The clock mounted above the register measured out the seconds in the otherwise unbroken silence of the shop.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
Beyond it, his back turned, Youji shifted a display.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
His hand settled on the mug beside the radio and lifted it slowly to his lips.
The shutters were still down. Sunlight lancing through the half-closed blinds of the solitary window drew the shop floor in horizontal bars of orange and brown, giving the impression of dawn inside, though outside the sun had been well up for an hour.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
The cup clinked to the counter loudly. Youji's eyes flicked to his wrist. Bare--his watch was in his pocket.
He moved to the register with his eyes down, checked that there was enough change in the cash drawer. He looked under the counter for outstanding orders, finding a handful of notes from Ken, Omi, himself, each naming a client, a request and pick-up time, each with a check, a cross, or a strike-out to indicate completion. Youji sighed and stowed them back in the drawer.
He lifted his wrist again, hissing in frustration at the obvious tan-line and lack of timepiece. His hand hit the slight bulge in his hip pocket. With an effort, he forced his hand away.
He closed the register and skirted the counter to the refrigerated display. Fingers frosting the glass, he scanned the shelves quickly before sliding open the door and pulling out the cut stems he wanted.
Omi wouldn't be happy Youji was using the more expensive flowers for a pre-made arrangement--he was the one who usually handled the customer-catchers--but right now Youji needed the diversion. He was edgy enough that he either had to create or destroy something. Since he had to open the shop, the latter option wasn't viable. If worse came to worst, he could probably sweet-talk some wealthy housewife into buying the arrangement--it wasn't going to be cheap, what he had in mind.
Tchk. Tchk.
Youji's mouth tightened as he set the wax paper-wrapped flowers on the work table and went to fetch a vase. I'm not going to look.
Roses were what the window arrangements usually consisted of. Red and baby's breath, white and ferns, or carnations, sometimes. Roses weren't cheap, but they were almost a sure thing. Half the customers who wandered in unsure of what to buy would be just as happy to leave with one of Omi's premade rose arrangements. Beautiful, but conservative.
Ken did more of the request arrangements, special occasions in particular. Weddings, baby showers, graduations, proms, funerals. Again a lot of roses and carnations, especially white. The two younger men did more colourful arrangements, too, of course. Tulips, irises, gladiolas, ofttimes.
Only two of the four florist-assassins had ever favoured the rarer flowers.
Tchk. Tchk. Creak.
Youji wheeled, taking in the clock face and the staircase adjacent to the register in one glance. His stomach turned.
God damn it.
The stairs were empty. It was a quarter to seven.
Green eyes fixed on the highest visible step, Youji's hands fisted.
It was too early. First shift was fifteen minutes away. It was too early to be going through this.
But the familiar anticipatory sickness was rising in Youji's chest as he failed for second after second to tear his eyes away from the stairs.
Too early. Youji swallowed, closed his eyes. Stop it, stupid. With an effort, he turned around.
Tokyo was still there. That was the first thing that jarred as Schuldich had led Youji out of that hotel six months earlier, and continued to as he made his way alone through the streets.
It was more than a mild shock to find everything exactly as he had left it, what seemed like decades before. The streets and sidewalks were full, shops were open, business continued as usual. Youji wandered through it all half-stunned, mostly on auto-pilot.
The cheap clock face of his watch, along with its calendar, had been done in by water-pressure, so he didn't know what day it was. He thought he remembered Schuldich saying it had been two days since the collapse, but it felt like so much longer he couldn't be sure the German wasn't lying. Even if he wasn't, Youji didn't remember what day that had been.
People flowed by him on either side, a steady stream of humanity that didn't see him, but parted for him anyway. It seemed to be he alone heading uptown, while the rest of the city went down. Speech floated past him, and traffic noise, bustle and life that had no right to exist any longer, yet did.
It seemed to him that it was blatantly obvious what he had done, and the thought made him hunch as he walked, curling in on himself. 'I slept with my enemy.' Anyone and everyone could see his shame. He wished it were dark; daylight was too cruel to have been sent out in.
