Random thing I realized recently. The time frames in SDK are all screwy…not just historically; I'm talking the time frames within the story itself. Kyo is about twenty-eight, which we know vaguely because I'm going to guess he was five or six when he first fought Nobunaga, who said that was twenty-two years before the events of the story. And Kyo is supposedly the youngest Mibu (last child). So that would mean that Shinrei, Hotaru, and even the quintuplets in Yuan's family would all have to be older than Kyo. My brain hurts. I can imagine Shinrei being twenty-eight, but he'd have to be older than that because he's older than Hotaru, who acts like he's about twelve and looks about twenty, maybe. Also, going by all these interlocking and incredibly weird timelines, Kyo would have had to have been like seventeen when he first met up with the Shiseiten. He found Akira when the kid was maybe eight (guessing), then travelled with him until he was around fourteen, meaning that Kyo should have been eighteen when he found Akira…and even younger than that when he met Bontenmaru! Which is either really cool or really confusing. Teen Kyo…hmm. I fear that a little bit. I did, however, finally figure out the order he met the Four in. I think. Wow, long rant that accomplishes nothing…
Summary: Akira is crippled by pain. Hotaru's body is starting to fail. But neither is willing to give up fighting—even if they have to hold each other up. HotaruxAkira
Warning: Fairly non-canon yaoi that I nonetheless love. I just think they work together. Also, Fire and Ice is one of my favorite poems, so I really can't resist.
Cut Strings and Cracked Ice
Hotaru looked at the blood in his palm in a mixture of fear and shattered denial.
It had been three years since the Crimson Tower fell. Three years of travelling and waiting for Kyo to come back before finally returning to Mibu lands for a break. Just long enough to start believing that maybe he had beaten the odds, that he would endure, perhaps for the uncounted ages that Fubuki and Hishigi had.
He had been wrong.
I can't let anyone know. I am strong. I can't let them see me this weak.
Hotaru closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. He honestly couldn't remember most of what the Death Disease entailed. But coughing blood was the most characteristic symptom. Hotaru had ignored the precursors that had reared their heads during his time in Egypt—the dizziness, the shortness of breath—but this, he could not sweep aside.
He remembered how the plague began—and how it ended. Visions of Hishigi dying in Fubuki's arms flashed behind Hotaru's golden eyes, and he began to tremble. He was afraid. He didn't want to die like that.
"'Sup, Keikoku?"
Hotaru turned quickly, startled.
"Maa, Yun-Yun," he said, hiding his bloodied hand in his pocket. "My name is Hotaru."
Yuan put a hand to his face in exasperation after a swift if not overly hard punch to Hotaru's head.
"I'm not a damn panda, kid! I'll make a deal with you. The day you call me 'Yuan-shishou' on the first try is the day I'll call you a firefly, Keikoku. Dinner's ready; get your skinny ass inside. Anna's convinced you're starvin' to death and determined to fix it. Apparently she doesn't approve of whatever 'pirate food' you ate for the past year."
"Not hungry."
"Anna's going to be pissed if you skip out after not even a letter for three years," Yuan warned. "And Anthony's all ready to race you. C'mon, kid."
Hotaru considered the advisability of incurring Anna's wrath against his own nonexistent appetite and came up with the only reasonable solution.
"…You know I hate that stupid chick bowl, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, it's waitin' for ya."
The younger fire-caster almost smiled. Familiarity.
"I said, DINNER'S READY!" came the ever-present yell of the eldest sister.
"Now shift it," said Yuan, "before that little birdie comes out to meet you."
Hotaru stood up a little too quickly and had to steady himself on the wall; he passed it off as sleepiness and ignored Yuan's curiosity. After waiting a moment for the black spots to clear out of his vision, he followed his master inside.
Anthony and Hotaru locked eyes the moment the younger man entered the room; lightning practically sparked between the two over a gigantic platter of food, and Anna covered her face and winced as rice and other various food bits sprayed around the room until the last two morsels vanished at exactly the same instant.
