The Last Wish - Chapter 14
~*~*~*~
He was still shaking as he pulled open the door, slid into the leathery seat and tugged the door closed behind him.
//He @#$(@#$(*& thought you and Nuriko had some kinda love affair or something...\\
Nuriko slumped forward in the seat, collapsed onto the steering wheel and tried to force back the tears. How had this happened? He'd never been supposed to love Miaka, not like THIS...and, yet now, every moment he was with her, every instant he heard her voice or touched her hand or so much as caught a whiff of her hair...
"I love her," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, holding in the tears. Some leaked out, trickled weakly over his cheeks. "Damn it, how did this happen..."
Warm, strong hands touched his shoulders, and he jumped, sprang up from the steering wheel with wide, shocked eyes. "H-Hotohori," he managed, brushing quickly at the tears. "W-What're you..."
Hotohori gazed down at him with soft, compassionate amber eyes, walked around to the passenger's side and tugged open the door. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
Nuriko shook his head, wiped again at his eyes. "No, go ahead..."
"Thank you." The eighteen-year-old slid into the passenger's seat with typical grace, tugged the door closed and folded his hands in his lap.
Nuriko drew in a deep breath, shoved the grief and the sorrow into the deepest parts of his heart. To be felt later...
"No," Hotohori said quietly.
The violet-haired boy blinked, glanced at the younger man with a slight frown twisting his lips. "No?" he echoed. His voice was still a bit husky, his eyes still puffy and reddened from the tears. Still hoping vainly that perhaps Hotohori would fail to notice that he'd been crying, Nuriko cleared his throat, wiped again at his eyes...and froze, shocked, as the younger man reached out, latched onto his hand and held it in place.
He shook his head, uncomprehending, but didn't pull away. "H-Hotohori..."
Amber eyes stared into him, bored into the very deepest parts of his heart, his mind--his soul. He wanted so badly to look away, to keep himself from being explored like this...but, he was frozen; trapped in a moment of conflict and contrasting needs.
Need to hide...need to be found...
"Don't do this," Hotohori insisted. His fingers were large and warm, easily enwrapping Nuriko's smaller, slimmer hand, his skin just as smooth and silken as it had been in his dreams. "Don't hide this away like I've seen you hide everything else away. Don't push this away, Nuriko."
The answer came to his lips automatically; a survivor's instinct. "Push what away?"
Hotohori released his hand, sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. A slight wind whispered through the trees that surrounded them, rustled leaves even as it lifted the silken strands of chestnut from those broad, muscular shoulders, sent the hairs tickling over the eighteen-year-old's cheek. Despite his newfound feelings for Miaka, Nuriko's first wild, dreamlike instinct was to reach out, sweep the hair back to where it belonged...but, he didn't. Instead, he sat there, leaned his head back against the cool leather of the seat, and stared up at the leafy canopy above. The sunlight trickled in through the breaks, swept a golden wash of warmth and light over the convertible and its two inhabitants, but even that beauty seemed pale on such a dark, sorrowful day.
It was a few moments before either spoke.
"I'm sorry," Nuriko said at last. His eyes were closed, his words barely a whisper; barely louder than the oceanlike rhythm of the leaves, rustling in the wind. "I...I know you're just trying to help. But..." No. He could feel the tears coming again, trickling their way up through the breaks in his heart. The sobs lay heavily in the back of his throat, begging for escape; begging to be heard...
But...but, to cry, here, in front of Hotohori--to let him see the weakness, the lack of control...the pain. How could he do that? How could he let himself show such a thing to anyone, let alone the one person he'd spent so much of his life adoring?
Something changed even before his thoughts had the chance to complete themselves. His eyes snapped open; the breath surged into his lungs. What...what...
"It's all right," Hotohori murmured. He'd slid over in the seat, now sat just beside the smaller man, one strong arm wrapped gently around slim, violet-streaked shoulders. After only an instant's pause, Hotohori moved closer, pulled Nuriko to his side; pulled him so close that the violet-haired boy could feel the warmth of breath against his cheek, the strength of muscled arms surrounding him.
The tears clawed at him again, begged for attention...and, this time, he knew that he was going to give in.
