Kyou Kara Maou: "Encore"
Warnings: This fic contains S/S, which may stunt the growth of all other pairing interests. This fic also contains a pairing that is not S/S. Approach with caution. A somewhat questionable happy ending. Continuation of Last Dance. Beta-read by the wonderful sora_ishida ♥
.encore.
It all seemed so prosaic in the light of day. Murata fixed the tie of his school uniform and fixed a familiar smile on his face. He snatched the toast his sister had probably been making for herself, and he slid out the door with an impish snicker before she could catch him. He went to class and drummed his pen against his notebook, paying attention because there was no reason not to, nothing more important to think about anymore. The sky was clear and muted.
He met up with Shibuya in the park. The young Maou welcomed him with a cheerful wave and they talked about ice cream flavors and baseball.
It was Shibuya who first mentioned what had happened. If it had been Murata's choice, perhaps it would never have come up at all. He wasn't especially looking forward to talking about it.
"I was really happy," Shibuya said, "when I figured out what you were doing... I didn't want to think that you'd betrayed me."
He wasn't really looking forward to the guilt. "I'm sorry it had to happen that way," he said, adjusting his glasses with a private sigh. "It was important-- He needed to be within you, or else you wouldn't be able to see through the darkness around his soul. It was too strong."
Before the power of the Sovereign filled him, the Shinou's spirit had become so lost in the thick wall of darkness that surrounded it that he hadn't even been able to hear or sense what was going on around him. Even four thousand years of battle hadn't been able to take that away from him. It had been the end of everything -- the final deterioration of his light.
Murata couldn't forget, might never be able to forget, the peaceful smile that had crossed that beloved face as the Shinou faded away, and the tears in Shibuya's eyes as he dispensed mercy.
It was funny, Murata had always thought, that four thousand years and dozens of lives had changed and faded so much, but it had not dimmed the memory of blue-flame eyes, or the deep abiding longing that had belonged to much more than a single lifetime. That desire had been seared into his very soul. Freeing the Shinou from his suffering was both the pinnacle of all he'd hoped for and the destruction of everything he'd ever wanted.
"I'm sorry," Shibuya said, startling the other boy from the memory. "I wanted to save him."
"You did save him, Shibuya." All else aside, there was no blame on his shoulders. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had had the strength to do it at all.
"Yes, but..." The half-demon wore a look of interminable sadness. It was just like Shibuya to mourn even the necessary sacrifices.
They were silent for a while then, two ordinary boys eating ice cream on a bench in the park. They could pretend, like this, that neither of them were tired of war and fighting, that neither of them had ever known loss or despair. It was easier to pretend.
Then Shibuya said suddenly, "I remember what happened, when he was in my body."
Shock straightened Murata's spine. It had all seemed so private, so personal -- that intimacy, those words so real that they bled -- that it seemed impossible that Shibuya could remember. He certainly shouldn't, for his own comfort, considering what had happened.
Murata kept from flushing and giving himself away. He laughed it off, saying, "What do you remember?"
"Everything." It was clear from the way Shibuya wasn't looking at him, playing nervously with the remnants of his ice cream, that they were thinking of the same thing.
Thinking about soft lips and longing words. "That must be a little awkward," Murata said, feeling rather sorry for Shibuya, and for himself. "I--"
"You really loved him, didn't you?"
They were facing each other now, Shibuya's eyes unfathomably dark and sympathetic, almost moreso than Murata wanted to see, bringing all that pain back to the surface. If the memory disturbed the other youth at all, there was no sign of it.
"I-- Yes." Murata twisted his fingers together. He didn't want to talk about it. "I think, by the time you spend four thousand years with someone, you either have to love them or hate them, right?"
"He cared about you more than anything."
That quiet statement, spoken with such certainty, made it so hard to breathe. Murata shook his head, trying to dispel the sudden desperate loneliness that stuck in his throat, making speech impossible.
Shibuya continued, almost ruthless in his mercy, "He thought that... even if it was only for a little while, it was all worth it to be able to be with you at the end."
Murata was about to force out something, to tell him to stop, stop with this cruelty, leave the wounds to bleed and scar on their own, or he would destroy a peace that had taken four thousand years to build. But when he lifted his head he saw that same ache reflected in Shibuya's features, and then the other boy looked away quickly.
You were there with him, he realized all at once. You felt what he felt, didn't you?
You still do.
The thought sent a fluttering awareness through Murata -- he wasn't sure what it meant. He was intrigued by the shadow of his lover's heart, emotions so strong that they had burned through into the body he wore; or he was hopeful that he didn't have to be alone after all; or maybe it was just something about Shibuya. There were some things that didn't get easier to understand with accumulating time.
"Sorry," the young half-demon said, laughing a bit. "That sounded kind of weird, huh?"
Murata slid closer and leaned his forehead into Shibuya's shoulder. The other youth's tense form stiffened further, and Murata ignored him, just settling arms around his waist until they were aligned from hip to collar. Please... just for a moment...
Just let me have this moment.
He could hear Shibuya's heart beating, fast in nervous expectation. But Shibuya didn't push him away, and very slowly, an arm slipped over his back tentatively.
"Thank you so much," Murata found himself saying. He couldn't think of anything else to say. "Thank you so much -- for everything, Shibuya."
"Yuuri," the other boy insisted, his voice a reluctant whisper. "Just Yuuri."
