My teacup is chipped. It must have happened during the move, a careless jolt of the truck, or Ken dropping the box perhaps. The rough edges are unpleasant to the touch.
"...ugliest frikkin' trailer in the whole universe," Ken is muttering as he wrestles with the tiny stove. "Why do we- OW!" Something thumps, something clatters, and he's whispering "shit shit shit shit shit" and scrabbling on the floor. Absently I deduce that he has dropped breakfast, again.
The tea is cold. I turn the cup round and round in my hands, seeking out the chipped places with my thumbs.
From the bathroom comes a yelp and a burst of swearing. "-too damn COLD! God damn that frozen ice bitch, she could remember the rest of us have warm blood."
Next to me Omi finishes tying his shoes. "If you weren't always the last one to get up, Youji-kun, there might be some hot water left," he calls cheerfully.
A moan is his only response. Omi stands up from the sofa, hesitates. "Aya-kun?"
My life is like my teacup. Sometimes absurdly little things become symbolic like that. Chipped and broken around the edges.
"Aya-kun, I'm going to to go register for school today. I know we might not be here long, but - you don't mind, do you?"
Unpleasant to the touch.
"Why?"
He shuffles his feet. "Because I can't just stay here in the flower shop and the trailer all day. I have to do something real. Do you know what I mean?"
"Not really."
"Oh." A pause. "See you later, then, Aya-kun." I hear him in the kitchen, assuring Ken that breakfast is just fine, delicious, see? The two of them laugh together as though this were a normal day, back in the Koneko, and not our strange new life here. Adaptable. That's what humans are supposed to be.
I seem to have lost the knack. Staring into the dark swirls of liquid, I wonder what one does with a chipped teacup. Mend it? Throw it away?
The bathroom door rattles and Youji appears, a towel around his waist, shivering slightly. He jumps on seeing me.
"A-a,good morning, Aya. Didn't know you were out here." Self-consciously he runs a hand through the wet tangles of his hair; the motion sends water droplets running down his neck and chest, and belatedly I realize I've looked up to watch.
And that's another problem. The worst feature of this trailer is its lack of privacy; for the last week we've slept on the floor and sofa in bedrolls. Already Youji and Omi have woken us with nightmares, and I...
It's not safe to have those dreams anymore. Last night's started with the time I scraped Youji off the doorstep and pushed him in the shower; but in the dream I followed. He was weak and confused, barely able to stand upright, and after a moment's startled protest he went still in my arms. I washed him thoroughly, enjoying the feel of his skin for a time. Then my hands found their way to his hips and the crevice between. Sudden struggles, anticipated; a hand over his mouth and whispered threats took care of those. I stroked him there again and again, soaped his penis and balls until he was stiff in my hands, and finally pressed a finger deep -
"Aya?"
I blink. Youji is sitting next to me on the sofa, water pooling at his feet. Staring into my eyes. Hastily I look back down at the tea and curse my wandering thoughts. He can be irritatingly perceptive at times, and it's possible I made some noise last night. Sleep makes traitors of us all.
"Um, Aya," his voice is hesitant, "I sort of have to get dressed."
Why?, I'm almost tempted to answer. Deliberately my finger grazes across one of the china cracks. Every morning for years we've dressed, put on our masks for the world, and opened the flower shop. Silently endured the insolent stares and the whispered lustful comments. A meek pantomime of day to mirror the brutal dances after dark.
I'm tired of them both. But instead of knocking Youji to the floor and making him scream and writhe beneath me, I stand up and walk out. In the kitchen Ken holds out a plateful of something; his greeting changes to a "Fuck you too, Aya," behind me as I close the door.
* * *
To my left is the plant room, or what passes for it in the trailer. The flowers are as unhappy as we are and crammed as tightly together - blossoms get crushed at night, pots cracked, tools lost. Back at the Koneko everything's still in perfect order as we left it.
