6/8
Light unspools against pollen, and Akira watches it coil through the air. His head is filled with bees. Varnish and the smell of fresh paper. A clock's chirping.
"Hey."
Years ago, a stray had materialized in his hometown, one afternoon, out of the blue. No collar. It'd run rabid, leaping erratically, teeth exposed in a frozen contortion, barking and yowling and howling. At nothing.
"Hey."
Eventually a truck hit it.
"Hey!"
Akira's attention crawls back to his surroundings, and he shifts in the chair to regard his homeroom teacher.
"What are you, high?" Kawakami asks.
"No."
"Well, whatever. Do you have any idea why we're here?"
Akira shrugs. "Maybe the jig is up."
"The jig? What jig?" She jabs a thumb at her own face. "My jig? It better not be my jig!"
The order had come that morning. "Akira Kurusu," Ushimaru-sensei had said. "Report to Principal Toko's office."
And here he is, sunk in this chair. Makoto went to Toko. Told the Principal everything. Toko, in turn, told the police. They'd be here any minute. They'd take him away. Take him back to the box. He'd tell them nothing. Just admit to doing it all himself. He wasn't sure who would take Morgana. If Ryuji did, they'd kill one another inside a week. Ann would not feel comfortable with the cat in her room. And Yusuke...
Maybe he'd be alright with Yusuke.
"You didn't say anything, did you?" Kawakami asks, eyes wide and white.
Akira is too worn out. "I didn't," he drawls. "I promise. This is probably about me."
Part of his mind roars at him to focus, to force the pieces together. A faint voice calls to him from across whatever void exists between his ears, "There's always a way out."
"If it's about you, why am I here?" Kawakami asks.
Akira looks at her. "If it's about you, why am I here?"
She makes a face. "Cute."
The door vrrooosh's open, and despite Akira shoots from the chair as if it were electric. Kawakami - he notices - does the same.
"Sit, sit," exclaims the old woman in a voice untaken by pretense, as she struts past them, hand waving in the air as though trying to scare off a pesky fly.
They have not even bowed yet, and Akira's body half-returns to the chair, half-executes a haggard dip.
He obeys her command, and slops down.
Kawakami's eyes, he sees as she follows his example, shift from Toko to himself, Toko to himself, back and forth. Steady as a metronome.
"So." Principal Toko watches them from behind her desk, hands clasped before her, a soft smile suggested across her face. "Here we are."
Today is June Eighth, Akira recalls. This all began on April Ninth. I couldn't even last two months.
"Here we are," Kawakami blurts, and adds, "Toko-sensei."
The women examine him, as if expecting the phrase to exit his mouth as well. His jaw slides open. "Here we-"
"I've been wanting this meeting for some time now," Toko interrupts, and Akira's 'are' fizzles into a murmur. "But sadly my schedule wouldn't permit. It and I are often at odds." She chortles invitingly.
Kawakamki's smile looks drunk. "Hah Hah Hah."
Akira just nods. I know the feeling.
Toko sobers. "Allow me, to say this. Akira Kurusu, what with everything that… shall we say, orbits you? Yes, that's fitting. What with all that orbits you, it was to my supreme delight I discovered how well you were doing here, academically."
What's happening right now? What was that? What just happened?
And from some deep, echoey part of himself, he hears Morgana's voice call up, She just praised you, you idiot.
To which his thoughts reply, That can't be right.
His mouth rebels. "Thank you?"
Toko inclines her head, accepting. "When Kawakamki-sensei informed me of your test scores, I was impressed. Not everyone could transfer into a new school, under your circumstances, and succeed. It appears you've defied certain expectations."
"Sorry to disappoint," he blurts, then mentally skewers himself.
Kawakamki shoots him a morbid look, but Toko-sensei grins. Or maybe, it's better to say she smirks. "On the contrary, I appreciate having expectations shattered. It feels vindicating. Reminds me of why I got into this profession in the first place." She glances towards Kawakami. "And I'm sure your homeroom teacher agrees."
Kawakami's words sprint from her. "Uhhuhyep."
"But." The Principal raises a single, well-manicured finger into the air. "I've concerns. It seems your grades have started to slip. Not by much, mind you. But enough that it's noticeable."
Is this seriously a meeting about my grades?
This is a meeting about my grades.
"Oh," he manages.
"Now, I was under the impression, from what Kawakami-sensei told me, that you are being tutored by the Student Council President?"
"That is true," Kawakami puts in, and sounds relieved to have something to say. "I set it up. I did that."
Toko frowns at her, and returns her attention to Akira. "Are the sessions still continuing?"
Akira tries to figure out how to explain to his new Principal that the study sessions with Makoto are no longer a thing because she agreed to investigate his supernatural group of vigilantes on behalf of the former Principal who either killed himself or was murdered by someone who may have the same powers he has, and that he lied to her about dating his other friend and that friend slapped her in the face and now she certainly knows about his talking cat, but he isn't sure how to phrase any of that without raising suspicion or alarm so he just says, "No."
A long, Hmmm, sound from Toko. Then, "I've meet Niijima-san. She doesn't seem to be the kind of person to stop things halfway. Was there some kind of falling out?"
Akira considers this, and nods. "Yeah. That's a good way of putting it."
