Greetings, dear readers! This chapter is so intense for me that I couldn't come up with a proper summary. I hope you enjoy it.
Greatest thanks to ImpracticalDemon for proofreading and encouragement!
Chapter XII. Walking on nails.
Some people can sharpen others like knives. If there was a person to sharpen Okita Souji and reveal his knife edges, it would be the man Chizuru had met that morning. Though Okita would object to the statement and insist that he had been sharpened by his life itself. Chizuru smirked at the thought and went outside.
Okita was waiting for her, sitting on the wooden deck near the front entrance, his legs crossed and eyes looking out at the blue-ish distance of the river. Sunlight of the rare clear day - not warm but certainly invigorating - was spilling over the site. Okita's hair had grown long and the unkempt strands were burning red in the sun.
He noticed Chizuru approaching and his mouth went up at the corner. The spruce color of his coat brought up the auburn of his hair and the vibrant green of his eyes. This handful of positive colors didn't quite match the wary expression of his face.
"So… Any impressions?" He rose towards her and they went to the car. Despite Hijikata-san's orders, Okita had refused to accompany Chizuru to the interview. He had taken her to the old flour-milling factory by the river, currently adapted for offices, and stayed outside the whole time.
"Layered." Chizuru blurted the first thing that popped up in her mind. 'Kei-kun' had been wrapped into several pieces of dark clothing, hiding his figure; long brown hair curtained his face; eyes were hidden behind the glasses with round goth-ish lenses. His courteous manners were also 'layered' in her view; their carefulness seemed almost strained.
"Smooth," she added. "Not very talkative, I suppose." An interviewer is not supposed to be talkative, but he is expected to act empathetic, at least.
"Did he ask you anything off-topic?" Okita asked, uncharacteristically laconic.
"About politics, if that counts." The gust of wind made Chizuru shiver and she pulled her coat tighter around her.
"And you…?" Okita looked at her with a blank face.
"I told the truth," Chizuru answered reluctantly. "I'm not really interested in politics, I must admit. I mean… All this corruption is awful and all, but I'm not going to rebel. What am I, fourteen?"
"Hijikata-san is thirty one, yet it doesn't seem to bother him." Okita smiled lopsidedly.
"Hijikata-san is a saint for putting common interests above his own."
"Or a fool…" muttered Okita. They reached his car and got into. "That fixation of his…" He grumbled while warming up the car and adjusting the heating for Chizuru's seat. "Anyway, what do you want to do if revolt is out of question? Not many options left, truly."
Thanks god, he's in a good mood again, thought Chizuru, going limp in her seat. The feeling of warmth was relaxing. "I guess I want to feel alive-" she began.
"In other words, you want to have fun and to hell with this country," smirked Okita. "Oh, how selfish of you." He started off, driving through the narrow alleyways of the Western Slums. Chizuru could never tell them apart, yet Okita was navigating confidently.
"Call it whatever you like." She sighed.
"Man, you're just as bad as I am. I don't care about the country either, may it all rot for fuck's sake. Having fun or - as you call it - feeling alive is far more important and useful."
Chizuru smiled timidly. She had tried to determine her attitude about the whole situation; to find some rage in herself. Instead, it made her feel small and incapable. She didn't want to see Okita's bruises again, or Heisuke-kun brooding about his family, Hijikata-san being nervous and sleepless and living on coffee, Sano-san and Shinpachi-san trying to lift everyone's spirits, and Saitou-san never smiling. It had been so much better when they had just worked and had fun together, without being in the news weekly. Her own family's feedback didn't ease it too.
"And after that, I bet he asked more," Okita noted. "While Hijikata-san is dissing local authorities about religious censorship and shit, his musicians just want to chill, how's that?!"
"Oh, come on!" Chizuru brushed him off. "Well, he asked about my - so to speak - moral grounds. Quite a manipulative man he seems."
"I wish I'd known that when I first met him." Okita fell into a pensive state again.
His mood swings were truly disconcerting at times.
...
