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remix_reduxTitle: The Angled Math of Shadows (Dark Chocolate Remix)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
riko
Summary: A dead girl, a fall-out, and a cold Christmas in Kyushu.
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairing: Kurosaki Hisoka/Tsuzuki Asato
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Entirely the property of Yoko Matsushita.
Original Story: Chocolatey Goodness byemerald_embers
Notes: Contains some spoilers for the Kyoto Arc.
Christmas in Nakatsu is colder than usual this year, enough so that Hisoka has to button his jacket all the way up to the top just to stay warm. The top snap is cold and hard against his chin, and he wishes that one of them had thought to bring an umbrella or a sweater or something.
Tsuzuki buys a hat from a store just off the main street. It's about an hour out of their way, an unexpected Point C on their way from Point A to Point B. And it isn't a very good hat – thick, synthetic wool which is too fat and slippery for a tight weave – but they're in Kyushu after all, and the idea that the weather could ever dip below freezing must be more than the poor locals can handle.
So Tsuzuki buys the damn thing because they probably aren't going to find anything better (and folds the receipt into quarters and tucks it away to give to Tatsumi as a business expense). When he tugs it down over his ears, it doesn't come down very far because the thing has earflaps the size of Hisoka's palms, but the feathery blue bobble on a string flops into his eyes.
Tsuzuki grins.
Hisoka grunts, wedges his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and starts down the road again. He doesn't stop to make sure Tsuzuki is following along behind him. He doesn't have to. These days, he just knows.
---
The first time they ever slept together – that is, the first time they ever slept in the same bed – was after Kyoto. They were in EnmaChou's infirmary; one night of rest and supervision, Tatsumi had readily promised, you can be back to work tomorrow. Hisoka remembers the stiff white sheets and the way everything smelt a bit like rubbing alcohol.
And he remembers the way Tsuzuki's nose pressed against the back of his neck – just the tip, just lightly, just right there between the 4th and 5th vertebrae. They didn't touch anywhere else, but it was enough for Hisoka to feel every inhale and exhale, to imagine a heartbeat to go along with it, and to feel clearly the steady flow of regret fear sorry i'm so (sorry scared angry lost) please (help me forgive me stay).
Outside the infirmary window, the moon was up and full, and the sakuras were (as always) in bloom, so Hisoka had turned and placed his hand lightly on Tsuzuki's chest, just to the left of his heart, and laid his own forehead on his knuckles and slept.
He's never been very good at returning empathic messages. That was the only way he could think to say it's okay.
---
They don't have much to go on with their latest case, a handful of strange sightings, a couple of freaked out relatives. It's easy and stupid and pretty trivial compared to the jobs they used to work, once upon a time, which has become something of a pattern recently, Hisoka's noticed.
It would piss him off (and, okay, it does a little anyway) – and he'd be happy to march right up to the Chief and tell him to cut it out, find someone else to play babysitter or secretary or whatever – except he knows that, this time at least, he's not the one they're being careful about.
Tsuzuki is still wearing the bobble hat when they go to talk to the family (one mother, age thirty-two, and one brother, age thirteen). They live in a little house on the edge of Nakatsu proper with enough front-yard for a small garden, although today it mostly just looks like mud. There's a string of Christmas lights (red and blue and orange) above the door. Tsuzuki rings the bell and then steps back and waits, with his hands in his pockets and the beginnings of a pleasant, ingratiating smile on his mouth.
Hisoka sort of lurks and watches – two things he's become suprisingly good at in the last few months.
---
They had this case about a month and a half ago – their first case since Kyoto, actually – when Hisoka first started noticing the changes. They'd been assigned to retrieve this extremely reluctant spirit of an old lady, which would have been routine to the point of ridiculous if the old lady hadn't mistaken Hisoka for her granddaughter and insisted on taking one last tour of her hometown before heading off into the great beyond.
"I'm not your granddaughter," Hisoka kept trying to explain, but Tsuzuki would glare at him every time or nudge him hard in the ribs with his elbow.
"It's okay, Grandma," he'd tell the old lady, patting her on the shoulder, "where to next?" They'd set off again, the old lady firmly gripping Hisoka's hand in hers as she explained how this was her favourite restaurant and this was where she went to school when she was seven.
And Hisoka watched and waited and half-listened to all the stories, waiting for Tsuzuki to stumble, to falter or frown. He's been waiting for Tsuzuki to break again for a while now. Because that's how these things work. There's fire and rebirth and then things change; they don't just go back to how they were before.
After the case was over and they were back in Meifu, Tsuzuki took Hisoka aside and asked him if he was okay.
