#uncensored on ao3 not linking it tho

[guardianscest]

[pixelatedrose]

Soulbound part Four

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Masterpost

Word Count: 3,212

Pairings: Platonic LAMP, Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: Implied self harm (Skip the part starting with “Virgil drug himself over...” until the break) Uncensored swearing, divorced parents, controlling parents/parents not respecting kids’ privacy (Skip the entire last part), absent siblings,  if there’s anything I missed please please tell me, and if there’s anything you would like me to tag, don’t hesitate to ask!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 4

  Virgil ran home as fast as his legs would carry him. His mind raced as quickly as shoes hit the ground, faster still.

  Why is he here? Why is he a teacher? Why did he come back? Why did he act like he cared? Why come back now? Why was he never here before? Why? Why why why?!

  Virgil tripped and the gods of luck put on blindfolds as he was flung to the sidewalk. He knelt on the ground and thought it had started raining. He looked around and when he saw clear skies he realized he'd been crying.

  Virgil looked at his shallowly bleeding scrapes on his palms and knees before picking himself up and walking home, storming inside the unusual yellow door, slamming it closed and stomping up to his mother, ignoring her girlfriend sitting nearby.

  "Virgey, you're home! How was school-" his mother started.

  "Did you know about this?!" He spat bitterly.

  "What?! What do you mean, Honey? What happened? Oh my god, your hands!! Virgey, are you okay?!"

  Virgil hid his hands further into his sleeves. "That doesn't matter right now!! I want to know why Thomas is my fucking theater teacher!!" Virgil seethed.

  His mother blanched. "Oh no…" she turned to her girlfriend. "Rachel, maybe you should go?"

  Virgil watched as his mother's girlfriend got up and gathered her things as she slowly left the house.

  "Now, Virgey, I didn't think that you-"

  "You didn't think at all, Mom!!" Virgil snapped. "Did you know?! Did you know and think not to tell me?! Did you think that it would be too hard for me?! Did you think I'd burst into tears like a little kid?! Didn't want to deal with me finding out so you just didn't tell me at all!!"

  "No!! That's- that's not!! No!! I didn't mean for-" Virgil's mother was floundering for words to comfort her son.

  "It doesn't even matter anymore, I don't care!!" Virgil yelled, he ran upstairs and into his room. He slammed the door shut and pulled out a crude hand-made door stop and wedged it under the door. Years ago the lock had broken. Years ago the lock had been removed.

  Virgil couldn't stand anymore. He fell to the ground and held his stomach. He felt sick.

  His mother had lied to him.

  His brother- who had everything, who had the world, the one that had never made a show to ever reach out and contact Virgil, the one who would never want to contact him because he had it all- was his theater teacher in his new highschool.

  He had no friends.

  He had no family.

  He had no one.

  Virgil drug himself over to the edge of his bed and pulled out a small box with an assortment of blades, lighters, and a small square of sandpaper. He fished out the edge of a pencil sharpener and-

  "Virgey please let me talk to you!!"

  Virgil didn't answer.

  "Please I need you to understand!!"

  Virgil didn't need to understand anything else.

  "Please, honey, open the door!!"

  Virgil removed his hoodie. He couldn't stand the heat his room gave off. That's a good excuse.

  "Please at least tell me you're safe this time!!" His mother pleaded with him.

  But nothing could be done.

  Nothing could stop the manic anxiety that took him over. Words played over and over in his head and he felt like he was going insane so he focused on the pain digging into his shoulder instead of his own numbingly intoxicating insanity.

  Nothing would make this okay for Virgil.

~~•~~

  Roman was walking home and mulling over what had happened that day.

  Rose was a good friend of Roman's, but she was a little oblivious at times. She'd pulled him away from the pretty emo boy when Roman had seen him in theater.

  Theater… Roman smiled. He would have never pegged the shorter boy as a theater kid. His head started spinning up daydreams of Roman and Virgil performing scenes together, painting props together, singing duets together for the musical…

  Roman shook his head to clear it. It seemed like Virgil wasn't interested though. He probably has his own soulmate, you idiot! Roman thought bitterly.

  He walked in through his family's door and tossed his currently half empty backpack on the ground before flopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

  Remus always stayed after school to hang out with his weirdo friends, so he wouldn't be home for a while.

  Roman tried thinking of other things.

  So he thought back to lunch.

~~•~~

  "Did you hear that Remy and Emile are a couple?" Patton excitedly told his friends as he sat down at the table.

