writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia

Jun closed his eyes and stood near Klaus's bed, focusing on the residue of his electromagnetic signature. He picked it out easily; it registered for him as an elusive and shifting deep red, thinner at some points and then expanding into a bolder line elsewhere. Made sense for a 'porter, Jun though. Here and gone.

Whistling, Jun open his eyes, and left the same stealthy way he'd come in. It didn't matter how much Klaus could teleport away, Jun had his trail now and in all the time he'd worked for the Institute, he'd never once lost a trail. The place was full of the people he'd found. Klaus was not going to be any different.

"Well, I know your name, Niklaus," he responded, standing up as well. "Only fair you know mine. I'm Jun and I'm here for you."

It wasn't a why, but it was enough for Klaus. He inhaled, hoping this Jun guy - Korean name, if Klaus wasn't mistaken - had no idea what Klaus was capable of. He moved closer to the wall, as though he were planning to lean casually against it. Instead he flung out one hand, throwing what looked like a handful of black oil at it. it immediately spread, opening into a black portal that Klaus flung himself through.

It sealed instantly behind him.

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Sighing, Klaus rolled away from the wall, facing the rest of his bedroom and realized something immediately: he wasn't alone.

Sitting in the chair at his desk was a young man around his own age, with dark hair shaved into a mohawk, wearing fingerless leather gloves and an amused expression. Klaus sat bolt upright. "Who the hell are you," he demanded, his dark eyes gone wide.

The guy shrugged. "I'm the guy who thought it was going to be a lot harder to find you. Here's a tip: when you're hiding from people, it's pretty stupid to go straight home."

The last bed was occupied by a man who was bleeding through the makeshift bandages on his head. His face and hands were dirty, a combination of soot, engine grime, and gods-only knew what else. Xiang didn't care that the man himself was dirty; he cared about his head trauma, and whether his injury was still opening, prone to infection. Hands carefully washed, Xiang set aside his crutch, able to stand on his own for so long as it took to take the patient's vitals. He'd come in with no identification and in fact, no one had stuck around to explain who he was and how he'd gotten injured, according to the intake information hastily scribbled on his chart.

Frowning, Xiang got to work. It was only after he'd cleaned up the man's face and head that Xiang got a good look at him. His unknown patient was still unconscious, but Xiang couldn't deny that he was a very attractive stranger.

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The last thing Fox remembered was being only inches away from the engine room before stars exploded in front of his eyes. No, he remembered the pain too and the whiff of air before something crashed against his skull and he crumpled, wishing he'd actually worn the reinforced skull cap he'd stolen last week. He didn't have time to think about how he'd been so close he could almost feel the diamond monocle in his fingertips before blackness took over.

It's late when I get the text but it doesn't matter. I don't sleep like I used to anymore. Late nights on the job mean if I'm in bed at 1 AM, it's early for me. It's only a few minutes before midnight so the night owls are still just getting ready. I'd have thought I was too old for this by now, but seven months of casinos and blackjack a couple times a week means I've become one of them, in more ways than one. They trust me now.

With that in mind I get up, wash my face and shower, after sending back a quick response that I'd be there. I slick back my hair, the way I've been wearing it for seven months. It's not my hair. It's Robert's hair. It's Robert's face in the mirror, Robert's clothes I'm wearing, Robert's life I've been living since I went undercover. James feels like he's gone, buried under the perfectly cultivated facade. I don't know if I'd even recognize James anymore, if I can go back to being him when this is all over. I hope I can. I hope he isn't as far gone as I fear. I don't want to be Robert, but I can't stop now. The job isn't done.

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"Have you ever had ginger liqueur? I prefer Domaine de Canton. Mix it with Bourbon and a splash of lemon. It's called a Gold Rush. It's a little strong for me like that though, so I add a little club soda, top it with a cherry. I call it Fool's Gold."

"That sounds delicious," I respond sincerely. "I've never had the opportunity to try ginger liqueur before."

"I'll bring you one," Kana offers.

"Later," I reply. "I'd rather you didn't get up."

"Good. I didn't feel like moving either," Kana says and takes my hand, resting it on his thigh. His skin is warm, soft, and insanely distracting. I swallow hard and my voice is rougher than I'd like when I say, "You sure you're not just trying to make him jealous?"

Kana laughs again and leans in close again. His honeyed scent fills my nostrils and I know he can't miss my reaction, not the way he's in my lap. "I promise you, that's not what I'm doing," he whispers huskily. His mouth is so close to my ear that his lips brush it on the word 'promise' and his tongue grazes the shell of my ear when he's finished speaking. My hand goes tight on his thigh and he's the one who sucks in his breath.

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I resolve to get as close to Kana as possible without arousing Fujimoto's jealously, and as Kureno and I pick a table I tell myself it's just business. I tell myself it's got nothing to do with Kana's long, pale legs, his small and secretive smile, his features that border so far on pretty that if Kureno hadn't made it clear he was a man, I'd have been guessing all night. I tell myself it's nothing to do with the sweet honeysuckle scent of his perfume as he comes over to our table, and everything to do with the fact that he might be a gold mine of information.

I tell myself I'm going to flirt and seduce because it's part of the job, and not because with a handful of words and light touch on my arm, Kana's already got me under his spell.

For the first month, I actually believe it.

23rd October 2010

Still no sign of Chang anywhere. I've been back every night, just a few hours, just in case. I don't want to skip a night, in case he shows up the one night I choose not to go. I have no other way to contact him. We didn't exchange numbers, emails, anything. All I can do is go to the one place I saw him and hope he shows up there again. So far, it's been nothing but disappointment.

I should just let it go, right? It was a one night stand, maybe it didn't mean anything to him. I was pretty drunk, I could have imagined some of it. Like the weird town I thought I was in. The more I try to remember, the fuzzier it all is, but I could swear I all stumbled out away from everyone else. The party was in a huge field, we we could get away with underage drinking, where no one was around. I walked away from everyone, and just kept walking until I fell over something. The ground was comfortable, I remember that, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in a bedroom, inside a house huge enough to be a mansion. Soft sheets, cool pillows, and a beautiful stranger looking at me.

I came onto him, I think. I mean I was really drunk and he was just gorgeous. I thought he might have been a girl at first, he was that pretty. But that didn't stop me, and Chang didn't either. I woke up alone, but he'd left that red scarf with me. I didn't dream him. I couldn't have.

--Shuo