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Chapter Five: Holding a Torch

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This is sleep. This is blissful, sinless, holy sleep. This is the sleep you can no longer have. Forbidden sleep. This is the sleep which comes with absolution.

I do not recall what day it occurred for me, but I know it happens for everyone. One day, waking up is no longer a magical event. You no longer open your eyes to the world with wonder, with awe. The world stops being an adventure, ceases to be the new coin found at the foot of the water fountain, gifting you with a free wish. The world is tarnished past that day, and waking up is a chore. Blankets are merely objects to be cast aside, instead of warm sources of comfort. You don't even notice the carpet squishing between your toes as you walk to the bathroom to greet the other you in the mirror.

This is a virginity which you don't even realize you are losing, as the world rapes your senses and leaves you jaded.

I open one eye and peer into nonsensical lines and colors. I'm caught in some sort of abstract painting. The world, for a second, does not coalesce. It is a plate of sticky orange wedges clinging to stormy plastic waves on a sky of palest pink. It is a waterfall of jagged angles spilling into an out-of-focus horizon.

What sort of place is this? A quasi-dream world, before we remember our aches and troubles. This is a single moment in which we are all the very same age. This is what waking was like in the Garden of Eden.

"Ah, you're awake? There's coffee. And sliced fruit. You should have the fruit, Eiri-san. You don't eat enough."

I grunt and pull the nearest pillow over my face. In just a few seconds, the world went from bliss to over-bright, over-annoying, and over-depressing. And, it is a world full of the smiling face of Seguchi Tohma. I don't even have to look to know that.

He'll be sitting at his desk, wearing the same suit as yesterday. I don't even know if he sleeps or not, since he's always awake before I am. He'll be sitting there; his tie perfectly straight, his hair immaculate, and he'll already be working on some document or other.

It's like last night never happened.

There will be not a trace of the entire ordeal. The room has been fastidiously cleaned, and is now exactly the same as when I arrived yesterday. Tohma will not mention what occurred. Ever. To me, or to anyone. That moment of mysticism, of magical transformation, never happened. There are no witnesses. Even we, Tohma and I, erase it from our minds.

Though, it's a bit more difficult to erase it from my body. The residual effects of whatever opiate Tohma puts in the wine to relax me will remain for a few more hours yet. (Thankfully, however, Tohma is careful enough not to bruise my neck when he strangles me. Well, not anymore. We've had a lot of practice.) Nonetheless, I feel clear-headed and calm. Perhaps I am too calm for the current situation. But, that's better than being broken.

The Eiri from last night is gone. The one who is here now would never crack. He requires no assistance from anyone. With Tohma's help, my walls have been reconstructed. I refuse to be hurt by Shuichi's betrayal. I refuse. I am not that sort of person. Other people are incapable of hurting me. Everything outside of my walls is inconsequential.

But, Shuichi is now…

Nevermind, nevermind. I can't think about that. Not now. Later.

"No fruit."

Tohma gives me one of those looks. One that means he's older and far wiser than me. Nonetheless, he drops the issue, which is good, because I don't want to get into the whole discussion of when I last ate. Tohma stands up from his desk, and brings the coffee over to me. He sets it on the end table, and puts two sugar packets beside the cup, along with an immaculately polished spoon.

I ignore the sugar. I've been taking my coffee black since I was sixteen, and Tohma knows it.

"Eiri-san, I've made a reservation for you at your usual hotel. They have a laptop waiting for you. I'll have your things sent…"

"No."

Tohma's smile doesn't flinch, but I can see it in his eyes. That pitying look, that too-concerned look. He sits down on the couch, next to me. "Eiri-san, about Shindou-san…"

"That's my business."

His lips part, but he says nothing. He wants to say that it was his business last night, but he won't. I sip my coffee in silence. I want a cigarette, but not in here. It's just another reason for Tohma to lecture me with his eyes. At least, with all of this, Tohma wouldn't even think of giving me another assignment right now. I don't think I could handle that, on top of everything else.

I put my coffee mug back down on the end table, and something intriguing catches my eye. There are framed pictures. I've seen them all a dozen times. Several pictures of Tohma's band. A picture of one of his wedding anniversaries. There's one of me at my first book signing. A photo of the dedication of the NG building. And…

No. Wait. The picture of the anniversary The anniversary. Something about this picture…

I pick it up and stare. Mika in her expensive dress. Tohma looking pristine and long-sufferingly genial. Tatsuha. Ukai-san. That dumb Sakuma. I'm off to the side, smoking. Someone is raising a glass, but you can only see his arm. The rest of the picture is cut off.

