And When The Sun Goes Down by GhostHelwig

Index

Chapter 1: Three Days
Chapter 2: I Lie Awake And I Pray
Chapter 3: Vicious Lies, They Compromise
Chapter 4: Heaven Fails To See
Chapter 5: The Devils Come Out
Chapter 6: Do You Know Who You Are?
Chapter 7: Nighttime Confessions

Chapter 1: Three Days

Three days since they’d beaten Homura, and already things were different.

It wasn’t anything Hakkai could name, really. Just a sense. Something he saw, when looking at Sanzo’s eyes when the priest was looking at Goku...

There was something there, now, that hadn’t been there before. A certain kind of new respect, there was that, but there was also... something. Something else. Something he couldn’t quite name, though he knew he should’ve been able to.

So he sat at the table, covertly watching Sanzo covertly (and yet pointedly) not watch Goku, and he wondered. Whatever this thing was that he saw, it made him uncomfortable. That look in Sanzo’s eyes... something about it just wasn’t quite right.

He bit his lip, a nervous habit he thought he’d dropped in childhood. When he realized he was doing it (which took only a minute; a lot longer than it should have), he released the — thankfully unmarked — lip from between his teeth and smiled sunnily at no one.

In place of worrying his lips raw, he’d taught himself to smile. At everything. No matter how he felt inside.

He was so good at it by now, sometimes it took slip-ups like this to remind him that it was all fake.

He felt a suspicious gaze fall on him, and he smiled at Sanzo with all the enthusiasm he could muster — it wasn’t much, really, but too much would be just as suspect as too little...

“Something bothering you, Sanzo?” he asked with a carefully designed casualness he didn’t even come close to feeling, a carefully constructed mask slipping over his features like a second skin. The blonde looked at him, for a long moment.

Finally, and without a word, he just turned away.

Inwardly, Hakkai breathed a sigh of relief. Until he knew exactly what was bothering him, he couldn’t do anything about it — couldn’t talk, or question, or badger Sanzo into knocking whatever it was he wasn’t actually doing off.

Until he knew, he couldn’t do anything at all. And the helplessness of that galled him.

He dreamed that night, of red (blood) and gold — but not of Kanan. Which was strange — whenever he had his violet — no, violent, blood-filled dreams, she was at the center...

But not this time. This time, he dreamed of (remembered?) lilacs dripping purple petals all over a blood-drenched ground, golden eyes sparkling with tears, and the swish of dark robes as a candle was blown out by lips that were mottled and raw...

Dreams. Kanan had believed in them, thought that if you understood them you might find within them the keys to better understanding yourself. Hakkai (Gonou) had teased her about that, about how she thought there might be significance in her dreaming of a white-haired, white-skinned, red-eyed man with a fierce face turning into some kind of strange, smallish animal... An animal with wings...

Kanan thought dreams were gifts from the gods, kernels of inner teachings just waiting to be unfolded.

Gonou then — and Hakkai now — thought dreams were just...

Dreams.

It was another scorcher of a day. Giving in to the bickering and complaining (whining) from the backseat — that not even Sanzo’s unerring fan-hitting abilities or constant and increasing death threats could curb — Hakkai sent them just a tiny bit off course, so they would reach a closer town than the one he’d initially been aiming for, which was farther away but closer to their ultimate goal of India by maybe half a mile.

He neglected to mention this little change to Sanzo (who would not have approved, even though he was hot and miserable too). And if Sanzo never asked about it, well, then why should Hakkai even bother mentioning it? He hated to waste Sanzo’s time with trivial matters.

Rationalizations out of the way, he drove them into town just a little after midday.

Normally they wouldn’t stop, having reached this place so quickly (and without incident, no less; their luck must’ve been improving), but Hakkai had taken a calculated risk — everyone was starving, tired, achy, and hot (and in Sanzo’s case, irritable as hell because of those things), everyone needed rest...

And Sanzo needed cigarettes. They would stop here for the day.

When Sanzo grudgingly agreed (not even the prospect of more smokes could improve his foul temper at this point), Hakkai smiled to himself. It was so easy to read the game when you knew all the players.

He caught just a split-second glimpse of Sanzo’s eyes latching and holding onto Goku, and frowned deeply; not on his face, but in his heart, where it counted.

Maybe he didn’t know the players in this game at all.

Dinnertime was a remarkably quiet affair — though perhaps Hakkai was just too distracted to notice exactly how frequent (or infrequent) Goku and Gojyo’s fighting was. He had more important things on his mind, this night, than keeping Sanzo from shooting them if they decided to push him that far.

Sanzo seemed in a remarkably patient mood, though, especially considering the aggravations of the day. He managed to ignore their antics, for the most part.

Or maybe Sanzo was distracted by his own thoughts, too. He certainly seemed to be more ‘elsewhere’ than here.

Hakkai wasn’t the only one to notice. Having successfully wrestled the last spring roll from Gojyo and stuffed it in his mouth, Goku swallowed quickly (my, Hakkai wondered, does he even bother to chew anymore?) and waved a hand in front of Sanzo’s face, looking concerned.

“Hey, Sanzo, you there?”

Sanzo’s eyes narrowed as he looked sideways at Goku; the look would’ve been enough to ward off anyone else, no matter how brave. But Goku just smiled up at him.

Sanzo looked for another moment, just looked, a hesitation few but Hakkai would’ve noticed. Only too soon he was swatting at Goku with his fan, Goku whining and Gojyo teasing him about how ‘you should’ve known better than to bother the prissy monk before he has his nicotine fix, monkey-boy’ (a line that managed to get both the ‘prissy monk’ and the ‘monkey-boy’ mad at him, even though everyone at the table knew Gojyo had only been speaking the plain truth).

But Hakkai stared blindly at them all, seeing only Goku’s innocent, laughing grin and the surprisingly lit, newly alive violet eyes that flickered over him just a little too often.

Hakkai knew, now, what the problem was. He knew.

And he felt sick.

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Chapter 2: I Lie Awake And I Pray

Hakkai sighed, letting the breath rush out between his teeth. Another whole week had passed, and nothing had changed, except that he knew, he knew, he knew...

He really hated the knowing.

And he thought maybe his facade of blissful ignorance was starting to crack. Not that anyone had called him on it, or even seemed to notice yet, but inside he knew it was all he could do to not confront Sanzo about his utterly inappropriate behavior — and then duck and cover when the bullets started flying.

But confrontation was never his way, not in situations such as these (has there ever been another situation like this, Gonou? he thought to himself. In your entire lifetime?), and anyway Sanzo hadn’t actually done anything worthy of a confrontation yet. Looking was not the same as touching. Lord knew that if looking counted as sex, Gojyo would’ve been intimate with them all at least thirty times by now — and with Sanzo, probably even more than that.

