Don't wake me up, I am still dreaming.

"Hello?" Ikkaku whispered, peering out into the gloom. He blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the low light. He slowly raised his arms and opened his hand, looking down to see that he'd been holding a katana in the air, as if ready to take down an enemy. To his confusion, someone was kneeling in front of him, head down, as if waiting for an execution. Had he been appointed as a kaishakunin?

He turned his head, stretching out, realizing how stiff his limbs were. He'd been asleep for what felt like an eternity. Where was he? He looked around, trying to judge how he'd gotten here. Around him were a few sakura trees, and the ground was littered with petals. On closer inspection, the flowers were made of cloth, and the tree-trunk was painted plaster. In confusion, he looked up from the ground, and immediately he saw a fearsome reflection of a samurai helmet gleaming back at him from a pane of glass. He frowned, putting his hand up on the edge of the glass, peering out into the room. On the opposite wall, there were different glass-blocked cubbies to keep outsiders from leaning inside and touching whoever resided there. Was this a prison?

There were dimly glowing panels on the ceiling, which endlessly confused Ikkaku. Were there candles inside? He could hear nothing but a low buzzing noise that turned out to be his own breath. After five minutes of waiting, seeing that nobody in the other cells had moved a muscle, Ikkaku decided that he was going to go explore. If he was in prison, maybe he could find the warden and ask what he was doing here. Maybe he could escape and find his way back to his order. If he had an order, that is. Ikkaku couldn't remember anything about his own past, only that he had been sleeping for ages.

After squinting for a moment, he could see some odd characters over the doorway that led to the dark hallway beyond. He had never seen letters like that, but for some reason he could read them. 'Ancient Japan.' As he looked around the room, above each glass case, the letters became clear. On the opposite wall, he could read, 'Jomon, Yayoi, Kofun,' on the right wall he could make out, 'Asuka, Nara,' and then on the wall to the left, he could see, 'Sengoku, Azuchi-Momoyama, Edo.' Below each title were some numbers. None of it really made sense. Maybe these were the prisoner's names?

"Hello?" he called again, coming closer to the glass blocking him in his exhibit. He took a moment to look down at what he was wearing… Armor? Come to think of it, he seemed to be wearing a helmet too. He slid his sword into its sheath, noticing that there was a wakizashi on his belt as well. If he was in prison, awaiting execution, then why hadn't they disarmed him and taken his armor away? In addition to his blades, there was a yari strapped to his back, which he chose to leave behind, putting one leg over the glass border. Oh, he was so sore, so stiff. He didn't think he could make it over the glass without falling apart.

He looked back to the other man in his section of the Heian exhibit. "You coming?" he asked softly, not wanting to accidentally wake anyone or alert anyone that may be lurking in the halls.

No answer. His partner didn't move.

Ikkaku shrugged and took a deep breath, swinging himself over the three foot-high pane of glass, setting his feet down on the other side. "Huh," he exhaled, shaking himself a little.

Nobody in the room was moving. They never had, just as he never had. Ikkaku approached another exhibit, tapping on the glass, putting his hands over the top of it and leaning in to try to see the frozen people better. Were they dead?

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to one of them, tapping their leg. He pulled his hand back in alarm when he felt solid unforgiving wax instead of flesh. "Huh," he mumbled in confusion, pulling off one of his own gloves. It looked like normal skin to him, but he could be mistaken.

To confirm his suspicions, he rubbed his fingers together, and was surprised to see some residue peel off and then drop to the floor lightly. When he picked it up and examined it, he could plainly see that it was a wax shaving. Wax… Candle wax.

Ikkaku realized what was going on now. He wasn't a human at all, was he? No one here was. He'd never lived a life as a samurai, he'd never had a master, he'd never been born, even though he was so sure that he had. He felt like he'd lived there, but he didn't have any specific memories to back that up. He wasn't real. He was just a new exhibit, and as such, he'd only awoken once, when he'd been created. Maybe the others hadn't been animated yet either. They hadn't lived long enough; neither had he. What had woken him up? What was going on?

He could be caught. He could be caught and taken to the archives and never put on display again, but Ikkaku didn't care. He'd awoken, able to move, and he would damn well enjoy it while he could. He wanted to explore, and so, wakizashi in his teeth, he crept out into the hallway, looking both ways down the dark passageway, fear causing his heart to pound so fast. He didn't see anyone. There was no one here but him. He was all alone in the night.

