This Way to Heaven <3

Again Again (Ouran High School Host Club)

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 19:56:30 GMT

Title: Again Again
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Rating: G
Pairing: Kaoru x Haruhi, Hikaru x Haruhi, onesided Tamaki x Haruhi
Warnings: none
Summary: "Do you love her?" Kaoru asks as casually as he can, and Hikaru stares off into space for a moment, drawing abstract shapes on the sheet with his fingertip.

This is supposed to be kind of choppy and jump around a lot, because since Kyouya is narrating it, I wanted to write it like it's a story someone's telling, and not a lot of people talk like a story that's all polished and finished XD

Lyrics | Lady Gaga lyrics

Kaoru Hitachiin has always been, despite what aunts and uncles have whispered behind he and his brother's backs at family dinners, a sensible boy. In his own way he is mature and level-headed and endlessly perceptive of the needs and feelings of those around him. So when he sets Haruhi and Hikaru up on a date on that warm summer day in Karuizawa, he knows that he is probably doing the right thing. Hikaru, though he doesn't know it yet, has feelings for Haruhi. So, logic dictates that as Hikaru's brother it is practically his responsibility to make sure the date happens.

Though Kaoru can't deny his own feelings for Haruhi, putting his brother first is simply second nature to him, and almost without hesitation he sets up the event, much to the chagrin of Tamaki, who spends the evening before pacing around the inn until Haruhi tells him to sit down; he is wearing a path into the carpet. The next morning, lying in bed, Kaoru wonders if it was selfish of him to almost not pretend to be sick and to go on the date himself. Seeing Haruhi's bemused and slightly embarrassed smile when he tells her she looks nice makes his stomach roll with what feels like regret for doing this for Hikaru, and he knows now, if he didn't already, that Haruhi has changed everything. Before she came into their world, he would never have dreamed of putting himself before his brother. She is the one thing that he has wanted for himself, that he hasn't wanted to share with his brother. But he knows after setting up the date that the deed is done; in a way it was his way of cutting himself off from an opportunity with Haruhi. Selfishness aside, he is also just a little bit-- just a very little bit, he reminds me-- afraid of his feelings.

After the date, even though Hikaru and Haruhi don't even seem to notice, things are different. Haruhi seemed to have such a good time that even Tamaki subtly tones down his advances toward her, though it is clear to Kaoru that he still simmers with those turbulent, unrealized feelings underneath it all. Something has happened. The balance of the club has shifted. Even I notice, though I keep my mouth shut and watch it all happen from behind my clipboard, ever the silent spectator to the antics of the others. Kaoru retreats into a mode of trying to see Haruhi in a simply platonic way, but to him it is completely impossible. He has never felt this way about anyone before, and it shocks him to the core. She is beautiful to him, and he does not want to think so but can't help it. She is so intelligent and honest and so different from the other girls he knows that she has altered his perception of everything. It is almost unfair that someone so precious to him can be so unattainable.

Despite Kaoru's resignation to let his brother be the one to love Haruhi, it is ages before Hikaru seems to realize how he feels, and even longer before anything happens. It is nearly a month after the festival that Hikaru kisses Haruhi. It happens in the sunshine in front of Ouran Academy, and it makes Kaoru sick to his stomach, but it makes him smile because it makes Hikaru happy. Seeing Hikaru happy is more important than his own feelings, and honestly he revels in Hikaru's happiness more than he thinks of his own jealousy. This is about the time he starts confiding in me, and I slowly learn the inner workings of Kaoru little by little. He is, more than I realized, a fascinating person. Meanwhile, Tamaki falls into a weeklong despair that does little to improve the mood of the club. In a way, all of us are affected deeply; our Haruhi has kissed someone, and for everyone but Hikaru, it was not us. It is a daunting thing to push away into a dusty corner of the mind. We are all protective of her in some way, though for all of us but Tamaki and the twins it is purely platonic. It takes a few days for us to not to be bothered.

After the kiss, Kaoru can fall into a comfortable state of numbness for a few weeks until things start happening again. Again, the fabric of the club is altered when Hikaru asks Haruhi to be his girlfriend. For a time after Haruhi accepts, Tamaki is inconsolable and Kaoru is grudgingly jealous. His bitterness melts quickly, and almost immediately he becomes supportive. He loves his brother and he is happy that he got what he wanted. This is more important than his own secret feelings for Haruhi, and for now he can forget them... on the surface. He watches the couple slowly come to terms with each other, he watches them go on dates while Hikaru assures him that he won't be gone long and misinterprets Kaoru's unhappiness as unhappiness at being left home without his brother. Slowly, things progress, and Kaoru does his best to get over her.

Kaoru is in his second year before things change again, and this time it is for the worse. Hikaru has always been a jealous person, and it begins to take its toll on his relationship with Haruhi. If he were still as innocent and naive as he was in his first year, Kaoru would probably say that it is Tamaki's fault, since Hikaru starts a fight nearly every time he learns that Haruhi has been alone with the blonde. Kaoru knows better now, and deep down he can blame it on his brother. He knows that Hikaru is childish and insanely jealous, and when he comes home angry, though Kaoru knows his twin is the one to blame, he is there to listen to him. It makes him feel guilty, however, knowing that underneath his supportive, brotherly front, he resents Hikaru for hurting her.

It is only a few weeks of this new development before Kaoru takes matters into his own hands. After each fight Hikaru and Haruhi have and after listening to his brother's words, he slips out of the house and visits Haruhi at her apartment. The first time, he is surprised by how apathetic she is about the whole thing; he had expected her to be sad or angry. She simply shrugs and tells him that Hikaru is a child and he will get over it by morning.

"Then why do you stay with him, if you think he's a child?" Kaoru wants to ask. But he doesn't because Hikaru is his brother and it would be a small form of betrayal to utter such words. And time, as always, moves forward.

"I just wish... he wouldn't get like this," Haruhi tells him one night as she makes tea calmly in her small kitchen. Her father is at work as he usually is in the evenings, and Kaoru wonders if he wasn't always here after her fights with Hikaru... would she be lonely? Is she glad to have him here?

"That's just Hikaru," Kaoru tells her with a fond but sad smile. "There's no hope changing him."

"I don't want to change him," Haruhi tells him, and Kaoru finds it ironic that the only person he feels deserves his brother is the girl that makes him stomach flip even now, though he has tried to forget his feelings for her for Hikaru's sake. "I just want him to realize that there's nothing going on between Tamaki-sempai and I, and there never will be. He's my best friend. I just wish that Hikaru trusted me." when she turns around, Kaoru sees for the first time the helplessness in her eyes. It is as plain as day, and he has never seen this side of her before. All he wants is for her wishes that she confides solely in him to be granted somehow, and suddenly he finds himself in love.

"I really like Haruhi," Hikaru tells him nearly a week later, lying defeated and angry across their bed. "So I feel so bad when stuff like this happens. I just wish I wasn't like this! I try not to get jealous, but I can't help it!"

"Do you love her?" Kaoru asks as casually as he can, and Hikaru stares off into space for a moment, drawing abstract shapes on the sheet with his fingertip.

"I don't know," he answers finally, and for a moment Kaoru wants to laugh at the cruel irony of it all. He is as sure of the love he feels for her as he is that his name is Kaoru, and here is brother sits with her heart in his hands and he isn't even sure how he feels about her.

"Do you love my brother?" he asks Haruhi several days later. He wants to know her perspective on the relationship, as much as it still bothers him to know the details.

"Did he put you up to this?" Haruhi asks in reply, at which Kaoru laughs and lies a hand on her arm. She looks up at him suspiciously.

"No, I just want to know. No matter what you say, I won't tell him. I can keep a secret. You can trust me," he assures her. "Just tell me; do you love him." And just like that, he can see it in her eyes. She trusts him, and he trusts her. It is almost immoral that they are bonding this way.

"No," Haruhi answers him, and it makes him jump with surprise. "I like him, but I don't love him, I guess."

Kaoru does not want to be happy with this answer, but he can't help it, and he feels that sting of pain inside at betraying his brother yet again. He feels selfish and detestable, but her eyes are the richest brown he has ever seen, and he smiles at her anyway.

"There's no shame in that."

The first time Hikaru makes her cry, Kaoru fights a surprising urge to go home and hit him. But he doesn't. It is strange to see Haruhi cry; he is so used to her being so collected and all in one piece. When she answers the door, she tries to pretend she isn't crying, but the red rims around her eyes make it obvious.

"Haruhi..." he is unsure what to say, and she quickly turns her back on him as he closes the door behind him.

"Do you want some tea?" to her credit, Haruhi only chokes a bit, but it is enough for him to close the distance between them. He hugs her from behind, and tries to ignore the thundering of his heart in his chest when he realizes that her shampoo smells like strawberries and that the small of her back is warm against his stomach.

"Kaoru?" she seems a bit bewildered, and he rocks her slightly.

"It's okay," he purrs against her hair, and to his surprise she turns and presses herself against his chest. Before he knows it she is actually crying, and it is like a sack of bricks smashes into his chest at the sound. He holds her and he whispers comforting nonsense into her hair. For a moment, he wishes he was Tamaki... for tono, comforting Haruhi is as natural as breathing, and for Kaoru it is a strange labor that makes him ache. All he wants is for her to smile again, but he isn't sure how to make it happen. The two of them remain locked in this embrace until her tears stop and Kaoru makes her comfortable on the sofa. Tonight, he is the one making tea as she has done for him so many times in the past.

"What did he say to make you so sad?" he asks finally when Haruhi has her teacup clutched tightly in her small hands and he is seated beside her on the sofa, his hand resting ever-so-discreetly on her knee. She has them pulled up against her chest like some sort of barrier to the world.

"I don't really want to talk about it," she tells him, and Kaoru nods.

"Sure." he leans forward then, barely breathing. When he kisses her, he wonders if he has lost his loyalty and his mind. He has seen her kiss Hikaru before, and it was never like this. Her hands grip the front of his shirt desperately and her knees slide out of the way so they can press together. The teacup sits forgotten on the end table and he kisses her sweetly for as long as his temporary insanity will allow before he pulls back. She looks a little surprised at herself, and they both blush incomprehensibly until Kaoru suggests they watch television. He does not tell Hikaru he kissed his girlfriend; he does not tell anyone.

