Shoma Takakura glanced at his watch. 7:46. Just under a half an hour before the first bell rung and yet another long, arduous day at his local high school began. Could he make it?
To hell with it, he declared, chaining his bike to the nearest lamppost and running to the hospital entrance, instinctively leaping backwards as the automatic doors opened. Breath minty and cold, he jogged to the front desk, lifting the hand-knitted scarf off his mouth. "Hi-"
"-mari Takakura," the bubblegum-chewing receptionist finished, eyes never leaving the golden glow of her laptop screen. "She's ready to see you."
Barely pausing to gasp a thank you, he dodged a supply-laden cart to dash down the hallway, nearly crashing into a wheelchair-bound boy in his eagerness to see her, stumbling in front of a quiet little door labeled "Takakura." His heart thumping in anticipation, he raised a hand to knock against the wood.
"Come in!" came the soft-spoken reply.
Flinging open the door, all of his worries melted away at the sight of Himari, angelic and blue-clothed and bathed in morning sunlight.
"Good morning, Sho!" she chirped, scooting over to allow him to sit on the edge of her hospital bed. Her frail hand moving in jerky motions, she traced a finger across the neat blue stitches of his scarf, positively beaming. "You're wearing it."
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" He curled his fingers over her frigid ones. "It's very warm. Thank you."
Himari frowned at him, glancing at the wall clock. "Are you sure you won't be late for school? I don't want to get you in trouble."
"Don't worry, Himari," he assured her, lying through his teeth. He only had twenty minutes left to get to his first period class, but that hardly mattered now. "School doesn't start for another hour."
"Okay, then." She leaned back in bed, closing her eyes.
They sat in blissful silence.
"Sho," Himari blurted, hesitating. "Have you...seen Kan?"
His stomach twisting, he swallowed back a gulp and forced a smile. "Well...no. He's living with Dad's friends now, so I haven't talked to him much lately. Don't worry, though, he'll come around eventually. He always does."
No. He's gone. Kan is gone, he wanted to scream. He's gone, and he's not coming back.
But Himari, sweet, without-a-mean-bone-in-her-body Himari, nodded, accepting his clipped response. "Okay. When he comes back, tell him to stop by here. I'm knitting a scarf for him, too, but don't spoil it for him, okay? It's supposed to be a surprise."
He fought back tears, clutching her hands tighter. "He'll love it. I'm positive."
She smiled serenely by way of response. "Okay."
Himari proceeded to interrogate him about his grades, friends, and what he'd had for breakfast this day, smacking her lips in anticipation at his vivid descriptions of his miso soup, egg rolls, and tsukemono pickles.
"I'll bring you some next time," he promised, making a mental note to check the hospital policies for foodstuffs. "I'm trying a lot of new things now, so you'll get a real feast!"
She murmured in contentment. Face caught in mid-smile, she suddenly froze and slumped against her headboard, tangles of auburn hair hanging in her face. Her hand turned an ashy white, cold as ice.
"Himari!" he cried out, clambering to his feet and shaking her shoulders. "What's gotten into you? Wake up! Himari!"
The door creaked open, and a wave of cold descended across the room. The echoing footsteps of two leather shoes sent shivers running up Shoma's spine, belonging to a man with streaked pink hair tied into a messy ponytail, his lips upturned in a small smile.
He could only gaze in wonder as the mysterious man practically glided across the tiled floor, movements far too lithe and willowy to possibly be real, lab coat billowing behind him. He sat on the swivel chair perched besides her bed, crossing one slender leg over another and leaning his chin on his palm, batting long, snowflake-ghosted eyelashes. A briefcase rested in his lap.
Mesmerized by the man's strange beauty, it took Shoma quite some time to snap back to his senses. "Doctor," he pleaded, "please, it's my sister, Himari, she-"
His laugh was like the hiss of a viper, the whisper of a wind chime. "Don't worry. Your precious sister is only sleeping, peaceful and dreaming. Under my spell, you could even say." His smile broadened at the sight of the boy's awe. "Forgive me for my brusqueness. I'm usually not this impolite, but...special times call for special circumstances, no? The name is Sanetoshi Watase. Doctor, perhaps, if you're the type to bother with the formalities, Shoma Takakura."
He gaped at him, struggling to choke out the words hitched at the back of his throat. "You- what did you do to Himari? How do you know my name?"
