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Crepe suzette, the breakfast of champions, and if his had more orange liquor and brandy than was strictly necessary? If his crepe's were far more thick than the 'thin as paper' most recipes deemed they should be? Hell if the orange rind in his butter was too thick with peel and over-cinnamoned --- Well, he'd always be grateful for a husband who cared more for the calories present in a meal than whether the taste had Julia Childe's approval; Waru thought it tasted fine.

Though his most favorite part of all, was setting it on fire with a bit stick caught alight on his Husbands inner flames, watching the booze burn off till it filled their steadily coming together hovel with the most buttery citrus smell.

He shoed Pinky out of his hiding place in the pan cabinet, chased the sea urchin with too many teeth and not enough eyes off the counter-top. Made do with metal spoons, with cast-iron; enough butter in the damn thing that non-stick wasn't even something he'd consider using. Not for this batch.

There was no point in plating it all, not when he could just slap two spoons into the thing and carry it with oven-mitts to a bedside. It felt like it'd been too long since he had a quiet --- morning? Evening? With his man. Cela stole the bed when Faustite slept during his days, Haru took it when Albite was out patrolling; Aelius n Valjean took the split of human hours. He knew Jada borrowed his boy for tips about for Youma training or something like it. That the team strived to keep him busy....every waking hour..and every hour inbetween those...

So sometimes? Selfishly. He wanted to steal his Husband for a breakfast he made. For an entire day if need be. He'd don the collar, find a way to fill the hours, knew it wouldn't be hard.

Knew it wouldn't be a hardship. For all that he could've spent the entire time watching Faustites seemingly sleeping form, low flames and the lick of black marks that'd steadily grown less worrisome since he'd gotten 'home'.

"Hey Firebrand....pssst....wakeup sleepyblaze. I've got a present for you," sighed outright as he shifted to sit on the lip that dipped into the recessed bedrock, sneaking to poke with his toes at the curled form therein.

"M'trying deserts, s'the season or something -- mnh -- like the citadels version of fall?" Brusquely spoken as he slid the cast-iron along stonework, let the warm smile for all of Faustites lively stirring show. His loud hunger as pleasing to hear as his sleep-soft breathing. The little signs of life that eased him whether he came or went, he didn't realize how much he missed them until he could hear them again -- louder than his own heart or the empty thoughts between his ears.

He needed to know his boy was alive -- edging towards well. Needed that same so often from his team he feared he might start sneaking baby monitors into their offices just to ******** with them, and feel more present than a text or call -- He wanted to hover....

He'd never been that sort of lover and being one now? Sorting the why out itched enough that doing this, simple time with someone he understood so easily. Oh, it was soothing.

Even if every word he spoke was such utter nonsense, he still spoke it easily as if it were truth, dragging a bare toe up and down black clad flesh, catching sight of forbidden stars glittering around a knee as he tugged the blanket errantly. His words softer for the hour, his lacking knowledge of it; his beloved seemed perpetually tired lately. N he could only think of how to answer that like any other human, empty calories and sugar highs. Even he was guilty of eating his feelings every now and then, when they nagged n frayed enough that he had to pay them mind.

"It's the most drunken crepe suzette I've ever tasted, the batters closer to pancake than it is to paper -- but I think you'll like it," the words were hedged, the lightest feather of a tease; even though he knew betting against Faustites rousing hunger was less like betting against the house and more like being the girl who blew on the dice -- paid to be pretty and aware that he'd get a bigger cut of payoff for being indulgent. "Side's Ei, s'better to sleep on a sorta full stomach, in a shared bed, right hot stuff?"

"Hmmn, lookit me, bein more see-through then the crepes," sometimes he genuinely surprised himself with how terrifyingly easy he was to read, especially considering how thick the battered come out. Albite could only be grateful for the reprieve of his beloveds first bite; could humm himself some silent bit of pleasure for how good Faustite looked eating. Waru even imagined a distant point in time when he'd tame himself down into domestic bliss, the sort where he enjoyed being a homebody. In that moment though? There was really only so much dusting in heels he could stand doing, or home improvements he could put his whole self into; in-between everything else he stretched himself to try for.

He wanted Fulgurite promoted, he wanted everything for a proper wedding ready by the Spring. As if that arbitrary timeline made a single lick of sense to anyone but him. It seemed right though. To wait a year before celebrating with the community proper. He'd get his own private joy out of their wedded bliss before sharing it overall via some grand event......

