Artificial Wings Ch. 04 Looking in the Same Direction

"Aaaaaz!!" Alice drawled as she walked in the door to her own apartment for the second time since she'd arrived in the city.

She had arranged it with her long-time friend who already lived here so that she could move in and just split the rent instead of going through the arduous task of trying to find an apartment of her own. Aside from just being lazy, Alice didn't really want to live alone after all of her experiences from the last few years.

The harpy was nowhere to be found, it seemed. Alice searched all over the apartment and her old friend was clearly absent.

She sighed. It was probably just as well that she wasn't here, she thought. After all, she had a lot to chew on for a while after the time she'd spent with the Khitier wolf, Aya.

Alice had never met a wolf before him, even the wild creatures they took after and let alone one of traditional heritage. And she had to admit that they, if Aya was anything to base an opinion off of, were of a nature far more passionate than that of the average demon. That… frightened her somewhat; that he could obviously hold on to his love and grief for so long, yet not be broken by it, or be driven to break others. And at the same time, he somehow infuriated her. He was so distant as to be arrogant, and yet more honest to himself and with her than any other man she'd ever known save for her Danni. For a brief moment she allowed herself to fume as she tore her clothing from last night off and replaced it with something infinitely more comfortable.

She flopped down on her bed in one of the adjoining rooms and stared up at the ceiling with one hand thrown carelessly over her forehead. Just thinking over what had gone on this morning with him, Aya, she allowed her mind to wander through what he'd revealed, what she'd thought, what he'd done…

Beautiful.

Broken.

Death.

Love.

Kiss.

Life.

Hurt.

Howl.

Hide.

Help…

Alice hadn't even noticed she'd dozed off until she heard the door of the apartment close with a click and the bang of something being thrown haphazardly on the floor. She smiled.

Az—her best friend growing up and Danni's younger sister. Well… Half sister. They had different mothers, and Danni'd been born in another country. Az had been born here in Japan to Danni's father and a she-harpy whom he'd chosen to be his new mate after his last had died. Danni had never gotten along with his stepmother, never forgiven his father for the untimely brushing away of his own mother, but had always carried on well with his sister. Though she was a half-harpy, she had an endearingly loyal nature and always gave a truthful opinion whether or not it was always nice to hear. At least she never gave any of that fake-excuse shite that so many did nowadays.

Azrael, or Az as everyone called her, was brutally honest to a fault, rough, tough, harsh, and dependable to everyone who knew her. Alice though that was the reason why Danni was so fond of her—he could always trust her. It was certainly one of her own reasons.

Alice pushed herself up into a sitting position and yawned silently, going through all the steps of waking up from a nap before assuming her fox-form and trotting out to greet her old friend/new roommate. What better way was there to do that than to wrap herself around Az's legs so closely that she couldn't move? She wasn't sure, but it'd always worked before!

His hands lingered on the keyboard after everyone had left from the early morning rehearsal, tapping out a pleasant, if a bit melancholy, tune. One he'd known as a lullaby for as long as he could remember. In the empty performance hall, each note echoed and sang, flying up into the rafters and shattering on the vaulted ceiling into a thousand shards of light, lingering in the air until the very last of the reverberations fell silent. He toyed with this effect for a while, using the echoes to form chords keyed one note at a time.

"Kouryuu-sensei?" a timid voice sounded in the large, empty room. Reika, a young firebird demoness of mixed human heritage, was the speaker. She was a freshman at the Tokyo University where he taught violin on a seasonal basis, and one of his better students. She had been under his tutelage for the last six months, and was very quickly coming to love his style and patience. "It's dark in here," she continued, referring to the lack of overhead illumination in the main of the hall.

He turned on his seat in front of the piano and waved a hand dismissively. "There is light enough." There was a light on for the stage, but that only. He bent over the edge of the bench and retrieved a long, formed case from below it. "Come," he beckoned, inviting her forward with the same waving of his hand. "I feel the want to play from you." He smiled. "And how many times need I beg you to call me by my given name?" A pale laugh made its way from his lips.

A look of dismay crossed her face. "But—"

"That sort of propriety and status does not exist where I am from," he interjected. "So if not for yourself, please for my sake." Grey eyes focused on their appointed task of tightening the bow just right. He knew the child was blushing. Japan was a hierarchal society where one was always addressed by their last name—a habit he never quite got into, nor had any inclination to.

