Archive of Our Own

Koume has never been particularly close with her children.

Mei and Eiji both were very independent from a young age, with Eiji turning more to his friends than his family, and Mei turning more to Eiji than to Koume. And they were both successful children, too; they did well in school and in their extracurriculars, Eiji with his sports and Mei with her art. Koume had neighbors asking her: How did you raise children like that? How are they the way that they are?

And so, for a long time, she was proud of herself as a parent. She may not have done much right in her lifetime, but she raised successful children. And isn't that what everyone wants for their offspring?

It came to Koume's attention, though, over time. There's something else she should want for Eiji and Mei, beyond success. Happiness, in fact, is far more important.

And she may have raised successful children, but she did not raise happy ones.

Eiji easily got a sports scholarship into university, and Mei was never far behind, aiming for art school. Eiji was well on his way to representing Japan in the Olympics, and Mei had the Okumura name in art galleries by junior high. Koume felt proud, as any parent would. And, in a way, she felt responsible for their success. Surely she must have done something right, if her children were the way that they were. Surely she had been a good parent.

She knew that Eiji, at least, had always held more than a bit of a grudge against her since his high school days. It was nothing she did to or about him, necessarily, but Eiji loved his father the same way he loved Koume herself. And when Koume was lonely, and alone, and already viewing her husband in a past tense, Eiji didn't seem to understand such things. He'll make it, Eiji said, long after the doctors said otherwise. And regardless, you owe loyalty to him. To us.

Koume regrets her infidelity, not for her late husband's sake, but for Eiji's. For the way that Eiji would look at her with suspicion every time she spoke to a man her age. For the way Eiji never fully trusted her again.

But, still, Koume was proud of her children. They had each other to rely on, and that alone was a wonderful thing. They were bright, burning forces of life, forces of nature, and both of them had an impact reaching far wider than Koume could ever have hoped for herself, or for them. Eiji was going to be an athlete, and Mei was going to be an artist. And Koume, while in some sense was still just a factory worker, would have achieved something fantastic: she was their mother.

And then Eiji broke his ankle.

How quickly their lives turned around after that may have been a testament to how fragile the whole thing was. Held together by strings, by tendons. By flesh and bone.

Koume thought that if their little family could survive her husband's death and her own infidelity, they could survive anything together. She was wrong.

Eiji left.

It was a difficult decision, to allow Ibe to take her son away, but Eiji had always been independent, no? He'd always been able to take care of himself. And he would keep in contact, of course. Why wouldn't he? He had no reason not to.

So when he didn't, Koume felt betrayed. And when Mei withdrew from her even more in Eiji's absence, she was hurt. Her children turned against her, after everything. They were a family, were they not? Had she failed even parenting, that one thing she was so sure she had done correctly? And the neighbors' praise must have still tasted sweet on their tongues, but it felt bitter and itchy in Koume's ear; she was not responsible for her children's success, no matter what the others thought. She had done nothing right, and she never had.

It was ridiculous, maybe, for Koume to expect things to go completely back to normal upon Eiji's return. But after two years of dead silence, unreturned calls to Eiji and Ibe both, followed by the news that her son was shot in America? Yes, Koume was desperate for some normalcy. Who could blame her? Unrealistic, but warranted.

She was certainly not expecting what did happen. She could not have predicted Ash Lynx.

On the day of Eiji's arrival back in Japan, he and Ibe show up together to Koume's house. Koume has kept Eiji's room almost exactly the same as he left it—she cleaned, but did not rearrange. She hopes that this will be an indicator of Eiji's place in her life, rather than anything else—she kept his room ready for his return, even as the two week stay extended gradually into two years.

All that time. All those unreturned calls. Only ever updated on a renewed visa or a postponed arrival date, and never on a How are you?

Yes, Koume is bitter, and no, she will not take that out on her son.

"Eiji," Koume breathes out the moment she sees him, as soon as she answers the door. "My son."

Eiji doesn't look at her. He's in a wheelchair.

He rolls past her into the living room. Without a word.

Glancing at Ibe, Koume lets the hurt flash across her own face. Ibe offers her an apologetic shrug, scratching at his beard.

Where did she go wrong?

"I need to talk to you," Ibe says, voice low, as Eiji shuffles toward his room. "He's been through a lot."

"What happened to my son?"

Koume watches Eiji enter his room, seemingly unnoticing of all Koume's work toward keeping his room pristine for him. Ibe just sighs.

"A lot."

Ibe's phone rings, suddenly, and he grimaces when he glances at the screen. "Really, Max?" he grumbles. "We just landed." Then, "I've got to take this; pardon me."

He answers the phone in English, and though Koume is conversational herself, she stops listening. Mei hasn't come out of her room, even to greet Eiji, and everything feels wrong. Mei no doubt feels nearly as betrayed as Koume herself does, though neither of them are likely to say so out loud.

Carefully, Koume approaches Eiji's bedroom.

And hears him crying.

