Tie a string to a memory, and you'll end up hung with it... but if the memory is worth hanging for, tie a rope.

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"Two more songs from this band and we'll go down--you look anxious." Sesshoumaru snapped his mind back into place for the moment, steering away from the one-way window to stare at the speaker--the owner of the club he had set his coup de'tat at.

Only the best club in town, the Shadow Rose was owned by the intimidating man staring at him through those beedy pupils and the redhead behind him. The nightclub sported Tokyo's supernatural appeal, and any youkai knew it--though the ignorant were no strangers to the edge of the stage screaming vows of love at the two singers' feet. Tonight, a guest band played the stage for the two hour gap Sesshoumaru had been staring at the door in wait. Only twenty minutes had past since the object of his attention had finally crossed the threshold, but it felt like centuries all over again.

"Four hundred years has done little for you." The harsh voice came again, but this time it was a scold that dragged those gold-brown eyes back to the short man with an astounding disdain. Without a sign of fear, the dark-haired man leaned forward, as if to mock that glare, "You're wearing everything on your face now. Did you truly miss him so much?" A hand dropped to Hiei's shoulder, and with a glance to the redhead, the patronizing youkai sat back.

"I appreciate your help, Hiei," the voice that escaped him was deep, resounding off the walls, "But don't presume overmuch." The threat was born of pride and irritation that the younger demon would be so bold as to criticize him at this moment, but again, Hiei was undaunted. The next six minutes passed in a requiem of silence, and Sesshoumaru touched his hand to the glass as if it was the only thing seperating him from his lover. Four hundred years betwixt them, and so much change...

The human world had grown, and time had put the youkai in hiding. A new organization, calling themselves Spirit Detectives had put a stranglehold on youkai powers, thinking themselves some righteous protectorate of human safety. The youkai that did not leave the world in its entirety for the demon plane remained here in secrecy, and so, too, did Sesshoumaru live. Without his mate, the inuyoukai had thrived in a business he had taken up only when seeming to have a job became necessary... and when he had been forced to choose what lucrative business he would invest his time into, he had found himself setting up a school for dancers. As if placing himself closer to Kaida in spirit would ease some suffering, or bring the mate back around quickly. Four centuries, and there he was. Kaida.

Jaren Matthews had strutted into Sesshoumaru's dance studio with an attitude and talent to back up his ego. The little American brat had damn near set Sesshoumaru's teeth on edge with his stupid-looking gothic getup and his refusal to change into the attire, but he had been patient and taught him anyway. Despite his lack of respect or manners, he was eager to learn, and was not to be turned to a different teacher. Each little curly black-dyed hair on his forehead seemed to stand on end at the very mention of looking elsewhere.

"He's the best, right?! I've gotta learn from him, so let me see him!"

Sesshoumaru had taken him on as almost a charity case. His classes were full and the secretary was trying to send the obstinate boy away when they had run into each other. The American had glued himself to Sesshoumaru's window and demanded, then begged, then pleaded.. and Sesshoumaru said yes not to Jaren, but to Jaren's crystal-blue, beautifully remniscent eyes.

The Matthews boy had set Sesshoumaru on edge, thinking about his dead mate at all had made Sesshoumaru's temper tense, so it was no wonder the boy ended up doing embarassing things in class. Sesshoumaru was searching to fill a gap--and Jaren was doing all the right motions... so many, it made the youkai's nose curl.

But the finale came with the illness. A sleepy American goth had wrapped himself around Sesshoumaru's boa in the night and responded with his name as Kaida.

And now he was dancing with a woman on the dance floor, with every move perfect, making the amateur girl look like she was a professional because the grace he poured off around her. Every step was perfect, matching the light and the beat, every movement was Kaida's.. the sensuality and the seduction, wrapped with an innocence that Jaren didn't even know he possessed.

"Time to go." Kurama's voice softly pulled Sesshoumaru from the window as the two boys descended from the balcony room. A few minutes more. Sesshoumaru slipped from the balcony to ready himself by the back door and wait for that music. In the dark black of the private entrance, he leaned himself against the cool wood panelling of the wall and just listened. Through the breathing, through the screams of joy as the two moved onto the stage, past the announcement of a request... and through the music that introduced the song that Kaida always sang...

The moonlight... Shines down interstellar beams...

A few more lyrics slipped by through the sound of Kurama's voice as it echoed through the room, and Sesshoumaru slipped through the door, the heat coming off the bodies strangling him for breath as he moved past each sliding foot, each swaying light, each tightly-clenched lover. Like a moth to a flame, Jaren turned, and that smile was there, hidden beneath the black lipstick and heavy eyeliner. The breathtaking beauty of each sparkle that lit Kaida's eyes when the music started playing.

A touch. Electric.

The feel of Jaren's fingers as they wrapped in the short, platinum blonde hair that he sported, the hiss of a voice that almost didn't belong to the gothic boy...

"Carry on, keep romancing... Carry on, carry on dancing.."

Three minutes. Sesshoumaru's fingers slid down the small of Jaren's back, his eyes locked with those pretty blues. If I can have nothing else, give me three minutes. The heavy breaths slipping from Jaren's lips were visible underneath the flashing lights as they swept their rhythmic dance across the floor, illuminating the sweet-covered bodies as they swayed. Each second to drown and then struggle one's way to the top again, to breathe... even as Jaren's ass ground against his loins and dragged a much more feral desire to the forefront of his imaginings.

Three minutes to remember what it felt like to breathe. Three minutes to will time to stop. Three minutes to live in a memory.

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So, yeah, had fun with the picture.. not so great with the prose today. T_T Forgive meeeeeee!