When I Win - Literally!
[mood| hyper]
[music| Alanis Morissette - Wunderkind]

*Bursts out laughing* HEY WORLD GUESS WHAT. No really, guess. Well. Okay. Remember the ouranhostclub's fanfiction contest? Yes? Well. Interestingly enough, I won. That's right. Let's hear that again: I WON (I even get a nice spiffy banner! Oh god, the bragging rights. Hah). Let us pop the champagne now! (Oh lilalohari, you must be so proud of me. LOOK HOW FAR YOUR LOWLY PARTNER IN TWINCESTY CRIME WRITER/TWIN HAS GONE!). Terribly exciting, really! And thus, without further ado, I bring you the trophy fic itself (although oddly enough, though I worked hard on it, I have been a bit shy about posting this one. No reason...perhaps I thought I could have done better. Alas). Not only does this mark my uh...return to LJ (since I have been on a rather long hiatus for...a while now) it also will hopefully bring you all a nice little weekend treat (if of course, superior!omg!angst tickles your fancy).


Title: Brothers in Arms
Author: takkey
Rating: PG-13 (for angst)
Pairing: Hikaru/Kaoru
*Theme: “Beat the Summer Heat”
Disclaimer: OKHC and the boys belong to Bisco Hatori.


“They wrote in the old days that it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country. But in modern war, there is nothing sweet nor fitting in your dying. You will die like a dog for no good reason.”
– Ernest Hemmingway

Lately at night, Kaoru lies on his back and listens to his city suffer. His eyes fixate on the ceiling, disrupted only occasionally by the brief quiver of a blink, his pupils blank, unreadable. He folds his arms back to pillow his head as his ears strain, listening to the sounds of the unfortunate outside on the streets: the shrieking of cars, of glass, people. He feels thankful that he has the loft, although it really isn’t much. There is a young couple that lives above him whom he has never met face to face. They argue and he hears the pounding of fists against flesh against walls. He thinks it strange how their two spheres of living, separated only by a thin layer of plaster, could seem so far apart, yet so very much the same. Their torment after all is not so different.

Sometimes he thinks he can hear the streetlights flicker on, bathing the pavement in a film of faux gold glowing. He thinks he can hear the soft pitter-patter of rain before it starts, pulsing deep within the lynching clouds. He has learned to read this man-tainted Mother Nature well. Manhattan is different than Tokyo, he thinks. The buildings here are world weary, tired, their backbones sagging from years of storm and smog. Their windows have lost the ability to reflect the sun’s radiance, lost the energy, enthusiasm. The sun itself has given up too and gone into hiding. The society here has lost something, he can feel it, blatant like the gaping chasm of a monster’s mouth; the men here wear their suits like scars and lug their briefcases like confessions; the women wrap black-market furs about their heroin thin bodies, smoke, drink. The people here do not cry. Theirs is a silent, selfish anguish. Kaoru thinks he can feel it eat away at the mind, soul, until nothing’s left. Strife seeps through the walls and binds the bones of those who live within, shackling them down, representing the embodiment of a self-made prison. Money cannot save you here. Lineage cannot redeem you here. You have to fight on your own.

And at twenty-one, Kaoru’s learning. He’s only been here for a year for college and already he can feel himself falling victim to this Aryan cosmopolitan toxin. He’s changed, he thinks. His limbs, although still lanky, are longer, curved with an oddly seductive feminine curve; an idiosyncrasy he has always been able to master. The T-shirts and jeans, earrings, shorts and tanks have been replaced with Armani and ties and designer sunglasses. He walks now with long, hesitant strides as if his bones were crushed down by some intangible weight, some heavy unseen fetter compiled and compiled from too many years of growing up too quick.

Kaoru turns onto his side, the sheets kicked away. Nights go too slow now. Days go too fast.

Then the draft letter came.

It had been uncalled for, unpredictable, like everything else in this country. He was too young, he thought. A man can’t become a soldier so quickly; for god’s sake he was still a boy. For hours he had sat and read the letter – once twice, three times but his name in that fancy typecast ink did not smear away and neither did the required duty bound to it. Hikaru told him it was probably a joke from the neighborhood kids but Kaoru knew there was no way anyone could forge the National government’s insignia like that. He knew also that his brother knew too. He could tell by how his brother came home early now from his part time job four blocks down the street. He could tell in how Hikaru tried to hide the way his voice was laced by a trembling fear, that yes, he too was terrified.

That had been a week ago.

