A/N: Soooo...My attempt at a sequel drabble from Yoh's POV. Not nearly as good in my opinion. I'm much more comfortable writing from Anna's POV, but I wanted to challenge myself so I gave it a try.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

The Things You Do To Me

"I know, I know, you hate this," I say, my grin widening across my face. I can see the recognition flicker in your eyes. You get this really cute wrinkle above your right eyebrow and your nose scrunches a little bit whenever you're thinking about it. I'd never tell you this, though, because then I'd never get to see it again. You'd wear a bag over your head before you let anyone read the emotions on your face. But they're there. I can read them. I love that.

I don't struggle very hard to move myself off of you. In fact, I'm savoring in the moment, despite the sharp pains coursing through several parts of my body. Any contact with you is worth enduring it. The fact that others can see us makes the pain almost nonexistent. I know you're worried – worried about what they think and what they'll say, but they won't. Trust me, you've got them good and scared of you.

I love that.

What I love more is that because I'm not moving, that little twitch in your eyebrow is deepening. You're worried, though you'd never admit it. I love that. It's like our private game that no one even knows we play. I wouldn't mind letting people know we were playing, but you'd hate that. I'd love it. The thing is, though, if everyone knew we were playing a game all the time, they'd know how badly I lose all the time.

I know you think you're the constant loser. That I'm constantly leaving you behind and shutting you out, but the truth is I lose every time I do those things. Every time I shut you out it's because I'm not strong enough, or smart enough, or quick enough. You're all those things and more and that's why I love you, but you don't see it that way. I love you for that, too. And I know you hate it when I shut you out, but if I didn't I'm afraid you'd see me as weak, incapable of being the Shaman King. Of being your Shaman King.

I surround myself with all these people who love and are entertained by me so that I feel more comfortable, more needed. I need to be needed. You don't need anything. I love that, usually. I love when it feels like you need me, even if it isn't very often. But when you do, it feels like nothing else in the world matters – not being Shaman King, not being accepted by anyone else, not my friends, not my family – when you need me, my world stops for you.

I wish you knew that.

I wish you knew what you do to me. Every time I see that twitch in your eyebrow, or see your eyes soften when it's just the two of us, or even when you simply decide to cook one night – you drive me wild, Anna, and I wish you could see that. But I kind of love that you don't.

And every time I make you angry, I love that, too. I know how much you hate it, but if I didn't I'm afraid I'd lose something – some part of you that I need so much I can't stand it – and so I don't stop. Even now, with your tiny fists pushing against my chest and you claiming I'm much too heavy and should be on a diet (aren't I supposed to be gaining muscle and getting heavier?) I'm grinning at you, watching you become more infuriated with me. But I know how far I can push you and finally I roll off, helping myself up as though I'd never been in a fight in the first place.

I love the way your face gets red when I'm openly affectionate, too, but I know I can only get away with so much of that. Which is why I don't mind that you're ignoring the hand I held out to you to help you get up; I expected as much.

What I didn't expect was you to slip your fingers through mine on the walk home. I tried to keep my face impassive, but by the small grin I saw on your lips I knew I'd failed. But it was okay – I loved you and I didn't mind that you knew it. In fact, I loved that you knew it, that sometimes you knew the little things you did to me drove me wild.

And trust me, there are a lot of little things you do that drive me wild. I don't completely mind you not knowing all of those because you know more than enough. And sometimes you take advantage of those – that's your power over me. I may be able to hide what I'm thinking from you, but I don't have this kind of power over you. You could leave me at any moment and survive. You're strong and beautiful and smart. You'd survive with or without me.

Me? I'm helplessly and desperately in love with you. But you already know that, because who else do you treat the way you treat me?

I know our friends don't always get it, but I do. And I always will get it. I'll always get you, too, Anna. I know you worry about it sometimes, about me running off with Manta or falling out of love with you. But it's impossible. Absolutely impossible because I simply wouldn't survive without you, no matter what you think of our relationship I am infinitely more dependent on having you around than you are on having me around.

Or, maybe, we're just as dependent on each other. Maybe we're perfect soul mates and neither of us could truly be whole without the other. That thought both comforts and scares me in a way I know plagues and scares you constantly. I have it easier; I have more distractions and friends to keep my mind off how terrifying the thought of losing you is. I hate that I can't make it easier for you to think about, though.

I wonder if you ever think as much about this kind of thing as I do. It feels a little ridiculous, all the things I could possibly worry over and point out and infer. I'm like a walking monologue waiting to happen when I think about you. Did you know that?

I'm sure you did, judging by the way you've kept relatively silent, your thumb softly rubbing the top of my hand on the walk home, leaving my skin on fire every time your thumb brushed past it. But you didn't say anything, didn't acknowledge my unusual silence. No one did. Or if they had, I was simply too lost in thought to respond. I'm sure you just snarled at them and they left us alone. I love it when you do that.

The way other people jump when you yell and the way you get angry if I don't. It's all such a big part of you that if you ever became a happy, caring person to the world, well, I don't know what I'd do. I'd miss having you all to myself, I guess. Which doesn't bode well for any children we might have – I might be too immature to deal with someone else having your unconditional love. But I'm sure if you love them, I'll love them too.

I'd do anything you did. I'd follow you to the ends of the earth or off the edge of a cliff if you asked me too. But you already know that, which is why you don't press your luck by asking too much of me. I love you for that, too.

One by one our friends peel away from us on the walk home. Have they gone home? Left us because of you? Or because I've been so spaced out? When Manta finally says his goodbye, I realize everyone has left the two of us and we're still three blocks from home. Without looking up you answer my unspoken question.

"I told them they should just head home and I'd take care of you," you say, briefly glancing up at me from under your lashes. I love it when you do that.

"Oh," is all I have to intelligently reply. It's not much, but that's what thinking about you does to me. Your lips curve up very slightly as though you know what you've done – that this lapse in intelligence has been caused by everything about you.

"Yoh?" You ask, your brow furrowing in the center. The look of concentration and concern and something else – fear, maybe? – crosses your face. I blink, my face remaining impassive in a way I know you hate, but my eyes not hiding anything back.

"Yeah?" I'm listening, Anna. To you and everything you have to say, always. Never question that. However, silence is all that seems to follow. Like you can't get worked up what you want to say, or maybe you don't want to say it at all. I frown very slightly once we're inside our house and you still haven't finished your thought.

"Look, Anna-" I start, frustrated and concerned. What is it you can't tell me? But I'm cut off when you kiss me, you thin arms winding their way around my neck and your slender fingers twining in my hair. The frustration immediately dissipates as I wrap my arms around your waist and return the kiss, leaning down so your feet can still touch the ground.

I feel lightheaded when we break apart momentarily to catch our breath. You're not nearly as winded as I am – perhaps you remembered to breathe when you were kissing me? I don't give you much time to recover, however, bringing my lips upon yours once again. I love the little things you do, I love that you can remember to breathe and I love that you take my breath away.

I feel you tug us towards the bedroom and I pick you up, carrying you the rest of the way. I love the way you make me feel, even if you have no idea. I could tell you a thousand times and you'd never understand what you do to me. What being near you, touching you, kissing you, smelling you does to me. And I love you for that.

I hear you kick the door shut when we get in the room, still maintaining some semblance of modesty while wrapped around me and pulling my shift off. I love that, too.

A/N: How was it? Awful? Decent? Review please! Constructive criticisms are appreciated. Flames are not.