[fic] At the Stars 15/? | the somewhat PG-13 installment
i apologize in advance, this is very raw. should fix this later. extra-long installment, and still not the end!
in the meantime, if you're a Tiger & Bunny fan, have a highly improbable drabble.
unrelated: i think i might be in love with neil jordan.
At the Stars
Part 15
He's always liked you. From the start.
The words rang in his head. He wished they didn't. He wished he could think more clearly at this precise moment.
That machine in there... he had to find a way to shut it down. If only he were sure there was a way to do it without killing all of them, or doing something equally stupid...
If he were younger, there would have been no question; he would've smashed it with a sword. Or a rock. Or his bare hands.
But then, if he were younger, he would have had his friends with and behind him. Touma would have been helping him destroy such machines, not building them. Seiji would not have been ill.
None of this would have happened.
Ryo's steps had dragged as he made his way back to the cave. When he finally got back to the entrance, he realized he couldn't go in there, not yet. He didn't want to face that thing inside, though he would have to, eventually.
He looked up. Late at night the stars seemed to burn brighter than ever. They offered no solace at this time, however, no peace of mind or sage advice.
He could think better if only he didn't feel more. He kept telling himself this. If he were only less emotional, he would be able to function. If only there was someone else around him at this moment to keep him calm...
No. It was no use thinking of that. He didn't have anyone to count on, now. Touma was the one who had stranded him here.
Although - that wasn't exactly true. He'd left Ryo a fully charged mobile phone. Ryo could call for help. He could call the police.
Sitting on the ground beside the cave entrance, Ryo found himself reaching into his pocket for Touma's mobile. He flipped it open and stared at the lit screen absently.
What Touma had left him was, in fact, a world of trust. Ryo had in his hand something that could bring Touma to account, finally, for everything that's ever happened and is going to happen.
And Touma knew full well that Ryo wasn't going to use it.
If Touma's judgment were left to the people who didn't know him, they were going to destroy him. They were going to call him a freak, a monster, something that should've been killed in the womb or strangled at the cradle. They had forgotten that he had fought for them once, staked his very life on their salvation - and even if they remembered, it wouldn't matter.
That he could play with lives like this ultimately made him something to fear.
And if Shuu knew... Ryo almost couldn't bear to think about it. But it was bound to happen, if the issue ever came to light: Shuu would know, and he would condemn Touma, too. No matter how much he loved Touma as a friend, no matter how thoroughly he would despise what had happened, it would take a very long time before he could forgive Touma for what he had done.
To Shin. To Seiji.
And to anyone else who may have been in his way.
Ryo couldn't even call Shuu. The thought made him even more despondent. It had always been just the five of them, and now...
I'm the one who's going to lose him, not you.
Ryo dropped the phone without flipping it shut first. He didn't care at the moment if it was going to be damaged or run out of power. Useless, hateful thing.
His now-empty hands balled into fists. His fingernails dug into his palms so hard his hands shook.
He was here to fix things. He had come to help.
But repeating this to himself just seemed to make things worse. Touma had said so: Touma had said he had expected Ryo to come when he called.
He'd played into Touma's hands because he didn't know any better.
Despite Ryo's best efforts, the demands of the "now" started slipping away from him. He could no longer think of how to destroy the machine, or how to get help, or how to keep things from falling apart; in his heart, he knew things had already fallen apart, had fallen apart a long time ago - and he was to blame.
If he'd been smarter... if he'd been smarter since ages ago, none of this would have happened. If he were only more aware of his surroundings as a teenager, he would've known that what Touma was saying was true. He didn't have to suspect that Touma was manipulating him again, this time.
Seiji liked him.
Not just as a friend, not just as a sort of "leader" (as if their little gang had such a thing), and not just as a fellow soldier. Seiji liked him. All the enigmatic silences and loaded conversations that had somehow fallen between them while they were growing up were slowly and painfully making sense. All those times Seiji looked out for him, put his own life on the line first and without question.
All those books, all that stuff he's written - they were all letters, addressed to you.
It took a long time to write, and it was a good story that everyone liked - about a young, dashing feudal lord and his four precocious friends. There were declarations of love and loyalty undying, strange for men to give out in this day and age but not, Seiji had noted, in those olden days, in that long-lost age of heroes that nobody remembered anymore.
If Ryo had only looked more closely, like he should've, it was little more than a story about a boy: about a brave, stupid boy, and the friends who rallied around him. The boy who always charged ahead without thinking. And the other boy who had sworn to protect him no matter what the cost. This other boy later liked the intelligent friend who saved the brave, stupid boy's ass the most times, as well - but never forgot his oath.
Seiji, proud Seiji, proper Seiji...
How hard it must have been for him to keep writing. To confess to strangers, instead of the one person to whom he couldn't confess, for years and years.
He had never written Ryo any letters. Or sent any postcards. Though he'd written letters - traditional, properly written ones - for everyone else... for Ryo, he'd only written books.
But if Ryo had only known...
How hard it must have been for Touma, too, watching Seiji all that time... ("Emotions that had been there from the start," Seiji had said. But whose emotions had he meant?)
Frustration ate away at him. A familiar white-hot rage blazed behind his eyes. He was only barely aware that his hands had not uncurled from the tight fists they had turned into, and that they were striking the ground hard, too hard.
Ryo brought his fists up to his eyes, in a vain effort to hold the burning back, but it was uncontrollable.
This was his fault.
All of it.
Touma thought of a number of ways this could go down.
Seiji could be asleep. It was, after all, close to midnight. He could be needing rest, after having overexerted himself. Touma knew he would certainly overexert his body, if he suddenly found it mobile again after months of disuse...
Or Seiji could be awake. Awake and writing. Or passing time in the year-round warmth of his beloved greenhouse, waiting serenely for Ryo to come home.
Or Seiji could be not here. He knew he should have called before coming back, one last call at his mobile before handing it over to Ryo - but he was not in any condition to hear Seiji's voice back then. He still wasn't sure he was in any condition now.
Seiji could be at the hospital, staying with Shin and Shuu. Seiji could be in someone else's apartment room, carrying on a pleasant midnight conversation with a neighbor. He could be out having sex with strangers to celebrate regaining control of his libido. Or he could have gotten into some sort of accident and was lying in a ditch somewhere.
Touma thought about the many things he wanted to say and do. And how to behave. He was still trying to convince himself at the front door to their apartment that it was best to act completely innocent. He was normally used to having a lot of thoughts in his head all at once, but this time they weighed on him like the last musings of someone about to get his head chopped off.
He unlocked the door and mumbled "Tadaima." as he was stepping in.
He felt rather than saw Seiji step up to him as he closed and locked the door again.
He didn't turn around. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't he aching to see Seiji all throughout the trip home?
"Okaeri," Seiji murmured, making Touma catch his breath.
He felt Seiji's hand on his shoulder. Seiji's arms wrapping around him and the warmth of Seiji's body holding him close.
The warmth was almost too much for him.
"It worked," he said in a strangled voice, "It worked."
"It did," Seiji answered.
There was no need to explain anything then. Touma turned around and trapped Seiji in the hardest embrace he could muster. Together they stood behind the locked door, arms around each other, unsteady on their legs with the force of each other's presence.
They said nothing for a long, long time.
Ryo wasn't able to sleep.
When he couldn't stop them, Touma's voice saying hurtful things rang in his head. So Ryo tried to think of something else, something useful -
Like how to destroy this cruel machine, this testament to his friend's brilliance.
Ryo stood before the wires and panels, shoulders hunched and back to the wall. To anyone watching him at the moment, his eyes seemed to reflect the light from the glowing spheres emptily, making him look resigned to some unknown fate.
But behind those eyes his mind worked tirelessly.
He turned his distant gaze around the room, and tried to focus on something he could use.
Touma had apparently been camping out here for a while. There was a sleeping bag in a state of disarray. Various provisions and supplies, including tools, canned food and a well-used first aid kit, were dumped into a crate near the bag.
