Hopeless (Ritsuka/Soubi)
Title: Hopeless
Author: priestess_grrrl
Series: Loveless
Pairing: Ritsuka/Soubi
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: angst, references to violence
Summary: Ritsuka gets a visit from your friendly neighborhood social worker.
Notes: Since I started reading Loveless, I've always wondered: why doesn't anybody call the Department of Social Services to report Misaki? This fic imagines what might happen if they did. Disclaimer: I don't know what they have for a DSS equivalent in Japan; this is entirely based on what I know of our American system.
Credits: Grave of the Fireflies is a depressing as hell Ghibli movie about the firebombing of Kobe at the end of WWII. It's based on a book by Nosaka Akiyuki.
Ritsuka heard the door buzzer ring and sat up from his desk, startled. Who would be ringing their bell? It couldn’t be Soubi; he never used the front door. Yuiko, maybe? Ritsuka had told her on several occasions not to come to the house, but Yuiko never did listen very well. The buzzer rang again, this time more insistently. He hurried to answer the door, fearing the noise would wake his mother, though he knew that was unlikely, considering the number of pills she had taken this evening. Still. Yuiko meant well, but there were some things she really didn’t get, and this was one of them.
As he pulled the door open, still trying come up with a quick excuse to get rid of Yuiko, Ritsuka stopped, startled. The person at the door was not Yuiko. It was a stranger, a tall, dark haired man with a beard and glasses, dressed in a blue cardigan and khaki pants, carrying a shiny clipboard. He smiled in a faux-casual sort of way, as if he had just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought he would stop by for some tea. His casual demeanor wasn’t fooling Ritsuka for a second. Social workers did not come on ‘casual’ visits, and if this man wasn’t a social worker, Ritsuka would eat his tail. Not good. Not good at all. Closing the door most of the way and trying his best to keep his sprained arm behind it, Ritsuka addressed the stranger guardedly.
“May I help you?”
“Hello, is this the Aoyagi residence?”
“Yes?”
“So, you must be Aoyagi Ritsuka, is that correct?”
“Yes. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Ritsuka, my name is Jiro. I’m very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me, is your mother home?”
Ritsuka watched his eyes dart from side to side, trying to see behind the door. Definitely a social worker. No other adult would introduce himself by his first name. He decided it was time to change tactics.
Smiling brightly, he answered, “No, I’m sorry, she’s out right now! You’ll just have to come back later.” Make that never.
“Actually, Ritsuka, I was hoping to have a little talk with you, if that’s okay.”
Crap. Not good. Big smile. “I’m sorry, but my mother says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” That was a lie; his mother had never said anything of the sort, but Ritsuka knew that was the kind of bullshit social workers liked to hear.
“Of course, that’s very good advice your mother gave you, Ritsuka. But I’m actually not a stranger. I’m from the Department of Social Services. Do you know what that is?”
Bingo. Ritsuka knew very well what that was, but he wasn’t about to let on. He shook his head. As if being from DSS negates the fact that you’re a stranger. Idiot.
“The Department of Social Services is a group of people from the government who come out to check on children, just to make sure they are happy and healthy and that everything is going well. It’s just a routine sort of thing; I’ve been to see everyone else on the block and now I’ve come to see you.”
Liar. As if he’d been to everyone else on the block. Hardly. Someone had obviously reported his mother to DSS. Again. Which meant he was going to have to clean up the mess. Again. Ritsuka resisted the urge to tear out his hair. Why couldn’t these people understand that they were just making his life more difficult…?
“Is it okay if I come in and just ask you a few questions?” Jiro had taken several steps closer, placing his hand on the doorknob.
Ritsuka thought quickly. A part of him wanted to just get rid of this annoying guy, but the problem was, he knew he’d be back, or they’d just send someone else. If one of them happened to show up while his mother was… active, that would be very bad. No, it was better if he just got this over with now. All he had to do was convince this idiot that what was going on here wasn’t that big of a deal and that this case wasn’t worth his time. DSS had thousands of cases. Ritsuka’s own was barely a blip on their radar, and that’s the way he wanted it. No need for them to get involved; it would just make everything worse.