He didn't know how they started kissing, but the hush that had fallen over the park seemed to lift as they sat there. It might not be real, it might not last, but for right now, Murata felt the sun warm his skin, and he was grateful.
Gratitude was sweet and strong, like love.
.encore.
It all seemed so prosaic in the light of day. Murata fixed the tie of his school uniform and fixed a familiar smile on his face. He snatched the toast his sister had probably been making for herself, and he slid out the door with an impish snicker before she could catch him. He went to class and drummed his pen against his notebook, paying attention because there was no reason not to, nothing more important to think about anymore. The sky was clear and muted.
He met up with Shibuya in the park. The young Maou welcomed him with a cheerful wave and they talked about ice cream flavors and baseball.
It was Shibuya who first mentioned what had happened. If it had been Murata's choice, perhaps it would never have come up at all. He wasn't especially looking forward to talking about it.
"I was really happy," Shibuya said, "when I figured out what you were doing... I didn't want to think that you'd betrayed me."
He wasn't really looking forward to the guilt. "I'm sorry it had to happen that way," he said, adjusting his glasses with a private sigh. "It was important-- He needed to be within you, or else you wouldn't be able to see through the darkness around his soul. It was too strong."
Before the power of the Sovereign filled him, the Shinou's spirit had become so lost in the thick wall of darkness that surrounded it that he hadn't even been able to hear or sense what was going on around him. Even four thousand years of battle hadn't been able to take that away from him. It had been the end of everything -- the final deterioration of his light.
Murata couldn't forget, might never be able to forget, the peaceful smile that had crossed that beloved face as the Shinou faded away, and the tears in Shibuya's eyes as he dispensed mercy.
It was funny, Murata had always thought, that four thousand years and dozens of lives had changed and faded so much, but it had not dimmed the memory of blue-flame eyes, or the deep abiding longing that had belonged to much more than a single lifetime. That desire had been seared into his very soul. Freeing the Shinou from his suffering was both the pinnacle of all he'd hoped for and the destruction of everything he'd ever wanted.
"I'm sorry," Shibuya said, startling the other boy from the memory. "I wanted to save him."
"You did save him, Shibuya." All else aside, there was no blame on his shoulders. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had had the strength to do it at all.
"Yes, but..." The half-demon wore a look of interminable sadness. It was just like Shibuya to mourn even the necessary sacrifices.
They were silent for a while then, two ordinary boys eating ice cream on a bench in the park. They could pretend, like this, that neither of them were tired of war and fighting, that neither of them had ever known loss or despair. It was easier to pretend.
Then Shibuya said suddenly, "I remember what happened, when he was in my body."
Shock straightened Murata's spine. It had all seemed so private, so personal -- that intimacy, those words so real that they bled -- that it seemed impossible that Shibuya could remember. He certainly shouldn't, for his own comfort, considering what had happened.
Murata kept from flushing and giving himself away. He laughed it off, saying, "What do you remember?"
"Everything." It was clear from the way Shibuya wasn't looking at him, playing nervously with the remnants of his ice cream, that they were thinking of the same thing.
Thinking about soft lips and longing words. "That must be a little awkward," Murata said, feeling rather sorry for Shibuya, and for himself. "I--"
"You really loved him, didn't you?"
They were facing each other now, Shibuya's eyes unfathomably dark and sympathetic, almost moreso than Murata wanted to see, bringing all that pain back to the surface. If the memory disturbed the other youth at all, there was no sign of it.
"I-- Yes." Murata twisted his fingers together. He didn't want to talk about it. "I think, by the time you spend four thousand years with someone, you either have to love them or hate them, right?"
"He cared about you more than anything."
That quiet statement, spoken with such certainty, made it so hard to breathe. Murata shook his head, trying to dispel the sudden desperate loneliness that stuck in his throat, making speech impossible.
Shibuya continued, almost ruthless in his mercy, "He thought that... even if it was only for a little while, it was all worth it to be able to be with you at the end."
Murata was about to force out something, to tell him to stop, stop with this cruelty, leave the wounds to bleed and scar on their own, or he would destroy a peace that had taken four thousand years to build. But when he lifted his head he saw that same ache reflected in Shibuya's features, and then the other boy looked away quickly.
You were there with him, he realized all at once. You felt what he felt, didn't you?
You still do.
The thought sent a fluttering awareness through Murata -- he wasn't sure what it meant. He was intrigued by the shadow of his lover's heart, emotions so strong that they had burned through into the body he wore; or he was hopeful that he didn't have to be alone after all; or maybe it was just something about Shibuya. There were some things that didn't get easier to understand with accumulating time.
"Sorry," the young half-demon said, laughing a bit. "That sounded kind of weird, huh?"
Murata slid closer and leaned his forehead into Shibuya's shoulder. The other youth's tense form stiffened further, and Murata ignored him, just settling arms around his waist until they were aligned from hip to collar. Please... just for a moment...
Just let me have this moment.
He could hear Shibuya's heart beating, fast in nervous expectation. But Shibuya didn't push him away, and very slowly, an arm slipped over his back tentatively.
"Thank you so much," Murata found himself saying. He couldn't think of anything else to say. "Thank you so much -- for everything, Shibuya."
"Yuuri," the other boy insisted, his voice a reluctant whisper. "Just Yuuri."
He didn't know how they started kissing, but the hush that had fallen over the park seemed to lift as they sat there. It might not be real, it might not last, but for right now, Murata felt the sun warm his skin, and he was grateful.
Gratitude was sweet and strong, like love.