Chapter 11
Schuldig waits until he feels that Aya has fallen into a wrestles sleep before he dampens his connection with him and opens the one that he shares with Crawford. Der Sklaventreiber had been calling to him for over an hour, an obnoxious buzz like a cheap alarm clock that Schuldig couldn't shut off. He lets the connection to the American open like a flood gate and sends Crawford a torrent of insults informing him in as many languages as he can, which is quite a few, that the his parents had never been married.
//Temper, Temper// Crawford retorts, his mental voice sounding amused but Schuldig can also sense that his barrage of heated thoughts have given the man a headache.
This gives Schuldig an iota of satisfaction, but not nearly enough for his liking. He hates having to leave Aya. The man is not yet stable enough with the idea that Schuldig is not his enemy for Schuldig to feel comfortable in disengaging himself from Aya's consciousness. Without Schuldig to manipulate him it allows him too much time to think on his own. He is too strong willed for his own good and as soon as Schuldig feels as though he is making headway with getting Aya to except him, not just as a fixture in his life but as the center of it, the man pulls up new thoughts of doubt and distrust. This leaves Schuldig with the constant task of blocking and eliminating such ideas and he is worried that if he severs his connection with Aya, even for a few hours that he will start to over come all of the work that Schuldig had done with him.
Crawford wants him back at the apartment to get ready to go to a party where they will be protecting Enomoto from the faceless boogie men who threaten his life. It is going to be a lavish affair, full of upper class stuffed shirts who think they are paying 300,000 ¥ a plate to put shoes on underprivileged children or some other such Scheisse, which in reality just amounts to them having yet another reason to pat themselves on the back about what great and generous people they are while they drink their Dom Perignon.
Schuldig doesn't understand why they are still bothering with Enomoto. They have fulfilled their contract and eradicated the information that would have lead to a scandal. There would be no scandal, the media were still sucking there fill of the inhalation of the Tagaki Company, with the sudden plethora of open seats on the board of directors the company's stocks had plunged and a domino effect of chaos had begun. Crawford had kept Ephrium at bay for weeks waiting for a day that there was a board meeting to make the hit. Schuldig would never admit to it out loud but Crawford was really one talented bastard when it came to such things. They had done their job, Enomoto would continue to be a cash cow for Ephrium and even if he should get killed, it would be very easy for them to put someone new in his place.
And Schuldig could care less if Kritiker had been the ones behind the failed exposure. Crawford was the one with a thing for Kritiker, not him. Enomoto was an idiot and a fanatic who thinks that funneling money from charities and stock investments into the Ephrium organization is actually for the greater good of man rather than strengthening the war mongering beast the group really is. He is guilty of shuffling accounts and of lying to investors as to what they were really investing in but he has no idea the lives that his contributions destroyed, he has never killed anyone. Hell, he had even thought that the hit at the Tagaki building had been just dumb luck. The fool had no idea what sort of monster his squirreled money fed. Not exactly the type of person that Kritiker would invest any more time in than they already had. They were much more likely to attempt to attack at the next level up which through a spiral down effect would destroy Enomoto as well. The man hadn't warranted, nor was it worth their time, to out right kill him. And in Schuldig's opinion he wasn't worth the time to keep alive either. Schuldig freely shares this observation with Crawford as he waits for the elevator.
//Remember our agreement Schuldig// Crawford shoots back at him, all humor gone from his thoughts //You only get to keep your pet as long as it doesn't interfere with your work. You do remember what I said would happen if you ignored your obligations?//
//Ja, Ja// Schuldig steps onto the elevator and pushes the ground floor button, his temper thwarted by Crawford's backhanded threat. //And I have to walk him myself too.//
//And clean up his mess until he is house broken// Crawford sounds smug knowing he has won the discussion.
//Don't push it Crawford// Schuldig storms off the elevator and across the lobby towards the front doors //You know if you want to get into pissing match with me over who can be more annoying that you don't stand a chance.//
//You're right// Crawford says still sounding smug //you have turned annoyance into an art and I am a mere novice //
// Verpiss dich **// Schuldig throws open the glass doors and pushes past two elderly women who are attempting to enter the hospital, his annoyance making him completely unaware of the whispers that the two receptionists exchange behind him as he does so.
