DEAD RECKONING

CHAPTER EIGHT

Who would have imagined, thought Tatsumi somberly, that realizing Tsuzuki had feelings for him wouldn't be the most joyous event in his entire life? Why was he sitting limply on the floor, the kitchen counter being his only source of support, and staring dumbly at the door Tsuzuki had slammed shut a moment before, as if someone had just told him that his puppy had died a horrible death? Why wasn't he running after the other man to smother him with kisses? It was very simple, really: you don't spend every waking hour of your abnormally long life convincing yourself that what you feel is wrong, sick and perverted, just to accept and welcome those same feelings from the one you loved and idolized. Your mind would wonder, was it that you who was wrong from the beginning, and it was always ok to feel like that, or is it perhaps that the other is not as pure and innocent as you thought him to be? And then you would weight all your suffering, all the pain you've caused yourself over all those years and you would refuse to believe that all that pain had been in vain. That's exactly what was going on inside Tatsumi's mind at that moment. He was remembering all the times he had hated himself for believing that Tsuzuki was coming on to him, all the times he'd stared at his hands in disgust for having stolen a touch Tsuzuki had to have found intrusive and disgusting, all the times he hadn't been able to sleep because of the deranged dreams that would plague him. He couldn't allow himself to believe that all of that had been unjustified. It would turn his suffering into a sick joke.

But it had been Tsuzuki who had kissed him. There was no way he could overlook that, or the frustrated and angry reaction from the amethyst eyed man when he'd broken the kiss. Tsuzuki had wanted to kiss him. Where did that leave him? It left him broken, torn inside, because it was either admitting that he had been the biggest of fools in the history of mankind, or he had to admit that the one he loved was as dirty, as perverted and sick as him, which is, sadly, what his mind chose to believe without really asking him for permission first. Because, suddenly, all those memories begun tainting with something that he couldn't quite put into words, but that was stronger than anything he had felt in a very long time. Because now, his mind was starting to remember Tsuzuki under a different light. Now it seemed to him that Tsuzuki had really been coming on to him all those times, that he had enticed all those touches and conveyed all those dreams, drawing him further into his misery, making him impossible to fight his own deviation. Suddenly, it seemed to him that the amethyst eyed man had consciously and purposely fueled his compulsion, that he had been most interested in turning it into the obsession it had become over the years. Their whole history together now appeared orchestrated, and he felt manipulated, like a puppet. It made even more sense, he realized, - if anything could, under such denial-driven premise- if you threw more people into the equation; like the Earl, for example or, Enma forbid, Muraki. Why was it that people always went pathologically crazy around Tsuzuki? One way or the other, everything always turned around him, didn't it? And he was always the victim, wasn't he? Wasn't that suspicious? No one could be that unlucky in their acquaintances.

It's not, however, like this line of thought was actually easy for him to bare; it was just easier than the alternative, less scary and less humiliating. But again, Tatsumi's world was crumbling around him anyway; so much so, that it was affecting him physically. Aside from the fact that he hadn't the strength, nor the will to move from where he was, his tongue was swollen, his mouth felt salty, and his eyes were bulging. In fact, his insides felt swollen and salty, if that was even possible. It was as if all the tears he had refused, and still refused, to shed, were drowning him from the inside out. He figured he had more than enough reason to cry, the biggest being the other memories, that weren't as bitter or tortuous; these were blurry, lacking in precisions such as time-lines or details, but they were even more painful. These were the ones from when he had found peace in Tsuzuki's company, when he had dared to hope that not everything he felt was dark and forbidden. They had been small, inconsequential moments, in which his love for Tsuzuki had been as pure as the recipient and he had trusted he would be able to beat himself into reason. They hurt more than anything, they tasted like lies no matter how he chose to look at the situation.

It was done. No matter what the truth was, Tatsumi felt betrayed. He couldn't just stop loving Tsuzuki, that just wasn't possible; so his love started twisting and morphing into something darker, even deeper that, mixed with a healthy portion of anger and bitterness, was beginning to seem a lot like hate. Idly, he noticed that, amidst their short discussion, either Tsuzuki or him had smashed one of the breakfast cups into the ground. Small, white pieces of porcelain laid now shattered around him. He hadn't noticed it before, but he thought it was fascinating, definitively appropriate. With an incredible effort, Tatsumi stretched his arm to pick one piece and roll it around his fingers. As if he had drawn energy from it, the kagetsukai started to get up. He didn't thought about it, nor where he'd go once he begun walking. He gave up any semblance of control he might have had left, he gave up his will to that small piece of porcelain. A determination that was most certainly not his own took over his mind and body, and he blindly made his way towards the hall, towards the stairs, as if he was actually going somewhere, as if he had something to do.


