was what I felt really alive doing, when I was fighting. I graduated from Hogwarts a year early...but I can’t get admission into the Auror Academy until next year, so, until then, I’m at home. What about you?”
Draco laughed, but it seemed that only Harry could detect the false bitterness in his voice. “House arrest.”

“Are you sure you don’t enjoy being all lazy at home?”
Ginny gasped, hoping to the higher power that Draco didn’t do something horrible to them after that comment, but he simply smirked and replied, “I enjoy it as much you hate having to work for the first time in your life, Harry.”

“That was horrible of you, Harry.” The red haired girl reprimanded, once they had walked out the gates. “You were so rude!”
“I wasn’t rude, I was replying to his rudeness!” Harry argued, holding Ginny’s hand and Apparating straight into The Burrow.
“The poor guy didn’t even do anything!” She frowned, and walked off to her room, leaving Harry wondering if Draco had Ginny’s fancy already. Surely, it would make his job much easier, but for some reason he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of the both of them falling in love that quickly.

The next time, when Hermione told him to leave the two alone for a little while; he didn’t want to do it. He was afraid that when he came back in the room, the two would be kissing, or cuddling, or something equally...disgusting.
He kicked a rock into the pond in the Malfoy Manor’s garden, wondering why he felt so jittery, and oddly jealous. After all, he didn’t want Ginny anymore, did he?
No. The answer came to him easily, but it left him curious. If he didn’t want Ginny, why was the green monster in his stomach roaring at the thought of what the two could be doing in the room together?
He looked up at the pale-green curtained window wistfully.

Through the very same window, Draco and Ginny sat stiffly in each other’s presence.
Ginny decided to break the ice. “He wants me to date you.” She said, and wondered whether telling Draco this was even necessary, since it looked like he already knew it.
“But you don’t want to date me, right?” He clarified, and brutally honest Ginny nodded.
“Good. I don’t want to date you either.”

Ginny took another long sip out of her cup. “What are we supposed to do? Even after I waited for him, I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me as he did before. I only come along here to make him stop feeling guilty.”

“You don’t have to.” Draco remarked. “Let the idiot stew in his own guilt. Why should we take pains for him?”
“Can we...just pretend to be dating? Only for a little while?” Ginny asked, her hopeful brown eyes staring up at him. “Only until he gets over thinking that he should have taken care of me?”
“I suppose so...I am bored very often.” The blonde man replied, as confirmation. “I hope you’re good company.”
She nodded, smiling.
“I suppose I should be offended at Potter for pushing down his old girlfriend at me, and you should be too.” He said, after a while of silence.
Ginny shrugged. “I don’t know anymore. I’ve learned not to judge him for the choices he makes; most of them aren’t really his choice at all.” Sounds of footsteps were heard outside the door, and her eyes widened. “Start acting now?”
Draco smirked, and leaned forward on the coffee table with Ginny, so that their faces were only a finger’s breadth apart. Harry opened the door, and gasped, and blushed in such an adorable way that Draco could barely stand not pinching his cheeks, despite the fact that he’d hated it when his aunt used to pinch his when he was a child.

Ginny drew back, a mock-blush on her face. “O-Oh.” She exclaimed; Draco noticed how much of a convincing actress she was.
“Err...I’ll just leave.” Harry stammered, and shut the door behind him as he darted out.

Ginny’s brown eyes caught Draco’s blue ones, and they both stared at each other, and at the door for a bit, before bursting into barely hidden peals of laughter. Harry paused outside the corridor, listening to the loud laughter echoing through the walls. He had never heard Draco laugh anything but bitterly or mockingly; and was momentarily awed by how childishly free, and open his laugh sounded. Rich and full of emotion.

When he came to take Ginny home, Draco asked him for a moment to talk. The red-haired woman exited the room and the blonde man drawled, “Ginny and I are dating.”

Harry’s heart sank, although he should have been glad that Ginny had found someone.
“Why am I not offended that you pushed your girlfriend down on me?”

“Shouldn’t you be?” Harry asked, not desperately trying not to beg Draco to stay single and leave Ginny, but failing miserably.
“No. She’s pretty, nice, witty, and blood traitors don’t bother me anymore.”

“O-Oh.” Harry said; his last hope had just sunk.
“Why are you looking so sad? Didn’t you want Ginny to find someone do you’ll stop feeling guilty?” Draco asked, his intense stare burning into Harry.
“Err...yeah...but...I...uh...”
“Stop mumbling. We’re already going out, so if you’ve just gotten the cold feet about letting me have her, its too late.” The blonde man said coldly.
“N-No. Congrats.” Harry faltered; trying to push down the strange feelings of...what was it? Jealousy? Disappointment? And something warm and fuzzy going bad, for some reason.

“You’re welcome, Harry.”
And as he walked out the door, “Welcome again here, too.”
“B-But won’t Ginny be enough for company?” He asked, hating himself for having to ask it, and also for feeling all schmooty and furry inside at the invitation.
“Yeah, but I can’t break her nose.”
“Glad to see I’m so loved.” He replied sardonically, rolling his eyes though it seemed like his insides would burst with happiness.
“Who couldn’t help loving you?” Draco said, softly, but seemed to realize how that sounded and said in a boisterous voice (shattering Harry’s happy feeling) “A-After all, you are the Savior of the World Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and The Chosen One, right?”

Harry muttered an awkward ‘Yeah’ and a goodbye, but didn’t turn back in fear that the other would see his disappointed face. But in not doing so, he also missed the blush on Draco’s.

000

“Shouldn’t I be happy, Hermione?” Harry asked, after relating the entire tale, and watching Ginny prance here and there, happy as he ever seen her.
“Aren’t you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“If I knew, would I be asking you?” He asked irritately.
“Harry, I’m not psychic.” She sighed. “I can tell you only what you tell me, but can’t put together. You have to tell me why you’re feeling so unhappy.”
The green-eyed man sighed. “The problem is, I don’t even know that.”

000

Ginny smiled at him, and asked, sweetly, if he liked Harry.
Draco had asked what she meant by that, and Ginny said that Harry had always sort-of like him. That was why he wasn’t as happy as he thought he would be if the both of us starting dating, she said.
The blonde man had asked her where she got this information from—surely Harry wouldn’t have told her thing like these.

“Hermione.” She replied. “She’s the one who’s been filling me in on everything, so it isn’t too hard for me to realize what Harry is feeling. He’s a little hard to figure out otherwise.”
Draco shook his head. “I don’t think so. You can read him like a book.”
She just shrugged, saying, “I’d never been able to.” with a sorrowful note in her voice.

“Hey...” The blue-eyed man started, noticing her tone. “You don’t still like him, do you?” Ginny shook her vigorously. “No. But I want him to be happy. And for some reason, I think he likes you more than he likes me, but is too emotionally dull to figure that out.”
“And you don’t mind....?” Draco hinted for her to go on.
She laughed, and replied, smiling: “That he’s bi? I’ve always known. His first crush was on Oliver Wood, his first Quiddich team captain.”

He didn’t reply for a bit, and Ginny prodded him in the side. “Hey? I asked you a question.”
“D-did you?”
“I asked,” She began again, sighing. “If you liked him back.”

“He has saved my life...” Draco answered in a round-about way.
“He saved mine too.” Ginny said, and it was as if she was urging him on.
“Two...on the night of the battle alone.” It occurred to Draco that he should be ashamed of admitting how many times Harry had saved his life, but it was like one didn’t feel uncomfortable with accepting a gift from someone close to him.
“That means that I get in trouble less.” Ginny smirked playfully.
“Yes, well, I saved his sorry ass once too. And tried to another time, but it was pure luck that he got away the other time.” Draco mock-snapped back.
“Back to the point.” Ginny tapped the table. “Do you like him or not?”

“I...He is entertaining, in the least.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Go ahead.”

000

The next time Harry had stepped foot in the Burrow, he was bombarded by perfume and a jumping, squealing Ginny.
“Harry, let’s go see Draco!” She exclaimed, and dragged him off before he even had a chance to taste the delicious fudge cake that was calling to him from the kitchen.
“W-what? No! Ginny, wait...” But there was no point in refusing anymore, since they had already apparated in front of the Malfoy Manor. The gate was much better behaved, this time, letting them in quickly, and they wandered up the manor by themselves after the old servant had opened the door.
“Can we come in, Draco?” Ginny asked, knocking on the door of Malfoy’s quarters.
“No.” Draco replied, but the red-head opened it anyways and stood glaring at Draco. “What?” He shrugged. “I just wanted to see what you’d do if I said no for a change. It’s clear you have no respect for my privacy and permission.”

“Oh har-har, Draco.” Ginny rolled her eyes, and pulled him out of his room. “Come on, we’re going for a walk.”
To Harry’s surprise, Draco recovered from the shock of being yanked out of his own room with ease, and he fell in a gait with Ginny, leaving Harry feeling oddly out. It’s what you deserve for being the only one stupid enough to come along with a dating couple. He told himself nastily, and tried not to think that he hadn’t really had a choice.

Ginny was being more flirtatious that he had ever seen her, even if he was too far behind to hear what they were saying. She twirled around Draco at regular intervals, ran her finger down his cheek, and was clinging to his arm like a lifeline. It made Harry incredibly jealous for some reason he couldn’t fathom.

She touched her forehead together with Draco’s, who grinned, and asked, “Is he looking jealous?”
“I think so. About time too. You’re gorgeous, Draco, but I got back together with Dean three days ago.”
He laughed, and replied, “Yes, well, you’re pretty too, but I just can’t abuse you like I can Potter. If I break your nose once it’d ruin your face.”
“Thank you for being so considerate.” She murmured, giggling against his shoulder.
“I should thank you for going through all of this.”
“Just give me dibs on all the kissing pictures and it’ll be enough.” Ginny smirked, and watched as a deep blush spread over Draco’s face.
“D-done.” He stammered, and she laughed again at the shy tone.

Harry followed behind sullenly. He was beginning to wonder why Ginny brought him along if all she was going to do was act all chummy with Draco. It occurred to him that she might be trying to make him jealous, and that she was doing a good job, even though he couldn’t figure out where the boils of envy were actually coming from. He was supposed to be happy that they got together, wasn’t he?
Maybe he still liked Ginny...
Or maybe he was just overcome with brotherly affection for her that he couldn’t bear to watch her in someone else’s arms. Yeah, that sounded right. After all, they had known each other long enough to be siblings, even if they had gone a bit incestuous in the middle. And even if he didn’t look at her like a sister, it would be like the sister of his best mate.

...Which would make her his sister? Again.

Whatever, thought Harry. All I need is to push down this weird envious feeling and I’m good to go.

After they had made a full round of the Malfoy gardens, Ginny insisted, noticing Harry for the first time, that they play Quiddich. They were evenly matched; all having been brilliant players in their Hogwarts years, and the sun seemed to retreat too fast.
The summer afternoon was now full of rust-golden light, and it had a peculiar quality of making everything look more regal and inviting.
Including Draco, Harry thought, watching the man step off of his broom and push his golden hair out of his eyes. In the rusty light, it seemed more of a healthy orange-blonde than the platinum blonde it was, his pale skin seemed livelier, and his eyes seemed more of a purplish shade than the brilliant blue he had grown accustomed to seeing. Not that it looked bad, Harry thought. He didn’t think anything could look back on the lily and pink-carnation complexion.

Ginny caught Draco’s eye and winked, making him blush, and said in an overly-dramatic voice, “You two, just stay here for a bit. I have to go to the washroom for a minute.” She wandered off through the beds of the flowers—Harry had wondered why they were playing Quiddich above the roses where there was so much plain area available--, leaving them alone.

Draco looked off to the side; it was obvious that he wasn’t going to start a conversation anytime soon. Harry took it upon himself to break the silence (however beautiful with the drowning sun) and said, feeling awkward, “Err...nice game, Draco.” It was impossible to play an even game with three equally matched players, so they had just ended in a draw at the end.
“You too.” Since when did Draco ever talk that low? Harry wondered. Their entire relationship had changed from trying to hex each other at every sight, to actually being friends, even if Draco was a little unrelenting at first.

“I don’t think you had played for a while, considering your injury...” Harry trailed off, and realized, in a stupid moment, that he hadn’t even asked about Draco’s injury once after their meeting at Madam Puddifoot’s.
“Is it well now?” He asked, already regretting making Draco play Quiddich if he was still in pain.
“Better or I wouldn’t have played.” Draco replied.
“Still bandaged?”
“No. They just came off two days ago.” To back his point, the blonde pulled aside the collar of his robe to show a long scar tracing from his collarbone down under the depths of the robe.
Harry winced: it was still red, and the pale skin around it seemed to be inflamed.
“I-It looks horrible. Maybe you should sit down?” The sight of the wound was making him woozy.
Draco pulled his collar back up and slowly sank to the ground, with his back to the garden shed. He grunted, “Maybe I shouldn’t have played today. Still a bit early.”
The green-eyed man sat down next to him, worry etched on his face. “If it hurts alot, I could call the servant to give you medicine or something.”
“Harry, I’ve lived with this pain a hundred times worse than it is now for over a year. It kind of builds up resistance.”

He blinked. “O-oh. Alright then.” He sighed. “I just think it’s a little sad when people say that they have resistance to pain, since it always means that they’ve had a lot of it.”

Draco leaned back against the shed and closed his eyes, just basking in the sunlight. “I think its a little sad that someone whose suffered as much as you thinks its sad when others suffer much less.”
“I think it’s sad when people don’t realize how much they’re going through.” Harry answered, also leaning against the tool shed. The smell of roses and grass wafted through the heavy, lazy air.
“I think it’s nice of people to stop and help out if someone is going through a lot.” Draco replied.
“I think it’s nice of people to let others help out.” Harry said.
“I let you, didn’t I?” The blonde man sighed, so quietly that Harry couldn’t be sure whether the comment was meant for his ears or not.

“I-I’m glad.” He said, blushing, but this time it didn’t feel the least bit awkward. Everything was so perfect, so nice, and so warm.
“Me too.” Draco said, the words making their way out of barely moving lips. Their faces were a hair’s breadth apart; Harry couldn’t imagine how nice, heavenly, romantic, it would feel to—He suddenly jerked out of that blissful dream and into reality.
Didn’t he take pains to make sure Ginny was happy with Draco?
He couldn’t break her heart twice!

What kind of a brother would he be?

“We’d better be going.” Harry said, trying not to sound conflicted in his emotions, but he could see from Draco’s confused expression that he wasn’t faring very well.
“See you later, Malfoy.” He had barely registered the use of Draco’s last name, when the blonde man called out behind him, “its Draco, Potter.” In that delicious voice. Not the throaty one he used when trying to flirt; but his normal one, which was so enchanting by itself, Harry didn’t see the need for another one.

“It’s Harry, Draco.” He replied, out of habit.

The mosquitoes seemed to hum in tune with Draco’s voice. “What are you afraid of?” He called out softly. The flowers danced to his notes, the sun shone to his beauty, night fell to contrast his skin.

Harry paused, and then brushed a fiery red flower with the back of his hand.

000

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Hermione frowned at him. It occurred to him how he came and reported every single detail of his visit to Malfoy Manor to her, without any feeling of shame or embarrassment. It might have been since he had helped Hermione with her problem with Ron back in their school years.

“Ginny will be hung up again.” She said. “If Draco had said that, that means he doesn’t really love her, and the last thing she needs is someone with fake affection for her.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But she doesn’t need her brother-of-sorts stealing her boyfriend either.”

000

He hadn’t gotten the guts to visit Malfoy Manor all week. He was due to go back to the Academy the next morning, and he lay in bed, deep in thought.
Not giving himself room for second thoughts, and not being able to resist it either. The mean old iron gate was incredibly quiet while letting him in, and he stood there gazing at the window ledge of Draco’s room wistfully. He could see through the lime-green curtains with the light on inside the room, and his eyes focused on the two silhouettes through the cloth and glass.
The short haired one said something, and him and the other girl, with long hair, laughed. Draco’s and Ginny’s peals of mirth echoed throughout the empty grounds, with only the rusty evening sunlight for company.

An incredible sadness sung through Harry’s soul—he wasn’t wanted here. He turned around and walked out the gate.

000

Where are we? What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to fall,
Crop circles in the carpet, sinking, feeling.

He couldn’t believe how normal everything was, how normal everything was when he tried to make it so.

Spin me round again and rub my eyes.
This can't be happening.

How could this have happened?

When busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy.

No one cares. No one sees the pain.

Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines.
All those years they were here first.
Our hatred is far older than our love.

Oily marks appear on walls
Where pleasure moments hung before.
The takeover, the sweeping insensitivity of this
still alive.
Insensitivity, tactlessness of little things that remind us...

Hide and seek.
Trains and sewing machines. (Oh, you won't catch me around here)
Blood and tears,
They were here first.
We fought to shed each other’s blood; we fought to see each other’s tears.

Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it's all for the best? Ah off course it is.
Mmm, what you say?
Mm, that it’s just what we need? And you decided this.
Mmm what you say?
What did she say?
It is, isn’t it? We’ll forget it eventually, and she’ll be happy.
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I don’t believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.
You can’t act like it never happened.
Ransom notes keep falling out your mouth.
Mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs.
Speak no feeling, no I don't believe you.
You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.
You can’t act like it changed your life.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
You don't care a bit.
If you did, things would be different.
000
“Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“How are you? I haven’t talked to you for a really long time.”
“It’s been months since I came here, Ginny.”
“You could have phoned. I had to now.”
“I was busy. Sorry. How are Ron and Hermione?”
“Missing you.”
“And everyone else?”
“Missing you too, but less than us three.”
“Anything new?”
“Nothing really. When are you coming back? Aren’t you supposed to be home in a few weeks?”
“Y-yeah. About that...my holidays have been delayed by another two months.”
“What? Really? That’s too bad. Draco was just wondering yesterday where you went.”
“H-he was?”
“Yes. He had a fever that wouldn’t go down for a bit—but enough about that. Tell me about yourself. Mum is asking if you eat properly.”
“I do.”
“How are your studies going?”
“Good.”
“Made any new friends?”
“Yeah.”
“Err...Like the teachers there?”
“Yes.”
“Um...Harry, are you alright? You’re only giving one-word answers. If you’re busy—“
“N-No...my stomach is just...”
“Nervous? Have an exam?”
“—jittery laugh—no, I...I’m not sure why I’m so nervous. I was sure that I shouldn’t be now.”
“After all, you’ve given a lot of exams, right?”
“Yeah, I have. But none like this.”
000

Why was it that whenever he was setting out to go to Malfoy Manor, he always shut off all second thoughts incase he got cold feet?
He had left the Academy with a one-day leave, saying he had urgent business to attend to. No clothes, no time to pack clothes, and no time to take clothes for.
The iron-gate looked at him with a raised bar to serve for an eyebrow. “Haven’t been here for a long time, have you?” It grunted, and Harry just wished it would let him in. He wanted to go in, see him once to make sure the images of Draco pale and bloody from the wound on his chest were proven wrong, and come back out. That was all.
He let the Malfoy-insignia-shaped knocker fall the custom three times on the hard wooden door, and nodded absently to the little man who opened the door. “Here to see Master?” He asked, his wrinkles hiding his lips so that Harry couldn’t see that he was smiling.
Harry nodded again, and the butler led up to Draco’s room—how many times hadn’t he imagined coming up here? Every curve in the banister was etched in his memory, along with the exact color of the stained-glass windows outside Draco’s room and the musty, ancient, enchanting smell old manors always had, no matter how fresh and clean they were kept.
Knocking on the door, he heard Draco’s voice, as thrilling as always to hear, saying, “Who is it?”
“Err...it’s me, Harry. Can I come in?” It seemed so stupid that the dream he had dreamed so many times had finally come true, but at such a slow pace.
“If I say no, what will you do; deserter?”
“I will burst right in and leave you so soon that it’ll really give you a reason to call me a deserter.”
“And if I say yes?”
“I will...still burst in...and...”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Potter!” Draco yelled, yanking open the door and flinging his arms around Harry, just rocking, holding him there.
“Whoa! Aren’t you supposed to be sick?”
Draco punched him in the nose. “Not sick enough not to take you on.”
“Wait! Aren’t you supposed to be with Ginny?”
“It was a ploy you never fell into, doofus!”
“Wa—But...”
“Wait!” Draco imitated Harry nastily. “Aren’t you supposed to be a bastard for abandoning me for six months straight without a single message?”
“B-But...I can explain...No...”
“Wait!” The blonde went on snarling, “Aren’t you supposed to be a traitor for leaving me here with Ginny?”
“I-I thought you two...”
“Wait! Aren’t you supposed to be a moron for believing that?”
“You guys acted it out so good I-I couldn’t...”
“Wait! Aren’t you supposed to be shutting up right about now?”
“B-but, Draco, you have to—mmph!“
Harry thought this was probably the best way in the world to be shut up.

000

The song used is 'Hide and Seek' by Imogen Heap. It always reminded me of this pairing, for some reason.
Feedback...please?

Change of Events Part II

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 02:27:51 GMT

Change of Events PartII

On the previously set date, Harry stood outside Honeydukes, looking up to the shop sign in anger. It was closed! Out of all the days it had to be closed on, it had to be today! Perhaps Malfoy had already been here and gone back to his manor, thinking that Harry couldn’t meet him in a closed shop. Kicking angrily at a pebble on the ground, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, and wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, wondering what to do next, when a soft voice caught his ear. “Potter!”
He turned around, heart leaping, and saw Draco sitting in Madam Puddifoot’s cute little cafe; one of the only cafes open today. It must have been a holiday or something.

“D—Malfoy.” Harry acknowledged, and entered the shop, squeezing through the happy couples into a private booth. “Why did you have to come here?” He hissed; more than a little embarrassed about being in here—this was the haunt of young lovers, not the meeting place two former-but-not-really-arch-nemeses.

“Do you see any other cafe open?” Malfoy’s acid tongue was epic, Harry decided. Sighing in defeat, he sat down. Malfoy seemed to want to prove his point, so he pointed out into the sun. “It was hot outside.”
“Well, maybe if you weren’t so sensitive of your smooth, pretty skin—“ His voice got caught in his throat when he realized what Malfoy was wearing.
“Why do you have a coat on in the middle of summer?” He hissed, “No wonder you’re going to feel hot.”
“I needed it.” Malfoy muttered, and looked off to the side; but then came straight to the point.
“Right. Are you going to tell me why you called me here or not?”

Draco, Harry decided, had gotten more confident over the two weeks that had passed. Not confidant as in arrogant (lord knew he didn’t need more attitude) but more comfortable with himself. His hair seemed to be longer than before too, and while it used to hang around his face before, it now fell in soft locks on his shoulders, softening the lines of his face, and bringing out his eyes.

“Hello? Harry?” Draco asked, waving his hand in front of Harry’s face. Finally, he leaned forward over the table and flicked him on the nose.
Harry yelped and pulled back, rubbing his face with a pitiful expression.

“You’re spacing out on me. Is this just going to be a waste of time? Because if it is, I’m leaving.” Draco said, and grabbed hold of the table threateningly.
“No, no.” Harry assured him, and blinked a few times to bring himself back in this world from his day dreams. “Before I say anything, you have to promise that you won’t get up and run in the middle.”

Draco raised his eyebrow. “I have no need to promise anyt—“Before he could complete his sentence, Harry had lazily flicked at the door of the booth: It clicked shut and glowed with the barrier he had placed on it.
The other boy was unfazed. “I can undo that, you know.”
“That’s why I need you to promise.” Harry stressed, and watched Draco’s lovely eyes display a range of emotions, from wary, to reluctant, to acceptance.
“Fine.” He huffed. “I wouldn’t run anyhow. I’m not a coward.”
“Whatever you say, Malfoy, whatever you say.” Harry grinned, suddenly feeling like riling Draco up.
He had no doubt the blonde boy looked cuter mad than crying or sneering.

“What do you mean by that!? Get on with it!” Malfoy ordered, and Harry placed his face in his hands, wondering how to start off.
“Well...?” Draco asked, also leaning forwards on the table.
“I was wondering....” Harry started, and then realized, in one stupid moment, that he had just forgotten what he had wanted to ask. Blushing, he tried to make something up—he didn’t want Draco to go. It still seemed like Draco needed protection; not as much as before, with Voldemort breathing down his pale neck; but he still needed to get over the past and make a fresh start. He could still see guilt and uncertainty in the blonde’s eyes; something he wasn’t willing to let be.
“Did you ever resent the Dark Side when you were working for Voldemort?” He blurted out, and mentally slapped himself. Real subtle, Harry. Subtle as a goddamn elephant in a closet.
Draco looked at him in disbelief. “If all you’re going to do is ask questions that I’m not willing to answer, then I’m going.”
“Why aren’t you willing to answer it? It’s a perfectly valid question.” Harry argued, and hoped that he’d bumped into a decent topic on converse on.
The other boy looked down, a hint of a blush on his face. “I can choose what I want to answer.”
“Please?” Harry pleaded; doing what he hoped was a puppy-eye look.
“Ok, that doesn’t look good on you.” Draco said coldly, crushing Harry’s pleading look with a glare. “Why do you want to know, anyways?”

Harry leaned back and put his hands behind his head, diverting his gaze from Draco’s. Why did he want to know?
“Curiosity.” He answered, with some difficulty.
“And why are you so curious about this? I would think that The Savoir of the World would have better things to do than to interview old Death Eaters.” Malfoy responded, and Harry suddenly remembered why he had called Malfoy here.
“Listen. I am going to be a fully qualified Auror now, and if I’m the one to interview you, chances are you’ll end up in your manor on house arrest rather in Azkaban.”
Malfoy’s eyes widened in realization, but immediately tried to regain his cool facade. “No one has arrested us yet, and it’s been two weeks since all the Death Eaters have been caught.”
Harry stifled a yawn, “On my request. I said I wanted to interview your family—you’ll get off easier.”
He thought about it for a bit. “Not that you really deserve to get off easier...” Malfoy’s anger flared. “Are you trying to suggest something, Potter?”
Ah, thought Harry. Back to my lovely last name.

“I’m just saying that if you answer my questions truthfully, you might not go to Azkaban. I’ll try for your parents too.”
Draco’s anger calmed, replaced what almost looked like pleading hope. “B-But why me?” Why me after all that I’ve done?
Harry understood his point—even if he now knew that Snape had been ordered by Dumbledore to kill him, Draco was still the one who had let other Death Eaters into the school, and killed some of the Order members.
So, why him? It was a weight on his conscience, trying to imagine Draco in Azkaban, no matter how many times he tried to tell himself it would be justice. Of a sort.
Avoiding the question for a bit, he remarked, “You know, we’ve been here for over half an hour and we haven’t ordered anything.”
“Not hungry.” Draco waved it off, and Harry, grinning, conjured a parchment and quill out of thin air and began noting, saying out loud, “Deficient eating habits.....what next, Mr.Malfoy?”
Draco visibly colored, and scowling horribly, he snatched the parchment out of Harry’s hands, ripping it up immediately.
“I don’t know. Cookies and coffee or something.” He said; avoiding Harry’s raised eyebrow.
“You drink muggle coffee?”
“Muggles made that stuff?” He asked, genuinely surprised. Harry was pleased to see that Draco didn’t make an expression of disgust and order something more magical.