It seems fitting that Aya-chan inherits the shop in Tokyo. Momoe is showing her the ropes as she taught us years ago, with all the changes and improvements we made. The extra wet bench Ken put in. The new way of stacking things Youji came up with that takes half the space. The signs Omi painted. All the peace and order of her life will be a gift from Weiss.
And the girls who clustered about us like mosquitoes will transmute to butterflies, changed by the warmth of her smile. Aya-chan was always able to make friends with anyone. /And this is my brother. He doesn't smile easily, but he's the kindest boy in the world. Hey, Ran-niichan, come help us fly the kite? You made it for me, you should fly it once!/
She writes letters to Ran. Manx brings them with news and supplies from Kritiker, hands them to me with a smile, asks if I have any message in return. I say no.
They're long letters, I can tell from the weight of the envelopes, and some of them have small objects inside. The handwriting on the front is Aya-chan's cheerful bold strokes and flourishes; she's getting stronger every week, I can see just from the lettering.
It must grieve her, the silence.
Unlocking the door to the plant room sends a dozen pots of dahlias tumbling into my arms; they must have been crammed in too tightly last night. Mechanically I set them aside, straighten the leaves, begin bringing out the stock.
What could I possibly say to her, though? Sorry, I can't open your letters because the boy you wrote them to is dead? The only one left here is a cracked shell of a man using your name? You've awoken like Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, now enjoy your life and find your prince and stay far away from the dark beasts in the wood?
One of the dahlias is too badly damaged and will have to be thrown out. We really have to find another place to store supplies; living things don't do well crushed into small dark spaces for long, and flowers are valuable. Perhaps Omi can salvage this one. I've seen him repot things before, carefully working around broken roots and splicing bits together. He has far more patience than the rest of us.
Aya-chan, I'm no longer your brother. Just a dark beast covered in blood. Empty, unqualified for love or feeling.
And because you are a Fujimiya and three times more stubborn than an army mule, you would not believe a word of it. If I tell you anything you'll pester Manx into a surprise visit and show up on our doorstep, full of affection for a boy called Ran. And I can't deal with that.
A yawn from behind me signifies the arrival of Youji. Watching me over his shades as usual, he slides the cashbox into place and begins setting up the register. From the way the man handles money, one might have thought he was a casino dealer at one point in life; everything is done with unnecessary flair, riffling the new bills from the bank and sliding the coins together with crisp chinks and flipping some of them into the air. I ignore him as usual and concentrate on arranging the front.
I should have had Manx tell you I died, Aya-chan.
If I _had_ died, I wouldn't have to open the flower shop in three minutes.
* * *
In the evening the screen in the main room flickers to life. Youji and Ken groan; Omi slumps to the floor and hides his face. We put down our barely-touched bowls in the kitchen and begin covering the windows and doors for transmission. Most likely we won't want dinner after watching the briefing. Dark beasts have no respect for mealtime, I see.
The shadowy image of Persia leans forward. "Those of you Weiss," intones our employer in a dead man's voice. "Your mission this time is to prevent a massacre. The convention of the Shinso Group, to be held tomorrow night, will be attacked by these assassins..."
Not an unfamiliar mission, I note, taking in details with one ear. Weiss has even been assigned to murder all guests at a convention before. What divides us from the assassins leering on the screen? Simply that the one holding our leashes is a government agent.
So we'll lie in wait for the assassins like a mirror image. If Schwarz were alive and here they could lie in wait for us; and rumor has it Esstet would dearly like a word with Schwarz, so they'd lie in wait as well...it's amusing to stack up layers of assassin like toy bricks. Although I'm not certain there would be room in the hotel for the guests.
"Aya-kun?" Omi is holding out a sheaf of printouts from the fax machine. I take it silently. Youji makes a flirtatious remark and Manx slaps him down. The screen goes dark. We read our printouts. Eventually the time approaches when the leader should announce the plan.
"We've done this before. Omi, find us plans of the hotel by tomorrow. Our targets should be in place by seven, so we will be waiting for them by four. Omi in the security center, Ken for backup and then on the roof, myself and Youji in the main room." I stand up.
