Random ficlet
Attempted some IC!BakuBaku for Frannyan 'cause I told her I would. Dunno if it worked or not.
* * *
He hasn't cleaned out the space underneath his bed - hell, even his room - in ages but he's still surprised when he finds the little doll stashed in between the wall and the bedpost.
It's a boy - he's ashamed to realize he's forgotten his name - from one of the schools he left behind so long ago, just another bully who's probably lying comatose somewhere, if he isn't dead by now.
"You bastard," he says quietly to the empty air. "You absolute bastard."
The laughter that trickles across his consciousness echoes the feeling of the pale arm that slides across his chest, draws him back against insubstantiality. If he closes his eyes, he knows he won't be able to tell the difference between reality and dreaming.
I didn't hear you complaining, the other purrs, When he finally stopped stealing your books.
His fingers clench around the little doll - careful, careful, don't crack it he could still be alive - and he draws in a deep, calming breath. "Bastard."
Another laugh, muffled against the back of his neck this time, white hair falling over his shoulders that isn't his own. How many times did you have to purchase those books again, yadonushi? You nearly starved that month.
Didn't. Wouldn't. He blinks, inhales again, slow and patient. "It doesn't matter."
Che. Another squeeze, and now he's truly stuck, a tangle of arms and legs that aren't really there but might as well be. This is the gratitude you show me?
He glares out into nothingness - easier to resist when he doesn't see his own mirror laughing at him - and tries a wiggle in vain. "That's not the point."
Then what is the point, pray tell? He's holding him a little too tightly, he notices, and wonders vaguely how that's possible, that he can be imprisoned by arms that aren't there.
"The point is..." He stares down at the little doll, wondering if there's really a soul stuck inside, wondering why he can't tell. The Ring lies dull and heavy against his chest, no spark of light to tell him, and he wonders again why it doesn't answer his calls.
The laughter is warm against his ear, this time, moist and familiar and he doesn't quite flinch from the kiss that presses against his skin. Do you want to know why, yadonushi?
He snorts. "Like you'd give me a straight answer?"
Why not? Pale fingers slide lightly down his chest, lingering over the lump of the Ring.
"Bastard," he says softly, but doesn't swat away the hand.
Coward, comes the prompt retort, but there is no venom in the tone, or in the kiss laid against his cheek. You don't know what you want.
His fingers clench around the little doll again. "And you do?" he snaps, wrenching free, because for all of the other's clinging he's the one with the physical form. And then he regrets it, because there's a lazy, lazy smile on his lips and in his eyes, and the hint of a catlike saunter as he draws closer, predatory and playful.
One of us has to.
His eyes narrow, and widen, and he throws the little doll straight into his smirking face.
It sails right through him as his shadow laughs at him again, slipping forward and slinging an arm possessively over his shoulders. Don't blame me for your shortcomings, yadonushi.
He turns his head so he doesn't have to look at him. "Shut up."
Bold of you. A lazy squeeze, and he's wound up in his arms again, wondering idly if he'll ever let go. Rather an interesting change.
"Change from what?" There's no need to mask his bitterness here, no need to try and shove it all down into the muck that's long sullied his soul.
Your apathy. Long fingers slide through his hair, smooth and soothing, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Amane at his side. You make it too easy for me, yadonushi.
He closes his eyes. "You like it better that way."
The other gives a low, thoughtful hum in the back of his throat, nosing his cheek like a young child. Mmm. You're more fun when you're willing to play.
"Shut up," he says lazily, and leans into him.
Another laugh, soft, pressed to his lips, and he leans into that too. Oh, so you are playing now?
His eyes flash open, and he gazes into his own amused reflection, lips curling bitterly. "I don't know. Do you?"
Of course. He pats his cheek like he's the child now, to be coddled and protected. If you won't take care of our life, I have to.
He glances down to the floor - one little lost soul of a doll, one among many whose names he's all forgotten. "Do you?"
I do. He draws him closer again, to be held and trapped, trapped and held. Forsaken again, he thinks bleakly, and wonders why he doesn't bother to push him away.
The other is laughing again, softly chuckling against his neck, and he swats at him lazily, irritated. "Shut up."
But yadonushi, his shadow purrs, and touches his lips with a ghostly fingertip, I'm doing it for you.
He closes his eyes. He can't deny that truth. He never can, so he never will.
