AN: We all need release. This is mine. Beware of shounen-ai.
---
Mourning.
by Ryuen
The gods were weeping.
He stood in the center of the storm with eyes turned towards the heavens, letting the salt of the mourning rain slide down his cheeks, press the silk of his hair down flat against his scalp, trickle from the tips of his fingers like crimson drops of blood. The skies were soft and mottled with streaks of grey and violet, the occasional flash of lightning the only break in the smooth, darkened expanse. After a time, he heard the echoes of familiar footsteps behind him, felt warm, steady hands on his shoulders, and he could finally close his eyes against the anguish, the pain...the guilt. His fingers, slim, cold, and shaking, lifted from his side, clasped onto one of those strong hands as tightly as the rain would allow him. The flesh was warm but slick against his skin, making his fingers slide and slip...and for a moment he gripped onto the hand so tightly that the man behind him let out a soft gasp, tensed against him...but, then Hotohori relaxed, and he knew, somehow, that the young emperor understood.
After a moment, he felt the blind panic fade, closed his eyes again and leaned back, just slightly, until he felt his slim, shivering shoulders press into the warmth of soft red robes, felt the top of his head slide perfectly into the groove of that slim, elegant neck. Strong, heavy arms wrapped gently around him, held him close...and all he could do was squeeze his eyes more tightly shut, shaking with cold and doing his best not to cry.
"Why do things like this happen, Hotohori-sama?" he whispered after a moment, streaking drops of rain clogging his words with anguish, trickling down over his lips with the unmistakable flavor of grief. "So many people...why?"
The young emperor tugged him into a tighter, closer embrace, bent his head so a soft, fluttering wave of dampened hair swept against the side of the smaller seishi's face, brushed lightly at the edge of tears. "I don't know," he replied after a moment. His words were a soft, calming baritone, the warmth of his breath like a sweet, soothing balm against his skin. "But...the gods have a plan. I'm sure of it."
Nuriko let out a harsh, doubting breath of air, squeezed his eyes shut more tightly against the storm. "A plan," he echoed darkly. "Why do people always say that when something terrible happens? 'The gods have a plan...'"
Hotohori sighed softly, but the smile still lingered in his words, soft and gentle and a welcome warmth against the cold. "Listen," he murmured. "No one, not even the emperor, can claim to understand the gods and what they do. People die seemingly at random, bad things happen to good people...and, sometimes, children are hurt...die. It doesn't seem fair, does it? But...we have to believe that there's a reason for it somewhere...that it's not all just randomness. It's leading us somewhere, Nuriko. Every moment in our lives, every instant...it takes us somewhere. It might not seem like anything important at the time, or it may seem like the worst moment of our lives...but, it still takes us somewhere. The gods have a plan, Nuriko. We'll just have to wait and see what this one is."
The smaller seishi was silent for a long moment, glimpsing the edges of the brightening horizon through the darkened wall of his eyelashes, feeling the chill of the day fading from his limbs, the chill kiss of the rain softening...also fading. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, hung his head and let the warmth of this man, the softness of his hair, the strength of his presence, the gentle, dusky fragrance of his body melt into him, draw him up out of the darkness...out of the anguish.
"Ne, Hotohori-sama," he murmured.
Hotohori shifted behind him, nodded slightly. "Hm?"
"Do you really...do you really believe all that?"
Hotohori seemed to smile, hugged him closer. "Of course I do," he said quietly. Then, he laughed, very softly. "What else is there?"
Nuriko could only nod, the wisps of rain still clinging to his cheeks.
~owari.
---
Mourning.
by Ryuen
The gods were weeping.
He stood in the center of the storm with eyes turned towards the heavens, letting the salt of the mourning rain slide down his cheeks, press the silk of his hair down flat against his scalp, trickle from the tips of his fingers like crimson drops of blood. The skies were soft and mottled with streaks of grey and violet, the occasional flash of lightning the only break in the smooth, darkened expanse. After a time, he heard the echoes of familiar footsteps behind him, felt warm, steady hands on his shoulders, and he could finally close his eyes against the anguish, the pain...the guilt. His fingers, slim, cold, and shaking, lifted from his side, clasped onto one of those strong hands as tightly as the rain would allow him. The flesh was warm but slick against his skin, making his fingers slide and slip...and for a moment he gripped onto the hand so tightly that the man behind him let out a soft gasp, tensed against him...but, then Hotohori relaxed, and he knew, somehow, that the young emperor understood.
After a moment, he felt the blind panic fade, closed his eyes again and leaned back, just slightly, until he felt his slim, shivering shoulders press into the warmth of soft red robes, felt the top of his head slide perfectly into the groove of that slim, elegant neck. Strong, heavy arms wrapped gently around him, held him close...and all he could do was squeeze his eyes more tightly shut, shaking with cold and doing his best not to cry.
"Why do things like this happen, Hotohori-sama?" he whispered after a moment, streaking drops of rain clogging his words with anguish, trickling down over his lips with the unmistakable flavor of grief. "So many people...why?"
The young emperor tugged him into a tighter, closer embrace, bent his head so a soft, fluttering wave of dampened hair swept against the side of the smaller seishi's face, brushed lightly at the edge of tears. "I don't know," he replied after a moment. His words were a soft, calming baritone, the warmth of his breath like a sweet, soothing balm against his skin. "But...the gods have a plan. I'm sure of it."
Nuriko let out a harsh, doubting breath of air, squeezed his eyes shut more tightly against the storm. "A plan," he echoed darkly. "Why do people always say that when something terrible happens? 'The gods have a plan...'"
Hotohori sighed softly, but the smile still lingered in his words, soft and gentle and a welcome warmth against the cold. "Listen," he murmured. "No one, not even the emperor, can claim to understand the gods and what they do. People die seemingly at random, bad things happen to good people...and, sometimes, children are hurt...die. It doesn't seem fair, does it? But...we have to believe that there's a reason for it somewhere...that it's not all just randomness. It's leading us somewhere, Nuriko. Every moment in our lives, every instant...it takes us somewhere. It might not seem like anything important at the time, or it may seem like the worst moment of our lives...but, it still takes us somewhere. The gods have a plan, Nuriko. We'll just have to wait and see what this one is."
The smaller seishi was silent for a long moment, glimpsing the edges of the brightening horizon through the darkened wall of his eyelashes, feeling the chill of the day fading from his limbs, the chill kiss of the rain softening...also fading. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, hung his head and let the warmth of this man, the softness of his hair, the strength of his presence, the gentle, dusky fragrance of his body melt into him, draw him up out of the darkness...out of the anguish.
"Ne, Hotohori-sama," he murmured.
Hotohori shifted behind him, nodded slightly. "Hm?"
"Do you really...do you really believe all that?"
Hotohori seemed to smile, hugged him closer. "Of course I do," he said quietly. Then, he laughed, very softly. "What else is there?"
Nuriko could only nod, the wisps of rain still clinging to his cheeks.
~owari.