Chapter
12
The
deadly ninja stalked his prey with stealthy…
Mitsuru
gave himself a mental shrug and dodged behind a parked car as Ryan crossed the
street several meters ahead of him. The
blonde had been tailing the other boy for a good five blocks and it looked as
if Ryan had no particular destination in mind. In fact, the boy walked so slowly and leisurely that Mitsuru had been
hard-pressed in keeping himself hidden from view. Whenever the blonde darted forward, thinking he'd lost his
quarry, he'd find Ryan paused in front of a store window or leaning against a
random bus stop kiosk. It was the most
aggravatingly tedious chase in all of chase-dom. No wonder Mitsuru had succumbed to his imaginary scenarios
again.
Ryan,
where the hell are you going? And why
is it taking you till next century to get there?
Mitsuru did notice a pattern to their meanderings, however. It seemed the other boy was prone to shady areas, avoiding bright spots of sunlight like the plague. They had skirted around the baseball field rather than cutting through it, keeping to the dapple of the trees. They had paused under coffee shop canopies, eschewed a closer park bench for one further down because that one hadn't been devoid of shadow. If Mitsuru hadn't been so confident of his abilities, he could've sworn Ryan was toying with him.
Oh, for the love of all that's sacred and holy! Not again!
Mitsuru groaned audibly as Ryan ducked into yet another kissaten for yet another cup of coffee. If the previous times were any indication, Mitsuru knew he was in for at least a fifteen-minute wait.
That's it! If
he gets to enjoy this little outing, then dammit, why can't I? Shinobu never
said anything about not eating. Mmmm…eating…
Mitsuru's eyes wandered around for respite from his ever-present hunger, smiling happily when he spied a yatai across the street and within perfect vantage point of the coffee house Ryan had ventured into. He fished in his pockets, grimaced at their emptiness, then grinned wickedly as he remembered that Shinobu had given him his wallet to hold onto during their stake out.
Shin, do you mind if I borrow some money? Why no, Mitsuru, my best friend in the whole
wide world, I don't mind at all! It's
the least I can do, making you do all the hard work like this! Why thank you, Shinobu! You're a prince among men!
Whistling cheerily and shamelessly justifying his theft to himself, Mitsuru hurried to still the rumbling in his stomach. He filched the wallet from his book bag and withdrew a sufficient amount of yen to purchase a bowl of ramen from the stall's vendor then perched on a stool and continued his watch, all the while enjoying sweet sustenance and allowing his mind to wander.
The footsore ninja partook of his meager feast while the dreaded demon enjoyed a more savory…
Stop! Focus! Shinobu's right; this was
all my doing. I can't be
distracted. I won't be distracted!
But try as he might, Mitsuru could not really awaken the initial sense of urgency he'd felt when he'd first broached the Ryan dilemma with his roommate. In the two days of the protracted stake out, the blonde had been preoccupied with other matters. He'd tried to avoid dealing with said other matters by engaging in his role-play scenarios, but it hadn't worked. Instead, his treacherous brain kept fixating on Shinobu and that look.
He'd been seeing it more and more recently. Today, in fact. And Mitsuru could ignore it no longer. Although they had agreed to an unspoken truce in the face of their mission, the blonde was pretty sure that there was something else bothering his best friend. It had something to do with the oblique glances Shinobu had been giving him since the beginning of this summer. And it had nothing to do with Ryan.
Come to think of it, he'd been eyeing me like that
since last term. I think it started
after that whipped cream incident. And
then that time with the sake…Could Ryan be right, then? Nah! But…maybe? Shin's been acting
really weird…Ah, Ikeda, will you stop beating around the bush! Be a man! Call a spade a spade. Shinobu
has the hots for you.
There. He'd said it. Shinobu liked him. In that way. And rather than getting the queasy feeling he knew he ought to have had, Mitsuru was filled with a silly giddiness instead.
Shinobu has the hots for…me! Even in his own mind, the blonde heard the squeak of amazed disbelief at the end of that pronouncement. My best friend wants me. My best friend and roommate – the guy I share a room with; the guy I take baths with; the guy who's heard me snore – he wants me. K'so!
Mitsuru
told the yammering in his chest to keep it down so he could ponder his
revelation in relative peace. Now that
he'd defined the situation, he was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. Perhaps his ignorance was due, in part, to
that portion of his brain that told him such a relationship with Shinobu was
wrong and that shied away from acknowledging the possibility of it. Perhaps.
But
Mitsuru was nothing if not open-minded. He knew all about homosexual liaisons; in an all-boys dormitory, it was
hard not to at least indulge in the "what ifs" every once in a while. In fact, rumor had it that a certain third
year was currently involved with his roommate in the biblical sense. Seeing as how that certain third year was
also the captain of the baseball team really helped dispel any stereotypes that
may have existed in the minds of the other dormers. Besides, Greenwood hadn't developed its reputation as a home for
"weirdos, outcasts and lunatics" for nothing. Homosexuality didn't even warrant a raised eyebrow.
So
that portion of Mitsuru's brain that screamed "wrongness" at him was not
concerned with morals and sexual proclivities. Rather, if the blonde were honest with himself, he knew why he'd been so
hesitant to confront his emotions: it was his aversion to emotional
attachments. Of any kind.
