The cool night air was a blessing after the eternal summer heat that Ayano had endured for the past two years. In the time since Ayano had last seen the night sky, she'd all but forgotten how comforting it was, the velvet black of shadows and the quiet murmur of voices in another room. Today had been a whirl of activity- first they'd rushed Haruka to the hospital when he'd collapsed after his sudden return, and then everyone had suddenly turned to a flurry of introductions. Ayano was fairly sure that Momo was Shintaro's sister, but she had no idea how Mary or Hibiya fit into all this, for all that they seemed to be good kids.
As the evening wore on Seto had excused himself to go to sleep, apparently needing to get up early the next morning- and when had her little brother gotten so tall? She could feel the corners of her eyes crinkle in fond confusion as she craned her neck to look up at him, and his only response had been a grin and a wave and a careless 'glad you're back!' before he left the room, taking Mary and the conversation with him.
There were still things to be said, although Ayano wasn't sure where to start, and the silence in the main room had been awkward and tense in ways she hadn't quite been able to articulate. Kano had draped himself across one end of the couch without any apparent desire to move anytime soon, while Kido sat ramrod straight in the armchair across from the both of them. Ayano hadn't realized how much it looked as though she was taking Kano's side when she settled into the couch, but now she wished she'd stood, or pulled a chair in from the other room as Seto had done.
It was almost a relief when Kido had left, and Ayano was tempted to rise and follow her. When they had been children and had shared a room, they'd spent evenings together working the tangles from Kido's hair and talking through the spats and snarls she'd gotten into that day. Ayano was sure that if only she'd followed now her they could do that again, giggling about misunderstandings and sharing tales of what had happened in the years since they'd seen each other. She was sure they could work through this awkward feeling.
But somehow a tiredness affected her, and even though Ayano thought to follow her, she stayed seated, watching Kido's back retreat down the hallway, the lavender jacket fading into the darkness as though it was all too accustomed, from Kido's ability, to disappearing. Ayano's throat felt achy and hollow, and she looked down at her clasped hands, fingers laced together and knuckles white in contrast to her dark skirt.
It was odd, really, that she was wearing this uniform of all things. In the other world it hadn't bothered her, in the way that an inconsistency in a dream seems perfectly logical up until the moment one wakes up. But she'd died while in high school, in her plaid skirt and buttoned shirt, and here she was back in her middle school uniform.
It had served her well for two years, but now it felt too small, like it pinched across her shoulders and reminded her of just how young she was next to the people her siblings had become.
"You should have asked her to lend you pajamas," Kano remarked airily, his amused voice rending the night air, and when she glanced at him his eyebrows were raised and his gaze was concentrated resolutely on the far wall. "Are you really going to sleep in your uniform, then?"
Sleep had been of no concern in the daze, but now that Kano mentioned it, Ayano began to feel her eyelids grow heavy. She forced the sleep away, biting her lip.
Kano was sprawled next to her on the couch, looking for all the world like a spider with his skinny legs and flung open arms. Despite how casual he seemed, and the tired yawn that had tinged the edges of his words, Ayano got the sense that his pose was tense and deliberate, like he might snap like a rubber band if she touched him. So she didn't.
"Ah-hah, I didn't really think of that," she replied, laughing a little behind her hand. Kano's lips pressed together, a tiny involuntary flinch. Ayano wondered if that was something he was projecting for her to see, if he wanted her to know how much something like her laugh could still affect him.
She didn't think so. It had been two years and yet she still felt like she could tell, what of Kano was real and what was false. Of course she knew about his abilities; she'd muddled her way through trying to understand them when they were children, and when they were no longer children she had used them, used him like a tool. To protect them all, but still.
It hadn't been particularly heroic.
Ayano sighed and reached for the pillow wedged beneath his shoulder, pulling it towards her before discarding it on the floor. The motion brought him with it, and even though he spluttered he landed against her shoulder, elbow digging into her stomach.
"Gotcha," she teased lightly, and he drew in a deep breath instead of responding, his only movement the slight rearranging of limbs so he could fold against her properly and not fall off the couch.
