AN: Yes, it's a continuing fic! I hope to post around ten pages once a week, but I'm a lazy writer so we'll see how long that lasts.

Many fervent thanks to my incredibly brilliant, helpful, and hard-working beta, starbrigid. Check out her fic 'Model Student' if you haven't already. Any mistakes you see are because I neglected to completely follow her excellent advice.

Good Together

by sunfalling

No one knows how the moon loves the sun; they are rarely seen together. When Asaba Hideaki was a child his father took him outside to see the full moon. He sat on his dad's firm, strong shoulders and reached out with both hands to frame the gray-white orb with the imperfect circle made from his small thumbs and index fingers.

"You know, the moon doesn't actually shine," his father told him. "It's only a cold, dead rock that reflects the light of the sun."

Hideaki couldn't believe this. The moon was too beautiful and radiant to be dead. The idea of a poor, empty moon that had no power for warmth saddened him greatly.

"Don't be silly," he father said when he voiced this empathy. They went back into the house were it was warm and Hideaki ran to the window. He wanted to look at the moon again but the light from the house was so bright that he could barely see past his own reflection on the glass.

He worried about the fate of the pale beggar in the sky who tried to look beautiful by stealing light from another. But at the same time, he took comfort in the fact that the moon was so good at pretending to shine; surely almost everyone would be fooled.

-

Through the rush of skittering leaves, Hideaki saw a solitary figure moving steadily down the path toward the school buildings, book bag slung over one shoulder, nondescript school uniform blending into the landscape. There was nothing unusual about the lone student rushing through the fallen leaves, but the way he moved, the pace of his feet, the downward tilt of his face all helped Hideaki identify him immediately.

"Arima!" he called. "Wait up!"

The figure stopped; a pale visage against the dark landscape showed him Arima's turned face. Breaking into a trot, Hideaki relished the feel of the leaves crunching under his feet, dry and crisp.

"Trying to escape me, I see," he accused between breaths, reaching the boy's side.

Arima didn't reply, just pushed his book bag further up on his shoulder and turned toward the path again. His breath showed white in the cold air.

"Oh, ignoring me now?" Hideaki grumbled, opting for brash cheerfulness. "You think you're too good for me, is that it?"

He reached up and ruffled Arima's dark hair, grinning at the shorter boy's glare.

"You're so cute when you're pissed, Soichiro," he teased.

Arima rolled his eyes dramatically and lifted his head, reacting at last. "You really need to get a girlfriend."

"No girl could challenge your place in my heart." Hideaki declared, throwing an arm around Arima's firm shoulders. "And I have yet to find one as beautiful as you." He could feel the muscles beneath the uniform, thick from endless hours of kendo practice and sports activities. If he bent a little closer, Hideaki could smell Arima's clean hair, the toothpaste on his breath, and feel the faint heat radiating from his skin.

"You're lucky Miyazawa isn't here," Arima grumbled. He didn't remove the arm draped over him, but he didn't turn his head toward the taller boy either.

"Oh, she's learned to share you," Hideaki asserted. "She knows you can't give up your love with me just yet."

"Right," Arima muttered, eyes going to the sky again. "I'd give anything to get rid of you."

"Aw, you don't mean that," Hideaki said, pulling Arima closer. "Mmmm," he murmured, brushing his face up the side of the paler boy's neck. For one electrifying, shivery-strange moment, he could feel the rough material of the uniform on his chin, the smooth warmth of skin, the soft-sweet-wonderful feel of clean, dark hair running against his lips, his nose, his eyelids…

"Stop it," Arima hissed, shifting his weight to push the taller boy away.

"So violent!" Hideaki whined theatrically, moving beyond the reach of Arima's killer elbows. The game they played was familiar to him and he knew just how far he could go, just how much he could touch before Arima reacted

"You're such a stupid pervert," Arima grumbled, face red, as he turned away to continue walking. His mouth glared steadfastly downward, but no hardness lingered in the corners of his eyes, no tension in his shoulders, and he could not truly be angry. A leaf caught in his shoelaces waving gaily with the movement of each step.

"Wait for me!" Hideaki called, crunching after him down the leaf-strewn path.

-------

It didn't seem so long ago that Asaba Hideaki had walked up that path for the first time, approaching the new high school with a careless gait and an appraising eye.

He had already noticed heads turning, bright eyes watching him stride confidently toward the building. Small, pretty schoolgirls in short, plaid skirts glanced up at him with shining eyes, blushing and tittering among themselves like excited songbirds.

