Aware of Emptiness for watchersprout
Title: Aware of Emptiness
Fandom: Saiyuki
Rating: If you're old enough to read/watch the series, you're old enough to read this.
Notes: For watchersprout, who asked for Hakkai-centric fic. With thanks to yukihada for the reassurance.
At the orphanage, his clothes had been interchangeable with the others' clothes. Not just interchangeable-- interchanged at every laundry day. Even his cherished books had not really been his own. They had belonged to the library, even if no one else read them. And if Gonou could have accepted that and smiled and played as he was supposed to, he would have become interchangeable with the other orphans and rejects, and eventually he might have been placed, interchangeable with some happy couple's imagined child.
But he didn't. The most he managed was a feigned pleasantness, which he discovered could be off-putting as often as reassuring to the sisters.
When he was older, he secured a teaching job in a nearby town. The job came with a house, fully furnished, none of it his.
And then he met Kanan. And she was ... beautiful. Clever. Family. His.
Then she was gone. And he had nothing.
He was right back where he started. Life was funny that way, he thought, as his eyes slipped closed.
***
Hell, he discovered when he awoke, was surprisingly anticlimactic.
Surprisingly thorough, as well, though that took him far longer to ascertain.
Gonou lay in a bed that wasn't his, in a small and unkempt home that wasn't his, surrounded by second- and third- hand furnishings covered with equal parts clutter and trash (none of it his). The devil that leaned into his limited field of view had eyes and hair red as blood, but did not resemble Kanan, and in a matter of a few cryptic sentences had convinced him that he was still alive.
It felt vaguely like another betrayal. Well, that was soon fixed.
***
"Desire is the root cause of suffering," Hakkai replied. After much practice, his voice struck the correct balance between clear and modest. A soft, approving murmur went through the monks gathered in the temple courtyard.
Sanzo snorted. "Nice recitation," he muttered around his cigarette. Silence fell over the courtyard, interrupted only by the clicking of the flint in Sanzo's lighter.
Several monks' faces twisted up at the disruption, like children eating lemons. They were affronted again, although they attempted not to show it. Hakkai was learning that that was a usual reaction to Genjou Sanzo among the more outwardly devout. He quickly ducked his head - it made him appear still more humble and served to hide his smile.
The cigarette caught. Sanzo's attention moved outward. "What?" he snapped.
The most senior monk stepped forward. "We are trying to determine whether this penitent is ready to leave the temple grounds."
Sanzo's gaze flicked across the group dismissively, then rested for a moment on Hakkai. Sanzo had mastered the trick of making one feel he could see right into a person's essence. Hakkai bore the look with a polite smile and refused to fidget. "Whether he is or not, there's nothing you can do for him. Let him decide for himself."
He stalked off, robes flapping noisily around his legs. The other monks might not approve of his attitude, but his word on spiritual matters was final. Hakkai knew he had been handed an unearned freedom to go with the new name. And nothing at all was his.
***
Bright red hair glinted from a side street across the marketplace. His admonition, as he'd once called it, now served as beacon fire to catch his eye. It also hid from view the face of the woman with whom Gojyo spoke. Hakkai watched as he moved closer into the young woman's space, his breath doubtless brushing hot against her ear as he spoke sweet, meaningless words. Hakkai smiled, turned away, and finished their shopping. He made a few adjustments to dinner, so it would keep a little better for when Gojyo sauntered in, hours late, puffed up and smelling of perfume flowers. He didn't mind.
The women were interchangeable.
Gojyo was his.
Fandom: Saiyuki
Rating: If you're old enough to read/watch the series, you're old enough to read this.
Notes: For watchersprout, who asked for Hakkai-centric fic. With thanks to yukihada for the reassurance.
At the orphanage, his clothes had been interchangeable with the others' clothes. Not just interchangeable-- interchanged at every laundry day. Even his cherished books had not really been his own. They had belonged to the library, even if no one else read them. And if Gonou could have accepted that and smiled and played as he was supposed to, he would have become interchangeable with the other orphans and rejects, and eventually he might have been placed, interchangeable with some happy couple's imagined child.
But he didn't. The most he managed was a feigned pleasantness, which he discovered could be off-putting as often as reassuring to the sisters.
When he was older, he secured a teaching job in a nearby town. The job came with a house, fully furnished, none of it his.
And then he met Kanan. And she was ... beautiful. Clever. Family. His.
Then she was gone. And he had nothing.
He was right back where he started. Life was funny that way, he thought, as his eyes slipped closed.
***
Hell, he discovered when he awoke, was surprisingly anticlimactic.
Surprisingly thorough, as well, though that took him far longer to ascertain.
Gonou lay in a bed that wasn't his, in a small and unkempt home that wasn't his, surrounded by second- and third- hand furnishings covered with equal parts clutter and trash (none of it his). The devil that leaned into his limited field of view had eyes and hair red as blood, but did not resemble Kanan, and in a matter of a few cryptic sentences had convinced him that he was still alive.
It felt vaguely like another betrayal. Well, that was soon fixed.
***
"Desire is the root cause of suffering," Hakkai replied. After much practice, his voice struck the correct balance between clear and modest. A soft, approving murmur went through the monks gathered in the temple courtyard.
Sanzo snorted. "Nice recitation," he muttered around his cigarette. Silence fell over the courtyard, interrupted only by the clicking of the flint in Sanzo's lighter.
Several monks' faces twisted up at the disruption, like children eating lemons. They were affronted again, although they attempted not to show it. Hakkai was learning that that was a usual reaction to Genjou Sanzo among the more outwardly devout. He quickly ducked his head - it made him appear still more humble and served to hide his smile.
The cigarette caught. Sanzo's attention moved outward. "What?" he snapped.
The most senior monk stepped forward. "We are trying to determine whether this penitent is ready to leave the temple grounds."
Sanzo's gaze flicked across the group dismissively, then rested for a moment on Hakkai. Sanzo had mastered the trick of making one feel he could see right into a person's essence. Hakkai bore the look with a polite smile and refused to fidget. "Whether he is or not, there's nothing you can do for him. Let him decide for himself."
He stalked off, robes flapping noisily around his legs. The other monks might not approve of his attitude, but his word on spiritual matters was final. Hakkai knew he had been handed an unearned freedom to go with the new name. And nothing at all was his.
***
Bright red hair glinted from a side street across the marketplace. His admonition, as he'd once called it, now served as beacon fire to catch his eye. It also hid from view the face of the woman with whom Gojyo spoke. Hakkai watched as he moved closer into the young woman's space, his breath doubtless brushing hot against her ear as he spoke sweet, meaningless words. Hakkai smiled, turned away, and finished their shopping. He made a few adjustments to dinner, so it would keep a little better for when Gojyo sauntered in, hours late, puffed up and smelling of perfume flowers. He didn't mind.
The women were interchangeable.
Gojyo was his.