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tampered2006-09-19 03:01 am
antichristsmile.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-09-19 03:01 am
Log [Complete]
When; Early this morning; Sept. 19 ['what might have been' day]
Rating; PG-13 for imagery & angst
Characters; Fuuma (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
antichristsmile) & Kamui (fateisabitch)
Summary; Three too many scoops of pretty!boi emo flavored with the stinging sauce of heartbreak; Kamui finds non-Dark!Kamui Fuuma in the storeroom. This was really hard to write. :x I hope we did the scene justice.
Log;
Once he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop--it was and wasn't some ludicrous form of atonement, when he dipped the blade delicately from wrist to elbow, first lightly and then deeply. It wasn't even such a terrible cut--but it was the pain that counted, exquisite and what he knew the other would've liked. If there was no one to make this real, then he would remind himself, he would be him for the moment and turn this knife on himself in the same lovingly cruel way.
Fuuma stilled for a moment, fascinated at the sight of blood welling after a delay of several seconds--he'd started wondering whether he were still human, could still bleed. It took some time more before he could move again around the suffocating weight crushing his chest, that seemed to muffle all sounds and warp his vision--and then he fell into a frenzy, clawing and ripping at the wound with nails; the other arm, until he was kneeling against the floor of the store room shuddering and hugging himself, blood streaked and soaking through clothing.
It still didn't seem like enough--because he still couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't see, couldn't utter a sound. After a moment he picked himself up; and the room echoed.
Something was off. Something was wrong. Kamui had felt it the moment the clocks turned to midnight; there was something wrong with Fuuma. No, something wrong with Kamui. He normally could feel his twinstar quite clearly: know of his general location and status, but... something had happened. He had first felt the other's aura changing, shifting, and then it had almost blinked out entirely.
Even though he was still extremely angry with the other, he still found himself leaving to find him; an undercurrent of panic pulling at his mind that he was viciously trying to ignore. He wasn't worried about him. No way. He was merely worried about the body he was inhabiting. The body that he had used to...
Thump. He wasn't that far into his search when he heard strange sounds coming from a storeroom. Ones that weren't very, well, storeroom-y. "What the...?" he swung open the door open, annoyance soon replaced with horror. There was… blood, and… "F-Fuuma?!"
He wasn't heard over the ringing in Fuuma's head, occasioned by repeatedly driving his forehead into the wall, hard enough to feel it reverberate in his bones--fists clenched, drawing more blood, but no matter how much force he put into any motion... No matter how much he tried to layer pain with pain into insensibility, Fuuma could still feel that chasm gaping.
Unimaginable--the memories that had begun returning to him in his nightmare that night. He'd been sure at first it was a dream--but he couldn't seem to wake up. And then, more memories, returning so fast and all together that he could still barely make sense of them; what he had glimpsed had filled his mouth with the taste of bile and horror. "Kotori... Kotori... Kotori..." Images of his childhood fluttered throughout, lending poignancy and a nudge toward bitter reality. "... Kamui... oh god..."
Before he'd known it, he was stumbling away from the apartment, knife in hand, determined to do something--anything--to stop it all. He didn't want these memories. He didn't want himself.
This... this wasn't Kamui. No, it couldn't be, so that meant... and the way he was acting, that also meant... "FUUMA!" Kamui screamed, over and over, grabbing onto the other to try to keep him from hurting himself further. "STOP!" Fuuma couldn't do this. Fuuma couldn't kill himself because his fate was the same as Kamui's, damn it. Life, or death by your twinstar's hand. No other way out was allowed.
Once Kamui's cries, his presence, finally registered in Fuuma's consciousness--the other simply froze, not even breathing, for a very, very long moment. The tremors started lightly, at first unnoticeably, until Fuuma's whole body was shaking so violently he could barely raise his arms and clasp Kamui to him--like Kamui were life, or death, itself; bruisingly hard--and hide himself and the world in his twinstar's slender shoulder, because just now that was all he could really deal with.
