Yami no Matsuei fairy tale
By Sakura no Miko
Summary: This is an odd little idea that popped into my head. It's somewhat of a "Sleeping Beauty" tale…with Yami no Matsuei characters.
Disclaimer: Anyone who thinks I own Yami no Matsuei, or would make a profit off of it, needs to see a doctor. Quickly.
Warnings: This is a dark little fairy tale, dealing with suicide and bad childhoods and all that great stuff. Somehow, this darkness is later invaded by fluff. I'm not entirely sure how the fluff snuck in, but it won't get out. Help, please…
Oh, and, of course there's shounen ai/yaoi/'hot guys doing hot things to each other,' of the Tatsumi/Tsuzuki variety. And if that's not clear enough to you, I know a great optometrist…
Big note: Thanks to emi-chan and Literary Eagle, who pointed out that I've been saying "Terazuma" when I meant Wakaba. I've only seen the anime. ^_^() So if anything else comes up, feel free to say something and I'll change it!
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Long ago, in a beautiful land of mountain and forest, a handsome and just King lived in peace and prosperity, his beautiful Queen by his side. The people loved them, and they loved their people. It was a perfect life, for this kingdom, miraculously, escaped the wars destroying the countries that lived beyond it.
There was only one thing anyone could want.
The King and Queen, no matter what they did, could produce no heir. Certainly, there were many who could rule the kingdom after their deaths—many of just and kind minds, of cunning and strength—but still, the King and Queen longed for a child of their own. It wasn't a matter of passing on the kingdom anymore, just a simple wish to have a child to love and cherish. Every doctor, every herb, every philosopher and old maid was summoned to the kingdom, offered riches beyond imagining—if only they could bless the kingdom with a little prince or princess.
Finally, the day came to pass when the Queen found herself heavy with child, and the entire kingdom rejoiced. The days passed, each morning sweeter and brighter with the ever-coming day of the birth.
When the day came, though…amid storms and darkness…the labor was hard. It was feared that both the Queen and the child would perish, so great was her pain…
So feared, indeed, that any means of saving them was considered. The King, against his better judgment, summoned, from the high mountain kingdoms, a doctor of great renown—and great infamy. The doctor was said to be able to cure any ailment, save any life, and all for nothing in return. But strange stories surfaced around him. Tales of a blood red moon…the mysterious deaths of those close to those he helped…and the strange chill that captured the hearts of all who looked upon him. He was said to practice the blackest arts, and, perhaps, to be the Devil himself.
He came, without pomp or grandeur, to the kingdom, where the very earth itself seemed to cry out against his presence. The sky darkened, and the creatures of the forest scattered. Silently, the man made his way to the castle, paying no heed to the cried of banishments laid on him by the superstitious people of the kingdom.
The next morning, the heralds brought forth a joyous message: "Hark, people of our beloved kingdom! Our Queen is saved, and has birthed a beautiful boy-child! Our prince is born! Let no expense be spared in celebration!"
So it had happened that the doctor, Muraki by name, had worked some craft upon mother or child, saving them from death. And such a beautiful child! He resembled his father in every way, from his chocolate brown curls (the few that were yet on his head, that is) to the small, soft pink lips that formed a sweet infant smile. His eyes, though, were his mother's—violet as the wildflowers, and shaped like almonds.
A great party was planned to celebrate the birth and naming of the child, as was the custom of this kingdom. Everyone, in every land, was invited, so long as they respected the celebration with peace and dignity.
***
The morning of the celebration arrived, and the Queen, still filled with much joy, gently picked up the wriggling child from his crib. "Ah, my little one," she said, smiling brightly, "we shall give you your name today, so that all the kingdoms may know the prince whom we so love here."
The King walked into the room, his own face lighting up at the beautiful sight before him. "My darling son," said he, "may you receive every blessing these great people may bestow upon you, and be worthy of every single one."
The celebration was vast and joyful. The child lay smiling in his mother's arms, making soft, happy noises, unlike most children of his age, who would have cried at the spectacle.
As the day wore on, many gifts were given to the young prince—delicate sweetmeats and fine wines, gold and beautifully crafted jewels, books, clothes of silk and satin, and anything else a soul might wish for. Night fell slowly, but surely, and, finally, the very last guests made their way to the King and Queen.
They were unexpected, though certainly welcome guests, known in this time as the Three Shinigami, a group of powerful—though mysterious—members of the spirit-folk.
"We have some gifts for the little cutie too!" said the first, a rather energetic girl known as Wakaba.
"Remember, nothing too…innovative," the second said in a calm, even voice. His bright green eyes narrowed as he looked at the other two. "Think before you give the child anything."
"Bon, you know we wouldn't do anything bad!" the third protested, his long hair bouncing as he shook his head.
"Yeah!" Wakaba chimed in. "You're too much of a scaredy-cat, Hisoka!"
The eyes narrowed more, and the room suddenly seemed much quieter. Glaring, Hisoka said, quite clearly, "Wakaba, you are not allowed to give any of your clothes, jewels, or 'make-overs'! And you, Watari,"—he spun towards the other male, glaring daggers—"don't even think about suggesting that the prince might make a better princess!"
The man replied indignantly, "Bo~~~~n! You know I'm nowhere near finished with that!"
Wakaba pouted, then turned to the King and Queen. They were, to be sure, somewhat hesitant, but still polite. "I'll grant your little boy the handsomest looks in all the lands!" she said, tapping the baby on the forehead with a ribbon. "No one who sees him will be able to hate him, or wish him ill-will."