And at the same time, no one could see enough. We went to fight for you. We died for you, all four of us. And you don't know.
At least... I think that was why we went down there.
Wasn't it?
The people around him didn't know or care that his life was over. Or how much it hurt that they continued blithely on regardless.
It could have been minutes or hours later that he looked up and realized where he was.
Oh, no... What little strength had been keeping him upright and moving drained away. He sagged against the building on the corner of the street he had been about to cross. Schuldich said 'go home.' But this... I can't be here. He shook his head, sure he was about to weep and not remembering why he shouldn't.
Faintly he heard a familiar jingle, then even more distant, what sounded like... "--welcome--"
Youji's head snapped up. The shop was open.
The displays weren't out front, and from here he couldn't see well, but... there was movement within, past those glass walls. There were definitely people inside.
He looked around, bewildered. Had he gotten lost? This couldn't be the Koneko; there was no one left to run it. Unless someone had bought it already, started something else in its place. The streets, the surrouding buildings, they were all right, so that had to be it. Just how long had he been gone? It had to be much longer than two days. The world could not have erased them and moved on this quickly!
He was shaking faintly as he squinted, gazing hard at the windows, trying to see in. Then with that same jingle, the door opened, and a small, slender figure leaned out. Youji swallowed hard.
That isn't... isn't...
"Youji-kun!!"
Youji froze. The first person stepped out as a second, taller, appeared in the doorway. "Youji?!"
He... couldn't stand.
The next thing he realized, he had his arm slung around Ken's shoulders, the younger man's arm around his waist, Omi holding his other hand, earnestly looking up at him. Both of them were talking over each other, too fast for him to really process. Too much for him to take in when the inside of his head felt like an Escher painting on a pinwheel.
You're alive...?
You're alive...
His legs were going to fail him.
"Youji-kun, where--"
"--hell you been?!"
"--were you?"
"We've been searching--"
"Looked everywhere for you! We thought--"
"--fucking worried--"
"Wait," Youji rasped. "Stop. I don't--you're going to fast. I'm--"
"Are you all right?" Ken asked.
Youji turned to stare hard at him. God. He was here, warm and solid supporting him. He was real, every detail, down to the bandage wrapped around his head. Youji had seen him get that wound, it was real... "Are you?" he returned. Because that was the question. Relief just wouldn't come to him yet.
Ken smiled warmly. "I'm fine. A little banged up, is all." Youji looked from him to Omi.
"Me, too," the boy squeezed his hand. "Listen, let's get you up to your room, we can talk more when you're sitting down. Or lying down. Whichever you feel like."
His room... it still existed, too. It was all still here, just as before? Everything could be normal again?
Somehow, it didn't feel like it. The dread that he would wake up from this any moment now was far too sharp to ignore. But he moved with his teammates as they helped him cross the street, and turned into the alley that ran behind the Koneko.
"We'd better take the back stairs," Ken explained. "There're customers inside."
"Customers?"
"Back to business as usual, Youji-kun." Another reassuring squeeze of his hand.
They took the stairs as slowly as Youji needed to. With every step, that lingering dread swung out and then in again, refusing to fade. On the second floor landing, Youji came to a halt.
"Youji?" The detective's face had gone white. He was staring up the stairs to the third floor.
"Aya," he said. "Where's Aya?"
His teammates were silent.
Youji's shoulder twitched. He swallowed. Without moving his eyes, "Aya. Where is he?" He felt Omi's fingers spasm over his.
"Crawford is still alive. So--"
Youji cracked a weak smile. "C'mon, guys. Really."
Silence. Ken and Omi exchanged glances and Omi began to speak. "We said we'd talk in your room, right? Let's--"
Youji shook his head. "Uh-uh. Tell me first. I wanna see him. Now, before I go anywhere."
Omi bit his lip, blue eyes darting away.
"So he's most likely dead."
"No..." Youji whispered, breathing deeply to steady himself. "That's not... what you're telling me. You're not. Don't do this to me."
"Youji--"
"It isn't true. I don't believe it."
