"Metamorphosis" is the prequel to this story, though you don't have to read it in order to understand "Ever After".
Spoilers for the entirety of "Shoujo Kakumei Utena", more or less. None for "Adolescence of Utena". If you don't know the anime, I strongly advise you to read a fairly detailed summary of at least the eps leading up to this story, namely eps 1 - 10 (preferrably more). I also advise you to get your hands on copies of the entire series as soon as you possibly can, because it's wonderful.
Rampant symbolism. Sex. Slash / yaoi. Kendo. Strange hair colors. General peculiarity. The hazards of interpretation.
This may or may not be an AU diverging from canon after episode 10. With "Utena", it's hard to be certain.
"Shoujo Kakumei Utena" and everyone in it are the intellectual property of Be-PaPas and various talented people, none of whom are me. I'm not making any profit, sad to say.
by Sylvia
Anthy. Himemiya Anthy.
He'd never quite understood his fascination, his helplessness in the face of her strange, shy beauty and the sense of undefinable depth lurking behind her opaque green gaze. There was something... Part of it was that she was the Rose Bride, of course. This was, in fact, the only reason he had taken notice of her in the first place. Hers was not the kind of beauty to be noticed casually. It could not be taken in with just a glance; an indifferent eye swept over the readily available masses would glide by without seeing it.
There was something even more compelling beyond the beauty you saw so easily once you had learned to look... something you couldn't see, but only feel as a subtle thrum deep behind your eyes, in your chest, in your sex. A resonance sounding in your bones and flesh and blood, as though the presence of Himemiya Anthy struck a chord in the very essence of you.
It made him shiver, made his throat contract when she was near... every particle of his being bursting with an emotion too vast to encompass, neither love nor lust nor terror nor rage nor anything he'd felt for anyone else, ever.
He didn't see her as he walked through the halls of Ohtori Academy with measured steps and his head held high, his most haughty, distant expression frozen in place. It was impossible not to see the wide-eyed stares all around him. Even though he refused to look, he could feel the gazes branding his skin. He couldn't close his ears to the silence that fell where he walked and the low roar of speculation, astonishment, satisfaction he drew in his wake. It seemed like every single student of the academy had turned out to watch him leave in disgrace, excepting only her.
But then, he'd known she wouldn't be here.
Far more surprising than Anthy's absence was Touga's presence. Saionji didn't slow his steps when he caught sight of his former friend waiting by the gate, but for a shameful moment, he wanted to.
In all fairness, Saionji couldn't begrudge him his triumph. Not this time. Had Touga not been there, things might have ended far worse. Had Touga not thrown himself in front of his sword and shocked him to his senses... Saionji could not even remember just what had happened; events had blended into a fragmented cacophony of noise, color and motion in his memory, the familiar heft of his katana in his hands the only recollection he was certain of.
They'd said he might have killed the Tenjou girl.
He remembered the warmth of sunlight on his face like a promise. The castle in which eternity dwelled had moved into his grasp, just as the letter from Ends of the World had promised, and he had reached out to claim it, his Anthy by his side. That meddlesome chit Tenjou Utena had been there, interfering in things she didn't understand, as usual - glaring at him as though he were hurting Anthy, as though he were the one violating the rules, *he*, when he had been sent by Ends of the World
something terrible had happened. Something had gone horribly wrong, and everything had been lost, eternity shattered. All around Saionji towers had crumbled, pillars had collapsed, graves had yawned, living people lying there in the midst of a spray of rose petals, dying, dying, no hope of anything eternal, no hope of anything at all
A spray of rose petals surrounded his Rose Bride, lying so still, so cold, extinguished.
and then
the castle had been in the sky where it always was, untouchable, eternal, always and forever out of reach. But Anthy had still been there, and a kernel of eternity slumbered within her. He could still feel it even now, smothered in transience and dying rose petals but pristine, waiting to be wakened. He needed to waken her, needed her, *needed*, and he had reached out to sweep the Tenjou girl out of his path so he could be with Anthy, find eternity with Anthy.
Touga had been there ahead of him, like he always was. In front of him, blocking his path - stopping his sword.
There were few things Saionji knew as well as the weight of his sword in his hands. With the strength of Saionji's entire body behind the blade, Touga's uniform and skin and muscle barely jolted the hilt in Saionji's grip. But he had felt it. It took a long slow moment for the blood to well up, and by the time it did, Saionji's katana, the most precious thing he'd ever owned, had fallen from his grip to clatter unheeded to the stones.
Saionji had often thought the bond he and Touga shared had broken. Their friendship had started out earnest and joyful, but somewhere along the way, something essential had been lost; they'd turned it into a dark thing, sullen and tinged with malice. Sometimes he'd wished he could be free of the ties that forced him to see everything he had achieved in the shadow of Touga's greater successes. He'd always known it wasn't possible.
*But now you've killed him,* the sword sang to him as it fell from his hands. *You've killed him, and now you will be free.*
And he found, as his heart turned to ice in his chest, that he didn't want to be free. Not at that price. It hurt to look into a flame that blazed so brightly, you would burn to ash if you got too close, but how could you wish that much fierce beauty extinguished from a world where all else was cold and drab and unremarkable... even if it wouldn't last, yet while it burned, for that brief, fragile moment, it was to be treasured.
Of course he'd realized in the next instant, before his sword had rung out against unyielding stone, that he hadn't killed Touga. He'd dealt him no more than a shallow cut that would bleed copiously and need stitches, but wouldn't even slow him down. And by then Touga had been lying in the arms of the Tenjou girl, who'd been looking at him as though he'd fought his way through armies for her, caught all the stars from the sky and laid them at her feet, parted the seas... and at Saionji as though he were the devil incarnate.
And Anthy had been huddling behind her, the same look in her eyes.
Saionji hadn't been certain whether Touga, too, would believe Saionji's obsessive drive to find something eternal had led him to violate the dueling code and intentionally threaten Tenjou Utena's life... But then, Touga was probably the only person in existence who knew Saionji well enough to realize how absurd that suspicion was.
It seemed that there was still something of what they had once shared left, buried under the detritus of rivalry and aloofness. In spite of everything, they were friends.
It had been a long time since Saionji had felt anything but anger, regret and bitter loneliness in the other's presence. A sudden surge of shame and the familiar wish to recapture the closeness they had once shared made Saionji grope for some token he could offer Touga. The one thing left him - the only thing truly precious to him was the exchange diary he had kept with Anthy. He didn't want to keep it and have to look at it every day with the knowledge of what he had lost, but he couldn't give it away, either. Not to anyone, except, maybe...
Touga took the diary somberly, inclining his head in immediate understanding. "I will take responsibility for delivering it to her."
Saionji nodded numbly and stared at the patterned marble beneath their feet, unable to meet his friend's eyes. "I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you."
For anyone else, it might even have meant a loss of face if their best friend had been expelled, but no one would think less of Student Council President Kiryuu Touga. He was a law unto himself, the undisputed ruler of the student body both in name and in spirit. This sordid little scandal could not touch him, and for that, Saionji was grateful.
They'd asked him how he could have started a duel without the permission of Ends of the World, and the only truthful answer he'd had to give was a lie. He *had* received permission, except that what he'd been promised had not happened. They'd asked him how he could have attacked an unarmed student. For that, he had no answer at all. His ears had been full of the noise the eternal castle had made when it fell, his body throbbing with the agony of a golden spire piercing his chest and tumbling masonry crushing his flesh. His sight had been filled with rose petals, fleeting, futile, doomed, and there had been someone standing in his path, blocking him from the one thing that was eternal, and he *needed* so much...
And so his sword had reached out and struck, and the body that had fallen before him had been Touga's.
The more Saionji tried to piece his memories together into a coherent chain of events, the more they splintered to fragments without meaning or purpose, incomprehensible, swirling loosely in his mind, refusing any kind of order.
He shook his head and cleared the clamoring splinters of recollection from his thoughts with a conscious effort.
More important now was that Himemiya Anthy had not come. She wasn't here, but he needed to see her. And so, since she would not come to him, had never come to him except when compelled by the rules that bound all who fought to bring revolution to the world, he went to her.
***
"Anthy..."
He didn't know what to say. He never knew what to say to her except that he loved her and needed her and would do anything for her, and now that he could not with honor speak any of the words that wanted to leap from his heart to his tongue, there was nothing left but silence.
But no matter that he had to stop after saying her name, helplessly casting around for anything to excuse his crimes, floundering before the embarrassed and slightly fearful expression on her face. No matter, because his entire being thrilled to her nearness. The familiar surge of wild emotion was rising in his chest; his heart was racing, his cock hardening.
"Saionji-sempai," Anthy said at last, lowering her gaze timidly. "I am engaged to Tenjou Utena."
"I - " His voice sounded strained and unfamiliar, and he stopped to clear his throat. "Anthy. No doubt you've heard that I have been expelled - but I need you to know that I received permission to duel from Ends of the World. I would never transgress against the dueling rules." But he had. He'd believed he'd been granted a special dispensation, yes, but he hadn't. The letters from Ends of the World couldn't be trusted. Another certainty gone, another illusion shattered. It was no more than he should have expected, but he hadn't been on his guard, and now there was no more hope for winning back Anthy, ever.
Nothing else, no one else, had ever made him feel the way Anthy did. He knew that everything he wanted, everything he needed was embodied in her slight form, and if he could only understand what it was, if he could only learn to look a little bit further beyond the prim hair and demure demeanor and see everything she was, it could all be his.
Except that he would never get the chance to understand, never know more of her. Not now. Not ever.
Frustration, shame, and longing lodged painfully in Saionji's throat, and there was a moment when the familiar tide of tangled wildness evoked by her nearness surged up violently
(because it was *her* fault, she'd never truly loved him)
and it was all he could do to prevent himself from hitting her. If she'd truly loved him, if she hadn't been so - it was her fault, this was all her fault...
No. *No.* *No!*
"Saionji-sempai."
Closer than before, and - from above?
Saionji lifted his head to find Anthy standing above him, looking uncomfortable. Probably wishing for Tenjou to come home and chase him off with his tail between his legs. Didn't want to witness this embarrassing spectacle of a former boyfriend making a fool of himself, falling to his knees at her doorstep...
When had he fallen to his knees?
He got up hastily, ignoring the dizziness that swept over him and threatened to make him stumble. Anthy was slightly blurry when he looked at her again, but at least the perspective was right again - her head was tipped back and she was looking up at him.
After today, he might never see her again.
The terrifying emptiness of his future unfolded before him. He needed to be near her. All he wanted was to see her every day, to feel her presence resonate in his soul. Yes, he'd wanted much more than that once, he'd *had* more, but now, he would have settled for being near her and counted himself the luckiest of men.
Anthy reached out and touched the back of his hand lightly, brushing the skin with her fingertips. It was an odd gesture, and it was the first time she had ever touched him without his prompting. "Cheer up, Saionji-sempai."
"Himemiya!"
The Tenjou girl was rounding the corner from the direction of the main school building. Alarm leapt into her face at the sight of him, and her steps sped up until she was running towards them. "Leave her alone! Get away from her! Don't you touch her, you - "
Saionji stepped away too quickly. Even a day ago, he wouldn't have backed down like this, but now...
"I was just leaving," he said coldly, turning on his heel and stalking off. He refused to think about the worried and questioning look Tenjou cast at her friend, checking to see whether he'd hurt or upset her.
At least he knew he'd only imagined the hint of a malicious smile that had seemed to be playing on Anthy's lips, because Anthy did not smile like that.
***
There was no point in taking the train to Tokyo. His parents would have nothing to say to him now that he'd brought disgrace upon himself. He could have stayed with Touga, but he didn't want to put Touga in such an awkward position; his parents were sure to disapprove. Apart from Touga, he could think of no one who might be willing to take him in. Saionji had never had many friends, though he'd been admired and courted by many - for his family's old and noble name, for his position as Captain of the kendo club, Vice-President of the Student Council and long-time Champion of the Rose Bride, for his achievements, even just for his looks.
None of that was left now... except for his looks, and though Saionji had always been rather appreciative of the way he looked, as much for the aesthetic value itself as for the practical benefits, he'd never taken any pride in it. It was something incidental. No one except chance could claim credit for it.
He wandered through quiet streets aimlessly for an uncertain length of time. He couldn't remember whether it had been morning, midday or afternoon when he'd walked off the school grounds and down to town. By the time he roused himself from his numb stupor, the bleached irreality of a world on the brink of night surrounded him.
The hotel he found was unprepossessing, but reasonably clean, and more importantly, inexpensive. He had a handful of change in his pocket and there was left-over money from his quarterly allowance on his bank account, and that was it. He'd have to make it last until he could come up with some idea of what to do with the rest of his life, now that everything he'd been studying and fighting and hoping for had moved forever beyond his grasp.
He didn't feel like eating; he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling while the night grew darker outside the narrow window. When he finally slept, his dreams were washed-out and empty of meaning.
***
The pain of being burned alive woke him. He knew immediately that he was dying. It was impossible to survive anything so excruciating. It was far beyond the grasp of his pride, stoicism, or even stubbornness. If he could have, he would have screamed, or sobbed, or even whimpered. He couldn't. The agony had frozen every muscle into voiceless torment. He could not even draw breath.
