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Song – Runway by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

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"I was feeling sad,
Can't help looking back,
Highways flew by,
Run, run, run away,
No sense of time,
Want you to stay,
Want to keep you inside.

Run, run, run away,
Lost, lost, lost my mind,
Want you to stay,
Want you to be my prize."

"17... 18... 19..."

Her east facing picture window was open, the curtains drawn back. It was almost 7 o'clock, just after dawn, and the rising sun, barely visible behind the clouds, threw the texture of the walls into sharp relief.

A pajama clad Sayori Wakaba lay upside down on her bed, counting the number of faces she could divine out of the bumps in the besiege ceiling paint.

Sayori would not close the window though the breeze was frigid, ice and snow creeping from the sill into her room. Maybe, she was waiting for Yuuki to dash in through that window, begging Sayori to close it while she changed for morning lessons. Yuuki had always dashed in through that window.

But Yuuki wasn't going to do that this morning or any future morning. Sayori had accepted that.

And yet, the damned window remained open.

Sayori gave up her bland game and looked over at the clock on her sidetable. "7:03," she told the room at large, nearly growling at the unresponsive walls.

Normally, Sayori would have been out of bed, showered, brushed, and dressed by now, but today she forwent her routine. Sayori had an appointment with the Chairman at 8:15, so there was no need to rush. If she finished too quickly; she'd end up having to wait—a risk she would not take.

These days, unoccupied time was the enemy, and games like "imagine faces in the wall texture" were her friends. Idling was an invitation to misery, and Sayori was not a masochist. She found no glory in self-mutilation. Pain, of all sorts, was to be subverted by any means.

But over the last few months, Sayori had discovered that grief had a strange way of inserting itself in every aspect of her life no matter how many faces she found. Ignoring her pain had unforeseen consequences, and, now, Sayori lived in a constant state of numbness.

Instead fighting emotional paralysis, Sayori courted it. She developed a practical method to aide the oblivion lest she feel the full weight of her grief. As long as Sayori adhered to three basic principles of evasion: if she remained mindless, distracted, and hidden from the world and herself, Sayori found anesthetized peace. So, she was perpetually shallow in her thoughts, diverted by the most mundane things, and separated from her peers at all times—just to avoid the gaping hole her life had become.

Sayori woke up exactly 45 minutes before classes started so she had to scramble to get there on time. Mindless—check. Sayori made word-perfect transcripts of her lessons rather than notes or outlines. When her mind was thus employed, Sayori had no room in her head for other, less pleasant thoughts. Diverted—check. Sayori ate her meals in the library, one hand poised over her papers, her head jammed in a book. She could think of no one willingly to brave that labyrinth of dusty tomes just to seek her out. Separated—check.

Sayori avoided her life of nothingness by essentially becoming nothing. Everywhere Sayori went, the numbness followed like a transient cage. Her cage was kind compared to the alternative—the silence where there had been laughter, the blank space where her friends had stood, the bitter loneliness where there had once been love. Sayori systematically drained all the color from her world—black, white, and gray were easier to process than the bloody reds and lonesome blues Yuuki left in her wake.

The only place Sayori could not delude herself was her dorm room: the place where the gray bars of her cage crumbled and the vengeful pain exacted its revenge. So, here, she found faces on the walls to avoid the faces in her memories. Nighttime was the worst part of her day, the bane of her colorless stupor, because sleep did not come easily.

Sayori began having trouble sleeping night before Yuuki left. It had seemed a small thing at the time. In the midst of the chaos, Sayori had disregarded reluctant sleep as merely par for the course. But, her problem had persisted over the weeks that followed. By the time school resumed, difficulty falling asleep progressed to full blown insomnia; she was lucky to sleep just a few short hours in wee morning. Instead of two or three nights a week, Sayori suffered restlessness four or five of them. In recent weeks, only true exhaustion, nearly falling unconscious under its weight, could drag Sayori into slumber. So severe was her agitation, sometimes Sayori imagined a dark premonition assaulting her in the night.

Nights without any sleep at all were becoming commonplace, and Sayori didn't have Yuuki's bubbliness or Zero's too-cool-to-breathe-the-same-air-as-you demeanor to offset her puffy, bruised eyes or snail paced movements.

Believing her room was to blame, Sayori ran away from it. Her need to escape the vacant room annulled constraints like curfew or grounds confinement. Although Sayori wasn't a born rule breaker, her emotion undermined her principles in the same way her evasion negated her grief; it turned what had once been clearly defined to shades of gray, and the line between always right and always wrong blurred to right for the wrong reasons and wrong for the right ones.

Her absentminded parents had giving her a car over break, not the wisest decision but Sayori was grateful. She had named the shiny thing "Salvation." Its bucket seats, aerodynamic curves, and purring 6 cylinder engine allowed Sayori to outpace the empty hole, leaving the numbness to eat her dusk. A moonlight drive through the countryside at 120 miles per hour was only thing that felt real—the only thing that mattered in a world where nothing mattered anymore.

But Sayori couldn't sneak off very often, so relief was hard to come by.

Grimacing in self-disgust, Sayori checked at her clock again: only 7:05. Something must be wrong with her clock; it seemed to count slower and slower these days. Maybe, it, too, was against her.

At least today would not be as boring as yesterday. Sayori had a positive feeling about today's meeting, or as positive as she was capable of—just a modicum above apathy.

Before this meeting, Chairman Cross had asked her to stop by the entrance gate at 8 sharp. He was expecting a returning student and had asked Sayori to escort him to the main office. Apparently, the mystery student would attend her meeting as well.

That's right, the student was a him. Maybe the smaller portion of the hole in her life would be refilled today. Zero might have changed his mind—foregoing a life of solitary misery in favor of a life at school where people loved him. The Chairman and Mr. Yagari had gone looking for Zero; perhaps, they had finally convinced him to come home. Maybe, Zero was on his way right now.

