A/N: Heylo there. I'm actually writing this for my creative Writing class. My hw is to write a short story about 10-15 pages long. This is the first part, it's only 6 pages. I just made a couple tweaks to it and made it a fanfiction.

Warning: FuumaxKamui Yaoi/shounen-ai Don't like, don't read.

FYI: This is from Kamui's pov but the name "Shadow" is staying. You'll find out later. I promise. ^_-

Meanwhile...

Nightwalkers

Part 1

I can't take it. The looks, the gifts, the advice, the psychiatrists, the doctors, the meds, the advance; it's all just too much. Someone like me... I'm a clown, an exclusive addition to the Circus of the Weird and Sick. I don't even know for sure who or what I am. I live in an almost constant state of confusion and panic.

The doctors say it's the paranoia side effect from the disease but I know it goes deep than that. So much deeper, right into the core of me. I'm different. An abomination to the term "human." I've spent my entire life alone, hiding, pushing anyone and everyone away. The light shunned me, so I embraced the darkness with open arms.

Aside from my parents, my doctors, and a very, very select few, my secret remains just that, mine. I closed myself up and wallowed in misery of the lot I had drawn by being born this way. I can't make decisions without second guessing myself and calling on my anxiety pikes. I can't even tell you which clothes I prefer without panicking and crying.

People tell me it's fine, that they understand. But they don't. They have no idea what it's like to be me. If they did then I'd smile and laugh at them. Those people who think themselves above me, better than me, just because they can keep it together better than I can. Just because they don't have a full blown panic attack just from missing their exit on the freeway doesn't make them better than it me. It doesn't give them the right to pity me or judge me or call me names or shun me.

That's why I joined them. My friends, my fellow nightwalkers. Given they're not the real thing like me, but it's nice to pretend. When I'm with my fellows I feel safe and comfortable. It's a good escape. My psychologist advised me against it, but this is my life, not his.

So I siphoned some of my inheritance and earnings from the strip bar I work at and managed to get the dental work done, buy the costumes, and get hired at the local coven of nightwalkers. I even changed my name, took me awhile to figure out which one though.

Names are important after all. They define a person. I considered 'Yoru,' the Japanese word for 'night,' for the longest time before my coven's Mistress offered a temporary solution. Seeing as I was now working for her as her personal assistant in almost everything, she offered to call me "Shadow."

I remember laughing at the irony of it all, but I accepted. Until I can find the right name, I shall be Shadow. Or at least I was, until he showed up.

When I first met him, I thought he was a new potential for our coven. He was gorgeous with his brown hair with nifty pink lensed glasses over green eyes. I'd say they were the color of grass but I can't honestly say since it had been so long since I'd seen the true color of grass. His mannerisms were peculiar, but then who was I to talk? His voice was a nice baritone and his attitude was easy going and free. He reminded me a lot like the wind. And he rode a motorcycle, that was definitely a plus in my book.

I first saw him when my mistress introduced him to me when I walked in on what was apparently a private meeting. I remember feeling absolutely mortified, until she smiled and waved me in before I could disappear into the shadows where I belonged.

"It's alright, Shadow. Come in," my mistress called in her sultry voice. "I'd like you to meet Fuuma Hunt. He's a recent graduate student who's interested in our clandestine society," she said setting down her glass of red wine and pushing back long strands of ebony hair. Her bloodstone eyes sparkled with mischief. "Fuuma, this is Shadow my right hand. My blood child. He'll be your host and escort as long as you plan to stay with us."

…what?

"Really?" the fledgling said, a bright smile on his face. "Well shoot, if I'd known she was as adorable as that I'd've come here a lot sooner than tonight."

I considered correcting him on his use of pronouns in reference to me, but decided against it. The mistress might be aware of my peculiarities, but this one obviously wasn't. And I wasn't about to let him in on it either. He'll learn sooner or later. Instead, I grasped onto the last part of my mistress's statement.

"Host, my Lady? I am not trained to raise a fledgling," I whispered my eyes flickered back and forth between my mistress and the newcomer. Slowly, I made my way over to stand closer to my dark haired goddess to stand by her seeking comfort in her strong presence.

She laughed gaily and said, "No, no, no. Fuuma's not a fledgling, he's a writer. He's here to write about, oh how did you put it dear?"

"The different aspects of nightlife," Fuuma said. "It's for a novel I'm working on. But since all I really know about the night as far as night life goes is vampires and werewolves, I figured I'd go straight to the source to get my facts straight. No vampire novels for me, just a fictional tale of modern nightlife."

"Mm, and since you haven't been getting out much, I'm assigning our new friend to you."

"But, Mistress Butterfly, I like living alone," I said, giving her my adorable gaze she always founds so pleasing.

She snorted in a rather unladylike manner and smirked at me. "Like living alone, my ass. My offer for that still stands, by the way."

I tried to keep the blush from my face as I noticed the guest's eyebrows rise a notch at the openly explicit reference.

"My answer remains the same, however. I would really rather not have another person around. For personal reasons. You understand."

She nodded her dark head, her pale face still filled with that blood red smirk. "I do understand. But I also understand that you're much better off with someone watching you than leaving you to your own devices." Her bloodstone eyes were as hard as the stones they resembled.

Oh crap, how did she know? I thought I'd covered the scabs perfectly. Apparently not.

And with that, the decision was made. I ended up escorting Fuuma through the many nightwalkers gathered at our coven's gathering. The open bar had drawn many of my fellows for refreshment, drawing them in like a moth to the bug zapper. They'd get drunk, dance to the music of Evanescence, Within Temptation, Skillet, etc. Normally, I'd join them, but now I had to act as babysitter for this poor, pathetic human that happened to stumble on us.

