Falling in Love (in Ten Days Flat)

This is gay. I mean, like, really gay. So gay your monitor is so tasting the rainbow right now. :D

This is also really long. I mean, regularly updated fanfic long (but I wouldn't know anything about that, now would I?).

For julstimes2 for BEING AWESOME. I am talking REALLY AWESOME. So AWESOME I wrote this for her. (And, to a degree, for myself because I need to write a super-long one-shot to upend my skillz.) (And, also to a degree, for anyone who loves Poker Pair and agrees when I say Poker Pair needs so much moar love.)

I believe there are a few warnings in order. For one, Alternate Universe, and, oh mah god, it isn't 80s! It's modern times. Secondly, stalker!Tyki (in the beginning), because it is the first commandment in my fanfic bible: Stalker!Tyki is thy only Tyki, do well to remember this. Next, slightly-bitchy!Allen, because he's older than canon and has money and goes to university and yeah, he's a little bitch at times. Oh, and Yaoi, in case YOU DIDN'T NOTICE THE PAIRING. :D There is also a small instance of Kanda/Allen.

Now, ignore the corny title (which I thought I was above doing…oh well) and I hope you can enjoy this, because I'm practicing a new writing style, since so many people bitch about how I don't do as many descriptions as they'd like. HERE'S TO MAKING Y'ALL HAPPY! :DDD


Disclaimer: Nein. :D Ich besitze nicht D. Gay-Fag.

One day, in an unprecedented and ridiculous manner, Tyki Mikk fell in love.

It went like this: His eyes felt like they didn't even belong to him anymore, with the way they followed the young white-haired man so strongly. He was pretty sure that he never met the kid in his life.

The newspaper in his hands, although interesting—especially with the story on how the police was on the lookout for a tall redhead with drinking habits and a gun—was ignored wholeheartedly as the object of his staring stepped out a yellow taxi, bending over to pay the driver. His elegant hands clenched the paper, and the only thing he could say at that moment was "This must be love" or some variation of that statement. Love, though, was definitely mentioned. And it was really kind of creepy.

On that note, the first thing to flash through Tyki's mind, as he conspicuously stood up from his seat at his outdoor table and followed the young man into a small café, was I feel rather stalkerish.

And then, as he checked his face in the café window for a few seconds in search of any abnormalities, it's But, damn it all, he's definitely worth it once he caught a look of the boy he was following.

He walked through the door confidently, hands in the pockets of his rather shabby jeans. "Hey," he greeted the waitress, flashing a white smile.

The waitress, a pretty Chinese girl with short, cropped hair, smiled back. "Welcome!" she exclaimed in a tone better fitted in a high school cheerleading squad. "How may I help you?"

"I'm just fine," Tyki answered, spying a head of white hair further in the back of the café. His large round glasses shined in the florescent light, and a grin crept onto his dark skin. "I found what I came here for."

"Oh." The waitress looked around to see whatever he was watching. A frown slipped onto her soft face as she caught sight of the same odd hair. "Oh, sir, you don't—"

"Just give me ten days." And he was gone.

He walked swiftly, his long, wavy hair falling into the way of his bespectacled eyes and along his face.

A young man, probably in his late teens, according to Tyki's speculations (there goes that stalking feeling again), sat at the round table, a small yellow cellular phone pressed to his ear. White hair, cut impeccably to perfection, brushed against his forehead as he chatted animatedly, a gloved hand gesturing wildly even though the person on the other line probably couldn't see him. An odd red scar cut down from his left temple to his cheek, with an upside down star at the top of it all.

"—that's ridiculous," he was saying in an overly amused tone, looking out the side window. "Cross just came back. He's on house arrest. It's not possible for him to leave again!"

Tyki sat in the seat opposite of the pale young man, finding it the proper chance to do so.

"Yes, yes, I completely understand the bastardry that makes up Cross, but still—" The gray eyes looked over at him, and widened for a moment. "Ah, Lavi," he murmured onto the phone. "I must call you back."

The phone flip was snapped shut.

"Hello," he greeted, his eyebrows raised in surprise and an irked smile on his face.

The Portuguese man grinned back, ever confident. "Hey," he said with ease.

"Right." The white-haired young man's smile widened. "Do I know you?"

"Oh, no." Tyki held out his hand. "Tyki Mikk."

"Allen Walker." Allen, an oddly ordinary name for an extraordinary specimen in Tyki's opinion, shook his hand with his own. His English accent was certainly thick, but not in the least slurred.

"A pleasure."

The silence at the small round table was decidedly awkward.

"Are you going to tell me why you're currently at my table?" Allen asked, interlacing his gloved fingers. His perfectly arched eyebrow was cocked in question.

Tyki chuckled lowly. "That's easy," he said with a smile. "I believe I may be in love with you."

"Ah." The gray-eyed teenager nodded. "Once again: do I know you?"

"Not in the least. I just saw you for the first time today, actually."

"What? Really, then you have no point in being here, spurting such nonsense." A waiter, at this point, took the chance to walk up to the table.

"Hey," he greeted with a small twitch of the lips. A large pair of headphones hung off his thick neck, and his tanned skin was marred with several thin scars. The light gave his bald head a sharp glare. "What's up, Allen?"

"Good day, Noise," Allen grinned. "You do know my usual order, right?"

"Sure." Noise looked down at Tyki. "New boyfriend?"

The British teenager laughed breathily. "Oh," he purred, glancing at Tyki. "He wishes."


That hurt.

"It's not like I'm telling a joke," Tyki muttered, taking off his large round glasses with the swirling lenses. He looked up at Allen with golden eyes, smirking. "I can name a thousand things I've seen in my life, but none would be nearly as beautiful as you."

"Beautiful, you say?" His tone was mocking, showing he clearly didn't believe him.

"Beautiful. Regardless of that, it's come to be that I'm in love with you."

"As interesting as this is," Noise interrupted, holding up his notepad. "I'd like to take your order."

"Hmm?" Tyki looked up. "Do you serve tea?"

"Of course." The large man held a pen to the paper. "What kind?"

"Chamomile," he glanced at Allen. "If possible."

"Done. Anything else?"

"Not at all."

"Then I hope your rejection is painless." He walked away at that, leaving the wavy-haired man to mull over his words.

"Sir," Allen started. "You are clearly delusional."

"Please, call me Tyki." He laughed lightly. "And I'm very clear-headed, for your information. You must understand."

"And even when it comes to that, I don't understand." The British teenager sighed in exasperation. "You can't possibly love someone you don't know."

"Anything is possible, beautiful." Tyki replied easily. "All you have to do is chance it."

"…And you think I'd chance a bloke like you?"

Double ouch.

"Do you even know me to make such an insult?" Tyki asked, rolling his eyes.

Allen brushed his bangs away from his eyes. "That's rather the point," he retorted. "I don't know you, you don't know me. You're a total nut."

"No." The dark-skinned man huffed. "I'm trying to say, I'm hopelessly grounded, for I've fallen so hard I can't fall anymore for you. I'd like a chance."

"A chance for what? I haven't the slightest idea where the bloody hell you came from!"

Noise sauntered up at this point, a tray laden with two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits in his hands. He blinked at Tyki. "You're still here?" he asked in surprise, setting the cups and plate on the table.

"Amazingly enough, yes." He smiled quirkily. "I'm very headstrong."

"Oh, I can see." Allen muttered, picking up his cup gently with a smile. "Thank you Noise."

"Ah, my thanks as well." Tyki said, pouring a thin packet of sugar into his cup of steaming tea.

The large man smiled. "Not a problem," he replied, nodding. He walked off, waving a dark hand. "Call me if you would like something else!"

The two partook in their drinks, the only noises being the tapping of Tyki's slender fingers on the wooden table and the soft crunches of Allen's teeth biting into the biscuits.

"You probably couldn't do any better than me," Tyki commented suddenly with a shrug.

Allen rolled his eyes, passionately. "I believe the statement is that I probably couldn't do any worst than you. Sir, have you actually looked at yourself?" He motioned harshly to the man's outfit of tight, ripped jeans with a loose long-sleeved dirty white shirt. He also pointed at the man's face, which sported a good amount of facial hair and his hair was rather greasy.

"And I like what I see." Elegant fingers rubbed the dark-skinned man's brush of stubble around his chin. "I will admit a shave is in order, though."

"Ironing your clothes might be nice as well."

"Maybe washing through my hair next time would work out…?"

"You need a bloody fashion consultant. Period." Allen smiled in amusement, bringing the cup's edge to his lips.

Tyki laughed lightly. "I'll give you that." His expression became serious. "So, you just need to give me ten days."

"Ten days?" the teenager cocked an eyebrow. "What do you need in ten days from me that you can't get anywhere else?"

"All I need is ten days," Tyki explained. "To prove to you that you can love me."

Now that he thought about it, that could've been executed much better, Tyki mused with a straight face. He should've held back the 'love' part.

Allen paused, and he breathed heavily. "Look, sir, I can't love some barmy twit that I don't even know. It goes against my religion, and all that jazz."

"Ten days to introduce myself," the other man said with a smirk. "Ten days to fix my image. Ten days to knock off your…religion. All I need is ten days to prove you can love me back."

The young man sipped at his tea, his eyes lidded in thought. "…And at the end of these ten days?" he asked curiously. "If I do not love you, what will be the consequence?"

"Then, I'll just go away." Tyki shrugged. "It's a simple concept, with a complicated portrayal."

"Of course." Allen leaned his chin against his interlaced gloved fingers. "Oh, but sir, do you think you can handle ten days of being in my life?"

"If I succeed, which I will," the man smirked. "I'll be able to handle more than ten days of your life."

"Then, I'll do it."

"You'll give me ten days?"

"I'll give you ten days to prove me wrong," Allen stated with a smile. He reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a card. In his other pocket, he found a pen, and he happily scribbled out the front of the card and then he wrote something else on the back. He held the thin card between his gloved fingers. "This is my number," he explained. "You can call me, with no guarantee that I'll answer, and we can plan out these ten days."

Um, wow. Tyki didn't know what to think as he took the card with fingers that belied no nervousness. "Thank you," he said in the most sincere tone he had. "I'll be sure to make these days amazing."

"Oh, you're going to, after all this harassment. I could hardly enjoy my biscuits!" He huffed. "Mikk?"


"Tomorrow, we start this nonsense, correct?"

"Yes, we do." Wait a minute. "By the way, it isn't nonsense."

Allen stood up, hands on the table. "I hope," he started in an overly happy tone. "I hope that you have more money than you seem to."

Day One

Before he did anything else in the morning, the first thing on Tyki's agenda was to shave.

Half-asleep and hair still everywhere at the top of his head, the man lazily ran the safety razor along his cream-covered chin. He made sure, though, to make no mistakes, because he didn't feel like walking about with small strips of bloodied tissue stuck to his face.

On his bed, the small purple phone of his wouldn't stop ringing.

'Shut up,' Tyki thought in annoyance as he splashed aftershave on his clean chin. 'There is no one more important than Allen Walker today. No one. So shut the damned ringing off!' Clearly, telepathy doesn't work on cellular phones.

Crossing over the room and sitting on his bed gracefully, he picked up the phone. "Good day," he greeted in an irked tone.

"Tyki," his young niece snapped over the earpiece. "I've been calling you for, like, ten minutes!"

"Oh, I know," the Portuguese man replied, rolling his eyes. "And believe me when I say I don't care." He huffed. "What do you want, Rhode?"

"I need a ride to the mall," she explained. "Davie and Jazzy are being pricks with showing off their new licenses but not taking me, so I went with the next best thing."

The next best thing? "Huh. I have no gas." That was a big lie, since he just filled up yesterday.

"Okay? I'll just pay your way."

"What?" Tyki frowned. "I don't have enough gas to get to you." Another lie, she lived ridiculously close with her two other older siblings and adopted father.

"Now I know you're lying. I live, like, two blocks away—"

He ran the mouthpiece over his bed sheets. "Whoops, I'm sorry, but I believe I'm losing you. Horrible reception in this apartment, you must understand." He pressed the 'End' button on his phone before she could say anymore.

And then he dug through yesterday's pants pockets to retrieve Allen's card.

His phone rung loudly in his hand, with Rhode's name blaring on the front. Her special ringtone was really beginning to edge at his nerves.

Tyki easily pressed 'Ignore' and worked on dialing the number stated on the thin white card.

Holding the phone to his ear, he waited with bated breath through four consecutive rings.

The phone picked up on the fifth. "Hello?" Allen's thickly accented tenor spoke through the earpiece.

A smile slipped onto Tyki's face. "Hey, beautiful," he replied. He paused. "This is Tyki, from yesterday."

"Tyki? Hmm…Tyki, Tyki, Tyki—Oh! The Ten-Day Creep, right?" He chuckled lightly over the phone. "I already knew. Although, I didn't actually think you were, well, serious."

"I have my moments of playfulness, and yesterday wasn't one of those moments." The dark-skinned man retorted. "I'm quite serious."

"You're a bloody moron." Allen sighed. "What are you trying to accomplish through this phone call?"

"To see if you're open this afternoon."

"This afternoon? Hmm—" The whine of a bed creaking sounded in the background. "—ah, yes, I have no classes. I can make time for you."

That sounded ridiculously professional and more like Tyki was about to visit a dentist.

He vaguely thought of Allen's mouth with that.

Stalker thoughts! He was trying his best not to stoop that low. And there was the distinct feeling that he was failing really badly.

"Great. Would you like for me to pick you up?"

"That would be blinding, considering how when you were stalking me you probably noticed my close relationship with the cabbie."

"Of course." That taxi was to be put down. "Where do you live?"

Understandably, Allen was extremely hesitant with that small piece of information.

"How the bloody hell do I know you aren't going to stake out at my flat after these ten days?" Allen asked suspiciously. "You may not realize it, but you're quite the creep."

This kid, Tyki decided, was full of hurtful statements.

And he if actually cared about things like that, he would've been offended.

"Why thank you, and you're quite attractive." Tyki replied, amused. "Your address, please?"

Three hours later, with the tall man looking like a completely different person from the day before, Tyki parked his sleek, black Tease in the lot in front of the fourteenth dormitory of the Vatican University of Music and Arts.

His phone vibrated wildly in his shirt pocket, and he resisted the urge to groan at the flashing name of his niece.

"Yes?" Tyki answered in an exasperated tone.

"You totally have gas," Rhode muttered. "I saw you drive by!"

"Are you sure it was me?" He looked out the windshield, searching for a head of white hair. "My car is quite popular."

"So popular that you're the only one in this city that owns one."

"You are ridiculously persistent." Tyki replied irritably. His phone beeped once, and Allen's name flashed on the screen. "Hold on, there's someone more important than you on the other line."

"You are such a bitch—" He pressed the flash button. "Mikk, how are you?" Allen's melodious voice greeted. "Have you arrived quite yet?"

"I just pulled in front of your dorm," Tyki replied. On the third floor, a curtain swished to the side and a pale face looked down at him. He waved from inside the car. At least he knew what room he was in now, in case of an emergency serenade.

"I see." There was the sound of a creaking door. "I hope you brought your wallet."

He did, and he was prepared for whatever Allen was so insistent he'd have to buy. After all, it was just lunch.

The metal stairs racked loudly as the university student clomped down three stories of them. He trotted up to the car, and leaned through the passenger window.

"Bloody nice ride," he breathed, running his finger over the armrest. "By the way you looked yesterday; I almost thought you were homeless."

Tyki smirked, and leaned over to open the door. "Looks can be deceiving," he replied simply.

"Clearly." Allen slid into the classy vehicle. "And you dressed to impress, interestingly enough."

The Portuguese man looked down at his black dress shirt and pants. "I wanted to leave a good impression." He twisted the ignition and reversed out of parking, eyes on the road.

"A great start. Especially the shave." The British boy stretched his arms above his head, and suddenly Tyki's golden eyes did not find the road to be nearly as fulfilling as the small strip of skin between Allen's long-sleeved checkered shirt and his black jeans. "Your eyes, Mikk," the boy stated in amusement. "They need to be looking at the windshield, not my stomach."

"I can't help it if someone as beautiful as you decides to flaunt that in my presence," the man defended with a huff. He kept his eyes trained on the road, though, because he did not feel like crashing his car.

"That kind of thing is making you lose points with me, so you know." Allen said, cocking an eyebrow. "No offense to you, but it makes me feel rather uncomfortable."

Tyki could understand that, so he nodded. "I'll attempt to refrain from commenting on your ridiculous attractiveness."

"So is it ridiculous, now?"

He looked over at the younger man. "In an eye-catching 'Oh-My-God-That-Truck-Wasn't-In-Front-Of-Us-Before' kind of way." Tyki shrugged, and then he looked forward. "Huh, that truck wasn't in front of us before." He practically threw the steering wheel off the axle with the pressure he held on it trying to turn. The truck sped by on the street loudly, honking as though offended, and the dark-skinned man glanced at his passenger.

Allen didn't look in the least bit bothered.

"Usually people would be screaming," Tyki said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, it's okay," the white-haired teenager replied with a smile. "I just had a conniption. So, where are we going to eat?"

Their lunch took place in a somewhat elegant Italian-orientated restaurant, a steady establishment by the name of 'Matel


"You can order anything you'd like," Tyki said as soon as they received their menus.

Allen laughed immediately, his gloved hand flying to his mouth. "Do you think your wallet can handle my eating habits? It'll cost you a bomb, and that's a fact." he purred, his amusement tinting his voice.

The teenager, although fit, was slender and lithe. Tyki honestly didn't know what he meant by his eating habits.

"I'm sure."

"You poor, poor man." An arm shot up, waving over a waiter.

The waiter, a tall blond man donning a facial mask over his mouth and nose, trotted up. "Yes sirs?" he asked, voice somewhat muffled.

"Can I place an order…Toma?" Allen asked sweetly, glancing at the waiter's nametag.

"Of course sir."

"Then, I'd like the fettuccine alfredo with sliced chicken, as well as three orders of the mozzarella sticks and a large, large bowl of onion soup, two baskets of bread, four plates of spaghetti, with meatballs, whatever today's special is, and a cup of Chamomile tea."

Toma, who had desperately scribbled all of that down on three slips of paper, looked up in disbelief. "Will that be all, sir?" he asked with a sarcastic tint.

"No, but I'll get the rest later."

"And you, sir?" Toma asked Tyki, whose blank staring did not expose his total disbelief at the entire situation.

"Ah," he replied, rubbing his chin slowly. "I'd like a chicken sandwich. And a cup of Chamomile."

"Of course sir. Your orders will, uh, be here soon?"

"Please, take your time," Allen insisted with a grin.

"And you'll be eating all of that?" Tyki asked once Toma scurried off, cocking an eyebrow. "Why can't I believe you?"

"Then we clearly aren't meant to be together if you can't accept me for how I am." The white-haired teenager smiled playfully. "Eating habits and all."

"I didn't say I was no longer in love," the dark-skinned man replied, amused. "Just that I don't believe you could actually eat that much food. It can't be possible."

Tyki felt his wallet's contents, despite being gained through entirely unethical matters, drain with every large bite of spaghetti, every slurp of soup, and even with every dainty sip of tea.

And then Allen had the gall to ask if the older man wanted his sandwich.

It wasn't like he had an appetite in the first place after the first five minutes of watching the teenager eat.

"Toma, sir!" Allen called, waving a hand lightly. He moved the cleaned plates to the side, and stretched out his arms. "Dessert?"

"Hurgh." Tyki tried to speak, but it only came out as a pained garble.

"Hmm? Am I not allowed dessert?"

"Oh, no, please, help yourself."

Note: Next food-related date will be a buffet. Tyki thought with a smile on his face. Oh, yes.

"You've proved me wrong," Allen mused aloud, cocking an eyebrow at the creepy smile on the man's face. "I didn't think you'd actually go through with, well, letting me order that much food on your accord."

"Why not?" He sipped at his tea, and found it tasted a lot like the money he was quickly losing. "I did say I could handle it."

The British teenager laughed. "Even ten days of this?"

There was a visible falter in Tyki's calm demeanor as the tea took a wrong turn into his windpipe. "Ha!" he hacked, golden eyes wide.

"I was kidding!" Allen exclaimed, reaching over the table to pat Tyki's back. His shirt rode up in his effort, and the twenty-eight-year-old man got a first class view of the university student's fit stomach. "Eyes up here, Mikk."

"Call me Tyki," he rasped, coughing into his fist.

"No, but thank you. Sorry about that. I didn't expect for you to, well, start dying and such." The white-haired teenager smiled bashfully. "I'm not so cruel as to use some poor twit for lunch everyday, when my diet strains my own wallet."

Diet? Tyki thought immediately, cocking an eyebrow. "No, it's okay. I would've totally done it anyway." And there goes that Love feeling in his chest, making him say things that he would rather jump off a cliff over.



Allen hummed, leaning forward on the table. "Just for that," he said breathlessly. "I'm willing for a Day Two."


"You know, they do say that food is the way to a man's heart." The teenager explained with a grin. "You just gained another date, is all."

Tyki smiled back, feeling the pain in his wallet lessening. "That's great," he replied. "So, can I call for the check?"

"Go ahead. I wasn't really hungry anyway."

The dark-skinned man's smile twitched. "Toma, sir!" he called the bypassing waiter. "May I get the check?"

"Ah?" the blond man reached into his apron pocket and pulled out the bill booklet. Even under the face mask, it was obvious he was frowning. "Oh, sir, you might want to come with me to the corner for this. It's, uh, dire."

"Oh," the pain returned, tenfold. Golden eyes glanced at Allen, who shrugged. "No, you can say it here."

"Sir, you might really, really want to come to that corner with me."

"No, you might really, really want to just say it."

"Better yet, I'll compromise." Toma ripped the bill out the booklet and practically threw it at the man. "Bye!" He ran off into the kitchens, presumably to hide.

Tyki picked up the bill and glanced at it.

"Ah." His heart must've stopped at some point. Slowly putting the slip of paper facedown on the table, Tyki pulled out his wallet and took out all credit cards, IDs, and other items except for the cold, hard cash.

"What are you doing?"

"I think I'll just leave them my entire wallet." He placed the leather flap (thankfully not an expensive one) on top of the bill. The wavy-haired man stood up, smiling. "Ready to go?"

Allen stood up as well, stretching his arms. "That was a great lunch."

Oh, for the amount of money on that bill, Tyki hoped to God it was.

Day Two

"Augh," Tyki groaned and turned around in his thin covers, away from the bright sunlight that was beginning to filter in through his window. He tried to go back to sleep, but the steadily annoying ringing that was blaring from his phone kept his narrowed eyes open.

He brought it to his ear. "Yes?" he greeted tersely.


"Allen?" Oh, he was wide awake now. He practically bolted up straight in his bed. "Is there a problem?"

"I was going to ask you that," Allen replied in an amused tone. "You answered like you were ready to, well, kill someone."

"Ah, really?" Tyki grimaced. "I believe I might've sat up too fast."

"Were you sleeping?"

"Yeah. But, for you, I'd never sleep a day again."

"Funny bloke, aren't you, Mikk?" Allen sighed over the phone. "I just wanted to tell you that even though I said I'd go for today, my professor called for an impromptu class. So, yes. Anything you had planned for today, uh, cancel it. Sorry if that sounded rude."

"Rude? No, completely understandable." Tyki didn't really have anything planned, actually. He was much too busy mourning the loss of his wallet and filching ("bugger all bought," David might call it) a new one.

"All right then. By the way," there was a sudden boom of sound in the background, "Dear Lord. Give me a moment would you?" The mouthpiece was muffled. "Lavi! Turn that off! I'm chatting up Mr. Ten Days! What? Yes I'm still in it for the other eight days!" The boy's voice was clear again. "I'm back. But, I was wondering last night in bed…how old are you?"

