Chapter Text
A hundred eighty-seven days after The End, Eiji Okumura found himself in the neon-soaked streets of New York again.
Which was to say: the pallid walls of his brand new apartment left much to be desired, and so a change of scenery was (desperately) in order. Which was to say: Eiji may or may not be looking for trouble. Which also was to say: Eiji didn’t care.
This lack of self-preservation wasn’t new, by all accounts. Eiji had not given a fuck about himself in months, as his relatives and, most recently, Sing, liked to point out. Call me if you need anything, hear me? Sing had said, anything at all, as he shoved the crumpled note with his scrawl into Eiji's hand and pulled him close for a half-hug with all the grace of a baby swan growing into its limbs.
But Eiji couldn’t think of Sing now. Tonight, New York was so alive he could walk right up to its open mouth and let it swallow him whole. Let it pump a new heartbeat in his chest, make him feel something other than this thick, congealing grief that clung to his steps.
Eiji stopped by a pedestrian lane. The little red man brisk-walked to nowhere. Only two years since his last visit, and Eiji was already forgetting the street names. There should’ve been a motor service shop right across this street. Now, there was a milk tea shop in its place, crowded by high schoolers. A pair of lovers nuzzled their faces against each other. The rest of the world white noise. A tongue caught moonlight, burrowing into a cold, shivering ear.
Eiji looked away. A flare of desire flowered in his stomach; god, Eiji hadn’t had sex in so long. His body seized with neglect, and when he did touch himself it always the same position, always the same name he’d broken into syllables like a blasphemy. His stiff tongue could never cradle a name as soft as Ash, Aslan , the way it was meant to. And what was he doing now? Intruding into spaces never meant for him, again. Everywhere he turned, these bright glowing glass tubes warned him away. Keep out; go home.
Even when the barmaid told him, boy, the stuff’s different back home, isn’t it ? Want something nicer? he shook his head and demanded another one. When the vodka singed his throat, he was glad for it. After, hiccupping and wobbling out the pub, he’d tried and failed to get a cab back because he forgot the name of his street, too. That was okay; he had legs, he could walk. Eiji didn’t care. Eiji didn’t care.
The streets were pulling him in deeper. For some odd, inexplicable reason, Eiji couldn’t say no to it, not when it sounded so lonely. Or was that his own voice? The shadows here shape-shifting, climbing windows, dangling over rooftops to watch him stumble across the asphalt.
If he was lost, then all the better. This was his punishment, for being an utter fool. All this time, he’d thought Ash was just too busy to get around and reply to his letter, that maybe, maybe he was just as forgettable and dispensable as he’d feared. He’d buried himself in his work, tried to rebuilt ties with his family. Tried to live a proper, civilian life, the kind that was suited for people like him. And then the phone call came and they told him Ash was dead, said they found Eiji’s bloodied letter in his hands, and New York was calling him back, demanding, look, look what you stole from us.
If only every day spent in Ash’s world was enough to pay penance, but Eiji knew a hundred bullet-riddled days wouldn’t be enough. No open wound would, no splintered bone. He’d left this city once; never again. He’d lose his softness if it mean this city would let him call it home.
He’d let himself fall to the wolves.
When Eiji found himself cornered between a concrete stairway and two hooded men, he went into a panic that lasted about two seconds. And then: calm. He recognized what kind of thugs they were; this was violence he remembered. He greeted it like an old friend. “S’ry,” he slurred, as they searched his pockets, “dun have ‘ny money.” He’d spent all his green American dollars during happy hour and was genuinely sorry about it. After they verified this was true, one man kneed him in the stomach, prompting Eiji to spill his stomach’s contents all over their boots.
They weren’t really happy about that.
At least the poison was out of his system. Now Eiji could see the glock clutched in the man’s fist, his face red with outrage.
Well, bite me, Eiji's mind supplied, never thought I’d get shot twice in my life, but here we are I guess, and smiled. He was going home. He’d been so, so tired.
“You wanna die, you weird Asian fuck? Why you smiling like that?"