Sayori desperately hoped so. It was selfish, cruel even, but Sayori wished someone close by was mourning Yuuki more deeply than she was. If Zero came back, Sayori would forget about her own grief, focusing on his instead. Color might return to the world; rules might mean something again. Seeing someone else in pain did that to Sayori; it made her less self-aware.

With a pang, Sayori realized that she had begun to think of Yuuki as though her friend was dead. And in so many way, the idea had merit. Sayori could not decide which thought was the worst.

Pushing that grim insight beyond the bars, Sayori gathered her clothes and shower caddy.

The day was calling.

Sayori lavished herself with a private shower. All the other girls had left the dorms already, so Sayori had the entire bathroom to herself. She, in her colorless robe, brushed her teeth and blow-dried her hair. Sayori noted that the ends of her hair had grown down past her ears and her bangs covered her eyes; she needed a trim, but why bother?

Sayori scanned her expression briefly. She looked dour.

Sayori deposited her dirty laundry in the hamper and used floss in the trash without looking. She threw on her undergarments and uniform. Then, Sayori walked back to her room and shut the door.

Sayori wasn't sure how it managed the feat, but her malevolent bedroom got her every time. Every time she walked in, Sayori would look over to Yuuki's side of the room to see if she was there. But Yuuki never was, and it still stung each and every time. It should have ceased to shock her by now; she should have grown strong enough to repress the shock. However, the room would not relent.

Even the walls were mocking her. 'Great, just swell!' thought Sayori. Personification of wood and plaster, the solitude was eroding her sanity.

Sayori ran a hand through her whatever-colored hair as she walked to her dresser. There on its polished surface, Sayori had unintentionally built a shrine to her lost friends. Friendship bracelets, hair ties, scribbled notes—they were all there in a box with a picture frame lid. The picture inside the frame was one Sayori had found in Yuuki's bedroom in the Chairman's quarters—a photograph of Yuuki and Zero on their first day of high school. Sayori preferred their expressions in that picture to the ones they had worn towards the end. They were normal in it, a snapshot of the world when it still made sense. Of course, Sayori wasn't in the photograph, but what did that matter? She had taken the photo, felt as much a part of it as Yuuki and Zero.

Denying the ache, Sayori reached across the box for her academy pin and the prefect sleeve she had inherited from Yuuki. If she had been willing to think on it critically, Sayori would have appreciated the irony. How many times had she wished she could be a prefect with Yuuki and Zero? How many times had she wished that she could be in on the secret, too?

Sayori smiled mechanically at her reflection as she centered her tie with daft hands.

The queer thing about secrets—something no one had bothered to mention to Sayori—was that they are lonesome burdens. When Sayori was still on the outside the big secret, she had taken comfort in the fact that she was just one of countless other ignorant people. Sayori had even felt a bit smug because she knew there was a secret, like she was one clever step ahead of her peers.

But, now, Sayori was the sole civilian keeper of a secret gone stale. She was the only student at Cross Academy who knew the true identity of the Night Class.

The day Sayori discovered truth was etched in her memory in a manner similar to carving into granite; it could not be erased merely because the medium was unwilling. Sayori had hoped time would dull the images of that day, wear them down until nothing remained but a faint outline. But time was unkind.

The nightmare became real the same day Sayori became a cynic; one day of ugly truth threw all other perceived truths into doubt. She doubted a great many things, now.

Sayori doubted Vampires—doubted their ability to coexist with their natural prey.

As if the existence of make-believe monsters was not enough to upend Sayori's world, her human brethren betrayed her trust by attempting to obliterate the truth. Before being sent home for a "vacation of indefinite length," the students and faculty of Cross Academy were herded into the main auditorium. There, some bearded man from a group called the Hunter's Association erased their memories. But he wasn't very thorough. He couldn't be bothered to remove the Night Class from their memories entirely. No, the cerebral-rapist stole the only meaningful feature of the Night Class away, leaving the other brainless aspects to fester. Then, the school's inhabitants were sent on their merry ways, each one marveling at the property damage caused by a curiously localized earthquake. Her peers were truly dim.

That day, Sayori began to doubt humanity as well—to doubt their ethics and wonder at their stupidity.

It only took one day to prove that Vampires were real, Hunters were unscrupulous, and humans were stupid—the day Yuuki and Zero had left Sayori behind. The universe as Sayori had always known it was a lie, and it seemed to her that everyone alive was a liar.

On a more personal level, Sayori began to doubt herself, too. The mindsweep had not affected her at all; she still remembered every detail of that frightful day and the ominous ones which had preceded it. Like the inscribed stone, each detail remained pristine. And no one could tell her why.

Sayori checked the time again, relieved to see that she could leave her room without the fearsome threat of a long wait once she reached her destination. As long as she didn't take any shortcuts, Sayori would make it to the gate with only a minute or so to spare.

Sayori pulled on her snow boots, her coat and scarf, then her earmuffs and gloves blindly. Then, Sayori walked out of the Sun Dorm and into the winter cold, moving like she had places to be. No one gave her a sideways glance. It was just that way these days. Sayori had always been remote in some inexplicable way, but now she was downright unapproachable. Sayori couldn't find it in herself to care, though. It helped with the whole mindless, distracted, separated thing.

When Sayori reached the gate, she sat down on the brick retaining wall. The sun was hiding behind the low, gray clouds. It was snowing lightly, but her spot was wisely chosen, the overhang of an adjacent oak shielding her from the wet, white stuff.

Sayori grimaced; she did not like snow. Actually, she hated it.

Sayori sat there for a moment, bored, but the realization that she was waiting—with nothing but her thoughts for company—hit her hard. Sayori glanced around, searching for a distraction but none of her favorites were forthcoming. Then, to her immense relief, she caught sight of the shiny black sedan with tinted windows rolling up the long drive. Now, there was a distraction: Cars.

