Colour and Light:
A Loveless Fanfiction
Ritsuka awoke that morning feeling out of sorts. A glance at his alarm clock showed the time to be shortly past nine. Seeing as his high school was currently on summer break, he had purposefully left his alarm off the night before, hoping a long sleep would do him good. Besides, he wasn't meeting Soubi until the afternoon anyway. Usually, thoughts of his Fighter made him happy – they had grown very close over the nearly five years they had known each other. In fact, for the last four or five months, the now sixteen-year-old Ritsuka had found his mind lingering over Soubi increasingly often. But today, he couldn't shake the feeling of...how to describe it? Uneasiness.
Ritsuka sat up, pushing back the light-weight covers. Strong sun was already flooding into his room through the east-facing balcony doors. Today was going to be very hot – after all, it was already July. Ritsuka's eyes flicked quickly to the calendar hanging over his desk, looking for the date, and it was then that his waking mind remembered what his unconscious one clearly had not forgotten: today marked four years since that final encounter with Seimei, the day Seimei truly had died.
The passing of the years and Ritsuka's growing maturity had dampened the pain of that terrible night, but nothing would ever alleviate completely the ache still felt upon remembering the loss of someone he had once loved and depended upon so fully. Compared to that of the first few months – the first year even – this feeling was bearable, manageable. Yet, had he not had to look after Soubi for so long afterwards, had he not had that task to focus his actions, Ritsuka felt it likely that he might have entirely succumbed to his shock and anguish.
Thank the gods there had been Kio to help him care for his broken Fighter. It had been those six months that created a strong friendship between Ritsuka and the eccentric art student, the two of them brought together by their common goal and their love for the one about whom each cared so deeply. Yes, love. What drastic events it had taken for Ritsuka to acknowledge such an obvious fact – that he loved the tall, blond man. Loved him dearly.
In the immediate aftermath of Seimei's attack on Septimal Moon, Ritsuka had known that it must eventually lead to a battle against his brother. As much as Ritsuka had been willing to forgive Seimei for his past actions, he could not stand by idly while his brother perpetuated his cruel and self-serving behaviour. Ritsuka had also known the two pairs would be quite evenly matched – Soubi was a stronger Fighter than Nisei, but the Beloved pair shared a name while Soubi and Ritsuka did not, a situation further complicated by the fact that Soubi, although born a blank Fighter unit, had been claimed and named by Seimei in his youth. Ritsuka had known all of this, but had had no idea what strategy Soubi was really planning to use against the other team. A plan so reckless and untried that Ritsuka surely would have forbidden it had Soubi informed his Sacrifice. A spell only ever used between Zero pairs – the spell of severing.
Ritsuka had been entirely ignorant of how deeply Soubi had contemplated the use of that spell after they had witnessed its effects on Yoji outside Soubi's apartment that time. How he had questioned Ritsu-sensei and even Nagisa on its theory and application, to what extent Soubi would go to try and break his bond with Seimei, lest that bond ever force him to harm the one he truly loved – his Ritsuka. And with this intention held clearly in his mind and heart, when it seemed the battle might end tragically for either side, Soubi had cast the spell, causing Nisei's killing blow to rebound on his own Master. And so Seimei had fallen.
Yet, however much it had been Soubi's desire to be severed from Seimei, the physical and psychological effects on him had been profound. Only six long months of constant care by the two who loved him most had brought about Soubi's recovery. Thinking back on that time, on Soubi's pale face and vacant eyes, Ritsuka wanted nothing more than to see him right now – he could not possibly wait until the afternoon. Hastily he showered and dressed, then hurried over to the university.
***
Ritsuka could see the mild expression of surprise on Soubi's face when he came down to let Ritsuka into the Fine Art building's main entrance. The surprise, however, was quickly replaced with a smile.
"Good morning, Ritsuka."
Soubi leaned elegantly against the door, his tall frame clad in jeans and a close-fitting T-shirt with high neck. Ritsuka suppressed the urge to reach out and embrace Soubi. Instead he hung his head, his cheeks lightly flushed with pink.
"I'm sorry to disturb your work. I know I wasn't supposed to come until this afternoon. I brought some studying to do..."
"It's no problem. I'm always happy to see you." And indeed Soubi did look happy as he led the younger man up to the top floor art studio.
Despite his long recovery period, Soubi had finished his undergraduate degree some years ago and was now pursuing his Masters in fine art. The university, too, was currently on summer break, but Soubi was finishing up a series of paintings for a solo exhibition, and was happy to have the studio workspace to himself.
