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"Fine, fine—I'll teach you how to shoot ONLY because I know you'll probably get harassed if I dont..."

  The streets of Zürich were quiet and peaceful.

  It was the largest city in Switzerland, and yet the atmosphere was calm—this actually came off as cultural shock to you.

  Your father worked as a national consultant, so your family moved around a lot due to his career. You’d lived in countries scattered across the globe—America, Brazil, Australia, Japan, and now, Switzerland.

  You liked it here. It was your first time living in a European country and the history for the continent was never-ending.

  Comparing the streets of Zürich to the streets of Tokyo was what caused your momentary cultural shock. Instead of crowded walkways, colorful advertisements, and flashing lights, there was an air of serenity and sophisticated intelligence among the Swiss city. It felt quite… refreshing.

  You’d moved here only a week ago, and had already signed up for a new hobby. It had become something like a ritual for you to try something new each time you moved to a different nation. This time, you’d registered for piano lessons. Your instructor, Roderich, was a lovely person. You’d only met with him for one lesson so far, but he seemed kind enough.

  At the moment, you were on your way to the police station.

  The building was guarded by a male in black—presumably an undercover cop—as you made your way to the entry. With chin-length blonde hair and mint-green eyes, the officer gave you a nod as you passed through the doors.

  The people here seem a bit protective… you thought as you sauntered up to the front desk. Even a police station had to be guarded by a cop? That’s how banks were in America, but not for their police stations. Everyone there was already armed enough.

  But then again… you’d moved to another country with a high gun ownership rate. This place apparently had an amazing military, so that was another thing. No wonder there were enough police officers to go around.

  “Hello miss, how may I help you?”

  As casually as most people wouldn’t believe possible, you pulled out a thick file from your bag and replied, “I’m just here to renew some restraining order paperwork.”

  After a pause, the man behind the desk began typing at his computer. “…I see. Name and date of birth, please.”

  …To keep things short, you had a ‘stalker’. You’d gotten one in the last country you’d been residing in—Japan.

  He was a strange kid. He had light-purple hair, sleep-deprived lavender eyes, pale skin, and a wicked smile. For the longest time, you’d noticed him following you around. It was… pretty creepy. He always carried around a stuffed teddy bear that, for some reason, wore an eye-patch. It wasn’t long before you placed the restraining order, especially since he tried to go into your house at night. Several times. This guy basically described the terms of ‘male-gothic Lolita’ or even ‘yandere boy’ that were ever so common in Japan.

  After you were finished getting your papers signed and updated, you headed out the door. Well, that’s one errand I got done, you thought in the back of your mind as you exited the police station, I wonder if Mom will be home by the time I—

  Your thoughts were cut short as you were suddenly faced with the same green-eyed cop from earlier. “Oh hello. Don’t mind me; I’m just passing through.” You remarked politely.

  He seemed to be glaring at you, and… well, he was blocking your way out the door. “…I overheard something.” He mumbled after a few seconds.

  “Oh, okay?”

  He pouted a bit, and eventually crossed his arms. “You know… a piece of paper won’t stop a stalker.”

  You were taken by surprise. “Um, what?”

  His teeth clenched a bit, “You should learn how to really defend yourself, just saying.”

  “…Alright, how?” If he’d suggested it, then he must’ve had something in mind, didn’t he?

  He shrugged. “Learn how to shoot, silly girl.” And with that, he moved out of your way and stepped inside the police station—allowing the metal door to slam in your face as you glanced after him.

  “That’s correct—you got the C-note this time. You’re improving, _____.” Roderich praised, sitting directly next to you on the piano bench.

  “Thanks; it’s fun.” You’d just finished piano practice with your Austrian instructor, and he was being really nice today.

  He was only a few years older than you, and lately he seemed very fond of you. He’d even mentioned that you were like a little sister—probably since most of his clients were older than him and he wasn’t used to teaching a younger girl.

  Over the past few lessons, you’d gotten more comfortable with him than any other person you’d met in this country. “By the way…” You stopped him as he shoved paperwork into his folder to take home, “…Can I talk to you about something?”

  Caught off guard, he turned to you and adjusted his glasses. “Oh… o-okay. What is it, dear?”

  You looked down at the carpet; you were still sitting at the piano. “I uh… told you I used to live in Japan, right?”

  He nodded, “Yes, and…?”

  “And…” You wanted to tell him your worries. Frankly, they had stemmed from that conversation back at the police station. That green-eyed cop had corrupted your feelings of protection towards the restraining order—or, as he’d put it, ‘that piece of paper’. “…I had a stalker when I lived in Japan. He’s not the reason why I moved way out here, but, tell me…” You took in a deep breath and faced Roderich again. “Do you really think a restraining order is enough to stop a stalker?”

  After a few moments, he sighed. “Dear, I can firmly assure you this—you are safe. You needn’t worry. You live here in Switzerland and he’s…” Roderich gestured in a random direction, “…He’s way over there somewhere.”

  “So, the distance is good?”

  “It is, but the restraining order is better. Even if you still lived in Japan, you would be safe with that court order.”

  “…I see.” Honestly, you felt better now. Chuckling, you added, “Like, I thought I had to learn self-defense or something to stay safe.”

  Roderich continued his filing, “Ah, no. Don’t worry about learning violence. I know you’ll be just fine.”

  A little while afterwards, you bid goodbye to Roderich and went home.

  The next day after school, you got a text from your mother:

Mom: Pick me up some Swiss chocolate on your way back—I’m dying for some!

  Sighing, you let a smile cross your face as you changed routes from your house to the local Swiss chocolate shop. It wasn’t too far from your school, anyways.

  …It’s a bit hard to make new friends in different countries, you thought to yourself during the walk. Luckily I’m used to moving around the world. Although, you hoped that this was the last national move. It would be nice to stay in Switzerland—namely this city, Zürich. Anything not to move again.

  After about ten minutes, you made it to the closest chocolate shop. As you were walking over to the entry, a person dressed in all-black happened to catch your eye.

  Oh… it’s that guy again! you realized. He was across the street from a bank, leaning his back against the chocolate shop’s windows—obviously keeping a watchful look on the depository across the road.

  As you made your way to the shop’s front door, you made sure to say ‘hello’. “…Oh, it’s you again.” You’d said it as if you’d just barely noticed him.

  His arms were crossed, and he glanced lazily over at you. “Oh, you’re that girl.”

  You stopped walking; might as well have a chat with him since his stupid conversation from earlier had kept you up at night. He needed to know that you didn’t approve of his suggestion after all. “Yeah. And I was meaning to tell you—I think I’ll be fine with just the restraining order.” You tossed him a cheeky smile.

  His expression turned to that of bewilderment, “What? I mean… ‘kay, whatever.”

  You looked at him closely. Frankly you’d never expected a police officer to talk with the ‘kay whatever type of attitude. “…How old are you?”

  He finally tore his eyes off the bank to scan you. “What’s it to you, foreigner?”

  As you casually scrutinized him, you noticed the gun holster strapped to his black pants and the outline of a star-shaped badge beneath his black shirt pocket. To be honest, he seemed a bit too cute and little to be an undercover cop. And… young. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him seriously. “You just don’t seem the right age to be a police officer.”

  He’d looked stunned for a moment, and then instinctively reverted back to his pout. “I’m… not a police officer...”

  Riiiight. “Um,” You pointed to his all-black clothing, “You’re an undercover cop, aren’t you?”

  This time, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “…H-How did you figure it out?!”

  You laughed at his reaction, “It’s obvious! Officer…” You peeked at the name that was partially-hidden by his shirt-pocketed badge, “...Vash. Officer Vash.”

  He quickly reached up for his badge and pushed it even further down his shirt pocket. “…I’m undercover right now so shush.” His teeth were clenched, eyebrows furrowed.

  To his dismay, you laughed again.

  “Stop laughing at me. Look, I could arrest you at any time,” As if to prove his authority, he pulled out a pair of menacing handcuffs with his left hand and pointed furiously at them with his right. “See!?”