"O-okay," she finally managed to stutter out. "Aya-sensei." She approached the stage and set her violin case on the edge, opening it and readying it to play in a similar manner as her teacher.

It was with great care and love that Reika tightened her bow, applied the fragrant rosin to the horsehair and tuned the strings. Her very first teacher had taught her this love, not so different from her current tutor, but special because it had been her first teacher.

Reika was not a brave person, but she loved to perform, and though it was difficult to get up in front of an audience at times and play, the achievement at the end was worth it. The rest of her life outside of music was driven by her shy and quiet persona. Aya-sensei had admitted suffering from the same condition of desiring to retreat, but at the same time admitted that he couldn't have lived with himself if he ran away from what he loved most in the world. It made Reika feel more at ease to know that while at the same time as being taught music, she was being taught how to be stronger as both a performer and as a person.

She admired her teacher in as many ways as there were stars, she mused. His voice was gentle, as were the hands he corrected her when she made a mistake. His smiles were liberal and the sound of his laugh was as though echoed through time, gathering only the most beautiful sounds with it to the present. And of course he was lovely to look at. Pure was the blood of his heritage, unlike hers, and it showed in the fineness of his bones and the consistency of his coloring: simple, yet impressive regal silver. Of course, that accounted naught for his incredible talent.

Reika arranged her music on the stand provided and kicked away the chair that stood behind it. No good for a violinist who must learn to perform standing to learn how to do it in a chair. Her first teacher had given her that bit of advice, too. Aya-sensei had not complained. In fact, he encouraged her to take the bolder stance. It was impressive and displayed strength, and strength was something she desperately needed if she was to become a performing artist of a nearer caliber to her teacher.

The piece he had given her was terribly hard, Reika thought. It was a more Contemporary composition, and so sounded a bit strange. Before this piece, she'd only worked through Classical and Romantic period music, so this was a challenge for her. Sensei said it was good for her, though, so she didn't complain.

For the majority of the lesson, Aya-sensei just sat off to the side with his own instrument in his lap, a beautiful, rich violin of deepest black, allowing Reika to play and only interjecting to make a comment of correction. In this way, she would learn to play for a critical audience, or just play for an audience, period. Reika envied his photographic memory and nonexistent need for the sheet music after a few viewings.

Nearing the end of the lesson, a clock chimed inside the building signaling the hour and Reika suddenly remembered an appointment she needed to keep. She explained this to her teacher, bowed her thanks and then quickly packed up and left. Tokyo in all its furious rush would not wait.

Aya sighed as his student practically ran out of the hall, glancing back briefly to wave goodbye. He managed to smile and wave back, knowing that therein laid the promise of another lesson to be taught and another day.

Left alone, he rose and made to pack his own violin, pausing when he got to the case. He saw the sheet music still sitting idly on the stand.

This was fairly typical of some of his students, the ones who possessed the busiest lives, and had to rush from one thing to the next like Reika.

This particular piece he now had her working on he had written, though never recorded due to its etude-like quality that made it a perfect challenge for his students and never signed the ones he gave to them. Of course, he had written it to clip along at a much faster tempo than he ever made his students take. Arpeggios, scales, triads, thirty-second notes, triplets, augmented chords meant to be built up by echoes in such a hall as this, long-tones that stretched on for measures, left-handed pizzicatos, everything that a violinist dreaded in a single piece. At most, his pupils usually managed to get the tempo up to about a hundred and twenty beats per minute at quarter note, but he had meant it to go about a hundred and sixty-eight. He'd met none who could play it as fast as he in all the ensembles he'd performed with.

He tucked the end of the violin under his chin and drew his bow up, fully intending to play the exercise just for the sake of doing so. He drew in a deep breath and pulled the bow—

And then he stopped.

He didn't know why; he just stopped. Something… inside of him actually didn't want to play, and that felt as strange as anything he'd ever experienced in his life, or any other for that matter.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, he thought as he lowered his instrument and rubbed his temple with the hand that held the bow. It had happened ever since he'd returned to the city the last time. Not consistently as to be a major problem, but in sporadic bursts of frustration. He just… didn't know how to describe it. An anomaly. A temporary tick. A displeasure with himself. Something more deep-seated than he cared to analyze! He just knew that it was the most uncomfortable thing he'd ever felt.

The violin sang for a moment from where it sat clutched in his hand, quivering in anticipation that would not be met.

"Stop it," he said firmly to the instrument in his hand.