"You should really tell her how you feel," Tamaki tells him, wise beyond Kaoru's expectations as he stands over him after club hours, watching Kaoru gather his books. "Or you might miss your chance." When Kaoru looks up, he finds the same wistful look on Tamaki's face that he has seen in the mirror a thousand times. It is a little sad, a little regretful. Tamaki loves her too, and in a way it makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, they are allies.

"I already missed my chance," he mutters, sliding his bag over his shoulder. "She's my brother's girlfriend, tono."

"It doesn't mean you don't still have a chance," Tamaki informs him, and Kaoru can't help but smile, amused.

"Why are you helping me like this?" he asks the tall blonde, who cocks his head innocently at the words. "You're in love with Haruhi."

"That may be so, but she is in love with you," Tamaki smiles a little sadly at this, and Kaoru jumps, his eyes wide, unsure of what to believe. "And all I want is for her to be happy."

When Haruhi breaks up with Hikaru, Kaoru is there for his brother as he always has been in the past. Honestly, he saw it coming. Hikaru is a complicated person. He is sweet and thoughtful in his own way, but his jealousy never fails to get the better of him, and Kaoru, seeing his brother so miserable now, wishes it could be different. In the quiet stillness of their bedroom, he strokes his twin's hair.

"Why did it have to be like this?" Hikaru asks helplessly, and Kaoru shrugs. "Why did I have to make her so unhappy?"

"You tried your best," Kaoru tries to reason with him. "Now maybe it's better if you both move on. You'll find someone else someday, and I'm sure she will too. The important thing is that you don't let this ruin your happiness, right?"

"You know what I regret the most?" Hikaru asks, and Kaoru shakes his head.

"What?" he asks softly, leaning down to hug the identical boy's defeated body.

"That I never fell in love with her."

Haruhi falls into step beside Kaoru as he walks down the hall after club duties one day second semester, and the two of them head for the front doors in silence. He can't keep the soft smile off of his face at her presence. Hikaru headed home earlier, and Kaoru is grateful for a moment that they are alone aside from the occasional student heading home late. It makes it much easier to soak up the simple feeling of walking together without the distraction of other people. There is a long pause before her small hand slips through his own, and he blushes, though he knows it would be unwise to shout with joy.

"You were always here, weren't you?" she asks. For a moment, Kaoru is unsure of what she means, and then he smiles.

"Of course I was," her hand is warm in his, and he trembles before he speaks again. "Haruhi... what happens now?"

"I'm not sure," she is smiling, and she looks confident. "But we'll figure it out eventually, won't we?"

Being around Haruhi is so simple, and Kaoru feels like laughing out loud. "Yeah," he answers. No matter what happens in the future, he knows that these moments and these feelings are more important than the past, and he clings to them steadfastly. He knows there is a good chance that they will be together, and he feels that maybe it's something that Hikaru is just going to have to learn to accept. "We'll figure it out."

Slowly, he closes his fingers gently around Haruhi's and they head for home... together.

Portraits of God (Fruits Basket)

Mon, 01 Jun 2009 20:52:51 GMT

Title: Portraits of God
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Rating: PG? PG-13?
Pairing: None, Akito-centric
Warnings: spoilers, blood, angst, self-abuse, general darkness
Summary: Akito repents.

Akito repents.

With the warm trails of tears come clarity, and Akito is forced to face her damnable reflection in the mostly shattered mirror before her. Her eyes are puffy and red, her cheeks flushed, and her shoulders bleeding from slamming up against the plane of glass until it splintered under her force. Now she looks like some kind of battered wife, fractured beyond beauty, and it sickens her to see even the kaleidoscope version of herself in this cracked glass.

Where is her zodiac now? Where is that “unbreakable” bond that she clung to so fiercely? Where is the praise, the love, and the pride? Gone, splintered like the glass before her as she stands ravaged and bleeding beyond the point of no return. It has slipped from her bloody fingertips like feathers, flung away on the fickle wind.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, sorry sorry!” she whispers hoarsely to no one, but she knows that it is too late for forgiveness and she knows they cannot hear her now. She knows as she scrapes herself against the jagged edges of glass and cuts small, raw slits into the skin of her arms and face, that if she were to die in this room, there would be no one to hear her. The servants are far off, the zodiac members are in their separate homes, and Kureno is nowhere to be found. She is alone, and for the first time in her life she is fully understanding what alone means. Alone is a rough, jagged word, and it cuts her much deeper than the glass. Alone is the true permanence.

The sharp bits of glass have slashed through her kimono in places, and she can catch glimpses of pale, sickly skin beneath as her loneliness rises and crashes in a deafening crescendo as she collapses to the floor, tears squeezing past eyelids slightly bruised from abuse she has inflicted only upon herself.

“I’m sorry, so why won’t you come back!?” she cries, her voice a rough croak. Her admission of guilt has come far too late, and now that she can swallow her pride and open herself to the world, the world seems as though it has closed itself to her. Her tears and blood ooze out in a synchronized rhythm, matching the beat of her heart. ‘Please’, she thinks, desperate and so shattered.

“Where are you?”

I adore Akito, and I love to write about her. This fic is purely speculative.

Infinite Amber (Ouran High School Host Club)

Thu, 21 May 2009 21:00:50 GMT

Title: Infinite Amber
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Hikaru x Kaoru
Warnings: incest
Summary: Weariness colors your voice, but nevertheless your golden eyes, hazed with nearby dreams, lock with mine. "Forever? What are you going on about, Kaoru?"

The colors of your eyes match mine
When we kiss they're perfectly aligned.
Like the moon and the starlight
And the midsummer's night

Despite our identical appearance, the things that make us so alike are not visible to the eye. It would be unfair to compare us by appearance when the nature of our relationship goes so much deeper than that. I don't know if you can feel it or if you feel the things I feel, but I do know that to me, there is something behind that playful display of brotherly love that we routinely show our customers. It's something I can sense when we lay in bed, silent, our fingers laced beneath the covers, our breathing harmonious.

"Hikaru?" I ask, and your fingers twitch in mine. Hearing the soft reply of 'Mm?' filtering across the space between us makes me smile, and I scoot closer, the slick sound of flesh sliding against cotton melding with the cicadas that drone pleasantly beyond the enormous picture window. "This is forever, right?"

"Eh?" weariness colors your voice, but nevertheless your golden eyes, hazed with nearby dreams, lock with mine. "Forever? What are you going on about, Kaoru?" you are fully awake now, and as you shift away from dreamland your nose brushes mine.

"We're forever, right?" I ask, though simple words can't really voice the feeling, the true question, and the things behind it. Words are nothing next to you, next to the things that I want to say to you. I want to capture my desire to make us something more than what-if's and could-be's if the future you want with Haruhi really ever does happen. If you really ever are able to build a future with someone else that doesn't involve me meshed in, I want to know now. This synchronized breathing and blinking may not be enough to glue you to me for decades to come. I pretend to be okay with expanding our World, but the truth is that you are my world, and I want to be yours. I don't want to always be the only one clinging to this notion. Somehow, that is not okay anymore. "You and me?"

"What?" you don't seem to understand, but I know you do. I can sense it in the golden amber of your eyes and in the thought patterns your fluttering eyelids suggest. Because that is the thing that makes us alike; the thought. The way you and I think is identical, though the ideas and opinions those thoughts entail are usually completely different. I can see you turning the thoughts over in your head. I can see you waiting to learn if I'll give you any further words to work with so you will know how to respond, and I oblige, as always.

"This thing with Haruhi. I know you care about her, Hikaru, but... if things work out with her, we'll still have our 'world', won't we?" I shouldn't be so candid, but I can't hide anything from you anyway. You would find out somehow, as though you can see through my eyes like they were windows and into the quivering core of emotion behind. There are a million words that I could never hope to say, a million words that human language doesn't have the capacity to express and invent, that you would still understand if I was somehow implying them. Our bond goes that deep, and for that reason, the notion of permanence is one that is far more important now than ever.

For a moment, you pause and shift your weight onto your elbow. Your hair moves, flaming auburn sliding past rich gold and concealing from me part of those windows to your soul, your thoughts and feelings. I don't need to see both eyes to know that you are left speechless, though I have no idea whether you are trying to avoid wounding me or if you genuinely are unsure of what to say. I find that always being the one who breaks the silence is irritating, but I do it anyway.

"Answer me, Hikaru. I know you know the answer," I am tired of waiting for the issue to be brought up, and now that I've raised it, I can't let it drop, like a spoiled dog with a master's shoe. My fingers close around your arm, and your skin and muscle are warm and pliable beneath my fingers, almost as though I am actually touching the warmly pulsing blood and tissue that I can feel just beneath the surface. Time stops, and I am left with you in my fists and the cicadas chirruping from what seems like miles away now.

"But you know the answer too, Kaoru," your hand is suddenly under my chin, and the warmth of your fingers is life to the rapidly wilting garden of my consciousness. Your eyes lock with mine. I can see my own eyes reflected in yours, and it's hard to tell where your eyes ends and the mirrored image of my own begins. For a moment, the enigma captivates me completely.

"Hikaru..." it's a childish whisper that I've uttered so many times in front of our customers, but it seems infinitely different now with nothing but you and I and the strangely warm company of the cold moonlight that lies in sheathes across your skin and hair. You tilt my chin up as you have countless times for show, but this time the joking is gone from the depth of our reality. You've never kissed me before, and the reality of this happening sends shivers up my spine and tingles all over my body, even to places that should lie dormant in the face of a kiss from my broter. We're brothers, and something about this fact makes me forget to pull away. Eve was tempted by the sweetness of the one fruit she was forbidden to taste, and I have been tempted by a single melding of lips with the exact same implication lying behind it. I'm not supposed to know the taste of my brother's lips, to feel the soft lull of your heartbeat through the tender, thin skin there. "Hikaru," I say again, shivering as the smooth planes of my lips brush yours in motion.
"You didn't really answer my question."

"Yes, then. Haruhi or no Haruhi, we're still brothers, no matter what happens with her," your lips stay against mine and press, now more insistent. I find it more than a little strange that in light of your feelings for Haruhi, I'm the one that you're giving what I know better than anyone is your first kiss. My heart flutters, and as though you can feel it, you press more surely, looking for a reaction. As I twine my fingers though your hair, breathless, I can sense a lapse in reality. All of the things I have assumed about the limitations and boundaries of my feelings toward you have been shattered, and in their place lying the brightly glimmering shards of them that make up our actions now. So what happens now?