Kazama kept being persistent in his communication with Chizuru. She had politely declined several offers to meet for lunch; however, a theatre performance seemed to be a neutral choice. Okita was unpredictable, changing from aloof to clowning around several times a day. Thus, frustration drove Chizuru to accept Kazama's invitation. It had been a while since she went out. Trapped in the Slums for too long, she craved a change of surroundings. A ballet performance promised a refreshing experience of hiding in the darkness of the auditorium and forgetting about everything for a couple hours. Her pleasant excitement was tainted though.
For the evening, Chizuru had chosen a baggy black dress and a pair of high heels, hidden safely in her baggage. She was not in the mood to dress up.
Kazama insisted on picking her up and - as she had already known - he could be very stubborn when he wanted. Fine, she thought, I'm curious to see your face when you see where I live.
The forthcoming winter had freshened the dusty air of the Slums. The evening chill was seeping through her coat. Chizuru slowly went along the broken brick road towards Kazama's car, trying to avoid frozen puddles. The car had obviously been clean and shining just before entering the Slums' streets. It looked too gross for the small scale of the site.
Kazama got out to open the door for Chizuru and see her to her seat. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person," he drawled, studying her face.
His whole gentlemanly demeanor seemed to deliver a clear message: you can relax when you are with me, I will take care of everything from now on. Chizuru noted that - unlike the other underground musicians - Kazama had a civilized appearance. His hair was cut rather short; borderline tidy. He had no tattoos, earrings, makeup or other fancy bits, which turned people into Bosch barbarians. Only the color of his eyes - pale with a scarlet rim - was strangely unsettling. Those were the demonic eyes of an albino, but nothing else in his appearance - from honey-blonde hair and eyebrows to a normal skin tone - was reminiscent of albinos.
"Likewise," she answered. She shifted uneasily under his attentive stare and he finally turned his focus to driving.
"This house is rather quirky for a Yukimura family residence," Kazama said gravely.
"Well, it's my residence and I like it," said Chizuru, smiling politely. What's wrong with them all? she thought. That tunnel thinking…
Kazama had taken everything upon himself, including the choice of ballet, which was somewhat outdated, a classic that hadn't been given the benefit of fresh ideas or interpretation. The performance itself surpassed Chizuru's expectations, though not in the way she had expected. She was glad to hear a live orchestra once in a while, even spotting some familiar faces in the orchestra pit. She was amused by the refined public in the stalls. Her companion was flawless too, a bit too flawless for Chizuru's taste. She used to swim in those waters back then, but she no longer felt at ease. Chizuru kept thinking what Okita would say about those piano parts, and how he would make fun of those smug faces, and whether he would - in some alternative universe - like her dress. She stared at the stage and pictured Saitou-san playing a pile-driving guitar riff there; Shinpachi-san and Heisuke-kun replacing the percussion section of the orchestra as well as the others. It would be nice to make a theatrical show.
A couple of times Chizuru spotted her companion observing her in the dark. She thought it best to pretend not to notice.
…
"Didn't you like the performance?" Kazama asked. He insisted on treating her to dinner. No matter how polite and careful her refusals were, he accepted none of them. Soon, Chizuru found herself sitting across from him in some small restaurant.
"That's not it!" She hurried to reassure him. "Thank you, it was a nice distraction!"
"A nice distraction, was it?" Kazama didn't look extremely happy with her response.
The restaurant was rather strange - small and remote - obviously owned by some chinese immigrants. Chizuru had never delved into that part of the city before and she felt insecure. At that late hour there were only a few customers.
Chizuru wasn't going to voice the fact that she didn't enjoy the performance much. She had expected to be more delighted, hearing the live orchestra and seeing the elegant public in the stalls - all those things she used to cherish. Instead she felt that not only were her feet constricted by the uncomfortable shoes, but she herself was bound.
Kazama had probably sensed that her attention was wandering off during the performance, as he had gradually became more reserved. Chizuru was feeling a bit guilty for being so absent-minded, thus she accepted his dinner proposal.
'Yukimura-san, I am sincerely concerned about your well-being," Kazama began suddenly, while they were waiting for their orders.
"Thank you, but I doubt that I'm really in danger." Chizuru kept thanking him for no particular reason. Everything just felt off. She made a mental note to stop apologizing for nothing, or - to be honest - for not being able to react in a way that he - as had become obvious - expected. "What are you talking about?" It was evident that he was talking about the band though.
