Chapter 8
Akane wakes up with a jerk. For two seconds, she doesn't process anything. The blackness of a deep sleep surrounds her like a shroud.
Her holocomm is buzzing like an angry hornet on her bedside tablet; just looking at it makes her want to coccon up in her blanket. The shadow of the raindrops on her window are speckled over her, and the tiredness is ringing just under her skin on this dim, pleasant night.
"No," she mumbles, but because she is Akane, she reaches over and picks up the holocomm.
The caller-id shows Ginoza.
Her heart jerks tightly in the confine of her ribs; and she can feel the hammer beat of her pulse on her temple; he never, ever had called her this late, or this unexpectedly (she was pretty sure he knew her shift was over.) .
"Hello," Her voice trembles just a tinny bit as she receives the call.
There is the sound of a slightly labored breathing in the background—is he injured?, she thinks, mind flying—then his voice comes, dark and thick with sleep or what, she can't tell.
"Akane," he says, "where are you?"
He doesn't sound injured; yet there is something in his voice she had never come across before and her back and veins throb with uncertainty and fatigue.
"Home. Why? Are you okay?"
He breaths again.
"Could you pick me up from the Den? I don't really think I can go back on my own."
The Den? Why had he gone to the Den? What was he doing there, out of all places? And why was she, out of all people, supposed to go rescue him in the middle of the fucking night—when he couldn't even—
Her voice is tight when she asks him to stay put and tells him she will be there in fifteen minutes, tops.
She doesn't know if she's more angry or sad or is it just the mind-boggling tiredness. She feels barren. She feels lonely and angry and furious that he was drunk and in the Den (everyone knew the reputation of that place) and calling her to pick him up, like she was his fucking minion. She feels taken for granted.
(There is a little part of her brain that insists there is a bit of jealousy lurking around there somewhere)
She is sad and lonely, and angry at him for everything.
And in that moment, she wishes desperately, that he was Shinya Kougami.
It's cold and quiet, save the quiet plops and patter of rain against her car, as she drives inside the MWPSB complex. The drones check her ID, and she smoothly slides down the black, slick road.
The enforcers campus is beautiful and dark, hooded by swishing trees, drenched.
As she pulled up in the parking lot beside the Den, she could see a figure, alone standing in the foyer of the club, soaking in the silent fall, leaning against the wall.
Locking up the car, she started towards him.
He was looking up to the skies when she stood beside him. She looked up too.
There were no stars in the red sky.
"Thank you for coming."
"You are welcome." she told him. "How drunk are you?"
He gave a mirthless laugh, and she detected something like madness in it. "More than ever."
She could smell him, sweat and smoke and something floral. It made her feel awkward and annoyed at the same time. Ginoza had never smelt like that. That was the scent of Kogami carried after weekends.
The floral scent made her heart seize. He really must have been very drunk, but the anger that bubbled just inside her throat made her want to slap him and cry at the same time. She hated feeling like an teenager, hated feeling the flutter in her belly, and green in her blood.
"Let's go," She tells him.
He moves towards her, and she sees him wobble like a planet. He is indeed very drunk.
She shifts closer to him, and puts an arm under his, supporting him. He leans back, and she shakes for a moment as she adjusts herself to his weight. She tries to look into his eyes, and they look like murky emeralds.
He puts his head on hers, and she can smell sweat and the alcohol on his breath.
"I don't feel good," He whispers to her.
She feels worried and angry, and lost, for she has never handled a drunk Ginoza or her body while handling a drunk Ginoza.
"Do you want to throw up?"
She really doesn't want his stomach's fluids all over her, no matter how much she likes him.
He doesn't answer, and continues leans against her. She can't help think how beautiful his long eyelashes look when they brush against his cheek, and his bangs as they drip all over their forehead.
It is difficult to drag him to the car, but when she opens the door, he sort of rolls in. She huffs, heart beating faster than ever. She is soaked and cold and angry and sleepy.
Ginoza sits with legs outside the car, elbows on thighs, hands cradling face, hair askew. He convulses a little, and Akane moves away swiftly to the side as he vomits sourly on to the tarmac, body jerking forward and nearly out of the car. She puts her hand on his forehead, pulling his bangs away from his mouth as he retches. It's sweaty and a little feverish, and he is shaking under her fingers.
Tenderness cuts through everything and rests warm and heavy in her midriff. He looks tired and young and helpless.
He is done, and the sour smell of regurgitated alcohol ties little knots in her stomach. He breathes through his mouth, long pants, lying against the car seat. He is a little tall for it.
Her hand is still on his face, and he leans into her touch, and Akane feels a sting high up her nose.
"Where do you want to go?", she murmurs to him.
"Anywhere," He replies, voice ragged and soft.
"Let's go home then," Her words are a quiet sigh.