So he did nothing, and Sanzo did nothing, and as far as Hakkai could tell Goku did nothing but eat, sleep, eat some more, argue with Gojyo, and pester Sanzo for whatever reason occurred to him until he got hit with the paper fan or shot at — and Gojyo seemed content doing basically the same things, only with a healthy (or unhealthy, depending on your point of view) helping of sex and flirting added in to the mix.

It was all driving Hakkai just the slightest bit mad.

But now here was the perfect opportunity to express himself, to tell Sanzo what he felt Sanzo needed to know without actually ‘telling’ Sanzo anything (since that would probably — no, definitely — get him shot). He was better at doing things this way anyway, better at talking around pertinent points rather than address them directly...

So as Sanzo sat very still in his seat and tried not to twitch listening to Goku and Gojyo bicker over a certain meat bun even though a platter of them sat not far away from both of their overstuffed plates, Hakkai decided to broach the subject as delicately as he possibly could.

He kept half his gaze leisurely trained on Sanzo’s hands the whole time, waiting for a sign that either one was going for his gun. He wasn’t stupid.

“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it, Sanzo,” he said pleasantly, “how no matter what happens, Goku and Gojyo remain the same? It’s quite refreshing, actually.”

Sanzo gave him a look that could only be described as funny. Hakkai smiled, even though the expression was among the last his face wanted to make.

“They never change,” he went on, glancing pointedly at Goku. Sanzo followed his gaze and frowned darkly. Maybe I’m getting through, Hakkai thought. He spoke again, this time feeling much more hopeful about Sanzo actually getting — and conceding — his point...

“Let’s hope they never do, yes?”

Violet eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hakkai knew, then, that he’d won, because Sanzo knew precisely what he meant and even Sanzo must agree that Goku-

“Everything changes, idiot,” Sanzo said, gruff voice unusually low and harsh — Sanzo could play this game, too, that was obvious, though Hakkai could tell from the pinched set of his lips that it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Or maybe that was just from the nature of their discussion. He certainly felt a little sick again...

“Besides,” Sanzo said as he reached for the newspaper Hakkai had had the serving girl bring him just before dinner (a calming tactic, one that had the added bonus of being just obvious enough that Sanzo would know Hakkai wanted something from him), “things that never change are so lame.”

Sanzo froze, hand outstretched. He appeared startled by his own words, though Hakkai didn’t know why. Sure it was strange to hear Sanzo call anything ‘lame’ (usually he used much harsher words), but it wasn’t as though he couldn’t understand what the monk was telling him...

Sanzo sat back, the newspaper abandoned, and glared at Hakkai as though he was the source of all of his problems. Hakkai smiled genially in return.

Goku and Gojyo were getting progressively louder. Hakkai could see Sanzo notice this, watch the emotions play over the unchanging face Sanzo showed him. He could read Sanzo so well, no matter how hard the blonde tried to hide...

Which was why he knew, immediately, that his words were going to be ignored.

Before he could say anything more, Sanzo stood up from the table, fan immediately in hand and descending upon the heads of two people who really shouldn’t have been surprised by it. As Gojyo swore and Goku whined, Sanzo snarled at them to shut up, and exited the bar without a word of explanation.

Goku stared. Gojyo stared. Hakkai put his head in his hands while both of them weren’t looking at him.

He has to see what this is. He’s not stupid, or naive in any sense of the word. He has to know. He has to know this is wrong.

Hakkai looked up just in time to see Goku willingly abandon his meal in favor of running after Sanzo. Gojyo, obviously floored by this turn of events, was left staring after him.

And Hakkai was left with that same dull nausea roiling around in his gut, wanting to choke him.

Goku and Sanzo finally returned two hours later, just when Hakkai was about to start truly freaking out and go after them. He really, really wasn’t comfortable with the idea of the two of them alone together right now...

But they walked into his room at the inn they’d be staying at easily enough, nothing strange in either the priest or the boy’s demeanor. The only odd thing was that Sanzo actually came into his room; the monk obviously had yet to realize it (or just didn’t want to acknowledge it), but the reason they often met in his room was because he flatly refused to set foot in any of theirs’, even when the situation warranted a group meeting of sorts...

But Sanzo was here, and glaring, and so normal Hakkai could actually imagine, for a moment, that things were still alright between them.

But then Goku grabbed Sanzo’s hand to pull him further into the room and get him sitting on the good chair by the window (having summarily kicked Gojyo out of it first, leaving the redhead grumbling goodnaturedly on the floor), and Sanzo allowed it. Didn’t do more than roll his eyes. Was as passive as Genjo Sanzo ever allowed himself to be.

It was... unsettling. Unnerving.

Sanzo suddenly looked at him, looked with a gaze only he could pull off that was wise and young and angry and understanding and knowing all at once, and Hakkai blanched. He hurriedly dismissed himself, rushing from the room even as Gojyo called after him, “hey! This is your room, y’know!”

He knew. But he suddenly couldn’t be in it any longer.

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Chapter 3: Vicious Lies, They Compromise

Hakkai was determined. No more waiting, no more beating around the proverbial bush, no more hoping Sanzo would get a clue and stop all this ridiculous nonsense. He was going to sit Sanzo down and demand he open up his eyes and see the truth...

But first, a drink. Because no one should face an irate Genjo Sanzo without some liquid courage flowing through their veins.

It was unfortunate that it was well-nigh impossible for Hakkai to get drunk. He was sure he could use the extra added nonchalance and fearlessness being drunk gave Gojyo...

Though perhaps that was just a Gojyo thing.

Thinking about that, or equally inane and unconnected things like that, carried him through one hour of steady, hard drinking — he was glad Gojyo was out at an actual bar tonight, and not drinking in the small dining area their current inn provided, like he was. He didn’t think he could bear either the well-intentioned company - or the invasive questions that invariably came along with said company.

What bothered him was knowing that Goku was asleep upstairs in the room he shared with Gojyo, Sanzo was safely ensconced in the room they shared, and on this, the night he’d chosen to confront Sanzo-

It was raining.

Not just a light drizzle or even a quick downpour, either — it was raining. Really raining. The kind that set even Hakkai’s teeth on edge because it wouldn’t let up for days; he could tell, and it annoyed him. Not only was dealing with Sanzo at a time like this more dangerous than ever, but he had his own issues to deal with when the rain pounded down outside like the footsteps of the dead pounding on the roof...

Oh yes, he had issues.

He’d wondered why Gojyo had chosen to set foot outside on such a terrible night, but considering the company if he stayed here, Hakkai couldn’t really blame him.

And enough of this pointless ruminating already. Time to go and face the dragon.

Sanzo didn’t look away from the window when he entered the room, didn’t acknowledge his greeting with even a nod of his head. That was not so unusual, on a night like this.