Aya untuned his violin, loosened the bow, packed them both in the case and left the music hall with the etude in hand.

Alice had left the confines of her apartment after her lengthy conversation with Azrael. Apparently, as her companion had so sagely put it, there was no food. Az had a habit of shopping only in the evenings for sustenance, and Alice tended to do it in the mornings. So, there it was, and she was hungry.

And so Alice dressed herself and walked out the door and into the busy streets of the city, not even phased by the innumerable people that nearly ran each other over in their chaotic, claustrophobic choreography. The hunt was on and she was not to be deterred by the masses that stood between her and breakfast, wherever she might find it.

Lucky for her, it so happened to be found across the street from a pleasant little park.

And oh, did it taste good… Hot broth, rice, eggs, lots of vegetables, and garlic up the wazoo. Korean food was so good.

It was a while before she exited the restaurant a much happier person and in a very much more likely mood to face the day without chewing on something, or someone. What better to follow up such a wonderful meal than to take a walk in the conveniently located park? She crossed the very not busy street and hopped the short wall bordering the verge.

The park, now actually discovered to be a hill, was covered with thick, plush grass and assorted arboreal greenery. Most of the trees were flowering plums, though they weren't even close to bloom at this time of the year. They looked naked in the grey autumn light, their twisted bodies dark and delicate and perfectly contrasted to the brilliant verge on the ground.

It was a pleasant climb up the gentle slope, and it eased the small weight in her stomach somewhat. When she reached the top and could see over the other side of the crest, she was surprised to find that her lovely park was only the backdrop to a cemetery. Irony was on her side as of recent, it seemed. It explained the quiet, at least. Cars were not allowed to drive quickly, loudly or rudely around such a sacred place where dwelt the tormented spirits of those who died and refused to move on just yet.

Numerous terraces were lined with white grave markers, ordered, some taken by nature, some cleaned of grasses, moss, lichen and dust. Not all were the lovely white that the more recent ones were; some were darker with age and neglect.

At the base of the hill were several pedestrian entrances, each easily large enough for a car to fit through but blocked by concrete pillars to ensure that such a thing did not happen. On one such pillar sat a pale figure dressed in grey, staring down the road that led down the steep side of the hill.

Alice had a feeling she knew who the figure was by the silver-white hair that fell in a thick braid down his back. A moderate wind swayed the branches of the trees and blew a few of his argent strands from their binding, small threads catching the thin light and gleaming like stars pulled down and twined into silver wire. She looked up to the overcast sky and guessed that there would be more rain to come. This time, lucky for her, she'd had the foresight to bring an umbrella.

The path down the steep side of the hill was stepped like the terraced rows of graves, but apart from that they were as smooth and steep as the ground they were built on. In the flat shoes she was wearing, it was easy enough to walk down, but she could only imagine the same trip in the heels that so many women wore. It would be like dancing en pointe all the way down the hill. Ow…

"Hi," she said from behind. She'd managed to sneak up on him, though how she wasn't quite aware of since he had such accurate hearing, supposedly. To her greatest surprise and fear, he yelped and jumped, effectively losing his balance as he fell off of his perch, groping for his lost center. Alice made an exclamation and leaned forward on the pillar that had been violently vacated. "Sorry!" she said to the sore figure on the ground.

Aya raised a hand to placate her and busied himself with emerging from the rather uncomfortable semi-recumbent position he held at the moment and making sure the violin in his lap was undamaged. The sharp pain on one side of his head, he discovered, had gotten there when he hit it on the other concrete pillar. He touched a hand to the location and was pleased to find that there was no blood, or at least as pleased as one can be when they'd just acquired a new injury.

Fine time to be caught unaware like that. He hadn't even heard her coming, nor had he caught her scent. He'd been caught up in the memories that had plagued him since the early morning. It'd been years since he'd had anyone else in his apartment, so there was naturally a feeling of unease in him. It wasn't that he regretted it, but it was closer to the fact that the lack of company just felt a little more… pronounced. And it lingered.

"It is alright," he managed to choke out. He looked up at his would-be attacker, sighed lightly and pushed himself upward. At least she meant no harm by his incidental upset. There were plenty he knew of who would have gladly taken the opportunity to do worse. "You just startled me." Yes, much worse, and it would be more than the bump he would soon have on his head that would have been bloody. He recollected exactly where he was. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Alice responded. She looked over her shoulder towards the graves. "But I—ah, think I know the answer to that."

