A/N: Wow, most of the readers are on the dot! Thank you for the great reviews! It's summer! YAYAA! I'm practicing for my English provincial…:D I am not dead.

Also, I was only a 7th grader who knew nothing about the English syntax when this story first began so I'm taking all of those chapters down and re-writing it. It's safe to say that they all have the exact content after the revamp, only more description and (minor) character development. So if you have been following this for the past… two-three years; you'd see the vast difference between now and then in terms of wording/description/plot. It really is alarming.

Dedicated to: Nubia and Stella. I'm okay guys. I'm only stressed about my life with so many things going on and that ranting about it really does not improve the way things are. Both of you are my escape people; you make me stop and realise how GREAT friends can exist across the border, across the world…and how there are still caring people OUT there rather than the next door. Remember that.

Chapter 23: Somnambulate

This path, I will tread through it quickly,
I wonder how many seasons passed,
Or was it only days ago since then…
(Waiting for a breeze)
Figures in a snow globe of pink and white,
When distant memories become blithe…
- based on Proud by TVXQ

I came back to that shore empty-handed— just as you had predicted.

How many days have passed, I wonder. Was it only days ago when your fingers twisted, lost into mine and your rouge lips were laughing. I still remember your black dress; those loose blue sleeves swimming when you moved. Claret lines marred your skin; each with their own telltale like mine. You never told me every telltale, didn't you?

When you asked where my wounds were…I stayed silent and studied your purple-grey shadow; I think that means it's four o'clock.

It was the end of our session, right?

You glanced at me for a half-second with a smirk on your face. Your bright and narrowed eyes caught the late day sunlight for an instant… the color of flame. Somewhere, ocean miles away and inside my head, I could remember a similar tint. It seemed so far away, like a lit match forgotten or a sweet chocolate hidden under hostel pillows.

I couldn't remember who you were; your name.

I couldn't even remember how your hand felt in mine— only a blur of an arm raised and your fingers pressed against my chest.

Reached into in my heart?

There, you said. 'I understand, Kai.'

How could you?

I'd been in this country for so long that I couldn't hear my own accent, and sometimes I envied the obvious inflection in yours. Even the faces of my own parents were less and less familiar with everyday spent. I was home, in Russia, but my soul left for somewhere else. Your shamefaced touch and that face, that familiar face planted my feet on this icy hell. My dark heart, at the same time, pulsated in her delicate chest ocean miles away. I never asked about your past, but you surely dug into mine. Did you treasure it more than I did?

Whenever I looked at you, I couldn't forget. You were strong, you were reckless. My heart felt out of place.

You thought you could heal me.

You guided my arms, steadying my body and instructing how and when to move the other leg; the injured toe. You were in control of my movements; I did not have to think, but rather imagine that I was home.

I remember the way you were poised in anticipation every night; propped up on the wooden bench.

What did you expect?

You never wanted me to leave.

And I couldn't anyway.

If a plane left Moscow for Japan at three AM on a July Sunday, will you still be with me in the Autumn?

Would Autumn keep me from loving you endlessly? Postpone love-struck letters and stupid care packages from getting to me…?

Would you stand alongside the road and watch the dying snow become awkward piles on the grass in Spring?

Because when heavy snow blinded my eyes, I prayed for thistle strewn fields and cherry blossom trees.

I prayed for her to come.

I would have met you beneath the cherry blossoms and waited for a breeze until we found ourselves in a snow globe of pink and white. I would tell you that you were falling around me…

But we'd both know that Spring was instead.

You told me one night that I could do anything. I was in control. Just don't leave you.

I watched the sky turned into a smoky death and I laid on your bed— after dragging you out of a clubbing party.

You were half-chewing on a piece of mint dipped in chocolate.

Your skin was pale, veins rigid and blue, eyes sombre and shoulders small. You forced a smile for me when I gave you a small hug because you knew my momentary detest of human contact. Contrived—for a moment…when I toyed with the red ribbon (that held your dress in place) around your neck and my hand became icy liquid cascading down your back. It became genuine when I slid my hand back into my pocket, and remained there; your ribbon barely moved in its careless knot.

