curious_robin; nebulia; The Limit, part one; R

[nebulia]

Title: The Limit
Author: curious_robin
Rating: R, for strong language
Length: 14,881 words
Summary: It was a cycle that rolled and rolled, until it reached its limit.

The prompt:
I would love to see an AU of the situation of recent chapters. Like no magic or anything, just Watanuki, a genius cook or something who happens to be some kind of addict now, alienating all his friends either intentionally or un and Doumeki being the only person who he actually manages to keep around. Angst! Anger! Arguments! A happy ending! Himawari coming back!



“…make sure that the edges are lightly brown before removing from the pan and serving.” Watanuki smiled meaninglessly at the camera. “And that completes the last course! Congratulations!” Watanuki felt like he would have to scrape off the smile when this was over with an industrial strength steel spatula.

Watanuki finished his dialogue and the director signaled for the camera to cut. Watanuki froze his face for the few, tense words he exchanged with his director, Fujimoto, about the next shoot that the network had scheduled before he was finally waved off. He roughly rubbed his face back into a normal position as he left, the scowl at being dismissed so casually contorting between his fingers. Fujimoto didn’t like him and the feeling was returned. Watanuki was too sensitive to the little, casual slights that Fujimoto liked to give ever since the network had refused to take him off Watanuki’s program, to allow any bonding feelings to grow with his coworker. Not that he did much of that anymore regardless; nor was Fujimoto the only one who disliked him. But he was the best, and fancy electrical appliances that did ten different things and numerous self-help cookbooks still didn’t replace the kind of talent Watanuki had. His skill had been obvious to his audience since he had first started on the air.

Though they didn’t put him in front of live audiences anymore. Watanuki wasn’t in so much denial that he couldn’t admit that his people skills had dramatically taken a nose dive in the last couple of years.

Fujimoto would much rather be shooting stupid Kobato, Watanuki thought viscously. Who couldn’t make anything that didn’t look like a formless lump. Even the crew at the station had a habit of dubbing her cooking as the “mysterious life-form.” But Kobato was nice, Kobato was relatable to the average housewife, as his producers told him, and so the standard was lowered and Watanuki got paid less. There were some days when Watanuki couldn’t muster up the patience to show up to work.

Quickly striding out of the studio, he called his driver, and slipped onto the leather seats with a sigh, quietly anticipating the ride back home. As they pulled away from the curb, his driver called that he had a guest come while he was out.

“Yeah, and who was it?” Watanuki grumped, annoyance and irritation already building at the thought that someone might be waiting for him at the house, expecting to be entertained.

“Doumeki Shizuka. The maid asked him to come back later, but he said that he’d just wait until you got back, Master Watanuki.”

Doumeki again. “That’s fine. That oaf doesn’t know how to tell when he’s not wanted anyway.” Watanuki stared out the window, driving to yet another confrontation, his frustration and irritation embittering him albeit for different reasons. More disturbing was the unsettled feeling squirming in his chest that he couldn’t identify. Even thinking about the bastard waiting for him threw him off his game, stopped him from being his best. He had always hated that about him from the beginning, when they had first met.

Doumeki never changed, even when everything else had.

xXx

At least he won’t be expecting to be entertained, Watanuki consoled himself as he stepped into the marble foyer of his mansion. Although, knowing Doumeki he would be entertained anyway. Causing Watanuki undue amounts of stress and volcanic eruptions of temper never seemed to cease to amuse him. He had grown slightly less annoying, in his way, over the years, but not from any effort on his part. Watanuki had just become more immune from exposure, like snake venom. Not that it helped much in the end, when Doumeki insisted on doing and saying things that were utterly unnecessary in his life. On the days he did or said those things, Watanuki wondered why he didn’t just kick him out of his mansion and cut him from his life for good. Something always managed to stop him from trying. Occasionally he was even grateful for his company, inept though it was.

This, however, wasn’t going to be one of those times.

Watanuki strode into his huge customized kitchen, expecting Doumeki to be in there helping himself to his food as usual. His mouth was open and the beginnings of a vicious tirade halfway out before he realized that the form of one huge, hulking glutton was missing. His mouth snapped shut with an audible click, and Watanuki’s thin brows drew together as his dark blue eyes flickered around the spotless kitchen to make sure. Definitely hadn’t been in here. That was unusual. Actually, this was unbelievable. His kitchen was to Doumeki what honey was for hibernation-starved bears. And the metaphor was highly appropriate to the way he stuffed food down his gullet too.

Watanuki stomped back to his veined-marble front hall, scratching his head in puzzlement (this was the only other place Doumeki had ever waited to see him before). He began searching the lower-level entertaining rooms he never used.

He finished looking through those and his temper was beginning to rise, as he started to suspect Doumeki to be in his private rooms upstairs. That he had expressively forbidden him to ever enter, on punishment of some horrible torture too awful to go into detail about.

A shiver skittered up his spine. His rooms. God, Doumeki had better not been in there. He couldn’t forgive him if he had.

He had rushed to the enormous sweeping staircase to check when Watanuki heard a small clunking sound come from one of the rooms to his right. Watanuki hesitated; it might be the maid (the human one at least), but then he remembered that the maid was already off for the day. He listened hard, but the noise didn’t come again. He glanced anxiously up the stairs and then uncertainly moved off to investigate. If Doumeki was already up there then it wouldn’t make any difference when he discovered him; if he was still down here then it might just save him a panic attack.

Watanuki entered one of his dining rooms and found him finally, staring into some glass-paneled cabinets.

“Doumeki! Where the hell have you been, why are you in here?! I’ve been looking all over the house for you and you’ve been hiding in the dining room the whole time! What, is this supposed to be some sort of hint or something? You no longer wish to look for your own food, you now want it to be brought it you by the great Watanuki-sama?!”

