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“…the photo?”
A hand from the table moves to touch his lips. The words trail out with no memory of their intended context. Suddenly wary of the warm room, he straightens his posture and shakily gathers himself. This isn’t the facility—then it must be an assignment. Before he slips further, he must leave. Now.
Kai begins to step toward the open wooden door, but a hand meets his wounded shoulder.
Though he instinctively recoils from the touch, the sensation is most surprising: it no longer stings. Kai’s own hand trails to his shoulder once the other falters, gripping it tightly only to be met with little more than vague discomfort of scars long-burned into his skin. Simply swallowing back the rising bile of the prior thought is enough to bring about another wave of trepidation: his throat has healed—not completely, as to be expected from poison, but significantly more so than he last recalled. The numbness which once made the task of eating to be arduous has all but dispersed.
As he tentatively turns to the one who touched him, silent dread crawls through his skin. The elder stood before him is wholly unrecognizable.
What the Hell is going on?
The man wears a dark waistcoat with a lighter, floral-patterned shirt beneath. Although casual, it hardly seems to fit his otherwise-imposing appearance—this strong jaw and brow line, with the wear of his age evident on his seemingly carefree features. In spite of his evident maturity, his hair hasn’t yet gone grey, save for a few strands between which were brushed back with obvious care.
He grants Kai a worried smile, laced with fondness.
Nothing about him is familiar.
Kai gathers himself and stares over this man who challenges him in stance alone. In reality, worry creases his expression, leaving Kai to the role of offering forth a quiet bow: “Apologies.”
In the flection, hair falls forward to hide his face. The strands are far longer than they should’ve been, spread across this cardinal apron…. Meaningful, though Kai cannot grasp reason as to why he is wearing something so delicate.
Kai realizes moments too late the other’s taken his hand in his own. Forcing his unsteady mind away from the shock, he quickly stabilizes himself enough to examine the hands grasping his: they are coarse, worn from physical practice. Were he to hazard a guess, these blisters upon them indicate weaponry—however, throughout this short time, this person displayed nothing but the strangest affection. A whisper in his heart insists he is safe, yet his mind feels all but sound at the very thought. How could he abide to baseless feelings when he does not even know this man’s name?
“You alright, Kai?”
“Yes,” he lies with ease. Silence is precious. It saves him in the following observation. After a long moment under those eyes, the elder resigns himself to proceed as they were.
“…Well, if you say so. We can step outside if you need to, but I moved the photobook over here.”
Kai cautiously follows him. Past bookcases lined with various photos of a family of three, with a single portrait held high—presumably, the grandfather of the young auburn-haired girl. An unbidden sense of peace washes over him as he notices the little hints of disorganization and other use typical of a lived space, distinctly unlike that which the organization’s facilities often demanded. Even those granted higher levels, the chance to overlook the cityscape, had their belongings strictly enforced. However, the warmth presented here was far from a false show of serenity. The walls are built from dark oak, exuding both prosperity and a sense of solace Kai cannot quite place. Unhelpfully, a hushed part of his mind suggests it feels like home.
“Here we are.” From the drawer, he places a large, bound photobook upon the table. Slowly, he traces through the pages with the same gentle smile once cast Kai’s way.
Kai should feel repulsed. To think anyone would dare offer something so senseless…
Once the elder finds the most recent page, he presents it to Kai with a cheerful hum. The featured picture is of three people at a festival: the man before him in traditional attire, beaming at the camera with a hand firmly upon the other two girls’ shoulders; the one in the scene’s left is stout, with obvious muscle despite her outward preference for femininity (as assumed in her sleeveless lavender dress, and loose black hair); toward the right end stood the child of this family. Kai hesitates a moment before scanning her closer, carefully lifting the book from her father. This one wore her light hair in a braided ponytail held up by a sharp hairpin, dressed in dark, detailed scarlet which masterfully complemented her dignified demeanor. Her eyes feel reminiscent as they stare through to his, but it invokes nothing beyond another weak tug at his feeble heart.
