Monozuki – An Idle Curiosity
A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.
By Kelly
Monozuki 3 – Kyo and Lavender (Re-worked)
Kyo rarely remembered what day of the week it was, let alone the date or month. He didn't even dare to try and guess the year or kami-sama forbid, which emperor currently reigned.
(He was constantly amused when reminded that it was now the Heisei era, and not Showa or Genroku. When pressed, he would admit to remembering the relatively peaceful times of Taika, never mind that it left the majority of his listeners baffled, and his partner, shifting uncomfortably with memories neither recalled.)
Time was of little meaning to a Death god, and lesser still when they were cocooned by the unchanging womb that was Meifu. In his private thoughts, Kyo liked to theorise that Enma-sama did it so, so that when he sent his Shinigami out to the crueler, harsher, more vibrant world of the living, their return to where they belonged would be all the more appreciated for it. He was, as did Takashi. Meifu meant their little apartment that was a world of their own; of secrets shared and laughter, food fights on Saturdays with sex against the kitchen counter or on the floor (neither were too picky about where) and house-cleaning on Sundays (after everything they did on Saturdays, the apartment badly needed cleaning by the time Sunday rolled around). Then there was that little ramen stall two streets down, ran by that charming kitsune and his cute cub (Kyo didn't care much for the kitsune odon – he hated fried tofu – but Takashi loved it). He couldn't forget as well, the carefully tended sakura park that sprawled for miles next to the Ministry complex, with its little grottoes and shaded valleys. His favourite spot was next to a nameless stream – barely more than a bubbling brook – shaded by a cherry tree so old and ancient, its very trunk was twisted into the shape of a bent, old man, the frothy pink petals its beard and long hair weeping into clear waters.
(Why he liked that particular sakura? Well, there was a very convenient boulder right at its exposed roots, perfect to lie back on, or, as a particular situation called for it, for him to use as a support when Takashi tore his nice slacks and pounded into him, dry, shouting his name over and over again and—)
He was getting sidetracked. A sigh, and a slow rotation of his neck, resulting in wince-inducing pops of abused vertebrae, had a human mother throwing him a scolding look for the bad example he was giving her impressionable young son. Kyo gave the woman an absent smile, but it didn't manage to mollify the irate woman. He watched her go quizzically, wondering why a living soul was in Meifu, when they had no active cases currently that required sheltering a soul (or Tsuzuki wrangling another favour from the Count. When that happened, everyone knew. Tsuzuki's wails were loud). The seeming youth stared at her and her son's retreating back for some time, trying to work the puzzle out but before long, he was jostled rudely, insincere apologies muttered by whomever it was that did it and even, a rude, "Do your daydreaming elsewhere, you idiot!"
Oh. He wasn't in Meifu, wasn't he? He tilted his head back, phasing unconsciously out of sight, and out of the minds of the humans who barely gave notice for the young man who disappeared in the blink of an eye, taking in the skyscrapers that reached for the heavens, the glaring neon lights competing with the murky sun for attention, and he breathed in the toxic, slow-murder sludge of Tokyo air. No, definitely not Meifu. That haven had a certain, dated feel to it, like that of a post-war Japan; a firebird emerging from its ashes and embracing the new, while stubbornly clinging to its past of rice paper screens and kimonos on weekends.
When Kyo remembered to return his attention back to earth, and not the dizzying sky that beckoned him to join, he found himself on the ledge of a building. Which one, he didn't care to know. They were all the same in the end; dead monstrosities built with the bones and skin of the earth. Sometimes, Kyo mused, head cocked to the side, listening, as the wind whispered in his ear, he was very much tempted to breathe life again into the murdered beasts, and allow them to seek their retribution against thoughtless humans. But a glance over at his partner, calmly sipping green tea while reading the day's edition of Asahi, would usually convince the elemental mage not to. Takashi would Not Be Pleased at the result, capitalized letters very much intended.
He shook his head, black, silky strands flying into his face and stinging his eyes, the wind's little jab at his dismissal of them and stood up, toes peeping over the very edge. The whole of Tokyo, well, northern Tokyo at least, because south or somewhere thereabouts meant the Tsukiji, and seeing all those dead animal souls flying about (never mind that they were just fish) was disconcerting, was spread out before him. The shinigami did not know where his husband was, but the lack of anything urgent prodding his conscience said he had nowhere to rush to, really, and he conveniently ignored the little fact that lately, his memory wasn't all that good to begin with. His eyes roamed over the jagged skyline, trying to decide, and if asked, he would have answered that he wasn't relying on sight alone of course. That was just silly. The smog in Japan's capital was legendary for a reason. No, he relied on other senses of course, and the pull on his magic was varied and multiple in its sources. One in particular, he honed in on. Kyo closed his eyes, tilting his head back and opening a little of himself, inviting more of the other in.
