tw/ verbal harassment that is sexual in nature, mentions of sexual assault, mentions of abuse, alcohol usage, mentions of suicide
It's raining when Akane wakes in the morning. The sky is blanketed with pale gray for an hour or so, until the rain lets up and the clouds part, letting the sun dry Kogami's workspace before she finishes eating her breakfast.
Though the swelling in her ankle has calmed significantly overnight, leaving her with only a dull ache, he tells her to stay off of it for a while longer. So Akane rests for the majority of the day on the sofa.
While Kogami spends his day tending to the garden, Akane spends hers reading. The book collection he's amassed is on the smaller side, but it's filled with an array of titles that she scans in search for something of interest. Although from what she remembers of his taste in books, she's certain she'll like almost anything he keeps on his shelf.
She wonders which books have seen the light of Japan, that she might remember from the crammed shelves of books in his old quarters, which ones that could have been waiting in this abandoned cabin before he found it, and which ones that were picked up along his journey to Spain, carrying with them stories she wouldn't be able to find in their texts.
There is one paperback with a frayed, worn spine that draws her eye. When she fingers it from its place and pulls it out to hold in her hands, the binding looks fragile, barely held together by decades-old glue, as though it's been read too many times to count and has somehow survived.
The Long Walk by Stephen King, she reads. It must be good if he's worn it down this much from reading it.
A summary on the back cover intrigues her further and so she curls up comfortably on the sofa to spend the next few hours engrossed in its pages.
It's after sundown when she's disturbed by the sound of the patio door sliding open. She doesn't look up right away, instead waiting until she finishes reading a paragraph, but when she glances up to greet him, he isn't anywhere to be seen.
Through the patio door there's stark evidence of how much time has passed that she hadn't noticed; the sky is painted with a deep wine canvased behind pitch-colored leaves that dance in the wind, no traces of sunlight left except what cries from below the horizon.
He must be exhausted from working hard all day.
Then she notices his coat hanging on the back of a chair, and a moment later the familiar, light drumming of dry rice being poured into a bowl escapes from the kitchen.
It reminds Akane of those home-cooked meals she is seldom treated to, other than the exceptionally rare occasions when she finds slivers of time to visit her parents amidst the chaotic demands of work. This sentiment pries her from the warm indent in the sofa cushion as she bookmarks her place and sets the book down on the coffee table. Then, carefully, she rises to her feet.
The day of rest has helped considerably. Her ankle is stiff but gives her minimal pain when she walks. She's careful to not place too much weight on the injury as best as she can manage.
When she finally saunters into the kitchen Kogami is standing with his back to her, hunched over the sink as he washes the rice in a basin.
"You should be resting," he says without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
"I've been resting all day," she complains. "I'm fine. And I'm a little sick of your couch to be honest." Truthfully, she's in dire need of a conversation after spending the day alone in a quiet room with nobody to talk to.
"So you're feeling absolutely no pain whatsoever," he comments. The skeptical nature of his tone suggests he's fully aware that his statement isn't true and is inviting her to correct him. So rather than answering, she silently compromises by hoisting herself up onto the counter and sitting in the small space between the stove and sink that he isn't using.
He glances up from the basin of rice to look at her, his expression softening with amusement before he shifts his focus back to his work.
"Just be careful when you get down," he says.
"I thought I'd jump down directly on it, actually," she teases. He doesn't seem to find the joke as funny as she does, evident by his half-hearted glare, but she simply smiles back with jest in her eyes until he looks away.
She watches his hands work as he flushes the rice with water then drains it, repeating the process until the rice is sufficiently rinsed and the water runs clear.
"So how many times have you read through that Stephen King book?" she asks. He lifts the basin into the rice cooker and snaps the lid down, switching it on with the press of a button. Then he moves to the refrigerator.
"Which one?" He pulls out a small paper package from the cool shelves and brings it back to his workspace.
"The one about a race without a finish line."
"The Long Walk?"
"Yes, that one. It looks so worn it seems like it's about to fall apart."
"I've read it once, maybe twice," Kogami says. His eyes are fixed on the two fish he pulls from the package. Akane's brows raise in confusion.
"So was it just in that bad of shape when you got it?" He lays out the fish to lie flat on a cutting board and moves to the sink to wash his hands.
"That was supposed to be a joke," he says.
"Not a very good one," she laughs. With the cover of her hand she shields her sneer from his side glare.
For a quick moment she worries her comment has upset him when, after he dries his hands, suddenly he steps in her direction with an annoyed look on his face. He stops directly in front of her with unreadable eyes, dark yet inviting, and with lips that pull up in a smirk as she instinctively leans away from his closeness, the back of her head bumping lightly into the cabinet behind her.
Though she's taken aback by his unexpectedly close proximity, she doesn't let her gaze waver from his.
"Do you need something?" she asks. In lieu of answering, he reaches for her crown, pulling it down so that he can open the cabinet without the door hitting her head. Too shocked to move, she finds his shirt is soft and reeks of his cigarettes, and his hand on the back of her head is warm.
Seconds later she can feel the crescendo of her heart drumming in her ears as she stares at their feet, his planted on the floor and hers dangling above them. Clinks of glass from all of his rummaging distract her. Though it can't take him that long to find what he needs, Akane swears an eternity passes by before he finally closes the door and lets her sit up.
In his hand are a few small canisters of spices, which he sets on the counter before getting to work seasoning the fish. One by one, he sprinkles a dash of each spice over the fish, then flips them over and repeats the process until both sides are covered to his satisfaction.
"What kind of seasoning are you putting on them?" she asks.
"Salt, pepper, paprika, and garlic," he says. Then he offers her an apologetic half-smile. "Though I suppose I should have asked if that's alright with you first."
She shakes her head, waving him off.
"I'll eat whatever you make."
"You don't have any allergies, do you?"
At first she shakes her head, but then her head cocks to the side with distant interest, as if remembering a long-forgotten memory.
"Well I'm not allergic, but I don't like mushrooms," she says. "That's my only request."
"I can work with that." He moves the seasoned fish over to the stove top and drops them in a pan before switching on the heat. She watches thoughtfully as he fries them, watching them cook and bubble around the edges, and immersing her so deeply in observing that she jumps a little when he speaks again.
"Why don't you like them?" he asks.
"Like what?"
"Mushrooms."
"I don't like the texture." She shudders a little at the thought. "And they leave a weird aftertaste." He hums thoughtfully, noting her preference. She wonders if she's just ruined a potential meal he'd been planning.
"Why do you ask?"
