Fan Fiction ❯ Act II, scene iv: The Finale ❯ One-Shot

Okay, this is so not what i intended to write. Originally, Blaed was an Inoreni prince... i have no clue what went wrong. Anyway, for whatever reason the story now takes place in modern-day London. If you're lost on the slang, feel free to ask me or find yourself a nice, Brit-slang dictionary (there are many). There are some endnotes at the bottom that corrospond to numbers. Also, here's a nice London Underground (tube) map to help you find your way.

Uh... enjoy?

Oh! As this is something very new to me, i'd enjoy it more than normal if you sent me a review (thegoddess@goddess.com), positive or negative... i care not.



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The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast. ; Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no qualification. - Oscar Wilde, Lord Arthur Saville's Crime

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"A. II, s. vi: The Finale"


We live for a moment of bliss. Our entire lives boil down to only one, single waking dream. Life builds up to a climax, and then everything falls to a point of not return. Contrary to popular belief, what happens before and after ultimately means nothing.

Of course, no one cares about that at first. Who actually thinks about what's going to happen about a solitary moment in their life? Who believes it anyway? People live their lives happily, or whatever, and never monitor their lives. Some people have their high point in their death. Tragedy, really, but it's true regardless. Then again, some people plateau, but we'll not mention them.

It may be sad, but who can do anything about it?

Not like I ever thought about any of this, either. Quite honestly it hurts my brain. My own high point was like f(x)=-|10x|. It kind of rose and fell steadily after hitting its point. But now I sound like Ryan, and that can't be good. Bloody incompressible maths geek.

I'm in university so that I can live a miserable and poor life; yay optimism. I must be some kind of masochist, day in day out I march to classes and then do hours upon hours of studying. Oh, wait, I am. I can tell you how, when and why, say, Richard II was killed, but I live in my own bubble world. At least I know that I do. We all live in our own worlds, really. Us, not you. I guess you could say that we're typical uni students. We live in our flat, outside of which very little exists. Then again, we're not normal uni students at all.

Our flat is right outside our universities (which are literally towering over each other) and close enough to the tube, which, when used properly, takes us places such as the theatre district and the River Thames. Rather convenient, that. 'Course, the nearest pub is even closer, but I don't see a reason to spend time there, too many bloody Americans. 'We have really everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language'(1) . Truer words were never spoken.. If the Americans and the Frogs could only be returned, we don't want them here anymore.

Ryan and I decided years ago that we would go to university in London together. 'It'll be bloody brilliant, mate', as he said ever so intelligently. Nevertheless, we went through loads of rubbish and then found ourselves in our cosy flat, him with his fifty-degrees of calculus and me with twice that number of history volumes. Life was good,

Or so we thought.

We thought that life was complete. Studying is all nice and wonderful, but you can only take so much of that. Especially Ryan. He was going mental, not a pretty sight, really. He was right bonkers and I was fast on my way to join him.

Now I like Ryan well enough, but I don't fancy him. He's a nice bloke and all that (and rather good-looking, if you ask me), but he's my best mate and it just wouldn't work. He needed a boyfriend, and he needed one badly. As for me, I wanted one, sure, but I didn't need one. There's a difference, somewhere. I knew that that was the only way to save him. To find him a boyfriend, that is. One would think it'd be a lot easier than it was, too. Blimey! Okay, so, we live in university central. There's my uni, Birkbeck, and his, UCoL(2) , as well as the University of London. There're plenty of young, hormonic boys wandering around. However, all the other poufs seemed to have boyfriends. Time to start elsewhere, or not?

One way or another we found him someone. I won't go too much further because I don't actually remember what happened, or when it happened (because, yeah, my life makes sense). I think it was when the boy, Lance, was over for some kind of study group, I can't even remember. He was plastered. I don't think I've ever seen anyone as plastered as he was. Needless to say, we weren't studying much. Then he began to talk. Linc, a language student, had kicked him out. Uh, I think it was sometime around then that Ryan appeared? 'Haven't the foggiest, actually. Whatever. Lance moved in soon thereafter and I became thankful that our flat possessed two rooms. Occasionally I need to study, they don't seem to understand that.

Every once and a while I wish that the bloody neighbours would shut up and let me be. They're bloody loud and I just want to think. I want to be alone. Can't they understand my pain? Can't they just bugger off already? I'm at a loss, what do I do?; what can I do? History repeats, but not nearly fast enough for my liking. I have just one question, 'why?'. Who do I ask, anyway? God, who is this Being you speak of? Who does an atheist turn to when they need help?

Lance, as it turned out, was just what Ryan needed. I don't think we adopted him to be his boy at first. I welcomed him because his sorry excuse for a boyfriend dumped him. Ryan welcomed him because I did. Actually, I think Ryan was a bit against having Lance move in. well, until he realized… I'm actually not sure what went through his mind, but I hope it wasn't some mathematically-impossible equation that said, yes, he did like/want/love Lance. They are the perfect couple, though. Which is actually kind of scary when you think about it.

I'd like to say none of this affected me, but that'd be lying, wouldn't it? Damn my conscience anyway. I had my books and documentaries on the BBC (I'm a dork, but at least I'm a happy dork). But there was something missing. My want was growing into need, which is never good.

'We never go out,' Ryan, bloody genius that he is, commented one day.

'Clubbing?'

I rolled my eyes, not falling for it. Although, the idea of a bunch of pretty boys in glitter and leather on the dance floor did have some appeal.

''Sounds good.'

'Uh, no.'

'There's that new one that opened down by - ' Lance looked up helplessly.

'Piccadilly,' I supplied as I turned the page.

'That's the one!' he cheered. He probably thought that was me showing interest. Let him think that, not like I cared.

'Your enthusiasm is astounding, Blaed. A little clubbing does the body good.' I raised my eyebrow. 'Or not. We could always go down to that café on the Thames. Maybe that waiter still works there.'

'Het(3).'

'Right,' he cringed. 'Okay, maybe he was fired. They have that thing you like, the one with the… is it vanilla? Whatever, we could go there and then, hit Oxford?'

'There's that place there, too,' Lance supplied. No, I don't think he knew what he was talking about. He either just wanted to put in his tuppence or he and Ryan had some evil plot worked up. I, for one, highly suspected the latter. 'And you never know…'

'Maybe I'll find a plastered pouf who wants to take me home? Look, I'm happy, let me be.'

'Blaed!' Ryan pouted.

