seijin no hi
Void. Dark, and voiceless, stretching in all directions as far as the eye can see and leaving it nothing to which to cling. A slick surface down which vision skids, finding no purchase.
Void, but not vacuum, and as he adjusts to his surroundings he finds it not so voiceless, either -- for wind has a voice of its own, and he can feel the shifting air tousling his hair and his clothing, fluttering his wings. And then he can even see it, almost, in the swirls and billows of a blizzard of pale pink tumbling petals that never quite seem to fall; just noticing their presence, he finds he cannot say for sure whether they have suddenly appeared, or whether they were there all along. But now they are here, and everywhere. He reaches up, his hand buffeted softly by the blossoms, and plucks one from the swirling air to inspect it more closely -- but it melts in his palm before his gaze, and as it does, it leaves a trickle of blood on his skin. His eyes widen, watching. Like a stained snowflake...
Dark and voiceless; and, somehow, inexplicably familiar.
He is not alone.
The revelation is sudden, and it spins him around in directionless search. It is only then that he sees it behind him, thick and sturdy and ominous, branches shifting and swaying slightly in wind; and that must confirm the presence of the wind, mustn't it? How would it be moving, otherwise? The thought sounds more like an attempt to convince himself than a natural progression of logic, and he shivers, staring at it. Trees don't move; that isn't in question. But though his eyes call this thing a tree, he knows that they may lie, and he is almost sure that they do now. Whatever it might be, he doesn't think it's a tree at all.
...What a strange thing to think.
Either way, he doesn't want to get any closer than he is... but then the faint murmur of voices reaches his ears, their owners obscured behind the rippling trunk. Distracted, he approaches their source, frowning; some part of his mind notes nonetheless that the tree shifts and rustles with his approach, as though chuckling to itself. That image, for reasons he could not have explained, makes him a little sick.
As he rounds the trunk, stepping gingerly over thick roots that burrow into empty space, he sees two figures -- small and somehow ghostly next to that towering presence -- that he surely should have noticed before, though for some reason this does not bother him at all. They have his attention instead, holding him still as the restless gale tears at them both. The man in black, tall and broad, with his back to the tree, smiling everywhere but in his single eye; the boy in white, still a child, round-faced and wide-eyed, calm in innocence. The wind is too high for him to make out their conversation, and he only stands and watches, fascinated and disturbed by their somehow beautiful tableau. A stray, senseless thought (this is his dream, not mine) passes, and then dissipates.
There is never any question of identity. Even before he saw them, he knew.
Even as he watches, the scene changes: the man, the assassin, the ghostly third who has haunted moments that would have been just two alone, takes a step closer to the child and crouches fluidly before him. The younger boy continues to look up with only trusting curiosity, but alarm blossoms suddenly in Kamui's nerves, white tinged red like the swirling petals; it has barely even had time to take shape when, before his eyes, one large hand cups a small one and pulls it up to faintly smiling lips.
"Subaru -- " he hears himself call out; he tries to reach out, pull one of them away and soothe his anxiety, but his hand has become tangled in something, somehow. The assassin ignores him, perhaps does not even hear him, but the boy looks up, and mixed recognition and surprise are clear in his eyes --
Then light flares in those terribly small hands, like a match set to gunpowder, and through it Kamui can see blood flow.
His cry of shock and fear mingles with Subaru's cry of pain, and Kamui surges forward to rescue the boy -- but again his wrist is caught tight. He looks up, with a faint snarl, for whatever is holding him... and then he freezes, and the hand already rising to free its partner drops limply back to his side. A branch of the tree has slithered down, snakelike, and wrapped itself around his hand as though he had tangled himself in a vine; even before his wide eyes, it curls itself into a tighter loop, digging furrows into his skin. With mounting horror he now realizes that he can feel those stained blossoms creeping over his back, feeling blindly for purchase, soft flowers brushing the thin sensitive flesh of his wings. His stomach lurches with nausea.
And then Subaru's assailant seizes the child, roughly, and spins to shove him face-first into the trunk of the tree only a few feet from Kamui; Subaru's cry rings in the older boy's ears, sharp and hurt, tasting sourly of trust betrayed. More branches snake down from the pale halo above their heads, and seize those slim white wrists with apparent greed, stroking the livid stars on his hands as if to lap up the streams of blood.
Kamui lunges again, less calling Subaru's name than screaming it, hoping to break the thin branch that holds him -- without success, however. Thicker limbs, strong as ordinary saplings, hook under his arms and clamp around his chest, so hard and fast they knock his breath from him; another branch snares the fan where one wing meets his shoulder and cinches cruelly tight, drawing from him an airless choked sound. Limp and panicked, struggling to pull air back into his flattened lungs, he watches helplessly as the Sakurazukamori leans forward over Subaru, pressing curving lips to his ear. He whispers something to the weakly struggling boy, something that Kamui cannot hear... but whatever it is makes Subaru's eyes go wide, and his efforts to escape turn frantic. The wind dies down, just enough for Kamui to hear both Subaru's whimper of "Please... no..." and the soft chuckle that answers it.
