Author's Notes: Writing this chapter has taught me an important lesson: writing with a fever results in utter babble that must be rewritten anyway. ^^ In any case, this is the last chapter. I'm incredibly grateful for anyone who's managed to stick around for the whole thing. Thank you all for reviewing!
Warnings? Yaoi. Sap. Some more sap. Lots and lots of sap.
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The Rest of Forever
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Chapter 8
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Wherever he was, it was warm.
Warm was tangled in the soft fabric that clung to him; pressed up against his side and rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes; lapping against him with gentle emotions that weren't his own. The sensation was, the boy thought sleepily, perhaps the sweetest he'd ever known.
Opening wide emerald eyes with careful slowness, Hisoka had to fight down a shudder of relief as an overwhelming feeling of security wrapped him in a dizzying hold. Sitting propped comfortably beside him, the boy's partner was absorbed in watching him, one hand absently rubbing the length of his back. He felt the change before he saw it; the moment the young shinigami awakened, worry that had been previously subdued surged to life with a frightening intensity.
A heartbeat later, Tsuzuki pulled him forward into a warm, enthusiastic embrace, violet eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're awake!" he exclaimed.
The instinct was to push his partner away, and the boy nearly did just that. He flinched from the reaching hands and sudden contact, struggled to free himself from the encircling arms for several seconds. But the sheer force of the feelings filtering in through the places where skin met skin was overpowering, and the young shinigami froze, unable to resist the sudden sensory flood.
There was no fear, which was surprising. After a timeless stretch of vulnerability and darkness, it was strange not to feel the emotion that had become entirely too familiar. Stranger still was the pain that didn't burn across his nerves with every indrawn breath, the absence of the biting chill to which he'd grown so accustomed. Tsuzuki's sentiments were rich with relief and joy, a heady, delicious mixture that the empath couldn't find it in himself to turn away. And so Hisoka decided not to try; fisting trembling fingers in the fabric of his partner's shirt, he clung desperately as warm arms held him close.
It was utter bliss, after the horrors of the past several days, and the boy drank it in like a plant reaching for sunlight.
He wasn't sure how long his partner held him any more than he was aware of the soothing words murmured into his ear. All Hisoka knew was the feel of a tender hand stroking his hair, the gentle embrace of someone who cared, and the simple pleasure of feeling that affection firsthand.
Had he taken the time to ponder the situation, the young shinigami might have been mortified to discover that he'd settled into the man's lap, allowing himself to be cradled like a child woken in the night with bad dreams. But it was balm to the wounds inflicted on his soul, a moment of peace more profound than any he'd experienced in life or death—- a simple joy that Hisoka wasn't ready to push away.
And then Tsuzuki was making the choice for him-- breaking them apart, lowering him gently to the bed, moving as if to stand.
After the warmth of the contact, its withdrawal was devastating. For a stunned moment, the boy wasn't able to react; days of torture hadn't prepared him for the wrenching sense of loss that assaulted him now.
Before Hisoka realized what he was doing, he found himself protesting. It was a noise at first, a wordless plea of a whimper, but when it was evident that the older shinigami hadn't heard, the empath clutched his partner's sleeve, emerald eyes imploring. "You're going?"
The words were barely audible, and the boy didn't recognize the voice as his own; it was still hoarse from screaming, the tone pathetically hopeful. A surge of surprise trickled in from his partner, the following compassion more evident as the man settled a gentle hand over his own.
"Gonna find some food for you," he told the empath kindly. "Be right back—- I promise."
It was a short-lived mental war; his body's sudden clamor at the mention of food was quick to loosen the boy's grip on Tsuzuki's sleeve. There must have been a lingering vulnerability in his eyes, though, because the violet-eyed shinigami tried on his most winning smile and repeated himself.
"I promise," came the words again, warm and comforting. "Just right down the hall." And before any more protests could be forthcoming, he'd gone from the room, intent on a quick return.
It was a disconcerting sensation to be alone, after having shared so intimately in his partner's feelings. Free from the strength of the man's emotions, however, Hisoka was able to pay attention to things that ought to have been noticed when first he awakened.
He was alone in the room, tangled in the sheets of a simple western-style bed. The pale curtains of the infirmary framed the window nearby, and warm, mellow sunlight filtered into the room through wide panes of glass. Had he chose to look, Hisoka knew that pink petals would meet his gaze, drifting slowly to the ground against the background of a stunning blue sky.
The boy turned his attention instead to the other side of the room.
