Yay Chapter 3 is done ^_^ This style of writing is pretty hard when you brain starts to run out of words and the thesaurus is lost some where in my messy room XD I hope this chapter lives up to the other two and hasn't made poor Fujiko too ooc ^_^ Although he has to be ooc for this role I guess... hmmm saa, oh well I hope it works out.
Thanks to those who have R&R and Faved this story (^O^) Please continue to read an enjoy my angst.
Warning: Angst, Masochism, Some descriptions. Oh btw this is a TeFu fic, even though quite a bit of ToFu is involved. (any one else think that sounds like a recipe?)
The dark eyed boy growled, displeased after having re-dressed and glaring at the dozing boy, wanting to hit him for his stupidity and pathetic-ness.
Was this frail figure so broken that he had it in him to do that? This small figure lying naked under the covers; was he so wretched and desperate that he would go to lengths to lose something so precious, something he would never regain, to a person he hardly knew, let alone liked?
Had their fight been so severe, that this usually bright and mischievous boy would now throw away his life on alcohol and clubs, getting off with random people he had never met?
It made him feel sick; feeling so much disappointment and pity for a fallen angel, whose own fault it caused this in the first place. The sadistic child countering every move he had made to prevent the intercourse, to stop him doing something so desperate. He frowned down at the lithe body with an angered scowl, hoping he was pleased with himself.
Standing up and sighing with mental exhaustion, the diva turned to give the boy a final displeased and disgusted look, shaking his head before leaving the room.
Slowly, timidly and almost uncertain, the covers began to shake and the clearly awake boy rolled over, curling tightly into a ball, clutching at the pillow to mask his desperate sobs and agony. He felt sick; sick of himself, sick of this life and sick of how he was living. How he had betrayed the person closest to him, how he had taken advantage of a kind situation to hurt his self more.
He laughed disgusted at the masochist he had become, hurting his self to make the pain go away, only to have it return worse than before; sending him into despair over and over until he wanted to claw at his chest, to remove that useless, shattered muscle inside of him. It was doing nothing anyway, except causing him misery, regret, sorrow.
He hugged the pillow tighter, biting it in attempt to stop the sobs escaping, the whimpers and the small yelps when he moved. He had given up, he had given it up to the wrong person, the last thing he had, the last thing that had meant anything. Had he always been this weak? Was he always this pathetic?
The words stung in his mind, flitted bits of conversation turned argument, the words shared in that apartment ringing in his ears, burning till he thought they would bleed. Snippets of the time just spent, the older boys irked and displeased words, chastising him, calling him out to what he truly was; a coward.
He said he didn't care, couldn't care less, that this disgusting pain in his chest was nothing but the desire to end it all. Get it over with; this was nothing, just another night.
He had said such sick, awful words, the guilt adding to what was already there. That was now two people, two people he had said such cruel things to, had hurt because of his own stupidity; two people that would never forgive him.
He felt weak, no; he was weak, he was weak and he was scared, a coward. He was running from so much, so many mistakes that were his own fault.
The silver haired boy had known that much, he had found him, taken him in, in some strange attempt at arrogant kindness, tried to stop himself from making a huge mistake. The only people that had had that privilege had been the Hyoutei regulars and good friends. The last he check; he and the diva were far from close, with the exception of what had just transpired.
He wished the damned idiot did hit him, hit him hard and that he wouldn't stop until some sense had been knocked into him. But he wouldn't, the older boy was brought up respectfully, to be a gentleman as all rich children were brought up, there to impress.
He shuddered, not daring to open his eyes to see the state of himself; the marks, the bites, the filthy state of his body. It made him retch, hangover still in place regardless of what had happened.
His head had throbbed, his stomach had turned, but so previously had his body; hard to the others touch, willing to move just to feel some higher level of euphoria. He felt ill, he felt as if the world should just shoot him where he lay; broken, filthy and in tears.
