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...and again!
I forgot a disclaimer with the first bit. Um. They don’t belong to me. If they did, Oriya would be replacing Tsuzuki as the main character of YnM by now because he’s so damn cool. Tsuzuki can just go live with Hisoka. On a beach. Or something.
Anyway. Please ignore all the above babbling and mark it down as being due to I-own-X/1999-DVDs euphoria.
*bestows brandy and/or hugs (take your pick) upon Erin and Tai* Thanks muchly, guys!
~
I’ve always been good at waiting. From the day that Saki died, I waited for the day that I could bring him back and feel his death at my own hands. Ever since I read my grandfather’s journal, I was waiting for a chance to find his strange patient.
And ever since I found Tsuzuki, I’ve been waiting for a time and place when I can claim him for my own. I’m prepared to keep waiting, because he can’t ignore every body I drop in his path and he can’t hide behind an empath and a shadow master forever.
What’s worrying me now, though, is that Oriya is almost as good at it as I am. Every time I come back to the KoKakuRou, no matter if it’s been four days or four months, he’ll act exactly the same way.
Usually I count this as a good thing. Right now, however, it’s making me slightly uneasy. Because I know Mibu Oriya, and the longer I stay away the longer his inhuman patience has to kick in and persuade him that if he tries long enough he’ll have the willpower to close the door in my face.
It’s hardly surprising that this idea bothers me – sometimes I think I depend a little too much on his connections. Easy solution, as he keeps trying to point out; stop killing people. But that’s the only way the Shinigami are ever going to notice me, so it’s not going to happen.
Certainly I care for Oriya, in my own way – but then again, perhaps that’s not the right way to put it. I value him. Someone asked me, once, whether I had ever loved anyone enough to let them live. I laughed, and broke her neck just the same. But the question stayed with me, simply because it doesn’t make any sense. That which people call love and the intimate reality that is death aren’t mutually exclusive, not at all.
Tsuzuki is the closest to love that I’ll ever admit coming. And I’d kill him without a thought. So how can anyone say that to love is to preserve? Oriya… is different.
Oriya is the only person I’ve ever had trouble saying goodbye to.
Why, I’m not quite sure.
Not because he’s attractive, even though he is. He has such beautiful hair. With Kurosaki, it was the fragile body, so easy to break and so delightful to flaw. With Tsuzuki, it’s his eyes – the clear purple that truly does seem to suck my soul in with their mixture of immortality and innocence. Something to steal and something to corrupt – an intoxicating thought.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Oriya’s hair. It feels lovely in my hands, sliding through my fingers like death. Once I thought about cutting it off whilst he slept, to annoy him, but didn’t. I told him about it in the morning, and we laughed together for a while before he left the room and wouldn’t speak to me for a week.
Maybe I should break his heart and see if he’ll chop it off himself.
But then, maybe I already have.
~
The rain slides down my glasses and I let my feet wander.
~
I’m not even surprised when I end up on the doorstep of the KoKakuRou. This is affirmation. This is… making sure I wasn’t wrong from the beginning.
This is almost a gamble.
But not quite.
You can’t shut me out forever.
Not even for a day.
“Hello, Oriya. Will you let me in?”
“No.” But he doesn’t close the door, just stands there.
I smile, take another step towards him and lift one hand to the back of his neck. Kiss him on the lips, just once.
“Will you let me in?”
He stays silent, just holds my eyes for a long moment and I can see the conflicting emotions in them. Eventually he turns without a word and walks back into the building, leaving the door open. Not exactly an invitation, but the best I’m going to get. I follow him.
He stops next to a large cupboard and pulls out a couple of towels.
“Take off your coat,” he says shortly.
I raise an eyebrow, knowing full well what he means but enjoying the teasing.
“Just do it, Muraki.” He sounds disgusted, whether at me or himself I can’t tell.
I don’t argue. He’s angry, definitely at me this time, but very probably at himself as well. He takes the sodden coat from me without a word and hands it to a passing girl with a muttered instruction. The towels hit me in the face and he heads off in the direction of his room without even looking me in the eye.
By the time I step inside the worst of the rain has been removed by the towels, and Oriya is undressing. Obviously doing his very best to pretend that I’m not in the room, he removes the formal robe with quick, practiced movements and walks over to pull a looser wrap from a rack.
