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tampered2006-09-08 11:40 pm
saccharine-end.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-09-08 11:40 pm
Log, Complete.
When: Sept. 5th
Rating: PG
Characters: Seiichirou Tatsumi [![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thrifty_shadow] and Asato Tsuzuki [saccharine_end]
Summary: Tsuzuki suffers from binge eating, which Tatsumi wants no part of hearing.
Log:
It was just the sense of taste. Just the sense of taste. If Tatsumi had lost his sense of taste, he would've shrugged it off and went on his merry way. Apparently though, Tsuzuki valued his sense of taste over all his other senses. Tatsumi supposed he should have foreseen that; he'd heard the man had tried to poke his amethyst-colored eyes off from Kurosaki. That definitely said something about how much Tsuzuki valued his eyesight.
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said with a sigh as he quietly approached the whimpering, crying ball of blanket on the bed. In his hands, he carried a tray laden with a teapot and two teacups. He'd found the tea in one of the cabinets. He was surprised, of course, because he was sure he hadn't seen that yesterday, but he imagined that was the city's doing too.
"Here, have some tea. It should ease up your stomach a bit." Tatsumi set the tray on the drawer beside the bed and sat himself on the bedside. He placed a hand over Tsuzuki and began quietly soothing the man.
Silently, Tsuzuki wished for a little more self-control. Or at least a fraction more than what he did possess. It hurt. It hurt, and he could do nothing about it, had done nothing about it besides crawl under the blankets of the rather large bed and huddle there. He hadn’t really given much thought to the fact his stomach would have overloaded itself upon the continuation of eating –his theory being if he couldn’t taste one food item, he certainly could taste something else.
But it hadn’t worked that way, and he’d overloaded himself to the point of nausea. Shinigami weren’t supposed to get sick, were they?
Tsuzuki sniffled when he heard Tatsumi speaking to him, and it vaguely occurred to him that he’d been crying. He couldn’t even remember feeling the urge to do such a thing, only briefly when he’d been typing on the computer and felt the familiar pain of homesickness. And why did it seem Tatsumi only made it worse?
He curled tighter around himself, face shoved into the pillow crushed in his arms. His voice sounded childish, weak, and it swamped him in unexplainable sadness.
“I don’t want it…”
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi began, fighting the urge to sigh again as he began nudging the other shinigami. "You won't get better unless you try doing something about it. Crying may… help, emotionally, but it's not going to make the pain go away."
And staying here and not looking for a medicine will not make Tsuzuki better.
Tatsumi felt like slapping himself; he should have looked for something for Tsuzuki's stomachache instead of look for tea. He wondered if thinking hard enough would make the medicine appear somewhere he hadn't looked before in their apartment, but at the same time, it made Tatsumi feel bad. This was the city's way of keeping them here. By providing everything within arm's reach, the city made staying so… enticing?
Tatsumi wondered if Tsuzuki had noticed how the refrigerator hadn't emptied itself after he tried eating everything within it. With a dark chuckle, Tatsumi thought Tsuzuki had finally met a match for his seemingly endless stomach.
Somehow, it sounded as though Tatsumi was teasing him, and Tsuzuki did his best to edge away from the warmth radiating beside him, though some inborn urge to curl closer nagged at the back of his mind. This situation seemed familiar, years and years covered in dust, but he couldn’t face the other shinigami, didn’t have the courage to do it when he ached, physically and emotionally.
Instinct taking over, he bit into the pillow, feeling those hated tears burning at his eyes again. Maybe it wouldn’t do to act so immature, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t handle any of this. The City was getting to him. Badly.
“I can if I want,” he started, a partial sob caught in his throat to make it sound as though he choked. “Tatsumiii….” Inside, his stomach answered with a particularly sharp throb of pain.
If I were Kurosaki-kun or even Watari, you wouldn’t be acting like this, would you, Tsuzuki-san? Tatsumi said nothing and gave the other shinigami a gentle pat before standing up and heading for the bathroom. If this were his apartment, he’d find something for Tsuzuki’s stomachache inside the medical cabinet.
He thought hard – something for a stomachache – and began perusing the cabinet. He felt silly; as if thinking would make the medicine appear. It may have been there all along, he may have ‘helped’ make it appear, but in the end, Tatsumi returned to the bedside with a small bottle.
“I found something, Tsuzuki-san,” Tatsumi whispered as he began coaxing Tsuzuki again. “I’m not sure if this would help, but it’s all I found. Shinigami don’t usually get sick, you know?”
But they do, sometimes. He knew that from experience because he often found himself reminding Chief Konoe of his medication. A shinigami that required treatment was unheard of but nevertheless, he supposed, like most people from their division, there were exceptions.
