by Katsue






3.  SLEEPLESS
Tsuzuki was acutely aware of every inch of his body, his nerve-endings tingling, mapping out the contours of soft skin and aching muscle, all of it so sensate, so unbearably alive, throbbing, hurting, *feeling*, like his red-raw emotions. The darkness of the room shrouded his form but did nothing to alleviate the sensations that reminded him so vividly that he was *there*. His mind wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear into the oblivion of dreamless sleep but his body wanted no such thing, it was determined to torture him, cause him to recoil from himself in disgust.

Everything felt so... disjointed, so disconnected, so painful. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, but crying brought no relief. Drinking hadn’t helped in his quest for sleep – he just felt confused and unable to control the memories, images, thoughts and feelings that flooded his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Those emails, from long-dead Sugimori Etsuko – how was this possible? How in hell could someone who died over 50 years ago be emailing them? And WHY? Was she still hurting, even in death, from her daughter being taken from her so young? To end the lives of those who existed on borrowed time was never easy, but when it was a child, a young girl who had such will to live even against all the odds... What right had he, the one who had prayed for death, who had committed suicide, to take away life from those who wished to live? What right had he to bring grief to their families? What right had he to seek his own happiness while bringing pain to others?

Even through the layers of guilt and deep sorrow, however, Tsuzuki sensed that all was not quite as it seemed with the communications from Etsuko – there was no logical reason to contact the shinigami who took her daughter’s life 52 YEARS AGO.

Perhaps what was most disturbing was the absolute accuracy with which she described events he remembered – and that she described them with no trace of bitterness, painful though they had been.
Tatsumi, remembering the dreadful state Tsuzuki had been in at the time, had tried to protect him from those memories, from the guilt that always remained. He never even told him about the first email, and would almost certainly never have done so had Tsuzuki not received a second, near-identical message. And how did he thank Tatsumi for being so caring, so considerate?

A comfort fuck

So wrong....

He *knew* the depth of Tatsumi’s feelings for him, he knew those feelings could never be mutual, and that should have stopped him, but it didn’t. He had allowed himself to get carried away in the heat of the moment, seeking comfort, closeness, catharsis, release, relief. Then, in those few seconds before climax, knowing he was going to come and that there was nothing he could do about it, he noticed the open door, heard an intake of breath, and listened in horror as light, familiar footsteps raced away down the corridor. His body arched invountarily in a quivering spasm of ecstasy and his senses imploded, crushed between orgasm and utter despair.

Lying stunned and shivering a little on the cold surface of the desk, he watched Tatsumi re-sheath his strong muscular body within his clothes, seeing him look *anywhere but* at him.... And then those words had come, oblique at first, Tatsumi’s apparent composure belied only by the flat, dull tone of his voice. The more Tatsumi probed for answers, the less Tsuzuki felt able or willing to supply those answers. Tsuzuki slid off the desk and looked around for his clothes, desperately wanting out of this situation but knowing he’d brought it upon himself. Tatsumi was having none of this evasion, and gripped Tsuzuki’s shoulders firmly, looking directly at him. Yet there was no harshness in his tone – just sadness: “I always knew I could never make you happy, but I know that he can. You wish that *this* had been with him, rather than with me, don’t you?” Tsuzuki hung his head, trying not to cry. He could feel the semen slowly trickling down his legs, warm rivulets that rapidly cooled from contact with the air.

“Tsuzuki?”

“Tatsumi, don’t, please don’t...!” Tsuzuki almost choked out the words.

“I *knew*, Tsuzuki, I can’t pretend I didn’t feel it – can you be that honest? Can you be that honest with yourself, with *him*?”

“No..... don’t!” Tsuzuki tried to pull away, but Tatsumi held him, not allowing him to escape.

“You want to be with him, don’t you?”

Tsuzuki stared down at the floor, wishing it would swallow him up. “But I can never be more than a partner and friend to him,” he mumbled, indistinctly.

