[30² Saint Seiya Themes] (PG-13) Bind
Title: Bind
Author: scorpioyue
Character: Leo Aiolia
List: B
Theme: #8. Kidnapping, #20. Done by force, #24. Neck
Warnings: Shura's POV. A bit of Shura x Aiolia. Around 2304 words.
Disclaimer: Saint Seiya © M. Kurumada, Shueisha & Toei Animation.
Also written for 31_days' theme for May 31 : There are traces of blood in a fairy tale. Couldn't finish on time, but I'm using the theme anyway.
Also, with this fic I finish all 30 themes with Ria. Go me~ *notices she has yet 25 themes to finish with Aiakos, despairs*
Bind
Sagittarius has been dead for too long.
When the night fell, those same words came to his mind over and over again.
There’s nothing that can be done, the other Saints had also said, as if they felt guilty for being alive when the one who deserved life the most couldn’t be brought back.
Shura winced after remembering the comments spoken in undertones, feeling his heart shrivel a little more every time, if that was even possible. It had been too late to ask for forgiveness when he decided to believe Shiryu, and it was too late now that the Ninth Temple continued deserted; its emptiness a constant reminder of what he had done.
There were moments when he was sure he despised himself, and others when he couldn’t even tell what hurt so damn much: the memories he had once considered soiled or the guilt. Sometimes he thought that it was really a pity that he couldn’t bring himself to tear up his chest, but he had come to the conclusion that what stopped him was the need of paying for all his sins. At least that was the only explanation that made sense, considering that ripping his heart would have been quite an easy task for someone like him.
Atonement seemed to be an unattainable goal though. Athena had forgiven them all and had blessed them with a second chance to reconstruct their lives.
But such thing was beyond his reach. For him the days were empty, quickly buried in his memory as if they were something insignificant and old. Shura himself felt that way, perhaps because the battles wear down just as the pass of the years would, and he had been at war ever since that day.
In the outside his standpoint had been clear all the time: he was determined to forget Aiolos had ever been his friend, because clinging to a traitor’s memory was simply inadmissible. However, within him it had been more complicated than that. He had sought strength in justice to the point of blindness and he had gone on for years like this, finally opening his eyes to the truth when making amends was no longer possible.
Unless...
No. Reaching for him was out of the question.
Aiolia was far away, too consumed by his own private hell to be concerned about what his brother’s killer had to say. Shura wished to be closer as they had been when Aiolos was alive, when they didn’t resemble a dysfunctional family in the very least.
He had approached, and although one could say he had better luck than Saga because the words directed at him were less cruel, Aiolia’s behavior was too blunt to try even further. Not that Shura expected him to act otherwise. Killing Aiolos had undone all the good things of the past.
Or so it seemed.
Out of his custom of staying all day inside his room, Shura walked near the Sanctuary’s outskirts and climbed the rocky walls until his limbs were sore and his skin scraped, his mind completely blank. After so many days of following the same routine he actually felt better, and perhaps he could catch some sleep once for all. The tiredness was that overwhelming.
As he made his way towards Capricorn there was a cosmo echoing his every time he crossed one of the Temples, a custom from old, this unspoken announcement. It was short but enough to grasp something about the owner. Just like no hard feelings could be perceived when he went through Aries or Taurus, there was empathy on Gemini, and much to his surprise there was a small measure of acknowledgement coming from the Fourth Temple, although hidden behind the owner’s characteristic smugness.
When Shura reached Leo he felt Aiolia’s energy pounding, barely answering to his call as if it was drifting away, not only from him but from everything. This disturbed Shura for an instant but after thinking he should know better than meddling, he kept his pace until he heard the sound of glass breaking and he strode back, following the sound.
Shura awaited the flashing green, the hoarse voice that would tell him to get the hell out and mind his own business, but none of this came. When Aiolia’s eyes finally faced him, they seemed made of water, more surprised than angry. At first.
“Get out.”
“I heard...” Shura looked around and saw a bottle broken on the floor, its contents spilled forth. The glass that Aiolia still held was almost empty and the surface stained with dry blood. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Aiolia said, drinking the remaining liquid.
“Looks like you’re wasting your life.” Shura frowned, his tone stern. What on Earth had happened to him?
“You and your brotherly feelings can go straight to hell, Shura,” Aiolia pointed at him, his grip on the glass loose.
“Have you barely looked at yourself?”
“And why do you care, anyway?”
“Aiolia-” he said, evoking.