Tatsumi began tugging at the blankets over Tsuzuki. “Tsuzuki-san, at least try.”
I don’t want to…
It was that ingrained stubbornness which caused Tsuzuki to resist both Tatsumi’s words and the pulling of the blanket around him. He yanked it closer, using his body to weigh it down, drawing the material taut, and his stomach instantly rebelled against him. Too much motion without considerable thought instantly had the shinigami curling up, sideways and close to the previous heat he’d tried ignoring out of sheer will. A quiet groan left his throat and a hand instinctively reached out, searching for something to hold on to, to anchor him.
He didn’t want to be sick, couldn’t even begin to comprehend how any of this made sense whatsoever. A shinigami’s healing aspect should have easily taken over and curedthis. And it brought back things he refused to remember, had made himself forget in the very beginning, and Tatsumi was being cruel. So cruel…
“Tatsumi…” The tears were evident in his voice, his fingers tightening around what he’d reached for. “Please…”
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said in clipped tone, "What do you want then?"
He didn't want to use that tone on Tsuzuki, knowing well what effect it would have on the kindhearted shinigami, but he also knew that if he let Tsuzuki do as he pleased, there would be no comfort for him. For his own welfare, Tatsumi knew he had to be tough<./I>. Tatsumi had to force the shinigami, had to be cruel if it meant the shinigami was going to listen and do himself good. The shadows around the room began wavering and pooling around his feet; he knew the shinigami underneath the blankets would be able to feel the darkness gather.
I want to go home. I want…
He didn’t dare voice those words aloud. Instead, he wiggled a hand through the folds of the blanket, searching for an opening, and upon finding one, he simply held his palm up. It was as if he was silently asking for whatever it was Tatsumi had found to ease the pain in his stomach. Tsuzuki knew it wouldn’t fix things, wouldn’t take them back to Meifu or cease this strange…relationship between them.
His shinigami stirred the moment something in the air changed. It tasted of Tatsumi and his shadows, incredibly strong. Was the other angry at him? Upset?
“T-Tatsumi…?” Tsuzuki winced at the pathetic tone, but he couldn’t control it. It wasn’t his fault…
Was it?
At the sound of Tsuzuki's voice, Tatsumi concentrated on controlling the shadows until they had quieted down and settled, returning to their dark corners. He frowned a bit when he realized it had come out far stronger than he'd meant it to. Tsuzuki must have been... surprised. Tatsumi knew he'd been; he'd never had problems with controlling the shadows before and being here... he felt like an apprentice again, still new, still hopelessly overwhelmed by the dark, nigh unfathomable darkness the shadows brought upon their users.
He wanted to apologize for losing control but the words refused to form in his mouth. Instead, he placed a hand gently over Tsuzuki to soothe him, handed the medicine bottle and said, "Here, this should make you better."
The bottle fell into a listless hand, fingers curling lazily around it before drawing it beneath the covers and settling against the curve of Tsuzuki’s body. He didn’t have the urge to take it, wondering how vile it tasted, what sort of trick Tatsumi was playing on him. The other shinigami wouldn’t have done this without wanting some type of compensation for it. Was he going to make him pay for the medicine once he took it? Or maybe, just maybe, Tatsumi was actually being sincere…?
Tsuzuki felt dizzy and twisted under the blanket, somehow managing to rest his head against Tatsumi’s leg. This was reassuring , familiar. Like the time he’d lain against Hisoka, seeking comfort. In a way, it was selfish to use his friend like this, to seek solace, but who else was he to turn to?
“Tatsumi,” the whine was back, but lighter, quieter, “I don’t like it here.”
Tatsumi stared at Tsuzuki for a while, hesitant as he lifted a hand with the thought of placing on top of the purple-eyed shinigami's head. It made him wonder when the last time he'd held Tsuzuki was and how often he had let himself comfort the other physically. It was so difficult for him, seeing Tsuzuki so sad and pained and being unable to help.
"Neither do I, Tsuzuki," Tatsumi said quietly, hoping none of the vulnerability he felt right now showed through his voice. "But we've established that. For now, Tsuzuki-san, the most we can do is… survive while we look for a way out." He paused and stared at the wall, thinking with dangerously narrowed eyes. "That's why I need you to be careful, Tsuzuki-san. To be extra careful. And to take care of yourself."
Tatsumi hadn't meant to sound harsh, but he knew he had. The city was making it hard to control himself, making him wary, making it hard to be the calm Tatsumi Seiichirou everyone at Meifu knew. He didn't think he was like this before, he knew he didn't find it as difficult to talk to people back there as he did now. He remembered teasing Tsuzuki many times and finding himself smiling at the tearful whines that usually got out of the other shinigami. Now…
He knew it was probably a direct result of being with Tsuzuki only at all times. Without the precious time away from work and Tsuzuki and everyone - was this his weakness?
