I Almost Wish, a x/1999 fanfic

Kamui I Almost Wish

Disclaimer: I don't think I resemble anyone having property rights over X. Don't sue.

Note: This story would take place after Kyougo's death, but in the fic he's not deadif that makes any sense at all. Or, if it makes you happy, read it as a TWT. Of course, Fuuma is not evil yet.

I turned for what seemed to be the thousandth time and stared at the blue-glowing digits of the alarm clock that cast faint blue shadows on my hand and face. 1:13. I muttered at it and rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut, as tightly as they could go. After a while I tried to relax. And then I found myself glaring at the clock again. 1:14. Great. One whole minute gone in the millennia of a night. Giving up the struggle, I sat up and slid my feet from the covers and onto the tatami. As little as I wanted to admit it, I knew why this was happening to myself, who had never had a case of insomnia ever. Except for maybe after Mother's deathI mentally pushed away the topic and got to my feet, alert as some nocturnal animal. Damn, I thought as I slipped down the hallway, not making a creak, I didn't know I was so good at this.

The door was cool under my warming hand, and with the gentlest of slides it opened. But this guest-room door was nowhere as familiar to me as my own, and it eeked oh-so-quietly in the sepulchral silence. I thought I'd burst a blood vessel, standing there with one hand still in the door slot and the other quivering in midair. But the occupant of the bed did not stir. Stealthily I continued towards him, much more slowly now that I was so close. Any moment, I knew, he'd open those big eyes and glare at me and push his fine mouth into a line. I hated those looks, the silent "I'm-not-telling-you-a-thing" looks. Kamui, I would say, and try to make him tell me where he'd gotten that look from. Why would the bright beautiful Kamui I knew even need a look like that?

But in sleep he was not frowning, he was not like inscrutable stone. He smiled, the sleeper's tiny, almost imperceptible smile. At this encouraging sign I became a little bolder and sat, folding my legs under me, beside his pillow and watched him and his tiny smile. For some reason the bandaged spot on his injured cheek had disappeared, and I suddenly had the urge to rub the spot. Fuuma, I scolded myself, you'd wake him up, no doubt about it. But another voice--obviously not the voice of reason--saw no harm in the undertaking if I was exceedingly careful. Anyway, said the same voice, you're just making sure he's okay. What little sense I had gave way to the good Samaritanism and I put one index finger out, watching with breath close as it wobbled crazily and then landed on the soft warm skin right under Kamui's thick lashes. This is it, I closed my eyes and drew back my hand as though I had just tried to stick it into a tiger's mouth. He's going to wake up now. To prove the fear I heard him rustling about, disturbed by that one little touch. But when I felt no purple-blue glare on myself I opened one eye. He was still asleep! Suddenly I felt religious; that second passed and I simply thanked all the action movies I'd seen involving sneaking into sleeping people's bedrooms. I blushed as I remembered exactly what those people had done after sneaking in successfully. Well, it's not like I planned anything except to check on himI stood, abruptly very embarrassed and probably very red.

Halfway to the door, there was a small noise from the bed behind me, and I turned so fast I thought I might have fallen over. Oh kami-sama, I prayed, don't let him be awake. I tiptoed over and saw, to another spurt of spiritualism, that he was asleep. But another glance and I was crouched beside him, ready to comfort him or wake him from whatever he was seeing. Kamui's soft dark hair was even darker with sweat, and he moaned and twisted under the blanket, waving his hands around as though to fend off something. Definitely the signs of a horrible nightmare. I bent a little closer to hear him say my name (!). At that I threw myself backwards and stood to run. He must be awake and must have also realized who had come to his room. After the panic subsided I noted that he was still prone and restlessly turning and waving his hands in the air, mumbling things.

I went back to his bedside and watched him, alarmed by the intensity of his dreams. When he nearly sat up and cried "Noooo" I panicked again, but for him this time. Unhesitatingly I put one arm around his narrow shoulders and the other around one hand--he was so tiny that my hand totally covered his--and eased him back onto the pillow. And he was still asleep. I thought gleefully that I'd done some little good, because apparently now his nightmare had passed, and he smiled again, a wider smile this time, the joy of the boy-Kamui that I remembered.

I probably fell asleep sitting there, because when I woke my head was flat on the floor and my back ached terribly. I face the window, and the whiteness of the light indicated very early morning. Oh no, I sat up in a rush and felt dizzy as blood went from my head. Luckily--by now I was almost certain of divine intervention--Kamui was still asleep, and soundly at that. Relieved, I started to stand, and found that I couldn't. What-- After some investigation I found that somehow the loose sleeve of my sleepshirt had caught under Kamui's back. I tried to extract it, increasingly frantic as the light grew stronger and stronger, and then, as Kamui shifted and groaned in what seemed to be a prelude to awakening, I unbuttoned the shirt and left it behind. As I closed the door of my own room behind me, I gasped. He would know.

Fuuma is so silly sometimes. He thinks I don't notice, he thinks that I can't figure out such simple things Kamui picked up the largish sleepshirt by his bed and grinned--not wholly innocently. Down the hall he went, shirt crumpled into a ball, and politely tapped Fuuma's door.

"Y-yescome in."

Kamui strode in, the shirt behind his back, trying not to grin. "Good morning, Fuuma."

Fuuma was quite aware of what had brought his friend there; besides, he had only just managed to put on a white t-shirt before Kamui came in. Not, he thought ruefully, that it would distract him any.

"Isn't this yours?"

Uh-oh. "Eh.."

"Here." Kamui handed him the bundle and left without comment. Fuuma, dumbfounded, sat and stared at his nightshirt. After a moment or two he smiled.

I find it hard to believe that this man, the destroyer, the murderer, is that same gentle Fuuma who was so guilelessI felt so safe with him. He protected me, I who have to protect the Earth itself but am defenseless, defenseless and pathetic from him. Because he is supposed to protect me. I cannot forgetI almost wished that I could. Almost.

End.

More Notes: This story is blantantly based on a Chinese (historical) anecdote-folklore story. Now, boys and girls, who can tell me what that story is?