White and Black. Light and Darkness.
An AU or a future fic, depending how you choose to look at it.
My third Loveless fic, and far from the best so far, but I've decided to post it anyway, since it's always better to start with something alright and end with something great. At least I like deluding myself this way ;)
About Nisei speaking Spanish in it, try my other fic 'You are Nothing without Me', it will make it clearer probably.
I do not own Loveless.
White and Black. Light and Darkness.
Soubi would never, ever, make Seimei wait for him, for no reason. It wouldn’t matter to him whether he would have to skip classes, miss a lecture, not finish an assignment. He would always be earlier, in case Seimei would also wind up at the meeting place before the appointed time. He would stand quietly in front of Seimei’s school gates, not moving towards his Master without his permission. He would then follow in similar silence, until a question would be asked or an order to speak given. Only then would he speak, short sentences on neutral subjects, usually about Seimei’s day. They would go in that manner, Soubi three steps behind Seimei, to the Aoyagis’ house or Soubi’s flat. They would walk the same streets, pass the same shops and the same people as every other day, not really noticing them just as any other day. Seimei deep in his thoughts, about the last spell battle, about Ritsuka or about homework and Soubi focused on Seimei, his bidding and trying his best at not displeasing him with walking too fast, too slow, keeping an eye on him in the crowd, detecting any fighters in the area.
Nisei will always forget the time, be too late or far too early, forcing Seimei to wait for him after his classes have ended or calling him stubbornly in the middle of the lecture, persistent despite Seimei rejecting his calls, until Seimei will excuse himself from the classroom and answer his phone in the restroom. He will come to pick up his sacrifice on his Vespa, even though Seimei have insisted countless times before that he is a danger to himself and others driving it. Seimei will remind him once again not to use the Vespa anymore, and he will nod, and then hand Seimei a helmet with an expression that will leave Seimei certain that Nisei’s mind hasn’t really registered his words. Then he will drive some new, supposedly shortest route to their flat, stopping randomly in front of boutiques, claiming to do ‘window-shopping’. Seimei will threaten him with punishment and call him an idiot, but then some t-shirt will catch his attention and he will let his fighter go on and on about clothes that will match it. Then, Nisei will drive Seimei mad with his ranting about his professors, stupid classmates and endless assignments that he will have to find time to do, because he’s been threatened yet again with an expulsion. By the time they will reach their flat Seimei’s nerves will be tattered, because they have barely avoided a crash, but he will also forget about everything that angered him at school.
Whenever Seimei would go to Soubi’s after school, he would be treated to dinner. Soubi would sometimes spend more than an hour in the kitchen, slicing vegetables, preparing rice and fish, mashing tea... He would then serve a full meal nicely, using all the necessary plates, bowls, cups. Soubi’s dinner would always be fresh, hand-made with all his heart put into it along with the highest quality of ingredients. He would wait until Seimei ate his portion before he himself would eat, worrying if the dish pleased his Master. He would then serve green tea, which Seimei would not even look at, having had enough of it for his entire life. Seimei would sometimes finish his meal without uttering a word, sometimes voice his displeasure, never spare a praise. Soubi would remember everything that was said about the meal, so he would never repeat a mistake. After dinner, Soubi would serve dessert, usually some fruit salad. If he worked up enough courage, Soubi would ask what Seimei wanted for the next meal. It wouldn’t matter whether he came the next day or next week, he would be greeted with the said dish.
Seimei counts himself lucky whenever he finds something edible in their fridge. Unless he has done shopping, he is left with empty shelves. Nisei will always find some excuse, or worse, will volunteer to prepare dinner. Nisei will never simply cook, he will wreak havoc in the kitchen. He will come up with some ambitious dish that will be in the end reduced to mozzarella fried on olive oil, because, honestly, that is the top of his skills. Seimei will scold him, call him a failure and either try to save some of the food Nisei has wasted with his pitiful attempts or order something from a restaurant. He will rarely let Nisei do it, as it will mean agreeing to eat spaghetti with green stuff or some other Mediterranean dish with more salt in it than the entire Pacific Ocean. Seimei and Nisei will then together put the food on their own plates, or, if it is left to Nisei’s decision, eat it from the cartons it arrived in. Nisei will always break some cutlery, though, because he will never sit still while eating. Seimei will not even waste his breath on calling him off, he has already sensibly hidden their last full set in a cabinet in a guest room, where Nisei is least likely to find it. Then, Nisei will bring some cake, ice cream or other candy he actually remembered to buy on his way home. They will wolf it down watching the news or a comedy.
