((ooc: Continued from Spill.))

Water dripped as he pulled the Mansion doors shut behind him; from his clothes, his hands, his hair. The evening drizzle had turned to a downpour.

It made it easy to explain why he was wet.

It was late. After midnight, probably; maybe almost morning. Even the nocturnal students seemed to be in bed. The overcast sky made it impossible to tell how far off the sun was. He left his shoes by the door, and walked on sock-muffled feet into the kitchen. A clock tick, ticked on the wall. He pulled out the trash can from under the sink, and took the damp stack of papers from his coat pocket. Posters of a missing black kitten were pushed into the middle, past egg shells and spilled sauce. His hand came away red. He quietly returned the can to its place, and turned on the tap. The water felt warm, after the rain. After the sewers.

Calley shoved his head under the stream, letting the rivulets comb through his hair. He sputtered as the water dribbled over his mouth. After a few long heartbeats of the clock, he turned the faucet off, and let the worst of it drip into the sink.

He needed a shower.

Back in his room—his real room: the one he was registered as living in—he toweled his hair dry. He was in clean clothes, now. Just a loose white T-shirt, and green pajama bottoms. He thought they had frog print on them. He couldn’t remember, right now, and he hadn’t turned on the light. The storm battered outside the window. In the bathroom, his dirty clothes sat in a heap, their water spreading out onto the floor. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with them. Burn them, maybe. Out in the woods behind the school. And the purse, hidden under the sink, shoved behind the plunger and the spare toilet paper? He didn’t know.

Calley flopped back on his bed, the towel still behind his head. The rain kept coming down. Lightning flashed. Down the hall, someone snored. A tree clattered against a window pane. A scream echoed.

He pressed the towel against his ears, and curled onto his side. There was no scream. There was no scream. He didn’t hear—

Thunder boomed.

Calley’s bare feet made no sound as he padded over the carpeted floor. The doorknob to Cafas’ room turned with a little creak. Here was the source of the light snores. He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him, and leaning back on his hands.

This wasn’t really his room. He just slept here, sometimes, in the spare bed. Those snores had made him want to kill his sometimes roommate, in the past. Kill. Right. Tonight, he found himself just listening to them. It was such a human noise. It was so alive.

Calley crossed the floor, and pressed his lips to Cafas’.

Cafas had gone to bed roughly when the thunder had started. This was because that was the point his singing in the shower had been completely and utterly drowned out. While this may have been acceptable any other night, Cafas had been in the middle of a brilliant vocal solo, and was miffed that it had ended so. So it was that he had come to be lying on his bed thinking about not much in particular, that he had blinked, and so, fallen asleep

He dreamed of wars, fighting, faraway lands where bombs were falling, and men killed men, or anything they even momentarily mistook for men. On one side an army advancing with technology, out maned, out gunned. From the other, colours, elements, flames, ice, anything imaginable, and both sides believing that what they were doing was justified. He stood in the middle, unable to escape, with a few indistinct shapes around him. He was no-ones enemy, and yet they all wanted to kill him. He thought back to the few times in his life he had that he could genuinely say were great moments, and cried for those that would never be.

'Ughurglebluner... What the hell... warm... cold...soft... wait, need eyes.'

Cafas blinked several times before his vision cleared, but in that time his nose had done the job of one thousand eyes. Right in front of him was the most adorable pair of baby blue eyes he had ever met. RIGHT in front of him. His mouth took a second to register exactly what was happening, respond, then his brain fell back into the assumption he was dreaming, after all, he'd had this one before.

'Don't think I could smell in those... wow I'm just becoming MORE delusional over time...'

He enjoyed the moment, and even managed to coax his arms to extend around the back of the other boy's neck. He was in his happy place. It had been his happy place for quite some time... although the level of happy was... unprecedented. And over the thunder, wind and rain Cafas heard the only thing he ever wanted to again. The breath of one Caleb Swartz

The hand on his neck was warm. Large. Real. It brushed against his hairline, drawing him in closer. The lips were surprisingly soft.

Was this is first real kiss? With a guy. He wasn’t going to think about that, right now. Cafas wanted him. He knew Cafas wanted him. Cafas would let him stay here, like this. Cafas wouldn’t know why he smelled like soap; why his brown hair was wet; why his pajamas were still creased from being a drawer.

Maybe Calley could forget, too.

