"I won't ever leave you, Soubi."

He closed his eyes at this, and he winced, as if the action hurt, and Soubi let his head fall back against the wooden slats of the wall behind him.

How many times had Ritsuka said that to him?

Here, in the stillness of the small bedroom, the darkness was gentle and yet haunting. And Soubi sitting quietly against the corner wall, watching the tiny curves of Ritsuka's back, and wondering those very words silently in his mind.

The boy was hunched over his writing desk now, pen scribbling across his textbook.

"I won't ever leave you, Soubi," he said again.

Did Ritsuka even understand the depths of those words?

"You know that, don't you, Soubi? That I won't ever leave you?"

Ah, yes, of course.

"Soubi?"

"Hai, Ritsuka."

"But, Soubi – your face is still so sad," the boy said, and the tender concern in his voice hurt more than Soubi could express.

"Ne, ne, Ritsuka," when had his voice become so weary? "I'm fine; go back to your homework now."

Words of promised faithfulness. But Ritsuka would grow tired of him as well. He would grow older, and lose interest, just like everyone else did.

Ah . . . rejection wouldn't be so hard, if only it didn't hurt so badly.

Soubi closed his eyes, winced at the aching swell in his chest, at how difficult each breath seemed to be – labored, strained, and he silently wished he could melt away into the floorboards beneath him.

Yes, just melt away . . . and the pain would melt away too, wouldn't it? There would be no fear if he simply disappeared, ceased to exist. Soon Ritsuka would forget about him, and then Soubi would be alone, again. Let me melt away . . . one can not feel rejection when one no longer exists.

Soubi wondered about that. Where would he go if he disappeared?

"Soubi?"

It didn't really matter though. Just as long as he would still be able to watch Ritsuka. That was all Soubi really needed.

"Soubi?"

A warm hand on his face, small fingers pressing into the hollow of his cheek; Ritsuka's fingers.

Soubi brought his hand up to clasp around the boy's.

"Ritsuka?"

The boy had knelt in front of him now, his brown eyes pained with worry.

And for an instant, his face became constricted with fear, and he opened his mouth but said nothing. And then swallowed hard; little tremors wracking his slender body.

For a brief moment, Soubi forgot about himself; and he stiffened, his fingers tightening around Ritsuka's as he leaned forward.

"Ritsuka, what's wrong?" his quiet voice had sharpened with distress.

Ritsuka swallowed hard, and then he shook his head very quickly.

"A -- ano, Soubi," he said, and blinked rapidly as if to clear his head. "It's just," he faltered. "For a moment, you -- you looked like you were going to disappear from me, Soubi. Sitting here, I thought you were going to go away."

Such confusion.

Were they both so very lost? How could that be? How could . . . two beings be so fearful of losing one another, when both loved so deeply?

Soubi felt that flicker of pain in his chest again, and he felt cold, inside. He pushed it aside.

"You don't want me to leave you, Ritsuka?"

Ritsuka's eyes grew wide, and instantly he was upon Soubi, bracing his hand against Soubi's chest as he pressed down upon him.

"No!" he said fiercely, such desperation in his voice. And Soubi was amazed at the determination strengthening Ritsuka's voice. "Never – I never want you to leave me."

Why was that so hard to believe? Everyone changes their mind eventually . . .

"No, not me – not ever, Soubi!"

Soubi's eyes flickered to Ritsuka's in surprise. Had he spoken those words aloud?

Ritsuka frowned.

"Of course you did, Soubi. Can you not hear yourself speak?"

Soubi was confused, and it showed, slanting his brows inward, drawing his lips into a small line of dissatisfaction.

"I don't think I said anything aloud, Ritsuka," he murmured, eyes lowered.

Suddenly it was very difficult to look into Ritsuka's face anymore. The pliant innocence reflected there hurt his eyes – too imploring, too open – unguarded – how could Soubi resist the one who so freely gave himself over to him?

But Ritsuka could not have meant it. Why would he want to deliver his untainted body and soul into the hands of one so dirty?

"I love you, Soubi," came the whispered words against his ear. And Soubi tensed as Ritsuka's soft body embraced him, pressed against Soubi's, molding itself into the arch of Soubi's chest, tiny thighs curling around Soubi's slender hips – good God! Soubi nearly shuddered as Ritsuka's tiny arms locked around his neck, trembling fingers threading through his long tresses.

"Ritsuka-" his voice choked. Soubi's hands were fisted by his sides. He dare not touch him!

"Soubi, I love you," Ritsuka's feverish voice burned the flesh at the curve of Soubi's scared collarbone. "Soubi, I love you so much. Soubi – I can't ever let you go. I want to be with you, always. Just with you, Soubi, do you understand?"

How beautiful, the lovely intimacy in which Ritsuka spoke his name – how . . . endearing.

His arms wound around Ritsuka's body, slender hands crawling up the tiny expansion of Ritsuka's back, crossing and clamping on his shoulders, locking his fragile body against him.

But Ritsuka did not resist. He did not stiffen at the urgency of Soubi's embrace; did not scold him.

Instead he raised his face to Soubi's ear once more, straining in his lover's embrace to press his lips to the soft flesh: "Soubi . . . I want to love you."

Soubi didn't dare hope for such a thing.

No rejection this time? If not now, then surely in the future. How could one love him forever? Never grow tired of him?

"Soubi, how can I grow tired of the one who captivates me most?"

Captivate?

"Yes."

Forever?

"Yes. You are mine, just like I belong to you. Don't you want that?"

Oh, God yes.

"Good."

Ritsuka's lips pulled back into a smile, softly, against Soubi's neck.

"Because, Soubi, now that I have you, I don't ever plan on letting you go. The bond we share, is much too strong now."