The sight of the house made Tsuzuki frown. In all fairness, it was a beautiful house, set in a beautiful scenery, but just looking at it sent shivers down his spine. It had what is commonly known as a 'bad vibe'. It wasn't a place that he, as a Shinigami, would go on vacation. He had visited many places like that one, for sure, but always during working hours. In his expert opinion, Tsuzuki concluded, that house was most definitively haunted. He shrugged. There wasn't a point in questioning Tatsumi's choice of lodging; he wouldn't have been able to understand the Kagetsukai's motives even if the man had been acting like himself.

He stopped in front of the door, tried to remember everything he'd decided to say and, taking a deep breath, he posed his hand on the handle. It was time to face the music. It wouldn't be easy, he knew. For one, he was sure that he would loose his courage the moment he laid eyes on Tatsumi. He could already see himself stuttering like an idiot, feeling inadequate and undeserving, like he had no right to demand anything from the other man. Second, Tatsumi wasn't really aware of their 'fight', so he couldn't just hold on to his anger to avoid obstacle number one. The last time they'd seen each other, everything had been 'ok' between them; he would gain nothing by biting the other man's head off for no apparent reason. He had to find a balance, and equilibrium wasn't something Tsuzuki had ever found easy to achieve. No, it wouldn't be easy, but he wasn't completely lost. An entire night of meditating about their relationship had not only given him reasons to be angry; he had also remembered why he loved the other man in the first place, and that was what he had to hold on to, that and the knowledge that, if he didn't do this, of he didn't straighten things out, they would never be together. With that in mind, Tsuzuki opened the door.

There was no one at the front desk, so he took a hesitant step inside. His plans to go looking for Tatsumi straight away were interrupted when he noticed just how heavy the atmosphere was in there. The "bad vibe" he'd sensed outside was nothing compared to the repelling quality of the reception. What the hell had Tatsumi been thinking, registering there? It made Tsuzuki feel sick, it made him want to leave at once. Maybe, Tsuzuki realized, Tatsumi couldn't feel it. The house didn't want him there, it was kicking him out. It wasn't the first time it happened, though, and he'd never been intimidated by a house before. The house didn't like him? Tough luck. It would have to stand him there whether it liked it or not.


He could have followed that path with his eyes closed. It not only felt like he'd walked those same steps all his life, it seemed like he was going through a sort of messed up choreography. He walked into his room- or so he thought at the time- knowing that Tsuzuki was due to come back any moment now, knowing, in a way, what would happen when he did, even if he couldn't quite put it into words. He never questioned that knowledge or his acceptance of it. There was, hidden under the feelings that he was supposed to be feeling, a sense of anticipation that was at the same time dread. He existed only for what was to come, he realized. The rest of his life seemed now only a means of getting him where he was now. A part of his mind wanted to be confused by all this, but it was drowned by the will he had allowed to take over him. He wondered if he would be able to simply step aside and watch himself, since his body was no longer attached to his soul. He was no longer himself, only a witness.

He could almost hear Tsuzuki climbing up the stairs, could, almost, tap his fingers to the rhythm of it. It felt a bit like listening to one of those songs you've heard a thousand times before, that still manage to make you want to move to it, that always leave you breathless as you feel the climax approaching. The analogy felt perfectly to the point, even though Tatsumi knew he had never allowed himself to even think about wanting to dance to anything. The most curious part of this... memory -because he was sure that was what it was- was that he could not quite remember it. Tsuzuki's face was becoming more and more of a blur, to the point he couldn't quite tell if his eyes had ever been purple, or the most striking shade of blue. Even the name, Tsuzuki, was starting to loose meaning, to become alien, just like when you repeat a word so much it stops making any sense. Yet none of that mattered, really; in his mind, the figure of the other might have been blending into something he wasn't entirely sure he recognized, but his feelings were still there, and this lack of control, this dominating will that had possessed him, this knowing what he would do without knowing it, or who he was, made him feel liberated. Soon, very, very soon, he would get the rest he'd longed for.

