Belong

By Mashou no Tenshi

Disclaimer: They belong to me. Sei-chan is still alive. In my world at least.

...ok, so they're not mine.

Obviously, God/Jesus does not belong to me either. Please do NOT take the certain part of this as blasphemy. I am a very religious Catholic myself. I have laced his "experiences" into a part of the story simply to show a paradox. He wrote himself into this, really. ;;...blame Muse-chan, if you must. Subaru-kun needs some religion in his ruined life. TT

Dammit...Quickedit..why are you so annoyingly against spacing and underscores? What have they done to you?! ::angry::

/.../ thoughts


He is alone. He is also upset. But most importantly, he is alone, and he wants something, or someone, to fill the dark, frightening spaces in his mind.

Sometimes I wonder

Sometimes I ponder

If you've somehow been mistaken

And I am the wrong angel

To crucify and stain

For surely

Angels are white and pure

With lovely golden wings

But as I glance upon myself

My wings are black

And the sin of loving you is glowing from my soul

There are vines around my neck

And the flowers are choking me

I am drowning steadily

In my fragrant prison

That you have built for me

…Beloved

But I worship you

Because of you

Because of me

I am a foolish hero

I am in love

With You

Break me

Corrupt me

Hurt me

…Kiss me

And all I want is You.

/Seishirou-san./

That desire again. That impulse to just forget the world, to forget everything that has ever happened, and hope, hope that if he could somehow forgive the man, the world would flower into meaning once more. Still that flickering light inside, that wants so desperately it hurt, like a starving man, picking up every scrap that the giver gives in an act of practiced kindness.

For a few seconds, he lets a grim smile grace the corners of his taut lips. It is altogether idiotic to hand your heart on a platter to your enemy every time you met. To pin it on your chest, eagerly waiting for your other to make a fresh wound in the already bleeding flesh. He does it every single time they met, though he knows too clearly the pain that always ensues such foolish bravery. Because so far addicted is he, that every insult, every ofuda thrown, is symbolism. A twisted implication of his significance. That he is important enough for Seishirou to pay attention, any attention at all.

His mind drifts further, almost curiously probing, once again, that forbidden little corner he has banished to the edges of his mind. The centre of that little light, the last remnant of what he used to be. There it is, rippling in a fresh new bout of aching and longing as he idly wonders what it would be like if he were only a little smarter, a little more worthy of Seishirou's love.

/Would I be happier?/

/...no./

He stands still, and blinks, dark lashes smudging the pallor of his lower eyelids. Today he finds himself within an ancient church, its age-eaten crucifix taunting him with the agony of Christ. He feels awkward, as though he has unwittingly interrupted an important silence. He does not belong here, though there is something achingly familiar about the agony of betrayal. A wry smile, as he searches, and finds the biting paradox of Christ's betrayal and his own as they echo together to form a single lilting melody of heartbreak and torment.

/And I'm not even a Christian./

/...did you feel the kind of pain I've been suffering when Judas betrayed you?/

Out of impulse, he kneels and begins to pray, wondering if God would hear the prayer of a fallen soul whose heart and spirit has long been consecrated to another.

Gentle tears outline his face as memories flood him once more, swallowing, devouring him with the bitterness of guilt, and an unrequited love so twisted in its core that it has become an obsession...hunger.

/If I could have been different, stronger, would you love me then?/

He stands up, absent-mindedly dragging the back of one star-kissed hand across his damp cheeks, failing to notice the gently glowing pentagrams, signaling the arrival of the Judas who rules his life to the point of no return.

Outside, it has stopped raining. He takes one step, and sees him.

To Subaru, Seishirou is poetry. The splendor of the sleek black shape, outlining the Sakurazukamori, never fails to steal his breath away.

/Really...and you call me art?/

He feels it, that beautiful, inexorable pull that takes him, like a helpless moth as he flutters, once again, to the flame's side.

It feels right; even as he sees himself disintegrating into specks of muted despair within -

-he doesn't care.

As he looks into those coldly amused eyes, he is 16 again; free to be impulsive and bold. He reaches out a tentative hand, holding back a tremor as he reads the cruel laughter and icy coldness within that single pool of melted amber. Brushing his face, knowing it is so wrong, and yet so right.

/To choose, between you and the world's safety.../

/I'd always choose you./

/Even if you would not do so for me./

A gentle kiss, as he leans up, brushing chastely against his other half. And everything is infinite then, each second dragging past, and each shiver in his taut body producing torrents of emotional turmoil. Two emeralds gaze hesitantly into their opposing ochre, searching, and sees—

-nothing.