You undid the ribbon and by then, your eyes became a tangent of unspoken fears, the thought in your eyes that I would never see you past your red seductress dress. Of course, I knew better.

This was you then, existing only in elegant cocktails, figure skates, media and fantasies. You, personally, weren't familiar to me but you varied as least as you could.

I stared at you with an indifferent mask, somewhat tempted and somewhat grateful of your lust. Neither of us breathed easy. I was a boy. You were a girl. You released an edgy sigh; defeated, perhaps?

Slowly, I unbuttoned my sea green chemise— saw your face light up in anticipation— and draped it over your bare chest. Like a glove, you fit as I placed you on my hip. I was the ventriloquist and you were the beautiful marionette.

Said the words I'd never say.

You slid me a tender gaze and your fingers traced my jaw line.

Yes, I was real.

But that was all I could do to you.

Coppery scents made his head reel in nausea and startled him awake as the (cold) numbing sensation spread across his cheek. He recognized the silent azure walls covered with scrolls, posters of the four Chinese gods, beyblading Championship photos and wooden shelves lined with books and soccer, hockey and football trophies. A white leather seat with the tiny coffee table, near the sliding doors leading to the balcony, situated peacefully and untouched.

Sunken blue eyes carefully examined his bruise; the blow had been worse than assumed. It turned into lavender-yellow within the night. Crystal chewed her lower lip back; Hiro did not need to discipline Kai.

"Wash it off… wash it…off…" Kai slurred unevenly; bloodshot eyes narrowed at the girl who nursed his wound. "Wash…it…off." Repetition bothered him. "It's covered in blood."

Crystal gently applied more pressure on the ice pack she held and briefly noted his feverish state. It had to be the hang-over that shot him into this state; not the bruise. "Shh… there is no blood."

Blearily, Kai lifted his hand over his head and beneath the beams, his fingers flashed; soaked with deep crimson. The burning acid lodged his throat for a moment and his lips were dry.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'THERE IS NO BLOOD'!" Blood-shot and wine, his irises constricted into a pair of dangerous slits— utter delirium.

Light filtered through his trembling fingers and his cheeks were drained of blood; ghostly pale. "THEY'RE COVERED IN HER BLOOD! I…I NEED TO WASH IT OFF! I SEE IT! I CAN SMELL IT!" He raised himself forcefully from her grasp.

"Kai!" his sinewy figure disappeared into the bathroom that followed with the noise of rushing water and familiar slam of the door. Clicked, it was locked. Ripples, little growls of frustration echoed within ivory tile walls.

Hardened fists battered repeatedly against the wooden barricade; Crystal was crying. It did not matter.

Inside, Kai stood shocked— endless rivets, like rivers they flow, in his calloused and shaky palm were blood. That was all it was.

It wasn't his.

It was hers.

What was worst?

And she had more.

His insides writhed, which grew hard to get accustomed to each time; it wasn't nausea but it was the worst asphyxiation of some sort. His hand grazed the cupboard above him open and brushed through bottles of blue and white pills, red, yellow and black tablets, dental floss, creams, gels, scissors, package of razors, mirrors, glass cylinders, test tubes, scalpels, syringes…

It's under my fucking fingernails!

The ghost of a small smirk graced his countenance; he faintly chuckled at the wooden cupboard. The gleaming handprint churned his stomach but it was eerily picturesque…how the blood flowed in the countless streaks of wood. Crimson etched in brown; stained, eternally, they said.

Raspberry-sherbet wood was how girls' grandmothers wanted their treasure boxes carved out of— rubbed clean with half-ripened lemons and intricately designed with fine sharp things. Coffins, too, brass handles with magenta silk trims, purple cushions and covered in pink, yellow and red roses— all those sweet, gentle colors being force-fed to a helpless corpse.

He hated sweet things.

