Disclaimer:  We all envy you…Yuu.  ^^;

Author's Note:  After receiving a very kind email a month or two ago requesting that I write a sequel to "Moonless Nights," I decided that, perhaps, I'd give it a try.  Naturally, those who know my fics know that I'm a huuuuuge Nuri/Hori supporter, and that I rarely write fics based on romances between…ahh, well, anyone else. ^^;;  So, for the record, I'm not really a Tas/Chi supporter…but, hey.  It could happen. ^_^. 

Thus.  Beware of shounen ai, beware of Tasuki language, and, although there is no actual sexual content in this fic, there is reference to some, so…yeah, if that bothers you, probably you're reading the wrong fic. ^^;;

Fade Into Morning

by Ryuen

~*~

He was good at keeping secrets. 

Of course, given the fact that he'd successfully masqueraded as a woman for almost eight years, there were few who would contest that fact.  But…

Nuriko sighed, drawing his knees to his chest and dropping his chin onto them.

But, this was too much!  Great Suzaku, how could Chichiri stand it, going from day to day with the person who had…had…  He shuddered.  How could he stand to even be in the same room with Tasuki after what they'd been through?  How could he look him in the eye?  How could he not want to talk about it?? 

He closed his eyes, slim eyebrows drawing together on his forehead. 

Okay.  Deep breath, Nuriko.  Chichiri trusts you.  He doesn't want anyone else to know about this.  So, no matter how much you want to talk to someone about this, no matter how much you neeeeeeed to talk to someone about this, you c--

Wait.  Just.  A minute. 

"Ahhhhh!"  He sat up straight, managed to knock the back of his head against the wall in the motion, but barely noticed the sudden flash of pain.  "Hotohori-sama!!"

Chichiri said…Chichiri said that he was talking to Hotohori-sama about it…  He must know!! 

He'd gathered his sleeping robes around him and was halfway to the door before reality finally struck into him.

He came to a slow halt, bare feet dragging against the carpeting, and stopped just in front of the door.  His hand dropped down to his side, hung there limply for a moment.

What're you gonna say, ne, Nuriko??  What in the name of Suzaku are you going to say?  You can't just burst into Hotohori-sama's bed chambers at this time of night and scream, "Nenene, you know Tasuki raped Chichiri when they were younger, right??"

Baka.

Sighing, the young seishi turned, retreated back to his bed and lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress.  As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the dressing table mirror, and despite all that weighed on his mind, he found himself spending a moment examining the reflection. 

Thick violet hair, plaited into a loose braid and dangling over one shoulder; eyes of muddled brown, violet, and rose, crowned by dark lashes; skin that was blemishless but breathtakingly-pale, smooth from years of cream-application and marred only by the dark rise of a mole, set just beneath the left eye. 

Nuriko closed his eyes briefly, a soft mist of wind trickling in through the window, fluttering the bangs against his forehead.  He knew this reflection well; he'd spent half of his life altering it, refining it, and drawing it more into the realms of femininity and beauty.  How many hours had he spent before the glass, perfecting the shy batting of his eyelashes or the slight twist to the lips that communicated demureness, politeness, and respect?  How much time had he devoted to the brushing and styling of his hair, to painting the delicate rose onto his lips?

And, now, it had all come undone.  Now, the colorful bows and barettes lay dusty and unused on the polished mahogany of the dressing table, exchanged instead for the simple piece of black ribbon that held his braid.  The collection of face powders and lipsticks and eye liners had been packed away, tucked deep in a bureau drawer so as to offer no reminder of days past.  Because…he'd shed this mask.  The makeup, the decorated, perfumed hair, the voluminous dresses…they were nothing but futile attempts to conceal his true self, to hide away the maleness he'd spent so much of his life struggling to suppress. 

Miaka and the other seishi had changed all that, when they'd trickled into his life and shifted his priorities. 

I owe them everything.  I owe them my life—my freedom.  If it weren't for them, I'd never have come so far that I can sit here with my robe hanging open and my chest visible and not feel like I've failed Kourin, somehow.  I'd never have been able to find this kind of freedom without them.  All of them.  Hotohori-sama.  Miaka.  Tamahome, Mitsukake, Chiriko.  Tasuki.  Chichiri. 

"Chichiri," he whispered, and the realization slammed into him so suddenly that he gasped. 

You haven't shed your mask, have you?  Even with all of us around you, you still hide behind it.  Why?  Why is it so different for you? 

A part of it, he knew, was that Chichiri, as the oldest of them, typically fell into a near-paternal position in regards to his friends.  Wisdom and control, power and lightheartedness…

You make yourself seem untouchable.  You make us believe that you don't need us like we need you.

But, that's not true, is it, Chichiri?  You need us just as much. 


Maybe more.

Suddenly decided, Nuriko rose from the edge of his mattress, worked his way to the door and, this time, gripped the handle.  He wasn't sure precisely where he was going or what he was going to do once he got there, but something inside of him drove him onward, twisted his wrist and pushed on the door and urged his feet to carry him out onto the palace walkway.

It was a warm night; the moon was out, casting a silver shadow over the palace and its grounds.  He could make out, if he turned his head to the left, the subtle bend of the walkway, twisting its way around the palace, and could see glimpses of movement and torchlight, as well as hear the occasional braying of laughter or speech.  As a matter of fact…

Tasuki.  It must be.  No one else in the wooooooorld laughs like that.