“This is quite nice,” Kai says flatly. His memory would not rise beneath its exhaustion—yet, he swears he feels something there. How terribly he yearns for the energy to begin to break through these self-imposed barriers without invoking its sharp pain pressed against the base of his head.
Bright laughter echoes through the room. “Yeah, it was! Oh, my little angel, here—she was just adorable! I really can’t thank you enough for helping me decide.”
Kai… chose this? “It is only courtesy.”
“Oh, come on now.” Another grin. “Don’t be so modest! It was thanks to you that Sara could shine there. Really, accept it.”
“…You’re welcome.”
He stares down at the photo—at this Sara herself. His thumb brushes against the photo. The name feels familiar when he mouths the sound, but when has he ever needed to? Nothing in his memory stirs. Only a searing headache emboldens the suffocating silence. Protesting how Sara’s father lingers over the photobook, blissfully unaware of the pain brought with each photo he chooses to display.
“Sir, I… I am afraid I must retire early.”
The man’s brows furrow. Kai flinches back when he raises his hand.
“Oh, Kai, you really aren’t feeling well huh?”
The hand instead caresses his cheek with vile kindness. The ghost sensation of the victim’s hand immediately urges him away. His throat goes dry, only muttering, “Apologies.”
“…Hey, I’ll drive you home.”
Kai wants to deny the offer. To snap back with some assertion he needn’t be belittled.
The ache screaming in his head promises otherwise. With no more than a curt nod, he concedes with a near-inaudible thanks.
“The least I can do! C’mon, kid.”
Windows, halls, stairs… Hazily, the house passes him by. Were it some twisted dream, it’d be far easier to accept the disorientation brought with the environment he’s lost himself in. A dream in which he would wake and return to Father. No matter how he’s then reprimanded, anything would reassure him of reality. To live as this—being met with faces he couldn’t begin to recognize, being led with little more than a stranger, and a heart which refuses to heed the truth— he can scarcely scrape breath into his lungs.
“What’s the address?”
Kai forces himself into focus, blinking a few times at the hands in his lap. His hands, carefully folded over the citrus-scented apron. As if to protect it. “I—have I not told you before?”
The silent look cast his way is entirely unreadable. “…Right.”
His eyes burn shamefully with the threat of tears, even as he forces his gaze outside the car’s window and into familiar darkness. The longer this goes on, the more permanent it feels. How long must he live this way? Mere snapshots of a life he never fully experienced? Where has the time between gone? What is the corrosion tearing out any foothold he managed? As if Fate’s snipped his remaining life and left him helplessly tying together the broken threads he’s been left to mourn.
The unexpected chuckle shakes him free of his rumination. “Guess I am getting forgetful in my old age, huh.”
Kai has no reply. As for himself, he is only seventeen; it could not be anything of that sort. It couldn’t.
⊱ ☼ ⊰
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, please. We’re at least close enough you can use my name, can’t you?”
Kai cannot escape it. The man stands expectantly between him and the door. It would be rather disrespectful to simply brush past him, albeit the most tempting alternative.
“At least call me Mister Chidouin, Kai.”
“Yes, sir.”
Chidouin laughs heartily as he steps away, at last allowing Kai to open the door. Before he departs, he fondly pats Kai’s shoulder without regard to how he flinches away.
“Never change, kid.”
⊱ ☼ ⊰
Chidouin. The name grows dreadfully familiar, but this horrible virus seems to dissolve any thread Kai desperately reaches for.
Kai finds himself idly staring at the folder in his hands, only now realizing the sunset has faded and left him in complete darkness. What little he can observe under moonlight, he does so impassively. In truth, he’s agonizingly aware he still knows next to nothing of this place supposedly labeled his home. How frustrating.
He pushes himself up from the table with a start, briefly frightening himself with the loud scrape of the chair against wood.
Calm down.
