He'd never been to James's apartment before.

James answered the door with a cold, "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in? I've got something to say."

James stood back expressionlessly to let him in.

The place was roomy and bare. There was a single chair beside a very cluttered table, an equally cluttered desk, and a square unbeautiful couch. Cardboard boxes full of books and CDs were stacked in the corners. A door led to a spartan bedroom.

"What do you want?"

"First of all, I have to explain something. I know you can't help being what you are--but I can't help how I feel about it, either. You can't change, and neither can I. I need you to understand that from the beginning."

James crossed his arms over his chest, wary and defiant. "You can skip the lecture."

"I just need to make sure you understand, okay?"

"What do you want, Phil?"

Phil swallowed. It took two or three tires before he could get the words out past the blockage of his pride.

"I want you to help my sister."

James said nothing, and Phillip shifted his weight. Did James have to make this so hard?

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't--well, I did mean it, but I should have kept my mouth shut." He shuffled again, and suddenly there were tears in his eyes. "I was just trying to protect Poppy," he said, his voice growing rough. "I can't let her die knowing that some deviant has been leading her on during her last hours out of some misplaced pity. I don't want her to die with any misconceptions, believing any lies. And I don't want..." His breath broke and the room turned watery. "I don't want her to die, James."

He fell to tears, and James turned away, pained. "Phil," he said, but the sobs just kept rising like minor heart attacks. He hunched, one hand braced against the wall.

"Phil," James said again, pursing his lips and looking as if he wanted to disappear. He touched Phillip hesitantly on the shoulder. "It's all right," he added weakly.

"I'm sorry," Phillip whispered, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He hadn't cried in front of anyone since his father had left so long ago, and somehow it seemed disrespectful to Poppy that he should loose his control now, just when she needed him the most. Well, at least his nose hadn't started running. "I didn't mean to-"

"No," James said, his tone suddenly much softer. "It's all right. I've done more than my fair share of crying over the last couple days."

His palm was warm against Phillip's skin. "I just don't know what I'll do without her," he said. "Like the sun's going out."

He fell apart again, and was stunned to feel James's arms close in a protective circle around him. "I know," James said softly.

Phillip's crying eased after a few minutes, and he lifted his head, suddenly aware of the precarious position they were in. He looked up into James's face, which had always been cool and distant and empty. Now it was twisted with pain and streaked with tears, and the curve at the edges of his eyes had melted.

"Thank you," Phillip said, barely aware that he was speaking at all.

"For what?"

He shrugged, very aware of the weight of James's chest pressing ever so slightly against his own. "Not laughing."

"Oh, right," James murmured dismissively. His fingers pressed into the ridges of Phillip's spine. "We've...I didn't realize how much you loved her until just now."

Phillip nodded, diverting his gaze from those eyes as gray as a stormy heart. Still, in his peripheral vision he was able to see James leaning closer and pale, craven lips drawing down to his own.

"James," he breathed, and their mouths met flushly.

It was a little kiss, tender, and Phillip jerked his head back after only a second. His head smacked against the wall behind him and bounced so that their faces were only a few centimeters apart. Phillip laughed uneasily, and dared a glimpse at James. His refined, reverent face was caught in an expression of inner concentration, an intent and need that made Phillip all the more nervous.

The smile faded with pain from Phil's face as they stared at each other. "You have to...." James tried to say, but his throat seemed to close up.

The apartment was very still, and Phillip closed his eyes. James leaned close again, breath tickling over Phil's throat as those pure, austere lips grazed him. Phillip's lungs deflated sharply and he clasped James's chin in his hand.

They kissed again, and now the kisses were neither little nor hesitant. For the first time, Phillip felt James's true vampiric strength coursing through the taut-tendonded arms that were pulling them so closely together.

It only lasted a moment, a single hysterical moment in which Phillip felt the world as he knew it collapse. This couldn't be James, this couldn't be the cold-blooded fiend who had played badminton with his sister's heart day after day, year after year. This was a stranger, him with the soft hands and cherishing embrace.

Phil was drenched in a feeling of security, of safety. Trust toward James welled up inside him to a fevered pitch and he jerked away, afraid of falling too hard, of loosing himself in a place he had never been meant to see.

James was out the door before Phil had realized he was leaving. The sweat he'd broken out in turned cool quickly, as if missing the feel of James beside him already.

His breath shuddered as he pushed himself away from the wall. His mind stalled, refusing to accept the events of the past few minutes, and instead provided simple information: He had to get home, his mother would notice his absence soon.

He tripped stepping down from the curb, and nearly ran straight into James, who was standing next to the car. He barely had time to regain his footing before James grabbed his arm. "If you ever say a word to her," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I'll kill you."

The violence James was barely able to repress was vaguely reassuring, and Phillip felt a little stronger. "Can you give her what you gave me?" he asked.

James released his arm and stepped back. "That, and more. I can save her, Phil."

They gazed at each other, and Phillip nodded slowly. In the moonlight they made a silent pact, an unspoken agreement bound in love for Poppy. There were no terms and no rules; nothing was signed. But they both understood.

"Take me to Poppy," James said.

The End

February 17, 1999

Jory San-Corinth