[fic] Memento [Soubi, Kio, Seimei]
May. 5th, 2006 12:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enchanterMemento [May 5th, 2006]
PG-13 // complete // drama // Soubi, Kio, Seimei // 1,254 words
Soundtrack: Antimatter - The Art of Soft Landing
Notes: Written at the prompting of two people.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
insomnikat, who wanted Beloved; and aoyagi, who offered word prompts. See notes at the end for details; I don't want to spoil the story by revealing too much in advance. Comments are ♥
Memento
by Rhea Logan
Kio chatters like a broken record – the words wash through him, past him, bleed into each other as they fade. Around, beneath, and beyond.
The yellow can leaves a bizarre residue on his lips, bitter and cold. Kio's voice barely brushes against his ears in timid waves as he runs the tip of his tongue along the sharp, curving aluminum edge.
Better, he thinks. Thick and warm.
He feels his head swim when a rapid commotion stirs the air. Word-waves run high, the shrill current cleansing as Kio grabs his hands and wrenches the can from his fingers' stiff grasp.
Sou-chan.
He blinks to see through the blur, slowly translating the unintelligible mess back into something that resembles speech.
That's enough.
The harangue continues; he makes out two more words – you're going – where? For once, this feels like his own thought. It has a pleasant sound. Here, he thinks. There, somewhere, anywhere. Kio's face is red, unnaturally large, too close; it moves too quickly, hands waving, touching him, wiping his chin.
"...to sleep. Now."
The cut on his tongue stings, the inside of his mouth awash with a metallic taste. Soubi watches the red on the back of Kio's hand; the pressure inside his ears keeps the words behind a wall of translucent ice. He wonders if Kio sees this; his lips move, but he hears no sound. The red spreads, a smear across white knuckles as Kio clenches his fists.
"Did you hear me?"
Soubi presses his tongue to his teeth and nods. This always seems to work; Kio is placid again when he complies, when he follows whatever instructions Kio gives. But it makes little sense, and he frowns; did Kio give him this beer only to take it away from him?
This must be a game, he decides, and he knows its rules. Give only to take away; take away to watch his limp hands reach for it again. This must be it. Push and pull and make him beg. Seimei, he remembers, liked to play the same game.
Seimei.
The pillowcase feels cool, cotton razorblades on his cheek. Kio's hands defy him as they tug at his arm; ceaseless words tear through him, a windstorm that sweeps around the corners of his mind. Fragments of sentences anchor somewhere in the web of his thoughts, muffled and frantic and sour.
"...go back some time. I can't lie..."
Kio smells of soap and coffee. The hollow sound of his voice resonates far and low, slow underwater current driving it on. Soubi opens his eyes; the immediate world is white, sunlit and wrong. His neck feels stiff when he tries to nod; the sheets slide from his shoulders – irritating, rough on tender skin.
"Go," he whispers. They, he recalls, have been through this before.
The hand against his cheek gives off matching heat. Another surge of words rises above the pounding pain that threatens to crack his skull in half – beer-induced, his dry mouth reminds him when he tries to swallow down the nausea. But he likes it when Kio talks; his voice is sometimes louder even than his thoughts.
"...tomorrow. All right?"
He murmurs a weak affirmative and wonders, for a fleeting moment, whether 'tomorrow' means past, not future. It is the only direction Soubi wants to go.
He gasps for air but inhales only smoke, lungs struggling to filter it and failing. Flames coil up the curtains, lick at his bed – Soubi shoves himself up and winces – his wrists are bound above his head. Thin leather straps hold tight; he falls back on the mattress, hard.
His heartbeat is so loud it tears through the roaring fire and he coughs, squinting into the orange-red glare. The smoke hangs in thick clouds around him, darting into his nose, his mouth, stinging his bleary eyes. He died in his sleep, and this is the gate of hell; his head is spinning as he wrestles with the bonds, to little avail.
"I did not order you to struggle."
His eyes snap wide open. His heart stops. This isn't death; it is a dream, it has to be – the silhouette of shadow that speaks in Seimei's voice cannot be real. But the instinct to heed it takes precedence even over Soubi's life; it always did, and he stills.
"Why?" he asks hoarsely; his throat feels scratchy and he strains to see through the thick veil of suffocating gray. "Why can't I just leave?"
The shadow saunters across the burning floor like the cat Seimei has always been; it looms above him and Soubi would cry now, if the smoke hasn't already scorched his eyes completely dry. Seimei lays a heavy hand against Soubi's head. He is not a ghost; his tangible weight presses down on him and Soubi shivers, the heat around them rendered entirely irrelevant.
"You shouldn't drink," Seimei says, his voice a gentle reprimand. "But, just this once... I will refresh your memory."
Soubi squirms, involuntarily, watching the black sleeve of Seimei's sweater go up in crimson flames. They crawl along his hand, onto his fingertips as Seimei nudges up his chin and traces the ragged shapes of scar-words crowned in thorns.
