Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ This is Not My Life ❯ Enchantment is broken ( Chapter 24 )

A/N: The title to this chapter deviates from my usual pattern, and is taken from the song `The Charlatan's Lament' by The Waterboys.

 

“Here I am
Enchantment is broken
I merged with the crowd
Oaths have been spoken
inside and out loud”

 

-Aya-

 

Here I am, back in Tokyo, and I'm trying to suppress an entirely irrational deluge of guilt as I hand my change over to the cashier.

 

The source of my guilt is not the completely overpriced and gratuitously lengthy detour I just took without first checking with Yohji.

 

No, that would almost make sense.

 

I feel bad because I went out of my way to find a flower shop on the other side of town. Buying alstroemeria from a competitor feels surprisingly traitorous.

 

Stupid. It's not like the point of the Koneko no Sumu Ie is actually to turn a profit selling flowers. It doesn't matter if business is good, just so long as the cover holds up.

 

Nonetheless, an entirely unexpected surge of loyalty causes me to shoot a glare at the (obviously inferior) flora I'm grasping. The stems haven't been cut very evenly; some of the leaves are bruised. It's clearly obvious to me that whoever prepared this bouquet wasn't half as careful in their handling as I would have been.

 

…Probably because it was just a job to them. Not…a reprieve.

 

I used to find the obligation of working in a shop a ridiculous waste of time. Just another thing getting in the way of my revenge. Strange how attached one can get to an obligatory hassle.

 

I think my sanity would have evaporated much sooner without that obligation, though. Being forced to pretend that I'm normal for four to eight hours a day went a lot farther than you'd expect into deluding myself that I actually could be. I'm good at pretending.

 

Note that I said `sooner' though. As I've admitted before, I'm not so deluded as to think that rationality is a character trait still in my possession.

 

…Obviously. No sane person would be experiencing this kind of mental turmoil just from purchasing flowers.

 

I always bring Aya flowers when I visit though. And there is no way in hell I'm going to swing by the Koneko to get some today. Explaining this week's past harebrained…(I'm not even sure what to call it)…thing…is Yohji's job. I refuse to let him off so easily by going back there without him.

 

Besides, I do actually want to see the week out, I'm surprised to admit. I have a suspicious inkling that were I to stop home Ken or Omi would somehow devise a way to hold me hostage until Yohji resurfaced too. Better to avoid that whole mess until we're both actually ready to face the inquisition. Together.

 

No, that's not quite right.

 

It's not that I want to. It's just that I already agreed to it.

 

I promised Yohji.

 

That's all.

 

I always follow through on my promises. I might be a lot of things but I'm not a quitter.

 

That's really all it is.

 

I'm obligated to go back, and seeing Ken and Omi before the scheduled rendezvous would definitely throw a wrench in the plan.

 

I keep staring at the flowers as I walk. It's easier to focus on the inferiority of the arrangement than to let my mind dwell too hard on…other things.

 

The hospital is exactly how I left it, not seeming to have missed me in my absence.

 

Well, I'm sure as far as the normal world is concerned, five or so days hardly counts as an absence. Normal people don't spend that much time in hospitals. After two whole years with no improvements, no changed prognosis, normal people probably wouldn't visit as much as once a week. I'm usually here at least three days a week, though. It feels like I've been gone an eternity.

 

It's not like Aya could have missed you.

 

My eyes are still glued to the flowers as I enter her room. My movements are mechanical as I switch them out with the faded blossoms left over from my last visit.

 

It's not like it matters if the flowers aren't as nice.

 

She doesn't even know they're there.

 

I still take the time to arrange them in the vase just right. Habit, I guess.

 

I've done this so many times.

 

The chair I sit down in is almost as familiar as my own bed. More familiar, actually. I pretty much only use my room to sleep in. And Aya….

 

…Looks exactly the same.

 

Exactly the same as she did at my last visit.

 

And the visit before that.

 

…And before that.

