[fic] Time's Scar
Title Time' Scar 5/20
Author: ravanna
Word Count: 4466
Summary: Hotsuma dreams a lot, and Shusei has always feared the day the nightmare would start to speak and tell Hotsuma the story of another lifetime. Shusei decides to do something about that, before it's too late - but making decisions on your own when you try to think for two leads only deeper into the maze you decided to live in.
Warnings: PG, no native speaker sitting here; Hotsuma POV; rantingdrama.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, I do not own them.
Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our ways
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves under pressure*
There's only one way to get rid of the feeling biting him, slowly draining power like he's left a wound unwatched and uncared about. It's learning the hard way, the one making you go down in history, the one forcing you to meet whatever evil actually lives inside of others you claim to know and love.
Talking to Shusei is all that's left, all he can think of. So he leaves early; Kuroto is not there to say goodbye, but he doesn't have to; for Hotsuma, saying goodbye to Kuroto happened in the middle of a stargazing night, and somehow he liked that one better than Senshirou's, because it worked without a smile making him feel unimportant and childish, it worked like the one hit he needed to keep walking down the street. That's just the way he rolls, the way he always has.
He thinks he could be too early; there was a time he knew what going to school was all about, but the phases of him being absorbed in problems of his personal life - his personal inside seems so much more fitting - grow longer, endless, for he hasn't been in school when Takashiro said I know where Yuki is, he hasn't been in school when Shusei said Yuki will come back. Aren't you happy about it?, and he could rarely care less now.
Somehow, he comes back in time, though. The house whispers with strange excitement; not a building but actually a living being breathing him in. Hotsuma moves up, one step a time, searching for words he could utter, words he could say without losing faith and his self control and screwing it up all over again.
If you screw it up, Shusei will make sure to catch you when you fall.
But will he? He once might, but once he's been having dreams about killing innocent comrades in school, people he cared little about but knew nevertheless. These days, all his nightmares seem to be about is fire, and someone reminding him of home.
There's the door, and it looks older than before, like he hasn't been gone a single day but one lifetime. Maybe he was. When he knocks, there's no one telling him to come in, but he does, anyway; he's somehow tired of waiting, and he feels this game has gone on far too long without any of them knowing the rules.
What he sees is an image disturbing him more than any of these nightmares ever did. It's clear, quite clear, but the feeling's not right; there's none, so to say, but a mild rest of - acceptance. At least he thinks so. He hopes so, for acceptance is something only grown-up people are able to handle the way it's meant to be.
Shusei's standing, which is a good thing, staring out of the window - I should try to break that one, too, Hotsuma thinks for no reason at all - but it's not Shusei he's looking at right now (for he always is, there's simply no way to say when he's not looking at or for him, not asking how he feels and what's going on inside his head) but the girl, the young girl who touched a part of Shusei no one's allowed to but him. Only he knows Shusei sometimes starts to make strange, almost giggling sounds when he kisses his temple, like the sensation's too much to bear, and he loves that sounds, maybe even more than tasting skin under his lips.
She stands up. She even smiles at him. She's known him for most of his life, and the first impulse is simply hugging her and say Hi. Long time no see.
“Tsubaki”, Hotsuma says. Is there a glimpse of emotion in his voice? He doesn't think so. He's said the names of Duras with more emotions than he feels right now.
“Hotsuma. It's great to see you again.”
It's impossible, he knows it; this is Tsubaki, this is family, this is no one he actually has to fear, no one who'd take Shusei away from him, not her, not someone so close to the family, for family stays family, blood running thicker than water, all these strange saying he's heard aeons ago. But there's suicide-Hotsuma in him, and he remembers her vividly, suddenly adding a lot of details to the kiss he's witnessed, and he's not able to claim her innocent; for it has been her, it definitely has.
Shusei doesn't say anything.
It's her. She's kissed Shusei, but that means she's not his girlfriend, she's - she's too old for him, isn't she, she's family, she doesn't give a damn about boys, about men, about -
“Can I talk to you, Shusei?” It's hard, so incredible hard, shifting his eyes from her and stop wondering about what, what exactly is going on here, what she's doing her, how much danger she means, but they're standing too far apart, even for the Japanese way Shusei might be raised they're standing too far apart, a line of broken hearts able to crash between them.
Maybe she kissed Shusei out of - out of sympathy. But sympathy for what?
“Sure.” There's a nod, but too much light hitting the window and this everglowing face to actually tell if he's smiling or not. “Go ahead.”
“Can I talk to you in private, too?”
Hotsuma looks at Tsubaki again, and that's when his head starts spinning. We sometimes stumble down streets we've known half our lifetime, and suddenly, just - out of the blue, like, NOW, something hits us, something awakening long forgotten, memories of friends lost along the way, memories of buildings we used to know, soft memories of things we said and did, and Hotsuma, when he looks at her, there is something like that, too, not quite remembering, but this feeling of familiarity, of something of importance he should actually care about but can't.
It's the image of a couch blending over his heart going too fast again. He's sure he's never seen that couch before.
