Final Mission

by Zaney HacknSlash

"Change isn't always easy, but it's always necessary." "But how much change? What if things change so much, you don't even recognize your life anymore?" "...keep in mind that some things never change." Sequel to 'Missions'; takes place after coming home from India. A fic about what tears people apart and what holds them together.

4. Chapter 4

This is one of my favorite chapters. It's also one of the happiest in the fic…

---

I am Aware now…

Hakkai

He doesn't let me in, and in a way, it's beginning to feel as if he's not really hearing what I'm saying, but he is drunk, so I don't hold it against him. Besides, I don't mind at all. Granted, I didn't expect to find him drunk like this in the morning—though I didn't exactly expect him to be prepared for my arrival either—but no matter. He's Gojyo. And that's what matters to me.

Gojyo keeps grinning and slides down to sit on the step, blowing a stack of smoke as he does so, "Man, I'm surprised as fuck to see you."

I stay standing, holding onto my suitcase tightly. I've been driving for more than twelve hours straight, and I want to go inside and sit down and have a cup of coffee and enjoy a nice conversation, so we can talk a moment here, but in a bit, I'm going to ask him again to take me inside. "Yes, I've noticed that, though I'm not sure why. I did write and tell you I was coming."

He doesn't respond to that, so I have no idea if the letter never made it to him, or if something else happened, but in any case, he doesn't appear to have an excuse to give me.

I look him over carefully, though I'm somewhat reluctant to do so. In short, he doesn't look well. His hair is disheveled, pulled back into a messy ponytail that's falling loose, and it looks a bit greasy and tangled, as if he hasn't showered in several days, and hasn't bothered to brush his hair. His face and knuckles are bruised, lips busted and dry, his right hand lacerated, with freshly congealing blood caked there, and if I had to guess, he hasn't changed his shirt in days. It's spattered with mud, blood, alcohol and vomit. Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he hasn't slept well, and he's tired, his expression rather bleary with exhaustion. Even though he's smiling, there's something decidedly wrong about it. It looks almost legitimate, in that the mouth is fixed in the proper, cocky position, but it's a bit crooked, showing me that it's half-hearted, and his eyes are dull. It looks as if he doesn't think he has much to smile about. His arm is wrapped with dirty, stained bandages.

All of it makes me want to immediately ask what's wrong and if he's okay, because I'm honestly quite alarmed, and I want to know why he looks as if he's been beat up, and why he's so filthy and out of sorts.

Instead, I smile back, because generally, such blunt concern doesn't get one too far with Sha Gojyo. If there's any way to make him pull back, it's to ask pressing, sincere, personal questions. Better to tease him about it, and if he wants to tell me what the problem is, he will. If not, I may have to work at it, but regardless, I will get to the bottom of it.

"Well, I'm sure that if you had known, you would have been better prepared to greet me. Being caught entirely off guard surely accounts for your state of disarray."

If he knows what I mean, he doesn't say so, just laughs, coughs, somewhat raggedly, and takes a drag off his cigarette.

"Or could it be that you're starting a new trend? Tell me, what do you call this look of yours?"

"Hung over."

I barely stop myself from blurting out that it looks a bit more like 'deep depression', and then I nod, knowingly, "I see. Well, if you invite me inside, I'll make you coffee and some breakfast, and perhaps that will help, with the hangover, in any case, though I doubt there's much I can do to attend to your neglect of hygiene."

Grinning, Gojyo shakes his head, "Damn, you ain't changed."

"Well, no, of course not. Was I supposed to have?"

"Sure, a little. I shoulda' known you'd come back naggier than ever." He laughs.

"Oh, I don't know that that's what happened, precisely." I say, very patiently. "To me, it looks as if you're trying to get the less favorable aspect of my attention."

"Whoo. I musta' hit rock bottom without noticing it if I'm going out of my way to try to get you to lecture me."

I tilt my head at him. "Hm. One would think that he'd notice if he hit rock bottom."

Gojyo leans back against the door with a vague sigh, "I don't think having a hang over is anywhere close to rock bottom, Hakkai."

"No, I suppose you're quite right in that. Excuse me. Aren't you ever going to invite me inside?"

He hesitates, then scrapes the butt of his cigarette on the step, leaving a long streak of black and orange, stands up, "Yeah, sure. I was gonna', I just didn't think about it. I was diggin' the fresh air."

"That's understandable, given your wretched condition."

"Hey now." He slings his arm around my neck, smiling all the more, and I can almost guess how long it's been since he bathed, judging by the smell of him, but I put my arm around his shoulders and tilt my head against his. "You're getting kinda' nasty, 'Kai. That was almost rude, y'know."

"Do you think so? Forgive me, I didn't realize you'd gotten to be so delicate in my absence." I wait for him to open the door, but he doesn't, and at last, I step forward and swing it open myself.

As soon as I'm inside, I can see why he wasn't eager to let me in.

The apartment is in an appalling state of disorder—definitely worse than I've ever seen it. The kitchen has been swallowed into a mound of trash and papers and dishes and empty liquor bottles and cigarette butts. The table is hidden under mail and playing cards, stacks of empty plates, beer cans, empty cigarette packs, and a couple of pizza boxes. I notice envelopes with my own handwriting on the front—my letters, all unopened. Some have been there for months, but my most recent one is on top. There's a lady's shoe under the table.

The kitchen sink is so full of dishes, it's no longer functional. There are three bags of garbage sitting in the corner, overflowing. I have to unearth the coffee pot from more trash, and debris. When I look for the sugar and coffee grounds, I see that the cupboard is totally empty. There's a box of crackers, some unopened wasabi, a tin of coffee, sugar, salt, a few other dry condiments, and a few cans of food. None of it looks like it's been touched in a while.

Out of pure curiosity, I glance in the fridge, and a wave of odors hits me like a physical punch in the face. I smell something rancid, as if a small animal died in there months ago and was never cleaned out. There's precious little food there as well. Milk that expired in August. Leftover pizza. Bread that's going moldy. And rows and rows of liquor bottles: beer, sake, bourbon—I feel as if I could name any alcohol in the world and find it present in Gojyo's refrigerator. Something red and sticky is pooled at the bottom of the fridge. Sweet and sour sauce, perhaps?

"We'll have to do without cream." I murmur.

The floor is atrocious. It hasn't been mopped—or swept, I suspect—in months and months and months. Maybe he's never swept or mopped it since the day I left.

In the living room, things look just as bad, if not worse. I see everything from more empty pizza boxes to dirty clothes. Jackets are stewn across the back of the couch, where it appears he's been sleeping, since there's a pillow and a tattered blanket. I see more alcohol bottles, some still with liquid in them, but most of them are empty, candy wrappers, cigarette butts, empty chip bags, more pizza boxes, glasses and cans that are being used for the disposal of cigarette butts, and a pink pair of lacy panties that some hooker obviously left behind. The coffee table we used to have is nowhere to be seen, so everything is strewn all across the floor in disorganized heaps. Aside from arbitrary garbage, there's precious little in the living room. It's stripped—no furniture, no personal items, no decorations—the pornography hanging crookedly on the far wall doesn't count—no personal touch whatsoever. The carpet needs to be vacuumed, and I would even go so far as to shampoo it, if I were him. There's a mysterious stain in the middle of the floor, and it seems to change colors every time I look at it, from puke green to sickly purple, to a very unflattering brown. It looks as if someone threw up near the couch, recently.

Everything in sight needs to be dusted, the curtains are all drawn, and the windows that don't have curtains have blankets hanging over them, giving the house a dark, dismal appearance, and it's as if he's living in an asylum, bare and untouched; the whole place reeks of garbage, smoke, booze, vomit and rotten food.

I stare at the place for the longest time, not sure what to say, part of me wishing there were some way to avoid saying anything at all, and yet that seems somewhat impossible, to simply walk in, set my suitcase down, and start making breakfast without commenting on how awful the place looks. I mean, naturally I expected some mess, because I know my roommate's cleaning habits—or lack thereof—very well, but this is much, much worse than I ever could have imagined. There are blankets covering the windows, for heaven's sake.

Gojyo doesn't say anything either. He's just smoking, as if nothing in the world is wrong. He looks around too, then grins at me, "Sorry it ain't five star."

Several moments pass, and once or twice, I attempt to stammer out something, even if it is just nonsense, but nothing comes through my lips that's even slightly worth uttering.

He raises his eyebrows at me, "Somethin' the matter?"

The house looks almost as bad as he does. How do I tell him that? How do I ask him what the problem is without letting my alarm take over?

Finally, I meet his gaze, "It looks terrible."

Gojyo shrugs, "Yeah, you know how it is… Cleaning." He coughs roughly into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, scrapes the hair out of his face and then grins again. "Guess it's pretty bad, huh?"

"Bad? It's out of control."

"Is it?" He glances around, "I didn't really notice…"

"How could you not? How could you wake up every morning in this pig sty and not notice?"

"Hm."

"Hm?"

"I dunno' dude. My bad."

"Never mind." I sigh. "There's no help for it now."

"Right?" Gojyo smiles at me, but again I notice how wrong it looks. How fake. His behavior has been so natural and careless so far, and yet, it just doesn't match up with that haunted expression, and I can't help but wonder what it is exactly that's gone wrong since I went away.

I touch the bandages on his arm, lightly, "What happened here?"

"Oh that. Just somethin' dumb."

"Those need to be changed, you know."