Aya put a hand on the pillar he'd cracked his head against and pulled himself up, then leaned back against it, not quite facing her. "No," he said briefly. "I just like the quiet." The wind was the only voice between then for a while. He debated with himself as to whether to offer the olive branch further to her. "I refused to bury him here," he said at last, turning his gaze to meet her rather confused one. Aya found it interesting that he perpetually surprised her with his ideas, philosophies and attachment to that which he loved. Then again, she perpetually surprised him, too, in more ways than one.

"Oh," she responded. Alice bit her lip and averted her gaze to the nearly empty street. Every few seconds a car would pass and break the stifling silence with the low whine of its engine. She didn't like the awkward lack of words between them and she fidgeted, fingers tapping against the stone under them. After a while, she turned and half-pushed herself off the pillar, intending to leave.

"If it is the quiet that disquiets you," Aya chose to say, finally, pulling a small packet out of his coat pocket, "then I do not think you will come to like me very much." He kicked a cigarette out of the packet and tapped it on the back of it, then stuck it between his lips and lit it.

She watched him. It was rather seductive, the way his hands shielded the tiny flame and his eyes nearly closed to monitor it. Said eyes were so deep-set that it almost looked as though he were scowling with his head tilted down like that. He tucked the bite-end of it between his index and middle fingers and drew the cigarette away from his mouth and sucked his breath through his teeth, holding it in for a moment before releasing a cloud of thin, white smoke. He turned his gaze in her direction.

She refused to backpedal any more than she already had. "Because you're a syryn," she started brusquely, "or because you don't like me very much?" It was easy enough to put on a strong front, but harder to really feel it.

Aya actually spluttered and shook his head, escaped silver strands flying all over the place. "No, no," he said. "You are balm on an open wound, believe it or not." He paused a minute more, as if searching for words. "I am used to questions about Darius," he said simply, gesturing openly with one hand. "It is only natural to ask them and expect a response in return. I just…" He paused again. "Cannot always find the words to satisfy them.

"Yes," he continued, "I have spent most of my life not speaking, but that does not mean that there has been a lack of communication between me and the rest of the world." He looked at her directly. "Five years now I have had a voice, but the earliest two of those I continued mute for reasons which reason cannot explain." His voice strained more as the sentence progressed. "Diaren lathiale taila..." he muttered, averting his gaze to one side and taking advantage of the pause to take another drag off of the cigarette in his hand.

He breathed out heavily, as if shrugging off some weighty burden. "Some of those reasons still exist." His voice was considerably calmer and less strained than it had been. It had risen and become sharper the more he'd explained. "I do not entirely understand them, but they beg me silence." He gestured to himself with the same free hand. "It is no fault of yours or of anyone else that I should speak less."

And now it was Alice's turn to stand there speechless. That must have been the most he'd ever spoken to her at any one time, even including their one-way dialogue with the notebook…

…But he liked her company. He said so! And that made her smile.

"I apologize, then," Alice said quietly and shifted closer to him. "It's just that I've never met anyone quite as difficult to read as you. Don't get me wrong, but I feel as though if I step on the wrong subject, it'll explode on me like a landmine." She touched a finger to the sleeve of his coat—a physical gesture of connection and understanding, but not yet complete. "But I still want to get to know you." She looked up at his face as he threw the half-finished cigarette on the concrete and ground it out. "You with your silence and intelligence and fearsome strength but such kindness…"

Aya stood from his perch and looked down at her. He touched a hand to her cheek and brushed aside an errant strand of hair that had loosened in the cool breeze. "I cannot always promise you complete answers," he murmured, "but I can promise you no 'landmines' as you call them."

He smiled gently, almost sweetly at her, but his expression still held the same shred of melancholy it always did. Alice reached up with her own hand to mimic him and touched the fingers of her left hand to the pale silvery markings on the side of his face just below his eye. Bright, silver eyes…

It was like the first time. A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead by soft, kind and gentle lips. Oh, what it would be like to love him. To be loved by him…

Out of curiosity, she opened the shielding she'd placed on her thoughts a scant bit so as to understand what he was trying to convey to her in that affectionate caress. All she could make out by doing that was a single idea, a plea.

She opened the barriers further, at the same time making sure that the connection was mutual so as not to be taking advantage of his allowance of this; he could read exactly what she was doing as easily as she could now read him. Now, with this new-gained insight, his supplication became clearer, actually forming words along with the feelings being sent her way.