"Miss Hilary, please remain in your room." A gentle tone, demeaning and sensitive, said; a slight reprimand hinted. Another nurse, possibly the twelfth assigned to her aid— after the incident of the night before. It did nothing to ease Hilary's raging temper. She did not need this confinement! She had pending exams, missed tutorials and piles of homework back at her home and school. But nonetheless, the nurse clicked her pen against the worn-out clipboard— with a decisive air— and clicked her heels out of the door.

"Can you stop nicking pens from my rooms!" Hilary overheard a male voice echoing in the wing. Tch. Stupid nurse.

Quiet flutters, the curtains danced. There was no air in the room but daylight filtering through the glass panes. Hilary's shoulders dropped in a deflated matter and formed a brief fist with a new IV needle re-plastered.

"Two more days left?" Samantha glanced at her curiously from the corner of her eyes— her platinum locks sheared slightly past her chin. Her voice was quiet, not out of meekness or nervousness… the smell of the dead and cleaning disinfectants seemed to congest her throat. It was too depressing but she maintained her calm façade for Hilary.

She echoed then blinked, "My parents couldn't push it…The sooner, the better. I think I have bed sores." Her pink lips curled into a disdainful pout and cherry eyes became bright and large.

The blonde grinned— sharp and true, a tiny crack in her perfect composure— and handed Hilary the largest box of green tea Pocky and placed a stack of magazines at her feet. "Hun, you lost weight and look so sleep-deprived. You need to chill."

Hilary picked up a romance novel gingerly between her thumb and forefinger and let it dangle in its cover page. She found it beneath the pile of magazines; the title emblazoned in cursive loops and off-white pages dog-eared. "What's this?"

Samantha braced herself for Hilary's scathing scorn, her political and moral correctness were about to unearth before her eyes. "It's something to read, something so ridiculous that it will distract you. You don't take this seriously… You can't take this seriously. It's fun—ridiculous and girly— BUT FUN. Puts things into perspective, something to giggle at; that's what it is for."

She sat with a cup of hot cocoa in her hand and green tea Pocky now, eyes downcast— as if considering. "It's not expected to be acted out in real life."

"Precisely…?" Sam trailed off with a dumbfounded expression.

Happily, Hilary cradled the novel against her chest; tight and secure within her heart. It was the only tangible object she could hold onto and knew what it could never become: real. "I like it!" she laughed a little, breathy, light and fake. "I can't expect it to be Hemmingway, Bismark, or Dickens all the time!"

Blue eyes gave a slight squint at the brunette. "That's true. The language is a lot less complex so even I can understand it."

"Thank you." She did not meet those eyes. "Remember when we used to read fairy tales to each other. Your short hair just makes it seem like yesterday."

"Your hair too, you've kept it long." Expression pensive, she sensed the nostalgia Hilary felt at that moment. "'And they lived happily ever after," she echoed— earning Hilary's smile.

"Things always ended happily ever in fairy tales. The prince saves the day, rides with the princess off to the sunset on a brilliant stallion and they live happily ever after. It's formulaic. It's clichéd logic. But we never grew tired of it." Hilary chewed meditatively on a Pocky stick, as if evaluating the flavour and texture of whatever it was she was eating. It was more of an off-statement; Samantha refused to reply to it.

"True love," she continued, distant and dreamy, "is something I want, no matter how unrealistic… A soul mate: the right fit. Like love conquers everything kind of concept? I still believe in first kisses and roses and true love."

"I'm hoping you would disagree to it." Samantha's eyes were sky-glazed and silent, "If you believe that risking death because of that boy and shedding a flood of tears for him are brownie points which prove that true love exists, it doesn't. Settle with someone else. Someone who's right for you, not the insane train wreck. He had his own history of manic episodes."

The black paperback pulled tight to Hilary's chest like a prayer, she could not deny the sudden shivers over her skin. Thoughts of rain and snow thundered into her mind and she swallowed an imperishable mound in her throat. "Why bring him into this? I was talking about…"

"Ah! Sorry!" Samantha tucked her chin into her neck; bowing in apology. Mentally, she scolded herself— the progression was going so well. "I am such an idiot!"