There’s a war of nonchalance going on. I’m not sure who is acting the least unaffected; Oriya, as he casually ignores my existence, or me – watching as wiry marble limbs disappear into the blue folds of his wrap.
Eventually he stands hugging his elbows and stares out the window. I sigh and move to stand next to him, not quite touching.
“Are you happy now?” he says, very quietly.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Because you don’t have anywhere else to go.” He looks at me and smiles, but it’s empty and doesn’t reach his eyes. “And there’s enough between us that I don’t want you arrested. Besides, I would be the one bailing you out in the end.” The modern words don’t sound right in his mouth.
“I told you that you couldn’t shut me out.”
“I know that.” I think I might have pushed him too far, this time. His eyes are very cold and his shoulders are stiff under the loose material. “I realised that as soon as I closed the door on you. So I don’t need you, of all people, to remind me of how weak I am.”
“Am I a weakness, Oriya?” I don’t think anyone’s called me that before. Bastard, yes. Weakness, no.
“You are my strongest weakness,” he whispers into the rain.
“Are you going to let me stay again?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“What does that mean?”
He laughs hollowly. “It means my life is yours again. Are you pleased? Maybe I should just kick you out again, see if it gets easier with practice.”
“Let me stay. I’ll stop using you for your connections,” I offer. “I’ll let you retrieve what’s left of your social conscience –” I glance around deliberately “ – if you ever had one, that is.”
He moves as fast as only a swordsman can, and I hear the ringing slap across my cheek long before the aching starts.
“I may manage whores,” he says with tightly controlled anger, “but never make the mistake of thinking that I am one.”
I frown. “I didn’t –“
“It doesn’t matter what excuse you use,” he continues, eyes hard. “I know when I’m being bought. If I let you stay, it will be because I make the decision on my own and for no other reason.”
“Oriya –”
“I might not be able to turn you away…” his voice is shaking “…but I swear to God if you patronise me one more time I will kill you.” This time the smile does reach his eyes, but it’s so empty that they become holes in his face. “That, at least, I think I am capable of.”
“I doubt that.”
The katana makes a sound like rusted silk as it comes out of its sheath. I didn’t even know he was holding it.
“Do you want to try and find out?”
I sigh. “No patronising, then.” Not that I think he has any intention of carrying out the threat. But I owe him that much, at least.
“I wonder.” The point of the blade drifts slowly and rests on my throat.
“Do you think you’re going to kill me?” I ask mockingly.
“I’ll kill you just enough to hurt.”
“Really?”
A pause.
“Obviously not.”
“Obviously.” His voice is calm.
“Why?”
“You already know.” The point of the katana never wavers.
“I want you to say it.”
“The one with the sword makes the demands, Muraki.”
I smile and clasp my hand around the blade close to where it touches my throat. “Say it, Oriya.” I tighten my grasp.
“You idiot.” He sighs and lowers the katana gently, and I let go.
“Well?”
“I love you.” No defiance, no softness. Just a fact.
My smile widens deliberately. “I don’t love you.”
“That’s obvious.” He sighs, gestures irritably. “Show me your hand.”
“It’s fine.” I raise it to my lips, taste the blood because I know it pisses him off.
“Like hell.” He wipes the blade on his wrap and replaces it in its sheath. “Show me,” he orders.
So I sit bemusedly while Oriya expertly washes the gash in my hand and rubs in lotion to stop it from stiffening whilst it heals.
“Say it again,” I say experimentally.
His hands still. “Why?”
“Because it amuses me.”
“Wrong answer.”
True, though.
“Because I like the sound of your voice?”
Also true.
He snorts deprecatingly. “Hardly likely.”
“Fine.”
“You’re really making a habit of this.”
“What?”
“Asking for things without giving anything back.” He drops my hand abruptly and looks away.
“That’s the way I am.”
“It’s fine,” he says tightly. It’s anything but. “You’re incapable of loving anything but yourself. I knew that anyway.”
I try and laugh, but it comes out sounding forced. “I’m not quite that emotionless, Oriya.”
“Oh, really? What you feel for Tsuzuki – is that love?” he says viciously. “You speak of him as your beloved, and yet you spend every waking moment thinking of ways to rape and kill him.”
“Not every waking moment,” I disagree mildly. “Aren’t I with you now? I probably spend more time here, with you, than I’ve ever spent with him.”
