The Light
A Gasaraki Fanfic
by Jim Miller <whonk@xinu.nu>
Disclaimer: Gasaraki and everything in it is owned by Sunrise and
distributed in the US by ADV. I own only my own opinions and
scribblings, which, I assure you, are far less valuable. :-)
This fic is honor of two facts, 1) I finally got to see the end of
Gasaraki, IMO, an exceptionally good show and 2) I don't recall
seeing many (if any) Gasaraki fics cross the list.
I designate this fic LIME because of subject matter. It is not
explicit, but it is explicitly suggestive. :-)
**** SPOILERS ****
This fic is set in the time frame of Gasaraki disk 6 (eps 17-19) and
contains some potential spoilers for disks 5 & 6 (eps 14-19).
C&C Welcome.
------
The Light
A Gasaraki Fanfic
by Jim Miller <whonk@xinu.nu>
Yushiro was woken from a deep sleep by the feeling of a warm
body against his. A gentle hand slide under the tee shirt he wore to
caress his chest and warm, moist lips met his. Tentatively at first,
then more urgently the salty tasting lips kissed his.
Opening his eyes, Yushiro's vision was obscured by the face and
hair of his assailant. Miharu sat up as he opened his eyes. Her face
was hidden in shadow; the only light in the room came through the window
from the moon and the street lights outside. The room seemed weirdly
enlarged by the cracked and broken mirrors that covered the walls and
the ceiling over the bed they shared. The mirrors reflected the light
around the room in unexpected ways so that pools of light fell in odd
places, as if the room had a dozen identical windows with identical
views set in the walls and ceiling at strange angles.
Miharu tugged on his tee shirt. Yushiro sat up and raised his
arms so she could pull it over his head. He lay back again as she
dropped his shirt to the floor before pulling off her own, longer
nightshirt and dealing with it likewise. Yushiro felt his blood stir
even as his heart ached while he watched her; a shaft of reflected
moonlight illuminating her pale skin. In the dim light she looked
ghostly white. Her hair, green in the light of day, appeared dark as
raven and fell along either side of her bowed head concealing her face.
Her hair has grown some, Yushiro thought idly as she leaned down
to kiss him again. He remembered how she had worn her hair long and
tied behind her in the past. Not years past, but a lifetime generations
past that they had visited together by the power of her long dormant and
hidden kugai.
When they had returned to the present it had surprised him for a
moment to see her hair short again; cut to an unusual line that he knew
was the same as if she had cut her long hair herself with a sharp blade.
Still dealing with the shock of returning to the present and being in
control of his actions again instead of a passive observer, he had
further mused that such a hair styling technique would have never
occurred to him if he hadn't seen her do just that in the first vision
he shared with her on the Stage of Stone.
He remembered hearing the old man say something about the Miharu
of that ancient time losing her soul, but he had not snapped back to the
present completely until he heard her whisper "Big brother." Only then
did he notice that her normally intelligent eyes, the violet windows to
a soul that had seemed at times so close to his and at others so haughty
and disdainful, had taken on the flat emptiness of a porcelain doll.
He, and the old priest of the shrine, had spent hours trying to
rouse her from her stupor. First that day, and then the next. Yushiro
had been reluctant to lead her away in that condition, but he had felt
it wasn't safe for them to stay too long in one place.
Miharu would follow when he lead her by the hand and would eat
what he gave her, but little more than that would she do. He had known
that he would care for her and keep her safe as well as he could. But
he had wanted to get professional help for her, so he had led her back
out of the wilderness and into a city.
He had lead her to Kansai, to the Asian Veins, where he had
thought they could lose themselves in the throngs of immigrants.
Shortly after arriving, they had met Mr. Won. Mr. Won had helped them
find a place to live. Yushiro had suspected that Mr. Won did not
believe him when he said Miharu was his sister, but it hardly mattered.