“No. I'm fine with her being here with me, thank you.”
Did he just say thank you? He did, didn't he?
“I'm not.”
He's trying to break Shusei's will, and he knows it, but the problem, the real problem is, he's never been able to break anything but himself - and their twisted relationship, of course, he shouldn't forget about that one - for Shusei's always been...different, with his eyes always sad and steel for anyone but him, for his movements always sure where they're heading, taking his hand without taking it and leading him on.
“Well, I'm sorry. I won't talk in solitude with you.”
Tsubaki looks from Shusei to Hotsuma, face powered in worry and knowing she's a shield for a battle she cannot grasp.
“Is it Yuki? Is this - are you trying to get some sort of revenge for something, or are you - I just, I ain't getting this, I-”
It hurts, just seeing how Shusei lingers for two blinks of his eyes, like he maybe wants to say you're never getting anything, really, or why do do you even try to get it, it's not worth the trouble for you, but worse than that - is that possible? He's lived through a hundred of pains these days; his body's just numbness, like running on Novocaine - is the silence that tells more than Shusei could.
“Or is - did I do something wrong? Was it climbing into your bed again or saying I don't want to lie down or-”
They're not talking. He's stared at, he's a guinea pig, and which experiment it may be lies in shadows he cannot see but hear. They're waiting for his blood.
“Or is it simply me? Like, me looking at you and me talking to you and just spending too much time with you? Am I getting on your nerves with all the clingy tingy-tangy we've been having? Is it - do you need more space? More space for yourself?”
Concern gets the best of Shusei's blank face for a moment, then the smile's back on, all you need is a bit of glue anyway and it's meant to stick forever. Tsubaki opens her mouth but stops as soon as Shusei nods, his shoulders over-floating with light and dust dancing with it.
“Yes. I think that's simply it.”
No IT'S NOT! You never cared about your personal SPACE; you haven't even an IDEA what that IS or should be!
Say it. Please, Hotsuma, SAY IT, show him you can see right through these words, that they are Llied, and god knows why he lies in the first place but he does, he so does.
“I think I finally realized you're simply suffocating me.”
Suicide-Hotsuma snaps; the only sound left in his head is white noise or the bitter beep of two many hours filled with too much too loud music. Beep. It all goes beep.
Wh-
“We should take some time off.”
“What do you mean, taking time OFF? We've been - we've been - kinda, like, hanging out together since ever; you cannot rant about wanting and needing space all of the sudden without explaining why!”
Panic rises, it always does. Suddenly it owns six heads, and it's eager to bit his own as soon as it reaches him.
“You-”
“I don't have to explain anything. Maybe because I simply can't. I'm just tired of you, and I don't know why.”
His face breaks; Tsubaki finally makes a move and rushes towards him like she wants to sooth him and play Shusei's part he doesn't want anymore. Hotsuma makes two steps back. They feel like crossing oceans, but he's fine with that, too; it's a miracle he isn't drowning on the simple way back, back to whatever's left for him.
“Why is she here, Shusei?”
He talks to talk; white spots dancing in his eyes and his head and maybe, maybe even his heart; he needs some distance, that's what he said, and that's nothing new, no, but still, it cannot be true; it simply cannot BE TRUE.
Tsukumo yells dinner's ready. His stomach is just a knot of scars sharing one root.
“Try it, Hotsuma. For the sake of us, try it.”
I won't. I never will. I can't, and you know that, you goddamn know I'm lost without you, I'm lost on my own, I always was, you know, you know that since I climbed into your bed for the first time and kept you awake and kept you talking as you never did before and you just cannot ask something like that from me, you can't.
“I will” is what he really says, all watery eyes again, but it's hot water, for he's not crying for his shaken soul but out of instincborn wrath aiming for no one, trying to hit walls, walls only, please. “Guess I - I - I will; I-”
“Good.”
The distance between Tsubaki and Shusei is closed; he's barely touching her forearm, nothing to worry, nothing intimidated, but his eyes refuse to stop looking as his body is getting away. He's a statue now, too, like all the others living under this roof.
“Then it might be good for you to leave.”
He cannot remember if, and how he did later, but somehow he managed; there's the ceiling called heaven burning down on him, and air trying to cool him off, and he appreciates all these tries for there's nothing else he can do, nothing at all.
---
The fire, he says, it's just not really him saying anything, for his mouth is closed, his mind is shut; there's the soft fabric of something like a bed - but it's too small for that one, it really is; maybe it's a couch, and oh, doesn't that ring a bell of so-called memories, too? - under him, and he feels it clearly, for he's nearly naked, his chest moving too rapidly, one of his arms resting on his forehead, the other one senseless dangling down the border, nearly touching the ground. His eyes are wide open, and the ceiling gets a perfect shot of his soul, an exhausted piece of illusion.
The fire's there, it's always there. It - it hasn't lost faith, you know?