"Now, now, let's not be hasty. I'd be a fool not to have at least heard of someone like you," Sanetoshi chuckled, leaning forward to run his spindly fingers through her hair. The girl mumbled something under her breath, exhaling shakily. "What reason would I have for hurting such a lovely specimen? After all, she is destined to be my bride."
He might as well have told him he was an alien.
Although, it wouldn't have surprised him much at this point.
"Bride? What do you mean by that?" Shoma demanded, hand desperately scuttling across the wall for the hospital phone.
"Why, you're slow on the uptake, aren't you?" He narrowed his eyes at the boy, lifting a bony hand to gently place the phone out of reach. The plastic dissipated in his grasp. "I meant precisely what I said. This girl- your sister- and I are sewn together by fate. It is something entirely out of your control. You wouldn't steal your sister from the man she loves, would you?
"You see, Shoma," he continued, lilting and nonchalant. Reaching for a tiny penguin plushie sitting on her bedside table, he began to toss it up and down in slow, lazy movements. "There was once a girl I loved, perhaps even more than Himari-san: Momoka, Momoka Oginome. You had never seen such a beauty; even the stars aligned in her eyes. But she simply wouldn't have me."
His voice took on an edge contempt. "She rejected my advances, cursed me with those biting words of hers. Instead of taking my hand, she fled, choosing to fight against me. And the witch now? Shielded only by her pride and arrogance and vanity. Would you wish that on your sister, Shoma?"
The roof of his mouth was parched with speechlessness. Himari didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this, to be abandoned by Kanba, to be beguiled and hoodwinked and cheated of the only thing he had left by this madman.
His eyes darted towards the door. Surely someone must have heard the commotion. Stuck inside of a freezer, all he could do was wait.
"But, alas. The woman, the one I love so dearly, is dying. Her breath is fading every second, I can sense it. But your love, your passion- it's stronger than anything I've ever seen. You'd do everything for her, wouldn't you, boy? Die for her, perhaps?" he teased, setting the penguin back down. "Watch me closely, my dear fellow."
He clicked open his briefcase, sifting through a painstakingly organized collection of tiny bottles, each filled with a teaspoon of simmering liquid and labeled with a blue marker. Running his fingers against the cool glass, he plucked one out, holding it so it glinted in the morning light.
"Himari Takakura is terminal, and nothing but that. You're only fooling yourself, Shoma, believing she'll miraculously make a full recovery. You think you can save her? Chivalry won't do much for you now. Even that brother of yours, Kanba, has given up on her salvation. Why do you think he hasn't visited her at all? Is it pity that keeps you coming, Shoma?"
No, no, no! he desperately wanted to scream, falling prey to the enchantment of its hypnotic glow.
Could it be...?
Seemingly reading his mind, Sanetosh's malicious glee slipped through the cracks of his nonchalant facade. "But this- this is your answer. The antidote your doctors had given up finding weeks ago. I have it, just in my hands. You can save your sister, Shoma, with just a single drop of this antidote."
His gaze flickered between his unconscious sister and the glittering liquid. A drop, just a drop, and it would all be over. They'd forget about Kanba and live together in their hodgepodge of a house, like vagabonds with every sliver of happiness in the world.
"What do you want me to do?" he choked out.
A smirk eased its way onto his face, dimpling his cheeks. Sanetoshi held his hand out to him.
Shoma gazed at the pale, slithering thing in disgust, but took it nevertheless, its iciness nipping into his palm. He held back a shudder, eyes locked on Himari as the man whispered in his ear, the eerie smile etched permanently on his lips.
A bespectacled man stood on the corner of the hospital, binoculars pressed against the cracked lenses of his glasses. He squinted, but was still barely able to make out the outline of a rather familiar boy (his sea foam eyes were unmistakable) and a certain pink-haired menace grasping hands. They exchanged a series of quick words before the boy nodded curtly, edging out of the room.
Within a couple of minutes, Shoma Takakura was slipping out of the entrance, mouth buried in his scarf.
Keiju Tabuki stuck his binoculars into a fanny pack tied at the waist, watching in faint amusement as the boy morphed into the crowd of black and white, hurrying along to where the public high school was.
Glancing at his watch, Tabuki smirked at the blinking numbers.
For the fifth day in a row, it seemed he'd be late for work.
