Chapter 20: ..:: Sinfonia per una addio ::.. (Symphony for a farewell)

The man was standing supported with his right hand on a wall, in a dark corner of the room.

He was not a guest, strictly speaking, he was there for business. He was one of those obscure people who prepare the golden world where other people moved as if it were their own, as if it were created from scratch only for them to use.
In that place, there was music, elegant dresses, jewels, speaking mouths, fake smiles, private vices and public virtues.
The man leaned on the wall and thought that these people were useless. They were only easy prey.

So boring.
But not all of them...
The man's name, or better, one of the man's names was Marcel Lorent, born from a French father and a Japanese mother.

The man was a florist. The man was a killer.
In front of him, on the other side of the room, there were two men, sitting side by side at a table next to a glass wall in Club Sion.

Asami Ryuichi and a young boy.
In the dim light, Marcel Lorent turned his attention on the slender figure of the boy.

He had long hair that slightly curled on his willowy neck and fell down to his shoulders.

Among the golden locks of hair, two dark almond-shaped eyes shone, framed by long lashes. Asami was saying something in his ear, probably to be heard over the din of the hall.
Marcel thought he had just found his new prey, and thought that although this was a task that he had done many times before, this time he could not help but see in it the sign of a defeat.
Marcel considered most people boring and unnecessary, and he had also considered his life the same way, but these last years at the Merchant's side had been very satisfactory, because he had been able to study closely a brilliant mind at work.

A mind that, with its recent decisions, had lost all its attractiveness.
Marcel moved his glance on Asami.
Here is someone with whom it would be interesting to deal with.
This place was full of powerful people, people who had everything, but this is all they had.
Asami Ryuichi was different, he was one of those people born with a curse: to desire.
For some people already living was an arduous task, but for the men like the Yakuza, life is a challenge.

For them, life is nothing but something to win. Something to win hands down.
The amazing thing is that these people will succeed, even if it means being alone.
Once Marcel thought Suzuki was one of them... but now Marcel felt as though he had been cheated by him.

Perhaps the Merchant had never been this way... he was just playing at impersonating his Nemesis, and then what Marcel found worthy of respect in Suzuki was nothing but Asami's reflection in him.

Unforgivable.
Marcel gave another look at the couple sitting a few dozen meters from him.
The merchant said to him that his informant reported some interesting news about Asami and his new bitch, news that would soon lead to the conclusion of his vengeance.
Marcel had tried to emphasize that it would be better to be cautious and ponder over the information, but now that Suzuki felt so close to his goal he would not listen to reason.
Shaking his head at the Merchant's unreasonableness, Marcel focused his attention to his next young target.
The blond boy glanced distractedly around the room and seemed quite taken by the man at his side. His long, thin hands continually sought contact with the Yakuza.
The killer had the disturbing impression that those eyes seemed distracted, but, in reality, the boy was recording everything he saw, with a professional air.
Marcel Lorent turned toward the exit and, with a shrug of his shoulders, exited Club Sion.
Logically Takaba Akihito was to be a photographer, a sharp and intuitive person, but still prey.

The boy that was with Asami had the look of a predator.
How weird...
Maybe he should inform Suzuki that there was something wrong with him.
Maybe...
Well, he decided to not say anything: the Merchant surely did not want to listen to his hesitations.

Marcel found himself smiling; after all, the question "Asami Ryuichi" could still be funny...

The cold of the night was caressing the bare skin of Hikaru, who, with an indolent air, was lying on his belly on the bed still warm of love, with his cheek resting on the palm of his hand.
With extreme attention, his eyes caressed the man having his back towards him; FeiLong was lying on the window jamb, illuminated only by a tiny table lamp, whose faint light was reflected by the fragments of the mirror, a thousand times over.
The long haired man was there, wrapped into Hikaru's bathrobe, with his inevitable grace that transpired from every unconscious gesture.

His long hair still damp shone as ivy wetted by the rain, and like ivy they seemed to climb from the back of the head instead of falling down.
Outside the window, you could not see anything; after the rain, a thick fog had arrived, or maybe they were low clouds... it was difficult to say.
Without moving an inch from his position, FeiLong turned his gaze backward.

His "hunter" instinct was always alert, regardless of the fact that his spirit, or his senses, were resting.