Allen was thinking about him at night. Tyki leered. In bed.

Today is a good day.

"I'm twenty-eight."

"Whoa, really? Holy shite, that's an age difference for the records."

He suspected the teenager was younger than he originally thought. "And you?" he asked.

"Err, Seventeen?"

He was going to jail. Tyki groaned, the back of his head thumping on the headboard of his bed.

"…Well, I'll be damned." Literally.

"My sentiments exactly. Still want to try the rest of these eight days?"

"Of course," the Portuguese man huffed. "I mean, yes, the age difference is, uh, ridiculous, but I'm still in love with you."

"For some unfathomable reason no one, not even my smart-arsed best friend, can explain."

"Right. Uh, okay," Tyki looked over at the clock on his nightstand. The analog numbers gleamed '11:51'. "What time do you go to class?"

"Twelve—Oh bloody hell, I've got to go, don't I?"

"You just might want to."

"Yeah. Cheers!" the line went dead.

The wavy-haired man held the phone in his hand, staring at it.

He grinned, sliding back down into his covers.

"He thinks about me. At night. In bed."

Tyki, despite being an experienced dater, was at a loss of what to plan for the next eight days.

"You, Tyki Mikk, do not know how to go on a date?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't put words in my mouth, Lulu," he replied. "I said nothing of the sort."

Lulu Bell, a gorgeous blonde woman with narrowed blue eyes, huffed. "I'd hope not," she said in a snipped tone. "After all, you're the closest thing to a whore that I know. Except, you don't get money. You're just a slut."

"Wow, I feel so much better." Really, the people in his family could all get hit by cars for what he cared.

"And how old is this kid?"

"I've said it eighteen times. I think you know his age by now."

Lulu grinned. "Yes, but I love to hear the sad tone in your voice when you say it. So, come on, say it."

"…He's seventeen." He sighed, slumping forward slightly. Golden eyes blinked. "I do sound sad when I say it."

"Poor baby." Tyki, not understanding why he never realized it before, came to the conclusion that his adopted sister is a total bitch.

"If I'm a slut," he muttered spitefully. "Then you must have sex for casual sport. Can you please tell me a place that a seventeen-year-old British boy would like?"

"And he's British? What, did you specially order this kid?"

"No, I saw him for the first time and fell in love." Tyki was getting annoyed. "What is a good place to take him to for a date?"

"Wait…you didn't know him until three days ago?"

"Two, actually. Date sights, please?"

"So, you're actually kind of stalking him?" Lulu shook her head in disappointment. "Tyki, why? We went to high school together. Remember when you got wet in twelfth grade and you took off your shirt and suddenly that hot couple broke up? It was because they came crawling to you, and you had sex with the guy."

"And the girl. But this is not the point." Tyki frowned. Seriously, what did his more promiscuous high school days have to do with this conversation? "I need to make a good impression."

"A good impression? You actually care about this kid?"

"I told you, I'm hopelessly in love."

She whipped out her phone so fast that Tyki's hair was mused by the lash of air. Dialing at a speed considered inhuman, Lulu held up a hand as a sign of silence.

"Earl," she started in a shocked voice. "Tyki's in love. And he's in love with a British kid half his age."

"You bitch. You are a complete and utter bitch." The Portuguese man scowled, and he checked his wristwatch. "Look, I can't stay here bantering about my love life forever."

She snapped the phone flap shut. "What love life?" Lulu replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Does the kid love you back?"

"No." It hurt more when he said it aloud, Tyki noted. He closed his eyes. "But, I have eight more days to make him. And I need to spend those eight days wisely, so could I please have a suggestion?"

"Hmm? What kind of suggestion?" She grinned.

Tyki felt his eyebrow twitch. "Por favor," he spoke slowly in Portuguese. He opened his eyes and his speech sped up. "Você poderia me ajudar ao invés de agir como um incômodo?"

"I hate it when you do that." Lulu sipped at her glass of water. "Okay, just take him to the movies tomorrow. Everyone likes the cinema."

The man paused, mulling the thought over.

Allen did seem like the type to enjoy a good show.

"I believe I can do that," he murmured, leaning his chin on his hands. A disturbing smirk slid onto his handsome face. "Yes, I can." He stood up, and blew a short kiss at his adopted sister. "Thank you, Lulu."

"Not a problem. Just, don't get sent to jail stalking anymore kids!"

Day Three

"The cinema?" Allen asked as he buckled in the seatbelt in the car. "Isn't that more fourth date activity?"

"Don't say activity," Tyki muttered, checking his mirror. "You wouldn't like the results. Besides, the movies are very common for dates, and if the movie gets too boring, then we can make-out." He was actually being quite serious with that.

"Funny, funny bloke, Mikk." The British teen chuckled. "I don't kiss until at least the sixth date."

"You're lying, aren't you?"

"Of course. So, what movie are we seeing?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I just thought we could choose when we got there."

"Are we getting snacks?"

Tyki laughed, a bit hysterically, but still smiled. "Uh, if I hesitate—" he replied slowly.

Allen nodded. "I understand completely. But, I still want a snack. I'm actually kind of hungry."

"How much are we talking here?"

"Not telephone numbers, that's for sure. How about…a few?"

The dark-skinned man hummed in thought. "Okay, I can do that."

Apparently, a few in Allen's dictionary was the equivalent to, well, way more than a few in Tyki's.

"You're such a cheer," the seventeen-year-old cooed, patting the significantly older man on the cheek. "Once again, you sacrificed your money for my sake, you darling."

Tyki smiled, hating the way that Love feeling was murdering his wallet. "No, it's okay. It wasn't a sacrifice." Now he must stoop to lying for actual reasons? What wrong will Love make him do next?

"Don't lie, Mikk. I can see the pain in your twitching hands."

He looked down at his hands, which were shaking quite a bit as he pulled a few twenties out of his wallet. A frown twitched at his lips as he willed for his elegant fingers to relax.

"No, really, I'm happy to take you out," he replied instead, attempting a peaceful smile.

"You're precious, Mikk." Allen laughed breathily, and Tyki had to grin back. "You're a good bloke, a very good bloke."

"Please, call me Tyki," he said, nodding his head towards the mere mountain of movie snacks on the counter.

The cashier, a lanky brunet by the name of 'Andrew', smiled at the display. "Weird," he said. "But kinda cute. By the way, how much butter would you like on your popcorn?"

At the look the British teenager gave at the thought, Tyki hastily answered, "Just, uh, just give us a separate bucket full of butter. Really, don't even stress yourself."

Allen smiled slyly. "Apparently, now we're even thinking on the same accord."

"And it's only been three days," Tyki responded, gathering a good number of the snacks in his arms.

"Of course, I had an ex who knew everything I was thinking," the white-haired teen mused, tapping his chin. "Personally, I can't stand the quality. After all," he lowered his eyelids at the older man, smirking. "Curiosity did kill the cat."

Tyki cocked an eyebrow. "Huh. I'll be sure to remember that."

The movie they chose to watch was a horror.

Allen admitted that he loved the horror genre, and Tyki almost admitted that he liked watching people as they die.


The movie, originally named 'The 14th Musician', was gory, and every scene had more blood splattering across the set than a bad heart surgery.

Honestly, Tyki thought the movie was utterly boring and entirely uncreative with the many deaths of the various characters, and the most interesting part of the showing was the soundtrack. He mused that maybe they should've watched the new romance flick. At least then he would be able to see if he could possibly get something out of the situation.

He glanced at the teenager next to him, and marveled at the way the boy's pale skin was an almost ethereal white when hit with the lighting from the large screen.

Gray eyes looked over at him, catching his gaze. "Find something more interesting than the movie, Mikk?" he teased.

"Always," Tyki whispered back, winking.

The teen yawned, covering his mouth with gloved fingers. "This movie is a bore."

"You did choose it."

"So, let's go watch another."

Tyki cocked an eyebrow in skepticism. "How?"

Allen grinned sneakily. "There are other movie showings in this area, you know."


"However you call it, let's just do it."

The wavy-haired man leered. "Sure, why not?"

Movie-hopping was the act of leaving one movie showing and just walking into another. While being liable to get one kicked out of a theatre for, well, ever, Tyki just walked into the new romance flick confidently behind Allen, his arms still laden with snacks.

"Lenalee said this movie was good," the university student whispered to him as they sat in some middle seats. "A bit erotic, but still good."

The movie was called 'Deepthroat Hill'. It was doomed to be erotic.

"I don't mind that at all," Tyki replied instead, smiling.

"Oh, I'm sure."

It was homoeroticism, Tyki noted as the two main male characters participated happily in foreplay.

"Um." Allen laughed. "She didn't tell me this part."

The Portuguese man made a sound of agreement as he tried to not look at the scene playing out onscreen.

"Really, this is kind of awkward."

No, it was overly attractive.

"Want to watch another movie?"

"No, it's okay. This doesn't bother me."

"I didn't think it would. But, still," the teenager sighed. "If you get a bloody boner, I'm calling off these next seven days."

"Don't worry, I'm in it for you. And only you."

Allen rolled his eyes, and popped a few chocolate bites into his mouth. "Really, Mikk, the unwavering faith you have in your 'love' for me, it's rather creepy. I mean, honestly."

"Yes, well, so far quite a few people have told me so." Tyki made a sort of one-armed shrug. "I don't exactly care, because my feelings aren't changing."

"Hmm?" Allen hummed, cocking an eyebrow.

"They aren't."

"I'm noticing. But, enough of that. Quit wagging about and let's just watch the movie." Allen kept his bright eyes forward on the screen that was slowly becoming more heated.

"Of course."

"Mikk," the seventeen-year-old started, leaning on the driver's side door. "Tomorrow, I have one class in the afternoon, and after that I'm free. So…can I choose the date?"


Tyki paused and looked up at the boy, golden eyes slightly wider than usual. "You can choose whatever you'd like, beautiful," he replied as sincerely as his personality allowed. "Just call me and tell me where you'd like to go."

"Such a cheer," Allen said with a chuckle. "I'll give you a ring, then."

Day Four

Tyki Mikk believed, as his phone rang most annoyingly at eight in the morning, that it was time for Allen to have his own ringtone. It would make his life much more enjoyable, for one.

"Hello?" he answered in the least groggy tone he could summon.

Allen replied with a charming laugh, causing the older man to smile as well. "A good day to you, Mikk," the teenager greeted. "I have an utterly loveable habit of catching you in your sleep, don't I?"

Tyki straightened up a bit in his bed, and ran his fingers through his messy curly hair. "Loveable it is, I'll give you that," he replied amusedly. "Have you decided where you'd like to go?"

"Oh, yes I have." The British teen coughed. "The, err, the carnival is in town—and I understand that you are a grown man with more taste than such a childish place, but—"

For some reason, Allen's babble of reasoning only served to boost Tyki's already sizeable ego and to put a smile on his handsome face.

"I'll go to the moon, if you wanted me to, of course," he said, sliding out of his covers. He winced slightly as his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and he walked towards the bathroom. "And if you want to go to this carnival, then let's go."

"You are ridiculously patient, or either outrageously insane."

At this rate, Tyki mused idly as the boy continued talking; he probably won't even need the other six days.

"I'll call you back at three. You may need to pick me up from my class building though," There was a thread of laughter in the background. "Shut up, Lavi! Mr. Ten Days is much nicer than we thought him to be!" A deep voice in the background replied with the question of "And what about his ulterior motives? For instance, your tight pants."

The twenty-eight-year-old man paused.

What were his ulterior motives? He wasn't even sure if he was out for sex with his overzealously acknowledged crush. But, he did know that the sex, if he got it, would be a major bonus.

And, well, he liked bonuses.

Allen's tight pants were quite nice.

"No, I don't have any ulterior motives." Tyki stated instead, smirking at his reversed image in the mirror. "I'm just trying to get you to fall in love with me."

"A total sweetheart," Allen retorted to his friend in a scolding tone. "A great laugh, willing to pay my way, and he has an utterly gorgeous smile. I'd call him the full monty!"

"And I'd call you easy. I bet he's a total creep."


Tyki could admit it. Maybe he was a little creepy, but that didn't give this Lavi right to point it out so brashly.

"Even creeps have feelings," he replied easily with a smile. He rubbed his lower face, frowning at the rough-feeling hairs along his chin.

"I have to call you back," he said sadly. "I must shave."

"Of course. I'll give you another call at about three, okay?"

"Okay." He kept the phone to his ear until the dial tone reverberated in his hearing. Flipping the phone shut, he turned back to his image in the mirror.

He picked up the razor and worked on making a good impression.

Tyki loved his little niece more than he loved his car, and she had her moments of goodness. But lately?

She was quickly becoming the bane of his existence.

"Get out of my car," he said for the umpteenth time, glaring at the fifteen-year-old girl. "I have a very important date in thirty minutes."

"Where?" Rhode asked, crossing her legs in an obnoxiously teenaged manner.

"None of your business. Now, please, get out of my car."

"I wanna come."

"No you don't. I will crash this vehicle and jump out before the end of the line if you don't get out."

"I wanna come!" the spiky-haired girl huffed defiantly. "You don't spend time with me anymore! I hate hanging out with Davie and Jazzy…they're so…ugh!"

"They are your brothers," Tyki replied calmly, snapping in his seatbelt. "Appreciate them."

Rhode rolled her eyes. "Yeah right, only when they appreciate me first."

"You do realize that they are eighteen and can't hang out with you forever, right?" Hint, hint, Tyki thought. He hoped that she knew some variation of telepathy.

"Tyki, I just told you that I don't want to hang out with them. Were you even listening to me?"

"No, because I was too busy contemplating life without you in my godforsaken car."

"I'm not leaving." She stuck out her tongue. "I want to meet your date and stuff."

"My god—" At that moment, the Portuguese man simply gave up. "I don't even truly give a damn anymore." He smiled at his little niece with a satanic tint. "Let's go."

She frowned. "Are you going to drive us off a cliff?"

"No." Tyki pulled out of his apartment's garage. "We're going to have so much fun."

"This isn't fun, Tyki. This isn't fun at all."

"This is the real world, Rhode. The real world won't be very fun for brats like yourself." Tyki sat back in his seat, legs crossed underneath the steering wheel. "Now will you listen to me when I tell you to do things?"

Rhode, who apparently found entertainment in the texting function of her phone, shook her head. "Not really," she replied, and then pressed the SEND button on her small striped cell phone.

"Get out of my car."

"Nope. I wanna meet your date."

And, as though his sad excuse for a niece had the power to speak of the devil, the dark-skinned man's phone began ringing.

He flipped it open, greeting with a rushed "Hello?"

"Mikk?" Allen replied, voice somewhat muffled with the bustling sounds of other university students in the background. "Have you arrived?"

"Yes. You said the building with the title—" the golden-eyed man looked out the windshield towards the building. "—Er, Asian Branch?"

"Wow. You are ridiculously off." The British teenager laughed. "Just…wow. How do you get Asian Branch out of European Branch?"

"I must've not been paying attention," Tyki admitted with very little to no shame. "It was difficult enough to listen to your words with them being said from your mouth."

"…right," Tyki could practically hear the cocking eyebrow. "Well, I'm standing outside near the sidewalk in front of the European Branch. What?" There was a brief scuffle, and Allen snickered into the mouthpiece. "I'll be standing here with my friend. Lavi, the one that called you a creep."

"Hey Mr. Ten Days!" a cheery voice exclaimed into the phone. "Come on, man! We're a'waitin'!"

"Like he said, we're waiting. Cheers!" The line went dead.

Rhode stared at him. "I hope," she started with a smile. "That your little crush has a face to match that mad hot voice!"

Tyki smirked, starting up the car. "You'd be surprised."

As the Portuguese man pulled up near the sidewalk, he smiled at Allen, who grinned at him.

"Good day, Mikk," he greeted with real feeling. "How are you?"

Tyki reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarette. "Better than God ever let me be, now that I've seen your face," he answered, lighting it up and placing the stick between his lips.

Allen huffed, shaking his head. "Funny bloke, like I keep saying. Oh!" he gasped, turning around. "Lavi! Come meet Mr. Ten Days!"


Lavi, as he approached Tyki's car, was surprisingly handsome. He was a red-haired man with a single shining green eye, and a bright smile that made the twenty-eight-year-old man feel the sudden need to wear sunglasses at night, and it was still in the afternoon.

"Mikk, this is Lavi," Allen introduced, patting the taller man's shoulder. "And Lavi, this is Tyki Mikk, or Mr. Ten Days, as he is more notoriously known."

Tyki leaned over Rhode to hold out his hand, and noted the almost disturbing look of joy she wore on her face. "A pleasure," he purred, shaking Lavi's hand.

"Ditto. Oh shit, I thought you'd be, like, ninety-eight percent creepier. But, dude," Lavi stared at him. "You're, uh, really sexy. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Why, yes. Thank you anyway."

"Sorry, I just thought you'd be, like, ultimately ugly. But, damn, I was wrong on so many levels."

Allen smiled, and he patted his friend on the back. "Now, now," he chastised. "I told you several times before that Mikk here was, well, beyond attractive. It's rather creepy in a way, really."

Rhode let out a small squeal, clearly unable to hold herself back any longer. "Tyki!" she said suddenly, an offended expression on her soft face. "This is your crush? You have actual taste?" She waved at Allen, who looked at her in surprise, with it being the first time he even noticed the young teenager.

"Oh?" the white-haired boy asked, smiling kindly. "And who are you?"

"Rhode Camelot," the girl replied all-too-fast. "I'm Tyki's niece. I really wanted to meet you!"

"Really? His niece? You're quite cute," he said, leaning on the passenger's side door.

"Me? Cute?" Rhode barked a laugh. "If I'm cute, then you must be a supermodel. Autograph my chest?"

"Ha ha ha," Tyki laughed suddenly, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Look at that time, Rhode!"

The spiky-haired girl glanced at the radio's clock. "It's three thirty-nine."

"Also known as 'Get the Hell Out of My Car' time." He pushed her out, frowning. "Now, please, take heed and get the hell out of my car."

"Hey!" she yelped, stumbling out the vehicle into the street. "You can't do this! Now who'll I play with?" She stomped her foot on the sidewalk in an immature manner.

Allen slid into her seat, and poked his head out the window. "Oh," he replied with a smile. "Not a problem. Lavi will play with you, as he has no classes right now."

Lavi looked up, surprised. "I'm sorry, what?"

"She's a darling," Tyki assured, starting the ignition. "I can almost promise her giving you no problems."

A gloved hand patted Tyki's shoulder. "Cheers!" And the car screeched off, tires marks almost scorching on the asphalt.

The carnival, an annual event that went by the title of Pentacle Party, was located on the coast of their modest city, Los Muertos, located in southern America near the Mexican Gulf. Surprisingly, only a sixteenth of the population spoke Spanish in the first place.

The ticket master, a burly, chubby Brazilian man who called himself Sapp Dopp, was very adamant, though, on speaking Spanish with random people, which was making getting inside of the actual even more difficult than usual.

(To tell the truth, Tyki was never truly bothered by the Spanish language, as Portuguese and the language had enough in common for him to get by. Besides, English was what was really important to him.)

"Você quer um acordo?" Dopp demanded, glaring at the congregation of people. "Eu quero-o dizê-lo na língua de Portugal!"

Oh, Tyki thought in slight surprise, he wants Portuguese.

"Aren't you Portuguese?" Allen whispered, an eyebrow cocked at the large man's huffing and puffing. "I'm sure you don't feel like spending anymore time out here than necessary." He grimaced. "Especially since this sea air is giving my skin a clammy feeling. Go on, talk to the wanker."

Oh, but for Allen, Tyki forgot about necessary.

"If you would like it," the man said with a sigh. "I will. Excuse me while I abuse my native language."

A gloved hand waved him off. "Take your time!"

The dark-skinned man walked up to the dreadlocked ticket master, a cruel smile on his handsome face. "Ah," he greeted in English. "Do me a favor will you? Speak English."

"Eh?" Dopp cocked an eyebrow. "No."

"Sir, you must realize that by talking in Portuguese that you are being an uptight irritation, correct?" Tyki said smoothly, observing the back of his hand. "How do you expect people to enter a carnival when the ticket master is a waste of existence like yourself? Not only that, but you want these Americans to abuse the great tongue of Portugal? You offend me, sir."

The large man, with a look of utmost offense, blinked in surprise. "You dare to insult me?" he growled, thick arms crossed. "This is a business procedure—"

"No, it's a waste of time, much like yourself." An elegant hand slammed on the flat surface of the ticket booth. Tyki smiled, golden eyes narrowed. "Look, you want money, and I want my date to have a great time. Unfortunately, since you have not repented your ways, I'm going to have to request tickets without giving you the money."

"Are you an idiot—"

There was a reason why Tyki Mikk was so damn fond of long-sleeved shirts, as evidenced by the sudden existence of the Order Army switchblade that jutted out from beneath his cuffs. Keeping the arm hidden from the people behind him, the Portuguese man patted the ticket master on the shoulder, with the blade barely brushing over the man's dark skin.

"No, I'm in love," he whispered back. The hand moved closer to Dopp's neck. "Posso eu ter dois bilhetes?"

"I didn't hear much Portuguese going about," Allen said with a smirk. "What a way of abusing your native language


"Ah, I got the tickets, didn't I?" Tyki replied, wondering if he could somehow slip his arm around the teenager's shoulders without looking like an unnatural sexual pervert.

"Oh, my," the white-haired teen gasped, rushing to the colorful shooting booth. His gray eyes stared up at a large yellow ball (and when Tyki says yellow, he means that the brightest colored crayon hardly compared) with wings sprouting from the sides. The sewn-in white teeth stuck out starkly on the stuffed…object and a lighter yellow cross decorated the front of its face. "Look at that, Mikk!"

"Please, call me Tyki," but the man looked up at it anyway. "Hmm…" he hummed in thought. "It's really quite, err, big."

"I know. Check out the bloody size on that!" Allen's smile was all Tyki needed to pull out his first ticket.

"I'd like to play," he announced to the agent manning the booth.

The man, a pale American with slicked back short hair, glanced at him. "Okay," he said, his voice grainy. Reaching underneath the booth, the carnie pulled out a faux shotgun and several rubber bullets. "You know the rules, right?" He took another quick look at the dark-skinned man, and then a double-take.

"But of course." Tyki smiled, taking the gun from the man. "Just knock down the cans."

The carnie stared at Tyki for a moment. "I'm Suman Dark," he said after a while. "I think I may recognize you from somewhere."

"No." The golden-eyed man took aim at the stack of cans and shot it off.

The bullet missed completely.

"Blinding," Allen teased, arms crossed.

"Hmmm." Tyki hummed, and took aim again.

The bullet whizzed by Suman, who ducked quickly. "Watch it, man!" he whined.

The next bullet didn't do much better.

Nor did the next.

And his last bullet was held in his hand as he prayed rapidly under his breath in Portuguese.

Allen laughed, and he laughed long and hard, clutching at his stomach. "Oh," he said breathily, causing a heat to pool at Tyki's stomach. "Give me the gun."

"I'd really like to win you that…thing, though," Tyki complained, or at least tried to.

"Ah, really? You are such a darling, but you suck." He held out his hands in anticipation, and Tyki handed over the fake weapon reluctantly. "I've had a hand in gun handling, you must understand." A gloved hand patted the older man on the cheek.

Allen lifted up the gun with a little more effort, with his not being as tall as Tyki by quite a bit, and shot off the rubber bullet with little aim.

The metal cans tumbled down, rolling off the wooden stand.

Suman blinked. "You might want a lesson or two," he said in amusement. "This kid knows what he's doing."

