we'll have time
finished September 8, 2008
My first Nabari no Ou fic. For Jree.
Standard: I do not own the characters or situations of Nabari no Ou, which belong to the wonderful Yuhki Kamatani, and no profit is involved in my borrowing them; but gosh, I love them so much. And I wish they could be happy.
Miharu is thinking
(or maybe dreaming, he's too tired to tell the difference anymore)
that when this is finally over, he and Yoite will go home, to Banten. I'll work in the restaurant, he thinks, and Yoite will sleep as late as he wants, and when he gets up I'll cook for him. And afterward we'll sit together, and when he gets stronger we'll take long walks, someplace quiet, and stay as long as we like because no one will be looking for us. And at night I'll hold him until he falls asleep. And maybe I'll be able to tell him how I feel, after this is over; because we'll have time then. We'll finally have time.
--A drop of water splashes onto his head and runs cold down his neck. He shivers, and shakes his head just a little, so as not to wake Yoite. The assassin is curled into him, fast asleep, head on his shoulder. They're huddled against the dank wall of the sewer tunnel, in the dim puddle of light cast by an ancient workman's lamp bolted into the concrete. They'd been surprised to find any light down here at all, and decided it would be the safest spot to stop and rest; and it does seem to have kept the rats away…
How long has it been? An hour? Probably too long already. --He gives the thin shoulder a gentle shake.
"Yoite. We should go."
"...All right." He begins to rise, is seized by a coughing jag and drops back against the wall, hand pressed to his mouth. Miharu waits for the spasm to pass and helps him to his feet.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
His courage leaves Miharu in awe. There's almost nothing left of him but his bones and his iron will, but fierce purpose will keep him moving till he drops. He lets the hand fall away from his mouth, not even looking at the fresh blood on his already-stained glove. He doesn't care any more, thinks Miharu; everything but that purpose has burned away.
The dark tunnel seems to stretch into the distance, infinite. He bites his lip. Time…
But the long gloved fingers--not the bloodied ones--reach out and fold around Miharu's.
"Let's go."