D.N. Angel, [tempus fugit]: "Ars Gratia Artis" (some random SatDai gen)
I wrote this at work, BTW, which probably explains its inherent suck. ...Then again, there's probably no explanation for this.
Title: Ars Gratia Artis (Art For The Sake of Art)
Author: Lorelei DiAngelo
Rating: If anything...G. I fail at teh adolescent teenage boi smex.
Pairing: None. Le gen. Some teensy SatDai undertones if you're one of those slashers who thinks that a small bit of kindness does a pairing make.
Summary: Two days after his decision to live in pain rather than to die for aught, Satoshi spends Christmas with the Niwas.
Notes: Half of this is anime canon and half of this is manga canon, for the simple fact that while I prefer the character depth in the manga more, the anime is at least FINITE, with a definite beginning and end. Also, for shukiai.
Satoshi is an academically-educated classical genius, but even he has no idea what sort of gift to bring to the Christmas gathering of the family that dragged him clawing from the darkness and screaming into the light. So he brings nothing, except himself, and as he almost hesitantly rings the doorbell to the Niwa family home, he has a strange thought that, to Daisuke at least, simply bringing himself will be enough.
He also brings fruitcake, because that is the Christmas gift that every family simply cannot be without.
Emiko Niwa answers the door, and she is proof enough that bad blood can be difficult to forget. "I-I'm glad you could make it, S-Satoshi-kun..." she greets him, the smile on her face forced and the sweeping gesture that she makes to usher him into their home even more so. Her love of Dark is too strong for her to ever forgive him for his family's curse, but her love of Daisuke, at least, is willing to make her try.
Emiko Niwa is a lovely woman, but as is the case with anyone with the Niwa genes, she is simply too brilliant to look upon, her eyes boring into his like the fire of the sun that burns away any impurity, her face waging war over the constant battle of her admiration of one son, yet the love for another.
"Thank you for having me," Satoshi responds, quietly, and bows, before stepping past her stiff parody of greeting into the house. As he bends to take off his shoes, he swears he can hear her say, vehemently:
"We've burned all of your family's art, you know, so don't think that there's anything left for you to steal."
He looks into her eyes - her bluffing, wavering, and uncertain eyes - and knows that this is not true. The Niwas, in what is perhaps a cruel irony due to the nature of their fate, are all avid and eternal appreciators of art. It is both their redemption and their demise.
Satoshi takes a moment to close his brilliant blue eyes. They are all the more brilliant because he no longer has to hide them behind the shine of his glasses.
"I guess I'll have to settle for simply having dinner with you, then," he says, somberly, and has to glance up again at the sudden silence that statement brings upon Mrs. Niwa's end. Has to blink, then, at the sudden transformation he has wrought.
Her face is surprisingly easy to look upon when she smiles.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Daiki Niwa is recovering from a strained back brought about from the sealing ceremony two days ago, and as such is recovering on the family sofa with Wiz when Satoshi enters the Niwa's living room. Dark's former familiar makes its usual inquisitive noise when it sees him, before whimpering suddenly and all but flying under the old man's covers, to settle into a small, shaking ball from somewhere around Daiki's neck.
"Come on now, Wiz, it's only Daisuke's friend!" Daiki scolds, lifting the blanket to raise an eyebrow at the furry, frightened creature. Unable to convince the animal to come back out, he lets the blanket fall, and forces out a laugh that causes him to suddenly grimace in pain at the strain it puts on his injured back. "W-Well, you know, Wiz has always been shy around strangers, young man - "
"It smells its blood on me," Satoshi mutters, suddenly, eyes fixed on the floor and hands balled into fists at his sides. "Animals don't forget the face of someone who struck them down, no matter what sort of mask they might currently wear." His teeth bite into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he remembers the helpless fear in that animal's eyes as it sank from view to the dark, cold mercy of the sea.
