Yes, another one. I'm being self indulgent right now, remember? That, and angst is kind of what I want to do.
WARNING: UNDERAGE DRINKING, POSSIBLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES.
X Line Break X
X X
X X
One long, grueling year after Asura was defeated, after Maka ended the madness driven nightmare, after they nearly died for a world they'd barely lived in, and people still flinch at the mention of the Kishin's name, of what he did and what had been done to the world. Lord Death doesn't mention it unless its in privacy, to his son or to his deathscythes. Black*Star likes to boast about the victory, but there is a haunted look that wasn't there before. Others just try and act like everything is normal and that they don't have nightmares that leave them screaming and sweating.
Some people can't handle the aftermath and fall like flies, losing to the darkness his sticky touch left in them. Some cling to one thing that's worth all the suffering and fight to stay afloat. Soul isn't sure which one he is, perhaps somewhere just in between; not wanting to fall, but not wanting to stay afloat either.
But when he steps inside the apartment, with its dark purple walls and the pale wood floors and the framed photos on the walls, he decides he wants to stay afloat, if only for the young man sitting on the couch, reading a book on the history of artists. Hiro has a bony elbow propped against the couch arm, a slim hand cupping his cheek, pale blond hair falling down his back and acting as a curtain to hide those crystal blue eyes.
Hiro looks up, blinks slow, long eyelashes fluttering. He smiles, playful and cat-like, and dog ears his page in the book. He sets it to the side and tucks long legs underneath him, head tilting in silent question. It's always like this, the blond stays quiet, watching with those blue eyes of his, thin lips turned into a firm line. Soul smiles, tired and too empty inside, and then the blond is smiling too, beckoning him closer with soft words that have little actual meaning.
When slim fingers curl into the material if his shirt, wrinkling it, and long eyelashes brush against his cheek as lips pepper sweet kisses to his jaw, the emptiness becomes a little less. He chases the mouth that tastes of sweets and coffee, and Hiro laughs, and slips away. He's going to make dinner, and gives a teasing flip of his hair. It's enough to make Soul smile and follow after, content just to watch him bustle about and be busy.
The night goes on, and they stay afloat for the time being.
X Line Break X
X X
X X
Today, it's a fall day. Soul wakes to a silence that he shouldn't, and finds Hiro in the kitchen, glaring at a bottle of wine that was left by their friends. They sit on the couch, they draw the curtains closed, and they open the wine and get glasses to drink from. It's a bad day, Hiro whispers into the crook of Soul's neck, limbs shaking from something that isn't a nightmare, but isn't a hallucination either. They both get like this, though Soul's episodes are sometimes worse. He was there, saw it all go down. Hiro feels guilty for remembering the fear like he does, but Soul whispers soft words with little meaning - his hands, pressed against his back, let him know it's ok.
They sit together, curled into each other's embrace, and they drink the fruity wine in their glasses and cling to each other as they fall. It's not beautiful, it's ugly and weird and they'll laugh about it in the morning when they wake. For now, they hold on. Neither of them cry, but they know that even if they don't, the sadness is there and they acknowledge it. For now.
Tomorrow, they'll try and be ok. Hiro smiles through his sadness and Soul kisses him to try in vain to banish those dark thoughts he knows are there, circling around this petite blond's head, lurking behind blue eyes. "Just hold me" is whispered against his neck, by a voice that trembled and broke over the words like a glass hitting the floor.
By the time they stumble into bed and fall asleep wrapped around each other, the bottle is halfway empty. Or, as Soul says, halfway full.
X Line Break X
X X
X X
X X
Hiro isn't sleeping, curled amongst the white sheets of his bed. His eyes are wide open, staring unblinking at the open window. He breathes even, head resting upon Soul's chest, blond hair splayed out in rivets of pale gold, obscuring the scar there. He sighs and a hand runs down his back, nails scratching lightly at the skin marked by scars he shouldn't have. Soul is awake now, red eyes bleary with sleep, but warm with love.
Hiro smiles and lets himself be kissed, and he lets someone chase away the darkness in his head. They do this, to each other; chase away insanity, little demons, and the darkness they fight every day.
Hiro murmurs a soft "I'm ok" even though most of him isn't. He doesn't need to mention this, or explain it, for the white haired weapon knows it already. They smile and lay in the silent, still room, and eventually fall asleep with bodies pressed as close together as they can be.
Neither of them are ok, neither of them know if they'd ever be ok, and that is alright. All they need is this - to pretend the world outside their windows and doors doesn't exist, that this is their haven and things are going to be ok, one day, eventually. And then, maybe, tomorrow they can pretend long enough to get through the day with reminders of the past all around them, threatening to make them give up and fall, threatening their will to fight and stay afloat.
In the morning, Hiro makes a note to keep fighting, as Soul hands him his coffee and kisses him sweetly. He wants to stay afloat.