"Do they? I guess."

Frankly, I'd like to tend to them myself, at once, but first things first. The house is far too messy to be used for any sort of medical operation, regardless of how small.

I smile at him and jerk my head toward the kitchen, "Come here and sit down. You look miserable."

Slowly, he steps past me, looking over his shoulder multiple times as he goes to sit down at the only available chair at the table.

I watch him a moment longer, wondering if I should comment on his wretched condition, but in the end, it's probably best if I don't, so I set Jeep aside, atop a chair, where he'll be safe, and start brewing the coffee. While it's going, I roll up my sleeves to begin the arduous task of cleaning the dishes.

Gojyo practically jumps up, "Woah, woah, woah. Dude, what're you doing?"

"The dishes."

"No, no. No way—you're not coming in here, after traveling all day and night, and washing my disgusting dishes. Not happening." He practically pushes me out of the way to take over.

I watch with vague concern, because he still looks as if he might pass out at any given second. "Now, now." I laugh, "Don't get ahead of yourself—there's plenty to do around here, so you'll get to clean to your heart's content, in a moment, when you're a bit more sober, but until then, please, just sit down and try to get yourself together, Gojyo."

He scowls at me. "Yeah, but…it's not cool."

I push him back into his chair, careful not to knock him down. "It's fine."

Gojyo has nothing more to say, but he keeps watching me, chewing on his cigarette, as I continue with the dishes.

Forty minutes later, most of them are drying on the rack, I've collected and taken out the garbage, and he has coffee and is looking a bit more composed. The Gojyo who opened the door this morning looked almost deranged.

"Who were you expecting?" I ask, beginning to wipe down the counters.

"What?"

"When you opened the door, you acted as if you expected to see someone, but it certainly wasn't me. Who was it?"

"Oh. Nobody. Just some guys I know. Hey, how long're you here for?"

"I haven't decided yet. I have at least a week off, so I suppose I was intending to stay here for most of it, that is, if that's all right with you." I turn to smile at him again.

"Yeah, man." He answers softly, "Whatever you want." There's something melancholy in that tone that fills my heart with a swift pang of earnest compassion and what could nearly be called guilt, because I know perfectly well that he was uncomfortable with my departure and that he likely hasn't come to terms with it yet, even now. I can only hope that doesn't have to do with the condition of the house, or worse still, with his condition.

When the floor is swept and mopped, the kitchen is looking much, much better, so I take my suitcase and walk to the back of the house, where both bedroom doors are shut, which I find odd. When I open the door to my old room, it's untouched, but of course, my bed is gone, and there's nothing but a few boxes he clearly hasn't deemed it necessary to look through. I had nearly forgotten that my room likely wouldn't be suitable for sleeping in.

"I guess you can stay in my room." Gojyo calls from the kitchen.

I'm tentative about that, but I take a look anyway, and I find that it's not as bad as it could be. Of course, it's cluttered and messy and disorganized. The curtains there are drawn as well, there's a bra hanging from the light fixture, and, the strangest thing, the bed has been stripped of all bedding, sheets, pillows, etc. and now stands utterly bare.

Sighing, I set my suitcase down and venture across the hall, into the bathroom, just to see what the damage there is like, and to wash my face, since I have been driving a long time, and it would be nice to freshen up.

Like everything else, the bathroom is filthy: the bath and shower are slimy with mildew, the floor desperately needs attention, and I can barely look at the toilet, seeing how it's spattered with everything from vomit to urine. Frustratingly enough, there's not any sort of towel hanging off the towel rack, however, there are piles of clothes and garbage, like everywhere else in the house. In addition, the mirror is broken, the sink is full of glass, and there are splotches of blood, half-congealed, on the porcelain countertop. The sight disturbs me.

What is going on here?

Back in the kitchen, Gojyo is staring out into space, and I don't like the expression on his face; again, I can't help but notice how wrong it is, how far away and dark, and in a word, unhappy.

"Why have you been sleeping on the couch rather than in your room?"

He doesn't answer. Doesn't move. He's just staring off, distantly, like he has no idea I'm speaking.

"Gojyo." I touch his shoulder, and he jolts back to reality with a jerk.

"Um." He tucks hair behind his ear, "What?"

"You've been sleeping on the couch, I see. Why is that?"

"Oh, Uh. I dunno'. Um, I guess my bed got messed up a little bit ago and I just never…fixed it."

I'm not sure I want to know how his bed got so 'messed up' that he took all the bedding away and never washed them and brought them back. I let it go and say, "Let me see your arm."

"Naw, that's okay." His voice is hasty. "Hey, you don't have to come back here and clean and all that shit. This is kinda' your vacation, right? You can chill out."

I don't want to tell him I didn't come here expecting to have a vacation, so I just listen to his voice as he goes on protesting and making up excuses. It's been so long since I've been near him, months and months since I heard that voice and its nonsensical, flimsy rationalizations, or watched the way he rubs the back of his neck and pushes hair out of his eyes and tries to smile when he doesn't want to. I watch him light his cigarette with a shaky hand and cough into his sleeve before he even takes a drag. It's so familiar, I can't believe I ever left, and suddenly, I can't do anything except sit down next to him and listen to those ridiculous excuses, with all the indulgence of a parent listening to their teenager try to justify his reasoning for why it's not his fault the car was destroyed. Of course, Gojyo's twenty-nine, but he still acts that way, and I'm not shocked. I came back here expecting him to act that way. Of course, what in the world would I do with myself if he suddenly ceased to be that way?

While he's rambling, I start to unwind the bandage around his arm, carefully, and he barely even notices what I'm doing. It's worse than I thought. It's stained with rust-colored blood, brownish-red, with grease-like spots that are yellow, and it's starting to smell. "How long has this been in place?"

"Few days." He says at length.

"How many days?"

"I dunno'. Three? No, four. Maybe five."

The stitches underneath are sticky and a little clotted, but they don't look infected yet. Never-the-less, I give him a look that, I hope, emanates disapproval. "Why haven't you changed them or cleaned this?"

"Just didn't think about it." He coughs.

I shake my head, but he's a bit more sober now, so I say, "Clear off the table, please, won't you?"

Gojyo blinks, then glances around at the accumulation of trash that accosts the tabletop, "What should I do with it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know. It's all your junk, so I can't say, but I assume a lot of it is trash and needs to be thrown away."

He looks at me a moment, and I know he doesn't want to do that, but he doesn't complain, just gets up and starts to clear the table. "Hey, how the hell've you been anyway?"

"I can't complain." I set to looking for the first aid kit, which is likely buried in the hallway closet where it's always been. "I'm doing well, I think." I don't add that he would know how I'm doing if he'd read even one of the numerous letters I've sent him over the past year.

"School's okay?"

"Yes, it's fine. I do a good deal of studying, and I've recently been promoted to manager at my job."

"What kinda' job?"

"Retail. It isn't glamorous, but it's normal, which is what I wanted all along, you know. And it pays my bills, and they treat me fairly, and were even good enough to give me this time off."

"Right."

I manage to find the first aid kit—it's not buried too deeply—and take it back into the kitchen, where it seems he's taking forever to finish his task of cleaning off the table, so I set the kit on the counter and put away some of the drier dishes in the meantime.

"So, you married yet?"

I laugh, "Goodness, no. Why would you think that? I've only been gone a year."

He turns to look at me a long moment, like he's trying to decide if he should say a certain something. His gaze is bleak, and the shine that I'm so familiar with is gone from it. I want to reach out and touch him, but I don't know that it would help in any way.

"Gotta' girlfriend?"

"No, I'm frightfully boring, I'm afraid. Mostly I study and work, and I'm terribly dedicated to school. Perhaps I'll attend to such things when I've completed my degree."

"When's that?"

"A few more years."

Nodding, he scrapes a pile of papers, heedlessly, into the trash. It looks like it's mostly junk mail, but it's not impossible that something important has gotten mixed up in it.

I chuckle to myself at his familiar carelessness and irresponsibility.

"Well, that's cool." He grins. "Sounds like you're doin' okay. Good for you, pal."

"It's nice to have a normal life at last."

The smile fades, just a touch. "I bet."

Questioningly, I watch him, but he doesn't say anything to let onto why his tone suggests at such hopelessness. "And you. How have you been, Gojyo?"

He coughs fiercely and finishes raking the last bit of trash into the garbage can, and all that's left is my pile of letters, isolated and untouched. He looks at them a moment, like he doesn't quite know what to do with them, and then he picks them up, casually, as if he thinks I have no idea what they are, or that I haven't noticed that they're unopened, and takes them away, into the other room. "Oh, you know. Same old same old around here. Can't you tell?"

It looks like a bit too much of the 'same old same old' to me.

"And what of you personally? Your health for example?"

"Meh. I'm getting old." He reappears in the kitchen doorway, holding his side strangely.

"You don't look as if you're getting old. You look exceptionally young."

He's not convinced. "Still."

It's odd. I think that what I said should have launched us into a volley of teasing insults and laughter, but for whatever reason, it didn't, and his expression is very troubled now.

"You're only turning thirty."

He exhales a long stream of white smoke. His expression is all wrong, his mood inexplicable. Still, I wouldn't trade that look on his face and the heavy smell of cigarette smoke in the air, and the unkempt sight of him for anything in the world right now.

I gesture to the chair again, "Let me look at your arm."