And the Defender of Faith, Henry VIII, introduced Protestantism to England in 1533, after his essay, "The Defence of the Seven Sacraments", in 1521…

'Blaed! Are you even listening to me?'

'If I say "yes", will you believe me?'

Ryan snatched my book, closed it and shoved it on a shelf. 'Blaed, this is ridiculous and it has to stop!'

'Give me back my book, Ryan.' I looked him squarely in the eyes.

'No.'

'Prat, give it back to me or I'll hang draw and quarter you.'

'For high treason?' he chuckled.

'Bugger off and leave me be. Go out and have fun, both of you. There's a Prince Albert special on the BBC.' Finally they got it. Leave the history dork in peace. That's it. I didn't care where they went, so what if they never made it out of the lift? I just wanted them to leave me be. Was I depressed? No. Was I upset? I don't think so. I was just annoyed that Ryan had a boy, a boy who had moved into our flat. I wasn't jealous. I didn't like Lance, not like that. There are reasons, but, yeah. Ryan and Lance are good together; I just didn't want that rubbed in my face.

Unfortunately, I've always thought that I shouldn't have to go anywhere, that people and things should come to me. By that time, I really wanted a boyfriend, but I refused to go out and find one - especially if I had to go out with Ryan and Lance who would sit and snog the entire time. Maybe they think of it as encouragement? 'Find a boyfriend, Blaed, and you can have this'? I stopped trying to figure out Ryan years ago, and I never bothered with Lance.

Sometime I forget why Ryan's my best mate. I really wonder if he's out to make my life miserable, he probably is. At least I know that he won't rape me in my sleep, which is a good feeling to have. The knowledge, not rape.

Most students here are Brits, many of them are Londoners. There're a number of foreigners, however, that tend to hang around just to annoy everyone else. (Kind of like the French students. Who let them into our country anyway? Is there some kind Frog underground trade? Eck.) Most of the students attend church every Sunday and spend the rest of the time outside of uni down the pub. I never did understand hets. Granted, some of them are hardworking students who spend all day in their dorms studying and the like, but I don't know about them as they aren't the ones making a fuss outside my flat at one in the bloody morning. Heh, they're probably poufs waiting for a boy to come around, too. The student make a ruckus and a mess, and anyone that lives here and is not a student is probably crazy. Most of them anger me, I just can't stand them. 'I sometimes think that God in creating man, somewhat overestimated His ability(4).' . If any of that makes sense, note it, if not, we're moving on.

We're not crazy enough to live in the dorms. Firstly, Ryan and I would have driven each other mental so much quicker. Also, it's so much noisier around there. I hear a ruckus at one here, there I'd probably be up until five. Lance lived in the dorms until he moved in with Linc I think. But we don't talk about Linc, sleazy bastard that he is. Besides, if we were in the dorms, Ryan would have to smuggle Lance in, and that would amount to no good. And then my books would be deemed more important than his and… Actually, books, as in literature, happen to be something we agree on. We communally own Wilde's complete works, Maurice and At Swim, Two Boys(5) (and books of such like). He would have tried to burn my books and, it wouldn't have been pretty. Things are better in our flat. Maybe a bit more expensive, but who cares about a few quid in the long run?

So, Ryan and Lance exist solely to make my life more interesting. No, honestly. They occasionally steal my books, videos, CDs, instant dinners, socks and, once, my knickers, too. Don't ask why, because I haven't the foggiest. I'm just glad that the flat is big enough and that they're out often enough.

Lance himself is a quasi-history-dork, if that made any sense at all. He's at Birkbeck, too, but for Brit Lit. Sometimes he randomly shows up in my classes. I'm an elemental Brit history. Right now I'm focused on the Tudors, taking a year-long course on five Tudors (and Lady Jane Grey) is a bit messed up, but it's enjoyable regardless. I like the Tudors. See, Lance is more 'here's a book, this is how is shows the time period,' whereas I'm 'here's a time period, this book reflects it, cool'. I'm not sure what Ryan thinks about us, but history is just one thing that he doesn't seem to understand. There's something unformulated about it. I guess, numbers and formulas just work better for him. That would be why he's not in any liberal arts.

'There's a play, Blaed.' Yet another attempt to get me out of the house.

'There's always a play, Ryan,' I retorted dryly.

'Yes, but this one should be amusing,' he tried, lifting my book from me. The Autobiography of Henry VIII: With Notes by His Fool, Will Somers: A Novel. 'And I happen to have a ticket.' I was torn between kicking him, glaring and raising my eyebrow, I settled on grabbing for my book. 'It's a new play,' he continued, oblivious, 'so I can't tell you anything about it, it's gotten good reviews, though. Anyway, it opens the twenty-second, and you're going.'

'Let's think about that; no.'

Lance came in then, perfectly time, injecting himself into our conversation. 'Chocolate Bananas From the Sky?' he asked, I took it for the name of the play, 'you should go. "Halfway-gay comedy-drama", that's what the London Review said. 'Should be fun. You'll like it.'

'Enough, just let me be.'

And they did… for a few hours. Soon enough they were back again, pestering me. I think I through something at them… maybe my rubber (6)? I have those brilliant Smith's ones, you know, the ones that are 99p, we're talking quality rubbers here. Yeah, they're the ones that smart when thrown correctly. I assure you, I've loads of practice with that.

'Take Bakerloo to, uh, take Bakerloo to… Well, just get off at the District, they're bound to connect somewhere,' Lance struggled. Ryan wanted to go to some kind of exhibit there, I think. It was Sunday evening, the seventeenth, and the play was to be the upcoming Friday. Neither Ryan nor Lance had mentioned it in days, but I could tell that something was up. They were plotting. So, we were just sitting around, doing what we normally do (no much of anything), with Ryan and Lance pretty much sitting on top of each other.

'Take Central from Euston Square and then switch to District at South Kensington. Get off at Wimbledon,' I mumbled without lifting my head.

'Thanks, mate.'

I actually wasn't reading that day - I was working on writing a term paper. I knew that there were probably other things I could have been doing, but the paper was my top choice. I have this laptop, a piece of shit, really, that works to a minimal degree. There's only two things good about it; it picks up the wireless hanging around the area and it serves as a storage facility. I love my laptop. I was, at that moment, watching the cursor blink, so very fascinating.

'My conventionette is Friday and Saturday, but I'll be home between days,' Ryan explained, 'Lance is going to meet me after class, we may be back after you. That's assuming, of course, that you come straight home after the show.'