Almost habitually, he flicks on the lamp and settles back into the desk littered with papers he’d dragged out. Useless, every last one of them. Running his hands through his long hair, he draws in a sharp breath before finally deciding to open the laptop engraved with Asunaro’s logo. Anything, to keep these thoughts from drowning him. The password is not his Asunaro identification, nor any audible message he could recall—as if he could recall anything of relevance in this state. As the time marches on, Kai only grows more irate.
…Though it is ludicrous, he tries once more: Chidouin.
Welcome. Starting up…
Kai stares at the screen. His nails dig into his skin. Unbelievable.
⊱ ☼ ⊰
Numbly, he flicks through the folders and skims each file.
Nothing recently received from Asunaro, nor any message from Father. No assassination orders—but Kai finds his chest tighten as he reads through the supplementary reports on targets listed within the past year. None of the locations truly strike a bell, nor do any of the individuals listed. The faces become increasingly difficult to discern as he continues on. Did he kill any of them? Is it better to know that, or remain in his painful ignorance?
…Kai didn’t wish to entertain those thoughts. Not at the moments. Instead, he searches out another folder he may recognize. Any would do.
[PERS_REF] CHIDOUINS’ PREFERENCES— despite its internal format mirroring the importance of medical information, its actual content remains relatively unimportant. Examining it, achingly devoid of whatever emotion first spurred him to create it, only leaves him sick.
[ORDER] 08— another reference to the Chidouins, and within rests a file he distinctly remembers extracting with discomfort. At least this mystery is easily solved: the forged resume still has that awful portrait plastered upon it. However, as he delves further, what concerns him more is the picture of a younger Sara and her father accompanying cursory surveillance information. This fleeting memory of his certainly enjoys torturing him. Kai tightly holds his head, as if anything could soothe this persistent headache.
This awful, long hair only serves to worsen his condition. How could he fail to recall his initial decision to break Asunaro code? How could he have grown so comfortable with this, when the photo before him proves what he should’ve kept? His hair was largely shoulder-length for his lack of effort at the time, but with this he can feel the taunting consideration placed into maintaining it.
Is this even his body?
Kai breaks his gaze from the computer.
⊱ ☼ ⊰
Darkness envelopes him. With one hand against the wall as his guidance, he moves blindly through the dim hallway until he reaches the cold bathroom. The mirror reflects what could only be Kai Satou. Nausea overtakes him, leaving his clammy hands trembling as he grips the counter.
Kai cannot look away.
What he is met with is a mature man in his twenties—features still young, yet a facial structure more defined than it had been—who only eerily resembled himself at seventeen. Long, dark hair gently frames his wary face, cut with much more care than Kai ever before put toward these features. It seems washed recently, with the berry scent still lingering from the morning of. With it, the small (if disheveled) braid beside his ear remains an indicator of how tidy it once was. Despite his composed appearance upon first inspection, this person wore shared exhaustion to himself. The years-long frustration traces his worn expression; however, the familiar, dead eyes staring back into his seem to dilute it to the point of grief more than anger.
Kai hits the counter.
His face burns with humiliation as a cry forces its way out. Pain reverberates throughout his arm and he chokes on another sob rising from these lungs that don’t at all feel like his. This body is going to hyperventilate without him. So be it—it’s already left him behind.
Kai hits the counter.
Calm down. His vision breaks, distorted by tears. Calm down. His lungs collapse, but his body continues to shake in its futile attempts to grasp for any air. Calm down.
Kai—”Calm down.”
Kai is shaking on the floor of his bathroom, his bruised wrist held by a face once forgotten. She wears her curled hair down, her black roots showing once more against the verdant dye; with her brows knit together, the slant of her eyes crease in worthless worry as she works to stabilize him.
Everything within demands she leave, continuing to cry out in pained protest. Yet, something traitorous within him stirs to speak—that same damned whisper which offered a false sense of security in the walls of the Chidouin home.
“Thank you, Namida.”
Michiru’s expression relaxes. Unconsciously, he mirrors the sentiment. “I hope you don’t—don’t mind I invited myself in.”
