A/N: The original reason for the delay was that I have my mid-terms this week and the weeks to follow. I would have updated before though, if my monitor hadn't broke. What I'm trying to say is, updates will take longer. I have to write the chapters by hand and then pay to use a computer to type them up. I'm not answering reviews personally for that same reason, please don't hate me T.T
Enjoy!!!!
A SMILE UPON MY FACE
For everyone who was connected to the events unfolding, it was obvious the end was near. Maybe it was the fact that time seemed to be standing still, as if also overwhelmed with expectation; a night had turned into a lifetime. What they didn't know was that, like at the end of all lifetimes, death was anxiously awaiting to take what she thought was rightfully hers.
Luckily for all of them, Minase Hijiri had a say in death's matters. The old hag would have to go home empty handed this time; he'd make sure of it.
At that moment, while he, Aome, and an uncharacteristically quiet Tsuzuki scanned every inch of that school, he could recognize that fear was the one emotion common to the three of them. It was written all over their faces. But, all in all, he knew what needed to be done and how to do it. His mind, more than anything, was focusing on Tsuzuki.
It wasn't at all hard to get used to Tsuzuki being younger than him; it was almost suiting. But even with a new life, new memories and considerably less years, he was still same old Tsuzuki. That surprised Hijiri as much as it pleased him. He was still the same boy- man- that had made him fall so hard all those years ago. Maybe that fact wouldn't help him move on- though he seriously doubted he was even able to do so at that point- but it was so comforting to see with his own two eyes that the beauty of that soul hadn't been lost with Tsuzuki's passing.
Tsuzuki had just learned there was a demon out to get him and, though he'd really tried to divert the subject of Tsuzuki's supposed demonic origin, Hijiri knew he'd only made matters worse and now the boy was also convinced he was the devil's spawn. Yet here he was, worrying about his friends when Hijiri knew he had to be at least a little bit scared for his own safety.
That same selfless being that on his selflessness provoked such devotion and admiration- as well as some annoyance- in everyone who got to know him. The best part was that the violet eyed boy, in his concern for everyone and his unconditional love for every single soul, didn't realize 'he' was the one who needed protection. Half the time, he didn't even realize how much everyone around him loved him. He was absolutely unaware of the emotions he caused others to feel, and that made him all the more special.
Tsuzuki was too pure- too candid- for this world. He made you want to smack him in the head in more than one occasion- both for his innocence and his self loathing- but no one could stop themselves from falling deeply in love with that creature that was something short of an angel.
His new body had nothing to envy the old one either, Hijiri thought a little longingly, glancing at the boy's refined yet childish features.
His thoughts must have somehow shown on his face- perhaps it was simply that he'd been staring at Tsuzuki like a drooling idiot- because Aome hit his side with one elbow, scolding slightly. Clearing his throat and blushing just a little bit, Hijiri came to a stop.
"This is pointless," he declared, smiling nonetheless. Tsuzuki nodded.
"We're never going to find them like this. I don't know who came up with the idea of making schools so big, but he was very stupid." The boy pouted ever so slightly, making Hijiri smile.
"Maybe we should split up?" Aome provided, sounding suspiciously hopeful.
Hijiri considered it for a moment, then shook his head no. There was something about that plan- as logic as it sounded- that struck him as a bad idea. Under the circumstances, he wouldn't want to get Tsuzuki- or Aome- out of his sight; not even for a moment. Divide and conquer, as they say.
"No," he finally said, "We're staying together. Last thing I want is to be looking for you guys, if something should happen."
Tsuzuki nodded thoughtfully, his features filling with concern.
"I shouldn't have left Watari alone."
"Maybe," Hijiri said, giving the boy an affectionate smile that had him blushing. "There's no point in beating yourself up about it now, though. I propose we all use everything in our reach to find that demon, instead of looking for three people that could very well be in different places." At Tsuzuki's apprehensive look he added, " If- and it's a big if- your friends are in any danger, it's the demon that has made it so. If we find him first, not only could we be helping one of your friends, we would be eliminating the chance of him hurting them; ever."
"Oh!" Tsuzuki exclaimed, nodding profusely. "That actually makes sense! And you guys being shinigamis and all, can kick that bastard's ass, ne?" Hijiri's ego boosted a little. The roles had been inversed; Tsuzuki now thought 'he' was the hero.
"We'll make him wish he was dead." He said oozing self-confidence, though it was all a show.
Tsuzuki frowned a bit.
"They are five friends, though; not three. Maybe Muraki-san and Oriya-chan need our help too. I can't believe I forgot about them."
Hijiri did a double take; had he heard correctly? He may have arrived to JuOhCho way after Muraki's rein of horror, but he'd heard stories, sometimes from Tsuzuki's very lips, that would make his blood run cold. Surely Tsuzuki couldn't mean the same Muraki, could he?
Everything in that moment was absolute perfection. He knew it wasn't so much nature adding to the atmosphere as it was the demon securing his playground, but Muraki thought the storm was awfully appropriate. It was the kind of storm that ravaged everything on its way. Everything would be demolished so nature could start anew. That was the beauty in destruction.
Safe as he was inside that chapel, with his back against one of the pillars and his face warmed by candlelight, he was allowed to witness another form of beauty, though. The beauty of inevitability and the stubbornness of some people that refused to admit the end of their lives was upon them.
Oh, nothing was set in stone; he knew that. A part of him didn't care if it was him, them or anyone who would die before dawn; though he was almost certain it would be someone. But whatever the outcome, their lives as they had all known them until that night would be over in the morning.
