The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins.

O

It was hot, for spring.

Muggy and uncomfortable. There was a haze over everything, distorted wisps that lingered in the air like tendrils of smoke.

She swiped a thin hand across her forehead, shrugging the jacket more securely around her shoulders. It was hot…but perhaps this had more to do with her attire than the actual temperature. The people around her— salarymen rushing off to catch trains, students milling about with friends, harried mothers making last minute trips downtown for milk…her eyes went glassy at that last sight— did not seem particularly bothered by the heat.

She closed her eyes, griping the rubber ball in her hands.

She was too easily distracted. It had always been her greatest weakness.

Through the drone of crowds and traffic she could not even hear her whispered words, but even mouthing them gave her strength. She opened her eyes, gazing between the bodies around her in grim determination.

He was still there, hair slicked back away from his forehead, the same as it had been in the demon city. His cloths were the same too, the same bottle green blazer and slacks, the same scowling, sullen expression that appeared to be his trademark. There was a cigarette hanging from his lips, and his dark eyes lazily scanned the crowd—

She looked away, heart pounding.

Had he seen…?

Beneath her cloths, the sutras she'd taped to her skin prickled. She resisted the urge to scratch, instead taking a deep breath, willing herself to calm before chancing another look across the street.

He was (thankfully) looking away, idly blowing smoke rings into the air. Just…standing there. Was he waiting for someone? She felt herself relax.

It was easier like this, when he wasn't facing her. His gaze was too sharp, and she wondered, not for the first time that day, if he was aware of her. …if he was, he wasn't letting on, but even so, she'd kept her distance, watching between four lanes of traffic and the bodies that lined the streets and curbs. The brief snapshots of his life were strangely telling:

A school aged boy leaning against the wall of a building, languidly watching the world go by through dark, hooded eyes.

Walking, shoulders hunched, with no apparent destination in mind.

Passing, uninhibited, through the seedier parts of the city to play video poker…

She had not thought, initially, that things would be this complicated. Things were not supposed to be this complicated. But nothing was the way it was supposed to be. Yuusuke was not what he was supposed to be. And now, with the sudden reappearance of—

She drew a shaky breath, tasting diesel and iron on the air, cradling the ball to her chest before looking up again for Yuusuke's figure.

He wasn't there.

He wasn't there. She panicked, spinning around, bumping into disgruntled pedestrians, frantically searching between bodies. She could not differate between the feel of humans, and with this many around it was impossible to—

There.

A flash of green. Between clusters of people she could just make out his figure lounging against a street lamp. His back was to her, head cocked indolently to the side. She released the breath she'd been holding, gripping the ball, shoulders sagging. Her back had began to ache, and she rolled her shoulders absently, keeping her eyes glued to the figure of the boy.

The tilt of his body suggested he was speaking with someone, but between the cars and crowds this was difficult to discern. It was a passing thought, and mostly irrelevant, she decided, biting her lip. She had been avoiding it so far today— partly to conserve strength, and partly for reasons she did not wish to examine too closely— but after such a scare, putting it off any longer seemed an option she could not afford. She looked away from his slouching form, concentrating instead on the area above his head.

There was nothing, still.

Just as there had been nothing over him that day in the demon city.

She had made her excuses. Thought up every possible scenario that would explain such a thing. But here, now, in broad daylight, away from the distractions of demons and danger and surrounded by humans, there was nothing she could think of that would cause such an absence as this.

This was not supposed to happen. This was…

…what was she supposed to do? She had not been prepared to deal with such a variance of norm. It was not supposed to be this way, was it? She had never run across such a thing! She pushed fingers to her temple, scattering bangs before narrowing her eyes, pushing every fiber of effort she had into her gaze. She could not fail. She had to make absolutely certain…

If not for the fact that, from her peripheral vision, she could make out the brilliant blob of color hanging over everyone in her line of sight, she might have thought she'd done it wrong, that perhaps she wasn't properly concentrating. As it was, she was probably concentrating too hard, because Yuusuke was suddenly straightening, glancing suspiciously over his shoulder—

And she got a clear view of who he was talking to.

The shock of claret hair, something like fresh blood, was enough to turn her stomach.

She turned and ran.

She ran until her lungs burned, clutching the ball to her chest like a life jacket. She couldn't breathe. Colors bled and swam till she could no longer make sense of them all, and in her panicked state she could not turn them off. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to stop—

Stop.

Stop!

The feel of humans danced across her psyche, bold and salient.

She could not sense him.

Just as she hadn't been able to sense him in the demon city.