The funny thing was, out of all that had happened, after the most stupid argument, the silent treatment, the wandering off to bars and clubs, getting toyed with by strangers and toying with them back until his body arched backwards in sexual pleasure, after all of that he was still torturing himself.
It made him laugh, some mad and delusional noise emitting from his throat, scaring him enough to clamp his mouth shut with hand, continuing to let the tears fall, to sob until his chest and stomach ached with the effort of the never ending convulsions.
He hadn't even registered the final words his host had spoke leaving the room. He hadn't heard him speak that dead sentence, until now, echoing dully in his mind as it made it's way to the surface, bold as anything and screaming at him. Eyes wide open, a new wave of tears cascading darkly down his white cheeks. He had said it so quiet he had strained to hear, though not listened at all, the diva's calm words going over his head as he spoke, telling him something he now realised was important. Something that he now realised was a chance; a chance that could either destroy or save him.
He hadn't listened, he had thought only of himself like the selfish fool he was and now, the navy eyed boy was going to cancel that chance. He had called that person, and that person had agreed, despite their argument, to pick him up from this place. And now, now that person was probably being told not to come, not to take him from this nightmare and either keep or abandon him.
An entire month it had been, on his own, secluded and separated from his love and left to his own mournful devices. Doing what ever reckless things he could to get some form of pay back on the other, knowing he was blatantly hurting himself instead.
He didn't care that the other boy would reject him, or hate him, he needed to see him, and he couldn't let the Hyoutei captain make that call; shooting up from the bed and hurriedly getting dressed, ignoring the pain in his head, but unable to ignore the searing, breaking, pain in his back. He wasn't even a foot away from the bed before he dropped to his knees, staring desolately and blankly into space, barely able to breathe.
How could he face him after this, after he had so ignorantly and foolishly slept with another man, disregarding any hope for their future?
It seemed like such a small thing, that one twist in fates ever tormenting web. Two routes to choose; had he chosen the other, he would have left the confines of this overly extravagant room, to find that person waiting perhaps in the lobby, or the hall, or one of the many rooms that rich, arrogant man owned, for him. But no, he had chosen the route, that one silly, regretful and deceiving turn in his life, where he chose to spend the night in another mans bed, becoming filthy and traitorous.
How could he look at the man he loved knowing he had done something so treacherous? How could he face something like that so soon, having to let the other know, having him look down in betrayal, and disappointment? To have him yell and tell him he hated him, or worse, the other staying silent, showing no response at all, not even caring.
To be cut in such a way, he felt his chest tighten, his heart almost crying out in despair, not wanting to know of that fate.
So slowly it hurt, he pulled himself up from the ground, walking absently over to the en suit door, the shameful, heart wrenching thought of that persons face, how his expression would or wouldn't be.
He fumbled blankly with his top, half on, half off as he let it drop to the floor, crumpling loosely in a silk puddle. His steps falling quietly yet still managing to echo along the white tiles, his earlier tears long dried up from the floor; those quiet footfalls, making their way to the large shower, ignoring the full length mirror that reflected every flaw of his perfect image. Stepping into the shower, sparkling white and certainly untouched, he turned on the handle, allowing the warm water to fall down effortlessly, traveling rivers through his hair, down his cheeks and neck, along the well toned muscles of his chest and arms, downwards further still.
The warmth felt welcome against his skin, clearing his head, if only slightly, steam filling the room as he turned up the temperature, taking the wash cloth from the inside stand and cleaning himself, grimacing at the tug on his skin, the horrible stickiness causing the cloth to stall and drag. He heaved slightly and scrubbed harder, desperate to get clean as quick as possible, the desire to no longer feel this filthy and faithless taking control of his thoughts.
It wasn't working, no matter how much he scrubbed and pushed it along his skin, no matter how much soap and shower gel he used, the feeling of clingy, grasping dirt on his body would not leave. He knew this was stupid, futile even; he was clean, cleaner than he could get without tearing of his skin, and no amount of washing could make a difference. But he felt it; he felt the filth inside of him, the rotten taste and feel of deceit and disgust.