Oriya seemed to cling to it, though. He was oh, so tenderly tending to Hisoka's wounds and Muraki, who just couldn't stop looking at him, had a pretty good idea of the why. It was simply because, in spite of the threats, the abuse, he still loved him. Even his hardened expression- his beautifully grieving, determined expression- said as much. Oriya had the notion that if he could somehow fix Muraki's wrongs, they would disappear. If Hisoka wasn't in pain, then Muraki hadn't hurt him. He was still trying to save his soul.
There was a sort of demented courage in that; a strength Muraki had never encountered before and couldn't help but to admire. And oh, did Oriya looked beautiful at that moment!! For a moment, not even a split second- there wasn't that much of a resemblance, anyway- he saw Oriya leaning over Hisoka, his hair hanging loose and gleaming, and the white haired boy was reminded of his mother; the way he'd wanted her to take care of him when he'd been ill. She never had, though, but could he blame her? Ladies of her class and status shouldn't stain their delicate hands with a brat's bugger, right?
Unconsciously, unwittingly, Muraki stood up and silently walked up to where his best friend was. If Oriya saw him coming, he gave no indication. Muraki's silver eyes never left the dark, glistening mane, his hands ever so slowly reaching out to touch it way before he got to his side. Why? How come this creature could look as dignified and breathtakingly gorgeous while he was doing something so unworthy of him? Would his mother have maintained her 'out-of-this-world' air about her if she'd got her hands dirty?
Oriya's muscles tensed as the white haired boy's fingertips finally reached the black locks and he shamelessly buried his hands in his friend's hair, but the reaction didn't last long. Other than that, the dark haired vision gave no indication of even noticing his presence. Muraki wasn't discouraged; he smiled and hugged Oriya's waist possessively, resting his forehead on the back of the other's neck.
"You belong to me, don't you?" he whispered, as kindly as he knew how. Oriya didn't answer; he did stop his work, sighing loudly. Muraki went on. "You're an angel, and you're all mine. I really can take over the heavens now." He almost laughs at that, but he didn't want to spoil the solemn mood.
"You're sick." Oriya said at last, though his tone didn't sound as accusing as it did pleading.
Muraki did laugh- albeit softly- this time.
"And yet you're still here," he answered simply, tightening his hold.
Oriya pushed him away and turned around to face him. They just stared at each other in silence for a while; Muraki admiring his friend's beauty, Oriya searching his face for any sign of sanity.
"What is it that you're looking for, Kazutaka?" he asked, sounding truly bewildered, which bewildered Muraki in turn. Wasn't it obvious?
"I want power," he said, as if it was the only logical answer. Well, wasn't it?
Oriya nodded sadly.
"You're lost," the dark haired boy declared, confusing Muraki. "You're so lost you think you need to control everyone around you to feel safe again. Amazingly enough, you're not the first to pull that off. You're a sad, sad person."
The sardonic smile that accompanied the end of those words threw Muraki of balance. And when that happens to someone who's already unbalanced, it is no wonder they react violently. He slapped Oriya across the cheek, just as he'd done with Hisoka before beating the daylights out of him; and just like that time, he could feel his controls slipping. In a moment of fleeting clarity, Muraki realized he'd never get what he wanted if he kept being so unstable, so emotional. But then Oriya, holding a hand against his reddened cheek, lifted his eyes and smiled bitterly at him.
"C'mon," he taunted, "Beat me up too, why don't you."
With those words, his remaining pseudo-reason flew out the window; though, curiously, so did his desire to hurt. At least in such a blatant way.
Oriya never dodged, obviously expecting to be hit. Instead of doing that, Muraki pushed the dark haired boy against the cold stone floor, positioning himself on top of him as to prevent any escape. He took one instant to contemplate his friend's startled expression before crushing his mouth with his own.
Days of sleep deprivation and stress were starting to catch up with him and Tatsumi had to admit- if only to himself- that he didn't remember the last time he'd slept more than two hours in a row. He was tired.
Hisae-san had left them alone to their work and their thoughts while she kept on looking for the nurse in case Watari wasn't able to help; which, in spite of Tatsumi's trust for the blonde's abilities, was very likely. Now he sat on top of Midori's desk, watching Watari as he worked and feeling completely useless, amongst other things.
He wanted to be his old self; to think, calm and cool-headed, about all the things that were nagging him about their bizarre situation. For instance, the fact that he'd recognized- at last- who it was he'd found bleeding to death. It just happened to be the exact same boy whose file Midori-san had requested with no apparent reason. From the moment he'd laid eyes on that nurse he'd smelt something fishy. Go figure, Kudou-kun was in danger and the guy was nowhere to be found.
A part of him simply didn't believe that Midori had any intention to hurt anyone. As suspicious as the man was, he didn't feel at all dangerous. But now things had taken an unpleasant turn and one thing Tatsumi was certain of was that the nurse knew more about the whole horrid mess than he was letting on. The blue eyed boy could smell deceit a mile a way; after all, 90% of the time he was the deceiver. He also knew how to make people talk, though.
But at that moment, the scheming part of his brain seemed to've ditched him. He couldn't focus for more than a few minutes before his eyes caught sight of a random light reflecting on Watari's messy hair and all other thoughts abandoned him. He'd never pledged himself to be one that got distracted by shiny objects- or people.
Poor Watari; he'd burst into the infirmary convinced it was Tatsumi who'd been hurt. Of course, his pale face and the blood on his shirt had all but confirmed that theory and, before he knew what had hit him, Watari was practically undressing him, yelling nonsense and in absolute hysterics. As embarrassing and hard to control as the blonde's behaviour had been, Tatsumi couldn't keep the smile that always seemed to accompany that memory away from his face. In spite of everything, Watari still cared about him.