  Playfully, you reached for them. Those shiny silver cuffs looked brand-new. “Oh cool, I’ve always wanted to see a pair of—”

  He reacted stiffly, almost automatic. Before you knew it, your legs were parted by his, your wrists were grasped firmly in his hands, and you were swung backwards and abruptly pressed to the brick wall, immobile by his position. “Hey, what are you doing?!” Your hands and face were against an uncomfortable texture, and he was behind you with all the power. You weren’t a criminal, dammit. He didn’t have to perform the freaking police-trained weapon check on you.

  It had all happened in a flash. Well, if he’d wanted to prove he was a cop, he’d more than did it for you with that procedure. Even so, those actions were uncalled for. “…You sir, need to calm the hell down.” Obviously, you weren’t amused by his treatment of you.

  With a tch sound, he released you. “Then don’t ever reach for a police officer’s handcuffs again.”

  He’d crossed his arms, the cuffs still hanging from his fingers. A sort of childish need for revenge took over you and caused you to reach for the cuffs once more, mostly out of spite.

  “Hey—”

  This time, you’d gotten ahold of them. “-Wow, they’re heavier than I thought they’d be—”

  “-Give those back!”

  “Nope,”

  He grabbed one cuff, you had the other, and thus began a short tug-of-war. “They’re mine.” As if you two didn’t sound childish enough.

  You pulled hard, but he still had one end. “Don’t you have another pair?”

  He yanked on his side, but you wouldn’t let go. “Give them back—”

  It wasn’t long before passersby began to notice two young adults fighting over a pair of handcuffs. Some happened to throw you two a ‘you-kinky-motherfuckers’ look.

  Embarrassed, you threw the cuffs back at him.

  He quickly and forcefully shoved them away, flustered.

  Still a bit red-faced, you had to admit, “…That was kinda funny. They must’ve thought we were BDSM freaks.”

  He clearly didn’t want to show that he was ruffled. He’d shrugged and looked away, a quietly infuriated expression on his face. “Whatever. You are annoying as well as distracting me from my job.”

  …Well then. You’d had just about enough of him. You’d stopped mainly to tell him you had trust in the restraining order, and that was all. “Fine. Jolly good day.” With that, you walked away from him—screw the damn chocolate shop.

  As you sauntered off, you heard him call after you: “…Have fun taking care of that stalker!”

  Oh man, this wasn’t good.

  You tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t real. Yeah, this was a dream, you weren’t holding what you thought you were holding, you hadn’t just read what you thought you read.

  It was… impossible. It was frightening. It made your heart feel like it had dropped to the ground and like your entire world had just been opened up, invaded, and left ajar for anyone to come in and toy with. Anyone—including strangers off the streets and possibly obsessive murderers.

  In other words, you didn’t feel safe.

  You didn’t feel safe in your own house, much less your country.

  In your hands was a letter from Kanato. How had he gotten your address? You understood that he could’ve stolen it from one of your friends back in Japan, but still. If he knew your address, what if he planned to come here? Could he really fly all the way to Switzerland?

  Impossible—he was just a high school first-year.

  But… could his extreme emotional attachment to you really cause him to find a way here?

  You shook off the thoughts. For now, you’d burn the letter. And if you started to get more from him, you’d burn those as well.

  You didn’t want to think about the future—or at least, think of it right this second. When your parents got home, you could tell them what had happened. At the moment, you simply didn’t want to think about more restraining orders nor did you want to stay home alone.

  In an attempt to forget these past couple events, you grabbed your bag and headed out the front door.

  Maybe if I go out to dinner or something—in a loud crowded restaurant—I could get my mind off this? you wondered to yourself. With that in your thoughts, you walked to the closest diner.

  …I don’t know how I figured this could relieve my stress, you thought as you entered a sandwich parlor. At least this place looked good. You hadn’t gotten the chance to try this restaurant yet.

  As you arrived, you noticed a long line at the front podium.

  The closest person was wearing a long navy blue coat that looked vaguely familiar.

  You lined up behind him, and heard him speak with an unmistakable Austrian accent. Curious, you tapped his shoulder. “…Roderich?”

  He turned slightly, “Oh hello, Miss _____.”

  You smiled, a flood of relief washing over your body. “Hey! I’m so glad to see you! I uh, just got a letter from—”

  As he’d turned, another person had been revealed. It took you until this moment to notice who it was. “…A letter from…” You stared, unable to finish the sentence. Your words had caught in your throat at the sight of Vash.

  Apparently, it took him until that second to recognize you too. “…Y-You…!” He pointed at your face, his jaw agape, eyes widened in horror.

  You inhaled sharply—and then covered your mouth with both hands to keep from gasping again. Were Roderich and Vash… together?!

  Not that you saw anything wrong with two men going out to eat together, but it felt a little strange. You’d never expected your talented piano instructor to be friends with that rude, childish cop.

  He obviously didn’t want to make that seem clear either. “Hey, it’s not what you think! I wasn’t about to eat dinner with Roderich just to save money, no way!” He furiously turned to his… companion?: “Wasn’t I, Roderich? I just saw you right now? …Haha, yeah, I just saw him right now.” He hmph’ed; you could practically see a cartoonish red vein over the side of his forehead.

  “Uh…” You began, unsure of how to react towards this.

  “In fact, where the heck were you? I-I was looking all over for you!” With a growl, he snatched up your wrist with his hand, glaring at you with a you-better-go-along-with-this look.

  You wouldn’t take the hint. “What are you talking about?”

  Slightly amused, Roderich added, “Indeed—what are you talking about, Vash?”

  Steam was practically emanating from the top of his head. With an even more vigorous look of warning, he stated shakily, “D-Don’t you remember we had… a… date?”

  You tilted your head, grinning now. “…Did we?”

  “Is that so…” Roderich mused.

  Eyes squeezed shut, Vash shouted, “Yeahnowlet’sgetoutofhere—I don’t want that damn Austrian in my sight!” With that, he tightened his hand over your wrist and dragged you over to a faraway table without waiting to be seated.

  Immediately, he plopped down onto a chair, visibly flustered.

  You took your seat, cautious.

  …Seriously, what the hell was that? you wondered.

  After a couple minutes, a waiter came by and dropped off two glasses of water to your table. Undoubtedly, no one had noticed that you two weren’t even supposed to be sitting there.

  Another moment of silence later, Vash fiddled with his cup and mumbled, “…I had just bumped into Roderich when you came in and I didn’t want him to ask to sit with me. That’d be annoying. So even though it displeasures me, I decided to eat with you. Don’t get any ideas,” He peeked up and aimed his piercing green eyes straight at you, “Besides, wouldn’t you enjoy this? You like police officers don’t you?”

  A massive shock hit you like a bolt of lightning. He thinks I have a thing for police officers?! “…Ummm, where did you get that idea?!” That was kind of embarrassing, not that you’d admit it.

  “Oh, and you’re paying.” He hadn’t listened to your protest.

  …He’s strange, you finally realized. But interesting, and kind of adorable. Plus you secretly did think cops were pretty cool. “…Hey, can we start over? My name is _____.” If you weren’t the person to say this, then this dinner would be very, very awkward.

  He pouted slightly, and looked back down to his clear glass of water. “I’m Vash; I work for the City of Zürich Police Department.”

  Over the course of the dinner, you learned a little bit about him, and he could say the same for you. He was trying to be polite, but an unfriendly remark or two would occasionally pop up—mostly for the fact that you were a foreigner.

  He was still going on and on about his gun collection when you decided to change the subject. “So… you know how I kind of… have a stalker?” You weren’t sure how to remind him of this.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “…I got a letter from him tonight.”

  Once he processed that statement, a smug look crossed his face. “That piece of paper hasn’t helped?”

  You sighed, and picked at your food. “Not exactly, I mean he’s probably still in Japan, but it’s not good that he’s gotten my new address.”

  Vash fell silent. After a few seconds, you looked up at him. “Vash…?”

  He was glaring off in another direction, nervously biting his lower lip. “So… not that I want to or anything…” He reluctantly looked back to you, “But I insist you take gun lessons. I work part-time as a shooting instructor…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence. He looked like he was trying everything he possibly could not to blush.

