Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Monozuki ❯ Hisoka and Red Roses ( Chapter 2 )

Monozuki - An Idle Curiosity

A Weiss Kreuz/Yami no Matsuei crossover.

Monozuki 2 - Hisoka and Red Roses

By Lisa

Flowers… The idiot leaves me sitting on a park bench, in the sun, in full view of a group of mortal assassins, and he brings me flowers… I grab the proffered bouquet - roses, white, a full dozen it looks like - and with a hard glare at the shop across the way, stomp off down the sidewalk. The jackass can follow me, or not, as he chooses.

And being Tsuzuki, he chooses to follow.

And, also being Tsuzuki, he's laughing at my pique

"Was that really necessary?" Reflected in his thoughts is the image of annoyed summer green eyes flickering upward, peering through a shimmering fringe of sunlit gold, until a slender hand impatiently brushes the hair aside. I add a feral growl when my grinning partner just had to ruffle the sleek strands, sending the whole mess cascading back into my face once more. Tsuzuki laughs, delighted and cheerful, no matter that my best glare should be sending him screaming back to Meifu by now. I try to hold in a sigh of exasperation, and of course it escapes.

"What necessary? I like your hair. See?" he replies guilelessly, intent on helping out the gentle summer breeze in its task as he again reaches for the fluttering stuff. He nimbly skips a step to the side as I, his much, much younger companion, swat at his teasing fingers.

"Not that! Idiot! I meant the flower shop." The abused bouquet of white roses is thrust in the taller man's direction, both as accusation and reminder. Tsuzuki's smile turns fond, and I'm helpless to prevent an answering thaw in my own heart. So I crank up the ferocity of my scowl by a notch, and pretend to hate him, like I did in the early days before he weaseled his way into my life so thoroughly.

"Lovely, aren't they? White roses symbolize a pure love, `Soka-chan."

Petals of that pure, tender white, better than snow, by far better than sakura, are drifting on the errant wind. They flutter from the bouquet, and swirl around us in our own, personal storm. No, not a storm; nothing so violent, more like butterfly wings, cut adrift. And distracted by visions of them, and of my lover, my growls become touched by thoughts of vengeance, almost resolving into impolite words. But the beginnings of a blush is spreading across my nose and cheekbones, and Tsuzuki is thinking about how dainty the shape of my nose is, delicate and straight… aristocratic. And that's a concept that I don't much like, reminding me as it does of my esteemed Father, and the generations of Kurosaki, may they rot in the lower reaches of Hell. Tsuzuki brushes that thought away, and leans down till his breath just stirs the fine hair curling over one pink-rimmed ear, and murmurs, "So kawaii… I want to take you home and do indecent things… All with rose petals strewn across the sheets."

"Baka." I snap, but I'm shivering, too, from the sincerity of the looped feedback, and it comes out weakly, followed by "You need red ones for that." I don't even want to ask what dark pit in my mind spit that out. Tsuzuki's laughter is uproarious and his arm is slipping familiarly around my shoulders, hugging me close as we continue to walk, side by side.

"I didn't know that you were so well versed in the language of flowers." the taller Shinigami remarks happily. Caught beneath his arm, I shrug.

"Not hardly." I answer dryly. "Everyone knows that red roses are for passion." And there goes my mouth - again - running off and leaving me gaping in the dust. If Kannon is merciful, maybe I'll die my second death right about now, and I won't have to face the consequences of my subconscious taking control. My subconscious, which has obviously decided that today is a great day to steal the show… Enma help me, now I'm thinking about what he'd look like naked: pale golden glory of his skin, and rich warmth of his messy chestnut hair, lying back against snowy sheets with a drift of rose petals, dark as wine, bright as fire, scattered across him. Maybe one would cling to the corner of his mouth, like a sinful butterfly…

This is so not helping.

"Ah." Years of practice is keeping Tsuzuki from saying any more, but he radiates smugness like a cat presented with a filled bowl of cream, and a catnip mouse, both. As the token empath in our relationship, I roll my eyes in resignation, then hesitantly sneak my own arm inside the rumpled back coat, and around my partner's waist. It's hot in there, baking under the persistent rays of the sun. The embarrassment of being seen acting affectionate in public is outweighed by a rare desire to touch, and I find myself yielding with as much grace as I can summon to the temptation.

Tsuzuki's ambling, lazy stride is ideally suited to allowing somebody smaller to keep pace, without making an issue out of which of us has the longer legs, and which one will never grow any taller. And so long as Tsuzuki is simply a slacker who takes forever to get anywhere, my admittedly prickly pride won't require me to take exception at being accommodated.

It's like any of a hundred other compromises in our lives; not remarked upon, just there. A natural consequence of me being stuck at sixteen for as much eternity as we can stand.

I don't want to think about this; would in fact much rather return to our earlier topic of conversation. Accusingly, I grumble, "You still haven't told me why we're continuing the investigation. Last night we ascertained that those four were the cause of the string of unexplained deaths in Tokyo recently. Since there's nothing supernatural involved, why don't we just slip a tip to the police, and let them take care of the problem?"

Tsuzuki shrugs, a careless, foolish roll of broad shoulders inside that ridiculous coat of his. I squash the desire to help him slip out of it, and to maybe take off his tie, and undo the top button of his shirt… It's warm in the sunlight, a perfect day for basking like a couple of hedonistic cats, for letting Amaterasu stroke our fur… Damned if those roses, and the heady scent that they give off isn't sneaking back into my brain again. I shoot an accusing glare Tsuzuki's way, but he's full of innocent thoughts of pie, and of brownies, and other deserts. But then a familiar, grim darkness creeps in, and his mind goes still and serious; this is the Tsuzuki who commands the Divine Twelve, and who can counter magic and demons with a speed that leaves me breathless, unable to keep pace even with the advance warning empathy can provide. The intelligence that he hides behind masks of silly good humor, and carelessness looks me in the eye and says simply, "It's hard to explain… but I keep wondering why. Why do they kill? There's no evil, or malice in their behavior. And, certainly the world is a better place without those they kill. But why would someone who is not Shinigami choose this path? I just want to know."

And now that he's made it concrete, has used words to give it form and substance, I realize that I have to know, too, what could drive mortals to live like we do.

Like Shinigami.