I didn't think you guys would want to miss out on the fun so here we go ;D

The Price:

Prologue

Watanuki sat on the veranda. The smoke from his pipe had long since thinned, now barely a trickle. The liquor and its accompanying two cups sat untouched on their tray. Watanuki didn't notice. His gaze was locked on the front gate.

Doumeki is late.

Trees. The blank sleek panels of glass of the skyscrapers that surrounded the lot that houses the shop. That was all he could see beyond the fence.

For all he can control the sight of their shared eye –

(more and more he has closed Doumeki off from the things he sees. Doumeki doesn't need to see all that he sees. Is better not seeing them)

- it still only goes one way. Doumeki can see what Watanuki sees. But Watanuki cannot see what Doumeki sees.

If there was a time where he wished it was so, that time is now.

Doumeki is late. More than late.

Late enough for Watanuki to send out a butterfly to guide him back.

While he wouldn't put it past the idiot to get lost-

(He never had but there was always a first time for everything. Especially for someone as mentally challenged as Doumeki)

-his unending appetite is usually enough to drag him back to Watanuki in time for a meal.

Dinner was six hours ago. Now night has fallen into the shadow upon shadow of the hours after midnight. Cold and dark.

The butterfly he sent out hasn't returned.

His fingers have chilled. Cold through and stiff. But Watanuki hasn't moved. Hasn't called Moro and Maru for a coat. He stays were he sits, eyes fixed on the empty space between the fence posts.

Mokona sits next to him. Unnaturally silent, eyes on Watanuki.

A faint glow appears beyond the gate. A stuttering flicker of light that barely encompasses the darkness at its centre.

Wings. Tattered and barely functional.

Watanuki is standing without remembering getting up. Eyes fixed on the guttering light.

The butterfly struggles to the gate.

Struggles and fails.

It dissolves. Wings shattering in a thousand pieces that shrivel and combust. When the dying embers extinguish only a faint haze of smoke, broken and fraying, remains.

The chill has entered his blood. His chest feels half frozen and his breath is too-warm on his lips.

Doumeki isn't coming.

~x~X~x~

No, he isn't.

Next piece up in a few days.

~x~X~x~