"Just trying to get an idea of your taste palate," he says. She smiles softly.
"It sounds as though you've become quite the chef over the years," she muses. He shrugs.
"You start to learn the importance of flavor when you're eating the same boring crap every day."
"At least you know how to flavor things," she says. "Every time I've tried to cook something it never comes out tasting quite right. Usually it just ends up in the garbage."
"I've had your cooking before," he says. "It wasn't that bad."
"You must have been sick or something," she says with a laugh. She keeps her eyes fixed on the fish as it cooks.
"I'm sure what you cook is better than that crap AIs call food." Now he's the one shuddering from awful food memories.
"Maybe." She shrugs. "Though I don't have one anymore. I usually just eat in the cafeteria at work or order takeout. That's all I have time for these days."
"Work keeping you busy?" Akane nods. Her shoulders slump sadly as they switch to this new topic. What awaits her when she returns to work isn't something she's particularly excited about.
Kogami notices her change in attitude and regrets asking. He searches for another subject to talk about but falls short of anything substantial. They sit in the quiet interrupted only by the crackling of fish.
"Do you miss it?" she asks quietly. "Working in the CID?"
"I miss a lot of things," he says. "Being held under lock and key by Sibyl isn't one of them." He'd only planned on leaving it at that, until he notices the nimble fingers of sadness creep down her face from the corner of his eye.
That's when he realizes what she's actually asking, and suddenly he feels like an ass.
"But the job itself wasn't too bad," he adds. That seems to ratify his mistake as her face softens, but only a little. It doesn't erase everything.
They're interrupted by a chime from the rice cooker with almost perfect timing as the fish are just about finished.
Over dinner they talk more about the book Akane is reading. Kogami gives her an actual answer to her question, and it turns out he's read through the novel countless times, so many that he couldn't give an estimate even if he tried, due mostly to his strong relationship to the protagonist. That, and the book is an underrated Stephen King classic, according to Kogami.
Akane surprisingly enjoys the subtle horror of the book as a whole. This comes as a shock to him. Though she explains she isn't partial to any one genre, it still confuses him; she never seemed like someone to read, let alone enjoy, dark literature.
Then when he thinks about it, Kogami doesn't know much about her personal preferences at all. The only exception that he can think of other than the newfound knowledge of her distaste for mushrooms is her choice in fashion, which was rather feminine and colorful at the time that he'd met her. But now, looking at the simple gray shirt and crisp, clean pair of jeans she wears, he wonders if that's changed. Then he wonders what else about her may have changed over time that isn't as evident.
When they've finished eating and washed the dishes, Kogami showers and heads upstairs to end his day early. Given that he devoted most of his day to hard work in his garden, she doesn't blame him.
Akane decides to rinse off as well. Unfortunately the shower doesn't heat up beyond a brisk lukewarm no matter how far she twists the knob, so she's in and out in a flash, slipping quickly into her sleep clothes and retreating to warm refuge in her blankets on the loveseat.
The night is dark outside, a black canvas outside the window in front of her. Despite the hour, her mind is wide awake. So she passes the time by reading, hoping to make quick work of finishing her novel before she falls asleep. The task proves its difficulty as her mind starts to wander while she reads.
Akane wonders how her team is faring without her. Surely Mika is handling the temporary handover of the Senior Inspector title just fine. She's tough and more than capable of the job. Although wrangling several Enforcers on her own for an undetermined amount of time can't be an easy task, even for someone as fierce and determined as Mika.
A bubble of guilt begins to form in the pit of her stomach that grows worse the longer her thoughts linger. She knows she needs to get back home at some point; things can't be left as they are for too long. She has new shoes to fill, bigger and more demanding, and they cannot continue to go unfilled for much longer. The pressure of what awaits her didn't feel quite so heavy when she boarded the plane to Spain just two days prior, but now she can feel the weight of it begin to show itself.
It's not so much leaving the job of two people for Mika to handle on her own that eats at her; it's the fact that Akane knows she's only delaying the inevitable by being away, by hiding away in Spain despite her selfish justification. And though only she is aware of it, the fact that she's hiding behind a lie weighs heavily on her conscience.
She desperately wanted to tell Mika and Ginoza when she first got the news. Even more than that, she wants to tell Kogami before she leaves. Somebody should know about her secret, and of all people, he's the best person to tell. But she can't.
It's at this point in her train of thought where Akane realizes she's read an entire page without recalling a single word. With a huff of frustration she starts over, flitting her eyes back to the top of the page. Slowly, she forges her way through the pages, and then through a whole chapter, and after that she works her way into the next with eyes that ache like hot iron until she lets them close.
The next thing she's aware of is filtered sunlight dawning on her closed lids as the shield of pages tickles her cheeks when it's lifted from her face. And then she's suddenly aware of a tall, dark figure looming over her.
Instinctively, her hand seizes the wrist of the intruder and twists their arm before she registers who it actually is.
But Kogami's reaction is just as fast. His free hand snatches her arm, freezing her movements before she can do any damage.
She unhands him immediately when she realizes what has just happened, and collapses down on the sofa, draping her arm over her eyes to hide her embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she mutters. She can feel her face growing red under her arm. Kogami chuckles.
"I should be the one apologizing for startling you," he says. She looks from beneath the shield of her limb to find the book in his hands, one finger stuck between the pages to mark her spot. Then she watches him set it down on the table after slipping a bookmark in place.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"Early. Want some coffee?" She sits up and stretches her arms high above her head as far as they'll go.
"Sure," she says. A yawn escapes her, and she covers her mouth with a hand until it passes. Meanwhile he disappears into the kitchen.
Before getting up, Akane takes a moment to survey her ankle to find it isn't swollen or tender to the touch, nor does it cause her any discomfort when she stands and walks over to the bathroom.
Kogami is strolling from the kitchen with two mugs of steaming liquid in his hands and heading for the dining table when she finishes her business, and she makes her way over to join him. He pauses, noticing the encouraging lack of limping when she walks.
"How's the leg?" he asks.
"Fine," she says, sitting down in one of the chairs. He sets the mug down in front of her and heads back into the kitchen, then returns with sugar for the coffee. He doesn't add any to his, so it must be for her.
"How did you know?" she asks, gesturing to the sugar before she picks up a spoonful to stir into her mug. Her tone is as playful as her eyes. "Are you profiling me?"
"Not this time. Just a guess." She takes a tentative sip to test the sweetness while he sits down in the seat opposite from her, and watches her add in another spoonful with exhausted curiosity in his eyes. Then he adds, "Although people who are compassionate and friendly are more likely to enjoy sweeter things."
