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Chapter XXII:  Nuriko and Hotohori.

"Funny how your feet, in dreams, never touch the earth."

             --Heart, "These Dreams"

---

He came awake groggily, vaguely aware that something had woken him up--alarm clock?  Somehow, he managed to drag his arm out from the warmth of the covers, slam his hand down on the bedside table.  Of course, he had to slam it down a few times before he actually hit the alarm clock, but eventually, his palm connected with that lovely big snooze button, and that was that.  Already fading back into dreams, the eighteen-year-old lay back, snuggled the blankets to his chin, and closed his eyes.

And, sat bolt upright as the loud, braying sound that had woken him up was repeated.  "Whaathe?" he managed, staring at the alarm clock like it'd grown two heads.  Or, well, one head.  And, then, slowly, reality bled into his mind, and recognition followed soon afterwards.  Yawning widely, Hotohori reached to the wall, grabbed the phone from the hook, and held the receiver to his ear.

"Hello, Seishuku residence," he managed.

There was silence on the other end for a long moment, then:  "Did I wake you?"

He frowned.  His mind was still a little foggy, but that sounded like...  "Nuriko?  Iya, I was just resting my eyes for a few mi--  Are you all right?  You sound strange."

There was another long pause before Nuriko spoke again.  "Something's...happened.  I didn't know who else to call."

"Happened?  What happened?  Is Miaka all right?  I can be over there in ten min--"

"Iie, iie.  It's nothing life-threatening.  It's just...ne, could you come over, anyway?  If you're not...busy with anything?"

Hotohori frowned.  "Hai, of course.  Is Miaka still there with you?"

Nuriko's voice sounded strangled all of a sudden.  "H...hai.  Demo, I need to talk to you alone, ne, Hotohori?  Could we drive somewhere, maybe?"

"All right," he agreed slowly.  "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Arrigato.  Don't ring the bell, ne?  I'll look for the car.  And...don't tell Tamahome." 

Then, with nothing more than the slight click of the phone disconnecting, Nuriko was gone. 

Hotohori sat there for a long moment, the blankets in tangles around his legs, and stared at the phone still cradled in his hand. 

Something was very wrong, here, and even if it wasn't life-threatening, it was something BIG, of that he was quite sure.  And, if Nuriko's words were any indication, it had something to do with Miaka. 

Sighing softly at the recent melodrama that had been infecting every aspect of his life, Hotohori slid out from beneath the covers, planted his bare feet on the floor, and stood up.  After returning the cordless phone to its place on the wall, he padded his way over to the window, then tucked a finger into the circle at the bottom of the shade and gave it a short tug.  Sunlight flooded into the room, blinding him for a few seconds, but the light was warm and welcome on his face.  He closed his eyes.

As he stood there, bathed in the fading gold of the afternoon and trying to puzzle out the strange conversation, the door squeaked open, made way for a quiet footfall.  Hotohori glanced over his shoulder, saw a bleary-eyed Tamahome standing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Who was that?" the younger man managed, yawning widely.  "Miaka?"

He smiled slightly.  "Iie," he said.  "Just a wrong number.  But, that reminds me, I promised I'd bring Miaka's bookbag to her--she left it at school.  Will you be all right while I'm gone?"

Tamahome nodded.  "Yeah, I'll be fine.  I'll watch some TV or something."

The dulled pain still lingered in the younger man's eyes, still flavored every word with an uncontrollable sorrow--should he really be leaving Tamahome alone, now, with the anguish of his family's death still so near and so fresh?  Should he really be abandoning him like this?  Demo...

He sighed.  Demo, Nuriko needed him.  Ah, to be pulled in two directions...

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. 

Tamahome smiled a bit weakly, spoke for the first times out of the depths of weariness.  "Take your time," he murmured.  "I'm not going anywhere."

---

The BMW had scarcely come to a full stop when, so abruptly that it startled him, the front door of the house swung open, and a familiar figure stepped out.  The afternoon was just starting to fade, the sunlight growing faint and pale, while the air, still ripe with the scent of spring, was beginning to cool into evening.  As such, he couldn't help but notice that Nuriko--clad only in a satiny grey button-up, blue jeans, and faded Keds--shivered rather violently as he started down the front steps.  He was moving very slowly, very gingerly, one arm wrapped around his chest as if to hold it in place, while the other clung to the narrow metal of the banister.  Each step sent a flicker of pain jolting over those pale, clenched features.