Clothing scrapes over bark as they struggle, and then over skin as it is stripped away; and then it seems that Kamui can breathe again, because he finds that he is throwing himself against the restraining branches, crying out and stretching out his arms as far as he can reach. Subaru's eyes meet his, and Kamui bites back a moan at the terror and shame he finds in the child's gaze. Terror, and shame, and what almost looks like guilt... He tries not to watch, tries not to see the adult hands that wander over the half-bared, immature body, that slip between Subaru's spread legs and elicit from him a small, trembling cry; but when he turns his head away, another blossom-tipped branch catches his cheek, forcing his gaze back to the bitter scene even as it chokes him with revulsion.
Subaru's eyes squeeze shut, giving him a look of anguish far too old for his features. "Please, Seishirou-san," he begs; a thin, breaking boy's soprano, tortured beyond endurance. "Please don't, please..."
The assassin chuckles again, softly, fingertips trailing light spirals on Subaru's throat. "And here I thought you loved me," he murmurs, with low, reproachful amusement. His hands drift low again, to the boy's hips and to the fastenings of his own clothing.
Kamui's own voice surprises him, its harsh brokenness even more so. "Stop it!" he hears himself scream before he realizes that he is speaking; the older man still seems utterly blind to him, however, and his already aching shoulders butt continually against the branches. They do not budge. "Let him go!"
"Kamui -- " Subaru whispers, and his eyes catch Kamui's once more, brilliant with fear like breaking green jewels. His small hand strains to reach out, only to be caught back again by the tree; Kamui tries, desperately, to meet it, and only brushes the skin with his fingertips. "Help me... please... "
And then the Sakurazukamori seizes Subaru by his waist, almost enveloping it, and slams himself deep inside the small, fragile body; and for a moment, nothing in the world exists but Subaru's high, despairing child's scream.
A strangled cry rips from Kamui's throat in answer, and his struggles with the branches become so violent that he can feel blood begin to trickle into his shirt, from the places where the confining limbs have rubbed his shoulders raw. He can feel hot tears on his cheeks, hear his own voice sobbing, even as he cranes his neck around in a desperate attempt to bite through the fleshy wood that holds him in place. "Let me go!" he screams at it, his feet hammering into the massive trunk to no particular avail; his eyes fix helplessly on Subaru, arched and thrashing in a private hell of anguish, and he lets out another wordless animal cry. "You bastard, let go of me, I'll kill you -- Let go!"
Although Kamui is sure the older man is not aware of his presence, he is equally sure that another quiet laugh comes through Seishirou's labored breathing at this one-sided battle -- as if the assassin were most amused by his torment. Perhaps the tree has shared this little joke with him, a private bit of humor just between the two of them. Dangerous clouds of rage-red blot his vision.
And all the while, Subaru is screaming. Screaming at Seishirou to stop, screaming at Kamui to help, and then just screaming when they are both found either unwilling or unable to comply. Screaming, as his small, bared body slams painfully into the rough bark with every rude thrust, as blood trickles down over his wrists and drips on the nonexistent ground, falling into nothingness or seeping into tree roots that seem to writhe in obscene ecstasy at every taste. Screaming and screaming and screaming. The sound tears at Kamui like sand in raw flesh, and in truth it makes him feel like screaming too -- but somehow he keeps the presence of mind to save his energy for the tree. For what it's worth, anyhow; his struggles seem to have no effect but to exhaust him, and to dig the branches even tighter into their tattered holds.
It seems to go on forever, even though it can't be more than a few moments. Eventually, Kamui's strength gives out, and he ends up hanging limply from the branches, his struggles reduced to the occasional feeble thrashing. His eyes catch on Subaru's once more, and his helpless sobbing intensifies at the sight: their bright depths have gone dull, broken and utterly desolate, and filled with a deep and consuming hurt. A hurt directed at both of them; both once trusted, and neither offering help now that he suffers. Weeping steadily, with the last of his strength, Kamui throws himself forward one last time... and manages to just barely reach Subaru's hand, and curl his own around it. He strains to keep in place, overtaxed muscles trembling, and his breath hitches painfully in his chest as the boy's small hand turns over in his grasp, moves to cling to the offer of comfort as tightly as he can. It is all that he can do for Subaru; Kamui knows that. And in his heart he curses bitterly at his own helplessness.
It seems to go on forever.
But eventually, it ends.
The Sakurazukamori pumps forward even harder for a few more seconds, eliciting a final string of weak cries from the child, who is by now barely conscious. The man's body stiffens for a long moment, and then relaxes... and a look of satisfaction claims his features. He leans heavily on Subaru for a moment, catching his breath, and then pushes himself upright again. Absently refastening his clothes, he studies his prey for a moment, the little smile curling its way back around his lips; without the support of the assassin's hands, Subaru sags into the grip of the tree, with eyelids fluttering and breathing shallow, a mess of tears and sweat and disheveled cloth. Blood flows sluggishly from both sites of his violation. Smiling, the Sakurazukamori leans forward once more, and whispers something inaudible...