'I appreciate your, um, help, but I'm fine.'

Ryan crossed the room to take a seat next to me on the small sofa. A look up from my computer screen told me that his facial expression had changed. I know Ryan pretty well, and he's got two moods; serious and light-hearted. He'd gone full serious. Like 'I'm studying' or 'this is life-saving' serious. Damn, I was in for it. 'Blaed, you don't have to go to the show. In fact, I'll not mention it again. I'm just going to lay the ticket down, and it'll be your choice. But, Blaed, you have to do something. You're wearing away. You're nineteen! There'll be plenty of time to live the solitary scholar when you've finished university. Right now, you need to get out. I can see why going with Lance and me could be unappealing for you, so find someone. You're welcome with us, and you know it, but what you want is someone only for you. Blaed, we're trying hard to find someone, but it's not going to do any good if you never leave the flat.

'Lance and I are going to Bella Pasta, feel free to join us,' at the end of his monologue he stood, straightened his trousers, grabbed his coat and his boy and then left, just like that.

Sighing, I picked the ticket up. Written in boldface across the front were the words 'Chocolate Bananas From the Sky', along with a date and seating assignment - it was a good seat, too, stalls row five in the centre. It looked normal enough, and I do enjoy the theatre. And Ryan was worried about me. Perhaps that's what really got me. Since year three(7) , he's always been someone I can count on, he's always been there. Whenever I was troubled, he's been there to help me, and he usually makes me feel better, too - except one time… Maybe I could, go, if only because Ryan asked me to.

I wonder if he meant for me to take a guilt trip…

Yes the door is bloody locked. Can't anyone let me have some peace? How can anyone say they sympathize? They have no bloody idea what I'm going through! How could they possibly? I want to be alone in my misery, let me suffer alone. Damnit, Ryan, g'way. Let me be, damnit, let me be.

Sunday became Monday and then Monday turned to Tuesday, as Mondays tend to do. The week went on as normal, but there was something different. Yeah, different. I was probably looking forward to the play, though I was too proud to admit it.

There's something about theatre that I just adore. Save Shakespeare (including here his histories such as Henry VI and Julius Caesar, but not the RSC's The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged)), the whole theatre-going experience is generally one that I appreciate. 'Halfway-gay comedy-drama,' that's what the London Review had said. For a time, I thought about looking up something more on it, just to see what I was getting myself into, but I never got around to it. Element of surprise. Maybe?

Right, eventually, Friday came (Fridays, like Mondays, tend to do that), and, true to his word, Ryan hadn't mentioned the show again. Well, I could head to the theatre district, of which the theatre was on the outskirts of, and, if I decided against it, I could always grab some tea(8) in Soho.

Armed with my jacket and backup, I made my way to the small theatre (or Soho). I probably had a load of conceptions that proved to be false, even before I arrived. It was more than a little nippy, but at least it didn't threaten an attempt to snow. The streets were full, the usual weekend crowd, and I tried my best to make my way through. No matter how long I live in London, I will never get used to the massive amount of people. Where do they come from, anyway?

The theatre, to which I will continue, was small and somewhat rundown. Outside there was already a line of hopefuls trying to get into the show. The lobby, as I suppose it's called, was filled with a number of attractive boys and a few girls, too (I presumed, then, that there was either some kind of female-appeal or the girls just liked gay guys). None of them really attracted my attention, but I could look at them.

I think I was the only one that was there alone, everyone else had come in groups or with their boyfriends (or, in some cases, their girlfriends). As I took my seat, I looked around me, feeling strangely claustrophobic. It was as if all eyes were on me; watching me, judging me.

When you hear the title Chocolate Bananas From the Sky, what do you think of? I'm almost positive that you're wrong. It was about the strangest thing I've ever seen in my life. There was one character that came out during the course of the play, if only to be with the lead actor. There was clubbing and general amusement as well as the foretold drama. Oh, and there was a transvestite, too. Oh, but the lead was gorgeous. His hair was dyed - dirty dyed - from some dark colour to blond, and it suited him. His skin was darker than my own paleness as if he were from some nameless island. He acted with ease, fitting into his role as if it were made just for him. When he was on stage, my eyes never left him. I found myself waiting for intermission to end, solely so that I could see him again. The play itself was good, but I did spend much of my time watching him. During intermission, I bought a programme, just to capture his image. Raine Dracon, that was his name. 'A twenty-one-year-old superstar that's determined to hit the big screen', it said. He probably had a boyfriend, though.

Oh, well, I could dream.

I think I was the last patron to leave the theatre, I couldn't stop staring at the safety curtain that hung over the empty stage. With a sigh I found the way out and left. By then it was around 23.00 and I hadn't eaten. Following my original backup, I made the short walk to the Asian part of the city, Soho. There was a sushi restaurant still open, one of the ones with a rotating track that has sushi on it. Anyway, I went there, ordered some sake and just ate. It was good sushi that I usually thoroughly enjoyed, but then it was tasteless. My mind was travelling over that night's performance, and I knew that I'd have to thank Ryan later. I idly wondered how much longer it was opened and if I could get more tickets. To think I protested so much to going in the first place.

The sushi-bar was almost empty, on the other end of it there was a Japanese couple and the staff was present as well. Usually I would have pulled out a book or something and read, got some studying in. Instead, I just looked at my sake, as if it would give me the answers I wanted. Sakemancy (9). The place itself was pretty modern. Most country-themed restaurants mimic that country, whether they be Oriental, Turkish or Spanish, but this one was clean and fresh. There were, however, a few water coloured paintings with their kanji. You could tell that the restaurant was Japanese, but it wasn't overdone. Again, this is probably just me babbling on about things that aren't important. They mean something to me, but my mind doesn't function in a normal way.

My back was to the street. Sometimes I liked to watch the people passing by, I would divine their pasts. I wasn't in the mood for people watching, though, and even if I were, it was late and that section of London was pretty empty at the time. Granted, there were Asians hanging about and a few lost tourists, but that was about it. No, the parties were centred about a mile away in any direction. In case you haven't already gathered, I dislike the parties held anyway. I don't know, there's just something about them that doesn't catch my fancy. It's probably the though of getting plastered and having some random girl try to rape me (okay, that's just disturbing, but you get the idea).

The door opened and then closed, admitting someone. It created an echo in the silent room, attracting everyone's attention unknowingly. The newcomer, I say that because my back was to them and I could not see whoever it was, shuffled across the small restaurant to find a seat almost next to me.

