Urban Hymns

Touya/Syaoran. PG-13.
Some things don’t need to be said. Others can’t.
(part 03 of T/S universe)
2001 | 3370 words

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The sword cut swiftly through the air with a hiss, and he wished he could feel it slice through his thoughts as well. He wished he could feel it slid inside his mind and in one single blow silence all the useless apologies and random “what ifs” and cut the strings that somehow still bound him to a past he could never have back.

He had told himself not to pick up that call, he had known it was the wrong thing to do. It was Touya’s cellphone, and he had no place answering Touya’s calls. They’d been together for more than a year and Touya had never touched Syaoran’s cellphone, so what suddenly gave him the right to get all invasive like that?

It had been her. Of course it would be her. Because ever since he’d moved in with Touya and Yukito, it had always been her, every single time Syaoran would answer the phone, it would be her, and it was always awkward and uncomfortable and painful. At least ten months ago, maybe more, he’d just given up the telephone altogether and bought them an answering machine, and his mother and his friends would often complain that it was always Touya or Yukito or the machine, but never himself, the first they’d talk to. He knew that was a little rude of him, but at that point he couldn’t bring himself to answer the phone anymore even when the number flashing on the screen wasn’t hers, because he knew, he just knew that the first time he dared touch the damned phone again, it would be her.

So of course that the one time he’d decided to lay hands on Touya’s cellphone ever since they’d met, because Touya was out in the backyard and couldn’t hear the ringing, and anyway what harm could it make, of course it would have to be her. And it had been awkward and it had been painful, and now Touya was on the phone with his sister and he was the one out in the backyard instead, cutting the air with his sword because at least the sword wouldn’t cut him back.

Like she could.

The hiss of the blade wavered off as his hands faltered mid-strike, and Syaoran instinctively tightened the grip around the hilt, preventing the sword from fleeing his hand to land probably right on the neighbor’s dog. He knew he probably shouldn’t be playing with sharp things when his mind was anywhere but on the “fight”, but he needed this. He needed something to distract himself, to take his thoughts away from her, to keep him from hearing her cheerful voice ringing over and over in his ears, to stop feeling sorry for his own pathetic self. Adjusting his posture, he lunged forward again, but the strike was no better than the last.

He knew it was his own fault, and it couldn’t be helped. She was Touya’s sister, she was Yukito’s friend, she was Yue’ mistress, and he… he was the odd number. No matter how long he’d been sharing a bed with Touya, no matter how he much he encouraged Yue’s tiny crush on his Clow-reminiscing powers, she was more a part of that house than he could ever be. She belonged there, and she’d always be around. He could buy an answering machine and make up excuses not to participate in family dinners and lock himself in his room pretending not to be home until her surprise visits were over, but she would always be around. And every once in a while, they’d run into each other, even if it was over the phone. Syaoran was pretty sure that he could make a run back to Hong Kong and not put up with this anymore, and still his luck would find a way to make him run into her in his own country as well.

But that, obviously, was not an option. Hong Kong meant putting more miles than he could count between him and Touya, and that was simply not an option.

So staying meant that he could have Touya, but having Touya meant he’d have to take the whole package: supernatural best friend, letter trading with an unresolved English affair from high school, harassing fangirls trying to pass as his friends, soccer practice, healthy meals, late night extra shifts…

…and Sakura.

He tried to stop it, but was a second too late this time: the sword left his grasp with the impulse of his arm to clash against the side of the house with a clang that was probably heard two blocks down the neighborhood and land miserably on the ground like a broken toy. For a minute all Syaoran could do was to stare at the thing lying there on the grass and mocking him. He was pathetic, and he knew it.

Turning around, Syaoran stretched his arms and crossed them behind his head, offering his face to the sunlight and letting out a small sigh.

He hated this. Hated doing this, hated being like this. He could keep telling himself there was nothing between Sakura and him anymore all he wanted, but not so deep inside, he knew better, He knew on some level he’d never be over her. And then, he could keep telling himself this affair with Touya was just that, an affair, the easiest way to resolve the old tension between them, but he also knew much better than that. There had to be some other name for two people “resolving the tension” for a year, four months and counting, and he knew what name was that, but still resisted saying it out loud.

He still loved Sakura and resented her for being happy without him. He had tried hard not to love Touya, but just couldn’t help himself. The position he’d put himself and the siblings in wasn’t fair to either of them, and yet there seemed to be no easy way out of it. He would not leave Touya, but there was no way to stay with him without being constantly reminded of his previous mistakes.

It was around this point that Syaoran finally put his thoughts aside for a second, suddenly noticing the strange utter silence around him. Their neighbors were usually discreet enough, but there was nothing coming from either side of the house. Inside of it, the radio had been turned off, and he couldn’t feel Yue anywhere around. Yukito had likely left short after they’d run into each other on the living room, Syaoran holding the cellphone and trying to find somewhere inside the voice he’d just lost to at least ask Yukito where Touya was.