DeathBloodGuiltJoyAngerHatredDeathDeath
Mortal.
His blanked eyes opened, unseeing as his mind processed the flood of information which he dampened into a trickle with the ease of years. He knew that brand of aura well, having sampled it so recently. It was rare to encounter such….intensity and not of Muraki's cause. That it took all four of them to leave such a stain on the city's magical grid, to match that lone, insane doctor was not something most people would bother about. But their circumstances were what triggered the Shinigamis' interest, and – heaven help him when Tatsumi finds out because he will - Tsuzuki's inquisitiveness. A faint smile lit the young man's face, and it took less than a thought to relocate himself to the Koneko no Sumi ie.
He stared upwards at the bright, pink sign, a little taken aback at the large, anime-like kitten that waved its paw cheerily at passerbyes. A little…tacky for assassins, he thought, though he had to concede, it made for a disarming cover.
"Can I help you?"
Kyo flinched, stepping back in alarm because he didn't realize his invisibility had faded away, leaving him in the mortal's plain view. He forgot about the kerb though, and his heel met empty air. It would have been an embarrassing trip, but a slim hand, leaner than Hisoka's, grabbed hold of his, and pulled, the strength in that grip startling the Shinigami.
"Woah! Careful there! Are you alright?"
The boy before him wore a green apron with the shop's name in pink, hair a dirty dark blond with guileless eyes shades darker than his own. Tsukiyono Omi was what the background check had revealed, or rather, Takatori Mamoru. A scion of the line the boy's partner had sworn to eradicate. Life, the elemental mage pondered, was a bitch sometimes. So was Death, when it came to it.
"Sir? Are you sure you're okay?"
The concern was real, and hardly feigned. Sincerity shone in those jewel-bright eyes, and Kyo was suddenly reminded of Tsuzuki – not the color, but the shade. The shadows in both were deep and murky, and hinted at depths he did not dare tread.
"Shiozaki," he said softly, and the boy-assassin blinked in surprise. "My name…is…Shiozaki—" and not…something else. Not…Iz…the memory slipped away, bright and elusive, too fast to be caught hold of, leaving him frustrated and impotent with the frustration of wondering why he was frustrated. "I'm too young to be called 'sir'." A private joke, between him and his partner and Kyo ached suddenly with the need to be with Takashi, to have his strength and embrace and who cared that he played right into the part of a good little uke when it meant safety and care and love? But the human still held on to him, and Kyo knew that to phase out in front of these humans was A Very Bad Idea, according to Tatsumi. Capitalized letters again, very much intended.
"Shiozaki-san then." Tsukiyono's smile was bright and friendly, and as sincerely caring as his words as he ushered the bemused Shinigami into the air-conditioned store. "Please, come in. You look a little pale, it must be the heat getting to you." A little confused (how could such an efficient killer wear such a gentle façade that seemed so earnest?), and in a way, amused, Kyo allowed himself to be chivvied into a plastic folding chair that was previously occupied by a bouquet of roses and baby's breath, the fine hairs at the back of his neck rising in response when the other two assassins turned to face him.
Fujimiya Aya – or was it Ran? – made for an imposing, if silent figure behind the counter, small stacks of bills efficiently sorted and tied into proper bundles even as cold, dispassionate eyes assessed the only customer in the store, cataloguing his threat level. Now that, was something Kyo was very familiar with, thanks to Terazuma. Likewise, he was scrutinized and dismissed easily by the other. Ken…Hidaka Ken, former soccer player who had an assured future in the J-League, or so everyone assumed. Amazing how a little scandal could destroy a person's career. He could have been one of them, and the thought brought the familiar patina of longing that Kyo easily quashed. Not a scandal-ridden former star – no! But perhaps, a young, bright talent in soccer. He had the promise of a scholarship after high school, and interested scouts for the youth league. But death had a way of screwing up even the best laid plans. It was long before this Hidaka's time though, so he was confident that he would be spared a tongue-lashing by the formidable Secretary of the Bureau.
"Here, maybe this will help."
He accepted the sweating glass automatically, but flinched when a cool cloth touched his forehead, water sloshing over the sides of the glass.
"Oh, sorry!" Tsukiyono was contrite, and apologetic as he dabbed at the stains with the hem of his apron. Long fingers, his own, the pads calloused from hours of holding the bokken in the dojo, covered the boy's, stilling its frantic haste.
"It's alright," he smiled, but the expression faltered when he realized just why all three assassins looked at him so oddly and why Tsukiyono was a veritable mother hen. He wore no shoes, and had on no jacket. Clad only in a shirt a little too large for his frame – Takashi's, obviously – and jeans now dampened with water spots, he made for a pretty pathetic picture. He studied his bare toes, forehead creasing in concentration. He didn't remember leaving the apartment, but he obviously did, if he was in Chijou and not Meifu. But surely he wouldn't be silly enough as to leave without a jacket, socks and shoes, would he?