After he had returned to the tiny booth with two cups of delicious-smelling coffee and a plate of thick, heart shaped chocolate topped cookies, he sat down.
Draco raised his eyebrow at the heart shaped cookies.
Harry shrugged. “Don’t forget we’re in a cafe for happy couples. I bet this will be all over the news tomorrow ‘Harry Potter seen cuddling with Draco Malfoy in Madam Puddifoot’s cafe’.” He laughed, and the blonde man sitting opposite to him smiled a little indulgently.
He went on, feeling that the light mood was beneficial for what he wanted to say, “The reason I wanted to interview you myself was because I know you didn’t want to do it. You were forced. So I don’t think that you should receive such harsh punishment.”
“H-How do you know?” Draco said, voice shaking a bit. Why did he fear someone reading his true feelings? Harry wondered. It would be wonderful to be understood; why did Draco fear people so much?
“If you wanted to do it, you would have put more effort into killing Ron and Katie last year. And you wouldn’t have said that you didn’t have a choice, back there in the bathroom.”
Draco stayed silent.
“And you wouldn’t have saved me last year, either.” He said, trying to sound casually, but he knew the gratefulness shone through.
“I....I hated the Dark Lord last year. I never took him seriously before that, but in the Sixth Year, he gave me a task he knew I couldn’t do. He threatened to kill me and my parents if I didn’t succeed. He expected me to fail. He wanted to kill all of us—he was only playing with me for an excuse he didn’t even fucking need.”
Harry figured now wouldn’t be the best time to speak, and he simply took a cookie.
Draco’s long, pale hands clutched the warm cup, running down the handle almost frantically, but he didn’t seem he was awake of what his hands were doing.
“And at the same time, it made me feel like a traitor to my family, because they still loved the Dark Lord. I couldn’t fail, not for my family, not for our pride. I didn’t know who to turn to. It was like my parents, I’m sure they didn’t want me to do it, but had to no choice but to turn me into a Death Eater. It was only in my Sixth Year that I realized I had always held the wrong opinion about Death Eaters—I used to think of them as proud, noble servants of the Dark Lord.” He sighed, and ran his fingers through his long gold locks.
“They were all scapegoats; he didn’t care for anyone, not one of us. Even Aunt Bellatrix, who served him more faithfully than all of us, and talked to him like a lover; he still didn’t care for her.”
“I didn’t know whether I should continue my misguided dream, or leave the Dark Side. I had to continue it, I had no choice. He would kill us, and disgrace us. By the time I got you and Dumbledore in the Tower, though, I hated him with a passion, but was too...” His voice dropped.
”...Cowardly....to do anything about it. I wanted someone to kill him, but couldn’t help any more than hoist you up in the air and make you invisible before I passed out.”

Harry was in deep thought. He had thought it stupid of Draco not to hide Dumbledore, and protect him instead, but now he realized Draco had done that purely by instinct.

“I didn’t hide you because you were a better chance against the Dark Lord, though. Dumbledore could defeat him far easier on his worst day.” Harry couldn’t help agree more.
“I don’t know what made me save you instead. I was too fuzzy to think. But, I’m glad I did, because in the end, you were the one who defeated him.” Harry looked up and wondered why Draco wasn’t smiling. After all, it was a happy ending, wasn’t it?

“S-Snape knew I had saved you. He didn’t say anything to the Dark Lord about it, and I thought it was strange, but then I thought that he probably didn’t want to acknowledge my presence in the Tower and disarming Dumbledore at all, so I left it. I realized that he was like me in one sense, not really loyal to the Dark Lord, but unlike me he had another side he was willing to die for. ”

The bespeckled boy took another sip of coffee, and thought the entire story over. Draco was innocent, wasn’t he?
“And that’s why you thought it was hopeless.” He completed for Malfoy, indicating with his voice he was talking about the incident in the bathroom. For some reason, even thought more than a year had passed, the memory of Draco crying, actually crying, always gave him odd goose bumps.

Draco shrugged, trying to look causal, but failing miserably and merely seeming as if he was shivering. “That’s it. Gonna cart me off to Azkaban now?”
Harry could hear the fear in Draco’s voice despite his attempts to hide it. So this was why Draco didn’t want anyone to get close to him. He had never been loyal to either side—and he was afraid of someone finding that out.

“No....” the bespeckled man said, pinching his nose in thought, while Draco tried to causally take another cookie. Needless to say, it just looked pitiful, with his hands shaking like that.

“What....did Voldemort do when you went back to him after helping with the Tower?” Harry heard himself say, and was as surprised as Draco; they both had thought the questions were over.
“Nothing too bad. He had wanted the job done; he didn’t really care who did it.” Draco shrugged.
“So he didn’t torture you or anything?” Harry asked. He remembered not wanting to hex Draco in the Tower, because the boy would be punished.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Draco said, and, at the same time, pulled away the collar of his overly-large coat, and Harry suddenly realized why he wearing that thing in the heat. His pants underneath were suitable for warm temperature, but he couldn’t wear a shirt: there were a bandages on his upper chest.

Feeling hot, cold, and oddly woozy, he demanded, “W-What happened?!”
“Nothing much.” Draco said, and put the collar back in its place.
“B-But it’s been over a year....why hasn’t it healed yet!?” He stammered, trying to regain control on his squeaking voice.

“It only started healing after you killed him. Some kind of curse, I suppose.”
“How can you....stay so calm!” Harry almost shouted, and got up; Draco stayed silent and calm.
“Nothing else I can do about it, can I?” He asked rhetorically.
“Ok, you hated him, I got that. What about your parents?” Harry tried to calm himself and sit back down.
Draco lowered his eyes. “I-I don’t know. Sometimes I thought that they loved the Dark Lord more than they loved me. It was only in the end, when they lied that you were dead in order to find me, did I realize that it was all a stupid mistake my father made when he was still too young to think properly. He had chosen his father’s footsteps—back when he could have run away. And then my mother had to follow and me too.”

It was all a huge chain of pressure, Harry thought. Family, power, pride and death.

“Malfoy.” Harry said, and the blonde boy immediately interrupted, “Potter.”
Potter? That sounded too formal.
“It’s Harry.”
“Then it’s Draco.”

“Err....sure.” Harry fought a blush, wondering in what a peculiar way they had just asked each other to call each other by their first names.

“Draco.” He began again, and this time couldn’t keep the blush down from the intent way the other man was looking at him. “Err....can I give this to the Ministry?” His hand reached for his wand, just in case he had to cast a shield charm between him and his soon-to-be-murder.

“Give what?” Draco asked.
“Erm......this.” Harry colored, and lowered his head in shame as he pulled out a tiny bug from his pocket.

“It’s a piece of black paper. Hardly as large as my thumb.” Draco pointed out, and Harry reminded himself that bugs were Muggle inventions, and therefore non-existent for the Malfoy heir.
“It just recorded what we just said.” He said, wishing he’d inherited tact from his mother. Everyone always said that she was always very charming and tactful....

“What?!” Draco shouted, and the shop suddenly went silent at the sound of his voice. I trusted you, Potter.
“Shh, Draco! Don’t make a scene!” Harry hissed, but Draco stood up, eyes narrowed in fury.
“I don’t know why the fuck I bothered talking to you; but I thought whatever I said would stay here!” He snarled, and stomped out of the shop and into the blistering heat of the street, leaving Harry bellowing, “Wait! This is the only thing that’ll keep you out of Azkaban!”

When Draco had finally rounded the street corner, he realized that he was standing up in his booth, with everyone else in the shop staring at him, including the barmaid.

He colored. “Erm....sorry about that.” He muttered, but loud enough to hear, and left a few galleons on the table, along with two empty coffee cups and two and a half heart-shaped chocolate fudge cookies.

000

Harry had no choice but to give the recording of Malfoy’s deepest secrets to the Ministry on his hearing. Malfoy wasn’t present then—Harry couldn’t be happier. He knew, however much the recording helped him escape punishment, Malfoy would still hate it and glare at him, throughout the hearing.
He didn’t want Draco to be angry at him—after all, if it weren’t for Harry’s account of Draco saving him in the Tower, and trying to when they were caught in the Malfoy Manor, and the recording, he would have been sent to Azkaban like his parents.
The Ministry still wasn’t willing to be so merciful on Draco’s parents, however, since they had escaped capture twice now; once when Voldemort had disappeared after Harry’s birth.
As it was, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were sentenced twenty years in Azkaban, with parole with ten years after that, and Draco Malfoy was, thanks to Harry’s effort, was sentenced to seven years on house arrest, with parole for three.

Harry cleaned his glasses in The Burrow, having gone there for a visit after the hearing. Hermione had been kept as Kingsely’s private assistant, and was planning to become the future Minister of Magic, most probably becoming the first muggle-born Minister.
As it was, she explained happily to Ron and Harry, she still had a long way to go, but she was going to try her best. Harry thought that her opposers should be afraid.
Hermione smiled at him, and asked, how the hearing had gone.

“Fine...” He replied, before elaborating, “Lucius and Narcissa had twenty years in Azkaban, ten years parole, and Draco had house arrest for seven years, with parole for three.”

Ron made a face. “That’s it?”
Hermione smacked him on the back of the head. “Ron, twenty years! Isn’t that enough?!”
The red-head whirled around to face his girlfriend. “I was talking about Malfoy’s sentence!” He protested hotly.
Hermione smacked him again. “It’s still harsh enough! Seven years in house arrest; all alone.” She sighed in sympathy for the blonde boy and looked up at Harry.
“I’m glad you lessened his sentence.”

Harry blinked. “How did you know I lessened his sentence?”
Hermione laughed a little, and Harry couldn’t help feel ridiculed. “Harry, you do know that you’re the kind of person who wouldn’t just tell us the sentence without a comment unless you were happy with it?”
Ron sniggered. “She’s right mate, you looked at ease with it—and we all know that you don’t think Malfoy should be punished.”

“I don’t think he should be punished!” Harry declared.
“That’s what we were just saying.” Hermione said in a bored tone.
“O-Oh.” He said, and ran off, face burning, while Ron smirked behind him.

“You know, that might have been an example of Harry’s heroism. Even when we have the same view.” He remarked, and Hermione nodded.
“He’s always had an odd affinity for Draco.”

“Probably something about the both of them being so opposite, Slytherin and Gryffindor, that keeps him interested.” Ron mused, and bit his lower lip in thought.
“I wonder what attracts us together.”

Hermione smirked. “Probably the smart-about-to-minister-of-magic and the not-so-smart-red-hair genes.”
“Oh Ha-ha. Very funny.”

000

He rubbed his eyes, and looked out the window of Twelve Grimmauld Place, the moon bright and translucent in the dark velvet sky. Like Malfoy’s skin, he thought.
He was sitting up in his bed, baby blue sheets lying messily around his waist.

Harry used to think that he’d hate coming back to 12 Grimmauld Place, but he realized it was more than a bit comforting to think that everyone he had ever looked up to had stepped in this house. Dumbledore, Sirius (no matter how grudgingly), Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, and even Snape (though he didn’t know it at the time) were all people who died fighting Voldemort, and now that their common enemy was gone, Harry thought he ought to respect their memory by not forgetting them.

Looking at the moon on a sleepless night had reminded him of Draco. And how the other man was probably fuming with anger at Harry, even though he had kept him out of Azkaban.

He’d never seen Draco seen open up like that to anyone before, like he did in Madam Puddifoot’s, but maybe he just hadn’t been around the blonde enough. Whether he had heart-to-heart chats frequently or not wasn’t his problem anyways, right now. Draco had expected him to keep everything he said a secret, and Harry had taken advantage of his trust without asking him.
He was so screwed, Harry thought. Draco was going to see him, pounce, and kill. Kill.

Strangely, he didn’t think of the threat it posed to his life when he dressed in fancy robes and prepared to visit the Malfoy Manor.
He stopped in front of the large iron gates and stepped off of his broom. “Am I supposed to knock?”
To his amazement (and a little surprise) the iron gates spoke in an ancient voice, “How about telling me your name and purpose?”
Harry blinked, and said lamely, “Err...sorry?”
The gate sighed, and Harry resisted the urge to laugh. “Name and purpose.”
“Harry Potter...” He paused. What did he want to do in Malfoy’s Manor again? “I need to see Draco Malfoy.”

The gate appeared to think for a minute, and then swung open reluctantly. “Go straight through the entrance, and a butler will lead you up to the Master.”
Harry nodded and propped his broom against the gate, slowly making his way towards the huge wooden doors. “Wow.” He breathed, to himself, “Peacocks...”
And sure enough the blue/green majestic animals wandered in front of him, strutting proudly. Off to one side there was a large pond surrounded by rocks, and the rest was slightly yellowish grass.
The large brown doors were slightly intimidating in the least, with huge snake-shaped brass knockers. He raised one and let it fall; its thud echoed throughout the ground.
He picked it up and thumped it on the door about three more times before an old butler-type servant opened the door a crack.
“Here to see the Master?”

He nodded awkwardly, wishing he hadn’t worn something so bright green to a place so drab, yet so lavish. Stepping in and following the old servant across the large hall, up the stairs and to a different wing altogether, he couldn’t help notice the massive size of the manor. The feeble man turned around when they had reached yet another intimidating door. “Mr. Potter, please continue from here.” Harry wondered if Draco didn’t allow servants in his private rooms...that seemed snootier than he remembered the pretty-boy to be.

Knocking a few times, he heard a distinct, “You can come in, but I don’t guarantee your safety.”
He laughed. It figured that only Draco would say something like that to someone who had come to apologize. “Alright, I have a shield charm. Can I open the door now?”
“Knock yourself out.” Chuckling, Harry pushed at the door, and stepped inside. The second he did, though, a heavy book was chucked at his head—it broke his nose.
He did a funny flip in the air, and ended up on the ground, clutching his broken nose.
Draco peered over at him. “You said you had a shield charm.” He accused.

Harry griped for something to help him up, eventually finding the edge of the sofa, and pulled himself into a wobbly standing position. “I lied.”
The blonde man looked triumphant: “You deserved two of those books then.”

“What was the first one for?” Harry asked, pointing his wand at his nose and muttering, “Episkey!” After the hot-cold sensation on his nose had subsided and he had siphoned off the blood, he turned his attention to Draco, who was explaining why he threw the book at him.

“For recording the conversation we had.” He said simply. “And for being an annoying git who won’t quit following me around. Are you my stalker or something?” He asked, idly poking a cushion with his finger.
“Not really. This is the second time you’ve broken my nose.” He informed Draco.

The blonde shrugged. “You were stalking me both times. The first, you decided to come listen in on my conversation in the Hogwarts Express cart. And now you’re visiting my home. God, Potter, don’t you have anything better to do?”

“You asked me that in Madam Puddifoot’s coffee shop too.” Harry reminded the other man, and sat down on the sofa he was standing next to, seeing that Draco wasn’t going to invite him to sit any time soon.

“Yes, well, I’m still curious. Are you here to record what I say again and give it to the media?” Malfoy asked acidly.
“I didn’t give to the media!” Harry protested hotly. “It was just the Ministry of Magic!”
“And they went home and told their families about the poor Malfoy boy’s plight, and the wives phoned the media after changing it to make me out into a sexually abused little dog by Voldemort, right?”
Harry gaped. “W-What? No!” He spluttered, but Draco went on: “Its not like I’m loyal, was ever loyal to the Dark Lord, but really, while he was cruel and mean, he killed. I don’t think he ever sexually abused anyone, yet it seems to be all over the media, with me as his pathetic partner.”
“What?! Where? I didn’t see anything—“He got a Daily Prophet flung at his face for his efforts, and he frantically read the top three lines.
“Draco Malfoy has been placed under house arrest for seven years according to the Ministry of Magic spokes person. He has escaped with only a fraction of the years in Azkaban his parents received. Unconfirmed reports claim Harry Potter attended the hearing and acted as a witness in Mr.Malfoy’s defense, saying that Mr.Malfoy had been forced to do many things he had no choice in, such as becoming a Death Eater and being the Dark Lord’s intimate partner above it all. ” He read out-loud in disbelief, before skimming through the rest of it before seeing the name at the end which made his blood boil.
“Rita Skeeter.” He crumpled the paper in his fist.

“I never thought that Rita would do this. After I gave her that other story about Hagrid too.” Malfoy mused, and Harry’s heart gave a little boil.
“Yes, well, that woman would do anything for a story.” Harry said, trying to calm himself down. It was a bit ironic that Draco would be bitten by the same dog he fed—or, to be precise, the same cockroach. He kind of deserved it, truth to be told, but Harry couldn’t help feeling outraged at Rita’s audacity anyways.
“You really shouldn’t have done that thing about Hagrid.” Harry reprimanded, and Draco stared at him coldly.
“You really shouldn’t have gone and given the entire conversation to the Ministry, either.”

“Look, if I didn’t, you would have been with the Dementors right now!” He protested.
“Yes, well, it’s not like you would have cared.” Draco responded, and called a servant to bring in some refreshments.

After the old man had placed a few cream rolls and drinks on the table, Malfoy spoke again, “It stings more that you snuck the proof. And lied.”
“You wouldn’t have talked if I told you it was going to the Ministry!” Harry exclaimed, poking a creamroll as if trying to test its quality.
“It’s not poisoned, Potter.” Draco pointed to the creamroll Harry was examining, before saying, “Well, I came when you asked, didn’t I?”
Harry thought it over. It was true—he had asked, and Malfoy had come, even if it was a bit reluctantly. He looked away from the blonde’s intense gaze and noticed his surroundings for the first time. It was large, just like he had expected, with the furniture contrasting a dark brown against the fawn-colored tiles. A few carpets here and there were black and every shade of green from emerald, to lime.
There were curtains with the Malfoy insignia, two snakes entwined over a wand, imprinted in black over the pale green.
A few antique-looking decoration pieces lay scattered across the room on various table-tops and there was a bookshelf full of dusty books. The evening sunlight filtered through the pale green silk curtains and onto the floor and rug. He noticed the book Draco had thrown at him, and squinted, trying to read the title.
“Wuthering Heights?” He repeated, unable to believe that he’d find that book in Malfoy’s room of all places. “Isn’t that a muggle book?”
“The only one of my hobbies which I don’t mind Muggles delving into. They write good books, the Muggles, even if they’re completely useless at everything else.” Draco said airily.

“So....” Harry said, at an attempt to keep conversation going. “What do you do all day?”
“Personal training grounds, arcade and pub in my manor, Harry.” Draco said sardonically. “What do people normally do when they’re under house arrest?”
When Harry didn’t give any answer, “I hate to be saying this, but you’re probably the most interesting moving thing that’s happened all week. That’s sad.”
“Moving?” Harry questioned.
“Living. You can hardly qualify a book or radio as moving. And that little old man they sent to take care of me is barely alive. They may as well send me Filch’s cat after Blaise is done with him.” The bespeckled boy laughed, inhaling half of his drink up his nose.
Spluttering, soaking wet, but grinning like an idiot, he replied, “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t blame Blaise. Wouldn’t mind hexing that thing a few times myself.”
“A few? I’d like to murder that thing dead and then feed him to Kretcher.” Harry frowned. “Kretcher was a good elf...to you anyways. I bet he was much more cooperative with a Slytherin.”
“And Dobby was always more of a Gryffindor.” Draco remarked casually, but the look in his eye told Harry he regretted how his aunt had killed him last year.

A strange silence descended on the conversation, the kind which wasn’t comfortable or uncomfortable. It was just there.
Finally, Harry remarked, looking out the large window. “It’s getting dark.”
“Going back to that Weasely girl?” Draco asked, looking away. The light of the chandeliers which had come on a few minutes ago was falling on his pale skin. His eyes were hard, dry and blue; lights danced inside them sedately. Swirls and pastel colors of emotion entwined, broke apart, and touched again.

Harry broke out of what he thought must have been a self-induced trance, “No. Back to Grimmauld Place.”
“I thought you were dating her.” Draco said, and stood up, but still avoided Harry’s gaze.
“I was.” Harry replied, and after a civil handshake, walked out the door.

Draco was still looking out the window. The wind tickled his skin, and paused to mingle with his pale blonde locks hanging around his face and neck. “I was, eh?” He repeated, taking comfort in the past tense.

000

“HARRY!” Ron shouted, bursting through his bedroom door, and proceeding to knock him out of bed and onto the floor.
“Damn....Ron...” Harry panted, trying to catch his breath after the scream that had left his throat.
Hermione stood in the doorway. “Ron, don’t do that! You could have given him a heart-attack!”
“Oh yeah, that’d be all over the news. The Boy Who Lived is now The Boy Who Didn’t Live Very Long.” He wheezed. Ron roared in laughter, and even Hermione’s lips twitched upwards in a smile.
“Mate, did you really go see Malfoy?” Ron asked when Harry had caught his breath and calmed his pounding breath. He nodded.
“Did you really go and see that git?”
“Yeah, I did! Why?” Harry asked, now in the bathroom and brushing his teeth.
“You went and saw Malfoy?” Ron asked incuriously.

“Yes, so what?” His voice was muffled by the toothbrush in his mouth.
“Mate, I can’t believe you did that.” The red-head said.

Hermione smacked the back of his head. “Ron, that’s not a nice thing to say.” Looking at Harry, she nodded and smiled. “I’m glad you visited him, Harry. He’s probably grateful to see you even if he doesn’t show it. After all, house arrest is a lonely occupation.”

Harry frowned: Malfoy did show that he liked the visit, even if he had broken Harry’s nose in the first bit. Before the bespeckled man had a chance to shut the door behind him, Malfoy said, face still turned towards the window, “Come again.” It was an order, but Harry had no problem obeying it.
He supposed he shouldn’t be running off there every other minute; after all, he had an appearance to maintain. Even if he was currently on holiday from his incomplete training as an Auror, he should have better things to do. Didn’t he have a long list of things to do when he was too busy to do them? He did, but he couldn’t remember a single thing right now.

Ron waved his hands in front of his face. “Harry? Mate?”
He snapped out of the self-induced trace and stared at Ron oddly. “What?”
“Harry, we’ve been calling you for a minute now.” Hermione answered for him.
“R-really?”
“Mate, where is your mind these days?” Ron asked, sighing and plopping down on a well-worn sofa.
“In my head, hopefully.” He replied, and thought to himself how alike his answer his was with the one Malfoy would have given. Ron had opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him across, “I’m sorry, guys. Just a bit tired...I think I’ll be going back to bed.”

“You can’t go now! We’re still waiting for Ginny so we can go shopping together!” Hermione exclaimed, exasperation clear on her face.
“O-Oh, yeah.” Harry looked down and realized why he had muggle clothes set out for today. “Are you even mentally present most of the time, Harry?” Ron asked, throwing a pillow at Harry’s vacant, confused face.
Harry didn’t think so. After the entire four-hour shopping ordeal, the only thing that he remembered was buying a box of chocolates. When he caught Ginny looking at him sadly, he quickly handed the box to her, and sighed mentally at her expression of pure delight. It was amazing how Ginny still thought that she was his girlfriend of sorts, when Harry hadn’t really made any effort to get back with her after defeating Voldemort.
Looking back, he supposed he shouldn’t have given her those chocolates; as it would only serve to inflate her hopes. And he was pretty sure he wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship right now—he was up to his neck in Auror training classes, and this month was only time off before he had go and stay back at the Academy. Life at the Academy was alright, people were nice enough (he thought this might have been because he had just saved the world from Voldemort), and he had made a few acquaintances to get along for the next two years.
He had initially thought that Academy would be a waste of time—he had already defeated the greatest threat without any training, hadn’t he?—but he genuinely learned many things every day he hadn’t known before.
The chocolates that he had been forced (of a sort) to give Ginny were expensive as hell, but he couldn’t make out any other way for telling her she was just a friend for now other than to buy two more boxes of chocolates and giving them to Ron and Hermione each. Ginny had looked crest-fallen, Ron had looked happy—the guy loved sweets—and Hermione looked like she had figured out the reason behind the sudden treat, and smiled pacifying. She was sitting by him now; her boyfriend having gone up to his bed and Ginny back to hers.

“You shouldn’t have given in to her look, though, Harry.”
He nodded, staring at the empty fireplace. The fireplace wouldn’t be full for another six months at least; it was blistering in the month of July. “I couldn’t help it. She looked so expectant.”
“Will you go and propose to her too, if she gives you that look when you have a ring in your hand?”
Harry shook his head. “I know; it was stupid. I can’t keep putting off telling her any more.”
Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. “I know Ginny. She still loved you after you two broke up in Sixth Year, but she’s not the type to obsess over one person. She’ll be over it before you know it.”
The bespeckled man sighed. “I can’t really go up to her and say, ‘Hi Ginny, I just wanted to tell you that you’re one of best friends, even though I dated you two years ago and have been putting your hopes up since then.’ That’d just sound....really dumb.”
“You shouldn’t have let this drag on for two years.”
“I know.” Harry said. “But I only acted normal and she took it as something else—I even told her to wait for me! How was I supposed to know I wouldn’t feel the same way later?”
The brown-haired women patted him on the back. “We’ll figure a way out without too many broken hearts.”
Harry took off his glasses and started cleaning them absentmindedly, even though they were spotless. “There’s only going to be one broken heart if I yell at her that she shouldn’t have waited, and if I tell her subtly. Don’t you see? It’s kind of cold of me, but I can’t help it—My heart isn’t affected at all, aside from some guilt, if we decide to go one with our lives.”
“So you feel like you should love her?”
“But I can’t. I was love with her all last year, but she’d like a sister now. I can’t imagine kissing her again, even though I should be forever grateful to her for waiting for me.”
Hermione patted his back again. “How about we try and fix her up with someone else?”
This seemed like a plausible idea to Harry. “Yeah. But who?”
The brushy haired woman tapped her chin thoughtfully, saying, “Ginny is definitely likable, pretty, smart, and witty. I’m sure that this won’t be hard. She needs someone with alot of time, since she can’t stand being ignored...”

Draco...thought Harry. He certainly has a lot of time.

“Someone witty enough to make her happy...”

Draco...gives remarkably snaky answers.

“Someone strong and handsome...”

Draco...is strong. He’s pretty.

“She needs someone who is nice and thoughtful, and caring.” Hermione ended, and looked at Harry. “Got anyone in mind?”
The jet-black haired man thought it over. “Draco....has a lot of time....is witty....lonely...strong...handsome...thoughtful, when he wants to be, and...I bet he could be caring and nice when he felt like it.”
Hermione’s jaw had dropped at the suggestion, but she raised it after a second later with a thoughtful expression. “You know...this might benefit both of them.”

000

Review please! How was it? Nice? Passable? Revolting? Horrible?

Change of Events

Sun, 22 Mar 2009 02:13:11 GMT

Title: CHANGE IN EVENTS

This is written for Zoha and Nirmeen, because I think they should be rewarded for making it through the exams alive. Hope you like it!
Rated: R (LOL, I make you gasp, didn’t I, Zoha?)
Title: Change of Events

Draco was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching on either side of the sink, white-blonde head bowed.
“Don’t” Crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from one of the cubicles. “Don’t...tell me what’s wrong....I can help you....”
“No one can help me.” Said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it...I can’t....it won’t work....and unless I do it soon...he says he’ll kill me...”
And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot that Malfoy was crying — actually crying— tears streaming down his pale face and into the grimy basin.
Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder.