"Youji-kun, just come to your room, get some sleep first--"
"No!" Youji gulped down the panic in his voice. "Where is he?" He looked from Omi to Ken, expression starkly terrified. "Don't--Don't fucking do this to me! Where the fuck is Aya?!"
_______________
Omi tranked him. He always had at least a few darts somewhere about him. When Youji came to, still hazy from the drug, they told him what had happened.
They had told him, and repeated it, over and over... and yet, when he stepped into the hospital room, he was still not prepared.
The girl seated by the bed was the first thing he saw. Sakura-- No. The eyes that turned to him were older, world-weary, and deep violet.
"Aya-chan," Youji said softly.
She nodded, acknowledging him equally simply. "Youji-san."
He didn't ask how she knew him. The door hissed slowly shut on its spring, the latch clicking into place. The room was white, sterile. Shining tile and curtained window, two machines with monitors, an IV drip by the pristinely made... bed.
Youji forced himself forward, pace by pace.
And then the only sounds were the low hum of the machines, the quiet blip of the EKG.
At some point, he sat down.
"I wonder," Aya-chan's voice startled him, low as it was. "If this is how he felt. All these years."
Youji felt his throat close.
There was a click, and he noticed she was holding a call-button. Minutes later, an orderly appeared with a wheel-chair and helped her into it. "If you need anything, I'm in the next room," she said before disappearing. Youji barely nodded in response.
Time passed. Youji wasn't sure how long. Omi had said that Kritiker connections waived most hospital rules, including enforced visiting hours.
"So that was your sister," Youji whispered at last. He pressed his lips together as the sound seemed to echo in the ensuing silence. "She resembles you."
Too much. Down to the toneless, inflectionless voice, the lifeless calm of her expression. "You showed us a picture once... she wasn't like that before. ... I guess you weren't, either."
What kind of sick play of the Fates was it to trade siblings like that? After five years one woke up to find the other...
It ain't meant to be like this.
Why did it have to be you?
Youji's hands fisted in the material of his pants. "Aya... They said... they said you weren't coming back. They said it was a miracle your sister woke up. And that there wouldn't be a second."
His hands trembled. It ain't right, Aya. I don't wanna see you like this. You're not meant to be down, you've spent your whole life fighting. You wouldn't wanna be laid out like this...
Why... why you, Aya?
Why's it gotta be everything back to normal... except you?
He choked, a low whine escaping his clenched teeth.
Everything bright and sunny... just to illuminate the hole in our lives?
"No, Aya..." Youji hissed, the first tears searing his eyes, spattering onto his fists. "I hate this."
Everything else could've gone to hell, and I wouldn't have cared, as long as... It wouldn't have hurt as much as...
He couldn't see the pale figure on the bed for the tears, just splashes of crimson and white. His throat muscles were starting to seize from trying to keep down his grief, his shoulders shaking violently.
You don't understand...
I had one reason to keep getting up every morning, and coming home every night.
What do I do now?
_______________
Back to normal... back to normal.
That was what everyone wanted. There was a new Persia, and once again they had no idea who he was. Manx was acting as liaison again while Birman was in the hospital, recovering from her run-in with Farfarello. Ken and Omi were in no condition to fight, but once they had mended, there would be missions offered them exactly the same as before. They had not called Momoe-san back as they had promised, and without the old woman and her cat, perhaps, the Koneko no Sumu Ie had lost some of its homey atmosphere. But the flocks of schoolgirls swept in and out unheeding, and commented how only Aya-san was lacking to make good weather the next day.
Youji couldn't do it. The day after finding his way back, he tried to work a shift with Ken, but couldn't make it through. Friendly banter with customers was beyond him, he could barely choke out a price and ring up change. Flashes of red or purple had him starting and turning till by the end of the first hour, he was a wreck. Ken called him into the back.
"Youji, ya know, you don't hafta do this." He took the taller man's shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. "Take some time to recover, first."
Youji drooped. "Ken, I'm not even hurt. You guys are, and you're already--"
Ken shook his head. "We ain't recoverin' from the same thing."
