Chapter V (5)
Suoh had half-expected and half-not expected (with his other half occupied with watching out for bad guys, which didn't add up, but let's leave the math to Kirishima), the building on steroids AKA the mansion to be glowing, the light pouring out of the windows like a beacon in the night.

But no, the building was silent and dark, a chilling monster in a horror movie, despite its pretty pink flowers, its welcoming sakura trees and the ornate green gate with the funny Xs all over it.

But one look at the date, and he realized his error. It was White Day.

Somehow, the theme song that should follow him around (the theme from Mission: Impossible) would suddenly crescendo with a bum-bum-BUM once he realized what today was. The gang of four (Akira, Suoh, Kirishima and Asami) were the only people that knew why it was Asami's bad day.

The perfect man was allowed one.

The rest of the men had dubbed it…..Black Day. It was circled on the calendar in red ink and although Asami threw a party every year on White Day, it always ended the same way, with someone fired for insolence (which could be anything from a crooked tie to an off-color comment). In year's past, it would end with someone dead.

He had hoped this year would be different.

"He's not home." The boy said from the driver's seat, since he was for some reason the one driving. Actually, he let Akihito drive for a lot of reasons, mostly to do with how one drives with a prosthetic foot. Simple answer, he uses his left foot. Suoh pinched his nose, which he rarely did, except around the boy and when the boss was annoyed and maybe around THAT WOMAN. So maybe he did it more than he realized.

"No, there is an event at Club Olympus tonight." He replied, as if that was some kind of answer, which it was the only one he was going to give. "I forgot to tell you." No he didn't forget to tell him, he just forgot to remember.

There was a silent O from the boy's mouth, and he looked crestfallen, like someone let the air of his tires, like all the cars that were sitting in the garage.

"You're invited, you know. It's for White Day." He explained further.

"White Day." There was that silent realization in Akihito's eyes that he had forgotten about White Day. "I don't want to be around a lot of people right now."

There was an unspoken fear, yet brilliant wisdom in that wavering voice Suoh had never heard before. It hurt to hear it. The kid was better, but far from all right.

"It's fine." Suoh said, and exited the car quickly. He had expected the boy to jump out of the car and go inside, but he just sat there, his two hands gripping the wheel, white knuckled, deep in thought, either that or he was checking the oil pressure light.

He opened the door for Akihito, as he would for Asami-sama, and Akihito slid out, one leg at a time. "Umm…." Akihito began and shrugged when Suoh held a hand out to him. "It's not fitting right."

At first Suoh didn't understand what Akihito meant but Akihito pointed at the prosthetic and shrugged again. He hadn't had to deal with the leg situation much (as Asami's men called it) but they'd been briefed (briefly briefed) by Akihito's own doctor on how best to handle it.

Handle the kid with kid gloves. Of course, that little quote was courtesy of Kirishima, who loved words, sayings and those idiotic idioms almost as much as much as he loved numbers. Too bad he didn't love people the same way.

"I see. Do you require assistance?" He asked as if Akihito were an old woman and needed help crossing the street. He should get a patch for this, or some kind of medal, not that he deserved one.

"Yes, please." He said, and Suoh helped him up and with one arm around Akihito's waist, they walked up slight incline. Suoh had only touched the boy a handful of times, usually when he'd fallen asleep in the wrong spot. He didn't want to think about that first time, when he'd drugged the boy and thrown him into the limo. He didn't want to, but he did anyway. He felt an apology coming from his lips, like he could take it back. He was just following orders, and even he realized that didn't make it all right. Because it wasn't.

He let the apology die on his lips and buried that little momentary lapse of his sanity, to never see the light of day again, like a loose-lipped stoolie.

"Thanks." Akihito said as Suoh assisted him to the leather couch and looked away while Akihito started to pull at the various belts and ties keeping the leg tightly formed against what remained of Akihito's knee. "I need help." He asked. "Please."

Again, Suoh wasn't sure what he meant, but the boy pointed to the bolts near what served as Akihito's ankle. "How can I help you, Takaba-kun?" He asked, coming over to stand next to the boy, who craned his neck to meet his eyes.

"The bolts are too tight." Akihito handed him a funny looking screwdriver that was kept in a compartment in the prosthetic itself. Akihito also kept mints in there which was kind of funny. If Suoh had a prosthetic he'd keep a weapon in his little compartment. But that was just him.

Suoh made short work of loosening the bolts and Akihito tested the gear and nodded. The screwdriver disappeared and Suoh planned to disappear soon and go guard outside. In other words, he'd stand around awhile and then check under the house for spooks, ghouls and zombies and then return to stand around awhile, and repeat.

"How long have you been with him, Suoh?" Akihito suddenly asked, although he was avoiding Suoh's gaze. Normally the boy always caught your eye when he spoke, except when he was uncomfortable, which was usually all the time.