She enters the doorway, not intending to spy, but allowing it to happen. Eiji's curled up half on his bed, one leg still in his wheelchair, face pressed into his arm. And he's crying.

And then his phone rings, too.

Eiji answers, also in English, still facing away from Koume. "What do you want, Sing?" he demands. "I just got home, I am not—"

Eiji sits up, and at the same time, Ibe enters the room.

"Eiji," Ibe says immediately, brushing past Koume.

"What—?" Koume starts, but everyone seems to be ignoring her existence in her own home.

"I'm going back," Eiji says, in Japanese now. He clears his throat, wiping tears from his eyes. "You cannot stop me."

"I know how you feel, but you can't—"

Eiji turns on Ibe, eyes flashing. "You have no idea how I feel! How dare you even say such a thing?"

"I—I didn't mean it that way." Ibe rubs at the back of his neck, somewhere between sheepish and angry. "But you have to listen to me."

"You know," Eiji says. "Max told you. You know Ash is hurt."

"I do," Ibe allows, "and I know that he was found in time and that he's going to survive. This is far from the worst thing that has happened to him."

Eiji winces at that, and Koume's concern grows. Survive? What kind of ... ?

"I should not have left," Eiji resolves. He glances at Koume, which is about the closest he's come to acknowledging her in the last two years. "I should never have left America."

That hurts, deep in Koume's chest, but she knows she clearly doesn't have the whole picture here.

"Eiji," she says—soft, emphatic, trying anything and everything to get through to him. She's never needed to before, not really. Her independent little ones are now so ... She clears her throat. "What can I do to help?"

Apparently startled, Eiji looks at her again, seeming to really see her this time. And he pauses, considering her words. "Mom," he says carefully. "Is it okay if I have a friend over?"

— — —

Eiji spends the next three days before his friend arrives simultaneously telling Koume everything and nothing about him.

"He'll need his own bed," Eiji says, quickly followed by, "He'll share my room." Or, "He's very kind," and also, "He might seem abrasive at first."

Then, finally: "He's important to me, Mom. He's a really important person to me."

And he kept you from us? Koume wants to ask. He took you away?

She doesn't say it, but she can't keep the thoughts at bay.

Mei and Eiji interact more, and Mei seems just as skeptical as Koume. She, too, doesn't voice her concern, but they share glances at times: Just who are we letting into our home?

Koume doesn't intend to go back on her offer to help, but she is going to be cautious, to say the least.

Eiji has appointments with the family doctor to check on his gunshot wound, and he refuses to tell Koume more information on how he obtained the injury. She asks the doctor herself, but is turned away. He's an adult, and I cannot share any information he doesn't want shared. Besides, there's not much to say, anyway.

Not much to say? About her son being shot while thousands of miles from home?

But after only a couple days, the doctor says that Eiji's use of the wheelchair is only as needed. That he can stand and walk short distances without it, but that keeping it around for longer travel could be helpful.

Eiji's friend's arrival is scheduled for the early morning of the next day. Koume finally asks Eiji just a single question, though she promised herself she would not push for any answers from Eiji during this time.

"Your friend," she asks. "What's his name?"

Eiji seems to consider this, though Koume wasn't aware it was a question that required thought. She simply wanted to know what to call him.

After a few moments, Eiji answers, "Aslan. His name is Aslan."

And then, far too soon, it's time for Aslan to arrive.

Eiji's energy quadruples, and he doesn't sleep that night. Koume doesn't, either, mainly to keep an eye on Eiji, and to be awake when Aslan gets there. Eiji starts cleaning, of all things, as the clock passes midnight.

Koume stops him, a hand over his.

"But—Aslan will be here soon," Eiji mumbles, voice high and sleepy. "I want things to be perfect for him."

Koume's heart pangs. "I'll clean," she resolves. "You rest."

She keeps the house relatively clean anyway, but she busies herself with organizing and reorganizing, with sanitizing and tidying. Anything to keep her son content.

Mei comes out of her room around two in the morning, tiredly stumbling out in hot pink and black pajamas. "Mom?" she asks, rubbing at her eyes like a younger child, not one in junior high. "Eiji?"

"Come here, sis," Eiji says, patting the spot next to him. "We are waiting for Aslan."

Eventually, when there are no things left to clean, and none left to even pretend to clean, the three of them sit together on the couch. There's a show that none of them are watching on the TV, and there's the hint of a sunrise out the window.

"... He should have been here by now," Eiji says eventually, as Koume's been thinking for about an hour.

Mei nods. "He has the right address?" she asks.

"I made sure." Eiji shifts in his seat. There's a moment of silence. Then, "I'm going to call him."

Eiji moves to his room to call Aslan, and Koume and Mei exchange worried glances. Eiji's voice comes from his room, and between the muffling of the walls and the foreign sounding English, Koume isn't entirely sure what's being said—only that Eiji sounds upset.

"Mom," Mei whispers. "Is Aslan responsible for—?"

"I don't know," Koume interrupts quietly. "And we're not going to ask."