"Means I need to start finding more reasons to be domestic, or like, make domesticity sexier?" Albite even imagined that maybe once he was more confident at playing with their ramshackle hearthstone - piecemealed together enough to function - that, yes, he would lean towards cooking in just an apron and nothing else. No powers, or collar, or oven mitts. Knew that'd be some fresh kind of exciting oh so worth his time -- knew it'd keep him home more often.

Though he shouldn't've needed the excuse. Sometimes he did just want to pamper his boy, and sometimes? Sometimes he'd ******** up royally, and needed to present an apology breakfast for it.

"Though maybe I also need to start telling you, more often, how right I believe you are so much of the time," he'd made a mistake, he felt guilty, he'd learned something unique. Except what he'd learned sat less well as time wore on; in the cold light of morning, when all his bleeding, saccharine sweet hope of the moment turned sour and gave way to reality, "about a lot of things, actually? N I know I argue for the sake of conversation----to hash it out in my head, but also like, out loud? Cause I have this need to, when maybe I shouldn't?"

Yes, it was definitely feeling more and more like an apology breakfast, even as he scooted closer into the recessed pit of disturbed sleep, eager to steal the available warmth, and unable to take his eyes off the gently mussed curls n where the fork continued to disappear between Faustites lips. He wished sometimes his husband wasn't so damned cute upon waking, that he could've spent the rest of the morning eating sweets off that same fork.

"But--yanno---before all that? I wanna hear you tell me you love me, again, and then tell me the foods good and then.....morning kisses are things? Yeh? Does that come before or after food? I feel the need to...like..make myself a hierarchy of needs sphere for this s**t...On accountah the part where I love you, eternally." was it possible to be doe eyed, apologetic, smitten and stressed all at once? To marathon his mounting thoughts until they died on the track? Albite certainly made a try at it.

not die', between quick bites while snatching air; sucha messy eater -- napkins would never be enough, nor would cloth, or steel wool. His boy liked the food though! Good. He wanted kisses! Even Better. Distracting little tangents Albite could cling to before opening his mouth again, a storm drain of a thing that ran forever with his minds murky runoff.

“M’gonna keep that in mind, kisses before breakfast, and a whole hash of other needs to fill out....N'it's not really a confession," it absolutely was, "S'just, I honestly feel like I should be doting on you more often, what with how rare spare time is between our duties…n the team? Getting to have this all to ourselves is just — it’s nice,” and that was honest, something he felt deep down, warm as the heat he pressed his cold toes into. No point to wearing boots inside his own damn house, even less point in wearing socks when he had Faustite as living oven and bedblaze..

“This whole thing is nice. Everything you did to earn it. Everything you've done for Us along the way, for me?" he briefly wondered if he could bother Haru to write him a poem about sacrifice, or love, or maybe etch out a soliloquy in stone? Something softly poetic with words that were more than childish rhymes, he would've framed it n given it to Eion. It wasn't his world though, pretty words n thinking beyond his soft heart n hard c**k were paths so rarely traveled by him. He couldn't even imagine what it'd have looked like if he tried, "Like with Cybele? M'not blowing smoke. You did a good job with her, no matter the aftermath? You got results. I admired it from the sidelines—-I was proud of you. Same as with the Princess. I wish I was good for — for that? I wish even more that Nectaris wasn’t —“ pink, kissable, cute, Sylvite, "that she hadn't? That---I wish that I'd called you after I ran into her the first time..." and getting the words out was a mess of a chore, Albite didn't bother to hide so much as he did to take his chances with getting closer, fitting into a step and staring Faustite down.

Remembering how hilarious it'd been that Zuzu was the first person he'd seen after, all sappy n mad about things he was sure on twenty minutes before; she was so sweet n murderous n caring for everyone close to her! Even taking a stab in the dark at what he'd been up to, she'd somehow ******** *known*, maybe it was the look on his face that gave it away?

He wondered if he was wearing that same look right now...

It was funny to hear Faustite talk about how his imagination lacked, when Waru often thought he was the most creative being on the planet. Maybe it was knowing him as man and youma both? Seeing him in the Rift amongst feral things and on the surface amongst people? Maybe it was that, increasingly, the things Faustite hadn't thought to imagine were the only things Waru wanted to.

Not necessarily the being on fire part, but?

