When it rains, it pours. The saying is quite accurate when one describes the weather in the British capital. But what about when it’s dark? There are many shades to consider, and some has rather spectacular names to boot.
Crepuscule – a more opulent word for twilight.
Caliginous – a misty shade of darkness.
Tenebrous – which means ‘shut off from light’.
Stygian – definition: extremely dark, gloomy, forbidden. The origin of the word is obviously linked to the river Styx.
Ever since his childhood – even before his brother was born – Mycroft had been enamoured with philosophy. It was a nice distraction when his analytical brain got exhausted from all the input his surroundings bombarded him with.
But the older he got, the less time he had to ponder silly things like: “Why do we dream, and can we provoke what we dream of?” “Where was I before I was born?” “What makes me human?”
After Sherlock was born, Mycroft got the latter question answered: his love for that little creature who trusted him to care for him no matter the cost. In the analytical part of his brain, alarm bells started to ring frantically.
“Caring is not an advantage,” they chimed.
***
Mycroft, who was familiar with darkness - he struggled daily to suppress this part of himself - recognised it early on in his precious baby brother as well. It made his heart constrict and ache, because he knew in this, he was helpless. Sherlock needed to fight off his demons by himself; Mycroft could only be there as moral support. He instinctively knew that Sherlock would never want that when he got older, so Mycroft revelled in it when his brother still sought him out.
“Why am I like this, Myc? Can’t you make it stop? The darkness hurts!”
And then he’d break down and cry in Mycroft’s arms, while Mycroft shushed and rocked him.
“I’m sorry, brother mine. It is our cross to bear, but when you get older, you will find it easier to deal with.”
Mycroft had no idea if that was true. Comparing his own psyche to Sherlock’s was injudicious, their similarities notwithstanding. His little brother had a heart of gold, and that was the crux of the matter. Sooner or later, someone would break it, and Mycroft had an inkling of what that would do to Sherlock.
***
The answer came when Mycroft was too far away to help. He didn’t even know his aid was required. Not until he came back to London and was shown CCTV footage of his brother sleeping under Charing Cross Bridge like the average homeless person. A certain Victor Trevor had tossed him away as a discarded toy three days prior, and this was the result.
“Oh, Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered.
Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks, but he willed them away. This was not the time for sentiment. Measures needed to be taken in order to extricate Sherlock, and a suitable facility had to be found where he could get clean.
Sherlock was less than pleased to see him, but to his credit, he displayed a hint of chagrin. It was there and gone within seconds, but Mycroft’s eagle eyes saw it, nonetheless.
Sadly, this was not the last time Mycroft had to save his brother’s life, but the day Gregory Lestrade appeared on the scene, and later John Watson, Mycroft knew he could start breathing properly again.
Both the detective inspector and the army doctor were like beacons in the darkness surrounding William Sherlock Scott Holmes and by extension, Mycroft himself. The danger nights might not be things of the past just yet, but perhaps one day Sherlock would lower his guard to let in some of the light he so desperately sought and needed.
The first few times, he hadn’t thought much of it.
Even after Rohan had decided to go join Meelo in the men’s dormitory, once in a while, he’d pad downstairs and climb into bed with his parents.
More often than not, that meant trying not to be too offended by the boy treating his father like a climbing wall. He tried to reserve his audible complaints for the times hands pressed down too hard on his stomach. Or lower.
One night, in particular, Rohan came stumbling in, scrambling over all the feet at the end of the bed, waking up their owners. When Pema reached for him, Rohan just muttered, “No thank you,” crawled clumsily over his father, and insinuating himself in the circle of Lin’s arms.
Tenzin resolved to meditate on why he was jealous of his son for being cuddled by Lin when watching Pema in the same position just made him happy.
Lin looked puzzled, but whispered gently into the boy’s ear, and slowly, sleep settled over everyone once more.
They had established a workable routine: the first in bed slept under the window, then the last of them at the outside edge. While Lin was frequently the last one, occasionally, it was Pema instead.
Those were the worst nights for Rohan to disturb them.
Pema tried to hide it, but Tenzin could tell being passed over for Lin hurt. She would always pull further away from whoever was in the middle, not rolling over to wrap her arms around her son. And the next morning, she would always be gone when he woke to prepare for meditation.
