Chapter Fourteen: Soubi and Yukoi

Agatsuma Soubi takes no notice of the softness of the pure, white towel, of the intricate design of butterflies floating around the edges, or of red, blues, pinks, and greens of the butterfly's wings as he rips the washcloth to shreds. He only notices the raw energy coming from his hands, tearing and shredding, shaking from almost suppressed rage.

It had been hours since he had started his portrait and game with Yukoi, and he had gotten nowhere. They were going around in circles with their answers and questions. The young man knew far too much and far too little. He knew Ritsuka saw a therapist, that he had problems with both his parents, where they were, and he even knew that Yuiko still had a crush on him. He didn't know how old Ritsuka was. He didn't know he had lost his memories at age ten. He didn't know that Ritsuka had always, and would always, love his brother.

He knew that Ritsu had taken Soubi's ears, that he had met Ritsuka at age twelve, that he had seduced him with his word spells, and that he had attended Seven Voices Academy. He knew that he and Seimei had been Beloved. He didn't know that Soubi's parents had died when he was six. He didn't know that Soubi was an only child.

How the young man could know all that, and almost more importantly, not know all that baffled Soubi. How could someone be so right and so wrong at the same time?

He, of course, could not voice all of this aloud. For all he knew, Yukoi was simply making guesses at all of this. He wasn't going to give the teen the satisfaction of knowing that some of it was true.

Soubi had been entertaining the idea of killing Yukoi with one of his paintbrushes--- a simple spell could turn it into a knife. Soubi could shove the knife under Yukoi's chin and up to his brain and kill him in an instant. Then he could paint a picture.

He would've loved to do that, oh how he would love to do that—well, he conceded, maybe not the painting—but brutally killing the dark-haired almost man was a very pleasing thought.

He could voice none of this though. He could only sit there at his canvas, colors, paints, water, and brushes at hand. He had to control his emotions, be aware of every muscle in his body, controlling each one simultaneously while his mind had decided to take an advanced gymnastics class.

The blonde had endured all he could. Pain was one thing he had been trained time and time again to deal with. That was familiar, almost comforting. This was something entirely new. He was used to dealing with stubborn, sometimes whining and petulant, and almost always impatient teenagers not a teenager who seemed content to play this game (Soubi called it Who Can Be Most Annoying in his head) while his patience grew thin, and his frustration grew to be larger than all of Asia and it's inhabitants.

The subtle almost threats, hints of delusions in the younger's voice, hints of knowing too much, hints of not knowing enough, hints of self-importance, hints of self-loathing, hints of everything, and hints of nothing was beginning to drive him insane.

Sanctuary had finally offered itself in his modest bathroom as his body began to grow angry at his mindlessness to its needs. It had been four hours with no breaks, no relief on their minds, no relief on their game, no relief on their nerves.

His breaths were hitched as though someone had put a cap on his lungs and was only allowing small amounts of air to pass through. His hands trembled as those of someone going through crack withdrawal. His eyes blazed as those of someone who has confronting the murderer of a love one.

The remains on the beautiful washcloth that Ritsuka had bought for him one day as a surprise present lay scattered around his feet. Soubi glared down at one of the pieces, feeling the tiniest twinge of regret that he had destroyed something that Ritsuka had given to him.It can be replaced, he comforted himself.

He met his own blue eyes in the mirror almost not recognizing the person staring back at him. He hadn't lost control like this since the very beginning of his training years and years ago back at the Seven Voices Academy. One person should not have such an effect on him. One person could not have such an effect on him. It had to stop now.

Soubi took several deep breaths, closing his eyes, focusing only the air sucking into his body to be let out in a slow, deep whoosh. He concentrated on his trembling limbs, forcing them to still. Several minutes later, he was no longer shaking, no longer fuming, and no longer out of control. He was the leader here; he was the ruler. Yukoi had no control over him, no control over this situation. Yukoi was nothing, only a small nuisance.

The fighter opened his eyes again and looked in the mirror. Calm eyes the color of a clear ocean stared back at him, demanding him back into the living room where his subject was waiting on him.

It was time to end this.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was angry. It was furious.

They were imbeciles. They deserved to die.

It was the authority, the ruling power.

They were simply peasants.

They would not listen to it.

It was time to show them the wrath of a displeased dictator.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ritsuka slowly opened his eyes as the door to his bedroom once again opened. Kiyoshi had been in and out of his room ever since they had arrived home two hours ago. Ritsuka had gotten very little sleep so far despite his body's angry demands to do so. The teen followed his father's path across his room to sit in the chair that had been brought into his room specifically so Kiyoshi could keep him awake. Ritsuka stared reproachfully at him, both arms curled against him, his hands tugging the pillow down closer to his face, legs stretched out, one on top of the other.