He was taller than her now, and it would be ridiculous to pull his head down to rest on her shoulder, so she didn't. He didn't pull away either. Instead, his back leaned against her side and he faced away from her, his fingers drumming out an unsteady rhythm on the couch cushions.
It was the only noise for several long seconds- even the voices from the other room had fallen silent now, and it was a little bit hard to believe there were other people here at all, that it wasn't just she and Kano alone in the yellow light from the lamp. She, like a ghost back from the dead, in a child's uniform that no longer fit her, and he with his mask gone soft and fuzzy around the edges, like an old photograph fading away.
"I'm sorry," she said, at the exact same time that he said, "I missed you."
Both statements were so blindingly honest that they had to catch their breath for a moment before continuing.
"I thought it was the only way," Ayano continued finally, and he barked a despairing laugh, his head twisting to the side in a way that made her a little bit glad that she couldn't see his face.
"No one wanted you gone," Kano replied, viciously, selfishly. "Not for any reason. I don't care who was in danger."
"I care! You three went through enough, it's what- it's what anyone would do." Now, she thought, was not the time to bring up heroes with their eternal willpower and unrealistic courage. Kano would only bring up that they weren't real. Kano would only bring up that she had cried in the end.
"Then why me?! If we went through enough, then why-" Kano bit off the rest of his sentence, choking out a stifled and bitter laugh.
For a moment Ayano thought they might fight, like one of Kido and Kano's screaming, yowling battles that had always lasted all night and made Seto turn up his ipod enough that she could hear it from across the room. She had no doubt that they would have, if only Kano wasn't so tired.
He slumped against her shoulder, and tentatively she wormed an arm under his, drawing her arms around his middle and pulling him close into a sort of hug. She could feel his chest rising and falling beneath her hands, just a little too fast to be natural.
She'd expected them to be angry with her. Seto's pure delight to see her had been a welcome surprise, and even though Ayano never wanted to make him cry, it had warmed her heart when he'd clung to her and blubbered like a child. Kido had been quick to welcome her back too, even if it had been followed by awkwardness and unsurety, as Ayano realized that all these new members (Momo, Mary, Hibiya- she had to remember their names) looked to Kido for orders, and Kido wasn't sure whether to still look to her.
She'd expected anger especially from Kano, Kano who she'd known in some part of her mind would never have turned her down about anything. He would have faced down a hurricane for her if she had asked him, and maybe that would have been kinder than expecting him to stay behind.
The daze had been like a dream, a murky place where things worked themselves out in her thoughts, and she had returned knowing much more than she had before, about him and the things he had never been able to tell anybody.
Ayano frowned, feeling the unfamiliar bony shape of Kano in her arms. He had grown too, if not as much as the other two. But she still knew him, and she knew he didn't understand.
Mary had left them their powers.
Ayano rested her cheek against Kano's back and recalled the warm feeling of staring into the summer sun, the uncomfortable burn in her eyes as they flooded red. As a child she had wished for an ability to aid the people she loved, a special ability like the three of them. Like a hero.
It was that protective fondness that she let rise in her chest, that affection and happiness and joy. I'm happy if you're happy, she whispered to the snake in her heart, and Kano stirred in her arms and she knew that her thoughts were reaching him at last, as the snake had promised. She showed him all of it, every last drop; her desire to see their smiles, her pride in how far they'd come. Her love for him, for all of them.
His shoulders shook, and she realized he was crying.
"I won't leave again," she promised, and with her ability the truth in her words shone through and marked his heart with a certainty, like a beacon of honesty that he'd never been able to count on before.
"Okay," he rasped back, his voice thick with tears, and Ayano sensed that the conversation wasn't over. It was wrong of her to leave them, she knew, because a hero's sacrifice is only happy for the people who don't have to mourn them, and she'd only done it for them anyway. She knew it was wrong because she should have stayed and been honest. She should have been honest with herself, in the end.
"I promise," she said, voice firm with determination, and this time he didn't respond. She held him as he cried and hoped he'd understand, at least enough for them to move forward from here.