A/N: I don't own JJR. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy chapter twenty-six. Bring on the angst!
Chapter Twenty-Six: Fire and Ash
At six AM the next morning, a time usually far too bright and early for her to even think about waking, Fujikage Kikue found herself quite unexpectedly sitting bolt upright in her bed, all thoughts of sleep completely dispelled from her mind. She wasn't naturally an early riser, but this morning she didn't feel a shred of fatigue as she swung her legs over the side of her bed and slid her bare feet in her waiting black cat slippers.
This is weird, she thought, casting a glance back at her still-snoozing alarm clock, simultaneously feeling that the time must be wrong while knowing with certainty her clock was unimpeachable. Rising to her feet and going about her morning preparations, she made up her mind that it was the perfect time to go over to school and pick up the papers from the classes she'd missed the previous afternoon. It wasn't as if there would be any point in lying back down and trying to doze off again–an oddly adamant sense of wakefulness permeating her head told her she was up for good. Besides, with summer coming, it was pleasant enough outside she didn't feel her usual overwhelming desire to crawl back under the covers and try to hang on to any shred of warmth she could find.
Stretching her thigh-high socks up over her knees and throwing on a cozy sweatshirt, she headed into her kitchenette, stuffing a pair of slices of bread into the toaster and starting her waiting teakettle. It was her usual breakfast–she preferred to minimize the time it took to get ready in the morning to allow herself to stay in bed as late as possible, and tea and toast was what she had settled on for the quickest possible morning fare. As she waited for her meal to be ready, she cast her mind back to the previous afternoon, to her conversation with Mikari.
"The more I see him, the less I think this is going to work out well for me," he had said. It wasn't an enviable position to be in, she thought, and she had nothing but sympathy for her friend. What a person Ijuuin must be to have enraptured him so! She'd heard of him as an author, of course, even read a few volumes of The Kan, although she didn't have much of a taste for cooking manga. But meeting Usami-sensei had only confirmed the suspicion she had–that an author's work wasn't much to go on when trying to determine their personality. She'd liked Usami, it was true, but only the fact that she'd read interviews and watched TV appearances had prepared her for the real thing. Someone who had judged the violet-eyed man based solely on his beautifully eloquent volumes would more likely have been unfavorably surprised at his jagged edges, even as much as Misaki had softened them.
Her toast sprang out of the toaster and she seized a knife, ready to apply her precious peanut butter. It had proven less of a pain to seek out in Tokyo, and, even better, Mikari had promised to have his parents send him a few jars when she ran out, so she basked in a sense of luxury and spread it thickly over her toast. Draining the last of her overlarge cup of tea, she made her way to the stairs, emerging on the sidewalk below. The sunlight was already bright–another incandescent day beginning. Glad she had come prepared, she stuck what remained of her toast into her mouth and used her free hand to slide sunglasses over squinting eyes before turning east to make her way to the university's academic buildings.
As she made her way about the campus, passing by her fellow students as they went about their morning routines, she felt grateful she'd made the decision to schedule her move to Tokyo a few weeks before the start of the semester. Nagasaki was hardly a quaint village, but no city could claim to be Tokyo's match for sheer size and complexity. Without the weeks she had spent wandering the part of the city to which the campus was confined, she would have lost her way and found herself meandering amongst unfamiliar glass and steel-monstrosities instead of surrounded by the slightly more familiar university buildings of identical composition. As she made her way through said buildings, obtaining the papers she required and dropping the obligatory, "Yes, I'm feeling much better now"s required as part of the explanation for her prior absence, she saw a few of her fellow classmates, trading smiles and nods equally with them. All were headed on their way to their next classes, however, and let her go without much remark.
Her notes gathered, she slid her headphones over her ears in preparation for the return journey. When she scanned her watch, she noticed her inadvertent early rising meant she had a more-than-adequate measure of excess time and decided to make the most of the good weather to take a stroll in a nearby park.
It was a few minutes later, mind meditatively surrounded by her music, that she recognized the figure of Ijuuin-sensei sitting on a bench by one of the park's impressively ancient weeping willows. He was exactly as Mikari had described him: tall and handsome, cunning navy eyes cut beneath a drape of ebony black hair. Her friend hadn't been falling victim to his overactive imagination when he'd said the man seemed completely in control, someone who would stay calm and collected no matter what words came out of another's mouth. Maddeningly superior, Mikari had called him, and with Ijuuin here before her, it was easy to see why. A smirk made its subtle way onto her features as she imagined cracking his carefully maintained exterior.
Her eyes narrowing with interest, she headed in his direction, noticing as she did that he wasn't alone. Beside him on the bench was a young woman aged between she and Ijuuin's with short black hair and glasses. She was dressed much as Fujikage herself was and looked thoroughly out of place next to Ijuuin's sleek business casual.
Who is she? She wondered, intrigued by what she might discover. First, though, she owed Ijuuin an admonition, and she was determined to deliver it no matter what unfamiliar company he might be keeping.
"On my life, Ijuuin Kyo!" she exclaimed, her former smirk making a full return. The author turned, matching her expression with his own. Little could he expect she was not rabid fan but something else entirely, she thought, the statement only fueling her grin wider.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, a mist of confusion drifting across his face as he struggled to marry her unfamiliar face with the colloquial tone of greeting she'd adopted. "Have we perhaps met before? I'm afraid I meet so many these days, which I will openly confess is my sorry excuse for forgetting your name."
