“You knew.” It was, Kawada mused, a pretty disinterested response considering the fact that both their metallic restraints lay like tacky costume jewelry on the table beside Kiriyama’s gurney. With a shrug and wry smile he returned to packing away the modest supplies he’d managed to scavenge from the clinics dust-filled drawers and cupboards. “Of course, you think I’d have let them drag me back here if I couldn’t get away somehow?” There was a cocky indigence in his reply that almost made Kazuo smile.
“Kitano is not as astute a player as he assumes ne?” It puzzled Kawada to hear his bitter rival conversing so freely, in a deadened, but simultaneously amused tone that chilled something deep down in the former student. “He’s a cunning bastard, that’s what he is.” Shougo retorted brusquely and shoved another wad of gauze into his backpack. He moved on to his neglected shotgun eventually, using a strip of material from his trousers to clean the blood splattered barrel.
They sat in silence for what felt like hours. Kiriyama watched his fellow player intently, until the honeyed light of dawn pervaded their shelter and Kawada got to his feet. He shouldered the pump action weapon and approached Kazuo with the same wariness that had never really left him since the previous afternoon. “I meant what I said, one wrong move and I’ll kill you.” Kazuo’s lips crooked in a lopsided smile, “So desu ne.” With only a ghostly flicker of a grimace he levered himself from the stretcher and tried to support his own weight. Inevitably, after a few over-confident steps his leg faltered and Kawada relented at the last second, holding his arms out to halt his fall. “Baka, can’t ya tell it’s broken?” Leaning his head back until it almost rested on Kawada’s bared and bronzed shoulder Kazuo smiled again. It was still eerie to behold.
“So desu ne?”
Shougo shook his head and let out a hissed sigh through clenched teeth. Not for the first time he pondered quite why he’d decided to be merciful to the psychopath in his arms. Kiriyama’s gaze wandered again and Kawada hoisted him up properly like a limp puppet, his arm latching tightly round Kazuo’s emaciated waist.
“Lets go.”
Neither boy looked back as they left the shadowy sanctuary of the clinic and both considered with vividly realised agitation how Kitano would deal with them if he found out that his wonderfully disgusting vengeance had failed.
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The port was little more than a worn down jetty, strewn with the remnants of a once flourishing fishing trade. Now only coils of waterlogged rope and battered old rowing boats remained. The thick smell of salted air and gutted fish still lingered and it was all Kawada could do not to wrinkle his nose in repulsion. If his elusive father had truly been a fisherman he wasn’t sure how he would have coped. Kiriyama still clung to his side, an unbalanced, wounded little limpet holding fast to the rock-steady security that only the one he hated most could provide now. For enemies they were abiding this cold silence that had sprung up like an icy wall between them well. It was more from a sense of urgency that desire for now anyway. Kawada didn’t even want to think further than his next heartbeat.
As they clattered awkwardly towards the end of the jetty and a peeling, rust encrusted tugboat that seemed almost as welcome as a helicopter or cruise liner away from the island, Kiriyama seemed to rouse from his waking slumber. His slackened limbs jerked fitfully to life and Kawada wondered for a terrible second if he was having some kind of seizure. But, no as usual it was only a vague attempt to walk for himself. Kazuo held his own until he was safely tucked inside the cabin of the tug, his eyes still fixed on the island. Shougo followed almost dutifully, his own attention thankfully distracted by trying to remember how to pilot a small, decrepit vessel such as this one. How kind of Kitano, to leave salvation just within the reach of those who could never take it. He hadn’t counted on their co-operation and one day it would be his downfall, Kawada was sure enough of that.
The island slipped away into an indistinct haze of ocean mists and all too raw memories. Blood still shone untouched on most of Kawada’s ruined clothes and no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin some things just wouldn’t wash away.
