Breaking the line (chapter two, PG-13)
The words Ace said are only a half-truth, Arsenal thinks on his train ride to Osaka, where he is supposed to meet with a man that Ace-Ryo (“It’s Ryo,” Ace said, correcting Arsenal - he didn’t have to ask Arsenal to call him like that, it was obvious enough considering the tone of his voice) claimed to be the most trustworthy person he knows. Arsenal believes him, because he doesn’t really have much choice - and because he actually wants to believe him.
So he’s riding the regular train, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to use his car, with money withdrawn from his bank account hidden in his small suitcase, where he stuffed only a few, most needed things. He left everything back in Tokyo, in that small apartment of his, rented under a fictional name he doesn’t plan on using anymore. Now he’s a free person - or he just wants to think like that - starting his journey for a new life and new opportunities.
And the only thing he thinks about are those words, etched in his memory with a big, noticeable font; “you have no idea what you’ll have to go through”. Surely Arsenal can’t possibly know what the future has prepared for him - but he knows what Ryo had in mind when he said about needing luck.
Dropping out of such a line of business isn’t an easy thing. It’s not only about saying proper goodbyes, gathering your things and moving on - there are no encouraging smiles, bidding farewells and wishing luck in the future. There is no way of doing this amicably, there are no compromises and there is no peace afterwards - not when you’re good at what you’ve been doing so far, when so many people know you, when you know so many people - and especially not when you didn’t do the job you got payment for. The retiring assassins struggle with their decisions for many months, years even - because it’s mostly about endurance. About how long will you be able to hide yourself. And, be it irony or justice, it’s how good you were that decides how hard the whole thing will be - the better you were, the more people look for you, the harder it is to hide, and the longer it takes to people lose their interest in finding you.
The train reaches its destination after a few long hours, filled with thoughts for Arsenal about everything he has to deal with now. Stretching a bit to get his suitcase from the upper shelf he looks around a bit - really, it’s just from habit, because he’s sure as hell nobody knows he’s in Osaka, planning his big escape from the past. But he does it anyway, observing his surroundings, people slowly leaving the train, and the ones standing at the platform. There aren’t that many of them - the directions Ryo gave him said he’s supposed to get off at the last station, which according to what he told him, is located somewhere on the outskirts of the city.
Standing there, seeing mainly middle-aged men already leaving the platform, Arsenal can’t do much. Ryo, when Arsenal asked how he will recognize that mysterious “trusted-person”, replied that he won’t have to recognize him, because it’s him who’s going to be recognized. So he just moves with his small luggage to stand under the roof when the rain starts pouring in thick drops, falling heavily on the asphalt area, and he waits, still eyeing his surroundings. The first five minutes goes by rather quickly, the next fifteen starts to feel longer, and when it’s over half an hour, Arsenal feels sleepy, his eyelids falling down and back resting on the cold column supporting the roof.
It’s only then when he feels a quick tapping on his shoulder, startling him and making him jump in surprise. Arsenal spins around, expecting to see someone about to ask if he needs help, but instead of an elderly man, there is a young, rather good-looking man standing in front of him, his face expressionless, but eyes sparkling with curiosity that Arsenal couldn’t miss.
“Come with me,” he says with his deep voice, turning around on the spot and walking away, leaving Arsenal a bit dumbfounded.
He’s not sure if he should follow him, or call and ask who he is - he knows there are many possibilities as for what he could and should do, but in the end he finds himself chasing after him, struggling in order to keep up with the pace of his long steps. Arsenal is somewhere between wondering how is it possible to have this long legs and if this is what Ryo describes as a “trusted-person”, when he’s pushed inside the car - not hard enough for him to be scared (if he’s even capable of getting scared anymore), but enough to get the suggestion and follow.
Seated in the car - nothing that exclusive, just a plain Toyota, which could use some serious inspection and inside cleaning - Arsenal feels a bit uncomfortable. There are many things he would like to ask about, but he keeps them to himself, deciding it’s not him who should bring up the topic.