“You’re avoiding the question – I can’t make you happy, and even after all you’ve been through together, you still won’t reach out to him. DO you love him?”

“Yes.” Tsuzuki’s voice sounded small, even to himself, and he dimly felt the warmth of Tatsumi’s hands still on his shoulders. He glanced up, and realised that Tatsumi was studying him with sorrowful tenderness, and that was enough to break his heart. He slumped forward into the older man, sobbing and apologizing.

”I promised I would never make you cry again, but....” Tatsumi broke off, crushing Tsuzuki tightly in his arms before releasing him and helping him retrieve his articles of scattered clothing.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tsuzuki curled up into a little ball, dragging the bedclothes with him as something soft to hold onto and fought with the urge to get up, get dressed, and go back over to Hisoka’s place. He desperately, desperately wanted to talk to him, but... he couldn’t.

Memories of earlier clawed at his mind, of retreating in shame and dismay from Watari’s lab, of being unable to bear Hisoka blanking him out, of making his way over to Hisoka’s place and finding that he wouldn’t even open the door to him. Still, Tsuzuki had persisted, despite Hisoka’s insistence that he should just go away. Finally, his pleas met with a snarl of “Tsuzuki, just FUCK OFF!”, and he realised that he could stand there all night, face pressed against the door, pleading to be let in, and achieve nothing except distressing and angering his partner further. He didn’t want to leave, he wanted to be near Hisoka, he wanted to be with him, no matter how difficult it might be right now, he wanted to understand exactly WHY Hisoka was so troubled by what he saw, to apologise - anything, *anything* to make things better.... But... upsetting Hisoka further was out of the question, so he simply turned away and trudged homewards, sinking further and further into self-revulsion.

