Title: Thicker then Blood
Chapter 2: Broken Glass
Beta: ChaosGarden
Author: Harper Hisoka
Warning: Shonen Ai/Yaoi, dark themes (drugs, alcohol, sexual, etc), I don't own the series (Manga, Novel or Anime).
Series: Kyou Kara Maoh
Pairing: Yuuri x Wolfram
Summary: [Sequel to Future Moon] After that last battle, Yuuri and Murata find themselves stuck on Earth. Months later, they make a final pact to make their way home. What they find is unimaginable consequences they didn't expect to find.
Present day, inside Y uuri's head (which is slightly drunk)
In such a short time, I have fallen so far. My life is like is a circus, a joke that feels overcrowded and inescapable through the three fates tight grasp. I rarely speak to Murata anymore, and my parents are worried. They don't know anything and I can't seem to make them understand my feelings; so I have to hide from them. My father and brother are very important on this world. Shori is the king in training – my counterpart, as it were. If I cross them then there's no telling what I will have to face in the coming times. I don't know how any of this happened. I don't get it, I don't like it and I certainly don't understand any of it.
Sometimes I scream out at the onlookers, "How could this have happened to me?!" or "Why me, WHY? I was chosen as a sick joke? DON'T KID ME!" I scared them half to death, I think. Sometimes they would threaten to call the police on me, making such a ruckus in public. I don't need their pity or their feeble attempts at 'help'. The longer I stay in this world, the less I care about my life, my future – anything that mattered.
I can't seem to adjust to this new feeling. I lost everything, every single thing I ever really cared about, and the people here expect me to continue on like its nothing. "Yeah, whatever you say." Maybe the further I have come towards becoming a king, the further away returning to a normal life really is. Being a king is nothing like a regular job, my position was secure so I let myself sink into the notion that "I'll accept this responsibility and make it mine. My life."
-End the brooding, slightly dark yet depressing monologue-
Yuuri took another chug from his beer bottle before continuing. "I can't go back to being a nobody; for being normal is overrated and grossly intolerable. I said before, that I've become selfish and along with it, demanding and wanting. I let myself believe that being selfish was okay, just a little and I can't go back. Even if I could turn back time, I wouldn't dare to face my past like I am now. I miss being important and having to deal with the stress of ruling a kingdom. Not once did I ever take my spot for granted; nor do I feel any differently about it now."
"I want what's mine, Murata," Yuuri said to his friend, his voice barely audible over sounds of elegant, park statement fountain behind them. A meeting place they had become accustomed to since its location was deep within a local park that made its home far away from the normal, 'human' locals. It was dangerous in this neck of the park as gangs made this their local hangout as well. Everything was in disrepair and trashed, cigarette butts and gun shells more than casually littered the ground beneath them. Yet, they weren't afraid of those mindless thugs. It took some time, but they were become accustomed to their new, lacking-in-magic bodies. It was Yuuri's fighting skills alone that scared off anyone along their path. Murata had seen many times Yuuri dodging the array of bullets and small bomb shells to cut the problem directly at its source.
Murata leaned backwards nonchalantly, letting a long, drawn out bellow of smoke exhale from his mouth. Yuuri, however, retained a tense, hunched over position being noticeably less calm and not as able to hide his frustrations like his old friend. He gripped the bottle neck tightly, in an unexpected movement smashing the glass against the concrete. The slight smell of alcohol permeated the air as its contents spread across the pathway. The weather wasn't particularly hot today, more along the cool side of overcast. Murata only looked on as if nothing had happened. Neither of them spoke, but they felt the same thing.
Yuuri screamed out against the sky, his voice echoed the empty surroundings. Trees soaked in the fanatic, inaudible calls that carried it along the occasionally strong winds that swept sporadically along the ground. Falling to his knees, he continued to slam his fists which, along the cause and effect route, left two fist sized holes in Yuuri's wake. He felt a pair of eyes glare at him momentarily before carrying on. A cigarette pushed its way into view, and Yuuri accepted Murata's gesture without word.
It was kind of like they didn't need words anymore for conversations; things like "Here, this will make you feel better," or "You're causing a scene, even if no one's around." Yuuri dragged his fingers among the shattered glass and excess beer staining the pathway. His fingers found their way to a specific, sharp piece of glass and he wrapped his hand tightly around it. Blood dripped solemnly downwards, causing small patterns of puddles to form. This time, Murata did speak his mind.
"You can slit your wrists now if you want, it doesn't matter to me any." Murata crushed his cigarette into the ground, already reaching in his pocket for a new one. "I want to say 'what you do is none of my businesses' but we both know that isn't true. I can't even lie about that, it's so not funny."