*****************Makoto is standing on the balcony, he can hear muffled big band music coming from behind the closed glass door of Yasou's apartment as he looks out over the darkening skyline of Tokyo. His beer, the fourth one of the night, is perched on top of the guard railing, his cigarette, gods know how many of those he has smoked so far, hanging from his lips, when he feels the soft vibration against the spot below his hip where his thigh meets his pelvis. The odd sensation makes him jump, he had forgotten that he had put the phone in his front pocket.
He has only given the number out twice and the prospect that either of the two women from the hospital could call so soon seems too unreal.. He is expecting it to be a wrong number. His cynicism allows him to pull out the phone, flip it open, and answer it before the caller can hang up. If he was thinking about the consequences of answering, he would have been shaking and he would have fumbled with the phone like it was a hot rock. Most likely loosing it over the railing.
"Yo" he says half expecting to hear a dead connection as who ever called him realizes their mistake and hangs up at the sound of his voice.
"Mr. Itou?" A woman's voice asks hesitantly.
"he one and only," Makoto answers cavalierly, not betraying the butterflies that are beginning to erupt in his stomach. His free hand already going to the package of cigarettes in his shirt pocket so that he can light a new one with the end of the one he has almost finished.
"Hi," The female voice sounds almost embarrassed, "my name is Nagata, Miyo, I work at the hospital. You came by yesterday and left your number with me."
"I remember," Makoto could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he closes his eyes to try and calm himself down. "You have information for me?" He hoped it was not the woman being bold and trying to get him to take her out for dinner.
"I think so," The woman's voice drops to an intimate whisper, "I think the gentleman you were talking about has just left."
Makoto almost drops the phone, "Are you sure?" He is amazed at how calm his voice sounds to his own ears.
"Tall, long red hair, foreign," The woman's voice drops to a whisper again, "very nasty attitude."
"That sounds about right," Makoto is already heading back into the apartment, snatching his coat off of the chair where he had casually tossed it when he had first come home from work, "I will make sure I get you your money and thank you Nagata-san." He has disconnected the phone before the woman could respond. He folds up the slim plastic case and drops it into his pocket before he grabs his keys off of the table by the door and heads out. Hoping he doesn't run into his wife on her way home, he walks to the subway.
Between the feelings of nervousness, apprehension, as well as one hell of a strong beer buzz, the trip to the hospital is a blur, and only an animalistic instinct of self preservation makes him duck into shadows or hunch down into the crowd when he sees any women dressed in what could be the white uniform of a nurse. It is not until he is standing across the street in the spot that he is becoming all too familiar with that he even realizes that he has reached his destination and his mind starts to clear.
Asuka, he has to make sure she is not still working on the fourth floor ward. It is his first coherent thought in the last hour. He pulls out his new cell phone and offhandedly wonders how he has managed to survive without one for so long, the damn thing is just so handy. He dials the brain trauma ward's number from memory. He doesn't recognize the voice of the nurse who answers the phone. In a bright voice that does not match at all how he is feeling Makoto asks to speak to his wife, he is put on hold and as a muzak version of 'Send in the Clowns' is pumped into his ear he comes up with a believable story for why he will not be at home when his wife gets there. At first he thinks of saying that he forgot something at the office, but that is no good because he would have to go to the office and retrieve 'something' so that he didn't return to the apartment empty handed. It was going to have to be that he took something home that shouldn't have left the safety of his desk then. It was a feasible excuse, he had dealt with many documents that had written across the top of them in bold red letters that they were not to leave the premises and if he had mistakenly ever brought one of those documents home he would surely loose his job. It also allows him go home without having to produce anything. As the nurse gets back on the phone he determines that this is his safest route and prepares himself to try and sound sheepish at his own stupidity.
The lady informs him that his wife has already left for the evening so next he calls his apartment He is starting to feel slightly nervous that he can behave this way, lie so easily, without the slightest twinge of guilt. It is also fascinating to realize he possesses such a trait and is so skilled at it.. He listens to the phone ring, not caring if he gets machine or wife, he will be able to lie to either just as believably. After four rings the answering machine picks up. As he listens as his own voice informs him that no one is available to take his call and if he would like to leave his name and number he will gladly get back to them as soon as possible. He takes a good deep breath and gets ready to give his story.
