About this snippet: This is very different from my previous two little oneshots. It's shorter (I think…) and sad. Sad fluff? Hmm.
I'm not as familiar with this part of the series as I would like to be before writing, but when the plot bunnies bite, you either get to work, or you catch rabies. (Huh?) Actually, though, I could see tying this snippet and the two earlier ones into a choppy kind of storyline. It's something to think about, so let me know if any of you have an opinion.
Warnings for this one: angst, yaoi (of course), the fact I don't own anything… Oh! And I think the style is unusually prose-y this time around. The feeling was so strong, I was helpless.
He lost his lover on nights when it rained.
Life was a fragile thing, every bit as fleeting and temporary as warmth or joy – enjoyable, but far too easily taken away. Chloe had realized this long ago and, having realized it, decided to make the most out of it. He could die before the end of any given hour – so why not do whatever the hell made him happy until then?
When the lovely red haired man had come to join their team, he had decided immediately that he wanted him. The chase had begun immediately, and though the man had fought him, they had both known how useless resistance was.
And unlike some prizes which, once won, failed to meet expectations, Chloe was continuously surprised by the strength of his attraction to the small, quiet man.
Some days, he even thought he might love him.
Their affair was passionate, exciting, volatile…and comfortable.
But when it rained, the man whose warm, lithe body filled his arms and his bed became a stranger.
And on those nights, Chloe knew that the man he knew wasn't real. The person he cared for was an illusion – a mask donned because if he didn't become someone else, if he was always the man he became on nights when the rain poured and the thunder boomed, Aya Fujimiya would have died long ago.
There were degrees to the change dependant on the time of day, the amount of rain, and the duration of the storm, but it was all the same. The quiet man would become silent, his eyes, always softly sad, became…withdrawn.
He became…gentle…on those nights. Needy, but gentle. He would accept any touch; often, he even sought out the comfort of Chloe's arms. Speech wasn't generally permitted, but he would spend hours being held and petted without complaint. If the other Aya, the one he was used to, would let him do that, Chloe thought they would never have cause to leave the house again.
Holding him so sweetly…he wanted to enjoy the experience. But Chloe had learned not to take advantage of the blissfully snuggly moods.
Because if he did anything but hold him, if he turned comfort to passion, and took the man into his bed, it wouldn't be him who Aya was feeling.
At first, he had thought it only his imagination – the way his lover's eyes grew vague and began to stare past him, the way his hands would grasp at him with a desperate passion, the wildness, the ferocity, the declarations of love…
Aya was wonderfully intense on those nights, but it wasn't Chloe who he saw or felt.
And it wasn't Chloe's name he called.
Chloe lost his lover on nights when it rained.
And he couldn't help but to think that this man, this "Yohji", was either dead or insane, for surely no healthy man would ever willingly leave the man who his lover became on nights when it rained.
Fin
I'm hoping Chloe's character isn't too off the wall, here. The idea occurred to me, insisted it be written, and here it is. There may be more in the future along similar lines (but that doesn't mean the Yohji fluff is going away.) Anyway, if I butchered him, I'll have to take this down and do a re-write…
As always, comments are appreciated.