The whisper of the night called her siren song to those most comfortable in the inky blackness between dusk and dawn. Footsteps carried Keegan down a worn path, one he knew well, his thoughts in turmoil. He'd kept himself quite deliberately from those he knew, friends left messages and he occasionally replied to so they would know he was all right. But all right was not great and Keegan still carried a lot of confusion.

A booted toe nudged a rock then gave a kick to send it skittering across the path. Keegan's fists tightened in his pockets. The need to be with London was something he could not fight forever but some things could not be ignored. Keegan had tried and oh how he had tried. He hadn't understood what was happening to him but the visit from his mother had been eye opening. He'd never assumed she was dead. People disappeared and reappeared all the time in RhyDin. He held onto the hope that she would one day come back and was not disappointed. Seeing her after almost a year of her being gone was emotional for him. He'd always been close to her. She'd seemed proud of him but also afraid. He hadn't understood that part until she began telling him a story. For the first time in his life he had not wanted to believe what his mother had told him but too many things made sense.

Then "He" appeared. He came out of nowhere as if he'd been standing just behind his mother the whole time. He was taller than Keegan by a good six inches, blond curly hair and gray eyes that all but crackled with electricity as he stared at Keegan. Keegan didn't want to admit that the face of the man was very much like the face that Keegan looked at every day in the mirror. His voice was deeper than Keegan's when he spoke.

"It's time."

Those two words played out over and over in Keegan's head as steps brought him to a familiar corner. He leaned against a post, hands still in his pockets balled into fists. Those two words were the first words from father to son. In retrospect his mother had seemed nervous yet unable to move. Keegan also could not move, only stare at the man. There came no explanation on why suddenly he had a father when his mother had maintained for years that Keegan had no father, claiming that the water itself and alone had created Keegan. There came no hello or 'missed you' comment. No excuse on why the man had been absent Keegan's whole life. Only those two words. The man stepped close to Keegan and ripped opened Keegan's shirt. Keegan could clearly recall the sound of buttons hitting the floor and fabric tearing. Odd how some things could be recalled with such detail. He didn't understand why and the outburst to respond to it was frozen in Keegan's throat. Then came that touch; it was another moment that was seared into Keegan's memory but for an entirely different reason. The bare hand clamping onto Keegan's bare shoulder was cool to the touch initially. But only initially.

Keegan winced at the memory, eyes going down to his shoulder as if he would once more see the flames eating his flesh. In that touch from his father, fire enveloped Keegan and he'd thought he was dying. Flames consumed his clothing, burning them away. His flesh crackled and crisped as he screamed an inhuman cry of pain yet Keegan was unable to flee. Keegan felt his soul separating from his burned flesh, floating. The pain subsided to a residual hum in the background of his mind but otherwise Keegan found himself aware of nothing but a general weightlessness.

The time that followed could only be described as hell. At the hand of his father, Keegan was given an education unlike any he had before been subjected to. Ethereal in nature, without true form Keegan followed his father through the new spirit world he found himself in. Places that were familiar were different, places that were unknown somehow felt familiar. Lessons were harsh but came with great reward. And yet there were negatives and Keegan struggled to accept them. Time had no meaning. It was the epiphany that he did not have to like things, he only had to accept them that allowed him to master the skill of knowing himself. In that moment, he found himself able to enter the physical realm once more and return to the life he had.

Yet life would never be the same. He'd had a talk with London and shared some things, some of the knowledge that he had learned. It sometimes frightened Keegan and yet London seemed to take it well enough. But Keegan had withdrawn again for reasons he'd tried to explain. He'd become an unseen watcher, silent observer and self-appointed protector. Stalker.

And that is how he found himself here, illuminated by moonlight. His clothing felt heavy against his skin as they always did since his return. He fought the eternal itch to throw them off. Eyes traveled upward. The flat looked the same as it always did but the scents that surrounded it were not. The familiar longing for the occupant of that flat was heavy in his chest. He knew he should leave. He was hungry and being here could hold no good. Keegan's feet remained planted for several more moments, the war to leave eventually lost. When he finally moved, it was not to depart. He readied himself and launched himself upward, flowing through the night in a single graceful jump that landed Keegan comfortably on the balcony with no more sound than a whisper of silk. To the glass doors he went, fingers touching lightly against the cool glass while eyes roamed inward. There were clothes on the floor everywhere, towels and general disarray. The bed itself was a tangle of blankets .. and bodies. Plural. Keegan frowned at that comfortable tangle of bodies. The torture grew but this night Keegan chose not to leave. His lips a thin line, Keegan willed himself forward barely disturbing the partially closed curtains as he passed.

His steps took him to the bed, a glowering frown landing on the younger of the two in the bed. He knew him quite well. Traitor! Keegan's jaw tightened. He'd never dreamed that Jack would attach himself to London. The desire to choke the life from the frail body was almost too much to put down. He imagined his lips against Jack's draining the life force from him, a certain satisfaction at the thought flowing through him. Instead though, Keegan tore his eyes from the slender inked body to land on London. His chest was again heavy with that same longing and intense love. Keegan moved around the bed to be on the side closest to London. He leaned down, hand resting lightly against the pillow where London's sleeping head lay. Lips came so close to touching London's .. so close. The whisper was more mental than physically audible. "I love you, London. I always will love you."

For several more moments his lips hovered, almost touching but not quite doing so. It was not until a soft sigh came from London that Keegan could restrain himself no longer. Lips pressed gently to lips, the desire immediately satisfied even if for only a passing moment. The rush of Keegan's heart increased and the kiss was given more body, tongue flicking against London's lips to force an opening so Keegan could drive deeper into the touch. He'd longed for it so much. The rush of the contact was not lost on Keegan. He knew what was happening and yet he couldn't stop. It filled him with energy and fueled the desire for more. A hand moved to trace a phantom touch across London's arm and chest. The press of those fingers urging London to turn onto his back in his sleep. The kiss grew more needful and fingers began moving lower, finding familiar flesh and glorying in the touch. Yet, as London stirred as if nearing a waking moment, the curtains fluttered and room was once again only populated by the two tangled in the bed together. The fading pressure against London's lips might have been noted by a sleepy London but surely it was simply a dream. The sort that seemed so real but it couldn't have been.

Could it?