The parts that made him wonder if he'd likely only ever wear the one ring for his boy, while admiring how heavy Faustites fingers grew with the rings of others; until his soul was some approximation of content. He could exist with an open heart and a singular closed circle around his own finger. It would get him into trouble. His happy to hold heart. Especially with how his mouth ran....

Especially when he only tended to think things through after he ran it!

Even if those thoughts were affirmations of how honest he'd been the first time, a mulish digging down of commitment. Sometimes he worried about that, his penchant to run off hot at the hilt; with everyone save Faustite. He never regretted telling him things, talking them out, knew he could keep his word or have it be kept for him with severity.

Faustite would hold him tenderly, or hold him to the fire. The relief for that settled into resolve as he snorted wry sound, thinking of all the ways Cybele should’ve *died* — Albite to this day felt like he should’ve killed her — or that her wounds should’ve done what he *hadn’t*, even after she’d slipped her lead, not that he’d seen her since to know if she recovered well enough at all to be a decent opponent. The concept of youmafication being put to use against their deadlier enemies had slowly begun to sound like a better and better option; if not for Cybele because of his own selfish desires, than at least for the ones where friendship for the sake of information was impossible and corruption just plain didn’t didn’t fit.

All his wants for clean ends and glorious deaths shattered on the rocks of reality. The inner machinations of the war didn’t actually work the way he wanted them to—

Which meant he had no more reasons to argue for or against his kinder, gentler version of ‘corruption’. The optional Induction he so eagerly toted loud and live to his peers. His thoughts were all warm, false flames that didn’t stand against the reality of the world's vicious winds.

In fact? In his pursuit of them, he’d managed only to ******** up to greater and greater degrees —-

But he could fix it. The blinding optimism remained, high hopes he had that his mistepps could be caught n follies made up for.

“Don’t be mad at me just yet Firebrand,” and Albite wanted for a morning where they could have a normal breakfast in bed; he’d make enough thick Belgian waffles in a hot iron press to bring all of the deserted city n the vast Rift beyond it down on their hovel. One of those mornings? In what he hoped was the near future, he’d be able to fully encourage Faustites soft musings, could revel in his boys bright tone, his easy mood, and soak up the gently traded warmth of clawed fingers where they curled round his cold toes — he wanted that, especially since he ******** hated to kill a vibe — “or, *well*, actually you can be? M’thinkin we can be angry at me together, this time,” and Faustite deserved his eyes, the bit of resolve that settled mid silence with only the sound of rough flames crackling between them; unafraid to move deeper into the pit -- closer -- freeing his toes with a small wiggle n carving out a bit of space where he could crouch, whole bodied, within easy reach of his love, “cause m’sure that somewhere in all that vow stuff, I probably promised not to lie to you, or betray you, or — if not verbatim — then in spirit? In my heart.”

Not that albite believed himself capable of doing so, it was maybe the one other thing he liked so much about being a ‘corrupt senshi’; the gift of cosmic tailors n waring deities alike, his inability to hide. Everything belonged on display all at once, his whole self out in the open; a hole in his head n chest that anyone could see through, and barely a stitch of cloth to conceal the vulnerable rest with.

“It’s not like I’d ever want to, either, not consciously. Which’s why m’telling you now….that I’ve run into Nectaris twice, and the first time I threatened to kill her in a way where I was sure I meant it – even talked to Zuzubee about helping me with it – and the second time? I kissed her in a tree,” so curious about ways to make his, ********, everything work, that in desperation he'd actually checked the database -- loathsomely -- looked for ways to twist things in his favor, offered things he meant in the heat of a moment, his lizard-brain firing off and seeing pink curls, a sharp blade, and black lolita frills around boots with too many buttons.

There were answers there, in all the stupid datapools and scrolling logs full of boring s**t like suspected spheres and the color of glitter in a persons transformative sparkle! People like Sid? Who maybe wore less clothing than him n had a penchant for rainbows...there were moles...networks...not that he had the sophistication to unravel the knowledge for that any further than realizing he was trying to build an answer where none existed to begin with.

Something that felt so out of character that he stopped, walked home, made breakfast. Thinking about all the different ways he loved, all the people he loved, and how if he didn't figure his s**t out? Well, he wasn't doing right by them, was he?