There was no sense of time passing - every part of him was occupied with feeling the pain saturating every cell of his body. He didn't know how long he was caught in the glare of agony. All he knew was that at some point, it stopped.
He gasped for breath and curled into a ball on the sweat-damp blanket, prompted by an instinct he had no strength to resist. What the hell was happening to him? There hadn't been anything wrong with him yesterday - he'd never had seizures or attacks of this kind. His nerves were still sending painful twinges of aftershock through him, and he felt appallingly weak. When he tried to uncurl and sit up, he managed no more than some misdirected floundering before giving up and subsiding into a foetal ball again. His teeth were chattering, and he was shivering all over like a nervous horse.
This was not happening. He was *not* dying - he refused to die. This was not happening!
He tried some meditative relaxation techniques, but he wasn't sure if they had any effect. He couldn't concentrate properly through the fear and his body's trembling.
It was a long time before the tremors that shook him subsided and he felt back in control of his body. After an eternity of waiting, the sweat of pain and terror chilling his bare skin, he moved again, very carefully. He felt drained, every fiber strained beyond the limit. But he could move again, and the shivers that ran over his skin now were simply the result of cool air and wet skin. Nothing hurt anymore, at least nothing more ominous than the dull ache of severely overtaxed muscles.
He'd tried to brace himself for a renewed onslaught of the pain, but to his immense relief, it didn't come.
It took him several minutes to uncurl and lie on his back, partly because he stopped to rest several times and partly because he moved with deliberate care, still fearing the damage the attack might have inflicted. Once safely stretched out, he tested his limbs one by one, arched his spine and finally, when everything seemed to be more or less in order, lay still for another couple of minutes to gather his strength. His body was recovering; he felt stronger already, and when he lifted his hand to his head to scrape a sweat-drenched tangle of hair off his brow and out of his eyes, his fingers hardly trembled at all.
Longingly, he thought of a long soak in a hot bath to soothe and relax his muscles - but he couldn't take the risk he'd have another attack and drown, or even that he'd succumb to his exhaustion and fall asleep, with the same end result.
A hot shower, though... He would sit on the floor of the cubicle, just in case.
Another moment of gathering himself, and he sat up.
For long seconds, the information his senses sent him failed to register. Something was wrong after all, something was very odd, felt completely wrong -
He was up far more quickly than he would have believed possible after that. There was no full-length mirror in the tiny bathroom, but the small square of glass above the sink sufficed to show him that the person standing before it was no one he recognized. Only the hair was familiar, everything else was *wrong* - the texture of the skin, the too-rounded contours of the face, the strangely muted slant of the cheekbones, the subtly misaligned constellation of eyes and brows and nose, the nose itself, as it had always been but too *small*, the chin that should have jutted more aggressively - everything *shifted* and disarranged and horribly out of place.
The body, the body that he could *feel*, that moved when he moved, was both worse than the face and, at the same time, oddly reassuring for its very unfamiliarity. It was not *his* body, but at least it wasn't grotesquely disfigured; a woman's body, long-limbed and athletic with small, high breasts, slim hips and slender, muscular legs. Well-proportioned and obviously in excellent shape, attractive, but not *his* body.
But then he moved and feet shifted on the cold tile floor, drawing his gaze. He stared at them for a moment before lifting his - *the* hands in front of his body and staring at them, and back at the feet, and suddenly he realized that the bones of the knees weren't quite solid enough, but still terrifyingly familiar, and that the curly hair at the apex of the thighs was the exact shade of shaded green that it should have been, and that the navel was the same, and the small birthmark just above it to the left, and that -
Yes, the shoulders were different but the *same*, the straight line of tendon, muscle and bone, the curve of the clavicle too delicate, but unmistakable...
*Wake up,* Saionji admonished himself fiercely, closing his eyes. *Wake up, Saionji Kyouichi, you have enough problems already.*
He schooled his mind to reach for consciousness and rise through the many layers of sleep to wakefulness, but he couldn't. He was not asleep. This was not a dream.
For a split second after he opened his eyes, he saw a disheveled, sweaty and pallid, but nevertheless lovely young woman with striking lavender eyes stare at him in horrified disbelief. Then, the image fractured into a dozen shards of not-quite-familiar features distorted into a mocking travesty of what they should have been.
"Hell," he breathed, and his voice was shaky alto rather than smooth baritone.
It took him a long time, but finally, he did manage to take a shower, washing hair lanky with sweat and then cleansing the face and body he didn't recognize. Familiar, changed and unfamiliar sensations blended into a confused cacophony; by the time he had towelled himself off and dried his hair, all without watching what he was doing, he was emotionally and physically exhausted, the nervous surge of energy his discovery had brought on completely burned up. A throbbing ache was beginning to beat behind his eyes, promising worse to come.
There was a spare blanket folded on the foot of the bed; Saionji wrapped himself in the dry fabric and collapsed on the bed, immediately dropping off into the sleep of the utterly exhausted.
He slept until pale sunlight on his face woke him, remaining motionless even then until the gnawing hunger in his gut drove him to move. He'd held hard to a desperate hope that when he did finally peel himself out of the blanket, he would be himself again, but even before he did, he knew better. He could feel the fabric abrade his chest in a way it shouldn't have, and when he shifted in preparation to scooting to the edge of the bed, nothing moved between his legs.
The body was still utterly wrong, but Saionji forced his mind away from that fact to consider the improvement in his condition. He was not in pain, and his customary ease of movement was back; he no longer had to strain for simple motions, and the subliminal trembling of exhaustion had subsided.
A few cursory stretches and he pushed the narrow bed back against the wall and went into an elementary kata, trying out his responses and strength. The familiar routine relaxed some of his tension and allowed him to blank his mind, filling it with the smooth harmony of motion and the counterpoint of his bare feet padding out an irregular, precise rhythm on the ground.
He moved quickly through some intermediate routines, advancing swiftly as the body responded to each demand he made on it with practiced ease. His balance was slightly off, his upper body strength was probably considerably reduced - hard to tell from this type of workout - but if it became necessary, the former would be corrected easily by a couple of intensive training sessions, and he would soon learn to compensate for the latter. An adjustment in fighting style, some different moves... If Arisugawa and the Tenjou girl could fight like this, then so could he. If he had to, he would.
Well, this was something, at least; at some point, he had decided he wanted to remain in martial arts. Perhaps he could adopt them professionally - he had been good enough before, and he was certain, could be at least as good again if he put his mind to it. It was a question of discipline more than anything else, even if - certain circumstances had changed rather drastically.
There were a couple of high-protein energy bars in a side pocket of his bag. Saionji downed them almost without chewing and washed them down with six glasses of water from the tap. He was still hungry afterwards - he needed to get breakfast, no matter what he looked like. Clothes were less of a problem than he'd initially feared. He quickly found a pair of pants in his bag that, when cinched together at the waist with a belt, fit fairly well, even if they were rather tight in the hips and clung to his thighs and buttocks more than they used to. His shirts still fit, though they weren't nearly as flattering on this strange new form. The shoes were the biggest problem - they were too large. Not by all that much, though; as long as he didn't try to run or fight, they would do well enough. He'd just have to buy some new ones when he got the chance.
Everything else went back into the bag and he was ready to go.
He went down the back stairs, sneaking out of the hotel quietly. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a white and green school uniform and perky ponytail in the entrance hall when he slipped past the glass door separating the lobby from the corridor leading to the back exit, and it made his heart leap into his throat and his hand shake when he reached for the doorknob. He didn't want to be seen like this, not even by the dull-eyed and disinterested old woman who had greeted him when he'd checked in the day before, let alone by anyone who would know him, who would know what had happened - though maybe they *wouldn't* know him now, but - he'd -
"There you are. Right on time."
A delivery van was parked in the alley behind the hotel, the driver just unloading a large carton from the back. Before Saionji could react, the man had handed the box to him and slammed the van's back doors. "Good luck, honey. I hear it's a pretty tough school, but I'm sure you'll do fine."
Saionji glared at the delivery man in affront. *Honey?*
The man paused in the process of getting into his vehicle, leaning over with one hand on the open door. "I'll tell you one thing, if I were a teacher at Ohtori, I'd give you top marks in all my courses - something as pretty as you, you know?" And he winked, leaned over further, and *slapped Saionji's ass*.
It was very fortunate for the delivery man that Saionji was so stunned by the sheer audacity of it that he failed to react for several moments. By the time blank astonishment gave way to a hot surge of rage, the van had already turned the corner and could be heard accelerating.
The carton contained a large leather suitcase, key tied to the handle with a green ribbon. Saionji unlocked the case and snapped it open to reveal three neatly packed sets of the Ohtori school uniform for girls, several extremely short skirts, three pairs of long trousers, a stack each of blouses, T-shirts, and sweaters, a light jacket and a warm coat, socks, women's underwear, pajamas and a small pouch containing two pairs of shoes. A bag of toiletries was tucked away in one corner.
By far the most surprising, however, was the folder on the very bottom of the suitcase.
On top of a stack of papers lay an ID boasting the same face that he'd been so shocked to find staring at him from out of the mirror, signed in his handwriting, but not with his name. Below the ID lay admission papers to Ohtori Academy in the name of Yoshitoyo Sayuri, a computerized form letter welcoming Sayuri, a note of the dorm room she'd been assigned, a key, a class schedule, a handful of flyers for the kendo club, the fencing club, the tea ceremony club, the theater club, the manga club...
He did not understand any of what was happening, but even so, he was not going to pass up this chance. He had lost part of himself, but gained something infinitely precious in the process: the chance to go back to Ohtori.
Back to Anthy.
And this time, he was not going to slip up.
***
He looked like an idiot.
He had never thought the school uniforms for girls had much charm, but never before had he appreciated just how ridiculous they were. He felt half naked and painfully conspicuous. Every step he took made the silly little skirt flounce and bounce and Saionji was constantly fighting the urge to hold it down. The white socks looked laughably childish, just like the little sailor-type collar. Not to mention the ridiculous puffed sleeves of the blouse. These outfits had no dignity. They were both graceless and impractical. Every particle of his being resented the fact that he was forced to wear such a humiliating travesty.
But wearing this silly uniform with its ridiculous puffed sleeves and bouncy little skirt - wearing this distorted form - had allowed him to walk back up the road from the city, right past the giant stone griffins marking the property of the Ohtori Academy, and pass through the rosevine-entwined gate that he had thought never to see again.
The first familiar face to come his way belonged to Wakaba, who was looking even more woebegone than usual. When she caught sight of him, she stopped, jaw dropping. "Sai - uh -"
Oh, great. Saionji rolled his eyes. "Yoshitoyo Sayuri, if you must know. And you are?"
"Uhm, uh, Wakaba, Shinohara Wakaba," she stuttered. "You're - really - wow."
"Thank you *so* much for that charming and eloquent welcome," Saionji muttered, pushing past her. Silly chit.
He'd been assigned a room in the west dorm, but before heading to his new domicile, he stopped and stood in the courtyard for a moment, soaking up the inimitable, timeless atmosphere of the place. There was no place like Ohtori.
He was back. He would be able to see Anthy. Anything else, he could deal with.
"Sayuri-san, wait!" Wakaba barrelled into him from behind; he only narrowly avoided being tripped up. "Sayuri, you're new, let me show you around, let me introduce you to my friend Utena, she's my best friend and she's just the coolest, and we can -"
On and on she blathered, with neither pause nor sense. Saionji forced himself to wait for her to wind down before smiling with gritted teeth. "Thank you, Wakaba, but I want to get settled in. I'm sure we'll run into each other again." And no doubt they would; his luck just wasn't that good.
"Oh, sure, great, you know, it's really amazing but you look just like this boy I - well not *exactly*, obviously, you're a girl and all, but -"
She trailed after him for a bit longer before rushing off, no doubt in order to find the Tenjou girl and drag her over to meet the new student. Wonderful.
Oh well, he supposed it had to happen sooner or later. He might as well get it over with.
He paid special attention to the reaction of the people he passed after that, but even though he garnered some curious looks and one or two students stared at him with more intensity than he thought warranted, no one seemed particularly startled to see him. Wakaba had always been an unusually giddy chit; maybe that fact was all that was needed to explain her exaggerated reaction.
He'd been given a single room in the west dorm, a circumstance that filled him with deep relief. He really didn't want to be forced to handle a roommate right now.
There was a full-length mirror on the door of his closet, and after stowing the clothes away and shoving the suitcase underneath the bed, he spent a long time simply looking at himself and trying to accept the idea that the person he saw was him. The effort was not a success. When he managed to view her as a stranger, he thought her attractive; she had a shapely figure and a personable face. As soon as he allowed himself to realize that the form in the glass was his own reflection, it mutated into a creature from a cabinet of horrors, misshapen and disfigured.
At some point, he realized that his hands had begun shaking and he turned his back on the mirror and closed his eyes. He still *felt* like himself, and that was the most important thing. He could deal with this. He could.
There was no choice. He *would* deal with this.
