Title: Twisted Threads
Author: Rio Antaris
Warnings: Yaoi. Angst. Language. Violence. Dark. Self-Mutilation. Weird
Pairing: 1x2/2x1
Rating: R
Author's Notes: In ancient Greece, the three fates that decided the lives and deaths of mortals were Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured it, and Atropos cut it. However, in this fic they vary greatly from the originals.
This is dedicated to all the wonderful people that sent me comments and forced me to stop being lazy and write something. For those of you who wanted a sequel to 'Pyromania', consider this...a side story, I suppose...
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It's that dream again. I'm lying in a field of flowers, listening to the birds as they sing in nearby trees, watching the soft hazy clouds floating in the sky, when suddenly…everything begins to burn.
The flames are everywhere, creating a chaotic dance of orange and black all around me, but never touching my huddled form. They seem…afraid of me…
Bleeding. Everything is bleeding. Even the fire has turned red. The blood pours over me, prying apart my clenched jaws and forcing its way inside.
Then it all disappears. All of it. I'm left standing in emptiness, surrounded by black space.
No more fire. No more blood.
No more chaos.
No more death.
Only…
Blue eyes…the angel always has blue eyes…
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A young man leans against the side of the worn brick building. There is a fight taking place nearby, a regular occurrence in this part of town, at this time of night. He takes no notice of it, cool eyes flickering over one of the fighters before returning to watch the charred door of the broken down house across the street. Two minutes later, a girl runs out, the breath coming out of her thin body in gasps as she stands before him.
She smiles at him, and places her small hand into his.
"So, Clotho, where's our next stop?" she asks, her childish voice betraying no emotion.
The man makes no response, simply beginning to walk and tugging her behind him.
"I've been wondering when you'd catch up, Atropos."
His voice is dry and cold, yet strangely more natural than hers had been.
Atropos stares up at the star filled sky. "I had a few ribbons to cut."
"Opening your birthday presents early this year, Atty?" he asks, kicking an empty can with one scuffed shoe.
Seeing that he isn't upset, Atropos smiles once more. "Can't a girl have some fun?"
The statement seems odd coming from her, almost forced.
"Lachesis is gonna be pissed," is her companion's reply.
"Lachesis is always pissed," she sighs, gazing at the moon.
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Duo watched as the shadows danced gracefully on the cracked ceiling above him, trying to think of something to say, some witty remark that, even if he was the only who heard it, would make him feel as if he was in control of the situation.
Sometimes, he mused, he really hated Heero Yuy. And there was no other time that hate was greater than after they'd had sex. This was not the petty hate that one assigns in annoyance or anger, either; this was the deep hatred that could only come after months and months of intense loathing. Duo had had nearly a year.
He didn't need any visual confirmation to know that the other boy was already asleep, as far away from him as he could manage on the narrow yellow stained mattress. Duo did nothing to rectify the situation. He knew that Heero disliked touching him, knew that outside of the sex, which was hard and fast and rough to begin with, any contact made would be on his part, with Heero flinching away quickly. Knew it and hated him for it.
He also knew that things could be different. That lovers often slept entwined in each other's arms, that they held hands and hugged and kissed. That occasionally, they even cared about each other.
Not that Duo thought too much about the last part. He didn't spend his time analyzing his emotions, or the emotions Heero might have for him. There were other things to worry about in a war. Besides, Duo always joked to himself, should he survive, he'd probably be spending a lot of time in therapy anyway, so he might as well let the doc work for his money instead of doing his job for him.
Sighing, Duo moved into a sitting position, running one hand tiredly through his messy bangs. He stood up slowly, not really caring if the motion disturbed the bed's other occupant. Cool air lapped at his legs and he pulled on a pair of boxers as an afterthought.
He quietly walked the three feet from the bed to the cramped bathroom, squinting briefly as the light flickered on in the small room. He grinned at the dirty mirror, relieved when his reflection grinned back normally.
Leaning against the sink, he splashed cold water on his face, more out of habit than anything else.
Duo spared one last glance at the mirror, and opened a drawer in the nearby cabinet, rifling through it for the thin slivers of metal that might be able to take some of his pain away and replace it with one much sweeter.
