Within about ten minutes of opening the shop, Hank concluded that it would be a very slow, very long day. The previously clear, sunny day had given way to the mother of all rain storms, and he stood at the store's front window for a long time, sipping his fourth cup of coffee and watching the heavens unleash their wrath on the streets and sidewalks within his view. It was raining heavily enough to keep most people indoors, and the streets were almost deserted. The few brave souls who dared to venture out into the downpour scurried along the sidewalk clutching newspapers or brightly-colored umbrellas over their heads. Hank couldn't help but think that the umbrellas were the only spots of color in an otherwise-gray world.
He sighed and leaned his head onto the window's cold glass as he held his warm mug cupped in the palm of his hand and absently twisted his wrist to send the liquid twirling around the cup, just below the rim. Hank thought about how fitting it was for today to end up being a gray, rainy day. It was a perfect match to his own dark, melancholy mood. It had been difficult pretending to be cheerful in front of Ran and Omi, and, although he would normally look forward to spending the day alone with his quiet friend, he had been dreading the redhead's return. He had been haunted by choices and decisions he didn't want to make, but that he knew he couldn't avoid, and he just didn't think he was up to pretending to be in a good mood for the entire day. Besides, Ran was quiet, but he was incredibly perceptive, and Hank was sure he would notice something was wrong.
Hank drained the remnants of his coffee in one long gulp, grimacing as the hot liquid burned its way down his throat, and thought about the events of the past two months. He still considered that night that Ran had stolen his coat to be one of the luckiest of his life. He didn't know what had prompted the younger man to return later to look for him --- maybe guilt over stealing from someone worse off than himself, or a desire to help someone out, or even recognition of a kindred spirit. Hank hadn't known the redhead that long, but he had already figured out that it was impossible to second-guess Ran's motivations or moods. As near as he could tell, that boy was one closed-off, tightly-wound, moody bastard, who could go from a full-out homicidal rage, to something approaching happiness, to the depths of despair and depression within the span of minutes, if not seconds. Although the other guys all seemed to defer to his moods and give him a lot of space most of the time, it was obvious that they had accepted Ran for who and what he was, and Hank had quickly realized that they all looked up to him and genuinely cared about the redhead --- a fact that seemed to have escaped Ran's attention entirely, since the kid seemed bent on destroying himself. Whatever the reason for it, if it hadn't been for Ran's detour back down his alley, Hank knew he would still be sitting down there, selling his soul for just one more drink and praying for his nightmarish life to end.
Ran had taken him in, and, thanks to the redhead's kindness, he had a place to live, a job he enjoyed, and, for the first time in years, friendship. Ran had accepted him at face value, which, Hank had gathered, was something of an oddity for the quiet redhead. Thanks to that, the other guys accepted him, also, and, with the exception of Yohji, who still seemed a bit suspicious of him, they had offered friendship and companionship with no strings attached. Hank had quickly determined that his four new friends were probably not exactly what they appeared to be. The flower shop was decently successful, but he had worked the register enough in the last two months to know that the business' monetary intake couldn't possibly support the lifestyle and expensive toys these four guys had. They had way too much disposable income to just be florists, not to mention the salary they were paying him, which was way too large for the duties he undertook around the store. Most likely, they were involved in something not entirely on the up and up. They kept to themselves too much, and, even though they seemed friendly and open, when you thought about it for a while, you realized that they really didn't reveal anything. Hank had known a lot of men like that during the time he had lived on the street --- hoods, pimps, drug dealers, murderers, and worse. Although he had already decided that his new friends were probably doing something illegal on the side, he had also decided that he didn't care. They had been good to him, and he owed them, especially Ran, everything.
About a month ago, Ran had approached him and told him that he had managed to find his little girl. He hadn't seen Keiko in three years, and he hadn't even known where she was or how she was doing. Hank could remember how overjoyed he had felt at the possibility of just being able to see her, and he remembered the day, a few days after the mysterious announcement, when Ran had taken him to a private school on the other side of town. It had been raining on that day, too, which meant that the kids weren't allowed outside to play. Ran had still been pretty sick at that point, and Hank hadn't wanted to wait around just for the hope of catching one glimpse of Keiko. He remembered telling the redhead that they should just go; they could come back another time. But, Ran had refused. Hank could still picture the sad, far-away look in the younger man's eyes as he had said, "It's been three years, right? Since you've seen her smile". The two of them had waited in an alley across the street in the pouring rain until, finally, the school let out for the day, and there, in the midst of the crowds of children running through the rain toward waiting cars and busses, he had seen Keiko. He would have known her anywhere. She was the picture of his sweet Yuki at the same age.
