Title: Breaking

Author: WolfPilot06

Pairing: Tsuzuki/Hisoka

Warnings: Angst, shonen ai, character death, really weird Hisokaness, occasional run-on sentences, and possibly OOC Tsuzuki, but not really.

Notes: I really like trying out my hand at different writing styles and formats. I got the idea for this one from Rondaview, who writes wonderful fic in this fashion. I have to admit, her writing's probably a lot better than mine, 'cause I seriously haven't written in a long time and am rusty as all hell. Oh well. It's finished. And unbetaed, like all my one-shots. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it.

Just a note to the people waiting anxiously (haha) on Abandoned – it's on semi-permanent hold, 'cause I'm in the middle of replotting the entire thing. If I ever get around to it, I'll be doing a complete rewrite of the thing. Unfortunately, if I do do that, I want to write it all out before posting it anywhere, so…yeah, that'll be a long time in coming. Sorry!

Three years pass by before Hisoka knows it.

He finds it ironic. There was a time when all he wanted was for time to speed up and hurry him to his inevitable death – all he wanted was to be released from the pain that lanced through limbs that were otherwise insensate. Now, he knows that he has all of eternity stretched before him, and he can't get enough of it.

In the morning, Hisoka wakes up and looks through the window at the sun shining through the branches of the maple planted outside his apartment. It's a beautiful sight. The bright green of the leaves is enough to rouse him from his bed, and he goes about his usual routine, washing his face and spending exactly ten minutes in the shower while the kettle heats up. He makes himself a light Western breakfast of scrambled eggs and oatmeal before glancing at the clock and realizing that he's twenty minutes late for work.

Pausing only to grab the report he'd stayed up until three o'clock this morning to finish, he teleports to the office in the blink of an eye; only, he doesn't appear at the front door like most but instead teleports to the small broom closet right next to the staff room. It's a trick he picked up from Tsuzuki; Tatsumi-san would notice if he teleported directly to their office, but if he teleports here and is careful to look casual, he can sneak in and pretend he's been there the entire time.

It's a surprise when Tsuzuki catches him sneaking back into their office with a mug of coffee in his hand. Usually, Tsuzuki's the late one, but apparently he got up early this morning. Secretly, Hisoka's convinced that Tsuzuki did this deliberately – it's not often that Tsuzuki gets to poke at his younger partner and tease him for being late.

Still, Hisoka can't take offense. Tsuzuki's far too pleased to be the one doing the scolding this time, and the gentle waves of affection that roll through his senses as Tsuzuki lectures him about the virtues of being on time almost make his dilatory appearance worth it.

Their first kiss comes in the most surprising of places. Hisoka's willing to stake his reputation that nobody in on the office betting pool thought they'd admit their feelings for each other in Tatsumi's office. It happens when Watari blows up his lab again while Tatsumi briefs them on their newest mission. The secretary runs off to yell at the erratic scientist and, unwittingly, leaves Tsuzuki and Hisoka alone in the privacy of his office.

For some reason – maybe it's the danger of the mission Tatsumi's been describing to them, or perhaps it's just because this moment's been long overdue – the two Shinigami find themselves blinking at each other and blushing. Before they know it, they're confessing their feelings – and really, when Hisoka thinks about it later, it doesn't make sense; none of it does, not the admittance, not the tentative kiss they share before the audience of Tatsumi's beloved potted plants, but somehow it's right. Nothing is normal about their relationship. Why should this part be any different?

But when he sees the brilliant smile spread across Tsuzuki's face, Hisoka feels complete. He's come home, and he's half-tempted to say tadaima just to hear Tsuzuki reply okaeri, but then Tatsumi walks back into the office and the opportunity passes. He feels Tsuzuki squeeze his hand just once, and it's all he can do to keep from laughing outright at the baffled look that comes across Tatsumi's face when he smiles.

The evenings they spend together are slow and languid. Both of them are too shy to do more than cuddle and kiss on the sofa, and they watch far too many romantic movies in their time together. Neither of them possess spectacular conversational skills, but even though their attempts to speak about things as mundane as sports and the weather more often than not peter off into awkward silence, Hisoka can't help but feel more comfortable with Tsuzuki than he has with anyone else in his entire life. They never needed conversation before; why now? They've said what's necessary, and they're together, and isn't it enough?

That's what Hisoka thinks, but sometimes he looks into Tsuzuki's eyes – especially after a case – and feels as if there's something he should be saying.

Hisoka learns to hate their job, but for different reasons than Tsuzuki.

He hates how cases break into his routine like violent natural disasters, uprooting everything he holds dear and occasionally putting his life on the line for something that should never have involved him in the first place.

Death has offered him the opportunity to enjoy life like he never could before – most of the time, Hisoka even feels normal, but not when he's running down a moonlit street in Nagasaki in pursuit of a spirit that feels the need to play hooky from the afterlife. Even when he draws upon his immense psychic powers and chants the words that Konoe-Kacho has drilled into his mind through repetitive exercises, he feels nothing more than a brief annoyance at the fact that was it not for this spirit playing tag with death, he'd be safe at home in his favorite armchair reading.

It's incredibly callous of him, he's sure, but damnit, the spirit is dead. Its physical body is already in the ground rotting, and why can't it just accept the fact that it's no longer part of this life? Hisoka was never happy when he was alive, and he can't understand how anyone can be so attached to living.

It's also one of the things about Tsuzuki that frustrates him the most. The man is far too compassionate towards people and treasures life far too much for one who was tormented during his life and driven to suicide by others. Hisoka knows that his blind consideration for humanity will do nothing but get him hurt; where Hisoka has learned to bite back and put up walls, Tsuzuki just stands there with outstretched arms and lets the world hurt him.

