Fandom: Tokyo Babylon/X-1999.
Warnings: Boy love, angst, dub/noncon.
Word Count: 2266.
Characters: Subaru and Seishirou. Mentions of Hokuto.
Notes: ...So I started this over a year ago and failed to complete it. By now, I forgot the original theme. It may have failed in what it set out to be. (Also it's supposed to be messy with present and past tense.) Also warnings for TB/X-1999 spoilers.
Summary: Three instances of memory beckon; touch holds your essence best.
When Subaru remembers, he remembers in sensation. This is not what he will tell you. Ask him, and he won’t admit it; he’ll rattle off instances of the three of them together, quiet happy times that were betrayed by their falseness. Certainly, that’s true as well. But in the end, when Subaru remembers Seishirou, he remembers sensations. The touch of skin on skin.
Subaru remembers finally accepting, finally realizing, finally loving like he had all along. Going to the person he had wronged by forcing them to protect him, even if the action was their choice. Moving to them, and pressing nervous lips against infinite softness. He hadn’t expected that. Seishirou’s body had always been firm against him, but his lips betrayed that. Subaru allowed the closeness he had been forcing away, and to that, there only existed a cruel smile. An admittance of nothing but a whim. A rejection taught in pain. Gouged out in a way ill-suited for forgetting. As if he cared about wounds, when his heart had already broken. As if he would remember anything but.
Subaru remembers the door opening when he expected no one. Had known no one’s voice for months. The steps were crisp and precise as they crossed the distance to him; the sound was familiar in his haze, and he might have lifted eyes to see the possessor. Before his eyes raised fully, the steps increased, and a hand pressed firmly against his eyes. Even that, that hand, begged familiarity, in a way that Subaru couldn’t allow. As if that mystery leeched everything from him more than it already had. He was pressed backwards, sinking into the bed in which he rarely slept. The opposite hand of the one covering him reached for his wrists, and he didn’t think to fight. Both were clutched in one hand, dwarfed in comparison, and Subaru remembered that. Remembered the feeling of security that hand had once given him.
Fingers slipped from his eyes, and Subaru stared into Seishirou’s quietly mocking expression. If it was a surprise, the boy gave no note of it. He was like the doll once wanted, and the man touched his cheek like a lover would. “It’s a game. A bet to see who would win.”
It made less sense than the explanation after Subaru kissed him, and as if to mirror that, he found himself smothered by lips on his. Weight pressed into him, his wrists were pulled above his head, and the opposite hand tangled cruelly in his hair. He wondered what was the correct reaction to this, as his hands were released, but Subaru left them where they were. Was he supposed to fight his sister’s murderer, kill the man he had loved? Was he supposed to accept this, another game that Seishirou didn’t even care about? It was easier to dismiss it. View it as another dream, of being curled in the man’s arms as his sister came from the kitchen to gasp in feigned shock and then laugh giddily. If she laughed again, he could probably remember how to move. If she smiled at him, pressed her head to his and told him everything would be fine, he could probably understand why--
Awareness moved thickly. A hand was deftly undoing his pants, fingers tickling the fine hairs at his waist. Cloth slipped down his thighs, and the cool air made him shiver. The response provoked a chuckle, for some reason, and Subaru ventured hollow eyes to the person above him. The same. The same eyes looked down, dead of anything that mattered. He didn’t know if that made it better or worse. Months ago, a year, he would have fought that gaze with all he had, and now, it seemed like the most appropriate punishment for failing the both of them. Seishirou could look at him like that. Look like Subaru was less than dirt beneath him, unable to be loved or hated. Would you spend emotion on a leaf on its downward spiral to the earth? Of course you wouldn’t. Just the same as Seishirou would not waste care on Subaru. The boy believed he understood. Something released in his chest, and he let out a breath of air; closed his eyes as if accepting death.
There was the sound of wings, and Subaru envisioned darkness flying from a source he thought he knew.
Memory shuddered, and yet he understood the progression. A gloved hand clutching him (and why would Seishirou care to take them off), too rough against him. Subaru must have made a noise of discomfort, for his head was wretched back by the hand in his hair, Seishirou’s mouth moving against his neck, something like sickly sweet noises of false comfort. Part of Subaru, the part that had decayed, wanted to laugh. Because he could understand the game as Seishirou played it, the meaningless words pressed into Subaru like nails through a butterfly’s wings.
Still, there was nothing in that knowledge that could halt his body’s reactions. Even as he hovered outside of it, it writhed and gasped without any reserve. His hands moved instinctually lower, and Seishirou instantly grabbed both again, murmuring senseless things as he returned them to the place above Subaru’s head. He wondered if Seishirou was actually speaking words. Was it only that Subaru had lost all sense, and couldn’t even-- He could see the ridiculousness of the situation. By his own refusal to act, he was participating in something against his will. Even leaving his hands where they were placed, not tied or bound, just restrained with an utterance and a want for them to remain where they were. Was it still seen as punishment? Or was this his own desire, twisted by malignancy like any other disease?
It was further questioned when a feeling like ice pressed against him, pressure and moist coolness. There was something of rejection in this, a body’s natural response to invasion, something that had been given without warning. Seishirou’s mouth was warm in its motions against Subaru’s chest, and for a moment, his focus wavered, body winning against the mind as it gave in to the attentions. His eyelids fluttered, and he existed on a wave of sensation that he couldn’t press away.
This continued for only a brief moment in time. But Subaru remembered it as nothing but waves against his skin all the same; warm air moving against exposed nerve endings, the gentle touch of fingers in his hair.
