Summary: Yuki's best laid plans to leave the Souma house and go to school quickly spiral into a terrified dash into surrounding woods, leaving him alone and lost with the memory of Akito's words reminding him of the harsh difference between escaping and being free. Preseries. As canon as I can manage. :)
Rated: K+
Manga Purists Beware! I am familiar with bits and pieces of the manga, but mostly I just love the show. Therefore, I mainly followed Yuki's history as (rather vaguely) portrayed in the show. So if you'd consider yourself a manga purist, you'll probably hate this. If you're interested in reading anyway, I may do a happy dance, but you've been warned. ;)
Translator Note: I use a few phrases in here for which there is no real English translation, but if you're very familiar with subbed anime, you'll probably know what they mean. If not, I'm terribly sorry, I tried not to go overboard.
Enjoy!
Sleepwalker
Just give in. It would be so easy. As easy as falling asleep.
Yuki hit the dark entry way's wooden floor hard, producing a collection of dull thudding sounds. He remained sprawled there for a moment, waiting for sting of Akito's hand striking his face to register. It did; the burning numbness spread slowly under his shaking fingers.
"Leaving?" Akito screamed at him. "Don't be stupid. Where would you go? You have nowhere." Then sneering, "No one…"
Yuki got to his feet, careful not to look up. He took a cautious step towards his long-packed suitcase, still leaning against the wall by the front door.
"I'm going to go to school…" he took another step, feeling Akito's gaze scorching him. "I I'll stay with Shi "
"Go to school. You?"
Yuki heard the sudden footsteps just as he reached the door. Akito whirled him around by one shoulder, slamming him into the into the wall with an arm across his throat and his wrist pinned over his head.
Yuki gasped sharply, but knew better than to struggle.
"With people? I see. You think you'll make 'friends'." Akito's voice fell dangerously soft. "But you're wrong. You're just trash to them, Yuki. Just dirt to wipe of their shoes. None of them want you." He stooped closer to Yuki's face and hissed, "They don't need you. And you know it."
Stop fighting. Stop hoping.
"Say you know it…" he coaxed lightly. Yuki flinched away from his gaze, trying swallow. Then he felt his wrist twisting painfully and Akito's arm pressed harder into his neck. "Say it!" he spat.
"Ah - I know!" Yuki half whispered with the air he had left.
A pause… then the pressure slowly relaxed. "And you don't need them," Akito concluded, releasing his wrist. Yuki felt two fingers brush at some stray bangs, then caress down his cheek to the tip of his chin. "You need me."
Akito's forearm eased all the way off his throat and ragged breathing once again punctuated the silence like a lethargic metronome.
"Say it again."
Yuki bit his lip, looking anywhere but in those eyes. "I know."
"Again." The smile was back.
"I know."
"Again!"
"I kn -" Akito slapped him.
Just go to sleep. Give in.
He gently pressed his palm against Yuki's reddened cheek and rubbed his thumb back and forth slowly.
"No you don't." His voice was airy; full of condescending sympathy. "Always, I'm trying to make you understand… but it's like you can't hear me at all. That's why…"
At last, he took a step back and dropped his fingers to Yuki's suitcase handle. He lifted the case carefully, like it was a toy Yuki shouldn't have been playing with. "I'm not angry with you, Yuki." He chuckled. "Not at all."
Yuki didn't move. He kept his eyes on the floor, palms against the wall behind him. The stiff, carefully folded Kiabara highschool acceptance letter felt heavy in his coat pocket. He was going - leaving.
Yes, he knew no one wanted him. He was convinced of it. But one question burned like yellow embers in his mind, a little hotter every day: Could Akito, who decided what was right, what was best - Akito, who knew everything… be wrong?
Because, if he was wrong about even one thing - there was a way out.
"If you're not -" he swallowed a dry whisper and tried again, louder. "If you're not angry - then let me leave."
Warily, he reached out a hand for the suitcase.
Akito's head tipped sideways and he smiled. He lifted the case toward Yuki's hand, then suddenly slipped the clasp open.
"Oops."
Yuki watched as folded clothes, pencils, paper and the school books Hatori had given him tumbled and bounced off the gaping suitcase lid and scattered all over the wood floor.
Akito dropped the empty case on top of the pile and smirked. "Let you… leave?" he looked down. After a moment his shoulders started shaking. He was laughing.
Suddenly, he threw his head back and let off a shrieking cackle that made Yuki jump. "Leave ME? You can't - not me!" He kicked the pile of clothes viciously. A few shirts went flying and a crimson scarf landed next to Yuki's feet. He stepped over the mess toward Yuki, eyes wide with hysterical fury. "You can never leave, you can't survive without - I'm all you have! You ignorant, pathetic, worthless little -"
Another step and he raised his hand again. Yuki didn't think.
In one terror-rushed movement, he snatched up the scarf, hauled the door open and shot out into the torrent of freezing February sleet.
He ran to the edge of the porch and leapt off, without bothering with the steps, landing in an old, ice-crusted snowdrift. Akito screeched something indistinct at him from doorway but in moments, Yuki was plunging past the estate tree line.
He wasn't even sure when he'd passed the other houses, the courtyard, zen garden, or entrance gate. He just threw himself into running, head thrust forward and eyes squeezed shut.
If he slowed, he felt Akito's hand on his elbow, heard his voice a hairsbreadth away; breath in his ear. You can't run far enough, Yuki. You know that. Say you know it…
He pushed off tree trunks, ducked under branches, but never slowed down. By the time he risked glancing over his shoulder, the mansion - the whole Souma Estate - had long disappeared. All that surrounded him were snow-drenched trees and gray fog.
Just as he turned to face frontwards again, the toe of his boot caught under an up-jutting tree root, jerking his right leg around his left and pitching him forward.