Eiji comes out of his room, all but slamming the door behind him.

"What's—?" Koume starts, but Eiji heads for the front door without stopping.

"I'm going to get him."

"Let us come with!" Mei insists, jumping up and running after Eiji.

"Do you need your wheelchair?" Koume tries to ask. "Where are you going? It's—" snowing outside.

The door closes behind Eiji.

Mei sits back down heavily next to Koume, and the two of them sit in stunned silence.

"... We should have gone after him," Koume says after a moment. She feels like crying. She hasn't done anything right in so long. She should never have agreed to let Eiji's friend stay—she should have never offered to help. She finally had her son back, and now ... ?

They take turns calling Eiji's phone, both of them met with equal silence.

And then the doorbell rings.

Koume and Mei both practically leap at the door, concern for Eiji at the forefront of their minds. And when they open the door, Eiji is there.

And so is, presumably, Aslan.

It's silent for a few seconds, none of them reacting. The newcomer is staring at his feet, shivering slightly. Eiji has one hand on his own side—on his wound—but otherwise doesn't seem to be in pain. Koume and Mei both stare at Aslan, even as the cold seeps in around them and they leave their own family standing in the snow.

"... He's hot," Mei whispers suddenly, breaking the silence.

Eiji reaches out and smacks her head lightly.

"Hey!" Mei yelps. "Well he is!"

"What did she say?" Aslan mumbles in English. He sounds ... dejected.

"She said you're very attractive," Eiji says, but his tone is apologetic.

Aslan breathes out a laugh.

"Come on inside, then, both of you," Koume says, also in English. "It's cold out."

"Thank you," Eiji says. Koume watches as he walks, and he doesn't seem to be limping or otherwise in pain. Good.

Aslan also shuffles into the room, a little slower than Eiji, and Koume closes the door behind him. He still hasn't made eye contact with any of them, and his blond hair obscures much of his face. Despite how little Koume can see of him, though, she can understand Mei's assessment—he is objectively rather pretty, and there's something delicate about him.

She can't help but wonder about the nature of his friendship with Eiji, but that's a conversation for another time.

"Make yourself at home," Koume mumbles, sticking to English and ignoring how uncomfortable and odd this whole situation is.

Aslan, despite now being inside, starts shaking more.

"Hey," Eiji breathes to him. "It's okay. These are my family. They're good people."

"I—I know," Aslan stammers. "That's—"

And Aslan looks up, suddenly, making direct eye contact with Koume. She stops, frozen in place by his gaze. The green of his eyes is unsettling, and the tears in his eyes make the color only brighter.

And then he closes his eyes, grimacing. In a smooth motion, almost practiced, he drops to the ground at Koume's feet, prostrating himself and bowing his head to the ground. In clumsy Japanese, he says, "I am sorry. There is no excuse for what I have done. I do not ask for forgiveness."

Koume doesn't react—doesn't know how to react. She's unsure of exactly what Aslan is apologizing for, but she's feeling more uneasy by the moment.

Eiji kicks Aslan softly, rolling his eyes. "Get up," he says in English. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Aslan sits up, rolling back on his heels. He's still crying, but he laughs up at Eiji. "Hey, I'm injured, remember?" he says, swapping back to English as well.

"Couldn't forget if I wanted to," Eiji grumbles.

Koume watches their interactions with curiosity, and maybe a bit of jealousy. She's never seen someone interact so smoothly, so easily with her son. Eiji's always been kind, but awkward; he's never seemed to be this comfortable around anyone. Even his own family.

Aslan slowly stands up, and Koume realizes a little belatedly that he also tends to press a hand to his side. Matching gunshot wounds? she bitterly jokes to herself.

"Aslan," she says slowly. She's never heard the name before, so it's difficult to pronounce. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

Aslan is silent for a moment. Then, to Eiji, he says, "You didn't tell them."

"There's nothing to tell," Eiji huffs.

"... Eiji," Aslan whispers. "I need to talk to your mother alone."

"No you don't," Eiji says quickly. "You think I'm allowing that? No."

"Eiji."

"No!" Eiji insists. "I am not leaving you alone."

"Do you not trust me, or do you not trust your own family?" Aslan challenges.

Eiji only seems to grow bolder at the confrontation, something Koume never thought she would see from him. "In this case? I do not trust you, Ash. I do not trust you to be an objective voice on—any of this. On me. On yourself."

"I know myself better than anyone!"

Hesitantly, Koume puts a hand on Eiji's shoulder.

Eiji turns on her, eyes blazing, but something in her expression must cause him to calm. He takes a breath.

"Eiji," she says gently. "I think that Aslan and I need to talk."

Eiji looks back and forth between her and Aslan for a moment. Mei hovers awkwardly on the border of the conversation, not having spoken since her appraisal of Aslan's looks.

"Please," Aslan whispers.

"... Fine," Eiji growls. "I am tired, so I'm going to bed. Aslan, when you're ready, there's a futon for you in my room. Second on the left down the hall."

