Itsuki sat – and that was all. He didn't sprawl, he didn't talk, he certainly didn't breathe – and he wasn't even going to contemplate thinking. The train compartment he sat in was virtually empty, a unusual occurrence.

Usually, it was hard to find a place to stand, but getting a whole room virtually to oneself – that was practically unheard of. At the time, however, everyone else had already gotten home, or to school, or to work, or to heaven – wherever it was that Itsuki knew he wouldn't be going to.

He had countless theories on the subject, most of which stemmed back to Haruhi. It was the few that didn't that worried him. Because these few didn't stem down to the teenage god, but rather to someone else entirely too normal, Itsuki simply sat.

A couple feet away, Kyon simply sat too. He looked in the opposite direction and pretended that the only thing he didn't see was Itsuki's clasped hands


Haruhi was already blabbering on about some radical new idea, with Mikuru and Yuki hesitantly following along, when Itsuki held him back. "Kyon," He began, voice tense with something he didn't want to voice.

Kyon let himself watch – just watch, and just for a minute – as Itsuki's throat surged as he swallowed, as his eyes darted from what Kyon presumed was his lips to his eyes, his feet to his hands, before jerking out of Itsuki's light grasp.

"Kyon," Haruhi said, bratty and complaining and capable of destroying the world, "Hurry up! Your gonna make us late!" Kyon let himself watch Itsuki's face, watch the smile slip back on and watch himself ignore the plastic look in his eyes.

"Yeah," He said, turning to watch their goddess, "Whatever." The group walked on, half listening to their leader's angered rants as she whined about their lack of utter awesome-ness. Kyon, clenching his hand, closed his eyes, and tried not to watch Itsuki watching him.


Itsuki leaned against the wall, waiting for the rest of the brigade to arrive. "No uniform?" Trying to keep his breathing steady, he looked over his shoulder.

There Kyon stood, tie loosely hanging and sarcastic eyes ready to scar. Smiling, Itsuki nodded at the other boy. "You don't like casual Fridays?" Haruhi was late, he mused, looking up at the slowly ticking clock.

Stepping into the room, Kyon shut the door, twisting the lock their president never bothered to use. When he turned back around, Itsuki saw that tiny little smirk. "You know that she canceled the club today, right?" And Itsuki knows Kyon knows that he didn't know – and thats what makes him nervous.

Itsuki tells himself that, that he's worried about the usually too apathetic to care Kyon's moment of intellectual triumph. He tells himself that's all that he's worried from.

Because, it isn't Kyon's legs, which move purposefully, and it isn't the slight sway of his hips, which Itsuki can't seem to look away from. He's sure it isn't his eyes – because Itsuki has hardly even looked at those.

It isn't like he doesn't not look at Kyon in the face because of that way his eyes glint. None of these reasons are why Itsuki finds his palms sweaty and his throat so dry that when Kyon (finally) makes his way over to him, pushing him down onto the plush but slightly itchy carpet, he laughs and asks him if he's okay.

And then, Itsuki is – even though (or, perhaps, because) one of his shoulders is being uncomfortably squished and Kyon is half on top of him. But it definitely isn't because Kyon asked him.


Kyon's life had always been almost normal. He had gone to a normal school, made normal friends, and had unusually normal parents.

Before, Kyon had always figured it was god's retribution for his normalness that he was cursed with such a crazy older sister, and the reputation she left for him to fix. That was, of course, until he met god, and found out she was an almost equally crazy teenage girl.

Then he met Itsuki, and he found what his real punishment was. Sitting somewhat awkwardly in a bean bag chair, Itsuki looked almost pitiable, smiling that fake little smile of his.

"Itsuki." Kyon didn't quite whisper, and he definitely didn't murmur, but Itsuki gets the message anyway. Lips becoming much more genuine, Itsuki smiled.

"Yes, Kyon?" And then Kyon was sitting further back, feeling his shirt catch as Itsuki slid his knees to the sides, threading his fingers through slightly chillier ones.