Beyond the open door, snatches of conversation drifted in-- but they were distant and hushed, regular business being conducted in offices a good distance down the hallway. Emotions flowed just beyond his reach as well, a comfortingly ordinary background hum; filled with mundane concerns over the accuracy of a report or a particularly tight budget, they were reassuring reminders that his world had preserved for him its dubious sense of normality. It seemed unreal: a strange dream of familiarity that he was likely to waken from at any moment.
Hisoka didn't notice when warm tracts began to trace their way down his cheeks, didn't pay attention to the fact that his breathing had begun to come in little gasps. For some reason, it was unbearable that a simple call would bring his co-workers to see what the matter was. Intolerable to think that help was nearby, should he need it—- and that he'd begged his partner not to go.
It was stupid to be afraid of loneliness, after all. He'd spent his entire life alone; surely, that was more normal than the strange sense of family he'd found after death.
With a shaky sigh of indrawn breath, the boy turned from the hall to gaze at last toward the view beyond the window.
The sakura were in bloom, as they would be for all eternity-- tiny pink blossoms against the flawless, cloudless sky. When the empath had first become a shinigami, he'd wondered whether he would find them beautiful, had he not hated them so much. It was a point he'd long ceased to ponder, and he watched them now with a distant sort of fascination.
"You're crying." The voice from behind him was sudden, accompanied by the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
With a startled half-cry, Hisoka twisted abruptly in the sheets to discover the source of the intrusion. It was his partner, of course; he could feel it now, in the concern that leaked in through the physical contact and the assurance drifting in the air. But for just a moment, he'd been afraid…
Worried violet eyes were staring back at him, more than a little sad. "You don't have to cry," the older shinigami told him softly. "I won't let him hurt you anymore." The man lifted a questioning hand toward Hisoka face, pausing with his fingertips not quite touching the boy's cheek.
They remained like that for a long while, the wide green eyes that searched Tsuzuki's face confused. And then, suddenly, the boy understood.
The nod he gave was a tentative thing, but it was all that his partner needed to close the distance between them. Now gentle fingers were tracing the side of his jaw, now a thumb was brushing away the warm tracts that had begun to make their way down his face. He really –had- been crying, Hisoka realized distantly. Strange—- the boy hadn't known he'd started, nor was he entirely sure what now caused the quiet tears to take on the hitching breaths of full-out sobs.
A week ago, the empath would have pushed Tsuzuki away, would have sought solitude to hide his pain. But for whatever reason—- perhaps the same one that had caused the tears to begin with—- the thought of the distance he usually kept between them was enough to draw a desperate whimper between sobs.
Abruptly, Hisoka found himself reaching for the older shinigami, found himself fisting his hands around bunches of black fabric and burying his face against the warmth of Tsuzuki's chest. The simple contact brought little shivers of pleasure racing through him; where skin met skin, the aching sorrow of understanding rushed in along with affection that threatened to drown him in waves of bliss.
The sensation of fingers running through his hair was both tender and encouraging, and when Tsuzuki wrapped the other arm around him, pulling him close, the boy was dizzied with the sudden rush of emotion. Never before had Hisoka had reason to consider the fact that someone might be able to care –too- much, but the utter strength of the warmth, the devotion-- the –love--- was staggering.
"I won't let him hurt you anymore," the man had said—- and he'd meant it, with every ounce of his being. For several long minutes, the depth of his conviction filled Hisoka with a profound sense of safety, left him trembling in the protection of his partner's arms.
A silence filled with understanding stretched between them, broken only by the shaky breaths of the young shinigami and sporadic, muffled sobs. Words would have been weak next to the intimacy of the embrace, and for a time they forgot the world and reveled in the simple pleasure of it.
Minutes might have passed, or hours; lost as he was in the warmth of his partner's emotions, Hisoka was aware only of the ache of disappointment when gentle hands pulled him away.
"Almost forgot," Tsuzuki explained, offering a gentle, worried smile. Slender fingers reached to pluck a container from the bedside table while the other hand urged the boy to lean back against him. Hisoka didn't need much encouragement; a part of his mind that he'd long ignored craved contact, and the empath couldn't find it in himself to refuse the offer.
"Comfy?" his partner prompted, peering with a grin at the boy resting against his chest. And when a hesitant nod met the inquiry, the older shinigami scooped up the disposable chopsticks that had lain beside the container.
Moments later, Hisoka was staring with startled green eyes at a fairly large scoop of noodles about two inches from his mouth. "What?" he started to say—- but Tsuzuki took the opportunity as a chance to make sure the food found its way to its intended target, and most of the word was lost around the mouthful.
"It's instant," the older shinigami admitted, apologetic. "And probably not that hot anymore." Reaching into the ramen cup balanced on his knee, the man offered the next bite. "I stole it out of the break room," he added as an afterthought, as though by way of explanation.