"Seriously?" Kawakami asks. She looks at Toko. "I had no idea."
The Principal gives her a sympathetic grin. "Sadly, our charges rarely confide in us. Given the Kamoshida incident, it's hardly surprising. However," and she lightly slaps her hand on the desk, "I will not have your grades slip any further, Kurusu-kun. And you will not let your grades slip any further." She leans back. "To this end, I suggest tutoring sessions. Kawakami-sensei, I'm sure you're more than up to the task."
"Eh?" Kawakami asks. Her face falls apart.
Akira jumps in. "I will not let my grades slip further, Principal Toko. The thing is, I've got a couple of jobs during the week. So, it might be hard to set these sessions up."
Toko shrugs. "I don't see why. What days?" Akira tells her. "Alright then, let's settle on Fridays. How about that?"
Kawakami's face reddens as the seconds march on. "Uh," she says.
"Uh," Akira says.
"Is there some reason this won't work?" Toko asks, an unhappy frown on her lips. "Kurusu, you just told me your work schedule. And Kawakami-sensei, I'm not aware of any additional responsibilities you have, outside school."
"That is true," Kawakami intones, shaking her head. "I definitely don't do other things after school."
Toko claps her hands. "It's settled then. Please keep me informed on the progress." She stands. Akira and Kawakami mirror the movement, though Akira feels like he's in a daze.
Good news: I'm not going to jail. Yet.
Bad news: Now I have another thing to deal with during the week.
"If you'll excuse me," Toko says, gesturing to the door. "I've some calls to make. Please enjoy the rest of your day."
Both bow and stagger out the exit.
Akira begins a mechanical trudge back to class, when Kawakami seizes his arm. "Hey," she hisses. She spins him towards her and releases him.
"What?" He asks.
"Friday's do not work for me," she whispers.
He thinks asking her why, but then remembers what she was doing last Friday. "Oh."
"Yeah," she spits. "'Oh.' We're going to need to work something out. Meet me after school today, and we'll-"
"I can't."
She blinks. Her face is first blank, then a storm. "Excuse me?"
"I can't meet you after school. I've got an appointment."
Kawakami glances down the empty hall, and satisfied they are alone, throws her hands into the air. "I would think this takes priority, Kurusu!"
Akira half turns from her. "What about tomorrow?" He asks. "We've got that school trip to the television studio, right? We can talk then."
"I've got to watch the entire class." Her voice is a low rumble. "We won't get a chance."
He digs his thumbs into his temples. "Well, I can't talk today. So, maybe before we leave for the studio or maybe after or something. I don't know."
Akira watches as her jaw revolves one, two, three soundless circuits. Then, she snaps, "Fine. But we will talk tomorrow. Don't even think about blowing me off." She jerks her head down the hall. "Get to class."
Akira turns, free at last, and tramps away.
#
But of course, he isn't done yet.
Tracing invisible lines between floor tiles, Akira slushes his way through Shujin. He hears a door open and shut behind him, and knows Kawakami has stepped into the faculty room. He is, blessedly – in the Thank God kind of way – alone.
Except he isn't.
"Akira."
The voice pitches his mind overboard. It careens and spider-webs and claws grooves into his brain.
He wonders if perhaps, he is just very tired.
With his luck, though?
His stare travels over the floor, past her dark shoes, her bare ankles, up her black leggings to the conservative Shujin skirt, higher over the white, button-down summer blouse, and skitter across her pale, shapely neck, lips he almost kissed once, and settle on the unmistakably red eyes of Makoto Niijima.
She stands in the hall, poised, somehow always poised. Hands at her side, compressed into fists. Her face is oh so very serious.
Dimly, Akira is aware he should say something to mark this moment. Something profound. Something gut-wrenching. Something for the history books.
Instead, all he manages is, "Hi."
Makoto's brows constrict. Evidently, she'd expected something more too. She removes herself a step, angling away from him. She nods towards the stairwell. "Come with me." Her back to him, she walks away. She doesn't look back.
Typical.
He follows.
Makoto ascends to the third floor, and keeps climbing. "You know," Akira calls up. "Someone once told me the roof was off limits." She doesn't respond, save to fold around the corner above him. Frowning, he lifts his knees a bit quicker, and rounds the bend as the sound of the door shoving open ricochets down to him.
When he reaches the top, Makoto is already outside, eyes searching, patrolling, ensuring their solitude. Akira waits for her to complete the inspection, and shoves his hands in his pockets. Then he takes them out, decides against this, and puts them back in. Now that this moment is finally here, he is a bit disappointed by how weightless it all feels. He'd anticipated his mind firing on all piston-pumping cylinders, but instead he's just fidgeting. Like the mild and meek schoolboy he's pretended to be all this time.
Makoto achieves apparent approval, and turns to him. "Here we are," she says.
"That's the second time I've heard that today," Akira observes, then frowns. "Well, third if you count Kawakami-sensei." Makoto doesn't reply. She stares at him, eyes hard but lips pursed, as if unsure of herself. He seizes on it. "Are you going to say anything else?" He asks, voice mild. "I have a hard time believing you came up here with no plan."
"Why were you," and she pauses, stiffens, and says, "in Principal Toko's office?"
