TITLE: Under the Moon and Over the Stars
AUTHOR: Zeda (the BLK Kitti)
STARTED: December 30th, 2000 Ended:
GAME: Bloody Roar II
PAIRING: Yugo x Kenji(Bakuryu)
RATING: PG-13/R/NC-17 (different ratings for different chapters)
GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai
WARNINGS: A sappilicious tale of a young boy and an older man... who both
turn into freakish beasts. ^^; How . . . sweet.
SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo find each other in the burning remains of a Tylon
laboratory. Yugo takes Kenji into his home and the two begin to develop
feelings for one-another. However, things are not destined to go smoothly
for them... Random narration by Alice and Busizima, but only in the 1st
person for Kenji and Yugo.
DISCLAIMER: Characters of Bloody Roar II are property of their rightful
owners and companies. Teri, Yuku and Felicity are original characters that
I've created. I reserve rights for those three, ^.^" Unless you wanna' do
fanart then PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: ^_^" It BEGGED to be written!!~ I've seen no other Yugo x
Kenji(Bakuryu) fanfics out there, and THAT can frustrate a young, starved
yaoi fan!!!
Comments go to Zeda at [email protected]
MY SITE:
*
". . . Thus began a lonely search to bring back the one Yugo had vowed to protect." -"Yugo's Story", Bloody Roar II
*
PRELUDE: Slivers of the Moon RATING: PG-13 GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo find each other in the burning remains of a Tylon laboratory . . .
*
. . .
I feel like I'm floating . . .
. . .
Where am I . . .?
. . .
. . .Why is it so dark?
I feel a solid surface beneath my feet and the heat of raging flames . . . but I can't see anything. I can't feel my feet, I only sense that I must have some. Can't feel my hands, though I'm sure that they're there. It's so dark . . . I feel so alone, cold even though I can -feel- burning all around me. I have to flee. . . but I can't move. I can't . . .
What am I even doing here? I don't know. I can't remember . . .
Who am I? I search myself, trying to find the answer . . . but my mind is nothing; blank, absent of all memory. My own name. I can't even remember that . . . it's so fundamental a thing . . . I feel a wave of nauseating fear sweep me at the sense of nothingness, like standing on the edge of some great precipice . . .
The heat billows around me and I'm barely aware of the perspiration coating my flesh. It's so hot . . . Why can't I see the flames?
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
A voice? I hear a voice . . . Someone is calling to me. Who? Where? I want to find the voice; something solid in the dull void encasing my being.
My vision starts to come together, forming out of brackish, muddled darkness into bright flaming colors and a broad shape bobbing; something moving towards me. Tall . . . Much taller than me. The first thing I see . . .
"Hey, answer me!" I see only shapes at first, noticing a darkened shape -a mouth- appearing and moving on the tan shape that is the face of the person before me.
The person . . . a man . . .
I blink and miraculously my vision is clear, like there was a film coating my eyes that need only be blinked away; a murky cell-thin membrane separating me from vision. He's . . .
He's tall, like I was able to tell even before my vision was cleared, and his lightish brown hair ruffles in the scalding hot wind rolling off of the open, viscous flames. The flame casts him in bright, hot, golden light and it suits him. I find myself ignoring the flames, completely still, looking at him. The first thing I can ever remember seeing . . . Him. The golden eyes hold my attention. An inhuman color, yes . . . but they don't scare me at all. They're just . . .
"You a zoanthrope?" He asks me, mouth forming the words in what seems slow motion. I watch silently, perplexed.
'Zoanthrope'? I . . . I've heard that word before . . . I wonder what he means? Am I . . .? I blink again and his eyebrows furrow with worry. He's worried . . . for me, maybe? I suppose he thinks I am a . . .
"You'd better get out of here while you can!" His eyes dart about, frantic suddenly at the flames. A droplet of sweat courses down his forehead, along the subtle tan curvature, and I notice the scars . . .
