(silver_phoenix@usa.net)
Weirdness. Possible OOCness - this is my first time writing Tatsumi. Oh, this is NOT a Tats x Hi, so you note. Tats and Hisoka get mushy over Tsuzuki - nah, not really, but well. Forgive the dumb title. XD; Standard disclaimers apply.
Of Birds and Tea
a yami no matsuei fanfiction
--------------------
Hisoka was alone in the office.
The afternoon sun could only be described as blinding. The shades were down and he was seated away from the window, and still the bright yellow beams pierced through, translucent gold that was vague shafts of heat against the back of his neck and arms and cast elongated shapes of darkness over the papers in front of him. He moved his head to block the light from the part of the page where he was writing, blinking as the light shifted its glare.
White, the desk was covered almost completely with fresh pieces of black- or blue-patterned white. Papers upon more papers, neat stacks of reports and other miscellaneous information standing in uniform rectangular blocks on polished wood. The sun hit their smooth pale surfaces and refracted back with almost painful intensity, so that he had to keep his eyes trained down on the sheets in front of him. How long had he been shut up inside this room doing paperwork? He had no idea, and he really didn't mind; this occupied his hands and mind and left him no opportunity to dwell on...things.
/jet-black flames and soul-searing heat and bright amethyst eyes gone horribly empty-/
Don't go there.
He released a silent exhalation of air that ruffled the hair around his face.
Jotting down a few stray notes, he was aware that he didn't really see the words that formed under his pen. Some birds were squawking vociferously outside; it would have been nothing more than a mild annoyance under normal circumstances, but for some nameless reason the noise was a cacophony of discord that jarred his ears terribly and set his teeth on edge today. And the screeching of the winged ones increased in volume, mocking his discomfort, his frustration, until there came a point where it was impossible to bear any longer and he *yelled*, whirling around. Heedlessly he shoved the reports aside, striking perfect piles of white that crumbled in a flurry of sharp-edged clouds -
- and snatched up the fat vase of ugly grey porcelain that held a limp bunch of faded blooms on the cupboard, dashing it savagely against the floor.
There was a satisfyingly, sickeningly loud *crash*, and all grew quiet.
The young empath bent over, sides heaving as if after a run, hands clutching his knees so tightly his knuckles stood out in stark relief. The silence that had descended so abruptly almost seemed as if it could be cut with a knife. Wheat-gold bangs fell forward, obscuring his sight; he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to quiet the roar of blood in his ears. Dimly he was aware of himself panting, and wondered that the sound seemed to be coming from a great distance.
Days passed - hours flashed by - or was it merely minutes before he dropped to his knees by the jagged remains of the vase, reaching out a shaking hand to gather them up? They were lying in a patch of light that bounced off their dull glazed bodies and made them seem brighter than they really were. Then a large shard of pottery was in his fingers, and he counted one piece, two pieces...so many pieces that were big or small or far too tiny to be seen...
The door swung open.
"Kurosaki-kun, DON'T!"
Tatsumi-san?
The sun was striking him, and it was *hot*. The four walls spun for several heartbeats, and he was only conscious of a pair of strong hands catching his arms before he was submerged in a wave of darkness.
----
He was lying on something soft - how strange, hadn't he been working in the office? - and it was cool, so blessedly cool. Emerald eyes opened, and as the world swam into focus he saw that he was lying on a couch in the lounge of Enma-cho. To the side, a tall figure was standing with his back to him, setting a small teapot down on a table.
"Tatsumi-san..."
"You're awake," the older man replied without turning around. "That's good. I was beginning to get worried."
Memory swirled back to him, and colour tinted the boy's pale face as he sat up. "I - fainted in the office, didn't I?"
"So you did." Tatsumi's voice was carefully bland. He came to stand by the couch, looking down at his young colleague with severe eyes. "I would thank you to take better care of yourself, Kurosaki-kun. Watari-san says you are dehydrated, undernourished and lacking sleep. That is very bad, especially when you have only just been released from the infirmary."
Hisoka looked away. "I'm sorry. I know my work hasn't been up to standard lately."