There's the soft sound of a pen scribbling over paper, and Hotsuma isn't sure if he's actually allowed to be here, on this couch, in a room smelling of perfume and femininity not belonging to her - but who's she, anyway? Someone at least seems to know, someone living inside of him, and gosh, how many personalities can a single person host anyway? - and he, he sighs again. School seems like the least important thing right now, with him lying here, unable to sit up, for he tried that before talking again, like staying means - means starting something he's not capable of.
It still believes it can melt ice; every layer, every sort that ever existed. It can't. I know it can't, but it - you know. It's always there.
It's hard, simply being here, not able to move, not able to grab for a bottle of water a spoon a fork his nintendo ds shusei (who's that?) or just the pen, the one writing all these things down - but oh, she'll write it down on a wall, it'll be my omen, there's a band who made a song, and they had a name, they had -
I hate that.
What?
The fire. It doesn't give a damn if I care about it or not, it never leaves, it never quiets down, it's always - it's -
someone waits outside the room; it's a presence he can feel, one already getting everything heated up again, because as much as the stench in here is wrong, all wrong wrong wrong, the one coming from outside is -
is best served with cold ash.
And the cold, the cold falls from above when the pen stops and the paper rustling becomes no more than a whisper and there's the voice again, saying more than a single word, and he knows who it belongs to, all the times it has talked to him, trying to open him with hands and hearts too soft to get inside his self-created shell.
There's a knock on the door made by a fist able to read his mind. It's soft, almost an excuse.
There she is, right on time. You had a lot to say, didn't you?
He's too shocked to answer, his eyes blinded by realization not meant to hit him, not meant to be even possible. How did he get here?
Who do you blame today?
How did Yuki get here, and why, why do the pen movements, though they stopped, seem to click like jigsaws falling into place, why is the perfume familiar, the couch a friend he's shared too many moments to count with? He's sure he'd never talk to Yuki about these - these things, whatever they might be, he's - what has he BEEN talking about? The words are here, and it's all about fire, but that's not what this is about, not at all, because he knows his ability, and it might be something living, something with its own mind and own ways of seeing life and its existence, but Yuki - knowing Yuki so close--
Someone's crying outside the door, and there's a moment of utter confusion and a sting close to fear until he realizes it's just a child, five, six maybe, a small girl crying like he's cried so often before and he wants to get up, finally, leaving the perfume and the paper scratching and Yuki's warm body- how much fire does that beautiful body own, anyway? - behind, and simply tell that small lady she doesn't have to cry, for everything is going to be all right, life's meant to bring you back on your feet when you've learned your lesson, but then the small lady actually speaks, and he forgets about wanting to help, he forgets about the sweet smell, he just -
Owwee, stop touching that! It hurts! It still hurts so much; why do I have an idiot for a brother?
Heal her, he says - but he doesn't, he's not the one talking, dammit. I know you can; stop pretending and heal her, for I blame who I've blamed last week, too, and if you don't heal her -
Wounds created by family or friends--
His palm hurts. Hotsuma's only looking to accept he did it, he really did; he hit her, and the smell gets even stronger, and he wonders how her hair would smell, taste like, even, and why he's a father not worth being one, not worth being blessed with three of them, small, small ladies and a gentleman looking like him.
We're all going down and you're just watching.
Hotsuma puts his hands on shoulders soft and intriguing under his fingers; he pushes his nails into flesh someone else's marked as his own, and for that he hates him, and he hates her, but most of all, and that somehow hurts like burning the one soulmate you have, he hates himself for the greed that won't stop existing and the want that doesn't leave and she knows, the bitch knows.
We're all going down and there will come a day I'll tie her to a fucking chair and set the house on fire.
“You'll what?”
Hotsuma opens his eyes as fast as he can; there's just gratitude for being awake, for being far, far gone from whatever was actually going on in his head or his thoughts or wherever, and sunlight hits him, greeting with a fake plastic smile. Like he cares. He's awake; he's shaking Yuki, but he doesn't care about that, either, and it's not like it matters anyway; Yuki isn't able to say No to anything, he won't hit him like Toko did, for he's not sure if he could stand another blow from someone who's meant to feel something for him.
“Yuki”, he says, afraid of the gratefulness he shows in his voice. “Yuki, what-”
His fingers come back to his soul, stopping to hurt - or trying to, really; he's been asleep, how on earth was he supposed to grab Yuki anway? - Yuki and relax, just lying on his bed (a bed, thank god, it's a bed) until Yuki takes a deep breath.
“Hotsuma, you should talk about it. All these - all the things I s-”
“Who are you to touch me like that? Who do you-”
“Shusei's leaving.”
His ears, somehow he thinks they're damaged, maybe by Toko and her hand, maybe they've been damaged for quite some time and he simply never realized before, but of course that's the reason, for what Yuki's saying doesn't make any sense at all, it's simply - it's not possible.
But until yesterday, he'd never thought Shusei would say leave me. Until yesterday, seeing Shusei's face in anger was something belonging to the world of fighting and surviving, not into their bedroom and all the things they might have done there, drunk on their own immortality.
“He's not”, Hotsuma says, because it's as simple as that. “He can't be.”