He turns to stone when it rains. It’s unnatural. I know he does it to keep himself from feeling what he’s remembering, but still, it’s not healthy. It’s not healthy for anyone to be that cold...

Like he should talk.

“Sanzo,” he said quietly, waiting to see if he’d get a reaction.

Nothing.

“Sanzo, we need to talk.”

One slight shoulder lifted, fell.

“Some other time.”

Well, that was... kinder, than it could have been. All things considered.

Yes, it was kinder than he could have expected from Sanzo, possibly kinder even than he deserved, considering he knew how Sanzo was, how he felt, on nights like this, yet he was pushing anyway...

And he was going to push some more. He couldn’t let anything deter him. Not even the rain that seemed so determined to haunt them both.

Ignoring Sanzo’s words, he spoke as if he’d been given the go-ahead to do so, ignoring the tiny stiffening in Sanzo’s shoulders when his voice broke the heavy silence between them once again.

“You can’t do this, you know. It isn’t fair to Goku.”

Still, Sanzo didn’t turn to face him; but his voice was rougher, harder, than it had been before.

“I’m not doing a fucking thing to Goku.”

Not yet, you’re not. And I’m here to make certain that you never do. For both your sakes.

But he couldn’t say that, any of that. Sanzo would not take it well at all. And Hakkai had never tried to heal himself from a mortal wound before.

“He looks up to you,” he said instead. “You must see that. And you’re his guardian. You can’t be confusing him like this; you’re only hurting him, as well as yourself. You-”

“Exactly what,” Sanzo said, voice a sliver of ice that cut directly into Hakkai’s chest, “do you think I’m doing, Hakkai?”

Violet eyes had turned to face him, looking nothing but black in the gloom, and Hakkai’s throat constricted. Though he never would’ve admitted it to Sanzo (who already knew, but would be uncomfortable hearing it said aloud), he looked up to Sanzo, too. He had since they met, when an uncompromising priest had come to take him to task for his crimes...

And to see someone he admired so fallen... hurt him.

“I think,” he said slowly, the words pulled from deep inside him, “that you’re confusing friendship and honest affection... with something more. I think... you’re lonely, and reaching out. But you’re doing it to the wrong person, Sanzo.”

Anyone but Goku, Sanzo. I don’t care who, just anyone but him.

He looked up, didn’t even realize he had no memory of having dropped Sanzo’s gaze, instead thinking about how... small Sanzo suddenly looked, perched there by the window with his face blank (black) and his eyes unreadable but still somehow bleeding. He could see the little boy Sanzo had once been in that face, those eyes. That made what he had to say just that much harder.

“I think... you’ll hurt Goku if you keep on this way. He isn’t ready for what you want. He may never be. At least...”

He steeled himself, bracing for whatever followed.

“At least when it comes to you.”

If he’d expected an intense reaction, he was disappointed; Sanzo took his words quietly, unflinchingly. (He takes them as he takes any fatal blow; head-on, eyes open, trusting that whether it ends in death or survival he will at least have his pride intact.) Then he simply turned back to the window.

But Hakkai, who knew him so very, very well, saw the one response his words did elicit, something so small that very few others would even have noticed it.

Sanzo’s fingers, so long and delicate (you wouldn’t think he could fire a gun with those hands — kill a demon with those hands — save a damned man with those hands), were...

Sanzo’s fingers were trembling.

Sanzo had been affected, had listened; Hakkai had won. This nightmare was over. Hakkai had, for the good of them all, gotten his way.

So why, then, did he still feel so sick?

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Chapter 4: Heaven Fails To See

It was still raining two days later.

They’d stayed at the inn all that time, stayed holed up in their various worlds while the storm raged quietly but unendingly around them. And while Hakkai had grown accustomed to dealing with the anger-pain-rage rain filled him with, Sanzo had not; he probably never would. Instead, Sanzo scowled when they talked to him, and sat in blind, untouchable silence when they didn’t.

He was emotionally, physically, and mentally unavailable to all of them, even — especially? — Goku. Though the ‘physically unavailable’ part wasn’t so unusual; Sanzo was not the kind of man one hugged, or touched, or expected to be hugged or touched by, even casually.

But still, his very remoteness was bothersome... worrisome. He was cut off, much more so than usual, snapping when he deigned to notice them at all — which really wasn’t all that often. Even when Goku and Gojyo were screaming obscenities at each other, Sanzo noticed — and screamed back — all of once. They’d been so surprised they’d stopped arguing immediately.

This was the worst Hakkai had ever seen him during the rain; worse than the time when Homura stole Goku, worse even than the first time he’d ever seen Sanzo this way, when he’d lived at the monastery and come into Sanzo’s bedroom one night during a storm looking for a partner for a game of cards only to see Sanzo sitting by the window, just as he always did, so forlorn and guilty and furious that it didn’t take much prodding before he spilled out his story in a few clipped, harsh sentences.

My Master died during a rainstorm.

He died in my arms.

I couldn’t protect him.

But right now, Hakkai wasn’t thinking about what Sanzo must be suffering through, having to sit and listen, day in and day out, to the uncaring tears from the heavens that had fallen the first and only time he’d ever allowed himself to feel. He wasn’t thinking about Sanzo’s lost childhood, his lost innocence, his struggle to be grown and capable and able when he’d never really had a chance to be a child.

What he was thinking, was that those fingers that had trembled and told him they understood...

Those fingers had lied to him.

Because right now, he could see them pressing into Goku’s back, clenching in his shirt, white-knuckled from tension and trembling still. He could see the graceful arch of Goku’s spine as he leaned over Sanzo, who was perched lightly on the ledge of the windowsill.

He could just barely see the beauty of Sanzo’s face as Goku kissed him.

But no. It wasn’t Goku kissing Sanzo, it was Sanzo kissing Goku. It had to be. Goku would never do such a thing.

Thunder crashed outside; lightning flashed overhead. He hadn’t expected this kind of storm.

He hadn’t expected a lot of things.

Wind gusted in through the doorway Hakkai lurked in; a candle on the nearby table blew out. Someone moaned.

And Hakkai just... broke.

A dark-haired man held an equally dark-haired boy against his chest, ignoring the boy’s futile struggles to get away. Hakkai advanced on them, quietly, so intent on stalking his prey that the danger rushing through his blood was almost an aphrodisiac.

(The boy, even in his pleasure, sensed him coming, but dismissed him as unimportant — had he not been so distracted, the anger and calm, vengeful judgment radiating off him in waves would’ve hit his senses like a ton of bricks. But he’d already been stunned by the sweetness of one pair of guarded, full lips, and his only consolation was that the man beneath him — whose senses were nearly as good as his, and whose instincts were marginally better — dismissed the approaching man as harmless, too.)

He grabbed the boy from his captor and flung him to the side, to safety. And now that the hostage — the poor, innocent victim — had been taken care of, he could move on to the vengeance his body was singing for.