 

Aya looks exactly the same as she did on the most horrible day of my life when I first found myself standing in this hospital room and trying to figure out what just what the hell I could have done wrong to warrant my entire life to come crashing down around me like it did.

 

Exactly.

 

I'm not sure if I actually believe them, but they say she hasn't even aged.

 

Sounds crazy, doesn't it.

 

They also said she had less than a fifteen percent chance of waking up, and I'm not sure I believe that, either.

 

She's special.

 

I know it.

 

…If she weren't, she would have aged…right?

 

She would have…deteriorated.

 

What's the point in her not aging if she doesn't wake up?

 

Could the world really be that random and meaningless?

 

Yes.

 

Well anyway, you can't really blame me for holding on to such insane notions as I have. Not when even the doctors are saying impossible things. When you look at her she really does seem…bespelled.

 

Yeah, I know, I'm crazy.

 

There are worse kinds of crazy.

 

I pull out the box of omamori charms and select one I remember finding at one of the quieter temples. It's smaller than the others. I gently open her fingers and slip it beneath a very, very familiar shard of gold.

 

My throat constricts a little looking at it. It doesn't matter that every single day I see that earring's identical mate. I have to close her hand again quickly.

 

The other charms are unceremoniously hung from the bed frame. It doesn't look like quite as many hanging there as they seemed like in their box.

 

Just another verification that I have to go back to Yohji. I need more charms.

 

The excuses come so easily.

 

I'm left holding a mostly empty box. There are still three paper cranes folded at the bottom of it.

 

I'm assuming Yohji made them.

 

It kind of baffles me.

 

I didn't know that Yohji knew how to do things like origami. And I'm not sure why, possessing those undeclared skills, he'd suddenly decide to utilize them in the middle of a public tourist attraction.

 

…Only to throw them away.

 

If one thing has proved constant about Yohji, it's that he's unpredictable.

 

Which is just a nice way of saying he's weird.

 

I feel just a tiny bit less depressed though, as I arrange the cranes around the bottom of the flower vase. They brighten the room up quite a bit.

 

It almost looks like a room where someone is recovering.

 

…Almost.

 

I wish I had made them, though. The last time I tried my hand at origami the results weren't half that nice. There were lots of creases in places where creases shouldn't be. The corners always come out dented when I try.

 

Yohji's cranes look good. They're very crisp and neat. They don't look anything at all like something I would associate with Yohji.

 

Except…I have a hard time remembering that he's actually got a bit of an artistic streak.

 

It doesn't surface often. It's most frequent manifestation is pretty much limited to his…more creative fashion sense. But every now and then he reminds us by leaving rather elaborate doodles in the margins of invoice slips and the Koneko's order forms.

 

Oh, right. I go out of my way to not remember that.

 

…Yohji's doodles aren't usually very…work appropriate.

 

The jab of irritation that usually accompanies that thought is strangely absent. I suppose it's easier to see the humor he so readily finds in it, when you're not scrambling to shove his porn-adorned paperwork out of sight after it `accidently' appears in front of a hoard of impressionable school kids.

 

I can't believe I put up with that shit.

 

…I can't believe I'm wasting precious minutes with my sister thinking about it.

 

About Yohji.

 

But that's why I'm here, I have to guiltily remind myself. I didn't come back to see Aya. I'm here because I was thinking about Yohji, and I need Aya to help me sort that out.

 

“I've got a problem,” I announce to my static sibling.

 

Yeah, that's news.

 

I hesitate. Not for loss of words, I just don't feel right not giving her a chance to reply. It doesn't matter that no answer is anticipated.

 

“You're going to find it really funny, actually,” I stall. It's harder than I expect to say aloud; regardless of the fact that I don't really believe she can hear me. It was hard enough to admit to myself. Vocalizing the issue makes it real.

 

“When you wake up you'll make fun of me for weeks.” I optimistically tarry.

 

Save for the constant blipping of the monitors, the room is silent.

 

Just say it.