So Youji went back to the hospital. For the next week, he spent every day in that bleak white room, sometimes with Aya-chan, sometimes alone. More often the latter, since the young girl was not yet fit to spend long out of bed. During those hours with no companion but the silent occupant of that sterile bed, he had too much time to think. About the past, the future, about blame, revenge, and his own betrayal.
_______________
Even as he was preparing to go, Youji had been unsure of his reasons. A little over a week had passed and all he knew for certain any longer was that he couldn't continue as he was. Not with that shred of hope that made grief so many thousand times worse.
His detective work had already been done, so when he seated himself behind Seven's wheel that evening in full mission gear, he knew where he was going. The spring mechanism in his watch was oiled, the wire tested, but even as he started the engine he knew that he wasn't in the frame of mind to kill anyone. The adrenaline wouldn't come, there was no tension sharpening his movements or his senses. He couldn't even really feel anger, just knew he should be, hoped that it was in him somewhere; and revenge sounded like a purpose.
And when he arrived, as he stood outside that house reaching for the murderous impulse he needed to carry him through, the wrong man had come out.
He hadn't moved. Schuldich could have killed him where he stood; Youji knew he was armed. Youji froze as he waited, feeling the other man's eyes on him, refusing to take his own away from his pretended target. It was all very vivid again, this man's wide, strong hands on his hips, at the base of his spine, the way that sunset hair felt--silken, ticklish--dragging over his chest...
Was this why I came?
He looked at the German as he approached, expecting death with an emptiness howling where he thought he was already too hollowed out to feel. But he saw something different.
Traitor.
Was it betrayal? Was it, anymore?
Schuldich's face, even those dragon-jade eyes completely devoid of mockery. "I can't let you kill yourself, either."
Do you want to try? Do you really want to try...? Who could he hurt but himself by letting go? There was so little left to defend.
Revenge?
He could accept what he was being offered, or fight now and die. Neither would bring Aya back.
Youji couldn't bring himself to push Schuldich away. Not when there was a chance... just a chance that he could make this despair even a bit more bearable. Because on his own... Youji just didn't have the strength to end it.
You're weak. Weak.
I know... I know, but it hurts too goddamn much.
From somewhere, he dredged up the memory of a smile. "How you gonna stop me?"
The hand against his face, the one holding his shoulder, seemed to grow warmer as Schuldich's broad, sensuous mouth curved upwards. Youji wouldn't have known then what to call that expression; seductive, overconfident, predatory, perhaps--but that was hindsight. Regardless, the promise there, the interest... he needed it.
"If we get off this street corner to someplace more private," Schuldich said slowly, eyes intent on his face, "I'll see what I can come up with."
A shiver of remembered climax ran straight down the centre of him, and Youji couldn't be sure whether he'd recalled it himself or Schuldich had turned something over in his mind. It didn't matter, though. You can do it again, he thought, feeling the rest of his body start to warm in response. Make me feel that again, dull the pain, block it out... you can, can't you?
"The least you can give me is a shot, hm?"
Youji meant to nod, and ended up unsure as to whether he had. Schuldich's hand skimmed down from his shoulder, angling over his hip. He jerked as Schuldich's hand glided over the front of his pants--ever so briefly--hiked up his coat and slipped over his thigh into his pocket.
Then Schuldich was standing a foot away from him, Youji's keys in his left hand. "I'll drive."
_______________
So, maybe I was stupid--but all I have left to lose is my life... and what the hell, I was going to throw it away anyhow.
He knew where the Koneko was already, so that's not a betrayal.
Ken and Omi are together and better armed anyway--
Youji caught his breath as Schuldich's arm looped around his torso, pulling him back against him. "Relax, Kudou, you're hurting yourself and you're giving me a headache." He brushed his lips over Youji's cheek. "You're not in danger. And the other kittens don't interest me."
"W-wait till we're inside."
Schuldich gave a low chuckle, then Youji's keys were back in his hand, Schuldich nowhere near him. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to keep his hand steady as he fed the key into the lock. "Shit," he muttered. "I'd forgotten." He swallowed as he got the door open. It was terrifying and exhilarating exactly how powerful Schuldich was. Right now it seemed unbelievable that even for a few minutes he had managed to hold his own against him.