Sayori smiled; she liked cars. Actually, she loved them.

Her family owned Wakaba Industries, one of the largest automotive manufactures in the world. Her adoptive parents had sent Sayori pricey gismos as a substitute for their love all her life. Of all her gifts, Sayori's favorite was the two-door roadster received over winter break.

Careful scrutiny of the automobile kept Sayori's anxiety to a manageable level. The car meandered to a gentle stop before the iron wrought gates, giving no indication of the student in the car's identity. A suited, efficient looking driver wearing sunglasses despite the overcast weather stepped out of the car. He closed the driver side door with a crisp snap and began moving to the back of the car.

Sayori's tiny bubble of hope burst in the span of two seconds. Zero would rather walk a thousand miles than have some fancy chauffeur open the door for him. Zero was not in that car, and it hurt like hell—broke through the bars and inflamed the hole in her heart.

Sayori stood stiffly and walked to open the gate, taking a deep breath in preparation. Then she turned to greet her guest. Sayori caught sight of the familiar, blond head of Hanabusa Aidou dragging his sleepy body out of the car, and she froze in horror; this was the worst possible scenario.

Of the Night Class students, Hanabusa was the only one she hated. Everything about him grated her nerves, but more profound than dislike, his presence had always rattled her because his eyes held her deepest secret. And here he stood to thrust her lonely, silent life into hell.

Sayori woke up this morning hoping for minor relief from her holey heart, but instead she got a headache to match. She turned away quickly, focusing on the driver instead. "Nice car. A Prestige LZ12 isn't it?" Sayori asked him flatly.

"Er...yes, it is," answered the driver, obviously unsure if he should speak to her.

"Yes, I'm human," said Sayori with false bravado, "So, it's alright. I'm not going to bite you." No humor touched her eyes, but that mattered little. Sayori never missed the opportunity to speak unspoken truths, especially now, when truth seemed so hard to come by.

She turned her attention reluctantly Hanabusa who was regarding her interest. Noticing his hair for the first time, Sayori almost laughed. On one side, it was pressed flat against his skull as if glued there, on the other it flipped up at odd angles as if he had been electrocuted.

"Sayori Wakaba, we meet again," he greeted her, his voice musical, his expression unreadable. Dressed all in a black from his military coat and slacks to his shiny shoes which gleamed dully in the half-light, the monochromatic scheme intensified his strange—familiar—eyes. Their color, sapphire hard as chipped ice, would not be subdued by the gray world Sayori had made for herself. They were startling in their bright, cool clarity—reminding her of things better left forgotten.

Suddenly, Sayori felt quite young. She managed to say, "Hello, Aidou. Welcome back," before averting her gaze. Sayori turned back to the driver when she heard him groan from the rear of the vehicle. The pitiable man was valiantly attempting to remove endless pieces of luggage from the truck of the car. "Do you require assistance, Mr. Chauffeur?" she asked in mild concern, the helper alarm beeping softly in her head.

"No, Miss Student. Don't mind me," he smiled, his fangs glinting. Sayori cocked a brow but said nothing.

"Pardon my intrusion, but I think we should make our way the Chairman's office, now. We are running late," interjected Hanabusa blandly.

Sayori peered at him, offput by his subdued manner. "Did something happen to you, Aidou? You don't... seem like yourself." Sayori knew the Night Class' odd hours served a dual purpose. Aside from separating themselves from humans, attending school at night was in only natural. Vampires were nocturnal beings. Perhaps, Hanabusa was too tired to be annoying.

"I'm fine," he answered vaguely, "We should be going; it is cold out here." The excuse seemed rather absurd to Sayori, well aware of Hanabusa's affinity to ice.

Hanabusa turned to his overworked driver, ignoring the man's indistinct gestures to his head. He gave him a significant nod and whispered instruction. Then, Hanabusa stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat, and waited for Sayori wake from her momentarily daze.

Sayori shook her head slightly. "Right," she muttered, walking ahead to lead him to the Chairman's residence. After she closed the gate, Sayori began their march. Instead of following as she had expected, Hanabusa fell into step beside her.

After several moments in awkward silence, Sayori, feeling slightly rude, decided to make conversation.

"Nice hair," Sayori said, eying his rumpled locks with derision.

Hanabusa frowned, feeling around his head. Realizing it was a mess, he cursed colorfully, then looked at Sayori in horror, as if he might have abused her sensibilities by swearing.

Too ease him, she quipped, "It looks like shit to be honest."

Hanabusa appeared unconvinced, but Sayori merely shrugged. "Guess fixing hair isn't one of your superpowers."

"Superpowers?" replied Hanabusa as he teased his hair into artful disarray.

Sayori glanced at him doubtfully, "You know what I mean. People like you can do weird things. It's rather disconcerting—sort of… creepy."

"'People like me.' Vampires, you mean," he qualified sourly.

"Sure… um, Vampires," she grimaced, recent events rippling across her memory, fighting to break into Sayori's gray prison.

"Creepy', huh? Why don't you tell me what you really think..," droned Hanabusa, complete with eye-roll, "A bit harsh for someone as clueless as you."

"Fine, I'm a bigot, and you're a saint," she shrugged. Sayori had no energy to argue; she couldn't find it in herself to care.

"Hard on yourself, too," he admonished, shaking his finger at her—as if he had any kind of authority over her; Sayori nearly laughed.

But she didn't, and they walked on in silence for a few minutes.

Sobering, Hanabusa sighed, "You really don't know anything about us. Why are you so defensive?" When Sayori didn't answer, he stopped walking in the middle of a walkway between the Administration and Mathematics Buildings. His pause so silent and sudden, it took Sayori several seconds to realize he was no longer beside her.