Because it's too early. Because I still need to convince him to stay, to talk to me, to get things done the same way we always do; because I need him to kiss my hand again, because I need myself to touch him, feel his skin under my fingertips, feel his heartbeat when I lie close to him, feel his soul in me, a part I'm always carrying around with me.
Yuki looks at him, without comments, without a try to make him believe. That's what it does, then; it makes him believe, for silence is not just also a sound, but it grows louder and louder until it destroys you completely; silence makes you wonder about things that happen to you in a dark alley, things you could do to people you hate and despise.
Shusei's leaving. He really seems to be.
He's on his feet, and he stumbles, again, there are always stones lying in front of you when you need to hurry and when you want to hurry, you always crash and burn and sometimes the stench stays; he knows he's sweating, he's sweating so much it even runs out of the corner of his eyes.
Three steps at a time; Tachibana tells him to look out, but he doesn't have to; who will be left to care if he's breaking his head and his leg and his heart and his life when Shusei's going, going RIGHT NOW?
He can't. He - he just told me yesterday, no, today, I don't know, it was a few minutes ago, and he cannot - where should he go? He HAS nowhere to go, he--
It's so close to August, but when he steps outside the mansion and sees Shusei putting a bag into Tsubaki's car, temperature looks at him and leaves, for it doesn't have any business left to do, it never had, for he and Shusei, they've been ice and fire since birth, the other one always there to do something about whatever feeling they had to deal with in these moments of utter tragedy.
Shusei looks at him. Hotsuma's breathing hard, slowly moving forward. Tsubaki closes the front door and seems to consider her own right of existence for a second or two, before she opens the door again and climbs into the car.
It's only him and Shusei now, only the two of them.
“No”, Hotsuma says, and he hates his temper for it wants to cry again, spilling tears useless to him and not able to bind Shusei anymore. “No, no, please, please, Shusei, I'm begging you-”
He's begged his whole life long, he thinks, but that's not right, and he somehow, somehow knows that, too. His hands create fists, he's so eager to use them his nails have to dig into flesh just to maintain control, just to keep right here, head upright, his voice a bitter play of wrong keyboard seconds.
“We've been so close like - forever. We always have been, and we always managed; that - it has never, never been any problem before, it's -”
He wishes Shusei would stop looking, at least change the mask sitting on his face for some blinks of his eyes, because he's never been good at it, watching Shusei and continue talking.
“I'd die for you”, he says, and he means it so much his heart burns in his chest and wants to reach out, touch him, pull him into his arms and never let him go again, maybe take him and tie him to a chair, setting the whole house on fire.
Has he had that thought before? It feels familiar, even now with him steeping forward.
“Would she die for you, too? And how and when did that start, anyway? What do you WANT from her? What- what good does she do for you, what is it I couldn’t do for you, too? How long have you betrayed me like that? What-”
Shusei rushes forward, and silence joins them again when he suddenly closes his arms around him; it's the embrace he's been waiting for, the one he's needed since his whole life set itself on fire, and his knees feel weak and want to leave him, and he, he wants to leave, too, this body, maybe being female and doing for Shusei whatever is missing - for there HAS to be something missing, Shusei doesn't need a girl, Shusei's got HIM, dammit! - but all he really, really thinks about is that -
is that his heat, it cools off. Shusei's ice cools him off, like he's done it times and times before, and in the same instant, Hotsuma offers him glowing carbon he'd never find on his own, and this embrace, it makes him shudder and weak, he's all hanging in these arms, and he'll fall if Shusei lets go too soon, he'll fall and he won't be able to get up ever again.
“No”, he says, shivering like a small child scared of the bogeyman living in his closet. “No. No, don't leave me. Don't leave me behind. Just - just stay with me and stop this shit.”
“I can’t”, Shusei says, and there's regret in his voice he picks up like a starving man might take a mildewet piece of bread. “I just can't.”
“Why? What is-”
“Sssh.” It's a finger, one closing his lips, and Shusei makes this half-smile broken window something again and there are tears in his eyes, he sees them CLEARLY, and he wants to yell SEE you're so goddamn broken and hurt, too so STOP pretending but of course he doesn’t.
“I just want you to be happy, Hotsuma. I don’t want to ever, ever see you disastrous again.”
“But that's what I AM if you're not with me.”
It's like talking to a wall. Shusei keeps his smile though the water becomes so highly visible it only needs to cross the last border before it can run down his cheeks, and when Shusei's arms let him go, he somehow, somehow stands. Barely, but he does.
“Shusei, no. No.”
But Shusei doesn't look at him anymore; he moves towards the car and opens the door.
Go. Hotsuma, you have to GO and catch him, come on, I liked the idea of tying him up and--
“No. NO!”
Shusei gets in the car. The door closes with a bang too loud for his brain. When the motor's whining like it would share his pain, he hears that sound going round and round and round inside of him, and just like that, Shusei left, and he's left here, the bitter season completely closing him in.