This is going to be a very good school, he decided, flashing a charming grin toward a cluster of already infatuated girls. Their kind had worshiped him for as long as he could remember, warm faces cooing over his adorable features. It had become a way of life now to be surrounded by girls smitten by his good looks and carefree lifestyle.

So when he met Arima—his equal in beauty, but opposite in attitude—he had only good things planned for their alliance—much manipulation of gullible schoolgirls, of course.

He walked out of class and watched the tide of students lazily, slouched on a cold bench under the cloudy sky. Spotting a lovely flock of girls eating under the trees by the river, he stood, stretched once and started to meander toward them. A slight movement in the empty courtyard caught his eye, and he turned to catch a glimpse of the lean form of a boy in the school uniform, standing against the long granite pillar near the trees by the biology building, almost obscured by the shadows. Hideaki would never have seen him, if not for the light that winked off the zipper on his jacket and outlined the silhouette of his silent face.

He seemed to be staring moodily up into the branches silhouetted against the gray sky, swaying with a suddenly chill wind. Hideaki stood, unable to speak, shivering and confused. Unexpectedly, the boy turned his head and Hideaki could only see his eyes, stray shimmers of light in the darkness that covered his face. Hideaki's throat felt tight.

"Oi! Asaba-kun!" a high voice squealed behind him, and he turned to face a gaggle of flushed girls from class F.

"We made cookies for you! Chocolate chip!"

Hideaki managed to pull his startled expression into a charming smile as the girls reached him, smiling shyly and glancing at each other for confidence. He followed them back to the classroom, anticipating warm cookies and sweet admiration. Something tugged at his consciousness and he looked back once, searching the tree with his eyes. But only the shadows remained and a light rain began its soft descent, eliciting squeals from the girls.

-

Arima Soichiro, he learned to boy's name was. Class A's representative, honors student, star of the kendo team and arguably the best looking boy in the entire school displayed an androgynous beauty enhanced by subtle elegance. He only had to look at a girl with his those mysterious eyes and gracefully hand her a copy of the class schedule to have her melt at his feet like warm ice cream. And he didn't have a girlfriend.

It was odd; everyone seemed to like and admire the handsome first year, but they all admitted that he acted distant and unsocial—helpful and kind with everyone, but never openly friendly. Which is a shame, Hideaki decided, with a face like that, he could win over every girl in the school instantly. Together we would be unstoppable, he thought giddily. I have to make him my ally.

The next time he saw Arima, the quiet boy was alone once again, sleeping under a sakura tree during break, his slender form in its dark uniform contrasting sharply with the pale pink of the petals. They fell on his clothes, nestled in his black hair, and balanced precariously on the smooth surface of his peaceful face. Underneath them, Arima slept, petals trembling on his lips and eyelids, resting on the fringe of his lashes.

Hideaki couldn't speak. It was the perfect chance to break the ice, to tease the distant boy and introduce himself into Arima's life. Instead, he could only stand and stare like an observer in an art gallery, watching the strangely fragile scene before him. His shoe scuffed the grass indecisively. He turned and walked to class.

Arima came in late. He still had white-pink petals caught in his hair and his clothes as he entered, breathless from his rush to class. The other boys teased him with longing remarks after the teacher left, but Hideaki only sat, uncharacteristically silent. He needed to make a move, but Arima had to stay late for cleaning and Hideaki had a project to finish for his art class. He would have to wait another day to catch Arima.

-

Talking with Arima wasn't difficult, even though he could be politely distant at times, he always replied with clarity and attentiveness, answering Hideaki's questions, offering assistance, and gradually revealing bits of himself. Hideaki invited himself to a few kendo practices and study sessions at Arima's house. Within days they became known as best friends and eventually Arima began to speak, vaguely and guardedly, about himself. Hideaki learned to watch closely for those rare hints of a troubled family, a lingering shame, and an ardent ambition for perfection.

"Your parents are so polite," Hideaki observed after his first visit to the Arima residence. "I can see where you got your manners."

Arima looked uncomfortable, but he straightened his shoulders stiffly. "They're actually not my real parents. My mother and father died when I was a child and I've lived with my aunt and uncle since."

"Oh," Hideaki murmured, unsure whether he should offer sympathy. Arima didn't seem like the type to appreciate pity.

"That's why I can't let them down," Arima said decisively. He stared pensively out at the horizon while Hideaki scrambled for a lighter topic of conversation.

"So, are there any girls you like?" he asked Arima carefully, wondering if his grand plan for the girl farm would succeed.

"I'm concentrating on school right now," Arima told him firmly.