"*Kurosaki-kun*." Twin orbs of annoyed brown met his own. "That is *not* the point I am making here," the secretary said flatly. "Please do not mistake me. It is not my custom to take the health of colleagues seriously for the sole reason of concern about their work productivity. I feel sure you have no desire to be sent back to Watari-san's care, and I hardly doubt Tsuzuki-san feels the same way, especially when he hasn't been discharged yet."
The younger boy bit his lip, lowering his gaze under that piercing mahogany one. It was just the slightest bit unsettling, but then Tatsumi had always treated him with nothing but dry kindness. "...I'm sorry," he repeated faintly. "I didn't mean it that way."
A large hand settled gently on his hair. Hisoka started, before looking up into deep brown eyes now gone unexpectedly gentle. "I know you didn't."
"And now," Tatsumi continued calmly, "you shall join me in a cup of tea and some light refreshment, if you so choose. It's a hot day, and you need something to sustain you until dinner."
----
They sat at the table, and Tatsumi poured iced tea for both of them. There was the faint chink of china as the other shinigami handed him a cup, although he would have declined the plate of biscuits offered had not Tatsumi glared pointedly at him. So much for choosing.
Tatsumi sipped his tea placidly, making perfunctory small talk - what time had he been sleeping lately? Had he been taking regular meals? How was his sword practice coming along? Was everything all right with him?
He stared into his teacup, watching his reflection waver and blur in the ripples of translucent amber liquid. No, he wanted to answer the last, no, it isn't. How could that be possible, so soon after the Kyoto visit? But he said nothing, or thought he had until Tatsumi addressed him directly, and he saw that look of sympathy in the brown eyes again. And for a brief moment he was aware that those austere eyes were only gentler when Tsuzuki was present.
"You look troubled," and Tatsumi's voice was quiet. "I cannot say that I would be the best of confidantes, but you would find me willing to listen. I think it might be good for you to get it off your chest."
He swallowed a mouthful of tea; it tasted like ashes on his tongue. "I'm fine, Tatsumi-san."
"I might not be an empath, but I know a lie when I hear one," the older man replied, his voice void of inflection. "And I cannot read your mind, but it is equally obvious that you are worrying yourself sick about Tsuzuki-san."
The wheat-blonde head snapped up sharply, and Hisoka stared at him blankly. "How-" he croaked, and swallowed again, the words sticking in his throat. "How did-"
A level look. "Do you think I do not worry about him myself?"
The empath flushed. "I didn't say that."
"But you forgot." Tatsumi took another sip of tea. "That is entirely understandable, and not something I hold against you. And so I have answered your unfinished question, from the viewpoint of another person who cares about him as much as you do. Although not quite in the same ways, perhaps." He quirked a brow at his young colleague over the rim of his cup.
"Tatsumi-san..."
"It is very natural that you should be concerned for Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said kindly. "And I am glad you care, because you are one of the few people he will accept comfort from. But you will spoil your health if you continue this way and cause him undue worry about you. For your sake and for Tsuzuki-san's sake, I say again that you must look after yourself. It will do either of you no good if you have inadequate rest and do not take proper meals." He was graced with a slight smile. "I am being a busybody, but you know I speak only the truth, Kurosaki-kun. Please consider what I have just told you carefully."
"Tatsumi-san." He struggled to speak - words were just not co-operating with him today. "How - how can you stand it? When you visit him, and he smiles that plaster smile, and..."
/and when you can see the sadness in his eyes that the fake smile doesn't hide for a second, and when you can *feel* what he's really thinking and sometimes it brings you to the verge of breaking down.../
"You're right," the secretary said softly. "I can't stand it, and I know you can't either. That is why it is imperative that you *don't* stand it, Kurosaki-kun. You must help Tsuzuki-san heal, because you are the only one with the ability to accomplish that."
"What makes you so sure of that?" he whispered.
Mahogany eyes smiled sadly. "Because, Kurosaki-kun, I have always wanted nothing but the best for him."
Hisoka paused. "That idiot cares for almost everyone he meets, doesn't he."
A cough. "That is quite an accurate statement."
"So I think," the empath continued, apparently absorbed in observing a painting on the wall opposite him. "That it would make sense for everyone he cares about to bring him back together, since all of them are concerned about him and it would be more effective that way."