Carefully, Hisoka placed a pale hand between the chopsticks and his lips to prevent a recurrence of his last attempt at speech. The boy was hungry, yes—- desperately so. But some things crossed whatever shaky lines that still remained after the events of the past week. "I can feed myself," he told the man firmly, ignoring the fact that his voice quavered on the last word.
"I know you can!" the violet-eyed shinigami protested, tone injured. "But I want to—- please, Hisoka? Let me?" An insistent hand tugged on the arm that stood between the chopsticks and their objective, struggling to weaken the resistance.
The boy didn't respond this time, eyes fixed firmly away from the pleading expression that his partner wore. It didn't help that he could feel Tsuzuki's enthusiasm, the straightforward desire to help in whatever way he was able.
"Please, Hisoka?" the man tried again. "Isn't it good?"
It was. Better than instant ramen had any right to be—- better than anything the boy could recall having eaten in a long time. And, despite himself, Hisoka let the obstructing fingers fall away, curled into a lose fist by his side. His partner didn't mean any harm, after all-- and the sudden swell of joy that surged in response made the acceptance more than worth giving.
Face an interesting shade of scarlet, Hisoka lay back against his partner's chest, accepting bite after bite from the little noodle cup. Awkward at first, eager and a little desperate, the boy was quick to accept the meal once his protests had died away. Gradually, though, hunger gave way to sleepy contentment, and the initial embarrassment faded as the empath ate.
It was Tsuzuki; the man had seen him cry, rescued him when he was at his lowest. If the affection that was still so obvious could survive even through that, the empath highly doubted that the man would consider him weak for allowing himself to be fed.
When he'd finished, his partner tipped the cup to his mouth, intent that he finish the last of the broth. A glass followed shortly thereafter, cool against his lips; the water it contained was blessedly soothing to a throat still raw from screaming, and the boy gulped several deep swallows before he subsided, trembling.
Silence wrapped the room again, peaceful this time, and Hisoka found himself inexplicably fighting the urge to cry. Whether the pleasure he felt was his own or a reflection of Tsuzuki's satisfaction, the sensation was intoxicating. Warm, safe, fed, loved—- it was too much, too quickly. Before he realized what he was doing, the boy snuggled closer to his partner, twisting to bury his face against the older shinigami's chest.
The emotions were sweet, deep, borderline-bliss, and as overwhelming as they were, the empath couldn't think of anything in life or death that could have parted him from Tsuzuki at that moment.
"Tsuzuki!" The astounded joy in the voice was reinforced with the wave of a matching emotion that followed just behind. "Bon! You—- you're here! You're safe!" With remarkably poor timing, Watari rushed forward in a frantic scramble of white coat and frizzed hair. "Thank gods!" the scientist beamed. "Thank –gods-!"
Hisoka peered cautiously at the enthusiastic blonde, a blush creeping back to his face as he realized how compromising the position had to appear. But his partner was comfortably close—- and pulling himself from the circle of gentle arms was the last thing he wanted. When Tsuzuki confirmed similar convictions by placing a warm hand over the boy's own, the empath decided that Watari could say whatever he wanted—- as long as it didn't involve either of them moving from the bed.
"Are you hurt?" the man was demanding, leaning forward to peer at him from behind very round lenses. Ignoring the quiet response meant to affirm the empath's state of health, he tipped Hisoka's head back, and jabbed a single finger skyward. "Follow it for me," Watari instructed, watching as the boy's eyes tracked the digit from side to side, then up and down. "Tsuzuki didn't tell us he found you," the scientist confided. "We were worried half to—- oh, wait, already dead. Pretty worried, in any case."
"He was sleeping," the violet-eyed shinigami insisted in his own defense, emotions swelling with a rush of protective affection. "I couldn't leave him."
Something about the way his partner spoke those words sparked a little flare of warmth inside the boy, and despite everything that had occurred, the corners of his lips crept into the beginnings of a smile. Eyes wide and wet with tears, Hisoka turned his face up to watch the man that held him still.
"Tsuzuki!" The call was a reprimand, sharp and insistent-- but a moment later the harshness of the tone skittered to a stop as surprise chased it away. "Kurosaki-kun?"
"I found him!" Tsuzuki declared, hugging his partner close. Seemingly oblivious to the peculiar shade of red that this caused the boy to turn, the older shinigami beamed up at the new arrival from his place on the bed.