However, he gradually began to exhibit small signs of attraction, blushing, and flustered silence when it came to the subject. Eventually he admitted an interest in one student in particular—the brilliant and ambitious Miyazawa Yukino.

"She's so diligent," he said wistfully, "and she knows exactly what she wants. No one can change her mind or make her lose focus. It's amazing."

Hideaki rolled his eyes skeptically. "Sounds boring. You could make her head turn, I bet, if you really wanted to."

"No," Arima breathed, resigned to his fate. "She's not interested in me. Besides, I'm not exactly good for anyone, really…"

It sounded soft and half-formed, an unintentional admittance of some dark depression. Hideaki narrowed his eyes, confused. The blackness he saw on the edges of Arima's clear eyes made him shiver.

"Every girl in this school is dying to get a date with you," he told Arima resolutely, quite certain of the fact, despite Arima's bleak gaze.

"Not her," Arima said, eyes cast down. "She hates me."

-

On Saturday, he visited Arima's house once again to study for an upcoming math test. By now, Arima's aunt and uncle knew him by name and seemed happy to see their quiet nephew making such an openly cheerful acquaintance.

"Delicious chicken, Mrs. Arima," he said wolfing it down happily. She smiled happily despite her nephew's warning look in Hideaki's direction.

"So, you're going to spend the night again, Asaba? I'm so glad Soichiro has such a good friend," she said. Hideaki grinned and nodded. "You know, I was looking through some old pictures of you, Soichiro, and I found some wonderful shots for the scrapbook I'm making." She directed them to a nearby cabinet as she began to pick up the dishes.

"Oi, Arima, look at this," Hideaki crowed, holding up a small photo. "You're so adorable it make me want to cry!"

"No!" Arima growled, trying to snatch it from his fingers. His face flushed bright pink with mortification.

"Oh, let me have it! I promise to treasure it forever."

Arima's aunt emerged from the kitchen, laughing softly at Hideaki's eagerness. "I have another copy of that one. You can have it, Asaba-kun."

"No, he can't!" Arima protested. "He'll do something embarrassing with it I know he will."

Hideaki smoothed his fingers over the small, shy face in the photograph, looking back into the wide innocence of young eyes. "I'll take good care of you, little Arima."

-

Lounging in the cool silence of Arima's bedroom, Hideaki drew a dinosaur. He should have been working on the march of math problems stretching down the side of the page before him, but instead he doodled lazily, outlining a lizard, a car, and a spherically challenged Pacman.

Arima lay on the bed next to him, an open book folded over his chest, his breathing rhythmic.

"Are you sleeeeping, Soichiro?" Hideaki murmured, drawing eyebrows on the Pacman.

Silent, Arima continued to rest.

"Chasing that girl around must wear you out," Hideaki said, sketching a cartoonish version of his friend sprawled indolently, large snoring effects floating from his mouth.

"Love her," Arima said, his voice little more than a soft exhalation. Hideaki stopped scribbling and looked up from the paper to Arima's relaxed features. He leaned closer to hear better.

"She punched me, you know," Arima said, lips barely moving. "Hurt. But it got an honest reaction out of me."

Hideaki scowled comically. "Domestic abuse!"

Arima's eyes fluttered half open and his fingers tightened on the book he held. "No, it showed me that I couldn't keep pretending with her and be so stiff all the time. We both agreed that we're not going to play parts anymore…" His voice trailed off as sleep tugged at him again.

Hideaki said nothing as he watched Arima's eyelids slide closed again, the tension in his shoulders releasing. Hints of a blush lingered on his skin. A soft sigh rose from his lips.

"I really do love her, I think."

The room languished in calm silence once more. Hideaki watched his pen roll over his knees. He watched a patch of light from the window linger on Arima's peaceful face, the sharp angles of Arima's elbows and knees, the many folds of his clothing. From his fragile wrists, hands with long white fingers splayed out against the rough binding of the book. Arima slept.

Hideaki stared at the complacent pen on his lap and the pen stared back.

-

It took them less than a week to get together. Someone reported that Arima Soichiro and Miyazawa Yukino had been holding hands right in the middle of class. Within hours, the entire school knew.

What a joke, Hideaki thought sourly. Arima's dream girl had turned into a nightmare. Instead of the charming version of perfection everyone had imagined, she had revealed herself to be an over-achieving, madly competitive little spitfire who only pretended to be sweet and mature when it benefited her. This would have been perfectly fine with Hideaki if Arima hadn't remained so ridiculously, devotedly in love with her.

"We're going to be ourselves now," he told Hideaki, practically glowing with contentment. "No more perfect masks or competition. That stuff isn't important."