***
He hadn't taken note of it before, but the halls were oddly quiet for this time of the day. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't heard the bells marking the beginnings and ends of class periods, either, but then he hadn't been paying attention.
Thursday was an odd day to be arriving at a new school, but Saionji hadn't had much say in any of this and was willing to go with the flow. At least he was willing to try; the headmaster's office was locked, however, though it was well before noon. So was the administrative secretary's office.
"I'm sorry, are you looking for someone? Maybe I can help you?"
Saionji turned to find himself face to face with one Saito Norio, a foolish and undisciplined boy who'd once attempted to join the kendo club because he'd thought it was "cool".
"Perhaps you can," he said curtly. Even idiots did sometimes come in useful, after all. "Is there a reason why nobody is working? I've just arrived and would like to get the administrative details out of the way as soon as possible."
The hopeful smile the boy had been wearing faltered slightly. "Well, uhm, at a wild guess I'd say that nobody's working because today is Sunday."
"Don't be -"
But Saionji cut the scornful rejoinder short before he could utter it fully.
Sunday? Ridiculous. It was Thursday. It had to be. He'd been - he'd left on Wednesday, and he'd spent one night in the hotel, where - after which he'd come straight back to Ohtori, pausing only to change in a public restroom on the way.
He turned away from the boy's curious gaze to stare blindly at the schedules and notices pinned up next to the secretary's door. Ridiculous. He couldn't have just lost three days. It made no sense. He'd never left the hotel, and he could hardly have spent days in the shabby little room without noticing.
Unless he'd slept for one night and three days.
Assuming it *was* Sunday. Just - he would just assume it was Sunday and go on from there. "Hey, are you all right?" Norio was much closer than he had been, one hand on Saionji's arm. "You look really pale. How about - I know, I'll make you some tea, I bet you'll feel lots better after a cup of tea and -"
It was like suddenly turning blind - waking up one morning and finding everything the same but changed, being forced to fumble and stumble clumsily through rooms that should have been familiar and safe, but that now loomed alien and filled with silent menace.
"Sunday," Saionji murmured to himself, willing himself to accept it and move on. It was nothing, after all, a minor detail that could easily be digested, especially when compared to... other things. And it did make sense of a sort - once, after a childhood illness that had sent him into a dim twilight of heat and bright strobing colors, he'd slept for almost 24 hours and dozed in semi-conscious torpor for almost that long again. This was considerably more serious than a bad case of the mumps.
So. Sunday.
Completely unbidden, the fact that Touga's birthday was next week and he didn't have a present popped into his head. He dismissed it as irrelevant. He hadn't given Touga a birthday present in years. Even if he'd wanted to, which he didn't, he could hardly give him one while he was in this state.
The world came into focus again reluctantly, and with a small start of surprise, Saionji realized that Norio had one arm around his waist and was in the process of dragging him down the hall to the dorms. "- my mom sent them to me specially, they're really good, you'll be sure to feel a lot better, and if not we can call the nurse and -"
He was severely tempted to toss the presumptuous blunderer across the corridor, but contented himself with stopping in his tracks and shaking off Norio's unwelcome touch with a single brusque movement. The last thing he needed was to collect demerits for brawling even before he'd officially enrolled.
Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face; even Norio wasn't stupid enough to follow when Saionji stormed off.
***
He didn't think about where he was going - there was no need to. His steps led him automatically to the dojo. He'd already laid his hand on the door before he realized that it might not be a good idea to come here now.
The thought froze him in indecision. Granted that it seemed highly unlikely anyone would so much as entertain the thought of what had happened - Wakaba hadn't accepted the evidence of her eyes, and so far no one else had seemed to find his resemblance to the recently dismissed president of the kendo team remarkable.
But if there was one place where he *would* be recognized, it was here. Not only did he spend most of his time here, but kendoka were taught to pay attention to the way the people around them moved and held themselves - what their habitual motions and attitudes broadcast and what they concealed. Saionji was a good teacher. In a way, he'd be severely disappointed if any but the rawest new students failed to realize who he was merely by watching him walk in the door.
But... It was a simple choice, really. Entering the dojo increased the risk of discovery, however minimal it might be, while not entering the dojo might give him more time. He was already at the end of his rope, though, and there was only one thing that he knew would quiet the chaotic clamor of thought, emotion and fragmented memories battering at him. A wise man didn't try to push himself beyond his endurance.
He divested himself of his shoes and slid open the door. Kitamura and Iwamoto were sparring in the middle of the floor on the teacher's side of the dojo. At their end, a small handful of beginners were practicing the basic moves of the suburi beneath the watchful eyes of Inami. No one else was here yet, although the dojo would doubtless fill up as the afternoon progressed. No one took overt note of his arrival, which suited Saionji perfectly. He bowed politely to Inami and the others and walked to the tatami mats behind the sparring pair, sinking down and lowering his head.
The familiar sounds of bamboo blades, measured breathing, harshly called-out hits and the deliberate, light-footed dance of advancing and retreating warriors were the most soothing balm he could ask for; even the too-heavy and arrhythmic sounds that filtered through from beginners' practice could not lessen the effect.
It took him longer to clear his mind than it should have, but under the circumstances, he considered this a forgivable lapse.
Unsurprisingly, when he did manage to detach himself from his surroundings, Saionji stepped into chaos. He'd been aware that the calm he'd managed to uphold was only a thin veneer, but knowing it and being faced with the reality were two different things. Still, he knew when a battle could be avoided and when it had to be fought, and he was not afraid to face the enemy, no matter which shape it took.
The quicksilver stab of entwined fear and aggression and the dull metallic aftertaste of despairing rage were old and familiar enemies; these, he could disentangle and dispel. Underneath were tangled layers of emotions new and old, sending up a dissonant cacophony. Strangely, they seemed distant - vague and smothered beneath a stifling, pervasive numbness. Shock, he decided. Not surprising - not even necessarily a liability, considering that it had damped what he felt sufficiently to keep him functioning. All the same, it would not do in the long run, and Saionji was nothing if not persistent. After everything that had happened to him, he was not going to be defeated by his own mind.
He paused, gathered himself and then struck anew, every ounce of determination, strength of will and stubbornness he could summon backing the thrust. Piercing a vague blankness shot through with disbelief and denial, he finally came upon
the flash of sunlight on metal, clatter of steel on stone. Crumbling battlements fell all around him, golden spires piercing his chest, cold metal sinking into his heart
Darkness. There was cold stone beneath his thin-soled shoes, the chill slowly creeping up his ankles. Faded scent of smoke and flowers, faint tang of something else, something sickly-sweet and cloying. The low sound of every step echoed dully in wide-open spaces. Nothing felt real, not even the twin weight of the shinai he carried in one hand.
Anthy. Anthy. Himemiya
The subtle thrum of something indefinable, something powerful and alien, wrapped about his mind, seeped through his body until it almost seemed to own him. He stopped and turned to look at the girl on Touga's arm, previously only a nameless, faceless cypher, one anonymous representative of a vast and entirely homogenous whole: Touga's lovers.
You're my one and only best friend, aren't you, Kyouichi?
Bamboo blades, steel blades, the calculating glint in blue eyes, honey-smooth words twining around his heart, more jarring than the harsh iron scent of blood. His one and only best friend, twining a long strand of moss-dark hair around his fingers, smiling... You're beautiful. The petals of a green rose fluttering to the ground, stirred into a small drift by the wind. *Her*, eyes wide and dreamy, smiling... I am engaged to you now, Saionji-sama.
Inevitable loss of friendship, of hope, of self. Pain, pervasive and inescapable, eroding everything he was.
Cheer up, Saionji-sempai. Aren't you my one and only best friend?
Sweat-drenched hair clinging to his - *his* face and neck, eyes wide and horrified in the cracked mirror, reflecting a stranger. Reflecting himself, though grotesquely disfigured, distorted and twisted out of all recognition.
Good luck... The burn of an alien power, running through his blood like corrosive acid. I belong to you now, Saionji-sama.
Saionji was overwhelmed by the rush of fragmented memory, drowning in it; he allowed it to wash through him without attempting to master it. Only after it had ebbed slightly did he set to work disentangling the memories and their respective emotions.
It wasn't enough. Even when he'd done everything he could, pushing himself into a collected state of awareness mostly by dint of sheer stubbornness, unrest and fear were still gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. To achieve true inner balance, he would have to accept what had happened - from the catastrophic farce of a duel and resultant expulsion to the inexplicable change that had come over him. Accept it and move past it. He didn't know how, though. He couldn't even imagine where to start.
For now, he would content himself with calming the storm that had been raging unchecked. It would suffice. There would be other, better opportunities for attacking the underlying problems. Perhaps once he'd had a bit more time to accustom himself to his changed circumstances...
Saionji relaxed into the moment, reaching as deep as he could to center and ground himself, allowing the familiar silent strength to wash over him.
When he raised his head and opened his eyes, he looked directly into deep grey eyes and a familiar narrow face.
"I am Iwamoto," she said, bowing slightly. He returned the greeting automatically, stating his new name with a natural-sounding confidence that gratified him.
Her gaze was piercing, and only now did he realize that he'd walked into the part of the dojo reserved for advanced kendoka without so much as an introduction. Iwamoto did not seem to be offended by his presumption, though; her inspection was thorough, but seemed neutral and matter-of-fact.
When her eyes swept up to his again, Saionji thought for a long, breathless moment of mingled apprehension and illogical, misplaced hope that she'd recognized him.
"Come," she went on at last, not bothering with small talk. "You require equipment, Yoshitoyo-san."
Saionji smiled, pleased by as much by her easy acceptance as by the idea of a match with her. She was one of the best kendoka at the Academy, lesser only than Saionji himself and Touga... and perhaps that Tenjou girl.
There had been no kendo gear in the suitcase so mysteriously provided for him, and even though his old dogi and hakama presumably fit still, he hadn't brought them - they were locked away in a locker at the train station with the rest of his belongings. Iwamoto didn't waste time asking why he hadn't come to the dojo with the necessary equipment; instead, she showed him to the changing room and strode off briskly, returning after a brief delay with a set she'd presumably borrowed from the team's supply of spares.
They bowed and squared off. Iwamoto chose a jodan stance, shinai raised high above her head to indicate her intention to fight this match from the offensive. It was Saionji's own favored stance, but instead of copying it, he chose to start from a chudan position, weapon raised slightly to counter Iwamoto's stance.
Iwamoto was aggressive and confident; with a harsh cry, she opened the match with series of quick, almost brutal attacks flowing seamlessly into each other, a series that almost won her the match then and there. As Saionji had expected, his balance was slightly off and, as a result, he wasn't as swift or sure-footed as he expected himself to be. When he sprang forward to undercut a high stroke, stepping inside the attack and catching and trapping Iwamoto's shinai with his, Saionji nearly made yet another beginner's mistake, instinctively moving to exploit a momentary imbalance in Iwamoto's stance only to find that he couldn't bring to bear the measure of force he instinctively believed himself capable of.
Strength wasn't the decisive factor in kendo, but miscalculating it was a grave error. Iwamoto wasn't noticeably stronger than him even now; he should have been able to use the opening she'd given him to end the match. As it was, his miscalculation prevented him from freeing his shinai long enough to launch a successful attack, just as it had previously made for several unsatisfactory attacks that should have carried him through his opponent's defenses and had instead led only to stand-offs.
Iwamoto twisted to the side and away, stepping back to deliver a one-handed attack from the distance. Risky and flamboyant, and not something she made a habit of. Also ill-advised, in this particular case. Saionji noted the move to be analyzed later even as he scored a *kote* hit to Iwamoto's sword arm. His voice as he called out the hit was too high, hoarse and entirely unfamiliar, but Saionji barely noticed as Iwamoto regrouped and charged; he'd finally blanked his mind enough to let his body settle into the natural rhythms of the fight. Because he still miscalculated his own movements slightly, he left himself open a number of times, but he stored these mistakes away and went on without hesitation, moving with the flow of the battle.
Familiar. Soothing. The swift rhythm of attack, block flowing into counter-attack, repeated until the separate motions built into a single flowing exchange of quicksilver motion, bamboo blades whirring too rapidly to be controllable on any conscious level. After a moment, Iwamoto's movements began to open to him, unfolding from the minute evidence of the flick of her eyes, the shift of her balance, the subtle flex of muscles, the angle of her chin and set of her mouth.
Perhaps sensing that the balance of the match had shifted, Iwamoto pulled back, raising the shinai high above her head into jodan once more. Confident, even brash; Saionji approved. Perfect balance, the part of Saionji's attention that always watched for such things noted. Sword raised at the optimum angle. She rose on the balls of her feet, one shoulder dipping slightly, and just before her sword could blur into the lightning arc of her attack, Saionji struck. *Do*, a solid hit to her side, and even as he barked out the hit, he spun and went into jodan himself. She was nowhere near his blade when he brought it down. *Men* to finish the match.
There was a silence of several long moments as Iwamoto stared at him. She extended her right hand in respect when they bowed.
"You're good," she said as soon as she'd come up. "You're very good. You're going to join the club, right? With you on the team, we should be able to take the championship for the fourth year running."
