Unpredictable
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A (very) belated gift for Extinction of Reality! :3cc
It's not something he'd planned. He had been minding his own business, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he walked through the dark city street when he found himself at an overpass. Any other night he would have thought nothing of it and kept going about his walk, but tonight he isn't alone. A dark figure sits on the railing, looking out at the traffic below. It's not a particularly quiet or peaceful place, but the person he's approaching seems deep in thought and unaffected by the sounds of cars racing by below.
They say nothing good ever happens in the early hours of the morning, and he supposes there really is some truth to that. He may not have been up to anything wicked at the moment, but that doesn't make him a saint by any means. He's been up to his share of depravity and evildoings in the hours shrouded in darkness before, and he surely would again. Tonight's just a rare exception, and nothing more.
As Seishirou steps onto the overpass and grows closer to whoever's sitting on the railing, his vision focuses in and when he recognizes who it is, his feet come to an abrupt halt, completely frozen in place for the moment as his heart skips a beat. He has no control over how his body reacts, and it sends shivers of cold terror coursing through his being. He does not fear the young man before him, but rather he can't stand what merely seeing him again does to him. No one should have this kind of power over him, to make him feel both a sense of tranquility and heart-pounding anxiety all mixed into one emotion Seishirou cannot describe.
After a moment, the young man's mere presence instills a sense of rage within him, an irrational sort of anger that Seishirou can't justify as well deserved when the man before him hasn't truly wronged him in any way. The shock he'd felt during their very first encounter, where the other man had managed to get so close without him being able to react until it was too late, still haunts him, and Seishirou can't stand the fact that he managed to effortlessly throw him off-kilter. Seishirou isn't a man who can be caught off guard very easily, and in the rare instance when someone does manage to get the better of him, he'll go to great lengths to make sure it doesn't happen again.
And that brings him back to the situation at hand. As he said before, he hadn't intended on having another chat with the new dragon of earth, but since the opportunity had so kindly presented itself…
Call it a courtesy, or maybe he just wants to make his presence known to Fuuma right away, but before he gets any closer, a slight breeze cuts through the warm summer air, and with it, Seishirou sends a handful of sakura petals in Fuuma's direction.
The specs of pink flutter freely about, dancing and swirling with the tide until they drift in front of Fuuma's field of vision. Just as Seishirou desires, Fuuma stirs from his concentration; he watches with interest as those beautiful eyes blink in surprise, only to soften in recognition a second later.
"Do you have a habit of announcing yourself?" Fuuma inquires as he turns around on the railing, throwing his long legs back over the ledge so now they rest easily on the cement, even while he remains seated. "Seems counterintuitive for an assassin," he adds, his amber eyes aglow with amusement.
A coy smile tugs at the corner of Seishirou's mouth. He's met Fuuma only once before, yet already he feels like he's known him his entire life. This feeling — it's hard for him to explain. He noticed it the night they first met, even before Fuuma had pulled his little 'surprise' stunt. Back then, something he didn't quite understand drew him to Fuuma, and while he still remains at a loss for any sort of answer, at least now he has a reason to engage him in conversation.
Or so he tells himself.
"Wouldn't want to startle you, Fuuma," Seishirou replies coyly, pulling out a nearly empty pack of cigarettes as he speaks. After a second, he thinks better of it and stuffs the pack into his pocket for later. It hasn't been all that long since his last cig — a half an hour maybe. At this point, it's more of a reflex than anything else, and despite his body's demand to satisfy his nicotine addiction, Seishirou tells himself he doesn't want a smoke right now. Again, he finds himself without an explanation, but to him, this conversation is too important to hold even with the small, nearly insignificant distraction of smoking.
"How considerate of you." Fuuma's voice pulls him free of his indecisive thoughts and redirecting his attention back to where it belongs.
A new, deceptive smile plays upon his lips as he steps closer to Fuuma. "I didn't think I'd run into you again so soon, but since I have, there's a question that's been on my mind for a little while now.
I wonder if you might have the answer," Seishirou inquires. Again, his fingers curl reflexively around the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, and immediately he forces his fingers straight again. It's only when he makes himself refrain from smoking that he realizes how far his addiction runs. The thought that he really needs to cut back flickers through the back of his mind, but he dismisses it as soon as it had come. No matter how many times Seishirou thinks he should quit, it's never been high on his list of priorities, and it certainly isn't now that he has Fuuma's attention.
"I suppose I wouldn't know either way unless you ask," Fuuma replies, offering him a soft smile that to anyone else, might have seemed like the tender expression of a pure, innocent soul.
But, Seishirou does know better. He's seen the malevolence concealed behind that sweet smile and he knows the wicked, vile thoughts running through that beautiful mind of his — they are his own, and he knows a kindred spirit when he sees one.
And that's exactly why he has no qualms in his decision to wipe that pretty little smile off Fuuma's face.
Seishirou continues to advance on Fuuma, going as far as to invade his personal space and get intimately close. As he expects, Fuuma doesn't react; the only indication he gives signaling his confusion or surprise over Seishirou's actions is the ever-so-slight dilation of his pupils — something Seishirou sees perfectly now that he's only a few centimeters away from Fuuma's face. Seishirou's pleased with this, but he can do better.
His eyes remained locked on Fuuma's, compelling Fuuma not to look away from him as he raises a hand to settle on Fuuma's heart. He keeps it there for only a second — long enough to feel Fuuma's heartbeat — before moving that same hand up, ghosting over his neck and cheek before sliding it around to the back of Fuuma's head, where his deft fingers curl into soft, unkempt black hair.