Yes, there was no doubt in his heart. He loved Watari madly. He only wished he'd been allowed to go through his little emotional crisis without homicidal maniacs and suicide attempts making his life complicated and his problems seem petty and inconsequential. Was that too much to ask?
In all honesty, at that moment he didn't want to think about meaningful issues. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and mourn for the loss of a two year old relationship with someone he loved. He also wanted to try and imagine how long it would take him to be free from Tsuzuki's shadow so that he could love Watari properly.
It was wrong, unfair and completely unfounded; he knew that. But he still found himself resenting Tsuzuki a little. The only fault the purple eyed boy had, really, was to be so infuriatingly lovable. It was almost impossible not to love him. What he never told you was that, just because he loved you back, didn't mean his heart was yours. Tatsumi realised that he, himself, was really to blame; he'd thought that something as beautiful and pure could be his in the first place. Curious thing, that it was Muraki Kazutaka, of all people, who'd come to his mind with that thought. For the first time, Tatsumi could honestly sympathize with the white haired pain in the ass.
His eyes landed on Watari. Could he claim his heart? Was he worthy? Watari was as pure and beautiful, in his own right, as Tsuzuki was. Why couldn't he fall for ordinary people? Yet Watari differed from Tsuzuki in many aspects. The blond only appeared to be frail. Tatsumi had to think of him as a bit of a larva; without the negative connotations, of course. All of Watari's fears, insecurities and complexes were merely due to his short age. The blue eyed boy could see the unstoppable life force and strength in those big, innocent amber orbs. Once Watari felt confident enough about himself- and Tatsumi knew it would happen- nothing and no one would be able to bring him down. Tatsumi so wanted to be there to see his little blond caterpillar turn into a beautiful butterfly.
If he'd been fully awake, the cheesy thought would have astonished him. As it was, he realised a little too late that his thoughts had been distracting him from his effort to stay awake and his eyelids had closed for a little longer than they should have. His first clue was the vivid image he had of Watari with sparkling amber wings fluttering around him. That startled him awake but, upon opening his eyes, he found those same big amber eyes focused curiously on him. Watari had the most amused of smiles decorating his pretty face. Tatsumi, attacked by the irrational fear that the blond had somehow heard his thoughts, backed away a little; his heart pounding madly in his chest.
"Wa... Watari!! You scared the shit out of me!!"
""I'm sorry Tatsumi!" the blond chirped, "But you looked so kawaii sleeping like that!! I didn't even know it was possible to sleep on a sitting position..." he frowned, "Without some kind of support, that is."
"Well," He tried to regain his composure, pushing his gasses up his nose with one finger and sobering his face up; though he almost smiles at the memory of all the times Watari had fallen asleep still sitting at his desk. "Any success?" he expertly changed the subject.
Watari beamed, holding two fingers up in a victory sign.
"All worked out! It wasn't as bad as it looked, anyway. I was afraid this would be a little out of my league, but Watari Yutaka won in the end! Take that stupid wounds!!"
Tatsumi let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and allowed himself to smile in relief.
"I knew I could count on you." His tone was way too tender to be proper- not that he cared- and Watari blushed.
"I still think we should try to get him to an emergency room, or something. Just in case. Besides, who knows if he'll try this again?" Watari frowned, concerned. "Do you think one of us should go look for Midori-san?"
Tatsumi shook his head no with a healthy amount of determination.
"We're both staying here. God only knows what's going on out there. Tsuzuki is bound to look here if, as you said, he's still looking for Hisoka-kun and me.
"OK!" Watari sang happily and, with a little hop, sat himself on the desk next to him. "Wanna play a game?"
Hisae-san speeded up her pace. It was better not to think much about the fact that she, a woman barely a few years older than the boys that attended that school and had no means of defending herself, had offered to go around that dammed place on her own.
Nothing would have happened, she told herself, if she hadn't been so greedy as to add a few extra hours to her work load. Who cares about paying the rent on time, anyway? She would have been more than fine with being kicked out of her apartment in a few weeks if that meant she could have been sitting safely on her favourite- and only- couch, eating a microwave dinner and watching some infomercial at that very moment.
Maybe the fact that she was a woman was some sort of advantage, though; the murderer hadn't seemed to 'like' female victims all that much. Se certainly hoped it was the case, but wasn't keen on discovering she was wrong.
What an awful mess!! It might have been true that there were psychos and lunatics everywhere, but no one had figured something like that could happen in a school like that one. She was a few classes away from ditching that job and starting giving dance lessons. Surely that was a safe profession. What was the worse it could happen in a ballroom? She couldn't die now!! Not when she was so close!!
The worst part of the whole thing was that she had no idea how this Midori-san looked like. She'd probably have to wait until she ran into someone she didn't know and ask, when there was a fifty-fifty possibility that she'd ran up to the killer than the nurse. She'd already been walking for some time and had nothing to show for it but a couple of sore feet. It was probable that the nurse had done the sensible thing and fled. She would have, if she could have.
Several of the corridors had lost power. Most were lit with emergency lights, turning everything a rather inappropriate shade of red which did little to ease her nervousness. Those she couldn't avoid if she wanted to get anywhere. But there were one or two in absolute darkness. Those she ignored, figuring Midori wouldn't choose it as a refuge.
