A/N: I know. I know. I should be working on the next book for KH: Rebirth, but my focus shifted and…well… I REALLY LIKE THIS SERIES! And the Fakir/Ahiru pairing. They're a good match. I know there is another fic kind of like this already on this site. To be honest it inspired me to write my own version of the series from Fakir's perspective. Don't get me wrong. I'm not doing this because I think the other fic is bad or anything. It's on my favorite stories list after all. However…I have my own ideas for how things played out from his side. Also there are some details the show leaves out that I want to fill in. Most notably… HOW THE HELL DOES HE NOT DROWN IN THE UNDERGROUND LAKE AFTER PASSING OUT?! HOW DOES HE GET TO THE SQUARE WHERE EDEL BURNS HERSELF?! These, among others, desperately need to be addressed and, as my imagination does not seem to have an off switch and won't leave me alone about this, I may as well take the time to do so. This fic will be written in third-person perspective. While it is largely from Fakir's perspective, I am also going to be covering the events that occur while he is not conscious to witness them. It is far easier to just do everything in third person rather than switching back and forth between first and third. Because I am just that lazy. Next, I am doing a minor name change to keep with the setting. Namely, I am changing Neko-sensei's name to Mr. Katze. According to Google Translate 'katze' is German for 'cat'. It makes more sense to call him that than Neko-sensei or Mr. Cat when the series is set in Germany. That's the only name change I am doing though. I'm going to be sticking to the names from the original version in every other instance…even if they don't quite fit setting wise. I may change my mind about this later…looking at you Yagiko-sensei… Finally, I don't really know all that many ballet terms in spite of how many ballet performances I've watched over the years (mostly versions of the Nutcracker {mostly the Sendak and Stowell version performed by the Pacific Northwest Ballet company up until 2014}). My descriptions of the actual dancing, therefore, are going to be extremely vague. Fakir's a good dancer. We all know this. Just use your imagination to fill in what I leave out (which is admittedly most of it. Sorry. For all that I am good at descriptive writing I can't describe something if I don't have the right words. The images are there in my head…I just don't know how to translate them into words for you guys to read. This is a frequent problem for me since I think in pictures. Translation errors happen.) Listening to the music pieces I reference will help. So let's get things started! Here we go!

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to ownership for the characters, setting, or other such things that appear in this work of fanfiction. Particularly since this is a rewrite of the series from a different perspective. Seriously, I own nothing in this and am making no money off of this entire hobby of mine. Consider this free advertisement for your wonderful anime. And…maybe give us a third season? Please? I'd watch it…

Chapter 1: It Begins

A beam of moonlight shone through the parted curtains illuminating the dorm room belonging to two young men. One of the young men slumbered peacefully in a dreamless sleep, but the other…his rest was not so easy. A dark-haired teen tossed and turned restlessly as sweat rolled down his face. He startled awake with a sharp gasp and shakily brought a hand up to run it through his hair. "That dream again," he whispered with a grimace, "Damn it…" He glanced over at the sleeping form of his white-haired room-mate and best friend, and was relieved to note that he was out cold. "Sometimes I really envy you, Mytho," he murmured, "To be able to sleep so peacefully…" He sighed and sat up; the young man knew from experience it would likely be a while before he was able to fall back asleep. Instead, he reflected on the dream…no…the nightmare he'd just had.

It wasn't as though he wasn't used to nightmares. Ever since his parents had been killed in front of him when he was seven his nights had been tortured by his memories of their deaths. Even after those memories were lost to him, the nightmares never stopped. Then he'd met Mytho… 'If I'd known that it would have made my dreams even worse,' the green-eyed teen mused internally, 'Would I have still made that promise?' He scoffed dismissively. Who was he kidding? Of course he would have. Mytho was his best friend, after all, and he would always protect him – even from the white-haired teen's own foolishness – no matter the cost to himself. It was just the kind of person he was.

The dark-haired teen's gaze darkened as it drifted back over to his friend's sleeping form. Of course, Mytho was oblivious to how seriously his best friend took his oath. He was oblivious to everything really. Not that the taller young man could blame him, really. He did shatter his heart to seal away a monster, after all. Not for the first time, he questioned whether it really was for the best that Mytho remain a heartless shell before dismissing his doubts as foolish. It would only cause the white-haired teen suffering in the end. Sure, he wasn't capable of feeling happiness, love, or loyalty. Yet he was also free of sadness, fear, and hatred. He wasn't tortured by doubts and fears in his sleep. He had no fears for what the future might hold. Every day passed in a numb haze free from all cares. He was safe, and in the end that was what mattered.