  “You do?” Stubbornly, you wouldn’t accept until he spoke his offer. “But I was thinking something else… Maybe just carrying around a pepper spray or even a Taser,” You chuckled at the thought.

  “What?” He instantly threw you a perplexed look, “Are you joking?”

  You didn’t reply. You kept watching him, waiting.

  He sighed and shook his head. With gritted teeth, he eventually muttered, “Fine, fine—I’ll teach you how to shoot only because I know you’ll probably get harassed if I don’t…”

  You grinned. “Thank you very much, Vashie.”

  After you were forced to pay for the dinner, you and Vash began to exit the restaurant.

  On your way out, you caught sight of Roderich; he wasn’t alone. Even without Vash, he still found someone to accompany him.

  He was having dinner with a very pretty girl who looked somewhat Belgian. Her nametag read ‘Bella’; she was probably a waitress on break here. Although, they seemed close—you figured they were already friends.

  As you were passing them by, you waved farewell to them. After all, they looked kind of adorable together—as if they were on a date.

  Roderich noticed you and waved back. Annoyed at your interaction with him, Vash shouted at him, “…WE HAD AN AMAZING DATE!”

  He’d obviously said it without thinking, or just to make himself look better in front of Roderich. Either way, you didn’t like the feeling you received towards it.

  Roderich scoffed, “Idiot.”

  The girl sitting with him glanced towards Vash and taunted, “Hey Zwingli, we still know Belgian chocolate is better than Swiss chocolate~!”

  Your companion growled and turned towards you, “…I hate them so muuuch.”

  You entered the music room. “Good morning Roddy.”

  He glanced up from tuning the piano, “Oh hello. You’re early today.”

  You were about fifteen minutes early for practice. You’d done it on purpose. “Yeah…” You weren’t sure how to ask this, but you wanted to know more about Vash. You figured Roderich was the best (and only) person to ask, plus you were curious about their relationship.

  As soon as you sat down, Roderich could already sense what you were thinking. “You came in early to ask me about Vash?” He guessed.

  You flinched, and gaped openly at him. “H-How did you know?!”

  He tilted his head, a frown on his face. “My dear, it is obvious.” He sighed, and went over to sit next to you on the piano bench. “So. Tell me. What is it you’d like to know?”

  A number of things ran through your mind. Firstly, you asked, “…How do you and Vash know each other?”

  Roderich didn’t look pleased to answer. “We used to be childhood friends.”

  “Really? So then...” You wondered if he knew. And then shook it off—he probably knew. “Then why does Vash say he hates you?”

  “…Well, that’s because…” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed one eye with his gloved hand, “…He doesn’t like to admit that we used to be friends. He grew apart from me; he didn’t like me anymore. Additionally, he always tries to hide the fact that we ever knew each other—a good example would be yesterday when he performed that asinine ‘date’ ordeal out of desperation.”

  “I see…”

  “Obviously, he didn’t want you to know that he was going to dine with me just to save money.” Roderich chuckled slightly, a sound you didn’t usually hear from him. “I suppose I only did it because…” He avoided eye contact, “…Because I’d like to have my friend back.”

  You felt a wave of sorrow wash over your body. “I’m so sorry…”

  He looked out the window, but his violet eyes were distant. His mind was clearly somewhere else—memories perhaps. “Honestly, I hadn’t liked to admit we were friends either. I never told anyone that I wanted his companionship back till…” He blinked, and looked back to you. “…Right now. So you’re the only one who knows.”

  You’d expected a good reason for Vash’s behavior yesterday, but you would never have thought of a situation such as this. “Wow. I’m… sorry for your past with him.”

  He shrugged, “It’s not your fault. I… don’t know whose fault it is…” His or Vash’s. It could be eithers’.

  Still, Roderich had tried to fix their problems. Vash hadn’t. Like yesterday had proved, he still didn’t want anyone to know they used to be friends.

  You couldn’t understand why. Did Vash really try to hide his feelings like that?

  After a minute of silence passed, Roderich looked up and analyzed you closely. “Miss _____...” He began, eyeing your features. “…You know you would be good for him, yes?”

  His words took you by surprise. “H-Hey… what?”

  “You could get him to open up more. I saw him with you yesterday—I’d never seen him look so carefree or at peace. You got him to loosen up a bit, _____. I believe if you stayed by his side, you could go far with him.”

  By now, your cheeks felt warm. Roderich thought you and Vash would… make a good couple?

  …Did you even think of Vash that way?

  The campus bell rung, signaling the end of your school day.

  You walked out of your last class and made your way towards the campus’s exist. As usual, the hallways were crowded—at least until you got close to the parking lot.

  The sidewalk was relatively empty out here—excluding a group of stoners that were kind of blocking your way.

  How annoying. You’d have to walk all the way around them.

  As you stepped closer, a cloud of second-hand smoke hit you like a wall. You began to cough, disliking the putrid scent. Can’t they smoke weed somewhere else?! you thought to yourself furiously.

  At that moment, a car roared down the parking lot. With screeching tires, the vehicle abruptly stopped on your side of the street, gaining the other students’ attention.

  You gasped sharply once you recognized Vash and the type of car he was driving.

  It was his police car, and he was in uniform.

  The group of druggies instantly shrieked and scattered away—absolutely terrified of getting caught. Whisper-shouts of “Cop!” were highly audible. They all sprinted in different directions, dropping their illegal marijuana blunts to the ground as they did so.

  You laughed a bit. It’s cool to know a police officer.

  Vash pulled up to you, rolling down his window. “Get in loser—we’re doing gun lessons.”

  “…You did not just make a Mean Girls reference.”

  “Heh?” He tossed you a confused look, “’Mean Girl’? Yeah, that’s exactly what you are. Now get in.”

  Giggling, you opened the passenger door, silently aware of the fact that passing students were watching you slide into the front seat of a police car, varying expressions on their faces. From your glance at them before shutting the door, a few other girls looked envious to see you with such a young and good-looking cop.

  …Why do I feel so giddy about this, you thought to yourself with a smile.

  “So…” You glanced around the police car. It was all-black with countless gadgets and various touchscreens. “Why did you come to my school today?”

  Vash kept his eyes on the road as he shifted gears, “To pick you up for gun lessons, are you really that forgetful?”

  About ten minutes later, you arrived at his house. “Wait, so we’re doing the lessons here? I thought they’d be at the police station or something…”

  He pulled the key out of the car’s ignition, “Nope. My place is better.”

  You stared at him, puzzled. “Uh…” How could his house be a better place for shooting than the station…?!

  You were soon to find out.

  Just as he opened his front door, you knew.

  “…What the flying fu—”

  He covered your mouth with his hand. “-Don’t even say anything.”

  Eyes widened, you gawked at the rows and rows and rows of guns and other weapons that lined up his house. He silently led you out to the backyard, and eventually moved his palm away from your face.

  You still weren’t out of shock. “…Vash, are you planning a war?”

  “Very funny. Now try holding this.” Without warning, he tossed a shotgun at you.

  With an eep of surprise, you caught the presumably loaded weapon. “Hey, what was that for?! Warn someone next time!”

  He turned slightly to side-peek at you, a large gun in his arms. “Is your stalker gonna warn you before he strikes?”

  At the mention of your… personal yandere, you glanced down at your shotgun with a more appreciative expression. “I guess not…”

  He faced you—and you could have sworn you saw his lips twitch up in a smirk. “Exactly, now do you see that target over there?” He pointed to a red-and-white circle shape that was hanging off a haystack. His backyard stretched on for miles—he owned a much bigger property of land than it looked like from his front yard.

  “Yeah,” You continued to hold the gun awkwardly. “But, wait… shouldn’t you be teaching me with a handgun rather than a shotgun?”

  “No. We’ll do those later—they’re easier. You’ll be learning this first,” He held up his own shotgun and pointed to the long base, “If you’re right-handed, your left hand goes here. The other stays by the trigger. It’s not hard to learn—hey, not like that!”

