Snow threatened in the clouds, heavy and wet and not at all conducive to attending class. Tadashi sighed heavily, making a warm wet fog screen float up from the collar of his parka. He couldn't afford to skip; he'd already used more than his allotted freebie days back in October. There had been too many jewel-bright days of sapphire skies, afternoons that begged wandering through the ruby and topaz forest, cold crisp mornings that discouraged alarm clocks. Days too precious to be spent in class, Tad had reasoned.

The golden smell of woodsmoke autumn was gone now, as if trick-or-treaters had come and stolen it away. The air was flat and wet like a cold washcloth, and smelled only of snow. Tadashi was almost in mourning–not even the promise of the holidays ahead could restore the glorious leaves and local festivals and the wearing of one's favorite trenchcoat.

Tadashi growled, hunching down in his heaviest winter coat as he slogged through brown mush foliage to the Preston building. It was going to snow, and wouldn't that just be a picnic. He hated snow. Always had, no reason for it. His parents could never convince him to go play in it when he was a child; as a teenager no amount of peer promised partying could talk him into group skiing trips.

He would have gone to school in Florida, if he could afford it.

But Tuition was cheap here, and his grades had never been stellar, so here it was. Tadashi kicked a branch irritably. The charming red-brick colonial college held no appeal for him today. He shoved his cold hands deeper into his coat pocket, shifting the weight of his backpack. The campus bells tolled quarter-till with a snobbish tone that suggested anyone still outside ought to be in class already. Tadashi, not one to be intimidated, kicked up his pace just a little. He'd ONLY skipped the class three times, which meant that he liked the course, and he didn't really want to be late.

He made the turn around the science building and blinked at the white college-issue van parked in Preston's turnabout. Something rolled over in his memory, and he prodded at it, trying to recall a memo scribbled on the corner of last week's notes. Amid the chaos of doodled tribal patterns and snatches of song lyrics and, occasionally, something about ancient Chinese civ, hadn't there been something about...

Tuesday: Museum Trip.

"SHIT!" Tadashi bent over to balance the weight of his bag and took off at a flat run, making it onto the van just as the driver prepared to shift gear. He fell breathlessly into the only seat still available, and began to wiggle out of his bag.

"...and of course, the arrival of Mr. Kubata." His professor raised an eyebrow at him over his notes. Tadashi grinned back sheepishly. Dr. Martin cleared his throat. "as I was saying, I want you to pay particular attention to the Song Dynasty pieces in the collection…" He droned on for several minutes, unnoted except by a few diligent students, and gave up when the van lurched onto the highway.

Tadashi ran a frozen hand through his wild flame-colored hair, and finally got a good look around him. His own small Chinese Civ class wasn't the only one on this trip; word must have spread to the other History and Art students that an outing was to be had. Sharing the seat next to him was a shock of nearly vertical bangs in an unusual shade of bright periwinkle, appearing to have spouted out of a Kierkegaard paperback. There were occasional noises of disgust coming from behind the book; someone must have waited till the last minute to do his required reading.

That was fine with Tad, he really didn't want to be social with any of these people anyway. He groped in his bookbag, and frowningly in his coat pockets, only to discover that he'd left his walkman back in his room.

"Dammit to hell..." It was going to be a long trip.

"Tell me about it!" the owner of the blue bangs agreed, shoving the book disdainfully into his knapsack. "If it weren't required for class and generally against my principles, I'd burn this drivel, ya know?"

Tadashi hunched down in his seat, knowing it was too late. He'd been spotted, and by a perky one. No doubt for the next fifteen miles he'd have to listen to blueboy drone on about his classes. No wonder this seat was vacant. He was beginning to feel the warning signs of a Very Bad Mood.

"Hey, are you in the Chinese Civ class? Martin's a great prof, I had him for intro to Asian Lit last year. Made the class really fun, ya know? Oh hey, I'm Zac, Nicetameecha."