Soubi would always talk to Seimei with his deep smooth baritone unwavering, flat and emotionless. He would keep alert to every shift in Seimei’s posture, speaking even more quietly when he would notice any sign of irritation. He would try to calm him down with carefully chosen, beautifully pronounced words, that made him an invincible fighter. Soubi would never use any slang or even common phrases, sounding like a Japanese literature professor. He would laugh whenever Seimei would say a joke *and* say it was alright to laugh. His laughter would usually make Seimei angry, for it would never be as sincere as he wanted. Seimei would always use harsh tone with him, would order in cold voice and scold cruelly.
Nisei will always talk Seimei’s head off in his rather high voice that Seimei would classify as tenor and send Nisei mad telling him he sounds like a girl. He will carry on for endless minutes, his words becoming incomprehensible after a while, for he will start speaking with an accent. His Japanese will never sound as clear as Soubi’s, and when Seimei will tease him causing him lose his non-existent patience, he will curse him in Spanish, delighted with the knowledge his sacrifice will never know he’s just called him a ‘bastard’, ‘cretin’ and ‘sick son of a whore’. Seimei will let him, for it amuses him to hear the language that will never cease to make the fighter seem much less dangerous and dark.
Soubi would carry on his orders without a second of hesitation, no matter the subject. He would kill and buy flowers in the same stoic manner, without question. He would become totally lost without Seimei’s words to guide him, standing in the corner like some marionette waiting for its turn on a stage. He would beg for a command like a dog, like a dog silently take any punishment, always loyal to its owner. Soubi would never ask Seimei questions, for it was not his place to demand information, but provide answers.
Nisei will never allow Seimei to keep him in the dark about anything, neither fighting a new pair nor buying a book about taking care of a bonsai. He will come up with hundreds of questions, doubts and suspicions about Seimei’s plans and even though in the end he will do as Seimei have ordered, he will do everything in his might to make his sacrifice change his mind about something he doesn’t feel convinced about. He will never welcome commands concerning everyday life, claiming to be able to decide what to wear on his own. But at the same time, he will never skip a chance to give Seimei advice, either to really make his life easier or to simply rile him up.
Soubi would never touch him unless allowed. Soubi would never come to his room and misplace all his CDs to take a revenge for ignoring him while Seimei was reading a book. Soubi would never use up all his hair conditioner because he ‘liked how it smelled’. Soubi would never, ever put blue dye in his shampoo just because it was April 1st. Soubi would never turn the music on in the middle of the night because ‘he felt like it’. Soubi would never come to his class during a lecture, kneel down in front of him and beg him in a teary voice to call his college principal and explain to him that he didn’t mean to be late for an annual assembly, but it wasn’t his fault that the Vespa broke down at the middle of the crossing and convince him that expelling him wasn’t necessary and that it would never happen again. Soubi would never conveniently forget about spilled flour and leave it to Seimei to tidy up. Soubi would never drink all of Seimei’s favourite cappuccino because he was ‘far too tired’ to buy latte he actually preferred.
Soubi would never make Seimei laugh like Nisei does. Soubi would never convince Seimei to play truant just to go shopping in Ginza. Soubi would never take Seimei to the coast to do surfing, even though neither of them have ever tried it before. Soubi would never borrow films like ‘Ocean’s Eleven’ or ‘The Pirates of the Caribbean’ to lighten Seimei’s mood. Soubi would never take Seimei to the most fashionable, posh clubs in Tokyo and get them both drunk and blissfully unaware of the events of the night next morning. Soubi would never make Seimei feel like the only one who has ever cared enough to notice a person in a lunatic.
Soubi would never make love to Seimei for an entire night, taking him to heaven and back. He would never make Seimei’s mind clouded with desire, make him see there is something more than a sacrifice and a fighter between them. Soubi would never lay himself down on Seimei’s torso, whispering passionate words with his hot breath caressing his ear, neck, lips... He would never speak to him in that mixture of unintelligible Japanese and Spanish, calling him ‘mi Amado’, ‘my Beloved’, ‘mi Cariño’, ‘mi Vida’... He would never say ‘Suki dayo’ and truly mean it with his whole warped being...
