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Fukumoto began bringing them in starting last week, or perhaps for longer, but the one thing Kaminaga was sure of is that the flowers had been there since his return from Britain. As much as everyone was surprised and slightly intrigued by the presence of said Nature's prideful artwork, no one, even Lieutenant Colonel Yuuki, had made any sort of criticsm towards his agency's newest decoration. Hatano did rise up a question regarding that matter on yesterday's poker night--his usual sarcastic remarks not forgotten--to which Fukumoto simply replied with a light shrug, saying, "a very nice lady offers them to me at the market, I have not the heart to decline,". Hatano then stayed silent, the rest of the spies followed lead.
Kaminaga used to think that it is rather riddiculous to see such a sight, a symbol of life and being alive, within the pale, unforgiving walls at their training facility. However, in spite of the unchanging placement of the flowers--cafeteria, second window from the corner, white china vase--the contains of the vase itself come-and-leave nearly on a daily basis, replaced by a new one before the previous even wither. Apparently Fukumoto wasn't exaggerating when he said the lady was nice. Therefore, in that sense, the flowers were much like him--or spies in general--and this fact somewhat gave Kaminaga an illogical fondness of them, a certain undertsanding in the beauty of their petals, as if he was glad someone--no, something--is experiencing the same fate as his.
The types of flowers varied, he recognized them from his biology lessons during trainee days. Since last Wednesday, there were morning glories, begonias, daisies, lilies; tonight a new bunch of camellias shone in all their glory, moonlit and trembling rythmically due to chills seeping through the opened window. Pretty.
Nevertheless, the one that truly caught Kaminaga's attention was Miyoshi.
"I didn't know you could've chosen a moment of uninterrupted solitude over your peers' company, Miyoshi; given your personality anyone would've accused you as an all-time beggar for attention."
Kaminaga spoke as soon as he entered the empty cafeteria, but Miyoshi didn't flinch at his sudden exclamation. He instead, turned his head in one swift motion so he can properly face his colleague, raising an eyebrow and bit back in that slur of his, "I had no idea that the proper way I usually present myself in could've led to such mistake in your views."
Kaminaga smirked. "Or am I interrupting your disguised-as-seclusion, moment of self-appreciation?"
"I guess I am no longer given the chance to treasure it anyway," the shorter man dramatically sighed, "why, stay for a smoke then, Kaminaga, don't even pretend that you're regretting this."
Recalling again on how he had a tick to get under the spotlight, this time Miyoshi managed to steal the spotlight once again simply by standing there facing the window which offered nothing but endless skies painted in darkness with glimmering stars scattered upon. Neither Miyoshi's signature maroon vest nor tie was anywhere to be seen, and compared to his standard looks, his looks tonight was in disarray, with sleeves rolled up exposing his elbows. His right held up a half-burned cigarette, its smoke fulfilled the room while some escaped to taste freedom outside.
Those red camellias stood deadly still next to him.
"Do you have a lighter?"
"On the table."
Pulling a cancerstick from his own pocket, he secured it between his lips before advancing towards the table Miyoshi gestured at. The poor lighting within East Asia Cultural Society building gave no guarantee of course, however Kaminaga could easily identify the pages laying bare there as parts of a play, likely to be Hamlet. Also clumsily abandoned there were a painting of drowning woman Kaminaga saw Miyoshi meddling with a few days ago, and sonnets written in English, courstesy of Shakespeare. The papers had been washed into a yellow-ish color and dotted with ugly brown spots, a memento inflicted by the undeniable passing of times.
A silver lighter was somewhere hidden in the chaotic display; when Kaminaga finally found it, he immediately lit his cigarette up and took a satisfying long drag. His eyes kept on examining the articles Miyoshi had left. "Judging from how invested you are in this, I believe the man you're morphing into this time is quite the challenging one," he commented, throwing glances between the pages and Miyoshi back-and-forth, "is he?"
Miyoshi bothered not to turn. "The character, not so much," he admitted with a quiet exhale of cigarsmoke, "the sonnets however, it is not wrong for a spy to show fondness in certain areas of interest every once in a while."
"You're being melancholic," Kaminaga assessed and meant to be more playful, although the sentence was delivered a bit too seriously than intended, "be careful or you're losing your touch, Miyoshi. You've sunk too deep in whatever persona you're pulling off this time."
He expected an icy comeback, and was slightly taken aback when what he earned instead was a beat of silence and a word, "perhaps."
Both spies said nothing for the next few minutes, too busy enjoying the smoke as well as the privacy of their own respective minds where secrets weren't required and real names were spilled when referring to oneself. Kaminaga moved closer so he could fill in the space next to Miyoshi. Claws of the upcoming winter attempted to crawl inside, but no one seemed to be troubled by the dropping temperature.
It was Miyoshi himself whom at last broke the silence.