"Neither do people, it seems," Daiki points out, kindly, harsh lines of his fading into something benevolent, despite his pain. At his voice, Wiz pokes his head out from under the blanket cautiously, a pair of red eyes in the dark, and sniffs tentatively in the direction of Satoshi. Daiki pets him almost absent-mindedly on the head. "Those days are over for you, boy. No longer do you need to fear your own shadow. Both of our families worked hard to achieve that end. Just..." And here the old man's smile turned sheepish, "...in entirely opposite ways, you see? Human beings have always been like that. There's an old saying that goes...ah...what was it, again? 'Your line of sight only happens after you're twenty'? No, that's not it... 'Your mind's eye is a catch/22'? No, I don't think that's it, either..."
"'Hindsight is always 20/20'," Satoshi corrects him, and there is almost a smile flitting across that pale, drawn face. "That's what you wanted to say, wasn't it?"
"Something like that," Daiki admits curtly, gruff from embarrassment, and the creature Wiz unearths itself entirely from his nest of blankets to pad carefully towards Satoshi's feet.
"Kyuuu?" he queries, blinking his large, scarlet eyes, and sniffs the leg of Satoshi's pants with some curiosity. His nose travels upward, ever upward, until he's standing upright against Satoshi's leg and pawing at the bag the young man brought with unprecedented fervor.
"I envy your ability of free movement, Wiz," Daiki sighs from his place on the couch.
Wiz is looking back and forth between the white plastic shopping bag and Satoshi with unadulterated longing, and Satoshi blinks, rustles open the bag, and holds the piece of fruitcake that was inside out to Wiz with no small manner of cautiousness himself.
He couldn't be more surprised when the creature takes it, holds it up to the light, and scarfs it all down in a single bite.
Daiki laughs, and this time, it doesn't seem to cause him any pain.
"Well, how did you know, Satoshi-kun? Did Daisuke tell you or something? How did you know that Wiz just happens to love fruitcake?"
Satoshi shrugs, looks away, and can't bear to tell the man that he really had no idea, that he simply did not know.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kosuke Niwa is in the hallway bringing the evening paper and a cup of white tea to Daiki when Satoshi steps past him, distinctly uncomfortable at the sudden sense of belonging he is starting to feel when he is faced with this family, and he has a sudden fear, then, that if he were to look up at this man, that on his face would be the same cruelty and cunning and rejection that Satoshi has faced all of his life, and that any illusion otherwise would forever remain a memory.
But when he finally does get the courage to glance up, Kosuke simply looks at him, politely, and on his face is the same affable, charming smile that Satoshi has seen so often in his dreams.
"Merry Christmas, Satoshi-kun," Daisuke's father greets, warmly, and breezes by him into the light of the living room.
Satoshi has no idea why he is suddenly so disappointed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"It's a, um, present," Daisuke stutters, and fidgets at his desk, hands wringing and unwringing into twisted shapes that remind Satoshi of his own shadow. In the taller boy's hands is a slender parcel wrapped in plain silver paper, void of any designation or design. There is a logical side of him that acknowledges that the package is very light, yet for some reason even he can't fathom, it hangs long and heavy in his cold hands.
"I... You...didn't have to," Satoshi parries uncomfortably, and the present moves just the slightest bit at the sudden shake of his hands. "I...didn't bring anything for you, so..."
"No, really, it's okay! I mean, I'm just glad you showed up, considering how busy you've probably been with all that business about your dad's...oh, uh, sorry..."
"Glad I...showed up?" Satoshi repeats, and has to stifle a sudden cynical laugh over how he'd been right about Daisuke's ridiculous sentimental values. Yet, if it hadn't been for those same stupid values...
"Yeah, of course!" Daisuke spins around entirely in his desk chair, as excited as a little kid. "Come on, open it!"
Satoshi doesn't want to, because if he is in debt to this family any more than he already is, then he fears that surely, one day, they will come for his soul. And he will have no choice but to give it to them, because it's simply all that they're owed, and he wants to hold on to at least some small fragment of what remains of the Hikari name.
But Daisuke smiles at him, and it's too much. It's just too...damned...much.