And maybe that's enough.
* * *
Eep. Class!
* * *
He hasn't cleaned out the space underneath his bed - hell, even his room - in ages but he's still surprised when he finds the little doll stashed in between the wall and the bedpost.
It's a boy - he's ashamed to realize he's forgotten his name - from one of the schools he left behind so long ago, just another bully who's probably lying comatose somewhere, if he isn't dead by now.
"You bastard," he says quietly to the empty air. "You absolute bastard."
The laughter that trickles across his consciousness echoes the feeling of the pale arm that slides across his chest, draws him back against insubstantiality. If he closes his eyes, he knows he won't be able to tell the difference between reality and dreaming.
I didn't hear you complaining, the other purrs, When he finally stopped stealing your books.
His fingers clench around the little doll - careful, careful, don't crack it he could still be alive - and he draws in a deep, calming breath. "Bastard."
Another laugh, muffled against the back of his neck this time, white hair falling over his shoulders that isn't his own. How many times did you have to purchase those books again, yadonushi? You nearly starved that month.
Didn't. Wouldn't. He blinks, inhales again, slow and patient. "It doesn't matter."
Che. Another squeeze, and now he's truly stuck, a tangle of arms and legs that aren't really there but might as well be. This is the gratitude you show me?
He glares out into nothingness - easier to resist when he doesn't see his own mirror laughing at him - and tries a wiggle in vain. "That's not the point."
Then what is the point, pray tell? He's holding him a little too tightly, he notices, and wonders vaguely how that's possible, that he can be imprisoned by arms that aren't there.
"The point is..." He stares down at the little doll, wondering if there's really a soul stuck inside, wondering why he can't tell. The Ring lies dull and heavy against his chest, no spark of light to tell him, and he wonders again why it doesn't answer his calls.
The laughter is warm against his ear, this time, moist and familiar and he doesn't quite flinch from the kiss that presses against his skin. Do you want to know why, yadonushi?
He snorts. "Like you'd give me a straight answer?"
Why not? Pale fingers slide lightly down his chest, lingering over the lump of the Ring.
"Bastard," he says softly, but doesn't swat away the hand.
Coward, comes the prompt retort, but there is no venom in the tone, or in the kiss laid against his cheek. You don't know what you want.
His fingers clench around the little doll again. "And you do?" he snaps, wrenching free, because for all of the other's clinging he's the one with the physical form. And then he regrets it, because there's a lazy, lazy smile on his lips and in his eyes, and the hint of a catlike saunter as he draws closer, predatory and playful.
One of us has to.
His eyes narrow, and widen, and he throws the little doll straight into his smirking face.
It sails right through him as his shadow laughs at him again, slipping forward and slinging an arm possessively over his shoulders. Don't blame me for your shortcomings, yadonushi.
He turns his head so he doesn't have to look at him. "Shut up."
Bold of you. A lazy squeeze, and he's wound up in his arms again, wondering idly if he'll ever let go. Rather an interesting change.
"Change from what?" There's no need to mask his bitterness here, no need to try and shove it all down into the muck that's long sullied his soul.
Your apathy. Long fingers slide through his hair, smooth and soothing, and if he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Amane at his side. You make it too easy for me, yadonushi.
He closes his eyes. "You like it better that way."
The other gives a low, thoughtful hum in the back of his throat, nosing his cheek like a young child. Mmm. You're more fun when you're willing to play.
"Shut up," he says lazily, and leans into him.
Another laugh, soft, pressed to his lips, and he leans into that too. Oh, so you are playing now?
His eyes flash open, and he gazes into his own amused reflection, lips curling bitterly. "I don't know. Do you?"
Of course. He pats his cheek like he's the child now, to be coddled and protected. If you won't take care of our life, I have to.
He glances down to the floor - one little lost soul of a doll, one among many whose names he's all forgotten. "Do you?"
I do. He draws him closer again, to be held and trapped, trapped and held. Forsaken again, he thinks bleakly, and wonders why he doesn't bother to push him away.
The other is laughing again, softly chuckling against his neck, and he swats at him lazily, irritated. "Shut up."
But yadonushi, his shadow purrs, and touches his lips with a ghostly fingertip, I'm doing it for you.
He closes his eyes. He can't deny that truth. He never can, so he never will.
And maybe that's enough.
* * *
Eep. Class!