Building Bridges
Title: Building Bridges
Series: Tsubasa
Characters: Fuuma, Subaru, mentions/allusions to Kamui and Seishirou
Pairing: heavily implied Seishirou/Subaru
Rating: PG
Warning: None.
Summary: He tells himself he is not disappointed.
Notes: :D
Fuuma looks up when he feels him approach. Subaru pauses, watching the way his head turns, the way his shoulders shift and tense with the movement of his body. He watches the way he moves, strangely fluid and yet controlled and solid-so much like-
“Fuuma-san,” Subaru says, cautiously, letting his mind linger on that name, not on someone else’s.
But the way Fuuma smiles at him in greeting is so achingly similar that Subaru almost slants his eyes away, but resists. He holds himself with a fluid grace and confidence he hopes translates to his eyes, because he cannot afford to miss someone, cannot afford to regret when he is finally reunited with his brother after so many years of sleep and silent waiting.
“Yes?” Fuuma asks at length when the silence stretches. His smile is benign. Forced, as if painted. It is too much like-
“I realize this is very presumptuous of me,” Subaru says calmly, politely, overly polite as if to make up for all the years his brother had been anything but polite. “It is the case, however, that I’m…”
He trails off, because the way Fuuma stands, his back arched, his hands on his knees, is too much like his brother’s. The way Fuuma continues to smile as if nothing in the world could disrupt that curve of his lips, the way the glasses sit on his nose and his hair curls around his forehead. Subaru forgets what it is he wished to say.
But it seems Fuuma knows, as he says, very pleasantly, “You’re hungry.”
Subaru says nothing, but does nod.
“It’s been a few years for you, after all,” Fuuma says, and shrugs one shoulder-just like him-and laughs-just like him-and steps forward-just like him-
“Yes,” Subaru agrees.
“So you need blood, and you want to ask me.”
“Yes,” Subaru says again.
“It’s not presumptuous,” Fuuma says, smiling cheerfully, and sitting back down, rolling up the fabric of his shirt and exposing his wrist to Subaru.
Subaru swallows thickly and steps forward, lifting his hands to cradle Fuuma’s wrist reverently. He can see the blood humming through his veins, and his hand is flat and squared, his fingers calloused and scarred in places. Not like his-
Subaru cuts his nails across the veins, and Fuuma does not even cringe, his smile does not even flinch. Subaru looks away from him as he lowers his mouth and begins to drink.
The blood does not taste like his.
Subaru tells himself he is not disappointed.
Series: Tsubasa
Characters: Fuuma, Subaru, mentions/allusions to Kamui and Seishirou
Pairing: heavily implied Seishirou/Subaru
Rating: PG
Warning: None.
Summary: He tells himself he is not disappointed.
Notes: :D
Fuuma looks up when he feels him approach. Subaru pauses, watching the way his head turns, the way his shoulders shift and tense with the movement of his body. He watches the way he moves, strangely fluid and yet controlled and solid-so much like-
“Fuuma-san,” Subaru says, cautiously, letting his mind linger on that name, not on someone else’s.
But the way Fuuma smiles at him in greeting is so achingly similar that Subaru almost slants his eyes away, but resists. He holds himself with a fluid grace and confidence he hopes translates to his eyes, because he cannot afford to miss someone, cannot afford to regret when he is finally reunited with his brother after so many years of sleep and silent waiting.
“Yes?” Fuuma asks at length when the silence stretches. His smile is benign. Forced, as if painted. It is too much like-
“I realize this is very presumptuous of me,” Subaru says calmly, politely, overly polite as if to make up for all the years his brother had been anything but polite. “It is the case, however, that I’m…”
He trails off, because the way Fuuma stands, his back arched, his hands on his knees, is too much like his brother’s. The way Fuuma continues to smile as if nothing in the world could disrupt that curve of his lips, the way the glasses sit on his nose and his hair curls around his forehead. Subaru forgets what it is he wished to say.
But it seems Fuuma knows, as he says, very pleasantly, “You’re hungry.”
Subaru says nothing, but does nod.
“It’s been a few years for you, after all,” Fuuma says, and shrugs one shoulder-just like him-and laughs-just like him-and steps forward-just like him-
“Yes,” Subaru agrees.
“So you need blood, and you want to ask me.”
“Yes,” Subaru says again.
“It’s not presumptuous,” Fuuma says, smiling cheerfully, and sitting back down, rolling up the fabric of his shirt and exposing his wrist to Subaru.
Subaru swallows thickly and steps forward, lifting his hands to cradle Fuuma’s wrist reverently. He can see the blood humming through his veins, and his hand is flat and squared, his fingers calloused and scarred in places. Not like his-
Subaru cuts his nails across the veins, and Fuuma does not even cringe, his smile does not even flinch. Subaru looks away from him as he lowers his mouth and begins to drink.
The blood does not taste like his.
Subaru tells himself he is not disappointed.