Please, he was asking. Please, allow me to do this one thing. Please, allow me to know this...

To know what? she asked in return. She extended a tendril of curiosity and acquiescence toward him. Ask what you want to ask.

Alice was dismayed when the contact between them was broken as he lifted from her forehead, very nearly left pining for the comfortingly intimate connection. She didn't have to wait for very long before it was reestablished, though, but not in the place she'd expected it. A kiss of equal fervor and then some met her lips in a sweet, soft crush so electrifying that she felt herself begin to melt willingly and pliantly.

Forgive me, she heard somewhere in the back of her mind as he pulled away slowly, languidly. But I must go away for a while… A faint pang of regret echoed in the whisper of a voice, fragile enough that she almost believed that it would break if she but moved the tiniest of fractions.

The wind picked up for a moment, strong and fierce as if to bring in a storm—the first storm of autumn to herald in the kind, cool weather—still warm and sweet and laden with all the scents that it drew in from the clearer places of the world. It was so strong that she nearly feared that it would blow her light bodied self away.

And then it stopped. The remnant breeze caressed her face so very much like the back of a hand that she reached up to hold it there, only to be bereft of the imagined appendage. When she opened her eyes mere seconds after the wind had fallen down, she was amazed to find that she was alone. Aya was as absent as the sun hidden behind the clouds—invisible, but she could still feel his warmth. She turned in a circle, searching, and still found no one around her except the graves of those dearly departed. Not even the violin case that had been on the ground.

The feeling of confusion that rushed through her in that moment transmuted into a form of abandonment, and then into a fine fluster. She turned on her heel and left the graveyard while forming in her mind the resolve to talk to him later about not following through on things of this sort. Oh, was she ever…

Aya found himself practically pounding on the 'door' of the Veil. He needed council and he needed it now and there was no possibility that he could wait.

Of all the crazy, ill-thought-out ideas he'd have to take action upon, why did it have to be that one? He'd barely known the girl for two, perhaps three days! Maybe he'd had a momentary lapse in consciousness and acted upon instinct, but whatever he did, he was certain that he'd hear about it later from more than one mouth.

He rushed through the Veil once he'd finally gotten through, out toward the field where he knew he'd find Saiel. She could help him, he was sure, but he was stopped along the way by a strong arm that caught him and held him back.

He struggled against Khaem's grasp. "Lè! Diete a mereh!" he said, rushing the words. "Lè lè lè!"

"Na ah ah," said the rough but calm voice of Khaem. "Ayaerí o merem a na. Talas a korie?" He used the shortened, affectionate version of his true name, something Aya let very few do, but it was still not enough to simply tell Khaem what was wrong. He needed to speak to Saiel and hear her voice walk him through this as only another syryn could. Aya looked up at Khaem and locked his eyes with the other demon's, trying desperately to convey his need to the elder wolf to let him go.

The moment that silver met gold, Khaem's grip around Aya's chest loosened and the younger demon took this opportunity to slip away.

When at last he did reach the meadow on the far side of the Veil, he spotted the she-wolf sitting on the far side of it alone. Mrie must have been off elsewhere, likely at play with the other pups of the pack, for Saiel to be by herself. Usually the young girl was with her, or another member of the pack who felt kindred to her.

She looked up at him from whatever she'd been doing, stood, and opened her arms towards him in a sign of welcome that was unmistakable. Without even thinking, Aya bounded to her, knelt at her feet and buried his face in the soft folds of her dress. Saiel held him without even asking what it was that had brought him to her side. She was just glad that he was back. He, so broken and riddled with pain, was so dear to her heart that only death could take that away from her.

But… What she sensed from him was a very confused emotion. One that might finally be able to save him from himself, that might finally help to heal him in the one way that she herself could not…

All he had to do was let it grow.

It was now eleven o'clock at night, and he still wasn't home.

After the most amazing kiss of her life this morning, Alice had gone to her job at the dance studio nearby, teaching small children to dance and trying to be truly angry the beautiful silver wolf who'd left her wanting in, probably, the worst way possible. However, she just couldn't manage to muster up the fury to be angry with him, and for whatever reason, it was really putting a kink in her day. Thankfully it didn't affect her ability to instruct her new students, but wherever her thoughts turned, there he was for whatever reason.