More low laughter. "Easy, I've been told my ego is big enough already." Following Youji in, he flipped the light switch. "Hey--nice."
Youji closed the door and threw the bolt, pocketing his keys again. When he turned, Schuldich was looking at one of his bookshelves, hands in his pockets. "You read a lot," he said. "More than Crawford."
Youji hesitated where he was, unsure whether to remove his coat, sit or remain standing. "I'm a detective," he shrugged. "Comes with the territory."
Schuldich turned to cast his glance around the room. "You keep them, though. He throws them away after one time. How sentimental."
"They can be reread," Youji said, frowning. "What, don't you ever read?"
"Not much," Schuldich said. "I can take the after-effects of anything printed from someone's head if I want them. And I've got enough to read, otherwise." He took a few steps toward Youji. "And more interesting things to do, anyhow."
Youji jerked back a little when Schuldich took hold of his collar. "W-wait a second..." A ripple of the fear he'd felt in the hotel room a week earlier flowed through him and then grew. I am armed, but... but... he's too...
"Shhh." Schuldich's forehead touched Youji's. "I didn't hurt you before?" Covering Youji's mouth with his, he started slowly to part the zipper of Youji's coat with his thumbs, smoothing his palms down the brunet's chest as he did.
With an abrupt thud Youji found himself pressed up against a bookcase, breathless as Schuldich continued hungrily to kiss him. "Stop--" he gasped as the redhead finally let him come up for air. He squeezed his eyes shut, muffling a groan at the involuntary reaction of his body to Schuldich's insistent touch. "I can't... it's..." His hands came up to grasp at Schuldich's arms.
"It's what you want," Schuldich said. He slipped the half-opened coat over Youji's shoulders, loosely pinning his arms to his sides. Youji shuddered as Schuldich hiked up the crop-top beneath, hot fingers fanning over his chest to grasp his sides, thumbs circling his nipples.
"A-ah..." Youji's head fell back and he stared at the ceiling. "Yes, but..." He made a small noise as Schuldich pushed one knee up between his thighs, then kissed back fervently as Schuldich took his parted lips.
Schuldich laughed softly, pressing closer up against the rampant hardness evident between Youji's legs. "You really wanna stop?"
"Nnh..." Restricted, Youji's hands clutched at Schuldich's coattails. Was he pushing him away or pulling him closer? "I don't know..." He moaned as the German began to eat at his throat, withdrawing his hands to unbuckle Youji's belt. Youji's hips rocked forward instinctively, a shiver racking him as teeth grazed his skin.
"Let me tell you, then," The words vibrated across Youji's wet skin. "You want me because you think I can make you forget." Youji took in a sharp hiss of breath as one of Schuldich's hands cupped his erection through his pants. "And you're right."
Youji bit down on his lower lip, willing down his misgivings and focussing on the sensations Schuldich was feeding him. It's true...
"It is," Schuldich said, easing his zipper down. "Now--" Youji yelped as Schuldich's hand slipped down the back of his open pants, dipping beneath the waistband of his underwear.
"I--I--" Youji started, heart hammering in his chest, finding his hand holding back Schuldich's arm.
Schuldich looked up at him in mild surprise, then slowly grinned. "I took your virginity, didn't I?"
"WHAT?!" Youji exploded. "I'm probably more experienced than you!! I started when I was thirteen, goddamn it--"
"I mean," Schuldich interrupted, grinning wider. "You'd never been with a man before."
"Oh..." Youji subsided, feeling his face heat. "No."
"Wellll," Schuldich purred, nibbling at Youji's ear. "What a privilege for me. But Kudou, you did survive that one time..."
"Shut up," Youji growled vehemently. "Don't go treating me like a... like a virgin for that."
Simply looking more amused, Schuldich kissed him quickly on the mouth and stepped back. "Alright, then," he nodded at Youji's pants as he went about unbuttoning his own. "Relieve yourself of those."