"Don't look at me like that," Kiyoshi demanded, but the sternness of his voice was countermanded by the smile playing across his lips. "I'm not the one who gave the order that you have to stay awake for the next twenty-four hours."

"You're the one enforcing it," Ritsuka grumbled crankily. "Who cares if I have a concussion? It's only a minor one. I've had them before and never stayed up twenty-four hours, and I've always woken up. I'm not going to die."

"Minor?" Kiyoshi scoffed. "They would've had to be surgery if the swelling had a one hundredth of an inch bigger! That's not minor, Ritsuka, that's severe."

"I don't care. I want to sleep," he pouted not able to keep the whining out of his voice.

"I know, I'm sorry, but you can't. I'd rather have you awake whining and angry with me than happily asleep, but never to wake again." Ritsuka pouted further, snuggling into the covers more, which did nothing to quench his desire to let his eyelids close and submit to unconsciousness. "Let's talk about something," Kiyoshi said loudly, causing the violet eyes to open again and look at him incredulously.

"I don't to talk. I want to sleep."

"You're not getting what you want today. I want to talk, so we're going to talk."

"No, we're not going to talk. I'm not going to sleep, and I don't care if you sit there, but we're not going to talk."

Kiyoshi glared slightly at his fifteen-year-old son's disrespectful tone. He was beginning to slowly realize that Ritsuka was just as stubborn as ever. "Let me rephrase that then. We need to talk, and we're going to talk whether you like it or not. End of that discussion. Who was the man at the grocery store? The one that was Soubi's teacher."

Ritsuka had closed his eyes again. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Ritsu. How could he explain the world of Fighters and Sacrifices to his ignorant father? How in the world could he explain that he was Soubi's master?

"Ritsuka, you get your stubbornness from me, not your mother. I can sit here all day and night waiting for an answer, or you can start talking now and get me out of the room sooner, which would leave you free to call Soubi," Kiyoshi stated mildly as if he honestly didn't care which way it went.

Ritsuka was trying to icily glare at him, but it looked more like that of a child being denied an especially sweet piece of candy.

"His name is Ritsu. I don't remember his first name. Soubi doesn't say it much. He usually just calls him Ritsu-sensei, or sensei. He's the principal at Seven Voices Academy in Gora. Soubi went to school there. Ritsu is…"

Kiyoshi raised his eyebrows looking expectantly at him, waiting for the teen to gather his thoughts. "Ritsu isn't a good man. He treated Soubi horribly, and I hate him. Their relationship is very complicated. Soubi's parents died when he was very young, and he was sent to live with Ritsu at the school."

Kiyoshi noted Ritsuka's lack of inflection, feeling a slight pang for the man that his son was dating. "What else? Why is he such a bad man? What did he do?"

Ritsuka's eyes clouded over with sadness first, but were quickly consumed by rage. "I don't know if I should tell you. Very few people know," Ritsuka said quietly, snuggling deeper into the warm covers, desperately not wanting to talk about this anymore. "Can we talk about something else besides Ritsu?" he pleaded, considering pouting at his father if it would get his way.

"Okay, fine," Kiyoshi stated, not trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, "we'll talk about something else. Let's talk about you and Soubi. How old were you when you started dating?"

Ritsuka moaned into the covers that he had thrown over his head in a fit of frustration. "I don't want to talk about this either. Can we talk about the weather or something?" Ritsuka still didn't want to listen to his father on anything, but there was nowhere to escape to.

"I didn't ask if you wanted to talk about this. You asked to talk about something other than Ritsu, I complied and this is the subject I chose," he said sternly, glaring at the lump that he knew was his son's head. "Answer my question." Ritsuka groaned again, making sure his father knew exactly how much this was annoying him. Kiyoshi watched, amused, as Ritsuka dramatically threw the covers off his head, mussing up his hair even more, and glared solidly at him.

"We officially started dating one year, seven months," Ritsuka paused for a moment, eyes staring at the ceiling, "one week, and three days ago."

"Officially?"

Ritsuka forced himself not to squirm at his father's raised eyebrows and suspicious tone. "Yes, officially," he replied, stretching his arm well above his head, hands balled into fists.

"When did you start dating unofficially?" Kiyoshi finally asked neutrally.

"I'm not sure." Kiyoshi made a sound somewhere between a cough and a snort.

"You know to the day how long ago you started dating, but you don't when you started unofficially dating? Do you honestly expect me believe that?"

Ritsuka deflated against the bed as if he had been poked with a needle. "No," he said glumly, suddenly too tired to play games. "I guess we started unofficially dating the first day we met… when I was twelve."

The fifteen-year-old closed his eyes, but not in any sort of sweet nostalgia of his and Soubi's first met, or of his first kiss. His closed his eyes in dread of the impending explosion.

Kiyoshi was stock still, shocked for a moment, before quickly doing some math. "He was twenty," he said quietly, eerily reminding Ritsuka of Soubi in a particularly intense spell battle. "You were twelve and his was twenty when you started dating?"