An 'X', that's what it looks like . . . Like someone cruelly aimed twin slashes marr his untainted flesh, marking him with agony for the rest of his life. How . . . how awful! I frown and take a step forward, meaning to . . . what do I mean to do?
I don't realize until I move that my legs feel like jelly, not quite connected to the rest of me. I falter, the white coat I find myself to be wearing streaming out behind me as I stumble into him. Everything's moving so slowly . . .
He doesn't miss a beat and catches me, drawing me into him protectively. I'm rocked by the scent . . . The scent of flames on his clothes, the feel of a hard chest and slightly moist skin hidden beneath the confines of fabric . . . His smell . . . what is it? It can only be described as . . . life. Heat. -Him-. I raise my arms, frail and childlike, and clutch with hands feeling atrophied at his sleeveless jacket. I open my mouth, not certain of what sound will come out, but hoping that I'll be able to speak. To ask . . .
". . . Haaa . . ." A rasp is all that escapes me. I cling helplessly, and I feel the motion as he draws me up and proceeds to carry me away from the flames. I feel his muscles work as he jogs at a rather swift pace, putting blessed distance between us and that horrible burning place . . . It seems no effort for him to tote me as he increases his speed, leaping over some unseen obstacle and continuing onward. I have the oddest sensation of his movements, as if I'm no more than a part of his body as he rushes us away to safety. Away from the burning.
. . . Am I really so frail? So light and weak? I feel a twinge of pain at this, but I know I have no reason to feel this. I forget the brief flash of anguish and press my face into the crook of his neck as I'm lifted to be more easily carried, breathing. I try again, moving my lips to try and form the words more accurately . . .
". . . Who . . ."
He pauses, listening to me. I don't feel the heat of the flames anymore, so I can assume that he's gotten us to safety in even so seemingly short a flight. He must be fast . . . I continue to speak, careful to form the words correctly, for never having spoken . . .
"Who . . . am . . . I?"
There is silence, then I feel a hand in my hair, stroking my head soothingly. I calm down, not even having realized how much I had been shivering.
"Kid . . . you don't remember your name?"
His voice is youthful, husked . . . masculine. I suddenly feel disappointed in my own light, weak, childish tone of voice.
I shake my head, moving it against his neck. ". . . No . . ."
He makes to let me go and I tense. No! Don't let me go, please don't let me go! I'll forget . . . You, the flames, your eyes . . .
I look up into the deep blue overhead, seeing the silver glowing sphere there.
. . . The moon . . .
I've been successfully unlatched from his neck before I even realize it and I look back at him, blinking slowly. He's cast in cold light now, but his golden eyes are still burning softly with the warmth that the fire didn't create . . .
Tenderness.
"My name's Yugo," He says softly, patting me on the head and remaining bent down to speak to me at my level. I feel so small . . . weak, by compare . . . Just a child to him . . .
"You . . . have no place to go?"
I shake my head 'no'. He must have guessed that already, right? He just wanted to ask . . . get an 'OK' from me?
"Then . . ." He straightens. Towering over me, but I don't feel threatened, not by him, never by him . . . He extends a hand to me, smiling softly. ". . .Come with me. You can stay at my house."
I feel a swell in my chest. What is it? A heart attack? I concentrate on the feeling in my chest, examining it quietly.
No . . . I'm not in physical pain . . . then what?
". . . Well?" He cocks his head at me and awaits my response, his expression and action making him resemble a curious puppy.
Cute.
". . . Yes," I nod as I say it, extending my hand and taking his offered one. I furrow my eyebrows when I see how very small my hand is by compare to his. . . He's so much more of a man . . . His fingers close around mine and any feeling if inadequacy falters. I'm not so small . . . He's gentle . . .
Yes. I'll live with you . . .
Yugo.
*
I pull out the keys to my apartment, unlocking and opening the front door. I know it looks suspicious from the hallway: a grizzled-looking young man dragging a willowy little boy-child around by the hand. I have only been here for a couple of weeks, after all . . .