The young woman remembered every single horror movie shed seen and her breathing started to quicken. You know how you can always figure out who's going to die next in those films? How you yell all kinds of profanities at that one idiot who's about to cross the wrong door o run the wrong way? Hisae-san did, and she couldn't figure out whether she'd be yelling at herself if that were a movie.
She almost missed it, so absorbed she was with her thoughts, but her heart caught on her throat when she caught a glimpse of a figure at the end of the corridor she'd just entered. Her first irrational assumption was that he was the killer. Why else would he be standing there in the dim light and all by himself. Of course she couldn't recognize his face, as familiar as he looked. Try serving lunch to almost a thousand kids every day and remember their faces. But after observing him for a while she decided he looked harmless enough; almost luring, in fact.
He was a student, that much she could tell. He was looking fixedly at his shoes with the saddest look on his face. It made her want to help him so, before asking for permission, her feet started taking her closer to him. He didn't seem to notice her, though, until she spoke.
"Hey there," she said kindly, though her voice shook a bit. "You shouldn't be out here all by yourself. It's very dangerous."
He lifted his eyes and studied her for a while, making her feel exposed. Finally, he sighed.
"I can't find him." He sounded distressed. "He said he'd always be with me, but now he's gone.
As if it was possible, the boy's attitude made her even more nervous. He sounded not at all there; just a bit crazy. Killers could be sad, too, she thought idly. Then again, maybe he was looking for a real friend- or whatever- and, given the circumstances, it as natural he was a little upset. In any case, nothing bad could come out of her offering to help, right? If he was the killer, it was better to make herself useful and not show how scared she was.
"Who's he? Who're you looking for?"
"You're looking for someone too, aren't you?" the boy said curiously, smiling a little smile that sent chills down her spine. "You're looking for the shinigami. And you know where Kenji is, am I right?"
Hisae-san took a step back. OK, this guy was reaaaally crazy. Shinigami? Now he'd tell him he was actually looking for the easter bunny too. He'd been right about Kenji, though, and that was even more scary than his delusions.
"I don't know what you're..." Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her a few inches from the ground.
His face was a mere breath away from hers; now she could see the viciousness of his expression, the darkness of his stare. If she'd had the ability, she would have screamed at that moment.
"You're going to tell me where Kenji is. And you're going to tell me now."
On the brink of awareness, Hisoka realised, with mild relief, that the tree roots that had been tangling his feet and squeezing his neck were nothing but the result of the beating and an uncomfortable position.
It was costing him a great deal of effort to awake completely; the images- both pleasant and scary- of his dream kept pulling him back, demanding his attention. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his body was so hurt he didn't feel the pain anymore. All he felt was an annoying numbing sensation all over; sorta like the anesthesia they give you at the dentist, you know, the one that has you feeling your face has grown three times its normal size? Only this was more bothersome.
It was natural that he found it difficult to just open his eyes, and not only because the imprisoning stupor; they were probably really swollen after that beating. He registered though, that there was something cold and humid over them. A compress, most likely. He couldn't even begin to imagine how such a thing could have gotten there, considering his situation, but he sure as hell wasn't about to complain.
He also noticed two other somewhat shocking things. Good shocking, that is. One was that his body was clean; there was no sign of filth or dry blood on him. Somehow, as incredible as it sounded, someone had taken care of him. He felt clean, and it felt good. The second was even more shocking, as much as it was pleasing. If there was one part of him that didn't feel like a truck had just ran him over, that was his lower body. Considering the events before his passing out as a preview of what was to come, that he was still... shall we say, virtuous?, was quite a surprise. For some reason, that realization made him want to tear up in joy.
He considered the possibility of having been rescued, but his hopes didn't last long. He was still bound and the little he could pick up with his empathy let him know Muraki was still there.There was someone else with him, though, and he'd bet it was the one who'd protected him from any greater damage and tended to his wounds.
With this realization, Hisoka stopped fighting the slumber that threatened to swallow him. There was no point in being awake; in fact, that alone could end up being reason enough for another beating and he didn't have the strength to face that again yet. So he allowed his mind to drift wherever it wanted. Go figure, his first thought went to Tsuzuki.
It was a silly memory really, but it made him feel better. He'd long since stopped questioning his surreal infatuation with the older boy, so he didn't wonder why he'd be thinking about him at a time like that one; as odd as it was.
It might have been after a few seconds, minutes, even hours- time works that way when you're half asleep, that his mind betrayed him, took him back to that morning, a few days back, when he'd held Tsuzuki's hand in his while the older boy slept. All the feelings the baka had transfered to him while he dreamt about candy, returned with such strength- had they been so strong that time?- that Hisoka felt his insides burn with want. If he'd been able to whimper, he would have.
He felt completely out of control of his own body, but he soon noticed those feelings weren't really his; which didn't help matters at all, really. The feelings were mixed, the signature unclear, and they were oh so confusing! It was desire and shame at the same time, pleasure and humiliation, love and grief. There wasn't a thing he could do to stop them from invading his self. He was still too weak.
So he gave in. His mind-eye was fast to conjure images of Tsuzuki doing things to him he'd have been to embarrassed to imagine without 'help'. Oh, he could empathize with the shame, alright! But also with the pleasure.
It was short lived, and for that he would have been grateful if what came afterwards hadn't been worse. At least unwillingly fantasizing about Tsuzuki had a plus or two. Before he knew it, the choking roots were back, more vivid than before and this time, it wasn't just a bad position.
Tsuzuku
Thanks to: azdriel, KT the bowslayer, BakayaroManiac, Fish1, Mel-chan, xXLil Yu JahXx, Nsib, LYK, Schatten Wolfendorf, Karin, aki konoe, dodger-chan, a fan and Kyraille. Hugs guys, I wish I had the time to answer every review. There's so much I wanted to say!!