When Sayori did, she turned to find him staring at her, head cocked to the side in contemplation of a lesser life form.

Sayori strode briskly to stand in front of him. She met his stare head-on, or as head-on as she could with the height difference between them.

However, Hanabusa did not quell. Instead, he patted her on the head like a dog.

Sayori flinched as if struck, backing away so quickly she almost fell.

"Human reflexes must suck," Hanabusa laughed. "On the other hand, they are rather amusing."

"Ahh!" she raged, storming away with her hands in the air.

Feigning innocence, he loped to her side, "Did I say something to offend you?" He smiled beatifically.

Sayori made a noncommittal sound and resolved to ignore him.

"Seriously, I was only joking. You're so touchy."

To this, Sayori mimed walking with her gloved fingers. "Instead of talking, let's do this." She marched away without waiting for a response, trying to descend into the apathy she cherished.

"Sure," Hanabusa grumbled lamely.

They were still a minute or two from their destination, but Sayori hoped they could reach it without another word passing between them.

"You remind me of someone else I know. She bitchy, too, when she wakes up," said Hanabusa in the cool tone of a weatherman.

Sayori shook her head, attempting to rise above the provocation. 'Only a few steps to go,' she consoled herself.

As they reached the steps to the Chairman's building, Hanabusa laughed softly, asking "Having a bad day, Yori?"

Sayori balked; she blanched, hands itching to slap him. No one called her 'Yori.' No one was allowed to call her 'Yori' anymore. Yuuki and Zero were the only ones—and when they left her nickname died with them. Sayori couldn't stomach the sound of it anymore. "Where do you get off calling me that? You don't even know me well enough to call me Sayori. Never again," she warned, her glare boring holes in the door before her, "Never say that name again. If you do, I'll make your life miserable. I'll oppose you at every turn." Her gold eyes shining with malice, Sayori glared over at him. "I swear it," she promised.

Hanabusa's face became oddly blank.

Dismissing him utterly, she opened the door, her movements rigid. "After you," Sayori ask-ordered .

He stood there dumbly for a second or two, before mumbling a clipped thank you, leading the way inside.

Sayori took a final, stinging gulp of winter air before following. This morning, or maybe her whole life, had been a cruel disappointment, and the future looked bleak.

However, in that frozen landscape, something had changed.

Her scarf was a vibrant red as it danced on the breeze. The sky was a breathtaking blue as the gray clouds of dawn moved westward. Color, the happy, the sad, the beautiful, and the ugly, had returned unbidden to Sayori's world. 'It's those damned eye,' she thought bitterly as she turned to follow their owner inside.

Meanwhile, Hanabusa Aidou fought for self-possession, trying to focus past his apprehension.

Hanabusa had wasted a sizable chuck of his night preparing to meet Sayori Wakaba. By the time the car had reached Cross Academy, Hanabusa dreamt fitfully, wallowing in worst case scenarios. But, nothing—not even his nightmares—had prepared him for this fine Monday morn, strolling along with the most vacant creature in the world.

Hanabusa felt awkward without the comfort of his 'Idol' disguise, and the girl had made it impossible for him to control the flow of conversation.

On their walk, Hanabusa had talked to Sayori for the first time, and he privately thought not talking to Sayori was better choice. She just stood there in her red scarf and earmuffs, mocking him.

And Hanabusa felt disillusioned, almost mad at her for not being the girl he expected—the angel-woman. The way Yuuki had spoken about her, Sayori was supposed to be a hairsbreadth from perfection.

But, all Hanabusa had found was a lost little girl with a forced smile, standing forlorn in the snow.

Their conversation on the way to see the Chairman had been illuminating if nothing else. Her dead expression spoke volumes. The girl was numb and bored, and not above taking it out on everyone around her.

The way she moved, so robotic—the way she spoke, so detached—the way she looked at him, almost blind with indifference: it was near enough to make him shake her. Hanabusa wondered if there was a soul inside her empty shell.

So, the question remained unanswered: Sayori Wakaba was here, but where was Yori?

Yori—Hanabusa had forced some life into her eyes when he called her that. Her response was unbelievable.

Resenting the world in general, Hanabusa removed his heavy coat and scarf, hanging them on a hook in the entrance way while Sayori did the same. He brightened slightly, happy to feel the warm, dry air wash over his body. Hanabusa inhaled deeply, sort of hoping the change in temperature would change the atmosphere, too.

'Bad idea,' thought he ruefully. Sayori was standing between him and the flow of warm air from the vent. He could smell her blood as it fed oxygen to her body. Her unique smell, something bright but intangible like a candle against the night sky, was comforting, homey.

Hanabusa recognized the smell as weaker version of the scent of her anger. Outside on the stoop, her essence had poured off her skin as she railed against him, fluctuating wildly as she fought for control. It oscillated between a soft ray of light with no source or object to a bright beacon with no direction or purpose.

It made Hanabusa thirsty. 'Bad thought,' he mentally scolded.

Hanabusa turned expectantly to his dour escort. She was gaping at him in genuine surprise, gazing at him with interest. He hadn't seen her so aware all morning.

"What now?" Hanabusa drawled. He had to build trust from somewhere, but incredulity didn't seem like the best place to start.

With a sense of déjà vue, Hanabusa looked down at himself. "Oh," he answered his own question dully. He was wearing the Day Class uniform. As if he liked it any better than Sayori did. Putting it on on the train, Hanabusa had been torn between crying in disgust and laughing in disbelief.

"You're going attend class during the day?" Sayori asked disbelievingly. Clearly, she was of the opinion that nothing could be worse than Hanabusa joining her class. Only his own, more potent dread kept him from teasing her.

"Well, the Night Class has been disbanded so..," trailed Hanabusa. Sayori was allegedly intelligent; she could figure that one out on her own.

