Grief and jetlag had caught up with Tohma that evening. The white noise of the television and the scent of Mika's perfume made it difficult to stay awake, yet he couldn't bring himself to fall asleep just yet. He had accounted the events of the last week to Mika and apologized to her repeatedly, but that still didn't seem like enough.
Logically, he knew that there was nothing he could do. Kitazawa was dead and Eiri had been the one that killed him. There were, of course, things he could have done; things he should have done. Tohma should have kept a better eye on Eiri; he should have noticed the house was too quiet and that Eiri wasn't there that afternoon.
Nothing was going to change the fact that he had ruined Eiri and broken Mika's trust.
Hadn't Mika been the one who had convinced her father that it was okay for Eiri to go to America? Convinced him that Tohma was responsible enough to care for Eiri? Convinced him that it was the only reasonable solution to protect Eiri from being taunted by the other children?
And look what he had done.
Tohma knew that in a room down the hall, Eiri was in his bedroom. He knew that Eiri would be on his stomach and that he wouldn't be sleeping. He even knew that Eiri would still be wearing his winter pajamas, even though it was the middle of July.
Despite that, in the past week Eiri had changed. How could he not?
No longer was Eiri wearing a constant smile; no longer did he act curious about the world around him. He refused to come near Tohma now; refused to speak to him—even looking at Tohma seemed difficult for the teenager and Tohma couldn't help but wonder if Eiri really did blame him for what happened. As Eiri's caretaker, it was his fault, wasn't it?
"Tohma?" Mika's voice was quiet, her mouth buried in his hair.
Tohma didn't want to answer her. She had been so angry when he had first called her from New York. He didn't blame her, of course. Mika didn't immediately believe him and accused him of playing a sick prank on her. It was only after he scanned and emailed the newspaper clipping to her that she believed him and she was none too happy.
"Tohma, are you awake?"
"Yes," he said softly. Tohma lifted his head from Mika's shoulder and looked at her with a forced smile.
Mika shifted slightly on the couch and pulled the blankets tighter around the two of them. "I'm sorry for yelling at you," she said suddenly and turned her head away from him. "And for slapping you."
"I deserved it," said Tohma slowly. The smile remained frozen on his face, even though Mika couldn't see it.
"That Kitazawa was the one who convinced Eiri to leave your house without telling you. He was the one who hired the thugs and tried to sell my brother."
"It was my responsibility to watch after him."
Mika sighed heavily and turned to look at him again. There was a boiling anger behind those hard blue eyes, but it only took a moment for it to melt away. "It isn't worth it to beat yourself up because of this. What's done is done."
Tohma watched her as she reached over to an end table and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the bottom of the pack with two fingers, pulled one out, stuck it in her mouth, and grabbed her lighter. "The important thing," she said as she cupped her hand around the cigarette and lit up, "is that Kitazawa didn't actually do anything to my brother."
"He's still traumatized."
"I know." Mika fell silent as she took a long, unhealthy drag and exhaled. Cigarette smoke twisted in the air and burned Tohma's eyes, but he didn't feel like complaining about it. "He's an optimistic kid, though. I'm sure he'll pull through."
Tohma wasn't so sure. Perhaps the Eiri of two weeks ago would have pulled through, but this different, colder Eiri didn't seem interested in talking about how he felt about the situation. No—instead, he locked himself up in his bedroom and read the same books over and over again.
Mika finished her cigarette, snuffed it out in the ash tray and sat together with Tohma in silence in the Uesugi living room for a few minutes. Every now and then Mika would look at him with an odd, concerned expression, but Tohma would simply smile at her in return. Was it strange for him to be smiling so soon? Probably.
It wasn't long before he felt himself nodding off and, despite his best efforts, focusing on the TV did nothing to help him stay awake.
"If you're tired, sleep." Mika grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back onto her shoulder. "Jeez."
"All right," said Tohma. He closed his eyes and almost immediately felt long fingers combing through his hair. Mika curled a few blond strands around her fingers before she pressed her lips against the top of Tohma's head.
"It isn't your fault."
"I know," said Tohma, his voice still quiet. He didn't agree with Mika, but there was no point in arguing with her. He had learned over the years that she was the kind of person who would argue forever until it was evident that she was right.
For the next few hours, Tohma dozed against Mika's shoulder. It might have been because of the cooking show that Mika was watching or perhaps the guilt he still felt from last week, but Tohma couldn't bring himself to fall completely asleep.