He set one knee onto the bed, then the other. The bed springs creaked and shifted as his weight was added. His hands needed somewhere to go; something to do. They were shaking again. He thought he’d gotten that to stop, hours ago. They had stopped when he’d gotten to work. They’d been steady, when he did what he had to do. He had to. Now the tremors were back. They needed to stop. Now. He pushed his fingers into Cafas’ thick hair. It felt good. A little coarse, a little damp. Cafas had showered tonight, too. Calley broke the kiss; his face trailed, lips ghosting over nose and cheek and ear until he could just bury himself against Cafas’ hair and pillow. His breathing was heavy. The shaking in his hands was spreading; he couldn’t make it go away. It went all the way to his shoulders, now.

His cheeks were damp. He wanted it to just be from Cafas’ hair, but it wasn’t. He wanted it all to stop, but it wouldn’t. It just wouldn’t.

Calley leaned over Cafas, crying.

Yup, it was all going as usual... Cafas felt the soothing feeling of his actions having absolutely no consequences. It was a nice feeling. The hands, in his hair, that was a nice feeling, a nice touch by his subconscious. He felt the bed drop very slightly as the weight of Calley was added to his bed. Again though, with the feeling, and the everything. And then the breaking off of the kiss, the moving of the head, it was breaking a month or more long tradition, a tradition he didn't mind saying, normally ended with a crying Cafas the next morning.

'Maybe this time will be different... WHOA!'

The crying snapped him back to reality, the whole sobbing thing. It suddenly dawned that he was awake... and apparently a horrible kisser. It was odd, that always went better in his mind, he would have thought his brain wouldn't have let him down like that, or lied to him so readily. But that wasn't a good primary focus there. He needed to focus on the crying teenager pressing his face to his neck. Cafas broke the silence in a lull in the storm. "Hey, what's wrong, don't cry, talk to me." He noted he was beginning to sound like an Australian doctor on some show or another about some genius, yeah, that one.

'Make him feel safe...'

Alchemist pulled a blanket out from its neatly made position and flipped it over them both to keep them warm; his own temperature usually ran rather high compared to others, so they would heat up quickly. He rocked the young man in his charge very gently and kept him pressed firmly but gently to his chest, it just seemed a natural instinct when trying to calm someone down.

'He's back...

Cafas’ wasn’t trying to kiss him, anymore. Cafas was letting him break it off. Cafas was letting him stop. Worse, he was pulling away. As he sat up, Calley’s fingers fell back on the pillow. He didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

Maybe he could just lie here. That would be all right. He didn’t have to move. Maybe Cafas would lay back down, and they could just go to sleep. Maybe he wasn’t too angry with Calley, for avoiding him. Or maybe Calley was going to get kicked out, now. Back to his room. Back to the wet clothes in a puddle on the bathroom floor, and the screams in his head.

The blanket was warm. Calley instinctively moved to curl up next to the teen’s chest; Cafas’ arms only helped the process along.

“I tried to help everyone. I tried to be a good person,” he said, “but I think I got it wrong.”

Calley wasn’t pulling away, in fact, he seemed just... resigned. He even moved further into Cafas' chest than expected. The weight felt nice. He held the boy who he had met as a mouse, and who seemed to systematically get naked every time they were near each other. He listened to him and drew in a deep breath of a very damp Calley smell, like the storm had been washing over him not long ago. How had he gotten it wrong though? Possibly with the everybody bit of it. Yeah that was probably it. Even C.J. knew he couldn't help everybody. In fact, it seemed he could do very little for anybody outside of the odd monster battle.

'Focus on him.'

Cafas stroked Calley's hair gently as he spoke. "You want to tell me what happened? It's okay if you don't but I'm here for you." It was barely more than a whisper, but delivered with more sincerity than any Australian accent ought to allow. Whatever was upsetting Calley was clearly worse than his confession had been, it had been enough to alter his entire mental state towards Cafas, who was, at the time, struggling to hold back his own excitement at that change. After all why wouldn't he be excited, he had his friend back, and, judging from the kiss, he was coming over to the more than friends side.

'Or he's just very confused...'

The hair stroking continued as C.J. struggle to understand what could possibly affect someone so badly. He had his theories but none seemed possible when he considered the cute blue eyed animal shifter that he was holding so fondly to his chest. But then, maybe that was why he was so upset, although Cafas hadn't been aware Calley had even had a girlfriend, let alone that she had left him...