And then he turns and walks off, and is swallowed by darkness.
With his departure, the tree simply winks out of existence, and suddenly the two boys are free. Subaru crumples immediately into a broken heap, and Kamui half-runs and half-staggers over to fall to his knees at the child's side. Shuddering with the force of his own weeping, he takes Subaru into his arms as gently as he possibly can; he rests the boy's head carefully on his shoulder and curls both arms and wings around his small, pitiful form, trying to shelter him, to keep him safe. From somewhere very far away he can hear himself whimpering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I couldn't... I couldn't... oh god, Subaru, I'm sorry..." He can feel the softness of the hair under his hand, even matted with blood and sweat, as he strokes it lightly, mindlessly. He can feel his heart breaking, too. It doesn't seem to matter.
After a frightening moment of nothing, Subaru finally responds; the boy's arms curl sluggishly around Kamui, holding on to his comfort, and he stirs in Kamui's grasp. His head turns, at last, eyes half-opening to squint up at the older boy... and, slowly, agonizingly, his trembling lips try to form a reassuring smile. Kamui simply stares at him as he does, dumbstruck, horrified. Somehow, that smile is the most awful thing of all.
"It's all right," Subaru whispers, weakly; shaky fingers touch Kamui's cheek as if to comfort him. Kamui covers the tiny hand with his own, feeling his own look of wide-eyed disbelief. "It's all right... It must mean... he loves me... right?"
Tears streaming down his cheeks, Kamui only stares down at the child, unable to speak. He is stunned into silence, utterly undone by that final glimmer of simple, pitiful hope.
What could he possibly say?
And then Subaru's body goes limp in his arms, and there is nothing he can do but weep.
Nothing at all.
His face is pressed into something cold and very wet. After a long, disoriented moment of blinking into solid darkness, Kamui recognizes it as his pillow. Dizzy and half-awake, he somehow manages to wonder how long he's been crying in his sleep before he actually realizes that it was all a dream.
A dream.
God.
He tucks himself up into an even tighter fetal position than the one he normally sleeps in, curling one arm around his knees as he scrubs at the cool tears left over on his cheeks. It seemed real... but then, his dreams always do. And the memory is already beginning to fade, even though he can still hear those last words so clearly, ringing in his mind like an accusation.
It must mean he loves me...
Who could possibly think that way? The whole idea is frustrating, a frustration that's strangely like that of being held captive while someone you care about is hurt. How can you save him when you can't move? How can you save him if he doesn't want to be saved? How can you pull him up when drowning is his last hope?
He sighs, and rubs his cheek on the top of his own knee. The answer, of course, is that you can't. You can't save him at all, and you shouldn't even try. You're helpless. Completely helpless.
Just a dream.
What a horrible thing to dream about. What's wrong with me, anyway?
With another sigh, Kamui sits up in bed; he won't be sleeping again anytime soon. And suddenly it occurs to him, as he turns on the nearest lamp and squints in the sudden light, that on top of everything else, his stomach has found the audacity to start rumbling. He glares down at it as threateningly as possible, but it isn't impressed; horrible though the nightmare may have been, he's starving.
Well, great. So much for introspection.
He makes a tiny, explosive noise of self-disgust, clambers out of the bed -- without much dignity, thanks to the massive pillow and tangles of draperies -- and pads barefoot out the door and down the stairs, tugging at the waist of his loose pajama pants. If he thought any of the other Dragons of Heaven might be awake and roaming about, he would probably put on a t-shirt... but judging by the darkness outside and his own internal clock, it must be around four in the morning by now, and all sensible defenders of humanity (and even the less sensible ones) are long since in bed. Going shirtless won't hurt anyone.
Yawning hugely and scratching at the back of his head (and finding that his hair has, as usual, apparently declared civil war while he was asleep), he makes his way down to the mansion's kitchen, and sets about poking through cabinets and the sizeable icebox. With a wan smile, he thinks of Sorata constantly prodding him to eat more; he wonders how long it will take one of the others to realize that he does have the appetite of a healthy sixteen-year-old -- but only at the darkest hours of the morning. Well, the missing bits and pieces of leftovers and raids on the cabinets can't go unnoticed forever, he supposes, though no one has said anything so far. Even though he almost wishes they would. Not that he could explain that if asked, but it seems like they should know. Why? Well, because...
Because he doesn't want them to have to worry about him?
Something like that.
A half-bowl of rice from the previous night's dinner finally captures his interest, and he grabs a pair of chopsticks out of a drawer on his way back out of the room, nibbling as he goes. He swerves away from the big, echoey dining room instinctively, and heads vaguely toward one of the mansion's sprawling parlors or studies instead, thinking to find a window to sit by while he eats...
And then all thoughts fly out of his head, as he steps into the main hallway, and hears the soft but unmistakable sounds of someone crying bitterly and hopelessly.
Subaru.
The rice tumbles to the floor, suddenly forgotten.
