"Giselle."

She didn't answer.

"Do you remember what happened that night?"

She was trying to pick up the strands of friend noodles with a pair of disposable chopsticks. They were leftovers from their landlord's dinner.

Xander hadn't ate.

"You know, when we were crossing the street. Along the sidewalk. We passed this bakery with warm lights and...a really nice smell?" He taught her how to twirl the noodles around her chopsticks for the fourth time.

"You said you were cold remember?"

"And hungry."

Xander laughed. "It was Christmas—remember? And all we got were frozen fingers and wet socks. Stupid snow."

"It was fucking cold."

Giselle's chopsticks plunged deep into the bowl as she used both her hands to turn them. Two fortunate strands of dry noodles emerged from the already tiny portion of leftovers.

Her brother ruffled her hair.

It had been a good attempt.

"Do you still remember the taste of the bun?"

"It was hot—do you think it was fresh from the oven?" He asked yet again, turning to her with a thoughtful expression. "Mom would have liked them. It's like...you know, that phrase."

"It's like they were baked with Love."

Giselle chewed carefully, counting to ten before she swallowed.

Xander was smiling; no, not to anyone in particular, really.

"Are you laughing at me?" He asked her, poking her arm.

"Damn it, I sound fucking retarded. Pretend you didn't hear what I just said—I'm really not that cheesy."

Giselle shrugged.

Her brother reached over to mess with her hair.

"You know, I never thought I would get to taste it again."

Giselle was having trouble with her chopsticks, so Xander taught her once more. For the fifth time.

"Can you believe it?"

"I swear—they tasted exactly the same but...it can't be him. Their smiles are different." 

"Hell, he didn't even smile once at all today. He's so awkward it hurts to look at him," Xander laughed, running his fingers through his hair.

"I just—I can't believe..." He turned to his sister, confused. "Do you think it's him?" 

She didn't reply.

"Can't be. Can it? He's worse than an awkward red mess and it's only the first class I've had with him."

"I must be fucking mental. I'm seeing things I'm not supposed to see—hell, I must be delusional." 

"He's just...a normal person."

"Isn't he?"

Giselle shrugged once more, making a face at the unappetizing dry noodles in her bowl before finishing whatever that was left.

It tasted horrible.

"Giselle?"

She didn't respond.

"What can we do for someone who saved us?"

He didn't expect an answer. It wasn't even a question.

But for some reason, Giselle always had the answers.

She was always listening, and always hearing—and always...always;

Understanding.

She turned to her brother.

"Say thank you!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"You're wel...come," Chip was smiling sheepishly, and his words stumbled out at a slower pace than usual. "I... couldn't finish. Anyway."

"Yeah, you couldn't finish a single glass in the end, could you?" Xander laughed, taking his fiancé's wine glass and finishing it for him.

Chip had barely downed half of what Xander had poured for him originally.

And it wasn't a whole lot to start with.

"It's! It's...not my fault I can't..." He stopped. He flopped over to Xander's seat, arms going everywhere.

"What was I saying again?"

The taller figure visibly froze.

"Angel, what are you doing?"

"It's...cold!"

"No, you mean it's dangerous," Xander sighed. He knew just how dangerous this was. In fact, it wasn't good for the heart at all.

But of course, he wasn't going to say that.

He's Xander.

"I...wha—?" Chip glanced up at his fiancé. Confused.

"Nothing."

"Okie," He replied simply; resuming his comfortable position in Xander's lap with the silliest smile worthy of happiness. His arms were wrapped around the latter in a way that made him resemble a baby koala, clinging hopelessly to something that meant the world.

Xander sighed.

It was hard not to take in his angel's scent. His mind came up with a vague excuse that he had to breathe either way; and breathing meant inevitably taking in the faint scent of vanilla that was just so, so familiar.

The man felt at ease.

"You smell good."

And so did the one in his arms.

"Of course," Xander laughed quietly, fingers weaving through his fiancé's hair. Foolishly thinking of the same stupid things.

"It's like...what's it like?" Chip mumbled into his chest. "It's just nice."

Xander's mind warned him that this was getting very, very dangerous indeed—almost like a foolish traveler taking a path that he knew was going to end dead. It would be a mistake to let his guard down; or to underestimate the things that his angel's smile could do. 

"Do you...you know," Chip paused. "Cologne?"

"Used to," His loved one replied thoughtfully. "For work, at least. Not anymore."

"Hm. Then why...so good?"

"Good?"