"Your friend, Okita-kun, he… I know, he's interesting." Kazama spat the last word as if it was something sour. Chizuru raised a quizzical glance at him. "But do you know much about his background? Or should I ask whether you know anything about him at all?" His words were measured and monotonous and reassuring.
Chizuru marveled at her newly-gained 'friend's' confidence that they were alike, which gave him a self-proclaimed right to take responsibility for her affairs. She had always felt the same around her father and cousin - too submissive to make her own decisions. And she didn't welcome that feeling again.
At the same time, she would give much for any little piece of information about Okita. However, it would be highly preferable to learn everything from Okita himself.
Kazama didn't seem to be bothered by her confusion. "I see…" he droned ponderously. "He's not that talkative about himself, right? If I were him, I wouldn't be either." He frowned. "He's been a total orphan since the age of four; grown up in one of the worst foster houses on the left bank. I don't need to tell you what it was like in the nineties when the crisis had erupted."
Now Kazama had her complete attention. Earlier, Chizuru had somehow assumed that Okita had been brought up by his mother and her new husband - meaning Kondou-san. The idea of both his parents having passed away had never crossed her mind before. Chizuru's heart sank with regret and compassion. And it was totally the wrong time and place to get that news.
A small smirk touched Kazama's lips. The startled look on the girl's face encouraged him to continue. "His former mates remember him as pretty dangerous. He'd hurt a number of his fellows in a savage way. He was adopted by a rustic owner of a small doujo in the Workmen district. Hell knows how he charmed that man to do it. People couldn't afford to feed their own children back then, not mentioning outsiders."
That was a good moment to stand up and leave. Chizuru felt like she was betraying Okita by listening to all that gossip, but she couldn't make herself move. Partly, it was her timidity to blame - she couldn't just interrupt an intimidating speaker. Partly, it was a disgusting curiosity. I'm not taking his words for granted, she thought. And it could turn out to be useful for Okita - to know the rumors about him. She helplessly tried to reassure herself.
"For some reason, he left his new family at the age of fourteen," Kazama continued leisurely. He didn't seem to have any problem discussing an absent person. "Probably, his step-parents had got to know him better and kicked him out when he reached the age of responsibility."
"Kazama-san, please, mind your language," Chizuru interrupted. Disgust was starting to win over her win out over her curiosity. Dishes appeared before her, but she didn't notice.
"You want me to stop?" Kazama asked teasingly.
"No…" Chizuru said slowly. "But if you can't display, or pretend, a bit of benevolence towards him, I'm going to leave, sorry." She managed a courteous smile.
Kazama smirked at her defiance and said. "Fine… He started to live with that mad alchemist and god knows what they did together."
"What 'alchemist'? Sannan-san was a sound designer just yesterday."
"Is that what he told you? Ha. Yukimura-san, there's no person in the provincial underground who earns his living by music alone." Kazama took a sip from his glass. "You'd be surprised how many people remember the rumors from that time." Especially, with a certain motivation. "Things that occurred in those squat and squalid buildings in the Slums are not for your delicate ears."
Chizuru kept staring at the yellow circle of tea in her cup. It was hard to believe that Okita was such a terrorist. She had already had a couple of chances to witness how people treated him worse than he deserved just because of his idiotically provoking demeanor. It's a half-lie and you'll never know which half is which, the line from the song rang in her mind.
Meanwhile, Kazama continued. "I don't know how on earth…" He caught Chizuru's stern glance and corrected himself. "I don't know how he managed to finish school, considering that he lived in the unauthorized zone. After school he enrolled in the music college but dropped out of it during his sophomore or junior year." Chizuru wondered why Kazama avoided speaking Okita's name. Perhaps he had some shame after all. However, that didn't stop him from delivering his next bit of evidence. "He's often seen with various women." Kazama showed Chizuru a couple of blurred photos of Okita and a red-head girl.
After the bar incident, Chizuru couldn't confuse Yamazaki Susumu for anyone else. She made a strangled sound, suppressing a hysterical giggle. The whole thing suddenly became even more surreal.
"Oh, that vicious Okita!" She murmured dramatically, eyeing the photos. Damn, I'm overdoing it... But how can he take this crap seriously?
