Disclaimer: The current text its a fanfiction based on the japanese animated series Saint Seiya, made only for entertainment, with no personal gains. The series, as all his characters are property of Masami Kurumada.
o.O.o
"... Eu procuro tentar entender
Porque eu sou
Tão importante pra você
Já que é bem melhor
Ser importante pra si mesmo..."
Capital Inicial – O Mundo(1)
o.O.o
He tooked the cigarette from his hand, and took a deep breath, releasing the smoke to the roof top, with a souer face.
Them both, sitted on that divan, in the darkned living room, remembered most the sinister figures of ghosts than human beings.
-You're a pain on my neck, know that? – he side-stared the red hair one, on an expression close to antipathy, but in truth was more for sadness.
-I know that. – dropped the red-haired, with an ironic laugh, tooking the cigarette back to him. – Not just me, as everything who envolves me, huh?
The blond one observed, with a choke in his troath and a growing fury in his chest, as not only his words, but also his gestures, were the physical representation of the most pure indifference.
He tooked a smoke breath, eyes fixed on nothing. Was acting like nothing of unusual was ocurring. As if the actual sittuation wasn't from the highest level of priority.
-Do you know that is me they'll send to kill them, Camus! What if I had to kill your disciple?
The french snobed him, annoying even more an already angry Milo.
-I've already told you, Milo: Hyoga has growed up enough to take his own decisions. I teached him to fight for the things he believe, and it seems that's what he and his comrades are doing. – and smoked for the last time, smashing the cigarette against the ashtray. – If killing him will bother so much, that's no big deal. Simply don't go.
That was the last drop. It hurted not just the rules and traditions of the Sanctuary, but their own pride of warrior, in all his efficience and perfection.
The normal reaction of Milo was supposed to be exploding in offences, maybe in physical violence. But, talking about Camus, all the intimidation atifices in the whole world does not work. Not used by him... The "master" of torture...
-Do you know very well for what I submit myself if I refuse an order from the Patriarch... – and a convulsive tremble possesed his body, on the herculean effort to contain the tears, which insisted in not fall down the troath.
-The same way I submit myself to lose seven years of hard work by your hands. – that voice, in his eternal and immutable tone, and that sentence, putted in that right moment, gave to everything an even worst aspect. – But do you know the one who you swear your loyalty on the day you became a Saint, and it wasn't for the Aquarius Cloth, or his Saint. Is you who has to decide what to do, independently from my envolvement on this or not. I just hope do you have consistency enough for not betray yourself just for me.
Milo shrinked over his own body; elbows over his knees, head over his hands, and the thick blond mane covering his face, in the vain hope that it hided his first tears.
But, despite everything, he got terminated for his chest, jumping in hiccup, uselessly contained.
A growl camed from a bored-looking Camus, and everything in the head of the greek, when he heard that, was to gave him a pretty slap on the face. But before it, his long and pale hand touched softly his hair, pulling it away from his face, already washed by his crying.
-That's not the first time I see you cry. – nothing on that pretrified ice sculpture expression had changed; except for their eyes, that issued a vague, but warm and inviting affection. – Don't you really think that I wouldn't notice that, do you?
Between sticking a Scarlet Needle in one of his eyes, or pulling himself in the arms of that man, Milo prefered a third option: give the change back in the same coin, the only one that Camus usually gave to him – the indifference.
He tooked his hand away, returning to the position he was before his touch. But that long fingers persisted on his hair, in a slow and skillful caress, breaking, bit by bit, the pathetic shell of fortress that Milo was trying to keep.
It doesn't take so long untill the blond was cutted down into tears, lying on the chest of Camus, who limited himself to cheer him and keep on waiting untill the sorrow of doubt, the obvious reason of the crying, gone away.
Doubt... What leads a man, loyal to his principles, fall up on crying just for a doubt?
He was understanding, not for completely, but he does. Certain things were confuse even for him, considered so racional and objective.
If he considered him a pain on his kneck, why he was here, lying on his arms, taking away from himself any kind of proud by crying in front of him? A cry which was calming down, as long as his caresses were passing gradually from the simply solace to lasciviousness, that Milo was knowing perfectly for what that would bring them in a short time?
Even after seven years torn apart, at least that Camus had tryied to cut their bonds abruptally, giving no advice about his trip to Siberia, he was still there, waiting.
But waiting for what? They were comrades of war, above all things. Friends, 'till the limit of his comprehension. Lovers when the desire possesed them. But Milo seems to be waiting for more, and, whenever it be, Camus doesn't know what it was. And even if he knows that, he doesn't know if he had it to offer.
For the first time in life, Aquarius Camus regreted from a taken atitude: has begun that all, has maded a man believe that he was a safe port.
When he wasn't a safe port even for himself.
o.O.o
Notes:
(1): "I try to understand/Why I am so important to you/Since it's much better/Beying important to yourself." Part of the liryc of "O Mundo", from the brazillian pop rock band "Capital Inicial". The whole liryc doesn't match with the fic, but this part, specifically, resumes all the feelings I've tryied to pass.
Fic translated in: August 12° of 2009
I'm from Brazil, and, at least this wasn't my first fanfic translated to english (my old fics in the penname Dark Lupina), I think that's not the better english translation I have to give for you, my dear readers! So, sorry for the bad grammar. I hope you understand the fic anyways...
This profile it's some kind of "rebirth" of my fic-writer career, with the objetive of re-write the old texts, trying to make it more cannon and more connected one to another, 'cause that's the way I like my fics! =)
But, completely lost between a dozen of confuse fics of Ice&Poison, this one has emerged in a try to understand them better, before the incidents that the future fics will bring.
Hope you enjoy it! °waiting on reviews xD°
Patrícia Loupee