Chapter Text
The wintry sunlight streamed through gauzy blue curtains, illuminating a tiny bedroom where a young woman lay sleeping, her slender body curled tightly into soft blankets that piled across the bed like a fluffy cloud. An opening in the curtain drew a bright white triangle, and found the young woman's face. It revealed an oval visage, its skin browned by sun and exercises, and long, chestnut-brown hair that was scattered across the pillow. One cheek was pressed against her hand, which lay flat across the covers. The curtains' sheer fabric did not protect the room from the glare of the morning, and its whitewashed walls and worn beige carpet were slowly inundated with soft, azure light, so that the young woman seemed to be sleeping inside a clear, shallow lake.
A sparkling ray now found its way to the young woman's face, and snuck across her lashes, flickering insistently as if determined to tease her awake. After a few moments, the black lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes of an intense blue-green color. It was that rare, beautiful color that had given that young woman her name: Aoi.
She yawned, stretching lazily for a moment, then lay still again with her eyes half-closed. She did not mind that the curtains had failed to block the light; it was, in fact, her intention in hanging these particular drapes. She wanted to ensure that she stuck to her old habit of always waking up with the sun. But that morning had a frosty touch, and she felt compelled to stay bundled under the blankets, indulging herself with a few additional moments of warmth. She watched the room through lowered lashes, and the flood of clear blue sunlight made her imagine that she was at the bottom of a deep pool.
And then the familiar pain seared through her leg; a tiny, insistent flare, like a nail dipped in fire.
Aoi curled into herself instinctively, her hands clenching into fists. She lay inert, waiting for the sting to recede. Then she carefully rose to a sitting position, and remained very still, biting her lip. While the pain withdrew, an echo of it lingered, hammering dully at her leg. She sighed with exasperation, then rubbed her fingers across her brow. Stop letting this bring you down, she told herself. It's not like anything changed for the worse. And remember that it's only been three months. It was a gun wound; it will take some time to fully heal. You'll just have to be patient.
Her eyes were drawn to the scar that marked the location of the wound. It wasn't a large scar, rather pale, and just barely perceptible. But she knew that the wound had been deep enough to damage tissues and nerves. And still, every morning, she had an irresistible compulsion to examine that scar, as if hoping that if she kept watch, the change would come. And every morning, her leg answered her with that throbbing, shadowy pain.
She rose to a sitting position in the bed, placed her feet on the floor, and stood up with the same slow, cautious manner, trying to avoid any strain on her leg that would cause the pain to flare up again. As was her habit every morning, she then smoothed the bedsheets, folded the blanket away to the edge of the bed, and spread and tucked the four corners of her red, velvety duvet. The familiar tasks, which she had performed so many times before, calmed her down a little. When she was done, she climbed the bed again and pulled the curtains aside. Then she opened the windowpanes and surveyed the landscape below.
The white winter sun illuminated a frosty morning, accentuating the shadows cast by the square, gray forms of the surrounding buildings. This side of Hope Peak's campus was relatively remote from the main tower, so most of the nearby structures remained intact. However, all the buildings except the one where Aoi now lived were abandoned. The campus was barren and silent except for the far-off chirping of birds. The distant woods that circled the campus grounds appeared starkly dark against the bright skies. The ghostly sounds from the woods which interrupted the deep silence, and the sight of the grounds, a blend of hard gray, frosty white, dark green and azure blue, was melancholy in some ways; but Aoi didn't exactly dislike it. Something about this wintry atmosphere felt, to her, somehow right. And she thought, this place may be abandoned, and there may be only four of us right now; but, somehow, it's already my home.
She was glad that the hospital discharged her early, so she could join the others at Hope's Peak. Being in the hospital, suffering from the pain in her leg and surrounded by gravely injured and ill people, and doctors and staff visibly stressed from the lack of hands to assist with attending to all the patients, had depressed her normally high spirits. The other five had visited her once during that week, and that event improved her mood, especially when Makoto and Kyoko revealed their plans to restore Hope's Peak; and the bulk of the visit was spent in enthusiastic discussion and questioning on Aoi’s part. After the visit, she received a beautiful bouquet of flowers, with a note wishing her a speedy recovery. No name was attached to it, which puzzled her slightly; but she knew it was her friends, and was grateful. And despite the pain barely receding, when the hospital announced her early release she was thrilled; she immediately called Kyoko, who arranged a ride to the academy grounds, where she had stayed ever since.