The preparations had been disorganized and hurried, but complete. It made Ryo shake his head. Very psycho killer, my friend.
The machine itself was quite a piece of work. It was put together hurriedly, but it was self-powered, with a very intricate design. At one time Ryo would decide that this cable was connected to whatever main power source was at the machine's core... and later he would find that that cable seemed to serve another purpose, and there were other wires that seemed just as essential.
Were there any blueprints, clues on how to turn the machine off? Ryo had rummaged through everything, and he hadn't found a single piece of documentation. If Touma ever made notes while building the machine, he left no trace of them. He must have kept all the information locked safely away in his head.
But Ryo knew that for the celebrated "human calculator", this was not very difficult. He might have needed to keep notes for his medical research only because his brain was already busy putting this secret plan together... but if he hadn't had a secret plan in the first place, he might never have needed notes at all.
There wasn't even any paper, nothing to write on, or to burn to make a smoke signal (unless he could find some way to blow up the machine... either way, it would not be wise to draw attention). In fact there was no other way to contact the outside world except through the mobile phone Touma had left him. And there were no clues on the phone, not a single one.
It was tiring to say the least, playing detective on little rest and with such limited resources, but Ryo had one day to find a way to fix things. One whole day to figure out a way to do what was right, as he'd promised Seiji.
And he was damned if he wasn't going to keep his promises.
Seiji wasn't able to sleep. First light found him sitting in the living room, his notebook lying closed on his lap. In his right hand he lightly held a pen, but that hand and that pen stayed motionless.
Touma was home. And Ryo was gone. And Touma hadn't even asked about Ryo before going to bed, leading Seiji to realize that he knew where Ryo was, because it wasn't like Touma to forget to ask, or not to give a damn.
And Seiji wasn't all that eager to go back to sleep. He was sick of lying down. He could have written more, his latest novel was miles away from being finished, but there was nothing left to write.
Touma wasn't able to sleep, either. He'd said he was tired, but he couldn't seem to stay in bed. They talked all night instead, with Touma asking after recent events, and avoiding the few questions that Seiji threw in his direction.
Something was deeply troubling him. Seiji was able to sense that much. He could accept it if Touma didn't want to sleep with him just yet, because Touma said he was still in a delicate state after his long illness, and there was no telling what overexertion would do to him, even if his body was functioning normally on all counts.
Still, something felt very wrong.
Touma approached him from behind the couch and planted a light kiss in his hair. Having eaten, showered, and lounged in familiar surroundings, Touma emanated relaxation. It was almost like he was back to his old self, back when Seiji's health had not taken a turn for the worse, back when they weren't arguing as often.
It almost hurt Seiji to remember. And it felt even more wrong, reconciling those memories with what was happening now.
Touma shouldn't be this calm. He shouldn't be this desperate to be calm.
"Shuu's probably still at the hospital," Touma whispered. "Won't he be surprised if we go and visit them first thing tomorrow."
Seiji said nothing. Touma walked round the couch and sat beside him, worry at this lack of response clear on his face.
"But we don't have to go to see them," he eagerly assured. "We'll go wherever you want."
Even with Touma sitting here, so close by, it felt like there was an impenetrable veil between them - an invisible veil that kept Touma from telling him everything. And from Seiji asking.
"Don't you want to see your parents? We can get there in no time by bullet train. We can stay there all day if you want, I just have to - "
"No." Seiji said softly through that veil. "Don't go anywhere. Don't leave again."
It got through. The barrier between them was still there, but thinner now. Touma reached for his hand, held it tightly.
"I won't."
Morning came, and with it Ryo's decision.
He wasn't going to bloody well do what Touma said.
Touma had said he wanted the blue sphere deactivated. All Ryo had to do was push the blue button and it would happen.
But he wasn't going to push that button. It wasn't the only button in the world, after all, was it?
Maybe it was his anguished brain wreaking havoc on his decision-making skills, but he found himself dead sure. More sure than he had ever been sure of anything in a while.
In fact, it was the only option that made any sense.
A sort of peace came upon him, the most welcome feeling in the world right now. He sat on the sleeping bag facing the machine, a new determination filling his eyes with light.
He would wait for Touma's call. Whether or not Touma called, he would wait 24 hours - exactly one whole day, as he had been asked. The clock on the mobile phone Touma had left him read that he still had half a day to go.
He only wished he could spend the little time he had left writing goodbye notes to everyone.
As the day drew on, Touma became more and more restless.
It was their last day together, and nothing was happening. The first thing Seiji did after breakfast was to call up his family in Sendai and spend some good hours racking up long-distance bills.
(If members of the Date family ever got emotional, they never got "emotional" in the ordinary sense. It was a given. Their conversations consisted mainly of meaningful pauses and curt, well-formed sentences, with only subtle changes to Seiji's facial expression - a hint of a smile, a flash of pain - to indicate any changes in feeling. His brow was knitted all throughout his conversation with his grandfather, with whom he seemed to exhaust all the politeness in his arsenal.
(The closest it came to "normal" was when Seiji heard from his youngest sister, the spitfire Satsuki, who never watered herself down or held anything back. Touma could hear her crying and cursing her "Baka-Oniisan" out loudly, though she wasn't on speakerphone. Seiji's voice shook briefly as he assured her that he had not meant to worry her, or any of them. He had been ill. Things had been difficult for him, too, and he was grateful for his family's understanding, especially his little sister's.
(He never said when he was coming home. He never fully explained what had happened, and what was happening. "Please give my regards to everyone," he had simply said. And after he put down the phone he sat staring at it for a long time, as if wondering if he should pick it up again.
(He eventually did, but it was to contact Touma's parents, with whom he had what the baffled Touma could only identify as a "weird rapport." They'd both already taken him in as "like a brother to my son," after all, and they were both happy to hear from him after so long, though their busy schedules would not allow for the kind of pleasantries he was used to dispensing.)
After making his phone calls, Seiji refused an invitation from Touma to go out and see Shin and Shuu at the hospital, or to visit the cafe downstairs they used to enjoy hanging out in, or just to go out and do something, anything.
Seiji said he wanted to stay in and take care of his bonsai.
Nothing was happening.
In his overactive brain, Touma started to put together that Seiji was stalling. He seemed placid enough, but Touma wondered if it was because he was waiting for something - for when Ryo came home, perhaps, or for Touma to do something drastic. He meant for this to happen, Touma was sure - he fully intended to drive Touma crazy with this unusual idleness.
But Touma's hands were tied. It was their last day together, and he couldn't even say it aloud.
If Seiji only knew.
He wished he'd thought this through. He hadn't made provisions for Seiji not itching to leave the house, in spite of being stuck in it for months. He hadn't counted on not being able to debate with Seiji over the importance of Going Out and Enjoying Life, because what he wanted to do was make Seiji feel like he had all the time in the world to do just that.
By all rights, Seiji did have all the time in the world now.
Touma and Shin did not.
A day. He'd only asked Ryo for a day. But "a day" was 24 hours stolen from someone else. Every second made Shin's body weaker, made him less able to provide the energy that Seiji was using to stay on his feet.
If he got too weak, only one thing would happen: Ryo would not need to press the blue button.
Shin's body would give up, and he would transfer all his energy to Seiji and die.
And Touma couldn't let that happen.
As a medical doctor, he'd projected that Shin would take several days before he actually grew too weak for that... but he should make allowances for errors in calculation. He had been slipping up too much already. Also, as Shin's friend, he didn't want Shin to languish. He should restore Shin to full health, the way he did with Shuu, as soon as he could.
All he truly knew was that he wanted to spend his last day on Earth with the person he loved the most. But if the universe was going to deny him that...
Well, he probably deserved it.
The thought made him feel numb, dampened his resentment. That's right - he deserved it. He'd fucked up. One good day with Seiji was too much for him to ask for.
In a way, it made it easier for him to do what he had to do next.