Well, at least the superintendent's not the type you see in movies and TV shows. The type that snoops around their tenant's rooms, asking questions and glaring suspiciously, as if they have no life but that formed by taunting and snooping.
I have a higher-class apartment than that!
The sound of my plain brown army boots clopping against the pale wooden floor echoes into my apartment, the sound reverberating off of the sparse furnishings and the off-white, blank walls.
There's very little to keep sound from richocheting in my home, and not just because I've newly moved in. There's only a plain couch, an entertainment system in its position in front of the couch, a coffee table and a dining table with three chairs over by the window in line of sight. I frown at the idea that I, the host, have no better to offer my young guest.
I turn to see his reaction, expecting scrutiny or disappointment for the largely empty state of my home -our home. However . . .
His copper/gold eyes are wide with awe, even though his mouth remains closed solemnly. He does that a lot, I've noticed . . . I don't think he himself realizes how he's shifting nervously, standing at the threshold into my apartment.
I smile at him, hoping to calm him some. "It's okay! Nothing's gonna' jump out and bite you!"
He looks at me worriedly and I feel a shot of pain. I smile, trying . . . *trying* to ease his wariness. He smiles feebly, a simple upward quirk of the corners of his mouth that seems so sadly foreign an act for him, and takes a timid step into my apartment. For a moment I'm afraid that he'll fall again, but he miraculously remains upright.
He crosses the threshold gracefully, the white coat he's wearing fluttering lightly. What kind of fabric *is* that? Hell . . . just the slightest movement and it . . .
He looks up through tresses of midnight blue hair, up at me as he walks closer. Closer.
I blink. Why's he getting . . .?
He throws his arms around me rather without warning, pressing his small form into me. For warmth? For safety?
I look down at the top of his head, feeling a shiver when I see the back of his pale throat. "Kid . . .?"
"What'll my name be?" I hear his soft voice, muffled through the fabric of my shirt and jacket. He sounds lost, uncertain . . . As if so very much hinges on his possession of a name.
I blink down at him. ". . . You want *me* to name you?"
He moves his head back and looks up at me, eyelids lowered slightly. "Yes. Who else?"
I lower my eyes and feel my face burn from the sensation of blush. He's vesting such an honor in me . . . I feel suddenly excited! It's like naming a new pet, only three times better! I try to think, scanning through the possibilities . . . Family names, the silly chatter of future-planning girls from my elementary school days . . . I've always thought, if I had a son, I'd name him Kenji . . . Kenji Ohgami.
It's really a no-brainer, actually.
"I'll call you Kenji," I declare happily, then chaste myself, looking down at him imploringly. "That is, if that's alright with you . . .?"
He smiles softly and nods. "My name's Kenji . . ." He announces quietly, as if concreting the idea in his mind, causing it to solidify in reality. He plays with the name, the word, the pronunciation . . . Over and over. It's actually rather cute. He looks genuinely interested as he forms each syllable, eyes wide with interest. "Ken . . . Jee. . . Kehn . . . Jeee . . ."
I smile and nod, ruffling his unruly blue hair. "Yeah!"
Wow . . . I still can't believe it . . . another living being, in my care . . . in my home . . . whom I named . . .
He loosens his hold on me, looking around with such a curious expression on his pale young face . . . His eyes are wide as he looks over the couch, peers at the television for a moment, appraises the stereo system nestled just next to it. He takes a couple of steps about to view the room more conveniently, but never steps more than two feet away from me. It's as if he thinks that it'll all didintegrate if he leaves the area of my body heat . . .
He suddenly turns and presses into me again, yawning slowly.
"Ahh, Kenji," I like using his name, and by the touched look in his eyes he likes having one. "You must be tired, eh?"
He nods slowly. "Where do I . . .?"
I saw it coming. "No worries. You can sleep in my bed!" I pat his head softly, liking the feel of blue silk under my fingertips. "I'll sleep on the couch."
