Why you should never kick Muraki in the balls
Chapter Five: Truth hurts
A story by Kelly
Kelly says: well, a new chapter. Whew. You know, I still have no idea how long this story will be. . .ah well.
Summary: It's a year after the Kyoto Arc and Muraki is slowly losing himself to despair. Witness the repercussions.
Pairings: Not saying
Warning: None as yet for this chapter
Review replies:
Lothlorien, Literary Eagle, sage, sadi: Any review (kind ones), no matter how short they are, gives me a warm glow. (^.^)
DK-Adeena: Ah, actually, that's the only conversation Muraki and Hisoka had in that chapter. But no worries, they WILL talk more on that little subject. . .in all KINDS of interesting situations. . . .
EmpressXu: I love it, picturing Muraki finally losing it and wanting to off himself. Unfortunately, I don't think Oriya would be too pleased about that. . .*giggle* And it's my pleasure to make you guys happy.
Eria: ah, one my favourite reviewers! Really, the sheer length of your reviews make me giggle in happiness! *giggle* See! I'm doing it again! And thank you for giving this story a try. It's funny really, coz I did the title like it is to draw people's attention. I seem to get two reactions to it; one is that they get interested, another is that people just run away in the other direction. . .interesting. . .Oh, and if you're hoping for Tsu x Soka fluff in here. . . .gomen! Heheh!
Shaynie: Ah, I am not worthy of the title sempai (or even '-sama') !!! I'm such a newbie at this comparatively and there's just so many better writers out there who can make this story as great as it's supposed to be! But don't stop calling me that. I like it. *giggle* And here, in this chapter, you'll get to see what are the effects of Hisoka's little nighttime romp. Oooh. . .romp. . . .hmm. . .
Quotable Quotes From the Questionable Sanity of Kelly
"You try getting cooped up in a drafty mansion with a zombie for company for all eternity and we'll see how lecherous you get!"
~Hakushaku-sama~
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Don't know who to trust
No surprise
Everyone feels so far away from me
Heavy thoughts sift through dust and the lies
Trying not to break
But I'm so tired of this deceit
Every time I try to make myself
Get back up on my feet
All I ever think about is this
All the tiring time between
And how trying to put my trust in you
Just takes so much out of me
~Linkin Park "From the Inside"~
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It was a case like any other.
A restless spirit, not moving on when his time came. It always tore his heart that the majority of the unquiet shades were mostly children; young souls torn abruptly from life to spin confused and wanting, lost between the worlds. He and Tsuzuki had done what was necessary. They had tracked the elusive spirit down to its favoured place when still encased in living, breathing flesh.
The playground.
The rusted swing swayed slowly back and forth. To the ordinary eye, it might have been due to a playful wind. If there had been any. To the Shinigami, it was the one they had come to find. A little boy taken from his mother's side all because he had not heeded his mother's cry to stay off the road when chasing a runaway ball.
Now little Akira haunted the playground. Unable to move forward nor back, chained to this place due to his loneliness, misery and confusion.
Hisoka had allowed Tsuzuki to do the talking and cajoling. He was better at that. Hisoka, though barely out of his teens, felt out of his depth when it came to giving comfort to a young, lonely child. He had been a young, lonely child himself. No one had come to comfort him. Could he be blamed for not knowing how to give that needed comfort himself?
Children trusted Tsuzuki. Within an hour, they had sent the little boy off to where he was destined to be and his name was duly recorded in the Castle.
The night was still young. At least, that was what Tsuzuki claimed. Why not have dinner here on Chijou and use the room Tatsumi had booked for us? It'll be such a shame to waste all of Tatsumi's effort in procuring them a room and giving them the day's expenditure now would it?
Hisoka, like any other child, gave in to those wide, brimming amethyst eyes as Tsuzuki well knew he would. Dinner was taken in a small restaurant, the kind more suited to a romancing couple than two partners who deal in death. Yet Tsuzuki insisted on that restaurant. Said that they had the best chocolate parfaits in town and Hisoka is so kind, surely he won't let Tsuzuki suffer so needlessly when heavenly parfait is within their grasp?
Hisoka fervently ignored the little looks sent their way by the other patrons. Those who appeared to be too lost gazing in their beloved eyes were just that; appearances. They could not hide their emotions and thoughts from an empath with telepathic powers. The blush that graced his cheeks were a combination between the unspoken comments that wondered on the innocence of two young, healthy, good-looking males dining together in a romantic restaurant and the way Tsuzuki ate the parfaits.
He was a (mentally and emotionally) growing boy after all.