"What does your expertise say about people who drink black coffee?"
"They're more likely to be callous, insensitive, and manipulative," he says, looking dejectedly down into the dark liquid in his mug. He stares as though he's looking in a mirror and finds muted disgust in the reflection.
"You're not any of those things, if that's what you're thinking."
"You seem pretty sure of yourself."
"Name one manipulative thing you've done," she challenges.
"I wanted you to kill Makishima," he says roughly. The icy notes in his tone take her by surprise. "On Nona Tower, with the helmet."
Blood runs cold through her veins as she recalls the daunting night in question. It's not a memory she likes to think about. Feeling so inundated with uncontained rage that spilled over the brims of her eyes, how she battled with herself to summon courage monumental enough to swallow her boiling anger and make the choice she could live with, it hadn't been easy-especially not with Kogami's pathetic, half-conscious plea for her to strike him dead. It killed her to put the helmet down.
"That wasn't manipulative," she argues.
"Yes it was. I told you to kill him because I knew some part of you wanted to. That's manipulation."
"But I didn't kill him."
"That doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does."
Kogami leans back in his chair, sighing in frustration. He looks away from the table and stares at the wall.
"Can you think of anything else?" she asks. He spends a long moment in thought but comes up with nothing.
"No."
"Doing something manipulative one time doesn't inherently make you a manipulative person," she argues. "Do you view the people close to you as tools for personal gain?"
"Of course not."
"Do you disregard their emotions and treat them however it's convenient for you to?"
"No."
"Do you treat them with respect and acknowledge their free will as individuals?"
"Yes."
"Then that should be enough proof for you," she says firmly.
He looks back at her finally, and she finds his eyes are strangely void of thought. That's very unlike him. Normally they're swimming with too many.
There's something else in them that she can't quite pinpoint, but it's unnervingly familiar.
He doesn't reply; instead he lets her conclusion sit in the air, as though he's uncertain of if he wants to acknowledge it.
"I can also tell you from firsthand experience that you're not insensitive," she says. "You've always treated me with respect, and I know it wasn't just because I was your superior. You're kind, too, even if you don't think so. It shows in your protectiveness." She pauses to sip her coffee. "Isn't that why you became a detective in the first place? To protect people?"
That seems to be the right thing to say.
"You remember words from a letter written all those years ago?" There's a hint of a smirk on his lips as he lifts his mug to them.
"That must mean you remember writing it." Here she pauses to carefully consider her words. With her gaze hidden in the sugary concoction, she decides on what she wants to voice.
"I still have it," she says quietly. "I read it from time to time." Her cheeks feel warm when she speaks, but it's probably just the heat of coffee.
A few moments pass with both of them staring into their mugs.
"Wouldn't reading it just make you sad?" he asks.
"It does." She wears a crestfallen smile that makes him regret stealing a glance at her expression. His gaze sinks back to the table.
"So then why do something you know is going to make you feel bad?"
"Sadness isn't always a bad thing," she says. "It just means there was something important to you, and it's okay to miss it."
He studies the grainy texture on the surface. Was it really that important to her?
"And just so you know," she quickly adds, "an insensitive person wouldn't have taken the time to write a goodbye letter. Oh, I never got the chance to thank you for it."
That sparks his interest enough to raise his gaze, where he finds her vulnerable eyes and softened smile staring back at him. His jaw tightens as he grits his teeth, his heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. "It helped," she says. "To come to terms with…what happened."
"It was Pops' suggestion," he says. His tone matches his pained expression. "Said those exact words, even."
"Is he one of those things you miss?" she asks.
"Yeah."
"Me too."
He doesn't know why he bothers to glance up a second time, because when he does, he's filled with the same dreadful regret as before, gnawing at the cage of ribs and boiling in his stomach.
Her face is even more pitiful than his surely is, and yet she doesn't seem bothered by it at all. As always, her eyes are ringed with determination and strength, and a gentle kindness coats her irises despite the sadness so prominent in them.
How is it that she's able to discuss topics as heavy as these without being crushed under the weight of them?
He wonders if this is the same face she would have worn had he been brave enough to say goodbye to her in person, instead of hiding behind a letter like a coward.
He also wonders whether or not she's forgiven him. He hasn't apologized, and he can't bring himself to. That would mean putting aside his values, going back on what he believes to be right, and taking away any justification he still has for the road he turned down all those years ago that led him here, to the confines of an abandoned cabin in the outskirts of a fallen country's capital.
Some would call these means of survival pathetic, but at least this way he has freedom. He can't apologize for that; he would be betraying himself if he did.
But he betrayed her, and he knows that it hurt her somewhere deep down that cannot be undone no matter what he says or does. It hurt him, too. It hurt everyone.
If he's going to apologize for anything, even if his letter had already served that purpose, he could at least start there.
When he looks at her again, however, there's a deep sense of calmness radiating from her that eases some of the guilt clawing at his chest. She's perfectly comfortable talking about his letter, about the past, even if it brings her pain. She offers him warm smiles and comforting words. She isn't asking for an apology. She already knows he's sorry and doesn't need him to say it.
She truly is a remarkable woman.
"Catch," he says, tossing Akane a helmet as she strides down the porch steps. Her hands clasp around it reflexively, jumping in surprise. She looks up to find him seated on a sleek, black motorcycle, and he's wearing a helmet that matches the one in her hands. In his lap is a backpack and a half-smoked cigarette sits between his fingers as he pulls it from his lips.
"Where were you hiding this?" she asks as her eyes widen at the sight of the bike. She definitely doesn't remember seeing it anywhere on the property before.
"That's a secret," he discloses, after exhaling a dark puff of smoke.
She doesn't push her question, instead looking down at the helmet in her hands uncertainly. She raises her arms to fit it on her head…only she's putting it on backwards, and Kogami has to suppress a laugh as he quickly stops her.
"Come here," he says, biting down on the cigarette to free his hands. She moves at his request, and when she's standing in front of him he lifts the helmet and turns it around, then snaps the buckles in place and adjusts the straps. "How's that?"
"Good, I think," she says. He nods, then hands her the backpack to slide around her shoulders. While she does that, he takes one last drag of his cigarette and drops it to the ground, scuffing it out with the sole of his boot. He then pats the empty seat behind him, gesturing for her to climb on, and she holds onto his shoulder to keep steady as she does so. When she's seated properly he angles his body around to look up at her.
