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It was many days after that night in Warsaw when, back in Tokyo, Akihito took to walking in the evenings. Long walks, without purpose in mind. He’d take his camera and slip out of the apartment into the dark and begin to walk.
Not unnoticed, not in the least. Asami knew, of course. He was awake each time Akihito left and often when he returned. Drifting out of bed, Akihito would feel warm fingers cradle his chin as Asami pressed his mouth against the side of his jaw, murmured “be safe” and let him go. Akihito found words trapped in his throat every time this happened but Asami never seemed to expect an answer and the routine continued.
It was difficult, even now, for him to look Asami in the eye after all that happened. In Warsaw, what felt like a lifetime ago. The memories came to him in waves - Asami’s throat, pale against the light, his eyes wide - and left him gasping, choking. And then they would leave him again, bereft, empty. And he would walk.
Sleep was no relief either. Memories older than that would surface, of long evenings spent in a small hotel room with walls, walls, walls and no escape. Five months and he had broken.
He woke each time, drenched in sweat and heavy with shame.
Five months and he had broken.
Tokyo was bright, even at night and Akihito walked fast in the evenings. It was winter now, the air cold and brisk. The older Akihito would have been compelled to run; new Akihito walked. Walked slowly and tried to piece himself back together.
#
“I’m home.”
He came home to an apartment he barely knew, one of Asami’s new ones. When they returned to Tokyo, he had raised the question once with Asami. If he should leave, find a new place…
“Why?” Asami had asked. They were sitting at the private lounge in Narita International Airport, to which deferential airport staff had shown them the moment they had landed and Asami had been spotted. Asami was sitting opposite him, legs crossed, a pale white scar visible on his throat and Akihito had looked down at his undrunk coffee cup and said nothing.
The knife was heavy. He knew what he was supposed to do.
“Bye-bye, Asami-san.”
“I…”
“You are safe here.” Asami’s tone was not brusque, but Akihito flinched nevertheless. He forced himself to look up, to look at the scar and at Asami.
“What about you? Are you sure… you would be safe?” The implied with me hadn’t needed to be voiced.
Asami put down his newspaper and looked at him. There was something in his expression that Akihito had not understood, something foreign and painful. He said, unaccountably gently, “If you want to stay with me Akihito, then I want you to stay.”
And that had been that. For then at least.
#
Two weeks after the day, nothing much had changed. And yet it felt to Akihito like he had slipped back into a sham of their old life. Outside of his nighttime excursions, he barely left the apartment - preferring it’s cool shadows to the bright light outside. Asami let him be and the first week, did much the same. Of course, he didn’t have much of a choice as, within minutes of arriving back, a veritable army of doctors had descended on their home, flanked by a deeply worried looking Kirishima.
The secretary had walked past Akihito to where the white coats surrounded Asami on his bed, pausing to say, “There is a doctor to see you too, Takaba Akihito.”
“And me.” The grim voice followed in the wake of Kirishima and Akihito had turned to see Kuroda striding down the corridor, his brows creased together. He had nodded once at Akihito. “Once the check-up is done, I need to speak with you.”
“Shinji.” Asami’s voice was cold and cut through the chatter of the medical staff around him. The three men had turned to look at him and Asami said to Kuroda, “I will speak to you about this. Later.”
“Ryuichi…” Kuroda had clearly come geared for a fight. He pulled back his shoulders and stepped a few steps forward, his voice earnest but determined. “You know the gravity of the situation. We need to know exactly how much of your assets, not to mention your own person, has been threatened. I don’t say this lightly. We need to know.”
His fingers tapped a restless but steady pattern against the files he held under one arm and Akihito had seen that and understood. Of course he had. He had expected this, after all. What he had done had crossed whatever meagre concept of betrayal had been conceived; it was beyond the pale.
So before Asami could respond, he had said, “I’ll talk to him, Asami. I don’t mind. It’s probably important.”
From the corner of his eye, he had seen Kuroda and Kirishima glance at him.
He understood. If he had been them, he’d want him questioned too. Locked up, probably. Who knows what secrets he had spent five months giving up?
