by Whitecat
"Tsuzuki-san, please look only at me."
In that moment, the world could have shattered around us, and he would not have even blinked. I might not have even existed at all in that one moment, forgotten in favor of a newer, stronger, more beautiful toy. Even with a hole shot through his back, even so badly hurt he couldn't stand on his own for a good fifteen minutes on his own, he wouldn't give up, and his determination burned me as strongly as the flames Muraki's pet monster summoned up. And Muraki himself had narrowed his focus down entirely, smiling with all his bright hateful intensity for Tsuzuki alone.
I should have been relieved.
I should have been glad that, at least for a moment, I was forgotten. The curse-marks on my body stung and boiled from his too-close proximity, even if he didn't see me; they hurt more than the act of dying with them. If he were to suddenly realize I was still there, I knew, it would only get worse - and there was little chance of it ever becoming better.
But all I could think of was that if Tsuzuki had become the bastard's new obsession, he would become like me - he'd lose that gentle smile of his, and that trusting nature would become as sullen and closed off as my own. Because I knew - through raw animal instinct, my empathy, and previous experience - that Muraki wanted everything Tsuzuki had to offer, and more. It didn't matter how badly damaged (or possibly broken) he might be in the process - Muraki would take what he wanted by whatever means necessary.
And unlike me, or Maria Wong, he had - he has - no intention of letting Tsuzuki go.
And I should have been relieved. Let someone else take the bastard's attention; let someone else suffer his torments and his smiling, insidious voice and face in their heads. Let someone else be cursed by him, hunted to the brink of madness and beyond.
Someone else. Anyone else.
... anyone else, that is, except Tsuzuki.
He already carries such an intense sadness inside him, which I can feel like a black pulse in my head. There is already something glass-fragile inside him, barely sustained by a cheerful pretense, and any rough handling would destroy it completely. It would be like kicking an already-wounded puppy - I've been training myself not to care, but -
- bad enough I had to live through the screaming myself, that I collapsed into myself -
- bad enough that I don't even have to touch him to feel his emotions, overwhelming as violent nature herself -
- if Muraki's darkness swallowed Tsuzuki ... if those violet eyes saw firsthand the things that happened to me ...
Tsuzuki is beloved by so many and unaware of his charm; that is part of what draws his admirers to him. Even Konoe-san, who is always threatening to fire him or insulting him, has a very deep affection for that idiot. Despite his hidden grief, he has an innocence unaware of its appeal, and it is that which is the flame to Muraki's moth - his very nature will pull that bastard back to him, again and again, until it's sullied or completely destroyed. And then, if fate was fair, he would be dropped, and then maybe he could put himself back together again.
But Muraki's eyes are unwavering when they look at Tsuzuki; when he smiled, it was very different from the way he smiled at me before I died.
Anyone and everyone who has come before - or will come after - is important, already forgotten in the light of amethyst eyes. I don't doubt he'll go after others, if only to draw Tsuzuki out and to him, but if lives were useless to him before ... they are less than dust itself now.
"Let me be the only one who sees you broken."
I should be glad he didn't fixate on me like that, relieved by the fact that no matter how much I might have amused him (and might still continue to entertain him), the burning heat of his true regard was never turned to me. And I am, in my weak heart where the mark of his curse still lingers. I'm glad, relieved, overjoyed - but ...
But ...
I'm not surprised that Tsuzuki appealed to him in the first place. It seems as if everyone in the Juuouchou has some measure of fondness for him, even his rivals, few as there seem to be. The rumors say that perhaps only Enma himself is stronger, and that he can summon at least sixteen shikigami, most of which - if not all of them - are of the highest levels. And Muraki has always been drawn to beautiful, paradoxical things: Maria, beloved by countless fans but hating herself for her stepmother's indifference; myself, cold and closed off from others despite my ability to feel their emotions as acutely as my own ...
... and then there is Tsuzuki, whose presence burns in my awareness like a thousand candleflames, who smiles and is always ready with a joke or cheerful countenance, but holds within his secret heart a darkness which I can feel, but I don't understand. And he is beautiful as well as powerful; his unique eye color alone could draw attention, but set in a face like his ... it's not surprising that Muraki noticed him. Of course a mind like his would be attracted by whatever Tsuzuki has to offer.
And I ...
I ...
I don't want anyone to touch Tsuzuki except for me. It's a conviction - a jealousy? - that surprises me, and frightens me just a little. The first time he touched me, grabbing my arms deliberately, the force of his personality and his feelings seared my awareness like lightening; it's no wonder my knees gave out so quickly. But every other time he did - casual brush movements, affectionate swats and pats, or even when he grabbed my arm, bleeding and wounded - it never hurt. Even when he was coughing up blood and wracked in immense physical pain, his touch didn't hurt me.