"Ever ride one of these before?" he asks. She shakes her head. The anxiety must be clear as day on her face, because he drops into a quick lesson that boils down to just hold onto me and you won't fall, which sounds easy enough to her-though it doesn't do much for her nerves.
She nods when he finishes explaining, and he turns back around to the front and starts the ignition, bringing the engine to life with a loud roar that makes her jump. Despite that, she takes a steady breath and wraps her arms around him to signal that she's ready.
The bike starts to move as he lifts his feet from the ground. Slowly, it makes its way to the hill where she trekked up to his cabin a couple days prior. He's careful, keeping control as they descend and rapidly gain momentum, and it's maybe a minute more until the tires peel onto the pavement of the road and suddenly they surge forward with a blast of speed that has her hands clasping together around his front.
Her arms tighten and she closes her eyes, as per his suggestion, but after a few minutes of getting used to the feeling, it's not so bad.
The road runs on for a while, and the brisk wind cracks around them like a whip, the cool October air feeling twice as cold moving at such a high speed.
Around them the foliage is a mirage of color, blending into a bright orange haze. It's some time before the density of trees gradually becomes sparse, and the number of buildings grows as they approach the inner dwellings of the city.
Where he takes her looks to be like a farmers market in a large open square, with dozens of tables and stands settled in between colorful buildings, and a bustling crowd of shoppers weaving in and around the tables like ants.
He leaves the bike in a parking block just a short walk away from the market, and then takes the backpack from her shoulders to sling over his before they make their way over to the square.
As they approach, Akane notices something about the crowd immediately; it's composed almost entirely of adult men. It takes her a moment of deliberate searching to locate another woman in the crowd, and she's held aggressively close around the shoulders by the arm of a man traveling with her. The woman's eyes are downcast, she notices. Almost fearfully. And it's the same with another woman she spots on the other side of the square, held around the waist with a tight grip. Nor is there a single child anywhere to be seen.
Akane's brow furrows.
Kogami notices her expression when a few dirty looks from passersby are thrown their way, and he glances down to see the growing discomfort on Akane's face. He places a hand on her lower back and nudges her closer to his side, and when he leaves it there, mirroring the practice of the other couples she's witnessed, Akane honestly isn't sure if she's supposed to feel protected or possessed.
As they walk past the stands, she notices the wares for sale on the tables. There are all sorts of items; things like books, tools, clothes, spices, even small scale weapons, such as various knives and handguns.
The one thing she doesn't see, however, is food. And she had been under the impression-given the meager state of his kitchen-that food is what had brought them all the way out here.
But her confusion is remedied moments later as he leads her through the crowd, working their way to one of the colorful buildings that surround the square.
As they approach, she can see through a set of glass doors that there's groceries inside, but her attention is overtaken by the two men who stand tall on either side of the door. They're dressed in all black, and they remind her of Kogami and another coworker back home with their intimidatingly bulky figures, evident even through the extra layer of their coats.
When they pass through the entrance, one of them nods at Kogami, who nods back, like he's wordlessly greeting a friend.
"Do you know him?" she asks, once they're inside and the door closes behind them. He picks up a basket from the pile that sits beside the door.
"I've worked with him before," he says, but he doesn't elaborate beyond that.
"What are they standing out there for?"
"To prevent theft." His voice hardens, and she can't help but feel like he wants to change the subject.
"So what do you like to eat?" he asks. His hand falls back into place behind her and he leads her further into the store.
"I'm not picky," she says. They pass by a few stands on one side of the store with various fruits stacked on top of each other, and along the walls surrounding the fruit stands is a huge variety of vegetables. The other side of the store has tall shelves of dry groceries, with narrow aisles to squeeze as much product in the small space as possible. There's an area in the back that holds fresh meat and fish. The smell carries all the way to the front of the store.
There are no signs to indicate what is where, but Kogami seems to know where he's going, and he must have a mental checklist of all the items he needs, as he leads the way without a word.
"Do you have to keep doing that?" she asks.
"Doing what?" he asks.
"Pushing and pulling me around?"
"That's not what I'm doing."
"That's what it feels like you're doing."
"I'm just keeping you safe," he explains. "This area is known for how dangerous it can be."
"Dangerous in what way?" Kogami hesitates, but answers nonetheless, albeit less-than-satisfactorily.
"Let's just say it's safer if I know exactly where you are at all times."
"But do you have to be touching me to do that?" The sigh he lets out hints at frustration.
"The short answer is yes." He busied himself with the task of picking out bags of rice, since he'd used up the last of his supply the night before. He grabs two, one of jasmine and one of a shorter grain, dropping them both into the basket. His gaze pans down at her as his hand returns to its place on her back.
"You have a favorite food," he says, with a cocky sense of certainty. "So what is it?"
She studies the shelves around them, scanning down the aisle for something specific, but she doesn't find what she's looking for.
"I like noodles," she says. "I thought they'd be in this aisle but I don't see them." His eyes flash with recognition and he turns immediately, knowing exactly where to go. He guides her to the next aisle over, where they squeeze past other customers into the tight space to where the noodles are stocked.
"Pick whatever you'd like," he says. "Just don't bleed me dry."
"If money is a problem, I can pay," she offers. "It's not a big deal."
"No," he says flatly.
"Yes," she insists. "It's the least I can do to pay you back for letting me stay and for feeding me."
"I didn't ask you to pay me back."
But instead of arguing further, Akane fishes her wallet from her coat pocket and shoves it into his, then faces the shelf to survey all of her options, as if to end the discussion there.
But, stubborn as always, Kogami starts to retract his arm to remove her wallet, but he is stopped when she reaches behind her suddenly to snatch his wrist. She pulls it back around to her side, holding it firmly against her waist.
Kogami sighs in defeat. He watches her eyes gloss over the various options before she points to some on a shelf above his head that she can't reach. He grabs a package and carefully sets it in the basket.
"What do you like in your ramen?" he asks.
"Whatever the chef sees fit, I suppose," she says with a shrug, offering a playful smile.
"Just no mushrooms," he says. He guides her around the store, picking up various items here and there from his internal checklist.
They stop in the produce section where he grabs some fruits and vegetables, and then again at the meat section in the very back for slabs of chicken and fresh mackerel. The last item they pick out isn't on his list, but rather a spontaneous request of Akane's before they head to the checkout.
"I don't usually drink," she says as her eyes search the shelves, "but since I'm on vacation so might as well have fun, right?" He shrugs. He doesn't do a lot of drinking himself these days, but he supposes a vacation is as good an excuse as any.
