To try to explain this story┘would require a lot of time and a good amount of liquor. Suffice to say, this is one of the pairings I thought I'd never write in a situation I thought I'd never write.
title: Porcelain
rating: PG-15, for discussions of mature situations
summary: Many morning afters leave a bad taste in one's mouth, but not quite like this one, doesn't it, darling? Genma/Zabuza modern day AU.
word count: 1,032
notes: Basic idea taken from a Gundam Wing fic I read a long time ago. I've never tried writing drama before, so I honestly don't know if this is what I was supposed to be writing. I decided to make this a full-blown AU after giving up on trying to fit the timeline. This was written for the now-defunct Naruto Random Pairing Generator Game.
disclaimer: Naruto and its characters belong to Kishimoto and Co. I'm just borrowing them for the sake of enjoyment.
There was someone banging on the door. Genma was not very happy. Especially because it was early morning and he had the biggest hangover he ever had in his entire life.
He moved experimentally and winced at the dull ache that emanated from his limbs. Apparently last night's exertions were very...exerting, judging from the sticky mess on his rumpled sheets and the purplish bruises on his hips. He tried to sit up, the movement sending a wave of vertigo through his skull that was compounded by the incessant knocking on the door. He uncrossed his eyes and tried again. A bit better.
Might as well open that damned door and see who was that damned person who disturbed his sleep. If only to shout at him or her about ruining other people's mornings. After, of course, his hangover went away.
He stood up, a little shakily, and started picking his clothes up from the floor of the motel room his department had billeted him in. His companion--a younger man he had picked up at the seedy bar across the street from his motel last night--had apparently gone, leaving no trace of himself except on the threadbare sheets and the bites on Genma's throat.
Genma didn't mind, really. He had had many one-night stands, passing flings that meant nothing, done only to let off some spent-up energy unused from years working as a lowly intern for the government. This one was just like the countless ones he had whenever he was sent to the field for some boring diplomatic thing or another to small backwater towns like the one he was currently in. The sex was a bit rougher than he was normally accustomed to, but it was okay, since he was looking for something to make him forget his broken promises. Funny, but he haven't even learned the boy's name, only remembered through his alcohol-induced haze a pair of dark eyes that seared into his soul.
Having finally located his shirt from underneath the nightstand and run a hand through his shaggy hair, he opened the door.
"Hayate?! What the hell are you doing in?"
It was Hayate, his fellow intern and good friend, looking mildly irritated (he spent a good ten minutes knocking on the door to Genma's room) with what looked like a rolled-up newspaper tucked under his arm.
"Good morning, Genma." There was a faint note of...something in his voice that Genma couldn't place.
"Uh--" Genma winced at the sharp stab of pain inside his skull "--come in, I suppose." He stepped back to allow Hayate to pass through his doorway. He saw Hayate observe the state of his bed and fighting back the urge to defend himself, gestured instead towards the wicker chairs near the window. "You can sit down if you want."
The two men sat down, gazes carefully averted across the coffee table separating them. Finally, Hayate said, "I'm sorry."
"Huh?" Sorry for barging in, sorry for not being able to help you go to your sister's graduation, what?
Obviously, this wasn't the answer Hayate was expecting and he frowned. Genma fidgeted and wished for some aspirin. The uncomfortable silence was not helping his hangover.
The crease between Hayate's brows deepened. "You...you haven't heard?"
"Heard what?" Genma was busy trying to stave off his incoming migraine with a brisk rub on his temple.
Hayate didn't say anything, just thinned his lips and handed the rolled-up bundle towards Genma, who stopped his worthless head massages. He squinted down at it, and unrolled it, revealing today's morning newspaper. Squinting through the throbbing pain behind his eyes, he let his gaze scroll down the front page. Suddenly he felt the contents of his stomach lurch unpleasantly. The headache was gone, though he didn't notice through the sudden loud pounding in his chest.
In bold lurid letters the headline screamed at him: MASSACRE AT SCHOOL. Under it was a large grainy picture of countless bodies, all mutilated beyond recognition, scattered among overturned folding chairs and a raised wooden platform and neatly trimmed grass. The tattered remains of a large banner behind the stage proclaimed CONGRATULATIONS GRADUATES.
His sister's college graduation. The one he had promised to attend because it was the single most important occasion in his sister's life, she said. The one he hadn't attended because he was buried under piles and piles of paperwork that he never could finish. Just like her first piano recital, sixth grade class play, high school graduation and countless others. He had always pleaded, Next time, I promise and looked away, lest he see the hurt blooming in her eyes. And now...
Hands closed firmly over his. Vaguely, he noticed that his hands were gripping the paper so tightly the newsprint bled on his sweaty palms. He looked up at Hayate, who gestured towards the bottom of the page, where a yearbook picture of a young man with dark hair and dark eyes was prominently displayed over the caption AT LARGE.
The world blacked out for a second and suddenly he was standing, the crumpled remains of the front page falling from his shaking hands. He didn't hear the mumbled excuse that came from his lips, didn't feel his legs carry him across the room's industrialized gray carpet, didn't wince as his knees pressed painfully against the cold hard white tile of the bathroom floor, didn't notice his hands scrabbling madly against the toilet lid--he was emptying the contents of his stomach, not stopping even when there was nothing left to empty save for stomach acid. Throat burning, he gripped the formerly immaculate white porcelain blankly, eyes staring blankly as vomit and tears dripped from his chin, body shaking from an imagined chill.
He heard cloth rustling beside him, and there was Hayate, looking very worried and holding a moth-eaten towel in his hand, pushing strands of damp hair away from his eyes. The other opened his mouth, closed it, and settled instead for wiping the mess off Genma's face, scratchy cloth snagging against equally scratchy morning stubble silently.
It was a very long time before Genma's lips parted, lips cracking, voice hoarse from vomiting and fresh grief, and he confessed to his silent companion.
"I slept with my sister's killer last night."
And Hayate was still silent while Genma broke down and cried in his arms, in the bathroom that morning, simply holding him as the man tried to wash away his guilt and grief with tears that had no more use.