R - English - Angst/Romance - Reviews: 15 - Publish date: 10-25-02 - Updated: 10-28-02
storyid: 1030791
Author's Notes: This story is a collection of half-finished ideas I had flitting about. Lots of "wouldn't it be cool if..."s, and "you should write something about..."s. As such, it's likely to progress a bit more slowly than normal, as I'll be piecing it together as I go.
There -are- a few things I know for sure, though. Here are your warnings, right here. Angst. Hisoka-torture, in later parts. Yaoi. My first attempt at writing Muraki. The rating is likely to change to R at the start of part 2.
Alright. With that out of the way (you're still with me?), enjoy!
=============== The Rest of Forever =============== Chapter 1 ===============
The whole assignment was hopeless.
At first, Hisoka had been willing to try. Despite the obvious inconveniences, it had seemed feasible. Difficult, yes. Time consuming, yes. But it was his job, and it was possible, provided that he put in enough effort.
That, of course, had been two weeks ago. And at the time, he hadn't been sharing a cramped hotel room with the world's laziest shinigami.
It was truly astounding, Hisoka had to admit; the sheer volume of -stuff- that had accumulated on the floor defied belief. Instant ramen cups and disposable chopsticks cluttered the ground, flanked on either side by ever-growing piles of paper napkins and empty bento boxes.
Those, however, were understandable. What the boy -wasn't- as certain of were the other objects. Several little statues had found their way onto the bare table in the corner, and a peculiarly fat stuffed rabbit had taken up permanent residence on the room's sole bed. Clothing, wrinkled beyond recognition, joined the empty food containers on the carpet, alongside pages of unfilled forms.
He had sworn on the second day that he wouldn't pick up after his partner. It was a matter of principal, now... but Tsuzuki seemed perfectly at home in the little area of chaos that they retired to after the daily fruitless search. And in Hisoka's mind, the mess had grown from mildly irritating to raking-its-proverbial-claws-down-his- last-reserves-of-tolerance.
For all the times the young shinigami had berated himself for wondering what it would be like to share his life with the person who had made it worthwhile, the reality was far from what he'd pictured. And Hisoka's admittedly short temper was running out.
"Pick it up," the boy snapped, green eyes flashing as he watched Tsuzuki stoop to settle an empty Pocky box to the floor by the foot of the bed. "If you want to eat in the room, go out and buy a trash can."
His partner fixed him with a wounded look, half frightened and half-pleading. "But Hisoka," the man protested. "Tatsumi said we couldn't have any extra expenses-- he's scary when he's mad!"
"Maybe you shouldn't spend all of our money on snacks, then," the young shinigami suggested icily.
Drooping pathetically, the violet-eyed man retrieved the box from its place on the floor, resting it in his lap. "Shouldn't hotels come with trash cans?" he mumbled to himself, looking very uncertain as to where the empty container ought to go, now that the carpet was no longer an option.
Hisoka didn't deign to answer. Currently, his efforts were focused on the paper that rested half-finished on the table in front of him. The print was small, and he'd been working on it for quite some time; he could feel a headache starting just behind his eyes, and the sulky disappointment that his partner was projecting didn't help. But they ought to have been done with the assignment more than a week ago, and just because they were out of the office didn't mean that the paperwork would stop building up. And gods knew that Tsuzuki would rather lose a limb than do -his- share, so the only option left was--
"What's wrong?"
Somehow, Hisoka had missed the sound of the man picking his way across the litter-strewn room to stand beside the desk; he actually yelped at the touch of Tsuzuki's hand on his shoulder. Gentle fingers brought worry radiating into the young shinigami from the contact point, a mixture of warm caring and sick concern.
It was too strong an emotion to deal with at the moment.
"What?" Hisoka demanded shortly, sparing his partner a brief, irritated glare as he attempted to shrug away from the touch.