An obvious tremble to his fingers now, Satoshi solemnly peels back the silver wrapping.
Inside is a stylish gilt box, and inside that box is a remarkably unremarkable paintbrush. Bought at a child's craft store, no doubt, until Daisuke says:
"Umm...I, um... I'm not very good at carving, you see, so it kind of tilts at the one end...and the bristles are all out of whack on the left side, but... Well, that's why you don't have to worry about getting me anything, since this kind of sucks, anyway - "
"Thank you," Satoshi interrupts, sincerely, and means it. "I'll always keep it with me."
"O...oh, well," Daisuke stutters, a hand going to the back of his head and a flush forming its way across his cheeks, "you really don't have to...use it...or anything..."
"I will!" Satoshi declares, vehemently, and though he swore never again to play the role of art imitating life imitating art, he decides that for once, he will go ars gratia artis and see what he creates from there. "I swear to you, I will!"
Daisuke blinks, and there is a silence so loud that it is deafening.
"Dai-chan, dinner's ready!" Emiko calls from downstairs, and her voice breaks the spell; Daisuke leaps from his seat and dashes to the door, his usual honest grin breaking out across his face.
"Let's go! Everyone's waiting!"
But Satoshi lowers his head, a shadow crossing once again over his face, and his voice is barely audible as he mutters: "Go on ahead. You don't...mind if I stay here a little while, do you?"
"Huh?" Daisuke tilts his head in a way that is strangely remniscent of Wiz. "No, I don't mind, but... Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm...fine."
"...Okay... Well, you know where the bathroom is if you don't feel so hot. Come down soon, okay?"
Satoshi nods. His hands are gripping their paintbrush hard enough to snap it, but it doesn't break. Daisuke has made it of a stronger wood than that. "All right."
He can't breathe again until the sound of Daisuke's footsteps echoing down the stairs have completely faded from his head.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Daisuke is on his second plate when Satoshi finally joins them again, and honestly, he's relieved. Though Satoshi had finally stepped at last out into the light, the shadow he cast behind him was a long one, and Daisuke was always afraid that it would forever weigh him down, anchor him permanently in the past.
And honestly, Satoshi deserves better than that. No one deserves that.
He insists on serving the other boy himself when Satoshi finally joins them at the table, and though it makes his grandpa chuckle, and his mom and dad share a look between themselves that is just that short of knowing, Daisuke pushes past his embarrassment and does it anyway, finding a solace in the surprised and also slightly awkward look that Satoshi gives him when he serves him up the Christmas ham.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks, and his own voice is nearly drowned out by the voices of his family:
"Oh, dear! Are you sick, Satoshi-kun?"
"Did you, ah, want some water, or juice, or something?"
"Hold on, let me go free up the couch for you, young man..."
"Kyuuu!!!"
Daisuke tries with all his might not to laugh, but it's very hard when faced with the look Satoshi gives him after being surrounded by three very concerned, very overbearing Niwas, and a...wide-eyed, lop-eared, magical rabbit.
Satoshi finally reaches his breaking point, and looks down at his plate. "No, thank you, I'm all right..."
To Daisuke, it makes all the nicks and splinters he got carving that stupid paintbrush worth all the while.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He invites Satoshi to stay the night, but the other boy mumbles something about settling the affairs of his father's estate tomorrow and stuffs his feet into his shoes reluctantly, as though he too doesn't particularly wish to go. The moon waxes bright in the night sky, and it shines on Satoshi's pale face and hair, making him seem all the more a ghost.
But it is not so, because Dark sacrificed himself to protect the feelings Daisuke had towards a living human being, not a ghost, and therefore, he is pacified. He wonders, sometimes, if it was worth it, on nights when he is cold and alone and can look at Risa Harada's picture without blinking; sometimes he wonders if yes, saving the world and saving Satoshi at the cost of a curse was well worth the effort.
Then Satoshi will blink, owlishly, at any act of compassion or kindness, or he will do like he does now; casts his noble face towards the light of the moon as though basking in its glow - and Daisuke can confirm for himself that yes, this is the sort of thing that not only he, but also Dark, would gladly give up their lives to protect.