It was coming back to him now, the months and months of staring blankly out through his helmet, seeing only that which was in front of him, unable to turn his head. He'd been so tired, dazedly watching unfamiliar faces press in on him and then move away. He'd gotten so stiff, so cold from standing in one place for that long. It had been horrible. This was a museum, and he was nothing but a wax dummy. He'd be trapped here forever, just like everything, or maybe everyone else in this place.

Suddenly he heard a noise, which caused him to startle so badly that his dagger fell out of his mouth. Luckily, he somehow caught it before it clattered to the ground, sheathing it next to his katana. Were there other people awake out there? He'd always wanted to see the Roman exhibit. It was all he heard about all day from those bratty kids who wiped their snot on the glass and spoiled his view. Those gladiators would've been great for a fight, even if doing so would get him in so much trouble.

The idea that he would no longer be alone gave him courage, and he did not turn back.

He crept along through the dark, marveling at all the wonders that he'd never even heard of before. There were beautiful gilded portraits in the halls and priceless pieces of pottery, dusty jewelry and ornamental eggs in glass cases, which were all protected with some harmless looking velvet ropes. Ikkaku frowned. Were the owners of this place so silly as to think that this would keep anyone out? He could easily reach over it without anything even happening! As if to mock the 'deities' of the place that imprisoned him, he put his foot inside one of the rope borders and stuck out his tongue.

Once, now that he thought of it, a little boy had stuck his hand inside Ikkaku's glass exhibit, and immediately an alarm had gone off, but nothing happened when Ikkaku crossed these invisible lines. He was very careful when he backed up, not wanting to break anything or forget where he was. He couldn't afford to be lost in here. He just had to try to find that Roman section and then he'd go back to his room. Just one peek was all he wanted.

Now that he was going down the hallway, counting the doorways to remember how far away from his own room he was, he saw a room in the distance that seemed to have some lights on. This was presumably where the noise had come from. Unable to resist his own curiosity, Ikkaku stealthily crept over there, unaware that his boots made a clearly audible sound as he went.

He gasped softly, ducking back out and pressing himself against the wall. After a moment, he peeked back in, breath taken away by the beauty of the sculptures inside the room. Some of them were almost naked. He felt like he was blushing, but he couldn't be sure, feeling his cheeks underneath his helmet. It seemed that he hadn't found the Roman exhibit. No, this was surely Grecian.

What was more was that there were a few different sculptures, human sculptures, which were moving around. Immediately, one in particular caught his eye, and he found he couldn't look away, absolutely smitten.

It was gorgeous white marble that was expertly carved, a perfectly crafted human form sitting atop a crumbling pedestal. Its arms were crossed over its chest, and Ikkaku noticed that one of its legs had been broken off or damaged over the centuries that it had been taken care of by humans, but it was still so beautiful that Ikkaku could feel his face heating up underneath his helmet.

The arms were slender, like the rest of its body, but it was by no means skinny. It was thin, but fleshy and healthy looking, its ribs invisible, and it even had a little bit of soft padding on its belly. The creator had surely striven for realism when making this piece. The hands were what got Ikkaku, the elegant white fingers so perfectly poised. Its whole body was the same shade, and the hair and eyes were no exception, and to Ikkaku's amazement, it seemed like this person had eyelashes.

Maybe it was just his samurai blood talking, but his face began burning the longer he looked at that skin, that skin that was as pale and milky as a geisha's; there was just so much of it shamelessly on display. This person was barely dressed! It seemed like everyone in the room was like that as well, but this one's beauty caught him so much that he felt the need to go introduce himself, even though he suddenly felt extremely shy. As far as he knew, they were from completely different time periods, different worlds. Would they like him? How would he make conversation? What could the two of them possibly have in common? More importantly, would they even understand him when he spoke?

Still he sauntered in, seeming not to be noticed by anyone but the statue that he had his eye on. It gave him a side-glance, adjusting the scanty bit of fabric that was pooled around its waist, crossing its arms tighter. Ikkaku smiled, trying to appear friendly as he walked over quietly, taking a good long look like he was just another museum-goer with a camera. Wow… The detail up close was incredible, and the way the lights gleamed off of that marble skin… wow. Geisha usually only painted their face and hands, but this figure's whole body was white, not covered up by layered kimonos or long sleeves. Ikkaku swallowed and looked up to their face with a grin.