Hisoka stopped, mid glare, and stared at the girl, who beamed back. 'That was…pretty good,' he thought, mildly shocked.
"And I," Watari said dramatically, "will give the prince a bright personality. He'll always be smiling and cheerful for you."
Hisoka cocked an eyebrow. Neither of them had done anything strange yet…
"Oh, and I'll give him a good sweet tooth, too," Watari added. "unlike some people. I think he'll be happier with that, anyway." The babe giggled as Wakaba teased him with her ribbon, trying to grab the soft material with his small fingers.
Hisoka coughed. His turn. Now that he thought about it…what could he give? "I…" he began to say when a scream suddenly rang out.
One of the noblewomen, a particularly lovely young girl, lay on the floor in a pool of blood. "So you thought you'd ignore me," a cool voice said. "You thought you'd leave out the person who saved the life of the child?"
Clad in white, now stained a vicious red, Muraki parted the crowd, glaring haughtily at the royal couple, and the child nestled between them.
The shinigami looked at each other. "Muraki!" Hisoka cried finally, breaking the silence. "What are you doing here?" His voice was cold, and even the King and Queen shivered.
"I'm here to give my gift to the child," he said smoothly. "I seem to have lost the invitation, though. Such a pity." He smiled coldly, and moved towards the infant. His expression darkened. "This child has no soul," he said, smiling sweetly at the King and Queen. "He is nothing but a lifeless doll."
"Foul beast!" the Queen cried, striking Muraki across the face. A small line of blood flowed down his cheek.
"Do not fear, fair Queen," Muraki said softly. "Your prince will not have long to stay this way. Before his youth is over, a close hand will kill him." He smiled again. "Farewell."
Blackness flooded the building, and when it cleared, the evil doctor was gone.
The Queen fell to the floor, sobbing. "Asato!"—for this was the child's name—"My child!"
Hisoka pursed his lips. "Fear not, dear Queen," he said softly, placing a hand gently to her face. A soft shudder went through him, unnoticed by all but the other shinigami. "I…I may not be able to reverse what Muraki has done, but I may be able to soften the end." No one noticed the soft tremble in his voice as he said the doctor's name. Hisoka went over to the cradle, looking down at the child, who now lay very still, his eyes almost lifeless. He touched the small forehead, his eyes widening, then turned to the King, who looked worriedly, but with more sense than his wife, at the young shinigami. "My gift will stop his life before death. He will instead enter a long and deep sleep. I do not know if he will awaken, or how to do so…but there will be, at least, some chance for you to see your son again." He bowed his head. "Muraki is powerful," he murmured, "More powerful than I am."
And so this day of celebration ended in tragedy…
Not a day later, the King and Queen emerged from the castle to proclaim new law. Any person, they declared, who so much as touched their son would face death. The people, in their simplicity, instantly agreed that this would be the best course of action, and, in their love for their prince, vowed to hold this law above all others. No one would touch their prince. No one.
***
The problem of this, as will be made evident later, was that the poor prince now grew up untouched. He was given a beautiful room in the highest tower of the castle, away from the world. The room was purist white, lined with lovely, bejeweled windows that allowed a person to see the entire countryside. Fresh, pale flowers were brought in every day. Only an elite few were able to serve the prince in this place, and even they were very cautious, always so scared of hurting the boy.
And yet…it is true that love can bring about greater tragedy than anything else.
One night, many days after the edict, the Queen awoke in the middle of the night. She could hear her baby, her Asato, crying, though he lay in a room far from hers. Her heart ached, and she made her way to the beautiful tower, which gleamed like ivory and diamond in the black night. She took the child against her bosom, comforting the sobbing, lonely boy. How long since she had held her son, for fear of his death… The words still rang clear in her mind, sweet as honey, yet cruel as poison: "Before his youth is over, a close hand will kill him."
In her distressed state, she didn't notice that the child had already fallen back asleep. Suddenly, though, she realized that it was quiet, and the boy no longer stirred fretfully. For a brief, agonizing instant, she thought the words true, that her son lay dead in her arms! Terrified, she pushed him back into his crib, realizing, much later, that he was only sleeping, as young children are wont to do, as still as death.
But the fear still gripped her. What if…what…what had she done! The Queen cried out in agony at the thought that she, doing only what any mother yearned to do, had endangered her son's life. This time, he had not died. But what about the next time? "A close hand…" What hand lay closer than a mother's? And her child, wakened by the cries, began to sob as well.
By daybreak, the cries had awakened many, and finally, the King himself went up to the tower, finding his wife cowering, and his child sobbing. Reaching for the child, a shrill cry came: "Stop! You fool, would you kill our child?"
The King stopped in his tracks. Like the Queen, the full implications of the curse had not yet entered his mind. "'A close hand will kill him,'" the King whispered. Who was the truly cursed…the child or them?
As he stood motionless, the Queen, with a strange, shiny look in her eyes, got up to open the window. "I…can't do this…" she whispered. "I can't live my life like this, never able to touch my baby again…" Before anyone could do anything, she was up on the ledge. "I would die before I let anyone hurt him…even myself…" were her last words.
The castle lay in mourning for their beautiful Queen for weeks.
***
As such things often happen, the King died not soon after that, the pain of a heart twice broken finally ending his life.
And, as such things often happen, the kingdom decided to do everything they could to save the child. Only one person was sent to the tower a day, now, and the person was changed every day. If there were no one close to the child, and no one to touch him, he could never die. Never once did they wonder, never once did they ask, what of the child's welfare?