I don't want this to seem like a ghastly day-time show off Channel 5 or one of those movies that makes people gag, but there's nothing I can do about that. You know what I mean; the kind where the protagonist always gets what they want because they just happen to be in the right place at the right time? Kind of like how the protagonist can always meet the one person they've been searching for for fifteen years on a busy street during rush hour. I'm sorry, I know that I make a horrid protagonist, but I can't help it.

So, right, I turn to look at the one who disrupted my thinking and then forgot to breathe. Dark skin… Dyed hair… I blinked, trying to make sure that it wasn't some kind of cruel joke. Anyway he ordered a Kirin an began his own selection of sushi. 'Does he know I'm watching him?' I wondered. My chopsticks were grasped around a piece of sashimi midway between my plate and my mouth.

'I'm glad you find me intriguing,' he spoke with an even, well-trained voice. I absently wondered what it would be like to hear him sing. 'That's my goal in life, y'know, to intrigue people.' I felt my cheeks redden as I turned to face my sake, sake that had long lost its warmth. ''Gonna tell me why you're staring, or do you want me to guess?' My eyes widened but I didn't look at him. 'It's not my make-up,' he told me, 'because you've some of your own - nicely done, too, I might add.' I forgot to mention, he was still wearing make-up, but it wasn't the stage make-up he had on before. 'Is it my attire? I apologize, I just got out of a show. But it's not that either, is it?' He paused, drained his Kirin and signalled for another before beginning again, 'what is it, then?'

'Pardon?'

'Is there a reason, other than my fetching beauty, that you've been watching me so intently?' What? 'Or is that the only reason?'

'Are you always this full of yourself?'

He laughed, a hearty, cheerful laugh. 'Only around cute boys, you should count yourself lucky.' I watched his hand grab another plate off the track. 'So, why are you all alone on a Friday night?'

'Does it matter?'

'Maybe. See, most cute boys I know are out with their boyfriends on Friday nights, and Saturday nights, too… And often on Sundays…' he trailed off and I looked to him. He seemed engrossed in his soy sauce, making sure there was just enough wasabi in it before he dunked his sushi.

'That's about the truth of it,' I agreed. Hey, I live in an area thriving with about thirty percent of the London population between seventeen and twenty-five.

'Of course, there are some of us that work insane hours,' he shrugged, 'I wouldn't change it for the world though. The stage, the lights, the audience… it's all great fun.'

'Do you act for fun or because you like to see the people cheer? Or, perhaps for the stage-kisses?'

'My co-actor has a boyfriend, lucky bloke. Said boyfriend has threatened me, actually. He said something like "touch him outside of stage and I'll rip your fingers off". Honestly, though, he's not my type.'

Okay, I was kind of wondering what was going on at this point. What was he getting at? And why, oh why, had he found the same sushi-bar to eat at. He couldn't have been stalking me, right? I mean, he didn't even know my name…

'Most of the cast goes home with their boyfriends (or, for a few, their girlfriends) after the show, and there was a party tonight. I just chose not to go. As for the crew? If anything the crew's gayer than we are, and God only knows what they plan on doing tonight.' Okay, so why was he telling me this? 'By the way, I'm Raine,' as if I didn't already know. I'd come to the conclusion that he just liked to hear himself talk.

'Blaed.'

'Blaed,' he repeated, testing the sound of my name. The way my name flowed from his tongue… 'So, why are you alone tonight?'

'Why are you so intent on knowing?'

'Maybe,' he chewed on a piece of tampura thoughtfully, 'I want to know if you're taken.' He drained his second Kirin and I dropped my chopsticks.

'You… what?'

'I want to know if you're taken.' So I had heard him correctly… 'I'm willing to bet that you've got the guys chasing after you, am I right?' I shook my head and his jaw dropped - literally. 'Honestly?' I nodded, 'so, that means you're not taken?'

'I don't know, I was never very good at maths, 'could never add things up.'

'I deserved that one, didn't I?' he chuckled. 'Blaed, how about this: I leave this ticket here, you can come and see the show tomorrow, wait for me at your seat and I'll meet you afterwards. That is, of course, if you're interested.' He laid £15 in notes on the table and walked out, I hadn't even noticed them bringing him the bill.

I paid my own bill soon thereafter and started to make my way home. I had slipped the ticket into my pocket, opting to look at it later. Instead, I let my mind wander again to Raine, vain, arrogant bastard that he was. Should I take up his offer? I was at a loss, there was something about him that made me want to see him again. Did he always have an attitude problem? 'Only around cute boys', as he had said. I'm cute, what?

Stop it, Ryan, just go. Please? You can't see me like this. Just go… let me suffer; let me cry. Let me lock myself in my room, just… Leave me be. I can't take it anymore. Not from anyone, especially not from you. It hurts, it hurts so much. You say you understand, if that's true then you should know I want to be by myself. Please let me be by myself.

I was hoping that Ryan and Lance would be asleep by the time I got back, but they were up waiting for me. There was a teapot in the centre of the table in the sitting area accompanied by three cups and some biscuits. They were on the sofa, so that they could watch the door for my entrance (usually they sat on the smaller love seat-?-so that they could cuddle more easily).

'You're home late,' Ryan smiled, his eyes gleaming with victory.

'And what are you, my chaperone?' I hung my jacket up and headed for my room.

'Don't be a spoilt sport, Blaed. C'mon, do tell us about it!' That was Lance, always in on the act. Humph.

'It was… unconventional.'

'Right, because that tells us so much.'

I grinned, 'that's the idea, isn't it?' Again, I moved to my room, 'now, I am going to sleep.' I closed my door - and locked it - before either of them could do a thing about it.

I couldn't sleep that night, not at all. Every thought was of Raine and Chocolate Bananas From the Sky. I could see both the next day, I had that power… But did I have the motivation? Raine gave me a ticket, a better one than I had the opening night, but… What was I afraid of? In theory, I could ask Ryan for some help, him being my best mate and all. But, remember, I have too much pride for that. If I were to ask him, he would know that I found someone I fancied at the play and victory would be his. So not going to happen. Asking Lance is, in essence, like asking Ryan. However, Lance was probably a better option for me. In the end, though, I knew that it was my choice alone. I hate making decisions. Yeah, were it up to me, I would live in the British Museum, my number one place of amusement (have I not mentioned it before? I should have. It's right next door, yet another benefit of Birkbeck. Power to history geeks everywhere).

