A/N: Happy New Year, readers! I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter-I really had difficulty deciding where I wanted to go. Or rather, I knew what I originally wanted, but the story demanded something else. I really appreciate your patience, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait. Thanks for all your reviews-they're really helpful, and very encouraging!

Warnings for: strong language, and somewhat-spoilers for Rou Adayume.

=o=o=o=

Doumeki is running.

He had been sleeping in his bed, next to his wife, whose belly has only recently started to grow around their developing son. Dinner had been good, and the night was warm, so they'd both fallen asleep easily. The crickets had been chirping, the wind chimes on their porch were ringing softly in the summer breeze, and all had been peaceful.

Until, sometime before midnight, Doumeki had woken up with a cold sweat running down his back and Watanuki's name on his lips. He'd sat up with a start, and then stifled a gasp at the unexpected touch of his wife's hand on his arm. She'd looked up at him with those large, luminous eyes, their clarity untouched by the haze of recent sleep.

"Something's wrong," he had told her.

She had merely nodded once, with a solemnity that scared even him. "Go."

And so Doumeki is running, sweat beading off his forehead and above his upper lip. His sandals sound like gunshots in his ears as they slap against the pavement, his heartbeat thumping to a frantic sing-song in his ears: Wata-nuki, Wata-nuki. He rounds the corner to the shop, that familiar gate beckoning him in, and he carelessly kicks his sandals off in the front yard.

Doumeki can't find Mokona, doesn't hear Maru or Moro, and the vague feeling of terror that woke him from his sleep intensifies with each passing second. He runs along the hallways, blindly searching, afraid of what he'll find but feeling an old, familiar dread bouncing around in his stomach. He thinks if he doesn't get there in time, Watanuki will—

No, he can't let himself think it. He won't consider the possibility. Doumeki throws open doors, scans the kitchen, the bath, Watanuki's bedroom, and he begins to fear Watanuki has gone somewhere Doumeki cannot follow when he realizes there is still one place he hasn't checked. Doumeki rushes to the very back of the shop, where a four-sided ward has been set up, giving off bright, blinding light in every direction. Doumeki knows full well the consequences of disrupting that ward, but he rips one of the panels aside anyway, wincing and biting back a curse at the hot, sharp flash of pain running down his hand and arm, his palm seared where the panel frame had touched his skin. And there, once the light has died down, is Watanuki, face down on the floor.

Doumeki turns him over, his index and middle fingers going immediately to Watanuki's throat. He blinks, frowns, and then repositions his fingers, but Doumeki can only hear his own pulse thundering in his ears. "No." The word falls from his lips before he can stop it, then repeats itself in a near-hysteric, breathless mantra. He hasn't resuscitated anyone since that time in high school, when a freshman fainted during an archery club meeting, but his body more or less remembers the motions. He breathes into Watanuki's slack mouth, presses down rhythmically onto Watanuki's chest; his hands start to get tired, and he's sure whole minutes have passed since he started, but Doumeki doesn't stop until he finally hears the weak cough, followed by a wet, desperate gasp for air.

=o=o=o=

Watanuki wakes from what feels like a long, confusing, messy fever-dream. It hurts to breathe, for some reason, and there's an odd noise coming from somewhere above him. His eyes feel heavy but he struggles to open them, habitually reaching out a weak hand to look for his glasses before belatedly remembering he doesn't need them now—hasn't needed them for some time, if he's honest.

"Where…?" His voice is rough and cracking, like he needs water. It takes him a few more seconds to realize someone is holding him. There are strong arms around his waist, a familiar scent wafting enticingly through the air. The person holding him says nothing, but frankly, as far as Watanuki is concerned, that's par for the course. Watanuki reaches up to those broad shoulders, hating the fact that, just now, he needs the extra support to haul himself up into a sitting position.

"Doum'ki… Let—ugh, let go, you big moron." Watanuki coughs and clears his throat, feeling a little unsteady, pushing at Doumeki's shoulders. The other man keeps his head lowered, the position obscuring his face, and it's starting to make Watanuki uncomfortable. "I didn't think you needed affection this badly," Watanuki remarks dryly, intending to break the ice, but Doumeki suddenly lets out a breath that sounds distinctly, unmistakably like a sob.

When Doumeki lifts his head, his dark eyes are bloodshot, his lashes still spiked with tears. "You weren't fucking breathing," he spits out. "You weren't breathing, you idiot. I ran all the way here to find you stuck in that goddamn ward of yours—" he points to the broken panel some feet away, and a distant part of Watanuki mourns the loss of the woodwork, "—I forced it open, hauled you out and you were dead. Your heart had stopped, and—" Doumeki pauses, his breath hitching dangerously, his chest heaving. "I didn't—you were—you just…"

Watanuki reaches out to smooth Doumeki's hair back from his sweat-slicked forehead, then strokes his head slowly. He moves a little at a time so as not to startle the other man, eventually folding Doumeki into his arms while Doumeki trembles against him, his otherwise quiet, erratic breathing occasionally punctuated by a great big sniffling sob, rough fingers tangling themselves into the back of Watanuki's borrowed kimono. Watanuki says nothing, but he presses his lips against the crown of Doumeki's head, one hand still stroking his hair, while the other is firmly clutching the fabric of Doumeki's nightshirt.

Some time passes before they can pull apart and look each other in the eye.

"I fucked up," Watanuki states honestly, and Doumeki nods. At that reproving look, Watanuki winces a little. "I worried Kohane-chan, too, didn't I?"

"You did." Doumeki's voice is low and still carrying vestiges of anger, one eyebrow cocked at an impressively terrifying angle. "It isn't good for her in her condition, you know."

Watanuki winces again, bowing slightly. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll—I'll make some of those pickles she likes, the next time you drop by."

