Author: Celeste
Feedback: (Yes!) keviesprincess@netscape.net
Rating: PG-13 for yaoi themes and implied NCS
Pairings: Really indirect mentions of Haru/Yuki
Summary: Companion piece to "The Price of Peace and Quiet"- Mit-chan comes over to discuss Shigure's newest book.
Spoilers: Not that I know of, really.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my sad, twisted scenario. As far as I know, anyway… *sweatdrop*
Dedication: Gift fic for Mel! I need to do more cheerful gift fics! *smiles and sweatdrops*
A/N: Well look here, it's not a POV piece. That's new, right? But present tense…I guess it might as well be a first person. *sweatdrop* I tried, but this gift thing is hard. Apologies for OOCness (intense OOCness) and stupidity, lack of plot, etc. etc. I'm really not creative enough to write something intelligent and in character that's engaging. I try, oh, I try. Erm… Merry Christmas, Mel!
Distribution: Mel's gift, I guess I'll have to ask her. :P
~~~~~~~~~
She sits down and looks at him earnestly, anticipating, expecting his first words to break the silence, expecting his first joke to be cracked and her sanity to fly out the window immediately after he says whatever he is going to say and as he smiles that all knowing, oblivious smile at her.
She's used to it by now. She's worked with him for a long time and knows exactly what to expect.
They sit in the silence for a moment.
It stays silent.
His quiet confuses her, sitting there, waiting longer than she is used to. No joke comes, no wise-ass crack or sudden grin and giggle from his mouth.
She meets his eyes suddenly, trying to see if this is a new trick he has learned, but when she locks her gaze with his, there is something strangely subdued in the way he looks back at her.
Suddenly, he seems normal. Like a normal human being. Certainly not himself.
"Sensei… we need a topic for your next book," she poses intrepidly, still waiting for that first verbal blow to come. She realizes that in starting the conversation, she has given him more than ample opening to bombard her with that seemingly innocuous, always infuriating wit. She figures it's better to get it over with now than later, when they're supposed to be working.
But he just continues to look at her with those mild eyes, eyes that hold none of their usual mirth but rather, a startling seriousness. By no means does he look sad or tense by it, to be clear. It is not in his character to be sad or tense at all.
But he does look thoughtful in his seriousness, contemplative.
And that, more than anything else, is completely out of character.
"Ah, Mit-chan. I think I'll write a love story," he finally replies.
She lets out a little breath. **Here it comes,** she thinks. **Here it comes.** Whenever he talks about love stories he cannot help but hide his mouth behind those long sleeves of his and giggle like a prepubescent teen, murmuring about how his love epic will contain a glistening this and a heaving that and a thrusting and a undulating and other lascivious words that make her simultaneously blush and want to rip out her hair.
He always likes to make her uncomfortable.
But again, nothing comes, and she sits there, looking at him, somewhat stunned.
"A…love…story, sensei? What kind?" she asks again, knowing she is setting herself up, knowing that he must just be stringing her along to enhance the climax of his little prank, to build it up as big as it can be. But it's weirder when he doesn't do what he usually does, and she hopes that her words will bring it forward faster, so she can stop sitting, so the muscles in her arms can stop twitching in anticipation and can finally spring into action and bring her hands to her face where she can cry at his ridiculous words, his lack of professionalism.
She wants him to get on with it, because waiting is what is really killing her.
He sighs and leans backwards at her question, his sleeves meeting each other at the hem. He closes his eyes gently, looking dreamy in a pensive sort of way. "A sad love story, Mit-chan. I think I want to write a sad love story."
She blinks at him dumbly. "Ah…really?" She is far too intrigued by his words to remember that she is supposed to be screaming and crying and begging him to be serious at this point, and the tenseness drains from her back as she leans forward. It is unlike him to want to write a love story that does not contain any use of sinfully lewd vocabulary in its description, and she is wondering what has brought this on.
