So, ehm... I wrote this in an hour and a half flat. Which is not good in my book. Because normally it takes me longer to pull together something. I can't help but question what the quality of this will be. After rereading it, it already seems awfully choppy and... Uh. I'll get this posted before I talk myself out of it.
Just a drabble. So short. o_o
Disclaimer: I do not own Nabari no Ou.
Miharu liked the way that whenever he was with Yoite, his many worries were nowhere to be found.
It was different, though, than the carefree life he'd lead before the crisis in the world of Nabari took over. Back then it was easy to truthfully say that there were little, if not no things in the world that he cared about enough to make an effort towards. He was numb and void, emotionless, but in a way that was satisfactory to him. He just didn't care.
Nowadays, he didn't have the luxury of that option. There were too many things about which he had no choice but to care for. Shinrabanshō being his prime concern from which branched out many others: Thobari, Raimei, Kouichi, Fuma, Oda-san, his family … all of which he could not very easily ignore. Of course there was Kairoshuu as well: Yukimi, Gau, Hattori, Raikou…
When he was with Yoite, he thought about none of those. Not a one.
He never really could explain why. But he had a pretty good idea. He worried less about his other cares because every ounce of his consciousness was taken up worrying about Yoite.
If only the others were affected by Yoite in the same ways that Miharu was, maybe then they'd be able to see things the way Miharu did, and see the reasons behind all the actions he took. The muffled outcry for help in Yoite's eye was enough to touch the coldest of hearts. But for some reason, it seemed others turned a deaf ear towards it.
Miharu heard; it was loud and clear as anything he had ever encountered.
Even now with the emotional eyes shut in an apparent light slumber, Miharu could still hear the echoes of Yoite's silent pleas sounding and resounding to fill the very tips of his consciousness.
When he was in slumber was probably the only time Yoite ever looked so peaceful. His thin limbs were all outstretched in various directions, hanging off the dusty, worn out couch in Yukimi's apartment. He looked awkward but comfortable, and what else really mattered?
Miharu wondered quietly how he could possibly sleep clothed like he was. His favorite tan hat made its home as it always did on top of his head, probably sponging up the beads of sweat forming on his brow. He wore his dark coat and hadn't taken off his shoes or gloves.
Miharu knew perfectly well why he hadn't removed those though. The chalky black limbs that lay beneath them were a sign of the curse that would take his life
He probably thought that having them out in the open would upset Miharu.
Miharu sat comfortably at the end of the couch Yoite lay on, watching over him while Yukimi ran errands. On the coffee table next to the couch sat a half-empty packet of painkillers along with a steaming half-empty mug of Yukimi's lemonade.
(Half-empty, half-empty. Was anything half-full?)
Yoite turned on his side in his sleep, nestling deeper into the couch cushions. He stretched through his light nap, his gloved hand finding its way, somehow, onto Miharu's lap, its counterpart resting on the coffee table.
Miharu blinked at the one in his lap, almost wondering if the fates were silently inviting him to do something very, very stupid.
Gently, he picked up the hand from his lap.
Who was he to defy the fates?
Pleased that Yoite didn't stir, he slowly lifted his gloved hand higher. It was natural for someone his age to be curious, right?
Careful not to wake him, Miharu slowly pulled the glove off of his hand, finger, by finger, by finger, by finger… He held his bare, blackened hand at the wrist, afraid of what he might discover.
He'd never particularly liked looking at Yoite's blackened limbs; in all honesty, they scared him. They were a constant reminder of the ebbing time Yoite had left on the Earth.
But he couldn't help but wonder what they felt like.
Chalky and rough, he'd assume, or dry and grimy like they'd been coated in gruel or dirt. Perhaps rough and scraggly like they were withering and dying.
Unable to wallow in his curiosity any longer, Miharu let instinct take over his actions. His fingers, shy and deliberate, wormed their way into Yoite's reluctant ones. He weaved his fingers in and out of Yoite's, determined to get the full feel of it, and—
Slowly, his eyes widened as his senses shot their response back to his consciousness.
They felt bony as to be expected, thin and stretched.
But it was the softest, smoothest flesh Miharu had ever felt, like that of a lamb's nose or—or a baby's cheek… Smooth, pliable, tender and so fragile.
Fragile, like the rest of Yoite. Liable to snap under enough pressure.
For a moment, all thoughts left his brain as his senses overtook him, leaving him with nothing but the sensation of the soft skin. It was like dipping his hands into crisp water or running his fingers over smooth pebbles. He trailed his fingertips along the lines in Yoite's palm, examining and cross-examining…
Seconds may have passed, or days. When he became conscious of his surroundings again, he could feel soft yearning eyes on his face.
He looked up at Yoite whose brows knit in an unspoken question. Without parting their hands, Miharu tipped his head, smiling lightly in a tiny silent "Good morning."
He expected Yoite to pull away, but instead he sat up, giving Miharu more access to his hand without having to pull on him. Gently Miharu led the back of the blissful hand to his own face, brushing it on his cheek. The sensation was something that belonged to Heaven.
Yoite took control of his hand and the situation, turning it and pressing the palm to Miharu's cheek gingerly. Miharu took a sharp intake of breath, startled at the chill of the smooth skin.
Without moving, Yoite looked down as if ashamed.
Slowly Miharu moved Yoite's hand from the front of his face softly, pressing his lips to the palm of it. Yoite looked up, eyes widened.
"M—Miharu-kun…"
Without responding, Miharu tugged on his hand. It was an exchange that didn't require any words spoken aloud, and it didn't take Yoite very long to get the silent yet thunderous message.
His actions looked delicate, stiff and pained, as if the brief doze had left him frozen in place; he was silently working out painful crooks in his body. As Miharu waited patiently, Yoite moved his body to the opposite end of the couch next to him. It was a tight fit, but they sank into the cushions together side by side, Yoite's hand still in Miharu's grip.
It was much more comfortable like that.
Eyes fluttering shut as he knew Yoite's exhausted lids already were, Miharu softly stroked Yoite's hand like a child with a teddy bear, and welcomed sleep.
He couldn't think of a person he cared for more than Yoite.
And yet, for this brief time only, he saw no reason to worry.
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