Once he recognized the pattern, he began to look for opportunities to discuss it with her. But oddly, she seemed to avoid him in the days that followed. Rohan was not coming in every night, or even once a week. It was easy to forget in the press of duties once the sun had risen.
And then came the evening when they had retired early, and together. Outside, the lingering summer gloaming had many people still enjoying the weather and taking advantage of their leisure time. The three could enjoy each other, comfortably alone while the rest of the Island’s people played more public games.
Exhausted yet refreshed, they slipped on their nightclothes, and laid down. Tenzin stretched out on his back, one arm each around Pema and Lin. His heart melted when he felt them intertwine their arms across his chest, lean over him and kiss each other good night.
His sleepy mind noticed that Lin was to his right, but he thought all the playtime of the evening would ensure a sound rest for everyone.
It was only a few hours later, deep in the night, that he came to regret his nonchalance.
His left arm was still around Pema’s shoulder when Rohan flopped over her and started scrambling over his parents to get to Lin. In his haste, Rohan pressed a foot against Pema’s hip and shoved himself forward across Tenzin’s stomach.
Pema lost her balance and fell to the floor, pulling Tenzin in her direction while Rohan flopped toward Lin, who had turned toward the wall and pulled her arms under the covers. She awoke with a startled grunt, trapped by a youngster who had no idea the trouble he was causing.
Tenzin pulled the boy up by the armpits and laid him out beside Lin. “I need to help Pema…” he started, only to be cut off by the slam of the door. He exchanged a worried look with Lin and started running to find their wife.
He found her beside the pond behind the house, roughly pulling up blades of grass and throwing them into the water. He could see her chest heaving, but couldn’t hear her voice until he was almost close enough to touch her.
“Go away, Tenzin. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. Go help his mother,” she growled.
Ignoring her words, he stepped in front of her and folded her to his chest. He lifted his head to the sky and cried silently while his love pounded on his chest.
When her knees buckled and her weight settled against him, he guided them to the ground and pulled her into his lap. She clenched her fist in his nightshirt and sobbed.
“Amma! Amma!”
In a flash, Tenzin felt Rohan’s pounding footsteps through the meat of his legs just before feeling the boy squirm forcefully into Pema’s lap. He would have fallen backwards if Lin hadn’t stepped up right behind him, her strong legs giving him something to lean against.
“Rohan, tell your mother what we talked about,” Lin encouraged.
Holding Pema was one thing. Holding Pema while she held their energized youngest was a new challenge, indeed.
The boy wriggled and twisted until he was kneeling on the grass beside them. He took Pema’s hands in his and pulled them close to his chest.
The remorse and upset was plain on his face, even under the pale moonlight.
“When it’s dark, I know Mommalin knows how to see. So if she is asleep, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
Rather than reply, Pema pulled the boy back into her lap.
It wasn’t the end of the nighttime incursions. It wasn’t the last conversation.
But when it was dark, maybe a hug was all that was needed.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial using the prompt FFF343 ~ when it’s dark and @fluffbruary ‘s February 5 : glance | chocolate | jumbled. This is an AU of sorts. The fourth episode of Yatagarasu is for me, by far, the best episode. So yes, paying an homage to it.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master
Characters: Yukiya, Nazukihiko/Wakamiya
Word count: 973
NAZUKIHIKO had a penchant for visiting the brothels. The seedier the establishment, the better.
This made him a magnet for attracting the rival organisations who were eager to harm the most important and richest son from the reigning crime syndicate in the Honshu region.
Lost in bright lights and the backdrop of never-ending sounds of sirens, Yukiya crushed his one and only last cigarette for the day after suspicious men gathered around the heir.
The stooges’ bravado is laughable when it’s dark and they are too many.
The first one who attacked Nazukihiko met Yukiya’s fist and muscular legs. The culprit’s face was bloodied and swollen he left him unrecognisable on the street. After he single-handedly defeated the group of 10, he called up Sumio to clean it up and, often, as a backup.
Nazukihiko had a satisfied look on his face, he gripped Yukiya’s shoulder for good measure and half-hugged him grateful for saving him once again.
