fic: different sides
Title: Different Sides
Author: Ellyrianna
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing(s): Gojyo/Hakkai
Summary: Post-journey. Gojyo's still surprised every time he sees Hakkai sleeping in bed beside him. "We live our lives on different sides, but we keep together, you and I."
“It’s too early to be awake,” Hakkai said quietly over his shoulder. Gojyo turned to him, surprised, fairly certain that he’d been silent in his waking.
Actually, Gojyo was still surprised every time he looked over and saw Hakkai sleeping in the bed beside him.
Most of it, he was sure, was because he still couldn’t believe they were alive. They’d gotten to India, they’d faced off against every obstacle anyone ever could have thought to throw their way. They’d confronted Gyumaoh and defeated him - holy shit, even now, even months and months later Gojyo still couldn’t reconcile that. They had defeated that son of a bitch. They’d gone up against him and nearly every one of them had almost died at some point or another, but in the end, he’d been destroyed.
(Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night with a shout stuck in his throat, dreaming of the deep slashes in Hakkai’s chest that he’d frantically covered with his hands, his shirt, anything within reach. He woke up feeling Hakkai’s blood running through his fingers again, remembering what he’d thought that day: that he was too familiar with how it felt.)
He was constantly surprised to wake up every morning, because for so long, all that long journey, he had prepared himself for the time when, eventually, it wouldn’t happen. He’d spent so long working up to the time when he would never wake up again that now, now that everything was fine and idyllic and somewhat, somehow stupidly perfect, he sometimes was afraid to go to sleep.
“I’m not awake,” Gojyo lightly replied. “I’m deep asleep. You’re awake. Why the hell are you up this early?”
He lit a cigarette, his lighter cracking in the stillness of the room, palm cupped around the flame.
(After the battle was over, in this first few exhausted, relieved, barely-remembered hours, all Gojyo had the energy to do was light cigarettes. Sanzo and Goku were somewhere - he wasn’t sure where; looking for firewood, food, freedom, something - and he and Hakkai were in Jeep, stretched out in the backseat, shirts gone and bandages stained red but too tired to change them. He’d just lit cigarette after cigarette, stubbed them out and flicked them away, the ashes collecting in Hakkai’s cupped palms.)
After he’d taken a drag, Hakkai borrowed the cigarette gracefully and helped himself. That early in the morning, Gojyo had discovered, Hakkai’s principles were misty and half-formed. Once he told Gojyo that he enjoyed the familiarity of cigarettes, that he savored their taste, but that he knew they were harmful and wouldn’t permit himself to indulge.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hakkai gently reminded him.
“’Course you’re not,” Gojyo rebuffed after a second. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”
He’d meant it as a joke, as an attempt to lighten the mood Hakkai was so determined to weigh down. Instead, Hakkai nodded shallowly in acquiescence. He rolled back over onto his side, his back to Gojyo, and said, “Still. Just remember that. At night, I mean.”
Hakkai’s hand rested lightly on his hip, twisted around his body, and Gojyo reached out and took it. That was what was familiar, to him - the feeling of Hakkai’s palm settled comfortably in his. Hakkai tugged, almost imperceptibly; it was more a suggestion than a request. Nonetheless, Gojyo heaved a sigh and turned over. He wrapped his arm around Hakkai’s waist, pulled him tight to his chest, breathing in the sharp tang of midsummer sweat on the back of Hakkai’s neck.
(Lying in Jeep, without Sanzo and Goku, without anyone hunting them down or watching over them or waiting to capture them, Hakkai and Gojyo stretched out their legs and leaned against one another, shoulders tight and touching, blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d made of their clothes. “Now what?” Gojyo had asked him eventually, in the still silence of a perfectly peaceful night. Hakkai said something, but Gojyo never remembered what it was; just that, moments after, Hakkai had kissed him, dry and warm and with the faint metallic snap of blood.)
Into the hair at the nape of Hakkai’s neck, Gojyo mumbled, “’Night, Hakkai.”
Like he had said every night for the past nine months, like he would say for the next nine, and twelve, and twenty-four, and all the rest after that, Hakkai softly replied, “Good-night, Gojyo.”