But, Aoi thought, somewhat dolefully, where else COULD she had gone? After the Death Game, the Hope Foundation's reputation had been irrecoverably damaged. It was done as an institution. Her parents' home and business were destroyed without a trace a long time ago. And her brother -- she forced herself to repress the urge to cry. Don't think about it, she told herself. No matter how much time has passed since she had learned of his fate, the wound was still too fresh.
No... don't think about it. Not now.
You have this place, and this wonderful restoration project now; and your friends. At that point, it was only the four of them, since Toko was away; though she, and Makoto's sister, intended to return. The four of them – Makoto, Kyoko, Hiro, and Aoi – began to undertake the monumental task of surveying the damage to the campus, and coming up with a list of tasks that would need to be done to prepare the school for its revival. They all knew that they would have to stay here for quite a while -- at least as long as it would take to restore the campus to full use -- and planned accordingly. Using funds given by those with the means to assist (well, mainly one person, Aoi admitted to herself with some reluctance), they found an undamaged building which still had electricity and running water, and restored it for daily use. Each of them took a room, and they converted the rest of the grounds to serve their purposes.
To Aoi, laboring under the pain of her still-healing leg, and very limited in her options, it was a tonic to be doing something, anything, to keep her mind off her current condition. She did not exactly limp, but her movements were considerably slowed down; and the pain, while not severe, was persistent. She had been unable to recover enough to pursue any of her former athletic exercises, and felt restless, and unhappy in her restlessness. So she threw herself into the restoration activities with gusto. The new project excited her, and inspired her to work hard. She was naturally full of energy, and, lacking patience, eager to return to normalcy, and believing that she was needed here, she pushed herself to her utmost limit, and refused to admit that she was over-straining herself. She was always first in line to offer help, worked tirelessly with the group at all hours, and was silent about the condition of her leg.
That state of things, of course, could not last; and so, one evening, Kyoko found her moving slowly, and with great difficulty, along the building corridor. Aoi had returned after an afternoon she had spent surveying a portion of the grounds. She had to stop when the pain in her leg became unbearable, and the return to the campus area where the team resided felt like it took forever. The sun was starting to set when she finally made it to the building.
Aoi greeted the other girl, and tried to pass by as unobtrusively as possible, her face averted. She could tell that Kyoko had been waiting for her, and tried to ward off questions; and she hoped that the darkness of the corridor would prevent Kyoko from seeing her condition, as she was limping badly now. (The campus sometimes experienced energy failure due to lack of maintenance, so they tried to conserve electricity, and artificial light was low priority.) But Kyoko placed her gloved hand on Aoi's shoulder, barring her progress.
"I was wondering why you did not show up at supper," she stated.
"It's nothing," Aoi replied, refusing to acknowledge the obvious question in that statement. But she avoided meeting Kyoko's discerning gaze. "I just lost track of the time."
Kyoko's pale face was a floating oval in the dark corridor, and Aoi could tell that she was surveying her silently. "You've overexerted yourself," she finally said, her voice very quiet.
"No, I -- I already told you--"
"I'm going to tell Makoto to assign you only to this section of the campus."
At this, Aoi finally turned fully towards Kyoko. "But there's almost no damage in this area!" she protested, her cheeks flushing with indignation.
"Well, then, we'll have to find a solution for you," Kyoko replied calmly. "Why didn't you tell me sooner that your leg was bothering you that much?"
"I don't want to be a burden," Aoi muttered, hanging her head. "I want to help." She and Kyoko were the same age; but there was something in Kyoko that made her seem years older than herself, and Aoi knew that she could not win this argument.
"Rest here a few moments," Kyoko finally said, without addressing Aoi's objections. "I will get something to help your leg.”
The tall, pale girl turned without waiting for an answer, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor. Aoi knew where she was going; that was the direction of the dormitory they had designed as a supply room. She sighed, and slumped to the floor. She was too exhausted to put up a resistance.
She buried her head between her knees, and allowed herself to rest for a few moments. She was stubborn, she thought; she had tried to push her body to its limit; and it had punished her.