They had done little that day besides tracking down little Akira yet Hisoka insisted that they go back to the hotel after dinner. Shielding his mind from the bombardment of prying curiosities all night long left him with a headache. Tsuzuki, dense as he was, knew when to push his partner and when to desist. He graciously agreed and little time was spent chatting as they made ready for bed.
The lights were turned off, bodies nestled comfortably underneath thin sheets on separate beds. Breathing slowed to a soft murmur in the darkness of the room, relieved only by the occasional glare from the headlights of a passing car. Hisoka must have counted a thousand sheep at least yet he still failed to fall under Morpheus's spell. Tsuzuki had no such trouble. The instant his head touched the pillow, he was out like a light.
Hisoka envied him that ability. He always found it hard to sleep in a completely darkened room. Back at his apartment, he slept with a nightlight on. The dark scares him. It brought to mind the echoes of memories best long-forgotten yet never could. Of water dripping from an unseen pipe, the endless drip drip drip which at times, convinced a twelve year old Hisoka that he was going insane. Of the distant scuttle and squeak of a rat, for which a nine year old Hisoka would dare not fall asleep lest the monstrous rat ate his toes and his eyes.
But Tsuzuki didn't know that. Not his fault exactly. Hisoka refused to tell anyone of his weakness. And that was what it was; a weakness. Scared of the dark. To him, no matter what the reason, scared of the dark is scared of the dark. And he refused to show any weakness in front of his partner. It was bad enough that Tsuzuki had to constantly look after him on missions, he was not about to let it become a 24-hour job. Let him deal with his fears by himself. If that meant that he would get only three hours of sleep on missions, then so be it.
So Hisoka stared up into a shadowy ceiling that played a mime of moving puppets and roaring monsters even as he convinced himself that that drip drip dripping is from a loose tap in the bathroom and not from a dusty cellar that haunted his dreams.
It must have been past two in the morning, Hisoka as yet wide awake, when Tsuzuki stirred in restless slumber. It was always best to let Tsuzuki sleep off his nightmares if it was just the mumbling, shifting type. But when he started whimpering, Hisoka knew better than to let his partner stay lost in conjured memories. In a move that spoke of long practice, Hisoka slid easily off his bed to cross the small distance between them. Sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, he shook Tsuzuki's shoulder and in a comforting voice, called him back from the nightmares.
The blurred amethyst irises always took a couple of minutes to sort itself from this reality and the one it left behind. He always stayed till the transition took place before going back to his own comfortless bed. But tonight, before he could do so, Tsuzuki gripped his wrist in a pleading gesture. No words were spoken but Hisoka knew what he wanted.
With a little sight, to show his feigned irritation, and a little smile, to show his sincerity, Hisoka disengaged that trembling hand and slid under the covers with him. Tsuzuki edged aside, making room for him and the two partners laid on their sides, looking into each other's obscured faces.
A still moment. A suspended minute.
Hisoka could not say exactly what happened. From staring into dark purple eyes and wondering whether he'd be able to sleep at all tonight, he found himself locked in a fervent embrace with a man he had secretly desired yet feared to touch.
It was a dream came true and a nightmare made real.
Their kisses were hesitant and unsure at first; both relatively new at this but each made it up in their enthusiasm. Wandering hands traced curved eyebrows and pale cheeks. Shy, pink lips tasted salty sweet skin and fluttering lashes. It was Tsuzuki who made the first bold move, if starting the kiss in the first place is not considered bold by itself.
The older man had started to unbutton the shirt he wore to bed, fingers fumbling yet surely exposing more and more skin. They were still enjoying the heady drug of sweet kisses, more so for Hisoka who craved a human touch so when the kiss broke off, presumably for Tsuzuki to do other, more interesting things, Hisoka delighted himself in the waiting for more pleasurable torment.
None came.
Puzzled, a little apprehensive, he opened his eyes to see Tsuzuki staring down past his chin to his opened shirt. Those eyes held shock. Fear. And disgust.
There was no need for Hisoka to see what held Tsuzuki's attention. What else is there on his exposed skin but the marks of the scarlet curse wending its way down innocent flesh? He saw it every morning, had even, at a certain point, grew used to it.
But not apparently, Tsuzuki. Supposedly you can't really blame him for the shock. After all, Hisoka made sure that nobody saw the marks, ever. He was careful to always wear collared shirts or turtlenecks. That would account for the shock then.
But not the fear.
Never that.
Nor the disgust.
Surely not that.
Hisoka had stilled like a frightened deer, unwilling to acknowledge what his eyes and mind and empathy screamed at him. That Tsuzuki could not bear the sight of him. Yet reality is harsh. Cruel.