There was a brief silence.
"...Thank you," the older man finally said.
Green eyes switched their gaze to him. "For what?"
"For saying what you said."
"Tatsumi-san...since I first knew Tsuzuki, I always wanted him to have what he needs. Nothing more than that."
----
People were treating him so carefully, so wary of touching him, like he was a glass figurine that would shatter with one fall. Or maybe it was - why try to deny it? - the fact that they feared him, feared the power he could lose control of. He hated seeing the apprehension in their eyes when they visited for the sole purpose of seeing that the great Tsuzuki Asato wasn't invulnerable after all. And what did you *think* I was, he wanted to scream at them, Enma Daiou? I fail too, I can't pull off *every* assignment successfully!
It hurt.
But there were people who cared too, and it wasn't so bad when he could recall Terazuma's blunt evasions and Wakaba's sunny concern, or Kachou's gruff kindness and Watari's chirpy attentions. No, it wasn't so bad, and today Hisoka and Tatsumi had visited him together, surprisingly. And the hurt faded even more when he thought about the veiled tenderness in the secretary's eyes and the intense worry his partner tried so hard to hide.
It really wasn't so bad.
Tonight, at least, the nightmares would not haunt him.
----
Hisoka wrote one last sentence and gathered up the sheets of paper, briefly tapping them on the desk before placing them on top of one stack. Today's work was finished. Tatsumi-san would be pleased, no doubt. Perhaps he would go and see Tsuzuki again before he went home.
There was a bird singing outside the room.
¬ owari ¬
Notes:
1) I finally finished this - rah. :p Why are all my recent Yami fics jumping to post-Kyoto arc? It's something I've been meaning to do for a long time and I only hope I managed to pull it off decently. No matter whether you like TxT or TxH, Tatsumi and Hisoka do have potential to become good friends, deshou? (and not in THAT way, you sicko - you couldn't pay me enough to do a Tats x Hi except maybe as a parody.)
2) C&C! O! Ne! Ga! I! Shi! Ma! Su! XO PLEASE!
Weirdness. Possible OOCness - this is my first time writing Tatsumi. Oh, this is NOT a Tats x Hi, so you note. Tats and Hisoka get mushy over Tsuzuki - nah, not really, but well. Forgive the dumb title. XD; Standard disclaimers apply.
Of Birds and Tea
a yami no matsuei fanfiction
--------------------
Hisoka was alone in the office.
The afternoon sun could only be described as blinding. The shades were down and he was seated away from the window, and still the bright yellow beams pierced through, translucent gold that was vague shafts of heat against the back of his neck and arms and cast elongated shapes of darkness over the papers in front of him. He moved his head to block the light from the part of the page where he was writing, blinking as the light shifted its glare.
White, the desk was covered almost completely with fresh pieces of black- or blue-patterned white. Papers upon more papers, neat stacks of reports and other miscellaneous information standing in uniform rectangular blocks on polished wood. The sun hit their smooth pale surfaces and refracted back with almost painful intensity, so that he had to keep his eyes trained down on the sheets in front of him. How long had he been shut up inside this room doing paperwork? He had no idea, and he really didn't mind; this occupied his hands and mind and left him no opportunity to dwell on...things.
/jet-black flames and soul-searing heat and bright amethyst eyes gone horribly empty-/
Don't go there.
He released a silent exhalation of air that ruffled the hair around his face.
Jotting down a few stray notes, he was aware that he didn't really see the words that formed under his pen. Some birds were squawking vociferously outside; it would have been nothing more than a mild annoyance under normal circumstances, but for some nameless reason the noise was a cacophony of discord that jarred his ears terribly and set his teeth on edge today. And the screeching of the winged ones increased in volume, mocking his discomfort, his frustration, until there came a point where it was impossible to bear any longer and he *yelled*, whirling around. Heedlessly he shoved the reports aside, striking perfect piles of white that crumbled in a flurry of sharp-edged clouds -
- and snatched up the fat vase of ugly grey porcelain that held a limp bunch of faded blooms on the cupboard, dashing it savagely against the floor.