“Wasn’t hiding,” Doumeki grunted at him as he looked away from the cabinets. His tiny green-brown eyes slid unhurriedly to meet his, the strange color reminding Watanuki of oxidized copper. Watanuki thought that if there was anything as unsettling as his generally thuggish looks and dim-witted expression, it was that weird, stiff-necked stare of his. Doumeki liked to follow you with his eyes if he could, not his head. That, combined with a Thousand-Yard-Stare, the creep. For some inexplicable reason, girls thought this freakish habit made him observant. It made Watanuki think that his parents never taught him that staring was rude. The idiot certainly wasn’t observant; otherwise he would have noticed the lack of welcome every time he came over.

“Are you offering?” Watanuki stared strangely at Doumeki for a minute, wondering what the hell he was talking about, before what he had said before finally caught up to him.

“NO. What do I look like, A FUCKING CATERING SERVICE!?”

“This is a dining room.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

As per usual, insults just bounced off of Doumeki’s thick skull like stress balls. Watanuki sometimes found it to be oddly therapeutic. Fuck what his therapist said, taking her anger out on his own stone-faced nemesis (and instigator of his fury) was much better for him than strangling a rubber ball. Watanuki noticed that Doumeki had glanced at the display case again.

“What is it?” Watanuki demanded, suspicious. Doumeki glanced at him out of the corner of his eye again, and stepped back when Watanuki stomped over to have a look. Watanuki stopped, abruptly enormously irritated by the gesture though he couldn’t figure out why, and eyed Doumeki narrowly. When he didn’t receive anything back except another blank stare, he turned his back on him in disgust and uneasiness, feeling those eyes on the back of his head and neck.

He forgot about that stare, however, when he saw what was in the cabinet. Unrolled and delicately hung behind the glass were three scrolls, the paper so thin that it was slightly transparent. The two scrolls on the outside were scripts of some sort; written in that same incomprehensible old style that Doumeki was so good at writing. The third and largest was displayed between them and it was an ink painting. It depicted a man -probably a monk -standing under the eave of a temple while rain came down in front of him. The strokes of the rain were thin and fine and the shape of the monk’s face and expression strong and sure. Watanuki didn’t know much about such things, but even he could tell it was the work of a talented artist.

“It’s a meditation.” He glanced at Doumeki, who was for once not staring at him but looking at the painting, contemplative. Watanuki studied his profile for a second, seeing, for that second, what that face looked like when he was younger, as young as Watanuki when his life had changed so drastically. It was so real that Watanuki turned away, cold. “Written by the monk in the picture. It says that one day the monk looked outside and felt peace and serenity watching the rain. He asked himself why the rain made a noise that created silence. He saw that everything stopped in the rain. Everything grew still and quiet except the rain. And the rain touched everything; the ground, the grass, the leaves, the lakes, the stones, the roof he was under, and through the roof, him. And finally he saw that nothing was quiet: that where the rain came down, what it touched made a sound according to its nature, and the rain itself was silent.

Watanuki, listening, waited. When nothing else was forthcoming, he turned to Doumeki: “What, is that it?” Doumeki nodded.

“What does it mean?” Doumeki shrugged. Watanuki made a tsking sound.

“Much good you are, Doumeki-sensei.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t have the degree yet.” Doumeki was a graduate student studying folklore at his university. Watanuki had been surprised at his choice; he had always had some vague idea of Doumeki going on to professional archery or coaching it after school (he hated to admit it, but Doumeki had had some talent when they were in high school). But instead he had gone into academia and chose one of the most worthless subjects he could find to study. Rationally, Watanuki knew that growing up in a temple would of course affect his choice and that Doumeki had probably only ever viewed archery as a hobby. He remembered all the time they had spent talking about ancient legends over lunch in school (one of them had been fascinated with things like that), and picking Doumeki’s brain on the subject. But he had still given up a spot on the national team, which Watanuki still couldn’t understand and had given Doumeki an earful when he first heard about it. He could be traveling the world right now, not still stuck in the same town as Watanuki.

“Yeah, yeah, you still have to write that book, right?” Watanuki asked, turning away. “Although the idea of you writing anything, let alone a book, is so unbelievable that I find it easier to believe obaa-chan’s fairytales than that.”

“You would. Naïve people think all old stories are true.” Watanuki spluttered. “I’m almost half-way through.”

“GAH, there you go changing the subject without any cue again! Didn’t you ever learn that you need to let people know what you’re talking about, before you go spouting random information? Nobody’s going to understand you if you don’t!”

“Only idiots wouldn’t get it. But I’ll try to be clearer, for you.”

“WHERE DO YOU GET OFF CALLING ME AN IDIOT?! You’re a folklore major -you’re writing a freaking book about it -and you can’t even tell me what this means!” Watanuki yelled, pointing at the painting.

“It’s pretty vague,” Doumeki shrugged. “It could mean anything. It’s a meditation anyway: it’s supposed to be left up to the reader’s interpretation. And I’ve never seen this one before.”

Doumeki glanced at the painting yet again, and Watanuki suddenly realized what that meant. Doumeki was a folklore major; he practically lived and breathed this stuff (he was writing a book about it, and no, Watanuki refused to believe it until he saw it). If he had never even heard about this before…

Watanuki moved closer to the display case to squint uselessly at the parchment. “Do you think this thing is rare, or something?” Watanuki stretched his fingers against the glass. “Maybe it’s a fake…”

Watanuki could feel him shake his head beside him. And then he got irritated that he was so familiar with the bastard that he could see him shaking his head without looking. “It shows the right signs. And it’s old, though that doesn’t mean as much as you think it does. Besides,” and Doumeki turned his copper eyes to Watanuki. “Do you think it would be a fake?”

Watanuki breathed out a sigh, close enough to the cabinet that he left a bright cloud on the glass.

“No. She wouldn’t have had any replicas, especially of anything completely unknown.”

