THIS I PROMISE
Shuichi pulled back the sleeve of his coat, taking note of the placement of the silver hands above the Prussian blue face of his watch, "1:18 AM." Letting out a tired sigh, he pulled his keys from his coat pocket, inserted the tiny, misshapen piece of metal into the lock, unlocked his door and stepped across the threshold into his apartment. He flicked the switch next to the door and illuminated the light in his kitchen directly towards his left. Using the light from the kitchen to find his way past it, he flicked another switch to bring to life the standing lamp in his living room. Shuichi chucked his messenger bag onto his black, faux leather couch before stepping back into the kitchen.
Gaining a glass of water from the dispenser in his fridge, he brought the glass to his lips and swallowed the icy liquid greedily, each gulp as a tsunami upon the shore across Shuichi's tongue and down his throat, each bringing him a small grain of euphoria. After draining the glass, he let out a satisfied sigh. He allowed himself this one little moment to appreciate his surroundings. He still found it difficult to believe this apartment was his. It wasn't anything luxurious, but it was far from being shabby. It was a modest one bedroom, one bath set up, roughly 650 square feet. With a walk-in closet connecting his bedroom to his bathroom, a patio with an outside closet housing a washer and dryer, it was more than what one teenager required to live comfortably.
The sound of a rapping at his front door made Shuichi jump slightly. Regarding it, puzzled, he double checked his watch yet again to ensure that he hadn't read it wrong the first time, "1:20 AM. Who could that possibly be at this hour?" Shuichi gingerly placed his glass down upon the dark granite countertop and approached his door, being careful not to make a sound as he pressed his eye up against the peephole. Seeing who it was, out in the lighted hallway, Shuichi chuckled softly to himself before releasing the cylinder lock, followed by the deadbolt, and opened the door.
"My word, Shuichi, where have you been? You didn't come home around your usual time, so I kept an eye out for you. And look at you, you're absolutely soaked! What happened?" In front of his door stood an elderly woman, possibly around 70 or so. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she held a shawl around her shoulders to protect herself, robed in not but a simple night dress, from the cold that assaulted the outwardly exposed hallway.
"Hello Ms. Yasashi. I'm sorry to have worried you, but you know that the nature of my job could potentially keep me out for a long time, maybe even all night, remember?"
"Of course, I know that, silly boy. I've known that old busy bee of an uncle of yours long enough to know how you Saihara men can get. Always fixated on the task at hand. So single-minded that you can't even remember to take care of your basic needs. I don't know whether you actually think you're invincible or if you just plain forget that you're human. I bet you probably haven't eaten anything since this afternoon, have you." Shuichi opened his mouth to protest... however, the moment his brain registered the fact that food does indeed exist, his stomach suddenly let out a hollow and despairing growl. Shuichi shut his mouth tight, a light coating of pink spreading across his nose and cheeks. Ms. Yasashi merely grinned knowingly.
"Mhmm, that's exactly what I thought. Honestly, you're just like Sojiro. I suppose every Sherlock Holmes needs his Mrs. Hudson." As she finished her quip, she brought up a Tupperware she had tucked behind her arm that had been obscured by her shawl. She lifted it towards Shuichi, who took it with a small, awed look of surprise. "I can't even think of how many times your uncle would call me up in the middle of the night, complaining about how he was 'dying from hunger' and that if I didn't find him something to eat soon, he was would haunt me for the rest of my days." Though her voice was laced with annoyance, her expression was one of someone remembering fond, simpler, more innocent times from days gone by.
Suddenly, a curt breeze ghosted its way through the hallway, sending Mrs. Yasashi's shawl aflutter. Holding it tightly in her fist, she closed her eyes against the wind and held her hand up to her head to keep her bun in place, "Oh my! Goodness, it's nippy tonight. And you came all the way home soaked to the bone? Get yourself back in there, child, and take a hot shower and then get that warm food in your belly!" She ordered firmly, leaving no room for bargaining or petition. Shuichi could only smile gratefully and feel a tiny lump of warmth deep in his gut at the superfluous amounts of concern the elderly woman always showed to him.