Tyki blinked in surprise as well. "That's an idea," he replied with a smile. "But only if the lessons are, ah, private." Oh, return of that crazy stalker feeling.

"So, what's my prize?" Allen asked, placing the gun on the booth's top. "I can choose whichever one I want, correct?"

"Ah, yeah, sure, I guess." Suman looked rather confused.

"I'd like that one." A gloved finger pointed up at a large purple butterfly next to his beloved winged ball thing.

Tyki looked up at it, a frown slipping onto his face. "Why?" he asked, thinking that damn purple was not Allen's color. "I thought you wanted the yellow thing."

"Ah, but this is for you," Allen replied, smiling. Suman fished for the creepy butterfly using a long wooden pole with a metal hook at the end, and grinned as he pulled it down.

"All right," he said, fluffing up the stuffed bug. "Here you go." The carnie held the butterfly out to Tyki.

The Portuguese man took it with a fake smile. "Thank you," he said instead of grabbing this man by the neck and slamming his head into the booth poles like he really wanted to. "I'll, er, treasure it. Forever."

"Even after these six days?" Allen asked, somewhat curious.

"Ah, yeah."

"That is so precious." The English teenager covered his mouth in a manner of hiding his smile. "I can't believe someone as cute as you is stalking a kid eleven years your junior!"

Tyki huffed, amused. "No, I'm not stalking, just learning more about through extended contact."

"Yes, yes," Allen looked around. "Let's go onto a ride. Oh, a horror twister!"

"Of course, just give me a moment, would you?"

"Sure. Don't spend too much time failing, okay?" The teenager walked further down the pier, hands halfway in his pockets.

"Huh." The dark-skinned man looked at Suman. He smiled. "Tell me, how much does this silly carnival pay you?"

"Hmm." Suman looked somewhat suspicious. "About five, six an hour. Why do you care?"

"Could I get that yellow winged ball thing anywhere?"

"No. Do you want it?" The carnie rolled his eyes. "Well, you can't have it."

"Oh, I don't want to just…ah…take it from you." Tyki ran his fingers over the bulging outline of his wallet in his pocket. "I'd much rather just pay my way."

"That's probably my job right there. Sir, I can't give it to you."

"I'm not asking that, sir." He huffed. "I'm willing to give you a good fifty."

Suman narrowed his eyes. "Sixty."

"Seventy." Oh, who said he didn't know the game? Tyki crossed his arms with an iffy smile. "Come on."


"Done!" He pulled out his wallet and sifted through the green bills within the fold. Pulling out two fifties, he leaned forward, money in his hand hidden behind his bicep. "Please, and thank you."

"Yeah, yeah." The American man rolled his dark eyes and grabbed the hooked pole once more. He fished for the large yellow ball thing, a frown on his long face. "You're lucky I have a daughter to take care of."

"And you are lucky that I don't particularly care." Tyki ran his slender fingers through his dark hair, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. "Stick to business, please."

"Yeah, sure." Suman pushed the yellow ball at him, snorting in offense. "Do me a favor and never come back."

"Oh. You do not have to tell me twice." The Portuguese man walked away, large prize tucked underneath one arm, and the purple butterfly underneath the other.

The carnie sighed in relief.

Anymore time in that man's presence, and he was sure that his life would've been ruined.

"Ah!" Allen gasped, embracing the yellow ball with a passion unknown to the naked eye. "You dirty man, you! You went out of the way to actually get me the doll!" He grinned as he hugged the round, winged ball tighter.

"Oh, it was no problem."


"No problem? Why, if I weren't so sure you're really a creepy stalker, I'd kiss you right now."

Tyki hummed in interest. "And how do I make it so that your opinion is changed?"

"Oh, no worries," the teenager straightened up. "I'm reworking my opinion right now. Now I'm positive you're a really creepy sweetheart who just might have ulterior motives."

"Ulterior motives? Well, just getting you to see it my way at the end of these days," the older man replied, holding out an arm. "May we continue on?"

"But, of course." Allen hooked his arm with the older man's, smiling. "I would love to visit the face painting booth, you should know."

Tyki sat very still in the high stool, resisting the urge to tear out the throat of the bespectacled man that chattered on aimlessly as he ran a prickly, cool paintbrush against the skin of his forehead.

"—the longest time," the man was saying amiably, grinning. "I haven't seen you since you and my boy were still together!"

Allen laughed, a gloved hand brushing against his pale lips. "Yes, well, Tiedoll," he replied. "I'm sorry I haven't called."

"No, no." Tiedoll waved a hand in dismissal and Tyki hoped to his God that the man wasn't fucking up his face. As narcissist as it may sound, he held a great amount of affection towards his handsome visage. "The breakup must've been terrible!"

"Oh, of course not." The British teen shrugged. "I feel that I'm better off without the prick anyway."

"His attitude needs some improvement, but all in all, he's not so bad."

"Especially in bed, but that's not the point."

Tiedoll chuckled. "No, it isn't. I'd rather not think of my beloved foster son's sex life—"

"Former sex life. I'm the only one who could stand his horrible personality long enough to reap the benefits. Of his coc—"

"Whoops, messed up a bit here!" The sandy-haired man laughed a cheerful tune as he dabbed a small towel around Tyki's forehead.

"Please tell me you aren't demolishing my face to an almost irrevocable state," the dark-skinned man said calmly. But, do not be misled, for inside he was feeling an incredible new level of homicidal anger to be pinpointed at this 'son' of Tiedoll.

"Not at all. By the way, who are you?"

"This is my date, Tyki Mikk." Allen smiled. "An absolute sweetheart, Tiedoll, I swear. If I didn't know he were checking out my arse as he walks behind me, I'd think he were perfect!"

"I'm right here." Tyki said, smiling.

"I know, Mikk. I know."

Tiedoll swept the brush along the dark-skinned man's temple, moving his other hand to brush back the long curling hair of Tyki. "He seems very nice," the French painter admitted with a grin. "I'm sure Cross would be proud to meet him."

"Ah. About that." Allen winced. "Cross is gone."

The brush didn't even jerk. "Hmm?" Tiedoll hummed in response. "But, the man was on house arrest!"

"Yes, yes, he was. But, he somehow got the bloody anklet off, and now he's on a cruise to the Bermuda Triangle, and from there the Aegean Sea." The white-haired teenager shook his head, sighing. "I don't know how he does it, Tiedoll. I just don't."

"Ha ha, I've known Cross for years now, my boy," the man replied, his smile stretching his lightly bearded face. "Many years. And I still don't know how the heck that man thinks most of the time!"

"A right shame, sir."

"Yes, yes, indeed." Tiedoll bit his bottom lip as he concentrated on the finishing touches on Tyki's forehead. With a sigh, he backed up a bit, paintbrush hanging from between his fingers. "Now, I'm proud!"

Allen perked up. "Did it come out well?"

"Let us let the man see it first," the artist scolded lightly. "You're really the most impatient patient boy I've known."

"Oh, thank you."

A round mirror was held in front of Tyki's face, an offer for him to see what horror was done to his handsome visage.

The twenty-eight-year-old man took the mirror with a bit of hesitation, and he looked at the reflection of the painting on his forehead.

"I'm impressed," he said, and actually meant it.

On his forehead was a row of neat, uniform crosses, with one particularly ominous and bold cross in the middle.

Tiedoll beamed. "Why, thank you, my boy!" he replied happily. But, then a frown slipped onto his face. "Ah, but would you be willing to do me a favor though, concerning your wet paint?"

"No—" Allen threw him a look that screamed Yes, oh yes you will. "Uhm, I meant yes. Yes I will."

"Would you tie your hair back?" The stubble-brushed man dug into his paint-splattered trouser pockets and pulled out a thick hair band. "Just so that it doesn't fall into the paint."

"Sure." Tyki took the band and grabbed the back of his hair, trying to get the majority of the curly locks in his hold.

The seventeen-year-old smiled. "Here, let me try," he said, stepping around Tiedoll to get behind the stool. "Hand me the band, would you?"

The golden-eyed man held back his hand with the band, and the unearthly feel of Allen's leather gloves against his skin made him frown.

He wondered idly what was under those so prevalent gloves.

"My, your hair is beautiful," Allen commented, gathering the dark strands in a tight hold. "It makes me wonder, sometimes."

"How so?"

"Well, since I've only seen it down these four days," He pulled the hair to the near top at the back of the man's head. "I wonder about it being up in a ponytail. At times, that is." A hand slipped the band between the gloved fingers, and over the curly locks.

The fact that Allen wondered about him was more than enough make him smile.

"What a disturbing smile your date has," Tiedoll remarked, eyebrows raised over his rectangular glasses. "It makes me want to shiver, I swear!"

"Me too, Tiedoll. Me too." Allen tugged at the ponytail for tightening, and smiled. "Come on, turn around Mikk! Let me see you."

Tyki turned around, an eyebrow cocked. "Do I look any different?" he asked blandly.

"Er," the British teenager rubbed his chin. "If anything I actually have to say yes. You look entirely different."

The Portuguese man shook his head in amusement, marveling at the way his new ponytail kept the usual weight of hair against his neck. "I'm ready to try something new," he said, picking up his butterfly from the corner of the tented booth.

"Me too." Allen grabbed his golem (why he decided to call that…thing's race that, Tyki would never know nor truly care) and followed the older man. "Cheers, Tiedoll!"

"Bye Allen!" Tiedoll replied, waving a hand. "I'll be sure to tell Yuu I saw you!"

"Tyki!" Rhode started excitedly, hopping into his car once Allen stepped out. "You have got to bring me back!"

"Now, why would I do that?" Tyki replied, smiling.

"Lavi is the coolest!" she clapped her hands together. "We tripped handicapped people on the way up to his dorm, and it was fun! By the way, are you aware that your hair is in this really trippy ponytail?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. I do." With Rhode's admission to tripping the physically incapacitated, he vaguely remembered his days of senseless amusement in such sadism. "Does this mean you'll stop harassing me?" Oh, please say yes!

"What? No." The fifteen-year-old rolled her golden eyes in a counter. "I totally want to hang out with Lavi again!"

The aforementioned twenty-year-old man came up behind Allen and wrapped his forearm around his neck playfully. "The kid loved me, Al, Ten-Days," he said with a grin. "She just couldn't keep her hands off'a me!"

Allen laughed. "He has that effect on people," he said with ease, leaning into the redhead's one armed embrace.

Lavi brought his free hand to his lips and blew a kiss at Rhode. "See ya, sweetheart!" he crowed. "You were a blast!"

Tyki gave his niece a bit of an incredulous look. "Well, I'm surprised I'm not being sued for destruction of property," he said, starting his car. "And, not only that, but the man actually liked you. God is a mighty God, like he says."

"Amen." Allen chuckled. "See you tomorrow, Mikk!"

"Please," the older man purred, winking. "Call me Tyki."

Day Five

"What the hell?" Tyki stared at his image in the mirror, eyes narrowed. An elegant finger traced the larger cross in the middle of his forehead. "Did he paint this in permanent marker?"

He sighed and let his forehead hit the mirror, deeply tanned hands resting atop the countertop.

"Tyki!" someone called through his front door, and suddenly he felt oddly angry. "Old man! C'mon, pop out!"

Tyki inhaled slowly through clenched teeth. "David," he breathed with a malicious tone.

He closed his eyes.

If one was here, then the other—

"Uncle Tyki! Old man!"

—was sure to follow. It was an inevitable fact, unfortunately.

"Jasdero." The dark-skinned man greeted from between gritted teeth. "What are the chances of you two not being here because of some iffy rumor from Rhode?" The twin siblings trotted into his room, leaning on his bathroom door's frame.

"Zero!" David, a dark-skinned American teenager with stylishly cut black hair, grinned. "After all, we just love to stay in the loop!"

"That's right!" Jasdero, the fraternal twin of David with long blond hair and pierced lips, agreed. "So, c'mon, out with it! Who's this Aaron?"

"His name is Allen," Tyki corrected immediately. "And that's all the info you two are getting out of me. Now, get the hell out of my apartment."

David narrowed his amber eyes. "No way, I'm curious!" he replied, crossing his arms. The fur on his favorite jacket's collar was decidedly distracting Tyki, as he wondered why they couldn't find a damned fashion sense while they go about finding random information and gossip.

"Me too." Jasdero checked his wristwatch. "We don't have forever, y'know."

Tyki rolled his eyes. "Get out," he said sternly, shoving the two teenagers out of his bathroom. "I need to finish shaving."

"You are looking a little homeless," the older twin admitted with a smirk.

"Five o'clock shadow stops being sexy after eight, old man," the younger followed up.

"Just leave."

"Whoa, check out that tricky tattoo on your forehead!" David crowed as soon as Tyki shut the door closed. "What the hell, old man?"

"It looks like an exorcism gone wrong!" Jasdero jeered through the door.

The older man ignored them wholeheartedly as he lathered his lower face with shaving cream. He turned on his clippers, the electronic buzz filling the sizeable bathroom.

"Hey, hey," the godforsaken voice of the dark-haired twin was still in his house. "Check it out, Mikky's phone is ringing!"

"Old man!" Jasdero yelled through the wooden barrier. "Your phone is going off!"

"Put it down!" Tyki replied. "Don't answer it!"

"What'd he say?"

"I dunno—answer it?"


David hummed in thought. "Y'ello?" he greeted, presumably into the phone. "Yes, this is Mikk's phone."

Tyki brought the clippers away from his face and looked at the door in a sort of horror. "Oh no."

"Is this Albus?" the cocky teen asked. "No? Allen? Oh, yeah, he did say that was your name." There was a pause. "Oh, I'm David. Tyki's nephew, or something like that."

"And I'm Jasdero!" the blond called into the phone. "How are you?"

"Hang up the phone!" the golden-eyed man snapped as calmly as he could, trying to not skewer himself with the clippers. "I mean it!"

"So…" David continued. "Are you the old man's new bed buddy? …No?" He gasped. "What do you mean you haven't had sex yet?"

"Gimme the phone!" Jasdero exclaimed. "Y'ello? Jazzy here. So, my twin says that you haven't gotten down with our uncle yet. Why?" There was a pregnant silence, and Tyki strained to hear what was going on without walking out of his bathroom and killing the two. "Oh, that's why."

"What's up?"

"Alonzo says it's because he's many things, but the hell if he's easy. Says the old man can fall off a cliff if that's what he's looking for."

"Really?" David must've taken the phone back. "You're back with Davie, Alejandro. …Allen, Allen. Right. Well, how long have you and the old man been together and whatnot? …Whoa, four days?"

Tyki felt overly happy as he finished running the clippers over the majority of his face.

If he was going to kill them, then was going to look, at the very least, good as he dumped their bodies.

"Dude, if you've been with Tyki for, like, four days, and nothing has happened, then you're not getting banged," David explained. "Seriously, Old Man Mikky's got a sex record like off the charts. …And he's STD-free! I swear, it's a miracle."

The bathroom door slammed open and the Portuguese man stepped out with a smile. "David," he purred. "I believe I'd like for you to hang up my phone at this point. Seriously."

"Hold on!" the older twin held up a hand. "Sorry 'bout that, Alfred—Allen, right, whatever. …Meet you where? Oh, yeah, that's, like, across the street from our place. I'll be sure to tell him. …It was a pleasure talking to you too, Alex!"

"Bye Albert!" Jasdero said into the mouthpiece.

David snapped the phone flip shut and tossed it at Tyki, who caught it easily. "Alphonse says that he wants to meet up with you at Edo Park. Are you going?"

"His name is Allen," the older man corrected from clenched teeth. "And, yes, I am going. Are you going to get the hell out of my house?"

"Yep." The two chorused.

Jasdero stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. "We've got the 411."

David fixed his jacket. "Now, we're out. See ya!"

The two had escaped before he could push them out the window of his third floor apartment.

He was disheartened by this.

"Mikk!" Tyki looked up from his leaning back in the driver's seat to see his number-one favorite sight of all time.

Allen Walker in a fitted long-sleeved shirt.

"Hey," he greeted with a leer. (He tried to stop it, really. It just slipped onto his face without him realizing it.)

"Hey yourself. What are you doing in the car?" the white-haired teenager leaned on the doorframe, poking his head through the open window. "Come on, get out. There's ice cream being sold!"

"Right." Tyki unbuckled his seatbelt very slowly, trying to postpone the molestation of his wallet that was inevitable at this point.

"You take your dear sweet time," Allen said sweetly in a sarcastic undertone. "I'll just stand here, sweating in the sun. It's bloody summertime, and it's hot." He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly.

Damn, that strip of skin never gets old. "Mm hmm, it's totally hot."

"Can't you agree without being a pervert?"

No. "Yes." He opened the car door, Allen moving back, and stepped out of the vehicle. "Really."

"Sure. Now, come on, I feel like I'm getting sunburn."

Tyki shut the car door, eyeing Allen's pale, white skin and his ridiculous long sleeves. "I wouldn't put it behind you."

"Oh, shut it."

The twenty-eight-year-old man flashed a small smile and waved his hand dismissively. "Shall we go?" he asked.

"Of course." The white-haired teenager walked ahead, but then he stopped. "I'm sorry," he said, turning around with a bright smile. "But, you stare at my arse too hard. Please, let's walk. Together."

Damn. I've been foiled again. "Why not?" Tyki walked up to Allen's side, mentally bereaving his lost chance of a free show.

"So…" Allen started, his ever-present smile on his attractive face. "Your nephews, hmm?"

"Yes. My nephews." Tyki resisted the urge to groan. "I really am sorry for their crude actions—I was in the bathroom shaving, and you called and they answered and—"

"Calm down, Mikk. It's okay. I, er, sort of understand. In a very vague way. What's your favorite flavor ice cream?" They had already arrived to the ice cream vendor's cart. Tyki blinked in surprise.

"Uh, chocolate-vanilla swirl."

"Thank you." Allen leaned forward. "All right Mr. Johnny, then we'll have two choco-vanilla swirls," he stated, pointing at the clear glass top of the cart. "And a plain chocolate, cookies and cream, chocolate-chip cookie dough, strawberry, Neapolitan—"

"Are you going to get every single flavor?" the ice-cream vendor, Johnny, demanded, his dirty-blond eyebrows rising over his large round glasses. Tyki felt his words taken right out of his mouth with that. "We're not Bak Chan's. We don't have thirty-two flavors!"

"—mint chocolate-chip," the seventeen-year-old continued, still running his finger over the chilled glass, leaving a clear trail in its wake. "Pistachio, green tea, peach, lemon, aaand vanilla."

Tyki pulled out his wallet immediately. "What's the cost?" he asked blandly.

"What? No." Johnny grinned. "Allen here's a good friend of mine. I can't charge the kid, I mean, just look at that smile!"

Oh, he looked at it all right. He never really got tired of it.

"All right," he said, obviously relieved. "Then, let's go."

"Go where?" Allen replied, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm not moving from this spot until I get all of my ice cream. And that's going to take a while."

Johnny scooped a chocolate and vanilla swirl into the waffle cone in his hands and handed it to Tyki with a smile. "Hope you like it."

"I hope so too." The golden-eyed man replied blandly, and brought the ice cream to his lips reluctantly. Flicking his tongue out, he got a small taste of the thick mixture of chocolate and vanilla bean. "It's great," he said. But he had no idea whether or not he was lying.

"I know, right?" Allen said as he chewed the waffle cone down, running his tongue over his gloved fingers. "Mr. Johnny makes the best frozen treats, cor blimey."

"Allen, Allen," the sandy-haired man laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "I keep telling you to stop being so polite with me. I'm your friend. You don't have to call me 'Mister'."

"This is true," Tyki agreed, but wondering why wasn't he 'Mr. Mikk'.

It had a very nice ring to it, if he said so himself.

"I was just raised to treat anyone who is an adult with the utmost respect," the English teenager explained with a shrug, receiving his third cone with a smile.

Tyki cocked a very, very skeptical eyebrow. "Uhm hmm," he hummed in thought. "Am I some sort of exception to this rule or such?"

"Yes. Yes you are." Allen swallowed the last of the fourth cone loudly. "This is fantastic! You should get another."

The older man looked down at his ice cream, which took no time in melting into small droplets of sticky, creamy liquid that edged at his closed fist.

"No." He brought it to his lips once more. "I'll finish this one instead."

"You aren't exactly gay, are you?"

Tyki, who sat with his arms stretched across the top of the bench they currently occupied, sighed a long-suffering huff of breath.

"No," he admitted. "No, I'm not."

"Hmm?" Allen looked interested. "Then, what are you, dear Mikk?"

"I used to consider myself an equal opportunist," the dark-skinned man replied. "Bisexual, if you may."

"Bisexual? And, what do you mean 'used to'?"

Damn, what a corner. Tyki considered his options, which were basically: 'say something creepy', 'say something very creepy', and 'try to play it off while trying to not sound creepy'. "I mean that you're the only one for me."

Maybe 'C' wasn't the best choice, considering Allen's overzealous rolling of his gray eyes.

"Right." He sounded a little too sarcastic with that. "Anyway, I feel that I'll be a little nicer today. On the seventh day of this little 'plan'," he held up his hands and quoted the statement. "I'll tell you more about myself."

"Ah." Well, that was pretty nice.

Lulu Bell was a professional part-time hacker, and he was actually going to call her up to bust out some information on his to-be-lover for him.

But, this was clearly the better option.

"All right."

"But, I do need to know one thing." Allen grinned, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. "This…sex record of yours."

"Oh." Tyki coughed lowly in his throat. "Oh. Uhm. I can't exactly explain it, I'm sorry."

"Then explain it the way you can. Lavi is demanding info, you must understand."

"Uh huh." That damned redhead. "Well, it varies on what you want to know."

Allen's grin widened. "How many people you've slept with."

The man resisted the urge to groan. Too many to count. "Next question."

"Mm hmm…" the white-haired boy ran his tongue over his slightly chapped lips. "Must've been a lot. Well then, longest relationship?"

"Uh." Well, this is embarrassing. "Two days. If I remember correctly." He was never too fond of committing himself to caring.

"And how long did it take for you to get down and dirty?"

The way the boy pronounced dirty made Tyki want to do very, very inappropriate things to him. The fact that they were in a public park made no true difference to him.

"Three hours."

Allen raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you're fast." He smirked. "I'm really impressed. And your nephews said that you're STD-free?"

"Correct." Tyki rubbed his clean chin. "I'm no idiot."

"Ha!" the seventeen-year-old barked a laugh. "You're a bloody moron, Mikk. But, you're cute."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome. Now, how about a ride about the town?"

Tyki looked at him for a long, hard moment.

He shrugged with a smile. "Sure."

He'll just show him how fast he can really go.

Day Six

Tyki Mikk was a man who was fond of striking fear into the hearts of others. He was damn good at it too, especially when the people were less attractive than he (which was a large percentage of the world's population). There were very few people who could scare him into any sort of submission.

The Earl was one of those people.

It was a proven fact.

"My boy!" the fat man greeted, waving a gloved hand into the eyehole of the Portuguese man's door. He smiled harder, and Tyki really, really wanted to get back into bed and hide underneath his covers. "Open the door, will you? I must know of your current affair!"

"Uh, yes Earl," he replied, eyes closed as he unlocked his brass doorknob. "Please, come in."

"Of course." The Earl walked in with a confidence that had never left him, even in the eleven years Tyki was out of the man's foster care.

Tyki shut the door behind him. "Take a seat on the sofa," he said. "I'm going to make you some tea."

"You're still such a dear, even after all of this time apart." The Earl sighed in happiness. "Now, Lulu and Rhode have been telling me a few things."

