I am orange. The orange is me. Sometimes I just whatever. This is GPS at 3 A.M.

Thanks you readers and reviewers, you guys really make my day. I'm glad people are showing interest in this fic and I hope you'll continue to do so.

This fanfiction is hereby disclaimed.

"A present? Hmm... then, how about a kiss?"

Akashi could feel something press onto his lips, slightly dry and chapped, slightly trembling and nervous, but he really wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

His eyed opened and greeted the wide, chocolate-colored ones in front of him, and the reddened face that resembled a strawberry the more he looked. Since Akashi was always the one to initiate this kind of thing, he hadn't actually expected it, so he was reveling in the feeling.

"Aka... S-Seijuurou-kun!" the brunette stuttered, pulling out a small box from his pocket and placing it into his hands. "Merry Christmas and H-Happy Birthday!" the voice was reduced to a shy, quiet mumble to say,"...I love you."

At that moment, the redhead swore his heart was going to overflow.

He couldn't help but lean in for another kiss.

Akashi hadn't yet noticed, but recently, he'd been dreaming more often.

A bit of sleep was still necessary for Cupids in the realms, refreshing their minds and bodies (especially their bodies) which were hardly durable enough to take the strain of their abilities and everyday tasks. Some just made it through days and nights on end without so much as a wink of sleep, until they exhausted themselves to the brink and were forced to comply to their weary bodies' pleads. Some, when they weren't working, would spend their time only sleeping–simply going through the motions. And some, like Akashi, would take it in moderation whenever they felt it was needed.

Since the beginning of his time here, however, he had hardly ever dreamt.

The waves of slumber would come naturally, and he'd see nothing when he shut his eyes and blocked all white-noise from his ears except the usual silence-filled darkness. Then, he'd wake up slightly groggy with a few hours taken from the day and continue on.

What was strange was that, lately, in place of the darkness came vivid, brightly-colored images. All the mental pictures drawn were unfamiliar to him, yet they would give him a slight sense of déjà vu that he, like many things recently, didn't understand.

In these frequent visions he'd been having, it always started out with him, alone in a big, empty room decorated in a faded monochrome. And next, the same person would always appear through the one small door on the wall adjacent to him. Their face and voice were the two things Akashi could never quite make out, even though everything else was crystal-clear.

He'd be pulled out of that room, out into a blindingly white void that starkly contrasted that dreary, gloomy space he'd previously occupied. The hand holding his would urge him on, and that barren landscape would slowly fill with all sorts of places stained and tinged in pastel lighting.

He and that mysterious stranger would go through them.

These dreams always seemed to last a long time. It felt as if hours and hours were spent walking and running, and conversing about simple things that didn't really matter, yet neither one of them cared that they didn't.

Near the end, when the time was up, dream-Akashi would smile at the figure. Through the blurry mosaic on the stranger's face, he could just barely make out the same kind of expression given back to him. And for that time, Akashi would feel something in his heart tingle.

But of course, all good dreams always draw to a close. Akashi would himself be lifted from the ground, high above that other person who would, without a doubt, start to softly cry. They'd say something; Akashi couldn't tell what it was, but he could see their mouth forming obscure shapes. Inexplicably, he himself would feel droplets sliding down his face as well, all the way until he disappeared into dark grey clouds which had previously been creamy, ivory puffs in the sky. Sometimes, instead of just tears, he'd noticed he was bleeding as well, though nothing really changed as a result.

When he woke up, Akashi barely remembered he had these dreams. Only faint recollections remained, though as the day went on, more and more of them would be forgotten, buried away deep in the crevices of his mind like an unopened, abandoned time-capsule. Eventually, the entire thing would disappear, until the entire cycle would repeat itself a day or two later and he'd be left feeling that sense of almost-recognition once again.

Akashi had never liked dreams for much of his human life. It didn't matter whether they were horrifying nightmares or imaginative delusions that played to his each and every whim. In his opinion, it might've been that "good" dreams were actually the worse of the two. Nightmares may be scary, but Akashi disliked the fact that once you wake up from your wonderful fantasy land, reality comes back that much harder and reminds you once more that life can be a tedious, terrifying, and sad thing, and perhaps that might be the real nightmare.

If not for the event that had occurred on and after the eighth of November one certain year, Akashi might've lived the rest of his relatively short life feeling this way.

The Demon's "life", as of now, is being spent over some paperwork detailing the request of several humans that needed their strings cut before they started wreaking havoc. Uncut, unsuccessful strings left alone for too long often leads to things like domestic violence or stalkers, which are obviously not something anyone would like to deal with.

His eyes and pen quickly glided over the paperwork, respectively scanning the words and making the decisions as to which Demon should cut what string. The Cupid synchronizing factor worked both ways, after all.

Like most of the times he was swamped with work, Akashi wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting in his armchair, assigning names to tasks and transporting the files into cabinets of the other Devils. It was all a very organized, complicated process, though he still completed all he had to do within several hours instead of the entire day as some had predicted.

The redhead took a glance at the clock while speculating about how many here had lost their concept of time. In the next ninety-five years–just ninety if he continued to service as a Squad Leader–he wondered if he too would become apathetic toward the ticking sounds or hour hand that looked to be moving just a bit too slow over the course of the day. If he'd stop ripping pages from that year's calendar copied from the human world, and just continue working until the higher-ups would one day fly in and tell him his time was finally over.

Those thoughts didn't last long due to the fact that Akashi was generally a very busy man.