He looks upset, about to protest . . . but no. I'm a courteous man. I shake my head and, as if on cue, he closes his half-parted lips. He knows . . .
He thrusts his hand into mine immediately, waiting to be led. I oblige, leading him down the hallway with me. He glances about curiously as I pull him into the bathroom, blinking at the high-watt light concentrated on the counter from the ceiling lights.
". . . Yugo?"
He looks devastatingly innocent and confused and I can't help smiling. "We'll get you changed for bed."
He blinks, looking hopelessly lost. ". . . Changed?" He looks down at himself. ". . . My form . . .?"
Exasperation floods me for a moment before I recall his lack of substantial memory. "No, Kenji," I gesture to his white coat, still in his line of self-examining vision. "Your clothes."
His eyebrows rise as if he's reached an epiphany. "Aaaah . . ."
I smile and turn to my hamper.
Now, I know I've gotta' have some spare boxers *somewhere*. . . Aha! I raise a pair of plain blue boxers triumphantly, then continue on the search for a nightshirt. So young and frail, he'll need one to keep from becoming cold . . .
With equal enthusiasm, I lift the one and only button-down shirt I own. Been a long time since I saw *that* one . . .! Maybe I need to do the laundry tomorrow . . .
"Here, change into these!" I suggest in a cheery tone, turning...
He's naked.
I blush and cover my eyes quickly, making a sharp sound of surprise as I do so. THAT was certainly NOT what I was expecting to find . . .! Being a nearly-grown only child meant that I'd never seen anyone younger than myself nude, and even then I was only in high school long enough to have PE for a year and a half, and that was the only time I'd seen boys -my- age naked . . . I pushed down that sickly kind of tingle in my belly -surely a sign of the embarassment I was feeling.
There is silence, then I look again, concentrating on only his youthful, confused expression. "Er . . . Kenji? What . . .?" I glance quickly to the floor and see only the white coat.
. . .*Only* the white coat . . .?
I blush. He was wearing only that . . . the *WHOLE TIME*?!
He seems unfazed, reaching out and snatching the boxers and shirt from my fingers, not making a single move to cover himself.
"What's wrong, Yugo?" He inquires, cocking an eyebrow at me as if I'm the one acting abnormal. I blush deeper, concentrating so that my eyes don't mistakenly wander . . .
I stare dumbly as he pulls on the oversized boxers, pulling the string beyond tight to make them fit his thin frame. The dress shirt does better, appearing much more flattering to his delicate frame than the boxers; looking much better in it's looseness. He only looks young, begging to be hugged.
I wrap him up in a blanket and lead him to my bedroom, smiling to him and politely answering curious inquiries as we pass by the kitchen, the balcony, a single family photo resting on a mini table in the hall . . .
He stops asking questions once he hits the cushions on my waterbed. Not a single glance of awe around the sparingly furnished room is had, his eyes drifting closed and his movements stilling almost instantly on contact with the rippling, soft bed.
I chuckle softly. Waterbeds can do that to a person, ne? I reach down for the comforter and draw it upward, careful not to stir him from his immediate slumber.
I smile excitedly despite myself. I'm tucking him into bed! Id've never thought I, Yugo the Wolf, would *ever* tuck *anyone* into bed! I look down at the still form beneath the warmth of the covers, the thick dark lashes lain on the pale cheeks, and smile. The hard core in me softens . . .
. . . He's my little one . . .
I stroke his hair and lean forward, planning on getting up and retreating to my not-so welcoming couch cushions. Man, hospitality can be a bitch sometimes . . .
". . . please . . .?"
I pause at the beckon of his quiet voice and turn to look at him. He's opened his eyes to half-mast and is gazing at me. He's got a cute frown on his face . . .
"What is it, Kenji?" I coo gently.
He looks worried. ". . . Would you . . . sleep with me tonight?"