Rating: PG
Characters: Seiichirou Tatsumi [
thrifty_shadow] and Asato Tsuzuki [saccharine_end]Summary: Tsuzuki suffers from binge eating, which Tatsumi wants no part of hearing.
Log:
It was just the sense of taste. Just the sense of taste. If Tatsumi had lost his sense of taste, he would've shrugged it off and went on his merry way. Apparently though, Tsuzuki valued his sense of taste over all his other senses. Tatsumi supposed he should have foreseen that; he'd heard the man had tried to poke his amethyst-colored eyes off from Kurosaki. That definitely said something about how much Tsuzuki valued his eyesight.
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said with a sigh as he quietly approached the whimpering, crying ball of blanket on the bed. In his hands, he carried a tray laden with a teapot and two teacups. He'd found the tea in one of the cabinets. He was surprised, of course, because he was sure he hadn't seen that yesterday, but he imagined that was the city's doing too.
"Here, have some tea. It should ease up your stomach a bit." Tatsumi set the tray on the drawer beside the bed and sat himself on the bedside. He placed a hand over Tsuzuki and began quietly soothing the man.
Silently, Tsuzuki wished for a little more self-control. Or at least a fraction more than what he did possess. It hurt. It hurt, and he could do nothing about it, had done nothing about it besides crawl under the blankets of the rather large bed and huddle there. He hadn’t really given much thought to the fact his stomach would have overloaded itself upon the continuation of eating –his theory being if he couldn’t taste one food item, he certainly could taste something else.
But it hadn’t worked that way, and he’d overloaded himself to the point of nausea. Shinigami weren’t supposed to get sick, were they?
Tsuzuki sniffled when he heard Tatsumi speaking to him, and it vaguely occurred to him that he’d been crying. He couldn’t even remember feeling the urge to do such a thing, only briefly when he’d been typing on the computer and felt the familiar pain of homesickness. And why did it seem Tatsumi only made it worse?
He curled tighter around himself, face shoved into the pillow crushed in his arms. His voice sounded childish, weak, and it swamped him in unexplainable sadness.
“I don’t want it…”
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi began, fighting the urge to sigh again as he began nudging the other shinigami. "You won't get better unless you try doing something about it. Crying may… help, emotionally, but it's not going to make the pain go away."
And staying here and not looking for a medicine will not make Tsuzuki better.
Tatsumi felt like slapping himself; he should have looked for something for Tsuzuki's stomachache instead of look for tea. He wondered if thinking hard enough would make the medicine appear somewhere he hadn't looked before in their apartment, but at the same time, it made Tatsumi feel bad. This was the city's way of keeping them here. By providing everything within arm's reach, the city made staying so… enticing?
Tatsumi wondered if Tsuzuki had noticed how the refrigerator hadn't emptied itself after he tried eating everything within it. With a dark chuckle, Tatsumi thought Tsuzuki had finally met a match for his seemingly endless stomach.
Somehow, it sounded as though Tatsumi was teasing him, and Tsuzuki did his best to edge away from the warmth radiating beside him, though some inborn urge to curl closer nagged at the back of his mind. This situation seemed familiar, years and years covered in dust, but he couldn’t face the other shinigami, didn’t have the courage to do it when he ached, physically and emotionally.
Instinct taking over, he bit into the pillow, feeling those hated tears burning at his eyes again. Maybe it wouldn’t do to act so immature, but what else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t handle any of this. The City was getting to him. Badly.
“I can if I want,” he started, a partial sob caught in his throat to make it sound as though he choked. “Tatsumiii….” Inside, his stomach answered with a particularly sharp throb of pain.
If I were Kurosaki-kun or even Watari, you wouldn’t be acting like this, would you, Tsuzuki-san? Tatsumi said nothing and gave the other shinigami a gentle pat before standing up and heading for the bathroom. If this were his apartment, he’d find something for Tsuzuki’s stomachache inside the medical cabinet.
He thought hard – something for a stomachache – and began perusing the cabinet. He felt silly; as if thinking would make the medicine appear. It may have been there all along, he may have ‘helped’ make it appear, but in the end, Tatsumi returned to the bedside with a small bottle.
“I found something, Tsuzuki-san,” Tatsumi whispered as he began coaxing Tsuzuki again. “I’m not sure if this would help, but it’s all I found. Shinigami don’t usually get sick, you know?”
But they do, sometimes. He knew that from experience because he often found himself reminding Chief Konoe of his medication. A shinigami that required treatment was unheard of but nevertheless, he supposed, like most people from their division, there were exceptions.
Tatsumi began tugging at the blankets over Tsuzuki. “Tsuzuki-san, at least try.”