Harry darted behind the cubicle wall, and shoved his hands in his pockets in search of his cloak. Finally, his hand brushed the light, silvery fabric he was searching for and he pulled it over his head; pinning himself against the wall and barely daring to breathe. He didn’t know why he was bothering to hide from Draco, after all, they had fought so many times before, things couldn’t possibly be worse now. At least, that was what his head told him. But something prevented him from coming into the open. He didn’t want to see the other boy in his state of shame, let the other man know that he had been seen in his worse moment.
Call it common curtsey or respect for enemies, Harry didn’t emerge from his hiding spot until at least twenty minutes later. Moaning Myrtle was long gone, having traveled down one of the toilets to another bathroom. The bathroom echoed with every sniff Malfoy took, every gulp of air.
“—I’ll jinx you.” Malfoy said, seemingly out of the blue, yet his eyes were fixed on where Harry was hiding.
The bespeckled boy took a few steps towards Malfoy, taking care to remain quiet. He was pleased to see that Malfoy hadn’t detected his movement, and was still glaring with teary eyes at the spot he was in a minute ago.
He was walking closer and closer to Malfoy—why was he going closer to his arch-nemesis? Nothing made sense. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be crying, he wasn’t supposed to be hiding, they both weren’t even supposed to be in the girl’s washrooms!
Shakily, he reached out and grabbed hold of the blonde boy’s shoulder, and Malfoy gasped a bit at the contact. He had probably been caught-off guard at the sudden movement, Harry thought. Because Malfoy wasn’t supposed to gasp. He was too....snobby, too snooty, too perfect to gasp like something surprised him.
“P-potter.” His voce cracked.
Harry felt an immense urge to just embrace the other boy, and tell to stop crying, because it wasn’t Malfoy-ish in the least and it was freaking him out.
He never got around to saying anything to the boy who so acutely needed comfort, since at that moment, a cubicle door opened. Malfoy’s head shot in that direction, most probably, thought Harry, wondering how I could be in two different places in once.
But he wasn’t in two places. It was only a gust of wind pushing at the door, and slowly, realization dawned on Malfoy’s face as he turned his head slowly to look at where Harry’s invisible hand was gripping his shoulder.
“Let me go, Potter.” His voice quivered.
Harry’s voice was a whisper; it felt too embarrassing to say anything too loud. “You were crying.”
The other boy visibly blushed. “None of your business.”
“Yes it is.” Harry argued, although he knew Malfoy was right. It was none of his business.
“Y-You’re my enemy! Why the hell are you—Let go!” Malfoy struggled against Harry’s hand, but by this time Harry had sufficiently gained enough grip on the other boy’s shoulder to keep hold.
He stayed silent as Malfoy thrashed; his voice shrill with demands to release him immediately. Finally, the blonde man calmed down. Breathing heavily, he shook Harry’s hand off and glared at where he thought the bespeckled boy was positioned.
“I.” He punctuated the words heavily as they shot out of his mouth like bullets. Short, and to the point. “Am. Your. Enemy. Why the hell do you care whether I was crying or not?”
Although Draco couldn’t see it, Harry’s eyebrows were knitted as he pondered the answer to this question. “I....Because you’re not supposed to be crying!” He retorted.
“And why not?!” Draco glared. He leaned forward and ripped the cloak off of Harry’s head. It landed in a silver heap on the cool marble floor.
“You just don’t do it, okay? Draco does not cry!” As soon as the sentence had slipped out of his mouth; he’d realized that he’d called Draco by his first name. Malfoy seemed to have noticed it too, and his anger mounted. “Potter.” He hissed, taking particular pleasure in calling Harry by his formal name.
“Don’t cross your limits.”

He turned and huffed away, but before he could get as far as the door, Harry had raised his wand and captured him in a full-body-bind curse.
“Potter!” He yelped as he fell with a dull thud on the floor. Harry knelt by him. Brushing a few golden strands of hair from his face behind his ear, he said, “You don’t need to be such a tight-ass all the time, you know. Moaning Myrtle can’t be of much help with your problems....” His thoughts drifted off for a moment, and he re-assessed what he wanted to say. All that came to his mind was something about ‘Malfoy not crying’, and how vulnerable he looked lying on the floor with his teary eyes and quivering, trembling lip.
“But I can at least listen.” He heard himself say, and froze for a moment. Was he possessed? Since when did he ever become the expert at comforting crying death eaters?
Malfoy looked away from his eyes—before, he had been glaring daggers—and off to the side.
“Listen? I don’t need your sympathy.” He said quietly, more to the floor than to Harry.
“It isn’t pity.” Harry insisted, even though he didn’t know what that feeling was himself. It was just a tremendous urge to pull Malfoy into a hug, and tell him to stop being so wimpy. It grated on his nerves, to see someone so prissy, so beautiful, a wreck like this.
“Genuine empathy, eh?” Malfoy snorted, but softly, and there was still a sorrowful tone in his voice.
“What were you saying before?” Harry pressed on. “Who was going to kill you? What couldn’t you do?”
Draco closed his eyes as if whipped in the back. Tears oozed out of the closed eyelids, off of the hook of his nose and dripped onto the floor.
Something boiled up inside Harry—before he knew what he was doing, he had released the body-bind curse on Malfoy’s lean figure, and was just sitting there, dazed, waiting for Draco to make the next move.
“I—I can’t do it....” Malfoy was repeating what he said to Moaning Myrtle, but Harry sensed that now wasn’t the best time to intervene.
At once, though, the other boy seemed to realize what he was doing, and who he was with; his shocking blue eyes shot open, livid.
Almost as if in panic, he looked around, for an escape route, somewhere to go away from it all, but there was none. Life would be alot easier if it allowed time-outs.
“Draco...” Harry began tentatively. Draco’s head swirled to look at him, and his hand twitched towards his wand, but before he could act, Harry had had enough.
His insides were leaping with a strange pitying, softening sensation—he could cry at Malfoy’s state.
Something seemed to prevailing in Draco’s mind, as soon as he set his eyes upon Harry, a new flood of tears gushed from his eyes and he gasped and sobbed for breath.
“That’s enough!” Harry said fiercely, grabbing Draco around the middle and pulling him into an awkward hug. He didn’t need the other boy to fit perfectly in his arms, he just needed something to do about this possessiveness that suddenly took a hold of him—he wanted to protect Draco from whatever he was scared of. Do whatever Draco couldn’t do for himself. His arms tightened around the other boy’s chest, and Malfoy quieted his gasping; now only sniffling against his neck.
“Y-You...” Harry’s throat felt dry. “Don’t need to do anything that you don’t want to do.”
As if to assure Draco of his words, he patted his back consolingly.
“I-I do.” Was all the answer Draco gave, until Harry questioned him again. “What’s wrong? Come on; just say it and you’ll feel better.”

“He’ll kill me....if I can’t do it.” Draco whispered against Harry’s neck. Somehow he realized that Potter was the worse person to be comforting him right now, but he was the only person comforting him right now. No one else had bothered, not even noticed how pale he seemed to be looking these days. No one thought anything of the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, nor did his bunk-mates hear his muffled crying and gasping at night when the nightmares plagued him.
Nightmares of everything he lived for being killed in a sweep of a pale, cruel hand.

Harry leaned so that Draco was in more of a comfortable position, even though it strained his own spine. “Who? Do what?”
But no more words would come to Draco, no matter how hard he struggled to force them out through his pale lips. Teeth chattering pitifully and eyes dull, Harry had no doubt that if the other boy tried anything more, he’d either burst into another emotional wreck, or he would just faint.
Why hadn’t anyone noticed the grey tinge to Malfoy’s milky skin?
Why hadn’t he noticed? Was he really that cruel; that cold-hearted?
Was he that blinded by his Gryffindor values and childhood clashes that he didn’t notice how badly Malfoy was faring?
Out of embarrassment, he lowered his face and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose; a habit he had since he was younger to hide his humiliation. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have pushed you so much for answers.”
He got up, wobbling unsteadily, and without a further glance backwards, left Malfoy half-sitting, half-lying on the cold marble floor of the sixth-floor girl’s washrooms.

Draco opened his mouth, but no voice came out. Why was it that in his life; every comforting moment was surrounded by a sea of desolate hours?

000

Harry hurried from the bathrooms. His neck was damp from Draco’s tears, and for some reason this irked him immensely.
His foot halted in mid-step when a thought struck him.
Sure, he was embarrassed of seeing Malfoy in his weakest state, and also of his own cold actions in the previous year, when he had failed to notice how Draco was failing in health and seemed to be under immense pressure, but wasn’t what he was doing now more cowardly and mean than anything before?
He was walking away from Malfoy! As soon as this registered in his mind, he was tracing his steps back to the girl’s washrooms, almost running until he pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The bathroom was empty. He took three steps onto the marble, and called out softly, more afraid of hurting the blonde’s pride than being heard by someone else, “Draco?”
“He left.” Moaning Myrtle sneered from the ledge of the U-bend where she liked to pass her after-life.
“What?” He stared at her, incredulous. Guilt was already welling up inside for leaving first—for letting Malfoy be alone with his fears.
“You heard me.” She sniffed.
“Oh.” Was all he said, and something heavy weighed inside his chest.

He turned and began to sedately walk towards the door; surely there was no point in staying here if Malfoy was somewhere else; when Moaning Myrtle let out another cackle.
“Don’t look so sad.”

“After all,” Her voice was soft as usual, (when she wasn’t shrieking) but it held a detectable amount of malice.

“He won’t be coming back any time soon.”
The words dug at Harry’s guilt like daggers, doubling—no, tripling it, and he slammed the washroom door shut behind him.

000

‘MALFOY!’ Harry screamed wordlessly, frozen in place, mute and invisible. He could feel the light weight of the cloak on his bare neck and arms, as well as the way it ruffled in the light breeze at the top of the Tower. It would have a been a brilliantly soft night if it weren’t for the ominous air of the castle and the masked Death Eaters running and shouting at each other as they fought Order members.
Draco stood erect on the top of the stairs, with Dumbledore’s wand in his hand. “Hello, Draco.”
Draco stepped forwards, eyes flitting across the surroundings to make sure that he and Dumbledore were alone.
“I...” He began, looking down at his hand. “Have snuck Death Eaters into the school under your nose.”
Dumbledore looked proud of his student’s intelligence for a minute, and Harry couldn’t help think that Dumbledore, as great of a wizard as he was, was oddly out of sync at some times.
“Oh?” He asked, as if responding to a question about the weather. There was silence as Dumbledore regarded the blonde boy. Draco shifted nervously under his piercing gaze; Harry stayed a prisoner to his own invisible body.
“Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.”
“How do you know?” Draco said at once, as if willing himself to challenge Dumbledore in order to prove him wrong.
He flushed when Dumbledore simply said, “Your eyes are innocent.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of!” Draco said more forcefully this time. “Of what I’ve done!”
Dumbledore ignored the outburst completely, and went on saying, “Your eyes are fearful. What do you fear, Draco?”
“N-Nothing.” He spat, but his tone was trembling.
“Everyone fears something. I personally fear my books getting vandalized.” The head-master said, with a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Well, you’re wrong! I don’t fear anything!” It was almost like Draco was trying to make himself believe it; his eyes were still wide and frightened, his hands quivered.

Dumbledore mumbled something incoherent, but as soon as the words left his throat, the Cloak slid off of his figure and the Full-Body-Bind curse under which he had been trapped had been removed.
Unbalanced, he stumbled forward, and fell at Draco’s feet. The blonde boy shirked and jumped back—he clearly hadn’t expected Harry to appear out of thin air.
“H-Harry!” He said in that breathless, startled way which reminded Harry of a mouse’s squeak.
“Dra-Malfoy. What are you doing?” He jumped to his feet and kept his wand at the ready, running through a list of possible curses he could cast on Malfoy.
Malfoy regained his confidence. “What does it look like I’m doing? I am going to become the Dark Lord’s most loyal Death Eater.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do you really believe that?” He asked, talking slowly, and trying to inch his way in front of Dumbledore in case he needed to cast a shield charm.
The white-haired head-master was kneeling on the floor, eyes downcast and face flushed in sweat. It must be painful, Harry thought. He wished he hadn’t let Dumbledore drink that potion. His long white hair was plastered to his face; and falling over his half-moon spectacles.
Just a simple glance at the Head-master had filled Harry with a new apprehension and anxiety; Dumbledore was looking worse than he had even seen him. “Please.” Harry pleaded. “You don’t want to do this.” He said, and saw Malfoy jerk.
“How would you know what I want to do?” Draco’s voice was choked and high-pitched; it seemed like it was about to crack. “You never cared. No one ever cared.”

“That’s not true, M—Draco.” Harry tried to pacify him, with opposite effects. Draco only grew more and more enraged; mumbling things incomprehensible.
“Is this what you meant?” Harry asked, and the blonde boy looked up to him in surprise. “When....you said that you had to do something.” He clarified.

Draco looked at him wildly, eyes wide, and Harry wondered if he was even in the right state of mind right now. For all he knew, the boy could be acting under a curse; somehow this thought seemed far more pleasing than the possibility of Draco actually trying to kill Dumbledore.
He didn’t look like a murderer, Harry thought. It was only the sneer on that pretty face which even made him look arrogant. He was sure, if Draco ever chose to show him his smile, he would look brilliant.
The blonde boy looked desperate, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Woven pale gold silk fell in curtains around his face; Harry had never noticed how Draco’s hair grew all over the place like his did. Indeed, right now, some of it was reflecting the dull light in the tower, and some was getting in his eyes and blocking his vision. Still more was lying around pale ears, and tickling the nape of his milky neck.

“You......listened.” He concluded finally, voicing it like it was a blow to his pride despite the hint of pleasure bewitching his lips into a tiny smile. At once, the gesture disappeared and a frown replaced it. “I said I could—would do it.”

He raised his wand towards Dumbledore, who was unconscious by this time. His old, frail body lay against propped up against the wall like a dummy model, head limp to the side. Harry would have been more worried if it weren’t for the fact that he could still see tiny beads of sweat break out over the head-master’s face and witness the rapid, feverish, rise and fall of the blue-robed chest.

He acted on impulse, he somehow managed to pull off the non-verbal spells Snape seemed to love so much and cast a shield charm between the unconscious professor and the blonde student. The power of the charm was enough to knock Malfoy off of his feet and he went tumbling to the opposite side of the tower before colliding with the wall and coming to an abrupt rest. Voices were getting louder at the base of the tower—Snape leapt up the stairs and stood, panting, on the top of the Tower. Harry was torn—who to save? Dumbledore or Malfoy? If it was seen that Draco had failed to kill Dumbledore, he would be in major trouble.

The bespeckled boy squeezed his eyes shut as he hit the ground after diving for the Cloak. The supple, cool cloth went flying out of his hand, and landed on Dumbledore’s body, only covering the legs.

Snape raised his eyebrow at him; he whipped the Cloak off of Dumbledore.
Harry tried to stand up, hold his wand—after all, Snape was only protecting a fellow death eater—but his legs failed him and his wand didn’t seem to want to listen to his silent commandments.
It was amazing how silent the next few seconds were, and how slow. Draco stirred feebly at first, but then his eyes shot open and he gripped his wand in panic. “Shall I, Draco?” Snape sneered as the blonde’s eyes took in what was happening. The greasy Potions master had his wand pointed at Dumbledore—yet Draco’s eyes were focused on something else.
He raised his wand, and Snape readied himself for a curse from the younger student for stealing his chance at the Dark Lord’s favor; yet the spell cast went in another direction all together. Pounding of feet and voices of Death Eaters were getting louder and louder, any minute, they’d all be up here and then both Harry and Dumbledore, both would die; they had no chance, no protection, both were on the floor, visible—oh, why was his Cloak so far away?

It seemed Malfoy had become a master at non-verbal spells; he never had to move his lips. The next moment, Harry was both invisible, and suspended in the air. Death Eaters burst into the room with all of the subtlety of a brick; looking gleeful at the sight of Dumbledore cornered.
Draco had closed his eyes and slumped against the wall—it was Snape who did it. Harry’s scream never left his throat: Dumbledore was hit squarely in the chest by a brilliant green spell flying out of Snape’s wand. His head was jerked backwards, and his entire body was suspended in an odd state of limbo; stuck between inertia, before it topped over gracefully, head-first, off of the Tower.

000

Harry had always wondered, after all that had happened, why he still didn’t have it in his heart to hate Draco. Snape, yes. Draco....whenever he thought that he should hate the other boy for disarming Dumbledore, guilt for leaving him that once alone with his fears would weigh down on his heart like an anchor.
Why did Draco need to do something like that? Couldn’t he see he was still a child? An innocent child who has yet to discover the world; who is still in need of protection; a pup abandoned by his parents; a soul made to discover the world too early.
It made him wonder, in the end, why Draco had saved his life. After all, if he hadn’t made him invisible with his Disillusionment Charm, and hoisted him up with Levicorpus, Harry wouldn’t have been sitting here right now.
The image of the boy’s eyes widened in confusion and surprise, and what seemed almost like regret, always made Harry shiver from the inside; yet it was imprinted in his brain. Before the entire ordeal in the bathroom, Draco’s mental image in Harry’s mind was one of him sneering at Hermione for being a muggle-born; something which incensed him to no amount.
The new one, Draco standing over the sink, or in the Tower, shaking uncontrollably, with tears rolling down his face, whimpering, ‘I can’t do it....he’ll kill me, I can’t do it!’ just induced an uncomfortable feeling. It was almost like guilt, but there was pity and general sympathy there too, even though Harry realized that most people would never understand why he was feeling sympathetic with Draco.
After an entire year, Harry finally saw Draco again. This time, it was after he had ended the reason for it all, he had slain Voldemort. The three Malfoys were huddled in a corner, unsure of whether they were on the Dark side, which was now either captured or dead, or the Order side, which was celebrating.
As far as Harry knew, they were somewhere in the middle. Narcissa had helped him escape from Voldemort’s clutches when she lied about his death; and Draco had saved his life back in the tower. Lucius had not fought in the final battle, preferring to go screaming for his son along with his wife.
He passed by them, having escaped from the celebration/mourning in the Great Hall with Luna’s help. Draco’s face was hidden somewhere in his mother’s shoulder, and he was shaking as if crying.
A twinge of pity echoed through Harry. Acting on impulse, he pulled off his Cloak he had taken such lengths to hide under, and, ignoring the surprised glances and gasps of Draco’s parents, tapped the blonde boy on the shoulder.
Lucius Malfoy looked as if he’d just tasted something very bitter; his face contorted into an ugly expression. When he opened his mouth to protest, Harry shot him a meaningful glance and said, trying to sound cold, “I saved your son’s life twice tonight. I think I have this right.”
Draco stiffened immediately. He hadn’t noticed Harry’s presence, and it was only from the bespeckled boy’s voice did he recognize him.
“Draco.” Harry said, and tapped his foot rather impatiently. Narcissa looked shocked to hear him calling her son’s name so casually—he mentally slapped himself for letting it slip out of his mouth. Ever since the incident in which Draco had first let Harry know that he needed comfort, namely hugging him tightly and sobbing in his shoulder on the floor of the girl’s washrooms, Harry couldn’t stop thinking Draco of as ‘Draco’ and not ‘bastard Malfoy’.
More than a year had passed since then, but it seemed since then the boy’s emotions remained scarred as ever, as anyone’s conscious would be if they had to endure the constant threats and overwhelming stress that Malfoy endured.
Harry cleared his throat. “Malfoy.” Draco raised his head from his mother’s shoulder, but still looked straight at the wall, facing away from him. He didn’t reply, so Harry continued, “Can I talk to you for a moment?” He had half-expected Draco to curtly reply ‘No’ as he usually did; but instead, he nodded stiffly and turned to face him.
Draco’s eyes were red when he looked at him, but he didn’t break contact until Harry did. “Err.....a little over here.” Harry stepped into another hallway, and Draco frowned at the distance between him and his parents.
“You don’t have your wand ready.” Harry noted, and said, trying to break the awkward silence.
“I don’t need it.” Draco replied simply.
“Why? Don’t you think I would want to hex you right now?” A flash of fear swept through the blonde’s eyes, but it was immediately softened. “If you wanted to kill me, Potter, you wouldn’t have saved me before.”
“Twice.” Harry added.
“Yes, twice.” He blushed and looked off to the side. “Are you trying to make me feel grateful, or incompetent?”
“Neither.” Harry replied. “I was just wondering why you think, just because I saved your life, that I wouldn’t want to hex you.”
“Do you?” Draco asked, forcing Harry to pause for a bit.
“...No...” He answered, although a bit slowly.
“So? Why are you asking me to draw my wand?”
“I’m not.” Harry denied.
“Why did you call me here, Potter?” Draco drawled, a bit of the old swagger coming back into his voice.
“We.” Harry punctuated his words heavily. “Need to talk.”
“Negative.” Draco replied simply. “We’re already talking. Say anything you have to say right now.”
“You know...” Harry remarked, trying to seem nonchalant. “I did save your life tonight. Twice.”
Draco’s eyebrow ticked.
“Fine!” He burst out, a bit childishly, but he didn’t care. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Not here.” Harry said, and Draco cocked his head in confusion. “Why not?”
“It’s too long, and I’m too tired.”

The blonde boy muttered something which sounded suspiciously like ‘goddamnit!’ in an exasperated tone, and turned away regally. “Fine. Name the place.”
“Errmm....Hogsmede.” He blurted out, saying the first place which came into mind.
“Hogsmede happens to be huge, Potter.” Draco frowned, already wishing that he could leave.
“Honeydukes?” He asked tentatively, wishing he knew where Malfoy normally went in Hogsmede. He didn’t want to risk the vain boy not showing up because it was a ‘stupid place to meet’ or something.
“Fine. In two weeks.” Malfoy said, and walked back to his waiting parents in the next corridor.

000

A/N: Um..I tried posting it, but it was too large of a document, so there will probably be two/three chapters.
My first H/D that I posted. Review? Pretty please? And yes, can you tell this was just written in a fit of sentimental fangirlism?

Anthem of Our Lives Ch6

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 15:26:34 GMT

I am going to be flamed for this, I know. And I know I have no knowladge of Block 10 nor of the women forced to work there. Please don't be offended by how bitchy Inna is. Please.

0000

CH 6

Can't you see I want to lock my door and shut out all the world surrounding me
Safe from the problems and the pressures caused by insecurities

“Skarnt.” Yumichika gaped. “How...what are you doing here?!”
The brown-haired man replied, not missing a beat, “I should be asking that.” His voice was soft, and elegantly quiet, but not a melodious as usual.

Ikkaku looked from one guard to another, taking in their expressions, Skarnt’s a bit more distressing than Yumichika’s, whose was simply shocked.
Suddenly conscious of himself, he colored and slid his hands out from his lover’s shirt, and moved back to allow Yumichika to stand up.
The raven-haired man wobbled and blinked, trying to see straight now that there was no body pinning him against the wall. About to fall down, Ikkaku grabbed him from the elbow and pulled him up straight.
“Ya ok?”

Skarnt tightened his clenched fists.

“Was this your acquaintance, Yumichika?” Skarnt’s tone was venom. Inside, he was despairing. All this time, he’d done everything possible for Yumichika, and he was still rejected!

If a cold drizzle was falling, it would have suited the mood perfectly. Unfortunately, mother nature was not sensitive to human emotions, and the stars continued twinkling merrily overhead.

“Skarnt....” Yumichika began helplessly, but both Ikkaku and Skarnt cut him off. His fellow guard spoke quietly, “Don’t call my name like that.”

Ikkaku, on the other hand, said rather loudly, “No. I’m the one doing it.” He took a deep breath, “Shoot me if you want. I was forcing myself on him.”

“I—mph!” Ikkaku slapped a hand over Yumichika’s mouth. He pried it off, but had just opened his mouth to argue, when Skarnt started laughing.

They were empty peals of chuckles, devoid of all emotion, just sounds that may have been like he was coughing. “And yet he came back every night. How stupid do you think I am?”

“They say when something is wrong; the first person to notice is the one who loves them. I must be pretty pathetic not to see this coming, because, Yumichika, I do love you and you know it.”
Skarnt said, breathing hard, his brown curls now in disarray. “And you choose a filthy Jew.” A Jew I could shoot now if I wanted to.

Yumichika had been silent up till now. Not that hadn’t tried talking, but his voice wouldn’t . “Skarnt. Please.” He moved forwards and touched the brown haired man’s arm; Skarnt cringed and shook it off.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll stop meeting him. I’ll go out with you. Just don’t tell anyone. Keep him alive.” Yumichika whispered in desperation, once again putting his hand on Skarnt’s arm and this time even going as far as to lean his head on the brunette’s chest.

Skarnt stared at the man under his chin. This was what he had always wanted, wasn’t it? For Yumichika to come to him, and lean his head on his chest like this?

Yumichika looked down at the ground by Skarnt’s feet, not even daring to make eye contact with Ikkaku, who was sure to be standing to the side, surprised.
Just stay quiet, Ikkaku. Please. He begged, and wished the tears falling threatening to well out of his eyes wouldn’t give away what he was really feeling to Skarnt.

The bald man stood to the side. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Yumichika?! How could you...act like that we could ever stop meeting like that, so easily!? You know better than I do that I could never forget you. And live with myself knowing that you sold yourself to keep me alive.....how stupid can you get!? Is me getting shot that bad?
If it means that you’ll retain your dignity, I don’t care. How could I ever live knowing someone else is holding you every night; when I didn’t even once get the chance!

For some reason, though, he held his tongue. He later discovered that it was because his voice was choked and hoarse.

Skarnt was still staring at Yumichika with his head against his chest. Before his knew it, one of his hands was resting on the guard’s slim waist, and the other traveling up his neck to pull his chin towards him.
What am I doing?! He screamed at himself, trying to stop his hands. After so much time of wanting this, he couldn’t hold it in, all the emotions of having Yumichika in his arms driving him.

He closed his eyes. Stop it Skarnt. Stop it. Yumichika’s not a whore...you can’t just....stop it stop it....just stop it!
His hands made his way to Yumichika’s chest, and just when the effeminate man thought Skarnt was going to unbutton his shirt, he was pushed back, stumbling, until Ikkaku caught him.

Skarnt panted, shaking, and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “I...don’t....want it! I’m.....not...cheap! You’ll never love me, never loved me....I...always respected you! I always loved you! I would never want....you to accept me....to save someone else! How dirty do you think I am, YUMICHIKA?!” He roared, now having caught his breath, and furious at Yumichika to suggest something like that, and at himself for not having the will to control his hands.

Unknowingly, Yumichika’s respect for Skarnt sky rocketed.

The raven-haired guard shook his head. “No. I don’t think you’re dirty, Skarnt.” The blue eyed man paused his raving. “Dirty would be trying to take away Ikkaku because you were jealous.”

Out to all the misfits
If you feel you don't belong
If you don't give a shit
About authority
About majority
About conformity
Shout it out
Let us go!

Skarnt’s breath hitched. He always knew Yumichika was smart.
But this much.....

Ikkaku glanced at Yumichika’s face. It wasn’t cruel and calculating, but rather thoughtful, and the words that came out in his usually proud tone were soft. How could Yumichika have been thinking straight then? Between the two options that Skarnt had, getting Yumichika and leaving Ikkaku, and letting them both go, he was safe in both, because Skarnt would never shoot Yumichika. He was safe.

And he hated it.