“I’m Ohkura Tadayoshi,” says the man after a few moments of complete silence. When he turns his head towards Arsenal, he flashes him a smile - it’s a bit strained and it fades as fast as it appeared, but somehow it eases the tension, even if just a little bit. “And it’s me who Ryo trusted to give you a place to hide for some time.”
“Oh,” comes Arsenal’s reply, because honestly, he has no idea what he could possibly say now. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I doubt it,” is the rather cold answer. “It’s not like the circumstances of our meeting are nice, or anything, is it? But that’s not important, we’re not here to make friends with each other. I wouldn’t do it if not for Ryo’s request,” he says with a small smile, meaningless for Arsenal, but visibly meaningful for Ohkura.
“The thing is I can’t allow you to stay at my place. It would be too dangerous, because considering I’m tightly connected with Ryo, someone could find you easily by associating the facts,” Ohkura continues, and that’s the moment when Arsenal starts to think about who exactly Ohkura is to Ryo. It’s not like Ryo to trust people just like that, and Arsenal is positive there must be some serious issue going on between them - business? family? friendship? - if they obviously are so comfortable with each other.
“That’s why I asked a friend of mine to take you in for a few weeks. I didn’t discuss this with Ryo, but he knows him too, and I’m sure he won’t mind,” he says, not really looking at Arsenal. His eyes are fixed on the windscreen and Arsenal can see his profile slightly hidden in shadows which makes him look even more mysterious than he already is to him.
“He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t know anything about the person he’s going to help. Which means you have to come up with a whole new history for yourself, as well as grounds for why you are in your recent situation. I only told him you’re new in Osaka, you don’t have a place or job, and you just need help while adjusting to the new surroundings,” Ohkura explains, tapping his fingers on the wheel, probably without even thinking about what he’s doing. Arsenal is about to say something, deciding Ohkura has finished already, but it’s then when the other man is turning to him again, his eyes firm and mouth clasped tight.
“Just don’t screw it up. He’s a really good friend of mine who doesn’t deserve to be involved in the shit you willingly swim in. Is that clear?” he asks, and the tone of his voice sends chills down Arsenal’s spine. He sounds strong, determined, and somewhat desperate too, making it impossible for Arsenal to do anything else but nod his head.
“Good. Now, I’ll drive you to his place, he’s probably waiting impatiently already,” Ohkura says while starting the engine and adjusting the rear-view mirror.
They drive in silence, the sounds of the working engine and the night-life of Osaka the only ones audible in the car. Arsenal’s thoughts are spinning in his head again, and he’s sure he needs to adjust to this feeling, since from now on there is probably a lot of thinking waiting for him. But it’s good. It’s good he decided to end that life lacking in emotions, memories and things he could possibly think about. It can’t be bad.
When they reach the place that seems to be their destination - a small, rather quiet housing estate, and Ohkura shuts down the engine, Arsenal is the first to ask the question he can’t really kick out of his mind, too curious to not ask. “Who are you exactly to Ryo?”
There are a few moments of silence, Ohkura looking like he’s thinking about his reply, and he answers in the end, “I’m sure if Ryo wanted you to know, he would already tell you.”
One side of Arsenal wants to dig further into the topic, but the other, more reasonable one, decides against it. It’s not like knowing this is necessary, he can live with the lack of knowledge for a few more days until he meets with Ryo - while he can’t really live without Ohkura’s help if he got angry and turned him down. Because somehow, he looks like such a person to Arsenal.
“What’s the number of his apartment?” he asks, reaching for the car’s handle to open the passenger door.
“56, third floor,” comes the automatic reply. “Oh, and use the left lift, the right one is broken.”
*
Three long steps, moment of hesitation, one long ring of a doorbell. Hearing the rushed steps on the other side, Arsenal is nervous. But it’s not about the whole situation, fear of getting caught, that someone might know already, observing him from around the corner - no, it’s more about the fact, that suddenly, he has to (or should, at least) become sociable.