Tadashi scowled at the proffered fingers, and shook them gingerly. "Tad." He glanced sidelong at his seatmate. The pale blue hair was no more natural than Tad's own orange shock, but the dye job must have cost a chunk of cash–it looked pro. The punkish short cut with long bangs was somehow made eccentrically academic by the addition of small round spectacles, and an earnest, curiously frank expression.

"Have you been to this museum before?" Zac inquired, pushing his glasses up on his nose and leaning back against the seat. He made a nest out of his shed jacket and shoved up the sleeves of his sweater. "It's one of my favorites, but the East Asia exhibit is new, ya know?" He drew a smiley face on the fogged van window, complete with spiky bangs and glasses. "the collection of artifacts is remarkable and–"

"Shaddup, GEEZ!"

Tad jumped back as a harlequin paperback whizzed through the air between them, smacking Zac in the cranium with frightful velocity. "Don't you know that you're the only one who gives a shit? Some of us are trying to READ."

A dark purple braid flopped onto Tad's shoulder, and the irate voice became a seductive purr as a slender young man draped himself over the back of Tadashi's seat. "Hellllo, cutie! Is this aca-holic bugging you? I've been trying to get him to go to normal person rehab, but he just refuses. Hafta pry his homework out of his fingers."

"eerrrruuummm… Hi." Tad fought off the blush as the violet-eyed boy nearly touched noses with him, the bus jostling him almost into Tad's lap. "You two... know each other?"

Memo to Tadashi: You show up late, you get the van with the freaks.

"You'll have to pardon my roommate." He flipped his braid over one shoulder, and examined his nails. "He has an incurable case of IQ and wants to spread it around as much as possible. I'm Vince. Wha'd you say your name was?"

"Tadashi." He gave up on his sulk and offered Vince a cautious smile, careful as always not to show his teeth.

Vince's eyes widened just a bit. "Are you Japanese? That is just unbearably cool. Japanese boys are SO... ehh... totemo kawaii, neh?"

"Try to contain yourself, Vince. I'll have to get out the muzzle again." Zac had confiscated Vince's abandoned bodice-buster, and was perusing it thoughtfully. "This is a lot better than Kirkegaard. There's a lot more thrusting ma-"

"Gimme that!" Vince snatched his book back, and gave Zac another good whap with it, this time in the shoulder. His bracelet flashed aluminum rainbow beads at Tad, as if it wasn't already obvious.

"So you two are... roommates?" It was a loaded question. His tone must have said more than he thought, Zac held up his hands, looking embarrassed.

"Oh, nothing like THAT, you know?"

Vince rolled his eyes. "What, him? HE'S too busy making love to his bachelors degree. But Student housing put us together when we were freshmen, gods only know why, and we just stuck. Say, are you new? I don't remember you."

Tadashi made a face. "Yeah, first semester. I mostly stay in my room, though. Or the computer center."

Vince nodded. "That's why I don't recognize you. Me and Zac are both juniors, but he's got a few years on me. You look like you're what... nineteen?"

"You want my blood type too?" Tadashi looked at Zac for help. "Is this an interrogation?"

"Not at all, ya know? You're just being put on The List. Vince has every viable male on the campus arranged in his head. Cross-referenced by statistic, too, probably." He mock-scolded his roommate. "You're slipping, Vince. I thought you had all the new freshmen tagged by October 1^st.

"Well, I can't help but miss them if they never come out," Vince retorted, and then flashed suddenly serious eyes at Tadashi. "Hey, I'm only kidding, Tad-chan. Don't want you to think I'm too much of a stereotype. I won't flirt if it bothers you. Honest. Some boys just don't take it too well."

"Like that guy on the football team." Zac rolled his eyes. "He was in a cast for a week."

"It wasn't MY fault he had no idea how to take one teensy little punch!" Vince looked indignant. "He started it by calling me a pussy fag. Humph." His eyes narrowed with satisfaction. "I wasn't the one who wound up in the emergency ward."