He always smiled, so they thought nothing was wrong. So few remembered the gift given on the day of celebration by the shinigami. It had not been meant to be used this way, but no one could have foreseen such an end.
Asato Tsuzuki, the beautiful prince shut up too soon in a sepulcher of whiteness, was truly lonely. He knew not the warmth or touch of another, only the coldness of silken sheets, the hollow warmth of the fire. He knew that people feared him, feared his touch, though he knew not why. And though every part of him craved nothing but that which he could never have, he tried to be cheerful, tried to smile like the children he saw playing in the courtyard. His pain was known to no one; for he was still alive, and that was the only truth the people could see.
Their plan had worked.
For, as the years passed, the prince lay in his tower, living, though only in body, and had now reached his nineteenth year, the last year of his youth. Soon, the people rejoiced, the curse would be broken. If only, they wept in secret, if only the King and Queen could see their son.
He was beautiful, said the few who could see him. Paler than a lotus, with his mother's amethyst eyes. His hair shone in the sunlight, the brown of a strong tree, and his voice…so exquisite, like the notes of the harpsichord. He smiled whenever they saw him, gentle and shy, like the virgin maidens on their wedding days. Always, he had that expression on his face, almost…
But none dared say it, for, if nothing else, those words were remembered. "This child has no soul," said the doctor who saved him. "He is nothing but a lifeless doll."
None dared say that…Tsuzuki was truly a living, breathing doll, who never did anything but smile…
***
On the bright morn of Tsuzuki's nineteenth birthday, he was greeted by a vase of pale white lilies. Every day, some new flower was brought to him. He never said anything, but they died so quickly. It was so sad, that they were so beautiful and had to die so soon.
He looked in the vase, seeing his own reflection. He didn't know what to think of his own appearance, having little to compare it against. A chill breeze blew through his window, and he pulled his long, pale arms around his shoulders, shivering. He craved the warmth of the fire, but didn't know how to start one himself. He wanted to just…lay in the fire all the time, in that sweet, sweet warmth. One day he had plunged his hand into the fire, trying to warm it, and cried out in pain. His hand…it hurt! Why, he wondered, why did the warmth he crave hurt so? But…before his eyes…the redness, the blisters, the pain vanished!
It was a secret he'd kept well as a child. He tried it again, and again, each time hurting less and less, and healing faster. Then he'd place his other hand in the fire, the agonizing pain of one hand, and the deadness of the other, sending a strange thrill through him. It hurt…yes…but it was so warm…
Again, he stared into his reflection, letting his eyes drift over his features. Meaningless. Without thinking, he pushed the vase over, and it broke into pieces. He stared dumbly at the shattered vase, the scattered flowers.
The wind whistled in his ears, and he picked up a piece of the vase, crying in pain as he picked himself on a sharp edge. Red. He had never seen red before, only white. The red fell onto the flowers, changing them. Red, red…not white anymore. He pricked himself again, watching the strange color fall, again and again. It didn't hurt so much now.
The wind whistled, whispered senselessly into his ear. More red, he thought suddenly. More…but how? The wind whistled again, but he thought he could hear something now. Something soft, sweet…a voice.
He felt numb, cold. Something cold was wrapped around him, but he knew not what, couldn't escape. The voice, louder and louder, demanding more of the red. With a violence he never felt before, Tsuzuki slashed his left wrist with the shard, laying all the room to red. He fell back, into the coldness, the darkness. And the last thing he knew was a pair of pale lips, whispering, "My doll, my beautiful doll, you've done everything perfectly."
***
The screams rang throughout the castle when, that night, a servant found their prince, dead by his own hand. No, not dead, they soon realized, but sleeping, sleeping as close to death as possible. So had Muraki's curse come to be fulfilled—by the closest hand the prince ever knew.
***
Tsuzuki was arrayed in soft, white robes, as would be a dead man, and laid to sleep in his tower. The tower lay locked and deserted for many years. By chance, tales of the sleeping prince began to stir, and many began to journey to see him. Princes and princesses, knights and adventurers—all sought to wake the prince. The tale eventually reached the ears of the three shinigami, and they came, with all haste, to the kingdom. The people had fought valiantly to keep their prince safe from the many unsavory types who came to wake him, but it was of no avail.
The shinigami quickly formed a plan. The few people left in the kingdom—which had, unfortunately, dwindled as the years passed—agreed that they would do anything for their prince. At the advice of the shinigami, they, finally, left to other lands, leaving the castle deserted. The shinigami then worked to hide the castle, and the tower, until someone worthy of the prince should come along. Large, beautiful trees and vines covered the castle, making it look as if it has been deserted for ages. Inside the castle, ever-blooming cherry trees created an endless maze of wood and blossom, that none could ever escape without the shinigami's permission.
The years passed, and soon nearly everyone had given up on trying to find the prince. Rumor became legend, and soon, not even a foolish soul dared to come near the castle.
As so Prince Tsuzuki slept on…
***
As it happened, many more years passed before another came to try his hand at waking the prince. Yet…this man, beloved in his kingdom and loyal to the Count who ruled there, wasn't really concerned with the sleeping prince.
Rumor had come, and gone, of the beautiful prince no one could save. Only then had the ruler, a mysterious Count who was, nonetheless, revered by the people, called forth his greatest advisor, a man of intelligence, strength, and the mysterious ability to make others obey him without a thought.
This man, given the most important job of watching over all the comings and goings of the kingdom, had been sent, quite against his will, to see if the rumors were true.
