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I breathed out and pressed the trigger. At first I only heard the explosion, roaming far too close to my ears, a million needles digging themselves into my brain. Then I felt it. The skin burning and seething, the flesh torn apart, the bones shattering, my body losing contact with the ground and flying back until everything stopped and the dark came and I thought it was finally the end, and then I woke up.
I woke up.
It's like a sick joke. Everything I worked so hard for was falling apart, slipping between my fingers, and when I tried to grasp at the last straw and end it all myself even that was ripped off from me. No, not ripped off - I fucked it up, like everything else. Five meters between me and an exploding bomb and I still managed to fuck up my own death. Would have been too easy, eh? Too quick, too merciful.
My life is a free fall and it looks like I still haven't hit the fucking ground.
***
Kiryu is sitting on a simple chair, his elbows resting on a simple desk in a simple office, and for now he's just focused on breathing. Inspire, expire. Not move at all, because any movement could awaken the soreness in his muscles, and that could awaken the memory of the fight, and that could awaken the memory of how the fight ended - of how all of this ended. Ended. It's over. He's in a police station, a survival blanket covering his shoulders, hoping that they found a bed for Haruka and that she managed to fall asleep because he can't. He can't. How long has he been swimming against the stream, fighting to keep his head above the surface? Days, weeks, ever since he got out of prison only to find out that there was nothing left. But it's over.
He hears the door open to his left but he still doesn't move. Maybe if he stays still, if he keeps staring at this weird grey stain on the wall, right next to the large metallic locker, they'll go away. He's so tired. They must see how tired he looks, right? Can't they just let him rest?
“Kiryu, a call just came in…”
He turns his head towards Date slowly. There's this look on his face, serious and concerned, that says - that screams - We have a problem, and Kiryu considers covering his ears and closing his eyes shut until he leaves him alone. He doesn't want problems. He’s had enough problems for a lifetime.
“One of them was… One of them is still alive.”
One of them. Kiryu can see them all. The three people who died on this night, or since he got out of prison, or even before that, years and years ago. Those who died for him or because of him, in his arms or just out of reach, those he left behind, those who stood before him and took the bullet. Out of all of them all of them all of them…
Who do you want to be alive?
He shakily breathes out. It's not a choice, of course it's not. He can't change fate, just as he can't change the way his chest tightens painfully when Date finally says:
“It's Nishikiyama.”
***
The hospital has that same smell they all have, something heavy and thick and viscous crawling in the halls, sticking to your clothes, your skin, your hair, your whole being for days, that makes you want to doze off in one of those transparent plastic chairs lined up against the walls. It's the same kind of smell a carnivorous plant emits to lure insects into its deadly embrace, or so Kiryu imagines. He hates it. He hates it just like he hated it when he could smell it on Nishiki, during those periods where he had this distant look all the time, where his smile would collapse suddenly in the middle of a laugh, where he would begin to seek out fights instead of simply defend himself. They were teenagers the first time Yuko had been hospitalized. The same week, two or three days later maybe, Nishiki had brought Kiryu to the back of the orphanage at night and had proudly shown him a bottle. There was something dangerous in his eyes, a bright light when he excitedly announced that he had stolen it, and then he started to drink and the light went dull. Kiryu stayed with him, he drank too, just a tiny bit, just to muzzle the voice in his head that said It’s not the right way. He stayed with Nishiki and held him when he broke down, when his breath became irregular and he clutched his hair and he cried and cried and cried, spluttering through the tears At least I have you, right? At least you’ll never abandon me, right? He nodded and awkwardly stroked his back, Of course Nishiki, of course.
I'll always be by your side.
Room 214. He stands in front of the door for a bit, takes a deep breath. Enters without a sound. There he is. His head is slightly tilted to look through the window at the right of the bed, his back supported by a stack of pillows. He looks peaceful, a little melancholic maybe, and for a second Kiryu can imagine that Nishiki will turn to him and give him a soft smile. He’d make fun of his suit once again, they would laugh, maybe hug - it's been so long…
But Nishiki turns to him and he doesn't smile. He doesn't smile, just like he didn't sit right next to him in the bar, just like he wasn't there when Kiryu was released. Kiryu’s gaze wanders over his body. He remembers the doctor’s words, of course, just before she let him enter the room. He knew what to expect.