The afternoon came more quickly than he could've liked. It was almost time. He picked up the cordless extension of their landline and moved to the balcony, shut the door behind him so that Seiji, who was reading indoors, wouldn't hear.
The mobile phone rang. Ryo picked it up and flipped it open in automatic motions.
Neither of them greeted first.
After a considerable silence, Touma chuckled, "I guess I don't get any points for being early, for once."
Ryo didn't reply. He remained sitting where he was, one hand holding a pen, the other holding the phone up to his ear.
He heard Touma sigh on the other end of the line. There was some wind muffling Touma's voice; he must be in a high place. "Ryo, he said with a familiar gentleness, "once again, I place all my bets on you."
Touma might as well have been talking to an answering machine. Still no answer.
"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I want you to understand that. It doesn't have to be now, but I hope you do. And I hope that you'll forgive me then.
"You know how... you see evil as a kid, you see people hurting others to get what they want... and then you tell yourself you'll never be like that. You'll never, ever put your own desires before other people. And you'll stop others from becoming evil, while you live and breathe. Nothing will ever be dear enough to you to make you forget what's important and what's right."
His voice was steady and he was sounding like an old man again. He must've gotten some rest, Ryo told himself... which was good.
"But you grow up and... things aren't simple. 'What's important' and 'what's right' changes over time. And they stop being clear and precise. You have to figure things out for yourself, and when you do that, you have to make mistakes." A pause. "I know you think you could've stopped me... talked me out of it, helped me see things another way. I know that's what friends do, or believe they're supposed to do. But I couldn't have talked to you, Ryo. Or to anyone. Not about this."
Not me, Ryo thought, because of what Seiji felt about me. If you're trying to make me feel less guilty, Touma, it's not working.
"That's why I don't blame you if you hate me."
I don't.
"If I were you, I'd forget we were ever friends."
Never. I would never.
"What I'm asking you to do right now... is unforgivable. But you can't NOT do it." A sad smile, all the way down the wire. "Because you have to stop other people from becoming evil. While you live and breathe."
It was different being told this by someone who'd known him since he was a child. If it had been from anyone else, it would have sounded like a noble task or birthright. But from someone like Touma, it sounded like a flaw - a defect that was present in them both, after having shared the same supernatural womb.
"It's useless to deny it, Ryo, or to wish things had gone differently. I can't live with having done all this. And because I've done it once, I can do it again. It has to end."
"You're wrong."
It was the most honest that Touma had ever been with him, since the time he called together all his friends to explain Seiji's illness. Ryo had not wanted to interrupt. But sometimes his body did things that he didn't approve of, and then all that was left was to go with the flow.
"You wouldn't do it again. Look... I'm still trying to get my mind around you doing it in the first place!"
Maybe not the best choice of words. Ryo could already feel the soul-crushing retort forming on Touma's lips.
"You're not evil," he said with finality. "You've said so yourself: this isn't the sort of thing you'd usually turn to. Even if you could do this again - you'd stop. Without anybody having to stop you."
"That sounds like something Shin would say," Touma acidly remarked. "You remember what I've done to him, don't you?"
He didn't have to bring that up, but Ryo would be falling into Touma's trap again if he let it get to him. "Touma... everyone makes mistakes."
Touma was silent. Perhaps formulating another stinging response. Perhaps caught by surprise by the sudden kindness, and was still busy processing. Ryo decided to move on to something else, regardless.
"Touma, tell me... what have you been dreaming about?"
Still silence. But Ryo heard Touma starting to speak, wanting to answer this.
"I... I've been having these dreams, but I never paid any attention to them. I thought... it was just my subconscious taking me back to Seiji's books."
There it was. So it wasn't just Seiji and Ryo and Shuu. The dream was something they all experienced. Was it because of the machine...?
But if it was, Touma gave no sign of knowing about it. It may have been an unforeseen side effect of his meddling with youja energies. It may also have been the remnants of their virtues, or their Trooper instincts, trying to tell them something.
Ryo wondered what Shin was dreaming about at that moment.
"Last night... I - never mind. It's not important. Dreams are just dreams, Ryo, and we're too old to - "
He cut himself off abruptly. Touma had put his hand on the receiver - Ryo could tell because all the noise, even the wind in the background, had suddenly become muffled.
When Touma came back again, he spoke in a hurried whisper: "I have to go. You have to listen carefully."
He proceeded to rattle off another set of directions to Ryo - mostly reminders on what he was supposed to do with the button. The damned blue button. At precisely 7:30 PM, Ryo was to press that button. It was still 5:30 PM, so Touma had a good two hours to get himself out of Tokyo - as far away from Seiji as he could get.
"I won't have a phone with me, so I'll have to rely on you to keep the time. I don't want Seiji to have to see it happen. I've made arrangements for all my assets to be transferred to you. Ryo, take care of him." His voice might have broken here, if he hadn't caught it in time. He took a deep breath and continued, "I've also arranged for my body to be found within a set timeframe. You don't need to know the details. Don't try looking for me because you won't find me.
"And when you come back to him, tell him... tell him I've gone. That's all. And tell him," Touma hesitated. "Tell him I'd give anything so that he can be happy."
Ryo closed his eyes. "I'd give anything" were words that cut into his very soul, but he was not sure why, and could not elaborate.
Touma ended the call without waiting for Ryo to reply.
"Sorry," he announced as he stepped into the room. "Just needed some fresh air."
Seiji frowned as he met Touma's gaze.
"You could've made that call in here," he pointed out. "It's getting cold. Might rain tonight."
"Yeah." Touma strode past him. "Don't worry, I'll bring an umbrella."
Touma put the cordless phone back in its cradle, while Seiji stood dumbfounded. How casually Touma had said that, after having been gone for ages and back home for barely a day. And how casually he was going around the house to pick up things he would normally bring on a grocery trip, sans the car keys - his wallet, his ID cards (where was his cell phone?).
"You're going out?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah." Touma sat on the couch to put on fresh socks, going-out socks. "Just... stepping out for a bit. Something I have to take care of."
Seiji was silent. Touma knew what such silences meant, but he was determined not to mind it. He had to keep things light; he wasn't going to leave Seiji fuming.
"I'll bring back a few of those green tea cakes you liked," he continued. It was a struggle to pretend to be his obnoxious, insensitive younger self, but in his mind, it was for the best. "The ones from downtown. Don't you miss those? What are they called again...?"
He felt hands grip his shoulders - strong, long-fingered hands, an artist's hands. Those hands gently pulled him upright, forcing him to square his shoulders and tilt his head back.
"Hey, what - "
The rest of it got drowned out by Seiji's lips sealing his own shut.
That kiss tore off all of Touma's pretenses. Touma felt himself melting into it, sitting helpless while all his defences melted away.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily, and Touma caught himself arching up, seeking the warmth of those lips again. to So long. It had been so long.
"This 'something' you have to take care of," Seiji murmured, running a fingertip along Touma's jawline. "it can wait a while, right?"
There was nothing at all in Touma's psycho killer cave to write letters with, so Ryo had to content himself with making them all up in his mind.
Dad, one letter began, I know I haven't been the best kid. I know you had big dreams for me. But you only ever told me to "follow your heart" and for that, I am grateful.
He'd included a mental postcard there - a photograph he'd taken of a male wild antelope grooming a small buck. His father had not attended the exhibit where that one was shown. Ryo had always meant to send that specific photo to him. He would've gotten a kick out of that.
And while these thoughts occupied him, Ryo's gaze remained fixed on the big button under the red sphere.
There was only one red sphere. It could only belong to one person. Ryo even imagined that it resonated with him, flickered as his own resolve wavered.
He wished again that he could have been more eloquent. Like Seiji. Sure there was nothing to write with, but it must have been comforting to at least have the words down right in one's own head...
Shin and Shuu, another letter said, I'm lucky to have met you. All of you. He wanted to say he was sorry for having troubled them - and that he was sorry to have troubled Shin more. But the fact was whatever hurt Shin, was likely to have hurt Shuu more. He knew this as well.