"Don't be mad, Hisoka..." Even though the boy couldn't see his partner's face, the tone was wounded, reminiscent of a scolded puppy. "I just... Is something the matter?"
Making a small noise of annoyance, the young shinigami abruptly pushed himself away from the table, catching his jacket from the bed and moving for the door in a single motion.
Expressive violet eyes grew wide, more than a little distressed. "Where are you going?"
Thrusting his other arm into the sleeve of the denim jacket, Hisoka fixed his partner with a withering glare. "Work."
"But we just got back two hours ago!" the older shinigami protested, expression absolutely horrified. "We're done for today!"
"Without finding anything," Hisoka pointed out. One pale hand had already closed on the doorknob, and he was pulling it open without a backward glance. "I'll be back soon-- make sure you do some paperwork." And then he was in the hallway, ignoring Tsuzuki's half-finished protest as he hastened to leave the building behind.
* * *
Had Hisoka been honest with himself, he would have acknowledged the fact that he was being unfair. He'd been gone for well over five hours, now, and the chill air of early morning clutched at him with dewy fingers as he wandered aimlessly in darkness. The boy imagined that, back in the little hotel room, Tsuzuki was making himself sick with worry.
But the young shinigami didn't want to return, no matter how the image of his violet-eyed companion growing ever-more desperate twisted at something within him.
Ostensibly, he was still searching for the so-called lost soul.
But the girl that they'd been assigned to find, one Kyoko Arai by name, might as well have not existed. Her information file showed no close family or friends available for questioning, and there was no police report to help determine the cause of death. The body had never been found. Official records listed a place of birth but not a current residence.
For all the young shinigami knew, they were searching in the wrong city.
By day, the partners had resorted to showing pictures of the girl, asking passers-by if they recalled having seen her. But in the dead time just before dawn, Hisoka was the only person that braved the empty walkways and alleys. Wandering in the sporadic glow of street lights, listening to the hollow sound of his own steps on the deserted streets, the boy realized that his chances of meeting one lonely ghost were remote.
Had Hisoka been honest with himself, he would have conceded that his wanderings had nothing to do with a search that he didn't expect to resolve.
But the boy didn't want to admit that he'd left for other reasons-- didn't want to remember the nightmares that had been haunting him more avidly than usual or the influx of emotions from the rooms that bordered theirs. And most of all, he didn't want another night sleeping in the same bed as his partner, terrified that he would become accustomed to the warmth, to the knowledge that if he awoke screaming, someone would be there.
And so Hisoka ignored the exhaustion tugging insistently at his eyelids, focusing instead on the streets and buildings as he passed.
The neighborhood was a bad one; that much was to be expected. Tatsumi had made the hotel reservations, after all, and a routine case, difficult as it was turning out to be, didn't warrant special attention of any kind. The apartments that he passed were small, stacked in a row of empty windows that stretched toward the sky. One after another, the stores flowed by with them, the bright neon of their signs dimmed for the night, the clerks long returned home. In the dark of early morning, they all looked the same.
Except for one, Hisoka realized, slowing gradually to a stop as he turned wide eyes to stare up at the darkened windows.
They'd come here three days ago: a tastelessly bright bakery with its wares set alluringly in the window, crowded beyond belief during the daylight hours. Tsuzuki had begged until the boy agreed to go and look at the cakes with him, then used more of the office funds to buy the two of them a pastry to split.
Unexpected, how quiet it seemed without his idiot of a partner.
Taking a breath as he reached a decision, Hisoka crept forward, peering with narrowed eyes at the sign hanging on the glass of the large display window. Dawn couldn't be far off; if the young shinigami waited until the bakery opened its doors, perhaps he could bring Tsuzuki one of the chocolate cupcakes that he'd--
"Hello, boy."
Only two words to shatter the half-formed plans, drag icy tendrils down his spine. Two words to close his throat with familiar terror.
With nightmare slowness, Hisoka turned, eyes drawn to the cruel smile that had curved its way onto pale lips.