I smile gently. "Don't worry, kid," I stand and kick off my boots, pulling off my jacket and my pants in a method just as absent of ceremony. In my boxers and tee shirt, I lift the blanket and crawl into bed with him. I feel extremely loved and depended-on when he squirms closer, snuggling into my chest immediately, like he truly needs me there with him. I smile, drawing him close and closing my eyes. I suppose I've never felt needed like this before . . .ne?
No children. No girlfriends. No brothers or sisters to speak of . . .
Wow . . . This really *is* my first time . . . Being needed . . .
"I'll be here for you," I breath softly, the alien scent of his hair in my nostrils. Like a true wolf, I'll file away your scent in my memory.
My family now. Mine.
"I'll protect you."
*
End Prelude
*
". . . Thus began a lonely search to bring back the one Yugo had vowed to protect." -"Yugo's Story", Bloody Roar II
*
PRELUDE: Slivers of the Moon RATING: PG-13 GENRE: Yaoi / Shonen-ai SUMMARY: Kenji and Yugo find each other in the burning remains of a Tylon laboratory . . .
*
. . .
I feel like I'm floating . . .
. . .
Where am I . . .?
. . .
. . .Why is it so dark?
I feel a solid surface beneath my feet and the heat of raging flames . . . but I can't see anything. I can't feel my feet, I only sense that I must have some. Can't feel my hands, though I'm sure that they're there. It's so dark . . . I feel so alone, cold even though I can -feel- burning all around me. I have to flee. . . but I can't move. I can't . . .
What am I even doing here? I don't know. I can't remember . . .
Who am I? I search myself, trying to find the answer . . . but my mind is nothing; blank, absent of all memory. My own name. I can't even remember that . . . it's so fundamental a thing . . . I feel a wave of nauseating fear sweep me at the sense of nothingness, like standing on the edge of some great precipice . . .
The heat billows around me and I'm barely aware of the perspiration coating my flesh. It's so hot . . . Why can't I see the flames?
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
A voice? I hear a voice . . . Someone is calling to me. Who? Where? I want to find the voice; something solid in the dull void encasing my being.
My vision starts to come together, forming out of brackish, muddled darkness into bright flaming colors and a broad shape bobbing; something moving towards me. Tall . . . Much taller than me. The first thing I see . . .
"Hey, answer me!" I see only shapes at first, noticing a darkened shape -a mouth- appearing and moving on the tan shape that is the face of the person before me.
The person . . . a man . . .
I blink and miraculously my vision is clear, like there was a film coating my eyes that need only be blinked away; a murky cell-thin membrane separating me from vision. He's . . .
He's tall, like I was able to tell even before my vision was cleared, and his lightish brown hair ruffles in the scalding hot wind rolling off of the open, viscous flames. The flame casts him in bright, hot, golden light and it suits him. I find myself ignoring the flames, completely still, looking at him. The first thing I can ever remember seeing . . . Him. The golden eyes hold my attention. An inhuman color, yes . . . but they don't scare me at all. They're just . . .
"You a zoanthrope?" He asks me, mouth forming the words in what seems slow motion. I watch silently, perplexed.
'Zoanthrope'? I . . . I've heard that word before . . . I wonder what he means? Am I . . .? I blink again and his eyebrows furrow with worry. He's worried . . . for me, maybe? I suppose he thinks I am a . . .
"You'd better get out of here while you can!" His eyes dart about, frantic suddenly at the flames. A droplet of sweat courses down his forehead, along the subtle tan curvature, and I notice the scars . . .
An 'X', that's what it looks like . . . Like someone cruelly aimed twin slashes marr his untainted flesh, marking him with agony for the rest of his life. How . . . how awful! I frown and take a step forward, meaning to . . . what do I mean to do?
I don't realize until I move that my legs feel like jelly, not quite connected to the rest of me. I falter, the white coat I find myself to be wearing streaming out behind me as I stumble into him. Everything's moving so slowly . . .
