YnM Fic: Taking the Victory [PG; implied Tsuzuki/Hisoka]
So. Who ever thought they'd be seeing fic in this fandom from me again? I checked my website and it's been just over two years since my last Yami no Matsuei fic. It was surprisingly easy to get back into it, even if I had to look up how to spell JuOhCho again. Something like a future fic. Begun for contrelamontre's foliage challenge; finished when wordsofastory didn't seem entirely adverse to the idea of me poking around in the YnM fandom again. Um. Enjoy?
Title: Taking the Victory
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine. The little thing called not being able to draw proves that.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General series.
Words: ~1,700
Pairing: implied Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Summary: Even now, they still don't always learn from their mistakes. And then, sometimes they do.
Taking the Victory
It's difficult, sometimes, to live in a world where time never seems to pass.
Oh, it does in the shallowest ways: they complete their assigned cases, gather souls for JuOhCho, or prevent them from arriving too arrival. They solve strange deaths, or messes in the system. Souls come, souls go; some never leave. This is the nature of their work, their everyday lives, and in some ways it is the only marker of time actually moving.
It is almost always pleasant in Meifu, save for the occasional heat-wave or torrential downpour. Watari once asked, in an idle evening of supposed overtime that consisted of cold pizza and cheap sake downed while keeping an eye-out for Tatsumi, whether the weather was supposed to be a remember of their own infallibility. He had explained when Tsuzuki had looked at him blankly, wondering was it a reflection of their sins: apparently forgotten under the surface of the daily grind, endless paperwork, and calm weather; except for the unusual heat-wave, thunderstorm, and the little girl showing up dead seventy years before she was supposed to.
Tsuzuki had thought about it for several moments, the remains of his last gulp of sake burning at the back of his throat, and had finally said that maybe whoever was in control of the weather simply made the occasional mistake, before taking the bottle away from Watari and refusing to give it back.
Tsuzuki seemed to be the one who remembered the conversation the next day, Watari peevish thanks to a hangover and unsettled sleep, and he didn't bother to ever tell Watari what he really thought. Maybe it was different for everyone else, but he had never forgotten what actions had led him to becoming a Shinigami, and he never would, and he didn't need things like heat-waves or rainstorms to remind him.
No one ever grows old in Meifu. They remain the ages they were when they died, though everyone learns to recognise the older ones over time. Maybe it's the look in their eyes, or the hints of lines around their mouths, or the slow immunity they build up to the worst cases - no one knows, but the signs eventually appear.
And this is Tsuzuki's life. He gets up, sometimes hungover and sometimes not, dresses, and rushes to work, arriving a few minutes short of being late. There, he usually finds something edible that can be called a breakfast, and seeks out Hisoka. He doesn't mind that Hisoka's been in damnably early, neatly dressed and sipping his third cup of tea after sorting through the paperwork they need to have finished by today. Partners are supposed to complement each other, and he and Hisoka do that best.
Today, his tie is on wrong, his shirt collar is stained, and he can't hide the fact that he's been running flat-out for the past five minutes to get here on time. Hisoka raises an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over, and then hands him a cup of tea and a box of doughnuts, telling him to hide and eat until Tatsumi goes to meet with Konoe-Kachou.
They work in companionable silence until noon, Tsuzuki's stomach beginning to grumble about lunch. They settle for terrible, but somewhat edible, office food today, taking it out to the Sakura trees today. Tsuzuki breathes in deeply, temporarily forgetting, and then fights not to gag; the smell is overwhelmingly sweet, tainted with the undercurrent scent of rotting flowers that haven't been cleared away yet. Ironically, it is the prettiest things in Meifu that actually die.
Hisoka frowns. "Why did we come out here? The canteen would have been just fine." He hates this time of year, their equivalent to autumn, when the petals begin to die and what should be a pleasing scent begins to give him headaches. On second thoughts, Tsuzuki reflects wryly, maybe deciding to eat out here wasn't such a good idea.
"Sorry," he says, the words still slipping out as effortlessly as they did years before. Hisoka turns his head sharply, his eyes narrowing, as green as spring leaves and bright enough to pain anyone meeting his gaze, and eyes him sceptically. Tsuzuki shrugs, adding, "Do you want to go back inside?"
"No," Hisoka replies, his tone too sharp, and then pokes his rice in a moody silence too reminiscent of his early days as a Shinigami. Tsuzuki's mouth twists down and he bends his head, using his hair to shield his face. It shouldn't hurt, accidentally saying or doing the wrong thing, since they've both old pros at it by now, but it does, much more than he'll ever care to admit. He doesn't shield; there's no point.