Doumeki said nothing. Watanuki straightened with a breath, feeling an ache suck in his bones. He wished violently that Doumeki was gone, and the intensity of the emotion left him feeling muzzled as he turned away, rubbing his face. Doumeki followed him out of that damn room.

They went back to the kitchen; familiar territory. Watanuki felt steadier there, as usual, though there was a distracting, squeezing sensation behind his brow. He was this close to a migraine and, knowing Doumeki, he’d be in full-blown pain before he left. He’d have to wait for his remedy until after he had made him leave.

But Watanuki felt obligated to make use of him while he was here.

“So.” What are you doing here? “If you’re going to come here uninvited and eat me out of house and home, then you might as well tell me what’s going on.” Doumeki gave him a sharp look when he said that. Watanuki felt his lip curl defensively at the thought he might have been seen through so quickly-

(nononoNO, that bastard was NOT in control of this situation)

-before he forced ignorance, and plowed forward with what he was going to say (already knowing he had made a mistake). “How is Kohane-chan doing?”

Doumeki narrowed his eyes. Watanuki pretended not to see. It was going to be like this because the bastard gave him no other choice.

“She’s fine,” Doumeki said slowly, tiny eyes never wavering from Watanuki’s face. Watching him, waiting for him to mess up.

Watanuki abruptly felt he couldn’t breathe, through his fury.

“Define ‘fine,’ you ass!” Air went out in a shout, but wouldn’t come back in. “Is she happy. Doing well in school. Any boy troubles, any bullies, sprains, broken bones, IN A HOSPITAL, INJURED, GRANDMA OKAY, IS SHE D-” Watanuki slapped his own hand over his mouth at what almost came out, choking. Trembling and suffocating. Dizzy. Why the hell was this happening to him?

He felt a hand under his elbow. His eyes, previously squeezed shut, flew open and he saw Doumeki standing there, holding him. Like he needed the help. Like he wouldn’t be just fine in a moment, as if he had to this all the goddamn time, which was a fucking joke because he never needed the bastard for anything, ever-

“STOP-” Watanuki’s traitor voice joined the rest of the turncoats in the room and gave up. He had to satisfy himself by ripping his arm away from Doumeki. Hitting the counter behind him loudly and painfully enough with the force to make his arm really hurt, though he almost didn’t notice.

Watanuki was heaving, but the air felt like it stopped halfway down his chest and he couldn’t get enough. He felt Doumeki slap his back, and he couldn’t even get mad at the uselessness of it, before he was on his knees. Fuzzily, in the back of his head, he understood that the panic was making him hyperventilate and making it worse, but it took a long time -ages in the next several seconds -for the rest of his brain to catch on. By the time he did he was getting really light-headed. Every instinct was screeching at him to struggle, but for once, instead, Watanuki relaxed. He stopped moving and stopped trying to take full breaths, and though his lungs heaved and fought, Watanuki managed to slow the frantic pace a little. He stayed like that, concentrating, and little by little his breathing continued to ease.

Finally he felt his lungs open up, and Watanuki coughed hard for several seconds before forcibly controlling himself before it got worse again. He became aware of the floor he was stretched out on, the way the lights were hurting his eyes, and the huge shadow looking over him.

The lines in his face suddenly seemed highlighted, because of the lighting, when Doumeki’s face came into focus: thin lips, lines between his eyebrows and under his eyes, as he grunted a quick word and snapped his phone shut. Lines even around his mouth, when Watanuki had never (maybe once, but he refused to remember) seen him smile and at the most only frown slightly. Except the day he found out. Watanuki had a sudden, nonsensical thought that they were getting far, far too old.

He blamed it on the lack of air and lightheadness, because as soon as Doumeki opened his stupid mouth he snapped out of those weird, whimsy thoughts: “Are you alright.” A bark, not a question. Not that he expected him to be concerned. He wouldn’t sound angry if he actually cared. Or interrogate him right after a…setback.

“Fine,” he croaked, and tried to quickly sit up, but his stomach hollowed and he had to flop back down, not knowing if he wanted to cough or vomit. Doumeki bent over him menacingly.

“Define ‘fine,’” he growled, mottled eyes narrowed on his face.

Watanuki spluttered, backed a couple times, before rejoining “Fine means fine!” in a voice weak and trembling all over the place, and made him immediately regret saying anything. He tried to distract Doumeki by levering himself up again, the different elevation making him nauseous and start coughing once more. His brain hurt in his skull.

Watching him clutch both his head and his stomach, Doumeki snorted. “I don’t think so, idiot.” He rubbed a hand down his back, and his voice lowered softly. “You can’t decide that my answer is no good, and then try to use it yourself.”

Watanuki looked up and saw his eyes soften down at him. He turned his head away before he could watch it turn into pity. He was exhausted, tired, he could taste acid and bitterness in his mouth, and he thought about what this must look like to Doumeki, how pathetic he looked, and weak. Sitting there, with Doumeki’s hand on his back still because he was too feeble to slap it off and push him away, he felt powerless and he hated it. Hated so much the way this stupid bastard made him feel and the way he knew Doumeki was looking at him, that the words he spat out formed without a thought: “I wish I had never met any of you.”

Doumeki stilled, the hand on his back faltering. Watanuki could feel the weight of it like a ball and chain. Then it left and Watanuki was startled badly when it returned as a vice grip on his collar, yanking him up. His head snapped up, and he felt cold when he met Doumeki’s blazing gaze.

“Never met ‘any’ of us?” he asked in a guttural tone. The crack in it Watanuki could feel in the very base of the cold, empty space inside him, like a ringing bell or a sickness. “What do you mean by that?” Fury, maybe at him, but Watanuki felt as empty…

“Who would that be? Me and Kunogi? Or me and Yuuko?” …as a rainy night.