Morning crept around and I rolled out of bed for my breakfast. Saturday, my day to cook, lovely. Usually I'd make eggs-on-toast, which suited us all well enough, but, for whatever reason, I decided to make pancakes that morning. Every once and a while I feel like cooking, it's the same with all of us. Yet again, us, not you. There's often something fresh around the flat. Sometimes it's something that one of us made, and sometimes it's something that one of us picked up at the bakery on the way home. Lance has a thing for shortcake and he'll make berry toppings for the season. I never said we made any sense.

It takes a lot of pancakes, or any food of that matter, to feed three boys, but they're easy enough to make. Thank you, Bisquick, the number one American import. By the time I had finished, Ryan and Lance had joined me in the kitchen area. They'd have slept in till noon if I hadn't made breakfast. Well, I usually don't make breakfast so early because I'm usually asleep myself. Only, we all know why I couldn't sleep the night before.

'You know I love you, right, Blaed?' Ryan asked as he drenched his pancakes in syrup (10). It was his way of saying 'thank you for the pancakes'.

'That would complicate things a bit, don't you think?' I raised an eyebrow as Lance smirked behind his cuppa (yes, like true Brits we drink tea, do you have a problem with that?).

'I meant that in a purely brotherly-non-sexual way, and you know it.'

'Do I? C'mon now, you know you can't resist my charm,' I batted my eyelashes and Lance broke out into hysterics.

'Always ganging up on me…' Ryan mumbled.

'How was the play?' Nice, Lance, very nice.

I shrugged, letting them take it however they pleased.

The rest of the day passed very slowly, like turtle marathon slow. Most of the time I spent sitting at my laptop watching the cursor blink. As I said before, it was very fascinating. It was my term paper for my French Revolution class - the one period in French history I enjoy - because, yes, I am taking multiple history courses from multiple time periods at the same time. Most of them are focused around the Tudor/Stuart era, but I couldn't resist the French killing each other.

I was vaguely aware of Ryan and Lance on the love seat (the sofa, it is mine!) talking, or whatever, though they were tuned out. My mind kept drifting between the French Revolutions (of which there numerous, even the bloody Americans got it right the first time. 'Can't trust the Frog to do anything right, now can you?) and Raine. I still hadn't decided if I was going or not. I did want to see him, but what if it was a joke? Pessimist that I am, that's what I told myself. And you wonder why I'm single.

'Why?' I heard, I dimly knew that it was directed at me.

'Because France loses every war they enter, unless allied with us. What was the question?'

'Why are you so blah today?' Ryan repeated the question I'd missed.

'No reason?'

'Blaed! You're really starting to worry me, mate.'

'Look, I promise I'm okay and I'm not suicidal or anything.' I looked up from my cursor to meet his eyes. Yeah, we both have this thing with eyes. I don't know how to explain it, but we both know how to read each other. He knew I was hiding something from him, just as he knew I wanted a boyfriend. I knew that I wasn't getting away with not telling him. He only backed out because I asked him to. It's all in the eyes. We're so expressive, but only to each other. I don't even think Lance can read Ryan as well as I can. Sometimes I think Lance feels left out when Ryan and I connect, but he's since learned to live with it. At least, I think he has. He and Ryan share other things.

'I know, but that doesn't stop me from worrying. This silence of yours is strange, even for you. And don't you dare say it's because you're working, because you haven't typed ten words all morning.' He'd reverted to Serious Ryan.

'Go to your con, have fun, I'll see you later.'

'Wanna come along?' Lance offered. He was looking for someone to joke around with, the only reason he was going to the con was Ryan wanted to.

'No, I think I'm going to go out…'

They shared a glance. 'Have fun,' they said in unison. I hate them, bloody bastards.

They left and I decided that I might as well get ready to leave, even if I changed my mind at the last minute. My motivation, of course, was Raine.

I'm going to skip the next couple of hours, because you're all smart and can fill in what's missing.

I ended up at the theatre, big surprise, and I found my seat an watched the show. If anything, Raine was more brilliant the second night, and I swear I saw him look my direction more than once. The play ended and I stayed put, as directed. The crowd thinned as people made their way to the fresh air. I sat, waiting for Raine. Waiting… I knew I must have been insane, but I really didn't care. Black-clad techies began to surface, cleaning up the mess for the next day. Looking around, I could see that I was the only patron left. The techies, mostly male with perhaps three girls, roamed about but there was no sign of the cast. I was ignored, as I sat in my seat (front row centre, did I forget to mention that?).

'You made it,' he snuck into the seat beside me, 'great.' I tired not to look at him, but couldn't help it. He was halfway out of his costume and his stage make-up was still on, but he knew that he looked good. 'There's a few things I have to finish up, wanna follow me backstage?' I raised my eyebrow (yes, I am keen to do this). 'Don't want you to get raped by the techies. Strange group, the techies are.'

Puppy that I am, I followed him through the stage exit towards his make-up room. There were two other boys present, Brett and Kyle, who were in various stages of discostuming themselves.

'Bloody t'atre's too 'mall,' Kyle commented in his rich accent, ''can't bloody giv me me own room.'

'He just doesn't realise how lucky he is to be sharing a room with me, that's all,' Raine explained. He'd since taken a seat and started to remove his make-up.

'You're so bloody full of yourself,' I told him squarely.

'At least, for me, that keeps the women away from me, and most of the men, too,' Raine grinned as he put his make-up remover away and began to change his shirt. I tried not to watch. Honestly! I did try.

'What he means,' Brett translated, 'is that he's an asexual bisexual.' I looked confused, he continued, 'he's technically bi, but he tends to stay away from people in general. Very selective, he is. 'Course, he's all for having people watch him. He wants nothing more than to be worshipped. Why else do you think he's an actor? Talent?' Kyle and Brett shared a laugh and Raine threw a wadded shirt in their direction.

Raine quickly finished with his post-performance make-up and dragged me out. 'I love the cast,' he told me, 'but who knows what'll happen if they find you. They all like new toys.'

The theatre world, it is so strange and new to me. I don't know if I ever want to understand it.

Hopefully you've noticed that I tend to remember things very well, most of the time it's the small things that I remember, too. However, I can't tell you where he took me that night, not for the life of me. I think we ate something? Actually, I'm pretty sure we did. The conversation I remember pretty clearly, and I remember him almost perfectly. Can you say 'infatuation'?