Author: Ellyrianna
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing(s): Gojyo/Hakkai
Summary: Post-journey. Gojyo's still surprised every time he sees Hakkai sleeping in bed beside him. "We live our lives on different sides, but we keep together, you and I."
“It’s too early to be awake,” Hakkai said quietly over his shoulder. Gojyo turned to him, surprised, fairly certain that he’d been silent in his waking.
Actually, Gojyo was still surprised every time he looked over and saw Hakkai sleeping in the bed beside him.
Most of it, he was sure, was because he still couldn’t believe they were alive. They’d gotten to India, they’d faced off against every obstacle anyone ever could have thought to throw their way. They’d confronted Gyumaoh and defeated him - holy shit, even now, even months and months later Gojyo still couldn’t reconcile that. They had defeated that son of a bitch. They’d gone up against him and nearly every one of them had almost died at some point or another, but in the end, he’d been destroyed.
(Sometimes, he woke up in the middle of the night with a shout stuck in his throat, dreaming of the deep slashes in Hakkai’s chest that he’d frantically covered with his hands, his shirt, anything within reach. He woke up feeling Hakkai’s blood running through his fingers again, remembering what he’d thought that day: that he was too familiar with how it felt.)
He was constantly surprised to wake up every morning, because for so long, all that long journey, he had prepared himself for the time when, eventually, it wouldn’t happen. He’d spent so long working up to the time when he would never wake up again that now, now that everything was fine and idyllic and somewhat, somehow stupidly perfect, he sometimes was afraid to go to sleep.
“I’m not awake,” Gojyo lightly replied. “I’m deep asleep. You’re awake. Why the hell are you up this early?”
He lit a cigarette, his lighter cracking in the stillness of the room, palm cupped around the flame.
(After the battle was over, in this first few exhausted, relieved, barely-remembered hours, all Gojyo had the energy to do was light cigarettes. Sanzo and Goku were somewhere - he wasn’t sure where; looking for firewood, food, freedom, something - and he and Hakkai were in Jeep, stretched out in the backseat, shirts gone and bandages stained red but too tired to change them. He’d just lit cigarette after cigarette, stubbed them out and flicked them away, the ashes collecting in Hakkai’s cupped palms.)
After he’d taken a drag, Hakkai borrowed the cigarette gracefully and helped himself. That early in the morning, Gojyo had discovered, Hakkai’s principles were misty and half-formed. Once he told Gojyo that he enjoyed the familiarity of cigarettes, that he savored their taste, but that he knew they were harmful and wouldn’t permit himself to indulge.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hakkai gently reminded him.
“’Course you’re not,” Gojyo rebuffed after a second. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”
He’d meant it as a joke, as an attempt to lighten the mood Hakkai was so determined to weigh down. Instead, Hakkai nodded shallowly in acquiescence. He rolled back over onto his side, his back to Gojyo, and said, “Still. Just remember that. At night, I mean.”
Hakkai’s hand rested lightly on his hip, twisted around his body, and Gojyo reached out and took it. That was what was familiar, to him - the feeling of Hakkai’s palm settled comfortably in his. Hakkai tugged, almost imperceptibly; it was more a suggestion than a request. Nonetheless, Gojyo heaved a sigh and turned over. He wrapped his arm around Hakkai’s waist, pulled him tight to his chest, breathing in the sharp tang of midsummer sweat on the back of Hakkai’s neck.
(Lying in Jeep, without Sanzo and Goku, without anyone hunting them down or watching over them or waiting to capture them, Hakkai and Gojyo stretched out their legs and leaned against one another, shoulders tight and touching, blood seeping through the makeshift bandages they’d made of their clothes. “Now what?” Gojyo had asked him eventually, in the still silence of a perfectly peaceful night. Hakkai said something, but Gojyo never remembered what it was; just that, moments after, Hakkai had kissed him, dry and warm and with the faint metallic snap of blood.)
Into the hair at the nape of Hakkai’s neck, Gojyo mumbled, “’Night, Hakkai.”
Like he had said every night for the past nine months, like he would say for the next nine, and twelve, and twenty-four, and all the rest after that, Hakkai softly replied, “Good-night, Gojyo.”