chung yuan
The world is red tonight. It is washed in rippling sheets of color, wrapped in velvet light, and between them he falls, tumbling through layers of distorted images and tortured landscapes. The color is odd: uneasy, disturbing even, a kind of silvered vermilion that shifts under the eye, like new-rusted iron reflecting light... but it isn't the blood-crimson of a sky over ruined Tokyo, hovering over the toppled buildings and the howling wind, nor is it the rotten brownish shade that he once saw consuming his own skin in the mirror, before it burst open and freed another self within, smiling, razor-winged. So many nightmares he can barely count them all; but never have they been wrapped in this same sheen of bloody moonlight. Of course, it could be that he isn't dreaming now. And who said he was dreaming to begin with?
No matter. Either way, he is falling.
He sees things, as he falls. He sees a sword piercing Kotori's body, and then her murdered eyes opening as if to seek salvation; and then the body becomes his aunt's, and the sword is not entering but leaving, and the vision bursts into ropes of sickly black that splash across his face and hands. He has just realized that the stuff is full of tiny swords, that their corruption must have poisoned the entirety of her flesh, and now millions of tiny pin-pricks are worming their way through his own skin and into his mouth -- and then that part winks out and is gone. He is floating again, falling.
He sees. It seems like he sees everything. He sees a king enthroned in the limbs of a tree, with bleeding empty eyes and a wound that never heals. He almost recognizes the face, but for a cloak of cobwebs. He sees, in passing, what looks like a young man on his knees, holding a fallen body in his arms, weeping silently; but he falls by too fast to see it clearly, and anyway that part is obscured by sakura petals. They tickle past his cheeks, and he can feel the smears of blood they leave. Then lightning strikes, and buildings crumble, and he is at the top of somewhere impossibly high, and the wind stings his cheeks as he is fighting... someone... And then he is falling again, endlessly, bottomlessly.
He sees destruction, and despair. He sees the end of everything. He sees seven seals opened by seven angels, and hears the thunder of their trumpets. He sees hail and fire, mixed with blood, and a mountain cast into the sea, and he sees a third of the earth reduced to darkness and cinders. He sees a woman giving birth, and a dragon, and a beast with ten horns... He sees, and he sees, and he cannot stop seeing; and he falls, and he falls, and he falls.
And he lands. Suddenly that red-gray light is blinding, and the reason is obvious: it reflects in patterns, as if off polished metal, from the surfaces of billions of bright white feathers that are heaped up as far as the eye can see, in all directions. They fill the world. They surround his body, breaking its fall, and cushion him as he comes to rest -- but then white scourges of pain lance all through his back and sides, and he realizes even as he twists and cries out in agony that the reason they reflect the light so brightly is because they are sharp as razors. His wings, folded helplessly behind him, are shredded; his back must be ribboned in blood. And when he struggles, trying to fight his way through them and away, he only succeeds in making it worse. They are everywhere.
A shadow rears up over him, blocking out the red that falls in sheets around his plight. Kamui's eyes widen, but no sound escapes him as the dark shape lifts itself out of the sea of feathers and stands, pinions tumbling in a silky billow around shadowy limbs; somehow, he already knows, and he always does. Fuuma looks down at where he lies helpless, a small smile on his lips, tall and mighty and even more horrible in the nakedness that should soften, humanize his form, make it vulnerable. He walks to stand over Kamui with hands at his sides, heartbreaking and terrifying, an eyebrow quirked as if to ask why the boy isn't pleased to see him -- and though Kamui cannot see, he knows that the feathers must cut into Fuuma's feet, his blood staining them even darker than their reflected red. Curiously, however, they seem to have stopped cutting into Kamui's own naked and vulnerable body at the other's arrival; now they feel soft instead, almost gentle.
...How long has he been nude? Maybe from the beginning. Or maybe not. That doesn't seem to matter, either.
Fuuma kneels, heavily, in the feathers that fill the V between Kamui's long legs, and another tumble of soft white-red puffs up at their touch. Thin shallow lines are sliced into Fuuma's knees and up his thighs. Kamui tries to turn his eyes away from the blood that trickles lazily from the cuts, but cannot; maybe this is a dream after all. Apparently heedless of the injuries, Fuuma smiles at him warmly, almost angelically, and stretches across Kamui. He plants his hands in the feathers to either side of the boy's slim chest, and Kamui can see the razor gore-streaked tip of a feather piercing straight through the back of one palm; he moans, looks away, and sees even worse on the other side. He tries to close his eyes, but can still see everything through their lids, as though this wasteland has burned right through and seared the nerves that lead to his brain.
