TITLE: Up There is a Blue Sky
PART: Story Three A of Eleven
AUTHOR: Simply Kim
WORD COUNT: 2,545
CHARACTERS:Takakura Gen. Hiruma Yoichi. Mentions of Kurita Ryoukan, Anezaki Mamori and the rest of the Deimon Devilbats
PAIRING/S:Musashi x Hiruma
GENRE: Alternate Universe/Angst/Drama/ (A bit of) Humour
DISCLAIMER/S: Never knew anything about American Football until recently, so no, I don't own Eyeshield 21. Just this story. ;
NOTE#1: Blah or Blah is for emphasis. /Blah/is for conversations over the phone or flashbacks (if any). /Blah/ is for the conscience or whatever inner voice there is talking. Blah is for thoughts or random Japanese words.
1. Buck-Tick – Passion
2. Buck-Tick – Gensou no Hana
3. MUCC – Libra
4. Lifehouse – Everything
UP THERE IS A BLUE SKY
Story Three Part A: Caprice To Want
"What are you doing here, fucking old man?"
Takakura Gen pivoted slowly, crossing his arms across his chest and finally leaning against the wall. His eyes remained thoughtful, and for a couple of moments, he blinked, lashes sweeping against skin until his gaze turned inward. It was as if he was examining himself, trying to gouge out the last vestiges of his intentions, weighing the impact of the words he might blurt out…
"If you're not gonna say anything, get out."
He stared at the pale figure sitting on the pristine sheets of the hospital bed. Upper limbs remaining immobile, legs stretched out under the blankets, shivering slightly as cold air blew out from the room's air conditioning unit.
He finally capitulated and sighed, voice cracking slightly as if his throat was sore. "You're cold." He said softly. "Hiruma."
Hiruma Yoichi snorted, eyes still staring at the knob of the air conditioning unit. "Who fucking wouldn't? That thing's on high."
Normally, he would've gestured with his hands, pointing at the offending machinery, and possibly standing up and stalking towards it – maybe even shooting it until it exploded…
But there wasn't anything normal about any of this.
Musashi closed his eyes and turned back to the open window, eyes scanning the vast green grounds of the private hospital, watching as people in white scurried about, some with those funny hats and others with stethoscopes hanging around their necks… and some in pinstriped hospital gowns sitting on wheelchairs, watching the world go by.
"I should be out there with the others." He said solemnly.
"Then why aren't you?" came the snippy response. "You're not chained to this place."
"I know." He started as the wind blew. Silently, he admired the scattering of cherry blossom petals dancing with it. He really should be out there with the others, should be there with Kurita, taking his enrolment papers, and helping with football team recruitment… or at least, hammering away with the rest of the workers in their construction company.
But he was here.
"Then go fuck off."
But he was here.
"I can't." He responded quietly. His hands reached down and gripped the window sill, leaning forward on tiptoes, gazing at the bushes directly below him. He rocked on his heels slowly until his vision blurred a bit from dizziness. "I really can't."
After a few moments, he stopped, settling back solidly on his feet.
Musashi could feel a pair of eyes boring holes at the back of his head. No doubt Hiruma was staring at him as if he was the most idiotic person in the world. The silence was thick, but it wasn't cloying.
Maybe, his presence wasn't as unwelcome as he thought.
"Hiruma." He murmured. "Don't you want to get away from this place – even for just a short while?" With a small smile, he turned around, slipping his hands into his pockets and raising his brows in supplication.
Hiruma sighed, tossing back his head, weary. "Ah, believe me, I tried. But they caught me easily. You have no idea how tight I'm being guarded here. Fucking dad's orders." He grated out in irritation. "Only made it as far as the second floor. I was chained to the bed three days ago."
Musashi chuckled, shaking his head. "Have you ever thought about asking for permission?"
The former quarterback glared at him through his blond bangs. "I donot ask for permission. I slink around and crawl like a –"
"Like a terrorist, I know, I know." With purposeful steps, Musashi moved forward and circled until he was at the left side of the bed. With a mischievous grin, he stooped down and gripped the edges of the blankets covering Hiruma's legs. With a satisfied flourish, he pulled them away almost violently, then letting go, allowing them to fall down the floor heavily. "Since you can't, oh I'm sorry, won't ask permission… I will."
With a small sound of scandalised shock, Hiruma struggled to scoot away.
All to no avail.
"What the fuck –!!!" Hiruma cried out almost helplessly, looking small and insignificant against the broad, looming figure of the man so intent on pulling him up.
