Sparkly lights. Red, white and blue. There were always pretty lights when Tohma was around.
Tohma often took him places with pretty lights. The circus. The Broadway shows. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center. Tohma took him everywhere. Eiri's father couldn't be bothered to take him to the doctor when he was sick—didn't care when a virtual stranger suggested taking him to New York—but Tohma was always there for him, showing him sparkly lights.
Even now.
What had Eiri ever done for Tohma? He tried to think. Seemed he was always too late to do anything.
Not surprising. He refused to see even the most glaring truths. Why hadn't he seen Sensei for what he was? Tohma had tried to tell him, but Eiri never listened to anything he didn't want to hear.
Didn't want to hear that Kitazawa was messed up. Didn't want to hear it, but it was true. Wouldn't listen till too late.
Always too late.
Didn't want to hear that his sister's marriage was breaking up. Didn't want to hear about the divorce, or the settlement, or the new relationships. Didn't want to hear about Mika's new rock star boyfriend. Didn't want to believe the rumors that Tohma was living with that gun-slinging gaijin.
Why hadn't he paid attention? Tohma always paid attention to him. The least he could do was watch his back in return. But he'd preferred their relationship simple—Tohma was the protector, Eiri was the protected. Until he didn't need protection anymore.
Tohma was the one who'd needed protection. When had it first started? That time Seguchi couldn't make it to Eiri's birthday and sent the gift along. It was because of him, wasn't it? The gunslinger.
Tohma was so careful of his appearance, though. Not fair to saddle Eiri with all the blame. I did something the moment I found out.
Sure he did. The moment he found out. Not when it was too late.
When he saw Seguchi rubbing his cheek in the mirror, he did something. Finally came to a decision. Making decisions was always the hard part, wasn't it?
Faded blue mark on his cheek. Blue like those police lights. Blue like the ashen face of a dead man. Trying to hide it, rubbing it with one finger, willing the makeup to hide his shame. Why had he put up with it? Tohma wasn't the kind to put up with abuse from anyone but Eiri.
At least I never hit him.
Never hit him, but wounded him all the same, didn't he? Eiri wished now he hadn't been such a—
What was that?
Ah. Driving up over the median. Had to get around these damn cars. Why were the streets so packed tonight? Not that it made a difference, but if Eiri was driving they'd be there by now.
He was never late, was he? Always on top of things. So why had it taken him so long to realize he was in love with the brat? Treated him like an intrusion for most of their existence together, until the little idiot finally grew a spine and left him. Decided he didn't like abuse anymore and walked out.
Too late; always too late.
Tohma had been there to help him pick up the pieces. The bastard was always there to pick up the pieces. Had he ever known Eiri to not be in pieces? But it was Tohma who'd been in pieces all along.
Broken bits of a puzzle Eiri could never put together. Why hadn't he noticed it? Or was the puzzle just too hard for him? He hated losing. Hating coming in late, always late—
What was that?
Just an echo in his mind, apparently. Tohma was probably the only one who'd ever really loved him. Knew every fiber of his twisted soul, but loved him anyhow. Why hadn't he realized he loved Tohma too?
Must have, or he wouldn't have gone over there tonight. Wouldn't have gone over there to see for himself what the hell was going on with the American gunslinger. Why the bruises and scars, gunslinger? Why won't you open the damn door? Why is Seguchi bleed—
"Tohma, can you forgive me?"
What was that?
Just the radio, playing a Grasper tune. Car at a stoplight, radio blaring. Amazing he could hear anything above the sound of these damn sirens.
Sirens and lights. Tohma always made a splash everywhere he went, didn't he? At least he was staying true to form, even now. What would he think of the papers tomorrow, Eiri wondered.
Famous Novelist Kills NG CEO's Lover Over Alleged Abuse.
That's what they'd say, or headlines to that effect. Eiri had blasted the gunslinger to Hell. Grabbed his gun and blasted the bastard to Hell. What was one more dead man on his conscience? Eiri didn't care. Didn't care about anything. Nothing mattered now; nothing at all. Holding Tohma's hand, there was no question the life was draining from him, and nothing would matter from now on. No need for these fucking sirens.
He was too late again.