Watanuki lowered his head, felt his hair fall into his eyes, and said nothing. He didn’t want to talk about her anymore, didn’t want to hear anything about Yuuko, ever. He expected him to push, to get in his face, stare till he gave up getting an answer Watanuki would never give. But. He didn’t. He let go and moved out of his space.

Watanuki blinked at his floor, eyes narrowing in confusion, before he looked up. He caught just a flicker of his coat -deep tan, edges fluttering in the doorway -that he had grabbed off the counter, before it was gone.

Watanuki stood up. He was at the doorway before he remembered getting there. And he stepped through and was running after Doumeki. He didn’t know why, except he thought he knew that, despite the fact that he didn’t even like him, he was all he had. What he had could be replaced but somehow after all this time he was still afraid of that, because he remembered, clearly, the sharp click of a different pair of feet walking away from him, long black hair, and the betrayed look in her eyes when she turned back to look at him…

He remembered at times even when he shouldn’t. When he was down, and dreaming, it would strike him like an electric shock, the memory rushing through his veins like a painful injection, arching, bending away from it, and absolutely unable to avoid it because it came from inside. It could destroy his new world; the only thing that could. He hadn’t learned how to dispel her yet. And until he did, he needed Doumeki.

He caught up when he reached the foyer, yelling Doumeki’s name as he could see him reach out with one hand for the door, coat thrown over his back with the other. He froze with his arm sticking out, but didn’t turn around. Watanuki halted too, just inside the big space, gasping because of his earlier fit and searching for what he needed to say.

“Don’t go,” he said, not asking but not quite demanding either. He could see Doumeki stiffen in front of the door. He looked down and shuffled his feet, his next words not nearly so confident. “Look…it shouldn’t have to be like this. There’s still that date tomorrow with Kohane-chan, and if one of us doesn’t show up she’s going to wonder…It’s not her fault,” he added quickly as Doumeki withdrew his hand only to clench it at his side. “That we can’t get along. I mean, that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? We can’t stand each other, but now we’re associated, so if we show up alone Kohane-chan’s going to be hurt. And…I didn’t really mean what I said, I just…” Watanuki let it trail off, and watched his back hopefully.

The silence stretched between them, and Watanuki couldn’t think of what else to say, so he stood there and fidgeted. Finally, Doumeki turned around slowly and just looked at him, completely expressionless. Watanuki cursed silently, but defiantly tilted his head; he’d always hated that rock-wall face that he’d had since they’d been teenagers. Watanuki had a hard enough time trying to guess what people were thinking, and Doumeki, with that face, he never had a clue. Sometimes he wondered if Doumeki didn’t think like an alien, to come by process (or maybe not) to the decisions and actions that he came to.

Unpredictable, really…and he needed him.

“So that’s it, then,” was all he said, and just turned around and left, the door swinging shut behind him, proving that he was as unfathomable as Watanuki had always knew him.

He stared at the closed doors, rubbing a hand across his face which then wandered up to his throbbing temples.

“What did that even mean?” Watanuki sighed at the room at large. The room at large answered:

“Watanuki?”

“Watanuki…”

He turned to see Maru and Moro coming out from a hiding spot, the robots managing to convey worry and concern through their plastic faces solely using their eyebrows and frowny mouths. Sometimes it seemed to Watanuki that this new emotional spectrum that the mechanical dolls displayed made them almost seem human, like they had souls stuck behind the hardwiring. In any case, he knew this new development was his fault: the twins never had reason to care when Yuuko was still here. He supposed that made him a bad master.

It’s just -it became too much sometimes. Following her footsteps and discovering that not only did he not fit in her place, but that he couldn’t match her even halfway…

…they didn’t understand why he needed this, and maybe he shouldn’t, it wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of that. But. They weren’t the ones living in a dead woman’s house.

“I think I’m going to go up to my rooms, Maru, Moro,” Watanuki smiled painfully at his robotic companions. “That jackass Doumeki gave me a headache and I’m going to go lie down for a while.”

“Does Watanuki need anything?” Maru asked. He had never changed their registry forms for them to call him “Master.”

“We’ll go get it for him…” Moro said. Really, he preferred it this way.

“No, no, that’s alright, I’ve got some stuff in my room,” Watanuki lied with a fake smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need the help. Why don’t you girls tidy up the kitchen for me? I’m finished in there, but I didn’t get the chance to clean up…”

The robots brightened. “We’d love to!” “We’ll be happy to!”

“Good,” Watanuki nodded, immediately wishing he hadn’t when his head felt like it would split in half. “Then you do that. Please don’t disturb me in my rooms for the next couple hours, okay?”

“Right!” The twins sang. “Right!” And they rolled down the hall towards the kitchen, chanting their instructions.

Watanuki turned toward the stairs and began the climb up; trying to hold his head as still as possible so his vision wouldn’t swim with every step. He sighed. He had never gotten to what he had wanted to ask Doumeki. He didn’t even know if they were still friends -well, friendly enemies -anymore. If they still were, he was going to have to find a way to keep his temper around Doumeki or he was never going to find a way around his blank expression.

Tomorrow, Watanuki thought, pulling himself up by the banister, gritting his teeth. Tomorrow I’ll do better. It’s been a bad day. I need this.

He went up to the door to his rooms and pushed his way in. He contemplated inside whether he should get a lock or not, but, as he had before, ultimately decided it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t want to be responsible for the key, and the only person he would be getting it for was for Doumeki, because the man couldn’t be trusted to keep his nose out of what wasn’t any of his business. Not to mention that the whole idea that Doumeki was enough of a threat to necessitate closing off his private rooms, when he didn’t even live here, pissed him off.

(Maybe he knew somewhere that keeping them open like this was tempting fate. Even knowing that, knowing logically the consequences, he couldn’t give enough of a damn to change it.)