Kazama bought her performance and his face gained a contented expression. Earlier that week, Hijikata-san had sentenced Okita to accompany Yamazaki to a couple of potentially dangerous places to "strengthen" their relations. Yamazaki had received the news with a stoic attitude. Okita had suggested that it was more Yamazaki's punishment than his own, but that he would gladly accept it (said with a predatory smile).
Chizuru sighed. "Why are you so concerned about Okita-san?"
"I am concerned about you," Kazama corrected her with a grin. "You are a newcomer and you don't have to take responsibility for the management mistakes and the recklessness of the… other members."
"What am I supposed to do then?" Chizuru asked cautiously. While criticizing, suggest.
"You'd better return to where you belong. You are not a Slums girl and you won't blend in properly anyway. People will keep dodging you. In their eyes, every step you take betrays your breed."
"I've been there before." Where are those people now? All those well-bred people from where-I-belong.
"Look at me." Kazama continued to persuade her with a patience that he rarely showed. "You can keep doing what you like and still be socially acceptable."
"And what are your overall goals? How far are you determined to go?" Their conversation started to resemble the one she had had with Okita the day before.
Kazama's face darkened. Chizuru belatedly thought that she had probably stepped on a sensitive spot.
"I didn't mean to press you," she said.
"No…" Kazama lowered his eyes. "I know my duty. I'm going to become a successor to my family's business and an heir to our clan. Which means that I can enjoy playing music until I must leave which will happen in due time." His voice was level, but his pose and clenched fists betrayed that the issue bothered him a great deal.
Chizuru could only guess how hard that decision could be, although she did know something about opposing one's family.
"Your determination to do what's necessary is impressive," she said, trying to reassure him. 'And where's fun in that?' Okita's voice asked in her head.
"So… Why don't you be by my side when the time comes?" Kazama asked suddenly. Sore albino's eyes captured hers. His glare was hard; Chizuru felt as if she had no clothes on her and shifted in her seat uneasily.
"Excuse me?" That was all she managed to say. I don't even know you!
The corner of his lips twitched down. "I asked you if you would agree to go out with me," Kazama explained readily, staring at her from under his heavy eyelids.
The man sure has confidence, Chizuru thought in confusion. The bewilderment she had been feeling in front of him returned.
"I don't mean to do it immediately," he said.
Chizuru released the breath she was holding. Reading his letters, she'd gotten accustomed to thinking that Kazama was better than he was usually treated by people (including her fellow band members). At least he had suggested getting to know each other more.
While she was preparing some courteous refusal, he blurted, "We could wait for things to calm down a bit."
"You mean, until the fundies stop bringing up my name here and there?" Chizuru shickered in a very Okita-like way. "Thanks, I'll pass."
She stood up. There was nothing left to discuss, and in her opinion the evening had already lasted for far too long. Kazama continued to eye her attentively. He didn't make an attempt to stop her and didn't seem to be especially upset.
"I appreciate your concern," Chizuru continued. "And thanks for the evening. I am impressed by your thoughtfulness, but it's not my cup of tea." She wondered whether she would ever be able to just say 'fuck you, douchebag' and leave, banging the door on the way out. Good upbringing could be such an obstacle sometimes. Constantly minding others' feelings and reactions, it was too easy to forget one's own borders.
"We'll see," Kazama said calmly. "My offer is still on the table. Let me drive you home."
His last line was followed by several minutes of controversy. Finally, Chizuru insisted on going by herself and left the restaurant, leaving him behind. She felt herself on the verge of tears and didn't want to stay in his company any longer.
The November evening was inky dark. A lonely man was smoking on the windswept porch. Chizuru got behind the column, trying to hide from the autumn wind. The alleyway was deadly silent. He must have chosen the remotest restaurant in the whole city, she thought. So that no one would see him with me. What a jerk!
Anyway, the most urgent matter was to get home. Chizuru didn't have enough money to take a taxi so she had to call one of the guys for help.
Okita picked up almost immediately. Chizuru heard some intense background noise, meaning that he wasn't home either.
"Bored without me, Chizuru-chan?" he asked in his usual manner.
"Always." She answered in a matching tone.
"What about your knight in shining armor in the big car?"