Both Shura’s master and Aiolos had been away that night, leaving Aiolia under Shura’s care. Back then he had been a child who was looking after another child, one much more vivacious and louder to be sure. Aiolia was too unafraid of things, easily marveled by the rain or the thunder roaring in the distance, and horribly persistent as well. Shura had seen himself in the obligation of making up a story for him (Brother always tells me stories before I go to bed), and although it must have been the most boring tale ever, at least it had made the younger boy fall asleep.
Things were different now. Aiolia had become quite strong and Shura’s left eye was the best proof of that: Aiolia’s fist had shut it, making it hurt like hell. Now the only stories that could be told were too cruel to be considered as such, although if one thought things over even fairy tales had traces of blood, like that of a flawless Saint turning into a traitor for murdering Athena, or kidnapping her, or any of the other dozens of versions that Shura heard the night he killed his best friend.
One of Aiolia’s hands was pressing his neck and the other was about to hit him again. Shura looked at him directly, waiting for lucidity to kick in or for justice to come and end with this thing for good. He wasn’t wearing his Cloth, so if Aiolia decided to use his Lightning Plasma there was nothing to do about it. Not that wearing something made of metal was such a good idea anyway.
All of a sudden Aiolia moved away and let him breathe, turning his back on Shura as he started to cry, wild and angrily. Shura stared at him with his good eye for a long time before he walked towards Aiolia and patted him, the glass crunching under his steps.
“I was just tired of everything,” Aiolia finally said, and Shura wondered if that statement was supposed to be an apology or a confession.
“I understand.”
Aiolia disappeared without saying anything and returned not too much time afterwards with some ice cubs inside a piece of fabric. “For that,” he pointed to the black eye. Shura nodded, extending his hand. The cold felt incredibly good after a few seconds, numbing the pain.
“How old were you when you kill- when my brother died?”
“Ten.” A short answer, carrying too little emotion. “I wanted to be in the funeral but...”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to see you either,” Aiolia said. “Although... who knows. Maybe a part of me did want you to be there.”
Shura widened his eyes, just the slightest bit.
“Look, I don’t blame you anymore. Nor I blame Saga as I used to. I understand he didn’t really wanted all this to happen, not the real him, but...” Aiolia made a pause. “Well, maybe sometimes I do blame him. When it gets too hard.”
“Hard.” Shura repeated, feeling he knew too much about it. “I think... I should be going. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll manage. Will you? I mean, because of the... you know,” Aiolia looked at Shura’s face, then at his own hand. “It’s not like I wanted to leave you one-eyed.”
“Sure. It’s not like I haven’t been blind before.”
“Right.”
Not far away from there the storm started to rumble.
The mornings were still gray and humid, besprinkled with a little amount of warmth that hid just when you needed it the most. Many days had passed since they sort of cleared things up, and by now Shura was used to regard him from a discreet distance whenever they coincided on the Coliseum. It was a happenstance, really, like the words they exchanged when they were an arm-length away, before continuing their path.
Every once a while they agreed to spar together, and replacing words with movement, they stood each other’s company for hours. Shura had the impression that it was not really a matter of tolerance but a matter of having gotten used to be near, very much like they all were involved in the Sanctuary’s activities because it was a custom and not something done by force.
Certainly it was way too soon to say the Gold Saints were in their way of becoming the group they should have always been, but things were being smoothed over, even if the details were just that: things hard to be noticed if one didn’t take a close look. Like the din replacing the silence in the reunions, acquiring a rhythm of its own that sounded more and more familiar with time, and the sporadic smiles that became more often among those who had fought against each other.
Shura could also see the change in Saga’s face, whose initial surprise was replaced by a faint smile after realizing that Aiolia tried not to scorn him or avoid his presence as if he had the plague. Change, of course, was also in Aiolia himself, his eyes becoming less angry and just more melancholic.
That was the kind of life they all led now, both peaceful and hurtful; the kind of mornings where the day promised to be less empty and perhaps a bit more worthy to be remembered, even if the afternoon was tinged with the same gray.
And with rainfall.
Just by the look on his face anyone could have guessed that Shura hadn’t expected to see Aiolia there.
Athena summoned a Saint per week to discuss several matters and this particular week had been the turn of the Leo Saint. The reunions used to be short because there were times of peace (“Times of huuuuuge boredom,” Deathmask had commented the previous week.), and there wasn’t really any kind of detailed report that could be handed to the Goddess.
Shura shook his head. Aiolia should have been long time ago inside Leo yet there he was, halfway down the set of stairs leading to Sagittarius, standing still under the rain. By the time Shura arrived to his side they were equally wet.
His fingers curved lightly on Aiolia’s shoulder, making him jolt.
“You,” Aiolia whispered.