He hears the tell tale beep of the tape recorder starting and, with the proper amount of stuttered embarrassment, leaves a message for his wife. That he found a file that should have stayed in the office. That he panicked when he realized that he had brought it home with him and turned around licitly split to bring it back before he got in trouble. That he was sorry if he forgot to lock the door on his way out. The last statement being completely true, he could not for the life of himself remember if he locked the front door or if he closed the door to the balcony for that matter. If he did or didn't he thinks that it adds validity to the story he has just told his answering machine, after all, the Makoto of two weeks ago would have been completely petrified about doing anything that might have jeopardized his job.
The Makoto that he is today pulls out a cigarette and lights it as he tries to remember if there are any back entrances to the hospital that are not well guarded. He has been lucky that he has not been stopped and questioned by anyone the last few times that he has entered the hospital and gone up to Aya's room, but the laws of probability are turning against his favor a little more each time he successfully made it up and into the man's room without being detected. And now that Aya was awake and free, at least for the moment, from the seemingly ever present foreigner. He hoped.
He chooses a side entrance, he remembers it from his own stay in the hospital, is almost exclusively used by the orderlies that sneak out of the building to smoke and that it is rarely monitored. Once inside, he decides on taking a set of stairs that he knows that he will lead him up and out near Aya's room yet far enough away from the nurses station that he should be able to cross the short expanse of hallway without being noticed if he timed it right.
His feet were silent on the stairs as he climbs the stairs, his long legs taking the stairs two at a time. When he reaches the third landing he has to stop and take deep breaths. Not because he is winded from exertion, he is very lucky to have a body that stubbornly stays in good shape with the minimal amount of effort, but because he feels a sudden case of butterflies, so strong he wouldn't be surprised if he started hiccupping up little yellow winged creatures.
His fingers itch with the need to light a cigarette but the last thing that he needs is to be setting off smoke detectors in the stairwell, it would kind of put a damper on his stealth thing. So instead he lets his fingers wander down to his pants pocket and he traces the small phone through the synthetic material. For the first time since he has found himself craving to see the red headed ghost from his realizes there will be repercussions from finding out who he used to be. It is a train of thought that he has avoided having up until this point. He forces himself to stop and think about what it is that he is about to do.
Did he really want to change the life that he had? To think that things would be able to remain the same for him once he found out who he used to be, no matter who that person had been, would be idiotic, he knew that. And even if he found out that he had been a librarian who's only companion in life had been an over weight cat it would change things between him and Asuka. Look how much their relationship had changed already, look how much he had changed in a few short weeks and that was from nothing more prophetic than vague images in dreams and convoluted feelings that not even the worlds greatest therapist would be able to discern as anything beyond malcontent with his present situation. Did he really want to jeopardize his comfortable and safe existence? Hell less than a month ago if asked he would have said he was happy but now he was not so sure if he had misconstrued being content as being happy. Did he want to hurt Asuka as he knew he would? Again in this he wasn't disillusioning himself, if he didn't think he would be hurting her he never would have begun his personal crusade to discover who he was without her by his side.
It was not that he was still worried that he had a wife somewhere, the dreams that he had been having pretty much had squelched that fear, but what if he had a lover out there? A male lover? Would he be able to ignore someone who he had loved? Could he continue on without seeking out the people that might have cared for the man that he used to be if he knew they existed? How would he be able to tell Asuka that he wanted to find the people that had been in his life even though they might be strangers to him? Would she even want him anymore if they were to discover that he had been involved with a man? Or men? No, he really didn't think she would be able to understand that, and if he had been bi-sexual as he has started to belief would that repulse her? Make her hate him? Would her reaction to his past make him hate her?
What if he had been a terrible person? A compulsive gambler? Someone who liked to kick puppies? Or what if he discovered that he used to be a thief or that he had pimped out young girls? Would he want to know about himself if all he was going to find out was that he had committed atrocities against man and nature?
He is on the fourth floor with his hand on the door that leads out to Aya's ward. He had no memory of moving from where he had wanted to light a cigarette on the floor below. "I guess that is my answer." He tells the empty stairwell as he pulls open the door.
All of his doubt and apprehensions shatter as he steps into the hallway and the turmoil that his intestines have become ends as quickly as it had started. If he runs away from the truth of who he is he will just be living a lie that will eventually consume him, he is sure of it. No matter the outcome of discovering out who he really was, of who he still might really be. He has gone to far to turn back, changed too much all ready to ever be the awkward salary man that he had become. He gave up that life the moment that he chose to sneak into Aya's room for the first time. He is aware that he might not like what he finds out about himself but he no longer has any choice in the matter. He has to know. And can not fight against it same way that he could not fight gravity.