My third Loveless fic, and far from the best so far, but I've decided to post it anyway, since it's always better to start with something alright and end with something great. At least I like deluding myself this way ;)
About Nisei speaking Spanish in it, try my other fic 'You are Nothing without Me', it will make it clearer probably.
I do not own Loveless.
White and Black. Light and Darkness.
Soubi would never, ever, make Seimei wait for him, for no reason. It wouldn’t matter to him whether he would have to skip classes, miss a lecture, not finish an assignment. He would always be earlier, in case Seimei would also wind up at the meeting place before the appointed time. He would stand quietly in front of Seimei’s school gates, not moving towards his Master without his permission. He would then follow in similar silence, until a question would be asked or an order to speak given. Only then would he speak, short sentences on neutral subjects, usually about Seimei’s day. They would go in that manner, Soubi three steps behind Seimei, to the Aoyagis’ house or Soubi’s flat. They would walk the same streets, pass the same shops and the same people as every other day, not really noticing them just as any other day. Seimei deep in his thoughts, about the last spell battle, about Ritsuka or about homework and Soubi focused on Seimei, his bidding and trying his best at not displeasing him with walking too fast, too slow, keeping an eye on him in the crowd, detecting any fighters in the area.
Nisei will always forget the time, be too late or far too early, forcing Seimei to wait for him after his classes have ended or calling him stubbornly in the middle of the lecture, persistent despite Seimei rejecting his calls, until Seimei will excuse himself from the classroom and answer his phone in the restroom. He will come to pick up his sacrifice on his Vespa, even though Seimei have insisted countless times before that he is a danger to himself and others driving it. Seimei will remind him once again not to use the Vespa anymore, and he will nod, and then hand Seimei a helmet with an expression that will leave Seimei certain that Nisei’s mind hasn’t really registered his words. Then he will drive some new, supposedly shortest route to their flat, stopping randomly in front of boutiques, claiming to do ‘window-shopping’. Seimei will threaten him with punishment and call him an idiot, but then some t-shirt will catch his attention and he will let his fighter go on and on about clothes that will match it. Then, Nisei will drive Seimei mad with his ranting about his professors, stupid classmates and endless assignments that he will have to find time to do, because he’s been threatened yet again with an expulsion. By the time they will reach their flat Seimei’s nerves will be tattered, because they have barely avoided a crash, but he will also forget about everything that angered him at school.
Whenever Seimei would go to Soubi’s after school, he would be treated to dinner. Soubi would sometimes spend more than an hour in the kitchen, slicing vegetables, preparing rice and fish, mashing tea... He would then serve a full meal nicely, using all the necessary plates, bowls, cups. Soubi’s dinner would always be fresh, hand-made with all his heart put into it along with the highest quality of ingredients. He would wait until Seimei ate his portion before he himself would eat, worrying if the dish pleased his Master. He would then serve green tea, which Seimei would not even look at, having had enough of it for his entire life. Seimei would sometimes finish his meal without uttering a word, sometimes voice his displeasure, never spare a praise. Soubi would remember everything that was said about the meal, so he would never repeat a mistake. After dinner, Soubi would serve dessert, usually some fruit salad. If he worked up enough courage, Soubi would ask what Seimei wanted for the next meal. It wouldn’t matter whether he came the next day or next week, he would be greeted with the said dish.
Seimei counts himself lucky whenever he finds something edible in their fridge. Unless he has done shopping, he is left with empty shelves. Nisei will always find some excuse, or worse, will volunteer to prepare dinner. Nisei will never simply cook, he will wreak havoc in the kitchen. He will come up with some ambitious dish that will be in the end reduced to mozzarella fried on olive oil, because, honestly, that is the top of his skills. Seimei will scold him, call him a failure and either try to save some of the food Nisei has wasted with his pitiful attempts or order something from a restaurant. He will rarely let Nisei do it, as it will mean agreeing to eat spaghetti with green stuff or some other Mediterranean dish with more salt in it than the entire Pacific Ocean. Seimei and Nisei will then together put the food on their own plates, or, if it is left to Nisei’s decision, eat it from the cartons it arrived in. Nisei will always break some cutlery, though, because he will never sit still while eating. Seimei will not even waste his breath on calling him off, he has already sensibly hidden their last full set in a cabinet in a guest room, where Nisei is least likely to find it. Then, Nisei will bring some cake, ice cream or other candy he actually remembered to buy on his way home. They will wolf it down watching the news or a comedy.