'What did you think?' he asked almost as soon as we got there. It was the opening to our conversation for that night, really.

'Better than last night,' I smiled.

'Last night?' he blinked, 'you never said you were there last night!'

'Well, you never asked,' I feigned innocence. 'At least I now know that you weren't stalking me.'

'Stalking you?' shock, 'do you really take me to be that kind of bloke? I always get what I want, therefore I don't need to stalk anyone.'

'Blimey…' I mumbled under my breath. I vowed to find out if he was always that vain (yes, I know I must be sounding like a broken record). 'And just what is it you want?' I ventured, even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

'Blaed, what do you think?'

'I…'

'Brett is right, you know, I happen to be very selective, most people I meet aren't good enough for me,' he twirled his pint, watching the liquid swirl around. 'I've not been looking, either. See, acting is my passion, and I don't like for people to get in the way of that. You, though. Somehow you're different, how are you different, Blaed?'

'Um, I don't know?'

'I guess that makes two of us, doesn't it?' Raine looked at me, his eyes reading my very soul. 'So, Blaed, what do you say?'

'About…?'

'Us, what do you say about us?'

'Don't we move a little fast?' I adverted his question.

'Only when there's something I want, something I want that may not be around much longer,' he responded calmly. There was that bit about wanting again.

'Who said I'm going anywhere?'

'When someone else notices you, Blaed, they'll want you. For some reason, no one has noticed you yet. I, for one, can't fathom why.' I tilted my head to the side, a show of confusion. 'Come, now, you can't be that modest, Blaed. Tell me that you're only playing around.'

The rest of the night passed like that. He, I want to say 'worship' but I think that that word is too inaccurate, complimented me, yeah, I guess that word works. Either he really wanted some or he actually liked me. By the time we parted, I still hadn't decided. He handed me another ticket and we went our separate ways.

The flat was dark, my roommates had already turned in. Anticipating my insomnia, I made some tea and cuddled in my bed with Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne, though I did not read. Well, I was going to see Raine on Sunday, there was no doubt in my mind. The bloody bastard had captivated me, and he knew it. I didn't know what I wanted, so how could I know what he wanted? I don't know which scared me more, his wants or mine. Did it matter? Probably not… Or did it? I was so lost at that point. Of course, Ryan and Lance probably thought I already found a boyfriend and that I was spending my time with him. Naturally, they were happy for me.

That night (to which I'm skipping, fill in the blanks yourself) I waited for him again. Our time spent afterwards was a repeat of the night before, to a degree. He talked about 'us', but then he asked me about me. He decided that he didn't know anything about me and he wanted to.

'I would have never guessed,' he remarked, 'but it does make sense. See, you kept yourself locked up, so no one else could find you. But I found you.'

He found the most interesting connections between what I was saying and himself. I didn't want them to make me interested, but they did. I couldn't help it. There was something about Raine. Raine was different, and there were no other words to describe him.

'I didn't want to see the play the first night,' I confessed, 'Ryan made me.'

'Remind me to thank him,' he paused, 'the other nights, though? What about them?'

'I think, I think that I wanted to go to those. Though I can't tell you why…'

The night ended and he gave me another ticket. It was becoming routine for him, I guess. I never bothered to ask where he got them, and how he got the same one each night. I had class on Monday, but I got all my studying done by 18.00 and was at the theatre by 18.30. That night and the rest of the nights that week were more or less the same. It was Friday night that was different:

It had been exactly one week since we'd meet and we were sitting in the same sushi-bar, just like we had before. He had his Kirin and I had my sake, and we were chatting lightly. It appeared that we did have something other than liking each other in common. Wow.

'Blaed, when are you going to stop this?'

'Stop what?'

'Eluding. You're eluding your feelings and it's not doing either of us any good.'

'Look,' his hand was suddenly around mine, 'I can wait, but why should I? Why wait for what's already here?' He sighed, 'you know what I want. Blaed, what do you want? This is getting overdone. Just…'

'I don't know? Raine, what do I want?' I shook my head helplessly.

'I can't answer that for you, Blaed. Like I said, I know what I want. It can't go on like this forever, I know that it'd kill me. the question, therefore, remains to be "what do you want?".'

'What do I want?'

'What are you willing to give, Blaed? What do you want in return?'

'What if I don't know the answer to your questions?'

He tapped his chopsticks against his Kirin, 'but you do.' He signalled for the bill, the sushi-bar was due to close anyway. 'Sleep on it,' he instructed, 'tell me your answer tomorrow. Please?' he handed me the ticket with a plea.

I did just that, I slept on it. Although, I don't suppose that staying up could count as sleeping. At some point I dozed off, only to be awakened by the smell of eggs and cheese. Omelettes? My day to cook breakfast. And just how early was it?

'We decided that we needed to corner you,' Ryan said in way of explanation as he set a plate down in front of me. 'What have you been up to?'

'Been up to?' No, I'm not that stupid, I just pretend that I am.

'The past week you've stayed out late every night,' Lance informed me, 'you met someone, didn't you, Blaed?'

'I guess you can say that, but you're jumping to conclusions.'

'And?'

'And his name is Raine,' I said dismissively. 'He's an actor, and I've been meeting him after the show,' I shrugged. What was I going to say to him? Raine… I knew I didn't want to lose him, but I had no idea what I felt.

Lance seemed amused, 'so you've been sneaking out to see this actor?' he asked.

I nodded, ''sounds like Ryan, doesn't it?'

'Aww, little Blaed's all grown up. He's got himself a boyfriend.' Bloody Ryan and his bloody taunts.

'And he's not my boyfriend…' I protested weakly and to myself. 'Lance,' I said aloud, 'permission to hit him?'

He considered, 'granted.' So I hit him.

'Now that's hardly fair!' '

'All's fair in love and war,' I smirked.

'Y'know,' Ryan pondered, 'you owe me, seeing as I sent you to the play where you met your boyfriend.'

'Only, he's not my boyfriend.'

Ryan and Lance shared some kind of secret look that I didn't bother translating. They wanted to know more, they wanted to know things that just aren't true. They listened only to my mention of Raine and their minds went off in opposite inverse directions. They were happy for me, I think. Ryan wanted to meet Raine ('well you approved Lance, so I need to approve your actor') despite my insistence that Raine was not my boyfriend. Well he wasn't.