He walks down the hallway and into room 438 swiftly when there is a lull in the hallway. He moves with the confidence that he had only been able to mimic up until this point. Each step strengthening his resolve helping to prepare himself for what ever outcome the discovery of who he is will bring.
Makoto steps just inside the door and to the side keeping himself in the shadow and scratches his head. Over the forty eight hours that he had known that Aya was awake he had spent the first twenty four thinking about what he would ask the redhead. He had known the man wouldn't really be up for visitors, so he wanted to decide on key questions that he would ask. What was his name? Where was he from? Did he have a family? What was his birthday? These were the ones he wanted to know the most. Other questions, such as the whole question about what their relationship had been, he would hold off with until their second meeting. Knock on wood.
He spent the second twenty four hours building little 'what if?' scenarios in his head. Not the fun kind of 'what if ?' with mouth on mouth and skin on skin, but the more practical 'what if ?'s. 'What if he gets stopped by security?' 'What if the receptionist was wrong and the orange haired man hasn't really left?' A hundred different scenarios where everything that could go against him did. One by one he imagined something going wrong each time insuring that he had at least some vague idea of how to handle himself if catastrophe arose. Unfortunately he had skipped over the 'What if Aya is asleep when he gets there?' because as he stood watching Aya's chest gently rise and fall, the one arm that didn't have tubes attached to it curled against his ear on the pillow. Makoto has no idea what he should do. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and lets out a breathy sigh.
He couldn't just leave, it was not an option. But should he wait and see if Aya awakens on his own or should he wake him up? The new voice with in himself easily voted for waking Aya up, he had a year to sleep, it rationalized, but his more practical voice, the one who spoke to him with the same tone as Asuka, said it would be better to wait for a little while and see if the man wakes up on his own. But time was of the essence, the longer he stayed the more he risked a nurse or doctor walking in. He also had no idea how long the foreigner was going to be gone, it had been nearly an hour and a half since he had received the phone call telling him the man had ended his bedside vigil, and he was aware that he could return at any time. The idea of running into the tall redhead helps him to make up his mind.
Makoto feels as if he is breaking an unwritten code by waking a sleeping hospital patient, but that wasn't going to stop him. When woke from his coma he did everything he could think of to stay awake afraid that he let himself sleep he would slip back into the coma. It was months before he was able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time. He was being selfish, he knows and could care in the least. He stands for a moment frowning, not sure how he should go about waking Aya up. He had the feeling that one had to be very careful when waking up the redhead. The idea of calling out his name to pull him from sleep seems like it would be too disconcerting and he had a very strong suspicion that shaking Aya would cause a violent response. He decides that squeezing one of Aya's feet through the blankets is politer than poking him and even if Aya kicks at him he should be able to get out of the way with two easy steps back.
Makoto takes a deep breath through his nose and begins to reach out for Aya's leg, his hand freezes in the air, covering hands length above the lump that is Aya's covered foot. He is frozen, caught in the pair of eyes are calmly watching him from beneath dark eyelashes. He lets out a startled 'eep' and pulls his hand back to his chest. Impossible colored eyes peer up at him with a reserved curiosity. He wonders how long Aya was watching him just stand there.
"Youji?" The question coming in a deep rasp. He sounded as though he had eaten gravel or maybe gargled with turpentine.
All Makoto heard was the deep base beneath it. The one word ringing clearly in his ears. The door had unlocked and even if he didn't get anything else out of Aya, he knew his name was Youji. He begins to grin, he can't stop himself. Aya's eyes narrow suspiciously and his full lips twitch in what he believes is an unsuccessful attempt to purse his lips together.
"Hey Aya," He has to keep the excitement out of his voice so that he doesn't start to get loud. "I bet you feel like shit" slips out.
He is rewarded with a look that tells him that he is a true master of the obvious after which Aya sighs and leans his head back into the pillow letting his eyes flutter shut.
Youji wonders if Aya is starting to fall back to sleep and if he is going to have to shake him awake after all when Aya's eyes fly back open, hostile, cold, and suspicious. "You are not suppose to be here," Aya attempts to sound menacing but he is blatantly too frail to successfully pull it off, "Get out."
