Gravitation-Yami no Mastuei Crossover
Title: 'Till Death Tear Us Apart
Author: Aki Konoe/ darkness1315/ devil-angel-asuka
Warning: Not telling.
Disclaimer: The title for this chapter got ripped off from a book about Queen Victoria and I owe the publishers and the writer of the book for inspiring me in some mystical way for this fic
Word Count Statistics: 27 pages; 12,326 words; 55,163 characters; 184 paragraphs; 1,401 lines (I was bored, so sue me!)
Author's Note/s: To my very first muse, Kelly-sama (or if you know her by her screen name, Kyo-kun, or Shiozaki), I dedicate this chapter for introducing me to the colourful world of your OCs, and for the wonderful and one-of-a-kind journey through that land you created for them. (Your fics were the very first lemons I have ever read. Ever. No kidding.) You led me to another road and filled my need for un-cliche-d, unordinary, out of the norm, unique, and uncensored stories. I'd rather be anything than ordinary so I seek stories like yours. (Or maybe I just read too much of Ludlum and Stephen King.) Anyway, I thank you also for letting me see the other side of uniqueness, and your stories are my faithful companions as I go through my depressions and shameful weaknesses every day. Like you, I pour my self into my stories, and I try to get comfort by writing, and I thank you for encouraging me in a way, and being my unrelenting, understanding, and unequalled confidante. I trust you with my life, as I have trusted those who are closest and loved. This arc of my three-part fic I dedicate to you. (I swear, I never copied you, I swear, that's how it turned out, so don't kill me!) Long live Yaoi, and long live writers all over the world.
To my other muse, Mandernaner, my sweet, sweet reader who does not cease to review, I thank you. I dedicate this fic to you also, and I am very thankful to have you as a muse. You are one of those whom I hold close to my heart, and I am very thankful to have you there, encouraging me to write as well. Atra gülai un ilian tauthr ono un atra ono waíse skölir frá rauthr. (Let luck and happiness follow you and may you be shielded from misfortune.) I hope all the blessings of the God almighty be bestowed upon you and guide you.
To my two confidantes, Shu-chan (the annoying) and Neji-kun (the annoyed), I am happy to have you two as my friends, and I must say that even if we really don't know each other, I feel as if you two are one of my closest friends. (Be very glad.) I thank you for supporting me. I sympathise with you, Neji-kun. One question though: How could you put up with Shu-chan? It's surprising that they haven't canonised you as a martyr yet. Blessings to you two.
To all the readers I thank you for giving me your time by reading this fic. I thank you, (if ever) for your reviews. I thank you so much, and I hope you'll stay with me until the end. If you want to kill me, be my guest. But don't be surprised if I don't die. Hope you review. Thank you again, and God bless.
'Till Death Tear Us Apart
Chapter 3: That I will be good
1
From where the weather always seemed perfect, obscured by the shadows that enshrouded his seat from prying eyes, the face of the great God of the Dead, Enma-Daioh, looked worried. His right hand rested casually over the arm of his dais; fingers splayed idly. The recollection of the past year and the memories that refused to be forgotten and remained in the minds of the ones who have lived from the Beginning and wait until the End, was enough to remind him that this was the Time. His other hand lay enticingly on his cheek, if not thoughtfully, darkly thinking over the consequences of the action he was about to make.
He had witnessed the little show down in the Shinigami's office. The Time was about to come, and he will have to do something about it. The whole world will suffer greatly, if he must fail to make the right decision. The Time is near. He thought as he remembered those words which was never recorded or spoken to anyone but him.
"The Time is near indeed..."
2
Sunlight spilled delicately over the carpeted floor of the faint yellow room, adding a warm effect to the atmosphere that threatened to change anytime if he didn't make any effort to acknowledge it. He sat up in bed, the pool of bed sheets and blankets in his lap; a pillow clutched by his trembling hands. He wiped the sweat that forged a sticky film on his forehead. He glanced around and for the first time he observed the milieu. Where were the small table and the cushy seats of the tour bus? Where did the synths and amps go to? Where was everybody? Where was the tour bus? When his brain was sure that it could work now, he then recalled that they had, indeed, checked in that hotel approximately three hours ago, him being half-alive with Hiroshi carrying him and his feet sliding over the carpet of the halls and onto the bed. He looked around and saw that the room was just like any other hotel room, consisting of twin beds, one occupied by himself; a balcony lay invitingly on his left side, offering him an Arcadian view of green grass and trees. A simple door stood opposite him, not a few paces from where his bed was, which annexed to another room; the cheap, wooden coffee table placed near the balcony's glass doors with a cushioned chair and a vase with some flowers in it. His luggage, he suspected, Hiroshi had packed away in the provided closets somewhere and if he could only get his stubborn legs to stand up and walk... He'd be able to know where it was. He glanced at the clock on the single-drawer table on his right and saw that he had been sleeping for three hours. It was already four in the afternoon. He should get up. Besides, he was getting hungry. With much effort he stood up, letting go of the aforementioned pillow. Instinctively he turned to his right and went to the bathroom, which was on the opposite side of the closets in the hall leading to the main door of the room.
Hiroshi and Fujisaki weren't around now, and he felt more than devastated to have someone with him at the moment. Before he turned to his right to enter the bathroom though, he noticed a Post-It note stuck on the inside of the main door. He smiled faintly. Of all the places to put a memo, it had to be the door... He read off Hiroshi's familiar scrawl on the yellow square paper:
Shu-chan, we'll be back in a few hours; Fujisaki checked out a new music store, I'll be looking for food. Sakano said he needed to find K-san. So make sure you take very good care of yourself and don't do anything stupid.
Love,
Hiro
He caught sight of his reflection and sighed. He couldn't help thinking of Yuki. The image in the mirror was his, and he could recognise his own face very well, thank you. Remnants of his grievous dream still lingered threateningly in front of his eyes, and he stared for a minute or two, transfixed as another face overlapped his own. It was Yuki's. He stumbled back, shaking involuntarily as it replayed oh so quickly in his brain, drowning everything else around him in an abyss of colour and images.
Fire.
"She's going down to Chijou!
Hisoka's panicked voice rang through the room from where he fled. He ran in haste, pushing Tsuzuki aside, past Watari who got flustered and almost spilled his new concoction over him, and finally running into Tatsumi who just came from a room and into the hall, making them fall over. Panting, with no explanation or whatsoever, Hisoka pushed himself from the fall, not minding that excruciating fact that he broke his wrist due to the angle his hand was in when he fell; he flew out the Shinigami office and prayed to all the gods there ever was to help him ; and could they please bless him with their unrelenting guidance? God knows what she'll do. He just hopes that she'll be there when it happens.
"Hisoka! Wait!"
Tsuzuki regained his balance as Hisoka pushed his way past Watari when all of a sudden, his head felt like it was going to split in half. The sensation was too much that he had to support himself with the window sill. He grabbed hold of it and spared himself from toppling over. Eyes shut, his left hand groped for something, anything, since his right hand was slipping from its hold on the sill; when he felt nothing, he opened his eyes (with much effort) and realised that his hand was numb. And that he was on the floor, immobilised. Watari, startled maybe by the way Tsuzuki's face contorted or by the way he was sitting; rushed by his side, mumbling something.