She sighed; but then she heard Kyoko addressing her. "Here. This should help."
Aoi raised her head. Kyoko had knelt next to her, and was unboxing a package of large bandages and a bottle full of a dark liquid whose label Aoi could not read in the gloomy corridor. The pale girl spoke again as she worked with the items she had brought.
"If you keep doing this, you may end up causing permanent damage. You need to be patient with your body, Aoi."
Aoi turned her head, resting her cheek on her arm as she watched Kyoko working. "I know. But what should I do?”
"Well," said Kyoko, "you'll need to pace yourself. When was the last time you went to the doctor about your leg?"
"Not since they released me from the hospital," Aoi guiltily admitted. It frankly surprised her that none of the others noticed this, but she supposed that they were too absorbed in this monumental project to pay attention to such details.
Kyoko's hands slowed at this revelation. She shot Aoi a glance of mixed surprise and disapproval. "Not since then? Why?"
"I did call them up," Aoi explained. "But the next available appointment is six months from now." She shrugged. "There's probably too many people who need this type of care more than I do." In truth, she had already started to suspect that her rushed release from the hospital was only due to the scarcity of space and personnel; and realized that her injury had not received all the treatment that it needed. But she didn’t want to be a patient anymore; she dreaded returning to that hospital, to be surrounded by all that misery. And now, she may have no choice.
Kyoko lowered her head again. "Hmm. I don't know if it would even matter if you could obtain an early admittance. You may need to see a specialist as soon as possible.”
Aoi did not say anything, because she could not contradict this conclusion, knowing in her heart that it may be true. So she closed her eyes again, her weariness finally taking its toll. Kyoko placed the bandage over the wound, and the heat spreading through Aoi's leg brought some relief to her wounded muscles. Then Kyoko spoke again. "Aoi," she said, her voice gentle.
Aoi opened her eyes. Kyoko was smiling, one hand extended. Aoi placed her palm in Kyoko's obediently. "Okay," said the other girl. "Here we go-- One, two, three, and up."
Kyoko supported Aoi, and Aoi, setting her teeth, used the lift to rise to her feet. She stood, her balance a little off-kilter; but she thought that her leg was already better.
Kyoko, seeing that Aoi could support herself, released her hand. Then she stood with one finger over her lips, as in thought. Aoi, meeting her gaze, tried to smile. She knew that Kyoko was scrutinizing her. She wondered what the other girl was thinking, but was too tired to ask.
"Take it slow," Kyoko finally said. "And..." She gave Aoi a direct look. "Don't worry.” Her accents were clear and firm now, as if she had arrived at a conclusion. "We'll take care of this."
That was almost two weeks ago. Since then, Aoi had been turning Kyoko's final words in her mind. She had full trust that, having promised her that she would find a solution, she would make good on her promise. If anyone could help her it would be Kyoko -- her intelligent, dependable friend.
But, still, she thought, what could Kyoko do? How will she procure me that medical assistance without spending a lot of money, and pulling a lot of strings? We need to raise money now, not spend it.
Money... connections.
Aoi stirred, rubbing her forehead. Those two words brought just one person to her mind. Yes... They did know one person who could make this happen.
Togami.
She unconsciously bit her thumb as she mulled over this thought. While she saw very little of him for the past few months, every time Aoi thought of anything related to Togami, it threw her into an odd mood. She... she didn't quite know how she felt about him now. And it made her confused, and a little nervous.
If someone had told her before the end of the fourth trial that, of all the young men she met at that game, it would be Togami that would provoke such emotions in her, she would have scoffed at them. Togami? Sure, he was good-looking, and she knew that he came from an extremely powerful family. But Aoi considered him an abrasive, condescending prick; and she paid as little attention to him as she could. And as the games continued, she grew to despise his behavior and actions. It all culminated in the fourth trial, when he enraged her with his insensitive remarks about her dear friend. Unlike the others, Aoi had never felt compelled to put up with Togami's attitude; and once the conflict over Sakura's role as a spy heated up, she made it clear to him – in more than one way -- that she wasn't afraid to confront him.