Fuuma, heedless still, lowers his mouth to Kamui's chest, kissing patterns along the skin, teasing a nipple with his lips and tongue. The sudden warmth is sweet, lingering, and distracting, and Kamui squirms, enveloped in sensation... and then Fuuma's hands lift and stroke down his sides, leaving long bloody smears from ribs to hips. He can feel where Fuuma's tattered skin peels back at the touch, exposed meat and bone slick on his skin. Fuuma's mouth covers his own just as Kamui's stomach begins to shudder with sickness.
Silver and red, shifting across the sky. Shifting across the shining surfaces of infinite feathers, the feathers of a full host of murdered angels.
He writhes, gasping, whimpering, as Fuuma's warm (bloody) fingers brush his cock... and as he writhes he digs his way deeper into the pit of feathers, sinking into their softness, and Fuuma sinks every inch along with him. As if seized by unseen hands, he is made to look up, to watch what Fuuma is doing to him; he sees -- and immediately wishes he hadn't -- that the skin of Fuuma's legs is tattered beyond possible repair, and that those narrow, wicked cuts now stretch up past the older boy's waist. And worst of all... somehow, though the vision nauseates and terrifies him, none of this can shake his own arousal. Fuuma teases him, brushing his length too softly and too slowly, mouth on Kamui's skin, and everything he does is an old and unacknowledged wish. The things he never did to Kamui in life, but now does all too often in Kamui's dreams, are somehow always made even worse by the fact that Kamui could almost -- almost -- wish they were real. Almost has; almost does even now.
But the feathers --
Wet, soft lips touch the head of his erection, and Kamui's back arches; he moans, raggedly, a reflexive thrust of his hips pushing him even deeper into the feathered abyss. He can hear Fuuma chuckle -- and feel it, too, oh yes, and he gasps and cries out again while Fuuma works his mouth down his shaft and sets up a steady rhythm, slowness forgotten now. A gentle, warm tongue rubs under his head; blood-slicked hands clasp his thighs, pushing them further apart. His body burns like fire from the sky. And there are bloody slices all up Fuuma's chest, to the base of his neck, and still the older boy seems to feel no pain at all.
Feathers. Red. Silver. Sky. His dark wings flare into the sifting cushion, though whether in pleasure or to slow his slide he cannot determine. Either way, it has little effect; he still sinks, and still writhes, still loses his grip on the world as need overtakes and drowns him. His hands clasp and knead Fuuma's hair, though he cannot remember putting them there, and they hold him near as Kamui drives himself into Fuuma's mouth, searching for the center, the pinnacle of his desire. He looks at the sky, rather than at Fuuma, lips parted around the occasional wordless cry, hips bucking with all the strength he has to give. He looks at the sky, eyes wide and mouth trembling, and wonders suddenly why he did not realize before that it is not the sky at all, but churned-up and reddened ground. They are the ones who are in the sky. They are buried in clouds made up of sharpened feathers. He wonders, too, why he never knew that was what clouds were; wonders why no one told him.
And then he comes, crying out with such force he is almost screaming, hands knotted in Fuuma's hair and eyes above. He comes, writhing, awash in red and silver and pleasure and blood and white and agony, and he has the time and the presence of mind only to think with relief that he is dying, he must be dying.
But he isn't, of course; and he survives.
It occurs to him, some heartbeats after he has reached the end of his climax and collapsed, spent, into feathers, that the warmth around his groin has not removed itself, and his hands are still twisted into Fuuma's hair. Just as the pinions are about to bury him entirely, panting and bleary-eyed, he raises his head and looks down his own body in curiosity.
And every muscle in him jerks and contracts itself and his stomach crawls up his throat at the realization that Fuuma's eyes are frozen open, and Fuuma's mouth is locked open, and the rest of Fuuma is absent below the ragged bloody stump that used to be Fuuma's neck, and his limp cock is resting in the blood-filled mouth of his once best friend's severed head while from the waist down he is soaked completely with the fresh blood that is all that is left of the rest of Monou Fuuma, may he rest in peace, forever and ever, amen.
When he wakes up, he is already screaming, which if nothing else saves him from having to think.
