All of my nights and all of my days~

Thundering hooves. Fire. Screams.

A small white hand reaching to his leg, so far out of reach from his towering mount.

The heaving shudders of the warhorse sent vibrations through his legs, into his knees, through his own chest.

Blood dripping from twin katanas.

"'Niisan!"

Screams and fire and death. Thick smoke filling immortal lungs, the heavy weight of armor on his limbs.

The rice paper huts of his youth.

Green green grass of open fields.

A small brown snake sunning on the mountain boulder.

Screams and fire and death. A small hand reaching for him. The sounds of battle outside and running running running.

Otousan was not here. The weight of a well worn hilt in his hand.

Green green grass, and the smell of damp earth. Autumn's chill in the air.

"'Niisan!"

White hair under an unearthly pink helmut. Cold cruel blue eyes narrowing.

Screams and fire and death.

A delicate white hand reaching for him, a rag doll falling to the ground. The eyes beckoning him forward as he stood amid a growing pile of soldiers.

The smell of blood will never leave this place.

Okaasan softly singing. Singing soft words of sadness. The green green fields damp earth wind in the trees there is life waiting.

The white white hand laying in the muddy puddle, muddy with rain and reflected fire burning in the skies.

A gloved hand reaching down, the other holding spikes and death and pain. Harsh breath behind his ear, the harsh breath of a demon, the harsh thud of hooves.

"You are mine, boy. Mine."

Screams and blood and frail body broken on the ground.

~I gotta tell you now

Something's gotten hold of my hand

Dragging my soul to a beautiful land~

Naaza woke with a start, surprised to see sunlight filtering through drawn curtains. For a moment, he stared unfocused at the dust motes lazily drifting through the channeled sunbeam. The face of a young girl, smiling with innocent trust, flashed across his mind.

*Imouto . . .* It had been so long, he had almost forgotten her.

The smell of burnt bacon distracted him from his musings. An eyebrow arched in confusion. *Why am I smelling ~bacon~? Rayjura doesn't like Western fare in the morning-*

Rolling over, he noted that the sorcerer's side had gone cold. The clang of the oven door brought his head sharply up. An evil grin passed fleetingly over his face. It was worth getting out of bed before noon on his day off just to see the Gen Masho attempting to cook with modern technology.

Shrugging into a robe and pausing to brush his teeth, Naaza made his way to the high-ceiling kitchen of his flat. The apartment itself ran the entire length of the garage, where the sound of the hydraulic lift could be heard from an open window. After he bought the garage, he'd had the apartment renovated to his liking. It was amazing how much people were willing to pay for artifacts that, in his youth, were common as tupperware was in this age, and the money he gleaned from those sales had left him quite comfortable.

And now, he had someone to share this new world with, hopefully for many years to come. The thought gave him pause, stilling his feet in the doorway of the kitchen. He knew ~he~ wanted the Gen Masho to stay. Even before he decided to stay in the city he had made clear that he wouldn't mind having Rayjura as a companion. But did Rayjura want a relationship, or did he wish to keep what they had casual, just more than friends but no commitment? He had a world of opportunities around him, why would he want to stay with someone who reminded him of four centuries' worth of pain?

As he stood there, mind in turmoil, Rayjura turned to him from the stove and he found himself wanting all the tomorrows he could possibly have. His eyepatch in place, kimono loosely belted at his waist, Rayjura looked incongruous with the modern kitchen, yet also as if he had always been there.

"Good morning." The sultry velvet tones made Naaza's gut clench, but he couldn't help the smirk that formed at the sight of Rayjura's pale, batter smudged cheek.

"Morning," he returned as he drew the Gen Masho closer. Slowly, he ran the pad of his thumb over the velvety skin to wipe away the offending batter. Rayjura's breath hitched, mouth parting slightly as a perfect pink tongue darted out to moisten full lips. Oh yes, Naaza wanted this to last forever.

