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You find him hanging.
You find him hanging in a corner of the windowless room, with a red ribbon looped over a ceiling beam and down around his neck. He sways a little, his feet thumping against the dresser.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
It is oddly rhythmic. You wonder if it hurts.
Gingerly, you let the man down. You sink to the ground with him gathered gently in your arms, and bury your face into his hair, breathing his scent in.
You call his name. "Ryuunosuke."
But there is no response.
There is no warmth either. His body has long since gone cold and stiff.
You sigh. You set the sleeping man slowly down on the futon, making sure not to hurt him, and pull the blanket up to his chest. The dark mark across his neck catches your eye. It is painfully stark against his now pale skin.
You tug the blanket up higher, covering his neck as well.
⁂
You come by the next morning with Ryuunosuke's favourite dishes. You never told him, but you actually learned how to prepare all of them specially for him.
You wanted to see his smile again, and you know that he is always the happiest when he is eating. But perhaps your culinary skills are still too rudimentary, because Ryuunosuke has never eaten a single bite of your food.
He does not eat today as well.
You dim the lights and sit yourself down beside the futon with a resigned sigh, taking out a book to pass time with while waiting for him to wake up. It is a little difficult to read under the feeble lighting but you persevere nevertheless.
Ryuunosuke does not rouse.
⁂
There is an odd scent coming from the futon in the centre of the room. It is a smell which you think you should know, but you pretend you don't.
Instead, you stride over and wrench the blanket off of Ryuunosuke, all prepared to yell at him for sleeping in—only to stop yourself at the very last moment.
Ryuunosuke doesn't like violence, you tell yourself flatly while desperately taking deep breaths to calm down. You remember the pained looks he shot you, compared to the soft blushing smiles he gave to Susato.
He likes gentleness, you tell yourself again. Gentle and caring and patient like Susato; not boisterous and loud like yourself.
Calmly, you set the blanket back down on his body and reach out to stroke his deathly pale cheeks.
He is cold, so cold, too cold.
You come back with a basin of warm water to wash him.
⁂
Lies beget lies.
You have once heard this line before, but you can’t remember where it was from. It is alright though, because the meaning behind those three words has never resonated with you, because what lies have you ever told?
Lies to yourself, of course. Things that you cheated yourself into believing. Facts which you pretend you do not see.
You narrow your eyes as you put down the uchiko ball, and slide the nuguigami all the way from Karuma’s hilt right to its chipped tip to remove the polishing powder. Next, you meticulously place several drops of choji oil onto the blade and wipe it carefully and evenly with a new sheet of nuguigami.
Kazuma, listen, a Japanese man’s katana is his soul.
You glance down at the heirloom in your hands—the heirloom which you have just taken great care to clean, yet somehow, the broken blade still appears so terribly muddied.
You hold Karuma up to your eye level, but you are unable to see your own reflection in it.
⁂
You were fourteen, seated on the edge of the engawa, your feet resting on the stone steps below. Your sickly mother was coughing in the room behind you.
"Kazuma," she called, her voice growing raspier with each syllable. Hastily, you shoved the accusatory letter from Britain into your sleeve to hide it from her.
You were fifteen, seated on the edge of the engawa, your heart throbbing with the aching pain of loss. You hear the sound of windchimes overhead, their mellifluous tinkling bringing with them a hint of melancholy.
The front gate to the empty Asougi estate creaked open and a well-dressed man stepped in. You recognised him as your father's friend—the one who brought back with him the news of your father's passing.
"Is it really true that Father succumbed to illness, just like Mother did?" You remember asking then, scrutinising the man’s response closely.
He faltered. "Yes."
You didn't fully trust his explanation. Still, you followed him back to the Mikotoba estate because spending another night alone in your empty home would have been too much to bear.
⁂
Ryuunosuke still has not woken up.
You card your fingers through his hair and silently think back to all the times in the past when the two of you would sit together in this very same room, chatting leisurely.