"Cram school, second year." He replied.

"What was he like then?" Akihito asked.

Suoh wasn't sure how to answer. He wasn't sure how much he was allowed to say, so he decided the truth was better than a lie, so he only said, "Focused, dedicated and troubled, sometimes."

Akihito finally caught his eye. "Trouble, like I was or troubled….like…." He shrugged again.

"He had troubles, like everyone. Don't ask me more than that. Deal?" Suoh said, as if he was negotiating a treaty.

"How am I supposed to know him if…."

"Ask him. He doesn't share if you don't ask." He probably wouldn't share if asked, but it was worth a shot. "He's not the type to reminisce. He calls the past a thief."

"So I just say…..tell me about your childhood?" Akihito asked deepening his voice which sounded kind of funny, and broke into a grin and stroked his chin. "I'm sure he'd like to lie on the couch and have me analyze his psyche." He tightened the prosthetic and jumped up and tested it. "Well, that will have to do, then."

Again Suoh wasn't sure what he was referring to, but he didn't ask because right then his phone gave a little chirp, and he pulled it out, noticing Akihito bounce into the kitchen and rumble through the cupboards. That boy was noise with dirt on top.

"Here?" Was all he said and then frowned and pinched his nose. "Let her in." He added, and quickly punched speed dial and waited, his other hand going underneath his suit to feel his shiny gun there. Hello shiny gun!

"Boss, your mother is here." He said quickly, not waiting for the abrupt Asami he always got when he called.

"Where is Akihito?" Suoh inwardly smiled, of course the boy was his first concern, always his first concern, and had been since Hong Kong, even when he dumped him a year ago. That was an especially bad White Day.

"In the kitchen, looking for something to eat." Suoh replied, peaking around the corner to find Akihito standing on a stepstool getting out the Pocky box, which for some stupid reason, was put away empty. He heard Akihito say a little shit under his breath and throw the box toward the trash, missing it entirely.

"Is he."

There was a brightness in those two words that Suoh hadn't heard in a while. Clearly, Akihito eating was a milestone.

There was a silent pause (because pauses were usually silent) before Asami said loudly a word he usually never says, unless he was referring to fucking. "Fuck." There was another pause, and a loud clink followed by another rumbling fuck. Suoh imagined Asami was pouring himself a healthy glass of scotch. Asami must really hate his liver.

"Orders?" Suoh asked, when the silence had gone on too long.

"Tell Akihito that as host he will greet her with a smile. He doesn't have to mean it, but just smile."

There was another long pause and Suoh wondered if he had heard wrong or Asami had thrown the phone against the wall, which he was known to do on occasion, usually after he got some kind of news that left him in a bad mood or when the Giants lost.

"And let his words have weight."

"Weight?"

"He'll understand." Click

Suoh found Akihito, eating a piece of bread like it was his favorite thing in the world. "Was that Asami?" He asked, after he swallowed, looking like he was half choking on the dry meal.

"His mother is coming to the house. She's at the gate." Suoh stated quickly. "He said to greet her with a smile and let your words have….weight?"

"Weight. Journalism saying." Akihito said, as if that explained everything, which it didn't, not to Suoh anyway, but there wasn't time for a writing lesson. Akihito's crumb covered lips broke into a smile. "Uh huh," said the boy with the bread. "She's a bitch, I take it?"

Suoh nodded. "Even Akira cringes when she's around." Suoh said, listening for the door knock that was sure to follow.

"That's saying a lot." The boy wiped the crumbs from his lips with his shirt sleeve. "I'll play host, then, I've got no choice."

They froze, it was a horror movie, watching the door inhale and exhale with each clump of the woman's tight-fisted, long nailed hand. Why the woman wasn't ringing the bell, they didn't know. Then she rang the bell, not once but six times, in rapid succession, like she was leaning on it.

"For whom the bells tolls." Akihito said and quickly added, "Why do I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter?"

Suoh felt a sense of pride watching the boy greet this newest wrinkle, welcoming it with both arms wide open, crumbs on his sleeve and only words as his shield.

P-B-B

"She wasted no time." Asami said, and clicked off the phone.

"Your mother? Would you like to head to the house?" He assumed that Asami would be the type of man to break some kind of land-speed record to reach the house in record time, and Kirishima would be right, usually.

This time, however, he was wrong.

"I'll let Akihito handle it. I seem to antagonize her. I think my very existence grates on her nerves, probably because I look like my father and you know how she hated him." He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in the limo. "Suoh is there anyway, he'll make sure things don't come to blows."

The thought of Akihito and Asami's mother duking it out filled him so full of merriment, that Kirishima started to chuckle, which earned him a nice evil glare from Asami.

Today was not the day for merriment. Today was White Day.

