FicWad

I half expected, when he went back to school and the old routines started to take over, that things between us would go back to the way they used to be, too. Strangely, that thought didn't bring me quite the relief I'd expected it to. Somewhere along the line, I'd gotten used to the tentative little cease-fire we had going-- perhaps had come to like it a little bit.

The first day, Yuki went right upstairs and into his room when we got home. Not surprising-- it had been a long and tiring day for me, as well, and I was only watching him get cooed at and fawned over and given strange, sidelong looks when they thought no one was around.

I was watching, though. And a few good glares were enough to make most of them stop whispering behind their hands.

By the end of the day, he had them all charmed again, and probably already forgetting that anything had happened at all. He smiled at them, and talked in that pleasant polite voice, and when he left them they were happy.

It would have driven me insane. I would have snapped and started breaking necks by lunch. But he never slipped, never showed any sign that the twits might be getting to him-- until we were out of sight, on the way home. Then, the mask slipped, and there was this burning, intense frustration plain to see on his face. He practically stalked the entire way home, not saying anything.

I considered picking a fight. A good brawl right then might have cleared his mind, let him burn off that anger, even if it did end up with me as a bloody pulp-- and I was honest enough with myself to admit that it likely would. But in the end, I didn't.

Somehow, I found that the thought of fighting with him right then left a sour taste in my mouth.

So instead, I knocked on his door, and stuck my head through. He was sitting at his desk, with books open in front of him, but he wasn't really looking at them. And after a moment, I went in and stretched out across the foot of his bed, dragging my own books out of my pack and letting the silence stand-- waiting.

Eventually, he burst out into words-- as if he just couldn't keep them in anymore. And I had to listen to a rendition of the worst of the speeches he'd endured that day, a list of every person he'd caught staring at him. He ranted and he raved and he just generally vented, and I lay there with my chin on my hands, listening, watching him.

I had heard most of the conversations, of course. And I'd seen most of the looks. But I let him talk nonetheless. By the time he wound down with a sigh, Tohru was calling us down for dinner, and he seemed more tired than angry.

I quirked an eyebrow. "Better?"

The look he gave me was first surprised, then considering, then ruefully amused. "Yeah." He stacked up his books out of habit, tidying the desk, before casting me another look, sidelong. "Thanks."

I shrugged, and headed for the door.

After dinner, I went back into his room to finish my homework. My books were already in there, after all.

He wasn't quite as irritated the next day, but I went back in there nonetheless and let him talk, and the next day as well-- and slowly it happened that he wasn't just talking about school anymore. It surprised me a bit, when I realized it-- what surprised me more was that I hadn't even noticed the shift as it was happening, that it seemed perfectly natural to find myself listening to him talk about growing up ignored by his own brother. Or about how much it had hurt that time when he was young, when Hatori had erased him from the minds of all his friends.

And the most surprising thing of all-- when I realized that I was talking to him, too. It wasn't a conscious decision, on my part. Just-- all of a sudden I was telling him stories from my training with Shishou, or about what I remembered of my mother.

And damned if it didn't feel good to have someone to tell those things to. To have someone sit and listen and seem like they actually cared about what I said. It was-- a relief of some kind of pressure inside. For both of us, I think. And the more we said, the more we wanted to say.

It was one of those odd little discussions that turned into possibly the strangest conversation of my life. It started simply enough, with talk about Tohru. She was working again that night, at a new job at some charity office-- taking calls, meeting people, arranging stuff. "It would drive me nuts, having to deal with people like that," I said. "I don't care if it's charity-run or not, or how much good they're supposedly doing, I still wouldn't do it."

Yuki nodded, rolling his eyes, and I knew without asking that he felt much the same way-- I was doing that more often, by that point, learning to read him from his face and gestures. "It suits her, though," he said thoughtfully. "I can see her getting into that sort of thing. She's-- the kind of person who likes helping other people."

There was an odd, kind of wistful note in his voice. I eyed him suspiciously. "You like her, don't you." I made it more of a statement than a question, since I thought I already knew the answer.