He doesn't miss a beat and catches me, drawing me into him protectively. I'm rocked by the scent . . . The scent of flames on his clothes, the feel of a hard chest and slightly moist skin hidden beneath the confines of fabric . . . His smell . . . what is it? It can only be described as . . . life. Heat. -Him-. I raise my arms, frail and childlike, and clutch with hands feeling atrophied at his sleeveless jacket. I open my mouth, not certain of what sound will come out, but hoping that I'll be able to speak. To ask . . .
". . . Haaa . . ." A rasp is all that escapes me. I cling helplessly, and I feel the motion as he draws me up and proceeds to carry me away from the flames. I feel his muscles work as he jogs at a rather swift pace, putting blessed distance between us and that horrible burning place . . . It seems no effort for him to tote me as he increases his speed, leaping over some unseen obstacle and continuing onward. I have the oddest sensation of his movements, as if I'm no more than a part of his body as he rushes us away to safety. Away from the burning.
. . . Am I really so frail? So light and weak? I feel a twinge of pain at this, but I know I have no reason to feel this. I forget the brief flash of anguish and press my face into the crook of his neck as I'm lifted to be more easily carried, breathing. I try again, moving my lips to try and form the words more accurately . . .
". . . Who . . ."
He pauses, listening to me. I don't feel the heat of the flames anymore, so I can assume that he's gotten us to safety in even so seemingly short a flight. He must be fast . . . I continue to speak, careful to form the words correctly, for never having spoken . . .
"Who . . . am . . . I?"
There is silence, then I feel a hand in my hair, stroking my head soothingly. I calm down, not even having realized how much I had been shivering.
"Kid . . . you don't remember your name?"
His voice is youthful, husked . . . masculine. I suddenly feel disappointed in my own light, weak, childish tone of voice.
I shake my head, moving it against his neck. ". . . No . . ."
He makes to let me go and I tense. No! Don't let me go, please don't let me go! I'll forget . . . You, the flames, your eyes . . .
I look up into the deep blue overhead, seeing the silver glowing sphere there.
. . . The moon . . .
I've been successfully unlatched from his neck before I even realize it and I look back at him, blinking slowly. He's cast in cold light now, but his golden eyes are still burning softly with the warmth that the fire didn't create . . .
Tenderness.
"My name's Yugo," He says softly, patting me on the head and remaining bent down to speak to me at my level. I feel so small . . . weak, by compare . . . Just a child to him . . .
"You . . . have no place to go?"
I shake my head 'no'. He must have guessed that already, right? He just wanted to ask . . . get an 'OK' from me?
"Then . . ." He straightens. Towering over me, but I don't feel threatened, not by him, never by him . . . He extends a hand to me, smiling softly. ". . .Come with me. You can stay at my house."
I feel a swell in my chest. What is it? A heart attack? I concentrate on the feeling in my chest, examining it quietly.
No . . . I'm not in physical pain . . . then what?
". . . Well?" He cocks his head at me and awaits my response, his expression and action making him resemble a curious puppy.
Cute.
". . . Yes," I nod as I say it, extending my hand and taking his offered one. I furrow my eyebrows when I see how very small my hand is by compare to his. . . He's so much more of a man . . . His fingers close around mine and any feeling if inadequacy falters. I'm not so small . . . He's gentle . . .
Yes. I'll live with you . . .
Yugo.
*
I pull out the keys to my apartment, unlocking and opening the front door. I know it looks suspicious from the hallway: a grizzled-looking young man dragging a willowy little boy-child around by the hand. I have only been here for a couple of weeks, after all . . .
Well, at least the superintendent's not the type you see in movies and TV shows. The type that snoops around their tenant's rooms, asking questions and glaring suspiciously, as if they have no life but that formed by taunting and snooping.
I have a higher-class apartment than that!
The sound of my plain brown army boots clopping against the pale wooden floor echoes into my apartment, the sound reverberating off of the sparse furnishings and the off-white, blank walls.
There's very little to keep sound from richocheting in my home, and not just because I've newly moved in. There's only a plain couch, an entertainment system in its position in front of the couch, a coffee table and a dining table with three chairs over by the window in line of sight. I frown at the idea that I, the host, have no better to offer my young guest.