Clean; he wanted to clean it all away, to make it better, and to make it right. He wanted to say sorry, to apologise, and to prove he didn't mean any of those daft and ridiculous words that had come from his mouth.
To pretend that this morning never happened that he was still at home and had never left for that club, one small desire for sanctuary, knowing he was paying for his immaturity and irresponsibility.
Mindless to the ever increasing temperature, he was only bound to his thoughts, numb to the things around him, the water burning his skin as his hand stayed on the handle, unknowingly turning up each notch until the water was scalding and hot tears streamed down his face, his thoughts stealing him from reality.
Just what was he doing with himself? How could he be this confused, allowing his own thoughts to betray what he knew was real?
The steam clouded the room, suffocating the air around him, door shut and windows closed. He could feel his breath shortening, his vision clouded as he continued to realise what a fool he was, scalding water turning his ivory skin lobster red and the world around him spinning.
He felt his body tip to the side, shooting out a hand to grab hold on the glass and keep upright. His breath hitched as he began to wake from his mind, noticing his surroundings and the pain that every nerve screamed with. He cried out in shock, gasping as he forced himself back under the full blast of the water, crying as he fought to turn of the tap, sobbing as it just wouldn't budge, wet hands sliding off of the slippery metal coating.
His body shook and he turned his head from side to side, angrily in defiance as he closed his eyes from the sting, clutching hold of the handle tightly and turning it, the water slowly cooling down until it was almost icy.
Dropping to the floor, he cried, placing his head between his legs to fight off the dizziness, the water shocking on his burning body. Every breath came out hotly, every tear stinging his cheeks snapping back senses with each one.
Realization came like a strike to the face, sharp and unexpected, a small epiphany in this unfair world. This entire time, scolding, berating and hurting his self; what was that doing? Nothing but causing pain and anguish he knew. It didn't fix things, didn't make them right or better, the situation stayed the same, and if changing, only served to make it worse. The picture of his life reflecting back off of the fogged glass, a blurred image of chaos and mess his life had become. This wasn't want he wanted, he knew that. He wanted to stop this, to change the issues around him, but how could he move forward, if he stayed like this, unmoving, crying, hurting?
Carefully, the moment between shock and calm subsiding, he unfurled from his crouched position, sitting back lightly allowing the cool water to touch his face, cooling him slightly, but not cold enough to make his body react to the temperature change in a fatal way.
Shivering, he smiled and opened his eyes, laughing. He laughed quietly to himself, small uncertain giggles growing louder and stronger into a melodious tune, ringing slightly against the glass.
He sighed relaxing, and stood up, wincing from his ever growing list of pains; his head, his backside, his skin. Even his heart was not exempt from this list, but for some reason, the world felt suddenly lighter.
Grabbing the towel from the side he wrapped it around his scorched body, flinching slightly and walking awkwardly back into the bedroom, picking up his pajamas from the floor and pulling the clean, cool silk back over him. No clothes there for him to change into other than these he sighed, smiling softly as he watched the steam leave the bathroom, waiting a while before going back inside and picking up his pajama top, putting it on but leaving it loosely, unbuttoned at his front, staring into the mirror at the marks, his still slightly pink hair and the bags beneath his eyes. He chuckled lightly at the state of himself, red raw yet smiling a small wondering smile.
Nodding his head once he turned on his heel and left, doing up his buttons and exiting the bedroom, looking down the vast hall that led to who knew where.
Taking a few steps he looked around, thinking, deciding, determined, and nodding to himself as once again he continued forward, not needing and not planning on looking back.