Wait.
He wasn't mumbling. He was yelling.
3
At first she really thought that being a Shinigami would help her find her missing brother's soul, which was hopeless since, as they informed her afterwards, they didn't get any reports of a blue-eyed, black-haired, medium built, and sickly soul that just died. After her training, she finally knew who and where the Lord of Judgement and Afterlife was, and she almost marched her stubborn ass there and demanded answers to her questions. She thought about it before going there, and when her trainer, (she swears she was older than she looked) told her full information about the God of Death, well... let's just say she wasn't that eager to die again so she cancelled her plans of getting acquainted with the god.
There are other things to worry about, like for example, Shijiku Suki's death. Sure, Suki could be ruthless and cold at times, but she was the sweetest person she has ever met when she was still alive. She wasn't like any kid; she was mature in a way. And her life being wasted like this, ended and not given the opportunity to live longer to at least try and change, she blamed it all to one person, and him alone. It's not like she was blameless, but she stil thinks it was all because of him. Suki wouldn't die if he looked after her well. Ai wouldn't die if Kori told her the truth from the beginning. One act clears up another; the rowld is made up of Dominoes, when one fas down, it knocks the other. Chain reaction, in other words. If she kills Kori, she'll get suspended, or worse, she'll be sent on, whether she likes it or not. So she'd rather hurt him with her words and ask him a few questions and why, oh why did he let Suki die? Was he out of his mind?! She needed to calm down if she wanted to work as a Shinigami longer. She walked the rest of the way to the apartment her so-called 'uncle' was. She felt her Magnum, at her back, the one she slipped in when no ones looking before she took off. She was sure Hisoka almost had a fit. She was as sure as a man who was about to land on his head from jumping twenty stories high off a building. Enough of these ideas, she needed to clear her mind from any other distraction, (like the one with Kori hanging upside down over the ocean; he's deathly afraid of drowning) so she wouldn't lose her temper when he denies everything. Again.
Hot, burning tears fell from her eyes. She blocked Hisoka's panicked calls and Tsuzuki somehow ended his abruptly... That she suspected much. Which was weird. She held her tongue from cussing in different languages at the top of her lungs, but "Salope..." escaped before she knew it. Her pace was steady, determination surging through every muscle and sinew in her body, her face mirroring the emotions that she felt. It was the same visage she knew all too well as the mask on which she killed masses of people. She climbed the stairs; those creaking bars and worn down floors and walls, the musty smell growing familiar to her senses as she proceeded to her destination. She needs to talk to him. She arrived, finally, and as she knocked on his door, as it swung open, as the owner began to say his greetings, she slapped him on the face.
Hard.
Hisoka was barely breathing while he ran past the crowded streets of Chijou. His hand had healed minutes ago, and oh, if it weren't for the impending doom that would cascade on the whole human race any minute, he wouldn't even be running. Why can't he just let her be, you ask? He needs to run after her, you know. Do you want to die? After all she did last year? Hell, he's not going to risk it again. Need he remind you that she was the one who almost wiped out the whole of Kyoto? Remind me to kill my sweet and adoring little child. Remind me to actually strangle her after I get her back from Chijou He told his ruthless and cold part of him with dark humour. She might as well hide in her little nook somewhere in Paris, yes, Paris, where she goes to on weekends when she's not spending time with them at breakfast, lunch and dinner, leaving without a trace and not s ingle word for them. It was a surprise, and a shocking one too, why Enma did not suspend her himself. He never understood that kid. Tsuzuki did. And they got along pretty well. It puzzles him, though, because she really couldn't say anything else regarding her family to him. She only confides to Tsuzuki about things in the office, and of course, coffee and sweets. They never heard anything regarding last year's incident. Never did he hear her cry. Never did he see her cry. She locked herself up, that much he could sense. She's hurt, he knows, but she prefers to stay quiet. Just like him, Tsuzuki reasoned; she needs time to ready herself to face the truth. Yeah right. he knew the truth when he first opened his eyes to death! And he is death, in the mere essence of it. How does it feel to be like her? To be so ruined? They locked him up, yes, but to know that everyone had deceived you? Maybe it was beyond her coping, beyond her understanding. He for one, knew that everyone hated him, so naturally, at first it was a shock. But it no longer mattered, since he did hate them too after the whole process. But you know, he may have loved his mother, if any, but still. He doesn't know. For her, it came as not just a shock, but something more grave, like being incinerated alive. Oh, and silence. You know how silence can drive you to madness? Leave a person in a room with nobody with him to talk to, nothing to interact with even a watch, and see how he goes insane. It's one of the worst kinds of torture, when you really think about it. You'd wish you could die if you were isolated. Sardonically, that's what she said. She just looked at him, with her soiled clothes and her mane of white-silver stained with blood that night. (He fought the images of Muraki that threatened to swarm his sight back then.) Smiling, she asked for some paper towels when they got to the office, went home, and she just drowned herself in the showers.
He loves the kid, and more than anything else, they adopted her unofficially as a child, him and Tsuzuki, even if they know that she is already under their jurisdiction given by Kachou the day she arrived. Now he thinks it was too early to adopt a child. But she is in need of a family, and he knows that's what she wanted more than anything, and it doesn't take a psychiatrist to know that. . . And now he sounds like a mother rambling about her kids. They do try to make her understand that they love her, and she knows they do, but there is just that barrier between them that is like the Veil of Silence, or so he quotes from Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. She would just be there, and not truly say anything close to what she really wanted to say. Like how Gabrielle is to Lestat. There is just something in between that they could never penetrate. If she was a fledgling, (bloody book gave them ideas and they were compelled to read it ever since. They figured 'The Vampire Lestat' might have something that could help them understand her, since it was her favourite) she could have gone away and found her a coven. The kid has dreams, but they never were fulfilled. She died young. Tsuzuki said it was because of too much love that she had broken herself with. And too much love is pain.
Love? So Pain is Love, and Love is Pain. And his mother and Muraki loved him.
Currently, now that he was running aimlessly through the empty park, he realised that he was indeed running aimlessly through the empty park and he was looking like a fool now that he was standing there, contemplating whether he should go back, wait for her and endure the consequences of her stupidity, (excuse the demeaning words, he really didn't wish to state it like that, but. . . bear with him) or find her and try to not strangle her and bring her back himself. If he does wait, tomorrow would be yesterday and the 50 of the population that breathed before they faced a terrible fate due to her lack of common sense and rational thinking, would be brainwashed and sucked dry of anything they mentally possessed. She was that good with her--ahem--abilities. But she swears, that it was more like a burden rather than a gift, she told him once. And she hated it. She scorned it. She didn't even want to use it. She just wanted the voices to stop buzzing at the back of her brain before she convinces herself that she was suffering from schizophrenia.
He veered to the left and headed for the street. He hated the crowd as much as he hates the next guy who will try to give him the once over, but now was the time to fall on his knees and beg her to stop whatever she was going to do. He would be having headaches when he gets home and all, but he plunged into the mob despite it.
