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         A Waste of Time [Six: Messy Room]

         The negative emotions didn't hurt that much once you learned how to live with them. If you just put a smile on your face and simply ignored them, most people wouldn't notice, and some wouldn't care at all. After all, people had their lives to deal with and their errands to run, and were too busy to even try to see behind whatever mask was put on your face. But there would always be someone to actually care, to notice and to dig in deep enough to find out what you're hiding.

         Ever since he was a child, Hisoka had learned that it was no use to have negative emotions since no one would care whether he felt bad or not. He learned not to let anything out, but it was impossible not to feel. So he decided not to let it show, to hide them as deeply as he could, for no one would have patience to look for them if he knew exactly where to hide. And it hadn't been that hard to keep the mask on his face—a few well-timed glares, rough words when necessary and everything would be alright, or almost. But then Tsuzuki came and his perfect little world turned upside down. He was not used to all the friendship his partner liked to so freely demonstrate, or to have someone actually caring for him. It gave him the feeling of safety that he was so afraid of, since he had never had someone to lean on his entire life. He didn't know how to deal with the fact that there would be someone to catch him if he fell, not to let him drown. Suddenly he wasn't lost in the dark anymore. It was a feeling of security that was actually slightly disturbing, and first Hisoka hated himself for liking it.

         However, Tsuzuki was not willing to give up and sometimes Hisoka had to shout at the man to leave him alone, even when he silently hoped that Tsuzuki would not oblige. Slowly, ever so slowly, Hisoka started getting used to all the concern, the care of his partner and gradually he grew not to feel too bothered by it anymore. Learning how to open up a little took longer, and learning how to let Tsuzuki help him too, and even learning to help Tsuzuki whenever it was needed took time. Hisoka learned what it was like to have a friend, and how good it felt to let go of the oh-so-terrifying past and await for what the future reserved for him. It wasn't an easy task, but he wasn't alone, because there was always Tsuzuki to support him along the way. That much Hisoka had learned.

         And now Hisoka cursed himself for ruining it all and feeling something he shouldn't, for wanting something that he couldn't have. For asking from Tsuzuki more than he could give, Hisoka felt foolish and wished he had never even felt anything at all. Love would always hurt, requited or unrequited, and that was something Hisoka hadn't been trained to hide. Everything was working perfectly fine until Tsuzuki decided to visit Hijiri and they had gotten snowed in. Hisoka didn't expect Hijiri to take advantage of the situation to tell Hisoka, and later Tsuzuki, that he loved the older shinigami, even when he barely knew him.

         Life had become messy and full of disappointment ever since, and Hisoka wasn't really sure what to do. Things had changed, even when Tsuzuki was still cheerful as usual and unwilling to comment the events at Hijiri's place. Hisoka could feel it, and it hurt. All he wanted was to go back to what life used to be before Hijiri appeared, out of the blue, and messed it up. So why was that simple wish so hard to be granted?

         If the room was dark it was not because the lights were off, or because the curtains were closed, blocking the last rays of the sun. Night was coming, and night was once again a lonely time. So before he could feel lonely, Hisoka sought for isolation, where he would have no one to blame but himself, because the only person he could blame for his loneliness was Tsuzuki, so close and yet so far, and he didn't want his partner to feel more guilt than he already felt. It was unfair. Life was unfair.

         And the room was dark because its owner didn't bother trying to feel anything positive, just letting deception sink in and learning how to live with it. It didn't hurt that much once he got used to it. He could put up the walls again, slowly. Then maybe he could go back to his usual life and forget that he had ever felt something stronger than friendship for Tsuzuki. And future would come and swallow the past, making things better. Hisoka had learned to believe that tomorrow would be better. That was what Tsuzuki had taught him.

         Tomorrow would not come for a while, though. Not until he learned how to deal with today.

         Books on the floor, the lamp that had been on not so long ago, markers scattered on the bed… Hisoka had tried to read, but the words did not sink in and the task had become boring and tiring. Hisoka thought that going out to clear up his head was a good idea, but he gave up on it before trying, deciding that he would just be wasting his time and anyway, he would not feel any better even if he did go out. And feeling better was all he wanted at the moment. Was it too much to expect Tsuzuki to enter the room anytime soon and decide to talk, instead of keeping the silence that had been between them as if nothing had ever happened? Maybe in Tsuzuki's mind nothing had happened anyway, and why bother trying to explain when denial was so appealing?

         But Hisoka wasn't willing to deny anything anymore, and most of all, he was tired of denying himself. He had done that for long enough. It was a simple thing, to stand up from the bed and go to the living room, where Tsuzuki probably was, asking him to have a quick conversation, even if the outcome wasn't exactly what he expected. Still, Hisoka did not move. He didn't really wish to leave the silence of the room, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to feel the disappointment all over again—once was more than enough. He wasn't happy but he wasn't uncomfortable with it either, so why not leave things alone? Everything would settle down, sooner or later. All he had to do was to wait.

         A knock on the door. Soft, hesitant, almost imperceptible. Then another, a little more confident.

         Hisoka sighed. "The door is open," he mumbled.