They eat without speaking, Tsuzuki uncertain of what to say and Hisoka apparently not bothering. And then Hisoka puts away his box, carefully replacing his chopsticks and glances down at his side. The brief uncomfortable expression that flashes across his face alerts Tsuzuki and makes him lift his face. Hisoka coughs, picks up something and studies it intently for a long moment, before abruptly thrusting it into Tsuzuki's face.
"Here," he says. "Take it."
Tsuzuki blinks, going cross-eyed from trying to look at it, and then says, "Oh. Okay," and closes his hand carefully around the folded bulk of napkin. It's a dessert, he can tell from just holding it, and the smell tells him that it's his favourite before he's even uncovered it.
Hisoka very deliberately refuses to look at him, shoulders hunched and tense. His body language has slipped into defence mode, but Tsuzuki doesn't pay it much attention; too long in the field has meant that Hisoka adopts it almost unconsciously now, even if he's not in an uncomfortable situation, as uncommon as that is.
Then: "Sorry," Hisoka mutters under his breath, so quickly that Tsuzuki almost doesn't catch it.
Tsuzuki slowly smiles, and the pastry is fresh and soft when he swallows the first bite.
They slide back into familiar routines as they walk back towards the Shokan Division, Tsuzuki teasing and Hisoka automatically rebuffing even as he hides the corners of his mouth tilting up in a brief smile. And then a tall man, with a teenage appearance and bright blue eyes, crosses their path.
"Kurosaki-san," he says cheerfully, a large smile blossoming across his face. Tsuzuki watches as he starts to hold out his hand in greeting, before quickly drawing it back, his cheeks beginning to quickly flush. Tsuzuki allows himself a brief moment of smugness - even he would never do that - and then watches Hisoka flinch, the action so slight that most wouldn't notice it unless they knew what to look for.
The blue-eyed man doesn't notice, and Tsuzuki takes the victory for himself.
"Motomiya-kun," Hisoka says, and Tsuzuki is immediately reminded of how much he dislikes this man. One of the Shinigami that Hisoka had trained in when they were temporarily separated during a hectic influx of new recruits, Motomiya hadn't bothered being subtle in his opinions that Tsuzuki was too old for Hisoka, too lazy and disorganised, and depended on him far too much. Tsuzuki hadn't bothered in responding - anyone who mattered knew that Hisoka would eventually be older than Tsuzuki was when they'd first met, but anyone over a century old was considered three steps and a half-jump away from being practically senile. And Motomiya's opinion of Tsuzuki's fighting skills had been grudgingly reversed when he'd ended up being saved by him during his third mission, after which Motomiya had been stationed away from the Division as often as possible.
And seeing Hisoka unconsciously shift towards him as he continues to speak with Motomiya, Tsuzuki knows that they both depend on each other very much in different ways.
He dislikes Motomiya; he doesn't hate him. Tsuzuki prefers to save his hatred for those who deserve it.
The conversation thankfully ends soon after, and they continue on their way. Hisoka doesn't apologise for how awkward it was and Tsuzuki doesn't mention how he doesn't like Hisoka talking to him; some things do not, and should not, be said, and they're both old enough to know that some things need never be put into words. Hisoka keeps the conversations as brief as politeness towards an old trainee warrants; Tsuzuki tries to smile brighter and wider every time they cross paths with Motomiya.
"Want to do something tonight?" Tsuzuki asks when they reach their desks, and Hisoka glances at him as he sits down, before turning his attention to the think stack of papers waiting for them.
Hisoka picks up a pencil and taps it several times against a stapled pile of paper, before he says in a neutral voice, "All right. Any ideas?"
"Rent a film from Chijou?" Tsuzuki offers. "I'll even let you pick."
Hisoka looks at him harder this time, eyebrows jutting together and his mouth pursed, like he's searching Tsuzuki's face for a hint of a joke being played on him. "Okay," he says after a lengthy pause, returning to his reports.
"Good," Tsuzuki says, grinning, and leans back in his chair until the front legs come off the ground, deliberately ignoring the work they need to have finished. "And you can buy the popcorn."
Hisoka's head shoots up to look straight at him, his eyes flashing until a slow, wry smile spreads across his mouth. His face is still pale, stuck in an odd moment between the late teenage years and an approaching adulthood that he never reached, but the expression in his eyes is anything but young.