Sayori must have realized her mouth was hanging open; she shut it with an audible click. "Right," she muttered.

'Attention Sayori Wakaba, all holidays are permanently canceled and the sun has gone on strike,' thought Hanabusa, his misery loving the company.

"Too bad Yuuki the Prefect isn't here to make sure I mind the rules," said Hanabusa with a wistful smile.

Sayori looked up at him as if he had betrayed her, her wounded expression exposing something painful she had carefully hidden away. She spun away from him an instant later, hiding the 'painful something' from him again.

Hanabusa half frowned, surprised. Before, he had decided Sayori was a vastly different girl from the one everyone believe her to be—that she had managed to fool them into thinking she was a saint—but now he saw her as she really was. Sayori Wakaba, whatever she may be behind the reputation, was dying inside. Yuuki's absence was causing her a great deal of pain—pain that ran much deeper than Hanabusa had realized.

Perhaps, his presence was just the final straw.

Hanabusa followed Sayori down the hall silently. Turning left, feeling guilty for mentioning Yuuki, he wondered how he could "make her feel better" when it was obvious that she despised him keenly.

Her especial dislike was one more snag to overcome. Hanabusa added it to the many flaws he found in this endeavor.

Sayori and Hanabusa stopped in front of the office's mahogany door, and Sayori knocked twice on the frame. "Chairman, I have brought Hanabusa Aidou here with me as you requested," she called.

Hanabusa noticed emotion in her voice, now. It wasn't colorless or sour anymore.

"Come in, come in," replied jovial Chairman Kaien Cross. Hanabusa grimaced in expectation. The man at the helm of Cross Academy was a lunatic.

Sayori opened the door without hesitation and once again gestured for Hanabusa to enter. Her father must have forgotten teach her that a lady always enters a room first. He sighed, entering the claustrophobic office. Hanabusa took a seat without waiting for it to be offered, seeing no need for civilities with a peripheral party.

But the haggard look on the man's face made Hanabusa pause despite himself. He studied the Chairman covertly while Sayori closed the door and joined them.

Kaien Cross looked dreadful, drawn around the edges—exhausted and defeated. The ex-Hunter still wore the same threadbare shawl and unnecessary glasses, but now he had the crippled countenance to match them.

"Chairman Cross, thank you for allowing me to return." Hanabusa inclined his head and waited for someone to speak.

Hanabusa had no idea why he had been called to this meeting, but he could guess. What the Chairman knew of his objectives here, Hanabusa could not say, but judging from the man's resigned expression, Hanabusa was willing to bet that the Chairman knew more about it than he knew himself.

Hanabusa glanced at Sayori, who sat beside him stiffly. She seemed politely interested but not overly expectant. Apparently, she didn't know why they were here, either.

"I'm glad you are so dedicated to my passivism, Aidou. Your admission into the Day Class is a show of solidarity between the Noble Clans and the Hunter's Association. I hope we can rebuild that relationship while you are here," said Cross softly over his stippled fingers

Hanabusa frowned. He expected the Chairman to jump up and down on his chair, singing his praises. The man was usually near tears in gratitude to Juuri Kuran for her inspiration, waxing mawkish over his conviction that coexistence was the cure-all to every societal ill.

But Cross wasn't; he just sat there, regarding Hanabusa quietly.

The drab company was getting on his nerves; he'd settle for hostility over lifelessness. "So, did Kiryuu drag his ass back here, yet?" asked Hanabusa without preamble.

"No, I am afraid he has chosen... a different path," replied Cross, each word slow and rehearsed.

"Which path would that be? The one that leads to my extinction?" huffed Hanabusa.

"Don't answer that, Chairman," interjected Sayori coolly, "He doesn't understand."

Hanabusa barely repressed a scoff. No, Sayori was the one who didn't understand. His hatred was personal; Hanabusa couldn't care less about Zero's Hunter roots.

"No, dear, it's alright. Aidou has a right to feel threatened," replied the Chairman calmly.

That, Hanabusa would not abide. "Threatened? More like incensed! The boy turned an an 'Anti' on his own," he snapped.

"Zero was born a Hunter," reasoned Sayori, "His allegiance is to his family." She said "Zero" like it was something sacred and taxing.

Hanabusa twitched, turning in his chair to face Sayori. She was glaring at him reproachfully.

"I meant Yuuki! He turned his weapon on his own sister," Hanabusa spat. To aim the Bloody Rose at Yuuki, who had defended Zero at her own expense, who had forged a pact let in her own blood to save his sanity—the insult was not to be borne.

The Chairman's face paled to a chalky color, and Sayori's big eyes widened in shock. Apparently, the Chairman had not told her about that little incident.

Sayori swallowed thickly, looking down at her clasped hands. "How-w is Yuuki?" she asked quietly, almost fearfully like she needed Hanabusa to tell her but was afraid of what she might hear.

Hanabusa raised a brow. He glanced at the Chairman, gauging his reaction. "She is happy but sickly of late," he said stiffly. Just as he had expected, Cross did not look surprised. Seiren must have been informed him of Yuuki's condition when she made arrangements for Hanabusa's return.

Sayori stood, almost overturning her chair, seizing everyone's attention. Nearly grabbing Hanabusa by the collar before she remembered herself, Sayori fretted, "Sickly? How sick?" Her eyes were alive for the first time, demanding in wakefulness, her presence suffocating him.

Then Hanabusa blinked, and the moment ended.

"Not in the way you are thinking. Microbial infection or cell mutation does not affect our species," replied Hanabusa vaguely.

"Don't mess with me! I won't play games with you," growled Sayori as she stalked closer to his chair. Sayori was quite serious—he could smell it—like she somehow possessed the power to rip the answers from him.

Hanabusa eyed the Chairman in disbelief, but the ex-Hunter only shrugged, returning his attention to the furious girl in front of his desk.