'Not that being heartless makes him any easier to look after,' the green-eyed teen scowled as he looked out the window, 'I swear lemmings have more of a self-preservation instinct than he does.' He snorted derisively, "And people wonder why I'm always in a bad mood… They have no idea how much stress I deal with every day…" He brought his hand up to absently rub at his right shoulder as his dark expression faded into a haunted one. 'They have no idea of what could happen,' he shuddered, 'If he ever does start getting his heart back. And how could they? It's just a story…' The young man's haunted look deepened. Stories were far more dangerous than most people thought…and he knew it. He continued to dwell on the thoughts that troubled him before he started to yawn. Even though he still wasn't much calmer, his body was demanding sleep. Considering that he had class the next day there was really no point in denying himself the rest he needed. He lay back on his pillow and slowly drifted back into a troubled sleep.

The dark-haired teen awakened the next morning with a low groan. He was honestly still exhausted, but he couldn't exactly leave Mytho to his own devices. Regardless of how badly he just wanted to stay in bed, he had to get up and prepare for class. Malachite-green eyes groggily opened and their gaze drifted over to the neighboring bed…only to find its occupant was no longer there. He swore vehemently as he launched out of bed. Concern and exhaustion soon twisted into anger as he hurried to get dressed. "That idiot," he snarled angrily, "I've told him a thousand times to tell me when he leaves! He never listens!"

The young man rushed out the door with a stormy scowl. All the other boys in the dorm to cowered against the walls the very instant they noticed his expression. The sheer volatility of his temper was infamous and they all knew better than to get in his way when he had that look on his face. Fortunately, the list of places Mytho tended to wander off to happened to all be on the Academy's main campus which made the dark-haired teen's life easier…though that still left him with the task of eliminating each spot one-by-one. By the time he glimpsed his friend dancing through the window of the primary lesson room, the young man's temper was very close to its boiling point.

He stormed through the doors of the ballet building, headed straight for the room, and only paused, briefly, outside the door when he heard a girl's voice. Was there someone in there with Mytho? The young man scowled. It didn't matter. He opened the door and stalked through to stand over his wayward friend, "Hey!" "Fakir," the white-haired teen acknowledged from his spot on the floor. Fakir's scowl didn't ease up, "I told you to let me know before you go out, didn't I?" "Yeah," the shorter teen replied softly. "We're going. Stand up," the taller of the two ordered. The golden-eyed teen made as soft noise in reply, but otherwise didn't bother to move.

The green-eyed teen's frown deepened in concern, "What's wrong?" "My foot…," Mytho replied quietly. The dark-haired young man took in his friend's position on the ground again and had to fight back a resigned sigh. He had to clarify just to be sure, "Your foot? Did you twist it?" "Yeah," the injured teen replied. Fakir felt his eye twitch at the admission. The idiot had managed to injure himself again. Typical. "Moron," he accused. The white-haired teen just accepted the label as passively as he always did which honestly made the taller young man feel a bit guilty. It wasn't as though he could help being the way he was considering his condition. He was startled out of his thoughts by a girl's shrill interjection and he glanced over.

Mytho hadn't been alone after all, he noted, and he coolly assessed the girl as she started her rambling explanation of what happened. She was short and skinny with large blue eyes and light red hair. He noted a splash of freckles across her nose which, if he weren't in such a bad mood, he probably would have acknowledged made her look somewhat cute. As it was, he only felt himself growing more annoyed as he listened to her talk. "Um…um… It was all my fault," she cried, "He saved me when I tripped, and…" Fakir cut her off as he turned to his friend once more, "What are you doing, you idiot? Such a pointless thing…" "So like I said, he was protecting me," she tried to continue but the taller teen cut her off once more. "That's why I said it was pointless," he snapped. He reached out and pulled Mytho to his feet by the wrist as he continued, "Come on, we're going back to the dorm." 'So you can rest and hopefully not injure yourself further,' he finished in his head, 'Why do you have to try to save everything? There's no point.' He absently noted the girl's reproachful, "You don't have to be so rough with him!" He let out a quiet huff of air before sternly replying, "Shut up!"