There was a satisfyingly, sickeningly loud *crash*, and all grew quiet.
The young empath bent over, sides heaving as if after a run, hands clutching his knees so tightly his knuckles stood out in stark relief. The silence that had descended so abruptly almost seemed as if it could be cut with a knife. Wheat-gold bangs fell forward, obscuring his sight; he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to quiet the roar of blood in his ears. Dimly he was aware of himself panting, and wondered that the sound seemed to be coming from a great distance.
Days passed - hours flashed by - or was it merely minutes before he dropped to his knees by the jagged remains of the vase, reaching out a shaking hand to gather them up? They were lying in a patch of light that bounced off their dull glazed bodies and made them seem brighter than they really were. Then a large shard of pottery was in his fingers, and he counted one piece, two pieces...so many pieces that were big or small or far too tiny to be seen...
The door swung open.
"Kurosaki-kun, DON'T!"
Tatsumi-san?
The sun was striking him, and it was *hot*. The four walls spun for several heartbeats, and he was only conscious of a pair of strong hands catching his arms before he was submerged in a wave of darkness.
----
He was lying on something soft - how strange, hadn't he been working in the office? - and it was cool, so blessedly cool. Emerald eyes opened, and as the world swam into focus he saw that he was lying on a couch in the lounge of Enma-cho. To the side, a tall figure was standing with his back to him, setting a small teapot down on a table.
"Tatsumi-san..."
"You're awake," the older man replied without turning around. "That's good. I was beginning to get worried."
Memory swirled back to him, and colour tinted the boy's pale face as he sat up. "I - fainted in the office, didn't I?"
"So you did." Tatsumi's voice was carefully bland. He came to stand by the couch, looking down at his young colleague with severe eyes. "I would thank you to take better care of yourself, Kurosaki-kun. Watari-san says you are dehydrated, undernourished and lacking sleep. That is very bad, especially when you have only just been released from the infirmary."
Hisoka looked away. "I'm sorry. I know my work hasn't been up to standard lately."
"*Kurosaki-kun*." Twin orbs of annoyed brown met his own. "That is *not* the point I am making here," the secretary said flatly. "Please do not mistake me. It is not my custom to take the health of colleagues seriously for the sole reason of concern about their work productivity. I feel sure you have no desire to be sent back to Watari-san's care, and I hardly doubt Tsuzuki-san feels the same way, especially when he hasn't been discharged yet."
The younger boy bit his lip, lowering his gaze under that piercing mahogany one. It was just the slightest bit unsettling, but then Tatsumi had always treated him with nothing but dry kindness. "...I'm sorry," he repeated faintly. "I didn't mean it that way."
A large hand settled gently on his hair. Hisoka started, before looking up into deep brown eyes now gone unexpectedly gentle. "I know you didn't."
"And now," Tatsumi continued calmly, "you shall join me in a cup of tea and some light refreshment, if you so choose. It's a hot day, and you need something to sustain you until dinner."
----
They sat at the table, and Tatsumi poured iced tea for both of them. There was the faint chink of china as the other shinigami handed him a cup, although he would have declined the plate of biscuits offered had not Tatsumi glared pointedly at him. So much for choosing.
Tatsumi sipped his tea placidly, making perfunctory small talk - what time had he been sleeping lately? Had he been taking regular meals? How was his sword practice coming along? Was everything all right with him?
He stared into his teacup, watching his reflection waver and blur in the ripples of translucent amber liquid. No, he wanted to answer the last, no, it isn't. How could that be possible, so soon after the Kyoto visit? But he said nothing, or thought he had until Tatsumi addressed him directly, and he saw that look of sympathy in the brown eyes again. And for a brief moment he was aware that those austere eyes were only gentler when Tsuzuki was present.
"You look troubled," and Tatsumi's voice was quiet. "I cannot say that I would be the best of confidantes, but you would find me willing to listen. I think it might be good for you to get it off your chest."
He swallowed a mouthful of tea; it tasted like ashes on his tongue. "I'm fine, Tatsumi-san."
"I might not be an empath, but I know a lie when I hear one," the older man replied, his voice void of inflection. "And I cannot read your mind, but it is equally obvious that you are worrying yourself sick about Tsuzuki-san."