"You were really, really quiet today," he explained, leaning in close, all concerned eyes and wobbly lower lip.
And Hisoka had had one of those irrational moments that come around so often where Tsuzuki is involved, and he'd thought, just for that moment, about grabbing Tsuzuki and shaking him and explaining that this is not how it goes; you don't go through something like what happened in Kyoto and come out unchanged.
Instead, he'd lifted his chin and shrugged. "Idiot," he'd said, and that had been that.
---
"She was only fifteen," the mother says. Her fingers tighten on her teacup for a moment, and her lips flatline. Nearby, her son is playing with a video game (an early Christmas present, they've been informed). He makes a disgusted sound every now and then; other than that, he keeps silent.
Hisoka waits an appropriate length of time before clearing his throat and surreptitiously digging his heel into Tsuzuki's foot.
"Ah?" Tsuzuki says, tearing his eyes away from his own teacup (they hadn't been offered sugar, much to Tsuzuki's dismay) and focusing in on the mother with sympathetic eyes.
"We're very sorry for your loss," says Hisoka.
The mother makes a little noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat and sets her cup down on the coffeetable. It rattles back and forth a bit before balancing. She folds her hands in her lap then unfolds them, straightens her skirt, and folds them again.
They wait – Hisoka with barely contained impatience, Tsuzuki with a dopey smile that could be considered compassionate.
"It's just," she says after a long while and falls back into silence.
"Yes?" they prompt together.
"You'll think I'm crazy."
"Of course we won't," says Tsuzuki at the same time as Hisoka mutters, "That'll make three of us at least."
So the mother takes a steadying breath, balancing, and tells them about how things have been going missing since her daughter died. Two photographs, a jacket, some magnets from the fridge. And she tells them about how her son swears up and down that he's seen his sister sitting on her favourite park bench, watching the sky, everyday on his way home from school.
Despite her best efforts, she starts to cry. Tsuzuki unfolds out of his seat and crosses over to her. He takes her hand in his.
---
What has taken place over this last month is not entirely unexpected, to tell the truth. Looking back, Hisoka can see the groundwork stretching out behind them for miles and miles. It is something simple and honest and straightforward and as such, something which Hisoka's upbringing has not prepared him for at all.
Tsuzuki brings him donuts in the morning, rests his hip against the desk, smiles. "Just like real detectives," he says.
He remembers things: Hisoka's birthday, the anniversary of when they became partners, what kind of food Hisoka doesn't like. He lets Hisoka do the cooking when they're away from Meifu for more than a day. Tsuzuki does his own paperwork. Sometimes.
And Hisoka has found a safety here that he had never hoped to find. This life (such as it is) is comforting and unconditional. A little like Tsuzuki himself.
He takes a donut from the pink cardboard box every now and then, when Tsuzuki isn't looking. They aren't as bad as he expected.
---
Tsuzuki pauses on the front steps to readjust his hat. Hisoka tries turning up his collar a little, but it doesn't help. It's a miserable, soggy day, and there's not much they can do to change that.
"Pretty yucky Christmas," says Tsuzuki.
Hisoka hums a distracted, half-agreement.
"So, the park?"
Hisoka nods. "The park."
---
The thing is, Hisoka kissed Tsuzuki a week ago, and they haven't talked about it since.
That might almost be okay, but he hasn't been able to get much of a read on Tsuzuki lately either, so his mind has been worrying almost constantly about whether he did it right, whether it was right to do it at all.
Because it was squishy, vaguely uncomfortable, certainly undignified, and terrifying. Hisoka has spent so much of their time together certain that he never wanted to be touched like that again and yet, in the end, he had been wrong. Tsuzuki makes his palms sweaty and his chest tight, and even what was probably the worst kiss in the world doesn't change that. He has never felt so painfully, intensely, gloriously sixteen before in his life.
He'd kissed Tsuzuki and when it was all over, he'd stood his ground, waiting. Tsuzuki had just stared, looking so uncertain that Hisoka had wanted to panic and run. He might have too but then the Chief and Tatsumi had arrived, and their weekly meeting had begun.
And there's just no good way to go about the aftermath. Hisoka desperately wants to ask, "Was it okay? Are we okay?" but he can't. He doesn't understand how this works. He wants Tsuzuki to just know, to say "I'm sorry, Hisoka, but I don't feel the same way. We can still be friends!" or even something as simple as "It's okay. Don't worry."
But days have gone by, and he never has.
---
The last day anyone saw her alive, she'd screamed at her little brother. She doesn't remember much else between that and when the car hit her. She didn't mean to scare them, coming back to the house weeks after her death; she just needed some things from her room – things to remember them by, a jacket for when it gets cold.