No one had held him like this since he was a child, long before Kourin's death, long before Miaka; long before even Hotohori had entered his life. He remembered waking from horrible nightmares of death and blood and cold, and having his father rush to his side, hold him like this until he fell asleep...until the tears dried from his cheeks, and he could pass into dreams unafraid. He'd always felt so safe there, sheltered in the strength of his father's arms; protected from the world and all its pain. It had seemed like...like maybe, somehow, everything WOULD be all right; like maybe he didn't have to hold everything on his own shoulders...like maybe there was someone else there along with him, looking out for him; making sure he would be all right.
"Go on," Hotohori whispered. His breath was warm and sweet against Nuriko's cheek, his presence a great golden light against the darkness. "It's all right."
He hesitated for one long, drawn out moment...and, then, Nuriko turned, collapsed against Hotohori's chest, and began to cry. The tears swept down his cheeks in streams of anguish and grief and release, staining the younger man's dress shirt a dark, tearful grey, shaking the strong, muscled arms that held him. He didn't know how long he lay there, crying into Hotohori's chest, feeling the protective arms around him...but, eventually, the tears began to subside, the sobs began to slow, and gradually, the grief began to lift from his heart. It didn't leave, but then, he hadn't expected it to, and nor would he expect it to for a very, very long time. But for now, with the strong arms around him and the tears still staining his cheeks, the grief had sunk to the lowest areas of his consciousness, beaten and fragmented. It would bide its time, he knew, waiting and recovering, gaining strength...and, then, the next time he showed the slightest bit of weakness or break in defenses, the grief would return, shuddering through his small frame with the wrath of sorrow and anguish on its side. But for now, at least, it had gone.
Breathing softly, Nuriko lay still and quiet in Hotohori's arms, listened to the comforting thud of the younger man's heartbeat in his ears. Despite the fact that the tears had passed, Hotohori didn't lift his arms, and neither did he open his mouth, try to ask about just what was causing such grief. Instead, he merely sat there, strong and solid and real, and let the older boy be held.
Time stretched.
At last, Nuriko lifted his head, brushed the streaks of tear-stained violet from his face, and sank back into his own seat. A rush of cool air swept immediately over his flesh, cooled the tears on his cheeks; sent a wash of lightly-fragranced air surging into his lungs, cleansing the sorrow even more fully from within him.
Hotohori gave the older boy a few moments to collect himself, then straightened in his seat, cleared his throat lightly. "Would you like me to drive?"
Nuriko glanced at him in surprise, raised an eyebrow. "What about your car?"
The younger man flushed, offered a sheepish smile. "I'll most likely regret it," he began hesitantly, "but, I let Tamahome drive Miaka home in it."
Nuriko's eyes widened. "H-Honto? Naaa, Hotohori, I didn't know you trusted him that much. And--" A slight grin tugged at his lips. "--Tasuki, too..."
Hotohori blanched. "Tasuki. I-I hadn't thought of that..."
Nuriko grinned, some of the old sunshine washing over his features. "Daijobu, daijobu." He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a handful of keys, and deftly inserted the correct one into the ignition. He turned, winked. "Buckle up, ne, Hotohori?"
Blinking at the sudden change, Hotohori nonetheless managed to sputter out a short, "H-Hai," then took the seatbelt between his fingers, tugged it down over his chest and waist, and fastened it.
Nuriko grinned, fastened his own seatbelt, and started the convertible. A moment later, it was soaring down the road at just above the speed limit, sweeping violet and chestnut hair back into the wind until it swirled into each other; joined. Nuriko smiled, shifted into fourth, and sent them rocketing forward over an ocean of smooth, rolling pavement.
~*~*~*~
Tasuki wasn't stupid. Something was going on, and even though he didn't think it had anything to do with Nuriko and Miaka actually HAVING some sort of love affair, he was beginning to think that maybe it at least had something to do with someone THINKING they were. The flame-haired high schooler leaned forward in his seat, glanced again at the other two occupants of the car with dark, narrowed eyes. Tamahome was sitting a bit rigidly in the driver's seat, steering with one white-knuckled hand while the other rested limply in his lap. Miaka, meanwhile, sat as far away from her teal-haired boyfriend as possible, leaning her forehead against the window and staring out at the passing scenery.
Tasuki frowned, leaned back and pressed his shoulder blades to the seat. All right, so something was wrong. And, it must have something to do with Nuriko, or why else would he have left so suddenly? The frown deepened. But, how did Hotohori fit into all this? He'd run after Nuriko almost immediately, and he'd looked like he understood, somehow, what was going on, even though no one had said anything at all about just what that was. Was there some big secret they were all hiding from him?
