A/N: Alrighty, this story is the fruit of an awful nagging in the back of my head to write something like this, so here we go. While the story is mostly planned out, I couldn't quite say how many chapters I'll end up with. On an unrelated note, I like to think that the switch from real life to fairy tale is obvious, but just as a note if there is any confusion (and please let me know if so), past tense and Japanese names are used in Black's story, with his speech in italics.
Warnings: Romance of the yaoi sort, drama, fluff; preemptively rated M for possible lemons in later chapters.
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.
In any other situation, this would be the sort of thing that Black wouldn't be caught dead doing, mostly out of fear of being caught.
N has a warmth about him, however, a warmth that he seems to pour into his surroundings at all times. It's a kind of golden warmth that Black likens to summer days spent on the sandy beaches of Undella Town, one that he fleetingly thinks sometimes could be directed toward only him one day. More importantly, it's a warmth that, when N lays next to Black, at times clutching his companion's shirt in what he strongly suspects is a non-spoken plea for Black to simply stay, is momentarily all his.
When N crawls into his bed at least a few times a week, then, no attempt is made on Black's part to stop him.
It isn't a romantic thing, of course. Black finds this to be an almost absurd concept; N, brought on by the same quality of his childhood that also means he reached puberty without a soul in the world to indulge in the turmoil of his formative years with, doesn't seem to quite understand human affection, let alone love. Rather, Black suspects the insistence to sleep in his bed has something to do with a few significant trust issues on N's part; of these he became aware of only the morning after N returned, having stepped downstairs to eat breakfast before N awoke and seeing all too clearly the worry in those gray eyes when not more than a half of an hour later N bounded into the kitchen in search of Black.
"I was afraid you'd left," he confessed later that night. Minutes later, he was asking if he could sleep in Black's bed, though the younger of the two knew well at the time that it was doubtful he could stop him.
In any case, it's this sort of thing (Black doesn't like to call it 'spooning,' as that word has more implications than he likes) that he's gotten used to since N showed up on his doorway months prior, alone and without a clue as to how to live a life not dedicated to fulfilling the purpose he was born to fulfill.
Tonight is one of the nights when N holds Black tighter than usual, a situation that, despite the multiple claims of the latter that there's absolutely nothing romantic about this, he does find frustrating. He can feel N's breath on his neck – he's by now recognized the difference in the timing of N's breathing while awake and while asleep, and he knows definitely that N is awake.
"Black?" N's voice startles him only slightly, the quick murmur piercing the calm silence of Black's bedroom. In any case, Black is more than happy for something to take his mind off of the chest pressing firmly against his back.
"Yes?"
Black can both hear and feel a long sigh escape from N before he speaks again. "I've been feeling something...weird, lately, when I'm around you. I can't sleep and I need to know if you can, um..." N trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished and Black in suspense. It's not often that N speaks in such a fashion, his tone unsure and hesitant.
"If I can what...?" Black swallows. He is hardly sure he wants to know the answer to the question, but his constant, nagging worry about N prevents him from dropping the subject.
"I was wondering if you might tell me a story," N says so quickly that Black can hardly believe he's hearing correctly. Tell him a story? "I-it's juvenile, I know, but whenever I was upset as a child, or would throw a fit, Anthea would tell me a story and it would take my mind off of the bad."
The request is an odd one, even for N. Black finds himself speechless for a few long moments (he feels guilty about not saying anything right away, too, knowing that with each passing moment N is surely realizing the ridiculousness of the question, as well) before he finally chokes out the incredulous words, "Like a bedtime story?"
"Uh, yes." Black is given no time to reply, because N adds shortly, "I know it's likely a silly thing to ask for, I really do, Black. Please don't feel like I'm making you." Just like he can feel the soft tickle of N's words on the back of his neck, he's nearly sure he can feel a hot blush staining N's cheeks.
He can almost swear N's self-consciousness is seeping into his pores, too, a reminder that it's typically his own reactions that N gauges whether or not what he's doing is socially acceptable. This is unfortunate for both parties, of course, because Black ends up telling N bedtime stories or allowing himself to be cuddled with, and N is left with the impression that rather than Black simply being unable to say 'no,' all of this is normal.
Finally, Black sighs, reaching a hand up to rub his temple. "O-of course I'll tell you a story, just...what kind of stories do you like?"
N smiles into Black's neck. "Happy ones!" he chirps.
"Alright, alright. Hm, a happy one..." A few long moments pass while Black thinks, the expectation for a story thick in the air. Eyes having long adjusted to the dark of the room, he spots a bold title among others sitting on his bookshelf. It's an old book, one which he hardly remembers still having. The story, however, is one that he still can recall murkily from his childhood; it's a fairy tale, one about a princess locked in a tower by an evil witch.
The exact details escape him, but Black dislikes the idea of telling the story exactly like it is, anyway – so he extemporizes.
xxx
"Well, once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a King and Queen. They were very much in love, with a baby on the way, and they ruled their kingdom fairly. When their child was born, the sages of their court called upon the Goddesses of Love and Peace to give the baby boy their blessings. The Goddess of Peace gave the boy the gift of innocence, seeing nothing more powerful or beautiful in the world, while the Goddess of Love gave him the gift of passion, for it is only through passion that one can love.