"That's what you want to ask me? Seriously?" She lifts her head a bit, expectant. But fuck that. "Wow. You're not even beating around the bush. We're not even on land right now."
"Was that supposed to be a witty repartee?" Her voice is bored, but Akira knows she's anything but.
He shrugs. "I'm not completely sure what a 'repartee' is, but probably."
She blows air out her lips in a faint, psh noise, and says, "I'd think you could do better. Why were you in there?"
"Why does that matter, Makoto? Why are we talking about my trip to the Principal's office?" He feels a smirk cross his face. "Maybe instead, we should talk about yours'. Back when everyone's favorite Principal Pudding was still with us." Makoto winces and something crosses her face. Something that looks very much like fear. Is she… afraid of me? Akira finds his mouth working before his brain can process this possibility. "It was about my grades."
"Your… grades?"
"Believe it or not," he says. "I've been under some stress lately, so they've been slipping. Principal Toko doesn't want that to happen. She was pleasantly surprised when I did so well on the exams last month."
"Oh," Makoto says, and a smiles hitches a corner of her mouth. "Congratulations."
Akira raises a brow. "On my grades slipping? Gee, thanks."
She scowls. "Not that. You know I meant your test scores, and-" She stops when she sees the smile on his face. "Oh, knock it off."
He lets it fade. "Fine. So why don't we get to why we're really up here?"
Makoto closes her eyes. She takes a long, deep breath. Then another. Then another. When she looks at him again, he sees the same iron determination he's come to recognize in her. And despite everything that's happened, he finds it still stirs something in him. "I wanted to speak to you in person. Not over the phone. Not by a text. Face to face. We do need to talk, about everything." Akira begins to phrase, 'everything,' like a question, but she cuts across him. "Stop it. You know what I'm talking about. But we can't discuss it here." She gestures to the roof. "There's a chance someone could be listening."
Akira starts to growl out, "Welcome to-" then stops himself.
"Afterschool then," she declares. "I was thinking we-"
"Can't."
She blinks. "Excuse me?"
"I can't. As in the opposite of can. I have an appointment."
She narrows her eyes and Akira feels the June heat turn to ice. "I would think this would take priority."
He chuckles. "Second time I've heard that today too." Boom! One liner. Turn and go! He spins around, and raises a hand in farewell. "Come find me tomorrow and we'll work something out." He snaps his fingers. "Oh, right. We'll be at the television studio all day. Guess I'll see you there." He turns back to her with his best thin smile. "I know that's not what you'd prefer, but what can you do, right?" Then, he twists himself around, gives her what he hopes comes across as a sarcastic bow, turns towards the door, and saunters away.
#
Oh hell no.
Makoto marches – no, tears - her way across the rooftop, hand extended. Her footfalls strike like atom bombs, leaving dusty mushroom clouds in her wake.
Hell no. Not after everything. Not after all this. He doesn't get to just play the wannabe tough, mysterious guy and wander off. Screw that!
Her chest runs hot with gasoline, her mind speeding past any sensible speed limit. Damn the secrecy! Damn the maybes! Damn Akira Kurusu and his smooth-talking bullshit! She's done. "Hold it!" She snarls, and catches his shoulder. "I'm not done with you yet." She yanks him back towards her, and as he stumbles into the turn, his bag comes loose from his shoulder. It overturns, slaps down onto the rooftop, unclips, and its contents spill free.
"What the hell-" He starts, but she closes the distance between them and never mind her heart is beating like it's about to explode, and never mind that she feels the flush spread across her like a skin condition, and never mind she considers for the nanoest of nanoseconds grabbing his stupid asshole collar and just kissing his stupid fucking face, she shoves her finger right between his eyes and shouts, "Information exchange!"
Silence stretches until a cool wind cuts across the roof. Makoto feels it in her hair. Overhead, the sun disappears behind a cloud, and their little shared space is bathed in shadow.
"Huh?" Akira asks.
"Information. Exchange." She watches him try to blink away his confusion. "I have information you need," and the dam feels like it's about to burst, but she caulks it, and it holds. "Information about the Phantom Thieves."
Akira's face darkens. She never takes her eyes off his, so she can see the gears start to lurch. Even now, he's looking for a way out of it. Or maybe this was what he wanted. For her to admit it. To push her so much that she would just blurt it right out. Well, who gives a shit at this point?
"What kind of information?" He finally asks.
She smiles. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Yeah, that's why I asked."
Stupid smug… bastard! He couldn't even let her have this. "I'll give it to you. But in return for what I know, you give me the truth." She steps away from him, but keeps her glare strong. "All of it."
His eyes remain the same, but a smile returns. "And what happens if you don't like what you hear?"
Makoto will not look away. "I'll guess we'll see."
Akira breaks the gaze first. He sighs, and bends down to pick up his possessions. Makoto steps back to give him some room, and her eyes do a quick inventory. Who knows? Maybe he keeps some Phantom Thief operating device in his bag.
Her eyes settle on the book.
"Thieves."
"Sorry?"
"The book. It's about thieves."
"Seriously?"