The seventeen-year-old scratched his head, folded thin arms over his chest. "Ne, Tama," he began, careful not to let too much confusion seep into his voice. "Do ya think...do ya think that Nuriko an' Hotohori--"
He stopped, frowning, as the sound of honking echoed from behind them, loud and grating against the already tense atmosphere. Neither Miaka nor Tamahome moved as the sound continued, however, and so after a moment, Tasuki reached forward, tapped the boy on the shoulder and frowned.
"They prob'ley want you to @($*& go faster," he offered, raising a knowing eyebrow.
Tamahome shrugged slightly. "I'm in the slow lane. They could always--"
The car behind them honked again, cutting through the words, but then there was a flash of yellow, a blurred but familiar shape beside them. Miaka suddenly sat up very straight in her seat, grabbed for the handle and rolled down her window.
"Nuriko! Hotohori!"
"Speak o' the devils," Tasuki muttered.
Nuriko glanced away from the road for a second, grinned and waved a hand. "Hey, Miaka!" he greeted. The light was back in his eyes, the laughing beauty back to his features. Miaka smiled.
"Tamahome," Hotohori called, turned slightly in his seat to face the other car, "pull over! I want my car back!"
Slowly, an evil, devilish smile worked its way onto Tamahome's lips. "You want your car back," he echoed slowly.
"Hai! Pull over!"
The smile widened. "You first!"
Hotohori glanced at Nuriko, but the violet-haired boy shook his head, stepped a bit more firmly on the gas and sent the yellow convertible a few inches ahead of the navy blue BMW. "After you, Tama-chan!"
Tamahome grinned. "Miaka's house!" he shouted. "Side roads only."
Nuriko matched the grin, rested his hand on the gearshift, and nodded. "You're on."
After only an instant of gazing across the distance between the two cars, sizing each other up, both drivers stamped on the gas, and the two cars surged forward. Nuriko hung back for a short while, letting Tamahome gain almost a car-length of distance on him...and then, just as the younger boy seemed about to shift into the fast lane in front of him, Nuriko stepped hard on the gas, brought the convertible up past the BMW with a surprising burst of speed. As such, he reached the exit first, slowed to a respectable speed, and easily made it around the curved off-ramp before coming to a halt at the edge of Semple street. Tamahome followed a moment later, but by the time he'd reached Semple, Nuriko had already pulled off and was rocketing through traffic, heading for one of the many side roads that would lead to Miaka's family's home.
Tasuki let out a cackle from the backseat, secretly glad that all the ill feelings had seemingly been forgotten in yet another of Nuriko's and Tamahome's races. "Whatcha gonna do now, Tama?" he called, grinning widely and leaning forward to get a glimpse of the boy's expression. "Let the okama beatcha? Hehehe!"
In response, Tamahome switched his turn signal from right to left, sized up the traffic heading towards him, and then sped out onto the road, driving in the opposite direction as Nuriko and Hotohori seemed to be going. "He trying to trick me," Tamahome said after a moment, grinning tightly as he turned a curve onto a bumpy side road. "This way's faster, and he knows it. He was trying to make me follow him, but then he was gonna turn around and head back this way." The grin widened. "But, it's not gonna work."
Miaka giggled. "Actually, Tamahome..." She pointed, but Tamahome had already seen it.
"Aaagh, damn it, not again!"
Tasuki leaned forward again, stared at the yellow convertible far in front of them with widened eyes. "How'd he do that?" he squeaked.
Tamahome let out a low growl. "While I was at the stop sign, he turned down a side road--"
"And, then cut up in front of you and came out up there," Tasuki finished. "Hehehehe, I never woulda thought it, but he's @#*$(& good at this!"
Tamahome growled again.
---
By the time they pulled in Miaka's driveway, far ahead of Tamahome and the BMW, Hotohori was staring at him in shock, something like admiration shining in his eyes. "Sugoi," the younger man murmured, astonishment clear in his tone. "I never knew you could drive like that."
Nuriko smiled slightly, but his voice was almost solemn. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Hotohori."
The younger man turned, stared at Nuriko as if seeing him for the first time. "You hide it all very well," he said quietly. "You're always smiling, always laughing...I never knew until today."
"Knew what?"
Hotohori smiled slightly, faced front and closed his eyes. "That we were the same."