"Did you want one of those pictures, Eiri-san? I'm sure that Mika-san still has copies of them."

I turn the frame around and undo the hinges. Carefully, I pull out the cardboard backing, and then remove the picture.

"It's folded," I say. I flip the folded section out from behind the picture. The man raising the toast… "It's Uriel."

Tohma leans a little closer to me, in order to get a better look at the picture. Now, and only now, is when his smile fails. "That's right before K-san had to remove him."

I'd completely forgotten. I think that was the drunkest I'd ever seen Uriel get. And, the man was virtually an alcoholic, so that's saying a lot. I bring the picture a little closer to my face. Uriel is scowling, and quite a bit of his hair has escaped his ponytail. The way his hair frames his face…

"Did you know that he confronted Mika-san that evening? In one of the hallways. He pressed her against the wall and threatened her. We'd been talking about selling NG and moving to the states. Retiring. Nothing serious. Just an idea. But, Uriel was upset about the possibility that Exile would disband. He blamed Mika-san for giving me the idea."

Tohma shakes his head a little, and then reaches over to touch the photograph. His finger lands on Uriel's shoulder. "I should have gotten rid of him that very night, expelled him from Exile, but I thought it was just the alcohol…"

I had forgotten all about that. Uriel and I had even traded punches over the whole thing. But, he eventually apologized, and all was forgiven.

I glance at Tohma. He has a rather forlorn look in his eyes, though he's retrieved his smile, and slathered it back onto his face. "Tohma. You and Uriel…"

Tohma's fingers curl into his hand, away from the glossy photo. The singsong sweetness of his voice hides every nuance of what may or may not be true about his emotions. "I love my wife, Eiri-san. Our marriage may have had problems in the past, but I love her now, and I have always loved her."

So, it is true. Uriel and Tohma were fucking. I'd always suspected, but just really didn't care to know the truth.

New rule number one for writers, assassins, and apparently everyone else on the entire fucking planet: No one is ever faithful or loyal to anyone. Ever. Just cope with the fact, and move on with your life.

I stuff the picture of Uriel into my pocket without even asking Tohma and stand up. "I'm leaving."

"Eiri-san, please…"

I feel the corner of my lip turn up. He means well. He always means well. But, Tohma doesn't know that Uriel, now Lucifer, is here. And, he's hunting Shuichi. Sure, Shuichi cheated on me. Apparently, the whole festering human race just cheats, betrays, and lies. Cruelty to our fellow humans is the planetary pastime. Humans are monsters. We should all be quarantined from one another.

Nonetheless, it doesn't mean I can just let Lucy get what he wants.

I head for the door, and completely ignore the pointed look that Tohma is surely giving to the back of my head.

"By the way," I say as my hand grips the doorknob. "If Sakuma ever breaks into my house again, I'll rip out his tongue and make that damn plush toy wear it as a necktie."

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I decide to pass by Bad Luck's recording studio. As much as I don't care for Nakano, when it concerns Shuichi, he's the one most likely to be in the know. Unfortunately, there's no good way to drag information out of Nakano. You can't intimidate him, and you can't bribe him. He's like a solid rock of loyalty, and considering my new number one rule, it means he can't possibly be a living human being. He's more like a boulder. And, you can't manipulate a boulder without a really big mechanical crane. I'm currently lacking in the crane department.

I make a deal with myself that I won't question Nakano about how long Shuichi has been cheating on me. I make a vow, a promise, that I'll keep my questions relevant only to keeping Shuichi safe from Lampyridae agents. It's none of my business who Shuichi fucks. I don't care. It just makes it easier for me. I don't have to worry about Shuichi being so attached to me.

Attachment. Attachment to desires, to objects, to people. It is attachment which brings feelings of loss. We can't ever actually lose anything, since we are in possession only of ourselves, and some of us aren't even very good at holding onto that. These feelings of loss are illusory, and certainly transient. I never had Shuichi. He didn't belong to me, so it is completely irrational to get upset over losing him.

Oh, how amusing. At the lowest valley, in the darkest hour, my father's utterly useless teachings start filtering into my head. Buddhism. It's the ultimate refuge for stoics going through a life-crisis.

Once, after taking a class on World Religions in school, I came home and asked my father, "Dad, is there a God?"

You know what he said in reply? "Maybe. Can't see how it really matters. Go clean the koi pond."

What I should have asked him was if there is any damn cure for the human condition besides lobotomy or death.