"Mrs. Yasashi, thank you. I'm truly grateful for everything you've done for me since I've been here. Are you sure you wouldn't want my rent in full? Really, it wouldn't be any trouble on-" Shuichi's train of thought was suddenly interrupted by a dull, yet sharp pain in his forehead, as Mrs. Yasashi gave him a firm flick. "Ow!" He rubbed the sore spot in the very middle of his forehead as his pseudo-caretaker began reprimanding him.
"How many times do I need to tell you, young man? I'm not some senile old dotard that can't comprehend the decisions she's made. I made the conscious decision to set your rent at where I saw fit. As the landlord, that is my professional, executive position to take. I'll hear no 'buts' about it, you hear me?" Her stance became slightly more upright and the tone of her voice was much sharper. Shuichi wilted slightly under her gaze. He was allowed to stay here, paying only half of what the apartment should be going for. Of course, it had been because of her connection to her uncle. It didn't sit entirely right with him to be able to live in such a nice place while only paying a fraction of what everyone else needed to, but whenever he tried to broach the issue, she would always immediately shoot him down. "Ha, maybe Honda is right."
Letting a defeated sigh vent from his mouth, he answered, "Yes, Mrs. Yasashi, I hear you." His answer seemed to placate his landlord, as her smile stretched her face once more. "I'm glad to hear it. Now then, off with you now. Get in there and warm yourself up, for pity's sake. You'll catch your death standing out here in the wind!"
"I will. Thank you again, ma'am." She left him with a smile and a wave as she headed on down the hallway, back towards her own unit. Once she had vacated his front "porch", he retreated back inside, locking out the steady breeze that had been assaulting him for the past few minutes. Turning back inside, Shuichi placed the Tupperware on his small table in his little dining area that was connected to his living room before heading towards his bedroom. He peeled off his damp clothing and chucked them into his hamper as he walked through his closet and flicked on his bathroom's light.
As the light came on, Shuichi took note of his appearance in the mirror. His hair was damp and messy from him shaking the rain water from it and letting it air dry. His gut had a noticeable bruise where Honda had hit him that he was honestly surprised he hadn't noticed until only now. He poked it delicately with his finger and winced as a stinging pain erupted from the epicenter. Hissing, he looked at the splotch of dark chartreuse, exasperated, "Guess that's something I'll have to deal with." He noted the faint tinting of dark rings beneath his eyes. He sighed, knowing there wasn't much he could do about it. The nature of his work required him to work long hours and be on call at any time of the day, "Maybe I'll pick up a cream at some point to do something about that."
Noting that, aside from those outliers, the rest of him seemed to be in relative order. He had developed a rather lean physique. He had continued his nightly training years beyond when he initially began. It had simply become a habit... and it also just didn't feel right to Shuichi to simply stop. His gaze fell as memories came flooding back into his consciousness. Memories laced with the image of a shining grin that was as bright as the stars it always spoke so fondly of.
Shuichi gave his cheeks a trio of firm smacks. He can't allow himself to be so easily overcome by despair. He too much work to do... and too many friends, long gone, that he needed to honor by living his life seeking the truth, moving forward, and doing the impossible. These were the testaments of those dear to him that had not been as fortunate as he to be here today. So long as he held them close to his heart, Shuichi always felt that he really could do anything.
With a satisfied smile, he turned and entered the shower, bringing the water up to temperature before allowing it to cascade down his body. The stinging heat of the water pricked his skin, but he let out a satisfied sigh as he felt warmth begin to spread throughout his chilled muscles.
Emerging from the bathroom in a cumulonimbus of steam, Shuichi sighed in contentment as his now fiery warm skin mingled with the relative chill of his apartment. After spending nearly 20 minutes simply soaking in the balmy rain, feeling the cool air envelop him was brisk and he felt refreshed. Without hesitation, he proceeded to his living room and placed one of his Miles Davis records onto his turntable. The first handful of gentle piano chords floating from the speakers softened out his nerves, and as the music's tempo began to increase with the accompaniment of a bass, then trumpets and drums, Shuichi entered his kitchen to put a kettle on the stove.