Soubi would always talk to Seimei with his deep smooth baritone unwavering, flat and emotionless. He would keep alert to every shift in Seimei’s posture, speaking even more quietly when he would notice any sign of irritation. He would try to calm him down with carefully chosen, beautifully pronounced words, that made him an invincible fighter. Soubi would never use any slang or even common phrases, sounding like a Japanese literature professor. He would laugh whenever Seimei would say a joke *and* say it was alright to laugh. His laughter would usually make Seimei angry, for it would never be as sincere as he wanted. Seimei would always use harsh tone with him, would order in cold voice and scold cruelly.
Nisei will always talk Seimei’s head off in his rather high voice that Seimei would classify as tenor and send Nisei mad telling him he sounds like a girl. He will carry on for endless minutes, his words becoming incomprehensible after a while, for he will start speaking with an accent. His Japanese will never sound as clear as Soubi’s, and when Seimei will tease him causing him lose his non-existent patience, he will curse him in Spanish, delighted with the knowledge his sacrifice will never know he’s just called him a ‘bastard’, ‘cretin’ and ‘sick son of a whore’. Seimei will let him, for it amuses him to hear the language that will never cease to make the fighter seem much less dangerous and dark.
Soubi would carry on his orders without a second of hesitation, no matter the subject. He would kill and buy flowers in the same stoic manner, without question. He would become totally lost without Seimei’s words to guide him, standing in the corner like some marionette waiting for its turn on a stage. He would beg for a command like a dog, like a dog silently take any punishment, always loyal to its owner. Soubi would never ask Seimei questions, for it was not his place to demand information, but provide answers.
Nisei will never allow Seimei to keep him in the dark about anything, neither fighting a new pair nor buying a book about taking care of a bonsai. He will come up with hundreds of questions, doubts and suspicions about Seimei’s plans and even though in the end he will do as Seimei have ordered, he will do everything in his might to make his sacrifice change his mind about something he doesn’t feel convinced about. He will never welcome commands concerning everyday life, claiming to be able to decide what to wear on his own. But at the same time, he will never skip a chance to give Seimei advice, either to really make his life easier or to simply rile him up.
Soubi would never touch him unless allowed. Soubi would never come to his room and misplace all his CDs to take a revenge for ignoring him while Seimei was reading a book. Soubi would never use up all his hair conditioner because he ‘liked how it smelled’. Soubi would never, ever put blue dye in his shampoo just because it was April 1st. Soubi would never turn the music on in the middle of the night because ‘he felt like it’. Soubi would never come to his class during a lecture, kneel down in front of him and beg him in a teary voice to call his college principal and explain to him that he didn’t mean to be late for an annual assembly, but it wasn’t his fault that the Vespa broke down at the middle of the crossing and convince him that expelling him wasn’t necessary and that it would never happen again. Soubi would never conveniently forget about spilled flour and leave it to Seimei to tidy up. Soubi would never drink all of Seimei’s favourite cappuccino because he was ‘far too tired’ to buy latte he actually preferred.
Soubi would never make Seimei laugh like Nisei does. Soubi would never convince Seimei to play truant just to go shopping in Ginza. Soubi would never take Seimei to the coast to do surfing, even though neither of them have ever tried it before. Soubi would never borrow films like ‘Ocean’s Eleven’ or ‘The Pirates of the Caribbean’ to lighten Seimei’s mood. Soubi would never take Seimei to the most fashionable, posh clubs in Tokyo and get them both drunk and blissfully unaware of the events of the night next morning. Soubi would never make Seimei feel like the only one who has ever cared enough to notice a person in a lunatic.
Soubi would never make love to Seimei for an entire night, taking him to heaven and back. He would never make Seimei’s mind clouded with desire, make him see there is something more than a sacrifice and a fighter between them. Soubi would never lay himself down on Seimei’s torso, whispering passionate words with his hot breath caressing his ear, neck, lips... He would never speak to him in that mixture of unintelligible Japanese and Spanish, calling him ‘mi Amado’, ‘my Beloved’, ‘mi Cariño’, ‘mi Vida’... He would never say ‘Suki dayo’ and truly mean it with his whole warped being...