Cafas’ hands felt good in his hair. He didn’t know why that was such a novel idea to him: he’d spent a good deal of his life begging pets from people, friends and strangers alike. He just... hadn’t ever been human, at the time. It was a reassuring feeling. Familiar, and comfortable. Calley closed his eyes.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” He asked, into the teenager’s chest. The teenager’s very bare chest. Calley opened his eyes again, and found himself face to face with smooth skin and muscles.

He wondered if Cafas could feel the sudden rush of blood to his face as heat, skin against skin. The teen would definitely be feeling how very tense Calley was becoming in his arms.

He needed a tail to properly express his reaction. He grew one, with a FOOF.

Cafas was contemplating just how much he was enjoying Calley being there, when he asked THAT. Then, the sudden rush of heat, enough for Cafas to actually feel. There was tensing, then something fluffy he was going to assume was a tail. He looked down at the friend he was praying he might wake up with and saw that he had sprouted ears. Cafas thought that might have been a sign to let go. He thought about it. The he decided he was far too happy where he was to let it get away. He sighed. He wasn't sure how ready he was to tell someone what he was about to, but, Calley wasn't just someone, he was THE someone.

'It can't be any harder than my last confession'

"I... I was with Meld. The news came on. It was on one of the mutant channels, MNN or something. There was this story, child mutants, babies, killed by an organisation claiming to be a peaceful protest group. She was so angry, and, well, they were babies after all, I got riled up, didn't think through my decision. I agreed to go with her. I'd never taken a life before then, not purposefully. I was cornered though, them or me. The first was the hardest, then, they aught back. I got hit. I fell into what you might call a blood rage. Death, everywhere, women, men, anyone who dared oppose us. I... I still have nightmares." He shuddered slightly, and felt physically sick at the things he had done. But the one he really couldn't shake was the feeling of the skull cracking under his boot. He assumed it would haunt him forever, his biggest secret, his darkest deed.

'I wish I could go back... Change what I did.'

Cafas held Caleb Swartz just a little tighter to himself. He wouldn't be surprised if the boy actually ran away from him, this time permanently. Cafas refused to cry though; he had to be strong for Calley right then. He scratched the other teen behind the kitty ear. It was just something you did to cats, without thinking about it, it made everyone feel better. Well, at least he assumed it did, he'd never asked a cat before.

Cafas was not letting go. Did Calley want him to let go? Of course. This was wrong; it was all wrong. He didn’t even know why he was in here. Cafas was warm, though. That was surprisingly nice to think about.

There were worse things, after all.

His tail twitched as Cafas spoke, the fur gradually settling down. It curled around his body, including Cafas’ knees in the loop.

“Why did you do it?” Calley asked. “Why didn’t you stop, when you realized you were wrong?”

His ear flinched away as the teen’s fingers first brushed it; slowly, it fell back into place. The scritching felt nice. There was no harm in it. That was just something you did to cats, after all.

Calley settled down slowly. That was good. He was not in a good way, and the last thing he needed was to be more scared. Cafas went back to lightly stroking him. He did after all seem to need it. The question was interesting however. Why hadn't he stopped?

'Why... Why didn't I?'

Cafas frowned and thought back to why, but he'd already known the answer. "I... I was scared. If I stopped fighting, the others would have killed me." C.J. hated thinking about what he'd done. He'd gone against his own code, because he was scared.

'And then...'

There was a brief, uncertain pause from the Australian "Then... I got angry. Fear, fear can drive you to kill... Anger, anger can drive you to kill... Together... It's unthinkable."

'Why am I the one pouring out my heart and soul?'

>> "I... I was scared. If I stopped fighting, the others would have killed me."

“That’s true,” Calley agreed. Hunter would have killed him. He still would.

>> "Then... I got angry. Fear, fear can drive you to kill... Anger, anger can drive you to kill... Together... It's unthinkable."

Fear, yes.

Anger, no. He hadn’t been angry. Even if he was, it was Hunter he was angry with. Not that woman. He hadn’t—not because he was angry. He was sure of it. He hadn’t.

“No,” he rasped, drawing his legs up more fully into his roommate’s lap. It was more comfortable that way. That was all.

His tail had moved up around his own legs; the tip would be tickling the side of Cafas’ face as it twitched, in that way that tails have. Calley had learned long ago that a cat does not control its tail.