Pasting the phony smile back on his face, Ritsuka answered brightly. “Well, sure, I guess that would be okay!” Holding the door open for Jiro to step through, he grabbed a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and quickly pulled it on, unhooking his sling as he did so. It was probably a moot point, since it was likely that his DSS file was sitting right there in Jiro’s clipboard with all of his recent hospital injuries listed on it. But the government wasn’t exactly well known for having all of its paperwork in order. And this guy didn’t exactly look like the sharpest knife in the drawer. Might as well not feed it to him if there was a chance he didn’t know.
Ritsuka led Jiro into the kitchen, the room furthest away from where his mother was sleeping. They sat at the kitchen table facing each other. Ritsuka kept smiling, wagging his tail for emphasis, trying his best to invoke the picture of a happy, healthy little boy.
“Would you like some tea, Jiro?”
“I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble!” Ritsuka said cheerfully, jumping up to put the kettle on. Luckily, Ritsuka had just bought his mother a new metal tea set, as she had a tendency to smash ceramic ones. He knew social workers kept an eye out for things like mismatched teacups, though Jiro didn’t seem to be the hyper-observant type. Still, it always paid to be cautious. He tried not to wince as he placed the tea set down on the table with both hands. Surely Jiro would notice if Ritsuka used only his left hand.
“So, Ritsuka, are you in any clubs at school?”
“Yes, I’m in the Chess Club, the Music Club and the Cooking Club.”
More lies. Ritsuka had attended Chess Club once, then quit. Yayoi and Yuiko were in the other two clubs. They talked about them all the time, so he figured he could bullshit something if Jiro asked for more info.
“Hmm, and how do you like being in all those clubs?”
“It’s great! My friends and I have lots of fun at school.” Wag, wag, wag.
“And do you have lots of friends?”
“Well, I have two really good friends.”
“And what are their names?”
Ritsuka hesitated. He certainly didn’t want DSS bothering his friends. But then, if they did, they wouldn’t find out much. In fact, Yayoi and Yuiko were so normal, it might actually help his case.
“Yuiko and Yayoi.”
“Are they in the same grade as you?”
“Mm hmm.”
Jiro took out his pen and began writing on his clipboard. Ritsuka imagined he put down something like, Child presents as normal, though only mentions two friends. Maybe he should have said he had ten friends. No, experience had taught him that lies were more effective when they skirted as close to the truth as possible. Better not push it.
“Have you been to their houses before?”
“Yeah, loads of times. I’ve been over Yuiko’s for dinner and Yayoi lets me borrow his manga.”
“And do they ever come over to your house to play?”
Slick, Jiro. Ritsuka tried to cover his delay smoothly. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Where do you play? Would you like to show me?”
“Um… we just sort of, you know, read manga and stuff.” Crap.
“And have they come over for dinner, too?”
“Um… yeah.”
“Does your mother cook for them?”
Like hell. “Yeah, once my mom made, um, sukiyaki, and we all had it together. It was really fun.” In fucking la-la land.
“Was your father there, too?”
“My father?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, does your father not live at home?”
I haven’t seen him in six months; you tell me. “He… works a lot.”
“I see. A lot of fathers do that. Do you miss your father when he’s gone?”
Ritsuka wasn’t sure what the right answer for that one was. Did normal kids miss their fathers? Or did they not care? He tried to remember whether Yuiko missed her dad or not, but Yuiko’s dad was around a lot more.
“…yeah, I guess.”
“And what about your mother?”
Ritsuka’s heart stopped. “Yes…?”
“Does she miss your father when he’s not around?”
Phew. Keep breathing. “Oh yeah, she misses him.”
“That must be hard.”
“Mmm.”
“Does it make you sad?”
Were normal kids sad? Yuiko was sad that time those girls smashed her strawberry jam. So it happens sometimes, Ritsuka supposed.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Do other things make you sad?”
“Er… yeah, sometimes.”
“Like what?”
Think, think: what are normal kids sad about? Strawberry jam. The girl that you like who doesn’t like you back. Puppies getting hit by cars?
“Um, like sad movies and stuff.”
“Like what kind of movies?”
“Like… Grave of the Fireflies.”
That would make anybody sad, Ritsuka thought. Oh, wait, did normal kids watch stuff like that...?
“Grave of the Fireflies? That’s an awfully adult film for a 14 year old. Does your mother know you watched that?”
Crap! “Um… no, it was just that I had read the book, and…”
“You read the book? Where did you get the book?”
“The library…?” God, Ritsuka hated idiots. Why did the world have to be filled with them?
“Do you often take books like that out of the library?”
“Books like what?” Intelligent books?
“Books about war and destruction?”
