Author's Notes: And here it is, the much vaunted and anticipated PoV shift chapter. I'll keep the commentary short and sweet – it is going to bounce around a bit, but I want to expand my writing style and see how people take to it. Let me know if it works, yeah? Thanks again, as always, to my fans, even those who haven't faved or reviewed me. You guys are awesome. And, on that note, enjoy.

Chapter 9

"We thank you for your time and expertise, Seta-san. Your competitors have been moving so fast that it's been difficult to keep up. It is encouraging to see those willing to take steps to ensure proper and efficient communication."

"I am glad you are pleased. I agree with your observation – so many young people in the field these days, and so little patience."

"Indeed. Again, thank you for your time. We will most definitely be in touch."

"It has been an honour, gentlemen. Good day. Hitomi-chan, please show Sanada-san and Ichimura-san out."

"Of course, Seta-san."

The men and assistant left the office, and a chair tilted back, creaking slightly in contemplation. The sudden quiet was a welcome reprieve. So many years doing it, and catching clients was still a salacious little thrill, a guilty pleasure that harkened back to days long gone. Yes, it was the job of the salesmen, technically, but no one could say that Seta-san wasn't dedicated to the company. And proper leaders, it was known, did so by example.

The office was a reflection of the person. Classy instead of gaudy, comfortable and professional. A regularly-cleaned floor of dark wood with a rug over top that cost half a new entrant's annual salary. Plush seats and leather couches lined the walls, as did polished bookcases, full of corporate records and company policies. Degrees and certifications took up nearly half the available wall space, and a large window occupied the other. And the desk. It was dark, polished, and reflected, again, a professional, no-nonsense image. A computer, desk lights, writing utensils, and easily enough table space for paperwork and client portfolios. It all radiated authority and competence while not being overbearing or pompous. And it should – enough professionals had been paid to ensure such an image was presented. The only casual touch (planned, of course) to the professional veneer was a pair of framed photos off to the side of the desk. One was of a young university graduate, leaving at the top of the class and shaking hands with the dean of business, a triumphant smile setting off the entire picture. So many years, and it was still a strong memory, inspiring a smile less broad but just as proud every time. The other was a family photo, with a dark-haired woman standing next to a silver-haired man, a pale-headed child of four or five between them. They looked happy, and the child's grin was hard to miss. Most clients and co-workers loved that one.

A long finger pressed the call button on the phone receiver. "Hitomi-chan, I'll be in here for a while. Have someone send lunch in."

"Of course, Seta-san."

The chair creaked forward, and Kashihara Finance's Management Director moved toward another door in the office. It was polished and dark, like most of the office, but worn with a cleaned brass handle instead of the usual wood. It was used by only one person, and everyone assumed it was Seta-san's personal restroom or off-office sleeping quarters during crunch time. Seta-san, versed on the worth of assumptions, especially around coworkers, and knowing full well the value of image, never bothered to correct them.

The door clicked open and swung wide silently, clicking closed after being passed through. Another snap, and a bank of lights went on while she made her way to her desk.

This wasn't a restroom, as so many thought. That was the door on the other side of this room, complete with a spacious furo, hand-ironed towels, and an arsenal of body washes and shampoos that would have rivaled any Tokyo hair stylist's work cabinet. No, this room was where the real work got done. Where the policies were looked over, office memos read, announcements sent out, and files kept. It was where Seta-san kept a worn futon for the 18-hour days and a repository of instant ramen and vitamins when the staff went home. It was where several spare sets of clothes were kept, vacuum-sealed, for last-minute 6AM meetings, complete 3-piece ensembles accompanied by boxes of foreign currency and language books.

It was also, simply put, a mind-boggling disaster area.

