:: Perfect World ::
Gensomaden Saiyuki
Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Homura/Goku, mentioned Homura/Rinrei
Warnings: AU-ish, angst, language
Notes: In many high schools in the US, finals are coming up or are happening. In those cases, I wish you all the best of luck. Here's a friendly reminder to try not to stress out.
Constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated.
Chapter Nineteen
He hadn't expected things to be loud, but the silence greeting him when he entered the tower was unsettling. Homura didn't pause in his step, continuing forward and toward the stairs.
"Gonna take the long way?"
Amazed that he had been so preoccupied as to let himself be startled so easily, Homura turned his head toward the voice. Zenon stood off to his side, leaning against the wall. When they made eye contact the man raised two fingers in a wave.
"Yo," he said simply.
Too emotionally drained to summon up words, Homura nodded.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Zenon strode forward. "So I take it you found the place, since you're already back." His voice was casual, his demeanor relaxed, but Homura knew the man well enough to sense the underlying tension thrumming beneath his act. He wasn't in the mood to humor anyone today, but despite his mood he nodded again. "Did you finish what you had to do?"
"As much as I could," Homura replied quietly.
"Hm." Zenon pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it until one poked out. He removed it with his teeth, then searched for a lighter while speaking around the cigarettes. Within moments the scent of tobacco unfurled itself into the air. Homura personally didn't care for it, but he had grown used to the smell.
When Zenon said nothing else, he turned to leave. Unfortunately, the man didn't seem finished.
"He's in your room, in case you're wondering."
Sighing, Homura didn't turn. He just ran a hand through his hair, speaking tiredly. "You apparently have something you wish to say."
"Just a little something," Zenon admitted. Homura still didn't turn; in his emotionally fragile state he didn't think he could look anyone in the eye. Zenon was one of his dearer friends, but there were some things that were nearly impossible to face-- whether they involved your friends or not.
He had the sinking feeling Zenon was going to bring Son Goku up. No, he knew that was the topic Zenon wanted to bring up. Undoubtedly something had happened after Homura had left, something strange and biting enough to make Zenon want to talk about it before Homura went to face the boy himself.
"What the brat did was definitely out of line," Zenon was saying. "And some of the things he said after you left were even worse."
That didn't surprise him. He nodded indulgingly, even though the more Zenon talked the more Homura wanted to find the next empty bedroom, lie down, and just sleep for a few good hours. Visiting Rinrei's grave had taken more of a toll on him than he'd expected. He hadn't thought of the emotional weight such an action would thrown upon him. For the first time he realized he was truly coming to terms with her death-- and it was hard. He was having difficulties processing the facts; his heart insisted that even after Rinrei's death, their love was still alive-- but how could it be alive when she was gone and she had found a new love on Earth?
It wrenched his emotions horribly to think about it. Homura had found himself in tears more than just the one incident at her grave marker, but as always they would fade quickly as he forced himself to regain control. Keeping that control was wearing him thin.
He was just so tired of it all.
"All that aside," Zenon continued. "The kid had a point, you know."
His smile tinged with self-abhorrence, Homura said, "Which point? He made quite a few."
"No kidding," his companion muttered before speaking in a more normal tone. "But he was right that you should have told him about--" The look on Homura's face must have betrayed a warning, because Zenon blinked, then quickly seemed to change his mind. "Anyway, someone should have told him about it."
"Unfortunately, nothing can be done about that now," Homura murmured. He'd had enough of this conversation. Glancing back to nod a goodbye to his comrade, Homura picked up his feet again and went for the stairs. It was going to be a long climb up, but he intended to tire himself out as much as he could. He wasn't looking forward to talking to the boy, wanted to avoid it more than anything else right then, but he continued onward.
Perhaps this was part of his punishment. Perhaps this was part of the curse that came with being a heretic. All the drama that had been caused in the past few days, all of the hurt and anger and misery that had occurred, it all came back to his curse as a heretic.
No, to their curse as heretics. Admittedly, Goku was part of the reason he was so intent on creating this new world. If things worked out the way Homura wanted he was going to share this world with the people closest to him-- and with the people who most deserved it. Sometimes forgetting was worse than remembering.
Considering all the pain in the boy's past, Homura knew that Son Goku deserved this world even more than he. In a way it was chastising, especially at the moment, because he really had no right to be upset in comparison to the boy. Even if Goku was an amnesiac.