  "They've been together for almost three years, Patton dear." Logan corrected his boyfriend.

  Patton smiled. "Oh I know! But they're still so cute together!!"

  "Patton, they're Soulbound Soulmates, of course they're cute." Logan continued.

  "You're missing the point!! They're a-dor-a-ble, Logan!! ADORABLE!!"

  "I'm not seeing what it is I missed. Is this some sort of complex joke that I'm not 'Gucci' enough to get?"

  "That is not in any way how you use that word, honey child."

  "Ah well. I'm still learning."

  Patton looked suddenly over to Roman who was thoughtfully chewing on a sandwich. "Hey there, buddy! You're pretty quiet, you feeling alright there, Ro?"

  Roman snapped his attention away from daydreaming. "Huh?? Oh yeah! I'm gucci as always, padre!" He said strikingly.

  "Ah so that's how you use it…" Logan muttered as he seemed to study Roman from behind his glasses.

  "Are you sure? You looked a little lost in la-la land there!" Patton ignored his robotic boyfriend, save for an instinctual hair ruffle that made Logan's face light up.

  Roman looked out the window like the mellow-dramatic princeling he was. "Oh its nothing really…" he sighed. "See, I just met this really cute guy in-"

  "OH MY GOOD GRACIOUS SNAP CRACKLERS YOU MET A CUTE GUY!!!" Patton nearly flung himself across the table and grappled his friend in a hug.

  Roman nearly fell out of his chair on impact and had to pry the overly excited puppy-dog of a man off him. "Gah!! Yeah! But!" Roman started.

  Patton immediately pulled himself off Roman. "Wait there's a but?!"

  "Yes…tragically I believe he is not…" Roman threw the back of his hand to his forehead and dramatically tilted his head. "Attracted to me!!"

  Logan snorted and Patton gasped somberly.

  "Oh no that's just plain awful Roman!!" Patton lamented.

  Roman smiled all the same. "Awh, Pat! He's probably one of those soulmate obsessed…" Roman drifted off as he remembered Virgil's immediate and harsh reply to his question. "...People." He let himself finish the sentence anyway. For some odd reason he wanted to keep his suspicions to himself.

  "Awh, well next time then!! Right Ro!"

  Roman's mind drifted to the purple haired boy he'd met.

  "Ro?"

  There was something about talking to him that felt so very right in Roman's mind. It felt similar to how he felt around Patton and Logan. But yet different still…

  "Roman??"

  Why does he wish soulmarks didn't exist? Roman thought, recalling the striking blue of the purple haired boy's eyes.

  "Roman!"

  Roman drifted, thinking of everything and nothing about the boy he had met in his third period. Virgil Sanders… he thought his name felt good to think… "Virgil Sanders…" he breathed out. He thought it felt good to say…

  "ROMAN-!!"

~~•~~

  Roman shot up on the couch, and grabbed at his shoulder which felt as if he had sliced it open.

  He cursed and gripped it tightly, running to the bathroom to see what could possibly be wrong. Roman threw off his red varsity jacket and pulled up his short sleeves to examine his left shoulder.

  There was nothing there.

  It wasn't even red.

  The pain faded down to a dull ache and Roman sat back down on the couch bewildered.

  What the fuck just happened??

~~•~~

  Patton skipped alongside his boyfriend, their hands clasped tightly together.

  Logan smiled softly to himself, hearing the short, golden haired boy hum to himself.

  "Hey, Lo?" Patton questioned suddenly.

  "Yes, Patton?"

  "Do you think Roman's okay?"

  "Why do you say that? I do not think he would injure himself on his walk home, nor do I believe he would have fallen ill in that time either."

  "No no, silly!! I mean emotionally."

  "Ah. My bad. I am not very good with...emotions."

  "I know you struggle sometimes, but even you saw the way he was acting today, right? He was totally distracted and had his head ten billion trillion gazillion miles away!! I hope he's okay…"

  "I see. Yes, Roman did seem very distracted today. Though I suppose that may be because he was a little wonderstruck with the boy he mentioned."

  "What?! Really? I thought Roman said that kid didn't like him though?"

  "Well perhaps, but you know how easily he can become so infatuated with pretty boys the moment they open their mouth to even breath. And this boy held a conversation with Roman, so that concludes that Roman must be 'Head over heels' for this boy."

  "Psh, nah!! Maybe a little flirty, but Roman doesn't have it that bad!! But do you know who does?"