Chatting. What did the two of you chat about?
You frown, trying your best to recall, but you fall short.
Unnerved, you exit Ryuunosuke’s room earlier than usual today, leaving the door unlocked behind you.
That night, for the first time since you've regained your memories, you find yourself dreaming of the past. You dream about your time on the SS Burya. You dream about how you told Ryuunosuke you'd rather die than eat the chicken. You dream about how he rolled his eyes and teasingly kissed you full on the lips with a mouthful of that horrendous meat.
You remember the kiss. You remember kissing him.
You wake up drenched in cold sweat.
⁂
Ryuunosuke no longer responds to your kisses. He no longer moans your name when you embrace him.
You sit at the kitchen counter with a plate of freshly cooked chicken steak before you. It looks tremendously unappetising and the smell alone is already incredibly nauseating. Still, you force yourself to take a bite, hoping that it will help you recall the sweetness of Ryuunosuke's lips on yours.
It doesn't.
⁂
The next morning, Susato comes to visit.
You have not seen her in a long time but she looks exactly the same as you remember. You welcome her into Ryuunosuke’s room, knowing that he will be glad to see an old friend, and set out three cups of steaming hot green tea. As usual, Ryuunosuke finishes his in big gulps right off the bat whereas you and Susato take your time, sipping at it while reminiscing about the old times.
She talks about her father, talks about her friend Haori, talks about her time when living together with Ryuunosuke, and then halfway through, she leans over and whispers something into Ryuunosuke’s ear. His eyes promptly widen, gaze darting around nervously, before inclining his head to whisper back to her. They smile and laugh together at that, their heads bumping and faces rosy with a shy flush.
You are immediately reminded of their interaction over at the defence bench—all those times when you were close enough to witness but never to participate.
You are reminded that you can no longer stand on the same side as Ryuunosuke.
You see red.
⁂
When you come back to your senses, Ryuunosuke is in your arms and Karuma is in your hand.
You have no recollection of losing control, but the entirety of the room is completely wrecked, with several deep slashes made into the stained tatami mat where Susato was seated—each and every single one of them matching perfectly with the size and width of Karuma.
Gasping in horror, you toss your unsheathed blade away and retreat to a corner of the room with Ryuunosuke clutched to your chest.
Protect. You need to protect him. You need to protect him from the twisted ways of the judicial system, from the people who would abuse their powers to twist facts and fabricate evidence, to incriminate others.
Only you can protect him.
You tighten your grip on Ryuunosuke, hugging him as though he is your lifeline, and bury your face into his hair. However, you can no longer smell his familiar scent. All that you catch is the revolting stench of rot.
You recoil immediately, nose wrinkling, and stare down at the limp decaying body in your arms. Ryuunosuke’s face is bloated and disfigured, his lips dark with an eerie blue tint.
The stench emanating from it is nauseatingly horrible.
Bile rises to the back of your throat.
Your head begins hurting. The stabbing pain begins at your temples, crawling up to the crown and right down to the base of your skull. Briefly, you recall the day you found him hanging above the dresser.
Briefly, you remember that Ryuunosuke is dead.
Dead.
You scream.
You clutch desperately at Ryuunosuke’s remains and scream and scream and scream until your anguished cries turn into nothing but hoarse, mournful gasps, and the tears pouring down your face run completely dry.
Then, you pick yourself up and tuck Ryuunosuke back into the futon, making sure to pull the covers up to his neck so he doesn’t catch a cold.
"Goodnight, Ryuunosuke," you say, pressing a kiss to his lips.
You won’t let anyone take him away from you. Not the police, not Susato, not even death.
⁂
There is a huge storm that night which tears through the city of London. You toss and turn, nestling into your bed and pulling the covers tighter around yourself until you finally fall asleep near the crack of dawn.
You dream that night. You dream about how you ran through your house, closing all the rain shutters so your sickly mother wouldn't feel cold. Still, you found her freezing and frigid the next morning, unmoving and unresponsive.