“Don’t try and tell me that I’ve ever held your attention, Muraki.” His voice is very flat. “The only reason you’re here is because Tsuzuki is smart enough to avoid you, and because he has Kurosaki to keep him sane.”
“You keep me sane,” I say suddenly, trying to pretend that his lack of faith in me isn’t hurting. And that I’ve never done anything to deserve it.
“Oh yes, I can imagine what would happen if you didn’t have me. You might turn into a sociopath or something oh wait, you already have. How very comforting.” The sarcasm hurts even more.
“But it could have been so much worse,” I tell him softly, willing him to believe.
Pain in the brown eyes. He looks at me for a while and then drops his gaze to his hands.
“I wish I wasn’t in love with you,” he whispers. “I wish giving up on you was just as easy as making the decision to do so. I wish I was able to turn you away, just once.”
“Love sounds like far more trouble than it’s worth.”
“My point exactly.” He leans on a beam with a despairing sigh.
“Why bother then?”
“Weren’t you listening?” He shoots me an amused look. “I don’t have any choice. But for anyone but us… yes, I think it would be worth it.”
“Why?”
“Ask Tsuzuki.”
I give him a slow, dangerous glance, but he ignores it.
“You’re wrong,” I say eventually. “Love could never be worth it.”
“Why not?”
“Because to love is to hurt.” The words slip out automatically, before I can wonder where they came from. And then I remember and too much comes back.
To love something is to hurt it, Kazutaka.
As you say, kaasan.
Here, try it on this doll. Hit the cheek, no, harder. Feel it crack. Did you like that?
I –
Feel it shatter.
This… is love?
This is the only love you’ll ever need.
As you say, kaasan.
Hurt me, Kazutaka…
“Thus your love for Tsuzuki?” Oriya’s voice jolts me back to the present and I try to stop my hands from shaking.
“Yes.” It all makes perfect sense. I lust after him and I want to hurt him. This is love.
“That would explain a lot.” So low I’m not even sure he meant for me to hear that.
There’s a pause in which his eyes fill with darkness. It makes him alluring.
“Muraki, have I ever lied to you?”
I blink, surprised at the question. “Yes.”
“Okay. Bad start. Can you accept that what I am about to tell you will not be a lie?”
My mouth twitches. “Oriya, you’re treating me like I’m five years old.”
“Five year olds are good at accepting,” he says sternly.
“Oriya, how many five year olds have you met?”
“Will you just answer?”
“Very well.”
“…and?”
“That was my answer.”
He sighs. “All right. I’m only going to say this once. To love is not to hurt. To love is to protect.”
“Protect?” I laugh in his face. Worse than preserve.
“To want their happiness over your own,” he continues softly, ignoring me.
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing at all.” I run a hand through my hair and blink at the birds painted on the ceiling.
“Did I ever say it was?”
“But –”
“Everyone else seems to be able to make it work,” he says wryly. “Just not me.”
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Oriya.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“Maybe you should try loving someone else.”
He laughs so horribly that for a second I think there must be another person in the room.
My head hurts.
Why are you laughing, kaasan?
I broke them all. All of them.
Kaasan?
This is what you wanted, Kazutaka.
As you say, kaasan.
This is love.
To love is to hurt.
Isn’t it?
Something shatters in me like porcelain.
Was she wrong?
Oriya and I realise at the same moment that I’ve been staring blankly at him. He tries to smile.
“Now do you understand why I couldn’t turn you away?”
I think carefully. “No. Not really.”
He sighs. “Maybe I should just sleep with you.”
“I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me.”
“You’re the one who said I was lying.”
“I thought you couldn’t be bought.”
“Everything can be bought,” he says sadly. “You just have to find the right currency.”
“Like what?”
“Love?” he suggests softly, eyes shadowed.
I snort. “Love isn’t currency.”
“I’d have thought someone like you would think otherwise.” He pulls the ribbon from his hair and lets it fall around his face. Gorgeous. I catch my breath, giving up all pretence that I don’t want this. I could take it, easily. But something tells me that, with Oriya, once it has been taken it will never, ever be offered again.
“What, then?” I take the loose hair as an invitation and run my hands through it slowly. “What do I have to give you, Oriya?”
