Disclaimer: Nope.

Author's Note: Uhm... I was supposed to have finished this story last year. ._." But I never really thought about it...For those of you who actually read it, I'm terribly sorry.

Note: This is a very confusing chapter. Be warned. This is the first thing I've written for at least a month and a half. I apologize in advance.

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Moments Chapter Three

Catharsis Skies

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By the time they were twelve, it was already too late.


Kyo Sohma stood at the window, small face pressed against the crystal pane. The sky was broken glass, each streak of rain a new crack on its surface.

And yet, somehow, it was him that felt shattered.

Why, you ask?

His dilema, like most things, starts with words.


"Creep."

"Wierdo."

"Freak!"

It's the last one that hurts. He flinches, and his fingers dig like furious worms into the earth. Every part of him fluctuates, radiating anger and fear in short, sharp spurts.

Hard leather digs at his neck; his face moves with the direction of the foot, and his cheek slaps against the cold, wet ground. Mud and blood intermingle on his lips.

"Hey, kitty kitty," comes a snicker, and he recognizes it as Oro Sohma, a big teen of sixteen. "Say sorry and I'll let you up. Whaddya say, kitty? Huh?"

Kyo opens his mouth to release a string of curses, but the only thing that trickles from his lips is mud.

"Lookit that, Oro! He's shaking! The little pussy's shaking!"

It was true. He is shaking. He is scared. He bites his lip, pushing his face further into the ground to hide the involuntary flow of tears.

He was scared.

So, so scared.

"Fuck off." he forces out. Cringing slightly, he brings his fingers up, worming them under the Oro's heel to push the shoe off his neck. Getting to his feet takes him longer than he would have liked, but he manages.

The boys, now a small circle of bad intentions, howl mockingly. "You hear that, Oro?" they snicker. "He thinks he's tough! He thinks he's going to wipe the floor with you!"

Their words are all the incentive Oro needs.

It was a exquisitely planned jab to the stomach that sends Kyo sprawling first. Then Oro has him by his hair, white fingers tearing at red strands like blood on milk, and he slams him down, nose colliding with the dirt, only to be brought back up for a swift knee to the rib cage.

"He's out," Oro smirks, wiping mud from his cheeks. "He's not getting up."

But he does. With a grunt, and then a snarl, Kyo Sohma sways onto his feet a changed man.

Gone now were the tears.

His left eye is shut and swelling by the second, his nose leaks crimson, and his fists tremble like a new born lamb.

The boys laugh again, but this time it is subdued, less certain. "What was that, Oro?" they tease, now poking at the incredulous teen. "You can't even beat a little kid? A brat? A pussy?"

The vein in Oro's forehead bulges, and the ice of his blue eyes hardens as he charges.

This time, when he swings, he was going to make sure Kyo stayed there.

His fist swings over his target in botched shot, but it was perfect for Kyo. Bringing his arms up he wraps them around Oro's elbow and jerks downwards, smashing the elbow against his knobby knee, a solid hit. Oro flinches back, and Kyo briefly entertains the idea that the teen might retreat.

A spark wgoes off in his brain as a fist clips his chin, sending him reeling. He barely has time for a ragged breath before the fists were upon him, smashing him again and again in his eyes, stomach, mouth; anywhere they could land.

Red.

Blue.

Black.

The spectrum of pain was astounding.

This time the boys were quiet. Waiting. Watching. Daring him to get up.

And what did he do?

Did he lay there and cry, like he wanted to?

Did he go still, like they expected?

Of course he didn't.

Because Kyo Sohma is a soul that lives to defy.

Biting his tongue, tasting the rusty, black, earthy taste of blood in his mouth.

Hearing the blood pounding in his ears.

Kyo stands.

And then they are angry. Snarling, gnashing their teeth together they glared down at him, this boy who would not stay down.

"What's going on here?"

Like a pendulum, their heads swung, even Kyo straining to look.

Red clashes with purple.

His heart stops.

"Oh, it's just Yuki," Oro exhales, relief spreading along his features. "Hey, you wanna help us out here?" He jabs his thumb at a wide-eyed Kyo. " He won't stay down. "

The group hoots in agreement, eager to see blood. The tall boy steps forward, and Kyo is struck with how undeniably beautiful he has become.

His face has lengthened out to match the wideness of his eyes, and melted silver sheen of his hair has become softer, more dignified. He's tall; very, very tall, with long, graceful legs that Kyo can't even dream of having.

He's beautiful.

So, so beautiful.

And he loves him.

And although Kyo's body feels like it is full of fire, like it has been consumed by it, there isn't even an inkling of warmth in Yuki's eyes as the silver and lilac orbs settle on him.

And when he steps forward, there is still no warmth to him; only the frost of fear that seizes Kyo's heart.

And when he glances at Oro and nods slightly, he is devoid of all feeling.

And when that first punch, that first rod of contact is made, he feels only ice.

"Stay down. Please."

It is a whisper for him, but he does not hear it.

And then, he feels nothing at all.


By the time they were twelve, it was already too late.

Things have changed.

Where once there was warmth and laughter there is only hate and animosity between them.

Kyo would like to believe he doesn't love him anymore.

But he does. And he hates it. Because he's always taking the fall. He's always getting hurt. And he's sick of it.

But he loves him.

And he always will.


"Kyo."

The youth turns, eyes slowly ungluing themselves from the glass.

Yuki stands in the doorway.

In his hands are flowers.

Somewhere distantly, there is the sound of breaking glass.

Kyo's heart hurts.

Gone from Yuki is the confidence from before. Now, standing before Kyo, he looks like a porcelain doll, fragile and in desperate need of a glass shelter.

Too bad you already broke my heart.

His legs are stiff, and awkward, but he progresses forward nonetheless. The flowers are produced robotically.


What Yuki wants to say: I'm sorry. I had to do it. Otherwise, they would have beaten you all day.

What comes out: "Next time, I won't be there to save your sorry ass."


Yuki speaks coldly, gaze indifferent.

And then?

Something in Kyo snaps.

"Who the hell," he says, "do you think you are?" His voice shakes, grabbing Yuki by the mouth. The anger is thick and dangerous and threatens to consume him, but he doesn't care. "I was getting beaten out there. Beaten like - like a dog. Like a mongrel. Like trash. And that's all you can say to me? After you helped them do it? 'I won't be there to save your ass next time'? Fuck you! I thought we were friends!"

I thought that, maybe, we could be more.

There is an apology, there, at the tip of Yuki's tongue. He can taste it: sorrow and salt on his tongue.

But he swallows it.

"You thought we were friends? Princes don't mingle with lepers. So why would I do the same with you? Cat."

It's a low-blow; he knows this. But his blood is pumping, and venom courses through his veins.

The pain is evident on Kyo's face.

"Get out," Kyo hisses. He clenches the flowers in his fists.

Yuki is only too happy to oblige.

Later, when the anger has faded from him, Kyo looks down at his clenched fists. Trickles of blood spatter his palms from where the thorned stems had dug into his skin. Looking up, he realizes the flowers are roses.

Twelve beautiful red roses wrapped in ribbon. Tied at the base is a card. It is blank, but he can still the scratches and futile erase marks and the faint, grey outline of two huge words.

I'm sorry.

That night, when he cries, it feels like the sky cries with him.


By the time they were twelve, it was already too late.

Kyo was madly, madly in love with him.

There is no going back.