You dream about the funeral that follows. You recall the process of lighting incense for her.
You remember the letter that was delivered to your house when you were fourteen. You remember its contents, and the despairing anger that consumed you upon reading it.
You remember your determination to uncover the truth. You remember your determination to make it to Great Britain. You remember your determination to become a defence lawyer.
You remember the reason why you decided to become a prosecutor instead.
Sacrifices are necessary. In order to fight those who dwell in the dark recesses and prey on the loopholes of law and order, it would require some of us to occupy the same darkness ourselves.
You remember the sensation of having Susato’s blood on your hands. You remember the sound Susato’s blood makes as it drips off Karuma. You remember Ryuunosuke’s body dangling lifelessly above the dresser.
"Stop bothering me with such trifles. It was a fair agreement we had in exchange for giving you the opportunity to prosecute against your mortal enemy. Now, if you'd excuse me, I am three hours, twenty-six minutes and nineteen seconds late to my next engagement."
You wake in a bout of cold sweat to your reflection in the mirror. The man you see in it is undeniably yourself, yet at the same time, also no longer you: not with their pale, waxen skin, crazed eyes and eerily crimson irises.
Where did you go wrong?
You punch a hand into the mirror, shattering it.
Where did you go wrong?
You continue hitting the shards until your hand no longer feels pain.
Where have you gone wrong?
⁂
Let me go, Kazuma.
Why do you want to leave? Why do you want to leave me?
Let go of me, Kazuma.
You can't leave me. I won't let you leave me. I won't let anyone leave me anymore.
⁂
You were at a summer festival—your first ever date with Ryuunosuke apart from the usual meals the two of you grab together after classes. You had everything perfectly planned, from the route of food stalls you were going to bring him to, down to the perfect spot to watch fireworks from, but you promptly got distracted because Ryuunosuke looked different from usual.
He was in a navy yukata, the obi highlighting his trim waist, and you had felt your heart aflutter.
This must be love, you thought to yourself, as you leaned over to kiss his lips which were tinged blue from the syrup on his kakigori. Ryuunosuke had flushed, his bashful smile dazzling and his laughter ringing out like a crystal bell.
You kissed him again that night, over and over and over again, until his voice trembled within the throes of pleasure, and his calls of your name turned from 'Asougi' to 'Kazuma'.
Kazuma—you had loved the way he called you then, loved the shapes his pretty lips form when he said your name, loved the mass of fuzzy and warm emotions it evoked in you.
Yet you hate it now.
You hate the way Ryuunosuke says it now, with bleary eyes which look as though he is looking right through you. You hate that you know the one he is calling out for is not you, and will never be you.
So, in a fit of desperation, you tug the hachimaki free from the ceiling beam and wind it over his eyes once again.
⁂
Iaido is an art of discipline, a showcase of wills, and a reflection of a warrior’s morals.
You begin by rising to your feet, knees bent. Your arms come up to Karuma, left hand gripping the scabbard, rotating it clockwise as you pull it partially out from your belt. Meanwhile, your right hand wraps around the hilt at an upwards angle.
Kazuma, listen, a Japanese man’s katana is his soul.
You furrow your brows to the echoing words in your head, and take a bold step forward, your right foot sliding across the polished wood flooring. At the same time, you yank the sheath backward, back into your belt while pushing your right hand forward. You unsheathe the sword and bring it up over your head before swinging it down in a wide arc. However, your concentration shatters mid-motion and it throws the balance between your hands off, making your grip fumble.
You fail to make a clean cut through the goza target.
⁂
Susato visits again the next day.
She looks the same as you remember, in her pink nagagi and red hakama, and you welcome her into your home, into Ryuunosuke’s room. She sets her kinchaku bag on the table and takes out a box of warabimochi just as you enter with three cups of freshly brewed tea.
"This is Naruhodou-sama's favourite," she tells you with a gentle smile, as though you didn't know this information beforehand, as though you were not the one who’d once mentioned this to her previously, when you brought home the leftovers Ryuunosuke couldn't finish.
