title: tea
fandom: Yami no Matseui
characters/pairings: Hisoka, Oriya
rating: G
warnings: none
summary: Hisoka returns.
notes: for ghost_whisper, for this request on fic on demand. takes place post anime.

The young woman who delivered the tea looked demur enough. Hisoka wouldn't even have described her as pretty. She smiled at him a bit as she set the cups out, which showed her age in the translucent wrinkles that formed. Hisoka just stared blankly ahead.

He hadn't expected to be invited in, nor was he sure why he had come.

The Master will along shortly, he had been informed. So he had sat down. He knelt in seiza position, and gripped the fabric of his hakama pants.

He didn't know why he had come.

She left the door open when she left, granting him a view of the garden in which they had... they had fought. If he'd been human, he would have died there. And yet. Yet.

He didn't know... why he had won.

"Ah? Did they only bring tea?" The Master stood before him, his kimono lazily tied, his hair a mess of beauty around him, a cigarette in a holder between his fingers. He was stretched out, leaning against the door frame like he'd been forgotten there. "They know I hate that." He stepped inside, and sat down elegantly, his long limbs folding under him with disgusting ease.

"You only drink liquor?" Hisoka shrewdly guessed.

Oriya picked up his cup, tugging his sleeve back. "Well. Such a thing isn't possible, really, is it? No matter how hard you try. Eventually, you fail, and you must slip back into virtue."

"That must be frustrating for you," Hisoka replied stiffly, straightening his back.

Oriya's deep chuckle was dangerously sensuous. "Don't be so high and mighty. If you were as righteous as all that, you wouldn't be in this world at all, isn't that correct? So." He turned his face, and stretched out a bit. He certainly wasn't treating Hisoka like an honored guest. Still. "The weather's been so calm lately. Did you find him, then? Your beloved?"

Hisoka bent his head down. "I found Tsuzuki," he corrected, a bit uncertain.

"I assumed," Oriya said vaguely. He raised his cup to his lips, but he didn't sip.

"You aren't... aren't going to ask me about..." Hisoka started, but even saying the name. He couldn't understand this man. Why had he helped Muraki? What sort of relationship was it? Oriya hardly seemed like one of Muraki's doting dolls.

"Would you be able to tell me anything?" Oriya replied cheekily. "I assumed," he repeated, pointedly.

Hisoka dipped his chin down almost to his chest, and watched his tea swirl in his cup. He felt, once again, defeated by this man. "Why did you let me pass?" he asked quietly.

He sounded much too young. Nearly his age.

The air was stagnantly still, and lushly peaceful. It made Hisoka feel like he was choking, but he had no need for air anymore. That was right... there was no need anymore.

Oriya sighed deeply, and then downed his tea in a manly way. He set the cup aside carelessly. "Why? Don't take advantage and then ask why afterwards. Brat. Have you no manners?" He chuckled to himself, and scratched his chest.

Hisoka realized that he was staring at the man, fascinated.

He turned his head and smiled at Hisoka. "Just go ahead and be with him, after all."

Narrowing his eyes, Hisoka stood, and brushed off his legs. He wasn't going to bow to the man, after all. It was annoying, being schooled at his station in life. Or death. "You're better off without him, you know," he said sharply, regretting it almost instantly when he saw Oriya wince. He stumbled back and step, and nodded to him.

"You think I don't know," Oriya chuckled, shaking his head. "Next time you come back here, I'm charging you, you know," he warned, and then he turned back to the garden, and lifted his cigarette to his lips.

Hisoka couldn't shake the feeling of tragedy as he looked him over for the last time.