(The boy was tossed aside like a rag doll, back slamming against the wall and head cracking hard — too hard — against the windowsill. His vision blurred, swam. He knew, suddenly, that he needed to get back to those lips, that man, because even though the betrayal hadn’t yet registered the danger had. But the wind blew, another candle winked out, and as the light faded, so too did his consciousness.)

(In the darkness that followed, one thought remained: I hope the sun doesn’t go out.)

He was on the villain before he could move, was wrapping his hands around that deceptively beautiful throat. “Priests should not have sex with children,” he hissed, blind to the widening of the eyes that gazed up at him. All he could see-hear-feel was the blood hissing through his veins, the anger throbbing in his head, another heartbeat to speed up his own-

And the pounding of the rain, beating inside him, a drumbeat of death.

(The man choked, hearing but not understanding the words that condemned him, head thrashing vainly, hair that was not dark but golden annoying him by getting in his eyes when he was trying to see his attacker’s face. Not that he didn’t know who it was, but he needed to see, because knowing and believing had never been the same thing to him. It was how he could know the gods existed, have met more than a few, yet deny their very existence to the depths of his being...)

(But even seeing wasn’t really helping, and he could not even move his hands because he was still wiggling them out from under his attacker — killer - and finally they’re free but all he can do with them is scrabble at the hands choking the life from him, leaving vicious scratches on the fingers that are bringing about his death.)

(And despite his teachings, despite his own beliefs, despite everything he had ever said, it did not even occur to him to use the sacred scripture draped leisurely on a chair across the room, the only thing marking him as a priest.)

(If he survived this, he would berate himself for his foolishness.)

He straddled that slim body, and it could almost have been sex, because the wriggling hips beneath his were so inviting, the open, gasping lips were so full and parted enticingly, because that body had, on occasion, aroused him before (however briefly, and however quickly he dismissed it); but sex was not what he was after. Not from this man.

“A priest,” he murmured darkly, “should never be a whore.”

(Just as before, the words were heard, but they made no sense. A whore? the man wanted to ask; to laugh. Can a virgin be a whore?)

(But only too soon he couldn’t think anymore, at least nothing coherent, nothing beyond fuck — I think I’m dying — I’ll miss him — goddammit — don’t let him die — he has to live — can’t breathe — fulfill mission — fuck — can’t breathe — fuck — I never told him — fuck — I can’t breathe —)

(I hope he finds another sun.)

He squeezed harder, wanting (waiting) to feel the give beneath his fingers that signaled a crushed throat — he’s done this before, you know — instead feeling warm breath rush out onto his hands. But somehow he was not feeling the scratches being inflicted on him, the blood beginning to ooze from his skin, the rips that were being torn in his flesh (in his soul). It doesn’t matter, because like this, in this moment, with someone who deserved to die at his mercy-

Nothing, not even pain, mattered to Cho Gonou.

Nothing.

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Chapter 5: The Devils Come Out

It was the silence that alerted Gojyo.

True, the slamming and crashing (the crack of flesh on wood and brick) that came amid the silence was a giveaway, too, but by then he was already curious; when Hakkai had said he’d track down Goku and Sanzo so they could play mahjong (anything to relieve that damn monk’s foul temper), he’d rather assumed there would be some talking involved in the asking.

And the stupid monkey’s voice could carry easily enough to his room, because the kid talked like everyone was a room away from him instead of a few feet. Possibly the result of spending too much time in Hakuryu, when you had to practically shout to be heard over the rush of wind and the glorious beat of the engine, but he didn’t feel like giving the kid excuses. The stupid monkey was just loud.

But right now he’d give anything to hear the kid’s voice, just so he’d know what he was walking into.

Hakuryu ‘koo’-ed sleepily when he passed by the bed, and he spared a moment to be thankful that the little dragon was too tired to follow him — if demons were attacking, protecting him would be difficult, if not altogether impossible in the confined space within this inn. The little animal would just get hurt.

Though how could there be demons attacking? He’d heard none of the sounds of breaking in, and his hearing was especially keen; unless they’d come in the front door. Were they smart enough for that, for sneaking in that way? If so, the quality of Kougaiji’s assassins had improved

And if demons weren’t attacking, Gojyo wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what the hell was going on.

Yet somehow, he found himself outside Sanzo’s door anyway.

The door had been blown completely open by the wind, so once outside the doorway he could see inside the room, though the flickering candlelight made his visibility poor. But almost immediately he saw a few, select (important) things-

The glint of gold and red on Goku’s head, as blood oozed over his limiter.

More gold by the window, though topped by a forbidding, shadowy form.

And most importantly-

The body that actually belonged to that gold wasn’t moving.

Gojyo froze for just an instant, not seeing anything in that moment but that golden hair. He felt like he’d seen this man dead before — which was ridiculous, because though he’d come close to dying several times, Sanzo had never actually died. But if he stared-

-long golden hair spilled onto the floor as the body collapsed, not dead before it hit the floor but dying, and doing it quickly; and there was a hollowness in his chest that hadn’t been there before... until the boy-beast started howling, and the hollowness was filled by fear-

-he saw too much, and not enough. But later for that. All that mattered now was moving, because if he let the little bitch die he was absolutely fucking certain the blonde would come back from death to haunt him until his dying day, thus ensuring that he never got laid again.

Bastard monk.

He raced forward, whipping out his shakujou-

And hurriedly pulling it back, away from the danger zone, the instant he realized exactly who it was on top of Sanzo.

He had two options, he realized in the split-second before Hakkai turned to him and struck: he could try to reason it out with Hakkai and possibly let Sanzo die, or stop Hakkai now and maybe salvage the time necessary to save the pissy monk’s life.

No choice at all, really.

So, in a move he knew he would not have gotten away with had Hakkai not been consumed by this single-minded intent, this murderous rage, he feinted to the left when Hakkai struck out with his hands (not his chi — he was too far gone for that now, for which Gojyo was grateful) and used the other man’s movement to put him in the exact right position, so that when he brought his shakujou down the long pole collided with the back of Hakkai’s head. Hakkai went down.

And despite his worry for his friend, his sudden guilt, Gojyo ignored him in favor of making sure that when Hakkai woke up, when he was back to himself, he wouldn’t have Sanzo’s death (I won’t let you bloody your hands further, my friend) on his already marked conscience.

There was nothing in the world but them, these two, him killing and the other being killed. He could feel that strong life force draining away beneath his fingers, getting darker and colder-

But a soul that perverted deserved to be frozen and shadowed. It was only fitting.

And then he felt it; another presence, approaching quickly, one that bled confusion and pain all over the floor...

He knew the instant that presence decided to really go after him. He turned, swung-

And missed. By quite a bit.

Then something was crashing into him, carrying him to the floor.

He would’ve screamed in rage, but all around him was suddenly dark, and he knew no one would hear.