Eventually, with the ship set on what he hoped was a course back to dry land Kawada allowed himself time to calm down. The rush of adrenaline that pumped so virulently through his veins was fast depleting and it left a hollow, bloodless feeling that made him shiver in the cool breezes whipping through the cracked windscreen.
Kazuo sat huddled in the corner; a disheveled and pitiful sight. He could hardly have been the graceful, deadly predator from a few hours ago. The lust for the kill had washed like an evening tide from his eyes and it took Kawada a good few minutes to realise that those dulled eyes were boring right back into his own. He chuckled and rested one arm casually on the steering wheel.
“They’ll come after us.”
Shougo waited for a token response, his gaze wavering from the horizon when it never came. Hunched up against the storm beaten wall on the cabin Kazuo’s knees were drawn up to his chest and his head lolled to the side. Under the tangle of coppery strands that intense, disturbing expression had disappeared and left in its wake only exhausted blankness. Something about Kazuo’s parted lips and the paleness of his skin as he shifted and forced the material of his torn jacket further down from bony shoulders made Kawada soften himself. For a moment in the solitude of waking and the open seas Shougo closed his eyes and fought back tears. As soon as the feelings had come they passed and he leant over, rummaging in his pack for a blanket. As he tucked it over the comatose transfer he again wondered what the future held.
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Barely discernable vibrations in the air, on his skin; spun with ribbons of fluid as it was and against the traitorous line of his lips. Twisted into more positions of distress than a contortionist. The rope bit like a rabid animal into his wrists and added another ribbon, another trail of crimson that was left untended. Cool hands without any malice to spare anymore ran across his cheek.
“......yama-chan.....we have to go now.”
His body racked with another shuddering sob, but this time it was of relief. A lonely death was heaven compared to another second in their company. The girl before him smiled sweetly. In half-light her hair shone with radiant gold and as she got to her feet in one, graceful movement to bid him farewell the others behind her laughed.
They filed out with cheerful choruses of giggling and adolescent chitchat, as if this was some schoolyard prank that would all be ended in a lunchtime detention or a stern telling off from an upperclassman. He lay in silence, afraid to move, breathe or even blink for too long, only the monosyllabic tick of a clock hanging lopsidedly on the wall of the small cabin to mark the passing of time.
“...’taro....?.....t-taro-kun??” He whispered desperately into the darkness.
.......................................................... ................................................................ “......yama..*cough* ya--*ack* .....yama...hu-hel...” The voice dissolved into hacking coughs and a soft, wet splatter of regurgitation. Then all was silent again.
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Kazuo sat up so quickly he almost dislodged Kawada entirely from where he lay. The boat had grounded over an hour ago, but a whole day and night at its helm, with aggravated injuries had been too much for its captain. The stoic, brunette student lay slumped against Kazuo’s shoulder and showed little sign of waking past a grunt.
Kiriyama shoved him off and tried to feel his way up the cabin wall, find some sort of hand hold, something to cling to.
“Good Morning to you too.” He looked back, into the disgruntled face of his rival who returned his indigence with a bland expression. “.....” Shougo rolled his eyes and scrambled to his feet. The meager rest he’d managed to snatch had done nothing to rejuvenate him, but they couldn’t afford to spend a second longer in such a vulnerable situation. Eventually Kazuo found a purchase on the wall and stood shakily as if he was a novice skater, stranded in a field of insecurity. Shougo was already hefting his pack and trying futily to disguise the shotgun. It wouldn’t be the best idea to wander into the nearest town or city carrying a deadly weapon. Kitano had his claws into everything and nowhere was safe for them anymore. When he was finally satisfied it wouldn’t give them away he turned back to Kazuo. The gaunt boy had disappeared.
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“KIRIYAMA?!”
........The cove in which they had landed was a thin crescent of wet, dark brown sand bordered by a line of wilting trees and a road that wound off towards the faint outline of a city. Kawada had no time to congratulate his navigational skills as he hopped over the side of the boat and circled it quickly. It was all he could do not to slump over with relief when he found his fellow student.