Stacks of paper by chairs, on chairs, and taking the place of chairs were on the floor, against the wall, and teetering on the edge of shelves. Books and binders and file folders were left open and marked with more folders and books jammed in edgewise. Company announcements were 8 deep on barely-hanging-on corkboards, and sticky notes took up 88% of the remaining 21% of desk area still visible. The drawers were lined with files, paper peeked through the cracks between one level and the next, there was a growing monument of pencils and pens and erasers and paperclips next to the computer screen, and even the name plate, 'Seta Izumi', was perched on 19 inches of forms like the crown of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Her broken-in office chair could only turn 76 degrees on account of the drawers and stacks around it, and the only way to the desk was along a worn track of less paper, in between the stacks, that twisted and turned like a broken-backed snake, but that she had grown so used to that she could navigate blind.

For the fire hazard it represented, not to mention the implications for her image to others learning about it, it was also the best filing system Izumi had ever come up with. She knew what each stack contained, where in the room a particular subject was stored. It was an extension of her mind's unique means of categorization, and the two times she'd had the files placed in proper cabinets and drawers, it set her back so far that she was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. 36 hours later, the paper stacks were back and the office space was splashed white, and she was happier than a clam at high tide. Ordered chaos, Souji had once called it. Structured pandemonium. It was where she could let her mind wander and work at her best.

The phone, one of the four things on the desk not covered in or resting on paper, lit up. "Seta-san, your lunch is on its way. Also, several calls were sent to your voice mail."

"Thank you, Hitomi-chan."

She jammed the voice mail button, pen and paper ready. "You have – 18 – new messages and – 177 – saved messages in your archive. First archived message-" She jammed several keys and took down the names and numbers. She was near the end when a gruff voice rattled through the room. "Izumi. It's Ryotaro. We need to talk, about Souji and his time here in Inaba. You can reach me at..."

Ryo? What did her brother want? And what about Souji? He'd said his time spent in Inaba was... how did that go again?

BEEP "Seta-san, your lunch is here."

"I'll be right there."

She made her way to her 'work office' and ate alone, mulling over Ryo's message. Within minutes of her finishing her meal, she resolved to talk to Souji about it when he returned from Inaba. Then the calls started, meetings were scheduled, and the message was left, blinking innocently, on the machine. By the time she went home that day, she remembered only that she was going to ask her son something.

6:31AM. Wake up, turn off the alarm. 42 minutes of Tai Chi. Bathroom, clean up. Breakfast and coffee, sometimes started by Souji, sometimes not. Morning news and stock market. Commute. Morning messages, morning appointments, lunch, afternoon appointments, afternoon debriefing with the other managers, commute home. Evening paperwork, news and stock market. Dinner. Business talk with Yuuma. Evening Tai Chi. Sleep. 6:33AM. Wake up, turn off the alarm. 41 minutes of Tai Chi.

Izumi Seta was a creature of habit, and those habits had saved her career more than once. Thus it was two days after receiving Ryo's message that she was exactly where she'd been when she first heard it, her mind on project budgets and personnel reports and client lists and meeting schedules. Souji had gotten back very early that morning, and she felt no need to prod him. The same could not be said for the need of others to prod her, however.

She was indulging in a late lunch, having cleared her schedule for it, when Hitomi buzzed her. "There's a Detective Ryotaro Dojima on the line for you, Seta-san. He's called several times, and won't listen when I say you're busy."

"Put him through, Hitomi-chan."

"Of course, ma'am."

click "Ryo. It's been too long."

"Before Chisato died," her brother's laconic voice replied.

"Has it been that long?"

"I'm on my lunch break, Izumi, so I don't have the time to reminisce."

She straightened in her chair. "Of course. What is it?"

"Have you spoken to Souji since he got back? About the time he spent here?"

"He got in early this morning. I haven't asked him how he spent his weekend in Inaba yet."

"I mean the first time. From last April until this March."

"The subject hasn't come up."

A long pause. "Hasn't come up?"

"Should it have? Did something happen? I'm sure he was well behaved for you."

"He was here for a year, and you didn't ask when he got back? You've been around him since March."

"If something had come up, I'm sure he would have told me."

"That's... you're unbelievable. And Yuuma? Did Souji talk to him about it?" Her brother's voice was harsh and clipped, cracking under strain. It was strange – he sounded angry.