Gojyo felt for the pulse in Sanzo’s throat with a hand that would not, could not, stop shaking. He counted in his head: one, two, three...

Still, nothing.

But it couldn’t end this way, not like this. Where was the honor in this, the death a man like Sanzo deserved? It’s not like he’s earned anything, but to die like this... Not even I would put him in the ground.

He shoved all these distracting thoughts aside, grabbed Sanzo’s chin and tilted it up. He’d seen people do this, but never done it himself...

But if Hakkai crushed his windpipe, this won’t matter anyway.

He put his mouth over the monk’s cold lips, no time for perverted thoughts and no inclination towards them, instead blowing air into that unmoving body, sharing his breath as the Merciful Goddess had once forced him to share his blood. Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway, but — and where is that bitch? Where was she when Sanzo needed her?

He pulled off, checked for a pulse. Nothing yet. So he fisted his hand and slammed it over Sanzo’s heart (I know you’ve got one, you gods-damned blasted monk, so get the fuck up before you break Goku’s), again and again and again.

More breathing into his mouth, now, and if he was panting from exertion and fear no one was awake (alive) to know it.

Maybe he was doing this wrong. Because that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Sha Gojyo often got things wrong, and Sanzo would just love the chance to taunt him from the afterlife...

I shared my blood with you, and now my breath. What else can I give?

He pulled away again, and Sanzo’s lips were a shade of blue he thought he would always remember (and always hate). This was over, then. Their whole goddamn mission was over, and for what?

A chill overcame him then, one he could not, did not even try to curb.

When Goku wakes up, he’ll kill us both. Me, for failing to save Sanzo, and Hakkai... for doing what he did.

He closed his eyes. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought, knowing death was forthcoming. He sat back on his heels, wished for a cigarette-

And nearly fell over when he heard a cough from the body (corpse) in front of him.

Sanzo?

The man opened his blurry eyes, caught sight of one blood-red head bent over the body of the priest he’d slaughtered in cold blood. And it was that hair that brought him back to himself, always that goddamned hair, that was penitence and censure all at once...

“G-gojyo,” he whispered, but his voice was too faint even for Gojyo’s half-youkai ears.

I’m sorry, he wanted to say, though he could not quite remember what he was sorry for.

Then Gojyo moved away, and through dazed eyes he saw a single shaft of bright, shining gold. Sanzo.

He remembered, now. And as unconsciousness claimed him once more, he wished he would never wake up again.

Somebody kill me. Please.

Back to index

Chapter 6: Do You Know Who You Are?

There was a light. Golden, luminous... for just a moment, Hakkai completely understood where Goku was coming from, blindly following the only man who’d ever reminded either of them of the sun...

But he isn’t blind, is he? He sees Konzen clearer than anyone...

The thought was gossamer — he couldn’t hold onto it. It drifted away, leaving him in blessed, silent darkness once more.

When Hakkai came to again, the light was gone. Maybe it had never been... After all, with a soul as dark as his, could he ever be worthy of such a pure, golden glow?

But it didn’t matter now. All around him was a thick, encompassing darkness; he thought he could hear, vaguely, the sound of one angry redhead, but he didn’t give it much thought. Possibly he was hallucinating Gojyo’s voice as well. He wouldn’t put it past his brain, not anymore.

Look what I did, on your orders, you crazy mind of mine. I killed Sanzo. He saved me. And I killed him. Because you told me to.

He wondered if talking this way about himself meant he was losing it. He thought maybe it did. He wondered if he should care.

I paid back that golden light by bathing it in blood.

This world, where Sanzo was dead at his hands... it just wasn’t worth living in.

So when the darkness came to claim him once again, he welcomed it with open arms, singing.

Smoke. Hakkai could feel his nose wrinkle in instinctive distaste. There was just something about that smell... he thought he could even learn to like it (instead of just patiently tolerating it), and that bothered him too...

“So. You’re awake.”

Was he? Yes, he supposed that’s what he must be. He must be awake.

C’mon, Hakkai, let’s see about opening those eyes, okay?

He cracked one eye open, and when the light (not golden, not brilliant and shining and blinding, just light; plain, simple - boring) proved painless he opened the other.

A veritable river of red was before him. He choked.

When the brief coughing fit subsided, his eyes cleared further. He could see Gojyo sitting not far from him, looking unnaturally grim, his hair catching the dim light; shining.

Rain still pounded on the roof. Hakkai wanted to cry.

“I...” His voice was raspy, as though it was straining from disuse. Or maybe the unshed tears lodged in his throat were the problem...

Gojyo’s eyes were boring into him. He quieted.

Long moments passed in silence, broken only by the sound of the rain falling. Finally Gojyo sighed, ran one hand through his long hair. “Y’know,” he said conversationally, as though this discussion were of no more weight than deciding who had to carry the groceries (actually, it sounded almost as though it were of less importance, which Hakkai knew was, just had to be, a filthy goddamn lie), “if you really wanted the monk dead, I can’t say as I blame ya. But what’d he do? Forget to say ‘thank you’, like he always does? Put out his cigarettes on Hakuryu?”

No, Gojyo, that’s always you, he thought, and the amusement nearly made him smile-

Until Gojyo’s questions set in. And he couldn’t bear to smile even inside himself any longer.

What did he do? I’ll tell you what he did. He took advantage of a child, that’s what he did. He raped a baby-

Only he couldn’t say that, if only because the overly dramatic sentiment of it mortified him. No one had been raped-

But if you touch Goku, Sanzo, that’s what it will be-

-no one had even really been hurt-

But he will be, Sanzo, it isn’t right, you have power over him, don’t abuse that-

-and Gojyo would think him crazy if he said anything along those lines.

-you should know better-

-dammit Sanzo-

Though he probably thought he was crazy already. And who knew? Maybe he was.

After all, killing one’s friends, no matter what one of them had done (or not done, or just wanted to do; so obviously wanted), had to be the sign of encroaching insanity...

-How could you, Sanzo? He loves you-

“S... sanzo?” he asked, voice barely able to go above a whisper. Gojyo frowned deeply.

The look made Hakkai’s heart break.

-I love you.

A movement in the corner of the room caught his eye, and he turned his head just in time to see Sanzo come around the bed to stand just beside the shadows near the door. His fair hair gleamed brightly, and Hakkai suddenly realized — ‘you’re right, Goku, he really is like the sun’, an amazed and bemused god whispered to a thrilled child — Sanzo really was like the sun Goku compared him to. Harsh, constant-

Blinding in his intensity.

And now, with (the sun) Sanzo staring right at him, overwhelming him, his voice was stolen all over again.

But that, as it turned out, was alright. Sanzo had enough to say for the both of them.