Of course there was a part of him, not quite functional anymore, that realized there was something awfully wrong with the picture, a sort of ringing in his ears, that whispered there was something off with the scenario, even a voice that screamed at him from the depths of his soul that he should snap out of it. He also remembered this in his forgotten memory turned premonition, and he didn't remember heeding it; so he didn't.

The door opened slowly. It was no wonder he had been found so easily; not only he hadn't meant to hide, he couldn't conceive for the other to look for him in any of the many other rooms of the house. It was here, it had been here, it would be here. He slipped into his role as naturally as he breathed, and turned his face to the window, where the morning sun unveiled the landscape for him to contemplate one last time. With the first step the other took inside, the blue eyed man knew there was no more time for contemplation, confusion or remembrance. He did, however, indulged in a tiny bit of improvisation when, unable to stop himself, he uttered:

"I've missed you."


Kaede hugged himself and stared at the horizon, his breath hitching from barely contained sobs. How many times before had he been through this? Yet it still tore him up inside. It was curious, most of the time he felt dead inside, his only tie to life being these moments, waiting for them, remembering them, and when they came, he discovered how much pain he was still able to feel. He could still feel used, he could still feel unloved and despised. If they were to stop, though, he'd have no more reason to stay alive, and the prospect of dying had never been one that he refused. Why didn't he put a stop to it, he didn't know. It was his decision, and he knew it.

He wasn't sure of who was using who. The other forced him to live in the hell he'd gotten himself into, never giving him a moment of peace, because even between these moments he haunted him. But the truth was, he had never done anything to help the other out of that hell. He didn't want him to, not because he thought he deserved that inhumane suffering, but because he knew that, once he found his way out, Kaede would loose him forever. So he waited and, when the moment came, he played his part. It wasn't hard; the feelings were still there, the pain, the love, the loneliness. He played it and let himself be played. His only regret was that poor stranger, but that guilt wasn't enough to stop him. He knew by now why the other chose them; they might have been strangers, but they weren't innocent. They were just like him and, even when Kaede always harbored the hope that one of them would learn the lesson before the end, they never did. At least, he hoped, he was sparing some other person from having to go through what he was going through.

Bracing himself, he turned his head to look at the house, their house, the one they'd built from scratch and that had held all their dreams at one point, the house where everything had finally gone to hell; literally. Now came the hardest of all scenes, and he knew it. He knew the sequence by heart now and, while what was coming always hurt him the most, was what he feared the most, it was also what he spend more time waiting for. It was sick, but it was all he had, all he'd ever had from the other, and he could do nothing but to take it. It was just about time to go back.

He was tired of it, of the game they were playing, but the thought of seeing it end left him short of breath. It was his life- if you could even call it a life- and he would not escape it. In a twisted sort of way, he wanted it.


When Tsuzuki had realized the size of the house and its intricate disposition, he had believed it would take him a while to find Tatsumi. He hadn't even been sure the other man was actually there; the house was deadly silent, to the point where it even drowned the sound of the see just a few yards away. That, plus the atmosphere, caused his first steps to be somewhat hesitant, probing. Right away, however, he noticed something else about the house that had him rushing up the stairs in no time. The shadows; they were the ones crushing the air around him, suffocating him. Under the ever still rays of the sun, they swirled and danced as if created by candlelight, and they moved in the direction of the upper floor, where they were more noticeable. As he climbed the steps, he saw how those shadows override the sunlight, until it seemed it was night, rather than morning, all gathering oppressively in one particular point, the center of the storm and, surely, where their master was, commanding them. Again he paused before opening the door. He had recognized that the house was not at all pleased with his presence, and now he wondered if Tatsumi, too, had put his shadows to the task of getting rid of him, or if it had been a mere coincidence. Whatever it was, for the Kagetsukai to so carelessly make use of his power, Tsuzuki knew there had to be something equally as dangerous or unwanted to provoke him.