She swayed, felt something like a tidal wave build within her.

She could not sense him.

He had been right across the street and she hadn't felt anything—

Her breath came in raspy sobs. Her throat burned. Her eyes burned. The sutras were burning—

Her eyes popped open.

The fingers that gripped the ball were paper pale, and against the shadows of the afternoon she thought she saw the faintest glow. She must get a hold of herself. She was making a scene, drawing unnecessary attention, and even in human society that was never a good thing. She kept her gaze fixed on her fingers, ignoring the blaring colors that danced just at the edges of her eyes, and tried to think.

He had not seen.

He couldn't have seen. There were too many people around. There was no way—

She felt something - sweat or tears- drip down the tip of her chin. She was okay. She was safe. She was fine. She would be fine. He would not find her. He wouldn't catch her again. She wasn't like she used to be. And anyway…anyway, by now she was a good- she took a gulping breath -a good distance away and…

…and she had absolutely no idea where he was, she realized. He could be anywhere and she'd never know, had no way of feeling him out. She could walk right into him on the street—

She threw an anxious look around, immediately regretting it as her vision kaleidoscoped. Trembling, she shut her eyes. The crowds that had once camouflaged her were now the enemy. It was impossible to tell where he might be…who he might be.

Could he shape shift?

Twice now she'd seen him as a red-haired youth. It was not an ability she'd known the demon to possess, but even more frightening was the fact that he felt completely human, was indistinguishable from them—

Did Yuusuke know what he was?

It had been nearly two months since she'd followed Yuusuke into the demon city. Miraculously, she'd seen no sign of the demon since then, and as the weeks passed, when he still had not appeared, she'd begun to think…to hope that maybe he wouldn't; that maybe he had lost interest. Or maybe he just didn't know where she was. She had learned a few things about concealment over the years, had gotten better at not being seen—

Or maybe, that frightful part of her interjected, it was none of these reasons. Maybe the demon was simply letting her think she had escaped. He had let her slip away in the demon city because he had known he'd be able to find her later. At his leisure.

Uninterrupted.

She pressed knuckles to her lips, muffling the scream that threatened to rise up.

It wasn't true.

It wasn't true because if it was, it would not have taken sixteen years for their paths to cross again. He was…meticulous in his dealings. The first and only time she'd run away, he'd—

She felt the temperature shift, felt the kiss of a sulfur laced breeze as a vehicle droned past, and she realized that in her distraction she had wandered dangerously close to the curb.

He had not seen her, she thought again. He had not. She had only to repeat the words and they would come true. Say them with conviction!, she thought fiercely.

He had not seen.

He had not seen.

If she said it enough, she might even come to believe it.

She ducked into the very next store she came to, swinging open the glass doors with perhaps a little too much force. The muffled giggles to her left had her immediately aware of the attention her behavior was garnering, of how she must appear; a thin, sallow girl, wild eyed and windblown, clutching a child's toy to her chest. She looked close enough like a human youth that her actions could hopefully be brushed off as immaturity. Still, it wouldn't do to take chances, so she forced her steps to slow, forced the death grip she had on the ball to loosen, and concentrated instead on keeping her eyes focused, on not wincing at the lingering onslaught of colors, on not bumping into anything in the small store.

The aisles were narrow. She had to squeeze by what she guessed was the clerk, a wiry man dressed in an oversized vest holding a broom, who seemed more interested in watching the girls beside the door than sweeping. He did not even glance her way as she slipped past.

In all she counted eight people; the three giggling girls hovering near the door, the clerk, and four others she couldn't see from her current position. But the colors that flickered above the aisles did not match the demon's, and she felt some of the tension leave her.

He was not here.

She could have cried in relief. She wanted to collapse on the floor and recite a hundred mantras in gratitude. Instead, she buried her face into the ball and tried to piece together her nerves. Her nose was running terribly and her vision like a prism, but away from the rush of people, the colors had finally begun to fade, and she felt the first signs of fatigue trickling through. She would stay here for a bit, perhaps thirty minutes or so. Surely by then the demon would be gone from the area. He had never been one to stay in one place for very long.

She did not like crowds. There were too many people, too many energies to sift through at once. On the rare occasions she went out, her excursions had always been in brief, small doses, and never this stressful...

She cast anxious eyes towards the glass doors, nearly dropping the ball when a pair of dark brown eyes stared back. Panicked, she looked away, only to glance nervously back.

One of the girls was watching her.

