:: Give and Take ::
Gensomaden Saiyuki
Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.
Rating: PG
Pairings: Gojyo+Houran, Hakkai/Gojyo, briefly mentioned Gonou/Kanan
Warnings: mild shounen ai, het, angst, mild swearing
Notes: o.o; Wow. I actually managed to write a fic for Gojyo. Go me!
I actually had this started a long time ago, but only just finished it now. I wanted to do a Gojyo-centric fic ever since Mina-sensei got me into the 58 pairing (whee!) and wanted to do some form of Gojyo/Houran at some point since I saw the movie. (Then again, the 58-ness is more "blink and miss" than anything else. Darn. .;)
Eh... it's a fairly short fic, though. And yeah, even the weird 'poem' at the end is mine; it's just a chopped-up excerpt of the whole thing. It was actually put on a drawing I did a while ago, but I thought it fit pretty well with the fic. *shrug* Oh, well. Randomness.
I'm not comfortable writing this guy at all, so constructive criticism and feedback is most appreciated. ^^; Thank you.
Tendrils of smoke curled in the air, slowly curving their way upward as though they were ghosts trying to flee to the heavens. It had to be tiring, being stuck in such a worldly place when the idea of riches, life everlasting, and peace lay on the sky beyond. A somewhat self-mocking smile curved his lips; Sha Gojyo would have loved to inform anyone with such stupid ideas that they were delusional. Heaven was only a name; an idea. It was no safe haven, no comforting retreat. It was just as bad as the world, possibly more so.
He believed in heaven and hell, but Gojyo didn't fool himself into thinking either one was better than the other. The gods were supposedly magnificent beings with amazing powers -- and some of them were, he had to admit -- but they carried just as many faults as any other living being that dwelled on the earth. They had no right to criticize and determine other's fates because the faults they accused people of were the very same faults they themselves possessed.
Hypocrisy, shifting the blame on someone else... people just had so many things wrong with them, didn't they? Gojyo took another drag from his cigarette. Only two things separated a celestial from a human being, and those were immortality and power, both of which the gods seemed to have an infinite access to.
And then there were the humans who mistook themselves for gods, the ones who created a fine line between narcissist and egotist. The worst were the ones who were only both.
It wasn't something he normally dwelled on, but recent events had made him disturbingly thoughtful. While he hadn't changed in the way he would antagonize his companions, Gojyo was, in private, a lot more quiet, more brooding, more moody. If he wasn't careful, he was going to turn into Sanzo. (And wasn't that just what they needed, he thought sarcastically; two Sanzos?)
Perhaps it was just that the gaping space in his soul was something new; he had many spaces like that, but time had managed to numb them all, at least for a majority of the time. Now there was a new one, freshly torn open only days ago. Sometimes it felt like it was numbing; others it felt as though it was just being torn open all over again.
Or maybe it was simply because for the first time in his life he had shared pain, shared an understanding, and just as easily as he had found it, it had been taken away.
He had nothing against his companions in that regard; everyone had their own problems to worry about, their own painful pasts to deal with, and he not only knew that, he accepted it. After all, he'd lived knowing he was the only person who could understand his own pain his entire life. Up until this point he had been fine with it, had learned how to deal; he was moving on, inch my inch, taking each painful step forward and slowly slogging off the bitter memories.
Now, though, he had met one of his own. He had met a half-breed, a half demon, a young woman with red hair and eyes; red as roses, as wine, as the sunset... as blood. They had communicated and she had understood.
And in one brave but reckless sacrifice, she had ripped away that comfort. Surely it wasn't intentional; she had been easy to see through, and Gojyo knew she had been a sweet girl (though a bit young for his usual tastes) and that she had only been thinking about the pros of her sacrifice. Even so, that didn't change the fact she was no longer there.
The more you take, the more you lose. That was just the way it was. And he, selfishly craving, had taken so much that she had been lost just as quickly.
Houran.
In some ways, her "death" had been for the best. After all, he would have been separated from her eventually anyway; there was only room for four on this journey west, and there was absolutely no way she could have been brought along. Aside from that, as she had pointed out before her self-sacrifice, her clan was dead. She was the last one left, and few villages would accept a half-breed. The red hair and eyes were taboo. If she so much as showed her face in a random town, she either would have been killed on the spot or scorned in such a way that death would have seemed like a better option. Gojyo had simply been lucky to find a town that knew little about half-breeds at all-- or at least the important people, the women, didn't know or care. It hadn't been the first town he had come across, but it had certainly been his best option.
Then again, her death still pained him. Gojyo's fingers stiffened; he was unaware when he accidentally ripped his cigarette in half between his thumb and forefinger. In some ways, she would have been his escape. He had recognized some of her pain, realizing it as his own. Their situations were vastly different, but the truth was the same: they were taboo children, outcaste by both demons and humans. Her freedom would have been something he could look forward to, because then he would have had the hope of being able to free himself someday.
The loss was very different from what he was used to, even. Gojyo had lost a great deal of things in his life -- his family, love, and sometimes even his sanity, to name the more important things -- but that didn't make it any easier. It was vastly different when he simply wanted a woman to take his sexual frustrations out on, or when he just wanted the soothing, collected calm company of Hakkai. He had tasted empathy, unity, and craved for it all the more.
It was like a drug, and at this rate it would pull him down. Gojyo knew it wasn't wise to dwell on it -- or her -- but knowing and feeling were two very different things. He simply couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about it; not yet.
And so here he was, wandering around in a nearly empty inn in the middle of the night, simply gazing outside and smoking a cigarette (which he now realized was useless) as he contemplated the recent events.
How unlike him. Had he been anyone else, Gojyo would have mocked himself. As it was, all he could do was force a weak, bitter chuckle as he tangled his hand in his hair.