“Exercising in the backyard,” Yukito had said, and he’d said something else too, something Syaoran had definitely missed in the fog of his rushing thoughts. On retrospect, he should’ve paid attention. If Touya were to ask him where Yukito had been off to, he would have no idea what to say. And Touya. Touya wasn’t on the phone anymore.

In the split-second it took him to realization set in, Syaoran felt very, very stupid.

Before he could even think of reacting, his wrists were caught in a strong hold and the blade of his own sword touched his neck as he felt a wider body pressing against his back. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d been trapped, and he had to bite his tongue to keep himself from cursing. Touya had caught him distracted, yes, but Syaoran wouldn’t give him the pleasure of a curse.

“You realize this is my sword,” he said in a throaty whisper, avoiding too much friction against the blade, “And that I could just unsummon it and use the momentum to throw you on your back.”

“You realize that explaining your next move only helps my case,” the answer came, with the expected teasing tone that Syaoran deliberately ignored.

He knew this game. He had invented it. Their constant struggle for power, for dominance, it ranged from the harmless everyday bickering to very physical disputes that often bordered on violence when one managed to catch the other unaware, like Touya had caught him now. But it never went beyond that, the threat and the mocking. It was really just a game in the end, and one that none of them could really win.

The body pressed against him shifted as the sharp blade slowly left his neck, and Syaoran could sense Touya bracing himself to be elbowed or kicked back. Because that was what he would normally do at this point any other day, yank free of Touya’s grip, push him away and storm out, cursing to himself for falling like a duck while Touya would just laugh at his indignation. But not today. Today he was distracted, today he was nervous, today he was outside flourishing his sword in any random direction like an idiot, like he hadn’t been wielding it with perfectly mastered skill for the past twenty years of his life. Today he didn’t have the energy to fight for power. Today he deserved to be trapped like a duck.

Behind him, Touya sighed. “Why did you have to get it, anyway? You saw her name on the screen.”

And maybe he had seen her name but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d just taken the phone without looking at it. Maybe he’d seen her name and misread it, those Japanese characters were always so hard to distinguish on a quick glance. Or maybe he’d seen it and perfectly recognized her name on instinct, but he’d half-expected it to be someone else, someone like Sakura’s always polite fiancé, or maybe Tomoyo calling from her house, or maybe even Kerberus. He’d overheard Touya talking to the guardian on the phone more than once.

Or maybe he’d really seen her name and been absolutely certain that it would be her on the other end of the line, but none of that had stopped his hands from moving faster than the sluggish wheels of his good sense until it was to late to stop.

A long, muscular arm wrapped around his waist, and Syaoran raised an eyebrow, taking a second to remember Touya couldn’t see his face. “I figured you’d be a little angrier than that.”

“I am angry. More than you can imagine.”

Syaoran struggled with words, trying to find a fitting response to that, but the upward movement of Touya’s shoulders in a small shrug told him to wait.

“I’m so angry I could beat you up till your nose bleeds, but then I’d have to nurse you and that would defeat the purpose of it,” Touya continued. “But it’s not like you have an on/off switch with Sakura/Touya choices that I can turn on my favor, so I’ll just have to live with my anger.”

And that hurt a little more than it was probably meant to. Knowing to himself that he couldn’t just stop feeling what he felt was one thing, but having Touya also know that and say it like this was another. He hadn’t said it to hurt, really, it was just a statement. Touya knew it, and he didn’t like it, but he would accept it.

“Why do you still put up with my crap like this?” he asked, his voice showing a weariness he wished it didn’t.

Touya didn’t answer. He shrugged again, and his head lowered on Syaoran’s shoulder, lips pressing against his skin.

There wasn’t much to be said. Or maybe there was a lot to be said, but Touya never would say it. He’d just stare at him and wait for him to figure things out on his own, or he’d just sigh and walk away, leaving Syaoran to think it over and take his own conclusions.

He really, really hated this.

“She invited us for dinner on Sunday,” Touya finally murmured against his shoulder. “At dad’s house.”

“Are you going?”

Touya nodded and raised his head a bit. “I was hoping you’d come with me. It’s dad’s birthday, he’d like you to be there.”

Oh, but that would be fantastic. Not only hearing her, he’d have to face her. Look at her, look at her fiancé and keep his best fake smile to pretend that everything was just dandy, like he’d had to do in Touya’s last birthday, when they’d already been together long enough that he couldn’t simply bail out on his lover’s very birthday. It had been almost tragicomic, to see Mr. Kinomoto again under those circumstances. The last time they’d met, Syaoran had been with the daughter, the next he was the son. But Mr. Kinomoto, bless such an understanding man, had simply smiled at him and made a small joke about loving both his sons just the same as well, which had been inappropriate given that they were also meeting Sakura’s fiancé, but it was far better than being punched on the face or something, which was what he’d half-expected would happen.

And Sakura… she’d just be Sakura. Smiling and joking and being adorable like only she knew how to be, and Syaoran would spend the whole dinner trying not to look at her, trying not to look like he was trying not to look at her, and watching Touya watch him from the corners of those dark eyes, the question always there but never coming out of the other’s lips. Never forming itself into something Syaoran could actually answer to.

