Absence, Challenge 13
Title: Absence
Author: lady_ganesh
Characters: Sanzo (the rest of the ikkou offscreen)
Spoiler: Up to Saiyuki v. 8
Time: About five minutes writing, five editing and looking things up.
Sanzo wakes in the darkness. Not exactly a nightmare, but something is there, nagging, waking him enough to pull his knees up and rest his back against the wall.
He has the room to himself; the constant muttering of the soldiers is the only reminder he's not truly alone. Surrounded by humans, at that; something else he's no longer used to.
If they were still on the road, Goku would probably be half in bed with him by now, his childlike need for warmth coming out more strongly at night. In the morning, Gojyo would lean into him, stinking breath against his face.
Sanzo reaches over to his robes and pulls his Marlboros out of his sleeve. Hakkai washed them differently than the women do here; the fabric feels rougher against his fingers, and the smell isn't the same.
He hunches his shoulders over and gets his lighter, puts the cigarette to his lips. The touch of dry paper and the warmth of the flame is familiar, at least.
He remembers the panic on Goku's face when the shakujo sliced through his ponytail. "When I spread out my hair," he'd said, "It felt a little warmer."
He takes a deep drag and thinks he understands it better now.
Author: lady_ganesh
Characters: Sanzo (the rest of the ikkou offscreen)
Spoiler: Up to Saiyuki v. 8
Time: About five minutes writing, five editing and looking things up.
Sanzo wakes in the darkness. Not exactly a nightmare, but something is there, nagging, waking him enough to pull his knees up and rest his back against the wall.
He has the room to himself; the constant muttering of the soldiers is the only reminder he's not truly alone. Surrounded by humans, at that; something else he's no longer used to.
If they were still on the road, Goku would probably be half in bed with him by now, his childlike need for warmth coming out more strongly at night. In the morning, Gojyo would lean into him, stinking breath against his face.
Sanzo reaches over to his robes and pulls his Marlboros out of his sleeve. Hakkai washed them differently than the women do here; the fabric feels rougher against his fingers, and the smell isn't the same.
He hunches his shoulders over and gets his lighter, puts the cigarette to his lips. The touch of dry paper and the warmth of the flame is familiar, at least.
He remembers the panic on Goku's face when the shakujo sliced through his ponytail. "When I spread out my hair," he'd said, "It felt a little warmer."
He takes a deep drag and thinks he understands it better now.