-
* Queen - Under pressure
Author: ravanna
Word Count: 4466
Summary: Hotsuma dreams a lot, and Shusei has always feared the day the nightmare would start to speak and tell Hotsuma the story of another lifetime. Shusei decides to do something about that, before it's too late - but making decisions on your own when you try to think for two leads only deeper into the maze you decided to live in.
Warnings: PG, no native speaker sitting here; Hotsuma POV; rantingdrama.
Disclaimer: They're not mine, I do not own them.
Cause love's such an old fashioned word
And love dares you to care
For the people on the edge of the night
And love dares you to change our ways
Of caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves under pressure*
There's only one way to get rid of the feeling biting him, slowly draining power like he's left a wound unwatched and uncared about. It's learning the hard way, the one making you go down in history, the one forcing you to meet whatever evil actually lives inside of others you claim to know and love.
Talking to Shusei is all that's left, all he can think of. So he leaves early; Kuroto is not there to say goodbye, but he doesn't have to; for Hotsuma, saying goodbye to Kuroto happened in the middle of a stargazing night, and somehow he liked that one better than Senshirou's, because it worked without a smile making him feel unimportant and childish, it worked like the one hit he needed to keep walking down the street. That's just the way he rolls, the way he always has.
He thinks he could be too early; there was a time he knew what going to school was all about, but the phases of him being absorbed in problems of his personal life - his personal inside seems so much more fitting - grow longer, endless, for he hasn't been in school when Takashiro said I know where Yuki is, he hasn't been in school when Shusei said Yuki will come back. Aren't you happy about it?, and he could rarely care less now.
Somehow, he comes back in time, though. The house whispers with strange excitement; not a building but actually a living being breathing him in. Hotsuma moves up, one step a time, searching for words he could utter, words he could say without losing faith and his self control and screwing it up all over again.
If you screw it up, Shusei will make sure to catch you when you fall.
But will he? He once might, but once he's been having dreams about killing innocent comrades in school, people he cared little about but knew nevertheless. These days, all his nightmares seem to be about is fire, and someone reminding him of home.
There's the door, and it looks older than before, like he hasn't been gone a single day but one lifetime. Maybe he was. When he knocks, there's no one telling him to come in, but he does, anyway; he's somehow tired of waiting, and he feels this game has gone on far too long without any of them knowing the rules.
What he sees is an image disturbing him more than any of these nightmares ever did. It's clear, quite clear, but the feeling's not right; there's none, so to say, but a mild rest of - acceptance. At least he thinks so. He hopes so, for acceptance is something only grown-up people are able to handle the way it's meant to be.
Shusei's standing, which is a good thing, staring out of the window - I should try to break that one, too, Hotsuma thinks for no reason at all - but it's not Shusei he's looking at right now (for he always is, there's simply no way to say when he's not looking at or for him, not asking how he feels and what's going on inside his head) but the girl, the young girl who touched a part of Shusei no one's allowed to but him. Only he knows Shusei sometimes starts to make strange, almost giggling sounds when he kisses his temple, like the sensation's too much to bear, and he loves that sounds, maybe even more than tasting skin under his lips.
She stands up. She even smiles at him. She's known him for most of his life, and the first impulse is simply hugging her and say Hi. Long time no see.
“Tsubaki”, Hotsuma says. Is there a glimpse of emotion in his voice? He doesn't think so. He's said the names of Duras with more emotions than he feels right now.
“Hotsuma. It's great to see you again.”
It's impossible, he knows it; this is Tsubaki, this is family, this is no one he actually has to fear, no one who'd take Shusei away from him, not her, not someone so close to the family, for family stays family, blood running thicker than water, all these strange saying he's heard aeons ago. But there's suicide-Hotsuma in him, and he remembers her vividly, suddenly adding a lot of details to the kiss he's witnessed, and he's not able to claim her innocent; for it has been her, it definitely has.
Shusei doesn't say anything.
It's her. She's kissed Shusei, but that means she's not his girlfriend, she's - she's too old for him, isn't she, she's family, she doesn't give a damn about boys, about men, about -
“Can I talk to you, Shusei?” It's hard, so incredible hard, shifting his eyes from her and stop wondering about what, what exactly is going on here, what she's doing her, how much danger she means, but they're standing too far apart, even for the Japanese way Shusei might be raised they're standing too far apart, a line of broken hearts able to crash between them.
Maybe she kissed Shusei out of - out of sympathy. But sympathy for what?
“Sure.” There's a nod, but too much light hitting the window and this everglowing face to actually tell if he's smiling or not. “Go ahead.”
“Can I talk to you in private, too?”
Hotsuma looks at Tsubaki again, and that's when his head starts spinning. We sometimes stumble down streets we've known half our lifetime, and suddenly, just - out of the blue, like, NOW, something hits us, something awakening long forgotten, memories of friends lost along the way, memories of buildings we used to know, soft memories of things we said and did, and Hotsuma, when he looks at her, there is something like that, too, not quite remembering, but this feeling of familiarity, of something of importance he should actually care about but can't.