The unspoken question is answered by the light brush of your tongue against my lip, and as you pull away and kiss my cheek, trailing your lips across the dips and valleys of my skin and back to my mouth, my breath is shallow, my world fragile. These moments could, in all reality, be the ones that change everything if we allow them to. What if somehow, fate allows us to make love? What would happen then? Would all life cease to exist? I shouldn't allow thoughts like this to even cross my mind, but they do, and they make me blush. "Hi-ka-ru...."

Your persona from school is gone, all joking and devilishness evaporated, and I can see deeper without it clouding my vision. Your eyes are bottomless, and they probe mine as you kiss me. This is overwhelming, but telling myself that I want it to stop would be a lie, and a sinful one at that. I have occasionally toyed with the idea of kissing you, but I had never imagined it could be anything like this, or that I could feel such confusing, heavy emotion at the reality of it. The raw, real Hikaru I am currently presented with is alluring; not unlike the decadence of the kiss itself, and I allow it to consume me. There is nothing in this room but the two of us, and the more you kiss me, the more I'm sure that the feeling isn't going to stop.

"Stop worrying so much, ne?" your voice is a rough purr, the rumble of thunder with the richness of chocolate. "Kaoru, we decided when we were kids that we were in this together, right? A promise stands, no matter what."

"No matter what..." my words and eyes mirror yours. Your hands find mine and our fingers lace together once more. Joined together by our gazes, lips, and hands, we move in unison. You are more possessive now, and I don't mind. You have always been the one who knew exactly what both of us wanted, and you hold my mouth in this shockingly needed kiss as though you know I have never wanted anything this much, as though you know how unwilling (unable?) I am to let you go.

The cicadas' endless hum blurs into the soft murmurs we release as we kiss, and I feel for a moment like we're trapped in a movie, one with a seemingly endless dream sequence. I pray that reality won't be shattered, that I won't wake up. "I love you, I love you, I love you. Let me live this dream." Furiously and hungrily I embrace you, as though the fear of letting go is all that fills my mind. In your lap, my apprehension falls away, and what is left in its wake is the glimmering darts of emotion that tear like tiny, bittersweet barbs at my heart. How in the world did we manage to wait so long?

You kiss me deeper, steal my breath, and I throw myself over that last hurdle and into the chasm that makes up these strange and lovely actions. We kiss, we touch, and surprisingly clothing seems to fall away. Both of us are so desperate in this sudden whirlwind of incest that I can't comprehend whether it's your hands or mine own that peel back the shirt and boxers you are wearing so that my hands can roam across your bare chest that I have touched so many times before, but never like this. It's as though somehow, everything we do is different, colored by this sudden need for each other. Of course, "sudden" is an inappropriate word for what was actually a stroke of destiny sixteen years in the making. "Epiphany" is what I would choose to call it. Nameless hands strip us bare, and as we stray farther away from the old boundaries and our hands slip lower than they ever should, the things that brought this moment to pass don't even matter anymore. What matters is the sticky contact between our bodies and the tiny, strangled moans that our mutual touches coax up out of our throats.

"Kaoru..." the single word means so much spoken in such husky, breathless tones, and my hands move faster, fueled by the hotness of your breath against the curve of my shoulder. Yours follow suit, and through the blindness of my own pleasure I am barely able to stay afloat enough to take you those last final steps into the almost magical climax that, as almost everything else, we reach simultaneously.

Back against the cool sheets, our breathing slows. As bodies cool and the sheens of sweat fall away from pale skin, once again our hands entwine without a word. I laugh for a moment, and you join me. I laugh out of relief for the fact that tonight's actions show me the true depth of the word we exist in together. I know how unhealthy a world based solely on two people can be, but to me, this world is far too beautiful to change. I clutch your hand tightly in mine and ride out the final hours until sunrise with a smile on my face. I'm sure that the sun will bloom with clarity and the future will come in slow, steady gallops. And I'm sure now.

Until then, we'll be in this together.

Missing Piece (Death Note)

Thu, 21 May 2009 20:56:40 GMT

Title: Missing Piece
Fandom: Death Note
Rating: PG or PG-13, depending on how you look at it
Pairing: Mello x Near
Warnings: spoilers, angst
Summary: In Near's dreams, he remembers Mello. In his dreams, he holds him.

And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying,
as your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet,
Rings of flowers round your eyes and
I’ll love you for the rest of your life

In Near’s dreams, there was a quiet, shadowy place.

It was a place where no evil could happen… no pain, no sorrow, no loneliness. Dreamlands, he had once heard it said, are fragments leftover of childhood innocence. In all reality, Near could admit, he was still a child. But this did not mean he was innocent. He had seen far too much, heard far too much for the fractured ideal to be possible, and he often found himself yearning for the days when it was before he came to his senses and pushed these yearnings away. The only place where innocence existed for him was that dreamland of his.

In that world, when he closed his eyes, changing landscapes purged his soul of stress and he was weightless, fearless. And more often than not, in those brief visits to dreamland, he would find the figure with the golden hair watching him, touching him, talking to him. Of course, this shadow of Mello was nearly always as he had been when they were young; when he still had some semblance of morals and he was still afraid to touch a gun. Back in those days when the worst thing that existed were arguments and their worlds still coexisted, black and white, one impossible without the other.

And now Mello was dead.

This was a fact that Near preferred to ignore. He didn’t want to think of it. If he did, he would see the images of him cold and dead in the ground, and his logic would tell him that soon nothing would be left of Mello but bones and dust. It was a very undignified way for someone like Mello to spend eternity. Because after death there was nothing. After death, Near too would disappear just like Mello. And both of them would cease to exist. The fact that Mello no longer inhabited the universe left him feeling cold and sick. And yet it was so hard to believe Mello was really gone when he felt him in his dreams.

“You ever think about dying, Near?” Mello had asked this on one of those rare days when they were in each other’s presence without wanting to kill each other. Near sat on the floor of Wammy’s House common room, slowly piecing together his white puzzle for the hundredth time that week, and Mello sat against the wall a few feet away, eating his hundredth chocolate bar that week. Near had just kept working, not sure whether Mello’s words had been a threat or not, not sure if he should answer. “Well?” Mello’s voice was more insistent this time. “Do you?”

“That depends,” Near answered patiently, not taking his eyes away from the puzzle. “On your intentions in asking this question. Are you threatening me, Mello?”

“No. Jesus, Near. You’re so damn paranoid. I’m just asking.”

“You don’t have to shout, Mello. And no, I suppose I don’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Death is the absolute end. There’s no point in thinking about it when you should be putting focus into living before it happens,” he answered matter-of-factly. And then he looked up at Mello, dark eyes meeting green, and they both had to look away.

It had always been that way. Their stare had been too intense, the electricity between them (be it rivalry or hatred or attraction) was too fierce, and their eyes could never lock for long. It was overwhelming to Near that two people could have such a deep connection and yet be at each other’s throats more often than not. That connection had been particularly strong on that last day at Wammy’s. Mello had not left immediately. He would never dream of leaving without giving Matt a thorough goodbye, and so it was nearly six that evening when he finally marched out the front doors, small suitcase of belongings in hand.

Near had been waiting for him. It surprised even him that he had been affected enough at the thought of Mello leaving to actually wait on the front steps for him, sitting with his puzzle in front of him and pretending to work on it, even though it looked like rain. When Mello caught sight of him there he stopped, giving him an incredulous look and shifting his luggage from one hand to the other and back again.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” he didn’t look up.

“Why the hell would you be waiting for me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, Mello. You hate me.” he took his eyes away from the puzzle then, raising them slowly up Mello’s chest, past his neck and chin, and then finally to his eyes. This time neither looked away. They were locked for a moment, but Near could have sworn it was a hundred years. Could have sworn nothing could happen to make this moment end. And he liked it that way. Time had stopped and the two were frozen, trapped in each other’s worlds.

“I don’t hate you…” Mello muttered in a way that left Near convinced he didn’t really want him to hear. And then he turned away again. Near knew there was no way to make Mello stay; nothing could change Mello’s mind when it was made up. And it was none of his business anyway. And yet, something stopped Near from interfering with the moment of childishness his mind thought up as the words slipped from his mouth.

“Mello, wait.”

Mello turned for a moment, his eyes half-lidded and lonely, and stared. “What?”

“Here,” Near found himself holding out a single piece of his puzzle, the one with the black L printed on it. It had secretly always been his favorite, so easily distinguishable from the others. “This is for you.”

Mello gave him an skeptical look but took the piece in his hand, far more delicately than Near would have imagined he would. “You’re serious, then?” Near nodded solemnly, and watched as Mello pocketed the piece. He had expected him to throw it on the ground. Mello gave a small nod, which Near suspected was as close to thanking him for the ridiculous token as Mello could get. “Well, bye Near.”

“Goodbye, Mello.”

Mello disappeared soon after, walking down the path away from Wammy’s and exiting the tall gates, turning left and vanishing from sight. Part of Near wanted to stop him… part of him ached as he watched the person who had seen him as an enemy for most of his childhood leave for what could possibly be forever. He wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that he would outright miss him. But this ache was something, and he carried it with him secretly, trying to ignore the loneliness it stirred up and the feelings toward Mello that he would really rather not acknowledge.

Despite how well he knew Mello’s pride, part of him wanted to believe that Mello would come crawling back sometime soon, unable to fend for himself. But he knew he was only deluding himself (which was in no way healthy), and of course Mello didn’t come back. Mello was not one to come back after he was gone.

Even after he saw Mello again all those years later, it was as though he was still gone. Mello was different. He had always been crazed, but now it was to an ungodly level. There was something inhuman in his eyes, something raw and lonely and unabashed about taking lives and running drugs deals, something that told everyone he came into contact with that they had better not think of crossing him.

But when he looked at Near, there was only raw desperation, desperation that he could feel just as sure as he could feel the heat of Mello’s skin as he kissed him, wild and lonely and frantic. There had been too much time and distance between them for far too long, and they both felt its effects. Near had always been a glutton for punishment, and he let him do these things. Let him touch him, feel him, take him, his tortured and conflicted emotions toward Mello reciprocated by Mello’s ragged breathing and the way he whispered his name.

