Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Corrupted ❯ Corrupted ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Corrupted
Author: Ria
Disclaimer: Yami no Matsuei is copy to several people, such as Yoko Matsushita and Hakusensha. It's not mine and never will be, considering I'm just a college student struggling with a part-time job because she's so broke. Suing me would be rather pointless. I just do this because I love to and hopefully to give others some enjoyment, too.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The anime and manga.
Pairings: Tsuzuki/Hisoka
Warnings: angst, darkness, shounen-ai, mentions of rape and NCS, vague lime hints
Summary: Tsuzuki muses on his relationship with Hisoka - and his thoughts aren't pretty.
Author's Notes: It was supposed to be a nice piece of introspective Tsuzuki fluff. Instead… this happened. If you want fluff - run, run now while you still can! This is probably as close to Dark Tsuzuki as I can get. (Well, I imagine I could get closer, but not without wandering into AU territory.) I love Tsuzuki, really I do!

It's strange. Of all the nightmares I have, the one of my death is the most infrequent that I dream about, lately. It's a direct contrast to Hisoka, whose own murder is an almost constant shadow in his nightmares. I guess it's just yet another difference in our psyches, even though we're rapidly becoming more and more alike, you could say.

Well, he's not addicted to apple pie. And I'm not suddenly punctual with my paperwork. No, our similarities are not apparent in such a superficial way. Though it would be funny if we pretended for a day, just to give the office a collective heart attack. Hmmm, I wonder if I could convince Hisoka to try…?

Anyway. Back to where I was… which was… oh, yes, our similarities not being so superficial. At first thought, I wonder where to start. We both had unpleasant deaths at the hands of the same family; both have enough problems for a psychiatrist to write a best-selling book about; both try to hide, though my walls are of amused smiles and his of insults and silence. It's the same thing, in the end, giving the same result.

Sometimes, I wonder if we're just simply mad. It would easily explain a lot of things, really.

Our new partnership was our first link. Muraki was our second, though I thought it had been me who met him first, before I realised that Hisoka had a much deeper link to him than I could ever imagine. For a while, his link between us was the strongest as Hisoka locked himself away from me and I was unable to get through to him. For a while, Muraki held him while I couldn't reach. And, even though I'd only known my partner for a few days at the time, I hated the good doctor for it.

It's been a struggle to break Muraki's link to Hisoka and even now, it's still there. It throbs deep down, one of the sources of his darkness and nightmares. Not the source - his family still has a large hold over him. I think if I ever had the chance, it would be the one time I wouldn't mind killing. Well, no, Muraki would be the other time, but I think that's Hisoka's chance, not mine. Though I wouldn't mind if he'd let me help. And Tatsumi and Watari would probably invite themselves along, too. Hell, the whole office would.

Muraki's no longer the strongest link between us - now, our partnership… our friendship is. If you could call what's between us friendship, which might be stretching it a bit, I suppose. He still insults me on a daily basis; I still slack off, giving him all the ammunition he needs. It's not that I don't mind anymore - sometimes, his barbs are just too damn efficient for his own good, whether he means them or not - but if he's yelling at me, then he's still here. I haven't lost him. That's the most important thing.

Though I have been trying to grow up a bit… sort of - a little - a tiny bit. It's mostly so I can show Hisoka that I'm not a complete lost cause. I want to show him that I can he as responsible as him, when I put my mind to it (which isn't often, but anyway). I think Tatsumi nearly fell off his seat when I delivered a report only four hours late, instead of four days. Apparently, I even got there before Watari. He pouted and demanded to know why I was showing him up. I smiled and said it wouldn't happen again, then helped him blow up the lab for the third time that week. All was well once more.

Watari told me later that Hisoka blinked when Tatsumi told him what had happened, the secretary apparently under the impression that my younger partner had something to do with it. Then Hisoka smiled - he almost laughed - causing Tatsumi to nearly keel over again (sort of). Hell, the whole office gaped behind Hisoka's back.

I guess we're giving everyone surprises, lately.

Apart from those brief instances, we act like nothing has changed. On the outside, we're still the biggest contradictory partnership in the whole of JuOhCho. But… we know better. Well, I do - I think Hisoka's still catching on.

Sometimes, when things go wrong during the night, we end up calling the other to come over. It's an instant response to an instinctive plea… even Hisoka's pride can't hold in the face of his nightmares.

If the others knew that we often shared a bed, the rumours and office pool would go into overdrive, and not in the good way. Heh, imagine what Yuma and Saya would do! Not to mention what Wakaba would do, too… heh.

It's not a romance, or at least, that's what we tell ourselves. The desperate way we hold each other when the shadows threaten to overwhelm us is not out of an inner desperation for affection or sex. It's out of an inner desperation for comfort, for safety, for a light to keep the darkness of our memories and minds well away, so they can't destroy us. If that were a romance, then the general population would have ceased to exist long ago.

But sometimes, when I hold him and soothe his fears, whispering nonsense to him and petting his hair… things change. More than once he's happened to look up and I've met his gaze, and he's kissed me. It's nothing more than the briefest of brushes against my mouth, but his lips still touch mine and that qualifies it as a kiss. More than once I've allowed him to explore, hating myself, until the memories of Muraki engulf him once more and he begins to whimper and cry, and I have to start all over again.