Still unsteady and cursing himself for it, Youji leaned away from the support of the bookshelf and removed his pants in a series of sharp, angry gestures, his half-off coat hampering him every step of the way. "Ah-ah--" Schuldich stopped him as he went to take it off with a hand against his chest that set his heart galloping again. "I like it."
Youji opened his mouth to say he didn't give a shit what Schuldich liked and found his back up against the bookcase again, with a half-clothed Schuldich hard up against him--in two senses of the word.
"Don't get angry," Schuldich said in silken tones. "I won't question your prowess." He spread Youji's legs with one of his own and placed three fingertips against Youji's lips. "I suppose you know what I need you to do, then."
Youji's lips trembled slightly, but they parted. He closed his eyes--unable to watch Schuldich smile at him as he sucked on his fingers. His heart gave an uneasy jump as Schuldich began to move his fingers in his mouth, pulling them out, then pushing them deeper in. Quelling his uneasiness, he carefully laved each with his tongue--then more thoroughly as he had time to think what came next. He used oil last time. Is this going to work?
"It'll work," Schuldich assured him, voice soft, fingers still working at Youji's mouth, making him flush against his will at the unavoidable parallels. "I've done it this way as often as you've done it the other way. Ah... there, now, that'll do."
Youji looked up at him fearfully as he withdrew his fingers and reached down, spreading Youji's legs a little farther with his knee. "Schuldich..."
"Relax," Schuldich crooned into his ear. His other hand found Youji's nipple again, stroking it erect as his fingers glided over his inner thigh. Youji squeezed his eyes shut with a shudder of pleasure and apprehension. On some level he knew that there was something here he feared far more than the physical aspect--but he forced that down without fully realizing it. Both Youji's hands grabbed for Schuldich's shoulders as one cool, slick finger found the tight ring of Youji's anus. "You're okay," Schuldich said softly, as Youji's grip tightened. "If it hurt last time, this time will be much, much better."
"Nn--" Youji clamped his mouth shut around the sound as Schuldich pushed one finger into him. He had to bite down as the second and third finger quickly followed, but he let out little more than an uneven breath. Then Schuldich's other hand shifted to his erection, stroking him harder and hotter so he barely even noticed what the fingers inside him were doing until they were pushing deep and stretching wide, and instead of hurting it felt very good... Like last time, he thought with a surge of relief. "Schuldich..."
"You're ready," Schuldich said, withdrawing his fingers and planting his hands on Youji's waist.
Youji did cry out as Schuldich's first thrust took him straight off his feet. Not exactly in pain--more in surprise. He barely had time to decide what he was feeling as Schuldich continued to pound up into him. Youji's toes touched the floor again, but Schuldich was supporting him entirely, holding him up against the bookcase as he continued to shatter Youji's capacity for conscious thought. All Youji could do was gasp and clutch at Schuldich's shoulders, abandoning himself to Schuldich's relentless, ever-accelerating rhythm.
Youji came loudly, arching against the shelves behind him, fingers digging into Schuldich's arms through the cloth of his suit. Orgasm took him unaware, rushing through him in a violently intense wave, and out again as suddenly, leaving him completely drained. He sagged like a puppet with its strings cut, falling all the more heavily against Schuldich for it. His arms fell helplessly to his sides. He couldn't restrain the small, ragged cries that escaped him at each of Schuldich's thrusts into his over-sensitized, humming body.
"Mmm, if you could see yourself," Schuldich whispered, and Youji was glad he couldn't. "So pretty, disshevelled and debauched, Kudou." Schuldich ducked his head, nuzzling Youji's shirt up further to bite at a nipple.
"Schuldich--!" Youji sobbed, reaching for the other man, running his hands into his hair. "D-don't stop..."
"Sorry, Kudou," Schuldich said, meeting his eyes with a wide smile. He kissed Youji hard as he came.
Youji clung to Schuldich as he let him down, grateful that the German didn't stop supporting him for a second. "Schuldich..." he murmured unsteadily, willing his heart to slow.
"Mmm," Schuldich wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer. "Better, wasn't it? I told you."
