Warmth Chapter II: Tomorrow By Secret Yaoi Lover (AKA: Aubrey)

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Knights.

I'm trying to crank these chapters out as fast as I can before my inspiration drains out of me. So yes, there is an ending, and yes, I will be updating often. Oh-- and at this rate, this story is going to be about five to six chapters long, instead of four. But fear not-- I'm hoping on making them much longer than that first pilot chapter.

As you can probably already tell I've taken the liberty of deviating from the manga. Just bear with me, okay? I'm allowed to take some artistic license here (just a little). And I thank you for all four of you who graciously sent me reviews. I promise to work harder and improve my writing style! I think I was a little better when it came to revising this time around, and if I have a spare moment I'll fix some of the ridiculous uber-drama in Ch. 1. (As if this chapter isn't uber-dramatic too. SIGH.)

Tomorrow.

What day was it now? Had a month passed? A week? Or maybe only a minute had gone by in this intangible universe. Time was simply a relative concept. He had been laying here longer then he had been laying there. They had beaten him longer there than he had been beaten here. But just how long was it?

It didn't matter. Tomorrow was either ahead or behind him, anywhere except the moment he wanted it the most.

He had forgotten he was being kicked.

He drifted back into reality just in time to become aware of a sharp blow to his abdomen, causing him to cry out. A mistake. A severe, horrible mistake. He had brought the fun back in the game, just when they were beginning to tire of the sport.

How much would he bleed? How much would he scream? Could you force a reaction out of this miserable creature?

He was stabbed several times in the back, sending him into a snapped arch of excruciating pain. He hoped they would hit the vitals. He prayed for the death that he could never have.

The blood.

The rape.

The laughs.

Tomorrow would never come.

For all he new the man who gave him that promise could be the person pulling back his head and exposing his neck. He could be the person drawing lines the bottoms of his feet with a knife, asking if it tickled.

He had never wanted a tomorrow until now. And maybe that was what made it so unbearable.

They were gone, skittering away as if nothing had ever happened. He could feel his body all ready healing. Rebelliously. Mercilessly. Why wouldn't he just die in a pool of his own blood like a normal person? The one's that were killed in droves every week-- every day? Did they drink up their fate in all it's glory? Did they go down satisfied, grateful for the blessed privilege of death?

You're the only one who wishes to die, and you're the only one who can't have it.

You can't even have tomorrow.

Gil curled up on his side, fingering the bloody cross marks on his arm. All you can do is treasure these small hiatuses between your pain-- your purpose. Gil breathed deeply, enjoying the air while he had it still in his lungs. He closed his eyes and hovered at the edge of consciousness.

He didn't realize someone had entered the room until the thud of a bag hitting the floor pierced the darkening silence. A shuffle of shoes, a hand on his shoulder. He was flipped onto his back and his shoulders were being cradled. He winced. The movement made his head hurt.

"Gil-- oh god-- Gil!"

His name. He hadn't heard it in a while.

Or had he?

Gil's good eye flicked open. His vision was blurry and he couldn't really see his visitor. But would it have mattered? He couldn't compare him to the kind man from before, being as he never took a good look at him either. All he had was a hazy dream of hope and delirium, with no memories to cling to.

He closed and reopened his eye several times to try to clear his sight. It wasn't doing any good. His visitor was still out of focus and unidentifiable.

But was it as important as it felt? Did his visage truly make a difference as long as the hope, the salvation, the promise was still there?

The anonymous being was saying something to him, trying to sit him up a little bit to hold or carry him in some way. He spoke rapidly-- nervously-- glancing over his shoulder towards the door. Why did he feel the need to say so much? Gil closed his eyes, only catching every fifth word, his mind lost in a maze of contemplation.

"Is it... tomorrow?"

He prepared to repeat himself. He had spoken too softly, and if not that, incorrectly. He did that from time to time, mixing up the order or tense of the words when he wasn't focusing. It got him in trouble-- or at least ridiculed-- so he tried hard to recall the language he hoped he once learned.