"The usual pig I know," Hilary took a deep breath then forgave— forced another smile. This was the last time. "Please take good care of him."

Samantha must have seen the way Hilary was watching the window across the room; peaceful and silent. Plain, imprisoned and repetitive, was this how Hilary became? The half-smile she wore even surprised her, and it popped like a soap bubble at the blonde's words.

"I'll try," she hummed. Her azure eyes were soft, lips mute.

"Please try hard." Her ruby eyes were stone and soundless, her mouth parted. She was where the world stopped, where the sound from the outside fluttered away like birds.

"I will." Samantha held her hand like they used to whenever a fairytale ended. Hilary held a hand over her eyes; fingers pushing against her eyelids— forcing the tears to be unshed.

"You were always too sentimental, hun." Suddenly, Samantha sensed someone peering into the room, "Tyson?"

Knuckles white and gripping the door frame, Tyson eased a soft smile at the two. "Hey, didn't know you were visiting, Sam." He was poised stiff on the threshold, trying to keep his frame from running to her bed to hug her, to make her smile, to show a weakness. If the blonde were not there, he would have done so without second thoughts.

Samantha barely spoke above a whisper, "How is Grandpa, Tys?" Pity clouded in her eyes like a fish in a bowl.

Tyson maintained a stony expression for the blonde, "He's alright. He ate green Jell-o earlier. He hates green."

He usually spoke in code to conceal the lies, fear and concern and his voice and the questions he was too embarrassed to ask. It was their elementary school habit like remember-when's, inside jokes and secret handshakes. His gaze was locked on Hilary; she understood.

"Do you want one, Tyson?" 'I am fine, Tyson.' Voice of a familiar reprimand, Hilary saw right through him. He was losing stability. Grandpa Granger was O.K. but not Hilary. He felt that; he worried too much. "It's O.K., green tea Pocky tastes great after all."

But then the colour green also meant something else. "Tyson, get your butt here!" Her voice bristles against kindness. Their eyes met suddenly and baby pink was splashed on his cheeks while she tried to look thoughtful.

Jealousy.

Same old Tyson.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

"Crystal was trying to help you. Let her do her job." Tala sounded thoughtful almost worried; as sounds of glass shattering against cold tiles could be from the other side of the door. Pieces of glass skittered beneath the door frame and onto Tala's socks— stained with liquid.

"Kai," he gave the door a warning knock… then a worried slam. "Don't be an idiot. The abbey days are over. Voltaire is—"

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT, TALA?"

"Kai, deal with this properly." Tala's voice shrunk by half, "C'mon, man, you knew better." Tala closed his eyes for a moment; solemn and apologetic. He was poised stiffly against the door simply to keep from himself standing; from losing his temper.

The noise in the room was so frantic, it took all of Tala's strength not to break down the door and shake Crystal senseless. He placed his forehead against the cool, hard wood— feeling the deep myriads of lines filled by his skin. Then his hand gripping her shoulder, Tala somehow guided her out of his bedroom just far enough to make Kai's screams into incomprehensible blobs.

She was too numb or guilty to shiver. "He can not help it," was all she could manage in the thick silence between them. "He sees her blood in his every breath— in his hands. He called his veins disgusting and wanted to slash every single one."

"It has been awhile since he reacted like this." Eyes narrowed in sympathy, he draped an arm over her shoulder as her chest shook in another mute sob. "It's not your fault."

She hiccupped a sob and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist. "Kai can commit suicide if we do not help him!" her voice hoarse but echoed in the hallway.

"No." Tala shushed as low as a growl but gentle. "Deep inside, he knows he has a lot of people to live for. They had kept him alive. If three days have gone and no improvement has shown, Kai has to return Russia and receive proper medication."

"You cannot be serious! How will you put Kai in a plane for home?" she uttered loudly in shortened breaths.