---
~*~*~*~
He was still shaking as he pulled open the door, slid into the leathery seat and tugged the door closed behind him.
//He @#$(@#$(*& thought you and Nuriko had some kinda love affair or something...\\
Nuriko slumped forward in the seat, collapsed onto the steering wheel and tried to force back the tears. How had this happened? He'd never been supposed to love Miaka, not like THIS...and, yet now, every moment he was with her, every instant he heard her voice or touched her hand or so much as caught a whiff of her hair...
"I love her," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, holding in the tears. Some leaked out, trickled weakly over his cheeks. "Damn it, how did this happen..."
Warm, strong hands touched his shoulders, and he jumped, sprang up from the steering wheel with wide, shocked eyes. "H-Hotohori," he managed, brushing quickly at the tears. "W-What're you..."
Hotohori gazed down at him with soft, compassionate amber eyes, walked around to the passenger's side and tugged open the door. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
Nuriko shook his head, wiped again at his eyes. "No, go ahead..."
"Thank you." The eighteen-year-old slid into the passenger's seat with typical grace, tugged the door closed and folded his hands in his lap.
Nuriko drew in a deep breath, shoved the grief and the sorrow into the deepest parts of his heart. To be felt later...
"No," Hotohori said quietly.
The violet-haired boy blinked, glanced at the younger man with a slight frown twisting his lips. "No?" he echoed. His voice was still a bit husky, his eyes still puffy and reddened from the tears. Still hoping vainly that perhaps Hotohori would fail to notice that he'd been crying, Nuriko cleared his throat, wiped again at his eyes...and froze, shocked, as the younger man reached out, latched onto his hand and held it in place.
He shook his head, uncomprehending, but didn't pull away. "H-Hotohori..."
Amber eyes stared into him, bored into the very deepest parts of his heart, his mind--his soul. He wanted so badly to look away, to keep himself from being explored like this...but, he was frozen; trapped in a moment of conflict and contrasting needs.
Need to hide...need to be found...
"Don't do this," Hotohori insisted. His fingers were large and warm, easily enwrapping Nuriko's smaller, slimmer hand, his skin just as smooth and silken as it had been in his dreams. "Don't hide this away like I've seen you hide everything else away. Don't push this away, Nuriko."
The answer came to his lips automatically; a survivor's instinct. "Push what away?"
Hotohori released his hand, sat back in the seat and closed his eyes. A slight wind whispered through the trees that surrounded them, rustled leaves even as it lifted the silken strands of chestnut from those broad, muscular shoulders, sent the hairs tickling over the eighteen-year-old's cheek. Despite his newfound feelings for Miaka, Nuriko's first wild, dreamlike instinct was to reach out, sweep the hair back to where it belonged...but, he didn't. Instead, he sat there, leaned his head back against the cool leather of the seat, and stared up at the leafy canopy above. The sunlight trickled in through the breaks, swept a golden wash of warmth and light over the convertible and its two inhabitants, but even that beauty seemed pale on such a dark, sorrowful day.
It was a few moments before either spoke.
"I'm sorry," Nuriko said at last. His eyes were closed, his words barely a whisper; barely louder than the oceanlike rhythm of the leaves, rustling in the wind. "I...I know you're just trying to help. But..." No. He could feel the tears coming again, trickling their way up through the breaks in his heart. The sobs lay heavily in the back of his throat, begging for escape; begging to be heard...
But...but, to cry, here, in front of Hotohori--to let him see the weakness, the lack of control...the pain. How could he do that? How could he let himself show such a thing to anyone, let alone the one person he'd spent so much of his life adoring?
Something changed even before his thoughts had the chance to complete themselves. His eyes snapped open; the breath surged into his lungs. What...what...
"It's all right," Hotohori murmured. He'd slid over in the seat, now sat just beside the smaller man, one strong arm wrapped gently around slim, violet-streaked shoulders. After only an instant's pause, Hotohori moved closer, pulled Nuriko to his side; pulled him so close that the violet-haired boy could feel the warmth of breath against his cheek, the strength of muscled arms surrounding him.
The tears clawed at him again, begged for attention...and, this time, he knew that he was going to give in.