Fakir made a brief detour to the instructor, Mr. Katze's, office to let him know about Mytho's injury. "I see," the anthropomorphic feline stroked his chin thoughtfully, "He twisted his foot, you say?" "Yes," the young man replied evenly. "And you're taking him back to the dorm so he can rest it," the teacher clarified. The dark-haired ballet student was irritated by the fact that the cat-man was basically repeating back everything he'd just said, but forced himself to remain polite, "That is the case." "Will you be staying at the dorms with him, then," Mr. Katze inquired. "I shouldn't have to," Fakir replied, "He's not going to go anywhere with an injured foot, and I can check up on him during lunch break." The feline instructor hummed thoughtfully before nodding, "Then I will see you in class later, then. Due to the long walk, I will excuse you for being late. Do inform me when Mytho is recovered." "I will," the dark-haired teen confirmed, "Thank you, sir." The feline waved off his thanks as he returned to his paperwork, and the green-eyed young man left the office before sighing at the sight of his friend's empty stare.

"I've taken care of excusing your absence for today," he informed the white-haired teen as he helped him to his feet, "So you can just rest and focus on getting better." "Okay," Mytho replied softly. Fakir sighed again at his friend's listlessness and wrapped his arm around the shorter teen's waist for added support, "Come on. Let's get you back before you hurt yourself even more." The two young men slowly made their way off campus and back through town. "You know I worry about you, right," the taller of the pair asked his friend quietly as they reached the gates to the dorms. "Yes," the golden-eyed teen replied. "Then stop being so careless," Fakir scolded gently, "I swear you'll cause me to drop dead from stress one of these days." Mytho nodded listlessly, "Okay." The dark-haired young man carefully helped his friend up to their room and got him settled in his bed. "Just stay in bed, and don't try to move around," he ordered firmly, "You need to let your foot rest, so it can heal. If you don't you may not be able to dance again for a long time. Do you understand?" "I understand, Fakir," Mytho replied, "I'll stay put and let my foot rest." Fakir sighed in relief, "Good. I'll be back to check on you later. See you then."

Fakir and Mytho were both in the advanced ballet class at the Goldkrone Fine Arts Academy. While the golden-eyed teen was generally considered to be the best male dancer in class, his best friend was easily just as good. The main difference really came down to how they danced. Mytho, due to his complete inability to feel anything, was purely technical. It was all form and no feeling. Fakir, on the other hand, was good at both technique and emotional expression; it was about the only time he expressed his emotions. One would think that would make the taller young man the better dancer, but his friend had a natural ethereal charm that made up for his lack of emotion. Between his soft golden eyes, fair skin, and feathery white hair he put most people in mind of a swan in human form.

It just drew people in, and when he danced…well, there was a reason he had such a large following among the female students. Fakir also had his own following among the female students, though for different reasons, so it wasn't as though he was entirely overlooked. People just tended to focus on Mytho more, and the malachite-eyed teen was honestly fine with that. It wasn't that he lacked confidence in his abilities, or felt self-conscious about dancing in front of other people. Far from it, in fact. Put quite simply, the dark-haired young man was just the sort of person who didn't feel the need to be praised for something he knew he was good at. He almost resented it when people called attention to his skill. It felt as though people were sucking up to him when they did, and he had no patience for flatterers.

Overall, Fakir rather enjoyed attending the Academy. Initially, he'd only suggested it because it was something to keep Mytho occupied and out of trouble, but he found he really did like practicing ballet. Privately, he acknowledged he didn't have to join the School of Ballet along with Mytho. After all, the Academy had multiple schools all located on one campus. There was also the School of Sculpture, the School of 2-D Design which taught students how to draw and paint, the School of Music, the School of Drama, and the School of Creative Writing which helped students hone their skills at writing prose and poetry.

However, Fakir wasn't a fan of sculpture, he privately thought his attempts at drawing looked as though they were done by a lobotomized – and heavily inebriated – monkey, he hated singing in public even though he acknowledged his singing voice wasn't terrible, he didn't think he was eccentric enough to tolerate the drama students on a regular basis without feeling the need to commit himself to an institution, and as for writing…just the thought of it freaked him out. He didn't entirely remember why, but just thinking about writing anything other than normal schoolwork gave him a feeling of dread. No, he was happy practicing ballet. Besides it was pretty good exercise when you got right down to it. He needed to be fit in order to protect Mytho.