Reluctantly, and slowly, he sits down rolling his sleeve up to the shoulder, and I set to cleaning the stitches, and we're silent a long while. The wound looks as if it was deep, but it's clean, though, if I had to guess, it barely missed his artery. It's not the kind of wound one would obtain just hanging around in their home town. I rewrap the bandages, stoutly, then start to dress his hand. The lacerations there look more recent, so I assume they came from a separate incident. Gojyo smokes quietly as I work, and he keeps his gaze directed away from me, leaving me to sincerely question the manner in which he came by these injuries.

"There." I say with a smile, when I'm finished, "Much better, don't you think? You're far too careless, you know—such injuries are not the sort of thing one is supposed to neglect."

"Yeah, I know. So, I guess…you better look at this one too."

Before I can ask him to clarify, he lifts his shirt to reveal more bandages, wound about his waist, and there's a fairly large patch of only partially dried blood soaking into them on his left side.

I frown at him out of pure concern, but he misreads my expression.

"Sorry."

"I don't mind." I snip the bandages off with ease.

There's a wound in his side that's even deeper than the one in his arm. It looks as though he's been stabbed with a long, broad, very sharp knife. It was likely serrated as well, and this wound is much more agitated than the other. It's close to being infected.

I frown even more. "Where did you get stabbed?"

"In a fight."

"With a combat knife?"

"I didn't bother to ask the guy what kinda' knife it was." He sniffs, sounding almost defiant.

"Why were you fighting with him?"

"He attacked me."

"Over what?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember? How can that be?"

Annoyance comes to life in his eyes, much more quickly and much more sincerely than I'm accustomed to, and he seems almost angry about it, but it's not a type of anger I'm familiar with. "It's none of your business, okay? If you don't wanna' deal with it, just say so."

"I have absolutely every intention of dealing with it." I answer very patiently. I'm not used to him becoming so curt so abruptly, but I don't let it ruffle me either, though I do hesitate to give him a long, measuring look, "It's not a question of that, Gojyo; it's a severe wound, and it concerns me, and I'm just interested in knowing how you came by it. That's all."

He doesn't seem completely convinced, but he mutters, "Don't worry about it, okay?"

I merely shake my head at him, a vague gesture of dissatisfaction, and then I set to work on the stab wound, "Then, may I ask why you've not gone to see Ton about this?"

"I've been busy."

"Busy drinking too much?" I give him another probing stare.

Looking a little bothered, Gojyo turns his head away and blows smoke through his nose.

In a while, I'm finished, "I hope that's all of it."

He nods, absently, and I go to wash my hands. "I'd offer to make breakfast, however, it doesn't look like there's much around here to prepare, so may I make the suggestion that we go out to get something to eat?"

"Oh, uh. We could I guess. I better warn you though—I'm completely broke." He smiles, flippantly, as if that's no great concern.

"Are you really completely broke?"

"Well." He glances around. "I might be able to find a thousand yen lying around, somewhere in here, but yeah, pretty much."

I linger by the sink, momentarily, to look him over once more, and to take several things into consideration. On top of being 'completely broke', he really is a total mess, and his injuries have me concerned in that, they're so severe, I feel that he shouldn't be doing anything outside of sitting at home and resting. But, he should eat too, especially since he has a hang over. Hurriedly, I make up my mind. It will be noon by the time we get into town, and then we can pick a place to eat, take our time with our meal, get a little catching up out of the way, and probably be back here by three. Three hours away from home won't kill him, and when we return, I intend to clean the house; in the meantime, I'll see to it that Gojyo lies down somewhere to give his injuries a rest. Honestly, I had hoped to employ his assistance in tidying up around here, but it's out of the question if I know he's hurt, and had I known about the stab wound in his side, I wouldn't have so much as asked him to clear off the table.

It's the best plan I can come up with, so I say, "Don't concern yourself with it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, I'll pay for it."

"No, c'mon, Hakkai, you don't have to do that."

"I know. Do you feel well enough to walk, or shall we drive? Personally, I'd prefer to walk; I think the fresh air and the physical exercise might do you good, so it's really a matter of whether you feel up to it or not."

"Dude, I dunno'…"

"Your reluctance is senseless, Gojyo; I'm hungry, and I'm going to go eat, so you may as well come along, don't you think?"

He chews his cigarette with familiar, but inexplicable anxiety, then nods slowly, and gets up to prepare for our departure.

While he's at it, I go back into the bathroom and carefully clean the glass out of the sink so I can wash my face and feel a bit revived. I call out, "What did you do to the bathroom mirror?"

"Punched its lights out."

"What in the world for?"

"It was pissing me off."

I accept that without comment. After all, what can I say? One could only assume that it had been something in the mirror that had set him off, and there was only one thing people tended to see in the mirror. With any luck, it's just a result of his drunken antics, and not of some deeper, psychological disturbance.

In the end, I opt to walk into town, partly because I've driven for so long already, and partly because going into town in Jeep will only draw unwanted attention to myself. Gojyo assures me that his injuries aren't bothering him, and that walking will be all right, but never-the-less, I keep a close eye on him as we make our way along, and for the most part, he seems fine, aside from the fact that he's favoring his right leg, ever so slightly, a detail which I'm careful to log away until later, at which point, I intend to bring it up and uncover why he's limping. I'd failed at persuading him to take a shower, but he's cleaned up a little, thankfully, hair pulled back in a somewhat neater ponytail, wearing dark sunglasses so I can't see how bloodshot his eyes are, nor how dark the circles under them are, and he's even changed into a cleaner shirt and jeans. As we go along, he's spirited enough, if not a little tired, and he slings his arm around my neck and fills me in on the town's idle gossip and rumors, although I'm not even slightly interested in that information, but I do feel glad to be beside him, and I walk quite a ways with my hand resting on his shoulder. It's good to be near him, no matter how out of sorts he seems to be, and I'm consumed by how much I've missed him in this last year. I've missed everything about him: his jokes, his laughter, his strength, even his crassness and his glibness, and most of all, the way I can tell him anything, and let him see me in any way, without fear of being belittled, judged or criticized. In a way, it's been nearly unbearable to be away from him for so long—I'm living every day with the sense that I'm missing something terribly important—and it's been difficult, knowing what to do without him.

By and by, I nudge at him, "Well, how are Goku and Sanzo?"

"They're cool, I think. Sanzo's always on my case; Goku's some kinda' martial arts sensei now."

"Yes, Sanzo mentioned that to me in one of his letters. Well, that's good in any case; I should think it's something Goku would excel at."

Gojyo turns to me, almost nervously, I think, "Sanzo writes you?"

I keep my voice neutral, "Of course. How else could we be expected to keep in touch?"

He's quiet for a while after that.

"Does he really still get on your case?"

"What, is he supposed to stop some day?" Gojyo snorts.

"Well, you could attempt to stop giving him things to be on your case for." I tease, jerking on his ponytail.

"Yeah right." He laughs, but I get the feeling he's not joking at all, "That guy hates my guts."

I find it interesting that, after ten years, he's still never figured Sanzo out.

"Why do you say that? Did something happen?"

He's hesitant. I sense that he wants to tell me something, suddenly, something important, but in the end, he merely shrugs and grins, "I don't remember doing anything wrong. Maybe he said something about it in one of his letters to you."

I consider what Sanzo did say in his letter, but it's not enough to even mention at this point in time, though I'm sure I'll have to bring it up, eventually.

"If you've done something to upset him, he hasn't told me anything about it."

"Then I guess he's just pissed about nothing, as usual."

"Possible. Sanzo's temper isn't improving with age, I'm afraid. In any case, I may go see the two of them later—I had intended to invite you, but that wound in your side makes me feel dubious about you traveling such a long distance."

"It's not that bad."

"I think it's rather severe. And that reminds me. If you don't mind my asking, are you broke because your condition has kept you from going out and making money?"

Gojyo doesn't answer right away, and his expression is somewhat veiled and secretive. "Maybe. I dunno'." He smirks at me, "Maybe I've just been unlucky lately."

I smile back, even though I feel like he's dodged every question I've asked him, but by this time, we've come to a small café which, when I lived here, I used to frequent on a regular basis. They serve good food for a reasonable price, and the owner is gracious; the staff is friendly and accommodating, and the other patrons tend to be quiet, good-natured, pleasant people, for the most part. Generally, I never used to invite Gojyo to come eat here with me—it was a place I'd go to, occasionally, if I had finished tutoring a student a bit early, for lunch or early dinner—and in those days, I'd seen it as a sort of respite, coming to a place that was solitary and tidy, to sit and read, or perhaps engage in brief, polite conversation with people who were as well brought up as myself. Today, I'm terribly glad of my rowdy company, and I smile to myself as I muse on the irony of it all.

"Try to behave." I tell him, just for the sake of saying it. "I like this place."

"Yeah? I think I've only been in here like twice."

"It's good, and it's not terribly expensive, and I have friends in here, more often than not." I open the door for him.

"Okay, okay, I'll be good." He gives me an insolent wink as we step inside.

A waitress I know quite well is there, and she greets me warmly, "Hakkai-san! Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Sami. How've you been?"

"Ah, well, I've missed my favorite customer, you know. People say you're going to school now, far away."

"It's true, I'm afraid."

"How fun." She smiles at me, and I catch a glimpse of the sparkle in her eyes. Before I moved, I had often gotten the impression that Sami held some sort of attraction toward me, though she'd never gone out of her way to bring it up, and at the time, I hadn't been looking for a relationship, but now I think of what I told Gojyo, that when I finish my degree, I may consider finding someone.

