Perspective
T: Written on the spur because I felt like giving a slightly different perspective on the Tsusoka relationship. Angsty, slightly slashy, taking vague character points from both manga and anime, set some random point after Kyoto. I own nothing you see here other than the plot bunny.
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They were, supposedly, 'made for one another'.
It was something that, he supposed, made sense at the surface of things for the course of their lives had, for a time at least, ran on parallel tracks. For they both bore deep scars inflicted both by those that should have protected them from such harm and by the twisted psyche of one Muraki Kazutaka, were both so very afraid of letting another close, he believing that such intimacy could lead only ever to hurt and the other fearing to trust only to be left alone once more, and they both had secrets locked within their pasts that they had no want to discuss, secrets that they wished desperately to simply forget.
The way that they had both grown from such hurts differed and yet these differences served only to strengthen the theory that they had been destined always to find one another. For he needed to learn to let go a little of his restraint, to learn to care a little more about the world about him and his partner needed to learn to control himself a little more, to distance himself a little from the horrors they experienced always in their line of work.
For a while he too had subscribed to this theory, had begun to believe that perhaps his care for the other stretched beyond simply friendship and then he had noticed that, despite his partner's desperate need to hold and be held, the other would hesitate for the barest of moments before placing a hand to his shoulder or ruffling his hair affectionately.
With the seed of doubt placed in his head he had been allowed an 'objective' perspective on the matter and had realised, with a numb sort of detachment, that rather than teetering on the precipice of 'something more' their friendship was actually little more than an elaborate illusion.
His partner rambled at him on a daily basis but rather than talk to him of how he had spent his time away from the office, or attempting to embroil him into a discussion of some sort or another, he would talk to him always of office politics and the random snatches of gossip that he had overheard while in the break room.
Often his partner would attempt to get him to smile or blush and would break into wide, charming, smile whenever he was successful in this endeavour. He'd felt, even after the doubt had begun to take him, that such things had meant that the other held some unique regard towards him.
Eventually, however, he'd learned that such behaviour was common place for the other, that it was simply his desire to see others content that made him push for such reactions from him.
For a while after that particular revelation he had been unable to treat the other in the same manner, anger and betrayal mixing into a bitter resentment that had had him responding to the others idiocies with a venomous tongue and then he had begun to adapt, had begun to respond to the others falsities with ones of his own.
To look at them now one would believe that they were two individuals deeply in love, that their every thought and action was tied to the other in some manner, an illusion that he worked so hard to maintain because part of him wished to believe still that it was true.
That they truly were 'meant to be'.
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T: review?