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Four
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Youji went straight for the bathroom. No sooner had he got the door closed behind him and his jacket off than he was kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the white bowl. He rested his forehead against the cool porcelain, unable to erase the taste and smell of the man he'd killed. Satisfied that there wasn't anything left to bring up, Youji rose shakily and moved to the sink. He closed his eyes against his reflection; he didn't want to look at himself. He didn't want to see the line of people he'd killed over his shoulder reflected in the mirror.
He loaded up his toothbrush and scrubbed his teeth until his mouth was overpowered with the flavor of peppermint and his nose tingled from the smell. Youji imagined he could still taste the man on his tongue and he gagged again and spat into the sink, the sour taste of bile cutting through the mint.
Blindly, Youji reached and turned on the taps for the shower. He knew that Ken and Omi would soon be pounding on the door for their turn, even if they didn't have to get dirty on this mission. Aya would let him take the time he needed; Aya had known, as soon as he'd stepped into the room, he'd known what Youji had had to do. The other two didn't and Youji wanted to keep it that way.
The small room began to fill with steam and Youji quickly shed his mission gear, kicking everything into a pile against the door where he wouldn't forget it on his way out. He stepped under the scalding spray of the shower, the water turning his skin a splotchy red. He loaded his bath sponge with body wash, a light vanilla scent, and began to scrub at his body. The exfoliating sponge ripped the top layer of skin away as he washed, roughly running it over his body, trying to remove the taint he felt like he had worn home.
Even the smell of the body wash wasn't enough to flush the scent of the man from his nose. How long would he feel like this? How long would it be before he ever felt clean again? How much blood must he wear on his hands before he could walk away?
Youji continued to scrub at his body, kept trying to erase the feeling of being used, of being a pawn. It was only when the water began to cool and he heard pounding on the door that Youji realized that he'd scrubbed his skin raw.
"Ch'," he swore softly. He stood under the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash over his face. He washed his hair quickly, before all the hot water was gone.
There was no noise coming from the hall when he turned off the water. Pushing the curtain aside, he reached for his towel hanging nearby. He patted himself dry, frowning at the large patch of raw skin in the middle of his chest. Stinging on his arms made him glance that way, finding similar rising welts.
"Fuck." He swore again as he rubbed down with towel before wrapping the absorbent cotton around his waist. He bent to gather his things off the floor, eyes meeting the mirror when he rose. It was still fogged with steam, so once more he avoided his reflection.
The hallway was empty when he stepped out, steam billowing behind him like a cloud. He left the door open to let some of the condensation dissipate as he crossed to his room, chill from the open window, dark save for the sparse light of the street lamps cutting through the city's haze that never seemed to fade.
His honey-blonde hair dripped onto his shoulders as he switched on every light in his bedroom, banishing the shadows to the furthest corners. He retrieved a pair of dark gray sweats and a tee shirt from his bureau. He preferred to sleep in the nude, but he didn't feel like sleeping, wasn't sure he could face the increasing demons that hunted him in his dreams. He slid into the sweats, pulling the drawstring so they fit snugly around his hips and slipped into the tee shirt, collar soaking up a bit of water left on his neck from his hair.
Youji tapped a cigarette from the pack lying near his comb and lit it, taking a deep drag, holding the smoke in his mouth while he picked up the comb and began working the tangles out of his hair. Slowly, he blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. The nicotine helped calm him; he'd had only one while waiting for Aya to finish in the room where he'd left the body of the target, and another on the short walk to the car that hadn't helped him find his composure any. And of course, Aya wouldn't have let him smoke in the car. Smoking in the shower was something he did only rarely. He preferred his cancer sticks dry, thank you very much.
Youji smoked slowly as he combed his damp hair, the action almost as soothing as the drug in his system. His hair had dried considerably by the time he was done, the fag replaced several times, the used butts joining its deceased comrades in an overfilled ashtray Youji could never be bothered to remember to empty.
He shoved the pack of cigarettes into his pocket after shaking loose one more, lighting it with the lighter he kept in his hand and began to pace, his room only big enough for five strides before he had to turn. Even with the window open, he felt confined, even with the lights on, felt like he was slowly being consumed by darkness and shadow, being cast adrift, left alone to deal with his demons.
Without thinking, Youji swung his door open and crossed to Aya's room, knowing that the redhead wouldn't be asleep. He didn't want to be alone, couldn't face the dark recesses of his room, let alone his own mind.
He hesitated only a beat before knocking softly on the redhead's door.