 

“You know…” I find myself staring at the IV drip instead of her. I can't even make eye contact with someone whose eyes are closed. “…You know how you used to always get on my case about needing to find a girlfriend?”

 

She doesn't need to answer. I know exactly what she'd say. I can imagine her voice perfectly.

 

…Which is weird because for the life of me I can hardly remember what our parents sounded like anymore.

 

Another thing I never let myself think about.

 

“Well, there's a reason I never did. I mean, there's lots of reasons, but one of them is kind of major.”

 

I allow an appropriate lapse for the absent pique of interest.

 

“I haven't really dealt with it very well,” I mutter, my voice dropping with every sentence. “But now there's someone and he's forcing me to deal with it.”

 

My eyes snap back to Aya. In spite of myself, I almost expect the incomprehensibility of my confession to jar some sort of reaction out of her. Can she really just continue to lie there, as I declare that my sanity is spiraling out of control, all because of a him?

 

Of course she can. I suppose that my `problem' is hardly as world-altering as it seems inside my head.

 

Compared to the reality of a coma it can hardly even be ranked as a problem. Matters of life and death are problems. Aya's health is a problem. The missions that I'm sentenced to carry out are full of problems. This is just an awkward social situation that I may or may not end up handling badly. In the grand scheme of things it's not really all that important.

 

…Or is it?

 

Yohji acts like it's important.

 

I wish I understood him better.

 

Scratch that. I wish I understood myself better. I know what my problem is. My problem is that I think I like him. Like? God, that sounds so juvenile. Of course I like him--I like Ken and Omi too--not that I'd be one to start prancing about dropping those sorts of touchy-feely declarations where everyone could hear them. I know I like Yohji, but I'm starting to think I might actually want him. I think but I'm not sure. I'm not sure because I've spent such a fucking long time trying to live for my sister that I'm no longer sure anymore where my own feelings end and where I'm just projecting. I've let myself dwell on her so much that it's fucked me up in the head.

 

And that's definitely not something that would make her happy.

 

Fuck.

 

Yohji actually makes a surprising amount of sense to me, come to think of it. His personality is a fucking open book compared to this mangled mess that is the assassin formally known as Ran.

 

I continue staring at Aya, searching her unresponsive form for an answer.

 

I already know what her answer would be, though. I didn't need to come here to find it. She'd tell me that I won't figure things out unless I try them.

 

…I want a different answer.

 

Aya's answer would have been a good one for Ran.

 

Perfectly logical for some kid in school. Or an eighteen-year-old trying to save up money for college by waiting tables.

 

It's not an answer that can comprehend the dynamics of having all of your friends' lives hanging in the balance of whether or not you can keep your emotional shit together.

 

“Well, anyway, you'll like him,” I say half-heartedly, giving up on the idea that this hospital room might provide me with some sort of magical epiphany. It's more to convince myself than her. “I can't wait to get a chance to introduce you.”

 

The words feel funny on my tongue. Not long ago the very thought of them meeting would have nearly sent me into a panic attack.

 

“Just don't even think about falling for his romantic bullshit,” I add.

 

“Only an idiot would.”

 

The corner of my mouth twitches slightly as I shove the chair aside.

 

“A total idiot,” I mutter as I leave the room.

 

I'm so preoccupied in my self-indulgently angst-ridden thoughts that I nearly collide with one of the nurses as I pass the front desk.

 

She beams at me. I find it disconcerting; looks of conditioned sympathy are all I'm used to around here.

 

“Long time, no see, Fujimiya-san,” she says facetiously.

 

I know it's meant as a joke. I haven't been gone long at all…unless you're me. It makes me feel awful, anyway.

 

Her cheerful expression falters slightly as she picks up my darkening mood.

 

“You look well,” she says a little more hesitantly.

 

Huh?

 

I stare at her blankly.

 

“Less tired,” she elaborates. “Sometimes I wonder if you ever sleep, Fujimiya-san. I have to admit that you worry me sometimes. I know you're not a patient but you spend so much time here that I can't help feeling somewhat responsible.”