The man had stopped talking as soon as Gil did, looking fervently into his scarred face, still pale and trembling slightly. "What?" He paused for a moment, reflecting on Gil's words.

"Y-yes," he stumbled, "Yes of course it is-- but Gil, don't worry I'll..."

Gil didn't hear the rest. He was falling now, a black fog swelling into his vision. It was tomorrow-- and that was all the comfort he needed.

Floating or sinking. Maybe he wasn't moving at all, suspended somewhere in the dark fathoms of a boundless ocean. He couldn't feel his arms-- or any part of his body for that matter. Drifting somewhere between worlds, existing without really existing at all.

Was this death?

It was all that he could have hoped for. The silence, the peace. The darkness that curled around him, comforting his consciousness.

Thoughts seemed out of place. There was no room to think in the emptiness. He neither cared how or when he reached this place, or if he would ever leave.

He only wanted to rest like this... forever.

Breathe.

Breathe? Why would he do that now? It would require so much effort, so much undesirable stress to attempt such a task.

Breathe Gil.

He shook the quiet voice away. What a petty annoyance. Breathing? Ha! Breathing was not needed in this beautiful utopia of sleep.

Breathe Gil! Oh god-- please breathe!

He was rudely made aware of a sharp pain in his chest and an uninvited swelling of warm air into his lungs. He rejected it, trying to return back to his quietude. The more than welcome darkness crept into his body once again. Soothing. Swallowing.

Dammit-- Gil please!

Another rush of air, sudden and piercing. His nerves sparked back into existence with an fierce shot of pain. A pause filled with the same pleading voice. Then the artificial breath again, stealing his soul away from him, reminding of all the pain and agony that had been sealed into his mortal body.

Make it stop. A mouth hot and wet was clamped over his-- robbing him of whatever choice he had-- then a breath-- taking more away from him then it gave. Gil fought with himself, straining to take in his own breath within the next two seconds that fled so quickly before the next inescapable exhalation broke into his body like the fall of a guillotine blade.

The raping wind came again, pushing, breaking into his body and psyche. He tried to break away and breathe in his own air, but his unresponsive muscles lay slack like a dead man's. Who knew that drawing one breath would be so difficult?

His replacement lung was leaning over him, begging for a reaction, pleading that it wouldn't have to breathe for him again. Giving up, the exhalation came down on him again, but in mid breath Gil inhaled violently, his lungs inflating with shooting pains, and soon afterward began to cough, piercing his chest with agony.

His heaven was gone, replaced by a soft mattress and cool sheets. He forced his heavy eye open, and found his only view to be the wooden frames of the ceiling. Someone to the right of him was speaking breathlessly, "Oh thank god. I thought I almost lost you Gil."

Yeah, it would have been nice if you did.

"I'm so sorry-- that was all my fault."

Then why are you apologizing?

"I'm such a fool. Here I've-- wait-- no-- don't fall asleep-- no!"

He slipped back into darkness, but his shoreless ocean was gone.

He awoke in two ways. Slowly, then quickly. The ceiling was unfamiliar, as was the walls, the furniture, the bed... An initial adrenaline rush bolted him upright, only resulting in grimacing pain. He clutched at his middle, which was covered in a long shirt, and likely had bandages underneath. His arms were striped with healing wounds, the more recent ones more faint, being that they received more adequate medical attention.

There was not a drop of blood on him-- an almost alien phenomenon-- and he felt sore. Maybe one was only sore after resting. Resting. How long had he been asleep anyway?

Gil's limbs were beginning to feel heavy as the adrenaline began to settle in his system. Still, the quaint and much-too-hospitable bed sheets were making him nervous. He unfolded himself from the covers and slipped down to the floor-- a small trip since the bed was only two mattresses high.