He was quite handsome, in his own way. While he didn't possess the rare, unearthly beauty of Prince Tsuzuki, nor the mysterious ethereality of the shinigami, Tatsumi was, by human standards, extraordinarily handsome. By blood, he was only a commoner, but no one possessed the sheer strength of will Tatsumi did. For that reason, the Count sent his most prized employee to the distant land of eternal cherry blossoms, seeking the treasure that so many men had died for.
After many days of traveling, Tatsumi had reached the mysterious castle. He stood at the gate, noting many things to himself—the relative area, the time it would take to search the area, and all the expenses that might be incurred while searching the area. He didn't think much of this "sleeping prince"—if he truly existed. He must have been terribly lazy to sleep for so many years straight. What could the Count possibly want with such an inefficient worker?
He shook his head, allowing himself a soft sigh. What was he doing here, really?
"Have you come to see Prince Tsuzuki?" The voice was jarring. Tatsumi turned to see a young, blonde-haired boy, standing next to him and staring into the castle. The boy looked at him, expressionless. "It's dangerous to be here," he said simply.
"Danger is only being unprepared for the outcome of a decision," Tatsumi replied coolly, adjusting his glasses ever so slightly.
The boy extended his hand, and Tatsumi, narrowing his eyes almost imperceptibly, shook it. The boy winced, and pulled away. He looked up; his green eyes were a bit hazy. "You have a good heart," he murmured, "unclouded by power, pride, or lust." His eyes traveled over the taller man again. "Why are you here?"
"The Count of Meifu sent me to find out if these persistent rumors about the lord of this castle are true."
"They are," the boy replied evenly, never taking his eyes off of Tatsumi.
Tatsumi didn't move. The boy tried again. "You have your answer. Why are you still here?"
"Because the rumors are true," Tatsumi replied, infuriatingly calm. He said nothing more, but looked back to the castle. Wait. The trees were…
The boy was gone, and so was the thick foliage that had, for all these years, blocked men and women alike from the fair prince. We realize, of course, that the boy could have been none other than Hisoka, the leader of the Three Shinigami; but Tatsumi, knowing nothing of the past events, accepted that he was, apparently, being invited into the castle.
He entered the courtyard cautiously, and worked his way farther inside.
Tatsumi was nearly gone before he heard Hisoka's last words: "Please…let him save Tsuzuki…"
***
The castle was, as most were in those days, terribly big. Tatsumi stood motionless for a while, trying to think of where the prince might be. Certainly, not in the servant's quarters, nor the kitchens, nor the barns. Those were too obvious.
He, uncharacteristically, ran a hand through his fine brown hair, and blinked with his sharp blue eyes, He was, as noted above, exceptionally handsome. His hair fell gently to the sides of his face, framing the lovely, high cheekbones, full lips, and slender, curved blue eyes that all combined into one lovely, balanced visage. He was discernibly older than most of the people in this story, but that only means he'd had more years to grow handsome. Nonetheless, Tatsumi was the loveliest man to step foot in the desolate castle for many years, and, doubtlessly, the denizens of the kingdom would have been overjoyed to know that their prince's savior was every bit as lovely to look upon as the prince himself.
A chill breeze suddenly blew across Tatsumi's face. Many things that had once been kept out of the castle were now free to enter again, wanted or not. The castle had, for much of the past years, remained unchanged, as had the prince that slept within. No, 'unchanged' is not the right way to say it. Everything had…slowed, somehow. The prince himself had gained the appearance of a few years' age, but not nearly as many as he had slept. It was certainly good fortune, for who would want to save a prince who showed the age of the many decades that had passed? No, a fair prince, though not quite as youthful as he had been awake, was preferable to a prince who showed a fine white beard and a wrinkled face.
Tatsumi, still, knew nothing of this. Somehow, though, a strange feeling had begun to rise in him, and it quickened as an unconscious shiver wracked his frame. He wanted. He, who had lived his life to serve others, was now in the throes of a powerful curiosity, and he yearned to quench it. Another breeze, like gentle ice, flew over him. The thought crossed his mind that, in such a fine summer as this, no such winds should exist.
There is, of course, one last thing to know about Tatsumi. In these days, occasionally, very odd things would happen. The spirit folk, of course, possessed powers far beyond humans, but every once in a while, a human child would be born with powers that equaled, if not surpasses, even the spirits. It wasn't just those of mixed blood, but, well...random people, it seemed. Prince Tsuzuki, as one may have guessed, was one of these people, gifted with the rare ability to heal his wounds almost instantly. Generally, such people were not well known, for such things were kept secret, never revealed until death or worse.
Tatsumi possessed, to a certain extent, powers that set him apart. Then again, his entire demeanor was better than any power, and far less suspicious. For this reason, he rarely, if ever, even thought about his abilities. Yet, with the advent of this strange—shall we say, unnatural—wind, Tatsumi slowly, carefully, readied himself to face the forewarned danger of the castle.
He moved, easily, towards a darker corner of the courtyard, under the guise of inspecting the areas harder to see with eyes alone. It was deathly quiet, aside from the whistling winds that seemed, suddenly, to be coming in larger and more powerful bursts. The shadows flickered around him, and he reflexively moved farther back.
"Already backed into a corner?" came a voice that seemed, in some odd way, to glide upon the wind. "But I do thank you," the voice said again. "Those lovely trees have been unattended for so long…"
Chill fingers slid along Tatsumi's shoulder, but he stood straight and unwavering. "I don't believe we have been properly introduced," he murmured, glancing behind him. Nothing. "It is rude to be so familiar without introducing yourself," he tried again, glancing ahead. "And I fear…" Nothing to the right. So…that meant…
"Ah, but we have met, have we not?"
