Chapter 2 - ..:: Jealousy ::..
Akihito's head was resting on Asami's chest while the older man slept. Making love the way they made it the night when they met again, was for him more "complicated" than any other night.
It was like in what they were doing there should be "something". This could be maybe the need to remember how it was "before", or maybe the fear of discovering that something had changed. Irreparably.
Sex deletes pieces of life and seems to let he things start again from where they were finished, with head empty of thoughts, but full of lips, hands, groans, pain, pleasure, desperation, skin.
His body filled, his head filled.
For Akihito, making love that night was if the pages of his diary, in which he wrote every single painful moment of the past hopeless days, had shrivelled up. In the end, when the sheets were stretched up again, some of the words on them were lost in the wrinkles. Erased. And with them, also, pieces of the sorrowful memories.
And Akihito was there, with his head resting on Asami's chest, while the older man slept ... and his hand was roaming the other body, on the chest, the legs, the manhood, arms, lips and again on his chest. And this because, in the dark, the phtographer wanted to be sure that it was him, Asami.
Akihito batted his eyelids. The pain in his wounded shoulder woke him from memories of the previous night. Unfortunately, the young man could not release himself from the discomfort to think that the "different" feeling he felt last night was simply the desire to want to believe that nothing had happened. To believe that he never left Tokyo, that he did not look beyond FeiLong's mask and see his pain, that he had not been nearly killed by the Russians, that dozens of men were not killed to let him be there that night, in Asami's arms.
Akihito sighed and approached the half-open door, catching sight of Asami, who was giving instructions to his men. He felt immediately better: it was Asami that gave him this feeling.
The photographer laughed at himself. Only a fool could consider Asami's proximity a relief!
But he was probably one of those who felt the need to return to the hell that has once swallowed him in order to stay beside the one that had created that hell, but then saved him from it. He knew that no one else could ever save him .... And he really wanted to start to know that hell. That hell named Asami Ryuichi.
****
FeiLong was watching from a distance as Akihito climbed the jet ladder, helped by Asami.
A few minutes earlier, FeiLong had said goodbye to the young photographer. They exchanged no words: they had just watched in each other's eyes. In those hazelnut eyes, so sincere, sounderstanding, and filled with a veil of sadness for their separation, FeiLong, despite the logic, didn't find any comfort ... They gave him a deep, sharp feeling of uneasiness.
The long haired man knew that he cared for the boy. He knew that Akihito was the only one that perhaps he would consider as a "friend". But... but that "strange" feeling was still there, between the two of them.
Someone was closing the jet's door. That someone lingered a little and seemed to look in FeiLong's direction. The tall man's expression remained immutable, but he lowered his eyelids for a moment and parted his lips, as though he had said something, and returned his gaze to the long-haired man. Then he closed the door. "Goodbye to you also, Yoh ..." FeiLong murmured and turned himself toward the car, near which one of his men was waiting. The latter opened the door and the Triad leader entered without turning anymore. The car left without waiting for the jet's takeoff.
"If you really want to break off relations with the past and to go on with your life..."
"Yes, but there must be more to life than ... living," the Chinese thought, feeling his eyelids weigh down. The previous night, despite the two days he had not slept, FeiLong had remained awake in the dark room until dawn broke, watching the landscape through the rain. To go on with his life meant, first of all, to understand what bottled up his existence. It meant to dig in his feelings, and that was exactly what he had refused to do during the last seven years. However, once he decided to do this, it was not so hard to understand.
Seven years ago he hadn't been man enough to let Asami hurt his pride, and because of that he built his need for revenge, he put himself into the Limbo where he had lived.
Today he was only left with his own ... jealousy?
Was jealousy really the cause of that uneasiness he felt when facing Akihito?
***
Hikaru wandered for a while through the city, and it was already late afternoon when he decided to come back home. He parked the car far from his house and walked through the rain, hoping to clear his mind. With his clothes and his hair completely soaked, the guy entered his elegant apartment: he quickly took off the shoes and threw them carelessly on the ground. His clothes followed the same fate, forming a trail of clothing, from the entrance to the bedroom. Savouring the slight thrill caused by the contact between his naked body and the cold air in the room, Hikaru lifted his gaze and found himself face to face with the guy reflected by the large mirror against the wall. He stared at his own eyes for few moments.
