"Mireyu?" The soft, ever-so-faintly accented voice of her partner echoed slightly off the bathroom tiles as Mirelle stepped from the shower, water trailing down her nude body in already-cooling rivulets. Pulling the curtain back into place, her cool, distant eyes softened for just a moment, lips curving upward in a fond smile. She never did get tired of hearing her name that way, laden with the accents of Kirika's native Japan. Shaking her head to clear it of such nonsense, she answered with a questioning sound, voice pitched to carry over the noise of the fan. "Ummm?" Outside the partly-cracked door, a shadow appeared like magic, its slightly smaller, softer contours as familiar as the Corsican woman's own. Kirika Yuumura's low tone was as calm and even as it ever was; to most ears, it would have been completely flat, without any emotion at all. Only someone who knew the seventeen-year-old as closely as Mirelle did would recognize the soft cheer in her voice, the subtle mix of sound and inflection that meant she was content. "The tea is ready." Mirelle nodded, though she knew Kirika couldn't see it. "I'll be out in a minute." She assured her partner. Kirika's shadow shifted, nodding, then retreated back into the main part of the apartment without comment. The older of Noir's pair didn't mind the silence. It was simply a part of Kirika, like her short, thick dark hair, Asian features and brown eyes marked with red. The blonde knew without needing to see that her partner was probably pouring them some tea, or settled beside the window looking for a new art subject. Lifting one of the white towels from the wall rack, Mirelle dried off quickly, then wound the cotton cloth around her damp locks. If she was lucky, there would be a few more sketches for her to see. Wrapping another of the soft towels tight around her body, she tucked the free end casually over the top and slipped from the still-warm bathroom into the apartment proper. A warm, steamed-spice scent billowed out to embrace her, an undertone of sugar and cookies heavy enough to taste on her tongue. It seemed Kirika had found another recipe she liked in the books Mirelle had brought home. Though it was only a small hobby, the Japanese young woman seemed to like trying out different cooking and baking techniques, and Mirelle enjoyed encouraging her as much as she could. It was still fun to see Kirika's shy little smile, that rare expression she hardly showed anyone. And to be honest, her cooking was just as good as Mirelle's own. Her baking was certainly better. Moving around the half-wall that separated their 'bedroom' from the rest of the apartment, the blonde pulled open a drawer in the glossy wooden dresser and rummaged through, searching for something she felt like wearing. She finally decided on a pair of pale blue jeans, not quite tight enough to hinder her movement, but certainly a good fit. To go with them, she pulled out a lavender halter top that tied at her neck and waist, then a pair of white tennis shoes with matching blue piping. Glancing up in the mirror, the Corsican beauty eyed her reflection critically for a moment. Yes, this was a good look. They only had a bit of light work for today, really – just some minor scouting before the true hit later this week. And Kirika really seemed to like the halter top. Maybe we should get her one when we go shopping today. That new place on le Rhine looked like it might have a few good outfits, and I know they have her size. Mirelle mused to herself, idly running a brush through her still-damp hair. She'd been doing her best to 'help' Kirika restyle her wardrobe, with rather mixed results. Her partner now had quite a few more modern outfits tucked into her side of the large closet, including three or four pairs of comfortable, non-pink shoes. Though Mirelle still had no success in convincing her to wear anything that showed off her lean, delicate body to any real advantage. Absorbed in her thoughts, the blonde hunted along the top of the dresser until she found the pale purple scrunchie Kirika had discovered in a boutique a few weeks ago. The small Asian girl may not have understood much about fashion, but she certainly had an eye for colors; not only did it match this particular top perfectly, but it had just the faintest shades of blue in it to set off the Corsican's sapphire gaze. Gathering up her long blonde hair, Mirelle pulled the thick, wavy tresses back into a simple ponytail, admiring the effect in the mirror for a moment before nodding. As usual, Kirika was right. In this outfit, her golden mane did look better tied back. Finally dressed and comfortable, Mirelle trotted into the apartment proper on bare feet just as Kirika came out of the kitchen, teapot cradled carefully in her hands. A large platter of fresh cookies sat on the small, round table between their customary places, full of sugary goodness and still warm from the oven. Mirelle paused and raised an eyebrow, laughing wryly. "Found something to keep you busy again, hmm?" Kirika