“Near…” he had never heard anything so terrible and beautiful, and even after the passion had cooled and their clothes were back in place and Mello walked away from him yet again, his body trembled. His heart pounded. His need for Mello peaked and fell and dissipated into his mind with a million other things Near pretended he had forgotten but thought of often when his rational side wasn’t looking. And then before Near could see him again, he was dead. He was left with a cold head full of memories and the thin echoing of Mello’s voice in his mind as he put all that much more effort into capturing Kira. All his time, all his energy, just to forget the fierce green eyes and the scarred but beautiful face that refused to fade.

And then the dreams started, frequent and vivid, Mello every bit alive as he had been before his death. Near’s reaction to them varied from irritation to bliss, depending on the day. He and Mello talked of things as if no time had passed, as if one of them wasn’t dead and the other wasn’t lost in the past and losing his grip on reality outside of the cases he solved. He played in silence, waiting for sleep and for Mello. Because it was the easiest way, the most convenient. The best thing to help cope with emotions he couldn’t quite grasp when all his life he had managed to keep all his feelings in check. Other than those involving Mello.

On this particular night, Mello was the Mello from the last night he had seen him. He was scarred and angry and filled with conflict as he spoke in a rough voice and his eyes darted helplessly around the shadowy, unassuming room. And Near soothed him, holding him closer than he would ever allow himself to in reality. Mello’s heartbeat was dull and warm, and the softness of the blond’s hair against his cheek was enough to make his breath come short.

“Mello,” he whispered against the hair as Mello touched his shoulders, his face, clung to his as though he was afraid and muttered incomprehensible things into his shirt. “Mello, I miss you so much…” he could only say it in dreams, only release these confusing and choking emotions in the safety and comfort of a world that was separate from reality, that did not really exist. Because in reality Near was different… Near was Near and Near could not allow anything to show, could not allow anyone past the wall between him and the rest of the world. Only the vision of Mello could see the fragile interior and the delicate Near that hid inside, wanting desperately to feel worthy of such affection.

But Mello only clung, only whispered his name and kissed him. And yet there was contentment in holding him and being held, letting Mello’s warmth permeate him. Even in the warmth the sense of loss was overbearing, and Near hated to admit how much seeing Mello this way made him lose more and more of his grip on reality. This was something that shouldn’t happen, but he would cease to exist without Mello. That much was clear now. Near’s world was now like his puzzle, the one whose piece he had given to Mello on that final day at Wammy’s. It was blank and white now, without the single piece that bore that ornate black L. And he could feel his own life mirrored by it, scarred forever by that missing piece.

“Near,” the single syllable spoke volumes against the shell of his ear, and he trembled, clutching a handful of Mello’s vest in his fist as though it was the last thing he would ever be able to touch. Mello’s hands were in his hair and his lips were on his face, and even in dreams it was unlike Mello to be tender, especially with Near. And yet there the gentle touches were, ghosts of kisses across his skin and fingers softly stroking his scalp, buried deep in his hair. “You don’t disappear.”

The waking world was unwelcome, and Near sat up slowly, aware that he had fallen asleep on the floor, curled under himself like a cat. Looking around the dim room, he slowly allowed himself to become anchored once more to reality. He was here, this was real, and the dream was fading. Rester was poking his head in the door to check on him and Near was dismissing his concerns. And all traces of the dream were fading like the tiny, lacy snowflakes that fell outside of Wammy’s the night he left, that disappeared at the first touch of breath as they lay clinging to the fibers of his jacket. This was real. The dream world was not. And as the world righted itself, Near found himself wishing it wasn’t.

He examined his hands. Pale, slender fingers and palms that reminded him of L’s. Soft hands. Soft like a child’s hands. Just moments ago in his imaginary world they had clung to Mello like he was a life raft. Now they clutched only at open air, at a lock of his own hair to twirl around one finger. And as he sat in his customary position and glanced around at the towers of blocks that surrounded him, it caught his eye. There, on the floor, sitting alone on the otherwise bare space of rug before him. His heart hammered slightly as he reached for it, barely daring to believe that it was real.

“Mello…” The thing in his hands was real. It was not a dream. And it sat in his hands as though reminding him of its past, of the long journey it had made, and of all the things it meant, both to Near, and to that person who had fatefully disappeared into a rainy night and never returned. It was a puzzle piece.

Pure white and printed with a single letter L.

Kisses from a Rose (Ouran High School Host Club)

Thu, 21 May 2009 20:49:06 GMT

Title: Kisses from a Rose
Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club
Rating: G
Pairing: Tamaki x Haruhi
Warnings: None. Possible spoilers for the final episode.
Summary: A short series of prompt based drabbles focusing on my favorite Ouran pairing <3

Beginning</b>

The first time she meets Suoh Tamaki, it is a complete mess. She wanders into the music room searching for solitude, and finds them instead, which is more than a bit unsettling for her. Why does she always get more than she bargains for? Those indigo eyes flash and sparkle excitedly in her direction as he speaks to her, his soft blonde hair falling unceremoniously into his eyes as he moves energetically around the room.

Haruhi knows it's mostly his fault that she happens to stumble backward, that she happens to hit that pedestal that stands so unwisely in the center of the room. And as the vase falls, it falls in slow motion. She watches it, tries to catch it, because she knows unconsciously that if it does hit the floor these people will become intertwined in her life somehow. She grasps desperately at it, trying to remedy the situation.

But nevertheless, the vase shatters into a thousand glittering pieces. And with it shatters the remainder of her normal life. From the moment she sees the determined look in those eyes of his, she knows that she will be paying for her indiscretions for years to come in more ways than one. Because in those eyes she sees a person who will not give up easily.

Eyes

As a Host, Haruhi must admit she enjoys herself far more than she did as the club's dog. She actually enjoys getting acquainted with the ladies; it is a good way to interact with people while still keeping a bit of distance. It is an odd feeling, being made into something for girls to fangirl over when she is secretly a girl herself. But this is not something to worry about; she must concentrate on doing her job. Of course, it's more than a little difficult trying to do so when Tamaki is watching her so intently.

She can feel his eyes in the back of her head when she turns away from him, can feel him keeping his overprotective watch on her from his place on the next sofa. He is the only person she has ever met who is shameless enough not to at least pretend he wasn't staring when she looks at him. He just keeps those smiling eyes focused on her and locks them with hers when she glances at him. It's nearly impossible to look away from those eyes, as many a girl will contest if she asks them, and she finds that working is harder than it should be when she is faced with them. They are neither blue nor purple, but somewhere in between, a harmony of colors that calls to mind the end of a sunset, just before darkness creeps in. There is something eerie in the way she can't bring herself to look at anything else. But she dismisses it as a moment of weakness. Every girl has them, she tells herself.

Host

As far as hosts go, Tamaki is by far one of the best. Haruhi has little to go by, but as far as she can tell he certainly must be good. The ladies giggle and swoon and he plays his part flawlessly, fawning over them and always knowing exactly what to say. But the strange part is, Haruhi can see sincerity in his eyes with every word, as though he isn't just making it up... as though he really does think every girl he speaks to is as beautiful and special as he says. It is of course a charming thought, but Haruhi isn't ready to buy it just yet. She watches the blonde smile and give out roses, pour tea and kiss hands, and eventually she starts to believe that maybe he really isn't just full of it. Maybe all that sincerity she senses coming from him really is genuine.

"Haruhi-kun? Are you alright?" asks a light feminine voice, which makes her realize she has been ignoring her own clients.

As far as hosts go, Haruhi is not at all bad. Tamaki has plenty to go by, and as far as he can tell she is certainly skilled. She listens intently to what the girls have to say and when she compliments them, she is always sincere. She does not waste time on idle flattery or charm and spends her time making them feel like they are really spending quality time together, like they are really getting to know each other. And he can't help but think, does she treat them the way she wants to be treated? Is Haruhi the kind of girl who dislikes being fawned over as much as she acts like she does? He once wondered if it was just a modest front, but now he isn't so sure. He watches her smile and make conversation, laugh and pour tea. And he starts to think maybe he would like her to be his host for a while.

"Tamaki-kun? Are you okay?" asks a concerned female voice, which makes him realize he has been ignoring his own clients.

Family

Tamaki has declared them a "family". He has named himself the father, and Kyouya the mother. And of course, Haruhi is their daughter. They are a mismatched, dysfunctional little family. Tamaki has found a way to transfer his strange urge to protect her onto a canvas of this theoretical family, and it is a relief not to wonder if perhaps what he feels is something a bit more. And now it is just fine to voice his opinions on how cute Haruhi is. Because she is his daughter! What proud, loving father wouldn't find her cute? It is no longer perverted to long to see her in a frilly dress or feminine skirt. That is what fathers want, isn't it!? Tamaki keeps himself content with this thought.

It is nice, having a family so closely knit. Since he last saw his mother he has not felt such a close bond of kinship. Kyouya has always been like family to him, but now that they have a "daughter" between them he can feel free to gush and shout and embrace his new family as much as he pleases. Because though the other hosts see it as just Tamaki being Tamaki and letting it all be in fun, Tamaki honestly needs this. There is a loneliness and a vulnerability he hates to show the world that hides somewhere behind his usual consciousness. But now with this new chapter of reality begun, the one with Haruhi always there and always within his reach, his smiles are always genuine, never forced.

Could there be something more than family here, he wonders occasionally as he feels a tug of warmth in his chest when Haruhi smiles. Could this be something else? But he must dismiss it, because at this moment such things are far too complicated to grasp, and he is afraid of them.

Storm

For reasons Tamaki has never understood, he adores thunderstorms. The bright, exciting light and the tremendous noise of the thunder have always exhilarated him. Apparently, however, Haruhi does not share his sentiments, judging by the way she leaped into a wardrobe the instant the first crash of thunder sounded. And so, it was this odd order of things that led to him holding her tightly in his arms, her head buried safely under his chin. With every boom of the thunder, she squeaks or trembles, and it makes him ache to see her afraid.

"It's okay," he says softly into the soft hair beneath his lips. "It's going to be alright." as she stands nestled against him, that warmth in his chest rises yet again, and though he does his best to push it back down it stays right where it is. A tug of affection, nothing more, and suddenly he finds himself holding her far too tight.

"Sempai..." she croaks, "You're crushing me."

He loosens his grip. "Sorry, Haruhi," he tells her quietly, lowering the both of them to the floor, where they sit in silence save for Haruhi's small fear sounds that she does her best to stifle. There is something undeniably wonderful in the fact that he is sitting here holding her, that she is holding him back, and that he can almost feel their hearts beating in synch. She smells warm and sweet and every bit as wonderful as he could have imagined. But why has he ever imagined that? It is a question that won't stop running through his head.