The dark-skinned man opened the refrigerator and pulled out a glass bottle of vodka. Then, he pulled out a container of iced tea, because the hell he was going to go out of his way to warm up water and prepare bags.

"What kind of things?" Tyki replied distractedly, spiking his own cup with a good amount of vodka. The Earl could get his own damn alcohol.

"Things like…well, like your odd infatuation with a child eleven years your junior." He could hear the large man's smile. "It's a really amusing story when they tell it, but I must know the truth."

"Okay?" Tyki came out of the open kitchen, two cups in his hands. "You have to be more specific with me."

"Well, are you?" The Earl received his cup of tea with a smile (like he had any other kind of expression). "In love with a seventeen-year-old British boy who goes to the Vatican University of Music and Arts, that is."

"Yes." The dark-haired man rolled his golden eyes. "Is this a problem?"

"Well, when you get carried off to jail for child molestation, yes. It is a problem." The white smile grew, if such were even possible. "After all, posting bail is my newest job with all of my children so grown up. I've had to go and get Davie and Jazzy three times already." The man wiped an invisible tear from his eye. "Oh, they grow so fast."

"This is true." Tyki sipped at his tea, and wondered why the hell he didn't put more vodka in it. He needed to be drunk, plain and simple.

"This tea has an interesting taste of lemon," the Earl commented suddenly. "But, it is quite cold. Why?"

"Because it is iced." Maybe God would fill his cup with wine? Jesus did it, so why couldn't he? "Are we done here?"


Tyki's phone went off loudly in his shirt pocket, and the man thanked God for just that if not for filling his cup with more alcohol.

A slender hand brought it to his ear. "Hello?" he answered smoothly, holding up his other hand in a motion for the Earl to stay silent. "Allen, how pleasant to hear from you!"

"You sound happy," the teenager replied through the earpiece, his voice somewhat muffled due to the probable vicinity to the mouthpiece. "Why?"

"You, of course."

The Earl looked a little too interested to be comfortable.

"Oh, you." Allen chuckled. "Well, I was wondering if you were a criminal?"

Tyki's expression went from ridiculously pleased to terribly confused. "Why?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because, I felt the need to know. Just kidding! But, really, what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Whatever you want me to do."

The Earl grinned harder.

That dirty, dirty man. Tyki felt a shudder shake down his spine.

"Then, do you know where the casino is?"

"Hmm…" the dark-skinned man hummed in thought. "Casino… Ah! Casino Skull, on the outskirts of the city, right?"

"Correct! Well, I was thinking that we could go there—"

"No offense, but aren't you, well, underaged?"

"Don't worry about me, Mikk," Allen retorted in amusement. "Just stay focused on you. And bring money, lots of it especially if you suck at gambling."

This (highly attractive) teenager did not just imply that Tyki Mikk might be bad at gambling.

"I'll bring five bucks, tops," he replied, smirking. "I'm much better than you're thinking."

"Ooh, really?" Allen laughed. "Then, I'll just bring no money at all."

"A challenge?"

"But, of course. If you can't handle it, then, well, you can always call off the next three days—"

"This will be no problem." Tyki interrupted easily. He eyed his ex-foster father, who sat on the sofa with his interlaced gloved fingers resting atop his crossed legs. "But, we should discuss this further tomorrow. I have, ah, company."

"You have a life? Blinding!" Allen snickered. "Just pulling your leggings, Mikk. Well, till the morrow, cheers!"

"Bye." Tyki snapped the phone shut. "Now, what? Are you going to leave?"

"Me? Leave?" The Earl laughed heartily. "Why, Tyki my boy, it's suddenly gotten so much interesting!" His smile widened. "Tell me more."


"I'd love to know more about this…Allen."

"Hmm…" the old man hummed in thought, his eternal smile still plastered onto his face. "This is really, for lack of a better term, hilarious."

Tyki was offended. "How so?" he demanded, a thin eyebrow cocked.

"Dare I say it, but if I didn't know better…I'd say you were desperate!" The Earl laughed delightedly.

"It isn't that funny." He paused. "And I'm not desperate."

"Well, you sure are acting like it." The Earl shook his head. "I may not be in any place to give you any romantic advice—"

"Then don't."

"—but I think—"

"I could care less what you think." Tyki huffed.

"—that you should take more charge in this random romance." The Earl nodded in agreement with himself. "It's only fair, since I am under the distinct impression that, well, you're utterly and completely whipped." He sighed. "I did think that I raised you better than that."

"Yes, well, please leave." The Portuguese man waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm sorry, but I cannot take advice from a man such as yourself, like you said."

"Well, I don't know why. It's perfectly sensible."

"No. It isn't sensible. You are not sensible." Tyki gripped his teacup so hard he thought he heard the ceramics cracking. "I know exactly what I am doing, and I can do it exactly the way I know, so please, keep your cracked-up suggestions to yourself, Earl."

"My cracked-up suggestions?" the Earl chuckled. "Why, I'm just trying to help your cracked-up homoerotic romance."

Dear Lord no. The man was not allowed to say 'homoerotic'! It went against all the rules pertaining to their already lopsided father-son relationship.

"…" The curly-haired man sipped at his tea once more. Hmm, Ah, yes, the alcohol must've sunk to the bottom. Now he could taste it. "Okay. I'll listen to your advice, as long as you leave my apartment in the next nine minutes." He got an extra four since it might take some effort for him to fit through the doorway.

"Seems like my son doesn't love me," the large man faked a sniffle, dabbing at his bespectacled eyes with a handkerchief. "Then, I'll take my leave now."

Tyki stood up almost immediately. "I'll see you to the door." He flashed a white smile.

"Oh, that would be fantastic." The Earl flashed his own smile back, and the Portuguese man felt his slide off of his face, because he just couldn't compete with that.

"Remember," his ex-foster father said as he stood in the doorway. "If you want to impress this boy, then stop being such a, oh what do they call it these days…" He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes, a bitch."

"Goodbye Earl."

Okay. Maybe he had a little less control in this relationship than he liked to think, especially as he demolished his wardrobe like a teenaged girl with a desperate crush.

He was so not a teenaged girl.

"Lulu," he muttered into the phone as he balanced it between his right ear and shoulder while he sifted through his closet and realized that his fashion was so out of touch. "What should I wear?"

"Well, if you get wet, then your chances of getting laid are, like, off the roof," Lulu replied amusedly over the other line. "So, maybe a white Hooters shirt and some daisy dukes are the way to go."

"Yeah, no. I wasn't asking about your wardrobe." Tyki hummed in approval at a black suit that he knew accentuated his blemish-free dark skin. But then, he remembered that he was going to a casino, and wearing things like that was just crying to get marked as a yuppie. "This is a serious problem."

"Yeah," the woman muttered distractedly. "My nail polish totally clashes with my hair. That's some serious business, totally."

The curly-haired man rolled his eyes. "You should try using Skanking Silver next time," he advised wisely. "It would go perfectly with your Bitchy Blonde hair dye."

Lulu huffed. "Don't get pissy at me because your slutting outfit is still in the cleaners." She giggled. "Okay, but seriously, why are you trying so hard?"

"Because it's Allen." Tyki said like it explained everything that was wrong with this world. "And, I want him to like me." Okay, that came out a lot more whining and bitchingly than he was hoping for.

"Awww, you sound so desperate," his ex-foster sister cooed over the phone, snickering like a little girl instead of the twenty-seven-year-old woman she really was, no matter how hard she tried.

"Of course, most of the men you meet are pretty desperate as well," Tyki replied instead, narrowing his eyes at the umpteenth tacky yellow shirt he found in his closet. What the hell?

"Ouch. That was totally unnecessary." Lulu sniffed in offense. "Okay, well, I'm going to say one thing to you, then I'm off on my date with this hot bartender slash stripper."

"Like always."

"Anyway! Stop trying so hard," the blonde woman stated easily, and Tyki could practically hear her smile. "Just, be yourself. He might like you more if you act a little more honest around him."

Wait. "You want me to dress casually? Like, everyday dress?"

"That's right!" She laughed. "Alright, Tyki, I'm off. Got to meet this 'Sixty-Five.' That's his stripper name, just so you know."

"Have fun skanking." Tyki pressed end on his cellular phone and shut his closet door.

He turned towards his chester with a determined glint in his golden eyes.

If that is the case, then he had the perfect clothes for gambling.

Day Seven

Allen stared at him for approximately three minutes.

"What the bloody hell are you wearing?"

"Clothes. Unless, of course, you were hoping for nothing, because I can grant you—"

The university student shook his head in disbelief, completely incredulous. "Does your mother know you dress like that?" he asked in an insulting tone.

Tyki fixed his large, swirly glasses with a smile. "My mother is dead, but thank you for asking." He looked down at the entirety of his outfit. "I don't see the problem. It looks a lot like the clothes I was wearing when we first met."

"That's because they look exactly like—" Allen stopped in his complaint, narrowing his eyes. "Please tell me you washed your hair."

"Of course," the Portuguese man brushed his bangs out the way of his eyes, smirking. "Everyday."

"But you didn't shave."

"My clippers broke due to overuse or something to that degree."

"Uh huh." The British teenager huffed with a smile, putting his hands on his hips. "Well, you don't look presentable to the general public," he commented in a laughing tone. "But, you still look nice."

Tyki smiled back. "Thank you. And, you look like a teenager that wouldn't get into a casino without being violently carded."

Allen barked a laugh. "I told you, Mikk," he said amusedly. "Don't bother with me. I have this under control."

"I believe you." To an extent, at least. "So, shall we go?"

"You're the one who is taking forever, just standing about." The teenager grinned. "I don't drive, Mikk. I prefer to ride."

It was as funny as it was almost ridiculous, because Tyki thanked God more in these past seven days than he ever did for most of his life. "Mm hmm," the older man hummed, nodding slowly as he fiddled with his car keys in his pocket. They need to get to the casino, and fast, because he was losing the will to not go to prison for serial rapery.

"Rapery," he muttered aloud, smacking his forehead. "That's not a word."

Allen looked at him. "It's odd…I don't think I want to know what you even think about," he commented, cocking an eyebrow. And then, he repeated under his breath "Rapery? What the bloody hell—"

"Anyway," Tyki replied, not wanting him to have insight on what he really thinks about either. "My car is parked over there. Shall we go?"

"Of course. Last one's a wanker!" The university student pivoted around on his hell and jogged towards the man's Tease.

Only for you, Allen Walker, Tyki thought with a smile as he walked at a more leisurely pace. Only for you.

A popular saying about the city was that "Casino Skull is the life of Los Muertos." It was situational irony that made it funny, because more people died in the casino due to violent misunderstandings and trysts than car crashes in the busy intersection lanes of Gray Street and Man Boulevard


Tyki, however, had more connections in the place than a phone line, with none of the wires.

"Is that a reserved parking space?" Allen asked, blinking. The car pulled in between the white lines smoothly, and the Portuguese man grinned.

"And, if it were?" Tyki replied, cocking an eyebrow in a silent challenge. "What would that mean to you?"

"That you aren't as homeless as you lead people to believe." The white-haired young man tapped his foot on the floor of the vehicle in an unheard rhythm. "No offense, but I simply don't get the deal with dressing like you live in Downtown."

Ouch. He is good at the hurtful words thing, and Tyki had no idea if he were saying these things on accident or if he planned every single statement. Either way, it was quite effective.

"…I live on Ark Drive," the dark-skinned man just had to verify, because he was actually offended that someone accused him of looking like he lived Downtown. You don't live Downtown, you, well, unlive, because you are probably poor and homeless as this point. "That is miles away from Downtown."

"Is it?" Allen rolled his eyes, smiling. "Don't have an eppy, Mikk. I was kidding," he leaned closer to the man, over the gear and middle glove compartment. He patted the man on the cheek. "You look very nice, for a creep."

"Thank you." Tyki replied, and he actually meant it.

He breathed slowly through his nose, a smile stretching on his lips. Really, that cologne smelled absolutely heavenly. Was that Innocence no. 5?

"Okay, I think it's time for us to get rich!" Allen said suddenly, clasping his gloved hands together. "Well, at least me, because I haven't the slightest idea on whether or not you can gamble to save your life."

"Save my life?" the Portuguese man scoffed, opening the car door. "Call me Jesus, then, because I can bring back the dead."

"Hmm, self-confidence." The British teenager grinned. "I always get the cockiest men, and I don't know why! I mean, really, let me tell you about my ex, shall I? You would've never met a cockier man, and you look in the mirror every morning—or so I like to believe," he laughed, covering his mouth. "Well, first date, he told me he was going to make me scream, in pleasure, that is. Although, he wasn't off the mark at all, because he—"

"Right." Tyki interrupted, coughing lowly in his throat and stepping out of the car. "Just, uhm, please don't say cocky."

"Your emphasis leads me to believe that you're quite the dirty man," Allen replied, getting out as well. He shut the car door with a push, crossing his arms. "Tell me if I'm wrong."

The older man pretended to not listen as he walked briskly towards the entrance, which was manned by a large, large bouncer.

Tyki smiled up at the guard. "Hello, Mahoja," he greeted with a small wave. "How are you?"

The bouncer, who was somehow a woman, shrugged. "The same," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Bitches be tryin' me, for real."

"I understand completely." The twenty-eight-year-old reached into his fitted jean pockets and pulled out his wallet, flipping open the flap to show his ID. "May I get by?"

Mahoja smiled, shoving the man past the door in a playful manner. "You're always welcome, Mikky—oh, Allen, hey!" Tyki gasped in silent pain as he rubbed his shoulder, cursing the woman's inhuman strength to hell.

Allen smiled, waving a gloved hand. "How do you do, Miss Mahoja?" he greeted, eyes closed. "Might there be any room for me, today?"

"It varies. Where's Cross?"

The young man laughed delightedly, running his fingers through the white strands of his hair. "You see," he started, smiling. "That is actually a really funny story. Oh, and speaking of funny stories, I have a joke that I simply must tell you. Okay!" He held out his hands in suspense, eyes glittering with amusement. "A priest, a scientist, and a drunken bastard of an uncle walk into a bar, yes? Yes, so they walk into a bar, and the priest sits down on a barstool. He asks for a drink—non-alcoholic, of course—and offers the scientist and the drunken irresponsible bastard of an uncle the same. The scientist accepts, as it is not alcoholic and therefore cannot interrupt his work. The drunken irresponsible reprehensible bastard of an uncle accepts too, because it is free, and you simply don't reject free things, he always says."

Tyki had a vague feeling that Allen was basing this off of a true story, but he cared little about that as he nodded his head for that melodic voice to continue the "joke".

"So!" Allen continued, tapping his chin in thought. "The bartender gives out the drinks, and everyone partakes in them. But, suddenly, the drunken irresponsible reprehensible dissolute bastard of an uncle decides that he must have more alcohol in his drink. So, he gets drunk. And then, he trashes the bloody bar. The prick also takes the time out of his life to attempt to attack the scientist, because the scientist apparently attempted to use a date-rape drug in his shot glass, and the priest got in the middle of it. But, that isn't the funniest part of the joke!"

"It gets funnier?" Tyki spoke aloud, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes." The white-haired teenager grinned. "The coppers decide to come at this point, and then the drunken irresponsible reprehensible dissolute moronic bastard of an uncle thinks they are the people he cheated out of their money in poker last week—they probably were, though, so I wouldn't put it behind him—and then, attacks them. Needless to say, he goes to jail, for approximately three days, and then his court date occurs. The drunken irresponsible reprehensible dissolute moronic shameful bastard of an uncle is sentenced to three months of house arrest, and he can't even handle one week before slipping out of the electronic anklet and escaping. Now, he is somewhere in Siberia, or was it Kazakhstan? I can't remember for the life of me."

"Oh." Mahoja blinked, very slowly. "Anita isn't going to be happy about this."

Allen waved a hand in dismissal. "Don't worry, I'll tell her the joke too. Comedy is meant to be shared with the world, didn't you know?"

The bald woman shook her head in amusement. "Um. Right." Her expression became serious. "Do you have an ID today?"

"Yes. Yes I do." Allen reached into his back pocket and pulled out his own wallet, flashing a realistic ID. "Today, I am twenty-two."

Tyki coughed back a laugh, looking away conspicuously. It was funny because the boy—even though he was attractive in a mature way, especially with those dirty jokes and tight pants—could hardly pass for sixteen. He was all kinds of lucky to know the bouncer, because most people would pick him up by the scruff of his fashionable collar and toss him out the door.

"Aww," the large bouncer cooed, ruffling the significantly smaller teenager's hair. "You are too cute, buddy. Well, in case of emergency," she looked over at Tyki, who leaned on the wall idly, checking his watch even though he already knew the time. "Stick with Mikky. The guy has, like, three nephews and nieces. He's good at getting people to not harass kids."

"Oh, that's only because he does it himself," Allen replied, laughing. "He's cute, but really odd."

"I'm sure he is, Allen. I'm sure he is. Still, stick with him. I can't exactly help you in case you get attacked or something, because you're good at that, here."

"Yes, well, the Lord blessed me with the talent of making a profit," the seventeen-year-old said with a shrug, stepping closer to the Portuguese man. "I just choose to follow my calling and use it, but Satan tries to set me back by sending his envious envoys after me."

"No, you're just a big, fat cheater." Mahoja corrected, rolling her eyes.

"I say!" Allen huffed, walked past her with a faux frown. "I am most definitely not fat!"

Tyki agreed wholeheartedly as he pushed himself off the wall, one hand in his trouser pockets. "Of course not," he stated, holding out his other hand towards the teenager.

The white-haired boy brushed away the hand in favor of looping his arm with the older man's. "So, Mikky," he purred, sending a throb of feeling down Tyki's abdomen that he'd rather not describe. "What shall we do first? Blackjack? Slots? Roulette? Baccarat?"

Tyki led them into the bright lobby, and he smiled at the familiar environment, thick with the smell of cigarettes and expensive alcohol, and bustling with the sounds of slot machines and arguing gamblers.

"Let's stay simple," he replied, slipping his hand out of his pocket to fix his large spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "I hope you can play poker."

"Play poker?" Allen asked, cocking an eyebrow as he sat across from Tyki at the large poker table somewhere in the middle of the casino. "Excuse my Americanism, but you've got to be kidding me."

The dealer glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow. A smile spread on his face, and his blue-shaded sunglasses gleamed in the florescent light. "No offense, Monsieur," he spoke up in a thick French accent. "But, you've got to be kidding moi when you say you are twenty-two. You look more, ah, fourteen."

"Got higher than me, LeJeune," another player at the table stated loudly. "I thought he was twelve!"

Tyki looked over at the speaker, and he rolled his eyes. "Eez," he responded, leaning his chin on the flat surface of his upturned palm. "You're barely sixt—"

Eez threw him a panicked look. "Shut up, Tyki!" he hissed.

"You brought it upon yourself," the man retorted, checking his watch. Could he take these people's money faster, possibly?

Allen huffed. "I got pass the bouncer, did I not?" he reasoned to LeJeune. "If she could believe my age, why can't you, good sir?" He frowned, interlacing his fingers.

"Well, for one—"

"For one, I am simply trying to support my addiction to gambling," the British student continued, sighing in a long-suffering manner. "I used to be an alcoholic, back when I was still a boy of mere seventeen. But, I found help in a calm therapist, yet I didn't, because I ended up in a scandalous sexual relationship with the same therapist, where he lost his job, and I was forced to live on the streets, toiling for food to eat. During this time, I learned of an American game called craps, and I made a living off of that for the longest time. I earned enough to find a place to live, and then I found a steady job." He smiled. "Now, I am twenty-two and successful due to my gambling streak that hasn't ended in four years."

The silence at the table stretched for a moment, as Tyki was sure nobody could find it in their hearts to reject the notion of the boy's cock-and-bull story, especially when he put so much thought and creativity into it. Really, sex with his therapist? Now that has to be a first!

"Uh huh," LeJeune hummed, chuckling lowly. "Anyway! Is everyone ready for a game?"

Tyki straightened up. Finally!

"Please, place your bets!"

"Twenty," Eez said, pushing the appropriate number of chips to the middle of the table.

Another player nodded. "Twenty."


"Sixty." Allen pushed his chips to the middle as well.

Sixty? "I could've sworn you only bought twenty," the Portuguese man whispered, raising an eyebrow in question.

The seventeen-year-old laughed. "A watchful eye, Mikk. I like that. But, I learned a long time ago that there are some secrets you simply don't tell." He waggled a finger in a scolding manner.

"Hmm…" Tyki hummed in thought, contemplating his move. He could bet twenty like everyone else. It's not like he was going to lose or anything.


"Huh," Allen muttered, lips twitching in a small smile. "I could've sworn you only bought five."

The golden-eyed man winked, pulling out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips. "It's a dirty little secret, beautiful," he replied, smirking.

"Well, it's about to be mine."

Tyki cocked an eyebrow. "We'll see about that."

"Royal flush, gentlemen," the university student stated, placing his cards on the tabletop with ease and a smile. "Please, no autographs."

"No way," Eez muttered, throwing his own Flush on the table in outrage. "This is the third time! There's no way possible you can get a Royal fuckin' Flush three times in a row!"

"Actually, there is." Allen replied, grinning. "But, I simply don't feel like explaining it to you."

"Why?" the dark-haired gambler snapped. "Because you cheated?"

"No, it's really because you simply suck."

Tyki looked at his Straight Flush mournfully. "Damn," he breathed, placing the hand on the tabletop. How much more money must he lose in the sake of love?

"Okay!" LeJeune announced, laughing delightedly. "Le winner is, Monsieur Alcoholic-Sex-Addict-Gambler!"

Allen looked entirely too pleased with the title. "Why, thank you," he replied, clasping his hands together. "I've become my own monster. But, let's not forget homeless and—oh!" He reached into his jean pocket, and pulled out his modern technological yellow cellular phone. "Hello? …Hel-lo," his grin widened. "I haven't heard from you in the longest time! Have you realized how much of a prick you are—oh? …You say Lavi told you this?" He laughed, gesturing with his free hand animatedly as he began to chat to the person on the other line. "Well, it just might be true! What are you going to do if it is? …Meet him? Ha! …Well, fine, we'll meet you at the café where Lenalee works. No questions! Goodbye." The phone flap was flipped shut once more.

"That," he said to Tyki, smiling. "Was my ex. He's simply dying to meet you, so I hope you're open tomorrow."

The ex.

The unknown man that was currently the bane of Tyki's existence, for the simple fact that this jerk had someone as beautiful and perfect as Allen Walker and gave him up.

But, don't get him wrong, he's happy—beyond happy, actually—that Allen is single for the moment and they're kind of sort of almost in a way dating (in his slightly delusional mind, that is), but still. It's the thought that counts.

Besides, he did wonder what kind of guy this ex was. Was he good-looking? Was he weak? Did he have an eyepatch like the redhead friend of Allen's?

"I'm entirely open," he answered, still mulling over the possibilities of who could be the notorious ex-boyfriend of Allen's.

"Blinding." The teenager brushed his bangs away from his eyes, leaning back in his seat. "I'll give you a random fact on myself, like I said I would two days ago." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "In an exception of you," he started. "I, generally, have horrible taste in men."

Tyki blinked, rather confused. "Which means what, exactly?"

"I hope that Kanda doesn't kill you," Allen half-explained, waving a hand lazily. "I love him, and all, but he's a bloody dimwit."

Day Eight

This time, Tyki woke up before the phone rang.

Hours previous, actually.

The man sat up in his inhumanly comfortable bed, leaning against the headboard as he contemplated on yesterday's events.

Nothing more had happened after the conversation pertaining to Allen's ex-boyfriend. Well, other than the fact that Tyki had to get up from his seat several times to buy more poker chips because the teenager was cleaning him out like a vacuum. Eez pitched a fit several times, insisting that Allen was cheating, but nobody could find any proof.