  "And who would that be, Patton?"

  "Me!"

  "Oh."

  "And you!!"

  "Oh come now!! I care very deeply about you and-"

  "Oh just kiss me already, you dork!"

  Logan sighed and laughed, his face lighting up at his boyfriend. "Only as you wish, my dearest."

~~•~~

  Thomas Sanders had a good life as a kid.

  He got decent grades, he made good friends, he was a little confused why he never liked girls like every other boy in his grade did. And even more confused when he thought his friend Michael looked just so cute when he was singing.

  Thomas Sanders had a good life as a kid.

  Up until his parents split up when he was 13 years old.

  His father won custody and took Thomas across states to go live in Georgia where he lived for the rest of his childhood years until he moved back to Florida with new friends.

  He started playing around with an app called Vine, and whether it was luck or skill, made it big. He made a Youtube channel and made videos online. He wrote songs and sung disney songs and reacted to other people. And he loved his fans. He loved them with all his heart.

  It was when he was 25 that he got a message from someone in his old childhood town telling him he had a brother.

  He had a brother?

  Thomas Sanders had a little brother!

  And he was ten years old and his name was Virgil Sanders!

  Thomas sat down and decided to write a letter to his little brother. He wanted to know him! He wanted to meet him! He wanted to be part of his life!

  Dear, Virgil Sanders.

  This is a letter I'm writing to you because I want you to know that you have a big older brother who loves you and just found out that you exist! My name is Thomas Sanders and I want to know more about you! I want to know you! Did you know that I always wanted a little brother? I guess it's not a wish anymore, huh? Write me back, little bro! Tell me about yourself! Tell me about life! Tell me about mom and how school is going!!

  Sincerely and dearly from, Thomas Sanders, your older brother.

  That was perfect! Thomas couldn't wait to hear back from his little brother!

  He couldn't wait to find out whether he liked sour foods or minty ones!

  He couldn't wait to talk about boys (or girls) with him!

  Thomas never heard back from Virgil.

  So he sent another letter, this time on what he discovered was Virgil's birthday.

  He never heard back.

  Thomas would send a letter to Virgil every year on his birthday, one for christmas, one for Halloween, one for the beginning of the school year and one for the end, and one every valentines day with a purple rose.

  And he never once heard back.

  Now Thomas was 30 years old and had decided to become a teacher.

  A total of 36 letters, soon to be 37, sent to Virgil.

  Even if Virgil didn't want to talk to Thomas, he still wanted to try.

  And then.

  He found out that Virgil Sanders was his own student.

  And he found out that his brother hated him.

  So here Thomas was.

  Standing awkwardly with his hand raised to knock on the yellow door of his old childhood home.

  And he let he fist fall to the wood.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  "I'm coming! I'm coming!" A hurried voice called from inside.

  The door opened.

  "What is it, what do you-"

  The voice cut off.

  Thomas waved awkwardly.

  "Hey, mom. How's it going?"

~~•~~

  Virgil heard the door open and someone come inside. He quietly creaked his door open.

  "-want to talk to him. Please?"

  Virgil's breath hitched. It was Thomas.

  "No...No...No I don't think that he'd be ready to see you right now, Tommy."

  Virgil sat and listened to the conversation.

~~•~~

  Thomas glanced over at the counters and the ashtray on the coffee table. Beer cans and cigarettes littered everything.

  "I see you haven't changed much." He meant it as a question, but it fell flat and turned into an observation.

  "And what's wrong with how I am?" His mother asked accusingly.

  Thomas looked at his mother and shook his head. "Nevermind…" he looked down at a discarded and trashy school backpack. "I take it he didn't take kindly to the letters? Didn't want to see me? You know I told you I was applying for Eastwood. You could have told me not to you know."

  "Well I mean I didn't want to reach out to you and have Virgey find out!" Thomas cringed at the childish nickname. It didn't sound like something Virgil would want to be called. "And I never gave him the letters." His mother finished.

  Thomas froze as thoughts raced through his head. "What." He breathed out.

  "You really think he'd be ready to confront his older brother? You really think he'd want to see you?"

  "That wasn't your decision to make though!"

  "Of course it was, I'm his mother!"

  "That doesn't give you a right to withhold information from him like that!"

  "Yes! It does! He can decide what information he wants when he turns 18! For now, I'm his mother, I decide what's best for him!"