"F-Fuuma..." Kamui let him latch onto him, holding him in turn. He'd be mad at him later, when he wasn't having a mental breakdown. "Shhh... calm down..." Soothingly, he stroked the other's hair, trying to relax him at least a little. This... this made him think, though: once Alexiel had told him that killing Fuuma might be best, just in case he remembered things. At the time, he'd been adamantly against it, but now, seeing this... he wondered. If Fuuma killed him and returned to normal -remembering everything- he might end up following Kamui into death, after all.
"Kamui... Kamui..." was the only thing that Fuuma could get out past the tightness of his throat. He couldn't stop shaking, even now that all he was focusing on was Kamui's name, trying to rid his mind of every other thought in the world, because Kamui was here, and he wasn't alone with the memories that threatened to sweep his very sense of self away, anymore. "I'm--I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." It was all he could say, because if he stopped saying it the world would shatter.
"Hush," his voice was soft, gentle, "it's okay. Those things..." He paused, continuing to pet him, rubbing his back with his other hand and tilting his head to rest against the one on his shoulder. This... this was a delicate situation. Kamui sucked at delicate situations. "It wasn't you. It was him... not you at all..."
Slowly, sense began to return to him--sense, at least, if not himself. This gentleness... from Kamui... was--odd. He'd always protected Kamui... vowed it... broken promises, so many of them, blood and blood and endless blood and Kotori's beloved face crucified on the cross of his own making and Kamui's eyes accusing and accusing and accusing and empty... Terrified of what he was seeing, Fuuma recoiled, backing against the wall out of Kamui's embrace. "Him. Him.. What...?" He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control--focused on the scent of Kamui, quiet and fleeting as a word in the story of the world. "Yes. I know him. I..." Struggling against memories and attempting to make sense of them--it was a futile endeavor, but one he was not ready to give up on just yet. "I am him."
It was, at least, a statement. The full horror of its truth crawled under the surface of his skin, and the hand lingering on Kamui's shoulder tightened desperately; that was the part of memory he didn't care to know.
Kamui looked to Fuuma with obvious confusion. "You are him? Fuuma, that doesn't make sense." At least, it didn't to Kamui. Saving his Fuuma had been his one purpose in life since... everything... had happened, broken. It was the one thing that had kept him alive after it all. "You're not. You're you. I know that has to be true. I watched you change; the moment I made my decision, you changed, and..." Pain was quickly leaking into his transparent violet gaze, "it was my fault. It was my fault that everything happened, and it's not your's at all, so you shouldn't... blame youself..."
"He was... me. I... did..." Fuuma was clenching and unclenching his hands, barely able to understand Kamui's attempts to persuade him otherwise. The shuddering in his vision, lingering aftereffects of his violent altercations with the wall, loosened another fragment of memory.
Earthquakes.
And everything splintered, down the middle into a thousand pieces, a thousand faces--white-clothed bodies on the television, pixelated anonymous faces, so many that had died and died and died; numbers that kept climbing like a neverending stairs to a tower that would topple forever, because the weight it bore grew without end--he fell back against the wall with a gasping cry, suddenly unable to breathe again. There was--he'd killed all of them. The realization... it wouldn't even make sense. He was incapable of it.
"FUUMA!" Kamui screamed again as the other fell backwards, finding himself holding onto him once more. "Stop it! Stop thinking of everything. Please!" He would have never imagined seeing Fuuma this way; not his strong Fuuma. "Focus on me, okay? Focus on only me for right now. I'm right here." And scared as all hell, but very obviously not upset with him at the moment. "I'm here and just calm down."
The fear--it was that fear in Kamui's voice that brought him back, as surely as it tried to slam free more scenes from the neverending nightmare: Kamui bleeding, crying, begging, broken and dying and it was all his--somehow Fuuma found the strength of will to push those images down, for now. Maybe it was that shrill, panicked note in Kamui's voice that snagged at the shreds of his sanity; familiarity from the way he recognized them from the childhood days--not any later, not any sooner, no--when they'd have a sleep over and Kamui awoke from a nightmare.