But then, after the fourth trial, they had that moment of reconciliation. When he seemed to accept her apology without any apparent rancor, almost without judgment. And despite everything he had done, and his despicable behavior until that point, at that moment she'd been grateful. She had experienced deep shame, and a lingering remorse, at what she had tried to do. She had been... she didn't know how to describe it. She had let her unhappiness get the better of her, and it clouded her capacity to act rationally. The memory of that time made her feel strange, like she had temporarily become a different person. A person capable of taking down with her people who had never done her any harm. Makoto, Kyoko -- they, at least, did not deserve such a fate. And she admitted to herself that she could, after all, learn something from Togami, who rarely let his emotions over-ride his judgment (although, she thought, his false sense of superiority sometimes did).
But even so, had that exchange between them not thrown Toko into a state of such frenzied jealousy, Aoi would not have thought anything further of it. At the time, Aoi's emotions had been so discomposed that her instinctive reaction was to immediately insult Togami in order to cool the effect of that moment. Afterwards, she was chagrined that she had been betrayed into such a lack of charity by her confusion; but what upset her more was that small voice which nagged at her, whispering that, although she hated to acknowledge it, something HAD passed between them.
But that impression faded quickly, and things returned to business as usual. There was less conflict now, as the group united around a common cause; and Togami no longer made any condescending remarks to Aoi, and even seemed to give her views some consideration. And then, after they left the school, all six survivors of the Hope's Peak death games were accepted into the Hope Foundation, and Aoi's interactions with him were reduced to almost incidental snatches. There was a lot to do, and he was mostly away, busy trying to determine what was left of the Togami Empire, or helping the Foundation by taking field missions. And every time she saw him, he was in a hurry, going away on a task, and only gave her a fleeting glance if she happened to be there. Sure, he DID always look her way when they met; but it was often wordlessly, and without a change of expression. And that was pretty much it.
Aoi pressed her fingers against her brow. She tried to think about this as rationally as possible. No, no-- she still saw him in light of everything that happened during the Killing Games, and she felt that she just -- couldn't. Not after what he said about Sakura. Not after what he did to poor little Chihiro. She just couldn't like him.
Why, then, did she simultaneously feel so torn, and at the same time so embarrassed, at the prospect of getting help from Togami?
But she already knew why. It was because of the time when he found her wounded at the Hope Foundation Death Game, three months ago. When his behavior towards her had been – well, quite different.
She had awakened at a small, dark room, deep in the building, not really knowing where she was, and forgetting for a moment everything but the searing pain in her leg. She tried to gather her thoughts, and dizzily recalled that she's been shot. She had told Makoto to run away, and had fainted from the pain, and maybe from blood loss.
She blinked her eyes open, trying to focus her vision; and then realized that she was not alone. A shadow was kneeling next to her; the shadow of a man. He was supporting her back with one arm. "I see that you're awake," he said quietly. "How are you feeling?"
She was still too disoriented to talk; yet something in her consciousness told her that this voice belonged to someone she knew. But before she could pin it down, he spoke again, verifying her suspicion. "Don't move, Aoi. We're taking care of the bleeding."
She now realized that something was in the process of wrapping tightly around the center of the pain, bringing a cool, bracing sensation. A bandage, most likely? She tried to focus her gaze on her surroundings again. Another shadow, even dimmer in the faint light, was crouching next to her leg, and she could see its arms winding, then tying, a long, white strip of cloth around the wounded leg. Another familiar, but much cheerier voice, came from that second figure. “Yeah, Aoi, hang on tight, y'hear? I'm almost done dressing your leg. So just relax. Togami's got your back.”
The cheerful voice was Hiro's (she also recognized him now by his distinct silhouette), and she had already realized that it was Togami who had been kneeling next to her. The somewhat deep, rough voice with its commanding accents was unmistakable.
Togami spoke again. "There," he said. "Sit up. Slowly now." He assisted her to rise to a sitting position, and offered her a glass of water.
“Is the pain bad?" he asked; and, despite his usual, laconic manner, she thought that his tone was softer than usual. "I sent for some medicine."
She finally answered him, stammering with the effort. "I-- it hurts, yes. But I, I think I can bear it for now. T-Thank you."
She then raised a trembling hand to the cup, and drank slowly as he helped her to tilt it to her lips. As she did, she tried to organize her thoughts.