When that was over and done with, she'd taken it upon herself to find, or wait in this case, for him so that when he got home she would be ready to pounce on him and let loose with all her righteous womanly fury. As such, she'd camped herself out in front of the door to his apartment. She had tried to get in, but there were really only two ways to do that: one, jump over to his balcony from someone else's, or two, come down from the roof onto the overhang. Unfortunately, both were impossible because she neither knew who lived next door to him nor could she get down from the roof because of the sheer drop from the edge to the ground. All of the balconies were successively covered by the overhang from the one above and the top floor's was covered by an extended concrete awning.

So here she was, sat in front of his door, waiting, book in hand to ward off excessive boredom.

At a quarter to midnight, Aya's neighbor showed up to the ever so convenient ding of the elevator that drew Alice's attention.

Out of the doors stepped her Danni, dressed as she had never seen him before in slacks and a fine shirt and tie. His hair was still the same as ever, though, messy and rakish in its appeal. Alice grinned once he noticed her sitting in front of Aya's apartment ingress.

She looked him up and down once over with exaggerated intent, a mock-lascivious gleam in her eyes. "Well, don't you look like a regular tax payer," she said, casually flipping the book in her hands closed.

To her joy, she made him blush. The history behind this embarrassment was a simple swear made by Danni stating that he never wanted to be a businessman who dressed like his father. In fact, although he bore the iconic suit and tie, he looked absolutely nothing like his father, especially with his jacket slung haphazardly over his shoulder the way it was. And as much as he tried to look professional, he still looked very much the part of the rake, wild and careless with abandon.

Danni grumbled to himself quietly, no doubt cursing under his breath, then turned back to his childhood companion. "So who are you waiting for? Me or…" He gestured in the direction of Aya's apartment door in front of which she was parked.

Alice pointed a single finger up and back at the portal.

"Why? He usually doesn't come in until two in the morning on most nights." Danni's facial expression shifted to one of incredulity as he adjusted the jacket slung over his shoulder, setting his other hand on his hip.

Well, that took the stuffing out of her plan. She sighed. "Damn it," she muttered. "And here I was hoping to get back at him for what he did—or didn't do—this morning." She smiled up at her tall friend as she took the hand he offered to pull her up off the floor.

He eyed her speculatively, distantly, as if almost terrified of what could have happened between her and Aya. "What did he do?" he asked lightly, simply.

Alice found that it was now her turn to blush as she averted her gaze, placing it instead on the wall. She stayed silent.

When this silence dragged on for a moment, Adonis repeated himself more firmly. "What happened?" He felt incredibly protective of both of them and he was not about to let one go and hurt the other, despite their short acquaintance, in fact, because of it.

Alice flicked her gaze back in the direction of Aya's door and then turned back to Danni, heaving a sigh of resignation. "He kissed me," she stated plainly. The fire came back after she'd uttered those words, though. "He kissed me and then left. Great ruddy git…" She crossed her arms over her chest defensively and broke eye contact with her old friend again.

Adonis gave a sigh of his own and took a step closer her, very gently putting the jacket he'd slid off his shoulder around her small ones. "Come on. I'll get you a cup of tea and you can fume all about it."

The oversized mantle fell over her like an uncomfortable, but warm, blanket, and she didn't resist him when he placed one large palm on the small of her back and guided her toward the door to the apartment next over—right next to the one she'd been staked out at, she noted with a sort of bitter sarcasm.

Danni led her blindly and sat her down on a small, but sturdy little couch and then left to go and prepare her something hot to drink, and also possibly ease the tension she was feeling. Of all the things that could happen to her, she did not need any more dynamics added to her life.

He dropped the kettle with a wet metallic thud down on the burner and turned it on. "So I hear you're teaching again," he said casually from the miniscule kitchen of the apartment, reaching overhead to pull down two teacups, one for her and one for himself, from one of the higher shelves. "That's good." He placed a teabag in each of the cups and continued to wait for the water to boil. "I heard from 'Kashi that you were in America. How was that?" He hadn't heard from her in the last four or five years because she'd fled the very dynamics she'd been facing here in Japan. In all honesty, he didn't blame her.