After a couple moments of deliberation, Akane pulls out a bottle of red wine from the shelf and turns it over in her hands to read the label. Only a second passes before her gaze shoots up to find his, and she holds the bottle up to him with a question in her eyes.
He briefly takes it from her to inspect and then hands it back with a translation.
"It's a merlot."
She looks at it for a moment, then places it in the basket. She looks back up at him expectantly.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to pick one out?"
He shrugs it off. "I don't need anything."
"You're really going to make me drink alone?"
"Who's going to take care of you when you're so drunk you're falling out of your chair?"
"That's a rather bold assumption to make, don't you think?" Her tone is as teasing as her smile.
"It's a logical one, considering your size."
"Size isn't everything," she retorts. He almost chokes on a bark of laughter trying to keep it in. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you don't pick one I'm going to pick for you. So you might as well get something you like."
A smile bleeds through his attempt to stifle his laughter. He can't argue with that. After taking a minute to browse the shelf for his options, he settles on a golden bottle of whiskey at the bottom. And with both bottles in the basket, they make their way to the cashier near the front and wait in line to be checked out.
"So what's your favorite food?" she asks while they wait.
"I don't have a favorite."
"You don't expect me to believe that, I'm sure." He glances down at her from the corner of his eye, and while he isn't outright smiling, she can see the hints of one hidden in his gaze.
He lifts the basket up onto the counter when it's their turn to pay, and he reluctantly pulls her wallet from his pocket to hand the cashier the correct tender after she rings up all the items. A few groceries get stuffed into the backpack, and what doesn't fit the cashier places in a paper bag that Kogami takes by the handle with a nod of thanks.
On the way out of the store, they're stopped by the two men standing guard who pat them down and check their receipt before they continue on their way.
"There's one more stop to make," he says. His arm returns to her waist as they step down into the market square. "How's your ankle?"
"Still fine," she says. He nods, then leads her through the crowd of people to a stand on the other side of the square, nestled near one of the corners.
He seems to know the man quite well, exchanging a pleasant, friendly greeting with him once they're within earshot of the table. The man raises his hand in delight, calling back to Kogami with equally friendly fervor, and they immediately break into conversation that she can't fully understand. So she tunes out the conversation for the most part, other than admiring Kogami's apparent fluency with the language. She busies herself with studying the items lying on the table, which displays few tools and small sporting goods, things like fish hooks and rope, wondering what it is Kogami wants to purchase.
Though she doesn't understand most of what's being said, Akane catches a few instances of a word she does know, and when she looks up, the man is looking at her with scornful eyes that flash away once she meets his gaze. His tone is suspiciously lewd as he speaks, and follows his words with a condescending bark of laughter. Kogami's fingers stiffen, digging into her waist.
Is he talking about her?
She interjects the conversation with one phrase she does know, saying 'excuse me?' with an irritated eyebrow raised at the man. Immediately his expression sours and his eyes turn back to her, his gaze dropping and flitting nauseatingly slowly across her figure, before they slide back to look at Kogami.
It's no longer just his hand that's tense; Akane feels his whole body tighten beside hers. But his expression remains neutral. The man says something else, his tone riddled with disgust.
Kogami replies in a deceptively calm and collected manner despite his rigidity. The man scoffs, letting a breathy laugh slip through his cracked smile, as though Kogami has just told him the funniest joke he's heard all morning. His hand dives into a pocket on the apron he wears, fiddling around inside for a moment before he yanks out a few pieces of paper and shoves them in Kogami's palm.
He says something more but his eyes are fixed on Akane again, glossing over her figure a second time and stopping just short of her face. Her furrowed brow deepens but it goes ignored as the conversation is wrapped up and the man waves goodbye to Kogami, and he all but yanks her away as they retreat back into the crowd.
Neither of them say anything about the exchange until they're on their way back to his cabin. It's still painfully quiet when they reach the bike. When he shrugs out of the backpack and hands it to her to don for the trip back, her face is tense and bubbling with anger. She takes it from him wordlessly, avoiding his eyes.
He can't think of anything to say, so he pulls out the helmets and climbs onto the bike, and then they're peeling off down the road moments later without a word.
It isn't until they reach the blanket of trees, signaling the return to the mountains, that she pats him on the shoulder and asks him to pull over. He does, and while he cuts the engine she yanks off her helmet.
"What the hell was all that about?!" she yells. He isn't expecting such a fiery attitude from her so he recoils, twisting his body around to face her. Her face is red and her eyes are narrowed dangerously. He removes his helmet and holds it in his lap.
"You can't wait until we get back to talk about it?" he asks.
"What was he saying about me?"
Kogami closes his eyes. His own anger had begun to cool off while driving, and he isn't keen on reigniting it nor does he want to end up arguing in the middle of nowhere. As he opens his mouth to explain this, she cuts him off.
"Nevermind that," she snaps. "I want to know why you were enabling him. That was so demeaning. What the hell was that about?"
"That's how it is here," he argues. "That's what I was trying to protect you from."
"But you were going along with it."
"How?"
"You weren't exactly telling him to shove it up his ass, or whatever it is you say when someone pisses you off," she argues.
"I can't do that, not to him."
"Why not? Do you agree with him?"
"Of course not!"
"So why didn't you say something?"
"Because he's one of the only people around here who help me out and let me work for the shit I need. I'm not exactly swimming in cash Akane."
"But why would you want to even associate with a guy like that?"
"Why the hell do you think I stay out in the middle of nowhere and mind my own business?"
"You 'minding your own business' is being complacent to that kind of…. despicable behavior," she snaps. Her voice is starting to sound strained. "By saying nothing, you're enabling it!"
"What other options do I have? Sibyl isn't here, Akane. This isn't a civilized nation. Resources are limited. You do what you need to in order to survive; that's what the real world is like. It's ugly. It doesn't revolve around an arbitrary computer program that governs a population like livestock in a cage."
Akane's eyes harden. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
"Look, it wasn't all that long ago that you were fighting on a battlefield that wasn't even yours, fighting on the side of strangers, leading them, helping them, teaching them," she says, working to keep her voice steady despite her wavering emotions. "You fought with them because they were being oppressed even though it had nothing to do with you. You fought with them because you wanted to help them. Don't you remember that?"
Kogami stares down at her, his gaze just as cold and icy as hers.
"And just now, you witnessed oppression happening right in front you to someone you know. You were standing right there and you did I… am I not that important to you?"
His gaze shifts away from hers, falling somewhere to the foliage in front of him. His jaw feels tight enough to slice through a sheet of metal.