Tsuzuki did something then that hurt him far beyond twisted wires of human hair ever did.
Tsuzuki showed his back to him. Cuddled in a ball on the far side of the bed, Tsuzuki turned away from him.
They never mentioned that night's incident since.
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The next day started as it usually did.
The sun rose.
Hisoka wished that the sun would go drown itself in an arctic pool. A migraine and a throbbing back is not a pleasant way to start one's day but apparently, today's one of those days. It could not be helped also that last night, he fell asleep slumped on the kitchen table, his lone bottle of liquor drained to the dregs.
Persistent as always, that voice which most people have, whose job is to remind you what an idiot you are, asked him plaintively what the hell he was thinking of, visiting a well-known killer cum rapist cum powerful sorcerer armed with only a 9 millimeter revolver?
"What the hell were you thinking of last night, Kurosaki-kun?"
The ire in that voice was unmistakable, as well as the unquestioned note of authority that demanded an answer.
Lifting his head from its support of interlocked hands that tried to stop his brains from oozing out of his ears, Hisoka saw that Tatsumi was planted opposite his desk, glare a notch higher than usual and a frown creasing his smooth forehead. The glasses were flashing not unlike summer lightning that strikes without warning.
"Ungh," was his reply. His mouth was as dry as cotton and his tongue wrapped in fur and wool.
The insistant shadow in front of him leaned forward and sniffed suspiciously.
"Kurosaki Hisoka, have you been drinking?" the question promised him hell should he answer 'yes' yet promised him hell as well should he try to lie.
Since his vocabulary was limited to one-word replies, necessitated by his leaking head, Hisoka said, "Yes."
A sigh, a rustle of cloth and Hisoka found himself gently guided out of his chair, out of the staffroom and into a familiar place. The infirmary.
"I'm just hung over, not sick!" Hisoka crossed his arms in irritation and tried to glower at the secretary. His glower was spoiled by the firm hand that seated him on a neatly made bed and a glass of water and two tablets of painkillers handed to him in neat succession. Knowing better than to defy Tatsumi when he was in that mood, Hisoka took the painkillers without protest. But after setting down the glass with a curt 'thank you', Tatsumi's direct question ensured that he won't be leaving anytime soon.
"What the hell were you thinking of last night?"
Hisoka scowled. "I'm just tired of coddling him, alright? It doesn't matter how many times you try to convince him that you're willing to listen. Tsuzuki is determined to wallow in his misery and I'm sick and tired of watching him act all martyred over it. I don't have the time to pamper him. I got my own problems," he ended viciously.
Unaware, in his little tirade, Hisoka had jumped to his feet, emphasizing each point with flailing hands. Realizing that Tatsumi was sitting down calmly, taking in his outburst with unflappable calm, Hisoka snapped his mouth shut and sat back down abruptly, his face flushing.
"While I am interested to know why you were so abrupt last night," was Tatsumi's controlled reply, "I was actually referring to something else. Not that I minded the little revelation you gave," he said wryly.
Hisoka's face flushed deeper and he refused to look Tatsumi in the eyes. Preferring to stare at the cracked linoleum tiling instead, he muttered, "Well?"
"I was interested to know why you felt the need to pay a solitary visit to the sensei last night."
Hisoka started, his head whipping around so fast, he nearly got whiplash. The look on Tatsumi's face was as controlled as the rest of him but blue eyes flashed with anger and annoyance that was no less furious for the fact that it was silent. He swallowed and forgo asking how Tatsumi knew.
After a strained silence that threatened to snap in their faces, Hisoka grudgingly gave his answer. "I wanted to kill the bastard, okay? I think I have the right to do that, considering how he screwed up my life. Not to mention Tsuzuki's," he added.
"With only your gun?"
"How the hell did you know that?" Hisoka asked in stunned amazement.
"I am the Secretary of this Division," Tatsumi barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "I can't help but know when one of our employees decide to visit a well-known dangerous criminal without backup nor protection." The tone was nearly inflectionless yet Hisoka winced anyway at the censure implied within.
"I wasn't thinking straight," Hisoka muttered to the floor.
"You weren't thinking at all," Tatsumi corrected him.
"Oh, so is that how it is?!" Hisoka had jumped to his feet again and was yelling now, conveniently forgetting his sore head. "When it's Tsuzuki we're all sweetness and light! Are you alright Tsuzuki? Are you okay? Would you like some cakes? When it comes to me, it's you were going against department regulations, Kurosaki! You weren't thinking, Kurosaki! You were being childish, Kurosaki! Is that it?!"