“That’s enough, Yumichika.” Ikkaku spoke. “Just stop it! If this person loves you worth shit, he shouldn’t even have to think to know the answer.” He turned to Skarnt. It occurred to him how irregular this was for him to think every word like this, since he was always impulsive. But then again, this was too important to be messed up—no, if he messed this up, he might as well go and yell ‘Go f*ck yourself bastard Nazi!’ in Hitler’s face. Might as well commit suicide.

“If you so much as touch Yumichika, I will kill myself and see how much he warms up to you then.” He snarled, and put a hand in front of his lover as if it would be a barrier from Skarnt.

“IKKAKU!” Yumichika cried shrilly.

Skarnt lowered his eyes; his brown curls casting a shadow over his face. “So that’s how it is.”
He turned away, and said with his face and voice emotionless, “Come, Yumichika. You have a duty on the back of the main building tomorrow.”

Ikkaku gripped Yumichika’s shoulder, but the raven-haired guard shook it off with a reassuring, if a bit apprehensive, smile and fell in step behind Skarnt.
“Karl and Bayer both have duties tonight, and so did I.” He said, as idle conversation, and Yumichika wondered why Skarnt was even bothering to talk to him.
It was clear that he was heartbroken.

“Skarnt.....” He began, timidly. “Are you sure.....please don’t....don’t tell anyone...please.”
If an SS man was found in a relationship with a Jew; all hell would break loose in both of their lives.
Skarnt only had one reply, with a slight bitter chuckle. “Acquaintance, eh, Yumichika?”
“Promise me.” Yumichika whispered, squeezing Skarnt’s arm.

“How far would you go?” Skarnt asked, in the lowest of tones, turning around so that he was facing Yumichika. “How far?” He repeated.

Yumichika looked down. How far would he go for Ikkaku? A man he had met only four months ago?

He closed his eyes and traced a light finger over Skarnt’s arm, where he had been gripping a second earlier.

Yumichika was pushed down on his bed, and left there where he simply pondered over the words Skarnt had whispered into his ear before leaving as if nothing had happened.
“That far; eh?” He had paused, breath tickling Yumichika’s ear. “Too far.”

0000

Was that a way of promising him, dear lord?
Yumichika sat up straight in bed when Skarnt whistled cheerfully from the doorway, facing away from the door.
“Get dressed, Yumichika.” He said, and there wasn’t a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Nonetheless, he slid into his shirt and stood up. “What is it, Skarnt?” He hoped his voice wasn’t too shaky. What if Skarnt had already reported Ikkaku!?

Skarnt turned around. “I brought you breakfast.” He held out a tray of food.

Yumichika blinked.

“Take it, you missed your duty today so I told Officer Wirths that you weren’t feeling well.” Truth to be told, he really wasn’t. The anxiety was making his stomach clench and he felt as miserable as if he had a fever.

“Um....thanks?” He offered Skarnt, and eyed the food warily.
Skarnt laughed, deep and rich as usual. He seemed to have forgotten the entire ordeal. “It’s not poisoned.”
He raised his hand to ruffled Yumichika’s hair as he would normally do on occasions like this, but dropped it immediately, even before it even started traveling in Yumichika’s direction.

So he didn’t forget, Yumichika noticed.

To prove his point, Skarnt put a morsel of food in his mouth and swallowed. “See? I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Glad to hear it.” Yumichika relied, but he had no appetite. “I’m not hungry...where’s Ikkaku?” He looked around as if the bald man would be loitering around the guard’s barracks.

Skarnt laughed and the dread built up in Yumichika. “You didn’t do anything.” Yumichika said, as a statement, trying to make himself believe it. His eyes were wide with fear, and Skarnt laughed again.
“He’s an Ordnungsdienst.”

“What?” Yumichika asked, never having heard the term before.
“You know, the guard helpers.” Skarnt supplied. He would have smiled and pet Yumichika’s hair at the adorable expression of relief, but refrained.

“You...” The raven-haired guard tried to cover his astonishment.
Skarnt smiled sadly, and for one minute, Yumichika realized that the cheerful act was just a cover-up.

A slow smile crept across Yumichika’s face, vanishing the uncertainty and blankness of before. He threw his arms around his friend and said, not caring if anyone heard, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
Skarnt sighed. Why did this always have to happen? Unlike last night, Yumichika was actually thanking him, hugging him willingly.....and..... “Dammit Yumichika, get off me.”
He said, and Yumichika drew back, confused.

“Don’t provoke me.”

0000

Ordnungsdienst were Jewish police, who mainly were like guards to a particular building. They were spared the hard labor and given slightly more rations than the rest of Jewish population in Auschwitz, but many who signed up were faced with moral dilemmas.
Ikkaku couldn’t agree more. He couldn’t believe it when Skarnt had come to him in his block. At first he held his breath, sure that brown-haired man was back to kill him. But then, an angora sweater was shoved at him.
“Take it.” Skarnt said, sounding a lot like Yumichika when he had gone to give food rations at first.

“What?”
“Take it!” Skarnt looked to the side; he didn’t think he’d ever be able to face this man. Who was so precious to Yumichika that he was willing to....it nauseated him to think of it.

“This...sweater...” Ikkaku trailed off.
“Is of the Ordnungsdienst, I know. You’ll be one from now on.”

Ikkaku’s eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Listen here you....” Skarnt growled. “I have no idea why Yumichika likes you so much, but if you want to live up to his expectations, then you’d better do as much as you can to make sure he won’t be punished if you two are found out!”
The bald man stared into Skarnt’s blue sea-like eyes, waving, and washing over with emotion, highlights like seagulls and pupil like a dark beach; setting a cooling yet startlingly dark effect.

He took the sweater, wondering why they had them so soft when everything else in the camp was hard, bony, and rough or scaly.

“Is Yumichika alright?” He asked, not wondering the point of asking Skarnt this. If he had given Ikkaku the sweater, and his elevated status, that must mean he had an understanding with Yumichika. His stomach clenched. Or was just fulfilling his side of the deal after bedding his lover.

Skarnt chuckled softly, not bitterly as Ikkaku knew his voice could go, but enough to recognize the emotion. “He goes too far.”

Goes too far.....? Ikkaku couldn’t figure it out, but couldn’t ask anything more since Skarnt stood up and said, “Report for duty by the ghetto.”

He later learned what a grueling job this was. A senior officer ordered him, “Gather three married woman between the ages of thirty and forty-five, who must have borne children before, before five o’clock.”
Now what could he tell the children of the mother he’d just escorted to Block 10?
That she would probably have some unspeakable experiment done on her?

He had heard some of the other Ordnungsdienst talking about what happened to the prisoners they deported to Block 10. It was the block for medical experiments, with all sorts of things done to the subjects that Ikkaku had spent half an hour in the toilet, sure he was going to heave from the heavy clenching of his stomach.

Oh damn.......

The women's ovaries were removed surgically, often in two separate operations, as for the men, after the X rays sperm was collected ("their prostates were brutally massaged with pieces of wood inserted into the rectum") and sooner or later one or both testicles were surgically removed, with resulting hemorrhages, septicemia, and death.

Where was the Ordnungsdiensts’ hearts, knowing what was to happen to the prisoner they had to hand pick?

Then, to another Ordnungsdienst, the senior officer, obviously Nazi, said, “Find me all the twins there are.”

What could he, pray tell, want with the twins?

For everything from injection of different chemicals into the eyes of twins to see whether it would change their colors to literally sewing twins together to try creating conjoined twins.

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t....he...he....he breathed hard into the toilet, gagging and choking just thinking about it.

Ikkaku was never one of those men who cried at anything, or had a weak soul to these types of things. After all the cruelty he had seen in the camp before, he thought that his soul must have at least been hardened to steel, but no, here he was, heaving into the toilet like a pregnant woman...oh dear lord....he thought he had heard something about experiments on pregnant women in there too.....

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. It was....it was cruel. And just past his mental capability; and the worse thing was, these were the people he was supposed to be with, his people, the Jews that he had lived with.
If it were Nazi women and children, and hell, even men, he still wouldn’t do that to them. But on his own people!

How could he ever!?

Even Yumichika wouldn’t want him to rise up to his level this way. He just.....make it stop! Ikkaku’s face was streaming with sweat, which traveled down his neck and into his angora sweater, or dripped of his chin. The angora sweater: the sign of being a Ordnungsdienst; the sign of having betrayed your own race, the sign of being the worst possible type of human possible, Ikkaku thought.
No, the actual bad ones were the guards....no, even they were forced by their superiors to do what they did everyday.
But the Ordnungsdienst? They volunteered to stab their own people in the back for a few more rations and---
His thoughts were making no sense.

Everyone was bound by their own circumstances; the guards, the Ordnungsdienst, even the higher-ranking Nazis.
Everyone but Hitler, but then again, who knew? He might have a reason for what he was doing.
Who knew? Who really knew? No one that he could see. War was full of uncertainties, and even though they weren’t on the battle lines, fighting, this was a thousand times worse.

“I can’t do it..” He choked, now kneeling and holding the toilet seat as a lifeline. Not that he really wanted to stay alive now....the only thing he was alive for was for a certain raven-haired guard.

He buried his nose in said raven-haired guard’s shoulder that night, meeting in their usual place. “I can’t do it.” He whispered hoarsely.

Yumichika’s smile slipped from his face. “What do you mean?” And here he’d been content to think that Ikkaku wouldn’t have to do labor now, and would be in a warmer place every night.

“I can’t be an Ordnungsdienst. I hate that angora sweater. I can’t stab my own race in the back.” He said, squeezing Yumichika against his body so hard the raven-haired guard thought he’d be smothered.

He held Yumichika at an arm’s length suddenly. “Do you know what they do to the people I send there?”

The grey-eyed guard looked down. He knew very well. It had been his stupidity for being happy when he should have known that Ikkaku would never be able to....

“Block ten! Block ten Yumichika!” He shook the effeminate man’s shoulders.
“I could try transferring you.” He whispered, almost desperately, for it seemed that Ikkaku was going to fall apart any second now. Fall apart, and the pieces of his pride and ego that had attracted Yumichika to him in the first place would be swept away with the wind.

“That doesn’t help them.” Ikkaku said blankly, and Yumichika knew instantly who he was talking about. “I know it doesn’t....but we can’t help everyone. The only innocence we can protect is your conscious.”

Ikkaku’s eyes seemed more like dark tunnels than the usual twinkling brown orbs. “What innocence? Innocence is when you’re a child and you’ve never known death or anguish. That’s innocence. Look around you, Yumichika. If death were a picture, it would be Auschwitz.”

The effeminate guard gaped at Ikkaku’s face for a few seconds, utterly shell-shocked, and then let out a strangled sob and threw his arms around Ikkaku’s sturdy frame, rocking him softly while adding occasional sniffles.
It was hard to differentiate who was comforting whom.

Maybe, when you’re in a death-camp; everyone needed a little comfort.

0000

Officer Wirths’s grey eyes bore into him, and Yumichika fidgeted. “Transfer?”
He knew that his officer could be warm when he wanted to, especially since they were the first barrack under his order, but now his eyes were cold and piercing, as if trying to pry into Yumichika’s brain to see his actual thoughts.

“Not mine, sir.” He clarified. “An Ordnungsdienst.”
Officer Wirths spoke in his normal deep, wavering yet wise-sounding voice. “You know that’s not my job.”
“I know sir....it’s just that, sir..” The memory of the speech he had painstakingly prepared faded.
The man waited patiently for his guard to complete his answer. Out of all the barracks of guards, Yumichika’s had always been his favorite, partially because they were the ones he knew for the longest, and partially because of Karl’s smart mouth. He would never admit it to the joker, but he always loved hearing the man’s goofy responses.

“As a favor. He can’t handle being in the ghettos.” Yumichika averted his gaze from his officer’s.
“You know the man?”

“Yes sir.....an old acquaintance.” He hoped that Skarnt hadn’t said anything to their officer.
“I’ll see what I can do, Yumichika.” The guard’s heart leapt. Now, if only he meant that.....

“So he wouldn’t be needing to go to duty tomorrow, sir?” Yumichika asked, more than a little hopeful. Please....he didn’t think he could stand seeing Ikkaku in the same wreck he was last night.

“No.” Officer Wirths said, then, after a pause, added, “Tell him to stay in your barrack for tonight. I want to meet him tomorrow. If I’m not mistaken, than Bayer and Karl both had night duties tonight, correct?”

Yumichika’s eyes widened. Asking him to sleep in the guard barracks? That was a huge leap for a Jew.
“Y-Yes, sir. Thank you sir.” He stuttered, and shakily wandered down the hallway, back to the barrack where Karl lay on his bed, reading one of his novels.
Although there were many facilities for the guards and other important personal in the camp, including a theatre, small market full of gossip and chit-chat like everything was normal in the world, the guards of this particular barrack didn’t really like to go there often. It was cold.

“What are you so happy about, Yumichika?” Karl asked, looking up from the book.
“Nothing.” Yumichika replied automatically, for after having Karl for a best friend for so much time; it must have been at least two years; the answer slipped from his mouth. Never give Karl a straight answer; it had been like a game.
Except Karl was an experienced player. “Oh? Isn’t it something about your ‘acquaintance’?”

Yumichika slapped his forehead. Why does Karl always read him so well? “What is with you and your freaky mind games? First it was memorizing my guard timings when even I don’t them, and now it’s the whole ‘I’m gonna freak people out by reading their minds’. Sheesh. You don’t ever rest, do you?”

Karl rolled onto his back, grinning and looking at Yumichika upside down. “That means I was right.”
“About what?” Yumichika tripped him up, hoping for him to screw up his mind game.

Karl mock gasped. “You’ve been meeting someone haven’t you!”
“Eh?” Yumichika raised his eyebrow.

“How could you Yumichika! The nerve! I thought you promised to stay be me forever!”

The raven-haired guard threw a pillow at Karl’s smirking form. “I stand corrected. You really are the worst actor ever.”

Karl stuck out his tongue. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t act like the guards from Canada!”
“Canada?”

Karl put his hand on Yumichika shoulder and shook his head in a long-suffering manner. “Yumichika, you live in a cave, don’t you?”
Yumichika smacked him, but, as usual, Karl continued.
“Canada! You know the block where the prisoner’s things are taken. And the women who work there are usually the young pretty ones, who are actually allowed to grow out their hair.” He explained.

“And what does this have to do with the guards there?” Yumichika asked, beginning to wonder if he really was too cooped up.
“There’re all in love with the women.”

“Ahh.” Yumichika made a sound of understanding. “So like Block twenty-four.”
“No, not the brothel.” Karl shook his head. “They aren’t allowed to touch the women here, so it’s more like the melodramatic sighing here.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Yumichika was getting tired of asking questions. Karl sighed heavily. “You’re acting love-sick, you idiot!”

Yumichika blinked. “Am I?” Again with the questions.
“Happy in a second, heavy sighs, and not to mention the little acquaintance.” Karl ruffled Yumichika’s hair affectionately. “You’re such a clueless weak little kid.”

Yumichika jabbed his elbow in Karl’s diaphragm. “Just because you’re taller and fatter than me, doesn’t mean you’re stronger.”
“Yes it does.” Karl said and flexed his muscles. Yumichika knew very well that Karl was stronger than him when it came to brute strength, but he was faster. And Skarnt was more skilled with the gun then any of them, including Bayer, who was skinny like Skarnt and Yumichika, but he wasn’t fast or skilled with the gun. He was unpredictable in combat.
They knew because they had all sparred when they first became a group, and it had ended with confusing results.

“We’re the same age.” Yumichika retorted, only to have Karl laugh and say, “I’m older by eight months.”

“Fifty years later you’ll be wishing that you were younger by eight months.” Yumichika replied, for it was true. It was a mystery why children obsessed over getting older and adults obsessed with turning back the hands of time to be younger.

“Nah. I would wish about thirty years younger.” Karl wrinkled his nose and said, as if he were really contemplating it. “Eighteen to twenty-five really is the best part of a person’s life.”

Yumichika thought about it. “It’s just too bad that we’re spending it Auschwitz.”

00000
A/N: Don't...I know. This was horrible. *sobs*

Anthem of Our Lives CH 6

Sat, 07 Mar 2009 06:16:38 GMT

0000

CH 6

Can't you see I want to lock my door and shut out all the world surrounding me
Safe from the problems and the pressures caused by insecurities

“Skarnt.” Yumichika gaped. “How...what are you doing here?!”

The brown-haired man replied, not missing a beat, “I should be asking that.” His voice was soft, and elegantly quiet, but not a melodious as usual. He turned his eyes down to allow Yumichika a bit of modesty, for although both of the lovers were fully dressed, the bald man’s hands were beneath the effeminate guard’s shirt.

Ikkaku looked from one guard to another, taking in their expressions, Skarnt’s a bit more distressing than Yumichika’s, whose was simply shocked.

Suddenly conscious of himself, he colored and slid his hands out from his lover’s shirt, and moved back to allow Yumichika to stand up.

The raven-haired man wobbled and blinked, trying to see straight now that there was no body pinning him against the wall. About to fall down, Ikkaku grabbed him from the elbow and pulled him up straight.

“Ya ok?”

Skarnt tightened his clenched fists.

“Was this your acquaintance, Yumichika?” Skarnt’s tone was venom. Inside, he was despairing. All this time, he’d done everything possible for Yumichika, and he was still rejected!

If a cold drizzle was falling, it would have suited the mood perfectly. Unfortunately, mother nature was not sensitive to human emotions, and the stars continued twinkling merrily overhead.

“Skarnt....” Yumichika began helplessly, but both Ikkaku and Skarnt cut him off. His fellow guard spoke quietly, “Don’t call my name like that.”

Ikkaku, on the other hand, said rather loudly, “No. I’m the one doing it.” He took a deep breath, “Shoot me if you want. I was forcing myself on him.”

“I—mph!” Ikkaku slapped a hand over Yumichika’s mouth. He pried it off, but had just opened his mouth to argue, when Skarnt started laughing.

They were empty peals of chuckles, devoid of all emotion, just sounds that may have been like he was coughing. “And yet he came back every night. How stupid do you think I am?”

“They say when something is wrong; the first person to notice is the one who loves them. I must be pretty pathetic not to see this coming, because, Yumichika, I do love you and you know it.”

Skarnt said, breathing hard, his brown curls now in disarray. “And you choose a filthy Jew.” A Jew I could shoot now if I wanted to.

Yumichika had been silent up till now. Not that hadn’t tried talking, but his voice wouldn’t . “Skarnt. Please.” He moved forwards and touched the brown haired man’s arm; Skarnt cringed and shook it off.

“I’ll do anything. I’ll stop meeting him. I’ll go out with you. Just don’t tell anyone. Keep him alive.” Yumichika whispered in desperation, once again putting his hand on Skarnt’s arm and this time even going as far as to lean his head on the brunette’s chest.

Skarnt stared at the man under his chin. This was what he had always wanted, wasn’t it? For Yumichika to come to him, and lean his head on his chest like this?

Yumichika looked down at the ground by Skarnt’s feet, not even daring to make eye contact with Ikkaku, who was sure to be standing to the side, surprised.

Just stay quiet, Ikkaku. Please. He begged, and wished the tears falling threatening to well out of his eyes wouldn’t give away what he was really feeling to Skarnt.

The bald man stood to the side. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Yumichika?! How could you...act like that we could ever stop meeting like that, so easily!? You know better than I do that I could never forget you. And live with myself knowing that you sold yourself to keep me alive.....how stupid can you get!? Is me getting shot that bad?

If it means that you’ll retain your dignity, I don’t care. How could I ever live knowing someone else is holding you every night; when I didn’t even once get the chance!

For some reason, though, he held his tongue. He later discovered that it was because his voice was choked and hoarse.

Skarnt was still staring at Yumichika with his head against his chest. Before his knew it, one of his hands was resting on the guard’s slim waist, and the other traveling up his neck to pull his chin towards him.

What am I doing?! He screamed at himself, trying to stop his hands. After so much time of wanting this, he couldn’t hold it in, all the emotions of having Yumichika in his arms driving him.

He closed his eyes. Stop it Skarnt. Stop it. Yumichika’s not a whore...you can’t just....stop it stop it....just stop it!

His hands made his way to Yumichika’s chest, and just when the effeminate man thought Skarnt was going to unbutton his shirt, he was pushed back, stumbling, until Ikkaku caught him.

Skarnt panted, shaking, and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. “I...don’t....want it! I’m.....not...cheap! You’ll never love me, never loved me....I...always respected you! I always loved you! I would never want....you to accept me....to save someone else! How dirty do you think I am, YUMICHIKA?!” He roared, now having caught his breath, and furious at Yumichika to suggest something like that, and at himself for not having the will to control his hands.

Unknowingly, Yumichika’s respect for Skarnt sky rocketed.

The raven-haired guard shook his head. “No. I don’t think you’re dirty, Skarnt.” The blue eyed man paused his raving. “Dirty would be trying to take away Ikkaku because you were jealous.”

Out to all the misfits
If you feel you don't belong
If you don't give a shit
About authority
About majority
About conformity
Shout it out
Let us go!

Skarnt’s breath hitched. He always knew Yumichika was smart.

But this much.....

Ikkaku glanced at Yumichika’s face. It wasn’t cruel and calculating, but rather thoughtful, and the words that came out in his usually proud tone were soft. How could Yumichika have been thinking straight then? Between the two options that Skarnt had, getting Yumichika and leaving Ikkaku, and letting them both go, he was safe in both, because Skarnt would never shoot Yumichika. He was safe.

And he hated it.

“That’s enough, Yumichika.” Ikkaku spoke. “Just stop it! If this person loves you worth shit, he shouldn’t even have to think to know the answer.” He turned to Skarnt. It occurred to him how irregular this was for him to think every word like this, since he was always impulsive. But then again, this was too important to be messed up—no, if he messed this up, he might as well go and yell ‘Go f*ck yourself bastard Nazi!’ in Hitler’s face. Might as well commit suicide.

“If you so much as touch Yumichika, I will kill myself and see how much he warms up to you then.” He snarled, and put a hand in front of his lover as if it would be a barrier from Skarnt.

“IKKAKU!” Yumichika cried shrilly.

Skarnt lowered his eyes; his brown curls casting a shadow over his face. “So that’s how it is.”

He turned away, and said with his face and voice emotionless, “Come, Yumichika. You have a duty on the back of the main building tomorrow.”

Ikkaku gripped Yumichika’s shoulder, but the raven-haired guard shook it off with a reassuring, if a bit apprehensive, smile and fell in step behind Skarnt.

“Karl and Bayer both have duties tonight, and so did I.” He said, as idle conversation, and Yumichika wondered why Skarnt was even bothering to talk to him.

It was clear that he was heartbroken.

“Skarnt.....” He began, timidly. “Are you sure.....please don’t....don’t tell anyone...please.”

If an SS man was found in a relationship with a Jew; all hell would break loose in both of their lives.

Skarnt only had one reply, with a slight bitter chuckle. “Acquaintance, eh, Yumichika?”

“Promise me.” Yumichika whispered, squeezing Skarnt’s arm.

“How far would you go?” Skarnt asked, in the lowest of tones, turning around so that he was facing Yumichika. “How far?” He repeated.

Yumichika looked down. How far would he go for Ikkaku? A man he had met only four months ago?

He closed his eyes and traced a light finger over Skarnt’s arm, where he had been gripping a second earlier.

Yumichika was pushed down on his bed, and left there where he simply pondered over the words Skarnt had whispered into his ear before leaving as if nothing had happened.

“That far; eh?” He had paused, breath tickling Yumichika’s ear. “Too far.”

0000

Was that a way of promising him, dear lord?

Yumichika sat up straight in bed when Skarnt whistled cheerfully from the doorway, facing away from the door.

“Get dressed, Yumichika.” He said, and there wasn’t a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Nonetheless, he slid into his shirt and stood up. “What is it, Skarnt?” He hoped his voice wasn’t too shaky. What if Skarnt had already reported Ikkaku!?

Skarnt turned around. “I brought you breakfast.” He held out a tray of food.

Yumichika blinked.

“Take it, you missed your duty today so I told Officer Wirths that you weren’t feeling well.” Truth to be told, he really wasn’t. The anxiety was making his stomach clench and he felt as miserable as if he had a fever.

“Um....thanks?” He offered Skarnt, and eyed the food warily.

Skarnt laughed, deep and rich as usual. He seemed to have forgotten the entire ordeal. “It’s not poisoned.”

He raised his hand to ruffled Yumichika’s hair as he would normally do on occasions like this, but dropped it immediately, even before it even started traveling in Yumichika’s direction.

So he didn’t forget, Yumichika noticed.

To prove his point, Skarnt put a morsel of food in his mouth and swallowed. “See? I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Glad to hear it.” Yumichika relied, but he had no appetite. “I’m not hungry...where’s Ikkaku?” He looked around as if the bald man would be loitering around the guard’s barracks.

Skarnt laughed and the dread built up in Yumichika. “You didn’t do anything.” Yumichika said, as a statement, trying to make himself believe it. His eyes were wide with fear, and Skarnt laughed again.

“He’s an Ordnungsdienst.”

“What?” Yumichika asked, never having heard the term before.

“You know, the guard helpers.” Skarnt supplied. He would have smiled and pet Yumichika’s hair at the adorable expression of relief, but refrained.

“You...” The raven-haired guard tried to cover his astonishment.

Skarnt smiled sadly, and for one minute, Yumichika realized that the cheerful act was just a cover-up.

A slow smile crept across Yumichika’s face, vanishing the uncertainty and blankness of before. He threw his arms around his friend and said, not caring if anyone heard, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Skarnt sighed. Why did this always have to happen? Unlike last night, Yumichika was actually thanking him, hugging him willingly.....and..... “Dammit Yumichika, get off me.”

He said, and Yumichika drew back, confused.

“Don’t provoke me.”

0000

Ordnungsdienst were Jewish police, who mainly were like guards to a particular building. They were spared the hard labor and given slightly more rations than the rest of Jewish population in Auschwitz, but many who signed up were faced with moral dilemmas.

Ikkaku couldn’t agree more. He couldn’t believe it when Skarnt had come to him in his block. At first he held his breath, sure that brown-haired man was back to kill him. But then, an angora sweater was shoved at him.

“Take it.” Skarnt said, sounding a lot like Yumichika when he had gone to give food rations at first.

“What?”

“Take it!” Skarnt looked to the side; he didn’t think he’d ever be able to face this man. Who was so precious to Yumichika that he was willing to....it nauseated him to think of it.

“This...sweater...” Ikkaku trailed off.

“Is of the Ordnungsdienst, I know. You’ll be one from now on.”

Ikkaku’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Listen here you....” Skarnt growled. “I have no idea why Yumichika likes you so much, but if you want to live up to his expectations, then you’d better do as much as you can to make sure he won’t be punished if you two are found out!”

The bald man stared into Skarnt’s blue sea-like eyes, waving, and washing over with emotion, highlights like seagulls and pupil like a dark beach; setting a cooling yet startlingly dark effect.

He took the sweater, wondering why they had them so soft when everything else in the camp was hard, bony, and rough or scaly.

“Is Yumichika alright?” He asked, not wondering the point of asking Skarnt this. If he had given Ikkaku the sweater, and his elevated status, that must mean he had an understanding with Yumichika. His stomach clenched. Or was just fulfilling his side of the deal after bedding his lover.

Skarnt chuckled softly, not bitterly as Ikkaku knew his voice could go, but enough to recognize the emotion. “He goes too far.”