Smile

Haruhi can't help but notice as time goes by that Tamaki has a wonderful smile. When he is happy, it breaks across his face like a sunrise running across the horizon. His entire face lights up, his eyes sparkle, and the room is brightened significantly by that smile. His smiles are never faked or forced, however. She can see genuine happiness in his face, hear it in his voice as he moves extravagantly around the room. He waves his arms in excitement as he speaks, rambling on about any number of things. Sometimes she listens and sometimes she doesn't, but whatever the case she likes to watch him sparkle.

Haruhi has the most adorable smile Tamaki has ever seen. It only took one smile for him to realize it, and since then he has been hooked. Her smile is like a flower blooming; small at first, almost hesitant, but then it grows and widens, lighting up any space and making him smile himself. When she smiles and laughs, it makes him feel giddy and glad all over with a feeling of complete contentment. There has never been anything quite so wonderful in his life as the sight of that smile. Sometimes he will speak to her to see if he can make that smile grow, other times he won't, but whatever the case he loves to watch her shine.

Gratitude

When Haruhi gets out of the bath on Sunday morning, the doorbell rings. She has to hurry to get into her clothes before whoever is standing at the door decides to take their leave. When she finally does make it to the door, her hair still dripping wet, a certain blonde host stands before her, wearing a blue sweater and a smile.

"Haruhi!" he chirps happily, his eyes glittering in pure pleasure. She finds herself happy to see him too, and she steps back to let him in. Rays of sunlight from outside come in with him.

"Tamaki-sempai, what are you doing here?" she asked, though not harshly. Not rudely. She even smiles a bit, honestly happy to see him standing there when she knows there are a million much better places he could be right now.

"I came to say thank you..." he sounds almost shy, which is a rare occurrence. Standing there in the living room, he looks oddly small, and he lifts his eyes to hers with more restraint than usual. "For bringing me back... for making me see that I was needed."

"You already thanked me, sempai," she reminds him, touching his arm lightly. "You don't need to do it again. It was nothing, really..." Did you really think I would let you leave me?

"But it wasn't nothing," suddenly, he is moving, and in a display that only he would dare attempt, he has grabbed her and pulled her fiercely against his chest. Haruhi is surprised beyond action, but the blonde doesn't seem to care. He has bent slightly and nestled his face into the crook of her neck. "I thought I needed to go to be happy... I thought if I went with Éclair and was able to see Mother, things would fall into place," his lips are warm as they move, brushing lightly against her skin. "But you showed me how wrong I was. Because when you were in danger I realized that... I could never stand to be so far away from you, to not be able to be there when you needed me."

"Sempai..." Haruhi says softly, slightly stunned. She has always known there was more to him than the others gave him credit for, but she is still surprised by the candor of his words. He smells fresh and light, just as always, and she tentatively buries her face against his chest and keeps it there. I couldn't stand be to away from you, either, she wants to say. But the words get lost somewhere between her brain and her mouth. So she says nothing.
Tamaki pulls away slightly and gives her the warmest smile she has ever seen.

They simply stare at each other for a moment, and Haruhi knows they are both waiting for the other to speak, to say what so desperately needs to be said. She hates herself for remaining silent and being a coward, but the moment slips away.

Reach

Tamaki has a girlfriend.

Just that fact in itself makes her feel ill. The fact that it could have been her makes her feel even worse. Because she knows how close she was. She knows if she had only spoken, broken that thick silence that lay between them at that moment, that things would have turned out differently. Now, though he is still her dear friend, there is a tiny, invisible distance between them. Now, to touch him, she has to reach. To feel worthy of his attention, she has to make excuses to herself for why she was silent. To hold him, she has to make some sorry attempt to pretend she is giving him nothing more than a friendly squeeze. And deep down beneath it all, she is miserable. She watches Tamaki with that girl and reminds herself that he should be allowed to have fun. He is a third year; his carefree high school life will be over soon. But it still makes her feel slightly dead inside.

The fact that she is still a host despite that fact that she is now a second year and her gender is known is nothing short of remarkable to her. But her work takes her mind off of the fact that he eluded her grasp. Though she is not foolishly sentimental in the way that Tamaki is, she knows instinctively that there is something terribly wrong with the two of them not being together. But she doesn't know how to remedy it now.

Tamaki's eyes are desperate when he looks at her now and then, as though silently saying "Why didn't you say it?" she knows that he could have spoken first, but he would never put his own happiness before hers, would never force a confession on her unless he knew she wanted to hear it. "Why?" those eyes ask her, "Why didn't you say it?"

But she has no answers.

Tumble

Tamaki has been dumped.

It hurts Haruhi to see him this way, with that subtle sadness in the corners of his smile as he talks to her. It hurts her to see his eyes so devoid of their usual glitter when he talks to customers. But little by little, the sunshine in his smile comes back and her pain subsides. Soon he is once again flitting around like a bird in the third music room, his eyes and smile radiating a glow in the air. He is radiant and she feels muddy and low beside him, so unable to recover from the smallest of disappointments when he can take all the pain in the world and still keep shining. He has taken a tumble and come back brighter than ever, when she is still a coward afraid to show him her feelings.

"Oh, Haruhi!" he gushes, an arm thrown in a fatherly way around her shoulders. "Tomorrow we're doing a jungle theme, and the twins' mother designed you the most wonderful leaf dress!"

"Okay," she replies, giving him a slight smile that he returns with ten times the joy.

She fears she doesn't deserve to hold the place in his heart that she does.

Freedom

Tamaki hates to admit it, but he is honestly happy to be free from his relationship. It feels, in a way, that an enormous weight has been lifted. He had not expected it, but being with someone who is not Haruhi is far more unpleasant than it sounds for him. Being free now, his initial heartbreak at being left yet again by someone he cares for melts away, and he is left with the carefree weightlessness of a songbird. It has taken that one setback to show him how important these feelings for Haruhi are, and now he is no longer afraid to uncage them. His need to restrain his emotions is finally gone, and he makes the most of it whenever possible.

"You look beautiful today," he tells her, kissing her hand tenderly. He swears he actually sees her blush, and this pleases him.

"I'm just in my uniform," she reminds him awkwardly. "I look the same as I do every day."

"And you look beautiful every day," Tamaki declares, looking as deeply into her eyes as she will let him before she turns away and the moment between them is broken. But he smiles anyway, because the warmth of this deep affection for the girl makes him happy regardless of the situation. He carries this sunshine with him wherever he goes.

Unconditional

Tamaki can't help but beam at her as they walk down the hallway together. For a summer house, the one the Ootori family owns is enormous even by his own standards, and he has convinced Haruhi to allow him to walk her to her room so she doesn't get lost.

"Thanks, Tamaki," she flashes him a small smile as she says it. "For walking me."

"It's my pleasure," the blonde assures her with a wink. "I wouldn't want you getting lost!"

They are largely silent for most of the walk, and when they reach Haruhi's room Tamaki makes sure to open the door for her. The sound of the rain hitting the windows is nearly deafening, and Haruhi looks down at her feet, unwilling to ask for his company. He chuckles inwardly at her stubbornness.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks her, as if he doesn't notice her discomfort, as if it is his idea alone. This is the best way to avoid any emarrassment on her part. "In case the thunder starts up?"

"Thank you," is all she says, looking slightly surprised at the offer as he closes the door behind them. And as the storm begins to rage and Tamaki sits on the edge of the bed and cradles her against his chest, he can't keep the smile off his face. This moment is completely perfect. He strokes Haruhi's hair gently with his fingertips, perfectly certain that she can hear his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn't care. He smiles, he rocks her, he breathes her in. And he realizes at this moment that no matter what happens, he will always care for her this much. No matter how many times they fight, no matter where their separate lives go, he adores her unconditionally, and he would gladly give her his soul.

Safe

Haruhi keeps her face buried against his shirt. She is almost deaf to the crashes and flashes of the storm at this moment, with his arms locked around her and his hands caressing her hair. She can barely breathe beneath the crushing wave of emotion that enfolds them. She is so close to him she can hear his heartbeat, and it is hammering as much as her own. His breath is soft against her hair, and she nuzzles closer. She feels like a child for believing that nothing in the world can harm her when he holds her in his arms, but it is impossible to imagine unpleasantness when they are so close together.

Say it... her brain whispers to her, and she does her best to follow its orders. All that comes out is a sort of squeaking noise, and Tamaki rocks her slightly, misinterpreting it as a sound of fear.

"I promise I'll keep you safe," he whispers. One hand strokes her face, and her breath catches in her throat. His lips press lightly against her hair, and she is rendered completely helpless. One of her hands clutches gently at his shirt and he whispers lightly against her hair. She has never felt so secure in her life.

Gamble

He asks to see her privately after school, and she almost says no, almost fears that she will remain silent this time as well. It comes as a shock to her that he has asked, especially when she knows that the implications of this are too big for her to grasp. She wants to run away. But his smile is too warm when he asks her, his eyes too hopeful, and she can't crush the hope she sees in them. He is the most sensitive person she has ever known, and the kindest. She will not be responsible for causing him more disappointment.

They meet in the rose garden after the day's final period. The sun is warm, the roses are in full bloom, and Haruhi can't bring herself to stop shaking. Tamaki sits beside her at the small table. Here in the gazebo that the two discovered on that day the club played games outside, he is at ease. He doesn't seem to share her fear.

"Haruhi..." he said softly to break the silence, and she looks up at him slowly. What if she ruins this chance too? What if their lives become an endless cycle of coming so close to each other and then slipping apart? What if she is doomed to never have the courage to have the one thing she wants more than anything? She is not accustomed to being so uncertain. It is a symptom of falling for someone like Tamaki, she knows.

"Yes?" she answers him quietly. Their eyes meet, and for a moment breathing is impossible. It isn't normal for her to be so caught up in emotion, and she tries to shake off this feeling, but she is helpless. When she first met him, she had vowed to be one of the few girls who would not fall under his spell, and yet she has. She has fallen hard. And so she waits for him to speak, knowing that this moment, and these feelings, are important.

Tamaki watches her for a moment, smiling silently. But at first, he doesn't speak. Instead, he leans forward and looks her straight in the eye, barely an inch away from her. "Haruhi..." he whispers, his eyes catching hers once more. "Do you want this?"