"So," he asked all of a sudden, "how was Britain?"
"Colder, but beautiful architecture nonetheless," replied Kaminaga. Nothing much to see when you spent half of your journey tied to a chair undergoing interrogations with a lightbulb, he mentally added, but that went unsaid.
"How was the mission?"
"A success," the taller spy scrunched his nose in suspicion, "you've known about this."
Miyoshi nodded calmly. "I do," he tilted his head and faced his fellow spy, a smirk plastered on his lips, "but 'a success' is something you say to Yuuki-san, a fact no longer questionable if I've seen your breathing self entering the door downstairs. I'm wishing to hear more than that."
"...it was pretty chaotic for some time. Being in an interrogation, I mean," Kaminaga decided to say, after choosing his words carefully, and paused to inhale on his cig before he continued, "Yuuki-san and his insane methods of training once again proved to be useful. I can't say I wasn't pleased with the outcome, however watching that Demon King won easy victories every time began to get on my nerves, almost as much as seeing the military does; especially while these victories were achieved by serving our necks on silver platter..."
Miyoshi hummed, a soft chuckle escaped from between his lips. "Hadn't I understood better, I would've thought all his efforts to help us escape, guiding us as if he is our Polaris, were done out of love," he smirked as wind mercilessly lingered on the tip of their noses. Miyoshi's gaze fell far deep into the night, "Shakespeare had a lot of views on love itself, you know. Ideal love, realistic love, tragedies and lust. Anyway, Yuuki-san is glad you returned, I am even more."
Polaris is the star guiding sailors home during the old ages. While Vampire is a mythical creature believed to be sucking blood, along with lives, among the youths. Kaminaga needed not a guidance to pick which betweeen the two suits their superior better.
His strange response invited a skeptical raise of Kaminaga's eyebrow. "Something is bothering you, you're asking for me to talk hoping it would ease you down. Though nothing has ever made you stagger on your way before."
Miyoshi's snort came out elegant. "I assure you Kaminaga--if it's the only thing which demands for your concern throughout this whole lovely evening--that my recent habits will in no way affect my performance in espionage, nor will they alter my perception of things."
"You've been restless," concluded Kaminaga, nearly cutting Miyoshi off his sentence although he knew how much the latter despised being interrupted, then conveniently ignored the daggers of a stare Miyoshi pierced through him in annoyance, "what happened?"
A very loud silence. The narcissist was never a compromisable man to begin with.
Neither was Kaminaga, therefore Miyoshi should've been less impressed when Kaminaga's comparably larger hand tugged on his, using enough force to turn his torso that he was then facing Kaminaga. Taking advantage of Miyoshi's momentary surprise, the frivolous man saw this as a chance to pull him closer, and in a second he already had a hand slipped behind the curve of Miyoshi's waist. He could've kissed him. He could've smacked him down to the floor in one effective move.
Kaminaga instead spoke--with a cig between his lips which made his sentence a bit unclear but nevertheless perceptible, "shall we dance?"
Miyoshi blinked, though still no attempt to break himself free of his grip. "Had the interrogation given you a dose so high it scrambled your brain?"
"No, but they gave me new, creative ideas on how to make people spill out information; I'm attempting my latest developed strategy on you right now," Kaminaga clicked his tounge and smirked, "if you really are the Miyoshi I know, he surely hasn't forgotten how to dance while he himself was the one to taught me...?"
They had been constant partners in both sparring and seduction classes last year. Recalling the memory, it was bizzare, trying to get Miyoshi's smirk off his face with a good kick for three hours then trying to get Miyoshi to kiss him for the next three; Kaminaga had to admit that both things were just equally hard to execute, and both usually left similar bruises. The funny thing was that Miyoshi had always been strangely talented in dancing--just as Kaminaga had said before, he taught him the steps better than their instructor did--and while actual women were a bit too short, Miyoshi stood in a height which made it perfectly easy for Kaminaga to put a hand on his waist and dance along.
The feeling was familiar when he touched his torso again.
"We don't even have music," the maroonhead complained.
"We can follow the ticks on our watch for rythm," Kaminaga suggested, glancing at a golden watch encircling his wrist. It was slightly beyond midnight. "Or imagine there is. Even we ourselves are timed clocks counting down."
Miyoshi's laugh was dripping sarcasm. "The countdown of our lives? But then we won't be slow dancing anymore; an energetic swing, or even a tap dance would be more fitting," he drew a long breath, having nothing to take a drag on now that Kaminaga's previous less-than-subtle tug had sent his cancerstick flying off his fingers. "Okay. Let's dance."
Thus they recreated what they used to do. Miyoshi was steady as always, missing not a step when Kaminaga spun him in a slow twirl. His maroon orbs followed Kaminaga's every movement, and only after several minutes he finally gave a nod of approval.
"You're improving."
"You're getting better at doing the female's part, as well."