"Hi," he said, waving up at them.

"Hmph," they replied, taking their eyes off him and gesturing over to a sculpture across the room, which was the center of attention. Ikkaku followed the statue's gaze, not understanding. It leaned down to him, as if to gossip with him. "Just look at him over there. He thinks he's so great." Their voice was deeper than he'd expected and was smooth like honey, which surprised him. Geishas had deliberately high voices that sounded like bells when they giggled. This person's voice reminded him of a tiger.

Ikkaku understood immediately. They were talking about the statue of Adonis, which was one of the many prides of the museum. Ikkaku had to admit that it was a beautiful work of art, a finely sculpted piece, but he liked looking at this statue much more.

"Oh no, you're way prettier than him," Ikkaku said earnestly, looking back up to her pretty face.

The statue looked surprised, hard and cruel expression melting into a flattered smile. She uncrossed her arms, and Ikkaku, unable to resist the temptation, looked down in shock, immediately seeing that this was no girl. It was just… an incredibly gorgeous young man who was as scantily clad as every other human form in the room. He was a scrap of cloth away from being stark naked, and it made Ikkaku want to cover his eyes.

"Oh," Ikkaku said, face falling. "You're not-"

Yumichika sighed, mistaking his surprise for disappointment. He grew bitter and rude again, sticking his nose in the air. "Of course not. Barbarian huns," he mumbled.

"I'm a ronin," Ikkaku corrected.

Yumichika gave a mock yawn, rolling his eyes and turning away with a huff. "A Trojan, whatever. Still a barbaric idiot."

"Ronin!"

"You say potato, I say po-tah-to."

"Ugh," Ikkaku growled, taking his katana out and showing it to him, holding it flat with both hands. "See?"

Yumichika just crossed his arms again, frown becoming less severe. He looked at the blade out of the corner of his eye, seeming impressed. When Ikkaku wandered away from him to venture around the room and look at the other sculptures, some of them just dismembered heads or broken pieces of historic buildings, Yumichika looked quite disappointed and lonely, as if he regretted being rude. Of course, Ikkaku came back to him after about five minutes of quietly looking around.

He slipped his glove off again in curiosity, reaching out without permission and feeling Yumichika's unscathed leg. It was cold and so soft that Ikkaku did a double take, leaning in close. He'd expected rough stone, but the marble was polished and as soft as satin. "Wow…" Ikkaku whispered. Yumichika curled up and pushed him back with his foot. Ikkaku made a happy noise as the marble touched his face a little through the opening in his helmet.

"Ick, wax," Yumichika said distastefully, wrinkling his nose and fixing his white hair on his shoulders. Ikkaku frowned, shoulders slumping as he looked at his wax hands in disappointment. He'd known all along that the statue wouldn't like him. He shouldn't have come over here. "We all know what happened to Icarus, don't we?"

"Huh?" Ikkaku asked in confusion. "Who's that?"

"He flew too close to the-" Yumichika gave an exasperated sigh. "Oh, never mind." It was probably a grecian thing. Come to think of it, Ikkaku was sure that he was speaking Japanese, so how was Yumichika able to understand him? How could he understand Yumichika, who he was positive was speaking Greek? Yes, he was insulting him in Greek, and still Ikkaku only wanted to hear more, because that voice was like velvet, no matter how scathing and harsh it was in what it said.

Ikkaku didn't want to give up on this guy, even if he was snotty. He was just so beautiful. The marble was smooth and white, and only occasionally grainy, traced with specks of black or vanilla. He had a form that was considered the height of beauty in ancient Greece, with flesh in all the right places, elegant arms, and thin shoulders. He truly was a sight to behold. Ikkaku wanted to come back and visit every night so he could look at him.

"We should be friends," Ikkaku suggested eagerly. "I like talking to you."

Yumichika obviously knew how rude he had been, because he looked blatantly surprised when Ikkaku expressed a desire to befriend him. He seemed desperate then, looking around as if trying to see if someone would save him from having to associate with the poor fool that had fallen for him. "Zeus above, has Eros struck you with an arrow?"