The one bed in the room he had found for them was big enough for two
people to sleep chastely, if they desired, and having a private room
with a private, western style bathroom was sheerest luxury compared to
how most of the neighborhood lived.
Mr. Won had also helped them find a doctor. The doctor had been
a greasy looking middle aged man in an office strewn with bloody
bandages, soiled instruments and boxed supplies. Mr. Won had declared
him an excellent doctor for gun shoot wounds, knife cuts, and broken
bones, but no psychologist. "And," he had added, "he's down here partly
because of a scandal involving female patients and anesthetic. Keep an
eye on him, Yushiro."
After Yushiro had given him an edited account of what had
happened to them, the doctor had given Miharu a cursory physical
examination to start with. He had then tried talking to her about
various subjects and showing her different items, seemingly at random,
while watching her eyes intently.
After a while he had shrugged and had started to remove her
shirt when Yushiro interrupted him. "Why are you doing that?" he had
asked quietly.
The doctor had jumped a little and spun around, "Oh! You're
still here. You're so quiet, I forgot." Judging by the guilty look on
his face, Yushiro had certainly believed that.
"I don't think there's anything physically wrong with her," the
doctor had explained, "But she's had some horrible shock that sent her
into a state of catatonia. It's not my field exactly, but as I recall,
when this sort of thing happens to disaster victims and such, the
literature says to just help them along as best you can. Eventually,
they pull out of it."
"So there's nothing we can do for her?"
"I wouldn't quite say that. You can try exposing her to things
that are familiar; or even things that aren't. The more different
things she's exposed to, the more likely you'll find something that
helps her get her mind back in touch with her body again. Talk to her.
Maybe something you say will catch her attention. Oh, and she could use
a bath."
"A bath?"
"Yes, a bath, as in soap and water." Turning his head to Miharu
he had said, "I beg your pardon, my dear, but" and turning back to
Yushiro he had added, "She's rather ripe, even by Vein standards. I was
just going to clean her up a bit before sending her home again. I can
give her a quick sponge bath now that will take the worse of it off
until you can find a bath you can use."
Maybe the leer Yushiro saw had been his imagination, but he had
thanked the doctor, offered payment, which the doctor had declined,
insisting that it was favor for Mr. Won, and left quickly, directly
Miharu out the door before him.
That evening, after he had returned from his job at the
restaurant, he had talked to her. He had always been quiet by nature,
so it had been difficult for him to hold a one sided conversation, but
he had tried. He had told her about his job at the restaurant and his
coworkers. He had told her about the dishes that the cooks made and
described how they had made the particular items that he had brought
home for their dinner.
Running out of ideas, he had repeated to her what the doctor had
said and had promised to her that he would do all he could for her.
Remembering the doctor's suggestion about a bath, he had asked her if
she would like bath. As always, she had made no response. He had then
led her into the bathroom and told her, "Miharu, you should take a bath
now." Still she had made no response. She used the toilet by herself
when he told her to, but apparently this was too daunting a task.
"Miharu," he said, "I'll fill the tub for you. You take off
your clothes." He had been slightly surprised when she started to
follow his order. He had averted his eyes and concentrated on filling
the tub with water the right temperature.
When the tub was full enough, he had closed the taps and turned
around. Miharu had done as she was told, leaving her clothes in a heap
on the floor. He had reminded himself of the ancient proverb about how
nakedness is often seen, but never noticed; but it hadn't seemed to do
much good. Even dirty as she had been, and with that heart-breaking
emptiness in her eyes, he had found her beautiful. He knew that he had
to have stared for far longer than was polite. It had been only when he
had found himself thinking that her only blemish was a small bump on one
arm that he assumed was her contraceptive implant that he had realized
what he was doing. He had looked away quickly and apologized sincerely.
After that, he had looked up only as much as necessary to lead her to
the tub, which she had climbed into with little further prompting. When
he had suggested it, she had even picked up the soap and began lathering
it.
