Written by: kohee
Fandom: Flame of Recca
Disclaimer: Wow, what do you know. Still not mine. Italicized words at the beginning and the end of the story are stolen from Papa Roach's Scar.
Author's note: This could be read as a stand-alone, or as a sequel to my other story, Closure. You don't have to read Closure to get the premise and understanding of this story though.Also, this is a little explicit in some ways. Although definitely too tame to be rated an M, but still proceed with caution.This is not…exactly what I had in mind, I think my metaphors were a bit weird and my Mikagami is kind of out of character, but I think I am kind of satisfied with the way this turned out.
my scars remind me
that the past is real
"Don't go." A hand shot up amidst the rumple of blankets and stopped hers from buttoning her shirt. Fuuko sighed, a barely audible sound, not bothering with a reply as she shook his hand off and did the last button. Standing up, she retrieved her skirt from a random corner of the room and slipped it on.
Mikagami, on the other hand, propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her languidly from the bed. "Don't go." He said again.
She turned to look at him; the blanket had slid down to his waist, revealing his well-muscled torso. His long silver hair was tousled, and there was a sly, sleepy look in his eyes that she knew too well. He was sexy, he was irresistible and she hated him so much for that.
"I should have left long time ago." She muttered, turning away from him to look for her shoes.
He frowned, eyes drifting to the clock on his bedside table. "It's barely six-thirty; work isn't for another three hours."
"You don't get it, do you?" She said, exasperated (with him, and as well as the fact that she only managed to locate one shoe). What she meant was that she should have left when she still could, on that dark night some months ago, leave and never come back. She thought that was it, their last goodbye, but she should have known that he would never give up. Mikagami never gives up when he wants something; he was almost as bad as a poltergeist, maybe even worse.
And she…at first, it was supposed to be just one time. That one time was her plan of hurting him, of leaving him the morning after, to let him know the feeling of being left alone. But again and again she went back, and she berated herself for being so weak and stupid and feminine and so un-Fuuko like, but she couldn't help herself even if she wanted to. There was just something about him that she could not ignore. She could not detach him from her life. She supposedly hated Mikagami and yet she was drawn to him like an equally idiotic moth to the burning flame. Playing with fire, how could she expect not to get hurt? Why did she keep doing this to herself? Seriously, when would she ever learn?
He sat up on the bed, picking his pants up from the floor. "When are you moving back in with me?" He asked, ignoring her words. In contrary, he 'got it', but he didn't want to get it.
"Shut up, Mikagami." Fuuko muttered, tying her hair up in a messy knot. She would take care of the hair later, back in her own space. She scrutinized herself in the mirror; her tired, worn face stared back at her.
She really needed to end this. This…arrangement (it was not a relationship, she refused to call it that) was not good for her, and taking its toll on her mental health. Sometimes, she convinced herself that she was not hurting by rationalizing the fact that she was not together with him; she was using him. For sex. More often than not, she managed to shut out annoying little voices in her head and comforted herself but this time was not one of her more successful efforts.
Mikagami got out of bed, putting on his pants, walking towards. He stood behind her, very close, almost touching her back but not quite. "I meant what I said."
She kept quiet, untwisting her hair and retying it again. It was her usual cue to leave, paying no attention whatsoever to his words, to keep him hanging there until – if - she came back. And even if she promised herself each time was 'the last time', it never was.
That day, staring into both their reflections in the mirror, and not knowing exactly why, Fuuko could not quite bring herself to stalk out of his door.
"I would never fuck up again." He insisted, trying not to let a pleading tone escaped into his voice. Much as he wanted her back, Mikagami still had his very stubborn pride. He asked her the same question, gave her the same promise every time, and yet, he could already hear her reply in his head.
"I told you, I would never give you a chance to fuck up again. And I meant what I said, too." Words repeated again and again, and as usual, seemed to drift over his head. Seemingly drifting, but each and every time, her words struck deep into him, reminding him that he was a jerk and a bastard. It was not pleasant to be reminded of that and it frustrated him.
"Damn it, Kirisawa." He growled, grasping her shoulders and spinning her around. Before she could react, his lips were crushing upon hers, his tongue sweeping the seam of her lips, demanding entry. His hands drifted downward from her shoulders, down to her waist and were soon tugging her skirt off. And even as her brain shouted at her to stop and push him away and perhaps to kick him at where it would hurt the most, her hands were entangling themselves in his long hair, her lips parting as her tongue battled his for dominance.
They fell into bed together, still kissing, as Fuuko's skirt was once again discarded on the floor. Her fingers trailed down his chest, making their way downwards and he groaned against her mouth, insistently pushing his hips against hers. He returned her touch, unbuttoning her blouse deftly and grazing his fingers over her breasts. She gasped, she was drowning, she was lost, and he was always doing this to her, always…and she was letting him. She shouldn't be letting him. He would hurt her; despite what he promised, he would.
With the little self-control she didn't know she still had in her, Fuuko tore herself away from Mikagami, raising herself off his body, shaking slightly. She had to stop doing this to herself, she was driving herself insane. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her unbuttoned blouse around her. With a sigh, Mikagami sat up as well.