My footsteps echo in the hall, bouncing off glossy too-waxed linoleum and pictures of bands with angst-filled faraway looks in their eyes. This place reminds me less of a rock-and-roll studio and more of an insane asylum for fame-obsessed fuckwits. And to think, somewhere in the bowels of this building are cabinets full of pictures. Pictures of men I've killed. Pictures of men I'll probably kill in the future. The absurdity of the very existence of NG being a cover for Exile isn't lost on me. Hiding in plain sight is always the best way to go.

I try the door to the Bad Luck studio and find it locked. Of course. It's godforsaken-o'clock in the morning. I can't believe I actually expected any of them to be at work.

"Ah, uh…Yuki-san, isn't it?"

I turn to find Shuichi's producer stumbling down the hallway towards me. He's got an armful of papers, as well as a briefcase. What sort of idiot doesn't put his papers into his briefcase?

I don't have any clue where Seguchi found this moron. As far as I can tell, all he ever does is flip out about every little goddamn thing. He looks like he should be a CPA, not a high-powered music agent.

I squint at Sakano as he tries to juggle his wares while fishing in his pocket for the key to the studio at the same time. "If you're looking for Shindou-san, I haven't seen him yet this morning, but…" Sakano shakes his head, "I mean... Can I help you with anything in particular?"

"Do you know anyone named 'Okita'?" Crap. I promised myself. Wait. That promise was only in regards to Nakano, so it doesn't really count, anyway.

"Okita, Okita, Okita…" Sakano finally gets the door unlocked and pushes it open. "Isn't he one of the tour technicians? Short guy? Purplish hair?"

Fuck. A tour technician? Is that like a professional roadie? How many tours has Shuichi done? I can't remember. How many nights on the road with this Okita guy does that make? How long has this been going on?

"Are you looking for Okita-kun, Yuki-san? I could find his phone number for you."

"No."

Sakano flips on the lights and moves busily around the recording studio, testing this, adjusting that. It seems monotonously pointless to me. "I…uh…was sort of hoping you'd drop by, Yuki-san. There's something I wanted to ask you regarding Shindou-san. I hope I'm not out of line, but it's had me more than a bit worried."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, a few weeks ago, when I was going to get my car out of NG's parking garage, I saw Shindou-san having a seemingly heated conversation with a rather frightening-looking individual. I thought I saw the man pull a knife, but with my poor eyesight, it could have been anything metallic, really." Sakano stops messing around with the knobs on some random piece of equipment and looks up at me. "You don't think Shindou-san is in any sort of trouble, do you?"

A few weeks ago? And he only brings it to my attention now? How considerate. I should show this asshole what a knife really looks like, so that next time he'll do something besides just sit on that kind of information. Damnit!

And why didn't Shuichi tell me? If Lampyridae agents were already harassing him, why didn't he ask for my help? Or, maybe he doesn't need my help, now that he has that Okita guy.

"What did he look like?"

Sakano blinks a few times. "Who?"

I wish I had a hundred yen note for every time someone asked me a stupid question. "The man talking to Shuichi."

"Well, I didn't get a good look, but… I think he wasn't too terribly tall. Black hair in a ponytail. Um, a sort of low, gravely voice."

Shit. Fuck. Damn. That cocksucker. That motherfucker. Uriel. Lucifer. I loathe you. I loathe you.

What did he do to Shuichi? What did he say? Did he tell him about Exile? Did Lucy tell Shuichi about me? Is that why he ran to that Okita-asshole's arms? Is that why Shuichi no longer tells me that he loves me? Is this the punishment that Lucy planned all along, not to kill Shuichi, but to take him away from me by puncturing the carefully crafted lie of my existence? How can I blame Shuichi? How can I blame him for being disgusted with all the lies that I've told him? How can I blame him for being repulsed by the monster beneath the mask?

The truth is the monster. All else are merely pleasant trappings to keep the monster from having to look in the mirror too often.

Sakano is staring at me. A sheet of paper falls from his fingers and floats, to and fro, onto the floor. "Yuki-san, you're suddenly quite pale. Are you ill? I recall your visit to the hospital. Perhaps I should call someone for you?"

He takes several steps towards me, looking mousy and nervous, as if waiting for an unplanned apocalypse to break out at any moment. His blue-black tie hangs on the outside of his jacket, ever-so-slightly crooked. My fingers yearn to grab it, crave to strangle him, burn to watch the fear in his eyes grow infinite. Like all ignorant men, what is this Sakano but a blight upon the earth? Why should I wreak vengeance on the world for the sake of the innocent? They've never done a damn thing for me. Let them taste the horror of their own weakness.

He reaches out a hand, I suppose to touch me, to shake me from my reverie. It's vile, this flesh, this meat which encases our nothingness. You can not save anyone, because no one will lift a finger to save themselves. My existence is a farce, futile at best, absurd at worst. I should have joined Lampyridae when I had the chance.