The boy was knelt at the waters edge, his thin fingers trailing the murky surf. That strange, fragile expression coloured his features again. And again Shougo shuddered inside. He strode up confidently and jammed the cloth covered barrel of the shotgun into Kiriyama’s back, “Don’t go wandering off again, you hear me?” Kazuo looked up at him with haunted eyes, “What do you care?” With a frustrated grunt Kawada pulled him to his feet, still careful not to jostle his wounded leg, despite the uncomfortable feelings Kazuo’s rude tone roused in him again. “I saved you didn’t I? Now, hurry up.” “Gomen.” Shougo wasn’t quite sure if he was hearing things and glanced at the other boy, who just blankly latched onto his side again. Without another word they set off in search of a quiet place to lick their wounds.
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As the mirages of the open desert often seem, the city was more distant than either of them could have imagined. Thankfully however, it wasn’t just another dirty trick of the mind. But, by the time they staggered into a dank back alley on the outskirts the sun had already failed them and shadows were beginning to creep over the moldering concrete walls that trapped them in the maze ahead. Their only company was a fetid smelling heap of rags that was once a man and the distant sounds of traffic. Kiriyama hadn’t said a word since they’d left the boat and luckily for him Kawada was too absorbed in finding them some refuge for the night to care. As transfer students they had been afforded the luxury of keeping whatever they had been carrying at the time of their abduction. For Kazuo this was nothing, but Shougo had the foresight and paranoia to have a bag already packed.
It was as if he’d always known that it couldn’t end with the first Battle.
Vivid, almost cartoonish images of the girl in combat hotpants and a gaudy T-shirt still haunted Kawada and despite his immediate fear he took all her advice to heart. Even Kitano’s words still rung true. They had to fight well and with gusto.
Fight to find out if they were worth it.
The raucous shouts of a crowd drew Kawada back to reality as they rounded a corner and he felt Kazuo pull him back into the shadows suddenly. They watched in stifled silence as a group of salarymen, their faces scarlet from sake and Kirin Beer, neckties loosened rebelliously, passed by. Each laughed, chatted and slapped each other on the back as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Kawada supposed they didn’t, after all, each one was too old to have their life stolen. They were the lucky ones. He hoped vehemently they all woke up with hangovers.
Once the danger had moved on its stumbled way Shougo felt something tugging at his sleeve. A street light flickered on, casting pale circles of white over the street they’d emerged on. In the waxen light Shougo glanced at Kazuo. The other transfer was breathing hard and he leant heavily on his former adversary. “Kiriyama?” Shougo hated the concern he heard in his voice. Kazuo lifted his head again weakly and muttered, “Itai.” Before Kawada could reply he lapsed into unconsciousness and left the lost student to find them shelter.
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The Welcome Inn was anything, but welcoming. A tiny lobby, staffed by an equally tiny and fierce old woman who sat with her eyes glued to a television set until Kawada practically yelled for some service, led up cramped and shadowy stairs into a corridor densely packed with rooms. It was in the last and smallest room that Kawada laid Kazuo down on the futon. The walls were bare and hairline cracks ran like minute threads of some unfinished tapestry over every surface. The only furniture was a beaten table and the single futon with stained, tobacco yellowed sheets. Kawada was heartened slightly by the large window that overlooked the city. Wave after wave of coloured lights, neon pandemonium shone below and reminded him that there was still somewhere beyond desolate islands and broken down boats. As he tended to Kiriyama’s recurring fever, Keiko drifted into his thoughts. This could have been her, lying asleep and safe in his care three years ago. If only for the cruel twists of fate the battle had dealt them. If only-
“Gomen.”
