[ficlet] Worlds Apart [Kio/Soubi, PG]
Jul. 2nd, 2006 03:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
enchanterWorlds Apart [July 2nd, 2006]
PG // complete // Kio/Soubi // general // 887 words
Note: A little post scriptum to Overrun.
Worlds Apart
by Rhea Logan
"Kio."
Afterwards, Soubi seems so different, he thinks, when all is said and done. Kio looks away, halfheartedly trying to block Soubi's voice out of his mind, and failing. He needs this; a few precious minutes when Soubi isn't so sure of himself, so smug and in control.
"Kio?"
It's all an illusion, if not a convincing one to the outside world, and they both know it all too well. Soubi is not strong and Kio doesn't really want to, but he feels compassion, a dull ache of emptiness more than anger with Soubi or himself. The faint air current carries dispersing smoke; without a sound, Kio takes the cigarette from Soubi's hand and inhales.
His eyes are downcast and dry, looking but only half-seeing the darkening red welts that mark his hands. He traces the slightly swollen skin, and suddenly he can't help the bitter laugh that builds up from within.
Soubi sighs, retrieves his cigarette. "Look at me," he says, but Kio ignores him – just for a while.
There's a palm, gentle now, cupping his face. He once thought he would be able to tell Soubi's touch from anyone else's just by how tender it felt, but the past half an hour has cast a shadow on that confidence. He catches himself thinking that this touch should violate him, especially right now. But it doesn't.
It never has, not even when it did.
It feels warm and he should forget, but he laughs instead, eyes watering. These won't vanish anytime soon, he thinks, lifting his hands for a closer look. How ironic, he hasn't thought of it this way before: he asked for something he's been telling Soubi was the stupidest thing he could do.
It seems like forever in his miniature bruised world before Kio looks up, guessing whether the eyes that meet his are the same ones he has loved for years. Weary tingling spreads across his bones, skin tender and hot, but he can't stop chuckling because there is not much else he can do. They both, he muses absently, must have gone insane. And he laughs, because for one crazy moment, it feels perfectly fine.
Soubi doesn't let go of his face, much like he didn't let go of his hands just a while before – but this insistence feels gentle and Kio doesn't mind. Now he remembers why he is still here, why he has been all this time.
He vows to stay as long as he can recognize Soubi in those cool blue eyes. They soften around the edges even as Kio searches them for an answer to a question he doesn't care to verbalize.
His hands feel limp and, strangely enough, his heart doesn't feel as heavy now. Maybe this is it, he thinks, maybe he's starting to understand why Soubi let that brat violate him like that. He shivers. It starts to make a twisted sort of sense.
"I'm—"
Kio catches Soubi's words behind his hand, and it feels unfamiliar to be the one who has a reason to feel this kind of pain.
"Don't," he says. It doesn't matter now. "Don't apologize if you don't mean it."
"I wasn't—" Soubi breaks off, and Kio raises an eyebrow at that – he thinks Soubi's lost him and he doesn't care to ask.
"I'm not going to do this again."
This isn't much of an apology. Not much at all. Not that Kio deserves it, but the honest tone counts.
Kio takes his time when he cleans himself up and tugs his clothes back on. Soubi fumbles with something in the kitchen; Kio decides he will pretend it's just another one of those normal nights. Alcohol sounds good. Maybe tomorrow he can blame it for that momentary loss of mind.
Soubi beckons to him from the bed when he returns; Kio wipes the traces of a frown away from his face. The mattress sags a little under his weight. They're not simple at all, he thinks, and looks at Soubi like he means it, even if he can't make himself say it aloud. Soubi takes his hands as he says something about not leaving things unfinished that Kio has heard at least a hundred times. He doesn't care, so long as he can feel his Soubi in the man who bandages the wounds he has inflicted himself on Kio's demand.
"This makes me look suicidal," Kio says, and he shakes his head. This, in a way, can't be too far from the truth.
"Maybe you are."
Soubi's eyes are soft, a gentle blue. We both are, Kio thinks, and it's okay because there is finally something that connects the worlds they live in, together yet apart.
Soubi tilts his head, the look on his face a strange, serene one. Kio thinks that maybe now he understands the length he's ready to go to, thought that hope is probably vain.
"Don't try to shoulder more than your own weight," Soubi finally says, smoothing Kio's hair. These words sound more honest than most he has said since they met.
Kio chuckles. "Too late," he tosses lightly, even if it aches. "I've been doing that for years."