Aslan seems to raise an eyebrow as Eiji speaks his name, but Eiji ignores it, storming off to his room. Mei quickly scampers after him, throwing a worried glance back over her shoulder at Koume. Koume offers her an encouraging smile.

With her two kids safely out of earshot, Koume gestures to the couch. "Sit," she says. "We have much to discuss."

Aslan looks hesitantly at the couch, as though he's afraid of—something, here, but after a moment he sits on the far end, closest to the door.

Koume sits opposite him, and waits.

"... I'm sorry," he says again, in English this time. "I'm so sorry. Anything Eiji's said about me is likely a lie, but I guess it's a better place to start than nowhere. What do you know already?"

"Nothing," Koume says quietly. "He's only told me your name."

"Aslan?" He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head. "My name is Ash. Not Aslan."

But why would Eiji lie about that? Why would Eiji, her own son, lie to her about anything?

"Sorry," Aslan—Ash?—croaks. "He's a good kid, your son. He's—he's really good. You did a good job with him."

Koume has heard similarly before, time and again, and frankly she's sick of taking credit for her children's accomplishments. But this, somehow, feels different. She doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry I hurt him," Ash whispers. "I'm so sorry. Thank you for raising him, and I'm sorry."

"You say you hurt him," Koume says slowly. "Explain yourself." She feels herself becoming harsher, less accommodating. And she notices that Ash doesn't seem surprised.

Guilt, she wonders? Why else would someone not defend against her hostility?

And, indeed, Ash nods. "Yeah," he says. His voice is soft. "Yeah, I will."

It's silent for a moment again, and Koume feels the patience slipping away from her. Just as she's about to snap at him, Ash speaks again.

"I'm the reason he got shot."

That stuns Koume into silence. Even Ibe hasn't been able to provide a satisfactory explanation for Eiji's injury. "You shot him?" she asks, frowning. "An accident?"

Ash seems to consider this. "No, and no," he answers eventually. "I didn't pull the trigger, but I might as well have, and—it wasn't an accident."

"Why are you telling me this?" You have to know that no mother would react well.

"You deserve to know."

Koume inhales. Exhales. Turns the TV on, just to have something to make their conversation less audible in case Eiji is listening in.

"I deserve to know the full story," she insists. "So tell me more."

Ash closes his eyes before he speaks. He seems to pick up on Koume's intention with the TV, and speaks quietly—loud enough for her to hear, but surely not loud enough for Eiji or Mei to hear.

And he tells a tale of gang wars, of prostitution, of drug hypnosis. Of mafia dons chasing after Eiji to get at Ash himself. Interestingly, he never offers an excuse for himself, but offers numerous for Eiji.

"I asked him to stay with me," Ash will say, or "I got him involved again."

He's leaving a lot out—that much is clear. But if what he does tell is already so horrifying, already so incriminating, Koume can't help but think that she's better off not hearing the parts he leaves out.

She doesn't interrupt.

"And I got him shot," Ash finishes. "We were together, and he was trying to protect me. I let it happen, and it's my fault. All of this is my fault."

It's silent for a moment, and Koume honestly isn't sure what to say. She only knows that Eiji would never forgive her for any of the things she wants to say.

"Please forgive Eiji," Ash murmurs eventually. "He didn't do anything wrong. He never has. Anything you need—take it out on me, not him."

"... Ash," Koume says carefully.

Ash flinches.

"I think you should leave my house before Eiji gets up."

Ash takes a shuddering breath. Then, "Yeah," he whispers. "I agree."

Without further protest—or any protest, really—he leaves.

Koume isn't sure what she's going to say to Eiji, but for now, she's going to sleep. She's going to lock the door behind Ash Lynx, and she's going to sleep.

— — —

Koume wakes to the sound of Eiji's bedroom door slamming.

It's still early; Eiji should be asleep. Koume herself feels like she got almost no sleep—and with how late she was up waiting on Ash Lynx, she's probably close to the truth.

Rubbing at her eyes, Koume shuffles into the living room, ready to meet Eiji's frustration.

She's not, though, quite ready to meet Eiji's rage.

He turns on her the second she enters the main room, and his eyes are blazing. "Where is he?" Eiji demands, speaking to her in English.

It takes a lot of effort for Koume to stand her ground here. Eiji's never stood up to her like this—he's always been stubborn, but timid, relenting. America changed him, it seems, and she's not sure that it was for the better as she had hoped it would be when he left.

"He left," Koume says simply in Japanese. She will have control in her own home.

"You made him leave," Eiji corrects, but at least he concedes into speaking Japanese.

"He agreed to leave. We came to the decision together."

Eiji grinds his teeth together. He's on the verge of tears, but—angry tears, it seems. "Of course he agreed to leave. You weren't supposed to let him."

Koume raises an eyebrow. She was supposed to force a stranger to stay in her home, when he himself didn't want to be here?

"What did he tell you?" Eiji asks.

"Enough," Koume says carefully. "Enough to know that I don't want him around my son."

