(X/1999, TRC) Madness, thy constant companion
Title: Madness, thy constant companion
Pairing: Subaru/Seishirou, Kurogane/Fai
Fandom: X/1999, TRC crossover
Genre: Angst. What do you really expect?
Word Count: 1398
Notes: They're all mad, I swear.
Summary: Fai and Subaru meet.
When they check Subaru in, he is not stark raving mad. He has never been one for public displays anyway, and he is off-kilter in a much more subtle-and all the more chilling-way. When his grandmother hesitantly squeezes his hand, a goodbye, he just smiles at her. The way he would smile at a stranger, when he used to smile at all.
The twelfth head of the Sumeragi lets go like she has been burnt, then almost immediately regrets the action. She cannot kiss him in apology, so instead she touches his cheek and promises to come back and visit soon.
Subaru holds no faith in promises anymore, but he nods and allows himself to be led away by the men in white.
--
Life in the asylum is no different from life outside. Straitjackets restrain in place of manners and etiquette-the mad have no need to be polite, but still-while people continue to either look past Subaru, or straight at and through him. Another constant, comforting and masochistically so, is Seishirou-san.
He drops by frequently enough, teasing as usual, sometimes malicious and cruel, or maybe nine years younger and a whole lot kinder. Never both at the same time. Either way, Subaru hurts. Sometimes he gets a glimpse of Hokuto too, and his older sister fusses over his ugly uniform and overlong hair. He yearns to answer them, to cry at their jibes and pose his own questions, to tell them take me with you, but the nurse is ever vigilant with her hypodermic needle-he dares not breathe a word for fear that she might chase away his guests with a well-placed jab.
--
There are others, of course, who come to see him, more tangible and alien than his dreams and delirium.
An old lady-his grandmother, says the nurse-comes twice a week. Every time she comes, she seems to have aged a century, and Subaru registers her presence with a vague nagging sense of familiarity. What is more alarming are the tears she cries every time she leaves.
Then there is a boy with violet eyes that hurts Subaru to look at. He comes as regularly as the old woman-grandmother!-like a sinner going for confession, devout and remorseful. He holds Subaru’s bony hand, and tells him of things that used to be, of picnics in parks, of kekkais and dragons, and frequently mentions a Sorata and Arashi, among many other names that make his head ache.
Subaru does not remember the parks, nor the picnics, recalls kekkais as something he learnt as a child with gloved hands, and recognizes Sorata as the weird man with a weirder accent, who comes occasionally accompanied by two girls and a dog. He eventually learns that the dog is yet another secret to be kept from the nurse.
These visitors all leave unhappy, and Subaru feels guilty all the time.
--
Subaru wakes up one morning to find the previously empty bed next to him suddenly, magically filled. Its new occupant looks ethereal and wispy enough to be otherworldly, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and settles for staring politely at his new neighbour.
Who gazes back, equally unblinking and unsettling.
The new arrival speaks first. “We match,” he says, a he because the voice is not quite high enough to match appearances. Subaru nods, not understanding at all.
He sighs patiently, someone used to miscommunication all the time. With a laugh-broken glass tinkling like wind chimes-he raises a thin, shaky finger to tap his right eye. “We match,” he repeats, adding an amused “silly” for good measure.
Subaru starts, and mirroring the action, reaches up to touch his own gold eye.
--
The man’s name is Fai. Or Yuui, on days when he is living in the past instead of the present. It doesn’t matter to Subaru, whose own name matters little to Fai. Or Yuui.
They become friends, because they are in the same sinking boat-already sunken, rotting miles below the surface-because of solidarity. Because when you are mad, everyone is your friend and a stranger at the same time.
--
Fai’s blue eye is scarred, barely visible half-healed scratches. Half-healed because he attempts to gouge out the offending eye every time it threatens to return to its original perfection. “It doesn’t belong here,” he says, hand feebly struggling under cuffs to reach for the bandages.
Subaru’s green eye is his, so he says nothing while it tears.
Both their gold eyes are prices they have paid, emotionless with experience. All-seeing.
--
There is a man who comes to see Fai every day, with such dedication that Subaru wonders why he committed Fai at all in the first place. Or why he doesn’t commit himself as well.
The man is tall and black-haired-he could be everyone else-but has red eyes to glare with. His red eyes are steely, glinting with a hardness that reminds Subaru of haunted rubies from a life eons ago. Yet, Subaru thinks that if he looks close enough, the man’s red eyes could just as easily be from tears.
Fai addresses him as Kuro-wanko, Kuro-pipi, Kuro-woof-endless childish names that should anger but seem to give relief instead. Kuro-tan is good-humoured, as mild and pleasant as a stern, taciturn man like him can be.
But on days when Fai’s blue eye weeps blood, Kurogane is a man on fire, a man in pain, hurt but all the more gentle for his inner agony. Like a guilty boy desperately trying to put the pieces of a shattered glass figurine together again, even though it is broken beyond repair.