Doumeki snorts at that, drawing his legs up as he sits back on his palms. "We're still trying to finish all that food you've been making nonstop for the past three months."

"She's pregnant!" Watanuki explodes, sniffing haughtily as he sits upright. "I doubt your useless brain knows what to feed her, and she needs nutritious meals packed full of vitamins!" He draws more breath to continue his petty argument, but Doumeki leans forward and cups Watanuki's cheek in his large, rough palm, startling Watanuki into obedient silence. Doumeki stares at him for some time, his eyes dark and painfully unreadable, until finally, he speaks.

"Don't you ever—ever—pull that shit on me again."

Watanuki looks straight at him, his gaze clear and direct. "I'll try my best not to."

Doumeki studies him in favor of giving a response, noting the blue and gold eyes framed by straight lashes, looking right into his own without fear, and without embarrassment. His cheekbones are more prominent than they used to be, but they still sweep down into the smooth jaw and the rounded-off chin. He's still so beautiful; he still reminds Doumeki of something fleeting and unreal, something too wondrous for this world.

Watanuki allows himself to be subject to the intent, searching gaze. He doesn't know exactly what Doumeki is thinking, but he thinks, not for the first time, that he can understand why so many girls have fallen for him. The look on Doumeki's face when he's studying something is almost too serious, but it suits him unbearably well. His black brows furrow over his straight nose, and his full lip—oh, at one time that lip could send Watanuki into near convulsions just thinking about it—is pursed in concentration. His bone structure is undeniably masculine and strong, his eyelashes still surprisingly thick over those hypnotically deep-set, golden eyes.

Doumeki's lips part, and his voice is suddenly thin and vulnerable, the words nearly lost in the sound of the crickets chirping in the thick humidity of a balmy summer night, his tone deepened with pain and desperation. "I thought I'd really lost you this time." He can't stop himself from drawing closer, his breath stirring Watanuki's hair as Doumeki uses the hand on Watanuki's cheek to tip his face upwards.

Watanuki blindly grabs for him, one hand managing to find purchase in Doumeki's shirt sleeve, the other stroking his hair. He doesn't have the words, or the time to find the words; he has that forbidden emotion tightening his throat and the steady pulse of desire in his stomach, fear of the unknown in his chest warring with years of staring at that broad back protecting him, wishing all this time that he could do more than just stare. "Doumeki," he whispers, his voice choked up, his eyes sliding shut, and Watanuki closes the distance between them.

When there is only the smallest of spaces between their mouths, Doumeki lets out a pained sound, shaking his head, his eyes squeezed shut. "We can't," he whispers, sounding anguished, but not moving away. Watanuki's eyelashes are brushing his own, and suddenly Doumeki craves him with a vicious, greedy hunger, the sheer strength of it threatening to take away all higher thinking. But he forces himself to speak, because they're not teenagers anymore, and they have reasons not to do this. "I'm…married now."

Watanuki understands, because Doumeki in time learned to love his wife in a fashion, and she grew to love Doumeki in her own way, and Watanuki himself cares for both husband and wife so deeply it hurts. But Doumeki has always, really, been his and Watanuki is trembling in nothing more and nothing less than desire, shot through with the sharp, bitter tang of longing and tempered by the sweet, mindless pulse of lust. "Then—then just," Watanuki whispers back, leaning in further, "just give me this."

Doumeki shudders as Watanuki's lips press against the corner of Doumeki's mouth. It is an almost-kiss which will have to last them years to come, and they hold on to each other for as long as they can stand it.

Watanuki fights with himself not to pressure Doumeki for more, and Doumeki wills himself not to ask for it.

They part ways after Doumeki sees to it that Watanuki is safely in bed, Maru and Moro asleep on either side of him like pastel guardian angels. Doumeki doesn't know where they'd disappeared to earlier, and he doesn't care to find out. Their child-sized arms are wound around their new master, their brows wrinkled even as they sleep, and Watanuki smiles ruefully as he looks down at them. "Seems like I worried a lot of people tonight."

Doumeki raises a brow and looks elsewhere, but his lack of words does nothing to hide the obvious lingering disapproval in his stance.

"Doumeki…" Watanuki's voice is soft as he pleads, for once, just a bit, looking up at his one-time rival. "I said I was sorry."

Doumeki lets out a breath, folding his arms and shifting his weight from one leg to the other before he finally appears to let the topic go. "Yeah. Well, I'm going home. Make sure you rest. And eat properly." His words are brusque, but his strict orders only make his genuine, underlying concern more obvious. "I won't let her come by if you're not taking care of yourself."

Watanuki snorts, the very picture of disdain with his eyes half-lidded and his brows raised. "You aren't her keeper, you giant moron. This isn't feudal Japan." All at once, though, the earlier fatigue returns, and he lets the expression slip as he curls into his blankets, eyes shutting against his will.

Doumeki nods, satisfied, and turns to go. Silhouetted by starlight in the doorway, he looks over his shoulder. "I'll see you later."

There is no reply as he slides the bedroom door closed.

=o=o=o=

"I'm exhausted."

Kohane laughs even as she slides a steaming hot breakfast in front of her disgruntled, unshaven husband. "But wasn't it worth it?" she half-teases him, and Doumeki raises his head to level her with a blank, sleepy stare.

"This won't be the last time," Kohane says, suddenly turning serious. "You'll do it again."

Immediately he thinks of the not-kiss, and Doumeki blinks, guilt running hotly through his veins and startling him fully awake. "Do...what again?"

Doumeki's wife looks at him across the low table, her hands folded over each other, her large eyes crystal clear. "You'll rescue him."

Doumeki considers her words, and sets down his chopsticks. "Will he let me?"

Kohane says nothing, and looks away.