They left the casino.

Tyki drove Allen to his dorm. (And watched his backside as he jogged up the stairs—score!)

And, now in his bed, he sat up just thinking.

"What could he have possibly meant," he mused aloud, tapping his chin in thought. "'I love him, and all'?" Could the British young man still have feelings for this man, or was it just his personality to proclaim love so easily?

Well, that didn't exactly fit the image the teenager had set up so far, so there had to've still been something left between the two.

Tyki slid back into his covers, looking at the bland ceiling. He'd just find out later today, during the lunch that he was kind of anticipating, because that tea he had there was absolutely fantastic, and kind of not anticipating, because of the ex.

The sun slid languidly into the sky, crawling through his bedroom window and lighting up the almost disturbingly color-coordinated black-and-white-checkered furniture.

And, for some reason, at the peak of the new morning, his phone went off.

But, it was okay, because he had learned to anticipate these crackpot-timed phone calls in the last seven days, especially since his family members are suddenly so much more interested in his general life. Really, they didn't care when he was in high school, when he was lucky enough to get the superlatives "Hottest Guy" and "Most Promiscuous " in his senior year. The Earl laughed it off back then, but now he's into the Portuguese man's love life like a fantastic soap opera.

He picked up the phone, glancing at the blinking screen at the front.


The phone flap was flipped open. "Yes?" he greeted tersely, wondering why the hell his older brother was calling him at such an unholy time of the morning.

"Good morning, love," Sheryl replied in his ever-patronizing tone of voice. "I do hope I didn't wake you up."

"You didn't." Tyki rubbed his chin, cocking an eyebrow at the stubble. Must it come every day? "So, why are you calling me so early, then?"

The other man laughed, sending a disturbed shiver down Tyki's spine. "You already know," he retorted. "It's the biggest news with all of the family—the rumors are mad, Tyki. The twins say that you're in an illicit relationship with a gay prostitute named Alfred, Rhode says that you're dating a supermodel, the Earl is claiming that you're submitting to a fifteen-year-old Scotsman, and Lulu says that you're just a manwhore. I don't know what to believe!"

What the hell, Lulu? "I am about to hang up."

"Nonsense, you wouldn't hang up on your loving older brother when all he wants is a little clarification, would you?"

Actually, he totally would. "Yes."

Sheryl huffed, audible through the earpiece. "Well, all I need is a few minutes of your time, then I'll hang up," he said, and the sound of a body plopping against some sort of cushion was heard in the background. "Who is this…'Allen'?"

Tyki sighed, glad that someone finally got his name right. "A…boy," he answered carefully, suddenly aware that no matter what he said, he came across like an unnatural sexual pervert. "That is…seventeen…and that I am…pursuing…a relationship with through a ten-day…process." Oh, the hesitation was not helping his case.

There was a hum of thought on the other line. "You're stalking an English boy half your age?" he asked, his voice suddenly bland. "Really, Tyki? Is this your final answer?"

Now, so far, everyone in his family who had found out about his relationship adventures, they were generally supportive and gave him the "A-OK" to go on with his…'wooing'.

Sheryl was, for some reason, this fantastic breath of fresh air.

"Yes," he answered as a smile slipped onto his face. "I'm in love."

"You are delusional. Give up," Sheryl snapped. "You are only making a fool of yourself, love. I do not even know this boy, but I know he is probably having a laugh at your expense. Yours! I cannot accept that, as I never had—even when you were a boy, don't you remember?"

"Not really," Tyki replied, rolling his eyes. Sheryl was real big on Memory Lane, his car breaks down every time he drives down that damned street. "But, anyway, thanks. Can I hang up, now?"

"Of course not, I need to finish scolding you." His older brother cleared his throat. "Now, one, you are twenty-eight, and he is—what—seventeen? What the hell were you even thinking?"

"I don't believe you want to know," the golden-eyed man replied, holding out his hand and observing the back of it. Well, his cuticles were looking a little inelegant. He must rectify that before lunch.

"Neither do I. Next, he is British! Why would you—"

Tyki hung up the phone and slid back into bed.

Listening to his brother always made him want to go to sleep. It obviously hadn't changed a bit in the past twenty-something years.

"Hello?" Tyki sleepily answered his phone on its second ring of the day. He didn't even bother to look at the screen, he was so groggy. "Hello?"


Damn it. "Allen!" the Portuguese man shook the sleep off of him, metaphorically, and blinked. "You're calling quite early."

"Uh, no." Allen laughed in delight on the other side of the line. "It's one twenty-four. Lunch time, don't you remember?"

Remember? Well, now he did.

Tyki grimaced. "Ah, yes. Am I late already?"

"Not so much. Lavi is giving me a ride to the café, so I'll wait for you. But, come before two, because that's when I told him to come, and when he comes, he is usually right on time."

"Must you use sexual implications when speaking about your ex?" Tyki asked, rolling his eyes.

"Of course. I'm testing how far I can nark you off, so I hope you understand." Allen chuckled. "Don't get too big-headed when I say this, though. I actually believe you might win at the end of these ten days, purely because you haven't snapped on me yet!"

Tyki blinked. "I could never snap on you—"

"Ah, you speak too early, Mikk old boy. Well, the clock is ticking. Come on! Quit dallying about in your bed and get over here!"

"Yes, sir," the older man replied, giving a fake military salute even though the boy couldn't even see it. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"I'll be on the lookout, then. Cheers!" The line went dead, signifying on how the other line hung up.

Tyki snapped the phone flipped closed, and looked towards his bathroom with a sense of sadness.

"My clippers," he mourned aloud, slipping out of bed and feeling his stubble-brushed chin once more.

But, it was inevitable.

He was just going to have to use the safety razor.

When Tyki pulled into the parking space on the street assigned for the café, he was proud to say that he only once cut himself on the chest with the safety razor (those things really do falsely advertise—he almost died!) and it was in a place that was generally unseen. Unless, of course, he were getting naked, but that wasn't a guarantee for today.

Stepping out of the car, he ran his fingers through his curly hair, trying to make it a little sexier—if that were virtually possible. Call him narcissist, but he knew he had a lot going on.

The perky waitress from his first expenditure was already at the door, smiling brightly and looking up at him with a happy, happy expression.

"Hi!" she greeted. "You're Allen's boyfriend, right?"

Tyki cocked an eyebrow. "Was that the terminology he really used?" he asked suspiciously.

"Well, no." the waitress took on a bashful expression. "He actually called you his 'hot stalker'; and I totally agree! But…" she sighed dreamily. "I'm a romantic at heart. When he told about what was going on, it sounded like a really dramatic romance movie—you know the ones, right?"

"Like, um," Tyki snapped his fingers as he tried to remember what was on his mind. "Moving in the Storm: 2:00 am?"

"Okay, you totally rock just for knowing about that movie. It came out in, like, 1945."

He shrugged. "It's a classic."

"Totally!" the waitress grinned. "Did you see To God, Who I Hate So Much? I love that movie like crazy, it's so good."

"I liked the actor," Tyki replied, waving a hand in dismissal. "But, the plot caught me off guard more than once. Besides, the monster was effectively ugly."

"The Level Four? Butt-ugly! Totally gross!" she laughed, holding her booklet underneath her arm. "I bet you like that movie, uh, Lost Sheep. I don't know why, but it totally fits your personality."

The dark-skinned man smiled, rather impressed with this woman's charming personality. "You're right, that is my favorite movie—" He smacked his forehead, suddenly remembering his manners. "My name is Tyki Mikk," he introduced, bending down slightly to hold out his hand.

She shook his hand firmly, grinning. "Lenalee Lee," she replied. "I'm, like, Allen's best friend. Lavi's too, actually. And Kanda's. We're all BFFs here, except for Kanda and Allen, but that's because they were boyfriends for, like, ever."

Okay, this conversation has taken a decidedly wrong turn. "Kanda?" he said anyway, cursing himself for even getting her started.

Lenalee blinked. "What about him? Oh, right, you're meeting him for the first time today!" she giggled, and she looped her arm with Tyki's. "Well, let me lead you to your table, and Al will inform you of the proper safety measures. But," the woman leveled him with a look. "One thing; don't mention anything about how they broke up. Don't even ask about it, you will get a teacup lodged in your totally hot face."

Well, he certainly didn't want that to happen. "All right," he replied.

"All right!" she led him to a table, where the white-haired teenager sat, texting on his cellular phone. Tyki was once again surprised, as he had never seen anyone pull off a sweater vest and a long-sleeved polo shirt so well. "Hey, Al, found your man!"

"My man?" Allen looked up from the small screen of his phone. A smile slipped onto his face. "Mikk! You made it!"

"Well, yes," Tyki stated, pulling out the wooden chair across from the university student and sitting in it. "I wouldn't miss anything with you for the world."

Lenalee sighed breathily, wiping an invisible tear from her eye. "Allen," she whined. "He knows about Moving in the Storm: 2:00 am! He watches old movies, he's a total gentleman, and he really knows how to love with passion. Give him to me."

"No bloody way, he's mine," Allen replied teasingly, shaking his head to enhance his statement. "Get your own hot stalker."

"Dude, you just got the best of the business—you don't get a stalker hotter than that."

Tyki didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed, especially since they were just talking over him like that.

"Anyway!" Allen said suddenly, looking oddly serious. He pointed at his watch. "It's almost two, Lenalee. Could we get some tea, so he won't go off as soon as he walks in?"

She pulled her notepad from underneath her arm. "No problem! Green for him," Lenalee spoke aloud as she scribbled the order onto the paper. "Chamomile for you—and you, Mr. Mikk?"

Tyki was so right—Mr. Mikk sounded great. "Chamomile as well, actually."

"All right!" She nodded. "You'll get your orders soon. You've got a few minutes until touchdown, don't worry too much."

"Don't worry too much," Allen scoffed, pocketing his phone in his front jean pocket. "I don't think you're worrying enough, Mikk."

"Call me Tyki," Tyki corrected automatically, not realizing he actually said it.

The white-haired teenager blinked. "Okay," he replied with a shrug. "Tyki. Hmm, that has a nice ring to it! Tyki, Tyki, Tyki. I like that," he grinned. "I like that a lot."

Tyki loved it too, and he couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face. "I like your name a lot too," he replied, tapping his foot against the ground in an unheard rhythm, just to ease some of the nervousness. "It's…unique."

"Oh, please, you mock me," Allen replied, covering his smile with a gloved hand. "It might've been unique in, I don't know, the Victorian Era, but now? I'm just another face in the crowd—just with white hair and gloves," he pulled at a lock of hair for emphasis.

The Portuguese man nodded, cocking an eyebrow. "May I ask a question?" he tried slowly.

"Of course, Tyki." The seventeen-year-old paused. "Tyki. I can't believe I was so stuck on calling you Mikk when your first name is so much fun to say! Tyki!"

The more he said his name, the worst the images got in Tyki's head. It was becoming rather difficult for him to just sit there and not do anything—in particular, Allen.

"Right," the older man replied, shaking his head with a twitch of his lips. "Anyway, I just want to know. What exactly is underneath your gloves?"

The smile on Allen's face visibly twitched, and Tyki was suddenly aware that he was entering dangerous territory. "Well, never mind—"

"Tomorrow," Allen replied, waving a hand in dismissal. "If you survive this, I'll let you in on my deepest darkest most horrifying secret…tomorrow!" He pulled a faux terrified face, covering half of it with his hands.

"All right," Tyki said, laughing lightly and pretending . "I can handle that."

"But!" the white-haired boy held up a finger, waggling it in a scolding manner. "Can you handle what's coming in approximately three, two," he grinned, looking at his watch. "One."

"Hey, Kanda!" Lenalee greeted in that high school squad tone, of which she clearly perfected. "How are you—"

"Outta my way, Lenalee," an obviously angry male voice snapped, and Tyki suddenly felt cheated.

Was he really about to die? Because, his ears may have been deceiving him, but that guy sounded pissed off.

"Don't worry," Allen assured laughingly. "That's his default tone. Why, hello, Kanda!"

There was an ominous feeling edging at the back of Tyki's neck, and he turned around slowly, but fast enough to make it seem as though he were not vaguely disturbed at the moment.

Behind him, there was a man.

A good-looking man. But, Tyki was also kind of lying, because he was really quite gorgeous (he unfortunately ran out of terminology at this point). Obviously Japanese, obviously in his early twenties, and obviously angry.

Very obviously angry.

"Are you fucking serious?" he snapped, looking over at Allen. "You dumped me for this?"

Ouch. Tyki actually almost winced at that.

Now he knew where the young man got it from.

Allen clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in disdain. "No," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I dumped you because you are a self-centered, self-serving, selfish prick. Sit down, twat!"

Kanda sniffed in offense and stepped around Tyki, pulling out the closest seat to Allen possible and plopping in it. The Portuguese man cocked an eyebrow at that, mainly because where the hell were his manners?

"Kanda," the white-haired teenager started, tugging at his ex-boyfriend's arm. He smiled. "This is Tyki Mikk. He's twenty-eight!"

"What the fuck—can't you find someone your own age, brat? Jesus Christ, it's like you're looking to get people thrown in jail or something."

"Tyki," Allen continued, obviously ignoring the other man's comment. "This is Yuu Kanda, my ex. He's twenty."

"A pleasure," he muttered, holding out his hand for the sake of being polite.

Kanda gave his hand this look, of which he couldn't possibly describe it properly. The look consisted of disbelief, outrage, and much more disbelief. It was as though he was doing heroine in front of the Japanese man, an actual syringe in his arm, and Kanda looked at him like he couldn't believe he was doing something so terrible in front of him.

"Get your hand outta my face," the Japanese man growled.

Tyki rolled his eyes none-too-subtly. "It wasn't necessarily in your face," he replied, rather offended that this…boy was treating him like a sort of crackhead. "But, still." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his box of cancer. Thumping out a thin cigarette with his hand, he placed it in his mouth.

"He smokes?" Kanda demanded, looking at Allen. "You hate smokers—you told me so yourself!"

"Hey, Kanda?" Allen started, narrowing his eyes. "Have you ever had a moment in your life where you just wanted to shut the bloody hell up? Because I'd like for you to. Please."

Well, at least he was getting some sort of useful information out of this. Tyki lit the cigarette, and he inhaled slowly. "So," he began, slow wisps of smoke slipping from between his lips. "Where did you two meet?" And why did you break up? Seriously, I can't understand how you two could stay together for so long without killing each other, and I've only seen your relationship in action for seven minutes. But, Tyki did not voice these thoughts, because Lenalee warned him of asking silly questions like that.

Allen clasped his hands together, leaning back in his chair. "That's a great question," he said, grinning. "We met in high school. I was in tenth grade, and he was in twelfth. I sort of skipped eighth grade, because it was boring and it really sucked and those children were morons."

"I thought it was because you couldn't make the height requirement for middle schoolers," Kanda muttered, crossing his arms together in a way that almost made it look like he was attempting to flex, or at least show off.

Goddammit. Tyki almost bit the end of the cigarette in his mouth off. He's still in some sort of love or homosexual like with the boy. Not fair! It wasn't fair, because the prick had a total advantage due to knowing him for more than eight (or was it nine?) days.

"Shush, moron," the younger man hushed, holding up a hand. "So, yes, we got together about…eleventh grade, second semester, for me—I turned sixteen, so it was totally okay. We were together until about…three months ago, right?"

"Three months, ten days, fifteen hours, and nine minutes, yeah." The twenty-year-old nodded in agreement with himself. "That sounds about right."

"Right, so it was a great relationship. At least when we were having sex, because even if Kanda's an idiot in real life, give him a flat surface and he can—" A hand smacked over the seventeen-year-old's mouth, and Kanda looked slightly panicked.

"Don't let the creep know!" he hissed like Tyki couldn't hear him, or maybe he just didn't care. "Christ, now you just gave him something to get off on at night."

The golden-eyed man waved a hand in dismissal. "If it includes you, then I think I'll survive just fine without it." He blew the smoke out his nose, rolling his eyes. "I can only imagine why you broke up, especially with a charming personality like that—" Damn, he mentioned the break-up. It slipped out, seriously.

Lenalee, thank the good Lord for Lenalee, trotted up at this point with a tray laden with cups and snacks. "Hey, hope you guys aren't angry I took too lo—"

Kanda grabbed a teacup and hurled it at Tyki, who ducked just milliseconds before it could mutilate his all-too-handsome face.

The cup hit the wall behind them with a loud smash, and the pieces fell to the ground like ceramic raindrops.

Tyki straightened up, coughing lowly in his throat. "…" he leveled Kanda with a look, one that the other man had sent his way previously. "Was that truly necessary?"

"Is your existence truly necessary?" Kanda retorted, huffing as though he did nothing wrong. Allen shoved him, his expression oddly angry. "What? He had it coming!"

The white-haired young man glared. "You are an embarrassment that I simply can't cover up," he snapped, scooting his chair farther away. "I cannot stand you sometimes, Kanda. I really cannot."

Damn. Tyki resisted the urge to smile, purely because the look on Kanda's face was priceless and totally worth getting almost skewered with a few thousand ceramic shards.

"An embarrassment? The fuck?" the twenty-year-old raged in a low voice, narrowing his eyes. "You don't think dating Mr. Ten-Days here is a little embarrassing? How do you feel about that?"

"It's better than dating you, you unbelievable prick!"

"Yeah, that's what you said last night, brat!"

"We didn't even see each other last night! I think I hate you!"

"I kind of hate you too!"

Lenalee whistled lowly underneath her breath, stepping a little farther away, closer to Tyki. "You mentioned the break-up, didn't you?" she whispered, sounding slightly annoyed.

The twenty-eight-year-old man shrugged. "It slipped out," he admitted. "I was trying to keep the conversation simple, but the boy just made me want to piss him off. I'm too old to keep getting baited by kids, really."

"No, it's okay," Lenalee replied, patting him on the shoulder. "Sometimes, he does have it coming, Kanda does. But, it's really okay, because he might learn a life lesson of sorts with this fight."

Tyki looked over at the arguing two, and sighed. "For some reason, I feel really cheated," he said, looking at the Chinese waitress rather pitifully.

"Everyone gets that feeling around them, don't worry." The woman smiled at him. "But, it's like, their entire lives are wrapped around arguing with each other. They can't have a conversation without being a fight—listen!"

The dark-skinned man did listen, smoke wafting around his face.

"—how was your trip, arsehole?" Allen asked, quite angry with his tone of voice.

Kanda snorted. "It was just fine, bitch."

"I heard you went to Bangkok, of which there are more Asian prostitutes than Cross can blink an eye at." The British teenager smiled cruelly behind the rim of his teacup. "Have you finally found your calling?"

"Not saying that I do, but even if I did—I'd be getting paid." The twenty-year-old sneered. "A lot more than you'd get out of banging your sugar daddy over there. Seriously, you would choose him over me?"

"I would choose a moving vehicle and stand in front of it, over dating you again." The handle of the cup was somehow beginning to crack in the younger man's hand. "Especially since I haven't the slightest idea if you're jam packed with STDs, or anything of the sort." He huffed, sipping his Chamomile tea. "Prick. I only stayed so long for the sex."

"Yeah, well, so did I. Punk." Kanda paused, obviously in thought. "Does Mr. Twenty-Eight-Years-And-Ten-Days even have a job? Because, like, I totally do."

"Hmm…" Allen hummed, cocking an eyebrow at Tyki, who was actually wondering if being a 'sugar daddy' was a good or bad thing. "What is your job, really?"

"Huh?" Tyki hummed in question, looking up. "My job?"

"Yes," the seventeen-year-old replied, intertwining his gloved fingers together. "Your job."

Kanda snorted. "If he even has one—ow! What the fuck, brat?"

Allen smiled wider. "Go on, tell us."

"Yeah," Lenalee chorused. "Tell us."

Okay. Why was she even still here? On that note, why was she—and everyone else, even the creepier-than-him cook that peeked his pink-dreaded head over the small window—so caught up on his mystery career? Tyki tapped a finger on the wooden surface of the table. Of course, he could easily lie about his job, because it wasn't even that interesting and actually kind of boring, but maybe he could tell the truth. Tell the truth, try and be a better person, just for Allen.

"I'm a lawyer," he finally answered, looking up at Allen with a small smile.

"A lawyer?" Kanda looked very skeptical, but that was okay because Tyki actually didn't care about the man. In the least. He actually would like to push the ex-boyfriend of his current (and probably forevermore) obsession into moving traffic, with his car being the one to hit the bastard (and he uses that term loosely).

At least Allen was more enthralled. "A lawyer!" he laughed, clapping his hands together in amusement. "I never would have guessed! Look at you, a gambling, smoking, creepy, stalking lawyer."

The Japanese man huffed. "Took the words right outta my mouth," he muttered.

Tyki smirked, lifting the cigarette to his lips. "Must be the sad remainders of the close relationship you used to have."

Lenalee's expression went from extremely happy, to "Oh shit". The wide eyes made all the difference.

"Hey," she said suddenly, checking her wrist for a watch that was not there. "I think I should go…work or something." Like a street magician, she disappeared like she owed them money.

Kanda's expression, though, was pretty much the same as it was in the beginning of this unfortunate lunch date.

"One more thing," he threatened, holding up one finger like that actually meant something to Tyki. The older man rolled his eyes, sipping at his tea. "You say one more thing, I'm seriously going to kill you."

"Mm hmm…" Tyki replied, not really listening. His tea needed a little more sugar—better yet, no, he needed liquor. Pure, undiluted liquor.

"Do they sell appletinis here?" he asked suddenly, looking up.

Kanda blinked, slowly letting down his hand. "…Did you just ask for an appletini?" he demanded, voice unbelieving.

"Yes. Although, I'm not too sure on why you care."

"Huh." The Japanese man looked at Allen, who was back to texting. Tyki sighed, youth. "I take that back. You two are almost perfect for each other, because he's a total fag, and you're a total fag."

"If I'm such a fag," Allen replied distractedly, thumb moving at an almost inhuman speed. "Then, what are you, for banging such a fag?"

"What are you, for banging such an old man, old man? Does he have a golden cock, or something?"

Tyki blinked. Okay, the aloud speculation on his penis? Maybe that's a little uncomfortable, especially since he is right here. Really, does he need to wear a sign? 'IS SITTING RIGHT HERE, PLEASE KEEP TALKING LIKE I AM NOT.' He thought about it.

It has potential. He blew smoke out his nostrils. A lot of potential.

Allen stopped texting, narrowing his eyes. "I don't have to take this," he snapped, standing up from his seat with an overly exaggerated screech of his chair. He snapped the phone shut, looking down at Kanda. "One day, you're going to realize just how much I used to love you," he stated in an even tone of voice, pocketing the yellow phone. "And, on that day, you're also going to realize you let the best thing of your life go."

With that, the teenager walked away.

Tyki was torn between clapping at the fantastic delivery and watching Allen's tight backside in those tight pants as he walked.

He chose option number two.

And, well, so did Kanda. But, he couldn't blame him.

Neither of them took their eyes off the great view until he turned the corner, assumedly to file a complaint to Lenalee or something of the sort. Tyki had no idea; he just knew his chances at a long-time relationship just flew high to the sky.

"I just want you to know that I hate you," Kanda said suddenly.

Tyki shrugged. "Not the player, the game."

"I don't hate the game, dumbass." The long-haired man narrowed his eyes. "I hate you. I also hate the fact that he clearly chose you over me. What the fuck is wrong with that?"

"Why are you so caught up in getting Allen again, anyway?" the Portuguese man interrupted, removing the cigarette and waving a hand for silence. "You broke up. You don't need to be my age to take that as a clue to get over it. My Lord, you're a jackass."