Left! Tatsumi thought hurriedly, sending a wave of blackness towards the voice. When the shadows cleared, there was nothing…but the ringing laughter of the voice.
"Muraki," Tatsumi said softly, but evenly. "It has been a long time."
"Little Seiichirou…all grown up, I see. You, of all people, I did not expect." He was, suddenly, behind Tatsumi, one slender eye blissfully shut, the other covered with a patch of silver hair. "A shadow master…I can't imagine anything more appropriate."
Tatsumi smiled ruefully, then shook his head. He turned slowly, finally eye to eye with Muraki, who seemed, for the moment, completely unaware of his presence. The old doctor stood, dream-like, before slowly opening his eyes. "They'd said you were dead," Tatsumi smiled, "but now that I think about it, who would be more likely to have orchestrated this charade?" He shook his head. "You are the one that did this—put the prince is his never-ending sleep."
"So cold…" Muraki reached out a hand, tracing the younger man's cheek. "Surely… surely you have forgotten about that, haven't you?"
"That you murdered my companions?" Tatsumi said. His voice was low, dangerous. "That you set a fire rivaling Tohda's to their homes in the dark of night, under the bloody moon?" He pulled back, leaving Muraki's hand floating in space, an unwelcome invitation. "No, Muraki, I hadn't thought of those days at all."
"Vengeance is a dangerous emotion," Muraki said, his smile fading. He shook his head. "Such a pity, though. Dying for a doll…but, then again," he at Tatsumi steadily, a soft red glow emitting from his obscured eye, "you always did attach yourself to the silliest things."
Tatsumi thrust out his hand, a black cloud gathering at his fingertips. Muraki chuckled. "Your illusions are useless, Seiichirou…"
He was heedless of the similar shadows growing, slowly, up his legs.
"A shadow is not an illusion, Muraki," Tatsumi whispered. "From darkness to darkness…Doctor."
The shadows tightened like chains…
…and slipped right through Muraki.
Tatsumi clenched his fist. How could Muraki have slipped away? No illusion could have mimicked those icy hands on his cheek…
"You can't kill the dead, my dear Seiichirou."
Behind him. Tatsumi whirled around, sending a surge of blackness at the spot. The blackness slid right through the doctor's chest. Nothing.
"A valiant attempt, I must say," continued the voice, soft as rose petals, yet sharp as thorns. "It took someone far stronger than you to destroy me. Yet here I am, the very place I wanted to return to."
Tatsumi stared, speechless for the first time in his life. Dead. Muraki was dead.
"Ah, yes…the prince who lays here is waiting too, is he not? Such a good boy. You could have learnt from him, Seiichirou."
"Don't say my name," Tatsumi said, anger seeping, unwanted, into his voice.
"Ah, but what is to stop me, Seiichirou? Death has given me the greatest power in the world. And now he will give me a beautiful prince to share it with. I wish you could have seen him, Seiichirou." The spirit's lips curved in a mocking smile, and Muraki licked his lips predatorily. "He might have even stirred your cold heart."
"Another life…even after death…" Tatsumi could hardly speak. His throat was dry, and his chest tightened painfully. He had never felt anything so deeply. Hatred borne of so many agonies, so many stories from others, so much death and destruction… Red-hot energy pulsed through him, and he focused every bit of power in him, intent on wreaking Muraki's spirit in his blinding fury.
But when the dust cleared, Muraki stood there, laughing arrogantly. "Ah, Seiichirou! So you've learned hatred. It's too late for that lesson, though. You can't do anything to the dead…but I," his eyes narrowed, "can still kill you!"
The silver blade flashed before Tatsumi's eyes, and he braced himself for the inevitable pain…
A muted cry reached his ears, and he felt someone jump between his body and the deadly blade. He eyes flew open, and his arms instinctively reached forward to catch the boy in front of him.
"Muraki," the boy murmured. Tatsumi recognized him, suddenly. The boy who let him into the castle… So it was true, he thought. The spirit folk didn't age at all.
"Hisoka?" Muraki's eye widened.
Hisoka pushed Tatsumi away, standing defiantly by himself, though his shoulder bled from Muraki's blade. He pulled the bloody dagger out, his fingers clenching around the cold metal. Hisoka managed a small smile, despite the pain. "Hello, Doctor," he whispered, breathing heavily. Yet even as he spoke, the wound was healing before Tatsumi's eyes. But even the spirits couldn't…
"A shinigami…?" Even Muraki seemed surprised.
"Because of you," Hisoka said coldly. "You always were right, doctor. Vengeance is a very dangerous emotion." He toyed with the knife gently, running a finger along the end. "Tatsumi, leave Muraki to me." Tatsumi started to object, but Hisoka looked at him with such a cold expression that he found himself, quite surprisingly, speechless. "He is mine, Tatsumi," Hisoka whispered, his voice harsher than could possibly come from a boy so young.
Muraki made a low sound. He was laughing. "Ah, so my beautiful Hisoka wants some more," he purred. "You've come back to me even after death, lovely one." He narrowed his eyes. "I didn't mean anything by it, of course. And I have found, you see, a boy of even greater beauty than you. I shall have him soon."
Tatsumi felt the anger race through him again, hot and strong, but Hisoka pushed his arm in front of him, stopping him from doing anything.
Muraki took a step closer, offering his hand mockingly. "Hisoka, I see why you stand your ground. But Seiichirou…surely you don't care so much for the dead? You wouldn't give your life for such a," he paused, "foolish thing." He seemed to think before speaking again. "Can it be," he said finally, "that you fight for something…else?"