I don’t want to…
It was that ingrained stubbornness which caused Tsuzuki to resist both Tatsumi’s words and the pulling of the blanket around him. He yanked it closer, using his body to weigh it down, drawing the material taut, and his stomach instantly rebelled against him. Too much motion without considerable thought instantly had the shinigami curling up, sideways and close to the previous heat he’d tried ignoring out of sheer will. A quiet groan left his throat and a hand instinctively reached out, searching for something to hold on to, to anchor him.
He didn’t want to be sick, couldn’t even begin to comprehend how any of this made sense whatsoever. A shinigami’s healing aspect should have easily taken over and curedthis. And it brought back things he refused to remember, had made himself forget in the very beginning, and Tatsumi was being cruel. So cruel…
“Tatsumi…” The tears were evident in his voice, his fingers tightening around what he’d reached for. “Please…”
"Tsuzuki-san," Tatsumi said in clipped tone, "What do you want then?"
He didn't want to use that tone on Tsuzuki, knowing well what effect it would have on the kindhearted shinigami, but he also knew that if he let Tsuzuki do as he pleased, there would be no comfort for him. For his own welfare, Tatsumi knew he had to be tough<./I>. Tatsumi had to force the shinigami, had to be cruel if it meant the shinigami was going to listen and do himself good. The shadows around the room began wavering and pooling around his feet; he knew the shinigami underneath the blankets would be able to feel the darkness gather.
I want to go home. I want…
He didn’t dare voice those words aloud. Instead, he wiggled a hand through the folds of the blanket, searching for an opening, and upon finding one, he simply held his palm up. It was as if he was silently asking for whatever it was Tatsumi had found to ease the pain in his stomach. Tsuzuki knew it wouldn’t fix things, wouldn’t take them back to Meifu or cease this strange…relationship between them.
His shinigami stirred the moment something in the air changed. It tasted of Tatsumi and his shadows, incredibly strong. Was the other angry at him? Upset?
“T-Tatsumi…?” Tsuzuki winced at the pathetic tone, but he couldn’t control it. It wasn’t his fault…
Was it?
At the sound of Tsuzuki's voice, Tatsumi concentrated on controlling the shadows until they had quieted down and settled, returning to their dark corners. He frowned a bit when he realized it had come out far stronger than he'd meant it to. Tsuzuki must have been... surprised. Tatsumi knew he'd been; he'd never had problems with controlling the shadows before and being here... he felt like an apprentice again, still new, still hopelessly overwhelmed by the dark, nigh unfathomable darkness the shadows brought upon their users.
He wanted to apologize for losing control but the words refused to form in his mouth. Instead, he placed a hand gently over Tsuzuki to soothe him, handed the medicine bottle and said, "Here, this should make you better."
The bottle fell into a listless hand, fingers curling lazily around it before drawing it beneath the covers and settling against the curve of Tsuzuki’s body. He didn’t have the urge to take it, wondering how vile it tasted, what sort of trick Tatsumi was playing on him. The other shinigami wouldn’t have done this without wanting some type of compensation for it. Was he going to make him pay for the medicine once he took it? Or maybe, just maybe, Tatsumi was actually being sincere…?
Tsuzuki felt dizzy and twisted under the blanket, somehow managing to rest his head against Tatsumi’s leg. This was reassuring , familiar. Like the time he’d lain against Hisoka, seeking comfort. In a way, it was selfish to use his friend like this, to seek solace, but who else was he to turn to?
“Tatsumi,” the whine was back, but lighter, quieter, “I don’t like it here.”
Tatsumi stared at Tsuzuki for a while, hesitant as he lifted a hand with the thought of placing on top of the purple-eyed shinigami's head. It made him wonder when the last time he'd held Tsuzuki was and how often he had let himself comfort the other physically. It was so difficult for him, seeing Tsuzuki so sad and pained and being unable to help.
"Neither do I, Tsuzuki," Tatsumi said quietly, hoping none of the vulnerability he felt right now showed through his voice. "But we've established that. For now, Tsuzuki-san, the most we can do is… survive while we look for a way out." He paused and stared at the wall, thinking with dangerously narrowed eyes. "That's why I need you to be careful, Tsuzuki-san. To be extra careful. And to take care of yourself."
Tatsumi hadn't meant to sound harsh, but he knew he had. The city was making it hard to control himself, making him wary, making it hard to be the calm Tatsumi Seiichirou everyone at Meifu knew. He didn't think he was like this before, he knew he didn't find it as difficult to talk to people back there as he did now. He remembered teasing Tsuzuki many times and finding himself smiling at the tearful whines that usually got out of the other shinigami. Now…
He knew it was probably a direct result of being with Tsuzuki only at all times. Without the precious time away from work and Tsuzuki and everyone - was this his weakness?