  He stepped closer and slid your hand further down the base. “If it’s that close, you won’t have the right coordination or angle and the shooting will be off. Keep your hand right here.” He kept his palm over yours, his green irises locked on the hand placement.

  However, your eyes were somewhere else. Did the strands of his hair always fall into his face while he was looking downwards like that? They made you want to run your fingers through them and—

  “Hey. Are you paying attention?”

  You snapped back from whatever it was you’d been thinking about, “Y-Yeah, I am.”

  He’d set down his own shotgun, and was watching you closely. “Alright. Then put your feet shoulder-width apart, keep your knees flexed slightly, and turn your body roughly forty degrees to the side of the target in which your firing hand is on.”

  You did your best to do as you were told. “Okay…”

  “Keep the end of the gun on your shoulder. Can you feel the stock on the side of your face? It’s supposed to be there.”

  The gun felt heavier while resting against your shoulder. You were still trying to find a more comfortable position when you asked, “Wait, what’s the stock?”

  He looked like you were giving him OCD. Left eye twitching, he growled, “No, you’re holding it wrong—”

  “-You still haven’t said which is the stock—”

  “-Forty degrees, forty degrees—”

  “-Stock. What part is—”

  “-Ugh, let me help you.”

  He was out of sight within seconds. Secretly, you were acting oblivious on purpose. You wanted to test his teaching skills and, well, thought it would be funny to see him get angry. “Heh…” You chuckled below your breath as you suddenly felt his presence behind you.

  “Look. This is the stock.” He pressed the lower-handle of the gun to your cheek, and kept his other hand over yours—which was near the trigger.

  Ah, classic. He was standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your upper body. It’d feel like a hug if he’d just let it.

  This was already getting tiring. The gun was heavy and the part over your shoulder was irritating your neck. “Alright, alright…” You mumbled halfheartedly, beginning to loosen your grip. You let yourself fall back just a little—only enough to feel his chest against your back.

  “Don’t relax just yet. You still have to shoot it.”

  You happened to catch a whiff of his scent. It was sweet— like Swiss chocolate. Ignoring his statement, you peered at his arms. They were peach-toned, muscular, oh-so-smooth and free of imperfections. He had taken off his button-up as soon as he’d walked in the house, so he only wore a black tank top.

  “_____? Are you listening? Shooting isn’t a game.”

  You shouldn’t be thinking about these things. You really shouldn’t. What, were you a hormonal teenager or something?

  …The answer was, yes. And you’d been fine until Vash had decided to wrap his insanely nice arms around your body. Did he feel anything at all? Anything… pertaining to the heavy atmosphere and warmth that possibly only you felt at the moment?

  After a few seconds, his skin began to feel heated. You still hadn’t said anything, and neither had he. At this time, he must have realized what had caused your delay—and he was probably either embarrassed, furious, or confused by it.

  You wished you could turn around and see his face. His expression would mostly likely tell you everything you needed to know.

  “_____... the… target is…” His voice sounded as though he was struggling to focus.

  This… This was nothing. And yet the two of you were here getting all worked up over it.

  Maybe Roderich was right.

  In a moment of courage, you took another small step backwards—pressing your back even more against his front.

  He probably worked out. No—he was a cop, of course he was healthy and active. Well… by the feel of his muscles, it was obvious.

  At that moment, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Th-This is taking forever, I’m hungry now. Are you hungry? We should have lunch. Yeah, take a break, you’re giving me a headache. Put that gun down and don’t touch anything I’m gonna be right back don’t you dare move bye.” He was gone before you could remember what the stock was.

  …Wow, you’d never expected him to be the flustered ramble-y type.

  And… did this mean you were going to eat lunch with him?

  You set the gun down and plopped yourself onto the grass. It was past three, but you wouldn’t mind throwing off your eating schedule.

  …I wonder what he’s gonna bring out, you couldn’t help but think.

  About fifteen minutes later, you were… in a place where you would have never imagined yourself only about a month ago.

  You were sitting on the grass, having a picnic with a youthful and unfriendly cop while in his backyard full of guns and targets. “So…” You needed to say something to break the silence. “That day at the restaurant? Why were you acting so weird about Roderich?” You already knew the reason, but it was time to hear it from his point of view.

  He was sitting with his legs spread out, one arm against the grass for support, while the other held up a sandwich. He peeked at you and reluctantly muttered, “…I know he probably told you already, and he probably wasn’t lying about anything. Since you want to know, I guess he’s still…” He avoided eye contact, his voice strained. “…I still consider him a friend, maybe, just a little…”

  That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, it worked well enough for you. “Oh. Well then, why don’t you try being nicer to him and asking him to hang out once in a while?” It seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to ask.

  Still, he put down his sandwich and glared, “What? No way!”

  You couldn’t help but laugh at his overreaction. “Okay, okay, do it whenever you’re ready.”

  “’When I’m ready’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means… when you’re feeling up for it. Because I understand that right now, you’re still trying to hide the way you feel.”

  His expression loosened for a moment, but he still kept on a pout. “…I’m not hiding anything.”

  Okay, this was something you needed to work on with him. Perhaps he wasn’t used to strong relationships or emotional ties with anyone—he seemed like the recluse-type with no real opinion. Almost like… he was forever stuck on neutral. As if he couldn’t have friends that would make him feel a certain way—a way that disrupted his neutrality.

  However, that didn’t mean he should push people away, or deny them access into his life. What was so important about staying neutral anyways? You’d gotten a vibe of it since the day you first met him. “Yeah, sure. You’re probably just too shy to show your true emotions to anyone.”

     “…Like how can you tell?” He mumbled crossly, “…not that it’s true.”

  You set down your juice box and turned towards him slightly. With a calm voice, you stated, “Well, like the way you’re mean to me, but that you obviously care enough to teach me how to shoot… for free.”

  This caused him to gasp slightly, eyes widened. He instantly looked away, “I-I don’t care about you at all!” He hid his face; you could tell he was desperately trying not to blush.

  You couldn’t help but laugh. He’d just attempted to teach you how to shoot, at his house, with his own guns, and he also made you a sandwich and gave you a drink. He cared.

  He was still glaring off in another direction, teeth clenched.

  He looked so freakin’ cute that you just wanted to pet him.

  So you did.

  Instinctively you’d reached forward and placed your hand over the top of his head. As expected, his hair was soft and fun to play with.

  “…What are you doing?”

  The second you looked at his face, you were pleased to see that his plans had failed—his cheeks were reddened. Though as soon as he saw you noticed, he stubbornly covered his face with his hands, “…Don’t look at me.”

  You wouldn’t let him get away with it. “Vash…” You gently moved one of his hands away, and planted a small kiss on his cheek without fully realizing it.

  His blushing intensified, “Hey…”

  You were too busy mentally cheering than to hear the warning in his voice. Finally he’d blushed! It was so adorable! Why had he tried so hard to hide it anyway—?

  The chemistry here was undoubtedly strong. You could immediately sense that you both wanted another kiss.

  “_____... That’s not fair…” He was staring at you, eyebrows furrowed, a lovely dust of pink across his cheeks.

  “Oh? How’s it not fair?”

  You were sitting side-by-side with him, your legs crossed. At that moment, he turned to fully face you—and before you knew it, he was leaning in closer.

  You gasped quietly and only caught a glimpse of the shy look on his face. Instinctively your eyes had fluttered closed. With a throbbing heart, you cautiously moved in—assuming he was too. He’s really going to kiss me… you thought in blissful disbelief.

  And right when you think your lips are about to meet his—

  They never do.

  You’d kept leaning in forward, eyes closed, until you fell over and face-planted into the grass.

  Absolutely mortified, you jolted back up, “…What the hell?!”

  Vash was scrambling around the entire backyard, aiming one of his weapons to the sky. “That plane is not of the Swiss Confederation! I’m goNNA MAKE THEM REGRET THE DAY THEY WERE BORN!” And cue the round of endless machine gunshots.

  …Oh, fun.

  How interesting these next few shooting lessons would be.

Description

"Fine, fine—I'll teach you how to shoot ONLY because I know you'll probably get harassed if I dont..."