A burn covering the right side of his body, all the way to the face, that only barely spared the eye.
The right arm, broken beyond repair, that had to be amputated just above the elbow.
The spine, damaged when the body fell through the collapsing floor for two storeys, that may prevent him from ever walking again.
A point-blank explosion. It's only natural it took its toll, and it could have been worse. It was, in fact, supposed to be worse. Kiryu learning that Nishiki is still alive, visiting him at the hospital - those are stolen moments, something of a miracle. So what does it already taste so bitter?
Nishiki looks at him and he doesn't say anything. Kiryu is not sure what to do. He was never good at starting conversations, he let that to his bro, who was happy to oblige and fill any room he was in with a cheerful banter that became over the years as comforting and familiar as a fluffy blanket. When they met up in Serena or on the top floor of the Millennium Tower, after ten years, Nishiki had still been the one talking, even if Kiryu couldn't recognize his voice anymore. Cold, sarcastic, acid, a pack of venomous needles sent to his face. But he is silent now, and the atmosphere of the room keeps getting heavier and heavier on Kiryu's shoulders until he finally tries to shake it off.
“Nishiki. I, uh…”
“I told you, we're not brothers anymore. You don't have to pretend.”
Kiryu never pretends. It’s like he doesn't even know how. Nishiki used to tease him about it all the time, telling him that he was far too honest to be a yakuza. How could he forget?
Kiryu is about to remind him of that, to tell him that if he's here, it’s because he wants to be, but he can't bring himself to do it. It's the look in Nishiki's eyes - the only word to describe it is defeated. He looks, and he sounds, defeated. Not like an opponent who lost a fight but is already getting ready for round two - like a man who was thrown to the ground over and over again until he doesn't even bother stumbling back to his feet.
And it's his fault. He's one of them, one of those who hurt Nishiki and left him all alone and made him feel like he was worthless, like he had to die to redeem himself. There's a growing lump in his throat, disgust, guilt, so dense he almost chokes. You shouldn't be here. Before even realising it, he has his hand on the doorknob.
Kiryu lets himself drop on one of the ugly chairs in the hallway. He can't - fuck, he can't bear to see Nishiki like this. It's not about the state of his body, not only at least. That's not where the real damages lie. Nishiki's eyes when Kiryu saw him after he got out of prison were cold and full of hatred, but at least there was something in them. The wicked flame of a ravenous ambition, eager to incinerate anyone standing in its path. Even if it masked his familiar self entirely. Even if it seemed to be the only thing holding him together. Kiryu could have saved him at this point, he's sure of it, with the right words, the right gestures, if he really did try - before the flame was blown out and there was nothing left to hold him together. He can't fix any of this now. His responsibility in it is too big, he's done too much harm. That's why he panicked, he who’s never scared of anything. He muttered I’m sorry, so sorry, I shouldn't have come when leaving the room, averting his gaze from Nishiki’s resigned eyes. There's nothing they can do and they both know it. They can't come back to a dead past.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?”
He blinks, looks at the doctor standing before him. Her brow is furrowed and she’s biting her lip. Maybe she's wondering why he spent so little time in the room - but if it's the case, she doesn't comment on it.
“Are you one of his relatives?” she asks with a gesture towards the room's door.
He remembers a time where he would have nodded without even thinking about it.
He shakes his head.
“Do you know where we could find one of his relatives, then?”
“I don't think he has any,” Kiryu answers, and his heart sinks at this realisation. Now that Kazama's gone - their father, and the man who killed their parents - they have no one. No one but each other.
The doctor sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Look,” she says. “He won't be able to live on his own once he gets out. You're the only person who came to visit him, and…”
Kiryu knows where this is headed. He saw it coming, of course. Who else but him? For a fallen yakuza. For his childhood friend. The doctor keeps talking, her voice sounding less and less steady as he stares at her without reacting. Welcome Nishiki in his house, take care of him. At any moment in his life, even during his time in prison, even after that, he would have accepted in a heartbeat. But now, now that Kiryu's hurt him so much…
“It's okay. I'll do it.”