Carefully, Tatsumi covered the length of the room until he stood by Watari, above the bed, and for a long moment, the only response he offered was a silence filled with immense relief. The fact that Hisoka could sense anything at all from the man was a testament to the depth of the feeling, and when the secretary spoke, his tone was surprisingly gentle. "Kurosaki-kun," he began, hesitating just slightly. "I trust you'll ask if you need anything?"
"I'm…" The boy searched for the words, trying to find something that was true. "…better, now," he decided at last, though the statement didn't come close to expressing the elation that had settled about him with Tsuzuki's arms.
"That's all well and good," Watari scolded, wagging a finger absently, "But I'm gonna have to look you over just the same. Can't be too safe, you know." Golden eyes trailed from Tsuzuki to Hisoka, wondering momentarily what caused the twin flickers of regret.
"Oh! Not now," he amended hastily. "Just when you're done cuddling." Somehow, the sunny grin eased the sting that Hisoka would have expected to accompany those words.
"I suspect," Tatsumi ventured, when the silence had grown too long, "That it will be some time before Muraki troubles you again."
Logically, Hisoka knew that he was safe. He understood, on a purely mental level, that the doctor couldn't reach him here—- but that didn't stop the reflexive flinch at the sound of the man's name.
"Tatsumi kicked his ass," Watari crowed, plowing ahead without stopping to take notice. "Sent him running off, tail between his legs." Clenching one fist closed in a gesture of pure zeal, the man flashed Muraki's most recent target an encouraging grin. "And unless he's good enough to sew himself up, that bastard's gonna be a bit busy for awhile."
Narrowed behind the frames of his glasses, Tatsumi's eyes were fixed on the mildly shocked expression that had settled onto his youngest co-worker's face. Carefully, he placed a hand on Watari's shoulder. "Watari," he interjected, just before the scientist could really get started. "Perhaps we should allow them some privacy."
"Some…?" Curious eyes turned to meet the secretary's gaze, puzzled, before the words fully sank in. "Oh," he laughed. Reaching down to casually ruffle Hisoka's hair, the scientist turned for the door in a whirl of flying lab coat. "Be good, you two."
He might have said more, but the hand that Tatsumi had placed on his shoulder also served to steer him toward the door. With a brief nod from the secretary and an animated wave from the blonde, they were gone from the room.
Alone with his partner again, Hisoka was left oddly speechless. The intrusion had broken the feeling of peace that had settled on him, and his thoughts now were tumbling with the implications of Watari's revelation. Muraki wouldn't be bothering him—- certainly not now, and most probably not anytime in the near future. If Tatsumi had fought the man—- seriously fought him—- then the empath had little doubt that the damage was extensive.
Which left him, quite simply, with no reason for Tsuzuki to stay.
The hush that blanketed the room grew longer, and more awkward; suddenly, the fear that had seemed justified was nothing more than a child's nightmare, a weakness of the sort that he so hated to show. With more reluctance than he'd have cared to admit, Hisoka sat forward, intending to leave.
"I don't want to go."
For a moment, the boy was horrified by the thought that he had spoken his feelings aloud—- but the spike of disappointment at his own lack of control faded with the realization that the words had belonged to someone else. Very slowly, the empath turned his gaze to meet Tsuzuki's.
"And I don't want -you- to go," The man tightened his hold as though to prove the point. "I was so afraid… And… And I missed you."
An ache of longing pulsed through Hisoka, stronger in the places where skin met skin, and the boy shuddered with realization. All the endless hours he'd spent in the darkness, wanting only his partner, trying not to hope too hard that the man would come for him… it was the same feeling. "I missed you," Tsuzuki had said.
Wondering green eyes sought out a violet gaze bright with tears. "I missed you, too," Hisoka whispered, voice barely audible. "I…" But his throat closed around the rest of the words, and the boy was forced instead to wrap Tsuzuki in an impulsive embrace.
Surprise rose up in response, bright at first, and startled, but after a moment, a warmth that was achingly tender settled to take its place. Reaching out with gentle hands, Tsuzuki smoothed his partner's hair. "You ought to sleep," he said at last. "You need it."
A long pause greeted the suggestion as Hisoka struggled with himself. "…you'll stay?" the boy ventured, cautiously.
"Always," his partner told him, leaning down to whisper the word in his ear.
Cradled in the rumpled, too-white sheets of the infirmary, beside an empty ramen cup, Hisoka began eternity with the only person he wanted to spend it with.
~owari~
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Closing notes: Usually I don't write closing notes... but it's shameless plug time. I think it might be safe to assume that if you got through nine chapters of a story, you don't find my writing too terribly horrible. So, with that in mind-- www.thecastings.com. Fantasy webcomic, written by yours truly, and illustrated by Beanclam, a very talented friend of mine. It's manga-style... complete with pretty boys and yaoi implications. Check it out if you get a chance-- and thanks again for reading! ^_^
Warnings? Yaoi. Sap. Some more sap. Lots and lots of sap.