Hanabusa clarified truthfully, "We can suffer from psychological ailments that propagate in our blood. Usually, some imbalance or unmet desire thins the blood, turns it to poison within the body." He swallowed his disquiet; this was not a topic he wanted to discuss.

"You unforgivable liar, you said she was happy! If Yuuki was happy, she wouldn't be sick," fumed Sayori. She glared fiercely at the Chairman as if he had deceived her as well.

Watching the weakest person in the room rage was amusing in a twisted way.

The Chairman lifted his hands in surrender but shot a reflective glare at Hanabusa like this was his fault. Cross tried to placate her, "Now, Sayori, there is nothing we can do. I'm sure everything will work itself out naturally." He removed his glasses and began to clean them with his wrap.

"But, Yuuki is hurting. For whatever reason, you trust these Vampires, so you should go help or, at least, to see how sick Yuuki is. Surely, you should do something, Chairman. She's still your daughter," whittled Sayori plaintively, low even by Hanabusa's sub-standards.

The Chairman was peered at Hanabusa over Sayori's shoulder, silently asking for assistance. Hanabusa quoted, "'Don't answer that, Chairman. She 'doesn't understand,'" exaggerating Sayori's soft pitch.

"Don't you people have doctors?" huffed Sayori, leaning over to glower at him, her little hands balled into fists. Her red-ish hair flipped about, fanning her warm scent under his nose. Hanabusa ignored the stir of bloodlust, but he could not ignore the way Sayori's scent intensified with her rising pique. No longer a candle in darkness, her blood razed like a miniature sun, the suggestion of daylight spilling from her skin.

Sayori Wakaba was a different person from the girl standing at the gate earlier. Perhaps, Yori was really in there somewhere.

Hanabusa turned to the wall to escape the smell. "No," he quipped, "But we endorse blood transfusion."

Cross chuckled weakly, but Sayori did not. She wriggled into the space between Hanabusa and the wall so she could face him. The Chairman tried to object, but she made a growling noise to stay him.

Sayori would not be deterred.

She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes tight. When Sayori opened them, she let everything show. Her rage disappeared. All at once, there was only pain. Unmitigated and beseeching, her gold eyes pleaded for answers, for relief, for someone to save her. Her haunted stare so eloquently spoke the words her wrath could not: Help Me.

Even under the thumb of great despair, Sayori did not yield. She stood upright, eyes dry.

Sayori would not be denied.

"I..," Hanabusa started, his voice insubstantial in his own ears, captured in her.

Sayori did not move or speak, but Hanabusa could feel her insistence reaching out, trying to bind him. It was disconcerting—something he had never felt from a human.

Hanabusa broke their stare off to study his shoes. Impulsively, he reached for Cross in the In-Between, disregarding Kaname's rules without a thought. 'What can I tell her?'

The Chairman's aura was sorrowful but resolute. 'Nothing.'

The echo of Cross's regret merged with Hanabusa's, but neither could say anything because it was forbidden.

Hanabusa pulled away from the In-Between, feeling very alone. "I don't... I don't know what to say," said Hanabusa lamely. Admitting ignorance stung, but watching Sayori replace her mask of indifference stung worse. Before she managed it, however, Hanabusa saw realization flit across her face; Sayori knew he was hiding something from her, and she hated him bitterly for it. Oddly enough, that stung the worst.

Sayori reclaimed her chair and fisted her hands in her skirt. "I told you something was wrong. I knew something was terribly wrong with Yuuki," she whispered to the Chairman.

Regrouping, Hanabusa saw an opening he could manipulate to his advantage. "Well, Wakaba, because you seem so disturbed by this news, I must ask. Why don't you go to Yuuki yourself?" Hanabusa marveled, asking himself if it could be this easy. Too easy.

Sayori paled, her hands trembling, her face falling dramatically. "I…" she began. Fear—that fear which lived on the fringes of her consciousness—arrested her. Not fear of Vampires. Such a mundane anxiety would not prevent Sayori from going to her friend in a time of need. No this fear ran deeper; the shadow in her confused nightmares in those precious few hours when sleep claimed her. Sayori's fear felt like an insidious pull, a noose dragging her to a fate far more cruel then her emotionless cage. "I can't," she mummbled, head bowed in shame.

Hanabusa's eyes widened. Sayori's bright smell recoiled—reduced to a firefly in Night, insubstantial and pitiful. He observed her through narrowed eyes, perplexed. Vampires, he thought, must frighten her far more than he had originally believed. Disappointed, resentful, and inexplicably wounded, Hanabusa turned away, sighing as if in boredom. Sayori relied Cross's intervention exclusively, unwilling to face her fear. She cared deeply for Yuuki but apparently not enough.

But Kaname's instructions were explicit: Sayori Wakaba would to come to them alone and of her own free will. Soon, Hanabusa would have to confront and then dispel her irrational trepidation.

"And as I told you before, dear, Yuuki is in excellent, capable hands," assured the Chairman with a sad smile, cleaning his silly glasses yet again.

Hanabusa was troubled. There was only one way Sayori could have known Yuuki was ill, but it was impossible. And yet, there was only one way.

Sayori was so convinced something was wrong with Yuuki that she had broached the subject with the Chairman. Sayori's insistence mirrored Yuuki's mysterious assertion that Sayori was lonely.

With the reluctance of a believer questioning the existence of god, Hanabusa wondered if Sayori could reach Yuuki's soul in the In-Between.

Nobles and Hunters shared somewhat empathetic connections, trading thoughts and feelings in the In-Between, but he had never heard of a human empath before. And Hanabusa would know because he was a Shield, easily blocking all but the most formidable minds, sharing only by choice. Kain always said his talent was the result of his own discomfort. Hanabusa despised the intrusive nature of the In-Between, only venturing there when he had no other option. The only person Hanabusa allowed access was his cousin, sharing snippets of his consciousness willingly, but even with Kain, Hanabusa gave little.