Hank could feel the smile spreading involuntarily across his face as he remembered how she had carefully picked her way down the rain-slick steps of the school as she joked and laughed with her group of little friends. Hank closed his eyes and thought about how that had been the best day of his life; he didn't ever think he'd forget that feeling of euphoria at seeing her beautiful face and shining smile --- a little spot of sunshine in the gray, watery world.
Hank brought the coffee cup all the way to his lips before he remembered that it was empty. Sighing, he lowered his arm and continued to stare out at the rainy street in front of him as he retreated back to his memories of the day he had seen Keiko. He chuckled as he remembered the look of panic in Yohji's eyes when he and Ran had finally stomped, chilled and soaking wet, into the kitchen over the flower shop. Ran had been sick as a dog, thanks to spending an entire day out in the cold rain, and the tall blonde had taken one look at the shaking, coughing redhead and snarled that he'd better get dried off and into bed if he didn't want the beating of his life. Hank had been intimidated by Yohji's anger, but he remembered that Ran had simply shrugged and muttered, as he shouldered his way past the blonde, "Always looking out for me, aren't you?" He had said it in a mean, sarcastic tone, but Hank had been close enough to the redhead to see the shock and surprise in his eyes as the words had, almost involuntarily, slipped out of his mouth. Ran had covered by angrily shrugging off the hand that Yohji had placed on his shoulder, pushing the older man roughly into the wall near the stairs, and hastily retreating into the solitude of his room, but Hank knew that Ran had meant the words. The terror he had seen in the kid's eyes had told him as much.
Hank leaned forward and blew onto the window. His hot breath made a foggy patch, which he wiped away with his sleeve. He brought the cup back to his lips and then sighed irritably as he realized that it was still empty. "I thought I thought I'd finally found a place a place where I could belong; a place where I could stay. A place where I could be happy," he muttered.
He placed his arm against the window's cold glass and rested his head against it as he thought about how he had returned to Keiko's school every day, just to wait, hidden in the alley across the street, to catch a glimpse of the little girl at the end of the school day. It became part of his routine, and was the one part of the day that he looked forward to with all of his heart, until a few days ago, when Keiko hadn't appeared. He continued to go back, but there was no sign of the girl. Ran had checked for him, but the girl and his in-laws hadn't moved or changed schools. It was as if Keiko had dropped off the face of the earth, and Hank felt as if the bottom had fallen out of his world.
That was when his mysterious visitor had appeared. Two nights ago, Hank had heard a soft knock at his door. He had opened it to find a stranger standing there. The man, who was fairly tall, with long, reddish-orange hair held back from his face by a large, elastic band, had immediately invited himself into Hank's apartment. The stranger was nicely dressed in white slacks, a green jacket, and a printed shirt, and he had an easy smile, but something about his eyes made Hank nervous. They were hard and cold, and there was something chillingly cruel and predatory about the smile that played across his face, yet never quite made it all the way to his eyes. Hank shivered in the warm flower shop as he recalled how frightened he had been of the stranger.
"Yours?" the man had asked, shoving a photograph into Hank's hand with a twisted smile and a cruel chuckle.
Hank could still remember how his heart had skipped a beat when he had looked down to see Keiko's face smiling at him from the picture he held. He had looked dumbly back at the man, unsure of what he should say or do.
"We have her," the man had said, a cruel, sinister smile crossing his mouth as he watched recognition and then fear cross Hank's face. The man had moved smoothly into the room to sit on the couch that Yohji had purchased. "Nice couch," he had commented as he sank into the thick upholstery. "Yotan has such good taste."
Hank could remember the shock he had felt at the strange man's easy use of Yohji's nickname. He had turned to face his unwelcome visitor and stammered, "I I don't I don't believe you. I don't believe you have Keiko."