"I can't," Kanda replied in a tone that sounded like he wanted to complain.

Tyki cursed underneath his breath. Shit! he snapped in his mind, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth. I just unlocked his fucking life story. Good Lord.

"You don't understand, creep," the Japanese man insisted, crossing his arms. "That kid went from not to fucking hot. When I first met him, he was not nearly as hot as he is now." Kanda ran his fingers through his long hair. "The boy was scrawny, skinny, short, pale, shaggy-headed, the whole nine-yards to a touchdown of ugly."

Damn. This guy can snap like a pro, and Tyki's been around Allen for the past eight—nine, whatever—days.

"But," Kanda continued, face taking an expression of befuddled amazement. "Like, winter break, when I was in my first year of college or something, he went to Europe or some shitty place like that, and then second semester it was, like, what the fuck."

"You know I'm from Europe right?" the curly-haired man commented, cocking an eyebrow. "Portugal. You know, the place attached to Spain."

"You know I don't care, right?" the twenty-year-old man sniffed in offense. "Right. So, anyway, when the brat came back from…whatever he did over there, he was transformed. I think it was the haircut."

"Tight pants?" Tyki asked, wondering if those had the power of transformation as well.

"…I think so." Kanda sounded like he never even considered the prospect. "Okay. He went from fuckface to fuck-me, 'cause his hair was fucking awesome and he was, like, almost my height, and suddenly he liked using sex jokes for shit—I still don't know why. It was insane. So, everyone was crushing on him for a while—even Cyclops. I think they dated for, like, two months, and then the friendship shit set in." The Japanese man snorted. "Didn't stop Cyclops from fucking the brat by convincing him that one time was okay. I fucking kicked his ass for that one, because it totally wasn't okay."


Cyclops, Cyclops, Cyclops.

Who the hell was Cyclops? Tyki mulled the thought over, wondering who could be someone that would have one eye and willingly have sex with Allen.

He paused. Maybe that second option wasn't helpful; because Tyki was sure the damned world would willingly have sex with Allen. Even Tyki himself. Especially Tyki himself.

But, off of that tangent, he snapped his fingers as he found out who Cyclops could be.

Then, he frowned. Even the redhead had sex with Allen? What the hell?

"How many people has Allen willingly had sex with?" Tyki just had to ask, because his mouth was on a roll today.

Kanda looked at him with such a disturbed expression he almost regretted the question. Almost—as Tyki Mikk only regrets having the Earl as a former foster father and having all of his relatives for, you know, relatives.

"Like…" Kanda ticked off fingers. "Should be three. Me, Cyclops, and you."

Tyki almost opened his mouth to tell him that they had not had sex, but the disgust in Kanda's voice and the scowl on his face made the fact that the younger man thought he did so much more worth it.

He could only imagine what would happen with the real event.

The dark-skinned man chuckled lowly in his throat, eyes still on the notorious ex-boyfriend.

Once he remembered that key prefix, ex, he had a terrible urge to rub it in his face.

But, then Allen came back. "Okay!" he exclaimed, holding a thumb up in Tyki's direction. "I'm fine now."

"That's great," Tyki replied, leaning his chin on an upturned palm as he gazed at Allen. He couldn't really imagine the teenager as unattractive in any way. But, he was a little biased, because he was finding beauty in everything relating to the boy. Everything.

"You know," the youngest member of the table breathed, running a finger down the laminated menu in a timely manner. "I think I'll get two orders of their pork sandwich special. Good or no?"

"Very sexy," the older man replied without thinking.

"I thought so too."

Kanda almost gagged. "You're kidding me," he muttered, grabbing the menu from underneath his ex's nose. "Do you even listen to half the shit this creep says?"

"Actually, yes." Allen replied, smiling. "I do listen to half. The other half, though, no, I do not listen. No offense Tyki Mikk. Oh, it's even more fun to say both names!"

You can say my name all you want, Tyki thought with a wistful smile on his lips, the ashy cigarette hanging limply.

"Shut up," the Japanese man snapped. "I do not need to hear this."

"What? You don't want to listen to the time Tyki and I climbed into the backseat of his car and steamed up the windows?"

"Hmm?" Actually, Tyki wanted to listen to this.

Allen winked, signifying that he was kidding.

Damn it.

"I hate you so kind of much right now," Kanda grumbled, looking over the menu with critical eyes. "Do they sell that noodle shit here yet?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. Spaghetti?"

"No, no. The Japanese noodle stuff, with the thick noodles and weird-ass sauce." He looked very serious, and it made Tyki feel very bad for Allen ever having to date an idiot like this. They weren't even in a Japanese restaurant. "Scooby noodles?"

"Soba," the Portuguese man answered, rolling his eyes. "Soba. So-ba. Come on, boy, say it with me now. So-ba."

"I will kick your ass so bad your retirement home won't even want you back," Kanda growled, snapping the menu closed angrily.

"You asked for what it was called, I answered. Calm down, Anderson." He knew the man's name, but he really got a kick out of someone's pissed-off face. And this prick had the best expressions of the genre.

"My name is Kanda—"

"Oh, shut it," Allen cut him off, snickering. "I'm amazed you still let things like that get to you, even after all of that bollocks with you and Lavi and Yuu."

"Don't call me by my first name, brat."

"Don't call me out like I care."

Tyki put out the rest of his cigarette in the ashtray in the middle of the table, letting the stub slip from his fingers.

Allen looked at him, between arguing with his ex-boyfriend, and grinned.

He couldn't help but smile back.

"Wait, he told you what?" Allen asked, later that day.

The evening sun slowly fell under the horizon, the pink and blue clouds in the sky giving the remainders of the daylight a soft glow.

Tyki rubbed his chin, smirking. "He told me that he really was into you because of some winter break where you went from, in his words, not to totally hot."

Allen huffed, crossing his arms as he leaned on the stair railing in front of his dorm door. "Well," he started in an offended tone. "Here I was thinking he liked me for my personality and conversation. Jerk."

"It's okay," the older man insisted, smiling wider. "I love your personality and find your conversation to be the highlight of my week."

"Tell me the truth—is there anything you don't love about me?"

Tyki hesitated in his answer. He wasn't too sure if he loved the young man's eating habits, his jaded sarcasm, the insistence of using sex jokes when talking about his ex-boyfriend, that expression he got on his face when he was about to embarrass someone to the nth degree (but that was because Tyki had that look down pat—he couldn't let anyone else in on his territory like that, even if it is Allen), and so on, so forth. But, other than those few things, he was still entirely in love, and a lot more knowledgeable than he was eight—nine—days ago.

"…No…" he finally answered, and it was so clearly a lie.

"You liar."

"This is true, I am quite the liar." Tyki shrugged. "I'm a lawyer, you must understand."

"I understand, don't worry." Allen laughed lightly, finding something amusing in the situation.

Tyki's golden eyes looked out towards the darkened sky, silent as the last inklings of light went down with the final showing of the sun for the day.

God, he felt like a gay musical, or something.

"Only two days left," Allen murmured suddenly, looking out towards the sky as well.

"…" the twenty-eight-year-old man ran his fingers through his wavy locks of dark hair, frowning. "…Yeah," he replied.

"I'm not sorry to say this," the white-haired young man said, turning to Tyki. "But, I believe I have had more fun in the past eight days than I have in my past seventeen years. You're creepy, and I am talking really creepy—"

"Thank you." Tyki replied, shrugging. "I try."

"—but, you're also not a bad guy at all. At least, I don't think so. I do get an evil vibe from you often, and I'm never quite sure why."

"Neither am I, Allen. Neither am I." He didn't need to know about his crazy obsession with watching people die, nor about his older days of sadism. That would be such a turn-off.

Allen sighed, smiling. "Well," he said softly, uncrossing his arms. "I'll have to see you tomorrow. I need to kick Lavi's arse for being reminded of our…tryst and then beat Akumá: Garnet Version. It's fun!"

Oh, how much the young get these days. Tyki remembered his college days of playing Akumá: Red Version, the first version actually. "Back in my day," he said in a tone meant to portray an elderly man. "There were only games like Akumá: Red Version and Blue Version, and maybe Yellow Version, depending on whether you wanted to use Chomesuke all the time."

"I rather liked Chomesuke," Allen replied. "And, I really like you, just for playing video games. Most older people always have something to complain about when I play my EX in their presence."

"Why is everyone saying that?" Tyki groused, rubbing his temples. "I am still in my twenties, I am not that old."

The white-haired teenager snickered, pushing himself off the rail. "At least, in comparison to me, as I'm still in my teens," he stated. With a wink, he leaned forward on the tip of his sneakered toes, and pressed a kiss to Tyki's cheek. "But, I still like you anyway."

With that, leaving the significantly older man in an almost catatonic stupor in front of the stairs, Allen touched the doorknob. "I'll see you tomorrow, Tyki," he said, twisting the brass knob.

Tyki, on the other hand, could not answer, because his mind was acting like his laptop computer on its more haywire days and not processing a damn thing.

Except, how he needed to mark this in his calendar as, quite possibly, the best day ever. Exclamation mark, of course.

Day Nine

One would think that after a great day like yesterday, Tyki could wake up with the sun streaming through his window and maybe a bird could chirp, because he felt just that good.

Instead, the Lord he believed so heartily in blessed his great feeling morning with the harsh pour of rain and dangerously sweeping winds.

Tyki stared out the window, hands on the sill. "…Damn," he muttered, watching as the rain practically destroyed some poor unprepared kid down there, and then the wind was picking up fast, by the looks of it. The kid almost started hovering in the air, or maybe that was just Tyki's overactive imagination.

His phone rang, and the Portuguese man was very happy to hear the ringtone he had attached to Allen's name in his cellular phone's programming.

(There was a popular band out there called The Black Order, of which Allen might've mentioned was his favorite band in the world, and Tyki must've secretly gagged because the band sucked, in his opinion. Allen's ringtone, though, was their new hit single, Battlefield in Flux, from their newest album, The Case of the Black Order's Destruction. Even though it sucked, just like the rest of their music.)

He flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Good morning Tyki, how are you?" Allen greeted. "But, before you answer, let me just tell you that I am not fine. At all."

"At all?" Tyki cocked an eyebrow, still looking out the window. Hmm, that sky was looking quite ominous. "This must be my cue to ask what is wrong."

"That's correct."

"Okay. What's wrong?"

"What isn't wrong, today?" Allen bemoaned, and Tyki heard the sound of a body plopping against a mattress in the background. "The rain, it represents my morning! Class was cancelled, I have to tell you. While that isn't bad, it's because the university is suffering a bloody mass blackout because of the current storm. I must say! It's such a bore, sitting in this dark dorm room, no Lavi here to harass me or touch me inappropriately—"

"Okay, seriously, why?"

"…He's good-looking and I'm just looking? Just kidding! It was only one time; we're just best mates now." The British young man laughed, and Tyki smiled back at the sound. "But! Back to me. I'm so very bored, in this darkness. I need excitement, I need entertainment, I need—"

"Would you like to come to my apartment?" the older man offered, rolling his eyes in amusement. "I have electricity. And a really big bed." Damn it, stalker thoughts!

"Well, the electricity sounds nice…" Allen mused aloud, and he sighed. "But, unfortunately, the taxis aren't running today. Very inclementish, they say. Not our style."

Disregarding the fact that all of the television stations and radios were blaring not to go outside today, the first thing out of his mouth was: "I'll pick you up." Call him a creep all you want, but he was sure those were the words Allen wanted to hear the most.

"Blinding!" Allen exclaimed. "Please, come A-S-A-P! I will commit suicide in boredom if you are even a second late!"

Well, he couldn't have that, now could he? "Just, let me get my umbrella."

"Thank the good Lord you came!" Allen breathed, shutting the car door behind him as he pulled at a few soaked clumps of his white hair. "I was dying in there with no electricity. Do you know how many things run off the blasted power? I never realize until it's gone how much it means to me."

"Mm hmm…" Tyki hummed distractedly, backing out of the parking lot. Turning into the intersection lane, a frown came upon his face as he could barely see the road in front of him. The windshield wipers were on practical overdrive, but they still couldn't wipe away the complete onslaught of rain that poured down on them. Oh dear, maybe they were experiencing a hurricane? "Shit."

"Shite? I'm not sure what you are speaking of." Allen replied, blinking.

"I think there's a hurricane coming," the man explained. "I'm no forecaster, but still. The rain feels too heavy and the wind feels too hard."

"Well, it is hurricane season," the teenager mused, crossing his arms in thought. "I hope you don't live too far away."

"We're about a few blocks away," Tyki answered. "But…hurricanes. What will this one be named?"

"Hurricane Miranda? I haven't the slightest idea. But, it looks like a Miranda."

"Neither do I." The Tease slid a little as the Portuguese man attempted to turn onto Millennium Lane, and he was happy he didn't panic because that speeding semi totally just bypassed them by, like, two inches. "Is your heart still in your chest?"

"Of course," Allen replied dismissively, waving a gloved hand. "But it's still trying to escape."

Tyki laughed a little at that, and then he saw the watery outline of his apartment building in the short distance. He sped up a little, trying to get home as soon as possible, ASAP, for short.

A dog hit his hood with an audible yelp, sliding across the metal.

"…" Allen stared, hand to his mouth. "I think we really might need to get to your apartment. This hurricane-like thing is quickly becoming serious business."

He did not have to say it twice, because the twenty-eight-year-old man had skidded his black vehicle to a sliding stop in front of the apartment's garage on Ark Drive. He rubbed the dashboard, closing his eyes. "I'll never let the rain touch you again," he whispered to his precious car. "Nor any filthy animals. The Lord should kill them all just so you don't ever face that kind of abuse ever again."

The university student watched the interaction, blinking very slowly. "…I don't think I feel comfortable riding in your car anymore," he stated with a smile.

The garage opened slowly—too slowly, in Tyki's opinion—and he drove into the dimly lit parking area. Backing into his designated spot for his apartment number, he sighed as he put the gear into park.

"Okay," he said. "That was quite the experience."

"Indeed." Allen unbuckled the seatbelt, and opened the car door. "Well, may we go inside? The humidity out here is ridiculous."

"Sure." Tyki replied, trying to stay with his beloved vehicle a little longer without coming across as any creepier.

"Seriously, your molestation of your car is really making me freaked, excuse the Americanism," Allen commented, rubbing his chin in thought. "Although, it is a very nice car. Still. Car molestation? Not cool, Tyki Mikk. Not cool at all."

Tyki looked at him from his position of embracing his steering wheel. "Huh," he huffed, letting go. It hurt, though, letting go. But, he did it. He's now a stronger man.

"I should've brought another pair of pants," Allen complained aloud, running his gloved hands along the side seams on his hips. "These are almost soaked!"

Tyki's golden eyes followed the motion like it was the answer to the meaning of life—of which, 42 wouldn't be the answer as much as 69.

"Well…" he coughed into his fist, unbuckling his seatbelt a little too fast for it to be unsuspicious. "I think I may have a pair that is your size. From middle school, that is."

Allen slowly raised an eyebrow, stepping backwards towards the door leading into the building. "One," he started. "I hope that wasn't a height crack. I get enough of the blasted things from Kanda, Lavi, Lenalee, Cross—okay, the list is too long, but you get the point." He held up two fingers. "Two, why do you still have clothes from middle school?"

"Because my foster father and my older brother love keeping any items to remind them of the," Tyki held up quotation fingers on each hand, rolling his eyes. "Quote, unquote, 'days of innocence' with me."

"You were innocent?" the white-haired teenager looked so disbelieving that Tyki could've been the Easter Bunny for all of his sake.

"Which is funny, because that's exactly what I said." Tyki unlocked the building door and held it open so Allen could walk by first.

The seventeen-year-old walked by, dark jeans showing evidence of being very wet indeed. (Tyki is not a total stalker/creep because he paid very close attention to the back jean pockets of the boy. Really.)

"Stare any harder," Allen commented, turning around with an amused smile. "And I'm yelling rape."

Rape. Oh, how Tyki kind of considered it. This way, he'd accomplish his weeklong fantasy of getting into those tight pants and possibly even piss off Kanda further.

But, if he could get Allen's love—or very passionate like—by the end of the tenth day, then there would be no real need for things like rapery and eye-molestation. He wasn't exactly going to stop the eye-molestation anytime soon, anyway.

"No need," the Portuguese man replied in his thickly accented 'sexy' voice. At least, that's what his older brother called it, and he'd rather not think on why his brother would say such a thing pertaining to the sound of his voice and sexy. "I'd never think of doing such a thing."

"Oh?" the gray eyes of the teenager had taken on that challenging light, of which he was probably going to ask a few more-than-personal questions. Tyki was an uncle of not one, not two, but three teenagers. He knew the mindset. "What about sex? Do you think of me in bed? With you, that is?"

Yes, yes, yes, oh dear precious Lord YES. "…Not necessarily," Tyki answered carefully, closing the door and walking ahead of Allen. "My apartment is on the next floor."

"Hmm…" Allen grinned, tapping his chin. "How about blowing? If I went down on you, how would you react?"

How wouldn't I react? "Not too sure, please turn here," the older man replied, his throat suddenly dryer than usual.

They walked up the wooden stairs, with Allen's shoes making slight squelching sounds as they almost made it along silently, getting ever closer to Tyki's apartment and the man was praying to his lord on high that there would be no more questions.

When they made it to room J, that's when Tyki came to the conclusion that the "good Lord" doesn't listen to a damn thing. "Okay, okay. What about a kiss? Do you think of kissing me?"

"…" Tyki pulled out his keys, trying really hard not to get just that, hard. "…no—yeah," he answered honestly for the first time all day.

Allen laughed. "That's blinding!" he said, stepping in front of the door. "Because I thought of it too—Mmph!" Shoving the younger man against the door, Tyki had no choice but to grant the boy's thoughts. What use were words? The boy had tried Tyki's poor, abused self-control to an extent he would only regret.

Or, maybe not, because the arms that had come to embrace him to the back were telling a different story, one that might have a most happy ending.

"Tyki Mikk," the seventeen-year-old breathed, lips still pressed to the older man's and gripping his name-brand silk shirt with a hold only familiar in Greek myths of Hercules or something like that. "I hear a—a sound—"

"Don't worry," Tyki replied. "That's just love, baby."

"Don't call me baby—oh!"

And, as sudden as it started, it ended quite abruptly.

The door opened, with Allen (who was pressed against the door) and Tyki (who had Allen pressed against the door) falling through.

"Ow! Bloody hell—" the British young man cursed, back on the wooden floor and crotch pressed to Tyki's own.

Nice landing position! Tyki thought with a smile, but then he looked up at whoever opened his—his!—apartment door.

A dark-skinned man with long wavy hair looked down on him with the most disdain he'd seen since the first time he heard The Black Order on the radio.

"Tyki," the man stated, narrowing his eyes. "Get off of the damned floor."

"Give me a moment, Sheryl," Tyki replied, savoring the moment of the boy underneath him. "Okay, I'm done." He stood up slowly, brushing off his pants and his shirt sleeves.

Allen stood up as well, albeit a little shakier than usual. "So," he spoke up quietly, cocking an eyebrow at Sheryl. "You have company."

"What? No." The Portuguese man shook his head. "This is Sheryl Camelot, my older brother. He doesn't count as company because he isn't a real person in my eyes, so please get the hell out, Sheryl."

"Be quiet, Tyki." Sheryl replied. "Rhode is in the living room, and she does not need to hear your dirty language."

Tyki nodded, rubbing his chin. "I understand, brother," he said, smiling. He ignored Allen's shudder at the motion. "Please, Sheryl, get the fuck out of my house." Hmm, that felt good. He'd have to try that again another day.

His older brother rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he said, waving a hand in dismissal as he moved out of the way. Allen walked by first, giving the man a weird look to which he responded with a none-too-subtle eye molestation fest. Tyki went second, giving his brother the dirtiest look he could muster while still looking elegant and suave. "We came here to interview your new…lover."

"He's not my lover," Tyki corrected, bringing a hand to his temple in preparations of warding off the imminent headache that always came with members of his family. "And, how did you get here so fast?"

On the long leather couch of the twenty-eight-year-old man sat Rhode, who played her EX with practiced ease. "I saw your car drive by in the rain, like, duh," she explained, a lollipop sticking out of her mouth obnoxiously. "So, I told daddy, and daddy brought us here so we could confront you. And so I could see your totally hot crush—hi Allen!"

"Good day Rhode," Allen greeted with a smile. He nodded at the game console in her hands. "Bloody nice EX."

"Thanks—you play Garnet?"

The white-haired boy looked like he found Jesus in the bratty girl, because he smiled brighter than ever and pulled his own EX out of his front jean pocket.

"Do I ever!" he exclaimed, plopping on the couch next to Rhode, game console out. "I have a bloomin' awesome Level 3—how about you?"

"Psh," the dark-haired girl snorted, smirking. "I've got a Level 4."

"What? Bloody hell!" the white-haired boy replied, pressing the thin stick to the touch screen underneath the main screen. "We need to trade."

"No way, only if you marry me or some shit like that. Because I'll give you an Innocence with over one-hundred percent synchronization too."

Allen gasped lowly, eyes wide. "Well then, you've got to let me marry you—I need that!"

Tyki was so jealous over that game, it almost made no sense.

He needed to find his old GameGeneral handheld console.

"—the boy doesn't seem that bad," Apparently, Sheryl was talking. Tyki smiled at him, just to make it seem like he was listening. "If Rhode likes him, then I must like him too. Even if he is British and seventeen and odd-looking and—"

"Well, that was nice of you," the younger brother interrupted, running the palm of his hand over his long dark locks of hair. "Do you remember if you kept my old GameGeneral?"

"What? No. That thing rotted your mind, Tyki." Sheryl looked disgusted. "I'm sure it's part of the reason why you are who you are today."

"Thank you? I try." Tyki rolled his golden eyes. "You say everything is the reason of why I am who I am today."

"You're a lawyer," the older man insisted. "The Earl didn't raise you to be a lawyer, and I would rather kill myself than proclaim your attorneyhood to the world."

Which was sad, because Tyki was looking forward to the death of Sheryl after the death of the Earl and before the deaths of David and Jasdero (they're a package deal, see).

"How else was I going to get money?" the Portuguese man asked, rolling his eyes.

"Even prostitution would be better than…than lawyering!"

Quit making up words, Sheryl! "I make an honest," Here, he bit back a snicker because he's a dirty, dirty liar. "living by lawyering."

"Not only are you a lawyer," Sheryl replied, observing his fingernails as though there were something so interesting about them. "But! You are a dirty, backhanded lawyer who cheats his way through each case. That is the only thing we can be proud of from your occupation, as we in the family descended from Noah himself cannot be caught dead helping this wretched race—blah blah blah—" And so on, and so forth.

Tyki crossed his arms and leaned against the hallway wall, nodding and humming in agreement when mandatory. Call it a Black Order song, because he's heard it about a thousand times before.

"No way!" was a thickly accented cry from the living room, and Tyki wished he were there instead. Entertaining his guest, if one can catch his drift, wink wink, nudge nudge, and all that jazz. "You have a bloody Level 4! I can't beat that!"

Rhode laughed in her delightedly high-pitched tone. "Oh, Allen, you're so hot, but you're so dumb," she chastised. "If you used your Pentacle attack, then you might've gotten me—but you didn't!"

"Ugh, excuse moi français, but you are such a bitch."

Okay, that sealed it. They were totally meant for each other, especially since they thought on the same wavelength.

"He knows French?" Sheryl looked towards the living room, an eyebrow cocked in true Camelot fashion. "Leave it to the British." He walked away from Tyki to the living room, leaving his younger brother to follow.