To his surprise, the most eloquent he could become was in his imaginary letter to Nasuti. It started with an apology, then drew on to how he knew that she could have helped them all through the problems they were facing... but he didn't approach her. He had chosen not to trouble her. She was happy, he felt, and that meant she had the right to be kept out of their screwups. She had always been their "big sister," but there was no way she could have helped, not with this.
(Even as he "wrote" this, he imagined her getting angry - quietly, in her oddly mature way - and telling him he was being a fool. None of them should've attempted taking this on alone. She would still have been their friend even if she couldn't have done anything, and keeping her out of the loop was not fair.
(Then again, her stating this truth would mean nothing; nothing about that entire situation was fair.)
And then, Touma, the new letter began...
But there was nothing. Nothing he wanted to say. Nothing about how he'd always looked up to Touma, as a friend and as a fellow soldier, for all those years. Nothing about how he wished he and Seiji could continue to be happy together. And how he wanted to tell Touma that none of this was his fault, how he didn't deserve the blame for any of it.
He didn't have anything to say to Touma. Not in a letter. Everything he had to say to Touma, he had to say to his face. Which was stupid, because they would never see each other again... but it still felt for some reason like it would be easier for Touma to misunderstand him if they weren't facing each other.
And then, Seiji.
Ryo almost broke down at that point. There was so much to say. Most of it started with "Sorry." Sorry for not having an idea, sorry for not being able to understand, and sorry for meddling and making things worse.
"If I'd known, I could've told you I wasn't worth it."
It was almost the appointed time. Ryo had to tell himself to get it all together. There was no time left to try and change the course of events, or to run away from this responsibility he had voluntarily taken on.
All that was left was to do the right thing.
So long. Touma had almost forgotten. Seiji's touch, Seiji's smell, the taste of sweat on Seiji's skin, washed over him like light, blinding his thoughts to anything else.
Seiji was here, Seiji was well, and Seiji was smiling at him. There was no way he could tell himself this wasn't everything he'd been working for, for the past five years.
But it wasn't as if Touma had been hoping for this to happen. In fact, he was hoping it would not. There were a couple of very good reasons:
One: Seiji was making love to Touma with Shin's energy. Touma had been afraid, deathly afraid, that if he kissed Seiji he would taste Shin there... but as soon as Seiji's lips touched his that first time, he hadn't even thought of Shin - which, he supposed, was a good sign.
It took effort for him to forget about Shin, especially at the start, when he looked for Shin in every sigh, every word whispered into his ear. With every flicker of his tongue, he looked for a different taste, the taste of someone he didn't know this intimately.
(Why he had to be such a pervert, he did not know.)
But the apprehensions vanished after a while. Touma soon forgot why he had it in the first place. Of course Shin wouldn't be there, or anywhere; the one who used the energy to move would be the only one present; he would be the only tactile thing.
Two: The last person to touch him before this was Ryo - another thing he had not intended to happen. But as in this, he wasn't able to put a stop to it when it happened. He hadn't known that he had become so weak against touch, until it was forced upon him. He was never getting another massage, ever.
...And now when Seiji's fingers wander to that spot on his lower back, the spot Seiji knew was unusually sensitive, turning him on every. Damn. Time, he thought of Ryo's hands coming across that area of his skin completely by accident.
Ryo's hands... had not been rough. In fact, they had been surprisingly gentle, for someone who'd lived most of his professional life among wild creatures. It was just as Seiji's hands had been surprisingly gentle that first time, for someone who'd lived most of his young life handling heavy killing implements. Thus Ryo's hands couldn't help but be memorable; like Seiji's, they had innocently burned their imprint into Touma's skin.
But sometimes Touma did not like it gentle, and only Seiji knew when those times were. So the imprint that Ryo had left could be reluctantly set aside for this moment. A single occasion was no cause for an obsession, after all.
Three: It was almost 7 PM. Having become keenly aware of time and how little of it was available at any given moment, Touma had acquired the habit of keeping score of the hour, at the back of his head. In a few minutes it would be too late to go anywhere. It would be overly indulgent to stay any longer.
But it felt so good.
Seiji was taking his sweet time. It wasn't a teasing pace, Touma knew what "teasing" was on Seiji's terms... but he was definitely making it last. He pulled his hand back when Touma was about to come, and pushed away, demanded to wait, when he was about to come.
Touma couldn't help but be responsive. God knew he was surprised to learn he was this receptive at the start... and God knew he was surprised to find that he still was, after all this time. He dared to think of where Seiji got the strength to hold back, after being virtually immobile for so long - and then Seiji's lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he stopped thinking altogether.
Touma knew he had no time. He knew he didn't deserve this.
But he wanted this so much.
The cell phone alarm beeped. It was 7:30 PM.
Ryo threw his entire weight down upon the red button. He emitted a grunt, and the machine emitted...
Nothing.
Nothing happened.
He tried pushing the button again. And again. Still, nothing.
Ryo let out an angry yell. He bashed his fists against the panels of the machine that were within reach. When that did nothing at all, he turned his rage onto the nearest available thing, which was the mobile phone that was still beeping, after giving that fateful alert.
Ryo threw the phone against the wall, shattering it. The beeping stopped.
But it was useless.
Touma had locked the machine. He had made it so Ryo would have no choice but to press the blue button, the one that would end his life, and transfer all of his energy to Seiji.
You knew. You knew I was going to try this.
But it was even more useless to dwell. Ryo knew Touma was smart enough for this, and he didn't have time. He wasn't about to go randomly pressing all the other buttons to see if they were all locked; the red button was the only real option.
So he had to think.
He had to think hard.
Images started to flash in his mind. He was a photographer, after all, and he couldn't help it. He had to look for visual cues - anything from his memory that could help him resolve this.
Memories of Shin standing under an umbrella in the rain, Touma lying on his couch unconscious, the first time he saw Seiji again after five long years, flickered past in lightspeed. Ryo was wired to resort to razor-sharp hindsight.
He needed NOT to panic, he needed to think, but a whole film reel of images was going through his head - quite like how it would be, he supposed, for a person about to die, who sees his entire life flash before his eyes.
Then, he saw it: a single scene. One that somehow stuck into his photographer's mind:
Touma with his back to Ryo, fiddling with a specific panel on his machine. His fingers followed a sequence...
Wait. That was too fast. Ryo replayed the scene in his head. He tried to set a videographers controls to it - slow. Pause. Rewind. Fast forward.
Slow.
Yes. There it was.
Ryo had been there, he had witnessed Touma entering a certain code into a certain keypad on a certain panel on his dire machine... Ryo had just not paid attention while it was happening. Now that he could look back - as a photographer looks back, with crystal clarity, at priceless photographs he had NOT been able to take - the scene held no more secrets for him.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
His fingers followed the sequence that he saw. There was no room for error. He knew what he had seen - his eyes had preserved it.
There was a loud chime.
And Ryo knew he had entered the right combination.
It was already several minutes past 7:30 PM. Touma must have been trying to phone him by now. But since the thing was smashed to bits, it was probably not worth it to feel bad about missing a call.
There was no time.
Ryo positioned himself before the red button again. And, eyes shut, breath held, he pushed down on the button with the palm of his right hand. Finally, the button yielded.
Ryo let out a sigh of relief.
It took a while before he felt it: the numbness on his right arm. Slowly the numbness became a paralysis, and he couldn't move his arm any longer.
His legs started to give in, too. He lowered himself to the floor and sat up against the machine, too weak to head to somewhere more comfortable. In an hour, perhaps less, he wouldn't be able to move his entire body. Shuu had told him it felt something like this; he wondered if the feeling had been the same for Shin, if Shin had panicked. He hoped not.
In the meantime, the red sphere started to flicker and lose its light. And the light blue sphere started to regain light. Ryo had to smile upon seeing that.
He wasn't scared. Not one bit.