Goes too far.....? Ikkaku couldn’t figure it out, but couldn’t ask anything more since Skarnt stood up and said, “Report for duty by the ghetto.”

He later learned what a grueling job this was. A senior officer ordered him, “Gather three married woman between the ages of thirty and forty-five, who must have borne children before, before five o’clock.”

Now what could he tell the children of the mother he’d just escorted to Block 10?

That she would probably have some unspeakable experiment done on her?

He had heard some of the other Ordnungsdienst talking about what happened to the prisoners they deported to Block 10. It was the block for medical experiments, with all sorts of things done to the subjects that Ikkaku had spent half an hour in the toilet, sure he was going to heave from the heavy clenching of his stomach.

Oh damn.......

The women's ovaries were removed surgically, often in two separate operations, as for the men, after the X rays sperm was collected ("their prostates were brutally massaged with pieces of wood inserted into the rectum") and sooner or later one or both testicles were surgically removed, with resulting hemorrhages, septicemia, and death.

Where was the Ordnungsdiensts’ hearts, knowing what was to happen to the prisoner they had to hand pick?

Then, to another Ordnungsdienst, the senior officer, obviously Nazi, said, “Find me all the twins there are.”

What could he, pray tell, want with the twins?

For everything from injection of different chemicals into the eyes of twins to see whether it would change their colors to literally sewing twins together to try creating conjoined twins.

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t....he...he....he breathed hard into the toilet, gagging and choking just thinking about it.

Ikkaku was never one of those men who cried at anything, or had a weak soul to these types of things. After all the cruelty he had seen in the camp before, he thought that his soul must have at least been hardened to steel, but no, here he was, heaving into the toilet like a pregnant woman...oh dear lord....he thought he had heard something about experiments on pregnant women in there too.....

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. It was....it was cruel. And just past his mental capability; and the worse thing was, these were the people he was supposed to be with, his people, the Jews that he had lived with.

If it were Nazi women and children, and hell, even men, he still wouldn’t do that to them. But on his own people!

How could he ever!?

Even Yumichika wouldn’t want him to rise up to his level this way. He just.....make it stop! Ikkaku’s face was streaming with sweat, which traveled down his neck and into his angora sweater, or dripped of his chin. The angora sweater: the sign of being a Ordnungsdienst; the sign of having betrayed your own race, the sign of being the worst possible type of human possible, Ikkaku thought.

No, the actual bad ones were the guards....no, even they were forced by their superiors to do what they did everyday.

But the Ordnungsdienst? They volunteered to stab their own people in the back for a few more rations and---

His thoughts were making no sense.

Everyone was bound by their own circumstances; the guards, the Ordnungsdienst, even the higher-ranking Nazis.

Everyone but Hitler, but then again, who knew? He might have a reason for what he was doing.

Who knew? Who really knew? No one that he could see. War was full of uncertainties, and even though they weren’t on the battle lines, fighting, this was a thousand times worse.

“I can’t do it..” He choked, now kneeling and holding the toilet seat as a lifeline. Not that he really wanted to stay alive now....the only thing he was alive for was for a certain raven-haired guard.

He buried his nose in said raven-haired guard’s shoulder that night, meeting in their usual place. “I can’t do it.” He whispered hoarsely.

Yumichika’s smile slipped from his face. “What do you mean?” And here he’d been content to think that Ikkaku wouldn’t have to do labor now, and would be in a warmer place every night.

“I can’t be an Ordnungsdienst. I hate that angora sweater. I can’t stab my own race in the back.” He said, squeezing Yumichika against his body so hard the raven-haired guard thought he’d be smothered.

He held Yumichika at an arm’s length suddenly. “Do you know what they do to the people I send there?”

The grey-eyed guard looked down. He knew very well. It had been his stupidity for being happy when he should have known that Ikkaku would never be able to....

“Block ten! Block ten Yumichika!” He shook the effeminate man’s shoulders.

“I could try transferring you.” He whispered, almost desperately, for it seemed that Ikkaku was going to fall apart any second now. Fall apart, and the pieces of his pride and ego that had attracted Yumichika to him in the first place would be swept away with the wind.

“That doesn’t help them.” Ikkaku said blankly, and Yumichika knew instantly who he was talking about. “I know it doesn’t....but we can’t help everyone. The only innocence we can protect is your conscious.”

Ikkaku’s eyes seemed more like dark tunnels than the usual twinkling brown orbs. “What innocence? Innocence is when you’re a child and you’ve never known death or anguish. That’s innocence. Look around you, Yumichika. If death were a picture, it would be Auschwitz.”

The effeminate guard gaped at Ikkaku’s face for a few seconds, utterly shell-shocked, and then let out a strangled sob and threw his arms around Ikkaku’s sturdy frame, rocking him softly while adding occasional sniffles.

It was hard to differentiate who was comforting whom.

Maybe, when you’re in a death-camp; everyone needed a little comfort.

0000

Officer Wirths’s grey eyes bore into him, and Yumichika fidgeted. “Transfer?”

He knew that his officer could be warm when he wanted to, especially since they were the first barrack under his order, but now his eyes were cold and piercing, as if trying to pry into Yumichika’s brain to see his actual thoughts.

“Not mine, sir.” He clarified. “An Ordnungsdienst.”

Officer Wirths spoke in his normal deep, wavering yet wise-sounding voice. “You know that’s not my job.”

“I know sir....it’s just that, sir..” The memory of the speech he had painstakingly prepared faded.

The man waited patiently for his guard to complete his answer. Out of all the barracks of guards, Yumichika’s had always been his favorite, partially because they were the ones he knew for the longest, and partially because of Karl’s smart mouth. He would never admit it to the joker, but he always loved hearing the man’s goofy responses.

“As a favor. He can’t handle being in the ghettos.” Yumichika averted his gaze from his officer’s.

“You know the man?”

“Yes sir.....an old acquaintance.” He hoped that Skarnt hadn’t said anything to their officer.

“I’ll see what I can do, Yumichika.” The guard’s heart leapt. Now, if only he meant that.....

“So he wouldn’t be needing to go to duty tomorrow, sir?” Yumichika asked, more than a little hopeful. Please....he didn’t think he could stand seeing Ikkaku in the same wreck he was last night.

“No.” Officer Wirths said, then, after a pause, added, “Tell him to stay in your barrack for tonight. I want to meet him tomorrow. If I’m not mistaken, than Bayer and Karl both had night duties tonight, correct?”

Yumichika’s eyes widened. Asking him to sleep in the guard barracks? That was a huge leap for a Jew.

“Y-Yes, sir. Thank you sir.” He stuttered, and shakily wandered down the hallway, back to the barrack where Karl lay on his bed, reading one of his novels.

Although there were many facilities for the guards and other important personal in the camp, including a theatre, small market full of gossip and chit-chat like everything was normal in the world, the guards of this particular barrack didn’t really like to go there often. It was cold.

“What are you so happy about, Yumichika?” Karl asked, looking up from the book.

“Nothing.” Yumichika replied automatically, for after having Karl for a best friend for so much time; it must have been at least two years; the answer slipped from his mouth. Never give Karl a straight answer; it had been like a game.

Except Karl was an experienced player. “Oh? Isn’t it something about your ‘acquaintance’?”

Yumichika slapped his forehead. Why does Karl always read him so well? “What is with you and your freaky mind games? First it was memorizing my guard timings when even I don’t them, and now it’s the whole ‘I’m gonna freak people out by reading their minds’. Sheesh. You don’t ever rest, do you?”

Karl rolled onto his back, grinning and looking at Yumichika upside down. “That means I was right.”

“About what?” Yumichika tripped him up, hoping for him to screw up his mind game.

Karl mock gasped. “You’ve been meeting someone haven’t you!”

“Eh?” Yumichika raised his eyebrow.

“How could you Yumichika! The nerve! I thought you promised to stay be me forever!”

The raven-haired guard threw a pillow at Karl’s smirking form. “I stand corrected. You really are the worst actor ever.”

Karl stuck out his tongue. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t act like the guards from Canada!”

“Canada?”

Karl put his hand on Yumichika shoulder and shook his head in a long-suffering manner. “Yumichika, you live in a cave, don’t you?”

Yumichika smacked him, but, as usual, Karl continued.

“Canada! You know the block where the prisoner’s things are taken. And the women who work there are usually the young pretty ones, who are actually allowed to grow out their hair.” He explained.

“And what does this have to do with the guards there?” Yumichika asked, beginning to wonder if he really was too cooped up.

“There’re all in love with the women.”

“Ahh.” Yumichika made a sound of understanding. “So like Block twenty-four.”

“No, not the brothel.” Karl shook his head. “They aren’t allowed to touch the women here, so it’s more like the melodramatic sighing here.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Yumichika was getting tired of asking questions. Karl sighed heavily. “You’re acting love-sick, you idiot!”

Yumichika blinked. “Am I?” Again with the questions.

“Happy in a second, heavy sighs, and not to mention the little acquaintance.” Karl ruffled Yumichika’s hair affectionately. “You’re such a clueless weak little kid.”

Yumichika jabbed his elbow in Karl’s diaphragm. “Just because you’re taller and fatter than me, doesn’t mean you’re stronger.”

“Yes it does.” Karl said and flexed his muscles. Yumichika knew very well that Karl was stronger than him when it came to brute strength, but he was faster. And Skarnt was more skilled with the gun then any of them, including Bayer, who was skinny like Skarnt and Yumichika, but he wasn’t fast or skilled with the gun. He was unpredictable in combat.

They knew because they had all sparred when they first became a group, and it had ended with confusing results.

“We’re the same age.” Yumichika retorted, only to have Karl laugh and say, “I’m older by eight months.”

“Fifty years later you’ll be wishing that you were younger by eight months.” Yumichika replied, for it was true. It was a mystery why children obsessed over getting older and adults obsessed with turning back the hands of time to be younger.

“Nah. I would wish about thirty years younger.” Karl wrinkled his nose and said, as if he were really contemplating it. “Eighteen to twenty-five really is the best part of a person’s life.”

Yumichika thought about it. “It’s just too bad that we’re spending it Auschwitz.”

00000

A/n: I know. The LAMESt thing you have ever read. My exams are going on, and I could barely find time to post this--- I don't remember editing it. The the guard helpers are MASSIVELY historically-incorrect, but I told you before and I'm telling you again, I write this stuff because I have never else to do. I never stick to the plan/plot, I write what I feel like. So if it doesn't make sense.....my bad.

Something Serious Wrong....

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 07:39:24 GMT

Alright, I know I say this alot, but I mean it: Don't kill me. I've finsihed writing Anthem of Our Lives, and even tried posting it, but for some reason, half of the text is missing from chapter 6 onwards.
That's why I just did until 5, and I'll do the others later.

Don't forget to review!

Anthem of Our Lives Ch 5

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 06:08:52 GMT

Ch 5

Right. So why did he kiss the man on the cheek?

‘Mystery.’ Rational Mind Yumichika replied.

You’re not helping.

‘Neither are you.’

Well...I guess it just felt like the right thing to do.

‘And partially to show him that you didn’t regret kissing him.’

If you know all of this already; why are you asking me?

‘It feels good to have something confirmed. You needed it after all this tension.’

Yumichika could only think, Yeah.

It was a mystery that no one but Karl had caught him making rounds into the barrack up till now, he thought, and mentally slapped himself.

If you think that, then you’ll be found out!

Running the night’s events in his mind, a sudden reminder had him cursing tiredly. He still didn’t know his name.

He’d find out tomorrow, he resolved.

He hurried back to the barrack with a wide smile on his face, curled up in the blankets, and fell into a content sleep, as he knew the other man would be doing now.

0000

The next morning, a smiling Yumichika informed Skarnt that he wanted to take back his own duties.

“Huh? Why?” He asked.

Yumichika’s eyes glinted with amusement and mystery. “Your duties are boring.” Somehow, the way he said it made sure that Skarnt knew that wasn’t all.

It wasn’t all. Not at all.

The way the bald man had taken the food from his hands, gratefully, said that it wasn’t all. Neither was the tone in which Yumichika had asked his name or the endearing way Ikkaku had smiled and replied,

“I already told you, Barrack Eight, Subject number—“But Yumichika could tell that he was joking. In response to the lighthearted tone, he gently slapped him on the back.

Ikkaku sighed, and rubbed his back with a wry expression. “Fine, fine, keep ya’ pants on.” Yumichika blushed and contemplated hitting him again. “It’s Ikkaku. Happy?”

“Very.” He murmured back, handing Ikkaku the parcel of food now that they were out of sight of the prisoners and guards.

A slow, almost hesitant, smile crossed Ikkaku’s face, not from the food that was pressed in his hands but rather the cute blush on his companion’s face.

It turned to a grin as he reached out and ruffled Yumichika’s hair. “You’re such a kid.”

Yumichika blinked. “Where did that come from?” One minute they were all...formal and now the frankness?

“My mouth....you didn’t tell me your name.” Ikkaku realized, thinking out loud.

“Yumichika.” The effeminate guard replied as he sat with his back to the wall, on a small bench made for guards when off-duty. He motioned for Ikkaku to sit by him and the bald man sat his back down.

“You can eat if you want.”

Ikkaku smirked. “Want? I’m starving!” He opened the parcel of food and began to chomp down the food ravenously; making Yumichika wonder if he was avoiding eating in front of him unless asked.

He didn’t think so; with the current rate Ikkaku’s manners were going.

“You’re Jewish?” Yumichika asked; to keep the conversation going.

“German and Jewish. I’m not sure I can be both with this war going on.” He replied through a full mouth.

The raven-haired man refrained from asking anything more that would interfere with Ikkaku’s meal. He just leaned back unconsciously against the wall, took a deep breath and looked up to the velvety stars he had been too disturbed to gaze at yesterday, There were there, only today, if it wasn’t his imagination, they seemed brighter.

But then again, maybe he only took notice of them now.

Not his ideal date, in a plain white shirt and guard uniform trousers, with a man sitting next to him eating like there was no tomorrow, in thread-bare rags; but it worked for him. If this could be counted as a date.

He brought his hand upto his feathers unconsciously, fixing them to stand straight up, and one slightly to the side.

It was cold, with snow on the ground, fog from their breaths, and the entire night seeming so piercingly cold and pure that Yumichika had to admire the beauty of it.

The wall to their backs was a grayish red color from the bricks it was constituted of being weathered and chipped by the harsh cold weather in Poland. To their side, the tip of Barrack Nine was just visible, behind which was Barrack Eight.

On the other side there was nothing but the long wall and the longer fence running parallel to the distance; all deserted.

The fence was grey, the wall was grey-ish, and the snow was white, but the vibrant hue of the navy blue sky somehow managed to even it out into an elegant blend of surrounding color.

Once Ikkaku had finished his meal he too leaned back against the wall and stared up at the stars with his companion. But instead of a small smile gracing his lips, it seemed like he was struggling to cover it up with a scowl.

Yumichika wondered who Ikkaku was hiding his smile from. Was it him? It didn’t seem that way, since the cute frown on his face wasn’t at all unappealing.

He leaned a little bit closer to the bald man, now noticing how they were almost the same height.

“You should be going now.” He murmured. Ikkaku looked at him confusion.

“In five minutes the guard duties will change, and that’s the best time to slip back into the barrack.” He explained, hoping the other man couldn’t sense his disappointment.

“Oh.” Was all that Ikkaku said. He looked down at his hands, for lack of a better place to train his eyes. Except for the man in front of him, of course, and a second later he brought his gaze to the other’s face.

“Thanks for the meal.”

Yumichika chuckled, voice more than a little overcome with the wistfulness. “You’re saying it like it’s a date.”

Ikkaku’s mind flew over the memory of him and Hannelore talking in the barrack a few weeks ago.

“No! I’ll go. That guard is probably waiting for you again.”

“Hann, you’re sayin’ it like I have a date.” He smiled.

She wrinkled her nose. “No. Big brother is going to get married to a pretty lady, who is rich and nice, and her name should have a ‘Hann’ in it.”

‘Hann’. He didn’t think it was difficult to find a woman with that name before, since he knew that it was quite a common name, but it hardly mattered now.

He shook out all thoughts of that nostalgic conversation for the time being and brought himself back to the present, where Yumichika was awaiting an answer.

“Well that’s what it is then.” He replied, and leaned towards the effeminate man’s astonished face, pecking him slightly on the cheek.

And just like that he was gone, hurrying back to Barrack Eight, before the security was too tight to reach there. The guard stared at his retreating form, his straight back making him recognizable even if he wasn’t alone.

Yumichika smiled to himself.

Get up! Get up!
Let the good times roll!
Get up! Get up!
Take my heart and my soul!
Get up! Get up!
Let the good times roll
On and on and on..

00000

Of course, it wasn’t easy to get food like that, but Yumichika managed. What he actually did was brought his food back up to the barrack, and stuffed half of it in a shopper for his companion’s next meal. It was alright since he brought double in the first place.

“Where do you put all that food?” Karl poked Yumichika’s stomach as they were all once again in the barrack; one of the rare times that the four guards of that particular bunker were actually in it at the same time.

“What do you mean?” He asked in reply.

Karl poked him again. “I mean, if my girlfriend or I ate as much food as you bring up every day, we’d be fat-fat-fat-fat!” He chuckled. “But you’re still as skinny as before.”

Yumichika blinked. “Exertion.”

“Lying on your back twenty-four seven reading romance novels?” He teased.

“Romance novels my ass; you know there was only two. The rest were more of a thriller type.” Yumichika rapped on his blonde curls.

“Yeah.” He sniggered. “The kind of thrills you get, in a steamy romance novel.”

Yumichika slapped his forehead. “You’re an idiot Karl.”

He bowed, grinning goofily. “Thank you.”

Skarnt threw a pillow in Karl’s back. He hated how chummy and frank he was with Yumichika, and also a bit jealous of how Yumichika never talked to him like that.

Karl pretended to be fatally wounded when the pillow hit his back, moaning and groaning terribly, and finally being reduced to a mass of limbs on the floor. “Oh no! You’ve killed me! Skarnt...how could you...” He grunted from the floor.

“Honestly, Karl.” Jacob groaned. “You’re the worst actor ever.”

“I second that!” Skarnt’s voice rang out.

“I third it.” Yumichika agreed, but Karl merely grinned and said, “I think so too!”

Jacob slapped his forehead. “We’re talking about you!”

“Oh really?” Karl replied. Having a smart mouth was one of his trademarks, and he was both distrusted and loved for it.

Skarnt yanked Bayer’s pillow from under his chest (“Hey!”) and flung it at Karl on the ground. Yumichika laughed while throwing his own pillow on the rapidly forming pile located on Karl’s back, and jumped across from one bunk to another to get the last one and shoot it down with as much energy as he could muster.

“That kinda.....hurt.” Karl admitted from under the mass of pillows. The raven haired man on the lower bunk chuckled again and swung out over the side of the bed to climb on the top bunk.

He was half-way there when a sudden voice from the doorway got their attention. “What.” The voice paused. “In damnation are you doing?”

Karl let out a low whistle, signaling that they were all in for it, and got up sheepishly, rubbing his head embarrassedly.

“Uh...sir we were just joking around...” He replied, seeing as the no one else was going to answer their senior officer.

The other three guards seemed to have snapped to attention, since they immediately said in an urgent voice, simultaneously, “Officer Wirths!”

He nodded briefly, before letting a long sigh take hold of his brown lips. “You men are still boys.”

Karl, sensing that his officer was in a good mood today, replied, “That we are.”

Officer Wirths let a barely visible smile cross his face.

He continued. “In fact, I’m sure that aside from you, no one in this room even has hair down there.”

Yumichika, Skarnt and Jacob all spluttered indignantly, and shouted, “KARL!” in a way that promised a long and painful death.

Officer Wirths looked pained. “Karl.” He said quietly; a far cry from his usual commanding voice.

Karl’s face went from ‘ha-ha I’m so funny’ to ‘oh holey shit I’m gonna die’ in three seconds flat.

Yumichika took back his statement about Karl being the worst actor ever. He could change his expressions in a flash....but maybe he was scared in reality.

Officer Wirths turned his grey eyes at Karl’s form with a wince. “I did not want to know that.”

And he walked out, leaving three guards shouting behind him, “Karl was lying! That’s not true!”

When he was finally out of sight and earshot, the three rounded on Karl. “You idiot!” “You moron!” “You blubbering retard!”

All he did was grin.

000

Yumichika waited with his back to the wall, looking up at the sky while waiting for his companion to make his appearance. There was a full white shopper on the bench, but Yumichika didn’t prefer to sit; instead putting one leg up behind him.

This was the second time they were meeting like this, and the raven-haired guard couldn’t help but wonder whether Ikkaku was even coming or not. He was getting a bit impatient.

A voice spoke up from around the corner. “Hey.”

Yumichika jumped, and whipped his head around to see a grinning Ikkaku standing there.

“Scare you?”

“As if.” He scoffed back. There was no way he was going to admit that he had been startled.

Ikkaku frowned. “That’s too bad. I was trying.”

Yumichika held out the bag. “Eat this quickly.” He didn’t need to tell Ikkaku, for the bald man started munching the bread immediately, now sitting down on the bench.

The grey-eyed man waited patiently for the other to finish his meal, before taking up the empty space beside him.

It felt so normal, as if he’d been meeting Ikkaku forever.

The stars shone overhead.

“Why me?” Ikkaku asked.

He’d asked the question before, from himself and from Yumichika. ‘Why am I the one that he saved?’

Yumichika didn’t really have an answer for that.

Like the other time, he said so. “I don’t know.”

The bald man tensed, and Yumichika touched his shoulder to calm him. “I really don’t know.”

Why Ikkaku out of all the people in the camp? Why help and save only him?

The guard leaned his head on Ikkaku’s shoulder. “You had pride.” He murmured, trying not to fidget, but the cloth on the other man was scraggly and coarse on his skin.

“The pride that I wouldn’t throw away.” Ikkaku said, and Yumichika nodded.

“Hey, Ikkaku.” The name was easy on his tongue. “I’m sorry for before.” It wasn’t enough to make up for it, but at least he tried, right?

“Before? Ya already apologized.” Ikkaku grunted.

“Not about Hannelore.” Yumichika cringed when Ikkaku suddenly winced. It was clear that his sister’s death still weighed heavily on his conscious.

“Before that. When I went out of my way to bully you.”

Ikkaku chuckled, although a bit darkly. “Yeah, well, you’re going out of your way to help me so I think it makes up for it.”

“I hope I didn’t break any bones.” Yumichika said, more like a question.

“Feh. Like you could.”

The vain guard poked Ikkaku’s side angrily, with his head still on his shoulder. “Hey! If you don’t watch out then maybe I’ll have to!”

Ikkaku put an arm around Yumichika’s form and bringing it down from his shoulder to rest on his waist, making the guard shiver. “You can’t and you know it.” He said in teasing tone.

“That’s it!” Yumichika raised his head from the other’s shoulder and jabbed his sharply in the ribs. Turning away, he wrinkled his nose and got up. “If you’re done, then its time I go.”

Ikkaku simply smirked. “What are you smiling about?” Yumichika demanded, but merely got another smirk in return.

The guard turned on his heel and began to march away.....but before he knew it he was contemplating going back to Ikkaku.

He insulted me! Yumichika thought.

‘He’s waiting.’ Little Devil Yumichika replied.

I’m not going back today.

‘You know you want to.’

Shut up!

He had a sudden mental image of Little Devil Yumichika, dressed a black tight-fitting suit made for army missions, rubbing his temples tiredly.

‘Just go and get it over with.’

Yumichika blinked. He was standing in front of a smirking Ikkaku. What was he doing here?

Oh yeah. He reminded himself. I came back.

“You came back.” Ikkaku grinned. “I knew you would.”

“Did not.” He mumbled absently, before sitting down next to the man and once again automatically leaning on his shoulder.

“Did too.”

“Shut up.”

00000

Before Ikkaku left, once again, Yumichika was thanked and granted a quick peck on the cheek. It seemed, that Ikkaku was never the one to take things too quickly; and as he might have been with anyone else, Yumichika wasn’t terribly impatient.

It felt nice, just floating along, going at their own pace, slow and easy.

Unfortunately, to take things slow, time was needed, and time was something which wasn’t guaranteed in Auschwitz.

0000

On the third meeting, Ikkaku decided to be a little bolder. He moved his kiss to Yumichika’s lips.

The raven-haired guard blushed profusely, and looked down at his hands on Ikkaku’s chest, trying to ignore the fact that the bald man was holding him from the waist.

Making out with him would be wrong. He told himself. He just doesn’t have enough energy. Just a few days ago staying alive was his main aim.

He sighed, with more than a bit of remorse in the notes.

Ikkaku looked at the man with his head resting on his chest with a bit of confusion. What was with the depressing sighs?

“Hey.” He said, chest rumbling with his low voice.

“Yeah?” Yumichika asked, not bothering to look up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He replied automatically, because, in essence, nothing really was wrong.

“Oh.” Ikkaku made a sound of understanding, and moved one hand to pet Yumichika’s hair. “Good.”

“I’d better be going back now.” He rumbled.

Yumichika pulled away from him with another small sigh. “Yeah, sure.”

He watched wistfully as Ikkaku nodded one last time and snuck back into Barrack Eight.

0000

“You’re getting fat.” Yumichika noted of his companion.

Ikkaku looked down at his stomach, which couldn’t be classified as chubby, but he did look a bit too healthy for a prisoner.

“Yeah, well, you’re the cause. We’ve been meeting for over three weeks now. ” He replied easily.

“So I should make you diet?” Yumichika teased.

“Oh shut up and hand that over!” Ikkaku growled, although in a light-hearted manner as he gently pushed Yumichika back to get the shopper in his hand.

Yumichika went skidding and finally jolted to a stop when he met (rather harshly) the wall against his back.

“Ow...” He groaned. “That’s it. I’ve been feeding you too much.”

Ikkaku gaped, looking down at his own hands as if wondering where the power had come from. “Whoa. Did I push you that far?”

“You jerk!” Yumichika said, not raising his voice incase someone was in ear-shot.

“Whoops....you’re such a featherweight.” Ikkaku said as an apology, helping Yumichika back on his feet and balance.

Finally stumbling on to the bench, he set the food beside him. “Come on. You’re probably hungry.”

“Yeah.” Ikkaku nodded in agreement, but his lips twisted into a grin when he saw a far more appealing thing on the bench.

Yumichika’s face was slightly flushed with the cold, and the dim light of the camp security was casting subtle shadows around his face and neck. He turned to Ikkaku in curiosity when his name was called.

“What?”

His eyes widened when he realized what Ikkaku was doing, but melted into the kiss easy enough.

Ikkaku brought his hands to hold Yumichika’s waist and the raven haired guard in turn put his hands around Ikkaku’s neck, now standing up.

Yumichika’s waist was so puny. Ikkaku thought. He could fit both his hands around it with ease.

Before the grey-eyed guard knew what was happening, he had his back pushed against the wall, with Ikkaku’s searing hands up and down his sides, from his shoulders to his hips. It kind of tickled.

They pulled away, panting. “That was different.” Yumichika wheezed.

Ikkaku breathed hard. “Ya think?” He snorted, drawing his face closer to the effeminate man’s; reveling in the glazed, dizzy look in Yumichika’s eyes. He looked so cute confused like that.

He ran his fingers through a strand of raven black hair, and then touching the feathers on Yumichika’s eyebrow. “Ya look like a peacock.”