Allen sat with his legs crossed, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration as he apparently tried to beat Rhode at her own game. "You barmy cheat," he said, a smile on his lips. "You just stepped on my Akuma's head!"

"Duh," Rhode replied, grinning herself. The lollipop stick still poked out from between her lips. "That's the awesome part about it. Oh, hi Daddy! Hi Tyki!"

"Hello darling," Sheryl replied with a smile that never failed to send shivers down Tyki's spine. Rhode was too used to it, because she only went on with her life as her father sat next to her on the couch. Tyki sat next to Allen, subtly trying to wrap his arm around the teenager's shoulder.

Allen rolled his eyes, turning around. "Don't be such a creep," he scolded lightly. "Just ask. But, no, you cannot wrap your arm around my shoulders, because your brother is giving me the jivies!"

"He does that to everyone, don't worry."

Sheryl did not look amused at being the point of the two's conversation. "Allen, love," he started in a voice with a deep purr. Tyki threw him a horrified expression, to which he replied with an exceedingly creepy smile. "Would you like to hear of the time when Tyki was in eighth grade and wore braces while trying to give oral sex to a man?"



The golden-eyed man was extremely horrified at the prospect of Allen finding out about that disaster, and hoped to the good Lord in the sky that Allen would reject the notion of hearing the story!

"Ooh," the British young man cooed, snapping his EX closed. "I do believe I'd love to."

"Fantastic!" Sheryl smirked wider, and Tyki smacked his forehead, dragging the hand down in a show of exasperation. "Well, it goes like this—"

Our Father, Tyki prayed silently in his mind. Who art in heaven. Hallow be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven, and please kill me now.

The Lord in heaven was probably busy, and that was Tyki's reasoning seven embarrassing stories later.

Tyki attended church almost every Sunday, he prayed almost every night, he almost went through Lent, and he almost got completely baptized in the Church of Noah when he was six.

Maybe…maybe almost isn't enough anymore, the man concluded, sighing heavily. Maybe the Lord wants something else.

Like someone's virginity. Like Allen's virginity. Oh wait, Kanda already got that.

"Damn it," he cursed aloud without exactly thinking.

His older brother paused in the retelling of the mishap when Tyki's shorts fell off in the pool in eleventh grade during the swim team meet. While Tyki had no problem with that story, because it had a generally happy ending—especially with the part wherein the opposing team's captain went down on him—he was still annoyed that his brother was telling his personal business like a detective.

"Do you have something you'd like to say, Tyki?" Sheryl drawled shrewdly.

"Ah, yes, I do actually." The dark-skinned man smiled, waving a hand in dismissal. "Please, get out of my house."

Rhode looked thoroughly offended. "But!" she whined. "The rain hasn't let up!"

"Get an umbrella, run through the rain," Tyki replied, shrugging. "I could care less. Just…go."

"I'm not nearly done with—"

"I'll call the police Sheryl." He narrowed his golden eyes. "I will dial 9-1-1 on this small, fashiontastic phone." He held up his small purple cellular phone, thumb hovering over the 9 button.

"…You do realize the police work for me—"

"And I will still call them, and then I will sue you, and I will represent myself in court, and I never lose a case. Ever." Tyki pressed the 9. Next on his to-do list, the 1.

The thin face of his older brother twisted into an expression of unhappiness. "Fine," he said irritably. "I'll go. But! This will not be the last time you see me!" He stood up, brushing off his pants as thought the twenty-eight-year-old man's couch carried a sort of disease.

"You live down the damn street," Tyki deadpanned. "You visit every two Sundays so we can go to church together. I'll be all too happy when I can never see your face again."

"Goodbye, Tyki!" The door slammed.

Then, it opened again. "Hey, Allen," Rhode said laughingly. "I can totally catch another Level 4 for you!"

"Oh, you must, you sweetheart!" the older teenager called back, flipping her a salute as she closed the door behind herself. He smiled up at Tyki, who was somewhat mortified at the moment. "I do believe I like your family."

"This isn't all of them." The older man replied with a terse smile. "Not even close." He will commit mass genocide one day—The Noah Family Massacre, he liked the sound of that.

"Well, even so…" Allen turned around in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips. "I've found out more than I would expect from you. I mean, I knew you were promiscuous—I just didn't know the degree."

Getting too close, getting too close! Tyki hummed lowly in his throat, trying to not get hard because that gloved hand was trailing over his denim-clad thighs towards his crotch. Self-control failing, self-control failing!

"Either way," Allen continued, moving his hand even closer towards that sacred area. "I shouldn't have a problem with it." He laughed a little, removing his hand. "But, you might."

"…no," Tyki replied in a raspy voice. "I have no problem with having sex with you right now at this very moment. Give me the cue, and I will make your day."

"Thank you, I'd suppose." The white-haired boy rolled his eyes, tugging at the glove to his left hand. "But, gloves—in the more conventional sense—are rather unattractive. Then again, the whole thing is rather ugly." Allen eyed him, a small frown on his lips. "Do you think you would be able to handle it?"

"Ugly?" Tyki repeated, cocking an eyebrow. "The only way you could possibly be ugly in my eyes is if I were blind." Was he finally going to see underneath those damned gloves?

"Touching." Allen sighed, baring his teeth a little. Taking of the glove to his right, it did nothing but reveal a disappointingly pale and perfect looking hand. Then, he slowly removed the glove to his left hand, showing pitch black skin and razor sharp nails.

No, really, those nails looked lethal. Tyki almost winced as the teenager wriggled his fingers, clawing out the deadly cuticles.

"…" Tyki blinked, and he lifted up a hand. "…I've never seen a thing like it," he admitted with blatant amazement, running a slender finger down the silky smooth hand. Although, the skin felt extremely hot underneath his fingertip, like it was trying to burn his finger off. "I was expecting wrinkled red mutations and maybe more crazy things like that."

"Oh, don't worry." Allen flexed his black arm. "It's crazy enough. Apparently it's a birthmark—would you believe it?"

"Not at all," Well, that was actually anticlimactic. "But, back to business. I am still willing to really blow your world." Oh yes, the erection was still there, and it was not going away.

"…" the gray-eyed boy blinked, frowning. "Are you bloody serious?"

"Okay, maybe not blow your world, because being in my presence can do that—" Less talking, as Tyki came to the conclusion, and more prelude to fucking. He leaned his face closer to Allen's, making the boy press backward on the nice leather couch. He did have a nice close-up of the boy's tattoo along his face as well. "But, I can get pretty damn close."

"Oh, yes," Allen breathed, a smile spreading on his face. "You just got ninety-five percent hotter in my view, Mikky."

Tyki pressed his lips to the teenager's, finding that surmised pedophilia tasted great, and trailed his fingers down the boy's sides. "I must be at one-hundred ninety-five at this point, then," he replied breathily, tugging at the teenager's shirt.

Allen placed his hands on the older man's chest and pushed him up with a smile. "Cocky men," he muttered, pulling at the man's shirt. "It's actually at two-hundred fifteen, because you were already at one-hundred and ten. You were just…creepy."

"I try." The wavy-haired man pressed a kiss to the boy's jaw, above his neck. "And you're still beautiful."

The British teenager rolled his eyes, straddling the man's hips. "It's the things like that," he replied, unbuttoning Tyki's shirt with a skill that kind of made the man go 'what the fuck' because Kanda totally had something to do with this. "Actually, no, Lavi wears button-shirts, Kanda does not."

"Wait," Tyki said, blinking. "You had sex with him more than once?" Better question: you can read my mind?

Allen shook his head, white hair falling over his eyes. He blew the locks away in annoyance. "No," he answered. "But, we did get close several times."

"I'm sure." The dark-skinned man paused. "Will I get further?"

"It varies—do you want to go further? I am underage," Allen replied with an amused smile. "Once we do this, I can totally call the coppers and have them on your arse like you are on mine."

"It's okay," Tyki stated, smirking. "The police work for my brother."

"Oh, that makes it even better—wait," Allen reached into his back jean pocket, which Tyki was kind of feeling up, and pulled out his wildly vibrating small yellow phone. He flipped it open in annoyance. "Hello?" he greeted tersely, continuing the unbuttoning of Tyki's shirt with just one hand. He stopped. "Kanda? …You want what?" He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disdain. "We broke up, Kanda. You had it coming. …Oh?" He grinned. "Well, I am duly sorry, but I cannot talk any longer. There's a hurricane outside and I am about to have sex with a very attractive Portuguese man twice my age." The teenager snapped the phone shut, and threw it to the side.

"Now," he breathed, pressing down on the sacred area at the front of Tyki's jeans with a single finger. "Where were we?"

Tyki pulled at the edge of Allen's shirt, lifting it over his back. "Where weren't we, is a better question," he replied.

"Then, I have an even better answer."

Day Ten

That morning, because even two AM counts when it matters, Tyki woke up instead to Allen's phone ringing.

His eyes opened blearily, staring at the dark ceiling before recognizing the fact that there was noise blaring loudly on his nightstand.

The man looked at the white-haired young man that lay with his black arm stretched against his naked chest. They were both naked, actually, because four consecutive rounds of the best sex in the world made it mandatory. Besides, at least they made it to the bed at some point between the first blowjob and the second fuck.

Score! Tyki thought, although sleepily and ignoring the fact that he is now officially a child molester.

He slowly brought up a hand to ruffle the boy's hair. "…Your phone is ringing," he whispered, really wanting to go back to sleep.

Allen breathed against his skin, holding him tighter.

"Um." Tyki stared down at the boy. "Seriously. It won't stop." He shook the seventeen-year-old's shoulder for emphasis.

"…answer it…" Allen replied sleepily, not loosening his grip.

Well, he had permission. Tyki picked up the phone and didn't even look at the flashing screen at the front of the device before answering it with a sleepy "Hello?"

"Hey?" was the confused reply. "Allen, baby, did you hit ultimate puberty or something? Your voice is deeper than an R and B singer hitting a really low note in a song about wanting to sex you up."

Baby? "Allen is sleeping," Tyki explained, blinking his eyes so he'd wake up a little bit more. "Is this Red?"

"Red? Naw, it's Lavi. Who is this?"

"Tyki." He paused. "Tyki Mikk."

"Oh! Mr. Ten-Days!" Lavi laughed delightedly. "You actually got him in your bed? That's totally insane!"

Okay, too much talking. "Right…" the man agreed slowly, resisting the urge to yawn. "Well, uh. I'll call you back? I was sleeping."

"You were?" Lavi asked. "Damn, you must have some low stamina. Ha!"

"He went to bed first," Tyki retorted, feeling it necessary to defend his sexual endurance. "And I need to go back to bed now."

The one-eyed man laughed over the phone. "All right, all right," he replied. "I won't interrupt your pillow talk time anymore. But!" Lavi snickered. "You can't be Mr. Ten-Days now. You're, like, Mr. Sexy-and-Seven-Years, because Al let you answer his phone. He is attached to that thing like mad crazy, I'm telling you!"

Tyki was getting annoyed. "I understand," he replied, all too ready to press the End button on this really nice phone. "Yeah. I do. Goodbye."

"Hey, tell Allen I said—"

He snapped the phone flip shut and placed it back on top of the nightstand.

It was still dark outside, and the rain was still going strong in this unholy hour for calling. Tyki closed his eyes, breathing in a low rumble. The arms around him tightened, again, and the four or so hours until sunrise seemed so much shorter.

"Dear Lord," murmured Allen with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. He ran a rubbing alcohol-soaked cloth down Tyki's back. "I am truly sorry about this—I didn't expect to, uh, destroy your back."

Tyki Mikk, for the first time in twenty-seven years, truly felt like sobbing as the alcohol seeped into the red gashes on his back.

He just knew those nails were lethal, but not how much.

"Don't worry," Tyki replied in a high-pitched hiss. "It was my fault anyway." God, those claws could probably get through a person's body or something with enough effort applied—an ability Tyki admittedly wanted for himself.

Allen was still going on about the flesh shredding incident. "I just got so caught up in the passion of the moment—"

"No, really, it's okay. Besides, the passion was so worth it, beautiful."

The teenager poked his shoulder, huffing. "The days aren't quite over yet, mate," he scolded in a teasing tone.

"Never thought they were," Tyki replied, sucking in a pained breath as the cloth passed over a particularly bad gash. "…ow…" He vaguely wondered if Kanda had to go through this.

Allen cocked an eyebrow. "Actually, yes," he answered with a smile. "He tells people that he got them in a gang war, but even I know he's too much of a soft wimp to join a real gang."

"I'm sorry, but can you seriously see into my mind?"

"What? No! You asked it aloud, or did you not realize it?"

He definitely didn't realize it.

"Silly bloke," Allen laughed, patting Tyki's back good-naturedly.

Tyki choked back a cry.

"May I use your shower?" the seventeen-year-old asked, patting down his naked stomach. The older man's eyes followed the movement as though it were a favorite television show. "No offense, but I feel terribly dirty, and not to mention my arse—"

"Yes, yes," Tyki said hurriedly, holding up a hand. "You can use my shower. The towels are in the cabinet to your right."

"Thank you," Allen replied with a grin, holding his black hand over Tyki's eyes as he climbed out of the bed. The man felt almost sad that he just missed out on a free view, but it was okay. He just had the best night of his life.

(Note to self, Tyki thought as Allen shut the bathroom door behind himself. Mark this in the calendar.)

On the nightstand, his phone was going off with the ringing tone he had set for one person, because doing so makes it so much easier for him to tell the people—the ones who harass him over the phone—apart.

He picked up the device, glancing at the screen lazily.

New Text Message, it read in blinking lights.

Flipping open the flap, Tyki blinked in interest. Why would anyone send him a text message at this point? They never do it before. Well, except for one person, his one and only ex-foster sister—

From: Lulu the SkankBitchSlut

hey, manho

guess who got laid last night? ;)

Yes, the naming was a little immature, but Tyki had to get his kicks somewhere, especially since the police were really going to take him to jail if he pushed one more person down the stairs. Lulu was just a bitch, but this was already a universal truth.

Tyki grinned as he pressed the Reply button, and began pushing buttons with his thumb.

i told u the skanking silver brought out the slut in yur blue eyes, he typed back with a smile. oh, and btw, i did ;D


He heard the shower start in the bathroom.

Today, today was going to be the best day ever. He'd make sure of it.

Except, when he looked out the window, the rain was still pouring down, and Tyki was ever-so-slightly offended that the rain was so steadfast in falling down even harder than yesterday.

His phone went off in his hands.

New Text Message.

From: Lulu the SkankBitchSlut

? omg, u fucked the british kid? r u srs?

His reply? Very simple, actually.

yeah. my back is messed up, tho

Another Send. Then, he snapped the phone shut.

Now, to find his old middle school clothes for Allen, because he was sure they were here somewhere.

"You are messing up my Akumá," Allen complained, reaching for the EX in Tyki's hands. "You…you don't do that!"

"Do what?" Tyki replied distractedly, trying to see if he could kill enough exorcists to get his Akumá to Level 2, in the form of a teddy bear holding a bat. "I'm killing the exorcists."

"I like the exorcists!" the teenager retorted. "They do nothing wrong in their efforts, which is why I usually destroy other Akumá to level up mine."

Okay. Back in Tyki's day, in the '90s, all you had to do was kill exorcists, humans, and other Akumá. Now, you can enter your Akumá in contests for prettiness and all that unnecessary jazz. Earlier, Allen proudly showed him his Master Contest ribbon for his prized Chomesuke, and the man almost threw the handheld console out the window.

"Ugh." Allen gave up, flipping his bangs out the way of his eyes in a pouty way. "Fine, but don't save the game!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tyki replied, wondering how the hell a Level 1 takes so long to level up.

There was a knock at the front door seconds later, interrupting the soothing sounds of a hurricane—of sorts—outside.

Allen looked at him. "Someone is at your door," he stated the obvious, cocking an eyebrow.

Tyki wasn't putting down that game. "Aware."

"…Aren't you going to answer it?"

"You can answer it," the dark-skinned man replied, a smirk creeping onto his face as he found his thirteenth exorcist of the day. "I'm sure it's no one important. They never are."

"But, what if—"

"Don't worry." Tyki waved him off. "Answer the door, it'll be okay."

"If I get kidnapped," Allen muttered, getting off of the leather couch with a huff. "You can make it a promise that you will probably never see me again."

"Don't worry, I know where you live." Somehow, that came out a lot creepier than it should have. Hmm, he needs to work on that, especially if he wants to make the best impression possible by the end of this day.

The sound of footsteps padding along the wooden flooring followed Allen to the door, where he opened it under Tyki's half-supervision.

"Good day," he greeted, probably with a smile if Tyki could see. "How are you?"

"…I'm awfully sorry," was the disturbingly deep voiced drawl of a reply, and there was a coughing sound. "But, who the hell're you?"

"Ah, my greatest apologies. I'm Allen Walker, and you?"

"Skin Boric," the man replied, and the Portuguese man could only assume some sort of hand-shaking occurred.


Skin was here?

"Why are you here, Skin?" Tyki demanded lazily, looking up with narrowed eyes. "Are you here because of a rumor? A story from the Earl? The twins are spreading tales about me dating an international supermodel named Alonzo? Lulu's saying I'm a manwhore again?"

Skin poked his scarred face through the door, frowning. "But," he whined. "You are a manwhore." The long stick of a lollipop protruded from between his surprisingly white teeth.

Allen nodded in agreement. "He has a point."

The Art of Ignoring is a wonderful skill. "Leave, Skin."

"Let me through, would'ja?" Skin asked Allen in his deep southern drawl. "Tyki's jus' bein' a little bitchy because…because of somethin'." He tapped his chin. "You kin never really tell what'll set 'im off next, lemma tell ya."

"No!" Tyki snapped. "Nobody will be telling anymore stories about me! Do you see me going to people you are in love with and telling them about the time your glasses broke because you fell asleep on the monkey bars when you were ten?"

"Well, now you don't have ta." Skin replied. "You jus' did it."

"You're in love with Allen?"

"Uh, no, but—"

"Good. Now, leave."

"Tyki," the large dark man rumbled, furrowing his eyebrows. "I ain't done a damn thing ta, ah, reciprocate your animosity." He crunched the candy loudly between his teeth as he spoke.

"You don't have to do anything," Tyki relied with a shrug and a flip of his hair. "All you need is to be related to the family I am so close to emancipating myself from." Seriously, the papers are almost finished.

Skin huffed, crossing his thickly muscled arms. "You're apart of this fam'ly too," he muttered, kicking at the flooring with his mud-caked boots. "You'sa my fav'rite brother. I cain't help comin' to see about all the talk and walk about you findin' a steady boyfriend and shit."

That…that almost touched Tyki's heart.


"Leave, Skin—"

"Wait," Allen said suddenly, closing the door. He smiled in embarrassment. "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your riveting conversation, but I am completely and utterly in love with your dialect, Mr. Boric."

Skin and Tyki could've been blood relatives at that moment, especially with how they both adopted similar expressions of shock and surprise.

"M-me?" Skin repeated, pointing at himself. "You like the way I talk?"

"In all the three years I've been living here in America," Allen explained, patting down his white hair. "I've never actually heard someone who talked in such a pure, undiluted Southern dialect. Lavi is from California, you must understand," he said to Tyki, who was still frozen in shock.

"Aww," the large man muttered, scratching his black hair. "Um. Shucks, I'm honored, little man."

"Could you talk some more?" Allen requested, smiling brightly. "I can use your speech pattern for an assignment in my Music Writing class."

Skin looked over at his older brother, and smirked. "Sure I can," he replied, teeth bared in a sly smile. "Alrighty. My name's Skin Boric, I'mma twenty-four-years-old, I was born in Baton Rouge, Lousiana, and I was adopted—I'm Tyki's foster brother, got it?—by the Earl. He's a creepy old coot, so don't get that cur'ous look on ya face, Walker."

The 'curious look' disappeared as soon as he said creepy. "I've already got one of those," the university student replied with ease. "But! Now I'm interested, how does the family tree in your loving group work out?"

Tyki smacked his forehead and dragged the hand down slowly. "Damn it," he muttered, crossing his legs. "You asked the single most difficult question in the world."

"It ain't that difficult," Skin insisted, leaning against the hallway wall. "Here, I'll try an' explain it. Okay, so, there's the Earl. He's basically everyone's daddy, but he's not, because he ain't related to no one by blood. He adopted Tyki first, when Tyki was eleven, and then Lulu when she was eleven, and then me when I was seven."

"We're guessing he was a very lonely man," the Portuguese man interjected. "I wouldn't adopt so many kids even if you paid me."

"Me neither, especially since you were'a bitch as a kid," the younger man agreed. "Hmm, okay, and with Tyki, Sheryl was a package deal. He was nineteen back then, and he adopted Rhode when she was two, one?"

"Two." Tyki answered, rolling his eyes.

"Right, when she was two. Or somethin', cain't remember." Skin shrugged. "So, then the Earl adopted Davie and Jazzy, when they were five or somethin'. Now, we're a big happy house!" The sarcasm was thicker than his dialect.

"I left because I kind of despise the lot of you," his brother said, waving a hand. "No, really, I tried to kill the Earl once."

"How'd that work out?"

"Apparently, gravity is against my theory of the Earl versus the ground from a third floor window." Tyki huffed. It was his science fair project, from when he was in tenth grade. He got an F, and he never really got over that.

Allen snickered. "You tried to push your father out the window?" he asked, grinning.

"Ah, ah," the golden-eyed man replied in the negative, waggling a finger. "My ex-foster faster."

"You see, I used to say the same thing about my uncle," mused the white-haired young man. "I actually did try to kill him, though."

"Hmm?" Tyki hummed in interest, perking up. "How?"

"Alcohol poisoning," Allen replied. "He's already a raging drunk, so I just went 'Hey! What's a few more going to do? If he dies, then he's just dead', which, now that I think about it, was terrible reasoning and I actually should've gotten Kanda-dear to blow up his car."

Skin nodded. "Explosions, they're pretty good fo' stuff like that," he agreed.

Tyki looked back down at the game in his hands. This must be love—they have to be made for each other! They have so much in common, with their kind-of schizophrenia and card game prowess.

(Although, Allen's prowess kicks Tyki's prowess's ass, like, three times over.)

A loud beeping sound went off, and Skin pulled up his shirt a little to look into a pouch on his belt. He pulled out a pager, grumbling. "Goddamn," he cursed, shoving his shirt back down. "I've gotta go back to work. We're fixin' the levees with more sandbags—fuckin' hurricane out there, man."

"We know, don't worry." Tyki replied. "I hope you drown."

"Yeah, yeah, whatev'." The large man looked at Allen, and he ruffled the boy's white hair. "Welcome to the family, kid." He opened the door and walked out, slamming the wooden door behind himself.

Did…did he just try to curse Allen with membership of this family?

Skin is now number three on the to-die list, Tyki thought with a thin smile that flitted on the edge of satanic. David and Jasdero, they can wait.

"There is something off about your family…" Allen muttered, sitting next to him on the leather couch. "I'm not too sure what, but it feels like all of the members are off in some way."

If Tyki knew his family, which he does, then Sheryl is a member of the Senate who has no problem with taking and making bribes. Rhode uses his power to get away with things that are rapidly escalating into bigger problems. Skin voted YES on Proposition 25, which was to destroy all forests for further industrialization. He didn't even feel like ticking off the list of evils with the other members.

"I always had that feeling too, actually," the older man replied, killing an exorcist a little too harshly.

Allen laughed. "I was talking about you too," he commented, trying to peek over the man's shoulder. "…How many exorcists have you killed?"

Thirty so far, actually. "Two."

