Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is the property of Matsushida Yoko, and no doubt also whatever companies publish the manga or produce the anime. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: This takes place somewhere after the Kyoto arc; Tsuzuki is still in the infirmary, Hisoka is comfortably back on his feet. This was a little plot bunny that ran rampant into my brain and wouldn't be dislodged, ever since I watched the final episode of the arc. Hints of Tsuzuki/Hisoka (though in the most canon sense). Thanks to Anna (Beautifully Twisted) for a beta read.
Kurosaki Hisoka had a unique perspective on things. Trapped forever in the body of a sixteen-year-old, he was hard-pressed to make anyone take him seriously at first glance; most people saw a kid when they looked at him, and subsequently dismissed him as such. Those who took the time to look deeper recognized the fact that there were years reflected in those emerald eyes that belied his appearance. And then, though surrounded by people who had been his considerable elders even before they died—and even more so in the years they'd spent after death—he sometimes felt as if he were the oldest.
Such was the case now. Hisoka had sat perched in his usual chair at Tsuzuki's bedside, in quiet conversation with the older shinigami, when a good half of the Shokan Division had come bursting inside: Saya and Yuma, bearing between them a large cake (chocolate, no doubt); Wakaba and a longsuffering Terazuma; Gushoshin both elder and younger; and finally Watari, with a cheerful 003 flapping around the infirmary room.
Saya and Yuma's third gleeful shriek of "HISOKA-CHAN!" later, the empathic shinigami had politely excused himself from the room.
It wasn't that he begrudged anyone their happiness, but this was the third party in the span of a week, and it seemed as if they were simply making excuses to celebrate despite the fact Tsuzuki wasn't well yet; as if they were trying a little too hard to pretend nothing had happened. Or to pretend that everything was okay now, when it wasn't. At least, it wasn't to Hisoka. But when he reached out a little thread of his power to touch the feelings of those in the room behind him, the high-spirited laughter seemed genuinely happy. Even Tsuzuki's.
Maybe it's something wrong with me . . . that even Tsuzuki can laugh and smile, after what happened. Can I deny him that because I can't let go of my own doubts?
Hisoka sighed and leaned his back against the wall, glancing down at the floor in time to spot a pair of perfectly shiny shoes entering his peripheral vision. He looked back up and found Tatsumi Seiichirou, powerful secretary of the Shokan Division, standing there. The shadow-master was one of the few people who actually bothered to treat Hisoka as if he thought he had some standing of his own, and that was enough to make Hisoka respect Tatsumi, even if he didn't already respect him as one of his superiors.
"Tatsumi-san," he greeted, standing a little straighter.
"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi returned, blue-eyed gaze flickering to the door which was still left slightly ajar, allowing the noises of the impromptu party to spill out. "Why aren't you in there having fun with the others?"
There was something almost knowing in his tone, Hisoka thought. "I needed some air."
Tatsumi nodded understandingly, moved over to the door and gently closed it the rest of the way. With a soft click, the sounds from the room were muffled until the laughter was faint. That done, he turned back to Hisoka. "It isn't easy, I know, being Tsuzuki-san's partner."
"I don't mind it so much."
"Of course not," the older man responded, "because you love him."
Hisoka looked at Tatsumi in surprise, opened his mouth to speak words that would not come out.
"We all do," Tatsumi continued, glancing at the small square window that allowed a glimpse into the room, where Tsuzuki was joyfully balancing two scoops of ice cream atop a generous slice of cake. "It is a unique power that Tsuzuki-san has, to make everyone love him."
The empath was taken aback now, to hear such words coming from the stringent, often ruthless shadow-master. Yet it seemed that if confident Tatsumi did have one weakness, Tsuzuki was it; that same weakness had caused him to hesitate when faced with Touda's flames.
Tatsumi made a small noise that, if he didn't know any better, Hisoka might have thought was almost wistful, before turning his gaze away from the window, and Tsuzuki. "You two are well-suited to each other," he said, seeming to remember himself. "I am happy that Tsuzuki-san has found a partner as loyal as you."
Hisoka felt the blood rising to his cheeks. "Someone has to be around to look after the idiot," he mumbled evasively.
"Tsuzuki-san is powerful enough to take care of himself, but he is lucky enough that he does not have to. He has us, his friends. He has you."
"I—"
"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said, sounding quite serious now, "I agreed to look after Tsuzuki-san while we were in Kyoto. But now the task is yours. You are his partner now . . . he will rely on you." He paused, and were it at all possible—though undoubtedly not so, not from the kagetsukai—his voice was strained, nearly sad. "It is my hope that you will do a better job of it than I."
Hisoka hesitated, wanting to say something in response, but Tatsumi was turning the knob and letting himself into the room, and Tsuzuki's enthusiastic greeting sounded a moment later. Somehow he felt that something very important had just occurred; only he wasn't quite certain what, buried as it was underneath layers of history and whatever happened between Tatsumi and Tsuzuki when they were partners. He did know that it would stay with him for a long while afterward, long after he walked back in to join the party.
"Hey, Hisoka! Where'd you go? We saved you a nice big piece of cake."
Even long after the party ended. He would never look at Tatsumi Seiichirou the same way again. But he would do his best to pick up the great responsibility the shadow-master had passed off to him, because that was what had happened, symbolically. And on a deeper level, Hisoka had earned another part of himself back that Muraki had tried to steal, because someone had finally trusted the 'kid' enough to let him take care of something so precious.
—fin