She cannot say why, but her eyes sting. Without saying anything, she turns away, but Akira's voice finds its way up to her. "Per your recommendation." She doesn't reply, and he offers up nothing else. Not what he thinks of it. Not even if he likes it. However, she couldn't help but see the red bookmark, buried in the pages, inching out at the halfway point. Makoto considers telling him about how sad the story gets. Considers revealing the fate of the Gentlemen Bastards. But she can't bring herself to.
Akira cleans up his mess, and stands, bag repositioned on his shoulder. "You know," he says to her, as he heads for the stairs. "You think you know everything, but you don't."
Makoto shoots out before he reaches the door, and she slides into the space offered. "I'll go first, make sure the coast is clear," she mutters. She descends the first few steps and glances back at him. "Oh, and by the way." Akira tries to look disinterested. "I've been to Mementos." She takes supreme pleasure in the nauseous look that crosses his face as he steadies himself in the doorframe. "Yeah," she says. "Bet you didn't see that coming."
#
"You know, it's funny." Takemi swivels about in her chair, lab coat rustling. "I distinctly remember saying, the last time you were here, that this was categorically, not a place for you and your friends to stow away in."
The death in her eyes is focused, not at Akira, but at the young man he has dragged to her clinic. A young man Akira is less than pleased to be dealing with. A young man whose present obliviousness can only be explained by the laser stare he gives the good doctor's legs.
Can't blame him, Akira thinks. They're nice legs.
"You," Takemi snaps, and even her sex appeal isn't enough to distract from that tone. The boy does a little half-jump, and looks petrified. "What's your story?"
"My, um, story?" Kaoru asks.
"That's right," Takemi says, her voice a frustrated purr. "Why are you here?"
Akira begins to say, "I told you that-" but Takemi cuts him off with, "I'm asking him."
"There's no story," Kaoru mutters. "My Dad just told me to go with Akira. He said he would be back later."
"Back later from where?"
Kaoru shrinks in on himself, and Akira keeps back a sigh. "He didn't say," Kaoru tells her. "He just told me it was really important to not be at the store, or at home."
Takemi spreads her arms wide. "I'm still not sure why you're here."
It had been Iwai. Akira had turned the corner in Shibuya, just after leaving Rafflesia, and bumped square into him. "You?" he had said, and Iwai had seized his shoulder in one meaty hand and said, "Come with me."
The man had nearly dragged him to some back alley off Shibuya, a slim slice of pockmarked concrete, filled with dirty water from an earlier rain Akira must've missed during his shift. He had asked Iwai what he wanted, and Iwai had – more or less – told him to babysit Kaoru the following night.
Akira had asked how Iwai knew where he was, and Iwai said he knew how to keep tabs on people, which didn't alarm Akira in any way. Nope.
Then, Iwai had said that it was very important that Akira take Kaoru someplace safe. He'd emphasized 'safe.' "Someplace I don't know. Someplace Kaoru doesn't know. Not your home. Not around Shibuya. Take him out of Shibuya."
What was going on? Why was Iwai asking him to do this? Was Kaoru in danger? All questions Akira asked.
"I'm asking you," Iwai growls. "Because you're not involved." Involved in what? "Doesn't matter. You're not involved, but you're involved in something. And somehow you've managed to not get caught yet. Which means you're cleverer than you look. But given our history of interactions, you're definitely not as clever as you think you are. And that actually works for me. I want you to take Kaoru for the night. Take him someplace safe. Don't think about it too hard. Don't come up with some elaborate plan. Someplace you think is safe that isn't your home or the home of any of your whiz kid friends. I'll text you when I'm done with my meeting, and you bring him back to me."
Akira, had naturally, protested. Given the impending doom Haru's discovery talk was sure to bring down on him, he wasn't sure any location within a five mile radius of himself could be deemed 'safe.' He phrased this differently, of course.
"Don't want to do it?" Iwai asks, then shrugs. "Fine. Don't. But say sayonara to the tech. To using my store as your own personal pawn shop." And as he'd spoken, Akira could hear the cracks in his voice. And seeing Iwai rattled and panicked was very off-putting.
"Okay," Akira told him, reflecting the shrug. "I'll do it. For the tech. I've got work tomorrow night anyway, I can bring him-"
"No. Not Shinjuku either. Too many eyes. Take him someplace with less eyes. A lot less eyes."
And that had been that.
He's done as instructed. A safe place. A place that wasn't his home, or the home of any of his friends. A place outside Shibuya and Shinjuku.
Takemi chews on her lower lip for a moment before she says, "It's a slow night," and Akira has to bite back the comment, 'Isn't every night?' before Takemi continues with, "You two can hole up in one of the exam rooms. I'd rather not have you out here in the lobby. If someone does come in, I don't want them thinking this is a daycare."
Kaoru looks offended, but Akira bobs his head and says, "Thanks," before laying a hand on the younger boy's shoulder and gently pushing him towards the door. He may be doing a good thing, but that doesn't mean he has to be ecstatic about it.
Tomorrow, he has a school trip.
Tomorrow, he has to speak with Kawakami about that whole thing.
Tomorrow, he has to meet with Makoto about that whole other thing.