"You liar." The white-haired teenager huffed, crossing his arms. He looked towards the dark gray sky out the window, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in disdain. "Will the rain ever let up?"

"Will you ever love me?" Tyki retorted.

"That was so random I can't find a good answer for it."

"Yes, well, the rain'll let up. Some day." He resisted the urge to shrug. "I mean, it is a hurricane."

"All right," Allen sighed, sitting back into the couch and wriggling into a comfortable position. "Well, I'm sorry, but I'm just getting kind of…bored."

"Turn on the television," Tyki replied, deciding he was totally going to invest in one of these EXs.

Allen blinked. "The telly? But…don't you have satellite?"

"Actually, no, I have cable. The weather in this godforsaken city is too unpredictable for satellite."

"Oh, well, that's a bomb!" He blinked his gray eyes. "Except, where is the remote?"

"On my lap."

"You pervert."

The Portuguese man almost snapped his fingers, he was foiled once more. "Okay," he relented, waving in a general direction to the side. "It's on the coffee table."

"Thank you!" Allen leaned over to reach for it, and Tyki was so not watching his backside through the motions. "Why do you have my game if you aren't playing it?"

"Uh. I am playing it." He pressed a button in example. An exorcist died with that movement.

A click was heard, and the television on the adjacent wall flickered to life, lighting up the dim living room. (Tyki didn't believe in using lights during the day—it simply made no sense to him.)

On the television screen, there was panic, to be frank. It was a news report, a special one at that. The rain slaughtered the outside, but the news crew was inside of a painfully familiar café. The people within the interior were not happy, and there was a lot of talking and general noise.

"This is Cloud Nine," the blonde newscaster announced, holding a thick microphone and looking seriously into the camera. "With the Channel 14 HQ News! This is just in! The Mexican Gulf is at the front end of a hurricane, folks, and it's looking dangerous! Winters Zokalo, what's the name of it?"

"Bitch, why would I know? Jesus fucking Christ," the second, angrier-looking reporter snapped, crossing his thickly muscled arms in offense. "But, whatever. We'll just call it Hurricane Miranda or some shit like that. It looks like a Miranda."

"All right!" Cloud touched her ear briefly, a frown coming across her pretty face. "What's that? You said to watch out? Why? The Japanese are coming? Whoa, this is a hurricane, not World War II!"

And then, it just happened with little warning. The café door was slammed open, and a painfully familiar man stomped through with muddy boots and a soaked outfit. The contours of his chest were well-defined within the tight, wet black muscle shirt, and he shook out his long dark hair as he scowled.

Allen stared at little too hard for Tyki to be honestly comfortable.

Then again, even the twenty-eight-year-old man had to stare a little too, because that body was well-taken care of. Like, how Tyki takes care of his car, just great looking.

"Sir!" the blonde reporter started, walking up to him, the camera following. "You just came in from the hurricane, correct?"

Kanda just looked at her with that crazy heroine addict expression. "Duh," he retorted, stretching his arms.

Allen hummed lowly in his throat, crossing his legs.

"Why were you out there?" she demanded, holding the microphone to his face. "It's dangerous!"

"I was looking for my ex," he admitted with very little shame. "But, he wasn't home, and the electricity at the university is all fucked up, so I'm weirded out right now. Then, Cyclops was all 'he's with his new boyfriend', so yeah. The punk even let him answer his phone, I heard!" Kanda cracked his knuckles. "Anyway, I'm looking for a tall Mexican guy who smokes cigarettes and has the creepiest smile ever."

"I am not Mexican." Tyki muttered, narrowing his golden eyes in offense.

"Shh," Allen shushed, holding a finger to his lips. "The idiot is flexing his muscles. Bloody hell, he is great at that."

Tyki almost went out of his way to say he could flex his muscles too—and with more pizzazz and style!—but stopped himself, because he was sure Kanda was going to mess up something.

"So, you went out in the hurricane because of love?" Cloud asked critically. "Sir, doesn't that sound a little—"

"Hey. I don't care what you think, just tell me if you saw him."

Winters looked offended. "Hey, brat, shut up, and sit down," he growled, jabbing at Kanda's chest with his own microphone. "It's a fucking hurricane outside, and you ain't doing a thing but getting a cold!"

This was the part where the British teenager stopped looking so hot about Kanda, and started looking a little more "God blimey," complete with his black hand smacking his forehead and dragging down his face.

Kanda looked at the large newsman with narrowed eyes. "Dude," he began slowly. "You touch me with that mic again, I'm kicking your ass."

"Ha!" Winters barked in laughter, a feral smile stretching on his lips. "You thought you were going to kick my ass. Little boy."

It didn't matter what Kanda thought, because he launched himself at the man with a snarl, punching and kicking at the larger man. Winters, true to his notorious nature as the 'Kickass-Reporter', did not take that lying down, and punched the Japanese man in the face, sending him reeling back for a moment.

Cloud stared. "Reever, are you getting this?" she asked the cameraman, who nodded with the lens following his actions. "Good. Okay, the hurricane is causing mass hysteria! People are going insane, due to the inability to find their loved ones, or whatever."

"You bloody idiot," Allen hissed, whipping out his phone with such flair that Tyki had to blink for a moment. Apparently, Kanda was still on speed dial, because all he did was press a button and hold the phone to his ear, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor impatiently.

On the television screen, Kanda had shoved Winters off of him and he stood up shakily, hair mused and a large rip in his shirt—exposing a good portion of his abs. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Who the fuck is this?" he snapped.

"Don't give me that tone, Kanda," Allen threatened, obviously annoyed.

Tyki wondered if he could sneak to the kitchen and get some popcorn, because he had a feeling that this was going to get good.

"What—Bean sprout?" Kanda asked, confused. Cloud gave him a thumb up, and he growled at her.

The seventeen-year-old was getting pissed, visibly. "Do you not have any manners?" he demanded. "Better yet, do you not have any self-restraint? You moron, you just got into a fight with the single most hardcore news reporter in the bloody city!"

Kanda had the gall to look slightly put off. "He isn't that hardcore…" he muttered, stuffing his free hand in his jean pocket. Suddenly, he perked up. "Wait, how the fuck did you know I got into a fight, anyway?"

"You are on cable television, Channel 14 News. I would have to apologize if I weren't able to see you!" Allen sighed shakily. "Look, I'm already getting sick of talking to you."

"Hey, wait, where the hell are you?" his ex-boyfriend asked, straightening up. "The electricity at your apartment, it's fucking blown out."

Allen grinned. "Just like me and your coc—"

"Shut up!" Kanda almost threw the phone on the ground, but he suddenly remembered that he was on candid camera, especially with how his expression looked into the lens. "Are you fucking serious? You are taping this? Motherfuck!"

"Sir, don't mind us," Cloud assured, the determined look still on her face. "We're sure no one has TiVo, there's too much of a hurricane outside for them to care!"

The pale hand of the boy covered the mouthpiece of the phone, and he looked at Tyki. "You do have TiVo, right?"

"I am floors ahead of you," the older man replied with a disturbing stretch of a smile. He picked up the remote from the side of Allen, and clicked a red button towards the opposite end that pointed at the television.

A red dot popped up on the high right corner of the screen.

A smile spread on Allen's face. "Tyki, come closer to me, would you? I need to kiss you."

"So, what, you're sayin' I should be okay with you recording my personal business and shit?" Kanda deadpanned, looking like they were idiots. "'Cause I'm not okay with that." He turned around and walked away, bringing the phone to his ear. "Brat, you still there?"

Allen sat up suddenly from his kiss-that-was-quickly-escalating-to-more and smacked the older man's very, very experienced hands from underneath his shirt. He picked up his phone. "Hello?" he breathed quickly, patting down his hair.

"Where the fuck are you—hey! Get that camera away from me, fuckwad!" Kanda flipped his middle finger at the newscasters who followed him. Even the people in the café were beginning to look overly entertained. "Anyway. Where are you?"

"I'm at Tyki's house."

"Wait, you were serious? You seriously had serious sex with a serious Mexicano dude double your age? That is seriously fucked up."

"Well, I guess." Allen shrugged. "He's great at what he does." He gave Tyki a thumb up with a grin.

Tyki shrugged back, finding the statement to be very true. That high school superlative, 'Most Promiscuous', was stamped to him for a reason. And, when push comes to shove, he kind of is a manwhore—but he'd never admit it in front of anyone who knows him.

"You fucking idiot!" Kanda snapped, throwing a hand in the air exasperatedly. "All right. All right. I'm on my way to get you—just tell me what his address is, and I'll be there in one moment."

"I don't know…I'm having a grand time," the teenager murmured, holding out his pale hand and observing the flat nails. Tyki actually wanted him to take a look at those knives on his right hand he called nails. His back was not the most forgiving at the moment.

"I don't give a goddamn, you're obviously on drugs or something right now!" the Japanese man snarled. "Where does he live, brat?"

"Ugh." Allen rolled his eyes, and looked at Tyki. "Where are we?"

"Ark Drive," Tyki answered. "Apartamento del Deseo, down the street from Edo Park. Tell him to dial J when he gets to the gate."

The white-haired teenager nodded. "Did you get that?"

Kanda was, at this point, couched in a corner, but the camera was still able to catch him. "No," he tried to whisper, but the loud anger made it kind of impossible. "You know what? Just, put…put the fucker on the phone!"

Cloud came into the camera's view, nodding. "This just in." she whispered, and was damn good at it. "Our very own Jap is going back out there. He's found his lover, folks!"

"Okay, seriously, we broke up," Allen groaned, rubbing his temples. He handed the phone to Tyki. "Please, just talk to him. I'd rather he not come this way, but I'd also rather he not destroy the café in his anger."

"You know he hates me, right?" Tyki replied, taking the small yellow phone and placing it near his ear. He sighed. "Tyki Mikk, speaking."

"I'm going to get him a drug test," Kanda growled, poking his head over the table and ducking once the camera zoomed in closer. "If I get the results back to say that, yes, there are traces of a date rape drug in his blood, I will murder you."

"Did you get that, Reever?" the female reporter demanded, and the lens moved up and down in verification once more. "Our Jap is threatening murder—what'll happen next?"

"Seriously, chick, shut up," the Japanese man hissed, covering the mouth of the phone like Tyki couldn't see him on the television. "You're gonna get me arrested!"

"Uh, no," Tyki corrected, smirking. "You're going to get yourself arrested. After all, you did attack a newsreporter for no reason other than talking to you."

"Dude. No one was talking to you. Christ, I hate you."

"I told you he hated me," the dark-skinned man whispered to Allen, who shrugged in response. He huffed. "Anyway, isn't there a reason I'm wasting my time talking to you, boy?"

"My name is Kanda—use it." Kanda retorted, and Allen scowled immediately at that. "Where do you live, creep? Seriously, I'm going to drug test him so hard—"

"That sounds like a come on," Tyki replied. "Of which, must I remind you that you are not together anymore? That you broke up?"

"Shut up!" the long-haired man snapped, ducking around a corner as though he could possibly escape the camera. "I know we broke up, I mean, I was kind of there. Like, it wasn't even a phone break up—he said it to my face. 'Kanda,'" he pulled a falsely high voice, almost feminine, with a thick British accent. "'It's not working out. You're a dimwit and I'm not Japanese. We need to see other people—but we can still be friends!'"

"I'm rather disturbed that he remembers every single word of the break up conversation," Allen commented, running his fingers through his hair.

"And you call me creepy," the Portuguese man muttered, shaking his head.

Kanda shoved a hand into the camera that was suddenly all up on his face. "Back up!" he snarled. "You do not know who you're messing with! Okay, back to business. Where do you live?"

"Ark Drive," Tyki reinteriated, rolling his golden eyes. "Apartamento del Deseo, dial J to get through the gate."

"All right. All right, I'm on my way! Don't touch him—I will kill you." Kanda pressed a button on the phone and snapped it shut, putting it back into his pocket. He looked at the camera in disgust. "See you losers later." He pivoted on his heel and headed towards the door.

"Sir, there's a hurricane out there!" Cloud called after the rapidly disappearing back. "It's dangerous!"

Kanda paused, looking back. "…Duh," he deadpanned, rolling his dark eyes, and he opened the doors with an angry push.

Winters snorted. "Let the punk go," he muttered, obviously nonchalant. "If he wants to die of pneumonia or AIDS or whatever shit kids get these days, then he'll have my sympathies at the funeral."

Tyki handed Allen back his phone. "Hey," he said in a low tone of voice, rumbling. "I will definitely have sex with you to spite him."

"As tempting as the offer is," Allen replied, holding a hand to his heart. "I cannot. He'll be here soon, and I'd rather not you die so soon and in such a compromising position. But, believe me, the offer was quite tempting."

"Damn." Foiled again!

Tyki sighed and crossed his legs, deciding to just go back to his other habit of playing the EX. "How much to these EXs cost?" he asked idly.

"About one twenty-five. Why?"

"I'm having too much fun—oh, my Akumá's a Level 3 now!" he grinned, blinking. "I must get one of these for myself."

"What? A Level 3? And you just had a Level 1!" Allen leaned over to see the screen, pouting. "I can't believe you're getting farther at my own game than I am."

"Yes, well, I can't believe its so much fun." How he wished he was fifteen again, so he could play games like these in public without being criticized or something to that nature. "I'm going to go enter a contest."

And, as he learned, either those contests took a hell of a long time to win, or Kanda could drive freakishly fast in half-flooded roads.

The door rattled with how hard he was knocking, and Allen grinned behind his hand. "He's here."

"Which is funny, because that's what I was guessing as well." Tyki stood up with a groan, stretching and handing the teenager back his EX. He walked to the door, and peeked through the eyehole with a sly grin. "Who is it?"

"You know who the fuck it is," Kanda retorted, banging on the door again. "Open up, creep."

Tyki unlocked the door and opened it to a small portion. "How may I help you?" he asked with a sleazy smile, leaning against the frame.

The younger man shoved his way through the doorway, a scowl on his admittedly handsome face. "That drug test is coming, freak," Kanda threatened with an accusing finger. "When he tests positive, oh, you are going down."

"You make it sound like I have HIV," Allen said in an annoyed tone, legs crossed as he lounged on the couch idly.

Kanda stomped up to him, incredulous. "You…you're just gonna sit there?" he demanded, waving a hand at the entirety of the living room. "Dude, weren't you kidnapped?"

"Uh, no." The seventeen-year-old cocked an eyebrow. "I don't exactly remember ever telling you I was kidnapped. Did I tell you I was kidnapped or something of the sort?"

"Well, no, but he's twenty-eight—"

"Yes. He's also a creepy sweetheart with a fast car and a flexible body."

Tyki flashed a smile. "He's accurate, don't worry."

"Why I oughta…" Kanda started in a low voice, cracking his knuckles.

"Calm down. You see, I'd love to tell you to get out of my house," Tyki replied, rolling back his shoulders as he stretched his arms. "But, you will obviously take Allen with you, because you are coming across as the Ike Turner of his life."

"Are you saying I'm abusive?" the Japanese man said, bewildered. "That I hit him?"

"Oh, you want to see my bruises?" Allen asked suddenly with a grin, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

Tyki immediately snapped to attention at that, and Kanda looked like he was going to explode in angry confetti—which would've been quite pretty. Note to self, Tyki thought in his common train. The boy can be a great piñata for Rhode's birthday—hire his services.

"Put your shirt down," Kanda snapped, a light dust of pink on his cheeks. "I'm not some sort of abusive bastard, but you are! You've gotta be, since he doesn't want to leave."

"Me? Abusive?" Tyki repeated, snorting in disbelief. "Would you like to see my back? Because I can show you my back."

"Well…so can I, actually. Damn."

And that was probably the only sense of comraderie the two men could summon, both being related to the fact that they have both had sex with Allen at some point in their lives and it was an extremely gratifying and slightly painful experience.

"Anyway," Allen interjected, rolling his eyes because he wasn't on the receiving end of those nails. "I don't feel like leaving because there is a bloody hurricane outside." As thought enhancing his statement, the lights overhead flickered ominously and there was a crack of thunder outside the window. "And, Tyki and I are enjoying our tenth day of the deal."

Ah, yes, the tenth day.

Tyki was trying to not think on those terms today, because it made their relationship seem restricted and more like a business agreement or a paid vacation.

"Tenth day? So, what, you're actually considering going out with this freak?" Kanda asked, crossing his arms. "You know he's, like, fifty-thousand years older than you, right?"

"Actually, it's just an eleven year gap. Nothing too serious." The teenager waved a hand in dismissal, smiling serenely. "But, you are on to something. Considering to just go with it would be too easy, and I'm just not that."

No one ever said you were easy, Tyki thought with the slightest amount of spite.

Kanda straighted up, leaning against the wall. "What're you going to do?" he questioned slowly, suspicious.

"Easy," Allen grinned. "Tyki, I have a deal just for you. But, it's quite the gamble, so I don't know if you would be up to it like I would hope."

Tyki held up a hand. "You had me at gamble," he answered.

"Okay." The British young man tapped a finger on the armrest of the couch. "It's pretty easy. If you can get my ex-boyfriend, Mr. Yuu Kanda," he pointed at the angry man across from him leaning on the wall. "to accept you as my current lover, then I will continue to see you even after today."

Oh. Well. Hmm… The Portuguese man's mind went on rapid overdrive.

Allen Walker wanted Tyki Mikk to get Yuu Kanda's permission for his continued seeing of the young man, and that was the basic equation. Then, he added in the calculation on how Yuu Kanda obviously despises Tyki Mikk, who also takes that feeling and throws it back in the younger man's face. From further observations, the only way he could possibly be hated a little less is if he were a little younger, like, years younger. Of which is never going to happen, because he cannot get any younger as he is getting older. Allen Walker, though, is the product of the equation, and a very, very beautiful young man with a melting smile. Therefore, if he is not able to get Yuu Kanda's initial acceptance or permission, then he might as well give the two a paid vacation and—excusez son français—kiss that ass goodbye.

He hated losing, really. But, for Allen, he could swallow that back for a few days before becoming a heartbroken alcoholic.

(It's kind of okay, though, because he already had one part of the role down pat.)

Tyki looked at Kanda for at least two minutes. "Allen, beautiful," he replied in a deadpan tone. "I love you, more than the good Lord might, but perhaps we just weren't meant to be."

Maybe the lights were flickering too hard, but it almost looked like Kanda was grinning in victory. Which was rather disturbing, because—even in the two days he's known the man—a smile never once graced his all too good-looking face. Just scowls, frowns, smirks, and expressions of barely concealed lust in accordance to Allen.

"See?" Kanda goaded, pushing himself off the wall. "It isn't meant to be. He's twenty-eight thousand years old and you're a fifteen-year-old bean sprout. That's, like, crossbreeding."

"Shut the bloody hell up," Allen replied with a twitchy smile. "I wasn't serious—Kanda can't give permission to his own mother for anything, let something for me."

The Japanese man looked offended. "Uh, yeah," he stated, scowling. "Because she's kind of dead."

"So is my father, but I don't brag." Allen stood up with a breath of relief. "Well, Tyki, since my loving ex is willing to take me to his absolutely lovely apartment in the D district…"

Wait, the D district? "The one off Gray Street and Man Boulevard?" Tyki asked, and very slowly at that. "You're taking him to the hood?"

Kanda looked nonplussed. "So?" he retorted, crossing his arms. "It's fucking safe, so don't try me, with your bitch-ass."

It wasn't safe. Tyki knows, he does business there. Lawyering business. "He'll be raped," he insisted, rubbing a temple.

"Yeah, you would know about that, wouldn't you, grandpa?"

Allen huffed. "It was entirely consensual, twat," he said. "And, he's only almost thirty, so he's not that old."

Twenty. Eight. Tyki will write it over the faded crosses on his forehead if he has to. (At least, until his birthday.)

"I'm not that old," he replied instead, a thin, unhealithily evil smile on his lips. "And, I also feel that Allen can choose for himself whether or not he'll get raped." Because he totally will, especially if he's left alone in that neighborhood.

"It is so nice to have someone care about my wellbeing and not be Lenalee or any other woman," the British young man murmured, standing next to Kanda.

Tyki was almost struck blind by the imminent compatibility between the two in the same frame—looks-wise, that is. Personality-wise, they were like one of the Earl's puzzles where he tried to fit two completely different pieces together, but they just kept rejecting the other.

"Girls stick together," Kanda replied idly, knocking him on the shoulder in what looked like a playful manner, but Kanda just didn't wear playful well. "All right, let's go. Tell the creep bye and that you'll never see him again because the drugs wore off."

Allen rolled his eyes and walked over to Tyki. "You heard the twit," he said with a smile.

Tyki breathed a laugh, a hand on his hip. "Yeah," he replied, bending down and pressing a kiss to the younger man's forehead. "I do have an extra roofie—in case you needed it, of course."

"Pah!" the seventeen-year-old flicked him on the forehead, in a real playful manner. "I'll be fine without it."

"Thought so." Tyki straightened up, a frown on his dark face. "So. Is this the end?"

"Yes!" Kanda snapped, looking overly annoyed.

The British teenager turned around. "Shut up!" Allen returned his attention to Tyki. "Well, it varies. I gave you, and I mean this honestly, hell these past ten days."

The Portuguese man subtly touched his back. "…I guess," he replied slowly.

"Yes, well, during the past week and whatever, I had more fun than the time Lavi took me bungee jumping. So, what do you say?"

Tyki looked at Kanda, who was glaring and pointing at his watch. Lightening flashed outside, and the thunder was not far behind.

"Ah," he started, pulling his phone out his pocket. "Well, see you tomorrow?"

Allen straightened up and patted his cheeks. "Just what I wanted to hear," he replied with a smile that made Tyki weak. "Well, then that's that!" He pivoted on his heel, walking towards Kanda. "Let's go, idiot," he said in a teasing tone.

The Japanese man grumbled various curses underneath his breath, kicking at the hardwood floor. "You chose that fuckface over me," he muttered as though it were completely unfathomable.

"Oh, calm down." Allen opened the door, walking through. "You had your chance."

"Hmph." Kanda looked back one more time and sneered at Tyki, before walking out after his ex. He slammed the door behind him as hard as he possibly could, because Tyki's shot glasses rattled in his kitchen counter over the stove.

Tyki stood there for a while.

Then, he flipped open his phone and dialed a number.

After three consecutive rings, the phone was answered. "What, Tyki?" Lulu's agitated voice snapped. "There is a hurricane outside and my shoes are in mortal danger if I have to leave my apartment—so what do you want?"

"Please, you're always in mortal danger," Tyki replied, walking to his leather couch and plopping onto it. "But, I must tell you!"

"No, wait," the woman replied, and the sound of rough rustling was heard. "Okay. You got with the British kid?"


"No way. It feels like you've been pedoing after him forever. How long did it take you, anyway?"

Tyki crossed his legs, leaving heavily against the back cushion. "Not too long," he replied, but he couldn't keep the smile off of his face. "Just, ten days."




It's official—my life is complete. After a few months of writing, writing, snickering, writing, writing, eating, drinking, writing, educationing, and writing some more, it is finally finished.

(I love this fanfic. A lot.) (My favorite thing to do with DGM fics? Make parodies of everyday things, like the Nintendo DS, the Firebird, Los Angeles, everything!) You get extra awesome points if you can name a few parodies.

I actually had a super long ending author's note, but I forgot it. :D I'm so happy I finished it, though, and it came out so fcking long. THIS IS A MONSTER. The longest one-shot I will possibly ever write. Ever. (Although, a few people told me to split it into parts, but I was all NO I MUST DO THIS ALL IN ONE BIG SITTING.) 92 pages and 40,000 something words~~

Poker Pair is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I hope you liked it, juls~ :D