"Now, now," Youji chastised him, "Is that anyway to treat your old pal Youji?" Strange how easy it was to make the transition of thinking of himself as Makoto to thinking of himself as Youji. It just fit as if it had been there all along. He felt as if he had been given the answer to something that had been right on the tip of his tongue but had evaded him until Aya said it for him.
"You're not Yoji," Aya states with narrowed eyes. Yoji senses a hint of accusation in his words and maybe a hint of uncertainty.
Yoji scratches his head and squints one eye, casually mocking Aya's obvious disregard for his intelligence. "You sure about that?" A cold glare is the only answer that he receives. He expected nothing more. He can anticipate Aya's reactions, the realization makes him feel giddy and urges him on, "Now, don't get upset," Aya's eyes narrow more, now mere slits, he did not like that, "I am only asking because you don't really seem one hundred percent sure."
That did it, Aya's eyes fly open, sparkling with rage. "I'm tired," Aya falls back into the pillows to stress his point, "Leave." He offers Yoji one final glare before closing his eyes and turning his face away. Yoji has just been dismissed.
The giddiness is gone and instantly replaced with white hot anger. Youji is now positive that there had been something between them, he and Aya had been more than casual acquaintances. They had been more than friends. They had to have had a relationship, there was no other explanation for why Aya could piss him off so easily.
Youji was still smiling, he couldn't wipe the grin off his face, but his eyes grew hard and cold as his own temper sparked. Who the hell did this little shit think he was? Dismissing Youji as if he were some sort of servant. He looked down at the pale face still turned away from him, "No."
Aya's eyes open instantly as he turns his face back to Youji, eyes now filled with dangerous promise. If Aya hadn't been bed ridden he would be dangerous. "I said to get out." Despite the damage to his voice Aya manages to sound commanding. He was someone who obviously wasn't used to not being obeyed.
Aya's arrogance fuels Youji's anger. "And I said 'no'." Youji leans down over Aya bringing his nose within rubbing distance of Aya's, so close that Aya's eyes are nothing more than blurred patched of white and purple. Youji wiggles his eyebrows, "I guess you're just going to have to make me leave." He pulls himself back, out of Aya's personal space. He cocks his head and looks out of the side of his eyes thoughtfully, tapping his bottom lip with his finger, "You could always call one of the nurses to come and save you."
It was a gamble, provoking Aya the way that he was. His gut instinct told him that Aya would never stoop so low as to call for a nurse's assistance. That Aya was not the type of person who could admit when he needed help, and he would rather suffer through Youji's visit than be rescued. He could be wrong and if he were and Aya took his advice and called a nurse Youji would most likely never get the chance to speak with him again. He doubted that getting ejected from the hospital would escape Asuka's attention no matter how lucky he may have been so far.
But then Aya sighed, just a slight soft exhale, but it was enough. Youji knows that he has bet correctly. He watches as the cold fury fades from Aya's eyes, the anger and annoyance still present but pushed to the back burner for the moment, replaced with a weary tolerance. Aya knows that he is not going to be able to get Youji out of his room without calling for assistance, so he will put up with Youji, for the moment.
Youji cannot remember ever feeling as accomplished, he had won. And winning against Aya was not something that happened very often. It was just one of those things that he knew. His good mood had returned three fold, he flops down in the over stuffed chair, trying to keep the smug feeling from showing on his face. Not wanting Aya to see how pleased he is with himself.
"So, what do you want?" Aya's voice is cracked and hoarse, dealing with Youji is exhausting him.
"Nothing that will kill you," Youji leans back and crosses his legs at his ankles, now that he is going to get what he wants, for the moment anyway, all hostility has gone, "just a few answers."
"I barely knew you." Aya snaps. "I won't be able to help you."
He is trying to maintain control over the situation but Youji is not about to yield so easily. He ignores Aya's statement, "You know I was going to come in here and tell you all about what has happened to me over the last year in a half, but I have a feeling I don't really have to do that, do I Aya?"
"I have no idea what you have been doing," Aya says as if he were talking to a child.
"No," Youji would not be trapped by semantics, "you may not know what I have been up to recently, but I am willing to bet that you know what I was doing before that as well as what happened to me. You know what happened to me, don't you Aya?"
Aya gives a noncommittal grunt. He is still sizing up the situation, not yet sure what he will and will not talk to Youji about. It is strange, Youji can almost see the thought process taking place, it is both exciting and infuriating, two emotions that he is beginning to think come hand and hand when dealing with Aya. Youji grips the arm rests of the chair, his fingers digging into the thick material unable to do anything else while the two emotions war within him for dominance.