His pace changed from a shuffle to a stride inside, the increased pain not even bothering him because of the anticipation. He approached his wide bed, bent down and groped under it, coming out with a rough, wooden tobacco box. He went to the bedside table and opened its drawer. From inside, he withdrew Yuuko’s pipe (it was still hers after all these years, Watanuki believed most of the house still was) and sat down at the edge of the bed with it and the box. He reached inside the container and took out what he needed, frowning and looking inside when he scrambled at the bottom. “Need to get more,” Watanuki muttered at the sad remains in his palm. Very soon too. He had forgotten and had put it off. He just had enough for this one.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, as he stuffed what was left into the pipe, and lit it with the lighter he kept in the drawer with it. He puffed, puffed, drew and as the sweet smoke spiraled into his lungs and curled in the air, refreshing the pervasive sweet smell in the room, he could finally relax.

Everything about it is sweet, Watanuki thought languidly, as he tilted his head to watch it curl out of his mouth and twist sinuously above him. Like a good wine or a very good dream.

“Oh dear. If Watanuki starts drinking my wine, I don’t know if there’ll be any left for me.”

Watanuki turned his head and smiled, inviting. “Only you would be able to drink up that manufactory’s store in the basement, Yuuko-san,” he said, as she stepped out of the dark to his bed, wearing her favorite kimono, smiling that mysterious smile of hers that he remembered so well.

xXx

It is pouring outside. Watanuki doesn’t remember how he had gotten out here, in the downpour, but then again, it doesn’t matter. It has been a long time since he last stood motionless outside in the rain…

He holds out his hand and watches the fat drops bounce off it, heavy enough to make his hand sway up and down under their combined force. It hisses continuously on the concrete around him, and through the streaking curtain he thinks he can see the river that used to run by his old home in the distance.

And suddenly (like she has been standing there all along), he notices Yuuko standing by the river, across from him. He is on the other bank and he wants to run to her, but the water snarls between them and he knows he will not make it.

He watches her longingly, her dress the only thing not a muted gray in the world, while the river gurgles ominously and the rain starts to pound down on his head. She is so pale, he can somehow see clearly, has always been almost unhealthily pale. Her red eyes stare back at him impassively, and that is when he notices that she isn’t getting wet. She stands tall, beautiful, and perfect, and the rain does not touch her. Watanuki stands across from her, stares in disbelief and fear, while the rain roars around him. And Watanuki can hear his heart pounding in his ears, the sound of that violent rain falls away, and Yuuko stares at him silently from across the river…

xXx

Watanuki woke up late the next morning to Maru and Moro’s urgent (and painful) tugging on his arms. He had to wrestle his limbs back into his own possession again, before he could sit up and process what they were trying to tell him. After they did, all hell broke loose.

Watanuki scrambled for his clothes, agonizing for a moment about taking a shower before deciding, no, he didn’t have the time. He shouted at Maru and Moro to make him a quick breakfast, before he countermanded that order because there wasn’t time for that either (and he didn’t want the dolls rushing; he had only been able to install a new learning program in the twins last year and their ability to improvise was nil). He knew too that rushing around like this was likely to make him forget something important, but Watanuki’s overloaded sense of panic disallowed him from thinking about that as well.

Watanuki and Kohane had set up a date months ago for a day out together (Doumeki had somehow been invited too) at the new market and amusement park that had been built in the next town over. His treat. Kohane was studying for her entrance exams in a few months and this would be one of the only times Watanuki would get to see her until after examinations. And -things were -tense, right now, between them. Watanuki had screwed up -badly -and was ashamed and wanted to make it up to her, even though Kohane had already made it clear what she wanted. So it was an apology too, and he was going to be late for his own apology if he couldn’t move fast enough.

He called his driver and was standing in the entrance hall, smoothing down his shirt and sniffing his jacket to determine how fresh it was, when he remembered. He froze and stood staring stupidly at his front door for a couple precious minutes, mind blank. He was an idiot, the biggest moron in Japan. When he snapped out of it, he rushed back to the staircase, shredding his jacket and shirt as he took the steps two at a time.

The shower was freezing when Watanuki leaped into the frosted glass stall, making him shiver and jump as he cursed the entire morning. That would have been the end of all things, if he had managed to walk out that door to meet Kohane reeking of Refrain. He didn’t want to imagine what would have happened or the look on Kohane’s face if he had. Or Doumeki’s, if he had decided to show up.

That would have been just perfect, Watanuki snarled at himself, as he used the strongest smelling soap he had. Not only would Kohane-chan be upset, but that idiot would try to tell me off in front of her!

He scraped the soap through his hair, jumped back out, and tore through his closet, searching for the oldest thing he had that couldn’t possibly have a hint of the drug’s musk on it.

He came back down five minutes later in a musty t-shirt and pants that hadn’t seen fresh air since he had been in high school, rubbing cologne in his neck, and checking that he still had his wallet. The dolls were roving around the hall, picking up his clothes. As he passed them he caught the faintest whiff of sweet-smelling smoke. Thank god I remembered that, Watanuki thought, as he said goodbye to Maru and Moro and went out his front door.

It was in his car, his driver aggressively working through the mild traffic to the highway, when Watanuki had a sense memory of the smell and thought about the empty tobacco box in his room. Just as he had begun to get settled, he grew anxious again. He bit his lip and looked nervously out the window to check their location. They weren’t that far away… He shook his head. He was already going to be unforgivably late at it was, a detour would make it inexcusable. He would get it on the way back. But then he remembered his promise to Kohane about an all-day outing and that the place he went to closed after dark. The owners weren’t friendly about any sort of business after hours; they had made that clear to him from the first.