"Yeah," He replied. Yuuri opened his palm; the cuts had been sharp and almost painless. He couldn't help but create new ones down his arm. The cigarette moved around his mouth as he talked, his voice in effect slightly garbled. "I'm not going to die, so don't follow me to hell just yet, old friend."
"Sometimes I swear your incorrigible. Always doing what you want, no matter what others may think. But, I can't really complain now. I can only wait and wonder – to wonder exactly how this will work. Getting home, our real home, with how much time has passed there I wonder what the damage has become? We're a pathetic, sad mess that's not fit to rule the kingdom; we hide behind words like 'destiny' and 'fate' to make ourselves feel better about our own life and to keep hope for the future.'
"I swear Wolfram's brothers would be sad to see what kind of drugged up, 'bad boy' whore you've become." Murata didn't even have time to react as Yuuri's fist punched him in the face. "Shit, that hurt! I have a bloody nose now thanks to you."
Yuuri only grinned as he leaned against the fountain side. The red stained glass had been casually tossed aside. "I'm not the whore, Murata. At least I haven't been sleeping around on MY boyfriend. Don't confuse me with you."
Blood dripped down Murata's fingers as he tried to stop the flow with his sleeve; he didn't bother to tilt his head back, since it was only a myth that really helped at all. "God, you could have held back a little! I'm trying to be your friend here, which is saying something since no one else will go near you."
Silence made its drawn out appearance before Murata decided to speak again. After minutes of watching Yuuri bandage his own arm, with – he had to admit – impressively deep cuts, saw the rest of the nonexistent day fly by.
"You figured it out, haven't you." His question was more of a statement since they both knew the exact answer. It was a one way ticket to Shin Makoku and the sacrificial price that went along with it. Yuuri didn't need to say anything in return; behind Yuuri's newly adopted stern gaze, laid the innocent, young king of his past. Murata put out his last cigarette, standing up impatiently. "Let me help you, hm? I have a needle and thread with me, just for your little hobbies."
Murata's own bloody nose let up enough to where he felt conformable in attempting to clean up. His small backpack carried light first aid supplies and his wallet, the usual: a bottle of medicinal alcohol, bandages and said needle and thread. It didn't take Murata long to force Yuuri to sit still long enough to sew up his arm. Armature medical experience; yet it was simultaneously a vast improvement over not knowing anything at all. The lack of anesthetics or pain killers seemed odd, but as Murata had put it once, "It should teach you a lesson not to do this kind of shit again, my King."
As much as Yuuri felt like arguing with Murata, even for nothing but the sake of argument had seemed too much. He didn't feel like it, and truth be told he felt kind of sick at the moment. Not that he particularly minded that feeling – it gave him something else to think about, another excuse to run away from both the present and future ahead.
xxx
Shin Makoku, present day…
[time flows faster in Shin Makoku, so in fact, 'years' have gone by while for Yuuri, it has only been a couple of months]
"Cause and effect, Gwendal. We can't ever change the past, and I refuse to let our future forget. I will never forgive the world for taking away my Yuuri." Greta's harden voice rang throughout the room. Her hair was still short and wavy, but she had traded her sun dresses for armor and swords long ago. Being only half demon, she looked like a very young teenager but was in fact in her late twenties. "I can't change the way I have become either. You feel in love with my innocent beauty, and despite all your words of love you still go on about the past. If you don't like the way I've become then there's nothing I can do to help you change your mind about leaving. But-" Greta looked at Gwendal with a smirk that spread across her entire face. "You won't leave me, will you?"
Greta walked behind his desk, letting her arms flow down his chest. Gentle lips flittered their way down his neck. "I… could never do that to you." His response held a subtle, gentle undertone to it. Learning to read behind the words on the page helped her to become even closer to the vastly older man before her. Despite the enormous age difference, their love was strong – though not always typical. A knock on the door interrupted them, Greta immediately taking a strong stance behind Gwendal as a lower caste servant entered the room. "My Lady General Greta and Lord Gwendal, I have just received word that King Wolfram's party has been successful in the negotiations dealing with the neighboring villages, and that they are now returning home."
The servant kept his body bowed toward his superiors.
"Were they successful?" Gwendal asked.
The servant boy answered swiftly with details, pride filling his voice. "Yes, my Lord. Those villages are now under Shin Makoku's control. There were no fatalities to our men. King Wolfram will arrive late this evening. He requests the family to join him for dinner as well."
"Ah. You may return to your duties. Thank you." No sooner had the soft click of the door echoed in the small room when Greta found her way draped back over Gwendal's shoulders. Her hands ran down Gwendal's arms, until they successfully entwined themselves in big, rough hands. "Stop trying to work. I just got back myself, you know. I couldn't wait so I went on ahead. The least you could do is greet me properly, Gwendal…"
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