Fakir arrived in class to find the other advanced students gossiping about the demonstration Rue and the rest of the special class had given to one of the lower classes. "It's too bad Mytho's out today," one of the girls, Amelia if he remembered correctly, sighed wistfully, "He and Rue could have performed a pas de deux. That would have really been something for those underclassmen to see…" "I know, right," one of the other girls, wasn't her name Ella or something, replied eagerly, "They really are the best." Fakir glanced over at Rue to see how she was reacting to all the gossip. She was the only other person on campus who knew anything about his friend's situation. Rarely, she'd do what she could to keep Mytho out of trouble. Not often enough to make him like her, but she was at least tolerable – even if he didn't really trust the girl all that much. The raven-haired girl was stretching on the barre and seemed to be ignoring the other student's chatter. 'Good,' the dark-haired teen nodded, 'She's prideful enough as it is. The last thing anyone needs is for her to start encouraging people to praise her.'

The green-eyed young man started doing his own stretches to warm up. Soon enough, the door opened and Mr. Katze entered the practice room. He gave a brief nod to Fakir in acknowledgement of his presence before clapping his hands twice to gain the attention of the rest of the class. "All right, everyone! Pay attention," he called, "A few announcements before we begin…" As the anthropomorphic feline rattled off his list, the dark-haired teen once again considered how odd it was that nobody reacted to the fact that their teacher was a talking cat. Then again, nobody really reacted to the anthropomorphic animals around town and on campus. He figured it was probably an effect of the story, stalled as it was. Fakir dismissed his thoughts as the lesson started and turned all his focus to the teacher's directions. Just because the classes followed a regular pattern was no reason to not pay attention after all.

They say time flies when you're having fun, but it also flies when you are focused on a task. Fakir considered this as class broke for lunch and he headed to change out of his practice clothes. The morning sure seemed to pass quickly, and he hadn't really been thinking about much more than the move sets Mr. Katze drilled them on. He took lessons seriously which was probably why he was one of the top dancers in the department. Of course, the fact that he also put in extra practice between classes probably helped as well. The dark-haired young man had a habit of pushing himself harder than his classmates when it came to refining his technique. He quickly changed and made his way back to the dorm.

On the way, the dark-haired young man stopped at a conveniently located café to pick up some lunch for Mytho. The white-haired teen wouldn't think to find food for himself if he didn't. Fakir was so used to looking after his friend in this way that it didn't even annoy him anymore. It was just how things were. Soon enough he reached the dorm, but he hesitated as he noticed the girl from early that morning standing outside the door. She was hitting herself in the head and flailing about quite pathetically. It was embarrassing to watch and he wasn't the sort to derive enjoyment from other people making fools of themselves in public. He walked forward and stopped behind her before stating, "You're in my way." His neutral expression didn't change as she slowly turned to look at him. She started to speak as he walked passed her, "Uh… Um… is Mytho-senpai…"

Of course she was here for Mytho. Most likely she was another of his friend's fangirls. He couldn't stand fangirls. How can they claim to like someone they know absolutely nothing about other than that he's good-looking and is a good dancer? It was ridiculous. Regardless, Fakir wasn't willing to let her bother his room-mate and so opted to lie to her as he responded, "He's not here." "Then, um," she called after him as he opened the door to the dorms, "Where is he?" "Go away," the dark-haired teen dismissed coldly and was about to shut the door when he found she had wedged herself in the gap. He had to admit she was a lot more persistent than most of his friend's admirers. They normally gave in without a fight, though he admitted his reputation might have something to do with that. People were intimidated by him, and he knew it. "Ow," she whimpered before looking up at him pleadingly, "How is his injury?"