"This is not the end," he whispers into Soubi's ear. "This is where everything begins. And you," he leans in, closer and closer until Soubi's lips erupt in sharp, bittersweet ache where Seimei's are touching them. "You are still a part of it."
Soubi's eyes slide shut; his body trembles, starved for the pain that both kills him and brings him back to life. He can't stand the heat, and yet he craves it; Seimei's fingers singe his skin and he could swear they work to redraw the brand anew as they move across his throat. He swallows hard and clenches his fists till the straps cut into his wrists.
"Obey me," Seimei whispers into his parted lips.
Something pulls at his hair - he knows it's Seimei's hand and he welcomes it; it's been so long. He knows better than to move, but he can't stop the quiet moan from breaking free.
He opens his eyes in soothing twilight and tries to sit. Gentle hands push him down; Soubi squints and blinks until his gaze rolls back into focus.
"Finally," Kio sighs, slumping down beside him. "Sou-chan, whatever you did, don't you dare so much as think of doing it. Ever. Again."
Soubi frowns, slowly registering the presence of a damp cloth on his forehead, of Kio's hand reaching to push it back into place as it slides down when he moves. His breath hitches, eyes darting around the darkened room.
"I did—" he coughs to clear his throat from the absent smoke. Kio stares at him, large eyes filled with clear-cut worry to their blue-framed brim. "I had a strange dream," he murmurs, trying to temper his erratic breathing.
Kio purses his lips. "Some dream," he scoffs. "I go out for a few hours and you do, what?" he asks as he takes Soubi's right hand in his and lifts it.
"Wait," Kio cuts in, shaking his head before Soubi can remember how to speak. "I don't think I want to know."
Seimei's voice rings in his ears. Frozen, Soubi stares at the thin, angry-red marks winding around his wrist.
The above ficlet meets two requests.insomnikat's, who - a long time ago - requested a story where "Seimei comes to Soubi in a dream (but not a dream, kinda like the final anime episode). Reminding Soubi of his fate." and aoyagi's, who provided the following prompts: beer, hangover, bitter, fire, unfulfilled, unexpected appearance, disappointment.
And now, off I go for the weekend. Do enjoy yours. :D
PG-13 // complete // drama // Soubi, Kio, Seimei // 1,254 words
Soundtrack: Antimatter - The Art of Soft Landing
Notes: Written at the prompting of two people.
insomnikat, who wanted Beloved; and aoyagi, who offered word prompts. See notes at the end for details; I don't want to spoil the story by revealing too much in advance. Comments are ♥Memento
by Rhea Logan
Chewing the pain and it won't stop breeding,
It moves from square to square...
I've pushed my field, now it comes to this,
I've touched my dreams, but still I bleed.
Antimatter - The Art of Soft Landing
Kio chatters like a broken record – the words wash through him, past him, bleed into each other as they fade. Around, beneath, and beyond.
The yellow can leaves a bizarre residue on his lips, bitter and cold. Kio's voice barely brushes against his ears in timid waves as he runs the tip of his tongue along the sharp, curving aluminum edge.
Better, he thinks. Thick and warm.
He feels his head swim when a rapid commotion stirs the air. Word-waves run high, the shrill current cleansing as Kio grabs his hands and wrenches the can from his fingers' stiff grasp.
Sou-chan.
He blinks to see through the blur, slowly translating the unintelligible mess back into something that resembles speech.
That's enough.
The harangue continues; he makes out two more words – you're going – where? For once, this feels like his own thought. It has a pleasant sound. Here, he thinks. There, somewhere, anywhere. Kio's face is red, unnaturally large, too close; it moves too quickly, hands waving, touching him, wiping his chin.
"...to sleep. Now."
The cut on his tongue stings, the inside of his mouth awash with a metallic taste. Soubi watches the red on the back of Kio's hand; the pressure inside his ears keeps the words behind a wall of translucent ice. He wonders if Kio sees this; his lips move, but he hears no sound. The red spreads, a smear across white knuckles as Kio clenches his fists.
"Did you hear me?"
Soubi presses his tongue to his teeth and nods. This always seems to work; Kio is placid again when he complies, when he follows whatever instructions Kio gives. But it makes little sense, and he frowns; did Kio give him this beer only to take it away from him?
This must be a game, he decides, and he knows its rules. Give only to take away; take away to watch his limp hands reach for it again. This must be it. Push and pull and make him beg. Seimei, he remembers, liked to play the same game.
Seimei.
The pillowcase feels cool, cotton razorblades on his cheek. Kio's hands defy him as they tug at his arm; ceaseless words tear through him, a windstorm that sweeps around the corners of his mind. Fragments of sentences anchor somewhere in the web of his thoughts, muffled and frantic and sour.
"...go back some time. I can't lie..."
