As for the lemon, let's put it this way: I have to start writing it now for it to be ready in eight chapters' time. (sweatdrop) But yeah, a lemon in this chapter would be just a liddle bit awkward right now. Kyou still thinks he's straight. Sort of. Baka neko.
Rating: Pg-13. Slash - sensuality - violence - light incest.
Category: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Kyou/Yuki
Length: 3?
Ache
by Lanie Kay-Aleese
Chapter Three: Memory-rot
He couldn't sleep, so he left his room. And then the house, and then he left himself, mostly, as he wandered through the cleansing rain.
His mind drifted. There were memories of his mother that had nothing to do with anything, and of Tohru, and Master, and the rat, but that didn't explain or make better the mysterious element of his life that had changed. It just prodded at the smoldering fire that was endlessly burning out a corner of his heart.
Somehow, his mind circuited endlessly towards the ache.
He'd never been good with this sort of thing, understanding what was going on inside of him - and outside of him. Most of it he imagined to be muscle memory; like how he had known where Tohru had moved the spices, even though he didn't remember her moving them. The things about his feelings, they were harder to explain by his reflexes. Like when he was studying, and couldn't understand the derivative, and suddenly a knock was at the door. And when Kyou had scowled and opened it, there was a study book at his door (with Yuki's notes). And when Kagura had chased him down for her birthday celebration, he'd been miraculously saved by his duties as fool (Yuki had beaten him at Rich Man, Poor Man). And this morning when he was just trying to punch into the air, he couldn't finish the punch. This - this had never happened, because he wasn't aimless and thus his punches were aimless. And he wasn't lacking intensity; or anything; but his technique just felt off because when he was finishing the punch, he couldn't set his fist without it wobbling in empty space. In the time that he'd forgotten and suddenly couldn't forget, had he really changed so much that it he'd not only shifted in his feelings - but he'd even recreated the physical alignment of his mind?
Lightning crashed; the thoughts ending abruptly; and Kyou followed completely as he dropped onto the ground.
A ragged breath against the rain-drenched soil. "Damn it..."
Kyou sprawled forward and unclamped his eyes. Tired. He was so tired and suddenly wondered, how long had he been walking? Of course, all that borrowed strength was bound to leave him. Even if it pissed him off, he was unavoidably weak in this sort of weather.
Except that tonight, Kyou didn't mind the rain. This feeling was familiar. This, at least, had not changed. And he liked the feel of the clumpy soil and long, wet grass against his feet.
By the time he smelled the rain, and heard it breaking from a cloud, he realized where his feet had led him. A charcoal, grey covering dimmed the weak morning light. Kyou's crimson eyes glistened as he took in the scene - it was a patch of churned soil and loose earth, a clearing with a smell that awakened a hunger in the pit of his stomach, and a rotting, uprooted head of cabbage. It had been the secret base. Yuki and Tohru had talked about it so many times, and Kyou had spied on it, sometimes, but it wasn't anything special then. In its' state of degredation, though, Kyou imagined that he could see how Yuki had found it special. It was a really blatant act that demonstrated Yuki's intimate bond with nature, even if someone had severed the bond like this. Kyou grimaced at the sickly yellow strawberry bush, and somewhere nearby, a smell that leaked from the corrupted ground. The smell wafted to his nostrils, and the blood drained from Kyou's face.
He hated this smell.
There were some scents that he didn't like. Some that made him sick, some that hurt, some that made him sting. This, though. He didn't like this scent - because there was nothing to dislike - it was the smell of nothing.
It was the smell of not knowing, and not feeling, and it was the end of all feelings and all memories and absolute brokenness and-
"... Hey, do you... smell that?" Kyou had whispered as a heavy fog swirled around him-
"No," the other person lied - and then the person's breath hitched with pleasure -
Crack, boom; lightning flashed and Kyou swung around as a strange image seemed to overshadow the static sky - ambiguously, it looked like a basket of laundry -
"Who said that, huh!" Kyou stumbled over his own shouts, "Hey! Where did that come from?" He whipped his head to face the forest on all sides. He curled his fingers into fists at his sides, and took a deep breath through his nose. "HEY!" he shouted again. He heard his voice come back to him in echoes, and he scowled in spite of everything when his stomach churned in reply. He stuck his hands into his pockets. A bolt of eerie violet lightning jarred the sky.
Whatever sort of conversation he'd just heard, though, it had been too brief and pointless to be considered an acceptable memory. But he was either hearing voices or remembering them, and both seemed pretty awful at his point because Kyou didn't really want to remember that smell, because he hated it and it was important.
The thoughts gave way to dark forest forcefully, and Kyou stumbled as if knocked on the head; residual red stars and blotches hovered at the edges of his vision, and faded onto the shadowed veil of silence. For a moment, he stared and refocused his eyes--
-- and blinked a second time. Understanding settled on him uneasily: a recap of the last few moments, explaining why it felt as though his body was not his own, and why the hair had raised on his forearms, and the back of his neck.
And then Kyou's nose twitched entirely out of its' own accord, and he covered his mouth with one of his hands and turned aside, swallowing quickly. He ranfrom the desolate secret base with a salty burning at the edge of his eyes and a peal of cackling thunder that rolled like a barrel across the sky.
Even with those proddings, Kyou could only run for a couple of minutes before collapsing onto the ground and spoiling it.
He bit back the aftertaste with disdain, and waited for the rain to intensify and to wash away the filth; and he wished - not for the first time - that he could run forever, and never heave raspily onto the clingy ground.
And never do something so stupid again, like getting sick over a smell and a half-imagined memory.
Ha, a literal flashback... What a terrible joke. Anyway, I'm SO sorry for the long wait and this lame chapter. I'll just have to do better on the next update. Please forgive me.