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The Rest of Forever
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Chapter 8
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Wherever he was, it was warm.
Warm was tangled in the soft fabric that clung to him; pressed up against his side and rubbing his back in long, soothing strokes; lapping against him with gentle emotions that weren't his own. The sensation was, the boy thought sleepily, perhaps the sweetest he'd ever known.
Opening wide emerald eyes with careful slowness, Hisoka had to fight down a shudder of relief as an overwhelming feeling of security wrapped him in a dizzying hold. Sitting propped comfortably beside him, the boy's partner was absorbed in watching him, one hand absently rubbing the length of his back. He felt the change before he saw it; the moment the young shinigami awakened, worry that had been previously subdued surged to life with a frightening intensity.
A heartbeat later, Tsuzuki pulled him forward into a warm, enthusiastic embrace, violet eyes bright with unshed tears. "You're awake!" he exclaimed.
The instinct was to push his partner away, and the boy nearly did just that. He flinched from the reaching hands and sudden contact, struggled to free himself from the encircling arms for several seconds. But the sheer force of the feelings filtering in through the places where skin met skin was overpowering, and the young shinigami froze, unable to resist the sudden sensory flood.
There was no fear, which was surprising. After a timeless stretch of vulnerability and darkness, it was strange not to feel the emotion that had become entirely too familiar. Stranger still was the pain that didn't burn across his nerves with every indrawn breath, the absence of the biting chill to which he'd grown so accustomed. Tsuzuki's sentiments were rich with relief and joy, a heady, delicious mixture that the empath couldn't find it in himself to turn away. And so Hisoka decided not to try; fisting trembling fingers in the fabric of his partner's shirt, he clung desperately as warm arms held him close.
It was utter bliss, after the horrors of the past several days, and the boy drank it in like a plant reaching for sunlight.
He wasn't sure how long his partner held him any more than he was aware of the soothing words murmured into his ear. All Hisoka knew was the feel of a tender hand stroking his hair, the gentle embrace of someone who cared, and the simple pleasure of feeling that affection firsthand.
Had he taken the time to ponder the situation, the young shinigami might have been mortified to discover that he'd settled into the man's lap, allowing himself to be cradled like a child woken in the night with bad dreams. But it was balm to the wounds inflicted on his soul, a moment of peace more profound than any he'd experienced in life or death—- a simple joy that Hisoka wasn't ready to push away.
And then Tsuzuki was making the choice for him-- breaking them apart, lowering him gently to the bed, moving as if to stand.
After the warmth of the contact, its withdrawal was devastating. For a stunned moment, the boy wasn't able to react; days of torture hadn't prepared him for the wrenching sense of loss that assaulted him now.
Before Hisoka realized what he was doing, he found himself protesting. It was a noise at first, a wordless plea of a whimper, but when it was evident that the older shinigami hadn't heard, the empath clutched his partner's sleeve, emerald eyes imploring. "You're going?"
The words were barely audible, and the boy didn't recognize the voice as his own; it was still hoarse from screaming, the tone pathetically hopeful. A surge of surprise trickled in from his partner, the following compassion more evident as the man settled a gentle hand over his own.
"Gonna find some food for you," he told the empath kindly. "Be right back—- I promise."
It was a short-lived mental war; his body's sudden clamor at the mention of food was quick to loosen the boy's grip on Tsuzuki's sleeve. There must have been a lingering vulnerability in his eyes, though, because the violet-eyed shinigami tried on his most winning smile and repeated himself.
"I promise," came the words again, warm and comforting. "Just right down the hall." And before any more protests could be forthcoming, he'd gone from the room, intent on a quick return.
It was a disconcerting sensation to be alone, after having shared so intimately in his partner's feelings. Free from the strength of the man's emotions, however, Hisoka was able to pay attention to things that ought to have been noticed when first he awakened.
He was alone in the room, tangled in the sheets of a simple western-style bed. The pale curtains of the infirmary framed the window nearby, and warm, mellow sunlight filtered into the room through wide panes of glass. Had he chose to look, Hisoka knew that pink petals would meet his gaze, drifting slowly to the ground against the background of a stunning blue sky.
The boy turned his attention instead to the other side of the room.
Beyond the open door, snatches of conversation drifted in-- but they were distant and hushed, regular business being conducted in offices a good distance down the hallway. Emotions flowed just beyond his reach as well, a comfortingly ordinary background hum; filled with mundane concerns over the accuracy of a report or a particularly tight budget, they were reassuring reminders that his world had preserved for him its dubious sense of normality. It seemed unreal: a strange dream of familiarity that he was likely to waken from at any moment.
