Title: Short of Stable
Rating: ...make a wild guess. I'm not good at these things.
Pairing/Character/s: Kio, Soubi and Seimei
Word Count: 592
Warning/s: Rambling. And not much sense. And a sucky ending.
Summary: Kio loves Soubi, wth all his quirks and that one damned secret.
A/N: I forgot to change this my bad. The Drabbles so far have been rather poor, haven't they. I'll read through the manga again, get some ideas. Sorry!

He swears there's nothing wrong, tells me not worry. 'Kio', he says, 'I'm fine'. A fake smile or two, a look from under those long lashes, and I curse God for giving Soubi those kind of looks that made you forgive everything.

He doesn't think I see the blood that crusts in the hem of his coat, told me I wouldn't understand when I cried about the scar on his neck. 'Beloved'. Some sick kind of irony, that is. I know who did it, that polite bastard of a boy, Seimei. He's the one who doesn't understand, or who maybe understands everything too well. He steals my Soubi those real smiles, those delicate touches he used to brush the back of my hand with, those Saturday nights in front of the TV with a couple of beers and some cheap takeaway food we never really ate.

I know him, you see. I know him so damn well. He likes crabsticks and cranberry juice, but only in the morning because he says the juice is too much like blood in the afternoon. When he was younger, he lived and breathed music, but European, not Japanese, because he said the Japanese were too showy and over-enthusiastic, used words like cheap whores, for pleasure and gain only. He'd hum lines of Radiohead, Fuel, Dashboard Confessional, would paint the lyrics of Nirvana on my arm randomly and I'd pull a face but love it anyway.

He's here, right now. An arm thrown carelessly on my leg from where it fell down. The heat sears through my jeans and my hand's stroking through his hair. The couch is stained from previous Saturday nights and shared meals and the light of the TV flickers over his features.

" Nn..." He moves into my touch, like a cat, I can't help but think. Smile, then frown, because cats remind me of Seimei, and I hate him. I hate him so much. But Soubi...

He likes butterflies, but hates them too, and I wonder what gave him such a twisted love for an insect. I don't pry. He'd turn on me with deceptively soft smiles and sweet eyes, then lash out where it hurts most, leaving me gasping for breath with stinging eyes. When he's angry, he paints what he likes to see. He likes butterflies when they fly, when they're free, will sit back afterwards with his hands on his thighs and sigh in a happy content way that I can never make him do.

I've noticed it's only inanimate objects that cause that sigh. I find myself wondering if Seimei makes him sigh, makes him moan, makes hm writhe and -

It's not nice to think these thoughts, and they make my throat tight and my stomach hurt. My hands clench and Soubi whimpers in protest.

But, it's not fine. It's not okay. And no matter how often those words fall from his lips, landing on my ears like cherry blossom petals on Tokyo's streets, it will never be okay, or fine, and definitely not alright. He has a secret, you see. And I know it, I know it so well. All that I know about him, it's because he lets me. It's becuse he trusts me. But he'll never trust me that much.

I run a hand through his hair, smile as his features relax into something contented. The television murmurs something in the background, and a car alarm goes off outside. I don't know his secret, doubt he'll ever tell. But that's okay for the moment.

A/N: Yeah. Lost inspiration here. This is truly a sucky one. Going to be working mainly with prompts from now on - for some reason, all the drabbles that were there before have just upped and gone...so...Sorry.