“I’d ask what the fuck you were thinking,” he growled, and the unnaturally gravelly tone to his voice was not lost on Hakkai (I must have hurt something in his throat, he thought wildly, feeling once again ill), “but I’m fairly certain you weren’t thinking at all.”

Gojyo shot Sanzo a warning look, but unsurprisingly, Sanzo (the man who noticed everything — and bowed down to nothing) blatantly ignored it.

“Well, Hakkai,” Sanzo went on when Hakkai stayed silent, “what do you have to say for yourself?” Then, showing a vicious shrewdness Hakkai should’ve known to expect of him:

“Or should I call you Gonou now?”

Hakkai flinched.

“Hey,” Gojyo began, but Sanzo had already flung open the door and stalked out.

When Gojyo looked back to him, Hakkai floundered, searched desperately for something to say to ease the panic-induced bile rising in his throat-

“It’s fine, Gojyo,” he finally blurted. “Truly. I understand perfectly. After what I — what I did-”

He floundered again, but this time Gojyo took up the slack. “Yeah, about that,” he said slowly, “you gonna explain it or what?”

What can I say? What can I possibly say that won’t make you hate me?

“I...” He paused, licked his lips; tried again.

“I... I can’t say I understand it myself. I know that I... saw Sanzo, with Goku, and... I suppose I... I suppose I panicked and... and I... I hurt...”

I hurt them.

But he suddenly couldn’t say anymore, couldn’t finish that damning sentence. And Gojyo was just staring at him, looking at him with those vivid crimson eyes, eyes that spoke of too young a life spent in too much pain, seeing too much blood...

“Goku,” Hakkai finally blurted, “did I — is he okay? Is he alright? Did I-” Did I kill him in my haste to save him?

But no — had I done that, I would not have woken again.

Sanzo would have seen to it.

“Doc says he’s fine,” Gojyo said, bringing Hakkai’s thoughts back to him, and out of the horrible darkness of a world wherein he had been responsible for snuffing out Goku’s own brilliant light. “Got a pretty bad bump on his head, and for a few hours there it was kinda touch-and-go, but the kid’s already up and whining.”

“Wait a minute,” Hakkai said quickly, something strange and dark and nervous dawning on him, “‘for a few hours’? Exactly how long have I been out, Gojyo?”

And was Gojyo suddenly squirming — just a little?

“Well,” he drawled, briefly looking anywhere but at Hakkai, “when Sanzo got up, he was even pissier than normal, and he had the doc give you something to keep you asleep...” At Hakkai’s slightly alarmed look, Gojyo hurriedly added, “hey man, it was either drug you, or kill you. And guess which one monk-boy favored.”

Staring at Gojyo’s abruptly innocent-seeming face, Hakkai couldn’t help but think, it might’ve been better if you’d let him kill me, my friend. For all of us.

(And he knew Gojyo knew what he thought, about his own death and his being saved all over again, because Gojyo always knew and Hakkai was smart enough to know that, and accept that.)

But who could say that, when confronted with those haunted, haunting eyes?

“I’m sorry, Gojyo,” he whispered instead. The look he received in return said plainly: d’you really think I’m the one you need to be apologizing to?

But Gojyo didn’t say anything about that. Rather, he smiled a little, his own wry apology, and muttered, “I’m sorry, too, Hakkai. Because I have to keep you locked up for now.”

“Oh.” He looked down in dim surprise, only to find that his hands and legs were indeed bound to the bed. Funny how he hadn’t noticed that — but he could hardly blame Sanzo and the others for their caution... “Sanzo’s idea, I suppose?” His tone tried for light-hearted humor, but he was afraid he probably just sounded tired.

Gojyo didn’t seem to notice. “No,” he said finally, still staring straight at Hakkai when he elaborated.

“Mine.”

And that, well... that made sense, too.

And as Gojyo made some excuse and left the room, Hakkai was left to wonder just how many more things he had ruined with his most recent — and damning - bout of insanity.

“He’s losing his goddamned mind.”

Sanzo took a deep drag off his cigarette, and Gojyo, showing more sensitivity to Sanzo’s hair-trigger temper and swinging moods than ever before, politely ignored the coughing fit that ensued. (Even though what he wanted to do was say oh-so-sweetly, ‘you might want to lay off the cigs while your throat is healing, cherry-chan’ — but who wanted to get shot point-blank range by an irate monk over a few lousy cigarettes? Let the man hack up a lung; it might teach him something.) When Sanzo had recovered, and was casually flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, Gojyo finally spoke.

“He seemed coherent enough when he was talking to me,” he said carefully. Sanzo sneered.

“So Mr. Mono-Syllable didn’t fly off the handle and try to kill you? How lucky for you.”

“Listen to me,” Gojyo snarled, his own temper flaring in the way only Sanzo’s attitude could ever bring about, “until we know exactly why he did what he did, we can’t just-”

“It’s the Minus Wave.”

Gojyo blanched. Sanzo just shook his head, blond hair shading his eyes.

“It... it can’t be,” Gojyo finally said, voice hoarse and strained and openly horrified (terrified). “He can’t have just... Goku and I haven’t...”

“You’re not a full youkai,” Sanzo pointed out. He stubbed his cigarette out roughly, practically smashing the end into the ashtray. “And Goku isn’t really a youkai at all, is he?”

At another time, Gojyo would have asked, so what is he then?, or maybe simply joked, yeah, the monkey is just a stupid monkey. But now was neither of those times. He felt no desire to joke, and no need to ask silly questions he didn’t have the energy to spare worry for the answers to. He had, quite frankly, more important things to fret about. For instance-

“You can’t kill him,” he blurted, glaring hard at the hidden eyes of his companion — who he knew could kill him, because he would and Hakkai would let him, and moreover despite what he himself might say they all knew Sanzo was the leader here, the power — and wishing Sanzo would look up, so Gojyo could see him, and judge the truth for himself before Sanzo spoke and covered the truth with his pride...

“I won’t kill him,” came the quiet response. And Sanzo did look up then, a wounded something shining in his eyes for just a moment, just a split-second before it disappeared. Gojyo was struck utterly dumb, his opinion of Sanzo as someone hard and cold and who felt nothing struggling to remain aloft, so that he heard Sanzo’s next soft (but still rough and hard and ice-cold) words as if from far away.

“But he stays locked up until we’re back on the road. And if he tries anything like this again, or even twitches in a way I don’t like, I’ll shoot him. And you better not whine to me afterwards.”

“Yes, Sanzo-sama,” he said, because the sarcasm was expected of him, just as the callousness was expected of Sanzo (we all have our roles to play, don’t we? And it seems Hakkai is trying to return to his role of psychotic mass murderer. But where is the revenge here?).

He heard Sanzo mutter something under his breath, and it wasn’t until Sanzo stood up from the small table that Gojyo registered his words.

“Fool me once...” Sanzo had whispered. Aloud, Gojyo finished the phrase for him.