He pulled himself into a corner, growing more tired, hungry, and sore with each six inches. It wasn't that bad though. Gil had felt tired, hungry, and sore many times before, and this was no different except he had no idea where he was or what had happened too him.

Gil put his back to the corner, a fairly defensive position, and after some considering, tugged the shirt up and over his head, and tossing it aside. He instantly regretted it, being as a chill swept down his body, but at least he had rid himself of both the bed and the clothing-- an incessant reminder of Shydeman.

He folded his hands over his eyes, reminding himself to forget about it, and to think of something else, but without burning pain to will away, distractions were fairly hard to come by. Why had he come here? Why did he allow himself to be kidnapped? He was bewildered and desperate, and allowed himself to collapse into the arms of... the arms of...

Just another person who seemed nice at first, but would no doubt have his way in the end.

Like Shydeman.

No, not him. Not again. It's someone else like--

Shydeman.

God no.

He curled himself up into the corner, away from the room, away from everything.

I should have stayed there. Why did I let him take me? I could have fought back, I could have, I could have, I could...

But he didn't. Couldn't.

The door opened, and his abductor's face peered in, breaking into initial panic when seeing Gil had disappeared from the bed, but soon rediscovered him in the corner, coiled up and glaring at him.

"Ah-- I-- I see you're awake, I-- I'm sorry I--"

Was he always this literate?

"Some food I-- No. Here, you're going to catch your cold if you don't cover yourself. It's the middle of winter so..." He crossed the room, pulling the comforter off the low bed and laying it across Gil, tucking it under his chin. "...Here. I don't want you getting sick on top of your busted ribs and me nearly killing you on pain medication. I almost did too-- overdose. Do you remember that? Maybe not. I was a fool, the merchant ever told me not to give any more than two doses-- I--"

He stopped, aware of his rambling. "I'm sorry." He stood, straightening, "I'm going to get some food now. You really should get into bed." He turned, semi-rushing out of the room, possibly afraid that Gil would evaporate if he didn't eat something soon.

So that's my kidnapper.

My nervous, cordial, babbling kidnapper.

So I've taken a bit of a non-classic approach to this story. Instead of a calm, angelic, and gaggingly sweet Raamgarnas, we have slightly overburdened, anxious, and slightly frightened Raamgarnas. Instead of a dependent, trusting, oh-Raamgarnas-please-hold-me! type Gil, we have this brooding, suspicious, and terminally apathetic Gil.

Doesn't this seem like the beginning of a bee-u-tiful relationship? I figured that my readers should get a change of scenery, even if they have to experience it kicking and screaming. Ah well-- It's a GilxRaam, and you HAVE to finish reading it now! Wa ha ha!

Oh, and at this point, a future sex scene is a resounding MAYBE for the following reasons. A.) I'm not sure if my writing talent is really to handle something as heavy as sex. I mean seriously-- they are really really hard to write. So if I do, I might just skim over the details. B.) OR you might not get one at ALL! If this romance turns out as fluffy and so-sweet-it's-sticky like I'm hoping for, do I really want something as wild and messy as sex to ruin it? Hm?

Since I only got four reviews (out of 22 hits! GAH!) I'm going to take the time to thank my reviewers. If I ever get more than five reviews per chapter though (a far out dream-- I can accomplish it!) I'm not going to thank each one individually. Sorry! All you new readers can just skip this part and click the review button. (Hint, nudge, wink.)

Lady Dragonnaine: My first reviewer, thanks! Shydeman and Gil aren't my personal favorite pairing, Oo; but your going to see more mentions of him in the future.

Dragon of Eternal: Thank you for giving me constructive criticism! I really do want to become a better writer, so thanks for being honest with me. This chapter was better, yes?

Shnickledooger: What a passionate response. Thank you, I appreciate the excitement-- it makes me feel speshul. XD

DragonnessFei: A sweet, genuine compliment. Another one of my favorite types of reviews. I hope you liked this last one as much as I did.