How the hell did she get into Mementos? But the answer was, naturally, via Haru's phone. Akira steers Kaoru down the hall. Presumably, Makoto and Haru had skipped school yesterday in order to figure out just what could and could not be done with the app. If they've figured it all out, why haven't I been arrested yet? If Makoto was working against the Phantom Thieves, and she had the hard, physical evidence that showed they could change hearts, why was he still walking free? Did she want a straight confession? And what was this 'information' she claimed to have?
Either way, it all comes out tomorrow. He didn't have a way out. With everything Makoto and Haru had, the ball rested firmly in their court. If Akira denied the meeting, they could just hand everything over to the cops.
Calling Lala makes him anxious, and he apologizes for the short notice, but her reply is warm and understanding and so relief soon spreads through him like a stain. Which sucks, because he's lied to her. Told her he had to go to the doctor's. Technically, not a lie. Still, it stings when she asks if he's alright. When she reminds him to get some rest. He thanks her, and hangs up.
"I'm sorry," Kaoru mutters, from where he sits on the exam table.
"For what?" Akira asks, without looking at him. He checks to see if he's gotten any additional messages. Nothing.
"For making you miss work, I guess?"
"It's fine." He replaces his phone in his pocket, and reaches down for his bag. Homework will be a welcome distraction from everything.
"Um," Kaoru says, as Akira heaves out his notebook. "Kurusu?"
Akira sets the book on the desk, and flips it open. "Yeah?"
"Do you know what my dad is up to right now?"
Akira pauses, pencil in hand, poised above a page covered with math problems. "No, I don't."
"But this is weird, right? I mean, it's pretty strange that he'd just suddenly have to go to this meeting and won't tell me anything about it and everything. And, like, why can't I go home? Or wait in the store for him?"
What can he say? It's not as if Akira knows the answers. He knows precious little about Munehisa Iwai. The man owns and operates an airsoft shop. He has a thirteen year old son. He knows about all kinds of illegal things, and has connections in the underworld. Akira has assumed him something of a retired criminal. But what does that mean? There are many types of criminals. Akira is a criminal. Takemi – given her illegal experiments– is too. What was it that had Iwai so freaked out?
He sets the pencil down, and faces him. "I don't know, Kaoru. But your dad seems really smart. And tough. I don't think anything bad will happen. I'm sure he'll be back soon."
The boy doesn't smile, like Akira hoped he would. He kicks his feet back and forth, and stares at them, as if hypnotized. "My dad doesn't talk about things. From when he was young. He just clams up or tells me to be quiet. He can be such a… jerk, sometimes."
A knock and the door opens. Takemi enters, lab coat flowing. She shuts the door and leans against it, arms crossed. "Any idea how long it'll be before your dad returns from his meeting?" Her voice has an edge to it. "I'd been planning on calling it an early night." She looks first at Kaoru, who bites his lip, then to Akira, who shrugs. She huffs. "Well, what about your mom? Is she at work or-"
"I don't have a mom," Kaoru says. It is short, clear, and final. Behind the glasses, his eyes are harder than Akira's ever seen them.
Takemi frowns. "Okay then. Sorry about that." She makes a show of checking her nails. Akira notices the black polish looks freshly applied. "So, just you and your dad, huh?" Kaoru nods. "And you have no idea where he is right now?" A shake of Kaoru's head. "You must be pretty worried." Kaoru opens his mouth but Takemi speaks quickly, "Why not go to your girlfriend's?"
Kaoru's cheeks redden. "Huh? What girlfriend?"
Takemi levels a confused gaze at him. "Your girlfriend, Kaoru-kun. You have one, right?"
Kaoru shakes his head. "Uh, n-no I don't! I don't have a girlfriend."
She tilts her head, a small smile on her face. "But you're so handsome. I'd think the girls would be lining up to go out with you." Kaoru stammers out something that doesn't resemble any known human language, and Takemi nods sagely. "I see. They're probably just nervous. It's understandable."
"I-I-" Kaoru looks as if his mind has broken, caught in a loop. Akira rolls his eyes. Smooth, Doc.
"Well, you should ask Akira for advice," Takemi puts in.
"Huh?" Kaoru asks.
"Huh?" Akira asks.
"He's a regular Casanova."
Kaoru turns to him, eyes wide. "Really?"
"N-no," Akira retorts. He looks at the boy and tries to convey as much sincerity into his words as he can. "I don't know where she's getting this from, Kaoru. It's-"
"I thought you were dating Ann-chan," Takemi mutters, her tone amused and sly. "That blonde girl I see you with."
Kaoru nods vigorously. "I've seen her! She comes by the shop with him sometimes." Her mouth hangs open, even as he speaks. "You're dating her?"
"No," Akira shouts, shaking his head. "I am not doing that. I am not dating Ann."
"So you must be dating Makoto," Takemi puts in.
Akira freezes. "How do you know about her?"
"You talked about her incessantly, last time you were here." She puts her finger to her chin and gazes thoughtfully at the ceiling. "Let's see, there was another name too. Haru, I think. You said you liked her hair. Oh, and you mentioned someone named Ohya too."
Akira feels the blood rush from his face. "I don't… I don't know what you're talking about. I never mentioned them."
"Wow," Kaoru whispers. "You've got four girlfriends?"
"I don't even have one!" Akira shouts, panicking now. How the hell does she know all those names, and-
"Akira's somewhat shy too," Takemi explains. "I'm only able to get this info out of him when he's helping me with my experiments."