“Are you even listening to me? Provoking your enemies should not be on the cards, Sir.”
The heir scoffed at Yukiya’s admonition.
He has a death wish, Yukiya thought.
It became a routine that Yukiya was already prepared.
Mission accomplished -> Encounter thugs -> Fight them -> Call Sumio -> Go to brothel.
“If you don’t take care of yourself, you’d die one of these days,” he continued, while Nazukihiko only nodded and then walked his way to the club.
Whatever! Suit yourself!
He found his way toward the lavatory, avoiding the heir and the girls who welcomed their arrival. Before he entered the washroom, he glanced at his master and released a sigh that he held for so long. Sadness overwhelmed Yukiya. Anger too.
\\
Nazukihiko couldn’t take his eyes off the younger man, now dismayed, whose feet stomped quickly away from him. it was the first time in many years that someone took an interest in his welfare. Yukiya had only been under his service for half a month, yet he formed a certain protectiveness around him. Surely, this was unprecedented. Not because it was his job. No, it was more than that.
When he found Yukiya at the terrace watching the city before him, Nazukihiko wanted to know his motivation.
“Are you worried for me?”
Yukiya, surprised, turned to face Nazukihiko. His master was not alone. Three young courtesans followed him with alcohol in their hands. One of them handed him an empty cup.
Surrounded with the company of beautiful young women with their cheap perfume and made-up faces, they kissed Nazukihiko’s throat as he drank his sake. One of the beauties cupped his face and offered her lips which he took freely.
Averting his eyes, he didn’t reply but left Nazukihiko with the courtesans. He could hear their wanton giggling as he walked away.
He washed his face against the washroom’s mirror, checked the cuts and bruises around his eyes and nose. He broke his lower lip again. But his teeth were spared. Thank Kami-sama for small miracles. After assuring that the premises were secure, Yukiya searched for a bed and hoped that sleep overtake him.
//
“You leave yourself wide open. One of these days, you would meet your end you wouldn’t even notice it,” Yukiya scolded Nazukihiko. “And yes, I am worried for you.”
“I am sorry,” Nazukihiko quietly replied.
Yukiya couldn’t believe his ears. It was the first time he heard those words from him. If they were not in the car, he might have stopped what he was doing.
Nazukihiko, on the other hand, meant it. His question was merely a jest. Perhaps, he wanted to tease Yukiya, noting how easy to raise his hackles. Lately he was fond of doing it, testing him. The trip to the Hanamachi riled him up. He was enamoured with the power of his gaze. Sometimes he caught the younger man swallow his saliva or his pupils dilate. He shouldn’t be here cleaning up his messes. He finished the university and if not for his older brother’s untimely death, he should be abroad doing something else. But such was the fate of being a member of his family’s sword.
“I promise I will be careful.”
No words exchanged except for a few breaths. And then…
“I wish….” Yukiya began to speak.
“You wish?”
“I wish…. You stay away from the red-light district,” he shouldn’t have said it. “I don’t wish to impose. It is not my place.”
“I will try my best,” Nazukihiko said, he smiled then continued. “I don’t bed these women, if you want to know.”
“Huh?” Yukiya faced his master.
“We kiss a little. We drink. They dance and sing for me. Then they let me sleep. But that’s all there is to it.”
“Sir?”
“It is part of my reconnaissance.”
Nazukihiko dealt with his assignments head on. If he were to take over the family organisation one day he had to know it inside and out. Especially if the enemies were hungry for his blood.
“Many of these girls are trafficked if not coerced. So they know a thing or two about the mastermind. Many of them want revenge. But I am not their saviour.”
“Oh…”
“They are safe with me. Part of the act.”
Right. Okay. Yukiya nodded his head.
“Are you satisfied now?” Nazukihiko touched his leg. His hand lingered there longer than usual.
There was a lump in his throat. Yukiya’s head reeled. What was worse, he was blushing.
“Do you mind?” Worried that his action was too risky, Nazukihiko quickly removed his hand.
“Not at all.” His voice was so low, it was almost a whisper. Feeling bold himself, he took his master’s hand, the one that was on his leg a while ago, and squeezed it. He placed it back to his leg. A silent understanding was made.