"Ahh !"
The cry cut off as he hit the muddy ground, barely keeping his face up with one elbow and his hand which he accidentally plunged in a puddle of melted snow. The biting ice-water snapped around his fingers like a mouse trap. He jolted backwards and scrambled up onto his knees.
Say it!
A shuddering near his abdomen made him want to throw up. He swallowed hard.
Calm down.
Was he really out?
He took a deep breath that didn't come back quite right. No. He wasn't out until he'd made it to Shigure's house. And even then …Focus!
Now….which way was the road? Yuki looked around. If he'd gone exactly straight, it ought to be directly on his left, but he'd taken no such care in his direction.
The balled up scarf felt warm in his frozen hand.
He'd been sure to keep it from touching the ground, and now he unrolled it and picked out a few twig-pieces that had caught in the wool as he ran.
He still remembered when Kagura had given it to him at the last New Year's celebration. The sunlight had just been replaced by several dozen candles and Kagura had spent the last hour behind Akito's always-closed bedroom door, arguing with him.
She'd tried to keep the reason a secret, but Hatsuharu had already told Yuki that she was planning to invite them both (and Kyo, of course, though he wouldn't come) to her family's lakeside villa over spring break.
Yuki hadn't reacted much to this news. He knew there was no way on earth Akito would agree to such an idea. Not for him, anyway.
Sure enough, Kagura returned to the living room looking tense and defeated. For a moment she'd stood there, staring down into space, shoulders sagging. Then, mustering an overly cheerful smile, she'd come over to where Yuki sat, watching ten-year-old Kisa work on a jigsaw puzzle.
Kagura had knelt right in front of him and thrust the deep-red scarf into his hands. "For you, Yun-chan!"
He'd looked up at her, wide eyed. "Th-thank you."
She blushed and smiled down at her lap. "It's not very good because I made it myself and I'm new at knitting, so there are a lot of wholes but - hopefully the yarn is thick enough so that…"
She'd met his eyes again, but suddenly, her smile began to tremble. Just then, she'd jumped forward on her knees and threw her arms around his neck.
Startled, Yuki had blinked several times, back straight with his fingers limp around the scarf.
"Just…" She'd whispered shakily, "Stay warm, okay?"
After a moment she'd let go, stood up and turned away quickly. She'd spent the rest of the celebration helping Hatori with the dishes.
The wind was blowing a cold film over Yuki's ears and he rubbed his palms over them ineffectively. Why had she acted like that - like she cared? None of the them cared… did they?
…the most hated of the Juunishi - the Rat spirit is filthy. They're happier never seeing you, Yuki. Don't come out today, you'll offend them.
Was it true?
Yuki buried his face in the soft, crimson wool. His breath heated a small patch of it which he rubbed over his frozen nose.
Whether it was true or not hardly mattered. If they hated him it was no surprise.
He wrapped the scarf around his neck and started to stand.
If they did care… where did that leave him? They were all in the same sinking boat. The world hated them for being different and no Souma could ever -
The all-too-familiar weight suddenly trickled through his head like sand and Yuki felt a crippling fatigue begin to shake his knees. He sank back down quickly before he could fall and gasped for air. It hurtled into his lungs hot and dry, exiting rigidly cold.
He'd overdone it - he shouldn't have run for so long. Yuki gripped wet ground with his frozen hand and clutched the front of his coat with the other.
He couldn't afford to have an attack here. Alone.
You have nowhere… no one.
Concentrate.
Another volley of sleet cascaded into the treetops out of the roiling, steel-colored sky. Just breathe.
A handful of drops poked tiny ditches in a patch of mud-blotched snow close by. Breathe.
It was slowing, now. He was still exhaling more air than he inhaled, but the sand in his head started to thin a little. Carefully, he scooted off his knees and sat back against a thick tree. The trunk had stayed almost dry under the branches.
Now that the oxygen could flow straight up and down, there was nothing to do but wait. Yuki folded his still-throbbing right hand under his left arm and listened to the machinegun fire of his heartbeat gradually quiet down.
There was a soft fluttering noise. He looked down. The scrap of wrinkled notebook paper on which he'd scrawled Shigure's address was sticking out of his coat pocket, flapping in the stiff breeze.
He pulled it out, pinching the paper tight so it wouldn't blow away, and stared at the semi-neat lettering.
In all his hopeful planning, Yuki hadn't dared consider what would happen if Shigure didn't want him to stay. Worse yet, what if he took him back? With a sudden stomach twist, he pushed the thought away.
If Shigure made him leave, perhaps Kagura could - but no, she would be in school herself; too busy. Hatsuharu? But he didn't know where Haru was right now.
Yuki coughed on an amused sigh. Haru probably didn't know where he was, either.
Souma Yuki,
On behalf of the Kiabara School Board, I am pleased to inform you that you're examination form has passed and we will be expecting you on March 3rd for the Opening Ceremony.
Yuki pulled his arms around tighter as the wind blew suddenly low across the forest floor.
He'd played these words over nearly a hundred times, reading and re-reading the letter 'til it was memorized.
Kiabara was coed and received, on average, about two hundred students each year. He'd be surrounded by people - not isolated anymore. Right?
Mud had frozen on the hems of his pant legs. A tree branch dropped a load of old snow that gave a muted thump when it spattered the ground.
…you're wrong, Yuki. You're just trash to them.
He covered his numb ears, fingers curled into the surrounding mass of damp hair.
What can you offer anyone? What can you give? Nothing. How pitiful…
"Stop it," he whispered. "Please, stop."
Never had he felt this cold. To cold to shiver anymore, too cold to concentrate.
The wind moaned at him from the ice-covered treetops.
So tired.
Go to sleep…
TBC