Categories > Anime/Manga > Saiyuki
Water for the Broken
3 reviewsSome nights, Hakkai can't keep it all under control. Gojyo keeps him grounded, the only way he can.
5Insightful
Water for the Broken
Most of the time it works the other way around. Most of the time, Hakkai is like a deep pool of still water, the kind he can see his reflection in -- except more graceful, more serene, than real life. Most of the time, Hakkai is the long cool drink that keeps his banked fire from flaring up and burning the house down.
And then there are nights like this.
Power limiters or no, there's something in Hakkai that's screaming /all the damn time/, and he usually keeps it buried at the bottom of that clear shining lake, but some nights it looses its chains and surfaces, and Gojyo can see it in the feral green glitter of his good eye. That bright hungry shine, the blood of a thousand youkai distilled into its barest, sharpest essence.
Hakkai lunges, and Gojyo dodges fluidly. He'll have to get hit before this is over, but he also has to not get hit too much, because he needs to still be on his feet for the next part. He doesn't want to hit back -- doesn't want it to become a real fight. That happened once, and they had to leave town before dawn, before anyone could hold them accountable for the damage.
Gojyo doesn't hit back, but when he's bleeding and it's clear that Hakkai's slowing down, getting tired, he does grab: he throws both arms around Hakkai and pulls him close. Hakkai struggles, arms pinned to his sides, and Gojyo lets those motions knock them both to the floor.
"Cho Hakkai," he murmurs, surrendering, surrounding, not letting go. "Cho Hakkai, come back. It's over now, it's done." He pitches his voice low, soothing, like the sound of a stream over smooth stones.
It feels like an eternity before Hakkai responds, but Gojyo has the time. Nothing else in the world makes him calm like this.
"Gojyo?" Hakkai says eventually, like he's just woken up, like he's just figured out where he is. "You're bleeding."
"Mm-hmm." Gojyo doesn't let go, because he doesn't have to. Not until Hakkai tries to reach up and touch his face, his swollen lip.
"We should clean you up," Hakkai says. He doesn't apologize anymore, not since he realized they're both quieter, more centered, afterward.
Gojyo nods, helps Hakkai to his feet, and follows him into the bathroom. Hakkai runs the water, dabs at Gojyo's chin with a washcloth, washing him clean. The water is cool against his skin, and Gojyo smiles.
Most of the time it works the other way around. Most of the time, Hakkai is like a deep pool of still water, the kind he can see his reflection in -- except more graceful, more serene, than real life. Most of the time, Hakkai is the long cool drink that keeps his banked fire from flaring up and burning the house down.
And then there are nights like this.
Power limiters or no, there's something in Hakkai that's screaming /all the damn time/, and he usually keeps it buried at the bottom of that clear shining lake, but some nights it looses its chains and surfaces, and Gojyo can see it in the feral green glitter of his good eye. That bright hungry shine, the blood of a thousand youkai distilled into its barest, sharpest essence.
Hakkai lunges, and Gojyo dodges fluidly. He'll have to get hit before this is over, but he also has to not get hit too much, because he needs to still be on his feet for the next part. He doesn't want to hit back -- doesn't want it to become a real fight. That happened once, and they had to leave town before dawn, before anyone could hold them accountable for the damage.
Gojyo doesn't hit back, but when he's bleeding and it's clear that Hakkai's slowing down, getting tired, he does grab: he throws both arms around Hakkai and pulls him close. Hakkai struggles, arms pinned to his sides, and Gojyo lets those motions knock them both to the floor.
"Cho Hakkai," he murmurs, surrendering, surrounding, not letting go. "Cho Hakkai, come back. It's over now, it's done." He pitches his voice low, soothing, like the sound of a stream over smooth stones.
It feels like an eternity before Hakkai responds, but Gojyo has the time. Nothing else in the world makes him calm like this.
"Gojyo?" Hakkai says eventually, like he's just woken up, like he's just figured out where he is. "You're bleeding."
"Mm-hmm." Gojyo doesn't let go, because he doesn't have to. Not until Hakkai tries to reach up and touch his face, his swollen lip.
"We should clean you up," Hakkai says. He doesn't apologize anymore, not since he realized they're both quieter, more centered, afterward.
Gojyo nods, helps Hakkai to his feet, and follows him into the bathroom. Hakkai runs the water, dabs at Gojyo's chin with a washcloth, washing him clean. The water is cool against his skin, and Gojyo smiles.
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