Miyoshi ignored him. "Have you been practicing with women at the local clubs?"
"Yeah," a sly grin spread across his face. But their skills don't match yours, he thought, albeit quietly.
Miyoshi rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wonder why you, Kaminaga, whom I see as a fellow intellectual and I have respect for; is still at the mercy of such materialistic need of women," he sidestepped and corrected Kaminaga's held on his waist, sighing, "then again, here we are, dancing the night away, as a great war brew in blood-spilt lands."
Kaminaga sneered. "Alas, Miyoshi, what good is exploring through a lifetime of Shakespearean works, if none of them touched your frozen heart?"
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds; Admit impediments. Love is not love. Which alters when it alteration finds; Or bends with the remover to remove," Miyoshi obeyed as his dancing partner spun him once more, speaking as he did, "the first lines of sonnet 116. I believe that, analyzing this piece, Shakespeare himself was on the same mind as mine regarding love, women and whatnot. Reasonable it is not for men, especially those whom are true-minded, us."
Kaminaga replied with equal determination and fluency, "I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Sonnet 116 was a satire since the beginning, Miyoshi, on ideal love. People like you, who thinks that love should perish in the midst of war--despite your knowledge that Love itself is the basic of peace--are those who are actually throwing in woods which keeps the fire of battle burning."
"Hypocrites like you, Kaminaga, who blindly uses love for reasoning; are usually those to be blamed for starting the sparks which led to fire."
"Well, no matter what fire we create, some things stay cold."
Miyoshi took a deep breath, and suddenly released his grip, putting an end to their dance. Kaminaga let him. The shorter of the two picked his previously fallen cigarette from the floor, despite showing no desire in it anymore now that it is burned out, before standing back up and leaned on the windowsill. Moonlight played tricks on his eyes and made his fair skin look pale, almost ghastly. "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."
"You're leaving for another mission."
"Yes."
"You're going to be someone I don't know; going somewhere which location is kept as a secret from me, or anyone; we don't even know when you'll ever be instructed to return."
"That's right."
"And any details will be kept only between you and Yuuki-san, a secret from even your fellow spies; because there is always a risk of a traitor within our own ranks."
"Exactly."
"And it isn't like it usually bothers you," Kaminaga shrugged, being the 'usually bothered' part between them, "good luck?"
"Strange how you easily splurt out sayings to wish me 'good luck' as if you believe in luck in the first place," Miyoshi gazed at the vase of red camellias. He reached out a hand to touch a single crimson petal, glancing half-heartedly towards the rest which had long lost their lifeline, scattered on the woodboard of D Agency resembling a pool of blood. Ash on his fingertips left noticeable stains, and for a passing second Miyoshi looked almost guilty for ruining its beauty. "Do you know that red camellias are considered bad luck?"
"I reckon that, in the West, they express love."
"Hmmm. Funny, isn't it? Camellias stay camellias no matter what war debating over which image is more fitting for them; yet humans never learn," Miyoshi made a hand movement similar to swatting a fly, "anyways, in Japanese customs, camellias are seen as bad luck for warriors; because unlike cherry blossoms, their fresh petals fall out as a whole instead of one-by-one."
"We're not warriors," Kaminaga pointed out, "we do not fall. Together or individually."
"True," Miyoshi hummed. "We're not."
"And spies don't put trust in others, moreover flowers."
Miyoshi tilted his head in a way which makes his collar slid and exposed more of the collarbone underneath. It was intentional, Kaminaga was sure of it, the narcissist wanted to show that he wasn't satisfied. "Don't you have anything to say, as a farewell, other than wishing me sheer luck?"
Miyoshi reeked of smoke and ash just like how he had always been. Being the chainsmoker he was, he would be more surprised if Miyoshi doesn't. Hadn't they be spies, Kaminaga strongly estimated that both of them would die from lung cancer more than anything at fifty, side-by-side drowning in nicotine. But sometimes he also reeks of other things; cheap perfume of prostitutes he slept with, chemical substances Yuuki injected to his students. Truth is, compared to the women he danced with at the clubs, Miyoshi rather smelt unpleasant. Kaminaga breathed him in nonetheless.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare; As any she belied with false compare. Perhaps sonnet 130 fits Miyoshi more, after all.
"May Polaris lead you back home," said he, hopefully loud enough so not a gust of wind can take his words to faraway places and dump them there, forever lost and ungranted.
Miyoshi chuckled, bitter on the edges. When his orbs met the others', Kaminaga realized that they weren't the eyes he knew. But good actors are like that. Miyoshi was a great actor. Miyoshi would no longer be Miyoshi once he steps off D Agency quarters tomorrow. Miyoshi never existed to begin with, and neither was himself. Not that it all mattered.
"But Kaminaga," Miyoshi(?) whispered, voice soft, "spies don't put trust in home, too."