[What a good, obedient boy, that Chikusa. Mukuro's mouth curved up into a victorious smirk, somewhere between sweetness and poison, and to jumpstart the illusion, he reached over, viciously pressing his fingers into the softness of Chikusa's eye as if to pluck it out.
Before the ( illusionary ) pain could fully kick in, Chikusa would be seated across the table from clerk-chan, listening to him speak. There would be more and more dates, until they started becoming more elaborate and involved. First the movies, walks in the park, then, once, a high class restaurant. Clerk-chan would ask him to move in.
Then, Chikusa would be in a nondescript kitchen watching clerk-chan humming as he cooked, a delightfully domestic scene. Mukuro wove together the illusion of their every day life, clerk-chan having gotten into a good university and was aiming to become a simple salary man while Chikusa studied to become a doctor. There were dinner dates, classmates who dragged them out to do karaoke, exams. Every once in a while one of the Kokuyo Gang would be on the fringes of his life, but their absence was unstated but apparent.
They grew old together and lived a normal life, and Mukuro kept cycling through different pieces of normalcy, gently easing bits and pieces of reality back in. There would be the universe where someone would break into their apartment and Chikusa would have to kill someone before clerk-chan's very eyes. There would be meeting Chrome, battered and bruised from a battle and barely breathing. There would be meeting Fran, who would have nothing but smart ass remarks. There would be meeting Ken, who would probably stick around longer than anyone else. Chikusa might catch M.M. leaning against an expensive sports car one afternoon outside of his house. Mukuro kept himself absent. Clerk-chan would take these meetings like a normal, sane person, namely his reactions ran the gambit between fainting, disbelief, shock, and horror.
Mukuro let the rest of their reality bleed in. Their enemies finding clerk-chan and disposing of him in several, messy ways. There was clerk-chan finding out Chikusa was a wanted criminal and wanting to do nothing with him, and in the next illusion as a jarring juxtaposition, tried to convince him it didn't matter even when it did.
He went through every scenario he had envisioned then a few more, and once he was satisfied that he had Chikusa live through every possibility, he withdrew his hand and the illusion, his feet still in Chikusa's lap, expression searching Chikusa's face. Only half an hour had elapsed, but it had been lifetimes for the other boy.]
[He certainly takes a breath like one, at any rate, sharp and guttural as though his head has been yanked out roughly from water. It goes straight into him, a contrast to the short shallow versions which follow after as if trying to fill his lungs as quickly as possible. His eyes flick around the room, surveying it with practiced speed, but there's no real thought behind it. Escape routes, hiding spots- it's all information he absorbs on a basic level. When you run long enough, certain things become ingrained in you. No thought is needed.]
[Soon enough, however, his gaze finally returns to Mukuro- less from his welcome or even voice, and simply because that's where it always returns to. Movement catches his attention, but when Chikusa looks, to his bewilderment, it's just one of his own trembling hands. Granted, he can't see the way his normally stoic facade is clearly under threat of crumbling.]
[It'd been too much.]
[Feeling tension he's had all his life ease away, replaced by a strange and cautious curiosity at every mundane event that seeps into his life. The hollowness, aching in his chest and rattling in his jaw. Paranoia being proved wrong time and time again, worn down patiently by softness- ]
[(Except when it isn't, a weapon in his hand, blood on his shoes, a strangled noise behind him, and he is so blissfully detached)]
[Frustration- a grating sandpaper against his nerves, because he doesn't know how to make everything work, and panic because he doesn't know, and if Dokuro is like this, what of- Fond exasperation and wariness and I want this to work with his fingers curled along blond hair as a restraint, only now his fingers are curled around a yoyo and he is unsurprised, he is telling himself he is unsurprised, yet there's something acidic on the back of his tongue as blood sinks into the soles of his shoes and it could be bile or hatred and...]
[It's not betrayal. It's common sense. That meant it wasn't supposed to ache, like a knife in his gut, the way it did. And then whiplash, wounds smoothed over like mud over a hole, but he's so goddamn tired-]
[Chikusa stares. This is nothing like the mess he'd thought his emotions before. It's worse.]
[It takes a few tries before his voice works, low and a little hoarse.]
Mukuro-sama?