"Hope I'm not seeing him anytime soon. Um, Okita-san… I was actually going to ask you a favor."
"Well...?"
"Could you take me home, please? I'm alone here and I have - uh - no money to take a taxi."
She was expecting further teasing about Kazama. Instead, she heard some woman in the background, saying "Your turn now, Souji-sa-an." Chizuru frowned.
"Sorry, Chizuru-chan, no can do. I'm not at the HQ and I'm a pedestrian today." His voice was strained. "Call Hajime-kun, he must be free now."
"Fine…"
"Drop me a line when you get home, okay?" Okita switched off.
It was too soon to give up, so Chizuru called Saitou-san, trying to ignore the woman's voice ringing in her head. He agreed to lend her a hand and asked her to give him half an hour.
At that moment, the front doors slammed open and Kazama appeared on the porch. He didn't see Chizuru, while she could clearly see him from her hideout. Kazama committed a vocalist's sin by dragging a cigarette out of his pocket and taking a nervous inhale. Then he raised a phone to his ear.
Due to the dead silence of the alleyway, the voice in the phone was clearly audible. "Calling so soon… Got dumped again? Bring flowers already."
"Fuck you, Kyo-kun," Kazama retorted angrily. A barking laugh followed in reply. "I want you to contact that Nagumo boy."
That must be the Onis' keyboardist, Chizuru thought automatically. And someone called Nagumo… At that moment her own phone rang. She stiffened in her corner and picked it up. Saitou-san was calling to tell her that he was leaving. Kazama turned to her, nodded his farewell, and left towards his car, talking to Kyo-kun.
Chizuru was finally alone, wishing only to get to the headquarters as soon as possible. For those who wait, time goes by slowly. However, the cold weather made her time even slower and the latest events made it stained. Kazama's offer had thrown her off-guard. Chizuru had an unpleasant feeling that her womanhood was considered the only thing interesting about her. Who cared about her fiddling, her personality or her thoughts? Would he even bother to make friends with her if there was no profit expected?
…
The Gallows is crowded at this time of the week. I've just lost quite a bit of money. Had nothing up my sleeve against that last royal flush. Now I need to get out of here before those guys claim their debt.
"Ever so productive a musician, aren't you," the quiet voice says into my ear.
I turn around, ready to smack whoever it is.
"Ah, it's you." He smiles. Always so sneaky. "That's exactly why I have to do it, you know; to keep playing music. And what's your business here? Selling your shit again?"
"You never minded that before." He sits down on the bench beside me.
"Yeah. People are free to rot however they want, for all I care. Aren't we creative with our side jobs?"
"Hijikata-kun seems to have a pretty boring one. And your girl? Are you supporting her already? It was funny of you to hire her and withhold the salary."
"She's not my girl." Where do they all get this idea? "How was your interview, by the way?"
"She's quite innocent for her age and occupation. Let's say, the target audience would be delighted by her crystal-clear naivete, but overall it's rather boring."
"Glad to hear that." Would be much worse if he developed any interest in the girl. Like he says, she's too innocent to deal with him. She should practise on her Kazama-douche first.
Kei-kun grins at me. We bicker like an old couple every freaking time. I just can't deal with him normally. There aren't many people out there who can derail me, so he deserves some applause.
We talk for a bit. He says that there are rumors about the next wave of prohibitions. Some officials are faking their concern and shit. Kei-kun also tries to warn me about the Water-of-fucking-life again but - really - I don't give a damn. I have other things on my mind to worry about.
"Even if the fundies get off on that crap, so what?"
"It's not like there are only certain social groups that consume it." Kei-kun smiles. Yeah, that was one hell of a chilling smile. "You'd be surprised how easy it is to push an unstable person onto the path of self-destruction."
"Oh, thanks for the friendly reminder." I try to sound sarcastic, but honestly, I'd had enough of this place a while ago. I stand to take my leave, immediately registering several guys who stand up too.
I should've stopped visiting the Swamp so often, especially this goddamn bar, but I need money. Bad things never happen at a proper time. Today I'm allowed to leave without paying. I should probably thank Kei-kun for walking me out through the row of irritated gypsy faces. Their stares promise nothing good.
I part from Kei-kun; that knowing smile of his is the last thing I see in the Gallows.