“Tell me exactly what you think of me.” He leans in so that his breath on my face is a whisper of sensation. “Tell me why you haven’t killed me yet.”
Not what I was expecting, but I decide that honesty is going to be far, far more interesting than any attempt at guessing what he wants.
“Very well.” I kiss the side of his jaw, wondering how far I can push this. “You’re beautiful. You’re moody. You’re far too tolerant for your own good sometimes. You’re annoying. You have a seductive voice.”
“And you’re not answering me,” he says lightly, fingertips brushing against my lips as he moves my face away.
“You’re useful,” I say bluntly. “I need you, and so I’m not going to kill you.” Not today, Oriya.
“Is that it?” He sounds disappointed, but not overly so. “So much for not using me for my connections.”
“And… if I didn’t have you, I would be lost.” His eyes don’t light up, but the delicious darkness gets stronger. Oh, wouldn’t it be ironic if I was lying to him?
“That’s good enough for me.” He smiles, smiles properly for the first time just before he kisses me.
“That doesn’t mean I’m in love with you,” I remind him.
“Really.” His voice is noncommittal, just a soft murmur against my lips.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I don’t believe that.” Slender fingers find their way under my shirt. “Maybe that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
“I don’t –”
“Shh.” The kissing starts again. I bring one hand up to encircle his throat, and brown eyes too soft for the sharp look in them open quickly to meet mine.
“I could break you,” I tell him. “Maybe that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
He actually smiles. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“My choice.”
I take my hand away, knowing that I’m only proving him right but past caring.
He laughs softly. “Do you want me to stop?” Phantom kisses everywhere and the rain drums down outside. I close my eyes.
“No.”
So he doesn’t.
~
Sometime not long after, it slips into Christmas. But I don’t notice, and the rain keeps falling. Neither of us can be bothered to care, it appears.
~
“Oriya?”
“Mmph?” He doesn’t sound particularly awake. I dangle the lock of hair in front of his eyes.
“Look.”
He wakes up properly.
“You idiot. ” He starts to grab it, then notices the knife in my hand.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“You utter idiot. ” He tries to sit up but I pin him to the futon with one hand.
“You have lovely hair, Oriya.”
“Not any more,” he says disgustedly.
“I think so.”
“I’m probably asymmetrical, you fuckwit.”
“I can change that easily.” I smirk at him and finger the knife obviously.
“I hate you.”
“Really?” I run a finger down his chest.
“Bastard,” he hisses, trying to wrestle the knife out of my hand. I kiss him hard and laugh as his hair spills out on the pillow. He really is the most beautiful thing.
“Careful now.” I put the knife at his throat. He smiles.
“Do you think you’re going to hurt me?”
“Guess again.”
“Do you think you’re going to kill me?”
“Just enough to hurt.”
He bats my hands away. “No weapons in bed. House rule.”
I laugh delightedly. “Are you going to throw me out?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” he says.
~
And in the Meifu, sakura petals fall like snow.
~ FIN ~
^#^
Tsuzuki: So, where’s the sap?
Fahye: This isn’t a sap fic. If it was, there would be presents. And amusing incidents with brandy. And most probably you.
Hisoka: Don’t give him ideas.
Fahye: Not to mention a distinct lack of sociopaths.
Tsuzuki: Sounds better to me.
Hisoka: Do we get presents anyway?
Tsuzuki: I’ll be your present. Look, I’ll put a big purple bow around my neck.
Hisoka: …the hell?
Fahye: And THAT is why I refuse to write Christmas sap. I’d die laughing.
Oriya: Yes, isn’t this supposed to be a Christmas fic?
Muraki: It is. Sort of.
Oriya: No mention of presents or holly or dark pasts and you call it a Christmas fic?
Muraki: *I* have a dark past.
Oriya: That doesn’t count, because she made it up.
Muraki: Says who?
Oriya: Canon.
Muraki: Screw the canon.
Fahye: Precisely what I said.
Muraki: Besides, there are presents.
Oriya: Oh, really?
Muraki: Merry Christmas, darling, have some of your own hair.
Oriya: Fuck you.
Muraki: Actually, we already did that.
Oriya: No, they can only assume we did. The author wimped out.
Fahye: Shut up or I’ll add mistletoe.
^#^
Yeah. Well. That took place in my head at approximately 11:30 at night. Don’t kill me.