It is as though it has again become that time 9 years ago, when his crystalline heart had shattered, except –

/This time, I don't have anything left for you to break./

He finds himself crying, deep inside, as he watches himself fall for his Gemini over and over again, even as the man took his heart and shred it to bits.

/over, and over again./

"Motto boku o dakishimete..." A choked whisper, his trembling hand clenching the dark, lavish coat with whitened knuckles. He collapses like a single white feather coming to rest on his dark opposite's broad chest. It feels excruciatingly like home, though inside, he can still feel the razor shards of the delicate, fragile crystal of his heart. They twist his guts until his mind crumbles and blocks all feeling. He waits docilely for the next force to act upon him and provoke a reaction.

The assassin raises a graceful arm, and gently enfolds the still-tremulous onmyouji within his embrace. A sakura petal twirls delicately around his cheek, curious and inquiring. He inclines his head slightly, to brush loving, pale lips against the sweet softness. A silent, deathly promise painted crimson in the mist of his warm breath.

One hand slipps up, to brush tapered fingers underneath a chin, bringing up the fragile face for calm speculation. Those beautifully expressive pools of twin emerald, glimmering with wild want and distressful hurting. Slightly parted ivory lips, begging to be kissed into rosy pallor.

The pale cheeks flush slightly as Subaru catches the smoldering cool gaze, and his head lowers again, hand tightening in Seishirou's coat as he tries to lengthen every moment of the deceptively secure embrace.

/So terribly trusting towards your very own death-bringer, Subaru-kun.../

/I wonder...what is this love that wounds you so? I know the guilt of your actions always haunts you afterwards, so why do you bother at all?/

Seishirou is annoyed. Subaru is becoming far too predictable in his actions, though his thoughts remain a mystery to the Sakurazukamori. Perhaps that is what lets him retain that small spark of mild interest inside Seishirou. A curious tilt of the head, and the assassin smiles thoughtfully.

/But maybe, just this once, I will indulge you./

/After all, things are always more interesting when one's toy is in good condition, ne? /

/And I know exactly how to do it too./

A tender touch to the downy soft hair, and Subaru looks up in response. He feels himself melting within, desperate for more of that gentle touch, even as he sees through that amiable mask he has come to know and hate so well.

/If that's what it takes...hurt me, Seishirou-san./

/If this is the only way I can be with you, even if it's just another illusion.../

/...just for now, if I can feel loved by you.../

/...then nothing else matters./

One white-clad arm slides, hesitantly, to wrap around the strong, lean waist. Pulling himself closer, even as the pain grew...to want him, to touch him...and to have him touch back; those light, teasing brushes across his face, the placid pressure of soft lips on his own...to be this way, he could give up his whole life, if only to stay like this for an eternity. He could even ignore the subtle yet unmistakable rippling of dark, fluid power beneath the skin, despite the relevant scarlet shades of death that rise to his mind. He could will himself to forget his own strangely embarrassing predicament, being in the arms of a destined enemy. All for these evanescent moments of self-willed comfort and belonging.

For Seishirou is the puppet master, and he must dance where the strings lead him, though they crucify him in the stinging ocean of requiem.

A decision. Stubborn and suicidal, but he knows his soul screams for it.

"Anata no soba ni itai."

/... no matter how hard I try to do otherwise...it is in your arms that I belong./

He dares not look at Seishirou, for fear of what he might see. Instead, he holds himself stiff, trying failingly to brace himself for whatever cutting remark may ensue. He manages an impressively blank composure, but the traitorous trembling makes warmness flush his cheeks with angry embarrassment. He misses Seishirou's politely surprised face, and the meaningful smile that lifts the corners of his beloved's lips.

"...ii yo."

-Owari-

Author's Notes:

Hmm...I dunno...no comment, I think. I don't really know what to say, except that it's weird. Yes, I've decided that this story is very weird indeed. Trust me to come up with something strange like this.

The italicized words at the beginning belong to me, by the way, in case you think I stole them off somewhere and didn't give credit for them. I made them up, so there.

Glossary:

Motto boku [w]o dakishimete – hold me more; hold me tighter...I think you get the implication.

Anata no soba ni itai – I want to be by your side

Ii yo – err...affirmation...kinda like 'ok' in a very loose sense. Just know it means 'yes'.