ducked her head a bit, smiling shyly as she placed their usual drink atop the table. The teasing wasn't truly something new; Mirelle had ribbed her occasionally ever since they met, always with that sardonic smile and eyes glinting with sarcastic humor. But after their return from the Manor, the teasing had become gentler, more like a best friend and a partner rather than a sharp coworker who happened to share the same home. Strange as it was, each little joke was precious as gold to Kirika. She knew no one else rated teasing in quite the same way, and that thought gave her a sense of . . . affection, maybe. A glow of warmth and belonging, the knowledge that – if only in one small area – she was valued more than any other. The blonde young woman took her usual seat at the table, and Kirika carefully poured the tea, only a very faint lingering stiffness in her left side suggesting the injury that could have claimed her life. Mirelle's eyes followed the movements almost anxiously, a faint frown shadowing the porcelain skin between her eyes, though she looked away when Kirika sat down. Okay, so she was still concerned. It was justified, she snapped at herself. Her partner had nearly been killed saving her life. And any weakness could destroy both of them if they were on a job. Still, some emotion was curled tightly in her gut, refusing to go away. To distract herself from the irritating direction her thoughts were heading in, Mirelle reached across the table and snagged a cookie, taking a quick, neat bite. Blue eyes widened, all worries vanishing in an instant. "Oh!" Kirika looked up, face filled with concern. "Is it wrong?" She asked anxiously. She'd only tinkered with the recipe a bit, but she hadn't thought it would hurt. Were they awful? Her hand touched the table, ready to rise, and Mirelle waved her back down, shaking her head. The blonde swallowed her mouthful hastily, almost laughing. "No, no, it's not bad. These are heavenly, Kirika. What kind of recipe was it?" "It was in one of those American magazines you bought yesterday." The young Japanese assassin blushed, ducking her head yet again. "I added some different sugar and marshmallow bits, and not as much chocolate or flour." Mirelle took another bite and smiled, amused by her little partner's reaction. "Well, they're wonderful." She took a cautious sip of tea, humming appreciatively in her throat at this flavor as well. "You tried the new spice blend?" "Umm." Kirika nodded with a sound of agreement, cheeks still flushed, but obviously pleased the blonde had noticed and approved. The fringe of her dark bangs flopped forward into her eyes, and Mirelle stomped on an urge to brush the adorable wayward hair back behind one ear. Instead, she replaced her cup in its saucer and favored the younger girl with a faint smile. "Your hair's gotten long again. Maybe we should have Paula cut it? We're headed there anyway." Kirika tilted her head to one side, considering the tips of her thick mane briefly. Mirelle was right, it had gotten much longer than normal in the last month. The ends were now down a good inch past her shoulders. The Japanese young woman ignored a flicker of pleasure that her partner was asking her opinion, rather than demanding or choosing for her. "I – I think I'd like that." She agreed after a few seconds. A smile slightly for just a moment before her serious look returned. "The scouting today?" "The Grayson hit." Mirelle nodded, swallowing the last bite of her cookie and brushing the lingering crumbs from her lips. For a split-second, Kirika wondered why she was almost jealous of the sugary treat, a faint tightening low in her gut only adding to her confusion. Why would she want to touch Mirelle's mouth? Shaking it away, she listened as the Corsican assassin continued, "It seems simple enough. In and out through the building next door – it's being renovated, so no real worries about witnesses. Today's just to find the cameras and scope out security." "Eight bodyguards." The dark-haired young woman closed her eyes for a moment, reciting from perfect memory. "All armed with semi-automatic weapons and supplementary side pistols with a fourteen-capacity clip. Four trained in some form of martial arts. Grayson himself carries a 9mm." Mirelle inclined her head, her own eyes warming with hints of approval. Not that the ability to repeat information was anything new; Kirika had a Soldats' trained mind, after all, and she was groomed for assassin's work. Still, the blonde couldn't help but smile, ever so slightly. It was natural to be proud of a competent partner, she told herself firmly. "Don't forget, he's supposed to have a meeting late with some of his business partners." She reminded the younger woman. "If any of them show up early, we may have to factor them into our escape routes." Kirika swallowed some of her own tea and nodded, agreeing quietly. For a while afterwards, the two of them sat in comfortable silence, the only sounds the chink of a cup in a saucer and their own quiet breathing. Mirelle