I leave the building and the street immediately grows dark and quiet around me. No humans in sight - the whole of the Swamp prefers to stay at home when it's cold outside. The snow has been falling since noon and it's not even the middle of November. Winter's going to be rough this year. Soon enough, snowdrifts will be full of little creatures - cats or birds - frozen to death. Maybe even people. I bet Chizuru isn't used to this semi-urban hardcore.
The sky is drearily orange in the north, where the city is humming, and jet black in the south, near the river.
I should dislike wasting my time in the Swamp – aren't I tired of scoundrels, shit-talking and scams? But I continue schlepping here to put myself on edge.
...May I let her see who I really am? I have quite a lot of experience now with pretending in front of Kondou-san and I'm done with it. I'm not eager to keep waiting for the moment when she finally sees through me and abandons this perverse wretch that is Okita Souji.
...
Her feet in the tight shoes were starting to go numb when she saw a single light in the distance. Chizuru had belatedly remembered that Saitou-san owned a motorbike, but she was in no position to choose.
The biker approached and stopped in front of the porch. He took off the helmet; dark wavy strands fell down to enfold his shoulders.
"Yukimura-san, you could catch cold standing here," Saitou-san declared, examining her outfit. "It's no good waiting outside in this kind of weather."
"You've arrived pretty fast, thank you, so I'm not that cold." Chizuru smiled, toddling towards him. It was a relief to finally see a genuinely friendly face.
Saitou-san made her take his helmet. Then he gathered his hair into a low ponytail and helped Chizuru get onto the bike. She clung to him and the bike smoothly started off.
It was an unparalleled feeling - to drift through the evening flow of traffic on the crowded central streets. The bike managed to move through every tiny gap and Chizuru caught several envious glances from the people trapped in their cars. When Saitou-san finally got to the arterial thoroughfare, he rapidly sped up and they swept into the whirl of lights. Chizuru broke down and grabbed Saitou-san tighter. The tips of his white scarf flapped against her helmet. It turned out that she badly needed those high speeds and the wind and the excitement.
The Slums met them with the familiar sounds of dogs barking and old trees rustling in the wind. The alleys were lightly covered with snow.
It was a relief to get into the mansion and finally take off the heels. Chizuru blissfully plunged her aching and frozen feet into comfortable slippers. 'I'm home,' she thought with satisfaction, still wound up after the night ride.
Saitou-san said that he would stay in the guest room to prepare for tomorrow's noon rehearsal. Chizuru couldn't help but marvel at his sense of duty. They went to the kitchen to get a snack.
"Say, Saitou-san," Chizuru began, grinning. Saitou-san raised his eyes from the teapot he was currently filling with leaves. "Is it legal to drive that fast on the Thoroughfare?"
"No, the speed is limited to eighty kilometres per hour," Saitou-san said calmly.
"Are you fine with breaking the speed limit then?"
"You looked like you needed some distraction." Saitou-san turned away to get the boiling water.
"Oh…" Chizuru stared at his back, startled. "That was incredible. Thank you!" She fought an urge to give him a hug. It probably required a lot of compassion to take care of your fellow being in a time of trouble. Chizuru suddenly became aware of how she had been relying on Saitou-san's kindness recently without giving anything equal in return. She would always deny that she was not okay, but Saitou-san never asked. Instead, he did what seemed right.
Saitou-san offered to make her a cocktail to warm up after the ride. Chizuru agreed, curious about this other talent of his.
Examining the stores revealed decent reserves of alcohol, probably arranged by Shinpachi-san and Sano-san. The headquarters could indeed survive a siege.
"I can make a White Russian for you," Saitou-san said, looking at her attentively. "This is Souji's favorite when he bothers with liquor. Too sweet for my taste though."
Chizuru made a face, immediately recalling Okita's recent escapades. 'Souji-sa-an' the voice echoed in her head. She nodded her agreement.
So, it's him, thought Saitou. Souji, why must you always hurt people who care about you?
The front door's lock clicked and Okita appeared at the kitchen door, sweeping the snowflakes off his hair. Chizuru mechanically noted his pale face and the dark circles around his eyes.
