A/N: This was written for the January 31 prompt over on the LJ community 31 days. The prompt being: "vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing". Hence the entirely disjointed style.
Right now there is nothing but a wild scramble of imagery in Fubuki's head. The past and the now trying to reconcile themselves into something that he can, at the very least, wrap his mind around. Because even remembering, even knowing that Fujiwara smiled and willingly offered himself up to the Darkness, what's happening now... When set alongside what happened then...
Compared to the rest of the students in the advanced classes, Fubuki always seems a little too exuberant. Frivolous and a little bit goofy and he knows there are those who glare at him, wondering what on earth he's doing there. He's not studious. He doesn't even seem all that hard-working. Simply naturally skilled, and the part of him that needs to be liked wonders if they hate him for it.
He knows for sure that two don't. Ryo, who's known him for years now and doesn't even blink in reaction to his asinine behaviour anymore.
And Fujiwara-kun. Who frowns, but thoughtfully.Sometimes cracking the slightest smile when Fubuki grins at him.
It won't line up. Although it's getting harder and harder to think. Through the pain. That's all the Darkness, the true Darkness, seems to be. Icy-cold filaments of pain that lick against his skin while Fujiwara smiles (cold and sharp and almost baring his teeth) and speaks of himself and It as a single entity.
"You were precious to us. You have to realize that. We never used you. We wanted you to join us. Be one with us." Fujiwara reaching out and Fubuki can feel the icy sting against his cheek where fingers make contact. "It's why we gave you the mask. You belong with us."
And Fubuki wants to deny it, even if he can sharply remember when it was, at the very least, a half-truth.
Of course, on one hand, both Ryo and Fujiwara-kun are far better duelists than Fubuki. And it could be easily said that that's why neither of them glare daggers at him while he fidgets through classes and excitedly babbles about heading down to the beach once they're let go. Fubuki isn't a threat to either of their egos. He's skilled, but not skilled enough.
On the other hand, Ryo always seemed indifferent to things like that, and has for years (not that he's lost a duel in years either) and Fujiwara-kun...
Fubuki can't quite put his finger on him. He's quiet. Intensely driven.Fascinated by every bit of strange mythos behind dueling that Daitokuji-sensei tells them. Not the sort of guy Fubuki would imagine himself easily befriending.
But that's how things go.
On some level or another, Fubuki considers himself to have died at least twice already. Maybe not in the truest sense of the word. Not stone-cold, heart stopped, clinically dead. But the first time he put that mask on, when he gave up his body and let the Darkness wrap around his soul, and in that hell of an alternate dimension, when he felt himself dissolve into nothing as a sacrifice for god only knows what, both of those times he considers close enough to count.
And as Fujiwara leans in close, as he feels icy threads of Darkness coil around his heart, he wonders if the third time will be the charm. Entirely incapable of seeing straight, thinking straight, concentrating on anything beyond the pain and the swirling mess of memories that are crashing against the now.
Even as frigidly cold as they are, even though Fubuki wonders if Fujiwara is more dead than alive by this point, the slightest brush of lips against skin is enough. It's all sense memory. Twisted around his consciousness and dragging him down.
There's a quiet spot in the woods out behind the Blue Dorm where Fujiwara-kun goes to read or think or work on extra credit projects or whatever it is his does.
One day he invites Fubuki along, and they inadvertently wind up skipping afternoon classes. Claiming that they were studying together and lost track of time when anyone asks.
Really, Fubuki's just glad that the collars of their uniforms are high enough that no one can see the tell-tale bruises on his neck. Or Fujiwara's. Even if he has a sneaking suspicion that Ryo knows anyway.
"I still love you."
For a minute everything stops. The cold and the hurt ebbing away and there's just him and Fujiwara. The Darkness hovering on the edge and it's just like the last time. Just like the start of it all. Fujiwara's eyes sad and Fubuki can almost hear him saying, "I'm sorry, I didn't want it to go this far," all over again.
A breath and it's over. The Darkness coiling around them tight once more, squeezing them together and Fujiwara is back to referring to them as one once more. Hissing, "We need you. You belong with us. To us," against the side of Fubuki's throat. The gentle play of lips against skin shifting to a bite and Fubuki wants to scream. Wants to struggle and kick free somehow.
Except he can't. Doesn't. Won't. And he can feel Fujiwara's smile against the side of his neck as he leans into that icy touch.
Feels the Darkness' pleasure even more.