"Aa. Really," he responds easily, opening his eyes and looking at her guilelessly. "There is a story in my head that I think should be told."
"But…don't you usually hate sad stories, sensei?"
"I do, I do hate a sad ending. Reading a story should always make you happy about something, I think. In your imagination, there should always be something to be happy about in the end. But this is a story…that has to be told."
He says this so honestly that she is tempted to reach out and touch his forehead, thinking there must be a fever infecting his brain or some sort of virus raging through his body. That is the only explanation she can afford as to how such a mischievous, laughing man has so suddenly become serious about his work. But she restrains herself from touching him, lets herself hope that maybe after all this time, he is finally deciding to be a professional.
If that is the case, it will save her so many trips to the psychiatrist in the future.
But at the same time, it worries her a little bit.
She has been ready to rail at him since she had first come to the house, thinking that she would be made to either wait or chase him down as he tried his hardest to avoid her. She had planned to grab him by the collar and drag him into this office and shout at him for canceling their last five appointments and that the 'family emergency' he kept throwing out as an excuse had been an uncreative lie on his part. He could have at least thrown in the line about saving a burning bus full of nuns or taking the dog (which she had only seen in the house once before) to the vet because he had a stomach ache or something like that.
Usually, he at least tried to be creative about his excuses. At least that way, when she was ripping at her hair, a small part of her was thankful that he had tried a little bit on her behalf.
This time, each time he had called to cancel, he had said in much the same manner he was speaking now, that there was a family emergency.
It wasn't like him.
It was so unlike him that she was almost tempted to believe that there indeed, had been a family emergency.
But she has known him too long to believe his excuses anymore.
"What will this love story be about?" she asks after that brief pause in her thoughts. She has decided that as long as he is being serious with her, she will return the favor. If he suddenly bursts out laughing at her behavior, she can always shout at him afterwards.
"It will be about two lovers born under unlucky stars," he starts, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one.
She furrows her brow, her editor's instinct telling her she does not like this idea. "Sensei," she scolds, "all sad love stories are about that."
"This one will be especially sad, I think."
"I don't know if the publisher will want that from you, sensei. It's too…contrived,"
"This one will be different. There will be a curse."
She is even less impressed now. "Sensei, this sounds just like a fairy tale. Your readers will think you've run out of ideas."
"One of the lovers will have a father…"
"Sensei…"
He ignores her pleas to abandon his idea and takes a moment to smoke his cigarette, watching the haze that he exhales disperse into the air with the same pensiveness he has looked at everything else today.
Seeing this, she momentarily forgets her argument against the love story and is again reminded of how much his behavior has bothered her lately.
"And the curse is… the curse is that this lover's father will look exactly like him," he finishes after he has stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "His father will look just like him, but he will be very different inside. His mind, his mind will be dark."
She swallows thickly at his tone, and the finality with which he speaks is the same as the finality with which he douses the life from the half-smoked cigarette. "Sensei, I really don't think…"
"…and in that dark mind, he will fall in love with his son."
She stops whatever she was going to say completely. "W-what?"
"He will fall in love with his son," he repeats, slowly, eyes darkening just a little bit. Just a tiny bit. "Because his son is perfect."
"Sensei…that's not…"
"It's not what, Mit-chan?"
"Perhaps that's too…heavy,"
"It does happen, you know. It is a reality."
"Sensei…"
"Do you want to know what happens next?"
Something in the way he asks the question makes her nod automatically, though she is far more uncomfortable now than she has ever been when he was playing his tricks on her and laughing.
"The father will be jealous of his son's lover, because he is in love with his son. The father will hate the lover… him, or her…I'm not sure which I will choose yet…but the father will try to part him or her from his son."
She is suddenly scared at what he is going to say next, but not quite sure why. It is just his story, and she has heard enough of his spur-of-the-moment storylines to know that most of the time, he changes them dramatically by the time she comes to fight him for the final draft. But there is something in the way his voice tells this particular story that makes her afraid. The way he tells this story, it's as if it's not a story at all.
