Raptura

Written By: Teno Hikari

Summary: AU - In search for his beloved, Fakir finds himself living in the unfinished manuscript Drosselmeyer had left behind: an alternate reality where Princess Tutu had sacraficed her own heart to seal the monster Raven.

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Prologue

If there was anything Fakir hated most about being sick - besides all the homework he had to make up for later - was how his girlfriend insisted on pampering him. It started off with her visiting whenever she had the chance to inquire about his health, which he didn't mind at first. Then she took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and insisted she come over to do the cooking and cleaning in the house. Then along the line she began to feed him and even suggested helping him in the washroom. He could have sworn his fever had shot up an extra hundred degrees.

Fakir's surrogate father, Charon, had just laughed at his dilemma and told him to "take it like a man". Right. What kind of man could sit in bed with a god-forsaken bib around his neck? To add to his annoyance was how she made ridiculous chirping noises and pretended that the spoon was a mother bird swooping in to feed her chicks. Then she thoughtlessly pointed out the whole bird regurgitation feeding process, and his appetite went right out the door. He only wished she would have gone with it.

Fakir had to admit though, his bad mood wasn't her fault - not entirely, anyway. He liked her... a lot, and deep down knew she was trying to help. But the weak and helpless feeling this cold had reduced him to, only added to the frustration. Reference material he needed to go through sat in a stack besides his bed - and got bigger every day. The rough draft for his new story would never meet the deadline at this rate.

Groaning, he sat up in bed and ran a hand through unruly black hair. God he felt awful. The disgusting medicine he had taken was finally kicking in making him feel drowsy. Damn, he didn't need anymore sleep! He needed to change, shower, finish the draft, and get out of bed. His brows knitted. Not in that order, his mind whispered in a daze.

Alas, his body for once didn't share his enthusiasm. It had been pushed to its limits, wanting nothing but food and sleep that Fakir had stubbornly denied it. Inwardly sighing, the boy gave in a little and just simply grabbed the stack of papers sitting on the stand next to the bed. At least this gave him time to read and revise what he had written down.

As he went to work, Fakir paid little attention to the clock and how the hours just ticked by while he worked. Scribbling down small notes on the margins, circling parts he needed to work on, and correcting mistakes. By the time he had gotten to the last page, the sun outside was beginning to set.

"Fakir!" he heard his girlfriend call out behind his closed door, "are you awake?"

"Yeah, come in."

Eyes not leaving the words written down on paper, the door opened and a thin girl with long salmon locks wearing a navy blue uniform, quickly scrambled inside. When the door shut abruptly, the raven-haired boy looked up in confusion. That was until he heard the beating of a drum from down the hallway.

"I thought Charon took that thing from her for causing such a ruckus at school."

She smiled sheepishly, fidgeting with her braid, as the noise got even louder. "He knows how much Uzura-chan loves it."

He shrugged and rubbed at his temple. His adopted sister had always been loud, even more so with that small drum she always carried with her. It had been his birthday present to her, out of all the toys in the shop - she had to pick the noisiest one. Over time they had learned to tune the drumming out; but on certain occasions, Fakir mentally kicked himself for not getting her a doll.

"Uzura!" he shouted at the door, "cut it out!"

The noise halted for a moment before it continued and back down the hall. He sighed again. At least he was thankful that the little girl's marching band friends weren't around to add to his irritation. Charon would certainly not approve for making six-year olds cry.

"Ne Fakir, how are you feeling?"

Large sky-blue eyes glittered with concern, causing him to blush and look away. "F-Fine. I spent most of the afternoon revising my rough draft. Hopefully I'll be able to finish it before the deadline."

She sat down beside him and reached out to place a hand on his forehead. Mother henning him again. "Just take it easy, okay? Your fever has gone down a little, but still hasn't broken."

Once more he blushed at how close she was now - her face just a couple inches from his own. Automatically he leaned forward and closed off the space between them. Letting his lips brush against her petal soft ones. She was a bit startled at first but quickly relaxed, moving closer to return the kiss.

"Idiot," he said rather affectionately after pulling away. His face was a shade of crimson now, but not from fever. "You'll catch my cold."

Shooting him an annoyed glance, the girl resisted the urge to hit him with a pillow. "You started it!"

Fakir did have to chuckle at that, and winced when his voice cracked.

"Fakir?"

"I-I'm..."

He blinked, setting the papers on his lap and tried to clear his throat. Only now did he realize how parched it felt. As if he were stranded in a desert without water.

"I'll go get you some water!"

She was off before he could stop her. He really, really hated being sick. Being helpless, having to depend on others like this. Especially her, of all people, she wasn't his nursemaid.

"Got it!" she called out, running back down the hallway with a glass of water in her hands. His eyes widened as she tripped over his rug and fell the carpeted floor. The water shot out of the glass, and splashed all over him - and on his rough draft.

"Idiot!" he rasped, staring bug-eyed at the soaked pages. Struggling out of bed, Fakir quickly got out of bed to lay them out carefully on his desk. Why, oh why did this have to happen now! On top of being sick and not being to get his story in by the due date - he now may not have a story to submit at all!

As he attempted to dry the pages from the running ink, his girlfriend stood to the side completely ignored. "I... I'm sorry, Fakir," she whispered, "I can help you work on it - I promise we'll have it finished by the due date..."

And she probably would have, knowing her - she would cut class and helped him re-write the entire chapter. Unfortunately, he didn't have time for that, or her. Not now. He didn't even look her way, glaring at the smudges that some of the paragraphs had been reduced to.

"Go away."

She winced, on the verge of tears. "I'm really sorry, please let me help. Maybe I can -"

"You've done enough, Ahiru!" he shouted over her plea, "Just go away and leave me alone!"

There was a long silence after that. Almost immediately he regretted his outburst and knew he should apologize. He turned to look over his shoulder to see that she was no longer there. Fakir was stunned; he didn't even hear her leave. The writer cursed himself and debated whether or not he should go chase after her. But in the end, he just sat down at his desk and pulled out a new pad of paper.

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So... what do you think of it so far?