Disclaimer: I don't own Loveless or the characters (pity). I'm totally ignorant as far as the art of painting is concerned (don't shoot me for mistakes).
A/N: Not beta-ed and written in a post-Halloween-party spirit (i.e. I'm everything but sober).
For moon bunny, a fellow addict.
This Feeling
Heavy raindrops pattered against the windowpanes. The sound of the pouring water was a monotonous rushing, calming, hypnotizing. It was growing late, but there was still light shining in the windows, making them squares of light in the darkness outside.
The room behind these windowpanes was bare save a few pieces of furniture, several easels and dozens of painted canvas. It smelled of turpentine and colours. Smoke from unnumbered cigarettes wafted in bluish-grey clouds around the lamps.
Neither of the two persons inside of this room seemed to care about the stench and the smoke. They were both focused on their tasks, working in deep concentration. Two blond heads were bent down; brushes whispered over canvas or gurgled softly when cleaned.
Neither of the young men had spoken a word for hours. They were working hard on finishing their assignment.
On the kitchen table lay the over-dimensional picture of a light-blue butterfly that rested on the velvety petals of a purple tulip.
The clock showed well past one in the morning when one of the young men sat back and stretched.
'Uuuuhh,' he yawned and rubbed his face. 'Mmmhm.'
He looked up. The light of the lamp over the table reflected on the numerous rings in his ears. He gazed at his companion who was guiding his brush slowly over the canvas in front of him, creating another delicate butterfly.
Kio sighed and shook his head. Soubi and his butterflies.
He looked down critically at his own painting, frowned, and grabbed his brush to correct a small flaw in the colouring.
The other young man over at the large windows didn't notice the glance of friend, nor did he notice the passing of time. He was lost in the flowing and blending of colours, the feeling of brush on canvas and its effortless gliding over the roughened texture.
A siren wailed in the distance and silenced abruptly. The rain rushed on.
Soubi put his brush down and looked reflectively at his half-finished painting. Something was missing. He bit his lip and wrinkled his brow. Then he shrugged and picked up his brush once more, dipped it into the deep green, and began, slowly, carefully, to paint another leave for a butterfly to rest on.
He had just finished the outline when he felt something that made him start so hard he almost ruined the painting by drawing the deep green-tinted brush right across it.
Soubi gasped softly and stepped back, eyes wide. His hand that was holding the brush was shaking visibly, and his knees were curiously weak.
Kio raised his head. 'Sou-chan? Something wrong?'
Soubi exhaled deeply and shook his head. His hand tightened around the brush until his knuckles became white.
'Nothing, Kio.'
'Humph. Fine, keep your secrets. But take care you don't ruin the painting.'
'Yes.'
Kio eyed his friend shrewdly, then bent down again. Soubi had made more than clear that there were things even his one and only friend wasn't to know more about. This was clearly one of those things.
Soubi took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart, and then made to dip his brush into the paint, but his hand was still shaking too hard. He sat back and closed his eyes.
His heart was hammering against his ribcage, trembling in painful, disbelieving hope that made him breathless. He clenched his fist. It was impossible, really. But he still felt it. Felt it, felt it without a question, and his soul was crying with joy.
He leaned further back and relaxed, allowing himself to sink deeper into the feeling. Allowed himself to accept and really feel it.
He knew this feeling, knew it very well. He could not mistake it for something else. A large part of his life had been influenced by it, after all. He had felt it so intense that it cut his soul, had felt it urging, demanding, controlling. He could never forget it.
But he had never thought he would feel it again.
Soubi bent his head, letting his hair slide down and hide his face from Kio's eyes. This was private. This was far too intimate to share it with anyone else.
His heart fluttered as the feeling warmed him inside, thawing the last frozen parts of his soul. He shivered as a tiny smile appeared on his lips.
He had thought it impossible. The names were different and they were not yet fully connected. Yes, their bond was growing stronger each day, yet he hadn't thought it strong enough. He had come to believe that in spite of every reassurance given, in spite of every declaration it would never be strong enough.
And yet, it was. It had to be. Otherwise he wouldn't be feeling this now. This indescribable, unexplainable feeling.
His smile broadened as he relaxed further, revelling in this feeling. This wonderful feeling.
It was soft, not urging. A caress, not a call. But unmistakable.
His Sacrifice was thinking of him.
Lovingly, longingly, his adorable Ritsuka was thinking of him.
Soubi exhaled in a deep sigh, almost a sob. His hand reached out to his mobile that was never far away.
Sleep now, Ritsuka.
He did not have to wait long for an answer.
You too. Chuu.
Soubi smiled tenderly at the message, laid the mobile aside, and finished his painting. It was perfect.
Chuu. For those whose Japanes is as bad as mine: it means 'kiss'.
About the tulip: Kouga Yun let Ritsuak say in an "interview" that the tulip is his favourite flower.