Hisoka didn't notice when warm tracts began to trace their way down his cheeks, didn't pay attention to the fact that his breathing had begun to come in little gasps. For some reason, it was unbearable that a simple call would bring his co-workers to see what the matter was. Intolerable to think that help was nearby, should he need it—- and that he'd begged his partner not to go.
It was stupid to be afraid of loneliness, after all. He'd spent his entire life alone; surely, that was more normal than the strange sense of family he'd found after death.
With a shaky sigh of indrawn breath, the boy turned from the hall to gaze at last toward the view beyond the window.
The sakura were in bloom, as they would be for all eternity-- tiny pink blossoms against the flawless, cloudless sky. When the empath had first become a shinigami, he'd wondered whether he would find them beautiful, had he not hated them so much. It was a point he'd long ceased to ponder, and he watched them now with a distant sort of fascination.
"You're crying." The voice from behind him was sudden, accompanied by the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder.
With a startled half-cry, Hisoka twisted abruptly in the sheets to discover the source of the intrusion. It was his partner, of course; he could feel it now, in the concern that leaked in through the physical contact and the assurance drifting in the air. But for just a moment, he'd been afraid…
Worried violet eyes were staring back at him, more than a little sad. "You don't have to cry," the older shinigami told him softly. "I won't let him hurt you anymore." The man lifted a questioning hand toward Hisoka face, pausing with his fingertips not quite touching the boy's cheek.
They remained like that for a long while, the wide green eyes that searched Tsuzuki's face confused. And then, suddenly, the boy understood.
The nod he gave was a tentative thing, but it was all that his partner needed to close the distance between them. Now gentle fingers were tracing the side of his jaw, now a thumb was brushing away the warm tracts that had begun to make their way down his face. He really –had- been crying, Hisoka realized distantly. Strange—- the boy hadn't known he'd started, nor was he entirely sure what now caused the quiet tears to take on the hitching breaths of full-out sobs.
A week ago, the empath would have pushed Tsuzuki away, would have sought solitude to hide his pain. But for whatever reason—- perhaps the same one that had caused the tears to begin with—- the thought of the distance he usually kept between them was enough to draw a desperate whimper between sobs.
Abruptly, Hisoka found himself reaching for the older shinigami, found himself fisting his hands around bunches of black fabric and burying his face against the warmth of Tsuzuki's chest. The simple contact brought little shivers of pleasure racing through him; where skin met skin, the aching sorrow of understanding rushed in along with affection that threatened to drown him in waves of bliss.
The sensation of fingers running through his hair was both tender and encouraging, and when Tsuzuki wrapped the other arm around him, pulling him close, the boy was dizzied with the sudden rush of emotion. Never before had Hisoka had reason to consider the fact that someone might be able to care –too- much, but the utter strength of the warmth, the devotion-- the –love--- was staggering.
"I won't let him hurt you anymore," the man had said—- and he'd meant it, with every ounce of his being. For several long minutes, the depth of his conviction filled Hisoka with a profound sense of safety, left him trembling in the protection of his partner's arms.
A silence filled with understanding stretched between them, broken only by the shaky breaths of the young shinigami and sporadic, muffled sobs. Words would have been weak next to the intimacy of the embrace, and for a time they forgot the world and reveled in the simple pleasure of it.
Minutes might have passed, or hours; lost as he was in the warmth of his partner's emotions, Hisoka was aware only of the ache of disappointment when gentle hands pulled him away.
"Almost forgot," Tsuzuki explained, offering a gentle, worried smile. Slender fingers reached to pluck a container from the bedside table while the other hand urged the boy to lean back against him. Hisoka didn't need much encouragement; a part of his mind that he'd long ignored craved contact, and the empath couldn't find it in himself to refuse the offer.
"Comfy?" his partner prompted, peering with a grin at the boy resting against his chest. And when a hesitant nod met the inquiry, the older shinigami scooped up the disposable chopsticks that had lain beside the container.
Moments later, Hisoka was staring with startled green eyes at a fairly large scoop of noodles about two inches from his mouth. "What?" he started to say—- but Tsuzuki took the opportunity as a chance to make sure the food found its way to its intended target, and most of the word was lost around the mouthful.
"It's instant," the older shinigami admitted, apologetic. "And probably not that hot anymore." Reaching into the ramen cup balanced on his knee, the man offered the next bite. "I stole it out of the break room," he added as an afterthought, as though by way of explanation.