Sami's an attractive enough young lady, though she's not exactly what one would call beautiful. She does have a pretty face, as well as a lively disposition, and I know that, despite her feminine appearance, she's strong-willed and sturdy. I remember the day I did make the mistake of bringing Gojyo in here with me, and he, naturally, made a pass at her, only to be slapped, smartly, in return. Even now, she's hardly acknowledging his presence.

She leads us across the room to a booth which used to be my favorite, "Aren't you a little old for school, Hakkai-san?"

"Some of my peers seem to think so, but I don't think we should allow a little aging to impede progress, do you?"

"I guess not." She laughs and lays our menus down as we take our respective seats, "Orange juice this morning?"

"Two, please."

Sami hurries away.

Gojyo's sitting across from me rubbing his temples methodically, "I don't drink orange juice."

"You should. It's good for you." I pick up a menu and look it over, "Well, now that I think of it, it's rather late for breakfast, isn't it, Gojyo? In fact, it's past time for lunch."

"Meh. I'll probably throw up anything I eat anyway."

I frown, looking at him over the top of my menu, "Did you really drink that much last night?"

"I guess maybe I overdid it a little."

"Who was with you?"

He hesitates to light a cigarette, stares out the window a moment, at some woman who's walking by, but I can see clearly that he's purposely biding his time, because he doesn't want to answer me. "Who? Um. Nobody."

"No one?"

He shrugs, "It was just one of those nights."

It seems out of character to me, none-the-less, for him to sit at home, alone, and drink so much that he was still utterly intoxicated when I arrived at ten-til-eleven.

"I hope that's not standard routine these days?"

"Nah, it's just 'cause I'm broke, and I have some booze at home. No big deal."

I decide to believe him, solely because I want to believe him, and because, if I don't believe him, I'll start to worry, even more than I'm already worried. I've been a bit uneasy ever since I read Sanzo's letter, but the honest worry began this morning when he opened the door and I saw first-hand how negligent he's been recently.

Sami comes back, and we order, and the two of us joke around a bit and do a little catching up, and she even goes so far as to sit down in the booth, next to me, for a minute or two, before she goes away.

Once she's gone, Gojyo sighs, abruptly, takes his sunglasses off to rub his eyes, "Hey, what's it like at Li Ying?"

"Ah, Li Ying is…a typical school. The village is just a bit smaller than this town, I should think, and there are mostly humans living there, so the economy wasn't very badly affected when the youkai went berserk." I find that I'm all too glad to answer his question. I want to tell him about school, and my town, and the life I'm living. I want to share it with him in any way I can, and have the simple satisfaction of knowing that he has a grasp of where I am and what I do and how I spend my days, all for the basic reason that he's my closest friend, and I'm used to having him involved, to a degree, in my life. "Truth be told, it's a rather conservative, straight-laced community, full of honest, hard-working people who are just trying to make a living."

"Then you must fit in perfectly." He snorts.

"I suppose. Though, I must admit, I wish I had at least one or two friends I could have some fun with. I find honest, hard-working people to be quite boring."

That's my way of telling him how much I wish he were with me, but Gojyo doesn't catch on, doesn't laugh, doesn't tease me about being boring myself, the way I want him to. Instead, he scoffs, suddenly, puts his cigarette out in the ashtray, with some signs of agitation, "That's what people our age do anyway, right? Work their fingers to nubs. Get jobs. Support families."

A long while passes, in which I study him intently. There's something in his expression that hints at frustration when he speaks those words, and what's more, something dark and unfamiliar enters his eyes. At last I say, "Life has a natural way of progressing, Gojyo. Most people our age find themselves in that position quite purposefully, because they're bored with the way they lived when they were younger. It's inevitable to feel that way, eventually—that's part of growing up."

Gojyo sighs again, but heavier this time. "Yeah, I guess."

"With every step maturity takes, one finds themselves longing for something more challenging and interesting. That's why you don't tend to see people in their twenties hanging around in video arcades or out in schoolyards—they go to clubs and bars. Same principles apply."

He very nearly glares at me, "What's wrong with going to clubs and bars when you're thirty?"

"Nothing. What I'm trying to say is, working hard and trying to start a family is something people feel compelled to do as they get older, because they're sick of having meaningless relationships and being broke and constantly feeling alone."

"Right. Yeah. Whatever. Hey, where the hell's our food?"

"We haven't been waiting very long." I go on, casually, because it's quite obvious that he's adamant about changing the subject. "Are you beginning to feel better?"

"I guess so. That reminds me, what're we gonna' do about food for the rest of the time you're here? We can't do this three times a day for a whole week."

"I suppose we'll have to go and purchase some groceries."

He frowns. "I dunno' how I'm gonna' buy food when I'm out of money, Hakkai."

"We'll figure something out." I sip my orange juice.

"It's not cool for you to come here and wind up paying for everything just because I'm broke."

"There's likely very little else that can be done."

"I just wish I'd known you were coming."

"Yes, that would have been convenient for both of us, but I suppose there's no sense in worrying over it now, since you didn't. In any case, I don't think it's cause for worry: a week isn't very long."

He doesn't seem reassured.

I consider asking him why he didn't bother to read my letter, because if he had, he would have known I'd be here. Not that it would improve his monetary situation, but still, it would have been nice to be expected. In the end, I don't want to bring that up, because I have a feeling it could incite an argument.

Sami brings our food, and we eat a while in silence before I say, "You know, we lived with one another for years, so I don't think a little compromise is out of the question for us."

Gojyo never answers, and I can't even guess what he's thinking of.

For a while, I watch him pick, meagerly, at his food, never so much as glancing up at me, and I consider asking him if everything's all right with him, because his mood is still ever so subtly off, and has been all morning, but again, I'm nervous about where such a question will lead us to, so I refrain.

"You're probably pretty popular at school, huh?" He asks, eventually.

"Oh, not exactly. As I said earlier, I'm very dedicated to the work itself, and that doesn't tend to help one make friends. Also, most of the other students are younger than me."

"Yeah, well what about your room mate? How's he deal with your nagging?"

"Room mate?" I echo, giving him a curious look.

"Yeah, you know. The other guy you buy breakfast and clean up after." He grins. To the casual observer, it would look like a standard smile, but I can see otherwise. I can see the anxiety and the annoyance and the vague touch of hurt beyond it.

"There is no such person. I don't have a room mate."

Gojyo appears a bit surprised, and a little uncertain as well.

I have the strangest urge then, to reassure him, because that odd smile is haunting me, even when it's fallen from his face. "I mean it, Goj." I tell him quietly, "I don't have a new room mate."

To think he could actually expect me to go off and replace him so easily. I'm hurt he would think that.

"And before you ask, I don't have a new best friend either."

"Yeah, I didn't think so." He smirks, slowly. "I'm hard to replace."

Normally, I would tease him, perhaps say that I haven't found one because I've been too busy to look for one, or because I haven't fallen down to die in the rain recently, but at the moment, I'm a little afraid that anything less than sincerity could prove to be detrimental to our relationship, and that's only due to the obscure and subtle oddness I keep getting glimpses of while we're together. "That's quite true. In fact, I haven't so much as bothered attempting to do so, because I highly doubt it's possible to begin with."

Gojyo laughs. It seems genuine, for the most part, but I can also sense how nervous and hopeful it is, as if the extremely authentic truth I just told him is something too lofty for him to even wish for, and I'm frustrated, because, before I went away, it's something I wouldn't have even had to say to him out loud, because it's something he should know already.

The longer we sit at lunch, the more I feel as if I made a weighty mistake, leaving him here, but then, I'm not really sure what I could have done to change the situation.

It was a long time ago when I decided I was ready to move on with my life—several years ago—we'd been home from India for a while, and although I'd been able to see that all my companions were settling back into the old way of life rather easily, I'd felt the vaguest sense of discontent. Not unhappiness, I suppose, just a need to experience something different, so I'd thought on it a long while, until I was able to pinpoint what it was I wanted from my life, and even when I'd figured it out, I'd taken my time saying anything about it to anyone.

First and foremost, I'd brought it up with Sanzo, in a rare moment when the two of us were alone together, because, although it had been years since the Three Aspects of Buddhism had ordered him to keep watch over me, and things were substantially different since then, it had felt right to say something to him; not to ask permission, exactly, but to inform him of my intentions, and to take counsel from him.

Sanzo had been very typical about it. He'd snorted and said, "Do what you want. I never thought you'd stay here forever, Hakkai."

"No, of course not, but things being what they are, I wanted to be sure I'm allowed to leave." And then I'd laughed, because even I'd realized how silly that sounded.

Sanzo didn't laugh though. He'd simply said, "Well, I imagine that idiot will go with you. I guess that means I'll have to find some new rags to clean up my messes. I'm not sure I trust Goku."

"Oh." I'd frowned at him, without meaning to, "I rather doubt Gojyo will accompany me this time, Sanzo."

Sanzo had looked up, abruptly, from his paperwork, "Why would you think that? Everyone knows he will…unless you two had some major falling out." His eyes had narrowed suspiciously.

"We haven't. I intend to invite him, of course, but I don't expect him to accept the offer."

Sanzo hadn't believed me, and in my absence, he must have seen fit to mention it to Goku, because the next time I went to visit them on my own, Goku had told me that he'd heard that we might be leaving.