So far he had counted three flights of stairs during his ascent. He was still a safe distance from his room, so he felt free to let his mind wander a little more. However, he didn't want to think about his lover right then; that was only going to lead to depressing thoughts and gnawing anxiety. For the first time he could remember, he also didn't want to think about Rinrei. He had done a lot of that the night before, especially when he had been trying to sleep.
Homura had sought out the nearest town, which had proved to be fairly close to the house. It made some sense; the residents previously occupying the house had to get food and supplies somehow. The land around them was poor for growing their own gardens, though Homura had noticed some bluebells growing at the back of the house. He had circled the premises after his time at the grave marker, looking for anything he might have missed. He hadn't known what he was looking for, but in the end he felt disappointed. Whatever it had been, he had not been successful in finding it.
Bluebells, he remembered. Humility and everlasting love. He didn't know much about flowers, but five centuries was time enough for him to learn and remember a few things. Whatever struck him as important he would store away in his memory. He hadn't understood why flower meanings were things he would want to remember later in life, but now he understood a little. His heart twisted painfully again. Shaking the memory of the house, his thoughts found the clustered trail they had been on and continued down that path.
Once in the town, Homura had walked around in a bit of a daze. He had looked at people without really seeing them, though he had miraculously managed to be aware enough so that he only bumped into a person once or twice. Each time it had been his fault, and each little collision had reminded him of the day he and Rinrei had first met.
Their first conversation had been about death.
Even without closing his eyes Homura clearly recalled the vast field of flowers; the petals blooming had seemed such a dark red, almost like blood. Blood was dirty-- at least, his was. That had been one of the first things he had said to her out in that field. He remembered how she had looked at him with such surprise, as though amazed that he could think such a thing about himself. Homura hadn't bothered to tell her he had grown up hearing it, but she likely had known just by looking at the shackles on his wrists.
Blinking, Homura realized that he had thought about her even after telling himself not to. He sighed softly, pausing to clutch the stair railing with one hand. Using his free hand to tangle his fingers in his hair, Homura closed his eyes and let out a second, heavier sigh.
That was exactly why he didn't want to think about her; thinking only made him depressed. He had been plenty upset the other night, moping in his hotel room the entire time. He had done more reminiscing and mourning than sleeping, which was another reason why he was so tired this morning.
Seven flights of stairs, he noted when he finally opened his eyes again. He still had quite a ways to go. Maybe if he was lucky Son Goku would have left by then-- and now that the boy had discovered their elevators, Homura had no doubt he would rather use that than the stairs.
He continued climbing.
Heaven hadn't contacted him in a while. In fact, the last time he had been summoned had been shortly after he and his companions had attacked Houtou Castle. The morning after Goku had left, he had received orders to appear before the Jade Emperor. As he wanted to keep up the impression that he was still under their rule, Homura had obliged.
Much to his surprise, he had been commended for his work thus far. His actions in subjugating the demons at Konran Tower had been called "decent independent work" (as they were careful not to praise him too much, lest he grow an ego or -- heaven forbid -- think anything of himself) and stealing the Seiten scriptures had been titled, "uncalled for, but clever enough" for them to dismiss. In fact, his work had been so good up until then that all charges previously against him for releasing Son Goku from the prison had been lifted.
The day he had done that -- freed the boy, let loose the heretic the heavens named dangerous -- Homura had known trouble would be coming his way. However, amazingly enough, all the script work he had planned out to help trick them into leaving the boy under his care had been useless due to someone else stepping in.
Information as to who had intervened on his behalf had never been disclosed to him, but Homura had a good idea, since the bodhittsava negotiating had pointed out that Homura was, in fact, going to die someday due to his human blood. Once that happened they would need a new God of War... and who better than the boy he had released and was training? Who else could pass on his techniques? Their former War Prince had been in a coma for many centuries; how likely was it that he would reawaken anytime soon?
The gods had seen the wisdom in that, though Homura was personally disgusted that was why they had allowed his small rebellion. He hated the way the gods used "unclean beings" to do their dirty work, and he would be damned if he allowed them to do that. That alone simply added a reason on to his creating the new world. If he could finish it before he died, Son Goku would be free of that before he had even been captured.
Of course, that was only going to happen if they could make peace. Homura winced, rubbing his forehead. As important as that was, it still made him wary. His wish for the boy to be elsewhere when he opened the door grew stronger.
He climbed the final flight of stairs leading to his room. Eyeing the door with trepidation, Homura took a steadying breath, surprising himself. He hadn't thought he was that tense, but apparently he was.