'If he isn't, then he should be,' Lance commented. 'If he walks away… Well, he's have to be a pretty stupid bloke.' I never mentioned to them that I was the reason that the relationship wasn't further than it was.

Determined to tell him, I set out that night with a mission. I watched the show without watching it. My eyes were glued to Raine or to the stage entrance I knew he'd appear out of. I waited impatiently for him to so up, something that he did hesitantly. Raine was being hesitant. Was he afraid? It was almost as if he were being sky. Who was the impostor before me? And where had he taken Raine?

At any rate, he was already dressed, donned in an ankle-long trench coat - I use that term for lack of better ones for his awesome coat. Usually, as I believe I've mentioned, I went back with him to his dressing room first. That just meant I couldn't watch him change that day. Anyway. He fastened his coat and motioned for me to follow him. He never told me where we were going, it was always a surprise. Not like I minded. The destination was always pleasant.

Wordlessly I followed him through the not-so-busy streets of London. We passed the theatre district and Soho and Charing Cross. After about ten minutes, he took my hand in his again, warming it. We walked on. Still I didn't bother asking him where we were going. I probably wouldn't have gotten an answer anyway.

'This,' he said slowly breaking me from my trance, 'is one of my favourite places in all London.' I looked up and in front of us lay the murky River Thames lit by hundreds of glowing lights, a starry sky of water. Raine rested his free hand on a banister that led up to the Westminster Bridge. When I wasn't paying attention, we had crossed said bridge and were graced with the view of Westminster Abby and, if course, Big Ben. As if on cue, the huge clock chimed, informing all of the time, 23.00.

'Wow.' Not very articulate, am I? Well, it was all I could think of to say.

'I also fancy the Tower Bridge, but that's a bit further and it's a bit nippy,' I could feel him grinning.

'Just a bit…'

He squeezed my hand, 'Blaed,' he began. His words were coming to him slowly, so uncharacteristic for him. 'Blaed,' he repeated.

I leaned against him, nodding slightly, and, in doing so, answered the question we both knew he was going to ask. He wrapped me in his arms and kissed me, then we stood, like foolish children, on the river side. It was, as Raine had said, a 'bit nippy' in the late February night air, but neither of us were bothered by it. Together we stood, enjoying both the view and each other.

It was sometime around one that I returned home, and that night I couldn't sleep for other reasons. I was going to meet Raine before the show and then go with him to his warm up and whatever kind of show preps they did. When I asked him if they'd let me in he assured me that it'd be no problem ('I'm the lead and you're my boyfriend, if they kick you out, I'll leave and then they have no lead'). So, he was still a vain, arrogant bastard, but I, as I said before, I didn't care. He was Raine and that made him great.

'He's been acting better, I knew there was a reason why,' Michael, one of the afore mentioned psycho techies commented at the 'touch-ups' (from what I've gathered, these are scenes that were screwed up the night before that need to be worked on). Oh, yeah, I skipped our lunch, in case you haven't noticed. I also skipped Ryan and Lance, but they didn't know yet, so that's okay. I figured you could imagine whatever you wanted for our lunch, I do not intend to give every small detail that's important to me. I'm not writing a novel here.

I nodded, I'd actually noticed a change in his acting, too. Well, the most major was between the first and second nights. Time would tell how that night was going to go. 'Are you saying that I'm that reason?'

'The bloke needed a boyfriend,' he shrugged as if it were the most sane observation in the world. 'I must say, you must be mental or unaware. Raine's 'bout as daft as they come, y'know. Bloody brilliant, he is, but, yeah.'

'Mike's just jealous that's he's not getting any,' Isaac, yet another techie, arrived on the scene. Michael elbowed him in the ribs. 'It's true and you know it!'

'Is not…'

They continued their logomachy, and my mind (and my eyes) drifted off to Raine. They weren't more interesting than he, that was for sure. The two of them went on for a time until a third techie (and one of the three girls) called for them to 'get [their] lazy arses back to work'. They didn't need to be told twice.

Postshow, we just spent time together, not really doing any thing. Once more, important to me, not to you. I could babble on (and will if provoked) but I'll skip ahead.

A week later, on a Saturday, I was eating breakfast with Ryan and Lance. (Eggs-on-toast, if you care any.) Raine told me that we weren't going to meet before the show, something that I had done the entire week. I just took my notes and whatnots to the theatre and studied as I watched Raine. As I've said before, I may be a dork, but at least I'm a happy dork. I was thinking that it was a Saturday so we could spend more time together since I didn't have classes.

'Think you can get us tickets?' Ryan asked suddenly. 'We've been hearing about this show for ages. Surely your boy can hook us up with some seats?'

'I can ask, I suppose.'

Lance helped himself to a second serving, 'it may be the only chance we get to meet him.'

'Seeing as you two are generally asleep by the time I get home from the show…'

'So you're saying you come straight home from the show?' Ryan raised an eyebrow. 'Do you expect me to believe that?'

'Hate you.'

There was a knock at the door. The three of us stared at each other, the only visitor we ever had was Lance, and that was before he moved in, like when he was coming here for study sessions. Eventually it was Ryan that rose to get the door, the entire time mumbling something about 'bloody ingrates', I wonder who he meant.

'Bla~ed!' he called from the door to which I wandered.

I stood in near-shock at the door. There was my tall, gorgeous, vain boyfriend. He smiled somewhat cockily before kissing me. All-in-all, not a bad experience.

'Raine,' I breathed.

''Gonna let me in, or do I have to take up hall space? Not that it wouldn't be amusing to hear the neighbours. "Bloody queers in the bloody hall. Who let them in here anyway? 'Ought to be shot, they ought." And it'll all be because you left me in the hall.'

I rolled my eyes and halfway pulled him into the flat where he came in contact with Ryan and Lance, both of whom were trying to decide if they should be shocked or amused. Introductions passed, as they often do upon meetings, and Raine joined us as we finished our breakfast. (A hungry Ryan, I learned early in life, was just not a good thing and was to be avoided at all costs.)

'Theatre's closed tonight,' Raine explained at some point. 'The director mumbled something that might not have been English, so no one knows why. Except, maybe, the techies, but that's a different story. Since I knew your plans revolve around Chocolate Bananas,' he said to me, 'I thought we could go somewhere today instead. To do that I needed to collect you, didn't I?'

'Indeed.'

'Aw,' Ryan faked a sob, 'little Blaed's going on a date. He's all grown up.'

Lance grabbed an empty orange juice carton and handed it to me. 'Thanks,' I promptly chucked it at him. Raine found the exchange rather comical.