was occupied eyeing Kirika's choice of clothing for the day, pleased with the results she found. A soft, tank-top style shirt in dusty red, perfect for bringing out the reddish highlights in her eyes. Khaki cargo pants and brown leather hightops matched just as well, showing off the golden perfection of her tanned skin. It wasn't exactly what Mirelle would have chosen, but her partner still looked quite good. No more silly pink shoes or plain, commonplace clothes. The blonde thought with satisfaction. Now she looks prettier, more confident, like she should. Her face softened slightly, unconsciously, a new thought following the first two as naturally as breathing. Not that she ever needed to look prettier than she already is. Irritated, she shook herself. Don't be stupid, Mirelle. The fact that she can keep a low profile is good for our kind of work. On her own side of the table, Kirika was content to sit in the golden afternoon sunshine falling through the long terrace windows, snacking on their tea-cookies and admiring Mirelle's fine-cut figure. The Corsican beauty had picked her halter top and jeans outfit, one that showed off her lean, athletic body to some of its best advantages. Not that Mirelle didn't look beautiful in whatever she chose to wear; this was simply one of Kirika's favorites. Purple was a wonderful color to show off her sapphire eyes, and pulling back her long, wavy mane made her high cheekbones and delicate features all the more striking. Then there was her creamy porcelain skin, that strong, graceful hand lifting her teacup, the way the bright sunlight gilded a solid line down her elegant throat as she swallowed – it made Kirika flush, just a bit, a dizzying wash of heat flashing through her. The reaction confused her. Why would her body react so oddly? She knew she wasn't ill, and it wasn't related to her injuries. In fact, the stunning sight made Kirika's fingers itch to pick up her sketchbook and pencil, but she restrained herself, taking a bite of cookie instead. She'd never asked Mirelle to pose for her, partly because she was worried it might annoy or insult the blonde Corsican, partly because even thinking about it sent a surge of strange, tingling energy through her veins. Not that she had never drawn her partner; indeed, her fellow assassin was one of her favorite subjects. Instead, the Japanese young woman had taken to doing quick sketches while Mirelle wasn't paying attention, fleshing them out in loving detail later on. A special pad she usually hid beneath all the others was filled with pencil portraits of Mirelle doing the dishes and making breakfast, Mirelle working on her computer, Mirelle sleeping, and even one or two of Mirelle stretched in a sun lounger at the beach. It was the sleeping sketches that were closest to Kirika's heart. They were the ones where Mirelle was relaxed, peaceful, with her guards lowered and her face soft. It made her look almost like a normal girl. A normal angel, maybe. The thought echoed softly in the corners of Kirika's mind, quiet and wistful. Mirelle rubbed her hands together to clear away the last of the sugary crumbs, gaze falling on the spiral-bound books sitting to one side with a pleased expression. "Oh, did you have something new?" She asked, lips already curved into a happy smile as she reached forward to pluck the top pad from the stack. Kirika glanced up from her reverie, ready to nod – then froze, tan face flashing into pure horror. Several smudges of pencil lead across the front cover identified that particular sketchbook. The sketchbook, with all her precious Mirelle pictures inside. She'd been looking at it while the Corsican was in the shower, wondering if there might be a way to manage a portrait of that particular moment. She must have put it back in the wrong place, the young woman realized, jolted with a thrill of fear. If Mirelle saw those pictures – instinctively, her hands shot out, grabbing the pad and hugging it to her chest. "No!" Mouth open in a small 'o' of surprise, Mirelle stared, too shocked to do more than blink as the sketchbook was snatched from her hands. Across from her, Kirika was flushing heavily, obviously embarrassed, holding tightly to the pad as though it were a precious treasure. "It's – the ones in here aren't done." She half-stammered, voice only slightly more strained than usual. "They're – they're ugly, when they're not done." Mirelle sat still for a few more seconds, completely mystified, but nodded slowly. Her little partner was so plainly worried about something. Maybe the pictures were a new style, and Kirika hadn't yet settled on the technique? That might make them ugly in her eyes, though the blonde assassin doubted that was really true. She didn't think anything Kirika drew could ever be ugly. Still, she wasn't going to needle the small Japanese girl over it. That would be cruel, and she would never hurt Kirika that way, not over some foolish curiosity. "Okay." Gently, she leaned forward and touched the next sketchbook on the