The wheat-blonde head snapped up sharply, and Hisoka stared at him blankly. "How-" he croaked, and swallowed again, the words sticking in his throat. "How did-"
A level look. "Do you think I do not worry about him myself?"
The empath flushed. "I didn't say that."
"But you forgot." Tatsumi took another sip of tea. "That is entirely understandable, and not something I hold against you. And so I have answered your unfinished question, from the viewpoint of another person who cares about him as much as you do. Although not quite in the same ways, perhaps." He quirked a brow at his young colleague over the rim of his cup.
"Tatsumi-san..."
"It is very natural that you should be concerned for Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said kindly. "And I am glad you care, because you are one of the few people he will accept comfort from. But you will spoil your health if you continue this way and cause him undue worry about you. For your sake and for Tsuzuki-san's sake, I say again that you must look after yourself. It will do either of you no good if you have inadequate rest and do not take proper meals." He was graced with a slight smile. "I am being a busybody, but you know I speak only the truth, Kurosaki-kun. Please consider what I have just told you carefully."
"Tatsumi-san." He struggled to speak - words were just not co-operating with him today. "How - how can you stand it? When you visit him, and he smiles that plaster smile, and..."
/and when you can see the sadness in his eyes that the fake smile doesn't hide for a second, and when you can *feel* what he's really thinking and sometimes it brings you to the verge of breaking down.../
"You're right," the secretary said softly. "I can't stand it, and I know you can't either. That is why it is imperative that you *don't* stand it, Kurosaki-kun. You must help Tsuzuki-san heal, because you are the only one with the ability to accomplish that."
"What makes you so sure of that?" he whispered.
Mahogany eyes smiled sadly. "Because, Kurosaki-kun, I have always wanted nothing but the best for him."
Hisoka paused. "That idiot cares for almost everyone he meets, doesn't he."
A cough. "That is quite an accurate statement."
"So I think," the empath continued, apparently absorbed in observing a painting on the wall opposite him. "That it would make sense for everyone he cares about to bring him back together, since all of them are concerned about him and it would be more effective that way."
There was a brief silence.
"...Thank you," the older man finally said.
Green eyes switched their gaze to him. "For what?"
"For saying what you said."
"Tatsumi-san...since I first knew Tsuzuki, I always wanted him to have what he needs. Nothing more than that."
----
People were treating him so carefully, so wary of touching him, like he was a glass figurine that would shatter with one fall. Or maybe it was - why try to deny it? - the fact that they feared him, feared the power he could lose control of. He hated seeing the apprehension in their eyes when they visited for the sole purpose of seeing that the great Tsuzuki Asato wasn't invulnerable after all. And what did you *think* I was, he wanted to scream at them, Enma Daiou? I fail too, I can't pull off *every* assignment successfully!
It hurt.
But there were people who cared too, and it wasn't so bad when he could recall Terazuma's blunt evasions and Wakaba's sunny concern, or Kachou's gruff kindness and Watari's chirpy attentions. No, it wasn't so bad, and today Hisoka and Tatsumi had visited him together, surprisingly. And the hurt faded even more when he thought about the veiled tenderness in the secretary's eyes and the intense worry his partner tried so hard to hide.
It really wasn't so bad.
Tonight, at least, the nightmares would not haunt him.
----
Hisoka wrote one last sentence and gathered up the sheets of paper, briefly tapping them on the desk before placing them on top of one stack. Today's work was finished. Tatsumi-san would be pleased, no doubt. Perhaps he would go and see Tsuzuki again before he went home.
There was a bird singing outside the room.
¬ owari ¬
Notes:
1) I finally finished this - rah. :p Why are all my recent Yami fics jumping to post-Kyoto arc? It's something I've been meaning to do for a long time and I only hope I managed to pull it off decently. No matter whether you like TxT or TxH, Tatsumi and Hisoka do have potential to become good friends, deshou? (and not in THAT way, you sicko - you couldn't pay me enough to do a Tats x Hi except maybe as a parody.)
2) C&C! O! Ne! Ga! I! Shi! Ma! Su! XO PLEASE!