That was why he was so surprised when, upon crossing the threshold, he found Tatsumi staring peacefully out the window. Still, there was something about his expression that filled him with unease. His eyes were dull, his face set in a sort of resigned acceptance and his stance was that of someone who had been broken. On the other hand, the room, though free of the thick shadows that almost prevent him from getting there, felt even heavier than before. It almost felt like walking into a different dimension, a place where time is of little to no importance because it has been forever trapped in one moment. Tatsumi didn't turn, for what Tsuzuki thought, at first, that he hadn't realized of his presence. An instant later, though, he spoke.

"I've missed you."

To his ears, Tatsumi's voice sounded most definitively strained, but there was something else, a ring to it that wasn't quite Tatsumi's, as if the sound had been coming out in Stereo or something. The words themselves were something of a comfort to him, though, and he managed to smile.

"Baka, you're the one who left." Tsuzuki took a few steps towards the other man. For some reason, there was a voice in his mind telling him to be cautious, so he kept some distance. "You can't get rid of me that easily, though."

He wasn't sure if his attempt to lighten the mood had been lost to Tatsumi, or if he'd simply failed miserably, but the blue eyed man didn't answer him, didn't even turn to acknowledge him. After a long moment of dreadful silence, Tsuzuki took another step forward.

"You shouldn't have come," said the blue eyed man, this time with a much stronger, commanding tone that rooted Tsuzuki to the spot. He had, at some level, expected those words before getting there, but after the first statement they could do nothing if not confuse him. "You should have staid away."

"I couldn't do that," replied Tsuzuki defensively. "I really think we need to talk and, honestly, I just couldn't wait."

"Talk?" This time Tatsumi did turn, and his face showed itself as incredulous and angry as his voice. "You want to talk! About what?"

Tsuzuki swallowed hard.

"About us," he mumbled tentatively. "About you and me. You need to talk, Tatsumi. I can see that you're not alright. I suspected there was something wrong with you, but now..." It was true. Now that he had the other man in front of him, he wasn't so concerned about the future of their relationship as he was for him. He had never seen Tatsumi like that. He wasn't sure how to describe the state the Kagetsukai was in, but it just wasn't right.

"Oh, I see," Tatsumi answered in an eerie calm tone. "I'm not ok, am I? And tell me, what's so wrong with me that has you so worried?"

Now it was Tatsumi's turn to take a step towards him, though it was anything but hesitant. Only a few inches apart, Tatsumi's frame stood menacingly over him, causing Tsuzuki to really, carefully think his reply. With the kindest, gentlest expression he could muster, Tsuzuki rested one hand on the other man's shoulder and said:

"I am not sure, but I can guess it is my fault. Just... let me mend it?"

Tatsumi turned his eyes to the hand resting on his shoulder and stared at it as if he'd never seen something like it before. His eyes were wide, astonished, and something told Tsuzuki it might not have been the best move ever. Before he could attempt to remove it, though, Tatsumi posed his right hand on top of it, holding it in place. His free hand, surprisingly enough, went around his waist, pulling him closer. Close enough, actually, to see quite clearly the hollow, mad hint tainting the soft blue of his eyes as it clouded Tatsumi's gaze.


The moment the other touched him, as innocent as that touch had been intended to look like, the last bit of sanity Tatsumi had been able to retain so far slipped away from his fingers. In a mixture of outrage, apprehension and lust, he stopped the other from pulling away and, needing more contact even though it was burning his skin, he circled the other man's waist with his free arm to pull him closer. He didn't know what he wanted more, to kiss him or to hurt him; but he needed him close.

A strange feeling of exhilaration invaded his being. He was free, he realized, to do what he'd been wanting to do for such a long time. There was no longer need to justify those wants, to try to reconcile something as loathing as those needs with the love he felt to be so pure, Neither slowly, nor tentatively, he killed the scarce distance between them and locked his lips with the other's. He tried to be gentle, wanting in a way to recreate that first kiss they'd shared earlier. But that one kiss did no longer feel like the first one; just one more to add to the list of first moments of realization, if that even made sense. And this one kiss, the one he was forcing on the other's unresponsive lips, also felt new... different; wrong and oh so very right at the same time. He closed his eyes then, partly to fully take in the sensation, partly to shut out whatever it was about the other man's that fueled the feeling that something was off with the way things were going.