pile. "Are these done?" Swallowing hard, Kirika nodded mutely, still blushing so darkly her whole face was red. Mirelle did her best to ignore it, drawing the pad to her lap and flipping it open casually. Intently, she examined each page, even though she'd seen the first ones before. By the time she'd gone through to the new picture – a gorgeous pencil sketch of an orchid in full bloom – the younger woman had regained control, the flush on her cheeks faded back to their natural golden brown. "This is beautiful, Kirika. Are you going to add colored pencils to it?" Kirika nodded again, loosening her death grip on the sketchbook just a bit and ducking her head shyly. Relief radiated from her like a touchable wave, eyes so grateful they made Mirelle's heart jump oddly. For a moment, the blonde wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her partner, assure her that nothing so silly or trivial would ever come between the two of them. Instead, she set the pad carefully aside and stood, smoothing out her shirt. "Come on." In the silence, her voice sounded almost like an order. "We have work to do." Two days later: Slam! "Ugh, I can't believe that idiot!" Mirelle blew through the apartment door like an irritated golden whirlwind, nearly flinging the heavy wood back on its hinges. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she slammed her purse on the corner of the pool table before dropping into her computer chair in a grumbling huff. Kirika followed at a calmer pace, closing and locking the door out of habit as she flicked on the lights and gently set her Berretta down beside Mirelle's purse. Blood had welled and dried in an angry looking inch-long cut across one cheek, her newly-trimmed hair slightly more wild than usual, but she seemed otherwise alright. One scuffed hand rose toward her partner, hesitating in midair. "Mirelle, your arm – " Glancing down at the fist-sized bruise already purpling savagely across her pale upper arm, the Corsican assassin grimaced and shook her head, loose blonde hair flying around her face and shoulders. "It's alright." She assured Kirika, her tone disgusted. "It doesn't really hurt too much." Propping her elbows on the raised border of the pool table, she set her head in her hands with a long sigh. Tonight's job had been ten times as difficult as they had been told, and it rankled her. Although their scouting two days ago had pegged the video cameras and guard patrols, their client had 'misunderstood' the time of their target's business meeting with his fellow mobsters. As a result, she and Kirika had found themselves faced with nearly triple the amount of guards they'd expected, pinned down in an empty room by heavy gunfire while four opponents had closed in for melee combat. Even though they'd managed to take out the target and escape, Mirelle still considered it a flat-out disaster. In truth, her arm was a solid, bone-deep ache from shoulder to elbow, but Kirika didn't need to know that. I will not look weak in her eyes. There was enough of that nonsense earlier. Speaking of her partner – Mirelle glanced up as the faint, familiar rattle of the teapot broke the apartment's stillness. Kirika had vanished from the main room, though from the quiet sounds in the kitchen, she was fixing tea for them both. The blonde sighed again, eyes softening as she kicked off her boots. She would've been dead tonight if not for her partner, and she knew it. Two of the goons had managed to come at her from opposite sides, cornering her between their huge bulk and an open door to the hallway full of hired guns. The smaller of the muscle pair had given her the love-tap across the shoulder with a nice heavy pipe, sending her Walter skittering uselessly across the floor before Mirelle had taken him out with a well-placed heel to the throat. Unfortunately, that had still left the bigger man, who had grabbed hold of her in a massive bear hug, beefy arms trying their best to crush the life from her lungs. She hadn't even seen Kirika reappear, her own opponent having been dealt with in a matter of seconds. The blonde's attacker had simply released her and slumped over, the bare spine at the back of his neck shattered by a single sharp blow. Mirelle had staggered, winded and off-balance, trying her best to recover. The fourth hired man that had managed to get in the room had come streaking at her, knife glinting in the shadows – and a dark-haired blur had stepped between them, dodging the razor-sharp edge with almost supernatural speed before launching a lethal attack of her own. That final idiot had gone down with hardly a sound, and the two assassins had beat a hasty retreat back into the safety of the night. So a complete and utter fiasco, from start to finish. But they were alive, and that was really what counted. And Kirika shouldn't have been in there making tea; she had to be just as bone-weary as Mirelle was, and wounded besides. Looking up as the younger woman returned to the apartment proper, Mirelle felt her lips turn up just