Carefully, Hisoka placed a pale hand between the chopsticks and his lips to prevent a recurrence of his last attempt at speech. The boy was hungry, yes—- desperately so. But some things crossed whatever shaky lines that still remained after the events of the past week. "I can feed myself," he told the man firmly, ignoring the fact that his voice quavered on the last word.
"I know you can!" the violet-eyed shinigami protested, tone injured. "But I want to—- please, Hisoka? Let me?" An insistent hand tugged on the arm that stood between the chopsticks and their objective, struggling to weaken the resistance.
The boy didn't respond this time, eyes fixed firmly away from the pleading expression that his partner wore. It didn't help that he could feel Tsuzuki's enthusiasm, the straightforward desire to help in whatever way he was able.
"Please, Hisoka?" the man tried again. "Isn't it good?"
It was. Better than instant ramen had any right to be—- better than anything the boy could recall having eaten in a long time. And, despite himself, Hisoka let the obstructing fingers fall away, curled into a lose fist by his side. His partner didn't mean any harm, after all-- and the sudden swell of joy that surged in response made the acceptance more than worth giving.
Face an interesting shade of scarlet, Hisoka lay back against his partner's chest, accepting bite after bite from the little noodle cup. Awkward at first, eager and a little desperate, the boy was quick to accept the meal once his protests had died away. Gradually, though, hunger gave way to sleepy contentment, and the initial embarrassment faded as the empath ate.
It was Tsuzuki; the man had seen him cry, rescued him when he was at his lowest. If the affection that was still so obvious could survive even through that, the empath highly doubted that the man would consider him weak for allowing himself to be fed.
When he'd finished, his partner tipped the cup to his mouth, intent that he finish the last of the broth. A glass followed shortly thereafter, cool against his lips; the water it contained was blessedly soothing to a throat still raw from screaming, and the boy gulped several deep swallows before he subsided, trembling.
Silence wrapped the room again, peaceful this time, and Hisoka found himself inexplicably fighting the urge to cry. Whether the pleasure he felt was his own or a reflection of Tsuzuki's satisfaction, the sensation was intoxicating. Warm, safe, fed, loved—- it was too much, too quickly. Before he realized what he was doing, the boy snuggled closer to his partner, twisting to bury his face against the older shinigami's chest.
The emotions were sweet, deep, borderline-bliss, and as overwhelming as they were, the empath couldn't think of anything in life or death that could have parted him from Tsuzuki at that moment.
"Tsuzuki!" The astounded joy in the voice was reinforced with the wave of a matching emotion that followed just behind. "Bon! You—- you're here! You're safe!" With remarkably poor timing, Watari rushed forward in a frantic scramble of white coat and frizzed hair. "Thank gods!" the scientist beamed. "Thank –gods-!"
Hisoka peered cautiously at the enthusiastic blonde, a blush creeping back to his face as he realized how compromising the position had to appear. But his partner was comfortably close—- and pulling himself from the circle of gentle arms was the last thing he wanted. When Tsuzuki confirmed similar convictions by placing a warm hand over the boy's own, the empath decided that Watari could say whatever he wanted—- as long as it didn't involve either of them moving from the bed.
"Are you hurt?" the man was demanding, leaning forward to peer at him from behind very round lenses. Ignoring the quiet response meant to affirm the empath's state of health, he tipped Hisoka's head back, and jabbed a single finger skyward. "Follow it for me," Watari instructed, watching as the boy's eyes tracked the digit from side to side, then up and down. "Tsuzuki didn't tell us he found you," the scientist confided. "We were worried half to—- oh, wait, already dead. Pretty worried, in any case."
"He was sleeping," the violet-eyed shinigami insisted in his own defense, emotions swelling with a rush of protective affection. "I couldn't leave him."
Something about the way his partner spoke those words sparked a little flare of warmth inside the boy, and despite everything that had occurred, the corners of his lips crept into the beginnings of a smile. Eyes wide and wet with tears, Hisoka turned his face up to watch the man that held him still.
"Tsuzuki!" The call was a reprimand, sharp and insistent-- but a moment later the harshness of the tone skittered to a stop as surprise chased it away. "Kurosaki-kun?"
"I found him!" Tsuzuki declared, hugging his partner close. Seemingly oblivious to the peculiar shade of red that this caused the boy to turn, the older shinigami beamed up at the new arrival from his place on the bed.
Carefully, Tatsumi covered the length of the room until he stood by Watari, above the bed, and for a long moment, the only response he offered was a silence filled with immense relief. The fact that Hisoka could sense anything at all from the man was a testament to the depth of the feeling, and when the secretary spoke, his tone was surprisingly gentle. "Kurosaki-kun," he began, hesitating just slightly. "I trust you'll ask if you need anything?"