Shougo blinked the memories away quickly, his eyes refocusing on the young man lying at his side. Kazuo stared up at him mistily. His hair was sticking in tangled rivulets to his forehead and every few seconds he licked his lips almost nervously. Kawada sensed he wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability. Without thinking again he reached out and brushed back the slick strands of Kazuo’s fringe. “Stop fuckin’ apologising ok? You should be in a hospital, but--” He trailed off helplessly, his fingers still lingering unconsciously on Kazuo’s temple. “Secret.” He replied simply, even the single word almost too much for his exhausted body to produce. Shougo shook his head and began packing away the needles and gauze he’d used, “We’re insane, both of us.” Kazuo averted his eyes and eventually rolled over, with awkward slowness. Once the room was as clean as it was ever going to be, Kawada retreated to the window. He perched on the sill and looked out over the city.
Battles were lost and won. People lived and died, But, the world went on oblivious.
With a disgusted grunt he sloped off to lie beside Kazuo’s futon. Now was not the time for philosophy.
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“Are all maniacs as lazy as you?” Kazuo prised his eyes open slowly, cautious to the bright, honey coloured light that spilled out over his face like summer rain. For a few moments he was utterly disorientated, this wasn’t some anonymous shack, with a leaking roof and wind whistling through cracks in the walls or a cold, concrete corner of an abandoned building on some far off island. For the first time in weeks he was warm, covered almost up to the neck with a thick duvet. Someone was standing over him, eventually the fog lifted from his vision and Kawada’s tanned face swan into focus.
“I’m not a maniac.” He mumbled, attempting to sit up.
Kawada nodded, his expression reminiscent of someone dealing with a deluded child. As Kazuo managed to pull himself up the other student sat down cross legged at his side. “Sure man, you’re still lazy though.” He still sounded as gruff as ever, but a tiny hint of a smile played on Shougo’s lips. Shaking his head, Kazuo gave him the finger and glanced round, “Where are we?” He demanded softly.
“Shit, you were out of it, weren’t ya? It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re going--” He smiled wistfully, “home I guess.” The smile dissolved the second he returned his gaze to Kazuo, “It was some sick coincidence eh? They led me back here....an old friend’s house is nearby-- it’s probably still deserted.” Kazuo nodded, picking at the dirty sheets around his waist. “We won’t get half a mile looking like this though.” Kawada shook his head and began rummaging round in his backpack. Kazuo looked on boredly as Kawada pulled out a black T-shirt and clean dark blue jeans. He held them out, “There’s a bathroom on the landing. Can you make it okay?” It took a few awkward seconds for Kiriyama to register what Shougo was suggesting and then he took the clothes, clutching them close as he had done his precious pack on the island. With tentative movements he got to his feet and hobbled off towards the washroom. Shougo shrugged off his own ruined vest, revealing the fresh remnants of his experiences of the battle, in each scratch and scar that mottled his toned chest. Only a faded, old gym shirt from his school days and a pair of sweat pants about two sizes too big remained. With a sigh he dressed quickly, even after hurriedly bathing himself in the early morning he still felt dirty. A muggy, earthen grime had imbedded into his very pores. In the cracked mirror that hung on the far wall he examined himself. Keiko had been right, something had changed; he couldn’t be sure exactly what she’d meant, but the crumpled photo he still carried of them both was testament to some radical shift since he’d lost everything. Another disgruntled sigh rose inside, but he forced it down, instead undoing his bandana and tucking it into his pocket. A thin, purpling line still ran jaggedly down his forehead and he tried to ignore it as he ran both hands through his spiky hair in an attempt to look slightly more presentable to the outside world. It worked in a way, but even with the patterned cloth covering his most visible scar a weary determination still rested blatantly in his dark eyes.
He nearly jumped when a face appeared over his shoulder in the glass. Kazuo watched them both with deadened detachment. His skin flushed slightly from the heat of the bath and Shougo caught the scent of soap and peppermint as he stepped slightly closer. He turned round sharply and found himself practically nose-to-nose with the psychopath.
“The scar...” Kazuo’s voice whispered like a wind through the Sakura blossoms as if he was confiding in Shougo.