Feedback? Please?
Anyway. Please ignore all the above babbling and mark it down as being due to I-own-X/1999-DVDs euphoria.
*bestows brandy and/or hugs (take your pick) upon Erin and Tai* Thanks muchly, guys!
~
I’ve always been good at waiting. From the day that Saki died, I waited for the day that I could bring him back and feel his death at my own hands. Ever since I read my grandfather’s journal, I was waiting for a chance to find his strange patient.
And ever since I found Tsuzuki, I’ve been waiting for a time and place when I can claim him for my own. I’m prepared to keep waiting, because he can’t ignore every body I drop in his path and he can’t hide behind an empath and a shadow master forever.
What’s worrying me now, though, is that Oriya is almost as good at it as I am. Every time I come back to the KoKakuRou, no matter if it’s been four days or four months, he’ll act exactly the same way.
Usually I count this as a good thing. Right now, however, it’s making me slightly uneasy. Because I know Mibu Oriya, and the longer I stay away the longer his inhuman patience has to kick in and persuade him that if he tries long enough he’ll have the willpower to close the door in my face.
It’s hardly surprising that this idea bothers me – sometimes I think I depend a little too much on his connections. Easy solution, as he keeps trying to point out; stop killing people. But that’s the only way the Shinigami are ever going to notice me, so it’s not going to happen.
Certainly I care for Oriya, in my own way – but then again, perhaps that’s not the right way to put it. I value him. Someone asked me, once, whether I had ever loved anyone enough to let them live. I laughed, and broke her neck just the same. But the question stayed with me, simply because it doesn’t make any sense. That which people call love and the intimate reality that is death aren’t mutually exclusive, not at all.
Tsuzuki is the closest to love that I’ll ever admit coming. And I’d kill him without a thought. So how can anyone say that to love is to preserve? Oriya… is different.
Oriya is the only person I’ve ever had trouble saying goodbye to.
Why, I’m not quite sure.
Not because he’s attractive, even though he is. He has such beautiful hair. With Kurosaki, it was the fragile body, so easy to break and so delightful to flaw. With Tsuzuki, it’s his eyes – the clear purple that truly does seem to suck my soul in with their mixture of immortality and innocence. Something to steal and something to corrupt – an intoxicating thought.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Oriya’s hair. It feels lovely in my hands, sliding through my fingers like death. Once I thought about cutting it off whilst he slept, to annoy him, but didn’t. I told him about it in the morning, and we laughed together for a while before he left the room and wouldn’t speak to me for a week.
Maybe I should break his heart and see if he’ll chop it off himself.
But then, maybe I already have.
~
The rain slides down my glasses and I let my feet wander.
~
I’m not even surprised when I end up on the doorstep of the KoKakuRou. This is affirmation. This is… making sure I wasn’t wrong from the beginning.
This is almost a gamble.
But not quite.
You can’t shut me out forever.
Not even for a day.
“Hello, Oriya. Will you let me in?”
“No.” But he doesn’t close the door, just stands there.
I smile, take another step towards him and lift one hand to the back of his neck. Kiss him on the lips, just once.
“Will you let me in?”
He stays silent, just holds my eyes for a long moment and I can see the conflicting emotions in them. Eventually he turns without a word and walks back into the building, leaving the door open. Not exactly an invitation, but the best I’m going to get. I follow him.
He stops next to a large cupboard and pulls out a couple of towels.
“Take off your coat,” he says shortly.
I raise an eyebrow, knowing full well what he means but enjoying the teasing.
“Just do it, Muraki.” He sounds disgusted, whether at me or himself I can’t tell.
I don’t argue. He’s angry, definitely at me this time, but very probably at himself as well. He takes the sodden coat from me without a word and hands it to a passing girl with a muttered instruction. The towels hit me in the face and he heads off in the direction of his room without even looking me in the eye.
By the time I step inside the worst of the rain has been removed by the towels, and Oriya is undressing. Obviously doing his very best to pretend that I’m not in the room, he removes the formal robe with quick, practiced movements and walks over to pull a looser wrap from a rack.
There’s a war of nonchalance going on. I’m not sure who is acting the least unaffected; Oriya, as he casually ignores my existence, or me – watching as wiry marble limbs disappear into the blue folds of his wrap.