They had been officially announced as a couple. Hideaki felt so disgusted by the approval surrounding the two that when the cute little honor student herself greeted him in the hall, he stopped her cold.

"I guess nobody ever got a very good look at you," he said nonchalantly. "You're really nothing special."

She said nothing, but he caught the gleam of fangs behind her polite smile. It marked the start of the short but violent Miyazawa-Hideaki War. She stole his drinks, threw things at him, and poked him with pencils during class. He retaliated as best he could, and even resorted to shaking centipedes in her face, but Miyazawa was vicious, striking quickly before retreating behind an innocent façade.

Arima laughed at his irritated complaints and claimed that he liked the wilder side of his sweet-faced girlfriend. Hideaki simmered. When he saw her twirling happily in the hall, reveling over plans for a first date, he couldn't stop himself.

"He'll get tired of this, you know," Hideaki said, "I can't understand what he sees in you, but eventually he'll come to his senses."

She glared threateningly up at him. "You've been against me from the start. What do you think you can accomplish?"

"I'll get rid of you," he told her, "Arima will be mine."

Blinking, she stared at him a second and then blushed, giggling behind her hand. "Well, I wondered if you had different…tastes."

"Not like that!" he shouted, feeling his face flare up like a paper lantern in a gust of wind. Her insinuation was so embarrassingly wrong that he wanted to go bury himself in the sand.

"I…need him for my girl farm," he admitted at last, detailing his fanciful plan for the kingdom of little lambs.

Her face wrinkled with predictable disgust. "You're sick. I can't believe you'd expect him to go along with something like that."

"Why not? He's crazy enough to go out with you."

Miyazawa clenched her teeth. "You have absolutely no conscience, do you?"

Hideaki smirked. "Says the girl who decided to deceive the entire school. You've manipulated people all your life. If I'm scum, what does that make you?" He watched her eyes widen in shock, felt the resentment like hot lead in his veins. "Wake up, idiot. Do you really think you deserve a guy like Arima?"

Minutes stretched, grating tingling nerves.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he demanded.

She said nothing; her head dropped and she turned to walk away. Watching her retreat down the hall, Hideaki relaxed his clenched hands. Her footsteps faded into silence. He felt guilty…but only a little.

-

"What the hell did you say to her?" Arima growled, shoving him against a locker. "You think I don't know what you're doing, Asaba? I've gotten used to people trying to use me." His eyes flashed like a sky in storm but his face remained terrifying in its utter calm. "But if you even try to hurt her again, I swear you'll be sorry for the rest of your life."

Releasing Hideaki, he turned for the stairs, leaving the stunned boy gaping in the hall.

"What is it with that girl?" Hideaki cried. "Why are you so…" His voice cracked inopportunely, catching in his dry throat.

Arima paused on the stairs, his form blending with the shadows of the corner and flecked with bits of sunlight from the window. "Don't you understand?" For a moment, he seemed to soften, staring at something Hideaki couldn't see. "She stays by me without expecting anything in return."

Shock covered Hideaki's mind. He couldn't speak. All this time he had used Arima without thinking, to enhance his own social standing and his self-image, and the other boy had realized it even before Hideaki.

It was the first time he had seen the other side of the good, responsible class rep who let sakura petals nestle peacefully in his hair. This Arima loomed like the boy standing in the shadow of the trees, his eyes empty wells of darkness. This was the searing brilliance of an anger that left Hideaki silent and pensive for hours.

Arima's hands had left bruises on his shoulders and his back felt sore from its collision with the locker. He touched these small hurts incessantly, feeling his heart race again at the image of Arima's white face, striking in its cold fury, the rush of adrenaline in his veins, fear and something less tangible…a trembling excitement.

He could see Miyazawa eternally giggling behind that hateful hand. "Well, I wondered if you had different…tastes."

-

Two days later found Hideaki watching the white sidewalk flash under his feet as he walked, feeling the sun on the back of his shoulders. The day was beautiful. His shoe caught in a crack. Stumbling, he looked up into frightened eyes.

Miyazawa stood all alone on the sidewalk in front of the movie theater, twisting her hands against her simple knit dress, sandaled feet pulled together modestly. Her hair remained tucked behind her ears, revealing wide eyes that looked back at him with a terrified vulnerability.

He saw her purse had fallen to the cement and reached awkwardly to pick it up, mind racing. She should be on a date with Arima today, he remembered, but…

"Where's Arima?" he asked, confused. Looking into her tearful eyes, the knowledge came to him in a triumphant rush. "Ah, you got stood up! Guess Arima finally wised up, poor guy."