“...shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

He thought he saw the barest hint of a smile grace Sanzo’s lips before he turned away.

Back to index

Chapter 7: Nighttime Confessions

Two days later, and it was almost time to leave; Hakkai could feel it in the air, though no one mentioned any travel plans to him. In fact, after that first day Gojyo was the only one to sit with him — Sanzo never returned, and Goku had never visited at all. He only knew how they were when he begged information from a hesitant (increasingly so, distressingly so) Gojyo.

So Hakkai had spent yet another fitful day going in and out of sleep (not much else to do when you couldn’t move, and had only sporadic visits of varying length from a strangely morose kappa for company), going from nightmare to nightmare without end. It seemed he dreamed whenever he closed his eyes, and always of blood, of pain and death and crimson-drenched violets...

He couldn’t tell, half the time, when he was dreaming or not anymore; the easiest way to figure it out was to judge how ‘real’ something felt. And he was always grateful, absurdly, pathetically so, when the blood never turned out quite ‘real’ enough (though it was still almost always enough to wake him up wheezing and gasping for air)...

So he tossed and turned during the day, tossed and turned even more at night. And it was sometime during the night that Hakkai only knew he’d fallen back asleep when he was brutally awoken by a heavy weight settling on his chest. His eyes snapped open, and it was a good thing that unlike all the others he didn’t need to be free to fight, because he was still bound but he needn’t be unbound to gather his chi-

Which he promptly let evaporate, when he realized it was Goku straddling his chest.

“G-goku,” he whispered, wondering briefly if he was dreaming, “what’re you...”

Golden eyes gleamed down at him; furious, betrayed, hurting. This is no dream, then.

“D’you know what you did?” Goku admonished; he probably intended to be stern, but it came out rather petulant and surly, like a child, instead. Hakkai, though, was too guilt-ridden and sorry to be amused.

“Yes,” he began, “I’m so sorry Go-”

“Shuddup.”

He shut up. Goku glared down at him.

“You don’t know,” he went on, eyes gleaming now from more than just the moonlight filtering in through the windows. “You can’t. You haven’t seen it...”

Hakkai thought Goku’s abrupt silence meant he was done talking, lost in his own little world. While the latter was true, he kept up a running commentary of his thoughts all the same, and Hakkai couldn’t help but wonder if, even distracted by whatever pain this was (that he had caused), Goku didn’t fully intend for him to hear every strangled word...

“He won’t even look at me.” No need for clarification on who he was. “He jus’ ignores me when I talk to him and Gojyo’s there, and if Gojyo’s not there he walks outta the room. He won’t be alone with me. I think he’s afraid of me.”

“Not of you,” Hakkai couldn’t even try to hold the whisper back; wasn’t even sure he wanted to. “For you. Goku, you really shouldn’t be-”

“Cripes, you shut up too!” Goku leaned down towards him, and even though he’d been bound tight for days only then did Hakkai begin to feel even remotely vulnerable.

“I’m not a kid!” Goku’s glare frankly dared him to contradict this; though he half-wanted to, Hakkai didn’t have the energy. And besides which, he wanted to hear what Goku had to say...

“Sanzo thinks I am,” Goku went on darkly. “He never used to. He got over that, I dunno how... But then you happened, and now Sanzo’s flippin’ out, and I hate it and it’s all your fault and God!” Goku’s suddenly wounded eyes cut Hakkai to the quick.

“Since when d’ya hate me, Hakkai?”

“Hate you?” Hakkai asked, incredulity flooding over even his intense, all-consuming guilt. “Goku, I could never hate you. I-”

“Then why ruin this for me?” Goku’s cry was wrung right out of his heart, and it showed. Hakkai flinched back from the brutal honesty of Goku’s emotions; though he’d never admitted it even to himself, that much honesty frightened him to his very core...

“Why?” Goku was trembling; Hakkai knew, then, without a doubt, that the added glisten in those golden eyes was unquestionably from withheld tears. “What did you say to Sanzo? I know it was something you said, or what you did, ‘cause he was fine, he was finally accepting me until that night and now everything’s changed-”

“All I said,” Hakkai said slowly, because his memory of his own words was hazy at best, “all I did, was tell him what I... what I thought he needed to hear.” (‘A priest should never be a whore.’ My God, I called Sanzo a whore.) “As I’ve been telling him. I can’t imagine he finally started to listen...” (‘Priests should not have sex with children.’)

“Well, he did,” Goku ground out, temper obviously flaring. “And now I’ve gotta fix it, only I don’t know how. And what can I do when he won’t let me even talk to him alone?”

“Maybe...” Hakkai paused thoughtfully, but he had to say it; his conscience would not let him do otherwise. “Maybe it’s for the best, Goku...”

Those golden eyes glimmered with rage, renewed pain — no, not renewed. Hakkai knew it had never really gone away at all.

“You wanna know what the sad part is?” Goku asked, still staring straight into his eyes (he was never one to flinch away from anything, even a murderer’s gaze; besides which, the habit of murder was a habit they shared — nothing to be frightened of).

“If I wanted advice on Sanzo, I was gonna come to you.”

Hakkai winced with sudden pain, but Goku just kept talking, the flow of his words a poison he was releasing from his system-

And it was entering Hakkai’s. Which Hakkai, at least, knew needed no more poison, as it had more than enough of its own.

“I trusted you. I thought, if anyone’d understand what I was gonna try and have, it’d be you. You’re not like the stupid cockroach — you’ve been happy before. And you like Sanzo. ‘Least, I thought ya did. So I thought, ‘if anyone’ll help me, it’ll be Hakkai’. Guess I really am just a stupid monkey, huh?”

“Goku,” Hakkai whispered, nearly blinded by the grief, the added guilt, “I really think... I do want you to be happy. But Sanzo... he is not for you. He’s a priest. He should not have kissed you, to have confused you as he did. And-”

“S’not like he’s a good priest,” Goku said bitterly, bottom lip pushed out, and the deliberately childlike expression was strangely comforting in its normalcy — and only strengthened Hakkai’s resolve.

But before he could speak, Goku went on, his voice drowning Hakkai in images, feelings...

“And anyway, that ain’t how it happened. Sanzo didn’t kiss me. I kissed him. ‘Bout damn time, too.”

It was a very cold night. Not that Sanzo minded the cold, per se — at this point in time, he was probably used to it. Or so Goku thought.

Goku thought a lot of things, mostly involving food or his ‘master’ — or some combination thereof. In fact, just last week he’d had a very explicit dream involving Sanzo, a bed (because he loved to sleep, too, especially on an actual bed, which had been denied him repeatedly on this journey, when he first came to live with Sanzo at the temple, and for five hundred years besides), and a bowl of cool whipped cream that had perfectly complimented the flavor, texture, and heat of his dream-Sanzo’s skin...