"You make it sound so difficult, Crystal." There was a small smirk formed in his lips. "He can't resist the offer of going back to Russia."

"What about Hilary?" she crinkled her nose. Icy blue irises matched icy blues like a set of sky-glazed mirrors.

He shrunk. His heart pummelled and confusion tumbled in his blood. God, it hurt. Outwardly, he stared at Crystal, expressionless. He knew she was observing him.

"I can take care of her."

Never did he dream of the day he would make such a promise. He felt weak.

If the situation wasn't completely calamitous, Crystal would had laughed and stalked away. She merely eyed him in a cynical meticulousness that it slightly irked him. Her eyes darkened a little, as if deciding.

"What?" A perfect, arched eyebrow rose, "Ah. Are you assuming that I can't manage the cynical cow? I have already dealt with one—"

She tucked back her lower lip and giggled. "Well, if you call her that, you will not last a minute."

There was a hollow and hesitant knock on her door. All three of them paused and turned to look; slightly irritated by the number of interruptions they've had. Tyson was on his mid crunch on a Pocky stick and Samantha was caught in the middle of her latest school gossip.

Hilary tugged a fistful of cotton in her hands and twisted it idly. Not yet.

A head poked in, corn-coloured hair flashed before them. Golden fringes, carefully styled, covered most of the doctor's bespectacled eyes. Like every other doctor, the doctor donned a white, pristine coal with a silver stethoscope slung carelessly around the neck.

The doctor wore numerous, dangling earrings, which drove Hilary into more presumptions that the doctor was not one.

Hilary blinked. The doctor appeared terribly young compared to others she had seen walking around the wing. Though the doctor's eyes were no different from the others: listless and preoccupied.

"Oh no, are visiting hours over!" Samantha choked; absorbing the doctor's appearance. God, those eyes; they neither absorbed nor reflected off light. They were almonds except, intricately feminine and slender into a pensive look. The doctor's cheekbones were defined, which made his face seem a little older and the doctor's lips were full and pale pink. They were incomparable and ridiculed most women. The doctor appeared to be really thin and tall… Samantha felt instantly uncomfortable in the doctor's presence— and denied the jealousy she harboured.

Tyson, on the other hand, noted the doctor as 'beautiful.'

"Hello," at the doorway, the doctor said the monotonous greeting. The doctor's head was slightly dipped down but kept direct eye contact. Then in a sultry tenor, the doctor replied, "No, miss."

Suddenly, Tyson made a sound that crossed a hacking cough and sudden choked gag. Samantha suppressed a gasp by jabbing her stomach with an absent fist; her cheeks flushed cherry and blue eyes wide as flying saucers.

Hilary's glance jerked uneasily down to her legs, her pupils tiny pinpricks in shocked burgundy irises. She drew her eyebrows together as blood gathered in her cheeks. She felt stupid to even ask.

The doctor did not appear affected or amused but possibly tired of repetition. "Yes. I am a man with nine piercing and three tattoos. I am not naturally blonde and my eyes do suck. I have a tenor voice. I am thinner than most women. I know my appearance spells out the opposite. Can we kindly move on?" He slid all of them a weary look then closed his eyes in a thoughtful pause.

Tyson choked, "You look better than Hilary!"

The fist was not so absent when it pummelled Tyson's crown for a brief moment. Hilary let out a slightly frustrated growl— the IV dug deeper into her palm. Samantha booted him hard in the shin before he could recover from the initial beating.

"I am here to check on Miss Tatibana." He sauntered to the brunette slowly, and touched her chin. Soft as wings, his fingertips jarred the silence in her pores in a wave of cold. He wore a smug smirk; he was definitely aware of Hilary's antics of feigned stillness. "Your doctor has been called for an emergency surgery. A kid swallowed a twelve-inch butcher knife. His spleen and liver are undoubtedly punctured—" His smirk turned callous and his breath was warm against her cheek; he was too close. "—his lungs would drown in his blood if Doctor did not operate on him. I am checking for any remnants of trauma. Please do not mind my immediacy."