The Triad leader had felt the eyes of the boy on his body.
He had always hated being watched, especially because no one had ever looked at him "innocently", well at least not in any of the various meanings that the word could have.
Differently, beyond what he felt for him, he always found it pleasant to have Hikaru's gaze on him, a mellow look, that was seeing and nothing else. Without questions, without claims, without illusions, as if the eyes and the images were touching, like the breeze touches the leaves of the cherry trees.
"Bad thoughts?" FeiLong asked before turning and walking towards Hikaru. It was not usual for the pianist to be so silent.
The boy answered giving the older a melancholy smile.
"I am sorry to have woken you up...," said the older man, sitting on the bed, "...tomorrow, early in the morning, I have to contact Asami in Tokyo for work, and I didn't want to wake you up, so I thought I would go back to my room, but it seems that you can't sleep tonight either, " continued the long haired man, lowering to drop a kiss on the naked shoulder of the boy.

"Please stay here...," the pianist whispered, taking the other man's hand and laying it on his lips.

The night ran away, even if the grey clouds did not allow the eyes to catch the light of the coming day.
Hikaru didn't sleep that night. Crouched in FeiLong's arms, he watched that stunning man sleeping, and he adored his every breath and every movement of his eyelashes.

The boy had been thinking for so long.
He'd wanted to explain to FeiLong what he felt in seeing his past life - from the outside, through memories that seemed to be the story of someone else's life – and realizing how he had been weak and childish and whimsical.
Hikaru had lived the first 17 years of his life with elderly parents, taking on responsibility and tasks that were well beyond his age.

Then in his life Asami had arrived, and he had stopped growing.

The boy let Asami change him, to take him, to use him.

His weakness had led him to name, with the word love, that which was only an emotional dependency. Think for instance about Asami, Hikaru's urge to feel his hands and lips on him, to feel achieved only when he was with him, feeling pain for all his silences, for every absence, every betrayal; Hikaru had mistaken all of that for love, instead it was an obsession. And he lived this lie for five years.

He had fought Asami trying to change him, so he can become similar to what Asami would like him to be. The boy hid himself behind a false image, and did everything to keep it.
When you are really in love, instead, you take off any mask.
Hikaru had learned what to be in love means from FeiLong, through his kisses and his arms.

He had confessed his love, and he would continue to tell him a thousand times over, although the older man would continue to not reply to him with those same words.
Hikaru wants FeiLong's love, and also his regard: this was the main reason why he should begin to grow again.
Now he had to solve his own problems without always counting on the fact that Asami would solve them in his place. He should at least try to settle on his own the accounts with his past, with the man who had killed his mother and had tried to kill him.
And he had to do it alone.

***
The rumbling of a distant thunder ...
The horizon on the sea was lit in violet: a purple that increasingly faded in black on land the further away from the sea one went, while threatening clouds, also violet in color, gathered again on the small bay.
Gulls flew in large circles near to the surface of the sea, which was crossed by huge black waves with frothy crests.
A drop, then another, and another yet went to splatter on the glass ...
Akihito went out, under the patio, despite that the lightning was so close as to suggest more caution, and he stood spellbound looking out at the wild sea.
In his ears a cascade of different sounds: the rain, the waves and the wind.
Despite the fury of nature, the lack of any "human" sound gave him the sense of silence, a silence that was not serenity, silence that was just dirty water and cold air on his skin.
Asami had provided him only limited information about Himeko, and although this was certainly more than he had ever said about her to anyone else, except perhaps Hikaru, this was not enough.
The boy held tight his black jacket, and lowered his gaze.
The awareness of being again in the dark, now and in future, about the feelings and events of the life of the man he loved, about his thoughts and his sentiment, sometimes was almost unbearable.
You should be very strong and self-confident to deal with a man like Asami, and Akihito feared that he didn't possess that ability.
"Takaba-kun ...?" A gentle voice with a sensual scratch in the background, called him from behind his back

The photographer laid his beautiful dark-amber eyes on the young man who was a few meters from him.
Hikaru was sitting at a wicker table, and had laid his golden eyes on him.
The pianist smiled, lifting the collar of the long black coat in which he was wrapped in. A long coat, perhaps a bit too large for him. Given the slight scent of amber that emanated from it, Akihito took a very short time to understand that it was FeiLong's coat.
Hikaru turned his gaze again on the sea. "I think I must apologize to you...," he said.
Akihito blushed imperceptibly, because those apology implied the need to tackle very personal issues; to discuss them with the pianist was as to talk about your private life with a stranger.

They had been living together for several days, and it had not been difficult to forge a friendship with Hikaru... with that Hikaru.
Akihito turned his gaze toward the sea, as well.
The boy who had just apologized was no longer the one of the last few days, and was not the boy that called Asami "father".