The other boy refused to look away, “It’s none of your business.” Kazuo shook his head, taking a step back only to reach up and lay his hand over Shougo’s covered forehead. A flinch ran barely suppressed over his cheek, “It will fade in time, like your memories....our memories.” His voice was tinged with something Kawada didn’t recognize; somewhere deep down he wanted to believe it was compassion, sympathy. He batted the taller boy’s hand away and went to retrieve his bag, slinging it over one shoulder, “Lets go.” Kazuo merely nodded and waited to be led from their room.
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It was a long time since Kawada had seen such a neat, clean apartment. The interior was surprisingly well kept for the person who had once owned it. Only a thick layer of dust on every surface and the mountious pile of unopened envelopes that greeted them when Kawada shunted the door open suggested how long it had been abandoned. Once the bolts and latches were firmly in place again Shougo began to explore the faintly familiar space. Although it was small, cramped by some standards the rooms were filled with everything they could need. He wandered into the kitchen. A notice-board hung above the hob, photographs and notes scrawled hastily littered the cork surface. One pristine image showed a younger, paler Kawada in summer clothes crowded into the centre of the shot by Keiko and several anonymous girls and boys. They all had wide, elated grins and Kawada was holding a half-melted ice cream up to Keiko’s lips as she was captured with a laugh that almost lingered audibly in the deserted room. He closed his eyes and leant against the counter, it felt like he was invading his own past, but he knew that if things were reversed he’d have wanted his friends to take shelter here.
Kazuo coughed and his eyes flickered open, “What?”
“Are we safe here?” The sixth fighter looked strangely normal in this setting. His unruly hair was brushed into some semblance of order and without the constant air of blood and death to surround them a stranger would never have thought they were both hardened killers. Kawada nodded, “For now. How’s yer leg?”
Kazuo seemed almost surprised at the question, “Genki desu......what now?” He meandered into the room, taking in the homey decoration, “Are we supposed to just go on like normal?” There was no sarcasm or malice in his question, only a quiet unease. It was enough to make Shougo laugh, “Between us we just killed over forty people, the government and Kitano are searching for us as I speak. We have nothing left to live for.”
“You know that’s not true.” Haunted eyes searched his own and leeched the last bitter laughter from Shougo’s chest.
“So desu ka?” He replied dully. The photo brooded behind him like an ugly reminder of what could have been. Kazuo nodded, never taking his eyes off his new ally. “You said back on the island that you didn’t want to lose me. That I’m the only one who understands what you’ve been through. Were you lying?” Suddenly his tone changed and the redundant fire Kawada had been so wary of back when they were locked in combat returned, “Were you?! Like all the rest??” He took a step forward and cried out as a tremor ran up his leg, lancing it with pain. Tears sprung up in his eyes and he staggered.
“Liar.”
Kawada blinked and before his mind could respond he’d already rushed forward and wrapped his arms round Kazuo’s waist, pulling him close. “Liar! You.....fucking liar....” The other boy tried in vain to strike him, but his limbs were too weak and Kawada weathered their feeble blows until Kazuo had tired himself out and slumped exhausted against his chest.
“.....shh...I was telling the truth. This is all Kitano’s fault, he made us...he shaped us into killers. I meant what I said, we should stick together.”
“Hurt him...” The words were almost too muffled for Kawada to distinguish and he realised that Kazuo’s face was buried in the fabric of his T-shirt, both hands constricting the material at his sides. “One day, but first you have to get better.” Kazuo shuddered and hesitantly Shougo ran his fingers over the tangled hair at the nape of his neck, stroking it soothingly. The last thing he needed was for the violence and homicidal desires to worm their way back into Kazuo’s heart in the middle of an innocent city.
“Don’t go....Taro-kun..”
Shougo frowned, “Huh?”
But, his only reply was Kazuo’s stifled shivers.
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~TBC~