Eventually he stands hugging his elbows and stares out the window. I sigh and move to stand next to him, not quite touching.
“Are you happy now?” he says, very quietly.
“Why did you change your mind?”
“Because you don’t have anywhere else to go.” He looks at me and smiles, but it’s empty and doesn’t reach his eyes. “And there’s enough between us that I don’t want you arrested. Besides, I would be the one bailing you out in the end.” The modern words don’t sound right in his mouth.
“I told you that you couldn’t shut me out.”
“I know that.” I think I might have pushed him too far, this time. His eyes are very cold and his shoulders are stiff under the loose material. “I realised that as soon as I closed the door on you. So I don’t need you, of all people, to remind me of how weak I am.”
“Am I a weakness, Oriya?” I don’t think anyone’s called me that before. Bastard, yes. Weakness, no.
“You are my strongest weakness,” he whispers into the rain.
“Are you going to let me stay again?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“What does that mean?”
He laughs hollowly. “It means my life is yours again. Are you pleased? Maybe I should just kick you out again, see if it gets easier with practice.”
“Let me stay. I’ll stop using you for your connections,” I offer. “I’ll let you retrieve what’s left of your social conscience –” I glance around deliberately “ – if you ever had one, that is.”
He moves as fast as only a swordsman can, and I hear the ringing slap across my cheek long before the aching starts.
“I may manage whores,” he says with tightly controlled anger, “but never make the mistake of thinking that I am one.”
I frown. “I didn’t –“
“It doesn’t matter what excuse you use,” he continues, eyes hard. “I know when I’m being bought. If I let you stay, it will be because I make the decision on my own and for no other reason.”
“Oriya –”
“I might not be able to turn you away…” his voice is shaking “…but I swear to God if you patronise me one more time I will kill you.” This time the smile does reach his eyes, but it’s so empty that they become holes in his face. “That, at least, I think I am capable of.”
“I doubt that.”
The katana makes a sound like rusted silk as it comes out of its sheath. I didn’t even know he was holding it.
“Do you want to try and find out?”
I sigh. “No patronising, then.” Not that I think he has any intention of carrying out the threat. But I owe him that much, at least.
“I wonder.” The point of the blade drifts slowly and rests on my throat.
“Do you think you’re going to kill me?” I ask mockingly.
“I’ll kill you just enough to hurt.”
“Really?”
A pause.
“Obviously not.”
“Obviously.” His voice is calm.
“Why?”
“You already know.” The point of the katana never wavers.
“I want you to say it.”
“The one with the sword makes the demands, Muraki.”
I smile and clasp my hand around the blade close to where it touches my throat. “Say it, Oriya.” I tighten my grasp.
“You idiot.” He sighs and lowers the katana gently, and I let go.
“Well?”
“I love you.” No defiance, no softness. Just a fact.
My smile widens deliberately. “I don’t love you.”
“That’s obvious.” He sighs, gestures irritably. “Show me your hand.”
“It’s fine.” I raise it to my lips, taste the blood because I know it pisses him off.
“Like hell.” He wipes the blade on his wrap and replaces it in its sheath. “Show me,” he orders.
So I sit bemusedly while Oriya expertly washes the gash in my hand and rubs in lotion to stop it from stiffening whilst it heals.
“Say it again,” I say experimentally.
His hands still. “Why?”
“Because it amuses me.”
“Wrong answer.”
True, though.
“Because I like the sound of your voice?”
Also true.
He snorts deprecatingly. “Hardly likely.”
“Fine.”
“You’re really making a habit of this.”
“What?”
“Asking for things without giving anything back.” He drops my hand abruptly and looks away.
“That’s the way I am.”
“It’s fine,” he says tightly. It’s anything but. “You’re incapable of loving anything but yourself. I knew that anyway.”
I try and laugh, but it comes out sounding forced. “I’m not quite that emotionless, Oriya.”
“Oh, really? What you feel for Tsuzuki – is that love?” he says viciously. “You speak of him as your beloved, and yet you spend every waking moment thinking of ways to rape and kill him.”
“Not every waking moment,” I disagree mildly. “Aren’t I with you now? I probably spend more time here, with you, than I’ve ever spent with him.”
“Don’t try and tell me that I’ve ever held your attention, Muraki.” His voice is very flat. “The only reason you’re here is because Tsuzuki is smart enough to avoid you, and because he has Kurosaki to keep him sane.”