Eiji's shaking with rage, now, and Koume's never seen him like this.

"I trusted you!" Eiji screams. He shakes his head. "I trusted you to take care of him."

"Why would I take care of a murderer, Eiji? Why would I take care of someone who hurt you?"

"He's never hurt me! Why would you believe that? Do you not trust me?" Eiji's sobbing, panting out ragged breaths, and his hand goes to his side again. At this rate he's going to tear his wound open.

"Calm down, Eiji. Seat yourself, and we can discuss—"

"I'm going after him."

"What? No."

"You cannot stop me."

"Eiji, you're injured."

"So is he," Eiji growls.

"You are my son."

Eiji takes a deep breath. "Yes. And that doesn't mean as much as I thought it once did."

Koume takes a step back, hurt. Then, though she knows it's mean and reactionary, she says, "Call him, then. You don't know where he is, so call him. If he picks up, you can follow him. I won't stop you."

Eiji glares at her. They both know full well that Aslan—Ash—won't respond.

Eiji calls anyway, and on the third ring, he drops the phone to the ground, all but exploding into tears. Eiji's sobs are—heartbreaking. He runs a hand across his face, open mouthed sobs into the silence.

On the ground, the phone goes to voicemail.

Koume watches without a word, heart in pieces. How could this happen? She's never fully understood her children, but this is—where did she go wrong?

She just wanted to protect him. All she's ever wanted is Eiji's safety, his success.

Eiji wails, like he hasn't since he was a toddler, and he drops to his knees on the ground, still gripping his torso. "I love him!" Eiji screams. "And I want him here."

Koume takes another step back. This feels so, so unknown. Eiji feels unknown, and that's terrifying. Has he changed so much in the time he was gone, or did she ever really know him?

Carefully, Koume sits on the floor with him, a couple meters away.

Eiji scoops up the phone with his free hand and hangs it up. Koume distantly wonders if any of Eiji's sobbing actually made it onto the voicemail. Eiji doesn't seem to consider that, wiping at his face again. Not that it matters, of course—from what little she knows of him, Ash Lynx doesn't seem the type to care about her son's pain.

"Eiji," Koume says softly, barely audible over Eiji's cries. "Deep breaths. Please."

Eiji shakes his head, glaring at her with hurt in his eyes.

How could he care so much about someone who brought him so much pain? Is this some sort of trauma bond he's formed with an abuser? Some sort of misattributed Stockholm Syndrome? And what the hell happened in those two years before Eiji was shot?

What did Ash Lynx leave out of his side of the story?

Surely anything he didn't tell must have been worse than what he did say. Surely more incriminating, if that were somehow possible. Koume knows people; she knows that people tend to paint themselves in the best light they reasonably can. So if that was Ash's best, what must Eiji have seen of Ash's worst?

It scares her.

Eiji, as though sensing Koume's thoughts, finally speaks. "He told you nothing." It's almost a snarl—not cruel, still hints of her son beneath the hostility, but definitely intended to bite. "You know nothing."

"He told me enough," Koume says, perhaps because she's afraid to learn more. And then, maybe just to prove her decision correct, she snaps, "He told me that he's the reason you were shot, Eiji!"

Eiji's eyes flash. "Did he tell you that they were trying to shoot him?" he yells.

It takes a second for the impact of those words to register, though they're still speaking Koume's native language. "... What?" she croaks.

I didn't pull the trigger, but I might as well have, Ash said. And, It wasn't an accident.

"Of course he didn't," Eiji says bitterly, shaking his head. "That idiot."

Koume is silent, still processing what this might mean.

"They were trying to shoot Aslan," Eiji says again, "and I stepped in front of him. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Why?" Koume whispers. "Why would you do that for someone like him?"

"Because he would do the same for me. He has. And more."

"He did not make it sound like he has done anything for you."

"... He views himself a little differently than I view him," Eiji settles on.

They're both still seated on the center of the living room floor. Now that the yelling has calmed, Mei cautiously emerges from her room, poking her head out of the hallway.

"Eiji?" she squeaks. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Eiji breathes. "But I'm worried about Aslan."

Slowly, Mei shuffles out into the main room and joins them on the floor. She sits to Eiji's right and Koume's left, just a little too far away for either of them to reach, and stares at her lap. "I heard you yelling," she mumbles.

"I'm sorry," Eiji murmurs back. "I didn't mean to scare you. Are you okay?"

Mei nods. "What happened?"

Koume's glad, in a way, to see her children still getting along this way. Glad—and jealous, and upset about the situation that caused this all to begin with.

When Eiji doesn't respond after a moment, Mei speaks again: "Where's Aslan?"

Gone, Koume almost snaps, but she holds herself back.

"He'll be back," Eiji assures. "I'm excited for you to really meet him more. I think you'll get along. You both like teasing me, for example." He smiles softly at Mei, and she looks up finally at his words, smiling too.

"... Eiji," Koume says slowly. "I'm sorry for what I did, and for not consulting you. Please, explain to me this man's position in our lives."

