Written for a drabble challenge - something with Ban and Ginji in it. Randomly speculatory. If canon invalidates my ass, please be kind.
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Deep
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The first night was the worst.
They checked into a nearby motel because it was late, they were tired, and they were both far too close to the Mugenjou and far too vulnerable in the open spaces of the real world. Ginji paid for half of it; money had no use in the Mugenjou, but it still existed there, shiny round toys for the children to play with and pretty printed slips of paper, and when Ginji put a hand into his jacket's pocket earlier, he found a small sheaf of bills, worn and dirty, but sound.
His first thought was that this sort of carelessness, letting someone get so close without him even noticing, could get him killed. He pushed it down ruthlessly. His second thought was to be grateful for the gesture, whether or not it represented a tacit sort of approval. The guilt wasn't a thought, because it had already been plaguing him from the time he had first made the decision to leave.
A real bed was a luxury he hadn't enjoyed often, but he kept waking up anyway, jerked out of sleep by the awareness of someone close by, someone /dangerous/ and /not belonging to him/--
The third time that happened, all the lights in the room flared brilliantly to life before fading just as quickly. One exploded in a cascade of glass shards and sparks. His companion didn't even seem startled when Ginji sat up and looked over, just took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes and swept the glass onto the floor with a careless hand. His eyes were still deeply blue, even when only half-lit with flickering orange flame.
"Go," said the strange man (although, really, he was just Ginji's age and Ginji had never thought of himself as a man. but he had never thought of himself as a boy, either), "The /fuck/ to sleep." The smell of smoke was pervasive and acrid.
Ginji didn't say anything, but was almost and oddly comforted when he turned away and closed his eyes.
-owari
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-----------
Deep
-----------
The first night was the worst.
They checked into a nearby motel because it was late, they were tired, and they were both far too close to the Mugenjou and far too vulnerable in the open spaces of the real world. Ginji paid for half of it; money had no use in the Mugenjou, but it still existed there, shiny round toys for the children to play with and pretty printed slips of paper, and when Ginji put a hand into his jacket's pocket earlier, he found a small sheaf of bills, worn and dirty, but sound.
His first thought was that this sort of carelessness, letting someone get so close without him even noticing, could get him killed. He pushed it down ruthlessly. His second thought was to be grateful for the gesture, whether or not it represented a tacit sort of approval. The guilt wasn't a thought, because it had already been plaguing him from the time he had first made the decision to leave.
A real bed was a luxury he hadn't enjoyed often, but he kept waking up anyway, jerked out of sleep by the awareness of someone close by, someone /dangerous/ and /not belonging to him/--
The third time that happened, all the lights in the room flared brilliantly to life before fading just as quickly. One exploded in a cascade of glass shards and sparks. His companion didn't even seem startled when Ginji sat up and looked over, just took out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes and swept the glass onto the floor with a careless hand. His eyes were still deeply blue, even when only half-lit with flickering orange flame.
"Go," said the strange man (although, really, he was just Ginji's age and Ginji had never thought of himself as a man. but he had never thought of himself as a boy, either), "The /fuck/ to sleep." The smell of smoke was pervasive and acrid.
Ginji didn't say anything, but was almost and oddly comforted when he turned away and closed his eyes.
-owari
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