The Dragons of Heaven seem to be poor sleepers as a whole, and small lights are left burning here and there in the Imonoyama mansion all night long, for any wanderers to see by. The small entry room at the end of the front hall is almost completely dark, however, interrupted only by the pale glow that creeps in from the building proper, and by two shafts of faint artificial light from outside the small windows. Still, the white-clad form sitting on the floor by the front door is easily visible, although as his sobs shake him in the dim light, he looks more like a mourning ghost than a Seal. His head is buried in the circle of his arms, wrapped tightly around his knees -- but even if Kamui's mind hadn't sent up that inexplicable but definite signal, the white bandage, stark against black hair, would still give the man away.
Panic stutters Kamui forward a few steps before he can rein himself in, and for a moment he just stares. He's never seen Subaru like this; he wishes desperately that he could believe he's still dreaming. His mind flutters helplessly like a frightened bird in a cage; something wrong, but what? What could possibly have done this to the onmyouji, to make him fall apart like this? His dream batters insistently at the edge of his consciousness, but he shrinks away from it, not letting himself finish the thought that starts out, Oh God, let it not be...
His hand twitches forward, as if to reach out toward the other end of the hallway -- but at the last moment he realizes how useless that would be, and holds it back. Instead, he just whispers stupidly, "Subaru?"
The crumpled body by the door jolts awkwardly, and now he doesn't look like a ghost anymore. Now he's just an ordinary human being, and one who looks mortally tired and far younger than he is. Even through his anxiety, Kamui can hear him force his breath even, as the older man raises his head, and then Subaru's single uncovered eye blinks up at him in shock. They stare at each other for a moment, silent.
"Kamui," Subaru finally acknowledges, a little too evenly. His voice sounds strained, as if he's struggling to keep his breath from hitching. He wipes his sleeve across his eyes. "Why... why are you awake?"
"I couldn't sleep. What's wrong?" The words come out all as one rush, and sharper than he'd meant them to be. Kamui bites his lip. Does he want me to go? He probably wants to be left alone. But what if...
Uncertainty gives way to blind fear; he nearly flies down the hallway, dropping clumsily to his knees beside Subaru. "What happened?" he asks again, barely aware that the older man hasn't yet answered his first question. "You're not hurt, are you?"
Another uncomfortable silence falls. Subaru just blinks at Kamui, not even attempting to respond, and a little self-consciousness seeps back into the boy's troubled mind. Under any other circumstances, it occurs to Kamui distantly, this moment would probably be unbearably awkward, like walking in on someone half-dressed and trying to strike up a conversation; but Subaru without his usual mask of control and serenity is more upsetting than Kamui ever could have imagined, and he can't seem to help his fear.
At last, Subaru's too-even breath starts to shake again, and only when the onmyouji winces at the sound does he seem to remember to answer. "Um. No, I'm not hurt."
But I think you are, Kamui's mind mutters. One way or another.
He takes Subaru's hand, impulsively; it's strangely warm, he thinks, and then realizes that his own hands are freezing. Fear twists around in his stomach like he's swallowed a snake. "Subaru, what's wrong?" he asks again, shakily. "Please. Tell me."
Subaru stares at Kamui for another moment, helplessly; this is clearly not a confrontation he was expecting, and he can't seem to find answers for the frantic questions. He starts to speak, then stops, then tries again, and fails again. His eye closes, and he swallows, with a dry click that is loud in the empty room. "I... Kamui, I..." His control erodes rapidly, and another sob escapes, shaking him. "God, I'm sorry..."
A tiny strained sound comes from Kamui's throat before he can stop it -- sorry about what?
Before he can even think about what he's doing, he leans forward and wraps his arms around Subaru, pulling him close -- and then cringes slightly, wondering if he's going to be pushed away. It doesn't happen, though; but Subaru doesn't even seem to notice he's being touched, either, and that's somehow the most terrible thing yet. "Subaru, you're scaring me," he whispers in desperation, voice breaking slightly, feeling bad for flinging his panic on Subaru but not knowing what else to do. "What is it? What happened?"
"It's a long story," the older man manages to choke out, finally. His back is so tense it feels like iron; Kamui resists the urge to rub it. "And you... you won't like it."
"I don't care -- " Kamui's eyes squeeze shut, and he finds himself biting his lip in frustration. What is he so afraid of? "...Please."
Subaru shakes his head, his hair brushing lightly against Kamui's. "Please, don't..." The cracked whisper makes Kamui wince -- he does want me to go -- and he almost flinches back, but finds that he can't. Even if Subaru told him directly to go away, he doesn't think he could just leave the older man with whatever is hurting him like this. After what Subaru's done for him, it wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right.
"Please, Subaru," he whispers at last. He looks down, trying not to make Subaru meet his eyes, and actually notices the presence of the coat for the first time. "...You just came back, right? Where... where were you?"
The long silence that follows makes Kamui's heart beat a little faster. He is just about to do something -- maybe just stammer an apology and take back the question -- when Subaru finally whispers, "Shinjuku."