"I might be leaving." I'd corrected at once. "If I do, I really don't think Gojyo's going to go with me."

He hadn't understood that any more than Sanzo had; they'd both acted as if it were utterly absurd to think I could move away and not have Gojyo come with me.

It wasn't impossible for him to do so, I'd realized, but, then again, I knew him very well, and, given the circumstances—that is, where I was going and what I was hoping to accomplish—I was relatively certain that he'd opt to stay behind.

In the end, Gojyo was the last one to hear of my intentions, though I hadn't planned for it to go that way, and up until I said something, he'd remained blissfully ignorant of my desires. When we'd come back from India, he'd fallen easily back into step with his old life. The town we'd lived in had changed since we'd left to stop the revival, but never-the-less, there were still casinos, bars, willing opponents, and easy women, so he'd gone back to his lifestyle as if he'd never been away, and that was part of what had bothered me to begin with.

Our journey to India was so incredible, and we'd all seen so much and been so far, experiencing so much personal growth over those few years of travel, I didn't see how I could possibly go back to living the way I had before the trip, because I wasn't the same man anymore, in many ways, and I wanted more: peace, for one thing, success and contentment, for another. I had known that my three companions had grown and changed as well, and that the three of them wanted something different too. That was why Goku had become more involved around the temple, and even Sanzo had become more serious and steadfast in his duties than ever before.

So I'd looked around at my stagnant life, and even though it was a life I'd enjoyed for many years, it wasn't satisfying any longer, and I'd committed myself to the idea that I should like to change it, that I should like to pursue the things I'd always wanted when I was a child: the job, the respectability, the home, the income, and, eventually, the family. For the time being, there were still moments when Kanan's death haunted me, but more and more, I was coming to terms with that, and more and more, I was realizing that I didn't want to be alone forever.

Gojyo, in the midst of his gambling and drinking and fighting and playing, hadn't even guessed at my thoughts. He hadn't made any modifications to his life, and, at the time, I didn't suspect he would care to do so. I knew it then though that my going away would be a sudden and jolting wake-up call for him, and what I'm seeing now may very well be symptoms of that. I know that he didn't go with me because he didn't think he'd fit in there, and I know he won't leave this town to go anywhere else, because he wouldn't want to go off and be totally alone again, and so I know that I, unintentionally, left him in an awkward position, stuck, one might say: not wanting to stay, not having anywhere better to go. Still, what was I to do? Sacrifice everything I'd ever wanted out of life? Keep waiting, perhaps for years, for Gojyo of all people to grow up and reach a point where he'd either be comfortable with going with me or with staying behind? I'd fought with the thoughts for months, battling the guilt and going back and forth inside my own head. As much as he means to me, I couldn't live my life for him. What's more, I couldn't live his life for him. But what would it mean for him if I packed up all my belongings and drove away? Perhaps the anxiety and the wound of being abandoned as a child is mostly healed now, just as my wounds from the loss of Kanan are mostly healed, but I'd feared that watching me drive away from him could re-open that scar, and badly at that.

Months had passed with my debating over it, and he'd gone through life, completely unaware of my frustration.

I remember the day I told him I meant to leave.

We were sitting outside, on our stoop, side by side as the sun was beginning to set, holding our usual discussions and making our usual jokes, and, all in all, just enjoying one another's company. He was smoking, of course, and even then, he was already beginning to have a cough, so I'd been giving him a hard time over that.

Eventually, we came to a point of long, comfortable silence, and finally, within that silence, I'd found the resolve to look at him and say, casually, "I've been thinking…"

"Oh, yeah?" He sounded so utterly calm, so ready for anything I could say. He had probably thought he was ready for anything, because after knowing each other for nearly ten years, and experiencing so much hardship together, there probably really wasn't a lot either of us could say that would shock the other. So he likely was ready for nearly anything…except what I was about to say.

That idea held me back a moment, forcing me to reconsider. Even then, I was still quite sure he'd never go with me, regardless of how I hoped that he would, but if he didn't want to go, I'd have to deeply consider what that would mean for both of us.

"About what?" He'd asked, when some time passed.

"I've been thinking about going away."

"Hn. Really? Where to?"

"I haven't decided on a place yet, though I've been exploring several different options."

"Didn't you get all the road-trippin' out of your system?"

"I wasn't thinking of a road trip per say."

He'd turned to grin at me, "Don't tell me you're gonna' start walking places."

"No. I'd have to drive, naturally."

"So what? Vacation?"

At the time, I couldn't discern whether he honestly didn't understand where I was coming from, or if he simply didn't want to face it. To me, it seemed odd that he could deny the reality of what I was telling him with such vivacity, but then again, I couldn't rule out the possibility that, to him, everything was fine this way, and that he thought no one was going to go changing things without warning.

"Not…exactly a vacation."

He was silent then.

I highly doubted he'd figured it out though, "I'm talking about moving, Gojyo. Moving away."

Gojyo had nothing to say to that.

I went on, a bit firmly, "There's always been very little for me, here in this town, and since we've come back from India, this place seems all the more bleak. Since I'm no longer incapacitated by my losses and my regrets, I think it may be time for me to attempt to move on, so I've been thinking of going back to school and brushing up on my skills. I thought it might be exciting to be a professor myself, some day."

He'd just smirked, very vaguely, for no discernable reason.

"It's not… That is, I'm not unhappy, here, it's more that, after everything that's happened in my life, I find myself longing for something…a bit more normal, I suppose."

Gojyo had turned away and stared off into the distance a while, not saying a word.

So I'd added, softly, "You're more than welcome to come with me, of course."

Again, he'd smirked, "Alright. We'll see."

But I'd known immediately, just from the way he'd said it, that he wasn't going to even consider it, and that it wasn't because he didn't want to go with me, but that our separation would be brought about by something much more internal and much more difficult to overcome than a mere difference in whims.

I'd also realized that I was right in assuming that he hadn't been expecting any of what I'd said. Not by any means.

Now I look across the table at him, and I know everything has gone all wrong since I left one year ago, and I can't help feeling guilty over it, even when I asked him to go with me, at least a dozen times. Even on the day of my departure, I said it to him, just as clearly and honestly as I possibly could, given the emotional distress I was in.

"Why in the world won't you just accompany me? You know I want you to, don't you?"

He hadn't even smiled as he'd answered, "Just like you know I can't."

It didn't even matter why he thought that he couldn't—I'd attempted to change his mind what felt like a hundred times—he was dead-set in that belief, and he was going to let it control his decision.

Now I feel like it's my fault things are this way, even though I did everything in my power to keep it from winding up like this, so perhaps I only feel that way because I don't want to blame him.

What I do want, is to ask him if everything is all right, because his physical appearance, and the look in his eyes, and the condition of the house, and the thing Sanzo said to me in his letter, all indicate to me that everything is not all right, but I should think that, if Gojyo wanted to tell me things aren't all right, he would, and I also think that I shouldn't have to go dragging it out of him like he's a hormonal teenager. I think he's almost thirty and he should have grown out of all this silly, nonsensical behavior by now.

Still, he hasn't, and I'm not surprised, so I say nothing about it, but I do go ahead and ask, "How do you feel?"

Gojyo looks back at me, seeming rather bewildered, "Feel? I dunno', okay."

"How was your food?" I gesture to his half-eaten meal.

He shifts around. "Fine. I'm just not that hungry."

"Your injuries don't hurt, do they?"

"Nah. Not a lot."

I nod. "You should try to take it easy on them for a while, and make sure they're dressed and cleaned—even when I'm not around to tell you to take care of yourself, you should still do it."

Gojyo's face clouds over, a little embarrassed, and perhaps a little annoyed, but he doesn't so much as grumble an excuse.

I smile at him, and then go to pay the bill.

Shortly after that, we leave the restaurant and start to walk. I'm in a reasonable hurry, seeing how he's injured and he honestly should be resting at home, not strolling all over town, but Gojyo doesn't seem to be, and he saunters along, unbothered.

"What're we gonna' do today?"

"I'm not sure. Most of the plans I had half-baked in my mind likely aren't appropriate anymore."

"Like what?"

"For instance, I had meant to go visit Sanzo more or less right away, and I also intended to spend the entire day with you, which is why I came so early in the morning."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well." I sigh, "Things being what they are…I'm just not sure those things are plausible activities for today."

"Why?"

I glance at him, wondering if he's just playing stupid now.

The expression he gives back to me, eyebrow cocked, eyes clear, is honestly, sincerely confused.

I return, calmly, "You're hurt. I didn't anticipate that."

"Ah, fuck." He growls, suddenly, "Don't start that shit with me again."

"Again?"

Gojyo shakes his head, irritably, "It's not that bad, Hakkai."

I'm still wondering about the 'again', but I continue, "Well, I don't expect you to die from it, obviously, but never-the-less, I'm not going to ask you to push yourself, so, in light of that, I believe our best course of action is just to return home, for the time being."

"Home? For real?"

"Yes, I think it's for the best."

"You drove all the way back here just to sit around at home?"

"No, I didn't, but as I was saying, the things I had intended to do when I arrived here are no longer appropriate."

"Yeah, well I sit around at home all the fucking time, and I don't wanna' waste the week you're here doing the same shit I do every day."

"Naturally, I don't expect that you'd want to do that, but given the circumstances, I doubt it really matters if it's what you want or not."