Being an assassin disallows keeping contacts, making friends, meeting people. The closest to living a social life is feeling the blood on your fingers, or getting a quick lay with a random whore. That’s why, wanting it or not, he’s not accustomed to talking with people, interacting - and the idea of living with someone makes him feel intimidated, embarrassed even. He has no idea what to expect and how to react to whatever - whoever - it waits for him behind these doors.
There are many images in his head of what that “nice friend of Ohkura” might look like. He could suspect it would be someone similar to Ohkura himself - quiet, not willing to talk much, rather cold with his appearance and behaviour.
But what he sees in reality is above all of his possible ideas.
The man standing in the doorstep is nothing like Ohkura. He’s not tall - more like somewhere around his own height, and even though most people would consider him “short” - there is something that makes him very noticeable, and in a way bigger than he actually is. Maybe it’s his untypical choice of his clothes’ colours and patterns - Arsenal can see red with yellow and turquoise mixed all together, and there are black dots and stars printed on the colourful materials, seemingly completely messed up, but somehow still matching in its chaos. Maybe it’s his hair - dyed in honey-brown, the hairstyle styled in that messy way that’s popular nowadays. Maybe it’s his wide smile, the one you can’t take your eyes off. The one, that makes you feel warmer on the inside, and braver, and more encouraged.
“You’re Tacchon’s friend, right?” comes the sudden question after a few moments of them only staring at each other, both thinking about their first impressions, only in a slightly different way.
Arsenal is even more surprised now, hearing that voice - because it’s deep and melodic, and it’s contrasting almost painfully with the way he looks.
But there actually is something that matches - his eyes. They are big and dark, and Arsenal is positive one could easily drown in them if you looked long enough.
At first, Arsenal wants to decline, but only then he concludes that “Tacchon” must be the way this guy calls Ohkura, and so he nods once, smiling a bit cautiously.
“Come inside then!” is his vigorous reply, and he grips the sleeve of Arsenal’s jacket, pushing him inside and closing the doors.
“Sorry if it’s a bit messy there,” he says, starting to pick up some clothes laying here and there, gathering them in his arms. “It was just so sudden, Tacchon’s call and request, I didn’t really have the time to prepare anything.”
“It’s okay,” Arsenal says, overcoming his intimidation at last, “I’m thankful you agreed to help me at all.”
“Oh, it’s nothing!” the other one says, waving his hand, free of the clothes he left in bathroom. “Honestly speaking, I’m quite glad someone’s moving in here, even if only for a short time. I don’t really like living alone, it’s… sad. You know, coming back to the house where nobody greets you, knowing you’ll eat alone and watch some movie until you fall asleep, and even then, there is no one to cover you with a blanket,” he says, and the evident sadness is detectable in his voice.
Maybe that’s what makes Arsenal reply without thinking, “Yeah, I know.”
It’s awkward, Arsenal thinks afterwards, to feel at ease saying something like that to a person you barely know. But at the same time, it’s nice - not to feel like you have to hold anything inside yourself, afraid to let go and show the world - or the other person - who you are and what you think. What you feel.
“What should I call you, anyway?” The question tears Arsenal out of his thoughts, and he looks at the man, whose eyes are sparkling with honest interest. “I don’t know why, but Tacchon didn’t tell me your name. Guess it was all that haste, did he even tell you my name?” Arsenal shakes his head at that, and the man lets out a short, soft laugh, “Really, I could’ve guessed. I’m Yasuda Shota, but most of my friends call me Yasu. It’s short, easy and matches me well, doesn’t it? And you?”
Arsenal wonders if this is going to be the routine of their conversations, Yasu asking him questions that are followed by a few moments of silence which Arsenal spends thinking. But it isn’t easy, nothing is, when suddenly everything takes a sharp u-turn and Arsenal has to go back a few years, reminding himself what the normal life, amongst normal people, looks like.