But right then, what he was thinking was that it was freezing outside, with the rain pouring down and the wind practically howling and the occasional crack of thunder to help make things just a tad more creepy, and Sanzo had been just so focused on the weather outside for far, far too long. Goku wanted to make him feel better, would do anything to put an end to this horrible funk Sanzo always sank into when the rain was falling...

Though he’d never say it to Sanzo, who he feared might take it as a personal offense, Goku rather liked the rain. Okay, not this kind of rain, that overwhelmed his senses and forced him to stay (trapped) inside - but he sometimes daydreamed about a time in the future when he’d somehow (finally) gotten Sanzo to relax, to walk with him in the softly falling rain...

It would never happen, but it was a nice dream all the same.

The only bad thing about the rain, of course, was that it blocked out the sun. Both of them.

He’d tried, in these two days they had been waiting for the weather to finally get ahold of itself, to give Sanzo his space, to let him sort through his problems on his own, like he always did. But he found he couldn’t do that any longer.

Not if he and Sanzo were going to attempt this drastic change in their relationship (which he’d decided they would; he was still trying to think of the best way to break that news to Sanzo). Not if he wanted to be worthy of his sun’s trust.

Because sometimes, you had to do what you knew was right, even if someone else didn’t want you to. Even if they resented you for it, or hit you with a paper fan. Or shot at you.

And besides, Sanzo was smart. He’d realize Goku was right, in the end, to not leave him to his moping. He’d see. He’d never admit it, but he’d see.

All the same, Goku stepped forward hesitantly — the last time he had tried to help Sanzo during the rain, it had gone badly. For both of them. Hard to believe that that wasn’t so very long ago...

“Sanzo,” he whispered, coming ever closer even though Sanzo didn’t even have to move to let him know he wasn’t wanted — Sanzo’s very aura cried out fuck off and leave me alone! louder than his lungs ever could.

But Goku couldn’t help the intrusion. He was too involved in this, now, to continue to let Sanzo suffer all on his own.

He stopped beside Sanzo, gently reached out and grasped one slender shoulder, feeling the slim muscle tense beneath his palm, bone jutting into his hand. He wanted to tell Sanzo he was too skinny, only he didn’t really think he was — Sanzo was perfect, just as he was, because whatever he was was Sanzo.

It made perfect sense to Goku, though he wasn’t completely sure anyone else would see it that way.

(Still, it was comforting — the sun was constant, and warm, and Sanzo being Sanzo was constant, and he was always warm, even when he was being cold.)

Sanzo abruptly jerked away from his hand, violet eyes finally meeting his, warning him off and condemning him, too. Then one slender hand was lifting, probably to shove him away because despite Sanzo’s foul temper and utter lack of patience at times, he never struck Goku with his open hand (that was abuse, and monkeys needed training, not abuse), and Goku caught the lifted hand and held it to his lips.

Sanzo’s eyes were almost comically wide.

And inside himself, Goku beamed — this was right. Just as he’d known it would be.

I can love you, he wanted to say. You’ve lost before, but that was then, and I can love you.

Sanzo, after a minute of stunned acquiesce, yanked his hand away.

If you’d just let me.

“Get out,” Sanzo muttered, but there was no breath in his voice, no force behind the reprimand of his words. Goku stood resolutely still, feeling some weird something inside himself continue to open up, to grow. Now that he’d given it a taste, he knew he’d never be free of that little demon inside him, that wanted Sanzo so badly he felt like whimpering. The hunger was almost overwhelming.

He always was a hungry little monkey.

“I can’t,” he said thickly, feeling heat rise in the room though nothing in the air had changed. And Sanzo was just looking at him, like he’d seen this all before but only in his dreams, and now that it was real he didn’t know what to do.

Goku felt the same way.

But deep down, he knew, he could feel, that this had been written for them long, long ago; this drama was theirs from centuries before, and only now was it able to come to life.

(A god smiled down at a child, the only person to ever make him feel, and if things were different, if the child were older and the god more self-aware, they might have grown to lovers — but before the child can grow up and the god grow inward, the god will die, and the child will be cast from Heaven, cursed to wait for the god he has forgotten to finally hear him calling.)

He drew closer, knew Sanzo would have recoiled if he’d had anywhere to go. (And how that would have mortified Sanzo — see, Sanzo, it’s good I’ve got ya trapped, so you’re not ashamed.) He reached out, carefully tracing Sanzo’s strong jaw beneath his fingertips. When that elicited no response other than a darkening of already (passion-darkened) eyes, he ever-so-gently tilted Sanzo’s face up.

Sanzo was staring at him. His eyes were young, younger than Goku’s own. (Ageless golden eyes looked back at him from mirrors, heretical eyes; he never looked in mirrors anymore.) There was something about that violet gaze, something innocent and innocently broken, that made Goku want to cry.

“I will love you,” he whispered.

And as Sanzo’s eyes grew ever wider, Goku leaned forward, and kissed him.

Goku went quiet, and Hakkai, his mind spinning and recoiling and breaking, thought maybe he was done — this nightmarish incident, with that innocent voice regaling him with a tale of sin, was over.

But Goku looked at him, saw him, and was drawn inexorably into speech once more.

Then there were only flashes — silk skin occasionally brushing against his cheek, hot hands clenching in his shirt, desperate lips clinging to his mouth and refusing to ever let go.

Whatever else they were together, monkey and master, earth-child and sun-god, paled in comparison to this. Goku needed this. And he knew Sanzo did, too — maybe even more so than he.

Because Sanzo was the one to deepen the kiss, to pull him closer with anxious, desperate fingers and a clinging, desperate body, and if he thought, if anyone thought, Sanzo wouldn’t be a pleasing lover Goku knew they must be sadly mistaken. Because no one could kiss like that, greedy and giving and sensitive, without being a sensual person...

And this was sending his brain down so many intense, intensely pleasing roads that he almost couldn’t bear it.

Nor could he breathe. And he knew Sanzo probably couldn’t, either. But what was breath when compared to the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt?

He was about to pull back, just enough so that he could whisper to Sanzo just how much he was truly loved, when something hit him from behind, knocked him aside. And when he realized what was happening, just before the pain knocked him out cold, all he felt was fear — the all-encompassing, ice-cold fear that what you love most in the world is about to be taken away, and there’s nothing you can do.

He had known that fear and utter loss before, and vowed never to forgive anyone who forced him to feel it all over again...

“So what d’you think, Hakkai?” Goku asked, still staring down at him with eyes so huge and golden it seemed impossible for them to be real. “Should I forgive you?”

His face felt strangely numb. And Goku just kept looking at him. Just looking.

Finally Goku hopped off him, and the loss of his weight really should have made it easier to breathe. It really should have.

Goku left without saying another word. But really...

His silence spoke volumes.

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