Because Akihito hadn’t. Because for Akihito, the last five months had been a hazy hole from which he felt like he would erupt into a nightmare.
“No.” Asami had said. “And I will not be changing my mind, Shinji. Speak to me after this is over. But he,” Asami said with a jerk of his head towards Akihito, “will be going into a check up and whatever the doctor prescribes after.”
And that had been that.
#
Kuroda had no doubt been unhappy with what Asami had told him, as his dark expression exiting the meeting told Akihito. He didn’t glance at Akihito, didn’t say anything at all, merely executed a short bow in the direction of Asami’s room and left. Kirishima had exited a short while afterwards, shepherding the doctors out (apparently Asami’s wounds from the shootout months earlier were healing well and he had been advised rest but not much more). He too had not looked towards Akihito but left, leaving Akihito feeling strangely bereft.
The doctor examining Akihito had not found anything alarming outside of a fading pattern of bruises across his arm (slightly painful) and the faint white criss cross scars across the upper part of his back (not painful). The latter had apparently given her pause, as she came around behind him to examine them.
He did not remember how he got them, is what he explained to her as her brows furrowed in concern. She had touched them carefully and told him, as gently as she could, that they were scars from being whipped.
Akihito ought to have been shocked, he realised. But the knowledge came to him like an old friend and he remembered… something - a man in black, a cord, “now let’s try again you little shit” - he had nodded once, slowly.
“They didn’t get me like this.” He had told the shocked doctor.
“Pardon?!”
“Like this,” he had indicated his scarred back. The old Akihito, he had felt, would have been able to reach her better. But he had to explain. “It was something else… they got me through something else. I didn’t… it wasn’t this.”
It wasn’t pain. They didn’t break me through pain. It was something… different. They broke me through loneliness.
Five months, alone among small white walls, he had broken and could not remember why.
The doctor, bless her, had looked at him and reached into her pocket, pulling out a note. She had written him a name of a therapist, “a good one, and one that I highly recommend. He’s a little expensive but I’m sure Asami-sama can afford him. If you can, Takaba-san, you should go.”
The name and the number stayed in the pocket of his jacket. He had never shown it to Asami.
#
He slipped back into the new apartment, muttered a soft “I’m home” at the door as he eased off his shoes. The concierge downstairs had greeted him with a deep bow and “Welcome back, Asami-san” and he was still processing that. It made sense, he supposed, it was safer. For both him and Asami.
Downstairs also were the two men who now shadowed him quite openly, starting from the very first time Akihito had set out at night. They didn’t bother being inconspicuous and walked a few dozen feet behind Akihito, cigarette smoke trailing in their wake. Akihito had briefly entertained the idea of losing them, of regaining his old speed and disappearing into one of his well-known alleys.
That idea had died as quickly as it had come. To outrun them would be to disappear back into the same darkness which threatened to overwhelm him for the last few weeks. And he couldn’t. Not now. Not… so soon.
And so he let them follow him and unlike before, they now walked into the building with him and waited as he boarded the elevator. Bodyguards and wardens both.
And he was back home.
The house was cool, but not as cold as the outside and he slipped into a lighter jacket as he walked the floors on slippered feet. There was a dim light from the kitchen, which surprised him and he walked in to find Asami frowning at the open fridge.
“Is everything okay?” he asked and immediately regretted the asking, his unnaturally loud voice breaking the stillness of the house. Asami glanced back at him and straightened, hand reaching out to ruffle his hair - another tradition, an older one.
As fingers threaded through his hair, Asami said, “Everything’s fine, I was just looking for dinner. I haven’t eaten yet.” The hand cupping his hair pulled him closer until Asami’s nose nestled in Akihito’s hair and the older man breathed in, ruffling the strands.
Akihito’s emotions were a block of stone threatening to choke his airway, but somehow he managed to say, “It’s uh, on the table. I left it there in case you wanted to heat it. You should have eaten sooner.” Despite himself, there was an accusatory tone in his voice that he tried to soften.