It takes him a while to even notice the voice calling his name, his own cries are so loud -- but the touch on his shoulder registers right away. He yelps and scrambles back before he can realize he's awake and no one is attacking him; fortunately, though, he recognizes Subaru as the hand's owner in time to keep from putting a cap on the evening's excitement by throwing the older man through the nearest wall. He stares at Subaru -- who is wide-eyed, staring back at him with a kind of horrified pity -- for a full moment before comprehension sinks in... and then he just presses his hands over his face and curls in on himself, shuddering violently, his breathing harsh and loud in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the darkness there is even worse: in it there's nothing but that final blood-soaked image, playing over and over on a stomach-wrenching loop.
Fuuma, is all he can think, incoherently, again and again until the sounds lose meaning. Fuuma... Oh, God, let me never sleep again...
"Kamui, are you..." Subaru's voice begins, and then trails off. They can both hear footsteps now, pounding down the mansion's halls: the other Dragons, undoubtedly expecting to find all hell breaking loose. Normally, Kamui would be horribly embarrassed to have the others around after one of those dreams... but right now, he can't bring himself to care. He can't stop shaking, either, or stop pressing his hands over his face, like he could seal everything in the world away from him. Can't even think.
From miles away, he hears Subaru murmur his name again; an arm curls carefully around his shoulders, drawing him to warmth and comfort. As if he could accept them. As if he deserves them. He doesn't even look up when the door flies open.
"Kamui!"
Of course, leading the pack is a bathrobe-clad Sorata, practically bending the hinges on the door as he bounds into Kamui's bedroom. "Are you ..." He pulls to an awkward halt, however, as he gets a clear view of the room, and blinks a few times. "...uh."
...Oh. Right. Subaru's in his bed. Some last detached part of Kamui's brain winces quietly to itself. In everything else, he'd forgotten...
The avalanche is far from over, however, and Dragons of Heaven begin to pile up in the doorway like clowns out of a circus car; it would probably be funny at any other time. The door nearly rebounds into Arashi, just a few steps behind Sorata, and her oversized nightshirt flutters around her knees as she skids to a stop. Taking in the situation, she blinks herself. "... There was a scream," she offers, a bit lamely, as a taller figure fills the space behind her, the dim light from the hallway reflecting off a pair of glasses that are refusing to be seated properly.
"Is everything all right?" Seiichirou asks, just as he is followed by what must be Karen and Yuzuriha; they just hover in the hallway behind him, though, unable to fit into the doorway, which after all can only handle so many worried Seals at once. Not that Kamui is paying much attention to any of this. He just leans on Subaru, shivering, feeling like his own body couldn't hold him upright if he tried. The world has come down to just him and his horror; the others can't reach him, and he can't reach them. He wants to appreciate their concern, wants to reach out and be a little less alone... but right now, he is lost to them.
Meanwhile, though, Subaru straightens up beside Kamui, no less in control of the situation for being tangled in sheets and blankets; if anyone can give off an air of authority even while sleepy-eyed and in bed with a teenaged boy, it's the head of the Sumeragi Clan. "It's fine," he says firmly, in quiet but crowd-stopping tones. "Kamui's had a nightmare. Everything's all right now."
The announcement comes as a relief, and the little crowd begins to relax and fade awkwardly back toward the doorway. Yuzuriha, curious as ever, tries to take advantage of the shift to push her way from between Sorata and Seiichirou, but the older man gently catches and nudges her back toward her own room; Inuki follows with a long look over his canine shoulder, whimpering uneasily. Karen glances through the doorway once, thoughtfully, and then just follows, and the soft sound of her bare feet on the floorboards retreats down the hallway and fades, along with the low murmur of Seiichirou's voice.
Sorata stands in the doorway for a few moments, however, watching the others leave. He looks over to Arashi, catching her eyes for just a moment, then takes another cautious step into the room, fixing Kamui with a look of deep concern -- an expression that doesn't look at all out of place, somehow, for all its seriousness. "Kamui, are you..." he begins, and then trails off just like Subaru did before; he sighs, and shakes his head. "No. You're not okay."
He pauses, and then goes to the bed, standing in front of Kamui and touching the boy's shoulder deliberately. Kamui looks bleakly up at him, and when he does a soothing hand settles on his hair, keeping his head tilted upward. Sorata looks at him with open concern that, for no good reason, makes tears suddenly swell in Kamui's throat; he chokes them back with difficulty, not wanting to worry his friends any more. Wanting to be strong.