Eyes darting around, Momoka entered the nearly-empty coffee shop two minutes ahead of schedule. Under the patronizing gaze of a greasy-haired woman in an apron, she took the seat the farthest away from the glass window, her heel tapping against the tiled floor as she idly perused the floppy menu.
Vanilla cake with coconut shavings, caramel macchiato cheesecake, chocolate mousse, she rattled off in her head. Pomegranate crisp, lemon meringue pie-
Something scraped against the floor, shaking her out of her reverie. She glanced up.
Tabuki, visible bags under his eyes, took the seat across from her, draping his jacket over his chair. "Hey," he greeted, looking as if he was ready to slump to the ground.
"Well, you're looking a little beaten-down," Momoka remarked. The greasy-haired woman approached them, her arms laden with a large tray, abd set cups of coffee down in front of them. Nodding stiffly in thanks, she lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the warm fragrance, a step up from the watered down instant coffee in her thermos.
Tabuki gulped down half of his coffee, sighing in contentment. "Yeah, you could say that again. I swear, I must have spent half of yesterday watching the new surveillance tapes. That, and grading biology quizzes."
"Science was always your most proficient subject," she offered up.
"Yeah- that doesn't mean I wanted to teach it." Tabuki eyed the menu hungrily. "What are you going for? I could use some sugar."
"Go crazy." She emptied two packets of low-calorie sweetener in her coffee, taking a measured ship. "I hear the macaroons are to die for."
"Really?" He arched an eyebrow at her, as if he was trying to decipher some sort of secret message. "Well, that settles it then." He raised his hand like an impatient schoolboy, calling the disgruntled waitress over.
"A plate of macaroons, please," Momoka ordered. The woman scribbled something down on her pad, before turning on her heels and clacking away.
"Something you want to tell me, Tabuki?" she prodded.
"Right." He cleared his throat, grabbing the nearest napkin and scribbling on it with the pen he always had tucked behind his ear.
As soon as he had finished, Momoka snatched it from him, reading it under the tablecloth.
Shoma's finally eloped with him. They were together at the hospital this morning.
Her hand closed on top of the napkin, nails digging into her palm. Him.
"You sure?" she whispered.
He nodded curtly. "I followed him all day," he murmured. "I couldn't be sure when I first saw them together, but now, I'm not sure what else it could be. The boy looked fucking terrified. From what I've seen, though, yes, his involvement is entirely against his will. This kid is nothing like his bastard of a brother."
The waitress appeared, balancing a plate of the cookies on one arm. As she gingerly lowered the platter to the table, she bowed to them, Tabuki watching her departure rather warily.
"Now laugh, like I've just said something funny," he demanded.
It was only with great effort that they managed to give somewhat convincing laughs, earning themselves a suspicious glance from the nearest customer.
Unable to resist the urge any longer, Momoka grabbed a pink cookie, nibbling it. Thin strands of pale coconut wound their way around her teeth, and she moaned at the rich, sugary taste. "God, where have I been all my life?"
Tabuki grinned, raising his coffee cup in mock respect. "A toast for old time's sake?"
The odd pair clinked glasses, chewing in silence.
Once cookie crumbs had littered the tablecloth and the plate sat blissfully empty in front of them, Momoka sighed, patting her stomach in contentment. "Well, that was the squarest meal I've had in ages."
"I presume I'm paying?" he said wearily, watching her wipe her sticky fingers on a napkin.
"Do you even have to ask?" she quipped, reaching into her purse to pull out a generous tip. "See you, Tabuki."
"I'll send you the pictures tomorrow," he said, before bidding her farewell.
Momoka was uncomfortably aware of his prying eyes as she left the establishment and stepped into the cool night air. He never did stop trying to figure her out; she suspected that it was his reason for teaming up with her in the first place.
She glanced at her watch. 9:15.
Might as well leave some time to mull it over.
Momoka hailed another cab, climbing in and quietly giving her address to the driver, who merely nodded and sped off.
Her hand instinctively reached into her bag, searching for the pristine, laminated pages when-
She gasped. The driver glanced at her through his rearview mirror. "Something wrong, miss?"
"N-Nothing." She laughed it off, harriedly prying open her bag. Overturning piles of paper clips, lifesavers, four cell-phones, keys, and pocketbooks, and her lipstick-smudged makeup kits (for impromptu disguises, if the need ever rose), she panicked. The tiny pink book, previously hidden between her map and white cardigan, had vanished.
She ordered herself to calm down.
In and out. In and out.
