Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Double Faced Mask ❯ Comfortable Silence ( Chapter 1 )

Author: Ria
Disclaimer: YnM 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. The lyrics are copyright to The Tea Party, from their song "Walking Wounded".
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: The anime and the first few volumes of the manga.
Pairings: Tsuzuki/Hisoka, Tatsumi/Watari
Warnings: Angst, past references to and memories of NCS and mind-rape, eventual shounen-ai, eventual lime hints
Summary: Tsuzuki angsts and Hisoka's logical (but still dense) about their situation. Then Watari gets in on the act to deliver some advice, dragging a helpless Tatsumi along for the ride…
B>Timeline: A few months after the Kyoto arc in the anime with some stuff from the manga thrown in for good measure. If you've seen the anime, you'll be fine. If you've seen both, you'll be great!
Author's Notes: My very first YnM fic! I'm so excited (and so nervous)! My summary gives it no justice (no surprise there), but this is actually the first story in an extremely long arc (which I've grandly titled The Dance Arc). Right now, we're only dealing with the Tsuzuki/Hisoka tones, but there will be Watari/Tatsumi soon enough. Haha. There is actually plot around here somewhere… you'll just need a microscope to find it. This is un-beta'd, apart from what I've gone over, as my usual beta has only heard of YnM from what she's seen me ramble about on my lj (I'm going to have to rectify that), so all mistakes are mine. Also, seeing as this is my first time writing these characters, I'm a tad worried I may have messed up the characterisations a bit, so please bear with me! Enjoy (hopefully)!

Is it safe to look within
Interlace all that's been
And all that's been between
Is it gone?
Tell me what went wrong

Sometimes, I think I'm going mad. Other times, I think I've already lost whatever sanity I still possessed when I first came to Meifu. Sometimes, the line is so blurred that I think I'm truly lost in the cracked layers of madness and no one else realises it.

Well, that's not really true. Three people can see sharper than the others, one more so than the other two, but realising that and acknowledging it are very different things.

Hisoka knows me better than even myself if he puts his mind to it. The ease with which he can read my emotions and reactions is eerie and not a little frightening. It's more than his being an empath, much more. He doesn't just have the ability to read my emotions and thoughts, but he also seems able to understand my reasons behind them, and that's frightening. I never realised someone could understand another person so well. Hell, even I don't understand myself like he does.

It's strange how quickly, how suddenly, we bonded. One moment we were the polar opposites of each other, constantly arguing (in Hisoka's case) with blithe innocence following immediately after (that was from me). Then, somewhere along the way, we started caring for each other. Well, that's not exactly true, either. I cared about Hisoka right from the beginning - it just took him a little while longer to realise that he did, too.

But when did that care turn to attraction? Search me. All I know is that suddenly I watched him from the corner of my eye not because I could, but because I needed to. I learned all of his little movements: the way he brushes back his hair when he's irritated; the way a thin line forms between his eyes when he's thinking; the way the vein in his right temple throbs when he's this close to losing his temper rather spectacularly. The way he half-turns to glance at me when I come up from behind him; the way his left hand always cups his cheek when he's tired and still trying to work while keeping some semblance of an attention span at the same time. Hell, I even know exactly how he holds his pen!

I also know how his eyes darken for the briefest moment whenever he remembers something from his past, or whenever someone accidentally brushes against him in the street and he senses the wrong emotions. I remember the expression in his eyes when he first came to us and he involuntarily flinched every time someone tried to touch him. And now I know the way his eyes half-close and warm the slightest bit whenever I do something that amuses him, or whenever I just make him smile by being nearby.

And people swear that I'm the one who always gets the stalkers, not realising Hisoka has his very own personal one nearly always beside him.

I know I'm important to him, deep down, though he'd no more admit it than eat an entire slice of cake by himself. Perhaps I was always important to him, though he just couldn't see it at the beginning. When we first started working together, I was the bane of his existence - this childish Shinigami, almost a century old and over seventy years on the job and very firmly stuck in the dead-end part of it. For him, a complete perfectionist and sometimes-workaholic, it must have been torture, though he did handle it entirely the wrong way. But then, it's hard to remember that he was only sixteen when he died, and will remain sixteen even while his mind continues to grow old. While he will always be too serious and self-conscious for his own good, some of his habits will remain forever those of a teenager and adolescent.

Sometimes, I wonder if he's not the more insane of us. He certainly has plenty of excuses to be.