Hisoka realizes that while this trait of Tsuzuki's is one of the reasons he fell in love with him in the first place, it's also one of the most irritating. Hisoka also realizes that it irritates him simply because he can't protect Tsuzuki against himself. Tsuzuki invites the pain his compassion gives him, and there's nothing Hisoka can do about it.

The first sign that something is wrong comes one evening when Tsuzuki abruptly stands up from the calligraphy table and announces that he's going to bed. Hisoka's bewildered; usually, Tsuzuki stays up later than he does, meticulously folding perfect origami birds that he will later breathe life into and writing ofuda spells that practically glow with power in their sheer elegance. When he asks why, Tsuzuki just says that he's tired, but he's avoiding Hisoka's eyes and there's just something so incredibly guilty about his appearance that Hisoka can tell he's lying, even without his empathy.

Hisoka's not used to dealing with things like this, though, so all he can do is nod and watch as Tsuzuki slowly goes into their bedroom and closes the door with a soft click. Tsuzuki never shuts the door; it's always Hisoka who does, feeling the need to shut out the rest of the world at night so that it's just him and Tsuzuki curled up in bed together. The thought that Tsuzuki is shutting him out crosses his mind, and his hands shake so badly that he nearly drops a plate putting away the dishes.

He spends the night on the couch in sleepless anxiety, tossing and turning under the thin blanket he grabbed from the hallway closet.

The idea of going in and asking Tsuzuki what's wrong never occurs to him.

Hisoka can't believe that he's standing here, staring at the door that leads to the next stage – the true death.

It's innocently deceptive for a door with so much significance. The cracked beige paint is marred by numerous chicken-scratches where previous generations felt the need to leave their mark before leaving the physical world forever. Hisoka finds himself looking for inane little love declarations like, "Yuki loves Shinji", reminded so much of the graffiti scrawled on bathroom stalls in the many high-schools he's had to go undercover at.

There's nothing like that on this door, though. Just names of people who've passed on before.

Hisoka feels almost physically ill at the thought that Tsuzuki's name might soon join the hundreds of other names on this undignified memorial. Tsuzuki's standing right in front of him, solemnly contemplating the door as if looking for a bare place to scratch his remembrance. There's no emotion on his face, an expressionless mask with serious violet eyes that remind Hisoka of the first days of their partnership, when Tsuzuki was irritated at him for pointing a gun at his back. It reminds him of the days before Muraki came into their lives and broke Tsuzuki, leaving Hisoka with the pieces of something that looked like a whole but wasn't – left him with nothing but a crumbling dream that rapidly led to where they are now.

Hisoka wants to say something, anything to break the silence that has fallen between them. He half-believes that it's not too late, that if he can just find that something to say, Tsuzuki might turn away from that damned door and come back to him. Hisoka needs him. He needs him, and this is so much worse than Kyoto, when Hisoka thought his heart had stopped, as if he'd never breathe again, because Tsuzuki is really leaving him. Tsuzuki is the one stepping away from him, and he isn't being pushed by Muraki. No, this time, it's Hisoka doing the pushing, only he hasn't realized it until now.

Tsuzuki takes a step forward, and suddenly a million words well up in Hisoka's throat, choking him. He can't say any of them – they're all bunched together at the tip of his tongue and when did he start crying? All he can say is Tsuzuki's name, over and over again, futilely trying to grab onto Tsuzuki's shirt and keep him from stepping forward again.

But Tsuzuki is shrugging his touch off without looking at him, and he has one hand on the doorknob. Finally, he looks at Hisoka, and all Hisoka can see is broken glass where there once were smiles and so much love that Hisoka didn't know what to do with it all.

There's a roaring in his ears now, and he can barely hear Tsuzuki bid him farewell, can only watch as the one person who ever cared for him turns and pushes open that door. Hisoka's frozen, his hand still extended towards the one person he ever loved walking away from him. And then he's gone.

Hisoka falls to his knees. He's shivering, and all he can do is cry Tsuzuki's name over and over again.

The door falls shut with a quiet click, but the silence that ensues is nothing in comparison to the hollowness that fills Hisoka's chest.

It's four days until Hisoka notices the whispers in the office, the surreptitious glances and worried looks that skitter away when he enters a room. It's nearly two weeks before Hisoka can shake off Watari and Tatsumi's comforting advances.

Hisoka wonders if this is how Tsuzuki felt every time a partner left him. Before, Hisoka would have said no, because none of them mattered to him as much as Hisoka did. But obviously Hisoka was wrong then, because he wasn't important enough to Tsuzuki when it mattered the most.

Five months later, he has a new partner. Two weeks after that, the man – Hisoka can't remember his name – opts to move on. It happens again. And again.

Hisoka doesn't bother keeping track after the third one. He's not like Tsuzuki. He won't hold onto the memories of those who left him, even if they matter to him. Tsuzuki's compassion is what broke him, after all, and drove him away from Hisoka. Hisoka refuses to be broken in the same way Tsuzuki was. He puts up his walls again and coldly shuns all his partners, because he refuses to let anyone close to him again.

It takes a long time for Hisoka to realize he's already broken. By then, it's too late.

Touda's flames rise up above him, and the heat is almost unbearable, but all Hisoka can think about is how ironic it all is. Once, he thought he had been right to save Tsuzuki from the flames of his own destruction.

Now, Hisoka raises his arms in supplication to death.

Tadaima, he thinks as his vision blacks out. In the moment before his consciousness slips from him, he swears he can hear a soft voice reply.

Okaeri.

Owari

Additional Notes:

Tadaima means, basically, "I'm home", while okaeri means "welcome home". And yes, I did sort of steal the notion of a spirit playing hooky from the afterlife from Amet. It was the only thing I really could think of.

Comments and Criticism greatly appreciated.

Wolf