Leaving the water to boil, he grabbed a spoon on his way back to his table where the object of both his curiosity and desire resided. Taking a seat, he pulled the Tupperware towards him and peeled off the lid. He was instantly assaulted by a shotgun blast of warmth and an intensely intoxicating aroma. Inside the plastic receptacle lay a glorious sea of yellow curry. Mounds of potatoes, carrots, and onions dot its surface, like wrecked ships that have run aground. And the seabed beneath this flavorful ocean lay a layer of puffy brown rice.
Only the desperate plea of his stomach was able to remove the stars from Shuichi's eyes and the brook of drool that had escaped the corner of his mouth. He plucked a healthy spoonful, disturbing the calm day on the curry sea, and placed it in his mouth. Sucking its contents from its grasp, Shuichi retreated the spoon from his mouth as the tastes and textures of heaven began to besiege his tongue. No sooner had he chewed once then he began a savage assault upon the contents trapped within the plastic chamber. Spoonful after heaping spoonful shoved into the maw of this kaiju of the curry realm. There were survivors. Not one single grain of rice, not one bit of broken off potato, not even the thinnest sliver of onion could escape their wretched fate.
With the last of his carnage making its way down into his stomach, Shuichi finally stopped and allowed this bliss to simply be. The warmth from his shower, the sound of the music, the taste of rapture itself. It all left him with a fuzzy, hazy feeling that engulfed his entire being. The screeching of the kettle on the stove momentarily pulled Shuichi from his meditation of euphoria. He ascended from his seat and entered the kitchen, saving the kettle from its torture and quelling its screams. Grabbing his favorite black and red stripped mug, he released the deluge of scalding fury upon a poor tea bag of chamomile he had found in his cupboard. Normally, he preferred loose leaf, but it was late and he wasn't in the business of caring at this point in the day.
Placing the kettle back on the stove, he made his way back towards his couch, dunking the bag a few times to intensify the flavor. He sat down and allowed the soft, plush cushions to embrace him. Shuichi inhaled the steam rising from his tea, taking it deep within himself. The earthy, floral, apple like scent intoxicating his head. Blowing a few gusts of breath along the surface, he tentatively took a sip. The tea seared his tongue slightly as it lapped over his tongue and then down his throat. Once it settled in his stomach, he could feel a comforting warmth begin radiating throughout his body. Shuichi leaned back, resting his head upon the top cushion of his couch, and simply existed for a moment.
Only a couple hours ago, he was face down in a puddle, gasping for air. Pain as though he someone had attempted to stab him with a baseball bat sat like a rock in his gut. Cold, wet, alone. But now, he was warm. He was nourished.
He was safe.
Times like this, when the world could stop for just a moment, where everything could be put on hold, these were the moments that kept Shuichi going. The ones that made the long days and lonely nights feel a little kinder. The times when he could be left unto himself.
However, they were also the times where his mind was free to wander. And unfortunately, his mind seldom wandered to where dreams were made. Through dark and gnarled forests, dark, menacing, promising hurt and harm. Domains ruled by death, betrayal, agony, sadness, regret, tears, and despair. Bodies hanging by their necks. Torn and mangled corpses. Bones, and bloody cages and smiles. They haunted him most at these times. While he sat here, enjoying the simple pleasures of life... the ones they would never get to experience again.
Shuichi took another sip of tea and gazed into its depths. He often wondered why he had been allowed to escape. Why did he deserve to live when they couldn't? What made him any more special or important? Did Shuichi Saihara really make the world any better, that's why he had to live? Were his detective skills more important than filling the lives of the lost and wandering with music that could lull even the most destitute of souls into a comforted smile? Was being able to catch a husband cheating on his wife worth more than traversing the stars and bringing humanity to new frontiers? Did the value of one detective in one police station in one city outweigh that of the literal prime minister? So many bright, valuable, and irreplaceable lives... forever lost to the cruel and apathetic whims of fate. Lives that would never see their dreams, nor their potential fully realized.