No one had held him like this since he was a child, long before Kourin's death, long before Miaka; long before even Hotohori had entered his life. He remembered waking from horrible nightmares of death and blood and cold, and having his father rush to his side, hold him like this until he fell asleep...until the tears dried from his cheeks, and he could pass into dreams unafraid. He'd always felt so safe there, sheltered in the strength of his father's arms; protected from the world and all its pain. It had seemed like...like maybe, somehow, everything WOULD be all right; like maybe he didn't have to hold everything on his own shoulders...like maybe there was someone else there along with him, looking out for him; making sure he would be all right.
"Go on," Hotohori whispered. His breath was warm and sweet against Nuriko's cheek, his presence a great golden light against the darkness. "It's all right."
He hesitated for one long, drawn out moment...and, then, Nuriko turned, collapsed against Hotohori's chest, and began to cry. The tears swept down his cheeks in streams of anguish and grief and release, staining the younger man's dress shirt a dark, tearful grey, shaking the strong, muscled arms that held him. He didn't know how long he lay there, crying into Hotohori's chest, feeling the protective arms around him...but, eventually, the tears began to subside, the sobs began to slow, and gradually, the grief began to lift from his heart. It didn't leave, but then, he hadn't expected it to, and nor would he expect it to for a very, very long time. But for now, with the strong arms around him and the tears still staining his cheeks, the grief had sunk to the lowest areas of his consciousness, beaten and fragmented. It would bide its time, he knew, waiting and recovering, gaining strength...and, then, the next time he showed the slightest bit of weakness or break in defenses, the grief would return, shuddering through his small frame with the wrath of sorrow and anguish on its side. But for now, at least, it had gone.
Breathing softly, Nuriko lay still and quiet in Hotohori's arms, listened to the comforting thud of the younger man's heartbeat in his ears. Despite the fact that the tears had passed, Hotohori didn't lift his arms, and neither did he open his mouth, try to ask about just what was causing such grief. Instead, he merely sat there, strong and solid and real, and let the older boy be held.
Time stretched.
At last, Nuriko lifted his head, brushed the streaks of tear-stained violet from his face, and sank back into his own seat. A rush of cool air swept immediately over his flesh, cooled the tears on his cheeks; sent a wash of lightly-fragranced air surging into his lungs, cleansing the sorrow even more fully from within him.
Hotohori gave the older boy a few moments to collect himself, then straightened in his seat, cleared his throat lightly. "Would you like me to drive?"
Nuriko glanced at him in surprise, raised an eyebrow. "What about your car?"
The younger man flushed, offered a sheepish smile. "I'll most likely regret it," he began hesitantly, "but, I let Tamahome drive Miaka home in it."
Nuriko's eyes widened. "H-Honto? Naaa, Hotohori, I didn't know you trusted him that much. And--" A slight grin tugged at his lips. "--Tasuki, too..."
Hotohori blanched. "Tasuki. I-I hadn't thought of that..."
Nuriko grinned, some of the old sunshine washing over his features. "Daijobu, daijobu." He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a handful of keys, and deftly inserted the correct one into the ignition. He turned, winked. "Buckle up, ne, Hotohori?"
Blinking at the sudden change, Hotohori nonetheless managed to sputter out a short, "H-Hai," then took the seatbelt between his fingers, tugged it down over his chest and waist, and fastened it.
Nuriko grinned, fastened his own seatbelt, and started the convertible. A moment later, it was soaring down the road at just above the speed limit, sweeping violet and chestnut hair back into the wind until it swirled into each other; joined. Nuriko smiled, shifted into fourth, and sent them rocketing forward over an ocean of smooth, rolling pavement.
~*~*~*~
Tasuki wasn't stupid. Something was going on, and even though he didn't think it had anything to do with Nuriko and Miaka actually HAVING some sort of love affair, he was beginning to think that maybe it at least had something to do with someone THINKING they were. The flame-haired high schooler leaned forward in his seat, glanced again at the other two occupants of the car with dark, narrowed eyes. Tamahome was sitting a bit rigidly in the driver's seat, steering with one white-knuckled hand while the other rested limply in his lap. Miaka, meanwhile, sat as far away from her teal-haired boyfriend as possible, leaning her forehead against the window and staring out at the passing scenery.
Tasuki frowned, leaned back and pressed his shoulder blades to the seat. All right, so something was wrong. And, it must have something to do with Nuriko, or why else would he have left so suddenly? The frown deepened. But, how did Hotohori fit into all this? He'd run after Nuriko almost immediately, and he'd looked like he understood, somehow, what was going on, even though no one had said anything at all about just what that was. Was there some big secret they were all hiding from him?