[Not an illusion this time, he's fairly sure. And if it is, well, he guesses he'll find out. The state his head is in, he can't bother to think much past that.]
[Perhaps it had been too much to do all at once, but Mukuro was one to test the limits of everything and everyone, even the minds of his precious subordinates. Having a few lifetimes shoved into one's mind was painful, disorienting, maddening. Yet Chikusa had handled it well, and like an owner pleased with the trick a pet had performed, Mukuro ran a hand along the back of Chikusa's neck, soothing and soft.]
It's me.
[Which he had said before, countless times as an illusion, but for now it was the truth, his fingers solid as he ran them through Chikusa's hair.]
Rest. You've seen much.
[Mukuro might even offer his lap, picking up Chikusa's discarded book to have something to occupy himself.]
[It could very well not be Mukuro. Chikusa was aware of how illusions worked, even before he'd been jerked about through imaginary lives like a puppet on strings.]
[Yet something about the touch at his neck seemed to be enough to help settle at least something in his rattling mess of a being. In the absence of all else, he still followed Mukuro's voice, leaning into the fingers that slid through his hair and nudged at his hat. His shaking limbs made movement a bit tricky as he slowly curled along the rotten sofa, legs still half under Mukuro's.]
[Sleep wouldn't come easily after that, however. Too much energy, wrought by emotions that wouldn't stop despite his best efforts. His mutter sunk into Mukuro's thigh.]
I don't want any of it, Mukuro-sama.
[Emotions. His aggressive longing for apathy had, if anything, only worsened with Mukuro's help.]
[The whole purpose of this exercise ( other than to see how much a mind could take ) was for Chikusa to sort through his emotions himself, to find what truths he needed to find and come to a conclusion. Still, Mukuro supposed that was too much to ask for someone who spent their every waking moment trying to suppress their feelings, and who had just undergone several lifetimes.
So, Mukuro continued to stroke his hair, looking at the book open in his lap, but gaze unseeing.]
Each outcome came only with something sacrificed. What do you want and what are you willing to give up? Nothing, especially happiness or normality, comes for free. Yet in our world, happiness and normality are next to nonexistent.
[For once, Chikusa would have been relieved if Mukuro-sama had gone on one of his usual melodramatic speeches. Just listening to him, timing the inhale-exhale of his lungs to match, was helping his sense of self come back to where it was supposed to be. No more tidal wave of emotions and experiences to overwhelm him, just the aftershocks.]
[That he was being given an answer was even better, and Chikusa looked up into that mismatched stare, still curled up against the other. A nod, more felt than seen against Mukuro's leg.]
It's not worth it. That life.
[Even in the best case scenario, the one most devoid of bloodshed but also devoid of the others, there'd been that hollowness. It had disrupted every bit of peace and normalcy in that life, always lurking.]
[At that admission, Mukuro made a small, pleased noise. He had known all along that would be the conclusion, but he was content all the same. He did enjoy being right.]
Are you feeling better?
[It might have been concern if his hands weren't possessively on him, his smirk self-satisfied.]
[The shaking had lessened, but by no means had it completely stopped. Who knew how long it would take for him to get over the many images that had flooded his perception, and if they would leave his sleep free of nightmares. At least he could breathe again. That was something.]
[Well, all's well that ended well then. Mukuro himself was feeling refreshed and satisfied, and Chikusa would eventually come around. He hummed thoughtfully as he went through the book with disinterest, untangling his fingers from Chikusa's hair but otherwise not moving away.]
[The soft sigh, tinged with frustration maybe, was the only sign of Chikusa's emotions. Taking his glasses, he tucked them away in one pocket to better bury his face into Mukuro's leg.]
[There was so much to sort through. For now, however, he could just concentrate on his breath, and Mukuro's, and the quiet sound of paper shifting against itself until the other got bored. That could be at any moment, honestly, but perhaps his satisfaction at what he had accomplished would sate him for a while yet.]
[It took some time- Chikusa wasn't sure how long- before he spoke again.]
I'll stop seeing him at all.
[They hadn't... broken up, he supposed the proper wording was, but just stopping was a good enough alternative, wasn't it?]