Just a girl, she told herself. Just a normal girl. A normal human girl. With as much casualty as she could muster, she forced herself to turn away, staring unseeing at the books that lined the aisles, trying to remember if she had accidentally touched anyone upon entering. She couldn't remember. She didn't think she had. The sleeves of her jacket reached well below her wrists, preventing such a thing. The only visible skin was her face and neck—

-or maybe that was it. Maybe the girl was just staring at her clothes…which were admittedly odd in such weather. A surreptitious glance between lashes proved the girl had already lost interest, was back to chatting with her companions.

She exhaled.

It wasn't the end, she knew. If she were going to keep going out like this— and she would have to, if she wanted to get to Yuusuke— she would have to try to fit in, attract as little attention as possible. Researching the clothing of this decade had not been something she'd considered. …not that she'd be going out much anyway, what with the demon lurking about—

She pressed the ball to her chest. The ache in her back grew into a dull throb.

There was music playing overhead; something soft and inconsequential, but she found herself listening regardless, reluctantly lulled and noticing for the first time the type of books around her. Not for reading, she guessed, wiping her dripping nose with the back of her sleeve, because most of them bore the strange little symbols that denoted music. She wondered which of the symbols, if any, were used in the song playing. It sounded terribly complicated in some parts—

"It's lovely, isn't it?" a voice behind her remarked, and she felt herself start. She hadn't felt—

Jerking around, she came face to face with a puce colored uniform. A student.

Who had claret hair.

Her body went still as stone.

"Hello," said the demon very softly.

Her vision blanked. She felt the blood drain from her face. Felt the fragile calm she'd built crumble and break away. She was going to faint. She could already feel her mind slipping—

"I'm sorry," the demon murmured. His breath stirred her hair as he spoke. "You left me little choice, you understand."

He moved then, stepping deliberately closer, and with a sob she staggered back. He was on her again before she could recover, close enough that his arm actually grazed her shoulder, close enough that a lock of blood red hair brushed against her cheek. She jerked away, flailing, nearly knocking into a cassette display. The aisles were too narrow to attempt to go around him, and she could not predict what he'd do if she tried. The only way to go was back.

Always back!

Too late she realized what he was doing, that his feints had an actual purpose. Everything he did had a purpose. He was herding her, but by the time she realized this she was already stumbling through the doorway of the dimly lit stockroom.

He stopped several paces in, but she continued moving, past crates and boxes and dusty instruments, till her back hit a wall and she could move no more.

The seconds ticked by.

Horrible, numbing seconds where her mind refused to work and her limbs felt locked in place. What, she wondered? What happens now? Eyes darted around, looking anywhere but him—

No! No, she must keep him in her sights above all else. There was no Yuusuke around this time to slay the demon—

It struck her suddenly that perhaps he had been this close all along, trailing her as she had trailed Yuusuke today. Perhaps even longer than that. How many weeks…months had gone by with her blissfully unaware of his presence? How many times had she passed him on the street? How many times had he gotten this close without her realizing...?

Her breath turned gasping.

"Yoritsune Matsudaira,Mouvements circulaires," he said. She caught the glint of teeth as he spoke. Smooth. Flat. Like a human's.

"…what you were listening to," he clarified slowly.

She could not think. Fingers clawed into the wall behind her. She felt her nails bend but there was no pain. She almost wished there was. It would give her something to focus on, an anchor to ground herself with. Less than two meters away, the demon watched through hooded, speculative eyes. He was holding a case, the leather satchels students carried with them to school. In the dim light of the room, his hair shone red as a sunset.

"I'd wondered what became of you," he murmured. "Being trapped there all alone… you must have thought I'd abandoned you."

Green eyes studied her face.

"Or perhaps you thought me dead." He seemed vaguely amused by this. Lips curled up into a phantom smile that had her breath hitching violently, had her knees colliding with the floor.

The smile disappeared.

"Toriko," he called.

It was everything and nothing all at once. It was a summons. It was a chide. It was pain and sorrow and anger and desire and it was not her name.

The demon's brow furrowed.

"Yes," he said suddenly, softly, as though he'd heard her thoughts. Or perhaps he'd read them in her face. He had always been good at reading faces. "But you've never given me your name, I'm afraid." She could not tell if he was speaking frankly or if he'd meant it as a reprimand.

Ultimately, it did not matter.

Her fingers clawed but the ball was gone. Lost somewhere in the confusion, no doubt, but she did not remember dropping it. She felt naked without it; patently lost, and she gripped the cuffs of her oversized jacket, breathing through clenched teeth. She could smell the memory of blood on the air, thick and heady—

"I am called Shuuichi."

