Fake
By Kay
Disclaimer: If I owned Saiyuki, the world would be an unfair place... but I would also really have a lot of fun, goddamn it.
Author's Notes: First venture into the fandom, mostly because I simply haven't had any good ideas. It's a silly, dreamy sort of drabble-- expect my next works to be a little more solid, but just as confusing. Sorry... (blush)
Gojyo dreams in shades of mute purple and red. Perhaps it's from the constant presence of his hair, a crimson veil that falls over his eyes even when pulled back from his scarred cheeks-- as if, by touching the old wounds, they would reopen them. Because he sees red everywhere, always, even when he closes his eyes, so much that it intrudes into his dream world and stagnates like a poison.
He wakes up. Hakkai is pouring tea; the space between them is heavy with its cloying scent. Gojyo stretches and pretends to be better than he is, and when he next turns to smile at Hakkai, they will both have brought shields in front of their eyes.
Inn beds are shitty, Gojyo thinks, and goes outside for a cigarette. He wonders how much smoke it will take before he can hide himself in it, tucked away from sight, and if his mother would have come to love him if he had learned to do so sooner. The thought banishes itself when he inhales the nicotine along with the cool, crisp air of the morning. The town is still quiet, though it won't be for very long.
The dawn is encroaching on the horizon, and it will be a good day. He never had a great sense of direction-- he has the confidence it takes to bring him on a path without failing, but lacks the instincts of navigation; on a sea, he would be lost-- but after so long traveling, Gojyo can automatically look to the west.
That's where he's going, he thinks. Where they're going.
Gojyo exhales a trail of smoke, and dredges up a smile that-- he's pleased to discover-- isn't entirely fake.
End