"They argued about Souji's going back to Inaba, but I don't think they spoke on the topic of the time we spent in America. What's so important that Souji talk to us about last year? He did say his grades didn't suffer for it. Actually, I've gotten messages from some of his teachers, all complimentary. He seemed to do quite well academically."

"His... his grades." The anger had diminished, and he spoke quieter, almost a whisper. "So, he... what about America, Izumi?"

"Our business trip to America was very profitable. We made great progress for the company's investment division, and-"

"I meant you. You said it was going to be the last overseas job you took, and that you'd cut back on office hours. I've heard otherwise, that you're working as much as ever."

She stiffened in her chair, eyes narrowing. Years apart without speaking regularly may have been a reason to be a little cross, but this was insulting. "There hasn't been time to cut back. Yuuma and I are on the road to something big. And since when are my working practices your business? It has nothing to do with you."

"It does when – yes Aihara, I'll be there in a minute – when my nephew's keeping his activities for the whole year to himself."

"Activities? Like what? He's not the sort to get involved in gangs – we taught him better than that."

"Like the people he's met, friends he's made. He grew up a lot this past year, and I'm having to tell you?"

"We respect his privacy, Ryo. That isn't a crime."

"That's... dammit Izumi, I – I heard you, Aihara! Two minutes! – I didn't want to believe him."

"Why? Did Souji say something?"

"He said you hadn't changed between last year and this one. I really didn't want to believe him. As for the rest, it's his story to tell. Not mine. Much as I'd like to, it wouldn't mean anything, and I don't know all of it. Ask him. See if he'll tell you about his friends, or a girl named Amagi, or maybe Nanako."

"I'm sure he made friends, Ryo, and I'm sure he would have told me if he hadn't gotten along with little Nanako or you."

"That's the point," Ryo pointed out. "He did get along with a lot of people here. I still have calls here looking for him, or asking when he'll get back. And from what most of them say, he had a pretty big impact in their lives."

Izumi smiled proudly at that. "Of course he did. He's our son."

"Then why didn't he tell you about it?"

"We don't require that he checks in with us, Ryo. It's his life, and he's a very responsible person."

Ryo sighed heavily. "You really don't know anything about his time here, do you? I chewed him out when he was here this weekend, Izumi, and I thought he was exaggerating. Really, you could take the time to talk to your son. He's a good kid, and he deserves better than being someone you think about between your business meetings."

Her fist clenched and eyes narrowed angrily. "My whole life I've worked to get the opportunities I have now. Opportunities that Souji will benefit from when I'm done. My work takes time, and my family knows that. So don't lecture me on my priorities or raising my son, Ryo," she growled. "It has nothing to do with you."

"It didn't," he corrected. "When he was a kid, he was yours completely. But then he came here, and now it does involve me. If you can find the time, ask him. Maybe he'll tell you. I have to go."

"You are making more of this than there is. Things are fine here. Souji's grown up to be a smart, responsible young man. Whatever fears you have about him are groundless."

"It's not uncommon for teenagers to not talk to their parents, but Souji's never danced around the issue when I needed to hear the truth. If he's not talking to you or Yuuma, then there's a problem. And maybe you should correct that before he graduates. He went through a lot here, and he's keeping you out of his life. And you're letting him. You're better than that, Izumi."

"Don't tell me what to do. I know what I'm doing."

"Perhaps. We'll be in touch."

The line went dead with a sharp finality, and the silence of the office felt awkward and stiff. She hung up the phone and glared at it, then let the anger wash over and leave her. Her brother's vehemence was surprising, though not his words. He'd always lacked polish, and was blunt to a fault. Result of being a police officer and detective, she knew.

Still, for him to make a call concerning Souji was odd. The last time her brother did that had been to confirm Souji's travel plans the year before. And the time before that had been from Chisato on Souji's birthday, when he'd turned... 9? 11?

She made a point of recalling the conversation this time, and promised to talk to her son that evening.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur, and she was back home before she knew it. Her conversation with Ryo nagged at the back of her mind. Not know her own son? Of course she knew him – she was his mother.