And I felt a sort of relief from him, when I didn't flinch away; some of his despair abated when I accepted him in that moment. When he finally withdrew from me, it felt as if though a piece of him lingered, as a thread of connection between his mind and my own: it seemed, after that once, I could sense his emotions more strongly than ever before. And though nature has made him a tactile person, given to random hugs and touches and backslaps, touching other people - except for me - seemed to make him so sad. As if he believes himself unworthy of the touch he craves: Tsuzuki is a tactile person, who likes to reach out and have physical connection with others, but even with Tatsumi-san, whom he trusts more than anyone else (with perhaps myself as the sole exception to that), something about him remains hesitant and uncomfortable. I learned that much from him when he touched me that once - a sense of self-depreciation worse than even my own, hidden like a canker-worm in his heart.
He would smile so brilliantly, I know, if I ever initiated contact of my own.
From the very beginning, I shrugged off most of his casual touches, annoyed by his constant need for reassurance. It still bothers me, but whenever I do accept it - that sadness which is so much a part of him subsides a little bit. If I'm kind to him, a part of his soul flares to glowing life, like a puppy basking in the warmth of an owner's careless affection.
The association makes me uncomfortable, but I cannot change it. And he has become so much a part of me in such a short time ... his emotions are certainly not the only ones I feel, even when just casually walking down almost-empty halls, but his are the only ones that affect me so strongly. Watari's amusement, Tatsumi-san's annoyance and quiet affection, Konoe's blustering, constant stress - they're all in my head, but Tsuzuki drowns them all out. Idiot just doesn't know how to shut up.
It's frighteningly easy for me to make him happy. I think if I ever smiled at him, he might keel over dead in shock. The responsibility he's unknowingly thrust upon me is terrifying; in less than six months, I seem to have become the sole caretaker of his happiness. Worse still, I don't want to run away from it - I want to be the one who touches him and makes him smile, I want to be the only one he notices ...
"Tsuzuki-san, please look only at me."
Then I remember that line, and the blood freezes to ice in my veins. Those words bring back the memory of Tsuzuki's fury and his fear, like bitter acid on the back of my tongue, a suffocating pressure on my throat and chest. And with that comes my own disgust - that I could have anything in common with that man, who laughed when he touched me, who smiled as I died ...
Even more frightening is that I feel, if it were me who raised the hand agains him, Tsuzuki would willingly let that happen; he would submit to anything I could think to do - he would let me, and ask for more, just so that I would keep looking at him. Muraki terrifies him, repulses him, and can never hope for anything but his hatred. Whatever may happen in the future doesn't matter; he lost his chances when he raised a hand against me.
Me. It comes back to me, as much as I wish it didn't. Something about me pulls Tsuzuki to my side just as something about him draws Muraki. And like him, that attraction frightens me - is worse, in fact, because a part of me ...
A part of me ...
A part of me wants to return it. Perhaps it already does, despite my best efforts. That's where my more insidious thoughts come in, wishing for his happiness and for his sole attention, those fleeting daydreams where Tsuzuki's smile and violet gaze are reserved as my treasures alone ...
Just like what Muraki wants for himself.
A part of me wants ...
A part of me wants too much.
And if he offered ... I don't think I would be strong enough to refuse. That in itself is terrifying enough, to have such responsibility thrust onto my shoulders, and know I held something that precious in my clumsy hands ... common sense says I should turn it away, that I know better than to let myself be pulled in. I have never learned even the basics of simple human affection, shunted off as I was by my parents; I don't know how to give Tsuzuki the affection he craves. And yet, if he looked me directly in the eyes and asked - if he realized he could have me (as he seems to want) just by asking ...
I think he would. Because I've felt his eyes watching me, and sensed his emotions, always warm when directed towards me, but laced with a low-grade sort of curiosity. So many people in the Meifu are fascinated with him - but he has chosen to fixate on me.
He would ask, and despite these best intentions I have now, I would be overwhelmed.
I would have what that small part of me wants, but at what cost? How much of Tsuzuki would be sheared away from him if I accepted his hesitating offers of friendship (but just friendship? that, as much as anything else, I question), and returned to him my own? I could give him my heart in return for his, and then it would be so easy to be selfish, to trample his good nature and betray him without a second thought. If I accepted his offer of himself, I could break him as thoroughly as Muraki would - and so much easier, because he would willingly help me in the process.
The thought makes me sick, and I can't even bear to look at him after something along those lines crosses my mind -
But even so, if he offered, I would ...
I would ...
Enma help me. I would.
So Tsuzuki, please ...
Please don't look at me.
Please never look at only me.
-owari-