“N’ in my mind I’ve been *trying*, ******** desperately, to rationalize what possessed me to do that; took the few things she said, interesting s**t, scary s**t, and told myself ‘yeah – I can use this, we can bring her *home*!' Told myself we'd get the princess back and then have an informant on the other side who trusts me enough to talk to us all the damn time. I told myself I could talk her into wanting to be Sylvite again.....…N then I realized how – ahh – I was tryna lie to myself, clearly, because even if Nectaris n Sylvite are one in the same? Even if all the things I loved about Sylvite are still there when I squint just right-- All the other things I loved about her aren't, not anymore, n it hardly matters when none of it's considerate of you...”

Or their Team, or Jet, or the Queen, or Sylvite…

Of all the ways he could've been an obstinate a**, he never meant to be one like that, across the aisle and on both sides of the line. The rose colored glasses he wore were thick as his skull, nigh bulletproof things, but the time he spent afterwards processing everything he and Nectaris had gone over – Alexa – Sylvite – not three different women, not someone who’d died and come back in someone else's body. Just the same person who’d made a choice and acknowledged such, what few memories she had of him paled in comparison to the spark of want he’d felt for options which no longer existed!

Hadn’t she made that clear? Wasn’t it a betrayal of her as she’d chosen to be, for him to pretend otherwise…

To Faustite, if he pursued it any further than this.

He couldn’t pursue it further than this.

There was more to say, there would always be more to say, but in the moments after all his going on? Albite shut the ******** up, waiting with an anxious watchfulness that belied a tense sort of agitation for how still he was trying to be just then; not with his boy, never with him, but with himself? Absolutely.

"Mmnh, dunno, barbequing might've been on the table. Maybe hidden in some fine print clause..." he wanted to joke about how they could've had Syrus write something up, they'd get it framed officially in some fireproof plaque on the wall -- get copies made because nothing was truly Faustite-proof -- but then he felt the touch of claw and titled with it; subdued by forgiveness he didn't so quickly expect. Eion was endlessly kind, merciful, if ever there was proof of it? It was this. Watching his boy burn on his behalf while he settled into his abandoned heat. He didn't deserve it, but he was greedy, always -- enough to steal the fire from the gods of his heart and watch them anguish over the trouble he caused.

That Eion would make excuses for him as well?

Waru pressed a fist over his mouth to hide the sad smile for that, the idea that people could believe he'd be so easily bent by a weapon shaped like kindness and friendship when he had all the love he could've ever desired right here -- When, even if he was abandoned and alone? He wouldn't've budged from the position he'd earned. The memories that came with it. Everything of himself that he offered genuinely, practically gave away, but not those.

His memories were the most precious things he owned. They were his. No small force would take them from him. He knew early on in his Senshidom that he'd rather have died than give them up. That the only purification he'd see in his lifetime would come in the form of some unavoidable end. He would've chased it far more carelessly without the team to back him, without Faustite to temper him some, the same as he had before any of them came so blindingly into his life. If his heart was freer than any bird and his head more empty than the lightyears of space between some planets... If he was so reckless as to skirt the edges of self-immolation on the daily and laugh at the idea of needing 'possessions' or 'wealth' to feel fulfilled? Then what else did he have? Only that tiny little picture album full of living, breathing feelings that he could flip through behind his eyes night n day. Even if he'd loved Sylvi deeper than the deepest sea-- He couldn't've traded that for her, for his team, for Faustite. Saying it aloud would've hurt far more than keeping it all penned up, so he swallowed the words down like tiny balls of nettles, and winced for the sting of it.

"What I was duped by? Was her face-- n the fact that I had feelings for the girl behind it. For every part of her that made her such a damn good General at the time. You should know, you n me weren't together like this when I started seeing her. Me n Sylvite --- she was willing to train with me, even though I didn't know anything. We played games of tag with youma n pulled energy in malls; something I really ******** sucked at when I first became a Super. She had good advice," spoken like the words ached to say, because the memories were good ones, cherished little snippets of softness during a rougher time. Even harder because he didn't quite believe her presentation of herself to be false, her offers of Friendship to Faustite were probably genuine; it was only that she wasn't his sister -- Had crossed a line his boy couldn't forgive, that Waru himself shouldn't've overlooked so easily, "and at the time? You were dead -- or a zombie -- or like -- idunno -- She took me home after that whole hill fiasco, she took care of me for awhile....." he could've admitted that nothing had gotten very far between them, not that it'd ever needed to for him. He could've spent a life time holding a persons hand and eating ice-cream beneath a pillow fort just as easily as he could've spent it warming their bed. He didn't need the emotional feedback, the verbal reciprocity, the physical give n take. He just needed to see the person happy to be with him, that alone was enough.