Still, it was strange to go through the evening looking for an opportunity to speak to Souji. Most nights the Seta family had their respective areas, and stuck to them. No matter where they'd lived in which city, Souji had a love seat and table near the kitchen, Izumi had the couch and table near the TV and half the office, and Yuuma had the desk in their bedroom and the other half of the office. No signs needed, no discussion had, no questions asked; those areas were theirs, and began to reflect their regular occupants. Izumi's table resembled an architect's planning room with its stacks of forms and scribbled notes, Souji had textbooks and notebooks and cookbooks scattered about the kitchen, bright with coloured stickies as page markers, and Yuuma's desk in the bedroom and half of the office was organized and resembled a museum library in its orderliness. And where one might expect their different methods to interfere and grate on each other's nerves, the Seta family was well-versed at stepping around each other rather than through a workspace – whole weeks could pass by with pre-set interactions and phrases and nary a further thought. Souji's scratch of pen on paper or crackle of turning pages as he did homework or cooked meals. Yuuma's multilingual chattering in the office. Izumi's idle commentary on the news and day's stock trades.

Thus it was strange to voluntarily break that mould, to tread upon the routine so much a staple of their house. She broke away from the news and looked to where her son was poring over his textbooks, scribbling down notes and spinning a 500 yen coin through his fingers. It was odd, she thought idly, how someone wearing white and grey could blend in so well with a brown floor and table and black leather couch. "I got a call from your uncle today," she told him from across the room. No response. He tapped the end of his pen against his cheek and stopped spinning the coin – then continued the writing and spinning. "Souji."

He jerked back, then turned to face her. "Sorry?"

"My brother called me today."

He blinked for a few moments, then regained his composure. The same level stare and half smile as usual. "Uncle Dojima? What's the occasion?"

"He wanted to talk about you."

Souji pushed himself off the floor and sat against the couch edge closest to her, threading his half-gloved fingers together. "Really. I didn't get a call, so I assume he wanted to talk to you specifically."

Smart boy. "Indeed. He said I should ask you about Inaba."

"Ah."

"And something else. He said you'd said that things hadn't changed around here." Souji raised an eyebrow, but remained as calm as ever. "What did you mean by that?"

"Just that you're as dedicated as ever, mother." She tilted her head to the side, and he continued. "Last January you seemed like you were slowing down, remember? Something about a deal that'd gone sideways at the last minute. You said you were losing your centre." She hummed in recollection. That was true – four months of hard work from first contact with the client to the planning and integration stages, and the client had gone bankrupt just as the plans were about to be finalized. Both she and Yuuma had been working on the deal from the beginning, and everyone had done their jobs as best they could. The CEOs had even commended the pair for their teamwork, saying that, regardless of the turnout due to the client, they had done exemplary work. Even if the deal would have been a burden later on, and the end result was to the benefit of the corporation, Izumi and Yuuma had burned out trying to make it work – having all that work come to nothing, even with a raise to perk them up, was a heavy blow. "That's all I meant. You seem like you're back on track from then."

"I see. Ryo made it seem more... critical than that."

Souji shrugged. "Maybe he was. It has been a long time since we talked to them. Nanako's growing up fast for her age, and was asking questions about you. Besides, when was the last time you or father took any time off?"

"We're needed at work, Souji."

"Of course. But a vacation now and then might be good for you and father. I can handle things here. Working all the time gives people the impression that it's all you can do, after all."

"Hm. A valid point."

"Was there anything else?"

"Your uncle said I should ask about the friends you made. Someone named Amagi?"

Souji paused for half a second, then chuckled. "Ah yes. Them."

"Them? How is Amagi a 'them'?"

"Amagi is a friend I made at school. One of several. Polite, smart, that sort of thing. She was a good study partner. And the others were a little colourful in their own way. Most were her friends, and I just tagged along for a while. Then I became part of the group, especially during exam time."

"So they were the friends you went back to see."

"They were."

"And little Nanako?"

"She's growing up. Takes on a lot of responsibility, but she spent time with Amagi and myself, both this weekend and before."