As he leaves, Satoshi says a very strange thing.
"It is said that when the Hikaris create an artwork, a soul is always embedded into it. Merry Christmas, Niwa."
As he walks away, Daisuke can see that the paintbrush he made for him is dripping with a substance that is as dark as night.
As dark as....
As dark...as...
As...dark...
He all but flies up the staircase to his bedroom door, floating on wings born of a sudden hope, and sure enough, when he bangs open the door to his bedroom hurriedly, sitting there on the easel is the spare canvas he had put aside for a rainy day, and on the canvas, paint still wet, is a newly-completed portrait of Dark.
Dark, as Daisuke knew him, with his rougish grin and sparkling eyes, with the slight way one of his teeth would poke out when he smiled, like a fang, with the way he let his hair fall into his face in order to charm the ladies, with his devilish yet good-natured sense of humor and his rough brand of outlaw justice and all the things that Daisuke himself had trouble seeing: the echo of an empty eternity, the countless melancholy of a thousand unrequited loves; yes, this was Dark, as he remembered him, and Daisuke dropped to his knees, his bedroom curtains ruffling a little bit with the force of his fall.
"It is said that when the Hikaris create an artwork, a soul is always embedded into it."
Daisuke cannot imagine himself painting Krad. He wonders just how much it cost Satoshi to breathe life into the portrait of the very thing he most hated and feared.
"Thank you...Hiwatari-kun," he whispers, and when he at last breaks down and cries, he has no idea if he is crying from sadness or happiness, or if the person he is crying for is Dark, Satoshi, or himself.
AN: Well, this sure ended bitterly. ELL OH ELLZ. I'm not really entirely satisfied with it, but since no one on my f-list reads nor watches D.N. Angel, at least I don't have to worry about anyone caring. :D (Except Hope, who will simply read it to spite my face. I WARNED YOU, IT'S NOT GOOD. AND KOSUKE WAS A BITCH.)
Also, new LJ update style FTL. D:
Title: Ars Gratia Artis (Art For The Sake of Art)
Author: Lorelei DiAngelo
Rating: If anything...G. I fail at teh adolescent teenage boi smex.
Pairing: None. Le gen. Some teensy SatDai undertones if you're one of those slashers who thinks that a small bit of kindness does a pairing make.
Summary: Two days after his decision to live in pain rather than to die for aught, Satoshi spends Christmas with the Niwas.
Notes: Half of this is anime canon and half of this is manga canon, for the simple fact that while I prefer the character depth in the manga more, the anime is at least FINITE, with a definite beginning and end. Also, for shukiai.
Satoshi is an academically-educated classical genius, but even he has no idea what sort of gift to bring to the Christmas gathering of the family that dragged him clawing from the darkness and screaming into the light. So he brings nothing, except himself, and as he almost hesitantly rings the doorbell to the Niwa family home, he has a strange thought that, to Daisuke at least, simply bringing himself will be enough.
He also brings fruitcake, because that is the Christmas gift that every family simply cannot be without.
Emiko Niwa answers the door, and she is proof enough that bad blood can be difficult to forget. "I-I'm glad you could make it, S-Satoshi-kun..." she greets him, the smile on her face forced and the sweeping gesture that she makes to usher him into their home even more so. Her love of Dark is too strong for her to ever forgive him for his family's curse, but her love of Daisuke, at least, is willing to make her try.
Emiko Niwa is a lovely woman, but as is the case with anyone with the Niwa genes, she is simply too brilliant to look upon, her eyes boring into his like the fire of the sun that burns away any impurity, her face waging war over the constant battle of her admiration of one son, yet the love for another.
"Thank you for having me," Satoshi responds, quietly, and bows, before stepping past her stiff parody of greeting into the house. As he bends to take off his shoes, he swears he can hear her say, vehemently:
"We've burned all of your family's art, you know, so don't think that there's anything left for you to steal."