“It’s Subaru,” he says at last, the name strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, even though this is what his mother named him over twenty years ago. “Shibutani Subaru, and no nicknames.”
“Really?” Yasu almost gasps, looking somewhere between surprised and shocked, “Like, any? From school times, work, the one your friends came up with?” And when Arsenal - or rather Subaru - shakes his head once again, Yasu just smiles, “I’ll find you one then. Just wait.”
And somehow, Subaru knows he will.
*
“I can’t believe you have only one suitcase with you,” Yasu says, after two hours of showing Subaru the small apartment, explaining what and how everything works and where certain things are that he’ll need. His words are now slurred between mouthfuls of ramen he prepared for both of them - It’s a bit salty, since Yasu isn’t the best cook in the world, but Subaru doesn’t even think about complaining, not when it comes to his first shared meal in two years.
“I just don’t need many things. Just the basics,” Subaru replies looking at Yasu, who’s sitting on the other side of the couch. “I left the rest in Tokyo, but I doubt I’ll ever go back there.”
“Why? Didn’t you like it? I know it’s not my business, but it’s kind of strange, you know, leaving everything behind, taking only one suitcase with you and coming to a city you don’t know at all, without a plan,” he says, thoughtfully, and it makes Subaru’s thoughts spin like crazy again. What to do, what to say, how to explain everything. He can’t possibly tell the truth - by doing this he would not only make Ohkura furious, but ruin his chance of escaping the past too. When a minute of silence passes just like that, Yasu seems to notice something, and he’s explaining himself rather hastily, “No, it’s not that I have a problem with that! Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be able to help you, but... I don’t know, it’s probably that I could never do anything like this. I’d be too scared to start a new life, just like that, without planning and arranging things.”
“I’m scared too,” Subaru says, going back to eating his slightly cold already ramen. He knows Yasu is curiously watching him, but he just finishes the soup, acting as if he doesn’t notice, trying to adjust to the feeling of another’s presence, of being watched, of having to reply to questions and say things to keep up a conversation. “But what I’m doing is not because I want to, but because I have to.”
So he’s riding the regular train, deciding it wouldn’t be wise to use his car, with money withdrawn from his bank account hidden in his small suitcase, where he stuffed only a few, most needed things. He left everything back in Tokyo, in that small apartment of his, rented under a fictional name he doesn’t plan on using anymore. Now he’s a free person - or he just wants to think like that - starting his journey for a new life and new opportunities.
And the only thing he thinks about are those words, etched in his memory with a big, noticeable font; “you have no idea what you’ll have to go through”. Surely Arsenal can’t possibly know what the future has prepared for him - but he knows what Ryo had in mind when he said about needing luck.
Dropping out of such a line of business isn’t an easy thing. It’s not only about saying proper goodbyes, gathering your things and moving on - there are no encouraging smiles, bidding farewells and wishing luck in the future. There is no way of doing this amicably, there are no compromises and there is no peace afterwards - not when you’re good at what you’ve been doing so far, when so many people know you, when you know so many people - and especially not when you didn’t do the job you got payment for. The retiring assassins struggle with their decisions for many months, years even - because it’s mostly about endurance. About how long will you be able to hide yourself. And, be it irony or justice, it’s how good you were that decides how hard the whole thing will be - the better you were, the more people look for you, the harder it is to hide, and the longer it takes to people lose their interest in finding you.
The train reaches its destination after a few long hours, filled with thoughts for Arsenal about everything he has to deal with now. Stretching a bit to get his suitcase from the upper shelf he looks around a bit - really, it’s just from habit, because he’s sure as hell nobody knows he’s in Osaka, planning his big escape from the past. But he does it anyway, observing his surroundings, people slowly leaving the train, and the ones standing at the platform. There aren’t that many of them - the directions Ryo gave him said he’s supposed to get off at the last station, which according to what he told him, is located somewhere on the outskirts of the city.