The hallway was empty, devoid of any person or life flitting through rooms and turnings as he would have liked to himself, tempted so had he been, he periodically peeked into the other rooms, each one as empty as the last, save for a few plants littering the odd room. He made his way further still, closing each door after looking in and continuing down the never ending hallway, smiling in relief as he spotted a flight of stairs leading down to the next floor, quickly making his way to them he noticed a long, sleek, straight rail, leading to the floor below and curving slightly at the end, and suffice to say, his personal problems had no part in his childish needs as he uncomfortably pulled himself to sit on it, a dull ache; a continuous reminder of the morning that he chose to ignore, preferring to file it away as life experience, to learn from his mistakes.
Skillfully, with a childish grin, he pushed off slightly and laughed. Cool air tugged gently as his clothes, sliding down much quicker than he expected, the banister getting closer to the end before he knew it. Flying off into a heap at the base of the stairs, groaning and laughing moronically to himself, he stared up at the decorated ceiling before sitting up and complaining.
Scolded skin and carpet burn were not the best combination he found, rubbing his leg from where it scrapped across the fabric of his trousers, along with the fancy royal blue carpet. He shook his head, reminding himself firmly that now was not the time for fun, he had had enough 'fun' this week to last him a life time, a life time that he was sure to be haunted by.
He shook his head again, quite violently, berating himself for thinking like that. He was stupid, yes. He was irresponsible and ignorant, for sure. But he wasn't going to be from now on.
Determination taking hold once again, self realization elating and downing him at the same time, he walked down another corridor, shorter than the last, to the turn at the corner, leading out he guessed, to the main lobby. The front doors, for there were two huge ones before him, were decorated with patterns needlessly extravagant, but then again the entire house -mansion- was more grandeur than he had ever wished to see, needless in its flamboyancies. He frowned slightly at all the over the top work and decor, deciding that the flashy boy needed a new interior completely.
But he wasn't here to criticize the decor, nor to be nosey and peek into the other large rooms such as the kitchen, which was twice the size of his living room, a large island in the middle for preparing food, several sinks and a frozen food storage room, looking much like a lavish restaurant as the cooks; two, milled around, busy with work. Or the front room, even larger than the kitchen, several couches and a large wide screen TV stretched across the expanse of the wall, switched off.
The blue eyed boy blinked in surprise, it was slightly over whelming being introduced to such a hugely different way of life, if only for a few hours there was still some effect of culture shock.
He left quickly, turning around and walking curiously over to the next door, head popping around the doorframe to see just what this room was, looking like a large dining room, a long modern table with more than enough seats for the all the Hyoutei regulars plus more to sit at. His eyebrow lifted slightly at the difference to the image he had in mind; dark ebony table with a hundred seats and scary family portraits hanging. This was completely different, looking modern yet sophisticated in style, grand enough for anyone but nothing like the old image he had held.
He chuckled imagining the diva in some kind of old Victorian styled home, those creepy portraits eyes following his every move.
Running a hand through his hazel hair, he turned back to the kitchen in desperate need of a drink -non alcoholic- to settle his stomach and clear his head. Maybe they would have some aspirin too if he was lucky. If there was one thing he was now certain of, it was that he would never drink again, at least not for a very, very long time.
Though sitting in the kitchen as one of the less busy cooks brewed him a cup of coffee and made him some toast, was not the greatest idea he had ever had either, as pots and pans clanged about and timers went off, ringing loudly through his already soaring head.
The cook had raised her eyebrows as the strange, bright red boy stepped into the kitchen, immediately she had tried to help him, seeing the familiar colour of hot scalds covering him, but he had waved her off, saying the best thing he needed was a cure for a hangover, and she had nodded understandingly.
He was back to his normal false smiles, and polite way of talking, happily, if still a little queasily, biting into a slice of toast, which even tasted too rich for his tongue, missing his usual spread on it; though he hardly doubted his topsy turvy stomach could handle wasabi at the moment. He had never been good with food when he was ill. The coffee too was rich in flavour, making him grimace in distaste, but the need for something strong and warm was too much and he continued to drink, avoiding the taste as he bit into the toast, being reminded that that didn't taste too good either once again.
