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FIC: Cat's-paw 07/? PG Ritsuka/Soubi implied, various pairings
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Cat’s-paw 07: Ghost
PG
Soubi, Kio
Summary: The evening is warm and quiet and the only thing he hears as he puts his forehead on the table and cries silently is the soulless scratch of charcoal on paper.
It’s like living with a ghost, Kio thinks as he watches the silent figure sitting on the floor in the farthest corner of the room. Long ash blond hair falling in a tangled, unkempt mess over a too pale, too thin face.
Kio can only watch as Soubi draws endless butterflies of black charcoal and regret on pages upon pages of white sketchbooks that Kio took to buying in bulk these days.
It’s been months already, weeks after weeks of tears and anger, of screaming, pleading and crying for Soubi to wake up, to speak.
Soubi hasn’t spoken a word in six months.
He only sits and draws the cursed butterflies, eats when Kio takes the sketchbooks and charcoal away and pushes bowls and spoons into the stained hands. There’s no grace left in the broken man. No fire, not a single spark of life. It’s even worse than when Seimei died.
Kio watches and prays, prays to all the damn gods he can think of that Ritsuka keeps his word. That the brat comes back because, as much as it pains him, he can not help Soubi.
Sometimes, when the days are too long, when he has to pull Soubi into the bathroom one more time, strip him and wash his scarred body and can no longer see how beautiful the man once was, Kio thinks about taking Soubi to the hospital. At first, such a thought wouldn’t even cross his mind. It was Sou-chan after all. His friend, his ever lasting crush. But months after months of staring at the apathetic, silent husk of man drawing broken butterflies on the floor of Kio’s room, made him tired.
So, so tired.
He looks at the half eaten bowl of soup and pushes it away. The heavy miasma of hopelessness that seemed to always linger in this room stifled the last of his hunger.
The evening is warm and quiet and the only thing he hears as he puts his forehead on the table and cries silently is the soulless scratch of charcoal on paper.
tbc
Kio can only watch as Soubi draws endless butterflies of black charcoal and regret on pages upon pages of white sketchbooks that Kio took to buying in bulk these days.
It’s been months already, weeks after weeks of tears and anger, of screaming, pleading and crying for Soubi to wake up, to speak.
Soubi hasn’t spoken a word in six months.
He only sits and draws the cursed butterflies, eats when Kio takes the sketchbooks and charcoal away and pushes bowls and spoons into the stained hands. There’s no grace left in the broken man. No fire, not a single spark of life. It’s even worse than when Seimei died.
Kio watches and prays, prays to all the damn gods he can think of that Ritsuka keeps his word. That the brat comes back because, as much as it pains him, he can not help Soubi.
Sometimes, when the days are too long, when he has to pull Soubi into the bathroom one more time, strip him and wash his scarred body and can no longer see how beautiful the man once was, Kio thinks about taking Soubi to the hospital. At first, such a thought wouldn’t even cross his mind. It was Sou-chan after all. His friend, his ever lasting crush. But months after months of staring at the apathetic, silent husk of man drawing broken butterflies on the floor of Kio’s room, made him tired.
So, so tired.
He looks at the half eaten bowl of soup and pushes it away. The heavy miasma of hopelessness that seemed to always linger in this room stifled the last of his hunger.
The evening is warm and quiet and the only thing he hears as he puts his forehead on the table and cries silently is the soulless scratch of charcoal on paper.
tbc