A/N: This fic takes place in my Live Through universe, rather than the regular Yami universe. It's a spinoff from the second fic, Somewhere I Have Never Been. But, you don't need to have read the fic in order to understand this (although it would probably help). All you need to know is that Hisoka and Tsuzuki were a standing couple before the fic, but Hisoka has lost Tsuzuki to Muraki because of a spell-type-thing and ssumes that it's a permanent loss. He also blames it on himself. So, he's an unhappy puppy right now. Thus: fic.
If you're wondering why this didn't actually go in Somewhere, it's because I wrote it much later as a challenge fic for "someone other than Tsuzuki or Terazuma destroys the library or otherwise inflicts property damage". ^_^
Questions
The library of the Meifu was a sacred place, older than most of the other buildings, lovingly cared for by the Gushoshin, and occasionally destroyed by Tsuzuki. It was thick with books and sometimes dust, and it was rumored that there was not a single piece of information that couldn’t be found there if you didn’t know how to look.
Kurosaki Hisoka had just proven that legend wrong.
The library had dozens of books on the history of the Shinigami. Dozens more on their documented abilities and the differences between each one. Quite a few on individual Shinigami. And there was, of course, the computerized system that listed each current Shinigami and what their power was, and past Shinigami and how they had moved on or been killed.
Hisoka had come up with about half a dozen ways that he could die, if he so chose. His healing capabilities would make it difficult, but it was possible to die. Or he could ask to be released. But what the library hadn’t been able to supply him with was the ability to actually do it.
He put the book he had borrowed back on the shelf with a hollow laugh.
It had been two weeks since Tsuzuki left, taken from him by Muraki the way he always seemed to be taken. But this time there was no going back, and Hisoka knew it.
Tatsumi had been right, he mused, when he had accused him of selfishness and cowardice.
The library couldn’t tell him how to live without Tsuzuki, no more than it could tell him how to die.
So he returned the books that he had borrowed from the Gushoshin. Wherever the answers to his questions were, they weren’t here. It was late, and the library was empty. His footsteps echoed in the empty hall. Even the Gushoshin were gone.
Hisoka ran his hands over the books and thought of all the times that Tsuzuki had destroyed the library. He wondered if he had ever done it on purpose. Most of the time, he claimed it was an accident. He was fighting with Terazuma and Suzaku got out of control. He slipped on a cupcake wrapper and went hurtling into a shelf, which was knocked over and then fell into the next, ad nauseum.
But Hisoka had seen Tsuzuki sometimes when he was angry, when things would shatter and explode around him, so he had to wonder.
Experimentally, he picked up the book that he had been trying to use to escape his existence, and threw it against the wall as hard as he could.
Not bad. It didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt, either.
He picked up the next and threw it, harder. There was a satisfying thunk. The next had been particularly useless. It crashed into the wall and dropped to the floor. Suddenly Hisoka’s hands were running over the shelves, grabbing books by the handful and throwing them at the wall, nearly tripping himself in his effort to channel the sudden anger that had welled up in his chest.
He could never cause destruction on the same scale as Tsuzuki, but there was nothing wrong with tossing a few books around, right?
The shelf was empty and he moved onto the next. By some whim of fate or uncaring gods, it was cookbooks. He let out a harsh sob as he grabbed the first one and hurled it. It went through the window with a resounding crash. The next three followed it. His eyes were blurred with tears, and he no longer saw the books as he grabbed them, knocking some of them onto the floor as he did so.
He grabbed a last book and threw it towards the window, and pushed the empty shelf over. It was heavy, and it took a lot of effort, but he felt better once it had crashed to the ground.
Hisoka went searching for the next book and turned, tripping over the loose books around his feet. This time he was the one that fell to the floor, catching himself and skinning both elbows on the hard tile. It stung for a second, but the pain vanished almost instantly as the wounds healed.
He grabbed the chocolate cookbook that had tripped him with the intent of throwing it, but couldn’t find the energy to get to his feet. Instead, he hugged it to his chest and started to cry.
His tears soaked the papers lying underneath his face, but he couldn’t find the motivation to move. He lay there for a long time, holding the cookbook, shivering in the cold air that swept in through the broken window.
After a while, he sat up and surveyed the destruction he had caused. Before he could really process it, or think about how he really should clean up, there was a click. Warm, yellow light flooded the room, making him blink rapidly to clear his vision. Tatsumi and Watari both stood framed in the doorway.
“Oi,” Watari said, “Bon, what on earth were you doing here?”
Hisoka opened his mouth to come up with some sharp retort, the kind he was so famous for. Then it occurred to him what he must look like to them; sitting in the middle of a bunch of books and shelves, clutching a chocolate cookbook to his chest, trembling from cold and from emotion, his face tear-streaked and his eyes red and puffy. What answer could he give?
Tatsumi walked by him, momentarily resting his hand on Hisoka’s shoulder as he passed. He looked over the damage, then a shadow covered the window, blocking the cold air from the room. Hisoka’s shivering eased somewhat. “Watari-san, why don’t you take Kurosaki-kun home?”
Watari looked between the two of them, and apparently thought better of questioning. “All right,” he said, and got his arms underneath Hisoka’s shoulders, lifting him up.
“I should clean up,” Hisoka said, his voice barely a whisper. The cookbook fell from his limp hands and startled all three of them as it hit the floor. “The Gushoshin will be angry if they find out . . .”
Tatsumi pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, and said, “Go home and get some rest, Kurosaki-kun. I’ll take care of the library.”
Hisoka protested faintly as Watari steered him towards the door. Before he could hear Tatsumi’s response, he was out in the hallway. “I should help,” he said, although he didn’t really have the energy to fight against Watari’s grip.
“Nah, don’t worry about it, Bon,” Watari said. His voice held its regular cheer, but it was taking more effort than it usually did. “Tatsumi almost always gets library cleanup after Tsuzuki wrecks it, and believe you me, you didn’t do half the job on it that he usually does.”
Hisoka tried to laugh, and choked instead.
They went outside, and he shivered in the sudden rush of cold air.
“Did it make you feel better?” Watari asked, his voice curious, almost that of the scientist asking questions of an experimental subject.
Hisoka shook his head.
“Why were you in there, anyway?”
“I was looking for answers,” Hisoka said.
“Did you find them?”
“No,” Hisoka said. “Just more questions.”
~~~~
Yami no Matsuei Fanfiction
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