(to be continued)
in the meantime, if you're a Tiger & Bunny fan, have a highly improbable drabble.
unrelated: i think i might be in love with neil jordan.
At the Stars
Part 15
He's always liked you. From the start.
The words rang in his head. He wished they didn't. He wished he could think more clearly at this precise moment.
That machine in there... he had to find a way to shut it down. If only he were sure there was a way to do it without killing all of them, or doing something equally stupid...
If he were younger, there would have been no question; he would've smashed it with a sword. Or a rock. Or his bare hands.
But then, if he were younger, he would have had his friends with and behind him. Touma would have been helping him destroy such machines, not building them. Seiji would not have been ill.
None of this would have happened.
Ryo's steps had dragged as he made his way back to the cave. When he finally got back to the entrance, he realized he couldn't go in there, not yet. He didn't want to face that thing inside, though he would have to, eventually.
He looked up. Late at night the stars seemed to burn brighter than ever. They offered no solace at this time, however, no peace of mind or sage advice.
He could think better if only he didn't feel more. He kept telling himself this. If he were only less emotional, he would be able to function. If only there was someone else around him at this moment to keep him calm...
No. It was no use thinking of that. He didn't have anyone to count on, now. Touma was the one who had stranded him here.
Although - that wasn't exactly true. He'd left Ryo a fully charged mobile phone. Ryo could call for help. He could call the police.
Sitting on the ground beside the cave entrance, Ryo found himself reaching into his pocket for Touma's mobile. He flipped it open and stared at the lit screen absently.
What Touma had left him was, in fact, a world of trust. Ryo had in his hand something that could bring Touma to account, finally, for everything that's ever happened and is going to happen.
And Touma knew full well that Ryo wasn't going to use it.
If Touma's judgment were left to the people who didn't know him, they were going to destroy him. They were going to call him a freak, a monster, something that should've been killed in the womb or strangled at the cradle. They had forgotten that he had fought for them once, staked his very life on their salvation - and even if they remembered, it wouldn't matter.
That he could play with lives like this ultimately made him something to fear.
And if Shuu knew... Ryo almost couldn't bear to think about it. But it was bound to happen, if the issue ever came to light: Shuu would know, and he would condemn Touma, too. No matter how much he loved Touma as a friend, no matter how thoroughly he would despise what had happened, it would take a very long time before he could forgive Touma for what he had done.
To Shin. To Seiji.
And to anyone else who may have been in his way.
Ryo couldn't even call Shuu. The thought made him even more despondent. It had always been just the five of them, and now...
I'm the one who's going to lose him, not you.
Ryo dropped the phone without flipping it shut first. He didn't care at the moment if it was going to be damaged or run out of power. Useless, hateful thing.
His now-empty hands balled into fists. His fingernails dug into his palms so hard his hands shook.
He was here to fix things. He had come to help.
But repeating this to himself just seemed to make things worse. Touma had said so: Touma had said he had expected Ryo to come when he called.
He'd played into Touma's hands because he didn't know any better.
Despite Ryo's best efforts, the demands of the "now" started slipping away from him. He could no longer think of how to destroy the machine, or how to get help, or how to keep things from falling apart; in his heart, he knew things had already fallen apart, had fallen apart a long time ago - and he was to blame.
If he'd been smarter... if he'd been smarter since ages ago, none of this would have happened. If he were only more aware of his surroundings as a teenager, he would've known that what Touma was saying was true. He didn't have to suspect that Touma was manipulating him again, this time.
Seiji liked him.
Not just as a friend, not just as a sort of "leader" (as if their little gang had such a thing), and not just as a fellow soldier. Seiji liked him. All the enigmatic silences and loaded conversations that had somehow fallen between them while they were growing up were slowly and painfully making sense. All those times Seiji looked out for him, put his own life on the line first and without question.
All those books, all that stuff he's written - they were all letters, addressed to you.
It took a long time to write, and it was a good story that everyone liked - about a young, dashing feudal lord and his four precocious friends. There were declarations of love and loyalty undying, strange for men to give out in this day and age but not, Seiji had noted, in those olden days, in that long-lost age of heroes that nobody remembered anymore.
If Ryo had only looked more closely, like he should've, it was little more than a story about a boy: about a brave, stupid boy, and the friends who rallied around him. The boy who always charged ahead without thinking. And the other boy who had sworn to protect him no matter what the cost. This other boy later liked the intelligent friend who saved the brave, stupid boy's ass the most times, as well - but never forgot his oath.
Seiji, proud Seiji, proper Seiji...
How hard it must have been for him to keep writing. To confess to strangers, instead of the one person to whom he couldn't confess, for years and years.
He had never written Ryo any letters. Or sent any postcards. Though he'd written letters - traditional, properly written ones - for everyone else... for Ryo, he'd only written books.
But if Ryo had only known...
How hard it must have been for Touma, too, watching Seiji all that time... ("Emotions that had been there from the start," Seiji had said. But whose emotions had he meant?)
Frustration ate away at him. A familiar white-hot rage blazed behind his eyes. He was only barely aware that his hands had not uncurled from the tight fists they had turned into, and that they were striking the ground hard, too hard.
Ryo brought his fists up to his eyes, in a vain effort to hold the burning back, but it was uncontrollable.
This was his fault.
All of it.
Touma thought of a number of ways this could go down.
Seiji could be asleep. It was, after all, close to midnight. He could be needing rest, after having overexerted himself. Touma knew he would certainly overexert his body, if he suddenly found it mobile again after months of disuse...
Or Seiji could be awake. Awake and writing. Or passing time in the year-round warmth of his beloved greenhouse, waiting serenely for Ryo to come home.
Or Seiji could be not here. He knew he should have called before coming back, one last call at his mobile before handing it over to Ryo - but he was not in any condition to hear Seiji's voice back then. He still wasn't sure he was in any condition now.
Seiji could be at the hospital, staying with Shin and Shuu. Seiji could be in someone else's apartment room, carrying on a pleasant midnight conversation with a neighbor. He could be out having sex with strangers to celebrate regaining control of his libido. Or he could have gotten into some sort of accident and was lying in a ditch somewhere.
Touma thought about the many things he wanted to say and do. And how to behave. He was still trying to convince himself at the front door to their apartment that it was best to act completely innocent. He was normally used to having a lot of thoughts in his head all at once, but this time they weighed on him like the last musings of someone about to get his head chopped off.
He unlocked the door and mumbled "Tadaima." as he was stepping in.
He felt rather than saw Seiji step up to him as he closed and locked the door again.
He didn't turn around. He wasn't sure why. Wasn't he aching to see Seiji all throughout the trip home?
"Okaeri," Seiji murmured, making Touma catch his breath.
He felt Seiji's hand on his shoulder. Seiji's arms wrapping around him and the warmth of Seiji's body holding him close.
The warmth was almost too much for him.
"It worked," he said in a strangled voice, "It worked."
"It did," Seiji answered.
There was no need to explain anything then. Touma turned around and trapped Seiji in the hardest embrace he could muster. Together they stood behind the locked door, arms around each other, unsteady on their legs with the force of each other's presence.
They said nothing for a long, long time.
Ryo wasn't able to sleep.
When he couldn't stop them, Touma's voice saying hurtful things rang in his head. So Ryo tried to think of something else, something useful -
Like how to destroy this cruel machine, this testament to his friend's brilliance.
Ryo stood before the wires and panels, shoulders hunched and back to the wall. To anyone watching him at the moment, his eyes seemed to reflect the light from the glowing spheres emptily, making him look resigned to some unknown fate.
But behind those eyes his mind worked tirelessly.
He turned his distant gaze around the room, and tried to focus on something he could use.
Touma had apparently been camping out here for a while. There was a sleeping bag in a state of disarray. Various provisions and supplies, including tools, canned food and a well-used first aid kit, were dumped into a crate near the bag.
The preparations had been disorganized and hurried, but complete. It made Ryo shake his head. Very psycho killer, my friend.
