Kyou and Yuki don't love each other, but sometimes it's the same kind of thing. KyouxYuki.
It's only because Yuki has that hollowed-out blackness around his eyes, that inherent emptiness that is his alone for all the time he spends wiping the dark out of his soul-even though it never goes away. Like cleaning glass with shoe polish.
Kyou's room, because Yuki is walking by it on the way back from the bathroom. He's been coughing a little bit, and trying to hide it with the running water, and the Cat is sure it's due to nerves-to stress-even though he is usually as cool as his name, cold, but now he isn't.
They have an understanding, perhaps because their desires are so reversed; the in looking out looking in, and when his door opens and he looks, Yuki is standing there, half-turned, as though he meant to keep walking or meant to stop or meant to fall to his knees and cry quietly until he could stand again and go back to bed.
Kyou takes up his wrist and pulls him into the room. The door clicks softly shut, but it echoes; and Yuki's breath hitches, and Kyou pulls him against his chest.
It's the heat that he needs, the contact, and the daylight doesn't matter; the winning doesn't matter, or the losing, or how Kyou can never get anything right when he measures himself up to Yuki because the Cat never triumphs over the Rat.
But there are still insecurities, and maybe it's because Kyou is solid, now, with Tohru who has mortared the cracks in his soul that he can understand; he had the strength to lay himself bare, or at the very least to survive when it was forced of him.
Yuki has too many pieces that he has to hold together, and if he ever let them go...
There is nothing to be lost from this, they both know, and they Kyou settles him against the sheets and kisses him, and he melts.
Yuki melting like his namesake, and closes his eyes, and allows himself release.
There is nothing to be lost from this because what they have is a separate thing altogether. They are too different even to love each other, but there is a large amount of pity, and understanding, and even that quiet camaraderie that comes from sitting opposite each other, always. They don't hurt each other anymore, at least-Tohru is the lubrication between their mirrored evils, their heavy intolerances of the things they wish for so violently.
There is a heat between them, and whether it's mutual enmity or loneliness or what, it is still necessary and for now they can supplement each other.
In the morning Kyou wakes up alone and when he goes down to breakfast Yuki is half sitting, unconscious, staring at numbly at his breakfast.
Kyou sits down, says something, gets hit; Yuki is awake now, complimenting Tohru, chastising Shigure, and Kyou has an expression on his face that isn't a smile, because he would never smile at Yuki-but it's something like it. And he ruffles Tohru's hair so she won't fuss over the light bruising on his cheek.
And all is well in the world.