I turn to see his reaction, expecting scrutiny or disappointment for the largely empty state of my home -our home. However . . .
His copper/gold eyes are wide with awe, even though his mouth remains closed solemnly. He does that a lot, I've noticed . . . I don't think he himself realizes how he's shifting nervously, standing at the threshold into my apartment.
I smile at him, hoping to calm him some. "It's okay! Nothing's gonna' jump out and bite you!"
He looks at me worriedly and I feel a shot of pain. I smile, trying . . . *trying* to ease his wariness. He smiles feebly, a simple upward quirk of the corners of his mouth that seems so sadly foreign an act for him, and takes a timid step into my apartment. For a moment I'm afraid that he'll fall again, but he miraculously remains upright.
He crosses the threshold gracefully, the white coat he's wearing fluttering lightly. What kind of fabric *is* that? Hell . . . just the slightest movement and it . . .
He looks up through tresses of midnight blue hair, up at me as he walks closer. Closer.
I blink. Why's he getting . . .?
He throws his arms around me rather without warning, pressing his small form into me. For warmth? For safety?
I look down at the top of his head, feeling a shiver when I see the back of his pale throat. "Kid . . .?"
"What'll my name be?" I hear his soft voice, muffled through the fabric of my shirt and jacket. He sounds lost, uncertain . . . As if so very much hinges on his possession of a name.
I blink down at him. ". . . You want *me* to name you?"
He moves his head back and looks up at me, eyelids lowered slightly. "Yes. Who else?"
I lower my eyes and feel my face burn from the sensation of blush. He's vesting such an honor in me . . . I feel suddenly excited! It's like naming a new pet, only three times better! I try to think, scanning through the possibilities . . . Family names, the silly chatter of future-planning girls from my elementary school days . . . I've always thought, if I had a son, I'd name him Kenji . . . Kenji Ohgami.
It's really a no-brainer, actually.
"I'll call you Kenji," I declare happily, then chaste myself, looking down at him imploringly. "That is, if that's alright with you . . .?"
He smiles softly and nods. "My name's Kenji . . ." He announces quietly, as if concreting the idea in his mind, causing it to solidify in reality. He plays with the name, the word, the pronunciation . . . Over and over. It's actually rather cute. He looks genuinely interested as he forms each syllable, eyes wide with interest. "Ken . . . Jee. . . Kehn . . . Jeee . . ."
I smile and nod, ruffling his unruly blue hair. "Yeah!"
Wow . . . I still can't believe it . . . another living being, in my care . . . in my home . . . whom I named . . .
He loosens his hold on me, looking around with such a curious expression on his pale young face . . . His eyes are wide as he looks over the couch, peers at the television for a moment, appraises the stereo system nestled just next to it. He takes a couple of steps about to view the room more conveniently, but never steps more than two feet away from me. It's as if he thinks that it'll all didintegrate if he leaves the area of my body heat . . .
He suddenly turns and presses into me again, yawning slowly.
"Ahh, Kenji," I like using his name, and by the touched look in his eyes he likes having one. "You must be tired, eh?"
He nods slowly. "Where do I . . .?"
I saw it coming. "No worries. You can sleep in my bed!" I pat his head softly, liking the feel of blue silk under my fingertips. "I'll sleep on the couch."
He looks upset, about to protest . . . but no. I'm a courteous man. I shake my head and, as if on cue, he closes his half-parted lips. He knows . . .
He thrusts his hand into mine immediately, waiting to be led. I oblige, leading him down the hallway with me. He glances about curiously as I pull him into the bathroom, blinking at the high-watt light concentrated on the counter from the ceiling lights.
". . . Yugo?"
He looks devastatingly innocent and confused and I can't help smiling. "We'll get you changed for bed."
He blinks, looking hopelessly lost. ". . . Changed?" He looks down at himself. ". . . My form . . .?"
