IXI

Haruka inflamed him.

Ayato hated it. He hated the way his body reacted to her presence, hated the way the very sight of her sent his mind into a tailspin. It was confusing, utterly bewildering; on top of everything else he was dealing with it was completely unwanted.

But that didn't change the fact that it existed.

What was it about her, he tried so very often to discern, that did this to him? Was it the innocent allure she exuded –the childishness that lurked behind the warm chocolate of her eyes, a naivete that by all rights someone her age should have by now lost? Or was it the careful way she treated him, like he was an artifact just found that had been deemed for eons irretrievable?

No answer came. No answer ever came. And so things progressed, he the boy on the threshold of manhood and she the woman hiding a child somewhere deep inside, both watching, both waiting.

For what, he didn't know.

It grew harder to ignore. At times, watching her work and noticing the stray fall of hair across her brow or noticing the way her eyes darkened when under duress, he would feel a wave of almost overwhelming longing; it was an urge to touch her, to hold her, and it was a feeling he was almost certain he'd had before. But that was impossible, wasn't it? And at other times he'd notice the pleasing curves of her body, the way she moved with an unconscious sensual grace, and something in his lower regions would tighten with lust, with hunger, and he'd have to leave her company in order to gain some method of control over his body.

It was torment, and sometimes he despaired.

But other times, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, Ayato knew that this wasn't a terrible thing. Somehow he knew he was meant to experience this, and so much more that remained beyond his grasp.

How to attain what more beckoned was the true mystery.

IXI