This must be a joke, Ai thought, and she had good reasons to prove that it should be. First of all, Kori lived alone, not with an old geezer with glasses. Secondly, she knows how Kori's mind works, and he wouldn't seriously have a relationship with someone as old as that. It doesn't matter what the gender of the person is, it's just that... the guy's too old! And Kori likes younger ones. Thirdly, Kori had a lot of things in his little apartment. So Ai must admit, even if it was impossible, it was a pretty good joke. Well, she will try to convince herself that it was just a joke. She stood in the door way blinking owlishly from the old geezer she had just slapped and was currently on the floor, and the empty spaces in the room. Or so it seems it was empty. She maybe imagining things. She looked at the person who was now standing up and was fixing his suit with ire obvious from the way he scowled at his glasses, which he hurriedly put on the bridge of his nose. Last time I checked this room was occupied by Kori. Now where did he go? She asked herself silently. The man waited, his gaze unchanging, (which was unnerving, by the way) his hands clasped politely in front of his slacks and a red angry mark of a hand still on his left cheek. She felt a bit guilty when she saw it. She had hit him pretty hard, since she thought he was Kori. It's his fault for being here anyway. Ai frowned, glanced at the floor as if it will give her answers, then turned around. I'll turn around, close the door behind me, then I'll knock and open it. That she did immediately, half afraid that the scene inside wouldn't change and half afraid that she'll self-combust due to mortification if that weren't Kori's apartment. She closed the door with a thud and checked the silver-plated metal numbers screwed on the front of the wooden door. Number fourteen, the door said. Okay, still the same number. One and four. She knocked hurriedly, then opened the door. The man was still standing patiently waiting as if it was for her that he was standing there.
"Okay... I'll go with this..." She muttered to herself, pretty sure her eyesight was deceiving her. The man, she observed, had greying hair and a thin line for a mouth, which, she thought with some amusement, could disappear if it was pressed together more tightly. If he were younger and good-looking, she could have sworn he was Tatsumi's relative. The air around him, Ai detected, held something like superiority and authority, though still something like a servant. Okay, that was harsh, maybe a secretary? He raised bushy eyebrows at her and cleared his throat. She tried really hard not to give in the temptation of reading the man's mind, even though it buzzed at the back of her brain. No, it was an understatement. It screamed at the back of her brain. Quite angrily too. It was amazing how he was still holding on to his face.
His patience had obviously left him alone when he sighed and said, "When his excellency said that you were stubborn and aggressive, I didn't expect you to be this aggressive." The man said, his tone neither cold nor kind. He now held a folder in his hand, as thick as the unabridged version of Webster's dictionary she saw in the public library in California; but the man carried it like it was as light as a sheet of paper.
"Nothing to say? I expected you to be more eloquent." He sniffed and gave her a challenging look.
"Look here, you asshole; I don't know what you want, or what you're doing here, but I am not going to dilly-dally," Ai said indignantly. She inadvertently reached for her Magnum tucked at the back of her jeans. "Where's my uncle?"
"I shudder with fear, little girl; as if threatening words and bullets could kill me. You're mortal mind is still young and you are nothing but another insolent----" The man was abruptly cut off when Ai pulled out her Magnum with her right hand and pointed it directly to his heart.
"Kill you? Who said anything about killing you? It won't kill you, yes, but it would hurt you. What if I burrow this bullet in your brain instead?" Ai asked rather coldly. "Then maybe you wouldn't be this dysfunctional. I believe I asked you a question? Weren't you the one babbling about intelligence and eloquence?"
The man merely laughed at her. "I do not know what or why the Lord asked for you, but with all due respect, If I were him I wouldn't even glance at you----"
"And if I were you, I will keep my tongue and not test my patience." A satiny voice resounded through the walls, it seems, and it caught Ai's attention immediately. The voice was calm, peaceful, warm. It was as if every syllable said was the tinkling of the chimes in the air, like waterfalls cascading from a cliff. But at the same time, it was frighteningly overwhelming. It echoed with a low rumbling that could have been Satan's voice if she weren't fascinated by it. A gust of wind blew through the curtain-less window and the door shut close behind her; her breathing became shallow as she waited for the blow that never came. She forgot about the man who immediately fell to his knees and bowed low, in shame it seemed. Ai whipped her head back and forth, from the windows to the walls to the empty rooms beyond the living room she was standing in, their doors closing without a sound. Her eyes grazed every corner, searching for the voice. A small laugh rang in her ear, and she turned to look for the source. She was turning around and around, yearning for the laughter and asking for more, hungry to see if the face of that person was as beautiful as its voice, but half afraid of its intensity. She didn't notice the swirl of elements, of silken clothing and white hair; of the suddenly visible and iridescent draft that grazed her skin, which came out from a point where there was once nothing. Her skin prickled and the sudden throng of power emanated from where that swirl was. The threads of the very fabric that wove magic with life and the elements vibrated and intertwined with hers. A bright light came from nowhere; it constricted her pupils and she had to shut them close to block out the blinding light.
"My dear, dear Shinigami...open your eyes..." A voice probed her senses. The sweet smell of flowers and the exhilarating scent of spices... the aroma of death and life... the thud-thud of power... the ringing of chimes and Hell's Bells... all this she registered, but she could not bring her eyes to open. "My dear child, open your eyes and look at me." It was in her brain. Try as she could, she was too overwhelmed and she bowed her head as if it would help get rid of the afterimages of the bright light. All of a sudden, her mind's eye opened, and there sitting on a silk covered tatami, where the walls and the barren floor had been before, was the most beautiful and exquisite person/man/entity she had ever seen in both her living and dead life. His skin was snowy-white, eyes of pure gold, a mane of white hair spilling over his shoulders, and an aura blazing with power. She could not see his face that much; the vision was too blurry, but his eyes gleamed with honest kindness. Her eyes still shut, Magnum forgotten on the floor, she tried to say something but her voice was lost and she could only utter a small gasp. There was a squeak; and there in her mind, she saw the man with the greying hair, head bent over, his head touching the floor, and it seemed that he had changed, now sporting a long yukata of plain white. "My Lord... Praises and adulation..." Said entity ignored him and directed his attention to Ai instead.
"My dear Shinigami, open your eyes." At an instant, Ai opened her eyes, and found the view horrifyingly gorgeous. A silent voice, which she recognised as her own, asked a question: Are you going to just stand here, eyes wide, mouth agape? And indeed, she just stood there, mouth agape, confusion marring her soft features. There was no mistaking the subsistence; the mind that engulfed her own mind with its laughter and its soothing voice. Uncertainty robbed her of everything else as she stared in brief horror and admiration at the entity that smiled back at her.
'Yes dear child, yes.'
"Oh dear Enma...Lord Enma-Daioh" She whispered in disbelief.
4
"Tsuzuki, get a hold of yourself!" Watari scrambled, abandoning his worry for his concoction and rushing to Tsuzuki's aid. Tsuzuki was on the floor; his legs spread. His arms lying limply by his sides. Blood was slowly trickling down his temples. Watari took his hand and checked his pulse. It was barely there. He checked his breathing; it was too shallow. Tsuzuki's irises rolled to the corners, looking at Watari in alarm "Tsuzuki, what happened?!" Watari was absolutely and positively not thinking straight as he tried to make Tsuzuki respond.
