YAMI NO MATSUEI (isn't mine)
Title: Love Must Be Like Death
Pairng: Tsuzuki/Hisoka (my OTP!)
Summary: Tsuzuki and Hisoka discuss philosophy over gardening and tea. Inspired by a parable in the Lotus Sutra.
"Love must be like death."
Hisoka carefully stuck one finger into a mound of still-wet soil. "Actually, I've always thought it was more like rain."
"Rain?" Tzukuki asked. In his hands he held a matching pair of tea cups, antique porcelain ones that would have been worth more if the glaze hadn't been cracked in a million places. Silently he offered a cup to Hisoka, who straightened, wiping one hand across his brow more from habit than because it was hot.
"Yes. Rain," Hisoka said, accepting with equally silent grace. He took a sip, grimaced. "This is sweetened."
"It's iced tea," Tsuzuki said. "Iced tea is supposed to be sweet." He was gulping at his own tea, as if he'd been the one bent over with his hands in the soil all morning. And he had been- it was just that when he took breaks, he took them for twice as long.
Hisoka's expression clearly showed what he thought of his partner's sweet-tooth logic. But he didn't put the tea down, and, every now and then when he wasn't paying enough attention, he'd take another sip.
"Rain is undifferentiated," Hisoka said, in his best professor's voice. "It falls on everything, is the same everywhere. But, it doesn't affect everything the same way, and it's hard to predict."
"You mean like some plants need a lot of rain while others need very little," Tsuzuki said, nodding. It was his garden, after all- Hisoka was supposedly helping only out of boredom. Just one more polite fiction in a long line of polite fictions, but not one either of them minded.
Hisoka nodded back, took another sip of tea, grimaced without really noticing what he was doing. "And every plant responds differently to it, grows in a slightly different way. Also, some places get more rain than others, even when they're really close by- for instance there's a valley in the Nepal that's a swamp on one side, while the other has serious droughts every summer."
Hisoka started to take another sip of his tea and was surprised to find the cup empty. "Anyway, love is like rain because follows patterns, but is ultimately unpredictable."
Tsuzuki smiled, not his usual bright and childish smile but the knowing one he saved for special occasions. He hid it behind his cup. "You forgot the part where everything needs rain or else it will die," he said, softly.
Hisoka blushed, almost imperceptibly. "Y-yes," he said, looking down to his scuffed shoes and the neat rows of annuals they'd just finished seeding. "That too." His voice was gruffer than he'd intended it to be.
Tsuzuki flopped back onto the grass, one hand across his head and the other, the one with the empty cup in it, stretched out as far as it would go. He relaxed his fingers and allowed the cup to drop to the ground, where it rolled only an inch or so before stopping. He was cloud-watching, but his eyes were closed. More accurately, he was taking deep breaths, smelling the freshly overturned earth, and trying to burn this moment into a mind already too full of memories. After a moment, Hisoka joined him on the grass.
They could stay like this, not saying anything, for longer than most people would believe.
Eventually, Tsuzuki said, "You were supposed to ask why."
"Why love is like death? I didn't think you had a reason."
"I didn't," Tsuzuki admitted, cracking open one eye and rolling sideways onto an elbow. Hisoka was sitting with his knees pulled up into his chest, looking at the sky. Unlike Tsuzuki, he really was watching the clouds. "I just wanted to surprise you."
"That only works the first twenty times you do it," Hisoka informed him. He snorted. "Afterwards anyone would learn not to be surprised when you say strange things."
"Is it really so strange, though?" Tsuzuki asked. "I might not have had a reason when I said it, but I do now." He smiled his best seducer's smile, stretched languidly, said, "I was never in love before I died. So for me, love and death are the same."
Tsuzuki made it a point not to look at Hisoka, who was blushing much more furiously than he had before. When he did turn to look, after a careful count of ten, Hisoka's face was absolutely blank.
"You're an idiot," Hisoka said. "And that is absolutely the worst pick-up line I've ever heard." He stood with a long-suffering sigh, popping a few joints in the process. He looked out over their garden, and his gaze softened.
"Me, too," he said, after a while.