Mitsuru
had many friends; his innate good nature made this inevitable. But none of them had ever come close to
touching that core of him; that secret part he kept locked away and safe from
hurt and betrayal and abandonment. But
meeting Shinobu had changed all that. He'd found his secret self drawn inexorably to the silver-haired enigma,
maybe because it had felt a kinship to the private, implacable boy. And in the year that they'd been roommates
and friends, Mitsuru had somehow let his guard slip and allowed Shinobu free
access to his sanctum sanctorum.
Shinobu
wants
me. Shinobu wants me. Shinobu wants me.
Mitsuru
played with the sentence in his mind, emphasizing different words and reveling
in the stomach-churning sensation each attempt incited. It was similar to the feeling he got when he
rode roller coasters: it was frightening and exhilarating and explosive
and…and…
Ryan was on the move again. Cursing the boy for ten different kinds of bastard, Mitsuru reluctantly pulled himself away from the mad circus in his heart and resumed pursuit. But he did so without thought of ninja, safari hunter or sniper. This time, he imagined himself a smug, scheming Casanova.
~
Shinobu
entered Apartment 603. It had taken him
several abortive attempts to do so since it seemed to be that time of day when
everyone and their dog roamed the hallways and visited. He had alternately been a maintenance man, a
friend of that shut-in in #615 and a lovesick swain looking for the light of
his life who had abandoned him two years ago.
With each fabricated story, Shinobu felt his patience slipping but he had to admit that hanging out with Mitsuru and his friend's overactive imagination had stood him in good stead. No one had questioned his lingering presence in the hallway and, when the coast was finally clear, he had crouched low, fiddled with his highly illegal set of lock picks – thank you, Furusawa! – and had the lock at his mercy in less than five seconds. Not bad, but he'd done it in less.
The
living room was as Mitsuru had described. Devoid of anything that could possibly make it a home. There were no cheery curtains gracing the
sterile windows, no family portraits on the walls. The pictures that were hung were of the cold, impersonal variety:
black and white stills of urban living and desolation. And it looked like Sakata hadn't invested in
any furniture since Mitsuru had last visited. There was the lonely television and there was the single coffee
table. It was as if Ryan had expected
his apartment to be invaded and had taken every precaution to strip his abode
of anything remotely personal.
Still,
Shinobu was not daunted. He knew the
treasure trove lay beyond the deceptively austere living room. So he paid no heed to the unpacked boxes
standing guard around the perimeter of the room; he knew they were just decoys
for the real thing. He headed straight
for Sakata's bedroom.
He
opened the door and entered cautiously, a bit taken aback by the ease with
which he gained access to the sanctuary. No bells and whistles; no Mission Impossible alarms and traps to bypass;
not even a simple lock. Sakata's life
was an open book ripe for eager perusal.
Shinobu
was not as easily impressed as his roommate and therefore ignored the myriad
photographs of Ryan and seemingly famous people on the walls. He also swept past the other clutter,
although he did take note of the gutted guitar and the names of specific cds he
noticed in strategic places. He started
a mental checklist of seemingly random information that could prove useful
later on.
He
paused in the middle of the room and stared at the paper cranes, momentarily
mesmerized by the sheer blackness and number of the twisting, twirling paper
above him. Then his analytical side
took over and he noted the precision with which the cranes had been folded. It must have taken a long time to fold so
many so carefully. Shinobu didn't know
a lot of people who had the time or the patience for such a task. This was significant.
Mitsuru had mentioned Sakata hiding something under the bed and the amateur sleuth looked there next. What he found only confirmed the theory he had been gradually developing concerning the boy's mysterious past. He carefully replaced his discovery in the same spot he'd pulled it from; he wanted to leave no trace of his presence here. His exacting nature was proving a perfect complement to his other highly questionable skills.
Shinobu felt fairly confident that he had the information he had come for. All he needed now was concrete proof, not circumstantial; something to shove under Sakata's nose and dare the boy to deny what Shinobu was going to have great pleasure in accusing him of. He gave the bedroom a quick once-over, wondering what else he could have overlooked.
If I had a secret…and it was eating at me inside…and I
had no one to tell it to…and it was driving me crazy, I would…eat? No, I'm not Mitsuru; I'm Sakata. I would…
Shinobu circled the room as he thought, mulling over the situation. He stepped over a pile of dirty laundry, passed the amp, almost tripped over stacks of cds, sidestepped crumpled wads of what looked to be sheet music, toed a little black notebook…
A little black notebook.
It
couldn't be this easy. Either the gods
were smiling on him today – and about time, too! – or the notebook held nothing
of importance to be left lying about in plain sight. Then again, Sakata was hardly expecting company. Shinobu hunkered down and flipped through
the pages, half-hoping, and began to read.
Before I could say anything else, he stood up and
started walking out the room. Total
déjà vu. I didn't want to lose him
again, but what choice did we have? We
had crossed the line and I knew things could never be the same between us…
Shinobu's
heart started thumping wildly as his eyes devoured every black flourish on the
pages before him. This was it! The map to the maze. The key to the puzzle. The Holy Grail. He stopped reading a passage midway and turned to the very
beginning. He felt like a marauder,
violating Sakata's privacy this way, but as each page related its tragic tale,
Shinobu's resentment and jealousy dissipated, to be replaced by a profound
empathy and sorrow.
It
was a good thing he was a fast reader, and that he'd aced his English class the
previous year. Because by the time he
received the phone call from Mitsuru, Shinobu had finished scanning the journal
and had time to ponder his information and the potential consequences of his
stolen knowledge. He did not need to
hear his friend's report of Ryan's whereabouts. He already knew.