He was probably going to taste blood soon, the way he was gnawing on his lip. Watanuki didn’t think he could wait till tomorrow. Today was already turning out to be stressful, and he was sure that going back and forth all day between Kohane and Doumeki was going to stretch him to his last nerve. He was going to have to relax when he got home, and, really, there was only one way that wouldn’t end up with him tearing the mansion apart until opening time tomorrow…

They pulled up outside Green Drugstore, and as soon as the tire touched the curb, Watanuki was hopping out, pushing though the glass doors right in front of a startled couple. Inside the store he had to stop, already panting, as he surveyed incredulously the long line in front of the counter. This was ridiculous; he was about to shove his way through to the front when he realized that he was getting glared at by two people from behind the counter and receiving stares from the rest of the people in the store. He didn’t care about the customers or even the young man manning the register (he had fought with, and snubbed, pretty-boy before), but the big man behind him wearing sunglasses he did. He was the man who dealt with him. And while it was a little hard to tell behind those shades, Watanuki had become very intimately acquainted with hostile attention over the years, and he could tell that he was getting it.

That man must have read his mind; and decided to spite him on purpose. He announced in a big, cheerful voice that customers must remain in line to receive service, and leaned back against the shelves behind him to smirk at Watanuki. He gritted his teeth: that ass could see he was in a hurry and now, of all times, he was taking advantage of it? Watanuki gained the fresh impulse of wanting to kill everyone in the room, but moved into line anyway. If he tried to kick up a fuss right now he would just waste more time with these people.

So he stood in line (this was a fucking pharmacy, how had he managed to come the first and only time there had ever been a line here?!) and tried hard not to count the seconds too loudly with his foot. By the time the last customer had finally moved away from the counter with an offended glare, he was almost vibrating in place from impatience.

The man in the glasses chuckled when he finally made it to the front, obviously amused. Watanuki was not. “In a little hurry today, kitten?”

“Yes,” Watanuki sneered exaggeratedly, wanting to make up for the stream of curse words that he wanted to spit at the man instead. He added, “I want my usual.”

“Of course,” he sighed, glasses flashing as he shifted. He pushed himself straight and walked toward the back of the store, waving a hand lazily behind him. “Come on then.” Watanuki did, leaving behind the cashier with his mouth open as if he wanted to protest.

The man slipped through a door in the back, with Watanuki, familiar with the routine, following him in. He found himself in a bit of a squeeze though when an employee tried to leave the back at the same time and they got stuck in the doorway.

Watanuki wiggled and struggled, cursing violently, elbowing the massive bulk beside him until he could get through. The massive bulk didn’t appreciate that and shoved him away when he got free, sending him to the floor with the courtesy of banging his shoulder on a table on the way down.

“Rikuo! Please refrain from hurting our customers; we wouldn’t want a lawsuit would we?”

Watanuki looked up to see Kakei, the store manager, standing to the side watching him. He picked himself up, hissing because of his shoulder, and turned to confront his assailant. Another huge, dark-haired man stood in the door, Watanuki recognizing that intense, heavy glare from the other times he had come to the store.

“You mean you wouldn’t want the cops here, poking around,” Rikuo snorted, rolling his eyes. Kakei made a humming noise, smiling like a snake. Rikuo looked at him and grunted again when he recognized him. “Oh, it’s you,” narrowing his eyes at Watanuki.

“Yes, it’s me, and watch where you’re going!” Watanuki snarled, still rubbing his shoulder. The dislike strengthened in Rikuo’s green eyes, and Watanuki made sure to give him a nasty look to show that the feeling was mutual. He ignored Rikuo’s mutter that he had been just as oblivious. “Kakei-san, how do you run a business when your employees are such brutes?”

“Oh, we get by,” Kakei commented offhandedly, lips permanently smiling. It began to catch up to Watanuki that he hadn’t helped him or bothered to apologize for what his lackey had done. He was judging on how to respond when he was interrupted.

“The bigger threat to his business is loudmouths,” said the man, Saiga, Watanuki recalled, as he came back into the room, carrying a zip lock bag with contents that he recognized. “Brutes are good for intimidation and muscle. Loudmouths just make a lot of noise and draw attention to themselves and things and people who don’t need it.”

“Now, now, Saiga,” Kakei admonished, as Watanuki fumed. “You seem to forget that we have a little noisy employee of our own, remember. And he has a bigger pair of lungs than Watanuki-kun does when he wants to.”

“Yeah, and that’s why we keep the kid out of this,” Saiga muttered, throwing the bag into the air and catching it. “This part of business isn’t good for the nervous types.”

Watanuki remembered he didn’t have time for this shit. “Are you just going to keep insulting me or are you going to give me the stuff? I’m in a hurry,” he snapped.

“Yeah, yeah, cash first, you know how it goes,” Saiga said, bored, still bouncing the bag in one hand. He watched Watanuki leaf through his wallet and hand Kakei a thick stack of large numbers. After he had, he tossed the bag to Watanuki, who almost dropped it in his fumbling hands. “Don’t come in the limo next time. Drive yourself. We don’t need any outside leaks wondering why you go out of your way to come here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Watanuki muttered, shoving his wallet into his back pocket and considering the plastic bag in his hands. With his head down, he was caught totally off guard when a large hand grabbed him by the shirt collar, spun him around, and slammed him into a wall. The knock to the back of his head made him a little dizzy, and he had to spend a couple seconds blinking before he realized that he was being pinned against the wall by Saiga.

“We don’t appreciate this attitude you have, Watanuki-kun,” he heard Kakei say; slow footsteps scuffing behind Saiga as he appeared by his partner’s side. “It might not be a big deal if you get caught with our product; you’ll just get possession and, being a celebrity, won’t even have to do most of the time you get, if you aren’t just checked straight into rehab. But, as you said, we have a business to run. It’s a little more serious on our end if this gets uncovered. And if you manage to reveal us in your carelessness, or not, not only will you not have a supplier of your drug of choice within a hundred miles of that lovely mansion of yours, but we will make sure that you receive adequate punishment for betraying us.” Kakei smiled.

By this point in the monologue, all the blood in Watanuki’s already pale face had long left. Saiga shook him a little when he thought he might faint, and unnecessarily growled “Listen to him” menacingly in his face. He could see Kakei shaking his head in his peripheral vision.