"But you're awake now," Sorata says quietly, seriously, his eyes on Kamui's and full of meaning. "And if you need us, we're here."
Kamui swallows thickly, and nods a little. "Thanks," he nearly whispers, trying to force words past his dry lips. "I... I'll be fine."
Sorata's hand remains on the back of Kamui's neck, but the boy catches his eyes shifting to Subaru's, giving the older man a meaningful glance. When he looks back at Kamui, however, it's with a faint smile. "You're not alone," he says, with a conviction that makes Kamui really want to believe him; and after another light squeeze of Kamui's shoulder, he heads for the door.
Subaru nods to Sorata, slightly, as he goes, and the look in his eyes is grateful. Arashi is still standing in the doorway, staring a little more frankly now that the rest of the Dragons have gone; Subaru shoots her another gaze, this one stern, and she makes an alarmed little sound and backs further into the hall. "Thank you," he says softly to Sorata, meaningfully. Sorata nods, and with one last worried look at Kamui, he places a gentle hand on the small of Arashi's back and leads her away, closing the door behind them.
Subaru lets out a breath as the door shuts, maybe relieved or maybe rueful; then his attention returns to the boy trembling in his arms, and he sighs again. His voice is so gentle, so kind. "Kamui?"
He wants to be strong; he wants it so much. He owes that to Subaru, and to everybody. But he isn't. He never has been.
Kamui tucks his arms around Subaru, and presses his forehead into the older man's shirt, and he closes his eyes. His already labored breath hitches once, then twice... and then he bursts, like a dam breaking, into tears. He cries so hard it aches, sobbing harshly into Subaru's chest, his shoulders wracked and shuddering, and he doesn't feel strong at all. He feels like rags and shattered glass.
Subaru starts, and then moans softly; his face presses into Kamui's hair, and he hugs him almost tightly enough to hurt. "Kamui. Kamui, it's all right..." Kamui tries to say something, that he's sorry or that he'll be fine, but nothing will come out but those huge, shaky sobs. They feel like they'll drown him, they're so heavy.
"It's all right, I'm here... I'm here, you're safe, Kamui; s'okay, I promise, he's not here, it's just us... please, angel, stop crying... shh..."
He doesn't know how long he cries; after a while the seconds and the tears all blend into each other, and he loses track of time in the flood. It seems like ages, though. By the time his shuddering has stopped, he feels limp and hollow in Subaru's arms, as if all the strength he had left had poured out with his tears. He can barely even hold his hand up long enough to scrub at his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, at last; his voice feels raw. "I didn't mean to..."
Subaru sighs when he hears Kamui's voice, and the relief in the sound makes Kamui feel even worse; he hadn't wanted to upset the older man. With the immediate crisis finally over, Subaru leans back into the oversized pillow, pulling Kamui gently along so the boy ends up halfway on top of him. "Don't worry about it," he murmurs, stroking the boy's hair. "I've told you before, don't feel bad for waking me."
Kamui sighs a little; he can't help feeling bad sometimes, but there's no point in saying so. He lies still instead, listening to Subaru's heartbeat, sniffling now and then. Feeling calmer now, if not much better.
If someone had asked him, he couldn't have explained what makes him want to tell the dream to Subaru; if they'd pointed out that he wants to think about that as little as possible, he'd be helpless to explain. Maybe it's because it's only fair, because Subaru at least deserves to know what it was that woke him up in the middle of the night. Maybe because he feels a little bit like telling might get it out of him, wash away the leftover bits of nightmare and leave him clean again. But really, it doesn't matter, because before he can worry much about the reason, he's already talking.
"It was... Fuuma," Kamui confesses. Subaru must already know, but he says it anyway. "We were... I mean, he was..." His voice dries up on him as the images come back: Fuuma's lips and tongue and fingers on him, touching him the way his twin star never quite does in real life; and himself not just allowing it, but liking it, wanting it... No. He can't make himself tell Subaru about that. Much as Kamui trusts him, there are things he doesn't need to know.
Swallowing, Kamui tries again. "He... Things were... were cutting him, all over him, while... while he was with me... He kept -- bleeding -- and... at the end..." He chokes off into a whimper, without meaning to; though he doesn't look up, he can already feel Subaru recoiling from the words, horrified. "He was -- dead... his head -- " His voice cracks abruptly on that, and he gives up, pressing his face into Subaru's chest. It hurts to breathe again, and he's shaking.