The pleased Rumi's grinhad confirmed a suspicion that had hovered in his mind for a while. Hikaru had always possessed a nose for danger, and if this danger was real, then he would have done everything to eradicate it. But now, the only thing he wanted to do, or rather, the only thing he needed to do, was to hear Asami. The guy grabbed the cordless phone. He had always avoided, through all those years, calling Asami at his business number, but now he had to do it.
He stared at the handset as if it was a strange object, and then he turned his gaze again to his own eyes reflected in the mirror. Pressing with the receiver's antenna, the boy began to draw strange signs on his right thigh, signs that disappeared after a few seconds.
"Ryuichi-san, please..." he whispered, and then he dialled the number.
***
The jet landed with a lot of delay, because of problems due to adverse weather conditions. Even in Tokyo, as in Hong Kong, it seems that all the floodgates of Heaven were opened that day. Because of rush-hour, it was evening when the car with Akihito and Asami on board was slowly directing toward the photographer's apartment.
Akihito, worn out by the last days' events and by the pain in the shoulder, was sleeping with his face turned towards the window.
Asami, sitting next to him, was already immersed in his work, reading the backlog mail in his laptop. Business, like lovers, can not be neglected for a long time; otherwise it will take revenge on you...
All of a sudden, the Yakuza's cell rang. He fished it quickly from the pocket, checking with the corner of one eye whether Akihito had been disturbed by the ringing. With an irritated, almost threatening tone, Asami replied, "Asami here, and this had better be urgent!"
Suddenly the car came to a grinding halt, and the photographer awakened. He opened his eyes and then closed them again immediately, reassured by hearing Asami's voice, even if the older man tone was not so reassuring. The boy smiled, thinking that someone would have had a good telling-off. With his surprise, however, Asami's voice lowered and his tone relaxed:
"Hikaru… it's not usual for you to call me at this number… Are you ok?"
Akihito felt a disturbing alarm bell echo in his head. The Yakuza's tone was not particularly affectionate or something like that, but there was a reflection of apprehension and familiarity which shone through those few words. That bothered Takaba.
"I 'm very busy tonight …" the Yakuza was saying, while the photographer watched his profile in the reflection of the window. In reply to something that was said at the other end of the line, Asami smiled. Not his usual grin, not the arrogant smile, not his lips curved by lust, not his lips posed in a cruel curve, not a mocking smile… just a simple, real, relaxed smile. Akihito noticed with pain that this was the first time he had found this kind of smile on Asami's face… and it was not for him.
"I have no doubt that it is something very important, Hika-chan. I'll surely come as soon as possible...."
"Asami!" Akihito failed to stop himself to interrupt that conversation which gave as much discomfort as he was willing to admit. Was it jealousy? Of course, it was.
The older man turned his gaze to the boy. "Takaba, you are finally awake," he said in a mocking tone. Then he greeted his interlocutor and took off the phone call.
***
Hikaru remained with the receiver in mid-air. He clearly heard someone calling Asami's name. He was surely a boy, a young man…
A cold, golden shine crossed his eyes…
Who? Who was he .. Who the hell was he?!?!?
The long, tapered fingers held convulsively the handset.
He heard his heartbeat increasing.
All of sudden, the receiver was thrown against the large mirror on the wall, smashing it to pieces. Panting, Hikaru stared at his own image reflection in the hundreds of glass flakes.
He knew very well Asami's free and easy behavior about sex. This was not a problem. His lovers were not a problem. None of them means anything...None had ever meant anything. Never...
But this time, why did he feel that terrible stab in his heart?
Sure, it was jealousy… or was it fear?
Who the hell was that damned brat?
Hikaru's beautiful lips parted and he murmured something. He swallowed and, while a dark shadow erased for a moment the golden flakes in his deep brown eyes, he repeated with a firm, cold voice: "That brat, I'll get rid of him."
