Title: With Every Breath (II)
Disclaimer: I do not own Furuba, nor do I own Yuki or (alas and woe!) Kyou Sohma. My heart grieves for this.
Author's Note: Heh. Heh heh . . ahhh, remember how I said there was only going to be that one part? Yeah, well. . . the plot bunnies had other plans. Damn their pink little eyes! THIS, however, shall be it. Really. This and the conclusion. Then no more!
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Yuki and Kyou passed away the rest of that day in silence– a silence made all the more extraordinary by the way it lasted and kept, emphasizing the former frequency and bitterness of their usual bickering with absence alone. It was a silence apparently so profound that throughout the day their friends and relatives could not help but to comment upon it– asking if either Yuki or Kyou or both of them had taken ill, or had been possessed by demons, or if they were even quite in their right minds.
Kyou only answered the teasing with more of the glowering silence, and to his surprise, Yuki did much the same. For his part, Kyou was preoccupied with making a strenuous effort to erase the disturbing events of earlier that morning from his memory (such as Yuki's words, his eyes, his tone of voice, his everything)– and around lunchtime even going so far as to wonder with idle desperation whether or not Hatori's memory charms worked on the Cursed, after all of his own efforts had repeatedly failed him. All day long, thoughts of Yuki itched along his skin like a line of marching ants, making him fidgety and nervous and shaky by turns.
And all day long, he waited for his defeat to weigh him down, to crush him with shame, to shove like a tangible force from the sky and cause the earth to yawn and swallow him along with his disgrace and at last put him out of his misery.
But. . . it didn't. Kyou didn't feel shamed, or humiliated-- all he felt. . . was tired. Though there were occasional moments when another emotion manifested itself– one he couldn't quite put his finger on– one that was suspiciously akin to fear. He felt this on and off throughout the school-day (and he was utterly incapable of concentrating in classes because of it, but his teachers didn't mind so much, because for once he was being blessedly quiet), and what was even more disturbing, was that it seemed to manifest at any accidental meeting of Kyou's gaze with Yuki's; when he could catch glimpses of a startled deer-in-the-headlights look he was positive his own face mirrored exactly.
Perhaps the most frightening aspect of that day was the lack of hatred. As much as he tried, it had retreated to a dark place inside of him that was at the moment beyond his reach– and in its' place it left him occupied with an unsettling amalgamation of confusion and chaos and something else– somewhere that was buried and veiled and beyond even his own understanding; so faint it might have blown out if he breathed in too deeply-- hope.
Dinner that evening was indeed a singularly unusual affair. Kyou and Yuki continued to neither look at nor speak to one another; both of them answering Shigure's blatant teasing and Tohru's discreet inquiries with wordless grunts (or simple 'yes's and 'no's, if pressed). When they were done shoving food around their plates without eating much, both excused themselves, hastily retreating to their favorite thinking spots– Yuki to his garden, Kyou to his rooftop. Shigure and Tohru were left alone at the table to flirt and trade in bemused looks and conspiracy theories. The mystery of the sudden cease-fire was pondered deeply, but ultimately left unexplained.
While Shigure and Tohru wondered over it, so too did the subjects of their queries. Kyou in fact continued to wonder over it long past the sun's slipping in a blaze of red and violet below horizon's edge. He wondered while the sky turned grey upon black, the were stars lost beyond overcast clouds, and the autumn air grew dank and chill. He rarely felt the cold, warm enough in his sweatshirt and cargo pants– and for a few minutes he was even able to distract his busy mind by watching for shapes in his breath as it escaped his mouth in a white fog.
But only for a few minutes, and then Kyou was back to wishing none that morning had never happened, that Yuki had not said what he said– that instead he might have walked away like normal, and Kyou might have nursed his hatred to a hotter flame, and then he wouldn't hurt like this. And that was what really pissed him off– because why should it hurt to lose a hate that had made him ache for so long? The ache hadn't slipped quietly into the dark along with his hate– it had abided, a burning sensation in his lungs like he was breathing in smoke and flame; a feeling that his skin was stretched too tight over his bones.
