Somebody must have had this planned from the start. A week, a goddamn week of slush and rain and snow and- hell, no wonder there were more suicides during the winter. The Proxy could completely relate to all those jumpers. Except, of course, he didn't need any more reason to be around a certain silvette. More like the Composer didn't need more reason to stalk him. And-

Glance behind and he'd swear there was a shimmer and a smile. Shivers up the back and damn, this is going to be like last week, isn't it? He can already feel it, roaming hands and shocking cold on his stomach, pressed against the snow with a tongue at his navel; down down- he really shouldn't be continuing that train of thought. Definitely not in public.

"But we're not in public anymore more…" A look down and goldfish stare back with big knowing eyes. "So by all means-" cold, such cold fingers on his skin, "continue those thoughts."

This must be some sort of torture, really, devised so that it wasn't- oh. He should really be trying to stop those hands; shouldn't be anyway near the waistband and when did it get so warm… Backed up against the wall, and whispers in his ear; think of anything else- no, no, this is where your mind should be-

"You look so fuck-able, Neku, darling."

"What the hell, Josh?" A push, shove against that perfect blouse and a scoff. "Where's the tact?" So close to losing it, damn, pull the waistband up and walk out- hands, hands are back on his chest and lips are on his waist.

"So if we pretend I said nothing…" Whatever sanity he had walking through Molco is long gone, whispered away and melted with words. "Would you have let me continue?"