He looks into her eyes - her bluffing, wavering, and uncertain eyes - and knows that this is not true. The Niwas, in what is perhaps a cruel irony due to the nature of their fate, are all avid and eternal appreciators of art. It is both their redemption and their demise.
Satoshi takes a moment to close his brilliant blue eyes. They are all the more brilliant because he no longer has to hide them behind the shine of his glasses.
"I guess I'll have to settle for simply having dinner with you, then," he says, somberly, and has to glance up again at the sudden silence that statement brings upon Mrs. Niwa's end. Has to blink, then, at the sudden transformation he has wrought.
Her face is surprisingly easy to look upon when she smiles.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Daiki Niwa is recovering from a strained back brought about from the sealing ceremony two days ago, and as such is recovering on the family sofa with Wiz when Satoshi enters the Niwa's living room. Dark's former familiar makes its usual inquisitive noise when it sees him, before whimpering suddenly and all but flying under the old man's covers, to settle into a small, shaking ball from somewhere around Daiki's neck.
"Come on now, Wiz, it's only Daisuke's friend!" Daiki scolds, lifting the blanket to raise an eyebrow at the furry, frightened creature. Unable to convince the animal to come back out, he lets the blanket fall, and forces out a laugh that causes him to suddenly grimace in pain at the strain it puts on his injured back. "W-Well, you know, Wiz has always been shy around strangers, young man - "
"It smells its blood on me," Satoshi mutters, suddenly, eyes fixed on the floor and hands balled into fists at his sides. "Animals don't forget the face of someone who struck them down, no matter what sort of mask they might currently wear." His teeth bite into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood, and he remembers the helpless fear in that animal's eyes as it sank from view to the dark, cold mercy of the sea.
"Neither do people, it seems," Daiki points out, kindly, harsh lines of his fading into something benevolent, despite his pain. At his voice, Wiz pokes his head out from under the blanket cautiously, a pair of red eyes in the dark, and sniffs tentatively in the direction of Satoshi. Daiki pets him almost absent-mindedly on the head. "Those days are over for you, boy. No longer do you need to fear your own shadow. Both of our families worked hard to achieve that end. Just..." And here the old man's smile turned sheepish, "...in entirely opposite ways, you see? Human beings have always been like that. There's an old saying that goes...ah...what was it, again? 'Your line of sight only happens after you're twenty'? No, that's not it... 'Your mind's eye is a catch/22'? No, I don't think that's it, either..."
"'Hindsight is always 20/20'," Satoshi corrects him, and there is almost a smile flitting across that pale, drawn face. "That's what you wanted to say, wasn't it?"
"Something like that," Daiki admits curtly, gruff from embarrassment, and the creature Wiz unearths itself entirely from his nest of blankets to pad carefully towards Satoshi's feet.
"Kyuuu?" he queries, blinking his large, scarlet eyes, and sniffs the leg of Satoshi's pants with some curiosity. His nose travels upward, ever upward, until he's standing upright against Satoshi's leg and pawing at the bag the young man brought with unprecedented fervor.
"I envy your ability of free movement, Wiz," Daiki sighs from his place on the couch.
Wiz is looking back and forth between the white plastic shopping bag and Satoshi with unadulterated longing, and Satoshi blinks, rustles open the bag, and holds the piece of fruitcake that was inside out to Wiz with no small manner of cautiousness himself.
He couldn't be more surprised when the creature takes it, holds it up to the light, and scarfs it all down in a single bite.
Daiki laughs, and this time, it doesn't seem to cause him any pain.
"Well, how did you know, Satoshi-kun? Did Daisuke tell you or something? How did you know that Wiz just happens to love fruitcake?"
Satoshi shrugs, looks away, and can't bear to tell the man that he really had no idea, that he simply did not know.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Kosuke Niwa is in the hallway bringing the evening paper and a cup of white tea to Daiki when Satoshi steps past him, distinctly uncomfortable at the sudden sense of belonging he is starting to feel when he is faced with this family, and he has a sudden fear, then, that if he were to look up at this man, that on his face would be the same cruelty and cunning and rejection that Satoshi has faced all of his life, and that any illusion otherwise would forever remain a memory.
