Inspired by a late-night sugar-fueled conversation of crack with Ladyofcamlann, and Babylon 5. No pairings really, although I suppose if you want to look at it sideways, squint in the right light, and look for them there's a couple hazily implied.
And yes, I know how wrong this is on some levels.
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One evening in Kyoto, a bench in a quiet corner of a small, out of the way garden was host to two people that would probably strike even someone who didn't know that one of them was dead as disparate - a taller man with long, black hair in a colorful traditional kimono, and a slight almost-blonde teenage boy in jeans, a sweater, and a beat-up jacket three sizes too big for him. They were at opposite ends of the bench, both moodily staring off into space at the light dimming through the trees.
"So." Oriya shifted, leaning back. "He wandered off again...walked out the door, just assuring me he knew what he was doing, didn't tell me anything - always the same thing...'I know what I'm doing, I have a plan'..."
"...And I'm starting to think that really means 'I don't have a clue but don't want to actually say so.'", Hisoka continued. "God forbid he admit he might not know what he's getting into and actually ask for help or more input about what's going on than what I've already said-"
"Not like he listens anyway; oh, sometimes he nods, or says something to acknowledge that I'm speaking-"
"But it just goes in one ear and out the other." Hisoka rolled his eyes, gesturing with one hand. "'Uh-hunh', 'really?', 'that's interesting', when I know he's paying more attention to something out the window than he is to what I'm saying."
"I think I could paint any given warning in neon letters repeated every five feet on his way in the door and he still wouldn't actually pay attention to it, and it's everything I can do some days NOT to say 'I told you so' when something goes wrong and he drags back in..."
"...but it's not like he learns from getting hurt either; as soon as he recovers he's right back to dashing into things without thinking..."
"It doesn't even seem to occur to him that one of these days, his luck is going to run out..."
"And I'm always left five feet behind him trying to keep him in one piece..."
"And if I'm lucky there's some kind of small 'oh thank you', but the whole time I'm trying to keep up..."
"It's like he forgets I'm even there when it comes to what he's putting -me- through trying to make sure he doesn't get himself killed!"
"Completely taken for granted. Some days I have half a mind to take a break and let him remember just how much I've been doing for him lately by letting him worry about it himself..."
"But there's no telling what he'd get into or what kind of a wreck I'd come back to, I can't leave him alone for ten minutes some days..."
Oriya buried his head in his hands, "Every time I lose track of him I feel like I should be greeting him with 'what now..'"
"And some times when he comes dashing in or stumbling in, I'm not sure I even -want- to know..."
"Because every time I think he's exhausted all new avenues of getting into trouble-"
"He manages to get into something or have something blow up in ways I hadn't even thought possible."
"I'm going to have a heart attack and die young just -trying- to keep him alive."
"Migraines sometimes just thinking about what he's getting into when I'm not around."
The park bench fell silent, Hisoka hunched over grumpily with a slight twitch, Oriya heaving a sigh; then they both stood up, composure returning, with a slight bow to each other.
"Same time next week?"
"Hn.", Hisoka nodded, and they left the park going two different directions.