Strangers in the night
Standard disclaimers apply.
He wore black.
Black coat, black shirt, black pants, down to the complementing black eye-patch.
As though I had dressed to be his opposite, I wore white; a pure, snow white which glowed softly in the dark.
But we hadn't planned to meet. We never did. And yet…
In a dark alley of one of the worst neighbourhoods in Tokyo, at the back of one of the shadiest pubs in the district, we stood facing each other.
Black and white. Twin sides of a coin. Two halves of a whole.
He drew out a cigarette from an inner pocket lining his trench coat, and I automatically covered the intervening two steps between us to light it. It was as though we had rehearsed it a thousand times, and perhaps we had. In my dreams, in my memories.
I stepped back, and watched as he brought the lighted cigarette to his lips with a sigh. I watched the tiny puffs of smoke escape into the night air. I watched his hands, pale against the dark of his sleeve and the night, move in minute elegant gestures as he handled the cigarette. I watched, and waited and said nothing.
It seemed as though we would stay that way forever. An overcast sky, a moon-less night. And he and I facing each other in an otherwise empty world.
Then a drunken customer stumbled out of the back door behind me, pawing at me for support. I cringed, and moved away, which only brought me to bump against a broad chest.
I started, composure shattered, and tried to pull away, but his hands clenched my wrists tight and drew me closer, the cigarette fluttering forgotten to the ground. He bent towards me, and I leaned as far back as the awkward position allowed. I could smell the bitter-sweet scent of tobacco on his breath and adrenaline coursed through my veins in a sudden rush.
He stopped, so close a loud whisper would make our lips touch. A predatory smile curved his lips, a smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. Maintaining eye-contact, he slowly let go of my wrists, one hand at a time, and wrapped his arms around my waist.
He needn't have bothered, I couldn't have moved anyway. I was rooted to the spot, staring at him in morbid fascination, the way a hare stares at an eagle it knows it cannot outrun.
"Subaru-chan…" he murmured then and closed the distance between our lips.
It brought me to my knees. 4 years, 2 months, 5 days since I had felt his mouth on mine. 4 years, 2 months, 5 days since he had last held me such. I would have fallen, if not for his arms encircling my body.
As he pressed my head down, his magic flared against mine, a swift violent knife which cut right through me. Then my own power woke, a slumbering giant, and I felt him shiver as it paid back in kind.
The two powers danced around us, through us, a deadly dance for dominance, as futile as a serpent chasing its tail. Blood magic was strong, but my heritage was not weak either, and I had not spent the last few years in sweat and tears and training for nothing. We were more evenly matched then he realised.
He might have killed me then, or I, him. But it was not a night for such things, not yet anyway.
I broke from the kiss gasping for air, mingled blood on my lips. We entered the bar in silent consent, navigating the stairs that led to the rooms above.
As he pulled his shirt over his head, I asked, "Do you hate me?"
"Does it matter?" he countered, voice muffled through the cloth.
Sakura petals on the wind, stained with the blood of innocents. My own hands, streaked with the coppery substance. And graves, so many, many graves…
"No."
© ai 2002