Fuuma has yet to say anything, but that's fine by him. Seishirou has yet to finish his point anyway.
"If you had the same wish as someone else, would you know it?" His voice carries softly through the air as he leans, forward, pushing Fuuma back until he's so close that his breath caressing the velveteen smooth skin of Fuuma's cheek. Seishirou commends Fuuma for being bold enough to let him get this far. If he wanted to, he could pull back, letting gravity engulf Fuuma in its unforgiving vice grip and drag him down into oncoming traffic.
He doesn't, of course. He has nothing to gain from disposing of Fuuma, and everything to lose in doing so.
His dark eyes glitter with mirth when at last the smile on Fuuma's lips falls away. He knows then that Fuuma hadn't anticipated such a question, and perhaps it even unsettles him a bit. Seishirou's on the right track, but he hasn't achieved what he set out for just yet. A voice calls out to him from deep within his heart, telling him that perhaps he's gone too far in tormenting poor Fuuma, but he ignores it. He doubts Fuuma's learned his lesson yet, and Seishirou is determined to make sure the boy never forgets.
"Would you recognize it as your own, hm, Fuuma?" If Seishirou would've had any inclination in concealing his emotions, he would have failed miserably. A wicked smirk he stands no chance of hiding plays upon his lips, making his pleasure abundantly clear.
To his supreme delight, Fuuma remains unmoving in his hold, as if frozen by his touch.
Almost there…
"I don't think you would."
And there it is. Gone is the usual expression mixed with arrogance and feigned kindness donning Fuuma's handsome features, and the same look of bewilderment Seishirou suspects had been on his own that first night now takes its place. Uncertainty glitters in those gorgeous amber eyes of his, desperately trying to find an answer but never finding it, forced to remain lost and unable to find his way.
Oh, how Fuuma must suffer, knowing what those around him desire and even holding the answers to how they might obtain their wish, but forever doubting himself and questioning his own ambitions.
"Is something the matter, Fuuma?" His delight undercuts the feigned worry in his voice.
When Fuuma doesn't respond, Seishirou assumes his point has been made, and just as importantly, that he's won this little game. He wouldn't deny Fuuma as an interesting challenger, but in the end, Seishirou saw to it that he always came out on top.
"Careful now," Seishirou encourages gently, pulling Fuuma back into an upright position. "Wouldn't want you to fall," he adds, as he lets Fuuma go, his honeyed voice accompanies with a smile just as sweet.
With his victory in hand, Seishirou slips his hand back into his pocket, and this time he doesn't stop himself from pulling out his pack of cigarettes and indulging himself in his one true vice.
However, he doesn't get to revel in his victory for very long. Seishirou only finishes his first drag before he's blasted with a gust of wind with a force so powerful it nearly caused him to take a step back.
"I tried to be subtle about it, but you're not taking the hint," Fuuma calls to him, his sweet, gentle voice making him tremble and forcing his soul to bow before Fuuma. Only then does Seishirou understand his mistake.
"You should take better care of yourself, Seishirou." He holds Seishirou's cigarette between his index and middle of fingers, ash falling from the lit end and becoming lost to the wind.
It's perhaps the least important detail, but Seishirou cannot avert his gaze from his cigarette. He almost always has one between his lips, yet he hadn't noticed it had been taken until it was too late. It's only when Fuuma flicks the cig away and over the bridge that Seishirou's trance breaks, enabling him to refocus himself on Fuuma.
Even with his attention solely on Fuuma, Seishirou still finds himself powerless, and this time it's he who cannot move as Fuuma closes in on him. It's a complete reversal from where he was just a moment ago, but unlike Fuuma, Seishirou really is on the defensive. For one brief moment, time stops for Seishirou. He finds himself paralyzed as Fuuma does exactly what he'd done before and gets in dangerously close until the tip of his nose ever so slightly brushes over his own.
"I'd hate to lose you before our work is complete." His voice comes saccharine sweet, but underneath that soft tone hides a layer of something darker, something more sensual.
He feels the warmth of Fuuma's lips ghost over his cheek for only a second before that sweet caress disappears only a second later.
"Let's meet again." As Fuuma pulls back, he offers him the softest, most genuine smile Seishirou ever seen, and somehow Seishirou knows this isn't something Fuuma would give just anyone. It's all for him.
"Surely, we'll catch each other sooner or later, before the end." With a slight wave of his hand, Fuuma steps away from entirely, retreating to the railing of the overpass. Fuuma's actions show not even a hint of reluctance as he jumps to the other side of the barrier, gracefully landing on the small bit of ledge that exists between solid ground and the air.
And just like, Fuuma allows himself to fall away from the railing, as if he knows Seishirou had considered it before, and now aims to show him that it wouldn't have mattered.
The urge to run over and see what becomes of Fuuma — no — to go and stop Fuuma's fall rages through his entire being, but his strong sense of logic allows him to remain where he stands. He cannot control when panic strikes, but he can stop him from acting upon it and let himself maintain an aloof appearance. No one needs to know the momentary horror that possessed him, to actually make him care about another life—
No, he won't say that.
That's going too far.
He knows that little trick only too well. He's pulled it one or two times himself, after all.
When Seishirou finally composes himself, a small, content smile tugs at his lips as he turns away, once again pulling his pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He lights up a new cig as he walks off into the night, eagerly awaiting the next time he crosses Fuuma's path.