Tatsumi opened his mouth to speak. A feather-light touch trailed along his shoulder, and… His breath caught in his throat. Tatsumi's vision dimmed and he felt a delicious softness on his lips, sweet and tender, without a hint of malice. He barely felt the pale fingers slid up the length of his neck, caressing his cheek with chill strokes before pulling back to beckon him forward.
Everything else seemed to fade when he saw him. He had limbs like ivory, hair like chocolate spun into silk, and eyes of amethyst that held such sensual promises! Tatsumi's breath caught in his throat. Never had he seen anyone so exquisite, so…breathtaking…
"I could share him with you, Seiichirou..."
Tatsumi yanked his hand back; it had been so close to taking Muraki's. He stepped back, dizzily, in horror, the taste in his mouth suddenly vile. Disgust filled him…and yet, he could barely believe that it had been only a trick. Even as his mind screamed against Muraki's delusion, his heart was captured by it.
"You heard me, Seiichirou. Without me, he will die. But with me…he will live." Muraki's expression never wavered. "Would you kill him just so you can have your vengeance?"
The next thing he knew, wind rushed past him, and he only vaguely heard Hisoka cry out in pain and fall next to him. There was a sudden agony as he was slammed backwards into the wall. Muraki's face, and that terrifying scarlet eye, filled his eyes, though the pain numbed him to any fear. He felt Muraki's chill fingers, the harsh breaths, so acutely, and for the briefest instant, the thought entered his mind that he would gladly die for the beautiful boy he had seen…
He only vaguely heard Muraki's scream, barely felt the man's weight as he slumped against him. Only when he saw green eyes and soft blonde hair did any of the events finally enter his mind.
"You…killed him…" Tatsumi felt relief, and joy, and even the slightest jealousy course through him. His composure returned like it had never left, and yet…something felt different, suddenly. The long grief and thirst for vengeance were lifted from him.
"He killed me," Hisoka said, yet the bitterness was fading. His face seemed to grow younger, and he smiled, suddenly. "Tsuzuki," he whispered, and Tatsumi felt his heart stir at the name.
"Tsuzuki," he echoed, somehow knowing that it was the name of the one he'd seen, the sleeping prince. "Where is he?"
Hisoka pointed to a tower to the north of the castle, a lovely construct of white stone and fine glass. "He's sleeping in the highest room," the boy said. "Now that Muraki is gone, he may be able to wake." He looked at Tatsumi gently. "You may watch over him for now, if you wish."
"I…" Tatsumi stopped mid-sentence. Before his eyes, the boy was…disappearing. His hands, his legs…they were fading completely…
Hisoka smiled tentatively. "His spells are broken," the boy said. "I don't need to be a Shinigami anymore." His face turned serious. "This castle won't be safe for long. Get Prince Tsuzuki out of here… Take him back to his people in the northern kingdom. Please take care of him. With the last of the Shinigami gone, he won't last much longer."
His chest was gone now, and much of his arms. The soft blonde hair and green eyes were almost solid, though.
Tatsumi forced the question from his mouth, needing and fearing the answer. "Why me?"
"You have a good heart," Hisoka replied solemnly. "A warm, caring heart…unlike any I've ever felt before…" The outline of his face grew faint. "Don't be afraid to be human, Tatsumi." The boy sighed, so softly, as the last of his features died away away. "Tsu…zuki…" was the last thing Tatsumi heard him say.
***
The day seemed to brighten. It was only noon, though it had seemed far later only moments ago. So many matters weighed Tatsumi down, yet he felt freer than ever before. A gentle summer breeze ruffled his hair, and he pushed his glasses up thoughtfully. The north tower…that was where he was. The most beautiful prince….
Tatsumi almost laughed. What was he thinking? Believing those lies Muraki had told him, shown him! Who was to say that the prince in the tower wasn't a helpless child, or an old, shriveled corpse! To think that he had believe such nonsense about a…such a beautiful young man…
The door to the tower was unlocked, and Tatsumi found himself at the foot of a tall, spiral staircase. It was cool, almost cold in the tower, and dark, compared to the outside. He flexed his hand. A dozen shadows sprang forth. He didn't even need to summon them to his aid.
He took a defiant step up the staircase. Not so hard at all. He only had to reach the top and wake the prince. Exactly how to do that escaped him at the moment. Another step, then another. There were no windows in this stairway, making it hard to see anything. A few more steps, and a pause to try and see how long the stairs went on.
"I could share him with you…"
Tatsumi shook his head, trying to rid himself of the unwanted thought.
"He might have even stirred your cold heart…"
Tatsumi stopped. He leaned back against the wall, fighting to regain his composure. What was wrong with him? He had never felt the slightest…never felt anything like the way he felt now. Pleasure, anger, pain, grief—all of these had merely rolled off of him, igniting only a spark of emotion. Even the anger, the vengeance, had been so easy to hide. Not even his friends… No, not friends, just acquaintances. People you saw, and greeted, then left.
And, unwanted, he saw him again. Different, but definitely him. Against his will, yet wanted so badly, he felt the warm softness of pale skin, the bright violet fire of dark eyes, the sweetness of petal lips… With all his might, he cursed Muraki. It was some spell, some bewitchment, he was sure.
Tatsumi pushed himself up the stairs. He could see the top, and the ornate door leading to the prince's room. Standing at the threshold of the enchantment, he took a deep breath. Slowly, he felt calmness return to his soul. Only an illusion, he reminded himself. When he stepped through the door, there would be no one there but the prince, whom he would escort with all haste to the north.