The man adjusted his aim - Same spot too, Eiji noted - and turned the safety off.
And the whole world froze over.
When he awoke, a man in a white robe and startling green eyes was standing over his bed.
His brain felt exposed, wilting in the harsh light. “Ash?”
“Close,” the man replied, smiling gently. “Hello, Mr. Okumura. I’m your nurse, Ashley. Girl’s name, I know. How you feeling?”
“Like a demolition truck just ran me over,” he mumbled in Japanese. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of his own breath. There was an IV drip in his arm. Ash hated those things. “Ah... what happened?”
Instantly, the man’s face shifted. He chanced a look over his shoulder, then his voice dropped to an excited hush: "See, I was hoping to spare you the shock after just waking up and all, but you look tough enough for it. I mean, no biggie, it’s just the craziest thing-” he began, and his bright animated voice staggered ahead far too quickly for Eiji's soup brain. He caught pieces of it: CCTV footage showing two men stalking him the moment he left the bar, then the struggle, the gun-
“Said they heard the most agonizing fucking scream - pardon me - and when police arrived your assaulter - his whole arm had numbed, almost stage two of frostbite, up to the scapula. Fingers locked up they couldn’t pry the gun out his hand. They had to keep him like that all the way here. The other dude was shaking so bad he nearly bit his own goddamn tongue off. And then we found you.” Ashley looked at him like he was something unbelievable. Then he smiled kindly. ”Don’t you worry, everything’s in place. Just a little hangover, is all. You’ll go home intact.”
Eiji gaped at him. His tongue felt like cotton. “Sorry, so what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’re a real lucky motherfucker. Death must really not want you yet.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, hey.” Ashley checked his temperature. “That’s a good thing. Means someone up there’s looking out for you. We haven’t had a medical mystery like this since we had Peggy the stuntwoman. Didn’t realize she was eight months pregnant until after she did that Mad Max-esque film. Flopped in the theatres, but jesus - eight months. Can you imagine? Her boy was perfectly healthy, too.”
“Right.”
Somewhere, a TV was on. American flash report tangling American syllables. Someone, another patient perhaps, sneezed, just two beds over. Eiji chest felt heavy, like grief; for a moment there, while he'd been asleep, he was so sure he was going home.
Ashley whistled, “Frostbite in the middle of summer. Ain’t that the craziest thing.”
He pushed a cup of water into Eiji’s hands, dousing any hope for sleep. As Ashley moved to leave, Eiji said, “Hey, uh, sorry - you didn’t call any of my emergency contacts, did you?” He smiled, sheepish. “I mean, ah, I have no problem getting home on my own, I’ll be-”
“-he’ll be coming back with me,” someone said, and Eiji’s whole body locked up at the sound.
Behind the curtain emerged Sing. His Akira T-shirt was rumpled, like he’d slept 12 hours in it. Ironic, seeing the weary bags beneath his eyes. When he caught Eiji’s gaze, something far too honest for words threatened to spill.
Eiji looked away. He released a breath, then chuckled. “I don't have a choice, do I?”
"Saw a couple of journalists outside, just dying to talk to you," Sing said. "So if you have any better ideas, then no. You're stuck with me."
Eiji smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The ride back from the hospital was quiet. Sing didn’t touch the stereo. When their eyes met, Eiji took that as cue to smile politely. Something about the stillness and the incremental space between their elbows seemed to calm whatever fire Sing was stewing in earlier. This, at the very least - his ability to appease bigger, bristling pets - was still intact.
“What are you thinking about?” Sing said eventually, chuckling. Eiji tore his eyes from his window and saw the wry press of Sing’s lips. Eiji wanted to say many things; how New York was so much more weary-boned than he remembered, how today, a Sunday, marked exactly the two hundredth day since Ash’s funeral.
Instead, Eiji said, “Sorry about not answering your calls,” because it was half the truth. The rest of it was something he knew Sing could read, even without words. Sing always had those eyes; Eiji couldn’t hide from them.