Shura nodded. “Are you okay?”
A pause.
“No.”
Both walked towards Capricorn without saying a single word more.
“You are soaking.” Shura stated the obvious and extended a blanket in front of Aiolia, who looked at him as if he didn’t quite understand what was going on. Shura walked towards him then, draping the blanket around his shoulders, seeing him shudder after a few drops fell from Shura’s hair and slid through the opening of the fabric, disappearing down Aiolia’s nape.
“So are you.” Aiolia stared into his eyes with a half-smile.
“Yeah...”
They sat in the dark, too aware of each other’s presence despite the silence that lingered between them.
“Sometimes I think it’s unfair that he’s still dead while I’m not,” Aiolia started. “I think about it most of the time, actually.”
Shura turned abruptly to see him. They were so close that their hair, short as it was, could mingle until becoming indistinct in the darkness. In the beginning it was nothing but fingers grazing his cheek, but soon they were over the line of his jaw, finally replaced by lips over his mouth. Their skin was cold, but the kiss felt so warm...
“This isn’t- What are you... what am I doing?”
“What do you mean ‘What am I doing’?” Aiolia scowled, grasping Shura’s arm.
“I can’t.”
“Why? Because I look too much like Aiolos?” Aiolia’s eyes flared and his grip became tighter.
“No,” Shura stared at him, taken aback. “You are the brother of the man I killed.”
“I was the brother of your best friend. Whom you killed later, all right. So what? Deal with it already, Shura! You didn’t do it because you actually wanted it.”
“He didn’t defend himself.”
“Why, of course, else we wouldn’t be mourning him!”
Shura lowered his head.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Aiolia’s tone softened. “My brother could have easily killed you to save his life, but he decided not to.”
“I respected your brother and cherished his friendship. I wish I hadn’t...”
“I know. And I wish I had believed in his innocence,” Aiolia whispered and let go of his arm.
“Wherever Aiolos is now, I’m sure that he’s proud of you.”
Aiolia rested his head on Shura’s chest, making himself comfortable. “I’m not so sure. I’m still a little hard to put up with.”
“Yes, a little.” But it’s worth it.
Shura allowed himself to stroke Aiolia’s hair, thinking that he would never be able to be as gentle as he would like to, not when his hands were ready to slice anyone on two.
But at least Aiolia didn’t seem to mind.
Author: scorpioyue
Character: Leo Aiolia
List: B
Theme: #8. Kidnapping, #20. Done by force, #24. Neck
Warnings: Shura's POV. A bit of Shura x Aiolia. Around 2304 words.
Disclaimer: Saint Seiya © M. Kurumada, Shueisha & Toei Animation.
Also written for 31_days' theme for May 31 : There are traces of blood in a fairy tale. Couldn't finish on time, but I'm using the theme anyway.
Also, with this fic I finish all 30 themes with Ria. Go me~ *notices she has yet 25 themes to finish with Aiakos, despairs*
Bind
Sagittarius has been dead for too long.
When the night fell, those same words came to his mind over and over again.
There’s nothing that can be done, the other Saints had also said, as if they felt guilty for being alive when the one who deserved life the most couldn’t be brought back.
Shura winced after remembering the comments spoken in undertones, feeling his heart shrivel a little more every time, if that was even possible. It had been too late to ask for forgiveness when he decided to believe Shiryu, and it was too late now that the Ninth Temple continued deserted; its emptiness a constant reminder of what he had done.
There were moments when he was sure he despised himself, and others when he couldn’t even tell what hurt so damn much: the memories he had once considered soiled or the guilt. Sometimes he thought that it was really a pity that he couldn’t bring himself to tear up his chest, but he had come to the conclusion that what stopped him was the need of paying for all his sins. At least that was the only explanation that made sense, considering that ripping his heart would have been quite an easy task for someone like him.
Atonement seemed to be an unattainable goal though. Athena had forgiven them all and had blessed them with a second chance to reconstruct their lives.
But such thing was beyond his reach. For him the days were empty, quickly buried in his memory as if they were something insignificant and old. Shura himself felt that way, perhaps because the battles wear down just as the pass of the years would, and he had been at war ever since that day.
In the outside his standpoint had been clear all the time: he was determined to forget Aiolos had ever been his friend, because clinging to a traitor’s memory was simply inadmissible. However, within him it had been more complicated than that. He had sought strength in justice to the point of blindness and he had gone on for years like this, finally opening his eyes to the truth when making amends was no longer possible.
Unless...
No. Reaching for him was out of the question.