Akihito was sure that Hikaru now remembered his joint past with Asami. However, the light that shone in his absurd calm golden eyes, seemed to contemplate that past with distance, as if it was the past of someone else.
"You don't love him anymore?" Akihito asked, simply.
"I love him immensely," said the pianist.
Akihito turned his head towards him. The aristocratic profile of the boy stood out from the background of black clouds that continued to thicken on the horizon.
"... But I am not in love with him ... and he certainly never has been in love with me ...," he added, taking away a lock of hair from his delicate turned-up nose with the tip of his long, strong pianist's fingers.
"It will not be easy to be with him... it is never easy to be his, Akihito, but don't think about that ... it's useless. You had no choice, and you know it, because you are in-love with him..."
The photographer blushed; it was as if the other boy could read his thoughts, his fears... Or maybe Hikaru was just referring to his own experience.

He was right, it was useless basking in doubt when you know perfectly well that the sentiment you feel goes beyond any reasonable desire of happiness: Akihito's link with Asami was something...something...

"Inevitable" concluded Akihito, aloud.
"I can assure you that it is also inevitable for him ...," said Hikaru, collecting the sheets that lay on the table, sheets that seemed to be handwritten musical scores ,and moving toward Akihito.
The photographer looked at him in surprise, and his hazelnut eyes widened when Hikaru laid a gentle kiss on his lips. His full tender lips brushed against his. For a moment, Akihito felt the need to close his eyes.
"Do not give up, Takaba-kun... you can save him," he whispered, heading inside the house, holding the score tight in his hand. The title was "Symphony for a farewell".

The traffic was terrible, as always at rush-hour, but that day the situation had significantly worsened by the incessant rain that was lashing the city.
In the luxurious black limousine, driven by Yoh, Asami and FeiLong were seated side by side, returning from their fruitful business lunch.
Asami opened the window, despite the air conditioning that was keeping the indoor temperature pleasurable, which left the moist air to enter freely inside.

He continued to look outside, his face supported on a hand, his long legs overlapped.

The golden glance of his eyes wander absentmindedly on the world outside the car, while his free hand caressed his sightly open lips. His gloomy beauty invaded the surrounding space.
FeiLong turned his gaze from him and led it towards the opposite window. What was passing away in front of his eyes was like colored stain diluted by the rain.
The silence reigned in the car.
"FeiLong, tonight I need Yoh, Kirishima and Suoh. Can you let some of your men monitor the villa?" Asami asked, suddenly.
FeiLong gave a questioning look to the Yakuza, frowning.
"Do you want someone you don't know protecting Akihito and Hikaru? When you brought them there, you practically ordered me to send away everyone that did not meet your personal approval," he said.
"You do not need to explain to your men who is in the villa. They only need to know that it is an order from you, right? Simply tell them to not allow anyone to enter the villa," said the older man, "if everything goes according to my plans, Akihito and Hikaru, from tomorrow on, will no longer need to take advantage of your hospitality," he added, fishing a cigarette from the pack.
FeiLong felt his irritation rising, and he needed to revert to all his trained self-control to prevent it from coming out.
"You have organized the trap against Suzuki for tonight, and you say it to me only now?" He said then, and the tone of his voice coming out a little too forced, betraying his emotions.
"I did not see, and still do not see, the reason why I should have let you know about this earlier...," Asami said, with a flat tone, drawing a mouthful of smoke, "... and I am telling it to you now only for you information. I am very grateful for the support you have given me, and certainly I will not forget it, but this is not your war FeiLong, is it?"
FeiLong turned his face, trying to control his anger.
In any other situation, he would have no objection to what was just stated by Asami. This was the Yakuza war, his revenge that he had been pursued for years, and he did not want someone else's interference. Exactly what the Chinese would do in his place.
But...
"Please, correct me if I am wrong ...," Asami continued, provocatively "the issue between Suzuki and me is not up to you, right? Himeko's murder is not up to you, the threat on Akihito's life is not up you, and what they did to Hikaru is not up t..."
FeiLong's voice was cold and resolute when he interrupted the Yakuza: "Hikaru is up to me, Hikaru is mine."

***
Akihito was sitting on the windowsill, in the room on the second floor of the villa that he had often shared with Asami, busy to catch with his camera the anger of nature.
He took several photos, with very interesting framing, of the storm that was going away.
Now the rain fell thick, but the wind had ceased.
Kirishima had reported that, according with what Asami ordered to him, that evening he and Hikaru would be alone in the house, with Tao and the old housekeeper.

FeiLong would probably be back later, but the bodyguard wasn't able to say at what hour.

Some of the Triad men would come to replace him and Suoh, but they would have safeguarded the boys from the outside the villa. No one else would ever know that they were hidden there.
This had worried Akihito and made him suspicious. Asami surely was plotting something, and certainly it would be something dangerous.
The photographer sighed.
All of a sudden, some movement outside on the small beach attracted his attention.
He zoomed with the camera and saw a figure walking away stealthily from the villa, under the pouring rain.

"Hikaru? Where the hell is he going!"