  The streets of Zürich were quiet and peaceful.

  It was the largest city in Switzerland, and yet the atmosphere was calm—this actually came off as cultural shock to you.

  Your father worked as a national consultant, so your family moved around a lot due to his career. You’d lived in countries scattered across the globe—America, Brazil, Australia, Japan, and now, Switzerland.

  You liked it here. It was your first time living in a European country and the history for the continent was never-ending.

  Comparing the streets of Zürich to the streets of Tokyo was what caused your momentary cultural shock. Instead of crowded walkways, colorful advertisements, and flashing lights, there was an air of serenity and sophisticated intelligence among the Swiss city. It felt quite… refreshing.

  You’d moved here only a week ago, and had already signed up for a new hobby. It had become something like a ritual for you to try something new each time you moved to a different nation. This time, you’d registered for piano lessons. Your instructor, Roderich, was a lovely person. You’d only met with him for one lesson so far, but he seemed kind enough.

  At the moment, you were on your way to the police station.

  The building was guarded by a male in black—presumably an undercover cop—as you made your way to the entry. With chin-length blonde hair and mint-green eyes, the officer gave you a nod as you passed through the doors.

  The people here seem a bit protective… you thought as you sauntered up to the front desk. Even a police station had to be guarded by a cop? That’s how banks were in America, but not for their police stations. Everyone there was already armed enough.

  But then again… you’d moved to another country with a high gun ownership rate. This place apparently had an amazing military, so that was another thing. No wonder there were enough police officers to go around.

  “Hello miss, how may I help you?”

  As casually as most people wouldn’t believe possible, you pulled out a thick file from your bag and replied, “I’m just here to renew some restraining order paperwork.”

  After a pause, the man behind the desk began typing at his computer. “…I see. Name and date of birth, please.”

  …To keep things short, you had a ‘stalker’. You’d gotten one in the last country you’d been residing in—Japan.

  He was a strange kid. He had light-purple hair, sleep-deprived lavender eyes, pale skin, and a wicked smile. For the longest time, you’d noticed him following you around. It was… pretty creepy. He always carried around a stuffed teddy bear that, for some reason, wore an eye-patch. It wasn’t long before you placed the restraining order, especially since he tried to go into your house at night. Several times. This guy basically described the terms of ‘male-gothic Lolita’ or even ‘yandere boy’ that were ever so common in Japan.

  After you were finished getting your papers signed and updated, you headed out the door. Well, that’s one errand I got done, you thought in the back of your mind as you exited the police station, I wonder if Mom will be home by the time I—

  Your thoughts were cut short as you were suddenly faced with the same green-eyed cop from earlier. “Oh hello. Don’t mind me; I’m just passing through.” You remarked politely.

  He seemed to be glaring at you, and… well, he was blocking your way out the door. “…I overheard something.” He mumbled after a few seconds.

  “Oh, okay?”

  He pouted a bit, and eventually crossed his arms. “You know… a piece of paper won’t stop a stalker.”

  You were taken by surprise. “Um, what?”

  His teeth clenched a bit, “You should learn how to really defend yourself, just saying.”

  “…Alright, how?” If he’d suggested it, then he must’ve had something in mind, didn’t he?

  He shrugged. “Learn how to shoot, silly girl.” And with that, he moved out of your way and stepped inside the police station—allowing the metal door to slam in your face as you glanced after him.

  “That’s correct—you got the C-note this time. You’re improving, _____.” Roderich praised, sitting directly next to you on the piano bench.

  “Thanks; it’s fun.” You’d just finished piano practice with your Austrian instructor, and he was being really nice today.

  He was only a few years older than you, and lately he seemed very fond of you. He’d even mentioned that you were like a little sister—probably since most of his clients were older than him and he wasn’t used to teaching a younger girl.

  Over the past few lessons, you’d gotten more comfortable with him than any other person you’d met in this country. “By the way…” You stopped him as he shoved paperwork into his folder to take home, “…Can I talk to you about something?”

  Caught off guard, he turned to you and adjusted his glasses. “Oh… o-okay. What is it, dear?”

  You looked down at the carpet; you were still sitting at the piano. “I uh… told you I used to live in Japan, right?”

  He nodded, “Yes, and…?”

  “And…” You wanted to tell him your worries. Frankly, they had stemmed from that conversation back at the police station. That green-eyed cop had corrupted your feelings of protection towards the restraining order—or, as he’d put it, ‘that piece of paper’. “…I had a stalker when I lived in Japan. He’s not the reason why I moved way out here, but, tell me…” You took in a deep breath and faced Roderich again. “Do you really think a restraining order is enough to stop a stalker?”

  After a few moments, he sighed. “Dear, I can firmly assure you this—you are safe. You needn’t worry. You live here in Switzerland and he’s…” Roderich gestured in a random direction, “…He’s way over there somewhere.”

  “So, the distance is good?”

  “It is, but the restraining order is better. Even if you still lived in Japan, you would be safe with that court order.”

  “…I see.” Honestly, you felt better now. Chuckling, you added, “Like, I thought I had to learn self-defense or something to stay safe.”

  Roderich continued his filing, “Ah, no. Don’t worry about learning violence. I know you’ll be just fine.”

  A little while afterwards, you bid goodbye to Roderich and went home.

  The next day after school, you got a text from your mother:

Mom: Pick me up some Swiss chocolate on your way back—I’m dying for some!

  Sighing, you let a smile cross your face as you changed routes from your house to the local Swiss chocolate shop. It wasn’t too far from your school, anyways.

  …It’s a bit hard to make new friends in different countries, you thought to yourself during the walk. Luckily I’m used to moving around the world. Although, you hoped that this was the last national move. It would be nice to stay in Switzerland—namely this city, Zürich. Anything not to move again.

  After about ten minutes, you made it to the closest chocolate shop. As you were walking over to the entry, a person dressed in all-black happened to catch your eye.

  Oh… it’s that guy again! you realized. He was across the street from a bank, leaning his back against the chocolate shop’s windows—obviously keeping a watchful look on the depository across the road.

  As you made your way to the shop’s front door, you made sure to say ‘hello’. “…Oh, it’s you again.” You’d said it as if you’d just barely noticed him.

  His arms were crossed, and he glanced lazily over at you. “Oh, you’re that girl.”

  You stopped walking; might as well have a chat with him since his stupid conversation from earlier had kept you up at night. He needed to know that you didn’t approve of his suggestion after all. “Yeah. And I was meaning to tell you—I think I’ll be fine with just the restraining order.” You tossed him a cheeky smile.

  His expression turned to that of bewilderment, “What? I mean… ‘kay, whatever.”

  You looked at him closely. Frankly you’d never expected a police officer to talk with the ‘kay whatever type of attitude. “…How old are you?”

  He finally tore his eyes off the bank to scan you. “What’s it to you, foreigner?”

  As you casually scrutinized him, you noticed the gun holster strapped to his black pants and the outline of a star-shaped badge beneath his black shirt pocket. To be honest, he seemed a bit too cute and little to be an undercover cop. And… young. You couldn’t bring yourself to take him seriously. “You just don’t seem the right age to be a police officer.”

  He’d looked stunned for a moment, and then instinctively reverted back to his pout. “I’m… not a police officer...”

  Riiiight. “Um,” You pointed to his all-black clothing, “You’re an undercover cop, aren’t you?”

  This time, he couldn’t hide his surprise. “…H-How did you figure it out?!”

  You laughed at his reaction, “It’s obvious! Officer…” You peeked at the name that was partially-hidden by his shirt-pocketed badge, “...Vash. Officer Vash.”

  He quickly reached up for his badge and pushed it even further down his shirt pocket. “…I’m undercover right now so shush.” His teeth were clenched, eyebrows furrowed.

  To his dismay, you laughed again.

  “Stop laughing at me. Look, I could arrest you at any time,” As if to prove his authority, he pulled out a pair of menacing handcuffs with his left hand and pointed furiously at them with his right. “See!?”