His voice was melodic and even, like the undisturbed surface of a lake. She kept her eyes lowered, forced herself to focus on his feet. To think. It was impossible to concentrate with him this close, and in truth, trying to outthink him was, perhaps in itself, an impossibility. But the freedom of the past sixteen years, even tainted as they were, and the thought of losing it, of going back to before—

She felt something rise within her— more sob than laugh, and she rose shakily to her feet, sliding her body against the wall. Her head felt too heavy for her shoulders, and the shadows around the room seemed to alternately spin and blur.

She could not fight him.

She could not fight him because she had already tried that once and—

She shook her head, trying to shake the sudden lethargy that had settled over her, staring again at his feet. His feet, clad in burnished shoes black as a beetle's shell. Shoes that were currently lifting, stepping forward—

She jerked, eyes lifting frantically to his face.

There was a glint of satisfaction there, and she realized belatedly, that, once again he had been herding her. That the modicum of control she had, that even the spontaneity of her responses- was just an illusion. How many of her actions in the past had he orchestrated? How many of her reactions had been genuine?

The demon watched her, unblinking. Taking stock, she thought bitterly.

Or waiting, something whispered in her head. He looked like he was waiting for something, and the sudden thought made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. But she found herself similarly studying him, warily mapping out the differences to the face in her memories.

Most obvious was the hair. Claret, as though he'd dipped the silver locks in a pool of blood, but there were other changes, too. Rounded features. An undefined jaw. A slimmer build. Back in the demon city she had not paid much attention to his appearance. He had called her that name, and he had spoken, and she'd known him. The package was wrapped differently but its core was unchanged. Now as she looked at him, the significance of this new appearance hit her like a sack of bricks.

He looked like a human child. All softness and circles, and weakly, distantly, she acknowledged that it was the perfect disguise. How easily could he slip through human society looking like this, plundering and pillaging? The visage he wore was decidedly…unassuming.

And he was all the more frightening because of it.

She took a shuddering breath through her mouth and felt her mind fuzz. At the same time she realized that something was horribly, horribly wrong. The air tasted sweet, like crushed honeysuckles on ice, and somehow the demon's blurred form was closer. Too close. A mere arms length away.

Waiting. He had been waiting.

She opened her mouth- perhaps to scream – but what came out was a strangled grunt. The smile he gave her was almost kind.

"It's alright. Just a mild sedative. It will help calm you down."

She tried not to think of what he might mean.

She could not fight him, she thought again.

She could not fight him because she could not win.

But she would try.

Later, she would wonder if this too had been a calculated move on his part, if he had perhaps predicted her reaction beforehand. She struck; palm flat, elbow bent, just like the monks who practiced kata before morning prayer. Her limbs were slow and awkward; lifting her arm was like wading through frozen tofu- and she could already tell that she'd completely gotten the angle wrong, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter the strength or the force behind it, anyway.

Bare skin, she thought gritting her teeth, aiming for his face. She had only to touch bare skin—

There was a smack as her hand made contact, along with the familiar tingle that always accompanied touch. The quick pant of breath—

And then there were warm fingers threading with her own, and she was staring at the appendage in muted, distorted horror. He was touching her.

He was touching her and he did not seem—

The demon watched too, gazing at their entwined hands as though seeing them for the first time. Something passed over his face, a look too quick to properly decipher. The fingers tightened. She winced; then cried out when the pressure increased.

"I remember this…" the demon murmured. He moved forward, till his body was flush against hers, till her back was, once again, pressed into the wall. His breath was warm against her neck, and green eyes weighted with red lashes locked with her own.

She felt a cold sort of dread form in the pit of her stomach.

Because she remembered it, too.

O

A/N: This chapter gave me hell. Literally. I had not intended to take this long to update, but I guess 6 months is better than the previous 8 years. Believe it or not, it actually took all of 6 months to put together these eight pages. This chapter went through so many rewrites and edits that it's not even funny. (I wrote about five different versions) The first two versions of this chapter were actually from Kurama's POV. But I decided it would ultimately work better from an alternate viewpoint. **laughs nervously**

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far, added me to their favorites and or alerts, and who've pm'd me. The encouragement has really been great, and I appreciate you guys sticking with this for so long. ^^ I have UNDYING respect for those authors who can crank out quality chapters in a weeks time.

Cantata, Kai G. Tayuki, Maye, Kuramastrass, Kaori Minamino, THC, Eunnie, Kuro Neko to Kuro Bara, Ride with the Wind, ChibiLady, Kaluria. THANK YOU SO MUCH.