Sleep... why couldn’t he sleep? All he wanted to do for now was blot everything out, because there was nothing he could do about any of it right now. It was something past three in the morning. Was there any kind of potion that Watari could give him to help him sleep? Oh, he knew it was unlikely that Watari was still up, and he felt like it would be an imposition even if he was, but...

~~~~~~~~~~

“Uhhhh?” Tatsumi awoke to find that his pillow had moved. He shifted his head a little until it rested on something solid, and was about to doze off again when the realisation struck him that his pillow had long hair. Not only that, but said pillow seemed to be holding a conversation with Tsuzuki. This was not good. This was just downright embarrassing in fact, especially as he hadn’t *done* anything. He didn’t even *remember* falling asleep on Watari’s shoulder.

“Had a nice sleep, Tat-chan?” chirped Watari, playfully ruffling the secretary’s hair.

“Why, YOU....” Tatsumi turned crimson, and was about to put Watari firmly in his place, when he noticed Tsuzuki, who stood a few feet away, shirt open, hair a complete mess, face tear-stained and eyes half-hidden behind long dark eyelashes. Tatsumi took a deep breath and tried quell the urge to just gather Tsuzuki up in his arms. Damn, it hurt him just *seeing* his former partner looking so broken, so vulnerable and so pathetically appealing.

“What are you doing here, Tsuzuki-san?” he enquired, his voice sounding harsh in his effort not show his emotions.

“Couldn’t sleep. Just came to ask Watari for a sleeping potion,” mumbled Tsuzuki, apologetically.

Tatsumi looked around for Watari, and was dismayed to find that he had left his seat by the computer and gone back through to his lab in search of a suitable potion. The ex-partners remained motionless in uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Tsuzuki suddenly realised what was up on the computer screen.

“Have you found any leads?” he asked, bending over Tatsumi and jabbing at the email.

“Nothing definite, and please do your shirt up.” Tatsumi most definitely did not need to deal with the musky warmth of Tsuzuki’s bare chest leaning over him, mere inches from his face.

“Nothing definite. So...?”

“The last node I could trace in the path was ShionDai,” elaborated Watari, returning with a test-tube half-filled with burgundy-coloured liquid. “Not that this is necessarily significant, as internet connections in the area may well be routed via ShionDai.”

Tsuzuki didn’t react, beyond a non-commital “Oh”, and Tatsumi remained silent, but words weren’t needed to express the memories the three shinigami had of ShionDai.

“Muraki?” asked Tsuzuki, eventually.

“There’s no reason to suspect that Muraki is involved in this in any way. No string of suspicious murders in the area... here, drink this, don’t spill it down yourself!” Watari drew Tsuzuki’s attention back to the sleeping draft he held in his hand.

Tatsumi sighed heavily as a long dribble of red sticky liquid somehow managed to make its way down Tsuzuki’s chest. He reached for a plastic container and pulled out a square of thin fabric, handing it wordlessly to the messy creature beside him. It was a waste of a screen-wipe, but anything was better than fighting with the urge to use his tongue for the job. Deep breath. Mind back to the issue at hand. “Watari-san, perhaps we should discuss this further in the morning?” he suggested to the scientist. Watari’s eyes flicked from the computer screen to Tsuzuki and back again before settling on Tatsumi, who nodded almost imperceptibly towards the screen with a slight frown.

“There’s really nothing more..” began Watari, then shut up when Tatsumi *glared* at him.

“Tatsumi...” Tsuzuki took a deep breath, “We all know what happened at ShionDai, but I have to face up to those memories sometime. I don’t know what these emails might mean, but I *am* involved in this. I don’t want to run away...”

Tatsumi didn’t reply. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose and began to scroll aimlessly through the document. “This is probably just a malicious hoax,” he suggested, unconvincingly, “Don’t take it too seriously.”

“Whoever sent those emails remembers what happened 52 years ago in great detail.” Tsuzuki was not to be deterred.

“Who else is there who might remember what happened? Is her husband still alive?” asked Watari.

“No idea. We’ll need to check the kiseki.” Tsuzuki scratched his head, deep in thought, seemingly oblivious of Tatsumi clenching the mouse so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

“Not now. That sleeping potion will take effect in about fifteen minutes, and we don’t need you wiping half the data from the kiseki!” cautioned Watari, grinning and wagging a finger at Tsuzuki.

“Tsuzuki-san, you really don’t need to put yourself through this,” said Tatsumi, closing down the document, his voice low and even. The thought that if Hisoka hadn’t intervened *that* night, Tsuzuki wouldn’t be here now had been weighing heavily on Tatsumi since Watari mentioned ShionDai. It was a thought that disturbed him on more than one level. He tried to convince himself that Watari was right, that ShionDai had no significance here, that it was just another node on the traceroute, but he still felt very uncomfortable about the whole thing. Not to mention confused. There was no obvious link between the late Sugimori Etsuko and the university. Maybe Watari *was* right, after all...

Tatsumi repressed the urge to sigh heavily, and inwardly cursed whoever had sent the emails. Even without the unwelcome possibility of having to go to ShionDai, the memories that had been thrown up were distressing, to say the least. Whoever it was that was doing this would probably be pleased to know that their malicious (and presumably vengeful) behaviour had accidentally caused more damage than they could have possibly intended. If those emails hadn’t been sent.... No, he couldn’t actually lay the blame for his own weaknesses on the anonymous emailer, but if those messages hadn’t been sent, he would never have stupidly gotten himself and Tsuzuki into the mess they were in, to mention nothing of the possible impact of tonight’s events on Hisoka.....

Suddenly, a hand appeared in front of his face, waving to attract his attention: “It’s long past beddy-byes time for Tat-chan!” The secretary looked up irritably at Watari and 003 who had re-appeared atop his shoulder, hooting her agreement.

Tatsumi peered at his watch. Watari did have a point, it was nearly four o’ clock. He stifled a yawn and muttered something about them ALL needing to be fit for a day’s work in the morning, then excused himself before he ended up with the responsibility of making sure that Tsuzuki was in a fit state to navigate himself home.



[Notes]  [1]  [2]  [3]  [4]  [5]



HOME  FANFICTION