I should have seen what Uriel meant. But, I wished to remain ignorant, and hopeful.

I miss my partner. I should have listened to him. He knew, all along, that no matter how much of a gloss we put on the act, we're still just murderers. Uriel was just trying to save me from having to find out the hard way. I loathe him. I miss him. Just like sensei.

Sakano turns out to be extremely lucky today. I don't kill him. Not here, not at NG. Don't eat where you shit. Don't kill where you roost.

I don't kill him. I just use the flat of my palm to shove him backwards. His ankle bumps a table leg, and he ends up sprawled out on the floor. A pile of papers slides off the table, and half-buries him. An avalanche of his own pathetic hubris. I think I might have broken his glasses. Who knows? It doesn't matter to me.

"You fell," I say blandly, "How clumsy."

I don't wait for his reply. Much more time in NG, and I'm likely to stab several employees. I leave Sakano there, scrambling around on the floor, picking up papers.

It's too bad. He'd have bled nicely.

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I grind my teeth as I drive. If hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Earth hath no fury like a writer foiled. I should have seen Lucy's plan. I should have known the course his plot would take.

Rule Number Eight for Writers and Assassins: It's always when the protagonist thinks he has the plot figured out that everything goes desperately awry.

Where can I go? What can I do but go home? Shuichi deserves to have his moment of accusing me of all my crimes, of exposing all of my lies to my face. I can not deny him his chance to scorn me. He should scorn me. He should loathe me. Every drop of blood I've shed is one more reason why Shuichi should spit on me.

I must go home, I must. Because, though I know that it will surely be the end of the grand fantasy I've lived, I'm crushed with some irrational hope. This hope… I find myself hoping Shuichi I will say that even though I'm a monster, even though we can not be together, he understands me, and he forgives me.

I'm a bigger idiot than Sakuma.

On the road, I pass cardboard people and paper houses. The sun sits on the horizon, speckling the sky with cartoon pinks and crayon reds. Everything mocks me with its fakeness. The reality of the world slips away, leaving only post-nuclear burnt-in shadows. Fences and shop windows are merely theater curtains concealing puppet-shows of the surreal. All the world is a stage, and all the people are merely termites devouring gaudy set pieces.

The road snakes on and on, reminding me of the first time I ever drank and drove. It seemed I could never reach my destination. No matter how slow or how fast, the road elongated itself to prevent me from actually traveling anywhere. I can't tell if I am speeding or procrastinating.

I come to a stoplight, and the city springs back to life. It's as if my momentary motionlessness requires better theater. Beyond the air conditioned confines of my car, Tokyo becomes a kabuki production where everyone is a caricature of themselves.

That's when I see it. Two real people among the actors. It's one of those corner cafes, with airy eaves and sweaty glasses of imported water on wrought-iron tables. Mizuki's wearing those hideous Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses she adores, and waving her laminated menu at a waiter. Sighting my editor at an outdoor café, in itself, would be unremarkable, not even worth mentioning….

Except that she's sitting across from none other than my rival, Akasugi Naoko!

What in the holy living assfuck of Buddha's mother is that about?

Mizuki laughs and swats playfully at Akasugi's shoulder with her menu when he says something apparently charming. What? How can she be dining with the enemy? She knows how much I loathe that greasy, obnoxious, oozing asswhore.

What the hell am I thinking? I'm actually getting jealous that my editor is taking brunch with a talentless, cross-dressing, jizz-rag at a time like this? This is preposterous. I don't have time to deal with the intrigues of the publishing world.

Fuck Mizuki. I should have known she'd sell out. Why the hell did I trust her? Fuck Tangerine. Fuck my novels. And fuck you, Akasugi Naoko, fuck you roughly with a rusty piece of barbed wire.

I peel out when the light turns green. I don't even care if they see my car. I don't care of they hear the screeching of my tires. That bitch! That backstabbing whore!

You can't trust anyone.

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Tungesh tries to flag me down as I race past the newsstand. I ignore him. I don't have time for a lazy conversation about whether or not Raskolnikov was insane, or if Aldous Huxley was better before or after he started taking LSD. I can't even spare a second to check my rankings in the trade journals. I'm not a writer anymore, anyway.

I'm just a murderer, pretending to be a writer, fascinated by the fiction of love.

I pull up to my building, and proceed to slam my car door so hard the bang reverberates across the neighborhood. The gunshot quality of the noise shakes some of the anger from me. I need to gather my wits, but I find all of my thoughts scattered like a haystack in a tornado.

Please let Shuichi be home. Please let something miraculous happen. Please, make me believe that I'm wrong about something.