Ritsuka enjoyed visiting Soubi here – the room was large and bright, with high ceilings and windows along two long walls to let in plenty of natural light. Louvered shutters covered each pane so that the artists could adjust the lighting based on season and time of day. Soubi had taken over the south-west corner, sun flooding in from both directions to fall perfectly on his current canvas positioned on the floor, dozens of finished works displayed on easels all around him. Ritsuka gazed on the paintings, impressed. He had not yet seen this latest series of Soubi's work.
"Soubi, these are incredible. It's been a long time since you've painted butterflies, and I've never seen you show all the various stages like this before. Your paintings are always beautiful, but some of these are strangely...disturbing."
Soubi came up to stand close behind Ritsuka, now only a head shorter than himself.
"I decided to use the concept of metamorphosis and renewal as the main theme for this series. I wanted to show how beauty comes from ugliness, how it is only by the death of one stage that a new form of life emerges. For me, the butterfly has always symbolized so many contradictory ideas: fragility and fleetingness, but also beauty and strength and freedom..." Soubi paused, smiling ruefully, "but you probably don't want to hear all that."
"But I do," Ritsuka protested. "Your art is an expression of yourself, Soubi, and I want to know about you. I want us to be able to talk like this."
"Thank you. That's nice to hear," Soubi answered, reaching out to ruffle Ritsuka's soft, dark hair. A few years ago, Ritsuka would have pulled back from such a gesture, but lately he found he didn't mind Soubi's touch the way he used to. On the contrary, he sometimes rather hoped Soubi would be more affectionate with him. When Ritsuka had been younger, Soubi had often embraced him and kissed him, but for some reason as he'd grown up Soubi had seemed to do these things less and less. Sometimes Ritsuka could see Soubi start to reach for him, but then restrain himself. Why was that?
"I'll go over here and start on the school work I brought. I don't want to interrupt what you're doing," Ritsuka said.
"Okay," Soubi replied, "I probably only need another hour. Then we can spend the afternoon together like we planned."
Ritsuka nodded, stretching out on his stomach on a low couch nearby, and tried to focus on the English grammar text he had brought. He began reading the chapter on the use of subjunctive and conditional forms in English, but soon found that he had read several pages without absorbing any of it. Ritsuka was a strong student, and English was a subject he usually enjoyed, but for some reason, today he didn't seem able to concentrate. He had thought coming to see Soubi early would help put his mind at rest, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect, though perhaps for a slightly different reason than he would have expected.
Ritsuka found his eyes wandering again and again to his Fighter, poised delicately, brush in hand, over his canvas. Truth be told, Ritsuka was enraptured every time he watched Soubi work – his own attempts at art being rather pathetic, he was amazed to see bright forms materialize from the end of Soubi's brush with a few quick strokes of his hand. A few more daubs, and shadows and highlights would appear, the flat plane of the canvas blooming into three-dimensionality. And he loved the way he could read the contrasting emotions Soubi conveyed when immersed in his art: his concentration was focused and intense, but his whole body gave off an aura of calm contentment. How wonderful it must be to create something where nothing but white space had existed before.
From his angle of observation, Ritsuka could see Soubi's face in profile, his blond hair swept up in a high ponytail, from which a few stray tresses escaped. Ritsuka watched his long fingers as they mixed bright pigments in small ceramic bowls, then gracefully held the brush to roll it in the paint. As the late morning sun shone down on Soubi, his wire-framed glasses glinting, the rays illuminated his long, slim back, his shirt riding up just slightly as he leaned forward, revealing the pale skin at his waist.
Ritsuka gasped inadvertently and quickly looked away, cheeks aflame. But soon enough his eyes had found their way back to Soubi, and this time he saw it: Soubi's thread. It wasn't that he'd never seen it before – he had. In fact, although they were not yet linked like a Sacrifice-Fighter pair should be, their bond had certainly increased in intensity over the years. Ritsuka and Soubi could now call each other mentally when in need, and had done so on a number of occasions. Other times Ritsuka found himself gaining a new perspective on a particular event, and realized he was sharing in Soubi's own feelings towards it. And a few times, as now, he had gotten a spontaneous, clear view of the severed thread that led from Soubi's body, glimmering faintly. Ritsuka's own thread stretched away from him to some unknown destination, but whether it led to another person or simply ended, he didn't know. Not that it mattered; he had long ago made up his mind that he wanted no Fighter but Soubi. What would it feel like, he wondered, if they were truly linked? What would it feel like to touch, to love such a one?
Ritsuka purposefully shifted his gaze away again, shook his head and ran his fingers through his dark hair in an exasperated fashion, his neko ears flattening against his head. Soubi, absorbed in his work, noticed nothing.