  Playfully, you reached for them. Those shiny silver cuffs looked brand-new. “Oh cool, I’ve always wanted to see a pair of—”

  He reacted stiffly, almost automatic. Before you knew it, your legs were parted by his, your wrists were grasped firmly in his hands, and you were swung backwards and abruptly pressed to the brick wall, immobile by his position. “Hey, what are you doing?!” Your hands and face were against an uncomfortable texture, and he was behind you with all the power. You weren’t a criminal, dammit. He didn’t have to perform the freaking police-trained weapon check on you.

  It had all happened in a flash. Well, if he’d wanted to prove he was a cop, he’d more than did it for you with that procedure. Even so, those actions were uncalled for. “…You sir, need to calm the hell down.” Obviously, you weren’t amused by his treatment of you.

  With a tch sound, he released you. “Then don’t ever reach for a police officer’s handcuffs again.”

  He’d crossed his arms, the cuffs still hanging from his fingers. A sort of childish need for revenge took over you and caused you to reach for the cuffs once more, mostly out of spite.

  “Hey—”

  This time, you’d gotten ahold of them. “-Wow, they’re heavier than I thought they’d be—”

  “-Give those back!”

  “Nope,”

  He grabbed one cuff, you had the other, and thus began a short tug-of-war. “They’re mine.” As if you two didn’t sound childish enough.

  You pulled hard, but he still had one end. “Don’t you have another pair?”

  He yanked on his side, but you wouldn’t let go. “Give them back—”

  It wasn’t long before passersby began to notice two young adults fighting over a pair of handcuffs. Some happened to throw you two a ‘you-kinky-motherfuckers’ look.

  Embarrassed, you threw the cuffs back at him.

  He quickly and forcefully shoved them away, flustered.

  Still a bit red-faced, you had to admit, “…That was kinda funny. They must’ve thought we were BDSM freaks.”

  He clearly didn’t want to show that he was ruffled. He’d shrugged and looked away, a quietly infuriated expression on his face. “Whatever. You are annoying as well as distracting me from my job.”

  …Well then. You’d had just about enough of him. You’d stopped mainly to tell him you had trust in the restraining order, and that was all. “Fine. Jolly good day.” With that, you walked away from him—screw the damn chocolate shop.

  As you sauntered off, you heard him call after you: “…Have fun taking care of that stalker!”

  Oh man, this wasn’t good.

  You tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t real. Yeah, this was a dream, you weren’t holding what you thought you were holding, you hadn’t just read what you thought you read.

  It was… impossible. It was frightening. It made your heart feel like it had dropped to the ground and like your entire world had just been opened up, invaded, and left ajar for anyone to come in and toy with. Anyone—including strangers off the streets and possibly obsessive murderers.

  In other words, you didn’t feel safe.

  You didn’t feel safe in your own house, much less your country.

  In your hands was a letter from Kanato. How had he gotten your address? You understood that he could’ve stolen it from one of your friends back in Japan, but still. If he knew your address, what if he planned to come here? Could he really fly all the way to Switzerland?

  Impossible—he was just a high school first-year.

  But… could his extreme emotional attachment to you really cause him to find a way here?

  You shook off the thoughts. For now, you’d burn the letter. And if you started to get more from him, you’d burn those as well.

  You didn’t want to think about the future—or at least, think of it right this second. When your parents got home, you could tell them what had happened. At the moment, you simply didn’t want to think about more restraining orders nor did you want to stay home alone.

  In an attempt to forget these past couple events, you grabbed your bag and headed out the front door.

  Maybe if I go out to dinner or something—in a loud crowded restaurant—I could get my mind off this? you wondered to yourself. With that in your thoughts, you walked to the closest diner.

  …I don’t know how I figured this could relieve my stress, you thought as you entered a sandwich parlor. At least this place looked good. You hadn’t gotten the chance to try this restaurant yet.

  As you arrived, you noticed a long line at the front podium.

  The closest person was wearing a long navy blue coat that looked vaguely familiar.

  You lined up behind him, and heard him speak with an unmistakable Austrian accent. Curious, you tapped his shoulder. “…Roderich?”

  He turned slightly, “Oh hello, Miss _____.”

  You smiled, a flood of relief washing over your body. “Hey! I’m so glad to see you! I uh, just got a letter from—”

  As he’d turned, another person had been revealed. It took you until this moment to notice who it was. “…A letter from…” You stared, unable to finish the sentence. Your words had caught in your throat at the sight of Vash.

  Apparently, it took him until that second to recognize you too. “…Y-You…!” He pointed at your face, his jaw agape, eyes widened in horror.

  You inhaled sharply—and then covered your mouth with both hands to keep from gasping again. Were Roderich and Vash… together?!

  Not that you saw anything wrong with two men going out to eat together, but it felt a little strange. You’d never expected your talented piano instructor to be friends with that rude, childish cop.

  He obviously didn’t want to make that seem clear either. “Hey, it’s not what you think! I wasn’t about to eat dinner with Roderich just to save money, no way!” He furiously turned to his… companion?: “Wasn’t I, Roderich? I just saw you right now? …Haha, yeah, I just saw him right now.” He hmph’ed; you could practically see a cartoonish red vein over the side of his forehead.

  “Uh…” You began, unsure of how to react towards this.

  “In fact, where the heck were you? I-I was looking all over for you!” With a growl, he snatched up your wrist with his hand, glaring at you with a you-better-go-along-with-this look.

  You wouldn’t take the hint. “What are you talking about?”

  Slightly amused, Roderich added, “Indeed—what are you talking about, Vash?”

  Steam was practically emanating from the top of his head. With an even more vigorous look of warning, he stated shakily, “D-Don’t you remember we had… a… date?”

  You tilted your head, grinning now. “…Did we?”

  “Is that so…” Roderich mused.

  Eyes squeezed shut, Vash shouted, “Yeahnowlet’sgetoutofhere—I don’t want that damn Austrian in my sight!” With that, he tightened his hand over your wrist and dragged you over to a faraway table without waiting to be seated.

  Immediately, he plopped down onto a chair, visibly flustered.

  You took your seat, cautious.

  …Seriously, what the hell was that? you wondered.

  After a couple minutes, a waiter came by and dropped off two glasses of water to your table. Undoubtedly, no one had noticed that you two weren’t even supposed to be sitting there.

  Another moment of silence later, Vash fiddled with his cup and mumbled, “…I had just bumped into Roderich when you came in and I didn’t want him to ask to sit with me. That’d be annoying. So even though it displeasures me, I decided to eat with you. Don’t get any ideas,” He peeked up and aimed his piercing green eyes straight at you, “Besides, wouldn’t you enjoy this? You like police officers don’t you?”

  A massive shock hit you like a bolt of lightning. He thinks I have a thing for police officers?! “…Ummm, where did you get that idea?!” That was kind of embarrassing, not that you’d admit it.

  “Oh, and you’re paying.” He hadn’t listened to your protest.

  …He’s strange, you finally realized. But interesting, and kind of adorable. Plus you secretly did think cops were pretty cool. “…Hey, can we start over? My name is _____.” If you weren’t the person to say this, then this dinner would be very, very awkward.

  He pouted slightly, and looked back down to his clear glass of water. “I’m Vash; I work for the City of Zürich Police Department.”

  Over the course of the dinner, you learned a little bit about him, and he could say the same for you. He was trying to be polite, but an unfriendly remark or two would occasionally pop up—mostly for the fact that you were a foreigner.

  He was still going on and on about his gun collection when you decided to change the subject. “So… you know how I kind of… have a stalker?” You weren’t sure how to remind him of this.

  “Yeah, and?”

  “…I got a letter from him tonight.”

  Once he processed that statement, a smug look crossed his face. “That piece of paper hasn’t helped?”

  You sighed, and picked at your food. “Not exactly, I mean he’s probably still in Japan, but it’s not good that he’s gotten my new address.”

  Vash fell silent. After a few seconds, you looked up at him. “Vash…?”

  He was glaring off in another direction, nervously biting his lower lip. “So… not that I want to or anything…” He reluctantly looked back to you, “But I insist you take gun lessons. I work part-time as a shooting instructor…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence. He looked like he was trying everything he possibly could not to blush.