He pushed the door open, wincing in the sudden light. Instinctively, he adjusted his glasses and looked around the room. It was completely white, and filled with the almost sickly-sweet scent of flowers. An old, oft-used fireplace and a large, white-covered bed lay to the other end of the room. The blankets lifted slightly, outlining a body.
Suddenly, it seemed to Tatsumi that he was himself again. The strange sensations faded, and his old strength returned. He ignored the soft ache in his heart and walked forward, intent on doing what he had been sent to…
…
…
…
Tatsumi's heart resumed beating suddenly, sounding deafening in the silent room. His breath was let out, without realizing it had been held in. Every instinct Tatsumi had screamed out against what he saw.
"Tsuzuki." His lips formed the name, and it echoed in the small room, but the boy didn't stir. One heart beat, one set of lungs breathed, and one pulse pounded…only one.
No, this wasn't right. Tatsumi's mind flew over the sleeping prince. No stir of breath, no movement at all. He was pale as death. He wasn't moving.
Tatsumi's hand moved of its own accord; he could never have touched that fragile glass that was the boy's skin. He was cold. Tatsumi knew the warmth of his own skin so much more as he touched that softness. The longing—he knew the feeling, suddenly—filled him, the yearning to warm the flesh that he was so close to. He was so like the vision, yet so unlike…
He felt clumsy, and weak, and unworthy as his hand caressed the boy's cheek. Boy…? Yes, there was no other way to say it. His features were those of a man, but his face had the innocent melancholy of a boy in the prime of youth, just at the time when sorrow and joy were terribly intermixed, almost indistinguishable. He was so cold; colder than Tatsumi thought possible for a human. He was almost a statue, a dream, a…
Tatsumi shuddered without realizing it. Just like a doll, his mind finished cruelly. Fingers traced the satin cheek, wondering and feeling so weak… They slipped lower, close to the pale rose-colored lips, the lips that had been like warm honey upon his own…
"Tsuzuki…" The name damned him. Whatever gods had created such perfection would weep to see it marred like this, though who was more to blame—the doctor who had left him like this, or the man about to end it—he did not know.
Tatsumi leaned down, brown locks staying, for once, out of his face. With all tenderness, and all guilt, he brushed the boy's hair from his pale face, and drew their lips together. Oh…such sensation. Raw, pure sweetness, like dew presented to the parched lips of a thirsting man on pale honeysuckle petals. And the kiss—if it could be called that—was so light, so cautious, so fearful.
Closed eyes opened, never remembering closure. The distance between the two widened, and Tatsumi felt that he could never close it again. He'd lose control completely… It seemed that the spell was broken, the magic gone. Tatsumi recoiled in pure horror, mixed with what he could only call…pure joy.
A soft gasp reached his ears, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Violet eyes peered into his, and blinked. Tatsumi tried to move his mouth, to say an apology, a greeting, something, but…
"Are you an angel?"
The boy's voice was thick and rough with disuse, but his words were clear. Tatsumi shook his head, cleared his throat, and nervously pushed his glasses back into place. Somehow, he felt calmer.
"If anyone is brethren to an angel," he said evenly, "it is you, young Prince."
Tsuzuki—no, Prince Tsuzuki, Tatsumi corrected himself—looked around the room, blinking owlishly and cocking his head. He pushed himself into a sitting position, wavering unsteadily until he leaned against the headboard. He was kind of like a puppy, Tatsumi thought off-hand. A harsh shudder wracked his lithe frame suddenly. His eyes widened. "My room…?" His voice was still rough, but gradually the soft melody returned. Another, more violent shudder. The confused, sleepy look in his eyes disappeared as he lifted up his left arm. He looked up at Tatsumi, his wide eyes full of tears. "Why did you bring me back!" he cried out. His beautiful face race silver with tears and the violet of his eyes darkened. "You…you demon!" he cried out again, burying his face in his hands.
Tatsumi made a move forward, then stopped. The boy wept openly, his entire body shivering and shaking. He assessed the situation as quickly as possible, and took another step closer. He kept his step light and slow, so as not to startle the princeling. The boy noticed anyway, and blearily looked up. His anger was fading, but his eyes…his eyes didn't change. A soft smile graced his mouth, but it seemed forced.
Tatsumi pulled out his handkerchief. As gently as he could, he dabbed the pale tears from the boy's cheeks. A soft flush crept into his cheeks, but he kept his eyes steady on Tatsumi's. Tatsumi looked to see what had startled him so. Long gashes marred the skin of his wrist. Tatsumi tried not to change his expression, but he knew what the scars meant. They could only mean… Tatsumi pulled the soft, tear-stained material out, folding it loosely and tying it firmly around the slender wrist. Tsuzuki stared at it dumbly.
"Is that better?" Tatsumi kept his voice measured, even.
"…yes," Tsuzuki replied. His lips formed the word, but almost no sound passed from them.
Tatsumi was confused. Tsuzuki said he was alright, but his entire body was tense. His eyes were fixed on the pale cloth. Tatsumi gently moved the tips of his fingers over the boy's wrist, trying to get his attention. If anything, Tsuzuki grew tenser than before. His eyes fluttered up, giving Tatsumi another look at the shimmering violet orbs before they disappeared. Tsuzuki's eyes seemed to be looking everywhere but at him.
"I'm sorry to have scared you." The detachment came easily. A smile, a soft voice, and kind expression… "How do you feel, Tsu…" Wrong. Cover it up, smile… "Prince?"