It's the image of a couch blending over his heart going too fast again. He's sure he's never seen that couch before.
“No. I'm fine with her being here with me, thank you.”
Did he just say thank you? He did, didn't he?
“I'm not.”
He's trying to break Shusei's will, and he knows it, but the problem, the real problem is, he's never been able to break anything but himself - and their twisted relationship, of course, he shouldn't forget about that one - for Shusei's always been...different, with his eyes always sad and steel for anyone but him, for his movements always sure where they're heading, taking his hand without taking it and leading him on.
“Well, I'm sorry. I won't talk in solitude with you.”
Tsubaki looks from Shusei to Hotsuma, face powered in worry and knowing she's a shield for a battle she cannot grasp.
“Is it Yuki? Is this - are you trying to get some sort of revenge for something, or are you - I just, I ain't getting this, I-”
It hurts, just seeing how Shusei lingers for two blinks of his eyes, like he maybe wants to say you're never getting anything, really, or why do do you even try to get it, it's not worth the trouble for you, but worse than that - is that possible? He's lived through a hundred of pains these days; his body's just numbness, like running on Novocaine - is the silence that tells more than Shusei could.
“Or is - did I do something wrong? Was it climbing into your bed again or saying I don't want to lie down or-”
They're not talking. He's stared at, he's a guinea pig, and which experiment it may be lies in shadows he cannot see but hear. They're waiting for his blood.
“Or is it simply me? Like, me looking at you and me talking to you and just spending too much time with you? Am I getting on your nerves with all the clingy tingy-tangy we've been having? Is it - do you need more space? More space for yourself?”
Concern gets the best of Shusei's blank face for a moment, then the smile's back on, all you need is a bit of glue anyway and it's meant to stick forever. Tsubaki opens her mouth but stops as soon as Shusei nods, his shoulders over-floating with light and dust dancing with it.
“Yes. I think that's simply it.”
No IT'S NOT! You never cared about your personal SPACE; you haven't even an IDEA what that IS or should be!
Say it. Please, Hotsuma, SAY IT, show him you can see right through these words, that they are Llied, and god knows why he lies in the first place but he does, he so does.
“I think I finally realized you're simply suffocating me.”
Suicide-Hotsuma snaps; the only sound left in his head is white noise or the bitter beep of two many hours filled with too much too loud music. Beep. It all goes beep.
Wh-
“We should take some time off.”
“What do you mean, taking time OFF? We've been - we've been - kinda, like, hanging out together since ever; you cannot rant about wanting and needing space all of the sudden without explaining why!”
Panic rises, it always does. Suddenly it owns six heads, and it's eager to bit his own as soon as it reaches him.
“You-”
“I don't have to explain anything. Maybe because I simply can't. I'm just tired of you, and I don't know why.”
His face breaks; Tsubaki finally makes a move and rushes towards him like she wants to sooth him and play Shusei's part he doesn't want anymore. Hotsuma makes two steps back. They feel like crossing oceans, but he's fine with that, too; it's a miracle he isn't drowning on the simple way back, back to whatever's left for him.
“Why is she here, Shusei?”
He talks to talk; white spots dancing in his eyes and his head and maybe, maybe even his heart; he needs some distance, that's what he said, and that's nothing new, no, but still, it cannot be true; it simply cannot BE TRUE.
Tsukumo yells dinner's ready. His stomach is just a knot of scars sharing one root.
“Try it, Hotsuma. For the sake of us, try it.”
I won't. I never will. I can't, and you know that, you goddamn know I'm lost without you, I'm lost on my own, I always was, you know, you know that since I climbed into your bed for the first time and kept you awake and kept you talking as you never did before and you just cannot ask something like that from me, you can't.
“I will” is what he really says, all watery eyes again, but it's hot water, for he's not crying for his shaken soul but out of instincborn wrath aiming for no one, trying to hit walls, walls only, please. “Guess I - I - I will; I-”
“Good.”
The distance between Tsubaki and Shusei is closed; he's barely touching her forearm, nothing to worry, nothing intimidated, but his eyes refuse to stop looking as his body is getting away. He's a statue now, too, like all the others living under this roof.
“Then it might be good for you to leave.”
He cannot remember if, and how he did later, but somehow he managed; there's the ceiling called heaven burning down on him, and air trying to cool him off, and he appreciates all these tries for there's nothing else he can do, nothing at all.
---
The fire, he says, it's just not really him saying anything, for his mouth is closed, his mind is shut; there's the soft fabric of something like a bed - but it's too small for that one, it really is; maybe it's a couch, and oh, doesn't that ring a bell of so-called memories, too? - under him, and he feels it clearly, for he's nearly naked, his chest moving too rapidly, one of his arms resting on his forehead, the other one senseless dangling down the border, nearly touching the ground. His eyes are wide open, and the ceiling gets a perfect shot of his soul, an exhausted piece of illusion.
The fire's there, it's always there. It - it hasn't lost faith, you know?