He blushed a bit, but shook his head. "No, I-- no." He sighed. "Not really. I-- could have, I think, if things were different."

"If it weren't for the curse," I continued, and he shot a sharp look towards me.

"Yes. I thought you liked her, you know."

It was my turn to blush, but I ignored it and managed a shrug. "Like you said." For a moment, all the might-have-beens flashed up in my head, and I think I might have gained a wistful smile of my own. "I thought I did, for a while," I added absently. "But I think it mostly came from the fact that she didn't run when she saw--"

I broke off suddenly, eyes wide, horrified at what I had just about said. That was something I very definitely didn't talk about-- not to Yuki, no matter how much I might have come to trust him-- not to /anyone/. I didn't even like to think about it.

I realized that I was clutching my wrist-- and the bracelet-- with my other hand, and quickly let go. My history textbook suddenly seemed very interesting.

There was silence for a moment, and I almost started to think I'd got away with it. But then his chair creaked, and I could feel the weight of his eyes on me. "What's it like?" he asked softly.

I shook my head, opened my mouth to tell him to shut up and do his homework-- but the words dried up in my throat, and this tiny little voice at the back of my head started to wonder if it really would be so bad to say it. Yuki had seen me like /that/, after all, and he hadn't run away screaming either. Maybe, just maybe--

"It hurts," I heard myself say shortly, as I kept my eyes fixed on the open textbook. "And it's-- strange. Like nothing quite works the way it should, or fits right around me. But otherwise it's not really so different from-- the normal cat." I dared a quick look towards him, but couldn't get my eyes to move up all the way to his face. "It's not like I'm possessed or anything," I suddenly said louder, feeling like I was trying to convince him-- or maybe myself. "I'm still me inside there. That's probably the worst part. If it were something else taking over my body, then at least I could-- blame it, somehow. I wouldn't have to remember the looks on people's faces when they--"

I distinctly remember the first time it happened. It still features in some of my nightmares, no matter how hard I might try to block the images out, no matter that I was young enough at the time that I probably shouldn't remember any of it. But it's hard to forget that kind of horrified fear, when it's directed at you.

A hand tentatively touched my shoulder, startling me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to see Yuki leaning over the back of his chair, arm outstretched. His face was-- solemn. Neutral. But the look in his eyes was warm, sympathetic. Accepting and understanding, and it made me duck my head again and fight off a completely unexpected blush.

I cleared my throat. "Yeah, well. Not like I can do anything about it." I forced a shrug, and tried to steer the conversation back to its former safer ground. "But yeah, after-- that thing that time-- I wanted to like Tohru, I think. But then she probably hugged me or something and reality came back to bite me in the ass." The familiar frustration with the situation came and thankfully banished my embarrassment. "It just seems so pointless to even try to have any kind of relationship when you know it'll never be able to go anywhere."

Yuki made a brief noise of agreement, and his hand slid from my shoulder. "That's one of the worst parts about all the crap that goes on at school," he added somewhat bitterly. "Every person that comes up to me-- it's like they're taunting me, sometimes. Like they're saying 'look what you might have if you were normal'." He stopped for a second, then looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. That sounded incredibly conceited."

I waved it off. "Nah, I get it. Like-- maybe you could forget about it for a while if they didn't remind you so often." Like I could forget, sometimes. Never underestimate the power of denial-- if something's not being thrown in your face, it can be surprisingly easy to ignore it.

"Yes! Exactly." He sat back, frowning, and I gave a little grimace of sympathy before turning my attention back to my books. Our conversations often went like that-- we'd talk for a while, then work, switching back and forth by some unspoken agreement. On any other day, that would have been the end of things, but on that particular day it seemed that Yuki wasn't quite done.

"Kyou," he said hesitantly, "have you ever thought about-- a relationship with a boy?

I blinked, though more because he'd asked the question than because of the question itself. Of course it was something I'd thought about at some point or other-- cat spirit aside, I'm a pretty normal guy. At that age-- with girls pretty much out of the question, I had of course given some thought to any possible alternatives. "Yeah, sometimes."