Agony flickered through those heliotrope eyes. Try as he might, Tsuzuki can't will his mouth to open and speak. He pleaded with his eyes, and Watari realised something.
Tsuzuki's eyes darted forward, and Watari tried to get his attention, calling him to help himself since an immobile person is harder to support than a well person, but Tsuzuki seemed not to notice. His pupils were dilating in and out, his breathing getting shallower every second that passed.
"Can you hear...Oh no... No, no, no, no, no! Tsuzuki, don't!" All Tsuzuki could think of saying to Watari was, I'm sorry, but I can't. I'm gonna pass out... And he did.
"Open your eyes..."
White was the colour that blinded him as he opened his eyes. Blinking to get rid of the afterimages that swarmed his sight, he groped for something to lean on since he realised that he was tilting slowly... No... Wait... That wasn't right.
He was floating.
Wondering why he was floating, he asked the owner of the voice that earlier prodded him awake. "Where am I?" He asked rather stupidly. No one answered him, of course, but there was a consistent buzzing sound from somewhere behind him. Or around him. Or somewhere above him, or under, or maybe it was inside of him. Uh, should it really matter? He shuddered. Wherever he is,it was giving him the creeps. It was like something or someone was watching him, but wasn't really there, or wasn't really watching him. The place he was in was scary enough and empty enough to send someone to a mental hospital, but he ignored the sudden madness. He concentrated on finding a way out of that. . . place. . . he wasn't sure if it were a maboroshi, because he would know; or if it was a simple connection of the brain through the telekinetic waves, which was impossible since Hisoka or Ai wasn't there. Either Hisoka's empathy rubbed off on him, or Ai had managed to conjure something in her head to finally let them find her. Either was impossible, and so he gave up on the thought. Ironically, he thought of Watari, if the blond was panicking now because he (and he's very sure he did) vanished from the office and went to some freaky place where a devil might have been tormenting him or something. He smiled despite the situation; he stood up straight, his feet not really touching anything, and he tried to walk. His first step met an invisible force; it let him switch his weight to his left foot, and he tried another step. Until he was very sure that he wasn't going to fall into a chasm of never-ending light and white blankness, he tread to look for at least a way to get out of there. Of course, there wouldn't be any doors that had a sign over it that says: "Hey stupid, here's the exit!" but he could look for the source of the buzzing. And try not to go insane. Or maybe shout until his throat went raw. Or. . . or. . . let's stick with insane.
A gust of wind came from nowhere suddenly which knocked the breath out of him. The buzzing grew louder and it turned into a screeching noise; it was so loud that it almost shattered his eardrums. He squirmed as he tried to block it out, and he covered his ears, but that proved to be a failure since the screeching wasn't coming from around him, it was coming from inside his head. Maybe I should just jump and see whether it'll make me get anywhere. He thought sardonically as he doubled over, feeling sick of the nausea the sound brought.
As sudden as the sound came, it went away as quick. He uncovered his ears and looked around. Nothing changed though. So much for the pain...
"My dear child, open your eyes and look at me..." The voice pleaded again. Ack, who was that creepy person? That voice was too. . . dark. Yet it was too. . .mellow, too satiny. . . too. . .angelic. . .
He gasped; the walls darkened as a figure came into being. The field of white changed into a room of screaming red. Blood red. Then dark blue. Yellow. White. Black. The figure gleamed in the darkness and everything was white again. And the whole cycle of colours began again, swirling past his eyes that he wasn't sure that he was still standing. Before nausea could take a good grip of him and make him puke his lunch, the tornado of colours stopped and it was just the barren whiteness that stayed with him.
"Yes child, yes." The sweet voice said again. A hand appeared in front of him, and he looked up just to find himself staring in the eyes of a god. He looked deeply in the eyes of the Lord of Death, Judgement, and the Afterlife. The Great Deity himself, Lord Enma-Daioh.
"Oh dear Enma... Lord Enma-Daioh..." He whispered in disbelief.
Tatsumi shuffled past the Gushoushins who entered the hall when he heard Watari screaming helplessly from the room where Hisoka had been. It was something like, "No, no, no, no, no." Kachou, who decided to appear just now, stopped him midway and surprised him; he had to catch himself to cease his fall again. "What is happening here?" Kachou's face was turning purple with rage as Watari's voice ceased to stop. There was a certain edge in his voice that could make anyone else squirm. But, Tatsumi, calm and collected as always, didn't even flinch. Even as Kachou pinned him with a death glare.
"Kachou, Ai is in Chijou," Was Tatsumi's quiet reply. "I'm afraid it's because of Shijiku Suki."
"I was afraid you'd say that. Did she say anything before she left?" Kachou's hand went up to his forehead and there it massaged the space in between his bushy brows.
"Sir?" Tatsumi asked with an inquiring frown.
"I knew something like this would happen, but I took my chance of taking the case anyway. It's just that the other divisions needed help. . ." Kachou's voice trailed off.
"But sir, what now?" His fears were yet to come.
Kachou gazed out the window and watched the sakura blossoms drifring silently with the wind, cascading on the floor and covering it like a blanket. He sighed a very pained sigh and closed his eyes. Tatsumi waited patiently until Kachou opened his eyes again.
"You were there, Tatsumi, when Enma called us. You should know," Kachou turned on his heels to reach out for a folder. He handed it to Tatsumi who stared at it with understanding following his confusion. "If worst comes to worst, I might just do it."
"But sir--she doesn't know anything! She needs the two of--" Kachou raised a hand to silence him. HE looked at him mournfully and nodded.
"We should. We can't do anything else,"
It took a while for tatsumi to regain his composure and find his voice. "If we must," He answered the statement that didn't require one but felt the need to. He was about to say something again when a scream erupted from somewhere behind him and it took him a while to realise that it was Watari's panicked shouts that was calling his name desperately. Kachou's forehead creased into a look of worry and followed Tatsumi as he ran to Watari.
The room was almost quiet; if it wasn't for the steady screeching noise still in her head. She felt something trickling down the side of her face down to her neck. She was afraid to wipe it off her face, but she was sure that the deity wouldn't mind. She quickly brought her hand to her cheek, and wiped off what she thought was sweat, which turned out to be blood. Oh. She thought. Of all the times to bleed to near death, why now? She stared at her hand for a second and wondered, how was it possible to bleed when all she did were slap a man and stand in front of a god? She then remembered the whirlpool of elements, the swarm of colours, the buzzing that was in her head. She was cloaking herself from Tsuzuki, and from Hisoka as well. That was why her... she touched her ear... ears were bleeding? From the screeching sound? Or more likely, the power the deity had unleashed. She had this thing, with people and strong auras, just as how Hisoka had his empathy. One onmyouji like Muraki-sensei, requires a strong barrier for her, because he was that strong, and she didn't just know about it, she would feel it, would see it, and hear it. Just like how a dog would be able to take up sounds inaudible to us. That's how she would hear it. Hear it to the extent of making her eardrums bleed if she doesn't focus. She first found out about it when she first encountered Shinigamis, after she died. When she was mortal, she did feel it, but it didn't affect her as much as it did when she became a Shinigami. Her trainer proved it to her. In the most excruciating way. Now, if Muraki required a strong barrier, what of a god? She was even surprised that she hadn't collapsed yet, and that her ears bled only a little.
