Title: Things To Reflect On.

Author: Lauand

Beta: Bookofnicodemus

Pairing: Well, Gojyo and Hakkai appear here, but they don't actually snog or anything.

Rating: PG, I would say.

Summary: Night conversations are insightful.

A/N: Another "Hey, Hakkai" fic, this time with a little more angst and a little less humour. Thanks again to Books for being Books. And for the beta.

It was too damn hot. Too hot to drink, too hot to smoke, too hot to sleep. Well, it was never too hot to smoke, but Hakkai would never allow him to smoke in the bedroom while they were pretending to sleep. Gojyo wondered, not for the first time, why it was that Hakkai was the one dictating the rules when the house was Gojyo's.

He turned, and tossed and turned again on his shitty futon and tried to get to the cool part of the cover. No luck finding it, though. Damn.

Looking hopelessly at the wide-open window, he confirmed that not even the fucking ghost of a breeze was billowing the curtains. Curtains. Gojyo smiled. Curtains. That was the first thing Hakkai had done when he came back from the dead. To get some fucking curtains. Who knew what for, but still, it was endearing.

Gojyo glanced towards the bed and wondered how the hell that bastard could lay still in this fucking heat. Was he really asleep? Did he count sheep like normal, not-fucked-up people were supposed to? How did he manage to keep his cool and be so damn calm and nice and patient about everything? Was he really like that or did he just pretend, just like he pretended to smile?

"Hey, Hakkai... you awake?"

It took a while, but when the answer came, it wasn't slurred or sleepy.

"Yes Gojyo. Why do you ask?"

The redhead hesitated only a little.

"Do you ever feel urges?"

Silence at that. Was he crossing a line? They spoke but never asked. Maybe Hakkai was searching for a way to tell him politely to mind his own business.

"What do you mean, urges?"

Hakkai's tone had been purposely careful and neutral. Gojyo realized, then. Fuck, he hadn't meant it that way. For once. He abruptly tossed and rolled over again.

"I mean... you know, urges. Impulses." As that completed the list of synonyms he knew of the word, he tried to clarify with examples. "Like, you're always so cool, even when people are tossing shit at you... you just smile and let it pass, or you answer calmly, with what you know is an insult, but one they will never be able to catch. Only you will know. And that's not even half as satisfying as making teeth fly, if you get what I mean..."

Gojyo made a pause at that. It irked him being so clumsy with words; he didn't understand why it had to be so difficult to express himself when inside, it was so clear to him what he was thinking.

"What I'm trying to say," he continued when Hakkai didn't talk back, "is that, sometimes (more often than not, really), I have to count to ten to stop myself from doing something totally stupid and, most times, I don't even get to five. I don't think. I do it. And I was wondering if you ever counted to ten, or if you really didn't need to."

Another silence followed. A long one. Gojyo didn't push it.

Out of Gojyo's visual range, Hakkai stared blindly at the ceiling. He thought of selfish, cruel, scared people, giving away what wasn't theirs to give. What nobody had a right to. He thought of rage, of knives, of innards and bellies. He thought of tears in a smiling face. He thought of blood. He thought of death.

The silence was broken first by an intake of breath, then by a soft, controlled voice.

"Yes, Gojyo. I would say I sometimes have... urges."

Sensing the solemnity of the answer, the half-breed just made a soft sound as acknowledgment. After that, they both remained silent.

It was still too hot.

It was Hakkai who broke the quiet this time.

"And you, Gojyo?" He asked, "...Have you ever felt as if you were not being yourself? As if you were wearing a mask?"

In Gojyo's humble opinion, it should be forbidden to have this kind of conversation without a smoke. He ached for a cigarette.

The redhead licked his lips but didn't reply. He just thought of the past. Of not belonging. Of tears, and screams, and axes. Or hearing sex through thin walls. Of bruises. Of forced smiles. Of scattered flowers. Of broken hope. Of red. Of tobacco. And alcohol. And condoms. Flashing grins. Boasting. Gambling. Fucking. He thought of the void.

He licked his lips again. His throat was dry.

"Yeah," he finally said, "I think I do."

Long minutes passed again in silence. It was never too hot to think, it seemed. At the end, Gojyo chuckled.

"Soiled goods, eh?" he remarked, remembering what Hakkai had told Sanzo after the incident with Banri.

Maybe he found it funny, too. Maybe he was just being polite. The fact was that Hakkai's voice reflected a smile when he agreed.

"Indeed."

This time it wasn't long before Gojyo talked again.

"Hey, Hakkai..." he started, "do you believe in that reincarnation crap?"

For being a man that had answers for everything, Hakkai sure took his time before replying.

"I don't know, Gojyo. Maybe I do. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause we had to royally fuck it up last time..."

"Hmmm."

Again the ghost of a smile in the subtle reply.

"'Night Hakkai."

The rustle of a body rolling over in a futon resounded in the room.

"Good night, Gojyo."