Asami pulled back and smiled, a real honest to goodness smile, at him. Like new Akihito, there was a new Asami - a beast more gentle and more malleable than the one he remembered. Asami let his hand drift to Akihito’s waist and pulled him along to the dinner table where Akihito managed to convince him to heat the food before eating it.
“It’s cold miso soup Asami, literally nobody likes that.”
Asami spooned warm soup into his mouth and shrugged. “It would make very little difference to me when I’m hungry.”
“Cold miso soup absolutely sucks, trust me.”
“Hmmph.” Asami said nothing, but his smile was back at the edges. When he looked up however, it was gone and instead he asked, “How are you feeling?”
Akihito’s mouth was dry. Asami’s throat, as he swallowed, showed off the clear white scar - still not faded. He said, “I’m fine. I’m sleeping a little better. I remember some things.”
Asami put the spoon down, the soup was over. “Do you want to tell me what you remember?” His tone was light, no inflection.
No. “I was thinking maybe I should talk to Kuroda-san.”
“About?”
“About… about everything. Whatever I remember and what I don’t. I… I could have said things, Asami. I don’t know but I could have.”
Asami regarded him for a moment. “Do you prefer to talk to Kuroda?” he asked.
God, no . The very last thing Akihito wanted to do was confront his last few months and talking to Kuroda Shinji would be exactly that. But as primal the desire to run was, there was a strong growing sensation to just get it over with. To speak, to confess, to know . To put together the fragmented Akihito in the mirror.
And old Akihito had been a lot of things but he had not been a coward. Or a quitter. And he wanted that back.
So Akihito swallowed and said, “I… I don’t prefer, but I should. It’s the right thing to do, Asami.” When Asami didn’t say anything, he leaned forward and said, “It… I know we haven’t talked about it and I know you’re doing this because of me. Because… because of how you think it’ll hurt me. But that doesn’t change facts. It doesn’t change what happened in the last few months.” He stopped, swallowed again. His throat was impossibly dry. “I should know what happened. You should know what happened. So. I’ll talk to Kuroda. I will.”
Silence, agonising silence. Then Asami rose, walked around the table. Akihito watched him, trembling in every nerve right until Asami approached and rested his hand along the curve of Akihito’s jaw.
Asami asked quietly, “So why won’t you talk to me, Akihito?”
The dam within Akihito’s chest burst. He doubled over, eyes stinging, hand clamped to his mouth. He saw -
Asami’s throat, pale against the light, his eyes wide
knife unwavering in his grasp
bye bye Asami-san
Cold so cold as there was a flash of red and his mind screamed out to him to stop a memory old so old Asami standing in the sunshine reaching out to ruffle his hair and then it’s Asami on the bed, sheets soaked with blood red line across his throat looking at Akihito as betrayal itself
And then ground
A man holding him
Alex alex let him go
Ryuichi you’re hurt
He hurt you.
He hurt you .
Akihito was sobbing. The floor was cold under him as a warped voice around him said, listen i know this is hard for you but you know you’ve been left to die here right that he never really loved you that’s why you were alone in the hospital would he have left you alone tell me who you are takaba-kun and how many times that man has broken you tell me you shouldn’t kill him dead
I should never have listened, he though distantly through the tears. I should never have listened. I should have punched Sakazaki’s goddamn face before he got a word out.
There was another voice in the cacophony in his head and the voice was very distant and difficult to hear right until the moment it grabbed him around the head and shouted,
“Akihito!”
White, stark white blinding light. Akihito blinked and hiccuped and gasped, trying to get his breath back through the tears. There was a hand on his shoulder and one on his face and the one on his shoulder was shaking him. HIs vision cleared and he saw Asami’s face, creased with uncharacteristic alarm. The hand on his face caressed him and Asami said desperately, “Akihito, stop stop . You’re going to make yourself ill. Can you hear me? I need you to come back to me. Akihito .”
“I’m here,” choked Akihito. “I can hear you.” He was crushed to a chest and he could hear Asami’s heartbeat, faster than normal - thump thump thump - and he shuddered in the warmth and comfort.
“I’m sorry,” Asami said, which was ridiculous because it wasn’t Asami who should be apologising. “I was warned against trying something like this so quickly and I… no, there’s no excuse. I’m sorry, Akihito,” as if the first time wasn’t bad enough .