...Shinjuku?
Kamui frowns a little, and leans back just to arms' length, trying to get a look at Subaru without letting him go. "What for?" he asks. The onmyouji takes a deep breath, finding the control to speak.
"I was... visiting...." He sighs, harshly. "I was visiting someone."
Recognition flashes in Kamui's mind, much more quickly than it should; more quickly than it probably would have, if it hadn't been for that dream. Oh God, let it not be... "Not -- " he blurts, and then stops, and bites his lip. "You mean...?"
And Subaru's eye fixes on the floor beyond his feet, and his posture suddenly slumps with visible shame. He says nothing, but that look is all he needs to say.
No. No, no, oh no... The cold fear-snake in Kamui's gut writhes, and now it's more like horror; a horror that reminds him of his dream, the one he woke from what now seems like years ago. He looks at the floor too, but his hands tighten slightly -- protectively -- on Subaru's shoulders. He tries to ask himself exactly what he's he's so worried about, and finds he can't really say; a child's face, maybe, torn between hurt and hope.
"Why?" he finally whispers, the best answer he can offer. He searches himself worriedly for anger -- he doesn't want to be mad at Subaru, not now, and not over this -- but finds none, just incomprehension. Why?
Subaru still doesn't look at him; from the look on his face, he does think Kamui is angry, but he speaks again before the boy can reassure him otherwise. "I'm sorry," the older man repeats, hopelessness clear in his tone. "It's not... I haven't betrayed you, Kamui, I swear, but this... this goes back a long time." He rubs at his bandaged eye and winces. "A very long time. I... haven't been completely honest with you."
Words assault Kamui all at once, confusing him with too many things to say: No, don't be sorry, I know you wouldn't, I didn't mean... He makes himself push them all away, breathes, and says the simplest, easiest thing first: "It's all right." He hesitates, and then covers Subaru's hands with his own; he still can't tell whether he's being overbearing, invading Subaru's space so much. "I... I understand. ...Go on?"
"I told you... that the Sakurazukamori was the man that I had loved." The words are slow, stumbling on one another. Kamui bites his lip and nods.
"I remember."
"I lied." Subaru's voice is soft, and falls just short of echoing in the large room. "I never stopped loving him."
And Kamui barely stops himself from saying the first thing that comes to mind, which is: I know. It would... sound wrong. But he does. How? It doesn't matter; it's just a sense, something that's been in the back of his mind since the two of them first spoke. Maybe there's still a connection between them, a sort of astral bridge that remained even after Subaru left his heart; or maybe -- and this seems more likely -- it's just that you'd have to be a fool not to see it. Or more of a fool than Kamui is, anyway.
He sighs, and curls his hand around Subaru's. "I... thought so," he barely whispers; it's the closest he can come to saying all of that, right now. But if he was hoping to soothe Subaru, he fails: instead, the older man jerks as if stung, and looks sharply back up at Kamui, dull misery in his single eye. Kamui has just enough time to realize that he said that badly before Subaru bursts into a half-hysterical run of words, pain flooding out of him like water from a broken dam.
"I can't... I can't stop, and it's so stupid of me, I'm such a damned fool..." Subaru's voice cracks -- and, to Kamui's horror, so does the rest of him. The older man shudders, his shaky control squeezing out of his grasp, and wraps his arms back around himself as a fresh burst of tears comes out instead of words. It hurts to watch. Stripped of the calm and strength Kamui's come to trust in, Subaru seems so horribly vulnerable, naked and small... so violated.
Kamui tries not to shudder, and completely fails to keep from whimpering. He wraps his arms around Subaru's shoulders again, awkwardly, feeling useless and helpless and horrible. "No... no, Subaru, no, you're not... please don't say that..." He squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to make matters worse by starting to sniffle himself. But -- God, he can feel how much Subaru hurts...
The comfort falls on deaf ears, though, and Subaru starts in again as soon as he has the breath; it's as if there's just too much of this poison in him to bear, and he wants to pour as much of it out as he can, while he has the chance. "But he doesn't love me, because there's never been anything here that he wants, and he's only toying with me because he can, because I let him, he never wanted me to begin with... ever..." The words catch and shake, pitfully, shredding Kamui inside. "I don't know why he even puts up with me. I don't know why he lets me in, I don't know why he lets me leave, I don't understand!" His voice raises to a low shout, then cuts off in another fit of sobbing. "I don't know how he can always make me hurt more, even when it seems impossible."
Another tiny sound escapes Kamui, and he clings to Subaru, feeling so much all at once that he can't figure out how he feels. He wants to tell Subaru that he doesn't know either; that he doesn't know how anyone could stand to hurt someone so kind and so beautiful and so good. He wants to ask Subaru how someone who could do that can be worth all of this pain. He wants to tell Subaru that he isn't alone, that there's at least someone who understands and wants to help. But underneath all that, he can't ignore the hot, thudding pulse of rage -- not at Subaru, God no, but at the man who hurt him. Him. His mind won't even offer a name, only the memory of a cold smirk. How could he, how could he, how dare he, Kamui's rage is growling, and it makes him afraid to say anything, sure that if he opens his mouth all that anger will escape. And he doesn't dare risk hurting Subaru more.