She glanced at the man who was still quivering on the floor, beside the god. She could not help assume a grin on her face. Just when she was about to laugh at the man, she quickly remembered that she was still standing and she was all the while not paying respects. She quickly bent her knees and sat on the floor, bending over just as how the man was positioned. She silently berated herself and wished she could die then and there.
"My Lord Enma, I am honoured to have your presence today," She whispered to the floor. She was afraid that if she said it out loud, or if she said it casually, he would think she was mocking him. And she was afraid that her words were not that formal. She sat up straight and looked up at the god.
The god smiled at her, and glanced at his servant, commanding him, "Stand up," Immediately, the servant in the white yukata stood up and nervously awaited for his next command. "Kneel before me." He did so, hurriedly, setting a few paces to Ai's left and bending over like before.
"I told you to bring her to me, did I not?" Enma-Daioh asked him with a calm demeanour.
"Yes, my Lord," He squeaked. Ai watched him closely. He was really scared. He was trembling from head to toe, and she suspected that he was going to self-combust any minute now.
"I told you to bring her immediately to me, did I not?" The god stared at him with cold eyes.
"Yes my Lord, but----" Though Ai did not understand the situation, she tried, but still she could not grasp a theory. But when the god asked him what he commanded him to do, she whipped her head to the direction of the god. Why did he want him to bring her? What for? What had she done? She only wanted to torture her uncle for letting Suki die... her heart sank. She remembered the very first things Tatsumi told her when she arrived. Rule #1: Never ever be involved with humans unless assigned a case. Further recollection of those first few days was abandoned as the god burst out at the imoudence of his servant.
"Silence!" The god bellowed. "I did not tell you to give me a reason!"
"I am sorry, my Lord."
"Did I tell you that you could voice your opinions to my Shinigami?" It was impressive how someone could control his voice that easy. Well, what do you expect of a god, anyway? Ai mused. She caught herself and she ceased her smiling..
"No my Lord,"
"Then why did you have to antagonise my Shinigami?"
"I apologi----"
"Answer the question!" She observed how the god's face looked ugly and beautiful at the same time. She marvelled at it, but she didn't seem to mind it at all. His voice rang with Hell's Bells, with chimes, his skin gleamed, too pale; his long golden hair, silver and white, spilled over his shoulders and his clothes were of immaculate silk and gold trimmings.
"I was not able to control myself, your majesty, and I apologise for my behaviour. It will not happen again." He squeaked once again, and the folder he earlier carried was clutched tightly underneath him as he answered every question.
There was a long pause, and when she thought she could try and at least make conversation with the god, to maybe, you know, ask a few questions, the floor gave way underneath her, and she got sucked in another one of those whirlpools that mixed everything around her like a tornado. Not again. Hell no! She cried in her head. She gasped, and choked, and she tried to keep her eyes open. The air was carrying her, she was turning around and round, and she tried to look for Enma-Daioh, but she couldn't see him. Everything was too fast, it was making her dizzy, and she could only hear a faint buzzing again, and she shut her eyes, covered her ears, as a thousand other voices shattered her barriers and the sound of a thousand minds screamed at her. She had to put up another barrier fast if she didn't want to pass out. But it was too strong that the voices of a thousand voices from the building chattered in her head; the millions of thousands of people washed over her, and the voices of a hundred employees laughed and screamed in her brain. It was so terrible, that she couldn't even hear her own screaming voice.
"Make it stop, please!" It was only a whisper.
5
"Come on, pick up, pick up..."
He was twisting the napkin so bad, he wasn't aware that it was about to rip in half. He was waiting for Yuki to pick up his damn phone and he wished he could at least talk to him even for a minute or two. The receiver resting on his left shoulder and his hands dropping said napkin, he reached over the bar for another one. He also fought the urge to hit his head on the bar table. Which was stringer than he thought when he looked at the table. Maybe it was a good idea. He felt a pair of eyes watching him. He glanced at the guy who was staring at him for the last minute and he gave him an irritated glare over his dark shades. He shifted the shades higher up his nose (because he can't go waltzing in anywhere with nothing but his clothes on, since he is a rock star, you know). He really can't blame the guy, since he was (and this Shuichi thought in despair), after all, sitting there on the bar stool with a dozen or so twisted napkins and was pushing the buttons of the phone with so much force that the bartender threatened to take it away fom him. Why was he so devoted to love? Sucker, moron, idiot... He told himself. Why oh why did you fall in love with a guy named Yuki?
"What're you looking at?" He snapped at the man who was staring at him and continued dialing Yuki's number.
"That's the last call you're going to make," The bartender told him, as he strode over to him. He put a bottle of vinegar beside Shuichi's right elbow and started to clear the table of the napkins that littered it. "Are you sure this thing's gonna do anything to you?" He looked at the vinegar, doubtful. Shuichi, who ordered it, nodded his head in haste. "Yes." Shuichi said, absent-mindedly.
"Anymore of those calls, and that phone will explode." The bartender smiled at Shuichi.
Shuichi finally placed the receiver back on its hook and pushed the phone aside as he smiled sadly at the bartender. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to check on someone..." He let his sentence hanging.
"Special? Well, that girl's pretty lucky to have you caring about her like that," The bartender said as he threw the napkins in the wastebasket under the counter. He leaned over and placed his arms on the counter top to get a better look at Shuichi. "And I must say, she has... some taste in guys..." He glanced at Shuichi's red hair. Shuichi unconciously brought up his hand to his hair and grinned sheepishly. He mumbled something and bowed his head. "What? I didn't catch what you said." The bartender frowned through his black locks.
"I said, I didn't exactly say that it was a 'she'..." Shuichi looked away, sighing.
The bartender blinked at him a few times before the information registered in his brain. "Oh." He said, eyebrows up. "Oh." He said again, frowning a little. "Ohhh" He then said as he finally understood. Shuichi was blushing ferociously and shifted his shades higher on the bridge of his nose. He waited for the sheepish reply and the nervous and slightly disgusted tone of voice the bartender will say. But he wasn't ready for the next thing he said.
"That's cool with me, dude! Oh come on, don't blush on me, it's not as if I was born yesterday you know. I'm not the conservative and the cultured type," He patted the shocked Shuichi and grinned. Shuichi stared, wide-eyed, shades slightly askew as he jerked his head up to see if the bartender was just exagerrating. But he wasn't. "If its any consolation, I'm in a similar relationship myself."
Now it was Shuichi's turn to say "Oh." He smiled nervously at the bartender. "Oh. I'm glad." The bartender thoughtfully frowned at him. "I just wish he were as...how should I say it...caring as you are." Shuichi blushed furiously again. "Hey, hey, I could only take so much blushing for one day, give me a break. " He chuckled.
"Uhm... I don't know whether I should be pleased or not," Shuichi said guiltily. The bartender gave him a quizical look. "I mean, I think I'm obsessed with him... I think he's avoiding me because I'm too obsessed."