Pausing a moment to tug the door closed, Nuriko slipped his hands into the folds of his robes and started off down the walkway.  The wood was glossy and smooth beneath his bare feet, having been polished to an unnatural shine over the years by any number of servants and workmen.  As he walked, toes pressing against the cool, soft wood, he couldn't help but glance at the night sky, flecked with the salt of stars and gleaming with moonlight.

It was on a moonless night, he said.

Gods.  I can't imagine what it must've been like for him…for Tasuki.

How can he not remember?  How can he not know that…that it was Chichiri?

As his gliding steps drew him closer to the flash of fiery hair, the rising bray of laughter, he couldn't help but wonder:  What if he doesn't –want- to remember?

These and all other thoughts bled from his mind, however, as he stepped into the warm circle of torchlight, slid forward, and found himself face to face with Kou Shun'u, the Suzaku shichiseishi Tasuki…

…who had, quite obviously, been drinking.

"Heyyyyy, Nurikooo!" he greeted loudly, lifting a glass.  A fair quantity of amber-colored liquid sloshed out with the motion, formed a darkened splotch on the younger seishi's pant leg.  "How's it goin'?  Great fuckin' night, huh?"

He winced as Tasuki staggered towards him, catching a flood of alcohol-scented breath full in the face, and reached out just in time to steady the younger man before he fell.  "Hi," he managed, offering a wide, only-partly-forced smile. 

A moment later, Tasuki managed to steady himself somewhat, brushing off Nuriko's supporting hands with another slosh of his drink, and soon had leaned his back against the walkway banister.  There, with his shoulder pressed to a thick beam and his feet planted firmly on the ground, he seemed steadier, so Nuriko relaxed. 

"So," Tasuki slurred, "whatcha doin' out here, huh?  Wh'rntcha…asleep er somethin'?"

Nuriko gave a toothy smile.  "Eheh…ano…why don't we go inside, ne, Tasuki-chan?"

This isn't good. I've never seen him this drunk before…and, that's saying a lot.

Apparently, Tasuki was just slipping into the Extremely Agreeable and Easygoing phase of drunkenness, because he simply nodded and started to stumble towards the door of his chambers.  Nuriko followed, keeping both arms outstretched just case, but Tasuki made it into the room without losing his balance, and so all was well.

Once inside, the younger man made his determined drunken way to the bed, which had seemingly been made into a bar of sorts—the sheets and pillows were lying in a rolled up pile on the floor, and the mattress now held a variety of glasses and bottles, some dribbling their contents slowly into the fabric, others full and apparently unopened.  Tasuki, upon reaching it, flopped down onto the bed, making the bottles leap into the air and crash into each other; some cracked, sending floods of alcohol soaking into the mattress. 

The fiery-haired seishi took it all in stride, collapsing into some very frightening giggles at the sight. 

"Fuckin' look at it!" he crowed.  "Fuckin' mattress gettin' trashed…look at it, N'riko!  Mattress gettin' fuckin' trashed on my fuckin' sake…"  He laughed again, hands pressed to his mouth as if to muffle the sound.

Nuriko raised an eyebrow.  "Ahhhh, Tasuki…"

..and, suddenly, something changed.

He'd been moving slowly towards his drunken companion, prepared to smack him into the wall, if necessary, to stop the giggles, but they stopped on their own…and, what replaced them made him skid to a halt, shocked and afraid—all he could do was stand there, feeling cold and helpless, with arms hanging limply at his sides.

"T…Tasuki?"

The seventeen-year-old had been lounging sloppily on the bed, laughing so hard that tears were trickling from his eyes…but, now, he was sitting there with slumped shoulders and hands pressed to his face, shaking slightly beneath the weight of sudden, merciless tears. 

I don't understand.

I…I don't understand.

Not knowing quite what else to do, Nuriko slid forwards, lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the alcohol-soaked mattress, and touched the younger man lightly on the shoulder.  "Tasuki?" he repeated, careful to keep his voice soft and soothing.  "Tasuki, daijobu?"

Tasuki mumbled something, but through his hands and his tears, it was impossible to understand.

"Tasuki.  Tasuki, take the hands away from your face, ne?  So, I can hear you?"  Carefully, Nuriko brought his hands to those slightly-larger fingers, peeled them away from the tear-stained face…and found the younger man with his eyes squeezed tightly closed, features contorted in geniune anguish.

What the hell brought this on??

"It isn't fuckin' fair," Tasuki whispered, and Nuriko was more than a little startled when the fingers in his own suddenly tightened their grip.

His eyes were wide; it seemed like he was having trouble drawing in a full breath.  "What…what do you mean, it isn't fair?  What isn't fair?"

Tasuki's eyes slid open.  "Life," he choked.  "Life isn't fuckin' fair.  I know what he told you, N'riko."  A long pause; Tasuki drew in a shaky breath, let it out in a sob.  "I fuckin' know."

~*~

AN: More to come.  Alas, I have a ten-page paper due tomorrow, and thus I'll have to leave off here…but, until then, let me know what you think.  ^^;;