Unaware of all this, the older man takes a deep, trembling breath, trying to calm himself down again. "I'm sorry," he whispers again, simply. "I'm so sorry, Kamui."
Kamui doesn't say anything for a while, not sure what to expect from either of them; at last, he sighs shakily, and tightens his arms around Subaru. "I'm sorry," he whispers. The sound of his own voice encourages him, and he casts around for more words. "I'm sorry you're hurt. I'm sorry -- for bothering you. I'm sorry..." He shakes his head a little. "Please don't be sorry to me. I'm not mad..." At you. "I just wish I could help."
Out of words, he stops, and waits for Subaru to answer; but Subaru doesn't say anything right away. Subaru is completely still, in fact, frozen rigidly in place like a statue. And just as Kamui begins to worry --
-- Subaru turns in Kamui's grasp and throws his own arms around the boy, pressing his face into Kamui's neck and dissolving into a fit of violent sobbing.
Kamui starts, and then whimpers sharply; another round of this might drive him crazy. Blindly, he holds on as tightly as he dares to the weeping, shaking heap of Subaru in his arms, gently pulling the older man's head to rest on his shoulder. His hand brushes the bandage under Subaru's hair, but thankfully, for once he's too distracted for the usual pang of guilt. He's so powerless he can barely stand it: he can't make Subaru stop hurting, he can't defeat the source of the pain, he can't drive away those awful tears. He can't do anything -- anything, that is, except watch, and hate himself for not being stronger. His hands are tied.
The thought makes him wince again.
Biting his lip, he presses his cheek into Subaru's hair, and just lets the older man weep until he's done; Kamui closes his eyes, and every now and then he makes a soft, senseless, comforting noise, and he hates himself, because it's all he can do.
Subaru seems to weep forever, even though it can't be more than a few moments. Finally, though, he slows and then stops altogether, though he doesn't release Kamui. Now that comfort has been offered, he doesn't seem to want to let it go. "I wish..." he whispers, but doesn't finish the thought. Not that he needs to. I do, too, Kamui thinks, and is surprised when his sigh picks out cool tear-tracks on his own face; still hidden behind the older man's back, he wipes them away with the heel of his hand. When did that happen? he wonders. And also... by the way, why are they still sitting in the middle of the front hallway?
"We shouldn't talk about this here," he whispers. "If it's okay...?"
He draws back just enough to look at Subaru, questioningly; the onmyouji swallows and wipes at his own eye, and wordlessly nods. Kamui rests his hand gently on the older man's cheek for a moment, and then looks down, and climbs awkwardly to his feet. Curling a hand around Subaru's, he tugs the older man toward the stairs, and Subaru merely gets up and follows in silence. The submission surprises Kamui a little, but only before he notices the expression on Subaru's face: the older man is clearly exhausted -- and of course he is, Kamui tells himself, don't be stupid, who wouldn't be after all of that? He doesn't even think twice about leading Subaru back to his own room; it's closer, after all, right at the head of the stairs, and Subaru needs to rest.
The little room is full of light, and even after the nightmares Kamui's passed here, after the dark hallway it still looks like a sanctuary. Thoughtlessly, he pushes the door shut as they pass, and then sits both of them down on the too-big bed. He tries to think of something to say, but there really isn't anything, so instead he just hugs Subaru again -- and this time, Subaru returns it. It's not much of a hug, more weak and sad and tired than affectionate, but it's something... and to be honest, it makes Kamui happier than it probably should. The older man leans a little too much of his weight on Kamui, in a way that reminds the boy vaguely of how Subaru had collapsed across him, the first time they met in the waking world. He should try to get Subaru to lie down... but the desperate way Subaru clings to him pulls at his heart. How long has it been since Subaru had someone who could hold him when he needed it? How often has he needed it since?
In the light, though, he suddenly sees something he hadn't noticed before: there are hints of bruising on Subaru's throat, dark and purple-gray, though already beginning to fade. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of them, and though he says nothing, the image sends another little shock of horror and pain and outrage coursing through him, thudding out into the night: how dare you how dare you how dare you. He only stares for a moment, though, before forcing his eyes closed, and tells himself firmly to stop trying to imagine what happened to leave those marks.
It almost works.
They stay like that for a long time, clinging to one another, just listening to the quiet and the sound of each other's breathing. Finally, Kamui sighs -- now or never -- and scoots back a little, leaning back with his arms around Subaru so that they both end up lying down. Subaru settles next to him surprisingly easily, arms around Kamui, as if he were the child and Kamui the adult.
"I wish I could help," Kamui says again, quietly. Subaru makes a soft sound; it might be a word, but the onmyouji is so exhausted that Kamui can't tell.
"It's all right," he murmurs sleepily, a little more clearly. "'s not your fault..."