Eiji glances at Koume, and then back to Mei. "Sis?" he says gently. "Would you mind listening to music in your room for a bit?"

Mei frowns. "Why? I'm not a little kid."

Something about that, though, seems to make Eiji incredibly sad. He swallows. "I know," he whispers. "I just want to protect you from as much as I can."

And something in his voice must get to Mei, too, because she nods. "... 'Kay," she whispers. "I won't listen. But when Aslan comes back—"

"We'll have plenty of time," Eiji assures with half of a smile. "Don't worry, little one."

Mei scurries away again. Eiji and Koume are both silent, almost holding their breath. After a moment, Eiji calls out: "Mei?"

When there's no response, he sighs, seeming marginally more relaxed. Mei must have her headphones on.

"What do you not want her to hear?" Koume asks, worry already knotting itself into her stomach.

Eiji looks on the verge of tears again, but his anger has dissipated. "She's so little. Twelve is—so young."

Koume doesn't respond, not sure what Eiji's getting at.

"... Ash was seven," Eiji whispers. His face scrunches up, and he's crying again.

Koume doesn't understand. There's so much she doesn't understand. Seven? Seven for what?

She waits, hoping that Eiji will explain—something. Anything.

"What I'm about to say is not my story to tell," Eiji starts. "I do not think that Aslan would mind, necessarily, and it is not the first time that this has been told without his permission. But I still feel awful to take even more from him."

Take even more ... ?

Eiji talks, then. What he says starts with Aslan was raped for the first time at the age of seven, contains Aslan gave up everything for me, over and over, and ends with And you threw him out.

They're speaking Japanese, but Eiji uses the loanword from English for rape. The ease at which it rolls off of his tongue—multiple times over the course of the one sided conversation—startles Koume.

He mentions several times about Aslan's attempts to send Eiji home to her, and that Eiji was the one who kept refusing.

There's also a particular part of the story that Koume gets caught on, in a sense—unable to stop thinking about. She doesn't speak the whole time Eiji talks, doesn't interrupt, much like she allowed for Aslan himself. Eiji speaks with an almost unrestrained rage about multiple people, ones whom Aslan never mentioned by name. It didn't seem odd to Koume, during her conversation with Ash, that he never spoke a name other than Eiji's. Now, though, she wonders how he could have left any out.

Eiji mentions a Dino Golzine early on. Koume realizes that he is the mafia don Aslan mentioned, but somehow Aslan carefully avoided speaking of his own relationship with Golzine.

Did he think that Koume would blame him for even that? Why did he make himself out to be a part of the mafia, a part of the street gangs, rather than a victim of circumstance?

During one part of the story—the part that Koume is certain will stay in her mind for the rest of her life—Eiji is crying so hard that his words are almost unrecognizable. At this point, Koume is aware of Golzine, and of the nature of Ash's relationship with him.

They threatened to kill me, Eiji sobs. But they promised him. They promised Aslan. They said that if he handed over all of the information on the drug, alongside h-h-himself, back over to Golzine, then they would never lay a finger on me. And he agreed. He l-left, Mom. He didn't even tell me. He gave himself up to a living hell for me. I would have rather died.

Koume wants to take her son into her arms and rock him to sleep. She wants to comfort him, but she has a feeling that her comfort is the last thing he wants right now. Her suspicions are confirmed when Eiji comes to the end of his story: And you threw him out.

Interestingly, nothing in Eiji's story contradicts anything in Aslan's. They line up perfectly, despite how different they are. Two different villains—Aslan in his own, and Golzine and countless others in Eiji's—but the same story at heart.

At the end, Koume hesitates. "Eiji," she starts. "This is very hard to believe. You have to understand—he explained things very differently to me."

"Of course he did!" Eiji cries. "He's brilliant, and he wanted you to hate him."

"But why?" Koume protests. "Why would he make himself out to be—"

"Because he is afraid of himself, and of safety. And it is our job to prove to him that safety is not so bad. You agree with me, no?"

Koume hesitates.

Sighing, but not protesting further, Eiji silently grabs his phone. He types for a moment, then taps something toward the top of the screen. Still without a word, he hands the phone over to Koume.

It's a news article—written in Japanese, interestingly—about the United States government.

The headline starts: Unprecedented scandal of United States Government officials buying sex from adolescent boys ...

Koume feels sick. This made international news only about a week ago. She hadn't connected it to Eiji or Aslan's story.

"You were involved with this?" she asks, horrified.

Eiji huffs. "You're missing the point. Aslan was a victim of this for—years, Mom. Years. And he helped uncover the news. He saved everyone like him, though he will not see it as such. He does not see himself as worth saving."

"... Why not?" Koume asks, still a little confused and more than a little frightened. Why would someone see themselves in such a light as Aslan does himself? She understands that he was a victim, yes—but how could he have been through this and still present himself as he did to Koume? How could he have thrown himself to the ground at her feet, begging not even for her forgiveness, rather than demanding an apology from the world?