Aiolia was far away, too consumed by his own private hell to be concerned about what his brother’s killer had to say. Shura wished to be closer as they had been when Aiolos was alive, when they didn’t resemble a dysfunctional family in the very least.
He had approached, and although one could say he had better luck than Saga because the words directed at him were less cruel, Aiolia’s behavior was too blunt to try even further. Not that Shura expected him to act otherwise. Killing Aiolos had undone all the good things of the past.
Or so it seemed.
Out of his custom of staying all day inside his room, Shura walked near the Sanctuary’s outskirts and climbed the rocky walls until his limbs were sore and his skin scraped, his mind completely blank. After so many days of following the same routine he actually felt better, and perhaps he could catch some sleep once for all. The tiredness was that overwhelming.
As he made his way towards Capricorn there was a cosmo echoing his every time he crossed one of the Temples, a custom from old, this unspoken announcement. It was short but enough to grasp something about the owner. Just like no hard feelings could be perceived when he went through Aries or Taurus, there was empathy on Gemini, and much to his surprise there was a small measure of acknowledgement coming from the Fourth Temple, although hidden behind the owner’s characteristic smugness.
When Shura reached Leo he felt Aiolia’s energy pounding, barely answering to his call as if it was drifting away, not only from him but from everything. This disturbed Shura for an instant but after thinking he should know better than meddling, he kept his pace until he heard the sound of glass breaking and he strode back, following the sound.
Shura awaited the flashing green, the hoarse voice that would tell him to get the hell out and mind his own business, but none of this came. When Aiolia’s eyes finally faced him, they seemed made of water, more surprised than angry. At first.
“Get out.”
“I heard...” Shura looked around and saw a bottle broken on the floor, its contents spilled forth. The glass that Aiolia still held was almost empty and the surface stained with dry blood. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Aiolia said, drinking the remaining liquid.
“Looks like you’re wasting your life.” Shura frowned, his tone stern. What on Earth had happened to him?
“You and your brotherly feelings can go straight to hell, Shura,” Aiolia pointed at him, his grip on the glass loose.
“Have you barely looked at yourself?”
“And why do you care, anyway?”
“Aiolia-” he said, evoking.
Both Shura’s master and Aiolos had been away that night, leaving Aiolia under Shura’s care. Back then he had been a child who was looking after another child, one much more vivacious and louder to be sure. Aiolia was too unafraid of things, easily marveled by the rain or the thunder roaring in the distance, and horribly persistent as well. Shura had seen himself in the obligation of making up a story for him (Brother always tells me stories before I go to bed), and although it must have been the most boring tale ever, at least it had made the younger boy fall asleep.
Things were different now. Aiolia had become quite strong and Shura’s left eye was the best proof of that: Aiolia’s fist had shut it, making it hurt like hell. Now the only stories that could be told were too cruel to be considered as such, although if one thought things over even fairy tales had traces of blood, like that of a flawless Saint turning into a traitor for murdering Athena, or kidnapping her, or any of the other dozens of versions that Shura heard the night he killed his best friend.
One of Aiolia’s hands was pressing his neck and the other was about to hit him again. Shura looked at him directly, waiting for lucidity to kick in or for justice to come and end with this thing for good. He wasn’t wearing his Cloth, so if Aiolia decided to use his Lightning Plasma there was nothing to do about it. Not that wearing something made of metal was such a good idea anyway.
All of a sudden Aiolia moved away and let him breathe, turning his back on Shura as he started to cry, wild and angrily. Shura stared at him with his good eye for a long time before he walked towards Aiolia and patted him, the glass crunching under his steps.
“I was just tired of everything,” Aiolia finally said, and Shura wondered if that statement was supposed to be an apology or a confession.
“I understand.”
Aiolia disappeared without saying anything and returned not too much time afterwards with some ice cubs inside a piece of fabric. “For that,” he pointed to the black eye. Shura nodded, extending his hand. The cold felt incredibly good after a few seconds, numbing the pain.
“How old were you when you kill- when my brother died?”
“Ten.” A short answer, carrying too little emotion. “I wanted to be in the funeral but...”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to see you either,” Aiolia said. “Although... who knows. Maybe a part of me did want you to be there.”
Shura widened his eyes, just the slightest bit.
“Look, I don’t blame you anymore. Nor I blame Saga as I used to. I understand he didn’t really wanted all this to happen, not the real him, but...” Aiolia made a pause. “Well, maybe sometimes I do blame him. When it gets too hard.”
“Hard.” Shura repeated, feeling he knew too much about it. “I think... I should be going. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll manage. Will you? I mean, because of the... you know,” Aiolia looked at Shura’s face, then at his own hand. “It’s not like I wanted to leave you one-eyed.”