Now, as he had then, Fuuma slipped his arms around the younger boy and just held him, holding to and holding on--holding him close for both their sakes, because if he let go he would lose himself again. This fragile, almost new sense of self that he had just begun to find again--bolstered by those faraway sounds of summer and games and childish promises. Thrice broken, once remembered, and yet... "Kamui." His voice broke, but it was Fuuma, all of him now, wrapped around his smaller friend as though the other might disappear if ever he let himself relax.
"That's right." Kamui curled himself around Fuuma as much as he could, trying not to cry. "It's me. It's just us right here. The two of us." Nothing else needed to matter right now. After a moment, he tried to smile for Fuuma. "But let's... let's get you someplace more suitable, okay? We'll go to my apartment. Is that alright with you?" Yes, his apartment... someplace that Fuuma had no memory of; someplace that was, in a way, cut off from the realities of what Fuuma... no, Kamui... had done. Someplace safe.
The moment was so fragile, and, he could feel the singularity and the preciousness of it--a heartbreak for a word--Fuuma very slowly shifted and rose to his feet, grip gentle as he hoisted Kamui into his arms. For just that instant, memory and emotion aligned perfectly. His smile was very sad. "Is this all right?"
Kamui was a little surprised when he was lifted into the other's arms, but... that was okay. Right now, he'd allow anything from Fuuma: anything that would stop him from completely breaking. It was all Kamui could do, even though... this was his fault. If only he had chosen to be a Chi no Ryuu... he would have been the one breaking like this instead. He would have prefered that; to spare his friend this extreme pain; let him have the lesser that Kamui himself felt. Or, at least, it now seemed lesser in compairison.
"Yes, Fuuma..." Kamui wrapped his arms around the other's neck, one hand playing with the hair on his nape as he was carried, "this is all right."
Rating; PG-13 for imagery & angst
Characters; Fuuma (
antichristsmile) & Kamui (fateisabitch)Summary; Three too many scoops of pretty!boi emo flavored with the stinging sauce of heartbreak; Kamui finds non-Dark!Kamui Fuuma in the storeroom. This was really hard to write. :x I hope we did the scene justice.
Log;
Once he'd started, he couldn't seem to stop--it was and wasn't some ludicrous form of atonement, when he dipped the blade delicately from wrist to elbow, first lightly and then deeply. It wasn't even such a terrible cut--but it was the pain that counted, exquisite and what he knew the other would've liked. If there was no one to make this real, then he would remind himself, he would be him for the moment and turn this knife on himself in the same lovingly cruel way.
Fuuma stilled for a moment, fascinated at the sight of blood welling after a delay of several seconds--he'd started wondering whether he were still human, could still bleed. It took some time more before he could move again around the suffocating weight crushing his chest, that seemed to muffle all sounds and warp his vision--and then he fell into a frenzy, clawing and ripping at the wound with nails; the other arm, until he was kneeling against the floor of the store room shuddering and hugging himself, blood streaked and soaking through clothing.
It still didn't seem like enough--because he still couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't see, couldn't utter a sound. After a moment he picked himself up; and the room echoed.
Something was off. Something was wrong. Kamui had felt it the moment the clocks turned to midnight; there was something wrong with Fuuma. No, something wrong with Kamui. He normally could feel his twinstar quite clearly: know of his general location and status, but... something had happened. He had first felt the other's aura changing, shifting, and then it had almost blinked out entirely.
Even though he was still extremely angry with the other, he still found himself leaving to find him; an undercurrent of panic pulling at his mind that he was viciously trying to ignore. He wasn't worried about him. No way. He was merely worried about the body he was inhabiting. The body that he had used to...