Her face twisted into a picture of anguish, but she didn't forget to lash back. "You jerk! I already feel bad enough! Do you have to come here and rub it in?" Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes, yet they did not obscure the glow of fighting spirit. She clenched her fists futilely, trembling with anger and distress, like a tree standing against a strong wind. "You think it's fun to laugh at someone when they're down?"

"Hey," Hideaki said weakly, holding up both arms to fend off a possible attack. He felt her despair keenly in the pit of his own stomach, the burn of rejection. He knew first hand how it felt to be ignored and devalued, to be disregarded. To be left like this, by Arima… He didn't know whether to try to comfort her or run for his life. Nervously, he handed her the purse and watched her head tilt toward the sidewalk to hide more emerging tears.

"I really am sorry," he said softly, watching his own feet. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to hurt you like that…all the stuff I did." He rubbed the back of his neck with embarrassment, listening to her sniffle. "And you were right about the girl farm. It was a pretty stupid scheme."

She relaxed her clenched fists at that, looking up at him with reddened eyes and Hideaki tried to smile.

"It's not that I don't like you—except the thing with Arima… I actually thought fighting with you was kind of fun," he admitted.

They watched each other anxiously for a few moments. The crowd outside the theater slowly drifted away. Miyazawa's mouth turned nervously upward, slowly at first, but through her tears shone quiet gratitude warm as the sun on his face. He smiled back.

"Miyazawa!" Arima's voice came down the road. They turned to see him racing up, sneakers slapping cement loudly. "I'm so sorry I'm late," he panted, coming to stop in front of her. "My mom collapsed all of a sudden and I had to call an ambulance…"

Miyazawa nodded and expressed her concern appropriately as Arima babbled on, afraid to even look at her. It seemed obvious to Hideaki that both felt horribly embarrassed and could only react with the awkward, distancing politeness.

"You bastard!" he yelled suddenly, shocking both of them when he caught Arima by the jacket and hauled him against the nearby railing. "Never abandon a girl like that! Leave your mother lying on the cold floor of the kitchen if you have to!"

Arima cried out in protest, twisting nervously and eyeing the long drop into the stairwell below. He was more muscular than Hideaki, but the other boy had the height and leverage to keep him there.

"Apologize!" Hideaki demanded dramatically. "Or your apology will be your death!"

Arima stared at him in shock, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Stop it, Asaba!" Miyazawa shrieked. "It's not necessary! He's going to fall!"

Hideaki shrugged and hauled Arima back to his feet, smiling cheerfully. "Well, if she forgives you, I suppose it's okay."

"Psycho," Arima muttered, brushing off his jacket self-consciously.

Miyazawa caught his arm and led him away from a potential fight. "Are you okay?" she asked, throwing Hideaki an accusing glance. "You know, that movie looked kind of dumb anyway. Maybe we could get some ice cream?"

Sighing, Hideaki watched them walk away, the tension severely lessened. Arima's hand slid down to catch Miyazawa's shyly. She turned back to give Hideaki a thoughtful look. "You want to come too, Hide-baka?"

Arima rolled his eyes in resignation. "He'll only cause trouble, you know."

"I heard that!" Hideaki protested, breaking into an eager jog to catch up with them.

-

They looked good together—everyone in school said it. Miyazawa made the blackness in Arima's eyes disappear. She made him relax and smile and laugh out loud. Hideaki had never been able to do that. His hi-jinks had elicited a wry smile or two, but Arima had never seemed actually happy so much as politely amused.

He remembered the first time he had seen Arima really smile, eating lunch out on the grass, all three of them, nibbling at sandwiches in the dappled light of the trees. Miyazawa had recounted a story about her sisters and their energetic dog, waving her hands and mimicking facial expressions. Eyes on her face, Arima began to grin, a real muscle-stretching, teeth-gleaming, eye-crinkling smile that transformed his face with something Hideaki had never seen before, a different sort of beauty than his mysterious gazes or cold anger, a normal, wonderful, real happiness that changed his entire image.

Arima had helped Miyazawa step out of her obsessive, egomaniac behavior…somewhat. And in return, Miyazawa had helped Arima become human, a flawed, emotional, feeling human who couldn't be perfect all the time. The cold, glittering ice-boy had melted into something even more beautiful. Arima got frustrated and annoyed when he felt like it and said what he thought and laughed like he really meant it. Arima was human after all. Arima was in love.

But if Hideaki thought he had seen the last of the haunting darkness in Arima's eyes, he soon realized he was dead wrong.