Title: Bound by Nothing
Series: Loveless
Pairing: SoubixRitsuka
Rating: T
Word count: 701
Summary: An introspective look into Soubi's ideas on the whole fighter/sacrifice thing, and Ritsuka in particular.
"He should be zealous, teach nothing partially, keep nothing secret, and hold nothing back." –Questions of King Milinda on the ultimate teacher.
Seimei use to say this about their teachers at Septimal Moon. Soubi never really understood it until he met Ritsuka though. Looking at him now, this tiny boy who curled around him so trustingly, so absolutely certain in the belief that Soubi would protect him, knowing that on an order from the dead he would kill him; Soubi shook his head in confusion. It was this certainty, this unflinching ability to take anything that was thrown at him and keep going, keep surviving, that made him believe that he finally understood Seimei's words.
Ritsuka was the ultimate teacher.
Of them, his sacrifice was the braver, cleverer, and completely loving individual. Sacrifice. What did that mean? In his head he'd always equated sacrifice to the person who would die first. The fighter meant the one who would have to live on, and if they had been truly bonded like some of the others…Soubi thought that being a blank was much better. Being attached, loving, losing, those were things that drew out emotions, and he'd never been particularly good with those to being with.
But Ritsuka was no one's sacrifice.
He'd chosen this path. Realized that there was more going on then what the world spewed at them so vehemently and gathered his belongings together, neither hurrying nor dallying, he just pulled himself together and went on as though it was a long time plan he'd had. Soubi both admired and hated that quality in him. He admired the boy's fierce will to live, admired the sleek smoothness of him and the wickedly quick wit that still shown with an edge of innocence. He hated him too. Hated his stance on letting other pairs live after a battle, hated his brother complex, though that was starting to fade with age and knowledge, but most importantly, he hated how concerned he was becoming of the boy.
He hated his ears.
And yet he refused to take them. He tried so hard to ignore it, to ignore the too gaunt features that always sported bandages from hands that should hold and heal, the too thin chest with its bumpy outlines of ribs whispering more of missed meals than lanky growth spurts, the whipcord tight way he flinched when people got to close, even his own reflection, but most of all, he tried to ignore how desperately the boy clung to him, even while saying 'nonononono'. He tried to ignore them all.
He failed miserably.
But this child-teacher seemed to understand it all and even while he was begging no, forgave him his trespasses and held him tighter, because this really wasn't about him at all, this was about Soubi and always had been. This desire to twist something so pure yet stained into something broken left him panting, his blood thrumming in his ears and agony staining his cheeks. The fingers in his hair weren't his own, and as they were pressed to thin, doll-like lips he felt his heartbreak, he'd almost…
"Stop holding back and just let go."
And he was born again. He always was. Each time he got close to breaking, the cracks wearing too thin and the porcelain starting to crumble under the onslaught there were fingers, gentle pressure that reminded him of his place, his anchor in the sea of chaos that was his mind and heart and soul; and then there were the lips. The lips that brought warmth to his frozen limbs, that made him remember his vow of protection, of loyalty, of love. Those things that he buried away sometimes, thinking they weren't necessary, like an old sweater that's all pulled out of shape and stained by life, but God did it feel like home, and every once and a while you just had to pull it back out to remind yourself what was real, what was important and needed.
"Ritsuka…"
"I'm here, Soubi. I'm here."
Fin