         The doorknob turned ever so slowly and Tsuzuki walked in, closing the door behind him. "It's so dark here…" the man commented, and proceeded to open the curtains. The day's last rays of light invaded the room, not strong enough to hurt Hisoka's eyes, but undeniably a bother. Darkness had been so comfortable, but Tsuzuki couldn't leave things well alone. Not that Hisoka minded. Light had invaded the room when Tsuzuki first stepped there, anyway. "Were you sleeping?"

         "No."

         "You looked so down when we returned from work that I thought you weren't feeling quite alright. So I came to check on you," Tsuzuki explained.

         "I'm tired, that's all," Hisoka lied, turning around to stare at his partner. "…thanks."

         Tsuzuki smiled, sitting down on the bed beside the boy. "If you're tired you can sleep and I'll call you when dinner is ready."

         "You are not going to cook, are you?" Hisoka asked, raising an eyebrow.

         "No, you don't like it when I cook, that's why you forced me to get that microwave oven, remember?" Tsuzuki said, playfully.

         Hisoka glared at him. "Baka. I don't want to sleep. I…" Hisoka drew a deep breath. "…I don't know. You don't want to talk to me and I have this feeling…that something was left unsaid."

         "Talk about what, Hisoka?" Tsuzuki asked, curiously.

         "Don't play the fool!" Hisoka snapped, his patience running dry. "You know very well what I'm talking about." And running a hand through his hair in exasperation at the cluelessness written all over Tsuzuki's face, Hisoka whispered a single name quietly. "Hijiri."

         "I like him as a friend. Nothing less, nothing more."

         "I know. Just like me." Hisoka said, turning his gaze to the window, not sure if he wanted Tsuzuki to agree with the statement. He meant just like the way you like me. He knew he was being foolish, the man had already said how he felt about him, but there was that stupid feeling, always giving him hope that maybe, maybe Tsuzuki could have changed his mind somewhere during those three days they had already spent away from Hijiri. And this time Tsuzuki didn't disappoint him.

         "That's when things get confusing."

         Hisoka turned to his partner and raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

         "Well…" Tsuzuki paused, staring at the ground as if searching for words to express himself. "I'm not sure I really know the difference between friendship and love. Of course, everyone would think this is foolish, but I've never had time to have a very close friend, and I doubt I've ever really loved someone. But the way I feel for you is not like the way I feel for Hijiri. It's something totally different."

         "…how so?" Hisoka asked, sitting up and pushing the covers aside. Tsuzuki's speech had interested him more than he thought it would.

         "Everyone was gone and suddenly…someone stayed. Someone didn't leave me like they all do. It was you, and I want to be close to you, but I don't know how to. I know it sounds strange…because people always think that I'm the one who expresses emotion easily…so I must also know how to love, and what it means…but it's not true." Tsuzuki smiled wryly. "You've taught me a lot of things, 'Soka-chan. And I was thinking that… if you agree, of course… Maybe you could teach me how to love you back."

         Hisoka stared at Tsuzuki, unsure of what to say or if there was something to be said at such a moment. Deciding that probably there was nothing he could say that would express what he felt, he let his actions speak for him. Leaning forward he wrapped his arms around the man's neck and laid his head on his shoulder. After a few seconds of hesitation, Tsuzuki returned the embrace, pulling Hisoka closer to him.

         "Will you teach me, 'Soka-chan?" Tsuzuki asked, caressing the boy's back ever so lightly, and there was a hint of fear in his voice, as if he expected to be rejected.

         Hisoka pulled away to look into his partner's eyes, serious for a moment but then letting a small smile make its way into his lips. "We can always try. And if it fails, well, we can think of that later." He said, feeling slightly relieved that everything had finally ended.

         Tsuzuki smiled and drew him closer for a kiss that lasted for less than five seconds, but it was enough for all their needs. They returned to their embrace, ignoring the entire world around them. Whatever people might think, it didn't worry them anymore. All the mess would be fixed, the disappointment gone; the fear and solitude would not be a bother anymore. Having faith made sense; and if failure was inevitable, they'd worry about it later. Tomorrow would come one way or the other, good or bad, it was still far away; they only cared about here and now. Nothing else would matter, and they'd face tomorrow, unafraid, together.

         If it depended on Hisoka, tomorrow would be better than today. After all, it always was.

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         Days later, somewhere, far away from there, in a small, quiet house, a young man plays the violin, the soft, steady melody making the room seem emptier than it already is. Sorrowful, calm, almost a requiem to a love that is about to die, but this man isn't sad. He feels empty, like the place he is in but, as he is used to this emptiness, nothing will make him stop playing the song that solaces him so much. Not the tears that threaten to fall from his eyes, or the certainty that he has not been chosen, that he has been left behind…those won't make him stop playing.

         Someday, he knows, he'll find another tune that suits better the occasion. One day he'll be able to hear and feel the songs he plays with a smile on his face, for he can hope for better days, and hope is always in his heart, whether he wants it or not. He is only human, and he prefers to be positive rather than to let the darkness wash over him like a tidal wave. So he hopes, as he plays, that someday he'll be able to play a different song, something happier, lighter, and simpler; and hopes this song will make him happy too.

         But for now, he won't stop playing his requiem. Not even when the first tears start escaping his eyelids, trickling down his cheeks and splattering against the violin he holds so dearly to his shoulder.

         And, outside, the sun begins to shine, announcing a brand new day.

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