  “You do?” Stubbornly, you wouldn’t accept until he spoke his offer. “But I was thinking something else… Maybe just carrying around a pepper spray or even a Taser,” You chuckled at the thought.

  “What?” He instantly threw you a perplexed look, “Are you joking?”

  You didn’t reply. You kept watching him, waiting.

  He sighed and shook his head. With gritted teeth, he eventually muttered, “Fine, fine—I’ll teach you how to shoot only because I know you’ll probably get harassed if I don’t…”

  You grinned. “Thank you very much, Vashie.”

  After you were forced to pay for the dinner, you and Vash began to exit the restaurant.

  On your way out, you caught sight of Roderich; he wasn’t alone. Even without Vash, he still found someone to accompany him.

  He was having dinner with a very pretty girl who looked somewhat Belgian. Her nametag read ‘Bella’; she was probably a waitress on break here. Although, they seemed close—you figured they were already friends.

  As you were passing them by, you waved farewell to them. After all, they looked kind of adorable together—as if they were on a date.

  Roderich noticed you and waved back. Annoyed at your interaction with him, Vash shouted at him, “…WE HAD AN AMAZING DATE!”

  He’d obviously said it without thinking, or just to make himself look better in front of Roderich. Either way, you didn’t like the feeling you received towards it.

  Roderich scoffed, “Idiot.”

  The girl sitting with him glanced towards Vash and taunted, “Hey Zwingli, we still know Belgian chocolate is better than Swiss chocolate~!”

  Your companion growled and turned towards you, “…I hate them so muuuch.”

  You entered the music room. “Good morning Roddy.”

  He glanced up from tuning the piano, “Oh hello. You’re early today.”

  You were about fifteen minutes early for practice. You’d done it on purpose. “Yeah…” You weren’t sure how to ask this, but you wanted to know more about Vash. You figured Roderich was the best (and only) person to ask, plus you were curious about their relationship.

  As soon as you sat down, Roderich could already sense what you were thinking. “You came in early to ask me about Vash?” He guessed.

  You flinched, and gaped openly at him. “H-How did you know?!”

  He tilted his head, a frown on his face. “My dear, it is obvious.” He sighed, and went over to sit next to you on the piano bench. “So. Tell me. What is it you’d like to know?”

  A number of things ran through your mind. Firstly, you asked, “…How do you and Vash know each other?”

  Roderich didn’t look pleased to answer. “We used to be childhood friends.”

  “Really? So then...” You wondered if he knew. And then shook it off—he probably knew. “Then why does Vash say he hates you?”

  “…Well, that’s because…” He pulled off his glasses and rubbed one eye with his gloved hand, “…He doesn’t like to admit that we used to be friends. He grew apart from me; he didn’t like me anymore. Additionally, he always tries to hide the fact that we ever knew each other—a good example would be yesterday when he performed that asinine ‘date’ ordeal out of desperation.”

  “I see…”

  “Obviously, he didn’t want you to know that he was going to dine with me just to save money.” Roderich chuckled slightly, a sound you didn’t usually hear from him. “I suppose I only did it because…” He avoided eye contact, “…Because I’d like to have my friend back.”

  You felt a wave of sorrow wash over your body. “I’m so sorry…”

  He looked out the window, but his violet eyes were distant. His mind was clearly somewhere else—memories perhaps. “Honestly, I hadn’t liked to admit we were friends either. I never told anyone that I wanted his companionship back till…” He blinked, and looked back to you. “…Right now. So you’re the only one who knows.”

  You’d expected a good reason for Vash’s behavior yesterday, but you would never have thought of a situation such as this. “Wow. I’m… sorry for your past with him.”

  He shrugged, “It’s not your fault. I… don’t know whose fault it is…” His or Vash’s. It could be eithers’.

  Still, Roderich had tried to fix their problems. Vash hadn’t. Like yesterday had proved, he still didn’t want anyone to know they used to be friends.

  You couldn’t understand why. Did Vash really try to hide his feelings like that?

  After a minute of silence passed, Roderich looked up and analyzed you closely. “Miss _____...” He began, eyeing your features. “…You know you would be good for him, yes?”

  His words took you by surprise. “H-Hey… what?”

  “You could get him to open up more. I saw him with you yesterday—I’d never seen him look so carefree or at peace. You got him to loosen up a bit, _____. I believe if you stayed by his side, you could go far with him.”

  By now, your cheeks felt warm. Roderich thought you and Vash would… make a good couple?

  …Did you even think of Vash that way?

  The campus bell rung, signaling the end of your school day.

  You walked out of your last class and made your way towards the campus’s exist. As usual, the hallways were crowded—at least until you got close to the parking lot.

  The sidewalk was relatively empty out here—excluding a group of stoners that were kind of blocking your way.

  How annoying. You’d have to walk all the way around them.

  As you stepped closer, a cloud of second-hand smoke hit you like a wall. You began to cough, disliking the putrid scent. Can’t they smoke weed somewhere else?! you thought to yourself furiously.

  At that moment, a car roared down the parking lot. With screeching tires, the vehicle abruptly stopped on your side of the street, gaining the other students’ attention.

  You gasped sharply once you recognized Vash and the type of car he was driving.

  It was his police car, and he was in uniform.

  The group of druggies instantly shrieked and scattered away—absolutely terrified of getting caught. Whisper-shouts of “Cop!” were highly audible. They all sprinted in different directions, dropping their illegal marijuana blunts to the ground as they did so.

  You laughed a bit. It’s cool to know a police officer.

  Vash pulled up to you, rolling down his window. “Get in loser—we’re doing gun lessons.”

  “…You did not just make a Mean Girls reference.”

  “Heh?” He tossed you a confused look, “’Mean Girl’? Yeah, that’s exactly what you are. Now get in.”

  Giggling, you opened the passenger door, silently aware of the fact that passing students were watching you slide into the front seat of a police car, varying expressions on their faces. From your glance at them before shutting the door, a few other girls looked envious to see you with such a young and good-looking cop.

  …Why do I feel so giddy about this, you thought to yourself with a smile.

  “So…” You glanced around the police car. It was all-black with countless gadgets and various touchscreens. “Why did you come to my school today?”

  Vash kept his eyes on the road as he shifted gears, “To pick you up for gun lessons, are you really that forgetful?”

  About ten minutes later, you arrived at his house. “Wait, so we’re doing the lessons here? I thought they’d be at the police station or something…”

  He pulled the key out of the car’s ignition, “Nope. My place is better.”

  You stared at him, puzzled. “Uh…” How could his house be a better place for shooting than the station…?!

  You were soon to find out.

  Just as he opened his front door, you knew.

  “…What the flying fu—”

  He covered your mouth with his hand. “-Don’t even say anything.”

  Eyes widened, you gawked at the rows and rows and rows of guns and other weapons that lined up his house. He silently led you out to the backyard, and eventually moved his palm away from your face.

  You still weren’t out of shock. “…Vash, are you planning a war?”

  “Very funny. Now try holding this.” Without warning, he tossed a shotgun at you.

  With an eep of surprise, you caught the presumably loaded weapon. “Hey, what was that for?! Warn someone next time!”

  He turned slightly to side-peek at you, a large gun in his arms. “Is your stalker gonna warn you before he strikes?”

  At the mention of your… personal yandere, you glanced down at your shotgun with a more appreciative expression. “I guess not…”

  He faced you—and you could have sworn you saw his lips twitch up in a smirk. “Exactly, now do you see that target over there?” He pointed to a red-and-white circle shape that was hanging off a haystack. His backyard stretched on for miles—he owned a much bigger property of land than it looked like from his front yard.

  “Yeah,” You continued to hold the gun awkwardly. “But, wait… shouldn’t you be teaching me with a handgun rather than a shotgun?”

  “No. We’ll do those later—they’re easier. You’ll be learning this first,” He held up his own shotgun and pointed to the long base, “If you’re right-handed, your left hand goes here. The other stays by the trigger. It’s not hard to learn—hey, not like that!”