The cemetery didn't look any different since the last time they'd been here, except perhaps there were more graves, more weeds, more shrines, and a few more flowers placed haphazardly, but otherwise the same. Nothing changes in the cemetery. The dead were still dead, the living still mourning and missing, and the shinigami still looking for a soul to take.

"I will remain in the car." Kirishima stated, as Asami started climbing the many steps. Asami just nodded. This was his melancholy time, when he could cry if he wanted, although he never did. Kirishima always left him alone on this day. It was one of those unspoken orders Asami didn't have to give.

Kobayashi.

Kobayashi's mother stood next to his grave, her hands clutching two pristine white chrysanthemums. He himself had brought pink roses, from his own garden and laid them without comment on the gray mottled stone.

"You need some time alone?" Kobayashi's mother stated. There was no greeting, no hello, how are you, no empty words or small talk needed.

"What I have to say, you can hear." He said softly.

"You can let him go, Ryu-chan. He would want you to be happy."

She always called him Ryu-chan. They were really close, at one time. His life centered around the Kobayashi family's happy household, which seemed idyllic, even though it wasn't. Asami hoped she considered him a son, even though they only talked once a year.

He didn't comment, but kneeled on the stone, his knees now coated with gray dust. The incense perfumed air rose from the ground, out of a tiny hole, the scent caressing his face like a lover's fingertips, daring him to loosen his tongue.

"I want his permission, will I get it?"

"You are not the type of man to seek anyone's permission, yet you seek his. Why is that?" She asked, her red rimmed eyes apparent against her pale round face.

"You know I loved him, Kobayashi-sama. I know that's hard to hear but…." He didn't continue there was nothing more for him to say.

"It's hard to hear that someone loved my son? That still loves my son, enough to come here every year and place flowers on his grave?" She was almost yelling, but with a tone of bitter sweetness she always had in her voice, like she'd seen many trials, but still managed to get up again.

"My love killed him."

She traced the letters of the Kobayashi name simply carved into the gray granite pillar with a stubbed finger. "It's been a long time."

Somewhere, far away, a guitar played a light lyrical blues riff, tinged with a minor chord that struck a chord in Asami as well. It sounded bitter yet joyful. "Yes."

"I come here, but I know he's not here." She said, a tiny tear running down her cheek, catching the last remaining light of the day.

"I know." The guitarist's gift of music still continued the slow refrain now accompanied by a man's deep vibrato, so like the whispering moans of lovemaking. "And yet we come." He looked into her eyes, but found his dead lover peering back so he shifted his gaze to the flowers in her hand.

"And I continue to tell you every year, that this will be the last you have to come." She stated, placing one of the flowers in the tiny vase to the side.

"This will be the last, Kobayashi-sama."

"I'm glad to hear it. He is too." She gave him one of the chrysanthemums she'd been clutching in her hand and he took it, and placed it in a button hole. The flower of White Day was as innocent and pure as the snow that fell the first time he met Kobayashi, so long ago.

"Let it go…let it go….let it go." Bluesman sang, a particular screech resonating off the white and gray stones of the dead.

He bowed to the woman and to the grave as a silent farewell, listening as the bars of the song echoed in the distance and soon faded away. There was no clapping, no cries for an encore, the memorials to the dead silent and without praise for a well-crafted tune.

He caught the eye of the musician as he left the cemetery and he dropped a few thousand yen in the open case set in front of the shabbily dressed man.

"You won't make much money from the dead." Asami said, noticing he was the only one who had placed coin in the velvet lined box.

"Yeah, dey won't complain 'bout it neither." The tall, thickly built man with the rough gray colored beard said. "So, I'm guessin' I won't either, neh?"

He nodded and flipped a toothpick in his mouth. "What's the name of that tune you played?"

"In the Pink until I'm Black and Blue…uh…..Blues." The old man with the odd gravely accent cackled through his missing teeth. "You like da blues?"

"Only when I'm standing at the crossroads, bluesman." Asami replied, causing the man to cry out a choked laugh.

"Sounds like you're going to get the thing that you want." Bluesman said, picking up his guitar and playing a short blues scale, his worn shoes keeping time with a slap against the concrete.

"There's a first time for everything." He gave a curt nod and joined Kirishima, who had a glass of scotch in his hand and held it out to him with a slight rattle of ice. "For me? Oh, you shouldn't have." He said, and took the drink.

Kirishima nodded and didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He'd left his book of quotes at the office and although he felt naked without it, the situation called for neither words not orations of any kind anyway.

Sometimes it was better to keep silent.

Asami studied his reflection in the glass, not noticing the frown lines forming as the graves faded in the distance, zooming by, blurring together into one big mass of gray and white, set against orange colored clouds.

This was the last time he'd hate White Day.