"The son and his lover…I will make them two very beautiful people, Mit-chan. They will be lovely together. But only together. They'll need each other more than anything else. One without the other would be incomplete."
"Sensei?"
"And then, because of his dark mind… the father will hurt his son's lover. In a terrible way."
She steels herself, tells herself that in the professional world of writing all sorts of stories are told all the time, regardless of their subject matter. Every story has a right to be told, and she should know that. Also, she steels herself because she thinks she knows what comes next; because she is queued by the way the man across from her furrows his brow slightly.
"He has his son's face, you see. That's the curse, remember? And his mind is darker than his son's. So he will go to his son's lover one night, pretending to be…"
"Sensei…why do you want to write this?"
"I want to write this, Mit-chan. It doesn't matter if they like it or not."
"But…why?"
He sighs and leans back, eyes on the ceiling. The pensive thoughtfulness she has seen smothering him since she stepped into his office and actually found him here turns slightly sad, and she feels like the atmosphere is choking her a little because of it. "I want to write stories that are true to life," he explains after a moment. The way he says it breaks her heart.
"B-but sensei…how is that…"
"And the father will rape the lover,"
And his words, his announcement make her lose the question she was going to ask, make it disappear into nothing off of the tip of her tongue. All she can do is sputter a little, try to breathe. "He…that's not…" She does not believe that the scenario he has described to her is true to life at all. She wants to tell him that it's completely unrealistic and that she will not believe it, nor will anyone else. They cannot believe it, because if it was believable, then life…life would be far too horrible. "S-sensei…"
"You think it's a little short, don't you?" he poses for her, not letting her voice her objections once more, not giving her the time she needs for the horrific scenario he has just described to her sink in completely. "Don't worry, Mit-chan. That's not all. That's just the beginning of the story," he explains, laughing a little.
It is a laugh, but not the one she has come to expect from him after all this time. Rather, it is a bit like she feels, a little bit choked.
"After that, is when the truly sad things will begin," he tells her, as if consoling her sense of professionalism. His novels are expected to be a certain length, after all. "After that part…that is when the tragedy of this love story begins. Can you believe, that that isn't the saddest part?"
She just sits there, still looking at him, a little bit chilled by his words and by his demeanor, but mostly by that laugh she heard, that laugh that was so unlike his, the one full of mischief and warmth and innocent wiles she has come to know. She looks at him and realizes that the professionalism he has displayed all day today has come with this condition, this dull thoughtfulness, this distant sadness and bitter laughter.
She suddenly begins to believe his excuse a little bit, starts to believe in the cryptic family emergency that kept this meeting at bay for weeks and sent their company into a financial tizzy. "Sensei…was this a bad time for me to come? Did you resolve your family emergency?" she asks him next, searching for the reason behind his abrupt metamorphosis. There has to be a reason. Things like this, they do not change without a reason.
"Resolved? I think it is as resolved as it is going to be, Mit-chan. Thank you."
It is an ambiguous answer. Many of his answers to her have always been ambiguous in some way, but never have they been so coldly so. There always used to be a certain fond sweetness behind his words, but it is missing today. It makes her feel strangely empty.
And then, she suddenly believes that exactly like in his story, the family emergency that has kept her away from here for weeks was only the beginning.
She cannot think of anything to say.
They sit in silence for a little while once more, and she wonders if everything that had just come to pass was a product of her imagination and that the silence they are sitting in now is the same one that they had sat in at first, when she was waiting for him to crack a joke and a smile, back before anything horrible had been said.
She wishes it had all been her imagination.
"This isn't like you, Mit-chan. Are you okay?" he asks in a low tone, breaking the stillness in the air.
She does physically choke at that, incredulous. "W-what isn't like me?" she replies, so bewildered that she feels this must be a either a dream or his best practical joke yet.