  He stepped closer and slid your hand further down the base. “If it’s that close, you won’t have the right coordination or angle and the shooting will be off. Keep your hand right here.” He kept his palm over yours, his green irises locked on the hand placement.

  However, your eyes were somewhere else. Did the strands of his hair always fall into his face while he was looking downwards like that? They made you want to run your fingers through them and—

  “Hey. Are you paying attention?”

  You snapped back from whatever it was you’d been thinking about, “Y-Yeah, I am.”

  He’d set down his own shotgun, and was watching you closely. “Alright. Then put your feet shoulder-width apart, keep your knees flexed slightly, and turn your body roughly forty degrees to the side of the target in which your firing hand is on.”

  You did your best to do as you were told. “Okay…”

  “Keep the end of the gun on your shoulder. Can you feel the stock on the side of your face? It’s supposed to be there.”

  The gun felt heavier while resting against your shoulder. You were still trying to find a more comfortable position when you asked, “Wait, what’s the stock?”

  He looked like you were giving him OCD. Left eye twitching, he growled, “No, you’re holding it wrong—”

  “-You still haven’t said which is the stock—”

  “-Forty degrees, forty degrees—”

  “-Stock. What part is—”

  “-Ugh, let me help you.”

  He was out of sight within seconds. Secretly, you were acting oblivious on purpose. You wanted to test his teaching skills and, well, thought it would be funny to see him get angry. “Heh…” You chuckled below your breath as you suddenly felt his presence behind you.

  “Look. This is the stock.” He pressed the lower-handle of the gun to your cheek, and kept his other hand over yours—which was near the trigger.

  Ah, classic. He was standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your upper body. It’d feel like a hug if he’d just let it.

  This was already getting tiring. The gun was heavy and the part over your shoulder was irritating your neck. “Alright, alright…” You mumbled halfheartedly, beginning to loosen your grip. You let yourself fall back just a little—only enough to feel his chest against your back.

  “Don’t relax just yet. You still have to shoot it.”

  You happened to catch a whiff of his scent. It was sweet— like Swiss chocolate. Ignoring his statement, you peered at his arms. They were peach-toned, muscular, oh-so-smooth and free of imperfections. He had taken off his button-up as soon as he’d walked in the house, so he only wore a black tank top.

  “_____? Are you listening? Shooting isn’t a game.”

  You shouldn’t be thinking about these things. You really shouldn’t. What, were you a hormonal teenager or something?

  …The answer was, yes. And you’d been fine until Vash had decided to wrap his insanely nice arms around your body. Did he feel anything at all? Anything… pertaining to the heavy atmosphere and warmth that possibly only you felt at the moment?

  After a few seconds, his skin began to feel heated. You still hadn’t said anything, and neither had he. At this time, he must have realized what had caused your delay—and he was probably either embarrassed, furious, or confused by it.

  You wished you could turn around and see his face. His expression would mostly likely tell you everything you needed to know.

  “_____... the… target is…” His voice sounded as though he was struggling to focus.

  This… This was nothing. And yet the two of you were here getting all worked up over it.

  Maybe Roderich was right.

  In a moment of courage, you took another small step backwards—pressing your back even more against his front.

  He probably worked out. No—he was a cop, of course he was healthy and active. Well… by the feel of his muscles, it was obvious.

  At that moment, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Th-This is taking forever, I’m hungry now. Are you hungry? We should have lunch. Yeah, take a break, you’re giving me a headache. Put that gun down and don’t touch anything I’m gonna be right back don’t you dare move bye.” He was gone before you could remember what the stock was.

  …Wow, you’d never expected him to be the flustered ramble-y type.

  And… did this mean you were going to eat lunch with him?

  You set the gun down and plopped yourself onto the grass. It was past three, but you wouldn’t mind throwing off your eating schedule.

  …I wonder what he’s gonna bring out, you couldn’t help but think.

  About fifteen minutes later, you were… in a place where you would have never imagined yourself only about a month ago.

  You were sitting on the grass, having a picnic with a youthful and unfriendly cop while in his backyard full of guns and targets. “So…” You needed to say something to break the silence. “That day at the restaurant? Why were you acting so weird about Roderich?” You already knew the reason, but it was time to hear it from his point of view.

  He was sitting with his legs spread out, one arm against the grass for support, while the other held up a sandwich. He peeked at you and reluctantly muttered, “…I know he probably told you already, and he probably wasn’t lying about anything. Since you want to know, I guess he’s still…” He avoided eye contact, his voice strained. “…I still consider him a friend, maybe, just a little…”

  That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. However, it worked well enough for you. “Oh. Well then, why don’t you try being nicer to him and asking him to hang out once in a while?” It seemed like a perfectly innocent thing to ask.

  Still, he put down his sandwich and glared, “What? No way!”

  You couldn’t help but laugh at his overreaction. “Okay, okay, do it whenever you’re ready.”

  “’When I’m ready’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means… when you’re feeling up for it. Because I understand that right now, you’re still trying to hide the way you feel.”

  His expression loosened for a moment, but he still kept on a pout. “…I’m not hiding anything.”

  Okay, this was something you needed to work on with him. Perhaps he wasn’t used to strong relationships or emotional ties with anyone—he seemed like the recluse-type with no real opinion. Almost like… he was forever stuck on neutral. As if he couldn’t have friends that would make him feel a certain way—a way that disrupted his neutrality.

  However, that didn’t mean he should push people away, or deny them access into his life. What was so important about staying neutral anyways? You’d gotten a vibe of it since the day you first met him. “Yeah, sure. You’re probably just too shy to show your true emotions to anyone.”

     “…Like how can you tell?” He mumbled crossly, “…not that it’s true.”

  You set down your juice box and turned towards him slightly. With a calm voice, you stated, “Well, like the way you’re mean to me, but that you obviously care enough to teach me how to shoot… for free.”

  This caused him to gasp slightly, eyes widened. He instantly looked away, “I-I don’t care about you at all!” He hid his face; you could tell he was desperately trying not to blush.

  You couldn’t help but laugh. He’d just attempted to teach you how to shoot, at his house, with his own guns, and he also made you a sandwich and gave you a drink. He cared.

  He was still glaring off in another direction, teeth clenched.

  He looked so freakin’ cute that you just wanted to pet him.

  So you did.

  Instinctively you’d reached forward and placed your hand over the top of his head. As expected, his hair was soft and fun to play with.

  “…What are you doing?”

  The second you looked at his face, you were pleased to see that his plans had failed—his cheeks were reddened. Though as soon as he saw you noticed, he stubbornly covered his face with his hands, “…Don’t look at me.”

  You wouldn’t let him get away with it. “Vash…” You gently moved one of his hands away, and planted a small kiss on his cheek without fully realizing it.

  His blushing intensified, “Hey…”

  You were too busy mentally cheering than to hear the warning in his voice. Finally he’d blushed! It was so adorable! Why had he tried so hard to hide it anyway—?

  The chemistry here was undoubtedly strong. You could immediately sense that you both wanted another kiss.

  “_____... That’s not fair…” He was staring at you, eyebrows furrowed, a lovely dust of pink across his cheeks.

  “Oh? How’s it not fair?”

  You were sitting side-by-side with him, your legs crossed. At that moment, he turned to fully face you—and before you knew it, he was leaning in closer.

  You gasped quietly and only caught a glimpse of the shy look on his face. Instinctively your eyes had fluttered closed. With a throbbing heart, you cautiously moved in—assuming he was too. He’s really going to kiss me… you thought in blissful disbelief.

  And right when you think your lips are about to meet his—

  They never do.

  You’d kept leaning in forward, eyes closed, until you fell over and face-planted into the grass.

  Absolutely mortified, you jolted back up, “…What the hell?!”

  Vash was scrambling around the entire backyard, aiming one of his weapons to the sky. “That plane is not of the Swiss Confederation! I’m goNNA MAKE THEM REGRET THE DAY THEY WERE BORN!” And cue the round of endless machine gunshots.

  …Oh, fun.

  How interesting these next few shooting lessons would be.