"Nonsense! He should be lucky! You're here and he's... Where is he, anyway?"
"Tokyo." Shuichi grabbed the neck of the bottle and took a swig.
"See? You're all the way here, and he's in Tokyo... and you're still calling him just to check up on him." The man who was earlier staring at him stood up and they just looked at him. He was and old man, as Shuichi observed as he walked away, with greying hair and faded clothes of denim and cotton. He left his drink, only half consumed, and the bartender shrugged. "Conservative old fool." Shuichi raised his eyebrows at his comment. "He's been spending his nights here for the past week and doesn't talk much. Whenever there're teenagers around, talking about life and sex and stuff, he walks away. Unlike us youngsters, we know better than to judge a person and we didn't grow up in a society as cultured as theirs..." He explained.
"I agree." Shuichi beamed at him. He took another swig and watched as the bartender walked over to the otherside of the bar and placed the glass in the sink. When he turned around, Shuichi gave him the once-over. The bartender was young, maybe twenty-three or so, with black hair and not-so-pale skin. Medium built, at least 5'6 or 5'7 in height; he stared at his eyes and noticed they were black. He only realized that he was staring at him when the bartender chuckled and spoke up.
"I see that you're giving me an evaluation. Did I pass your test?" Shuichi bowed his head and blushed once more. "Oh please, come on, Shindou-san, don't blush all over me again..." he pleaded, exasperation in his voice. "So... did I pass the test?"
"Oh? Uh... well... yes..." Shuichi said. Then it hit him. "How did you know my name?" he asked nervously. If this bartender knows, then... he glanced around him. There are one, two... three people in the room; one of them an old couple and a stressed-out businessman sitting in his chair with a cup of untouched coffee on the table beside him as he read the latest about the Stock market. Well, they seemed not to notice anyway, so he was safe.
"Well, your hair," The bartender pointed out. "Is red, and I recognized your voice right away. A faithful fan knows his idols." He smiled, crossing his arms over his chest and walking over to stand in front of Shuichi.
"You do?" Blink, blink.
"Yes. Your albums are played in non-stop repeat in my CD player. Music videos of your songs are played everyday." The bartender said, as if it was so obvious.
"That's... great..." Shuichi smiled as he drank the rest of his drink. "Don't worry, you're secret's safe with me. I won't tell you're in the building." The bartender gave him a wink.
Yuki Eiri was relieved to find out that he had passed his story in time to his editor. What he wasn't relieved about was the fact that he wasn't getting enough sleep because of (besides Shuichi) his work. He was barely eating right and he still had that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach he couldn't get rid of. He tried, really, to actually ignore it, but the more he ignored it, the more it got worse. He was dreaming things too. He was dreaming of long, page-by-page, chapter-by-chapter dreams. When he takes a nap. Whenever he takes a nap, he starts dreaming, even when he nods for a minute or two, he would dream of a at least 30 minutes worth of airtime on television. And he still has to figure it out because it was some kind of story, as he looked back at it; and they weren't in order. The most recent, the weirdest, and the most disturbing dream was of a boy with ebony hair and ice-blue eyes. Scratch that. The wierdest, most disturbing dream was of the most beautiful, most captivating (with the exception of Shuichi... and so Yuki thought) boy with ebony hair and ice-blue eyes. He shuddered at the thought.
It repeated itself the whole day. Even when he spaced out for a few seconds. It repeated itself for so many times, that he lost count. He could even relive every detail in his head if he weren't overwrought on it.
The dream would start out as it started out the first time that day. There would be that boy with the black hair and the ice-blue eyes. My, he would wonder, how beautiful he is, even though his face wasn't hat clear to him. He would stand there. And then, he would see another boy with crimson hair and blue eyes, and they would face each other. They would merge, and they would approach him. He will try to run,but of course, they will catch him and then he would drop to the floor, writhe in pain. A flash of light, then there were flames. Poof! There would be another voice screaming for him, but he couldn't see it. Then his dream would come to an abrupt ending. The above was just summarized for the whole thing started and consisted of various buildings, places, and a lot of green grass and blue skies.
He dropped his keys on the mahogany coffee table and relaxed on the sofa. He ignored the fact that he had left his phone on the coffe table to, along with other odds and ends he accumulated for the past few weeks. He ignored it to savour the softness of the sofa. The big black sofa. The big black sofa that witnessed their reveries, their dreary and scintillating palavers, their arguments, their reconcilliations, their ups and downs. Basically their everyday life. The big black sofa would always find Shuichi lazing down in it; and he would... agh, he should stop it. He should stop thinking of Shuichi or else he'll go crazy. There was just something in Shuichi that made him feel all right... And secure, in a way... And he felt ashamed to be so weak. He, who hid in his nutshell of impenetrable chaos and self-destruction; he who was cold as ice and whose words shattered the feeble-minded and watched them fall and crumble in the dirt; he who needed their weakness to sustain his ego... He needed them, as much as they needed him to make them face reality. But he was ashamed to say and admit that he was just like them: the weakling who hid in himself. So he needed Shuichi. Shuichi, whose weakness made him see his own; Shuichi who was strong as he faced them. He loathed Shuichi as much as he loved him. How could one be so weak, be so strong, for him? How could one be so different from him, could bring him happiness? Why? Why had he turned him into this lovesick lenanshee? To make the banter short and precise (if one would call it precise), he was having a Shuichi-withdrawal. Yes, a Shuichi-withdrawal.
He closed his eyes, not even minding the skies that penetrated his vision. He didn't even try to stop the dream from unveiling itself. He welcomed it, in a resigned manner, as he saw the green hills and green grass that rolled through a never-ending canvas of mist. The lonely twittering of the birds and the low grumble of the engines that passed by; the smooth petals of the flowers that hung in his path.
It would be almost perfect, he thought, if Shuichi was there. But he wasn't. He continued to dream, and wait until the nightmare comes again. The wind was blowing fiercely now, and what he saw next made him scream and jerk wide awake. In his dream. He stumbled back, and he felt the carpet underneath him. There was that same boy; his ice-blue eyes changing into a warmer shade, and his ebony hair turning into the shade of crimson hair his only beloved possessed.
In his dream, the storm continued. But he lay motionless on the carpeted floor of his haven He stirred not, even when that same ghostly white skin grabbed his throat and wrenched his head up, cupping his chin fiercely and swooping down to catch his craving lips in a bitter-sweet kiss.
Not even when a shadow cast itself on his limp form, and traced loving hands all over his face and lips, pushing back naughty locks of wheat-gold hair that dare obscure his lovely face; all the while smiling wryly and whispering an addendum of admiration. Not even when that hand exposed the flesh of his chest to parted lips, and the hungered tongue flicked out to taste sweet, hot skin.
The evening embraced him with fervour; the moonlight highlighting his features. Hiro and Fujisaki had arrived a few hours ago, if you call five o'clock to eleven o'clock few. He sat and savoured the cool wind that blew away the leaves from the distant trees and carried the whispers and secrets of night-time dwellers kissing in the semi-darkness and the little world of their own. He envied them, as much as he envied all couples. It wasn't as if he wasn't content in his relationship with the aforementioned writer... it was just... a bit hard for him to deal with someone like Yuki. But he tries, really. It's been a few years since they got together, and he was glad they even made it that long. He loathed Yuki's presence, as much as he wanted it. Yuki was the character he never was. And he had to smile at that. Yuki was everything to him. Yuki might not say those words of devotion, but Shuichi feels his love, and that was enough. It would be nice to hear those words from Yuki himself. It was assuring in a way.