slightly, her expression contrite. "You don't have to make tea." She said gently. Kirika's eyes were downcast, voice little-girl soft. "I – I thought you might like some." And I can't help with your arm, hung the unspoken rest of the sentence. She sounded almost ashamed, as if she thought she'd failed somehow. Mirelle instantly felt worse. Here she was feeling sorry for herself while Kirika tried to take care of her. Some partner she was. Rising, she padded across the room, stopping in front of the Japanese assassin. "Is that cut the worst of it?" She asked quietly. Kirika hesitated, surprised. "There's – a few bruises." The tanned young woman admitted, looking instantly shy. "Not too bad." "Hmm." Mirelle's hand lifted almost by itself, gently cupping Kirika's cheek as she examined the wound, sapphire eyes darkened with concern and intent. That slice looked like it might still hurt, but it wasn't too deep, only a few spots dotted with dark crimson. The bruises must be hidden under her thick hair. There didn't seem to be any more serious injuries, thank goodness. The golden-tan skin beneath Mirelle's fingertips was smooth, unexpectedly soft and oddly warm. Feather-light, the blonde ran the pad of her thumb across the cut, her motions fluid and soothing. Her voice came out strangely lower than she meant it to. "Does it sting?" "Uh-uh." Kirika barely managed the negative, her stomach fluttering so badly it felt like there were a thousand butterflies tucked inside. No, the slice didn't sting anymore; it tingled, pleasantly, just like everywhere else Mirelle had touched. That by itself was odd. Usually, anyone trying to touch her got a bad reaction, possibly even a lethal one. She didn't like people being close at all, let alone the vulnerability that came with touching her face. So why did Mirelle's hand against her cheek feel so very good? Hazy, half-formed ideas flashed dizzyingly through her mind – she wanted to nuzzle her face into the Corsican's palm, to feel the light brush of that thumb against her lips, to simply close her eyes and savor the warmth and caring that showed in this one small gesture. What was wrong with her? "Good." Gently, Mirelle smoothed her thumb over the cut again, unsure why she was doing it. A moment ago, she'd only wanted to make sure Kirika was safe and unharmed . . . but now . . . she could feel her eyes softening, layers of walls and protections falling away in the face of her partner's sweet, open expression. Mirelle shook herself mentally, puzzled and faintly disturbed. Why did she feel so odd? What was wrong with her body? Her muscles seemed loose, disconnected from her brain, almost floating – but it wasn't unpleasant. Actually, it felt good, like the flash of heat that washed suddenly through her body and picked up her pulse for the ride. And her breathing came just a hair faster . . . She had to stop this strangeness. Now, before – she refused to think about that. Her hand fell away from Kirika's cheek, arm moving instead to pull the smaller girl into a strong, brief hug. "Good, Kirika. I'm glad you're alright." She hesitated for the barest instant, trained survival instinct warring with sudden, inexplicable need. The need won. "And thank you." Kirika's breath fell from her as her partner's arm tucked around her, an almost inaudible sigh. She wasn't sure what to feel, although relieved, pleased, and strangely disappointed seemed to be the most dominant emotions. Part of her was nearly dancing with happiness. Mirelle had thanked her! Not just thanked her, but checked on her, touched her voluntarily, hugged her! Another part seemed relieved that nothing else was happening; until she understood these odd reactions, they could be dangerous to her, especially if they got worse. But why was she so disappointed? In the kitchen, the teapot whistled shrilly, shaking them rudely back to reality. Mirelle released the smaller girl quickly, and Kirika hurried through the doorway like a startled rabbit, leaving her blonde partner to stare after her with oddly conflicted eyes. Shaking her head, the Corsican growled soundlessly to herself, one frustrated hand to her forehead. She felt like she'd been slapped half out of a dream. What the hell was she doing? The familiar beep of her computer saved her from coming up with an answer – which was just as well, since she didn't have one to give. Turning with panther-like grace, she settled into the cushioned chair, snagging the mouse and automatically clicking on the mail icon. The standard couple of security screens and passwords went by in a moment, and by the time Kirika returned with two cups of fresh green tea, the blonde was already engrossed in their newest job offer. Murmuring an absent "thanks" and flashing a faint smile as her partner set one of the cups at her elbow, Mirelle scanned the e-mail for a few more minutes, then sat back with a sigh. "Well, we've got a new job. But it's – unusual." Kirika said nothing, simply set down her tea and waited with calm, expectant eyes. "The target