"I'm…" The boy searched for the words, trying to find something that was true. "…better, now," he decided at last, though the statement didn't come close to expressing the elation that had settled about him with Tsuzuki's arms.
"That's all well and good," Watari scolded, wagging a finger absently, "But I'm gonna have to look you over just the same. Can't be too safe, you know." Golden eyes trailed from Tsuzuki to Hisoka, wondering momentarily what caused the twin flickers of regret.
"Oh! Not now," he amended hastily. "Just when you're done cuddling." Somehow, the sunny grin eased the sting that Hisoka would have expected to accompany those words.
"I suspect," Tatsumi ventured, when the silence had grown too long, "That it will be some time before Muraki troubles you again."
Logically, Hisoka knew that he was safe. He understood, on a purely mental level, that the doctor couldn't reach him here—- but that didn't stop the reflexive flinch at the sound of the man's name.
"Tatsumi kicked his ass," Watari crowed, plowing ahead without stopping to take notice. "Sent him running off, tail between his legs." Clenching one fist closed in a gesture of pure zeal, the man flashed Muraki's most recent target an encouraging grin. "And unless he's good enough to sew himself up, that bastard's gonna be a bit busy for awhile."
Narrowed behind the frames of his glasses, Tatsumi's eyes were fixed on the mildly shocked expression that had settled onto his youngest co-worker's face. Carefully, he placed a hand on Watari's shoulder. "Watari," he interjected, just before the scientist could really get started. "Perhaps we should allow them some privacy."
"Some…?" Curious eyes turned to meet the secretary's gaze, puzzled, before the words fully sank in. "Oh," he laughed. Reaching down to casually ruffle Hisoka's hair, the scientist turned for the door in a whirl of flying lab coat. "Be good, you two."
He might have said more, but the hand that Tatsumi had placed on his shoulder also served to steer him toward the door. With a brief nod from the secretary and an animated wave from the blonde, they were gone from the room.
Alone with his partner again, Hisoka was left oddly speechless. The intrusion had broken the feeling of peace that had settled on him, and his thoughts now were tumbling with the implications of Watari's revelation. Muraki wouldn't be bothering him—- certainly not now, and most probably not anytime in the near future. If Tatsumi had fought the man—- seriously fought him—- then the empath had little doubt that the damage was extensive.
Which left him, quite simply, with no reason for Tsuzuki to stay.
The hush that blanketed the room grew longer, and more awkward; suddenly, the fear that had seemed justified was nothing more than a child's nightmare, a weakness of the sort that he so hated to show. With more reluctance than he'd have cared to admit, Hisoka sat forward, intending to leave.
"I don't want to go."
For a moment, the boy was horrified by the thought that he had spoken his feelings aloud—- but the spike of disappointment at his own lack of control faded with the realization that the words had belonged to someone else. Very slowly, the empath turned his gaze to meet Tsuzuki's.
"And I don't want -you- to go," The man tightened his hold as though to prove the point. "I was so afraid… And… And I missed you."
An ache of longing pulsed through Hisoka, stronger in the places where skin met skin, and the boy shuddered with realization. All the endless hours he'd spent in the darkness, wanting only his partner, trying not to hope too hard that the man would come for him… it was the same feeling. "I missed you," Tsuzuki had said.
Wondering green eyes sought out a violet gaze bright with tears. "I missed you, too," Hisoka whispered, voice barely audible. "I…" But his throat closed around the rest of the words, and the boy was forced instead to wrap Tsuzuki in an impulsive embrace.
Surprise rose up in response, bright at first, and startled, but after a moment, a warmth that was achingly tender settled to take its place. Reaching out with gentle hands, Tsuzuki smoothed his partner's hair. "You ought to sleep," he said at last. "You need it."
A long pause greeted the suggestion as Hisoka struggled with himself. "…you'll stay?" the boy ventured, cautiously.
"Always," his partner told him, leaning down to whisper the word in his ear.
Cradled in the rumpled, too-white sheets of the infirmary, beside an empty ramen cup, Hisoka began eternity with the only person he wanted to spend it with.
~owari~
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Closing notes: Usually I don't write closing notes... but it's shameless plug time. I think it might be safe to assume that if you got through nine chapters of a story, you don't find my writing too terribly horrible. So, with that in mind-- www.thecastings.com. Fantasy webcomic, written by yours truly, and illustrated by Beanclam, a very talented friend of mine. It's manga-style... complete with pretty boys and yaoi implications. Check it out if you get a chance-- and thanks again for reading! ^_^