"Do you really have nothing to say?" she asks, almost pleading. "What happened to the man who fought off bullies to protect his friend, who helped up a factory worker he'd never met who was getting bullied, who risked his life protecting my kidnapped best friend… what happened to the man I knew who used to want to help people?" she asks.
He stares at her for a long, quiet moment. The wind blowing around them feels just as cold as his glare.
Without a word, he puts his helmet back on and starts the engine. Then he reaches for hers and sticks it on her head, snapping the buckles and quickly turning around to lurch the bike forward before she can take it off, forcing her to snake her arms around him to stay on.
The ride back to the cabin is long and painfully silent, save for the roar of the engine.
She doesn't speak to him until the evening rolls around. The rest of the day had passed with her ignoring his presence when he wasn't hiding in the garden, and half-hearted attempts to distract herself when she was alone. She'd finished her book, refolded some clothes in her suitcase, and almost talked herself into tackling some case reports on her laptop before she vehemently rejected the idea; she's on vacation-so no working.
She thought about starting another novel, but something about searching through his collection again felt too treacherous to her need for a distraction; she was mad at him, and so she wanted little to do with him for the time being.
She had also thought about taking a walk to cool off and use up some of her restless energy. But her ankle posed a problem; Kogami had warned her that morning how it wasn't fully healed, and it wouldn't be for a couple more days at least. Excessive walking ran the risk of slowing the healing process, so she had decided against that, too.
When Kogami finally comes back inside at sunset, he finds Akane seated at the table with an old chess board spread out in front of her, her head propped up by an elbow planted into the table, her lips cemented in a frown. His brow raises.
"Where did you find that?" he asks as he shrugs out of his coat. Her hand moves a piece from one square to another, but she doesn't look up at him, nor does she give him an answer.
So she's still mad at him. Fantastic.
It isn't until he sits across from her a few minutes later, setting between them two icy glasses of whiskey, that she acknowledges his presence with a flit of her eyes before they retreat back to the chess board, setting a white piece down to complete her move.
Before she can turn the board to switch colors, Kogami makes a play for Black. He's hesitant, watching her face carefully for changes in her expression as he does so.
A silent request.
For a moment, he doesn't think she's going to oblige, not with how she stares at the board with fumes in her eyes. But then, slowly, she lifts her hand from her lap and moves her next piece.
Request accepted.
"I'm sorry," he says as he makes his next move. Immediately Akane's face softens, but the frame of her body holds onto its stiffness and her eyes continue to stare at the board.
"I was being a coward," he continues. He pauses, watching her hand hover above the pieces in strategic thought. He sighs. "Do you remember what you said to me that night in SEAUn?"
"When the camp was attacked?" she asks. A small part of him is relieved she's speaking to him again.
"Yes," he says.
"What are you referring to specifically?"
"When you said that I have a natural tendency to draw people in."
"What about it?"
"You were comparing me to Makishima." He picks up his glass of whiskey and takes a small swig from the top. His voice holds an edge that mirrors the way someone would describe the smell of feces.
"How the people in the camp would look to me as a leader," he continues. He stares into his golden liquid like he's watching a memory play out in its reflection. "How they put me on some sort of pedestal, the way Makishima's followers did to him. Being in a similar position as him scared the hell out of me, so I left. But wherever I went, it kept happening. There's war everywhere these days-either active violence or recovering from it. Every place I went, I tried to help people. And every time it landed me in the same spot. I kept getting too close to what you described that night. So eventually I stopped helping."
"Why does that scare you so much?" she asks. "Being similar to Makishima?"
It takes him some time to answer. But even then he can't offer much.
"I don't know," he says. It's a bit strange to hear those words coming from the mouth of someone who almost always has the answers. "My point is, I was letting my insecurities and selfishness get the best of me, and I made you feel unimportant because of that. I'm sorry."
The knot in her stomach starts to unwind. Slowly, her eyes creep from their fixed state on the chess board to look at him.
"There's a famous saying that goes, 'if you choose to be silent in the face of oppression, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.' I realize now that's what I've been doing, and you're right to call me out on it. I'm sorry for subjecting you to that. It won't happen again."
She thinks on his words for a long moment, and in the meantime she makes another move on the board.
"Before I accept your apology, is there anything else you want to add?" Akane asks. Kogami finally looks up from his glass with confusion, surprised to see her looking back at him.
"Is there something I missed?"
"No," she laughs. "It's just… it's not very often that you say a whole lot at once, or talk about yourself, really." He chuckles.
"Are you still mad at me?" he asks. She sighs.
"No," she answers. "I guess not."
"Then are you hungry?"
She nods. He stands and heads for the kitchen, and returns a minute later with two steaming bowls of ramen. No mushrooms. It's delicious. She sips on the glass of whiskey in between a couple bites, but by the time the both of them are finished eating, Kogami has emptied his glass.
He takes their dishes to the kitchen to clean up, and when he returns he brings the entire bottle of whiskey with him, refilling his glass, topping off hers when she holds it out to him, and sets it to the side.
"Shall we finish where we left off?" he asks, gesturing with his hand to the chess board.
"I don't remember whose turn it is," she says.
"We can start over." After they reset the pieces back to each side, Kogami starts to turn the board around, but pauses and looks up at her.
"Do you mind?" he asks.
"Switching colors?" she asks. "No, I don't. White seems more fitting for you, anyway."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well White goes first," she explains after sipping from her drink. "Both players have an equal chance of winning, but whoever goes first has the power to decide the dynamic of the game. They get the choice of taking the offense or defense from the very first move. It's like taking the lead, in a sense. And to me that's more your style." Kogami chuckles.
"It's funny. I was thinking the same about you."
"How so?"
"Playing as Black is more reactionary, and tends to involve a little more observation and careful planning, which aligns more with your approach."
"I guess you're right," she says with a laugh.
When they finish with a draw after a game of heated back and forth, Akane starts to put the pieces away, dropping them into the cardboard box little handfuls at a time, but then she stops suddenly. When he glances over at her she's staring down at the table, but her eyes seem distant, little she's looking through it rather than at it.
"Kogami," she says quietly. He hums from his slouched stature in his chair, turning his eyes away to watch the ice melt in his glass. "Earlier, when that man was talking about me, what did he say?"
Kogami freezes. He had been hoping she wouldn't ask. After a rather forceful drink, he sets the glass on the tabletop roughly as he sighs.
"You really don't want to know," he says, his voice low and heated.
"You don't get to decide that for me," she snaps. "I want to know what he said."