PG // complete // Kio/Soubi // general // 887 words
Note: A little post scriptum to Overrun.
Worlds Apart
by Rhea Logan
And I recognize so much of you
In these eyes, always so blue
Why always so blue?
Tom McRae - Human Remains
"Kio."
Afterwards, Soubi seems so different, he thinks, when all is said and done. Kio looks away, halfheartedly trying to block Soubi's voice out of his mind, and failing. He needs this; a few precious minutes when Soubi isn't so sure of himself, so smug and in control.
"Kio?"
It's all an illusion, if not a convincing one to the outside world, and they both know it all too well. Soubi is not strong and Kio doesn't really want to, but he feels compassion, a dull ache of emptiness more than anger with Soubi or himself. The faint air current carries dispersing smoke; without a sound, Kio takes the cigarette from Soubi's hand and inhales.
His eyes are downcast and dry, looking but only half-seeing the darkening red welts that mark his hands. He traces the slightly swollen skin, and suddenly he can't help the bitter laugh that builds up from within.
Soubi sighs, retrieves his cigarette. "Look at me," he says, but Kio ignores him – just for a while.
There's a palm, gentle now, cupping his face. He once thought he would be able to tell Soubi's touch from anyone else's just by how tender it felt, but the past half an hour has cast a shadow on that confidence. He catches himself thinking that this touch should violate him, especially right now. But it doesn't.
It never has, not even when it did.
It feels warm and he should forget, but he laughs instead, eyes watering. These won't vanish anytime soon, he thinks, lifting his hands for a closer look. How ironic, he hasn't thought of it this way before: he asked for something he's been telling Soubi was the stupidest thing he could do.
It seems like forever in his miniature bruised world before Kio looks up, guessing whether the eyes that meet his are the same ones he has loved for years. Weary tingling spreads across his bones, skin tender and hot, but he can't stop chuckling because there is not much else he can do. They both, he muses absently, must have gone insane. And he laughs, because for one crazy moment, it feels perfectly fine.
Soubi doesn't let go of his face, much like he didn't let go of his hands just a while before – but this insistence feels gentle and Kio doesn't mind. Now he remembers why he is still here, why he has been all this time.
He vows to stay as long as he can recognize Soubi in those cool blue eyes. They soften around the edges even as Kio searches them for an answer to a question he doesn't care to verbalize.
His hands feel limp and, strangely enough, his heart doesn't feel as heavy now. Maybe this is it, he thinks, maybe he's starting to understand why Soubi let that brat violate him like that. He shivers. It starts to make a twisted sort of sense.
"I'm—"
Kio catches Soubi's words behind his hand, and it feels unfamiliar to be the one who has a reason to feel this kind of pain.
"Don't," he says. It doesn't matter now. "Don't apologize if you don't mean it."
"I wasn't—" Soubi breaks off, and Kio raises an eyebrow at that – he thinks Soubi's lost him and he doesn't care to ask.
"I'm not going to do this again."
This isn't much of an apology. Not much at all. Not that Kio deserves it, but the honest tone counts.
Kio takes his time when he cleans himself up and tugs his clothes back on. Soubi fumbles with something in the kitchen; Kio decides he will pretend it's just another one of those normal nights. Alcohol sounds good. Maybe tomorrow he can blame it for that momentary loss of mind.
Soubi beckons to him from the bed when he returns; Kio wipes the traces of a frown away from his face. The mattress sags a little under his weight. They're not simple at all, he thinks, and looks at Soubi like he means it, even if he can't make himself say it aloud. Soubi takes his hands as he says something about not leaving things unfinished that Kio has heard at least a hundred times. He doesn't care, so long as he can feel his Soubi in the man who bandages the wounds he has inflicted himself on Kio's demand.
"This makes me look suicidal," Kio says, and he shakes his head. This, in a way, can't be too far from the truth.
"Maybe you are."
Soubi's eyes are soft, a gentle blue. We both are, Kio thinks, and it's okay because there is finally something that connects the worlds they live in, together yet apart.
Soubi tilts his head, the look on his face a strange, serene one. Kio thinks that maybe now he understands the length he's ready to go to, thought that hope is probably vain.
"Don't try to shoulder more than your own weight," Soubi finally says, smoothing Kio's hair. These words sound more honest than most he has said since they met.
Kio chuckles. "Too late," he tosses lightly, even if it aches. "I've been doing that for years."