"Oh, Kamui..." Shock and horror, helplessness; no blame, no accusation. That's something, at least. Subaru's arms tighten around him, offering him shelter, and he clings to it with all the strength he has left. "It's all right," Subaru tells him quietly, though he sounds like he's trying to convince both of them. "I know it seems terrible now, but everything is going to be all right."
Kamui whimpers a little. "But what if it isn't?" he whispers, muffled in Subaru's chest. Thinking of all the dreams he's had that weren't just dreams, in the end. "What if it isn't at all?"
There's no response for a little while; and then only a sigh, and the soft caress of Subaru's hand on his hair. "Then there's no use worrying about it now," the older man murmurs. "Everyone is safe right now, Kamui. You're safe." He pauses, thoughtfully. "Do you trust me?"
Which seems like such a silly question by now; Subaru might as well ask him if the sky is blue, or if water always flows down and not up. Kamui gets the point, though, and after letting out a long, shaky breath, he nods. "Of course I do."
"Then believe me, for now." A warm hand strokes his back, slowly, and Kamui is only a little surprised to find himself starting to relax. Maybe he is safe, after all...
"I'll try." Subaru makes a soft, approving sound, hugging him gently, and Kamui hesitates for a moment before adding, "But, I... really don't want to go back to sleep right now."
Cool fingers brush his cheek, soothingly. "Then I'll stay up with you," Subaru's voice murmurs. Kamui tilts his head up to look at him, eyes wide. He hadn't meant --
"Oh -- you don't have to..."
Subaru lays a finger against his lips. Kamui has a mercifully brief, completely inappropriate urge to kiss it. "Nonsense. What good am I if I leave you alone now?"
Little as he wants to be any more of a bother to Subaru, Kamui's overwhelming (and selfish) relief at the offer wins out; really, he'd hate to be alone right now. He sighs, hugging Subaru tightly with a surge of gratitude. So much for trying to be strong... "Then -- thank you."
Subaru's only response is a soft chuckle, and when he nuzzles Kamui's hair a little, the boy manages a weak half-smile. Honestly, he's already starting to feel a little better; his dream is fading into the darkness he left it in, slowly being replaced by Subaru and Subaru's comfort.
"Don't you ever have any nice dreams, Kamui?" Subaru asks, after a moment. Kamui blinks, surprised by the question -- and blushes, before he can stop himself, at the first few memories that jump to mind.
"Um... sometimes," he admits, with a tiny smile.
Sometimes. When you're with me.
Subaru's expression is hard to make out in the darkness, but there's a smile in his voice. "I had a very nice dream that I never told you about... and I kept meaning to." He shifts position under Kamui, tilting his head in the boy's direction. "You were in it."
Me? Kamui blinks into Subaru's gaze, feeling his own lips curve a little at the thought; him dreaming about Subaru is a given, but the idea of Subaru dreaming about him... He considers it, warming pleasantly -- and distractingly.
"...Really?" he asks tentatively, and settles his head back on Subaru's chest, staring out into the darkness. "What... what was it?"
Fingers run through his hair, gently ruffling it, as if he were an oversized cat. "It's... hard to describe," Subaru begins, thoughtfully. "I was laying back -- kind of like this -- on something... grey, and soft. There was a bright light over me, but..." The onmyouji pauses, and Kamui can almost hear his smile widen. "I couldn't quite see it, because you were kneeling over me, and you were blocking the light with huge, black wings." He gestures with his free hand, drawing an arc in the air. "They took up the whole sky."
Suddenly, Kamui can't stop smiling. Yes, his wings... He's always had them in his dreams, and it should seem strange for them to be in someone else's dream of him -- but somehow it doesn't at all.
Subaru keeps talking, in the meantime; his voice has the soft, hypnotic rhythm of a storyteller's, and Kamui finds himself swept along. "They were fully spread, stretched wide out over us. The light just spilled out over your shoulders and hair... like a halo. And all I could think of was how beautiful you were." He pauses, and his hand slows in Kamui's hair until it just rests at the back of his head. Kamui almost holds his breath, waiting.
"And then," Subaru says softly, at last, "you smiled."