Exasperation floods me for a moment before I recall his lack of substantial memory. "No, Kenji," I gesture to his white coat, still in his line of self-examining vision. "Your clothes."
His eyebrows rise as if he's reached an epiphany. "Aaaah . . ."
I smile and turn to my hamper.
Now, I know I've gotta' have some spare boxers *somewhere*. . . Aha! I raise a pair of plain blue boxers triumphantly, then continue on the search for a nightshirt. So young and frail, he'll need one to keep from becoming cold . . .
With equal enthusiasm, I lift the one and only button-down shirt I own. Been a long time since I saw *that* one . . .! Maybe I need to do the laundry tomorrow . . .
"Here, change into these!" I suggest in a cheery tone, turning...
He's naked.
I blush and cover my eyes quickly, making a sharp sound of surprise as I do so. THAT was certainly NOT what I was expecting to find . . .! Being a nearly-grown only child meant that I'd never seen anyone younger than myself nude, and even then I was only in high school long enough to have PE for a year and a half, and that was the only time I'd seen boys -my- age naked . . . I pushed down that sickly kind of tingle in my belly -surely a sign of the embarassment I was feeling.
There is silence, then I look again, concentrating on only his youthful, confused expression. "Er . . . Kenji? What . . .?" I glance quickly to the floor and see only the white coat.
. . .*Only* the white coat . . .?
I blush. He was wearing only that . . . the *WHOLE TIME*?!
He seems unfazed, reaching out and snatching the boxers and shirt from my fingers, not making a single move to cover himself.
"What's wrong, Yugo?" He inquires, cocking an eyebrow at me as if I'm the one acting abnormal. I blush deeper, concentrating so that my eyes don't mistakenly wander . . .
I stare dumbly as he pulls on the oversized boxers, pulling the string beyond tight to make them fit his thin frame. The dress shirt does better, appearing much more flattering to his delicate frame than the boxers; looking much better in it's looseness. He only looks young, begging to be hugged.
I wrap him up in a blanket and lead him to my bedroom, smiling to him and politely answering curious inquiries as we pass by the kitchen, the balcony, a single family photo resting on a mini table in the hall . . .
He stops asking questions once he hits the cushions on my waterbed. Not a single glance of awe around the sparingly furnished room is had, his eyes drifting closed and his movements stilling almost instantly on contact with the rippling, soft bed.
I chuckle softly. Waterbeds can do that to a person, ne? I reach down for the comforter and draw it upward, careful not to stir him from his immediate slumber.
I smile excitedly despite myself. I'm tucking him into bed! Id've never thought I, Yugo the Wolf, would *ever* tuck *anyone* into bed! I look down at the still form beneath the warmth of the covers, the thick dark lashes lain on the pale cheeks, and smile. The hard core in me softens . . .
. . . He's my little one . . .
I stroke his hair and lean forward, planning on getting up and retreating to my not-so welcoming couch cushions. Man, hospitality can be a bitch sometimes . . .
". . . please . . .?"
I pause at the beckon of his quiet voice and turn to look at him. He's opened his eyes to half-mast and is gazing at me. He's got a cute frown on his face . . .
"What is it, Kenji?" I coo gently.
He looks worried. ". . . Would you . . . sleep with me tonight?"
I smile gently. "Don't worry, kid," I stand and kick off my boots, pulling off my jacket and my pants in a method just as absent of ceremony. In my boxers and tee shirt, I lift the blanket and crawl into bed with him. I feel extremely loved and depended-on when he squirms closer, snuggling into my chest immediately, like he truly needs me there with him. I smile, drawing him close and closing my eyes. I suppose I've never felt needed like this before . . .ne?
No children. No girlfriends. No brothers or sisters to speak of . . .
Wow . . . This really *is* my first time . . . Being needed . . .
"I'll be here for you," I breath softly, the alien scent of his hair in my nostrils. Like a true wolf, I'll file away your scent in my memory.
My family now. Mine.
"I'll protect you."
*
End Prelude