The seventeen-year-old scratched his head, folded thin arms over his chest. "Ne, Tama," he began, careful not to let too much confusion seep into his voice. "Do ya think...do ya think that Nuriko an' Hotohori--"
He stopped, frowning, as the sound of honking echoed from behind them, loud and grating against the already tense atmosphere. Neither Miaka nor Tamahome moved as the sound continued, however, and so after a moment, Tasuki reached forward, tapped the boy on the shoulder and frowned.
"They prob'ley want you to @($*& go faster," he offered, raising a knowing eyebrow.
Tamahome shrugged slightly. "I'm in the slow lane. They could always--"
The car behind them honked again, cutting through the words, but then there was a flash of yellow, a blurred but familiar shape beside them. Miaka suddenly sat up very straight in her seat, grabbed for the handle and rolled down her window.
"Nuriko! Hotohori!"
"Speak o' the devils," Tasuki muttered.
Nuriko glanced away from the road for a second, grinned and waved a hand. "Hey, Miaka!" he greeted. The light was back in his eyes, the laughing beauty back to his features. Miaka smiled.
"Tamahome," Hotohori called, turned slightly in his seat to face the other car, "pull over! I want my car back!"
Slowly, an evil, devilish smile worked its way onto Tamahome's lips. "You want your car back," he echoed slowly.
"Hai! Pull over!"
The smile widened. "You first!"
Hotohori glanced at Nuriko, but the violet-haired boy shook his head, stepped a bit more firmly on the gas and sent the yellow convertible a few inches ahead of the navy blue BMW. "After you, Tama-chan!"
Tamahome grinned. "Miaka's house!" he shouted. "Side roads only."
Nuriko matched the grin, rested his hand on the gearshift, and nodded. "You're on."
After only an instant of gazing across the distance between the two cars, sizing each other up, both drivers stamped on the gas, and the two cars surged forward. Nuriko hung back for a short while, letting Tamahome gain almost a car-length of distance on him...and then, just as the younger boy seemed about to shift into the fast lane in front of him, Nuriko stepped hard on the gas, brought the convertible up past the BMW with a surprising burst of speed. As such, he reached the exit first, slowed to a respectable speed, and easily made it around the curved off-ramp before coming to a halt at the edge of Semple street. Tamahome followed a moment later, but by the time he'd reached Semple, Nuriko had already pulled off and was rocketing through traffic, heading for one of the many side roads that would lead to Miaka's family's home.
Tasuki let out a cackle from the backseat, secretly glad that all the ill feelings had seemingly been forgotten in yet another of Nuriko's and Tamahome's races. "Whatcha gonna do now, Tama?" he called, grinning widely and leaning forward to get a glimpse of the boy's expression. "Let the okama beatcha? Hehehe!"
In response, Tamahome switched his turn signal from right to left, sized up the traffic heading towards him, and then sped out onto the road, driving in the opposite direction as Nuriko and Hotohori seemed to be going. "He trying to trick me," Tamahome said after a moment, grinning tightly as he turned a curve onto a bumpy side road. "This way's faster, and he knows it. He was trying to make me follow him, but then he was gonna turn around and head back this way." The grin widened. "But, it's not gonna work."
Miaka giggled. "Actually, Tamahome..." She pointed, but Tamahome had already seen it.
"Aaagh, damn it, not again!"
Tasuki leaned forward again, stared at the yellow convertible far in front of them with widened eyes. "How'd he do that?" he squeaked.
Tamahome let out a low growl. "While I was at the stop sign, he turned down a side road--"
"And, then cut up in front of you and came out up there," Tasuki finished. "Hehehehe, I never woulda thought it, but he's @#*$(& good at this!"
Tamahome growled again.
---
By the time they pulled in Miaka's driveway, far ahead of Tamahome and the BMW, Hotohori was staring at him in shock, something like admiration shining in his eyes. "Sugoi," the younger man murmured, astonishment clear in his tone. "I never knew you could drive like that."
Nuriko smiled slightly, but his voice was almost solemn. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Hotohori."
The younger man turned, stared at Nuriko as if seeing him for the first time. "You hide it all very well," he said quietly. "You're always smiling, always laughing...I never knew until today."
"Knew what?"
Hotohori smiled slightly, faced front and closed his eyes. "That we were the same."
---