Love? It couldn't be love he felt for this girl; Gojyo didn't dare hold anything precious to him. Attraction? Certainly so. Affection? Definitely; that was easily mistaken for love, but Gojyo had to go hard on his feelings, or it would destroy him as his mother nearly had. He couldn't afford that now.
In fact, he didn't want it anymore. He never had been able to stop her tears, as they still haunted him in his dreams, but they were gradually drying the more he put it behind him.
"Life is basically a useless struggle until you die anyway."
Who had said that? Sanzo? Gojyo snorted, flicking his crushed cigarette out the open window before lighting another. That arrogant bastard. Even when Gojyo wanted to get away, one of the three insisted on arguing with him, be it in his mind or otherwise.
Or at least, one of two did.
"You've created a habit of this, haven't you?"
The question was light, spoken almost carelessly, but Gojyo could easily read the question behind the question. He smirked, blowing smoke out between his lips. Honestly, he wasn't too surprised to find the man talking to him now.
"Not yet," he replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Takes thirty days to create a habit, remember?"
"And it's only been roughly a week," Hakkai agreed thoughtfully, smiling. "My mistake."
"I'm shocked. You, making a mistake."
"There's a first time for everything."
Again the comment was meant to sound offhanded, but to Gojyo it seemed as though the man had been reading his internal monologue. He fell silent, cigarette half forgotten in his fingers as he stared at Hakkai. The brunette gazed back, eyes calm, expectant, waiting.
Waiting for what? For me? But Hakkai wasn't that foolish; he knew Gojyo well enough. Then what?
"Yeah," he finally agreed. "I guess so."
Hakkai didn't move from his spot, standing a few feet away. His visible eye flickered out the window, but quickly fixated on Gojyo again; Hakkai was direct, the sort to make eye contact when he had a point to drive across. Sometimes he would cover it with a smile, but his eyes would never leave your face until he was finished with what he had to say.
"I believe you're the one that told me," the brunette said calmly, "that just because I couldn't foresee the problem didn't mean I didn't hold enough love for her."
Her, meaning his deceased lover; the sister that had committed suicide. Gojyo pressed his lips together; it was far from often that Hakkai brought her up on his own.
"I think you should listen to your own thoughts," was all Hakkai concluded with.
Gojyo's lips twitched into a smile, his eyes avoiding Hakkai's. "I didn't expect to 'foresee' anything. Besides, I also said that I couldn't talk; I didn't have anything precious to me."
"And now?" Startled, Gojyo looked back. Hakkai didn't blink, didn't look guilty or curious; he was simply asking. Not for his benefit... but for Gojyo's.
The idiot.
Gojyo smirked. "Now you're prying."
"Ah!" Hakkai chuckled. "I suppose I am. Excuse me."
The tension that had built up during his earlier contemplation was slowly draining. Gojyo suspected it was partially the tobacco at work, calming his nerves, but he knew that it was also because of Hakkai. Somehow, even without understanding him the way Houran had, Hakkai simply knew which buttons to push in order to nudge his companion into calming down.
It had been a long time since someone could do that. In fact, Gojyo doubted anyone ever had; his brother had been able to soothe him, but had never been able to make him forget his pain, if even for just a little while. In some ways he had intensified it; the creaking of the bed next door, hearing the desperate sounds a child should never have to hear his mother make, had only served to force Gojyo to constantly remember who was needed. It had always been Jien, and never him. Even Houran, she had reminded him so much of his painful childhood, with her mirroring hair and eyes.
Understanding was indeed good, but it was just then that Gojyo remembered why he hadn't wanted it before. Because he didn't need it; because it only made him relive pain rather than eradicate it. Hakkai was no saint, and there were times he also touched old wounds.
But somehow, Hakkai was also different. Those touches would sting at first, but then with some dry humor and the rare true smile the salve would be applied and the pain would fade.
How ironic; that the one with the most bloodied hands would be the one to relieve him of his burdens and help him take that next painful step forward.
"I don't suppose you're tired?" Hakkai's voice broke through his thoughts. Or perhaps breaking was too crude a word; it was more like a finely sharpened knife slicing through cleanly, severing the thoughts neatly and not leaving a single shard in its wake.
Gojyo flicked the cigarette out the window, taking care to shut it securely. "Nah, but I might as well get some rest if I want to be in top shape to fight with the monkey tomorrow. Speaking of which, where's his room?"
Hakkai blinked. "Why?"
"Aren't I rooming with him?" That was the way it was usually set up; when Sanzo was in a fairly good mood, the accommodations would be two people to a room, and it was always set up Sanzo-Hakkai and Gojyo-Goku. Gojyo was almost dead certain the monk did it just to aggravate the latter two.
Smiling, Hakkai replied, "Only if you want to move your things. I requested a slight change; Goku has his own room, and you're sharing mine-- unless you'd rather be alone, of course." Naturally, Hakkai was giving him a choice.
He always left so many things open for him.
Gojyo contemplated briefly. "Is your stuff already in there?"
"Forgive me for presuming, but yes." There was a mild tone of amusement that coloured the brunette's voice. Gojyo felt it seeping into him; he smirked and slung an arm easily over Hakkai's shoulder.
"Then don't bother," he said airily, waving a hand. "Besides, we haven't played a nice game of poker in a while, have we?"
"Ah, do you have a deck with you?"
"Always. I don't trust you."
Hakkai chuckled, not taking any offense. "I'm sorry."
Despite his earlier comments, Gojyo suddenly didn't plan on sleeping. That night was spent breaking out the poker cards, playing early into the morning until Gojyo had lost too many times to keep track.
And somehow, those small losses made him feel that much better.
and you kept taking
never stopping till I cried
even then I had to cry rivers
before you gave in
and then you took again
without considering me
and then
I cried
and you laughed
and then
I bled