He smiled hesitantly, looking at her gown. "Hajime-kun wears black for practical reasons, but what about you?" He didn't wait for her answer, greeting Saitou-san instead and falling into the chair on his friend's right. He always did so when they sat together, in order not to limit the movement of Saitou-san's left hand.
"Isn't this my favorite-" Okita noticed Saitou-san's activity.
"It's not for you," interrupted Saitou-san.
"And not for you either. Are you teaching Chizuru-chan your bad habits?"
"Yeah, have you noticed the recent increase of tofu consumption in the HQ?" Chizuru put in. Listening to their back-and-forth and inserting her occasional comments made her feel better. Indeed, it could be compared to wearing a pair of comfortable soft slippers after walking in tight torture heels.
…
In the cold light of morning, yesterday's difficulties seemed to fall by the wayside, making room for new ones. Coming to the kitchen, Chizuru beheld an unusual scene. Okita was sitting in the chair with his hair down while Saitou-san stood hesitantly behind his back with kitchen scissors quivering in his left hand and a comb clenched in his right.
Okita looked at her and raised his hand in a greeting gesture. Chizuru echoed his movement.
"Stay still, Souji," Saitou-san said severely. "Good morning, Yukimura-san." He turned to Okita's disheveled head and sighed. "I need to comb this first."
"Don't be silly, just cut them already!"
"How am I supposed to cut them when they are so sticky-uppy?"
Chizuru couldn't help but giggle at their wrangling.
Okita glanced at her. "I did it myself first, but Hajime-kun said it's uneven. He must already regret it by now." He explained with a smirk. "My hair's gotten too long for me to make the usual updo." Somehow, he was more talkative than he'd been during the past week.
"Just sit already," grumbled Saitou-san.
"Saitou-san, are you okay with using regular scissors with your left hand?" Chizuru glanced at the scissors, placed awkwardly in Saitou-san's fingers.
"Not really," he answered. "I have special scissors at home."
"Let me help then." Chizuru gently took the scissors from Saitou-san's hand. "Before it becomes irreversible."
Okita fidgeted uneasily in his chair.
Saitou-san smiled gratefully. "Do me this favor," he said, retiring from his place. "I will make some coffee while you work." Okita snorted. Chizuru sprinkled some water over his head.
Okita twitched. "Hey, what was that for?!"
"Revenge!" chuckled Chizuru. "Just kidding." She started to comb his hair, chatting about the hideous possibilities of an amateur hair-cutting and getting Okita's biting responses. Her own hair was soft and thin while his strands were thick and ruffled. She was careful to untangle them all. Gradually, Okita fell silent. Chizuru's playful mood withered as well.
Saitou-san was always comfortable with silence. But now, watching the strangely silent Okita and Chizuru getting red, he almost rolled his eyes and decided to fill the gap with small talk. This was rapidly becoming a new habit of his. It was an unusual role for him to step out of his shell to dispel someone else's awkwardness.
"Souji had relatively long hair until he turned eighteen," Saitou-san began. Probably not the best topic to open with, but the silence was getting tense. He felt a bit of irritation rising - why did he have to interfere in the mutual nonsense of two adults? For the sake of their common work?
Saitou-san continued reminiscing for a bit. After the four years of the band's existence, only he and Heisuke had kept their hair long. The others were successfully tempted by comfort.
Chizuru listened with a smile. She finished combing and dampening Okita's hair and picked up the scissors. The haircut was indeed uneven and required corrections.
"Alright, I think it's ready," she finally said. Okita didn't answer. "Mm… Would you like to take a look?"
"Do you like how it turned out?" he asked instead. His hands deftly tied his hair up with an elastic.
Saitou-san closed his eyes with a sigh.
"Um, yes," Chizuru answered. "I liked the previous one too."
"Hajime-kun, am I good-looking enough now?"
"Beauty comes from the inside," grumbled Saitou-san.
"And so does ugliness," sang Okita and stormed out of the room.
…
The evening after the rehearsal was mundane and quiet - as quiet as possible with Shinpachi-san on board. He cornered Saitou-san to continue their never-ending guitar dispute. Shinpachi-san's ability to have an opinion about everything had long since ceased to surprise Chizuru. Saitou-san played an affordable Ibanez for lefties which was totally unfit in Shinpachi-san's opinion. Okita was examining the last of Sano-san's text. Luckily, Sano-san was not easily confused by his jibes, hinting that Okita could at least gain some relevant experience before judging love songs. Chizuru and Heisuke-kun were listening to their banter, inserting sporadic comments.