Finally, when the painful throb of his temples (consequence of thinking too much and for too long) couldn't be ignored, and when he was about to give in to the dragging of his eyelids and go downstairs to sleep– that's when Kyou heard unmistakable footsteps on the ladder, climbing up to the roof. Sitting up, he sighed and resigned himself to enduring another barrage of Tohru's anxious (yet unassuming) questions. There was just enough illumination from the porch light below that he didn't worry about her safety– it hardly lit up the night, but made the outline of things soft and grey and dim.
Except the crown of hair that peeked over the top of the ladder was silver, not brown; the eyes that followed were lavender-grey, veiled under slitted lids-- and Tohru Honda had never, in any way shape or form, ever had eyes like that.
For a second, Kyou felt a flash of heat that could have been anger over the fact that Yuki (once again showing him up), had been the first to get up the guts to seek him out– except the heat seemed to settle in Kyou's cheeks and neck, and by all the fucking ancestors in heaven– was he blushing? He would have ardently denied it, but he was still as completely tongue-tied as before, searching for something, anything to say, even though if he did find something, it would be impossible to speak it around the lump in his throat.
Yuki sat down a few feet away, fidgeting a bit before settling into a position that echoed Kyou's– knees drawn up, arms laid across them, feet braced against the rough roof tiles. As he did this, Kyou braved a sideways look into the other boy's face, and was taken aback by the expression of mixed hopelessness and determination he found there. He had no idea what to even think about that (which was not unfamiliar territory by now), much less what to say about it; and so the silence was preserved between them for a few minutes longer.
As was to be expected, Yuki was the first to break the silence.
"Your birthday is in less than a week."
This was nothing like what Kyou had been anticipating, but he held his tongue. Yuki had not come up here just to tell him when his eighteenth birthday was. Graduation was also not too distant on the horizon. Kyou had yet to make plans for either of them– had yet to do anything at all, really, except feel a vague sense of dread and anxiety towards both that had made him rather surlier than usual all year.
Yuki was continuing, eyes hidden beneath silver bangs in sore need of trimming. "I'm going to give you what you want, Kyou. We're going to have the fight."
Kyou knew immediately what was meant. It would be a real fight, not this brawling they'd done since they were kids. It would be the fight that decided his future: to be caged, as Master's grandfather had been, a monster forevermore removed from any sight that he might offend; or to bring the name of the Cat back from the depths of disgrace, and finally be respected and acknowledged by the Sohma family. It could bring about his worst fear. . . or everything he'd dreamed about having since first transforming into the Beast– since finally learning the words behind the slit-eyed stares, the whispers as he went by– Monster. Freak. Outcast.
Kyou had to relearn how to breathe, then disguise his voice with sneering to hide it's tremble. "Good. I'm ready for you, Rat." Somehow-- though he'd thought it a glaringly obvious thing, burning like a brand on his forehead for all the world to see– Yuki had not seen the defeat in Kyou that morning. And now, the promise of the fight had washed it away as if it had never been. He felt strong and weak all at once; confident in himself, yet more scared than he could ever remember feeling in his life. The damp air seemed too close, almost suffocating. The clouds, almost invisible against the black of the sky, chose that moment to open up, to let loose a trickling rain that was barely more than a mist. It made the air colder and wetter, and Kyou shivered uncomfortably.
"I think you are, too." Yuki told him, white vapor puffing out of his mouth along with his softly-spoken words. His hand, pale and thin, reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing that the determination had grown in his face. It was carved into his cheekbones, set in his chin– a tangible thing that Kyou reluctantly had to admire– but only until Yuki spoke again.
"That's why I'm going to put everything I have into beating you, Kyou. I won't pull any punches, shorten any kicks– I won't hold a single thing back. And I'm going to win- - I have to."
Kyou could almost hate him again for those words. He could taste it in his mouth– bitter and astringent– it was almost hate stronger than anything before. . . except it wasn't, not really. His eyes were burning and vision blurred, his throat was so tight he was almost choking– this wasn't hate but despair, and it hurt, it hurt, and he didn't know why.
"I have to. . . because I learned something important when I was very small," Yuki was going on, and Kyou had to concentrate to hear him past the dim roaring in his ears.