He smiles softly to the doctor, who looks both puzzled and relieved. What other choice does he have? There's nowhere else for Nishiki to go.
I'll always be by your side.
That's a broken promise now, between two kids who vanished long ago, but maybe - maybe it's not too late for him to atone.
***
Haruka opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling. Her breathing is heavy and strained, almost covered by the sound of her thumping heart, and there are tears wetting her cheeks. It was a nightmare, another one. Some images are lingering on the verge of her mind but she doesn't try to remember them. It's always the same thing anyway, the same fragments of memories. They still dig a pit in her stomach, night after night, but she's certain that one day they will leave her alone. It's only been a few months, after all.
As soon as she tries to close her eyelids, she feels a twinge of terror twisting her guts. Okay, she shouldn’t go back to sleep right away. Maybe she can go see Uncle Kaz? He often has trouble sleeping too. She pushes the blanket away, shivers when her bare feet touch the ground - the temperature isn’t really that low, but she’s sleepy and covered in sweat. She tiptoes towards Uncle Kaz’s door and sticks her ear against it. It takes a few seconds before she perceives a sound. A peaceful snore. Well, she can’t really enter and wake him up, can she? She hesitates, rocks from one foot to the other, anxiety slowly building up in her chest. She should just go to the kitchen and drink a glass of water. Yeah, there’s no need to bother anyone. She’s almost ten, which means that’s she’s a big girl who can deal with bad dreams. Haruka begins wandering down the dark hallway and that’s when she hears it.
A sob.
She freezes in place. Was it Uncle Kaz? No, it can't be, she just checked on him. But then… Her throat tightens when she realises that it's coming from the other room, the one where she can't enter. Nishiki's room.
***
She's not actually forbidden from entering, if truth be told. Simply, the idea wouldn't come to her mind. Most of the time she forgets there's a third person living with them - it's a bit like sharing your house with a very quiet ghost. A little disturbing maybe, but not that scary. That's what Uncle Kaz told her when he explained that it wouldn't be just the two of them. You don't have to be afraid, he said precisely. He's not… and there he averted his eyes quickly, he's not a bad person. She remembers it well, because of his expression when he asked her if it was alright with her, if she didn't mind, and she accepted. For a split second, it looked like he had hoped for the contrary. Like something was scaring him. But he looked relieved immediately after that and thanked her for being such a kind little girl.
Of course she agreed. If it was okay for Uncle Kaz, it was for her, too; and if he said that she didn't have to be afraid, then she wouldn't be afraid.
She barely recognised him the day he moved in. Of him, she had kept a blurry vision, full of violence and hatred and bitterness and mixed with the smell of blood, the sound of her mom weeping next to her, the despair in Uncle Kaz's voice, the unbearable heat of an explosion. There was nothing of it left in him now. Their eyes met when she was standing at the end of the hall, looking at him from a distance, and in his she could only read a calm sorrow, and that he was sorry, deeply sorry, more than any words or actions could ever express. She didn't really know what to make of that. In fact, he reminded her of the time she had forgotten a teddy bear outside in the rain, when she was five. What she had found the next day was the washed-out and shredded image of her toy. It was a bit of a mean comparison, so she didn't say it out loud. His skin was pale, a little greyish even, except for the part of his neck and face where it looked bloated, white striated with pink, like a piece of badly painted papier-mache. He was missing an arm and sitting in a wheelchair. His hair was neatly brushed but pallid, and some of it had been burnt. He exuded sadness and regrets - and so did Uncle Kaz, whenever they were around each other.
That was probably the most unnerving part for Haruka.
The same day, she eavesdropped on a conversation between the two men.
“You don't have to do this. I don't deserve it.”
They both were in the room Uncle Kaz had prepared for him, and she was standing in the corridor right next to the door.
“Stop saying that, Nishiki…” Uncle Kaz muttered.
They went silent after that, an heavy, tangible silence, that slipped through the half-opened door and made her mouth feel dry. Later, she saw Uncle Kaz sitting alone in the living room, looking down at the floor with a tired expression. She flashed her brightest smile and asked if he could buy her takoyaki. They sit together in a park and she laughed and chatted gleefully, until the tension finally left his shoulders.