Akira groans. Of course. Who the hell knows what else I've said when I'm on that shit.
"He flirts with me a lot too," Takemi tells Kaoru, and wink at him conspiratorially. "So thanks for being here. It can be exhausting to deal with him when he's in 'lady killer' mode."
"I don't have a 'lady killer' mode!" Akira yells at her. He hears the telltale sound of a zipper, and turns to see Kaoru opening his backpack. The boy pulls out a notebook, and takes a pen from his pocket, which he clicks. "What're you doing?" Akira asks.
"Taking notes," Kaoru exclaims, enthusiastically. Takemi throws back her head and laughs.
#
The room smells of cologne. Iwai can't tell if it's cheap or not. Never touched the stuff himself.
Three men sit in the room, if he counts himself. Two stand near the door, silent and still as boards, but vibrating with the kind of violent energy he's soon too often in life.
Tsuda sits to his left, ramrod straight, face guarded.
Across from Iwai, the third man, Junya Kaneshiro, regards him.
His sleeves are rolled up to his biceps, showcasing the tattoos, but Iwai gets the impression he isn't peacocking. It's just a little warm in the room.
A pair of glasses and a dark, muddy bottle of whiskey stands guard on the table between them.
"How old is he?" Kaneshiro asks, voice soft and smooth.
Iwai knows he is anything but. "Thirteen," he answers honestly.
Kaneshiro smiles. It doesn't seem malignant at first glance. Keep staring though, and you'll soon see what's looking back at you. The man leans forward, unscrews the bottle, and fills the glasses with a healthy dose. "Should drink to that. Thirteen's a good age."
Iwai shrugs. "Any age is good when you're above ground."
Kaneshiro slides one of the glasses towards him. "That's funny." He doesn't laugh.
Iwai lifts it up. "You're gonna make me remember my drinking problem," he growls out, trying to sound at ease.
You're overdoing it.
This time, Kaneshiro does laugh. It's a low, deep chuckle. He takes up his own glass, and lifts it. "To being above ground, brother."
Iwai nods, tilts his glass, and takes a pull. The whiskey bites his mouth like a razorblade, but it's nothing he hasn't had before.
Kaneshiro sips. Sets the glass down. "Tsu-chan here tells me he seems like a good kid. Capable."
"Actually," Iwai replies. "Kid's a klutz."
"Not a nice thing to say about your own."
"Not like I called him retarded. Kid's smart. Just not very coordinated. He's got a head for books." He rolls his eyes around the room, confident Kaneshiro would understand the look. "Not for any of this shit."
Kaneshiro's silence stretches. Then, he says, "I'm sure we can change that."
Iwai fights to keep from swallowing. To buy some time, he takes another swallow.
"Look," he says, and holds his free hand up, palm out. "He's not in this world. I left to make sure he wouldn't be. No offense, but I don't want him to have any part in this."
Kaneshiro's shrug is light, almost playful. "I'm not offended. You want what's best for your son. So do I." Iwai opens his mouth, but Kaneshiro shakes his head. "Don't misunderstand me. You seem to think I'll treat him like one of those bozos we recruit from the high schools." He spreads his arms wide. "But the son of Munehisa Iwai? I'd take him under my wing. He'd be my..." He snaps his fingers a few times, then glances towards the two men by the door. "Nanashi, what's the word I'm looking for?"
"Ward?" One of the men suggests, without moving.
Kaneshiro snaps one final time and grins. "That's it. He'd be my ward. Under my protection. I wouldn't expose him to any danger."
And Iwai knows that even if that were true, and even if this wasn't some elaborate game for Kaneshiro to take his son hostage, that he'd rather stuff the kid in a box and toss him out a plane onto a deserted island than let him learn one thing from this man.
He's heard the stories. Seen some of their truths written across the streets of Shibuya. Kaneshiro infects this town like disease, like a cancer. And just like a cancer, every day he grows larger.
"I'm sorry," Iwai replies. "But no."
Kaneshiro's smile never flickers, never falters. He takes a deep breath. "You know, I think you've lingered too long on the outside, brother. You've forgotten just what you can have."
He lifts his gaze back to the two men. "Muzaki," he calls.
The second man turns, opens the door, and steps out of the room. Ten seconds later, he reenters.
His hand holds stiff the forearm of a girl. She is maybe seventeen. Maybe. Black hair is done up in some style Iwai assumes is modern, but it feels very haphazard, as if someone who hadn't quite known how to do it, had done it. A pink bow is tied through it.
Her clothes are a typical sexy take on a schoolgirl uniform. Dark plaid skirt yanked higher than it needs to be. White blouse, tied together, rather than buttoned, revealing the cleavage underneath. High heels clickclack their way across the floor.
Iwai looks up into the girl's eyes. They swim in a foggy pool, faint and faraway. He knows these eyes well. These are the eyes that only know how to look for one thing.
The next fix.
As if the track marks on her arm weren't a dead enough give away.
"What's your name?" Kaneshiro asks.
The girl sways in Muzaki's grasp, then answers, dreamily. "Eiko."
Kaneshiro turns back to him. "What'd you say, brother? Maybe giving Eiko a spin will change your mind."
