A/N: Alright, so this story might look vaguely familiar to you, if you're a Kazuma x Ryuhou fan - but before you start up on me, no, I'm not some raging plagerist. I used to write under my old account, Color Me Red...but I don't know, it was starting to feel old and outdated, and my style changed. So voila. You have Chassant. I /did/ like this story, though, and I wanted to rewrite it. The older version should be deleted soon.

Kurayami

"When I look into your eyes, there's nothing there to see. Nothing but my own mistakes, staring back at me." - Linkin Park

Silence. Darkness. Unwanted starlight pouring through stained glass pictures of a dying Jesus, dancing on the carpet, an array of color that taunted him and teased him with the promise of Hell. Because he is going to Hell [Not that there's a person alive or dead who could dispute that. And doubled over against the beaten pew, trying to pray, he couldn't even focus on his own salvation. His mind wandered, instead, to the sight of those Native eyes...those Native eyes which pierced and frightened him, those eyes, God, they cut away all of his bullshit, ripped off his stupid little facade. Nothing mattered but those eyes. Yet he was so afraid of what he felt for them - he was so desperately afraid that he might love them - and what he thought he saw in them. Hatred.

But yet, he thought as he laid his cheek down on the worn out cushion, abandoning all hope of saving his soul, he'd left Kazuma to die. He'd proven that he was everything the other always accused him of being: a rich, self-centered, arrogant son-of-a-bitch, and Ryuhou hardly even dared to deny it, anymore. What he had done to Kazuma, to Mimori, to Cherie...especially what he had done to Cherie...how could he deny that he was a bastard? How could he tell himself that what he'd done had been justified? It didn't help him sleep at night, nothing did, anymore. He lie awake staring at the ceiling and seeing nothing but those eyes. And right there, in the middle of the old, shelled-out church, he felt tears welling up in his own.

How long had it been since he'd cried? A decade, a year ago, yesterday? He couldn't quite remember. He couldn't quite bring himself to care. Kazuma was lying somewhere probably fighting for his life and here he was, attempting to pray to a God he's never believed in, hoping to save himself but he figured it was probably pointless, anyway. A wry laugh mixed with his sobs and nearly knocked the breath out of him - it was all so ironic. So damn pointless. Must have been insane to come into a chucrch like this, wasn't it a surprise he hadn't started screaming yet, and why wasn't the sight of the cross burning his eyes? Why hadn't the ghosts of long dead preachers come swooping down from the heavens to pour holy water all over him? So this is what it feels like to go insane, Ryuhou thought, but he couldn't stop laughing. For a moment he thought he was going to choke.

"You bastard." He heard from the doorway, a low, almost feral growl. "You're in here laughing your ass off, and my head's almost in a million pieces. Show some respect, man. We're in a goddamn church." The laughing stopped abruptly. Ryuhou raised his eyes...and they were met by the ones he loved, the ones he couldn't sleep for thinking of...he shook his head clear, but the eyes remained, and almost as if it was beyond his control, the mask went up. A hard edge seeped into his voice.

"I thought I finished you, Native."

"Yeah, I thought so too, for all of about five minutes. Couldn't stick around long enough to see, eh? Some way to treat the man you love." Shock ran through Ryuhou's body, made him freeze up so completely. Kazuma quickly crossed the length of the room, though he stumbled a few times. "You're such a fucking idiot. You really thought I didn't know? I see it all over your face. You try too hard to hide it."

"I..."

"Oh, shut up already!" Kazuma growled, kneeling down so that his face was inches from his opponnents. "I never said I didn't love you, too."

He kissed him.

And restored Ryuhou's faith in God.