Standing there, seeing mainly middle-aged men already leaving the platform, Arsenal can’t do much. Ryo, when Arsenal asked how he will recognize that mysterious “trusted-person”, replied that he won’t have to recognize him, because it’s him who’s going to be recognized. So he just moves with his small luggage to stand under the roof when the rain starts pouring in thick drops, falling heavily on the asphalt area, and he waits, still eyeing his surroundings. The first five minutes goes by rather quickly, the next fifteen starts to feel longer, and when it’s over half an hour, Arsenal feels sleepy, his eyelids falling down and back resting on the cold column supporting the roof.
It’s only then when he feels a quick tapping on his shoulder, startling him and making him jump in surprise. Arsenal spins around, expecting to see someone about to ask if he needs help, but instead of an elderly man, there is a young, rather good-looking man standing in front of him, his face expressionless, but eyes sparkling with curiosity that Arsenal couldn’t miss.
“Come with me,” he says with his deep voice, turning around on the spot and walking away, leaving Arsenal a bit dumbfounded.
He’s not sure if he should follow him, or call and ask who he is - he knows there are many possibilities as for what he could and should do, but in the end he finds himself chasing after him, struggling in order to keep up with the pace of his long steps. Arsenal is somewhere between wondering how is it possible to have this long legs and if this is what Ryo describes as a “trusted-person”, when he’s pushed inside the car - not hard enough for him to be scared (if he’s even capable of getting scared anymore), but enough to get the suggestion and follow.
Seated in the car - nothing that exclusive, just a plain Toyota, which could use some serious inspection and inside cleaning - Arsenal feels a bit uncomfortable. There are many things he would like to ask about, but he keeps them to himself, deciding it’s not him who should bring up the topic.
“I’m Ohkura Tadayoshi,” says the man after a few moments of complete silence. When he turns his head towards Arsenal, he flashes him a smile - it’s a bit strained and it fades as fast as it appeared, but somehow it eases the tension, even if just a little bit. “And it’s me who Ryo trusted to give you a place to hide for some time.”
“Oh,” comes Arsenal’s reply, because honestly, he has no idea what he could possibly say now. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I doubt it,” is the rather cold answer. “It’s not like the circumstances of our meeting are nice, or anything, is it? But that’s not important, we’re not here to make friends with each other. I wouldn’t do it if not for Ryo’s request,” he says with a small smile, meaningless for Arsenal, but visibly meaningful for Ohkura.
“The thing is I can’t allow you to stay at my place. It would be too dangerous, because considering I’m tightly connected with Ryo, someone could find you easily by associating the facts,” Ohkura continues, and that’s the moment when Arsenal starts to think about who exactly Ohkura is to Ryo. It’s not like Ryo to trust people just like that, and Arsenal is positive there must be some serious issue going on between them - business? family? friendship? - if they obviously are so comfortable with each other.
“That’s why I asked a friend of mine to take you in for a few weeks. I didn’t discuss this with Ryo, but he knows him too, and I’m sure he won’t mind,” he says, not really looking at Arsenal. His eyes are fixed on the windscreen and Arsenal can see his profile slightly hidden in shadows which makes him look even more mysterious than he already is to him.
“He’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t know anything about the person he’s going to help. Which means you have to come up with a whole new history for yourself, as well as grounds for why you are in your recent situation. I only told him you’re new in Osaka, you don’t have a place or job, and you just need help while adjusting to the new surroundings,” Ohkura explains, tapping his fingers on the wheel, probably without even thinking about what he’s doing. Arsenal is about to say something, deciding Ohkura has finished already, but it’s then when the other man is turning to him again, his eyes firm and mouth clasped tight.
“Just don’t screw it up. He’s a really good friend of mine who doesn’t deserve to be involved in the shit you willingly swim in. Is that clear?” he asks, and the tone of his voice sends chills down Arsenal’s spine. He sounds strong, determined, and somewhat desperate too, making it impossible for Arsenal to do anything else but nod his head.