"Damn!" Anthony laughed. "I thought I was winning that time!"
"You know you can't," Hotaru taunted playfully.
"CLEAN THIS UP!" Anna screamed, sending a bowl flying spot-on into each of their heads and watching with satisfaction as both keeled over.
"…Ow," said Hotaru belatedly, picking up the faded chick bowl that he suspected might have dented his skull.
"Holy hell, sis, you been practicing since Keikoku left…?" Anthony groaned. Anna raised her delicate eyebrows at him, and he sighed and asked resignedly, "Where's the mop…?"
Behind him, Hotaru coughed again, lying quickly to fool Yuan, who, for some reason, believed him when he said he had bitten his tongue.
---
Hotaru wandered outside, little or no destination in mind; his mind floated like a cloud, hiding from a deadly truth.
"Hotaru?"
The voice was familiar; one of the very few he never forgot, no matter how long he went without hearing it.
"Akira…how are you? I haven't seen you in…" Hotaru trailed off.
"Almost three years, Hotaru. And I am hardly better," Akira replied, his voice tired and pained.
The two men looked at one another, and Hotaru was rather unpleasantly surprised to see that Akira was at least as tall as he was—and Hotaru was wearing his geta, too!
Dammit. Stupid father, letting me starve as a kid.
Hotaru conveniently forgot that Akira had starved until the age of eight (and hadn't exactly feasted during the Shiseiten years), and might simply be taller than him.
"And you, Hotaru? You seem a bit…off."
The fire-caster's fists clenched around the fading bloodstain in his right palm.
"I'm fine. Might be coming down with something."
"You're a bad liar," Akira said softly. "You know you can't lie to me. You wouldn't fool Bon with that one."
"Shut up," Hotaru snapped. "What do you know?" His hands were trembling—like leaves in the wind.
Akira said nothing, but he had already begun to understand, and he was both sorry and afraid for his old friend.
It was suddenly very obvious to him how much he had always relied on Hotaru. For warmth over seven years ago when the Shiseiten had camped in the cold; for backup and partnership in their games against Bontenmaru; for the other half of their devastating fire and ice combination that the world might never see again.
Hotaru swallowed thickly and attempted to speak.
"Akira…"
"It's fine, Hotaru," Akira said gently. "I don't—"
"Of anyone I know, I should expect that you of all people would understand. I'm so scared, Akira…scared of falling apart. I watched Hishigi die…I won't go like that. I'd rather—"
"Hotaru! Don't even talk like that! Go to Akari, ask her what to do…don't just give up and die."
"She's no closer to a cure than she was years ago. I think you'll remember how many leads she had last time we met. I'm just glad…that no one in my family is sick yet. Not Yun-Yun, or Anna…or Shinrei. They can't know about me. There's nothing they can do, and the last thing I want from them is pity. Please, Akira…don't tell them."
Akira merely stood there, facing his old companion with sadness etched into every line of his expression. Hotaru noted how the younger man had changed with the years; physically, he was nearly Hotaru's age now, and he no longer resembled a child. His pale face was more angular, and his voice a bit deeper. But Hotaru knew what lay behind Akira's reserve: sadness, isolation; and the terrible pain of the internal injuries that caused him so much torture with every movement—and which would probably never heal enough for the young man to fight again—at the very least, not in the effortlessly beautiful way he once had.
"I…I'm sorry." Hotaru's face was troubled.
"Don't be," the human replied. "I understand completely."
Hotaru squeezed his eyes shut, one hand to his face. He didn't understand—didn't get how or why Akira was so understanding of Hotaru's treatment of him, why he bothered to yell at him to go to Akari…even though it would be useless. And he didn't know why he reached for Akira as he had not one person in his life and held him close.