At the twentieth hour of the day, he would be greeting and taking over new recruits and converts that had been forced upon him. He wouldn't be teaching them himself as he already had far too much to deal with to be able to spend time with something like that, but he'd assess them and assign mentors and such. At least, unless he found them not up to his standards (which was most of the time something like this happened).

Until then, he had four hours, two or three of which were scheduled to be spent on Earth watching Furihata and cutting threads, and the remaining time to do whatever he wanted.

He sent a messenger to ask to meet about an hour later, in the mean time picking a fresh book from the shelves and then moving to the sofa.

The allotted time passed while he turned away at the pages. Soon, the grandfather clock near his desk sounded, informing him that his private reading session was over and it was time to go meet Furihata. Akashi slipped a makeshift bookmark in between the pages he hadn't finished reading and made his way into the hall.

It didn't take long for him to reach the place they'd been meeting for the last three months.

Time spent with his new brunette companion seemed to breeze by quickly.

The Angel had lost the initial awkwardness from their first few meetings, like the eyes being averted and the flinching whenever Akashi made contact with him; he actually seemed to welcome it. At some moments, when the shorter male became a bit too relaxed or when Akashi could coax it from him in a subtle way, he'd let small facts about their past lives slip. Furihata would always be silent after realizing he did, but it didn't take long to return to his usual self.

Things Akashi had gotten from these types of conversations included that he used to be somewhat conscious about his height (Furihata would laugh if he knew Akashi still was), that he really enjoyed playing Shogi and Go and Chess, and that his favorite food was something like tofu. He'd also accidentally mentioned that Akashi seemed to come from a wealthy family–something which the Demon could easily envision.

By now, Furihata was able to do work a lot more efficiently after having built up some resistance to all of it in the last few weeks. He could stay in the human world longer, do what he needed to do faster, and be less tired at the end of the day.

Thanks to that, though Akashi protested, the brunette would always ask to spend a few more minutes in that realm. Against his better judgment, Akashi would agree, though the smile that lit up the other's face sort of made up for it. Akashi wasn't sure if he was just starved for companionship, though if he was, then it explained that small jumble of emotions every time he was dragged into some park or store while the brunette pointed out all the little things he'd never bothered to look at.

It was too bad the time never seemed to be enough.

There was mainly one large drawback of Furihata having gained control of his powers: he'd become an even bigger target for lurking monsters. The phrase, "moths to a flame" would describe the situation day-to-day, and it was still escalating. Akashi wasn't sure exactly what made the Angel in particular so sought after; there had been many other Seraphs and Devils with similar conditions and none had been hunted for like this. It was why no more than a few extra minutes could be spent wandering.

Due to that same quality of purity in his soul, however, the couples Furihata brought together seemed to have a high success rate, even though they were still in early stages. Or maybe it was because he was oh-so insistent on making sure they were near-perfect for each other. As much as Akashi wanted to scoff at the idea of this kind of this as he'd done before, he had to admit that the other's efforts held some merit.

Akashi sat on a fallen pillar, waiting for the Angel to arrive so they could go. A few minutes lazily passed by, but soon, Like always, Akashi saw the red string around his pinky wavering and those glowing white wings from a distance. Immediately, he knew it could be no one else. The person he'd been waiting for arrived with a slightly lopsided, out of breath grin and mussed-up hair from flying in a crooked path. He may have been better with his matchmaking skills, but aerial maneuvers still seemed to escape him. The taller man had to stifle a small chuckle at the thought, especially after the additional memory of Furihata crashing headfirst into the ground at one time.

A peach-toned hand extended itself in front of the red-eyed man, so he grabbed it and helped hoist his body up. He noticed that Furihata's hands always seemed a bit cold–just the opposite of his which were a bit warmer than most. The cool feeling on his palms was somehow calming, somehow nostalgic, and somehow familiar.

"Shall we go?" the brunette asked, releasing his hold, his fingertips just barely brushing against Akashi's. That brief second of tranquility vanished.

Akashi almost sighed when it left, but settled for replying, "Of course, Kouki", and trailing after the smiling brunette.

The other's back was something he'd seen a lot lately, after having to follow him around and all. Furihata would run out in front and spur him on, and Akashi would give chase. But why now did he wish the other would turn around? Or maybe to wrap his arms around that silhouette which looked to be just a tad bit lonely, even in company–in his company.

Like flying for Furihata, realizations and epiphanies weren't Akashi's strong points, it seems. After all, it'd taken these entire last three months to become aware that the influx of new emotions he was constantly experiencing around the Seraph weren't what he should be feeling for a mere friend. Perhaps the longing for the touch of that chilled skin on his was a bit… "Strange". And maybe his curiosity was taking left turns toward things that should've been irrelevant, yet one way or another, they've became important.

Well, they really weren't his strong points, because even now, Akashi still hadn't considered that what he was feeling might've been the very thing he hadn't believed in just months prior.

Still, his loudly beating heart and heated face were becoming problems–at least to him. For all of his intelligence and wisdom, his ignorance toward this one subject led him to question whether or now transcended beings could catch the flu or a cold, even though the very thought was preposterous. Maybe he'd consult Shintarou; the green-haired man always resembled the doctor type. Or Atsushi or Tetsuya since those two were always good listeners. Or maybe he'd soon understand that the affliction wasn't a disease and that something wasn't wrong with him.

Maybe soon, he'd recognize that it might simply be affection.

God knows how long it might take for him to realize it might be love.

Thank you for reading~