"All right," he agrees, and Tsuzuki thinks that was a surprisingly easy victory. "But only if you finish the paperwork by the end of the shift," Hisoka adds, his teeth flashing in a triumphant grin.
Tsuzuki would like to say that he was very graceful when he toppled back off his chair, but everyone present in the office that day would instantly win his cinnabon money for a month.
Title: Taking the Victory
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Not mine. The little thing called not being able to draw proves that.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: General series.
Words: ~1,700
Pairing: implied Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Summary: Even now, they still don't always learn from their mistakes. And then, sometimes they do.
Taking the Victory
It's difficult, sometimes, to live in a world where time never seems to pass.
Oh, it does in the shallowest ways: they complete their assigned cases, gather souls for JuOhCho, or prevent them from arriving too arrival. They solve strange deaths, or messes in the system. Souls come, souls go; some never leave. This is the nature of their work, their everyday lives, and in some ways it is the only marker of time actually moving.
It is almost always pleasant in Meifu, save for the occasional heat-wave or torrential downpour. Watari once asked, in an idle evening of supposed overtime that consisted of cold pizza and cheap sake downed while keeping an eye-out for Tatsumi, whether the weather was supposed to be a remember of their own infallibility. He had explained when Tsuzuki had looked at him blankly, wondering was it a reflection of their sins: apparently forgotten under the surface of the daily grind, endless paperwork, and calm weather; except for the unusual heat-wave, thunderstorm, and the little girl showing up dead seventy years before she was supposed to.
Tsuzuki had thought about it for several moments, the remains of his last gulp of sake burning at the back of his throat, and had finally said that maybe whoever was in control of the weather simply made the occasional mistake, before taking the bottle away from Watari and refusing to give it back.
Tsuzuki seemed to be the one who remembered the conversation the next day, Watari peevish thanks to a hangover and unsettled sleep, and he didn't bother to ever tell Watari what he really thought. Maybe it was different for everyone else, but he had never forgotten what actions had led him to becoming a Shinigami, and he never would, and he didn't need things like heat-waves or rainstorms to remind him.
No one ever grows old in Meifu. They remain the ages they were when they died, though everyone learns to recognise the older ones over time. Maybe it's the look in their eyes, or the hints of lines around their mouths, or the slow immunity they build up to the worst cases - no one knows, but the signs eventually appear.
And this is Tsuzuki's life. He gets up, sometimes hungover and sometimes not, dresses, and rushes to work, arriving a few minutes short of being late. There, he usually finds something edible that can be called a breakfast, and seeks out Hisoka. He doesn't mind that Hisoka's been in damnably early, neatly dressed and sipping his third cup of tea after sorting through the paperwork they need to have finished by today. Partners are supposed to complement each other, and he and Hisoka do that best.
Today, his tie is on wrong, his shirt collar is stained, and he can't hide the fact that he's been running flat-out for the past five minutes to get here on time. Hisoka raises an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over, and then hands him a cup of tea and a box of doughnuts, telling him to hide and eat until Tatsumi goes to meet with Konoe-Kachou.
They work in companionable silence until noon, Tsuzuki's stomach beginning to grumble about lunch. They settle for terrible, but somewhat edible, office food today, taking it out to the Sakura trees today. Tsuzuki breathes in deeply, temporarily forgetting, and then fights not to gag; the smell is overwhelmingly sweet, tainted with the undercurrent scent of rotting flowers that haven't been cleared away yet. Ironically, it is the prettiest things in Meifu that actually die.
Hisoka frowns. "Why did we come out here? The canteen would have been just fine." He hates this time of year, their equivalent to autumn, when the petals begin to die and what should be a pleasing scent begins to give him headaches. On second thoughts, Tsuzuki reflects wryly, maybe deciding to eat out here wasn't such a good idea.
"Sorry," he says, the words still slipping out as effortlessly as they did years before. Hisoka turns his head sharply, his eyes narrowing, as green as spring leaves and bright enough to pain anyone meeting his gaze, and eyes him sceptically. Tsuzuki shrugs, adding, "Do you want to go back inside?"
"No," Hisoka replies, his tone too sharp, and then pokes his rice in a moody silence too reminiscent of his early days as a Shinigami. Tsuzuki's mouth twists down and he bends his head, using his hair to shield his face. It shouldn't hurt, accidentally saying or doing the wrong thing, since they've both old pros at it by now, but it does, much more than he'll ever care to admit. He doesn't shield; there's no point.