"Thank you," the fire-caster whispered, feeling Akira's hair tickle his check, and his skin so cool against Hotaru's unnatural warmth. Through Akira's shirt, Hotaru felt the hundreds of scars on the ice-wielder's back, including countless places where the toned muscle had ripped apart and knotted painfully back together. Akira's breath caught in his throat and he twitched as the light pressure of Hotaru's embrace touched those old wounds.
The human, his body silently screaming in pain, pulled away and seated himself on the stone wall on which he had found Hotaru. It was still excruciating simply to walk on shattered legs never healed right, and to have his torn, knotted wounds even brushed by gentle hands was agony.
"Akira…"
"Three years," Akira whispered. "It's been three years, and I can barely run more than a few steps, let alone fight. You can't possibly…but no, maybe you can imagine…
"It hurts, Hotaru…every move I make, everything I do is a trigger for pain I couldn't have believed existed before I fought Tokito. I tore myself apart to defeat her…yes, it was worth the pain, but…I don't know who I am anymore. I am neither Akira of the Shiseiten nor the two-headed dragon. I am simply human…and broken beyond repair." Akira hung his head, hands clenched tightly in front of him, shaking. The memory of Tokito tagging after him through the desert, demanding a rematch he could not give for reasons he lied to her about, nearly made him want to scream.
It was Hotaru's turn to look at his comrade with sadness in his eyes. Akira was so strong—had always been strong—and it was painful to see the ice warrior brought so low.
He sat beside Akira, though he did not touch him, unsure of just how much of Akira's body was wrecked by pain. He brushed a piece of hair out of the younger man's face and tucked it behind his ear.
"And what was the point of that? My eyes are as useless as they have been for seven years. A lock of hair in front of them will hardly make them any worse."
"I know that," Hotaru replied defensively. "But…I couldn't see your face."
Akira's head jerked up, a question on his lips. Hotaru smoothed an errant strand of hair and felt its softness against his scarred hands.
"Hotaru…"
The moment was short—beautifully, painfully short. One second, perhaps two or three, of Hotaru's lips burning hot against Akira's cool ones, his long fingers tangled in Akira's hair, his braid tickling Akira's shoulder, though he was careful not to put stress on the younger man's deeply scarred body. But as quickly as it had begun, their alien contact broke, and Hotaru bit his own lip, looking bewildered by his own behavior.
Akira faced the fire-caster, trying to remember exactly what he looked like. He recalled a man who had known starvation just as Akira himself had; slim but strong like the double-bladed sword he wielded with frightening precision. He remembered long, braided golden hair, red armor and a smile he always strove to hide. He remembered a deadpan face and the kind of dry wit (or was it simply stupidity?) that made the youngest Shiseiten want to knock his lights out. And Akira remembered Hotaru's eyes.
Golden, smoldering like the molten metal itself, sharp as an eagle's, burning bright like a forge as his inferno devoured the lives of multitudes; Hotaru's eyes defined Akira's old life nearly as much as Kyo's crimson ones.
Those eyes were one of the few reasons Akira wished he had not blinded his own.
"Akira? I'm sorry, I don't know why—"
Akira held up a hand to silence the flame-caster; still, he didn't speak, unsure of how he felt about this strange encounter. But he did not want Hotaru to apologize.
Hotaru did not respond when Akira touched his shoulder; he seemed afraid to.
"I don't want to hurt you," the flame-wielder said quietly. "If we do...anything...it'll hurt you, even though I don't want it to. That's why I'm sorry. Akira, please. At least ask Akari for something to take away the pain…it's killing you."
"Then tell her about you. I'm sure she can do something…"
Hotaru tensed and hesitated. He didn't want Akari to know. He didn't want Kyo to know. Honestly, he didn't even want Akira to know, but there was nothing he could do about that now. But…if there was even a chance…and if going to Akari also meant lessening the crippling pain that plagued Akira…
"Where is she?"
End Chapter
Hmm. I'm not sure what that was. Except depressing. Review please; that is, assuming the SDK fanbase hasn't all died.