 

Oh.

 

Of course I look tired. Spending your nights hunting monsters does that to a person.

 

As if she could know that.

 

As if knowing would make her worry less.

 

I shrug noncommittally.

 

“Well…” she says, sensing the awkwardness that her compliment unexpectedly elicited, “whatever you've been doing differently you should keep it up. It's good to see you looking healthier. It'll be good for your sister, too.”

 

I have to force myself not to wince at her words. The room suddenly feels several degrees warmer and I'm grasped by a pressing need to escape.

 

I afford her a wordless nod and all but run to the nearest bathroom.

 

My reflection, as I stare into the mirror, does not provide any stunning revelation like the nurse seemed to experience. She must have been imagining things, because I don't see any difference.

 

My skin is still unnaturally washed out. My eyes are still ringed by unflattering shadows.

 

I look bad, but no better or worse than I'd consider normal.

 

…There is a difference though, I'm surprised to notice.

 

I might still look bad, but I feel different.

 

Usually…my haggard appearance barely even hints at the depths of my physical exhaustion. I'm pretty used to feeling like complete and utter crap.

 

But right now…I don't actually feel half bad. Mental issues excluded.

 

I might actually go so far as to say that I look worse than I feel.

 

Huh.

 

What a novel idea.

 

It's just the break from missions, logic reminds me.

 

Regardless, I feel an unfamiliar sense of calm as I make my way back to the train station.

 

In fact, it lasts the whole trip back to the hotel. Lasts right up until my hand closes around the doorknob of our room and I find it locked.

 

My newfound calm is quickly displaced by familiar irrational panic.

 

He's gone?

 

Maybe Yohji didn't find the note.

 

Maybe he thought you bailed and saw no reason to stay.

 

…Maybe he found the note and saw no reason to stay anyway.

 

I shouldn't be panicking. I'm the one who ran off first. If Yohji's gone then my `problem' has disappeared with him. I'm absolved of making a decision.

 

But if he's gone, you know it's permanent. He'll be gone for good. You won't even get a fucking goodbye.

 

…that's definitely not what you want.

 

Want? What do I want? That's been the question all along here.

 

All I can ever seem to grasp is what I don't want.

 

I don't want him to go before….

 

…Before what?

 

I don't know how to finish the sentence.

 

…Just that I can't stand the idea of him disappearing on me without….

 

…I can't finish that sentence either.

 

My knock on the door is met with no answer.

 

I look at my watch. It's eleven PM.

 

Ridiculous.

 

There is absolutely nothing strange in Yohji being out at this time of night. It would probably be more worrisome to find him actually in the room.

 

I guess some self-centered part of me expected him to be worried and waiting.

 

Did I really leave hoping to inflict that?

 

No.

 

I fail to completely convince myself.

 

God, I'm an asshole.

 

I wander back to the front desk and am reassured that Yohji hasn't checked out. But he also hasn't left the key at the desk, which he should have if he'd gone out.

 

…He's somewhere in the building. Or should be.

 

If he's not dead inside our room. My mind never wastes any time diving to dark unsavory places.

 

I shove the thought aside and go to the most obvious, logical place that Yohji would be.

 

And I'm not disappointed.

 

I find him quite predictably passed out across a sticky end of the bar's counter, one hand still grasped around a half emptied tumbler of thoroughly unappealing amber liquid.

 

A little less predictable is the discovery of him using a book as a pillow.

 

…The book I gave him.

 

Yohji…drank himself unconscious while reading my book?

 

I'm…not quite sure what that means.

 

I feel a little bit odd as I pull him up enough to shut it. The movement doesn't wake him. He's knocked himself completely out.

 

I don't like that.

 

Although I would have liked it even less had I failed to locate him.

 

I'm in a bit of a daze as I pay his bar tab and lug him back to our room.

 

“Idiot,” I say aloud, all but flinging him onto the bed.

 

I'm not really sure who I'm talking to though.