"I learned that being worthy of Akito's notice is the only thing in the world worse than being beneath it, and I can't watch you realize that, Kyou. . . I can't." And suddenly Yuki's hands were on his shoulders, forcing him to turn, to look straight into Yuki's face and to see the complete and total absence of what he'd expected– disdain, contempt– seeing instead fear, and longing, and unshed tears bright in lavender eyes.
Kyou could meet his eyes only for a second before dropping his own. He wanted to snarl at Yuki, rage, cry that he didn't need his fucking twisted sense of protection– but his mouth moved of it's own accord and his heard himself whispering– voice thick from the tightness of his throat– "Why are you doing this?"
He felt Yuki's fingers jerk slightly, as if startled, and the other boy relinquished his hold. "I. . . I'd do the same. . . for anyone," Yuki whispered back. Caged, but free of Akito– apparently that was the better life in Yuki's estimation. But what could have happened to make that so? And who exactly was anyone? Who else in this family was a thing such as Kyou– who else was haunted by the same legacy, the same demons? Kyou couldn't understand why Yuki had said that, and somehow it only made him more upset and confused.
Inside of him there was a rising bitterness that was stinging his skin like pricks from a needle, and he was able to snap out all the things he'd meant to say before. "I don't need any fucking protection, and I never needed you to hold back; go ahead and give it everything you've got– I won't lose, you hear me? I won't. Fucking. Lose."
Kyou stood abruptly, swiftly moving across the roof and down the ladder in spite of the slick wetness the rain had caused, anger bubbling like heat in his chest and it still wasn't hate, but that didn't matter anymore because he didn't care– that fucking rat– he didn't care. . . Kyou realized he was gritting his teeth to keep from crying, and that only made him angrier.
He was striding towards the kitchen door when hands shoved him roughly, spinning him around and pinning against the side of the house. Yuki had his hands fisted in Kyou's sweatshirt, and he had a moment to appreciate the irony of the role-reversal from that morning before Yuki's face was inches from his own and hissing at him, "You goddamn idiot– why can't you understand even one simple thing–"
But Kyou was not about to do this– he was tired of it, so fucking tired. He snarled wordlessly and tried to yank away– but Yuki pulled him back and slammed him against the wall again. "No, dammit, you are going to listen to me for once--"
"I don't care what you say to me! It's not gonna work– you've made your promise and you can't take it back and I'm going to win, nothing short of Armageddon is gonna stop me from beating you–"
"I know," Yuki looked stricken, and fierce, and agonized all at once. "I know you will," he murmured again, and with a start Kyou recognized the same despair bordering on hate that had dwelled inside himself. Yuki's fingers clenched and unclenched in Kyou's sweatshirt. "I still have to try."
Finding himself suddenly wordless and voiceless, Kyou's brown eyes fixed themselves on Yuki's face– on the purple eyes with their impossibly long lashes, on the strands of hair that the rain had plastered to his forehead, straggling and dripping and Kyou inexplicably had the urge to push them back, but he didn't. His ears had heard what the other boy had said, but his brain didn't seem to quite understand it yet. So he kept on staring, unaware that the tears he'd been forcing back before had found their way down his face somewhere in the midst of his tirade– unaware that is, till Yuki had reached up with one hand to brush them carefully away.
He noted that Yuki's own gaze was set somewhere in the vicinity of Kyou's mouth, and his breath was forcibly frozen in his lungs as Yuki's fingers followed his looks and moved lightly over Kyou's lips. They parted in astonishment, formed Yuki's name, yet didn't have the voice or the breath to actually say it– but the word would have been swallowed by Yuki's mouth anyway, because suddenly Kyou was being kissed, the shock vanishing like a dream to be replaced by heat, and any coherent thoughts he might possibly have been forming were knocked down like a child's sand-castle by an ocean wave.
It ended almost as soon as it had begun, with Yuki pulling back and releasing Kyou. "Stupid cat," Yuki was saying– but it was whispered and he wasn't looking at Kyou, just moving past him into the house. Kyou was left as completely lost as he had been that morning, leaning against the wall and blinking raindrops out of his eyelashes.