After a long moment of shock, or at least that was what Tatsumi guessed had stopped him, the other timidly returned the kiss. That only enraged him, of course; mainly because he didn't want him to. He didn't want the other man to confirm his suspicions that he indeed wanted that too, instead of pushing him away. It didn't help, either, that his response had been so tender compared to his aggressive initiative. So he turned it even rougher, nipping, almost fully biting the other's lower lip until he drew both blood and a whimper. Then the other man did try to free himself; it was a reflex, Tatsumi noted, but he refused to let him go, crushing him tighter against him and moving his mouth to the other's neck.

"Tatsumi?" came the other's questioning voice, that sounded a bit shaky with uncertainty and, yes, fear.

The utterance of his name bothered him; the voice that had uttered it bothered him. It was all wrong. But, most of all, the tone used, the evidence of what he was causing the other to feel, brought a knot to his throat, yet he couldn't stop and that, too, bothered him.

"You want this," he mumbled angrily, in between 'kisses' that where leaving angry red marks on the other's skin.

The other man gasped as Tatsumi pushed him violently against the nearest wall. He was starting to see red. It made, obviously, no sense but, though he felt compelled to do as much damage as possible, to take the control of the situation away from the other, to submit him, every one of his actions seemed to be hurting him more than the other man. The wince he'd just enticed had him wincing as well and, with his breath hitching at his throat, Tatsumi did the greatest of efforts to get his anger under control. He walked up to the other, whose big, baffled eyes were focused on him, and pressed the length of his body against him. As gently as it was possible for him at that point, he buried his head on the nook of the other's neck, trying to steady himself. Unwittingly, he gripped the other man's shirt and pulled, tugged at it until he was able to slide one hand inside, touching skin, up his chest, while the other hand fumbled with his belt, barely registering the way his body protested when his fingers inadvertently graced his erection.

"Stop," the other whispered hoarsely. "What… What are you doing?"

The other was not hard, he noted dully, and even seemed to try to wriggle out of the way when, once his own pants had been undone, his now free hand moved to work on his. He tried to be gentler, then. He wasn't doing it for himself, even if he was obviously enjoying it. But the other was not making things easy. He was starting to struggle more now, more forcefully, and it was difficult for Tatsumi not to use enough strength himself to cause pain. He knew the other wanted this, fight and all. It was part of the act, he realized. He needed to be the victim or he wouldn't enjoy it. Never mind what that did to his mind. He wanted the other to admit it, to say it, to stop playing with him.

"You want this!" he hissed into the other's ear, as if trying to convince him, but he only struggled more. Panic seized him, not because of any implication of what he was doing, but at the thought that the other might actually free himself, that he wouldn't be able to see this through. He couldn't stop, he couldn't let the other man stop him. Stopping would be thinking; about what he was doing, about why he was doing it. Stopping would be facing reality again, and he just couldn't.

Tatsumi decided to kiss him again, to stop the small whimpers that had started coming out of his mouth, and pushed him against the wall again, and again, and again, each time harder than before, to see if it would get the point across, if it made the other stop moving. But the other did not stop moving, did not stop whimpering. In fact, his whimpers turned into cries, muffled and hoarse. He shook the man again and heard the loud bang of his head bumping against the hard surface of the wall, that caused him to go limp in his arms long enough for Tatsumi to let go of his shoulders and attempt to hold him to stop him from falling. When he did this, however, something hard made contact with his face, and he stumbled backwards, fell to the floor a few feet away his right ear ringing. The entire right side of his face stung, bad, but he didn't take notice of it. He just stared at the other- Tsuzuki, right?- in shock. His amethyst eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, and he was gasping, looking as astonished as Tatsumi felt. The Kagetsukai opened his mouth to speak, but Tsuzuki just lounged forwards and punched him again.

Tsuzuku

A/N: I'm not entirely sure whether we can still leave author's notes, so I'll make this one my last. I can now answer reviews (someone will review, right?) personally, but if you don't have an account or just don't feel like logging in and want me to answer a question or something, you can just leave me an e-mail or an LJ username (I love LJ) and I'll get in touch, ok? The reason for my prolonged absence was pretty much outside my control… meaning, I had to learn to find that control and I seem to have done that. I never lost interest on any of my stories. I love them to bits, they are my babies, and you have no idea how much I've suffered being away from them this past year. Don't give up on me yet, please?