  Thomas ran a hand through his hair, distressed. "You know I wasn't trying to be entirely serious when I said you hadn't changed, but you really have not changed one bit, have you?!"

  "There was nothing wrong with what I was doing before!"

  "Oh yeah? Then how come I didn't even know I had a little brother till he was 10?!"

  "Because he wasn't ready for that! And neither were you! I didn't want you to think I'd moved on from you!"

  "I was 25, mom!! Twenty!! Five!! I was old enough to make my own decisions and Virgil was old enough that he could decide if he wanted an older brother and back then it wasn't too late for me to be a part of his life!!"

  "He was 10 and he didn't know what was best for him!! And he still doesn't!! I'm his mother!"

  "You keep saying that but do you even know what that means?! It means that you're always there for them!! It means that you let them make mistakes!! It means that you give them privacy and a choice!!"

  "He can have Privacy when he's moved out! Till then what he has I know about! I'm his mother and I get to decide!"

  "That's not how that works!!"

  "It most certainly is!! He just doesn't know what's good for him! And you are definitely not good for him!!"

  "Is that why you kept the letters from him?! Cause that's what was best for him?!"

  "What?! No!! He just-"

  "You were afraid then?! Why didn't even give me a chance?!"

  "Because you are not good for him!! Right now or ever!! I know best I'm the adult here and I make the decisions and I decide that you will go and-"

  "MOM JUST SHUT UP!!" Virgil shouted. No one had noticed when he had walked downstairs. His eyes were red and his jacket was wrinkled. "What letters?" He asked calmly.

  No one answered.

  "Mom, what letters are you hiding from me?!" He voice cracked and choked.

  "Virgey, honey, it was for your own good-"

  "TO HELL WITH THAT!!" Virgil shouted, tears spilling over down his face.

  Thomas spoke now. "I wrote you letters." He said. When no one tried to stop him, he continued. "When I found out I had a brother, I immediately sat down and wrote a letter to you. I wanted to know more about you, I wanted to be part of your life." Thomas took a breath. "That was about five years ago. And i never heard back. I assumed you didn't want to know me. But I didn't stop writing letters. I found out when your birthday was and sent you a letter yearly, and I always sent one for christmas, Halloween, and Valentines day. I sent one at the beginning and one at the end of every school year too." He pulled a wrinkled envelope out of his pocket and held it in his hands. "This one was going to be for this year, but I got caught up in moving and beginning my teaching that I didn't get it in on time." Thomas took a step and held out the envelope to Virgil.

  He took it and read the handwriting that looked so real. It wasn't perfect cursive or some fancy calligraphy, it was normal and real handwriting. It read:

  To Virgil Sanders. From Thomas Sanders.

  Virgil wiped at his face, smearing his makeup. He looked up at his mom.

  "You hid this from me…?"

  "Oh, honey it was all for your own good! You know how-"

  "How what?!" Virgil spat venom. "You knew how much I wanted to know my brother!! You knew how I thought he had left with his dad and just didn't care enough about us to come and talk!!" More tears. "You knew and you didn't once tell me that I had a brother who was kind and cared about me!!!"

  Virgil was shaking. He ran upstairs and his mother would hear the door to her room slam shut as Virgil rummaged around until he found the box under her bed full of 36 letters that his brother had sent him.

  No one moved.

  No one breathed.

  No one spoke for a long time.

  "I think I'll see him tomorrow." He turned to the front door. "Goodbye, Deva." He said.

  And the odd yellow door clicked shut.

  And all that was left in the old eerie house was a wronged child looking for five lost years, a mother who had tried to drown the inevitable with broken locks and promises, and a silence that bit like the way a cat silently does with prey already caught.

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[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Sixty-Three: An Apprentice ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Look...there he is…”

“Who?”

“The last of the Uchiha. Didn’t you hear?”

“No! The old samurai family? What happened?”

“A few nights past, their manor went up in flames. The only one to survive was that boy, there. They say it was burned by a vengeful yōkai - an old kitsune their ancestor scourged. It gained enough power, and took its revenge.”

“The poor thing...will no one take him?”

“And risk bringing the yōkai down on their heads? Doubtful. He’s as good as marked. No one will risk being near him, now. The smell of smoke will follow...and anything too close will burn.”

The pair of women gossip beneath an awning, safe from the rain that falls over their village. Their umbrellas folded, they stop and stare at the child before them.