"Have you ever-- actually tried anything?"

I frowned, setting my pen down again. There was something-- off in his voice, a nervous little note that was reflected in the tense line of his shoulders. "No," I said slowly. "Haven't thought about it much beyond the theoretical, yet. Why?" I cocked my head to the side curiously. "Have you?"

He paused for only a second before nodding.

I might have gaped, just for a second. "Really? With who?"

He didn't want to answer, I could tell, any more than I had wanted to answer his earlier question-- which was my first clue that this ran deeper than just some random fling from school. He hesitated a long time before speaking. "Akito."

"/What/?" I half sat up, blinking at him in shock. "You-- and the fruitcake? That's just--" I broke off, realizing what I must sound like. "Uh, sorry. I probably shouldn't call him-- well, it was just a surprise, you know? But hey, that's-- good, I guess, that you've got someone."

He didn't say anything, just sort of huddled in on himself, and I felt a brief quiver of worry. "Yuki? It's a good thing, right?" I continued to look at him, and after a moment a horrible little suspicion wormed its way into my thoughts. "Yuki-- did he--"

"I don't know," he said acidly. "Is it rape if I don't say no?" He was defensive-- overly so, using attack to cover up weakness. It was a tactic I was familiar with, and so I didn't let it rile me.

"You said that you can't say no to him," I pointed out quietly.

He sighed suddenly, and his eyes fell shut. "Exactly," he whispered.

I felt cold, watching him-- and part of me wanted to shut the hell up, pretend I hadn't heard anything, because then maybe it wouldn't be real. "How long?" I asked instead.

"Four years. Maybe five, by now." He gave this harsh, grating little laugh. "Would you believe that I've kind of lost count?"

I was speechless for what felt like an eternity. "Shit."

He looked towards the window, staring out into nowhere, and when he spoke again his voice was almost conversational. "I sometimes think that I should feel more about it. But you know-- I just can't, anymore. It's too much effort-- all of it just kind of wore itself out." He tilted his head sideways. "Do you think it's possible to become desensitized to something like that?"

"To be-- well, maybe," I managed, still too much in shock to really think about what I was saying. "But-- shit/, Yuki, you shouldn't have to-- /no one should have to be--"

He turned towards me, and gave me odd, empty little smile, as if thanking me for the thought. But it faded quickly, and he slumped in his chair, sighing again as he closed his eyes. "Anyway. Forget it, I didn't want to-- I just wanted to know if you'd slept with anyone, so I could-- well, ask what it was really like." He shrugged awkwardly, face red. "I've looked up some stuff, enough to know that it's supposed to be-- different than what he does. But that was mostly on the internet, and I don't know how much I trust that."

"Ah," I said, and then fell silent-- because I really didn't know what else to say. What else could I say, that might make any difference? In the end I just reached out and, after some hesitation, put my hand on his shoulder like he had done for me, earlier. It had been nice, then, just to know someone else was there, and was-- as odd as it sounds-- still willing to touch me, despite everything. I kind of hoped it might have a similar effect on him.

He looked up at me as my hand settled, and he looked startled-- and as the moment stretched, I became almost certain that I had made a mistake. But then he smiled again-- a real smile, not the empty fake that he'd given earlier-- and there was a hint of relief deep in his eyes that told me maybe I'd read things right.

Sometimes-- just knowing you're not quite as alone as you thought is a very powerful thing.

Later, as I lay awake in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling-- I couldn't help but turn things over and over in my mind. It became glaringly obvious that the Yuki I had thought I knew-- the Rat I fought with, and the Prince that the school sighed over-- was not the person Yuki really was at all. Or not the whole of him, anyway. The real Yuki was someone with some fairly major problems of his own, someone who could listen and be sympathetic-- someone who threw his pencils across the room when fed up with his work, and occasionally hummed under his breath when he wasn't paying attention.

In short-- he wasn't the person I had learned to hate. And without a focus-- I don't think the hate had any choice but to die.

If I was honest with myself, I really had to admit that it was already gone.