Unsurprisingly, it didn't go unnoticed by Mika. Eventually she stopped asking if Tohma was asleep yet and started demanding that he fall asleep instead, as though it was something Tohma actually had control over.
Time marched on and sunlight began to trickle into the room. In the distance, Eiri's bedroom door opened and Tohma could hear the shuffling of bare feet down the hallway. The teenager walked into the living room and passed the couch without so much as glancing at the two occupants cuddled up there.
"Good morning, Eiri," said Mika. She frowned at him as Eiri ignored her and continued on his way into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Eiri-kun" echoed Tohma. This time, Eiri paused to look at his sister and her friend. His face remained expressionless, however, and he shook his head at them. With a shrug, Eiri entered the kitchen.
From the living room, Tohma could hear a bowl being slammed onto the table, cereal and milk being poured, the slight sprinkle of sugar, and the rattling of a spoon hitting the bowl.
"Careful, Eiri-kun. Don't put too much sugar in your cereal," he said out of habit. Tohma could have sworn he heard more sugar being sprinkled onto the cereal at that point. The Eiri from two weeks ago would have listened.
"I'll be right back," said Mika. Tohma straightened as Mika stood up, straightened her outfit, and grabbed both her cigarettes and lighter. "Do me a favor and lie down properly. Maybe a normal position will help you sleep."
Tohma nodded and watched as Mika retreated into the kitchen. Without her by his side, he suddenly felt a little chilly. Regardless, he didn't want to sit through a lecture from her for not listening, so he curled up on his side and pulled the covers up to his chin.
His body was exhausted; it was his mind that refused to calm down. Even so, he shut his eyes and faced the back of the couch. He did his best to empty his mind—to temporarily forget about New York, the grave of Kitazawa Yuki and the nameless thugs the tutor had hired.
Instead, he focused on the activities he did alone with Eiri without Kitazawa to interrupt them. He remembered going to see a musical in Manhattan with Eiri and taking him to the park. He remembered the first time Eiri saw an American mall and the first time he had eaten American fast food.
His subconscious, however, decided to remember the bloody corpse of Kitazawa Yuki and the quivering, horrified Uesugi Eiri who knelt nearby. It decided to remember the sound of Eiri sobbing hysterically into Tohma's sweater and the sound of his own shaky voice trying to comfort him. It decided to remember the police officers and the investigators who dared to label Eiri as the aggressor instead of the victim of an attempted rape. He remembered those things and felt his heart break all over again.
A hand was suddenly on his shoulder and squeezed it lightly. Tohma twisted a bit and stared up at Mika, forgetting for a moment to wear a smile.
"Too late, Tohma. I saw it."
Tohma shut his eyes and smiled wider. "Saw what?"
"That doesn't work when your eyes look watery."
"I'm sorry, Mika-san."
"Quit apologizing. I can go back to thinking it's your fault if that's what you really want."
Tohma fell silent and, unable to meet her gaze, stared at her chin instead. Mika smiled at him, but it lacked the warmth it usually held. She leaned down, using Tohma's shoulder and the back of the couch to support her, and pressed her lips against his.
"I love you," she said firmly. "And I refuse to let you lie here on the couch and take responsibility for something you had no control over."
"I did have control over—"
"Eiri didn't tell you he was leaving. Kitazawa told him not to tell you. It's that tutor's fault."
"I hired him."
"Tohma. Stop it."
She lowered herself onto the couch, lay beside Tohma and pressed close against him. "I can only imagine how hard it is for you, Tohma, but you have to try and forgive yourself. I forgave you, didn't I? And you saw how pissed off I was."
Slowly, Tohma nodded. If she had forgiven him, then should be able to forgive himself, too.
Mika draped her arm over Tohma and pulled him closer. "Now get some sleep."
"I'll try," said Tohma distantly. He shut his eyes again and tried to block everything out of his mind. After a few minutes, he heard the television click off. Without anything to focus on except the feeling of Mika so close to him, it suddenly felt easier to shut down his mind a bit more.
Mika kissed the back of Tohma's head. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Mika-san." His voice already sounded half-asleep, but he wasn't surprised.
By the end of the hour, Tohma was turned toward Mika, finally asleep, with his face buried in her hair. However, simply falling asleep wasn't going to stop the guilt from finding a way to eat at him.