Saionji smiled at her. For one fragile moment, the world seemed to be righting itself.
"What a shame the captain isn't in today," Iwamoto added. "I'd love to see the two of you spar. Your style is very similar. We have *got* to arrange for that."
"The captain?" He hadn't meant to ask that. It slipped out before he could stop himself, and even as Iwamoto nodded and opened her mouth to answer, Saionji knew what she would say. He knew, and he didn't want to hear it.
"Kiryuu Touga, the Captain of the Kendo Club and President of the Student Council."
***
Normally, Saionji would have practiced all through the afternoon, honing his own skills through free-form training and sparring sessions and later supervising evening practice. There were no regular practice sessions scheduled for Sunday, so the dojo would not fill up as much as it did on weekdays. The students that did come, however, would work hard and stay late. They were the ones Saionji approved of most - the ones for whom kendo was not a game or a diversion, but an art and a calling.
Later still, when even the last kendoka had left, Saionji would practice those kata that were performed best in complete silence, with the lights in the dojo turned low and night velvet-deep beyond the windows. He would lose himself in the elegant, deliberate movements until his body and mind were at peace, anchored in the silence of the night and soothed by the gentle darkness reaching in to calm and dampen the unrest and uncertainty of the day.
Not this Sunday, though.
By rights, Iwamoto's mention of Touga filling Saionji's position shouldn't have come as a surprise. With the captain gone, of course the deputy moved up to fill the vacant position, at least until a new captain could be determined by vote. It was why the deputy was there in the first place, after all. Even so, Saionji couldn't help but feel slighted. It was childish, but there it was. No one so much as mentioned that Touga hadn't always been the captain, when Saionji hadn't even been gone for a full week. No one hesitated over Touga's name when they spoke of the captain... and they spoke of him quite often.
Childish, Saionji chided himself savagely even as he stalked off. He'd made himself smile through the warm welcome the senior members of the club had given him and endured their congratulations on his well-fought match with gritted teeth, all the while trying not to let on that he was seething. When they'd started discussing his moves and, from there, naturally segued into a discussion of the favored moves of their esteemed Captain Kiryuu, who - rather charmingly, as Iwamoto threw in with a giggle that immediately lowered Saionji's estimation of her - insisted on being called Touga, Saionji excused himself abruptly. Enough was enough.
Once again, his feet automatically chose to carry him where he needed to go. It was time to see Anthy.
***
Anthy was not there. The colonnade lining the court seemed strangely empty, even though there were a number of students about. Saionji felt a hollow emptiness spread in his gut even as he turned onto the small gravel path leading to the glass dome's door.
His hand hovered above the doorknob for long moments before he drew it back. He couldn't see her inside of the greenhouse, and what was more, he *knew* she wasn't there. He would have known if she was. He always knew when she was near.
He stood on the carefully raked path for a long time, eyes locked unseeing on the elegant leaded glass door, before turning and slowly making his way back to the dorm.
Saionji woke up twice during the night, his heart racing and sweat cool on his skin, but he couldn't remember dreaming.
***
The beginning of the school week brought on a blur of classes and visits to the assorted administrative assistants, supervisors and deans Yoshitoyo Sayuri needed to consult before she could consider herself properly enrolled at Ohtori. When Saionji walked from one classroom to the next or when he was on the way to yet another office, he invariably passed through the courtyard, regardless of whether this was the shortest route or not. The greenhouse was always silent and deserted.
It was lunchtime on the third day when Wakaba finally cornered him, her overly cheerful greeting alerting him mere moments before she barrelled into him. "Sayuri-sempaaai! Hey, Utena, over here, over here! Oh, it's so wonderful to see you again! I hope you like it here so far, has everyone been nice? If you have time now we could show you around - Utena!"
Saionji straightened his shoulders and set his mouth. He could feel his nostrils flaring when he took a deep breath. He knew just how foreboding and arrogant he looked when he donned this expression, but neither Wakaba nor that Tenjou chit chose to take note.
"Wakaba, have you seen -"
"This is Sayuri-sempai! I've been telling you about her - and this is Utena-san, my best friend in the entire world!"
He and the Tenjou girl muttered all the appropriate things while Wakaba stood by and beamed, evidently believing that she had just forged an instant and lifelong friendship. Tenjou's smile seemed friendly enough, though distracted. For his part, Saionji did his best to appear like a neutral stranger. It wasn't easy, but he thought he managed to give an adequate performance... more than good enough, considering that his audience consisted of Wakaba, who wouldn't have been convinced they weren't getting on like a house on fire by anything less than a fistfight, and Tenjou, who was at this very moment glancing toward the door for the third time in the course of their extremely brief official acquaintance.
"Well, isn't it amazing?" Wakaba briefly snagged Saionji's undivided attention by bouncing on her toes. He hadn't thought anyone truly did that.
Tenjou frowned a little. "What?"
Wakaba gave her friend a playfully admonishing slap about the head. "How much she looks like Saionji-sempai, silly!"
Tenjou's frown deepened; she spent the short interval before she answered by giving the door yet another furtive glance. She was quite obviously waiting for someone. An assignation?
Saionji's eyes narrowed involuntarily as he ran through the short list of probable candidates.
"I don't know, Wakaba - I remember you talking about him, but I didn't know him. I never even saw him, so I have no idea -"
A chill crept through Saionji's heart. Wakaba's voluble protestations barely registered in his mind. He stared at Tenjou, barely managing to school his expression into something that he hoped would pass as polite interest when she turned back to him with an apologetic little smile.
No one except Wakaba seemed to remember him. No one else had seemed to note "Sayuri's" resemblance to him at all - not Iwamoto and not anyone else he'd met in his new form. No one had ever so much as mentioned him within his hearing, not even to gossip about his scandalous conduct or to speculate on the grounds for his expulsion. Considering that such a juicy bit of gossip should have kept the mills grinding for several weeks at least, that was perhaps the most ominous sign of all. Instead, the hottest item in the gossip-mongers' arsenal was Touga's impending birthday - who was and who wasn't invited, who would be turning up in whose company, who would get to stay overnight...
It was almost as though there were a conspiracy of silence afoot, but Saionji was convinced no one had to pretend to ignorance. That would have felt entirely different; there would have been sidelong glances, unfinished sentences, sudden silences and knowing half-smiles. Instead, there was nothing. They truly didn't remember.
It was as though Saionji had never existed.
Tenjou's eyes were clear and cheerful, her face open and devoid of guile. She shook her hair out of her eyes impatiently and gave him a friendly grin that he found himself completely unable to return. "I'm sorry, but I'm waiting for a friend, and I really should go and see what the hold-up is. I'm sure I'll see you around. Do you play basketball or soccer, by any chance?"
After a long moment, Saionji managed to drag his mind back to the conversation enough to shrug in response to the girl's question. He'd never had much interest in team sports, and even if he had, he had a vague recollection of overhearing the captain of the soccer team enthuse about Tenjou's unstoppable offensives. If there was a chance she was on the soccer or basketball team, he was going to stay as far away from them as he possibly could.
"I swim, though my times aren't particularly good. I'm a kendoka." Now his own eyes were going to the door, though he wasn't waiting for anyone, not even Anthy. Was she the friend Tenjou was waiting for? Was Touga?
When he forced himself to turn back to the Tenjou chit, she was watching him curiously, almost as though he'd revealed some kind of secret. "You must be the new student everyone's been talking about, then," she said at last.
Saionji knew her eyes would go to his hand even before they did. Tenjou was one of the least subtle people he had ever met; if she'd broadcast her moves in a swordfight as much as she did her everyday thoughts, a three-year-old could have beaten her.
In his first duel with her, Saionji had come to the realization that Tenjou fought purely on instinct; there was no forethought to any of her moves. It was just another thing to dislike her for. Not only did she have an enormous amount of raw talent, but even now, her instincts were those of a swordmaster, every aspect of battle coming to her as naturally as breathing - and instead of nurturing and schooling these rare gifts as they deserved, she lightheartedly left them to rot, only dragging them out every once in a while in order to fight for the Rose Bride.
Perhaps he wouldn't have been as resentful of this if she hadn't always won.
The chit's gaze lingered on Saionji's hand for a long moment before darting to the other one. He obligingly pushed an errant strand of hair behind one ear, casually displaying his bare fingers in the process.
"I've heard you're very good," Tenjou went on, her voice now tinged with curiosity. "Maybe we could spar sometime?"
His first impulse was to refuse, but he swallowed the violent denial that leapt to his tongue and forced a smile instead. "I look forward to it."
It was never a mistake to study your enemy's style.
***
He'd heard the quick footsteps behind him, but he hadn't thought to turn around. Students ran down the halls of Ohtori all the time, late for their classes or a private appointment, or sometimes just too filled with youth and high spirits to walk more sedately.
That was why the sudden, brutal grip on his arm caught him by surprise. By the time he'd been yanked around to face the attacker, however, he'd recovered, automatically falling into a neutral stance from which he could attack or defend with equal ease. He was best with a sword, but far from helpless without one.
Touga... unexpected only because of the unfamiliar expression on his face, stunned and wide-eyed.
Saionji had deliberately not dwelled on the question of why only Wakaba had found the resemblance the new student bore to an old one remarkable. He couldn't explain it, and brooding about it would only agitate him further, but bring him no closer to an explanation. It would serve no purpose.
He *had* wondered whether Anthy and Touga would realize who he was, or at least who he looked like. This was one question answered, at least. More than that, it was an opportunity too good to be passed up.
"A word of advice," Saionji intoned bitingly. "If you want a date that badly, ask politely instead of tearing the girl's arm off."
No one who didn't know Touga as well as he did would have noticed the very slight flare of his nostrils, or realized that it meant he was startled - trying hard not to show it but still too off-guard to hide it all under his usual mask of amused superiority.
Startled by the sound of Saionji's voice. Saionji could sympathize.
Touga's gaze slid downwards as though pulled on a string, gravitating to Saionji's chest and staying glued to his breasts.
"Don't tell me you've never seen any before," Saionji said, an even sharper edge creeping into his tone. He wasn't so used to this body that he felt comfortable being ogled, even if it was only by Touga. "You've never even heard of chivalry, have you?"
The instant the words left his mouth, Saionji realized with a feeling of deep satisfaction that he'd been waiting forever to say them.
The weight of Touga's gaze lifting from Saionji's breasts was an almost physical relief. Touga had recovered now; he was tilting his head just so to make a curtain of scarlet sheet forward and frame his face, and the smile that he conjured forth was his most charming, tinged with a hint of rueful apology.
"Forgive me." His voice was dark and smooth as honey. "I have been unpardonably rude. The only explanation I can offer is that you bear an amazing resemblance to an old friend of mine. If I didn't know he had no close female relatives, I'd -"
Saionji gave Touga a sub-zero smile and tugged his arm free of his weakened grip. "Not nearly good enough."
It was petty and childish, but it felt good. Hell *yes*, it felt good.
Saionji estimated that it would take Touga two days to show up again - the necessary inquiries into the new girl's identity and habits would take about ten minutes and cost him one phone call, but he would not want to turn up again too quickly. He'd want to let the girl calm down and hear about the great Student Council President, rethink her harsh words and wish she'd been friendlier. He'd also want to make the meeting seem like coincidence. It wouldn't do to be caught seeming interested. Touga was pursued. He didn't pursue, even when he did. Especially when he did.
But he would show up again, that much was certain. Touga would rise to the challenge. He cultivated a cool and unflappable facade, but he was one of the proudest and most vengeful bastards around. Saionji knew him very well. They'd known each other for seven years when they'd come to Ohtori. It had been much longer than that, now, though Saionji would have been hard pressed to say exactly how much longer.
Saionji's estimate turned out to be wrong. It was less than two hours after their first run-in when Touga found him again.
***
"Sayuri-sempai!"
Saionji looked over automatically; fortunately, the name that had been chosen for him so inexplicably sounded enough like his own that it hadn't taken much to train himself to react to it. Wakaba and the Tenjou girl were sitting beneath the canopy of a large tree, around a low table set with tea things and a plate of cookies. His gaze slid over and past them with little interest, and he almost missed seeing Anthy's little rat creature crawling towards the cookies.
Interest immediately caught, he stepped closer. The table was set for three and Anthy's pet was there, but Anthy herself was nowhere to be seen. Maybe she would be joining her friends in a moment? "Wakaba. Utena."
"Have you seen Himemiya Anthy?" Tenjou asked immediately. "She was supposed to be meeting us, but she hasn't turned up."
The rat creature turned its face towards Saionji, cheeks stuffed and bulging. He tried not to watch as it chewed, dribbling cookie crumbs and saliva onto the tablecloth, but like so many disgusting things, it had a fascination of its own. He'd never understood what Anthy saw in the ugly little beast.
"She probably went to tend her roses and forgot the time," Saionji supplied. "I wouldn't worry. She's not punctual."
Tenjou gave him a strange look and he realized that he should not be displaying any knowledge of Anthy's habits. He spent a moment half-heartedly casting about for an explanation, but decided not to worry about it when nothing came immediately to mind. After all, it wasn't as though anyone was going to suspect him of being the former captain of the kendo club, returned in a brand new female body to be near his former girlfriend.