The machine itself was quite a piece of work. It was put together hurriedly, but it was self-powered, with a very intricate design. At one time Ryo would decide that this cable was connected to whatever main power source was at the machine's core... and later he would find that that cable seemed to serve another purpose, and there were other wires that seemed just as essential.
Were there any blueprints, clues on how to turn the machine off? Ryo had rummaged through everything, and he hadn't found a single piece of documentation. If Touma ever made notes while building the machine, he left no trace of them. He must have kept all the information locked safely away in his head.
But Ryo knew that for the celebrated "human calculator", this was not very difficult. He might have needed to keep notes for his medical research only because his brain was already busy putting this secret plan together... but if he hadn't had a secret plan in the first place, he might never have needed notes at all.
There wasn't even any paper, nothing to write on, or to burn to make a smoke signal (unless he could find some way to blow up the machine... either way, it would not be wise to draw attention). In fact there was no other way to contact the outside world except through the mobile phone Touma had left him. And there were no clues on the phone, not a single one.
It was tiring to say the least, playing detective on little rest and with such limited resources, but Ryo had one day to find a way to fix things. One whole day to figure out a way to do what was right, as he'd promised Seiji.
And he was damned if he wasn't going to keep his promises.
Seiji wasn't able to sleep. First light found him sitting in the living room, his notebook lying closed on his lap. In his right hand he lightly held a pen, but that hand and that pen stayed motionless.
Touma was home. And Ryo was gone. And Touma hadn't even asked about Ryo before going to bed, leading Seiji to realize that he knew where Ryo was, because it wasn't like Touma to forget to ask, or not to give a damn.
And Seiji wasn't all that eager to go back to sleep. He was sick of lying down. He could have written more, his latest novel was miles away from being finished, but there was nothing left to write.
Touma wasn't able to sleep, either. He'd said he was tired, but he couldn't seem to stay in bed. They talked all night instead, with Touma asking after recent events, and avoiding the few questions that Seiji threw in his direction.
Something was deeply troubling him. Seiji was able to sense that much. He could accept it if Touma didn't want to sleep with him just yet, because Touma said he was still in a delicate state after his long illness, and there was no telling what overexertion would do to him, even if his body was functioning normally on all counts.
Still, something felt very wrong.
Touma approached him from behind the couch and planted a light kiss in his hair. Having eaten, showered, and lounged in familiar surroundings, Touma emanated relaxation. It was almost like he was back to his old self, back when Seiji's health had not taken a turn for the worse, back when they weren't arguing as often.
It almost hurt Seiji to remember. And it felt even more wrong, reconciling those memories with what was happening now.
Touma shouldn't be this calm. He shouldn't be this desperate to be calm.
"Shuu's probably still at the hospital," Touma whispered. "Won't he be surprised if we go and visit them first thing tomorrow."
Seiji said nothing. Touma walked round the couch and sat beside him, worry at this lack of response clear on his face.
"But we don't have to go to see them," he eagerly assured. "We'll go wherever you want."
Even with Touma sitting here, so close by, it felt like there was an impenetrable veil between them - an invisible veil that kept Touma from telling him everything. And from Seiji asking.
"Don't you want to see your parents? We can get there in no time by bullet train. We can stay there all day if you want, I just have to - "
"No." Seiji said softly through that veil. "Don't go anywhere. Don't leave again."
It got through. The barrier between them was still there, but thinner now. Touma reached for his hand, held it tightly.
"I won't."
Morning came, and with it Ryo's decision.
He wasn't going to bloody well do what Touma said.
Touma had said he wanted the blue sphere deactivated. All Ryo had to do was push the blue button and it would happen.
But he wasn't going to push that button. It wasn't the only button in the world, after all, was it?
Maybe it was his anguished brain wreaking havoc on his decision-making skills, but he found himself dead sure. More sure than he had ever been sure of anything in a while.
In fact, it was the only option that made any sense.
A sort of peace came upon him, the most welcome feeling in the world right now. He sat on the sleeping bag facing the machine, a new determination filling his eyes with light.
He would wait for Touma's call. Whether or not Touma called, he would wait 24 hours - exactly one whole day, as he had been asked. The clock on the mobile phone Touma had left him read that he still had half a day to go.
He only wished he could spend the little time he had left writing goodbye notes to everyone.
As the day drew on, Touma became more and more restless.
It was their last day together, and nothing was happening. The first thing Seiji did after breakfast was to call up his family in Sendai and spend some good hours racking up long-distance bills.
(If members of the Date family ever got emotional, they never got "emotional" in the ordinary sense. It was a given. Their conversations consisted mainly of meaningful pauses and curt, well-formed sentences, with only subtle changes to Seiji's facial expression - a hint of a smile, a flash of pain - to indicate any changes in feeling. His brow was knitted all throughout his conversation with his grandfather, with whom he seemed to exhaust all the politeness in his arsenal.
(The closest it came to "normal" was when Seiji heard from his youngest sister, the spitfire Satsuki, who never watered herself down or held anything back. Touma could hear her crying and cursing her "Baka-Oniisan" out loudly, though she wasn't on speakerphone. Seiji's voice shook briefly as he assured her that he had not meant to worry her, or any of them. He had been ill. Things had been difficult for him, too, and he was grateful for his family's understanding, especially his little sister's.
(He never said when he was coming home. He never fully explained what had happened, and what was happening. "Please give my regards to everyone," he had simply said. And after he put down the phone he sat staring at it for a long time, as if wondering if he should pick it up again.
(He eventually did, but it was to contact Touma's parents, with whom he had what the baffled Touma could only identify as a "weird rapport." They'd both already taken him in as "like a brother to my son," after all, and they were both happy to hear from him after so long, though their busy schedules would not allow for the kind of pleasantries he was used to dispensing.)
After making his phone calls, Seiji refused an invitation from Touma to go out and see Shin and Shuu at the hospital, or to visit the cafe downstairs they used to enjoy hanging out in, or just to go out and do something, anything.
Seiji said he wanted to stay in and take care of his bonsai.
Nothing was happening.
In his overactive brain, Touma started to put together that Seiji was stalling. He seemed placid enough, but Touma wondered if it was because he was waiting for something - for when Ryo came home, perhaps, or for Touma to do something drastic. He meant for this to happen, Touma was sure - he fully intended to drive Touma crazy with this unusual idleness.
But Touma's hands were tied. It was their last day together, and he couldn't even say it aloud.
If Seiji only knew.
He wished he'd thought this through. He hadn't made provisions for Seiji not itching to leave the house, in spite of being stuck in it for months. He hadn't counted on not being able to debate with Seiji over the importance of Going Out and Enjoying Life, because what he wanted to do was make Seiji feel like he had all the time in the world to do just that.
By all rights, Seiji did have all the time in the world now.
Touma and Shin did not.
A day. He'd only asked Ryo for a day. But "a day" was 24 hours stolen from someone else. Every second made Shin's body weaker, made him less able to provide the energy that Seiji was using to stay on his feet.
If he got too weak, only one thing would happen: Ryo would not need to press the blue button.
Shin's body would give up, and he would transfer all his energy to Seiji and die.
And Touma couldn't let that happen.
As a medical doctor, he'd projected that Shin would take several days before he actually grew too weak for that... but he should make allowances for errors in calculation. He had been slipping up too much already. Also, as Shin's friend, he didn't want Shin to languish. He should restore Shin to full health, the way he did with Shuu, as soon as he could.
All he truly knew was that he wanted to spend his last day on Earth with the person he loved the most. But if the universe was going to deny him that...
Well, he probably deserved it.
The thought made him feel numb, dampened his resentment. That's right - he deserved it. He'd fucked up. One good day with Seiji was too much for him to ask for.
In a way, it made it easier for him to do what he had to do next.
The afternoon came more quickly than he could've liked. It was almost time. He picked up the cordless extension of their landline and moved to the balcony, shut the door behind him so that Seiji, who was reading indoors, wouldn't hear.