The mere thought of such a delightful dinner made him wish he could have his sword back and something to shred in tiny parts with it.

As if on cue, Touya’s right arm moved to meet his, and that warm hand pressed the hilt of the sword against his palm, leaving the weapon there before retreating to slide up his arm until his shoulder.

“I won’t pretend I’m the reason you’d go,” Touya said behind him, “but I’d also like you to be there. With me.”

With a brush of his lips against Syaoran’s nape, Touya started to retreat, the arm that had been holding him close coming loose as Syaoran tightened his fist around the hilt of the sword in half-anger, half-frustration. That was Touya. And that was what Syaoran most hated about all this: not knowing what to think. Part of his indecision, his lingering on a past on that he knew had been true, was the lack of any notion as to how real this thing was. If there even was a “thing” to wonder about. He was always just left left to wonder and take all the wrong conclusions, never knowing if his truth was Touya’s truth, if his feelings were Touya’s feelings, if his… if Touya put the same name to this as he did.

“Stay.”

The word came out faster than he could think to stop it. He’d never said that before, he’d never asked that before. It was just a game, after all, and that was as far as they would play it. Touya would give him a smart-ass one-liner and leave, and he’d never protest, never leave that screaming voice in the back of his head come out and ask what the hell was all that about. Any other day, this would be the end of the game. But maybe not today.

It was just a word, and Syaoran had never imagined the strength behind such a simple word. As he finished saying it, Touya stopped moving, frozen into place for what seconds that seemed to stretch like hours. He wouldn’t pretend to know what was going on in the other’s mind, but would neither pretend not to care about it. There was something almost ominous in the silence that followed, Touya’s hand nor leaving nor staying in his hip, just hovering over indecisive.

It was then that Syaoran knew Touya would not move. He never did. Touya’s warped sense of responsibility was always playing around with him like that, forcing Syaoran to chase what he wanted. It had been like that when he’d moved in, it’d been like that when they first after started trapping each other on corners to show one another who could be more alpha male over the house, it’d been like that when they first kissed and Touya’d forced him to make the first move, it’d been like that that Touya had made Syaoran grow up once and for all.

His right hand brought the sword before his eyes and he unsummoned it, the metalwork dissolving in the air until he only had the amulet between his fingers. The other hand curled around Touya’s wrist and forced the man’s arm back around his waist.

“I’ll go with you,” he said, his voice softer than he’d thought to make it, “But if you’re really that angry, stop running away”

He felt fingers running up his spine as Touya still stood in the same distance. He heard an intake of breath, but whatever Touya had meant to say was lost in a resigned sigh as Touya stepped forward and ran both his arms around him, burying his face on Syaoran’s neck.

“She’s my sister, and I love her,” Touya murmured, his breath hot on Syaoran’s skin, “And I can’t think of any way I could keep you from feeling like this.”

“I’m a big boy, Touya, I can deal with it.” And Syaoran himself didn’t believe a word of what he’d said, but saying it seemed like the right thing to do.

“No, you can’t. But I’ll pretend I believe it.”

Syaoran leaned back onto Touya’s chest, and the other’s arms tightened around him. They didn’t fit exactly into each other, their muscular building was the same, their shoulders were almost as broad as the other’s, their bones bumped in all the wrong places, and their heights were so similar they never had to look up or down to each other, so aesthetically they didn’t make the perfect portrait of romance wrapped around each other. But it felt good, it felt comfortable, and in days like these it felt like Touya’s arms was really the only place he’d rather be.

Leaning his head on Touya’s shoulder, Syaoran closed his eyes under the sun. “Is this the part where you say you hate me and I say I say hate you as well?”

“Maybe,” Touya answered, leaning his own head against Syaoran and lifting a hand to his shoulder, pulling him even closer. “But I could think of another name for this, if you wanted.”

Syaoran didn’t even try to bite back the chuckle that rose up his throat, nor hide the smile that spread upon his lips. No, Touya would never say it, not until he said it. Touya would never stop forcing him to lead instead of just following, and that was part of what he liked about him. Only one of the many things he loved about him.

Syaoran opened his mouth to say that yes, that would be very nice, but a sound coming from the quiet house cut him short - the telephone was ringing. In the complete silence of that morning, it could be heard loud and clear, insistently calling someone inside. Touya made a small movement, testing if he could free himself for a second to go answer the call, but Syaoran reached for his hands and entwined his fingers around Touya’s, leaving the amulet that minutes ago had been a bright, dangerously sharp sword fall to the ground, forgotten for now.

“I spent money on that machine,” Syaoran teased, “Just let it work.”

Touya chuckled low, and Syaoran felt the other’s smile against his cheek. Touya knew how he felt, in every sense of the words, and was willing to “live with his anger” for this. And he, no, he still couldn’t deal with Sakura without making a fool of himself or injuring someone on the process. But he loved Touya more than that, and he didn’t really need to keep holding on to that past. If that was the worst thing he’d have to put up with to have this, to stay in Touya’s arms and not let him go… he too would just have to learn to live with it.

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