Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Blood Bond ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
Silent stillness crept over the pebbled ground and settled around them absolutely, as if Life itself was unwilling to interfere.
“Hisoka? Is that really...” He wore black so dark light hesitated to touch him, and chose to weave around him instead. Sweat embraced his skin, trapping damp clumps of dark-brown hair against a lightly tanned face, but still he wore a jacket that brushed his ankles. His lips parted for a moment: desperate to be heard but unsure of the words. He took a step forward, just enough to be clear of the noonday sun's glare, and broke into a wide grin. “'Soka! You're alright! You're really-”
The towering man gazed questioningly, his eyes mesmerizing. Hisoka found he had to tear his gaze away in order to even think. “Hisoka? What's wrong? It's me. I've been looking all over for you. You've been gone for a week, I mean...” His voice rumbled soothingly, the power to ease the strain of the boy's clenched fingers and taut muscles dominant in his words. He inched forward with the skill of one used to handling skittish creatures. “I know you were mad at me...” The blond boy matched him step for step, advance for retreat, until solid wall hindered him.
The man moved, and the can of coffee-milk soared harmlessly by his head and thudded against a post. It sat uselessly, mocking...'You're defenseless now.' Hisoka's legs, weakened from the sun, gave, and, with a moan, he slid to the floor.
“Hisoka.” Gravel and dried grass crackled softly beneath black shoes as he took another small step forward, his dark form now looming above the boy. “It's alright Hisoka. I'm here now. Just calm down and we can...” Another step forward. Their eyes locked, and it came, a flaming rain of emotions scorching in its intensity. It flooded his veins, invading every cell, overpowering every private thought. He could no longer distinguish one emotion from another, or his thoughts from the rest. 'Those eyes' felt as if they were looking right into him, as if skin was merely an inconvenience to be seared away.
Hisoka felt the darkness rising up inside him: his mind's desperate attempt to defend itself by shutting down. 'Help me...' Crystal tears threatened at the edge of his eyes. “Help me...” Now even his voice deserted him. Without thought, for he was no longer capable of it, his lips formed a single word.
The man with the purple eyes sucked in a breath, the name a word-spell to freeze his fingers before they brushed gold locks.
“How shameful Mister Tsuzuki. And in public no less.”
Hisoka gasped, the frigid words dousing him.
“Muraki,” The man snarled, his mind echoing his fury. His thoughts pulled back slightly: they had something else to focus on now.
'Muraki. Why did you come?'
It was their banter that he looked forward to at their meetings. It was the range of expressions, the myriad of feeling in his eyes that made their encounters interesting. So quickly, so easily he abandoned one emotion for another, how simple were the words that could control the dark-haired shinigami.
Tsuzuki was an instrument: a beautifully crafted, delicate creation with a awe-inspiring beauty. In the hands of a master his song could be intoxicating. And Muraki understood. Muraki knew how to pluck chords that would cause heady anger to explode.
He answered the man's demands with practiced ease, merely playing arpeggios. No, he was not up to anything sinister. No, he was not stalking them. No, he had no intention of creating a scene in public.
Slowly he drew out the first few tentative notes.
“You seem to be having trouble with your partner.”
“That is none of your concern!”
Carefully he caressed the melody: there is no pleasure if it ends too quickly. He waited until he could see the tremors of rage rippling beneath the thick black coat, until he could feel the sweetness of fear on the tip of his tongue.
“Boy,” He called quietly, turning his gaze on the crouched child. He smiled, reveling in the confusion on the dark-haired shinigami's face. No doubt his pain would be as sweet.
The music crescendoed, frantically exploding in his ears.
“Hisoka. Come to me.”
Note: I have made a huge decision about this fic. I had intended it to be full length but since it is description driven rather than action driven, it's really hard to read and harder to write if it is more than a few pages. So I will use this story as a prologue for a story about Muraki and Hisoka, the sort of emotion-based background so to speak. Wish me luck!