"Be-have your-self," Zac said, punctuating his words with a series of tugs on Vince's braid, like a monk tolling Vespers. "Tadashi here has no idea of your reputation, you have chance to start off clean, you know?"

"Reputation?" Tad was mystified.

"You bet!" Vince flashed even white teeth, and brandished a very manicured fist. "It's a well-kept secret, really, but nobody picks on me. I could cream anybody on this campus."

"At what, racquetball?" Tad raised an eyebrow. Vince couldn't have weighed more than 150 pounds soaking wet. "Right."

"Don't believe me?" Vince winked. "I'll show you sometime, if you want. But trust me, it's true. Only reason it's not out is cos none of the jocks'll admit a little girly fag can kick their ass."

"And has," Zac said, with an air of long sufferance. "Don't listen to him, Tad. He's as vain about his fight record as he is his hair."

Vince sniffed, nose in the air. "You brought it up, Zachary. But I don't want Tad to have a bad impression of me." He made a kiss at Tad, who, with a mild feeling of panic, found his cheeks warming pleasantly.

"Are you sure you haven't taken a class with me before? You look awfully familiar."

Tadashi chewed his lip. As much as he didn't want to admit any connection with these nice but admittedly weirdo guys, he'd been getting a similar impression. "I don't think so, All I've been taking are Freshman Reqs. Are either of you history majors?"

"Anthropology and Philosophy double major," Zac said, with the same glee with which most people would say ‘Godiva Chocolate'. "with a minor in Asian Religion. And Vince is theatre."

Only because there isn't a fashion major," Vince amended. "I do costumes." He considered Tadashi. "You don't LOOK like a history major."

Tad grinned. "Well, I want to translate video games for the American market, but dad wants me to at least PRETEND to get a real degree. Not like I could major in Japanese; that'd kinda be cheating."

"I wanted to take Japanese," Vince pouted, "But the classes were all full."

"I'll teach you," Tad found himself saying, before he'd even realized he was willing to offer. Ah well, maybe it was time he made some real friends anyway.

"You will!" Vince was thrilled. "That's fantastic! I'll pay you in decent food twice a week. The upperclassmen's dorms have kitchens; Zac and I haven't eaten school food for ages."

Tad looked to Zac for confirmation. "Can he cook?"

"Better than me," Zac replied. He was eyeing Tadashi strangely, as if looking for something. "Hey, you want to come around the museum with us? Nobody else on the van is really here to actually see the exhibits, they just want a day off, ya know."

"Sure, I'll come." Tad said. "I actually like this kind of history. Lectures and dates and shit bore me to death, but I'm pretty good at the artifacts. Specially the China stuff. Liked it ever since I was a kid. Too many Bruce Lee movies, I guess."

Zac and Vince exchanged a glance that was almost eerie, as if silently communicating with each other.

Outside Zac's fogged window it began to snow again, blowing past the van in thick, white flakes. Tadashi felt the hairs on his forearms stand straight up in alarm, a prickly not-quite pleasant feeling creeping down his spine. Tadashi tried to change the subject, in hopes of quelling the weird vibe he was getting. Hell, maybe he was just bus-sick from facing mostly backwards the whole way. "So uh, what's a theatre major doing with this bunch? Kinda outside your area, isn't it?"

The two upperclassmen had another odd moment, and this time Zac might have nodded slightly. Perhaps it was only the bus jolting over a pothole, making them all bounce.

"Personal interest," Vince said at last, swaying with the motion of the vehicle. "I know this is going to sound utterly cornball, but I think I'm reincarnated or something."

Zac rolled his eyes. "Vince, how many times do I have to tell you? Everybody's reincarnated, ya know?"

"Like... you used to live in China, or something?" Tadashi shifted in a vinyl van seat that was abruptly uncomfortable. The feeling of unease had not relented, instead getting noticeably worse. "A long time ago?"

The violet eyes focused thoughtfully on Tadashi's face, as if judging reaction. Vince laughed suddenly, too shrill and almost false, artfully defusing the intense moment. "but I'm just a little new-age fag, right? Most people think that anyway. It's okay, Tad. I don't mind."