The man had laughed, a hard, cruel sound, as he removed an object from his pocket and tossed it across the room. Hank had caught the small missile in mid-air, and when he had opened his palm, there was a small gold cross lying across it. With a shaking hand, he had turned it over to read the inscription on the back: "Forever. 10-10-95". The object in his hand had erased all doubt from his mind. He had given the cross to Yuki on their wedding day, and, when his in-laws had taken Keiko from him, his last contact with the little girl had been to place it around her neck.
The man's voice had cut into Hank's thoughts then: "You can get her back, but you'll have to give us something in return." In response to Hank's questioning look, the man had replied, "Information. Information on your little friend, Ran. We want to know where he goes and what he does; when he's alone --- at the store or outside of it; the security codes to the shop and apartment alarms and, any other information we might ask for later." The man had risen smoothly to stalk back across the room to the door. Before exiting the apartment, he had paused long enough to slip a small card containing just a phone number into Hank's hand. "You can reach me there," he had said, walking away without even a backward glance.
Hank slammed his fist into the window as he recalled the smug, confident tone in the man's voice. 'I I didn't want to betray you, Ran. I I just didn't have a choice,' he thought miserably as he remembered how he had finally given in and dialed the number the man had given him.
He had been spying on Ran for two days now, passing information to the stranger on a nightly basis, and he had never felt lower in his whole life. He glanced into the window to see his own face reflected there. "Traitor," he hissed under his breath through clenched teeth as he, once again, slammed his fist into the glass.
"Yohji's gonna kick your ass if you break that window," Aya said softly as he entered from the shop's back room.
Hank jumped at the sound of Aya's deep voice. He hadn't heard the younger man come into the room. Bubba's dog tags clinked together as the large animal trotted out from behind the counter to come to Hank's side and amiably snuffle his hand in greeting. Hank pasted a smile on his face as he turned around to face the man to whom he owed his life, the man he was now betraying, and said, "Ran! You're finally back, huh?" He glanced down at his watch in an attempt to hide the fact that he couldn't bring himself to look Aya in the eyes. "Wow! You were gone for a long time," he finally said.
Aya sighed and moved to sit on a stool behind the counter near the cash register. He leaned onto the counter, pillowing his head on his arms, looking every bit like an exhausted little boy, and mumbled, "I had to go to the principal's office."
Hank had begun to cross the floor toward Aya, but he stopped in mid-stride at the redhead's statement. At first, he thought that he hadn't heard correctly, and he asked, "I'm sorry?"
Aya looked up at him, raising his head slightly from the countertop, and repeated, "Yeah. I had to go to the principal's office, because Omi's missed so much school." He sighed again and said, "I had to have a lecture about how I'm ruining the kid's future. I hate the principal's office."
Hank tried to hold back, but the forlorn, serious look on Aya's face was just too much. He snickered, and then, finally, gave in to his urge to laugh out loud. He stood in the middle of the floor and laughed until he thought his sides were going to split open and tears streamed down his face. Aya just glared at him.
After a few minutes, Aya ran his hand through his hair and said, in a tired voice, "Screw this. We're not going to have any business today. No one's coming out in this rain, and I'm too tired to do this. There are four deliveries scheduled for today. I made the arrangements earlier, so could you deliver them for me? After that, you can go home, if you want. I'm closing up for the day."
"Um OK," Hank replied hesitantly. He paused for a few moments, watching Bubba snuffle into the corners of the shop. The dog ambled from one corner of the store to the other, nosing behind barrels of cut flowers and potted plants until he was finally rewarded with a loud crash when he pushed over a particularly large stack of flower buckets. As the dog playfully chased the water and flowers that spilled across the floor, Hank looked over to see Aya staring at the ceiling with a sort of "why me?" look on his face. The older man laughed softly, and, as he crossed the room to take the car keys Aya offered him, he said, "That's OK. I'll come back to clean up for you. Yohji won't be too happy with me if I make you clean up this mess on your own."
"Hnh," Aya replied. He had once again pillowed his head on his crossed arms, and his voice was muffled, sounding as if he was on the verge of sleep. "Yeah," he mumbled, "That asshole's too overprotective. And, I think he hates that dog." The words might have been harsh, but the tone was affectionate.