“Stop.” Akihito said, voice muffled by Asami’s shirt and chest. Wonder of wonders, Asami actually did. Akihito found that his voice was back under a semblance of control and the violent sobs were gone. He felt drained and lighter. He felt strong enough to say what he needed to say.
And so he said it.
“You asked why I wasn’t talking to you, Asami and the truth is… I can’t. I can’t. After everything I did, I can’t. How can I?” His voice hitched but Asami’s heartbeat was now steady in his ear and that fact absurdly gave him strength. “I… whatever might have happened to me happened but that doesn’t change the fact that I tried to kill you . And I might have, because you were hurt and you trusted me. And I would have, except your friend stopped me.”
He felt Asami’s hands come to rest around his head and he felt a slight pressure. But he resisted because he’s still not quite as brave to say what he wanted to say while looking at Asami.
And he doesn’t know how long he’s going to get this warmth. Perhaps this is the last time. He’ll take it.
“I’d rather go to Kuroda and talk to him and… and have him know. I know that means that eventually you’ll know too and this is just stupid but I, Asami, I don’t know how to do this. I want to do this right. I… I don’t want to run even though that’s actually all I want. I know if you know it’ll break… this . Us . But I have to. I have to know what I did and how I hurt you and how it can be fixed and if it means going away forever, I’ll do that too.”
There was silence and when it stretched for too long, Akihito trembled and asked, “Are… you’re not going to say anything?”
“I would,” Asami said and there was an inflection in his voice that Akihito couldn’t quite place. “But I need you to look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Akihito tore himself away from Asami’s shirtfront and looked up at Asami. Asami who looked down at him with undisguised affection and sorrow intertwined in one.
“Asami?” Akihito asked.
“What would you say, I wonder.” Asami said and that note in his voice was more pronounced than ever. His eyes were dark and he brushed back a strand of Akihito’s hair. “What would you say, if I told you that if you did what you did to me at Warsaw with your reasoning intact, that even then I would never hold it against you? That, I think, in some ways you would be justified?”
Akihito looked at him in bewilderment. He felt horror and a strange mix of dread and pain and knew it must show. Asami smiled sadly and said, “I’m not a fool, Akihito. How we began, you and I… is how no one should begin. That you’re still here with me, despite everything, is perhaps proof of who you are rather than who I am.”
Akihito said, numbly, “That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough for me,” Asami said. “Never long enough. And what was done to you in the last few months Akihito, was nothing short of torture.” The arms around him tightened. Asami’s eyes were dark again, frighteningly so. “Nothing you did or happened to you, was your fault. Nothing that happened to me, was your fault. That’s what I told Shinji the other day and that’s what I’m telling you now.”
Akihito could feel the fresh tears returning. He said nothing. Asami sighed and bent down until his forehead nestled against Akihito’s. He said,
“Do you remember what I said to you? When we were on the building and I was shot?”
Of course. Akihito whispered, “I remember.”
“I meant it. Every word.” Asami’s hands came up and his thumbs wiped off the tears. “I meant it, Akihito. And I mean everything I said now.”
Akihito’s eyes drifted over to the white pale wound on Asami’s neck. Asami noticed and took his hand. He rested it over the wound and said, “It’s healed. It’s gone. It doesn’t hurt me, I promise.”
Akihito swallowed. He said, “I don’t know how long it’ll take for me to be okay.”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” said Asami.
#
They’re walking down the road. It’s evening and it’s New Years’ Eve. A few steps and the younger man stops. A cyclist passed him by and the rough sound of wheels on asphalt reminds him of… something. A room, white walls. He feels the walls threaten to overwhelm him and so he closes his eyes and breaths.
There is softness around his ears and he opens his eyes in surprise. The older man stands in front of him, blocking out the world and is holding his hands over the other man’s ears. He takes them away as Akihito looks up at him.
“Better?” Asami asks quietly.
The ebb and flow of the world is not very far away, but yet quieter somehow. Akihito takes Asami’s hand and kisses it, says.
“Yes.”
They continue walking.