Musashi's mirth knew no bounds, but he kept it locked inside. It wouldn't do well to let his laughter be heard, lest the other took it negatively as always and discard all warnings just to pound him or shoot him with a gun. Who knows how those things materialise anyway – maybe Hiruma was hiding something under he gown he was wearing.
"Let go, fucking geezer!"
"It's not good for you to stay indoors when the weather is perfect outside."
He's protesting instead. He thought, relieved. Now there was no reason to be wary. He slid his left forearm under Hiruma's knees and the right under his bony back. He's not carrying ammo.
For the first time since their pre-Christmas Bowl match with Hakushuu, he was thankful Hiruma couldn't use his right arm. He was thankful it was bandaged and against a splint. His left arm wasn't a problem. As far as pounding was concerned, it was weak.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!"
If it's any other day, I'd be dead by now. Snickering, Musashi took a deep breath, and with all the strength he could muster lifted him off the bed. He ignored the cursing and the feeble attempt to unhand him.
"Fuck! Let go of me, dammit, or I swear I'll kill you!"
"No can do." He retorted good-naturedly. "Stop struggling or I might accidentally drop you, princess."
"Princess – what the fuck?! Put me down, goddammit!"
"Well it's either this or you'll sit on my shoulders like a kid, which one do you prefer?" The steady stream of colourful expletives reverberated in his ears, but it didn't dampen his resolve. "I even look the part." He grinned teasingly as he bent his knees and pushed the button that opened the door with his left shoulder. As the nearly crowded hallway was revealed, he nodded in satisfaction, noting the incredulous looks cast them.
A nurse, obviously horrified, scurried over to where he stood. "He's not supposed to go out without permission, sir!" She said worriedly. Her voice was on the soft side, but he heard her clearly even with all of Hiruma's remonstrating.
"Oi, fucking nurse, tell this asshole to put me back inside!"
"S-sir?" She fidgeted uncomfortably, her eyes were bordering on being terrified. "He should…"
Musashi gazed down at her, nodding. "I know, miss." He acknowledged as gently as he could. "We're just going out… just on the grounds."
"No we're not! We're staying right here!" Hiruma yelled by his ear, still struggling.
"Oh!" The nurse breathed in relief. It seemed she had caught on how to tune out unnecessary noise as well. "You need written permission for that though."
"I said put me down, fucking old man! I'm staying –!"
"I know. Could you possibly direct me to where I should get it?" He smiled, eyes softening.
"It's down the lobby." She smiled back, her cheeks tinted red. "I'll help you then sir! Do you need a wheelchair? We have them there too."
Musashi shook his head, eyes sparkling with humour. "Thank you very much, but there's no need for a wheelchair." His grin broadened. "Oh, I do need a sling. A sturdy one. Princess here mustn't aggravate his arm further."
"I'm not a princess, you fucktard!"
He trailed after her, chuckling as he received a displeased stinging slap at the back of his head.
"Yes, yes, you're a terrorist, I know, I know..."
It took a more than a few minutes to get out of the building. Hiruma was squirming as the head nurse, a portly old lady, tried her best to slip his injured arm into a sling, and then slip the straps into position, immovable, around his neck.
And then there was the issue of him screaming bloody murder for everyone to hear.
So all in all, he had made a spectacle –
But it wasn't as if Musashi was not immune to it.
"Stop struggling, I said." He chastised sternly. "I'm doing all the work here… or do you really want me to get you a wheelchair?"
That shut him up.
For a while.
Sighing inwardly in relief, he continued walking until he got to his desired spot under the huge blooming cherry blossom tree. A secluded spot by the hospital's prayer room. This was ironic, since the devil himself was in his arms, glaring daggers as he slowly knelt, finally settling down.
With careful movements, he twisted his body so he could fully sat down, crossing his legs, and scooting backwards until his lower back hit the trunk of the tree. Then he cautiously lodged Hiruma on his lap, making sure that he was leaning against him comfortably, back straight to avoid aggravating the healing joint of his shoulder.
"When my arm is better, I will kill you."
"I know how to hide."
"I'll find you – hunt you down."
"Then I will dodge."
"I have perfect aim."
"All these years, I'm still here, alive."
"I'll make sure this time, fucking geezer."
Musashi wrapped his arms more snugly around him, resting his chin on his left shoulder. "Is it really so bad?" He murmured, closing his eyes wearily. It was pretty tiring wrestling with him since they were in the suite.
There was an uncomfortable pause before Hiruma let go of a huge pent up breath. He could feel him sagging in his arms, a great feat since he wasn't one to do so, especially in a time like this. Musashi knew why he was so against people helping him move about.