Neither revelation – that she had been attended to by Togami and Hiro – was a surprise to her. But in another way, she was astonished.
Togami? THAT Togami? Had... had DEBASED himself to assist her? To support her? To serve her? The Togami who, at times of crisis, merely condescended to stand around and give orders to others? Wasn't helping her this way a task far beneath his lofty position? He who was, as he never tired of reminding them, the heir to the Togami Empire (or, rather, what was left of it)?
She finally turned her head fully and studied him, as if trying to verify that this, indeed, was Togami, and not some impostor. Yes. It was definitely him. She couldn't see his features fully, but he was eminently recognizable-- the pale hair, the lean, tall figure, the light reflecting off the glasses that she had pretended to detest so much, the immaculate suit and tie. And, of course, the confident, curt voice.
“A bit better now?” he asked, noticing that her attention was on him. "That leg will need to be examined by a surgeon," he added, tersely. "I'll make sure of it, once we get out of here."
His tones had the same brusque, cool cadence that she had grown to know – and dislike -- so much during their mutual imprisonment at Hope's Peak. But there was something new there – a distinctly personal note. And it made her feel very odd.
She suddenly became very conscious of how close his body was to her, of his arm around her shoulder. She tried to straighten, but did so a little too abruptly, and felt a sharp pain shooting through the injured leg. She winced, whimpering, and Togami immediately tightened his grip. “Aoi!” he said, sharply now. “Try not to move.” And Hagakure exclaimed, “Whoa, easy there! I don't think that's good for you, Aoi! At least not yet.”
She relaxed, trying to suppress her confusion. “Yes,” she said, faintly. “I'm.... I'm okay.” And to divert her thoughts, she asked, "How... how's Makoto?"
"He's fine," Togami replied. He gave one of his familiar 'Hmphs', which made Aoi feel more like she was in the presence of the old Togami. "I gave him an armed escort. Here, Aoi. You should drink more water."
He offered her the glass again, but she shook her head in refusal, keeping her eyes downcast. Despite her efforts to calm herself, her heart was beating low and fast. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his hands, their sturdy grip on her shoulder and back. "I'm okay now," she muttered, trying to scold herself into equilibrium.
Togami, meanwhile, withdrew the glass. “Good,” he said, shortly. “I think you'll get through this fine, Aoi. You're a strong woman. And..." he halted for a moment, then continued, very quietly: "I'm relieved to see that you're not badly hurt.”
Aoi's eyes widened at his intimate tone. There was an unmistakable change to his voice as he uttered these words, as if he found them difficult to express. There was, she thought, something there that sounded like genuine emotion.
And she was suddenly struck by the feeling that something between them had changed; or, perhaps, something that had been there, that she hitherto refused to acknowledge, had been brought to the forefront due to circumstances.
Before she had time to reply, or try to process this impression, he suddenly raised his hand to his ear, and appeared to be listening intently. She now noticed that he was wearing a pair of headphones, and a voice was speaking urgently from it. Then he rose to his feet briskly, taking a few steps to the side, and turned his back to her, focused on the transmission. She heard his speaking quietly. “Yes... yes... no. Yes, please continue operations. I'll be there as soon as possible.”
And that was that. When they all sat together in a small room some time later, listening to the television transmission, he was his same, composed self, and barely looked at her. He did not even speak two words to her before he left. And now, three more months have passed and, except the hospital visit with the group, she has heard nothing from him. And during that visit he stood near the wall as the others carried the conversation, his stance aloof as always. The only time she turned her head towards him she saw him glancing silently at her. But, as always, he spoke very little. And it left her oddly let down, and upset; though whether it was at him or herself, she didn't know.
What, she thought afterwards, scolding herself, what -- just because he was a little bit nice to you for a few minutes when you were wounded, you are losing your cool? That concern he expressed? It was that of a friend. (So they were now friends? Did Togami even have friends? Was he ever concerned about anyone but himself?) And so, she pushed that incident into the recesses of her consciousness, resolving not to make herself a fool over it.
A frozen breeze brushed Aoi's skin, cutting off her jumbled musing; and she realized she was still in her night slip. She shivered, sighing, and started to close the windowpane. But then she paused, and surveyed the school grounds again.