Eiji looks sad. "I cannot say that I fully understand. But I think that if any person were told, over and over, that such a life was their own fault ..." He trails off.

Koume feels nauseous. Horrified, she whispers, "It was snowing last night. This morning. When he left."

"That—" Eiji cuts off, cursing. "It was snowing when I left America as well. He probably saw it as—some sort of sign, or something stupid like that."

Koume stands. "You stay here with Mei, and in case he comes back," she resolves. "I will go and find him."

"You—what?" Eiji stumbles to his feet as well.

"I owe him an apology." Koume smiles at her son. "You will have to trust me on this, Eiji. I will bring him back to you."

"You don't know where he is!" Eiji protests. "I don't either, but—I can call him, at least, and—"

Koume makes eye contact with Eiji, holding her ground. "I will bring him back to you."

"... Okay," Eiji whispers.

Koume nods, and gets ready to head out.

— — —

In truth, she's not confident that she can find Aslan.

But she knows that she'll never forgive herself if she doesn't try.

She's hoping that he's still in Izumo. If he went to Tokyo, or back to America, there's not much she can do. And things are more dangerous there. He could easily—

A boy with Aslan's background, looking the way he does, feeling the way he is, alone in Tokyo and unfamiliar with the language?

Koume just has to rely on what little she knows. She has to rely on the knowledge that Aslan wouldn't be able to bring himself to stray too far from Eiji, yet. Not after coming all this way.

And if he is still in Izumo, there's really only one place he might be.

Based on his attempt at apologizing to her in Japanese, he's likely done at least a little research on her—Eiji's, rather—culture, and language. And hopefully on their hometown as well.

She heads to the Izumo shrine. Aslan might have a lot to pray for, right now.

She finds him almost immediately, after just a few minutes of wandering. The shock of blond hair isn't exactly hard to recognize.

He's asleep, it seems—hopefully—and covered in just a light dusting of snow. He's laying tucked into a corner at the bottom of the steps, but the blond hair is unmistakable, as is his general ethereal presence.

He has no luggage with him, something Koume failed to notice last night. Not even a backpack. He's wearing a light tweed jacket over a black turtleneck—warm, hopefully, but not enough so for the weather. Not for how long he's been out here.

How long has it been?

She watches him for a moment. His chest is rising and falling, but a little slower than she thinks it should be. His hand is also pressed to his side, and she thinks she might spot some discoloration of red on the snow beneath him.

She's afraid to interrupt him—this peace he seems to have found here. Or maybe that's her own selfishness.

She wraps her jacket tighter around herself, and approaches him. There's no one else out right now—the weather, no doubt, keeping both neighbors and tourists away.

"Aslan," she says softly. "Ash."

His face seems to distort a little, but he doesn't wake.

Sighing, she crouches down next to him on the ground. "Wake up, Aslan. Eiji's worried."

At Eiji's name, Ash's breath catches, almost a sob. His eyes open and he gasps, flinching away from her and back against the steps. He reaches for something, but whatever he's looking for, he doesn't find it.

It takes less than five seconds for him to calm, panting in the snow, but that time leaves Koume stunned.

"... Sorry," Aslan mumbles in English, pressing a hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry."

Grimacing, Koume hesitates. She stands, takes her jacket off, and hands it to him.

He makes no move to stand or to take the jacket from her, still on the ground at her feet. Again. He stares up at her, blinking and squinting at the jacket like it's a source of light, too bright for him to look at.

She shakes the jacket without a word.

"I don't ..." he starts, trailing off.

"Take it," Koume says, trying to talk to him as her own child. Gentle. Encouraging. Heartbroken. "You've been out in the cold too long."

Aslan shakes his head, but he at least gets to his feet—albeit swaying a little as he does. He's frighteningly pale, even for a blond—is it her imagination that his lips have a little less color than they did last night?

He wraps both of his arms around himself, keeping one pressed to his side, and bites down on his lip. He's shivering.

She glances down to confirm that there is blood in the snow, though his black shirt doesn't show it.

"Stubborn child," she says, shaking the jacket again. Her arm is getting tired. "But I raised Eiji." She smiles at him. If she dealt with Eiji's teenage years, Ash Lynx has nothing on her—gang leader or no.

He offers a hesitant smile in return at that, and finally takes the jacket. He wraps it around his shoulders, but doesn't slip his arms through.

They stand in silence for a moment, Aslan still shivering and rubbing warmth back into his arms.

Eventually, he asks, "Why are you here?"

"... Walk with me," Koume offers, hoping to keep him from freezing to death at the very least. She'll lead him on a scenic route back to her house, one that he won't recognize, but that will take him to Eiji.

He nods, and keeps his eyes down on the ground as they walk. He walks a couple steps behind her, as well—this makes sense, as she's the one leading, and knows the neighborhood. Still, something about it feels almost uncomfortable, as though he's surrendering far more than just directional competence to her.