Great, now he thinks I’m going to grow up to be a serial killer.
“No, I just thought that one was interesting.”
“Why was it interesting?”
Didn’t you read my file, Jiro? My brother was burned to death. The people of Kobe were burned to death. Sound familiar?
“I… have an interest in history.”
“I see. Are you reading any historical books right now?”
Nietzsche. I can’t tell him Nietzsche; then he’ll definitely know I’m crazy. “Well, I’m mostly reading manga right now.”
“What kind of manga?”
What do normal kids read, what do normal kids read… “Naruto.”
“I see.”
The tea kettle whistled; Ritsuka jumped up to get it, glad for the interruption. This is going to be harder than I thought. As he lifted the steaming kettle, he realized immediately that he had a problem: he was going to have to pour the water into the teapot with his left hand. Not good. He set the kettle back down, picked up the teapot and brought it over to the counter by the stove, hoping he could somehow manage it without Jiro noticing.
“Can I help you?” Jiro asked, getting up.
“N-no, everything’s fine…”
Ritsuka hurriedly grabbed the kettle with both hands and started pouring, but a sharp pain shot through his right arm and he dropped it, narrowly avoiding scalding himself.
“Ritsuka! Are you all right?”
Keep breathing. Focus on the pain. Make it look normal. Everything is fine.
“I’m fine. I’m just clumsy, that’s all.”
“Ritsuka, what happened to your arm?”
Now we are treading on thin ice.
“Nothing, I just… fell last week, and it still hurts a little.”
“How did you fall?”
“At school. Playing… basketball.”
“Are you sure it happened at school, Ritsuka? Didn’t you tell them at the hospital that it happened after school?”
“It was… after school. But, you know, at the school.”
Damn it, he has read my file. It was getting harder to think through the cloud of pain that had enveloped him.
“Did you tell the school nurse what had happened?”
“N-no.”
“Why not?”
“She... had already gone home by then.”
“What time was it?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
“Ritsuka. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Anything at all.”
I’d like to tell you to go home and leave me the hell alone. Does that count?
“Ritsuka. It’s okay to tell me the truth. Nothing bad is going to happen if you do.”
Closing his eyes, Ritsuka leaned against the counter for support. I can’t do this anymore. Soubi… Soubi, I need you. “I’m… tired of talking. Please go home now.”
“Ritsuka. The Department of Social Services wants to help you, but you need to tell us the truth. We can’t do anything unless we know what’s going on here. I know this must be very difficult - ”
“Do you? Do you really?” Ritsuka had had enough. He felt his hands forming into fists, his eyes suddenly blazing with bottled up fury. “You think you know what’s going on? You think you can waltz in here, with your… your clipboard and your files, and determine my fate and that of my mother? Is that what you think?”
“Ritsuka, I never meant to -”
“Shut up!” All the blood was rushing to his ears, the pain in his arm forgotten. “How dare you come in here and call me by my name! How dare you pretend to be friendly to the poor, troubled little boy when you have an agenda, and both of us know it!”
“I understand that you are upset -”
“You understand? What do you understand?” Ritsuka picked up the kettle and slammed it back down onto the stove. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry. “Let me ask you a couple of questions for a change. What is it that you think I should do, exactly? Tell you the truth, and then what? Become part of your nice little system? The one that works so well for teenaged boys? Can you guarantee me, Jiro-san, that I’m not going to be tossed from foster home to foster home? That I’m not going to end up in a situation even worse than this one? Can you even guarantee me that you’re still going to be handling my case next week, or next month? That DSS isn’t going to just randomly assign me to someone else, and I’ll have to start all over again? Well? Can you?”
Jiro seemed to be floundering; he kept taking his glasses on and off and rubbing them on his pleated khaki pants. “Ritsuka, I’m sorry if - ”
“You should be sorry. For coming in here and arrogantly presuming that you know what’s best for me. Do you have any idea how many of you idiots I’ve had to fend off? Do you really think I need this on top of everything else I have to deal with? Do you have any idea how difficult my day-to-day struggle is already without you coming in here and making me crazy?”
“We want to help you alleviate that struggle, not make it worse.”
“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job, let me tell you!”
“Ritsuka, I - ”
There was a loud crashing sound. The lights flickered on and off, and a strange wind seemed to blow through the apartment. When the power came back on, Ritsuka was no longer alone with Jiro. Standing in between them was his devoted Fighter, his hand outstretched in offensive position, ready to kill on Ritsuka’s command.