Hanabusa looked to Cross for answers to his unspoken questions, but the man was regarding Sayori too closely to notice, his mind sealed behind steel walls. Hanabusa had no choice but to drop the topic, filing this sub-categorical curiosity under 'worthy of future study.'

"Sayori, you have to be strong. You're a prefect now, and I have a very important job for you," said the Chairman. His voice was calming and steady.

"A prefect?" inquired Hanabusa with surprise. He hadn't read that in her file.

"Yes, Sayori was made prefect one week ago. She has been liaising between the Hunter—who is posted here a student in much the same way as you are—and I," explained the Chairman in that same soothing manner.

"I am already aware that there are several Hunters here," replied Hanabusa absently.

He wasn't buying that line for a minute. Cross and Seiren had devised this ploy to bring Hanabusa and Sayori in close contact, not that he was going to complain about it. Hanabusa realized that he should be grateful, but now that he knew Sayori, he couldn't decide how he felt about her near-constant companionship.

"How are we going to handle my little abnormality?" asked Hanabusa smirking. Playing with his admirers would be much more fun because they knew he was Vampire, now.

"In much the same manner as before," explained the Chairman, "It's still a secret. They don't remember."

"But, they said... and Wakaba knows," complained Hanabusa, projecting his incomprehension verbally. He felt profoundly betrayed but couldn't put into words why he felt so.

"I am sorry, Aidou. I argued against the action, but the Hunter's Association would not be dissuaded. A full modification was executed after the Night Class was officially disbanded," explained the Chairman sheepishly. Then he removed his useless glasses and started cleaning them again—an unimaginative evasive ploy.

Sayori broke her stony silence, muttering darkly, "They weren't very thorough."

Hanabusa rolled his eyes, frustration eroding his patience. "What are you bitching about now?"

The Chairman coughed disapprovingly, neither liking Hanabusa's language nor his tone, but Sayori, it seemed, could not have cared less. Instead, she rose to the provocation with eager spite. "Oh, they still remember you! They're still pining away like abandoned puppies. They don't remember anything that happened the day the Night Class left. If I have to endure one more vigil outside the Moon Dorm, my brain will decay. I might kill myself just to escape the monotonous prattle," she spat, "Why couldn't they erase you completely?"

Sayori directed her question to Hanabusa but addressed the Chairman. Apparently, Hanabusa was worthy of blame but not recognition.

"Excuse me?" rejoined Hanabusa. Maybe Ruka had left her real personality in Sayori Wakaba's body; as Hanabusa had said this morning, the girl reminded him of his cousin's biting temper.

"Did I stutter?" Sayori replied resentfully.

Anticipating all out war, the Chairman mustered up some of his former cheer to steer the conversation away from that explosive vein. "You heard correctly, Aidou. Evening vigils," listed the Chairman with stars in his eyes, "support groups, reenactments, pickets, and marches," his trademark goofy grin plastered on his face.

The very idea—a bunch of irrelevant humans protesting his absence when the only one who mattered wished he would disappear! Ill begotten mirth bubbled in his belly. Before he could suppress it, Hanabusa was laughing out loud. "Kain's is going to love that," Hanabusa laughed so hard his side ached.

"It isn't funny!" Sayori exclaimed, but that just made Hanabusa laugh harder. If she could understand the irony, then she might have laughed, too.

Then, the Chairman started chuckling as well. Soon, both men were incoherent, roaring with glee.

Sayori huffed in consternation, chin in palm. "Fine, maybe it is a little funny. Pathetic and ridiculous, but maybe… a little funny, too," sniffed Sayori begrudgingly. Then, she grinned at the Chairman indulgently, clearly finding pleasure in his happiness.

Sayori Wakaba was a new person all over again when she really smiled, and Hanabusa was back at square one, trying to figure out who she really was.

"Hey, Wakaba, how did you manage to skip out on the brainwashing?" Hanabusa asked between dying chuckles.

She glanced at the Chairman warily, looking for some sign of permission, and Hanabusa watched as the ex-Hunter nodded encouragingly. "I didn't." said Sayori simply with a small shrug.

"I do not understand," he said, articulating each word precisely so he would sound condescending rather than confused. He was, however, very confused. Hanabusa raised a brow in Cross's direction.

"Sayori has an unprecedented gift," explained the Chairman, beaming with pride, "She is immune to mental manipulation; invasion, deletion, and replacement."

Even as a Shield, Hanabusa was not immune to mental tampering; any Pureblood or Prime Hunter could breach his mind with little effort. "Are you completely sure?" he asked, "A human Shield? Or does her immunity exceed those limitations? Has she been tried by a Prime?" Hanabusa glanced at Cross dubiously, "Have you tried?"

Like a mad scientist puzzling over an inconsistency in the data, Hanabusa studied Sayori's form shrewdly, pressing against the barrier of her mind. Just as Cross had said, the walls around her consciousness were impenetrable. Bright to blinding, Hanabusa could glean nothing beyond their glare.

"No, I have not" smiled the Chairman, his fondness for Sayori warming his gray eyes, "However, even the strongest Hunter techniques have absolutely no effect. She just stands there looking rather bored and mutinous."

Hanabusa considered this matter of the utmost importance. The Prime methods of mental suggestion were effective on all humans and most Hunters and Vampires. To his knowledge, no one like Sayori could exist.

Ignoring the incomprehensible babbling about "Shields," "Purebloods," and "Primes," Sayori said, "I can't explain it either." Her gaze was guarded, but she seemed honest.

"Is she tainted?" wondered Hanabusa aloud.

Sayori grumbled indignantly while the Chairman rolled his eyes like the answer was blatantly obvious.