And if you'd be so kind as to tell me the date and year, Shiozaki-san, whispered a cold, little voice at the back of his mind, and Kyo conceded defeat gracefully.
"No shoes," he murmured, and he was grateful that his feet were clean at least. He had not fully manifested himself in the physical plane and little things like cold and dirt mattered very little.
Odd then, why you could feel the damp towel, yes?
The boy-assassin turned his hand, capturing his own and squeezing gently. "Were you mugged, Shiozaki-san?" he asked gently. "Or did you run into some trouble?"
Kyo could sense Fujimiya and Hidaka both zeroing in, no matter that he registered low on their radar. He wondered what they would make of him if he answered that he merely left his shoes back at home, in the Land of the Dead?
"I'm looking for flowers," he said instead, easily ignoring the boy's confusion, gently disengaging his hand from Tsukiyono's. Strangely enough, the boy's warm skin felt scalding hot. "What do you recommend?"
Tsukiyono drew back warily, though the concern never left his eyes as he studied the strange male now perched on the store's chair like a lost waif. His child's fingers twitched, as though itching for a poison dart (curare, Watari had reported. It paralysed the muscles, stiffening the body long before rigor mortis sets in) and it cued his partners who tensed, poised on the balls of their feet, ready to attack or defend. Kyo barely noted it, attention fixed on a bucket of lilies waiting to be moved into the cooler. "I like lilies," he sighed, reaching out to snag a stalk, uncaring how the move made Hidaka's grip on the broom handle whiten.
The stalk he held had only one fully blossoming flower, but the perfume was heady enough, tingling his senses and enticing his magic from slumber. It made him a little drunk, a little tipsy, on which he blamed what he said next to the wary boy-assassin.
"It smells lovely, doesn't it? It almost masks the scent of blood you wear."
Kyo would have died then (again), or at the very least, experienced Weiss Kreuz's skills firsthand sans Kudoh Yohji, if Tatsumi, bless his blackened and evil soul, had not stepped in with his impeccable timing.
"Kyo. We were looking for you," the kagetsuki said quietly, and aware of the bigger threat, all three killers spun to face him, though Kyo noted dimly that even so, they seemed aware of his every breath. It was hard to believe that they were mere mortals. "You didn't tell Takashi you were going out."
"I didn't," he replied agreeably, and he must have, if Tatsumi said so. "I forgot…I think. No shoes," he pointed out calmly.
"I can see that." Was that a smile, just the faintest, teasing the very corners of the secretary's lips? A little thrilled, Kyo made a note to tell his husband – the man's crush on Tatsumi was after all, a well known secret in the JuuOhCho. "Come, Kyo. Let's not bother these gentlemen any further." Icy blue eyes raked over the silent humans, discarding them aside as easily as they had dismissed the elemental mage in the first place. Kyo had to stifle a laugh – Fujimiya obviously didn't take well being treated so, as did Hidaka, and the young Shinigami docilely obeyed. There were always lines that shouldn't be crossed, and Tatsumi's was a very clear, bright, neon-glare which everyone in Meifu dutifully respected. Bar one of course. But then again, Tsuzuki got away with almost anything when it came to Tatsumi.
In the shop's doorway, he allowed Tatsumi to fuss over him, and was even more thrilled when the taller man took off his suit jacket, draping it over the younger shinigami's shoulders instead. Kyo held the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. Spices and lemon, and the hint of an aftershave and coffee. A secret smile played across his lips. Takashi would forget his anger at his mate soon enough, when the wayward mate had the kagetsuki's scent all over him.
Kyo had a feeling that they'd be doing their house-cleaning earlier this week, instead of the usual Sunday.
"Thank you for looking after my friend, gentlemen." Kyo barely heard the man's parting words to the assassins, lost in dreamy contemplation of his partner. His bare feet might have trodden other paths if a firm hand had not caught hold of his elbow, gently steering him back. When his shoeless feet was dewed with wet grass and bruised sakura petals instead of gravel and cement, he asked Tatsumi idly, not expecting an answer.
"Do we smell like blood, Tatsumi-san?"
A/N: Re-working my parts of Monozuki, specifically, wherever Kyo appears. -winces- I got a little overboard in emphasizing his instability then, and it led us to nothing but trouble in trying to continue this story. Hopefully, I''m salvaging instead of destroying…
Lavender: Signifying distrust
Taika: The earliest, recorded reign of the emperor in Japanese calendar.
Heisei: The current reigning emperor, Akihito, who ascended the throne in 1989.
Showa: The era prior to Heisei
Genroku: Started in 1688
For Japanese era goodness, all hail www . en . wikipedia . org / wiki / nengo (remove spaces)
Note: On the mention of the kitsune-ran ramen stall, that was a little tip of the hat to the mad xxxHolic by CLAMP.