Sat on the stoop of an empty building, the water dribbles from the roofline, soaking him through to the bone. Bare feet are muddy, garments just as unkempt. He’s not had a meal to his name since the night his home was consumed in angry red foxfire.

He can still see the eyes in the dark when he closes his own.

Arms gripping around his knees, he stares blankly out into the swamp of the side road. There’s an ache in his belly as it begs for food, but he has nothing to offer it. No one dares approach, too wary of a fox’s curse to extend a hand. Surely if they help him, they’ll incur the creature’s wrath.

Sasuke is left to wonder if he will simply wither away in the gutter, alone and abandoned.

“...you. Boy.”

Dark eyes drag upward, following regal clothes up to a stern face. A man, followed by a pair of servants, looks to him critically with strange, pale irises the likes of which Sasuke has never seen. They almost look like the belly of a clam shell, white...and yet shimmering faint colors in the light. At the man’s hip...is a sword.

Samurai.

“You are the Uchiha, are you not?”

Confused, but also too run ragged to be wary, the boy gives a slow nod.

“What say you to an apprenticeship, boy?”

“...what…?”

“I have heard of your fate, and your roots. Your clan, like mine, was a noble family of the blade. To leave you to rot is a grave injustice. Here, in the mud, is hardy a fitting place of one of your blood. Get up.”

Black brows wilt. “But...the curse -?”

“I have no fear of fire, boy,” the man assures him, tone grave...and yet assured. “So...make your choice. Will you rot here in the gutter? Or will you accept an opened hand?”

His gaze flickers over this...stranger. Given his blade, it’s unquestionable what he is...but Sasuke cannot know who. “What...what is your name, sir?”

“I am Hyūga Hiashi, the head of my clan, and the bearer of my ancestor’s blade. There are few within the isles more skilled than I in our ways. If you are to learn, Uchiha, with the rest of your kin dead...there is no one better than I. But...I cannot do this without cost. If I am to be your teacher...you must also pledge your fealty to me. Your life will no longer be your own...but it will not wither. Like my blade, you will be an extension of my arm. A student, and a soldier under my banner. What say you, boy?”

A long moment of silence passes, Sasuke’s mind whirling. In truth...he has little choice, unless he wants to starve, or be killed, or suffer some other unknown fate until his death. No one else has dared approach the fox’s curse...but this one claims to be unphased by fire.

...Sasuke has to wonder why.

“...I...I accept,” he murmurs.

“Good...now, tell me your name, child of the Uchiha.”

“Sasuke, Hyūga-sama.”

“Your age?”

“I’m newly seven, sir.”

“I see...I’ve a daughter your age. But you will meet her another time. For now...we must take you home, bathe you, and redress you. I’ll not have a dirty vagabond under my wing. Come.” Without another warning, Hiashi turns and makes to leave.

Scrambling to his feet, Sasuke follows, still feeling...unsure. Far more questions than answers seem to run circles in his head. Who is this man? What does he want with an orphan? Who is he to defy the curse of a kitsune?

And those eyes...something about them seems...inhuman.

But there’s no time for his thoughts now, led through the streets and their stares, their whispers. By now, everyone seems to know the tale...and what it might mean if they get too close. Hiashi doesn’t seem to pay them any mind, but Sasuke shrinks from their mistrustful gazes. All of this...and none of it brought about by his own actions. Just a curse earned by an ancestor long dead. And now...his life will never be the same. His kin, gone...his home, nothing but ashes and cinders.

His future...completely uncertain.

Keeping just behind Hiashi’s hems, Sasuke soon finds himself led to a manor not unlike how his own once was. A walled district littered with buildings, roads, and beautiful gardens all standing in the grey of the rainy day, people doing their best to avoid the somber weather. All turn to observe their patriarch...and the little boy behind him.

And everywhere Sasuke looks...he sees those same strange eyes. Eyes that seem to stare straight through him.

“First, a proper bath. Then new clothes. Then we must get some sustenance into you,” Hiashi muses, still walking. “Once you are full and presentable...we will speak further. Though, if the hour grows late...it may wait until morning. I suppose it depends on how filthy you’ve gotten, and how great your appetite. My servants will tend to you. Until later, then.”

With that, Sasuke finds himself whisked to a bathhouse, stripped and washed and nearly simmered in a bath so hot, it quickly turns him red. But after so many days cold and alone, it’s a welcome change. Once warmed to his bones, he’s taken and dried, then given fresh garments that are ever so slightly too large.