Continuing his reverie of sorts, he shifted in his seat, namely the comforter of his bed. He glanced back at Hiro, who was snoozing contently. Hiro wasn't a loud sleeper, he just wanted to empty his mind and refrain himself from falling asleep. For the past few days, he had been dreaming of the same dream that repeated itself whenever he fell asleep. Even when he closed his eyes, an image of a black haired boy with blue eyes that (frighteningly) looked like Yuki's own cold ones. No, no, Yuki's eyes were not blue, they were somewhat on the line of gold and very, very light brown eyes. Kind of like hazel, but lighter. And colder.
His legs brought up to his chest, clutching his hands to keep it warm, chin resting on his knees, he sighed a lingering sigh. He cocked his head to the side a little, staring at the blinking stars. He wanted to call Yuki, but Yuki wasn't answering his phone. Maybe because he was getting irrtiated. But why would he be? He called the other day and he even offered Shuichi a date. Was it that he just imagined it? Or that Yuki was lying again? Or was he doing something... say...mischievous, like... you know... doing that thing with a nondescript person or something. He brushed his thoughts aside with a shake of his head and sighed once more. He couldn't help it. The strong pull of gravity had brought them together and he couldn't go back and take a step to turn away. He couldn't stop the desire to touch, to taste, to feel those soft lips move ever so slowly with his. He couldn't stop staring deep into his eyes while he asked for the truth, and please, please, could you please tell him the truth? Only the truth, and nothing more... Only the---- he yawned.
Rummaging in his battered brain for more memories, useless things, and impossible scenes of adultery would make him fall asleep, so he tried really hard not to think up an imaginary Yuki moving with orchestrated manuevers in the dark. But the steady whistling of the wind proved that he was no match to it and was lulling him to sleep. The Sandman refused to give up the fight, sprinkling some more of those sand over Shuichi's head, and soon, his eyes closed, and he fell back in a slow motion, a pillow ready to catch his head.
A smile tugged on the lips of the person who placed the pillow underneath Shuichi, and he lay a loving hand on Shuichi's head as he stared with eyes that demystified every inch of detail on the younger boy's face. He laughed softly and his hand hovered slightly over the boy's lips, but he brushed back the boy's locks from his forehead instead.
In the other room, Fujisaki turned in his sleep, and Hiroshi continued dreaming peacefully.
6
The moon was awfully beautiful that night. Two amused eyes blinked in the light as he tread over the grass that seemed to be carrying him rather than him moving on them. There was a small shadow that cast itself beside him, and he smiled as the figure came closer and he continued his silent reverie. His hands were clasped behind his back, his black hair riding with the wind. His form was no longer gaunt but he wasn't bony anymore; he was slender and he had more than just skin hanging on his frame. His blue eys still trapped in the chimera, his thoughts still on his 'boy' and his 'lover'. The silence was broken when the cherubic face peered at him, blue eyes dazed but teasing. The creature was unusualy small, and it was more on the lines femininity even though it was born a hermaphrodite. He should know. He created this said creature. It was his greatest plan, and it would serve him until the very end. He made sure of that. If only his dear, beloved understood. His beloved whom he adored, cherished, served and honored. He wouldn'tve gone rebellious about it. The creature cleared its throat.
"Yes?" He acknowledged, but he never looked at the entity that decided to grace him with its presence. His own eyes of preserved blue twinkled in the semi-darkness, and his face obscured by the shadows. A low "Hmm. . ." escaped his lips and the creature walked a few paces away from him.
"I trust that everything worked out well?" He asked, his voice impeccably soft and tantalizing. His delicate limbs with its preternatural skin glowing with a certain light that would pass for a demigod, a master of the arcane arts. But his appearance could deceive anyone w ho would chance a look on his timeless facade of youth. His beautiful lashes of coal black brushed his cheeks lightly as he blinked expectantly somewhere at the space between the building in front of him and the moon. The sum and substance of a young mortal chuckled; a low rustling of sound that was a simulation of what was real and what was not.
"Master," The voice piped; it was small, high-pitched and it would have passed for a human being's if it weren't for the other voice that seemed to overlap it somewhow being an echo but in its entirety, a voice of a child nonetheless. "Your subjects have been receiving the messages, as you have planned,"
"Very good," The master of the two said, his voice husky, and somewhat amused. He smiled an effortless smile and glanced at his servant. "I trust that they would be ready in a few days?"
"Master, they are stubborn," The creature said, a hint of worry in its voice. "Their instincts refuse your will."
"In a a few weeks, then," He said, his voice unperturbed. "You are dismissed." He languidly averted his gaze and let it fall on the still figure on a balcony, three floors up, two rooms from the right. He smiled wider, his white fangs showing.
"We are going to be ready in a few weeks," He said again, his laughter carrying in on the dark as he gradually disappeared from the moonlight's circle, away from the exposure. The creature in its place vanished literally, with nothing to trace it back from where it once belonged.
The night continued to drift off, and two souls, both grasping for reality, fell deeper in the chasm, always reaching but never touching.
The time was near.
7
Watari and Tatsumi had gathered Tsuzuki up and was now watching over him. Kachou came and left, and he was so pissed, nonetheless worried about the situation at hand. He had to do something so he left. Tsuzuki was lying motionless for a while but he looked awfully gaunt. A shudder ran through his body and Watari checked whether he was still breathing. Fortunately even if death tried to take him for the third time, he wouldn't die because he was naturally stubborn and he has a purpose now. They were really happy when they finally got together. They are now married for two years, and they are genuinley happy with each other. Watari had never seen Tsuzuki so happy before that Watari thought the inu was going to explode. Last year, when Ai first arrived, they couldn't believe their eyes, and they thought Kachou was joking then when he said she was going to be in their division. The Shokan had never been rowdier. Well, before Ai lost her brother and everyone else in her family, the days in the Shokan division were filled with... well... accidents... Most of them was because of her doing. One of them was when Ai 'stumbled' upon them when she was trying to contact Hisoka through her mind. Her two parents were making out in the...uhm... living room... She accidentally told Wakaba, who she knew was trying to get some cute (and kinky) pictures of the couple, that tiny tidbit so she could have her chocolate mousse cake, which made Wakaba do a stakeout with her unwilling partner in crime, who else? Terazuma, of course. Okay, to make it short, she did get some cute (and kinky) pictures of the couple, which the Hokkaido twins found in Wakaba's desk when they were looking for some documents.... which made them run after Hisoka again with some clothes they bought from the mall. When Hisoka asked them why they were doing that again when they promised they were going to leave him alone for at least a month, they told him they found some pictures. Dot, dot, dot. (...) Hisoka asked what pictures? And they led him to Wakaba's desk. He found them, burned them, asked Wakaba how she got those pictures, who in the process squealed on Ai... Who then told him that she 'accidentally stumbled upon' them... Hisoka took out his katana in rage and chased Ai who nearly lost her neck at the time. She had to run to Chijou and hide. Tsuzuki could only stammer and blush. Hisoka didn't talk to her for a week unitl she agreed to wipe out the twins', Wakaba's, and Terazuma's memories of said event. Watari and Tatsumi were spared. Kachou was quiet about the whole ruckus. They wondered why. Their wonder wasn't given any answer.
