[Fic][X] I've got the whole world in my hand
Title: the whole world in my hand
Characters/Pairings: Kamui, hints of Kamui/Kotori, Kamui/Fuuma and Kamui/Subaru
Length: 867 words
Summary: Kamui's dreams are not always ordinary.
Notes: Done for a "What am I supposed to do with this ?" challenge at togakushishrine.
He dreams of the ordinary things to dream for a fifteen years old boy.
A score of erotic fantasies, with the faces of the people he knows doing unlikely proposition, in unlikely positions, using unlikely props. (Or which would be unlikely if the ones using them weren't powerful magicians involved in the End of the World.)
The usual flying dreams, floating over Tokyo and going up, always higher in the sky and through oceans of cloud, far away from all the worries and the guilt and the pain.
All the dreams that are just plain bizarre, replaying strange scenes mixing elements from High School and the latest battle over a Kekkai. Like that odd dream where Fuuma and Keiichi were comparing ice-cream flavors.
They are the dreams that are just replaying of his most painful memories. Over and over. The fire, the cross, the wires, the bridge... all of his failures coming back to haunt him until he wakes up in the night and decides not to try sleeping anymore.
Some dreams are of the good moments... of the soft conversation in hushed tones, of the warm protective hugs, of the rare melancholic smiles, and of the hazy memories of childhood when everything was still simple and sweet and wishes didn't kill.
Those dreams, they are the more painful. Because then he wakes up and he remembers that there's no shelter for this storm, no promises hold, and he's helpless to change people's heart.
They are dreams that are different. Dreams full of feathers and wheels, and dramatic music in the background.
Like this dream where he sees Kotori appearing in the darkness. She has wings, and in the dream he thinks it's very natural for a little bird. She smiles at him, a perfect Kotori smile, kind and glowing, and she hands him something from her white fingers.
It's a crystal ball. You can see the continents drifting like colors on a bubble.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" He asks with an edge of desperation in his voice.
She shakes her head gently.
"Whatever you want to do with it. That's the point, Kamui."
"But why? Why do I have to make all the choices?"
He hates how whining his voice sounds but he feels so tired. He's so sick of being told he's the one who has the strength, that he holds the authority of the Gods. What's the use of power if you do not know what to do with it? What's the point of being given the world if you don't know how to get your one wish?
"Because it doesn't have any meaning otherwise," she says. "Answers have to be found to be worth anything."
She comes closer to him and lays her lips softly on his cheeks for a light innocent kiss, and he actually blushes at it.
There's a flutter of wings, and he is left alone.
Just a boy with a small world made of glass, the power of the Gods, and no idea what to make of them.
He looks into the crystal globe and he sees images flickering into it. Images like the facets of his dreams.
Images expressing the casual desires and wants that any teenager could have. People he could date. Professions he could assume. Children he could raise. And his heart tightens with yearning when he sees them.
Some grandiose visions, full of blood, thunder and death where Fuuma brings him, ties him, holds him for as long as time lasts - which is not very much. And there's a bleak relief in that violence, in that pain, in giving in.
Images both sweet and sad, where the white Shiki of a silent Onmyouji offers him a sakura branch, where white blossoms barely blooms. And he remembers the smile Fuuma had when he was watching someone he loved, and the feel of his large hands when he was promising to always protect him. It's a memory he so much needs to touch again, he reaches a hand to stroke the glass bowl.
Some of the visions shows him failing, again and again. A thousand ways to fall. Goals that he cannot achieve. Words that are not accepted. Eyes that look away from his. Lips that quirks and laughs at him. Watching all those reflections of him falling apart, he winces and removes his hand has it has been burnt.
He could just drop it and let it shatter. Forget all about it. Deny the responsibility. Flee the pain.
All those dreams, he could reach and grasp. If he's strong enough to bear it. If he's ready to pay the price. If he's fool enough to try.
If he wishes. If he wants. If he wills.
"I know what I want to do with it," he decides, feeling a weight of iron stretching in his guts.
He loosens his hold on the fragile earth, but it doesn't fall. It starts to float upward softly. He watches it elevate slowly toward the sky, light dancing in rainbows around the glass curves.
He smiles. There's a way to make a burden lighter.
"I want to share it."