"Naruhodou-sama likes to have sweet things along with bitter tea," she continues, oblivious to your obvious discomfort, while reaching out with a piece to feed a shy, blushing Ryuunosuke.
You tighten your grip on Karuma's hilt.
Blood paints the air.
⁂
You dream of the summer festival again. But you are no longer the one embracing him this time. Instead, you play the role of a mere onlooker now, forced to watch the act of intimacy between Ryuunosuke and your former self.
The past you which you vehemently detest.
You don’t hate him. You are simply jealous of him. Just look at how Ryuunosuke is smiling at him, the way Ryuunosuke is calling his name.
You clench your hands into fists.
Don't you wish Ryuunosuke never found out about your secret? Don’t you wish that you hid it from him better? Then you could have remained as the best version of yourself before him forever.
He could have loved you forever.
In the dark, you see yourself leaning over to kiss Ryuunosuke. You see yourself folding Ryuunosuke’s thigh up.
You tighten your grip on Karuma's hilt, and run Kazuma through with the blade.
Blood paints the air.
⁂
Kazuma.
Kazuma, Kazuma, Kazuma.
You have grown to hate this name, just like how you've grown to hate the man in the black gakuran who haunts your dreams.
Sometimes he slings a friendly arm around Ryuunosuke's shoulders, sometimes he pulls Ryuunosuke onto his lap and nuzzles close to him, and sometimes he sneers at you.
You clench your hands into fists.
You hate him, you hate everything he stands for. You hate how he always makes you lose control, you hate how you always fail to hold yourself back, you hate the sickly slick sensation his blood leaves on your fingertips.
How does it feel to be standing on the same side as those criminals you prosecute?
How does it feel to be of the same mind as them?
You wake in a bout of cold sweat to your monstrous reflection in the broken mirror.
⁂
Susato visits again the next day, and the next, and the next.
You mustn’t, you tell yourself firmly as you open the front door to let her in.
Yet, in order to protect Ryuunosuke, you have no choice but to cut her down over and over and over again.
⁂
Sometimes, you realise you can no longer tell the difference between day and night, between reality and dream.
Time is like an intangible concept to you right now, and you allow it to pass you by as you hug Ryuunosuke tighter to your body.
You embrace him repeatedly, hoping that his presence and warmth will help ground you once more. However, it doesn't, and with each new repetition you make, you can't help but notice how everything between the two of you have radically changed.
Ryuunosuke no longer pants your name. His body is cold and limp, his insides no longer tight around you. There is an odd smell coming from him too—one which you think you should know, which you definitely know, yet you blatantly pretend you don't.
You choose to feign ignorance, because the truth is far too much to bear.
Ryuunosuke was the best thing that happened to you in your life, someone who you wanted to protect, someone who you needed to protect, and someone who you failed to protect.
Did it ever occur to you that he'd be better off without you? Perhaps the best protection you can give him is to stay away from him altogether.
You hug the silent Ryuunosuke tighter to your body, pretending that you never heard the voice of logic in your head. However, it continues speaking nevertheless, each statement getting even more intrusive than the previous.
You know what you did. You know that you were never trying to protect him. You were merely trying to protect yourself.
You bury your face into Ryuunosuke’s hair, into the clumpy lumps, and call his name, your pleading voice quivering.
“Ryuunosuke."
You swallow dryly. Don’t leave me, you want to say next, but you hold yourself back.
“Ryuunosuke, please wake up.”
He doesn’t rouse.
⁂
How many days has it been since you last left Ryuunosuke’s room? How many days has it been since you last ate? Since you last drank?
You can't remember. You don't want to remember.
As long as you remain in here, in your fantasies, you can pretend as though you have not veered grossly off the path of justice in the name of revenge.
You can pretend as though Ryuunosuke is still alive. You can pretend as though he is still here with you.
You can pretend as if he still wants you.
