The trees move past in a blur, leaves crunching beneath my feet. This is the third time I've run away this week, and the reasons can all be described with one word: Vincent. After awhile I let myself rest against a tree, feeling the rapid pulse of my heart against my ribs calm with each breath.

I found this place a few months ago, a small secluded area in the back of our property—Vincent's family's property really (I hope never to be included in that 'we'.) It's the one place I can come for some peace and quiet, the one place I can run away to, because I've always run away. From Vincent, from cats, from all the problems I can't stand to face.

But here, I know Vincent won't follow me, even if he could, because he enjoys having me hide, almost as much as he loves seeing me squirm under his creepy, mismatched gaze. At first I thought it was brotherly, but it's darker, more perverse than any relationship between brothers should be. Though Vincent is a very twisted individual himself, so maybe this is his way of treating a brother? I don't know.

My thoughts are interrupted by a boy around my age, stumbling into the clearing. On a second examination, he's probably older. A little taller, stronger built. But it's his eyes that really catch my attention. Brilliant green, sparkling like shattered emeralds in the sunlight. He looks at me with surprise, a question forming on his lips. "What's your name?" he asks, moving forward to sit next to me.

"Gilbert Nightray," I answer without a thought. I'm used to doing as I'm told.

"Oz Vessalius," he returns, and I marvel at the strangeness of the name. As he extends his hand, my own meeting it in a shake, I can't help but think that it fits, regardless.

"So what are you doing here?" he continues, leaning back against the tree trunk. Those brilliant green orbs remain locked on me.

"Nothing," I respond, immediately recognizing the lie as futile. There are tear stains down my cheeks, a panicked flush to my more than slightly disheveled appearance. Even without the evidence, I have never been a very good liar.

"That's not true," he replies, the mischievous smile on his face belying the concern in his voice. "Do I have to force it out of you?"

He laughs. It is a joke, then. But I go along with the "request" anyway. "I just needed a little time by myself. My fam—Vincent.." and I trail off neither knowing how, nor desiring to continue,

"Your family…" Oz states, not a question. 'I could say I'm here for much the same reason. Vincent is your brother?"

I shake my head, though really, is the guess false? "Adopted…I think."

A fine blond eyebrow lifts at that. "You think?"

"He…" I don't know how to word this. Ever since I've know Vincent—in fact, the reason for my adoption, was because Vincent thought I was his real brother. Which, really, had never made much sense to me. I'd never seen him before that day in the park, when he eventually persuaded me to come home with him. A caring gesture, I had thought at the time. "He doesn't think so. He…seems to think we're related by blood." I finish hesitantly, watching for a reaction.

Oz laughs, such a nice laugh. It's happy and bright, sunshine on the clear first day of spring. "That's cute," he finally says, subsiding to a content smile.

I shake my head vehemently. "Really, it's not!" A pause. "Why are….why are you here?"

"I told you, Gil~bert," he responds in a sing-song tone. "Same as you. And I'm exploring."

"Exploring?" I repeat, making the declaration an inquiry.

"Yeah," he confirms, blond head bobbing up and down a few times for emphasis. "I just moved in not too long ago. That's probably why I haven't seen you around here before…since this is my property and all."

"What?" I squeak, taken aback by the sudden revelation that I've been trespassing. "I thought nobody owned this…I—"

"No one did before we bought it," Oz answers quickly, the bright smile still on his face.

"I…I'm sorry!" I falter, jumping up and hanging my head apologetically. "I'll leave right now, I…I'll—"

"You don't have to," Oz replies, smiling at me as if enjoying my distress. "You aren't hurting anyone. And I like hanging out with you."

I continue to stand, shocked and unsure whether I should run off somewhere else or stay. Oz makes up my mind for me, tugging on my wrist so that I sit back down. I can feel my face flushing at the contact, combined with the words.

"Are you sure?" I should go, really. I was wrong to be here. The longer I'm away, the worse Vincent will be when I get back. But there's another part of me that wants to stay, despite the eventual consequences.

"Yes," he answers, releasing my wrist, and casually resuming his previous position.