"I don't suppose you have any photos of them? Amagi and these friends?"

Souji shook his head. "I did, but I left them there. Plus Satonaka, one of Amagi's friends, has the camera most of the pictures are on." Izumi's next question was cut off by Souji's phone ringing. He grabbed it and glanced at the screen before looking up. "Are we done?"

"Go ahead." She turned back to her table and reports.

Souji cut off the ringing and walked past his love seat, talking quietly. Every now and again a snippet of conversation or a chuckle would wander across the room.

A few minutes later, while Souji was still off in his corner near the window, her husband came out of the office. He greeting died in her throat when she saw the scowl on his face. "Souji!" he snapped. Their son turned from the window, not answering but looking at his father. "In here. Please." Yuuma spun on his heel and returned to the office.

"Yeah, I'm still here," Souji replied in the phone. "I'm being summoned. Can I call you back? Alright, see ya." He snapped his phone closed and slipped it in his pocket before heading toward the office door. Izumi, the evening news forgotten, followed curiously. She could count with the fingers on two hands the times Yuuma had used that tone with their son, and still have fingers to spare. Thus, she glanced around the door frame into the office.

Yuuma was sitting in his chair, straight and stiff as a carved marble statue, holding a manila folder. His usual half smile was gone, a twisted scowl in its place. Souji was leaning against the wall across from her, as calm as ever. "What is this?" Yuuma demanded.

"What do you mean, father?"

"This portfolio of yours is a disgrace."

"How so? I used the format you taught me."

"What am I supposed to get from this? These numbers are ridiculous."

"It isn't my fault that my sources were horrible at book keeping."

"You expect me to believe that businesses in the black are this horrible at keeping records? Do you take me for an idiot, Souji?"

"I don't have expectations of people, father. I'd hoped the information might be more coherent. Sadly, I was wrong." Izumi noticed that Souji didn't answer the second question, and frowned.

"These numbers are a joke. There's no way they are accurate."

"If you say so."

"I do. And you're going to tell me why that's the case before I ground you until you graduate."

"I didn't know you were looking for authenticity," Souji remarked smoothly. "I thought this was more of a test to see if I could put the pieces together. Had I known you were looking for intimate data like that-"

"If you couldn't put that together, Souji, then I'm frankly disappointed in you. I thought someone who claims such high test scores would be smarter than that."

Izumi thought Souji's tone would change at that. It didn't. "I can't help that they didn't want to volunteer that information." Smooth as quicksilver.

"A good businessman would convince them otherwise."

"So I hear. May I ask why you wanted accurate information?"

"What?"

"This was just a test, some unconnected and largely irrelevant data about some small businesses. What does the accuracy matter?"

"That isn't the point. The point is that this," Yuuma gestured to the file he was pointing at his son, "is pathetic. Far beneath what I expect of you." Silence. The clock ticking. More silence. "Well? Nothing to say for yourself?"

"I wasn't aware you were asking a question," Souji replied. "And no, I don't have anything else to say on the matter. You being disappointed in me is nothing new. I've been hearing that since I was 13."

Yuuma's scowl deepened. "Are you being smart with me?"

"No. Simply stating a fact."

"And if I said you failed my expectations?"

"No different. I've heard that several times over the last year and a half."

"You're trying to dig yourself deeper, aren't you?"

Souji snorted. "Hardly. Just giving feedback. Your disappointment doesn't scare me the way it used to, father."

"You're grounded. Cancel any further plans of going to Inaba. Now get out."

Souji shrugged and padded out the room, ignoring his mother as he passed. Yuuma slammed the folder into the nearby garbage pail, swearing under his breath. Izumi stepped into the room, her head cocked to the side. "Was that necessary?"

"He made a fool of me," Yuuma muttered darkly. "My own son."

"Why was it so important?"

"It was an opportunity. A wasted one now."

"Are you going to tell me more than that?"

Yuuma shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"If you're sure. I thought I should mention," she told him, straightening her back, "that Ryo called today."