The dead girl is sitting on a bench in the park that she and her father used to visit when they were both still alive. Hisoka is sitting beside her. She cries a little as she recounts her story, and Tsuzuki offers her a wadded-up (but mostly clean) tissue from his pocket.
"I'm sorry," she says eventually. "I didn't know I was doing anything wrong. No one told me. I thought this was how it was supposed to happen."
Tsuzuki gives her his best smile and ruffles her hair. "Don't worry," he says. "If everyone got it right, we'd be out of a job."
The dead girl smiles too and although it is still a little watery around the edges, it's a genuine smile.
"Are you ready to go?" Hisoka asks.
She nods and, a second later, fades away.
Neither of them says anything right away. Hisoka is thinking about how young she was when she died, how young he was; Tsuzuki is thinking about whatever it is he thinks about when he gets that sad, serious look on his face.
Finally, Tsuzuki claps his hand together. "I could go for a hot chocolate," he says. "I know the best place."
Hisoka frowns. Reminders about overdue paperwork and deadlines, not to mention the office Christmas party, form on his tongue. Then Tsuzuki touches his shoulder, warm and steady, and something not altogether foreign threads its way into the back of his mind. Affection, first, and then a wave of concern that Tsuzuki can't quite suppress (you've been so worried lately). Finally something new, and it hits Hisoka hard, square in the chest: it's (okay alright) don't worry we're (okay alright right) we're right.
"Crap," Hisoka says aloud, and he blinks a couple of times. The feeling doesn't go away, and neither does Tsuzuki's hand. "Crap," he says again, to emphasize the point.
"Are you okay?" asks Tsuzuki. The bobble on his hat slides down in front of his eyes again, and he lets it dangle there rather than flicking it away.
Hisoka stands up (partly just to see if he still can) and nods slowly. "Hot chocolate, huh?" he says. "Idiot."
---
Hisoka is used to straight paths. He's used to going from Point A to Point B, no distractions, no detours. He understands starting points and destinations, and he has little time for anything else.
He does not understand Tsuzuki's endless fascination with Point C. He does not understand why Tsuzuki would walk an hour out of his way to buy a hat when he could just avoid the cold weather altogether. He does not understand going halfway across Japan for hot chocolate when they could just make their own at home.
He will likely never understand these things, but he's beginning to suspect that Point C might not a bad place after all.
Author:
rikoSummary: A dead girl, a fall-out, and a cold Christmas in Kyushu.
Fandom: Yami no Matsuei
Pairing: Kurosaki Hisoka/Tsuzuki Asato
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Entirely the property of Yoko Matsushita.
Original Story: Chocolatey Goodness by
emerald_embersNotes: Contains some spoilers for the Kyoto Arc.
Christmas in Nakatsu is colder than usual this year, enough so that Hisoka has to button his jacket all the way up to the top just to stay warm. The top snap is cold and hard against his chin, and he wishes that one of them had thought to bring an umbrella or a sweater or something.
Tsuzuki buys a hat from a store just off the main street. It's about an hour out of their way, an unexpected Point C on their way from Point A to Point B. And it isn't a very good hat – thick, synthetic wool which is too fat and slippery for a tight weave – but they're in Kyushu after all, and the idea that the weather could ever dip below freezing must be more than the poor locals can handle.
So Tsuzuki buys the damn thing because they probably aren't going to find anything better (and folds the receipt into quarters and tucks it away to give to Tatsumi as a business expense). When he tugs it down over his ears, it doesn't come down very far because the thing has earflaps the size of Hisoka's palms, but the feathery blue bobble on a string flops into his eyes.
Tsuzuki grins.
Hisoka grunts, wedges his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and starts down the road again. He doesn't stop to make sure Tsuzuki is following along behind him. He doesn't have to. These days, he just knows.
---
The first time they ever slept together – that is, the first time they ever slept in the same bed – was after Kyoto. They were in EnmaChou's infirmary; one night of rest and supervision, Tatsumi had readily promised, you can be back to work tomorrow. Hisoka remembers the stiff white sheets and the way everything smelt a bit like rubbing alcohol.
And he remembers the way Tsuzuki's nose pressed against the back of his neck – just the tip, just lightly, just right there between the 4th and 5th vertebrae. They didn't touch anywhere else, but it was enough for Hisoka to feel every inhale and exhale, to imagine a heartbeat to go along with it, and to feel clearly the steady flow of regret fear sorry i'm so (sorry scared angry lost) please (help me forgive me stay).
Outside the infirmary window, the moon was up and full, and the sakuras were (as always) in bloom, so Hisoka had turned and placed his hand lightly on Tsuzuki's chest, just to the left of his heart, and laid his own forehead on his knuckles and slept.