“Good. Now, I’ll drive you to his place, he’s probably waiting impatiently already,” Ohkura says while starting the engine and adjusting the rear-view mirror.
They drive in silence, the sounds of the working engine and the night-life of Osaka the only ones audible in the car. Arsenal’s thoughts are spinning in his head again, and he’s sure he needs to adjust to this feeling, since from now on there is probably a lot of thinking waiting for him. But it’s good. It’s good he decided to end that life lacking in emotions, memories and things he could possibly think about. It can’t be bad.
When they reach the place that seems to be their destination - a small, rather quiet housing estate, and Ohkura shuts down the engine, Arsenal is the first to ask the question he can’t really kick out of his mind, too curious to not ask. “Who are you exactly to Ryo?”
There are a few moments of silence, Ohkura looking like he’s thinking about his reply, and he answers in the end, “I’m sure if Ryo wanted you to know, he would already tell you.”
One side of Arsenal wants to dig further into the topic, but the other, more reasonable one, decides against it. It’s not like knowing this is necessary, he can live with the lack of knowledge for a few more days until he meets with Ryo - while he can’t really live without Ohkura’s help if he got angry and turned him down. Because somehow, he looks like such a person to Arsenal.
“What’s the number of his apartment?” he asks, reaching for the car’s handle to open the passenger door.
“56, third floor,” comes the automatic reply. “Oh, and use the left lift, the right one is broken.”
*
Three long steps, moment of hesitation, one long ring of a doorbell. Hearing the rushed steps on the other side, Arsenal is nervous. But it’s not about the whole situation, fear of getting caught, that someone might know already, observing him from around the corner - no, it’s more about the fact, that suddenly, he has to (or should, at least) become sociable.
Being an assassin disallows keeping contacts, making friends, meeting people. The closest to living a social life is feeling the blood on your fingers, or getting a quick lay with a random whore. That’s why, wanting it or not, he’s not accustomed to talking with people, interacting - and the idea of living with someone makes him feel intimidated, embarrassed even. He has no idea what to expect and how to react to whatever - whoever - it waits for him behind these doors.
There are many images in his head of what that “nice friend of Ohkura” might look like. He could suspect it would be someone similar to Ohkura himself - quiet, not willing to talk much, rather cold with his appearance and behaviour.
But what he sees in reality is above all of his possible ideas.
The man standing in the doorstep is nothing like Ohkura. He’s not tall - more like somewhere around his own height, and even though most people would consider him “short” - there is something that makes him very noticeable, and in a way bigger than he actually is. Maybe it’s his untypical choice of his clothes’ colours and patterns - Arsenal can see red with yellow and turquoise mixed all together, and there are black dots and stars printed on the colourful materials, seemingly completely messed up, but somehow still matching in its chaos. Maybe it’s his hair - dyed in honey-brown, the hairstyle styled in that messy way that’s popular nowadays. Maybe it’s his wide smile, the one you can’t take your eyes off. The one, that makes you feel warmer on the inside, and braver, and more encouraged.
“You’re Tacchon’s friend, right?” comes the sudden question after a few moments of them only staring at each other, both thinking about their first impressions, only in a slightly different way.
Arsenal is even more surprised now, hearing that voice - because it’s deep and melodic, and it’s contrasting almost painfully with the way he looks.
But there actually is something that matches - his eyes. They are big and dark, and Arsenal is positive one could easily drown in them if you looked long enough.
At first, Arsenal wants to decline, but only then he concludes that “Tacchon” must be the way this guy calls Ohkura, and so he nods once, smiling a bit cautiously.
“Come inside then!” is his vigorous reply, and he grips the sleeve of Arsenal’s jacket, pushing him inside and closing the doors.