Pushing open the door, Homura's first impression was that the room was empty. Taking a closer look proved him right, and he felt a wave of relief that was closely followed by a stab of guilt. Why was he acting like such a coward? Homura hated having such a weakness. Avoiding the boy was foolish, as putting it off might make their later confrontation worse. Still, he couldn't help but sigh in relief and step inside before closing the door after him.
It didn't shut.
Too tired to hide a wince, Homura turned. His gaze lowered just enough to meet a pair of all-too-familiar golden eyes. Goku stood in the threshold, his hand flat on the door. The boy pushed it open, his expression unusually blank as he followed Homura into the room.
At first nothing was said. Goku stared at Homura, and the man grew increasingly uncomfortable and even more agitated than before. He wanted to sit down, but for some reason his legs didn't want to work with him. His knees were locked, preventing him from moving anywhere.
Finally, in a quiet voice, Goku said, "You seemed happy when you thought I wasn't here." Homura had nothing to say to that, so he simply diverted his eyes to the boy's hands. There were bandages wrapped around them, and some blood seeped through them. They didn't seem fresh, so he must have injured himself the day before.
When the boy seemed to realize Homura wasn't going to respond to his first comment, he spoke again. "So did you go?"
"Yes."
The weariness in his voice reminded him of how exhausted he was. Homura was about to move to sit down, but Goku spoke again.
"I'm really, really pissed at you right now, you know."
Bringing a hand to his eyes, Homura rubbed his eyelids harshly. He felt as old as his technical years right then, but at the same time as small as a child. Somehow he found that he would have appreciated Goku screaming more than the unsettling calm he was portraying then.
"I know," he finally murmured, lowering his hand again. He raised his eyes back to his lover.
Goku's expression didn't change. "I hate you for leaving like that, and I hate you even more for not telling me anything." His voice was breaking, the raw anguish bleeding from his words. "I seriously hate you right now, Homura."
The words stung, but he knew he deserved them. "I'm sorry to hear that."
Golden eyes narrowed, and even as Homura registered the twitching of the boy's arm he made no move to dodge. Goku's blow landed right on its mark.
------
A sharp flash of pain suddenly stabbed through Sanzo's temples. It was so abrupt and unexpected that he dropped his chopsticks with some rice halfway to his mouth. The rice spilled onto his lap -- thank the gods it was white rice with no sauce -- and the eating utensils clattered to the floor as Sanzo clutched at his skull, hissing in agony.
It didn't go unnoticed by his companions. Gojyo was the first to speak, though it was just to briefly tell Hakkai what was going on. Sanzo barely heard him; he shoved his chair away from the table so he could double over and rest his head on his knees. Normally he wouldn't do such things in public, but the pain was that unbearable. He could barely muffle his guttural cries of pain.
What the hell is going on?
That was the only coherent thought he could make out. The rest that bounced around in his mind was all a jumbled mess of images and phrases and voices.
Or rather, a single voice. The one he had last heard when he was fighting the boy named Goku.
It was crying out to him, pleading with more sensations than words for Sanzo to come find the owner of the voice. Begging for freedom, it continued calling out to him in a "tone" that Sanzo could only describe as childish. There was no real sound to it, even in his head, though it seemed to echo.
There was a strong hand on his arm. Someone was trying to pull him up, trying to speak to him, but Sanzo was beyond the point of actually hearing them. If he could concentrate he could have been able to tell who it was by touch alone-- Hakkai's grip was usually gentle but firm, and Sanzo had batted away Gojyo's hand enough to tell it was more calloused than Hakkai's. That difference was likely caused because of their different choice in weaponry.
Sanzo shoved the person away. He miscalculated the strength of his push, and the force of that and the hand letting him go caused him to fall back to the floor with a grunt. The fall sent another wave of pain to his head. He rolled over on his side, coughing weakly as he forced himself up to his hands and knees.
People were staring. He knew without having to look. Questioning eyes were burning into him, all wondering what had happened to make this high-class monk have a mental fit in public. Some were probably wondering if the food was poisoned.
Sanzo heard none of what was going on. The crying was growing louder, pushing his thoughts to the side so that Sanzo began to feel he was losing sight of himself. For a few moments he couldn't even remember his own name. The only thing that existed was the tormented sobbing. That was his world now. That was what was.
When Sanzo opened his eyes again he was startled to find himself lying in bed. He had been sure he was on the floor, and the screaming had seemed to last into eternity. By the time it began to dwindle he had started to come back to himself, and his surroundings were completely unfamiliar.