His expression didn't change, but the young man felt a part of his cold disregard melt a bit in the face of her genuine concern. He decided to ease her fears a little bit when he finally responded, "It's not serious." "I'd like to apologize to him," the girl insisted. Again, Fakir couldn't help but appreciate her sincerity. Most fangirls would feign concern in order to get close to their object of interest, but this girl… He could tell she actually cared about his friend's well-being. She was a genuinely nice person. His resolve hardened as he came to that realization. Her kindness made it even more important that he keep her far away from Mytho. "There's no need," he told her. He watched as she slowly slid down and fell out of the gap before springing back to her feet. She glared at him as she demanded, "Are you always like this when you talk to people?" He didn't answer and simply shut the door in her face. 'It's for your own good,' he thought as he walked away, 'Mytho's the last person you should be involved with. You'd only end up being hurt.'

Fakir opened to door to his room to find Mytho perched on the window sill staring blankly out at the dorm gardens. He sighed in annoyance before addressing his friend, "Mytho." The emotionless teen turned to look at his room-mate as he walked over, "Fakir." "I told you to stay in bed, didn't I," the dark-haired young man asked reproachfully. "Sorry," the golden-eyed teen replied. The taller teen looked down at his friend in concern, "Does your foot hurt?" Mytho looked down at the bandage Fakir had tied around his ankle earlier before responding, "I don't know."

It was such a typical response, and the malachite-eyed teen knew it shouldn't annoy him as much as it did. Yet he still lashed out without thinking about what he was saying. "What a bothersome person," he criticized harshly, "You're slow and utterly useless. Don't get any silly ideas like trying to help someone." Fakir almost froze as his words reached his ears. 'Did I really just say that to him,' he wondered but didn't allow his expression to deviate from its harsh cast. "Okay," the white-haired teen agreed placidly. "You should just listen and do what I say," the taller young man ordered in a low tone. Mytho's reply was as submissive as it always was, "Yes…"

Fakir sighed harshly and handed over the wrapped sandwiches he'd stashed in his uniform jacket. "Here. You need to eat," he said in a much gentler tone. The emotionless teen accepted the packet and slowly unwrapped it as his friend headed over to his bed. The green-eyed young man sat heavily and flopped back onto his mattress with a tired grunt. He felt more than a little guilty for being so harsh. Yes, he was constantly fretting over the other teen's tendency to risk his safety thanks to his compulsive need to help people. Yes, he sometimes felt annoyed by how helpless Mytho was and how slow he could be on the uptake. But to say such things to his face like that… He didn't normally lash out against his white-haired friend that way.

'What's wrong with me today,' he wondered, 'Is it just because I had a bad night and am still feeling tired?' He hadn't been overly snappish in class, but nobody had tried talking to him either. Still…he definitely felt a lot more agitated than normal. 'Maybe I should extend my practice sessions after class this afternoon,' he mused, 'If I wear myself out enough I won't dream tonight. Then I can actually get a decent night's sleep. Mytho doesn't deserve to bear the brunt of my temper when I'm like this.' Fakir sighed and closed his eyes for a quick nap; he'd grab a snack later on the way back to campus to make up for not eating lunch.

The rest of the day passed with no further incidents. Fakir spent an extra couple of hours on campus after class was over for the day running though his custom practice routines just to make sure he was tired enough to sleep through the night. Mytho barely acknowledged him when he got back that evening beyond turning and saying his name, but that was normal. Not for the first time, the dark-haired young man mused that his friendship with Mytho was probably not the healthiest. The white-haired teen relied on him for practically everything short of dressing and undressing himself…and bathing. Fakir honestly didn't think he could handle bathing his best friend. He had his limits. It was bad enough that the shorter teen was in the habit of hanging around the dorm without wearing pants. He privately swore that if he ever found out who gave his friend that idea he would maim them. Some things were just not okay to teach to emotionless teenagers who didn't know any better. Besides, there were enough rumors about the two of them floating around campus as it was. The green-eyed young man was aloof not deaf. Getting ogg that mental tangent, he resumed reflecting on his original concern: his friendship with the white haired teen. In all honestly, he couldn't deny that their friendship was pretty one-sided. It always had been. Mytho was literally incapable of registering such feelings let alone experiencing them himself. That's what being emotionless meant.

On top of that, Fakir acknowledged that he was extremely possessive and controlling of what his friend did. It wasn't as though he enjoyed it, but Mytho honestly did not have anything resembling a functional sense of self-preservation. Hell, he barely had a sense of self at all. The shorter teen had enough of a concept of self to identify himself as an individual, and recognize others as being separate. Yet that was as far as it went. He didn't really think all that much, and just acted as impulse or habit dictated which was probably why he kept wandering off. The dark-haired young man suspected that most of those incidents were the results of random impulses or the golden-eyed teen getting so set into a routine that he just reacted according to the patterns of said routine. Much like today's incident started out.