Not that that was his point. Waru kept thinking about how she'd left before she was ever able to learn about them. That they'd spoken about relationships after wasn't what'd taken him by surprise. He'd needed to know what Nectaris knew -- if she remembered him even the tiniest bit -- if she'd done this to hurt him on purpose and if she still loved him now despite the lack of memories. If it was enough for her come back with him -- for him! It never felt wrong to discuss an open heart, with enemies, friends.

He was all about that kinda life, and he wanted Sylvite to come home. Nectaris had to beat it into his head that she hadn't actually died, though. Nothing was going to be so easy as that. They each stood across a chasm with open arms n beckoned one or the other to cross -- knowing, fatally, how it couldn't happen -- but holding out hope.

He always ******** hoped for things.

He couldn't thank Eion enough for allowing him the freedom to do so, the space and peace of mind to have the feelings he did, to whatever folly. It took the question of willingness out of his mind. Of course he was willing, not only to make up for his absolute ******** of failings, but because he loved his Husband, truly.

"I can do all of that and more, Firebrand. Easily as I can tell you that she won't give up Gany. She might give up someone else though," there might not have been a leak within their innermost circle, he hoped for that too. Had wracked his brain for all those he'd spoken to about the prospect before the events of the void. Jet knew, Aqua, Laine --- various members of his team. An Eternal he'd spoken quite rabidly too about how betting his soul to his future Fiancé had somehow led to him getting a three headed bird the size of a small child! Even he'd barely been able to follow what he'd said then, blamed that on the quasi-concussion Cerbs gave him, and his impact with the earth. She'd smiled at him though! All pretty and nice, the same way some people smiled at their toddlers when they told a particularly long winded story with only the three words, while simultaneously covering themselves head to toe in their dinner. He hadn't spoken to any of them since about more than grand plans for future ceremony, something so obscenely, hideously, gaudy as to be leaning towards gauche. Mixed clashingly with kind of debauchery that would've made even Dionysus blush, but ********, he liked seeing Aqua have a good time at his expense, "and we might need her to, because the thing that bothered me most, Ei? Was the fact that she knew we were married, and that she he didn't learn it from me."

There was some small clench in his chest for saying it, a pained sort of tightness that stole his loudness; the way the shock of hearing the words from her still stung; as if the initial surprise of it had never worn off, and never would.

"We have to be---we have to be careful about ********, quiet, about it. So imma leave some vague-a** gaps on whatever I put into the database, but I have to tell you, because *when* I lure her into that trap -- when *we* spring it on her--- whoever's with me? I need to know they won't stab me in the back." the target there was pretty big, he was a sizable piece of meat, easy enough to stab -- ********, he could've survived a stabbing or two, but only if he knew to look for it.

"I need to know they won't stab you in the back, either."

Bullshit -- Albite wanted to decry that and go on about how he'd seen Faustite solve a thousand other impossible to his himbo-sense things! He ******** believed in his boy, but as he sat there watching the frustrated edge in Faustites pacing peak, before collapsing in on itself, he realized that saying so would feel more like pouring salt on a fresh wound than offering a salve. Faustite deserved better than that from him....

Bad wasn't the word to describe how he felt. He needed a color-wheel for his feelings, one of those thesaur-i-suses, maybe? He'd never had this before, where wanted to apologize profusely, where he'd done the wrong, but knew the words didn't mean nearly as much as actions. Knew that actions were what he needed to be doing most of all-- especially now! Figuring that out was the hard part. What really, truly, could be done? What actions could he take that wouldn't tip the scales n spring everything before it's due...

He started with his hair, finding something to *do* with the mess of it, all weightily strewn about, and when winding it up failed to soothe? He started thinking --- and as if Faustites stillness and heavily muffled sighs were a signal, he found words again. Started fidgeting proper, maneuvering small, useless things while attempting minor straightening's of items in the bed-nest that didn't really need it.

"Then we don't try to solve it at all, not yet," the words soft to start, as it turned out he could move and speak at the same time, better event hat the motions made for a good distraction from the way his own body felt heavy n light all at once, in the wrong ways; he could fold himself into different pretzels n sigh in tandem dismay for how nothing he said was actually an answer to their problems.