Unbridled fondness quietly blooms at her light-hearted tone. Rather than his mind maliciously barring him from memories of her, he realizes that his tired mind has stagnated in the wake of the disgraceful panic. With effort, the past slowly falls back into place. Perhaps not everything, but certainly enough to understand why he’s deferred to her.
“Here, hold this t-tightly, so I can apply pressure on the r-right point.”
Kai concedes, gripping the fabric as she works on with her experimental medicine. This routine is easy, familiar. A sharp pinch stings his wrist—electricity immediately shocks his lower arm’s nerves, but it immediately fades into no more than a graze upon his skin. Michiru examines it, now clear of earlier bruising, and returns her materials with a coy, self-satisfied smile.
Michiru pushes herself up and helps him to his feet, then guides him back toward the main room. Kai follows her gesture to sit beside her.
“I neglected to ask when you arrived,” Kai muses, taking care to keep his voice level.
“Oh, not t-t-too long ago. I only waited about—about ten minutes before…” Michiru hesitates, but shakes her head. “…well, I’m just glad you’re alright.”
Without word, Kai simply raises his brows and glances toward the front door.
“No! I—I didn’t break it. Well, no, not t-too much…”
“Hmm. I shall remind you to bring a spare lock, when you’re to visit,” he teases. “Or, I suppose you’ll be the one telling Asunaro?”
Michiru gives a nervous laugh. Kai surprises himself at the small smile now tugging at his mouth, despite the known pain of emoting. He quickly covers his mouth, glancing aside as the feeling fades and discarding the brief unease brought with it. “Well, do remind me: what do you need, Namida?”
The question immediately kills the casual air. She shifts in her seat, seemingly messing with her bag as she struggles with collecting her words. “Just that, act-actually. You—er, you asked me to help you understand something with your memory?”
Oh. Oh, no. Not with her of all people. Surely not.
“Ah, I mustn’t have been in the right state of mind. I apologize to have wasted your time.”
Of all people, he’d never divulge it to this newcomer.
…No, that isn’t right. She’s been here for three years now under Father’s endorsement, and five years altogether. What is he thinking?
“Satou, you really shouldn’t…” Michiru hesitates, quietly stumbling over herself as she tries to find whatever words she believes will sway him. It’s always been such a pain to speak with her. No matter the trust they managed to build in these years initially forgotten, he did not wish to indulge this vulnerability to her. Anyone of Asunaro will find and manipulate any leverage they’re granted; whether she wishes to betray him, or not, another could easily steal it from her tongue. “I am more capable than I once was.”
And that is terrifying. The target upon her back is larger than it has ever been. These hands tremble even as he grips the hem of his uniform.
“Listen well, Namida: I do not need you.” The agent holds his voice low. “Please, forget it all.”
“Would you prefer Mister Gashu?” Michiru asks before she could falter.
Kai falls still, shooting a glare with only silence to speak for him.
Even so, her expression softens.
“…I am not weak enough to warrant your pity.”
“It isn’t pity.” Michiru sighs, but with a hint of amusement, she adds, “H-Haven’t you learned that by now?”
“Foolish.”
“No more than you.”
“Your compassion will cost you,” he quietly reminds her. “I thought I warned you.”
A knowing smile weakly crosses her mouth. “It hasn’t stopped either of us though, has it?”
Unfortunately.
Kai found himself on this path before his fractured mind could begin to reason through the consequence of the actions he’d taken. Under devotion, to assist, to protect—though to be cared for in turn has never been his intent. Not with Michiru, nor with the Chidouins whom he honors. Regardless of their wishes, he resigns himself to this truth: he must inevitably burn each bridge for their safety. Cut himself out, as to ensure Asunaro doesn’t spread its poison through his web.
…Still, Michiru holds the confidence to test her loyalty. In simply convening with him, Asunaro’s judgement has begun.
“Be careful.”
Michiru nods, slowly reassuring him: “I won’t tell them anything.”
As allies, she holds this promise of confidentiality. As friends, she’ll help him understand what this may be. If it means he won’t feel nearly as lost once Asunaro again steals the life the Chidouins have kindly granted, the risk is worth enough.