Finding a razor, he gripped it in one steady hand, looking dismissively at the short scars that crisscrossed over the pale white flesh of his other arm. He pressed the blade into his skin, an odd smile on face as the sharp pain coursed through his veins, blocking out everything else. Duo started to push the edge in deeper when something grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
He blinked dumbly at Heero, who only narrowed his eyes in anger. His grip grew tighter, and the razor fell into the sink as Duo winced at the bruising force
Heero dragged the shocked and unresisting boy to the bed, where he pushed him to sit. He walked back to the bathroom and returned with a bandage and wet cloth, the shadows washing over his body in a way that held Duo transfixed.
Sitting down next to his lover, Heero began to wipe the blood away, glaring the entire time.
Duo was about to make a smart-ass remark when Heero surprised him by talking first.
"If you're going to mutilate yourself, at least do it when it would serve a purpose," he informed him.
Duo's eyes widened as possible retorts flowed through his brain, all of them sardonic in nature but none quite right. Finally, he settled on glaring back at Heero.
After a while, though, the silence began to draw too close, suffocating him in its layers.
"You know, Heero, you're being awfully nice to a guy you hate," he commented casually.
Heero concentrated on his task. "I don't hate you," he finally responded.
Duo couldn't help but snort. "Yeah? Well, you should, especially since that's the way I feel about you sometimes."
Heero kept silent, taking the bandage and covering the wound, then shifting slightly to create more space between himself and his partner.
Duo watched the movement with bored eyes. He was tired. Tired of everything and everyone; tired of being tired. He just wanted someone to hold him, someone to make him feel safe and warm and human. Even if it wasn't real. He sat up on his knees and leaned over to hug Heero tightly, tears threatening to escape from his eyes, one breaking free as Heero pushed him away.
"Why?" Duo asked. "Why are you afraid of touching me?" He stopped, scared of what would happen if he continued, even more terrified of what would happen if he didn't. "You're supposed to be..."
He trailed off, waiting.
Nothing.
"Then why the fuck even stay with me, you bastard? Why not just leave?" Duo yelled, hands clenched tightly in the blanket.
"Why not just leave?" he repeated, more subdued, this time directing the question at himself even as he knew the answer. His hands unclenched and he slumped in defeat.
Moments passed before Heero could respond. "I can't." He stared at the floor, refusing to look anywhere near the violet eyes that were visible even in darkness.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Duo lifted his head momentarily from its perch on his knees to wait for his reply.
"I'm tied to you," Heero said hesitantly, not sure if he had phrased it correctly or if Duo would understand. He lay down where he had been sleeping before, facing the wall.
"And just who am I, Heero? The loudmouth baka that always goes one step too far? Everyone's favorite court jester?" Duo asked bitterly.
Heero didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Duo sighed. "So I guess it's Shinigami after all. And here I thought I was doing a bang-up job at being human, too." His smile was awkward, as if the only reason it was there was because he no longer knew how to frown.
Silence settled over the house once more, only the softened sounds of the street outside filtering through.
It grew too heavy for Duo to carry. "How many lives have I taken, Heero?" he asked, making it sound as if he actually cared about the answer.
Heero didn't know what to tell him, but he tried his best. "I don't know," he answered, thankful that he couldn't see Duo. "But how many lives have you saved?"
Duo laughed at that. He knew he had to seem pretty pathetic for the soldier lying beside him to try to stuff that military bullshit down his throat. "And tell me, O great Heero Yuy, how many of those lives have been ruined thanks to my previous question?" he asked, smiling, eyes still brimming with tears.
Heero kept quiet, but Duo hadn't expected a reply.
"Why don't they just end this?" Duo muttered, willing himself to shut up before things went further than they already had.
Heero had no answer to give him; was unsure of what the question even was.
Duo curled up on his side of the bed, wrapping his arms around himself.
He felt a hand reach out and stroke his hair gently, cautiously.
"I'm sorry," Heero said softly, then moved away.
This time Duo was silent. He was sorry, too. Sorry that a part of him still hated Heero and sorry that, as always, a part of him hated himself even more for feeling that way. Duo closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep, unhaunted by his thoughts.
Not hearing Heero's last whispered confession to the night.
"It's not you I'm afraid of, koi."
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