Bringing one hand up, Kyon brushed Itsuki's hair behind his ear and smirked, slow and languid, as the other boy shivered into his touch. "Your hands are cold," He whispered, stopping the overly worried esper from pulling away.

"But don't worry," Kyon continued, letting his tongue wet Itsuki's lips as well as his own. "I know how to fix that."


"Ah!" Red hair mussed and thin wrists held back, Mikuru wobbles, frozen in time. She isn't wearing much – Haruhi was having her try on one of her outfits.

Yuki, serene, blank, and looking at nothing except for her latest book, stands behind her. She doesn't look pleased or upset by his interruption, but to her, the book is more interesting than any of them. As Kyon grimaced, standing in the doorway, Yuki crushed Mikuru's wrists together as she lifted a hand to turn the page.

"Dork!" Haruhi, back straight and hair flying up as she moved away from Mikuru, snapped her finger. Yuki made sure to fold the corner of her page over before dropping her book. Pale arms wrapped around Mikuru, letting the older girl fall safely back into Yuki's chest.

Throwing an arm over his face, Kyon turned around. "Lock the door, next time," He muttered, as Haruhi shoved him out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Kyon wasn't quite sure why, but instead of finding himself on the hard, cold floor (something he had become rather accustomed to, thanks to her) he found himself on something decidedly more angular.

Opening his eyes, Kyon propped himself up with his arms and found himself staring into a flushed Itsuki. One of hands felt a soft, silky material; he absent mindedly ran the tie through his fingers.

"Ah... Kyon." Sounding slightly strangled, Itsuki shifted upwards. His breath stirred Kyon's bangs. Letting Kyon pull himself off of him, Itsuki worried his lips. "Relationship problems?"

Kyon cracked his neck. "Only," Kyon said on autopilot, responding to Itsuki's almost taunt like he would any other, "If you're busy tonight." Kyon still remembered to look up in time for his reaction.

He was glad he did it, too. Itsuki's face flushing pink was second only to the look on his face when Haruhi walked in on them in the hall closet after class.


"Quiet," Kyon pulls at Itsuki's tie, more to make him nervous then to unloosen the sloppy knot. "You don't want Haruhi to hear, do you?" Itsuki's hair lays spread across the pillow. Gritted teeth bit into chapped pink lips as Kyon moved his mouth down to his neck.

"Ky... Kyon!" And Itsuki tries not scream, toes curling and fingers twisting into the spotlessly white, feather comforter. His glazed, dilated eyes opened to see Kyon, cheeks burned and throat dry. "She'll," He moans, then, because he may be a reasonably pretty high schooler and esper, but he's always been too dedicated to do something like this.

Itsuki doesn't know how long he's wanted to be doing this. With Haruhi in the picture, he isn't even sure how long he's been the same person wanting. But, Kyon is the gorgeous, mysterious, (almost) completely normal boy. Kyon has (perfectly) average brown hair, a (wonderfully) sarcastic attitude, and a (previously) common life.

Itsuki isn't that sure about himself. He knows he isn't normal in any sense of the word, probably, except for this, for the feeling he gets when he sees Kyon (and, more importantly, the feelings he feels when Kyon sees him.) and, for once, selfishly just wants.

He's given his life up to protect the world (from) and Haruhi. Itsuki doesn't have parents, before the SOS brigade, he didn't have friends, and he'd never had anyone he had ever had the faintest desire for. Itsuki isn't sure if that's because of his attitude or his appearance, and he can't even faintly understand that Kyon wants him because of both.

"Relax." The look in Kyon's eye is not exactly comforting. The hand, much cooler on Itsuki's flush skin than he thought it would be, is the furthest thing from it. "I'll make sure you don't scream." And then, Kyon's mouth is on his again, and Itsuki can't bring himself to care about anything.

Because, it doesn't matter (himself or them or Haruhi, whoever, whatever, wherever) because Kyon is there. And, to Itsuki, no one else ever was.

AN ~

I'm just happy I posted something.


Anyway, leave the video name and creator for this from youtube and I'll... give you a cookie. Or a ficcy. Or... a cake. I'd pick the cake.