We spend the next few hours sitting together and conversing about anything that comes to mind. Is this what friends do? Sit and talk about things, useless things, and enjoy themselves? I've never really known anyone else my age before, apart from Vincent, and he can hardly be called a friend. Even with my limited knowledge on the subject, I know that.

For the life of me I can't remember the first several years of my life, a phenomenon I've never been all too bothered by. Only the homeless year or so spent on my own, before Vincent's family adopted me. I've never been to school, only home schooled with Vincent. It took awhile for me to get up to his grade level, a fact that had always bothered me, despite the justification. Only recently had we begun to learn the same material.

But I'd never known anyone outside my adoptive family. Not closely, at any rate. I've never had a friend, if Oz is truly going to be my first and change that.

He has an odd habit of dodging certain topics, I soon notice. With the slightest sign of interest, he'll go on about a topic for a half hour. Creating complex scenarios of the top of his head, and imputing his personal opinions, likes, and dislikes. But whenever the discussion trended towards more personal things—family, friends, himself—the blond would deftly switch focus and begin on a whole new tangent.

Not that it really matters. I'm fairly reserved myself, and don't enjoy volunteering random information to strangers I've just met. Because really, that's what we are. Strangers. I was silly to think we could become friends so easily. Positively stupid. It's hardly been a day, and friendship takes awhile to form. Right?

When the sun begins to set, I start to grow a bit nervous. I'm not afraid of the dark—at least, not nearly as much as I'm afraid of cats, not that that says much. But it's really getting late now. Surely I must have missed supper. Last time this happened, Vincent's parents weren't very pleased. Not at all. I shudder, just thinking back on it.

Noticing my edginess, Oz shifts position against the tree. He is so impossibly calm and composed. Not once during our conversations did he seem nervous at all, even when he made a point to switch subjects. He did it as fluidly and confidently as he seemed to do most things.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, running a hand through his hair. It sticks up at such an improbably sharp angle, but it looks soft to the touch. Like I imagine a cloud would, if I didn't know from my studies with Vincent that clouds were really composed of water.

"It's just…I should be getting back," I say, leaving out the details. Those are the only lies I'm ever any good at, because they're really not lies at all. It's just not telling the full truth. People rarely do that, anyway.

For a moment he seems about to pursue the topic, and I brace myself for questions, struggling to think of another reason for my anxiety. I don't want to tell him about that night, the last time. He doesn't need to know.

And, much to my relief, he doesn't press the matter. He =is merely silent a few moments longer, before getting to his feet suddenly. I jump a little when he does so, earning another clear laugh from his lips. It might just be me, but I feel as if he's trying to tease me on purpose. Is that another thing friends do? Tease each other? It seems more down Vincent's alley, though not nearly so bad…

"All right," he dances to the edge of the clearing, the exact spot from where he had entered several hours before. "I hope to see you again, Gil~bert! You're fun to talk to."

What is with that inflection? I think briefly, but don't let it get to me. It's probably more his character than anything having to do with me.

"Goodbye," I reply, wincing at how overly formal the response sounds. But we aren't friends yet, right? So it should be formal. But I hardly think we still qualify as strangers either.

"Goodbye~!" he waves, before disappearing into the trees.

Sighing to myself, I start off towards home, if I may use the term loosely. The sun is nearly gone now, and there will no doubt be a price to pay on my return.

These are sort of flashbacks for the two of them if anyone didn't catch that. I'm thinking I'll alternate chapters, flashback and then present. And I'm thinking I might alternate to Oz's POV if I'm any good with it. Thoughts, opinions?

I know this took ages to get up. No promises the next one will be up sooner. But I will continue this at some point. I just have to get back into Pandora Hearts, as I've been into other shows, such as Merlin which I need to go catch now. Summer is coming, so I might have more time then. We'll see. Hope they're not too out of character ^^' My mind hasn't been in this fandom for awhile.

GriffinRose: If I continue writing, I'll definitely continue posting. And I will continue writing, it just might take awhile. I corrected the third person back to first ^^' Thank you for pointing that out! Glad you enjoyed it, and thank you for the review ^^