Ja Ne
Enjoy!!!!
A SMILE UPON MY FACE
For everyone who was connected to the events unfolding, it was obvious the end was near. Maybe it was the fact that time seemed to be standing still, as if also overwhelmed with expectation; a night had turned into a lifetime. What they didn't know was that, like at the end of all lifetimes, death was anxiously awaiting to take what she thought was rightfully hers.
Luckily for all of them, Minase Hijiri had a say in death's matters. The old hag would have to go home empty handed this time; he'd make sure of it.
At that moment, while he, Aome, and an uncharacteristically quiet Tsuzuki scanned every inch of that school, he could recognize that fear was the one emotion common to the three of them. It was written all over their faces. But, all in all, he knew what needed to be done and how to do it. His mind, more than anything, was focusing on Tsuzuki.
It wasn't at all hard to get used to Tsuzuki being younger than him; it was almost suiting. But even with a new life, new memories and considerably less years, he was still same old Tsuzuki. That surprised Hijiri as much as it pleased him. He was still the same boy- man- that had made him fall so hard all those years ago. Maybe that fact wouldn't help him move on- though he seriously doubted he was even able to do so at that point- but it was so comforting to see with his own two eyes that the beauty of that soul hadn't been lost with Tsuzuki's passing.
Tsuzuki had just learned there was a demon out to get him and, though he'd really tried to divert the subject of Tsuzuki's supposed demonic origin, Hijiri knew he'd only made matters worse and now the boy was also convinced he was the devil's spawn. Yet here he was, worrying about his friends when Hijiri knew he had to be at least a little bit scared for his own safety.
That same selfless being that on his selflessness provoked such devotion and admiration- as well as some annoyance- in everyone who got to know him. The best part was that the violet eyed boy, in his concern for everyone and his unconditional love for every single soul, didn't realize 'he' was the one who needed protection. Half the time, he didn't even realize how much everyone around him loved him. He was absolutely unaware of the emotions he caused others to feel, and that made him all the more special.
Tsuzuki was too pure- too candid- for this world. He made you want to smack him in the head in more than one occasion- both for his innocence and his self loathing- but no one could stop themselves from falling deeply in love with that creature that was something short of an angel.
His new body had nothing to envy the old one either, Hijiri thought a little longingly, glancing at the boy's refined yet childish features.
His thoughts must have somehow shown on his face- perhaps it was simply that he'd been staring at Tsuzuki like a drooling idiot- because Aome hit his side with one elbow, scolding slightly. Clearing his throat and blushing just a little bit, Hijiri came to a stop.
"This is pointless," he declared, smiling nonetheless. Tsuzuki nodded.
"We're never going to find them like this. I don't know who came up with the idea of making schools so big, but he was very stupid." The boy pouted ever so slightly, making Hijiri smile.
"Maybe we should split up?" Aome provided, sounding suspiciously hopeful.
Hijiri considered it for a moment, then shook his head no. There was something about that plan- as logic as it sounded- that struck him as a bad idea. Under the circumstances, he wouldn't want to get Tsuzuki- or Aome- out of his sight; not even for a moment. Divide and conquer, as they say.
"No," he finally said, "We're staying together. Last thing I want is to be looking for you guys, if something should happen."
Tsuzuki nodded thoughtfully, his features filling with concern.
"I shouldn't have left Watari alone."
"Maybe," Hijiri said, giving the boy an affectionate smile that had him blushing. "There's no point in beating yourself up about it now, though. I propose we all use everything in our reach to find that demon, instead of looking for three people that could very well be in different places." At Tsuzuki's apprehensive look he added, " If- and it's a big if- your friends are in any danger, it's the demon that has made it so. If we find him first, not only could we be helping one of your friends, we would be eliminating the chance of him hurting them; ever."
"Oh!" Tsuzuki exclaimed, nodding profusely. "That actually makes sense! And you guys being shinigamis and all, can kick that bastard's ass, ne?" Hijiri's ego boosted a little. The roles had been inversed; Tsuzuki now thought 'he' was the hero.
"We'll make him wish he was dead." He said oozing self-confidence, though it was all a show.
Tsuzuki frowned a bit.
"They are five friends, though; not three. Maybe Muraki-san and Oriya-chan need our help too. I can't believe I forgot about them."
Hijiri did a double take; had he heard correctly? He may have arrived to JuOhCho way after Muraki's rein of horror, but he'd heard stories, sometimes from Tsuzuki's very lips, that would make his blood run cold. Surely Tsuzuki couldn't mean the same Muraki, could he?
Everything in that moment was absolute perfection. He knew it wasn't so much nature adding to the atmosphere as it was the demon securing his playground, but Muraki thought the storm was awfully appropriate. It was the kind of storm that ravaged everything on its way. Everything would be demolished so nature could start anew. That was the beauty in destruction.
Safe as he was inside that chapel, with his back against one of the pillars and his face warmed by candlelight, he was allowed to witness another form of beauty, though. The beauty of inevitability and the stubbornness of some people that refused to admit the end of their lives was upon them.
Oh, nothing was set in stone; he knew that. A part of him didn't care if it was him, them or anyone who would die before dawn; though he was almost certain it would be someone. But whatever the outcome, their lives as they had all known them until that night would be over in the morning.
