Finite - Chapter 2(Tsubaki)
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Notes: Well, here's the second chapter. Guess who's putting off doing Tsuzuki in fear of getting him totally wrong in favour of slightly deranged Tsubaki? Yes, she's a silly, oblivious girl, but I can't make myself hate her just because of that. I almost feel sorry for her. I hope she's not too OOC.
Thankyou sooo much for the lovely reviews! *dances around manically* Aah, my sated ego... And now I apparently indirectly own Kaiser-chan via chapter 1, so I'm obligated to explain that yes, the book Hisoka was mentioning is a real one. It's called Obernewtyn, by Isobelle Carmody. The character he's referring to is Dameon. And don't worry, Lothlorien, everyone has an eency soft spot for Muraki now and then and he needs devoted fangirls to keep him ...menacing. And it could be worse - it could be Terazuma. *huggles Terazuma plush*
Sensei...?
Sensei, why did you leave me?
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised; everyone always leaves me in the end anyway - mother, father, the only friend I ever had... it seems like all the people I ever loved paid for my happiness with their lives. Whether it's some bizarre form of universal balance or just coincidence, I thank all three of them because they gave me you.
My own silvery angel - ethereal and powerful, gentle, courteous and kind to me, the person who ensured I could live at the risk of his own career and reputation. You held my hand when I fretted with pain in the night and listened to me with an open ear. You gave me everything a good doctor should and under you, I began to live. You didn't give me you, though.
But I loved you anyway.
It's kind of chilly in here, and as my nightgown would likely be insufficient for anything other than tropical weather I begin to shiver lightly as I wrap my arms about my chest, guarding the second-most precious gift you gave me with their feeble warmth. The velvet and cool mahogany of the chair beside your bed don't help matters, and I don't really see the harm of sitting a little closer to you...you're not warm, but I can pretend, can't I?
I reach out to touch your chest, testing for any sign that you're just asleep and will wake up at any moment to chastise me for walking around at night half-dressed. You'll offer me the jacket from your back and I'll huddle into it, breathing in your scent mixed with your cologne as you usher me out the door and back into my own room. You'll straighten the rumpled bedclothes as if it was your duty while I stand and watch the easy, graceful way you move, and when I slip back between the sheets, shivering once again with the loss of that jacket, you'll pull the covers up to my chin and ask what on earth I was doing in your room. I'll stammer out that I'd dreamed you were killed, partner it with what I hope will be a coquettish blush, and you'll stroke my hair as you press your palm to my forehead professionally and tell me you're not going anywhere.
It doesn't hurt so much when I pretend. Sometimes, after I discovered that you'd never love me the way I loved you, I fantasised about being her. Other times I hated her for having you, pictured her as some venomous serpent coiling herself more and more tightly around your neck or as a hideous witch that had ensnared you against your will. I don't even know her name, because I never had the heart to ask.
I lay my head against where your heart should beat and imagine I can hear it beating. You'd have a strong heartbeat, wouldn't you? Strong and solid and powerful, just like you. Did she ever lay with her head on your chest, sensei? Run her fingers over your skin in reverence like I would have? Worship you forever and always and love you more than life like I still do?
Is she crying for you yet, sensei?
If you'd just open your eyes and lie to me, I'd cry until my eyes and throat bled for you.
Your hands are so pale, sensei. And they're cool. Let me warm them up for you. Between my two smaller hands, your fingers aren't so chilled anymore, and it gets easier to pretend again.
But it's still so cold in here...