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, sitting up straighter to lean on the table with one hand curled into a fist and the other gripping the base of his glass.
"If it made me as angry as it did, I can only imagine how angry it will make you." After the words tumble out of his mouth, he's unsure why he said them. He knows that it will only further pique her curiosity rather than deter it, proven by the silent moment of her patience that follows.
Before he continues, he shoots back the rest of what's in his glass. The burn in his throat is nothing compared to the fiery anger that's reigniting at his core.
"It's vulgar," he warns her.
"I figured as much."
He hesitates, clenching his jaw in thought. She is right; it's her right to know and he feels obligated to tell her. But she doesn't know what she's asking him to say. The thought of repeating those words, especially to her face, is excruciating.
Akane notices his hesitance, evident by the tense posture of his frame looming over the table. But, to his dismay, she doesn't spare him.
One of her hands comes to rest on his fist. It's warm, reassuring, encouraging. He stares at it like it's an anchor, the only thing keeping him steady in a crushing ocean of wrath.
"I don't need a verbatim translation," she says softly. "I just want to know." He sighs.
While he speaks, his gaze locks like a target on her hand.
"I asked him about climbing equipment," he says. His rough tone drips darkly with scorn. "He said he'd ask around for me. Then he looked at you and asked if you were going to suck him off as payment. He was pissed when you spoke and referred to you as an 'it' when he asked if I was sure I wanted to fuck you. Then he laughed when I corrected him, saying you were just a friend, and-"
He pauses to shove his hand in his pocket, fishing out the now-wrinkled pieces of paper and dumping them on the table.
"-gave me these. He said I should take you on a date, setting that you could use a good punishment."
"What does that mean?" she asks. Her tone is shockingly calm and steady despite the nature of their conversation. "How is a date supposed to be a punishment?"
He swallows thickly, forcing down a lump in his throat.
"The implication is that it's followed with non-consensual sex," he explains. His fist starts to tremble, prompting her to squeeze reassuringly to hold it still. "It's an abuse tactic. Having a positive experience beforehand softens the blow of what comes after. It associates positivity with being controlled or abused."
A wave of shame falls over him then, as he realizes exactly Akane was talking about earlier when she scolded him.
He had been an enabler. She was right to ask him why he would want to be associated with anyone who thinks trading anybody like shit is okay. He's known this disgusting behavior is the norm around here since he arrived, and yet he's tolerated it only because of his privilege, because it never affected him. Sure, it bothered him, but not enough to actually do anything. It wasn't until that behavior was expected of him that he realized how truly fucked up it is, nor did he realize how much of an utter shit stain he was to stand there, suppressing his anger, and watch Akane be objectified like that until she called him out on it.
"That's…" Her voice trails off while she searches for the right word.
Horrifying? Repulsive? Evil? All of the above?
"...sad. That's really sad," she mutters, staring pensively at their hands. A melancholy ring shapes her eyes. "These poor women really have to live being treated like that."
What confuses him isn't her reaction. Akane has always been empathetic, even to strangers; it's one of her most admirable traits that's been at the forefront of her character ever since he'd met her. Anybody who knows Akane can be certain that will never change.
What confuses him is how her empathy seems to bring her more pain than her own heinous experience. He's busy thinking about how badly he wants to knock the lights out of his vendor and force him to apologize from the underside of her boot, meanwhile Akane is more concerned about the plight of strangers she's never met. She's always putting others before herself. How she manages to do it even at the hands of violent misogyny is beyond him.
The dangers of unending selflessness aside, her ability to liberate herself from anger is something he'd never felt particularly jealous of until now.
"Thank you for telling me," she says, prying him out of his thoughts. She squeezes his clenched fist one last time before her hand retreats to her lap. "I know it wasn't easy."
"You seem a lot less angry about it than I thought you'd be."
"Don't get me wrong; I am angry," she says. "But it already happened and I can't change that. And I have faith it won't happen again." He finds the nerve in him to look up and meet her unfairly forgiving gaze.
"It won't." His eyes harden. That's a promise he intends on keeping.
"So what are these, anyway?" she asks, swiping one of the crumpled papers to inspect it. He can't tell if she's intentionally trying to distract him by the abrupt turn in conversation, or if she's simply uncomfortable with where it was headed, but he goes along with the change regardless. He picks up the other paper and smooths it out with his fingers to read the print.
"They're vouchers for an apple orchard." He tosses the garbage back to the table like it burns his fingertips. That's all it is as far as he's concerned. Akane seems to think differently.
"That could be fun," she says hopefully. "Why don't we use them?"
He scoffs at the idea.
"I think we should go," she insists. "You majored in psychology, right?" Close enough of a guess. He nods anyway. "He gave them to you with a malicious intention, but you can take that away from him and use it your own way instead. Turn a negative into a positive, or at least a neutral. Honestly, it's something that would benefit you if you learned how to do it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Wallowing in negativity is what ultimately led to your crime coefficient suffering, isn't it?"
"You really don't hold back anymore, do you?" She shrugs apologetically, but he can tell it's half-hearted. Still, she has a point.
"Only if you want to go," he says finally. She smiles softly and nods.
"But skipping the punishment part, of course," she says.
"What if it's consensual?" He blames the whiskey.
"That's not funny," she snaps. But despite her deflection, there's a rosy tint filling the tops of her cheeks. He'll blame the whiskey for that, too.
"Your loss," he says with a shrug, smirking shamelessly nonetheless. He stares at her untouched glass still sitting half-full in front of her. "Are you going to finish that?"
She scoots it his way with a careful swipe of her hand.
"Knock yourself out," she says with a chuckle. "I don't like it, to be honest."
"It's an acquired taste," he insists.
"If you say so."
While he tackles working down the golden liquid, Akane revisits the task of putting away the chess game. When she's finished, she gets up to put it away in a closet where she found it.
"There is something else I've been meaning to ask," she says when she returns. She slips back into her chair across from him, pulling her legs up to criss cross them in her seat. "How did you end up here?"
"In Spain?"
"No, here, in this cabin. I can't imagine it was just abandoned with all this stuff in it up for grabs."
"It was," he says. "Lots of homes are abandoned around here."
"But how did you find this place all the way out in the mountains?"
"Fucking bastard in town told me about it," he gripes. "He knew the couple that lived here before. They were young-eloped when they found out the wife was pregnant. She died in childbirth, the kid didn't make it, and the husband killed himself after."
"Oh my god," she says. "That's horrible." Kogami nods solemnly.
"At least they seemed happy."
"What makes you say that?"