"No," Ikkaku said, smiling. "I just like you," he said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Yumichika looked like he might be blushing, although the flawless polished marble didn't change color in the slightest. He looked down at his lap and fidgeted a little, index fingers poking at each other. If Ikkaku listened, he could hear tiny tinkling sounds. "Well, you certainly know how to break a heart of stone, if you'll pardon the expression."

Ikkaku smiled in victory.

Yumichika shrugged, continuing on casually, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, crossing his arms again to keep his hands from wandering. "It's too bad that it's against your code of honor to have a dalliance with another man… In Sparta, it was perfectly natural to-"

"No, it's okay, that's allowed," Ikkaku said. "I won't be compelled to commit hara-kiri, if that's what you're saying. They say if you lie with a woman too much, you'll become weak, like her."

"Well, that's silly," Yumichika said, twirling his finger around a lock of his hair. "Strong men are borne by strong women, wouldn't you say?"

"Hm," Ikkaku frowned as if thinking hard, because that made sense to him but clashed with his beliefs. "Maybe you're right."

"You were hoping that I was a girl, though," Yumichika said sourly.

"No, no, I just thought that for a second. I mean, geisha are really pretty and everything, but…" he trailed off uncomfortably, looking at Yumichika shyly, reaching out a finger to touch him again. This time Yumichika swatted him away only halfheartedly, and they spent an awkward silent moment each pretending to look away, when really trying to peek at the other out of the corner of their eye.

Ikkaku remedied his words then, seeing that he had maybe hurt Yumichika's feelings. "What I meant to say is, I still think you're kinda' pretty," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

"Really?"

"Yeah, for a guy."

"Thank you," Yumichika said softly, biting his lip, delicate marble fingers fidgeting and playing with his hair, which was flowing and moving like real hair instead of stone. Ikkaku was silent for a moment, looking around to see if anyone was watching, before he glanced up to Yumichika with a smile.

"Can I kiss you?"

"No," Yumichika said immediately.

Ikkaku's shoulders slumped in disappointment, and he got down on his knees, a fist on either side of him, arms bent. "Please?" he asked again, looking up to his face.

"No." Ikkaku hastily leaned down in a dogeza and put his head to the linoleum in apology, realizing that he'd insulted him.

"Why not?" he dared to ask.

"Because you're ugly."

"Oh." Ikkaku looked up from where he'd had his forehead against the floor. When he'd heard a metallic tap, he realized he still had on his helmet, which surely looked grotesque. He knew he was a wax figure and that he shouldn't have a head or a face at all, but it felt like he had one. How was he smiling otherwise?

"How about I take this off?" Ikkaku asked, standing up and removing his headgear slowly. Yumichika gave a pleased smile, taking the helmet in his marble hands, reaching out and running his fingers over Ikkaku's head. He gave a pleased hum when the cold marble hit his skin, closing his eyes.

"A considerable improvement," Yumichika commented, nodding in satisfaction. Ikkaku grinned, not really knowing how he looked, but he knew that it must be okay if Yumichika still wanted to talk to him.

"Alright, how 'bout that kiss?" he asked again eagerly, smiling. Yumichika smiled back and leaned forward towards him, having to bend down slightly. Ikkaku got on his tip toes, putting his hands on the edge of the pedestal next to Yumichika's legs, leaning up to meet him.

"Okay," Yumichika said, puckering up. Ikkaku closed his eyes and leaned up to him, mouth touching against the softest lips he'd ever felt.

Just like that, Yumichika went still, eyes glazing into that of hard unforgiving marble once again. Ikkaku instantly fell asleep, still stuck stiffly in place where he and Yumichika had kissed, their faces touching.

Two museum guards came into the room in confusion, shining their flashlights in their direction before they turned on the light. Everything was in its proper place except for those two, stuck in a lip-lock.

"How did that happen?" asked the blonde, who looked to the dark-haired one.

"This one should be in the Ancient Japan exhibit."

Kira shrugged, looking to Hisagi as he came towards the marble statue. "I don't think this is in the right pose. How?... Never mind, I don't want to know."

"Let's just fix it."

"Weird vandals."

Hear them whispering French and German
Dutch, Italian, and Latin
When no one's looking I touch a sculpture,
Marble, cold and soft as satin.