“Sure. It’s not like I haven’t been blind before.”
“Right.”
Not far away from there the storm started to rumble.
The mornings were still gray and humid, besprinkled with a little amount of warmth that hid just when you needed it the most. Many days had passed since they sort of cleared things up, and by now Shura was used to regard him from a discreet distance whenever they coincided on the Coliseum. It was a happenstance, really, like the words they exchanged when they were an arm-length away, before continuing their path.
Every once a while they agreed to spar together, and replacing words with movement, they stood each other’s company for hours. Shura had the impression that it was not really a matter of tolerance but a matter of having gotten used to be near, very much like they all were involved in the Sanctuary’s activities because it was a custom and not something done by force.
Certainly it was way too soon to say the Gold Saints were in their way of becoming the group they should have always been, but things were being smoothed over, even if the details were just that: things hard to be noticed if one didn’t take a close look. Like the din replacing the silence in the reunions, acquiring a rhythm of its own that sounded more and more familiar with time, and the sporadic smiles that became more often among those who had fought against each other.
Shura could also see the change in Saga’s face, whose initial surprise was replaced by a faint smile after realizing that Aiolia tried not to scorn him or avoid his presence as if he had the plague. Change, of course, was also in Aiolia himself, his eyes becoming less angry and just more melancholic.
That was the kind of life they all led now, both peaceful and hurtful; the kind of mornings where the day promised to be less empty and perhaps a bit more worthy to be remembered, even if the afternoon was tinged with the same gray.
And with rainfall.
Just by the look on his face anyone could have guessed that Shura hadn’t expected to see Aiolia there.
Athena summoned a Saint per week to discuss several matters and this particular week had been the turn of the Leo Saint. The reunions used to be short because there were times of peace (“Times of huuuuuge boredom,” Deathmask had commented the previous week.), and there wasn’t really any kind of detailed report that could be handed to the Goddess.
Shura shook his head. Aiolia should have been long time ago inside Leo yet there he was, halfway down the set of stairs leading to Sagittarius, standing still under the rain. By the time Shura arrived to his side they were equally wet.
His fingers curved lightly on Aiolia’s shoulder, making him jolt.
“You,” Aiolia whispered.
Shura nodded. “Are you okay?”
A pause.
“No.”
Both walked towards Capricorn without saying a single word more.
“You are soaking.” Shura stated the obvious and extended a blanket in front of Aiolia, who looked at him as if he didn’t quite understand what was going on. Shura walked towards him then, draping the blanket around his shoulders, seeing him shudder after a few drops fell from Shura’s hair and slid through the opening of the fabric, disappearing down Aiolia’s nape.
“So are you.” Aiolia stared into his eyes with a half-smile.
“Yeah...”
They sat in the dark, too aware of each other’s presence despite the silence that lingered between them.
“Sometimes I think it’s unfair that he’s still dead while I’m not,” Aiolia started. “I think about it most of the time, actually.”
Shura turned abruptly to see him. They were so close that their hair, short as it was, could mingle until becoming indistinct in the darkness. In the beginning it was nothing but fingers grazing his cheek, but soon they were over the line of his jaw, finally replaced by lips over his mouth. Their skin was cold, but the kiss felt so warm...
“This isn’t- What are you... what am I doing?”
“What do you mean ‘What am I doing’?” Aiolia scowled, grasping Shura’s arm.
“I can’t.”
“Why? Because I look too much like Aiolos?” Aiolia’s eyes flared and his grip became tighter.
“No,” Shura stared at him, taken aback. “You are the brother of the man I killed.”
“I was the brother of your best friend. Whom you killed later, all right. So what? Deal with it already, Shura! You didn’t do it because you actually wanted it.”
“He didn’t defend himself.”
“Why, of course, else we wouldn’t be mourning him!”
Shura lowered his head.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Aiolia’s tone softened. “My brother could have easily killed you to save his life, but he decided not to.”
“I respected your brother and cherished his friendship. I wish I hadn’t...”
“I know. And I wish I had believed in his innocence,” Aiolia whispered and let go of his arm.
“Wherever Aiolos is now, I’m sure that he’s proud of you.”
Aiolia rested his head on Shura’s chest, making himself comfortable. “I’m not so sure. I’m still a little hard to put up with.”
“Yes, a little.” But it’s worth it.
Shura allowed himself to stroke Aiolia’s hair, thinking that he would never be able to be as gentle as he would like to, not when his hands were ready to slice anyone on two.
But at least Aiolia didn’t seem to mind.