It's been about five months now. Nishiki - Haruka mentally calls him that, because that's how Uncle Kaz calls him, even if every time he uses this name it looks like he stumbles - Nishiki's presence in their house is far less invasive than what she had feared. There's a nurse who comes take care of him every three days, and there's this almost imperceptible twitch of Uncle Kaz’ mouth when he looks at the room's closed door, but other than it could very well be just the two of them. Nishiki doesn't eat with them. Sometimes Haruka wonders what he does during all these empty hours - does he spend them in his bed, or maybe by the window? It must be so lonely. She guesses he has a lot to think about.
***
Haruka stands before the closed door now, in the dark hallway, and she hesitates. If it was Uncle Kaz she had heard crying in his sleep then she would enter his room to wake him up softly, and he would thank her with a kiss on her forehead. He’d done the same for her several times too. But… She bites her lips. She could ignore it, of course. No one would know. She could drink her water, and go back to bed, and lie awake trying to forget about what she heard, and… Another sob rises, desperate like a cry for help. She steps in.
The floor is cold beneath her feet, and her throat is constricted by a feeling of dizzy uneasiness, like she was walking in a dream. The room is dark, only lit by the dim gleam coming from the open door, but she can see the outline of the bed at the center and the agitated figure in it. She could go back. She could still go back, and that's what she tells herself with each step as fear sets up in her throat, but the man sounds like he's in so much pain - and finally she stands right next to him. She slowly extends her hand to touch his shoulder.
“Mister? Mister, are you alright?”
His eyes flash open and he grabs her arm tightly, a ferocious expression distorting his face. She cries out in surprise. She can't pull away, his grasp is too strong, and all she can think about is the violence of his and Uncle Kaz's fight. A small squeak escapes her lips and his still blurred gaze turns to her. His features immediately soften.
“Yumi?”
There's a bright glow in his eyes. It's something Haruka read so many times in Uncle Kaz's melancholic smile, when he looks at her and it seems like he’s far, very far back in time, and he doesn't see her anymore - she looks just like her mom did. The three of them grew up together, so close they might as well have been siblings. Sometimes, Haruka wonders if Uncle Kaz and Nishiki would have preferred that her mom was there instead of her. If they would have preferred that her mom survived instead of her.
“No, it… it’s me, Haruka,” she murmurs, a strange sense of guilt gripping her stomach.
“Oh, right. Haruka, right.”
The glow vanishes. He lowers his eyes to her wrist, like he doesn't remember grabbing it, lets go with a muttered “Sorry” and brings his hand to his forehead.
“Were you having a nightmare, mister?"
Nishiki shakes his head faintly.
“It's alright, you know! Even Uncle Kaz has nightmares some nights. I can hear him talking in his sleep.”
A pained wince crosses his face, so she carries on. When the younger kids at Sunflower Orphanage had a bad dream or when they found little animals, hurt and panicked, Haruka would always be there to soothe them. She's an expert now. A gleeful tone, a calm smile. Adults, in the end, aren't all that different.
“I have nightmares too! Everybody does!”
Of course, not everybody's nightmares are a violent repetition of their sorrowful memories, but she avoids mentioning it.
“In fact, I just had one, so I went to drink a bit of water in the kitchen and that's when I heard you.”
“Ah... Thank you,” he drops.
A moment of silence passes.
The man seems embarrassed, as if he doesn't really remember how you're supposed to talk to a child. Haruka’s eyelids feel heavy and she begins to slowly rock back and forth on her heels.
“You, uh... you should go back to your bed,” he finally tells her.
She nods, and a sudden wave of fear washes over her. Going back to her bed, lying under the sheets, closing her eyes and feeling the shadows of the room getting closer and closer until they engulf her. She bites her lip.
“Actually, mister, I… I'm too afraid to sleep alone,” she murmurs in a tiny voice. “Can I sleep with you?”
“What?”
She was worried that he would get angry and throw her out, but he simply sounds dumbfounded.
“Why don't you ask Kiryu?”
“But… he's sleeping, and he's not having a nightmare for once… I don't want to wake him up…”
Why is she so whiny? She can suck it up, she did it on so many other nights. It's childish of her to act like that, she has to be stronger than this…
“O-okay, you can stay,” Nishiki mumbles.