"That's true," the chit said slowly. After a moment, she shrugged and tugged a left-over cookie from the rat creature's paws. "Would you like to sit down and have a cup of tea with us, sempai?"
Saionji agreed politely and settled on the grass next to Tenjou, careful to keep her between Wakaba and himself. His transformation seemed to make astoundingly little difference in the way the Wakaba chit looked at him - as though she was just waiting for him to let his guard down for a second in order to pounce on him. It was disconcerting.
"We were just talking about you," Wakaba burbled happily. Next to Saionji, Tenjou started slightly, and he had to hide a grin behind his teacup. "We saw you at practice the other day. You're really good! Almost as good as Utena. Juri was there too, you know, and I think even she was impressed with you. She scares me a little sometimes, she's so perfect, but she's so cool, too. Almost as cool as Utena. But what everyone's been wondering, you don't have a boyfriend, do you? I bet you could have anyone you wanted. Your hair is so pretty. I wish mine was a pretty color like that, and it's nice and wavy, too. Mine just hangs straight down, that's why I wear it up like this. Do you like it?"
"It's not bad," Saionji said obligingly. Hopefully, Anthy would get a move on.
"Oh, I don't know, sometimes I think I should do something with it, braid it or something. Utena, what do you think?"
Did girls really talk like this all the time?
"I don't know," Tenjou said absently, playing with the only cookie that had escaped the greedy rat creature. The subject seemed less than riveting to her. Maybe it was just Wakaba who talked like this. "I like it the way you wear it now. It's perky."
"But isn't it too childish? I'm almost grown up, after all, and I think boys like it when it's loose like yours, or Sayuri's, you know. You two are just so cool - honest, I bet you'll get a lot of letters if you haven't already, Sayuri! Everyone's really smitten with you."
"You exaggerate," Saionji said as politely as he could.
"No, honest! I heard Yuuko say you were her new bestseller. All the boys are buying pictures of you."
"Remarkably stupid of them," he muttered. Honestly, what could be keeping Anthy?
Tenjou smiled at him, a smile that was an invitation to share something. It took Saionji completely off guard, and he stared at her for several long moments before he was able to summon up enough presence of mind to smile back.
"Utena, there you are."
Tenjou jumped a little, and her eyes went wide and hazy.
"Wakaba."
Wakaba managed a squeak.
"Sayuri." Touga's voice had turned almost smoky.
Saionji inclined his head regally, not deigning to reply.
"How fortuitous to find you together like this - I've been meaning to speak with all of you. As you may know, I am celebrating my birthday this evening, and I wanted to be sure you'd all received invitations. You will do me the favor of coming, won't you?"
Tenjou blinked and stuttered.
"Sure," Wakaba chimed in to rescue her friend. Now that she had recovered from her initial surprise, she seemed remarkably unimpressed by Touga's vicinity. Even coming on the heels of her brainless chatter moments earlier, this bought her several points in Saionji's estimation. Very few girls could conduct themselves with a modicum of dignity when Touga poured on the charm.
"That's wonderful. And you will come as well, won't you?"
This smile was solely for Saionji, a wonder of persuasion and promise.
Saionji gave a derisive snort. "I have nothing to wear," he bit out snappishly, glaring at Touga to make it perfectly clear that his wardrobe wasn't the issue. He didn't understand why, but the shameless way Touga was trying to flirt with him made him angry.
He knew he'd made a grave tactical error the instant the words had left his mouth. The brilliant smile and the victorious sparkle in Touga's eyes were unmistakable. "Leave that to me. I'll see you tonight, then, all of you. I'm looking forward to it."
And he was gone.
"Fuck," Saionji said.
Wakaba squeaked again. Tenjou looked shocked, but laughed after a moment. "He's like a force of nature, isn't he?"
That was one way of putting it. Saionji would just have called him a pushy bastard who didn't know when to quit.
***
A half-stifled shriek echoed through the school's empty hallway; Saionji stopped in his tracks. "No, no, no!" a girl's voice squealed, distress open in her tone.
Saionji turned on his heel and ran back the way he had come. The cries were coming from one of the club rooms halfway down the hall. Most of them would be deserted this time of day.
His hand was tightening on the doorknob when the girl spoke again, her voice thinning into a petulant whine. "That won't work. You're the Princess! The Princess can't be anyone's Prince."
"What, you think I don't know that?" a different girl's voice scoffed. "I'm not stupid, you know. But look - I have a sword! That means I'm a Prince. I'll be your Prince, you'll be my Princess, and everyone will live happily ever after."
"I have a sword too, and it's bigger than yours, so there!"
"Oh... It *is* bigger than mine... So that means you're the Prince?"
"No, silly, don't you see how sharp my teeth are? *I'm* not a Prince, I'm a - oh, wait, I forgot I wasn't going to tell you. Yes, that's right, *I'm* the Prince! The only Prince there is."
"Well, okay then. I'll be your Princess, you'll be my Prince, and, you know. Same thing, right?"
The first girl's voice turned into a loud stage whisper. "Uh oh - now what will I do? If I agree to be this lovely Princess's Prince, she'll see my furry ears and realize I've lied to her!"
"No, I won't be your Prince," she went on in her initial bright tones. "You're far too ugly. You think a classically handsome, thoroughly perfect Prince like me would sink to rescuing a runty little Princess like you?"
"But... but I'm almost as tall as you are! See, I can stretch a little, if I try really hard. And you told me I was beautiful..."
A tinkling laugh pealed forth. "Ah, Your Highness, you mustn't believe everything strange Princes tell you when the moonlight is glinting off your hair, making you look edible! No, no, you're much too plain for me. Goodbye, now, time's a-wasting! I have to go off and find some prettier Princesses to eat - uh, rescue."
Saionji hesitated for a long moment before lifting his hand from the door of the shadow play club and silently walking away.
***
The dress was waiting for him when he returned to the dorm, delivered by express courier and packed in snowy tissue paper and a box bearing the logo of the most expensive clothing store in town. Of course. Only the best would do for Kiryuu Touga. Snobbish bastard.
It was strapless, black and slinky. Saionji had to wriggle slightly in order to zip it up the last couple of inches, and he would have preferred it if it hadn't been cut quite so tight across the chest. He supposed it was passable, though, if barely. It helped that it wasn't cut particularly low and that it was almost long enough to sweep the ground. It didn't help that it was slit almost up to the hip on one side.
Oh well. He preferred it to the girls' uniform, at least.
Saionji inspected the small squares of carefully folded material still lying in the box. At first he thought the dress had come with a pair of long gloves; he was just about to put them back when he saw that they were sleeves. He snorted at the affectation of a dress that came with detached sleeves, but tried them on after brief deliberation. They were as tight and slinky as the dress itself, hugging his arms down to the wrist, but they seemed flexible enough not to hamper his movements.
He swept up the sheathed katana from its stand and tried a number of basic attacks on an imaginary opponent to make sure of this before deciding to wear the dress at it was apparently meant to be worn.
There was yet another bit of black cloth lying in the box, but this one was only a short length of velvet ribbon with carefully hidden fasteners set into the ends. Saionji stared at it for a couple of moments before deducing that it was meant to be worn around the throat. He tossed it back into the box derisively.
Once again, he thought longingly of his uniform.
And he *still* didn't have a present for Touga.
***
"Happy birthday," Saionji said, his voice gruff.
Birthday parties at the Kiryuu house had always been unpleasant affairs. Saionji remembered a time when he and Touga had conspired to escape from the reception just as soon as the stultifyingly official greeting of the guests had wound to its ponderous close and Touga was allowed to get up and mingle. They'd crept out through the last window on the side of the salon that led to the garden while all of the grown-ups were standing around discussing stock courses. They'd snuck through the formal garden pretending to be Indians and raced each other around the house, all the way to the pavilion in the back of the rose gardens, where Touga had imitated all of his mother's stuck-up cousins in turn until Saionji had been doubled up with laughter and begging him to stop.
Now, Touga sat on the throne-like chair dominating the room with regal composure, smiling as graciously as a sovereign granting his subjects an audience.
"I'm very glad you could come." Touga smiled his most kingly and gracious smile and held on to Saionji's hand for far longer than the congratulatory handshake would have warranted. Saionji was hard pressed not to roll his eyes.
"I don't have a present for you," he announced belligerently.
"Your presence here is -"
"Oh *please*, don't say it."
Damn! He hadn't meant to say that out loud. Had he?
Touga's eyes widened infinitesimally in startlement.
Okay, maybe he had.
"I am happy to see that you like the dress," Touga said, stepping smoothly into the conversational breach Saionji had created. "I knew it would suit you - it brings out the striking color of your hair and eyes."
"Thanks." Saionji watched Touga suspiciously, but this time, he kept his eyes above the neckline. "I'd tell you how well your uniform suits you, but then you already know."
Touga laughed and finally released Saionji's hand. "I am glad you could come, Sayuri - you're a very unusual young woman. I am looking forward to talking with you at more length."
In other words: Dismissed.
Saionji got the message and removed himself to the buffet, where he moodily picked up a rather suspiciously pink canapé with a shrimp and a sprig of parsley on top, just to have something in his hand. Maybe it would make him seem at somewhat less of a loss than he felt. He wasn't certain why he'd actually come, let alone in the idiotic dress Touga had sent. He'd never felt comfortable at the stiff gatherings the Kiryuus called "parties". Now that he wasn't comfortable with anything about himself anymore, putting on a clingy black dress that threatened to gape open every time he moved in order to stand in the middle of a bevy of semi-professional gossips and curious teenagers seemed less than wise.
The certainty of her presence hit him with the force of a sledgehammer to the stomach.
He turned just as she stepped through the portal, hesitating briefly before coming fully inside the room, like a lovely wild bird that might take flight at the first sign of danger. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, the shy little smile playing on her lips lighting up her features into immortal perfection. Catching the merest glimpse of her, the sculptors of ancient goddesses would have thrown down their chisels forever in despair of ever capturing her fey winsomeness in stone; no painter could have done her justice, no composer of this or any century could have produced a symphony worthy of the sound of her voice.
Anthy. At last.
He only noticed he'd started forward when the sight of the person Anthy had been smiling at stopped him in his tracks.
Tenjou Utena paused briefly, shoulders going back and up, chin raising a notch. Then, she took a firmer grasp on the flowers in her hand and strode up to Touga, looking almost as though she were marching into battle. Anthy tagged along just like an obedient Rose Bride. Her eyes were demurely lowered, and she only lifted them briefly to sweep a glance across the clusters of guests as she passed.
Saionji could not help but hold his breath as she turned her head. For one brief and infinitely precious moment, Anthy's gaze met his.
She did not pause; there was no spark of recognition in her eyes. Her expression did not change at all, remaining unruffled and quietly cheerful as she turned her full attention back to Touga and the girl at her side.
It took Saionji several moments to realize he was the one who'd made the choked sound echoing in his ears. There was something almost obscene in the sight of Anthy in the company of that - that - it was completely wrong that Anthy should be accompanying that *imposter*. He had to - he had to do something, to get her back, to make that Tenjou girl understand once and for all that Anthy was *his* -
Something brittle crumbled in his hand. He looked down to find that he had crushed the shrimp-topped canapé into an unidentifiable pink mess.
This was wrong. Something about this was wrong. The deep breath he drew in shuddered in his throat and pooled in his stomach like hot lead. Fragments of memory were battering at Saionji's mental defenses, demanding his attention. A wild and primal force was stirring in his blood, in his bones, in every cell, raging to be unleashed. Screaming for -
Blood soaking through a white uniform jacket, rose petals blowing on the breeze. The scent of cold incense and polished wood.
"What - hey!"
Saionji ignored the middle-aged Kiryuu cousin in his way, the fact that he shoved him aside with enough force to send him sprawling to the floor barely registering in his mind. He stormed out to the sound of Touga's deep laughter, the sight of him grinning at the Tenjou girl. A pair of gossips he passed were turning to each other with blissfully scandalized expressions, one of them trilling, "So Utena and Touga are an item after all!"
***
The pavilion in the back of the rose gardens had not changed at all in the years that had passed since he'd last been there. Saionji had always loved it; it was a graceful marble construction tastefully adorned with slender pillars, arches and decorative latticework, and it served no truer purpose than being ornamental.
Saionji wasn't certain how long it had been since he'd been here last, and in his already more than unsettled state, that realization disturbed him. There was something deeply wrong with the vagueness of his memory on this point, for no reason he could quite pin down. So what if he wasn't certain whether it had been five years, or eight, or ten - or more? Except, of course, that it couldn't have been, because he had only met Touga when they'd both been seven years old. And that had been... how many years ago?
When had time stopped flowing like a calm river? Now there were eddies and currents, and when he thought to look up from whatever it was he was doing, he'd find that he was still in the same place, even though he'd been moving all the while. Moving sideways. Turning on his own axis. Treading in place. Moving backwards.
Ridiculous. Wasn't it?