They eat without speaking, Tsuzuki uncertain of what to say and Hisoka apparently not bothering. And then Hisoka puts away his box, carefully replacing his chopsticks and glances down at his side. The brief uncomfortable expression that flashes across his face alerts Tsuzuki and makes him lift his face. Hisoka coughs, picks up something and studies it intently for a long moment, before abruptly thrusting it into Tsuzuki's face.
"Here," he says. "Take it."
Tsuzuki blinks, going cross-eyed from trying to look at it, and then says, "Oh. Okay," and closes his hand carefully around the folded bulk of napkin. It's a dessert, he can tell from just holding it, and the smell tells him that it's his favourite before he's even uncovered it.
Hisoka very deliberately refuses to look at him, shoulders hunched and tense. His body language has slipped into defence mode, but Tsuzuki doesn't pay it much attention; too long in the field has meant that Hisoka adopts it almost unconsciously now, even if he's not in an uncomfortable situation, as uncommon as that is.
Then: "Sorry," Hisoka mutters under his breath, so quickly that Tsuzuki almost doesn't catch it.
Tsuzuki slowly smiles, and the pastry is fresh and soft when he swallows the first bite.
They slide back into familiar routines as they walk back towards the Shokan Division, Tsuzuki teasing and Hisoka automatically rebuffing even as he hides the corners of his mouth tilting up in a brief smile. And then a tall man, with a teenage appearance and bright blue eyes, crosses their path.
"Kurosaki-san," he says cheerfully, a large smile blossoming across his face. Tsuzuki watches as he starts to hold out his hand in greeting, before quickly drawing it back, his cheeks beginning to quickly flush. Tsuzuki allows himself a brief moment of smugness - even he would never do that - and then watches Hisoka flinch, the action so slight that most wouldn't notice it unless they knew what to look for.
The blue-eyed man doesn't notice, and Tsuzuki takes the victory for himself.
"Motomiya-kun," Hisoka says, and Tsuzuki is immediately reminded of how much he dislikes this man. One of the Shinigami that Hisoka had trained in when they were temporarily separated during a hectic influx of new recruits, Motomiya hadn't bothered being subtle in his opinions that Tsuzuki was too old for Hisoka, too lazy and disorganised, and depended on him far too much. Tsuzuki hadn't bothered in responding - anyone who mattered knew that Hisoka would eventually be older than Tsuzuki was when they'd first met, but anyone over a century old was considered three steps and a half-jump away from being practically senile. And Motomiya's opinion of Tsuzuki's fighting skills had been grudgingly reversed when he'd ended up being saved by him during his third mission, after which Motomiya had been stationed away from the Division as often as possible.
And seeing Hisoka unconsciously shift towards him as he continues to speak with Motomiya, Tsuzuki knows that they both depend on each other very much in different ways.
He dislikes Motomiya; he doesn't hate him. Tsuzuki prefers to save his hatred for those who deserve it.
The conversation thankfully ends soon after, and they continue on their way. Hisoka doesn't apologise for how awkward it was and Tsuzuki doesn't mention how he doesn't like Hisoka talking to him; some things do not, and should not, be said, and they're both old enough to know that some things need never be put into words. Hisoka keeps the conversations as brief as politeness towards an old trainee warrants; Tsuzuki tries to smile brighter and wider every time they cross paths with Motomiya.
"Want to do something tonight?" Tsuzuki asks when they reach their desks, and Hisoka glances at him as he sits down, before turning his attention to the think stack of papers waiting for them.
Hisoka picks up a pencil and taps it several times against a stapled pile of paper, before he says in a neutral voice, "All right. Any ideas?"
"Rent a film from Chijou?" Tsuzuki offers. "I'll even let you pick."
Hisoka looks at him harder this time, eyebrows jutting together and his mouth pursed, like he's searching Tsuzuki's face for a hint of a joke being played on him. "Okay," he says after a lengthy pause, returning to his reports.
"Good," Tsuzuki says, grinning, and leans back in his chair until the front legs come off the ground, deliberately ignoring the work they need to have finished. "And you can buy the popcorn."
Hisoka's head shoots up to look straight at him, his eyes flashing until a slow, wry smile spreads across his mouth. His face is still pale, stuck in an odd moment between the late teenage years and an approaching adulthood that he never reached, but the expression in his eyes is anything but young.
"All right," he agrees, and Tsuzuki thinks that was a surprisingly easy victory. "But only if you finish the paperwork by the end of the shift," Hisoka adds, his teeth flashing in a triumphant grin.
Tsuzuki would like to say that he was very graceful when he toppled back off his chair, but everyone present in the office that day would instantly win his cinnabon money for a month.