You've misplaced it. That's all.
That's all? a part of her said indignantly. The book that's gonna save the world. That's all?
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to think it through.
She had her flat with it, she was certain of that. For the love of God, every time she went anywhere, she checked that the precious pages were still safely tucked inside her purse, unless she was ever too preoccupied to-
Only then did it dawn upon her.
She had been so thrown off with Tabuki's sudden call and Ringo's outburst that it had completely slipped her mind to reach for her diary.
Momoka cursed herself for her carelessness. After that jarring conversation with Yuri, she most definitely wasn't herself. She had been absent-minded, foolish even; hell, they could have been standing outside the coffee shop with semi-automatic rifles and she probably would have been too wrapped-up in her own petty problems to notice.
"Ma'am?"
Calm down. You're delusional.
Okay, the diary was missing; she had come to terms with that. Praying her observational skills hadn't failed her, she squeezed her eyes shut, picturing the scene of her mother's cream-hued apartment. Couches, the chrome refrigerator and dishwasher, the pot of simmering curry-
"Ma'am?"
The couches! Of course!
Momoka resisted the urge to slap herself. She had foolishly left her purse unattended on the arm of her mother's couch. Having been drugged by the intoxicating aroma of curry, she probably hadn't noticed that it had been angled in such a way that the contents were exposed.
And Ringo, angry-eyed Ringo-
Interrupting her train of thought, the impatiently cab driver whipped around. "Ma'am!"
Her looming apartment building was just outside the frosted glass, the picture of shining opulence against a backdrop of snow.
She snapped back to her senses, shaking her bubblegum locks and giving him a thin-lipped smile. "Pardon me. I'm rather discombobulated tonight."
The man grunted, indifferent to her bumbling excuse. "That'll be eight hundred yen."
Sifting through her wallet and pulling out a handful of coins, she apologized profusely to the man, who, promptly after depositing her dazed self on the curb, cruised away into the night. Clacking to the front of her building, she inserted a silver key into the lock, twisting it open. Slipping inside, she nodded hurriedly to the half-asleep doorman, before turning left into the carpeted hallway and rounding to apartment 116.
Yes. It was so obvious now.
Ringo had to be the culprit.
The door clicked open, and Momoka stepped inside, kicking off her excruciatingly-painful heels and flexing her sore, cramped toes.
That was the only possible explanation. Her own baby sister, wracked with loneliness and jealousy and neglect, had seized the little pink book on a whim when she hadn't been paying attention, slipped it under her skirt, and confronted her about it under the guise of the whiny schoolgirl.
It seemed that Ringo was more fickle than she had ever imagined.
A part of Momoka was relieved. Better her than Sanetoshi or one of his henchmen, yet not. A personal connection could destroy her, Tabuki had warned her of it. At least she could send guns and machetes and flamethrowers at the enemy, but her own sister?
Well, she'd have to be a lot sneakier.
Accidentally letting it slip that her most powerful weapon (the one thing that could scare him) was out of her grasp would certainly be crippling. They'd storm headquarters, take her closest lieutenants into custody (her stomach knotted at the thought of Tabuki, her oldest friend, bruised and broken), and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it, not without her diary.
So, how to do it? They were always watching her. If she tried to be direct with Ringo, and they might overhear, maybe even hold her hostage if they were cold-blooded enough to man-handle a sixteen-year-old girl.
(That wasn't even a valid question. They were willing to taint a boy no different from her sister, so why not Ringo, someone who didn't even have a personal connection with the organization?)
Momoka stormed to the kitchen, her mind bubbling and boiling. Giving the tap a vigorous twist, she filled a tall glass up with ice-cold water, gripping the frosty surface and chugging it down.
What did Ringo want? Companionship? A rekindled sisterly bond that hadn't even existed to begin with?
Well, it looked like she'd have to find out. After spending a hearty amount of time shoe-shopping or manicuring or chocolate-sampling, she'd wheedle out an explanation as well as tears of joy and sisterly pats on the back, before convincing her to reluctantly part ways with the diary, and all would be calm again.
Momoka let out a groan, placing the glass in the sink and making her way to her bedroom, collapsing onto the four-poster bed. Fingers playing with the lavender canopy, she curled on top of the haphazardly-strewn coverlet (Yuri wasn't one for consistency, especially when it came to menial tasks), still in her winter get-up, and fell into a long, dreamless sleep.