Is there anyone listening? I know I'm a bad man. I know I deserve nothing in this world. But, if, just this once, you answer my prayers, I'll do anything you ask. I'll give anything you want. My fame? My freedom? My flesh? It's yours.

I know you can't bargain with the divine. I know that a prayer is just a wish, and we must make our own way in this world. Still, I'm asking, as humbly as a monster can, for this small favor.

I fish out my keys and unlock the door. The apartment smells of burnt food, and the television is blaring. Unfortunately, this isn't always a sign that Shuichi is actually here. He always forgets to turn off the damn television.

I toss my keys onto an end table, and force of my throw causes them to slide off onto the floor. I don't bother to stop and pick them up.

I head into the livingroom. He's not there. I ignore the television and storm into the kitchen. Burnt food. He's got to be cooking. No one can fuck up breakfast like Shuichi.

No, there's no one here. And the kitchen is fairly clean. Damn. Maybe he left a…

Note.

I tear it off the fridge, and several cheap magnets clatter to the floor.

"Yuki! Left you some breakfast. Scraped off all the burnt parts, too. Call me when you get home, okay? And... Oh yeah. Some guy named Tungesh called. Isn't that the newsstand guy? Okay. Call me. Don't forget. –Shuichi."

How… I can't believe I missed him. Nakano must have just picked him up. Or… Well, I don't want to think who else could have picked him up. I sink into one of our kitchen chairs and stare at the note.

He still didn't say 'I love you'. How ridiculous. Of course he didn't. If I were in his shoes, I'd have probably waited in the kitchen with the SWAT team.

Still, how can he be so casual? How can he say things like nothing has changed between us? I don't understand it, not at all.

I rummage around in my pocket and dig out my cellphone. I'm not going to call him. Of course not. What would I say? I'll just have to wait for tonight, wait until he gets home.

I'll call and see what the hell Tungesh wants, I guess.

I flip the phone open, and… Well, it appears I turned it off at some point yesterday. Probably after I left Shuichi and Okita-whomever. I don't recall. I was a bit off my rocker at the time.

I click the button to turn the phone on. A little screen advertising my cellular provider pops up, and then it switches to the main menu.

What the…?

"You have 43 messages."

You've got to be kidding me. I dial my voice mail and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey Yuki! I was just wondering where you were. I guess you went to the liquor store or something. Um. See you soon. Love you."

"Hey Yuki, why's your cellphone off? Did you forget to charge it again? You're so forgetful when you're working on a novel. Okay, call me. I love you!"

"Uhh…Yuki? Are you there? I'm gonna order pizza, so come home soon, okay? Love you!"

"Oh boy, this is good pizza, and you're not gonna get any. Your loss. Did you get lost? I think I should buy you one of those GPS things. I hope you're alright. If you can get to a phone, call me, okay? I love you."

"Yuki, I'm a little worried now. Please call me, even if you're mad at me for something. Even if you want to just yell at me. I don't mind. I love you so much!"

"Yuki…. Please come home. I love you."

"Yuki…. I'm scared. I love you. Please be alright."

After about the twentieth message, I can't take anymore.

Every single message… Every single time he called, he said it.

"Yuki… I love you."

"Yuki… I love you."

Shuichi… Shuichi…

You're a crueler monster than I could ever be.

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In Our Next Chapter: Eiri gets some news from Tungesh. Another fire breaks out. Eiri and Shuichi finally figure out a large section of what's going on… And (should the chapter unfold as planned), Uriel/Lucy's identity is finally revealed!

Author's Notes: Alright, I don't think they actually have those sorts of swear words in Japanese. Chuckle. You'll just have to forgive me on that one.

I decided to call this chapter "Holding a Torch" for two reasons. Because of the romantic image it conjures, of holding a torch for someone, and hoping that your love comes back to you. And, also because it makes me think of villagers chasing down a monster while holding torches.

Special thanks to all reviewers, both on gurabite and I'm so glad you continue to enjoy this very AU, very bizarre story, which sometimes surely does not seem to make any damn sense. I know reading an AU is always taking a chance that someone is going to fuck up the story beyond all recognition, so I am glad you are taking a chance on this story. So, thank you to Patosan, Dana, bakayarona, xenophyle, Satanic-Purple-Onion, Ashcat, Heroin Girl (He didn't.), Sesshoumaru-bishounen, gyoki, Taunting, Brittanga (Damn, you're good.), Cetsunai, Aacire, firedraygon, smoondigiboy, akuma-river, Guren, animegirl12182, Reiannah, Lily Avalon (Who knows?), and Saiyajin Peach 18.