“A proud peacock.” Yumichika said.

“A damn pretty peacock.” Ikkaku replied, not missing a beat. His lips curled in a grin again when he stole another kiss.

0000

Karl rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and swung his legs over the edge of his bed, dropping to the floor soundlessly.

His eyes caught at Yumichika’s empty bed. “Acquaintance, eh, Yumichika?” He chuckled to himself.

Shaking his head in amusement, he continued his trek to the bathroom. When he returned, Yumichika was just entering the door.

A quiet gasp escaped the raven-haired guard’s lips, and he stared at Karl.

“Um....I was....” He struggled to come up with an excuse, but Karl already beat him to it. Cutting his blubbering aside, “You know, you’ll never be awake by tomorrow morning. You have a duty by the back of Barrack Two tomorrow.”

Yumichika nodded shakily, wide-eyed, and hobbled over to his bed, not even bother to complete the friendly banter of why Karl always knew his duties better than he did himself. The blonde man’s lips curled. Yumichika was such a child sometimes.

0000

Damn. Ikkaku thought, turning in bed. He wasn’t going to get any sleep now.

And all because Yumichika worried too much.

Smiling to himself, he turned his head to the side and slowly watched the stars’ dull light filtering through the window.

0000

A question Yumichika asked the next week, when they were once again sitting on the bench that was their meeting place, along the side of the brick wall of a building, caught him off guard.

“Hey...Ikkaku.” He caught Ikkaku’s attention as he shifted his head to a more comfortable position on the bald man’s shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Do we classify as lovers?” Ikkaku blinked at the question. What an absurd thing to ask!

He scratched his head, pondering over it. “Uh....normally lovers are people who’ve made love to each other....so...not really...” He said, face coloring slightly. It turned out that in sweet-talk, Ikkaku was the one who blushed more. It might have something to do with the fact that Yumichika was the first person Ikkaku had ever felt so deeply for; or the fact he was a rough-and-tough man who avoided fluff at all times.

“Yeah, but in the word ‘lover’, love is evident, not making love.” The raven-haired guard argued rather cutely, half-pouting like a child.

“So you’re saying that loving someone is what counts?” Ikkaku asked slowly.

Yumichika nodded, almost sending his head onto Ikkaku’s lap, but caught him balance just in time. He smiled slightly, the dim light of the camp security reflecting off of the melting snow making his eyes seem more grey than they actually were and hair duller. “Yeah. That makes us lovers, doesn’t it?”

Such a deep question in an innocent tone. Yumichika was seeking reassurance, asking if Ikkaku felt the same way for him as he did for him; in his own way.

Ikkaku blushed, and looked away to hide it with a scowl. He didn’t think the scowl was working because Yumichika giggled at the expression on his face.

“I guess it does, Yumichika.” He replied finally and put his arm around his lover’s petite frame.

Can't you see I want to find my own direction on this busy one-way street
Where all the influential people never bother helping me

0000

The stars of Poland were brilliant; Yumichika had noticed them many times, once when he first came here, then he didn’t really have time until he started his night-meetings with his lover.

He had even joked plenty of times that Ikkaku’s head was brighter than any star, only to apologize later to a fuming Ikkaku. “You get riled up easily.” He giggled.

“You know how to annoy people.” Ikkaku grumbled back.

“Well, I do try.” Yumichika would reply airily, and the bald man would roll his eyes at his vain companion.

Sitting there once again on the bench which they had claimed as their own, the raven-haired guard couldn’t imagine a time when he’d been more content. So peaceful. So.....warm and furry from the inside.

“You’re so furry.” Yumichika murmured to Ikkaku’s head, which was lying in his lap.

“Furry?” the other man’s eyebrow twitched. That was a strange way to describe him.

“Never mind.”

“Ya know I don’t.”

Yumichika smiled serenely, before twisting his lips into a grin. “If you did, you’d let me get your hair-growing solution.”

“Yumichika, I’m a prisoner. I think that the other camp mates are already curious about the way I’m stronger now, I don’t need to show up with hair now.” Something in his tone tugged at the other’s conscious.

“You know we can’t help all of them.”

“I know.” Ikkaku said hollowly. “It just makes me feel like a filthy traitor lying here, with a good meal and you to look out for me.”

“Guilty.” Yumichika completed for him.

He looked up at the velvet sky.

“We’re already doing all that we can.”

Ikkaku looked up at Yumichika’s smooth chin. “I’m not doing anything to help them.”

“But they’re only Jews, Ikkaku.” Yumichika whispered.

“Only Jews.” Ikkaku repeated evenly. He sat up a little suddenly, straightening up so that he was no longer with his head on Yumichika’s lap. “I’m just a Jew too.”

He began to get up, coldly, silently, but Yumichika grabbed his hand even though his eyes were confused with the sudden turn of events.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the barrack.” He said, and made to make Yumichika release him, but the effeminate man didn’t. “With the rest of the Jews.” He added.

“Ikkaku....listen to me!” Surprisingly, the bald man turned to Yumichika and tried to dim the anger bubbling in his stomach. It might have been because he genuinely wanted to forgive Yumichika for that slip of the tongue.

“I’ve already had enough guilt trips because of you, so just sit and listen!” The raven-haired guard breathed heavily.

“You’re different.” He said, summing it all up in two simple words.

“Different.” Ikkaku snorted.

“I don’t have anything against Jews, I really don’t!” He continued earnestly, “It’s just the same reason I was interested in you in the first place! You’re different! And proud! I’m not saying that they should just die, I’m saying that we’re doing all we can, and we shouldn’t be depressed because it’s all that’s possible in the times we live in!”

He finished and began taking deep breaths.

Ikkaku paused a moment. Yumichika was the fasted rambler he had ever seen...but out of what he understood, it seemed like he was mistaken.

“They’re all humans, Ikkaku.” That was something he would have never said before, when he used to think that he was the king in between his slaves.

He continued. “You’re just the one I’m in love with.”

Feel like everybody else just needs to see through different eyes
From the outside looking in we shout the anthem of our lives

00000

It had been three months since they’d been meeting like that, and Yumichika often thought how lucky they were to get away with it every time. He really shouldn’t have, since, only a week later, they had a spectator.

To make it worse, it was one of their more frivolous meetings.

As Yumichika gasped, when Ikkaku’s rough hands tickled him under his shirt, a third voice rang out, different from Ikkaku’s occasional chuckles, and Yumichika’s moans.

“YUMICHIKA!”

Yumichika snapped to attention, still dizzy, but at least he could see straight. Kind of.

The second guard shook his head in disbelief, tossing brown curls. Skarnt’s jaw was slack.

Everybody else just needs to see through different eyes
From the outside looking in
we shout the anthem of our lives
Just like everybody else
I feel the pain each time I try
But I'll fight the bitter end
to shout the anthem
the anthem of our lives

000000

A/N: HAha.....How was that? Cliché, but I couldn’t resist.

Anthem Of Our LivesL Ch4 (II)

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 06:01:05 GMT

00000

One day, Hannelore cut her foot on a shard of glass outside the camp.

Two days later, she died.

Ikkaku couldn’t see how it happened so fast. One moment she was finally regaining her strength from the food that the guard supplied, and next moment she could hardly move.

Her foot was swollen, with pus in it and whatnot and the worse thing was that this type of thing happened all the time. Bottom line: No one gave a damn. She was one among the hundreds.

Looking up to him, in her bed, the last night, she assured him, “Don’t worry, Ikkaku. It’ll heal. I’m going to be a doctor, remember?”

He grimaced, sliding his eyes over his little sister’s inflamed foot.

“Aren’t I?” Her shrill voice asked again.

He looked at her. “Yes, yes you are.”

Smiling, “Good, now go to sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

And of course, she wasn’t. The next morning he tried to wake her up and she didn’t budge.

Of course she didn’t. Ikkaku thought bitterly.

No one else noticed, and maybe that’s what really hurt. Everyone else he knew, or his sister knew, simply said, ‘oh? I’m sorry.’

That’s all.

That’s fucking all.

They saw him mourning, yelling her name in the morning when she wouldn’t move, but that’s all.

It was almost like she never mattered; never existed. It was just like he’d imagined, he’d lost his proof of ever being having outside the camp; he’d lost his hope of ever getting out; he’d lost so.....much.

There was a gaping hole in his...where was it? It felt like his entire body was detached. Someone, who had probably felt the most for his sister’s death (he couldn’t remember who), had taken the body and dumped it in a mass-grave.

And now? Now he was sitting on his bunk. Doing? Mourning, of a type. He was crying, but only one tear slid down his cheek. The rest stayed in his eyes and choked his voice. It seemed disrespect to Hannelore not to cry properly, but then again, this was the most he’d ever cried ever since he was thirteen.

He wondered if she’d been happier. She finally got out of the camp, just like she’d dreamed.

0000

Yumichika was a bit worried that the bald man (who had yet to tell him is name) didn’t show up the next morning. Or the next. The day after that he had night duty in another place, so he couldn’t see if Ikkaku even if the man did come out of the tent.

It was a shame, really. Yumichika frowned. He had had food for him.

They didn’t really talk at all, just an exchanging of a white shopper, and Ikkaku disappearing in the barrack. After Ikkaku confronted him when he thought the food was poisoned, he hadn’t heard the other’s voice.

“Yumichika?”

Yumichika looked up from where he was lying in his bed with his chin in his arms, trying to sleep, to see Karl.

“Yeah?”

Instead of beating around the bush like he usually did, he asked, “Who were you meeting that night?”

Skarnt sat up from where he had been reading a book.

Yumichika’s eyes widened at the question and he tried in vain to signal Karl to shut up in Skarnt’s presence, but to no avail.

He sighed. “An acquaintance.”

“Acquaintance.” Karl repeated evenly.

When Yumichika didn’t reply to his prompting, he continued, “In the barrack. Barrack Eight.”

The raven-haired blushed and tried to cover it up all at once, something which Karl found highly unusual since Yumichika was as confidant as he was vain. “I had to see someone.”

Karl’s true intentions came into view. He said, sighing, “Don’t get yourself in trouble, ok?”

Yumichika nodded. He didn’t plan to get himself shot for fraternization with a Jew.

Skarnt looked in confusion from one man to the other, wondering just who they were talking about. Karl turned to him and said in answer to his confused expression, “Yumichika....knows someone in the barracks from before.”

Skarnt frowned. “That’s dangerous.” He spoke in a low voice.

The raven haired man put his book down and stared at Skarnt with a sigh. “I know.”

Skarnt got up and sat on the edge of the bed as Karl turned around to go to the bathroom.

He contemplated kissing him again (since it seemed like the first time Yumichika was too sleepy to notice what had happened) but decided against it and instead pet Yumichika’s hair with a concerned expression on his face.

The fair man nodded, shrugged his hand off and went back to reading.

Damn. Skarnt got up and went back to his place, defeated. Damn.

He looked back at Yumichika lying on his stomach with his feet in his air; hot damn.

0000

“Psst!” A whisper awoke Ikkaku from his restless sleep.

His eyes shot open and focused on the raven haired guard leaning by his bedpost.

It was so dark, he could barely recognize him; it was a wonder how he’d been found in the massive barrack.

Unfortunately, the whisper also awoke a man across from Ikkaku, who sat up at once, eyes fearful. He looked at Yumichika, but was unable to see anything more than the body-shape of a person.

“Who is it?” He called out, as if it would help.

Yumichika prodded Ikkaku. He sighed, and called out in an annoyed tone, “It’s me, idiot.”

There was no way of him knowing whether the sheets on Ikkaku’s bed were a body or only sheets; it was too dark.

Glancing around quickly to make sure no one else was looking, Yumichika climbed on the top bunk where Ikkaku lay, and flattened himself down so that his silhouette wouldn’t be visible to anyone looking in their direction.

The bed was small and he had more than a little body touching.

Ikkaku’s eyes widened when he felt Yumichika’s body next to his, and he whispered, with a hint of panic in his voice, “Oi!”

Yumichika shushed him.

The guard whistled outside.

Turning his face towards the bald man, he asked (thanking god it was dark so he couldn’t see his face) why he hadn’t come to get food for the past few days.

“I don’t need it.” Ikkaku whispered back, and although it was too dark to tell for real, Yumichika had the feeling that there was remorse in the phrase.

“Didn’t I already answer that? The camp food isn’t enough!” Yumichika said in an urgent tone.

“This food wasn’t enough either.” Now Yumichika was sure it was remorse he heard.

“Wasn’t enough for what?” He squirmed a little, trying to back away as much as possible from touching the other man’s body. It was kind of annoying, being distracted by the little sparks running through his veins when he was trying to have a conversation.

“It wasn’t enough to keep her alive.”

Yumichika froze. Slowly, the realization dawned on him and Ikkaku watched as Yumichika’s grayish purple eyes became impossibly large.

“Where’s Hannelore?”

A small amount of satisfaction brewed in Ikkaku when Yumichika said his little sister’s name; having bothered to remember it. There was at least another person who remembered his sister.

But he couldn’t reply, and Yumichika took his silence for an answer.

The effeminate man grabbed the bald man’s hand with of his and brought it up to rest between their faces.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what they all said.” Ikkaku’s eyes were dry, and now his voice was too.

“They?” Yumichika asked, and once again shifted back when he realized he had slid closer to the other’s face.

“All of them. They don’t mean it.”

“No, listen, it’s just because they have so many grievances of their own.” Yumichika didn’t know why he was defending the other camp-mates.

“Does that make her less important?” Ikkaku asked, almost snarling and the guard was reminded in a fleeting memory of how he had looked when he had pushed him against the fence.

He squeezed Ikkaku’s hand. “No, no, it doesn’t.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“I met her!” Yumichika exclaimed.

“So did they!” He snapped back, voice still in a whisper, but enough to identify the tone.

“She must have a very special person, I’m sure.” Yumichika assured. “I didn’t get a chance to know her well, but she must have been.”

The bald man’s eyes narrowed. “How can you say that?”

Yumichika’s frantic thoughts were cut off by Ikkaku muttering something he didn’t catch, but he decided to go with the most probable answer for whatever the bald man had said, and whispered almost pleadingly, “I’m sure that she wouldn’t want you to starve yourself.”

The bald man turned his attention towards the guard by him and gave him a long look in the dim light; in which time he had noticed that Yumichika seemed much more beautiful when he was being sincere.

Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart.

He shifted ever so slightly and came in contact with the guard’s lips. Both Ikkaku’s and Yumichika’s eyes widened, Ikkaku at his own audacity, and Yumichika in shock.

Why does this keep happening? Yumichika sighed inwardly, remembering how he had to handle the ‘Skarnt kissing him’ incident.

But he had to admit, the bald man’s lips fit better.

And then, just like that, they both snapped back to their senses and pushed away. Ikkaku accidentally pushed Yumichika off the bed and the guard fell to the floor with a ‘thump’ and a small ‘eek!’

What was he doing?!
He screamed at himself. Two days since his sister died and he—disgusting.

Turning his head to the wall, he pretended he didn’t care when Yumichika didn’t call after him either and simply ran outside.

00000

What was I doing? Yumichika’s face was flushed and burning with embarrassment as he ran out of the barrack, stumbling over the freshly fallen snow and breathing hard.

The air leaving his mouth and nose was making white fog in front of his face, and the lights of the camp security were reflecting off the snow.

And through it all, Yumichika scrambled in an undignified manner back to his bunk where he just wanted to go to sleep and forget everything.

0000

Does he hate me that much? Was I that bad to kiss?

Is he that disgusted by me?

Ikkaku thoughts, hugging the pillow closer to his shivering form. What must he have thought? Here’s a nice brother; two days to his sister’s death and he’s off kissing prison—

It was a prison, wasn’t it! It felt so crowded, and nothing more suffocating than tonight. Now even his thoughts were a prison; the boundaries of thought seeming like more barbed wire fences with guards posted on each side—guards. Why did I go ahead and kiss him?

Why? Goddamn it; why?!

‘You know why.’ His conscious prodded him.

Do I? I just want to forget everything—that this ever happened.

I feel the pain each time I try
But I'll fight the bitter end
to shout the anthem
the anthem of our lives

000

Yumichika offered to do all of Skarnt’s duties in change of his, and in result, he didn’t have a single duty close to Barrack Eight for nearly two weeks. In the day time, it was almost like he’d forgotten all about it, and was the happy, vain, and pretty Yumichika they all knew. But by night; it was different matter.

The raven haired guard didn’t want to go back and see the bald man’s face. He was sure to be disgusted. Why wouldn’t he be? Yumichika was sickened at himself.

After he had bothered telling him that he cared for the Hannelore’s death, he had gone and done something that blew it all.

Asking himself why he cared so much about ‘blowing everything’ would just be overworking his brain-heart relations.

At night time the entire incident would come flooding back along with the guilt. The guilt of... so many things. That he couldn’t save Hannelore, for one. That he didn’t even know of her death until two days later. That he couldn’t comfort the bald man. The fact that that he didn’t even know the man’s name! And most of all, that he had acted like all was alright when the man had kissed him, and actually enjoyed it.

It was despicable.

And then, after two weeks, once again in bed, another thought struck him; magnifying the guilt a thousand fold. He hadn’t gone to give the bald man food for two weeks.

What if he was...? A sudden image of Ikkaku as frail as his sister, unable to walk due to slow starvation, and face contorted in pain from the hunger contraptions in his empty stomach had his bolting up straight in bed once again.

It had to be coincidence that whenever he had one of these thoughts, it was always night time.

Perhaps he was just a morning person and all of his grief and worries spirited away with the rising sun; only to come cascading back with the rising of the moon.

He pondered over this while he searched his pack for anything edible, only to find that he didn’t have one damn thing.

Where could he possibly get food from this time? Skarnt was particular about his eating habits and never even brought food in the barrack, Karl was unlikely to have any since that man ate as much as he could find (it was a wonder why he wasn’t fat), and Jacob only had wine. Yumichika didn’t think that the bald man would need wine; and even if he did, there was no way Jacob would ever let him off the hook for taking his precious wine.

He went without the food, his own stomach churning at the question of what apology he would make.

‘Oh, I’m sorry I couldn’t bring any food but I just wanted to see you and tell you I’m sorry for that day even though you probably don’t even want to see my face except for the food.’

But before he could wonder the significance of this blunt truth, (he felt kind of used—did the man only put up with him to stay alive?) it was too late to go back. He was standing outside Barrack Eight.

It looked more than a little frightening, the looming building over the snow with a backdrop of a velvety star-studded Polish sky.

Frightening, and strangely serene and beautiful at the same time.

He took a dizzying glance over the sky and where the barrack’s roof pieced it with its bland white color. Taking a deep breath, Yumichika stepped inside the tent and slowly made his way to where he had learnt the bald man’s bunk was. It occurred to him that he should be feeling deja vu of the last time he entered the tent, seeing as the only difference was the lack of a white shopper in his hand.

Well, that, and his mind state.

There was no burdening guilt and feelings of ......disgust? Revolt? Loathing? At himself then.

“OI!” The call for attention came out so easily, Yumichika thought. Almost like nothing had ever happened.

The bald man had his head turned towards Yumichika, surprisingly awake. His eyes widened in surprise, then something that looked suspiciously like....hurt?

The mysterious emotion cleared from his face in less than a second; barely enough for Yumichika to notice it in the first place; replaced by a stoic expression.

The raven-haired guard didn’t know much about the bald man, but this was the first time he had seen him stoic.

He looked down at his hands, this time not caring when the guard outside blew his whistle in routine.

“I...I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you any food.”

A part of him thought the man would say, ‘what are you doing here then?’ but he didn’t. Ikkaku let out a gruff, “Why did you run?”

In the two weeks Yumichika had been giving Skarnt’s duties, Ikkaku had realized something. He didn’t want to forget what had happened. Because, if he did, he’d have to forget the guard too.

Three weeks ago he couldn’t have been happier if he never saw the raven-haired man’s face again, but now, after he had shown the side of him that didn’t try to shoot him on sight; he felt strangely comfortable. Comfortable enough to confront and work out what had happened the other night, anyways.

The question caught Yumichika off guard.

“I’m.......sorry for what happened the other day.” It occurred to him that he was apologizing to one of his subjects; the creatures he thought below him, but wasn’t bothered.

Ikkaku was silent for a bit, staring at Yumichika fidgeting. Finally, “You regret it.”

Dear lord. Did he? Well, he did regret the fact that it was two days after Hannelore’s death, but did he regret the actual part of Ikkaku brushing his lips?

No. The answer came so fast the feather-browed man was stunned.

After all the uncertainty of the past few weeks, it felt good to have a straight answer for something.

“I regret that you were still mourning.” He hoped by not mentioning Hannelore’s name, perhaps the gloom over the conversation would lift.

“Nothing else?”

The bald man’s eyes widened as he saw Yumichika running back towards the exit of the barrack. He brought his hand upto his cheek, where the raven-haired man had brushed his lips first.

Come on and let me go
and just like everybody else
I feel the pain each time I try
But I'll fight the bitter end
to shout the anthem
the anthem of our lives

00000

Note: A/N: DO NOT KILL ME. Not for the late update (this chapter was so hard to edit, and I'm still not happy with it!) nor for the plot. I just finished writing the entire story, so I'm posting it all. Please read it all and THEN give me your final opinion. I havn't changed the story's plot or envetns even the slightest, so if they seem cheesy or cliche, blame it on the music I was listening to then. Thanks!

Anthem Of Our Lives CH 4

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 05:57:49 GMT

CH 4

This was worse than before, Ikkaku thought.

Before, he had a guard who liked to chase him. Now, he had a guard acting suspicious.

Highly suspicious.

Ikkaku had come outside to the water-tap, like always, waking up before the other inmates of his barrack.

After washing his face, and wetting his hands to run over his arms, someone called his attention. He knew perfectly well who the ‘someone’ was, and turned towards them angrily.

He thought the guard had given up chasing him!

“Oi!” He said again, his voice not very loud, just barely enough for Ikkaku to hear.

The angry growl died in his throat when he found the guard’s face. He wasn’t grinning, like he used to do before trying to fire, or twisted in an insult.

Redness was spread over his nose and instead of holding out his gun to whack him, he held out a small bag.

Ikkaku eyed it suspiciously.

“Take it.” He urged. Ikkaku shook his head, expression curling in disgust. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it. It’s food.” Although the bald man’s stomach growled at the mention of food, he refused. He would even eat dirt right now if it wouldn’t make him sick; the camp rations were slow starvation.

He didn’t know why he didn’t grab it out of his hand like his stomach was insisting. It might have something to do with the fact that he didn’t trust this guard in the least; and, even though he tried to deny it—his pride. Dying was better than owing the guard, especially this guard.

“I don’t want it.”

He walked back in the barrack, leaving Yumichika out in the cold.

A few days later, Ikkaku narrowed his eyes at the bag once again in the guard’s hands.

“It’s food. I got it warmed.” He explained, and this time didn’t let Ikkaku run away without pressing the thing in his rough hands. Little sparks ran through Yumichika’s fingers when he brushed the other’s skin.

Ikkaku left the area as soon as possible, holding the pack of food at a distance from his body, as if it was something revolting. He entered the barrack, quietly sneaking to his sister’s bunk below his and paused, looking at the food.

He sighed, dropped the warm shopper on the floor and kicked it under the bed.

Over the next two weeks, Ikkaku had at least five full meals kicked under his bed. After some time, he had to go dump the things outside because they had started to rot.

His stomach growled at the mere thought of food, but he couldn’t figure out why the hell this guard, who used to be his personal tormentor, would be helping him now. The food was probably just another sick way for the guard to torture him—poisoned or something.

This guard wasn’t trustworthy in the least.

And then, he tried refusing the poisoned food straight out, so that they wouldn’t think that he was immune to poison or anything. (And try something else on him.)

“I don’t goddamn want your food.” He pushed the white shopped back into Yumichika’s chest.

He left the effeminate guard standing there, but before he could recede into the safety of his tent, Yumichika moved forwards and grabbed his hand, ignoring the little sparks that entered his bloodstream when his skin made contact with the other’s.

“The camp’s food isn’t enough.”

Ikkaku let out a humorless laugh. “You figured that out now?”

Yumichika’s cheeks burned as if he was being humiliated, and he looked down for a second. “I insist.”

“Who cares what you do?” The bald man snarled.

“Your name.” Yumichika mumbled, slowly letting go of the other’s hand.

Ikkaku didn’t catch it. “What?”

“Your name.” He breathed. As an after-thought, “At least.”

The brown-eyed man’s lips twisted into a masochistic grin. “Barrack eight, Subject number five-thousand and eighty four.”

He tossed the parcel of food at the startled guard’s feet and stomped off to where Yumichika couldn’t follow.

000

Honestly, what was with that guard? Ikkaku growled, pacing back and forth in front of his sister’s bunk bed, deep in thought.

Why the sudden mood change? He used to chase him, enjoy hunting him down, hurting him, and now he’s bringing me meals.

Yep. He concluded. There’s only one conclusion. The food was poisoned.

Hannelore, awoken by her brother’s constant footsteps, sat up in bed. “Hmmm?” She asked, rubbing her eyes. “What’s wrong, Ikkaku?”

He paused, feeling a little guilt poke him in the conscious for waking his sister up. “No, nothing. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

She looked dubious, but lay back down anyways, curling up in the rags substituting for a blanket to preserve body heat.

Ikkaku went back to his thoughts, only to remind himself that was nothing to further ponder. The guard was a sadistic Nazi bastard and not to be trusted, full stop.

But even as he denied that the guard wasn’t worth thinking more of, he couldn’t deny the rather apprehensive way he had looked when Ikkaku told him his name as ‘Barrack-eight, Subject number five thousand and eight-four.’

0000

Subject number?
Subject?

Was he taunting him?

Yumichika used to walk like a king in between his subjects.....

He was trying to be nice now, and he just got shrugged off like that! Appalling!

The raved-haired guard tossed in bed, indignantly angry at the prisoner. How dare he! But at the same time, a little voice, which he recognized belonging to Pacifist Yumichika reminded him that he deserved it.

After all, how many times had he gone out of his way to hurt the baldie?

Shut up! He thought.

Pacifist Yumichika paused, and must have sensed the mood wasn’t beneficial for him, and retreated. But not before he said, ‘You deserve it, and you know it.’

Ok, maybe he did deserve it. But still! He wasn’t trying to poi— Yumichika shot up straight in bed, forgetting there was a cot on top of his bed and banging his head.

He winced and put his hand to try and soothe the damage, but quickly abandoned the injury as he crawled out of his cot, went to his bag where the food pack still lay, took it and threw on a coat.

He stepped outside the barrack, feeling the cold wind bite his cheeks and nip his nose. His hands felt numb.

It was dark, sometime around midnight, and he had to sneak over to the barrack as quietly as possible to avoid detection by any of the night guards.

Bodies were curled on bunk beds on either side of him and it smelled....he wobbled as the smell hit him as once, gagging, but trying his best to block the odor with his sleeve.

How am I supposed to find him in this darkness?

Not to mention there were so many of the bunks....some of them sleeping with their faces away from him. Damn.

Just as he was turning to go out, he spotted someone who looked familiar. Wait...isn’t that his sister?

Sure enough, it was. Right....so he should be here...somewhere.

After about ten minutes of looking around, he didn’t find the bald man. Sighing in defeat, he did the next best thing, leaving the food on his sister’s bed, by her sleeping form.

