Apply standard disclaimers here.
SABISHII (by Raven Minamino a.k.a. Kuroya) ((Written: 3/19/05 Published: 4/27/05)) ---------
Tsuzuki Asato was broken.
Not broken in the way in you break a doll; not scratched or chipped or shattered. His bones were intact, and nothing about him was desperate except for his eyes.
You see, to everyone else, Tsuzuki Asato did not look broken.
He was broken in the way you break a human; beating heart twisted apart and its valves wound around his ribcage, choking him so much more effectively than any noose. He was broken in such a way that the bruises were all inside, their purplish color rising to his eyes instead of his skin.
The aforementioned Tsuzuki had spent all morning out in the gardens, staring up at the sky, which poured forth with a fury the likes of which Muraki had never seen. He had not moved for breakfast, or lunch, or afternoon tea. In fact, he had not moved at all.
So Muraki just watched him from the porch; watched that beautiful man with beautiful eyes, surrounded by beautiful things like roses and sakura trees and stone fountains. It was a sight he could not bring himself to look away from; it was like gazing upon a painting so glorious that one felt he had to simply stare at it until the image burned into his mind with more passion than a thousand cities aflame.
Muraki Kazutaka had never known, in his thirty-two years of life, that pain could be so beautiful.
It had been raining for days. It had rained so much that he thought the world should have drowned by now, but still it remained intact. Muddy and gray and miserable and cold, but intact.
Still, all the candles in the world, burning furiously with trails of smoke that wound into the heavens, could not purge him of the cold. It was like a living thing, squirming through his bones like some heat-seeking parasite, making him restless and pale. Perhaps the world was drowning, and he lived underwater, the sky only a mirror reflecting murky depths below. Perhaps he was a corpse, a tangled mass of decaying flesh and bone, lying so far below that surface that he could never be found.
It was times like these that Muraki regretted having time to think.
It was fully twilight before he noticed that any time had passed; immersed in the falling rain and rose petals and his love standing soaked among the flowers, he had noticed nothing else. Now, the sky was a lovely dark violet blanket spread out across the earth, suffocating and drowning. The rain continued to fall, but it was a soft sort of mist now, the kind that kissed his hand when he extended it to feel to dampness of the atmosphere.
It was well after midnight when Tsuzuki turned away. No stars shone in the sky, and it so dark that nothing could be seen but the gently flickering candles inside the dojo. He would have stayed out longer, but the sky was empty now, and some primal instinct inside his mind was afraid that it might consume him with its darkness.
Muraki waited for him on the porch, silver eyes emotionless, and opened the door for him without once looking him in the eye. No words filled the space between them, and perhaps none were needed. It was too quiet for speech.
The candles were extinguished, and both were left with only the sound of water sliding across the roof to remind them that they were alive.
Night faded into morning, and morning into afternoon, as the rain stubbornly continued its downpour. That day, Tsuzuki found shards of glass amongst the half-drowned (but still lovely) roses, and when he picked them up, they dug into his fingers like razor blades. His fresh crimson blood slid into the damp soil, but he did not feel the pain... He simply stared at the glass shards, which glistened with a kind of fierce beauty as silver liquid pelted their glossy surfaces. They reflected the perfect emerald color of Hisoka's eyes...
And he looked once more to the sky, upturned face serene but broken, watched only by another broken man, who sat unseen in the shadows of the porch.
Pain, Tsuzuki reflected, remembering Hisoka's eyes, had never been this beautiful.
Days passed, and the world drowned in silence, the raging force and fury reflected only by broken glass, lying splintered in the palm of his hand.