“Ritsuka. Has this man hurt you?”
“Soubi!” Ritsuka ran to him, wrapping his arms around Soubi’s waist, burying himself in his warm coat. Soubi, you came, you came… His Fighter's strong arms immediately wound around him. Just Soubi’s presence alone was enough to make Ritsuka want to weep with relief.
“W-what is going on, here? Who are you?” Jiro’s eyes were wide and he was slowly backing away, his clipboard lying on the floor, forgotten.
Soubi’s deep voice echoed through the little apartment. “I am Aoyagi Ritsuka’s servant. If you have hurt him, you are going to die now.”
“Soubi! Don’t kill him. His name is Jiro. He works for the Department of Social Services. And he was just leaving.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Jiro.”
Instantly, Jiro’s eyes glazed over and his limbs went slack. Soubi twirled his index finger slightly; Jiro turned around, like a puppet on a string, and began walking out of the apartment.
“Wait! Soubi, you have to make sure he doesn’t remember anything from the past two hours. And give him back his stupid files.”
Ritsuka broke away from Soubi and picked up Jiro’s clipboard. He ripped out all the pages of notes and wrote on the top of his file: AOYAGI: CASE CLOSED. Then he put it back in Jiro’s hand.
“Send him far away from this neighborhood before he wakes up. And make sure he doesn’t come back here again.”
Soubi was concentrating hard; Ritsuka watched in morbid fascination as Jiro marched straight out the door, still heavily under Soubi’s trance. The door closed and righted itself; the lights flickered once more, and the phantom breeze blew Soubi’s long hair back from his face. Then everything stopped. Soubi put down his right hand and looked at Ritsuka expectantly.
Ritsuka moved to collapse on the couch, but Soubi caught him before he fell. Clinging to his Fighter, his little fists bunched up in Soubi’s silk shirt, Ritsuka felt hot tears escaping from his squeezed-shut eyes.
Why can’t they just leave us alone…! Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?
It was okay. Soubi was here, and he wouldn’t say anything. He never did.
“Ritsuka. I love you.”
Ritsuka held tightly to Soubi and cried bitterly out of sheer hopelessness.
Author: priestess_grrrl
Series: Loveless
Pairing: Ritsuka/Soubi
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: angst, references to violence
Summary: Ritsuka gets a visit from your friendly neighborhood social worker.
Notes: Since I started reading Loveless, I've always wondered: why doesn't anybody call the Department of Social Services to report Misaki? This fic imagines what might happen if they did. Disclaimer: I don't know what they have for a DSS equivalent in Japan; this is entirely based on what I know of our American system.
Credits: Grave of the Fireflies is a depressing as hell Ghibli movie about the firebombing of Kobe at the end of WWII. It's based on a book by Nosaka Akiyuki.
Ritsuka heard the door buzzer ring and sat up from his desk, startled. Who would be ringing their bell? It couldn’t be Soubi; he never used the front door. Yuiko, maybe? Ritsuka had told her on several occasions not to come to the house, but Yuiko never did listen very well. The buzzer rang again, this time more insistently. He hurried to answer the door, fearing the noise would wake his mother, though he knew that was unlikely, considering the number of pills she had taken this evening. Still. Yuiko meant well, but there were some things she really didn’t get, and this was one of them.
As he pulled the door open, still trying come up with a quick excuse to get rid of Yuiko, Ritsuka stopped, startled. The person at the door was not Yuiko. It was a stranger, a tall, dark haired man with a beard and glasses, dressed in a blue cardigan and khaki pants, carrying a shiny clipboard. He smiled in a faux-casual sort of way, as if he had just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought he would stop by for some tea. His casual demeanor wasn’t fooling Ritsuka for a second. Social workers did not come on ‘casual’ visits, and if this man wasn’t a social worker, Ritsuka would eat his tail. Not good. Not good at all. Closing the door most of the way and trying his best to keep his sprained arm behind it, Ritsuka addressed the stranger guardedly.
“May I help you?”
“Hello, is this the Aoyagi residence?”
“Yes?”
“So, you must be Aoyagi Ritsuka, is that correct?”
“Yes. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Ritsuka, my name is Jiro. I’m very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me, is your mother home?”
Ritsuka watched his eyes dart from side to side, trying to see behind the door. Definitely a social worker. No other adult would introduce himself by his first name. He decided it was time to change tactics.