He sat down on one of the elegant wrought-iron benches set up on the pavilion's marble patio, but jumped up again almost instantly, pacing around the small building. His gaze passed indifferently across rose trellises richly adorned with deep red blooms, carefully clipped hedges and trees. After a moment, he gathered himself and concentrated on breathing. Meditation was out of the question right now, but at least he should be able to calm himself.
It did help. After long moments, he succeeded in subduing some of the agitation roiling in his blood and leaned against the pavilion's side tiredly, tilting his face towards the darkening sky. The moon was already up, even though the sun had not yet set. It was almost full and shone pale silver against the blue sky.
Saionji's hand was still sticky from the canapé. He sniffed at his fingers and grimaced at the heavy tang of fish overlaid by unidentifiable chemicals, prudently deciding against the course of licking them clean.
"Sayuri-sempai?"
The first name that flashed through his head, accompanied by a blinding surge of unreasoning, illogical hope, was Anthy; the second, crushing him with a steel grip that felt almost like fear, was Tenjou Utena; and then, strangest of all, with a vertiginous mixture of anxiety and elation, Touga.
Of course, it was none of these people. None of them had a reason to follow him, and what was more, the voice hadn't resembled any of theirs - least of all Touga's.
Wakaba stepped through the carefully arranged wilderness of flowering bushes and a spray of well-groomed ferns, her expression as uncertain as her voice had been.
"Wakaba," Saionji said quietly.
"Are you all right?" The girl stopped at some distance, her bearing marked by uncharacteristic diffidence. "Do you need anything?"
He shook his head and forced a smile. "I'm fine."
"It's just - I saw you leave." Wakaba watched him in silence for a moment before perching on the edge of one of the benches. There was open concern in the look she gave him. "I - if there's anything I can do to help, anything at all..."
She trailed off helplessly.
Oddly enough, the silence that fell in the wake of her offer was not uncomfortable. It was the first time Saionji had ever felt at ease in Wakaba's presence; she was different tonight. She was just *there*, not making any demands, not expecting anything, not even his attention. Just unobtrusively providing companionship, if he needed it... offering her friendship, if he cared to accept it.
He wavered for a long moment before giving in. "Thank you, Wakaba."
"It was because it looked as though there was something between them, wasn't it? Something special? That's why you're so upset."
For a long moment, Saionji slumped more heavily against the wall. At last, he hoisted himself up to sit on the windowsill behind him, legs dangling like a child's. "Not really... I don't know. Maybe."
"You're in love with Touga, aren't you?"
An inarticulate sound of protest broke free of Saionji's throat.
"It's okay," Wakaba went on, her voice now almost too low to understand. "A lot of the girls are, you know."
"But I'm *not*-"
"I understand," she said wistfully. "There's nothing you can do. It just happens. You see someone who's beautiful and talented and fascinating, perfect - almost like a prince in a fairytale. And just like that, all at once you *know* that this could be the one, this is *it*. But at the same time, you also know that no matter what you do, you won't ever get close enough for it to happen. It hurts every time you see them and it's worse when you don't see them, but you can't stop it, even though maybe you want to. Even though it's hopeless and you know it, you can't stop. Because it's so completely *right*, and it doesn't even matter that it's never going to come true."
Overly verbose as always, but... Saionji knew what she meant. He'd never been able to get close enough - not in any way that counted. He thought of Anthy and wondered if he knew anything of who and what she truly was, for all that he had studied her every move, every expression that passed across her face.
"Sometimes, all you want is to stop feeling that way."
Saionji started to pull one leg up onto his perch, but quickly reconsidered when the dress began to fall open. Instead, he shifted to be able to look at Wakaba more fully. She'd turned her face upwards to the rapidly darkening sky, eyes glistening with moisture in the fading light.
"At least I do."
Saionji said nothing.
"It gets to where it's the idea of it more than anything, you know?" Wakaba's voice sounded choked, but her face was still clear, almost distant. "The picture you have of what it could be like."
The girl sucked in a deep, shuddery breath and then turned to give Saionji one of her usual bright smiles. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, but the smile was genuine. For the first time, Saionji noticed that she was actually rather pretty.
"I'm sorry for carrying on like this. You must think I'm a complete idiot." Wakaba glanced off to her right and wiped at her eyes surreptitiously before smiling up at Saionji again. "It's not usually this bad. He was - he left, just before you came. I tried to find him because I think he needs help right now, and I don't think anyone else is going to be there for him, not the way they should. I almost found him, but... I just hope he's well." He'd known she had a crush on him, of course - there was no way he could have escaped the knowledge. Her face had begun crystallizing into that of an individual rather than merely part of a faceless crowd when she'd written him a ridiculous love-letter that he'd lost no time disposing of, but even before, he'd known. He'd seen her often enough, shrinking back into corners when he walked by or waiting outside of the dojo for him to come out. He'd always been discomfited by the looks that she and the others like her had given him, even while being oddly flattered at the same time. He'd interpreted them as covetousness, lust, the wish to annex his status and popularity through owning him... Any and all of those, plus a dozen other factors.
He'd never thought true caring might play into it. After all, none of these girls knew him. Wakaba had not so much as exchanged two sentences with him before he'd turned into Sayuri. Why would she care what happened to him now, when most of the things that must have attracted her - status, success, popularity and the like - were no longer his? Yet here she was, evidently willing to stick by him even when he'd fallen into disgrace. She thought of him when almost no one remembered he'd ever existed.
It was almost like friendship... It couldn't be, of course. Whatever it was, though, it was deeply felt and completely sincere. That in itself made it something to be valued rather than derided.
"I'm sorry," Saionji said softly. "I'm truly sorry."
She shrugged and gave an embarrassed little laugh. "Darn - I came out here to see whether I could do something to make you feel better, and instead I've been whining and moaning and probably depressing you even more."
Saionji resisted the impulse to slide down from the windowsill and sit on the bench next to Wakaba for several seconds before giving in.
They watched the sun set in silence. From where they sat, they couldn't actually see the sun dip beneath the horizon, but the silhouettes of trees and hedges hiding the sky turned into black lace, backlit by the reddening orange glow; above, clouds were transformed into fiery, serrated teeth of light that faded slowly into pastel and fog.
It had turned almost fully dark now, although the stars were still hidden by the sun's reflected light. The moon had wandered a short way across the sky and was glowing with a cold white light.
"You're really, really pretty," Wakaba said in a wistful tone. When Saionji turned his head, she was far closer than she had been before. He froze, and for several heartbeats they stared at each other from the closest of ranges. Wakaba's gaze wandered down to Saionji's lips and clung. For a moment, he was sure she was about to kiss him.
"Uh, I, I've got to go!" Wakaba jumped up without warning, moving so suddenly that Saionji jerked back in startlement. "I just remembered. I forgot. I mean, I forgot that I have to go, to, to meet up with Utena. See you!"
Saionji murmured something she couldn't have heard; she'd already disappeared behind shrubbery by the time he'd recovered from his surprise.
***
The neon pink canapés had been replaced by something vaguely green, but no less poisonous looking. Saionji gave the new selection a suspicious once-over as he passed the buffet. It was high time to wash the sticky remains of the pink shrimp thing off his hand.
A small cluster of students were gathered in front of the bathroom, heads together as they prattled. They fell silent at his approach. He ignored them.
It had been immediately apparent that something out of the ordinary had happened while he and Wakaba had been in the garden. The atmosphere of the gathering had changed completely. Before, it had been a somewhat stiff party; now, whatever festive air there had been was gone. Those guests who weren't conversing in too-bright tones or breaking into hearty laughter that sounded forced and far too loud were huddled together talking excitedly, occasionally casting greedy glances around the room. Searching for a sign of renewed scandal, no doubt.
The girls in front of the bathroom started chattering again as soon as the door fell shut behind him, evidently overestimating the soundproofing quality of the wood. Saionji made no particular effort to understand their gossip - not until he caught the name Utena, that was.
It seemed Nanami had challenged Tenjou to a duel because she blamed her for her beloved brother's injuries.
Peculiar. Of course, Nanami must have forgotten about Saionji's existence like almost everyone else, and it made sense that she would settle on a girl Touga was obviously interested in to place the blame; she'd always been given to erratic and unpredictable behavior when it came to Touga. Still, Saionji would have expected her brother to put a stop to any ridiculous notion Nanami might have hatched of dueling the Champion. The girl was talented, if undisciplined, but at her present level, she couldn't hope to hold her own against Tenjou... and Touga knew it.
On his way back to the ballroom, Saionji made it a point to scowl at the gossiping girls until they broke and scattered, tittering nervously.
Saionji made a quick circuit of the rooms opened up for the party, but Anthy was no longer here. On the bright side, that meant that Tenjou had likely gone home, as well - at least the chit was nowhere in evidence. He really didn't want to see her again - today or ever, if he could help it.
At least now that Anthy had come and gone, there was no more reason for Saionji to stay, either - because she was the reason he'd come in the first place, even though he hadn't exactly been in a partying mood. He'd known there was a chance she would be there, and he hadn't been able to resist. Obviously, she'd been the reason. What else?
Next time, he'd listen to his head rather than his heart.
"Sayuri! There you are."
Touga stepped into his path through one of the French doors, moonlight glinting on his hair. The effect was almost certainly calculated. "I've been hoping I would run into you again."
Without waiting for an answer, Touga supplied Saionji with a glass of champagne and steered him out onto the terrace. A handful of guests were leaning on the low banister and looking out over the moon-gilded garden, most of them too wrapped up in their respective romances to pay attention to anyone else. Those that were either more curious or less love-struck gave Touga's new companion a quick once-over before pretending to disinterest.
"How do you like Ohtori so far? I hope everyone has done their best to help you settle in quickly."
Saionji gave a meaningless, if vaguely affirmative answer.
"I'm sorry I haven't been able to come down to the dojo these past few days - council business, you know. But I'm going to make the time soon. I've heard so much about your skill that I'm eager to spar with you."
Saionji grunted noncommittally.
It took Touga a number of minutes to give up on trying to engage Saionji in insipid small talk. When he finally did, they shared several moments of silence, looking out into the night side by side. You couldn't see the moon from this side of the house, but it cast a cool white glow over the carefully raked paths and geometric trees and lawns of the formal garden. There was an artfully overgrown fountain off to the right, framed by crescent-shaped flowerbeds.
Saionji felt as though the silence and the steady presence at his side were soaking into him. It was almost peaceful - almost like it used to be. Touga could be good company when he wanted to be. Saionji remembered it well.
A knot of tension Saionji hadn't even been aware of began to dissolve, eased by the illusion of companionship, meaningless as it was. It had been a long time since he and Touga had spent time together without some sort of wrangling for advantage being sparked off of a challenging look, a smug grin, perceived condescension in a quirk of the mouth or turn of the head.
This didn't actually count, of course; for all intents and purposes, they weren't spending time together now. Touga was merely trying to find the right opening to make another conquest. Saionji knew this well, had watched it a hundred times. He knew it for what it was. He knew it meant less than nothing.
When Saionji looked to the side, he found that Touga was watching him, wearing a soft, contented smile. The expression made him look open, almost vulnerable.
Typical of Touga making a play for someone. Absurd, really. Saionji should just go and get some sleep. Maybe he'd be able to get in an extra hour or two of practice before class tomorrow, if he turned in early.
"I realize that this is going to sound strange... after all, I hardly know you." Touga said quietly. When Saionji turned to give him an inquisitive glance, he avoided meeting his gaze, looking out across the silent garden instead. The small, now noticeably rueful smile still hovered about his mouth.
It's not real, Saionji reminded himself. It's just Touga.
"You feel like someone I've known for a very long time," Touga went on after a long pause. "It's as though we've known each other forever. Don't you feel it?" Touga's eyes were almost black with the night. Saionji opened his mouth to reply and stopped, suddenly uncertain. Of course he felt it, but he knew that Touga didn't. It was just one of Touga's games. It meant nothing.
"It's as though whatever I felt, I'd just have to look at you and you'd know, without the need for words. As though I've watched you so often that every move is familiar, every step and frown and shake of your head..."
"What I know is that you're talking complete nonsense," Saionji announced flatly, trying to smooth the scowl from his features without success. Touga seemed amused, night-dark eyes glittering, mouth soft and smiling.
"You *do* feel it," Touga murmured. "I knew you did. I'm not surprised you think this is a cheap pick-up line, though. It sounds like it, doesn't it? 'Our souls have recognized each other across the crowded room.'"
He'd deepened his voice for the last bit, waggling his brows in comical over-dramatization. Saionji snorted lightly, trying to sound annoyed rather than amused.
Touga watched him a while longer. The intense scrutiny became discomfiting very soon; it was Saionji's turn to shift away and stare unseeingly into the garden, pretending to an interest in the shadowed greenery that he knew Touga wasn't buying any more than he himself had bought Touga's distraction a moment before.
"Sayuri."
Saionji started at the sound of the name and stepped back when Touga reached out a hand, retreated another step when Touga followed. "No. No, Touga, I don't feel it - I don't feel anything except the chill. I'm going inside. You can do what you like."
It wasn't particularly cold yet, but Saionji had once heard a girl use the excuse of the night's chill to escape an unwanted suitor. It was fairly obvious that it *was* an excuse, of course, but he was certain Touga's ego would survive the blow.