"Your brother?" Yuuma grunted. He rarely said much about her detective sibling, or his headstrong wife before she'd passed away. "What did he want?"

"He said I should talk to Souji about his stay in Inaba last year."

"Why?"

"I think he believes we're not involved with Souji enough."

Yuuma snorted. "We can't all coddle our child like he and Chisato did. Did he give a basis for his reasoning?"

"He said they had a talk this weekend, and that Souji's not telling us things. Important things."

"Hmph. Anything else?"

"Ryo also seems to think Souji's changed in the year he spent there. He wasn't very specific."

"Changed, huh. Like a girlfriend? Obviously it wasn't in social graces or filial respect."

"I think Souji would have mentioned a girlfriend. Especially if he knew it would interfere with any business opportunities here."

"Precisely. So where does that leave us?"

"I'm not sure," Izumi admitted. "Souji had an answer for all my concerns when I asked him."

"I heard part of that," Yuuma mentioned, resting his head on a fist. "What do you think? Has he changed much since last April?"

"That's... a hard question to answer. I think he's changed a little – I don't think he would have spoken back to you like that a year and a half ago. But nor do I think he's changed as drastically as Ryo suggests."

"Or perhaps he has and is simply hiding it. Though I don't see why he would."

"Nor do I. And I think we would have noticed any serious changes in him by now."

"Which you haven't, I assume. Aside from those ridiculous armbands and gloves he's taken to wearing."

"That's right."

Yuuma leaned back in his chair and let out a tired sigh. "I think your brother's seeing things, Izumi. He might have been near Souji while we were in the U.S., but Souji is still our son."

"I agree."

"Either way, we'll be seeing him here until he's done school."

"Indeed." Yuuma turned his chair around and looked out the window. Izumi pushed off the door and returned to the living room. Souji had already returned to his seat and was rapidly texting on his cell phone. When she sat back down at her table, she glanced over at her son.

"Was there a reason for that?"

Souji's thumbs stopped and he looked back at her. "Reason for what?"

"Your theatrics in there. You know how seriously your father takes his work."

"That portfolio had nothing to do with his work, mother."

"He seemed to think so."

"I have no control over that. It was what it was in Inaba."

"Were you aiming to get grounded?"

"No. But I thought it might be a possibility after I finished writing it all out."

"Souji, you shouldn't aggravate him."

"It's only until I graduate, mother. Then I'll be off at university." He sighed when he saw her pointed look. "Fine. I'll try to make nice with him."

"Thank you."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. The clouds broke and began to rain. Souji finished his homework and turned in early. An hour later, Yuuma came out to wish her good night. After that she'd lost herself in her reports, only realizing when she was done how much her eyes were burning. She pushed herself onto the deep, comfortable leather and stretched to the side, feeling her head touch the arm of the couch. He eyes pulled closed. She was asleep before she could think about it.

Izumi's eyes popped open, momentarily blind. The room was cast in a heavy grey from the static of the TV and the dim light in the hall. Around her, furniture and couches were nearly as dark as the shadows they cast, indistinct half shapes both near and far. The windows tapped and pattered with the heavy rain outside. Her neck cricked painfully as she pushed up from the couch while speckles of black and colour sparked across her vision. She stifled a yawn and focused on getting the world to stop moving. She hated waking up in the middle of the night – she felt worse than the morning after a hard night of drinking, leaving everything off kilter. She couldn't smell anything, not even the usual scent of 'clean' in their house, and there was a sharp, sour taste in her mouth, but her skin felt unusually alive, registering every stitch of her clothes and grain of the leather in the couch. Her vision returned in patches, and the sound of the rain was harsh to her ears. When the world finally righted itself, she frowned. She was normally a heavy sleeper; what woke her up?

As though on cue, a door down the hall opened sharply, followed by a frantic shuffle and slap of unsteady footsteps. She had barely set her feet on the ground to investigate when Souji burst into view. He staggered past her and stopped near the window by his couch and leaned against the wall, head bowed. Even in his grey sleeping pants and white shirt, he seemed to fade against the shadows in the corner. His frame lost its clear definition, like a ghost that had forgotten to stay outside that night.

