Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ I Know You ❯ Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This is a requested follow-up to Understanding. I . . . cannot write Muraki, so this didn't come out quite the way I'd hoped, but I'm reasonably happy with it. I absolutely adore Oriya, if anyone couldn't tell. Someday I might write longer fic with these two. …. Maybe. *cough*

<><> I Know You <><>

Muraki was awake when Oriya returned from his walk in the gardens. He was not yet well enough to sit up, but his eyes were open and though somewhat dull with pain and exhaustion, that glimmer of decidedly off-kilter humor remained. Annoyance tinged with a certain fatalistic amusement flickered through Oriya's mind.

"I trust Tatsumi-san was a polite guest?"

Oriya quirked one eyebrow slightly and turned to slide the door shut behind him. "You'd think that The Great Doctor would have the sense to know when he should be resting instead of annoying his caretaker."

"You know that they say doctors make the worst patients." The usually smooth voice was rough. Oriya almost liked it better that way.

Folding his arms, he turned to survey his friend with long-suffering exasperation. Everything was a game to Muraki, even this injury. Very few people thought of Muraki as a frivolous person, but having known the man longer and better than anyone else, Oriya felt somewhat entitled to bestow the label upon him. Though he was relentless in the pursuit of his obsessions, he was not in any other way steady or reliable. He flitted in and out of people's lives at his own convenience, paying no mind to the disruption his presence brought or the distress his sudden departure might cause.

Or perhaps it was simply that Oriya was a businessman, and tied to his establishment that made him see Muraki as such.

"I don't care how bad a patient you usually are." He crossed the room so that he could stand by the bed and more effectively loom over Muraki. "You'll damn well stay in bed and keep your mouth polite while you're using my home as shelter."

Again that flicker of humor in the visible eye. "Of course, Oriya."

That Oriya knew Muraki found his temper amusing never made it any easier when the other man made it obvious. For a moment he was tempted to go outside and call back the shinigami, and tell him that Muraki was all his -- he'd watch with pleasure as Tatsumi did whatever he liked.

Something of the sort must have shown on his face as he turned to leave the room. He was brought up short by a tug on one of the trailing sleeves of his kimono and when he glanced back Muraki's gaze was level and steady, but the pale, bandaged hand holding him there shook slightly -- not from any emotion, but sheer physical weakness. He had to hold tightly to the sleeve just to keep his arm elevated for the span of seconds it had taken Oriya to notice and look at him again.

Once Oriya's gaze met his, Muraki's lips quirked slightly and he slowly relaxed his fingers, allowing cloth to slide through them as his hand fell back to the bed. "I would . . . perhaps, be grateful for some tea."

The anger ran out of Oriya like water, and he nodded once as he turned back towards the door.

"I'll be back."