"Please. It's not that bad. They're just a couple scratches."

"Scratches don't usually require dozens of stitches."

"Still. C'mon, I'm not saying we have to run out and do something hardcore, but we could at least bum around town a while."

I sigh, because he's being even more stubborn than usual, and because I think that someone who's thirty should be responsible enough to at least take care of their injuries properly. "Honestly, I don't care what we do. I just don't want to watch you push yourself and end the day by dragging you to the surgeon."

Gojyo grins that stupid, flippant, annoying smile that I've missed so much, "No worries. Let's just hang out a while, then we'll go back to the house."

I cave in, reluctantly, in the face of his devil-may-care desires, just as I have dozens of times in the past, reminding myself that, as long as I keep his injuries in mind, and I prevent him from doing anything too exhaustive, he should be all right. "Oh, very well. But you'd better tell me if you feel any pain or discomfort, fatigue, dizziness—"

"Headache, stomach ache, menstrual cramps. I promise." He flashes another insolent smile.

I can't help smiling back, in spite of my uneasiness, "If you fall down and pass out, I'm not carrying you home."

"Yeah, I know." He slings his arm around my shoulders.

We spend a bit of time strolling around town, having nowhere to go and nothing to do, revisiting places and things we used to go to together, and it's all pleasant enough. As I said, outside of being concerned for his health, I don't particularly care what activity we indulge in, because I'm just happy to be near him.

Along the way, a number of people look at me strangely, or greet me. Some are quite excited to see me, and they, at times, embrace me, or else detain me long enough to ask how I am, where I've been, and inquire about what I've been doing, which reminds me that I left numerous loose ends in this town. I don't recall that I told very many people that I was even leaving in the first place.

The more people we encounter, the cheerier Gojyo seems to become, until I almost wonder if I imagined those things which I had perceived to be amiss. I assume his hangover is going away, thanks to the food he's eaten, so it could be that alcohol was the culprit all along. He walks with his arm around my neck, carrying on in his usual manner about the same old, trivial nonsense, which I'm all too thrilled to listen to, because what I've missed the most about Gojyo is just being with him while he's acting like himself.

Not everyone in town is happy to see me, unfortunately. A lot of them give me a wary, or even disdainful look. We pass a group of ladies, and I hear one hiss something about 'that youkai'.

Of course, discrimination has been a big deal, even after we put a stop to the revival. Very few youkai had the audacity to return to the homes they had been living in when they went berserk, too ashamed to face the neighbors they'd attacked or terrorized, but after some time had gone by, and the chaos was a ways behind us, a number of new youkai did move into our town, though they're almost entirely segregated from human society now. They frequent the same places and shop in the same stores, and it's not as if they're not allowed, but for the most part, they keep to themselves, and no one complains. It's all part of the healing process. I should think that, in a few more years, things will be going back to normal, and eventually, they'll be better than they ever were. It will just take time.

In the meantime, I don't bother myself with it.

Gojyo stops suddenly, right in front of a bar we used to go into often, before I moved. "Let's go in here for a sec."

"In here?" I eye it dubiously. It looks as divey and as seedy as ever, though it's certainly not the worst bar in town. It's one I would never go into without him though.

"Yeah, let's say hey to some of the guys."

"I think that could be a bad idea." I reply, tentatively.

"Going into the bar? Why?"

Where to begin? Because he's hurt? Because he looks like hell? Because he, until recently, was complaining about his hangover, and was so drunk last night that he felt inclined to break the bathroom mirror? Because he's already acting so strangely? Because he claims not to have any money? Because it's not even two-o'clock yet?

"Well, I was under the impression that you're completely broke, and I thought you might want to save whatever money available to you for food, or something equally essential."

And, now that I think of it, why in the world should I have to tell him any of that?

"I got a tab."

"That's not the same as having money."

"It'll be okay."

"Yes, but it's only just past noon, Gojyo. Much too early to start drinking."

"Whatever. We're just gonna' have a beer. I didn't say we'd be in here all night."

"What about your hangover?"

"It's pretty much gone."

"Yes, but don't you think-"

"C'mon, Hakkai, live a little. When's the last time you had some fun?"

At this point, I could bring up all my other reasons for why it's a bad idea; I could express all my fears and concerns, but, truthfully, it has been a while since I had a good time, and it's been even longer since I had a good time with Gojyo, so I give in.

"Very well, a drink. But you had better control yourself in here."

He complains about that, half-heartedly, "What's the deal? You act like you turn thirty and you can't have a good time anymore. Are we really supposed to be that boring now?"

"Not at all. Under the circumstances though, it would just be a bit irresponsible to go overboard." Personally, I can't think of anything more mortifying than watching him get drunk, fall on his face, and be incapable of paying his own tab as I drag him out of the bar. Also, if he falls down, he'll probably damage the stitches he has in his side, and then I really will wind up taking him to the doctor.

Come to think of it, I can hardly believe I agreed to come inside.

"Gawd." He snorts, blasting a stream of smoke through his nostrils, "You've gotten way worse, know that?"

I laugh, "I agree that one or two drinks won't hurt us, even if it is just past one forty-five, but you had better bear in mind the circumstances: you seem to have no money, and if, for whatever reason, they expect you to settle the tab tonight, when we leave, you had better be able to deal with it, because if you can't, I'll probably have to. Is that so unreasonable?"

Gojyo sniffs.

I smile, pleasantly.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time, Mom. Hey, barkeep. Get this guy a drink before he drives me crazy."

The bartender, Jai-Soo, is a man I remember from before I moved away, a human who came into the town after we returned from India, who's thin, wiry, approximately forty-six, with very dark eyes, and a nose that's been broken at least twice.

He calls back, "Keep your shirt on, Gojyo, you fuckin' lush, I-"

When he notices me, he cuts off and smiles, broadly, "Hey, what'dya' know? Cho Hakkai! It's all over town you came back, but I didn't think you'd wind up here."

Gojyo leans on the bar and starts to smoke.

I return the smile, "My, news certainly travels quickly in this town, doesn't it? Still, I think you should have expected it, Jai-Soo. This is where we always come when Gojyo needs a stiff drink in the middle of the day."

"There're swankier places this bum could take you to if you're just in town for a little while, huh, Gojyo? You always gotta' be such a fuckin' cheapskate?"

"Just be happy we came into this dive, Jai-Soo. Now you gonna' pour me a shot, or do I have to go over there and do it myself."

"Now wait a minute. You got any money?"

"Put it on my tab, smart ass."

"Your tab's running pretty high these days. You ever gonna' pay it?"

"Yeah, of course. At the end of the month, like always."

"Like always? Listen here, smart ass, your tab was due three months ago, and you can't take advantage of my generosity forever."

I shoot Gojyo a caustic look.

He doesn't appear even remotely bothered, "Na?"

"Your tab is three months overdue? You failed to mention that."

"Jai-Soo's just being a bitch—it's not a big deal, I'll just pay it at the end of the month, when I've got some money."

"How high is your tab?"

Jai-Soo whistles, but Gojyo cuts him off, "None of your business. Now you gonna' drink or what?"

I'm decidedly irritated, but I request hot sake just the same, because I'm determined to enjoy the moment, regardless of the consequences that may come later.

Gojyo gets a shot of whiskey.

"That isn't a beer." I say, somewhat severely.

"No big deal though. One shot of whiskey's just like having a beer—it's just quicker." His subsequent smile is triumphant, as if the nonsense he just concocted is written in stone somewhere.

"Remember you said we wouldn't be here very long." I remind him, barely concealing my disapproval.

"I know." He smirks. "Let's go play pool."

"If you want. I'll join you in just a moment."

He sets out to join a handful of men at the nearest pool table, and I take the opportunity to turn to Jai-Soo again.

He raps his knuckles on the polished top of the bar, before I can speak, "Enjoy your sake. It's on the house."

"That's very generous, thank-you. However, you may as well go ahead and open a tab for me—I have a feeling I'll be here much longer than I intend to be—and you may as well put his drinks on it as well from now on. The two of us can settle up later."

Jai-Soo's dark eyes brighten a bit, "That's nice of you."

"Oh, I just don't want to be embarrassed is all."

"All righty, you got it." He lingers a second, as if there's more to say, and then begins to turn away, thinks better of it, looks back at me to say, "It's a good thing you're back."

It's inexplicable, and startling, and I blink myself out of confusion, but by the time I begin to ask why that is, he's already off to serve a different patron, and I'm not entirely sure I want to know in the first place.

For the rest of the afternoon, the bar stays decidedly empty. It's a weekday after all, and the people in town have better things to do than drink, so in a way, I can't understand what we're doing, exactly. The people who do come in aren't necessarily people I know or was ever close with before I left, but I try to enjoy myself just the same. I have a little bit of sake, but I drink it slowly, knowing that I have to pay for everything at the end of the night, and I watch Gojyo carefully.

His injuries don't appear to be troubling him, aside from the fact that, for whatever reason, he's still limping, and he's carrying on like everything is normal, with very little discretion where the alcohol is concerned, and it's evident that he couldn't care less that his tab is three months overdue, or that Jai-Soo is being, I'd say, inhumanly gracious to him by not demanding that he pay at once. I watch him order half a dozen shots within the amount of time it takes me to be half-way done with my second flask of sake, and then I try to coerce him into pacing himself, but he doesn't want to listen to me, and no matter what I say, he always goes back to order another drink when the current one is gone.

