probably the last in the miki shinichirou drabble effort. i have not
touched yami no matsuei for the longest time, so i am probably
committing great crimes against canon. i apologise for that.

[yami no matsuei]

---------

For all the years he has known, there will always be something childlike about
Tsuzuki. Tatsumi has seen him at his fiercest, yes, and there is no doubt among
them that Tsuzuki has power beyond the reach of most; but there is no darkness
in how he finishes off a threat, no satisfaction any deeper than the quiet relief
that he has not failed again. Sometimes Tatsumi will admit to himself that he
understands what Muraki sees in his colleague. The idea that such fragility can
coexist with power is a compelling one; man has always had a certain penchant for
destruction. The darkness of guilt, that always lurks somewhere behind smiling
violet eyes, is not the sort of darkness that rules out something close to purity.

And then, more often, he will tell himself he is being ridiculously idealistic.
There is no reason why, if laughter can hide pain, that pain cannot hide darker
things. There has to be some tarnish behind the easily-read gaze, some hidden
shadows in that smile. Tatsumi knows shadows well, though. If Tsuzuki has any,
then he has hidden them far beyond Tatsumi's sight.

And other times when Tsuzuki's eyes are alight at the promise of cheesecake, or
gently closed in sleep, Tatsumi wonders if there is anything that bad about idealism.

***

(sometimes, if he is lucky, there are butterflies and shattered autumn sunlight.
it is not a pleasant time to recall - there is not much to recall - but it is better
than alternatives. more often he is alone again with all the pieces of a past he has
tried so many times to bleed away. it is always dark, even if a forgotten sun shines
just out of reach, so he just shivers and shivers and wonders - in the rare event
that he realises it is a dream - how long it will take him to wake up.

sometimes when he does he is crying. sometimes he wonders if hisoka can tell, from
wherever he might be.

and then he thinks, that's a stupid idea to have, and tries to go back to sleep.)

***

There were times, back when they were still partners, when Tatsumi would find Tsuzuki
waking from a nightmare. The pain - too stark in violet eyes - would be too much to
face in the uncertainties of everything else, and Tatsumi would never have the words
to meet it. Tsuzuki learned this swiftly, and as the nights passed he would try to
smile, instead, and dry his eyes with the back of his hand and say, it's okay, it's
okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. And try to smile.

Tatsumi tells himself that he remembers the most ridiculous things. It has not stopped
him from wondering, every now and then, if those eyes still go dim like they used to,
muted in the shadows of waking; and if the pain in them still shines clear enough to
burn, every single time.