What's with me lately? Ritsuka asked himself. Now in high school, many of Ritsuka's classmates had started dating and a surprising number had shed their ears too. Ritsuka had never taken an interest in anyone, female or male, at his school, despite the obvious feelings his friend Yuiko had for him, or the advances by other girls in his grade, which he had preferred to ignore. There had only ever been one person to occupy his thoughts to that extent, who could make him annoyed, make him smile. Soubi. And now that man sat not five metres away from him and he didn't know what to do. The face that he'd seen so many times, for so many years, in all its expressions. God, had Soubi always been this beautiful?
What's wrong with me? Ritsuka let his unread English text fall from his hands and stood up. I can just go sit by him, right? There's no harm in that.
Quietly Ritsuka approached Soubi, kneeling down at his side a few feet away. Soubi's brush hovered over his painting, darting down quickly to apply a few highlights before returning to its position above the canvas. Ritsuka could not help but become engrossed in the vibrant image, a butterfly newly emerged from its torn chrysalis, wings limp and damp with moisture. A newborn creature in an unfamiliar body, but aching to stretch its wings, to pump them full of blood, to spread them...and to fly.
At length Soubi sat back on his heels, removed his glasses and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. One long lock of golden hair hung down across his cheek, and unthinkingly, Ritsuka raised his hand and gently swept it back behind Soubi's ear. Soubi turned to look at Ritsuka, but the boy did not let his hand fall away. Instead, he let his fingers brush down along Soubi's jaw, lingering there. Soubi closed his eyes again and nestled his cheek into Ritsuka's palm, the faintest of smiles on his lips. Ritsuka's pulse was fluttering rapidly, but he didn't want to move his hand away. Hadn't he been held by Soubi, kissed by him, many times? But this time was different – this time was at his own instigation.
His fingers swept up along Soubi's cheekbone, down his jaw line again, his thumb passing over full lips which parted slightly at his touch. Slowly, infinitesimally, Ritsuka leaned in closer and placed his own lips on Soubi's. He was not prepared for the jolt of feeling such a faint touch created, and drew back slightly. Soubi gave a sharp intake of breath – he too had felt it.
Ritsuka abandoned all conscious thought. He brought his lips to Soubi's again and felt the other's respond – slow, soft kisses which gradually deepened. Ritsuka's arms snaked up around Soubi's neck of their own accord, with Soubi's hands now on Ritsuka's back, pulling him in tightly. Again and again their mouths met, their lips beginning to crush against each other, pulses quickening. At last Soubi pulled away, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
"Ritsuka," he sighed, smoothing the boy's bangs off his forehead.
"Soubi...please don't stop," came the reply.
Ritsuka, emboldened by the adrenaline in his veins, moved closer yet to Soubi, straddling the other's legs, letting his hands graze down over Soubi's chest and around his waist to the exposed skin there, warmed by the sun's heat. Again their lips met, faster, fiercer this time, a small moan escaping Ritsuka's throat.
At this point Ritsuka's only desire was to feel more of Soubi's bare skin, his warmth, and as he pulled upwards on the other man's shirt, Soubi obligingly raised his arms to let the garment slip over his head, to be quickly discarded. Ritsuka's own shirt soon followed, but strangely, instead of feeling embarrassed, he felt completely comfortable in Soubi's arms, his still slim frame pressed against his Fighter's broad chest. Ritsuka's head lolled to the side as the older man trailed wet kisses along his neck, his throat, his collarbone, Ritsuka's own fingertips following the contours of the long, graceful arms that held him.
In one swift movement Ritsuka found himself against the hard wooden boards of the studio floor. All around him stood the legs of the easels, Soubi's beautiful paintings filling his peripheral vision. He could feel Soubi's mouth hot against his face, his shoulder, his chest, his neck, and all pretenses now abandoned, Ritsuka reached his hand down, undid the button on the other man's jeans and slipped his hand inside. Soubi gasped in astonishment and pleasure as Ritsuka explored his body, the boy wanting nothing more than to have the restraining clothes out of the way. Ritsuka felt tremendous exasperation as Soubi once again stopped his kisses to gaze directly into his Sacrifice's eyes.
"Ritsuka, are you sure? Are you really sure?" he asked.
Yes, he was sure. Sure that he loved him, sure that he wanted him. So many times Soubi had offered his whole self to him – now it was Ritsuka's turn.
"Yes, Soubi. Please take me – make me yours."
As he said those words it was as if something inside him, something close to his heart, shifted into a configuration that was new, but very right. It was then that he saw them again, those glimmering strands, thin as gossamer but resilient as spider's silk: their threads...entwining, binding themselves together, becoming one.
And as Soubi took him, there in that room, Ritsuka's half-closed eyes saw nothing around them but colour and light.