"You're in the room we're sharing."
The off-handed tone made him want to hit his head against the nearest solid object. Fortunately, Sanzo's headache was swelling back just enough for him to decide that wasn't the best of actions at the moment.
"Where the hell is Hakkai?" he grumbled, slowly sitting up. His neck felt sore for some reason.
Across the room Gojyo arched an eyebrow. "Bathroom, not that it's really that important."
Sanzo forced himself to focus on the man; he was sitting in a wooden chair near an open window, happily lighting up a fresh cigarette. There was a table beside him, and pulled to the edge was a clear ashtray. In that ashtray were three cigarette butts, which told him he had to have been out for at least an hour.
Seeming impatient in the silence, Gojyo broke it. "So what the hell happened?"
"None of your business," Sanzo muttered, rubbing his head. There was a small welt on his forehead, as though he'd hit it against something. But what, and how? Why couldn't he remember it?
As though enjoying the frustration seeping through Sanzo's expression, Gojyo smirked. "Betcha don't remember what happened, huh?"
"Asshole."
Gojyo ignored the insult, amazingly enough. Instead he said, "Hakkai had to hit you. Found a pressure point or something on your neck." He waved a hand to show he hadn't noticed or cared about it. "You fell and smacked your head against the leg of your own chair." He snorted. "You really have some shit luck."
"Fuck you," Sanzo returned, narrowing his eyes. As annoyed as he was with Gojyo, for the most part he was just relieved the voice was gone. That and he realized he badly craved nicotine. Shoving the sheets aside, he got up to dig out his own lighter and brand of cigarettes.
Inhaling the nicotine calmed his nerves, though his headache was still apparent. Sanzo took the seat nearest Gojyo; not because he wanted to sit next to him. The room only came with one ashtray and the window had very little ledge for Sanzo to perch on and smoke there. He supposed he could have pulled the chair over to it, but that seemed unnecessary.
The room was relatively silent for a while after that. The next sound that made either of the occupants stir was the door opening as Hakkai came into the room, wearing dampened night clothes and towel-drying his hair.
The brunette paused after shutting the door. "My. It's so quiet that if I couldn't sense you two, I wouldn't have known you were here."
Gojyo snorted, grinding out his cigarette. "Yeah. It's scary when we're not at each other's throats, huh?"
"I half expected it," Hakkai admitted, his usual smile in place. Rolling his eyes, Sanzo decided he would move over to the window to smoke after all.
After dragging his chair there Sanzo leaned his elbow against the windowsill, cigarette trapped between his middle and forefinger. He turned his gaze outside; there wasn't much to see, so he lazily focused on the smoke curling out from the end of his cigarette. He slowly blew smoke out into the open, but just as he did a brief gust of wind puffed it right back at him. Annoyed, Sanzo drew back and stood. He took his pack and lighter, leaving without a word to either of his companions. Neither tried to stop him.
He didn't leave the vicinity of the inn, settling for staying on the porch outside. He leaned with one shoulder on a pillar, staring without really seeing the side of the nearest building. The surroundings were vastly different, but he was still reminded of the night Goku had sought him out. He found himself smirking faintly as he recalled how the boy had fallen from the roof. Clearly it hadn't been how Goku had wanted to get his attention, but it had worked and left its impression on Sanzo.
What a strange way to call out to him, Sanzo thought absently as he flicked ashes from his cigarette. He started to bring it back to his mouth but froze, doing a double-take over his last thought.
He was calling out to me, he realized. Goku had been reaching out for him, seemingly out of instinct more than anything else. The boy had followed him for reasons that still weren't entirely clear to Sanzo, yet he had claimed he would never switch sides. Perhaps that really wasn't his intention.
Maybe he had just reached out to Sanzo because he'd been doing it longer than either of them had known. Maybe Goku even knew why he was reaching out. Whatever the case, Sanzo was certain, without needing proof, that Goku was the one calling out to him. He had been the one screaming for Sanzo to come and "release" him.
But release him from what? Was he stuck somewhere? If so, was it physical, mental, or emotional? Why was he calling out to Sanzo, of all people? And most importantly, why had he been asking for the same thing for nearly four years?
It was clear he was going to be outside longer than he'd anticipated. Sanzo had a lot more to think about than he'd realized. Making a mental note to buy more cigarettes before they left town, Sanzo searched for his lighter again.