“This is supposed to be really casual, Watanuki-kun,” Kakei continued. “You’re supposed to come in, tell Rikuo, Saiga, or myself that you need your special prescription filled. Say it,” Kakei emphasized, Saiga reinforcing what he was saying with more pressure on his neck. “So that eavesdroppers aren’t left to guess too much. Famous people always take some sort of medicinal cocktail. Not to mention you look the type. Follow one of us into the back when we say so, pay us, pick up your stuff, then leave. Don’t linger, no shifty behavior, don’t draw attention. Don’t get stuck in the door marked “Employees Only” and then curse loudly enough to alert the authorities in the next prefecture. Show a little class next time, alright Watanuki-kun?”

Watanuki wanted to mention that he wouldn’t have got stuck in the first place if not for their overfed employee, but the arm crushing his neck made him reconsider. He just nodded.

Saiga removed his arm and Watanuki began coughing, bending over to catch his breath, while the big man watched. “You’re lucky, kid, that Kakei is even letting you in here after that stunt with the car and the door. I would’ve just cut you off right then. Probably earlier. You would have been too hot for me, with this kind of setup.”

“Don’t let this happen again,” Kakei said, as Watanuki hacked and straightened, carefully lifting his eyes to meet Kakei’s.

“It won’t.”

“Good.”

Saiga thrust a plastic bag in his face, and he took it. He looked inside, his forehead creasing when he saw what looked like clothing within.

“I added a jacket,” Kakei said when he glanced up. “Since it seemed you were going somewhere. Don’t leave it in the car.” There was no humor in his voice when he said that.

Watanuki just nodded and kept quiet. He wasn’t so much of an idiot that he didn’t know that now wasn’t the time for any input from him, except acknowledgement that he understood. Kakei nodded back. “Return that when you come back. I borrowed it from one of my employees and he’ll need it back.”

He nodded quickly, not quite meeting his eyes, and turned toward the door to leave. Saiga had taken up position leaning against the wall beside it, and when he reached for the door handle, he spoke, and Watanuki froze in place. “I really hate to see a kid like you into this shit. You haven’t lived long enough to need it.”

Watanuki stood there a long moment with his hand on the doorknob, jaw clenching, the bag crinkling in his fist. “You don’t know anything about it,” his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, and he pushed his way out. He felt the door pulled shut behind him a moment later.

He didn’t have time to get really angry before he was shoved up, again, against a wall. This time by the employee from before, Rikuo. He glared fiery green eyes into Watanuki’s blue from inches away.

“Kakei probably told you already, in so many words, that if you pull that shit around here he’ll cut your balls out and use them for ping pong, so I won’t repeat it for him. I’m just going to let you know that if you fuck with me personally, I’ll break every fucking bone in your body and set you up in a box outside for your driver to pick up.”

“O-Okay,” Watanuki said, terrified. What kind of staff does this place hire anyway? Watanuki knew he was an ass, but he wasn’t the kind of ass that could handle this.

Rikuo seemed to guess this and hmphed before moving away. Turning to go back to stocking, he added over his shoulder. “Oh, and the same applies if you talk to Kazahaya. Stay away from him, he doesn’t need to get involved with shitheads like you.”

Watanuki nodded numbly, which, with his back turned, he couldn’t see anyway, and walked just as numbly back to the front. The guy up there -Kazahaya, maybe -stared at him strangely, but Watanuki could barely notice. He felt shell-shocked when he stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the sun shining brightly on a world that contained Watanuki, and three murderous/maiming drug dealers that had it out for him.

He couldn’t get into his car fast enough. His driver didn’t have much time to look curious before Watanuki was screaming at him to get them the hell out of there, stat. And they went.

xXx

Watanuki jumped out of the car at the Plaza, and ran all the way to the café that they had arranged to meet at, close to the market. When he came in he spotted them at a window table: Doumeki staring down at his empty place-setting while Kohane sat across from him, typing on her phone. He came over to their table, lifting a hand and trying to wheeze out a greeting that turned into an alarmingly deep-throated cough. Doumeki at least looked up at that.

So he did come after all, Watanuki thought, after more oxygen made it to his brain. He lifted his head enough to squint at the expressionless man. Maybe a little more expressionless than usual, but it’s not as if Watanuki could ever fucking tell. He wasn’t a judge on how well Doumeki managed to imitate a rock. What’s that look for?

Kohane snapped her phone shut and Watanuki’s attention immediately snapped to her, while he tried to get his breathing more under control. Kohane set her phone down carefully in front of her on the table, and slowly turned to look at Watanuki. She stared at him with solemn grey-blue eyes, eyes that had made her so famous as a child actress, and said in a quiet, guarded tone, “Kimihiro.”

“Ko-Kohane-chan,” Watanuki said, starting to stutter as anxiety took over after oxygen-deprivation left. “I-I’m so, so sorry that I’m late, Kohane-chan, I woke up really late today, for some reason Maru and Moro didn’t get me up on time, maybe I told them the wrong time and didn’t realize, but anyway I came as soon as I could-”

“That’s fine,” Kohane said, in a very ‘not-fine’ voice to Watanuki, and stood-up, grabbing her purse and phone. “We should probably take a look at the market before it closes.”

“K-Kohane-chan…” She turned to Doumeki still sitting at their table. “Will you come with me, Shizuka-kun?”

Watanuki almost didn’t see Doumeki’s eyes flicker between them before he answered; Kohane’s coldness cut him acutely and he couldn’t help staring at her closed-off face, hurt. He hadn’t even been allowed to apologize. And now she was asking Doumeki to escort her, like she didn’t even trust him at all. He had thought that out of the two of them, he would always be her favorite. “Sure.”

They walked down the street leading to the market, Watanuki and Doumeki with Kohane between them. Kohane walked a little faster so that she was ahead, and Watanuki thought that if Doumeki wasn’t so lazy, they would have both left him behind.