He hated feeling helpless.
Hiruma was someone who was independent, decisive and scheming. He used all of his talent, all his efforts, to get everything he ever wanted. He had learned how to compensate for his weaknesses, such that people who were afraid of him, rarely ever glimpse them – much less notice.
But he was different.
Musashi viewed him as someone who was the same as everyone else, albeit more steadfast on his opinions and on his theories. Once he made them, put them into words, he never went back and pushes forward to make them reality and prove them right.
It was as if he was constantly in battle. He didn't want to lose because he wanted to make someone of himself. He blackmailed people because he knew that surviving alone, contrary to what he kept on babbling about, was something he wouldn't be able to do. He blackmailed people because he hated asking for help – he hated asking for anything.
He hated asking because it showed that he was lacking and it was something he didn't – couldn't – forgive himself to do. When it started sinking in that he was lacking, he could see panic in his eyes… the hopelessness… the desperation. And Musashi knew, at that precise moment, that everything Hiruma had built his foundations on had just crumbled.
Musashi knew Hiruma's humanity.
He may not feel privileged to see it, but there was a small measure of warmth knowing he was probably the only one who knew.
He was the only one who could do something about it so others wouldn't see.
"You're too calm about this."
It's a direct contrast to how Kurita views him. Musashi chuckled quietly and squeezed tighter. "I'm always calm." He murmured.
"Screwing together doesn't make you responsible for me, fucking geezer." Hiruma snapped. "Don't just decide what I want or don't want to do."
A thin tendril of irritation prodded his heart until it stung. It sounded so banal, the way he described their present state of affairs.
"I should be saying the same thing, fucking demon." He retorted lightly, feeling Hiruma's body stiffening as if ready to pounce on one small misstep on Musashi's part. "Stop twisting things. And having a relationship with you doesn't have anything to do with it."
It wasn't as if it was pure physical connection all the time… Or maybe he was the only one who thought it wasn't. However, when he thought about it, no matter how many times Hiruma denied the fact that someone like him, who didn't like his private space invaded, kept on snuggling in his arms until sleep came, it's still there.
For one, it wasn't comfortable, letting drying fluids dry on you; just to keep yourself connected through the touch of each other's skin… and it was also normally irritating being huddled in a small amount of space when the bed is twice larger than the width of your bodies combined. And yet, Hiruma clung to him.
He closed his eyes briefly and steeled himself not to divulge his less than pleasant protest. "I'm not trying to override your wishes, Hiruma." He started softly. "I just want to. I like helping you."
"What am I, your fucking charity case?" After a few moments, Hiruma's body went limp once again. "That's just it, isn't it? I don't need your pity, dammit."
"It's not pity." He assured him, patting him lightly on the side.
He didn't pity him.
Whom he pitied was himself.
A bitter chuckle reverberated inside him, unspoken, but filled the holes in him as air would. Like he always thought, he was probably the only one to know Hiruma's humanity. But in that word too, lay the reality. That perhaps, someone had seen it as well. If that was the case, he knew exactly whom it was that cut through the web he had spun since he started hanging out with him and Kurita.
She was guileless, naïve and charming. Everything he was not and more. She tended his wounds, practiced with him, went over things with him, and quarrelled with him in that span of more than a year he worked in the company.
And since Hiruma was human, he knew that like others close to her, he saw her as someone men should treasure, a prized gem if you may. Something he didn't want anyone to tarnish, stepped before her to protect her from Agon many times, blackmailed Yamaoka and Satake so they wouldn't touch her with their lecherous hands.
Since Hiruma was human, he knew she wouldn't be happy together with him in the long run, seeing that he was a worldly boy taking a step toward becoming a man. He had needs and he felt that she wasn't someone he should lay his hands on and dirty for his enjoyment. In Hiruma's own words, she 'must stay pure until she finds the fucking bastard who wouldn't ruin her'.
With that, unspoken need won, and he turned to him… then this uncanny liaison started.
Musashi never thought of himself as a substitute. He thought of himself as the one who could save Hiruma from himself. He thought of himself as his saviour, his messiah, someone whom he would never feel complete without.
And he was content.
"Then what is it?"
Musashi shook his head and closed his eyes once again, a small smile playing on his lips as he buried his chin deeper into the juncture of Hiruma's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply the scent that was uniquely his.
"It's a secret."
A/N: Part B is halfway done. Hope you enjoyed reading! Feedbacks are greatly appreciated!