A/N: I do not own DN Angel, I just enjoy it.
'Hope' is not a word in Hiwatari Satoshi's vocabulary.
Satoshi has no experience with interpersonal relations, whether friendships, family or casual acquaintance. From the moment he's been able to walk, he's been working, training. Studying Dark, studying art, studying law, researching, taking notes, planning. It's no surprise, therefore, that he approaches his friendship- his feelings- for his little red-haired not-quite-enemy the same way. Analytical, systematic. Studying Niwa. Watching Niwa interact with others. Taking notes. Researching. ( Every inch the detective) A neat blend of the detatched, scientific mind he's developed and the hunter he was born to be, as the last in a long line of Kaito-hunters, instincts and skills honed by the experience of an active career in law-enforcement.
He's not at the planning stage yet, and he's barely even begun to allow himself to consider it. The thought of anything more than the tenuous friendship that Niwa insists they share is almost beyond the realm of possibility. Even if Niwa wasn't already in a relationship with the eldest Harada twin, there was no telling how he would react to a confession from a friend of the male persuasion. Hiwatari was unwilling to risk losing contact with the other altogether by introducing an element that would likely be met with disgust, embarassment and revulsion- possibly even hatred. And even, if by some miracle Niwa was to accept and forgive him (the possibility that the young thief would reciprocate the sentiment was a wild improbability which Satoshi was not foolish enough to entertain), there would still be Krad. His curse, his ever-present 'guardian angel'(the term dripping with bitterness and irony) would still be there, cementing the rift between them. A rift that would never be closed, could never be closed, he could not allow himself to hope that it would be bridged, never, never, for if he ever let the other get close and the homicidal disease within him hurt the young thief in any way, the young Hiwatari would never be able to forgive himself.
And yet for all his training, for all his cold clinicality Hiwatari is underneath it all human. With needs he's schooled himself to deny, dreams he refuses to acknowledge, and now burning deep within his core a love that he cannot pretend not to recognize any longer. A blue flame that is continuously stoked by the unknowing young thief, in simple caring gestures, glances full of innocent concern, overtures of friendship; open, pure, and accepting. Everytime the young Niwa seeks him out after the battles between his alter-ego and the young detective to make sure 'Hiwatari-kun' is alright, everytime the little redhead worries over other's eating habits (or lack thereof), or calls after him, says his name; that flame burns a little brighter, a little hotter, a little purer. Everytime Niwa smiles at him with that bright, agonizingly beautiful innocent smile and that fire flares out of control, licking through the Hikari's veins with a searing, hungry heat and for a moment it comes over him that just one of those innocent smiles could be his world, is enough, is more than enough, and at the same time isn't nearly enough and he needs so much more.
At these times Satoshi is thankful for the self-control that years of psychological torture at the hands of his inner-demon have taught him, so that the facade he presents reveals nothing of the raging fires within him. And he builds an impenetrable wall around it, sealing it away from the prying eyes of the world, from Krad, and to an extent from himself. A barrier that is simultaneously a symbol of denial and protection. This fire, this love, is both the most regretted and most cherished occurrence in his life. Late in his darkest nights, in those far-too-rare moments when Krad is asleep and unaware, he creeps into the cloister and worships at the alter of his love. Bathing in the blue flames, the pain is intense- almost unbearable, deeper than anything he's received at the hands of Krad. But it is sweet, warm, beautiful, and healing in a way he cannot comprehend; and he needs it in the same way he needs to breathe. He would be a willing sacrifice, allowing the fire to consume him until nothing but ash is left. Perhaps one day he will, but for now the moments are over all too soon. He cannot risk more than a brief indulgence, lest his other half begin to understand the depths to which he has fallen for his blood enemy.
He knows that Dark suspects, but he is secure in the belief that the Phantom Thief would rather cut off his own wings than reveal his suspicions to his host. He knows also that he is not the only one who has noticed young Niwa. In truth, he would be more surprised if he had been. The thief has spent hundreds of years in the presence of art. Paintings, sculptures, jewelry of breathtaking artistry and haunting presence. Masterpeices. The Hikari had wrought heartwrending beauty in stone, precious metals, rare paints throughout the centuries- and the Niwa had stolen them, one by one. Hikari creations gained cursed life through the souls of their creators, their worshippers; bringing misery, destruction, death to those drawn to them. The Niwa's stole the possessed art, sealing it away in safety.
Now the Niwa had brought forth beauty of their own; not in oil and canvas, alabaster or gold; but in flesh, blood and spirit. The Niwa creation, unlike the Hikari's, brought warmth, healing...life.
The Niwa lived to steal the Hikari's creations.
It would be ironic, would it not, if the last of the Hikari were to steal the only Niwa masterpeice?
Ok. My first fanfic, and my my first written work shared with anyone aside from one close friend. Constructive criticism and suggestions welcome.
One note: The italicized last line is rhetorical, and not supposed to be something that has ever crossed Hiwatari's mind. I intend to add chapters to this, depending on inspiration. Assuming things go according to plan, the reason for that last line should become clear.
Hope you enjoy!