“You keep me sane,” I say suddenly, trying to pretend that his lack of faith in me isn’t hurting. And that I’ve never done anything to deserve it.
“Oh yes, I can imagine what would happen if you didn’t have me. You might turn into a sociopath or something oh wait, you already have. How very comforting.” The sarcasm hurts even more.
“But it could have been so much worse,” I tell him softly, willing him to believe.
Pain in the brown eyes. He looks at me for a while and then drops his gaze to his hands.
“I wish I wasn’t in love with you,” he whispers. “I wish giving up on you was just as easy as making the decision to do so. I wish I was able to turn you away, just once.”
“Love sounds like far more trouble than it’s worth.”
“My point exactly.” He leans on a beam with a despairing sigh.
“Why bother then?”
“Weren’t you listening?” He shoots me an amused look. “I don’t have any choice. But for anyone but us… yes, I think it would be worth it.”
“Why?”
“Ask Tsuzuki.”
I give him a slow, dangerous glance, but he ignores it.
“You’re wrong,” I say eventually. “Love could never be worth it.”
“Why not?”
“Because to love is to hurt.” The words slip out automatically, before I can wonder where they came from. And then I remember and too much comes back.
To love something is to hurt it, Kazutaka.
As you say, kaasan.
Here, try it on this doll. Hit the cheek, no, harder. Feel it crack. Did you like that?
I –
Feel it shatter.
This… is love?
This is the only love you’ll ever need.
As you say, kaasan.
Hurt me, Kazutaka…
“Thus your love for Tsuzuki?” Oriya’s voice jolts me back to the present and I try to stop my hands from shaking.
“Yes.” It all makes perfect sense. I lust after him and I want to hurt him. This is love.
“That would explain a lot.” So low I’m not even sure he meant for me to hear that.
There’s a pause in which his eyes fill with darkness. It makes him alluring.
“Muraki, have I ever lied to you?”
I blink, surprised at the question. “Yes.”
“Okay. Bad start. Can you accept that what I am about to tell you will not be a lie?”
My mouth twitches. “Oriya, you’re treating me like I’m five years old.”
“Five year olds are good at accepting,” he says sternly.
“Oriya, how many five year olds have you met?”
“Will you just answer?”
“Very well.”
“…and?”
“That was my answer.”
He sighs. “All right. I’m only going to say this once. To love is not to hurt. To love is to protect.”
“Protect?” I laugh in his face. Worse than preserve.
“To want their happiness over your own,” he continues softly, ignoring me.
“That doesn’t sound like a good thing at all.” I run a hand through my hair and blink at the birds painted on the ceiling.
“Did I ever say it was?”
“But –”
“Everyone else seems to be able to make it work,” he says wryly. “Just not me.”
“Self-pity doesn’t suit you, Oriya.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“Maybe you should try loving someone else.”
He laughs so horribly that for a second I think there must be another person in the room.
My head hurts.
Why are you laughing, kaasan?
I broke them all. All of them.
Kaasan?
This is what you wanted, Kazutaka.
As you say, kaasan.
This is love.
To love is to hurt.
Isn’t it?
Something shatters in me like porcelain.
Was she wrong?
Oriya and I realise at the same moment that I’ve been staring blankly at him. He tries to smile.
“Now do you understand why I couldn’t turn you away?”
I think carefully. “No. Not really.”
He sighs. “Maybe I should just sleep with you.”
“I thought you didn’t want to sleep with me.”
“You’re the one who said I was lying.”
“I thought you couldn’t be bought.”
“Everything can be bought,” he says sadly. “You just have to find the right currency.”
“Like what?”
“Love?” he suggests softly, eyes shadowed.
I snort. “Love isn’t currency.”
“I’d have thought someone like you would think otherwise.” He pulls the ribbon from his hair and lets it fall around his face. Gorgeous. I catch my breath, giving up all pretence that I don’t want this. I could take it, easily. But something tells me that, with Oriya, once it has been taken it will never, ever be offered again.
“What, then?” I take the loose hair as an invitation and run my hands through it slowly. “What do I have to give you, Oriya?”
“Tell me exactly what you think of me.” He leans in so that his breath on my face is a whisper of sensation. “Tell me why you haven’t killed me yet.”