A wide grin illuminates Haruka's face.
“Really?”
She spots a glimmer of uncertainty lighting up in his eyes, so she climbs up on the bed before he can change his mind. There's just enough space for her to curl up into a ball next to him. Nishiki is tense and stiff and definitely not as soft as Uncle Kaz, but Haruka doesn't care - beats trying to sleep alone. She closes her eyes with a contented sigh.
For a few minutes, the man stays completely still, as if the little girl was made of glass and any movement would shatter her. Even his breath sounds restrained. Then, when she's already starting to drift off, she feels him wrap his arm around her. Clumsy, a bit shaky even. Haruka smiles.
“Thank you, mister,” she whispers drowsily.
“Hu-um.”
Haruka’s breathing slows down gradually, until she finally lapses into sleep, and all the while Nishiki’s eyes stay wide open as he stares up at the ceiling.
***
Kiryu wakes up only when the rays of sun coming through a crack between the curtains hit his eyelids. He's slept… surprisingly well. Better than he did in weeks. It's Saturday morning, the weather seems nice, and he promised to bring Haruka to the bowling alley today. Maybe they'll go eat a burger after that. He stands up, groaning when he feels something crack in his knees - is he getting old already? - and walks to her door. There isn't any sound, she must still be asleep. He won't wake her up, he knows that it's rare for her too to have a good night. Still, he quietly turns the doorknob, just to make sure she's here - not that there's any reason she wouldn't be, but…
She's not here.
Kiryu’s heartbeat quickens and his breathing grows uneasy. No. The bed is unmade, the sheets ruffled and pushed to the side, and Haruka is not in them. There’s... probably a perfectly logical reason for that. She can… She can be… He closes his eyelids shut, presses his fists on them. He has to calm down. They're safe now, right? She's safe. There's no one trying to take her away from him anymore. She must simply be… elsewhere in the house.
Not in the kitchen. The living-room, empty. The bathroom, empty. Their apartment isn't that big, she can't be hiding anywhere, and besides, why would she? Maybe she's gone. This is stupid, it's obvious no one broke in. Maybe she left on her own. You can't raise her properly, you're not who she needs… He grits his teeth. This isn't helping at all, and - and besides, there's one last room he didn't check.
Most of the time, Kiryu avoids going into Nishiki's room. Not that it seems to bother Nishiki. But every time he enters, he feels the exact same as he did in the hospital room, months ago. This urge to run away. Nishiki doesn't seem bothered, no, he doesn't seem angry - nor does he seem sad or happy or anything. Kiryu isn't really good at deciphering people's emotions, but there was a time where he could tell how his friend was feeling at a single glance. Now, looking at Nishiki’s face is like staring into the depths of a pool of muddy water.
He hoped, at first, that the situation would evolve on its own. That Nishiki would show any sign of opening up. That Haruka would ask questions about them. But he didn't, and she didn't, and Kiryu couldn't find the words and everything stayed like frozen in time. Weeks after weeks, the same unsaids, the same looks that turn away as soon as they cross, the same empty conversations. You should go out sometimes, Nishiki. Pronounced without conviction, falling flat before it even comes through the lips. I'm fine. I'm fine, dull, hollow, empty, empty, empty.
***
Kiryu sees them through the ajar door before he even reaches the room, but he has to push it open completely to believe it. They’re here, they're both here, sound asleep in the bed, Nishiki hugging Haruka against him, her snoring a little, his head lolling towards her. Kiryu’s head spins with relief, and he leans against the wall to steady himself. It... it looks like a picture in a kids book. Sweet, calm, peaceful.
He could walk to them and wake them up. Haruka would open her eyes and grin at him, like she always does in the morning, and maybe Nishiki would keep this expression he has - barely a smile, the faintest idea of one, but it's like his whole face is shining around it and the water is unclouding.
He wants to contemplate this image a little more, to burn it in his brain, the breaths interweaving, the morning light caressing their faces. Both mundane and wonderful. It'll take time, of course. It'll be tough, but for the first time, Kiryu looks at Nishiki and Haruka and he thinks that they can make it work. All three together.