Creeping out now, he finally took a breath of fresh air when he emerged from the congested barrack into the cold night air.

It tingled as it went in his lungs after the stifling stench of the barrack, and Yumichika paused for a minute, just taking deep breaths.

Big mistake. “Oi! What are you doing there?” A guard called out and Yumichika cursed under his breath, trying to find a place to hide. When the search returned unsuccessful, he put on his best innocent smile and confront the guard. Hopefully it was someone he knew...the broad figure of Karl came into plain view, his rifle cocked and loaded at his chest.

A relieved sound escaped his lips as the voice suddenly registered itself as being Karl’s, and the other lowered the gun. “Yumichika?” He sounded confused.

“What are—“

Yumichika put a hand over his mouth, quieting him immediately.
”Listen, Karl, please don’t tell anyone about this.”

Karl furrowed his brows. “Ok...but why? What were you doing?”

“I needed to go see someone.” Yumichika didn’t supply much answer before look upto to Karl with pleading eyes again.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t tell anyone.”

Karl let out a sheepish chuckle. “I won’t Yumichika, but you could get in serious trouble...?”

“This? I’m not doing anything.” The raven-haired man clarified.

“Yeah, but he could get you in trouble without proof.” Karl said.

Yumichika, now sufficiently over the shock of being discovered, rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, if I get shot because you opened your mouth, I’ll leave you out of my will.”

Karl smiled serenely, and for once he seemed serious. Who could Yumichika possibly be wanting to meet?

“Fine.” He huffed. “It’s not like you had anything to give anyhow.”

Yumichika whacked him on his head.

He rubbed it with a solemn expression. “Ok, fine. Keep your shirt on. And go to sleep for god’s sake. You have morning duty, don’t you?”

Yumichika blinked. Shit, he did have morning duty. Nodding, and cursing himself for not being able to remember when his own shifts were, he delivered another whack to Karl’s brown curls (“How come you remember all my shifts?”) and head off to bed.

000

Ikkaku was woken by his sister, which was highly unusual, since he usually woke up before her. But it happened today, and before he knew it a half-eaten box of food was stuffed in his face.

His eyes were bleary and he couldn’t see straight, but the smell was enough to have his grappling to get up.

“Look, Ikkaku! One of the other camp-mates got us our breakfast this morning!” She exclaimed, not even bothering to wonder why the food was much more they usually received in two days, and of a sky-rocketing quality.

He shot up straight. “Hann, did you eat that?”

She gained a guilty, pleading look. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save more. I was so hungry.” She looked at her nails as a way of disguising her embarrassment, a habit she’d had from when she was younger.

His eyes widened when he saw the white shopper. Her face seemed paler than usual. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He cursed and jumped out of bed, ignoring the dizziness that overtook his balance for a second. Wobbling, he raced outside.

He spotted the guard a little distance off (he had memorized when he had morning duty so he could try and blend in with the crowd) and ran upto him, the masses of people gathering around the water-tap not bothering to look.

Face painted in a furious expression, he went upto Yumichika and growled one thing, “Why?”

The effeminate man looked up in surprise. “Huh?”

Ikkaku didn’t bother to lower his voice. “WHY HER?!”

Yumichika didn’t understand what was going on. “What?”

Ikkaku took a deep breath, but it didn’t help him calm down in the least. He was hyperventilating, he knew, but he didn’t care.

“What did she ever do to you!? Answer me goddamn it!” It never struck Ikkaku that he had never done anything to Yumichika either.

By now, he was attracting the attention of other prisoners, who were wondering whether the man had lost his mind to confront a guard like that. They shrunk away as if he was diseased.

“Who? What are you talking about?” Yumichika retorted.

“Don’t you play dumb with me!” To punctuate his words, he pushed Yumichika backwards, and the raven-haired guard had to hold his gun as a shield to block him.

“WHY HER?!” He demanded. He paused; face calming for the slightest second before contorting into something a thousand times more frightening. “No, I don’t care. It’s probably some other sick Nazi thing to do for fun.”

For one horrible second Yumichika discovered the expression Ikkaku had when he was truly pleading something. He wasn’t crying, or wailing. It more of a threatening look, but the eyes were crinkled with such a passionate sorrow, that the raven-haired man had a trouble looking away. “Save her.”

The guard took a shaky breath. “Save her? Who are you talking about? Your sister?”

“AS IF YOU DIDN”T KNOW!” He exploded, a vein on his forehead threatening to burst.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“The food! The poison! You poisoned my sister!” Ikkaku wailed. Wailed. Yumichika shuddered.

“I—I—no! I didn’t—“Yumichika struggled to get the words out.

“The antidote.” Ikkaku said simply.

“The food wasn’t poisoned.” Finally, the sentence he had been trying to say tumbled out of his lips.

Ikkaku stared. “It isn’t?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer. It was strange that one box of food could reduce him to pleading with the guard he’d previously vowed never to bow to.

“No.” Yumichika replied, and assured him. “No one is trying to poison...Hannelore.” He registered the name.

Relief flooded into the bald man’s face, although he did his best to hide it by a slightly smiling scowl. Yumichika stared.

“Why?” The question snapped him out of his thoughts.

Yumichika was at loss. “I don’t know.” He replied, truthfully. Ikkaku didn’t wait to ask the importance of this answer.

Rushing inside, he stood by his bed where Hannelore had waited for him with a worried expression on his face.

Hannelore didn’t know what to think when her brother rushed in and hugged her like she was still a toddler, squeezing her frail ribcage against his chest so hard she couldn’t breathe.

0000

Yumichika couldn’t breathe.

The first thing that went through his mind was, ‘Shit’.

There was a logical reason as to why he was feeling a shortage of breath. It wasn’t because he was hyperventilating, although he would like to, he couldn’t, seeing as he had no breath anyways.

The second thing that his mind registered was ‘Okay........’

Skarnt was kissing him.

It had happened so fast he didn’t know what hit him. One minute he was walking inside the barrack, happily, thinking of the sleep he would be getting now, and the next second there was a wall to his back and Skarnt pressed up against his chest with his lips on his.

It was amazing that Skarnt actually got on target. He mentally slapped himself. Now wasn’t the time to be impressed!

Before his hands could find their way to Skarnt’s chest to push him away, the sound of a ‘what the—‘ rang out and Skarnt, as if snapped out of a trance, flew off of Yumichika so fast it looked like a invisible car hit him.

Bayer stood in the door, jaw dropped, being the man who’d had the curtsey to yell, “WHAT THE HELL?!” At the top of his voice.

The tall man closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Ok....I’ll come back later.” He fled.

Leaving a very confused Yumichika and a blushing Skarnt.

“I’m sorry.” Skarnt mumbled, picking himself off from where the (invisible) car had flung him.

“I...”

Yumichika blinked. He was too sleepy for this shit. Leave it all for tomorrow, was his mind-frame right now, and he walked mechanically to his bed, flopped down, and closed his eyes.

Then, before going to sleep, he decided to rid himself to the problem. “This never happened.”

Skarnt paused being flustered, his elegance all having deserted him at the moment. “Is that what you want?”

Yumichika was asleep.

0000

A certain blonde man leaned back on the wall in front of barrack eight. From his position, he could just see everyone who was coming and going.

Normally the camp-mates didn’t leave the barrack much except for the factory, but they had to go to relieve their natural needs outside.

So, sooner or later, he should see who he wanted.

It was with that logic that he waited there for over an hour, in his time off.

He took a long drag from his cigarette. It was one of his less ‘boyish’ habits, but he did enjoy it, because, in Poland, where it was freezing almost all the time; the warm breath in his mouth and the ashy taste of cigarettes felt comforting.

Finally, a bald man emerged from the tent and Karl almost choked on his cigarette. How that was possible, he didn’t know, but was reduced to a coughing chocking heap of flesh for a few minutes, and by that time when he looked up, the man was gone.

He glared angrily through his red eyes, but the man didn’t make his re-appearance and he trudged dejected back to his bunk.

0000

Hannelore was eating, and Ikkaku couldn’t be happier. Well, of course, he got food too, but more than his own hunger being satisfied, he liked the wide-eyed look she gave him every time he came back with the little white parcel.

She thought it was nicked; and refused it once, to tell him not to get in trouble, but in the end her stomach had given her away and Ikkaku had stuffed it in her mouth.

Hannelore supposed she should stop. Lying on her bed, she turned her head, thinking. Perhaps if she refused the food then Ikkaku would stop stealing it?

If he was caught, ‘disciplinary measures’ would be forced on him.

But damn, when she thought of the food the rest of the camp-mates had to live on, her stomach grumbled in sympathy.

Damn. She shifted again. I can’t tell him to stop.

I can’t stop.

Then, on a slightly unrelated point, she giggled. If Ikkaku ever hears me swear, he’s going to be amazed.

Life in the camp was no where near happy. But, at least, with food in her stomach, it didn’t seem all that gloomy.

Below her, Ikkaku wondering what his sister was doing shifting and turning at this time of night. She was usually a sound sleeper...unless she was having a bad dream, or hungry.

It pleased him to no end that she was able to eat more now. He thought he ought to thank the guard now...

He shook his head. It was true that he wasn’t exactly bowing to him, like he had sworn not to; but still. He didn’t feel safe with the guard, and to be truthful, the pain he inflicted on Ikkaku before wasn’t as scary as his change of manner.

What was he up to?

Not finding a suitable answer (or one that he wanted to believe—such as playing with him before he shot him) he grunted in annoyance. As much as he hated to admit it (well, not really, since the opposite would be much worse) the guard’s concern and sympathy seemed genuine.

But then again, those bullets seemed real too.

He closed his eyes. That guard was just too hard to figure out. Almost interestingly so.

000

Fic: Anthem of Our Lives CH3

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 11:39:58 GMT

A/N: Alright people. I've had enough. I withdraw my plea for constructive critisism on my plot. I promise you, every little detail WILL turn out all right by the end of the fic, so please no more commenting on that, alright?
You can shoot at my writing style all you want to, though. :)

Anthem of Our Lives

Characters: Yumichika/Ikkaku

Themes: Angst/ Romance

CH 3

Karl lay on his stomach, finally taking up Yumichika’s offer on reading a few of his books. “Hey!” He called out in greeting when a tired and confused Yumichika trudged in after giving guard duty.

He cast his friend a weary glance.

On the bunk atop Karl, Skarnt was also off-duty, and doodling on a page. He looked down over the side of the bed to see Yumichika flopping down on his bed, making it bounce a bit.

“So, figure out what symptom you had?”

The raven-haired man made a face. “Your stupid theory makes my head hurt.”

Karl ‘tsk’ed like an old woman. “Poor dear.” His voice was in a false, motherly tone.

Switching back to his normal goofy face, “Tell me! I know you thought of it!”

“Thought of what?” Skarnt asked, left out.

Karl grinned. “Yumi here,” He paused dramatically, in which Yumichika let out a sarcastic drum roll.

Karl laughed. “Is...In a state of inner turmoil!”

“Inner turmoil?” Skarnt asked, doing his best to ignore the hope that filled him.

“His inner selves are arguing.” He turned back to Yumichika. “Now, Yumichika, tell me! What was it?”

“I think I’m confused or curious... but I dunno what to do next.” The feather-browed man spoke into his pillow, the sound coming out muffled.

“Confused about what?” Karl grinned.

It isn’t me, it isn’t me. Skarnt repeated the mental mantra.

“I dunno!” Yumichika threw a pillow at Karl’s smiling visage, only to have it flung right back at him.

“Saaaaaay...” Karl smirked. “Are you sure you’re not confused or curious about someone?”

Skarnt’s heart leapt to his throat.

Yumichika’s breath hitched. How the hell...how does he know?!

It was a good thing that Yumichika’s face was buried in the pillow, or else Skarnt might have mistaken Yumichika’s breath hitching like that for other reasons (like himself) than the actual ones.

Karl continued, oblivious to his companions’ discomfort. Or maybe he was just playing with them.

“You know, there’s a reason having hots for someone is called ‘having hots’ for.” He beamed.

Skarnt buried his head back in his doodles to hide his red face, and Yumichika was left mulling over the statement.

Pretty soon, however, sleep overcame his senses and he drifted slowly into an empty black hole; warm.

000

The warmth turned out to be his blanket. He wrinkled his nose. Oh well.

Once again, Little Devil Yumichika taunted him. What did you expect?

Expect? He expected nothing. I’m just reflecting on how my blanket it is warm.

Suuuuuuure.

Shut up!

What else is warm, now that you mention it?

Warm? Like coffee, or blankets, a heater, my jacket...

And that man.

Well obviously. He’s alive, isn’t he? All living bodies have body warmth. I thought I--you paid attention in school.

Don’t even try being sly. This argument is not over.

He rolled his eyes at himself. (That sounded insane.)

“Goddamn it, Karl your stupid theory is frikin’ bugging the hell out of me!” He exclaimed, and sat up quickly before he could fall back asleep.

The only other person in the barrack for four, Jacob Bayer, looked up questioningly. “What?” He asked.

“Nothing, Jacob.” Yumichika dismissed the man. Bayer was a tall man, who had a wife and kid and an abnormal fixation about said family and certain wines. He never talked much, although Yumichika had seen him being quite freindly with Karl.

After a few minutes of Yumichika trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Jacob looked up again. “Say, Yumichika, wasn’t Karl supposed to be off right now?”

The raven-haired man shrugged. “I dunno.”

Jacob rolled his green eyes and put his pale hands upto to prop his face. He scratched his head for a minute, full of jet-black hair plastered to his forehead and falling all over his ears, trying to remember Karl’s guard schedule.

He furrowed his black eyebrows.

Skarnt walked in the barrack, having just taken a shower and with his brown curls all wet and dripping.

“You’re going to catch a cold.” Jacob warned, and stretched on his bed, his legs almost protruding over the edge. Skarnt nodded wordlessly, and began to dry his tresses with the towel in his hand.

Yumichika finally got up and out of bed, reaching out for the railing of the top bunk to steady himself.

The room was small, barely enough for two bunk-beds and a little space to put their packs in which their clothes and personal possessions remained. There was a door on one side, and there wasn’t much to do, but the only reason the inhabitants of the barrack came here in their free time was because it was warm. They also enjoyed each other’s company; it was better than going out and getting in trouble with some senior officer for ‘loitering around’.

Skarnt took a long look at Yumichika, now stretching. The feather-browed man, noticing it, uttered his name.

“What?” Skarnt asked.

“That’s what I was going to ask. Why are you giving me that look?” He asked, combing his hair with his fingers.

Skarnt tried hard not to blush and succeeded in making up an excuse. “Just wondering if you figured out that little philosophy Karl dropped on you like three tons of nerve gas.”

Yumichika laughed, and the brown-haired man had never heard such a charming sound.

Did he really think that?

“Yeah. I’m having as much trouble as I would with the nerve gas.” A small sigh escaped his lips.

“So? Confused about someone, like he said?” He asked, leaning against the bed-frame.

Yumichika shook his head and wrinkled his delicate nose. “I don’t think so. I’m just curious.”

“Curious?”

“Yeah.”

Skarnt welled up with pride. “You might just try asking the person.”

Yumichika reached for a comb out of his bag, and held his toothbrush too. “I guess so. It’s not so easily done, though.” He paused in the bathroom door. “What would I say?”

Skarnt chuckled. “Just start talking, Yumichika. I’m sure that they’ll respond.”

A muffled, morphed sound came from the bathroom, which told him Yumichika was making use of his toothbrush. “Maybe. But I don’t even know their name.”

Don’t even know...? Skarnt thought, squinting, trying to make sense of the statement.

“He stands out.” Yumichika explained not-so-clearly.

Skarnt decided to bite the bullet.

He put one hand on the bathroom frame door, blocking Yumichika’s way as he tried to walk out. He looked at the taller man inquiringly.

“Really.” He said, with a smug smile.

Yumichika, not knowing what to do, smiled tentatively back at Skarnt. It was highly out of character for Skarnt to be like this, since the man was not the one to talk so much. He was bold, but was usually quiet.

Skarnt took another glance at Yumichika’s confused face, a few feet from his now, sighed, and moved aside.

Yumichika wasn’t getting his point.

And as bold he may be; he wasn’t bold enough to yell his feelings in the other’s face.

The raved haired man moved warily to his bag, where he got out a thick novel, and flopped back down on the bed. He only had two hours until another shift.

Skarnt wondered how oblivious Yumichika could get. As it was time for his duty, he flung his coat over his shoulder and made his way to the door.

Pausing for a second, he looked back, tossing his brown curls, and said, smiling, “Yumichika.”

The other man looked up in surprise.

“My name’s Skarnt.”

Feel like everybody else just needs to see through different eyes
From the outside looking in
We shout the anthem of our lives
Just like everybody else
I feel the pain each time I try
But I'll fight the bitter end
to shout the anthem
the anthem of our lives

0000

A/N: Please, I want to hear nothing about how unlikely it is that Skarnt is after Yumichika....or about the deliberate mistakes made while describing what guards did in their free time. It will work out, I promise.
This chapter is short....don't kill me.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach, or any of the characters. I forget the spelling of the guy who does....meh. I don’t own ‘Anthem of Our Lives’ by Zebrahead, either. Pity.

Fic: Anthem of Our Lives Ch2

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 10:17:30 GMT

Bleach fic

Anthem of Our Lives

Characters: Yumichika/Ikkaku

Themes: Angst/ Romance

Notes: This is a sister fic with Brothers and Battlefields, meaning, in the same universe. Like not in the same place or time, but universe. Read that and you’ll figure it out. That means that this is NOT an AU; and NOT supposed to historically correct: FOR A REASON. And even though you're welcome to point out any detail that I may have gotten wrong (regardless of the fact whether it was on purpose or not) I won't change it. Because this story isn't supposed to be historically correct.

The same goes for the names; they haven’t been changed to something more 'European sounding' on purpose. As well as the language they use and the tings they talk about. I have researched this plenty, so rest assured that most of the incorrect details were on purpose. But feel free to tell me anyways!

And....DUN DUN DUN:

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach, or any of the characters. I forget the spelling of the guy who does....meh. I don’t own ‘Anthem of Our Lives’ by Zebrahead, either. Pity.

Before I ramble on about absolutely nothing, just start the fic!

0000

Ch 2

On that day, he had had enough. Had enough of the camp, enough of starving meals, enough of dirty places, enough of pointless labor, enough of cold, enough of his sister’s thin bones poking out, enough of his own weakness, and most of all, enough of that pansy guard.

So when said guard approached him with the usual vicious grin, he fought back.

This time they were all alone, along the side of the fence that was deserted. Yumichika slid upto him, and raised his gun like a baseball bat, hitting him in the back once when his back was turned, and then tried to swing it again.

Unfortunately for him, Ikkaku was a snarling beast who was twice as powerful as him on his worst days.

Catching the gun’s barrel in his hand, he used it like a staff to press against Yumichika’s hands and chest, making him lose balance and stumble back against the fence, with Ikkaku still pressing against his body hard, incase he tried to squirm.

Yumichika’s arms were pressed back with his torso, his fingers still trying to grapple the gun’s barrel and push back, but failing to do so.

Ikkaku was just too strong.

He tried to trip the other man, or kick him, but his legs refused to budge. He was pinned against the fence and not going anywhere, whether he liked it or not.

The bald man snarled and pushed the length of the gun against Yumichika’s pale throat, threatening silently to choke him. Or snap his neck.

Your choice.

Yumichika was terrified. This man could very easily overpower him, and he lost the use of the gun. But all that terror and fear faded when he became faintly aware that Ikkaku was using his whole body to push him down. His attention diverted; this meant two things: One, that he couldn’t go anywhere or squirm his way out, and two, that it felt...familiar.

The first thought should have filled him with more fear and heightened his terror, but all he could concentrate on was how warm the other man’s body felt, and how rough and hot his hands were when he held Yumichika’s arms back from his wrists, where the vain guard had rolled back the sleeves of the uniform, exposing skin.

It burned; his hands on Yumichika’s skin.

Ikkaku’s eyes narrowed in anger and outright loathing when Yumichika began to faintly gasp for breath. I haven’t even started chocking him yet.

“I’ll...I’ll...shoot you...” Yumichika wheezed. Why am I so out of breath?

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try.” Ikkaku snarled, and brought his face closer to other man’s to ensure his attention. He didn’t like that dazed, empty look in the other’s eyes, as if he’d spaced out.

“Yer not all that mighty, you Nazi bastard, so stop actin’ it and frikin’ leave me the hell alone!” He growled out, his face so close to the guard’s that he could make out individual eyelashes. The guard had very long eyelashes.

Like the frikin’ pansy he is. Ikkaku snorted.

With one final, slow, long look filled with disgust and contempt, Ikkaku released the skinny male, and without looking back, stomped back to the barracks still brimming with rage. Yumichika collapsed, leaning against the fence, his gun now falling to his feet. Taking in shaky breaths, his thoughts ran in frantic circles.

What was wrong with me? Why didn’t I fight back? Why couldn’t I fight back?

His hands had felt like fire on his skin, and Yumichika looked at his bruised wrists wistfully. When the bald man had slid the final revolted glance over Yumichika, the guard had felt a full-body shudder attack him. His gaze was piercing, that’s what it was.

Shakily getting to his feet, he slung the gun over his shoulder with trembling fingers, and began to walk back to his barrack.

Pausing for a second, in front of the barrack in which his ‘experiment’ resided in, he shot the white canvas covering the tent a curious look.

Hands still numb from the cold and from the heat that had just surged through his body a few moments earlier, he pulled his cuffs down over bruised wrists.

I want to make my mark
change the world, with this flow
But, all this doubt in my head
It won't let me go

000

Ikkaku slid inside the tent, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

Too late.

Hannelore already came running upto him, worried and fretting.

“Big brother! Where have you been?”

He couldn’t help the cocky grin that crossed his face. “Teaching that pansy guard a lesson.”

Her eyes widened impossibly. “Ikkaku! Why?”

“Because he deserved it.”

She sniffed. “I know he deserved it, but now he’ll come after you.”

Ikkaku smiled reassuringly and pet her head. “Nah. He won’t.”

“How do you know?” Hannelore’s shrill voice asked.

Well....he could just tell. The dazed look when Ikkaku had pushed him roughly, the inability to fight back, and the way he was panting like someone had his hands pressing on his throat, when, for real, his hands were on his wrists. It all summed upto one thing: that guard wasn’t going to come near him anytime soon.

“I just know. Trust me.”

She didn’t look convinced. He continued, “Fine. If I’m wrong, I owe you a trip to the park when we get out of here.”

A brilliant smile cracked on her face, and she went around bouncing happily, all thoughts of the guard that had taken to bullying his brother promptly forgotten.

000

Skarnt was just heading out for his duty when Yumichika stumbled in the barrack, looking disheveled.

Flopping down on his bed, the effeminate man didn’t pay attention to the attentive blue eyes watching him. “Oi. Yumichika.”

He turned his head the way his name was being called to see Skarnt. “Huh?”

Skarnt wasn’t very close to Yumichika, but at least talked to him, and they could be counted as friends.....of sorts.

“What’s wrong?”

Yumichika glanced back at the brown-curly haired man, the locks falling over his forehead now. He was skinny, but elegantly silent most of the time.

“Wrong?” He repeated emptily. “There’s nothing wrong.” He said quietly.

Skarnt highly doubted it; he’d never seen Yumichika so dazed (aside from when he was delirious from lack of sleep), but he didn’t press for a further response.

Shrugging, he turned back away, but paused for a second before heading out the door. “Ok...you should get some rest.”

“Yeah.” Yumichika replied distractedly. Running one hand through his tresses, doing a quick check to make sure there were no knots, he flipped over on his stomach and squeezed the pillow in his death-grip under his neck and head.

How come the strength returned to his arms now?

The blue-eyed man stayed for another second until Yumichika had closed his eyes, then went closer to inspect what he had seen from the distance when Yumichika changed out of his uniform into pajamas. One hand was visible, on which the magenta cloth of the pajamas had been accidentally pushed back, revealing equally purple skin.

Bruised skin. Skarnt frowned, trying hard to conceal the anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach. What had happened?

Sighing, he quickly paced over to his pack, took out bandage gauze, and gently, as not to wake the sleeping beauty, began to ease his hands out from under his chin.

Yumichika mumbled, groaned, and sighed, but didn’t wake up, and finally the brown-haired man had both of Yumichika’s hands in his. He looped the bandage once, twice around the other’s dainty wrists, then finally tying the knot and let Yumichika pull his arms back to his chest.

Smiling slightly at the little pout on his fellow guard’s face, he tucked the left over bandage back in his pack, along with the scissors and quietly made his way out of the room.

The next few days were in turmoil, to say in the least, for Yumichika. When before he used to take efforts to hunt down Ikkaku, now he avoided him, and would immediately step behind a corner or run off when he saw a group of prisoners. On guard duty, he would keep he eyes fixed somewhere away from the crowd, not even giving himself the liberty to take a look at the miserable prisoners incase the bald man happened to fill his horizon.

Ikkaku was fairly happy (as happy as one could be in the rotten death-camps) that Yumichika, at least, had let up on his daily torture. He didn’t make any effort to go searching for the effeminate guard, nor to hide from him. It turned out that he didn’t need to even think about hiding, since it seemed Yumichika was the one hiding.

Heh. He deserved it. Ikkaku thought, once again thinking about the vain guard, this time waiting for sleep to make her appearance.

Hannelore was getting thinner, and as much as he wanted to deny it, it worried him immensely. He would even slip some of his food into her plate when she wasn’t looking, but her condition wasn’t improving, and anything was a welcome thought away from the stale fear.

Even that guard.

Hiding from me?

Heh, it’s not like I care. The longer I can go without seeing his ugly face, the better.

Even if it wasn’t really ugly. Yep, he thought. The man’s not ugly. He’s just a whore. That would explain the way he tensed when I touched him back then.

Bastard Nazi.

000

Yumichika passed by Skarnt in a corridor, before he turned around and smiled at the man. “Skarnt.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Thank you for bandaging my wrists.” Yumichika said; making sure no one was around before pulling up his uniform sleeves (which completely hid the bandages) and staring at them with something akin to curiosity in his eyes.

He smiled again, and then laughed a bit. Skarnt just marveled how charming the sound was. “Now if only I could get them off...”

The brown-haired man chuckled a bit. He had tied them double to make sure they didn’t slip off; no wonder Yumichika couldn’t get the bandages off with one hand.

“I’ll do that.” He sat down on one of the benches, pulling Yumichika to sit across from him. “I hope I didn’t tie it too tight.”

Yumichika shook his head, then opened his mouth and reinforced his answer. “No.”

The first bandage slipped off and Skarnt held up the other’s wrist to inspect it. “It’s healed.”

The raven-haired man nodded. “Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.” The other replied, and began tugging on the knots of the left hand’s bandage.

Rubbing his wrist’s to get the circulation going again; Yumichika got up, thanked Skarnt once more, and rounded the corner in the direction he was going before.

Skarnt stayed seated, the bandages still in his hands, and still warm.

A slow smile crossed his face, as slow as the slight blush that crossed his face.

He didn’t think Yumichika was vain, like the other guards thought. After all, he had a good reason to be.

Pretty.

000

Ikkaku hadn’t been in close proximity of Yumichika for quite some while now, and maybe that’s why the little static bolts which ran through Yumichika’s body seemed more powerful when he finally made his appearance.