Even now, when Sing was just the same height as him, maybe a bit more if he got rid of that awful slouch. It touched Eiji, in a way. Made him feel tender, his heart clenching quietly all the way home as Sing blurred past the buildings. They were both changed, changing.
Sing, of course, shook his head at this. “That’s what’s got you all quiet? Jeez.” Eiji made a sheepish sound. When he looked at him again he caught Sing staring at him from the corner of his eye.
“You know, it's not safe if you don’t keep your eyes on the-”
“I am!”
That made Eiji giggle. “Hey, did you know my nurse’s name was Ashley? He's a guy,” he explained. “He told me I didn’t look so thrilled for someone who survived a “medical mystery.” Said I was missing a - what was the word - zest? A zest for life. What does that mean?”
“Uh,” Sing said, turning the corner. “Zest is like... it’s like when you’re excited for something.”
“Oh.” Eiji said. “Yeah. Well. He is probably right then.”
Sing laughed until he wasn’t. The car was slowing down.
Eiji watched Sing drag a hand over his face, wrestling with something. He’d parked the car by the street, beneath a red maple.
“Gotta piss?” Eiji asked.
“Eiji,” Sing said. “Stay with me.”
Right then, Eiji’s heart seized, threatening to gallop out his chest. “W-what?”
“I mean-you can stay over my dorm. My uni has a lot of public resource centers. You can do your research there, it’s free. I know you’ve been job-hunting. Right? I’m not the best cook either, but I make a mean spaghetti. All the best galleries are just ten minutes away. Spas, malls. Shit. Everything you need… you don’t have to worry-”
Eiji was at a loss. “Sing, I-”
"You don't have to stay forever or anything, just a couple of weeks. Longer. If you want."
"Wait, Sing-"
“I don’t mean to ask anything more from you,” Sing said in a rush. “But… I-I can’t sleep, too. I know... I know it’s the same for you. You’re not alone in this, Eiji, and-fuck. I hate it when you don’t ask for help. I’m right here.”
Sing’s fists were white around the steering wheel. Eiji realized he was holding his breath; slowly, he exhaled, regaining balance. Seeing Sing's face like this made something in his chest stop rattling. Suddenly, reaching out was easy; he could pretend he was doing this just for Sing’s sake.
He cupped Sing’s cheek as gently as he could. His jaw had grown, already heavy and strong.
Slowly, Eiji pressed their foreheads together, the closest they could get without kissing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Okay.”
Sing's eyes grew wide. Eiji gave him a small nod.
"Okay," he repeated, in case Sing didn't hear, and Sing clenched his eyes shut, squeezed Eiji's arm, and shuddered like a roof opening up to see the sun.
Later, when things settled in the dark, Sing let his forehead drop against Eiji’s shoulder.
“Yesterday, when I got the call, I thought you-” Sing stopped. His voice was small against Eiji’s nape. “I thought I’d lost you.”
For the briefest moment, Eiji fell outside himself and glimpsed the scene for what it was. He’d caused this. Sing was trembling against him, like debris falling, like the fifteen year old he once was. For the briefest moment, Eiji felt sorry. And then he felt nothing at all.
“I’m happy you’re alive,” Sing told him as Eiji turned and patted his hair. “God, Eiji, I’m so fucking happy you’re alive, goddamn.”
Eiji held him close. He did not say a word.
This was what Eiji couldn’t tell Sing:
How, that night, he was ready for death the way leaves were ready to surrender from their branches in the fall. How his bullet scar had throbbed, like the night it was gifted to him. How, after the gun sparked like flint in the dark, he felt a kiss against his lips, turning his mouth bruise-blue.
He was chattering when the medics found him. Said it looked like he’d seen a ghost.
The kiss was so cold. And Eiji was alive.
The only thing in his head: a small, betrayed wisp of a voice, saying. I know what you’re trying to do, nii-chan.
Wait, Eiji thought, scrambling to follow. Wait-! But then he was alone again.
That gun was the first time.
The second time, there was water.