Shuichi laid his mug on his coffee table. He had been unaware he had been gripping it so tight his knuckles had gone white. He swiped a pack of cigarettes that had been laying on the table, as well as a lighter, before sliding open the glass door to his patio. He was guarded from the wind on this side of the building. Still, he popped one of the paper sticks from the pack between his lips and struck the wheel and guarded the flame as he torched the end of it as he slowly and deeply inhaled. After pocketing the lighter, he leaned on his railing, withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and exhaled just as deeply, releasing a river of bright gray smoke that rose and became lost in the wind.
The fuzzy sensation that came upon him whenever he smoked began to creep upon his consciousness, like wild ivy. Working day after day amongst a viper pit of 30 to 40 something men with equally stressful jobs, Shuichi could only hold out so long before he picked up the habit. He was well aware how terrible it was for him, but it helped to take the edge off. Shuichi would never say no to something that could make his mere existence a bit more bearable that it actually is. He peered out across the common grounds of his apartment complex, allowing himself to be hypnotized by the busy rustling of the trees as they were bombarded by the wind.
Shuichi sucked down another round of burning nicotine, tar, and tobacco before exhaling and watching as the strands of smoke drifted out into the path of the wind, before disappearing in an instant.
So quick.
One minute there, then it was gone.
Snuffed out in the prime of itself.
Whisked away by forces to grand and too strong for it to control. It could only hope that it could be whisked away instantly. Too often did shadows of the past cast themselves upon his present. No matter how far he ran, he could never outrun them. They were always there. Every time Shuichi saw a piano, a toy rocket, a slot machine, a tennis court, a dojo, a small insect buzzing about, they were there. Try as he might, no matter how long he could continue to move forward, eventually he always had to look back. They were there, in the shadows. Forever so close to him but always just outside of his reach, obscured by the darkness, separated by the ethereal rift between life and death.
Sucking up the final stretch of the cigarette, Shuichi sent one final offering into the tempest that lay just beyond the safety of his patio railing. He turned to the small patio table he had set out there and smashed the butt into an ashtray to join its fallen brethren. The double-edged nature of these moments of bliss and agony exhausted Shuichi. He felt as though he could never find a middle ground. A balance between his desire for the bright and idealistic utopia that was his future and the tangling kelp forest of his past, never relinquishing its hold upon him. Though he may be able to drag and tear against it in his struggle to the surface, more would ensnare him and pull him down into the dark and cold depths of despair.
At times, Shuichi wondered whether it might not be better simply to let the darkness have its way with him. To do to him what it will. At times, when he was exhausted from the fighting, the struggling, the constant battle against the current, the thought of just stopping and being carried away didn't sound so terrible. Those times, when the threshold of his bedroom seemed as gallows, his patio like the edge of a diving board, or his bath tub, a coffin. They were dangerous times. Dark times.
Entering back into his sanctuary and sealing the sliding door shut, Shuichi leaned against the cool glass, rubbing the back of his neck where it joined his head, trying to quell the dull throbbing that had bubbled to the surface. Opening his eyes, he found himself slowly scanning his apartment, his eyes, lazy and meandering. He wasn't focusing on anything in particular, his eyes were merely wandering hand in hand with his thoughts. However, upon reaching the coffee table, his gaze zeroed in on a particular blob of red and black.
His mug that he had abandoned. He had left it there. Alone. He carried himself towards the table and hoisted it up level with his chest. He admired the shimmer of lacquer and the way the darkness of its black stripes complimented, yet fiercely battled its red. His gaze blurred and softened into its harsh dichotomy of color and he felt a sense of purpose and meaning appear within him, as the first sprout emerges from a nourished seed.
Suddenly, a figure, hair like twin falls of ebony and eyes of cold ruby, flashed through his consciousness. And like a low, but strong heartbeat rippling life across his being, Shuichi let an amused chuckle escape his lips. Amused, at himself. He lifted the mug to his lips and drank its tea.
Still warm. Still waiting for him.
AN: Thanks for commenting/favoriting/following everyone! I'm glad people seem to be into this idea. I know I said Maki would be showing up in this chapter, but if I put in everything I had originally wanted to into this chapter, it would be between 6-8000 words, and ain't nobody got time for that.
I PROMISE she'll be in the next one. Thanks for reading!