"Ahn…" Samantha hummed who was clearly jealous of the absence of his touch and undivided attention. He was haughty… but dissonantly beautiful.

"How come you aren't with Hilary's doctor?"

"Because I am here to tend to Miss Hilary's needs," was the doctor's simple reply— glaring wryly at Dragoon's master.

"She doesn't need you right now."

"Who is the certified doctor?" Dark eyes squinted in a dangerous manner. "Not you."

Within the awkward silence that followed, Hilary heard footsteps hurriedly tapping across the corridor. The doctor flinched, crinkled his nose and became tight-lipped. He took long, languid strides to the door. He opened it in fluid grace; Hilary swallowed. It looked familiar.

"HELP! HELP! DOCTOR! ANYONE!"

"In here," he dully ushered the frantic nurse in. The black-haired nurse came in hesitant steps with her white heels— straining to keep her balance.

"Hi…" her cheeks were flushed either from running like a chicken with its head cut off or the man standing in front of her.

"Dr. Kim—" and closed the door behind him.

"Why—yes. It's about one of our patients. Mr. Granger; he has left the room…" Hilary overheard. She was sure that Samantha and Tyson had heard as well, judging by their shocked expressions at an uncanny precision with hers.

"How can you lose a patient?" the doctor's voice hinted annoyance. He threw the door open and stormed back into the room with the nurse in tow. "They're not like pens, you know!"

"WHAT?" Tyson shot off Hilary's bedside; his legs stiff and ready to move. "YOU LOST MY GRANDPA?"

"But he was old…" the nurse argued back. "He takes flight very easily— being a champion swordsman and all."

"Birds take flight easily. Old age pensioners crawl away. He can't have gone too far," the doctor shook his head. "I've seen plants grow faster than he can move."

Another nurse— male this time— stalked in, possibly lost in the wing. "Have you seen Mr. Granger?" he asked the blond superior.

"Guess."

"…No?"

Facepalm. "O.K., you check the first to fifth floors," he nodded at the female nurse. "And you check the sixth to tenth floors." He motioned the door to the male nurse, who bobbed his head in reply.

Blue eyes withdrew from the doctor to Hilary, "Sorry, Hils. I need to help Tyson."

Tyson had already begun moving. He found his baseball cap and the box of green tea Pocky and paced for the door.

"Alright."

The nurses and both teens raced out the threshold and Hilary was alone with Dr. Kim. He released a deflated sigh and pushed the door shut with a soft click.

"How come you're not helping them search for the old man?"

He looked at the ground and shifted his feet uneasily. Nothing was said or happened for a while... and then he reached into the pocket of his coat. Hilary looked up at the sound of jingling in his hand. A set of keys dangled from a wing-shaped key chain. Affectionately, he wrapped his fingers around her bruised ones while the other hand had carefully stripped his glasses off. Dark eyes fixed in a bleary gaze, his lips seemed to have lifted into a half-cat grin.

"Forgive me, Miss lovely. The truth is, I am not a doctor."

I don't wanna be without you girl,
I wish that the last farewell is not near
Just today for the entire day,
I don't wanna be without you girl,
My clumsy heart please hug it and go,
I love you, I need you girl.
- translated Last Farewell by Big Bang

A/N: It's Kai's reflection on the first italic bits of the chapter in case some people were confused. If anyone still remembered the snow globe Kai bought for Hilary… it's mentioned a lot. And the new OC introduced is based off Jaejoong Kim— which has another OC is based off of (miko kagari's Secret Admirer: Jin Kim). I do own the OC because I do not know Jaejoong personally, let alone name the new OC in his honour (but I'd have his babies anytime :D). But my new OC's appearance is exactly blonde Youngwoong's to make it easier for both of us.

Rating might switch into M because I thought it'd be nice to add SLIGHT citrus.

I love you Nubia and Stella!

The next chapter is writing in my head. Until then, thank you for reading. Please review! REVIEWS ARE LOVE!

Chapter 24: Love in the Ice