Thump. He wasn't that far into his search when he heard strange sounds coming from a storeroom. Ones that weren't very, well, storeroom-y. "What the...?" he swung open the door open, annoyance soon replaced with horror. There was… blood, and… "F-Fuuma?!"
He wasn't heard over the ringing in Fuuma's head, occasioned by repeatedly driving his forehead into the wall, hard enough to feel it reverberate in his bones--fists clenched, drawing more blood, but no matter how much force he put into any motion... No matter how much he tried to layer pain with pain into insensibility, Fuuma could still feel that chasm gaping.
Unimaginable--the memories that had begun returning to him in his nightmare that night. He'd been sure at first it was a dream--but he couldn't seem to wake up. And then, more memories, returning so fast and all together that he could still barely make sense of them; what he had glimpsed had filled his mouth with the taste of bile and horror. "Kotori... Kotori... Kotori..." Images of his childhood fluttered throughout, lending poignancy and a nudge toward bitter reality. "... Kamui... oh god..."
Before he'd known it, he was stumbling away from the apartment, knife in hand, determined to do something--anything--to stop it all. He didn't want these memories. He didn't want himself.
This... this wasn't Kamui. No, it couldn't be, so that meant... and the way he was acting, that also meant... "FUUMA!" Kamui screamed, over and over, grabbing onto the other to try to keep him from hurting himself further. "STOP!" Fuuma couldn't do this. Fuuma couldn't kill himself because his fate was the same as Kamui's, damn it. Life, or death by your twinstar's hand. No other way out was allowed.
Once Kamui's cries, his presence, finally registered in Fuuma's consciousness--the other simply froze, not even breathing, for a very, very long moment. The tremors started lightly, at first unnoticeably, until Fuuma's whole body was shaking so violently he could barely raise his arms and clasp Kamui to him--like Kamui were life, or death, itself; bruisingly hard--and hide himself and the world in his twinstar's slender shoulder, because just now that was all he could really deal with.
"F-Fuuma..." Kamui let him latch onto him, holding him in turn. He'd be mad at him later, when he wasn't having a mental breakdown. "Shhh... calm down..." Soothingly, he stroked the other's hair, trying to relax him at least a little. This... this made him think, though: once Alexiel had told him that killing Fuuma might be best, just in case he remembered things. At the time, he'd been adamantly against it, but now, seeing this... he wondered. If Fuuma killed him and returned to normal -remembering everything- he might end up following Kamui into death, after all.
"Kamui... Kamui..." was the only thing that Fuuma could get out past the tightness of his throat. He couldn't stop shaking, even now that all he was focusing on was Kamui's name, trying to rid his mind of every other thought in the world, because Kamui was here, and he wasn't alone with the memories that threatened to sweep his very sense of self away, anymore. "I'm--I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." It was all he could say, because if he stopped saying it the world would shatter.
"Hush," his voice was soft, gentle, "it's okay. Those things..." He paused, continuing to pet him, rubbing his back with his other hand and tilting his head to rest against the one on his shoulder. This... this was a delicate situation. Kamui sucked at delicate situations. "It wasn't you. It was him... not you at all..."
Slowly, sense began to return to him--sense, at least, if not himself. This gentleness... from Kamui... was--odd. He'd always protected Kamui... vowed it... broken promises, so many of them, blood and blood and endless blood and Kotori's beloved face crucified on the cross of his own making and Kamui's eyes accusing and accusing and accusing and empty... Terrified of what he was seeing, Fuuma recoiled, backing against the wall out of Kamui's embrace. "Him. Him.. What...?" He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control--focused on the scent of Kamui, quiet and fleeting as a word in the story of the world. "Yes. I know him. I..." Struggling against memories and attempting to make sense of them--it was a futile endeavor, but one he was not ready to give up on just yet. "I am him."
It was, at least, a statement. The full horror of its truth crawled under the surface of his skin, and the hand lingering on Kamui's shoulder tightened desperately; that was the part of memory he didn't care to know.