"Because you're stronger than Tsuzuki is, Hisoka-san."
The unexpected answer and the heretofore never used form of his name silenced him as effectively as cold water splashed. Mouth gaping slightly, Hisoka sank back on the bed.
"Excuse me?" he asked dumbly.
Tatsumi sighed and removed his glasses. Rubbing the bridge of his nose in a tired gesture, Tatsumi closed his eyes briefly, as though pained. His eyes were a shadowed cerulean when he next opened them, memories and remembrances darkening the light hue.
"I have been serving the Shokan for nearly as long as Tsuzuki has, Hisoka-san," Tatsumi began slowly, his glasses twirling forgotten in his hands. "I have seen him happy, sad, angry, depressed. . . .I have seen him go through partners like one goes through laundry. I know him nearly as well as anyone can, anyone he lets close. He has demons, Hisoka-san. And his demons haunt him every waking minute."
"Everyone has demons," Hisoka whispered. His own a demon in an angel's disguise.
"I am not trying to belittle your problems, Hisoka-san," Tatsumi sighed. "Nor anyone else's. We all have our own share of secrets and we deal with it as best as we can. As does Tsuzuki. But he has been drowning in his past for too long. He has been a Shinigami for too long. With every death, every case, he just sinks deeper and deeper. And he has been in despair even before death. He is weary, Hisoka-san."
A hand crossed his field of vision and gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet the man's eyes. Hisoka had braced himself for an influx of emotion when skin met skin but all he felt was a small wave of shared anguish and sorrow; even those were quickly controlled despite the fact that pain laced Tatsumi's every word.
"You, Hisoka-san, are tougher than you look," Tatsumi smiled briefly. "I daresay that your own demons have strengthened you as well. I know you're trying to cope with it as best as you can but you have to accept the fact that not everyone can be as strong as you are. Not even Tsuzuki."
Which truth was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet swallow he must. For Tatsumi was speaking the truth. He could see it in the glass-hard determination in purple eyes, determination that is so easily broken by each death they face, each lost soul crying for mercy. Tsuzuki, though not the empath, felt too much. More so than himself cursed with the ability to do just that. And the cost came at the slow unraveling at the edges as each thread that makes up Tsuzuki Asato is slowly, but surely torn away from the weave.
I didn't break him. I never did. I only helped to reveal it.
A shudder rocked his thin frame. Without further ceremony, Hisoka found himself chivvied under the warm covers of the bed, a little disoriented at Tatsumi's near inhuman efficiency.
"Stay here," Tatsumi said gently. "Rest for a while. When you feel better, feel free to join us. Otherwise, consider yourself excused for the day."
Grateful, more than a little relieved, Hisoka nodded. He couldn't face Tsuzuki. Not yet.
Not when the truth was still too new and too hurtful.
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To summon a demon of Makai, one must have the proper sacrifice. The sacrifice must appease the demon's hunger for flesh and power lest it breaks the circle in anger and devours you in the sacrifice's stead.
Keep in mind that the more powerful the sacrifice is, the more the demon is in your debt and service.
Closing the book, 'Demon Summoning For Dummies' with a snap, bright and slightly insane brown eyes danced in chortled glee. The innocuous eyes and totally forgettable face was lit up in anticipation and pleasure as he considered who would be a fitting meal for a demon.
A name crossed his twisted mind. A name mentioned in circles that if polite society ever got wind of, polite society would have a collective heart failure. These circles numbered of people who fancied themselves sorcerers, warlocks. . . .magician. Whatever that floats your boat. Those who think that they know all there is to know of magic and onmyoujitsu, claim that there is a man who seemed to live forever. Armed with the darkest magicks, this man was a living legend, held in the highest regard by those who think magicks are as easy as drawing a circle, writing a few funny words and wearing the appropriate costume, scorning the so-called 'New Age' as political diatribe.
The unremarkable man giggled. Yes, he knew the man, having stumbled upon a rite the man held one in an unmarked grove in the city park. He had barely escaped with his life, chased by a serpentine dragon.
Surely such a sacrifice would ensure that any demon he called would be bound to him forever?
Still giggling, he flipped open a phone book to the 'M' pages. Dirty yellowed finger traced the typed kanjis until he came to one name.
'Muraki Kazutaka.'
He giggled again.
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to be continued
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A/N: Ah. . . what on earth am I doing to Tsuzuki. . . .and since it's me, there's the inevitable OC introduced. No worries, he's not a central role. Review, ne? And can anyone tell me what's Muraki's mom's name is?