⁂
“Have I changed?” you ask Ryuunosuke one day while cuddling with him in the futon, but he doesn't answer.
You swallow thickly in the silence that follows. You then reach out, cupping Ryuunosuke’s face and stroking your fingers tenderly over his sunken eyes hidden behind the hachimaki before finally venturing to ask him the question that has been weighing on your mind for the longest time.
“Do you hate me now?"
⁂
Partner.
Partner, partner, partner.
You have not said this word in a long time. You didn't think it was fit for you to continue calling Ryuunosuke this after meeting him again in Great Britain.
Your relationship with him has shifted since, but you have yet to find another suitable term which encompasses the range of subtle differences.
You wanted a new term, a new start, a new beginning, yet here you are now, chanting the same two syllables repeatedly in your head as though doing that will help you regain your past self.
As though doing that will help you escape from the reality that your misstep has degraded you into nothing more than a weaponised beast.
⁂
I love you, you tell Ryuunosuke one morning while removing the hachimaki from around his eyes and pressing a soft, tender kiss to his forehead.
You love him, so you will never hurt him.
You love him, so you will protect him forever.
But you do not tell him that that love has long since become twisted beyond repair. It is no longer a mix of light adoration and searing desire that leaves you giddy and breathless with happiness.
All you have left is resigned sadness, cold regret and a lifetime of atonement.
All you are now is…
⁂
You are twenty-four, standing in the court of London. You avert your gaze from the Lord Chief Justice to look at the hazy figure of your father in your peripheral vision.
You smile. “Father, I knew you didn’t do it. I cleared your name. I put that prosecutor behind bars. Are you finally at peace now?”
The shadow turns to you.
“Kazuma,” he says, his voice as low and gruff as you remember. "Did you not have your doubts?"
You glance towards Ryuunosuke’s retreating back as he exits the courtroom without casting another glance your way. His shoulders are slumped, his posture crestfallen, and you feel a twinge deep in your chest at the sight.
"I… I have neither doubts nor regrets. Every single day in the past ten years of my life is for this precise moment. Ever since I read that letter, I knew I had to prove your innocence, Father. No matter what the cost might be."
In order to fight those who dwell in the dark recesses and prey on the loopholes of law and order, it would require some of us to occupy the same darkness ourselves. Let us work together, Prosecutor Asougi, so no criminal can ever walk away scot-free, and no defence lawyer will ever be taken advantage of again.
"No matter what the cost might be? Then tell me honestly, Kazuma, did you do that for me, or was it for yourself?”
You curl your hands into fists.
Your father extends a shadowy arm out, and points down at the prone figure of the sleeping Ryuunosuke in your arms.
"Did you do this for him, or was it for yourself?"
⁂
Let go of me, Kazuma.
Why? I did everything for you. I did everything to protect you, so you'd always be safe by my side. I did it, because you are all I have left now.
Let me go, Kazuma.
⁂
The room is hot around you. It is the hottest you have felt ever since arriving in London.
Still, Ryuunosuke is cold in your arms, and you draw him closer, burying your face into his hair. You take a deep inhale, picking up a whiff of his scent over the pungent smell of kerosene soaked into the wood all around you.
Let me go, Kazuma, you hear Ryuunosuke’s voice in your head again.
“I’ll go with you, my partner."
Go together to a place so bright that the dark recesses of law can never reach. Go together to a place where you wouldn't need to fight the darkness anymore, so you can be free to stand together in the light with Ryuunosuke just like the old times.
Always together.
Never apart.
You smile, binding his hand to yours with the red hachimaki.
Blue is the colour of freedom—the pure, primary colour you had always associated with Ryuunosuke. But not for long, because you have finally found a way to defile it with your muddy cloudy red, so the both of you can meld together into a cohesive shade of deep purple.
You will never let him go.
Ryuunosuke is your partner, your glimmer of hope, your salvation. No one can ever take him away from you.
Not the police, not Susato, not Kazuma.
Not even death.