“Sorry if it’s a bit messy there,” he says, starting to pick up some clothes laying here and there, gathering them in his arms. “It was just so sudden, Tacchon’s call and request, I didn’t really have the time to prepare anything.”
“It’s okay,” Arsenal says, overcoming his intimidation at last, “I’m thankful you agreed to help me at all.”
“Oh, it’s nothing!” the other one says, waving his hand, free of the clothes he left in bathroom. “Honestly speaking, I’m quite glad someone’s moving in here, even if only for a short time. I don’t really like living alone, it’s… sad. You know, coming back to the house where nobody greets you, knowing you’ll eat alone and watch some movie until you fall asleep, and even then, there is no one to cover you with a blanket,” he says, and the evident sadness is detectable in his voice.
Maybe that’s what makes Arsenal reply without thinking, “Yeah, I know.”
It’s awkward, Arsenal thinks afterwards, to feel at ease saying something like that to a person you barely know. But at the same time, it’s nice - not to feel like you have to hold anything inside yourself, afraid to let go and show the world - or the other person - who you are and what you think. What you feel.
“What should I call you, anyway?” The question tears Arsenal out of his thoughts, and he looks at the man, whose eyes are sparkling with honest interest. “I don’t know why, but Tacchon didn’t tell me your name. Guess it was all that haste, did he even tell you my name?” Arsenal shakes his head at that, and the man lets out a short, soft laugh, “Really, I could’ve guessed. I’m Yasuda Shota, but most of my friends call me Yasu. It’s short, easy and matches me well, doesn’t it? And you?”
Arsenal wonders if this is going to be the routine of their conversations, Yasu asking him questions that are followed by a few moments of silence which Arsenal spends thinking. But it isn’t easy, nothing is, when suddenly everything takes a sharp u-turn and Arsenal has to go back a few years, reminding himself what the normal life, amongst normal people, looks like.
“It’s Subaru,” he says at last, the name strange and unfamiliar on his tongue, even though this is what his mother named him over twenty years ago. “Shibutani Subaru, and no nicknames.”
“Really?” Yasu almost gasps, looking somewhere between surprised and shocked, “Like, any? From school times, work, the one your friends came up with?” And when Arsenal - or rather Subaru - shakes his head once again, Yasu just smiles, “I’ll find you one then. Just wait.”
And somehow, Subaru knows he will.
*
“I can’t believe you have only one suitcase with you,” Yasu says, after two hours of showing Subaru the small apartment, explaining what and how everything works and where certain things are that he’ll need. His words are now slurred between mouthfuls of ramen he prepared for both of them - It’s a bit salty, since Yasu isn’t the best cook in the world, but Subaru doesn’t even think about complaining, not when it comes to his first shared meal in two years.
“I just don’t need many things. Just the basics,” Subaru replies looking at Yasu, who’s sitting on the other side of the couch. “I left the rest in Tokyo, but I doubt I’ll ever go back there.”
“Why? Didn’t you like it? I know it’s not my business, but it’s kind of strange, you know, leaving everything behind, taking only one suitcase with you and coming to a city you don’t know at all, without a plan,” he says, thoughtfully, and it makes Subaru’s thoughts spin like crazy again. What to do, what to say, how to explain everything. He can’t possibly tell the truth - by doing this he would not only make Ohkura furious, but ruin his chance of escaping the past too. When a minute of silence passes just like that, Yasu seems to notice something, and he’s explaining himself rather hastily, “No, it’s not that I have a problem with that! Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be able to help you, but... I don’t know, it’s probably that I could never do anything like this. I’d be too scared to start a new life, just like that, without planning and arranging things.”
“I’m scared too,” Subaru says, going back to eating his slightly cold already ramen. He knows Yasu is curiously watching him, but he just finishes the soup, acting as if he doesn’t notice, trying to adjust to the feeling of another’s presence, of being watched, of having to reply to questions and say things to keep up a conversation. “But what I’m doing is not because I want to, but because I have to.”