Ah, yes, I'm a newbie. Hope you'd kindly forgive the OOCness, bad grammar and weirdness ;; Constructive and destructive comments welcomed with open arms. Thank you.
Nightly Occurrances
During one of those nights when the moon barely peeked in through the wide- opened window, and everything was still and silent, even in his dreams, it is very easy to wake from slumber just by a slight intruding sound in his ears.
His dreams were always silent, especially lately, but tonight is different. No visuals visited his slumbering mind, only sobbing sounds. It felt sad and pitiful to him, it wrench at his heart, but that was when he realized he was not dreaming, and something beside him; so close that they touched, was shaking in time with the sobs.
He woke up with a start.
To take the view of darkened room that looked simultaneously alien and familiar to him--everything awashed with monochrome colour and haze—perhaps because light was scarce or his sight was.
Then he heard the sobs again, and something shifted beside him. Fuji?
Holding out his hand to the dresser, out of habit; he put his oval-shaped glasses on and squinted his sleep-ridden eyes. Beside him Fuji moved still; knees pulled up almost to his chest, back curled and head bent, almost touching the cold, hard wall. His shoulders shook violently with each shortened breath, the veins on his neck showing. Fists balled up until the knuckles white, he pressed them against the wall, pushing at something immobile and invisible to Tezuka's eyes. Then he brought them back to into his chest again, while his sobs shook him like he would break apart.
It pained Tezuka tremendously, this sight he had to behold, each and every night. He couldn't remember when exactly it had started, but ever since not a single night had he left Fuji sleeping alone. The younger boy did not remember these nightly occurrences though; Tezuka had questioned him thoroughly without letting out the details in fear he would deny and resort to lies, but Tezuka knew when the blue orbs hide the truth, and in that said moment, it does not.
Doing exactly what he had always done each and every night, Tezuka lay on his side, taking the curled up body into his arms, plastering himself fully onto Fuji's figure so that every touchable surface is touched, and the impact of Fuji's sobs is cushioned by his steeled but warm figure. When the sobs does not jerk them very much anymore, Tezuka kissed the back of Fuji's head and stroke his tawny brown hair gently, tucking them behind his ear so that he could whisper well into it.
'Fuji...' he started, 'calm down...' and he would not cease stroking Fuji's hair gently, because it helps the sobbing to slow down, besides, he always thought Fuji's crowning glory was made for it; it was soft and silky to the touch, and always felt so light, like a baby's. 'Syuusuke, shush...I'm here...whatever are you crying for sweetheart? Shush...' it's an undeniable truth that he would never utter such things were it during the day and Fuji is awake in front of him, but during nights like these everything existed outside if its normality; Fuji is crying in dreams he will forget long before he's awake and Tezuka is holding him close, and in his ears would whisper words so lovingly they will cease his sobs into nothing.
It went on for about at least ten minutes; this sobbing and caressing, where Fuji hid his tear streaked face in his curled figure and Tezuka kissed the back of his head over and over again, whispering softly in his ear, stroking his hair, rubbing his chest, and touching him with his whole body. Sometimes Tezuka wore his glasses like he does tonight, out of habit, and not wanting to let go of Fuji he won't move his hand away to pull them off. He would left them there, and sometimes when Fuji jerk too violently and bumped the glasses it would dug into the bridge of his nose and the skin under his eyes, but Tezuka is beyond caring. And sometimes when Fuji's sobbing and crying lasted well after twenty minutes, Tezuka would find his whispering and caressing grew more frantic, and not unusually would he felt tear on his own cheek.
But usually a few minutes after that Fuji would stop, his whole body lax from fatigue. That was when Tezuka would straighten out every folded and once-taut limb; he would have Fuji knees down again, fists undone, head back up on the soft pillows, and then he'd turned Fuji over, so that he could look into the tear-streaked face flushed with crying, and wipe the remnants off his cheeks. All the while he would punctuate his actions with whispered words, and when Fuji is facing him with tightly closed eyes he would kiss the pale, sweaty forehead.
'Why did you cry, Syusuke? Tell me...' he would kiss the palm of Fuji's hand now tainted with red marks from his nails digging previously, and caresses them gently, so that the marks would quickly disappear come daylight.
'What did you dream of, Syusuke? Why does it make you cry?' he would ask his sleeping prince, and the lips would remain unmoving. But Tezuka remembered clearly of one particular night when Fuji parted his lips and whispered, 'I dreamed...you...' then face contorted as if in pain, tears rolling down his cheeks again, he continued, 'you left, Kunimitsu, left me...' and he started sobbing again and hugged his chest, 'alone...alone...' and it broke Tezuka's heart to pieces, watching and listening to him.
'Shush, Syuusuke, shush...I'm here...I will never leave you...' he had said, and pulled Fuji into his embrace, holding him tight as he would his breaking heart.
But Fuji does not seem to hear him.
'You are the prince, and I am your knight...loved you...wanted to please you...I bear you gifts, from foreign lands, exotic gifts...you're pleased...and you take them...play with them until you're bored...tossed them away...tossed me away...' he sobbed and sobbed, and Tezuka was caught speechless by his words.
'Then, I cannot find you gifts anymore...so I carved my heart out and gave it to you...but you're angry...you said it's worthless...a worthless thing...' Tezuka cannot help the images running through his mind, like a badly staged Elizabethan play, with king on throne and knight in love kneeling in fear of his wrath, and in his hand, a bloodied heart...Tezuka winced and thought if anyone's heart is going to be carved out it should be his, 'and you...ordered my death...' at this Tezuka closed his eyes and willed darkness to cover his sight, his vision, his mind.
'Shush...Syuusuke...shush...' and he chanted these words like mantra, until the image wouldn't threaten to appear anymore, and Fuji is finally quietly sleeping, head buried in his chest, hands clutching the front of Tezuka's pajamas.
Tezuka had quietly wept that night, until he fell asleep, still holding Fuji close to his heart.