[It would have sounded bored or dismissive if it was anyone else, but it still carried a hint of command. 'Stop seeing him' sounded far too much like running away from a battle instead of fighting it, and Mukuro wanted there to be no more doubt and no more feelings.
He turned his gaze down to the top of Chikusa's head, considering.]
[A protest was on the back of his tongue, aching to not have to deal with anymore of that, but he bit back the words. It was an order. He'd obey. There wasn't any question of doing otherwise.]
Yes, Mukuro-sama.
[The turbulence inside of him would settle. He would settle. At the very least, he'd aggressively repress and smother everything to the contrary until he could fake it once again.]
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badliifechoiice22016-01-08 10:36 am
tl;dr
Before the ( illusionary ) pain could fully kick in, Chikusa would be seated across the table from clerk-chan, listening to him speak. There would be more and more dates, until they started becoming more elaborate and involved. First the movies, walks in the park, then, once, a high class restaurant. Clerk-chan would ask him to move in.
Then, Chikusa would be in a nondescript kitchen watching clerk-chan humming as he cooked, a delightfully domestic scene. Mukuro wove together the illusion of their every day life, clerk-chan having gotten into a good university and was aiming to become a simple salary man while Chikusa studied to become a doctor. There were dinner dates, classmates who dragged them out to do karaoke, exams. Every once in a while one of the Kokuyo Gang would be on the fringes of his life, but their absence was unstated but apparent.
They grew old together and lived a normal life, and Mukuro kept cycling through different pieces of normalcy, gently easing bits and pieces of reality back in. There would be the universe where someone would break into their apartment and Chikusa would have to kill someone before clerk-chan's very eyes. There would be meeting Chrome, battered and bruised from a battle and barely breathing. There would be meeting Fran, who would have nothing but smart ass remarks. There would be meeting Ken, who would probably stick around longer than anyone else. Chikusa might catch M.M. leaning against an expensive sports car one afternoon outside of his house. Mukuro kept himself absent. Clerk-chan would take these meetings like a normal, sane person, namely his reactions ran the gambit between fainting, disbelief, shock, and horror.
Mukuro let the rest of their reality bleed in. Their enemies finding clerk-chan and disposing of him in several, messy ways. There was clerk-chan finding out Chikusa was a wanted criminal and wanting to do nothing with him, and in the next illusion as a jarring juxtaposition, tried to convince him it didn't matter even when it did.
He went through every scenario he had envisioned then a few more, and once he was satisfied that he had Chikusa live through every possibility, he withdrew his hand and the illusion, his feet still in Chikusa's lap, expression searching Chikusa's face. Only half an hour had elapsed, but it had been lifetimes for the other boy.]
Welcome back, Chikusa.
no subject
[He certainly takes a breath like one, at any rate, sharp and guttural as though his head has been yanked out roughly from water. It goes straight into him, a contrast to the short shallow versions which follow after as if trying to fill his lungs as quickly as possible. His eyes flick around the room, surveying it with practiced speed, but there's no real thought behind it. Escape routes, hiding spots- it's all information he absorbs on a basic level. When you run long enough, certain things become ingrained in you. No thought is needed.]
[Soon enough, however, his gaze finally returns to Mukuro- less from his welcome or even voice, and simply because that's where it always returns to. Movement catches his attention, but when Chikusa looks, to his bewilderment, it's just one of his own trembling hands. Granted, he can't see the way his normally stoic facade is clearly under threat of crumbling.]
[It'd been too much.]
[Feeling tension he's had all his life ease away, replaced by a strange and cautious curiosity at every mundane event that seeps into his life. The hollowness, aching in his chest and rattling in his jaw. Paranoia being proved wrong time and time again, worn down patiently by softness- ]
[(Except when it isn't, a weapon in his hand, blood on his shoes, a strangled noise behind him, and he is so blissfully detached)]
[Frustration- a grating sandpaper against his nerves, because he doesn't know how to make everything work, and panic because he doesn't know, and if Dokuro is like this, what of- Fond exasperation and wariness and I want this to work with his fingers curled along blond hair as a restraint, only now his fingers are curled around a yoyo and he is unsurprised, he is telling himself he is unsurprised, yet there's something acidic on the back of his tongue as blood sinks into the soles of his shoes and it could be bile or hatred and...]