Oriya seemed to cling to it, though. He was oh, so tenderly tending to Hisoka's wounds and Muraki, who just couldn't stop looking at him, had a pretty good idea of the why. It was simply because, in spite of the threats, the abuse, he still loved him. Even his hardened expression- his beautifully grieving, determined expression- said as much. Oriya had the notion that if he could somehow fix Muraki's wrongs, they would disappear. If Hisoka wasn't in pain, then Muraki hadn't hurt him. He was still trying to save his soul.
There was a sort of demented courage in that; a strength Muraki had never encountered before and couldn't help but to admire. And oh, did Oriya looked beautiful at that moment!! For a moment, not even a split second- there wasn't that much of a resemblance, anyway- he saw Oriya leaning over Hisoka, his hair hanging loose and gleaming, and the white haired boy was reminded of his mother; the way he'd wanted her to take care of him when he'd been ill. She never had, though, but could he blame her? Ladies of her class and status shouldn't stain their delicate hands with a brat's bugger, right?
Unconsciously, unwittingly, Muraki stood up and silently walked up to where his best friend was. If Oriya saw him coming, he gave no indication. Muraki's silver eyes never left the dark, glistening mane, his hands ever so slowly reaching out to touch it way before he got to his side. Why? How come this creature could look as dignified and breathtakingly gorgeous while he was doing something so unworthy of him? Would his mother have maintained her 'out-of-this-world' air about her if she'd got her hands dirty?
Oriya's muscles tensed as the white haired boy's fingertips finally reached the black locks and he shamelessly buried his hands in his friend's hair, but the reaction didn't last long. Other than that, the dark haired vision gave no indication of even noticing his presence. Muraki wasn't discouraged; he smiled and hugged Oriya's waist possessively, resting his forehead on the back of the other's neck.
"You belong to me, don't you?" he whispered, as kindly as he knew how. Oriya didn't answer; he did stop his work, sighing loudly. Muraki went on. "You're an angel, and you're all mine. I really can take over the heavens now." He almost laughs at that, but he didn't want to spoil the solemn mood.
"You're sick." Oriya said at last, though his tone didn't sound as accusing as it did pleading.
Muraki did laugh- albeit softly- this time.
"And yet you're still here," he answered simply, tightening his hold.
Oriya pushed him away and turned around to face him. They just stared at each other in silence for a while; Muraki admiring his friend's beauty, Oriya searching his face for any sign of sanity.
"What is it that you're looking for, Kazutaka?" he asked, sounding truly bewildered, which bewildered Muraki in turn. Wasn't it obvious?
"I want power," he said, as if it was the only logical answer. Well, wasn't it?
Oriya nodded sadly.
"You're lost," the dark haired boy declared, confusing Muraki. "You're so lost you think you need to control everyone around you to feel safe again. Amazingly enough, you're not the first to pull that off. You're a sad, sad person."
The sardonic smile that accompanied the end of those words threw Muraki of balance. And when that happens to someone who's already unbalanced, it is no wonder they react violently. He slapped Oriya across the cheek, just as he'd done with Hisoka before beating the daylights out of him; and just like that time, he could feel his controls slipping. In a moment of fleeting clarity, Muraki realized he'd never get what he wanted if he kept being so unstable, so emotional. But then Oriya, holding a hand against his reddened cheek, lifted his eyes and smiled bitterly at him.
"C'mon," he taunted, "Beat me up too, why don't you."
With those words, his remaining pseudo-reason flew out the window; though, curiously, so did his desire to hurt. At least in such a blatant way.
Oriya never dodged, obviously expecting to be hit. Instead of doing that, Muraki pushed the dark haired boy against the cold stone floor, positioning himself on top of him as to prevent any escape. He took one instant to contemplate his friend's startled expression before crushing his mouth with his own.
Days of sleep deprivation and stress were starting to catch up with him and Tatsumi had to admit- if only to himself- that he didn't remember the last time he'd slept more than two hours in a row. He was tired.
Hisae-san had left them alone to their work and their thoughts while she kept on looking for the nurse in case Watari wasn't able to help; which, in spite of Tatsumi's trust for the blonde's abilities, was very likely. Now he sat on top of Midori's desk, watching Watari as he worked and feeling completely useless, amongst other things.
He wanted to be his old self; to think, calm and cool-headed, about all the things that were nagging him about their bizarre situation. For instance, the fact that he'd recognized- at last- who it was he'd found bleeding to death. It just happened to be the exact same boy whose file Midori-san had requested with no apparent reason. From the moment he'd laid eyes on that nurse he'd smelt something fishy. Go figure, Kudou-kun was in danger and the guy was nowhere to be found.
A part of him simply didn't believe that Midori had any intention to hurt anyone. As suspicious as the man was, he didn't feel at all dangerous. But now things had taken an unpleasant turn and one thing Tatsumi was certain of was that the nurse knew more about the whole horrid mess than he was letting on. The blue eyed boy could smell deceit a mile a way; after all, 90% of the time he was the deceiver. He also knew how to make people talk, though.
But at that moment, the scheming part of his brain seemed to've ditched him. He couldn't focus for more than a few minutes before his eyes caught sight of a random light reflecting on Watari's messy hair and all other thoughts abandoned him. He'd never pledged himself to be one that got distracted by shiny objects- or people.
Poor Watari; he'd burst into the infirmary convinced it was Tatsumi who'd been hurt. Of course, his pale face and the blood on his shirt had all but confirmed that theory and, before he knew what had hit him, Watari was practically undressing him, yelling nonsense and in absolute hysterics. As embarrassing and hard to control as the blonde's behaviour had been, Tatsumi couldn't keep the smile that always seemed to accompany that memory away from his face. In spite of everything, Watari still cared about him.
