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Rize is beautiful.
It’s impossible for Touka not to notice, with the way she sweeps into Anteiku each day.
She steps through the door and all eyes are drawn to her, to the way she glances at the floor and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear, to the way she clutches her book to her chest like a shield, to the way her skirt sways with her steps as she crosses the room to her usual seat in the far corner. She flattens her dress as she sits, tilts her legs to cross one ankle behind the other, and carefully opens her book, seemingly unaware of the way she has captivated everyone in the cafe.
But Touka knows better. The dazed looks on the faces of the other customers make her want to pull her hair out, because how can they not see it?
Rize is beautiful, and she knows it.
She holds her back straight and her head high, looking down at those around her even as she pretends to avoid eye contact. Each movement is made with confidence, without a hint of hesitation. She plays with a lock of hair to highlight her cheekbones. She adjusts her glasses to draw attention to her large eyes. She leans forward and crosses her arms in her lap and acts like she doesn’t notice when eyes drift down to her chest.
It pisses Touka off.
She can see it. She can see the act, see that her every movement is calculated to draw people in, and that the real Rize is nothing like the image she displaus to others. It pisses her off that Rize is obviously using her looks to her advantage, and people still fall all over her feet at her slightest whims.
Touka watches Rize reel in another victim, another fool who falls for her act completely. She watches him fumble over his words and Rize giggle politely at his unfunny jokes. Touka can’t believe it’s happening, even after all the times she’s watched this same scene play out before.
Then the pair stands to leave, and Touka grips the cup she’s washing so tight that it cracks.
Touka curses, and the noise draws Rize’s attention. She glances back over her shoulder, and Touka’s heart beats faster as she watches Rize’s gaze move slowly toward her.
Their eyes meet, and the world stops. Just for a moment -- long enough for Rize to narrow her eyes and send Touka a smug smirk -- before Rize slips out the door with her prey obediently trailing behind her.
Touka grimaces, and tries not to think about what that smile meant.
-
A few disasters and six months later, and Touka has come to terms with the fact that she’ll never see Rize again. She's got more pressing concerns at the moment.
Touka’s gone numb from crying, only half listening when Yomo tells her they need to make a stop before they can leave the 20th ward. Her life has fallen apart, she’s lost her home, most of her friends, her place to belong, all that she built for herself after she’d already lost everything once. She’s lost and hopeless and doesn’t know what to do, because what is there to do? How does someone move on from something like this? How many times does she have to lose everything important to her?
And then suddenly there is Rize. Huddled on the ground in a shipping container, sobbing for someone to feed her, looking nothing like Touka remembers.
Her hair is dirty and stringy, with none of its shine. Her eyes are swollen and sunken, her cheeks pale and thin. She looks tired, starved, and hopeless. The confidence Touka remembers, the power Rize exuded -- it's all been stripped from her.
She’s lost more than Touka.
“We have to take her with us,” Yomo says, and Touka agrees. It's easy enough to see. And after all, that's why Anteiku existed.
-
It takes weeks, but gradually, Rize returns to herself.
She stops lunging for food and begins eating slowly. She looks at Touka and Yomo when they enter the room. She stops screaming and starts speaking again.
But the fire is still gone. Her confidence, her strength, the things that made her dangerous, the things that made her Rize. That hasn't quite returned.
Her eyes are dull when she looks at Touka, and it takes effort for Touka not to react to her empty gaze.
“Here,” Touka offers, holding out a new bag of books. “For you.”
Rize smiles, or tries to, and takes the offering.
“Do you need anything?” When Rize doesn't answer, Touka stands to go.
“Wait,” Rize calls, and Touka does. She hesitates. “Maybe some water?”
Touka nods, and crosses the room to fetch a cup from the cabinet, and fills it with water. When she returns to Rize, she crouches on the ground beside the couch where Rize sits.
“I saw,” Rize croaks, voice cracking in her dry throat.
Touka offers her the glass, holds it up to her lips to help her drink. “Saw what?”
Rize swallows and licks her lips, and tries again. “I saw the way you looked at me. Back then.”
Touka freezes, then lowers her hand to place the glass on the table beside them. “That was a long time ago,” she answers softly.
“You don't look at me that way anymore,” Rize continues.
Touka is silent. It's true.
Rize looks away, and suddenly seems so much younger than she is. She looks vulnerable, and Touka is reminded again how much she lost, how much was taken from her.
-
The bell chimes through :re, and Touka turns to greet their new customer, but stops before the words leave her lips.
There, standing in the doorway, is Rize, and she's glowing.
The last Touka had seen her, she'd grown strong enough to feel restless and caged, and after everything she'd been through, Yomo and Touka didn't have it in them to try to keep her. So she left, and Touka had watched her go.
It seems like ages ago -- has it been years, now? Touka wonders.
But Rize looks just the same as she remembers.
She holds her head high as she crosses the cafe. Her hair shines in the light from the windows, and fans out behind her as she moves. Her eyes shine, and hold just a hint of that dangerous energy Touka knows is lurking beneath the surface. Rize’s grin is sharp enough to wound.
She is deadly and beautiful, and she knows it.
“Welcome back,” Touka sighs, and Rize's smile softens just for her.