There's the soft sound of a pen scribbling over paper, and Hotsuma isn't sure if he's actually allowed to be here, on this couch, in a room smelling of perfume and femininity not belonging to her - but who's she, anyway? Someone at least seems to know, someone living inside of him, and gosh, how many personalities can a single person host anyway? - and he, he sighs again. School seems like the least important thing right now, with him lying here, unable to sit up, for he tried that before talking again, like staying means - means starting something he's not capable of.
It still believes it can melt ice; every layer, every sort that ever existed. It can't. I know it can't, but it - you know. It's always there.
It's hard, simply being here, not able to move, not able to grab for a bottle of water a spoon a fork his nintendo ds shusei (who's that?) or just the pen, the one writing all these things down - but oh, she'll write it down on a wall, it'll be my omen, there's a band who made a song, and they had a name, they had -
I hate that.
What?
The fire. It doesn't give a damn if I care about it or not, it never leaves, it never quiets down, it's always - it's -
someone waits outside the room; it's a presence he can feel, one already getting everything heated up again, because as much as the stench in here is wrong, all wrong wrong wrong, the one coming from outside is -
is best served with cold ash.
And the cold, the cold falls from above when the pen stops and the paper rustling becomes no more than a whisper and there's the voice again, saying more than a single word, and he knows who it belongs to, all the times it has talked to him, trying to open him with hands and hearts too soft to get inside his self-created shell.
There's a knock on the door made by a fist able to read his mind. It's soft, almost an excuse.
There she is, right on time. You had a lot to say, didn't you?
He's too shocked to answer, his eyes blinded by realization not meant to hit him, not meant to be even possible. How did he get here?
Who do you blame today?
How did Yuki get here, and why, why do the pen movements, though they stopped, seem to click like jigsaws falling into place, why is the perfume familiar, the couch a friend he's shared too many moments to count with? He's sure he'd never talk to Yuki about these - these things, whatever they might be, he's - what has he BEEN talking about? The words are here, and it's all about fire, but that's not what this is about, not at all, because he knows his ability, and it might be something living, something with its own mind and own ways of seeing life and its existence, but Yuki - knowing Yuki so close--
Someone's crying outside the door, and there's a moment of utter confusion and a sting close to fear until he realizes it's just a child, five, six maybe, a small girl crying like he's cried so often before and he wants to get up, finally, leaving the perfume and the paper scratching and Yuki's warm body- how much fire does that beautiful body own, anyway? - behind, and simply tell that small lady she doesn't have to cry, for everything is going to be all right, life's meant to bring you back on your feet when you've learned your lesson, but then the small lady actually speaks, and he forgets about wanting to help, he forgets about the sweet smell, he just -
Owwee, stop touching that! It hurts! It still hurts so much; why do I have an idiot for a brother?
Heal her, he says - but he doesn't, he's not the one talking, dammit. I know you can; stop pretending and heal her, for I blame who I've blamed last week, too, and if you don't heal her -
Wounds created by family or friends--
His palm hurts. Hotsuma's only looking to accept he did it, he really did; he hit her, and the smell gets even stronger, and he wonders how her hair would smell, taste like, even, and why he's a father not worth being one, not worth being blessed with three of them, small, small ladies and a gentleman looking like him.
We're all going down and you're just watching.
Hotsuma puts his hands on shoulders soft and intriguing under his fingers; he pushes his nails into flesh someone else's marked as his own, and for that he hates him, and he hates her, but most of all, and that somehow hurts like burning the one soulmate you have, he hates himself for the greed that won't stop existing and the want that doesn't leave and she knows, the bitch knows.
We're all going down and there will come a day I'll tie her to a fucking chair and set the house on fire.
“You'll what?”
Hotsuma opens his eyes as fast as he can; there's just gratitude for being awake, for being far, far gone from whatever was actually going on in his head or his thoughts or wherever, and sunlight hits him, greeting with a fake plastic smile. Like he cares. He's awake; he's shaking Yuki, but he doesn't care about that, either, and it's not like it matters anyway; Yuki isn't able to say No to anything, he won't hit him like Toko did, for he's not sure if he could stand another blow from someone who's meant to feel something for him.
“Yuki”, he says, afraid of the gratefulness he shows in his voice. “Yuki, what-”
His fingers come back to his soul, stopping to hurt - or trying to, really; he's been asleep, how on earth was he supposed to grab Yuki anway? - Yuki and relax, just lying on his bed (a bed, thank god, it's a bed) until Yuki takes a deep breath.
“Hotsuma, you should talk about it. All these - all the things I s-”
“Who are you to touch me like that? Who do you-”
“Shusei's leaving.”
His ears, somehow he thinks they're damaged, maybe by Toko and her hand, maybe they've been damaged for quite some time and he simply never realized before, but of course that's the reason, for what Yuki's saying doesn't make any sense at all, it's simply - it's not possible.
But until yesterday, he'd never thought Shusei would say leave me. Until yesterday, seeing Shusei's face in anger was something belonging to the world of fighting and surviving, not into their bedroom and all the things they might have done there, drunk on their own immortality.