Yes, there was no doubt in his heart. He loved Watari madly. He only wished he'd been allowed to go through his little emotional crisis without homicidal maniacs and suicide attempts making his life complicated and his problems seem petty and inconsequential. Was that too much to ask?
In all honesty, at that moment he didn't want to think about meaningful issues. He just wanted to lock himself in his room and mourn for the loss of a two year old relationship with someone he loved. He also wanted to try and imagine how long it would take him to be free from Tsuzuki's shadow so that he could love Watari properly.
It was wrong, unfair and completely unfounded; he knew that. But he still found himself resenting Tsuzuki a little. The only fault the purple eyed boy had, really, was to be so infuriatingly lovable. It was almost impossible not to love him. What he never told you was that, just because he loved you back, didn't mean his heart was yours. Tatsumi realised that he, himself, was really to blame; he'd thought that something as beautiful and pure could be his in the first place. Curious thing, that it was Muraki Kazutaka, of all people, who'd come to his mind with that thought. For the first time, Tatsumi could honestly sympathize with the white haired pain in the ass.
His eyes landed on Watari. Could he claim his heart? Was he worthy? Watari was as pure and beautiful, in his own right, as Tsuzuki was. Why couldn't he fall for ordinary people? Yet Watari differed from Tsuzuki in many aspects. The blond only appeared to be frail. Tatsumi had to think of him as a bit of a larva; without the negative connotations, of course. All of Watari's fears, insecurities and complexes were merely due to his short age. The blue eyed boy could see the unstoppable life force and strength in those big, innocent amber orbs. Once Watari felt confident enough about himself- and Tatsumi knew it would happen- nothing and no one would be able to bring him down. Tatsumi so wanted to be there to see his little blond caterpillar turn into a beautiful butterfly.
If he'd been fully awake, the cheesy thought would have astonished him. As it was, he realised a little too late that his thoughts had been distracting him from his effort to stay awake and his eyelids had closed for a little longer than they should have. His first clue was the vivid image he had of Watari with sparkling amber wings fluttering around him. That startled him awake but, upon opening his eyes, he found those same big amber eyes focused curiously on him. Watari had the most amused of smiles decorating his pretty face. Tatsumi, attacked by the irrational fear that the blond had somehow heard his thoughts, backed away a little; his heart pounding madly in his chest.
"Wa... Watari!! You scared the shit out of me!!"
""I'm sorry Tatsumi!" the blond chirped, "But you looked so kawaii sleeping like that!! I didn't even know it was possible to sleep on a sitting position..." he frowned, "Without some kind of support, that is."
"Well," He tried to regain his composure, pushing his gasses up his nose with one finger and sobering his face up; though he almost smiles at the memory of all the times Watari had fallen asleep still sitting at his desk. "Any success?" he expertly changed the subject.
Watari beamed, holding two fingers up in a victory sign.
"All worked out! It wasn't as bad as it looked, anyway. I was afraid this would be a little out of my league, but Watari Yutaka won in the end! Take that stupid wounds!!"
Tatsumi let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and allowed himself to smile in relief.
"I knew I could count on you." His tone was way too tender to be proper- not that he cared- and Watari blushed.
"I still think we should try to get him to an emergency room, or something. Just in case. Besides, who knows if he'll try this again?" Watari frowned, concerned. "Do you think one of us should go look for Midori-san?"
Tatsumi shook his head no with a healthy amount of determination.
"We're both staying here. God only knows what's going on out there. Tsuzuki is bound to look here if, as you said, he's still looking for Hisoka-kun and me.
"OK!" Watari sang happily and, with a little hop, sat himself on the desk next to him. "Wanna play a game?"
Hisae-san speeded up her pace. It was better not to think much about the fact that she, a woman barely a few years older than the boys that attended that school and had no means of defending herself, had offered to go around that dammed place on her own.
Nothing would have happened, she told herself, if she hadn't been so greedy as to add a few extra hours to her work load. Who cares about paying the rent on time, anyway? She would have been more than fine with being kicked out of her apartment in a few weeks if that meant she could have been sitting safely on her favourite- and only- couch, eating a microwave dinner and watching some infomercial at that very moment.
Maybe the fact that she was a woman was some sort of advantage, though; the murderer hadn't seemed to 'like' female victims all that much. Se certainly hoped it was the case, but wasn't keen on discovering she was wrong.
What an awful mess!! It might have been true that there were psychos and lunatics everywhere, but no one had figured something like that could happen in a school like that one. She was a few classes away from ditching that job and starting giving dance lessons. Surely that was a safe profession. What was the worse it could happen in a ballroom? She couldn't die now!! Not when she was so close!!
The worst part of the whole thing was that she had no idea how this Midori-san looked like. She'd probably have to wait until she ran into someone she didn't know and ask, when there was a fifty-fifty possibility that she'd ran up to the killer than the nurse. She'd already been walking for some time and had nothing to show for it but a couple of sore feet. It was probable that the nurse had done the sensible thing and fled. She would have, if she could have.
Several of the corridors had lost power. Most were lit with emergency lights, turning everything a rather inappropriate shade of red which did little to ease her nervousness. Those she couldn't avoid if she wanted to get anywhere. But there were one or two in absolute darkness. Those she ignored, figuring Midori wouldn't choose it as a refuge.
The young woman remembered every single horror movie shed seen and her breathing started to quicken. You know how you can always figure out who's going to die next in those films? How you yell all kinds of profanities at that one idiot who's about to cross the wrong door o run the wrong way? Hisae-san did, and she couldn't figure out whether she'd be yelling at herself if that were a movie.
