Saiyuki: Fireflies
With a sigh Gojyo finished wiping off and drying the last of their dinner
dishes; his arms trembled visibly as he placed it in the drying rack.
Slowly he put away the dishcloth, then slumped to the floor, muttering:
'Feels like I washed every damned dish in the house -- how the hell did I
let them talk me into this?' He sighed, loudly enough to flutter his
fraying sleeveless shirt, and wearily got to his feet.
Light and shadow danced faintly together under the door leading to the
house's little den/sitting room, as it did nearly every night -- they'd all
gone to the West together, had faced and beaten countless hordes of Minus
Wave-crazy youkai, had finally settled that divine fiasco from about five
thousand years ago, but the other three on the journey were still addicted
to their creature comforts.
He knew who was behind the door and what they were doing: Sanzou would be
smoking, drinking and reading something out of the tiny library he'd built
up over the years, mostly from presents given to him. Goku would either be
reading over Sanzou's shoulder -- and it amazed everyone that not only did
the irascible blonde put up with his potentially rude behavior, but
actively encouraged him to read in his own contrary manner -- or romping
around the room with Hakuryuu, which was growing sleek and fat with the end
of its endless running along westbound roads.
And Hakkai would be standing in the door to the tiny porch, leaning against
the jamb with his hands in his pockets and a preoccupied look in his good
green eye.
It was one of the things Gojyo found difficult to understand about him --
why he seemed to have withdrawn into himself when he had been their most
outgoing member during that extended road trip -- but then it was a long
list, and the hanyou doubted he'd ever cross off more than a handful of
the items on it.
Tonight, though, he put his ear to the door and heard -- nothing. No
rustle of turning pages for Sanzou, no rapid footsteps moving around the
room for Goku, and certainly no sounds of the porch door opening, no
creaking floorboards to mean Hakkai had taken up his usual position.
Gojyo inched the door open.
The brunette was not even in the room, having moved out onto the porch
with his back turned to the rest of the house. The landscape before him
was utterly silent and the door that led out onto the porch was still
wide open, allowing the redhead an unimpeded view of....
A speck of cool green light flashed suddenly, bright and near in the
starless night, flickering as it moved across the open doors. Hakkai
raised a hand and it moved towards him, and soon it was joined by
another light, and another.
Gojyo blinked and shook his head, wondering if he was imagining things.
What was Hakkai doing to the fireflies? Was it already their season?
In a few more moments a loose knot of blinking green light had formed
above the palm of the converted youkai's hand, and the room seemed
somehow alive with the flashing of the fireflies.
'I know you're there,' Hakkai's voice said quietly. 'Come here if you
want, but please don't frighten the fireflies.'
Gingerly he crossed the room to the other man, bracing his shaking arms
on the porch railing; he looked at Hakkai by the cool green light, and
couldn't make another sound.
Cho Hakkai was transformed by the fireflies, somehow strangely ethereal,
as if he were more spirit than human. The lines and edges in his
travel-worn features were softer, the mismatching of his eyes less
pronounced -- Sha Gojyo shook his head, hardly daring to believe it --
the other man was, suddenly after all, beautiful. As beautiful as the
night around them, and as secretive and protective -- or even more, as he
had shown during the entire Journey to the West.
Gojyo couldn't help himself -- he sighed, took Hakkai's other hand,
and whispered, 'Kirei na.'
As he spoke, a small smile bloomed on the green-eyed one's lips; he
raised his free hand a little higher and blew softly into the knot of
fireflies.
The green lights vanished, the night-shadows deepened even more, and
now dim half-light bathed the two holding hands on the porch.
With a sigh Gojyo finished wiping off and drying the last of their dinner
dishes; his arms trembled visibly as he placed it in the drying rack.
Slowly he put away the dishcloth, then slumped to the floor, muttering:
'Feels like I washed every damned dish in the house -- how the hell did I
let them talk me into this?' He sighed, loudly enough to flutter his
fraying sleeveless shirt, and wearily got to his feet.
Light and shadow danced faintly together under the door leading to the
house's little den/sitting room, as it did nearly every night -- they'd all
gone to the West together, had faced and beaten countless hordes of Minus
Wave-crazy youkai, had finally settled that divine fiasco from about five
thousand years ago, but the other three on the journey were still addicted
to their creature comforts.
He knew who was behind the door and what they were doing: Sanzou would be
smoking, drinking and reading something out of the tiny library he'd built
up over the years, mostly from presents given to him. Goku would either be
reading over Sanzou's shoulder -- and it amazed everyone that not only did
the irascible blonde put up with his potentially rude behavior, but
actively encouraged him to read in his own contrary manner -- or romping
around the room with Hakuryuu, which was growing sleek and fat with the end
of its endless running along westbound roads.
And Hakkai would be standing in the door to the tiny porch, leaning against
the jamb with his hands in his pockets and a preoccupied look in his good
green eye.
It was one of the things Gojyo found difficult to understand about him --
why he seemed to have withdrawn into himself when he had been their most
outgoing member during that extended road trip -- but then it was a long
list, and the hanyou doubted he'd ever cross off more than a handful of
the items on it.
Tonight, though, he put his ear to the door and heard -- nothing. No
rustle of turning pages for Sanzou, no rapid footsteps moving around the
room for Goku, and certainly no sounds of the porch door opening, no
creaking floorboards to mean Hakkai had taken up his usual position.
Gojyo inched the door open.
The brunette was not even in the room, having moved out onto the porch
with his back turned to the rest of the house. The landscape before him
was utterly silent and the door that led out onto the porch was still
wide open, allowing the redhead an unimpeded view of....
A speck of cool green light flashed suddenly, bright and near in the
starless night, flickering as it moved across the open doors. Hakkai
raised a hand and it moved towards him, and soon it was joined by
another light, and another.
Gojyo blinked and shook his head, wondering if he was imagining things.
What was Hakkai doing to the fireflies? Was it already their season?
In a few more moments a loose knot of blinking green light had formed
above the palm of the converted youkai's hand, and the room seemed
somehow alive with the flashing of the fireflies.
'I know you're there,' Hakkai's voice said quietly. 'Come here if you
want, but please don't frighten the fireflies.'
Gingerly he crossed the room to the other man, bracing his shaking arms
on the porch railing; he looked at Hakkai by the cool green light, and
couldn't make another sound.
Cho Hakkai was transformed by the fireflies, somehow strangely ethereal,
as if he were more spirit than human. The lines and edges in his
travel-worn features were softer, the mismatching of his eyes less
pronounced -- Sha Gojyo shook his head, hardly daring to believe it --
the other man was, suddenly after all, beautiful. As beautiful as the
night around them, and as secretive and protective -- or even more, as he
had shown during the entire Journey to the West.
Gojyo couldn't help himself -- he sighed, took Hakkai's other hand,
and whispered, 'Kirei na.'
As he spoke, a small smile bloomed on the green-eyed one's lips; he
raised his free hand a little higher and blew softly into the knot of
fireflies.
The green lights vanished, the night-shadows deepened even more, and
now dim half-light bathed the two holding hands on the porch.