Four
------
Youji went straight for the bathroom. No sooner had he got the door closed behind him and his jacket off than he was kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the white bowl. He rested his forehead against the cool porcelain, unable to erase the taste and smell of the man he'd killed. Satisfied that there wasn't anything left to bring up, Youji rose shakily and moved to the sink. He closed his eyes against his reflection; he didn't want to look at himself. He didn't want to see the line of people he'd killed over his shoulder reflected in the mirror.
He loaded up his toothbrush and scrubbed his teeth until his mouth was overpowered with the flavor of peppermint and his nose tingled from the smell. Youji imagined he could still taste the man on his tongue and he gagged again and spat into the sink, the sour taste of bile cutting through the mint.
Blindly, Youji reached and turned on the taps for the shower. He knew that Ken and Omi would soon be pounding on the door for their turn, even if they didn't have to get dirty on this mission. Aya would let him take the time he needed; Aya had known, as soon as he'd stepped into the room, he'd known what Youji had had to do. The other two didn't and Youji wanted to keep it that way.
The small room began to fill with steam and Youji quickly shed his mission gear, kicking everything into a pile against the door where he wouldn't forget it on his way out. He stepped under the scalding spray of the shower, the water turning his skin a splotchy red. He loaded his bath sponge with body wash, a light vanilla scent, and began to scrub at his body. The exfoliating sponge ripped the top layer of skin away as he washed, roughly running it over his body, trying to remove the taint he felt like he had worn home.
Even the smell of the body wash wasn't enough to flush the scent of the man from his nose. How long would he feel like this? How long would it be before he ever felt clean again? How much blood must he wear on his hands before he could walk away?
Youji continued to scrub at his body, kept trying to erase the feeling of being used, of being a pawn. It was only when the water began to cool and he heard pounding on the door that Youji realized that he'd scrubbed his skin raw.
"Ch'," he swore softly. He stood under the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash over his face. He washed his hair quickly, before all the hot water was gone.
There was no noise coming from the hall when he turned off the water. Pushing the curtain aside, he reached for his towel hanging nearby. He patted himself dry, frowning at the large patch of raw skin in the middle of his chest. Stinging on his arms made him glance that way, finding similar rising welts.
"Fuck." He swore again as he rubbed down with towel before wrapping the absorbent cotton around his waist. He bent to gather his things off the floor, eyes meeting the mirror when he rose. It was still fogged with steam, so once more he avoided his reflection.
The hallway was empty when he stepped out, steam billowing behind him like a cloud. He left the door open to let some of the condensation dissipate as he crossed to his room, chill from the open window, dark save for the sparse light of the street lamps cutting through the city's haze that never seemed to fade.
His honey-blonde hair dripped onto his shoulders as he switched on every light in his bedroom, banishing the shadows to the furthest corners. He retrieved a pair of dark gray sweats and a tee shirt from his bureau. He preferred to sleep in the nude, but he didn't feel like sleeping, wasn't sure he could face the increasing demons that hunted him in his dreams. He slid into the sweats, pulling the drawstring so they fit snugly around his hips and slipped into the tee shirt, collar soaking up a bit of water left on his neck from his hair.
Youji tapped a cigarette from the pack lying near his comb and lit it, taking a deep drag, holding the smoke in his mouth while he picked up the comb and began working the tangles out of his hair. Slowly, he blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. The nicotine helped calm him; he'd had only one while waiting for Aya to finish in the room where he'd left the body of the target, and another on the short walk to the car that hadn't helped him find his composure any. And of course, Aya wouldn't have let him smoke in the car. Smoking in the shower was something he did only rarely. He preferred his cancer sticks dry, thank you very much.
Youji smoked slowly as he combed his damp hair, the action almost as soothing as the drug in his system. His hair had dried considerably by the time he was done, the fag replaced several times, the used butts joining its deceased comrades in an overfilled ashtray Youji could never be bothered to remember to empty.
He shoved the pack of cigarettes into his pocket after shaking loose one more, lighting it with the lighter he kept in his hand and began to pace, his room only big enough for five strides before he had to turn. Even with the window open, he felt confined, even with the lights on, felt like he was slowly being consumed by darkness and shadow, being cast adrift, left alone to deal with his demons.
Without thinking, Youji swung his door open and crossed to Aya's room, knowing that the redhead wouldn't be asleep. He didn't want to be alone, couldn't face the dark recesses of his room, let alone his own mind.
He hesitated only a beat before knocking softly on the redhead's door.