Kamui looked to Fuuma with obvious confusion. "You are him? Fuuma, that doesn't make sense." At least, it didn't to Kamui. Saving his Fuuma had been his one purpose in life since... everything... had happened, broken. It was the one thing that had kept him alive after it all. "You're not. You're you. I know that has to be true. I watched you change; the moment I made my decision, you changed, and..." Pain was quickly leaking into his transparent violet gaze, "it was my fault. It was my fault that everything happened, and it's not your's at all, so you shouldn't... blame youself..."
"He was... me. I... did..." Fuuma was clenching and unclenching his hands, barely able to understand Kamui's attempts to persuade him otherwise. The shuddering in his vision, lingering aftereffects of his violent altercations with the wall, loosened another fragment of memory.
Earthquakes.
And everything splintered, down the middle into a thousand pieces, a thousand faces--white-clothed bodies on the television, pixelated anonymous faces, so many that had died and died and died; numbers that kept climbing like a neverending stairs to a tower that would topple forever, because the weight it bore grew without end--he fell back against the wall with a gasping cry, suddenly unable to breathe again. There was--he'd killed all of them. The realization... it wouldn't even make sense. He was incapable of it.
"FUUMA!" Kamui screamed again as the other fell backwards, finding himself holding onto him once more. "Stop it! Stop thinking of everything. Please!" He would have never imagined seeing Fuuma this way; not his strong Fuuma. "Focus on me, okay? Focus on only me for right now. I'm right here." And scared as all hell, but very obviously not upset with him at the moment. "I'm here and just calm down."
The fear--it was that fear in Kamui's voice that brought him back, as surely as it tried to slam free more scenes from the neverending nightmare: Kamui bleeding, crying, begging, broken and dying and it was all his--somehow Fuuma found the strength of will to push those images down, for now. Maybe it was that shrill, panicked note in Kamui's voice that snagged at the shreds of his sanity; familiarity from the way he recognized them from the childhood days--not any later, not any sooner, no--when they'd have a sleep over and Kamui awoke from a nightmare.
Now, as he had then, Fuuma slipped his arms around the younger boy and just held him, holding to and holding on--holding him close for both their sakes, because if he let go he would lose himself again. This fragile, almost new sense of self that he had just begun to find again--bolstered by those faraway sounds of summer and games and childish promises. Thrice broken, once remembered, and yet... "Kamui." His voice broke, but it was Fuuma, all of him now, wrapped around his smaller friend as though the other might disappear if ever he let himself relax.
"That's right." Kamui curled himself around Fuuma as much as he could, trying not to cry. "It's me. It's just us right here. The two of us." Nothing else needed to matter right now. After a moment, he tried to smile for Fuuma. "But let's... let's get you someplace more suitable, okay? We'll go to my apartment. Is that alright with you?" Yes, his apartment... someplace that Fuuma had no memory of; someplace that was, in a way, cut off from the realities of what Fuuma... no, Kamui... had done. Someplace safe.
The moment was so fragile, and, he could feel the singularity and the preciousness of it--a heartbreak for a word--Fuuma very slowly shifted and rose to his feet, grip gentle as he hoisted Kamui into his arms. For just that instant, memory and emotion aligned perfectly. His smile was very sad. "Is this all right?"
Kamui was a little surprised when he was lifted into the other's arms, but... that was okay. Right now, he'd allow anything from Fuuma: anything that would stop him from completely breaking. It was all Kamui could do, even though... this was his fault. If only he had chosen to be a Chi no Ryuu... he would have been the one breaking like this instead. He would have prefered that; to spare his friend this extreme pain; let him have the lesser that Kamui himself felt. Or, at least, it now seemed lesser in compairison.
"Yes, Fuuma..." Kamui wrapped his arms around the other's neck, one hand playing with the hair on his nape as he was carried, "this is all right."
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XDD All right.