He's never been very good at returning empathic messages. That was the only way he could think to say it's okay.
---
They don't have much to go on with their latest case, a handful of strange sightings, a couple of freaked out relatives. It's easy and stupid and pretty trivial compared to the jobs they used to work, once upon a time, which has become something of a pattern recently, Hisoka's noticed.
It would piss him off (and, okay, it does a little anyway) – and he'd be happy to march right up to the Chief and tell him to cut it out, find someone else to play babysitter or secretary or whatever – except he knows that, this time at least, he's not the one they're being careful about.
Tsuzuki is still wearing the bobble hat when they go to talk to the family (one mother, age thirty-two, and one brother, age thirteen). They live in a little house on the edge of Nakatsu proper with enough front-yard for a small garden, although today it mostly just looks like mud. There's a string of Christmas lights (red and blue and orange) above the door. Tsuzuki rings the bell and then steps back and waits, with his hands in his pockets and the beginnings of a pleasant, ingratiating smile on his mouth.
Hisoka sort of lurks and watches – two things he's become suprisingly good at in the last few months.
---
They had this case about a month and a half ago – their first case since Kyoto, actually – when Hisoka first started noticing the changes. They'd been assigned to retrieve this extremely reluctant spirit of an old lady, which would have been routine to the point of ridiculous if the old lady hadn't mistaken Hisoka for her granddaughter and insisted on taking one last tour of her hometown before heading off into the great beyond.
"I'm not your granddaughter," Hisoka kept trying to explain, but Tsuzuki would glare at him every time or nudge him hard in the ribs with his elbow.
"It's okay, Grandma," he'd tell the old lady, patting her on the shoulder, "where to next?" They'd set off again, the old lady firmly gripping Hisoka's hand in hers as she explained how this was her favourite restaurant and this was where she went to school when she was seven.
And Hisoka watched and waited and half-listened to all the stories, waiting for Tsuzuki to stumble, to falter or frown. He's been waiting for Tsuzuki to break again for a while now. Because that's how these things work. There's fire and rebirth and then things change; they don't just go back to how they were before.
After the case was over and they were back in Meifu, Tsuzuki took Hisoka aside and asked him if he was okay.
"You were really, really quiet today," he explained, leaning in close, all concerned eyes and wobbly lower lip.
And Hisoka had had one of those irrational moments that come around so often where Tsuzuki is involved, and he'd thought, just for that moment, about grabbing Tsuzuki and shaking him and explaining that this is not how it goes; you don't go through something like what happened in Kyoto and come out unchanged.
Instead, he'd lifted his chin and shrugged. "Idiot," he'd said, and that had been that.
---
"She was only fifteen," the mother says. Her fingers tighten on her teacup for a moment, and her lips flatline. Nearby, her son is playing with a video game (an early Christmas present, they've been informed). He makes a disgusted sound every now and then; other than that, he keeps silent.
Hisoka waits an appropriate length of time before clearing his throat and surreptitiously digging his heel into Tsuzuki's foot.
"Ah?" Tsuzuki says, tearing his eyes away from his own teacup (they hadn't been offered sugar, much to Tsuzuki's dismay) and focusing in on the mother with sympathetic eyes.
"We're very sorry for your loss," says Hisoka.
The mother makes a little noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat and sets her cup down on the coffeetable. It rattles back and forth a bit before balancing. She folds her hands in her lap then unfolds them, straightens her skirt, and folds them again.
They wait – Hisoka with barely contained impatience, Tsuzuki with a dopey smile that could be considered compassionate.
"It's just," she says after a long while and falls back into silence.
"Yes?" they prompt together.
"You'll think I'm crazy."
"Of course we won't," says Tsuzuki at the same time as Hisoka mutters, "That'll make three of us at least."
So the mother takes a steadying breath, balancing, and tells them about how things have been going missing since her daughter died. Two photographs, a jacket, some magnets from the fridge. And she tells them about how her son swears up and down that he's seen his sister sitting on her favourite park bench, watching the sky, everyday on his way home from school.
Despite her best efforts, she starts to cry. Tsuzuki unfolds out of his seat and crosses over to her. He takes her hand in his.
---
What has taken place over this last month is not entirely unexpected, to tell the truth. Looking back, Hisoka can see the groundwork stretching out behind them for miles and miles. It is something simple and honest and straightforward and as such, something which Hisoka's upbringing has not prepared him for at all.
Tsuzuki brings him donuts in the morning, rests his hip against the desk, smiles. "Just like real detectives," he says.