"What?" she is more than a bit surprised by the strange question.

"You know what I mean," he is serious for a moment, an intensity overtaking his features that is rarely seen in such a place. He seems intent on waiting for an answer, but then changes his mind completely and moves forward in one fluid motion, bringing their lips together gently. Haruhi is so surprised, she swears she is going to go unconscious. Of all the things he could have done, this is the most unexpected. But she falls deep into the kiss, letting go of her fears far more easily than she would normally allow. His mouth is soft and warm, and it covers hers with the unspoken promise that everything will be alright. She clings to him tightly and feels one of his hands in her hair, the other pulling her against him. His scent mixes with that of the roses that surround them, his hair tickles her forehead, and she feels like laughing out loud. This moment is beautiful, and for a beat she wishes she could remain in it forever. But eventually he does pull away, giving her a look that is something between sheepishness and delight.

"I'm sorry," he says, but his eyes are dancing.

"That's alright," she whispers, trying to find herself where she got lost in the moment.

"Haruhi..." he seems on the verge of bursting as he takes her hand delicately, holding her fingers gently as he places a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand. "I'm tired of all this foolishness we've been putting ourselves through," he swallows, "I love you!"

Slightly taken aback by the enormity of this confession, Haruhi blinks into the sunlight over his shoulder, trying to gain her bearings. When she looks back at him, he is smiling nervously and expectantly at her, a fragile hope shimmering in his eyes. "Tamaki..." she begins clumsily, not exactly sure where to start. "I have... feelings for you too. I'm not sure if they're love, but I do know that they're something more than friendship."

Tamaki looks about ready to smother her with joy, but for once he uses self-control, and Haruhi is grateful. "Does this mean you'll..." she has never seen him so timid, and it is odd to her that he is acting this way. "Be mine, Haruhi?" his eyes tremble as he speaks those words, and the way he is looking at her suggests that he might just up and die if he is forced to take them back.

"Yes," the words come out almost without her consent, but for once she doesn't mind because Tamaki is smiling at her in a way that makes her worry he's going to explode before he pounces on her in a very undignified manner, virtually trembling with excitement. He nuzzles against her, and she gives him a tight squeeze, unable to stop herself from smiling.

"Oh, thank you, Haruhi!" Tamaki gushes happily, pulling back and taking her hands in his. "I promise I won't make you regret it!" he squeezes her fingers lightly and gives her the happiest smile she has ever seen.

"I know," she tells him truthfully with a small smile. "I trust you."

Tamaki seems delighted at this, and he leans over to slide an arm around her waist. "Do you want me to walk you home?" he asks, and it sounds so cliché and Haruhi almost laughs.

"That's okay, I think I'd rather stay here for a while longer," she doesn't want this time to end, not just yet.

"Me too," Tamaki smiles and pulls her gently against him. She smiles, and as she sits and tips her head back, feeling the warm breeze on her cheeks, she can't help but think that maybe there really is a way to find a happy ending.

Up Against My Heart chapter 1 (Howl's Moving Castle)

Wed, 20 May 2009 22:05:24 GMT

Title: Up Against My Heart
Fandom: Howl's Moving Castle
Rating: G
Status: incomplete (8 chapters/?)
Pairing: Howl x Sophie
Warnings: none
Summary: Howl learns that a heart is a heavy burden and, Sophie learns that saving Howl's heart was the easy part.

Chapter One:
In Which Sophie Makes Two Discoveries and A Mess

On the morning after the Witch was destroyed, Sophie made two odd discoveries. The first was that when she exited the castle to collect flowers for the day, she caught sight of Calcifer-- who she had not expected to see-- zipping through the air around the bright, fragrant blossoms. When he caught sight of her, his body flared navy blue with embarrassment and he sat still, hovering in the air and raising his emerald green eyebrows as if he was waiting for her to judge him for his merrymaking. The second was that Howl-- who she had fully expected to see in the gardens-- was strangely absent.

“Calcifer, where is Howl?” she asked him, making her way toward a bush of lilies. Michael, who had been lagging slightly behind, made an appearance, hurrying to make up for lost time with his floating tub hovering somewhere behind his ear.

Calcifer made a motion that Sophie was sure, had he had shoulders, would have been a shrug. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “The contract is broken, so it’s not my job to keep tabs on crazy wizards,” but he said this warmly, and Sophie knew he didn’t really mean it. “But I do know he left sometime before I woke up this morning, and he went through the Market Chipping door… it was orange side down when I first saw it.”

“I went to Market Chipping after he left this morning…” Michael said, rather sheepishly, and as his cheeks tinted a faint pink, it was clear he had been to see Martha. “But he was already gone when I got up, and I don’t remember what color was down. I was so excited to see Let-- I mean Martha, that I didn’t really pay attention.”

Sophie, for reasons she could not quite place, was disturbed by this. “It can’t be past eight o’ clock,” she said as she reached for the lilies. The sound of their stems breaking was crisp in the damp morning air. “Perhaps our Howl has decided to stop being lazy for once…” she felt much less annoyance than her voice let on, and as she let the lilies tumble into Michael’s bucket and reached for more, she nibbled nervously at her bottom lip. She had anticipated enjoying her first morning in ages as a young woman again, and had not exactly counted on Howl fouling it up by marking her worry. It wasn’t often he disappeared at the crack of dawn. She could not recall him ever being gone before she woke up in the past.

“The way he held my hands last night, you’d think he never wanted to let go…” she thought, growing more irritated by the moment as she finished with the lilies and moved on to a lush clump of geraniums. “And still he feels the need to rush off first thing in the morning without even a hello? This is so like him. Why did I think things would change between us? It’s the same as it’s always been; he doesn’t see fit to tell me anything!”

Michael gave a little gasp of worry and had to physically grip the edge of his tub with his fists to keep water from sloshing over as Sophie deposited the geraniums quite forcefully into it. “Steady there!” he called uselessly to the tub. Calcifer gave a small chuckle at the teenager’s misfortune. Sophie was on a warpath now, and was none too tender with the roses she plunked into the water next, hissing a word even Martha didn’t know under her breath as the water splashed her dress and loose strands of red-gold hair, which she hadn’t bothered to put up.

“I need to calm down…” she muttered aloud, and ignored Calcifer’s snort of agreement. “I’m just blowing things out of proportion. After all, he doesn’t need to check with me every time he leaves. Just let it go, Sophie. Don’t get yourself all worked up because of that flighty wizard!” and she promptly made herself (almost) forget about him. There were more important matters to attend to, after all. She arranged the armloads of newly collected flowers-- marigolds, lilies, roses, geraniums, lilacs, fragrant tuberose, lacy forget-me-not, and gaudy hibiscus-- into careful bouquets in the workroom and then settled them onto the shelves and countertops in the shop front.

Sophie couldn’t help but marvel at how much easier it was to get work done now that she was eighteen rather than ninety. She fairly flew around the room, dedicating her energy to creating a brilliant display. The day after Midsummer Day, there were bound to be girls who did not find the suitor of their dreams coming in to buy comfort flowers, or successful suitors who wanted to buy flowers for their new sweethearts. In what was sure to be a busy day, the shop had to look as vibrant as ever.

“Slow down!” Michael told her in alarm as he moved in with a basket filled with arrangements in vases, ducking quickly to avoid behind hit in the face by Sophie’s arm. “You’re going to put someone’s eye out!” Calcifer, who was floating hidden behind Michael to avoid being seen by any early customers, muttered in what sounded like agreement. Despite Sophie’s state the previous day, now it was Michael who sounded like an old woman. Sophie giggled slightly in spite of herself.

“You seem happy,” Calcifer said, peeking out from behind the feathery brown strands of Michael’s hair. “I guess it’s true what they say about a woman in love.”

“What!?” Sophie whirled around and dropped the bouquet she was holding, vase and all. Michael dove forward and managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He gave a small whoop of excitement. She could feel her cheeks flush in spite of herself. “Calcifer, don’t be silly! Why would you think I was in love with Howl?”

“No one said anything about Howl,” Calcifer sounded smug, and Sophie grumbled, taking the vase from Michael with a small mutter of thanks and placing it safely on the front counter. She brushed imaginary dust from the grain of the wood and then spun around to face Calcifer. Somehow, now that she was young and had more energy, she constantly found herself spinning rather than simply turning, constantly forcing Michael to dodge her fingertips.

“Keep this quiet, Calcifer,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the fire demon. She nonchalantly reached forward and grabbed an empty vase filled with water, awaiting the flowers that would be placed in it, and passed it from hand to hand so the water made sloshing noises. “You may be able to move now, but I’m young and I’m fast, and don’t think I wouldn’t be able to catch you!”

“Noted,” Calcifer said, sounding bolder than he looked in the face of being splashed. “I’ll keep quiet about it if you promise to let me stay in the shop whenever I want.”

Sophie pondered this for a moment, and decided there were worse things he could have asked for in return. She nodded slowly, fixing Calcifer with her best menacing stare. “Alright, you can stay. But you have to swear to stay out of the sight! You’ll drive away customers if they spot you.”

“I swear on Howl’s heart,” Calcifer said rather playfully, moving up to a shelf that nearly touched the ceiling and perching himself amid the blossoms of the bluebells in a vase. “See, I match perfectly.”

Sophie nodded slightly. “Don’t you go moving around!” she warned him as she moved to the door and flipped the sign to Open. She barely had time to step back before Angela Lennox moved in, the bell tinkling behind her. Dressed in violet linen, she caught sight of Sophie and gasped. Sophie recognized the hat she was wearing.

“Sophie Hatter! It’d be a cold day in hell before I didn’t recognize you! Where on Earth did you go for all those months, and where in the world is old Mother Jenkins?” Angela moved over to the counter to stroke the petals of a rose as she watched Sophie eagerly for answers.

“I’ve been… visiting relatives in Kingsbury!” Sophie lied quickly. “But I came to work here when Mother Jenkins died suddenly. I guess since it used to be the family hat shop, Mr. Jenkins thought I would be a natural employee.”

“How sad,” Angela crooned in her lightly syrupy voice. “I saw the poor old dear only yesterday. Bless her heart. But I can’t help but wonder how Mr. Jenkins knew at all that you used to work here. After all, you’d been gone for ages when be bought the shop! Could it be that he simply fancies you?”