Tried to pick up a better thread of words n tug it loose.

"Do you know what the best way to skim fat off something is?" a new stone tossed into a ponds worth of sound, pretzling became digging in subspace, became a rummaging of whatsitz before the 'aha' of cold pen met his grasp, "You go in while its less warm, with a really cold spoon bottom overtop, the skim sticks. Though sometimes the best way to do it is to do absolutely nothing at all. Just let it cool in the fridge, or on the countertop -- everything nasty congeals at the surface -- and when you're ready? You scrape all the sludge free. Cause sometimes the best thing to do is let things cool down, until the s**t reveals itself all easy like?"

He remembered to breathe at some point between points, wasn't sure if his analogy made sense, and swiftly moved on --"Now, tell me about Encke, something specific that only you'd know n ain't in all these digital bits---M'ah pull him up on this tablet thing tho, uhmn, make an entry while I....." and then he kept moving on, because of course he hadn't even gotten the thing open before he was looking back at Faustite. All the places his eyes wanted to stray, and every time they drifted right back to his boy, "....I'm not asking you to forgive me yet, but I am sorry Ei. I'll do what I need to in order to prove that. I just wanna know...if you're okay with me staying here still? If--can I come hug you yet, or -- " and the tablet-pen was going to end up snapped or thrown if he didn't stop playing with it! It took effort to set it aside and turn towards Eion fully, to unfold himself into something as near a proper kneel as he could manage, "I can wait...This whole thing wasn't fair to you, and it wasn't your fault, and you sure as ******** didn't cause it--so--so--you know I love you, right?"

He nodded as Eion spoke, took points while choking down his own thoughts about how wrong it could all go if they tipped their hand too early. Avoiding, outright, the poisoned barb of feelings for knowing he had to go through his own team with a fine toothed comb and then when they found who it was----and when---

Kissing Nectaris had been easy, weak of him as that seemed, it was a behavior he could rectify, n terms with how to handle her could be dictated to down to him in fine print---- But what the ******** to do with one of their own who--who likely...He couldn't think it. The words 'Heard you were Married' from Nectaris sweet, pink lips might as well have been a knife between his ribs; he way it iced his heart with hurt for knowing they'd been betrayed, that an office was bugged, that a leak existed -- and if someone had ******** come to him and been like -- 'Oh hey, Nectaris, I know her! Lets talk about it!' It could've been a whole thing, they could've worked with it!

But now?

"Yanno, you've always been brilliant with these things. I'm down with it. It's a good softball start--least till we know more," relief in his sigh as he palmed his face and scrubbed fingers back through his own locs roughly. He knew if he could keep his s**t straight while still talking to her---- but even with permission, even with a goal in mind? It still felt like some small betrayal of his boy.

One that could be made up for --- because the hug caught him off guard at first, but it only took a moment till he was returning it forcefully. Wrapping his boy tight, till he could feel the heated press delicate-grate lines and the fury of flames trapped beneath Eion's thin frame; the way they roiled and the barren fields worth of ******** he'd never give about smoke inhalation, so long as he could stay bathing in his boys smoky curls. For breathing deep and snorting ash every other morning, a coke-fiend for charcoal and sleepy fireside sighs.

"You use my mouth however you want Ei'. The mornings still ours, just me n you; all the cats n comets can wait till tomorrow, alluvthis bullshit..." he was glad to have been annoying, buried the words in Eion's hairline, pressed them there with kisses thicker than the syrup he'd laid over his boys breakfast, "I don't deserve anyone as good to me as you are, you smart, fiery...." and he blinked, once, twice, dug his nails briefly into Eion's arms as he scooted back further into the alcove, practically tucked his boy into his lap while he eyed something just beyond his periphery-- <********>

"Are...are being haunted!?" it was a ghost, clear as day, cute as could be -- papery thin and white and full of pink glitter dust!!! "<********>"

This proved it, he had been cursed, and now -- now?! He was being haunted by glitter ghosts!!! "D-do we kill it, do we set it on fire? Do we ******** move down the street!? M'not being haunted *here* of all places! I've seen enough horror movies to know what paper ghosts can do----" It was always the cute things that got people in the end!! Bunnies, gremlins, reincarnated boyfriends!? He blamed Hina and Haru for getting him into all those asian dramas! Some of that s**t was scary as ********, even for a love story.