Iwai doesn't let himself glance at Tsuda, who has been silent the entire meeting. He hopes Kaneshiro isn't as familiar and cunning as he seems, because Iwai can almost feel the disgust bleeding off his friend.
"As a general rule," Iwai says. "I try to only bang girls that know what planet they're on."
Kaneshiro's smile fades. "Each and owns, I suppose." He glances back up at the Muzaki, and jerks his head towards the door.
Wordlessly, Muzaki drags Eiko out. He returns a few moments later, and resumes his post.
"I think we're in danger of not settling this," Kaneshiro tells him, and his voice is an octave deeper. "But let me be clear. All of the things you're talking about. All the reasons you've listed. I fail to see how any of it is my problem."
Iwai shakes his head. "I can't give you Kaoru, Kaneshiro." He wishes for all the whiskey in the world to keep his tongue behind his teeth, but he plays the only card he has left. "But, I know this other kid. He may be more of what you're looking for."
#
Ryuji jams as much of the paper into the garbage bin as he can. Satisfied, he takes off the gloves – which peel from his skin with a soft pop - and tosses them on top of the pile. The backdoor opens, and Ann steps out from his house, more crumbled up wads held in her arms. "You need to clean your room more," she snaps, and carts them over.
"Throw 'em in," he replies.
Ann does. She makes a show of dusting off her hands, as Ryuji stomps the heap down, and coats it with a squirt from the lighter fluid bottle. "I think that's everything."
Ryuji nods, but doesn't say anything.
"You okay?"
He shrugs. "It's just kind of sad, you know?" He jabs his chin towards the bin. "This is all the original Phantom Thieves shit."
Ann gifts him an amused smile. "Yeah, but it's mostly paper scraps, right?"
He scowls. "I know that. But it's the crap I used to make the first calling card. It should be like, in a museum or something."
Her grin expands as she reaches out and pats his shoulder. "Maybe you should've given them to Yusuke. He could've used them in some art deco piece, or something."
Ryuji returns a frown. "Art what?"
Ann giggles. "Never mind."
He turns back to the mound. "Guess it's time, huh?"
"Are, uh, you sure it's okay for us to be doing this out here?" Ann asks, glancing back towards the house as Ryuji pulls the matchbook from his pocket.
"Mom's working late tonight," he tells her as he strikes one. "Long as we clean up, it'll be fine."
Ann nods, as Ryuji lobs the stick onto the pile, and watches as their small cache of evidence goes up in a tiny flame. It was Akira's idea. In case the meeting with Makoto and Haru went south.
"Ryuji?" Ann asks.
"Yeah?"
She doesn't reply right away. "We're going to be okay, right?"
He looks at her, and whatever she sees on his face isn't enough to convince her, so he bulldozes it with the biggest grin he can muster. "Course we will!"
Ann nods, and steps closer to him. Without a word, she wraps one of his arms in her own, and rests her head on his shoulder. Ryuji's brain, unable to process this, keeps his eyes pinned to the fire.
Together, they watch the evidence burn.
And burn.
And burn.
And burn.
"Uh, Ryuji?" Ann asks as the flame climbs higher. "How much lighter fluid did you use?"
"Enough," he replies.
She lets him go and Ryuji feels a pang in his chest he doesn't understand and she picks up the bottle, eyes widening. "This is a new bottle Ryuji. And it feels half-empty!" She reads the label. "It says, 'Use Conservatively.'"
"I did," he counters. "I sprayed a bit on for every layer of shit."
Her jaw drops. "That's 'Liberally,' you idiot!"
The fire heightens, and a fresh wave of heat pulses over his face. "Oh. Oh shit." He inches his way towards the flame. No big deal, he tells himself.
"What're you-" Ann starts, but then Ryuji hikes his leg up and brings it down into the center of the fire. Again and again and again, in a relentless stomp.
It took all of three seconds for him to realize it wasn't working. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he mutters, as he pulls his leg free.
The fire sticks to his pant leg like pigment. "OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT!"
Ann gasps a, "Ryuji," and Ryuji replies with, "Fire Extinguisher," and gestures wildly at the house. Ann disappears through the backdoor, as Ryuji hops through his backyard, swatting at the flames and trying desperately to remember the steps to 'Stop, Drop, and Roll.'
Ann returns in the middle of one of his curses, red extinguisher in hand, and she holds it up to read the directions. "Okay, so first I-"
"Do it already!" Ryuji shrieks.
"Give me a second!" Ann hollers back, eyes ricocheting across the plastered on instructions. "Okay, okay, I think I've got it."
Ryuji misses what it is she does, but a second later a thick stream of white sputters out and coats his leg. He drops to the ground and pats at it, petrified the fire might leap back up any second. When it's clear he's safe, Ann turns the extinguisher to the still burning pile of evidence, smothers it, and drops the extinguisher.
She stomps over to him, and looms over him, hands on her hips. Ryuji lays back on the earth, looks up at her, and starts to laugh.
Ann shakes her head. "That wasn't…" She trails off as Ryuji's laughter doesn't stop. He sees her smile first, then her eyes narrow, and then she's doubled over, gasping for breath too. She lowers herself to the ground alongside him, heedless of the white foam that cakes the ground, and stares up at the sky.