"Sayuri. May I show you something? It won't take long."
Saionji swung around impatiently. He was immediately engulfed in a warm, Touga-scented drift of white fabric.
The top buttons of Touga's shirt were undone and gaped slightly open, now unconstrained by the uniform jacket. Touga was smiling still, although now, there was an additional hint of something in his expression that Saionji wasn't certain he could place. "As a favor to me on my birthday. Humor a fanciful man who doesn't want to be alone just yet. Please."
"There are dozens of guests here who -"
Touga's mouth twisted. Saionji, who knew this expression of old, stopped speaking immediately. "No," Touga said, his tone considerably more harsh than before. "It isn't whether there are other people in physical proximity, Sayuri. I've been alone all day... until I snagged you just now."
Touga had always surrounded himself with as many people as he could. He'd always liked to be the center of attention, everyone looking to him. Even so, he'd always seemed aloof and untouchable, alone in the middle of the crowd he'd drawn together with himself at its center. Saionji was different - he'd never felt truly comfortable in large groups. Fortunately, he didn't mind being alone. Quite the contrary, he liked it - thrived on it, even. He'd always liked it. Always.
He'd never felt uncomfortable with Touga. Not then. It had been natural to spend every waking minute with the other boy. It had felt *right*.
"Will you walk with me? Please."
Saionji regarded Touga's extended arm for a long moment before reaching out to take it, gripping soft silk and hard muscle and bone in a grip that was probably too firm for that of a woman consenting to be escorted. He found, irrationally, that he was afraid. He didn't know why, and it made no sense, but... all of a sudden, he was afraid.
*Don't. Don't...* He clamped his mouth shut, trapping the words that wanted to escape.
Ridiculous, he chastised himself. It was only Touga.
And yet, his heart wouldn't settle back into a steadier rhythm, and his throat was tight with an unknown dread he refused to acknowledge even when it wouldn't dispel beneath his scrutiny. At last, he resorted to simply putting it out of his mind, backing up his resolve with a small surge of rage at his own fanciful stupidity.
Apparently, it was later than Saionji had thought. The gardens were almost deserted, although it was hard to be sure because Touga made certain to steer clear of any of the more obvious spots a couple might choose to be alone together. It wasn't cold at all - the night held no more than a slight nip, and Saionji preferred that to the muggy, stale air of those summer nights that brought no relief from the day's heat.
Saionji pulled Touga's uniform jacket more securely around his shoulders when it began to slip. Neither of them felt the need to talk, and in spite of Saionji's lingering unease, the silence between them was a comfortable one. They made a slight detour around the pond, where the sound of night insects was louder than elsewhere and occasionally, a frog could be heard calling, either for a mate or simply for the joy of the clear night. The moon was higher now, casting enough light to illuminate the narrow gravel path that snaked between carefully tended flowerbeds, past the miniature labyrinth, branching in front of the decorative bamboo glade. As Saionji had expected, Touga turned left, leaving the path after they'd walked it for no more than several minutes to head across an expanse of moonwashed lawn. When they stepped over the first of the low hedges that bordered the garden they were heading for, Touga's arm brushed the side of Saionji's breast, and he jerked away so violently that he almost stumbled because of the unexpected length of fabric restricting his legs.
"I hate dresses," Saionji snarled, tearing his hand free of Touga's grip. When had the other man pulled his arm in that tightly against his body - and when had he put his own hand above Saionji's where it rested on his shirt-clad sleeve?
"That's a pity," Touga said, straight-faced. Neither his tone of voice nor his expression betrayed any emotion other than polite concern, but Saionji knew that the bastard was laughing himself sick in the privacy of his own head.
"You would think so," Saionji muttered resentfully. *He* wasn't the one who had to go jumping over hedges in the idiotic slinky dress he'd picked out, after all.
"It's just behind that fence. Let me boost you up..."
Saionji stared at Touga's outstretched hands for a long, incredulous moment before staring into his friend's eyes. After several heartbeats, Touga shrugged and lowered his arms.
Now that Saionji was warned against the dangers of climbing in a tight dress, he had no problems at all in scaling the trellis along the house wall and jumping over onto the reinforced middle of the wrought-iron fence they had to climb in order to reach their goal. The ivy winding its way through the metal barely rustled as he searched for a foothold, another one higher up, and then vaulted straight up and over, landing in a perfect crouch on the other side. He remembered the uniform jacket just in time to snatch it from the air before it landed in the dirt.
Touga dropped down next to him in almost complete silence.
The garden hadn't changed at all. The small fountain in the center was tinkling in the same silvery note, the ivy and blooms gracing the trellises and elegantly wrought iron latticework tumbled in the same, artfully casual confusion. Even the marble benches framing the central arrangement of fountain, raked sand and roses were the same, still gleaming white and piled with multi-colored pillows.
"This is my favorite place," Touga said quietly. "The only place I can be truly alone, when I want to be."
They were silent, allowing the quiet to seep into their awareness. Touga was standing very close; close enough that Saionji wouldn't have to move much at all to touch him. All it would take would be a slight turn, or swaying sideways a little, and their shoulders would touch.
He was careful not to move.
"I've never taken anyone here before."
"Never?" Saionji's tone apparently gave Touga pause; he looked at him for a long moment before smiling slightly and shaking his head.
"Once, long ago... I used to come here with my best friend. But that was when we were both still children, and ever since then..."
Liar. He probably came here with every girl he wanted to tumble, to tell her this same story.
"It's different with you," his friend said abruptly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "You feel... familiar. Comfortable. Right."
Saionji waited a beat too long before pulling back when Touga leaned closer. He could see the knowledge of it in the other man's eyes, and it made his retort come out sharper than he had intended. "I expect that next, you'll be telling me you've been waiting for me your entire life."
Touga's laugh was low and husky and shivered through Saionji like a tangible thing. He shouldn't have come here - didn't know why he *had* come. Didn't know why he was staying when it was making him so uncomfortable. "I might have," Touga murmured. He was standing so close that Saionji could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin when he spoke. "If I had known there was someone like you."
Saionji's chest hurt. He should never have come, and he wasn't going to stay.
"I'm leaving," he said abruptly, stepping back. Touga stayed where he was, watching him. "It's late."
After a moment's hesitation, Touga gave a minute nod. His expression was very serious, not a hint of teasing or playfulness remaining.
Saionji was in no mood to climb back over the fence beneath his friend's watchful gaze. Running the gauntlet of the remaining gossips in the ballroom on his way out held even less appeal. The fastest way off the Kiryuu estate was through Touga's rooms, and at this point, Saionji didn't care if he betrayed more knowledge of the house and grounds than he should.
The glass door leading to Touga's study was unlocked and opened to a firm push. Saionji crossed the darkened room without waiting for Touga. He would find his own way out.
Touga caught up with him at the door to the corridor, his touch on Saionji's black-sleeved arm light. "I've made you uncomfortable. Forgive me."
"Never mind." Saionji's voice was low and far too raw, and he fought the urge to clear his throat. "I'm just - not quite myself tonight."
"You're beautiful," Touga murmured, and Saionji froze, his hand tightening on the door-handle.
The all but inaudible catch in Touga's voice, the arrested look in his eyes - even the hesitation before he moved forward to stand too close once again. It was masterfully done.
"Please stay."
Saionji said nothing. He should go. Instead, he let Touga tug his hand away from the handle to interlace their fingers, turning him skillfully with a gentle pull. Slowly, Touga raised his free hand to Saionji's face, trailing the lightest of touches along the line of his jaw and down the side of his neck. The shiver that rose at the caress was impossible to suppress.
Touga slowly brushed his hand through Saionji's hair, tugging gently, holding a handful up and letting the green strands run through his fingers.
"Lovely," he murmured, his voice deep and husky. "Exquisite, extraordinary, like silk to the touch..."
Saionji shook himself mentally and looked down, deliberately breaking the hold of his friend's gaze on his. "It's green and wavy. So?" It came out more belligerent than he'd intended, but he decided that was a good thing.
Not that it made a difference. Touga laughed a laugh low and intimate enough to bring a flush to Saionji's face. The laugh was familiar, as was the hypnotic gaze, the languid movements and intense focus. He knew what Touga was doing. It was all so familiar, but... not. Not like this. Not directed at Saionji.
"It's glorious, like all of you," Touga murmured, and his body was suddenly touching Saionji's from knee to chest, one knee gently nudging between his own. "How can you not know how breathtaking you are, Sayuri?"
The false name brought a sorely-needed measure of sanity back; Saionji rallied somewhat. "Touga, I -"
And that was as far as he got before Touga's mouth descended, muffling the rest of his sentence. Dimly, Saionji recognized the strategy - cut off the protest before it could be fully voiced, prevent her from speaking her doubts and use the time thus won to get her so fired up she forgets what she was going to say, forgets any reservations or injunctions she might have had, forgets everything but...
This.
"Touga," he murmured helplessly as his friend's lips moved lightly over his cheekbone on the way to his ear. How did he know how to do this, how to nibble on Saionji's lobe just the right side of pain, how to lip and suck and bite the sensitive skin behind Saionji's ear and move down the exquisitely tingling skin at the side of his neck - "Touga..."
"Mmmm," Touga rumbled, and Saionji could feel the vibration against the base of his throat.
Touga's thigh had insinuated itself far deeper between Saionji's legs than he had realized. He only noticed this development when Touga shifted position again, grasping Saionji's hips with both hands and pulling him forward. A hard, muscled thigh was pressing right up against Saionji's sex, moving very subtly, but with an unmistakable rhythm. The black dress's slit skirt had fallen open around Touga's leg in the front and was brushing Saionji's calves in the back, moving in counterpoint to the subtle rhythm Touga was setting. He could feel the heat of Touga's body through the thin cotton barrier of his underwear; the fabric of his friend's pants was chafing his inner thighs slightly as Touga moved.
Delicious pressure shuddered through Saionji like a slow explosion, making him gasp and jerk in surprise. Touga chuckled again, and his blue eyes were burning into Saionji's with the heavy-lidded heat of sheer lust. Saionji could hear the triumphant "Got you!" just as clearly as though the other man had shouted it out loud.
The small part of Saionji that was still coherent enough wondered at the forcefulness of Touga's seduction. Considering that until Touga's teeth had set into his throat just now, he'd truly thought he would get out of here without - this -
Another tug at his hips, and this time he followed Touga's directions willingly, eagerly even, leaning back at a different angle. Touga shifted his stance, moved in even closer and pressed up harder, and *yes*, right there, right *there*, this was good, this was very good, and Saionji pulled the dress up further, took hold of Touga's buttocks and pulled him in tight against his body, driving down against the next little thrust of Touga's thigh against the throbbing need between his legs, rubbing himself against muscled hardness. So strange to feel it like this, so strange and so delicious, and that it was Touga moving between his legs, Touga leaning forward to devour his mouth, Touga's hand gently kneading his strangely full breast, thumbing the nipple through several layers of cloth... Touga running a light hand down the side of his neck, tracing his collarbone, following the line of his sternum downwards and sliding smoothly into the dress.
Saionji moaned helplessly into Touga's mouth as an expert hand cupped his naked flesh, content to hold it only briefly before skilled fingertips began teasing at the nipple, sending sparks of surprised pleasure racing straight to Saionji's sex. How strange... how wonderful. He arched forward into the hand and drove himself down onto the thigh, and when Touga withdrew a second later, he followed blindly, snarling in protest.
"So hot," Touga whispered. "You are so gorgeous, so delicious, so eager..."
A deft arm slid around his waist and tugged him away from the door. Saionji found himself gathered in a crushing embrace, plastered to Touga for a searing, but brief kiss. Touga's tongue claimed his mouth with complete certainty of its welcome, delving deep as his hands lifted Saionji almost entirely off his feet and pressed him into the unmistakable bulge that lay against Touga's leg.
And God, it was strange to feel another man's erection pressed against him, almost as strange as being this fired up with desire and not having an erection of his own, but this different, deep, throbbing need instead. Strange and wonderful and - *Touga*.
"Come, my lovely Sayuri."
He followed without protest as Touga led him to the second room of the suite, the bedroom, dominated by the familiar canopy bed.
Even now - *especially* now - it was impossible not to see that Touga knew every movement of this dance inside out, had honed every move to perfection in countless sexual encounters with countless nameless girls. In front of the bed, he turned Saionji for another deep and probing kiss, his hand finding the slit in the skirt unerringly and sliding up Saionji's leg from mid-thigh. Saionji knew what the next step in the dance of seduction would be and spread his legs in anticipation, earning an approving chuckle and a renewed, husky litany of how responsive and desirable he was. Touga slipped his fingers beneath the elastic of the panties' leg opening and stroked lightly over Saionji's sex until Saionji snarled impatiently and pushed against him in demand.
Touga dipped into his folds gently, massaging and caressing, and then - slowly, slowly - slid a finger deep inside Saionji's body. The unfamiliar sensation cleared Saionji's head of some of the lust-induced fog, but Touga did something with his thumb, teased and stroked what could only be Saionji's clitoris, and that felt... beyond incredible.
