Idols I have Loved so Long

By Eva_kokaze_black (RhblackY@netscape.net )

Disclaimer: YnM belongs to Yoko Matsushita, not to me. Otherwise, I'd put myself in the canon...

All comments, etc., are welcome. Notify before archiving. Slight T/H, T/T. Takes place sometime after Kyoto Arc but before Gensou Kai Chapter. Excuse any Japanese errors; I read YnM in Chinese. ~_~

Idols I have Loved so Long-A Yami no Matsuei Fanfiction

TEASER/PROLOGUE

*

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong;

Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,

And sold my Reputation for a Song.

-The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, LXIX

***

Kurosaki Hisoka felt terribly ill. Propped up on his pillows, he tried to remember if he had eaten anything his stomach was rebelling against and concluded that it must have been the spoonful of chocolate mousse he'd eaten last night at the Shokan division's group dinner. This particular chocolate mousse had the misfortune of being prepared by one Tsuzuki Asato, chef terrible. Hisoka covered his eyes and groaned. "How could I have possibly eaten...ugh..." After a few moments of cursing his own stupidity, he tried to move sideways and out of bed, but only succeeded in tumbling to the floor, where he fell feverishly asleep.

*

Tsuzuki regarded his sleeping partner worriedly. "He was muttering about moose..."

"As if that holds any importance to the situation." Tatsumi Seiichiro, official secretary of Emma-cho, had a reputation for a nasty temper, especially in the mornings and especially as pertaining to Tsuzuki Asato. They were both in the hospice after Tsuzuki had been send to fetch the unusually late Hisoka and had found the latter lying half-naked on the floorboards and mumbling. The boy had been carried to the hospice bed he now occupied with great exertion on the part of his partner, not because he was particularly weighty (just the opposite, in fact), but because he continously thrashed at nothings in the air with his arms and legs and yelled sporadically the whole way. Watari had managed to get him quieted with a dose of...something (he had assured both of his colleagues that it was definitely safe and foolproof, to their great skepticism). "Leave him here," said the blond, bespectacled Shinigami, softly so as not to disturb the sleeper, "I'll take care of Hisoka-chan, no problem."

Tatsumi had to half-drag Tsuzuki along the corridor (drawing many strange looks). "Pull yourself together!" He said at last, exasperated.

"But he looks really sick and I don't wanna go work I wanna watch him--" said Puppy-Tsuzuki, tears forming small waterfalls.

"Ah, he'll be okay." Tatsumi pushed up his glasses. "Come on. Unless you want to pay your debts now ? I'll take them, you know."

"Eeep!"

*

Hisoka's subconscious dimly sensed their movements as they grew farther and farther away; close by there was the jumbled greenish mass of Watari's thoughts, with 003's small white owlish presence fluttering about. He felt cold and weak and small and wondered why. There was something soft and heavy on his face, pressing on his eyelids and the slim bridge of his nose and trying to suffocate him, trying to pry open his mouth and eat him as he swallowed it. He was not frightened, though. It seemed somehow wonderful, being possessed by this unseen thing. It was not conscious; he could not hear its mental mutterings at all. It was white, it was pure, and so he opened his mouth and let it in joyfully, with no hesitation.

*

He fell through layers of something; after a long while he realized that this was the same thing that had eaten him from the inside out; it must be growing from him and surrounding him like a cocoon. He smiled and relaxed into its softness. He had always wanted something, some barrier, between himself and the Others. The Other minds and the Other thoughts: they were so frightening, foreign. The cocoon was him and he was it. He wanted to stay in it forever and ever and ever...

*

He woke without opening his eyes (he wasn't sure if he even had eyes, now) and immediately curled into a ball. The soft cocoon wasn't there. He was exposed and naked and from a thousand, a million directions came the little pricklings of Otherness, like the thorn that is only a tiny wound alone but kills in multitudes. He shrank from it, keening, and tried to protect his body from the attack.

*

Watari quirked an eyebrow as his charge threatened to tumble from his bed for the fourth time. Hisoka was struggling against the covers, weakly, his face red and contorted with fear and pain and fever. Watari sighed and yawned--it was late--and gave the boy another dose of his new invention for a better rest. The entire day had been full of Hisoka's anguished cries and thrashing about. The poor boy deserved some real sleep, at least.

*

Tsuzuki lay awake, his elbows under his ears. The ceiling wasn't very interesting, so he turned to the wall and the window. It was dark, and he prodded himself. No sleepiness whatsoever. He wondered how Hisoka was doing; with that thought he felt a rush of guilt. It had nibbled at the edges of his mind all through the day; he dropped his papers constantly (even more often than usual), he found it hard, even, to pay attention to his cake. More than once he'd started to walk towards the hospice, only to return to his office for fear of having Tatsumi lecture him again. For some reason he was decidedly uneasy about something. What was it?

*

There were many lights; he saw a sea of red-lined pink from behind his eyelids. Somewhere there was a loud long squealing noise, accompanied by hushed, excited voices. He was cold again, and panicked when he couldn't remember his own name. He thought that maybe it began with an S? It had an S in it somewhere. He also couldn't remember anything before he had come to be lying here, (whereever here was), except that there had been a warm place, soft and comfortable. This had to be some kind of punishment. Yes; it must be for some crime he'd committed that he had been taken from his warm place. He wanted to shout for someone--some part of his mind wanted to call out for someone that was warm and comforting like the warm place--he couldn't remember that someone's name either...he hoped the someone would come anyway, and cried. And he opened his eyes.

To Be Continued