Alice nodded and looked over the arm of the couch at him in the kitchen, turned around and perched against the countertop. "It was good," she answered. "For a while at least." She felt at least semi-comfortable talking about this with him. He'd been there when it had happened. He knew. She scoffed. "Eiri came and hunted me down a few times there. I managed to avoid him every time, though, through word of mouth or sheer vigilance I'm not sure." She ran a hand through her tousled hair. "I think it was harder on Mayura than it was on me." An uncomfortable smile twitched its way onto her face as she hid her eyes. She drew in a ragged breath. "And it isn't her fault, I know, but he just makes it so difficult…" She wouldn't cry, not this time. Enough tears had already been spent on that. A few deep breaths and she was composed again.

Danni was relieved, but his gaze hardened. Alice had saved him the trouble of bringing up the topics of both her daughter and her would-be mate, but he didn't go over to her when she started choking up, he couldn't. It hadn't been his place to comfort her for the last half-decade, and it most certainly wasn't now. She was a big girl and she could take care of herself, as she had well shown. But the tangle with Eiri had spilled over to the rest of her life in unexpected ways, nearly preventing her to even have one again. He'd seen Eiri get in her way before. Before the 'incident' as they, Alice's family and close friends, liked to dub it, occurred. It was a purely parasitic relationship that had only resulted in the near destruction of more lives than Danni cared to count, including his own in a few fringed ways.

The kettle started whistling and he turned back to pour the hot water into the cups, depositing the used teabags on a designated saucer for the time being after they had brewed sufficiently. He placed the tea in front of her on a small table and sat across from her on a comfortable pillow on the floor, legs crossed under the table.

"Okay," he announced, propping his chin on his hands, elbows on the table on either side of his own cup of steaming hot tea. "Back to the main topic of concern." He fixed her with a stern look. "What exactly happened between you and our resident lupine?"

The writer in him was coming out all the more as years passed, Alice thought to herself. She breathed out heavily and drew the cup of tea onto her lap, gazing at the amber depths a short moment before raising the cup to her lips and taking a delicate sip of the scalding liquid. An internal smile warmed her; he remembered how she took her tea exactly.

She lowered the cup and met his gaze again. "He's very magnetic," she stated, "isn't he?" It took the form of one, but it was most certainly not a question. Peering down at the cup in her lap once again, she continued with the same brutal honesty that she felt comfortable enough to use with him. "I… find him attractive, as I'm sure many do and have. He's perfectly aware of this because of," she gestured with one hand in a gripping motion, clasping the air for something nonexistent and immaterial. "You know the drill, I'm sure." She raised her eyes just enough to see him nod slowly before lowering them again. "I can prevent that from happening because of some of what my father taught me when I was young because of my own heritage. I don't think he's ever encountered someone like me in that sense." The sheer surprise still threw her off balance around him because she could always feel it. Being her father's daughter, her own demonic heritage had a few… quirks to be modest. Such quirks as could leave the minds of others broken rags of things and strip all identity from a person if not kept in check. "But, being headstrong the way I am, I let my guard down," she admitted. No, it was not easy, but this was her best friend and confidant she was talking to and she trusted him not to throw it in her face later despite the years that lay between them. "I allowed him access to my thoughts as he allowed me to his. Don't look at me like that, I know it was stupid." Danni was staring aghast at her, in disbelief that she would allow herself to be inspected for lack of a better term. She knew why she did it, though, despite the foolishness it posed: she hadn't encountered anyone with the same sort of mind-magic that she possessed, either, and she held a share in the common curiosity between them.

"Damn right it was," Danni chastised her. "Do you know what he could have done to you? He could have pulled you inside out and then left the bleeding carcass of your mind to clean itself up without any means to. Aya is far more dangerous than he looks, and believe me, that's putting it mildly. When Darius died, he took out buildings. Not just cracks in the cement or broken glass, but actually destroyed everything within a certain radius. No, he didn't kill anyone, but he damn well could have without even thinking about it." His voice rose with fear for his honorary sibling, his best friend.

"Has he ever told you how terrified he is of that ability?" she interjected quietly when she had the chance, looking up and gaining confidence when she struck silence into him. He stared back at her, mild surprise and shock. "He nearly cried in front of me, he was that afraid of hurting me." She hardened her resolve now that she had some footing on which to stand. "I don't think him hurting me in that way is the case for you, is it? I'm strong enough to keep that from happening and you know it, and so is he. He just needs someone with a little bit of patience and experience to show him how. I met plenty of our kind when I was traveling who had the same problem and needed the same help and I could give it." Now her voice was rising. "I learned my lesson about jumping heart first into a relationship and not resurfacing to inspect it, or don't you realize that yet?" She tried with all her soul to convey to him the truth of this statement.