He remembers things: Hisoka's birthday, the anniversary of when they became partners, what kind of food Hisoka doesn't like. He lets Hisoka do the cooking when they're away from Meifu for more than a day. Tsuzuki does his own paperwork. Sometimes.
And Hisoka has found a safety here that he had never hoped to find. This life (such as it is) is comforting and unconditional. A little like Tsuzuki himself.
He takes a donut from the pink cardboard box every now and then, when Tsuzuki isn't looking. They aren't as bad as he expected.
---
Tsuzuki pauses on the front steps to readjust his hat. Hisoka tries turning up his collar a little, but it doesn't help. It's a miserable, soggy day, and there's not much they can do to change that.
"Pretty yucky Christmas," says Tsuzuki.
Hisoka hums a distracted, half-agreement.
"So, the park?"
Hisoka nods. "The park."
---
The thing is, Hisoka kissed Tsuzuki a week ago, and they haven't talked about it since.
That might almost be okay, but he hasn't been able to get much of a read on Tsuzuki lately either, so his mind has been worrying almost constantly about whether he did it right, whether it was right to do it at all.
Because it was squishy, vaguely uncomfortable, certainly undignified, and terrifying. Hisoka has spent so much of their time together certain that he never wanted to be touched like that again and yet, in the end, he had been wrong. Tsuzuki makes his palms sweaty and his chest tight, and even what was probably the worst kiss in the world doesn't change that. He has never felt so painfully, intensely, gloriously sixteen before in his life.
He'd kissed Tsuzuki and when it was all over, he'd stood his ground, waiting. Tsuzuki had just stared, looking so uncertain that Hisoka had wanted to panic and run. He might have too but then the Chief and Tatsumi had arrived, and their weekly meeting had begun.
And there's just no good way to go about the aftermath. Hisoka desperately wants to ask, "Was it okay? Are we okay?" but he can't. He doesn't understand how this works. He wants Tsuzuki to just know, to say "I'm sorry, Hisoka, but I don't feel the same way. We can still be friends!" or even something as simple as "It's okay. Don't worry."
But days have gone by, and he never has.
---
The last day anyone saw her alive, she'd screamed at her little brother. She doesn't remember much else between that and when the car hit her. She didn't mean to scare them, coming back to the house weeks after her death; she just needed some things from her room – things to remember them by, a jacket for when it gets cold.
The dead girl is sitting on a bench in the park that she and her father used to visit when they were both still alive. Hisoka is sitting beside her. She cries a little as she recounts her story, and Tsuzuki offers her a wadded-up (but mostly clean) tissue from his pocket.
"I'm sorry," she says eventually. "I didn't know I was doing anything wrong. No one told me. I thought this was how it was supposed to happen."
Tsuzuki gives her his best smile and ruffles her hair. "Don't worry," he says. "If everyone got it right, we'd be out of a job."
The dead girl smiles too and although it is still a little watery around the edges, it's a genuine smile.
"Are you ready to go?" Hisoka asks.
She nods and, a second later, fades away.
Neither of them says anything right away. Hisoka is thinking about how young she was when she died, how young he was; Tsuzuki is thinking about whatever it is he thinks about when he gets that sad, serious look on his face.
Finally, Tsuzuki claps his hand together. "I could go for a hot chocolate," he says. "I know the best place."
Hisoka frowns. Reminders about overdue paperwork and deadlines, not to mention the office Christmas party, form on his tongue. Then Tsuzuki touches his shoulder, warm and steady, and something not altogether foreign threads its way into the back of his mind. Affection, first, and then a wave of concern that Tsuzuki can't quite suppress (you've been so worried lately). Finally something new, and it hits Hisoka hard, square in the chest: it's (okay alright) don't worry we're (okay alright right) we're right.
"Crap," Hisoka says aloud, and he blinks a couple of times. The feeling doesn't go away, and neither does Tsuzuki's hand. "Crap," he says again, to emphasize the point.
"Are you okay?" asks Tsuzuki. The bobble on his hat slides down in front of his eyes again, and he lets it dangle there rather than flicking it away.
Hisoka stands up (partly just to see if he still can) and nods slowly. "Hot chocolate, huh?" he says. "Idiot."
---
Hisoka is used to straight paths. He's used to going from Point A to Point B, no distractions, no detours. He understands starting points and destinations, and he has little time for anything else.
He does not understand Tsuzuki's endless fascination with Point C. He does not understand why Tsuzuki would walk an hour out of his way to buy a hat when he could just avoid the cold weather altogether. He does not understand going halfway across Japan for hot chocolate when they could just make their own at home.
He will likely never understand these things, but he's beginning to suspect that Point C might not a bad place after all.
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