Sophie’s first impulse was to blush, and she did it before she could think. She knew it was a horrible thing to do, and would make gossip fly around the town faster than a fly to manure. “Can I wrap that bouquet up for you, Miss Lennox?” she asked in a slightly shaky voice.

“I knew it! I simply knew when I saw you this morning ‘I’m looking at the future Mrs. Jenkins!’ Oh, how lovely for you, Sophie. Yes, yes, I’ll take that bouquet. But oh, you must be so excited!”

Sophie had a strong, sudden urge to crawl into a hole and die. She took the bouquet delicately from its vase an wrapped the assorted stems in a piece of lurid pink paper. This situation was more uncomfortable than she could possibly have imagined, and there was little she could do to repair it now. “Yes, yes… I’m very excited.”

Angela took the bouquet from Sophie and dropped a gold coin into her hand. “Thank you for the flowers, Sophie dear. And good luck on the marriage. I expect an invitation to the wedding when you get things all sorted out!” she called as she made her way to the shop’s door.

“Of course…” Sophie croaked, leaning against the counter heavily and sighing. She had made a mess of things again, and from the look of it, this could be the biggest mess she had created so far.

What was Howl going to think?

Featherweight (Fruits Basket)

Wed, 20 May 2009 21:43:44 GMT

Title: Featherweight
Fandom: Fruits Basket (manga)
Pairing: Kureno/Akito (implied)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of violence
Summary: Akito, Kureno, a hospital room, and a feather that changes her perception.

Tick tock.

The sound of the clock is deafening, and Akito feels the sudden needs to drop her head into her hands. All around this place, there are things she cannot even begin to comprehend; the glaring light from the florescent bulbs overhead, the screeching white tiles and walls. The entire place is a headache in the form of a room, clumsily disguised by gurneys and starched white sheets. “Uhg…” the moan that passes her lips is soft, so soft she herself barely hears it.

“Akito…” Kureno’s voice is a low, sweet rumble, and Akito raises her dark eyes to his, only peering out at first and then finally leaving behind the protection offered by her own fingers when she senses no threat. It strikes her for a moment that she is the one who is most like a bird, though it was Kureno who carried that animal in his soul so many years ago. She flits away, frightened, at the slightest noise. Pathetic and weak. No matter how gaudy the feathers, they cannot disguise the raw and weak heart that resides beneath. At times like this, she sickens herself.

“How… can you just forgive me like this?” her voice starts out timid at first, but she finds her footing and speaks louder. “After what I did…” After how I kept you chained to me for all these years when you must have longed for freedom…

“You don’t think you deserve it?” Kureno asks, and there is nothing threatening to his tone. He is merely curious, and his bottomless eyes confirm this fact when she looks up at him. For a moment, she falters. For a moment, she almost shuts down.

“N--no!” it gnaws at her heart to admit this, and she crushes her face into her hands again. “After what I did, and everything else I’ve done! Are you too kind, or are you just stupid!?” her voice is an ugly shriek. “Stop! Stop and look at me and tell me I deserve it! I dare you!”

Kureno’s fingers catch her wrist, feather-light, and all at once everything stops; her breathing, her motion, even time itself. They are caught in a silent, motionless dance between what needs to be said and what cannot. It is aching that some of these words are parallel. “You deserve it,” he replies finally, and Akito feels her resolve crumble along with her body as she slumps against the edge of the bed and digs her fingernails into the blanket.

“Why?” it is little more than a feverish croak, and Kureno’s hand is heavy and warm upon her hair.

“Everyone deserves forgiveness,” Kureno replies as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Akito looks up and stares at him incredulously. He looks serious. She feels naked. There is something terribly ironic in the fact that she can stab him in the back, quite literally, for something so trivial, and she is the one who has trouble forgiving him.

“You’re just like her,” Akito finds herself saying, as though it is necessity rather than choice. “Like Tohru Honda. How can you both be like this? How can you be so kind, so forgiving, when you know that someday the world will turn against you!?”

“Because maybe what really matters is what happens before it does,” Kureno’s hand is back on her hair. “There’s no guarantee that the world is going to turn against you, Akito.”

Suddenly, she is embarrassed, and her pale face flushes. “I--I didn’t mean myself personally,” she corrects him defensively, though she knows this is not the truth. They are both silent, and Akito finds that without distraction, guilt creeps in at the sight of him looking so pale, lying amid starchy sheets in a hospital bed like some invalid. ”I did this. How can I be forgiven? How?”

“Look at this,” Kureno breaks the silence, provides a distraction, and Akito nearly cries with relief. He holds up a small, gray feather. “A bird came in through the window and dropped this before the nurses could shoo it out.”

“Hmm…” Akito replies, staring at the feather. For a beat, she is transfixed.

“It’s a funny thing about birds,” Kureno says thoughtfully, though his words are laden with purpose. “When things get bad every winter, they run from those problems and go south until they can be sure things will be better. But still, no matter how bitter the weather was when they left, they always, always come back home,” he holds out his hand with the feather in it, and Akito takes it, looking up at him for a moment. “Even birds can’t run from what they’re afraid of forever. Sooner or later, they have to come home.”

Momiji is still outside when Akito exits the hospital, sitting on a bench and leaning into the wind. Neither of them speaks this time, and Akito moves over to the grove of birch trees that grow at the easternmost side of the hospital. Leaning against one of the pale, sturdy trunks, she turns the soft feather over and over in her hands until something grows and bursts inside, something warm and frightening, but all too necessary.

“I think… it’s about time I came back home.”

Remember (Loveless)

Wed, 20 May 2009 21:40:20 GMT

Title: Remember
Fandom: Loveless
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: mentions of underage sex, suicide, and angst
Summary: Soubi struggles to remember his place with Ritsuka after he has been so forcefully torn from it.

I can’t rememeber
To know this will conquer me
To hide behind the mask this time
And try to escape
Into me</i>

Good morning, Memories.

I didn’t think you would sleep for long. You never do before you return to me like doves set free always return to the place where they were once fed in captivity.

This morning, there is nothing about the rich sunlight on the wall of my room that isn’t familiar. There is nothing about the way the branches outside my window move gently, delicately in the soft breeze that is new. So many days have come and gone this way. Never any difference in the crawling moments of this solitude I must admit I have bought for myself.

The dancing leaves, coupled with the golden light, making lacy patterns on the empty expanse of that wall, and I watch them dance and shift in that way, catching the dullness of the walls, the ceiling, the floor. They fall onto my skin and making golden patterns there as well, catching the dull gleam of the puckered white scars that cover it… most my own doing, but others left from the old days before I came here. The days with you.

I wonder, as I stand here in this silence before the window, watching the tall phantom of my own shadow in the patterns of the wall, if you Remember me too. Because in these quiet moments of loneliness, you are all that fills my mind. The delicate image of your face, the particular rhythm of your voice. These thoughts fill me with the old feeling, and I turn to the window, thinking of how lovely it would be to take the plunge through the cold panes of glass and Kill this feeling of hopeless captivity inside my own heart. But I don’t. I turn away from the temptation. I have gotten better over these two years. I don’t do ‘that’ anymore.

I do Remember doing ‘that’, though, and I Remember loving it. I Remember blood, how easily it seeped, how easily that flesh would part for me, part at my will. I Remember it didn’t kill the things that rose up inside when I thought of you with Her, but it did bring the pain. That glorious, intoxicating pain. The pain made it all the more bearable, and though I didn’t expect myself to ever get to the level I was at, I began to do ‘that’ more and more frequently. And then ‘that’ escalated to running that sharp edge in new places… new, dangerous places. Places that could help it not come back. And eventually, I drove it in deep, deeper, as deep as I could. And that was that. And then eventually, after doing that last ‘thing’ more and more, with ropes and blades and pills, I bought myself this solitude, at Kio’s tearful prompting.

I knew it made no difference, though, this place. The Thing I wanted to kill was inside of me, and coming here changed nothing. I had the power and the choice, and I knew killing the Thing was impossible by now. So I gave up. Gave in. Started to behave. And now here I was, still bound, still trapped, more painful than any restriction I had ever suffered in a spell battle. Because the Thing was simply the maddening feeling of missing you, the feeling I would never escape.

The sunlight catches a lock of my hair, turning it from pale blond to fiery honey gold, and for a moment I am distracted from my thoughts. If it were back in the World, I would remember this color for a painting, using its rich color for the leaves of an autumn tree, for the wings of a butterfly. And you would sit and watch, in awe of the creation of something new on that canvas before your eyes.

But here, the World is absent… something completely separate from this life all together. Here there are only people left as shells of their former selves, people with Memories that drive them mad… pills and empty white rooms and assorted screams and cries of emotional anguish that the attendants can do nothing to stop through the nights. One gets used to screams the way he gets used to the irritating itch of a word-- such as Beloved-- carved into his flesh. It is never truly pleasant, but in the end, it’s something that is real, something you live with. But I never scream. Because I do not allow my pain to feed off of me.

The door creaks, opens, and I know it’s the start of something besides this emptiness, if only for a moment. At the moment, I do not care to go to Group Therapy, or wherever the attendant who will enter will try to take me. But whoever they are, I will oblige them and go, because that is the kind of Patient I have become; obedient, quiet, impossible.

“Good morning, Agatsuma-san,” says the cheerful voice of a short-haired attendant whose name I can never recall. I nod in reply, though I can’t manage a smile, and I know she doesn’t expect a smile from me. “You have a visitor.”

“Oh?” I perk up slightly at this, not emotionally, but mentally, at least. I wonder if it’s Kio again. Talking to him these days whenever he pays a visit is painful… because he awakens the old feelings of being Normal. But my reaction to the attendant’s words is still a reaction, and it makes her smile.

“Yes. I know we don’t usually allow visitors in patients’ rooms, but since you’ve been doing so well this week, I’ve asked your supervisors to allow it just this once.”

I nod slightly, and she smiles at me again, stepping aside to allow my visitor to enter. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I nod again, and keep my eyes on the figure as it slides into my room. And then I stop. Freeze. Unable to comprehend. Because this time, the visitor is you.

For that brief moment, time stops. All motion stops. And then time is gone, replaced only by your presence, your feeling so strong that I almost collapse. You are the only thing in this world at that moment, and there it is again, those old emotions that I can barely breathe past, suffocating me and choking off all possibility of retreating once more to a numb shell.