It was only after he calmed down later that afternoon that he realized Mytho had left the room at the same time he always did. Fakir had slept in because of the lack of sleep from the night before, and the white-haired teen was so used to his room-mate coming with him that he probably just hadn't noticed anything was different. That was the problem really. Mytho didn't notice when things were out of the ordinary unless someone or something else was at risk. All of which boiled down to the malachite-eyed young man needing to watch his friend like a hawk and stop him from getting himself killed. As for the possessive bit…he privately admitted he was like that with everyone he cared for. Losing his parents when he was only seven had messed him up pretty badly and he was honestly terrified of suffering another loss like that. He clung to Mytho simply because the thought of his friend being hurt or killed scared him to death. Yes, it was selfish of him and he was well aware of that fact.

Fakir let out a quiet sigh as he lay on his bed and thought back about what his friendship with Mytho used to be like. It was still pretty one-sided, but his younger self had cared about as much as he presently did about such things. He honestly missed how things were when he was younger and didn't have as much to worry about. Yes, Mytho still took stupid risks to save helpless creatures, and he had still gotten freaked when his friend risked his safety. However, he also wasn't holding himself responsible for the golden-eyed teen's well-being back then. He had been happy just being able to spend time hanging out with his friend regardless of his careless actions. Fakir couldn't really remember the last time he'd just been happy spending time with Mytho without worrying or being annoyed by something his friend had done…or was doing…or might do. 'When did all of that change,' the dark-haired young man mused sadly as he gazed up at the ceiling of their room, 'When did I lose that innocent outlook? Was it the fire…? Before that…? After…? I don't remember anymore…' He acknowledged that he was unlikely to ever get that lost innocence back, so there was really no point agonizing over it. He knew too much about what was at stake to ever go back to that childish way of seeing the world. Fakir sighed as he closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep. 'Still…,' he confessed to himself, 'I can't help but wish that things had never changed sometimes…'

Fakir's strategy to wear himself out to the point he didn't dream paid off, and he woke up the next morning in a much better mood. Mytho's foot was still injured, so he'd be spending the day in bed again. The dark-haired young man got dressed in his uniform and prepared to head out. He turned to face the reclining form of his best friend and tried to convince himself that there wasn't much trouble he could get into if he just stayed in bed. 'Then again,' he thought pessimistically, 'Saying he couldn't get into trouble is just asking for the universe to find some way to prove me wrong.' "I'm off to class," he finally stated evenly, "On the way back, I'll borrow some books for you from the library. Don't read any books except the ones I bring for you." 'Particularly because those are the only ones I can trust not to give you any crazy ideas,' he continued internally, 'Your being heartless may be for the best, but it still doesn't make my life easy.' "Okay. Thank you," Mytho replied placidly.

"Don't make me worry about you, moron," the green-eyed teen stated as he turned towards the door and left when the other teen only stared at him blankly. Fakir made his way down the stairs and out of the building. He honestly had a bad feeling about leaving his friend unattended today, but he couldn't exactly cut class. For one thing, Mr. Katze would never accept 'I had a bad feeling' as an excuse for being absent. For another, Rue would give him a hard time. She had an annoying habit of teasing him over how protective he was over the golden-eyed teen. 'Mother hen' was probably the least insulting thing she'd called him over the years. Hopefully, he was just being paranoid, but…he still couldn't shake the feeling that something in his life was about to go horribly wrong.

Fakir's morning classes passed without incident and he was almost thinking that his bad feeling meant nothing as he headed back for the dorms. He wanted to check up on Mytho again, and lunch break was the perfect time to do so. However, all of his concerns came crashing back down on him when he noticed his best friend sitting outside in the middle of the dorm lawn. "What are you doing out here," he demanded. The golden-eyed teen looked back at him passively, "I fell out of the window." The taller young man felt his heart jump into his throat as he choked out a response, "You…WHAT?!" "I fell out of the window," Mytho repeated in the same placid tone as always. "Are you hurt," Fakir worried as he knelt next to his friend and started checking him over. "No," the white-haired teen replied. The dark-haired young man sighed in relief before he frowned in confusion, "That's a three story fall. How the hell did you manage to escape injury?" "She saved me," the shorter teen answered.