It seemed as though his body was finally calming down, and the effect of the alcohol and the over exertion and stress was finally taking more of a toll though, becoming finally aware of his nerves state as his hands shook and his balance was off, thanking the lady and leaving.
She had watched him concerned as he left; keeping his hand on the wall for support, although the nerve blowing effect after the morning hysterics and numbness wore off was indeed startling, the blue eyed boy seemed to have perked up. He had never felt better this entire month, he finally felt alive and awake, and now he was determined to change things, and first thing first he was set on finding that silver haired, flamboyant, purple shirt wearing diva. Only that was easier said than done in a maze as big as this, hardly even knowing what way he gone to get from his room to here.
His shoulders twitched uncomfortably, trapped beneath the loose material, yet still unable to breath, heat still pouring off of his burnt body. He knew he should probably get checked, but that could wait to later. There was still that room he had yet to check; the living room.
Trudging quite tiredly over to the door, he stifled a yawn and turned the handle cautiously, aware of every noise and movement around him, letting it linger on the cool, icy metal, feeling kind against his skin.
Opening the large oak door, the blue eyed boy froze eyes widening to an extent even his best friend would be awed by. Standing at the back of the room, two people sat both looking furious and irritated by the others presence. He gasped quietly to himself, tightening his hold on the hand for support as both heads turned towards him, two sets of eyebrows arching high, their own eyes widening.
"Fuji!"
"Syuusuke!"
He didn't know what to do, what to say or expect. He found himself routed to the spot unable to move as he gawped at the scene before him. Two people he had never expected to see together, one person who should not have been there period, yet there they both were, shocking him senseless.
He had come down here for a reason, an important, very critical reason; he just had to remember what it was. Being this taken back, shocked and frozen on the spot was not in the equation, that small epiphany from the morning, ringing loud and true in his ears. He snapped out if it, walking a few steps closer in the smaller room.
Hushed footfalls floated out from the wooden flooring, hazel and navy eyes following his movements until he came to a stop between the two, standing just far enough away that he didn't feel rude, which was hard considering the circumstances.
Sharp eyes widened, looking his body over from the pink, accidental tint, to the bright red skin, and two mouths opened to ask just what had happened to him.
He cut them off quickly; noticing sadly and guiltily how the hazel eyed boy on the sofa avoided his gaze, so he turned, guiltily to the silver haired boy standing by the white fire place. He gave him a small, ashamed, tilted smile, opening his slightly blood shot eyes as he watched him, showing his seriousness.
But oddly, unfairly even, the navy eyed boy shook his head, eyes closing in a sigh and the tensai's own widening fractionally, a red, turning darker, mark sat painted on the flamboyant captains cheek. Noticing where the younger boys gaze fell, he smirked and walked past, placing a hand on his shoulder and whispering something into his ear, carrying on to walk out of the room.
The cerulean eyed boy didn't miss the way the brunette's eyes narrowed at the diva's motion to touch him, looking angered and irked. The hostile air around them didn't shift, if only to become that awkward silence, filled with that unbearable tension.
He turned a small ways and shuffled over quietly to the other sofa, sitting down with some pained effort and choosing to look at the others shoes rather than his face. His breath came slowly, almost as if he was afraid of breathing too loudly and getting the others attention or irritated gaze, slowly and steadily watching each breath, composing himself before he opened his mouth.
But why was he here? Wasn't he supposed to be at home or out doing his own thing, after that phone call the Hyoutei captain had made? It didn't make much sense to him, knowing that the other had been called long before he had woke that morning, only to be called again to cancel yet still show up, making him nervous and confused. He hadn't prepared to face something like this, and after what he was just told, he did not want to confront this at all, not yet.
Swallowing and taking a final breath, he sat up moderately straight, looking the other in waiting eyes and mentally cursing for stalling. He set his jaw and steadied his nerves, opening his mouth to speak again; it was now or never.
"It's been a while, Tezuka."