[It's not betrayal. It's common sense. That meant it wasn't supposed to ache, like a knife in his gut, the way it did. And then whiplash, wounds smoothed over like mud over a hole, but he's so goddamn tired-]
[Chikusa stares. This is nothing like the mess he'd thought his emotions before. It's worse.]
[It takes a few tries before his voice works, low and a little hoarse.]
Mukuro-sama?
[Not an illusion this time, he's fairly sure. And if it is, well, he guesses he'll find out. The state his head is in, he can't bother to think much past that.]
no subject
It's me.
[Which he had said before, countless times as an illusion, but for now it was the truth, his fingers solid as he ran them through Chikusa's hair.]
Rest. You've seen much.
[Mukuro might even offer his lap, picking up Chikusa's discarded book to have something to occupy himself.]
no subject
[Yet something about the touch at his neck seemed to be enough to help settle at least something in his rattling mess of a being. In the absence of all else, he still followed Mukuro's voice, leaning into the fingers that slid through his hair and nudged at his hat. His shaking limbs made movement a bit tricky as he slowly curled along the rotten sofa, legs still half under Mukuro's.]
[Sleep wouldn't come easily after that, however. Too much energy, wrought by emotions that wouldn't stop despite his best efforts. His mutter sunk into Mukuro's thigh.]
I don't want any of it, Mukuro-sama.
[Emotions. His aggressive longing for apathy had, if anything, only worsened with Mukuro's help.]
no subject
[Said almost sympathetically as he ran his fingers gently through Chikusa's hair, opening the book with the other hand.]
If you didn't have them, you would be dead. You're far too important to me for that.
[The words might be a bit rich considering he had almost tore his mind apart as easily as breathing, but there was truth there.]
no subject
How will it help?
no subject
So, Mukuro continued to stroke his hair, looking at the book open in his lap, but gaze unseeing.]
Each outcome came only with something sacrificed. What do you want and what are you willing to give up? Nothing, especially happiness or normality, comes for free. Yet in our world, happiness and normality are next to nonexistent.
[He turned to look at Chikusa, red eye ominous.]
It should put everything into prospective.
no subject
[That he was being given an answer was even better, and Chikusa looked up into that mismatched stare, still curled up against the other. A nod, more felt than seen against Mukuro's leg.]
It's not worth it. That life.
[Even in the best case scenario, the one most devoid of bloodshed but also devoid of the others, there'd been that hollowness. It had disrupted every bit of peace and normalcy in that life, always lurking.]
no subject
Are you feeling better?
[It might have been concern if his hands weren't possessively on him, his smirk self-satisfied.]
no subject
[The shaking had lessened, but by no means had it completely stopped. Who knew how long it would take for him to get over the many images that had flooded his perception, and if they would leave his sleep free of nightmares. At least he could breathe again. That was something.]
...Was all of that necessary, Mukuro-sama?
no subject
Yes. It's better to be thorough.
[Which was a 'no', then.]
no subject
[The soft sigh, tinged with frustration maybe, was the only sign of Chikusa's emotions. Taking his glasses, he tucked them away in one pocket to better bury his face into Mukuro's leg.]
[There was so much to sort through. For now, however, he could just concentrate on his breath, and Mukuro's, and the quiet sound of paper shifting against itself until the other got bored. That could be at any moment, honestly, but perhaps his satisfaction at what he had accomplished would sate him for a while yet.]
[It took some time- Chikusa wasn't sure how long- before he spoke again.]
I'll stop seeing him at all.
[They hadn't... broken up, he supposed the proper wording was, but just stopping was a good enough alternative, wasn't it?]
no subject
[It would have sounded bored or dismissive if it was anyone else, but it still carried a hint of command. 'Stop seeing him' sounded far too much like running away from a battle instead of fighting it, and Mukuro wanted there to be no more doubt and no more feelings.
He turned his gaze down to the top of Chikusa's head, considering.]
If you have any doubts, take more time.
no subject
Yes, Mukuro-sama.
[The turbulence inside of him would settle. He would settle. At the very least, he'd aggressively repress and smother everything to the contrary until he could fake it once again.]
...Thank you.