While both of them had been arguing, debating, venting, whatever, they hadn't realized just how high their voices had risen, to the level of nearly shouting. All this banter had been very effective in awakening the figure sleeping, or trying to sleep, in the next room over. The door to one of the bedrooms swung open and a very drowsy person appeared in its stead.

"Aidan," yawned the sleepy voice. "Who are you yelling at now? It's nearly twelve and half," he said in thick brogued English. The character ran one long-fingered hand through the mass of reddish-brown curls that graced his head and sauntered over to drape himself possessively over the bird and looked up at their unexpected guest. "Well, 'ello 'ello. Who're you?"

She welcomed the interruption. This argument could only get worse because her Danni had named himself her official protector and there was nothing she could do to convince him otherwise.

Alice smiled. "Alice," she said cheerfully in perfect English. "Danni and I are old friends. He's just knocking all the sense into me that he couldn't for the last five years." She glared sardonically at said stubborn friend across from her. "We're just venting at each other," she said apologetically. "Sorry if we woke you."

He was very pretty when he smiled like that, Alice noted. Bright green eyes flashed in the dim lamp light of the apartment and danced with newfound excitement. "It's no problem," he said, still smiling. "I don't mind much so long as I know I can actually talk to you." His smile broadened. He kissed Danni's temple and rose smoothly from the floor, a tail that had gone unnoticed swinging back and forth with unhidden glee from beneath the hem of a silken sleeping robe. "Come to bed soon, love," he said quietly to the bird he'd just kissed, and then sauntered back on over to the bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

"Your mate?" she asked her old friend who was now smiling contentedly. She took his tacit reply as a yes and a surge of happiness for him warmed her. Who would have thought that her Danni would actually find a mate one day? He'd certainly gone through enough lovers to find one. "He's lovely. I'm happy for you." And she was. "I should be so lucky someday…" The warmth that had coursed through her but a few seconds before dissipated and fizzled out as she was reminded of why they were having their conversation in the first place.

"We're big kids, Danni," Alice continued, her tone solemn, but she met his gaze with equal fervor. "We've grown up now, and the roles have changed, as much as you might wish them not to. I'm smarter than I was back then. I know better. I won't do anything as stupid as I did before. I just need a friend, a companion to whom I can relate better now that I've changed some." She took another swallow of her tea. "I still love you and your sister like my own siblings, but over time, something was lost along the way. That might be my doing, but that seems rather unimportant now, doesn't it?" A few more swallows and she set down the empty teacup on the table in front of her. "Thank you for the tea, Danni, and for letting me talk. I will take your warning at its word," she promised, "but I want to see for myself just how much I can stand up to. I think it might be more than expected."

She rose and turned toward the door, donning her shoes with full intention to leave. Her hand was on the handle and she was halfway out the door when her host joined her. "Wait," he said in a rush.

Danni walked calmly over to the door to his neighbor's apartment and glanced back at her from where she stood watching him from his own ingress. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Turning back to the door, he peered over at the nameplate next to it. Removing one of the inserts, he tapped it in behind the mounting, shoving something out of the hollow and into his waiting hand.

He held up the key in front of her. "If he trusts you that much," he said with a great deal of effort, "and you him, then I think he will forgive me for doing this." He placed the key in her hand and curled her fingers around it before stepping back inside his own home. "Now go home." The door closed behind her and she was left standing in the hallway alone.

It was a strange feeling, holding the key in her hand, faced with a choice: where exactly did she call home? The apartment she shared with Az? She hadn't even really slept in it yet, let alone spent much time in it. Az worked at night, and she felt lonely enough as it was. Alice couldn't stand to be in a place that still had a feeling of being occupied while no one was there. That just made the loneliness all the worse.

Alice approached the door she'd been sitting at for most of the night one more time and wavered, going back and forth as to whether or not she should really go in. She wasn't going to find companionship wherever she went, she knew, turning the key over in her hand. Such a small thing…

She opened the door and entered.

Title inspired by the quote:

"Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward in the same direction."
--Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939 Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (1900-1944)

Translations:

Diaren lathiale taila. "I don't know why I'm even telling you."

Lè! Diete a mereh! "Please! Let me go!"

Na ah ah. Ayaerí o merem a na. Talas a korie? "Oh, no you don't. I'm not going to let you go, Aya. What's wrong?"