But when he finally does get the courage to glance up, Kosuke simply looks at him, politely, and on his face is the same affable, charming smile that Satoshi has seen so often in his dreams.
"Merry Christmas, Satoshi-kun," Daisuke's father greets, warmly, and breezes by him into the light of the living room.
Satoshi has no idea why he is suddenly so disappointed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"It's a, um, present," Daisuke stutters, and fidgets at his desk, hands wringing and unwringing into twisted shapes that remind Satoshi of his own shadow. In the taller boy's hands is a slender parcel wrapped in plain silver paper, void of any designation or design. There is a logical side of him that acknowledges that the package is very light, yet for some reason even he can't fathom, it hangs long and heavy in his cold hands.
"I... You...didn't have to," Satoshi parries uncomfortably, and the present moves just the slightest bit at the sudden shake of his hands. "I...didn't bring anything for you, so..."
"No, really, it's okay! I mean, I'm just glad you showed up, considering how busy you've probably been with all that business about your dad's...oh, uh, sorry..."
"Glad I...showed up?" Satoshi repeats, and has to stifle a sudden cynical laugh over how he'd been right about Daisuke's ridiculous sentimental values. Yet, if it hadn't been for those same stupid values...
"Yeah, of course!" Daisuke spins around entirely in his desk chair, as excited as a little kid. "Come on, open it!"
Satoshi doesn't want to, because if he is in debt to this family any more than he already is, then he fears that surely, one day, they will come for his soul. And he will have no choice but to give it to them, because it's simply all that they're owed, and he wants to hold on to at least some small fragment of what remains of the Hikari name.
But Daisuke smiles at him, and it's too much. It's just too...damned...much.
An obvious tremble to his fingers now, Satoshi solemnly peels back the silver wrapping.
Inside is a stylish gilt box, and inside that box is a remarkably unremarkable paintbrush. Bought at a child's craft store, no doubt, until Daisuke says:
"Umm...I, um... I'm not very good at carving, you see, so it kind of tilts at the one end...and the bristles are all out of whack on the left side, but... Well, that's why you don't have to worry about getting me anything, since this kind of sucks, anyway - "
"Thank you," Satoshi interrupts, sincerely, and means it. "I'll always keep it with me."
"O...oh, well," Daisuke stutters, a hand going to the back of his head and a flush forming its way across his cheeks, "you really don't have to...use it...or anything..."
"I will!" Satoshi declares, vehemently, and though he swore never again to play the role of art imitating life imitating art, he decides that for once, he will go ars gratia artis and see what he creates from there. "I swear to you, I will!"
Daisuke blinks, and there is a silence so loud that it is deafening.
"Dai-chan, dinner's ready!" Emiko calls from downstairs, and her voice breaks the spell; Daisuke leaps from his seat and dashes to the door, his usual honest grin breaking out across his face.
"Let's go! Everyone's waiting!"
But Satoshi lowers his head, a shadow crossing once again over his face, and his voice is barely audible as he mutters: "Go on ahead. You don't...mind if I stay here a little while, do you?"
"Huh?" Daisuke tilts his head in a way that is strangely remniscent of Wiz. "No, I don't mind, but... Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm...fine."
"...Okay... Well, you know where the bathroom is if you don't feel so hot. Come down soon, okay?"
Satoshi nods. His hands are gripping their paintbrush hard enough to snap it, but it doesn't break. Daisuke has made it of a stronger wood than that. "All right."
He can't breathe again until the sound of Daisuke's footsteps echoing down the stairs have completely faded from his head.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Daisuke is on his second plate when Satoshi finally joins them again, and honestly, he's relieved. Though Satoshi had finally stepped at last out into the light, the shadow he cast behind him was a long one, and Daisuke was always afraid that it would forever weigh him down, anchor him permanently in the past.