"The kingdom rejoiced at the blessings of the Goddesses. One man, however, saw the potential that such gifts had to destroy. His name was Geechisu. In the dark of the night, he stole the child, and for years, he raised the child as his own. He called the boy N."
("But!" N protests, but Black only shushes him.)
"It's my story, let me tell it, alright? Anyway, the King and Queen searched endlessly for the child, but Geechisu kept him locked away in a secluded tower, far from the kingdom's reach."
A small lillipup sat before N. Its paw was wrapped in white bandage, a vestige of its appearance only days earlier. Geechisu had brought the pokemon to him a bruised mess ("Don't you see the horrible things that humans are capable of?" he'd said as he turned the pokemon over to N), and it seemed to have recovered nicely during its time with the lithe, green-haired young man.
He would never tell Geechisu, but N was almost saddened by this fact; it meant that the pokemon would be turned loose again. That was always how it was, at least. All of his father's stories about the outside world indicated that people generally kept – battled, participated in contests with – their pokemon until one outlived the other. He envied them, slightly.
If only people could live with pokemon peacefully, without barbaric practices like battles.
"He was raised to hate the idea of pokemon and humans mingling, and through his sense of passion a hatred of humans in general was wrought. Though he'd never met one beyond Geechisu, he was taught that they were putrid, loathsome creatures."
N mentally scolds himself; Geechisu taught him long ago that the truth and the ideal are stark contrasts of one another, never meant to mingle. "The ideal is unattainable, N," he would tell him sternly. "We must thus seek the best version of the truth that we are able." Admittedly, he was never quite sure what that statement meant, but it stayed in his brain through the years, ominous.
"What should we do today, little one?" he asked the lillipup before giving it a pat on the head and standing.
Hands on his hips, he took a glance around the large room that comprised most of his tower. It was his world; his universe. His knowledge of the outside extended to what he read in his books and the view from the tower window. N was not disturbed by this fact, though he did wish sometimes...
The lillipup stood suddenly and began to yap, trotting across the stone floor to the singular window on the other side of the room. He could guess what was approaching, but rushed over to the window and scanned the ground below, anyway. Immediately he recognized Geechisu nearing the tower.
It was only a matter of minutes before his father had climbed the staircase leading to the top of the tower and N was wrapping the man in a hug. It wasn't returned; rarely affection was.
"Lillipup looks well," Geechisu observed once he was rid of N's embrace. The statement brought a knot to N's throat. "Ah, yes," he added, seeming to remember something important as he glanced down to a package he'd set at his feet upon arriving. "That's for you."
Though N could hardly shake the almost-overwhelming sadness of lillipup's eventual departure, his mind was momentarily distracted by the gift. "Oh!" he exclaimed, the long, tea-green hair that typically fell at his mid-back flowing behind him as he nearly ran over to pluck up the parcel. "What is it?" N asked to no one in particular as he plopped himself on the floor to tear the paper away from the gift inside.
Contained inside were books; all were science- and math-related, as, unbeknownst to N, Geechisu found the world of fiction or philosophy too dangerous. Passion and innocence ought to be honed toward one specific purpose, and fiction, along with anything else too subjective, tended to muddle thoughts and intentions. He couldn't have that.
N was brimming with excitement as he placed them among the countless other books Geechisu had brought him over the years, all sitting in his ceiling-length monstrosity of a bookcase. Though there were many, he'd read and reread them many times. Having most of his time to himself within the tower meant that N had much of it to kill, after all.
The room spoke to that, of course. Toys from his childhood that he still rather enjoyed were numerous and scattered around, while the books that he was currently reading sitting out tipped the scale from 'messy' to 'cluttered.' He knew Geechisu didn't care for the clutter, and felt slightly discomfited as a result.
"Thank you!" N said as he spun around to face the older of the two, beaming.
That is, he was beaming until he realized that he'd wanted to speak to Geechisu about an issue nagging at him.
The man knew N well enough to recognize the deep-at-thought sort of expression on his face, and stepped forward to say with more meaning than N could recognize, "Thinking is a dangerous thing, N. What is it?"
"Oh, well..." N grew bashful at the prospect of sharing his thoughts, already with a notion of what he imagined the answer to what he'd been thinking would be. "I have been thinking about your ideas when it comes to pokemon; how we ought to free them. I know you've been working toward this, too, but...I want to help. And I know, I know what you've said about the world corrupting people, but I really do think I'm strong enough to hold my own."
"More than anything else, N wanted to carry out his supposed father's ideals, but he would not let him leave his tower, telling him that he was not yet powerful enough. Innocence is easily corrupted, and with a whole world of distractions, Geechisu also feared that his passion might end up directed toward something different. N asked again and again to leave and help..."
"N, you know how I feel about this," came the reply.
"But the answer was always no."
xxx
N clings to him tighter and murmurs something unintelligible and pained-sounding, prompting Black to stop talking for a moment. "N?"
No response is offered; he's fast asleep.