"I don't think–" Tadashi began, but the van ground to a halt just then, nearly sending Vince into the seat with him.

"Oh well, neh?" Vince propped himself up on Zac and Tadashi's heads. "Looks like we're here! Well, let's go, c'mon!" He slipped into the crowd of students like a salmon going upstream, making his companions scramble to keep up with him.

"Remember!" Dr. Martin called, as his students escaped hearing range, "Song Dynasty! There'll be a Quiz!"

"Museums always make me sad," Vince said, looking wistfully at a display of hair ornaments. "I don't know why I always come, I only get depressed." He sighed. The tiny brass bells behind the glass were tarnished green with time, but the carved carnelian peony still looked like a freshly picked blossom. "I just wonder whose these were, don't you? What they must have thought and felt every day, what they took for granted."

"The lady that owned those probably took a lot for granted." Tadashi wasn't as gruff as he might have been, out of respect for Vince's feelings. "she probably had the world on a plate. There's not much about the common people left, is there? Not from this long ago. Like they didn't exist." He looked around the displays, thoughtfully. Other students milled about, most of them looking bored. Zac had gone in search of a loo.

"I don't know," Vince raised a hand to the glass, as if wanting to pick up one of the baubles. "Just because she was rich doesn't mean she was happy. She might have been sold into marriage... or in love with someone she couldn't have." Vince's lips tightened. "Maybe she was homesick, or afraid of losing the people she cared about in some war or another." He shook his head, heavy indigo braid rustling on his shoulder. "No. I don't think she took much for granted at all."

Tadashi watched him, the phantom feeling haunting the fringes of his mind and turning into a collection of sounds. They were almost cohesive, almost becoming a name–

"Ah, those Han Dynasty combs are really quite exquisite, aren't they?" Dr. Martin appeared behind Vince, glad to see a student actively examining the museum's offerings. "If you like that sort of thing, there's some fantastic enamel work over here–" he led Vince off, the theatre student shaking his melancholy off and chattering amiably about vermeil and inlay. When Tadashi turned back around he saw Zac's reflection in the glass case, eyeing him levelly.

"So what do you think?" he asked, as if it were the only question in the world. He didn't seem to be inquiring about Tadashi's opinion of the exhibit.

"Of Vince? He's a nice guy. Little flaky but–"

"No, just what do you think in general?" Zac folded his arms, and suddenly his reflection in the glass seemed more real than the rest of the room. "Of these things, in this room. Of snow." He hesitated. "You've been to exhibits like this before, right?"

Tadashi nodded. "Of course."

"Well then. What do these... relics... make you think of?" Zac closed one eye as if in secret code, the gesture strangely familiar. "Quick, look at that fan and tell me the first thing that pops into your head."

Tadashi glanced at the tattered fan next to the hair trinkets, amber eyes unblinking. "Fire," he said, very softly. "I think of fire." He shook himself, and the museum was once again loud with the presences of other people, of laughter and students and someone's walkman leaking sound, a watch bleeping the hour. The fan was a pitiful artifact with hardly any paper left on the ebony frame, but for a second it had seemed like something else, shining like a diamond. He turned to look Zac in the eye. "Hey, what is this?"

Zac smiled, all innocence, his easygoing mask slipping so seamlessly into place that it was like some other person had been mirrored in the glass case, questioning Tadashi. "ah, nothing. It's a psychology thing. Item associations, all that stuff, you know? We talked about it in class yesterday, I just wanted to see if it worked. Sorry to freak you out. C'mon, did Martin kidnap Vince? We'll never get him away, and there's a screen I want him to see."

Zac moved to the other side of the exhibit, and Tadashi hesitated, looking back at the fan. It had once been painted with silver and blue birds, beside a now-gray stream. There was nothing at all about it to make him think of fire.

Tadashi turned his back on the display, agitated. No, nothing at all.