Kio smells of soap and coffee. The hollow sound of his voice resonates far and low, slow underwater current driving it on. Soubi opens his eyes; the immediate world is white, sunlit and wrong. His neck feels stiff when he tries to nod; the sheets slide from his shoulders – irritating, rough on tender skin.
"Go," he whispers. They, he recalls, have been through this before.
The hand against his cheek gives off matching heat. Another surge of words rises above the pounding pain that threatens to crack his skull in half – beer-induced, his dry mouth reminds him when he tries to swallow down the nausea. But he likes it when Kio talks; his voice is sometimes louder even than his thoughts.
"...tomorrow. All right?"
He murmurs a weak affirmative and wonders, for a fleeting moment, whether 'tomorrow' means past, not future. It is the only direction Soubi wants to go.
He gasps for air but inhales only smoke, lungs struggling to filter it and failing. Flames coil up the curtains, lick at his bed – Soubi shoves himself up and winces – his wrists are bound above his head. Thin leather straps hold tight; he falls back on the mattress, hard.
His heartbeat is so loud it tears through the roaring fire and he coughs, squinting into the orange-red glare. The smoke hangs in thick clouds around him, darting into his nose, his mouth, stinging his bleary eyes. He died in his sleep, and this is the gate of hell; his head is spinning as he wrestles with the bonds, to little avail.
"I did not order you to struggle."
His eyes snap wide open. His heart stops. This isn't death; it is a dream, it has to be – the silhouette of shadow that speaks in Seimei's voice cannot be real. But the instinct to heed it takes precedence even over Soubi's life; it always did, and he stills.
"Why?" he asks hoarsely; his throat feels scratchy and he strains to see through the thick veil of suffocating gray. "Why can't I just leave?"
The shadow saunters across the burning floor like the cat Seimei has always been; it looms above him and Soubi would cry now, if the smoke hasn't already scorched his eyes completely dry. Seimei lays a heavy hand against Soubi's head. He is not a ghost; his tangible weight presses down on him and Soubi shivers, the heat around them rendered entirely irrelevant.
"You shouldn't drink," Seimei says, his voice a gentle reprimand. "But, just this once... I will refresh your memory."
Soubi squirms, involuntarily, watching the black sleeve of Seimei's sweater go up in crimson flames. They crawl along his hand, onto his fingertips as Seimei nudges up his chin and traces the ragged shapes of scar-words crowned in thorns.
"This is not the end," he whispers into Soubi's ear. "This is where everything begins. And you," he leans in, closer and closer until Soubi's lips erupt in sharp, bittersweet ache where Seimei's are touching them. "You are still a part of it."
Soubi's eyes slide shut; his body trembles, starved for the pain that both kills him and brings him back to life. He can't stand the heat, and yet he craves it; Seimei's fingers singe his skin and he could swear they work to redraw the brand anew as they move across his throat. He swallows hard and clenches his fists till the straps cut into his wrists.
"Obey me," Seimei whispers into his parted lips.
Something pulls at his hair - he knows it's Seimei's hand and he welcomes it; it's been so long. He knows better than to move, but he can't stop the quiet moan from breaking free.
He opens his eyes in soothing twilight and tries to sit. Gentle hands push him down; Soubi squints and blinks until his gaze rolls back into focus.
"Finally," Kio sighs, slumping down beside him. "Sou-chan, whatever you did, don't you dare so much as think of doing it. Ever. Again."
Soubi frowns, slowly registering the presence of a damp cloth on his forehead, of Kio's hand reaching to push it back into place as it slides down when he moves. His breath hitches, eyes darting around the darkened room.
"I did—" he coughs to clear his throat from the absent smoke. Kio stares at him, large eyes filled with clear-cut worry to their blue-framed brim. "I had a strange dream," he murmurs, trying to temper his erratic breathing.
Kio purses his lips. "Some dream," he scoffs. "I go out for a few hours and you do, what?" he asks as he takes Soubi's right hand in his and lifts it.
"Wait," Kio cuts in, shaking his head before Soubi can remember how to speak. "I don't think I want to know."
Seimei's voice rings in his ears. Frozen, Soubi stares at the thin, angry-red marks winding around his wrist.
The above ficlet meets two requests.
insomnikat's, who - a long time ago - requested a story where "Seimei comes to Soubi in a dream (but not a dream, kinda like the final anime episode). Reminding Soubi of his fate." and aoyagi's, who provided the following prompts: beer, hangover, bitter, fire, unfulfilled, unexpected appearance, disappointment. And now, off I go for the weekend. Do enjoy yours. :D
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 07:59 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading. :D
no subject
Date: 2006-07-31 02:59 pm (UTC)Anyway, since you recommend Do Thy Bidding to me, I'm going to read it... not now, however, since I'm supposed to study for my exams right now, and your writing had me forgetting all about that already. So I promised myself not to read any fiction before I haven't finished my share of studying for today... which still is quite a lot *sighs*
Anyway, you wrote it, I read it, easy deal, isn't it? ^^