The mobile phone rang. Ryo picked it up and flipped it open in automatic motions.
Neither of them greeted first.
After a considerable silence, Touma chuckled, "I guess I don't get any points for being early, for once."
Ryo didn't reply. He remained sitting where he was, one hand holding a pen, the other holding the phone up to his ear.
He heard Touma sigh on the other end of the line. There was some wind muffling Touma's voice; he must be in a high place. "Ryo, he said with a familiar gentleness, "once again, I place all my bets on you."
Touma might as well have been talking to an answering machine. Still no answer.
"I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I want you to understand that. It doesn't have to be now, but I hope you do. And I hope that you'll forgive me then.
"You know how... you see evil as a kid, you see people hurting others to get what they want... and then you tell yourself you'll never be like that. You'll never, ever put your own desires before other people. And you'll stop others from becoming evil, while you live and breathe. Nothing will ever be dear enough to you to make you forget what's important and what's right."
His voice was steady and he was sounding like an old man again. He must've gotten some rest, Ryo told himself... which was good.
"But you grow up and... things aren't simple. 'What's important' and 'what's right' changes over time. And they stop being clear and precise. You have to figure things out for yourself, and when you do that, you have to make mistakes." A pause. "I know you think you could've stopped me... talked me out of it, helped me see things another way. I know that's what friends do, or believe they're supposed to do. But I couldn't have talked to you, Ryo. Or to anyone. Not about this."
Not me, Ryo thought, because of what Seiji felt about me. If you're trying to make me feel less guilty, Touma, it's not working.
"That's why I don't blame you if you hate me."
I don't.
"If I were you, I'd forget we were ever friends."
Never. I would never.
"What I'm asking you to do right now... is unforgivable. But you can't NOT do it." A sad smile, all the way down the wire. "Because you have to stop other people from becoming evil. While you live and breathe."
It was different being told this by someone who'd known him since he was a child. If it had been from anyone else, it would have sounded like a noble task or birthright. But from someone like Touma, it sounded like a flaw - a defect that was present in them both, after having shared the same supernatural womb.
"It's useless to deny it, Ryo, or to wish things had gone differently. I can't live with having done all this. And because I've done it once, I can do it again. It has to end."
"You're wrong."
It was the most honest that Touma had ever been with him, since the time he called together all his friends to explain Seiji's illness. Ryo had not wanted to interrupt. But sometimes his body did things that he didn't approve of, and then all that was left was to go with the flow.
"You wouldn't do it again. Look... I'm still trying to get my mind around you doing it in the first place!"
Maybe not the best choice of words. Ryo could already feel the soul-crushing retort forming on Touma's lips.
"You're not evil," he said with finality. "You've said so yourself: this isn't the sort of thing you'd usually turn to. Even if you could do this again - you'd stop. Without anybody having to stop you."
"That sounds like something Shin would say," Touma acidly remarked. "You remember what I've done to him, don't you?"
He didn't have to bring that up, but Ryo would be falling into Touma's trap again if he let it get to him. "Touma... everyone makes mistakes."
Touma was silent. Perhaps formulating another stinging response. Perhaps caught by surprise by the sudden kindness, and was still busy processing. Ryo decided to move on to something else, regardless.
"Touma, tell me... what have you been dreaming about?"
Still silence. But Ryo heard Touma starting to speak, wanting to answer this.
"I... I've been having these dreams, but I never paid any attention to them. I thought... it was just my subconscious taking me back to Seiji's books."
There it was. So it wasn't just Seiji and Ryo and Shuu. The dream was something they all experienced. Was it because of the machine...?
But if it was, Touma gave no sign of knowing about it. It may have been an unforeseen side effect of his meddling with youja energies. It may also have been the remnants of their virtues, or their Trooper instincts, trying to tell them something.
Ryo wondered what Shin was dreaming about at that moment.
"Last night... I - never mind. It's not important. Dreams are just dreams, Ryo, and we're too old to - "
He cut himself off abruptly. Touma had put his hand on the receiver - Ryo could tell because all the noise, even the wind in the background, had suddenly become muffled.
When Touma came back again, he spoke in a hurried whisper: "I have to go. You have to listen carefully."
He proceeded to rattle off another set of directions to Ryo - mostly reminders on what he was supposed to do with the button. The damned blue button. At precisely 7:30 PM, Ryo was to press that button. It was still 5:30 PM, so Touma had a good two hours to get himself out of Tokyo - as far away from Seiji as he could get.
"I won't have a phone with me, so I'll have to rely on you to keep the time. I don't want Seiji to have to see it happen. I've made arrangements for all my assets to be transferred to you. Ryo, take care of him." His voice might have broken here, if he hadn't caught it in time. He took a deep breath and continued, "I've also arranged for my body to be found within a set timeframe. You don't need to know the details. Don't try looking for me because you won't find me.
"And when you come back to him, tell him... tell him I've gone. That's all. And tell him," Touma hesitated. "Tell him I'd give anything so that he can be happy."
Ryo closed his eyes. "I'd give anything" were words that cut into his very soul, but he was not sure why, and could not elaborate.
Touma ended the call without waiting for Ryo to reply.
"Sorry," he announced as he stepped into the room. "Just needed some fresh air."
Seiji frowned as he met Touma's gaze.
"You could've made that call in here," he pointed out. "It's getting cold. Might rain tonight."
"Yeah." Touma strode past him. "Don't worry, I'll bring an umbrella."
Touma put the cordless phone back in its cradle, while Seiji stood dumbfounded. How casually Touma had said that, after having been gone for ages and back home for barely a day. And how casually he was going around the house to pick up things he would normally bring on a grocery trip, sans the car keys - his wallet, his ID cards (where was his cell phone?).
"You're going out?" he asked incredulously.
"Yeah." Touma sat on the couch to put on fresh socks, going-out socks. "Just... stepping out for a bit. Something I have to take care of."
Seiji was silent. Touma knew what such silences meant, but he was determined not to mind it. He had to keep things light; he wasn't going to leave Seiji fuming.
"I'll bring back a few of those green tea cakes you liked," he continued. It was a struggle to pretend to be his obnoxious, insensitive younger self, but in his mind, it was for the best. "The ones from downtown. Don't you miss those? What are they called again...?"
He felt hands grip his shoulders - strong, long-fingered hands, an artist's hands. Those hands gently pulled him upright, forcing him to square his shoulders and tilt his head back.
"Hey, what - "
The rest of it got drowned out by Seiji's lips sealing his own shut.
That kiss tore off all of Touma's pretenses. Touma felt himself melting into it, sitting helpless while all his defences melted away.
When they pulled apart, they were both breathing heavily, and Touma caught himself arching up, seeking the warmth of those lips again. to So long. It had been so long.
"This 'something' you have to take care of," Seiji murmured, running a fingertip along Touma's jawline. "it can wait a while, right?"
There was nothing at all in Touma's psycho killer cave to write letters with, so Ryo had to content himself with making them all up in his mind.
Dad, one letter began, I know I haven't been the best kid. I know you had big dreams for me. But you only ever told me to "follow your heart" and for that, I am grateful.
He'd included a mental postcard there - a photograph he'd taken of a male wild antelope grooming a small buck. His father had not attended the exhibit where that one was shown. Ryo had always meant to send that specific photo to him. He would've gotten a kick out of that.
And while these thoughts occupied him, Ryo's gaze remained fixed on the big button under the red sphere.
There was only one red sphere. It could only belong to one person. Ryo even imagined that it resonated with him, flickered as his own resolve wavered.
He wished again that he could have been more eloquent. Like Seiji. Sure there was nothing to write with, but it must have been comforting to at least have the words down right in one's own head...
Shin and Shuu, another letter said, I'm lucky to have met you. All of you. He wanted to say he was sorry for having troubled them - and that he was sorry to have troubled Shin more. But the fact was whatever hurt Shin, was likely to have hurt Shuu more. He knew this as well.