The taller teen froze and fixed his friend with an uneasy stare, "She? Who are you talking about?" "I don't know," Mytho replied evenly, "There was a ballerina dressed in white. She left without telling me her name." "A ballerina…in white," Fakir repeated slowly as his mind raced. His bad feeling from earlier suddenly returned with a vengeance. This mystery ballerina may have saved his friend, but…somehow he just could not feel gratitude for her act. Instead he was deeply concerned. Hopefully, it didn't mean anything, but he could not make himself believe it. "I'm taking time off from class until your foot is better," the dark-haired young man declared before he sighed tiredly, "I told you not to make me worry, you idiot…" "Sorry," Mytho glanced at his friend. "Let's get you back to our room," the malachite-eyed teen helped his friend to his feet, "Come on." As he guided the shorter teen back into the dorm he spotted a raven perched on the building's roof and nearly froze in horror. 'The story,' he realized with a start, 'Has it started to move again? If so… I can't let anything happen to Mytho! I won't fail him!'

A/N: And that's the end of the first episode from Fakir's perspective. I'm trying to showcase both sides of his personality. The cold, harsh side we're first introduced to, and the caring, gentle side he keeps hidden away. Since this is from his point of view there is no point in my portraying him as a complete jerk. He has his reasons for acting this way. They may not necessarily be good reasons…but they are still reasons. Besides, we all know Fakir's judgement about what's the right thing to do isn't always the best. Also, I don't believe the reason why he acts like a jerk to Ahiru is because he automatically hates her. He knows better than anyone how dangerous stories can be, and 'The Prince and the Raven' is a nasty one. In my mind, his abrasive personality is meant to keep everyone else as far away from Mytho as possible in order to keep them from getting drawn into the story. As far as he's concerned it's too late for him, and is probably too late for Rue as well (he's not wrong). However, he can still protect everyone else from being caught in the story's web by driving them off. At least, that's my thoughts on how he rationalizes it. Basically, he's a jerk to Ahiru because he recognizes that she is a genuinely nice person and he does not feel she deserves to be caught up in the story along with the rest of them… Too bad it's already too late for her. Ah, that revelation is going to be fun to write… I know I changed Neko-sensei's name to fit the setting better, but left Ahiru's Japanese honorifics in. Assume Drosselmeyer did it. That is going to be my explanation for everything that doesn't make sense in universe. In real life, it's because it feels awkward to me if I leave them out. I have no idea why it feels awkward. It just does. So the honorifics stay in. Even when they don't make sense in context. Finally, I hinted at the fact that Fakir takes studying ballet seriously. Ballet is one of those things you really have to work at in order to excel. I don't know how long he and Mytho were enrolled in the ballet school (for the sake of this story I'm going to say that Fakir was 12 meaning they've been at the Academy for three years by the time the series starts), but they are both really good. Mytho's ability can potentially be explained as latent muscle memory from prior to losing his heart. Fakir…not so much. The anime doesn't show him practicing ballet as a kid meaning he lacks prior experience in any way shape or form. He may have some natural talent, but that can only take you so far. Fakir is really good…which means he probably practices a lot. Possibly even more than most of the other students aside from Rue (who, as we have seen in the anime, has been practicing ballet since she was a little girl and still pushes herself to be even better). Basically, my explanation for his level of skill is a combination of natural talent and sheer hard work. End result…well, just look at the scenes where he actually dances. Wow… Present day edit: So I read over this whole story pretty regularly even after I post things. A few weeks ago I noticed a lot of things that bugged me in earlier chapters. Some were typos, some were sentences that still sounded awkward to me when I read them back to myself, some paragraphs struck me as still being a bit too long, and other little errors like that. I didn't want to make more work for myself since I still had two chapters left to edit and post, so I decided that – once the story was fully posted – I would go back, re-edit all the things which bugged me, and then re-upload and post ALL of the chapters before switching story status over to being complete. This chapter was mostly overly-long paragraphs, a few word replacements, and rewriting a few phrases to scan better when read. Because I am just that nitpicky.