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The noise of the rails spreads inside the car. A familiar and subdued lullaby, soundtrack of a long-awaited and invoked end of day.
The subway is crawling with passengers: workers, mothers with sleeping children, old people and young students. All different human types, same blank stare: the same consuming tiredness of living and breathing.
No one's paying attention to them: everyone distracted, thinking about the dinner waiting on the table, about the resting embrace of their bed, about the next stop... No one's paying attention to their torn and blood-stained clothes, to Himeno's heavy breathing, or to the katana on Aki's back.
Their presence is an inconvenience to come to terms with, like a dirt stain on a seat. Something that is there, visible, but you'd rather not notice.
There's a man with a briefcase standing right before them, he keeps his head turned away and doesn't dare to move.
And there it is: the gratitude of people they are paid to protect…
Aki looks down to his left. Himeno breathes through her mouth, a hand pressed under her ribs, where a red spot blossoms on the white fabric.
It didn't end well. Nobody cares about the devil they killed: there were civilians' blood on the asphalt, serious infrastructure damage and ambulance everywhere. Aki already feels the weight of those victims – sandbags that bind to his heart and make it sink to the lowest part of his ribcage.
The subway meets a joint.
Himeno winces in pain. Aki puts an arm behind her shoulders, allowing her to steady herself and rest her head on him.
"We're almost there" he says, in an attempt to reassure her, but the rush to set foot on the ground is overwhelming him. His eyes no longer able to detach from the blood stain on her shirt.
He holds his breath when he sees her uncover the wound to search for something in her pocket. Himeno places a packet of cigarettes on her lap, her fingers leaving crimson prints on the paper as she pulls one out and slowly brings it to her mouth.
Aki gently wraps his hand around hers and stops it from going forward.
"You can't smoke on public transport..." he whispers, a note of sadness and sympathy in his voice.
Himeno waits like this for a moment, with dropped eyelids and parted lips. Then, as if she's been processing his words, she sighs and lets him bring her arm back on her lap.
She watches the cigarette slip out of her grip, his hand bloodied against hers, and calls his name.
"Wanna get drunk with me?" she proposes, "When we get home?"
She doesn't mention whose home it should be. The omission gives rise to a foolish, sappy, and maybe a little self-centered thought in him.
She doesn't care where, as long as I stay with her tonight.
Aki doubts that once they get home (whether his or not) they'll have enough energy to do something more than shower and sleep, but his current emotional state pushes him towards that foolish, sappy, self-centered part of himself. The one that wants him to believe that Himeno's proposal has little to do with drinking.
So he runs his thumb over her shoulder and mutters in agreement.
"Yeah… sure."
She gives him a weak smile, and it's obvious that this was the answer she wanted.
He feels her leaning against him, eye closed and hand pressed on her side.
Aki looks back in front of him. He can see their reflection in the glass, behind the swaying torso of the man with the briefcase, and his mind does it again. It becomes weak and emotional, picturing a scenario where he and Himeno are sitting like this – in the same position – on a couch, watching a movie. Something funny maybe, something that makes her laugh out loud, so he can kiss her to shut her up.
He imagines a home of which they no longer have to specify the owner. He imagines dreamless nights, sleeping in each other's arms, with no shivers to soothe or eyes to dry. He imagines flowers and chocolates, dancing in the moonlight, a fancy dinner, a ring in a red velvet box… and all those other things that are usually cookie-cutter for romantic comedies.
Aki is too vulnerable to impose control over his own thoughts right now, so he doesn't. Not even when they try, dare, to caress the most distorted and blurry image they find in his subconscious.
The image is that of a child, one of an undefined age, who doesn't have many distinctive features other than being little and having black hair (the most glaring aesthetic trait that he and Himeno have in common).
And yet… the idea of the two of them with a child is so improbable, so absurd, that the illusion breaks itself. So absurd that he wishes he could laugh at himself and at that bitterness he feels in the back of his mouth. So absurd, for so many reasons, that Aki doesn't even know how it got in his head.
Somewhere a child (a real one) wakes up in his mother's arms. His shouted cry echoes between the car's walls and pierces his mind, louder than his thoughts. The man with the briefcase grinds his teeth in annoyance, but it doesn't last long. Soon people get used to the sound, it becomes a background one, merging with that of the rails. Aki gets used too.
He rests his head on top of his partner's, squints absently, and starts planning the things to do at home, just like everyone else.
He'll have to clean that wound of her as soon as they arrive, stitching it if necessary. Washing the blood off their clothes, cooking something to eat… An amnesic drink doesn't sound so bad, actually. Maybe he's not too tired for that.
Meanwhile the child keeps crying, and crying, and crying...
Aki closes his eyes. A tear lines his cheek, disappearing in Himeno's black hair.