"Still." Kamui sighs, and curls himself tightly around Subaru, as if to protect him. As if he could. He is silent for a long time, then, and just stares up at the ceiling, letting Subaru rest limply in his arms; he wouldn't admit it if asked, but his own inability to sleep is starting to catch up to him, too, and just lying here suddenly seems like a very good thing to do. He stifles a yawn as Subaru shifts over onto his side -- and then it catches in his throat as the older man's eye half-opens again, and Subaru smiles weakly at him. A very stupid thought (he's so beautiful sometimes I can't breathe) pops into his mind completely without permission, and he decides to ignore it. Viciously.
After a dizzy moment, to his relief, he remembers how to smile back; he brushes Subaru's cheek lightly with his fingertips, encouraging the older man to relax, and is gratified when the bright green eye slips closed. That's good. It's late, and Subaru should get as much sleep as much as he can.
And eventually -- he couldn't have said for certain when -- Kamui finds that his own eyes have drifted shut, not even caring that the light is still on. He tries to pry them open again; there's too much to think about, he has to keep watch over Subaru and try to decide how he should deal with this in the morning... but he really is tired, and besides, it's so nice, having Subaru here... knowing that he isn't alone anymore...
It's that thought, more than any other, that stays in Kamui's mind as he falls asleep; and, as he curls around a still fully-dressed Subaru, the rest he tumbles into is now free of dreams.
As he swims up out of the depths of his subconscious, he is at first aware only of light; light, harsh and brilliant, and a gentle sort of warmth. The light is just irritating, and he murbles a little displeased sound and tries to tuck his head out of its reach, but the warmth is pleasant -- very pleasant. Comforting. He curls himself tighter around it, instinctively, wrapping up his mind like a blanket around that funny feeling at its source: wonderful, soothing tranquility, but unnaturally disturbed, like a deep, beautiful pool tossed by winds. For some reason, that sensation is comfortably familiar despite its turbulence, and having it so close brings him a peace that ordinary sleep can't begin to offer. And he reaches for it, trying to touch it... trying to get closer...
And then the warmth draws away, out of reach, and his disappointment is enough to bring him all the way awake.
As he squints into the sudden painful light, Kamui discovers that sometime in the course of the night, he has once again found creative new ways to use his bed. It's hardly a surprise; it's a rare morning when he doesn't wake up in some kind of bizarre contortion, and usually with a good set of pins and needles to show for it. This time, however, is pretty impressive in its own right. He is actually curled up on the bed's oversized pillow, the small of his back facing the curtained wall, and the person-shaped dent framed by the curve of his body suggests that he's been curled around Subaru's shoulders, like some sort of bony adolescent shawl. Talk about things that could have been very embarrassing.
Oh -- Subaru --
Kamui rolls partway over, still struggling to see -- why is it so bright? ...oh, right, he left the lamp on last night -- and finally starts to identify the blurry shapes around him. The one that gets his attention right away, though, is the one sitting on the bed next to him, above him, which resolves itself into Subaru. He catches the older man's green eye fixed thoughtfully on him, and offers a small, sheepish smile, trying not to be embarrassed.
That finally seems to bring it home to Subaru that the boy is awake; he drops his gaze abruptly and blushes -- actually blushes. Kamui isn't sure whether to feel guilty or charmed. "Ah! Um. Kamui..."
Rubbing his eyes absently, Kamui props himself up on one elbow -- or at least tries to, and instead makes a distressed little noise as he sinks halfway into the pillow. He fights to wake up; half-awake, awkward and clumsy, and in danger of being eaten by his bed is not his preferred impression to make on Subaru, even first thing in the morning. Not to mention he hasn't been wearing a shirt all this time... oh, great. He'd completely forgotten about that...
"Mmph. Um. 'Morning." He makes another bid to sit up, and in the process notices that Subaru still looks distinctly uncomfortable; why? If anybody looks dumb here, it's surely Kamui. "Is something wrong?"
The onmyouji coughs, and his blush somehow manages to deepen a little; Kamui tries not to smile, afraid that Subaru might misinterpret it. Cute is a silly thing to call someone who's nine years older than you and in nearly every way your senior, but it's still the first word that comes to mind. "Well... I apologize for falling asleep. That was rude of me."
"Oh." Kamui considers this, and at the same time manages to pull himself upright next to Subaru. "No, I don't mind. It was nice." Subaru cocks his head slightly, and Kamui realizes how that must sound; he blushes himself, and ducks his head. "I mean... not being alone was. Um. I, uh... I -- have bad dreams, sometimes."
"Bad dreams?" Subaru's voice suddenly holds a note of concern, but Kamui doesn't quite dare look up from the backs of his hands. Now that daylight has chased away the strangeness of last night, things are clearly back to normal; and normal means that Subaru is much older, much wiser, and much more in charge of things, and also that being around the onmyouji starts up a funny, shivery feeling in the pit of his stomach that he doesn't want to think about at all. And looking at Subaru while he feels that way seems like a very bad idea.