So does Ken. "I want to be in the front this time."
"Why?"
"Sheesh, Aya, you always put me in the back with Omi." He shifts from foot to foot. "I want some of the action for once."
It would take a denser man than I to miss the sardonic lift of Youji's brow, or the flash of hurt in Omi's eyes. Or the flawed logic; if the rear guard seldom had to kill, we'd all take turns at the position simply as a break. But I really don't care. "Fine. Switch with Youji."
I leave them for the kitchen and my dinner. Tonight the beasts have left some of us an appetite after all.
* * *
The mission was predictable in every respect. People screamed, ran, begged and died according to the plans of Kritiker. All five assassins are dead, none of the guests were killed, and the three security guards will be written off as expendable by all sides.
Wearily we stand in line for the tiny bathroom, packing away our killing clothes. Youji attempts to seize possession first; I slam him against the wall and the four of us settle the question with straws. He grumbles, waiting next to me.
Fujimiyas hate debt. Aya-chan, if you knew the rent on the flower shop was paid with those three men's lives tonight, would you run away? We didn't kill them, but neither did we save them. The line of faceless dead stretches behind me to the horizon. You have nothing to give me but love, I have nothing to give you but blood...what conversation could we have?
The cold water sluices down my body, washing away the blood but not the bleak thoughts. After the shortest possible shower I dress in clean shorts and tshirt and escape, shivering, to my bedroll. Omi has already curled up on the couch. Eventually Youji creeps into his nest of blankets next to me, and Ken thumps his way to lie against the wall.
Sleep twines her arms around me as I remind myself again not to dream like that. This works as well as not thinking of the monkey's left thumb usually does, as my sister would say. Tonight it's a garden, overgrown with vines and briars holding me fast to the ground. Youji stands over me. His eyes gleam with appreciative lust and I realize I'm naked; perhaps I'm a plant in this garden, my hair and face the flower and my sex the ripe fruit. Slowly I arch my hips upward, offering, unmindful of the briars.
"Aya," he murmurs huskily. Kneeling, he takes me into his arms from behind and begins to play, thrusting his groin upward -
-and suddenly, dizzyingly, dream slides into reality. Instead of the vines Youji's arms are holding me, and he is indeed rubbing his crotch into my hips in a most obscene way. His fevered breathing is loud amid the hushed sleep noises of the others.
He must be dreaming of a girl. The proper course of action would be to notify him of his mistake with a fist in the mouth; instead I decide to feign sleep and enjoy it. Very carefully I slide a hand down into the blankets, intending to stroke my own penis.
Youji rubs his cheek across my shoulderblade, kisses it. "Aya," his sleepy whisper drifts to my ear.
Hmmm?
Aya _is_ a girl's name, but with bone-deep certainty I know he means me. So this is why he watches me? Kudou Youji the playboy, not as straight as he seems, hmm? A feral smile curves my lips and I let it, savoring the moment and touching myself. Youji is warm breathing friction at my back. The others are either asleep or pretending to be; if they object to seeing me fuck him they can leave.
I shift, preparing to turn over, to bring my full weight down on Youji and wake him with a rough kiss -
- and he stops me cold.
"Aya," he's moved up to my neck now, tasting skin, nuzzling my hair. The rhythmic pressing at my hips never stops. "Aya, I love you, so much, Aya..."
My desire withers like peaches in frost.
How dare he? It's as though he'd given me a giraffe. What am I supposed to do with this? I want to shake off the warm clinging body thrusting against mine, to hit him, to yell. Instead I lay still and breathe while he touches me. I lay still as he wakes with a shiver and jerks away from me in embarrassment. He listens for any sign that I might be awake, sighs a little, and stumbles off to the bathroom.
Damn you, Youji. I didn't need this.
Five years as a dark beast empty of feeling. Why, now, are people trying to give me giraffes?
Tomorrow I'm going to smash that teacup.
* * *
fin
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