"I can't do this anymore, Mi-chan." She whispered, the long-unspoken nickname escaping her against her will. His eyes widened at the familiar cadences of the nickname; he once hated it so much and yet today, hearing that name brought a huge wave of emotions crashing over him. Silently, he slipped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her back. "What do you want me to do, Fuuko? What is it that I need to do?"
Gently, she eased his arms off her waist and stood up, her back to him. "There's nothing I want you to do. There's nothing you can do."
His eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. "I'm not going to give up."
And it was his fault, he knew, all his fault. Why the hell did he run? He didn't know why or how or what, all he did know that it was the biggest mistake he had ever made and something that he could not completely rectify. He was a damnable coward and he was paying the price.
"I want to make it better."
She shook her head vehemently, and she released her tight grip on her shirt. Slowly, she let it fall off her shoulders, revealing to Mikagami a criss-cross of long, faded scars across her back. The scars from that long-ago battle with Gashakura, Mikagami recalled, and with a jolt, he realized that he had never really seen her scars throughout the years. Not up-close.
"Don't you understand? I'm scarred."
He understood. Injuries may heal, but scars remained. The harm he had done to her might heal in time, but the scars would never go away. She would always remember. The scars would not let her forget. And it was because that she could not forget, therefore she could not trust him, and she would not return to him.
Knowing that Mikagami's silence meant that there was nothing he could or wanted to say, Fuuko pulled her shirt back on, willing for the pain inside her to subside. Waiting for her scars to stop hurting. Maybe this was the clean break she wanted. Maybe, finally, she could let go. She bent down to pick up her skirt, when Mikagami's hand shot out and caught her wrist, yanking her upright and pulling her against him, locking her in the circle of his arms.
She tried to push him away but he held onto her tightly, refusing to loosen his arms even a fraction of a second, and finally, she allowed herself to slump against him. "Don't do this, Mi-chan." She said tiredly, her arms hanging at her sides. "I can't do this, I can't take this anymore."
He traced her scars through her shirt, fingers skimming over the uneven skin. "I'm sorry." He whispered, his lips at her ear. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He apologized, over and over again, apologizing for all those times when he should have and didn't.
I'm sorry. For the scars. For everything.
Something in his voice touched her, a painful, regretful note, a tone that she had never heard before in all her years of knowing him. Even when he ran off, even after he came back, even after as he stood before her and promised not to screw up, ever again, she had never heard him sound like this, lost and desperate and almost helpless. Mikagami was always so confident, so aloof, so arrogant.
Fuuko felt something wet on her face, something salty in her mouth. Reaching up, she touched her face, and she realized that they were tears. Her tears. It felt so strange that for a moment, she was stunned. She hadn't cried since Mikagami left her. She vowed then never to cry again, not for any man, not for any reason and never again for Mikagami. It was almost foreign to feel tears on her cheeks, to feel her throat closing up with tears, to cry.
He pushed her away a little and kissed her lightly on her mouth, moving upwards to her eyes, kissing away her tears, kissing her nose, and her mouth again as he eased her shirt off her shoulders, his fingers softly grazing the puckered skin of her old scars, tenderly brushing over them, wishing he could soothe her pain, erase her bad memories, erase the scars…but he couldn't. All he could do was to try.
Breaking the kiss, he looked at her, straight into her eyes, aware that the emotions in his mirrored the conflict and turmoil in hers.
"Let me make it better. Please." Please.
Looking at him, at Mikagami, looking into his tumultuous blue eyes, at that precise moment, she knew that she didn't care anymore. She didn't care about consequences, didn't care about the past or the future or her scars, or anything at all. She stopped caring a long time ago, she just didn't know it. All that she had ever told herself, the detachment, the supposedly unfeeling sex, the presumption that she was using him; it was all lies, lies to him, lies to herself. Fuuko had long crossed the point of no return. She needed him, which was why she kept going back. She hated him but she loved him. There was no turning back, not where Mikagami was concerned.
She would never be able to let go.
By the way of reply, she drew his head down to meet hers and she kissed him. Mikagami immediately responded, arms crushing her tightly against his body, increasing the intensity of the intimacy between them. The lovemaking that followed was passionate and tender, lustful and loving, reflecting everything that they had ever felt for each other.
We'll make it better. Together. I'm never letting go. Never.
They could exist with the scars between them, but they could not exist without each other.
It is many days later when Fuuko sits by the window, gazing at the sunrise, and Mikagami approaches her, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder.
She turns to look at him, a small smile on her face.
"I'm still scarred."
He looks at her steadily, unflinchingly. "I know."
She takes his hand, closing her fingers lightly over his. "I don't really care."
He pauses, searching her eyes, finding no traces of conflict. "Neither do I."
He knows that he will never let her walk out of his life ever again. And she knows that she never will.
They continue to watch the sunrise in a companionable silence.
i tear my heart open
just to feel
Just a note: I reread Closure and no, Fuuko didn't cry there. I never pegged her for a crybaby anyway. :)
And I have another Fuuko/scar/scarred Fuuko/Fuuko's scars plot bunny in my head, ARGH. Why.