I can't say I understand him entirely, but thanks to Muraki we've more in common than we first had, though not all of it good. I can't imagine what it must have been like to be completely ostracised by his blood-kin, the people supposed to love him, but I do know what it's like to be hated and feared because I wasn't like everyone else. Before, I wouldn't know what being raped and emotionally scarred so young would do (my stalkers aside), but now I know what being touched and caressed against my will feels like. Morbid, terrible things to have in common, but then, there are also books, myths and films that we both talk about, and that balances the scales. He finds the fact that I've lived through such a large chunk of history fascinating and asks me about it a lot, oblivious to the fact that eventually he too will have lived through a century of time and still face countless centuries of it. After about the first fifty years, it looses its appeal and merely becomes monotonous and dreary.

Well, before it did. But now that I have Hisoka, having several centuries ahead of me sounds like a very good thing.

I guess we've both rubbed off on each other. For one thing, he at least attempts to eat some dessert now (I suppose spending so long with me had to manifest itself in such a way), even if I always end up finishing it for him. On my part, I suppose I've become more introspective than I had been before, or maybe I just like thinking about him a lot. Thankfully, neither of us has become even more impulsive than we already are, and for that we have to be grateful. Konoe-Kacho always says that we have enough impulsiveness to send him to a second early grave, though he also bemoans that someone with so much common sense like Hisoka can also act like such a dunce sometimes. Me, he's given up as a lost cause. I guess after a century, some things will just never change.

He touches me, now. It started the moment that he threw his arms around me as we were surrounded by killing flames, crying and begging me to live for him, at least. Since then, his hands seem to seek me out, as if trying to reassure himself by a brief touch that I'm still there and I'm not going to leave him. Even more astonishing than that is the way he actively seeks me out now just for my company, though he does it in the guise of asking me inane questions (well, inane for him - no else even bothers to ask me if I've my paperwork done on time by now) or things that anyone else would know before me. But I go along with it, even if our co-workers find this little dance between us amusing. I understand how much begging me to live in the flames cost his pride, and if he's not yet comfortable with the thought that he feels something more than just friendship for me, I can go along with it until he's ready - or I lose my patience, whichever comes first.

I can touch him, now. I have to be careful when I choose to because of his empathy (particularly whenever I feel a rather strong surge of affection for him, since it tends to overwhelm him a tad), but he no longer flinches whenever I pat his shoulder or, if I'm feeling mischievous, ruffle his hair. If I'm feeling particularly daring I'll try to hug him, but that's only reserved for special occasions - he's still not very comfortable with openly affectionate behaviour, thanks to the anti-social tendencies of his that are particularly stubborn to go. But we're getting there, slowly but surely.

Watari knows exactly how I feel, as does Tatsumi, though I'm not quite sure how the latter feels about it. While Watari gleefully makes bets and gets us into potentially dangerous situations because of his Machiavellian matchmaking schemes, Tatsumi merely watches us with a sad, knowing, but altogether accepting, gaze.

Sometimes I feel guilty (perhaps part of me will always feel that way when it comes to him), but I know things are better between us this way. Tatsumi and I would never have worked, not with all the canyon-sized differences and guilt complexes between us. But he shows no bitterness towards Hisoka, and for that I can only be thankful to him.

"Tsuzuki? Oi, Tsuzuki!"

A whack against my head brings me hurdling back to reality and I blink, realising that Hisoka's been sitting opposite me for a long while and trying to talk to me for just as long, if his expression is anything to go by.

"Sorry," I answer sheepishly, absently rubbing my head - Hisoka's slap wasn't even up to his usual standards, but the action is instinctive. "Away in my own world."

Hisoka rolls his eyes. "No kidding," he replies, trying to inflict scorn into his voice, but he can't hide the small smile twisting the corners of his lips.

I grin back at him, before realising that I have absolutely no idea what he was trying to tell me. "Er, you were saying?"

He rolls his eyes, a long-suffering expression flickering across his pale face, and says, "I said, do you want to come over to my place tonight or are we going to yours?"

We've been doing this for the past three months, spending time at the other's house every evening. We started doing it about two weeks after Kyoto, the first real sign we've shown to everyone else that we consider each other to be more than just partners. But whatever we do consider ourselves to be is still a mystery to us, but we're getting there. We'll figure it out eventually. We usually order something, though I've taken to buying food that Hisoka considers edible and sometimes he cooks something simple (the only thing I'm allowed to is boil water, and sometimes he's reluctant to even allow me to do that). Watari's convinced that we're up to something else entirely, but in reality we do very little. Eat, then maybe watch TV or (in Hisoka's case) read (while I watch him). Sometimes we'll play cards, Hisoka insisting to improve so I can have a little competition in the office (although, considering what I've seen him do when he played against Muraki, it feels like I'm the one who should be improving, not him). And sometimes, we'll just do nothing at all, dozing in each other's company and in a comfortable silence. It's hardly the gossip that Watari wants to hear.