He sighs, his breath ruffling Kamui's hair. "It was like you possessed all the love in the world. I was almost jealous that anyone could have the strength to smile like that, but it was for me, and that was even better. You looked so happy, and that made me happier than I could ever remember feeling.
"You drew your wings in a little, like you were trying to shelter me from something. Then you touched me... like this..." His hand slides from Kamui's hair to delicately cup his cheek, startling him a little. "And that made me happy, too." Peaceful silence falls for a moment, letting them both consider.
"It was a really nice dream," Subaru finally concludes. "I was smiling when I woke up."
Kamui closes his eyes, and lets out a soft breath he feels like he's been holding forever, and he rests his hand on Subaru's, first holding it to his cheek and then just hugging it awkwardly. He can't think of anything to say, so he doesn't say anything; he lets his heart speak for itself, instead, since it feels like it's beating so loud Subaru must be able to hear it, that everyone in the world must be able to hear it. It feels huge, tight in his chest, swelled up with a joy he couldn't explain and wouldn't want to, except to say that every beat sounds like Subaru, Subaru.
Subaru lets him drift for a while, eyes turned up to the ceiling; then he looks back down, and smiles again. "Do you know when I had that dream, Kamui?" he asks gently.
Kamui frowns a little, and twists his head to look up at Subaru again. "Huh?"
Subaru grins back at him, a rare, bright expression that makes him look younger than he is; Kamui's stomach, as always, does a few quick gymnastics. "I remember it really well, because I talked to my sister about it afterward. She teased me about it, but... she teased me about a lot of things."
Kamui blinks even more, setting his head back down as he thinks about that in terms of Subaru's past. The answer he comes up with is confusing, but somehow not very surprising. "I... oh. Then that would have been..."
The older man stretches a little, matter-of-factly. "I was sixteen." He shifts and resettles, and Kamui moves automatically out of the way, wearing a small, uncertain smile. "The first time, anyway. I had it again last week. And I was glad. I had forgotten it was you."
"O-oh. That's... " ...What is it? Less weird than it should be, for one thing -- but Kamui's long since given up trying to sort the weird and the not-weird into separate categories, mostly because there isn't much in his life that isn't weird anymore. And besides, the feeling it stirs up inside him is definitely a good one. Better than good, even. "It's... strange, but..." He bites his lip, trying to find the right words. "I'm glad you told me."
"I am, too. It made me feel very good." And there's an odd note in Subaru's voice there, one that's almost... suggestive? He doesn't even have time to wonder what it means, though, before Subaru's chuckle interrupts his thoughts. "I... hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable that I have dreams about you like that."
Kamui shakes his head quickly, his hair rustling on Subaru's chest. "No, it doesn't," he says softly. "I mean, I..." He stops, realizing what his mouth was just trying to say -- I have dreams about you touching me, too, maybe? Sure, if he had a nice deep hole in the ground to crawl into afterwards -- and he blushes again. "I don't mind," he finishes instead, awkwardly.
"I'm glad." Thankfully, Subaru doesn't sound at all suspicious even after Kamui's false start, and the boy relaxes.
And then: "So... any nice dreams you'd like to share?"
Kamui's eyes open wide; oh god he knows, his brain babbles, before he can get a grip on it. Of course Subaru doesn't, he knows that... but he can't help blushing yet again, though he tries to hide it against Subaru's chest. "Well..." He swallows, and closes his eyes. Well -- it probably can't hurt...
"I... dream about you, sometimes," he finally stammers out. He tries not to hold his breath, and fails.
But there's nothing to worry about, it turns out; Subaru's arm tightens around his shoulders, and he smiles. "Maybe we'll meet in a dream someday," he says simply, and Kamui lets the air out of his lungs all at once, trying not to let it sound like a sigh of relief. Maybe there is a god of teenagers after all.
He feels amazingly good: warm, and loved, and safe, and all of that after he woke up convinced he'd never feel good again. How does Subaru do that, anyway? He's never quite figured it out, and suspects he never will.
"Maybe," Kamui murmurs, and it surprises him how blurry his voice sounds. He's more tired than he'd thought, actually; now that he relaxes completely, his eyes will barely stay open. "...Thank you."
And then he hugs Subaru, and Subaru hugs back; and right now that seems more important than anything else. Much more important than keeping his eyes open, anyway.
So he lets them slide closed, and the world fades into darkness; and from the darkness he slips swiftly into sleep.