And then his body is split by something he could not withstand. Of what, a part of him instantly understands, understands by the way of Seishirou’s movements, of a heavy pain deep within him. The man’s cock drags out of Subaru slowly, and it is the boy’s solitary chance to cry out. His mouth opens, and mutely, nothing is heard. He makes no sounds for the rest of the time. Seishirou pushes back inside, the hand in Subaru’s hair moving to the boy’s chin, wrenching it upwards so the man could stare into Subaru’s empty eyes, smile cruelly down as he thrusts deeply again, and Subaru wonders if perhaps this was what he wanted all along.
He doesn’t know which of them he’s thinking of with this, and he decides it’s not his place to know. If Seishirou wanted only the chance to try to break him. If Subaru wanted only Seishirou’s hands on him--if he now only wanted the chance to be punished by one of those he had wronged.
He feels as if he is choking, then, and air is too far away. Subaru’s eyes roll back, and Seishirou’s hand drops, again, the man’s face presses into the boy’s neck, hot tongue trailing the artery that would splash brightest when torn open. Like petals blossoming. He had told him that. And wasn’t Subaru the one that was right, because wasn’t he the one in pain now. As if he felt the pain in his body. There was nothing but that, something ripping within him, but it all transferred to his chest, settling there like thick bars pressing against his lungs and heart. Like the weight of his sister’s death settling where a simple love once lived.
He thinks that he must have cried. Because down his cheeks, tears trailed down. He couldn’t remember then, what he had wanted to fight in the beginning. There is movement, becoming a pattern, becoming a rhythm, and within him something loosens to let go of some of the pain. His body is pummeled quietly, pressed harshly against the headboard, softened by a hand cushioning the top of his head from banging into it. At some point, his hands left the space they had been left in, and his fingers were curled tightly around the front of the man’s jacket. The difference between them was mimicked in their clothing--Subaru had none, his vulnerabilities showing brightly, and Seishirou was wrapped in his secrets, undressed by none, his emotions and thoughts his own. This was how it had been. This was how it was. Subaru questioned himself, laughingly thought that he was so foolish to ever think differently.
The boy moans, and if by that sign, the man presses inward, a gloved hand squeezing Subaru’s waist as he climaxed. Seishirou backed out slowly, fingers tracing the light hairs on the boy’s stomach. If there was more of Subaru, or less perhaps, the man might have tried to do the same in turn. But the boy was only a ghost, a memory, of a missed chance and grave of regrets. He wished to be with his sister, lying cold under the cherry blossoms. He wished to be in the past, in a kitchen laughing while his sister and this man teased from both sides. He wished for something false, in the end. Because that past had not been the truth.
Subaru’s hands were lifted, his own gloves that had remained on as well peeled off one by one, and lifted to Seishirou’s lips. The man watched him as he did it, as he pressed the iced lips of a corpse to the backs of Subaru’s hands, to the marks claiming the boy as the Sakurazukamori’s prey. Subaru watched him blindly, shivering at the touch without knowing the reason. The man stood, clothes rustling in a sigh, and raised a hand as if summoning something unseen. Perhaps it was there. Subaru no longer had the eyes to see.
Seishirou looked at him once more, the expression too complicated, bordering on inhuman, then turned silently, locking the door as he went out. Subaru laid where he was left, and shivered. And stared at nothing. There was no absolution in the act. Years later, he would question if it ever happened.
Subaru remembers the bridge. Of words, meaningless now and ill-exchanged, and resignation, determination. A choice of endings fit for one that was left behind. There is a presence of mind in the method--of death and despair crossing loneliness. Subaru was never one to live for anyone else--he had fought because it had been an obligation, and if it had been looked at closer, he would see little else. Years after everything, his sister’s absence weighed too heavily on his soul. Years after everything, that man’s casual tossing aside tore at him more than the betrayal itself. It was too sick, in the end, too selfish to compare. But Subaru still loved Seishirou, and no amounts of denial would cancel that.
So a death at his hand, finally, as his victim, would be too perfect in nature. Subaru would sleep inside him, and in that, he would not be left alone. This was the end he had given himself to. And yet it was the other who bled in his arms. Held to Subaru’s own sister’s spell, given at her death. The moment Seishirou moved to kill Subaru, he had allowed his own death. Willingly. Perfectly. The man knew exactly what it had meant. Knew exactly what laid at the end of that act. And still he smiled perfectly, as Subaru looked on. Still Subaru shed tears for the loss twice over.
Subaru remembers the weight in his arms, the feel of another’s life. He remembers the words spoken, kindly and quietly, as if there was nothing else. “Of you, Subaru, I have always….”
He knew the exact moment he died. He knew the feel of someone slipping away from him. He knew that, if he tried, he would not be able to connect the points of a line together anymore, make a barrier to protect the world. As long as there was someone that a person wished to protect, it could form, and….
It was impossible for everyone to be happy, he thought. He thinks he may have said that to a boy with worried eyes, but he cannot remember now. This is what Subaru remembers. The soft press of lips. A time ill-suited for what it had been that may not have even occurred. And the weight of a soul, pressing down against the tattered scraps of his own.
He did not know Seishirou’s mother’s prophecy. He did not know she cursed her son to be killed by love.
Subaru does know, however, that two people died for him. Two souls set aloft for the sake of his life. Two that he cherished and wished to remain beside. He could tell you memories, of the three of them and how they laughed. But his sister was gone now. And he was responsible for the death of the one he had continued to love. Memories remained. Memories quiet within. And now.
And now there was nothing left.