Swallowing, Kamui nods. "...Yeah. Sometimes." He shrugs, more casually than he really feels; after a minute, honesty makes him add, "A lot of the time."
A soft rustle: Subaru tilting his head again. "You sleep poorly?" Kamui bites his lip, and nods.
"Yeah."
Silence falls for a long moment, and Kamui peers up through his rebellious hair, wondering if he's somehow managed to offend Subaru -- but the onmyouji's expression is just carefully considering, if anything. "Do you like having someone here?" Subaru asks after a moment, thoughtfully, and Kamui looks down again. "That makes it better?"
Kamui's heart leaps eagerly, and he almost babbles something like Much, much better, I hate being alone -- but he manages to realize in time just how stupid that would sound, and stops himself. "It does," he says instead, in a small voice. "I -- slept better than I have in a while." Finally, he makes himself look back up at Subaru, with a nervous, embarrassed little smile...
And the older man returns it, with a genuine warmth that warms him, seems to fill and expand him from the inside out.
But "I'll keep that in mind" is all he says.
Kamui blushes a little -- can't he do anything else today? -- and scratches at his hair; it's apparently called a holiday from gravity this morning, and he pulls his hand away quickly. He tries to think of something to say, trying to remember where they were before they somehow got on the ridiculous topic of his own bad dreams -- as if he were a little kid, or something.
"Are you -- are you okay?" he asks softly, hesitantly, after a moment's pause. Not only is it a much less embarrassing subject, but as he wakes up, he's starting to worry again. Granted, Subaru seems much better this morning, but...
But the onmyouji's smile fades immediately, and Kamui's heart clenches up like a fist in his chest. "No," Subaru admits, lowly but openly. "But... I'm better. For now."
And that says it all, doesn't it?
Are you okay?
No.
Kamui closes his eyes, trying to shut out the last little stab of pain, and nods his understanding. "Okay. I mean, it's not okay, but..." He sighs, shoulders slumping, and looks up at Subaru; he starts to tell the older man that he wishes he could help, but he's been saying that far too much since last night. But really, what else is there to say?
"I'm glad you were here, though," he says at last, surprising even himself; and somehow, it's the right answer.
Subaru studies him in silence for a long moment, his expression introspective almost to the point of blankness... and then, silently, he leans over and takes Kamui back into his arms, holding him close. The boy hugs back, tightly, and is startled when he closes his eyes by the prick of tears behind them. Come on already, not again.
Sighing deeply, Subaru lays back down again, with Kamui cradled protectively next to him; the warmth he woke up to is back now, completely, and Kamui snuggles as close as he can without letting himself think about it. The little bit of tension that's found its way into his muscles starts to release, and he's left warm and relaxed and comfortably drifting, feeling peaceful and protected in a way that he can't remember feeling in a long time. Maybe not at all. And maybe it's a selfish peace, after what Subaru's been through... but how could he let it go, now that he's found it?
Enough. Stop worrying about it. Peace is peace, and God knows he sees little enough of that. Better just to rest now, and not think for a while.
At some point later in the morning, through the light doze he slips back into, Kamui thinks he feels the arms around him hug him briefly and pull away, and hears the sound of his door being opened and shut. And sure enough, when he finally wakes up all the way again, he is alone in the bed; Subaru has undoubtedly left for his own room, probably to change. While this is, of course, a wise thing for Subaru to have done -- what would the other Dragons think, if they saw both of them coming out of Kamui's room? -- the room now looks very empty, somehow, without him. It's a dumb, selfish way to feel, but Kamui guesses he's just having a dumb, selfish morning. It wouldn't be the first time. And eventually, he sighs and clambers out of bed, and heads to the bathroom.
Brushing his teeth, he suddenly remembers, for no good reason at all, about the bowl of rice he dropped in the front hallway; with a faint smile, he supposes that the cat must be out of the bag about his midnight eating habits after all. Either that, or they'll have to blame ghosts. Somehow, though, the thought of Sorata expounding on the terrors of rice-stealing phantoms doesn't seem as funny as it should.
Kamui straightens, and regards himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes are no worse than they ever are... but now they remind him of bruises. Bruises on a slender neck, say. Or on a child's wrists.
His hands curl around the lip of the sink, and he thinks. He thinks very hard. He thinks about Subaru crying on his shoulder, clinging like he hadn't had so simple a thing as a hug in years. He thinks about the man who pretty much put his mind back together, the man who's been so calm and so gentle and so utterly wonderful to him, the one unexpected really good thing left in the ruins of his life, and then he thinks about the sound of that same man's breaking voice calling himself a fool, calling himself the one unworthy of love from the monster who had hurt him. Now that he's alone, now that it's safe, he lets himself think about how anyone could be so cruel, so unfeeling, so completely despicable as to hurt Subaru that much. And he lets himself feel about that however he will.
When he finally stops punching the wall, he is annoyed to find that his knuckles are bleeding. He cleans them off, carefully, before turning on the shower. It's going to be one of those days.