Acknowledgements and Disclaimer: I do not own X/1999 or the characters
contained therein, they belong to CLAMP. I'm just sneaking onto their
playground, squishing mud between my toes. No money was harmed, or changed
hands, during the making of this fic. This is dedicated to Fahye for the
story Focus.
Set around Volume 13 or 14, just as some serious damage is beginning to be done, and people are beginning to die.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''
At the heart of it, what draws us together is desire. Not the kind that most people think of, but the deep longing for a normal life, peculiar to all those set apart by destiny. We try, as best we can in the slivers of time dropped by Fate, to have a normal relationship. It is perhaps lost irony that the most normal love affair we can have is considered an aberration by most of society.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''
"Hey, Subaru?"
"Yes, Kamui?"
"I was going to see a movie tonight. I think you'd like it."
"Then I'll come with you."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Hundreds of couples go to the movies each night. We delude ourselves that we're one of them. We smile, we share popcorn and we go for a snack after the show. We talk of directors and plots and Hollywood. Blissfully empty sentences, devoid of deeper meaning. As we walk home he shivers, and I give him my coat; a normal, tender gesture. He pulls it around him and soaks up the residual warmth from my body. I wonder if it makes him feel safe, since he knows I would never, ever hurt him.
But I've been to the depths of his soul and I know what his true desire is, just as he's seen or guessed mine.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
"Kamui?"
"Yes, Subaru?"
"Would you like to come to my room for awhile?"
"Yes."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''''''
People make love to each other in a variety of ways, all supremely typical. Ordinary people touch as we do and hold each other as we do. I let my hand linger on his arm touching him lightly as we talk. I stand too close as I straighten the collar of his shirt. I imagine normal people do these things.
But our eyes stay closed after we kiss, the light is always off, and we never, ever whisper anything to each other in the heat of passion. We both understand there are more people in bed than ourselves. The echo of his shadow and the specter of mine, do normal people have those? Perhaps.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''
"Subaru?"
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
"Sleep well, Kamui."
"Good night, Subaru."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''
We do not wish each other sweet dreams.
Set around Volume 13 or 14, just as some serious damage is beginning to be done, and people are beginning to die.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''
At the heart of it, what draws us together is desire. Not the kind that most people think of, but the deep longing for a normal life, peculiar to all those set apart by destiny. We try, as best we can in the slivers of time dropped by Fate, to have a normal relationship. It is perhaps lost irony that the most normal love affair we can have is considered an aberration by most of society.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''
"Hey, Subaru?"
"Yes, Kamui?"
"I was going to see a movie tonight. I think you'd like it."
"Then I'll come with you."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''''''
Hundreds of couples go to the movies each night. We delude ourselves that we're one of them. We smile, we share popcorn and we go for a snack after the show. We talk of directors and plots and Hollywood. Blissfully empty sentences, devoid of deeper meaning. As we walk home he shivers, and I give him my coat; a normal, tender gesture. He pulls it around him and soaks up the residual warmth from my body. I wonder if it makes him feel safe, since he knows I would never, ever hurt him.
But I've been to the depths of his soul and I know what his true desire is, just as he's seen or guessed mine.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
"Kamui?"
"Yes, Subaru?"
"Would you like to come to my room for awhile?"
"Yes."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''''''
People make love to each other in a variety of ways, all supremely typical. Ordinary people touch as we do and hold each other as we do. I let my hand linger on his arm touching him lightly as we talk. I stand too close as I straighten the collar of his shirt. I imagine normal people do these things.
But our eyes stay closed after we kiss, the light is always off, and we never, ever whisper anything to each other in the heat of passion. We both understand there are more people in bed than ourselves. The echo of his shadow and the specter of mine, do normal people have those? Perhaps.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' '''''''''''''''''''''
"Subaru?"
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
"Sleep well, Kamui."
"Good night, Subaru."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''' ''''''''''''''''''''''
We do not wish each other sweet dreams.