"I'll wash your clothes for you, so they're clean too," he had
told her. Standing at the sink washing them, he had only been able to
see Miharu's head in the mirror over the edge of the tub. As he washed,
he had found his gaze drawn back to her time and again. Once, he had
thought for a moment that she was looking back at him, but her violet
eyes still remained as lifeless as a china doll's.
When Yushiro had finished with the clothing, he had been rather
surprised to see that Miharu had started washing her green hair without
his needing to tell her to.
"Miharu, I'll hang these to dry for you. They should be dry in
the morning," he told her as he left the bathroom. He had then noted
the time and had resolved to check on her in ten minutes in case she
needed prompting to get out and dry herself.
Yushiro's time limit had had a minute left when Miharu came out
of the bathroom, still dripping wet. Yushiro had watched her drip for a
moment, to see if she would do anything more he told himself, before
leading her back to the bathroom. "You shouldn't parade around like
that, Miharu, our window doesn't have any curtains," he had told her as
he dried her hair.
An hour later, they had both been in bed and Yushiro had already
fallen fast asleep. He had woken with a violent start when he had felt
something wet press against his face. Leaping out of bed, he had
searched frantically for Miharu and his attacker, the first to defend
and the second to defend from.
"Miharu!" She had been the attacker. She lay on the bed where
he had left her, still silent, but now with an expression of terrible
pain and with tears streaming down her face. He had rushed back and
taken her in his arms, to hold and comfort her. And instead of sitting
meekly and being guided as she had done since that fateful day in the
woods, she had wrapped her arms around him as well.
"Miharu?" Yushiro had been as surprised as he was relieved that
she was doing *anything* on her own initiative. I may own that doctor
an apology, he had thought to himself.
Then he had noticed, with even more surprise, that Miharu was
putting her hands inside his clothes, and when he had looked into her
face he saw once again the intelligent eyes of a thinking being, but one
in terrible pain. They were the windows to her soul again, but they
showed only anguish and streamed silent tears. She had then pulled him
into a passionate, salty, tear soaked kiss.
"Miharu?" Yushiro had asked again, after both of them had been
satiated. But he had received no reply. Raising up on one elbow to
looking into the face of his lover, Yushiro had found that the blank
look he had grown so accustomed to had returned. Miharu's eyes were dry
again, and as empty as glass. He, too, then had wept silently as he
rocker her in his arms.
Yushiro returned from his reverie just as Miharu collapsed and
rolled off of him, her need satisfied and her energy spent. She fell
asleep immediately, pinning his arm beneath her. Yushiro's fulfillment
had come earlier, but even on those nights when it did not, he made no
attempt to disturb her once she was finished.
It nearly broke his heart each time to see such sadness in her
face and feel the tears flow down her face. The first few nights he had
tried to talk to her afterwards, to keep the light in her eyes. When he
did so, he could see it go out all the faster. But the first time he
had let her just sleep for the night afterwards, she had slept much
sounder, without the moaning of nightmares that had gripped her every
night before. She acted as an automaton again in the morning, but
Yushiro thought that perhaps he saw some progress. She had started
caring for the lily bells that he had brought home by herself and now
needed few reminders to look after her own hygiene.
As he lay, Yushiro wondered again what Miharu would think of him
the day she did come back for good. Would she appreciate that he did
this with her because it was the only way he knew to give her even a few
hours of seeming respite from her torments? Or would she think he had
taken advantage of her? It seemed so obvious to him that she was
seeking solace from the demons of her own guilt in that most intimate of
human contacts, but would she see it that way or as a violation? Yushiro
stayed awake long after his arm had preceded him into sleep. In the
end, he decided, as he did each night, that to see the light behind her
eyes again, even when it burns with sorrow, and the chance that it would
help her recover that light, was worth any risk.
------
This fic took about 4 hours of writing and is based on an idea I had last
night. Considering the first fic I posted here was over a year between
start and publish and the last one months between idea and writing, that's
a heck of an improvement, I figure. :-)
Jim