I sighed at my horrible lot in life. Honestly, I'd been looking forward to mingling myself tonight, but it looked like that was no longer an option. Instead, I slipped through the pulsing crowd nodding to Fang, Lace, Venom, Angel, Subaru, and several others as I passed.

"So Shadow, how'd you get your name?" Fuuma asked.

"Mistress Butterfly gave it to me until I can think of one for myself."

"So you're new to this life, too?"

It was ridiculous the amount of hope was in that voice. Sorry to burst your bubble buddy, but no. "Actually, I've been a member of this coven for three years now."

"Three years and you still haven't chosen a name? Man, that's pathetic. No offense of course," he added quickly as if to wipe away the sting of his words. Fat lot of good that did. Remember when I said I liked him, yeah, that's later.

The first night at my place was hell. Absolute hell. Why do you ask? Well, because my resident house guest insisted on waking at ungodly hours like 9a.m. and moving about during the day. I sleep during the day, damn it! If he really wants to know what it's like to be a nightwalker, a true member of the nightly underworld, then he should sleep during the day.

Idiot!

After a week or so, the two of us adopted a sort of routine. He'd wake up at some ungodly hour when the sun was out, go about his day, then go to bed early in order to be ready to interact with me. I'd explain the ups and downs of living the nightlife to its fullest which often landed us with awkward questions asked and awkward situations to muddle out of.

"Are those real?" he asked one time while I made myself a bowl of cereal. What? So I have thing for Lucky Charms? Stake me.

"Where'd I get what?" I asked as I carried my bowl to the papasan chair in the corner of my living room taking in the view of New York from the large windowed wall of my penthouse. I said I was living off my inheritance and the coven right? So I was rich, so what?

"You're fangs. Are they real?" the other person asked from his spot on the couch where he was typing away on his laptop. Probably working on his novel, I guess.

"They're real in the sense that they're porcelain implants that I don't plan on removing if that's what you're asking."

"Oh."

…awkward silence…

"Cool!"

I blinked and looked my house guest in shock?

"I assume you're hair naturally that dark black color too, right? It looks like ink in the club lights."

My eyebrow ticked. "It's 'coven' not 'club.'"

"It's natural though, right?"

I sighed in aggravation. "Yes, it's natural. And I'm not wearing colored contacts either in case you were wondering."

"Nope, there aren't no contacts in the world that could mimic that shade of purple. It's too crystal like. Kinda reminds me of agate actually."

I hunched up in a ball, and held my cereal bowl close to my face in an effort to hide the offending blush that insisted on rising in my cheeks. So awkward.

That was when I started to like him.

The days passed and things seemed to be going well. Fuuma even started referring to me as a male since he finally noticed what he'd so obviously missed earlier. Things were going fairly well, until he found out my secret.

I woke to crash and bolted out of bed without heading the time on the clock. As quickly as I could I darted down the hallway and into the living room only to shriek in agony as my skin suddenly caught fire and burning. The pain was so intense it threw all thoughts of broken glass, Michael, the fact that I was up in the middle of the 'night' out of my mind. I just fell to my knees screaming and clutching myself trying to hide from the hateful light as my skin burned away in seconds.

"He! Hey, you alright? Wha-wha-?"

I barely heard his voice over my own cries of pain. But I had just enough mental capacity left to demand in a terrified and pain filled voice, "Shut up and close the curtains now!"

"The curtains? But-?"

"Do it now! Or I swear I will kill you!"

The few moments it took for him to obey my hysterical command felt like an eternity to my burning body. The flames licked my skin like the attentions of an unwanted lover. Then it was over.

Shade. Shade. The intense burning stopped building and instead just held steady as my body struggled to catch up to the fact that it had been horribly injured. I collapsed, but the contact of skin against rug brought another pained cry tearing from my mouth. My skin felt like someone had poured a gallon of boiling wax on it and rubbed t in real well. I couldn't make it stop, but I could get away. At least for a short while.

Already I felt my consciousness separate from the scene. It was a strange feeling. I felt like I was watching everything from a point of view outside my body. The pain was still present but distant, until Michael touched me. I screamed and he didn't touch me again.

I don't really remember much of what happened next, but I remember my body beginning to shake as my anxiety shot through the roof. It got even more difficult to breathe then it already was as I began hyperventilating. I felt light headed and dizzy. Voices spoke but I only remember catches, phrases, and the random exclamation.

"…Good God!"

"…just started screaming…"

"…going into shock…"

"Can you hear me? Stay awake."

"…two, three!"

Intense pain streaked through my body and I moaned in agony. The elevator ride down to the lobby wasn't so bad I guess. But I forgot that in order to get to the ambulance obviously waiting outside, I'd have to go outside. Back into the sunlight. Of course, I naturally didn't realize that fact until the bright rays hit my face and I screamed again. Suddenly a coat was thrown over my face and the pain receded somewhat. At least my screams turned to moans. That was something at least.

I remember the ride in the ambulance. Trust me when I say ambulances are not the cool, comfy rides you imagine them to be when you're a child. On the contrary. It is in fact the most uncomfortable abomination ever to be invented. You feel ever frickin' bump in the road while the driver speeds down the streets around cars that refuse to cede the right of way to the siren-blaring vehicle. Meanwhile, inside the speeding, sire-blaring vehicle, you're bombarded by voices telling you to stay awake, answer basic questions like "what's your name" and "Do you know what day it is." A mask is placed over my nose and mouth and everything after that is blurry.


A/n: Well, I hope that was satisfying. Please tel me what you think. Enjoy.

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