Fujikage choked back a cough at how little Ijuuin knew of the true nature of their encounter.
"Oh, I'm not a fan, Ijuuin-sensei, but I am friends with one. Does the name Aikawa Mikari ring any bells?"
Smug gratification filled her mind as Ijuuin's face froze, his eyes wide and mind no doubt reeling. As self-satisfied as she felt in surprising him, though, she was secretly glad the name gave him pause–it meant he was taking Mikari's confession quite a bit more seriously than the anxious boy thought him to be.
Quickly enough, the mangaka recovered, professional politeness covering over his momentary lapse in composure.
"You must be Fujikage Kikue," he greeted her. "Aikawa-kun mentions you rather frequently, I must say." Fujikage felt a rush of pride to be spoken of in such a way and admitted to the name, bowing her greeting. Rising from the bench, Ijuuin did the same, motioning his companion to join them. "This is Sakamoto, a colleague of mine."
"Good to meet you, Fujikage-san," the girl said shyly. Now that she stood, Fujikage could see she was short, the top of her head only coming up to Ijuuin's shoulder. She had to confess it was quite endearing, the petite girl dwarfed by her taller senpai. "My name is Sakamoto Kyung-hwa, though most people know me by my pen name, Kajahara Sanae."
Fujikage's eyes widened. This timid, demure girl was Kajahara-sensei, the renowned horror mangaka? An extreme reminder of the reminder she had given herself that morning not to judge an author by their works, it seemed.
With that, she was reminded to turn her mind back to the critique she had resolved to deliver to Ijuuin when she had seen him seated there.
"Say, Ijuuin, how are those Wednesday dinners coming?" she asked, pointed question veiled.
"Aikawa doesn't tell you?" he replied, innocently pretending he didn't understand the purpose of her question.
"Oh, he does, but it's always interesting to hear things from the other point of view, don't you think?" she continued their question for a question game.
The corner of Ijuuin's mouth edged upwards as he realized he was dealing with more than he had expected. A true challenged was to be issued, it seemed. Turning to Kajahara, he saw she had the slightest of smiles on her face, already anticipating what he would ask of her.
"I had better get back to my work," the introverted author excused herself. She could see a private conversation was shaping up to take place and did not wish to interfere. "My editor won't like it if I spend too much time avoiding my deadline, after all. I'll see you later, I-kun?"
Mentally resolving to send her a thank you gift of her favorite white chocolate later, Ijuuin nodded and resumed his seat on the bench, motioning Fujikage to sit beside him. The two silently watched Kajahara leave, each wondering what the next words voiced would be.
To his surprise as much as Fujikage's, it was Ijuuin who spoke first.
"You know him better than I do, of that I have no doubt," he told her, his tone a pale imitation of the surety it had contained on her first approach. "How is he?"
Fujikage sighed, rubbing a finger across her brow. She too, had dropped her boldness; all that remained beneath their posturing was their shared concern for their friend. Holding her eyes closed for an all-too-brief moment, she exhaled again, knowing what she had to do.
She turned, catching Ijuuin's dark blue eyes in an iron grip.
"I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer seriously and fully," she instructed the author, her voice solemn. Ijuuin, compelled by the strength of her gaze, nodded obediently, his expression unusually reticent. If she had seen the look on her best friend, Fujikage would have called it dread; knowing Ijuuin as poorly as she did, she couldn't venture beyond naming the mangaka nervous. Steadying herself, she continued, "Do you care for Mikari?"
Ijuuin let down what remained of his guard in a monolithic sigh, sagging against the bench. Reaching nigh-unconsciously into his pocket, he drew out the pack of cigarettes he'd resumed the habit of carrying around lately and, casting a quick questioning glance at Fujikage for permission, lit one, inhaling deeply and breathing out an infinite stream of smoke. Surveying him, Fujikage couldn't help but internally remark at the transformation of the man before her. It was almost enough of an answer to her question without his words, but she had already made her decision, and for Mikari's sake she wasn't about to let him off lightly now.
"Whether I say yes or no, I'm going to ruin that boy's life, aren't I?" came his final reply.
Fujikage's eyes tightened, a burning irritation rising up within her chest. "If you think it matters that little, why don't you just tell the truth?" Her breath came shorter now, suffused with a rising anger. "You're already ruining his life!"
She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but it came out as a shout, a remark to cut into the writer's heart. All of the other words she needed to say, how she couldn't stand to see her dearest friend in pain over someone who wouldn't even do him the decency of letting him down gently, fed their bitterness into the short accusation. Forcing herself to breath deeply, she considered calming down, remaining within the realm of the rational, then decided to continue in her approach. Directness was the only way to get through to this man, it seemed.
"I'm sorry," Ijuuin replied, the look on his face lending support to his words. For Fujikage, it wasn't enough.
"Don't say that to me," she fired back darkly, her eyes stone. Ocean eyes couldn't hold the burning gaze and Ijuuin looked away, apparently discovering something of extreme interest on the ground at his feet. She let the silence lengthen, let the embers of his cigarette continue to burn, waiting for whatever reply he chose to give.
When he finally quit taking an unnatural interest in his cigarette ashes and turned back to face her, his expression was surprisingly vulnerable.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted, his deep blue eyes conflicted.
"Rip the Band-aid off," she ordered, and he broke eye contact again, glancing at the red-glowing tip of the cigarette poised in his fingers. She stood, giving one final command before she left. "And I'll tell you what I told him: Don't smoke yourself into an early grave over futures that haven't even happened yet."