Smiling brightly, he answered, “No, I’m sorry, she’s out right now! You’ll just have to come back later.” Make that never.
“Actually, Ritsuka, I was hoping to have a little talk with you, if that’s okay.”
Crap. Not good. Big smile. “I’m sorry, but my mother says I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” That was a lie; his mother had never said anything of the sort, but Ritsuka knew that was the kind of bullshit social workers liked to hear.
“Of course, that’s very good advice your mother gave you, Ritsuka. But I’m actually not a stranger. I’m from the Department of Social Services. Do you know what that is?”
Bingo. Ritsuka knew very well what that was, but he wasn’t about to let on. He shook his head. As if being from DSS negates the fact that you’re a stranger. Idiot.
“The Department of Social Services is a group of people from the government who come out to check on children, just to make sure they are happy and healthy and that everything is going well. It’s just a routine sort of thing; I’ve been to see everyone else on the block and now I’ve come to see you.”
Liar. As if he’d been to everyone else on the block. Hardly. Someone had obviously reported his mother to DSS. Again. Which meant he was going to have to clean up the mess. Again. Ritsuka resisted the urge to tear out his hair. Why couldn’t these people understand that they were just making his life more difficult…?
“Is it okay if I come in and just ask you a few questions?” Jiro had taken several steps closer, placing his hand on the doorknob.
Ritsuka thought quickly. A part of him wanted to just get rid of this annoying guy, but the problem was, he knew he’d be back, or they’d just send someone else. If one of them happened to show up while his mother was… active, that would be very bad. No, it was better if he just got this over with now. All he had to do was convince this idiot that what was going on here wasn’t that big of a deal and that this case wasn’t worth his time. DSS had thousands of cases. Ritsuka’s own was barely a blip on their radar, and that’s the way he wanted it. No need for them to get involved; it would just make everything worse.
Pasting the phony smile back on his face, Ritsuka answered brightly. “Well, sure, I guess that would be okay!” Holding the door open for Jiro to step through, he grabbed a sweatshirt from a nearby chair and quickly pulled it on, unhooking his sling as he did so. It was probably a moot point, since it was likely that his DSS file was sitting right there in Jiro’s clipboard with all of his recent hospital injuries listed on it. But the government wasn’t exactly well known for having all of its paperwork in order. And this guy didn’t exactly look like the sharpest knife in the drawer. Might as well not feed it to him if there was a chance he didn’t know.
Ritsuka led Jiro into the kitchen, the room furthest away from where his mother was sleeping. They sat at the kitchen table facing each other. Ritsuka kept smiling, wagging his tail for emphasis, trying his best to invoke the picture of a happy, healthy little boy.
“Would you like some tea, Jiro?”
“I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble!” Ritsuka said cheerfully, jumping up to put the kettle on. Luckily, Ritsuka had just bought his mother a new metal tea set, as she had a tendency to smash ceramic ones. He knew social workers kept an eye out for things like mismatched teacups, though Jiro didn’t seem to be the hyper-observant type. Still, it always paid to be cautious. He tried not to wince as he placed the tea set down on the table with both hands. Surely Jiro would notice if Ritsuka used only his left hand.
“So, Ritsuka, are you in any clubs at school?”
“Yes, I’m in the Chess Club, the Music Club and the Cooking Club.”
More lies. Ritsuka had attended Chess Club once, then quit. Yayoi and Yuiko were in the other two clubs. They talked about them all the time, so he figured he could bullshit something if Jiro asked for more info.
“Hmm, and how do you like being in all those clubs?”
“It’s great! My friends and I have lots of fun at school.” Wag, wag, wag.
“And do you have lots of friends?”
“Well, I have two really good friends.”
“And what are their names?”
Ritsuka hesitated. He certainly didn’t want DSS bothering his friends. But then, if they did, they wouldn’t find out much. In fact, Yayoi and Yuiko were so normal, it might actually help his case.
“Yuiko and Yayoi.”
“Are they in the same grade as you?”
“Mm hmm.”
Jiro took out his pen and began writing on his clipboard. Ritsuka imagined he put down something like, Child presents as normal, though only mentions two friends. Maybe he should have said he had ten friends. No, experience had taught him that lies were more effective when they skirted as close to the truth as possible. Better not push it.
“Have you been to their houses before?”
“Yeah, loads of times. I’ve been over Yuiko’s for dinner and Yayoi lets me borrow his manga.”
