Hiei glanced, defeated, at the room in which he was seated. There was nothing to help him describe himself here. He looked briefly to the ceiling, hoping to find written there the kind of easy articulation that Kurama always read on the cracked stucco. Nothing. How could he explain himself? In what manner would the fox understand that Hiei needed something... something tangible, and real, and here in the now to hold onto if he couldn't have his sister. He didn't venture a guess as to what that thing could be. Yukina... her song had upset him. His weakness and indecision had infuriated him. His longing for this... mystery for which he searched was smothering him. But his silences were killing him. He needed to speak, but could not. Wanted to shout but found himself voiceless. Woke up screaming, but not making a sound. How could words choke you? How could your tongue tangle itself in all of its self-imposed immobility to the point that you could not say "I need help"? Yes Hiei needed to find the elusive tangible that he so desired, but even more desperately, he needed to find his voice. He didn't ask for beautiful elegance in speech. Didn't desire words of length and brilliance. He only wanted little words. Everyday words: words that could convey his meanings. Simple words, that would offer him an outlet and allow him the opportunity to say all of the things for which his various silences had been substitute. Shutting his eyes, he leaned back against the bed, constrained by his inabilities and shackled by his need to voice. Kurama understood the silences, he knew. Their every conversation was proof of that. Through the years they had developed a wordless language, one that ran deeper than words and could express the things that vocalizations could never rightly, wholly enfold. Yet Hiei wanted the words. Poor though they were, ineffective though they seemed, and useless when standing against awe, or love, or consuming fear that they were. He wanted to use the words that simply couldn't say what he was meaning. Not because he wanted to be ineffective in communication. Only to give base and balance to his thoughts. He needed to ground his interactions in something true. Solidity, solidarity. Hiei needed these things.
"Hiei?" Kurama was disgruntled to find that while Hiei had been holding his tongue for the last few moments, he had yet to pick up on the small demon's meaning. "Is there a problem?" He couldn't distinguish anything from this quiet – it was as though Hiei were simply not thinking.
Red eyes implored him. Kurama lifted one brow and shook his head ever so slightly. "I don't know what you are asking me, Hiei." It was the first time in their partnership and friendship that they had been unable to understand one another.
Hiei took a long, measuring look at the redhead sitting across the room from him. His eyes took in Kurama's no longer reclining position, he seemed in fact, to be straining toward his friend. He noted that the mossy eyes were not only concerned, but also held the faintest shadow of frustration. Being no stranger to the kind of intense, heated anger that seemed always to follow being thwarted in his expectations, Hiei comprehended that he needed to do something to settle Kurama. Quickly, he settled his silence into a more emotive mode. He filled it with soft, soothing apologies; anger-retardant wry humor; and a light question. What do I do Kurama? It was a still moment, not ringing noiselessness, and not blanketing silence. It was a hush, an inaudible sigh and murmur, the gentlest tranquility known to the friends.
Responding to the suddenly changed timbre of their exchange, Kurama shut his eyes and took two deep breaths, his mouth never quite closing over the exhale. "Hiei... please." Despite the fact that he detested the overuse of words, (and subsequent death of language) that so many people displayed, Kurama could feel that this was a moment for a speech. Without trying in several different ways, he could never describe to his friend what he was having difficulty comprehending himself. He needed for Hiei to do something, to change something, to make a tiny alteration in the ill-fitting suit that was their current situation. But what? He knew thus, that an excess of words was in order. Wincing, he opened his mouth to begin. "Hiei..."
The dark haired demon started forward suddenly – as though he would have yelled "stop!" if he were prone to sudden outbursts. Kurama did stop. Warily pausing in his as yet to be started monologue, steadily buoying the eyes of his companion. The shadow-dancer's gaze was locked on Kurama's; a dying man clutching the hand of his weeping wife. His entire body was tensed, ready to run or fight. Slowly, ever so painfully slowly he raised one hand up between them. It was not quite a halt gesture, nor did it signal for Kurama to come closer. His fingers were curled slightly, palm turned out. As though he were touching some invisible cheek, tracing an imperceptible contour.
"Kurama." The red head lofted one winged brow, but held his questions. "I should say this." He looked suddenly panicked, his eyes frantically begging the red-head not to give up on the blundering attempt. "I need to tell you. Explain!" Widening his eyes momentarily, he immediately snarled in exasperation at the many missteps.
Leaning back against the headboard, the redhead crossed his arms over his chest. "Take your time, please." His melodious voice only agitated the already frenetic fire-demon.
"I... would like to explain to you." He stopped for a moment, hanging his head as he searched for the words. "I am... I cannot figure... My life is..." He bit his lip and looked away. Where were the damnable words? Why must every start be false, every gear shift a stall? Mentally groaning, he turned back to Kurama, prepared for his irritation. The jade eyes held infinite patience. "I am perplexed." There, that fit rather well. Not perfectly, but with a tiny shove and a little wriggle it would settle into place. "I have never spoken to you - with you! Talked!" His eyes were opened to their fullest extent, his mind racing. Where were these words coming from? This was not what he was intending. "I can't use my mouth –tongue – words- around people!" They were tumbling over one another, tangling on his lips and coming out jumbled and inappropriately. Each noun, verb, gerund, adjective... it was a brutal sabotage of speech. Hiei's vocal attempt was failing. He turned expressive eyes to Kurama and fell into a screaming silence that roared out all the things his mouth refused to proclaim.
"Do not, Hiei. I believe that you have begun the speech that I had thought to make. It wants completing. I will wait hours for you to finish these sentences. If you do not, we may never find what you are intending." Hiei's stark suppression of sound beseeched his friend not to ask him for anything more than their usual communicative lack of communication. "This is important Hiei. Please continue." Kurama's voice was so quiet as to be nearly inaudible. He closed his eyes, firmly refusing to participate in their hushed language.
Hiei leaned his face into his hands. "I... I never tell – in words – what I..." His heart was pounding. "That is, I am not..." He felt the blood pulsing through his temples. "What I would... what I might want... My... to say." His vision was fading in and out. "Out-loud. It is gone..." His whole body pounding with tension, he managed only to roll his eyes at the pathetic attempt. What a useless, riddled explanation. Every breath was making him more feverish, every wasted, silent moment driving him farther into uncontrolled mental chaos. Dropping his arms between his bent legs, Hiei looked up through his lashes at his friend, seeking a lifeline. He found Kurama staring at him intently, practically shouting at him to keep going. He had been so close... Screwing his eyes shut he took a long breath. And another. Relaxed every muscle. Swallowed four or five times and pictured the words. Built them in his mind, brick by brick, until they filled him, owned him, consumed him – were all that he knew. It was simple: he could manage nothing more complex. His rumbling baritone was a broken sparrow: hobbled and lame. "Kurama, I cannot find my voice." His eyes drifted gradually open, like waking after hibernation. They were tentatively hopeful. That was exactly what he had been aiming to say... if it wasn't good, if it didn't quite make par – it never would.
Kurama's eyes were closed in appreciation, in relief. Hiei sighed to himself. It would be enough. Just barely, but enough.