Subaru watches their interaction, watches the way Fai fits perfectly to the red-eyed man, with something akin to envy clutching cold to his deadened heart.
--
“Who is he?” Subaru asks quietly one day. Kurogane has just left; rather, he has been chased out, as the dented plastic cup lying in the doorway shows.
Fai turns his head to the ceiling, squinting at the flakes of whitewash. He closes his eyes, and for a moment Subaru thinks he is asleep. Then Fai speaks, soft and wretched. “He is everything,” he whispers. “He is all I have left.”
I have nothing, thinks Subaru.
--
Their conversation topics are myriad. Mostly it is Fai talking, wistful, and Subaru listening, polite. Fai tells Subaru of worlds besides this, of places where rabbits do tribal dances, or a place with a glowing fish for a sun. Subaru absorbs all of this, accepting, undoubting.
“I’ve actually seen you before,” Fai says on one occasion, mismatched eyes less glazed than usual. He looks to continue, then stops. For some reason, Subaru feels his heart twist, and he frowns at him.
“What do you mean?” He presses, urgently. He thinks he knows, guesses, heart thudding and thudding-
“Nope.” Fai shrugs. “Did you know that if you close your eyes, you can’t walk in a straight line?”
--
Years have passed, maybe a decade, maybe two. The old lady with the tears stopped coming quite a while ago. The boy is a man now. He still comes, but less often, as if time does heal all wounds and Subaru is one he does not want to open again. Sorata-he feels proud for remembering the name-used to continue to trail in with a baby as an addition in his arms, a pale, long-haired girl quiet, proud and guilty behind him. Then he stopped coming too.
Fai’s visitor is still a regular, lasting beyond Subaru’s motley crew of guests and phantoms. Subaru wonders if he should feel jealous, then realizes with a pang of emotion he can’t quite place, that he doesn’t know what that feels like either.
Then one day the red-eyed man doesn’t come.
Fai is silent that day. And the next.
The man’s absence is not a temporary aberration.
Fai does not speak for the rest of the year, or so Subaru estimates. Time is sneaky like that, vapour in Subaru’s hands.
When Fai does use his voice again, it is rusty and dry. Like a gate that creaks despite oiling, defiant and outright contrary. “There’s no peace for the wicked,” he whispers, and Subaru turns his head to look at him.
I know, he thinks, but says, “What did you do?”
There is no reply. Fai has already closed his eyes.
Pairing: Subaru/Seishirou, Kurogane/Fai
Fandom: X/1999, TRC crossover
Genre: Angst. What do you really expect?
Word Count: 1398
Notes: They're all mad, I swear.
Summary: Fai and Subaru meet.
When they check Subaru in, he is not stark raving mad. He has never been one for public displays anyway, and he is off-kilter in a much more subtle-and all the more chilling-way. When his grandmother hesitantly squeezes his hand, a goodbye, he just smiles at her. The way he would smile at a stranger, when he used to smile at all.
The twelfth head of the Sumeragi lets go like she has been burnt, then almost immediately regrets the action. She cannot kiss him in apology, so instead she touches his cheek and promises to come back and visit soon.
Subaru holds no faith in promises anymore, but he nods and allows himself to be led away by the men in white.
--
Life in the asylum is no different from life outside. Straitjackets restrain in place of manners and etiquette-the mad have no need to be polite, but still-while people continue to either look past Subaru, or straight at and through him. Another constant, comforting and masochistically so, is Seishirou-san.
He drops by frequently enough, teasing as usual, sometimes malicious and cruel, or maybe nine years younger and a whole lot kinder. Never both at the same time. Either way, Subaru hurts. Sometimes he gets a glimpse of Hokuto too, and his older sister fusses over his ugly uniform and overlong hair. He yearns to answer them, to cry at their jibes and pose his own questions, to tell them take me with you, but the nurse is ever vigilant with her hypodermic needle-he dares not breathe a word for fear that she might chase away his guests with a well-placed jab.
--
There are others, of course, who come to see him, more tangible and alien than his dreams and delirium.
An old lady-his grandmother, says the nurse-comes twice a week. Every time she comes, she seems to have aged a century, and Subaru registers her presence with a vague nagging sense of familiarity. What is more alarming are the tears she cries every time she leaves.
Then there is a boy with violet eyes that hurts Subaru to look at. He comes as regularly as the old woman-grandmother!-like a sinner going for confession, devout and remorseful. He holds Subaru’s bony hand, and tells him of things that used to be, of picnics in parks, of kekkais and dragons, and frequently mentions a Sorata and Arashi, among many other names that make his head ache.
Subaru does not remember the parks, nor the picnics, recalls kekkais as something he learnt as a child with gloved hands, and recognizes Sorata as the weird man with a weirder accent, who comes occasionally accompanied by two girls and a dog. He eventually learns that the dog is yet another secret to be kept from the nurse.