"People don't off themselves for losing property, at least what they're supposed to regard as property by this society's standards, anyway," he explains. "Now losing someone you love… I wouldn't do it myself, but I suppose I can understand it."
"I don't," she says. "It's not easy, but you learn to move on. Or you learn to survive."
"You sound like you're talking from experience."
"I am," she admits. But she doesn't seem to want to talk about it much, with the way her body grows tense and how her stare shifts to her lap. He's about to change the subject but she beats him to it. "I also don't understand the appeal of being pregnant."
He laughs, taken aback by the new subject matter. Not where he was going to take it, but he can run with it.
"Why's that?"
"Do you want something growing inside of you like a parasite for nearly a year of your life, where the only way to get it out is through a consciously sedated surgery or by slowly squeezing it out of you for fifteen hours straight? Sometimes longer?" He fails to hold in another bark of laughter that rips from his chest so loudly it makes her jump.
"You make a fair argument," he says. "But you're tough. You could handle it."
"Just because I could doesn't mean I want to," she argues. Then her gaze falls again. "I can't, anyway."
"Why not?"
"I was diagnosed with uterine cancer a couple years ago," she says. "I had to have a hysterectomy."
He can't explain why, but his hand curls tightly around the base of the glass.
"I didn't know that," he says.
"I'd be surprised if you did," she laughs. "I'm fine now. But even though I've never wanted to be pregnant, it was still difficult to adjust knowing that I couldn't be. It was hard to accept that I no longer had an option." He knows very well what that's like.
"You could always adopt," he says. She shakes her head sadly.
"It's a little too late for me, I think." Her voice is tight, he notices.
"Why is that? You're still pretty young." She swallows thickly.
"I just don't have the time for it. I couldn't parent by myself, either. I've got enough on my plate as it is."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really." She shakes her head before raising it to look at him. "What about you? Have you ever thought about having kids?"
"A long time ago, maybe. But with how much crap I've seen in this world, I'm not sure it's worth bringing a kid into it."
"The world could change," she says hopefully.
"Under the right circumstances, maybe."
"What do you think those circumstances would be?"
"Start with abolishing the Sibyl System," he states.
"It has its flaws," she agrees. "But it does serve a good purpose."
"An intention is only as good as its execution."
Her mouth falls open to argue further, only a yawn escapes instead. Her face scrunches cutely while it passes. It's then that he takes notice of the pitch black sky behind her with eyes that struggle to stay open, and he knows the whiskey isn't only to blame.
"This is too complicated a conversation to have this late at night," he says. "Why don't we pick it up tomorrow?"
"It's already tomorrow," she laughs, stealing a glance at the comm on her wrist. "You should drink some water before you go to sleep."
He obliges, but as he stands, a pressing need from his bladder steers him straight to the bathroom instead. She takes care of their glasses and the bottle of whiskey in his absence. Another yawn from her can be heard all the way from the other room, and only a few seconds pass before he's yawning too.
It dawns on him then that it's been a long time since he's stayed up this late. When it was more regular for him it was because he'd accidentally read too far into the night, or because he was forced to ration his sleep when he didn't have a place to let his guard down. Staying up late talking isn't his prefered way to pass the time, but at least Akane had made it enjoyable.
The first aid kit on the shelf catches his eye when he dries his hands.
"Hey," he calls out, reaching for the kit to pull it down. "Come here."
"What?" she calls back, followed by a laugh. "Did you forget how to unlock the door?" The growing volume of her voice peaks when she's standing on the other side of the door, and he pushes it open to let her in.
"I don't lock it," he says. He sets the kit down on the counter and flips it open.
"You're not worried someone is going to walk in on you?"
"No one else here but you." He glimpses over at her with a leery look in his eyes. "And I know you're too shy to do that." The way her face immediately contorts into a riled, reddening manner makes him crack a half-smile. She's way too easy to tease.
"What did you want?" she huffs. She leans against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest.
"I want to take a look at your hand," he says. He gestures for it, so she pulls the bandaged limb from the pretzel of her arms and holds it out to him. He takes it gently, then carefully unwinds the bandage and discards it to the trash bin beside the counter.
Upon closer inspection, the cut still appears to be healing just fine, but he decides to clean it anyway. The bathroom is small, so he has her sit on the counter so he can more easily contain the mess of dripping water as he cleans her wound.
The undying redness on her face doesn't go unnoticed as he stands so close to her, but he's kind enough to not say anything about it. It makes the silence feel heavier, however.
"Do you still live by yourself?" he asks.
"Yes," she says. She keeps her eyes fixed on his movements as he dips her palm beneath the running stream of water and dabs carefully around the wound with a cloth. "Why?"
"Just wondering if you normally lock your bathroom door even though you live alone."
"Yes, I do."
"Why is that?" She's quiet for a moment while she thinks of an answer.
"I guess I got into the habit when I had to move," she says. "My apartment was broken into during a case and I didn't even know about it, not until Candy pointed out some noise in the hologram. I had to relocate after. I guess that unnerving feeling stayed with me."
"Did you ever find out who did it?" he asks. He turns the cloth over to dry her skin.
"Yes," she says. "I knew who did it at the time. Nobody believed me, though. They thought I faked it."
"What do you mean nobody believed you?"
"Everyone on my team thought I was making it up."
"Why?"
"They were convinced I was obsessed and seeing something that wasn't there. Like a ghost, I suppose." He knows exactly how that feels. He also knows the feeling he can see in her eyes. Mental isolation is it's own kind of hell.
"I would have believed you," he says.
"I know." She smiles sadly. He doesn't like seeing her this way.
When he finishes wrapping the bandage, he gives the top of her hand a pat.
"Thank you," she says. He steps back so she can hop down from the counter. On her way out of the bathroom, she glances over her shoulder to comment, "you're surprisingly unguarded when you're drunk." Kogami just shrugs. He flips off the light as he follows her out.
"That's why I don't drink."
"You should consider seeing a therapist one of these days."
"It's not really my thing," he says. Akane sighs.
"I know."
She turns back to switch off the light above the table while he heads for the stairs.
"See you in the morning," he says.
"Goodnight."
Once he's upstairs, he shrugs out of his shirt and collapses sideways on the bed. The room starts to spin around him, prompting him to clench his eyes shut. Then he realizes too late. as his lids refuse to open again, that he forgot to drink water like she suggested. But when he wakes up a couple hours later, groggy and disoriented in the middle of the night, his throat is dry as hell, and there's a glass of water filled to the brim sitting on the nightstand.