------
Nine
------
Sighing, Ran closed his eyes and leaned back against the front door of his new apartment. It still looked uninhabited, even after he had dumped his duffel bags on the floor and wrestled the futon into the bedroom. The problem was not, he decided, that he didn't have any possessions, but that there was so much more space than the small bedroom he had occupied above the Koneko.
He walked through the admittedly tiny apartment, fingers trailing over the walls, as if to reassure himself that it was still real, that it was still his. Space was at a premium in Japan, and especially in Tokyo. This place was a luxury for someone living on his own.
A thrill ran through him at that phrase. On his own. He was alone. For the first time in ... since before Sendai, he was well and truly on his own. No one to knock on his door and bother him at all hours of the night, no one to answer to, no flower shop to tend. Now he could focus all his strength on Aya-chan.
Of course, Kritiker still held his leash. His conversation with Manx echoed in his mind.
"You want to leave Weiss?" Manx sounded incredulous, as if she couldn't even conceive of the notion.
"Yes." He sat in front of her desk calmly, carefully concealing his desperation. He needed out. He needed to get away from –
Manx raised her pencil thin eyebrows. "Why?" she asked shrewdly.
This was the point where he had to tread most lightly. Weiss was the most effective team that Kritiker currently had running. To break it up would be no easy task, and he had better have a damn good reason. He allowed himself a cold little smile. "My purpose is complete. There is no need for me to be on the team any longer."
"Oh?" Manx had a peculiar smile of her own. "What makes you think I'll let you just leave?"
He leaned forward. "I do not wish to be free of Kritiker," he said softly. "I do not wish to work with others, that is all."
"Hmmm." Manx tapped her pen fiercely on her desk. "Weiss is needed. They are not as strong without you, Fujimiya."
"I am aware of that." He folded his fingers together, striving for control. "However, I will not stay with Weiss."
The pen stopped abruptly in mid-air. Yes, Manx knew what he meant. She had caught the hidden meaning: or else. "Your sister," she began delicately, deadly.
Ran could barely suppress the growl as it rose up out of his chest. "Do not think that I am without resources, Manx," he spat. He had contacts and accounts that Kritiker was completely unaware of. He could spirit Aya-chan away, but then he would live in fear of discovery for the rest of his life. He was already dead. What else could he do but work for the hand that fed him?
Her eyes calculated his worth and seemed to find it adequate. "Very well. You are more useful to me willing than not." She pinned him with a cold stare. "But only on a probationary basis. I reserve the right to put you back on the team."
He nodded. He had expected as much. "I won't disappoint you," he said, rising.
Manx smiled that strange smile again. "We'll see," she said.
Ran still felt a little giddy that she had let him have his way. He hadn't been sure that his logic would be enough for her, and he didn't even want to admit his other reasons for leaving. No, he had no reason to be in Weiss any more. Takatori was dead; he had killed him with his own hand. His revenge was complete, and now he just needed to bide his time and wait for Aya-chan to wake up and take her rightful place in the world.
Halfheartedly, he opened the lone cardboard box in the middle of the living room and began pulling things out. All of his clothes had fit into the two large duffel bags on the floor of the tiny closet in the bedroom. His mission gear, including his katana, was still in the trunk of the Porsche. He would get it later, when there were less people to see.
The contents of the box were soon spread out before him. A set of sheets and two towels, an account ledger for Aya-chan's investments, hangers for his clothes, three pictures in frames, and books. Piles of books. The box had been quite heavy.
He tossed the towels and sheets in the general direction of the bedroom. What to do with the rest? He didn't have a desk, or a bookshelf, or a table ... just a box. Setting aside the book he had started a few days ago, he started stacking the rest of the piles in the box again. The ledger went on the very top, for easy access.
That just left the pictures. He turned them over, one by one. Aya-chan, smiling up at him, in her last school picture before the accident. In a way, she looked just as frozen now. His parents in traditional kimonos, his father with just a trace of a smile around his mouth. And –
The third picture went face down inside the box.
He closed it up and shoved it flush against the wall with his feet, setting his family photos on top. There. Now he was at least halfway unpacked.
With another sigh, he lay down on the floor, letting his arms flop bonelessly outward. The ceiling was white. The walls were white, and he had nothing to do tomorrow except visit Aya-chan. Manx had wanted a week to make arrangements for him. He was in limbo until then.
Well, no sense in going soft while he waited. He drew his knees up and started to do situps. It wasn't the gym at the Koneko, but he had lots of space to exercise in.
One, two.
Ran supposed he should at least buy a low table and some cushions to sit on, but really, he didn't need them. This was not a home. The only home he had ever known was long gone. It was a place to sleep, just like his room at the flower shop had been. A place to exist until Aya-chan came back to him and took the place he was holding for her in the world.
Seven.
He felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Omi discovering he was gone. Surely it would be Omi who saw his empty room first. The youngest member of Weiss was the only one that still persisted in making overtures of friendship, making sure to include him in group activities and that he ate regularly. He smiled a little at that thought. When he had accepted Omi as a member of his team, and not a Takatori, the look in his eyes had been strangely gratifying.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
The look in Youji's eyes the morning after he had kicked him out was something else, though. Something else he didn't really want to think about.
Twenty-five.
No matter now. He had left Weiss for good, and no matter what Manx said, he wasn't going back. He didn't want any of them in his life, not Omi with his cheerful sunny smiles, not Ken with his somehow endearing temper, and definitely not Youji, with his sultry eyes and the smell of his hair, and the feel of his body in the dark.
Thirty-seven.
They certainly didn't need him. No, they would be better off without him.
Forty-four, Forty-five.
He hadn't wanted Youji to expect anything of him. He had just wanted to take that comfort he had denied himself for so long. He didn't need all the complications and accouterments of a relationship. It just made things more ... difficult. It meant he had to talk about things he didn't want anyone to know, about things he couldn't even put into words.
Wanting Youji was weak.
Sixty-three.
Wanting Youji was weak because it distracted him and he lost his focus. The most important thing, the only important thing in his life was his sister. Everything else didn't matter at all. It was the sound of Youji's voice, the feel of his skin that had swayed his resolve. He had just wanted –
No.
Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two.
He refused to walk down that path. All he wanted from this world was for Aya-chan to wake up and come alive again. Now his thoughts would only be of her.
It hadn't always been this way. In the past, in their childhood, he had other dreams, other hopes. He had wanted things, desired people. Please, Aya, wake up and live your life. Then his purpose would be truly be complete, his revenge truly fulfilled. Then he could finally rest. Ran was already dead, and when Aya took back her place and name –
The problem with Youji ...
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine.
The problem with Youji was that he made Ran want to live.
He rolled over and pounded his fist on the floor in frustration. Don't think. Especially don't think about them, about him.
Giving up on his workout, as it obviously wasn't taking his mind off things, Ran got to his feet and headed to the bedroom, scooping up the pile of sheets and towels on his way. One of the towels was still a little damp from his shower that morning, so he hung it up in the bathroom after dumping the sheets on his futon.
Ran made up his bed carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets and folding his extra blanket across the bottom. He threw himself down after it was neat enough to satisfy even his mother's ghost, feeling inexplicably exhausted. His breath caught in his throat as he buried his face in his pillow.
His pillow smelled like Youji.
Nine
------
Sighing, Ran closed his eyes and leaned back against the front door of his new apartment. It still looked uninhabited, even after he had dumped his duffel bags on the floor and wrestled the futon into the bedroom. The problem was not, he decided, that he didn't have any possessions, but that there was so much more space than the small bedroom he had occupied above the Koneko.
He walked through the admittedly tiny apartment, fingers trailing over the walls, as if to reassure himself that it was still real, that it was still his. Space was at a premium in Japan, and especially in Tokyo. This place was a luxury for someone living on his own.
A thrill ran through him at that phrase. On his own. He was alone. For the first time in ... since before Sendai, he was well and truly on his own. No one to knock on his door and bother him at all hours of the night, no one to answer to, no flower shop to tend. Now he could focus all his strength on Aya-chan.
Of course, Kritiker still held his leash. His conversation with Manx echoed in his mind.
"You want to leave Weiss?" Manx sounded incredulous, as if she couldn't even conceive of the notion.
"Yes." He sat in front of her desk calmly, carefully concealing his desperation. He needed out. He needed to get away from –
Manx raised her pencil thin eyebrows. "Why?" she asked shrewdly.
This was the point where he had to tread most lightly. Weiss was the most effective team that Kritiker currently had running. To break it up would be no easy task, and he had better have a damn good reason. He allowed himself a cold little smile. "My purpose is complete. There is no need for me to be on the team any longer."
"Oh?" Manx had a peculiar smile of her own. "What makes you think I'll let you just leave?"
He leaned forward. "I do not wish to be free of Kritiker," he said softly. "I do not wish to work with others, that is all."
"Hmmm." Manx tapped her pen fiercely on her desk. "Weiss is needed. They are not as strong without you, Fujimiya."
"I am aware of that." He folded his fingers together, striving for control. "However, I will not stay with Weiss."
The pen stopped abruptly in mid-air. Yes, Manx knew what he meant. She had caught the hidden meaning: or else. "Your sister," she began delicately, deadly.
Ran could barely suppress the growl as it rose up out of his chest. "Do not think that I am without resources, Manx," he spat. He had contacts and accounts that Kritiker was completely unaware of. He could spirit Aya-chan away, but then he would live in fear of discovery for the rest of his life. He was already dead. What else could he do but work for the hand that fed him?
Her eyes calculated his worth and seemed to find it adequate. "Very well. You are more useful to me willing than not." She pinned him with a cold stare. "But only on a probationary basis. I reserve the right to put you back on the team."