And honestly, Satoshi deserves better than that. No one deserves that.
He insists on serving the other boy himself when Satoshi finally joins them at the table, and though it makes his grandpa chuckle, and his mom and dad share a look between themselves that is just that short of knowing, Daisuke pushes past his embarrassment and does it anyway, finding a solace in the surprised and also slightly awkward look that Satoshi gives him when he serves him up the Christmas ham.
"Are you feeling better?" he asks, and his own voice is nearly drowned out by the voices of his family:
"Oh, dear! Are you sick, Satoshi-kun?"
"Did you, ah, want some water, or juice, or something?"
"Hold on, let me go free up the couch for you, young man..."
"Kyuuu!!!"
Daisuke tries with all his might not to laugh, but it's very hard when faced with the look Satoshi gives him after being surrounded by three very concerned, very overbearing Niwas, and a...wide-eyed, lop-eared, magical rabbit.
Satoshi finally reaches his breaking point, and looks down at his plate. "No, thank you, I'm all right..."
To Daisuke, it makes all the nicks and splinters he got carving that stupid paintbrush worth all the while.
~*~*~*~*~*~
He invites Satoshi to stay the night, but the other boy mumbles something about settling the affairs of his father's estate tomorrow and stuffs his feet into his shoes reluctantly, as though he too doesn't particularly wish to go. The moon waxes bright in the night sky, and it shines on Satoshi's pale face and hair, making him seem all the more a ghost.
But it is not so, because Dark sacrificed himself to protect the feelings Daisuke had towards a living human being, not a ghost, and therefore, he is pacified. He wonders, sometimes, if it was worth it, on nights when he is cold and alone and can look at Risa Harada's picture without blinking; sometimes he wonders if yes, saving the world and saving Satoshi at the cost of a curse was well worth the effort.
Then Satoshi will blink, owlishly, at any act of compassion or kindness, or he will do like he does now; casts his noble face towards the light of the moon as though basking in its glow - and Daisuke can confirm for himself that yes, this is the sort of thing that not only he, but also Dark, would gladly give up their lives to protect.
As he leaves, Satoshi says a very strange thing.
"It is said that when the Hikaris create an artwork, a soul is always embedded into it. Merry Christmas, Niwa."
As he walks away, Daisuke can see that the paintbrush he made for him is dripping with a substance that is as dark as night.
As dark as....
As dark...as...
As...dark...
He all but flies up the staircase to his bedroom door, floating on wings born of a sudden hope, and sure enough, when he bangs open the door to his bedroom hurriedly, sitting there on the easel is the spare canvas he had put aside for a rainy day, and on the canvas, paint still wet, is a newly-completed portrait of Dark.
Dark, as Daisuke knew him, with his rougish grin and sparkling eyes, with the slight way one of his teeth would poke out when he smiled, like a fang, with the way he let his hair fall into his face in order to charm the ladies, with his devilish yet good-natured sense of humor and his rough brand of outlaw justice and all the things that Daisuke himself had trouble seeing: the echo of an empty eternity, the countless melancholy of a thousand unrequited loves; yes, this was Dark, as he remembered him, and Daisuke dropped to his knees, his bedroom curtains ruffling a little bit with the force of his fall.
"It is said that when the Hikaris create an artwork, a soul is always embedded into it."
Daisuke cannot imagine himself painting Krad. He wonders just how much it cost Satoshi to breathe life into the portrait of the very thing he most hated and feared.
"Thank you...Hiwatari-kun," he whispers, and when he at last breaks down and cries, he has no idea if he is crying from sadness or happiness, or if the person he is crying for is Dark, Satoshi, or himself.
AN: Well, this sure ended bitterly. ELL OH ELLZ. I'm not really entirely satisfied with it, but since no one on my f-list reads nor watches D.N. Angel, at least I don't have to worry about anyone caring. :D (Except Hope, who will simply read it to spite my face. I WARNED YOU, IT'S NOT GOOD. AND KOSUKE WAS A BITCH.)
Also, new LJ update style FTL. D: