"Only You" - 6
~*~*~*~
Miaka hadn't said a word since they'd returned to the inn.
Shivering, Nuriko pulled the dark cloak more closely around his body, tugged his knees up to his chest and rested his head against the window sill. It wasn't cold in here, he knew--the fire had been lit, sending a comforting warmth flooding through the room, bathing everything in a soft golden glow, and Mitsukake had wrapped him in blankets upon their return, had even had the decency to make him a steaming mug of tea...but, the chill didn't come from his skin. Of course, he was colder than usual, having lost a great deal of blood in the fight...but, the real chill came from his heart, his soul. Tamahome was dead. His friend, his star brother...he was dead.
And, it was all his fault.
Swallowing another broken sob, Nuriko let out a shuddering breath of air, let his head sink down into his arms. He sat just before the window, staring out into the flickering white and blue of the snowy sky, wrapped in a blanket and the soft black of his cloak, trying to ignore the shallow breathing echoing across the room from Miaka's bed. Their return to the hotel following the death of Tamahome seemed blurry and shadowed, but Nuriko remembered hollowly seeing Mitsukake carrying Miaka up to their room, even as Tasuki and Chichiri helped him up the stairs just a few moments later. The girl hadn't made a sound since the healer's first sorrowful announcement that Tamahome was dead...and, Nuriko found himself wishing that she would cry, sob, scream, do something...because, anything was better than this terrible, terrible silence.
Still shivering violently, he turned his head slightly, caught a glimpse of Miaka lying motionless in the bed, shrouded in blankets, her eyes wide and open and staring blankly at the ceiling. Gods...poor Miaka. How was she even still functioning? How was she even still...alive?
His legs were shaky, but he pushed them off the edge of the chair anyway, planted his bare feet firmly on the wood of the floor and tried to stand. A mass of blankets came with him, flooding around his legs like skirts, creating the long-lost illusion of femininity, even as the exposed skin of his chest counterbalanced it, granted him a vague spark of masculinity. He paused a moment in his trek across the room, staring blankly into the far mirror with something like comprehension in his eyes. He didn't look at all like a man, even with his hair cut...even with his chest bared. Why did he look so much like a woman, even now, when he'd decided to be a man again?
Who the hell was he kidding, anyway? Tamahome...Tamahome had been a man. Strong, brave, courageous...no wonder Miaka had loved him. He could protect her...he could love her as a man loves a woman, not as a strange, half-gendered freak loves--
No.
He drew in a long breath, let it out heavily through his lips and began to walk again. No. No, he wasn't going to do this to himself. Now was not the time to worry about his own problems, his own insecurities...now was the time to be there for Miaka...to somehow make right this terrible, unforgivable thing he'd done. Tamahome was dead because of him. If he couldn't make it right...at least he could do all that he could for Miaka, make her...make her forget.
A few moments later, Nuriko had managed to stagger his way to Miaka's side, had lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress. He stared down at her for a long moment with something like tears welling at the back of his throat, straining to find some semblance of the girl he'd known within those wide, unblinkingly-vacant green eyes.
He swallowed back the tears, cleared his throat and brushed briefly at his eyes. His voice, he forced to be light, gentle...friendly. Even if his heart was tearing. Even if he felt like dying.
"M...Miaka," he began, touching a hand gently to her shoulder, nudging her slightly beneath the blankets. "M-Miaka...are you...are you there?"
Miaka lay still on her back, the blankets tugged to her chin, her eyes still staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft brown of her hair had come free of its typical side buns and now lay in measured waves over her shoulders, clinging to the side of her face...brushing lightly against his fingers as he pressed his hand against her shoulder.
"Miaka...please. Can you...can you...hear me?"
Abruptly, the young miko drew in a long breath...and blinked. Her eyes, slowly, cleared of the blur of vacancy, came into focus...slid from the spot they'd been staring so vacantly at and moved, shifted...came to rest on him. For a long moment, she stared blankly at him, motionless but for that slow movement of her eyes...and then, a well of tears gathered at the dark wall of her eyelashes, slid in a silver stream over her cheeks. Her voice was like daggers, grating against his heart.
"I didn't dream it...did I?" she whispered, her lips barely moving, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room. "He's really..." She closed her eyes, and another crystal stream of tears flooded free. "Tamahome's really..." Her voice sank. "...dead."
For a long moment, he considered what to say, wondered if there was some magical phrase that he could utter to make it better for her, make it easier to handle...make it so Tamahome would not be dead, so HE would've died instead...so Miaka could be happy again. But, he knew that there was nothing he could say that would fix it, nothing he could do...and so, he simply nodded, squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, and said, "Yes."
Miaka began to cry then, softly, and all he could do was sit beside her and comfort her as best he could, letting her hold onto him, cry into his chest...leting her scream, letting her fingernails dig into the soft skin of his shoulders as the agony of loss grew to be too much. After a time of this, she fell asleep there in his arms, and all he could do was lie there, feeling stunned and numb, and hold her until he fell asleep himself.
//There's nothing I can do to bring you back, Tamahome,\\ he thought dully, feeling himself drifting off into sleep, nothing but the warmth of Miaka's body and the soft silk of the blankets against his skin to chain him to the waking world. //But, I swear to you, I'll devote my life to making Miaka happy...to keeping her safe, making sure she's all right. I can't bring you back, Tamahome...but I'll make sure that Miaka's happy. I swear to you...I'll make sure she's happy. It's the only thing I can do, isn't it? I'll do it, Tamahome.
I'll do it.\\
----
[Gomen, not much happens in this edition--but, more is coming soon! Honest! I'm also trying to work on some of my other fics, as well, and so if luck be with me, I'll add more to this and other fics in the coming days. *crosses fingers* Until then, however, let me know what you think...even if this chapter is slightly...er...pointless. :P Ja! ~Ryuen]
~*~*~*~
Miaka hadn't said a word since they'd returned to the inn.
Shivering, Nuriko pulled the dark cloak more closely around his body, tugged his knees up to his chest and rested his head against the window sill. It wasn't cold in here, he knew--the fire had been lit, sending a comforting warmth flooding through the room, bathing everything in a soft golden glow, and Mitsukake had wrapped him in blankets upon their return, had even had the decency to make him a steaming mug of tea...but, the chill didn't come from his skin. Of course, he was colder than usual, having lost a great deal of blood in the fight...but, the real chill came from his heart, his soul. Tamahome was dead. His friend, his star brother...he was dead.
And, it was all his fault.
Swallowing another broken sob, Nuriko let out a shuddering breath of air, let his head sink down into his arms. He sat just before the window, staring out into the flickering white and blue of the snowy sky, wrapped in a blanket and the soft black of his cloak, trying to ignore the shallow breathing echoing across the room from Miaka's bed. Their return to the hotel following the death of Tamahome seemed blurry and shadowed, but Nuriko remembered hollowly seeing Mitsukake carrying Miaka up to their room, even as Tasuki and Chichiri helped him up the stairs just a few moments later. The girl hadn't made a sound since the healer's first sorrowful announcement that Tamahome was dead...and, Nuriko found himself wishing that she would cry, sob, scream, do something...because, anything was better than this terrible, terrible silence.
Still shivering violently, he turned his head slightly, caught a glimpse of Miaka lying motionless in the bed, shrouded in blankets, her eyes wide and open and staring blankly at the ceiling. Gods...poor Miaka. How was she even still functioning? How was she even still...alive?
His legs were shaky, but he pushed them off the edge of the chair anyway, planted his bare feet firmly on the wood of the floor and tried to stand. A mass of blankets came with him, flooding around his legs like skirts, creating the long-lost illusion of femininity, even as the exposed skin of his chest counterbalanced it, granted him a vague spark of masculinity. He paused a moment in his trek across the room, staring blankly into the far mirror with something like comprehension in his eyes. He didn't look at all like a man, even with his hair cut...even with his chest bared. Why did he look so much like a woman, even now, when he'd decided to be a man again?
Who the hell was he kidding, anyway? Tamahome...Tamahome had been a man. Strong, brave, courageous...no wonder Miaka had loved him. He could protect her...he could love her as a man loves a woman, not as a strange, half-gendered freak loves--
No.
He drew in a long breath, let it out heavily through his lips and began to walk again. No. No, he wasn't going to do this to himself. Now was not the time to worry about his own problems, his own insecurities...now was the time to be there for Miaka...to somehow make right this terrible, unforgivable thing he'd done. Tamahome was dead because of him. If he couldn't make it right...at least he could do all that he could for Miaka, make her...make her forget.
A few moments later, Nuriko had managed to stagger his way to Miaka's side, had lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the mattress. He stared down at her for a long moment with something like tears welling at the back of his throat, straining to find some semblance of the girl he'd known within those wide, unblinkingly-vacant green eyes.
He swallowed back the tears, cleared his throat and brushed briefly at his eyes. His voice, he forced to be light, gentle...friendly. Even if his heart was tearing. Even if he felt like dying.
"M...Miaka," he began, touching a hand gently to her shoulder, nudging her slightly beneath the blankets. "M-Miaka...are you...are you there?"
Miaka lay still on her back, the blankets tugged to her chin, her eyes still staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft brown of her hair had come free of its typical side buns and now lay in measured waves over her shoulders, clinging to the side of her face...brushing lightly against his fingers as he pressed his hand against her shoulder.
"Miaka...please. Can you...can you...hear me?"
Abruptly, the young miko drew in a long breath...and blinked. Her eyes, slowly, cleared of the blur of vacancy, came into focus...slid from the spot they'd been staring so vacantly at and moved, shifted...came to rest on him. For a long moment, she stared blankly at him, motionless but for that slow movement of her eyes...and then, a well of tears gathered at the dark wall of her eyelashes, slid in a silver stream over her cheeks. Her voice was like daggers, grating against his heart.
"I didn't dream it...did I?" she whispered, her lips barely moving, the words barely audible in the stillness of the room. "He's really..." She closed her eyes, and another crystal stream of tears flooded free. "Tamahome's really..." Her voice sank. "...dead."
For a long moment, he considered what to say, wondered if there was some magical phrase that he could utter to make it better for her, make it easier to handle...make it so Tamahome would not be dead, so HE would've died instead...so Miaka could be happy again. But, he knew that there was nothing he could say that would fix it, nothing he could do...and so, he simply nodded, squeezed his eyes shut against the tears, and said, "Yes."
Miaka began to cry then, softly, and all he could do was sit beside her and comfort her as best he could, letting her hold onto him, cry into his chest...leting her scream, letting her fingernails dig into the soft skin of his shoulders as the agony of loss grew to be too much. After a time of this, she fell asleep there in his arms, and all he could do was lie there, feeling stunned and numb, and hold her until he fell asleep himself.
//There's nothing I can do to bring you back, Tamahome,\\ he thought dully, feeling himself drifting off into sleep, nothing but the warmth of Miaka's body and the soft silk of the blankets against his skin to chain him to the waking world. //But, I swear to you, I'll devote my life to making Miaka happy...to keeping her safe, making sure she's all right. I can't bring you back, Tamahome...but I'll make sure that Miaka's happy. I swear to you...I'll make sure she's happy. It's the only thing I can do, isn't it? I'll do it, Tamahome.
I'll do it.\\
----
[Gomen, not much happens in this edition--but, more is coming soon! Honest! I'm also trying to work on some of my other fics, as well, and so if luck be with me, I'll add more to this and other fics in the coming days. *crosses fingers* Until then, however, let me know what you think...even if this chapter is slightly...er...pointless. :P Ja! ~Ryuen]