"I assure you I am totally serious in asking. To overcome Hunter magic without outside protection or blood contamination is impossible. I can only infer that you are defective in some way," said Hanabusa defensively.

Sayori inclined her head toward Hanabusa, scooting towards him on the edge of her chair. "Do you always say cruel things to hide your ignorance?" she whispered conspiratorially like they were sharing a private joke.

Too stunned to speak on his own behalf, the Chairman spoke for him. "Sayori, that was unkind."

"Unkind but true, I think," Sayori replied, somehow saddened but unapologetic nonetheless.

Disconcerted by her frankness, Hanabusa did what he did best; he plastered a smirk onto his unwilling face. "I'll ignore your impertinence for now, Yori/" He winked.

The Chairman winced, knowing how much she hated her nickname. Sayori scowled contemptuously but said nothing.

"If you're going to be following me around, I suppose we should get to know each other a little better. Since you think you have me all figured out, why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" Hanabusa grinned, "Come on, Yori. What's your favorite color?"

She bristled, "I have no idea why you would ask me that, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I tell you." She glared at the wall above the Chairman's desk, folding her arms across her chest.

"Hmn," Hanabusa replied thoughtfully, "I can make it cold in hell."

"I'm already in hell!" she snapped.

Their sparring match ending in a stalemate, a charged silence consumed the office. "Well, there you have it, Aidou," concluded Cross stupidly.

"Chairman, my new responsibilities?" prompted Sayori, clearly eager to leave.

"Right," nodded the ex-Hunter, "Well, Aidou will be joining your class, Sayori." This information did little to brighten Hanabusa's mood.

"But that's ludicrous," objected Sayori. So, she didn't want him in her class—afraid of the big, bad Vampire. That, at least, was logical.

"He is far beyond my class's work level. He could probably sit the exit exam for the academy today, and be done with it. Why not place him in the senior class?" continued Sayori with passion.

Hanabusa eyed her suspiciously, unwilling to admit his misgivings mirrored hers. He had not expected that from her. He wondered if Sayori thought he would attack his classmates in fit of extreme boredom. Hanabusa sat back brooding, content to let Sayori argue his case.

"Now, now, dear, we want Aidou to have a full experience, don't we? If he starts in your class, he can observe and interact with a group of young humans and watch them develop and mature," explained the Chairman, cleaning his twice-damned glasses again. Someone should really tell him about his nervous tick.

For her part, Sayori merely scoffed. "Then, why not let he join the kindergarten class?"

Hanabusa had to yawn to cover his grin. Delighted, Hanabusa waited for the Chairman squirm his way out of her airtight logic.

There was a pregnant pause in which everyone thought private thoughts, until Sayori started muttering inaudibly again.

"Pardon," asked Hanabusa curiously.

"I was just thinking that you aren't here to observe human behavior. You must be here to protect the school or lookout for anything suspicious," reasoned Sayori, tapping her finger against her upper lip, her unseeing eyes studying the floor beneath her feet. So engrossed in her thoughts, Sayori forgot she wasn't speaking to him.

Secretly impressed, Hanabusa lied, "Yes, I was ordered here by Kaname to protect the students and faculty of Cross Academy." He would have to be careful around Sayori; she was perceptive—maybe too perceptive.

"Which begs the question, why my class?" Sayori turned away from the floor, glaring at him, accusation and suspicion evident in every feature.

"So, I can protect you, Little Yori." Hanabusa smiled crookedly. It was true—perhaps, the only true thing he would ever tell Sayori—and he let his genuine desire to stay by her side bleed into his eyes.

Sayori bit her lip, frowning helplessly.

"Sayori, you will be Aidou's personal guardian while he is with us. You will make sure the other girls and boys maintain a healthy distance from him," Cross heaved a monstrous sigh before continuing, "and keep he and Solo from killing each other."

"You aren't joking. You're actually asking me to spend all my time following this," Sayori exclaimed, pointing at Hanabusa without looking at him, "around. Do I get a bodyguard to protect me from jealous classmates? As for, Solo Yagari—don't ask for the impossible. I'd hate to disappoint." Her sarcasm had bite.

Hanabusa observed the exchange with equanimity. His fan club was an acknowledged horror, but he didn't know this Solo person.

"Don't worry, dear. I will help you. You won't need protection because you will both be living in the guest quarters of my residence," cooed Cross, the ex-Hunter all smiles, "I will take you into my bosom, and make you all great friends."

Hanabusa gagged. Secretly, living in close proximity to Sayori intimidated him. He would have her all to himself for hours at a time, maybe offer to do homework with her or something equally revolting, but she hated him. Hanabusa had not forgotten her threat; he had called her 'Yori' three times already. Sayori could make his life hell, and he'd have no escape if he lived with her.

"But, Yagari already lives here," Sayori sputtered, swiping a hand through her auburn hair, pulling at the ends in agitation. Her delicate brows wrinkled in a frown.

Hanabusa was not surprised; he knew Sayori would be against the idea.

"The more, the merrier! Come to Daddy!" exclaimed Chairman Cross. He stood up from behind the desk and made to embrace the room at large.

Hanabusa was fucked—living with that and the scorching glower from the girl next to him would surely drive him mad.

As he left the room several mortifying minutes later, Hanabusa had wonder why Kaname hated him so much.

Relevant Information Corner: If you are thinking "Wow, Yori is OCness." I assure you the reason will become plain as day soon enough. I've already hinted at the reason a bit.

No previews this go round, guys. Sorry (sincere not sarcastic).

Some of you may be wondering why Yori is mentioned by her full name. I explain: Most of the preceding action has been from Hanabusa's perceptive—he does not think of her as "Yori" (yet). As for Yori herself, it's a matter of disassociation. She does not want to be reminded of the past.

Gushy goodbye, Mare

R&R