Disclaimer: *does the Not-Mine-PLEASE-Don't-Sue dance*
Notes: Hakkai! Horrible to write (for me, at least). So I practice. Wheeeee. Done in 2 hours, cos I had to bugger off to eat dinner. Oh well. Cookies if you can find the VERY obscure quote from another fandom, heheheh. C&C always appreciated, sankyuu.
It was a beautiful day, as always, with flowers and blue sky and golden glowing sun. He was laughing as he thought he had never laughed before, real laughter, real joy, and that unique tang of happiness that was only born of bliss. He would not normally want to call anything perfect, for fear of then finding flaw with it, but there were no other words for a day like today.
Occasionally, there would be a spot of trouble.
“Yes, she’s my…sister. —So?”
A scandalized expression, a quickly clenched fist. He lifted his head and looked steadily into the other pair of eyes.
He would defend her, with his life, his soul, and everything else he had. He would.
Stormy night. One instant of blurred pain after another, screaming nerves drowned out by wave after wave of heartbreak, and even the pouring rain could not wash him clean. The water crashed down on him, drop after drop after drop, he knew he was going to die and he did not care anymore, and in that moment he could not help but laugh. Fey, hurting, laughing at the world and especially himself, until he saw the red and lost all breath to laugh.
He opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, and let his lips twitch into a wry smile—Alive? Dead? Does it matter?--willingly accepting whatever was going to come along, because he couldn’t do anything else.
Saved by the colour of blood. There was irony here, he knew it, he just was not entirely sure where. Redness making sarcastic remarks, redness lighting up a cigarette and then stubbing it out in frustration, redness leaning over him and changing his dressing, redness redness everywhere.
Card games. He always won, and although he’d never say it, he never knew why. Abysmally incredible luck, he presumed. Whenever he revealed his hand he always caught the flicker of incredulous annoyance behind those dark red eyes, and he would laugh and suggest that perhaps his companion would be luckier next time. What was even more amusing was that his companion almost never refused to play again. Was there a lesson here? Perhaps. He would rather not think about it, and simply keep playing.
A monk. A monkey. An accusation. The world is unfair, but what’s the use of complaining? Just smile politely, run, and get ahead while you can.
Another figure from his past. Ah, well, it would be a pity if it ended here. Or not. Anyway, what use are eyes when you have nothing to see? The hurt is nothing, stabbing like knives, nothing, yes, that’s it, just smile. This is getting to be a habit.
A judgement, a pronouncement that he would never tell anyone else about. It gave him a new lease of life…a new life, and a new pain. Living came at a price, which was why he would rather have dodged it in the first place. The smile was natural now, entirely habitual, it found its way onto his face without him even having to think about it.
Living with the three others was not so bad, the monk was stoic, the monkey was happy, and the kappa was…redness. Driving with the morning sun on his back, chasing the end of the world, racing to get there before the sun did and always failing—what an appropriate analogy for the futility of life, but he didn’t want to think about that either—and then driving into the fire, into the setting sun, driving the wrong way it seemed, on an journey that had no end. To be caught in a sort of perpetual limbo, where nothing really changed, not even the peril and the damn youkai attacks. He could get to like it.
Apparently he had more in common with the monk than he had first expected. The blonde monk wasn’t fond of rainy days either, it seemed. And even less so the nights. So sometimes they would pass a quiet, rainy evening together, doing nothing, staring out the window, staring into the ceiling, the floorboards, not making any noise other than the occasional sigh or “Hn”. Lost in their own thoughts, past pains, sometimes not even thinking at all, just letting the continuous pitter-patter of the rain work its insidious way into their minds. There was no quiet, no peace for him, especially not in the rain, but there was a stillness, an absence of motion, and that had to suffice.
And always, no matter what, that little absent smile.
Personally I think it runs too smoothly for snapshots, but oh well.