He didn't give himself time to think.  He slammed the gearshift into park, shoved open the door, and scurried around the car and onto the sidewalk.  A few seconds later, he was at his friend's side, a careful arm slipped around Nuriko's shoulder's, supporting him.  The smaller man glanced up at him briefly in surprise, but said nothing of the action--and, Hotohori was struck by the strange blankness to his eyes, the numbed void that seemed to linger in those pools of violet, deadening any and all emotion.  

What's happened to you, Nuriko?

Instead of voicing his questions, however, he helped the smaller man into the car, tucked the seatbelt into place over the slim waist, then closed the door.  A moment later, he was back in the driver's seat, foot on the gas, and they were inching away from the curb.  It was only then that he dared speak.

His hands rested lightly at ten and two on the steering wheel; his eyes bored into the road with a single-minded kind of intensity.  "Does Miaka...know that you're gone?"

Nuriko was silent for so long that he almost asked again--but, then, the eighteen-year-old sighed, let his head droop against his chest.  "Iie.  She doesn't know."  There was a slight pause--Nuriko's breath seemed to suddenly grow ragged.  "Demo...Hotohori..." 

He brought the car to a slow halt at the side of the road, slipped it into park with trembling fingers.  Nuriko was...  He twisted in his seat, found the smaller man with a hand pressed against his face and tears streaming over his cheeks; his voice was choked and small.  "G...Gomen ne for making you come the whole way out here," he said, very softly, his words barely distinguishable among the tears.  "I...I just didn't know...who else to..."  A tiny sob sprang from his throat, small and anguished--followed almost immediately by a sharp intake a breath, a flinch of pain.

"Nuriko..."  Hotohori stretched forward, drew the hands away from tear-stained cheeks and folded the fingers gently into his own.  "Nuriko.  Please.  Tell me what happened."

The violet eyes snapped shut, squeezed out a slender stream of tears.  "M...Miaka...kissed me," he managed.  "She said...she said that...that she loved me."

For a long moment, it was as if he couldn't breathe.  His eyes were wide and stunned, his fingers tensed to the point of growing numb.  Miaka...Miaka had said...??  "But, that doesn't make sense," he whispered.  "What about Tamahome?"

His mouth clicked shut, then, and he winced inwardly.  That doesn't make sense??  Are you -trying- to hurt him??

But, Nuriko only nodded, drew in a shuddering breath and pressed the other hand to his head.  "I know," he murmured.  "It doesn't make sense.  I just...I don't understand.  Is this..."  His voice broke.  "Is this some twisted kind of joke?"

The anguish in that voice...

Heart suddenly constricting, the younger man undid the clasp of his seatbelt, slid over a bit, and slipped his arm carefully behind the thin, heaving shoulders.  "Nuriko," he said, speaking as softly and soothingly as he could manage, "I'm sure it's not a joke.  Miaka...wouldn't do that to you.  To anyone."  The smaller man shuddered against him, then...and it was strange, but he could feel the rising and falling of Nuriko's breathing, realized after a moment that he was instinctively slowing his own breathing into the same rhythm.  And, odd as it was, it felt...nice.  A warm, living body, pressing against his own--and, the joining of their breaths, the strange, inimitable feeling of unity that it brought him to be existing in perfect rhythm with another person.  It was...  Hai.  It was nice. 

And, yet--his jaw clenched--Nuriko was in pain, a brutal mixture of physical and emotional agony, and he owed it to him to be strong; to be sturdy and firm and confident, even when unsure.  Almost unconsciously, he tightened his grip on the slender shoulders, let the silken violet head rest against his shoulder.  The smaller man sank into his embrace almost weakly, clung to his sleeve and cried softly for a few moments.  Hotohori said nothing as Nuriko wept, only held him and smoothed at his hair and waited...and, after a few minutes, Nuriko calmed down.  He drew in a few shuddering breaths, lay against the younger man as if he couldn't find the energy to sit up.  And, considering the pain his injuries must be causing him, that was entirely possible.

"I'm...sorry," he whispered after a moment.  "I didn't mean to cry.  It's just...this isn't how things are supposed to happen."  His voice was very low, still thick with the tears.  "She's not...supposed to love me."  And, then, so low that Hotohori could barely hear it:  "No one is."

He felt something like a chill streak through him, felt the breath seep out of him like air from a torn balloon.  It was a long time before he could speak.  "Wha...what do you mean?" he managed at last.  The words felt dry on his tongue.  "What do you mean...no one is?"