"You are such an idiot," she tells him.
Her hand finds his, and seizes it. It is sticky with the extinguisher's foam. She holds it anyway.
"I know," he tells her.
#
Iwai stalks down the Yongen-jaya street, oblivious to the bubbling Tokyo heat. Beneath his jacket, sweat cements his shirt to skin, but this is not why he feels disgusting.
Kaneshiro had listened to his proposal, and dismissed with a bitten off, "I'll think about it."
He spits into a gutter he passes and turns down the street he'd told Akira to meet him at.
A voice calls, "Dad." He winces. Kaoru jogs towards him, hand raised in greeting, as if he didn't already see him.
Shuttered storefronts line the road. Streetlights offer little islands of illumination. In one of those, stands Akira, a worn and unsettling look on his face.
Kaoru stops next to him and starts babbling something, but Iwai keeps his eyes on Akira. "What's wrong?" He demands.
"He's worried," comes a voice, feminine, and harsh but smooth. "About what I'm going to say to you." Iwai stiffens, and his eyes search the dark, settling on a silhouette beneath an awning
It unfolds into a woman in a leather jacket tossed over a spectacularly short dress. He can't make out the color. Her dark hair's short, her heels are long, and her legs are the right kind of even longer.
Her eyes are stilletos executing one long thrust into his chest.
"So, uh," Akira mumbles, and rubs the back of his head. "This is-"
"I'm," she cuts in, "the complete stranger you left your son with for a few hours."
Iwai drags his gaze from her and levels it at Akira. "I told you to take him somewhere safe."
The woman slithers between them. "He was safe. But I'd like to know where you were for all this time, that you felt it necessary to leave your son with-"
He sets a hand on Kaoru's shoulder, and drags him backwards. "None of your business."
Her face contorts into a deeper glare. "Wrong answer." Her heels on the pavement sound like bones breaking as she pursues them.
He slows his retreat, and tries to embarrass her away. "Don't they teach girls nowadays to be less clingy?"
This does not have the intended effect. "Keep talking," she growls. "It'll just hurt more."
He doubles down. "Look at you. You're getting me fired up."
"Some role model you've got here, Kaoru-kun," she says. Her pace has not slowed. She is a bare meter from them.
"Uh, dad..." Kaoru starts, but then the woman's hand shoots out, reaching for Iwai's jacket.
He reacts without thinking, like he always has, and snatches her arm before she can snag him. He lifts her arm a bit higher, and she closes the distance between with a clomp clomp of her heels.
He glares down at her.
She glares up at him.
Neither blinks.
Then Akira shows up and ruins everything. "Okay," he says, popping up alongside them. "That's probably good for an introduction, right? Let's all just... not look like we want to murder one another." A strange expression crosses his face. "I mean, I think you two want to murder one another, but the looks you guys are-"
In synch, both turn to him and snarl, "Back off!"
"Alright then," Akira replies, and does as he's told.
Iwai releases her arm. She lowers it, slowly, as if unafraid. Hell, she probably wasn't.
"Thanks for watching my kid," he says to her. "Guess I owe you one. But watching him for a few hours doesn't entitle you to shit." He steps away, steers Kaoru and calls back over his shoulder, "I've gotta talk to you soon, kid. Don't do anything stupid in the meantime."
Akira doesn't reply.
He hears her mutter, "Asshole," at his back.
He tells Kaoru to keep his mouth shut until they're around the corner. He's got a lot to think about, and he figures he can ask Kaoru for the woman's name some other time.
#
Ohya lowers the camera as Munehisa Iwai turns the corner, adopted son in tow.
The Plague glowers for a bit, then angry-whispers at Akira for a while, who just stands there and listens.
Typical.
Together, the two head off, and disappear without sparing her a glance.
She pulls back the hood of the sweatshirt, and fans herself off. So, Akira Kurusu, Tae Takemi, and former yakuza enforcer Munehisa Iwai - including his son, Kaoru - hang out on street corners after dark together.
Why?
Simplest solution? Iwai ordered drugs from The Plague. But why involve his son? Why involve Akira? And that didn't explain Akira's connection to Takemi.
Just what the hell was his role in all of this?
She shoves away from the alley's wall, and heads for the station. She needs a drink. Think you can just blow me off, eh? You've got another thing coming, Akira.
##
A/N: I think this may be one of my favorite chapters. Writing this took a long time, but I got it just the way I wanted it.
And the inevitable meeting between AKIRA AND MAKOTO OCCURRED!
I considered dragging this out another few chapters, but figured you'd all hack my computer, find my address, and come after me with pitchforks and torches.
As to the other issue. I'm not going to take a break, but I am going to cut back on the posts per week. Honestly, I think that in order to get things the way I want them, I'll just post once a week for the time being. Fridays would be easiest for me, so expect the next chapter of Crimson next Friday.
It'll only be temporary until I can fix things up, and then I'll increase the tempo again. Most of you replied that you'd prefer quality over quantity anyway, so hey, it works out.
Thank you very much for reading Crimson. I really appreciate it!
Oh, and if I haven't gotten to your comment yet, I apologize. I'll get to it as soon as I can.