lysapadin: pen & ink painting of bamboo against a full moon (Default)
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Title: Stillness in a Curl of Steam
Characters: Hibari
Summary: Hibari contemplates the mess that is his fledgling.
Notes: More vampire AU! [Series Index] General audiences; 498 words.

~~~~~~~~~~


Stillness in a Curl of Steam

Tea was as useless to Kyouya as sake was, save for the rightness of it. And Kyouya felt in need of some measure of propriety just lately.

His fledgling lurked elsewhere in the compound, avoiding him and wholly unsubtle about doing it. Kyouya let him get on with it and sat in his own room, feet tucked beneath him in seiza and a porcelain cup of tea cradled in his hands. Steam drifted up from the surface of the tea, wafting the delicate, grassy scent of the tea through the air. Familiar. Soothing.

His fledgling, he thought, the words forming of their own volition, was a mess. Absolutely a mess, far more than he'd ever anticipated, given how willingly Yamamoto's cub had taken his blood. Sawada had warned him of this possibility, but even so…

He was not so undisciplined that he would permit himself to grimace, but Kyouya, contemplating the fledgling sulking on the other side of the compound, at war with his own nature, was sorely tempted to do so nonetheless. It was a foolish war that the fledgling was waging with himself. A wasteful war.

How irritating that it should be so.

It had been better when his fledgling had been guided by his instincts. Far, far better. Then, at least, his fledgling had been all the things that were appropriate. Had not been constrained by human qualms. Had been true to himself, as was only appropriate.

Kyouya took another sip of his tea, thinking on that as the steam traced strange shapes in the air before him. He cast his thoughts back, but no, his own time as a fledgling had not been challenging. Not like this. It had only seemed logical to embrace his changed nature, which had suited his tastes and personality perfectly. Why, then, was his fledgling fighting it so?

It was going to have to be a matter for Sawada, he decided. Sawada had a facility for language he lacked. A facility for those who were troubled, too. It was the softness in him, Kyouya supposed, the softness that he had never possessed himself, not even during that short handful of years he had walked under the sun as a human. He'd never seen use for softness, but perhaps it had its place occasionally.

And that was what Sawada was for.

He would send word, yes. Sawada would come to teach his fledgling to accept his nature and hold it in check, and then they could turn their attention to the issue of Byakuran's unseemly conduct.

The matter settled, Kyouya drank the rest of his tea, savoring the flavor on his tongue and the sunlight sliding through the bare branches of the trees, keeping one ear turned at all times to track the distant sound of his fledgling's restless pacing.

end

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