In any case, his mood is cheerful enough. He laughs with me, jokes, clowns around, leans on me, punches me in the arm, just like he always has, and he seems a bit more like himself than he has all morning, so I'm determined not to nag, worry or fight. I just want to enjoy myself.

For a while, we play pool, and we clean up, as usual. People who used to know us leave the game before long, and the people who don't know us aren't long to follow suit, especially since my partner is making high-end bets with money he doesn't have. When all our would-be competition is gone, we play against each other, and we're fairly even-matched, as we've always been, though I think I may be a tiny bit better. Gojyo spent his childhood hanging around in bars and pool halls, so he has experience to his advantage. I didn't learn to play pool until I met him, but I have a better grasp of the science behind the game. He may be good at statistics and calculations, but trajectory is a different matter, and he's always played pool with a haphazard, stab in the dark approach, seeing how luck and chance tend to be his tools rather than strategy and planning. Besides, he's a bit drunk.

I win a couple times in a row, and then he comes over and shoves me, playfully, "Dammit, you! I forgot, there're some things you don't go head-to-head with Hakkai on."

"There are a lot of things like that." I say with a laugh, and pat him on the face, roughly.

He shoves my head down, grinding his knuckles into my skull, "Yeah, yeah, you're so good at everything."

We roughhouse a few minutes longer, and then he sits up on the pool table, while I rack up the balls for another game.

"Guess I forgot how good you are at everything." He says lightly.

"Yes, but don't forget who taught me this game."

"Me right? Yeah, but I didn't teach you cards."

"No, an old man in my home town did, when I was nine or so."

"An old guy?"

"Well, middle-aged, I should think. Now that I mention it, he was quite a lot like you."

"How's that?"

"He bummed around bars all the time, playing cards and pool, and he had a somewhat rough disposition, always cursing and making lewd jokes, hitting on beautiful women and starting fights. He was somewhat frowned upon in our town, constantly in and out of trouble, but he was happy-go-lucky, like you are, and nothing ever kept him down."

"Guess that sounds kinda' like me."

"I was strangely drawn to him, as well, though it might have been simply because the sisters were so disappointed with me whenever I was caught talking to him. I suppose, they worried I would turn out that way."

"Good thing you didn't." He hops down from the table, chalking his cue. "It's sorta' a dead-end way of life."

I wait to see if he'll expand on that, but it's his only say on the matter, and the game resumes, and the time continues to wear away. Before I even realize it, the sun is going down.

"Goodness, it's getting a bit late, don't you think?"

"What is it, like five?"

"Closer to six. We've been here for more than four hours."

"Just one more game, 'kay?"

One more game turns into half a dozen more games, and a few more people venture in, and I know some of them, so they buy me drinks and sit at the bar with me, and we catch up. Gojyo continues his own exploits, gambling and talking to people he knows, approaching a woman or two every here and again.

A couple more hours pass in that way, and then I start to seriously consider leaving. Everything is commonplace, and it's eight or so, and Gojyo is getting quite drunk by now, so I think it may be best to pay the tab and convince him to go home with me. I'm still concerned about his injuries, and his behavior in general.

I turn to my right to have a word with Jai-Soo, am startled to find Bao-zhi sitting there with me, smoking a cigar and facing straight ahead; his left eye has a patch over it, so I can't make out his expression, but he looks as stoic and tough as he ever has.

"Bao. I'm surprised to see you here."

"I'm always around."

"I didn't hear you come in. Did you just arrive?"

He nods, "They said you were back in town—I happened to be walking by and saw you through the window."

"In that case, I'm glad you came in." Out of all the people Gojyo's ever hung out with, Bao-zhi is probably the only one of them who I would consider a real friend, and that's because he's proven that we can trust him, on several different occasions, and I have reason to suspect that he cares for Gojyo, genuinely, on some level or other. Still, he's mysterious, always saying very little, and he dresses like a mountain man, in furs and leather, with feathers, and jewelry carved from bones. Popular rumor states that he was a hit man or a gangster once, and that he came here to hide. I don't know if he went berserk amidst the chaos or not, but he was right here when we got back from India, just like we left him, aloof and unconcerned.

Jai-Soo comes to pour him a drink without either of them saying a word or making a gesture, and Bao takes the first sip slowly, "How long you here for?"

"It hasn't been entirely decided yet. A week perhaps."

Bao nods.

I think a moment. I'd like to say more to him, but I'm uneasy about staying much longer. My tab is probably getting rather high, no thanks to Gojyo.

"How's life?"

"Well enough. Not as fast-paced as I'm accustomed to, but then, I suppose that's what I'm looking for. How's your health?"

"Fine. And Gojyo? How's Gojyo?"

I study him at a loss, "I would think that nearly anyone in this town knows better than I do."

"You'd be surprised. He doesn't talk to many of us anymore."

"Is that so? But surely you all convene at least a few times a week to play cards." That's like saying the sun will come up tomorrow.

Bao shakes his head, heavily, "Gojyo doesn't play cards anymore. Not like he used to."

I'm silent.

He waits.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry. I thought you just said Gojyo doesn't play cards anymore, but I must have heard you wrong. Perhaps the liquor is impairing my hearing."

"That is what I said."

"But…how can that be? Gojyo's always played cards, all the time I've known him. That's how he survives."

Bao shrugs, "He still pops in, every now and then, I guess. I ain't really talked to him in a while, and I can't remember the last time I sat at a card table with him."

Inevitably, I turn to look at my roommate, who's still across the room, twirling his pool cue and talking to some women, and he seems to be having a good time. "That can't be true."

When I say that Gojyo survives by playing cards, I'm not even necessarily talking about money. That's how he socializes as well. It's how he has fun. It's how he gets his mind off things when he's had a bad day, as much as it's how he connects with people. I can't imagine what he'd be doing instead. I can't imagine why he would stop.

"He must still play sometimes."

"Not very much. If he does, not for very long. A few hands and then 'I'm out, guys'. And that's not all. He ain't much of a player anymore either. See those girls? He's not gonna' get their numbers, ditch you, and bang 'em both at the same time."

"That's ridiculous. Why else would he even be talking with them?"

"Probably so you won't suspect anything's wrong."

"What is wrong?"

"No one knows. He won't talk to anybody about it."

"Could it be that he's just starting to settle down at last?" Even as I say it, I know that's hoping for far too much, and I'm feeling my old, familiar concerns creep back into my head. Didn't I ask myself, dozens and dozens of times before I moved away, What is he going to do without me?

Perhaps this is just the first glimpse of the answer to that question.

"Not when he's on a bad bender every night—he drinks like he wants to die."

I think of his condition when I arrived this morning, compare it to his condition now, seven hours later, and consider what his condition will be like tomorrow morning, if I allow him to continue drinking tonight, and then I feel somewhat foolish for agreeing to this.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I, but that's the way it's been, for the last four, five, maybe six months."

Gojyo has noticed Bao and is walking toward us now, stumbling a little and sloshing some alcohol on himself, all grins and laughter, "Baaaaao. Long time no see!"

Bao-zhi returns a calm, "Hey, Hot Shot."

"I di'n't think I'd ev'r see ya' in this dump."

"You're the one who ain't been around lately."

"Wha'ever. I'm still 'round, jus' ev'rybody's weird—Rong's gett'n a kid, y'know tha?"

"Everybody knows that."

"Oh." I laugh, "I didn't know that. The Rong? That will certainly be interesting."

"Interes'ing? Shiit. Tha' guy's gonna' be one fuck-up of'a' dad." He slams the last of the whiskey he's got, puts his arm on my shoulder, and leans heavily on me.

"Well, being a father is hard, but I think Rong can pull it off, if he keeps his head in the game." Bao gives Gojyo a long, hard look, "I heard he punched your face in good the other night."

I turn immediately to Gojyo, "Rong hit you?"

Gojyo doesn't look like he cares at all. "Yeah. I got 'im back though."

"What on earth did he hit you over?" Rong and Gojyo have never gotten along very well—they've always been known to fight, every here and again—which is strange because Rong is so much younger than Gojyo, and I know he looks up to him.

"Nn. I don' remember. Guess I said somethin' he di'n't like. Maybe Goku remembers."

"Goku was there?"

"Yeah, I think so." Gojyo laughs, suddenly, throws his arm around my neck, laughing right in my ear, and nearly falls down, and I have to steady him. He's drunker than I thought. "Hey. Know wha' somebody tol' me? Somebody tol' me his girl's a youkai. His kid's gon' be a mutt like me."

I frown at him a little. It's not like him to say something like that in public. It's really not like him to bring something of that nature up at all.

Bao finally turns to him, frowning as well, answers sternly, "Somebody said that to fuck with you, Hot Shot."

"Yeah? How ya' figure?"

"I met Ayako. She's a human."

Gojyo shrugs, "Oh well. One's the loneliest number."

Silently, I consider the exchange. I hadn't realized anyone in town was aware of Gojyo's mixed blood, including Bao-zhi, and yet Bao seemed to take it all in stride. Perhaps he'd known all along and just never said anything about it.

"Pro'ly good though. Don' need an'more mutts in this dead-end town, with no way up an' no way out, jus' waitin' for somebody ta' put 'em outta' their mis'ry. Fuggin' losers."

To hear him say that makes my skin crawl a bit, and I tighten my grip on him—it is by far the most disturbing thing he's said all day.