“He's not”, Hotsuma says, because it's as simple as that. “He can't be.”
Because it's too early. Because I still need to convince him to stay, to talk to me, to get things done the same way we always do; because I need him to kiss my hand again, because I need myself to touch him, feel his skin under my fingertips, feel his heartbeat when I lie close to him, feel his soul in me, a part I'm always carrying around with me.
Yuki looks at him, without comments, without a try to make him believe. That's what it does, then; it makes him believe, for silence is not just also a sound, but it grows louder and louder until it destroys you completely; silence makes you wonder about things that happen to you in a dark alley, things you could do to people you hate and despise.
Shusei's leaving. He really seems to be.
He's on his feet, and he stumbles, again, there are always stones lying in front of you when you need to hurry and when you want to hurry, you always crash and burn and sometimes the stench stays; he knows he's sweating, he's sweating so much it even runs out of the corner of his eyes.
Three steps at a time; Tachibana tells him to look out, but he doesn't have to; who will be left to care if he's breaking his head and his leg and his heart and his life when Shusei's going, going RIGHT NOW?
He can't. He - he just told me yesterday, no, today, I don't know, it was a few minutes ago, and he cannot - where should he go? He HAS nowhere to go, he--
It's so close to August, but when he steps outside the mansion and sees Shusei putting a bag into Tsubaki's car, temperature looks at him and leaves, for it doesn't have any business left to do, it never had, for he and Shusei, they've been ice and fire since birth, the other one always there to do something about whatever feeling they had to deal with in these moments of utter tragedy.
Shusei looks at him. Hotsuma's breathing hard, slowly moving forward. Tsubaki closes the front door and seems to consider her own right of existence for a second or two, before she opens the door again and climbs into the car.
It's only him and Shusei now, only the two of them.
“No”, Hotsuma says, and he hates his temper for it wants to cry again, spilling tears useless to him and not able to bind Shusei anymore. “No, no, please, please, Shusei, I'm begging you-”
He's begged his whole life long, he thinks, but that's not right, and he somehow, somehow knows that, too. His hands create fists, he's so eager to use them his nails have to dig into flesh just to maintain control, just to keep right here, head upright, his voice a bitter play of wrong keyboard seconds.
“We've been so close like - forever. We always have been, and we always managed; that - it has never, never been any problem before, it's -”
He wishes Shusei would stop looking, at least change the mask sitting on his face for some blinks of his eyes, because he's never been good at it, watching Shusei and continue talking.
“I'd die for you”, he says, and he means it so much his heart burns in his chest and wants to reach out, touch him, pull him into his arms and never let him go again, maybe take him and tie him to a chair, setting the whole house on fire.
Has he had that thought before? It feels familiar, even now with him steeping forward.
“Would she die for you, too? And how and when did that start, anyway? What do you WANT from her? What- what good does she do for you, what is it I couldn’t do for you, too? How long have you betrayed me like that? What-”
Shusei rushes forward, and silence joins them again when he suddenly closes his arms around him; it's the embrace he's been waiting for, the one he's needed since his whole life set itself on fire, and his knees feel weak and want to leave him, and he, he wants to leave, too, this body, maybe being female and doing for Shusei whatever is missing - for there HAS to be something missing, Shusei doesn't need a girl, Shusei's got HIM, dammit! - but all he really, really thinks about is that -
is that his heat, it cools off. Shusei's ice cools him off, like he's done it times and times before, and in the same instant, Hotsuma offers him glowing carbon he'd never find on his own, and this embrace, it makes him shudder and weak, he's all hanging in these arms, and he'll fall if Shusei lets go too soon, he'll fall and he won't be able to get up ever again.
“No”, he says, shivering like a small child scared of the bogeyman living in his closet. “No. No, don't leave me. Don't leave me behind. Just - just stay with me and stop this shit.”
“I can’t”, Shusei says, and there's regret in his voice he picks up like a starving man might take a mildewet piece of bread. “I just can't.”
“Why? What is-”
“Sssh.” It's a finger, one closing his lips, and Shusei makes this half-smile broken window something again and there are tears in his eyes, he sees them CLEARLY, and he wants to yell SEE you're so goddamn broken and hurt, too so STOP pretending but of course he doesn’t.
“I just want you to be happy, Hotsuma. I don’t want to ever, ever see you disastrous again.”
“But that's what I AM if you're not with me.”
It's like talking to a wall. Shusei keeps his smile though the water becomes so highly visible it only needs to cross the last border before it can run down his cheeks, and when Shusei's arms let him go, he somehow, somehow stands. Barely, but he does.
“Shusei, no. No.”
But Shusei doesn't look at him anymore; he moves towards the car and opens the door.
Go. Hotsuma, you have to GO and catch him, come on, I liked the idea of tying him up and--
“No. NO!”
Shusei gets in the car. The door closes with a bang too loud for his brain. When the motor's whining like it would share his pain, he hears that sound going round and round and round inside of him, and just like that, Shusei left, and he's left here, the bitter season completely closing him in.
-
* Queen - Under pressure