“These belonged to Neji-sama, Hiashi-sama’s nephew,” one servant explains, helping to adjust the outfit. “He is already a prodigal swordsman, and a year older than you. Hiashi-sama will surely use him as a measure for your growth. Train hard, Uchiha-sama. Perhaps you will wield a blade so mighty, you will slay the kitsune that cursed you!”

The notion widens the boy’s eyes. Kill a kitsune…? Is such a thing possible? If it would avenge his family, then...perhaps…

But he’s given little time to think, carted away to his next assignment: a meal. In spite of himself, his expression is uncensored desire, stomach gurgling and a bit of drool gathering at a corner of his lips.

He eats enough to fill a grown man twice over, and could still devour more...but brings himself to a stop. Still a relative stranger, he’s fed in the kitchen, tucked atop a sack of rice as the cook laughs heartily at his appetite.

“You’ll be hungry quite often, little Uchiha,” he muses. “Hiashi-sama will run you ragged training if you are to be worth his investment in you!”

“Do you know...why he brought me here?”

“The blood in your veins is just as old, powerful, and noble as his own. To leave you to the streets is a shameful thing . Hiashi-sama fears no curses - you will be safe here.”

“But why doesn’t he -?”

“Oh, Hinata-sama!”

Cut off, Sasuke looks to the doorway. There, half-hidden behind the wall, is a girl about his age. Hime-cut hair is dark, an amethyst shine haloing from the fire. She wears a white, blue, and purple kimono, and like the others, bears those same strange eyes. But something about her feels even...stranger.

Unable to help staring, Sasuke tries to puzzle it out as the cook inquires if she’s here for a sweet to ruin her supper. As she shrinks shyly, Sasuke notices it, for just a moment.

A strange, whipping shadow cast behind her from the kitchen’s light.

But then, like a blink...it’s gone.

“Your father will scold me if I spoil your dessert before it’s time, Hinata-hime,” the cook offers, smiling warmly. “Just be patient - it won’t be long.”

“O...okay…”

“Have you met our now guest? Your father has taken on an apprentice! What do you think?”

It’s then the pair finally lock eyes, and Sasuke barely suppresses a shiver.

Something about her...it’s…

Hiding further behind the wall, Hinata ducks her head, nearly hiding behind her fringe. “...you are...the Uchiha…?”

“Y...yeah.”

Eyes rove over him curiously. “You...smell like smoke…”

“Impossible, we just had him bathed, Hinata-hime! Surely you just smell the hearth, here. Now...you’d best make your way back to your room. You know your father will be unhappy to see you back here - this is a place for us servants!”

“Y...yes.” With one last glance at her guest, Hinata gives a tiny bow before disappearing.

Sasuke doesn’t reply, just frowning, a churning in his gut. What is going on in this place…?

“Uchiha-sama? Hiashi-sama wishes to speak to you in the morning - the hour grows too late, and he has no time this evening. Please, follow me to your quarters.”

Looking to the servant, Sasuke manages a nod, thanking the cook and making to follow. His room is...nothing special. Just a place to sleep, maybe study. But after the last few days...it may as well be a room in the imperial palace. A roof over his head, a full belly, and bones warm from a bath...he can’t ask for more after all he’s lost.

Curling up in his bed, Sasuke idles for a time, lost in swirling thoughts. Something about this place - these people - it seems so...strange.

“I have no fear of fire, boy.”

But why…? What could make a man brave enough to be fearless in the face of a fox’s curse? Unless...he’s no man at all.

Having no proof, and too tired to think any further, Sasuke sighs and buries his head beneath the blankets. For now...all he wants to do is sleep in a bed at last. Tomorrow...he can begin to puzzle out this mystery.

And begin his path as a samurai’s apprentice.

                                                        .oOo.

     Guh, tired @~@ So I'll be brief. This is a super random idea, no idea if I'll do more with it or not - I was winging it pretty badly ^^; I like some of the concepts, but I have NO idea how I'd turn it into something a bit more proper for a story. We'll see.      For now tho, I'm just...too tired to give it more thought, aha - maybe I'll have more inspiration for it another day. Either way, thanks for reading~

[kurosakiami01]

Day 3 - Determination

For this 21 days writing challenge.

Prompt: Hugging the pillow closer, I cried.

Fandom: Voltron. Klance(ish). ANGST. Instronspection. Crying. Not unhappy ending, tho. Post season 1. I blame the prompt.