That was how Hijikata-san had found them when he arrived. His sudden visit promised nothing good and Chizuru's instinct proved right.
"I have good news and bad news," he announced. "We've finally been accused of offending religious feelings, considering the songs-" Hijikata-san named several titles. "The poster of our last show is also considered apostate. I've got a subpoena." He smiled wolfishly.
Everyone seemed to accept the news stoically, since the percentage of nonsense was already high in their lives. Everyone except Heisuke-kun, who was staring at Hijikata-san in disbelief.
"And the bad news?" Okita asked nonchalantly. He was sitting in the windowsill, as usual, pressing his back against the cold glass.
"The bad news is that Kondou-san insists on hiring Itou Kashitarou as our lawyer." He exchanged glances with Okita and added, "You would have known, if you had been here yesterday; he had invited us for dinner."
"All I ever hear about is the poor thing," declared Shinpachi-san. "Should we hire him into the band already? One person more or less doesn't make much difference."
Everyone started to talk simultaneously except for Saitou-san and Chizuru. She was overwhelmed by the feeling of instability. Every day brought something new, rarely pleasant. Perhaps she needed to grow a tighter shell instead of coming out of it.
Heisuke-kun's voice - full of sincere confusion - reached her ears.
"But there are, in fact, a freaking lot of Hijikata-san's songs with religion as a… a form of organised crime! People… You know, they may have their reasons to be offended." There was genuine frustration in his voice. Heisuke-kun was always honest and straightforward. And now he didn't hesitate to confront his friends, even Hijikata-san, of whom he was secretly rather frightened.
Poor Heisuke-kun, thought Chizuru. The time to choose sides seemed to have already passed. Now was the time to keep sides. However, the girl felt compassion towards the need to question in and of itself. He wanted a steady ground under his feet, but none was available.
"Heisuke, have you by any chance talked to Itou recently?" Hijikata-san asked angrily.
"No, I haven't!" Heisuke exclaimed. "People are free to believe in any stuff they want. No wonder they-"
"I've heard this crap a couple of times this week. 'Hijikata-san, why not be more diplomatic? It's about freedom of choice!'" Hijikata-san pressed his cheek with his hand and imitated Itou's high-pitched voice, much to Okita's amusement. "Just see the difference: they never mind fundamental disagreements, but they rise to whine about their church being trashed all the time!"
Heisuke turned red. "I know you don't like that Itou, but maybe he's not completely wrong."
They stared at each other for a couple of moments.
Shinpachi-san shifted between the debaters and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Relax, guys! It's a done deal. Why squabble about it now?"
Heisuke-kun looked at his friend as if he saw him for the first time. "I got to go," he said sullenly.
Hijikata-san opened his mouth, but Sano-san intervened. "Gentlemen, let Heisuke go."
"See you at home," Heisuke-kun mumbled to him, and left the room.
Everyone fell silent, and the suddenness of that silence seemed even more painful than an open confrontation. Hijikata-san lit a cigarette. No one rushed to stop him this time.
Saitou-san spoke up. "As our group expands, and gains greater recognition, differences of opinion are more likely and also more noticeable. Views differ, it's inevitable. There is no way for us to move further if we don't start to listen to each other. No Itou Kashitarou can ruin us, unless we have inner conflicts."
"What would you guys do without Hajime-kun and his wisdom," Okita said but no one smiled.
…
Author's outro. The chapter is named after the song 'Walking on Nails' by Rabia Sorda.
...
I'd like to thank you all for the encouraging feedback! Now that I've moved to another city and got the new job and other tiring activities, I have much less free time. And your support is one of the main reasons for me to spend it on writing and drawing.
Thank you, Impractical Demon, Very-x-Vice, HakuSaitoSan, Eliz1369, Shell-Senji, Alice and Guest. It always brightens my day to receive a review =)
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The illustration for this chapter - featuring Souji and Chizuru from the first scene - is available on my Tumblr.