Now, evening laces the sky with her fabulous star-burst dress and Kaoru throws open each of the windows, trying in a futile attempt to entice in a non-existent breeze. The scent of gasoline and burned rubber singes his nostrils. Summer was not slaving only to the sun after all and the air outside still looks to be trembling with heat, swaying amongst the backdrop of cheap neon lights. Yawning he slinks over to the sink to join his brother in washing the dishes.

“Go to bed, I’ll do the rest here,” Kaoru suggests, trying to sound responsible but in reality only concerned about his expensive china in Hikaru’s less than competent fingers. But his brother doesn’t reply. So Kaoru stares at his brother’s face so as not to see the uniform that had been mailed from the enlistment office, and now sitting against the door. It has been ignored successfully for the past forty-eight hours and Kaoru wanted to keep it that way.

“What?” Hikaru asks after a while finally, sounding exasperated as he puts the plate in his hands down so hard the corner chips. His eyes, once so young, so filled with invincible light look dulled tonight, fatigued. Time has not spared him either. He has lost the will to hold up his spine now it seems, lost the arrogant saunter, the up-turned nose. The move to America had been particularly hard on him. Kaoru winces. “Nothing,” he says, “You’ve just got that look on your face that tells me you’re either really pissed or you’re about to do something extremely stupid. Or all of the above.”

Hikaru clicks his tongue but his almost angry expression starts to soften. Lately, he hasn’t been able to keep his temper too long whether it be in fury or calm. Kaoru shakes his head and mutters half-jokingly, “Oh god, it is all of the above isn’t it?” and feels relieved when Hikaru snorts out a laugh. They never seem to laugh enough anymore, Kaoru thinks, at least not really. Their smiles never seem to kiss their eyes either, never seem to light the pupils. Their lips quirk up, but the joy never really pinches the cheeks, never not strained.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hikaru replies as he wipes his hands on the towel, looking nonchalant. It’s taken a while but ever since college, emotions haven’t plagued Hikaru as much as when they were sixteen. No longer does his brain drudge in black in white, numbers and systems; no longer does his heart fear feeling. He’s capable of securing a reign on both pathos and ardor, though Kaoru knows his twin still retains an awful loose grip at all the worst times. This is one of those times.

“I have it all figured out, the draft thing,” Hikaru says, though he doesn’t look triumphant at all. Just a little sad. Straightening the dishes in the drying rack, Kaoru asks, “Yeah?” and puts a hand on his hip. “Well great, when you put it that way now I’m exceptionally worried. What are you gonna do – jump the Pentagon?”

Hikaru makes a face and jeers back without malice. Kaoru flings another nipping joke. Their almost childish banter continues nimble and well-practiced. Chuckles turn into playful shoving, turn into a bundle of tackles, bear-hugs, and tickling. Kaoru howls in joy as they roll about on the floor in a mess of bliss, obliviousness, feelings once fled under the oppression of their slaughtered youth. Sprawled out on the floor, stomachs and sides aching, the two of them stare up and wait for their lungs to catch up to them. Outside, the nightly traffic screeches and beeps, almost lively – not so hurtful anymore at least, for now. Kaoru feels flushed and closes his eyes, still gasping, as his feels his brother pounce lazily atop him. Strong arms pin him down and a cheek nuzzles against his neck.

He thinks he hears Hikaru say, “God I’m gonna miss you.” He think he replies, “Me too. We won’t be apart long,” but he doubts it. War after all, makes no promises.

Eyes fluttering close, he listens as the insomniac city outside rages in the summer night. He feels the moon hang with suicidal grace, reluctant to bear the credence of the sun’s mighty glare. He feels this horrible world ending, a slow, raw death. He hears humanity scream out in pain as it crushes itself beneath its own sorrow, its regret from wasted opportunities. But he feels too, familiar hands slide up beneath his shirt, chilling his burning flesh with the touch of affection, a certain arctic danger coursing through his veins. He feels his brother press closer against him, tempting. Together they shiver, tasting a sinful sensation they had not visited since they were foolishly sixteen.

“C’mon,” Hikaru dares, quietly, a whisper, a cheated promise. A thumb brushes against the plush of Kaoru’s lips. And that’s all it takes. “You’re never going to forgive me,” he hears but he could care less what that meant now. Fingernails against waists, their lips collide. Their bodies crash.

The next morning, Kaoru wakes up alone, tender and aching, tangled in the blanket from the sofa, on the floor. He sits up. Cold. The uniform and the letter are gone.

END.