Raine didn't come unprepared, he had a mission. Well, kind of. We were on the tube, heading towards Elephant & Castle on the Bakerloo line, when he explained his plans to me. My original theory had been right, by the way, Raine had come from some small, nameless island off the coast of nowhere, but he had lived in England most his life and London for a portion of that. Like most people in London, he knew the basics - the tubes and the pubs - but not the touristy sights. 'Never been to the Tower of London, he said. We were going down to the Tower and then the Tower Bridge. I had mentioned the small café at some point, and he suggested that we may want to head there. Nothing was carved in stone, but he thought it would be fun.

It was.

The Tower, of course, contains so much history it's like a chronicle. There's the White Tower of William I built in 1066 right outside of which you can see where famous people were beheaded (including Anne Boleyn in 1536) - the poor people were beheaded on Tower Hill. Then there was Traitor's Gate, also known as the Watergate (which we had before the Americans), Elizabeth I being the only prisoner ever to enter and exit it alive. I pointed out various sights as we went along, explaining their significance to Raine. He loved it. Of course, none of the enjoyment had to do with the fact that we were there, together, as close as we could be (to warm ourselves in the chill, I swear…). Not at all, what gave you that idea…

History is my passion as acting is his. And we enjoy each other's passions. Without them, we wouldn't have met, and we know that. I'm not sure if he set me loose in the Tower to see me face-to-face with history or if he was genuinely interested in the history of it all.. It was probably a mixture of them. That wasn't the only historical London site we visited together. In the next few months we tackled much of London, before shows and on his days off.

After the Tower we did the Tower Bridge. No, we did not delight in crossing it. Actually, we took the tour up one side and down the other though the building plans and the like. That was actually something I hadn't done before. The view from the top is something else. I swear, you can see all of London, probably more than on the London Eye. It was just…

After the bridge we warmed up in the café, as promised, but I could tell there were further plans in Raine's head. He delighted in keeping things from me. truthfully, I loved to see what he had in store. With the exception of Chocolate Bananas and the sushi-bar (which we frequented) we almost never did the same thing twice. It was just the way that Raine was.

It was a time that Raine and I hadn't seen in a few weeks (sometime between light and dark) that Raine finally motioned us out. Again I followed. Woof. Our journey wasn't far at all, the destination was right down the walk. Well, that's where he stopped moving, anyway. It was one of those Thames dinner cruises. Yet another thing that I hadn't done before.

'How did you get us here?' I blinked, awed.

A grin, 'I know a lot of low people in high places,' he paused, 'do you like it?' I nodded. It was wonderful, everything was.

It was like I was living in a dream, you know? Everything was too perfect, too right. Not that I minded, it was just… I had almost rejected Raine, and I didn't know how or why. Ryan and Lance began to have a hard time finding things to yell at me about (though they still stole my belongings). Not to be cliché, but it was kind of like the faerie tale ending people dream about, and I was living it.

In the following months, I missed Chocolate Bananas maybe three times, and I didn't have a choice. The show itself never got old, especially since it was Raine in it. I had a permanent seat in the one that he had reserved for me, but I often ventured to the back of the theatre to talk with the techies when I couldn't get to Raine. Albeit they're strange, but techies are human, too. The show was set to run for five months. That seems like a long time, until you consider that some shows run for years on end. I think that Les Misérables has been running for some thirty years. Insanity. They were selling tickets and nearly every show was almost full.

'How did I get to be so lucky?' Raine asked me one day.

'The question is "what did I do to deserve you?"' I corrected. 'What did I do to deserve you?' I snuggled up against him, enjoying his presence. Funny how one man was able to change my life so much.

The seasons changed. Spring meant that the inevitable English rain was less cold than it had been in winter - a change we annually welcome gladly. Spring also meant that I had to start studying for my exams and writing papers and the like. Not like any of it was a great load of work. Spring means change, but my relationship with Raine was unchanging. Early March I gained a second home, as I spent much time at Raine's small flat near Piccadilly. In general, though, things were going well for us and for me.

If this were a novel, Lance would come and start lecturing about plot structures and whatever it is he studies. 'When this are good'… blah, I get it. 'Course, I wouldn't have listened to him anyway. Didn't someone once say something about love making one blind?

How blind was I? How utterly daft? Nothing was the same, it all changed right before my eyes and I never noticed, never blinked. Had someone tried to convince me that my world was less than perfect, I would have laughed at them, I would have bloody laughed.

It just wasn't fair…

'Blaed,' my name always sounded so wondrous when he said it, 'you know I love you, right?' I nodded earnestly. I wasn't believing it. It couldn't have been happening, not to me. Somehow I knew it to be reality. A cold, dark reality. 'Blaed, this isn't my choice. I couldn't willing do this to you, know that.'

'Raine,' I whimpered, throwing myself across him. 'Raine, no.'

Weakly he pulled my head to his for one, last kiss. 'Live on, Blaed. You don't need me for that, anyway. Forever, Blaed.'

'Raine!' I protested, but he was already gone. Gone from me forever. Raine, my Raine. Damnit all!

I wept.

I wept and wept and I couldn't stop the tears. They kept coming, though where from, I don't know. They're still coming now. No, Ryan, it will not ever be the same. Without Raine, how can it be the same?

Yesterday night, two nights after Raine was gone never to return, I went to see Chocolate Bananas. The play wasn't the same without him. His understudy just wasn't the same. So much had changed without anything changing at all. He wasn't there… Raine. Raine wasn't there. How could it have been the same? Raine made the play, Raine made my life. It was as if, without him, life just stopped. I think it might have. How long was he in my life, anyway? Not even long enough to watch the year pass… But he was there. And he made a difference. If only he could have stayed. Why couldn't he have stayed? Would it have been that hard for him to stay? Had he stayed, I wouldn't be locked in my room, crying for a future that can never be. I love history, but not this history. Why can't it just keep going? Why did it end?

'No man is rich enough to buy back his past', that's what Oscar Wilde said. I don't want my past, though. I want my future. I want the future that I was supposed to have with Raine. I want the perfection back. It was taken from me. Everything is gone, now. My hopes, my dreams and my happiness. And wherefore? Damnit. 'The ends justify the means' (11). What 'ends'? My eternal suffering? And the 'means'? Well who's happy now?

Raine! Raine! Come back to me. Damnit, don't leave me alone. Raine, I need you!