Not what I was expecting, but I decide that honesty is going to be far, far more interesting than any attempt at guessing what he wants.
“Very well.” I kiss the side of his jaw, wondering how far I can push this. “You’re beautiful. You’re moody. You’re far too tolerant for your own good sometimes. You’re annoying. You have a seductive voice.”
“And you’re not answering me,” he says lightly, fingertips brushing against my lips as he moves my face away.
“You’re useful,” I say bluntly. “I need you, and so I’m not going to kill you.” Not today, Oriya.
“Is that it?” He sounds disappointed, but not overly so. “So much for not using me for my connections.”
“And… if I didn’t have you, I would be lost.” His eyes don’t light up, but the delicious darkness gets stronger. Oh, wouldn’t it be ironic if I was lying to him?
“That’s good enough for me.” He smiles, smiles properly for the first time just before he kisses me.
“That doesn’t mean I’m in love with you,” I remind him.
“Really.” His voice is noncommittal, just a soft murmur against my lips.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Maybe I don’t believe that.” Slender fingers find their way under my shirt. “Maybe that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
“I don’t –”
“Shh.” The kissing starts again. I bring one hand up to encircle his throat, and brown eyes too soft for the sharp look in them open quickly to meet mine.
“I could break you,” I tell him. “Maybe that’s the only reason I’m doing this.”
He actually smiles. “I trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“My choice.”
I take my hand away, knowing that I’m only proving him right but past caring.
He laughs softly. “Do you want me to stop?” Phantom kisses everywhere and the rain drums down outside. I close my eyes.
“No.”
So he doesn’t.
~
Sometime not long after, it slips into Christmas. But I don’t notice, and the rain keeps falling. Neither of us can be bothered to care, it appears.
~
“Oriya?”
“Mmph?” He doesn’t sound particularly awake. I dangle the lock of hair in front of his eyes.
“Look.”
He wakes up properly.
“You idiot. ” He starts to grab it, then notices the knife in my hand.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“You utter idiot. ” He tries to sit up but I pin him to the futon with one hand.
“You have lovely hair, Oriya.”
“Not any more,” he says disgustedly.
“I think so.”
“I’m probably asymmetrical, you fuckwit.”
“I can change that easily.” I smirk at him and finger the knife obviously.
“I hate you.”
“Really?” I run a finger down his chest.
“Bastard,” he hisses, trying to wrestle the knife out of my hand. I kiss him hard and laugh as his hair spills out on the pillow. He really is the most beautiful thing.
“Careful now.” I put the knife at his throat. He smiles.
“Do you think you’re going to hurt me?”
“Guess again.”
“Do you think you’re going to kill me?”
“Just enough to hurt.”
He bats my hands away. “No weapons in bed. House rule.”
I laugh delightedly. “Are you going to throw me out?”
“Maybe tomorrow,” he says.
~
And in the Meifu, sakura petals fall like snow.
~ FIN ~
^#^
Tsuzuki: So, where’s the sap?
Fahye: This isn’t a sap fic. If it was, there would be presents. And amusing incidents with brandy. And most probably you.
Hisoka: Don’t give him ideas.
Fahye: Not to mention a distinct lack of sociopaths.
Tsuzuki: Sounds better to me.
Hisoka: Do we get presents anyway?
Tsuzuki: I’ll be your present. Look, I’ll put a big purple bow around my neck.
Hisoka: …the hell?
Fahye: And THAT is why I refuse to write Christmas sap. I’d die laughing.
Oriya: Yes, isn’t this supposed to be a Christmas fic?
Muraki: It is. Sort of.
Oriya: No mention of presents or holly or dark pasts and you call it a Christmas fic?
Muraki: *I* have a dark past.
Oriya: That doesn’t count, because she made it up.
Muraki: Says who?
Oriya: Canon.
Muraki: Screw the canon.
Fahye: Precisely what I said.
Muraki: Besides, there are presents.
Oriya: Oh, really?
Muraki: Merry Christmas, darling, have some of your own hair.
Oriya: Fuck you.
Muraki: Actually, we already did that.
Oriya: No, they can only assume we did. The author wimped out.
Fahye: Shut up or I’ll add mistletoe.
^#^
Yeah. Well. That took place in my head at approximately 11:30 at night. Don’t kill me.
Feedback? Please?