Shuichi had just finished fixing his sniper rifle by the window of the living room when he sniffed the foul smell of smoke and burned meat. She was doing this on purpose, everything she did to him was on purpose. Like pushing his shoes a little out of reach from the genkan, like slipping his gun a little more to the side once he'd set it on the exact position he needed, or hiding his hat in the wrong cupboard. She knew she couldn't take it out on him for the death of her sister, not when he was assigned to protect her and they were hiding in this top floor apartment. At least for this much he admired her, he knew how hard it must have been for her not to jump at his throat, but she'd remained cool headed and put her desire of revenge aside for later. But these little things she did were signs she left to remind him that she hadn't forgotten, that she still blamed him.

In the open space apartment the sounds carried around to every corner easily enough. "Fuck fuck fuck," he heard her swear softly. Shuichi stood and made his way to the stove, Shiho lifted the lid of the pot in that exact moment and his face was assaulted by a cloud of black smoke.

He coughed into his hand, "What's going on here?" He leaned against the kitchen island, "After this you still expect me to believe that you're not trying to poison me?"

Shiho looked up, cheeks furiously red, "Listen…"

"Mmm?" Shuichi prompted while gently pushing her aside, he turned off the gas for god's sake, before the whole place caught on fire. He grabbed the pot and put it in the sink under running cold water. Shiho followed him like a shadow, she stared at the blackened chicken.

"I wasn't trying to burn it – I didn't do it on purpose."

Shuichi shut the water and shook his head, returning to the window where he'd set his rifle, "Sure."

Shiho bit her lip. It stung that he didn't believe her, that he always assumed she meant to harm him. She had half a mind to leave him be, let him make love to his rifle by the window. Like he spent his days doing anything else. She watched him kneel and brace the gun, he swung with it gently, observing somewhere in the buildings close to theirs. She really wanted to let him be with his grudge, but in the end she found herself standing next him. He seemed so deeply focused, she wondered if calling his name would accidentally make him shoot. She'd rather not make him kill anyone. So she crouched by his side and her hand gave a hesitant pat on his shoulder. "I'm not going to shoot by mistake," he said without releasing his stance, "I'm not that incompetent of a sniper."

"Shuichi…-san" Shiho mumbled, she knew he didn't like when she called him that but she was trying to apologize and surely he would understand that she added the honorific as a sign of respect.

But he grunted in response, "Am I your old uncle now?"

"Shuichi," she corrected herself, and yet he still did not look her in the eyes, what was so interesting or dangerous out the window that he couldn't spare a few seconds to properly hear her apology after she even took the time and effort to make one? Shiho let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding, it rolled off her lips too loud by mistake but it made Shuichi finally look away from his rifle and turn toward her. Their noses brushed and Shiho froze. She hadn't realized that they were so close, his face mere breaths away from hers. She scooted away like a scared animal until her back hit the wall. Shuichi stared at her with a puzzled look in his eyes, unsure if he'd done something wrong again. She'd never realized how green his eyes were, and his expression, for once unguarded, made her feel some sort of sympathy for Akemi. So her sister didn't fall for an insensible piece of trash, this guy was actually capable of emotions. And right now he looked miserable, exhausted and profoundly sad. Shiho regained her composure and sat on her heels, "Shuichi, I'm sorry about before. I really didn't do it on purpose, I only wanted to make some decent food but -" she trailed off.

Shuichi crawled closer until he had Shiho trapped between himself and the wall, he placed one palm flat beside her head. "I'm sorry too, you know? Do you think I need you to remind me? I'm sorry every single day!" His cheeks were red, his eyes bright and puffy, for a moment Shiho thought he was going to burst into tears. He dropped his head, "But I didn't make her – I," he squeezed his eyes, "It's not my fault that she -"

He suddenly leaned in the crook of her neck and Shiho gasped in surprised, she was about to push him off when she notice how hot his face was against her skin. "You're burning up," she murmured.

Shuichi used the wall to leverage himself up and scooted back to his rifle, "I'm fine."

Shiho breathed in, partially enjoying the cold air that washed upon her when he moved away, "You're not. You should rest."

Shuichi shrugged, bracing his rifle, "Just let me be."

She didn't miss the way his grip on the gun wavered, For fuck's sake. She stood and grasped his shoulders, forcing him to stand. He didn't oppose resistance when she dragged him to the bed, which meant he must have been really sick. The lack or argument between them felt almost foreign.

She dropped him on the mattress, gave him a pill and left him there to sleep the fever off.

Shuichi knew he was dreaming but the knowledge didn't make the dream feel any less real. Akemi was standing right in front of him, she wore the same clothes she had on the first day they'd met, when she'd run him over with her car. But her blouse had a big red blotch over the chest, her hair was ruffled and her lip split. Shuichi noticed the gun in her hand and she smiled. It's your fault that I'm like this! Look at me! She lifted the gun and directed the tip toward her heart. No! Shuichi screamed, No! Stop, Akemi! But she pulled the trigger anyway. Shuichi awoke with a gasp, he sat up, hands outstretched as if to reach Akemi's. He reached up and undid the first few buttons of his shirt, the cool air against the sweat of his skin brought some relief. He ran a hand through his hair, then reached for the nightstand where he kept his cigarettes. "You should stop smoking. It doesn't help with your fever."

Shuichi registered the voice and turned toward the door, Shiho was leaning against the frame. She hesitated a second, then she walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands curled in her lap and her eyes fixed a spot on the floor. "You always smoke when you think of her, I am right? Akemi, I mean."

That did it. This girl! She always messed up his stuff, she called him like he was an old man, just for the sake of getting back at him. And now she wanted to bicker in how he dealt with his feeling and how he decided to take a smoke? Hell, he'll take a smoke if he wanted to. "Just let me be," he spat back, defiantly taking a cigarette out of the package. He noticed when she turned to him and glared but shrugged it off.

"What a jerk!" She yelled, and then he was too busy fumbling for his lighter to see when she pushed him. All he knew was that his back was flat on the mattress, the cigarette lost somewhere in the blankets. Instead his fingers were gripping the collar of her top, like he meant to drag her down. Her hands were splayed open on his chest, skin against skin. It was a weird sensation, something inside him felt out of order. Shiho grimaced, "Are you going to show me how good your martial arts are now?" Shuichi immediately let go of her top, he didn't mean to attack her, it was just instinct. Just instinct. His hand unconsciously trailed down one of her arms. She trembled underneath his touch. Was she really scared of him? It saddened him to think so.

"Sorry," he murmured.

Shiho retreated back to the spot where she was sitting before they got into the argument about him smoking. She fixed her top and stood. "You sweat a lot, you should change your clothes," she told him before leaving.

"Yes," he replied without realizing it. His fingers lazily undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt but instead of getting up he laid there, savoring the cold against his skin.