That thought deeply depressed him, and as they wandered into the market he tried to sulk silently behind them.

They went through a couple levels before Kohane picked a store. Watanuki and Doumeki waited by the entrance while she looked over some cheap jewelry, the shop owner watching like a hawk.

As they stood there watching, Watanuki nursed his hurt pride and tried to think of a way to get Kohane to forgive him. Although, maybe it wasn’t really because of him that she was angry. Doumeki looked like he had been sitting there a while with her before he came…

He was eyeing Doumeki with growing suspicion and anger when the schemer himself interrupted his thoughts. “She waited there for hours, you know.”

“What?” he snapped, immediately on the defensive. Doumeki rolled his eyes to look at him.

“Kohane. She was there even before the time when you were supposed to come,” Doumeki explained in his deadpan tone.

“When did she give you permission to use her name like that?!” he asked, livid, wondering when she had done that, if she had. Doumeki looked cross. (Watanuki thought he might be going into shock.)

“That’s not the point,” he snapped back. Watanuki blinked. He hadn’t known Doumeki could inflect his voice like that. He had thought his voice box was broken. Or something in his brain. “Why did you act like it was such a big deal for me to be here, if you were going to cancel anyway? Did you want to soften the blow?”

“I wasn’t going to cancel! What the hell are you talking about?!”

Doumeki made a putting down motion with his hands. “Keep it down,” he said in his inflectionless voice again. His eyes flicked to the front to check on Kohane. “Try not to be so obvious. And if you weren’t going to cancel, then why were you so late?”

“I told you, I woke up late!”

“You didn’t set the twins as an alarm.” A flat tone.

“I forgot,” he lied. He wasn’t about to tell Doumeki that when he had remembered, Yuuko had told him that she would wake him in the morning herself.

Doumeki just stared at him for a minute and then looked away, as if he was done talking. Watanuki wasn’t though. He folded his arms.

“If you didn’t want to come so badly, then why did you?” Doumeki actually turned his head to look at him this time and cocked an eyebrow. Watanuki felt so honored.

“You’re kidding right,” in his you’re-so-stupid tone. Watanuki bristled.

“NO, I AM NOT KIDDING, DO I LOOK LIKE I’M TELLING A JOKE!?”

Doumeki plugged a pinky in the ear closest to him. “Shut up,” he said, annoyed.

Giggling erupted in front of them and the two turned to find the store owner and a couple ladies looking at them, as well as Kohane who had come back. It took a second for it to register that she was smiling. A small, tiny smile; the one she had worn when she was just a kid when Watanuki had gone to see her, as if she couldn’t believe anyone would want to make her happy. Watanuki was smiling back before he realized he was.

Then the smile was gone from her face as if someone had wiped it off. She walked between them back out into the aisle, them automatically following. Watanuki noticed that she was carrying a small shopping bag.

“Oh, Kohane-chan, you should have let me buy that for you-”

“I bought it myself,” Kohane interrupted. When he opened his mouth to protest, she just waved the bag a little at him. “It’s fine. It wasn’t that expensive anyway. It’s a friend’s present.”

“Oh…” Watanuki sighed gloomily behind her. He was despairing of the situation with Kohane every minute that dragged by in here, and he couldn’t think of any other opportunity that would come up to turn the situation around. This wasn’t working out like he had planned.

He was busy moping and staring down at his dragging feet when he felt something nudge him in the side. “Oi.”

His reaction to that was so automatic that it almost felt like it was someone else. “I’ve known you for how many years, AND YOU STILL DON’T-”

A hand cuffed over his mouth, muffling his violent objection. Doumeki leaned into his face, eyes narrowed, stony, and annoyed. “That many years, and you’re still way too loud.” He glanced meaningfully at Kohane still walking ahead of them and then slowly removed his hand.

“And what do we have to talk about that Kohane-chan shouldn’t hear?” Watanuki asked crossly, rubbing his mouth and hoping he could get the stink of Doumeki’s hand off his lips. Doumeki gave him a flat sort of glare.

“Plenty of things.” Watanuki glared back at him. “Did you hear what I said, about Kohane being disappointed that you weren’t even here on time for this?”

“Yes, I heard,” Watanuki muttered, his eyes skittering away to the floor again. “But it’s not like I can do anything about that now. And I’m here; I wasn’t going to fucking cancel, like you thought,” he added bitterly.

“She thought it too.” And wasn’t that a nice guilt trip to add. He could get around the world with the number he’s been having. Watanuki stared at the black scuffs on the linoleum floor passing beneath his feet, and tried to contain the sick bubble of shame that was rising in his middle.

“I thought you asked me yesterday to be here because Kohane would worry if we didn’t come together. Or did you forget that as well?” Watanuki fidgeted and didn’t answer. He refused to remember anything he might’ve said yesterday.

“I came because Kohane didn’t want to be alone with you,” Watanuki flinched hard, “and because I didn’t think it would be a good idea if I let you mess this up. I was right. You’ve already managed to screw up. I can’t,” and here he turned to glare fiercely at Watanuki, “keep this from becoming a train-wreck if you keep doing things to derail it. So if you have anything else stupid planned, let me know now.”

“Fuck you, Doumeki,” Watanuki hissed, hunching in his jacket. “I didn’t ask for your help, I’m fine on my own.”

Doumeki snorted. “You’re right. You don’t plan your idiocy: You’re much better at improvisation.”

This guy had always been too good at pushing his buttons. Watanuki was quickly reaching his boiling point. “Did you ever think that Kohane-chan might not want you interfering in her life, either?!”

Doumeki gave him a very long look. “Do you ever think that pretty soon, you’re going to end up alone?”

Watanuki refused to speak to him after that. They trailed along behind Kohane, and Doumeki seemed fine with it.

xXx

part two and fst