Yes, it was silent, and desolate, and the ground was still hard and stony. But she fancied that she could see pale green leaves peeping from under the stones, and that the light had been more golden this morning. She took in one last breath of the cold, fresh air. And she thought: After all, life always comes after death.
She emerged from the shower sometime later, brushing her wet hair. It had grown considerably longer over the past year or so, and she wondered whether she should cut it. But she didn't really have a reason to do so right now, when her athletic activities had been so limited.
She pulled on her gym pants, a long-sleeved top, and warm sports jacket, and was grateful that fancy outfits were never her style. It would have been extremely uncomfortable, she thought, to wear such clothes with the current condition of her leg. She felt much better now, and went to prepare herself some breakfast.
She was sipping some hot tea, and chewing on a strawberry-flavored donut from the inexhaustible stock she kept in a cabinet (inexhaustible, because she was careful to keep it full), when someone knocked on the door.
She rose from her seat, puzzled. It was much too early for anyone to be up and about, let alone pay her a visit. She didn't suppose that it was too important; so when she opened the door, she was still in the process of pushing the half-chewed piece of donut into her mouth.
A young man stood in the doorway, his slight form shadowed against the dark corridor.
"Mmmph. Makoto?" Aoi yanked the donut piece out of her mouth, and stared at him with surprise. She would have been mortified to be seen like this in front of any other man; but this was Makoto, and she was done feeling embarrassed in front of him a long time ago. "Hi! You're up early, aren't you?"
He appeared to sense the question in her voice, and brushed his hand through his hair, his demeanor apologetic. "Sorry for intruding on you so early, Aoi."
His reply sounded constrained. "Don't worry,” she answered, smiling in order to reassure him. “You know that this is practically lunchtime for me!” But she eyed him, puzzled at his appearance. Now that she was getting used to the lower light, she could distinguish more details in the shadowy corridor, and saw that Makoto had dressed more carefully than usual, with a white shirt and a tie. "You're a bit formal this morning, aren't you?" she remarked.
"Umm,” he said, flushing slightly. “Yes. We're having a meeting today.”
“Oh,” Aoi said, taken a back. She had not heard that any meetings were supposed to take place. “This is new. Did you decide on this last night?”
Makoto scratched his cheek. “Well, yes, pretty much. It's about financing the restoration project. Kyoko told me not to wake you up,” he added, sounding apologetic again. “She said you have to... well, that you've overstrained yourself, and should preserve your health."
He seemed so concerned, his gray-green eyes so brimming with worry, that Aoi decided to tease him a little. She shrugged. “Oh, don't worry. I mean, it's a meeting about finances. Like you already said, I'd be useless for such a thing."
For the first time, Makoto seemed a little more animated. He raised his hands defensively. "Hey-- I never said that!"
Aoi beamed at him mischievously. He had taken the bait, as she expected he would. "No, but I'M saying it. But, if you didn't want to bother me about this, what happened?”
Makoto sounded sheepish. “Well, uh, this is what happened. The person who arranged the meeting looked at us and said, “And where's Aoi? I want her here.” And I said, “She's still sleeping, I think.” And he said, “Well, go wake her up, and tell her she's wanted here.” And that was that, and now I'm here.”
“Ah,” said Aoi. “Um.”
Because at that moment, she realized – no, she KNEW – who it was who had arranged that conference. It was about finances. Arranged at a moment's notice, at this person's demand. And the conversation that Makoto described? It sounded just like HIM.
A blush rose to her cheeks; she knew that she had reacted with embarrassment to this realization. Once again, her mind jumped to that memory at Hope's Peak Foundation--
Not that memory again. You already went over it. It was your imagination. Or, it meant nothing. Stop thinking about it. Just STOP.
And to mask her discomposure, Aoi flashed another bright smile at Makoto. "No worries,” she said briskly. “Let's go.” She stepped into the corridor, and shut the door of her room behind her. "But, you know me,” she added, as they both began to march down the hall. “Don't expect me to contribute much."
"None of us are good at finances, Aoi," Makoto replied, in his habitually gentle, assuring way. "We can sit there and be ignorant together."
"Hmm," said Aoi. At the very least, she thought, this meeting would be a little bit interesting, because it has to do with the Hope's Peak project. Maybe I can just think about THAT, and ignore Togami. Also, she decided, I will sit as far away from him as possible.