"Eiji told me more about you," she says. She keeps her voice light, and—she hopes—portraying it as a positive thing.

Aslan's body language gives nothing away, and he doesn't speak.

"I am sorry if you did not want me to know the things that he said, but I think that they were important for me to know. I—I'm sorry that you didn't feel comfortable sharing them with me yourself."

He's still following her, at least. That's something.

"Aslan," she starts, then pauses. "I will not discuss your past with you unless you wish to discuss it. But there is one thing I must ask."

Aslan looks up from the ground, finally, and there's a flash of fear in his eyes when she glances over her shoulder to meet his gaze.

"... Did you know that Eiji loves you?" she asks, turning away again.

"Huh?"

She breathes out a laugh. This kid. "Check your phone," Koume says softly. "Your voicemail."

Aslan fumbles for a moment, his hands clumsy and slow with cold. But he pulls out his phone and plays back the most recent voicemail.

It's Eiji crying—sobbing, wailing, though muffled and from a distance, as he had already dropped the phone by the time it clicked over to Aslan's voicemail. Aslan sets his phone to speakerphone and turns the volume all the way up, and presses the phone to his face as though he were actually on a call.

Eiji's crying tugs at Koume's heart, especially now, knowing what she didn't at the time. And then his scream: "I love him! And I want him here."

It's in Japanese, and Koume isn't certain if Aslan knows the words. Even still, he gasps softly. Eiji's pain is clear, that much is certain, and it seems to have a visceral impact on Aslan.

"He—" Koume starts, intending to translate, but Aslan ignores her, immediately going to replay the voicemail.

And then again. And again.

They're still walking, but Koume steals glances at him as they do. He's crying, she realizes. It's almost impressively silent, Aslan's tears, but he's crying.

"He was so angry with me," Koume says with a sad laugh. "That I would dare send you away."

"... You didn't," Aslan mumbles. "I chose to leave." He laughs too, even sadder and infinitely more bitter than Koume's. "He should be angry with me."

Koume hums softly. "I wish you had not chosen to leave," she settles on. "I think that there is a place for you, with him. With us. Eiji would agree."

"You really are just as stubborn as him, aren't you?"

"I am," Koume agrees. "You see, I was responsible for him when he was sixteen."

Aslan breathes out a laugh. "My condolences for your sanity."

It's silent for a moment, and Koume is a little proud of herself. This isn't so hard. He is, after all, just a child.

"... Thank you, by the way," Aslan blurts.

"For what?"

"Eiji." He takes a couple steps forward at a quicker pace, falling into line with her. "You did really well with him. I've always wondered what kind of person could have raised someone like him, you know? I admire you a lot."

Koume nods thoughtfully. "I think that Eiji is more his own person than mine," she says finally. "I don't think that I can claim responsibility for who he has become." Something she's been wanting to say to neighbors and friends for years, now, but has never had the courage. Eiji is her son, yes, but he is not hers.

Ash averts his eyes, almost shy now. "But—" He cuts off, grimacing. "You didn't hurt him."

Debatable, really—Eiji has never forgiven her for how she regarded his father. But, knowing what Koume knows of Ash, she knows what Ash means here. She considers her response carefully.

"I am his parent," she says slowly. This is even harder in English. "And I am sorry, Aslan, that you did not have parents."

"I—" he starts, but Koume cuts him off.

"Not really," she clarifies. "You did not. Not really."

He stares at her, a battle behind his eyes.

But you could now, she wants to say. She doesn't, of course; she'll need to earn his trust a little more before she can establish herself in a role like that. But she will; she resolves it to herself now.

After all, she has a feeling she's going to end up as this boy's mother-in-law the moment Japan legalizes unions between men.

Maybe she can help them arrange a wedding in Aslan's homeland, instead, with a honeymoon in Eiji's country—

But she's getting ahead of herself.

"We're here," she says instead, stepping onto the walkway to her house. "Eiji is waiting for you inside."

Ash's eyes widen. Did he really not realize that she was leading him home?

"He won't forgive you if you run again, you know," she warns. "You already owe him an apology as it stands."

"... I owe him several," Aslan murmurs, and Koume winces. This will take some getting used to.

She pauses, considering. "Your pronunciation was sloppy earlier, you know." She doesn't point out that he used the most formal apology in the Japanese language, reserved for grave mistakes against those who rank above you. She has a feeling that that part was intentional.

Aslan groans. "I practiced so hard!" he whines.

Koume ignores the lurch in her stomach at that, imagining Aslan apologizing over and over in an unknown language, planning to throw himself down at a stranger's feet and call his actions unforgiveable without even begging forgiveness.

"Would you like to learn a more informal apology that you can use with Eiji when we enter?" she asks. "I will help you."

Aslan smiles, lopsided and young. "I'd—yes. Thank you."

They sit together in front of the door. Koume realizes that, at some point during their walk, the snow slowed to a stop. The sun is out, now, and the air is brisk, but tolerable.

"So the key difference in our languages is between vowels and consonants ..."