"Did I do something horrible to you?" Youji finally is able to ask.
"Not really." Again a noncommittal answer.
Youji tightens his grip on the chair, his fingernails starting to cut into the thick fabric, "Not really?" His voice betraying none of the strain it is taking to keep himself from punching Aya. "So is that a 'You did something but I wouldn't call it terrible' not really?"
Aya emits a short grunt and the next thing that Youji knows he is yanking Aya up off of his pillows by the front of his pajamas. "Stop being such a fucking shit," he growls through clenched teeth.
Aya's eyes are wide with surprise, too shocked at being man handled to maintain his guard, and for a second Youji can see the war that is taking place in Aya, regret and sadness, and guilt. Youji's anger disappears instantly. He gently lowers Aya back to the pillow before releasing his grip on his top. Youji forces himself to sit back in the chair again, his eyes never leaving Aya's.
Uncomfortable under Youji's scrutiny Aya shifts his weight knocking a messy lock of hair down onto his face, covering his eyes. The spell broken Youji remembers to breathe. Oh yes, they had been a lot more than friends.
"Well if I never did anything really horrible to you why don't you want to talk to me?" Youji pauses and watches as Aya shifts again, "Maybe you did something horrible to me? Is that it Aya? Did you commit some grievous offense against me and you're afraid that I am going to remember it?"
"When did you get married?" Aya asks, his voice flat.
"A year ago." Youji looks down at the ring on his finger wishing he had thought to take it off before coming. "How old am I?"
"You're twenty-eight," Aya says in the same flat voice. "What do you do for a living?"
"I proof read documents mostly," Youji is starting to like this game. "What is my last name?"
Aya tightens his lips into a thin line and says nothing. Game Over. I must have tilted him, Youji muses. "Don't like that one huh?" Youji is again leaning forward in his chair, intrigued that asking his own name could be such a loaded question. "What could possibly be wrong with me knowing my name?"
"Kudou," Aya says softly.
"Kudou," Youji repeats, it feels right. "Now that wasn't so hard was it?"
Aya says nothing but glares at him from behind the mop of hair that covered his face. Youji has a feeling that this was one of Aya's most perfected of emotional defenses, hiding behind his hair. A sudden urge to reach out and push the hair off of Aya's face makes his fingers twitch, he rubs them on his leg to keep from reaching out, because he also gets the feeling that Aya would not like that, not one bit.
"How long were we lovers?" slips from Youji's mouth.
Aya's mouth drops open and it takes him a moment to remember to close it. Youji sits patiently, letting Aya know silently that this is something that he is going to have to answer.
"We weren't lovers." Aya does not look at Youji as he says this but down at his hands.
"Have you always been such a terrible liar?" Youji asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"I am not at my best," Aya mumbles, still staring at his hands, still not able to look Youji in the eye.
Youji has to pinch his leg to stifle a chuckle. Anyone else and Youji would think that they were making a joke to lighten the mood. But not Aya, again it was just one of those things that Youji knew. Maybe, if someone had the patience they could sit down with Aya and explain how what he had said could be construed as humorous, but it would take awhile for him to get it. Aya was simply stating a truth.
"No you aren't," Youji agrees, "but I don't think that has anything to do with your lack of skill in the lying department. If we weren't lovers, what were we then?"
"Just sex," Aya whispers hoarsely. He clears his throat and raises his face to meet Youji's stare, "We just had sex, you were curious, I was convenient. It was never more than that."
Youji nods slightly. The wolfish grin back on his face. He wonders if he would be able to smother Aya with a pillow and be able to get away without witnesses. "Is it because of your boyfriend?"
"What?" Aya jerks back against his pillows.
"Your boyfriend," The bitterness in his own voice surprises him. He is jealous. "I have seen him around the hospital." The memory of Aya and the other man laying in the hospital bed together flashes before him. He runs his hands through his hair to dislodge the image.
"He's not..." Aya frowns, "He's not my boyfriend."
"Really? What is he? Just sex too?" Youji leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees and begins to whisper in a confidential tone, "You're gonna have to come up with one better than that. Someone you are just having sex with doesn't keep a daily vigil by your bedside Aya. Unless of course that would fall under what you consider casual, in which case I would hate to see what you considered commitment."