Nuriko didn't answer for a long moment, head pillowed in the hollow of his shoulder, arms wrapped weakly around the broader waist.  When he spoke, his voice was soft and slightly-muffled, so low in pitch that it was difficult to remember the grinning, winking, feminine Nuriko he'd come to feel so protective towards over the past few months.  "I can't really explain it," he murmured.  "It's a feeling.  I'm not...supposed to be loved--not like this.  It's...wrong, somehow.  And..."  A hint of anguish slipped into his words, drew them into a slightly-higher tone.  "And, Tamahome.  First his family, now Miaka...  I can't do this to him.  And, I just...I can't understand why Miaka would do something like this...when she loves him so much."  His voice went suddenly small.  "It's not fair."

A shadow crossed Hotohori's face.  "Love rarely is."

They sat like that for a few moments in a comfortable silence, Nuriko's cheek pressed tightly to the warmth of the younger man's chest, Hotohori's arms surrounding the smaller boy in a protective embrace.  Despite the growing lateness of the afternoon, the sunlight still flickered in through the glass of windshield, bathed them in a soft, drowsy warmth.  Hotohori felt himself growing sleepy, knew that if he didn't say something soon, he would fall asleep like this...and, while he was quite sure that would be pleasant, somehow, it didn't seem like a good idea.

"Nuriko?" he said softly.

The body in his arms stirred--the gentle breathing quickened a bit in answer.  "Hm?"

Just...say it.

"Do you love her?"

Pause.  "Hai."

"Do you think...she loves you?"

"She...she said she did."

"Why do you suppose she would say something like that unless she meant it?"

"I...I don't know."

"Nuriko."

"Hm?"

Hotohori smiled, lifted his arms from their sheltering circle and drew the violet-haired boy out of the embrace.  "I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave Lovers of Overeaters Anonymous."

A flicker of a smile touched the thin lips, brought a twinge of life into the blankness of the eyes.  They were a rosy-violet, Hotohori noticed rather suddenly.  Deep purple, flecked with alternating shades of pink and brown, bordered by thick, dark lashes--eyes like he'd never seen before.  And, although the pain still lingered in them, a shadow over the strange beauty of the colours, there was something else there, now--something new.  Something like strength.  Resolve.  Gratitude?

"Do you love her?" Nuriko whispered.  His eyes were wide, boring into the amber depths of his own with startling intensity. 

His lips formed around the word yes without thought, but something in his mind skidded to an abrupt halt, broke off the word before it was said.  Did he?  Did he still love her?  A flood of memory washed over him, flavored his voice with something soft and bittersweet.

"I have for as long as I can remember," he murmured.  His eyes took on the glaze of remembrance, staring at the windshield but actually seeing into the past, into a time so far away that it felt as if it'd happened to a different person.  "I always...dreamed of finding someone to love me, even when I was just a child.   I could never...see her face in my dreams, but when I met Miaka...I knew it had to be her.  There was just something about her--that innocence, that childish belief in everyone.  I knew it had to be her."  His lips bent into a small smile.  "The dreams stopped after that--after I met her, you, all our friends.  They never came back."  Suddenly seeming to remember himself, Hotohori blinked, turned his eyes back to Nuriko and offered a weak smile.  "Gomen.  I suppose that doesn't really answer your question."

"Iie...it does."

And, suddenly, Nuriko was in his arms again, hugging him tightly, head nestled beneath his chin.  "Maybe it wasn't Miaka that you dreamed about," he murmured after a moment.  "Maybe it was...maybe it was the idea of her.  Ne?  You just...wanted to be loved."

And, I was...wasn't I?

Something like peace descended on him, chipped away at the pain that had encased his heart for so long.  "What are you going to do about Miaka, Nuriko?"

"I...I don't know."  His grip tightened, just slightly.  "I don't want to hurt Tamahome."

Hotohori was silent for a moment.  "If Miaka doesn't love him anymore," he said at last, "then, it's only a matter of time before he finds out anyway, isn't it?  And, if she loves you...and, you love her..."  His voice hardened.  "What right do you have to dismiss that love?  Did Tamahome dismiss that love when he realized that I was in love with her?  Would it be right to dismiss it just because another shared in it?  Think about it, Nuriko.  Think about what you want.  And, then, go in there and be with the person you love.  When something like that is in your reach, you don't push it away, not unless you're a fool.  When...when you realize that you love someone..."  He trailed off, something like illumination flickering in his eyes.  "When you realize that you love someone, you don't let anything stand between you.  Not even..."  The word trickled from his lips.  "...death."

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