“And do they ever come over to your house to play?”
Slick, Jiro. Ritsuka tried to cover his delay smoothly. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Where do you play? Would you like to show me?”
“Um… we just sort of, you know, read manga and stuff.” Crap.
“And have they come over for dinner, too?”
“Um… yeah.”
“Does your mother cook for them?”
Like hell. “Yeah, once my mom made, um, sukiyaki, and we all had it together. It was really fun.” In fucking la-la land.
“Was your father there, too?”
“My father?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, does your father not live at home?”
I haven’t seen him in six months; you tell me. “He… works a lot.”
“I see. A lot of fathers do that. Do you miss your father when he’s gone?”
Ritsuka wasn’t sure what the right answer for that one was. Did normal kids miss their fathers? Or did they not care? He tried to remember whether Yuiko missed her dad or not, but Yuiko’s dad was around a lot more.
“…yeah, I guess.”
“And what about your mother?”
Ritsuka’s heart stopped. “Yes…?”
“Does she miss your father when he’s not around?”
Phew. Keep breathing. “Oh yeah, she misses him.”
“That must be hard.”
“Mmm.”
“Does it make you sad?”
Were normal kids sad? Yuiko was sad that time those girls smashed her strawberry jam. So it happens sometimes, Ritsuka supposed.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Do other things make you sad?”
“Er… yeah, sometimes.”
“Like what?”
Think, think: what are normal kids sad about? Strawberry jam. The girl that you like who doesn’t like you back. Puppies getting hit by cars?
“Um, like sad movies and stuff.”
“Like what kind of movies?”
“Like… Grave of the Fireflies.”
That would make anybody sad, Ritsuka thought. Oh, wait, did normal kids watch stuff like that...?
“Grave of the Fireflies? That’s an awfully adult film for a 14 year old. Does your mother know you watched that?”
Crap! “Um… no, it was just that I had read the book, and…”
“You read the book? Where did you get the book?”
“The library…?” God, Ritsuka hated idiots. Why did the world have to be filled with them?
“Do you often take books like that out of the library?”
“Books like what?” Intelligent books?
“Books about war and destruction?”
Great, now he thinks I’m going to grow up to be a serial killer.
“No, I just thought that one was interesting.”
“Why was it interesting?”
Didn’t you read my file, Jiro? My brother was burned to death. The people of Kobe were burned to death. Sound familiar?
“I… have an interest in history.”
“I see. Are you reading any historical books right now?”
Nietzsche. I can’t tell him Nietzsche; then he’ll definitely know I’m crazy. “Well, I’m mostly reading manga right now.”
“What kind of manga?”
What do normal kids read, what do normal kids read… “Naruto.”
“I see.”
The tea kettle whistled; Ritsuka jumped up to get it, glad for the interruption. This is going to be harder than I thought. As he lifted the steaming kettle, he realized immediately that he had a problem: he was going to have to pour the water into the teapot with his left hand. Not good. He set the kettle back down, picked up the teapot and brought it over to the counter by the stove, hoping he could somehow manage it without Jiro noticing.
“Can I help you?” Jiro asked, getting up.
“N-no, everything’s fine…”
Ritsuka hurriedly grabbed the kettle with both hands and started pouring, but a sharp pain shot through his right arm and he dropped it, narrowly avoiding scalding himself.
“Ritsuka! Are you all right?”
Keep breathing. Focus on the pain. Make it look normal. Everything is fine.
“I’m fine. I’m just clumsy, that’s all.”
“Ritsuka, what happened to your arm?”
Now we are treading on thin ice.
“Nothing, I just… fell last week, and it still hurts a little.”
“How did you fall?”
“At school. Playing… basketball.”
“Are you sure it happened at school, Ritsuka? Didn’t you tell them at the hospital that it happened after school?”
“It was… after school. But, you know, at the school.”
Damn it, he has read my file. It was getting harder to think through the cloud of pain that had enveloped him.
“Did you tell the school nurse what had happened?”
“N-no.”
“Why not?”
“She... had already gone home by then.”
“What time was it?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
“Ritsuka. Is there anything you’d like to tell me? Anything at all.”
I’d like to tell you to go home and leave me the hell alone. Does that count?
“Ritsuka. It’s okay to tell me the truth. Nothing bad is going to happen if you do.”
Closing his eyes, Ritsuka leaned against the counter for support. I can’t do this anymore. Soubi… Soubi, I need you. “I’m… tired of talking. Please go home now.”