"Y…you can call me that," Tsuzuki said. "Please, call me Tsuzuki." His voice grew louder, but still shaky. Even his own name sounded strange. "I…I feel alright." His fingers curled over Tatsumi's, and his grip was a little too hard. "You…" Finally, they gazed at each other eye-to-eye. "You're not…scared?"
Tatsumi tried to reign in his confusion. "Scared?" he repeated softly. The fingers gripped him tighter, almost painfully. "Scared…" He measured his words carefully before finishing, "of what?" He laid his other hand over Tsuzuki's fingers, gently coaxing them out of their harsh grip. Tsuzuki's hand was pinned between his, and he relaxed slightly.
"Of me," he answered. A soft blush worked its way onto his face. "Everyone… everyone's scared of me. That's why I'm here." He squeezed Tatsumi's hand slightly, and said distantly, "You're so warm…."
"…" Tatsumi found himself speechless with shock. He used his free hand to brush away a stray brown lock, trying to assess this new information.
Tsuzuki spoke before he could. "Are you…sure you're not an angel? I remember…" His brow creased, and he paused. "They looked different from everyone else in the world, and they were warm and made you happy…"
Tatsumi felt his resolve slipping. That feeling… It was stronger than ever. He let out a soft gasp as cool fingers slid over his back. He felt the boy pull away, his eyes wide and fearful. "I…I didn't mean…" Tsuzuki stammered. "But…"
Tatsumi understood without words. He shook his head. "I'm not an angel," he said, "and I'm afraid I don't have wings hidden anywhere."
"Oh…" Tsuzuki's eyes were downcast. He shivered despite the summer warmth. Yet, when he looked up again, a smile was on his face.
"Can you walk?" Pain gripped Tatsumi's heart, but his mind went on, heedless.
"I think so…"
Watching the boy move was like watching a child take his first steps. But the fluid, sensual grace he had showed nothing of the clumsiness of a naïve child, just the gentle forgetfulness of waking. The pale clothing he wore flowed along his limbs like mist. Tatsumi noted the longish brown locks curling around his shoulders, the long fingers, and the slenderness of his entire body.
A gasp rang out, and Tatsumi found himself straining to catch the prince. He was far too light. His hands grasped the slender waist tightly, and he found himself staring down into violet eyes. Tsuzuki's full weight strained his arms, but Tatsumi was heedless as he saw the emotions flit across those large orbs: confusion, fear, embarrassment… Tsuzuki buried his face against Tatsumi's shoulder.
Tatsumi blinked, his senses slowly returning. How foolish could he be? Of course Tsuzuki wouldn't be able to just get up like nothing had ever happened. Instinctively, he held the boy tighter, pushing them back towards the bed. He made sure Tsuzuki was firmly on the soft blankets before loosening his arms.
"I'm so sorry!" Tsuzuki's words were loud, anxious. He peered owlishly up at Tatsumi, his eyes wavering. Tatsumi couldn't help but smile. Tsuzuki looked just like a puppy, he thought again. Yes, just like a little one who was scared of being scolded. He shivered. Tatsumi frowned at that. It was high summer. Why in the world …? Tsuzuki's eyes wavered more. Tatsumi shook his head, smiling down again. Tsuzuki was still clinging to him tightly. He pulled the boy's hands away as gently as he could, and pushed his jacket off. Tsuzuki peered at him curiously.
The look of happiness on his face was radiant when Tatsumi wrapped the warm material around Tsuzuki's thin shoulders. He buried himself into the older man's chest, a soft, content noise coming from his throat. Protectiveness surged through Tatsumi. He knew that, no matter what was to happen, he had to stay with the prince. He was as vulnerable as a child. And…so very beautiful…
"I can carry you, Tsuzuki," Tatsumi said gently. "You're in no condition to walk."
Tsuzuki looked at him, confusion written all over his face. "Why?" he asked simply.
"It's getting late, and the next kingdom is a decent journey from here. I have a horse, but he's tied up outside the castle. I—"
Tsuzuki's eyes were wide. "We're going outside?" he whispered. His eyes drifted to the window behind him. "…outside…"
"You've…never been outside before?" Tatsumi said evenly, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice.
Tsuzuki shook his head. He looked back at Tatsumi. "I want to, please," he said longingly. He curled his hands into fists, and pushed forward before Tatsumi could react. His legs wobbled beneath him, but he stood up. His face couldn't hide the pain, but defiantly took a small step forward.
Tatsumi smiled. This boy was stronger than he looked. He gently wrapped an arm around Tsuzuki's waist, helping to steady the boy. Tsuzuki wrapped his arm around Tatsumi's neck, his fingers curling around Tatsumi's shoulder. Each step was painful, but Tsuzuki kept going. Slowly, he managed to walk.
They reached the bottom of the tower, and Tsuzuki stopped, suddenly. A small tremble went through his frame. Tatsumi's voice, whispered gently into his ear, calmed his racing heart. "You…you won't go searching for angels again, will you?"
"No." Tsuzuki's feather-light voice suddenly found its footing. Tatsumi smiled at him, and he felt…happy. Content. Tsuzuki let his other arm wrap around the taller man, and, finding that neither minded the gentle hug, he clung even more tightly. "You…" Tsuzuki's voice was barely a whisper. "You'll show me? Show me the outside?"
"If that's what you want." Inside, Tatsumi felt a strength, a happiness he hadn't known before. He wanted to stay with Tsuzuki…
"Yes, that's just what I want."
And, together, they took their first step outside…
To be continued…