She almost missed it, so absorbed she was with her thoughts, but her heart caught on her throat when she caught a glimpse of a figure at the end of the corridor she'd just entered. Her first irrational assumption was that he was the killer. Why else would he be standing there in the dim light and all by himself. Of course she couldn't recognize his face, as familiar as he looked. Try serving lunch to almost a thousand kids every day and remember their faces. But after observing him for a while she decided he looked harmless enough; almost luring, in fact.
He was a student, that much she could tell. He was looking fixedly at his shoes with the saddest look on his face. It made her want to help him so, before asking for permission, her feet started taking her closer to him. He didn't seem to notice her, though, until she spoke.
"Hey there," she said kindly, though her voice shook a bit. "You shouldn't be out here all by yourself. It's very dangerous."
He lifted his eyes and studied her for a while, making her feel exposed. Finally, he sighed.
"I can't find him." He sounded distressed. "He said he'd always be with me, but now he's gone.
As if it was possible, the boy's attitude made her even more nervous. He sounded not at all there; just a bit crazy. Killers could be sad, too, she thought idly. Then again, maybe he was looking for a real friend- or whatever- and, given the circumstances, it as natural he was a little upset. In any case, nothing bad could come out of her offering to help, right? If he was the killer, it was better to make herself useful and not show how scared she was.
"Who's he? Who're you looking for?"
"You're looking for someone too, aren't you?" the boy said curiously, smiling a little smile that sent chills down her spine. "You're looking for the shinigami. And you know where Kenji is, am I right?"
Hisae-san took a step back. OK, this guy was reaaaally crazy. Shinigami? Now he'd tell him he was actually looking for the easter bunny too. He'd been right about Kenji, though, and that was even more scary than his delusions.
"I don't know what you're..." Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the neck and lifted her a few inches from the ground.
His face was a mere breath away from hers; now she could see the viciousness of his expression, the darkness of his stare. If she'd had the ability, she would have screamed at that moment.
"You're going to tell me where Kenji is. And you're going to tell me now."
On the brink of awareness, Hisoka realised, with mild relief, that the tree roots that had been tangling his feet and squeezing his neck were nothing but the result of the beating and an uncomfortable position.
It was costing him a great deal of effort to awake completely; the images- both pleasant and scary- of his dream kept pulling him back, demanding his attention. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his body was so hurt he didn't feel the pain anymore. All he felt was an annoying numbing sensation all over; sorta like the anesthesia they give you at the dentist, you know, the one that has you feeling your face has grown three times its normal size? Only this was more bothersome.
It was natural that he found it difficult to just open his eyes, and not only because the imprisoning stupor; they were probably really swollen after that beating. He registered though, that there was something cold and humid over them. A compress, most likely. He couldn't even begin to imagine how such a thing could have gotten there, considering his situation, but he sure as hell wasn't about to complain.
He also noticed two other somewhat shocking things. Good shocking, that is. One was that his body was clean; there was no sign of filth or dry blood on him. Somehow, as incredible as it sounded, someone had taken care of him. He felt clean, and it felt good. The second was even more shocking, as much as it was pleasing. If there was one part of him that didn't feel like a truck had just ran him over, that was his lower body. Considering the events before his passing out as a preview of what was to come, that he was still... shall we say, virtuous?, was quite a surprise. For some reason, that realization made him want to tear up in joy.
He considered the possibility of having been rescued, but his hopes didn't last long. He was still bound and the little he could pick up with his empathy let him know Muraki was still there.There was someone else with him, though, and he'd bet it was the one who'd protected him from any greater damage and tended to his wounds.
With this realization, Hisoka stopped fighting the slumber that threatened to swallow him. There was no point in being awake; in fact, that alone could end up being reason enough for another beating and he didn't have the strength to face that again yet. So he allowed his mind to drift wherever it wanted. Go figure, his first thought went to Tsuzuki.
It was a silly memory really, but it made him feel better. He'd long since stopped questioning his surreal infatuation with the older boy, so he didn't wonder why he'd be thinking about him at a time like that one; as odd as it was.
It might have been after a few seconds, minutes, even hours- time works that way when you're half asleep, that his mind betrayed him, took him back to that morning, a few days back, when he'd held Tsuzuki's hand in his while the older boy slept. All the feelings the baka had transfered to him while he dreamt about candy, returned with such strength- had they been so strong that time?- that Hisoka felt his insides burn with want. If he'd been able to whimper, he would have.
He felt completely out of control of his own body, but he soon noticed those feelings weren't really his; which didn't help matters at all, really. The feelings were mixed, the signature unclear, and they were oh so confusing! It was desire and shame at the same time, pleasure and humiliation, love and grief. There wasn't a thing he could do to stop them from invading his self. He was still too weak.
So he gave in. His mind-eye was fast to conjure images of Tsuzuki doing things to him he'd have been to embarrassed to imagine without 'help'. Oh, he could empathize with the shame, alright! But also with the pleasure.
It was short lived, and for that he would have been grateful if what came afterwards hadn't been worse. At least unwillingly fantasizing about Tsuzuki had a plus or two. Before he knew it, the choking roots were back, more vivid than before and this time, it wasn't just a bad position.
Tsuzuku
Thanks to: azdriel, KT the bowslayer, BakayaroManiac, Fish1, Mel-chan, xXLil Yu JahXx, Nsib, LYK, Schatten Wolfendorf, Karin, aki konoe, dodger-chan, a fan and Kyraille. Hugs guys, I wish I had the time to answer every review. There's so much I wanted to say!!
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