"I-" Rayjura's voice came out almost a whisper and he pulled away, clearing his throat to regain control of it. "I decided since it's your day off, you should actually eat something, and I know you mentioned that you like pancakes, so I thought I'd try to make them. The directions on the box are very vague, though, but I think I got everything right, except for that flipping part, which the box doesn't mention and I realize you need to do, otherwise one side just gets very black and starts to smoke, which is why I opened the window-" He gestured with a graceful hand to the stack of half goopey, half charred pancakes on a plate to the side of the stove and the window he had propped open with a cookbook. "And that was very unpleasant. That noisey contraption you had on the ceiling started going off, and I'm afraid I reacted without thinking, and it might need to be replaced-" He waved to the deceased smoke alarm, which hung by a few wires from the ceiling, impaled by a steak knife. "It's been quite a few centuries since I actually had to ~cook~ something, and I was tempted to just call the restaurant down the street, but then the telephone thing wasn't cooperating and I was a bit frustrated and I forgot all this technology was quite adverse to water, and I'm afraid when I threw it, it landed in the sink and I tried to dry it off, but I think I killed that too-"

Naaza would have laughed at the sight before him, if not for the fact that Rayjura was babbling, and the Gen Masho ~never~ spoke unnecessarily. He looked at him askance, wondering if perhaps he was ill. But no, then he would just be bitchy and remote. No, if Naaza didn't know better, he'd say Rayjura was nervous.

"So, I remembered how to cook meats, but that was with an open flame and this is definitely ~not~ an open flame, so the bacon is a tad crisp, but edible. And I had enough mix left to make enough pancakes for the two of us, if you actually want to eat them because they're a little blackened. I think I had the heat too high-"

Naaza, unable to handle much more of his morning doing backflips around the apartment, silenced him with a gentle finger. Giving a crooked smile, he motioned to messy counter.

"I'm sure it's wonderful. You've gotten farther than I did the first time I had to fend for myself here." He moved to a cabinet and began pulling down flatware. "I appreciate the effort, but what brought on this sudden urge to cook?"

Rayjura seemed at a loss for words for a moment, half-heartedly wiping up the stove. After a moment, he concluded whatever inner debate he had going.

"I- am quite grateful to you, for everything you have done for me these past weeks." His voice was firmer, more like the Gen Masho. Naaza was relieved that the nervousness was gone; he didn't know if he could have handled anymore.

"It is the least I can do. Afterall, we ~are~ friends, are we not?" He hesitated slightly at 'friends,' wishing he had the courage to label their relationship as something more. Unfortunately, his fear of being rejected by this demi-god was too great to risk censure.

Rayjura looked up from the laden plate he held, trapping Naaza's gaze with his single crystalline blue eye. That connection seemed to convey a thousand words in silence, as though Rayjura had caught his thoughts in the mindlink and amplified them until the echoes bounced through his skull faster than he could process them.

"I should hope we are." Rayjura turned away and the connection was severed, but not completely. Awareness hummed along Naaza's veins like an electric current, that deeper feeling of self and not self, of one and of two. Rayjura cleared his throat again, moving to place his plate on the table.

"Besides, you have obviously been pushing yourself hard lately. It's nearly midday and you did not even stir when that alarm sounded. I merely wished to ensure you are eating properly."

*He ~so~ cares.* Naaza felt his dopey grin breaking out again. Luckily his partner's back was to him. On a whim, before he could lose his nerve, he embraced Rayjura lightly from behind. The two may have been sleeping together and making like rabbits, but neither had really shown open affection before now. Rayjura tensed for a second, the action unexpected, then relaxed back into his arms. Naaza drew their hands together, clasping their arms across his chest. The feel of his warm, firm body pressed against him was just ~right~. It made sense on a basic level and he knew Rayjura could feel it, too.

"Thank you for caring," he murmured in his ear, burrowing his face in the silky mass of white hair. They stood like that a moment, a blend of white and green, pale skin and tanned flesh, molded into one being.

************************