is one Eric Sanders, a leader of the militant Aryan National Pride Association in America." Mirelle snorted, disgust obvious on her face. "Apparently one of those racist societies, white power and other stupidity like that. It should be quick, an easy in and out. No more than a few days." The Japanese young woman nodded. "So what's the problem?" When the Corsican raised an eyebrow, a slight smile touched Kirika's lips. Her voice was soft. "You wouldn't say it's unusual unless there was a problem." She reminded her partner. She could have said more – like how Mirelle's tone said she didn't particularly like the assignment, or how the way she turned and sat in her chair said she was tense and on edge – but those were things that didn't need to be said. Besides, it might spook the blonde assassin to know Kirika could read her that way. "Well, the client needs this done in a hurry. But our target is at a retreat with his group for the next two weeks." Mirelle paused. For a moment, Kirika couldn't see the problem; with her golden hair and blue eyes, the beautiful Corsican would fit right in. And she was good at looking innocent and harmless when the situation required it. The target would be easy, feeling safe and secure, surrounded by people who felt and thought and looked the same way he did – - oh. Kirika caught sight of her reflection in the darkened window glass, but she didn't need it. She understood the problem now. Her throat tightened, chest aching painfully, as if her body knew before her mind what Mirelle would have to do. "So I can't go with you?" Part of her was hoping her partner would reassure her, insist that although Kirika couldn't help with the actual hit, she could certainly come along. Cover the getaway, stay in the hotel – it didn't matter, as long as she was there. But Mirelle's soft sigh and sadly-knowing eyes dashed that half-formed thought in an instant. The blonde shook her head. "No, Kirika." Her voice seemed almost apologetic. "It would be too risky. If I'm seen with someone," she hesitated, "non-white, it could sink us both." Kirika nodded miserably, knowing her unhappiness was obvious and – for just this moment – not caring. Mirelle was going away, leaving her behind again. The forlorn sight stabbed at Mirelle's heart. Standing, the Corsican assassin lightly touched her partner's shoulder. "It should be quick." She spoke quietly. "Our client's already arranged for my entry into the retreat. I'll fly in tomorrow morning, take care of the target, and be back in three days." The pain on the Japanese young woman's face didn't ease much, and Mirelle was struck with a sudden, sharp urge to do something, anything to make her partner smile. Gently, she ran her fingers through Kirika's dark hair, brushing the unruly bangs back from those reddish eyes. "Maybe we could go to that little set of boutiques you like, when I get back. The ones with the pet store on the corner?" That got a small, shy half-curve of her lips, a faint sparkle flickering in her eyes. Encouraged, Mirelle went on, "And while I'm gone, you can relax, do some new sketches or try something new. Isn't there a new art store you wanted to take a look at? You can see if they've got anything good, maybe grab a few sketchbooks." "Visit the library?" Kirika finally offered, peeking up at her partner. Was Mirelle really trying to make her feel better? The idea – and the soft touch of the Corsican's fingers – made a warm glow start somewhere in her middle. Mirelle cared! Oblivious to the younger woman's train of thought, the blonde nodded, face brightening with a pleased smile. "Exactly. And I'll hurry." "Umm." Kirika nodded firmly back, the agreeing sound underscored by the slight, trusting smile that touched her expression. Mirelle released her partner and headed for the 'bedroom,' her own smile shifting unseen into a thoughtful frown. She disliked making Kirika unhappy, especially when it was something she might be able to avoid, but the strength of her own concern was almost frightening. The fact that she'd considered turning down the job because it required her to work solo, her desire to bring Kirika along in spite of the risks, her nagging worries about leaving the other young woman alone – all of them were weaknesses for an assassin, and Mirelle well knew it. And then there was that whole weird moment earlier . . . Maybe this is just what we need. The two of us apart for a while, doing different things for a few days. We haven't really been apart for more than a few hours since the Manor, if that. This job should help us clear our heads. We'll be back to normal in no time. --------------------------------------------------------------- Yeeeeah, right, Mirelle. You keep thinking that. smirk Hope you guys enjoyed this bit – the third should come a bit quicker, since I've already got half of it typed. Next up, the situation from Kirika's point of view. And the introduction of the main villain, whoot!
Back to The Darkness in Their Eyes Index - Back to Noir Shoujo-Ai Fanfiction