He came out of the tent with a little girl, nine years old in Yumichika’s mind, early in the morning, to the water-tap where Yumichika had guard duty.

He stifled a groan. Why had he insisted on taking this duty in the first place? Oh yeah, because the baldy used to run from him. He used to like hunting him down.

And now he was trying to get out of the very same duty. Ironic, wasn’t it?

He forced his eyes back on the siblings, because he knew if he didn’t, it would look cowardly.

Ikkaku paid no attention to him as he helped his frail sister wash up, then washing his own face.

And just like that, without a glance at the guard’s direction, the two went back inside.

Well, that stung.

If that was the baldie’s form of an insult, then let him know that I am never the one to be insulted! How dare he ignore me! I don’t fear him!

More than just stinging, that was anticlimactic.

What did he expect?

I dunno...some form of response. It’s the first time I’ve seen him up close since then.

Bummer, eh?

Shut up!

Yumichika, why are you in such a bad mood? Did you expect him to start fighting like last time? It’s not like you were prepared.

I wa—am prepared!

Your gun isn’t loaded.

That’s incase he takes it from me again.

So you were expecting him to overpower you.

Was not! I was not, not, not, not, not, not!

He was interrupted out of that particular self-conversation by a hand waving in his face, and even going as far as to flick his nose.

“OW!” He yelped, rubbing his nose indignantly.

The grinning face of Karl appeared the owner to the hand. “What’s with the deep thoughts?”

“Self-conversation.” Yumichika mumbled.

“So?” Karl asked. “Is Little Devil Yumichika agreeing to what Rational Mind Yumichika is suggesting?”

Yumichika shook his head, a little amused of the ingenious way Karl had chosen to express the way of having self-conversations. “No. He’s being an utter ass right now.”

Karl nodded thoughtfully, and then his lips twisted into the goofy grin he was known for. “You know, the only times when you’re having disputes among your different parts of brain is when,” he cleared his throat and donned his best text-book voice. “One, when you are guilty. Two: when you’re confused. Three: when you have the hots for someone, and Four: all of the above.” He grinned. “I think you’re just confused about whether your feathers are straight or not.”

“Are they?” Yumichika yelped immediately, hand flying to check.

Karl laughed. “Yeah. They’re fine.”

The raven-haired man’s eyes narrowed in anger. “Karl...” He said menacingly.

Karl let out a sheepish, nervous chuckle, and promptly decided it was time for his flight. “Time to get lost, see ya!” He yelled in a hurry, and ran out the effeminate man’s wrath.

Yumichika blinked, anger lowering at once. He wasn’t even that serious in wanting to hurt Karl......

Now left alone with nothing to do except for watch measly prisoners get water, his mind went back to what Karl had said. He began to tally the options.

How could he be guilty? It didn’t seem like it.

Confused? About what? That man, yes, but he was curious. Not confused. There was a difference.

The third option wasn’t worth considering, and he skipped over it, going back to the second.

The only difference between being confused and curious was information.

Confused was when you had knowledge, but didn’t understand it, and curious was when you didn’t have any knowledge.

He was......he didn’t even know the man’s name. Lack of information. So...that made him curious. About a prisoner.

He blinked, as if the epiphany had come to him literally in a form of a bright light.

Shrugging, he thought, oh well. It’s better than being confused about the prisoner. The man was an animal, and animals didn’t need to be understood.

Therefore he could not possibly screwed up in understanding (since there was no reason to understand him anyways) and be confused.

So I’m curious. He concluded.

Good. Now what?

‘How about asking yourself why you’re even thinking about this in the first place?’ Rational Mind Yumichika asked.

Good idea. Right, so, why am I thinking about this again?

Rational Mind Yumichika paused. Little Devil Yumichika sniggered in the background.

Yumichika awaited an answer.

‘I have no idea.’

0000

Fic: Anthem of Our Lives

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 18:37:30 GMT

Bleach fic

Anthem of Our Lives

Characters: Yumichika/Ikkaku

Rating: Pg-13

Themes: Angst/ Romance

COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

In WWII, Yumichika meets a very interesting prisoner in the camp he's gaurding-- in Auschwitz.

On the third day since Yumichika had tried to shoot him; two whole days of him managing to escape the guard’s clutches, he realized his luck had to run out sooner or later.

It ran out sooner. Yumichika found him.

“Oi! You! Baldy!”

Ikkaku suppressed a groan.

http://0mohni0.livejournal.com/

Fic: Anthem of Our Lives

Fri, 16 Jan 2009 18:28:59 GMT

Bleach fic

Anthem of Our Lives

Ch1

Characters: Yumichika/Ikkaku

Themes: Angst/ Romance

Notes: This is a sister fic with Brothers and Battlefields, meaning, in the same universe. Like not in the same place or time, but universe. Read that and you’ll figure it out. That means that this is NOT an AU; and NOT supposed to historically correct: FOR A REASON. And even though you're welcome to point out any detail that I may have gotten wrong (regardless of the fact whether it was on pupose or not) I won't change it. Because this story isn't supposed to be historically correct.

The same goes for the names; they havn't been changed to something more 'european sounding' on purpose. As well as the language they use, and the tings they talk about. I have researched this plenty, so rest assured that most of the incorrect details were on pupose. But feel free to tell me anyways!

And....DUN DUN DUN:

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bleach, or any of the characters. I forget the spelling of the guy who does....meh. I don’t own ‘Anthem of Our Lives’ by Zebrahead, either. Pity.

Before I ramble on about absolutely nothing, just start the fic!

0000

Being guard in Auschwitz was probably one of the most grueling and cruel jobs possible for one to have, even in the tough years of the war that shook the world. It didn’t bother him much, though, the fact that he helped killed countless innocents on a daily basis.

It might have been the fact that he was used to it, or he was simply cold-hearted and sadistic.

Cruel he might be; he certainly didn’t look it. He was a man of beauty, and immensely vain of this fact.

The prisoners he ruled over, were, in his eyes, ugly things, and therefore not worth living. It was right for them to subject to the sub-human level they were on.

Sadistic? Pitiless? Just indifferent.

Yumichika turned the corner of the barbed wire fence, out of the main building, supervising the prisoners as they started to wake up and came out rushing to the tap like thirsty beetles.

“They ruined my beauty sleep...” He grumbled, stretching, the uniform already feeling hot and scraggly on his skin. All for watching these creatures.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Standing here in the sun was really not the best thing for his complexion, but if one was found somewhere else, not only would the prisoner be shot, but he would be held responsible.

Not that he cared if they shot the bugs or not. They really weren’t crying over and trying to save, he told himself, and felt a small hint of satisfaction when one of the first living skeletons, bleary eyed, came out rubbing his eyes, trudging to the water pipe.

The first one was lucky, Yumichika knew, as after about five minutes, the entire camp would awaken to the sounds of sirens and the water tap had to be shared. Between hundreds of people.

He shuddered at the thought of the thin, pale faces all swarming around the only source of water, all of them smelling rank and looking worse.

Rancid rags which hadn’t been ever been washed covered their stick-thin bodies, devoid of all mortal beauty. Dear lord, even looking at the pitiful things filled him with an inexplicable urge to boot their frail skeletons out of his vision. They were just so...pathetic. With no pride, no confidence. Disgusting.

He walked like a king in between his subjects, the only beautiful, proud creature there, a swan amidst worms.

He had even thought of wearing a kind of crown, but that was sure to displease his senior officer, Farben Wirths. Instead, he wore the eyebrow feathers. Once, he had seen them in a store worn by a model, and since then, it was his fellow guard’s opinion that he never took them off.

It helped enhance the ‘swan’ feature in him, he thought.

He shifted his gun idly and a few of the prisoners who had seen the movement tensed visibly. He rolled his eyes and returned to watching the prisoners with a lazy eye, sometimes twitching his eyebrow when he found a particularity ugly one.

It twitched when his eyes rested on a cocky-looking man, completely bald, with his head turned the other way. Many of the in-mates were bald, but there heads were stubbly as the hair grew back slowly. This man’s head was bald like it never had any hair, shiny, no black fuzz which signified the growth of hair, and a perfect shape.

The way he held himself, upright, was like he was cheeky and bold, and most importantly, proud.

Well well, that’s not something I can find in this type of camp. He wondered why he didn’t notice the man before, before dismissing it under the cover of the camp’s immense numbers.

He stuck out like a sore thumb among the camp’s pathetic prisoners, like an irregularity.

Yumichika hated irregularities. He unconsciously determined to stomp out that pesky cheekiness in the prisoner as soon as he got out of the crowd, so they would all look the same; like the animals they were. One couldn’t differentiate between cattle.

Ikkaku turned around and concentrated on pushing through the crowd to the water tap. All he needed was a few seconds to wet his hands, to rub over his face. That was all that would be possible, if he was lucky, really, before they were called in to do the labor.

Finally making his way, and getting spat out of the crowd, he wet his hands as quickly as possibly with the freezing cold water, numbing his fingers for a bit. Rubbing them over his face to get the last ounces of sleep out of his eyes, he stumbled out of the masses towards the barracks where he wanted to get in the breakfast line as soon as possible, when a voice rang out behind him.

“Hey! You!”

He shot a sideways glance, half wary. It was loud and boisterous, something a camp-mate could never have in his voice. After deducing that it must have been in a guard’s voice, he fully whipped around, hands up incase someone had a gun cocked at his head.

“Yes, you!” Walking over to the only guard in sight, he eyed the man suspiciously. Pale, glowing skin, dark hair cut sharply upto his chin, a thin frowning mouth, feather accessories in his eyebrow, and smelling strongly of perfume. He wrinkled his nose as the sweet scent assaulted his nostrils.

“Get back to your barrack quickly.” Yumichika ordered, with a smug tone in his voice.

You called me back for to say that? He turned away and muttered to himself, “Goin’, goin’, keep ya pants on.”

Yumichika’s eyebrow (feathers included) twitched in indignant anger. “Did you just talk back to me?” He asked, tone silently deadly. Was that any way to talk to a king?

Ikkaku turned his face towards the effeminate man once again, this time with his eyes respectfully glued on his feet. “No.” He gritted his teeth.

“No, sir!” The guard corrected angrily and delivered a blow to his ribs by jabbing the gun barrel in it roughly.

If he didn’t want to be shot, Ikkaku would have laughed at how weak the guard was. He could take him on with a hand tied behind his back! If only he didn’t have a gun and backups, though.

But he did, and Ikkaku repeated the two words with as much respect as he cold possibly fake, seeing as he wasn’t the best of actors.

Yumichika sniffed in disgust and dismissed him, and only then did he notice another feature of the man who he had just reprimanded. He had blemished eyes.

The corners of his eyes were down turned and red, almost like a tattoo. Perhaps it is a tattoo, he thought. One would have to be much closer to see that.

Not that he would want to get much closer. The oaf reeked.

It just adds to his ugliness, he concluded, and promptly erased his mind of all thoughts concerning the ogre. He had already paid more attention to him than to any inmate before.

Yet when he saw the unsightly being again a few days later once again on morning duty, he took particular care to call him to his presence and jab the gun point at his broad chest for no reason, other than ‘stamping the cockiness out of him’.

Ikkaku for his part raised his eyebrow once, and then barely concealed his anger. I bet this pansy can’t even fire a gun. I could take him on.

But he didn’t. He still wanted to leave the camp alive.

Walking in a line, if Yumichika’s eyes fell on the one who carried himself with a straight back, refusing to keep his eyes glued to the floor as the rest of the inmates were doing, and refusing to hunch his spine, he would pass by him, grab his long military gun, and swing it like a baseball bat at whatever part of his was visible; sometimes the head, or the back. The heavy metal collided with a bone-crunching crash with his body, sometimes even bruising it for weeks at a time.

Then he would sashay away, leaving Ikkaku boiling with anger, and mildly injured.
It seemed he took a particular pleasure in bullying Ikkaku.

Yumichika would feel smug, and satisfied, as if he’d just done a great task. He was sure that he’d at least broken more than a few bones this way, but not the man’s stubborn pride.

Oh well, he thought happily, cruelly, sitting on his bed in the barrack in his time off, I’ll just have to break that, then won’t I?

It irked him, how different the bald man was from the other inmates. No, the man just irked him. That’s all the explanation required.

Ikkaku did his best to avoid the nasty guard who had a hard spot for him, but Yumichika took pains to hunt him out. A few days later, Ikkaku emerged from the barrack and made his way to the water-tap, only to find that his favorite guard was waiting for him, going over his fingernails in his boredom.

Seeing him, Yumichika’s lips twisted into a grin. Ikkaku shrunk from him a bit, but decided to go ahead and mind his own business. He trudged towards the tap, eager to finish his job and get aside from the vicious tendencies of the effeminate man as soon as possible.

A set of grey eyes with purple highlights; he wondered whether the guard wore lenses; watched him wash his face and hands.

Something round and cold pressed into his ribs, and he looked up to see the grinning face of the guard.

He uttered one word, before pulling his gun back for a few seconds and then firing rapidly, aiming sloppily for the non-lethal regions. “Run.”

Ikkaku’s eyes widened impossibly, before taking a shaky breath, turning on his heels and dashing for the barracks.

The raven-haired man laughed darkly, enjoying every moment of the other’s terror. He wasn’t going to kill him, nor was he actually aiming for him. It was too much fun playing with him; he wouldn’t want him not to be around for his daily torture.

“Run, baldy!” He called in a shrill voice, watching the man scurry away, running zigzag to avoid the bullets. The tent was still a good hundred feet.

Ikkaku breathed heavily, panting as he willed his weakened body to put up with running just a little farther. Just a little.... He was nowhere as fit as he used to be. Perhaps the terrible conditions of the camp and the slow starvation were taking a toll on his health and strength.

Why does he like teasing me exclusively?

He knew that if the guards wanted to, they could just shoot any prisoner without reason and simply add it to the death toll. The person was forgotten about, no one fought for his manner of death, no one revolted, and no one cared.

One person’s death paled in comparison to the gross figures that no one bothered to count. No one counted them, but the mass-graves weren’t filled with soil.

He stumbled, and tripped over a loose rock, sending him sprawling on the frozen ground. Just as he closed his eyes waiting for the bullet which would rob him of his breath, the firing stopped and became faintly aware of footsteps approaching him.

“Should I shoot you, ugly?”

The guard’s high taunting voice asked.

Now he’s playing with me. You won’t get an answer out of me!

“Should I? I didn’t hear your answer.”

Ikkaku kept his head buried in his arms.

“Answer me, you oaf!”

Silence on his part. A few of the prisoners came out of the barracks, intending to visit the only tap in the vicinity, but quickly darted back in when they saw the turn of events. Yumichika pressed the gun’s barrel into Ikkaku’s neck so hard that it strained the muscle there. “Answer me or I’ll snap your neck!” He jerked the barrel inwards so that it dug into the flesh more. Ikkaku let out a small sound which could have been a gasp, but from the sounds of it, he had bitten his lip to keep from crying out.

“Get up.” Yumichika ordered coldly.

He eased the gun out of the bald man’s neck.

Ikkaku, however, stayed stationary.

“Get up.”

He slowly got to his, feet, first using his hands to pull himself off of the ground, then to wipe the dirt off of his face, crouching, then finally straightening his legs and hence standing upright.

Yumichika collided the butt of the gun with the side of the unfortunate prisoner’s face, snarling. “How dare you! Speak when I command you!”

Ikkaku merely rubbed the side of his face, not even letting a small hiss of pain escape him when the metal crashed with his face. He turned away, and ran back to the barracks before Yumichika could register.

Well. The vain guard snorted. So he wasn’t all brawn. He must have known Yumichika would never set foot inside such a smelly and cramped place if his life depended on it.

Whipping around on his heel, he marched back to his post with something reminiscent of anger. It felt childish, but also satisfying.

The bald man’s lack of response infuriated him. If he did the same thing with any other prisoner, they would not only answer, some even kiss his feet and others cry and beg for their lives.

Not that he would let them touch them with their grubby hands.

But this man, nothing! Not even the slightest fear of death, nor any respect, or any sound of pain when he randomly knocked his gun against the man’s unworthy body.

It incensed him.

Made him want to do whatever he could, whatever possible, to make the man bow to him and bend to his will.

Maybe the spirit of the whelp was a challenge... He thought, leaning against the fence idly. He couldn’t stop thinking about him, seeing as the bald man was the only activity he had, aside from his duties and a few books in his free time.

But lately, he had even given up his books and coming in search of his little experiment.

Karl had noticed it, and there seemed to be a smug element in his companion’s smile these days. Beautiful, not as much as him, but still easy on the eyes, and good company, he was.

Speak of the devil.

A broad chested man, a far cry from Yumichika’s petite frame, with blue eyes and blonde curly hair, a perfect Aryan poster-man, approached him.

“Hey.” He said, voice a pleasant low tone, but not rough. Not like that baldie’s. Yumichika thought sourly, thinking back to their first (and only) conversation, and how he had noticed the man’s voice.

“Hello, Karl.” He responded. “Not on duty?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, since no guard duty could be done with the clothes he was in.

Clothed in causal pants and a thick white sweater, tightly fitting, showing off his muscular shoulders; he trod closer.

Karl grinned. “Yep. I thought I’d come help you with guard duty since I’m bored, and there’s no way I’m reading the crap you consider worth your time.”

“It’s not crap, Karl. Most of it’s actually pretty interesting if you start reading it.”

The other man shrugged. “Nah, well, I’m seeing how long it’ll take for me to forget how to read. Like an experiment.”

The word ‘experiment’ brought a gloomy atmosphere over the conversation for a moment. The tests run on the prisoners of Auschwitz were no secret and even though none of the guards felt even remotely sorry for the prisoners, they didn’t envision being around the death-lab, especially when the screams filtered out of the closed windows and doors. They were human, after all.

And even humans felt pity for animals, even if they couldn’t be bothered to help in the slightest.

“You don’t need to experiment on that, Karl.” Yumichika attempted to get conversation going again. “I bet you already forgot how to read. When’s the last time you opened a book?”

Karl put a thoughtful finger on his full lips, pretending to think. “Let’s see.... I think maybe a year...or two...no wait!” He grinned. “I tried reading one of yours just now but fell asleep.”

“Oh? Then what are you doing here?” Yumichika inquired.

The sloppy grin was visible again through the freckles. “I’m sleep-walking.” He closed his eyes and took a few tentative steps towards Yumichika, moaning and groaning like a zombie. “Want to eat.....your brain...”

“Very funny Karl. You’re not going to be very efficient at guard duty if you’re sleep-walking.”

Opening one eye, “But you’re the one doing the duty here. I’m just here to bug you and—“His voice took on a different tone, as if impersonating someone. “Distract you from your duties. AHEM.”

He laughed, and Yumichika along with him. “That’s the worse impersonation of Officer Wirths I’ve ever heard.”

Karl shrugged. “Yeah, well I’m not a comedian.” His eyes sparkled, and he smirked goofily. “But I’d love to be. After the war.”

“People would love to see a buffoon such as you on stage!” Yumichika commented. “In fact, you’d just step on and they’d start laughing.”

“At how good my jokes are.” Karl assured himself.

“Nah.” Yumichika rolled his eyes, and then grinned. “At your face.”

“Har har, Yumichika. Hark who’s talking. Seen anyone with feathers in their eyebrow lately?” He smirked.

Yumichika frowned and pet his eyebrow feathers lovingly. “I like them.” He said in defense.

“You look like a peacock.”

“Peacocks are beautiful.” He answered. Karl didn’t answer, but simply watched his friend fix his feathers with all the vanity of a model.

“You should be a model. I bet you’d get a job really soon.” Karl said, after some time of both of them watching the masses of people rushing to the tap.

“After the war.” He hummed. The words didn’t hold nearly as much meaning to them as they did to the majority of the prisoners they reigned over, but he liked them nonetheless. Because, Yumichika thought, after the war I can get a normal job. After the pitiful Allied forces are run over by our supreme race. He was German by birth, and Nazi by upbringing. Nowadays, the two terms almost meant the same thing, being German, and being a Nazi. Any German who was not a Nazi was not German. It was a simple law.

And anyone who was not a German was not a human.

They were the animals they kept in camps, like farms.

“Yes.” Karl agreed. “After the war.”

0000

Ikkaku darted in the barrack where he had just been sleeping a few minutes ago, and flopped down on the bed with rugged breaths coming hard and fast. Beside him, a feminine gasp was heard. “Ikkaku! What happened?” His little sister, eight years younger than him by birth, ran her hands over the injured side of his face, already starting to bloom into a plum purple; the color of the birds one used to see in the zoos.

Before the war, and before they’d been branded as Jews; second-class citizens, of course.

“Nothing, Hannelore.” He replied, instinctively bringing his hand to touch his wound, and hissing in pain when it met the inflamed area.

“Nothing? You call this nothing?” Her shrill voice rang out.

“That guard likes me.” He muttered, watching her eyes widen in realization. She knew perfectly well about Yumichika, seeing as she was often there in the masses when the effeminate guard chose to bully her older brother.

Her ten-year-old eyes brimmed with tears. Ikkaku stared at the brown orbs, before sighing and mentally kicking himself.

You did it again. Great going, retard.

He made her cry again.

Out of the five siblings, they two were the only ones in Auschwitz. Their mother and father’s locations were unknown to them.

But then again, Ikkaku knew that they were lucky, the youngest and the oldest, to end up together. At least they had one family member with them, which was more than he could say for his siblings and parents. He had no idea where they were, and if they even were on earth or not.

War was full of uncertainties.

“I’m sorry, Hann, stop crying.” Sighing, he tentatively pet her head, which was once covered with beautiful long hair. Now there was only fuzz the length of the tip of her pinky.

She sniffed. “Why does he tease you?”

“I don’t know, Hannelore. I’m sorry for worrying you. Now wipe those tears incase Mother or Father see you like this.”

That, he knew, was a lie. He knew perfectly well that his mother and father were not going to visit them like they were on holiday. He also knew he was inflating her hopes, and it would hurt all the more when her spirits fell, but what else could he do?

So he had created a dream castle for her. ‘Oh just look, there they are, our mother and father are coming for us just now. With a lot of candy, and good food at last. The war will be over and we’ll all get out of here. You’d like that right? We’ll go back to our apartment, and then you back to school—‘

And she would exclaim, ‘No! I don’t want to go back to school!’

He would chuckle, small, low, and more than a little fake. ‘Oh right. You want to start your job as a doctor right?’

Seeing that head bob up and down was hard for him. The game had created hope for her, even if it was false, it was still a form of hope. The game had banished his hope for the future in dark pits, because every time he lied to her, he became more and more painfully aware of the fact that the things they wanted, desperately needed, were never going to happen.

And if they were, they wouldn’t be around to see them. Maybe a thousand years later?

The war seemed like it had just started; the violence heightening with every day. How long would it take from Hitler to die?

He seemed like a god, an untouchable figure. Maybe a thousand years. The he’d have sons to take on his ideas.

It seemed like they really were the inferior race.

As soon as he’d thought this, every time, he’d slap himself out of his self-degrading thoughts and refuse to bow to the Nazis’ will.

“Ikkaku?” Hannelore asked, and the bald man realized that he’d spaced out when his sister had been talking.

Snapping out of his dazed expression, his smiled at her tiredly. “I’m sorry, Hann. Go on.”

And she would start talking again, in that adorable childish voice of hers, about what she wanted to do when she got out of here.

With her, it was always one topic. ‘After the war’ or ‘Out of here.’

He couldn’t break it to her.

Hannelore was a frail thing, skinny, like the other prisoners, but stuck close to her brother and didn’t talk to any of the other girls or women at all. Ikkaku for his part was reasonably well-known among the men, seeing as most of them felt sorry for (or at least noticed) his special treatment by Yumichika.

He kept her around him at all times, protectively, as if he ever let her out of his worrying gaze, she’d disappear without a trace and he’d lose her.

Lose her, and all traces of ever being out of the camp in the first place.

Lose her and his proof of ever having a family.

He believed in getting out of the camp for her sake, and he’d lose that hope if he lost her; no matter if it was half-hearted.

He couldn’t lose her.

He gently put a hand on his hand on her skinny shoulder. She paused in her cheery ranting to cast his rough hand a small smile, before going on as fast as before, if not faster.

“Ikkaku, you like the chocolate you can get from the corner shop, right?” She asked.

He grunted, not really listening, but it was difficult to listen to her pour her heart and soul into these dream-castles.

“Good. Because I missed your birthday last week and when we get out I have to make it upto you. Then on my birthday you can make me a sled like you promised. I hope the landfill by out school isn’t built on.” She mused, now crouching on Ikkaku’s small cot by his waist.

There was a reason she didn’t talk to the camp mates. No one listened as well as Ikkaku. They others, driven by frustration and the pain of shattered dreams, snapped at her.

‘What do you think you know, always going on, after the war, after the war. Humph.’

‘Wake up, girl! We’re not going anywhere, and the war’s never gonna end!’

Crying, she would retort her only weapon, “But big brother Ikkaku says so.” And run to said brother.

The other camp-members labeled her as insane, and they were pressured by their own hopeless emotions to do so. In a way, they were jealous of her hope in a bright future, but instead of helping her and taking courage from her, they snapped at her.

“Ikkaku, you spaced out again.”

“Hmmm?” He grunted. “Hannelore, you wait here now and I’ll go get our breakfast.” Her eyes widened when she realized what that meant.

“No! I’ll go. That guard is probably waiting for you again.”

“Hann, you’re sayin’ it like I have a date.” He smiled.

She wrinkled her nose. “No. Big brother is going to get married to a pretty lady, who is rich and nice, and her name should have an ‘Hann’ in it.”

“Hann.” Ikkaku said evenly.

She smiled. “Yes. So that me and my sister-in-law can both have ‘Hann’ in out names. Now let me go out to get the food.”

Ikkaku shook his bald head and pushed her back down. “You stay here. I’m going to get the food and that’s final. Don’t move an inch and if a guard comes in, hide under the sheets.”

The last thing he wanted was to come back and find his sister missing.

He stepped outside the tent, covering his face with his hand, until he spotted the guard who had taken a liking to him, talking with another one, laughing softly.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

The little sigh always escaped him, the next day too, when he saw that Yumichika was once again engaged in animated conversation with his friend. He looked so different laughing, he thought, when his lips were curved in a smile, and not a vicious grin.

On the third day since Yumichika had tried to shoot him; two whole days of him managing to escape the guard’s clutches. But his luck had to run out sooner or later.

It ran out sooner. Yumichika found him.

“Oi! You! Baldy!”

Ikkaku suppressed a groan.

000

Mon, 12 Jan 2009 16:38:50 GMT

Normally when people say 'I don't know how to write a certain thing' they mean, 'I don't WANT to write a certain thing'. Example? Um.....Me and my essay I have to write.
But here; I really have NO idea what you're supposed to write. I don't suppose this is for rambling on about my life; is it? Besides, my life would have to be exaggerated 3000x to make it worth reading about.

My freinds refuse to join LJ. Most of them are too busy. So....I joined only for the anime stuff. Um.....if you want to befreind me; just tell me. ~~Did that sound.....slutty?~~ Haha; lol. Why the hell did that stupid-sounding sentence rhyme?

I'm clearly in need of medication. Can you get meds for just being plain random? I don't think so. I've tried.