More than anything, however, I want to dance with Hisoka, selfish creature than I am. Getting him to that stage is a slow, painful process, unfortunately, but I'm working on it. I think dancing equals a dangerous amount of intimacy for him, so I'm being patient… sort of.

"I guess we'll go to my place tonight," I decide finally. "It's shorter and I don't feel like walking much."

Hisoka raises an eyebrow. "We'll have to walk to get the food," he points.

"Ah, but that's different. That's food," I tell him seriously.

He sighs and shakes his head, absently rubbing his forehead. I know full well that he has no headache; it's just a habit of his that he does whether his head hurts or not.

Watari catches us just as we're leaving, bouncing up with a manic grin that usually spells trouble and more innuendo in his speech than even I can fit in. "Not doing overtime tonight?" he asks with mock-curiosity, his amber eyes positively glittering. "Does that mean you've actually done all your paperwork, Tsuzuki?" he asks with an exaggerated gasp, as 003 hops onto Hisoka and begins preening for some attention (as much as an owl can preen, which is actually quite a lot).

I snort. "Don't act so surprised." Ever since Hisoka and I started this new habit, I've been forced to actually keep my paperwork on track - using the evening for overtime is not an appealing option when I could be with Hisoka. The first week it happened, the office thought they were either going mad, or Watari had put something in the coffee, except Watari thought the exact same thing.

"Have fun on your date, girls!" Watari says cheerfully, waggling his fingers at us in goodbye and beckoning for 003 to tear herself away from Hisoka so we can go.

I huff. "It's not a date!" But Hisoka, patiently ignoring Watari's teasing, says a polite goodbye to Watari and proceeds to drag me out of the office before Watari can come up with anything else to say.

His cheery, "Oooh, way to go dom, Bon!" reaches us just as we hit the door.

"Great, he's trying to rhyme, now!" I groan.

Hisoka looks like he's trying not to laugh. "You know he only still does it because you give him the reaction he wants."

"Hai, but I'd start to worry if he didn't say that crap," I mutter as we exit JuOhCho. "The day Watari stops his cheerfully lecherous teasing is the day he's mentally ill… well, more than he already is," I amend, breathing in the cool evening air.

Hisoka gives me a mildly reproachful look. "I'm supposed to be the grumpy one, not you," he says mildly.

"Yeah, well, we all need a new hobby," I reply.

"Keep that up and I'm buying you no dessert." Hisoka's trump card is a strong one.

My irritation is instantly gone. Hisoka's much more adept at manipulation and blackmail than he lets on, but it probably only works on me. Two years as my partner means that he knows all the tricks to deal with me. In some ways, he's even better than Tatsumi, something no one ever thought would happen.

We're walking back to my house afterwards, out arms laden down with packages and bags. I'm humming happily to myself as Hisoka bought me a slice of apple pie and a slice of double chocolate fudge cake with custard. I insisted that he had to have some, too, and he's reluctantly agreed to have some of the apple pie (the amount of chocolate on the other cake made him blanch when he bought it), but I'm not complaining. Hisoka's the only person I'm willing to share my sweets with, and he knows it.

When we're only a few streets away from my house, a couple walk past us, their arms around each other and glancing at each other in a way that means they're not even aware of us as we walk by. The air suddenly fills with tension and undercurrents of awkwardness as I look everywhere but at Hisoka, before he slowly rearranges his bags and packages to his right arm. His fingers curl around mine hesitantly as he looks away, a blush beginning on his cheeks. A smile spreads across my face - a genuine smile, not the fake one I use so often - and I wrap my fingers around his, squeezing gently.

He glances at me and I still can't recognise all the emotions shinning in his wide, beautiful eyes. Surprise, relief, affection, fear, nervousness and so many more that I can't identify. I suppose mine are probably the same, but I daresay he can read them better.

Sometimes, I think I'll never be happy with what we have right now, that I'll have to tell him how I feel sometime and hope that he feels the same. But now, as we walk to my house in comfortable silence, holding the other's hand, I suppose it's not so bad, after all.