Ai was their 'child'; the kid wanted a family, they gave her one. She couldn't be more than happy. At least, that's what Watari thought. The year before, when Ai found out that she had lost her brother, and that she had for many years now, she couldn't accept it that she killed off everyone who stood in her way and those who took her brother away. She summoned her powers and... that wasn't relevant now, was it?
Tsuzuki was now shuddering more violently, and Watari had to slap him on the face to wake him up. It worked, to Watari's surprise. He should do that more often. Tsuzuki blinked a few times, and sat up. "What happened?" Tsuzuki asked the awaiting Shinigamis.
"What happened? Aren't we supposed to be the ones to ask you that?" Watari gave him a wry smile. Tsuzuki brought a hand up his hair and frowned. He was in Watari's impromptu room, and he was lying on the makeshift bed, with his clothes mangled, and his head throbbing with agonizing pain.
"My head... it hurts..." He now clasped the sides of his head with his hands and when he looked at Watari, his eyes were glazed over and Watari gasped at what he saw.
"Tatsumi, his eyes are green!" Watari half-shouted in disbelief. "What're you talking about, Watari, his eyes are amethyst...." he trailed off as Tsuzuki faced Tatsumi. Tsuzuki groaned and closed his eyes, clasping the sides of his head again.
"I can't... my head.. Enma... it hurts..." He moaned, and he when he opned his eyes agian, Watari and Tatsumi could see that they were green again. He blinked, and they were amethyst once more. "It hurts..." He groaned louder. The two of them could only watch in horror. They didn't know what to do anyway. Tsuzuki closed his eyes once more, and when he let go of his head, he opned them and they were clear emerald green and he spoke in a voice that wasn't his. If they weren't so mesmerizingly horrified, they wouldn't be standing there, aghast and motionless. They would actually do something rather than stare. Their brains weren't cooperating with them, unfortunately.
"Make it stop, make it stop! Make it stop, please..." Tsuzuki said. It wasn't his voice; it was a girl's devastated voice. Tsuzuki frowned; he blinked and then shook his head a little. Amethyst. Watari cupped his chin and made Tsuzuki face him. "Tsuzuki, can you see me?" He looked closely at Tsuzuki's eyes; they were staring at him, but it was looking past him. Tsuzuki blinked again, opened them slowly;they turned green so suddenly that Watari let go of Tsuzuki's chin.
"Tatsumi, his eyes are green again. They're green again..." Watari said to Tatsumi as he stood up and went to his computer. "I need to go and check it out." But before he could do so, Tatsumi's hand stopped him. "Look," Tatsumi whispered. He turned around and found Tsuzuki lookng at him.
Tsuzuki spoke again. "I only wished to ask him questions." He said, in that high-pitched voice again. Tatsumi listened carefully, and then he realized that it was Ai's voice. It was her voice.
"That's Ai's voice!" Tatsumi said. Watari looked at Tsuzuki again, staring at the green eyes and said, "Then those must be her eyes!" Watari went back to Tsuzuki quickly and took his hands in his. "Ai, are you listening? Can you hear me?"
Maybe it was because of bad timing or karma, or whatever, but Hisoka was not pleased at all at the sight that welcomed him back from the journey he had to endure during rush hour because of a single teenager. A teenager who was nowhere to be seen and was a potential killer now that she was in her Get-Up-And-Kill-Every-Single-Person-That-Comes-In-Your-Way-If-They-Don't-Cooperate phase. The phase explains it. It was like this: first, she sees you, then she shoots you, then you're dead. That's how good you get when you practice hard in sharp-shooting. It gives the phrase, 'Practice makes perfect,' a bad reputation. Hisoka grudgingly opened the door of the Shinigami office, walked past his colleagues and Kachou who was currently yelling at them like a pope in the church scolding students of blasphemy, and rushed to see Tatsumi. He passed a room with its door open, and he caught sight of a person on a bed. Oh. It wasn't just a room. He backtracked and saw Tsuzuki lying on Watari's makeshift bed, in the room adjacent to his laboratory, directly opposite the door. He rushed in, ran to Tsuzuki's side, with Tsuzuki clasping his head as if it was being taken away from him. He was about to say something when Tsuzuki opened his eyes, Watari and Tatsumi watching in horror as his eyes appeared to be green. Green. Wow. When did he wear contacts? Okay, so that didn't work, hell, he needed something to explain this sudden phenomenon. Tsuzuki's eyes do not turn green over a few hours. Hell, nobody's eyes turn into green in a few hours without the help of contact lenses, and they simply do not turn back to amethyst or whatever the damn colour of their eyes was. Yes, the sight that he saw was not very nice. Not good. Not normal! He had three problems now: First, the child, second, the even bigger child, and last, himself. Himself for he might do something cataclysmic if he couldn't help it. Heavens, help him. Really. They should.
"What happened...?" Hisoka whispered at last, mimickng Tatsumi's actions of nearing Tsuzuki. He had come in the room,a dn was staring still at Tsuzuki. His eyes, oh, they were...oh... they were... scary... He pulled on his hari and groaned in agitation. Could it get any worse?
"I am sorry, I only wanted to..."
Hisoka wished he shouldn't have thought of 'worse'.
Tsuzuki broke off as he closed his eyes again, and groaned in pain. "Dear Enma," Tsuzuki's own voice said as he tried to pry his finger loose from Watari's hands. "Let go of me, Watari," he said. "My head is..." Watari didn't let go of his hands, and waited. Tsuzuki's body trembled for a while, and there, again, were those same emerald green eyes.
"It's Ai." Tatsumi said, as if it will explain everything. "You didn't find her,did you?"
Hisoka only continued staring at Tsuzuki. "Blood..." Hisoka's voice trailed off as Tsuzuki spoke again.
"I promise... I promise..." He said, pleading. Tsuzuki slipped his hands free, and brought it to his eyes. Watari let him.
"That I will be good..."
"Tsuzuki, listen to me, wake up, wake up!" Tsuzuki had collapsed back on the pillow. Hisoka had rushed to him, and had his hands on both sides of Tsuzuki's head. He cupped Tsuzuki's head and pushed back strands of cinnamon hair. He kissed Tsuzuki's lips and Tsuzuki's eyes fluttered open." Please tell me what happened." He whispered.
"'Soka-chan?" Tsuzuki smiled weakly. "What're you doing here?"
"Listen to me, Tsuzuki, you have to tell me what you saw. Where is Ai?"
Tsuzuki smiled in a mystified way, and whispered:
"She's with Enma-Daioh..."
To be continued
Uhm... I promise that I will be good and write a longer chapter (and hopefully, a chapter that doesn't suck) if you promise me that you will review.
I need praises. And a mighty lot of them too.