These visitors all leave unhappy, and Subaru feels guilty all the time.
--
Subaru wakes up one morning to find the previously empty bed next to him suddenly, magically filled. Its new occupant looks ethereal and wispy enough to be otherworldly, but he keeps his thoughts to himself and settles for staring politely at his new neighbour.
Who gazes back, equally unblinking and unsettling.
The new arrival speaks first. “We match,” he says, a he because the voice is not quite high enough to match appearances. Subaru nods, not understanding at all.
He sighs patiently, someone used to miscommunication all the time. With a laugh-broken glass tinkling like wind chimes-he raises a thin, shaky finger to tap his right eye. “We match,” he repeats, adding an amused “silly” for good measure.
Subaru starts, and mirroring the action, reaches up to touch his own gold eye.
--
The man’s name is Fai. Or Yuui, on days when he is living in the past instead of the present. It doesn’t matter to Subaru, whose own name matters little to Fai. Or Yuui.
They become friends, because they are in the same sinking boat-already sunken, rotting miles below the surface-because of solidarity. Because when you are mad, everyone is your friend and a stranger at the same time.
--
Fai’s blue eye is scarred, barely visible half-healed scratches. Half-healed because he attempts to gouge out the offending eye every time it threatens to return to its original perfection. “It doesn’t belong here,” he says, hand feebly struggling under cuffs to reach for the bandages.
Subaru’s green eye is his, so he says nothing while it tears.
Both their gold eyes are prices they have paid, emotionless with experience. All-seeing.
--
There is a man who comes to see Fai every day, with such dedication that Subaru wonders why he committed Fai at all in the first place. Or why he doesn’t commit himself as well.
The man is tall and black-haired-he could be everyone else-but has red eyes to glare with. His red eyes are steely, glinting with a hardness that reminds Subaru of haunted rubies from a life eons ago. Yet, Subaru thinks that if he looks close enough, the man’s red eyes could just as easily be from tears.
Fai addresses him as Kuro-wanko, Kuro-pipi, Kuro-woof-endless childish names that should anger but seem to give relief instead. Kuro-tan is good-humoured, as mild and pleasant as a stern, taciturn man like him can be.
But on days when Fai’s blue eye weeps blood, Kurogane is a man on fire, a man in pain, hurt but all the more gentle for his inner agony. Like a guilty boy desperately trying to put the pieces of a shattered glass figurine together again, even though it is broken beyond repair.
Subaru watches their interaction, watches the way Fai fits perfectly to the red-eyed man, with something akin to envy clutching cold to his deadened heart.
--
“Who is he?” Subaru asks quietly one day. Kurogane has just left; rather, he has been chased out, as the dented plastic cup lying in the doorway shows.
Fai turns his head to the ceiling, squinting at the flakes of whitewash. He closes his eyes, and for a moment Subaru thinks he is asleep. Then Fai speaks, soft and wretched. “He is everything,” he whispers. “He is all I have left.”
I have nothing, thinks Subaru.
--
Their conversation topics are myriad. Mostly it is Fai talking, wistful, and Subaru listening, polite. Fai tells Subaru of worlds besides this, of places where rabbits do tribal dances, or a place with a glowing fish for a sun. Subaru absorbs all of this, accepting, undoubting.
“I’ve actually seen you before,” Fai says on one occasion, mismatched eyes less glazed than usual. He looks to continue, then stops. For some reason, Subaru feels his heart twist, and he frowns at him.
“What do you mean?” He presses, urgently. He thinks he knows, guesses, heart thudding and thudding-
“Nope.” Fai shrugs. “Did you know that if you close your eyes, you can’t walk in a straight line?”
--
Years have passed, maybe a decade, maybe two. The old lady with the tears stopped coming quite a while ago. The boy is a man now. He still comes, but less often, as if time does heal all wounds and Subaru is one he does not want to open again. Sorata-he feels proud for remembering the name-used to continue to trail in with a baby as an addition in his arms, a pale, long-haired girl quiet, proud and guilty behind him. Then he stopped coming too.
Fai’s visitor is still a regular, lasting beyond Subaru’s motley crew of guests and phantoms. Subaru wonders if he should feel jealous, then realizes with a pang of emotion he can’t quite place, that he doesn’t know what that feels like either.
Then one day the red-eyed man doesn’t come.
Fai is silent that day. And the next.
The man’s absence is not a temporary aberration.
Fai does not speak for the rest of the year, or so Subaru estimates. Time is sneaky like that, vapour in Subaru’s hands.
When Fai does use his voice again, it is rusty and dry. Like a gate that creaks despite oiling, defiant and outright contrary. “There’s no peace for the wicked,” he whispers, and Subaru turns his head to look at him.
I know, he thinks, but says, “What did you do?”
There is no reply. Fai has already closed his eyes.