AO3 LINK - LINK TO THE SERIES

The door closes behind without so much as a sound, the lights reacting to his presence and brightening the room without any kind of command. He flinches back on instinct because he hadn't been expecting it, for some stupid reason, and because the sudden light clashes so horribly with his current mood that it makes him feel almost physically ill.

He stamps a hand over the panel to his right and sweeps it down rather harshly, but the room understands his command and the lights dimmer to almost nothingness.

The change brings about two things at the same time: Lance's muscles loosen and relax—the tense, almost aggressive posture disappearing to give room to hunched shoulders—, and the irritation that has been fueling him until then evaporates. They give way to emotions that he has been consciously pushing back for long, feelings that he hasn't wanted to face because he's not quite ready to do so, because even thinking about the reason behind them hurts so much that he is not sure that he won't break down completely if he starts analyzing it in more depth.

Since the moment they became stranded in space, time has been difficult to pinpoint. What is a day? What is a week? How do you know if months have passed already? Heck, even the passing of hours is difficult to track. Ticks and minutes are different, after all, and it had taken them all a long time to get accustomed to that.

The lack of day and night is still unsettling, even now.

Each planet has its own way to measure time, and some even have similar lightning than Earth, (the planet he had been stranded in with Hunk after The Wormhole Disaster was underwater and a little different, but still reminded him of home more than many other planets they had visited before), but in essence, time is a difficult concept to grasp in space.

Even then, it passes.

He might not be able to say exactly how many days—or weeks or months—in Earth time have passed since the blast and the separation of team Voltron, and he may not be able to say exactly how long were him and Hunk stranded on that planet until Allura rescued them, but he can say, without a hint of a doubt, that it has been far too long since they started looking for the last member of their little found family—who is still missing.

Why haven't they found him yet? Why is it so difficult? Why aren't the other lions picking up Red's signals? Why aren't they able to connect with Keith's headset transmitter, for that matter? Why isn't Pidge and Hunk's newly modified alien tech working?

Where is Keith?

Why can't they find him?

(He is not dead. He's not. Lance refuses to even consider the possibility.)

(Keith can't be dead.)

The Red Paladin is too good. Keith is too good. He can't be dead. There is no way.

Lance knows it well, he knows it all too well. He knows because Keith is his rival, he's both a goal and a symbol of what Lance has to surpass, he's a model of what Lance wants to achieve. Keith is the best pilot of their generation and, impulsiveness and recklessness aside, he's brilliant and strong and a good fighter—he can't be dead.

He just can't.

(Sometimes, it is difficult to convince himself of that, especially when the others start looking more and more grim as time—damn time—continues to pass without a clue of Keith's whereabouts.)

“Stupid Keith,” he whispers, and it is supposed to be venomous and angry, but it mostly sounds broken and sad. He chokes out a laugh, wet and completely unamused, more self-deprecating than anything else.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, he sits on his bed and sighs. “I really hope you are alive, idiot.”

He lets himself fall on his back over the mattress without even bothering to take off his trainers. He is too tired to care. “I still haven't beaten you in training,” he huffs as he turns to one side and curls onto himself, bringing his legs close to his chest, hugging his pillow. “I still haven't made you laugh as hard as Hunk,” he mumbles, voice scratchier than before, vision blurring. There is a heavy weight on his chest, and it crawls all over him, tugging at his heart and making his eyes sting. When the tears come, he does nothing to stop them. “… I still—I still haven't told you—” he hiccups, “—I still haven't told you that I like you.”

His voice breaks completely in the last syllable, and he starts crying in earnest.

Lance's sobs are full bodied and heartfelt, they are loud and uncensored as he clutches the pillow to himself with so much force he won't be surprised if it breaks. He doesn't care.

He cries until he feels clean; until the tears won't come anymore. He lets them out of his system, lets them carry away his fears and insecurities and doubts, lets them wash away the toxic feeling of uselessness that has been haunting him for so long.

When he finally calms down, he feels completely drained.

Drained, yes, but determined.

Lance has always been like this. Once he lets his emotions out, once he lets himself deal with them, he can start focusing on what to do to change his situation, he can start working on their cause.

He won't give up. He won't let the rest of the team give up.

Keith is alive out there, somewhere, without a doubt.

And they are going to find him.

(They find him. He’s fine - or he’s going to be. Lance will confess and they’ll start dating and be very gay and very happy together, I swear.)