Black Wings and White Hair

"Just lay there and be quiet! I swear, the two of you are so hard-headed! Kantarou if you let him up I swear you'll eat nothing but broiled sardines for a month!" Youko's ears and tail bristled as she screamed at the pair and slammed the door shut on her way out.

The pair unconsciously flinched as the door shook in the frame, hinges groaning as the wood bowed out dangerously.

Haruka sighed and laid down in the futon; yukata slipping off his shoulders as he gingerly settled his bruised body into the downy confines.

"hehe Sorry about that, she gets very protective sometimes, doesn't she?" Kantarou ran a hand through his short silver hair, smiling apologetically at the black tengu.

"Yeah, I noticed." Haruka fingered the wrapping beneath the yukata's top.

"You should try and get some rest; we can't do anything until you're back to a hundred percent." Kantarou smiled that annoyingly bright smile of his.

"I know. I know." Laying back Haruka scrunched up the pillow and shut his eyes, but after a few minutes he sighed heavily and turned his head to the left.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Working." Kantarou sat at the little desk a few feet away and was scribbling something Haruka prayed was his manuscript on the lined paper.

"Why are you doing that here?"

Kantarou peered over his shoulder confused. "Because."

"That's not an answer." Haruka pushed himself up on his elbows, squinting at the smaller man with obvious skepticism.

"Because…because, Youko'd kill me if I left, so, so just go back to sleep and pretend I'm not even here." Kantarou tried his best happy-go-lucky face, felt it slipping under Haruka's stare and dropped his head.

"I just, don't want to leave just yet. Can't I stay for a bit? Just until you fall asleep, I won't bother you, I just, I just…" Kantarou's voice was soft and low, like he was afraid to say the words, afraid of what I might do.

Sighing, I expel a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and run my fingers through my hair. Sometimes kindness can be painful, Youko said that to me after Kantarou had been hurt. I didn't understand what she meant until now, looking at him in the fading sunset, hair catching the orange glow and splintering the light into a thousand points of shimmering light and finally I understood.

During the battle, with my memories all fuzzy and mixed up, time meant nothing, people meant nothing, my friends, my enemies, they were all the same, and still the only thing that caught my attention were his eyes and hair. Blood red, silvery white, surrounded by the black of night, fire raging in the distance…all I saw was him.

I thought it was because of the man who locked me away, I thought Kantarou was him, and attacked mercilessly, but that wasn't the reason. Not really. I could feel it, the darkness welling up within me, threatening to overwhelm what little senses I had left, threatening to destroy the memories I'd made here, with them.

So I did the only thing my fogged brain could think of, I trusted he would understand and save me. And he did. But it cost a part of my heart to do that. Watching the tears slip down his cheeks as he raised the staff and called out my name, each power filled letter wrapping around him before being released. I screamed as the power hit me, but refused to drop my head, the small part of me that was still 'me' clamoring against the raising fury, but I never broke our stare until the very end.

As I fell I saw the white and red of his robes running towards me and as he took me in his arms the hot saltiness dripped from his streaked face, mingled with the taste of my own blood and the smell of smoke. He was warm. Everything else is a blur, but I remember thinking that. The fire was cold. The ground, rock solid and icy; but his hands were warm and as his cheek brushed mine it felt so hot I thought it burned me. Oddly enough, it was soothing, that heat actually helped bring me back to my senses. Out of the darkness.

So now I understand. I understand that his kindness towards me at that instance, of doing what I wanted hurt him terribly, destroyed a part of his soul and I can do nothing about it, and that hurts more than the broken ribs ever could.

But I can't tell him that. I can't ask him to not cry, to not fold in upon himself before my very eyes like he's doing now. All I can do is try and show kindness myself, and see what parts of me that brings back. What memories. I wonder if it even matters anymore.

Shifting, I reach out an arm and brush the silvery hair away from his eyes, shocking him by the touch.

"Kantarou…." I can't say anymore, I'm not even sure what to say, but again he seems to read my mind and before I can blink or breathe or steady myself, he's in my arms and there are tears and I can't figure out whose they are or if I care, because all of a sudden I'm warm again and I realize I've been cold this entire time.

He's calling my name over and over and sobbing messily into the front of my robe and surprisingly I'm smiling into the shadowy evening light, enjoying the feel of his nails scraping through the cloth and down my back, his breath warm against my skin, the silky tendrils of his metallic hair ghosting over my lips and I press into them without thinking.

He's barely registered the change, so absorbed in his own profuse apologies that he doesn't notice my fingers in his hair, on his hip, until it's too late. I'm not sure how or why I did it. One minute I'm sitting there with him clinging to me, my lips near his ear, just breathing and then he's trembling and I'm whispering that it'll be fine, nuzzling into his neck and dusting feather light kisses across the white smoothness of his chest.

The futon's in shambles, pillow flung to the side, comforter pushed down and flattened under one long alabaster leg. He's laying blinking up at me, crimson eyes glowing in the dark and my breath is in my throat and I'm ignoring all reason and I don't know why. I run a finger down his face and smile perversely as he shivers and leans into the touch.

Another minute and we'll cross a line, one that I set up and I know it; funny how I don't seem to care right now. Maybe it's his lust filled eyes or the way he's slowly sucking at my fingers or the way my groin burns as he rubs his knee against it, who knows.

God, he feels so good! How the hell did he learn to do that with his tongue?! There's heat everywhere now, completely enveloping me and all I see is silver and shattered gemlight and those crimson eyes swallowing me whole. It takes all my self-control not to completely devour him as we move together.

He's breathing my name like some sutra and for the first time it really feels like its mine and Yes, Yes, I can't think of anything more than that, articulate, aren't I? But he's here and I'm warm and I can feel his power flowing all around me, consuming me and feeding me and the darkness doesn't seem so dark anymore, and when I open my eyes the blinding light has faded, but isn't gone. It's steady and warm and soft and holding fast by my side and in my head I can still hear those words and that voice and I know that whatever else may happen I'll always have the light and in the deep dark when I'm lost and terrified by my own dreams I can reach out and be shown the way home.

He's shaky as I lay him by my side, pulling the futon up over our damp flesh and curling around him, resting his head on my chest, midnight black hair mixing with silvery moonlight and I can feel his fingers groping through the darkness, twining with mine as he lightly kisses them and smiles, eyes fluttering closed, struggling vainly to stay open.

I lean in and press a soft kiss to each, before returning the smile and capturing his lips. As he sighs contentedly that phrase creeps back into my mind and I smile; there's kindness and there's fate and for once I believe in both.

Fin.