"Unofficially," Ritsuka quickly inserted, stumbling over his words. "And really, it wasn't even dating. I mean, we didn't do anything then, we don't do anything now. It really wasn't dating. It was just… more than friends I suppose."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Kiyoshi spat, glaring deathly at his uncomfortable son. "That you weren't really dating a twenty-year-old when you were twelve? When you were in elementary school? That's wrong! It's still wrong! How could do that? How can you still-"

"No," Ritsuka interrupted loudly, blood pounding through his veins, "it's not wrong. We've done nothing illegal. Soubi has never treated me badly like you have. What's wrong is for a father to abandon his child, for a husband to abandon his wife, his home. What's wrong is for a mother to beat her child because he can't pick out the right food. What's wrong is a mother hitting, stabbing, kicking, and biting her child because she thinks he took away her real child. What's wrong is for someone to think they're completely unloved, incapable of loving, loveless. What's wrong is that they believe this. That, my dear father, is what is wrong."

Kiyoshi could only stare after the stiff retreating back of his son and wince at the slam of the bathroom of the door and the rattling of the picture frames on the walls.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Soubi settled himself back into his chair waiting patiently for Yukoi to get back into position to continue his portrait. The young man still didn't seem concerned about any of this, completely at ease despite being in a stranger's home. Soubi was tired of this game, tired of playing, tired of concealing his annoyance, his glare, his impatience, and simply tired of Yukoi.

Yukoi, however, was thoroughly enjoying himself. Playing games had always been his favorite thing to do, especially mind games. Though he didn't know if Soubi's blatant glare was supposed to intimidate him, and frankly, he didn't care. He didn't care if the blonde thought he was intimidating, if he was impatient, or if he was suffering from a mild breakdown. One thing he did know was the look in his eyes. His teachers had given him that look many times when they were sick of playing along, the determined I'm Going to Get All My Answers look. No one had succeeded in doing that so far. Many people had tried to get all of the answers out of him, and many though they had succeeded, but no one had truly gotten all the answers. The most anyone had ever gotten was the barest half truth.

The only sound for several long minutes was the constant ticks of the clocks that Soubi had purposefully set to never allow a pause in ticking. Yukoi once again had his eyes trained to the ceiling even though Soubi hadn't picked up a paintbrush. "Tell me why you really came here. What do you want with Ritsuka and myself? I know it was not to get a portrait done, so please, just tell me, so we can both go back to your lives."

Yukoi heard the steeliness of his voice and the subtle spells intricately woven into each word. He could feel them tugging at him, floating and whispering seductively in his ears to simply tell him. It really wouldn't be that big a deal, would it? If everything everyone said about Agatsuma Soubi were true, then he would find out even if Yukoi didn't tell him. He would only have to get Sakura alone and use the most basic word spells.

But really, Yukoi thought,what was my real reason for coming here?

"Yukoi, if you tell me why you found us, I might even be able to help. All you have to do is tell me."

Yukoi found his mouth opening without any conscious effort, the intoxicating strength of Soubi's ornate spells too much to resist.

"I needed to see the person who painted that beautiful picture and the person in the painting. I needed to see you. I need to stay. I need to get away."

"What painting?" Soubi asked quietly, still weaving the magic into every word.

"The one of Ritsuka with his gorgeous, huge, amazing eyes. The one that got you noticed by everyone. The one that I stole."

Soubi could only blink at him for several moments. "The one that you stole?" he repeated slowly, wondering if he should get his hearing checked.

"Yes, I stole it from your art gallery," Yukoi said neutrally, loosing the slightly glazed look from his eyes, Soubi's spell wearing off. "I had seen it in a magazine very briefly, a small picture, but I needed it. I knew where your art gallery was going to be from the magazine. I just waited until I knew it would be there, stole it, and then went back to school," Yukoi said matter-of-factly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you still have it?" Soubi couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice, trying to exterminate the hope rising in him.

"Yes. It's at school in a room that no one will go in because they're hypocritical, superstitious idiots. I can bring it to you later. I never meant to keep it," he said almost apologetically. Soubi was, once again, shocked by the young man. There was something resembling remorse in his eyes now.

"Thank you. I can't paint something like that again. Why did you destroy all the others though?"

Yukoi's face darkened, showing exactly why Ritsuka had called him Mr. Creepy Dude. "They were beautiful Things that beautiful never stay that beautiful. It was better that they be destroyed before they could become corrupted instead of living for the entire world to see only to be corrupted. I was saving them."

Author's Note: Aren't I just so good?? This is a quick update. REMEMBER: I write for me, but I post for feedback, also known as reviews. Comments, critiques, flattery, and gibberish are always accepted, always free, always fee free, and will always make me happy after a long day at work tomorrow.