Youji's breath hitched as he tried to speak, so he gave up trying for a minute. As he stood there, panting against Schuldich's chest, the acute urge to cry overtook him. His arms, clasped around Schuldich's neck, tightened, fingers clenching against the feeling. The backs of his eyes burned. Why? I didn't cry the first time.
But he knew the reason. Whatever the truth had been, he'd written off the first time to trauma, shock, and Schuldich taking advantage of his mental state. This time he'd gone and brought Schuldich back himself, despite knowing his teammates were alive, he'd fully consented, and loved it.
For just a few short moments, everything had been blown away.
Youji's teeth clenched. He refused to cry. Not here, not now, not with him. Schuldich, he asked silently. Help me.
"Hmmm." Youji could hear the smile in his voice. "Give me a moment and let's move this to the bed, shall we?"
_______________
Trysts with Schuldich slowly began to replace Youji's hospital vigils. As they did, he resumed work at the flower shop. After work he would invariably be at the hospital, but the visits got shorter as Schuldich called him away more and more often. It was with a painful mixture of guilt and relief that he would leave his seat at Aya's bedside, and consign himself to Schuldich's arms. But as the days and then the weeks passed, these trysts were the only thing allowing him to function with any semblance of normality.
Normality that, three weeks later, led Omi to switch back to the old schedules. Youji found himself alone on the opening shift he used to share with Aya.
When he arrived late, as had always been his custom, the shop was dark and empty. He started arriving early--Ken and Omi weren't around to witness the aberration, and Youji wasn't sleeping enough at night for the sacrifice to mean much. But when he was early, there was the wait.
The clock would tick steadily on towards seven, and he would wait. Despite leaving Aya motionless and unresponsive the day before, he would always wait to hear his footsteps on the back stairs. He would wait, and keep checking the clock until seven a.m. came and passed, making Aya late--something he never was. Every day his non-appearance hurt keenly, even as Youji gradually became numb to everything else.
But Youji waited.
Each minute before seven that he arrived was another of torturous hope, because something in him was convinced, right up until the crucial moment, that today, Aya would appear.
Each morning, as the minutes till seven o'clock waned, he would hold his breath and wait.
_______________
Then one day, over three months later, Aya woke up.
There was nothing of him left.
Aya did not speak. He barely acknowledged anyone else's presence. His one assertive act before lapsing into complete passivity was to sign forms to send Aya-chan to nursing school in Europe. Obviously hurt, but lacking either the strength or the will to fight him, she had gone. Then Aya had gone straight back to working his shifts at the Koneko. Voiceless, expressionless, he took directions from Omi and Ken, who did their best to treat him normally. He attended each meeting with Manx, listened to the missions offered, and left without accepting any.
"I don't feel it," Youji had said to Schuldich, tears streaming down his face. His voice came out as a whisper, but steady. "He's already been gone so long... and it seeemed longer... felt like years... So now, I don't feel it. I don't..."
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
Another three months had gone by since Aya had opened his eyes. His silent presence had become a part of everyone's routine. Youji saw Ken and especially Omi conduct long one-sided conversations with Aya, but he could never bring himself to do the same, so during their shared shifts Youji became almost as silent as his companion. He tried not to wonder what Aya was thinking. If he was thinking. He tried not to look at the redhead like a ghost--but he didn't really believe that Aya was alive. He kept expecting the illusion to end.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
Youji gave a shaky sigh and set down the scissors and the hibiscus bloom he was holding. He braced himself against the table, palms down, his fingers tensing against the cool formica surface.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
No matter what I know to be true... This time never changes.
Every morning. Every morning, just like this,
the bottom drops out of my world
for those few seconds
as I wait for you not to show up.
If it happens again...
What will I do?
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
He gave up and turned around. He read the clock--one minute to seven--with a leaden feeling settling around his heart.
Tchk. Tchk. Tchk. Tchk.
He drew a slow breath and held it, eyes riveted to the second hand.
Each time, my heart stops...
The clock struck seven and precisely on time, the stairs creaked. A battered pair of sneakers appeared at the top of the back door-frame.
Youji exhaled, taking another, easier breath as the weight of dread lifted from his ribs.
_______________________...and waits for permission to resume.