In the relative quiet of the night, Izumi became almost painfully aware of her son's breathing over the rain. Normally so even and paced, it was ragged, frantic, and trembling. She imagined she could hear his heartbeat from across the room, racing like a terrified horse.

Despite the gloom, she saw his shoulders jerk and shudder, paired with a wet, muffled choking and gasping. He was... crying? He was trying to suppress it, hold it all in, but...

Her son was crying.

It was a thought that hit like a sunbeam during a cloudy day, if that sunbeam had the mass of a freight train. It was unfamiliar. Alien. Souji hadn't cried in... she couldn't remember how long. And the sound, pained and quiet, locked her in place, pulling at heartstrings that were brittle and dusty with age. For the first time in more years than she wanted to claim, she didn't know what to do.

The business director in her wanted to ask how long he'd been having nightmares. The woman in her was curious when it had started, and whether this was something that her brother had tried to mention. The mother in her, so long ignored that the feeling trembled and quaked uncertainly at the bottom of her heart, yearned only to go over and comfort him, to somehow take away his pain.

But so many years of observing people, being a woman in a man's workplace, country and culture, told her one important thing about what she was seeing: it was personal. This moment, this night lost in time and place, wasn't for her to see. It was a jagged, bloody wound with an origin that she couldn't imagine. She wasn't aware of anything, as her mental faculties kicked into gear, that would cause her normally stoic and composed son to break so clearly.

When his shudders began to subside and the compressed sobs died out, Izumi silently pushed herself to her feet, her emotions still firing every which way. How would she ask him? What words should she use? What approach? To question, analyze, or comfort?

In the end, she chose none of them.

"Souji?"

He straightened sharply. His naked left hand disappeared behind his body as he slowly turned, brushing at his face with his sleeve. When he stopped his left arm was hidden from view while he faced her sidewards. "I-" he started harshly before sniffing hard and clearing his throat. "I didn't see you there. I hope I didn't wake you." Not the placid calm of earlier in the evening, his voice was a toneless whisper, a deep, flat rasp that crawled along the floor and shivered up her spine.

"You didn't. I was up before... well, this."

"I see."

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. As much as I can be."

"I didn't know you had nightmares."

He shrugged, not forming eye contact with her. "Not often, but sometimes. They seem worst when it rains."

"Does this have anything to do with what Ryo said? About Inaba?"

"No." The word was delivered smoothly, as though he expected it. "I don't remember what it was about. I'll be fine."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm fine."

His shaky delivery told her otherwise, but she didn't know where else to go. "Then I'll see you in the morning."

"Right. Good night, mother." Souji turned back to the window, curtains pulled back. Izumi moved away from the couch and toward the hall, looking at him one last time as she passed by. His pale frame was unmoving while he leaned against the wall and stared out, no more than seven feet away. Yet that distance felt greater than the breadth of the East China Sea. Even the window, black and smooth as a mirror, cast no reflection as he looked out. For the first time that she could remember, Seta Izumi was at a loss with her son. He was different, changed in ways she was just now imagining. And those changes weren't new, but instead worn smooth into a seamless shell on which she found no purchase. He wasn't a client or an employee or her husband; she didn't know where to go from here, let alone how to start.

In the face of it all, she turned toward her room, less certain than when she woke up that morning, and said the only thing she could. "Good night."

Author's Note: Now for those who're asking 'WTF?' on Souji giving in so easily to his old man here after he had to promise what he did earlier to get to Inaba, don't worry – he's not out yet. For those thinking Souji should tell his father off, or woulda gone over the desk to take a round out of him, also don't worry. That scene's coming too. On the note of his parents, how did I do with Izumi? Queries? Comments? Love or hate, I wanna know. Finally, the next chapter features the last member of the Inaba Investigation Team that we haven't seen yet, everyone's favourite starlet. It's gonna be going a few places too, so be patient. Review, favourite, PM, anything, but don't be shy on feedback. Cheers!