Bao shakes his head, and I detect displeasure in his expression, regardless of how mild it is, "Take the damn idiot home, Hakkai."

"Very well." I turn to close my tab, and Jai-Soo sets to printing my receipt.

"I don' wan' go yet." Gojyo protests.

"Yes, but I believe it's time."

"Jus' one more drink, pal."

"Only if it's water."

"Water? Fuckin' crazy, 'Kai?"

I sign my ticket and stand up, pull into my coat and help him into his, and then I have the thankless, nearly impossible task of taking him out of the bar. He argues with me, and whines at me, pushes me at times, or else gets distracted and starts talking to someone else, accidentally knocks over a chair, and then nearly falls down laughing, but, eventually, I succeed, and begin to tow him home.

"I thought I told you to control yourself." I say calmly, even though now my stomach is tied up in knots.

"Hn. I ain't that drunk."

"Well, that aside, you owe Jai-Soo a lot of money, so I had hoped you'd be a bit more discriminate."

"Nn. It's no big deal—I put it all on my tab, so we're good."

"Actually, I paid for it."

"Wha?"

"I had Jai-Soo put your drinks on my tab."

He gives me a bleary, wide-eyed look, "Why? I din't ask ya' t' do that, 'Kai."

"We'll discuss it later."

"Goddamn, man, ya' coulda' tol' me you were gon' do that."

"To what end? It's not as if you would have behaved even a bit more responsibly if you'd known I was paying."

Quietly, he shuffles along next to me, head lowered slightly, cigarette burning down to a nub, getting close to his fingers, and that thing he said at the bar, about so-called mutts, is haunting me to no end. The sight of him looking even remotely dejected upsets me.

I hook my arm around his neck, "You seem out of sorts, Gojyo."

"Naw. I ain't. I ain't. Just…stuff's weird…without ya'."

I pull him a bit closer, on the brink of embracing him, "Life is strange without you as well, I assure you."

"Righ. Ya' don' hafta' bring any stupid, drunk assholes home in th' middle of th' nigh.'"

"That isn't why. I hope you know better than to think that's what I mean." In a way, I've been considerably out of sorts myself, I realize, always distant from my peers, always avoiding people, as if I'm afraid to forge new friendships and connections. As if I'm afraid I'll accidentally replace the old ones. In a way, I feel as if I'm almost resorting back to the way I was before I met Kanan.

I add, "I don't particularly like to see you acting this way."

"Actin' wha' way? I've always done this."

Considering what Bao-zhi told me, I can't even begin to grasp what a huge lie that is, but I can't call him on it now, not knowing if he'll remember this conversation tomorrow or not.

We're quiet for the rest of the walk home, and he suddenly seems troubled to me, as if telling the lie is as hard for him as it is for me to listen to it.

I suppose we'll deal with it later, because if what Bao told me is true, and if Sanzo had good cause for saying what he wrote in the letter—something I'll uncover tomorrow when I go to see him, by myself, in the morning, while Gojyo sleeps—I don't think I can go away at the end of the week without at least confronting the issue.

Still, there must be more I can do. Even if he won't listen to me when I talk to him about it outright, there are probably ways I can manipulate the situation in order to improve it. Assuming it's not as bad as it's beginning to look.

We arrive at the house a bit after nine, and I look around, intently. It's still home to me, even messy this way, even with all the furniture removed, and I recall the relief and the joy I experienced when we returned from India. At times, I can't believe I chose to leave.

I wonder if maybe I shouldn't have.

That is not the answer, Hakkai.

I put Gojyo on the couch, and he slumps over on the pillow with a groan. I could take him to his room, I suppose, but the bed still isn't made, and that would probably incite some senseless argument concerning who deserves what.

For a moment, then, I sit beside him, hand on his shoulder, "Do you need anything?"

"Nah."

He turns over and stares up at me with half-closed eyes, like he can't believe I'm actually here, "Hey…where th' hell you been an'way?"

"You know where I've been."

"Yeah, but…where?"

"At college, Gojyo. In Hong Kong." I say, very, very patiently.

"You're real fuckin' far away."

"Not really." It's a lie though. I feel even further away than I actually am, and I don't like to think that, in a few days, I'll have to leave again.

"You ever comin' back?"

"Are you that attached to me?" I tease, reluctantly.

"After ten fuckin' years? I wonder." He takes a drag off his cigarette. "So…are ya'?"

"Yes, of course. I'm here now, aren't I?"

"For a while."

"I already told you I'm not leaving forever."

"I miss ya'."

"I miss you too."

"Jus' life. Yeah? People go away."

I know that's always been his secret motto, that people leave and there's nothing you can do to change that, and I've been afraid ever since I decided to go away, that he'd start lumping me into that 'people who've left' category, because I did promise him I never would.

Absently, I stroke his hair. "They do, yes, but I'm not leaving forever."

He half sits up and jerks me into an awkward hug, says "Sure", like he doesn't believe me.

"I told you I'd never leave you behind, didn't I?"

"Ya' already did, smart ass."

"Do you actually think that? Do you actually believe I'd walk out of your life without so much as some qualms of guilt?"

"…Naw. I never thought ya' would."

"I never will."

"Bet'er not."

With a sigh, I pry him off, "This isn't about my leaving though, is it? Not really?"

"Wha'dya'a mean?"

"Nothing. We'll talk about it later, just get some sleep."

He sighs too, "Wha'ever."

"Lie on your side." I remind him.

He turns over onto his side, "'Night, 'Kai."

Momentarily, I touch his ponytail, and then stand there looking at him. I had meant to go into the other room and sleep there, but suddenly, I just don't want to, so I sit down beside the couch, leaning my head against the armrest. After a second, Gojyo hooks his arm around my neck, and we stay that way.

Shutting my eyes, I try to relax, but I have the strangest sense of foreboding and worry building up within me.

The following morning, I wake up at seven-thirty, shower in the filthy shower, put on a clean sweater out of my suitcase, because the day outside looks misty and cold, eat toast without jam, because it's the only thing I can find, and then I feed Jeep his breakfast. I almost take him with me—it would be much faster than walking to the temple—but I change my mind when I'm standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at Gojyo, who's sleeping fitfully on the couch, and I haven't forgotten the concerns and uncertainties of yesterday, and as I look back on some of the things he said, I find myself more worried than ever, so much so that I'm rather reluctant to leave him; but I don't want to wake him up and take him to the temple with me either. He may not think the wound in his side is worth getting worked up over, but I do, and I haven't forgotten that he's limping either. In any case, it seems best to just let him sleep.

Finally, I scratch Jeep under the chin and look into his eyes, "Look after him for me, won't you, Little One?"

Jeep chirps and, with a flap of his wings, glides across the room, lands at Gojyo's feet, walks up the length of his body to settle down on his shoulder, stretches his neck over Gojyo's head to rest his chin on the arm of the couch, and even spreads his wings a little so that he's blanketing Gojyo's upper body, as if he means to protect him.

"That's a bit unnecessary, but thank-you, none-the-less." I chuckle and head for the door.

For a moment I stand outside in the pale gray of morning, on the stoop, thinking, and I look back at the door, a deep sense of foreboding still growing within me, then, carefully, I get out Sanzo's letter and unfold it. It's creased from being folded and unfolded many times, because I keep looking at it. I've looked at it so many times, I don't even need to skim it to find the line I want, because I just inherently know where it is, and in fact, I know exactly what it says, but maybe there's part of me that still can't believe such a line could exist within a letter from Sanzo.

Not even half-way down the page, just one line, solitary and isolated from the rest of the letter, as if to serve as a sort of intermission from the other things he'd been writing me about: you'd better come see that kappa.

And that's all of it. No further elucidations. No explanations. No reasons. Just the suggestion that I come back to check up on Gojyo. Gojyo, whom, for an entire year, hasn't spoken to me. Gojyo, whom I haven't had the slightest clue about, regarding how he's been. Gojyo, whom I've been secretly, slightly, but never-the-less, constantly concerned for ever since the day I left. And then Sanzo of all people tells me I should come and see him, and when I arrive, by all appearances, he's not doing well at all. Still, I would like to know exactly what it is that prompted Sanzo to say such a thing to me; after all, I can see and feel that things aren't well with Gojyo because I know him so intimately. I highly doubt that Gojyo would be open enough with either Sanzo or Goku to signal to them that there's a problem, or that Sanzo would write to me over a messy house or an increased level of intoxication. No, that single, simple line indicates to me that things are worse than they appear to be, and I just wonder what it is that Gojyo had to do in order to get Sanzo's attention.

Folding the letter again, I sigh and step down. I can't believe the things I'm hearing and learning from everyone around me, and I especially can't understand why, if things are so bad, he hasn't said anything about it to me at all. Just the opposite in fact, he's insistently acting as if everything is perfectly normal.

As I walk to the temple, I feel more and more frustrated, and more and more uneasy. I can't exactly guess at why this is happening or what caused it, but I don't want to think it could all be my fault. I don't want to assume Gojyo's incapable of living without me, because I know he isn't.

Then I think to myself that perhaps he doesn't know that, and that could be the cause of it all.

Of course, there's that disturbing statement he made at the bar last night, about having no way up and no way out.

And the oh-so frustrating, alarming statement Sanzo gave on the matter.

Apparently it's all connected, and when I go back home, I'm going to have a serious talk with him, and I'm going to smack him, if I have to. This is inexcusable.