"You're mine, my beauty," Touga told him. It was a terrible line, but Saionji didn't care. He moaned and trembled and shook in his oldest friend's arm, on his hand.
Only moments later Saionji had been stripped of his dress with practiced ease and laid back on the rose-colored spread. Touga divested himself of his own clothes with equal speed and expertise, eyes never leaving Saionji's body as he undressed.
As an experiment, Saionji stretched a little, raising his arms above his head to make his breasts protrude further. Touga's gaze gravitated to his chest with gratifying promptness, and his fingers sped up in their task of unbuttoning his shirt. A raised knee immediately drew the hot gaze to the mound of Saionji's sex. Amused even through his arousal, Saionji spread his legs invitingly.
Touga's eyes flew to his face, and something he saw there made him smile, a spark of warmth softening the open desire in his eyes. "Wanton creature," he murmured, stepping out of his briefs and walking around to the foot end of the bed.
It was a challenge, and Saionji met it head-on, arching his back in a cat-like stretch, spreading his legs a little wider. Touga's gaze lingered for a long moment. His expression was unreadable as he put a knee on the mattress between Saionji's ankles.
"Glad to see the color is natural," he purred, leaning forward.
"Can you say the same?" Saionji shot back.
That surprised a laugh out of him, and he stood back up at the foot of the bed and struck a pose, throwing his head back and displaying himself. Saionji abandoned his own posture, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view. He had always known his friend was beautiful, but now, the fact was taking on a new and almost terrifying urgency. Long, flowing hair the color of fresh blood. Perfectly muscled arms, broad shoulders, and sculpted pectorals. Washboard stomach, slim hips, the cock so engorged with blood that it was lying up against the stomach, growing from a thatch of wine-dark curls. Long, long legs, slim and elegant and just as well-formed as the rest of him.
He wanted that, all of it. He could taste Touga's skin on his lips already, could feel silken skin and heat, sleek perfection beneath his hands, between his legs, and he *wanted* it.
Wanted Touga, whom he had known since childhood, whom he had loved and trusted like no other, whose body he had found aesthetically pleasing, but never before looked on with desire. It was a concept at once incomprehensible and strangely inevitable.
"Turn around," Saionji ordered.
Touga raised a sardonic eyebrow and complied, turning gracefully.
"Your hair is in the way," Saionji admonished, and Touga cast him a look over one shoulder before sweeping the long fall of scarlet over one shoulder, providing an unimpeded view of a broad back tapering to a slim waist and perfectly rounded, muscular buttocks. Saionji's mouth was dry as bone, and he had to clear his throat before speaking again.
"Come here, Touga," he commanded huskily.
Touga obeyed, flexing his muscles with more than his usual graceful economy of movement as he swung back around. Slowly, deliberately, he let himself down to the bed between Saionji's legs and prowled forward. Saionji watched him, their gazes locked in shared desire now mingled with a trace of challenge.
Saionji had gone down on women, and he'd enjoyed their stifled gasps and the way they writhed beneath his steadying hands, the way the small nub of flesh swelled with blood against the tip of his tongue, the way they cried out when he found just the right angle and pressure and rhythm. The way their bodies opened to him, the way they pulsed around his tongue, the way they pressed their thighs against him in the helpless desire for more... he knew all of this, knew the things to do to cause it, and yet he was completely unprepared when Touga did them to him.
"Touga!"
"Hrrrrmmmm," hummed Touga, sounding amused. He pulled back to lick slowly, unhurriedly along the folds of Saionji's sex, lapping up his juices, ignoring the sobbing moans Saionji could hear himself making. After what felt like an eternity, his mouth finally returned to the center of the pulse of pleasure spreading from Saionji's groin through his entire body.
"Oh."
Oh *yes*. Touga was so good at this, damn him, he knew exactly when to suck and when to lick and when to -
The finger finding its way back into him caught Saionji by surprise; he wondered almost stupidly at the sensation of being penetrated, gasping to the movements of Touga's mouth, unintentionally driving himself onto Touga's finger when he moved to heighten the stimulation from the tormenting tongue and lips. Strange, the sensation of something inside him, Touga, Touga inside him, Touga's mouth between his legs, beautiful Touga, beloved Touga...
"Now."
He had never heard this particular tone in Touga's voice; he would have remembered. Rough and dark and urgent, harsh with command, lust, need...
The mouth that had lifted to deliver the command descended once again, and abruptly, it was too much. Sensation spilled over and ignited, ripping through his body in a flash of torrential pleasure that tore a harsh cry from his throat, arched his spine off the bed and made his thighs clench around Touga's head.
Touga. Beautiful Touga, who extricated himself gently and moved up his body to lick and nip his breasts and kiss his lips when every nerve in Saionji's body was still thrumming in joy, every cell saturated with pleasure. Touga who was fondling his breast, Touga who was the best at everything he did, beloved Touga...
The sudden sharp, stabbing pain inside of him was unexpected and unwelcome. It chased away the lingering tingle of orgasm and replaced it with something harsh and ugly, and Saionji stiffened and snarled and opened his eyes to Touga's shocked expression.
"Sayuri," he rasped in his new voice, rough velvet the color of night. "You should have told me. I would have been more careful."
The idea was so grotesque that it took Touga's remark to make him realize what the hell was wrong.
Touga's expression turned guarded at Saionji's involuntary bark of incredulous laughter, and he cast about for the right thing to say, something that would bring the untempered glow of lust back into the other man's eyes.
"It never occurred to me," he finally said. It was the truth, and his friend could make of it whatever suited him best. "It doesn't hurt much - just caught me off guard. Don't stop."
This wasn't completely true, but it seemed to satisfy Touga, who began to move in long, slow thrusts, his breathing controlled and even, his face set in concentration. It hurt a great deal, but Saionji was prepared now and concealed the pain behind a mask of pleasure.
After a minute, Saionji ran his hands up Touga's back into his hair and pulled his head down firmly. The kiss was slow and deep and intense, tongues tangling, sucking and thrusting deep in blatant counterpoint to the movement of Touga's hips. By the time Touga reared back and parted their mouths, settling into a fractionally more demanding rhythm, the pain of his initial penetration had faded to a sharp but bearable discomfort that could be ignored in the face of the tumbling bevy of sensations rushing in from other parts of him.
Touga was biting down his neck, starting at that spot behind his ear and working his way down, stopping to suck and nibble. Sparks of pleasure shot straight from his friend's nibbling to Saionji's groin, and he arched his head back to expose as much of the sensitive skin as possible to Touga's touch. Silken hair slid beneath his fingers, a curtain of red sheeting forward to enclose the two of them in a private universe of hazed sensual pleasure.
Silken hair, silken skin, heated and damp with exertion, hard muscles shifting... infinitely graceful, vulnerable line of spine... Touga's breathing hitched and he thrust forward hard, breaking his steady rhythm.
Saionji grinned and repeated the caress, running his hands over Touga's lower back and down, lingering on the working buttocks briefly, sliding one hand between the other man's legs as far as he could reach to stroke hot, taut skin with the very tips of his fingers.
Another uncontrolled thrust, driving Touga's cock deep into Saionji's body. It was beyond strange, being filled this way, being crushed to the bed by Touga's weight, feeling Touga's body between his thighs, pumping into him, burning blue gaze locked hungrily on his face, his body. More than strange, and better than he could ever have imagined.
Touga slowed his rhythm and his breathing, tossing his head to get the hair out of his face. Saionji reached up and brushed the fiery mass back over Touga's shoulder, twisting it in a fist at the back of his neck, pulling him down into yet another kiss, open-mouthed, wet and wild.
"You feel good," Saionji gasped when they broke apart for breath, surprised at how true that was. As an experiment, he set his feet to the bed and lifted himself into Touga's next stroke, feeling him slide impossibly deeper. The friction and thick, heated slide of his cock as it was withdrawn and pushed in again to fill Saionji once more had begun to send excited ripples coursing through him. It wasn't enough, he needed more, and on Touga's next downstroke, he wrapped both legs around his lover's waist and pulled him in as deep as he could, both hands clenched on the other man's buttocks.
He relaxed his hold to allow Touga to move back and arched into him as he thrust home, devouring him, pressing him in deeper, deeper still... Still not enough, but close, the pressure was building and the subtle ripples of excitement had turned into heavy throbs that made him gasp and clutch Touga's body and bite down hard on his shoulder -
"Slow - down -"
*No.* He didn't want to slow down, he wanted Touga deeper, and faster, and harder, like that, just like that - still not quite enough; he clenched himself around Touga's shaft to increase the sensation, and Touga shuddered and gasped and grabbed his hips, pushing in harder, faster. He uncoiled his legs from around his lover and braced his feet against the sheets again, lifting up to meet him, harder, yes, deeper, yes, more...
Scarlet hair in his face. Saionji pried a hand loose from a clenching buttock and reached up to lay his arm over Touga's back and pull him down, crush him to his body so that smooth, hot skin rubbed over his breasts, nipples sensitized to the point of pain; so they were plastered together from groin to neck, parting and slapping together in the quick rhythm of Touga's increasingly urgent thrusts.
Come on, come *on*, damn you, come *on* Touga, again, again, again...
It was desperate and frantic and he was crying out with each hard thrust that seated Touga deliciously deep in his body, hoarse and inarticulate, his voice drowned out by Touga's harsh breathing and the rhythmic moans sounding right next to his ear. Saionji felt it coming, felt it build inside like a wave, carrying him up and up in a helpless, drawn-out rush that made him moan and shudder in despair, and then breaking with the force of a storm tide, smashing him to sparkling fragments, tearing him apart and rebuilding him in the same instant, drowning him in an electric blaze of pleasure.
Touga was lifting up above him in sweat-sheened perfection, tangled hair glued to his neck and chest and shoulders, a long strand of green twining about one arm. Saionji cried out in surprise and delight as he thrust with brute force, bereft now of rhythm, humping urgently, almost desperately. Once more, and a shiver ran through Saionji's lax body, forcing his spine into a tense bow and sparking echoes of fire along every sensitized nerve ending. And again, another wave building, quicker this time, fire cresting and pulling him down in a confused conflagration of heat, motion and sheer sensation.
Far away, he heard Touga cry out, and he was dimly aware of his body being impaled so forcefully it was lifted off the bed, once, twice, again, and then a hard, delicious jolt deep inside as liquid warmth filled him.
Heavy, heated, unmoving weight pressing his limp form into the mattress. A spill of damp hair lying across his face, tickling his nose. Touga.
Saionji sighed contentedly and nuzzled his face into the other man's neck. He was with Touga. For the first time since childhood, all was right with the world.
***
"Sayuri."
Sudden brightness fell into his eyes and he turned his face into the pillow, murmuring protest.
The bed shifted. Saionji hummed pleased assent and turned his face back into the light to be kissed, breathing in the mingled scent of Touga and sex.
No kiss was forthcoming. Instead, the mattress suddenly tilted beneath him, sending him tumbling to the floor tangled in sheets, heart racing, his own hair in his mouth.
"Damn you, what's the idea?" he snarled.
Touga was dressed already, impeccably groomed, hair shining and falling down his back in the usual smooth waterfall. Sun sparkled and caught on his uniform's gold trim as he turned, copper highlights glinting in his hair. He was already out the door when he turned to smile an edged, sarcastic little smile, pausing momentarily to slant a mocking glance at Saionji over one shoulder. "You'll be late for class."
And he was gone.
You had to say one thing for Touga... He certainly didn't leave you guessing. Crystal clear.
Saionji pushed his hair off his face, untangled himself from the bedding, and went to take a quick shower before hurrying back to Ohtori to change into a school uniform. He didn't take any particular care not to be noticed, although he didn't see anyone on his way to his room, either. He wasn't the first this had happened to, and he wouldn't be the last.
There was no time to wash his hair, but once he'd gotten the snags out and tied it back into a loose ponytail, it didn't look too bad.
It wasn't difficult to see this from Touga's perspective, and by the time first period was through and he was headed towards the next class room for the daily math lesson, Saionji had settled the matter in his mind. He'd never mistaken Touga's attentions for anything but what they were; he knew him far too well.
No doubt he'd now ruined any hope there'd been of regaining a measure of closeness to his friend, but the truth was that his chances had been all but non-existent from the start - at least in this body. Touga did not have female friends. He had admirers, and projects, and old rivals...
Perhaps he should have resisted the temptation to spend time with his old friend in any way, simply to avoid getting into just this situation, but he hadn't, and that was that. Touga had tumbled one more girl in a long row of girls, and there was nothing to distinguish the encounter from the one before it or the one that would come after. Saionji might have been making love to his best friend, but Touga had been fucking a stranger. It would have been hypocritical to lay the blame of the mess Saionji had made of things at Touga's door. Touga had merely been himself... something which could not be said of Saionji by any stretch of the imagination.
So. Sign it. File it. Put it in a box marked done.
Third period brought a surprise test in chemistry, and Saionji was the only student in the classroom who didn't groan in protest when the teacher reached into her briefcase and brought out the tell-tale sheaf of paper. He welcomed the chance to lose himself in the clean, logical world of mo