I don't think Hisoka knows what he wants. To be honest, I don't think I know what I want, either.

Whenever we lose control and that happens… the nightmares are worse than normal. In between the fractured images of the hospital and my countless attempts of suicide can't eat can't sleep can't drink can't die

there are the terrifying memories of Muraki touching me… cutting me… doing what he did to me, tainted by his revolting pleasure and horrifying sadism. mine mine mine want you mine mine only mine no one else's

I never came for him. Or, at least, I don't think I did. I can't remember… it's mostly a blur. I can remember his panting, his thrusts, his crawling excitement at finally having me with no one to stop him. I hid. I went deep inside myself to hide, to a place where even he couldn't follow. Maybe he broke me. Maybe I ran just in time. I don't know… sometimes, I never want to know. I want to forget, but I can't. I can't forget one of the events that made me what I am now. I'm over a hundred years old, now, and yet it's an event that happened so recently in my afterlife that has affected me more than anything else I've experienced in my long passage of time. Is that allowed?

Muraki dominates my nightmares, now, instead of his grandfather and his nuthouse. It's my attempted second death that haunts me, now, rather than my first one. Even the spectres of those that I've had to kill over the years fade into the background of his demon-angel appearance. How can someone so beautiful be so… wrong?

Sometimes, when it's dark and Hisoka's scared and stirring restlessly in my arms, I wonder if things had been different - if he hadn't killed Hisoka, if he wasn't so insane, so twisted… if he had found me and wooed me… would I have fallen for him?

Sometimes, I think I know the answer, but there is no way that I will ever admit it. To admit it is to allow Muraki to win, and that must never happen.

But then I look at my blond, green-eyed partner and I know the truth. Even if Muraki had wooed me, even if he hadn't been a psychotic child rapist and murderer - if I'd met Hisoka even by accident, Muraki never would have had a chance, insanity or not.

I can't argue with whom my heart has chosen, even though Muraki tries to rip me apart as soundly as he tries with Hisoka. We're both one and the same to him, now, two little dolls that must be dominated and broken at all costs.

But the nightmares make it so hard. In between Muraki doing what he did to me, sometimes there are images of me dominating Hisoka, of making him whimper and keen and call out my name as he comes. I always wake up crying because of those ones. I'm lucky that I never have them when he's here, and I never call him when I wake up because he'll know. He'll know what my subconscious secretly wants, and I will never allow that.

The reasonable part of my mind, the common sense that rarely shows its head, tells me that it's just a consequence of my nightmares, my mind tangling my memories up because Muraki and Hisoka are both so close to me in entirely different ways. But, sometimes, when it's dark and I'm hugging my pillow and wishing Hisoka was here so he could hold me, it's hard to believe that.

I'm corrupted. Muraki's corrupted me. I know, deep down, that I'm no better than him.

It took me a while, but eventually I did remember. I remembered that in those nightmares, when I did… that with Hisoka - never once was he afraid. He whimpered and keened and writhed because of… pleasure. He wasn't afraid.

Maybe it's just my subconscious tangling up my memories with my desires. Or maybe I'm just no better than Muraki, regardless of whether I make Hisoka afraid or not. I want him. That's not allowed.

…isn't it?

Hah, I go on about Hisoka not knowing what he wants. I don't even want to think about what I want.

Tatsumi knows that something's wrong. Watari knows that something's wrong. Wakaba knows that something's wrong. They've all tried to talk to me about it in their own way, but I feign innocence or temporary stupidity. They can never know. Never. If they knew what I feel for Hisoka… they'd hate me. I know it.

No, no one can ever know about this, except me. It's my little secret. My dreadful little secret.

He's sleeping soundly, now, apparently too deeply to even realise that my emotions are so out of whack that it's not even funny. I stare down at him, absently brushing his hair out of his eyes. His hand supports his cheek against the pillow, his long eyelashes still against his smooth skin. He's beautiful in the moonlight, even if I can suddenly see the vague outline of the scars on his body. It took him months before he'd go to sleep with just underwear on. The nightmares always meant that our nightwear was ruined with sweat, so in the end it's just easier to not sleep with any. At least then all we ruin is the sheets.

I don't see the scars anymore, not unless I make a conscious effort to do so. It's one thing that Muraki's done that hasn't worked. Hisoka's scars might ruin him physically, but he's still beautiful. Muraki can't take away his beauty, even if he tried to defile him. Hisoka may not think that he's beautiful, but I know better.

Or maybe it's just another example of my corruption.

On sudden impulse, I lean down and kiss Hisoka gently on the lips. It's the first time that I've kissed him and not the other way round. He mumbles in his sleep, before a slight smile curls his lips, for the briefest instant. I hate myself.

Maybe one day we'll be all right. Maybe one day we'll have a proper romance, when enough time has passed that our inner demons will finally have no solid grasp over us anymore. Maybe when Muraki's truly dead, sent to the cursed afterlife that he deserves. Maybe when I can finally look upon Hisoka without the taint that Muraki's installed in me.

Or maybe we'll have to suffer this damned darkness forever, until we finally pass on, so close to what we deserve and yet so far. I want to love him. I want to make him smile, and laugh, and feel safe with me. I want so much, and yet I can't have any of it.

Maybe I'll never know what I really want.