"He's not my boyfriend," this time Aya sounds more certain, "he's just here."
"When's my birthday?" The foreigner not really a topic he wants to pursue further. Aya also seemed to be honest when taken off guard.
"March."
"Is everything this hard with you Aya?" Youji sighs, "March what?"
Aya's eyes flash from beneath his bangs, "Third."
"Damn." He had just missed it. He and Asuka had decided to celebrate his birthday on the day that he had woken from his coma. It had seemed appropriate at the time. He had never really thought about his true birthday. But hearing that he had missed it by mere weeks made him feel as if he had been cheated. If he had been able to find out sooner he would have had a memory of at least one birthday even if he never remembered any of the others. Now he would have to wait another full year.
"Are we done now?" Aya's voice breaks into this thoughts, "I am tired."
Youji knows that this time Aya is telling the truth, dark smudges were forming under Aya's eyes and his already pale skin seemed more tallow than when Youji had first come in. He looked down at his watch, he been in Aya's room for almost twenty minutes, longer than he had intended. He knew that the nurses made hourly rounds.
"That depends," Youji gives Aya a Cheshire grin, trying to stall the inevitable. Knowing he has to leave yet unable to move from the chair.
"Depends on what?" Aya's right eyebrow raises slightly, an instinctual gesture.
"On whether or not I can come back." Youji holds the grin on his face and silently compliments himself for saying it with a steady voice. Again he has the impulse to reach out and push the hair off of Aya's face. Again he clutches his legs to keep himself reigned in. His heart a wild thing in his chest.
"I suppose you would anyway," Aya sighs, "whether I wanted you to or not."
Youji forces himself to remain casual, doing his best not to look smug. It was not exactly full out permission but Youji would take what he could get. "I suppose I would." He forces himself to get up and head for the door. Half way there he is suddenly over whelmed with the sent of sandalwood. He looks around the room. There is one vase that holds three large purple orchids, he could also smell these, but theirs was a thick sweet smell not the musky spice of sandalwood. He turns back to Aya and the scent has disappeared.
"You know what I just thought of?" A hint of something close to bitterness in his voice. "You used to use this really expensive soap. And that's odd cause everything else you used was what ever was the cheapest. Dish soap, detergent, toothpaste, you just would get what ever was the cheapest. But not the soap."
Aya just stares at him, his expression unreadable from behind his mass of hair. Youji shoves his hands deep into his front pockets to keep himself from leaping across the room and shaking the redhead. "You used expensive soap that smelled like sandalwood because everything else gave you a rash. I just remembered that, I don't know that seems like more than casual knowledge to me."
Again Aya give no answer, shows no reaction. Youji sighs, he knows that he has to go, both to escape the attention of the nurse on rounds and because he is going to strangle the bed ridden asshole in front of him if he stays any longer. He watches Aya watch him for a moment, pale features as impassive as stone. Then abruptly Youji turns on his heels and with a backward wave starts for the door again. "Maybe when I come back I'll bring you a bar of it."
"Are you happy?" Youji is in the doorway when Aya's voice freezes him.
Youji does not know how to answer the question. It wasn't something that he ever actually asked himself. Was he happy? "Sometimes I think I am."
"Because you weren't, Youji." There is something in Aya's tone an under current of sadness that keeps Youji from being able to turn back and look at him. "What you are now, that is what you wanted Youji."
Youji stands still for a moment letting himself absorb that tidbit of information. "Next time I come I will bring you some of your soap."
He leaves without looking back and heads for the stairwell. He is dimly aware of stopping by the nurses station on the way out. He might have made a date with the nurse, he isn't really sure. But she had refused to take his money, it was still clutched in his hand. The moment the sliding door begins to hiss closed behind him he is reaching for his cigarettes. He fumbles one out of the pack and gets it into his mouth, but his hands have started shaking and he cannot work his lighter. He looks down at his hands, the tremors are so strong the latch work of scars that cover them are pale blurs. Cigarette hanging from his lips, he wills them to stop. After three deeps breaths he is able to light the cigarette. Three more deep breaths, this time laced with smoke, and he is starting to think clearly. He walks a safe distance from the hospital and leans against a wall. Mentally he begins to rehearse the story he will tell the sure to annoyed Asuka when he gets home. But first he thinks he needs a drink.