Having resolved on this plan, she became a little more cheerful, and started to think that maybe she will enjoy this meeting after all. It did not take long to reach the conference room; the building was not large. Makoto halted in front of a polished, dark wooden door, which was a little handsomer than the others in the building, and pulled it open. He gestured with his hand. "After you."
Aoi stepped into the conference room.
While the group had early on designated this spacious chamber as their official meeting space, this was the first time that they actually used it. She had forgotten how nice it was. Quite a bit fancier than the other rooms in that building, having been relatively untouched for some decades, although they couldn't tell if this had been by design or neglect. Everything in that room had a somber formality to it that lent it an air of dignity. It was furnished with old leather chairs, all surrounding a polished conference table made out of walnut. Antique candle holders decorated the walls (which Aoi, who loved old things, was happy to set with thick white candles.) The paintings that decorated the walls had clearly been hung there at least a century ago, if not longer, and not disturbed since.
Aoi now cast her eyes around the chamber as she approached the table. Kyoko was sitting in one armchair, Hiro in another. But Aoi's eyes were immediately drawn to two things.
The first was that the table was spread with a rather lavish breakfast, the likes of which Aoi had not seen in some time – actually, she admitted to herself, she probably never saw such a breakfast in her life. The Hope Peak team's breakfast room was a threadbare place, with wooden chairs, sturdy ceramic tableware, and plain glass cups. Their usual breakfast was likewise a simple fare, mostly basic Japanese foodstuffs occasionally mixed with more western things, and always supplemented by the obligatory donut (which were sent regularly with the food shipments, and half of which Aoi squirreled away in her room.)
The breakfast on THIS table was piled onto bowls of China, in a tasteful and colorful array. It had a selection of items that looked European, quite possibly French, and brought to Aoi's mind a jumble of foreign words, most of which she heard or read only in passing and only half of which she understood. Words like "crepe", "Baguette", "tartine", "brioche", and "quiche"; not to mention other items, to which she could not put even a tentative name. The tea, whose delicate aroma reached Aoi even before she was near the table, was served in a beautiful, clearly expensive tea-set, and she also glimpsed the silver glimmer of a coffee pot (real silver, she was sure). Dishes of fruits and vegetables surrounded this fancy collection of foods, arranged in a manner that showed care for how they were presented, with the bright red cheeks of apples and sweet orange slices mixing with the purple gem of piled grapes (grapes? At THIS season? Who could afford THAT?).
Oh, but Aoi already knew who could. Because the second thing that drew her eyes was the person who came with that lavish breakfast. But she didn't have to see him to already know he was there.
The tall, slender, fair-haired young man sat at the leather chair placed at the head of the table, leaning back in his seat in a leisurely fashion, his long legs crossed. But when he saw Aoi and Makoto enter the chamber, he rose to his feet. He was wearing a white, three-piece suit -- much too formal for the occasion, thought Aoi -- but that's how he always is, isn't it? Her gaze met the pale, narrow face, the sky-blue eyes. During the Killing Game, that face often wore an expression that almost never varied from a limited array of emotions -- mostly arrogance, contempt, disdain, or outright hostility. And although it had later mellowed to something more neutral, it was usually still businesslike, lacking in warmth. But Aoi couldn't tell what it was like today; all she knew was that her cheeks suddenly felt very warm, and that, despite her resolve, her heart had given an involuntary jump when their eyes met.
"Aoi,” said Byakuya Togami. His voice was steady, and had its usual clipped accents. "You're just in time.”
“Hullo, Togami,” Aoi returned, a little stiffly. She tried to keep her tone as dignified as possible, but was not quite sure of her success. “It's nice to see you again.”
She looked away from him, and spotted a chair at the other end of the table. Here, she decided, she would sit -- as far away from him as possible. But before she could move a muscle, Togami took a few quick steps towards her, and placed his hand on her arm. His fingers exerted the subtlest of pressures, but his meaning was unmistakable; and before she knew it, Aoi found herself politely, but firmly, steered towards the chair next to his. He dragged the heavy armchair out, then turn towards Aoi. She stared at him.
“Here, sit next to me,” he said; and she glimpsed the edge of a smile. “We can now start this meeting.”