“Soubi.” you are the first to break the spell, to bring reality crashing down on me. Hearing my name spoken that way, with that completely pure quality only you can give to it, makes me want to fall to my knees. My eyes stay on you, unblinking and disbelieving, and your eyes stare straight back, devoid off all the pity of the people who work in this place, devoid of all the judging accusations of people from the World who venture in to bring packages. Devoid of all intent and reason. It’s just a simple, intimate stare that I am totally unprepared for. “I came a few times before, but the people who work here said that since I’m the reason you had to come here, I probably shouldn’t see you.”

Your words don’t register much, only your wonderful voice. The sound of it, rising and falling over the syllables, making me Remember so much. “Ritsuka…” your name feels strange in my mouth; cold and foreign and nowhere near as beautiful as it really is. It stumbles clumsily over my tongue, alien and damaged by contact with my unforgivable lips.

“Soubi,” you whisper again, and I Remember how we used to say each other’s names so much back then, just for the sake of hearing each other speak. You’ve changed so much since those days, now. You’re taller… you reach my upper chest now, almost to my shoulder. Your hair brushes your shoulders slightly, and though your body isn’t any less thin, you seem to be growing into it nicely. Your head is smooth, devoid of your ears, your signs of childish innocence, and I Remember the night you lost them; the fierce, sweaty tangle of our bodies as we passed heated kisses back and forth, clutching each other with an intensity we could not deny, the strangled, beautiful moans that passed your kiss-swollen lips as we moved closer to climax together between those sheets. I nearly choke at the Memory, and I look away. “I missed you, Soubi…” you say softly, and still I keep my gaze at the floor.

Suddenly you are moving, and without warning your small frame presses against me, those warm arms encircling my waist. Surprised, I move my gaze to you. You are looking up at me with those large amethyst eyes of yours, and for a moment, the time melts away and you are twelve years old and innocent once more before the illusion is broken. Our eyes lock, and I fight the urge to break down simply at the sight of you.

I had expected any contact between us to feel foreign, alien, as uncomfortable as your name now feels on my tongue. But now, as we stand still in the center of each other’s worlds with your arms clutching my waist, I feel more normal than I have in two years. And this gaze we share shatters everything else in existence, keeping me tied to you.

“Why did you do it, Soubi? And why wouldn’t you talk to me?” your voice sounds so hurt, and I Remember with regret the times you called after I ceased to be your Fighter and you ceased to be mine alone, the times that I refused to answer, the times that I ignored you. “I tried to talk to you so many times, but you wouldn’t let me!”

There is a desperation in your eyes that is unfamiliar. I want to believe I am imagining it and that it will go away if I blink. I do and it doesn’t. I am unprepared for your raw emotion, and I cannot bring myself to steel my own feelings against it. At the hurt yet demanding note in your voice, so many old feelings surface, and as I see how little things have really changed, it hurts that much less and still that much more. Being away from you has affected both of our lives so much, and yet on the surface, if feels as though we could live without each other. I know this is completely false. Speech does not come easily, and when it does come, my own voice is unfamiliar, thin and strained as though I have not really used it for many years.

“You were not mine anymore, Ritsuka. I felt that… you had abandoned me. I couldn’t stand to hear your voice knowing that.” I explain it as simply and kindly as I can, but I fear it will still wound you after so much time. The words are cold and bleak and on your end they must cut like daggers, because your deep violet eyes darken with hungry emotions and you begin to tremble before me as much as I am trembling before you. We are two planets, passing each other in orbit and becoming held inexplicably in each other’s path. I wait for these planets to collide, and the crash of the massive spheres making contact is replaced by the inaudible sound of a tear sliding over your lower lid and making a wet trail down your cheek.

“Soubi…” your eyes leave mine as you bury your face against my chest, snuggling closer against me and filling me with warmth. It is a warmth you have always given me, and it is a warmth that has become unfamiliar to me. I can’t find it in myself to pull away because it feels good. Good, good, infinitely good. The emotions it stirs up are so fierce they startle me, and I am blown back by the intensity of the love I can feel pass between us as easily as if we had never been apart. I want it, I need it, and I want to get away from it. And there is that voice, your soft, gentle voice, speaking again and drowning out all else. “Just because I had to bond with the Loveless Fighter didn’t mean… it didn’t mean I wasn’t yours, Soubi.”

“That is exactly what it meant, Ritsuka,” I try not to sound cold, but I know I fail miserably. This coldness… I don‘t know where it comes from. It should not be present in this place with you pressed up against me, generating warmth. But the coldness spills forth anyway, from some unwanted internal well that I cannot stop the flow from. “When you bond with the one who shares your Name--”

“Soubi.” your voice sounds slightly impatient, but mostly soft, made of soft dips and slopes that form my name. The way you say my name shakes me to the core with bliss now, as it always has, and such intensity in my reaction to you scares me. Terrifies me. Makes me want to run. “You know I don’t care about Names and fate and everything that has to do with them. Being someone else’s Sacrifice has nothing to do with it, Soubi. It’s Yuiko… you know I don’t have any feelings for her. You know we’re just friends. Why would you think that just because I had to bond with her to keep her from being killed meant that I didn’t want to be with you?”

Your words make sense… more sense than anything has in weeks. But I squeeze my eyes shut so you can’t see the tempest of emotions swirling through them. I stand still in your arms, trembling like a child, and feel more vulnerable than I have felt in years. All at once, I want you to understand and I don’t want you to understand. The sacred Bond that you and I can never share is something that I have desired with a madness since the moment we first met. Now that someone else shares that Bond with you, I constantly feel the world slipping out from beneath my feet. If I told you, you would think I was weak. I don’t want you to see my weakness.

“She is the true Loveless Fighter… and I’m not,” I state simply. It is impossible to look at you, and I turn my eyes toward the floor and make sure to avoid the stare you give me. Show no weakness. Clench your teeth. Brace against the pain. Ritsu’s words, the familiar old mantra, are much less effective against emotional pain, and I wonder if you can see me breaking.

One gentle touch of your hand on my face, and I am certain you can. The sense of exposure makes me feel weak, vulnerable. You stare up at me without pity, without regret. Only with sadness, a silent ‘why’ echoing through from the depths of your soul. Your eyes are as innocent as ever, despite how much time has passed. I can’t help but wonder; how many things have you seen that changed you since we last spoke? How many people have harbored quiet visions of love for you besides me? How many times have you Remembered a time when we were whole together, and how many times have those Memories made you cry? As many times as they’ve made me cry?

“Why did you disappear?”

Your words startle me out of the quiet that has developed between us. I raise my eyes to meet yours and see that your gaze is unrelenting. You have always been so stubborn, and this moment is no exception. I know there is no avoiding giving you an answer. “I didn’t disappear, Ritsuka. I was always at home, and then I was always here.”

“But you disappeared for me, Soubi…” your eyes are hurt, and it wounds me to look at them. They quiver, the violet pools of dejection showing me just how much it did indeed hurt you. “You wouldn’t answer your phone. You avoided me when I came to see you. You ignored me and you rejected me. We could have talked about this… why are you always like that? Why do you always have to leave everything unsaid? Is it a sickness with you or something?” your sadness has been replaced with anger, and you let go of me. I slide out of your warm embrace and into the cold reality of the situation, where in your arms I had been blissfully unaware of the pain between us. Away from those comforting arms, I almost panic. “I’m sick of you being like this, Soubi. Everything doesn’t have to be so mysterious! Can’t you just say what you mean for once?”

I sigh softly, watching your face. You look so young when you’re irritated, chewing on your bottom lip and seething. “I already told you. I did what I did because I couldn’t stand to look at you when you were with someone else. I have no interest in being second to your Fighter.”

“You idiot!” you’re covering your face with one hand, and I can tell how stressed you are. Poor Ritsuka. I’ve reduced you to this yet again. “Why do you say things like that? I’m not with anyone else! I never was! I never will be! Stop being ridiculous, Soubi! Just stop being an idiot and listen to me!” you glare at me, and suddenly it feels as though we’re frozen in time, and that glare could be your twelve-year-old glare while you scolded me for not answering my phone. And there it is, that magic spark between us, where my lips curve up at the corners at the sight of your adorable fury, though as always I know it’s the worst possible time for me to smile. And your angry eyes are melting, filling with warmth as you stare at me. “You smiled…”

“I did?” I ask, pretending to be blissfully unaware. I’m busy inside my mind wondering what happened… because when the feeling of distance evaporated a moment ago, it didn’t come back, and here we stand as I stare at you, wondering how in the world I could have believed for a moment that you didn’t love me. It’s strange how seeing your anger can bring about a revelation. And it’s also strange that you are still here, looking at me and almost smiling, when I don’t deserve your presence at all.

“Yes, you did. And… you looked so… human. Since I’ve been here, you’ve been like… a zombie. But that smile… you looked like you used to.”

“Like I used to?”

“Like Soubi.” you are moving forward again, and I am surprised (as always) at how easily a fight between us can end. The ending of one thing and the beginning of another. Your hand grasps mine gently, and I find it hard to believe you are no longer really a child.

“I am Soubi,” I whisper, though even I find it difficult to believe this anymore.

“I know…” you whisper softly, and you squeeze my hand. Such contact makes me smile, floods me with the feeling I used to feel so much when we were together. It is the feeling that you belong solely to me, and I relish it as slowly you clasp my in your embrace yet again. I return the gesture, though my arms feel clumsy as they move up around you, so out of practice. But it’s a start, and I smile again. For a moment, I wonder how smiles can suddenly come so easily when my world has been devoid of them for so long, but then I realize how completely unimportant the answer to the question is at this moment. How could I have failed to see that while I asked pointless questions as I stood here within my own fragile shell, breaking further and further each day, that you were out in the World, barely out of reach, and you are infinitely more important than anything that I could possibly imagine.

“I love you, Soubi,” your words are new ones, it seems, and they startle me. Something inside my chest caves in, and sweet pain slides in, leaving me weak in its path. How long have I missed these words, your sweet voice, your smooth face?

“I love you too, Ritsuka,” my tongue is large and furry in my mouth, and I swear the words are indistinguishable. This must not be the case, however, because you smile and melt into me, and any remaining distance dissipates as though it never existed at all.

Someday, I will be declared “better”, and I’ll be let out of this place that I so willingly signed myself into. Someday, the World will once more be in my grasp and life can begin again. But none of this matters, because it’s you that will once more belong to me once I am out of this place. At this moment, you are clutched in my arms, and even when we part physically, you are the one thing I will never let go of.

Never.