To his surprise, the most eloquent he could become was in his imaginary letter to Nasuti. It started with an apology, then drew on to how he knew that she could have helped them all through the problems they were facing... but he didn't approach her. He had chosen not to trouble her. She was happy, he felt, and that meant she had the right to be kept out of their screwups. She had always been their "big sister," but there was no way she could have helped, not with this.
(Even as he "wrote" this, he imagined her getting angry - quietly, in her oddly mature way - and telling him he was being a fool. None of them should've attempted taking this on alone. She would still have been their friend even if she couldn't have done anything, and keeping her out of the loop was not fair.
(Then again, her stating this truth would mean nothing; nothing about that entire situation was fair.)
And then, Touma, the new letter began...
But there was nothing. Nothing he wanted to say. Nothing about how he'd always looked up to Touma, as a friend and as a fellow soldier, for all those years. Nothing about how he wished he and Seiji could continue to be happy together. And how he wanted to tell Touma that none of this was his fault, how he didn't deserve the blame for any of it.
He didn't have anything to say to Touma. Not in a letter. Everything he had to say to Touma, he had to say to his face. Which was stupid, because they would never see each other again... but it still felt for some reason like it would be easier for Touma to misunderstand him if they weren't facing each other.
And then, Seiji.
Ryo almost broke down at that point. There was so much to say. Most of it started with "Sorry." Sorry for not having an idea, sorry for not being able to understand, and sorry for meddling and making things worse.
"If I'd known, I could've told you I wasn't worth it."
It was almost the appointed time. Ryo had to tell himself to get it all together. There was no time left to try and change the course of events, or to run away from this responsibility he had voluntarily taken on.
All that was left was to do the right thing.
So long. Touma had almost forgotten. Seiji's touch, Seiji's smell, the taste of sweat on Seiji's skin, washed over him like light, blinding his thoughts to anything else.
Seiji was here, Seiji was well, and Seiji was smiling at him. There was no way he could tell himself this wasn't everything he'd been working for, for the past five years.
But it wasn't as if Touma had been hoping for this to happen. In fact, he was hoping it would not. There were a couple of very good reasons:
One: Seiji was making love to Touma with Shin's energy. Touma had been afraid, deathly afraid, that if he kissed Seiji he would taste Shin there... but as soon as Seiji's lips touched his that first time, he hadn't even thought of Shin - which, he supposed, was a good sign.
It took effort for him to forget about Shin, especially at the start, when he looked for Shin in every sigh, every word whispered into his ear. With every flicker of his tongue, he looked for a different taste, the taste of someone he didn't know this intimately.
(Why he had to be such a pervert, he did not know.)
But the apprehensions vanished after a while. Touma soon forgot why he had it in the first place. Of course Shin wouldn't be there, or anywhere; the one who used the energy to move would be the only one present; he would be the only tactile thing.
Two: The last person to touch him before this was Ryo - another thing he had not intended to happen. But as in this, he wasn't able to put a stop to it when it happened. He hadn't known that he had become so weak against touch, until it was forced upon him. He was never getting another massage, ever.
...And now when Seiji's fingers wander to that spot on his lower back, the spot Seiji knew was unusually sensitive, turning him on every. Damn. Time, he thought of Ryo's hands coming across that area of his skin completely by accident.
Ryo's hands... had not been rough. In fact, they had been surprisingly gentle, for someone who'd lived most of his professional life among wild creatures. It was just as Seiji's hands had been surprisingly gentle that first time, for someone who'd lived most of his young life handling heavy killing implements. Thus Ryo's hands couldn't help but be memorable; like Seiji's, they had innocently burned their imprint into Touma's skin.
But sometimes Touma did not like it gentle, and only Seiji knew when those times were. So the imprint that Ryo had left could be reluctantly set aside for this moment. A single occasion was no cause for an obsession, after all.
Three: It was almost 7 PM. Having become keenly aware of time and how little of it was available at any given moment, Touma had acquired the habit of keeping score of the hour, at the back of his head. In a few minutes it would be too late to go anywhere. It would be overly indulgent to stay any longer.
But it felt so good.
Seiji was taking his sweet time. It wasn't a teasing pace, Touma knew what "teasing" was on Seiji's terms... but he was definitely making it last. He pulled his hand back when Touma was about to come, and pushed away, demanded to wait, when he was about to come.
Touma couldn't help but be responsive. God knew he was surprised to learn he was this receptive at the start... and God knew he was surprised to find that he still was, after all this time. He dared to think of where Seiji got the strength to hold back, after being virtually immobile for so long - and then Seiji's lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and he stopped thinking altogether.
Touma knew he had no time. He knew he didn't deserve this.
But he wanted this so much.
The cell phone alarm beeped. It was 7:30 PM.
Ryo threw his entire weight down upon the red button. He emitted a grunt, and the machine emitted...
Nothing.
Nothing happened.
He tried pushing the button again. And again. Still, nothing.
Ryo let out an angry yell. He bashed his fists against the panels of the machine that were within reach. When that did nothing at all, he turned his rage onto the nearest available thing, which was the mobile phone that was still beeping, after giving that fateful alert.
Ryo threw the phone against the wall, shattering it. The beeping stopped.
But it was useless.
Touma had locked the machine. He had made it so Ryo would have no choice but to press the blue button, the one that would end his life, and transfer all of his energy to Seiji.
You knew. You knew I was going to try this.
But it was even more useless to dwell. Ryo knew Touma was smart enough for this, and he didn't have time. He wasn't about to go randomly pressing all the other buttons to see if they were all locked; the red button was the only real option.
So he had to think.
He had to think hard.
Images started to flash in his mind. He was a photographer, after all, and he couldn't help it. He had to look for visual cues - anything from his memory that could help him resolve this.
Memories of Shin standing under an umbrella in the rain, Touma lying on his couch unconscious, the first time he saw Seiji again after five long years, flickered past in lightspeed. Ryo was wired to resort to razor-sharp hindsight.
He needed NOT to panic, he needed to think, but a whole film reel of images was going through his head - quite like how it would be, he supposed, for a person about to die, who sees his entire life flash before his eyes.
Then, he saw it: a single scene. One that somehow stuck into his photographer's mind:
Touma with his back to Ryo, fiddling with a specific panel on his machine. His fingers followed a sequence...
Wait. That was too fast. Ryo replayed the scene in his head. He tried to set a videographers controls to it - slow. Pause. Rewind. Fast forward.
Slow.
Yes. There it was.
Ryo had been there, he had witnessed Touma entering a certain code into a certain keypad on a certain panel on his dire machine... Ryo had just not paid attention while it was happening. Now that he could look back - as a photographer looks back, with crystal clarity, at priceless photographs he had NOT been able to take - the scene held no more secrets for him.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
His fingers followed the sequence that he saw. There was no room for error. He knew what he had seen - his eyes had preserved it.
There was a loud chime.
And Ryo knew he had entered the right combination.
It was already several minutes past 7:30 PM. Touma must have been trying to phone him by now. But since the thing was smashed to bits, it was probably not worth it to feel bad about missing a call.
There was no time.
Ryo positioned himself before the red button again. And, eyes shut, breath held, he pushed down on the button with the palm of his right hand. Finally, the button yielded.
Ryo let out a sigh of relief.
It took a while before he felt it: the numbness on his right arm. Slowly the numbness became a paralysis, and he couldn't move his arm any longer.
His legs started to give in, too. He lowered himself to the floor and sat up against the machine, too weak to head to somewhere more comfortable. In an hour, perhaps less, he wouldn't be able to move his entire body. Shuu had told him it felt something like this; he wondered if the feeling had been the same for Shin, if Shin had panicked. He hoped not.
In the meantime, the red sphere started to flicker and lose its light. And the light blue sphere started to regain light. Ryo had to smile upon seeing that.
He wasn't scared. Not one bit.
(to be continued)