"Smell."

Xander laughed. "Say that to yourself."

He could feel his angel smile; though his head was hidden in his chest, buried.

"What—?"

"Nope, it's nothing," The man sighed, getting ready to bring Chip inside. "Bed?"

"Mmhm..."

Xander lifted him into his arms-a tad too effortlessly. Chip shifted his weight; a tangle of limbs struggling to hold onto the larger frame as his fiancé straightened up and left the balcony behind. Lowering the one he loved onto the bed nearest to the window, Xander proceeded to shut the doors to the world outside and look instead to the world before his eyes.

He felt warm. For some reason, the air-conditioning seemed insufficient the calm the heart that was loud. Loud; almost thundering against his chest but soft—gentle as a caress. It donned the cloak of night, a hush so kind it was often unheard and unseen.

It felt a little like Love.

*

The man sat on the edge of his fiancé's bed, defeated gaze lingering on the form that lay beside. He wondered why he always seemed to lose to this;

This foolish and silly Love that defeated not just himself but all of mankind.

And yet there was another that seemed to come along, identifying as a friendly foe and running lose in our minds in effort to control the heart—Hatred.

Hatred, too, had its hold over humans like himself.

To the Xander now, it seemed inevitable in the very least. He understood that Hatred was a powerful thing.

But for some reason, Hatred seemed more like a shield than a weapon.

A sort of defense, in its simplest form; a shield that humans used to hide behind—for fear that the fragility of self would one day yield to the forces of reality. Hatred was their shield.

It appeared to be a rather abstract idea that Xander couldn't grasp. The idea that Hatred was used to protect the fragility of Love;

But forgetting that Love itself was the weapon, and that it was our hearts that wielded the sharpest swords. 

*

"Xan?" Murmured the one who had his heart shewn to the world. A world that hesitated not in destroying every pure and untainted heart there was—in its vulnerable state without any source of protection.

The man responded almost immediately, as if naturally acceding to the softest corner of his dark and ugly soul. "What's wrong?"

"Do you think..." His angel's eyes were half-lidded from the single glass of wine. It made him smile—a subtle form of laughter that felt so foreign to his accursed heart. "I..."

"You?"

Chip smiled foolishly. Just like he always did.

A silly smile that defied every stone and rock that reality had hurled at his unprotected heart. And yet, still—he took no shield. 

It wasn't that he didn't have one—in fact, he did.

There was Hatred in him; of course there was there always were.

After all, Hatred was in all of mankind.

"Do you think I'm weak?"

He finally asked—gaze blank despite his clueless smile, as if he had made a light-hearted comment about the weather.

Xander knew straight away what his answer to that question was. In fact, it seemed almost instinctive that it would have been such.

So he said it.

Chip's smiled softened to a small and he laid his head on the other's lap.

"Do you know why they leave me?"

It was another question that he had not expected. Perhaps it was the liquor doing its work. Or was it, really? Xander was afraid that this was his angel's heart that was speaking and he was hearing. It seemed a little too much for his twisted soul-the voice of the pure.

He found it instantly; the reason why it hurt.

For he, too—had left him once. 

Xander shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Chip shook his head. "Hm?"

It was then when it seemed to dawn on Xander that perhaps he was not the only one who had left him. There had been others-before, and after—who had thrown stones at the exposed heart and ran away as if they hadn't; the ones who left him behind.

"It's like,

They always...

Leave."

He had said this as if confused. Brows slightly furrowed and lips tight. Thinking. And wondering.

"Xan?"

"Yes?"

"Do people actually stay?"

Xander believed this to be the hardest question he had ever answered, providing that he could, indeed, give one in the first place. He was beginning to feel the thing in his chest break apart.

He felt as if his angel was asking him if he was going to stay.

But rather than asking if;

It was begging to.

Strange were the words that Xander heard through the silence. How very strange. For how could one hear the voice of the heart? It had no lips; no voice; no words—

Only its pound and

Only its beat.

"Yes, Angel. They do.

They stay in here."

He pointed at the heart that was unseen.

___________________________

A/N: Help my broken soul I cri inside but for some reason I like.

So sorry.

I missed Xander and Chip.

But I was too busy to write an entire chapter.

And I felt like crying today, so this chapter is perfect. *snuggles back into my cupcake holder to weep quietly* *offers a spot for you*

I will write more about Xander and Chip soon. Blake and Ace are making me laugh too much, so I needed some tears anyway :'D

Love,

Cuppiecake.