Entanglement - Chapter Two
: Encounter (Saito POV)
Fucking informant. Fucking contact. Fucking politicians. Fucking government.
You've been waiting for god-knows-how-long, and the informant and contact haven't come. Their information is likely as not to be false, but that suits the politicians; if other people are busy no one will notice their dirty business and seedy dealings. Scum. The government is scum.
Why are you still working for them?
To serve your country, the answer comes immediately. You give a muffled snort and down the rest of your wine. Standing up to leave, you scan the room desultorily. Two drunk men, a woman, another drunk man, a boy in white with spiky hair and a character on the back of his shirt, more drunk men -
Freeze.
A boy in white with spiky hair and a character on the back of his shirt.
Sagara.
You exhale through your teeth in a hiss. Ever since that night under the tree, you haven't seen him. And you rather hoped - and not hoped - to keep it that way.
Not that you did anything that night, of course. He lay down on the grass, and you told him to sleep, because he was tired. He looked very childish then, his brown eyes blinking widely with an unconscious innocence.
"Sleep," you said.
He slept. At least he appeared to. You couldn't resist drawing on him. Then morning came. He woke up. You said, "I have to go," and you went.
You pass your arm over your eyes briefly. The blackness is vaguely comforting in a way you cannot explain.
You wander out into the dim shadows of the streets, shaking your head slightly.
You feel the presence before you hear it.
Oh, fuck.
"Saito."
Oh, fuck.
Another faintly audible, hissing, exhale.
"Sagara."
Some time and a bit of meaningless conversation later, you are smoking marijuana on the street corner.
"Give me that." He says suddenly.
You raise an eyebrow. You start to say, "You're not old enough," but stop short.
How old is he, really? You never really thought about it. You can't tell from his face, anyway. His eyes are young and old at the same time.
"Just a little bit."
You look narrowly at him. He comes toward you, pulls out that cigarette, and kisses you.
It's just a gentle brush of lips on lips, a grazing of butterfly's wings, but you tingle all over, like you received a minor electric shock.
"That's a little bit."
His hands are in his pockets, giving him a slightly boyish look. You say nothing.
"Saito."
You shake your head. You know the meaning of his words, hear the need in the silence. It evokes memories almost forgotten, needs no longer pursued.
He looks at you very steadily, his eyes wells of emotion, almost within reach and yet not within reach.
You don't know what to say or do. He takes your hand, and you follow, wondering. The marijuana has made you bizarrely clear-headed and voices are swirling in your head.
"Hajime-san ."
: Encounter (Saito POV)
Fucking informant. Fucking contact. Fucking politicians. Fucking government.
You've been waiting for god-knows-how-long, and the informant and contact haven't come. Their information is likely as not to be false, but that suits the politicians; if other people are busy no one will notice their dirty business and seedy dealings. Scum. The government is scum.
Why are you still working for them?
To serve your country, the answer comes immediately. You give a muffled snort and down the rest of your wine. Standing up to leave, you scan the room desultorily. Two drunk men, a woman, another drunk man, a boy in white with spiky hair and a character on the back of his shirt, more drunk men -
Freeze.
A boy in white with spiky hair and a character on the back of his shirt.
Sagara.
You exhale through your teeth in a hiss. Ever since that night under the tree, you haven't seen him. And you rather hoped - and not hoped - to keep it that way.
Not that you did anything that night, of course. He lay down on the grass, and you told him to sleep, because he was tired. He looked very childish then, his brown eyes blinking widely with an unconscious innocence.
"Sleep," you said.
He slept. At least he appeared to. You couldn't resist drawing on him. Then morning came. He woke up. You said, "I have to go," and you went.
You pass your arm over your eyes briefly. The blackness is vaguely comforting in a way you cannot explain.
You wander out into the dim shadows of the streets, shaking your head slightly.
You feel the presence before you hear it.
Oh, fuck.
"Saito."
Oh, fuck.
Another faintly audible, hissing, exhale.
"Sagara."
Some time and a bit of meaningless conversation later, you are smoking marijuana on the street corner.
"Give me that." He says suddenly.
You raise an eyebrow. You start to say, "You're not old enough," but stop short.
How old is he, really? You never really thought about it. You can't tell from his face, anyway. His eyes are young and old at the same time.
"Just a little bit."
You look narrowly at him. He comes toward you, pulls out that cigarette, and kisses you.
It's just a gentle brush of lips on lips, a grazing of butterfly's wings, but you tingle all over, like you received a minor electric shock.
"That's a little bit."
His hands are in his pockets, giving him a slightly boyish look. You say nothing.
"Saito."
You shake your head. You know the meaning of his words, hear the need in the silence. It evokes memories almost forgotten, needs no longer pursued.
He looks at you very steadily, his eyes wells of emotion, almost within reach and yet not within reach.
You don't know what to say or do. He takes your hand, and you follow, wondering. The marijuana has made you bizarrely clear-headed and voices are swirling in your head.
"Hajime-san ."