He nodded. He had expected as much. "I won't disappoint you," he said, rising.
Manx smiled that strange smile again. "We'll see," she said.
Ran still felt a little giddy that she had let him have his way. He hadn't been sure that his logic would be enough for her, and he didn't even want to admit his other reasons for leaving. No, he had no reason to be in Weiss any more. Takatori was dead; he had killed him with his own hand. His revenge was complete, and now he just needed to bide his time and wait for Aya-chan to wake up and take her rightful place in the world.
Halfheartedly, he opened the lone cardboard box in the middle of the living room and began pulling things out. All of his clothes had fit into the two large duffel bags on the floor of the tiny closet in the bedroom. His mission gear, including his katana, was still in the trunk of the Porsche. He would get it later, when there were less people to see.
The contents of the box were soon spread out before him. A set of sheets and two towels, an account ledger for Aya-chan's investments, hangers for his clothes, three pictures in frames, and books. Piles of books. The box had been quite heavy.
He tossed the towels and sheets in the general direction of the bedroom. What to do with the rest? He didn't have a desk, or a bookshelf, or a table ... just a box. Setting aside the book he had started a few days ago, he started stacking the rest of the piles in the box again. The ledger went on the very top, for easy access.
That just left the pictures. He turned them over, one by one. Aya-chan, smiling up at him, in her last school picture before the accident. In a way, she looked just as frozen now. His parents in traditional kimonos, his father with just a trace of a smile around his mouth. And –
The third picture went face down inside the box.
He closed it up and shoved it flush against the wall with his feet, setting his family photos on top. There. Now he was at least halfway unpacked.
With another sigh, he lay down on the floor, letting his arms flop bonelessly outward. The ceiling was white. The walls were white, and he had nothing to do tomorrow except visit Aya-chan. Manx had wanted a week to make arrangements for him. He was in limbo until then.
Well, no sense in going soft while he waited. He drew his knees up and started to do situps. It wasn't the gym at the Koneko, but he had lots of space to exercise in.
One, two.
Ran supposed he should at least buy a low table and some cushions to sit on, but really, he didn't need them. This was not a home. The only home he had ever known was long gone. It was a place to sleep, just like his room at the flower shop had been. A place to exist until Aya-chan came back to him and took the place he was holding for her in the world.
Seven.
He felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Omi discovering he was gone. Surely it would be Omi who saw his empty room first. The youngest member of Weiss was the only one that still persisted in making overtures of friendship, making sure to include him in group activities and that he ate regularly. He smiled a little at that thought. When he had accepted Omi as a member of his team, and not a Takatori, the look in his eyes had been strangely gratifying.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
The look in Youji's eyes the morning after he had kicked him out was something else, though. Something else he didn't really want to think about.
Twenty-five.
No matter now. He had left Weiss for good, and no matter what Manx said, he wasn't going back. He didn't want any of them in his life, not Omi with his cheerful sunny smiles, not Ken with his somehow endearing temper, and definitely not Youji, with his sultry eyes and the smell of his hair, and the feel of his body in the dark.
Thirty-seven.
They certainly didn't need him. No, they would be better off without him.
Forty-four, Forty-five.
He hadn't wanted Youji to expect anything of him. He had just wanted to take that comfort he had denied himself for so long. He didn't need all the complications and accouterments of a relationship. It just made things more ... difficult. It meant he had to talk about things he didn't want anyone to know, about things he couldn't even put into words.
Wanting Youji was weak.
Sixty-three.
Wanting Youji was weak because it distracted him and he lost his focus. The most important thing, the only important thing in his life was his sister. Everything else didn't matter at all. It was the sound of Youji's voice, the feel of his skin that had swayed his resolve. He had just wanted –
No.
Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two.
He refused to walk down that path. All he wanted from this world was for Aya-chan to wake up and come alive again. Now his thoughts would only be of her.
It hadn't always been this way. In the past, in their childhood, he had other dreams, other hopes. He had wanted things, desired people. Please, Aya, wake up and live your life. Then his purpose would be truly be complete, his revenge truly fulfilled. Then he could finally rest. Ran was already dead, and when Aya took back her place and name –
The problem with Youji ...
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine.
The problem with Youji was that he made Ran want to live.
He rolled over and pounded his fist on the floor in frustration. Don't think. Especially don't think about them, about him.
Giving up on his workout, as it obviously wasn't taking his mind off things, Ran got to his feet and headed to the bedroom, scooping up the pile of sheets and towels on his way. One of the towels was still a little damp from his shower that morning, so he hung it up in the bathroom after dumping the sheets on his futon.
Ran made up his bed carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets and folding his extra blanket across the bottom. He threw himself down after it was neat enough to satisfy even his mother's ghost, feeling inexplicably exhausted. His breath caught in his throat as he buried his face in his pillow.
His pillow smelled like Youji.