“Ritsuka. The Department of Social Services wants to help you, but you need to tell us the truth. We can’t do anything unless we know what’s going on here. I know this must be very difficult - ”
“Do you? Do you really?” Ritsuka had had enough. He felt his hands forming into fists, his eyes suddenly blazing with bottled up fury. “You think you know what’s going on? You think you can waltz in here, with your… your clipboard and your files, and determine my fate and that of my mother? Is that what you think?”
“Ritsuka, I never meant to -”
“Shut up!” All the blood was rushing to his ears, the pain in his arm forgotten. “How dare you come in here and call me by my name! How dare you pretend to be friendly to the poor, troubled little boy when you have an agenda, and both of us know it!”
“I understand that you are upset -”
“You understand? What do you understand?” Ritsuka picked up the kettle and slammed it back down onto the stove. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so angry. “Let me ask you a couple of questions for a change. What is it that you think I should do, exactly? Tell you the truth, and then what? Become part of your nice little system? The one that works so well for teenaged boys? Can you guarantee me, Jiro-san, that I’m not going to be tossed from foster home to foster home? That I’m not going to end up in a situation even worse than this one? Can you even guarantee me that you’re still going to be handling my case next week, or next month? That DSS isn’t going to just randomly assign me to someone else, and I’ll have to start all over again? Well? Can you?”
Jiro seemed to be floundering; he kept taking his glasses on and off and rubbing them on his pleated khaki pants. “Ritsuka, I’m sorry if - ”
“You should be sorry. For coming in here and arrogantly presuming that you know what’s best for me. Do you have any idea how many of you idiots I’ve had to fend off? Do you really think I need this on top of everything else I have to deal with? Do you have any idea how difficult my day-to-day struggle is already without you coming in here and making me crazy?”
“We want to help you alleviate that struggle, not make it worse.”
“Well, you’re doing a fantastic job, let me tell you!”
“Ritsuka, I - ”
There was a loud crashing sound. The lights flickered on and off, and a strange wind seemed to blow through the apartment. When the power came back on, Ritsuka was no longer alone with Jiro. Standing in between them was his devoted Fighter, his hand outstretched in offensive position, ready to kill on Ritsuka’s command.
“Ritsuka. Has this man hurt you?”
“Soubi!” Ritsuka ran to him, wrapping his arms around Soubi’s waist, burying himself in his warm coat. Soubi, you came, you came… His Fighter's strong arms immediately wound around him. Just Soubi’s presence alone was enough to make Ritsuka want to weep with relief.
“W-what is going on, here? Who are you?” Jiro’s eyes were wide and he was slowly backing away, his clipboard lying on the floor, forgotten.
Soubi’s deep voice echoed through the little apartment. “I am Aoyagi Ritsuka’s servant. If you have hurt him, you are going to die now.”
“Soubi! Don’t kill him. His name is Jiro. He works for the Department of Social Services. And he was just leaving.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Jiro.”
Instantly, Jiro’s eyes glazed over and his limbs went slack. Soubi twirled his index finger slightly; Jiro turned around, like a puppet on a string, and began walking out of the apartment.
“Wait! Soubi, you have to make sure he doesn’t remember anything from the past two hours. And give him back his stupid files.”
Ritsuka broke away from Soubi and picked up Jiro’s clipboard. He ripped out all the pages of notes and wrote on the top of his file: AOYAGI: CASE CLOSED. Then he put it back in Jiro’s hand.
“Send him far away from this neighborhood before he wakes up. And make sure he doesn’t come back here again.”
Soubi was concentrating hard; Ritsuka watched in morbid fascination as Jiro marched straight out the door, still heavily under Soubi’s trance. The door closed and righted itself; the lights flickered once more, and the phantom breeze blew Soubi’s long hair back from his face. Then everything stopped. Soubi put down his right hand and looked at Ritsuka expectantly.
Ritsuka moved to collapse on the couch, but Soubi caught him before he fell. Clinging to his Fighter, his little fists bunched up in Soubi’s silk shirt, Ritsuka felt hot tears escaping from his squeezed-shut eyes.
Why can’t they just leave us alone…! Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?
It was okay. Soubi was here, and he wouldn’t say anything. He never did.
“Ritsuka. I love you.”
Ritsuka held tightly to Soubi and cried bitterly out of sheer hopelessness.