“Would you do it again?” He asked. “If you were in the same situation again—would you do it again?”

No? What an odd sentiment. It had sounded like there was more to it, but Cafas ignored that in favour of concentrating on the fact that he now had his roommate in a manner reserved for people one cared for, and thus, proving Calley liked him too, which he had of course known all along and was the exact reason his room was cleaner than your average hospital.

'Would I do it again?'

He knew the answer to that too. He didn't even bother to hesitate. "No, I'd go back and change it if it were within my power. I'd never do that again. I guess it's what makes me human." He of course used the term loosely. Really it was what made him not a monster, but that was a bit of a mouthful, and Cafas was sort of preoccupied with the whole keeping Calley soothed. The tail tickling his face felt nice, although he was going to end up with cat fur in his mouth and nose, he just knew it.

'Yup, and its gonna bug me for weeks... oh well.'

Cafas didn't like the fact he was talking so much about an event he simply wished he could forget. His weapons had been cleansed with fire and just about anything that wouldn't damage the metal, the clothes used to fuel the fire itself and every other implement left to soak in a cleaning solution. Yet the scars remained. And here he was, ruining the happiest moment of his time in NYC talking about it. He reasoned however, that he was talking about it to help the distraught blue eyed teen he was holding, so it could be considered acceptable.

'What did you do though Calley?'

His ear was being neglected in favor of deep thinking; it gave a small flick, reminding the still hand as to its duties.

Calley was silent after Cafas’ answer, for a long moment. His mind went to the clock in the empty kitchen downstairs: tick, tick, tick. There wasn’t any such noise in their room. The red light of the digital clock shone up from the night stand. Who’d thought that red was a good idea? That people wanted to open their eyes in the middle of the night, and see the color of—see that color casting light across their face?

“You can’t go back. You can’t change it.” Calley said, rubbing his other ear against the pink-haired teen’s chest, without thought. “That’s not what I meant.” His tail trailed over Cafas’ neck before tucking itself up under his own chin.

“If you woke up tomorrow, and it was still happening. The same thing, all over again: it never even stopped. Would you do it again?”

Dawn was coming. Calley missed being a child, suddenly; he missed taking for granted that the light kept the monsters away.

His arm slipped around Cafas', palm settling against bare back.

Cafas went back to scratching Calley’s ear as prompted. He didn’t notice the prompt consciously, but his brain managed to fill in the blanks as to why he had spontaneously gone back to scratching the cat boy. There was a pause in the room. A long pause. Not awkward, just a mutual respect for silence in his opinion. Cafas blinked.

’I wonder what he’s thinking about.’

Cafas got his answer pretty soon. Yet again it set him thinking, and the stark reality that Calley presented was not something he was typically used to from the boy. Cafas felt cat fur against his chest, rubbing gently, but he couldn’t truly appreciate it. He continued scratching and went through his mind, picking up bits and pieces to test the question against evidence. It was a hard one to answer. Would he do it again, if the situation had simply never ended, would he continue to put himself before others indefinitely, to kill or be killed, could he do it?

’This is exactly the type of question I hate.’

Cafas sighed as an arm wrapped around him and was surprised to hear his own voice again, so detached in his own thoughts had he become. ”Had it never ended? Were I still there, with Meld, with the girl with the pink glow? Well... Yes. I value my life above that of someone trying to kill me. In fact, there are few individuals I can truly say I would sacrifice myself for, and few causes. It’s human nature to protect yourself from people trying to harm you. So I guess yeah, I’d do it all again. All the same, because at the end of the day it was easier to kill them anonymously then to turn against the others and have them know who I was.”

’That... is a sad sentiment.’

So Cafas would keep killing.

Would Calley?

It was warm in the larger teen’s lap. Not really comfortable, though, per se. He wasn’t a child anymore: the fit was sprawling, at best. Suddenly, it was feeling even smaller. Cramping. Suffocating. Calley squirmed his way free, his ears twitching irately at scritching hands and muscled chests. He put a two foot buffer of sheets and bed between them.

Too far: he scooted back a little closer. Make that a one foot buffer. The cat boy crossed his legs. His tail hung over the edge of the bed, sweeping just above the floor. Baby blue eyes watched Cafas intently.

“What made you go bad?”

Hunter.