"To change the subject like that. Usually, you want to hear my entire idea before you even say hello," he muses, sounding just the tiniest bit nostalgic. "You don't usually ask about the family."
"I'm fine, sensei. I'm just a little…tired,"
"Do you want to hear the rest of my idea?"
Instinctively, her heart clenches and she wants to shout 'no!!' to him at the top of her lungs, to use up all the energy she has saved today from not having to chase after him and scream and cry and curse him, to shout that one word. But she cannot find it in herself to move or say anything at all. She still feels a little bit choked.
He takes her silence as a yes. Or maybe he hadn't really been asking in the first place.
"After that…that's when the love story turns very sad," he says again, setting the brush he has been playing with down on the table. "The lovers won't be able to be as beautiful as they used to be. Something like that, it's just what happens, you see. A dark mind and a dark action, to mar them is natural. Something else that just naturally happens after that sort of thing…"
She wants him to stop again, wants him to at least pause so she can process everything he is telling her, because such a sad thing coming from him is so disturbing, perhaps as disturbing as the story itself.
"…revenge."
"Revenge…"
"What do you think is sadder, Mit-chan?" he murmurs, sadly thoughtful.
"Eh?"
"Which part of the story do you think is sadder?" he repeats patiently for her, looking into her eyes. The sharpness with which his gaze appears makes her move backwards a little, lean backwards to create some sort of distance where she can sort out her thoughts.
But her thoughts cannot be organized, not when so much is going on and piling on top, one train of consciousness slapped onto another. "I don't understand, sensei…"
"Do you think it is sadder…what the father did?"
She almost automatically responds yes (how could it not?), but again, the subtleties of his tone tell her to wait, so she swallows her answer instead, stares at him with eyes large and round and frightened.
"Or do you think it's sadder, what the son does?"
But he hasn't told her that part of the story. All he told her…all he had said was…"What…what does the son do, sensei?"
"Revenge, remember, Mit-chan? Are you sure you're okay? It isn't like you to forget details like that."
"What does the son do, sensei?"
But she wants to know now…she wants to know what a son could possibly do in the face of that horror that could even plausibly be worse than what the father did.
"Revenge for that…what else could he do… what else could he do but kill the father?"
She feels herself shatter. "Kill…"
He nods. "Which do you think is sadder?" he asks again, leaning forward, looking at her intensely. His question, she senses that he does not know the answer to his own question either, that perhaps he wishes to find some guidance of his own in her response. "The rape of the lover or the murder of the father?" he murmurs, more to himself now than to her.
She shakes her head slowly, dazed. "Sensei…I don't know."
"I don't know either,"
He has thought about this long and hard himself, trying to search for his answers.
"I don't think…there is an answer," she offers, looking down at the table of her lap and skirt.
"It's a sad love story," he adds, eyes trained on his workspace.
They sit in silence for a while.
They sit in silence until the sound of a car pulling up the walk stirs their attention, until the sound of feet in the house makes them realize they are still in this world and their questions are still unanswered.
There is a soft rapping on the door, and both of them turn their heads.
"Come in."
The door slides open and she sees another man, handsome in a more subdued way than her sensei, poke his head in. "Shigure…"
"Aa. I'll be right with you."
He turns back to her, looks softly apologetic. "Mit-chan, excuse me."
She shakes her head, suddenly aware of herself once more. "It's okay. I can let myself out, sensei. I'll come back another time if…"
He nods and stands, a sickly smile of the same nature as his earlier laugh appearing on his face. "I'm sorry. It's… a family emergency."
She nods back, watches him slip out the door after the other man.
After he is gone, she stands shakily and looks down at the table, where his brush and papers lay, barren of ink for now. This time, it seems as if he is willing to work, to behave professionally and do his best to put his next novel out in a timely fashion. She should be glad.
Soon he will begin his latest story.
For some reason, she feels as if she will cry.
END